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The Ruthless Prince (Part 16.1) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD forgive me, longer than usual, lots of things happen, steamy! but completely safe for work, implied sexual activities. 16.1 because I cut out the hot parts, 16.2 will be the one that details what exactly they did *eyebrow wiggle* but it doesn’t take away anything from the story if you don’t read 16.2. It’s just a little extra for those who feel like it.

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

You sit in the silence of your shared room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it is now past the birthday celebrations. Past your usual bed time, even. 

And yet, not a wink of sleep has found you.

There’s only anxiousness and uncertainty that makes your chest tighten. It drops to your stomach, and it dissipates the slightest bit, making you think that you’ve gotten control of your emotions back, but it shoots up your stomach and wraps around your heart again. The cycle of being anxious and uncertain continues.

Scaramouche disappeared as soon as the two of you got back to the castle. He strode past the big castle doors in a hurry, and when he remembered that you were there with him he swerved around and only said one thing. “Go to sleep,” It was rather dismissive, and for a moment you wondered if going to sleep was really the only thing you could do. 

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main masterlist

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs, luv you and thank you in advance❤️

WHY ARE ALL OF THEM SO FUCKING GOOD????????! pls tRUST me

gojo

gojo eating you out

gojo x dacryphilia

gojo loves fat pussy

sending gojo an accidental nude so he sends you a whole video

car sex with gojo

gojo being goofy in an elevator full of people - he´s big on PDA

gojo tried to give himself a haircut and now wants to go bald - this is fuNNY ksksks, I love the banter

trying to break up with yandere!gojo - yep, we´re talkin about lovesick toxic obsessed type of gojo, break up????? you know better than to tell him that sooo since you´re acting dUMB he has to fucc so sense into you bc clearly you forgot who tf ur talking to - LDKJSDFJDJFHLSHFLSHDF but he´s not rough bc he luvss you a lot

gojo is the pussy fairy - fwb, he´s your sneaky link when henessy makes you act up. he got a mf tongue piercing bYEE

insecure bully!gojo - angst, lil fluff, he´s a bully but he´s in love with that, but it´s not enough. part 2

the horniest - smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap

phone calls - slice of life, hubby!gojo, dilf!gojo, his wife and his daughter are his only priority, this is so sdkfjskdjfh :´( i love it

cherished moments - clanleader!gojo, hubby!gojo who is a softy for his wife, #simp

family moments - fluff, slice of life, this is so wholesomeee, bf!gojo meeting your parents for the first time, i love it

someone older - smut, rich dilf!gojo, big age gap, big dicc too, talks big shit as well, "what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and fuck his dad" I MEAN- skdfhksdf

best of the best - smut, fwb! satoru, big sHIT talker omg, he lit asks you to be his gf wHILE he´s making you cum,,,,,best bf ever tho

love struck - fluffy, ex-fuckboy!satoru, he´s experiencing love for the first time :((((( IT´S SO CUTEEEEEEEEEE

love dumb - fluff, blurb, you make him lose his composure, can´t even focus bc you´re over there existing, someone should make a longer version of this! so good

too much - ANGSTTTYYYY, fluff too, reader and gojo are in a situationship kinda thing where they live together and love each other but nothing has been said yet, they get into an argument bc gojo has a big mouth and says a lot of hurtful things, they´re both just so exhausted

i know you still think about the times we had - angst, fluff, rich bf!gojo, his father makes you break up with him, it´s so angsty omg, they get into this HUGE argument bc gojo´s dad is a controlling mf

sanctuary - fluff, lowkey angst, weak!reader, bully!gojo, nah he´s just in love but doesn´t know how to say it

the road to falling in love - fluff, strangers to lovers, it´s a collection o moments where keeps falling harder for you, I LOVE ITTTTT, sdkfjhskdjf it´s kinda slow burn but not boring at all

loving you - fluffy af, "you’re the apple of his eyes; the love of his life. the only one who matters" ME N WHO???? pls this made my want to cry my heart out

yuji finds out gojo has a family - fluff, lowkey angst, hubby!gojo, dad!gojo, so,,, this made me cry, i love yuji sm he deserves the world :( this is part two and it also made me crY MY MF EYES OUT :))))))))

i´ll meet you forever in this memory - fluff, college au, married life au, it´s so good, he lit has this big ass plan to make you fall for him, and i mean big, like planned way ahead lmao, 10 years later he´s still asking you to go out with him,,,,even if you´re already married sdlfkjkdfhlsdjh so so cute

can´t stop drinking - ANGST, death, blood, dad!gojo, husband!gojo, mentions of wanting to die, a curse kills you and your son allegedly but in reality the elders had lied to him all these years, part 2 made me fucking cry, PLEASEEE I NEED PART 3

hype man - crack, fluff, supportive bf!gojo, he´s such an amazing bf :(, “damn, my girl ran you over with a bus, reversed, then got out and shot you twice in the foot? what did you do?? sounds like a you issue.” LMAOOOOO this is so cute and funny at the same time, i love it, such a gojo thing to say

flicker of flame - fluff, nervous soon to be dad!gojo, pregnant!reader, he´s going to be the best dad ever

nanami

when you break up and make up - nanami divorce au, angst

dorm room escapades - smut, dad´s bestfriend!nanami, age gap, GAWWDD DAMNNNN, daddy kink, this is some good stuff

you ask him to fuck you like a whore - its a short one but me likey

nanami drabbles - pwp, pls yall readdd part 2 and part 3

nanami is strong af - short blurb, smut, sdflksjd this got me giggling and shii

fifteen minutes - “Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” that´s all I have to say, your honor

protective - headcanon, hubby!kento, i love thissss

swear it´s just right for you - smut, fluff, hubby!nanami, I´m weaaaak, he´s so husband material

stressed after work - boyfriend! kento, a cute lil drabble bc he loves your mere presence

labour of love - fluff, vanilla smut, lowkey angst if you´ve been keeping up with the manga/anime, loving hubby!kento, SO DOMESTIC, love making, :(

losing his mind - smut, dom!reader, hubby!kento, sub!kento, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW, 10000/10, now this is new

his protégé - fluff, slice of life, fiancé!kento, dinner time with yuuji, it´s so wholesome :´)

my future is with you - fluff, unexpected angst, this is SICKKKKKKK, the last senteces is fucking sickening, and NOT in a good way, so fucking wrong for that, I litteraly wanna dIE

tie my tie, marry me - fluff, slice of life, "the moment nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side" please just do yourself a favor and READ THIS

putting you in your place - smut, reader is gojo´s brat little sister, mean!nanami, BRAT TAMER!NANAMI, HEAVY degradation, “Maybe this was your fucking goal all along. To have me ruin you on my cock and fuck the attitude out of you.” CALL 911

edging - smut, pwp, fluff, this,,,,this is one the BEST nanami smuts out there, i just know the description of the whole thing is 100% accurate, the details, the way this is written, the visuaLSsss ldskjfhjsalfh go read it pls

married man - fluff, work au, HE IS A PROUD HUSBAND OK, the man was just waiting for somebody to say sOMETHING sljsdhfl now he can´t stop bragging about his perfect wife

toji

toji x size kink

toji x pussy spanking ´till you´re squirting - the title says it all,,, he´s MEAN

toji doing push ups with you on his back - you´re basically a rag doll,,,bc wdym he puts you in a fULL NELSON??

toji gets embarrased - the man WHIMPERED bc the riding was gewdd so reader kinda teases him for it, how dare she right? so now he has to make her pAY bc he aint no bitch

silk sheets n sticky cum - toji can´t control himself when he sees you in a nightgown so he uses you as a cum dump,,, in a very romantic way flsjdflkssldfjlsdfh, breeding kink

toji x overstimulation - fINALLY he got what he deserved, reader got him WHIMPERING, body shaking eyes rolling to the back of his head and everythangggg, I'm here for it.

take it lil princess - toji got me fucked up, straight up size kink like FRRRR he wants to break, bend and basically snap you in half (i´ll let him tbh), daddy kink, he got a big dicc as aLWAYS, the degRADING DIRTY TALKKK???? yes. he talks and talks and tALKS. there´s a lot going on yall

mine - toji mixed with monster!porn,,, nothing else to say- HE´S A WEREWOLfff, mean asf, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, it´s nasty

jealous daddy - slice of life, dilf!toji, megumi is a baby, toji and megumi create a plan to keep you away from megumi´s kindergarden teacher lmaooo, its so cute

nyphomaniac - smut, nypho!reader, dom!toji, THERE´S A WHOLE LOTTA STUFF GOING ON HEREE, just read it omg

family man - fluff, soft dad!toji, baby megumi, husband!toji, he´s a softie for his son and his wife ;(

unprecedented reveal - smut, fluff, mma!toji, journalist!reader, lowkey angst, "photo leaks of toji going down on you in public is suddenly exposed for everyone to know about the infamous fighters girlfriend" wELL dssdfh that´ll do it

will always be yours - smut, fluff, so basically toji only does rough sex, doggy style being his fav, but when it comes to you he prefers the loving-face to face-intense eye contanct type of sex (more like love making) bc being with you makes him feel ten different emotions at once :) DÑFLJSLDFJ

unspoken memories - fluff, lowkey angst, dad!toji, baby!megumi, married life, my heart is so full after reading this, it´s so domestic, so adorable, such a happy read

make a mess on his face - smut, toji is a messy pussy eater, that´s it, that´s the tweet

geto

gimme, gimme more - rich!geto x stripper!reader, lots of plot and build up, he is misteriousssss and fucking filthy and so cuTE??????? wtf, the wating game is real, he knows how to play his cards very well, LAWDD HAVE MERCY i would have folded too

gripping the headboard with one hand - smut, “what a slut.” hELP

protective hubby - teacher!suguru, pregnant wife oc, it´s cutee

focus - suggestive, flirty!geto, tutor!geto, “you’re doing so good for me… keep going.” I HATE ITTTTTTTT, i would fold like a mf lawn chair bitch OOF

dress shopping - very suggestive, WHY IS HE SO SMOOTH WITH IT ALL THE TIME??? got me blushing and sweating and shit

phoque - crack, teacher!suguru, twin girls dad!suguru, he accidentally curses in front of his daughters and now he´s gotta make up some bullshit story to save his ass, SLFHSLDKJHSLDH this is funny

choso

picture perfect - smut, photographer choso, he´s lowkey a perv, jacks off to oc´s pictures

suckig souls - smut, succubus oc, somnophilia, sub! choso, lil dacryphilia, love love love love it

meanie - smut, mean!choso, “Why you actin’ like some dick-starved whore? I fucked you good this morning" THE WAY I SCREAMEDDDDDDDD “Is that what you needed, princess? Some good dick?" STOOOOOOOOOPPPP

your pleasure - smut, squirting, choso discovers the magic of eating pussy :))))) aND he´s a fucking natural too like ???? gTFO

it´s too much - smut, dom!reader, inexperienced!choso and sub!chose fics are like crack to me, i´m obsessed, this is so detailed, he is eager to please sdlfjls and wants to try it all at once

fingers in his hair - smut, chose loves having his hair pulled when he´s eating pussy,,,,,,,CALL A MF AMBULANCE a bitch just died

cherry blossoms - smut, virgin!choso, phone sex, it´s his first orgasm yall, not yuji talking about a "sloppy toppy" LSJFHLSJDFHLFDH he´s so outta pocket

sukuna

itadori

vivid fantasies - smut, sukuna wants to bone you and he makes it yuji’s problem sakfhkshfksfd poor yuji

poly / multiple versions

gojo and geto are rich besties and they coax you into a poly relationship - smut

you slap their ass - reaction. gojo, geto, sukuna, nanami, choso, toji, megumi, itadori, yuta

too much for them to handle - toji and gojo version. it´s a LOT going here as well. gojo is a whole swiTCH. toji is a bully in the sheets so you know he´s all abou that degrading teasing dirty talk, we love it

slut him out - gojo, geto, nanami and toji version. y'know what,,,idek what to say about thi- IT´S NASTY FILTHY JUST PORN, reader is a whOre (not my words), read at your own risk bc i was SHOOk

how jjk men like it - smut, the gojo and toji one,,, i HATe it hereee

bimbo bunny - smut, choso, toji and nanami version, the vISUALs I GOT FROM THE NANAMI ONE LAWDDDD

birthday boy - smut, birthday sex, dacryphilia, i just KNOWWWW this is geto

PLEASE KEEP READING.

THANK YOU for all of the love and support on my previous posts, but now i’d like to take a moment to talk about the issues going on in this world in light of black history month.

this month is important for everybody. remembering the black activists, inventors, and peacemakers who shaped our world into what it is today should not go unnoticed nor unpraised.

however, some people aren’t here with us on this planet because their lives were taken as a result of hate crimes and police brutality. their lives are NOT a trend, and it is not fair that they are not alive to celebrate this empowering month with us.

you can check out ella miller’s link tree (see below) that includes a bunch of petitions you can sign for the BLM movement, the corrective r*pe going on in south india, and a whole bunch of other injustices going on around the world RIGHT NOW, or you can check out these individual links. you CAN do something, and you should.

check out ella’s tiktok account to educate yourself about the terrible world we live in.

ELLA MILLER’S LINK TREE

FREE ANDREW M. CUOMO

JUSTICE FOR CASEY CHRISTIAN GOODSON JR

CHARGE THE COPS WHO SHOT JACOB BLAKE

JUSTICE FOR ISAIAH LEWIS

JUSTICE FOR ELIP CHEAPHAM

GET OPD TO RELEASE BODY CAM FOOTAGE

JUSTICE FOR QUAWAN CHARLES

DECLARE “THE PROUD BOYS” A TERRORIST ORGINIZATION

STOP AN ALL WHITE CHURCH FROM BENG OPENED IN MURDOCK CITY

JUSTICE FOR GREGORY JOHNSON JR

JUSTICE FOR WALTKI WILLIAMS

SAVE HER CHILD FROM HIS SEXUAL ABUSER

JUSTICE FOR PATRICK WARREN SR

RENAME DONALD J. TRUMP PARK

REOPEN THE MURDER CASE OF MIRIAM CAREY

SAVE PUVUNGA FROM BEING DESTROYED

FIGHT AGAINST ANTI-TRANS YOUTH LEGISLATION

ARREST SEXUAL PREDATOR RICHARD REIGER

CANCEL P*RN: CHILD ONLINE PROTECTION ACT

STOP THE DEPORTATION OF AUTISTIC MAN OSIME BROWN

JUSTICE FOR SABRINA NGUYEN

JUSTICE FOR JAYLA

SUPPORT THE EQUALITY ACT

PROTECT BLACK TRANS WOMEN

BAN LGBTQ+ CONVERSION THERAPY

JUSTICE FOR DOMINIQUE FELLS

PROTECT LGBTQ+ PEOPLE IN POLAND

HELP TRANS YOUTH RECEIVE GENDER-AFFIRMING CARE

THE LGBTQ+ PANIC DEFENSE: EDUCATE & END IT!

ALLOW TRANSGENDER STUDENTS TO USE THEIR PREFFERED NAME IN THE YEARBOOK

JUSTICE FOR TETE GULLEY

JUSTICE FOR NOURA

PASS KAYDEN’S LAW

JUSTICE FOR VANESSA GUILLEN

STOP TEARING FAMILIES APART

HOLD SAUDI ARABIA ACCOUNTABLE

IF I FIND MORE, I WILL EDIT THIS TUMBLR POST. FEEL FREE TO ADD YOUR OWN IN THE COMMENTS SECTION AS WELL.

IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU STAND UP AND USE YOUR PLATFORM, NO MATTER HOW BIG OR SMALL IT IS. THEIR VOICES HAVE BEEN SILENCED, BUT YOURS HAS NOT. WE TAKE ONE MONTH OF THE YEAR TO CELEBRATE BLACK PIONEERS, BUT WE SHOULD BE FIGHTING FOR SOCIAL INJUSTICES ALL YEAR ROUND.

reblog, like, or share so more people see this.

- chase.

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, sword to throat moment, 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.

Mercy ✤ Xiao

A/N: After months, finally, another platonic angst lands. Are you dearies prepared? :")) Onwards!

✤ Mentions of death, violence, and blood

"Text in this format is a dialogue in flashback."

Words: 11k

Memories.

Oh, the significance they hold.

They say a moment should always be treasured—for that transient second can only be relived once… until it is but a part of the past.

To the unaging, these moments are treasures. Locked away and kept safe in a chamber full of many a different fortune.

To the ‘immortals’, these are but scenes that constitutes only a small percentage of their eternity. They are bound to be remembered, never to be forgotten.

There is beauty in remembering, though.

After all, aren’t happy times meant to be reminisced over in the first place?

Ah… but there also exists, in the parallelism of yin and yang; dark and light, good and evil.

Sanctuary and prison.

Comfort and torment.

Joy and misery.

“Brother,” you call him. Gentle, thoughtful.

Throughout the thousands of years, you have grown to be shrewdly cognizant of these mirrors—these parallels. The warm color of golden irises belies the coldness they hold within as he turns, begrudged.

Unwilling. Almost disdainful.

Unbefitting for someone bound with you by blood.

Ah, these parallels.

“What do you want?” he answers you. Guarded and apathetic.

It looks like you won’t be able to share a meal with him again. You’ll have to try again… later.

How can you not be aware of them?

You smile bitterly, “… Nothing.”

His scowl deepens, “Then leave me be.”

When you both exist as each other’s opposites?

It has been like this ever since the day you have opened your eyes to meet those of his; a pretty gold, warm yet guarded. You don’t share any similar features with him, only the same ichor that runs within.

You can’t say that you’re both particularly close to start with, because you’re not. There is always some sort of rift that divides the plane you’re both standing on, frozen and unmoving.

Still, in spite of the distance between you, animosity never exists.

You can never hate your own kin and based on the junctures when he’s gruffly ascertaining your physique after a nasty fight, he doesn’t hate you, either [right?]

That’s a good thing, no?

From the moment you learned how to fly and balance yourself in the air, he’s been more attentive, almost proud—but you’re not sure. All you can remember is the time he looked so happy.

But that had been millenniums ago and he never really solidified whether he was elated over your self-taught flight or not.

For Xiao never speaks out on his feelings, so you do the same, thinking that it’d only be bothersome and you’d hate to subject trivial things unto him. Not when he’s done so much for you.

