Work Text:
Gorou is well aware that the middle of an ongoing battle is far from the most appropriate place for a reunion, and still—
He can’t help it. He really, really missed Kazuha. It’s too familiar, the sound of his voice, that boyish lilt that has kept him awake well into the night—first with stories and poems and words that sounded more beautiful than Gorou could have ever imagined, if only because they were Kazuha’s, and then—and then just with the memory, the ache.
All the space that the sound of the drifting wind couldn’t hope to fill.
(Gorou doesn’t know what drowning is like, but hearing Kazuha call him a friend after so long feels too much like coming up for air all the same.)
He makes it a commendable fifteen seconds after the Shogun’s army has fled before rushing to Kazuha’s side, too many unnamable, tangled things thrumming right under his skin.
“Hi,” Kazuha says, his smile lopsided, and Gorou—
Gorou wraps both arms around his waist, and lifts him off the ground, tucks his face into Kazuha’s shoulder and breathes in. I missed you, he thinks. I missed you I missed you I missed you I’m so happy you’re here I don’t—
A cough. Gently, Gorou untangles himself from Kazuha. Kazuha’s cheeks are flushed, and despite the numerous times he’s led armies into battle with the odds stacked against him, Gorou’s sure his own are dusted red as well.
The most beautiful and terrifying woman he has ever seen glances between them. “Ah,” she says, gaze settling on Gorou, “so this is the friend you’ve mentioned.”
Kazuha rubs at the back of his neck. Gorou could swear he somehow manages to flush redder. “Captain Beidou, this is my—this is General Gorou.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Captain Beidou says, and just when Gorou is beginning to feel surprisingly intimidated by her effortless looming, she winks. “Kazuha seems quite fond—”
“Captain,” Kazuha interrupts.
Gorou blinks. He hasn’t heard Kazuha sound like that since—well. Probably since the first time he called him pretty. They’d both gotten soaked in the rain mid-spar, and—he hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to let the words slip, no matter how often he thought them, but they had anyway.
Kazuha does that to him. Pulls all the truths Gorou would normally be too scared to speak out of him like it’s easy.
It never was, before. Leading the resistance, guiding recruits through fixing their mistakes and facing the enemy and steadfastly refusing to give up one of their own—those were easy. Those are easy, because those are the things Gorou knows. But Kazuha makes the unfamiliar seem inviting instead of terrifying, and that—
“Alright, alright,” Captain Beidou says. It shakes Gorou out of his thoughts. “I’ll be off.”
Only after watching her walk away does Gorou realize that he has yet to say a single word. He should apologize. He opens his mouth to do so, but no words come out.
“Cat got your tongue?” Kazuha asks, an eyebrow arched.
Gorou scowls—just a little, mostly instinct, it’s not like he can’t control himself—and Kazuha bursts out laughing. “Ah,” he says, “I have missed you.”
“Me too,” Gorou says. “It’s been—it’s been getting worse, since you left.” There were nights when it all felt so heavy Gorou didn’t know what to do with himself, but he doesn’t say that. There were nights when he felt like a scared child playing pretend with human lives at stake, but he doesn’t say that. There were nights when he would close his eyes and try to remember the words Kazuha spoke to him to keep from unraveling, but he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say any of it, because they might be in the middle of a war nobody understands why they have to fight, but Kazuha is here.
Kazuha is here with him, and Gorou intends to cherish that.
“I am sorry,” Kazuha says, “that I could not stay and help you bear it.”
“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Gorou says. In a bit of foolish bravely, he tacks on, “You can make it up to me.”
Kazuha smiles, and takes his hand. “I suppose I could,” he says.
They walk wordlessly along the shore, and Gorou has to put a great deal of effort into trying not to overheat to death. When he first came to the resistance seeking help, it only took a couple of weeks for Gorou to grow used to Kazuha’s chin tucked over his shoulder, to Kazuha’s fingers laced with his. Trust means touch to someone like him, and there was a time when that was common enough—when Kazuha was close enough—that Gorou had had to build up an immunity, but now—
Now the air smells of salt and Kazuha is humming, and his palm is warm, and all Gorou can think is that it feels like he’s seconds away from his last breath.
“I wrote to you,” Kazuha says, voice soft.
“You did?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see a point in sending the letters. I knew it was highly unlikely they would ever reach you unopened, and, besides, I—I didn’t want to be selfish.”
“Selfish?” Gorou could call Kazuha a lot of things, but selfish is not one of them. The boy who faced the wrath of a god just to honor a memory could never be selfish.
“I found that, no matter much of an effort I made, I didn’t—I still did not want to let you go,” Kazuha says. “I believe that is quite selfish of me.”
Gorou squeezes his hand tighter. “In that case,” he says, “I think we can be selfish together.”
Kazuha looks at him, stops walking, and just—looks at Gorou like he’s searching for something. “Do you want to know what I wrote?” he asks.
Gorou nods, and braces himself for the inevitable impact. Before meeting Kazuha for the first time, he didn't know that words could cut worse than blades.
“I wrote that I missed you,” Kazuha says, “I wrote that I wanted to see you again and that I dreamt of your smile and that I wished I’d been brave enough to tell you before I left that I have never felt more at home than when I was by your side.”
This is so, so much worse than blades.
“Gorou?” Kazuha says, uncertain. “I don’t expect you to reciprocate, but—”
I would be foolish not to, Gorou thinks, then pulls Kazuha to his chest and kisses him. Kazuha is still at first, but then, slowly, tentatively, he kisses back, and every single thing that Gorou has no idea how to put into words starts feeling less terrifying.
“I really missed you,” Gorou says.
It feels like it’s enough, for once.