Golden moments strung together, sweet and glowing in the light of every good memory Khun had. (more…)
It wasn’t supposed to be his last kiss, the first time he reached out and took Tatara’s face in his hand, studying the way it made his eyes widen slightly and his mouth fall open, and the first time he’d ever kissed the only person that ever made him feel like everything was somehow worth it.
It wasn’t supposed to be Mikoto’s last kiss.
He opened his eyes from memory and breathed out smoke from his cigarette, something hard and angry burning in his gut.
This power is to protect.
Whoever killed Tatara was still out there. Not for long.
Anna took the camera out a year after Tatara’s death. Mikoto wasn’t there for her to wake up with it or make memories with. There was no Tatara to absolve her if they damaged the camera.
Even so, she wanted to add her own memories to HOMRA again, so she took the camera in her hand and went out to find Misaki.
He sucked in a breath when he saw it but pasted on a smile as he waved. Fushimi stared at her a moment.
“It’s good to see you,” she said softly.
He was part of their memories too.
Izumo never used to mind butterflies. They weren’t important, pretty enough when one floated by on a breeze. Now, he looks at them like they hurt him personally.
It was just the three of them once upon a time, before Clans and Kings and the Dresden Slates changed everything. It was Tatara and Mikoto and Izumo—friends.
The butterflies he sees now aren’t made of fire and red aura. They don’t rise from Tatara’s hands like proof that flame can be beautiful and not deadly, wielded by the right hands. Everything is gone—Tatara, Mikoto—leaving only Izumo and butterflies.