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All Hizashi had wanted was to look at the lights beyond the tower. Just once, to see for himself if there was any meaning to them besides being pretty and happening to fall on the day he was born. Just once he had wanted to see them and he would have been content to hide away like his mother wanted, singing to himself in the tall, lonely tower in the middle of a small, lonely valley. That's it. That's all he'd dreamed of for as long as he could remember.
So how did it all come to this?
Hizashi screamed behind the cloth over his mouth, eyes wide at seeing Shouta double over in pain, hands going up to clutch at his middle – where his mother had just thrust a knife. Shouta had come back, had come back to the tower. Shouta had come back to the tower, looking so hopeful just as he crawled through that awful window, right after his mother had bound him and was about to drag him down the exit he'd never known existed. Shouta had come back, and now he was dying.
His mother tossed the little knife to the side, sneer on her gorgeous face, and walked back to where she'd dropped the ends of the chains that kept Hizashi captured. “Ugly pest,” she said, kicking at his gasping form as she pass by. “Come on, Hizashi dear, its time to leave – now that someone has found this place, it isn't safe to stay here any longer.”
'No!' Hizashi screamed behind his gag again, struggling for all he was worth towards Shouta. His feet scrabbled at the floor, getting just enough purchase to get up into a kneeling position – before he was yanked onto his side.
“Stop fighting me!” his mother snapped, furious.
Finally the gag came off. “No!” he shouted, loud in the tower. He'd never raised his voice at his mother before. Of course, she wasn't actually his mother, he knew now. Just a thief who wanted his stupid, stupid hair for herself. “No, I'll never stop fighting you! I'll fight you every single day, every single minute – “ he punctuated this with a jerk back on the chains “ – for the rest of my life, because it's the right thing to do!”
He'd never seen such a look of rage on the woman's face before. A part of him was proud of himself for putting it there. “Why you dirty little – “
“But!” Hizashi interrupted, pulling again on the chains. “But, if you – if you let me heal him, I won't fight you.”
“H-Hizashi...” Shouta groaned behind him, gruff voice weak.
“If you let me heal him, I won't fight. I'll go with you. Wherever you want. I won't fight you. Ever,” he said, ignoring Shouta's protests behind him. He wasn't doing this to make Shouta happy, he was doing this to try and save his life. “I promise.”
For a moment Hizashi feared the woman would just drag him down the tower anyways, but she simply scoffed and chained Shouta to one of the support beams of the tower. “In case he gets any ideas,” she said, tossing a newly freed Hizashi towards him.
Hizashi ignored her, scrambling over to where Shouta was lying with aching wrists and an aching heart. He gripped with one hand at Shouta's arm, scared to hurt the other man and other hand flailing for a lock of hair. “I'm so sorry, Shouta, I'm - hold on,” he rambled, heart in his throat. His eyes were stuck on the quickly spreading spot of red on Shouta's shirt. That was...a lot of blood. “I-I've got you, okay? J-just hold on, please – “
“'Zashi, wait, wait, please,” Shouta begged, uncurling a bit to push a bloodied hand to Hizashi's own.
“You're gonna be okay, I promise, just trust me, okay, Shouta? You're gonna – gonna be okay.”
“'Zashi, I.” Shouta groaned, flinching at whatever pain his injury caused him.
“Shouta, stop talking, just – just breathe, alright? Just. Just breathe – “
“Can't let you do this.”
It was in that single moment that Hizashi knew that Shouta hadn't just left him on the edge of the lake. Hadn't abandoned him to the thugs who wanted to capture and sell him. And it was in the moment that Hizashi knew that this was the man he loved. Awkward, scruffy, tired Shouta, who called himself Eraserhead, of all the stupid names, who just wanted to be a hero for the common folk and got lost on the way to his dreams. He smiled, blinking quickly to clear his vision of tears. “And I can't let you die.”
Shouta winced as he moved again, trying his best to meet Hizashi's gaze. “But. If – if you do this – “
“Hey, hey,” Hizashi soothed quietly, hands reaching up to cup Shouta's face. “It's gonna be alright.”
They both knew he was lying.
Shouta went quiet, looking up with bloodshot, tired, sad eyes, and Hizashi smiled, then moved his long hair to cover the wound. He closed his eyes, The Song on the tip of his tongue, but paused when a cold, shivering hand brushed his temple.
“'Zashi. Wait.”
So Hizashi opened his eyes, looking down into Shouta's. The other man carefully raised himself just a little, hand at his temple brushing down his neck and to the back of his head -
And then Shouta was cutting off his hair.
Hizashi sat up suddenly, hands flying up to his suddenly light head. “Shouta, what - “ His eyes shot down to the length of hair he'd pressed to Shouta's wound, watching the gold fade into a soft blond. He scrambled at the fading brightness, heart in his throat, not even caring that the woman he had called mother was doing the same thing. He ignored her screams, trying to hold onto the one thing he knew would save Shouta's life and failing. Why would he – why would Shouta –
The woman shrieked suddenly, causing him to jerk his head upwards, and as he stared she tripped on the hair the woman was so desperately grabbing at, toppling backwards and out the window that had haunted Hizashi all his life. Her shriek echoed in the tower, nearly covering the sound of something hitting the ground far below – she was gone. She was gone, the woman who had raised him, who had kept him safe, who had used him -
Shouta coughed behind him. “Shouta!”
