30 Kisses
A LokiMayura fanfiction
5th Kiss: Broken
Theme: Mirror Shards
Genre: Tragedy
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It's been days since she died in a meaningless car accident, and he wasn't there to save her because of his irrational fear.
Loki's green eyes are perpetually reddened, but whether in anger or despair, Yamino cannot possibly know. It has turned into a ritual now – in the morning, Yamino will make breakfast which Loki will refuse to eat, and then they'll visit the graveyard and place fresh flowers at Mayura's tombstone, before returning home. Loki sits in his study and awaits the next day, when he will see his love again.
Yamino doesn't, cannot, know what is going on in Loki's head anymore, and he doesn't really want to, for fear that he will be sucked into the swirling vortex of darkness, that insanity will dig its claws into him and drag him down.
But when he finds Loki kneeling on the floor, breathing hard, blood splattered on his clothes and shattered glass surrounding him, he knows that it has to stop.
The problem is that he doesn't know how.
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Loki doesn't, cannot, cry anymore. His throat is raw and his eyes are dry, his world is cracking and falling apart right in front of him, and he can't stop it. The mirror glittering on the opposite wall irritates him; it reflects light right back into his eyes and nothing is going right and he doesn't know how to step back and let it all go.
His anchor was Mayura, but now she is gone, and he is drifting away.
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When he paces the room, he occasionally catches sight of himself in the mirror, and he cringes. Although he no longer cares whether he looks like a prince or a pauper, seeing the reality strikes hard. It isn't really his reflection which bothers him, it is the absence of the pink hair, crimson eyes and ready smile which deals him a strong blow, which he feels almost physically. With swift, decisive movements, he charges across, feet pattering on the tiles, and with a blow of his hand, the mirror falls.
Shards of glass litter the floor, some piercing his hand, some piercing his feet, and he drops to his knees and his breathing quickens and tears run down his face again.
He misses her. He wants her. He needs her.
Hacking coughs rack his thinning body, and his hands grip his chestnut hair so tightly that strands of it start to fall, and tangle around his sticky fingers.
"Mayura…" Her name is expelled in a painful breath, filled with longing and need and agony.
The clinking of glass against the tiles brings Yamino into the room at a run, and he stares in horror as the blood trickles over my hands and stains my clothes. I think that it is somehow fitting.
I curl up into a ball, whimpering as the pain begins to seep through my consciousness.
"Mayura…"
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A/N: Creepy as hell, but I like it. Sorry for the weird present tense.