“Why are you still here?” the entrance of his voice yanks you from your headspace and you flinch, seeing him glower at you. “And why have you transformed and left your cage?”

He sounds particularly brusque, on the fine line of snapping with aggro. You cannot avoid the second flinch, aware that he doesn’t take kindly when rules meant to keep you safe are broken.

All endeavors to retrieve the courage you’ve brought are successful and you sigh. “I just… well, you’ve been out here for so long.”

I miss you.

Is what you’re trying to say—but you don’t, because he doesn’t like things like that.

All platonic sorts of advances such as mere hugs and touches are avoided and dismissed as a nuisance. He’s always been indifferent to those, but after the War… he’s just become completely against it.

Besides, the two of you aren’t that close to begin with, but after the cataclysm and almost being put in a state of incapacitation, his presence grew more.

How can you not feel as though he’s home, itself?

Xiao’s stare becomes sterner, as though he can’t believe the words spilling from your lips. “Naturally, this is my duty; to protect and remain vigilant. Respites contradict that.”

You swallow thickly, a little peeved that he’s still spouting things about the contract and his duty to Liyue as if the rise of the Liyue Qixing didn’t nullify his contract binding him to Morax.

“Rex Lapis is gone,” you do not stop even when his gaze becomes dangerous, “He has terminated the contracts that bound the Adepti to protect Liyue for its citizens have grown stronger.”

He finally turns your way, and you would’ve been elated that you have gotten his whole attention if not for the ugly cause of it. “I do this out of my own volition.”

“And you don’t think to just… rest? For a while? Liyue can last a day without your watchful eye.” When he directs his sight elsewhere without an answer, you grumble, letting disbelief and annoyance cloud your rationality.

“Everything doesn’t have to be Liyue or that stupid contract—”

It happens in a blink of an eye.

“Watch your tongue.” There’s a huge gust of wind that blows your way with a snappy turn of his head towards your direction and the glow of his eyes have gotten menacing.

“Until this day, I continue to do my duty as reverence to the Archon who saved us. Have you forgotten?”

To this, you fall silent, nibbling on your lips, agitated.

For the record, you haven’t forgotten. How could you?

“He’s the same Archon who showed you mercy and you think to belittle his only remuneration for it?” Xiao all but hisses through gritted teeth, appearing beyond pressed at the implication of the contract being nothing but a nugatory matter worth turning over.

You observe the way his fingers twitch, restrained from clenching into fists in an obvious way to quell his growing anger. That’s right, he’s always so miffed whenever someone talks about the Archon.

An understandable thing, really—but can’t he see where you’re coming from?

You only wanted his time, too.

So even if shame prickles your chest—because the mercy Morax has shown you is not a simple thing and you should be grateful, which you are—you stand your ground.

“I served him, too.” You manage to say through the exacerbating cloud of exhaustion within. “In case you’ve forgotten, brother, I am an Adeptus. I fought for him, too!”

You do not remember much of the fighting, but you do know that you fought for Morax’s side eventually.

Breath starting to hitch and falter, you pause, your shaky hand clinging onto the wooden railings of the balcony to keep yourself upright.

The telling signs of deterioration and death are enough to prompt you to transform into your avian form and rest in the gilded cage, but you don’t.

Not yet.

You exhale, “Was that not enough?”

If your brother has gotten alarmed of your state, then you don’t know—your eyesight is already blurring.

“It never was.” Is his response, cold.

You feel your heart dropping—but deep down, you know that it’s true.

It’s far from being enough.

“After obtaining power that you used to smite the helpless and the dreamless, did you think your measly centuries-long service was enough after he saved you?”

Trapped in the usual harrowing haze brought by the repercussions of that mentioned power, you can feel it starting to pick away at your mind again.

It drapes you over in its shadow of death, and you feel yourself losing, but-

“I—”

“Stop being selfish, [Name].” just seeing him walk away—marking the end of another imbroglio—reawakens the fire in your chest. Providing sufficient fortitude for you to exclaim in retaliation.

“I did it for the both of us!” he pauses in place.

Your head splits at the sudden rise of your volume, unused to the chaos like you were centuries past. It almost sends you fainting, but despite your wobbling legs, you stay standing.

His attention once more grasped in the transience of a second, you say again, this time with a voice as feeble as a sickly child.

“… I did it for you, brother.”

Though it ended up being useless.

He doesn’t turn around, even when you are at your most vulnerable; showing a side you haven’t shown to anyone, not even him, until now.

You believe you’ve gotten to him, you believe it has done an impact—that he’ll stay for once.

“I didn’t ask for you to do it.”

But of course, he won’t.

His frigid response, dipped with potent insouciance, almost sends you to your knees in defeat and loss. How can he sound so uncaring? How can he… not care?

Do you really mean so little? Compared to his duties? That he can’t even spare a day?

Xiao begins to vanish in black and turquoise wisps, signs of his teleportation skill at use, and you all but crumble at the sight.

Even with the hazardous threat of total decay, you step forward, wanting to reach out to him but you don’t let go of the railings.

If you do, you will fall. And you have a feeling that he won’t catch you if he did.

“I’ll join you.” Your weak insistence makes him scoff.

“If this is your way of redeeming yourself, then it’s ridiculous.”

His words stab through you like the repercussions of the power you greedily sought for a long time ago. Only, his hurts more—for his cuts through the fiber of your very existence and burns the blood you share with him.

Without looking back at you, he declares.

“You’re now nothing more but a carapace of the warrior you’ve been. You’ve gotten weak, you’re not meant for anything in the battlefield.”

The battlefield; the only place you could have shown your worth and aid. The only place where you can help. But not now, not ever.

Unable to find both the strength and voice to muster a reply, you remain wordless, too busy trying to regain your breathing. Cold sweat runs down the expanse of your temple, dripping down your chin and onto the floorboards that are starting to swarm with black and cyan.

“Leave.” comes his command. “You’re just being absurd, straining yourself this way.”

The balcony gets colder, telling of the lack of his presence. His presence that, albeit perceived as cold, has a vestige of warmth. A trace of who he had been, millenniums ago.

At his disappearance, you allow yourself to succumb to the weakness, dropping to your knees and leaving the form of a human.

It is beyond exhausting to stay in that physique, a vessel often used to fight.

You don’t know what compelled you to appear to him in it—maybe it’s because it’s how you’re usually around him back then? Back when you were untarnished by the corruption of a power so malefic? You don’t know.

The glow of [c] dies down and the world has gotten bigger, as expected given your small avian shape. Decay’s prognosis is thwarted and slow, as it’s always been whenever you take up on your original form.

Your human vessel speeds it up, hence its limited usage.

Aside from approaching your brother today, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been human.

You mean humane, whispers the demon in your head.

A phantasmagoric devil, a remnant of the god you foolishly served. Thinking about her just makes your insides churn.

Dispelling the delusory fiend, you take flight, heading towards the lower and vaster balcony, right at the level where the front desk and Verr is.

Facing the view of Liyue, near the threshold to the interior, hanging by the beams is a cage embellished in gold.

Its elaborate decoration often attracts people, awed at the décor and the little [c] bird inside. You do not mind them, for you are asleep most of the time. They marvel over the intricacy of the aureate cadre, unaware of the salubrious and restorative enchantments set upon the container itself.

Entering the cage with ease, you drop onto soft [c] padding blanketed with mounds of fabric that mimics a bed. Immediately, inside the enclosure, the exhaustion and threat of staying outside is ceased—and serenity fills your whole being.

It’s peaceful, you denote as you’re slowly being brought to a slumber. However, even with the comfort brought by the golden jail, your heart thrums with unease.

Your mind paints the image of your dear brother.

There is a reason why you stay locked up in it, despite it being an actual representation of both a prison and a sanctuary.

You fall asleep with a tear slipping from your closed eye.

It delays the indemnifying declension that was born out of a past desire.

“Lower your stance a little more, feet square on the ground. They direct your movements.”

Kicking his polearm into his grip, he mimics your stance and, with a swift revolve on the terrain, his feet skid with finesse. It sets the foundation of his next course of action, dragging his body to twist with spruce and power at the same time.

You watch it, astounded.

Your awe comes out in a prolonged ‘oh’, succeeded by silent yet rapid claps.

Alatus huffs at it and he looks more uncomfortable than thankful, but the tips of his ears are flushed cerise. He would’ve been teased a ton if you’re not aware of the fact that he dislikes it so much.

Add to that the reason that you aren’t that close to be actually teasing him…

Outside the intrinsic mutualism that acknowledges the other as kin, and outside the days where you both spend it training, your interests with him do not align. So, it’s often a little awkward, in the sense that it feels like you’re in an estranged bond.

Despite it, however, you want to be close to him. Your family.

Your attention is retrieved when you see your polearm being flung your way and you gasp, hurrying to catch it in your arms and—success! Oh, you don’t know what you’d do if you failed to catch your own weapon… the embarrassment.

Alatus nods at you with folded arms, situating himself above a rock a few paces away from his previous place.

“Go. Do it until you perfect it.”

“Eh?”

He means he’ll watch you train? Oh dear, well, all the more to give this your best shot!

Moving your extremities to the proper position you’ve been displayed with a moment ago, you breathe in deeply and clutch the polearm before swinging with a cry.

“Hah!”

You’ve been alive for a millennium, and for ages, you can only recall how you’ve been at your brother’s side and vice versa. The snippets of your childhood are forgotten in the mist within, only being able to reminisce about your first day of flight.

A flight that you shared with him. And that’s where your memory stops.

Throughout the years, you’re never at one place, either. Maybe it’s because of your avian nature—ironic, since you both venture the lands in human forms—but traveling the world comes as an innate purpose.

You enjoy the freedom, and you know your brother does, as well.

Just the simple thought of taking to the skies without anything to lag you by is cathartic, much more if you actually do spread your wings to embrace all that the wind has to offer.

And the skies, always tinctured a marvelous azure, is your home.

You can stare at it from below forever and observe the rolling clouds without ever getting bored. For when the firmament is stroked with the oranges of a sunset and the navy of a night, there is always a new story to tell.

A new chapter to begin with—a new day to look forward to.

Although you don’t fly that much anymore—choosing to walk the earth with your kin—you still look forward to the day you’ll scour it once more. And maybe you can even ask your brother to join you, preferably when you get the courage and stop being so awkward.

Fate has listened to you, it seems.

Because the day do arrive; when you fly in the sky with him. Only, you hoped the reason could’ve been different.

For when you flew, the sky was not a tranquil blue, but a portentous red.

“What was that?”

It’s the first thing you ask when he enters through the curtain of leaves isolating the interior of the cave—your temporary lodgings—from the outside world.

He doesn’t look injured but does appear roughened up like he’s gotten the privilege of being a safe witness to a slaughter.

You kind of don’t even want him to answer, your breath held in as you observe the way he tenses and relaxes, unsure what to do.

He looks uncertain himself—as if he can’t believe what he’s seen or heard. What he says next makes your skin turn pallid.

“War.” His answer is strained, “There’s a war.”

A war—a war.

So suddenly? When Teyvat was at peace all this time?

“We need to leave.” Alatus begins to pace around the cave, mumbling things to himself that you can’t catch. Seeing him this frantic only fuels your own dread.

You are just about to propose leaving that instant when he looks at you with a pointed stare. “I’ll search for routes that aren’t overtaken by battles and warriors. Pack whatever rations we have left.”

“What? That takes no more than a minute! Let me join you after—”

“No.” His tone gets stern, and if it isn’t for the plea in his eyes, you would’ve thought him callous. “Stay here, do you understand me?”

Torn, you nibble on your lip, aggravated at the dilemma.

All you know is that sending him off alone is a risk, even when maybe the war hasn’t reached this place yet. You want to argue with him further, but you also know that it will only use up time that could be spent ascertaining a route out of here.

Dropping your head in your hands, you expel a resigned sigh. “Please be quick.”

He doesn’t say anything, only moving past the drapes of leaves to start what he plans to do.

The moment he’s gone, you get to work, doing as you’re told and gathering whatever little rations you’ve acquired on your journey here. And as expected, it doesn’t take any longer than a minute or two.

By the time two tiny bags are set and prepared to be taken, you are still alone in the cave along with the light through the curtain that’s gradually beginning to decline.

It is sundown.

Soon, night will fall—the time where the dark begins to prey, and consequently, the witching hour when all who is attuned to their powers are stronger.

“Brother!”

Alatus stumbles into the cave, panting with his eyes seemingly unable to focus. His polearm is at the ready, clasped in a gloved hand that tremors every now and then.

He holds out a hand to stop you from touching him.

“Don’t,” he breathes once then lets his weapon vanish into gold dust. “I can take care of myself.”

Oh you don’t doubt that at all, but he’s looking as if he’s a painting of a red sea.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Your fusses are dismissed with a shake of his head. “This isn’t my blood.”

That halts you in place, the hand that is about to touch his shoulder pausing in midair. Then, tentatively, you rise your gaze, meeting a golden stare that still looks out of it. You curse, withdrawing your hand and apologizing.

He must still feel shaken up, you shouldn’t intrude his space.

“It’s fine,” Alatus says, voice low yet grim. “Let’s go, now.”

Where, exactly? You wanted to ask as he exits through the drape of leaves once more.

And can we even outrun a war?

You don’t know—you can’t say for sure.

There’s no telling whether there’s even a sanctuary to go to, but you kept your mouth shut, not risking the chance to upset your brother further.

He doesn’t need a burden, not when he’s already doing so much to look after the two of you.

The outside world lacks its usual serenity.

The greens have gotten dull, receptive to the damage being done on the terra. You’ve no doubt that someplace else, the pretty viridescent can no longer be distinguished underneath all the red.

Because of a war.

War. Just even thinking of it makes your skin crawl. You’re afraid.

War results to loss, there’s almost never a winning side—aren’t all victories pyrrhic? You don’t want to engage in one to find out.

The cold wind makes you shiver, fingers suddenly unable to remain still at the nipping fear in your heart. You do not feel good, you don’t feel good at all—it’s as if you are subconsciously aware of an omen.

You hope that whatever it may be, it won’t come your way.

But fate seems to be less merciful. Perhaps it’s because it deems your situation unfair; you are safely avoiding battle, whilst the others are falling left and right.

It dawns like the burning sun, fate’s punishment.

In your travels, eluding the imminence of war, creatures born of twilight have risen from the soil. Their woes and regrets that have morphed into mordant vice are bemoaned, reverbing in the night.

They are creatures you’ve both have no experience in fighting.

And they’re everywhere.

The both of you have successfully fought your way into escaping, but you are far from being unscathed. The gash on your side is huge, calling the need for rest—to hide.

Although a hiding spot has been found, that does not mean that you are entirely in the green light. For some reason, the creatures are prowling everywhere, on the chase for something—or someone—and will not rest upon retrieving it.

It is the sound of their growls that pushes your brother to leave again, much to your protests.

“You’re injured, too.” you insist but he does not budge, eyeing your nasty injury that doesn’t seem to heal no matter the number of days that have passed.

“If I don’t fight, they will find us,” states Alatus, the tone of his voice implying no room for persuasion nor arguments.

You almost claw your hair out as you rise to stand—only to be forcefully laid down again.

You all but raise your voice at it.

“You’re far injured than I am!” your voice stuns him to silence as you point at his body, littered with wounds of various sizes. “I know how to fight, let me go, instead.”

If only you wholeheartedly mean it—because you don’t. You’re afraid.

War—war scares you, and those creatures, they aren’t normal, they reek of evil. You do not want to suffer a fate under their claws, but you can’t just send your brother out there, either.

Alatus looks at himself, assessing the gravity of his injuries—then huffs, in amusement? You can’t tell.

“This is nothing to me.”

He says this, yet you can hear him grunting in the night after he returned bearing double the number of wounds on his figure, hissing from the obvious pain he thought he’d been discreet at hiding.

Is he forgetting who you are?

You may not be that close with him like how normal siblings are meant to be, but you are bound by blood.

You can feel yourself growing faint at the sight of him being so weak, putting himself responsible for the both of you. As if you couldn’t fight.  

No matter how much you tell him to switch, he always seems to have an extra reserve of power to shut you down and depart before you could. He leaves with the rise of each sun and returns when the moon is at its peak, when the shadows overcome the light and are present to mask his presence.

He’s hurting and you’re resonating with his pain. It hurts to see him leak blood.

Is the fighting that bad for him to come home half-dead every single night?

You must help him, you need to help him, what kind of sibling would you be if you don’t? You know how to fight and you’ll be putting that to good use.

But things are easier said than done.

Sparring is different from war, where blood is spilled without a second thought and no such thing as ‘time out’ exists.

Perhaps he’s aware that you’re actually terrified—because even if you can fight, you’re afraid, and it’s that fear that becomes your weakness. Renders you useless.

Maybe he knows that hence why even though he’s grunting in the night, he leaves to keep you safe.

You’re ashamed, you’re guilty, and you’re fearful-

“Brother…”

But nothing scared you the most when one night, Alatus comes inside the alcove barely conscious, looking like an exact picture of the time he came bearing news of war.

The only difference? He’s covered in his own blood.

Getting to work fast, you seize the remaining bandages—that he insisted you use for yourself—and do your best to clean his lacerations.

At some point, you have to sneak out and stealthily gather some water from the nearby pond whilst evading the eyes of those creatures.

They are endless.

Alatus is running a terrible fever that refused to go down even though the days have come and go, shivering even when you’ve thrown bundles of fabric that you’ve ransacked from empty camps.

His wounds are yet to heal, just like yours, the fair skin lost in an ugly shade of violet and yellow.

They aren’t normal at all, instead acting like hexes.

They are painful, but you’re sure as hell that your pain isn’t tantamount to the one your brother feels.

When he doesn’t wake up on the third month, you have learned to cry, shaking in place, away from the war, hidden in a cave where demise will eventually prowl at.

You are mad for a handful of reasons, but above all, you are so, so afraid.

There comes the first stroke of realization; you and Alatus, so, so different from one another.

Perhaps, if you have been as courageous as he, as vigilant and fortified—things could’ve been different. But no, you didn’t insist more, didn’t try to persuade him otherwise.

Look where that has led the two of you.

You can’t believe that it has to take him being in a vegetative state for you to be able to crawl out of that stupid cave and fight for him as he did for you.

You do not know why you were so struck with cowardice—is it because of death? Or the fear of letting him down?

