Sorry, I'm just chugging out a bunch of stories and updates today. I've had this little creepy one-shot for a while. I guess it's Rin/Shiemi. Wah, I didn't know what other pairing to focus on. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorryyyy if you don't like the pairing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ao No Exorcist/Blue Exorcist

Blood

The color red scarred her.

The sloppy paint job of it against the wall, the pool of it coming out of his body, the gleam on the magnificent, yet terrifyingly choppy line across his side was burned into her mind.

Blood had never scared her. Blood was just a way of life.

Red never reduced her to tears. Red was just the color of roses until now.

Blood was the trigger. Red was the warning. Both were so terrible. They brought flashbacks of his eyes smoldering with barely any life. They brought memories of his bloody hand clutching her white shirt. They brought nightmares of his body falling limp upon hers, and her feeling the warm wetness weave through the fabric of her clothes to stain her skin with that feeling forever.

She couldn't stand to stitch him up, get some herbs, or anything. There was too much blood; too much red.

She fell to the ground, clutching his sweaty hair and accidentally brushing her palm by the cut. It felt so slimy, so warm, so sticky. She dared herself to look at it, and it just made it worse. You could practically see his organs pulsing and trying to keep up. The blood shined with malice and mockery. You can't do anything, it mocked. You're just a stupid little girl who can't even help her friends.

She watched as his skin tried desperately to knit itself back together, the veins trying to find their matching splits. But they couldn't keep up. He couldn't heal like he always did. His eyes barely fluttered open, before he coughed up blood, sputtering it across her face. The dark red was almost like a decoration against her pristine, innocent complexion.

His eyes seemed to spark a bit of recognition at the sight of her face. He tried to form words, but couldn't, for he was too weak. He took in her blood splattered face, her trembling lips, and her fearful eyes peering cautiously down at him. His weak arms reached to cup her face, smearing away some of the blood with his thumbs. And he kissed her, weak at first, but then harder, more passionately, and more lovingly.

The kiss tasted like blood, sweat, and tears. It felt like chapped lips grinding against each other, hoping to cleanse each other of their sins. It was the complete opposite of what they expected their first kisses to be, full of strawberry chap stick and joy.

But they wouldn't want it any other way.

They found her, just closing his glazed blue eyes for the final time. Blood was pasted like rouge against her cheeks and color against her lips.

And red was the enemy.