Chapter Text
— one.
“Ow!”
The clay of the teacup burned hot, much hotter than Chizuru had expected, and her fingers instinctively drew away from the heat. The cup slipped from her grasp and smashed into scattered shards onto the ground, the oolong tea that had once been contained forming little rivers in-between the cracks of the stone pavement. A few droplets beaded onto her kimono, but she quickly brushed them away with the back of her hand; she had washed all of her silks just yesterday, and she hardly wanted to have this one stain.
She sighed. It was probably her twentieth sigh of the day so far, and the sun had just barely moved into the sky. Every time she let out another heavy breath, she could almost hear Okita’s voice teasing her—What are you sighing for, Chizuru-chan? Don’t you know that I might have to kill you for looking so unhappy?
But he wasn’t here, and neither were any of her old friends.
Chizuru was alone, and lost.
Stop, Chizuru. Don’t think like that. Negativity was no stranger to her now. She could barely even go through the motions of her daily tea routine without thoughts and voices from the past lingering in the back of her mind.
Each morning she woke up to felt like night, a darkness shrouding over mind like the shadows of the weeping willows in Kyoto. Heavy as it was, she still forced herself to get up from her futon and face each day. She had to live, because as much as she sometimes wished that it was all but a dream, it was reality. She had to live, for those who didn’t.
You have to live, like they wanted you to.
She reached for the broken pieces of the clay cup, but a jagged piece slipped through her palm and slashed through the skin. Chizuru let out an instinctive gasp in pain and dropped the broken pottery again, watching as the blood welled from her hand and dripped over her arm. The bright red droplets struck her with a sense of deja vu, and suddenly she was transported back years before. There she was in front of the well at the Shinsengumi compound washing dishes when she had cut her finger in a similar way, and Heisuke, Heisuke-kun, had been confronted with his Rasetsu bloodlust for the first time.
But it didn’t just stop there. The sight and smell of her blood continued to reveal a torrent of memories that washed over her with a vivid brightness—memories that she had been trying to repress every day. That alley in Kyoto during a snowfall, the smell of blood and the high-pitched laughter of a monster in the air. The brilliant scarlet that seemed to flood the streets of Kyoto after Kinmon no Hen, mixed with the smell of smoke and ash from the fires.
That flowering cherry blossom tree in Hakodate, the spiderweb of blood across her hand transforming into a river that flowed into the ground from a man’s body.
“Look, Hijikata-san. It’s the Flag of Sincerity that everyone worked so hard to raise.”
—
She had no idea how long she stayed under that beautiful, cursed cherry blossom tree. Seconds, minutes, hours—time meant nothing to her anymore. The only thing that she knew of was that at that moment, he was gone. As the war raged on, Chizuru had felt herself becoming alarmingly numb to loss. She had become almost accustomed to seeing the dead lay on the ground through each city they trekked through, and the snippets of conversations she overheard no shook her like they used to. A hundred of our men, lost at Bonari Pass seemed like normal war talk now. But being surrounded by death and devastation didn’t make it any easier though. Losing her father, her friends, and her family had pierced through her heart, and she couldn’t think of a night that she hadn’t cried herself to sleep for the past few months.
Losing Heisuke and Sannan had broken her for days—she still felt partially responsible for the creation of the Ochimizu, and it pained her to know that she would never laugh with Heisuke again, or see Sannan’s cunning smile. Okita and Kondou had felt like some kind of sick joke from God, the two of them leaving this world in ways that were unfit for the two strongest warriors she knew. Harada, the man who had a spirit so loud and noble that somehow could make everyone smile, was now someone she would never hear from again. Every one of her friends’ deaths wrecked her heart open in ways that she didn’t know it could bleed. But losing him was different. She had held Hijikata’s body in her arms long after his eyes closed and the last traces of warmth left him, her tears dripping endlessly down her cheeks and onto his bloodied uniform.
She didn’t know what to do without him.
For the past five years, he had been a constant presence in her life. Chizuru had first come to depend on him for protection and stability; to the girl that had somehow landed into the Shinsengumi headquarters, Hijikata had been downright scary. His steely violet eyes seemed to read straight through her every time he caught her outside of her room, and she felt secondhand fear every time that she saw the way that he tolerated no sort of disobedience from his soldiers and punished those who strayed from the Shinsengumi’s code with injury or worse. But then as those first few months somehow stretched into years, Chizuru’s fear slowly faded and her days and memories began to fill with so many other emotions and experiences with Hijikata. Even though she spent her days with all of the different captains of the Shinsengumi, it was somehow always Hijikata that was by her side when she needed it the most.
Hijikata, who had shielded and fought against Kazama for her, his arm wrapped around her and her kodachi in the other. Hijikata, who was uncharacteristically fussy about his long, beautiful jet-black hair, and had yet allowed her to comb and tie it back while he had worked. Hijikata, who secretly wrote poetry with a smile on his face when no one was looking. Hijikata, who had taken her to a restaurant after a festival in Kyoto, and had paid for what was a surprisingly luxurious meal for what he had gruffly described as “just a thank you, you’ve been a big help”.
