Work Text:
i.
how long have you been in love with kujou sara?
that’s a question you usually don’t dare to ask. it has been long enough that you’ve memorized the swing of her blade, the set of her mouth, the touch of her fingertips. you’ve memorized the flutter of her wings and her schedule, how she wakes up at the same time, eats at the same time, trains and trains and trains.
and there is one thing in particular you don’t forget. will never forget. it is this:
kujou sara and the snow.
snow is fleeting, you think. it falls quickly and melts quicker. disappears on warm skin. it does not snow often in inazuma — in winter, the sea warms the shores and the clouds prefer rain, and anyway, the raiden shogun is not fond of impermanent things.
you are with sara the first time she sees it snow. it was the two of you versus straggling revolutionary deserters, people who opposed the retreat order, had thought they could push the two of you back. how naive. it would’ve taken only one look at the burn in sara’s eyes for them to know they stood no chance.
now, finally, with the enemy plunged into the ground, sara’s spear coated in red, snow falls.
at first, she doesn’t notice it. you look up at the sky behind her, unable to tear your eyes from her for too long; there’s melancholy in the way sara cleans the blood off her spear.
“look,” you say. you extend your hand out in front of you, palm up. snowflakes catch in your hand and melt on your warm skin. “snow.”
sara watches you in wonder. her eyes gleam and you fall in love with the shine of them. those glimmering, wonderstruck eyes. in that moment, you’re sure every single archon and every single celestial being knows: you are in love with kujou sara. you always will be. that is your eternity.
“it melts so fast,” sara murmurs. palm up, toward the sky. “gone so soon.”
“it is,” you say. that’s what makes it beautiful, makes it meaningful, you think, but you do not say it. thoughts like that border on treason. instead, you focus your treasonous stare on sara’s mouth, her face, and think a different vein of treasonous thoughts.
sara curls her fingers in over the snow collecting in her palm as water droplets and fixes her intent stare on you. the two of you are wasting time at this point, but in eternity, time means little. you could see this forever. this could be yours.
“let’s go,” sara finally says, wrenching her gaze away from you. “there’s lots to do.”
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ii.
the will of the raiden shogun is sara’s, and the will of sara is yours.
“your stance is off,” sara says. you’re getting in extra training, and despite the fact that you know she spends most of her time in this very hall, you weren’t expecting to see her.
you adjust your grip on your bow and lean your weight on your frontward foot. “better?”
if you weren’t already staring at her, you might have missed the affectionate quirk of sara’s lips. your heart hammers in your chest. sara is not a smiler.
“like this,” she says. she comes closer, stops a breath away from you. she lifts your bow-arm with one hand and your skin tingles. “you let your arm get lazy. that is why you always hit the dirt.”
“i’m much more proficient with a sword,” you grumble.
“i know,” says sara. if you were anyone else, you wouldn’t catch that tone in her voice: kind, affectionate. “but it never hurts to learn more.”
“that’s what i’m doing,” you quip before nocking another arrow.
“arm,” sara reminds you. when you fire, you hit the blue ring — average.
“still no bullseye,” you gripe.
“it’s progress nonetheless,” says sara. you can feel the burn of her skin crackle in free-air. “do not underestimate the power of small steps.”
you lower your bow. entranced. you’ve been at this for hours, firing arrow after arrow in a last-ditch effort to be closer to her, and in the setting sunlight, sara’s slight smile and determined eyes are enough to inspire your unconditional devotion, as if she did not already have it. and you take one small step toward her.
this will of your own — it belongs to her.
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iii.
“careful!”
you whirl around and spin straight into the embrace of sara’s wings. a barrage of arrows glance off her steel-strong feathers, but one or two find the minute vulnerable space that is her wing-skin. her face is a breath away from yours. sara clenches her teeth but does not buckle at the pain.
“kujou-san!” you scream despite yourself, knowing she’s fine, knowing she’s not, knowing it’s your fault. you’d paid more attention to your front than your back, where you’d already known arrows flew wildly. guilt gnaws in the pit of your stomach. you could stab yourself there and never atone fully for the pain you’ve caused her.