Maybe because he’d think less of you as his kin if you fail, so you never tried?

You wish you had an answer, but it doesn’t arrive.

Even if you pierce your polearm in the chests of those twilight-borne creatures and watch them disperse into ash, you are not delighted with an answer to your fear.

Nor an answer to the remedy that will cure you and him of your supernaturalesque wounds.

Will you both really perish this way? Heavens, you pray not—there’s much to do.

You search for a cure, every day and every night, returning only to your brother’s side when you are too fatigued. You have managed to stay alive and awake, miraculously not falling prey to the enticing slumber that took your kin in its hold.

You hope for a remedy, hope for the day it’ll be discovered—but with each rising moon, your hope dwindles. Everything seems to be set in stone.

Death is the only thing that awaits the two of you at the end of the road.

“You want to help your brother, don’t you?”

Until she came along; your savior.

“What of it? It’s not like you can give me what I wish for.”

She has come to greet you in the middle of the battlefield when another fight has ended and you remain standing. A pyrrhic victory, for in the finale, demise will still come to greet you.

“Let us join forces, my dear. I will give you all that you need.”

She has your attention.

“It’s impossible.” You whisper, for you desire for plenty; for enough courage because until now you are afraid. For enough power so that you can protect your brother, too. “What are you to be able to do that?”

It is too good to be true—and you should’ve been wary, but she emanates such a sincere aura that wants to help.

And how can you deny such a tempting offer, still? How can you overlook the prospect of joining hands with an almighty—

“A god.”

With her—everything can be possible.

The relief you felt when she held your hand and your wounds vanished in an instant—she can cure Alatus, too…!—and the comfort of having a kind god… maybe…

“… Alright.”

“Very well.”

She smiles, raising her hand—so, so cold—to brush against your cheek, wisps of the power you desire being welcomed by your skin, seeping into your body and into your bloodstream.

Your eyes open to the feel of something brushing against your feathers, careful as though they’ll hurt you.

It’s still in the dead of night, but you know that sensation anywhere—that presence, the gentle hold you’ve gotten used to after having to live in a gilded cage.

Brother?

The small of your [c]s peer up, meeting a golden gaze. Xiao stops caressing your little form, the pad of his thumb that has brushed away a cold tear withdrawing.

You chirp, tiny beak reaching to peck his fingers—in an attempt to bring him back—that moves to leave the birdcage. Why does he retreat every single time?

As if pitying your endeavors, the Yaksha lets his hand stay for a bit longer, allowing you to snuggle in his cupped palm. His touch is always so comforting.

It is one that he barely does, so relish the few seconds of that blessing.

To your dismay, those seconds feel shorter than usual, because he’s drawing his hand back before you can even squeak and vanishing without so much as a goodbye. Your heart drops again.

But you should be used to this.

You should be thankful that he even holds your tiny form whenever he wishes to. But you want him nearby, you want to close the rift that separates you from him. You want to be closer.

He is your only family—and after that bit in the Chasm…. Oh, you don’t even want to think about it.

Pushing the door to the cage open, you stretch your wings out then flew, traveling a short yet exhausting distance to the upper balcony. Xiao already stands there, paying no mind to your arrival as though he has anticipated this.

“What do you want?” he asks as soon as the [c] light has faded and your human form has appeared once more.

His abrasiveness does not deter you—it is the sight of his flesh wounds that do the trick, open and leaking with adeptal blood.

You swallow at the sight of it, being reminded of the state he had been in the early years of the Archon War.

You think that he won’t entertain you if you came up to him with your usual words, so you decide to stray with a tiny white lie.

“Dandelions…” you answer directly, though a little shy. “And cecilias…”

It isn’t a complete lie, per se, for you do miss those exotic flowers.

Though they hail from the foreign nation of Mondstadt, you used to fly to the cliffs and greens of the city of wind to nestle in the breezy floras.

But as you are right now, you are incapable of leaving for too long.

The Yaksha eyes you at the side, nose crinkling in bewilderment. He probably didn’t expect that answer and instead believes it to be a bluff. He isn’t completely wrong, either.

His prolonged silence makes you sigh.

“Stop fighting.” You finally convey the words dying to roll off your tongue, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I don’t want you to continue suffering more than this.

He answers you immediately with a scoff. “Impossible.”

Of course it is.

“I just want you nearby.” You try a different approach, though you mean the reason all the same. Your voice has gotten softer, a little more shy than usual. “Is that so much to ask for?”

Compared to before, this time, his answer is not instantaneous.

You’re not certain if he’s not speaking because he doesn’t have a response, or because he simply doesn’t want to. He keeps his gaze straight forward, into the nights of Liyue where everything is at peace.

All but you two.

When at long last, he’s finally able to respond, it is not towards your later statement.

“Stop asking for ridiculous things, my war is eternal. There is nothing you can do about it.”

The prick on your chest begins far too sooner than you expected. You still mustn’t have recovered to an acceptable extent.

The growing pain tempts you to revert back, but you don’t, because then, you wouldn’t be able to speak.

“Why can’t you let me help you?” you pry, daring a step forward.

Closer, closer to the rift that divides you both.

“Help?” Xiao’s voice is strangely wistful, but then he shakes his head. “… That’s absurd.”

You do not miss the slight crack in his visage that told you of his vulnerability—the same one you found when he collapsed in your arms after returning bloody and beaten in the War.

How can you turn a blind eye to it?

How can you turn a blind eye to him?

With assurance, you reach your hand out, just like he did to you a while ago. You want to hold him, you want to comfort him—even if he’s at an unending war, you will carry it with him. It’s only natural.

You are siblings.

“Don’t,” Xiao snarls, voice dripping with a threat. “Don’t touch me.”

The pain in your chest squeezes.

“Brother—" you plea, but-

“What we’ve become is inevitable.” The way he said it so monotonously freezes you in shock.

There is not an ounce of guilt in his tone as he highlights the pathetic outcome of your relationship with him after the war.

A war that has strained a bond that was awkward to bloom—where now, there is a division that separates the two of you.

“It cannot be annulled.”

A rift that is impossible to cross over.

You feel your breath leaving you.

“So,” you rub at your eyes, looking away in fear that he’ll catch the glossing of your eyes and deem you weaker than you already are. “You aren’t willing to try to- to fix… this?”

What’s become of us?

Xiao looks at you for the second time that night—and the shadow over his visage makes it difficult to see the expression he wears. But his answer is sufficient enough.

“It is useless to fix what is already broken.”

And just like that—the hope you’ve been attempting to keep alive in your heart shatters, but the gravity of such an impact is caught in a delay.

You are unable to feel it at first, for there is an evident stutter in the process of understanding how far you are from your brother.

It is only when Xiao turns to disappear were you able to feel the extent of his words—the knife that stabs through in order to claw out your heart. It hurts.

You fall to the floor, trembling from exhaustion—literally and emotionally.

The thrum in your chest sends a lump to rise at your throat, firm and telling of the damage your heart has received.

It hurts to think that you are the only one who wants to try and fix the space dividing you from him. It hurts to think that you are the only one who wants to help the other heal.

Gasping for air, you feel the floor with your shaking hands, willing yourself to transform back into the meek and fragile form you’ve always been.

All traces of courage having dispersed the instance you were shot down.

It hurts.

.

.

The following day, you are unable to see Xiao anywhere.

Perhaps he is concealing himself away, or maybe he truly is occupied conquering and purging the land of the obstinacy known as bygone gods.

You do not know—it isn’t like he tells you anything.

Waking up in the cage you call your home, the assumption from last night that you will open your eyes feeling drained and helpless is ostensibly false.

Because although the feeling of being deprived of vitality is true, you do not feel as helpless as you thought you’d be.

Maybe other than blood, stubbornness is what you share with him.

Hence why you decided to take a venture past Wangshu and head into the heart of the harbor, seeking the man you know holds olden wisdom and judgement in all his glory.

It isn’t hard to meet him, given it isn’t a busy day.

It took you great courage to speak up and hold your ground against your brother, but it takes an even bolder heart to meet the eyes of the ex-Archon who at one point held your fate in his hands.

But he appears to have mellowed now—gotten even wiser if that’s possible.

He is surprised to see you, understandably so, but made no such things to send you off, which led to tea being shared in the morning as he listened to your entreaties in silence.

“I see, so you are worried over your brother, still.” He does not sound at all flabbergasted that this is why he’s approached, humming.

You wait for more of his words, biting back the urge to tell him all that he knows that instant. And as if the deity has been attuned to your wishes, he indulges you, setting the teacup down with a clink that sounds within the secluded room in the funeral parlor.

It’s morbidly expedient; to talk in such a place when the crux of the conversation involves history and deaths.

“Do you know why he considers his duty eternal?” Zhongli lifts his stare to meet yours, the action making you swallow and answer a short while after.

“Because of a contract?”

You are aware that he isn’t trying to be intimidating with his stare—it is just that you have grown accustomed to looking into those ambers that once exuded undisputed command.

Although who sits before you now is not the Geo Archon, but someone trying to blend in with the mortals, you cannot see him for the human he tries to be.

“Partially.” He admits though it contradicts the subtle shake of his head. “But there is another reason.”

Another…? Unaware of the subconscious tightening of your fists, you break off the eye contact, moving your sight to the peaceful surface of the hot tea in the cup within your hands.

To be submerged in it will feel relieving—at least then, underwater, everything that you hear will be obscured. A semblance of a sanctuary, to hide from the truth and the answer you fear yet seek all the same.

As though cognizant of your hesitance, the man on the other end of the table keeps quiet, yet still fixates his stare on your person. Waiting to deliver what you came to him for.

And when [c]s strikes against gold, it is set in stone. He answers.

“Sacrifice.”

It shouldn’t be surprising, really; sacrifice, though ruinous and lamentable at best, isn’t considered uncommon in Teyvat.

Sacrifices exist and happen every single day; from the loss of time in order to do something, to the loss of chances and opportunities that could’ve opened a different path, and plenty more.

But for an immortal—sacrifice is far too grave of a word to associate with.

“[Name],” you stiffen at his call, “Do you ever not wonder why he agreed to be a Yaksha? Why most of your memories of the War is entrapped in a fog that refuses to disperse?”

Sacrifice is something that holds meaning and influence over one’s life.

Floundered, you pick away at the handle of the cup. “Because you asked him to?”

You don’t answer his later question, aware that your perfunctory response is sufficient enough to answer both.

He nods. “Yes, but even I had a reason for asking him.”

A reason, so he means that there’s something else other than the superficial invite to be an elite warrior. Another meaning under the agreement to be a Yaksha.

Zhongli moves, carrying his cup with him as he takes a seat on the chair next to yours. He then extends his hand for you to take wordlessly and you clench your fists once more, skeptical.

There is a voice in your head advising you not to do it, but you must if you ever want to find out what that reason is.

And when you take his hand, there’s a painful tingle erupting from the tips of your fingers, coursing through your blood, rushing into your mind and opening memories you didn’t know you had until now.

The corrosive decay from the cursed blessing is momentarily abated, bringing about a reel of a familiar yet forgotten tragedy.

That lady on the battlefield—she who is adorned with smiles and wears red as her primary choice of color, is your savior. At least, on the face of it.

When you’ve come to allow her to bless you—and bless you she did—you are instantly healed of your supernatural wounds and there’s no doubt that your brother was, too, because that was what’s agreed on.

You felt the gratifying enchantment of the power you sought, running within your bloodstream and filling you to the brim with a taste of affluent omnipotence.

With that power, you returned to a frantic warrior who’s up on his feet, cured of his afflictions. 

With that power, you have gotten stronger—stronger than you could possibly ever imagine and your fear of the war has dwindled until it is nulled.

With that power, you are able to satiate the desire to keep Alatus safe, as he has done with you.

But that power… you realize, as you stare once more at the familiar sight of fatal wounds on your unconscious kin one night, is still not enough.

So, you cast about for the lady in red once more, and there she is awaiting, again, in the middle of the battlefield. Waiting for you with a knowing smile.

“This power is insufficient.”

“Then foster it.”

“How?”

Dreams. Ambitions, hopes, and wishes.

All those that are created by the heart’s desire, all those that human beings thrive upon to look forward to another day. They are the requisites—they are the ensilages to the development of your blessing.

So, seek them out.

And sought you did.  

When the advent of nightfall has come and all are asleep, you prey upon humans, feeding on their dreams and hopes. Using them to enhance the gift you’ve been given.

It’s fine, right?

After all, you’re doing it to protect your brother. Those humans will understand, it isn’t like they can’t understand the meaning of necessities.

“Don’t you want more?” she had smiled.

You do.

“Then go, my dear.”

So, you went.

Those dreams, so positive and hopeful, they taste delightful. Unbelievably scrumptious, addicting and leaving you craving.

It’s fine, right?

With each delectable dream, you grow powerful. As what’s promised.

Alatus—dear brother—is barely even scathed nowadays. A monster will be cut down before they can even think of harming him. Oh, how overjoyed you are.

Oh, how powerful.

Oh, how fearless—how valiant you’ve become.

This is it, the crescendo of your being.

This is what you’ve been looking for; the missing piece to combat the petty fear of war. Power. It is all that you needed.

It is all that you ever desired. Nothing more, nothing less.

But there lies a fault in the path you’ve chosen.

A fault you realized far too late, when the last vestiges of your moral alignment have come to convey the epiphany that you are being strung along to the whims of the smiling lady.

When you have confronted her about it, barely rational, instead high, drunk, and delirious on the sweet, sweet blessing [curse], you are far too gone.

That power has become strings, threads to puppeteer you the way she wishes to.

You dislike it—but the power… did you really dislike the power?

Salvation is nowhere in sight.

At least, not in the form of –

“Let her go.”

The one you tried so hard to protect.

You can hear his voice by the skin of your teeth, an almost muted decibel. What strikes like drums against your ears, however, is the sardonic simper.

“You’re in no position to make demands, dear.” she hummed, “But I have been waiting for you. Why don’t you say hi to your sister, doesn’t the red make her look prettier?”

Red? What is she talking about? You are barely conscious—not in the sense that you are falling into a slumber, but more like you do not feel… you.

A vignette overlays your blurred sight, only being able to see blobs of colors that you’ve learned to liken to those that you know.

Alatus is a peaceful emerald, opposing the scorching crimson known as the god you’ve once deemed your savior.

“I said free her from your bind before it’s you who’ll be seeing red.” His voice comes out much more austere than you anticipated—you can’t tell.

Another simper resounds in the—where is this? You don’t know anymore.

It’s hard to maintain your focus on them when the whirl of power within is too addicting to overlook. Still, you try to concentrate, albeit with evident complication.

The strain from trying to ignore the catalyzing omnipotence is more painful than it is cathartic, and you begin to hiss and growl away at it. Much like an injured animal.

You feel a hand caress your hair, the touch endearing, though it’s a prima facie act at best. You know that much—though you knew it too late.

“I like my beasts feisty. This one’s power-greedy, which makes it so scrumptious, but you…” the way she paused makes your skin crawl in anxiousness, “That desperation… could be put to good use.”

A brewing presage that, to your horror, comes true.

The moment the blur of red stirs past you, inching closer to the serene green, you’re moving—or you think you’re moving.

Your extremities no longer feel like they are yours, hanging on threads that oscillate only upon the whims of the smiling god.

“What are you doing?” your voice seems far, but you hear yourself, anyway. “This is not within our agreement, you said you’ll—!”

You said you’ll leave him alone!

Immediately, much like the puppet you’ve succumbed to be, a domineering yank slots you back in place, holding you down even if no visible force can be seen doing it.

Oppressive in all its decree, nothing can be done as you are forced to crash to the earth, the very power you beseeched being the one responsible to shackle and render you immobile.

There’s a click of the tongue. “Delicious greed, indeed. The only downside is that she can be so defiant…”

The power within you begins to fester without delay—and though it is heavenly, there is a threshold. Too much, the power is too much, filling you to the brim with the threat of breaking past the limit.

It feels like you are about to explode from the inside out if it keeps up and the burn—oh the burn in your blood- make it stop-

You cling onto the dress of the lady in red, pathetically tugging in apology for acting out. But she does not cease her punishment.

“Why are you turning it away?” she questions, infusing even more of the accursed blessing and causing you to writhe on the ground, “Did you not want power, my dear?”

Are you dying? Is this what it feels like? How funny.

You thought that with power, you can conquer anything—but here you are, overladen and drunk with it, but still, you are afraid. As you’ve always been.

“Stop that this instant!” the demand rings with unfiltered urgency. “[Name]!”

It’s the first time you’ve heard him call for you so alarmed that you’re miraculously able to cling onto the remnants of your consciousness, stubbornly not letting go. Afraid of what might happen if you do.

The blur of red has stopped in front of the green.

It doesn’t take much sagacity for you to know that the god is considering stopping, but of course—

“Be mine, then, just like your sister surrendered herself to me. Then I’ll let her go.”

—As always, with a price too great.

“Brother, don’t- don’t do it.” Thankfully, your voice has not failed you—yet.

I did this to protect you. I did this to keep you safe!

Right? He was the reason you sought power in the first place, you wanted to keep him safe, too—right? So why is it that something inside is telling you that you’re wrong?

No, no, you know your reasons—you did it for him, you did it—

“You swear upon your word.”

—For your brother.

“No, no, wait-!”

“That’s more like it.”

The atmosphere has gotten even colder, dropping to a degree where it feels like ice is biting your skin each and every second.

It contrasts the burn within, the discrepancy of bitter cryo and igneous pyro making it almost impossible to even feel.

You want to scream, you want to defy and demand for him to take his words because under the mercy of this—this god is something you don’t ever want him to face.

But your fates have been led astray, the alignment of stars steering off-course.

There is no turning back the moment you have allowed yourself to be [blessed] cursed.

You feel yourself dropping from the command she has on you, but for some reason…

“There, free from my chains.” It feels as though you are no longer yourself. “And blinded by the strength she so seeks.”

The power is toxic—running like fire in your bloodstream and dousing you in a sensation worse than your psyche being split in half. Yet beyond the concept of pain, there is power.

Power that you sought, power that you desired.

How bad could it be? Pain in exchange for omnipotence.

It is all that you ever wanted—right?

“You said you’ll release her!”

Of course.

“That I did. But greed is blinding. You’re mine now, Alatus.”

It is all that you ever needed.

“Gh—! Let go of me-.. !”