Hijikata, who had drank the Ochimizu that her father had created, and gave up his humanity to protect her from Kazama and to stand up for his values.
Their initial relationship as a page and superior had been awkward at best, and trust had been slow to develop. But after 5 years, the realization came to her so suddenly that she had almost fallen over herself: she was in deeply love with him. Her heart ached to always be near him and she loved to hear her name roll off his tongue—secretly, she thought that sounded more beautiful than she had ever heard it said. Chizuru had never had anything more than innocent crushes and dates when she had lived with Kodo in Edo, but her emotions and heart felt so strongly towards this person that she was certain that this was love, and a love that she knew would not come easily.
And of course it didn’t, because the man her heart had fallen in love with was like a force of a demon himself. Demon Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata Toshizou. Hijikata Toshizou, who was feared but adored by equally as many. Hijikata who was the talk of the town at times, with his long black hair that he refused to cut and high cheekbones that seemed to only accentuate his piercing gaze. Chizuru knew that he was a handsome man, some even saying he looked as if he had walked out of a wood-block painting, but she found more merit in the Hijikata she knew. His dedication, his resilience, his loyalty, and his love ran deeper than anyone else would ever know.
He had chosen her. And then he had left her.
Memories and concern for Hijikata filled her mind and thoughts endlessly for the months she stayed by herself alone in Sendai. She knew that he had left her in Sendai for her own safety; a young woman had no place in a war after all, but it was maddening. Chizuru knew she was no good on the battlefield and defenseless against a gun, but being left behind crushed her more than she could have ever imagined. She had no idea if she would ever see him again—dead or alive. What had happened to Kondou was something she very well knew could be something that could happen to Hijikata. But once she received the letter from Ootori, she had hastened to Ezo with her heart thudding in her chest with every thought that she was one step closer to seeing Hijikata again. No matter the hurt and pain that lay ahead of them, she knew that she had to be by his side.
And it had been so worth it. For a few months, despite knowing the pain and suffering that lay ahead of them, she had been happier than ever, just to be by his side. From the moment of their reunion, Chizuru was able to see his actions and words in so much more clarity. The bitter hoarseness in his voice when he yelled at his troops was not conveying anger, but worry to please come back alive. His scowl on his face when he worked long nights was not just because he was frustrated to shoulder this burden, but because he didn’t want anyone else to take the fall for the secret messages he was sending. He was the strongest person she had ever met, yet also the kindest and gentlest at the same time as well. In those few short months, Chizuru witnessed all sides of Hijikata and learned just how soft his hands could be on her hair, or the warmth of his embrace during the occasional nights that he did not work until dawn and allowed her to stay in the room with him.
If she could shoulder some of his pain and suffering, Chizuru had thought, then that was enough purpose for her to keep existing. If her blood was truly as powerful as Sanan and Kodo had alluded, then she would use it all and anything else in her power to keep him alive.
But he was gone, and she had failed. Maybe he would survived if she let him drink her dry, but Hijikata Toshizou was never the kind of person who would save himself at the expense of someone else. Makoto, he would say. Sincerity, which was the foundation for the Shinsengumi’s core beliefs. One had to be sincere and true to himself as a warrior and as a man to the end. Hijikata Toshizou had chosen his path. He chose to use his remaining life force to protect her from Kazama, and protect the beliefs that he had loved and carried for so long. He had died a warrior, and she knew that the Shinsengumi and all that he had fought for was finally at rest with him as well.
The two of them had known that this was a possibility from the start; the war was drawing to a close, and they were fighting a losing battle in Hakodate. Chizuru knew from the way Hijikata shook with anger and pain his sleep, or the scowl on his face every time he walked into the room from another meeting. She had always had some hope that maybe, just maybe, they would prevail and the two of them would find a future together.
But there was no place in this world for the two of them.
In a rush of scattered cherry blossoms, another individual had appeared under the tree—Amagiri. Polite as always, the red-haired demon he had greeted her with a formal bow before speaking. Since Kazama had strayed from the way of a demon and had continued to meddle with humans against his Clan warnings, he no longer could be laid to rest with his ancestors. Amagiri had come to bury Kazama’s body—and if Chizuru would like, Hijikata as well. How Amagiri knew that Kazama had died was some Demon logic that Chizuru knew was simply beyond her, but in that moment, she had been oddly relieved. Chizuru had always been a sensible girl, and even in times of crisis, she had a way of forcing herself to function. Even though burying Hijikata was exactly the last thing she wanted at that very moment, this was war. If they did not bury him now, his body would be discovered by troops and dragged out as a trophy to mark the fall of the Shinsengumi. She would have rather herself die than allow that to happen, but there was no way that she alone could have ever found the strength, physical and emotional, to bury him.
