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When he was born, Yasuo had brown hair. Like strands from an oak tree. He was the lastborn in his family, second to his elder brother, Yone. As a kid, both brothers needed to have their hair cut fairly often, due to the sheer length it grew. And as they aged, they both had their own defined styles with it. Yone’s in two tails that ran down his shoulders, and the rest behind his back. Yasuo’s in a short cloud pointed upward. He admired his older brother for almost everything he did, so naturally, he wanted to look a little bit like him as well. At the age of fourteen, Yasuo was allowed to let it grow out.
It didn’t grow in tails like he’d hoped. So his brother would braid two edges of it, since Yasuo would bug him to no end about it. Red ribbons tied off the tips. And for years, he was satisfied.
He was accused of his master’s murder three years later. He remembered exactly how it felt to be pushed into a corner by words… then blades. So many names. Not that they mattered. All of his fellow students were dead. He remembered exactly how his hair had flipped in the wind, a lethal current of his own creation. When he was done, it stuck to his face with sweat, and the ribbons had been slashed to bits. He was ashamed, very much so, but he was innocent. He only defended himself, right? Right.
Then his brother was sent after him. The most skilled swordsman from his village. Besides him. But he didn’t have a home anymore. But he surprised his little brother. Not once did he draw his blade on the other. They talked, and smiled and laughed. And they hugged. When they met next, Yone was telling the village that he would always get away.
“He’s just too slippery!” Accented with a jab to his side with an elbow. “But he can’t even hit me!”
Yasuo smirked. “Oh, is that so?”
His brother pulled out his practice blade. Carved perfectly out of wood. The trees had wanted to help him, and even in his current fugitive state, it didn’t pull away. Yone had two of his own, it was how he preferred to duel. As they took their stances, Yone finished. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Yasuo won, barely. A strike to his sibling’s upper thigh was the hit to temporarily cripple him, enough so he was pinned. Yone laughed after he fell.
“Yasuo! You’ve been practicing, excellent.”
“Of course I have.” He mock-scowled. “I hope you weren't expecting any less.”
“No, I wasn’t! But there will be other people sent after you besides me now, since we both know how good of a job I’m doing. The Navori- you are quite capable, but they will outnumber you in every situation. You need to run.”
“Yone! I can’t- I don’t want to.. Why won’t they believe me?”
“Because if they did, they’d know it was a Noxian who truly did it. They aren’t stable enough to even think about another attack. So the new elder pins the blame on someone recognizable, and happens to fit the criteria. Which is you.”
He punched the ground. Twice. “Noxians. I could help. Please, Yone-”
“No.” His tone firm. “Yasuo, you run. And you’ll write to me. Deliver a message on the wind, and I’ll receive it. And I’ll write back.”
The younger stood, and bowed. “I will.” and he ran off. He didn’t know how far. But not before he high fived his brother. Such a childish move, he thought, but it still felt nice.
He was forced to slay his brother. Sealed in a barrier of unbreakable means but blood, they starved for five days, keeping each other company in the final moments for one of them. And on the beginning of the sixth, Yone pleaded for his brother to kill him. So hungry… so tired… before he’d even realized what it was that he asked, he had done it.
A funeral for one.
“Yone, Yone, Yone…” He took his brother’s hand, determined to feel all of the warmth before it faded.
He screamed. His brother was held close to himself before he was buried.
“Even the wind has a path, brother.” But Yasuo didn’t hear that until years later.
The swordsman had taken up drinking. The last of his family had simply been reduced to an alcoholic. Pathetic. His mind was always fuzzy, only ever half aware of what he was doing. His body had been on autopilot for a good while. He’d already had a rough day, and finished the day out with some sake. A poor choice, likely. He walked aimlessly down the streets of the city of Zori. Then, a sparkle. A bird? He didn’t ask himself any more questions, he just sat and watched. He didn’t understand exactly what was going on, but it was entertaining. And would be more so if he was unimpaired. He was so so tired. He remembered trying to touch that light, those wonderful sparkles. He passed out instead.
“Hey there!” A bright voice, matching of his appearance.
“Hi…” He started, hiccuped, then attempted to continue. “Sorry I- really wanted to touch the sparkles.”
The vastaya grinned. “Not going to ask for my name first before you get all touchy-feely?”
“I-” God, Yasuo. “What is it?”
“Rakan. Remember that!” He wrote down something on a sheet of paper. “I’ll be performing again in two days, come maybe!” He waved, before dashing out the door.
He wasn’t sure what changed, but he passed on having a drink on the promised date. And the next. And all of the ones following, actually. Then, as a whole.
Rakan was running a comb through Yasuo’s hair.
“Why is it pink? Did you dye it? It’s pretty!”
“Poisoned tea and demonic grandmas.” He spoke, as if that were normal. “I allowed myself to be tricked. And well, it wasn’t all bad. I ended up meeting my brother again, after I killed him. We killed her together. So no, he isn’t actually dead, and I came out with recolored hair. If you didn’t notice, it’s also white at the base.”
Rakan threaded his fingers through to the top, eliciting a contented hum from Yasuo, who’d begun to busy his hands with paper. The vastaya made an inquisitive noise, and the swordsman simply answered with “Origami.”
They stayed like that for a good while, Yasuo seated on the floor while Rakan leaned on his shoulders. In that time, the elementalist had made three paper cranes. On Rakan’s nightstand they went.
“What do you think?” One mirror was positioned at his front and back so he could see the vastaya’s handiwork.
“I don’t mind it. It ties nicely.”
“Oh come on! You know you like it.”
With a coy smirk, he admitted it. “But only in private. It looks sort of like my brother’s.”
I don’t like it because it’s similar to his. I like it because you made it this way, Rakan.
“Well then. I guess we’re doing this again!’
“I suppose the origami practice wouldn’t hurt.”
Yasuo made a habit of untying his hair before he knocked on Rakan’s door. And today, their fifth meeting, the swordsman held two pounds of beef, a box of pasta, and some herbs. The door swiveled open.
“What, are you going to make me dinner?’
“Yeah.”
That silenced the bird quickly. He was welcomed inside with a bow; just another way for Rakan to dramatically show off his feathers. He cooked. He made the vastaya help; there was no way he was going to do this all himself, even if he was capable.
“Do you have a candle or two?” He prompted.
“Yes! Why?” He looked meaningfully at Yasuo. He wasn’t going to get out of this without admitting his feelings in one way or another. So he sighed, and took a deep breath.
“I want this to be romantic. Is that okay?”
Rakan said nothing, simply returned with two candles, and with the largest possible grin on his face. They were lit, and dinner started. But not before Yasuo finally got to feel his feathers.
He found out that night that they were very soft, and Rakan liked having them brushed. He also now had twenty eight cranes on his nightstand.
Two years later, he received a note. From whom, he didn’t know. It was simply a summons to Bilgewater. With a threat attached.
Even the wind has a path, brother.