Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. All the glory and fame to Rumiko Takahashi.

A/N: I have a strange habit of writing pairings that I don't like much. Like Kag/Inu and Kik/Inu. My muse sucks. Title taken from Regina Spektor's song. Forgive my grammar/spelling mistakes and enjoy.

Lady

Lady sing the blues so well

As if she mean it

As if it's hell down here

In the smoke-filled world

Where the jokes are cold

They don't laugh at jokes

They laugh at tragedies

-Regina Spektor

We once stood here.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. So detached and cold. Beautifully cold. Such a cruel beauty.

And just then she looked at him. Eyes amused, having caught him staring.

They could stay hours and hours there, in a content silence with content sighs.

Sigh. I cherish you.

Sigh. I love you.

We stare off into the horizon and regret. For once upon time, we had stood here and there had been love.

Now there's only regret. And nothingness. There's a silence that screams so loud I wonder if I'll go deaf. Or mad. Whatever comes first.

Neither one will, however, for I am the very essence of nothing now. Nothing doesn't feel. Nothing doesn't love. Nothing doesn't breathe. I am Nothing.

We once stood here.

She was sitting on the hill with her eyes closed. He knew she had felt his presence as soon as he'd arrived, but made as little noise as possible. He could never disturb that completely peaceful aura that surrounded her and left the tiniest hint of melancholy.

He didn't know she wanted him to disturb it. To be freed of that serenity. To be shaken and awaken and so very alive, just as he was. To be with him. But he didn't seem to notice that, so, despite her wishes, he was the one that let himself be imprisoned by the aloofness. It didn't matter, though. They were together. And that mattered.

She stood just to be closer to him. He saw her eyes open and saw many more years in their depths than there should be. But then she smiled and his heart soared and his hand found hers.

He watched the sun set in her eyes.

We held hands and were in peace. Some would say I'm in peace now. They don't understand that the lack of anything is a war. There is no peace. There is nothing, and nothing, more often than not, is much closer to chaos than to peace. It's a never-ending restlessness, it's a hunger that can't satiated, it's wanting something that doesn't exist.

I'm slipping away, just as we did. Just as the love we once had. The one I had thought was so big, so pure and so very deep. It lasted one single heartbeat before it vanished. Before it wasn't enough and left us cold and broken.

I'm still cold and broken, even though you are not. Not anymore. Someone mended you. Someone was able to do what I never could. Someone fixed all your wounds, the ones I shouldn't have caused and the ones I should have healed.

She was your cure. She is your strength.

And despite all that, you hurt her over and over again. Despite her blind adoration. Despite the fact that she would never fall for any petty trick as we once did. Despite her loyalty to the very end.

We once stood here.

His eyes were pleading. Remember.

And remember she did. Sweet remembrances broken by betrayal.

She didn't glare. She just looked at him. And even though she were the one that changed, that vanished, he was the one treated as a stranger, with no recognition. And it hurt much worse than any arrow ever could.

There had been hate. When I was brought back (and was oh, so very dead and forever and ever lost) there had been nothing but deep and bitter hatred. I hated you for what I thought you had done and once I learned the truth I hated you for getting over when I didn't. I hated her for her never-ending and never-failing love. I hated him, the one that meant nothing and changed everything, for he was stronger than us. Than what united us. I hated myself for not trusting and letting him destroy us. I hated what we had become the most, for we could've been different. For our story should've ended differently.

Everything I did, every thought I had, every word I said had the single purpose of hurting and aveging the death of my soul and of my love.

My soul, however, wasn't dead. It was pulsating and reverberating with life and brighter than it had ever been.

In someone else's body. Just as my love.

Our souls had truly been mates. And still are. But there is very little of my soul in this body of clay and bones. Not enough. Never enough. No soul, but memories connect us now. Bittersweet memories made so by our last breaths. Isn't it awing that mere seconds could annihilate what had taken hours and smiles and sighs and silences and subtle looks and sunsets to devise?

There once was love. But it got lost.

Then, there was hate. But it faded.

Now, there is nothing.