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He shivers, tugging his robes closer around himself as he trudges his way back through the rapidly gathering snow flurries. They stand out bright against red fabric, clinging to his hair tied sloppily into a bun, and he moves an arm to carefully brush them away from his dark lashes onto his sleeve. Had he known the snowstorm would have picked up so quickly, he would’ve left earlier.
Usually his weather predicting senses were uncannily keen, able to predict pouring rain incoming on a seemingly cloudless day or that even the most horrific storm would last no more than an hour. Stress dulled them, and as much as he was certain anyone in his situation would, it was no excuse. The difference between their survival and death could easily be caused by something as simple as a misprediction of the weather.
Cautious as ever, he holds their new rations for the week tightly in his arms. Nothing much different from the usual rice, wrinkled vegetables and dried fish. Fresh fruits and vegetables were difficult to grow in winter, and even more difficult nowadays to transport, similarly to fresh meat. There was one new thing he was excited for -- a small canister of tea leaves. Only half filled and far from fresh, but a small luxury all the same on particularly chilly mornings.
The nights grow longer and the days shorter as winter falls over Inazuma, and Kazuha had found it was in their best interest to find somewhere to bunk into and hold over in hiding until the snow begins to melt. Inazuma is a harsh landscape that shows no mercy on the unprepared, even to it’s own people, and winter only makes it all the more difficult. Snowstorms kick up in violent flurries that make it hard to differentiate as much as north from south, since even seeing your own hand reaching out in front of you was near impossible, with the wind howling as loudly as a wounded wolf. Icicles hang precariously off trees, snow piles hide sharp brambles and the occasional abandoned hunting trap. The vision hunters aren’t stupid enough to pursue them into freezing white nothingness and risk losing their own lives when it’s preventable, he knows that.
So he’d made the decision to contact the resistance, something he didn’t enjoy doing -- not at all because they were unwelcoming to them, rather, the opposite. They were far too generous to those who weren’t capable of giving the same back, and Kazuha couldn’t help but feel as if he were using them for that kindness even if that wasn’t his intention in the slightest. Gorou and Kokomi were too kind, too good of friends to them for what they had to deal with as is.
“This was the most we could spare,” He remembers how tired Gorou had sounded when they met outside the resistance’s current camp, sheer exhaustion he couldn’t be bothered with hiding hanging off every word. “I'm sorry it’s not any more for both of you.” The war had been at a stalemate for weeks now, but that didn’t mean the battles were fought with any less viciousness. If there were any marked changes at all, it was that either side had grown more violent in their movements, fighting tooth and nail to gain the upper hand. And Gorou looked it. In his cloudy blue eyes Kazuha swore he could see the brutality, men falling to their knees on bloodied sand as waves rising with the tide crashed down red. Gorou carried death with him, the crushing weight of the lives of men who he’d seen join their movement with bright eyes and hopeful determination that they could one day be someone who saved Inazuma from the clutches of it’s archon, only for all those valiant hopes to be cut down in seconds at the blade of a shogunate soldier who didn’t even look back at the body they’d slaughtered. There were no true heroes in war, only ones smart and strong enough to survive.
Kazuha had accepted the rations without even questioning how light the package felt in his hands, though perhaps his heart sank a little with it, knowing how difficult foraging for anything supplementary would be especially since he didn’t like to leave Tomo alone any longer than he had to. But it was far more than they could ask for, especially since neither could be of much aid to the resistance. The last thing Tomo needed was to be sent into a potentially traumatic situation, and Kazuha couldn’t afford to leave him when he required so much care. He bowed, loose pieces of white hair falling over his eyes. Gorou didn’t like using strong formalities when only with friends, but he felt the general deserved as much. “It’s more than enough. We’ve lived off less before, I’m grateful for anything we’re given at all.” His eyes shone with gratitude, meeting Gorou’s, and he noticed just how deeply set the other’s dark circles had become. Then again, Kazuha doubted he looked any better off himself. “I can’t thank you enough for everything.”
Gorou raised a hand slightly, wordless reassurance that he hadn’t even needed to thank him in the first place for such things. “Is his condition improving at all?”
