Marked

He knows the markings are a curse.

Subaru examines his black gloves, the ones that always hide his hands and the inverted pentagrams marked upon them. It has been so long since he has taken them off that he wasn't even sure what his own hands looked like anymore.

(hands that are stained by the kisses of an assassin)

The gloves were a constant reminder, stark against his milky skin, a way for him to recall that even for an onmyoji, he was not normal. He was special; he was different.

(he was marked, an unwilling participant in a deadly bet)

He was set aside, one step off from the rhythm that everyone else followed. He was an exception to a rule that was ages old: the Sakurazukamori shall kill all those that sees them at their work.

(but Seishiro broke that rule, just once, just for him)

In his mind, he knows that the markings are a curse. But in his heart, he can't help but feel that the markings are a blessing. They are what brought him and Seishiro together, if only for a short time, and although the outcome of that year was only a nearly insufferable loss, Subaru can't help but to be thankful.

(and if he strains his memory hard enough, he can still feel the coolness of Seishiro's lips brushing his skin, the cursed skin on the back of his hands)

A/N - A short drabble that just fell into my mind after I read Tokyo Babylon. It's such a depressing manga T.T