Hizashi turned, and when he saw the blood still soaking the man's shirt his panic returned. “Nononono, Shouta, Shouta?” He threw himself at him, going to raise his head and gripping his other hand in his own. “Damnit, Shouta why – look at me, please, maybe it still – “ He was desperate. Something had to work. Something had to save this man who'd given him everything he'd ever dreamed of in just a couple days. He raised the hand he held to his own hair, pressing the limp fingers in and squeezed his eyes shut. The Song's first verse rambled out of his mouth, words tripping when nothing shined, the rush of power not flowing through his voice like it normally did. He choked on the last word, voice thick and eyes burning.
It wasn't working.
“'Zashi,” Shouta murmured, pale and eyes not focusing. He didn't look sad, or angry, or scared. He just looked...accepting. “Those. Dreams you talked about?”
“Yeah, the – the ones I sang about to the, the bandits in the tavern?” Hizashi needed Shouta to keep talking. To never stop talking, please. He'd just found him, just lost him, then got him back again - he'd do anything to keep him. Anything. “Those dreams? The one where, where that one kid wanted to be a knight, a-and one of the girls just wanted to play good music? Wh-what about them?”
Shouta smiled. “I think you'd be mine.”
All Hizashi had wanted was to look at the lights beyond the tower. Just once, to see for himself if there was any meaning to them besides being pretty and happening to fall on the day he was born. Just once he had wanted to see them and he would have been content to hide away like his mother wanted, singing to himself in the tall, lonely tower in the middle of a small, lonely valley. That's it. That's all he'd dreamed of for as long as he could remember.
Dreams change.
Hizashi sobbed, smiling back at Shouta despite the despair crawling up in him. “And you're mine.”
Shouta eyes slipped closed.
Hizashi sat there looking over Shouta's face for a long time, cold and aching and hurting in places that couldn't be healed with a magic spell. In just a few days, Hizashi had gained everything and then lost it again. All of his dreams, all of his wishes. Come and gone.
The Song had only ever been sung for his mother – that woman. He'd always felt odd at the thought of singing it for himself. It seemed too self-fulfilling, for all that Hizashi had ever wanted something for himself. But in this moment, lips trembling and quiet all around him in the empty, empty tower...he felt he could maybe sing it for himself. Just once.
He sang it quietly, barely a whisper to himself as he pet through Shouta's messy hair. The lyrics were familiar even without the rush of power and the shine of golden hair, and even though nothing healed, Hizashi felt them tug the tears from his eyes at last. With a large sniff he closed his eyes and bowed over the man he cradled in his lap. Just a little longer...
At first he thought the glow seeping in under his eyelids was his imagination. His hair had glowed the same when he sang the song. It wouldn't be odd that he'd imagine it, right? But when the glow stayed – in fact got brighter – he furrowed his brow and blinked his eyes open.
And then yelped in surprise at the large, glowing vision of a flower bloomed from Shouta's wound.
It was like nothing Hizashi had ever seen before. It was light, beautiful. It calmed the grief in his heart and lifted the ache on his wrists just from looking at it; and as he watched, Shouta's complexion slowly went from pale to pink and healthy. Hell, his hair even looked fluffier than it usually did. He gaped, watching the tendrils of the mirage reach out to every dark corner of the tower, touching the paintings he'd done throughout the years, the music box collection he cajoled that woman for on the shelves, the plants he'd taken care of in hopes to not be so alone. The flower lifted the darkness, taking the gray from every bit of the tower and then folded in on itself, almost like some of the flowers he'd grown that closed when the sun set.
The light faded with the image, but the way the tower felt stayed. Hizashi stared at the place in astonishment, confused and amazed and wondering what the hell had just happened -
And then Shouta groaned. “'Zashi...?”
“Shouta!” Hizashi's attention immediately turned back to the man in his lap, petting through his hair again. Yeah, it was fluffier. What the hell was that thing?
Shouta squinted at him, seeming very confused for just a moment (and really, Hizashi couldn't blame him), but closed his eyes with a huff. “Your hair doesn't look quite as ridiculous anymore, at least.”
Hizashi didn't even care about his hair. It was maybe the first time he'd never cared about his stupid hair, not one bit. Instead he laughed, bright and wet and launched himself at Shouta, who 'ooff'ed in surprise before wrapping his arms around him as well. “I'm – so happy – you're okay – I don't – you're – this is amazing – you're okay – “
“Yeah,” Shouta said, and damnit, he sounded so whole and healthy and like he'd live another hundred years. “I'm okay. We're both okay.”
Hizashi's laughter bubbled out of him, pulling back enough to gaze at Shouta happily. He tried to say something, but all that came out was another laugh. So he leaned in and did what he'd been wanting to do since Shouta didn't completely freak out after learning about why he'd been stuck in a tower. His lips pressed against the other's, eyes closed and Hizashi had never felt more right than he had in his whole life.
All Hizashi had wanted was to look at the lights beyond the tower.
Now? Now he just wants to stay with Shouta. And it's looking like Shouta wants the same thing.