WEEKEND PRACTICE

Tummy kisses + Saeyoung + ticklish MC sounds just perfect 🥺

regard | saeyoung choi

WARNINGS: she wants to take care of him baybee, saeyoung never worries about his health, they kiss!!!  WORD COUNT: 1.3k  AUTHOR’S NOTE: if i’m going to be honest, this request had me kinda stumped at first, but i ended up really liking how it turned out!! i hope you do too!

“You’re late.” Her voice is surprisingly sharp. 

He’s standing in the doorway brushing his teeth, watching as her silhouette rises from the mattress. The blankets hang around her shoulders, strands of hair sticking up in the light spilling from the bathroom. His hand freezes, leaving his toothbrush to dangle from his mouth. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I got really sidetracked and—” He can see the frown pressing against her lips. 

He’d promised to be done working by midnight and truthfully, he’d had every intention to keep that promise. He set a dingy little alarm clock in front of him and glanced over at it from time to time, his fingers still hovering over the keys, but that didn’t seem to help. 

Now, it’s well past three in the morning, and the shadow of her face is dripping with disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His feet are cold against the tile as he fidgets, watching her fall back onto the pillow. 

It’s not that she isn’t understanding—she always is. It’s that dark circles are running rampant under his eyes and he can’t remember the last time he saw the sun. It’s that she’s been begging for him to eat anything other than chips for the last week, and there’s still a half-empty bag on his desk. It’s that he can hear the patter of her feet around the empty bunker and though she claims to be more than content with the life they have, she must be bitterly lonely. 

He knows she’s worried about him more than anything else, so as he rinses his toothbrush under the sink and stuffs it into the holder, guilt settles into his stomach. 

He’s silent as he slips into bed next to her—an unusual thing. He likes to ask about her day, to hear her voice, to know about the little things she wants to talk about before he falls asleep. But tonight she’s facing away from him—leaving nothing more than a mound of blankets and the light sputter of her breaths. 

His gaze follows her back. It’s the only sliver of her frame still visible from outside the comforter, her spine contorting each time she breathes. He waits to see her chest settle—to see the heaviness of sleep fall upon the blanket. It never comes. She’s wide awake. 

For a moment, he hesitates to move. His shoulders are wound tightly around his back and the words seem to fall just before his lips, so when he attempts to reach forward, a hand hangs in the air between them. Long fingers stretch towards the exposed skin of her back, twitching at the idleness of his hesitation. 

“Saeyoung?” It’s like she can tell he’s there. There’s no heat lingering from his body or noise shuffling between the sheets; he supposes she just knows him well enough to know that he can’t leave her like this. That he hates when she’s upset with him. 

The sound of her voice is enough to propel his hand forward, fingertips making contact with her skin. He can feel the muscles deep in her back ripple under his touch, leaving her body to shiver in the dark. 

His mouth opens to say something, but he hesitates, instead allowing his hand to further trail her back. At first, it’s a gentle movement—fingers crossing vertebrae of her spine—but his wrist falls, tracing the line of her torso. As he passes her hips, her body jerks, a huff pouring from her throat. 

She’s laughing. 

The shadow of a smile, a devilish little thing, claws at Saeyoung’s cheeks as he does it again. Her movements are smaller this time—her body more prepared for the sudden jolt—but this does nothing to stop the sound that falls from her lips. It’s not quite a full laugh, not even a giggle, really, but it’s enough to keep him going. 

“Babe.” Her voice is stern but there’s a gentleness that hangs with the term of endearment. She swats softly at him, but he’s quick to catch her wrist, placing it back in front of her. 

His hands spread out along her sides and suddenly he’s tickling her. He can see her so clearly trying to resist, but laughter is spreading in the air and the comforter is falling off her shoulders. She turns, half facing him, and suddenly he pounces. 

He props himself up on his elbows, trapping her underneath him, loose curls hanging from the sides of his face. She twists haphazardly, catching her breath. 

“I’m really sorry.” It’s the third time he’s said it and the first time he can see her reaction, but he knows where it’s going. Her face falls and she sighs, tucking her arms around her chest. 

He loves her, oh how he loves her. She was just so terribly angry with him a moment ago, and with good reason, but all he can think about is how he loves her. And when her breath is warm against his face, pricked with laughter and annoyance, he loves her. And when he kisses the top of her hips to watch the way she squirms, he loves her. 

His lips dot the space between her waist and her ribs, leaving more stifled laughter to fall from her mouth. Her hands rest on his shoulders, fingers squeezing with every new fit of breaths, the only semblance of resistance that her body produces. 

“Saeyoung, please I’m—” Her chest heaves in gentle laugher, her legs kicking under him. “I’m literally gonna throw up.” 

He pauses, eyes glancing up to meet hers, a smile spread wide across his face. The anger is washed from her tone now. She says his name with the soothing lilt she always does, and though he knows she’s still upset—he also knows it’s more concern than anger. 

“Forgive me.” He kisses her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. His lips are lazy and his kisses messy, but he can still feel her skin blooming beneath each one. “I was stupid and I should’ve listened to you, but I lost track of time again, and I—I’m sorry I disappointed you.” 

“You never disappointed me.” She takes his face in her hands, brushing loose strands of red hair with her thumbs. “I was worried, I am worried. I know you’re capable of keeping yourself afloat, but I’m upset with you because I want you to be more than afloat.” The pad of her thumb swipes just above his temple and he shivers. “I want you to be happy, Saeyoung. Happy and safe and in bed at a semi-normal human time.” 

He chuckles in reply, but there’s something so genuine about it—something he’d never give anyone else. 

He wants to kiss her again—god he wants to—but there’s this softness to her expression with her eyes blown wide that he can’t risk tainting. Her cheeks are flushed from laughter, light breaths spilling from her lips, but he hovers there, a gentle gaze falling over her features through the dark. 

They linger for a moment, the space between them heavy and the room growing warm, until her lips brush his cheek. Butterfly kisses scratch at his browbone, her mouth warm against his skin, and suddenly Saeyoung begins to melt. 

Oh, how he can see the way she cares. When she begs him to set alarms for midnight and worries so endlessly about him all the time, he can see how she cares. When she kisses him like her lips could tear him apart and her arms wrap around his neck, robbing him of all balance on his elbows, he can see how she cares. 

And when they finally crash into each other, neither daring to move from their place, a pile of limbs forming in the middle of their mattress, he can see it—and it’s never been clearer to him. 

IN THE WINDS OF TIME, KAEDEHARA KAZUHA 🍃

“those eyes used to know me, it’s been way too long. you are the moon and the stars and all i gaze upon, time won’t ever move slowly, what are you waiting on? say the word and i’ll be yours, you know i never forgot.” full playlist.

note: i know some of you are definitely thinking, oh god she's back again. and yeah!! finally!! dedicated to my good friend aka kazuha's wife @kazuharem !!!! i’m so glad to have been here to celebrate such a huge birthday milestone with you, and i hope life takes you in only good directions from here on out <3 elaina my beloved i hope you enjoy this very belated gift!!! i said i’d write your obituary here, but maybe i’ll leave it for the end so you get a proper send-off hm? additionally, i just want to preface that most of this was written before i actually did the archon quest, so some minor details are incorrect in canon, but don’t affect the story at all :)

synopsis: kazuha is the freest soul you have ever known — parts of him linger in the breeze, in the warm air and flowing waters of inazuma alike. but tied together once as friends, your relationship had turned sour upon the dire event of his friend’s death at the shogun’s hands. years later, you are stuck under the shogun’s jurisdiction in a job you once thought would give you a second chance; a position where your oldest and dearest friend is supposed to be the enemy. yet, as quickly as things had initially changed, your life flips on its head the moment the fatui are involved in the century-old conflict. holding information that could save thousands, it’s up to you whether you’d like to keep your position amongst the country’s elites, or find your way back to the side of the man who had once offered you the world.

warnings: pls set aside time for this monstrosity, a lil bit of the misunderstanding trope, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, descriptions of a wound to the chest, happy ending :D<3

word count: 21,000

in the past, when the maple leaves first began to pick up on the battlefield, it had only ever been instinctual to turn your head the other way. no one questioned how the superficial breeze never reached you, comrades never realised that the chance to pick crimson leaves from your hair always seemed to escape them. it’s as if there was a discrete force constantly shielding you from it — but, the answer has always been far more simple than that.

the man who travelled with the wind would never harm you.

distinct blazing eyes caught yours under the ocean blue sky. his footwork was light and intricately wrapped in the small blades of wind, silhouette lost in the blinding light of the midsummer sun.

you were only a newly-ranked general at that time, likely not even on the resistance’s radar yet -- but the sight of kazuha sent both nerves and a painful ache shooting through your chest.

you remember hesitantly ordering a retreat, fighting back a scoff. kazuha had no doubt planned to make quick work of the soldiers from the beginning — but seeing your face must have spurred him to trample the visionless soldiers like bugs.

he had wanted to show you what he was capable of.

it had been the same wretched cycle since the day you’d chased him from your life for good — a stray gaze. an empty threat. anonymous letters between the months. with one mistake, what used to be a smooth friendship easily twisted into strained alliance.

but neither grudge nor duty is enough to erase the past. no matter the kind of resentment he feels towards you, he is just as unable to harm you as you are him. the odds are against both of you in a complicated dance wherein you cannot touch, wherein he is still the same unfortunate boy he was all those years ago; just as you are still the same unlucky girl.

but that had been almost nine months ago, one of the last times you’d seen kazuha in the flesh. despite yourself, you still find yourself hoping on sleepless nights that he has somehow turned his life into something he can be proud of.

it had been a great shock to see the kaedehara family fall. occasionally, you think that it may have been only a pipeline that has gotten kazuha to the status of a fugitive -- but you had seen him that day, running from the horrific scene painting the tenshukaku. he is guilty only by association.

the sun falls quickly over inazuma city that night; the place where it had all begun.

in the middle of making your routine walk to the precinct of the shogun’s abode, you have the misfortune of coming upon kujou sara doing the same.

the raiden’s bloodhound is among the most resilient of the shogunate’s underlings, and it is hard to keep your thoughts from her more often than not. being someone with blurry convictions, her watchful eyes on you are constant.

as you attempt to brisk past her, she falls into step beside you.

“good afternoon,” she greets you kindly, though pointedly does not use your proper title. “I hope the day has treated you well so far?”

you force a polite smile— the very same you offer uncooperative diplomats. “yes, thank you. i hope the same of you.”

kujou sara nods, conversation dissolving into the sound of heels on stone. at the very least, you admire her agility in the geto sandals she is never seen without. to manage to flawlessly keep up appearances even when carrying out duties is an enviable thing. but, that tends to be the extent of your jealousy. you have nothing more to grasp from a woman of such governmental wiles.

“we are a team, that is indisputable.” she says suddenly, continuing to look forward even as you turn your head. “but during this conference, i will be the sole member contributing to the conversation.”

her abrupt order strikes you where it hurts. kujou sara’s dislike for you as her partner is deep-rooted, though you had never expected her to hold you back so blatantly. perhaps it is out of good faith, perhaps it is a jab, but in either scenario, it is disgustingly fortunate.

very few members of the inazuman council are ignorant of your past relations to a certain fugitive in the sangonomiyan resistance. to call a conference to deal with the assent of the rebels is no small issue in anyone’s mind, but it is risky for you to speak on most issues concerning it.

you push down a grumble as you nod. though you are only one of the generals by title, making an attendance at the logistical conference is at the very least necessary. certain days you suspect that you walk on a tightrope before the rest of the higher-ups, one mistake away from being shipped back out to the fishing island you grew up on.

but you are intent on keeping today from being one of them.

“i thank you all for appearing this evening.” the leader of the raiden shogun’s regime stands before a long pine table some minutes later, nodding indiscriminately to the small group that occupies the tatami mats. hot tea had since been placed in front of you at your arrival -- a stout cup of sencha warms nearly everyone’s hands. “it was certainly a lot to ask you all here as of recent events, but i believe that to fix this issue, going to the heart as fast as possible may be the only way we persevere.”

quiet murmurs run amongst the familiar faces. you frown.

“i will get started immediately, then.”

when the woman turns around to begin her proposal, you dip your head. nothing she says is anything you want to hear. so, despite the obvious stares you feel boring into you, you continue to count the stray leaves in your tea, along with the seconds that pass in your silence.

“if there is a chance to catch them in a place they aren’t expecting it, this would be the optimal route to take.”

the words pull you out of a daze as your brows tighten.

“you seem awfully excited for this plan, general ___. would you care to give your insight?”

your eyes whip to your partner beside you, backed by rage and formidable confusion. kujou sara knows exactly what kind of person you are, and exactly how to push you in the directions you will twist and turn the most.

when you don’t reply, a tinge of a smile peeks at the corner of her lips.

“your lineage is pure, but your mind is far from it.”

taking a deep breath, you face her with the air you are meant to conquer with -- the you that forced you away from your best friend, but had been the sole solidifier of your modern life.

“on the contrary, my mind is the reason i’m sitting here.” you remind her. “can you say the same?”

but the you that has solidified your modern life is nothing more than a rotten liar.

when your mind goes to the hydro vision in the locket on your neck, you associate it with not the ceaseless hunt for visions in inazuma, but the people who fight to make sure that you are able to keep it. the vision hunt decree may have been easy for no one, but it was harder for you — being forced to choose your side so quickly, so haphazardly, it very well could have meant the end of your life.

the reason that you are reluctant to provide the resistance with criticism is because you agree with them; you agree with him. you had always agreed with kazuha, but it had been the split second decision to hide your support that had driven a wedge so deep between you.

you hadn’t been in contact since you’d left ritou on the announcement that you were joining the shogun’s army -- but back then, it hadn’t meant anything. kazuha was merely a wanderer. a dear friend’s position in life meant little to him, so long as he could see you every so often.

musou no hitotachi is a powerful weapon, tales of it woven in folklore and urban legends alike. no mortal had laid eyes upon it in the last century, making it a weapon of high reverence, and even higher anticipation. you had never known the man in red that appeared on the shogun’s doorstep that day, demanding an audience with the archon. but knowing his fate, you are glad that he remains a stranger.

you were to do nothing but stand there, watch as a new recruit while he subjected himself to something no one has ever come out of alive. even now, you need to remind yourself that there is nothing you could have done to change the outcome -- but the glint in his eyes is something that you will never forget.

though, even with all of those variables, it was kazuha’s sudden appearance that had taken you off guard the most. you hadn’t expected to see him so soon after you’d bid him farewell, most of all not jumping in to snatch the man’s dying vision.

the shogun’s body had barely acknowledged his presence, however, the careful turn of her gaze had suggested she was staring right at him. kazuha was gone as quick as he had come, running where not even a god could follow -- yet where another person very well could.

an elegant outstretched hand suddenly signalled you in his direction. terrified, you remember the exact moment the shogun’s eyes met yours for the first time, as if daring you to question her. your breath hitched.

stiff legs had taken you in the direction kazuha had run off, faster than you’d ever ran before into the haze of the midsummer evening.

it was not hard to discern the alleyways he’d ducked into. kazuha had unintentionally left a silent trail that only you could recognise, a mix of wind and sweet scents that drove your mind half crazy. ducking under the low-hanging balconies, you caught sight of a flash of red and skidded to a sudden stop.

kazuha was breathing hard at the end of the alley, chest rising and falling in a gruesome manner as he stared up at the ledge of the wall. you were in a similar state, forced to take small steps towards him even as his friend’s dead vision dropped in the dirt.

he could easily get away. kazuha’s anemo vision has always been a thousand times more practical than yours. yet, even so, he levelled the playing ground himself.

“did you lead me here on purpose?” you asked quietly, stomach curdling as he still refused to physically acknowledge you. his adam’s apple bobbed.

“kazuha?”

his head whipped to yours with inane speed, teeth gritted. “what about you? are you here to arrest me?”

“i… don’t know. she told me to follow you but i-” you cut yourself off, unaware of the way his eyes softened. “kazuha, what’s going on?”

kazuha’s attention lingered on you for a few heavy moments before a sigh tumbled from his mouth. impromptuly, he came closer to you, running a stray hand through his hair. your shoulders relaxed at the familiar trust he placed in you.

“my friend, he had a foolish proposition, and i never thought he would honour the promise, but-” he choked slightly on his words as his attention met the bleak vision on the ground, hand dropping from his head. “he left this morning without saying a word.”

kazuha nodded along to his own story as he took in a deep breath, exhaling unsteadily. “he was already dead when i arrived.”

your eyes shut as a frown took over your features. “i’m sorry. i should have tried harder to stop the shogun. maybe then-”

“and make me lose two people?” he shook his head, taking your hands in his with a pleading look in his eye. it caught you off guard. “no, never go against her. please, ___. promise me.”

“i-” a surprised laugh escaped you. “i don’t have much of a choice. she’s my superior now, kazuha.”

the reminder is a grim one for him as he lets go of your hands, a frown steadily coming to his lips.

“then-” the frown persisted, as if it was a manifestation of the mess of thoughts whirling through his head. “why don’t you come with me? they would say i took you, and we could figure this out together. just like we always have.”

you remember kazuha’s offer stopping you clearly. you could witness the world together, living off of wild fish and fruit, being forever free of the shogun’s iron clutches -- it sounded like a perfect deal, and with everything in you, you wanted to say yes.

“i.. i’m sorry. but i don’t know if that’s a good choice.”

why didn’t you say yes?

you hew the memory, forcing down a grimace.

“either way,” you lament, turning a conceding eye on your partner. “we are both here because we are capable somehow.”

kujou sara’s eyes narrow almost implicitly, as if to warn you for a future conversation. the council members around you don’t seem extremely invested in your one-sided rivalry. often, this is how chunks of meetings tend to go; sara acting as if she is still on the front, and you redirecting the blows elsewhere.

there is no doubt in either of your minds that it is a closed interaction, not affected by anyone else, but even you can recognise when it is too much for those around you. “though, i wouldn’t say excited. i have no opinion on this plan in particular.”

you maintain a straight face even though everyone can see through the lie.

resigned to listening to the rest of the meeting dawdle on, you drown out your colleague’s voices in favour of the void that occupies your mind.

the first breath of fresh air that enters your lungs that night afterwards is almost therapeutic— no longer are you pinned between duty and heart, but your time spent outside of it is still unfortunately limited. the moon hangs high in the sky as you walk back to your place for the night. inevitably, you pass the same alleyway from your earlier thoughts.

your lips twist in thought.

the shock on kazuha’s expression after you’d told him your verdict is something that you will never forget. with all of his heart, he has always been understanding, but something about your rejection must have scratched him deep — because as your stomach plummeted, he let out a shuddering sigh.

“why not?” he asked, adam’s apple bobbing. “what’s so important that you can’t leave behind? the shogun?”

“kazuha, that’s not fair. as much as i want to, i finally have a stable job, and a future to look forward to. i can’t give that up just for one person and a chance.”

his lips thinned, eyes shooting back and forth before landing regretfully on you. “forgive me. but it’s not just one person, it’s me.”

your lips parted, a processing look flooding your eyes.

“kazuha. i will always be with you, but i can’t just pick up and leave!”

“why not?!” kazuha gestured his hand, shaking his head. he was certainly blinded by something that night, something so important that it overtook his better judgement. “what if i lo-“

he cut himself off with a grunt.

“what if you what?” you repeated, taking a step forward. “if you have a reason for me to come, let me hear it. it’s pointless to continue if you won’t say it.”

kazuha was silent.

“i get that you’re angry.” you looked away, lips twisted as a bitter feeling piped in your gut. “but it’s not my fault your friend decided to walk into death by the shogun’s hand. you can handle one other thing not going your way.”

presently, a light breeze takes your hair as the memory comes to an end. if you concentrate hard enough, you can almost perfectly recall the feeling of his shoulder brushing against yours as he moved to leave. for years, that night was the last time you’d seen him.

a biting sensation envelops your head every time you think about the hurtful words you’d let yourself say in the heat of the moment.

your eyes trail down to the uniform over your chest, the signature violetgrass purple colour of the shogunate’s army — and the symbol of those who have always been the enemy.

clutching a hand to the fabric, you sigh.

“what am i doing?”

you mumble, eyes trailing down into the barren alleyway. any words you could have said are lost in the winds of the past, conceivably just as your dear friend has always been.

shrugging off your jacket with the shogunate’s emblem imprinted on it, shaky hands tie it around your waist. you’ve regretted the words you said that day a thousand times, yet when you have reminisced in the past, no reaction has been quite as monumental as this.

perhaps your life has always been an anomaly.

a part of your old reasoning still rings true: it would be difficult to change most things about your present life without outright deserting all you know. yet, in this moment, all you want to do is just that.

suddenly, you let out a hiss, hand flying to the locket that holds your vision. it burns to the touch. without thinking, you consider ripping the chain, but with a grumble, you just pull your jacket back up.

the archons are laughing at you from somewhere in teyvat, and it disgusts you.

days pass as the idea ferments in your head. but as the whirlwind of preparations being made continues to grow larger, it gets more and more difficult to hide your displeasure.

one night you are left to your own devices completely, not needed anywhere and not expecting anyone on your doorstep. it is the first time you have let yourself become completely alone with your thoughts since the shogun regime’s presentation.

a split second idea turns into a walk. a walk turns into grabbing your bag on the way out, containing everything you couldn’t bear to part with. in the deepest part of your mind, your intentions are clear. but, the nerves that occupy your heart are keen on continuing the ruse.

quick steps bring you to the main street of inazuma city. shops and people alike bustle in the streets around you, perfectly masking your appearance — until suddenly, a light hand rests on your shoulder.

you turn to meet the apprehensive eyes of a semi-familiar guard as he retracts his hand quickly. a nervous laugh escapes him.