“relax,” sara says, her voice carefully controlled. “don’t spiral.”
your heart, pounding in your chest. sometimes, sara is scarily perceptive. “sorry,” you stammer, tightening your grip on the hilt of your sword. sara turns from you and barks an order you don’t hear over the noise in your own head and the next thing you know, the two of you are in the sky.
“you’re okay,” sara says.
“the battle—” you protest, “your wings—”
sara’s holding you by the waist, and her grip tightens. “it’s okay,” she says. “we’re going down on the count of three. sword ready?”
you get it. plunge attack. you shift your sword hand so it points up between the two of you. split by cold metal. she’s trying to calm you down by throwing the two of you back into battle, and it works. when she flips the two of you upside down and rockets you to the earth below, you throw your entire body into the plunge. sara’s arrows rain down around you and together, the two of you raze the last remaining enemies. and when you stumble out of the carnage, the two of you are still holding on to each other.
there really is nothing like adrenaline. except love. thankfully, you have both.
you do your best to patch up her wings when you get back to camp. and sara, knowing her skin will mend itself in a day, lets you.
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iv.
there are few things sara tolerates less than dishonorable behavior. you, her second in command, know this better than anyone. so you stand silently beside her desk, hands clasped behind your back, as she fumes, pen scratching angrily on paper.
another thing you know: sara is not good at thinking of punishments. you, however, can be described as just as ruthless as her.
“this man,” she says, pulling out a soldier’s file-sheet, “was caught smuggling advanced weapons into ritou and then selling them for exorbitant prices. punishment?”
“that one should go to trial,” you say. “as much as i’d love to cut his hand off, prison may be harsher.”
sara sighs and buries her face in her hands. something she would never do in front of anyone else. calm kujou sara, tired. pride swells in your chest; you are honored. and yet, you can’t help but feel bad that this is the responsibility she bears.
“you can leave more of this up to the shogun,” you say gently.
“no,” she says firmly. “this is my duty. far be it from us to bother the raiden shogun with such petty crimes.”
you’re not sure weapon smuggling is just a petty crime, but what sara says goes. “i’ll go check on the cells, then,” you say, but as you start to leave, sara grips onto your uniform.
“stay,” she gasps. as if she can’t breathe. as if she can’t breathe without you. you think you might die. “please.”
“okay,” you say. you pull up a chair and sit beside her; she grips your hand as she writes and writes and writes. she writes criminals into justice and evil into light, all the while holding on to you. like you are her light.
gods above and below, you love her.
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v.
“you’re awake early,” sara comments. it’s six in the morning — you’re enjoying the smell of early-morning air still untainted by blood and she’s repairing the leg of the bench you’re sitting on — but you know she’s already been awake for an hour. like always, she sticks to her schedule.
“i can only sleep for five hours at a time,” you confess. it may be your imagination, but you think her eyes widen at that, soften just a fraction. careful, like always.
“i see,” she says. “it seems five is your lucky number too.”
“i don’t know about that,” you say, “but it’s a nice number.”
“it is.” she drops both you and the bench. you land with a jolt and a thump, feel it in your teeth. “all done.”
the look sara fixes you with is equal parts burning and freezing. you couldn’t move if you wanted to. and yet, despite that, she is as inscrutable as ever.
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+ i.
after the vision hunt decree is repealed, sara is reading in her office, her thumb tracing over your knuckles. and she says, “you confuse me.”
you look up from your paperwork. “i what?”
“you confuse me,” she echoes.
“why?”
she holds up your joined hands. “is this normal? for people like us?”
like us. as if you could ever wish to be her equal. “not with other people,” you say. you say it like it’s been festering in the pit of your stomach for years, and it has. “only with you. only with… with us.” it’s the boldest thing you have ever said. normally, you’re content to sit by and watch, to be just her second-in-command. but sometimes — sometimes like now, like now, like now, when there is nothing else you could dream of saying — you ache so viscerally that words beg to spill out of you like petals.
“i see,” she says. softly. contemplatively. she brings the back of your hand to her mouth and presses a kiss to your skin. “then i can do this, too, right?”
you flush. “yes.”
her eyes meet yours and flash dangerously. “and if i want more?”
“you can have it.”
“i will, then,” sara breathes. she is the only thing you taste that night.