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glowing hearts

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Obanai meets the girl colored pink in a field of irises, her soft face framed by cotton candy locks, cherry blossom petals catching in her kimono. She smiles like flowers blooming, soft and sweet laughter like a symphony, and all that Obanai wants.

The girl dressed in pink inclines her head and extends her hand, pretty pink nails and delicate fingers. Obanai stares, and takes it.

“Your eyes,” is the first thing she says, “are so pretty.”

And then she blushes, looking pleased and soft. Obanai feels warm.

Yours are too, he wants to say, but the words get trapped in his throat, too heavy to even swallow. All she does is smile wider, and the sun seems to shimmer. The world seems to slow.

With a light laugh, the girl tugs on Obanai’s hand, leading him further into the purple irises. They kiss his exposed skin and linger on their intertwined hands, their purple lips parting and whispering something along the lines of good news.

“Where are we going?” Obanai asks, voice quiet and barely there.

Light eyes glance back, and curve into their own smile. She lifts her free hand to her supple lips and covers them like she can’t say.

A secret, she thinks, head fuzzy and heart burning.

They wind through the meadow of purple flowers, until they stop in the middle of it all, purple all around, touching the horizon and beyond. Green mountains and towering trees stand in the far distance. Misty fog settled over them; tear drops on petals.

“It’s pretty,” Obanai says. The girl watches it all, making a soft noise in the back of her throat. The scars on his cheeks pull up into something of a smile.

“Misturi,” the girls says.

Instantly, a heavy weight on Obanai’s shoulders seems to be lifted. His heart peps and his soul brightens. It doesn’t make sense, but he feels relieved. She’s here, a part of his brain rejoices, that itch in his heart disappearing.

“Obanai,” he returns, and Mitsuri squeezes his hand thrice.

“So cute,” she murmurs in turn. He blushes then, not sure what is cute or not. Her face reddens too, and he laughs, feeling like he hasn’t done so in a long time. She sways in place like a dream and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger timidly.

A silence lulls in place afterwards, comfortable.

Finally, Obanai speaks. “You feel familiar.” Mitsuri’s gaze flicks to him, and her eyes look fond. So stupidly fond. She turns so that they’re face to face, and Obanai has to look up to meet her gaze. It’s an insignificant observation, but it makes Obanai feel warm all over again.

“Yes,” Mitsuri agrees, and traces a hesitant finger along the puckered and scarred skin of his split open mouth and cheeks. He lets her, a hand resting on her left arm.


Warm. So warm, liquid fire bleeding through his fingers as Mitsuri howls in desperation, a crazed look in her eyes that builds and builds. Obanai heart breaks and shatters, eyes on the empty space her arm used to fill. Their eyes meet, and he wishes.


His heart glows warm, growing too big for his chest and pressing against his ribcage until he feels breathless. He looks at her lips, glossy with cherries and she looks at his, trauma ridden but still so beautiful.

And if Obanai looks close enough, he can see behind the folds of her kimono, that her heart is glowing, too. Beating and lighting up under pink and purple flower designs.

When he looks back up, he’s close enough that he could count all of Mitsuri’s eyelashes if he wanted. He gets lost in her warm eyes, dripping with something like-

“Obanai,” she whispers, breath fanning over his lips, his name rolling off her tongue like honey. She pulls him closer by the waist, and his hands lower to settle on hers. He feels the dips and the gentle curves of her hips, feels the way her pulse quickens.

She smiles like spring, like children’s laughter and everything sweet and warm, brighter than the sun. Obanai is starstruck.

With one last slow bat of her eyelashes, Mitsuri closes the distance between them.


“I want to be reborn in a peaceful world without demons. And then next time, I can tell you that I love you.”