“my apologies ma'am, you were not responding to your name.” his bows his head slightly, and your brows furrow. “general, ms. sara is requesting your attention.”

your eyes widen a fraction. “now?”

he nods, gaze politely turned from the bag over your shoulder. “yes. she is waiting at a spot nearby uyuu restaurant.”

lips thinning, you thank him and take off in the opposite direction. steps now heavy with a different purpose, you see kujou sara almost immediately after stepping within the vicinity.

her work clothes have been abandoned in favour of a more casual getup, comprised of solid colour clothing accessorised only by the red tengu mask on her head. something in your chest curls as your body moves forward robotically. she must not be expecting you on official business, or else she would still be in formal attire — but a kujou sara wanting to meet off-duty is much more frightening than the normal alternative.

you push the bag over your shoulder to hide behind your back as you sit across from her.

“sara,” you greet with a polite smile. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

she mirrors the smile, expression relieved. kujou sara is truly a different person when the weight of the shogun’s approval is lifted from her shoulders.

“i apologise for calling you out so suddenly. I assume you were in the area?”

you nod, subconsciously tucking your bag further behind you. she pays no mind to it.

“yes, i was out attempting to run errands.” you lie. “though, please do not worry, this meeting is of no inconvenience.”

“i’m glad.” she says this, but the words seem oddly ornamental. then, as if on cue, she casts a sidelong glance before leaning forward.

“i need your assistance with something of utmost importance, are you able to spare a few longer minutes?”

curiously flickers in your thoughts, as if mimicking the fast birth of a flame. you nod mindlessly.

kujou sara takes in a breath before continuing again; “it’s about the rebels.”

you bite back a frown. it seems they will never let down on their duty to be a reminder of your mistakes.

“go on.”

truthfully, it is hard to focus on your partner’s words. she is concise and thorough in her explanations, detailing each problem and each solution she has deemed necessary. but in your head, all you can focus on is the fact that the sangonomiyan rebels are beginning to win. they are taking back parts of inazuma one at a time, slowly but surely.

“our initial plans may not hold water any longer.” she explains, and you snap to attention. “so, i have elected to take matters into my own hands.”

your brows raise quizzically. “your own-?”

“you must know this:” your partner interrupts. “i am unable to give specific details at the moment. but i’ll need your help with the allies i plan to contact when the opportunity arrives.”

sighing, you shrug. “i can’t make any promises, but… i will try my best to lend you a hand.”

kujou sara leaves first, speaking of other arrangements and responsibilities to take care of. yet, it all seems to bounce off of you. the bag behind you cuts like a knife into your skin, a sharp reminder of the plans you had been on your way to enacting. would it be fair to leave now? to arrive at the rebel camp and make friends, only to have them potentially swept away by whatever plan of kujou sara’s you didn’t stick around to hear?

you frown as you sweep around the cup of water a waitress has since sat down in front of you. the crowd bustles around you as a gentle wind takes through the streets, carrying the scent of blooming petals and flowing waters -- a peaceful stagnance that you suspect will last even through the most tumultuous of inazuma’s conflicts. human lives are but fleeting specks in the winds of time. comparable even to the atoms that float through the breeze, each one is small but mighty. and you cannot give up a single one, no matter how seemingly insignificant.

the decision is made as you swing your bag over your shoulder, leaving not a trace behind at the scene.

as night falls not much later, you are left to stare at your belongings that peek out of the bag. it sits away from your reach, discarded haphazardly on the floor as if you mean to return to it.

i do, you remind yourself. if you are to seek shelter with the sangonomiyan rebels, you must at least bring a gift.

however, this gift is one that needs time to develop. there are days wherein you hear nothing but tidbits from your partner, whispers about making progress or woes on how much she looks forward to the plan being complete. as time goes on, though, you are only more apprehensive to the strategy kujou sara plans to cook up. certain details are concerning, and you are never able to piece together a full picture.

an unwelcome surprise is a particular letter that had arrived one morning, handed off directly to you. it is somehow signed delicately yet thoughtlessly — though anonymous, it is infuriatingly in character for the wandering ronin. you resign to leave it unopened, stressed by the timing of it.

during the long nights, you wonder if some deep part of kazuha’s intuition expects you. or, perhaps he has always anticipated an eventual breakdown. for now, you can’t be too sure.

and at the seemingly snail-like pace kujou sara is coming along, you occasionally doubt you ever will be.

until almost two weeks later, when kujou sara pulls you aside. there’s an odd glint to her eyes that evening that sets your nerves alight almost immediately. but alongside the anticipation that plagues you, you can’t help her excitement that rubs off on you.

however, it’s extinguished quickly.

the soft summer wind whips against your face later that night as you make your escape. you have done so many things wrong in your life, catered to so many lies and regretted so many decisions — and maybe you don’t deserve the luxury of feeling that regret. but if you aren’t able to meet the resistance in time, the human in you will beg for forgiveness at the feet of anyone who will let go of the time you have lived unaware of your partner’s plans for them.

the fatui. you grimace as her words come back to mind. the crooked diplomats are no strangers to you, and their willingness to help with such a devious plot is of little surprise. the real surprise, however, had been sara’s own excitement for the sinister plan; whether blinded by the shogun’s wishes or something otherwise greater.

delusions are monstrosities that seep through a person’s bones, draining any driving force in favour of the weapon’s potential -- to wipe an enemy out from the inside is not necessarily a bad strategy, but to resort to such cruel measures? you have only heard of the harbingers using the weapons in action, namely woven in the tales of the famed traveller that seems to be traversing the lands. but you have never had the misfortune of coming upon one yourself.

it is one of the most inhuman strikes to make on an enemy that you could have imagined.

dread settles deep within your chest, and with everything in you, you truly wish that kazuha was not as far away as he is. perhaps then it’d be easier to contact him. but no amount of ‘maybe’s or ‘what-if’s can change the past. in this moment, you are to rely on only yourself to get where you need to be.

your sandaled feet hit the pavement hard, sending shots of pain up your calves and into the brace of your knees. the outskirts of inauma city are less densely populated, normally marked by a few straggling farmers here and there. but the sudden increase in guards only adds sweat to your brows. the optimistic part of you hopes that no one has caught wind of your plans yet, but the smart one knows that kujou sara is adept at what she does -- if it is up to her, you will not leave the island alive.

“stop!”

as if on cue, familiar shouts ring out behind you. you don’t dare to turn your head even as your lungs begin to burn. when the footsteps sound crushingly near, your hand reaches around haphazardly to the weapon on your back -- a long navy blue polearm, delicately engraved with the ocean’s waves.

it’s ironic, you think, as you come full circle. you point the weapon your enemy had carved by hand for you at the people you’d once regarded as something you could never leave behind. you may not have a place amongst anyone any longer, but the anonymous letter you’d discarded in your bag gives you hope regardless.

because no matter who your enemies are, there is still one person you can hope will see you for who you are.

“as your former commander, let it be known that i have no tolerance for those who hurt inazuma’s citizens.” you sneer, grip tightening on the polearm in your hands as you swipe away yet another wave with the water that materialises over your weapon.

if you are known as anyone in inzauma’s history, it will not be as somebody who let the world walk over them.

fujikabuto fort is a two day trek across inazuma’s beaches — you know the area well enough thanks to prior experience, but certain things still catch you by surprise. wandering ronins are quick to interrupt you in favour of attempting to steal what you have on you, and the thunder bane also proves to be a formidable enemy.

you never anticipated a warm welcome at the end of your short journey; how could they know of your circumstance, after all? yet it takes your bleary mind by surprise nonetheless to see the soldiers react to you in horror. it’s not a new reaction — and the faded shogun’s symbol over your jacket is not one that will go unrecognised.

but perhaps it would have been a better idea to discard it.

well versed in the hostility, you raise your hands amicably. you are far past starting conflict with these people, taking into consideration the goal you retain even as a resistance soldier begins to approach slowly. you nod your head in silent greeting. suddenly, your breath hitches as a sword is brought to your throat.

“what’s your business here?” the weapon digs lightly into your skin, and for appearance’s sake, you force down the desire to turn the man’s own sword on him. he is unrecognisable, likely only a soldier of normal rank assuming he got lucky enough to snag someone wearing the enemy’s colours.

gritting your teeth, you smile politely. “i’m here to see general gorou--”

the sword twitches, and for the life of you, you cannot hide your distaste.

“--on personal business.” you finish.

the man quirks a brow, casting a quick glance at the rest of the soldiers behind him. with the presence of his so-called upper hand, he must truly believe that he has the right to be cocky. a small smile turns the corner of his lips up. the soldier’s free hand comes up to wave another over, likely a subordinate of some kind by the way she scurries over.

“an enemy general…” his head twists in false wonder, the edge of his sword digging into your skin, you grimace as blood begins to pool beneath your skin.. “i reckon she’s worth a hefty price to us. what do we do with her?”

the other soldier seems confused. she looks apprehensively between you and the man, as if weighing the weight between sword and spear -- before finally, she shrugs.

“not what you’re suggesting. we should get her to general gorou.” she insists, ignoring the warning in the soldier’s eye. “whether she truly has business with him or is only bluffing, it will go over smoothly as long as he is dealing with it.”

the soldier tsks, nudging her with his shoulder as you look on. he whispers unidentifiably, still smirking even as the poor girl goes red.

“fine. do what you want.” she sighs, sparing you each one last glance before heading off in the opposite direction. watching her back, you can’t help but shake your head.

“i don’t think dragging her into your threats makes for a very charming impression.”

you wince as the sword presses further into your throat with a vengeance. the group of onlookers is slowly growing, especially as an itchy hand reaches for the polearm on your back.

you tilt your head back as to separate the metal from your skin, letting the blood drip from your throat as you take in a breath. “i’ll give you one last chance to direct me to your general. i won’t be letting a foot soldier order me around any longer than that.”

anger sparks in the man’s eye in the exact moment your hand finds the water-enveloped weapon on your back. but, largely distracted by the heat of the moment, he doesn’t notice the way that the wind begins to pick up in the same tense you do.

“hey, what are you-?”

you step back to look up into the sky early enough to expect what no one else does. but, namely, to leave room for the man that seems to plummet from the heavens. a flash of red and white comes down from above to adorn your vision with maple leaves and flurrying fabric.

nine months. nine months without contact and the moment kazuha’s eyes meet yours, you feel everything rushing back despite yourself. panic rakes in his gaze over you. yet, when he settles, it is not in front of you, but the soldier that had threatened you not even minutes ago.

“kazuha!” the soldier snaps to attention, garnering your concern. “welcome back to inazuma!”

“you were abroad.” you sigh, letting your hand drop from your weapon as your jaw loosens. “what a lovely greeting. i take it our separation stung?”

you’re stupid.

headstrong words leave your mouth, betraying everything you wish to say -- a depressingly common theme in your relationship.

kazuha doesn’t answer with words at first, only the slight tilt of his head. you pride yourself in the fact that he does not once make a move to reach for his sword.

“terribly. what are you doing all the way out here?”

“I already told that scumbag but--” you sigh bitterly, hand reaching up to wipe the blood off your throat. astute eyes follow your actions with an indiscernible look. “he stopped me from going any further.”

almost leisurely, kazuha takes a peek at the soldier behind him, who raises his hands in mock surrender.

“come with me.”

the solider casts a small smile at you as he begins to follow in your friend’s footsteps, kazuha then stops midstep. an amused look swims through his eyes.

“my apologies.” he bows his head. “not you, but her.”

there’s a beat of silence in the air that you swear is thick enough to slice with a sword. but, not sparing the soldier the privilege of another glance, you quickly pick up step behind kazuha. he just barely waits for you to catch up on the rigid path.

“care to explain?” kazuha asks, reaching into his pocket to casually pull out a red handkerchief and offer it to you. “you’ve only just arrived, and you’re already in trouble?”

hesitantly, you take it. kazuha speaks sparingly, and it doesn’t necessarily surprise you, but it hurts regardless.

“it wasn’t my fault. i walked up looking for general gorou and that bastard went straight to threatening me.” you grumble, using the cloth to carefully wipe the remaining blood off of your neck. fortunately, the man did not cut deep. “if you had been any later, you might’ve needed to set aside a sickbed.”

his brow quirks. “you’re here to see the general…?”

your eyes meet his from the side, pushing him to elaborate.

“is that the reason you didn’t open my letter?” kazuha asks.

“oh, that? it was the first one in months.” you frown, shaking your head as you step up and into the main part of the camp. “what was i to do? open it like i was expecting it?”

kazuha doesn’t answer. but it’s not a stunned silence — it’s almost as if he had been expecting the taunting response, simply waiting for you to finish.

embarrassed, you look away with a sigh. “how do you know i didn’t open it, anyway?”

he eyes you curiously.

“the words in the breeze brought the information to me.”

“…of course they did.” you grumble.

the terrain of the resistance’s camp is rugged, but you have to give credit where it’s due -- they were somehow able to carve paths out of the hard dirt, even if it is near impossible to avoid impaling your foot with a sharp rock at every other step. the tents are also small and spaced evenly, leaving room for privacy, if not total isolation when needed. impressed, you nudge kazuha as you walk.

“how long did it take you to set up this camp?”

he shrugs. “i’m not sure, i wasn’t here to do that.”

short and concise.

you nod in lapse of a response. of course, your relationship wouldn’t mend itself. but you had expected a better starting point -- it had been years since you’d told kazuha to leave, though you suppose something like that isn’t easily forgotten. taking a peek up at him, you frown.

he is indifferent to the utmost extent, expression flat as he leads you to where you need to go. the only indication that kazuha knows you walk beside him is the quick answer that comes after every pointless question you churn out.

when you stop in front of a particularly large tent, he finally speaks to you.

“then why come here?”

the words sting as your stomach drops.

“…because you were right.” you mumble, averting your eyes so you don’t have to meet his piercing gaze. “i never should have stayed.”

a few moments of silence pass before kazuha’s mouth attempts to open, but he is cut short by the sudden swiping aside of the tent’s curtains. surprised, you stare at a fox-eared man with wide eyes.

gorou is equally as stunned to see you. “general ___?”

awkwardly, you bow your head in acknowledgment.

“i don’t… go by that anymore.” you say, attempting to ignore the shock that permeates their composures. “please, just call me ____.”

a hand grabs your shoulder. “you don’t go by- what are you saying?”

you don’t look at kazuha even as he squeezes, addressing gorou rather than the confused man beside you.

“i had always planned to leave the shogunate eventually.” you admit, releasing a quiet sigh of relief as kazuha disconnects from you. “but now, they’re planning something terrible for you that i couldn’t stick around to see happen .”

gorou looks to the man beside you, as if searching for a second opinion. when kazuha nods, gorou leads you back in preparation for what could be the worst.

the tent is small but secure. the corners are meticulously closed with intricate knots to avoid sound escaping, and a single stove works to heat the space. in the middle of the cozy space is a table, over which hang compartments of what you can only assume are military papers.

“you can sit there.” gorou gestures to the seat farthest from the entrance, and you comply. you wish you could see the expressions on their faces now, but your entire story depends on your credibility — even the smallest signs of hesitance may be taken the wrong way.

silently, you peer up at them after you slip into the seat. gorou follows suit quickly, taking the seat across from you and knitting his hands over the table.

“so, tell me again why you’re here?”

unsure of how to begin, you lean forward on your palm. “well. have you received any care packages recently..?

gorou crosses his arms. “why should i share information like that?”

“general, for this to work, i’ll need you to trust me for now.”

“you have no authority here.” he reminds you, watching you as your words die in your throat. “you’re lucky i’m hearing you out at all.”

“and what if you do turn me away?” you quirk a brow. “are you prepared for the consequences of your actions?“

it’s a bold statement, and you’re prepared for him to take it as a threat — but this is something you must run by him no matter what. if he does not want your cooperation, he must at least think it would serve no harm to garner it.

gorou’s expression remains still. the only sign that he had heard you at all rests in the delicate set of his brows, alluding to the surprise he cannot show.

“what consequences do you mean?”

you recount your past few weeks in inazuma — the meeting wherein you’d realised your true feelings in accordance with the vision hunt decree, and your calculated promise to help kujou sara with her secret plan to fight the resistance.

carefully, you skirt around the details that involve resolving to find your way back to kazuha. but even as you explain the moment of mindset change you had always fought back, his lack of reaction is disappointingly honest.

“so, you meant to tell me,” gorou contemplates your words, eyes far off as he pieces your words together. “we’ll receive a package from an unknown sponsor in due time?”

you agree.

“and this package contains delusions from the fatui that are disguised as normal weapons?”

“yes, that’s what i was told.”

gorou shares a look with kazuha.

“___.” when gorou says your name, his tone is kind. your expression twists slightly at the sudden change. “you said that you had always been on the fence about the shogunate. am i correct?”

unsure where gorou is taking this, you nod.

“how… how sure are you that these thoughts weren’t visible to other people? is there any chance that this information was given to you intentionally?”

it’s a valid point you’d never considered.

“why-?” you speak without thinking. “it may have always been clear where my alliances were to some, but they would have no gain in pushing me out. you know how hard it is to replace a general!”

you barely notice how kazuha’s brows lift, but the minuscule action reminds you of the words you’d just let go — in a moment of desperation, you’d revealed the contradiction that had plagued you since years ago on that night. the one you’d initially intended to keep hidden until you were sure he was open-minded enough to hear it.

“e-either way.” you shut yourself down and avoid kazuha’s eyes. “if you’re suggesting that they would attempt to use my opposition as a test, they have trusted me many times before. besides, no amount of opposition would be enough to let me go. an army does well when there are different viewpoints.”

gorou agrees. “sure, but not if those viewpoints are in favour of a long-standing enemy.”

at a loss for words, you sit back.

“it’s not a lie…” you trail off, thinking of the moments you had caught with the tengu warrior. “kujou sara is a lot of things, but trust me when i say that she is not an actress.”

it pains you to see that he does not believe you:

time passes slowly from that point on — your story is quickly passed amongst the soldiers and largely doubted. most treat it as if catching wind of the fatui’s plot right as the resistance is gaining ground is too perfect to be a coincidence. but, the rational part of you knows how it sounds, so you waste no breath telling the people around you to believe it.

one morning a few days later, kazuha appears at your tent early.

“come on, sit up.”

drowsy, you do as he says without thinking. you’d been in the same shogunate jacket since the day you arrived, and though most of the resistance members are slowly getting used to your presence, one soldier named teppei has taken to being very kind to you. his golden eyes are resilient as they fearlessly tell off anyone that dares to pick on you.

you remember his hand descending upon your shoulder vividly. “everyone deserves a second chance!”

as kazuha approaches you presently, tired eyes meet him while he crouches next to your cot.

you offer him an incomplete smile, to which he has a hard time ignoring. “good morning.”

his lips twitch in response. “good morning.”

“hold out your arm?”

you oblige, giving kazuha your arm limply and he takes it. curiously, you observe him as he fishes a roll of medical tape out of his pocket. he rips a piece off with his teeth.

“you don’t fit in here with this.” he muses, taping over the shogunate symbol on your bicep with practiced hands. your lips thin in an attempt to hide the cry that works to escape your throat.

“…i know.” you whisper as your head bows slightly. kazuha’s eyes flit up to you, actions halting. “i don’t fit in here. i don’t fit in there.”

his lips thin slightly as he offers you a strained smile. “you will. i… believe your story. and when the others do too, i will help you gloat to each.”

your eyes trail down to his as dejection fills your voice. “i’m sorry, kazuha. i know you don’t want to hear it, but i’m so sorry.”

the blond pauses for a moment, but your heart drops when he looks away.

