Work Text:
when you first meet him, you think, “what a beautiful boy.”
his fox greets you loud and obnoxious, while he murmur a soft “yoroshiku”.
you make him the lieutenant of your team, and his fox beams with glee, chattering none stop as the boy stares at you unblinkingly, and you think you can almost see the edges of his lips curl up, just a little.
a quiet boy he is, with white hair and distinctive markings framing his eyes, and he seems almost weak, almost vulnerable, until the enemies remember that he is a blade, and he is cold steel and sharp edges. he fights like nothing you have ever seen, weaving his way in between, his steps agile and sleek. his fox shouts and shriek, his voice sharp with the slightest hint of bloodlust.
you think he is almost as beautiful as your first sword.
when he comes back to the citadel, his chest heaving, shallow cuts scattered on his skin, he stares at you with a glint in his eyes, even as he remains quiet as ever.
some mornings, he wake up without his mask, his fox toddling after him, mask in mouth. he is as quiet as usual, and you watch as he stumbles on the tatami mat, before catching himself with ease. he rubs at his eyes, before picking up his dear companion. he looks at you blankly and all you can think is, “how adorable.”
during moments like these, you almost forget your swords are originally swords, not breathing beings.
on days of relaxation, when you give them all a break, even yourself, the swords all take turns to be cared for, and he is no exception. he first starts out slow and shy, while his fox hops closes, and demands to be patted.
and as you stroke his soft fur, the boy with his white crown makes his way into your lap, and curls back against your chest, closing his eyes. you stroke his face and hair, pat his head gently, and you can feel him come closer, his breathing slowed, his lips curling in contentment.
you laugh, and the tips of his ears redden the slightest.