Not a word had to be spoken between them for them to know the answer was no, and Kazuha couldn’t help but feel a bit of bitter guilt that he didn’t have better news to offer. He shook his head, Gorou heaving a soft little huff as his lips thinned slightly, a subtle show of stress. “Some days I think he could be, but … I believe that’s more my wishful thinking than anything else. He hasn’t worsened, at the very least.”
“So still the same as anyone else who’s lost their vision.” Usually the bluntness of Gorou’s words wouldn’t have any effect on Kazuha, seeing as how he could be the same. But because Tomo was the topic of discussion, his words reminding him of that nightmarish day, he couldn’t help but wince just slightly. “Kazuha … it might be time to consider --”
“No.” He spoke firmly, coldly, a clear lack of willingness to negotiate in his tone. “There’s still hope. His vision shell could rekindle any day if I continue reminding him who he was. I know you’d do your best to care for him, but I could never forgive myself for abandoning him. Even if it’d be easier to survive on my own.”
His recollection is suddenly interrupted by a rumble, causing him to briefly pause, and he looks up in time to see the darkening sky split in two by purple lightning. A thunderstorm? In the snow? For just a brief moment, he stands there, stunned by the rare occasion before the cold dread of realization sinks in.
Tomo.
Immediately he’s running, despite the way it made the wind painfully bite at what little skin he had exposed.
Their makeshift home is small, abandoned, but the foundation hadn’t yet become decrepit. Most likely owned by someone who fled during the battles that previously occurred. He hurried up the porch, careful to slow his rapid little breaths and calm himself before entering. Everything could be fine. There was a chance Tomo was sleeping through it, unaware of the now much louder storm raging up above. When he’d left he’d been fast asleep, curled up in bed with Tama.
But a small part of him knows that’s only wishful thinking, that Tomo had grown so used to staying awake on their travels on the road to guard Kazuha. Even the slightest rustle of leaves or the pawsteps of a passing fox would have him fully alert with his hand reaching for his sword. Kazuha was the same way, even more so now that Tomo was less capable. He can’t help but find it miserably humorous despite the stress of the moment, how they’d practically switched roles. Opting to hold their rations by the handle of the cloth they’d been wrapped in, he slowly opens the door. As much as his heart is screaming to rush in, make sure everything’s alright, he knows loud noises and sudden movements could potentially make a bad situation worse.
At first, everything looks fine. The furnace is still burning as he’d left it, casting a dim orange glow and dancing shadows on the wall. Their home wasn’t much -- only two other rooms, a bathroom and a bedroom which both had comparable sizes to an oversized closet, but it was far more than they were used to. He truthfully couldn’t remember the last time they’d been offered the privilege of sleeping in a bed. “Tomo.” He whispers without realizing, stepping further in and placing the rations down for now. All was silent save for the crackling of burning wood and the soft creak of wood beneath his steps, but something was off.
He knows what it is when he feels the chilling sensation of cold steel pressed up against his throat.
He should’ve known, known to be more on guard -- Tomo had caught him with this same trick so many times, the way he was somehow able to cloak his presence entirely despite his towering size. And he’d laugh afterwards every time, pick him up in a suffocating hug that always had him completely terrified for a second, reminding him to be more careful in case Tomo wasn’t the one pouncing on him next time with an overwhelmingly sloppy kiss to the cheek that made Kazuha scrunch up his nose and huff with disapproval, because next time he would not be so easily caught. Even as a joke, Tomo would have never drawn his blade on him back then.
In any other situation with any other assailant, he would have drawn his own blade in seconds, having been in this situation many times before. But this is Tomo.
Body tensed up, he’s just barely able to see the other out of the corner of his eye, and the sight is enough to make his heart feel as if it was painfully stuck in his throat, on the verge of choking him up. The way he stared at him through limp blonde locks, one would think they’d never met. A stranger was all he saw reflected in Tomo’s dull eyes. Tomo himself looked like a stranger.
“Who are you.” Not a question, but a statement, demanding the identity of the man whose side he’d traveled by, who’d been his closest and only companion for years. Tomo's voice is dry, rough, doing a poor job of hiding the panic he knew he felt. It never failed to be an unfamiliar sight to Kazuha; even in their closest calls, vision hunters surrounding them or wanderers just like themselves more than willing to fight to the death over what little scraps of fortune they had. The laws of life in the wilds of Inazuma always had been and always will be kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. But Tomo always seemed to thrive with danger, and if he ever showed even the slightest sense of fear, it was never for his own life but for Kazuha’s. Now Kazuha made him more scared than anything they’d faced before, and it made an unbearable pain burn in his heart. “Answer me.”