Why did you seek such power in the first place? Ah.

“Snap out of it!”

Oh, you don’t know anymore—but the power is too delicious. It’s too good, it’s too simply wonderful. You feel invincible, like you can seize the world and crush it in your hands.

So you will. And it’ll crumble like dust in your fists, split apart from the blade of your polearm.

Your body has seemingly adapted to the burn, caging the liquid fire within, unaware of its true catastrophic damage. Your sight has since then become clear again, but you feel… weird.

Awake, yet not lucid. All you can feel is the [toxin] ambrosia of potency—of might and inviolability.

The delightful thrum in your chest emanates the blinding power you proceed to be intoxicated in and you feel the bliss of it all as you take to the skies, looking over the carnage and the dreams waiting to be eaten.

You’re hungry, salivating at the simple thought of feeding upon sweet, sweet dreams.

Be mightier, be more powerful… !

[To keep him safe] To be high and drunk with it all is all that you’ve ever wished for.

So you actively chased after it, the insatiability keeping you on edge. It is a chase you are willing to be in for eternity.

Even though there are times when you crashed, the feathers of your wings burning from the overabundance of delicious, delicious power, you keep on chasing.

Sometimes, you think there is someone flying with you—but they do not seek the same thing that you do. How unfortunate, do they not like the taste of being unstoppable?

Sometimes, you think they are trying to talk to you, and though you see their face, you can’t be bothered.

They do not understand you—you are two worlds apart.

One night, when the sun entwined with the moon and painted the latter a luscious red, you came upon an assembly overflowing with hopeful dreams.

Who are you to not be ravenous?

At the center of all the carnage, you giggle, crazed and temporarily satiated. The smile on your face does not drop even when you are lying underneath the golden tip of the Vortex Vanquisher, far too out of it.

You see someone dropping from the skies, rich marigold wings folding to the ground, but you do not pay them any mind. All you can think about is the rich and devastating feel of power.

The polearm presses onto your forehead, then out rings a voice, weighed with nothing but apathy. “So this was that god’s little beast, a piteous avian…”

Familiar, that sensation of spilling blood, it’s familiar. You feel it dribbling on your punctured skin. It is painful, but its degree is far away from the poisonous sinew in your bloodstream.

You do not move as gold spangles beneath the crimson moon, like a harbinger announcing your death to come.

“Receive your punishment.”

“No!”

But it does not come.

“Morax!”

With a gasp, you tear your hand away from the man in question, the vestiges of the past withdrawing along with the action.

He notices your tremors before you do, but makes no move to approach given your frazzled state of mind.

Thunderstruck, you clutch away at your chest, breathing like you’ve ascended out of the murky depths. The conflagration of the curse gives off the impression that it has been resurrected, though you know it only to be an aftereffect of awakening a buried memory.

The curse—that ‘blessing’—is long gone. Its only relic remains in the form of your damaged body, a vessel that could not handle the amount of growing power.

You know that you have done something wrong, but the fact that a consequence made for you was instead taken by your brother—albeit in a different manner—was not known. Until now.

The gaps in your memories are closing and you are a hundred times more exhausted than ever, already on the verge of slipping away if not for Zhongli sliding the teacup forward.

“Drink,” he insists, “It has been enchanted, comprised with what sustains you until today.”

You do so without an ounce of hesitance, sighing in relief at the soothing effect of the deciduous remedy. It will do for now until it is time to return to your ‘sanctuary’.

Looking at Morax now that you are aware of things you weren’t before comes off as difficult, but you endure with pursed lips. Though you are unsure as to how to approach things after being doused with revelations… you will try.  

“You mean to say-” the images of before makes you shudder. “When he became a part of the Yaksha… his karmic debt… his contract…”

Ala—Xiao’s arrival then, when you were about to be dealt with necessary consequence…

The rest of your memories are still hazy, but it doesn’t require a genius to ascertain and piece things together.

Zhongli nods. “He shouldered it for you, to atone for what you did.”

The gravitas he bears—is that coupled with travail, or is your guilty, hopeful conscience making you see things that you want to see?

You know that saying you could’ve done it—atone, serve—instead will only provide an obvious reason as to why they didn’t even consider you doing it.

Morax did not trust you then—and you understand that perfectly.

But your heart still weighs with bitterness, with shame—with guilt that will eternalize itself within.

Yes, you have served Morax anyway, fought in his name despite not recalling the real reason why other than abiding by Xiao’s insistence that you do so. But it is as he said still, your servitude is far from being enough.

You’ve slain upon hundreds, preyed upon thousands, and ruined beings innumerable.

“Because of me…”

He’s unable to be peaceful. Unable to escape the threat of insanity coming from karma. He’s everything that you should be. He bears the opposite that you should’ve been from the start.

You feel small—terrible, awful- hell, nothing can describe how you despise who—what you’ve come to be.

Seeing your reflection in the tea makes you hold your face, wishing to claw and rip it apart if it means getting rid of the unsightly appearance. In your chest rekindles a blaze, but it is no longer the one borne of greed, but of dolor.

Weak like you’ve always been, you are further reduced to a shaking mess of hysteria.

The memory of seeing your brother on the brink of death one too many times when he carried his first name, the blood that was keeping him alive only knowing how to overflow…

“All I wanted was to keep him safe, too.”

How could it all go so damn wrong?

It’s messed up, you’re so messed up, it’s maddening—so infuriating… !

How did you lose yourself so far?

“I’m so sorry, brother,” your whisper is wobbly as you shrink, as if it can erase your existence. “I’m so sorry..”

He can’t even look at you anymore without hurting—yet still, after everything, he is still able to give you, the beast who lost herself in her blessing, undeserving mercy.

“Morax, I beg of you.”

Why is that?

“She’s my little sister.”

Polar opposites, that’s what you both are.

Existing as each other’s parallel, because that’s what you’ve made yourselves to be.

You don’t deserve him—his love and his mercy. For so long, he’s been hurting and it had been because of you. How much does it pain him to see you spiral into someone so twisted?

Oh, sweet heavens, you can’t even envision it all.

Is it worth it? You find yourself asking over and over again.

The transient blessing of power you indulged in, only to drag in the one person you didn’t want to descend with you into madness.

History cannot be rewritten, now, you stand in the aftermath of the dangerous desire you wanted.

You have changed him for the worst.

And you can’t even shoulder his duty, can’t even help him because he’s right; you are now nothing but a shell of who you used to be. You are stuck in a cage that keeps you revitalized, unable to do anything but be idle and it’s contemptible.

Even until now, he is giving you the mercy Morax thought was inappropriate—and you find yourself agreeing with the fact that it is unfitting.

How can you even face him now?

His disappearance is warranted and you will not hold it against him at all. Your very existence inarguably reminds him of all that he went through.

Does he despise you? A possibility.

Perhaps he took mercy upon you—and pleaded for Morax to share his perspective—because you are his only kin. And that it is only necessary to keep you alive.

But beyond the blood that you share with him, you are nothing but a constant memoir of a tragedy that cost him the happiness he could have had.

The truth hurts—much more than the faux, deuced ‘blessing’ you’ve been gifted with in the olden days. And there is nothing to do but accept it for what it is.

The journey back to the inn is a lot more hellacious than ever. Maybe it is because of the additional weight of knowing the truth, but the venture is herculean. The soothing relief of the brewed tea can only last for so long.

When you arrive at the balcony after paying your greetings to the Goldets, the place is empty, devoid of the presence and trace of the kin you’ve subjected to eternal suffering.

A punishment that should’ve been yours.

Feeling yourself wither away but remaining as obstinate as ever, you rise to the roof, nearby the huge branches of the tree upon which you once rested upon whenever you’d accompany the Yaksha.

He is not there.

Still, you can envision him, and just doing so makes you lean onto the wood, heaving. Your pain cannot be quantified, but you are certain that whatever you are feeling now can’t possibly amount to the one that your kin carries.

“Big brother,” you whisper in the wind.

Alatus.

Tears stinging your eyes, you bury your face in your arms, breaking apart. “I’m so sorry, brother, I’m so sorry…”

Zhongli is right; no matter the nobility of your reason for wanting power, you killed for it. And you enjoyed the blessing afterward.

It didn’t matter if it was because you were able to keep him safe while it lasted, the sin lies in how you were delighted despite the lives that you took.

It wasn’t worth it, it so wasn’t worth it.

Now the consequence lies in the form of your beloved brother and the rift that only knows how to distance you farther and farther away.

As if it is sentient, and, knowing you will only bring him more pain, continues to section him far from your touch.

How do you have the face to even be in the same place as he is? You don’t even have the right to call him your brother, for what you did—it’s sinful. It is something that cannot be pardoned.

You cannot be pardoned.

And yet, you ask him for so much. His time? His company? When it is being near you that teethers him to death’s cliff?

How brazen—how unforgivable.

But that needn’t be a source of concern now.

Standing on wobbly feet, you descend to the lower balcony, morphing into the little avian creature you’ve always been.

The gilded cage welcomes you—though it won’t be for long. It’s time to lift a burden off of him, time to take away his very source of distress.

It’s time to leave.

It’s far from the redemption you seek, incredibly so, but you will still leave. And hopefully, take with you, the past that proceeds to haunt him.

For although you share the same blood, there is no home in a family split asunder from the wrongdoings of one.

There is no home in a family founded in pain and loss. If this is your own punishment, then it is just appropriate; to burn all hopes of ever fixing the bond you desired to have with your brother.

Your selfishness ends now.

With you gone, no longer will there be a vestige of his tribulation’s precursor. Not anymore. It is the least that you can do after so much.

You just hope that after all that you made him go through, he’ll hopefully understand that despite your fall into greed back then, at the start, it was out of the genuine want to protect him, too.

The sky, still painted a rich navy blue, is littered with endless of stars. You wonder if yours is there, having strayed from the alignment it was meant to take.

You hope that after your departure, he’ll still be able to forgive you.

With a grunt, you pluck out a feather from your wing, The [c] lacking the luster it once contained, but that does not matter now, it isn’t like you’re one for appearances, anyway.

That he won’t think anything less of you.

It is the image of your brother that makes your eyes sting as you open your wings.

That he’ll still think of you as his sister—even if you’re far from being the best one.

It is the earnest want to stop him from hurting himself with you nearby that prompts you to take to the skies after so long. Alone, as you should’ve been.

That one day, you’ll get to fly with him again. As you did a long time ago.

Farewell.

When the moon has descended, leaving the expanse of the firmament for the sun to take its place, comes the arrival of a Yaksha.

He drops onto the floorboards of the inn with an exhale, turquoise ribbons that accompanied him in his flight vanishing in the morning wind.

Careful, he stands to his full height and scans his strangely silent environment. The place where the [c]-haired Adeptus often frequents is empty.

She must be resting—and this is what he would’ve believed, had he not realized the change in the atmosphere; the cold. It’s an unsettling kind of cold that makes him furrow his eyebrows.

“[Name]?” he calls out tentatively.

When nothing but the distressing quietude greets him back in all its noisy chorus, he is quick to step down the staircase, heading to where he knows the cage hangs about.

“Xiao!” Verr’s perturbed expression only runs a chill in his spine that he refuses to acknowledge.

Without waiting for her to add something—that is not his priority—he continues to speed towards the place in mind. He comes upon the gilded cage and he stops, breath getting caught in his throat.

Nothing is there, save for the single greying feather of [c].

The sight didn’t need any explaining but fate has its way of rubbing salt in the wound.

Xiao’s breath stutters out the name of his only sibling, whispered in the wind as he takes the feather in his fingers- only for it to crumble away into dust. His hand shakes.

Losing strength, his previously clenched fists slackened.

Out of sight, the dandelions and cecilias in his hands are strewn away, lost in the breeze.

a/n: isn't it sad how a fearful MC just wanted the courage and power to protect big brother, but in the end, she lost herself in the wonders of said power and ended up only hurting the one she wanted to protect? :)) no punishment can redeem her, and, knowing she is the source of pain, she decides to leave.

BUT WAIT- doesn't the cage keep her alive? what will happen now that she left? and big brother came back too late.

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @koi-chairowo @uwu-dreams @yvechu @mininji

know it’s for the better. - g. suguru

pairing: geto suguru + reader, implied gojo satoru + reader

summary: but butterflies cannot see their own beautiful wings, so he’ll gladly worship you quietly.

warnings: canon au, angst (please forgive me ily all), mentions of violence, vulgar language, crude humor, time-jumps, cameos from shoko, megumi, yuji, nobara :3 comfort.

word count: 16.8k

a/n: this fic has been my baby for a month, i’ve poured so much love into it. treat her well <333 loosely inspired by the songs “first love/late spring” by mitski and “waiting room” by phoebe bridgers. there are so many references to so many things in this :) some quotes that i will think about forever. hope you enjoy.

october, 2006.

“nine out of ten times.”

it’s the first sentence you say out loud after minutes of silence, and you’re given a puzzled look. it kinda makes you want to laugh, the confusion etched across his face so foreign that it’s rather intriguing. he’s golden, even under all the darkness. the world makes space for fallen angels.

“nine of ten times… what?”

you resist the urge to thumb that furrow in his brows, the creases looking wrong upon his soft features. you only smile, snuggling closer to him. either the room is magically colder, or suguru forgot to close the window. you give him the benefit of the doubt.

“that i would choose you.”

you’re slurring your words almost, but more from the plain laziness in your movements rather than from genuine exhaustion. suguru hums, fingers tapping along your arm. it may be around four in the morning, but you couldn’t sleep.

the both of you hadn’t been able to for a while.

not since riko, not since toji, and definitely not since the new scar trailing across your stomach. shoko hadn’t been able to make the repair seamless.

you didn’t really mind. a lot of things seemed pointless nowadays.

“and the other time?”

your eyes linger on the strand of hair that always falls imperfectly on his face. a little crack in his flawlessness, though you’re not sure how grand that observation actually is.

you sit up a bit, propping your head with your arm as you look down at his pretty brown eyes. narrow, as they currently are, but still evidently alluring.

“well, i think it’s okay to be selfish sometimes.” you reason, voice soft. sometimes the dependency you had with suguru worried you. waves can crash, but the water itself remains. you think you’ll always be bound to him. his, forever. and yet you say, “i’d choose myself. just for a bit of sanity.”

it’s meant to be lighthearted, but the silence that falls afterwards kills any tone of playfulness that statement might have held.

you wish you had been a little more greedy.

•••

september, 2007.

emotions were complicated things.

it’s complicated to process the bullet you watch fly through a child’s head. it’s complicated to process your near-death experience. it’s complicated to process process the news of your classmate’s death. it’s complicated to process how it’s expected for you to go back to normal. it’s complicated to process everything.

so you curl up further, and hope that the news you’re hearing now is only a nightmare. because again, it’s too complicated to process.

“he killed them.”

and with the way satoru says it, repeats it, you think he wants you to sit up and hug him. be vulnerable, because god knows it’s been so long since you have.

but you lay there, back in the bed that you used to sometimes share with the criminal. the stillness makes satoru’s stomach drop, and he can’t will himself to say it again just for the chance of getting a reaction from you. but how much pain can a heart take? because it felt like yours might give out at any moment.

you didn’t sign up for this.

naively, no, you didn’t sign up for this.

“how many?”

you’re not sure why you ask. any number would have you spiraling, but with the silent refusal satoru gives by not replying immediately, you’re sure the answer would kill you alone.

he knows. he knows the exact number, he’d seen the report.

but he stares at your desolate form, eyes scanning the mess in your room. or, lack of. he hardly saw you get get out of bed these days if it weren’t for missions. the only sign of movement from you were the plushies that used to adorn your bed, now sprawled on the floor. for a second, he wonders if they’re gifted from who he thinks they’re from. but that thought feels stupid the moment he thinks of it, because - yes. of course they were. that man had loved you like his lungs naturally loved air. he loved freely, graceful in the way he cared. about satoru, about you. anyone, really.

so saturo makes a decision, hoping that it alleviates a little bit of the ache that he now concludes he will attempt to shield you from. because he cares about you too much to see you succumb to your own internal wounds. he wants you to be strong, like him. like suguru was. he can’t lose you too.

“i don’t know.” satoru lies, and he hopes that sentence can at least ease your heartbreak. but he feels it just as much. sorrowful, the kind of pain he’s been too familar with for a while now. he frowns when you don’t move.

obstruct from his view, your hands grip your sheets as tight as humanly possible, and you’re sure that you break skin through the fabric. you want to cry, but you can’t. not in front of satoru. not while he’s right there.

because this doesn’t affect you. you didn’t care.

so what? suguru had left you to the wolves. to fend for yourself. he became a monster. it didn’t bother you.

and you try to convince yourself to think the same when satoru sits beside you. you’re still thinking it as his shaking hand places itself on your side.

but you give up when he lays beside you, feeling his grief. and that pain only cements itself further as you begin to quietly sob months worth of misery.

you don’t feel much better after.

•••

march, 2008.

nine out of ten times, you’d like to be given the option to wipe your memory.

the other time would be the ability to travel to the past. it’s hard to decide which could be better, or arguably worse. maybe you could save haibara - tag along on that stupid mission and fight that stupid curse. switch places with him, even. the world seemed a lot duller without him in it. nanami spoke even less than he did before. you couldn’t keep up a conversation with him.

was it irrational to think that you might have been able to kill toji too? he just caught you on an off-day. you’re the reason he killed riko. it’s your fault that a child is dead.

there’s so much to be sad about, you’ve started to confuse those ugly feelings with plain normality. it’s natural to feel like this. you can’t really remember better days. they’ve blurred, causing twisted retroactive interference.

your rock had fled. any form of stability you had crumbled with the weight of your sorrow, and you’re forced to miserably pick yourself back up because you’ve never really been used to being alone. satoru wasn’t really around anymore, and shoko never left her studies. you certainly weren’t abandoned, but, unfortunately, you understood that grief couldn’t just halt time forever.

you’ve mourned so much, it feels silly to still have the same ache.

but how do you even move on? what’s the process like? because you’re almost certain you wouldn’t be able to survive it.

you’ve began to rid any remnants of him in your room; any proof of his existence. clothes, specifically, because they hold on to his scent, and you think if you stop for a moment to actually look at them you might break down again. you see memories in them. times where he’s worn the black t-shirts, or his white button-up. insignificant at first glance, but it’s your life you’re holding on to.

you stuff them into bags as quickly as you can.

if he’s not here, he can’t hurt you.

at least, not anymore than he already had.

you think it’s cruel that you’re stuck with a person’s presence even if they’re not physically there anymore. you’ll always associate this room with him. the world, at that.

and maybe it’s childish that your first response (after the sulking) is to trash his belongings, but you can’t think of anything more rational to do. the universe will move on without him. you can’t be left behind too.

when you’re finished, you’re not sure if the sight of five large trash bags and an emptier room makes you want to sob or hit something. it’s like life has lost it’s color - a new vision, duller than what was deemed humane. torturous.

yet you can’t bring yourself to pick them up and take them out of the room. you’re idle, staring at them like they’re just meant to disappear. you hadn’t realized how much your room consisted of just him.

trash, is what you’re unintentionally calling everything in them. but you don’t think that, never in a million years.

if it were up to you, you’d keep everything exactly where it was, and obliviously continue a cheery facade. but the thing about awareness is that after it’s discovered, you can’t really leave it. it’s branded into your mind, poking at your brain with a stick because it will annoyingly never have the intention to leave you alone.

it’ll sit with you in your darkest hours, and you’re unable to predict when light will shine through.