“there’s no need to apologise.”

as he turns his back to leave, you can’t help but wonder in what light he had meant it.

you have no choice but to go on in anticipation; anticipation for kazuha, for the package you pray the resistance receives, and for yourself. because in the meantime, there’s also no telling how much time will pass before you are able to find a comfortable position amongst your new peers.

you still don’t dare to approach kazuha on your own accord -- because it’s hard to know what to expect from the ronin, as any two interactions between you may be completely different. some days, you will find kazuha offering you an extra serving of the unagi he’d caught that morning, while others, he might only spare you a few stray conversations.

you make countless excuses for him in your head while truthfully, you cannot explain his tendencies. there may be patterns within the hot and cold actions, you cannot for the life of you figure it out. so, not knowing the interactions you will have, you leave the duty of seeking you out to him.

and while it may be true that his feelings seem mixed, he never fails to do so. and you would like to think that it means something.

much to kazuha’s dismay, you have not changed.

desperately, he tries to justify a dislike for you -- to doubt you like the resistance soldiers are within their right to, to refuse to separate your identity from the organisation you’d left him for, or even to hold a grudge against the things you’d said to him in the heat of the moment years ago. but most of all, to let go of the same wretched longing he’d clung to ever since that night he’d left you in inazuma city.

yet, it is obvious that your time with the shogunate has done nothing to you. welcome or not, you are here presently because you believe you’ve done the right thing.

even if it means you think you’ve lost him.

in the first hours of a morning nearly two weeks into your impromptu visit, kazuha catches himself attempting to piece together your impressions of the resistance so far. for life to change so suddenly must have been tumultuous. yet he has not once seen you complain -- likely to earn the trust of those around you, but in any sense, it is a telling self-restriction.

as the man sighs, the sun raises a hazy glare over his face. yashiori island is humid in the early summer months, taking on warmer traits while still retaining its cold winds that come in from the northwest watatsumi islands. kazuha leaps down carefully from the winding tree he sits on.

the breeze softens the rough edges of his mind as he walks back into the camp. the day is about to begin, and however ready he may be to face the tribulations, the refreshing air of the morning did not do as much for him as he had hoped.

“kazuha. i will always be with you, but i can’t just pick up and leave!”

the conversation kazuha has turned over in his head time and time again suddenly comes back to him. his lips twist slightly.

“why not?!” kazuha gestured his hand, shaking his head. there were too many things he needed to say, too many things he couldn’t find the words to share. his heart was blurry as a small but desperate sound left his lips. “what if i lo-“

he cut himself off with a grunt.

times have changed. looking at you, there is no doubt in his mind of this. yet whenever your sad gaze appears in his mind’s eye once more, gently spoken words tickle his ears as he recalls patching up your jacket. internally, kazuha wants nothing more than to know you again. if kazuha had loved you once, he thought it only natural to miss your companionship, but your closed-off demeanour had confused him short.

it seemed as if you wanted nothing to do with him, leaving the duty of starting most interactions to him. kazuha had hoped the nerves would die off with time, and though it is true that you have adjusted since you arrived, you are still somewhat stiff with him.

yet, when he noticed your scattered attempts to hide the emblem stitched on the shoulders, despite his better judgement, he had approached you at that point wanting to help. even if it meant he didn’t know what to expect of you.

to see his dear friend so easily break down in front of him, it foolishly gave him hope that you were thinking nothing different; because even as it hurt him, kazuha could not let go of the visage of you he remembered so well.

“would it not be romantically irresponsible of me to forgo acknowledging the scenery with a poem or two?”

gorou had thrown him a look of disbelief from beside him that day, lips curling up into a crooked smile that displayed his canines.

“it’s romantically irresponsible of you to not do a lot of things these days.”

kazuha hummed. the sea breeze took his bangs lightly, curling them against the salty touch of his skin. gorou is not only the leader he follows, but also a dear friend. consequently, the faulty skirmishes between the two of you on the battlefield did not go unnoticed to his trained eye.

“perhaps. though i am at least able to take care of this.”

the words carry a heavy meaning that has gorou slouching over with a groan.

“perhaps, you should take a break. i know every inch and crevice in inazuma reminds you of her, and i don’t think exposure therapy is a very good method for a poet such as yourself.”

a smile tugged at something inside of him.

“perhaps.”

he had departed from inazuma on gorou’s suggestion not only for the opportunity to travel amongst the crew of the alcor once again, but also to get away from the rolling hills that reminded him of nothing but the person he had abandoned. yet, upon kazuha’s eventual return, he had come to the very thing he had been avoiding. you had spit venom just as anyone would expect you to, and though he appreciated your defensiveness, it hurt to see.

not a day goes by where he doesn’t wonder what life would be like if he had taken the time to talk you down. so, kazuha had gone years of his life thinking that the raiden shogun had taken two of his dear friends’ lives that night. but as time went on, he began to realise that may not be true.

that afternoon, he comes upon you training alone. it’s not an uncommon sight, to see you doing something on your own -- eating, practicing with your polearm, even mere relaxation are activities little people will join you in. occasionally, there is a certain golden-eyed soldier that will bite the bullet and accompany you, though he has been noticeably restricted to a sickbed for the past few days.

“how are you faring doing such a thing alone?”

the words drop from his mouth as you pull back your polearm from the training dummy, stance inviting him to take another step forward.

“quite well, thank you.”

kazuha’s eyes draw to the weapon in your hand, the spear you obviously haven’t even considered parting with since your arrival. he recognises the carvings without even thinking about it, the pattern of the shallow lines familiar to his own hand. he had carved the weapon out of impulse, the face that you still hang onto it keeps him hopeful.

he gestures with a nod. “i wasn’t aware you still carried that around.”

you look over at the weapon that stands in the dirt, and back up at him. something in your gaze seems slightly cornered, though he’s relieved when you nod.

“of course, it’s a good weapon.” you say, tossing it up slightly to catch it in the air. your gaze goes to the same carvings that still catch his attention, and the corner of your lips quirk up with the shadow of a smile. “you’ll have to see sometime, i’ve gotten a lot better since we last met.”

kazuha quirks a brow. his sword is already sheathed neatly on his waist, ready to be drawn just as it always is.

“perhaps you’d like to try now, then?”

“...sorry?”

he nods, experimentally drawing his sword — you take a step back with surprised eyes. but, once you’ve understood his angle, you let yourself lean forward again with a small smile of relief.

“you sure? i won’t console you when you lose like i did back then.” shy laughter peeks through your words, and it delights him.

“there will be no need.”

though your weapons of choice differ, you have no trouble keeping up with his strikes. if anything, kazuha first thinks to commend you even if you do fall short -- between the two of you, you are the one at a disadvantage. over time, more techniques are noticeably rushed or backed by hesitance. and while it could be a mere product of using spear on sword, he can’t help feel as though it’s more than that.

“what you said that night to general gorou,” the sudden close clash of metal on metal allows him to catch your attention. “did you mean it?”

pushing back as best you can, your brows furrow. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“it was always clear where my alliances were to some.” kazuha recounts the words you’d said the night you first arrived, noting the way your face pales. perhaps you assumed he had forgotten.

“…and?” you thrust your weapon forward in an attempt to throw him off balance, but much to his surprise, you succeed. kazuha’s eyes widen as he takes a step backwards. sword reflexively faltering, he mistakenly gives you ample room to close the already small distance between you.

he offers you an impressed smile as you come within an inch of him, the sharp edge of your polearm just barely grazing the skin of his neck.

“what would you say if it were true?”

your brown eyes search his, devoid of anything but curiosity. a familiar flutter beats to life in kazuha’s chest, and knowing who it reaches for, he does not think to quench the crushing sensation. despite his best efforts to avoid the realisation, you have, at this point, certainly crawled into his heart once more.

letting out an unstable breath, his lips curl into a smile that is a beat too late, “...i would ask why you didn’t say it sooner.”

wiping a sheen of sweat from your forehead, you can’t help but groan to yourself. the sun works overtime on your exhausted body, as if administering a more physical punishment for the words you’d said to kazuha.

you’ve always been the type to get in over your head easily — though so far, your embarrassing jabs to him have only seemed to put him in a strangely good mood.

you thought you had finally figured him out, only for him to turn around and shatter your expectations like nothing. it’s like you’re children again, dancing around the notion of one another and waiting for a whisper of change.

but his friendlier demeanour is of no consequence to you. so, foolishly, you have accepted it — because if keeping him closer ends in him choosing revenge, then so be it. it is not a possibility you think to dwell on now.

attempting to push the thoughts from your head long enough to fend off the flush that haunts your cheeks, you finally set your spear over your back. kazuha himself had departed long ago after your short skirmish. he had spoken of other duties to handle with the tell-tale ghost of a smile on his face.

even now, he never ceases to be mysterious.

as you walk through the camp, you hope your frazzled state is hidden enough. not that anyone would say anything if it weren’t — your hair could suddenly go up in flames and you would garner nothing more than a silent glance. though, at this moment, it is a blessing. were someone to look too hard, you fear they might be able to see right through you.

you have never regarded your cot as anything but uncomfortable, but the moment you finally reach your tent, it is akin to a cloud in your eyes. falling face first, the uneven mattress bunches around you. and for once, it seems to hug you in all the places you need it to.

it has been a long few weeks since you took up shelter at fort fujito -- and while the absence of kujou sara’s plan is worrying, you are content in the way that you have begun to not doubt your place. rather than waiting for the odd looks to cease, you have learned to shoulder them, hanging onto the presence of kazuha by your side.

the sunlight filters weakly through the tent, lying a peaceful hue over your body as you let yourself drift off. however, you wake abruptly to a cooler tone and uncharacteristic rowdiness somewhere outside. it at first rouses irritation, but it quickly settles into curiosity. what could they be so excited about all of the sudden?

“you’re awake?”

you startle easy in your drowsy state, raising an arm to fend against the sudden source of noise

kazuha gives you a pleasant smile as he lets the tent flap drop behind him, quietly ducking to kneel beside you. there are days where he could walk laps around you without you knowing, and it’s certainly quite a talent. the anemo user is quick with not only words, but also actions.

you attempt a smile in return, though your sludge-like reaction time cannot be held back enough to keep from wincing at the sudden shouts.

“what’s going on?” you ask, hands coming up idly to cover your ears. kazuha casts a glance over his shoulder, but when he looks back to you, the fiery look in his eyes is barely recognisable.

“the sangonomiyan priestess arrived on the island not long ago.” kazuha nods, expression sly. “perhaps she has something to share?”

after a moment of pondering, you sit up abruptly as the meaning of his words reach you. eyes widening, you barely avoid stuttering in shock. “you don’t mean--?”

he shrugs. “truthfully, i don’t mean anything concrete. my lady is not a very particular person, her visit could be one made on mere impulse.”

a heavy spark runs through your chest at the proclamation. but, believing it to be plain uncertainty over anything else, you simply push down the sour feeling with a shrug.

“…my lady? is that referring to sangonomiya kokomi?”

kazuha nods, bunching his hands in the edge of the blanket that covers you. “it is. she has always preferred to go by this title, though i presume it was not her idea originally.”

you prod him on with the slight quirk of your brow.

“general gorou,” he explains. “the first i heard of the nickname, it was from his mouth. i only followed suit as everyone else did.”

the immense relief you receive from his reasoning is concerning.

a shadow appears at your tent before you can respond, tapping on the thick fabric in silent warning. you and kazuha share a look before you address the figure.

“please come in.”

when the curtain is pulled away, you are taken aback. it has been a long time since you’ve seen sangonomiya kokomi in person, but it is now that you’re reminded why the people of her island regard her as a deity. she embodies the land and the sky, eyes like the ocean and manners like the wind.

the formidable strategist offers you an amicable smile. she says your name, and your ears burn in embarrassment. your eyelids are still heavy and your hair shows obvious signs of sleep, yet meanwhile, her clothes are laid flawlessly, and the air around her is peaceful.

“greetings.”

you smile awkwardly, but kazuha’s silent nudge adds a darker tinge of red to your ears. kokomi’s expression is patient as you stand up.

“hello,” you bow your head slightly. “it’s nice to see you in.. different circumstances.”

the last time you’d interacted had been on the battlefield, in a much different light. however, this doesn’t seem to hold any water. much to your relief, she takes no offence to your unorthodox conversation starter. she even laughs, the sound sweet and clear.

“yes, it is quite nice to meet you here.” kokomi’s eyes travel between the two of you almost calculatingly, but she doesn’t linger. “i trust you’ve found a home with the resistance?”

kazuha’s head dips, and her implication also sends a rush of red to your cheeks.

for sake of professionality, you clear your throat and squeak out, “something like that.”

a passive smile graces her features as he turns to take a peek over her shoulder, presumably through the gap in the tent.

“general,” your throat is dry as you address her, though she provides you with her full attention. “i assume… that you aren’t just here to say hello?”

“you are as adept as i remember. that i am not, but please do not worry. i am not retrieving you to deliver bad news.”

she shares a glance with kazuha, who still kneels next to the cot behind you. “on the contrary, i’m sure you will be quite delighted.”

you’re silent as you walk beside kazuha to a more central part of the camp, bubbling with apprehension. he steadies you with a hand to your shoulder as you walk.

“you know,” he starts, shrugging slightly. “you shouldn’t worry. there is very little good news it could be when in accordance to you.”

you know he’s right — there’s no reason for your anxieties. yet still, whatever this woman says is as good as fact to the soldiers that reside here. her words will determine what track your life follows from now on, and it’s an awfully big responsibility to pin on someone other than yourself.

you just laugh. “i appreciate the harsh honesty.”

“my comrades,”

kokomi is resilient as she stands before a crowd, posture straight and smile warm. if humans really are predestined to live out a certain fate, surely she had a role such as this coming. you attempt to rub the sleep from your eyes as she begins.

“it is wonderful to see you all in good health, your work at the front and on has paid back well. we gain advances across the beaches with each passing day, and this is only thanks to your marvelous execution.”

the resistance members quickly follow suit as she claps delicately. assorted cheers are thrown up from the crowd, and you don’t miss the smile that pokes at kazuha’s lips.

“recently, we have caught wind of those outside of our forces that are looking to support us.”

you can almost feel yourself perking up. kazuha is also noticeably attentive beside you.

“ i have chosen to accept this offer.” she voices her decision, and your stomach drops all the same. her sanguine eyes look for yours amongst the dense crowd as if to reassure. “but do not misunderstand me. these weapons are not to be used, but studied.”

“a trusted informant that has recently joined us has ruled these weapons as corroding -- a way to wipe out our hard-working forces from the inside. hence your warning: there will be an influx of equipment being transported within the next few weeks. please pay no mind to it, as well as touch it without proper equipment.”

a soft murmur runs through the crowd, yet all you can do is sigh in relief. you raise a hand to cover your mouth.

“thank god.” you whisper, head dipping with a sigh. “i was starting to worry that people would start trying to call my bluff.”

kazuha bumps your shoulder with his, smile evident in his voice. “i’m very rarely wrong.”

even with your years as a shogunate general, the concept of battle still baffles you. it is an unpredictable mess of people that oppose each other, fueled by hatred and obligation that may not even be their own. the pressure of leading people into such an environment is a gamble, though you have at least gotten good at that -- for weeks, you sit around a table with sangonomiya kokomi, inspecting and noting every detail on each weapon sent to you.

the tedious work is beyond your normal skillset, so to say.

“they’re duller,” kazuha says this from beside you, eyes trailing up to where kokomi sits across from you. he had volunteered to help quite easily, immediately after you had promised to devote your time to the priestess’ affairs. but that had been almost one week ago, and you with each passing moment, you fear that he is getting more bored -- and yet, his careful eyes have distinguished a surprising amount of discoveries.

it warms your chest with something familiar, something that you don’t want to let go of.

it goes ablaze as kazuha shoots a small smile in your direction. kokomi is doing similar inspections across the table, hidden behind a tiny set of glasses as to study the finer details of the bow in her hands. the silence prompts him to continue.

“at the end, they aren’t a point, just a little under that, but noticeable enough.”

she nods along slowly. kokomi doesn’t answer him for a few moments, but when she sets down the weapon and takes off her glasses, she seems to have finally come to a conclusion.

“there is not much of a physical difference between these weapons and a normal one,” kokomi notes, a gloved hand reaching to pick up a normal weapon from beside her. she lines them up on the table as her gaze passes amongst them. “though kazuha has so far been right, these are merely manufacturing differences. the only way to truly distinguish the two kinds of weapons thus far has been through elemental aura.”

“the ones with delusions embedded in them have an undeniably different energy compared to those made of simple materials. to recreate these, i suppose we would need to embed them with some kind of elemental power.”

your brows furrow as a helpless breath escapes you.

“...and how would we be able to do such a thing?”

kokomi’s lips thin in concentration.

“I suppose…” her voice is light, contemplative. “we will likely have to embed some with power, likely from a vision holder.”

as you stand on the edge of a battlefield now, you know you are likely not cut out for her plan. there is a small sum of vision holders that reside in the resistance’s camp, and the average soldiers far outnumber any of you -- yet together, you, kazuha, gorou, and kokomi had been marked solely responsible for keeping the weapons constantly wrapped in elemental energy.

it was a necessary step, a precaution to hide your knowledge. because the moment kujou sara notices anything is amiss, she will surely twist it in her favour.

but you will personally see to it that she never does.

taking a quick look ahead of you at the soldiers that charge into the fray, you note the striking presence of their blades. hopefully, you’re able to avoid strain so the aura doesn’t waver.

gorou had greatly appreciated you offering to lead half of his men, effectively slicing the amount of work he needed to keep up with in half. but, it also required great effort to debate the spread of your efforts out further -- this battle is merely a ruse to convince kujou sara that her plan is working, so hopefully, no great strategy will be necessary.

“heads up!” a rough yet distinctly female voice comes from over your head, making you lift your eyes skyward. a grinning woman is hanging loosely by kazuha’s hands, who, judging by the swirl of maple leaves around him, is gliding with the strength of his vision. you smile as the woman plunges down by her claymore onto a group of shogunate soldiers.

kazuha lands unsteadily next to you, reaching out to you for support as his glider folds in. you catch him with a laugh..

“that’s beidou,” he begins, leaning onto your shoulder as he mirrors your smile. “she’s a good friend from liyue who insisted on helping.”

“the more help, the better!” you say, hand latching onto his waist to keep him upright. he stiffens for a moment, though the sensation is gone as quick as it had come -- rather, he seems to sink into your touch afterwards. it makes your cheeks blaze with a temperature you fully intend to blame on the anticipation of battle.

kazuha keeps his gaze on the conflict in front of you, on the weapons in the soldiers’ hands that swirl with your elements. perhaps you have been too focused on worrying about how other people see you to notice how kazuha sees you; even now, he is leaning onto you without a thought, and it strikes something inside of you to realise it.

there is no going back to the time you both left behind. though perhaps you’re capable of creating a better future together.

after kazuha catches his breath, he slips away from you with the thoughtful promise to be careful. it almost hurts to see him go. but, pinning it on turbulent emotions, you too set off in search of someone to assist.

you make your way to the front without even trying, rushing past each small skirmish in an attempt to be certain you’re holding up the hydro in the weapons well enough. even if your strength is wavering, your conviction is not.

every weapon remains in stable condition.

there’s no time to pat yourself on the back, though. because as you arrive in the front, you come face to face with just the person you’ve been avoiding. kujou sara’s eyes glint with the same concentrated sheen she always dons during combat.

she hasn’t seemed to notice you yet, and though you have an ample window to escape, you hesitate just a second too long. when she throws out her arm to command a flank, her gaze lands directly on you.

a frightening mix of rage and curiosity twists her features as she draws her bow. your eyes widen.

“kujou sara!” you shout with the dormant voice of a general, taking a step back. “do not make any rash decisions!”

you are in no place to order her around anymore, but you pray that she sees her old friend in you and grants you mercy. she does slowly lower her bow, but the contemplative look that runs through her eyes makes you doubt her intentions.

“you dare to show your face around me?” she challenges, taking powerful strides forward until she is nearly within touching distance. her bow is still tight in her hand.

“sara, what are you doing?” your brows furrow, she does not react. “are you really going to hurt me? you know what kind of person I am, i never could have stood going through with the things you were planning.”

her lips thin in contempt.

“yet you’re still here.” she nods, grip loosening on her bow enough for her to let out a sigh. “you still let your so-called comrades use the very weapons you threw away your life to protect them from.”

she believes it.

feigning a frown, you try to mimic hurt in your expression when in reality, you are over the moon.

“don’t — don’t pin such a thing on me. you know how desperate they are to gain the upper hand, there was no way for me to convince them of their danger.” eyes downcast, you swallow what you hope seems like a harsh lump in your throat. it takes everything you have to fight back a smile and keep the elemental energy centred at once.

kujou sara’s lips morph into a slight smirk, likely a jab at your suddenly disappointed composure.

“it has been a mere few months, but you have grown incompetent quickly.” the words are backed by bitterness, though you don’t think to pay any attention to it until she draws her bow. real fear runs through your veins as she draws it back, gritting her teeth.

“the shogun wants you alive, but you do not deserve even that.”

eyes widening, you attempt to draw your polearm — but by the time you reach back to draw the weapon, she will likely already have let the bowstring go. body stuttering, you throw your arms over your face in a last ditch attempt to protect yourself.

you hear the bowstring, and for the first time in a long while, you are terrified.

had she not believed you after all? had she harboured such a hatred for you because you had abandoned the shogun? there is no telling what kujou sara truly feels in the time you have left.

but your end never comes.

a sharp noise and flash of red comes to your aid. as you slowly lower your shaking hands, you are staring at the wide expanse of a back, belonging to the person who had drawn his sword to protect you. he holds it against his chest, blade steaming from the impact of the arrow’s tip.

kujou sara laughs. it is a wretched sound, a defeated sound.

“of course, it’s you.”

kazuha cracks a challenging smile. “my reputation seems to precede me.”

most likely not wanting to deal with the repercussions of strength in numbers, she draws back with the wanton shake of her head.

