"Personal responsibility," Kuronue rasped softly, his forehead finding a nook to rest against somewhere near Kurama's throat. "Y'taught me that, ne ..? Got it back though." His hand lifted, fingers tangled tight through the broken chain of his pendant. "Not worth dyin' for. Thought about that a lot."

He coughed and pressed closer, breathing in the scent of blood and roses. Cloying, familiar, necessary. He couldn't recall what he'd done, how he'd lived, before that scent had so invaded his life. A desperate and meaningless existence.

A life worth throwing away in an instant, he'd wondered if that was his destiny. Breaking away as part of the tail of Kurama's shooting star, soft and sparkling dust in his wake, propelling him higher. That was worth dying for, never gems and trinkets, no matter how sentimental. "It's my fault. Ain't yours, y'can't say that."