So she had let Amagiri dig two graves underneath that beautiful cherry blossom tree to lay both Kazama and Hijikata to rest. At Chizuru’s request, Amagiri dug Hijikata’s grave on the other side of the tree, away from Kazama’s; she knew that he would abhor being buried directly next to the demon he had spent years fighting. She took her final last glance at the man she had loved in the earth—his eyes closed, dark hair framing his face, swords crossed over his body, looking more peaceful and well-rested than she had ever seen him—and then turned away, unable to look as Amagiri completed the burial process.
Chizuru had been so consumed with grief that what happened afterwards was a blur. When she admitted she didn’t have an idea of her next move, Amagiri had simply stated, “It would be unwise to allow a woman to travel alone.” He had accompanied her to Hakodate, where she collected the rest of their personal belongings and relayed the news of Hijikata’s passing to Ootori. They then traveled to Yase, where Osen had been waiting; news of Kazama’s battle against a fake Demon had spread fast in the Demon world, and she had immediately sought to take Chizuru under the protection of the Yase Demon Clan. Chizuru had little memory of the months she spent in Yase; she only remembered grief and sorrow. News of the defeat of the Shogunate army and the rise of the Meiji Restoration flitted into
the Demon village over the next few months, but none of it meant anything to Chizuru. Hijikata was gone. Okita was gone. Heisuke, Sannan, Kondou, Harada…her life as she had known it, and all the people that had made it were gone. She heard nothing about Saito and Nagakura, but it hurt too much to hope. But after a few months of moping and living like a shell, Chizuru decided that she wanted to return to her home in Edo—well, Tokyo, now. She still had a home there, after all, and as kind as Osen and the demon clan of Yase was, it was not her home. So after six long years, Chizuru had finally returned to the old house that she had used to live with her father. Kodo, the man she had thought was her father. It had taken her almost a full two weeks to clean out all of the dust and vermin that had accumulated in the space over almost half a decade, but she had never been one to shy away from hard work. Rather, she had thrown herself into it, desperate for something, anything to do, to keep her mind busy and away from her thoughts. What quite honestly should have been work for two or three, she had completed in an astonishingly short time.
Chizuru had cleaned and changed the house to be more of a modest one fit to her needs; she had sold away most of their belongings, and kept only the essentials of what she needed. In this exchange and cleanup, Chizuru had dug out her women's clothes, but quickly found that many of her old kimonos in her closet no longer fit her—and well, of course they didn’t. She had last been a growing sixteen-year-old girl the last time she had worn them, and now she was a twenty-one year old woman. The hems that had once grazed her feet were now hanging above the ankles, and the silk was tight around her new curves and defined muscle she had developed after years of patrolling and running around Kyoto.
It was a strange and painful reminder that so much had changed.
Crafty as she was, Chizuru had loosened the seams and sewn together some of the cloth to create a couple of kimonos that fit her, so she could finally retire her pale peach hakamashita and hakama into storage. How strange for her to finally fold and lay those clothes away, although quite honestly she should have reduced them to rags. The silk had been patched and restitched over and over with years of wear and tear, but part of herself could not simply bear to toss that part of her life away. Instead, she had neatly folded it up and placed it into a box, next to her tattered Western military uniform. Her kodachi was racked on display in the bedroom, close enough to where she could grab it, but Chizuru sorely hoped that she would never need to touch that blade again.
But what was she doing here in Tokyo? What would she be doing, for the rest of her life? She had no idea. Chizuru knew that her existence and troubles as a female Demon did not end with Kazama’s death; Osen had been sure to warn her of it, and had strongly cautioned her against returning to Tokyo alone. But despite the lack of a clear direction in her future, and the dangers of traveling and living alone, Chizuru knew that she needed some sort of normalcy. She didn't want to think of Demons, of Rasetsu, of Ochimizu, of war and blood and death—she wanted to grieve alone, quietly, away from all that had pained her.
She was here, living and trying to bury her past life behind, but it always seemed to follow her.
She was just here. Existing, living. Drinking tea on her front porch, although her current cup was now smashed to smithereens and the tea was seeping into the hardwood. That painful memory hung heavily on her heart, and she wiped away tears from her face with her unbloodied hand, although the wound was already well on its way to healing. Maybe she would go into the town today to get some new teacups along with her daily groceries for meals; she still had a hard time stomaching food at times, but Chizuru knew she needed to keep her strength up. She wanted to start a garden in the back as well, to save her coin for fresh vegetables for when she needed it. Ootori had paid her well for her time and escape, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. At some point, she would need to recoup her finances and find work to sustain herself.
But for today, she wanted to be normal. As normal as she could be.
Live, Chizuru.
I am living, Hijikata-san.
Chizuru stood up and stepped outside, tilting her head up to the sky. A slight breeze fanned across her face, and she inhaled the air deep into her lungs. Even though it was well into fall, she thought for the briefest moment, she smelled the sweet scent of cherry blossoms. Maybe today would be a good day.