Ren and Sakura brought back two boars and over a dozen rabbits to present to Marisol as a peace offering. Over the coming days, the angel and demon were on their very best behavior as they hung, processed, salted, and smoked the meat. There was little conversation between the two beyond what needed to be said as they worked together in the preparation. There was no fighting, or arguing, or teasing. Just the uncomfortable silence of two people lost for what to do, wanting to give more but unable to find the way to do so.

As the light of the day settled over the horizon and evening came, the two would sit at the table with none of their normal fervor or antics. Ren picked at what was served to him, eating just enough to avoid Marisol’s scolding for him to eat more, before pushing it next to the fox’s plate to finish off. A smile accompanied by lusterless eyes adorned his face as he politely excused himself and promptly made his way out of the house, the door closing faintly behind him. Only Jose complained about the angel’s leaving, the child left pouting and unable to understand why he couldn’t go along and join Ren in whatever undoubtedly exciting adventure he was off to have. The others watched his departure, but any thoughts that they had were kept to themselves.

It wasn’t their place to interfere.

Night would follow and one after another, everyone would make their ways to the comfort of their beds and drift off under their covers. Sakura laid in her own, the soft conversations between Ivy and Zero drifting across the room for her to unintentionally hear until they joined each other in sleep. With all distractions gone, the stillness of the night would settle as her thoughts grew louder and louder until they were broken by the crunching of gravel under boots through the open window. Footsteps would soften through the grass and across the yard before the front door slowly creaked open and closed. Boots were abandoned, leaving bare feet to creep across the floor and up the stairs, into the dark and quiet room.

Sakura waited, listening to the rustling of clothes and sensing the hesitance of the man who was nearly close enough to touch. Without a word, her arms opened in silent invitation and Ren slipped into their embrace as his own wrapped tightly around the woman. Lips would press against the smoothness of her neck, the stench of alcohol pouring from his warm breath.

A tribute to the man who raised him.

An understanding of why he had to numb himself in order to be honest.

Bringing the woman as close as possible, Ren would whisper. A stream of consciousness slurring from his sour tongue and stumbling their way into her ears.

He told her about The Kingdom and its people. Those who shunned him. Those who used him. Those who wished him dead.

He told her of the hollowness. The loneliness. The constant barrage of disgust and hate.

From them.

From himself.

He told her about giving up, and trying, and giving up.

He told her of the lives he claimed. Of their screams and pleading and tears. Of how some of them would run, some would hide, some would never see it coming, and how a very select few would turn to fight. Of how he took down each and every one of them. Of how he would carve their heads from their bodies, taking their everything and leaving them nothing. Of the weight of their skulls in his hands. Of the emptiness of their eyes. Of the loll of their tongues. Of how he would present them like trophies to be carelessly discarded by those who had desired them in the first place. Of how he did it again.

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And again.

And again.

He told her how he ripped into his own skin over and over, keeping the wound fresh, the persistent scarring of the flower on his shoulder reminding him that this wasn’t who he was.

It was just who he had to be.

What he had to do to get out.

To regain his freedom.

But the uncertainty always lingered in the back of his mind.

The hushed mutterings of an empty space calling out to him.

Insisting that he was wrong.

That this was exactly who he was.

Who he was meant to be.

And to take more.

More.

More.

To take everything.

And to leave nothing left.

Reminding him of the sin that had created him, had seeped into his flesh and bones and blood and soul before he was even given life in this world.

It would always be a part of him.

It was all he’d ever be.

So he’d slice the blade deeper.

A scarlet cherry blossom in full bloom to guide his way.

He told her of the suffering.

He told her of the sorrow.

He told her of the blood.

He told her of the darkness. How it picked and tempted his every thought, his every move. How it called to him, pleaded to him, lured him closer and closer. How quiet it was. How loud it was.

How it enticed him so.

He told her how he kept himself from falling into its grasp.

The same way he always had.

With emeralds and cherry red.

Memories of delicate whispers and feather light touches.

How she had saved him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He told her how he’d do it all over.

As long as it led him back to her.

Anything for her.

She was everything.

And nothing else could ever compare.

She lay there, listening, brushing her fingers through his hair and across his skin until the comforting motion and alcohol quieted his confessions and lulled him into slumber.

She took his fear. His torment. His anguish. His misery. His despair.

Everything he couldn’t carry on his own any longer.

She took everything he gave her, lightening his load, and placed it upon the hate that she had for herself, further weighing her own body down.

Immobilizing her.

Another reminder of how he was everything.

And she was nothing.

He had given so much of himself for her.

And she had taken it all, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake.

Just like she always did.

Just like she always would.

He deserved more.

She didn’t deserve him.

But she couldn’t let him go.

While staying just out of his reach.

As the days passed, his whispers became less and less of what had been and more and more of what would be. Promises that he would keep. A life that they had always wanted. One they could finally have.

Words he had once been too afraid to say out loud.

Words that she had wanted nothing more than to hear.

He stopped leaving at night. There was no alcohol on his breath. He talked more, smiled more, laughed more. He went back to him. He looked at her in the way that only he could. The look she had spent her life chasing.

He lay next to her at night, holding her, refusing to let go.

She lay in his arms, feeling everything crash around her.

As she tried to hide from it all.