Work Text:
“I miss him.”
It is a quiet admission but the meaning echoes loudly in the air. Kazuha remains unmoving, hands still folded in his lap as he sits in the cramped crow's nest.
Beidou listens. She listens very closely, and she does not speak.
It’s hard to coax words out of Kazuha. She’s known this ever since he first came on board the Alcor. He stays quiet, and on rare occasions will let flowery words slip through his teeth and decorate his tongue. Beidou makes it a point to let him do as he will. She doesn’t drag words from his throat or coax air out of his lungs. She talks when she thinks it’s right, and fills up empty space with various topics and stories.
And sometimes, when Kazuha is given the chance to think, just a little longer to himself--he will speak. And words and stories will slip out, and Beidou listens.
“His name was Tomo. I miss him very much.”
The way he says it is monotone, but Beidou hears the months of grief and weariness etched into his voice. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he lets these words fall free, something yearning and longing. Something so clear to Beidou that it makes her chest twist in painful sympathy.
Kazuha talks. It’s not like how he usually sounds when he talks, full of flower words and poetic rhythm and cleanly thought-out haikus. This time, it’s less organized, less practiced, less clean. This time, it’s full of pauses and reminiscence and slow, shaky breaths.
Kazuha speaks for longer than Beidou has ever heard him speak thus far. He lets honest words fall out, and tells her a story. A story of a boy who loved his friend, watched him rise, and watched him fall. A boy who watched the shine of his friend’s eyes go dull and the color in his Vision fade out. A boy who is just a boy, through and through, but has the same weight on his back that would crush a thousand soldiers.
“I loved him very much, and I never told him. But I think he knew. He always knew.”
He stops talking after a moment. Beidou blinks away the aching wetness in her eyes, and her breath stutters as she looks for words.
“Thank you for telling me.” It comes out weak, but she means it. And she knows that he must know that, too. That after months of staying quiet, letting out so much all at once must mean there is a vast amount of trust between them. Something that wraps between their torsos and ties them together, like family.
“Thank you for listening,” Kazuha says. And there is a calmness in his eyes now, like still waters and windless mornings. His lips quirk upward into that absent smile of his and Beidou laughs. It sputters in her throat and reaches her stomach, letting her laugh high and loud into the air. Kazuha follows suit. It’s a wonderful noise, the melody of two wandering travelers basking in the lightness of the night. Basking in the weight of a heavy burden lifted from their hands. Basking in something a little like family.