“dump them.”

you jump, defenses high on alert as you instinctively fall back. almost immediately after, you drop your hands, sighing.

shoko is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. you’re about to ask her how long she’s been standing there for, but her lingering gaze on your conflicting pile of issues answers your question before you have the chance to.

“i’ll do it for you.” she offers, finally looking up to meet your eyes. they’re a little sunken in, and she looks restless. it’s the first time you’ve seen her in nearly two weeks. she’s ditched the short hair since a few months back, the length sitting comfortably at her chest now.

you dumbly stare, non-respondent on purpose. you don’t want her to do that.

she seems to recognize the discomfort on your face at her suggestion, and you watch as her brows bitterly furrow, a small glare now directed at the bags. but you don’t get much emotion other than that.

“you can’t cling on to this shit. it’s unhealthy.” she softly explains, shaking her head. you wonder if that’s her medical opinion or genuine concern speaking, but you don’t ask her to elaborate. instead, you turn around, taking a seat at the edge of your bed.

you kind of want her to leave.

“what’s healthy, then?” you retort, shrugging. it sounded a bit hypocritical coming from her. shoko had barricaded herself for the past six months, not even offering an ounce of genuine sympathy. in reality, you know it’s because she’s naturally avoidant. she didn’t crave support like you did. she didn’t need it like you had. because shoko has always been independent, never strung up on people. and you envy that more than anything.

“i don’t know.” she answers honestly, pursing her lips. but with one look around your room, and she’s certain it wasn’t this.

hesitantly, lets herself inside, eyes scanning the bareness. if it were any other day, she’d see suguru at your desk, or on your bed. he’d wave, and you would greet her with open arms. everyone knew the two of you were nearly inseparable (if it weren’t for satoru). the room always had a pleasant atmosphere when the two of you were in it. it feels cold and grim now, though. shoko has to fight a shiver.

you observe her, waiting for a joke or two. you’re nearly hoping, because any form of comedic relief had begun to be your craving. you needed an escape from all of this.

but instead, she turns back to you and wordlessly sits beside your tense form. it’s quiet for a bit.

there’s a charm that shines on the top of your desk, catching her eye. it dangles among other souvenirs, and shoko has to avert her eyes when she realizes that they’re all gifts from a certain deceased underclassman.

everything about this room feels like a graveyard.

“satoru comes back today.” shoko suddenly says, letting the first thing she can think of be verbalized. her eyes stay on the wooden floor this time. “he’s been in kyoto for a couple of days.”

you hum, nodding. you didn’t know.

if shoko kept her distance, then it was like satoru had completely faded. you couldn’t even remember the last time he had texted you.

then again, you weren’t sure if you’d even respond.

“i was thinking we could eat dinner together… when he gets back.”

your head perks up. barely.

that sounded familiar. mostly because it had been a routine up until recently. never verbally established, but it was natural for you and shoko to be accompanied by two towering sorcerers as you ate whatever satoru had decided on for the day. he was a picky eater. there’s a bitter taste on your tongue as you realize you’d be missing a member now.

“we can.” you nod, awkwardly kicking your feet back and forth. silence again.

you can feel shoko’s annoyance. how she’s trying to get you to talk, but you’re stupidly stubborn and refuse to. however, she knows you a little too well, and plays the waiting game. because she knows you’re weak when it comes to your heart, and weaker when it comes to the people you love. her included.

it’s not a relief when you finally break. if anything, it’s painful to hear, to watch. and though it’s only one question, it’s so complicated that it feels like you’ve asked her how the universe itself was created. simultaneously, it’s equally as simplistic.

it doesn’t even sound sad. it’s hollow, void of any distinct emotion. you’re staring at the wall.

“shoko…” you don’t pay attention to how she stills and watches you intently. you’re oblivious to the frown on her face, how she leans in just a little closer. and the widening of her eyes as you finish speaking. “how are you… okay?”

you feel particularly pathetic. shoko was so strong. satoru was the strongest. and yet here you were, more fragile than ever. on an alter, you’re a mere viewer from below. simply watching perched gods, basking in all their glory. the difference always evident, never comparable.

and yet shoko stares for a little, dumbfounded.

no, absolutely no one was ‘okay.’ the world was crumbling in front of everyone’s eyes. but you’ve always been a reminiscent person, she supposes. you search for familiarity. it’s harder for you to let go.

“did i tell you that?” she asks, more rhetorically than anything. there’s a teasing tone that her voice holds, but it does little to rid the tension of your question. you slowly shake your head.

“then how do you know that’s true?”

you shrug, fiddling with your fingers. “i don’t know.”

you want to tell her that your thoughts are purely based on toxic comparisons to yourself, but the air feels a little thick already, so you don’t.

“c’mere.”

there is no protest made when she wraps her arms around you, and forces you to fall into your bed with her. the pillows under your heads dip, and you’re enveloped in the softness of your blankets. shoko’s warm, and if you closed your eyes you might mistaken her hold to be like a mother’s affection. evident adoration, just by the touch. you’re derived and soak it up as much as you can, leaning into her.

it reminds you of late nights where you’d have sleepovers and gossip until the sun came up. too tired to train the next day, yaga ordering laps regardless of your visible fatigue. and you’d run with gleeful smiles, energy lifting as you were side-by-side again. an unexplainable friendship one could never truly describe with words, just pure thoughts. it’s sickeningly nostalgic, because you think about the fact that it really had not been that long ago. how quickly things change.

shoko nuzzles her face into your hair affectionately and sighs. she squeezes you tightly. declarative - ‘i’m right here.’ never enough to make up for the lost time and avoidance, but enough for now. because shoko didn’t act like this normally, and for you to see her in such a state meant more than just any regular apology.

“i think you know how to love better than any of us.” she admits, and that sentence alone has you curling a little more into her, your chest suddenly feeling tight. she leans in, and her lips form into a sorrowful smile as she observes you. full of pure understanding. again, a connection that could not be made with words. it feels a little spiritual. she brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. “that’s why you find it all so painful.”

hesitantly, you offer a sad smile, her words all bittersweet. it makes you laugh a little distastefully, the reality of them hitting you at once. “well, that’s not fair.”

“it’s not.” shoko agrees, nodding. “but it’s a lovely thing.”

you make a face. recently, it’s only brought you suffering. the good bits don’t seem as worth it - as ‘lovely’ as she describes.

you pause, contemplating for a little. and your voice is affirmative, like you’ve never been more sure in your life. you kinda sound like a naive child.

“i don’t want it. take my feelings. i don’t like them.”

it’s true. it’s the biggest truth you’ve ever told with the biggest sincerity. and you know it’s not possible, that you’re stuck like this forever. a soft, easygoing heart that beats for everyone around it. your words make shoko snort - a real genuine laugh. you giggle through watery eyes.

“the world sucks.”

this time, it is a pitying smile that shoko gives you. lop-sided, and hesitant. she feels bad.

her arms leave you, and she opts to instead lay facing you, faces mere inches from one another. you’re both laying on your cheeks, against folded hands. shoko taps your nose.

“you know what i think?”

you hum, sniffing a little as you try to focus on the small amount freckles across her face instead of the overwhelming urge to let some tears fall. it works, for the most part. you count twenty.

“i think the world gives strong feelings to strong people.”

you smile at that.

shoko was something else.

“i’m pretty fucking strong then, aren’t i?” you mumble, tired eyes blinking as you sigh. shoko’s eyes crinkle as she returns the fondness, a hand resting on your cheek.

“definitely.”

and you can only hope she’s right.

there’s nothing that interrupts those sweet moments of tranquillity. where you can act like everything is just a little better, because in all honesty, it was. shoko’s good at making you feel like that.

if you really thought hard enough, this could be just another regular day. you want it to be.

you feel shoko’s finger poke your chest, and she gives you a pointed look. it’s like she could read your mind - subconsciously, as if she had the ability of a third eye.

“it gets easier. every day it gets a little easier. but you gotta do it every day — that’s the hard part.”

she leaves it at that.

you lay together, appreciating each other’s mere presence. and it feels nice. support, like you craved, but words even more. you aren’t able to formulate how much you adore her, but actions speak louder than words, so you shuffle just a tiny bit closer.

you’re not sure how much time passes by.

when shoko stands up, she rids you of her warmth, leaving the cocoon of wonder and comfort she’d so gracefully created for you. yet you feel fine, that isolating shiver now replaced with content. you think you feel a little lighter too.

“be outside by seven. if it’s up to me, we’ll all get sushi. no promises though.”

she’s back to being more standoffish, but still your same shoko. you nod appreciatively, the thankfulness worth the weight of a million tons. your eyes follow her as she walks across the room.

the door shuts, and you’re left alone again.

you can feel your heart beat a little faster, the realization of your commitment to the later plans finally dawning upon you. it would be the first real reunion since then. maybe a chance to talk things out. be levelheaded, get some communal closure.

or, maybe you’d be able to ignore the past and focus on the present. just act like friends eating lunch. because that’s all it was, wasn’t it?

begrudgingly, you force yourself to stand, too aware of the fact that your habits of wasting time in bed have far exceeded a reasonable amount over the past few months. it was time to get better, be better.

your hands grab the first bag.

it’s heavy, as you imagine all the other ones are. but you suppose if you don’t think about what’s in them, it’ll make the process a lot smoother.

you’re nearing the door when you stop.

it’s a small paper, it’s yellow exterior almost blending in with the sunlight escaping through the windows. you inch closer.

and it’s pathetic that the sight of his handwriting on a sticky-note makes you lose your breath. shameful, because how are inanimate objects this damaging?

it’s hung above your desk. by haibara’s gifts, and by notebooks you never really used in this academically-lackluster school.

you stare at it for a while, hand resting over your forehead as you take in every minuscule detail. you let go of the bag.

it’s the last note suguru had ever left you, made a few weeks before his disappearance. before everything went downhill. little poetic phrases that would embed themselves in your mind until death. you’re afraid to look.

it’s neatly written, displayed in purple ink. doodles of clouds and flowers surround the words. he had a habit of leaving them around. you suppose you never caught this one.

there’s a little heart next to his signature, encapsulating just a memory of lost devotion.

‘how strange to dream of you, even when i am awake.’

your hand crumbles the note in a second.

the paper is evidently weak, and when you open your hand back up, the words are still clearly there, haunting you. and you know you don’t have the heart to throw it away. or, realistically - throw anything away.

you fold the note gently, and leave it on your desk. your body yearns to leave, to escape the suffocation of what suddenly felt like walls that were caving in. you slam the door on your way out, bags and all left behind.

you’d definitely prefer to wipe your memory.

•••

april, 2005.

“you’re so annoying.”

satoru grins, standing proudly as you repeatedly attempt to hit him on the head, your touch stopped by his infinity. he’d only recently learned how to control it decently - claiming that he needed to because you had a bad habit of using him as your punching bag.

“you know what though? this is a good thing.” you muse, arms crossing as you finally give up. satoru’s head tilts, and you raise a brow. “no one wants to touch you anyways.”

there’s a dramatic pout that immediately finds itself on his face, and he whines from instinct, letting his guard down for a moment to shove you. you slap his arm before he has a chance to react.

“she’s right.” suguru nods affirmatively, earning a gasp from the white-haired male, and suddenly, suguru is being shoved too. you giggle, briefly making eye contact with him. it’s a little too quick for your preference, but the stolen glance has you holding your breath for a moment.

it’s exhilarating.

suguru is beautiful in a way that is hard to describe. but it’s not from a loss of words; you can speak endlessly about him. he’s everything a person could dream of and more. but it’s little gestures that truly draw you to him. how it seems like he always lingers, attentive and patient no matter what boulders you seem to throw at him. he’ll carry that weight on his shoulders easily, and with the most effortless smile. it’s a gentleness that you weren’t even sure was possible before you met him. he defies all expectations, all normalities.

“oh, i forgot to ask-“ satoru turns to you, raising his brows. sometimes his glasses bothered you. his eyes were freakish, yes, but you also had a conflicting urge to always look at them. “how’d your mission go yesterday?”

you cringe, involuntarily stiffening as you replay the events in your head.

“stupid semi-first grade. i let my guard down for a second and it almost clawed me.” you sighed, rolling your eyes. you fail to notice suguru’s eyes widen. “but we exorcised it right after. i swear i saw nanami shit himself.”

there’s a stark difference in reactions from both boys. while satoru snickers, suguru stays quiet. white and black.

“glad you’re still with us.” satoru beams, ruffling your hair before you have a chance to swat his hand away. “right, suguru?”

all attention flocks towards him, and you and satoru patiently await his response. he’s looking off to the side.

he feels a little childish.

there’s an uncomfortable pit in suguru’s stomach that he can’t shake off, and he swallows thickly, nodding with a dismissive cough. “yeah, glad it went well.”

obliviously, you flash him a thankful smile.

it makes him feel the tiniest bit better.

he wished yaga would pair you two together, or even put you with satoru. an actual backup - not someone below your skill level. haibara and nanami weren’t comparable; they were still new to jujustu. younger, less experienced. he holds a little resentment towards your abilities, and while he knows you’re never sent on missions that are tougher than you can handle, he always has an inkling of worry that lingers uncomfortably. he hates not being around you - not knowing if you’re okay. and he knows you’re a reckless fighter. you brush off the mention of critical injuries and move on, completely unbothered. the burden of stress came so easily when he was around you and satoru.

“you have another one tomorrow, right?”

you hum, nodding as you fiddle with the end of your uniform, sighing softly. “it’s across town i think. not sure who’s coming with me yet - maybe it’ll be shoko if i beg hard enough.”

suguru has to fight a wince. also not an ideal companion. shoko didn’t specialize in combat.

she’d only be actual help if you were wounded, and -

“why not me or satoru?”

he speaks before he thinks, and iternally, he punches himself in the face. he can see satoru stop moving in his peripheral vision. he thinks he sees a smirk. coy, but no words come out.

scoffing, you deadpan. “where’s the practice in that? you guys will kill it before i even get a chance to see it.”

and that’s true, because it’s happened dozens of times before. show-offs.

“we can get kikufuku after!” satoru exclaims, completely disregarding you as you begin to protest rather loudly. “i’ve been craving it. i haven’t had it since last week!”

“wait longer.” you sneer, glaring at him. “i rather go alone.”

now that, suguru would verbally be clearly against, without any hint of shame.

“boo.” satoru deflates, rolling his eyes at you. “that won’t even happen.”

it wouldn’t. you hadn’t earned that trust yet - the absolute certainty that you’d survive if you did a mission alone.

suguru’s glad.

“not yet.” you chirp, and the hopeful smile on your face doesn’t help anything. “but soon enough.”

there’s that unwavering aura you always hold that makes suguru feel a little sick. it’s determination, stubbornness, that follows you and keeps you whole. when you talk like that, words void of any doubt, he knows you mean it. and you’ll accomplish it, because your will for achievement is stronger than your rationality.

but he has you now, right in front of him, so he’ll ease himself of the worry. for now.

“in a million years.” satoru remarks, sticking his tongue out at you, not even bothering to look your way as you hold up a rather unpleasant finger in his direction. playful banter was regular between you two; you fed off of each other’s energy. suguru seemed to be the mediator.

an observer, with eyes particularly always lingering on one certain person.

•••

spring has flowers blossoming again, and you feel inclined to stay out for as long as possible. the confinements of your dorm feels like an obstacle, and it’d be a waste to miss out on the beauty that winter’s absence welcomed.

it’s perfect weather.

the cursed weapon in your hand had begun to feel rather light, your arm adapting to the overpowering weight. you disliked close-range combat, but you were being sent on tougher missions now, so there was no room for complaints. your abilities needed to strengthen.

and it’s frustrating, really. to have to constantly forgo complete confidence and figure out where you’re weakest; you could easily make a list with areas of needed improvement. a lot of your classmates seemed to lack that issue. you suppose what’s worse is that you’re completely aware it wasn’t a competition - but you had convinced yourself that at the least, you needed to stay on their level.

even if that meant working ten times harder, even if that meant exerting yourself past a reasonable amount.

but this routine has gotten you this far, and, sincerely, it hadn’t been too much of a problem to keep up with.

in fact, you could probably do a little more.

“you shouldn’t train so much, you’ll strain yourself.”

your stance falters, though you easily recover within the same second. maybe a little too late, but you tried not to be nit-picky. he was naturally quiet.

“i gotta keep up with everyone somehow.” you quickly grin, trying to calm the visible pants of your labored breathing. it’s futile, and you momentarily turn away, as if embarrassed to look anything but perfectly composed. to look less than him - or anyone, really.

your back is towards him.

suguru can read you perfectly. it’s with ease that’s almost completely overbearing, and some part of him believes that he’s only been put on earth to watch out for you. like it knows that you aren’t the kindest when it comes to yourself.

it’s so natural that he supposes it might be his true purpose.

you only hear him hum from behind you, and suddenly there’s a weight pushing down on your raised weapon, ushering it towards the floor. gentle fingers graze against yours, and you let him grab it from you, albeit with some hesitation. he places it on the floor.

“let’s take a break, yeah?”

he doesn’t even need to coerce you, you’d follow him blindly if he asked. you always do.

and he’s leading you, knowing you’re behind him without having the urge to look back and check. exhaustion lingers, but you’re too entranced by him to focus on the sore ache of your limbs. he’s graceful as he walks.

