Disclaimer: Don't own.
don't feel the need to;
say you're sorry.
"I am sorry," she is whispering as though she's the one dying, fingers hardly holding his head as though she is afraid. It's a simple sentence. For all he knows, she may be sorry for stealing the last pack of juice in the refrigerator, or for biting his lip when he kissed her, or bruising his neck during a particularly violent sparring session – there are many things she may be apologizing for.
Her purplish eyes are darker today, and dry. She is not weeping for him. This is strangely comforting – he feels calm. Calmer than he's ever felt before, with her lap supporting his upper body and blood obscuring his vision and the lack of rain. The lack of tears.
He doesn't ask what she is sorry for, because it is an unspoken deal between them not to ask. No one has told him about the enigmatic vice-captain of the 13th division back when she was still a rookie. Nor has anyone related his heritage – the reason for his spiritual abilities – to her. Do not probe, because it's better to be kept in the dark. Do not question, because you'll burn your fingers.
But he doesn't have to ask why she's apologizing, because it's all-encompassing. She's sorry for kicking him in the abdomen sixteen times a day. She's sorry for stealing Yuzu's favorite yellow pajamas. She's sorry for letting Inoue go. She's sorry for her brother and his curt mannerism. She's sorry for tiptoeing to reach his nose and making him drop his umbrella from the shock. She's sorry for being taciturn at the wrong times. She's sorry for stepping through his window and letting Shirayuki sleep within him and activating Zangetsu, she's sorry for dragging him into the turmoil that normal teenagers do not have to go through, she's sorry for not telling him that it's okay to run, once in a while.
"It's not your fault, idiot."
He laughs, and stops, and that is when she decides that it's all right to cry.
End Notes: Reviews much appreciated.