“we will meet again, ___. mark my words.”

with one last conflicting look in your direction, kujou sara turns her back and busies herself with another section of her army. ever the professional, it seems.

once she is out of view, kazuha immediately turns around to tend to you. his hands hover over you as his eyes search.

“i got here in time, right? you’re not hurt?” you’re about to answer before he takes your wrist, turning over and inspecting one of the arms you’d held up.

you can’t help but laugh at him, a giggle building up quickly in your chest. his eyes meet yours as it spills out, relieved.

“kazuha,” as your laugh draws out, you take his wrist in return. a startled flush paints his pale skin. “she believed me. she thinks the weapons are real.”

once your words register, he beams.

as soon as you’ve relayed the information to gorou, he wastes no time in pulling back the army into a retreat. there is a familiar and unmistakable happiness buzzing beneath his loud commands, and it gives the soldiers that know him well comfort.

as the day begins to decline, you retreat back to the resistance camp high on the feeling of undeniable success. not only is each soldier and strategist and general coming home alive, but you have also fulfilled the tedious plan of convincing the shogunate of your failure to stop the delusions from slipping through.

someone bumps your shoulder suddenly, and you look up to meet kazuha’s smiling eyes.

“you did it,” as kazuha laughs, a foreign emotion passes through his eyes. it delights you. “i’m proud of you, you’ve certainly come far.”

but along with your successes comes an even greater gain.

the resistance camp is a place where people tend to come and go, whether soldier, refugee, or even a special case such as yourself, the beaten dirt paths see many faces over time. but, while normally in passing, tonight it is unusually lively. cheers fill the small area, lighting up the normally sodden atmosphere with a spark of life.

it is a pleasantly warm night on yashori island, a comfortable temperature that reaches the deepest parts of you. the torches are also lit brightly around the drifting crowd, casting a haze that covers the impending night chill effortlessly.

as you take casual steps through the camp, you attempt searching for a familiar face. kazuha had been separated from you very quickly since you’d arrived, entertaining the wishes of a few soldiers he seemed to be acquainted with. he shot you an apologetic smile as he allowed himself to be dragged away, though truly, it was of no consequence.

despite the aloof attitude he carries, kazuha is undeniably quite popular among the younger members of the resistance.

but the appearances of everyone unfamiliar quickly blends together, making it impossible to determine whether the people you pass by are the same from earlier. kokomi had certainly outdone herself with the impromptu celebration, getting a bottle of beer into everyone’s grasp and leaving them for a night of relaxation -- an ample opportunity to boost morale, so to say.

yet just as you attempt to locate your friend again, you’re suddenly distracted by a hand on your arm. when you startle, gorou pulls back with quick remorse, even if the excited look in his eyes does not dissipate. the smile you give him is one you can’t help.

“___, come with me. quickly!” he pulls you around the crowd, and with one last look back in kazuha’s direction, you let your feet follow along, you are less thrilled when he gathers everyone’s attention.

“fellow soldiers and comrades!” gorou’s voice silences the roaring camp almost completely, bringing a frightfully aware flush to the tips of your ears. surely he doesn’t mean to congratulate you?

“we are here today thanks to the person who came forward even when she knew no one would believe her. her information has not only given us the upper hand, but also driven a serious blow into the tenryou forces!”

of course he means to congratulate you.

a surprising amount of cheers leave the dense crowd, some reluctant, some willing -- yet the one that stands out the most is kazuha, cheering with the same group of boys that had snatched him up earlier.

your heart constricts. it is a gesture you want to welcome with open arms, but there is a bitter feeling that ferments with worry in your gut. you had always been a bit of a pessimist, expecting the worst even if you yearned for the best — and you know well now that you can’t expect it from everything.

but there is something about kazuha’s behaviour that feels rushed; sudden and nearly unprompted. he had gone from carefully skirting around you to remaining by your side in all things he could, even when you had done nothing to warrant it.

it was something you had noticed beforehand, the shifting of his reactions — you’d held your polearm over his neck, for archon’s sake, and he had simply smiled at you.

forcing up your precarious smile once again, you wave gratefully to the crowd, to sedate their curiosity if nothing else. feeling appreciated and a tad reminiscent of the growth you’d undergone, you nod your sincere thanks to gorou. despite the compromising position, it was clearly a thoughtful effort.

when kazuha is in your line of sight again, your chest constricts. he has done nothing wrong and yet, you have thought to place a sudden distrust in him. it makes you no better than your worries.

“kazuha--!” you raise a hand, and you gain his attention fairly quickly. yet, yours is quickly snatched away as someone else calls your name. an unfamiliar face greets you jovially, speaking of their apologies and thanks to you for helping the resistance. the thought is touching, but, all you find yourself doing is nodding along as you shoot kazuha a regretful smile over their shoulder.

much to your displeasure, he waves you off, mouthing something so distinct you can’t help but shake your head.

enjoy yourself.

you bite the inside of your cheek as you thank the soldier in return, waving them goodbye just as another thinks to approach you.

how am i supposed to enjoy myself when the only thing i want to do is talk to you?

your heart constricts once again, but this time, it is for an entirely different reason.

countless people come up to you with their thanks, congratulations, and a few even attempt to pass along extra rations to your hand. through all of it, the person you want most to see busies himself patiently. you fight back a frown, though, and let yourself talk to the people that are now your comrades -- even if you’d had a rough start, it is never too late to pick yourself back up.

and that much is true over the next quarter hour. you spend every moment making conversation with people who had barely regarded you before, all the while keeping your gaze expertly averted from kazuha. one look and you know you’d excuse yourself regardless of the topic, and the acknowledgement of such a fact hurts.

you’d allowed yourself to care too much for him; what if his sudden attitude flip does turn out to hold malicious intent?

yet, despite such a possibility, kazuha has always been nothing short of kind, considering your wants and needs as if they were his own. he is calm and patient when regarding you, looking at you not as you remember, but in a way that you hope he will continue to -- it reminds you that you aren’t a child anymore, that times have long changed.

your heart pumps a telling beat as you recall some of his nicer deeds. kazuha truly has a heart that looks out for others, evident in even the man’s smallest gestures. when you had begun to get used to each other’s presence, he had recommended you personally as an addition to the resistance’s reconnaissance team, noting your professional skills.

occasionally, he is found wandering around the island, ducking between cave systems only to come back at the end of the day with numerous resources; those of which he usually kindly distributes to the camp. on one of those same nights, he had taught you how to roast lavender melons over the fire.

the memory of his hands over yours sets your cheeks ablaze.

reasonably, it makes no sense that he would have any contempt for you. or at least, it would certainly be an issue at such a point.

despite your hesitance, the moment you have a free hand, you dip away. if anyone attempts to stop you, you breeze past them, unaware. kazuha had hardly moved from the small circle of people he’d been cheering with, making it exceptionally easy to find him in the crowd. as soon as he sees you approaching, he breaks away and meets you halfway.

“there’s our little celebrity,” kazuha croons, a slow smile spreading across his lips as you laugh bashfully. “having fun without me?”

“of course,” your gaze shifts away from him shyly, and he notes the action as you shake your head. “but, anyways, can i… maybe steal you for a second? there’s somewhere i want to go with you.”

kazuha nods, falling into step beside you as you walk out of the wooden gate. “of course, is there an issue that’s come up?”

“no, nothing like that. it’s just…” you recount your thoughts with a wry smile. “i found a place a while ago, and i want to go there again.”

he follows you in silent understanding. you’re grateful he doesn’t ask questions, because you doubt you could answer any of them without him seeing straight through your resolve. the trek is by no means a difficult one. but, as you walk down the winding dirt path and over the weeds that flourish, kazuha holds your hand steady. it’s the small gestures.

at the foot of the hill the camp rests on is a small strip of beach, that of which faces almost directly north. the sunset paints the scene a gorgeous hue between orange and pink as the sun hangs low over the horizon. the atmosphere is warm, and the low tide nips at the sand.

you both settle down onto the rocks above the waves before you say, “you’ve probably been there a thousand times, right?”

he agrees. “but, it’s the first time i’ve been here with you.”

you nod with flushed cheeks, stretching your legs out and staring out ahead of you. if you look hard enough, you can see the outline of liyue harbour in the distance, far away yet still so close. with a heavy feeling in your chest, you realise that’s just how you’re treating the man sitting beside you.

“you know, i’ve been here before,” you begin, eyes trailing down to meet where your hands lay over your knees. “when i was with the shogunate, i had to scope out this area a lot.”

“we were that close, hm?” he hums, and the light tone sends a grimace to your face

“kazuha…” finally, you look up at him, smile apologetic. he meets your gaze with a confused stare. “ i think… i mean, i just think that it’s finally time for us to talk.”

he blinks for a few moments, before turning away, looking at the horizon with contemplative eyes.

“i suppose it is.”

you take a long breath, brows pinched slightly in apprehension.

“...when i first started working with the shogunate, despite the fact that i had said some horrible things to you, i was happy.” you admit, shrugging. kazuha watches the waves on the horizon as you speak, his averted gaze polite.

“i was so grateful to be there, and i thought that i had found what i would be doing for the rest of my life. but, not a single person had a connection to someone in the resistance. they couldn’t accurately choose what to do because they didn’t know the full story like i did.”

you sigh, voice going quiet. “and it was suffocating. i tried to fight for things that weren’t cruel. yet, I was ridiculed behind my back for having a connection to you in return. they said… they said that the only good choice i’d ever made was leaving you behind that night.”

“___…” a hand goes on your shoulder as the first tear falls.

“i tried so hard to ignore it.” you cry, wiping the back of your hand over your eyes. “but, even as i climbed the ranks, people still hated me for it.”

kazuha puts an arm around your back, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. he is hesitantly silent as your body wracks with tears, and it goes on like that for what seems like hours -- unconcrete words of comfort pass from his lips to you, though he has yet to say anything more.

“...did you ever believe that you had made the right choice? letting me go that night?” he finally whispers. your lip curls as another onslaught of tears attempts to break forth. adamantly, you shake your head.

“never.”

your gazes meet briefly, and the look of surprise that passes over his face at the sight of you is startling. you must be a pitiful visage, eyes red and skin puffy with regret.

“oh, ___…” he chastises you with a mumble, free hand coming up to thumb your tears away. you close your eyes shamefully. “i’m sorry.”

“...you told me back then in the tent that there was no need to apologise, why?” you slowly open your eyes again to meet his, brows dipping with your frown. “i want to apologise, because i made a mistake. kazuha, i wanted with everything in me to say yes. but i made the stupid decision of betting on an uncertain future rather than someone i know would never let me down.”

something in his composure shifts in that moment,

“that day… i should have done more. i’m sorry for saying things i didn’t mean, and i’m so sorry for prioritising my future over your friend’s life.” your head falls, but kazuha’s hand slides to pick you back up again, just as he always has. he makes you look him in the eye, his gaze searching through yours.

at last, he asks, “is that how you see it…?”

“you were only a soldier, forced to see the effects of his choice.” kazuha’s tone is soft as he shakes his head. “there was nothing you could have possibly done without incurring the wrath of the shogun. even then, you did what you could to let me escape. you chose what you thought was best, and i would never fault you for that.”

“i could have at least tried to hear you out…”

“you could’ve.” he nods. “but your stress was the reason for your harsh words, and i am not one to hold such grudges. you were going through things i couldn’t possibly understand.”

kazuha’s hand doesn’t falter under your chin as he smiles. “do not fault yourself any longer. you have expressed your apologies, and that is enough.”

you can’t help but smile through your tears, a small laugh escaping your throat. all these years, and you were just going to forgive me when i cry?

his intent towards you is nearly crystal clear, but a curious inkling still remains in your chest, begging to be set free.

“kazuha,” your eyes leave his, lifting in what he can only pin as nerves. “could i ask you something?”

when he nods, there is a certain look that passes through his eyes. you have seen it many times before — in the way he looks at inazuma’s many colours of the sunrise, or how his eyes glaze over with rapt attention when penning a poem.

it’s the very same way he gazes at things that catch his attention, at things he deems beautiful. but, it is different when it is directed at you.

“when i first came to the resistance camp, you seemed… unsure.” you start, brows pinching as he watches you with slight amusement. “that changed kind of suddenly, so i was just wondering, did something happen?”

“well,” he clears his throat, dropping his hand from your chin to cover his mouth. the arm he lays around your hip still remains. “to put it simply, i had never changed. you merely brought out the parts of me that had remained hidden for a long while.”

“___, meeting you again, it—“

“yo!”

startled, you both turn back to the source of the sudden call. gorou stands impatiently at the foot of the hill, one hand on his hip and the other waving you towards him.

“we’ve been looking for both of you!” he shouts, but even from a distance, you recognise the knowing gaze that lands on kazuha’s arm around your waist.

they share a brief glance, and realising what gorou must be thinking, you push kazuha away gently and stumble to your feet. “sorry, coming!”

there is no reason to be embarrassed -- it’s likely that most people are aware of your circumstances by now, yet you can’t help how aware you are of his contact. it is romantic in the same way that he wears his friend’s dead vision along with his own, in how his thoughts consider everything around him. he touches you easily, as if he’d never forgotten a single dip in your body.

with a laugh of friendly disbelief, kazuha allows you to stand.

you had thought that the beginning of the celebration was the worst, filled with those either half-drunk or looking to speak to you -- neither of which sound particularly fun to deal with. yet, even in the short time you’d managed to slip away, the crowd had somehow managed to become an unsavoury mix of both. perhaps it was only alcohol that could provide the confidence to give you pats on the back as you walked by.

there is an incomplete feeling in your chest, one that you do not dare to dwell on. it yearns for the very thing that you don’t want to get involved with, that you don’t want to risk changing the nature of -- kazuha had only just accepted your apologies, and empathetically, at that. so, for such feelings to flare up so quickly afterwards, it is cruelly timed.

pulling your collar slightly loose to beat the flush that creeps up your neck, your heart drops as someone catches your gaze. amongst the dense crowd, kazuha looks at only you, smiling as if the two of you share a secret. you shake your head with a small grin.

in a way, you suppose you do.

as the rest of the night passes, the long minutes are filled with merry conversation and even more drinking, which you frankly hadn’t thought possible. yet, despite the headache it causes, you cannot deny the contagious joy it passes on. you truly do feel the effects of victory by the time you are dipping into your tent for the night.

your thoughts bubble ever so slightly, thanks to the alcohol that has been passed to your hand -- while not enough to debilitate you, it is certainly enough to place a content buzz in your chest. you take a short peek outside before tying the strings of your tent shut for the night. the camp is finally quiet, deserted of all activity in favour of the night’s rest.

with a drawling smile, you knot the fabric shut and fall back onto the cot. it is no mystery to you any longer why these soldiers do what they do, and why the resistance’s forces are hardly seen giving up. opening your eyes once again, a quiet, bubbling laugh escapes your chest.

you are at last fighting for a side you can be proud of.

but, you are awoken all-too suddenly. a hand reaches for your shoulder with none of its familiar grace, shaking you awake fervently. startled, your eyes fly open to meet the crimson gaze of your trusted companion, that of which is panicked and rushed. dread seizes your veins as he pulls you up, hardly considering your processing state.

above anything else, it is kazuha’s careless gestures that tell you something is wrong.

“kazuha!” your hushed whispers seem to barely reach him as he pulls you forward. as your eyes adjust, you see the majority of familiar faces rushing around in a similar way, to exits, to the hills in the north -- some even retreat further into camp. yet, one thing all of these people seem to have in common is that they are running, and they are running from something that is near.

his hand tightens around yours as he stops suddenly, gauging his chances between the actions of others.

desperately, you step forward and shake him. voice quiet, you ask, “kazuha, what’s going on?”

he looks at you from the corner of his eye, lips moulding into a frown.

“it’s the shogunate, they’ve stormed the camp.” the words that leave his mouth are shocking, but they do not particularly surprise you. your brows pinch in distress, but kazuha notices this, squeezing your hand before making a break for it. there is no time to hesitate. you run alongside him in silent understanding -- whatever kujou sara has come for, it can’t be good for either of you.

taking the same path you’d traversed earlier in the night, you aren’t thrilled to find it empty.

inhaling a sharp breath, you dig your heels into the sand in an effort to stop kazuha. he whips around questioningly, but yields when seeing your apprehensive expression. “what is it?”

face wrinkling with worry, you frown. “we need to be careful, there must be a reason why this path is deserted.”

“we don’t have any other choice--”

“that, you do not.”

another voice interrupts you, and you have to resist closing your eyes in defeat. the telltale appearance of the tengu warrior is more than enough to seal your fate. you’d escaped her once, and you doubt it can be done again.

kujou sara sneers, an awful sound that tells you everything you need to know. it was too soon to celebrate your victory against such a person.

“i was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt earlier, ___. but, you lied to me.” when she takes a threatening step forward, kazuha puts an arm across you. frowning, she ignores it. “not only did you think you could trick me by faking the fatui’s weapons, but you thought that you could trick the raiden shogun. this was your final mistake.”

kujou sara draws her bow before you can even process her actions. “i told you that i would come back for you. and i am here to deliver the news that you are no longer a deserter, but a traitor. consorting with the enemy and conspiring against those you ally with is not something that the shogun will stand for.”

she takes a decisive breath. “and i will not either.”

she lets go of the bowstring without remorse, the surety of the arrow cutting through the air.

you know immediately what will happen, but you are too slow to stop kazuha from stepping further in front of you. horror dons your features as the arrow pierces his upper chest, his body mindlessly protecting yours without even a word. kazuha stumbles before you with a reassuring smile still on his lips, head shaking as if to tell you he is okay.

but the grey fabric of his shirt quickly stains a gruesome red, suggesting otherwise. as kazuha drops to a knee in front of you, there is a gut-wrenching grunt that leaves his mouth. your mouth drops open in panic. it is one thing to see him walking away from you, but death is not so temporary -- if you let him slip from your grasp this time around, you will get no second chances.

swallowing thickly, a sheen goes over your vision as his hand reaches up to grasp yours. perhaps it is meant to be a comfort for both of you, but rather, it serves as a reminder. kazuha is the only person who had stayed with you continuously, regardless of how you saw each other.

his saccharine smile appears in your memory once more, and foolishly, you let yourself believe that you will see it again. you may not deserve it, but kazuha is someone that you cherish, and will not leave behind.

something sweet begins to bloom in your chest at that moment, and you release a breathless laugh of disbelief. kazuha has certainly never made things easy for you, though he is, at the very least, talented in unearthing your true thoughts.

as your lips thin, the reluctant notion goes through your head -- you are in love with kaedehara kazuha, and you cannot lose him again.

carefully, you help him fully to the ground, unaware of the hot tears that prick your vision.

“please,” you cry, messily shrugging off your jacket to wrap around the arrow that has pierced his skin. it’s the very same he had taped over when you’d first arrived, though it serves a much darker purpose now. there is nothing to secure it with but your shaking hands, though even they will become shortly useless. kujou sara’s presence is overwhelming. amidst the tears you shed and kazuha’s shallow pants, she is stone-faced.

“please,” you repeat shakily, a careful hand cupping his cheek. “stay calm, i can help you. we can do this.”

stiffly, he nods, and your chest tightens.

you shoot a furious look up at kujou sara, though you refuse to take your eyes off of kazuha for a moment longer than necessary. “he has nothing to do with this!”

there is a tinge of recognisable regret in her expression, though she attempts to hide it with the stern set line of her mouth.

looking away, she huffs slightly. the soldiers behind her ruffle at the sudden show of displeasure. “it was his own choice to shoulder the blow, not mine.”

expression twisting in anger, you attempt to stand — to pay sara her dues, to enact revenge on kazuha’s behalf, anything that would solve the seething irritation in your veins, you consider carrying out. yet, as you lift yourself up to one knee, a hand is quick to catch your wrist.

your expression droops as your gaze finds kazuha’s. his eyes on you are unwavering, determined to get a point across even as his voice fails him.

when he ascertains that he has your attention, he shakes his head in silent disapproval.

“stop, listen.”

your mind is in a state of buzzing static, yet you still attempt to follow his instruction. it’s a challenge to hear anything above the incessant beat of waves against the sand, though slowly, another prickling sensation begins to fade in. your head whips around at the abrupt pattering sounds, that of which are indescribable until gorou and a few soldiers in company appear in front of you.

startled, your light grip over the clothed arrow below kazuha’s collarbone falters. yet he still keeps his hand dutifully on your wrist, effectively stopping you from tipping backwards and taking him with you. more tears come to your eyes at the absurdity of it all.

“...are you alright?”

carefully readjusting your hands on the fabric over his chest, you watch for any ticks of pain in kazuha’s expression. when you find none, you let out a shuddering breath as you let your tears spill. for his sake, you croak out a laugh even as his worried eyes attempt to catch yours.

“i think i should be the one asking you that.”

in front of you, gorou engages kujou sara.

“have you no respect?!” he demands, throwing out an arm over the both of you. you shrink back under the pressuring atmosphere, tending to kazuha silently,

“this woman was one of your own for years, and yet you’ll throw her away so casually?”

kujou sara’s brow wrinkles. “you know nothing about her.”