“we trained this morning.”

you freeze momentarily, looking off to the side with a shrug. it’s not that he sounds hostile - it’s just a bit more monotone than normal. “practice makes perfect.”

suguru makes a noise of acknowledgment, but it sounds a bit absentminded and dull, lacking any understanding. like a huff of annoyance.

“right.”

he shouldn’t be this bitter, this cold, when speaking to you. it’s rough against his tongue, and his entire body, mind and all, is actively telling him to stop. emotions are ugly things, though. it makes people less rational; less aware - say things they may regret.

suguru slows his steps, up until you’re beside him, where you should be. and by a glance at you, he knows he’s gotten too uncharacteristically rigid. you’re looking at him, confusion clouding your head. concern, actually. he sees it now.

“did i do something wrong?”

the meekness in your voice, haunted with worry, clears his senses in a millisecond. his eyes widen. panicked, he feverishly shakes his head.

“no — no. of course not.”

he sees you relax a bit, but you’re still looking questionably at him. your head tilts. “then?”

suguru sighs, swallowing thickly as he stops walking. it’s an enchanting sight, grassy fields just a little off main campus. you see a few flowers.

you follow after him as he sits, greenery cushioning your bodies as you settle. suguru picks at the weeds, his eyes on the floor. he speaks quiet, voice among the gentle breeze as his hair flows in waves. you have the urge to remove his hair-tie and see it fully.

“i just worry about you.”

you don’t even attempt to hide the slight flustered smile that finds itself on your face, body feeling overwhelmingly warm. he’s avoiding eye contact for once. l

it’d be a lie if you claimed you didn’t notice the tension - the smiles, the laughs, the soft-spoken volume of his pure voice. so silky smooth it’d rid you of all your worries in a second. but there’s something so alluring about never saying it out loud. like it’s your little secret the two of you can keep, because adoration itself is something so beautiful it needed to be dragged out for as long as possible. you’ve grown to be a little impatient, though.

you nudge him teasingly.

“don’t. i’m right here.”

and it’s true; suguru sees it as a privilege. to be around your presence, to just talk to you — he worships the ground you walk on, and he’s not sure how to tell you that might be the reason why he worries so much.

instead, he chuckles, head bowing momentarily.

“i wish it were that easy.”

you bring your knees to your chest, giggling lightly.

he’s cute.

undeniably.

“it is.” you urge, dragging out the last syllable as you sway towards him. he meets your eyes. “just trust me like i trust you.”

suguru thinks that you’re sometimes oblivious to the weight of your words. they can be so intimate, and you’ll deliver them like any other sentence. as if you hadn’t just made his stomach churn, and his heart beat a little faster. he trusts you more than a healthy amount. he’d trust you with his life, his future — he’d leave everything in the palms of your hands.

“i do.” he replies, reassuringly. it’s earnest, and you smile. suguru bites the inside of his cheek, and closes his eyes. “it’s everything else that scares me.”

and there’s really nothing you can really do to help that fear, because you know it’s completely reasonable and realistic. tomorrow is never promised, especially with the hectic lives you live. you want to tell him that you have similar thoughts when he and satoru are out for days at a time, no return window strictly placed. that it has you pacing back and forth until their arrival, and even then you downplay your relief. but that’s a little embarrassing to say when he’s listening so intently, so you keep quiet.

you turn to him, shrugging with a smile you pray looks more optimistic than sorrowful.

“we can only ever hope for the best.”

a little hollow, less declarative than preferred, but it works the same. suguru nods in silent agreement.

suguru used to think that exceptional beasts like you and him could not fall in love — that it was the secret of ordinary people. for beings, who can alter the world, were special in indescribable ways. but he’s grown to be more open-minded, more accepting.

because what else could he do? you were so irresistible that it ceased the existence of his birth-given psychology. his mind, altered just for you.

“you know… you don’t have to prove yourself of anything.”

this time, it’s suguru who nudges you. he leans in, and you feel his hair brush against your arm. it tickles, but you don’t flinch. your body naturally welcomes the proximity, tingles and goosebumps etching across your skin. you squint, waiting for him to elaborate. and he does, with one validating sentence that kinda erases the possibility of self-doubt. just for a bit.

“i think you’re strong.”

he’d move stars for you, talk to the moon if it meant you got to keep the shimmer in your pretty eyes. and he’d ask the sun to stay out longer so he could continue seeing your rosy cheeks.

he’d gladly live for infinity if he could be the reason you get flustered forever.

you’re very pretty like this.

his eyes are watchful, observant as you scoff bashfully, avoiding him. and you quietly respond, with that same soothing voice. he thinks it could be a lullaby.

“i think you’re strong too.”

suguru smiles, nodding and all-knowing. he pokes you playfully.

“i know.”

you’d complain, but his tone lacks any arrogance. just a statement, enough said. because he knows how you think, how you observe.

and while you don’t say it out loud, your eyes are telling him ‘thank you.’

how beautiful the act of reading an expression is. of knowing a person so easily it’s like clockwork, unraveling intricate details to form a conscious understanding.

he watches your eyes narrow, and awaits a question he knows is on the tip of your tongue. your face looks a certain way during contemplation.

“you like doing this stuff?” you ask, tilting your head. “being a sorcerer, i mean.”

as if the two of you had other options. you didn’t.

but there’s something comforting about answering known questions. speaking the obvious into existence, letting the information linger in the air.

“i like it.” suguru replies, smiling. “if you get rid of the bad stuff.”

his voice gets quieter at the end, but you save him the questioning glance and smile back.

you hum, nodding. “like what?”

and you can name a million bad things. every day is a reminder of them. the two of you have that in common. but thankfully, the world has been kind enough to not let you experience them. your optimism hadn’t been tainted.

and as you expressed to him — you try not to dwell over the ticking clock, only ever hoping for the best.

suguru’s hands are behind him, propping himself up as he gazes at sheer, distant clouds. the sky is a pretty mix of yellow, orange, and red. evening approaches.

“well, all that self-sacrificing stuff for the betterment of mankind — for starters.” he sighs, head leaning back. you wonder if you imagine the way the slight slivers of sun sparkle against his skin, and how angelic his aura seems in that very moment.

you scoot a little closer, gaze matching his as you look upwards.

“we’re helping so many people, though.” you reply, glancing at him for a second. his eyes are closed, like a cat basking in the warmth of the light. you want to kiss his cheek.

“we are.”

“i think it’s cool.”

“it is cool.” he affirms, nodding. one eye opens, and he shamelessly stares as you obliviously observe the world. suguru is suddenly grateful that this view is currently only reserved for him, as he’s sure anyone would fall in love with you in this exact moment. yet, at the least, he wants you to see yourself in his neutral vision.

but butterflies cannot see their own beautiful wings, so he’ll gladly worship you quietly.

he looks at your hand on the grass, right beside his. it’s contemplation that’s been built up for months, thoughts of you invading all his senses. suguru figures that if he had a flower for every time he’s thought of you, he could walk through a garden forever. he inches his fingers closer.

and pauses when they’re less than a centimeter away, pulling back as you break the silence.

“i mean, i’d die for you guys too.”

suguru tenses, and you grow nervously quiet from the sight of his surprised expression, feeling suddenly embarrassed. an awkward laugh leaves your lips in an attempt to ease the gloom of your words, and you mindlessly wave your hand. “if it came down to it, y’know.”

you would in a heartbeat. you’d do it a thousand times over if you could, but you don’t tell him that. that proclamation is reserved for only you.

and as suguru looks over at you, stares, he doesn’t think he’ll ever despise an idea more than he does now. it’s blazing, the thought horrendous.

“don’t say stuff like that.” he demands, shaking his head brazenly. you can feel his eyes still on you, and he’s lost his smile. “don’t ever.”

all the defense, the stoicism, stemming from the thought that — yes. he 100% believed you would die for anyone. and that terrified him more than anything.

suguru isn’t sure how to communicate his thoughts in a softer way. he doesn’t mean for his demeanor to grow so cold again, but it bothers him - makes him sick - that you can say things like that so easily.

“i didn’t — i’m sorry.” you stutter, eyes wide. you swallow thickly, “sorry.”

and again, it’s hard to be upset with you.

but this, he can be against. he needs to be.

“you can’t think like that.” suguru speaks, softer this time. it’s pleading, as if he’s begging for a bit of mercy. and he is. “please.”

he wants to tell you that it’s okay to be selfish, to prioritize yourself first. but it would seem a bit hypocritical coming from him, because he knows he’d throw everything away in a whim if it meant keeping you safe.

love blinds him, he supposes.

“okay.” you nod, eyes on the floor. “i won’t.”

you’re considerate enough to lie, despite knowing full well that your words don’t align with your mind whatsoever. and you think suguru knows that.

he’s staring. you can feel it, eyes as intense as a midnight sky. you feel a little afraid to look up and meet them.

but it’s only instinct when he speaks your name softly, a coaxing whisper among suffocating tension.

you think he looks ethereal when being clouded with concern. godly, towering upon you. the magnitude of his gaze truly shows with the lack of distance. you register the feeling of his hand on yours before anything else, the touch searing from pure shock. a large palm covers your skin.

“… i’m sorry. i just care about you a lot.”

worry is care. it’s one of the greatest devotions — the act of panic for another person.

suguru thinks that romance may actually be the most horrific thing in life. that it’s not curses, but love. it’s the deepest weakness.

“you kill me when you get injured — when you speak like that.” he mutters, and the two of you don’t say a thing as his hand inches higher.

it feels a little harder to breathe.

“can’t promise i’ll stop.” you reply, a pitying smile finding it’s way on your face as you watch him close his eyes briefly.

“i know.”

suguru feels a little like a broken record player, doomed to repeat the same phrases like it’s clockwork.

it’s futile, you’re mutually aware.

he can’t control you, he’s unable to dictate what decisions you make — no matter how stupid, or how horrid they are to him. but he can’t bring himself to stop trying. maybe, if you’re reminded your value, you’ll eventually think the same.

but, honestly, the way you’re looking at him right now could make him believe anything.

“did you find out who’s joining you tomorrow on your mission?”

the corner of your mouth quirks upwards, and he knows your answer before you say it out loud. he grins.

your other hand places itself on top of his, and you smile back. heart giddy, but you try your best to keep your composure.

“i pulled a few strings.”

•••

december, 2015.

you wonder if growing up not only changes your body, but your soul.

because it takes a long time to realize how truly miserable you are, and even longer to see that it doesn’t have to be that way.

it’d be kinda hard to feel your unhappiness now, regardless.

“i prefer if you keep them outside, megs.” you wince, eyeing the dirt-covered paw prints on the hardwood floor.

the two perpetrators stand on either side of their summoner.

flushed and clearly embarrassed, megumi curtly nods. his hair moves the slightest with the movement, and he turns his head away from you, kicking his foot back and forth. “sorry, i wasn’t thinking.”

the dogs leave your eyesight quickly after. you snort, playfully rolling your eyes at him, walking over to ruffle the dark spikes on his head.

“it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” you smile, silently pleased when he doesn’t move away from the ministration. he’s always been more lenient with you, a fact you hold high over a certain white-haired sorcerer. “plus, i’ll just make satoru clean it up.”

if you had blinked, you might had missed the way megumi’s mouth quirks up, satisfaction clear as day. it makes you giggle, up until you finally inspect him closer. your eyes linger on the dirt covering the side of his white shirt, and you softly sigh, pursing your lips.

“how was the curse?” you ask, nudging him a little where the stains are most prominent. “roughed you up a bit, huh?”

megumi’s introduction to jujustu wasn’t entirely seamless, but he was definitely a natural. an anomaly, like satoru. born with talent.

you watch as his face turns sour, and his eyes suddenly narrow, the stoic expression more familiar. he avoids your gaze and looks at the door expectantly, mumbling something under his breath.

“what?” you reply, brows furrowing as you lean a little closer in hopes he’ll repeat himself. megumi’s mouth opens again, and he’s about to, but an obnoxious ‘i’m backkkk!’ interrupts him.

you share an unimpressed look with the younger boy.

satoru strides inside, whistling with a grin. you’ve spent too much time with him, years ticking off your lifespan from both the annoyance and contentment that he simultaneously brings into the world. he and megumi had left early in the morning, and it was around midday now — too long with him, as you can clearly pinpoint on latter’s face.

satoru’s hands are in his pockets, and he shuts the door with his shoulder, leaning back against it.

“missed us?” he smiles, and he walks over to throw an arm around megumi, which is immediately thrown off. satoru glares momentarily, but quickly looks back up at you, clearing his throat. “missed me?”

you stare, sighing softly before gently tugging megumi towards you.

“i missed megumi.” you correct, crossing your arms. your head motions to him, “and why does it look like he got pushed on the floor? i thought you said-“

“it was a grade three!” satoru immediately exclaims, and points to the boy beside you in accusation. “he told me not to get involved.”

despite his adult frame, satoru never really outgrew his childishness, still quick to blame anyone other than himself. his defensiveness was mildly irritating, but you've come to grow used to it. your head shakes disapprovingly, and you huff. “he’s thirteen, you idiot.”

satoru’s smile turns a little mischievous as megumi looks at you quizzically, a frown on his face. “so?”

you rub your head in annoyance, ignoring satoru’s ‘oooo,’ and gently flick megumi on the forehead. “you’re not an official student yet. dealing with curses by yourself can wait. for now, you fight with satoru.”

satoru dramatically sighs, and much to your dismay, approaches you. his arm infamously wraps itself around your frame, body leaning towards you, and it feels like the weight of an elephant, crushing you as you stumble. he doesn’t let up. “you worry too much. and he exorcised it! maybe with a little less ease than expected, but-“

he grunts when a hand collides with his side, and you’re too busy pushing him off to see the way he sticks his tongue out at megumi.

maybe your concerns were a little irrational, but your heart was in the right place. megumi was still young, still enrolled in a normal middle school — albeit, close to his last year — and you had originally planned to keep him completely innocent for just a while longer. no world of killing, curses, and whatnot. but satoru had pushed him into it within the first few months of his complicated adoption, and you secretly knew that there was nothing you could do to completely shield that side of the ugly world for him.

so, you suppose the least you could do was teach him how to protect himself. in case you or satoru couldn’t.

“well,” you sigh, defeatedly. there’s a lopsided smile on your face, and you expectantly look to megumi. “how was it, then?”

there’s a boyish smile, a little shy, that appears on his face. “cool.”

“see!” satoru grins, arms raising in victory. “he loved it, and he should probably do it more often-“

“fine, fine.”

it’s always been pretty futile to argue with satoru. not only is he stubborn, but painstakingly arrogant. he tends to think his ideas are always the best, simply because they’re made in his very head. and you can’t discredit them, because normally, they’re alright. but it can be frustrating. he’s also really hard to deny.

it’s only natural to give in. just so you can avoid drawing it out.

“awesome! i think he’s ready for a special grade!” satoru claps his hands, and you deadpan, rolling your eyes.

“don’t kill my kid.” you mutter, shaking your head as you turn, ignoring the way satoru’s smile settles into something a little more genuine. heartfelt, maybe.

truth be told, you’d trust satoru with everything and more. you worry and fret, but at the end of the day, he’ll still be there. he’s been stuck to you like glue for years now, and it didn’t help that you practically live under the same roof. different rooms, but realistically having no actual space. it’s nice, and you really do hold him in your heart deeply. at an arm’s length.

you end up being stuck with cooking dinner yet again — satoru winning because otherwise he’d ’poison the kids’ (which, you think is stupid because he could easily just follow a recipe. also, he’s used that excuse before.) — and it’s like clockwork, a routine, when you find yourself sat across from him on the couch afterwards, tsumiki and megumi long gone in their respective rooms.

you’ve found that gojo satoru acts a bit differently when it’s just the two of you. less irritable, and easier to talk to; you’ve noticed this since you met him. his voice gets quieter, the blindfold comes off, his hair falls, and you’re presented with a more raw version. and maybe the kids get a different version too, but you find that hard to believe when megumi’s distaste is so palpably strong.

“movie?” satoru asks, peeking at you through narrow eyes. his face is a little smushed by his palm as he leans against the armrest, and there’s a lazy smile on his face. he looks kinda tired, weirdly enough. exhaustion is so foreign on his face that it looks almost fake. you wonder how much he slept last night, spotting hints of darkness beneath the pretty blue of his vision.

you think it’s strange that you don’t get sick of his presence, even after all this time. that’s it’s forever missed more than loathed. you’re always in such close proximity, practically doing everything together, and yet you find that crave him every second he’s not beside you. pitifully, it might just be the attachment issues you’ve subconsciously formed, and have unfortunately plagued satoru with. but that reason just seems a little too sad for you to fully admit. everything realistic is somehow bitter. you softly sigh, momentarily closing your eyes.

you’d love to stay, just to hear his idiotic rambles and comments. they always brought more substance than the film itself. and he’s been gone all day. you rub your forehead, feeling a small inkling of guilt.

“i have a mission later.” you reply, apologetically, and smile sincerely. “but when i come back, yes.”

an active report coming from a town over — information on paper only describing the energy as ‘ominous.’

“oh,” satoru’s eyes widen, and though you’re unable to read the exact emotion on his face, he seems a little alarmed. nearly wincing. he’s kinda upset that you didn’t tell him sooner, that being visibly clear — but then again, did you really have an obligation to? he didn’t really tell you whenever he had missions. but that was because he’d return in a few quick hours every time. satoru didn’t like being gone for too long either. he never dragged out his departures; he hated to leave you by yourself, even if the kids were with you. it feels a little cruel. you watch his eyes dart towards the windows, and he shifts, facing you. the movement is a little awkward, and he pauses before his speaks, hesitant with his words. “want me to go with you? it’s kind of late.”

it’s sweet that he asks.

“satoru,” you chuckle, tilting your head. “it’s a couple of second grades. i’ll be fine.”

a little white lie, but you craved some action. satoru always got stuck with the interesting missions, and even then they posed no such threat to him. all of your assignments were simple, too easy to be considered enjoyable. if this was going to be the route you were taking in life, — exorcising curses — then you could at least make it somewhat fun.

satoru can tell something’s off. you’re too dismissive, and you won’t look at him directly. but he feels as though it’s not his place to scold you, and he trusts you dearly, so he ignores his gut.

