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The dear forest, the lord of the night — glows in the dark.
When the sun sets down, when every mountain and river people know is covered in dark, the forest glows. It does not happen immediately, but step by step; it begins when the fog arrives — a silver mist that concentrates in the south and is only as delicate as an illusion in the north — and then the trees slowly, from roots to branches, leaves and flowers light up. By the time the moons and stars sit high in the sky, it’s all shining, so ethereally, so mysterious.
When Gin was a little girl it used to be so breathtaking.
She never asked why it is this way, why it happens. She did not know any other forest, the one that does not glow, so why would she ask? Still she was so fascinated by the process, her eyes glued to it with pure admiration.
It was a long time ago. Or maybe not, but she had lost track of time. People usually do when they no longer can live and watch, but try to survive and hide. And it seems like the only things she does nowadays, but it is as expected. You don’t get nice things after running away.
Now as the knife is so heavy in her hand, the forest is not so beautiful, more terrifying. And it’s not like she wasn’t there before, even at night. She was, countless number of times, but not alone. Even with the visits it doesn’t get better, more familiar... It’s always mysterious and uncertain. With every breath, every move she feels so small. She didn’t want to be here at night, she didn’t want to be caught, she didn’t want to fight . She is tired. And even if she tried so badly to teach herself how to be the girl who is never threatened, never frightened, the fear that she will lose this fight in this place that will eat her alive and let her be forgotten, blooms in her heart.
Gin knows how much a second is worth, yet she loses the grip, the control of the moment, due to this knot in her chest that stops her from making a move, from doing anything .
She has to pay the price of this which turns out to be a wound in her left arm, but all she can do is clench her teeth in pain and fight until blood is everywhere, until the body of one of the many whose leader she once was no longer moves. Until the forest in her vision is blurring, not glowing.
She doesn’t know what to do now, her arm still bleeds, her legs feel so weak, but if she won’t escape she will not only collapse, but feel as uneasy, as watched as always here.
She doesn’t know what to do, so she does what her mind always suggests — she reaches out for him .
Walking all the way to the south border is a torture full of applying pressure to the wound, falling and getting up. She barely walks and her body aches, the fog in her vision wants to trick her so badly, to make her get lost. But when she escapes, when there are no more trees but meadows, she finally can breathe.
When she’s heading to one of many places she shouldn’t go now , but at the same time there’s nowhere she’d rather be — the doubt engraves into her spine.
But she doesn’t have more blood to lose, does she? So she uses a rhythm known only by them and knocks, praying that he will recognize, that he will wake up or still be awake— anything.
And when he opens the door there are so many questions in his eyes, so much disbelief.
“I… I didn’t have anywhere else to go” she says and it’s so stupid, that he doesn’t say a word, that he lets her in as nothing happened , as they were still how they used to be. But maybe it’s just mercy, maybe he doesn’t want her blood at his doorstep.
There’s a simple touch and in the soft light he leads her somewhere. And next thing she knows is him carefully looking, and cleaning her wound with worry between his brows. His fingers work so delicately. And he doesn’t say a word, but she knows he wants to.
“Say it.”
“What?” He asks without interrupting his work, but there’s not really a question in it, as if he knows what she means.
“You know what. Just say it.”
He doesn’t, just hums and if he was the old Tachihara it would mean that he’s taking time to find a good answer maybe. But does the true Tachihara also do this? Which one is now here, kneeling before her with her blood on his fingertips?
“I never liked you getting hurt.”
“I didn’t want to fight tonight.”
He looks up at her, and there’s something so soft in his expression, that she forgets that she shouldn’t trust him anymore, she shouldn’t be here letting all of this happen— that’s the look only meant for her.
“I know.”
When the wound is clean she does not move. He slowly massages circles on her knee, and she— she lets him.
“You should take a bath. You’re covered in blood.”
She knows. She presses her lips in a line and he seems to understand, but he doesn’t want to cross the boundary, that no one really knows where is, so visibly. It feels so bitter, walking on the eggshells around each other.
“I can help you… if you’re… comfortable with it.”
She only nodds. And the water is slowly filling the bathtub, as she takes of black mask and her hair falls down. She isn’t exactly embarrassed about the act of undressing in front of him; she did it before in situations like this, but about all the vulnerability she is showing him by just simply being there. Showing him that after he turned out to be the traitor, she still trusts him completely? This is truly humiliating. She doesn’t want to think about it desperately, not tonight when she’s so exhausted and for the first time since she ran away she feels relieved.