“i know enough.” his expression is hard as he locks gazes with the woman across from him. yet, bravely, he is the first to break eye contact, turning back to address you while leaving his soldiers to fend off the tengu general.

gorou’s face melts into a more sympathetic guise the moment he meets your eye, throat tightening as he looks at his friend in the dirt.

as if unsure, he asks, “...can you get him somewhere on your own?”

readily wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you nod. “of course, yeah.”

gorou watches your hesitance as you murmur a few words of encouragement to kazuha where he lies on the ground. you seem reluctant to move him, though he is well aware it’s not because you don’t want to -- you are likely afraid of hurting him, even if carrying him to the side is well within your strength.

but, just as he steps forward to offer a hand, you surprise him yet again. sinking to your knees, the communication between you and kazuha is quiet but clear, resulting in the slow rising of your bodies together. your face is still red with tears as you take a peak back at gorou, though he returns it with a soft smile.

“go,” gorou says, helping kazuha by readjusting his arm to rest tighter over your torso. “i’ll let kokomi know you’re on your way.”

he lets you go as you nod.

it is a perilous walk back up to camp, filled with the silence and your hard breaths. you don’t have the heart to even look down at kazuha’s injury, but gorou’s promise to send kokomi keeps your hopes high enough. the only thing that keeps you going up the hill is the shaky breathing that reaches your ear, showing the man’s telltale signs of life.

when you reach the main rendezvous point of the resistance camp, you can't help but stumble to a stop. not even you are accustomed to carrying the weight of two bodies at once. looking around desperately for the pink-haired strategist, your heart drops when you notice that the area is completely empty, devoid of life.

“kazuha,” your voice shakes as you turn your head to peek at his expression. fear seeps through your veins as you realise how low his eyes droop, and how slow his reaction time has become. “kazuha, please.”

abandoning your plan of waiting for kokomi, you lower him to the ground where you stand.

crawling delicately over his torso, you settle over his waist before adjusting your temporary wrap -- the fabric of your jacket has been dyed a gruesome red almost completely through. sobs wrack your body as your mind goes blank, searching for a solution that you do not have.

“___…?”

your eyes shoot open at the quiet utter of your name. kazuha’s chest comes to life once again with fast breaths, eyes opening suddenly to hold yours.

chest freezing in shock, a lonely cry leaves your mouth as you lean forward to cup his cheek. “oh, kazuha. kokomi is on her way, you only need to wait a bit longer. is it… uncomfortable?”

you try to motion to where your jacket winds around the arrow tightly, but you can barely stand the sight of it. a knowing smile quirks at his lips as an unsteady hand comes up to lay over yours, brows knitting with pain.

“it’s enough for now.” he reassures.

lips thinning in an attempt to stop the tears that threaten to burst, you quietly admit, “kazuha, i can’t accept that.”

intermittently deciding to search for something else to cover him with, you take off another layer with a silent huff. it leaves you only in an undershirt, but any loss of your dignity is well worth kazuha’s life.

tying it slowly around the parts that seem to ooze, kazuha watches you with care.

“kazuha,” your lips thin into a line as you fingers weave through the knots, anxiety raising into your throat. “i love you, and i’m sorry that i can’t do more for you. but, i won’t lose you again.”

an uncharacteristic smile spreads across his lips, his forearm lifting to cover his eyes. but, despite the action, it is a sad smile; one devoid of expectation or hope. and it breaks your heart to look down at the wrapping over his collar and know exactly what kazuha is thinking.

“do you--” he stops himself, “do you know why i asked you to come along with me that day? in inazuma city?”

“no.” you shake your head.

the offer had seemed sudden, but rather than anything else, you had always thought to pin it as a reckless decision made after his friend had met an unfortunate end. seeing you in the uniform of the very god that had taken a life close to him, it was more than enough of an excuse to warrant such a thing. but kazuha’s shadow of a smile now suggests otherwise.

“…i merely couldn’t figure out another way to ask you to spend the rest of your life with me.” he admits, a sob lining his voice. softly, you shush him as your tears spill respectively. “all i knew was that i didn’t want to lose you to the shogun. we were only kids, but i loved you. and in some way or another, i have never stopped.”

a slight laugh poking through your resolve, you shake your head.

“then tell me again when you’re certain you can continue.” you say softly, sniffling as your hand raises to thread through his hair. kazuha’s forearm drops back to his side, and for the first time in a long time, you cry together.

kokomi arrives not long after, taking kazuha into her care almost immediately. there had been similar casualties on the other routes of escape, ones that she had already partly tended to. but, noting your frazzled state, she explains these things to keep you distracted rather than leaving you to your own devices. kazuha had since gone unconscious, confined to his own tent due to the nature of his injury -- while grave, the placement of the arrow had been a fortunate one. it lodged directly below his collarbone, but it was short of going clean through his lung thanks to only one rib.

you shudder to think what could have happened had kazuha been off even an inch.

there is nothing you can do but keep him in your thoughts. but, knowing that he is in the hands of a friend calms you. there is no one more capable than kokomi when it comes to piecing things back together, after all.

the sickbeds are nearly all taken by the time the sun begins to rise, filled with soldiers that had encountered the wrath of the shogunate. as you sit beside her, you share what kujou sara had said to you offhandedly.

“i’m a traitor in kujou sara’s eyes, and she came back for me.” you say, eyes still puffy from crying as you stare at nothing. “i should take responsibility for kazuha, it’s only the right thing to do.”

adamantly, kokomi shakes her head. “while this was inevitable, you were not the only one who assumed we were in the clear.”

with a slight sigh, her hands flex over an unnamed wounded soldier, hydro slowly healing the flesh wounds they had sustained. you watch her absentmindedly, shrugging.

“maybe so. but there was only one person who shot that arrow at kazuha.” you grumble.

countless times, you had debated telling kokomi about what kazuha had said to you, about the conversation you’d shared in what could have been his last moments. yet, there is something in the downset concentration of her eyes on you that tells you she has already guessed. kokomi clears her throat, shrugging a kink out of her shoulders.

“well, kujou sara is far away now. besides, i heard that wasn’t quite the case. rather than aiming for him, she aimed for you. but he had stepped in, isn’t that right?”

you sigh, “...gorou told you?”

a small smile curls her lip. “this is why i am confident when i say that it is not your fault. kazuha took an arrow to the chest for you, that is not something someone does on a whim.”

you wave her off as an embarrassed flush captures your face. kokomi chuckles, shaking her head as her eyes remain on you teasingly. finally choosing to spare you, she asks you to hand off some medical supplies in her stead.

the rest of your day is filled with similarly mundane tasks, things given to you by a variety of faces. there is no telling what they assume about your drooping state, but whether they pity you for kazuha’s sake, or find it in themselves to criticise you for your negligence, it is pointless to take it to heart.

yet when you finally have a free hand, you wish you could be back under the gaze of even someone who blames you. because, it is much worse to be left alone with your thoughts.

it’s what pushes you in the direction of kazuha’s tent initially. you had been avoiding it out of guilt, not wanting to see him in such a state despite all of kokomi’s reassurances that his condition is stable.

it’s not that you don’t believe her — kokomi’s word is law to even you now, and she would not lie to cushion any blows. but there’s something about seeing him that itches an insecurity in you, something that you can’t quite pinpoint until you’re standing in the tent, overlooking him.

we were only kids, but i loved you. and in some way or another, i have never stopped.

if he had loved you all this time, how many crucial hours had you spent thinking otherwise? hell, you’d been caught up in worries that he was plotting against you mere hours ago. all of the mistakes, all of the misunderstandings, you fear that you will never get that time back.

because while the colour has returned to kazuha’s skin, and the arrow is snipped down to a more manageable length, his life and your reconciliation still hangs in the balance so long as his eyes are closed.

taking a seat on the ground next to him, you mindlessly pull the blanket further over him. kazuha’s face is completely still, and betrays no secrets. you have not once been honest with each other, not until last night. it had taken the fear of death to push you together, but to think you relied on such an extreme—

you cut your thoughts off with the slight shake of your head. despite your blunders of the past, no longer are you at an arm’s distance, and no longer can your mistakes hold you back.

so long as kazuha recovers, you will take your second chances together.

keeping the image of his peaceful face in your mind, you head off to your own tent before anyone can wrangle you into something else. you are still apprehensive to the idea of wallowing in your regrets, so, you choose to bide your time with a more personal matter.

hesitantly, you pull a slightly crumpled envelope from the pocket of the bag you had brought along with you. it contains items you’d been too afraid to look at in the past couple of months — a ritou maple leaf laminated into a personal gift, enhancing potions you had received from the shogunate, even a yellowed picture of you and kujou sara sits folded in a pocket.

but, the envelope you search for is a more recently acquired item. addressed to you and neatly sealed, kazuha’s last anonymous letter to you glares from your hands. wincing in anticipation, you tear open the letter as you would rip a bandage from a wound. kazuha’s handwriting is small and neat, curving just as you remember it to.

to my dearly detested,

a smile tugs at your lips as you recall the joking nickname he had reserved for your letters, referencing your rocky ruse in a way only the two of you could recognise.

i hope this letter finds you in good spirits. even if your most recent escapades have failed, you will surely have another chance to best us soon. today’s subject is different from our normal topics, though, i do believe it is a necessary side to share with you.

you are well aware of my inclination to share things with you, so i will not hold back my offer to you this time. i am using this letter as an excuse to ask you to reconsider your position before there is no turning back. i don’t know how strong your ties to the raiden shogun are, and they may have grown stronger over these years, for all that i know. but if you are the same person i remember, it is worth a shot.

your lips curls into a frown. you had known your position for such a long time, yet your hesitance had kept kazuha in such a similar state of unawareness. just how long had he assumed that he would need to work from zero with you — that you were so far gone, the only feasible way to propose such a thing was through writing?

you have been forgiven for many moons now. while i wish to tell you this in person, it may very well be correct for me to assume that i will never get the chance. so, please, let me have your attention for one minute longer.

looking up with a frown, you bite into your nails with rapt nerves. you had somehow managed to misread the situation horribly enough to create an entirely new portion of setbacks. kazuha never acted hot and cold with you; he was only uncertain of your feelings on the matter. kazuha had even outright asked you if you had read the letter, yet foolishly, you had brushed it off as a jab.

closing your eyes, you groan into your palm.

if you are still reading, i thank you. for a long time, i was too bitter to even write to you. your words were heavy and carried weight that i doubt you were aware of -- i trusted them as if they were natural, even as i should have recognised your anger instead. while you were in no position to say such a thing, i was in so position to make such a selfish offer.

for throwing away so much time, i am truly sorry. if there is even a small part of you that anticipates these letters, that wants to smile as you read these words, please return. you may laugh at me, you may hate me for taking so long to say this. but, please, grant me the chance to apologise. i miss you. we have much to catch up on, but rather than merely saying that, i will look forward to hearing from you, no matter your choice.

the absence of a signature is for the purpose of privacy, but the small doodle of a maple leaf by the final word acts as a replacement. the lines are slightly shaky, as if he had been nervous when penning the drawing.

you make your way to kazuha’s tent fairly quickly after you finish reading, pocketing the letter carefully. as you pull back the tent flap, you’re surprised to see kokomi already beside him.

eyes widening, she tosses you a small wave with one hand. the other is laid delicately over kazuha’s chest, a tiny jellyfish made of concentrated hydro energy healing the larger parts of his wound. you quickly fall to your knees next to kokomi, watching her vision work with curious eyes. now that you are completely awake, it is a different sight.

it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. if you look closely, you can almost pick out how the skin threads itself back together, gradually filtering out the blood that had dried in its place. there is a fine line of sweat on kokomi’s brow, though she seems to be making good progress.

“how long have you been at this?” you ask curiously, quirking a brow when she releases a nervous laugh.

“i haven’t been keeping a particular time, though i will do it as long as i have to.” kokomi nods. “not only has kazuha done so much for me, but i also cannot possibly let him go when someone is waiting for him to come back.”

your ears heat up quickly, and she laughs again, though the sound is considerably more joyful. “there is no need to hide such things from me. i’m only relieved that you have finally resolved your troubles.”

with the slight exasperated shake of your head, you shrug.

“well, i certainly won’t stop you if you’re so inclined.”

kokomi stays beside him as promised, and you talk well into the night, monitoring kazuha’s progress closely together. at one point, kokomi becomes too exhausted to keep up in conversation, though because she insists you keep talking, you inform her of what exactly had happened between kazuha and you.

you tell her how you had met him when he was still part of a noble family as a child. that after his clan was cut down, the responsibility of keeping him alive as a teenager fell to you, his old friend. you laugh with kokomi as you recount how kazuha’s first couple of years as a young wanderer were rough at best, but your fisherman family had been the people he needed to confide in.

“what a heart-warming story,” she muses, a small smile pursing her lips. you smile and agree.

but, the story grows dark fast. your sudden job with the shogunate didn't upset him in any way at first, but the day that his friend had died at the hands of the raiden shogun changed everything. you tell kokomi about the fight you’d had, his sudden affiliation with the resistance, the continous letters back and forth, even about his recent sudden confession in the face of death.

“and i suppose that is the long version of why we’re here today.” kokomi nods to kazuha’s peaceful face, before leaning back to shoot you a sympathetic look. “i’m so sorry, ___.”

you wave her words off, eyes trailing to kazuha’s collar. his kimono had been pulled down under his arm, as well as the creatively placed piece of armor over his arm removed, to give the healer a more direct point of access, and it gives you a clear view of his skin now. all evidence of an injury was completely wiped away in the tedious process, except for the faint memory of the arrow’s entry point, marked by a small scar.

“you’ve nearly completely cleared the wound.” you say quietly, amazed. “if anything, i should be apologising to you for all of the hard work you’ve had to do.”

kokomi’s smile is pleasant. “you’re very kind, ___. i’m sorry to hear about your circumstances, you both truly deserve this ending.”

nodding, a warm feeling spreads throughout your chest. you had made so much progress with the woman beside you, you are almost inclined to wonder how you ever saw her as an enemy at all. touched by her words, you return the smile. “yeah. i hope so.”

inevitably, kokomi doesn’t finish patching up kazuha until long after the sun sets. you both are dreary by that point, exhausted by the day’s respective duties -- yet, when she offers to walk you back to your tent for the night, you still refuse.

“i… want to be here when he wakes up.” you admit, slightly embarrassed as you let out a quiet laugh. her lips thin into a sweet smile as she stands up, wiping her hands together. it doesn’t take her long to understand, and sweetly, she leaves you with a wish of good luck.

as she leaves, you turn back to kazuha. he lays unobstructed on a tatami mat, chest rising and falling slowly in an unwavering beat, showing once and for all that he is alive, and he will live to see another day. you shiver as you reach for his hand that peeks from beneath the blanket. though, much to your dismay, he does not show any signs of recognising the touch.

the silence is deafening as you wait on and on for any further action from him, though after what feels like hours of nothing, you cannot help but succumb to sleep as well. you fall asleep with your head leaning on the sturdy fabric of the tent, kazuha’s hand tight in yours even the cold air of a draft circulates around you.

you wake peacefully this time around, the next morning arriving alarmingly fast. but, a silent coughing breaks you out of your stupor quickly. your heavy gaze attempts to adjust to the light as someone leans forward, running a light thumb over your brow.

“you’re finally awake?” the person muses, their voice tinged with a curious happiness. a smile melts your expression even before your vision clears.

smiling, you whisper, “kazuha… how are you feeling?”

“very well,” he says, hand dropping as his head tilts slightly with a smile. “thanks to you.”

giddy with relief, you waste no time in all but tackle the man in an embrace. though thankfully, he laughs along with your actions, returning your affections easily as his arms wrap around you. the blanket tangles around your intertwined limbs as you dip your head into his chest, careful to avoid his previously injured area even if it is healed - kazuha doesn’t seem to notice your superstition.

“you know, i finally read your letter,”

faltering slightly, kazuha leans his head back in an attempt to get a look at your face. begrudgingly, you let him take your chin in his hand. his brow quirks.

“and? your answer?”

incredulously, your eyes narrow teasingly.

“i refuse,” you begin, hand wandering up to cup his cheek. the adoration in his eyes that follows your actions, it is so pure, so unadulterated that it nearly knocks the wind out of you. “we’re obviously beyond saving, kazuha, can’t you see?”

a grin sits on kazuha’s lips as he pulls you to rest over him, brushing a lock of hair from your view as his eyes take in every last bit of your face. he memorises it like he might need to let go of you at any second -- though, remembering the contents of his last letter to you, perhaps the theory isn’t so far-fetched.

“i love you, ___.” he confesses to you gently, eyes gazing into yours with utmost trust. “and i will continue to for the rest of my days, so long as you let me.”

a pleased flush spreads across your face as you recall the promise you had made the night before, leaning down to let your lips hover over his. “i will, and i will love you back a thousand times over.”

kazuha smiles into you as he finally kisses you, capturing your lips in his with the power of a thousand unsaid words.

the cliche threads of fate are often loose; pulled thin by high expectations or strained by mistakes. people fall out, people become enemies, and those same threads go rotten just as fast as they had been created. but, the same cannot be said about the winds -- different to each individual, it is unique in the way it will endlessly connect two people together, regardless of the paths they take apart.

and the man who travels with the wind will never harm you.

---

⠀✔︎ Listening to your heartbeat to make sure you’re still alive

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ♥︎︎

Okay so this one deffo won the sfw poll lmaoo–– Altered the in-poll prompt a bit so it’s not monotonous. 

✔︎ Feat:  [ Diluc, Kazuha, Zhongli, Xiao ] Slight angst, but mainly hurt/comfort and fluff. Less ‘life or death’ -y than you might expect (except Xiao’s lmao.) Reader w/ an electro vision & sword in Kazuha’s ver. Guizhong mentioned v briefly in Zhongli’s. Lightly-described injuries in Xiao’s. GN! reader. Unedited !! <3

Navigation & Carrd

✔︎ Diluc

It happens most often on rainy days, or around the time of year that’s near Diluc’s birthday.

Sometimes he’ll jolt up in bed, suddenly awake with his eyes wide and hazy, or sometimes you’ll be minding your own business throughout the day when Diluc enters the room, not saying much but just immediately making his way to you, wanting to makes sure you’re still here and that, no, he’s not dreaming.

⠀“Diluc?” is the first thing you say, the word coming out in somewhat of a wheeze, slurred slightly from sleep. There’s a distinct weight on your chest, though. Nothing too crushing, but there. It has you awakening quickly, a hand flying to the crown of wild red hair under your jaw. “‘Luc? What’s––”

⠀But the words die in your throat when the grip around you middle tightens slightly, crushing you closer into Diluc’s embrace. You can’t move your head to glance down, not with the way his red hair is unbound and everywhere, but you can distinctly feel the way Diluc’s hold is desperate and his breathing is shallow, like he’s just run from Mond to Liyue. The side of his head is practically digging into your sternum. 

⠀Your heart aches when you hear a small, choked noise come from him. You realize that he’s shaking slightly.

⠀“What do you need from me?” Is what you ask instead, hands burying themselves further into his hair and rubbing slow, gentle circles into his back.

⠀”Just–– stay here. Like this,” he croaks, voice hoarse. You wonder how long he had been awake before you. “Until I know for sure you’re alright.”

⠀He can’t see it, but you nod slightly. The hands in his har pet and stroke, untangling knots and soothing flyaways. The longer he stays with his ear pressed to your chest, the more he melts into you, losing the rigid tension. 

⠀“For as long as you want,” you say, pulling him closer to you.

Keep reading

a touch of lips 

Genre: spicy fluff (lots of kissing, touching, teasing, slight biting mention (kaeya, scara), slight possessive theme (scara), etc) - love drunk reader

Character x GN reader | Anthology

Includes: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Itto

request: you know that scenario you did of Thoma and love drunk reader, could you do a series of love drunk reader

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physicality.

*physicality: the fact of relating to the body as opposed to the mind; physical presence.

word count: 1,921

a/n: i absolutely love inumaki. and seeing jjk 0 today only made me love him more. however, no worries - no spoilers for the movie in this fic! also, i used this wonderful person’s guide on inumaki’s language for this fic! 

Inumaki wanted to say lots of things.

There was so many things he’d wanted to express at multiple different points of his life, but never could. He’d felt the frustration of his cursed energy for as long as he could remember, and it had never really faded - he just, simply, learned how to cope with it.

He really didn’t have any other choice.

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Hi!! I'm back with another req if you don't mind. Can I req "I appreciate you for you" with toge

hope you enjoy :)

appreciation / toge inumaki x f!reader 

warnings: none :)

word count: 1748

Toge was the definition of a good boyfriend. He doted on your every need, want and desire, went above and beyond to make sure you were happy, even if it meant he missed out. It didn’t matter how many times you told him that just being him was simply enough, he had to prove to you that he was worthy of your love and affection. He couldn’t exactly tell you in words, so he promised himself to make up for it in actions. Toge was so deeply in love with you, that it often pained him that he fell short in the verbal aspect, longing to tell you how beautiful you looked with his words, and how simply honoured he was that you’d chosen him to be intimate with. All it usually took to quell his worries was your lips, telling him that you loved him, kissing him so tenderly that he was certain you’d bring a grown man to tears.