“alright.” he shrugs, his arms moving behind his head as they nonchalantly cross, contrasting the way he feels a little unusual. “call me if you need anything.”

•••

december brings cold winter air, and you blow into your palms, attempting to warm the skin that’s begun to grow a little numb.

more people should go on nightly walks, you think. maybe then it’d be more calming. every street you’ve turned to is nearly empty, the only comfort being provided by dim overhead lights. but you suppose you’ve gone through more fearsome events, so this shouldn’t really be that big of a deal.

it’s a little frustrating to be walking around so aimlessly. the report gave no specific location, just the brief mention of a couple of previous sightings. by now, they’d more-than-likely dispersed to other areas.

you’re slightly tempted to call satoru for some help, as you’ve never been the best at detecting curses at a long-range, but you refrain.

it was late, and you know he’d probably never let you live it down.

satoru would never say ‘no’ to you. but there comes a price with that reliability and expectancy. small instances, like when you caught a cold, and had asked him to order for you at a coffee shop because your voice had been to sore to do so. he complied, but not without a relentless amount of teasing, even going to far as to lie to the barista, saying ‘sorry, she’s just really shy.’ he lived for your embarrassment, and it was generally harmless, so you couldn't reprimand him for it.

but sometimes every time, he’d have his own small apology. like how right after you had returned home, there was soup coincidentally ordered on your front porch.

satoru had walked inside without looking at you.

he can be tolerable. rarely.

you're nearly persuaded to go back home, midnight beginning to take a toll on your tired eyes. as far as you were aware, the curses hadn't caused harmful havoc. but it'd be pretty humiliating to head back without a small victory, and even then you'd probably stay up feeling guilty.

unintelligible whispers break you out of your thoughts, and you blink, eyes scanning the area.

goosebumps arise, and your head turns.

finally.

you nearly jump when you see it, though keep your composure, standing straighter.

it’s hardly detectable, as it stands. fairly large too. it might actually be a second grade.

you huff, brows furrowing as you inspect the curse. this was the cause of the ‘ominous’ energy? you feel it, but it’s looks don’t work well with it’s written description. maybe you’d be heading home sooner than you expected.

your hand reaches behind you to grab your weapon, and you move forward, testing to see how fast it’s reflexes are.

it doesn’t move.

you pause, rolling your eyes briefly.

“at least put up a fight, dude.” you mumble, nearly sighing as it continues to plainly watch you. you walk a little closer, up until you’re only a few feet away, and hum. “you’re not the brightest…”

you insert your weapon back into it’s sheath, and stare. it’s been a while since you’ve had the chance to see a curse so closely. they’re all usually extremely reactive, not sparing you a second before attacking. violence is their prime instinct; the main thought in their heads.

when you reach your hand to poke it, and it still doesn’t budge, you know something is wrong.

oh.

your entire body stills, and you’re certain that you feel your stomach drop to the floor.

something felt familiar.

confirming your terrible suspicions, the curse disappears in front of your very eyes. not exorcised. you’re staring at the empty space that it once occupied, too bothered by the fact that your heartbeat has picked up ten times faster.

you almost reach for your phone, but stop, feeling as though it wouldn't be the wisest decision.

this suddenly all feels a little too calculated. you don’t even attempt to grab your weapon again.

shock numbs your bones. it bleeds through and renders you useless.

you hear your name before you see him, and you figure it feels the same as the nearly-fatal slash toji had given you almost a decade ago. so painful that it makes your heart stop. it’s spoken with such intimate fondness — too much for your poor heart to comprehend.

his ubiquity is so daunting that you’re sure all time ceases to exist.

you don’t want to turn around. you want to run, flee before you know it’s too late. before you hear him speak, and the world comes crashing down all over again. you’ve tried so hard to piece it back together. every tiny detail - you’re not sure if you’d be able to start over. why now? when you’ve finally been better. when you finally believed that normality was even possible to achieve.

but you’ve always naturally given into him, and that habit stays strong even after all these years. you think he knows that too.

it’s with upmost hesitance that you turn around.

you’re not sure what to do.

he’s a sight for sore eyes. healing, beautifully transparent. a dear smile, inviting you closer. or more like a predator awaiting it’s prey. your body is giving you every negative cue, yet your legs stay in place, submissive to his presence that’s been so horrendously missed.

he a little looks older. or maybe that’s just the unfamiliar sight of all his hair down.

“hi.”

a part of you thinks that if you ignore him for long enough, he might disappear. leave you alone, as he’s chosen to do before. he’s lost the right to be welcomed.

fury is really the only emotion you could accurately pinpoint. you hate how soft he speaks. you hate it more than anything.

if you could stomach it, you’d ask him to close his eyes and turn the other direction. you’ve always been weak when he looks at you so intently, as if studying you to the finest detail. but you refuse to be the one to look away first - you selfishly crave his attention more than you value your own self-respect.

and as suguru looks at you, he thinks you’ve made it impossibly more difficult to do anything but beg for undeserving forgiveness. he’s staring at reflective streams, seeing as they slowly trail down your face. it must feel nice to be falling tears, symbolic of raindrops returning to the ocean. he’d like to sit in front of the ocean again. with you, being careless teenagers just for a little longer. but the ocean brings back bitter memories and the thoughts of a certain brunette child, so he refrains from thinking further.

“… don’t cry.”

it’s not a command of any sort, but instead a quiet plea. you’re too pretty for tears. too pretty for pain, too pretty for this unfair life he’s plagued you with.

he watches your eyes visibly widen, and your hand raises quickly, using your sleeve to wipe remnants of your intense emotions. it stains your skin a bit red from how roughly you move, lashes dismally coated with the aftermath.

“i’m not—“ and you huff, your throat feeling tight. your head bows by instinct, and you shake it firmly. you press your palms to your eyes for a few seconds, pushing harshly, as if the pressure could ease some of the shock, or ground you in any way. “i’m not fucking crying.”

cautiously, suguru nods. he’ll play into you, listen to everything you say even if it’s not entirely truthful. anything to make his appearance less daunting and harmful. he waits for you to speak, knowing the sound of his voice may not be as pleasant as he had hoped. he’s not sure what he was expecting.

battered already, in so much internal sorrow you might collapse, you breathe as deeply as you are able to. it shakes, and you opt to biting your lip instead.

harrowing disbelief is tainting your skin and bones, and it feels hopeless to even try understanding why he’s here. waltzing right back into your life, bewitchingly present. words linger, staying on the tip of your tongue as you internally battle yourself to release them. release you.

the air smells like rain. and you think — all this anger, it was once was love.

“i hate you.”

and there’s a frown on your lips, trembling as you try to muster up all of the loathe, resentment, and frustration into those three words.

it fails. because the admission is not of truth — if anything, it’s guilt. for the sole reason that you know your feelings stand the exact opposite.

you hate suguru for leaving you. not him as a person; him as a thought. a thought that consistently runs rampant through your mind, adding fuel to a prevalent fire that refuses to be extinguished. and you imagine that he likes that he still has that effect on you, because the hauntingly serene smile he holds doesn’t even falter, not for a second.

you’re forced to stare at him with that expression, and it feels wickedly taunting. not as comforting as it had before.

“that’s alright.”

it’s all he puts out into the air, and that gentle tone he holds kinda makes you want to hit him. he’s not like satoru — you’re sure he’d let you. but suguru can sense your agonizing heartbreak. he’d sense everything about you with his eyes closed. and he feels guilty for making you reopen old wounds, but he’s unaware that they’ve never been given a chance to properly heal.

geto suguru sees a little bit of you in everything lovely. the sun shining in the morning, the smiles on two pretty little girl’s faces, the moon casting a dim halo over the world at night.

you’ve only become a greater treasure. one to be cherished, to be adored. he’s missed you in his sight more than anything. you’re still a angel on earth, incredulously beautiful. even with tears, even with that despaired look on your face. he’s fighting every urge in his body to not step closer and mend your broken self.

he’d like to run his fingers over your soul and pour his love into each crack he finds.

“give me a few minutes. that’s all i need.”

he’d prefer an eternity. but he thinks that he’s asked for something reasonable.

it’s expected when you scoff, glaring daggers with blurry vision. but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

suguru can take it. he deserves it.

“please.”

the distaste on your face refuses to falter.

you crave to love without it having consequences.

since when had caring become so much of a burden? it’s evil, honestly. maybe stone-cold was the way to go. nanami might be on to something.

“stop this, suguru.” you whisper, hand sliding down your face in frustration as you let out a bitter sigh that lacks any amusement. “leave me alone.”

he savors the way his name sounds on your tongue, the drawn-our syllables holding the same familiar care of nearly a decade ago. it feels longer, too much time spent away from you. it lightens his aura, makes his senses heightened in almost a feral way. you speak of him like fate.

old habits refuse to die, and he stays where he is, the same face of persuasion used as he outwardly refuses your answer.

“kill me, then.” he shrugs, and he thinks he might actually die from the way your frown falters into shock once again. his smile twitches, nearly threatening to downcast.

it should be what you do.

suguru was a dead man. that fact hadn’t slipped your mind. you remember when satoru saw him, in the flesh, after the sentence. he couldn’t bring himself to kill him then, and you could briefly recall the look on his face when you softly told him you could eventually do it if he wasn’t able to. that solemn twinge, knowing something you wouldn’t admit out loud.

because satoru knew, better than anyone around, that if you went through with it, it would break you past the point of repair.

suguru, seemingly satisfied with your stillness, steps a bit closer.

it kinda feels like doom. you think the world may stop for a moment, and that all the bad things in life will come and finish you off. that death will take your hand, guiding you, kinder than anything that’s ever really touched it. because what it’s held before has cursed it.

when his hands reach up, you expect a knife in the throat — any consequence for the stupidity of your compliance. but the blades are soft, and they raise to hold your face. gently, as if earning the trust of a stray kitten. because they’re not blades, they’re his hands. he feels you shaking against them. and it’s odd that all tranquility really needs is a certain sight; reassurance in the form of a graceful being who has been absent for too long. you don’t move. you’re unable to. instead, you stare, taking in a lost future. hair you used to brush yourself, eyes that would watch you with such visible adoration. they still do, and that realization alone has your head hurting.

you feel his thumb wipe below your eye, and it feels cold over your heated skin. suguru sighs, his eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly.

“you’re very beautiful.”

it’s spoken almost hopelessly, as if the admission physically hurts for him to say. in a way, it does. he’s let go of one of the last devotions to you that he’s kept bottled inside of him, because he knows this might be the last time he sees you. he has to let everything go. you need to know what he thinks of you, how important you are. how he’s submitted his soul to the disaster of loving you since you were teenagers.

by the way his eyes narrow, and his pupils grow just a tiny bit bigger, your eyes widen, and you’re pushing him away instantly.

you know what comes next. you’re able to predict it before it’s able to horrifically conjure itself out loud.

“no, suguru.”

he follows after you, a firm yet gentle hold on your forearms stopping you from completely leaving. you’re already shaking your head, biting your lip as it threatens to quiver. he’s trapping you, and he knows he’s already won.

“let me.” he coos, rubbing the skin of your trembling limbs. and you try to convince yourself that you shouldn’t sympathize, or fall for that sweet, missed voice of his. how he’s just a stranger you unfortunately know everything about. to ignore gentle aura you’ve missed so much that you felt as though you’ve never been able to get a grip on the pain in your chest. “let me say it.”

you’re not built for this, not capable enough to take another harrowing blow.

“leave — fucking, leave.” you seethe, frantically attempting to pull your arms back, though his hold has gotten stronger, and the fight that you have left in you is quickly diminishing by the second. there’s a moment — the tiniest sliver of time — where you stumble, and you’re being pushed closer to him before you can blink.

“you don’t want me to.” suguru shakes his head, eyeing you carefully as you stop your movements. it’s declarative.

you’d like to slap him. knock some common sense into his head because, obviously. you never wanted him to. not when you were sixteen, not now, not ever.

it’s just defense. because you cruelly know that letting him in will just make everything worse. walls were needed for protection, even if the doors are halfway open.

his hands find themselves cradling your face once more, and he’s pulling you, a small gap being the only distance left between a terrible decision. you’re subconsciously following, body keen on obeying his every move. his gaze feels a little intrusive, looking so intently you have the urge to turn your head and close your eyes. your breath is shaky, and you feel a little light-headed.

you wonder if anyone else in the world has ever loved someone this terribly.

hastily, your hands place themselves on his chest with an attempt to push him away, but they stay pliant. you look at him, incredulously.

“what is wrong with you?”

it’s clear when his expression darkens a little, and he dejectedly looks to the side. you catch his eyes widening a bit, the harshness of your tone foreign, because you’ve only ever spoken to him with such tender care. you’re spewing out words with cracks in your voice, nearly whispering because you’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll truly start a storm.

“you… you kill people, leave me — leave everyone — and then…” your eyes close, and you feel the liquid trailing down your cheeks again before you’re able to stop it. you can’t finish your sentence, too busy holding your breath to calm a threatening sob.

it feels like you’re sixteen again, and everything is crumbling.

his arms move slowly as they wrap themselves around you, and you feel even more inclined to cry when he presses your head against his chest. like he’s done dozens of times before. he sucks, the world sucks. this comfort is long overdue, and you still can’t find it in yourself to complain, simply succumbing to the pressure of his presence. you’d like to hug your younger self. because she needed this, even if it can’t really count as closure. even if you currently felt your knees buckling from beneath you.

“i wish i could take away the pain, pretty girl.”

suguru won’t give you false apologies. he only feels guilt for causing you harm. he dislikes how pain looks on your face, and he wants to tell you that he’s unable to sleep at night without you, that every day is a challenge. that truthfully, the ache is mutual. but he has something to accomplish, and you stand on opposing sides.

the two of you are stubborn people.

“take it,” you tremble, and your arms are already around him, despite the screams in your mind. he feels safe. he feels like everything and more. “please, please, take it.”

the pleading in your voice makes suguru feel horribly ill, and he tightens his grip on you, not really knowing what else to do.

it’s worse when you’re the perpetrator. the criminal, the evil. he wonders what your life might have looked like without him in it — how happy you could have been. should’ve been.

but there’s been bad things — events that he’s sure might had ended horrifically differently without his existence.

he wonders how your scar looks, now.

suguru’s fingers are firm as they reach below your chin, and he forces your eyes to meet once more. they’re red and glossy, but still undeniably captivating. he’d like to look at them forever.

“i would, if it were that easy. i promise you.”

you believe him. it could be from the genuine strain in his voice, or your muddled brain that’s clawing to escape your own head. what good is a healthy mind?

he’s saying your name again, and it’s quieter this time. more intimate. you don’t cower, you stay, even huddling the tiniest bit closer. you’ve given up on composure, you’ll let him selfishly have you. besides, it feels nice when he’s treating you so delicately. hands ghosting over your cheeks, eyes that admire your desperate, sad ones. you don’t stop him this time, numbly prepared for the aftermath.

he pauses, trailing his thumb over your jaw, and swallowing thickly. he’s never quite looked normal. always too perfect in comparison to everything else. he smiles, and you see a hint of something that you can’t really classify as full joy.

“i love you.”

the world doesn’t end.

you’re still looking at him, thinking that it will for a moment. instead, you see bashful pink.

‘i love you’ is such a tricky sentence. it’s powerful, meaningful, and could also be a lie. the power of speech is that there really are no limits, and you suppose that’s what makes bad people. sometimes.

he toys with the collar of your shirt, briefly, and lets out a breath of amusement through his nose. suguru feels lighter. and simultaneously horrible. he tilts his head, barely, his voice quiet.

“will you let me kiss you? even if you hate me?”

there’s a little teasing in that sentence, and he nudges his nose across the side of your face affectionately. you’re unaware of how hard his heart beats against his chest as soon as he asks.

you’re sixteen once more, and you’re silently nodding before you’re able to think further.

you’re imagining fairytales you can’t believe in.

it’s hard to determine how long you’ve thought about it. his lips on yours. your hands are in his hair and on his face nearly immediately. you’d trade a lot of things to be this close for longer — you wish to be combined. and he’s soft. he’s so soft you dread taking your hands off of him. if heaven was a place on earth, it’d be this.

pitiful.

he tastes sweet, like a forgotten dream. butterflies suffocate your insides as you stand, and your knees feel a little weaker. suguru is a bit impatient with his movements, hands trailing down your sides to squeeze and caress. his touch feels hot and is hastily done, but gentle nonetheless. you feel his lips curl up against yours, and your stomach flips.

you rather not pull away. pulling away brings back reality, and fantasy is really all you want. if you kiss him a bit harder, and close your eyes a little longer, you’re able to stay.

he pulls back first.

you’re breathing heavy, eyes wide as they bore into his. he might be the most precious thing in your life, and you’re not sure if you’re able to let him go. you’re afraid that you’ll love him forever, and that you’ll never be in the same place again. this feels cruelly temporary, and you know it is. by the way his expression settles, and the way he repeats those three words so quietly, it’s meant for only you to hear. a fact.

“i love you.”

you swallow thickly, in a haze that’s caused just by his very being. a drug-like addiction, and you feel so content it’s like you’re home.

suguru knows you won’t say it back. and in all honesty, he prefers it that way. it’s what’s best. what matters most is that he knows you mean to. he’s able to read that lovestruck wonder on your face so easily it makes him warm. it was both a relief and horror to be known so perfectly. you, who still wears your heart on your sleeve. he’s forever grateful that you’ve always been so giving, so selfless when it comes to him. he feels as though he abuses your sweet compassion.

you tug on his sleeve.

“we can work something out.” you whisper against him, and suguru knows he’s gone too far. he’s tensing, and his eyes are anxious, a small shake of his head contrasting your nods. “i’m yours. i’m yours before anything else.”

heart, mind, body, soul. you’re bonded for life, and you’ve known that since you were young.