Because she does feel relieved when she lays down in a bathtub with one arm above the water, in this stupid bathroom with warm light and wooden walls.
On the other hand, Tachihara looks so unsure. As if he doesn’t know if he can even touch her.
“Weren’t you supposed to help?”
So he does. The soaked cloth touches her skin so delicately, cleaning the blood. And then there’s skin on skin, lightly brushing with foam and then the fingers in her hair—
How can such murderous hands be so gentle? She always wondered.
Because if Tachihara touches a weapon, a sword, a knife or the beloved gun— he’s so cruel and steady. When he touches the enemy with nothing but his knuckles it still is so strong. But when he touches her— It’s like he is holding water in his hands.
And when he cups her face so lightly, washing everything away, she asks.
“Tachihara?
“Yes?”
“Why… why are you doing this?” She closes her eyes.
There’s silence that lasts long enough that he’s finished with her face.
“Perhaps, I just like taking care of you? I thought you had noticed.”
“Even after everything?” She is about to look at him sharply, but cannot find the strength to do so.
He studies her face, his eyes look almost golden, as sweet and tender as honey.
“Yes.” He pauses. “Even after everything. Look, you don’t have to believe me— And you probably won’t because you’re better than this, but how I looked for you— It was sincere. All my gestures for you have always been sincere.”
“Isn’t it kind of rotten work, though? Taking care of me, I mean.”
“No.” It comes out so softly. “No— It could be never if it’s you.” And there is that strange feeling again, when all her answers are closed in a cage.
It’s a quiet moment, intimate perhaps, when she lets him wipe herself and dress her in his clothes. When she lets him brush her hair and his movements are so subtle, as if he had the most expensive silk before him.
She sits on his bed, and he’s facing her. Somewhere outside the window the forest is still glowing in the accompaniment of the moons, and they illuminate his face. His eyes look so cold in this lighting, but all she can see in them is an apology. And… care, tenderness even. So intense.
“Why are you doing this? You shouldn’t.” She cannot help but ask again.
He was so stupid. He was so stupid for leaving her the message where he was hiding, trusting that no one would intercept it, that she wouldn’t betray his location. And she was so stupid, sitting on his sheets and feeling so irrationally safe.
What was it that drove them to blindly trust each other?
Was it the same thing that danced in his gaze when he thought she couldn’t see him staring? Was it what boiled blood in her veins when she saw that he had let himself get hurt?
Was it what she had been trying to put into words for years ?
He smiles so helplessly, so adoringly.
“I think you know, Gin, don’t you?”
She closes her eyes and there are so many words in the back of her throat, but they all taste so bitter.
“I don’t know how to not be furious with you, you know? I hate you. I hate you so much. What do you even want from me?”
“Everything.” He pauses “But it’s not something I deserve after all, is it?” And he says it as if he accepts it— As if she is beyond his reach. Then he gets up and sits not in front but next to her. “What are you planning now?”
“I.. I don’t know.”
“Stay with me then.”
“What?”
“You heard. Stay with me.”
“You cannot keep me here.” She says, because everything is so overwhelming as after so much he still perfectly fits in her heart, lingers in her veins.
She wants nothing more than to be left alone.
She wants anything but to be left alone.
And there’s again the same fond expression on his face.
“I know.” There is humility in this. “But I know how exhaustion looks on your face, and I know that you need rest. And they don’t search for me— Not anymore, there are things bigger than me that need to be taken care of. It’s quite safe here, I think.”
There is silence again, the old silence that feels so comforting, like all the things they had before.
“Just admit that you agree. You know I can see right through you.”
“Your audacity is impressive.”
“Is it really audacity if I’m telling the truth? I know you how I know the back of my hand, and I know you how I know my favourite gun, and I know you how I know the taste of your name on my tongue.”
“But do I know you?”
“You do. You know every version of myself as there is no version of myself that wouldn’t know you.”
It was easier to think that Tachihara was just a clever illusionist who conceals the reality of his thoughts, who chooses his words carefully— And part of him for sure was, but tonight for a few hours— Gin will believe him.