Work Text:
The one thing Kazuha is scared of is the conversations that threaten to rise from wherever they’re hiding in the middle of the night.
He knows the Wanderer has never been a morning person, often seen ambling about in the quiet comfort of the darkness, feelings he chooses only to share when it’s way past midnight, proposals of dances he only cares to bring down his pride for when all is dark, silent.
It’s as though a curtain is unveiled once the stars begin to cry, the pair only risking the regrets when the sun is long gone. When the moonlight begins to pool at their feet, when their shadows are not the only things intermingling — when their bodies dare to touch, dare to sing along with the warmth only they could revel in, only when there is no one watching.
Kazuha doesn’t know what to do. This has never happened before, never have their escapades sauntered so close to the point of no return — tilting off the edge of something real, something they couldn’t fake.
Is this his fault? — the trembling that comes from the Wanderer’s body, the tears that are so close to spilling over his cheeks, eyes shut tight. From the glow of the moon, Kazuha almost gets distracted with the way his long, dark lashes glisten with the tears. He’s the one who invited him to sleep, he’s the one who enticed him to absorb his fears until he wakes up screaming to the face of nightmares neither he or the Wanderer can escape from.
In this light, he’s no longer what he says he is; with all this vulnerability, with all this transparency, he’s reverted back into a boy — one understanding, one normal. One capable of feeling. One capable of experiencing pain or whatever it is he’s dealing with right now. Capable of spilling his heart out into the open like this, capable of showing it all, capable of trusting Kazuha enough to stay.
His worry mixes in with a newfound fondness he only discovers now, sitting still, resting in the center of his chest, blooming along with a courage he doesn’t back away from. Instead, he’s cautious when he steps closer. Does he have the right to do this — has he earned it? To be the Wanderer’s beacon, his guide back to the surface; have the whispers they’ve shared with one another progressed into something akin to an obligation, an affection Kazuha decides to present?
His hand reaches out from his side, and immediately, his warmth enshrouds the Wanderer’s body. He’s never really done this before; his arms are awkwardly draped over his figure, but he stiffens when he feels the body in his arms shake. But it’s not a sob that causes this; he never expects the dull laugh to break from his lips, dry with a tinge of disappointment Kazuha can only hope he has not caused.
“Do not think that this will help, not once,” he says, venom drifting along with his words; but instead of taking offense like the Wanderer hopes him to, Kazuha finds himself amused with the way his voice floats, carried along with a bout of melancholy Kazuha wants to memorize, ingrained into his brain, carved with a knife onto the stillness of his heart.
He wonders how the Wanderer could be so beautiful, even with the poison evident in his voice — he wants to take it apart, piece by piece; it intrigues him, how many emotions could be obscured behind a bitter facade, how much hidden meaning could underlie the simple directness of a tone. There’s so much mystery to the Wanderer, opposites of himself clashing with each other, so much ambiguity Kazuha wants to take with him and pack into the tiny confines of his throbbing chest.
How much hurt a person could carry, Kazuha doesn’t care — as long as he gets to share the weight, all is well.
“Don’t look at me like that, like — like I’m someone to be toyed with, like I’m someone who entertains you!” the Wanderer sneers, but Kazuha can detect the insincerity, see the way it reaches out in the glint of his lavender eyes.
He inhales through his nose, his lungs aching from the cold air. “I don’t intend to play with you,” Kazuha replies plainly, holding his position.
“That’s the only reason people tolerate me, don’t you dare lie — not to me, ” he says, but Kazuha sees through him, sees all the things he’s hiding, sees what he really, truly means.
“But I’m not lying,” says Kazuha, and gods, does the Wanderer hate it — he’s trying his absolute fucking best to maintain his composure, trying his best to be calm, trying his best not to crumble. Trying his best not to seem weak, frail, Archons, trying to seem anything but delicate, and here the Kaedehara is: spouting sentences short and blunt like all that he says is clear as water in the daytime. It brings a tug, a squeeze to his empty chest, and it irritates him that there is nothing there.
“I don’t understand you, Kaedehara. Why do you keep up with me?” His eyes hold suspicion, but no hostility.
Kazuha answers, and the Wanderer decides he would much prefer a nonexistent heart rather than a throbbing one.
“Because I am fond of you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am fond of you, Wanderer. I am fond of you, I care for you, I love you, and I wish to stay by your side.”
The Wanderer’s lips are downturned, tugged downward in a way that indicates his disbelief. “You don’t just say things like that, Kaedehara. Especially not to someone who won’t take it lightly.” His voice is quieter this time, reclused. Like he’s thinking.
Kazuha knows what he means. He’s done that before — dug in too deep into what others say, taken it into heart what they say despite the casualty. An offhand comment, a compliment only meant to loosen the mood, he’d engrave it into the characteristics of his very existence, allowing it to define who he is.
“But what I say is the truth,” he replies, curt. There is no reason for him to say anything else, because it’s pure, it’s real. “I really am.”
“Your first mistake,” says the Wanderer, “is allowing yourself to feel. Feel for another. Feel for someone like me.” he sucks in a breath, refusing to meet Kazuha’s eyes. “I’m warning you now — before you break yourself, before you break me. Don’t be tempted to explore.”
“But if I want to?”
The Wanderer smiles. “Then there is no more stopping you. Hate me, love me for all I care. I’m only saying that feeling anything other than indifference towards me is dangerous already.”
“Then I’ve succumbed to the danger already,” Kazuha says. “And I do love you.”
The boy before him scowls, face twisted into a disgust that doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s all up front isn’t it — all just for show? “I truly hope you don’t mean that; you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I do, really.”
The Wanderer pauses, takes a while to sort through his thoughts before speaking, voice a whisper in the dark, “Do you know how many people have said that?”
“No,” Kazuha says, unaware of where this is going.
“Countless, dozens — more than I would like to remember. All claiming that they love me, that they would stay with me. They all promised they would.” The Wanderer laughs again, brittle, fragile; Kazuha’s scared to breathe, scared to shatter what’s left of him.
“And do you know how many have kept that promise?”
“No,” he replies again.
“Zero. None. All of them have gone, all of them have seen what I truly am — I’m too much for them, Kaedehara, and I don’t think you’re special enough to be an exception.” There’s a finality to his words, like the Wanderer’s done with it all. Like there’s no more room for objections, like this experience has been far too frequent for him to care too deeply about anymore.
“No,” he says, and says it like it’s conclusive, like the conversation is over. He won’t allow this, he can’t. His next sentence is whispered, sung in a breathy tone that could rival that of the wind. “I don’t break promises, Wanderer.”
“You’re only saying that now. Sooner or later, you’ll end up like the rest of them, and you’ll leave me to rot,” he spits out. His voice almost breaks. There’s a desperation laced deep into his voice, an inclination.
“I won’t.” As if to prove his point. He unravels himself from the Wanderer’s body (he doesn’t miss the way the Wanderer leans toward him in the slightest, as though missing the contact), and situates himself beside him, limbs touching — shoulders pressed up against each other, hands entwined. Thoroughly connected. “I promise.”
It’s a single question, single word, single syllable that leaves the Wanderer’s lips. “Why? ”
“I already told you,” Kazuha lets a laugh flit along with his voice.
“Say it again, then,” the Wanderer says, frowning.
“Because I love you.”
The Wanderer’s frown remains. “Again, please.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“A — ”
He can’t speak when Kazuha’s lips are pressed to his, and he can feel his body temperature rising, chest heaving though he has no need for air. He can feel the warmth from his crimson eyes spread, glazing over his body like a blanket only he has access to.
“Do you still need me to say it again?” Kazuha teases.
“No more,” the Wanderer breathes out.