Kenshin followed her gaze to the sakabatou, keeping his own gaze trained down when she lifted hers back. He stayed silent a moment longer, moving only to finally return the sword to its sheath, before he looked back up through half-lidded eyes.

And reached for her hand and pulled her closer.

Kenshin wasn't looking into her eyes, but he spread her palm flat, ran his thumb over the insider of her wrist, felt her pulse. He moved up, brushing along her arm until he could feel the pulse in her neck instead, let his hand stay there, shift to cup her jaw, feel her breathing, feel her warmth.

"...I know."

And then he gasped and staggered backwards, images flashing unbidden through his mind: bodies, blood, snow, the need to protect that warmth and that pulse he'd felt, the uncertainty of what he would do if he couldn't—who had done it, why wasn't he there, what hadn't Saitou told him...