Kazuha's mouth is dry, words entangled in his head. Not out of fear of the blade pressed a bit closer against his pale skin, but out of sheer hurt. This had happened so many times; so many times Tomo would be thrown into a sudden panic, not remembering Kazuha or their past or even his own name sometimes, and yet every single time it never hurt any less. He’d never get used to seeing the one he loved in so much pain, he didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be used to it.
He suddenly hears a meow, pulling him forth from the sickening feeling pooling up in his stomach making its way to wrap around his heart, and looks down as much as he can tilt his head to see Tama rubbing up against his leg, her gaze focused on Tomo all the while as if to show him he means no harm.
He swallows roughly. “I'm not here to hurt you. If you pull this back a bit, I'll put my sword down. You can hold it if you’d like, I won’t try to take it back from you.” He manages to get the words out, calm, gentle, looking into Tomo's eyes as best he can. He can see the distrust, a small inner battle of uncertainty, but he looks at the way Tama clearly recognizes him. Slowly, he lowers his sword just enough to be away from slicing Kazuha’s neck. “Hurry up.” It’s painfully clear he still doesn’t trust him, but he allows Kazuha to carefully untie the strip of cloth holstering his sword to his side, holding it out to Tomo without hesitation. A briefly tense moment passes as Tomo looks from the sword to Kazuha, a painful mix of suspicion and fear, but he takes it anyway, backing away a step. Reminiscent of a wounded animal -- dangerous, willing to lash out, but in truth so confused and terrified as if shaken suddenly awake from a months long sleep.
“My name is Kazuha.” He reintroduces himself just as he has so many times before, careful to keep his hands where Tomo can see them. The other male is still standing in a defensive position, but a bit less tense than when Kazuha had first entered. Something changes when he hears his name, a slight furrow of his brow and confusion in his eyes as if it had triggered some sort of memory, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “I … understand you’re confused right now. But I promise I don't mean you any harm. We’re actually very close, you and I. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?” Sometimes, if he gets Tomo thinking about his past the memories resurface, blurry but there all the same. Sometimes they don’t.
Before Tomo can answer, a rattling boom shakes the walls (followed by a pitiful cry between a meow and shriek from Tama who skitters away to their bedroom), a bright flash burning through the sky and dying his vision for a brief moment in nothing but violet. And the look of terror that comes over Tomo makes Kazuha’s heart feel as if it’s snapping into pieces, as if he too can feel the cold fear crawling up his spine and the emotion of that day resurfacing.
Adrenaline pumping through him faster than it ever had, running, feeling blood which wasn’t his soaking through his clothes, mind swimming as he begged please don’t die please don’t die please don’t let me live without you please don’t take him away from me all the while knowing his broken pleas fell silent against the ears of a god who was supposed to be their protector.
He drops his and Kazuha’s sword with a resounding clatter, stumbling and nearly falling over himself in an effort to get away from the window. He’s mumbling something Kazuha can’t understand, eyes wide in horror, and his body trembles so violently as if thrown out into the cold without a moment’s warning.
As Kazuha approaches, careful not to startle him further despite the way every single nerve in his body is screaming to rush to comfort him, Tomo curls himself up as if to hide, covering his eyes as if still seeing that suffocating purple hue and breathing heavily as if his lungs were near collapse. And it’s devastating.
Kazuha gets down to his level, close against him as best he could so he could feel his presence and pressing his hands gently against his ears to keep the echoes of thunder out. Comfortingly, desperately, he presses kisses against his head, before letting their foreheads rest against each other. “I’m here, Tomo. I’m here, you’re safe. You’re safe.” He isn’t sure if his voice is choked up because of how utterly fragile Tomo feels, how broken, or because he doesn’t even know if he knows who the person comforting him is. Devastating, and so cruel that this was the only memory his mind could recall so vividly.
The lightning storm subsides in a matter of hours, thankfully growing quieter and quieter beneath the howling wind before stopping completley. Kazuha stayed the entire time, not moving until Tomo’s body finally began to relax despite how his own body burningly ached from how far he’d walked earlier.
