#xinwriting

[xincountry]

a lesson in recollection

Somewhere, a corpse is reanimated. Chigiri is doing his best to keep it alive, for reasons beyond solving a case he’s had on his hands for years.

(or: Kunigami Rensuke dies in winter, is resurrected in spring, and lives in summer.)

kunigami rensuke x chigiri hyoma | T | 6.8k words

- for @bluelockhalloweek day 2: resurrection

- magical realism: sorcerer chigiri, corpse kunigami

- resurrection shenanigans. ambiguously pre-slash but there is love

- also ambiguous/open ending but its hopeful! promise!

[xincountry]

in light of recent events (bllk manga 282 - 283. im crazy about them) i wanted to post a part of the rinsagi zombie apocalypse au i was writing for bllk halloweek (and didnt finish. oops)

implied major character death, rinsagi typical freakishness, descriptions of a zombie bite wound. also guns

The zombie bites a huge chunk off Isagi's shoulder.

Rin punctures the zombie in the head with a bullet—feeling rage melt into dread, as Isagi crumples on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder with a hand. Blood spills all over it, trickling down and pooling at his elbow, a slow and painful drip, and Rin cannot feel his legs when he rushes to Isagi's side.

"I have you," Rin says, even though he can already spot the signs of Isagi losing himself, the hyperventilating, skin growing cold under Rin's touch. The sweat everywhere.

How everyone keeps leaving; Sae, Bachira, and now—

Rin brings his mouth to Isagi’s wound.

Isagi hisses. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

Rin doesn’t hear, doesn’t care. He sucks as much of Isagi’s blood as he can from the wound, almost drinking it, infection on his tongue, and at some point it gets too much, maybe. He spits it out on the sidewalk beside them.

Isagi groans, back arching, either away from Rin’s mouth or into it—and Rin wishes he was, wishes for vastly different circumstances. Wishes that this wound was one he made. “This won’t work, Rin. It’s an infection. Either kill me now, or run—”

“I’m not letting you turn before me,” Rin says, voice hoarse. There’s blood on his lips. There’s blood in his mouth. “You promised you would kill me. You have to be the one to do it.”

“Didn’t you say—you would, too? Kill me?” Isagi says. "You promised."

Rin closes his eyes, breathing heavily. His mouth hovers over Isagi’s wound. Blood and iron and rot. He imagines Isagi Yoichi, with purple veins and discoloured skin, green and grey and black in places that aren’t supposed to be. Eyes white.

An Isagi less alive. An Isagi less interesting. An Isagi reduced to a lump of mindless flesh.

Rin bites his cheek. “I lied. I can’t do it.” I can’t look at you like that.

“Do you realise what you’re asking of me, then? Rin, get up,” and Isagi pulls on Rin’s hair, even if the strength of it is weakened by the bite. “Get up, Rin! You have a life after me. You have a life beyond me. Live it.” Isagi growls.

“No!” and Rin is startled with how much he means it. Isagi must be too. He’s still beautiful: wide-eyed, despite the wound on his shoulder. Looking at him like biting into a cyanide pill, a heart-stopping brain death.

“If you turn, I turn. That’s my new rule. My new promise.” Rin brings his mouth to Isagi’s wound, lapping at it, ignoring the taste of metal on his tongue. Urging everything into his bloodstream. Wants to cauterise the wound with his own tongue. Wants to be burnt by him. These are the things that have made him stronger, before—wanting to have an effect on Isagi, wanting to be affected by Isagi. These are the things that will be his undoing.

There’s a hand in Rin’s hair, gently stroking, and then pulling him up into a kiss. Isagi heaves a heavy sigh, and Rin captures the feeling of life on his lips. Blood and saliva—Isagi licks into his mouth, like trying to clear Rin of the infection. Salvation. Once, Rin had wished for something like this: for someone to save him.

Rin feels Isagi push cold metal into his palm, and then guide his hand to the side of his temple. Isagi’s hands are cold and wet with blood and rotting. It’s hard to swallow.

“Close your eyes,” he hears Isagi whisper. His face is so close, flushed and pale at the same time, and Rin desires to commit it to memory. “It’s like you’re simply teaching me how to aim. Remember?”

The things Rin has seen of zombies—of humans, turning, that moments before it they turn delirious. Manic, even. And Isagi is here, purpling veins, cold sweat, bleeding, and still coherent, if to just tell Rin to kill him.

It's that easy, Rin hears himself say in a memory, revolver in hand—Isagi's, Rin remembers—before it became his. The makeshift target infront of them with a bullet through the head. What Rin means, now: It's that so easy to lose someone.

Maybe Isagi closes his eyes. Rin wouldn't know, because he's closed his too.

The gunshot that follows is the most deafening sound for miles.