But today, not even your soft and kind ways would calm the swirling jealously he felt.

“Did you do something different with your hair?” Yuuji said as you sat scribbling away at your notebook, your other friends making small talk as you studied, “it looks nice, Y/N.”

His voice startled you a little, looking up at him like a deer in the headlights. He chuckled softly at your expression, and the appreciative smile that curled at your lips.

“Oh, yeah, I straightened it this morning. Thanks for noticing, Yuuji.”

“I wish my hair was as pretty as yours,” Nobara sighed, pressing her chin into her palm, “I can never get mine to sit right.”

As you giggled sweetly, telling Nobara she was wrong and that her hair was just as nice as the next person, you felt a hand squeeze your knee. Your attention turned to Toge, who’s eyes were down at his homework and trying to block out the compliments being poured onto you.

“I’m not one to particularly care about hairstyles,” Maki chimed in, “but your hair is always nice, Y/N. Yuuji is just a guy and can’t see something unless it’s thrown at him.”

“Hey!”

Toge squeezed your knee harder, a clear expression of irritation on his features. You placed your hand over his, gently rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. He relaxed slightly, but the tension was still evident in his face. He’d scrawled down on some paper that morning how pretty he thought you looked, styling your hair in his mirror, and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed it to you. You kept the piece of paper, just how you did with all the of compliments he gave you and stuffed it in your purse with the others. They were treasures, little reminders of how much he loved you, but to him it was never enough, especially when everyone else could tell you with their own voices.

Just once, he wished you could hear him say it without the worry he could hurt you.

“Thanks, guys,” you say, smiling at your friends, “you’re all so sweet.”

You laced your fingers with Toge’s, squeezing and caressing his skin. The only person not to comment, which you were rather happy about, was Megumi, who’s had an insanely obvious, raging crush on you for some time now. Nobara often poked fun, getting him all flustered when you were around and making jokes about how he couldn’t stop staring. You took it as a compliment, as Megumi was a dear friend of yours, and never made him feel uncomfortable about it. Nobara just had a special gift in that department.

“Hey, Megumi,” Nobara suddenly said, “you haven’t said Y/N looks nice today.”

The raven-haired boy’s cheeks burned crimson, his attention turning to you and your soft, ‘sorry about her’ smile. He stuttered a little, as you kicked Nobara’s shin under the table.

“That hurt!” she protested, rubbing the sore as huffing about how it was only a joke.

“You don’t have to say anything, Megumi-”

“I like it,” he interrupted, Toge’s grip on your hand like iron, “it- it suits you, Y/N.”

Nobara stifled a laugh, as you opened your mouth to tell him that there really is no need to succumb to Nobara’s teasing, when Toge got up abruptly.

“Inumaki, you good?” Yuuji asked, but Toge didn’t make any indication he’d heard him, and snatched his notebook off the table, leaving before you could even say one word.

“What’s gotten into him?” Nobara said absentmindedly, and you sighed heavily, before grabbing your things to run after him.

He just couldn’t listen to it anymore. Something as silly as a comment about how nice your hair looked had his heart and chest on fire. Why was it that everyone else, even Fushiguro, could express their appreciation for you and he couldn’t? Why did it bother him so much when all you ever did was tell him how much you loved him, and that in his own, special way, tells you how he feels?

It was just a bit too much today, it seemed.

He left campus, heading for the little flower shop in town that you loved so much. Quite often he bought you flowers, mostly your favourites, just a sweet gesture. The woman inside knew him by name now, always commenting on how lucky his girl is to have someone as lovely as him. It was a shame she had no idea just how wonderful you happened to be.

You’d searched the entire campus, to no avail. His dorm room was empty, he wasn’t in his usual places, and by the time the sun had set you were completely beat. He hadn’t replied to your abundance of text messages, which only made you worry that he was mad at you. You knew how this kind of thing affected him, and even after countless talks with Nobara, she still fuelled the fire. As much as you loved her, deep down, she was a troublemaker. The lamp on the bedside table illuminated the corner of your room that you’d couped yourself up in, laptop on your knee but your mind was not one bit interested in the work before you. Your eyes constantly fell on your phone, hoping he’d just let you know he was back, safe and sound. Then knuckles tapped against the door to your room, and your heart fell to your stomach. Scrambling out of the mound of blankets, you rushed to open it, eager to know if it was him, so you could wrap him up and kiss his sweet little face and tell him that you loved him.

Swinging the door open, you were ready to lecture him about how worried you’d been, when the bouquet of flowers in his hand stopped you. He walked in, closing the door softly behind him, and held them out to you, your favourites, in all the colours you could think of.

“Toge,” you breathed, gently brushing your fingers over the soft petals, “you didn’t have to.”

He placed two fingers under your chin, lifting your head so he could press a kiss to your mouth. You’d missed him, for the short time he’d been gone, and you kissed him back immediately, sighing into it as his hands pull you closer by the hips. His hands pushed your jumper up slightly so his thumbs could rub small circles into your sides, basking in the warmth of your skin and lips. As he pulled away, still staying close, he murmured something that almost bought you to tears.

“I love you.”

He’d never said it out loud before, out of fear that it might inflict something on you, although the words themselves had no malice in them. His ability was still difficult to understand, not even he had grasped it fully, and your safety was paramount, always, at every moment of every day. His hands cupped your face, wiping the teardrop that had escaped, kissing the skin where it was.

“I love you,” you whispered back to him, as he took the flowers from your grasp and placed them down onto the bed, pulling you back into him and pressing your foreheads together.

“My angel,” he said, voice quiet, calculating in his mind exactly how to say what he wanted to without activating his cursed speech. You just listened, letting some more happy tears fall as his kind and gentle voice filled your ears, hands holding you close to him and lips peppering kisses across your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, neck, pulling your jumper so he could kiss your shoulder, collarbone, anywhere his lips could reach. Your hands found his hair, tangling in it, earning a quiet groan from him as your nails scratched lightly at his scalp. His presence was so comforting, everything about him was simply intoxicating, his breath hot against your skin as he mutters, “I’m sorry.”

You push him away slightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and eyes swirling with the question of why on earth he was apologising.

“Huh?” you say quietly, “why? You have nothing to be sorry for, honey.”

He brushed some hair behind your ear, eyes so full of love for you.

“Can’t say much,” he got out, struggling to find the words quick enough to say them, “to you.”

Your heart sank, knowing that he’d been upset about earlier, so he bought flowers, and had probably been planning on how to say those words to you all afternoon. It broke you that he was so angry with himself.

“Toge,” you breathed, cupping his jaw, and putting all his attention onto you, “listen to me, I love you, just the way you are. We understand one another, even without words, and I appreciate everything you do, Toge. I appreciate you for you.”

The look in eyes was almost drunk, so enamoured by you and everything that you are. So kind, so full of love for him, such a precious and beautiful soul. His lips found yours again, kissing you harder this time, his fingers gripping the hair at the nape of your neck. “I love you,” he said again, louder this time, opening his eyes to see if you were still standing there, unharmed and in his embrace.

You were, and the look of complete happiness on your face would be engraved in his mind forever.

“I love you, Inu,” you say to him, pressing a kiss to his face, “I love you, for you.”

disclaimer: I do not own jujutsu kaisen or any of the characters or storyline associated with it 

---

sincerely,

yours truly (part one). / sincerely (part two).

premise: your diligent efforts to uncover the identity of your secret admirer had ultimately amounted to nothing. in fact, your investigations only raised more questions — your companions' strange behaviors and shifty-eyed gazes hadn't completely escaped from your awareness, not to mention you've become... privy to some of their affections...

and what is the last thing you need while trying to search for one person who liked you? more people to like you, of course!

but that is exactly what you receive. (goddamn it all.)

includes: zhongli, kaeya, scaramouche, itto & the real secret admirer !

note: oh god i have done it. it's even longer than the other one but since this is the 10k celebration fic, it's only rightfully so! i hope you enjoy this... likes and reblogs are appreciated <33 please read the first part if you haven't already!

zhongli:

all things considered, zhongli is an unrelated figure to your personal issues, not particularly concerned with such trifling matters. you lived worlds apart, and he's generally preoccupied by his own studies anyway, too absorbed in his thesis to mind who has a crush on who and whatnot.

yet it seems as if fate is intent on pulling you two together whether you like it or not.

you belong in different majors, your lecture halls on opposite sides of campus, and he's an upperclassman. not to mention the upperclassman everyone looks up to, the senior equivalent of albedo. though he holds an air of benevolence and warmth, he's unapproachable in the way nobody would dare impose themselves in fear of bothering him with their presence.

professors only speak of his name in accordance with endless words of praise, and legend has it that any paper he proofreads is guaranteed to receive a high grade... not that anyone could confirm it, since nobody has been gifted that luxury.

except for you, of course, living the y/n life — you'd been slaving away on your assignments per usual at diluc's cafe when, in a moment of misfortune, zhongli had crashed into a waiter and spilled his coffee on your papers, soaking pale sheets in brown splatters and smudging the inked sentences you'd painstakingly written for the past hour.

if only your laptop hadn't run out of battery, you wouldn't have resorted to drafting with pen and paper. or you could have done your work in a later date instead of being productive for nothing. fuck.

witnessing your expression crumpled to disbelief and misery, zhongli apologized through offering his assistance in doing your assignment with you. and oh boy, he did it well. it was better than what you could've ever done, the insight he provided beyond profound. he was humble even as you showered him with compliments, still looking quite apologetic for the fiasco he caused.

and. right. it could've ended there. after that occasion, you would wave at him if you passed by each other at the hallways, but that's where the extent of your relationship ended, a pair of underclassman and upperclassman who'd known each other once.

but of course it's never that easy.

he pops up when you least expect it, running into you frequently even though the rumors articulated “you'd hardly get a glimpse of him since he's busy all the time” clearly. and he's acquainted with people you know well, just that you never paid attention to it; keqing seems to respect him a lot, so does xiao, ganyu perks up whenever he's brought up in conversations, and childe sticks to him when given the opportunity. perhaps it was only a matter of time that you begin a friendship with him as well...

but what's up with these horribly timed drama tropes you keep experiencing with him?!

bumping into him and dropping your books to the floor so he offers to walk you to the library, locked into a room when a professor asks you to collect materials for class with him and the door has a faulty knob, getting photographed by a student while you study in the same table and everyone assumes you're dating,,

you've been seeing far too much of him.

everyone's patience has been wearing thin. xiao tries his best to keep his annoyance at bay but fails. childe has resorted to bribing zhongli for free lunch to lead him away from you. albedo straight up drags you to the opposite direction whenever he spots zhongli within vicinity.

but it's like there's a force of nature compelling you to stick right back to him.

hosting events for college fests had never been your kind of thing, but attention follows you if you're acquainted with famous people, and keqing was unwilling to be an emcee if she didn't have a friend alongside her to act as a second host. of course, that meant everyone was deadset on dragging you with her.

you're not very keen on standing on a stage to face the whole school like a kid participating in a talent show, but you've never been good at saying “no” to your friends.

hence why you find yourself clutching on a microphone now, blinded by bright stage lights. you would much prefer if you were part of the audience. or if you were in ayaka's place instead, holding up cue cards behind the curtains.

there's some kind of beauty pageant going on, a popularity contest for the prettiest people in uni. votes are collected via online polls, and you're tasked to reveal the top 10. you don't doubt for a second your friends will all join you on stage eventually, and you've already asked ganyu to drag xiao up the platform if he tries to escape. sweeping off a piece of confetti by your shoulder, you flip open the folden paper in your hand and announce the winning names.

zhongli steps up as one of the candidates for first place and you faintly hear gasps of awe and high pitched squeals.

you nod at him in acknowledgement, and he returns the gesture in kind. you head on over to hand him a mic of his own, keqing busying herself by doing the same job for other contestants, and...

in your carelessness, distracted by fumbling with the paper in your hand to hide it back inside your pocket, you trip over an electrical cord.

you've been waiting the entire night for the time where you'll eventually embarrass yourself in front of a crowd. perhaps a voice crack in what's supposed to be a tense situation, a stutter in your words, falling off a stage even, but here it is, even more horrifying than what you could've imagined.

squeezing your eyes shut instinctively, you brace yourself for the hard surface to tumble onto. instead, what meets you is something squishy, someone's hands gripping around your shoulders, and-

FUCK. you banged your knees on the ground.

the first thing to pop in your mind is a myriad of swears that could stun a sailor.

the second is the oddly plush surface your lips had landed on.

the third is the sight of widened golden eyes. they look very familiar. but you'd rather not think about who they belong to.

the ugly screech of the microphone dropping to the floor is drowned out by gasps, yelling, and the scandalized choke of keqing behind you. xiao — who did end up being a contender for the stupid popularity contest and is standing only a few meters away, makes an alarming noise that could trigger a person's fight or flight reaction.

you hastily attempt to rise to your feet, but the floor is slippery what the actual fuck, and zhongli, oh for fuck's sake, innocent and oblivious zhongli grabs your hips to keep you steady.

.....of course the accidental kiss and caught in a compromising position tropes were going to happen eventually.

kaeya:

“it's from me.”

your gaze travels from the fresh, new bouquet of flowers emitting a sweet fragrance lying in your arms, and the face of the man currently standing before you, lips curled in what seems to be a supposedly reassuring smile.

“you mean... this and the carnations last time?”

his lips are still firmly quirking upwards, admirably patient in spite of reiterating the same phrase over and over again whenever probed with your repetitive questions.

still, he doesn't quite give off the impression of someone deeply infatuated.

and okay, not to be narcissistic, but you expected a secret admirer to... well, admire you more, yet this person looks as nonchalant as ever.

and he doesn't look like the type to profess love through subtle means. at all.

you'll be blunt. you've heard of kaeya. who hasn't? whether it be of mischief, or something more scandalous in nature, he's more or less always involved with trouble, gossip about him traveling fast. it may be an insane prank in the boys' dormitory or someone he bedded (who's supposedly out of everyone's league, yet fell for his charms so easily), you hear of his name quite often.

it's just that you didn't expect you'd associate yourself with him...

and if you have at least two brain cells to rub together, you can easily piece together the conclusion: this guy is definitely talking out of his ass.

nobody has ever heard of kaeya pining over someone so badly that he personally sent bouquets and other small gifts to appease them, admiring them from the shadows. it's so clearly not his style. if he likes someone, he'd flirt with them a bit and cleverly worm his way into their heart, and absolutely not give away presents expecting nothing in return.

but if he's not your secret admirer, then for what reason is he pretending like he is?

you want to seek the truth, and playing along for the meantime sounds like the best option. and this may draw out the real secret admirer, the sly part of you voices internally.

thinking it'll be rude to turn him down publicly (since of course he initiated this exchange in the middle of a crowd, and that only gives you more reason to doubt him), you decide to see how things go first.

if anything, this whole “wooing” business with kaeya seems like it's done out of spite. does he have a bone to pick with you? or he made one of those stupid “it'll only take a week for you to fall for me” bets with his friends? hopefully not, because that's terribly out of trend.

your indifferent responses do nothing to deter him from sticking to you like glue though, doing this and that to earn your favor. he's... not doing anything wrong, actually. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he's like any other eager guy who wants to receive your love.

he does a great job of remembering what things you like and dislike, making a habit of inviting you out for a meal in your favorite restaurants every now and then or taking note of what movies you're looking forward to so you could watch it in the cinema together.

... it feels more like hanging out with normal friends now.

kaeya eases into the idea of that notion, too, insisting on meeting you outside of his shady “i'm your secret admirer” business. it doesn't take too long until you begin to reach out to him as well, inviting him to go shopping with you to look at jewelry together (and dear lord, does kaeya know how to accessorize) or giving him a ticket to the amusement park when kokomi bails on you. (“so i' m just a rebound? a back-up plan?” kaeya arches a questioning brow, acting deeply hurt to provoke a reaction. you smack his shoulder and he laughs in mirth.)

(he definitely tries for the “let's go to the haunted house so you can cling to me when you're scared” cliche but fails. why does he feel disappointed though...)

if given more time, maybe the time would come where you'll both just shrug off the secret admirer thing and continue on normally as friends. it'll be the last thing on your minds, a joke that never had a punchline. just some prank kaeya didn't see through the end.

but then it resurfaces when kaeya had already given you your daily dose of coffee — yes, he somehow knows the secret recipe you like, something you plan to ask him about later — but another cup is waiting at your desk, its once warm temperature turning lukewarm.

you inspect it, judging for yourself, and you confirm it's the same recipe you like.

so this one is from the real secret admirer then, the one who's still hiding in the shadows. that, or this recipe is just popular.

the people residing in the same room as you observe the scene with interest, because apparently your romance drama became a spectator sport, stares pinned in kaeya's direction.

you knew he was a fraud from the very start, but others do not, and he's not sure what to say.

someone else makes the excuse for him. “do you have another person who likes you, [name]?” amber asks innocently, essentially saving kaeya's ass without her realizing it. you let your gaze shift from her to kaeya.

“...maybe.” you place the two cups of coffee side-by-side, feigning nonchalance.

if the real secret admirer found out that someone's pretending to be him, this must be his way of saying kaeya's a fraud in front of everyone. after all, if he was actually the secret admirer, there'd be no need for kaeya to give you another cup when he'd already placed one on top of your desk.

and a couple of people already know who the real one is, anyway. xiao just doesn't want to tell you.

kaeya sends what seems to be a longing gaze your way but ends up turning away to head to his own classroom. he'd only offered to walk you towards yours, and you didn't share classes. it gives you more time to ponder how to confront him.

you didn't have to. he explained things himself.

it comes in the time you least expect, a peaceful lunch like any other. he suddenly arrived at your table, tray in hand, and sat opposite of you. “it's not me,” is the first thing he says, no context at all. he admits the obvious truth and you shovel more food in your mouth in your hopes of hiding how curious you are for what else he has to say.

“but i know who's been giving you flowers... and the coffee. also the chocolate the other day. i helped him pick out the presents, actually.” and that's where you choke because that's not what you were expecting at all.

“he was considering sending a love letter, but i told him you'd recognize his handwriting because you know him very well. and he refused to give a printed letter because he thought it was 'lacking' and you deserved better than that.” he scoffed at the thought. “and that's cute of him. endearing, if you will. but he seriously pissed me off last month and i wanted to mess with him a bit.”

“so you... tried to date the person he likes?” your expression sours. that's a dick move. he immediately shakes his head, as if to say perish the thought.

“not that. i knew for a fact you wouldn't like me anyway. i was just teasing him,” kaeya huffs. “and he got angry at me. well, it's a justified reaction. but i didn't plan on keeping up the charade for long. i only wanted to fool around for a few days.”

“and then?”

“...i missed the timing to pass it off as a joke. then we started to hang out like friends. but i assured him that you didn't actually think i was the real secret admirer, so he forgave me as long as i... do some work for him.”

oh. he's right about that though. and that also explains why kaeya looked so tired recently, helping out a friend with his project as a sincere apology.

“does he plan on revealing his identity anytime soon?” you can't help but ask, your eager eyes betraying the nonchalance in your voice. kaeya sighs at that, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms.

“i've been trying to convince him to. it's exhausting to look at him flailing about like an idiot. he talks about you all the time.” he frowns at the way your cheeks color. “you should try luring him out.”

you tilt your head in question. to show his point, he reaches out his arm, grabbing your hand. you let him do as he pleases, even as he brings the spoonful of your meal to his lips, and takes a bite out of it.

distantly, you hear a metal clatter against the floor and a voice cry out in surprise. you turn your head towards the noise, and you see—

the hell. it's just bennett tripping.

... but it's not like bennett dropped a metal utensil or anything. he is the one who cried out, though.

“wrong direction, sweetheart. you were supposed to look at the right. what a shame, you didn't see him picking up his fork like a fool.” kaeya laughs, releasing your hand from his grip.

he seems strangely reluctant in doing so, but you decide not to look further into it.

scaramouche:

at best, he is an unwilling spectator.

emphasis on “unwilling” because he truly does not wish to see you. like at all. you're pretty sure he hates your guts, but he'd amassed a lifetime's worth of misfortune and keeps seeing you... and the guys around you.

it's safe to say if your love life was turned into a k-drama, he'd probably seen the entire series.

he'd walked in on you when childe confessed he likes you, purple eyes narrowed into a sharp glare before he turned on his heel and left the room. he'd seen the way xiao looks at you, starstruck and excruciatingly fond, because of course scaramouche sat beside him in class (long, long ago they settled a mutual agreement to not speak to each other unless necessary, even if they hadn't verbally discussed it). he'd seen you at diluc's cafe, too, when diluc poured coffee at the angry customer. scaramouche's clothes were stained, as he was the customer sitting beside your table.

he'd seen you with kazuha when kazuha came to pick you up in the rain. he'd seen albedo draw sketches of you in the corner of his notes. he'd seen thoma with you while out for grocery shopping. he'd seen gorou follow after you not unlike a loyal puppy.

he's, reasonably, tired of seeing your stupid face and your stupid harem and he hates you.

by the looks of it, none of your friends like him. especially mona. she had a few arguments with him already. they didn't mix well, and scaramouche liked poking fun of the astrology she loved, a firm disbeliever of such things. “how is my birthday supposed to dictate my personality? or my relationship status? is this fortune-telling? tell me, then. what's my lucky color for the day-” and he only shut up when mona landed a clean kick to his shin.

