Death is certain, it's hour uncertain.

Title:Flutter
Fandom: Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles
Summary: The lingering sensation on his skin was just about the only thing that was left to prove that the mage was a real person anymore.
Warnings and Notes: It's rather short, I apologize. There are no naughty bits. This is something I've been working on off-and-on for about three months (trying to get over a dry spell so I can aually finish Walkabout one of these decades >>), so I hope you like it.



Everything about him was fleeting, from his frivolous attitude all the way to his irritating smile. Kurogane never found himself in a situation that would require him to touch the other, but Fai found many a reason to do so; in the beginning the reasons were frequent and infuriating--the tackling hugs, the fingers poking into his personal space.

But as these gestures eventually began to cause the walls he’d built to crumble, the gestures themselves became more infrequent, as though the other could somehow sense the change between them and adapted to make things harder.

Rather than the firm, teasing grips their relationship had been founded off of, the mage’s fingers seemed to flutter across his skin discreetly, much like that of a butterfly’s wing. It seemed that goosebumps always followed wherever they went, as though the tips of his fingers produced some sort of raw energy within them. And for all Kurogane knew, they very well could have.

The lingering sensation on his skin was just about the only thing that was left to prove that the mage was a real person anymore. Fai’s personality was hard to grasp onto from the start, but as time passed it seemed as though even if Kurogane were to reach out and touch him that even his form would slip though his grasp, like sand, or water; at times, Kurogane couldn’t help but wonder if he were an hourglass, and Fai the grains within it, counting down the days, the hours, the minutes until Kurogane was home again, and the mage out of his life for good. Though, perhaps, “for good” was not an appropriate turn of phrase, since Kurogane was still in the midst of deciding if he couldn’t stand his traveling partner, or… otherwise.

They found themselves in a Tokyo--not his Tokyo--one that had rain that burned when it fell, and because of this the group found themselves in the care of strangers once again, a situation that was soon losing it’s novelty. Fai was speaking to him about the children, in that almost maternal way that only served to irritate Kurogane--from all Kurogane knew of his previous behaviors, the mage had no intention of following through with these sentiments. It was a half-assed position that only fit with the rest of Fai’s infuriating disposition; for some reason, it was just enough to push him over the edge, and as he reached out to stop Fai and speak his mind, he was surprised when his hand wrapped itself around the thin arm and found solidity there--bone, muscle, and skin, just like any other.

Fai was almost frighteningly real as Kurogane grabbed the arm once again the next day, this time to pull Fai’s limp, lifeless form from the ground and throw it over his shoulder, feeling the warm, sticky blood seep through his shirt and caress his skin; before, the sight of blood excited Kurogane. It signified a challenge, if it were his own, or a victory, were it not. But now as he watched it stain the soaked hair and fair skin of the man in his arms, he couldn’t help but wish that the rest of Fai was as fleeting as he implied, as though it would have saved him; a wish that, unfortunately, granted itself the next day.

“Good morning, Kurogane.”

He felt the last of what was in his grasp flutter away, and Kurogane could only sit, helpless as he saw it go.