Work Text:
Her head aches.
Light is pouring in slowly from the entrance of the cave, painting watercolour lines onto her bookshelves, and Kokomi audibly sighs. Another sunrise. She wonders if she’ll ever sleep through.
It’s been days since the pain eased up, stumbling from meeting to conference to talk with her skull pounding and a solid half of her consciousness. She’s been sleeping, when she can. But there’s just always so much to do.
She knows, in generations before, that others could do this. Kokomi is a prodigy, a genius, the priceless heirloom of a revered bloodline, yet more and more these days, she stumbles. Nothing like this should be difficult. The leader of Watatsumi is supposed to know, is supposed to be, better. She doesn’t understand why she’s not.
Because she does everything. Kokomi meets every deadline, hand writes every policy, dictates supplies, manages each alley of complaints- she’s superhuman, some say, to survive all that work. But it shouldn’t be a task to begin with. She’s less than she should be, in every way.
In the lines between her penmanship there are exhaustion-fuelled tears, and in the silence, there sits the ache; it mimics the thrum in her head, pulsing like a war drum, and sits snugly in the space under her ribs. She doesn’t know how much longer she can take.
But, well, there’s just no time to stop. Even though the war has ended, her duty never will- she has to make her people proud. She cannot be less than perfect. In this moment? She doesn’t even feel halfway to good.
Her nose is bleeding, marking the documents on her desk with crimson stains, and her eyes burn. The governors take her quick work as an invitation as much as a threat, and her swift compliance only burdens her with more work. There’s no easy way out. There is only this unique matter of time.
And time, when you live like this, is more important than yourself- Kokomi stares at the pink light flooding into the cave with a fateful recognition, and knows she might not make it through the year. But for now she must keep going.
Because there’s dependency, you see. Some people will never be free. Nothing given is ever good.
When she feels herself start to slip, start to consider the safest ways, she’s dragged almost strategically to meetings, and sees sunken, shattered faces of people who need her. She can’t let her people down. She can’t be the reason for the dark in their eye.
Her pile of paperwork grows steadily, day by day, as Watatsumi’s independence blossoms. Every good thing becomes a chore. She has yet to live a day of freedom. She’ll never get out of this cave.
When she speaks to her people, she is emboldeningly strong. The Sangonomiya tribe set their standards high, and their expectations just above- when she is seen, she is someone new. If people need her, they need that someone else. She’s just a vessel for all the love she has left to give.
And really, none of this would matter if not for the pang in her chest; nothing could break her like this except herself. Kokomi has lived her life in her own shadow. She’s nothing without anyone else. She’s nothing at all besides the right now.
The right now… God, something about her every move is pathetic, even more than weak. Her shaking hands grip the cup of water Gorou brought late the night before, and she gags as she swallows it down. Her mouth tastes stale. She’ll never know a normal life again.
The priestess is so tired of being anything but her titles- with the names should come grandeur. She disgraces her own ideas. It’s a lose-to-win.
So, she does everything. Each sheet of paper is noted to perfection, altered in even the most miniscule of ways, and her eyes strain to read in the haze dawn brings over her secret home. No one noticed she was gone. It’s almost as though they expect this from her now.
If it was just the work, she might be okay; Kokomi loves words, strategy, anything she can force to make sense. It doesn’t work the same with anyone else. She keeps documents filled with notes on every person she’ll ever love, and still doesn’t know if the general ever means what he says.
Gorou struggles too, but she almost wishes she just had his worries to hold. The general is earnest, sweet, bright, but troubled. He’s a partner solid as stone, and a presence to ease the soul, but he’ll never truly get the intensity of how she feels. Emotions, to Kokomi, are something that belong to her alone. After all, no one ever does know what to say.
Three points. Three points. Five points. Every drop of her is stolen for everyone else, and she doesn’t even know what’s worse- the demands of her people, or the concern of her friends and people she loves. She’s never going to be a ruler. But she hasn’t come to terms with being broken just quite yet. The river of stars awaits her turn.
Talking makes her feel like she’s been shot, and every new job is added to a list that became incoherent weeks ago. Gorou begs her to take a break. A rest will never be enough. So she doesn’t try.
But, well… it’s 6am. Her hair tugs on her scalp from its ponytail, falling into her face the second she lets it loose, and falls back into her chair with an almost-cry. She’s never been so tired. She doesn’t know what to do.
Even when she’s away, she’ll never be free. The hardest part of burning out is never knowing why, and feeling like you haven’t done enough to deserve this pain. Exhaustion sets deep into aching bones. The night is so, so long.
So, she counts. She counts, and plans, and knows that this is her break but ends up here every day because she doesn’t know what she is without it, and it’s so excruciatingly beautiful and sad that her heart shatters for herself. Gorou will be here with tea soon, she is almost sure. All she wants is for everything to stop.
The people are watching. There is reputation, and expectation that prevents her from falling into her dependable general’s arms. But her eyes close, for a second, and for a while, it is all gone.