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The Huntsman's Roses
To the traitor I want to love
He was the first time I fell in love.
It wasn’t the romantic sort of love. He would never allow it, and after everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t allow it either. No one’s ever told me how you’re supposed to distinguish romantic and platonic attraction, anyway, much less romantic and platonic love.
But I loved that man.
And I loved him like crazy.
We fought often. Too often. I was a bully and he was…an asshole. An insufferable asshole. But something about him was enchanting. Something about him drew me in and kept me there. When we traveled between battles and skirmishes, I was always beside him, though I dared not look at him. One look into those eyes and I couldn’t hate him anymore. One look into those eyes and I would be in love.
But I already was.
I always had been.
We fought often. No, all the time. But his words came from a place of anger, a temporary sort of anger, and just as often as we fought, that anger would disappear. He would treat me like a normal human, like a human at all. That was new to me.
And later, he would treat me like a friend.
That was new to me too.
We exchanged words often. Too often for samurai on a journey. A mission. We were going to the most dangerous place yet, one called the Arachnis fortress. There wasn’t room for friendly words, but we exchanged them anyway, even if they didn’t seem friendly at first.
Then there was the time he held my hand.
That was new.
It wasn’t the last hand I held, but it was the first. We were under the stars then, and it feels wrong to stand under them without him, without his hand in mine. Holding his hand then, that was one of the last times I felt human.
One of them.
There was another time.
Another person.
There was Vera.
I met her when I met the captain of my first division, whose name I must withhold. Surely you understand—classified information and all. But when I met the captain, Vera was with her, and while Vera wasn’t the first thing I saw upon waking up after that man destroyed everything—that was the sun—she was the most beautiful.
I could bore you with passages upon passages detailing how much she looked like a flower or a sunset or an angel. I’ve written them. But that wasn’t what was important about Vera. That’s not what I remember her for.
I most remember her kindness.
I was torn apart. My arm was missing. My leg was torn off. Pieces of my face were gone. My eye had been ripped out. I was dying under that burning sun when the captain and Vera found me, and the first thing I remember Vera doing was smiling, smiling at me. It was a beautiful smile, a smile so full of kindness I thought I didn’t deserve. But part of me knew I did, and it wouldn’t have known if it wasn’t for the man who destroyed everything.
That bastard showed me what kindness was.
Vera is gone now. Everything was ripped away from me all over again. But our life together was wonderful, and I never could have had that if that man never held my hand.
I say that like I ever moved on from him.
Like Vera was my “true love,” the end goal.
She was a piece of it.
That man?
In some way, he was the other piece.
Adachi Hayato, I resent you. Adachi Hayato, you are unforgivable. But if everything could go away, if there was some explanation for it all, I would want to look at the stars with you again. If we could unravel our suffering and take back the scars we have been burdened with at the other’s hand, I would want you to hold my hand in yours again.
In another time, another place, I would want to be by your side.
But this is the way it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? We’re supposed to hate each other. We’re supposed to fight. We’re supposed to want to see the other dead on the ground, bleeding out the last of his life. After all, we once said war is our peace.
I only wish we could be on the same side of that war.
You are the night, and I wish you could be the day. You are my storm, and I wish you could be my clear sky at the end. You are my thorns, and I wish you could be my roses.
I hate you with everything I have, and I love you with so much more.
Yours, in another time,
Satoshi