“oh, no, baby.” suguru hurriedly answers, and the desperation in your voice, the way you clutch on to him a little tighter, has his head reeling. he’s panicking. “you’re better where you are, sweet girl.”

you know his mind is made up, that it’s fruitless to try, but you’re so blinded by desires that you don’t even care that you’re begging him. he’s mean, doing this to you. there is no ultimatum or other decision - this is it. you’re just destined to be separate, and that hurts to realize, so you’re glad he’s cushioning the blow. just enough for you to keep standing.

suguru is complicated. he hates that he is, he hates what his life has brought him (the only exception being the beauty of the people in his past; you included), but he’s certain that you’re safer as it is. golden and pure. with satoru, with shoko. and you’re strong. you’re so strong he can’t put it into words.

maybe he had some reasonable motives — riko’s death, yours and satoru’s near deaths, haibara’s death — but they’ve shaped him. shaped you, more, as it seems. you continue your life, even after it’s been tainted red, and blackened with misery. satoru, the same. you can take a bit more. you’ve gone through the worst of it. at least — it’s what he selfishly tells himself.

it was stupid to come see you. kiss you, at that. but he can’t bring himself to regret even slightly. if he’s considered evil, barbaric, he’ll gladly take the titles if it meant spending more moments with you. it’s cruel, not malicious.

you’re still his person. but he can’t have you fully — at least, not in this lifetime.

suguru isn’t really sure he could pass on the torch so easily. to give you up completely — the most ultimate sacrifice. where there would be a possibility of his replacement, and the loss of his heart. he can’t trust anyone with loving you; no one can really love you like he does. he’ll take pride in that.

“you’re going to live a long, happy life.” suguru quietly assures, nudging his nose against yours. your eyes are tightly shut, overall avoidant. this might be a nightmare, if you believe hard enough. “find someone who loves you, and you easily will, do everything-“

“i don’t want anyone else.” you interrupt, eyes narrowing as they open, like the idea is something of the unthinkable. “you’d be stupid to think i do.”

this might be worse than unrequited love, you think. every feeling is mutual, besides the belief that you should be together. he’s the bane of your existence. and that kills.

suguru is reasonable. you understand his refusals, why the two of you can’t be — how immaturely you’re thinking about this. you can’t leave your life behind for him, it’d be asking for your own death sentence and the loss of everything left that’s good in your life.

you can’t create a cycle, as much as it pains for you to come to terms with.

“i can’t have you, pretty girl.” suguru sighs, trying to ignore the way his voice wavers the tiniest bit. he’s growing desperate in persuasion, but even he falls flat against the situation. “i want to, so bad, but it’s not right. we’re not right.”

your chest feels tight as you stare up at him.

you wonder, truly, if he’s aware of all the turmoil he’s caused; that he’s let happen, because he never even came back to offer a mere shoulder for support. he simply left you in the dust.

it hurts to hear, especially coming from lips that had been pressed so wonderfully against yours. you still can’t bring yourself to hate him.

you used to fear irrational ideas. that if you let someone in, take care of you, you wouldn’t really be yourself anymore. independency never worked well, and you’ve strung on a bit too hard to a knight in shining armour. a being like icarus, who’s flown too close to the sun. you were right, it seems.

you’ve lost, and it kills to realize.

bitterly, you remember hearing some time ago that ‘it gets easier.’ or better. it’s been repeated to you, multiple times. the reality is, you’re not too sure. what gets easier is maybe the coping. but even that is still evil and painful.

hopeless, you stand, and your voice feels hoarse.

“… suguru?”

how can you hate something so natural? when it feels as though those syllables are meant to be spoken in repetition. his name means excellence; to surpass all.

suguru looks at you, eyes previously occupied with gazing upwards to avoid an act of human emotion. they mirror yours, glossy and faintly red. no visible tears. he has the self-control you lack.

but you can be a little selfish.

“can you…” you take a deep breath, and lean a little forward, resting your head in the crook of his neck to escape a reaction. if he feels the liquid of your tears, he doesn’t comment on them. he’s awfully warm. you’d like to lay in bed with him under a summer sun again. you’re trying to force every part of him into your memory while he’s pressed to closely against you. how his hair tickles your neck, the security of his loving arms keeping you from physical harm, how pretty he looks up close.

it’s not greedy to ask for a final request, you think.

“can you stay with me, then? for a few more minutes?”

an innocent question, while he’s been nothing but cruel. despite everything, you’re still you.

it reminds him of his youth. when you and satoru would get into playful arguments, gaining a few steps on him, only for you to turn back and check that he was still there. or when you would return from missions, him being the first person you looked for every time, just to let him know you came back safely.

sometimes, you’d come back a bit battered up, and instead of confiding in shoko for help like any other person would, you trusted him with treating the wounds. all natural, because that meant you got to spend more time together. human bodies are fragile things. he realized the true extent of that after toji. you really can’t take anything for granted.

so it’s really no wonder why he fell in love with you. why he came to fully accept it. and his belief stands strong — anyone would. angels are irresistible, he finds. he would sometimes see wings.

suguru’s glad you can’t see his face. because maybe then, you’d catch the sight of a reflective shimmer trailing down his cheek.

the embodiment of your dreams, hopes, and desires holds you so gently, a little tighter now. he nods against you, but it feels disconnected, because he’s faded into darkness that has already consumed him. too far gone.

time is nothing for now.

and you wonder if it actually does get better, or if everyone is just lying to you.

•••

september, 2018.

“sensei?”

blinking slowly, you immediately straighten at the sight of three towering figures above your relaxed position.

there’s a panic that sets in at the recognition of how watery your eyes feel, and your head turns in an instant to cough awkwardly, avoiding their stares.

it’s around noon, judging by how pleasantly the sun shines through the window, and how awake your students look. yuji liked to sleep in sometimes.

“did i zone out for a bit?” you mindlessly chuckle, the words feeling a little strange on your tongue. you might have a migraine from how much your head is hurting. “i didn’t get too much sleep last night, sorry guys.”

your smile radiates a reassuring warmth, and the concern on their faces leaves by the time you look back at them. if jujustu didn’t work, maybe you could take up acting.

“we finished the warmups you instructed!” nobara beams, short hair flowing after her as she proudly stands. she glances at yuji, her eyes narrowing. “well, me and fushiguro did.”

yuji shoves her.

nobara has always reminded you of rough recovery rooms and gentle curing hands. it makes you a bit nauseous, the nostalgia of it all.

the sight of the whole trio sometimes felt like daggers digging into your heart, stabbing greedy wounds into open gashes before they have a chance to heal.

brighter days for them, a dull ache for you.

“you weren’t awake yet-“

“i told you to wake me up!”

“you did not!”

yuji and nobara bicker for a second, and you feel a little overwhelmed.

because since these two have set foot on campus, they had seemed oddly familiar. unbeknownst to them, but relentlessly distressing for you. you’re silent as you observe, the uncomfortable pit in your stomach staying clear as day. stubborn, because that’s only natural for you.

more than a decade has passed — nearly three years since your last encounter, almost a year after his death, and yet here you are. the hurt just as strong, because you’ve realized that the pain will never fully go away, and you suppose you’ll have to adapt to living with it forever.

but you’re grateful. though you couldn’t go back to the way things were, you have a chance at stopping the cycle. after all, you know little about what the future has in store for them.

you hope it’s kind. you want those grins to stay permanently, for their youth and innocence to linger for as long as possible. because you never had that luxury. the end of your purity was far too quick, adult emotions flooding your senses. you’d do anything to keep them from feeling like you.

plus, you’re allowed to grieve over the child you could’ve been.

“alright, alright,” you blink, interrupting them before their voices can get any louder. they immediately quiet down, turning to you expectantly. it freaks you out a little.

you were still relatively new to whole teaching thing, not used to being followed so attentively. it felt weird to give orders — to have them be listened to, really. satoru was more of a natural, his cheekiness benefitting him perfectly. even if the students found him undeniably strange.

“give me ten minutes and i’ll meet you outside.” you wave a hand, pointing to yuji. “and sorry kiddo, you’re doing some laps for getting up late.”

you fight a smile as you witness a pout form on his lips, nobara’s laugh drowning out his whining. you’d probably only make him run one, but it was always amusing to lie to his face. you adored yuji — he was a bundle of joy graciously given to the universe. it’s pure luck that he ended up with you.

you watch as nobara drags him out, your head resting on your palm, softly chuckling. they complimented each other well. like siblings, you think.

your head turns, finally facing eyes that hadn’t strayed away from you since you woke up from your daydream. it's like a sixth sense now. you know when he's looking at you, when he seems genuinely bothered. it took time to know him. he’s a hard shell to crack.

“you don’t get special privileges, megs.” you snort, motioning your head towards the door. “go join them, i just need some time to wake up.”

megumi looks unimpressed (and honestly, when does he not?), sighing softly before coming closer. the cushion beside you sinks as he sits, and you raise a brow questionably. his voice is blunt, quiet as it fills the room.

“you think too much.”

it surprises you a little, but you’ve come to learn that megumi is rarely predictable, and to always expect the unexpected.

“do i?” you muse, your smile visibly weakening as you softly laugh.

he was too aware of everything, perception like no other. he reminded of you of suguru sometimes, behavior so nonchalant in comparison to the rest of the world. they were both silent observers.

megumi nods, and you realize he’s rather close, only a few inches away from grazing your skin. touch was something megumi struggled with growing up, so you never pushed it on him; you hated making him uncomfortable, while satoru could care less. the giant didn’t understand boundaries. but sometimes, movie nights in his adolescence led to him latching on to you in his sleep. he had his moments.

it makes the action of his hand raising, pressing your head into his shoulder, much more meaningful.

“don’t think.”

megumi’s never been one for melodramatic situations. growing up, he’d used to complain when tsumiki would force him to watch disney movies with her, getting visibly annoyed when he’d spot her tears during more heartfelt scenes. you never brought up the fact that he’d let her rest her head on his shoulder (you secretly wonder if that’s why he’s doing that now), or would rub her back. megumi’s not kind, per say, but he knows how to secretly love (in his own, strange way. similar to satoru), and you think that’s more important than anything.

“that’d be cool.” you sigh, closing your eyes. your eyelids feel heavy on your face, and you try not to get too comfortable, remembering that you’d have to get up in a few minutes. “wish it were that simple.”

megumi hums, staring straight ahead.

your past is a secret to him, tightly kept in the confinements of your heart. and that's really the only hint he's ever needed to know that it still affects you. satoru, the same. he knew little about your lives before he came into the picture, only hearing bits and pieces when you and satoru would get a bit sleep-drunk and giggle about old memories. he's always tried his best to listen, soaking in any details he can. people are generally more honest and open when physically tired. it's why they confess things during late night conversations, and why the flow of words comes out more natural.

you were different from the idiot that had originally taken him in. megumi can scream from every rooftop that he hated gojo satoru (despite it being secretly untrue), but you? the mediator, who he looked up to more than anything? impossible, it’d be criminal.

maybe you disliked seeming hopeless in front of him, but he didn't mind that vulnerability. he wished you'd trust him with it more — that you knew he would never dream of judging you. he's not too well with words, or communicating, really, so he's also not too sure how to tell you. a double-edged sword.

"you're okay, though — right?"

his eyes glance downwards towards you, dark blue highlighting the inklings of concern. it's not awkward when he asks.

he has a heart, despite satoru's beliefs.

heart warmed, you grin, raising your head to look at him with crinkled narrowed eyes.

you find it funny how the world works. going in some strange, bittersweet chain of events because here you were, caring for the life of a dead man’s son while he had permanently tainted yours. and you're happy. not completely, but sun shines through. the blinds are halfway open.

something that had once seemed so dark has been becoming technicolor.

"yeah." you nod, sincerely, and pat his cheek gently, stifling a laugh when his face scrunches in silent disapproval. "thank you for asking. really."

his face gently pulls away from your touch, and you can tell he's slightly flustered, just a tad embarrassed at your small affection. you're grateful for him, unbelievably thankful for the bits of effort he's always put into caring about you (and tsumiki. and maybe the tiniest bit for satoru. tiny.). a true blessing.

gingerly, he stands up, hands in his pockets as he glances at you again, double-checking. you smile.

he only continues to walk towards the door when you give him a nod in reassurance.

you're left staring at your hands when he leaves, a soft sigh escaping your lips. some days are harder than others. it's the toss of a coin, no chances pre-determined. you simply wake up to the surprise every time.

admittedly, you miss the version of you that doesn’t really exist anymore. naive, but more open. fearless and valiant, only ever seeking improvement. you feel bitter that you took that time of your life for granted.

you’ve found that everything’s felt easier, though. something in the air is different.

“hey, did you leave the kids outside? it's hot out there and they're complaining like crazy-“

you hear footsteps come to a halt, and your head tilts up, finding satoru in it's vision. he stands in place by the door, eyes wide as he stares.

"hey," you nonchalantly wave, stretching to alleviate the soreness in your muscles. "i'll be out in a second."

you attempt to get up from your seat, but satoru ushers towards you, stopping you from successfully moving.

"woah, woah, woah — what’s got you so blue?” he asks, scanning over you briefly. there's a light-hearted smile on his face, and if you didn't know him well enough, you might have mistaken it for amusement. but it's down-casted slightly, and he's looking at you a little too intently.

you snort, rolling your eyes playfully, “i’m not blue.”

satoru blinks, unappreciative of the response that he can only justify was from being around him too often.

“fine — what’s wrong with you?” he corrects himself bluntly, crossing his arms. your eyes follow him as he takes a seat beside you, and you internally sigh, thinking about how you’ve left your three students to perish under the sun.

you wave a hand dismissively, "nothing.”

“aw, c’mon,” satoru drawls, and you have half a mind to complain when he sprawls himself over your lap, his eyewear pushed upwards and off his face as he looks up at you. the blue twinkles, even under the fluorescent lighting. “you’ve never been a good liar.”

“okay, now that’s a lie. a bad one.” you scoff, poking his nose. “i’m a talented actress. oscar worthy.”

he playfully winces, narrowing his eyes at you. “no one’s ever been honest with you before, huh?”

“who needs opinions?” you roll your eyes, nudging his head softly. “it’s all about self-love now.”

“yeah, yeah,” satoru whistles, peering up from one eye, the other closed as he visibly relaxes against you. “see how far that takes you.”

you gasp dramatically, “mean.”

the corner of his lips quirks up, and his familiar smirk returns.

banter was natural with satoru. it was hard to take anything seriously with him around.

he brings joy in mundaneness.

“you shouldn’t trust megumi, y’know.”

confused, you pause, looking at him questionably.

“why?” you ask, and you’re internally conflicted as you attempt to recall every recent memory in your head that’s a classified secret. or, something you’ve generally told megumi as of late. nothing comes to mind.

“dunno. he told me something was wrong with you when i walked past him right now.”

your eyes widen, and you groan, head falling back against the couch’s soft exterior.

traitor.

“so,” satoru continues, and his voice is softer, a little more serious. “really — what’s wrong?”

it’s always been pointless to beat around the bush with satoru. he’s impatient, immature, and wonderful. a bad mix that makes you wonder how it’s even possible that he’s generally likable.

“nothing.” you emphasize, rubbing your head in slight annoyance. “he’s making it up.”

you rather not have this conversation. not while the air is half-hearted, and everything has been steady. but he’s right there. and it might not hurt as much as you think it will.

satoru gawks, mouth open, before poking you harshly. “now you’re calling our son a liar? low blow.”

you huff, “he went lower by betraying me.”

a beat of silence.

“so he was right?” satoru blinks, and he’s sitting up hesitantly, awaiting your voice, or a movement. anything to confirm.

“will you leave me alone if i say no?”

“no? you just admitted he wasn’t lying.”

“oh. yeah.”

you’re smiling lightly, faintly awful because you’re not too sure how wise you’re being. maybe this was only the mature option.

“um… i was just thinking. about him.”

you hadn’t really spoken much about last december. there was no tension or anything — it was just a touchy subject for the both of you.

satoru had more right to be bothered.

you expect his expression to drop — for it to grow uncomfortably quiet, leaving you to voice a regretful apology. you’ve rarely seen satoru break. his joyous front is him in natural form. sorrow doesn’t look right on his face.

he’s only been at his worse around you. and that’s a fact that binds you for life, as dismissive as you two seem to act about it.

angels carry weights off your shoulders, and satoru smiles a little. albeit, visibly bittersweet, but a smile.

“we do that a lot, don’t we?”

he’s stupid, annoying, and infuriating when he looks at you like that. as if you two are similar, and he knows how to ice the bruises on your back.

(he does.)

geto suguru is an enigma. is, because even in death, he’s found a way to stay alive. he lives in memories; in thoughts that keep both of you awake at night.

“i guess i just …” you trail off, staring at the floor. you’d be okay with living the rest of your life by satoru’s side. he’s peace, and he knows you tenderly.

you exhale, a small bitter chuckle leaving your lips.

“i don’t know what to do with all the love i have for him.” you admit, arms laying flat as you shrug with a despaired smile that makes satoru feel a little hollow. your hands flow freely, motioning for a few moments before resting back in your lap. “i don’t know where to put it.”

you haven’t known in years. it’s bundled up, suffocating your insides and exhausting your soul. he’s too well tangled with it.

a lot was left unsaid.

answers you crave, questions that will forever follow.

“i’ll take it.”

satoru grins, and you have to bite back a smile from how infectious his expression is. it radiates sunshine.

you feel his warm hands cup over yours, and he gently rubs across your knuckles with his thumbs, soothing that isolating cold. “you can give it to all of us, actually. but more for me.”

he’s silly, and he’s everything and more.

you wonder if you would’ve made it through without him. he’s impacted your life so heavily, you can’t imagine a world void of his presence.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you mumble, smile ever-so-visible as you playfully nudge him. satoru nods feverishly.

“i’d adore it.” he’s beaming like the cheshire cat, and your expression falls flat as you await whatever idiotic words would flow out of his mouth next. he brings a finger to his chin and hums.

“you know what, though? maybe give some extra to megumi. but i’m not really sure any love could save that kid. not even a mother’s. he's creepy, i'm telling you-“

“satoru.”

he innocently smiles, eyes closed. “just a suggestion.”

you playfully roll your eyes.

it’s all romanticism until it truly hurts. love seems so small, so trivial, when you’re not being affected.

satoru hides his grief better than you ever could. he copes uniquely, and you suppose his way may even help you a little.

they should invent a healing that is linear, you think. so you can’t fall behind, and you can be all-smiles too.

but you’re close enough.

just the right amount, actually.

I luuuh this

Yo besties send an ask or anything I'm bored and would love to answer them ^^

---

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, drugs, drama, family drama a/n: hi everyone! this is where you can find the masterlist, again aiming for at least 15 chapters.

chapter 1: a not so good day

chapter 2