Despite his coaxings to get Tomo to sleep once he’d managed to somewhat calm him, he simply refused, shaking his head as if unable to explain why. He couldn’t entirely blame him; such an ordeal would make it difficult for himself to rest as well. And so he did what he could -- when he was certain the thunder had nearly gone away he boiled water for tea and cooked some of the vegetables they’d been given, knowing it had been hours since the other had eaten. The entire time he sat by his side, occasionally picking up the fork to feed him or holding his cup to help him sip his tea when he noticed him start to drift off into hazy daydreams or when his body tensed from the soft, dying rumbles outside.
He's exhausted, but loyally sits awake, Tomo's head laying on his lap as he keeps him company beside the fire. Tama lies in his arms, pressed up against Tomo’s chest and purring warmly in her own method of comfort even though her owner didn’t reciprocate the affection.
His hands gently comb through his hair, untangling the wild blonde locks that grew like unruly brambles. Back on their travels, it used to be something that soothed Tomo, even if Kazuha had been less than happy to oblige most days. Brush your own hair, I’m not your mother, he’d huff, for Tomo to look at him with the saddest puppy dog eyes he could manage and plead, complaining that his arm would get tired if he had to get rid of all the knots on his own and he never could untangle everything and that it was always silkier when Kazuha brushed it, magically so. And then there were other times where Kazuha had to practically fight him over it since he couldn’t stand the fact that it was slowly matting, brush in hand threatening that if Tomo didn’t willingly let him comb his hair he wouldn’t give him the luxury of choice. And Tomo of course would whine about it, arguing that it’d hurt to brush and he didn’t like pain. He really was childish, a kid in a grown man’s body.
If he’d known of their future, he would’ve better appreciated just how stupid Tomo could be.
Now he lays still with empty eyes, that beautiful lilac flicker of mischief and excitement he’d come to love waking up to everyday extinguished like the once blazing flame of a candle that someone came along and blew out. Like a walking corpse, a shell of the man whose ambition burned so bright it devoured him in flames.
More than anything, every time he looked at him, every instinct inside craved to steal back what Tomo had lost. If it weren't for his own common sense, he would’ve long since ran the miles and swam the seas parting them from the doors of Tenshukaku, sword drawn to cut down the lives of rugged men and mystical creatures and omnipresent gods barring him from tearing the cornerstone of his lover’s soul out of the cold clutches of a statue. But then if he did, and failed, who would take care of Tomo? Who would avenge his vision? Even the thought of leaving one day and Tomo never knowing what happened to him, resigned to a fate of slowly forgetting every piece of himself and Kazuha with no one there to remind him until he didn’t even know his own name anymore, made his heart clench. No, it wasn’t the time yet. He couldn’t make stupid, risky moves, hurt Tomo more than he already had been.
He leans down to softly kiss Tomo’s cheek, murmuring a quiet I love you against the soft skin. Tomo showed no response, still staring blankly into the flames with his eyelids growing droopier and droopier from the night’s exhaustion as Tama slept in his arms.
I love you so, so much. I’ll be by your side no matter what our futures hold.
That night they sleep curled up together in front of the slowly dying warmth of the hearth, all three of them. Tomorrow he knew there was a good chance Tomo would wake up not knowing who he was, or the same emptiness as usual, and he still wasn’t sure what was worse. If the snowstorm wasn’t still raging he’d go to collect more firewood, a difficult job to handle alone, and clean and cook without a moment's rest to keep them both comfortable. He’d pour over their maps of Inazuma again, planning where they’d head off to when the tides of war turned and they no longer had the comfortable protection of living on resistance territory. When they finally reached a port perhaps they could get on a ship and finally escape into guaranteed safety, and stay wherever the sea would take them until word arrived that the war was won. Liyue seemed the shortest distance away, their best option, though they would take one to anywhere so long as it ensured their safety from the decree.
But for now, they are not two runaways, two threats to eternity, and Tomo is far from reach of lightning’s glow. They’re safe and warm inside, guarded from howling winds and frigid cold to indulge in each other’s comforting warmth and forget for a moment the worries tomorrow and the coming days held. Tonight they are just ronins, two wanderers who slowly fell in love over cups of bitter sake and shared chaste kisses under falling maple leaves.