...yeah. he's kind of an asshole. the type to scowl 24/7, glare at you for no reason, and bump into you without apologizing. then when you do try to make small talk to alleviate the awkward atmosphere, he scoffs and pointedly ignores you.

but you can't blame him for finding you and... the guys following you irritating. you imagine it must be an eyesore for outsiders. there's already quite a bit of rumors about you going around seducing men (and women, you add, because apparently you can't be friends with pretty girls without having those kinds of intentions... and yoimiya and ayaka could be somewhat touchy) and rumors are almost always wildly changed with each pass of gossip from one person to another.

of course your friends don't believe it one bit and are ready 24/7 to defend your honor, but scaramouche is very obviously not your friend, and he may regard you with something less than pleasing.

it's only understandable you're caught by surprise when you chance upon him picking a fight with people badmouthing you, shoving a boy to the wall with brute force you wouldn't expect from someone his size. (you berate yourself for making fun of his height in this kind of situation.)

“shut the fuck up,” scaramouche drawls out, fisting the boy's shirt collar. “your voice is grating to the ears. surely, you have better things to do than yap nonsensical bullshit out in the open?”

“what's your fucking problem?!” the guy responds, panicking within his grip. “it's not like we were talking about you! don't think so highly of yourself!”

that prompts a scoff from him, and he tightens his hold on the boy's collar. he immediately shuts his mouth, thinking it better not to retaliate. scaramouche's glare promises something beyond simple violence if he continued to act prideful.

somwhat satisfied by the fear glistening in the guy's eyes, scaramouche finally releases him. “scram.”

the group runs off, and you quickly duck behind a wall to hide from his sight as he walks away. you're not sure what to feel, conflicted by his usual prick demeanor and shockingly kind(?) actions behind the scenes.

unfortunately, your confusion reflects directly on your face. after a handful of times catching you staring at him, he finally snaps, “what do you want.”

your expression twists into something complex, and scaramouche's frown deepens. “uh... no, it's nothing, really...”

“you've been looking at me all day. do you take me for a fool?”

your face sours. so much for planning to thank him. maybe he didn't stand up for you and actually just found the noisy gossiping annoying enough to choke a guy and pin him to the wall. if it's scaramouche, it isn't too far-fetched at all.

and what were you going to say to him, anyway? it's not like he explicitly stated he did it for you. it would be beyond mortifying if you thanked him for it and he clarified that little detail, thinking you were stuck-up enough to assume the world revolves around you.

... no, that's too much overthinking, isn't it...

“well?” scaramouche impatiently taps his foot, raising an eyebrow expectantly. you hold back a defeated sigh and decide to stay put.

“sorry if i made you uncomfortable. i was, um, looking at...” who does he sit with again? “xiao!” you mentally apologize to your friend, using his name as an excuse.

impossibly, he becomes more irate than before, his taps ceasing into a calm quiet. the silence pierces more than the tense conversation prior.

without another word, he walks away.

...well. okay. that was safely evaded.

life continues on per usual. you don't interact for the next week, and you want to leave it at that.

except your life is a joke. a romantic comedy you never wanted to be a part of.

...you're assigned to a group project. with him. with childe too, no less. the childe who confessed his love to you not too long ago and you still have problems wrapping your head around it, not sure how to talk with him like you did before.

amidst this drama, scaramouche is stuck smack dab between you. he's unquestionably furious.

he's present when childe looks at you in the same excruciating way xiao does. he's present when childe tries to make jokes to ease off the tension, and it doesn't work in the slightest. he's present in the lingering gazes, awkward pauses when you graze fingers as you hand materials to each other, and reluctant conversations that never last any longer than seven clipped sentences.

scaramouche feels wronged. had he committed a war crime in his past life to deserve this despair?

and you. you just want to get this over with. collect information, make a powerpoint, and present in front of the whole class. easier said than done.

the three of you together doesn't sit right with you, but left with only two isn't any better either. childe and scaramouche don't get along if you leave them long enough for an argument to brew. scaramouche hates you and doesn't fill the silence when childe leaves for a bathroom break. childe tries too hard to talk when scaramouche leaves for a coffee break.

when the first day of working together ends, you nearly cry tears of joy.

“i can walk you home,” childe offers out of goodwill. it's certainly not because he has other intentions in mind, he's just concerned since it is pretty late.

“we take the same bus,” scaramouche speaks, for the first time joining your conversation. “we can go together.”

childe smiles in relief, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. then he stills. old habits die hard. damn.

for his sake, you don't comment on it. you walk out of the library, scaramouche in tow.

the stroll to the empty bus stop isn't a comfortable one, but at the very least, you're accompanied by an acquaintance and you don't have to feel anxious being alone. you take a seat as you wait but scaramouche chooses to remain standing, placing a fair amount of distance between you.

“...you haven't made up?”

his voice is small, almost swallowed by the howling winds. you're surprised he wants to talk about it, but you laugh. “we didn't fight or anything.”

“fighting would've been better,” he replies. “an apology could still repair your relationship. but there's nothing you can do if you don't see him that way, and he can't see you as a friend.”

you look down at your feet, heels resting firmly against the pavement. “yes... it's tricky. i don't know how to act around him. i don't want to hurt him, but... maybe not rejecting him is painful, too.”

“then turn him down properly.”

“it's not that easy...”

“would you rather him still have hopes for a chance with you and eventually get disappointed instead of dealing with it once and for all?”

he makes an excellent point. it's reasonable enough... but you don't know how to bring it up with childe. not now. not yet. you'll have to think about it properly, the way to reject him with the least amount of discomfort from his side.

“receiving relationship advice from you... if someone told me this would happen today, i'd think they've gone mad.” you chuckle. “do you deal with friends whining about hardships like these often?”

“apparently, they think of me — someone who has no interest in dating — as the perfect person to consult for relationship problems.”

“hm? you don't date? do you like anyone, at least?”

he gives you a look. it's perfectly blank, devoid of his usual arrogance or irritation. you blink at him, the pause in the conversation stretching too long to be comfortable.

“you could say that. but i don't... try things i know won't work out.”

“...like?”

he rolls his eyes. “think about it this way.” he removes his hands from his pockets, approaching your seated figure. he comes startlingly close, mere centimeters away, and his fingers curl around your wrist. your lips part and close, and you wonder if he's trying to kiss your knuckles-

“if i told you now that i like you, with this many people who like you too, there's no way i'd win, is there?”

it's an example, you tell yourself. you asked him a question and he answered it.

“...so the one you like is popular...”

but his gaze looking directly into your eyes is too earnest, too honest. sincere. light reflects against the violet pools, a turbulent storm clouding within.

you neither nod nor shake your head. the bus arrives and you scramble to get on it.

scaramouche pulls you by the wrist when you nearly trip over the small set of stairs, leading you to a pair of seats. if you have something to be grateful for, it's that he doesn't try to talk anymore, using the pair of headphones resting by his neck for the rest of the ride.

itto:

itto barges into your life in a whirlwind of chaos.

it comes in the form of a stray volleyball plummeting towards your back, and the sheer force behind it knocks the wind out of your lungs. your knees buckle and you kneel on the floor, heaving violent gasps of air. the searing pain makes you wonder if you broke your spine.

distantly, a screech bellows from the court. a figure almost flies past the gymnasium's doors to check on your condition. “are you okay?!” it's gorou, you realize, his eyes blown wide with panic.

you don't want to worry him and say you feel as if you've permanently shattered a bone, but your back hurts like a bitch and you tell him so, “fuck me with a hammer, did a bowling ball crash into me or something?”

he ignores your interesting choice of words and answers, “my friends and i were playing volleyball, i'm so sorry! we didn't see you there at all!”

you steer your sight to the gymnasium entrance and oh my god. the doors aren't especially massive, and one of them is even closed, so what are the chances you walk past the small space and precisely get slammed by a stray ball? it's gotta be lower than a five star drop in gacha.

“can you stand?” gorou holds up a hand for you to take but you really can't move away from your fetal position without an explosion of ache jolting through your body. he's three seconds away from offering to carry you when someone else beats him to it.

“did you get hurt?!” a blur of white hair passes through your eyes, and you blink up at an unfamiliar man. gorou's friend, you're guessing, most likely the one who injured you too — that powerful force from the volleyball could only come from someone like him. tall, athletic, muscular. he's ripped. shredded. probably tore your muscle fibers too.

you don't let the pain cloud your mind. he didn't mean to kill you, you remind yourself. you stretch your lips into a smile, but it may just look like a grimace.

however, with a gentleness you didn't expect from him, he carefully hoists you on his back. oh. he's strong. and really warm.

...sticky with sweat too, but you'll try not to mind it too much...

“i'll carry you to the infirmary!”

your brain clears up from the haze of agony. “...wait, you don't have to-” before you get another word in, he rushes to the clinic, and you bypass many, many people. you settle for hiding your face as best as you can.

after proper treatment, he gives you a serious apology. you learn his name is itto, and you instantly recognize him. you've heard of the name itto before, that one popular student on a sports scholarship for basketball, but he's known more for goofing off with other sports teams. he's broken a lot of windows when he played baseball... and probably also broke bones of other people when he roughhoused too much on the soccer field. it's just that he's insanely talented, enough for most people to overlook his troublesome tendencies.

anyhow, famous or infamous, you can't tell yet. but he's very much willing to make up for your injury.

a free meal would honestly suffice just fine, but even after that, he insists on following you around, offering his assistance whenever needed. and, well. you have no problems with having an extra hand to help when you need to carry heavy equipment.

then he learns about the whole secret admirer thing and he proposes he'll help you lure him out.

“and how do you intend to do that...?” you inquire just as you enter the lecture hall, itto trailing after you and setting your bag on the table. his face splits into a grin and you have a vague idea of what he plans on doing.

he wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you close to his chest.

several things happen at once. a huff leaves xiao's mouth involuntarily. the crack of pencil lead breaking into pieces sounds from beside him, scaramouche holding the pen in his hand with too much force. the laughter ringing seconds prior comes to a halt, childe's face no longer displaying a bright smile.

itto blinks, retracting his arm. he didn't expect this outcome. “you have really overprotective friends, [name].”

as one would expect, you never got the results you want because too much people react to his provocations. it's tricky to pinpoint which one of them exactly is your secret admirer when they all like you the same. (this whole situation is truly absurd. it's not that you fed all these guys love potions by accident, right?)

itto doesn't dare upsetting gorou with this though, but with anyone else, it's free game. he begins calling you the most ridiculous pet names he could come up with, in the wrong place and in the wrong time.

my precious cupcake. my sweetest honeybun. little ducky. snugglepuff. they send shivers down your spine. (albedo is noted to be most affected when itto does this. it's not hard to imagine his brain cells frying when itto shamelessly calls you by such awful names.)

but then it becomes a habit. he's not doing it ironically anymore. his mouth had become accustomed to addressing you in manners only lovers do. more often than not, your friends would be caught by surprise when he wholeheartedly calls out “babe” to earn your attention and you turn towards him as if it's like the most natural thing in the world.

the cherry on top is when you attend one of his games for the basketball team.

it's not like you wore his varsity jacket to rub into everyone's faces the fact that you're dating. nor did you wear a cheerleader outfit of some sorts to show your passionate support as his significant other. you'd only come with gorou and kokomi, waving the banner the three of you made into the air as you were seated in the stands along the sides of the court.

when they won the finals, people on your side all rejoiced, flocking over to the team to praise them and offer their congratulations. thinking it would be better to stand by instead of joining the sweaty crowd, you stood aside with kokomi while gorou insisted on diving headfirst to the sea of people.

then a tall head approaches from afar. white hair, bright eyes, and a similarly blinding smile. “[name]!”

you didn't expect him to come to you. well. spares you the effort then. you throw a towel around his neck. “you're drenched in sweat. please don't touch me.”

he frowns. “not even a congratulatory hug?”

“not when you're this gross.”

at least that wasn't a stern no. itto grins. “wasn't i great out there?” he cards his fingers into his hair, fishing for compliments. you thought he had enough of those from the crowd currently swarming him. “i did a ton of 3 pointers. you saw me, right?”

“would you be disappointed if i said i was on my phone the whole time?”

immediately, his face twists into an offended look. of course that was a lie. you laugh and lean on the tips of your toes to reach his hair, ruffling it into a mess. “kidding. you were amazing, babe.”

that moment, you hadn't seen his expression clearly, occupied with patting his head. perhaps you hadn't even realized what you called him.

but to everyone around you, they could see it, plain to the eye — the shock in his gaze, the small twitch of his lips, the rise of his brows. then his cheeks flush a lovely color as he stares at you under his lashes with a hesitance as one would look at the sun, longing to admire its radiance yet afraid to be scorched by its brilliant rays.

he takes the leap anyways, staring at you as long as he wanted.

a lovestruck fool, keen to your touch.

your secret admirer.

relatively speaking, it's an ordinary day so far.

or as ordinary as it can be with a life as silly as yours. the past few weeks didn't feel real. you wish they weren't. everything has become too complicated. everyone kept on acting suspiciously and skirting around you, avoiding eye contact only to observe you from behind.

your day starts out seeing thoma when you open your front door, both of you telling each other good morning. you pass by kazuha having breakfast at a fast food joint. then you run into itto first thing in the morning, where he gladly helps in carrying a 3d model of your project into class. kaeya swings by to bring you coffee since you didn't get a chance to visit diluc's cafe, not having the extra hand to carry among the pile you already have. you make your daily greetings, saying hi to your friends and annoying xiao, as you always do. you nod towards scaramouche, and you even had enough courage to say hi first to childe too. when walking to another lecture hall, you happen to meet albedo, gorou and zhongli in separate times.

then at lunch time, when you briefly leave your belongings alone for a moment, someone leaves a packet of candies stuffed into your bag.

a sticky note is stuck on the surface, “please meet me at the physics classroom at 6 p.m.” scrawled in black ink.

the penmanship is good. it twists in elegant curls at the edges, brush strokes light and even.

you're able to recognize it at first glance, just as kaeya has told you.

you've seen it enough times to burn it in your brain. you've rigorously studied notes with that same handwriting, after all.

at 5:56, you stand in front of the classroom doors. in different circumstances, you'd have second thoughts before blindly following somebody's orders but you know who it's from, and it is decidedly not a murderer out to get you.

you collect an intake of breath, and twist the doorknob.

the last traces of sunlight bathe the room in a heavenly glow, a haze of aureate like shimmering flecks of gold. the billowing curtains hide the figure standing by the windowsill, the gentle breeze caressing your cheeks as you squint in its direction.

the figure moves of their accord, the sound of a book snapping shut following their actions.

albedo walks out, a serene smile displaying on his sun-kissed face.

“...hey.”

your heartbeat pounds in your ears. though you expected his appearance, it does nothing to dull your surprise.

“it's you.”

albedo had always admired you in quiet adoration.

he can't provide a clear explanation why his gaze is naturally drawn to you, turquoise eyes sweeping by your countenance before he realizes it. but it started out simple, as everything does: a curiosity piqued, when he heard of a person tagging along the supposedly unapproachable girls in school.

gossip comes and goes every season, and albedo knew it will pass soon. it's only a matter of time before they cling to another topic to babble about. most likely something kaeya did again, because he chases after trouble like a dog with a bone.

rumors are nasty. they paint you in malicious light, a person seeking attention among the most eye-catching lot. you wished you were on the same league as them, they said. you were only after the benefits of acquainting with those girls, they said.

but you were special on your own.

the way you carried yourself with confidence, against the judgmental stares and muddled opinions. the way you hadn't cared about what other people said, because you knew best about the situation and you were different from what they made you out to be. the way you genuinely loved your friends, sincerely wishing them happiness and doing everything you can to put a smile on their faces.

you were dazzling.

your laughter rang like bells in his ears, your grin a delight to see. your voice was melodious as you prattled on about the latest film you watched, or as you hummed a song with headphones covering your ears. your colorful expressions were amusing, a reflection of the feelings in your heart.

as the professor drones out during lessons, albedo finds himself distracted by his daydreams. what if he stood beside you? what if he could partake in conversations, not only able to hear your voice but you'd also hear his? what if he was the one faced with your smile, the reason of your smile, the one who made you feel such joy?

what if you permitted him to go further? to brush hands with you, to intertwine your fingers in simple intimacy, to curl his arms around your waist in a loose embrace, to press a kiss on the corner of your lips-

his ears burned in humiliation. what on earth was he thinking?

but forget “seeking attention from others,” it didn't even seem like you were interested in dating.

you showed indifference towards the idea, avoiding mixers and drinking parties. you also turned down quite a few dates. not to mention albedo wasn't even friends with you. he wasn't even sure if you knew of his name.

then you showed up at the library, and for the first time, albedo was thankful for the privilege nobody bothered his table, so you could sit alone together.

you became friends after his (despairingly embarrassing) insistent attempts to acquaint himself with you.

and he files away the little details, storing the small things about you in the corner of his mind. what you like, what you dislike. what days were you free, what things you prefer over the other.

it's a happiness he relishes in, the comfort of your friendship. but his greedy little heart yearns for more, for what you cannot give.

he tries anyway.

he's running out of time. you're always surrounded by people, whether you realize it or not. but he considers himself a selfish person. he doesn't want you to be taken away.

he may lose you entirely if he does it wrong.

but you're already here, eyes gleaming, lips pressed in a nervous tight line. the red dusting your cheeks leaves some hope for him, so he musters up his courage and simplifies the storm of feelings that eats away his heart each day:

“i like you, [name].”

fingerless gloves.

with miya atsumu.

in 0.3k words.

tags angst, it’s sad, i’m really proud of this one too, gn!reader

You told him your favorite season was winter.

The fact stuck to his memory like a sticky note posted on the wall adjacent to his desk. The first time you told him this was on a cold winter night before he dropped you off at the doorstep of your home. He asked you why. You rubbed your hands together, blowing your warm breath onto them, and he placed his calloused hands on top of yours. You told him that it was because your hands always got cold, and it was the perfect time to hold hands in hopes of getting warm.

Keep reading

---

HEADCANON + VARIOUS || wearing their clothes

request: I don’t know why no one requested this classic yet but how would toge,yuta,and megumi react to female reader, wearing their clothes and acting like them?

note: lowkey boys brains will go brr brr  LMAO - but this one is so cute >< like i want to wear their clothes too~ i wanted this to be just like an ask but then i got sidetracked and it became a headcanon cx but i hope you enjoy it regardless~

pronouns: she/her

Keep reading

By Choice or By Accident (Wanderer/Reader)

Spoilers for Interlude Chapter: Act III Inversion of Genesis

i made the executive decision that the traveler fucks around a bit and takes a good while longer to decipher what scara changed with irminsul and wow, that's a convenient amount of time for him to get real soft on someone huh-

(also i believe scara says he doesn't like sweets only because ei DOES like sweets and he secretly loves them you cannot change my mind, back off)

AO3 LINK

Wanderer/Reader 5,258 Words - SFW Nothing heinous. Fluff, 2 seconds of Angst, meandering narrative, skipping time a little bit, Reader is a candy maker. Very indulgent, don't take this seriously.

---

Despite its status as a hub of commerce, it’s rather obvious when a new face arrives in the Grand Bazaar. Even more so when they’re dressed like that - soft blues against striking azure, a wide hat and carefully placed body armor to show martial skill. 

When the grocer across the way brings home a straggler, your initial thought is to be wary. There’s an unsettled quiet around him as he keeps his head ducked low and his face carefully hidden. The protection on his arms and shins suggests some martial skill, yet there’s no vision to be seen on his person. 

In the beginning, you’re wary - and rightfully so. Then his head lifts and his eyes move around the bazaar before he realizes you’re staring, and something fundamental changes in that split second. The air around him shifts, the guarded expression in his eyes bleeds away, and you’re left staring at excited eyes and a smile that shines with both anticipation and trepidation. 

The grocer’s new stray becomes a fixture. One that you quietly watch from your stall of handmade sweets, your gaze occasionally broken by the excited child or curious adult, all of whom are the sources of your livelihood here. But even your regulars find it hard to keep your attention when something so interesting is just across the way. 

Initially, the first word you’d use to describe him is untouchable. Like something priceless to be placed on a shelf. Only to look at, never to hold in your hands and sully it with your touch. Even as he works diligently at the grocer and displays less than fragile tendencies, you still can’t keep yourself from marveling at the otherworldly sort of perfection. 

Then, just like that, it’s swept away in the span of a short interaction. 

While you’ve overheard his quiet arguments with the grocer about not accepting pay, you know for certain he’s been tipped on deliveries to their customers. It’s what gives him the means to tentatively cross the walkway to your stall, stand a respectful distance away, and let pretty violet eyes wander over what you have on display for the day. 

And they are pretty. A color you’ve never seen before, even in a city like Sumeru where fabrics in all manner of hues are commonplace. You’re not entirely sure that someone could accurately recreate such a shade of purple. 

