#SANEMITSU ASK YEYYAYA

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Sanemitsu but make them the obamitsu dying scene with Mitsuri dying in Sanemi's arms and him watching the love of his life slowly die.

a bit late in responding bc..bc this is sad

The moment Muzan’s body disappeared, Sanemi found himself searching. He wasn’t quite sure for whom, or what, except that something in his brain told him he couldn’t quite rest yet. People around him were celebrating, relief crashing through them simultaneously. But he couldn’t quite share their tired cheering. For some reason, he was panicking. It didn’t hit him why for a long moment as he scoured the chipped ground, but then his eyes caught onto an unruly mess of pink and green and a surge of adrenaline made him stumble forward. Someone tried to stop him as the mix of Slayers and Kakushi came to their senses and began the tedious trek of recovery. Sanemi managed to just barely slip around them, using the fact that he was slippery with blood to duck out of their hold. They called out to him, probably worried for his state, but he ignored their calls, already by Mitsuri’s side. He knelt down, hissing as the rocky ground dug into his raw skin. Mitsuri seemed to notice him now, turning on her side. She was absolutely drenched in crimson, her usually pristinely white haori now tattered and soaked through. She was alone, having been deposited to someone to heal her during the fight but, presumably, they’d left to find help. Her smile was faint as she caught sight of Sanemi.

“The sun is up,” she mumbled, eyes half lidded. Sanemi gaslighted himself into thinking it was from the sunlight. “Did we win?”

He scooped her up, cradling her in his arms. He couldn’t tell whose body was the most fragile. Mitsuri felt unnaturally light, as if the blood loss had lessened her weight. Perhaps that was how Sanemi had made it here. His own body felt as if it could float away at any second.

“We did,” Sanemi rasped. His head ducked down, limp and exhausted. He managed a vague smile. “Fuck yeah, we did.”

“I’m glad,” Mitsuri breathed. “I’m sorry I didn’t do much in the fight. I wanted to do more, but-”

Sanemi shook his head. He felt dizzy from that alone. “No. Without any of us, we wouldn’t have won. ‘s fine, Kanroji. You did just great. We just have to wait for- for one of the Kakushi to come. Or someone. They’ll bandage you right up,” he promised. Empty promises were his thing, it seemed. He fought back the memory of Genya, trying to reason with himself that Mitsuri would not die the same way. Genya hadn’t been able to come back because of his demon attributes. Mitsuri didn’t have them. Surely, he could save her.

“I don’t…” Mitsuri trailed off, eyelids fluttering. She struggled with herself, blinking up at Sanemi. “I don’t think I’m going to make it, Shinazugawa-san.”

“No, you are,” Sanemi said firmly. “You fucking are.”

Mitsuri offered him a knowing sigh. Her life seemed to seep out with it. Sanemi held her tighter.

“I lost too much blood,” Mitsuri continued, “so it’s too late for me.”

Sanemi bit his tongue hard enough to taste the fresh tang of blood fill his mouth. He swallowed. “No.”

“I’m glad you came to see me before, though,” she said quietly. “I’ve had some”—she cut herself off with an abrupt cough, eyes squinting shut until she settled back down—“things. That I wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me later,” Sanemi interrupted. “When you’ve rested. And can think better.”

He was fooling himself. He could’ve laughed at his futile attempt to make things right. How many times had he done this before? How many times had he failed? His only consolation was that he was likely to die with her.

Mitsuri noticed the stirrings of his resignation. A tear smudged the blood that had dried on her cheek. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve always liked you,” she whispered. “I admired you and… wished to… be with you. But I was happy to have you as my coworker—as a friend—so I never said anything.”

“Fuck,” Sanemi stammered. He didn’t even know what to say now. “You should’ve- You should’a told me.”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same,” she admitted, a soft laugh following her words. The sound was sweet to Sanemi’s ears. His posture sunk until he was nearly doubled over her. He attempted to righten himself.

“I did.” His voice came out choked and meek. His own reflection would’ve called him pathetic. He struggled on. Maybe if he kept her talking just a bit more, someone would come and work a miracle on her. She was younger than him. She still had a family and so much ahead of her. She deserved so much better. “I loved you so fucking much. But you were supposed to find someone better to marry. Not someone like me, who has nothing to offer. Didn’t think you would’ve noticed me, either. You were always in your own world. I always wondered what it’d be like to be there with you.”

Mitsuri’s response took a while, this time. Her voice was barely there anymore. Her previously staccatoed breathing had softened to shaky, desperate breaths. “I should have said something, hm?” Her smile lacked energy.

“No. You should’ve found someone better,” Sanemi said. He said it flatly. Knowing he would’ve hated it. Would’ve resented himself for never saying anything, because he always hoped she might be the one to save him. From himself. She was always amazing in that way. Effortlessly bringing a smile onto someone’s face. He’d be damned to say she’d never made him feel better with a single word.

“Better? Than you?” Mitsuri asked. Her eyes closed. It took a moment for Sanemi to realize that the light was glinting off her tears. Fuck. She was crying.

“Yeah. Anyone else would’ve fit you better,” Sanemi breathed. He paused. He was feeling lightheaded. “Mitsuri.”

Her name was replied to with a quivering smile. “I always wanted to hear you say that.”

Sanemi could barely hold himself up at this point. His forehead rested ever so gently against hers. “Say my name,” he pleaded.

“Sanemi.” She uttered his name like a prayer. To what? Him? “Sanemi,” she repeated, softly. “I really love you.”

“I-” Sanemi nearly choked on his own words. “I really love you too,” he mumbled. He went to say something else, letting his thoughts flow from his lips. But he never got to know what he’d meant to say. His breath hitched, his eyes flickering open. There was a sudden absence. It took him a moment to place it. His gaze traveled down to Mitsuri, tracing her features. She’d always been so, so beautiful. Even when he’d resented her cheery nature, he’d found her so, damn pretty.

“Mitsuri?” he heard himself say. But his mind, fatigued and slow, was finally catching up with his realization. She was no longer breathing. Fuck. Fuck, she wasn’t breathing.

His hands moved numbly, trying to push air back into her lungs. Hoping to make her heart beat again, pleading with himself to revive her. Something warm and wet pricked his eyes. He thought he was bleeding again but a drop fell, branding itself on Mitsuri’s skin. He wiped it away shakily. Oh, fuck, he was crying now. His vision blurred as he bent down low, face buried in Mitsuri’s chest. The last of her heat was fading, disappearing quickly. Everything was cold. The sun, though providing him with light to see her, had failed to preserve her warmth. Had failed to keep her alive and breathing and. And, really, it was his own fault. He was sobbing. As if it would help. His shoulders shook. He’d done this before, had knelt on the ground and held someone equally, fruitlessly begging for them to return. And somehow, it felt as if Mitsuri was disappearing, too. Her body was merely the carcass of someone who had been, but who’d never be again. She was gone. Mitsuri was gone.

<3

Sanemi should’ve died. There had been a higher chance of him dying than of him living. But he seemed to defy everything. He awoke. Aching, coughing, barely hanging in there. But he was awake. And alone.

His head hurt, and he couldn’t place his surroundings. He was already slipping back into unconsciousness when a single thought slipped passed him. He should’ve died.