Quietly, as if to keep from imposing on you, he steps a little closer and squeezes the pouch of mora in front of him with a grip so tight his knuckles turn just a little lighter than the rest of his pale skin. It’s painfully obvious that he’s nervous, but his chin lifts and his chest expands with an inhale, and you’re impressed with the bravery he’s showing to simply peruse a candy stall. 

“Please recommend something to me!”

He says it like he’s about to run into battle - and your heart that was wary at first melts. Any caution is thrown to the wind as your shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across your face, and you ask, “What do you like?”

To your surprise, he clams up for a moment, twisting at the ties of the mora pouch until you’re certain the ropes are going to unravel. The last thing you expect is a quiet, “...I’m not sure.”

Okay. You can handle that, as strange as it is. Going into your usual sales pitch with gusto, you try your hardest not to be distracted by the way he cocks his head and leans in, listening with rapt attention as you point out each little piece, which were handmade and which you had brought him, which were your favorites and which ones most people seemed to gravitate toward. 

“These ones aren’t popular, but I like them. They’re sour, but once you get to the middle, there’s a sweetness that chases it away. Just don’t eat too many, they’ll make your mouth sore!”

“It’s sour, but you say they’re good?” His fingers pinch his chin in thought as he looks at each flavor you have of the small selection. It’s no use keeping a large stock when its audience is few and far between. “Sour on the outside, sweet on the inside, huh?”

“It makes the sweetness that much nicer if you can make it through the tough bit. It’s kind of like life, isn’t it? Once you make it through the difficult parts, the moments that are softer are that much better when you’re in them.”

Violet eyes watch you in wonder, lips gently parted as he mulls over your impromptu advice. With warm cheeks, you busy yourself with straightening the rows, the smallest bit of embarrassment making your fingers shake. They don’t look any neater when you’ve finished.

He picks one of everything you indicate as your preference, carefully counting out the coins and giving a little extra that you try to place back in his hand. But he grasps your wrist until your palm is up, pushing the extra coins there and using his free hand to curl your fingers around them securely. The smile on his face is wider than any you’ve seen, cutting into his cheeks and making the corners of his eyes squint in its wake. 

“Just for being kind, that’s all.” And his touch lingers for a moment long enough to make your heart skip, your fingers itching to grasp at his own so he could stay just a little longer. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t think you’ll get through all that candy in a night.” Or he could, you’re in no place to judge him for it. Certainly, children much smaller than him have performed that feat before. 

In return, he smiles sheepishly and focuses on his hands holding yours, his thumb pressing against the pulse point of your wrist. There’s no doubt he can feel your heart racing from his touch and his presence, his soft grin and the slight flush on the apples of his cheeks. “Maybe not. But… just to talk to you? I’d like to know you if you’d let me.”

If he notices your persistent giddiness for the remainder of the bazaar’s open hours, he mercifully doesn’t make any comment on it. He simply returns the next day with praises over what you’d sold him the day before, exclaiming that the sour candies were his favorite, and an earnest question. 

“Could you teach me how to make this?”

And how could you say no? When his hands were fisted at his sides to hide how they shake at the prospect of such a simple question, there’s no way you could deny something so… sweet.

That evening, after he closes up with the grocer, he crosses the pathway that separates you and offers to help you carry your goods home for the day. It’s with great pleasure you gesture to a house just two doors down - your home and workshop all in one. He doesn’t let you carry your goods, anyway.

“It must be nice, living so close. I’m glad to see it.”

“Glad?” You ask, watching carefully at how he carries a box with one arm that you often have to drag across the ground on a nightly basis. He must be deceptively strong. The hat he wears is tucked beneath his other arm, leaving his smooth hair a little mussed after a day of wearing it. 

His head bobs as he watches you unlock the door with a key from your pocket, the hinges groaning as you step inside and urge him to follow as you work to light the lamps. The answer you asked for comes as the room illuminates. “I’d hate for you to have to walk so far at night. It’s not very safe.”

“True, but the bazaar is one of the safest places in the city. And I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Spending your life somewhere doesn’t always make it safe,” he pauses, just long enough to set the box of goods down on the table that dominates the center of your home, “but it’s not really my place to be overbearing about your safety. I’m sorry if that was too much.”

“No! It was… nice. Thank you for caring.” The words strike him into stillness, his hand resting on the lid of the box, thumb curling around the edge to press into the wood. His other hand rubs over his chest, just beneath the dangling ornament and pinion that jingle slightly in the comfortable silence. 

The swallow he makes is audible, a show of that nervousness that comes when he seems to be faced with sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with. To his credit, his voice doesn’t waver, even a little. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me. Of course I’d care, even a little.” And that endearing pink comes back again, barely visible in the lights that are just beginning to grow stronger as the flame catches the wicks.

“You’ve been nice, too. Give yourself a little credit.” 

Outside, other merchants are making their way home. The sound of carts and laughter trickles into the room, breaking the tension that’s somehow formed despite such an innocuous topic. Clearing your throat, you ask, “You know, I don’t actually know your name. You’ve never told me.”

While the tension is gone for you, it doubles down on him as his shoulders clench, and he pointedly looks away. The far corner of the room suddenly becomes impossibly interesting to him, at least compared to how you begin to move closer to unpack the box. 

“That’s because… I don’t have one. I’m just a wanderer. Any name I might’ve had, I don’t remember it anymore.”

“Do you not remember by choice, or by accident?”

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow your movements as you bring the sour candies out. Pointedly, you pull a few from their bag and push them across the table to him. As if he were afraid they’d disappear, his fingers wrap around them and drag them closer. One pops in his mouth, and he waits until the sweetness makes itself known before he finally answers.

“A little of both, I think.” The candy clacks against his teeth, running along his molars from one side to the other, as if he’s preventing a single spot from being scoured by the sourness. Perhaps it’s also a tactic to delay what comes next, something you only realize when he says it. “You should know… I’m not exactly human. I’m-... I’m a puppet.”

“Okay.”

“...Okay?”

Giving him time to ruminate over that, you finish unloading the box before stowing it away beneath the table. It gives you enough time to formulate a tactful response. Palms on the table, you lean to get the weight off your feet from standing all day, and explain yourself. “That doesn’t change anything. I still like you, I’ll still teach you. You must’ve lived a long time then, huh?”

He doesn’t give you a number, and you don’t exactly ask, but the way he exhales until his lungs are empty tells you that in his mind, it might have been a few too many years to walk through. Has he wandered all that time? Alone? It doesn’t feel right to ask - so you don’t. 

Instead, as you begin to lay out supplies for tomorrow’s stock, you quietly make a promise to yourself that if you can help it, perhaps he won’t need to use the term lonely to describe himself ever again. 

—

When you first opened your stall, it was commonplace for you to grow sick after contacting so many people on a daily basis. It was just expected, it came with the territory, and you only needed a handful of months for your body to grow used to it. Nowadays, you hardly find yourself feeling ill at all.

Then there were days like today, where the world is too bright, and your skin feels too hot and too cold, uncomfortable no matter your position. The softness of your bed curls around you, cradling your aching joints as you struggle to maintain a comfortable body temperature. The windows facing the street show that the sun is already risen, though at this time of day, not as much of it makes it down to the bazaar, even at the outskirts as you are.

Wrapped in your blankets in the throes of a cold chill is how the wanderer finds you. His steps into your home are tentative - you’d given him a key, and you thank yourself for the foresight. Looking into your bedroom, his expression goes from curiosity to something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than fear.

“What’s wrong? Look at me-”

“I’m okay.” Talking makes your head feel thick and muddled, stuffed too full of the meager thoughts it requires to get words out. But he’s kneeling next to your head now, hands hovering over you but not quite touching, like he’s unsure of what to do next. It lightens your mood a little, seeing him fret like this. “Just a little sick - it goes around this time of year.”

“What do you need me to do? Do you need food? Have you had anything to drink today? Hang on, let me get a washcloth.”

And he’s on his feet, moving to your kitchen and out of your ability to call him back. A quiet laugh leaves you as you roll onto your back, snuggling beneath blankets and listening as he sifts through your cabinets to find a bowl, then fill it with cool water to bring back to you. His eyes are more focused on the bowl as he enters, determined not to spill it until he’s able to set it down on your bedside table. 

Before you can say a word, the back of his fingers press to your forehead, and he hisses through his teeth. There’s no need to say that you’re burning up, not with how he hurriedly wrings out the cloth and folds it delicately on your forehead. Even chilled as you are, it feels like heaven, and you all but melt into the blankets as the fingers of his hand linger along your brow. 

“Better?”

“Mm… yes, thank you.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself, rather than you. There’s something haunted in his eyes, something that’s clawing at the back of his mind. Far be it from your place to ask, but the fever has lowered your inhibitions, and you can’t help but lick the chapped dryness of your lips before asking what you wish to know. 

“Why are you afraid? Look at you, you’re terrified.”

The answer is immediate, maybe even instinctual. “I don’t know.” His eyes linger over your face, trailing over the dark circles beneath your eyes and the weariness that lingers. “My mind is telling me terrible things, almost like I’ve… lost someone like this. But I’ve never-... I haven’t been around anyone long enough to care. Not like this.”

He cares. About you. Sure, that was obvious enough at this point, but the fact that he puts it into words so candidly makes your heart flutter nervously. It’s been a long time since anyone would go to these lengths for you in your time of need, and for it to be him… It makes you feel leagues better already.

“I’m… I’ll make you something to eat. And get you something to drink. I’ll be back.”

The words tumble out of him, one after another, with little control. He’s nearly out the door by the time you comprehend that he’d been pink in the cheeks, fingers nervously twirling the golden feather on his chest. He cares. What a novel thought.

It doesn’t take him terribly long to return. Just long enough for your eyes to droop closed and your mind to wander off into dreams of pretty violet eyes and the faint scent of flowers that you’ve never come across before. Soft smiles, a hand running down your arm, a thumb across your cheek as a familiar voice urges you to reawaken. 

“Just a few bites, then you can sleep.”

Easy enough, when the spoon finds its way to your mouth of its own accord. Yet it’s not sentient - it’s held by lithe fingers that guide it steadily. At your back is his arm, helping you sit up so you don’t spill over your sheets. Quietly, you shift a little closer and bask in that faint floral smell that’s like nothing in Sumeru. The only way you can explain it is if you were describing the wanderer himself.

Drinking is an easy affair, thanks to the straw he’d somehow found you, and once he’s satisfied you’ve completed the tasks he’s laid out, so too does he lay you back on your bed. With distance comes a stark loneliness, and you reach for his hand as he stands from where he’d been kneeling. “Stay? Please?”

“Let me grab a chair at least. Your floor hurts.”

You want to tell him to just climb in your bed. To let you curl around him for all the comfort he can offer, greedily taking and taking because he’s always so willing to give. But the last bit of your self-control pulls you back in, releasing your grip to allow him to drag a chair across the floor to sit at your bedside with an exasperated smile. 

“Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Hm… Promise?”

“I swear it on my life. I’m not going anywhere.”

The last thought before you drift off is a quiet murmur of your heart repeating that he cares. About you, about your wellbeing. He’ll be here when your eyes open, hopefully with less of that fear he’s still holding onto. The washcloth on your forehead is changed, slim fingers wipe away stray water droplets, and all the while he hums a tune under his breath that sounds like the sweetest song.

—

The wanderer has only one devastating, debilitating flaw - he’s a worrier. 

Whether it’s after a long day and you’re bone tired, or you were too busy to eat lunch, or even if you’re just feeling a little ill, he has an incessant need to coddle. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be a good look. You’re a grown woman, you can take care of yourself, keep yourself safe and cared for. 

But something about the way he does it soothes any outrage you could possibly feel. Insistent, quiet, offered with a smile that seems almost pleading. And you know that while he’s making you dinner and taking on the duty of meticulously creating fruit-shaped candies for tomorrow’s weekend sale, it’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. 

And so, if it keeps him smiling as he carefully pours soup into a bowl for you, you’re more than willing to let him get away with it. 

Chin propped on your hand, elbow on the table, you let your eyes drift closed as the weariness of the day catches up to you. The festival over the weekend was one of the biggest in a long time, and your preparations were wearing you impossibly thin. It meant longer evenings to finish creating stock, longer days to account for new tourists, and all the stress that comes with it. 

Not to mention the last straggling bits of your illness that had kept you homebound for days, still lingering after two long weeks. Your muscles still felt weak, your head still fuzzy.

But the wanderer had been a huge help, especially as the grocer had all but kicked him out of his stall to send over to yours. The grocer had been trying to foist him off on you for weeks now, and he hadn’t really needed to try that hard at all. 

The sound of ceramic sliding across the table in front of you is the indication he’s dropped your food off, and you crack your eyes open just in time to see the golden pinion of his ornament dangling in front of your face as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

Both of you freeze. 

But he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. Instead, you reach with a shaking hand to the golden feather, grasping it lightly with your fingertips and rubbing your thumb along the subtle ridges. Your curiosity serves an alternate purpose; it keeps him close, prevents him from backing away from you. 

A sigh breezes along your scalp, humid from his breath, and a shiver from you breaks you both out of the odd trance. 

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off, already anticipating the unwarranted apology for something you desperately wanted him to do again. Even standing above you, he looks incredibly small as his hands clutch at the opening of his kimono, worrying at the edges without a care for the wrinkles he’s creating. 

Letting the feather drop back to his chest, you reach for one of his fretting hands and hold it tight enough in your own that you can’t tell if the tremors come from you or him. It could even be both. Suddenly you’re filled with anticipation so strong it makes your stomach turn painfully. 

But it’s not bad. It’s welcomed, wanted. The only relief you know of is sought after with a simple question. “Could you do it again?”

“...Again?”

“If you’d like to. If it wasn’t a regretful accident.”

His lower lip disappears between his teeth for a moment, then pops out with a pink hue from the abuse. You’re only allowed a second to admire the shade before the only thing you can see is alabaster and violet, your view of the world cut off as he presses his lips to yours with a clumsiness that is borne from inexperience. 

A thud rocks the table from his palm hitting it, an attempt to brace himself as he leans further into you until he’s nearly climbed into your lap. A whine brushes across your cheek through his nose - a high-pitched, cracking sort of sound that’s sweeter to your ears than any song could be, any candy could taste. 

That evening, the wanderer becomes your wanderer. 

And the world seems more vibrant, the music of the festival is more joyous than anything you’ve ever heard. Your wanderer closes your stall and guides you to the theatre to watch Nilou spin and sway. Her movements are nothing short of hypnotic, but hardly enough to catch your attention as you lean against him and let your eyes follow the cut of his jawline, the brush of his hair against his ear, the subtle pink of his blush as he catches you staring from the corner of his eye. 

For an evening, the entirety of Teyvat feels like it’s in harmony. He smiles down at you, and the stars above shine just a little bit brighter. An arm winds around your waist to hold you closer, and the lyrics to the music lose their meaning, the tune grows meandering and unimportant compared to how he smiles so, so gently. 

If asked, you’re not sure that you’d be able to think of a single thing you wouldn’t give up to recklessly chase after this feeling with him. Safe, warm, loved. It’d been there from the beginning, quietly growing subtle roots until it ingrained itself too deep to remove - as if you’d want to. 

That night, you nearly tell him you love him. Something stays your tongue, but you’re not quite sure what it might have been. Tomorrow, you promise yourself as he brings you to your door and kisses you so sweetly that you can do nothing but melt in his hold. Tomorrow, you resolve as you watch him backpedal down the street, giving you that smile you favor so much. 

Tomorrow, you promise the following day as the market quiets following such a busy event, unwilling to break the peace for a confession you’re not entirely confident he’s ready for. Instead, you prop your elbow on your stall’s counter and watch as he smiles at the grocer. As he squats to the level of a child that’s examining fruits, and offers one of the familiar candies from your stall to him. 

Over the child’s head, he catches your eye, and the placating smile turns to one that’s teeth and pink cheeks, embarrassment at having been caught with such softness but not ashamed enough to stop. In the heat of the afternoon, the quiet murmur of the bazaar, the daylight stretching the shadows long as the sun crosses its apex and begins to descend, everything feels the closest to perfection you could ever achieve.

Tomorrow doesn’t come. 

Or rather, it does, but he’s missing. The grocer mentions he’d stepped out of the city to make a run for sunsettias, then left on an errand with a golden-haired newcomer and their floating companion. The Traveler, you recognize vaguely from gossip through the grapevine. They’d keep him safe, surely, but you can’t help but feel a looming sense of dread when he doesn’t return that evening. 

For the first time in months, you eat your dinner alone. 

—

The tables are turned, for once. It’s you that worries over his well-being, so much so that you close your stand for the day and pace around your home like a caged animal. Certainly he must be fine, but he would’ve mentioned it to you if he were leaving, wouldn’t he? It feels wrong to not be aware of his presence, to not simply turn your head and have him at the corner of your vision as a steady presence. 

The grocer stops by to drop a few pieces of produce off, an attempt to check on you and reassure you of the wanderer’s safety with the Traveler. It does little to assuage your fears - nothing does, until the door opens and it’s filled with a familiar silhouette.

Except it’s… not. 

There’s a different set to his shoulders. A tension that lingers for a moment too long before it bleeds away at the sight of you. But his eyes are still the same, taking you in with immeasurable reverence that doesn’t fade even as he steps into your home that’s dimmer than the midday market outside. One, two, three long strides bring him to you, close enough to yank you to his chest and hold you impossibly tight with both arms. 

“I’m sorry.”

Even the tone is different. It’s lower, more tentative, almost as if he expects you to refuse him. Adamant, you wrap your arms tight around his waist and link your hands together, squeezing with everything you can muster as you mumble into the fabric over his chest. “You should be. You had me so worried.”

“That’s… I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You’re sorry for something else?” Pulling your head back, you look up at him. Nothing could have prepared you for the way his face falls, his lip drawing between his teeth as he takes in the sight of your confusion and weariness. 

There is no stalling further. His hand comes to the back of your head, bringing you back close again as he speaks over your shoulder. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. Even if you think it will hurt me.”

“And if it will hurt me?”

“It’ll hurt more if I don’t ask it at all.” His chest beneath your cheek shudders with his exhalation, its wavering shaking you to your core as you realize it’s tinged with tears once he continues. “If someone walked in here that looked and sounded just like me, but they were inarguably an evil person… would you still want to stay with them?”

“Looks and sounds like you…?”

“If you couldn’t tell the difference, beyond the knowledge that for the entirety of their existence, so many of the actions they’d taken were for horrible, inexcusable reasons.”

It shouldn’t be a simple answer. The question he’s posed to you has so many layers despite its surface-level simplicity. But with the way he looks at you - wild, desperate, clinging to the hope for an answer that lets him stay close to you - it only takes you a moment to come to a conclusion that settles into place like a key turning a lock. Smooth, easy, with a satisfying click.

“Whoever that person might’ve been… they’re not who you are now.” His breath hitches, stilling under where you rest your head. Whether that’s the right answer or the wrong, you’re unsure, but you’re too far to backtrack now. “I know who you are. People are allowed to change, that’s just what humans do.”

“I’m not human.”

He’s not. He’s told you so himself that he was created, not born. But it’s easy enough to forget that fact when he’s here in front of you, trembling in your arms and clinging desperately to the normalcy you’ve unknowingly provided. The front he puts up is so convincing that you’re not sure it’s even false anymore - he’s experienced all there is to being a human.

“But you’re close enough, aren’t you? You laugh, and you hurt. You’re hurting right now. And the most important part of being a human is love.” Pulling back enough to look at him, to note the shine of tears and the harshness of his bite on his bottom lip to hide its quivering, you ask, “Do you feel love?”

“Yes. So much, it’s killing me.”

“Ah, you just need to let it out then. Of course, I’d stay with you. If it’s like you say, then there’s a long road ahead, and I’m happy to walk it with you, if you’ll let me.”

Choked laughter leaves him, high-pitched and disbelieving. It signals the floodgates of his tears falling, and he releases one arm from you to rub at his eyes to catch them before they fall. It’s a futile effort, one you’re happy to see, even as he surges forward to kiss you, wetting your cheeks with his own. 

Against your lips he murmurs, muffled and sloppy, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-”

As if you would have left him after coming to know him like this. It only hurts for a second that the thought had even crossed his mind to doubt - and perhaps that doubt will creep back in over the coming days. When things are difficult or when stirrings of a life past-lived come back to rear its head, threatening the tenuous peace he’s found. 

There are times that he looks at you with eyes that aren’t as familiar. They’re darker, edged sharply, but it’s still him. A different facet shining in the light, but if you tilt your head, you can see the core of him that lies beneath. Still the same, no matter how he refracts it. As he comes and goes, it feels as if a new page turns each time - some new, some old. A wildness exists that seeps through, visible only when he holds you a little too tight, kisses you a little too hard. 

Unsteadiness is something he’s worn since the first day you’ve met him, and with the return of memories he’d lost, it doesn’t settle over him as often as it once had. Only when you notice the shift does he avoid your gaze, the sheepish little smile lifting the weight on your heart, and his in turn.

He’s trying. That’s enough, you think.