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Hanzo pours the water slowly, and the room alights with the aroma. It’s a herbal concoction that Kuai is particularly fond of, and as they grow the leaves on their land, Hanzo saw no reason to oppose his particular tastes. Even if, to him, it’s bland. Though, he supposes it’s hard for a dead man to particularly taste much, even after his bones were reanimated.
He stirs each cup of tea slightly, with a surprisingly gentle touch. He’s been working on it, truly. Oftentimes, his love would shoo him from the kitchen after he cut through the chopping mats when making dinner. He’d watch from the doorway, pretending to complain, but he’s always loved watching Kuai work. He was a masterclass in every domain, and Hanzo is enthralled by him.
Carefully, very carefully, he picks up each cup and carries them to the table. They’re both warm, probably too hot, but he knows testing them on the back of his fingers would be a waste of time. What is over-boiled tea to a man with so much fire that it transcends even the literal sense? He simply opts to adjust them so that they’re perfectly ready to grab when Kuai comes down the hall.
It won’t be long, now. He goes to put away the kettle, tucking it in their cabinet, and stores all the plants he had brought in from the garden. He is brushing down his hands on his trousers when he sighs, steadying himself in the reminder that this life is real. After so long, he has it. Peace. There’s nothing to fight anymore, at least there hasn’t been any call to arms for the two of them. He can live with that.
There’s still a small box in the corner of the room, by the doorway to the rest of the world. He crosses the room, taking a small sip of his own tea, as he goes to pull out the excess of china and cutlery that they never really got round to sorting. He wonders if the plate with the actor’s signature was a gift from him, or if it was re-gifted along the way. He doesn’t think too much about it. Hanzo simply relishes in being able to stack plates in a cupboard.
He folds up the box, tucks it neatly away in one of the drawers, and stands there. By now, he’d thought he’d be able to hear Kuai stirring. Sure, he was due a lie-in, but even this was extreme for Kuai. He’s usually so punctual that it’s scary, though he supposes training never truly falters. Even after all this time. Hanzo glances at the window to gauge the time.
It’s frosted over. He can feel the heat rise in his chest, but lower in their little home. It reminds him too painfully of how he lost this peace in the first place, and he wants to run. He wants to grab his weapons, suit up, and fight. He stands, listening intently for any rumble, any breath, anything at all. But there’s nothing too alarming. All he hears is the creak of the roof in the wind, and a small but persistent chirp of a bird outside.
“Kuai?” Hanzo tries. In the silence of the house, he supposes that his love can hear him. He doesn’t get a response. He goes to leave the kitchen, his fists clenched, reminding himself of where he keeps his gear. Out of sight, but never out of mind.
Down the corridor, he sees the door to a room they have yet to even think about unpacking left wide open. He frowns as he tightens the loose way his hair is held back behind his head, readying himself, preparing for the worst when all he knows is that it’s colder than usual. Then again, that’s never been a particularly good sign. He rolls his neck as he swings around the door.
Kuai sits there, in the far corner of the room, hunched over himself. He’s covering his eyes as if he’s seen something horrific, and Hanzo is sure he has. His shoulders relax some as he crosses over the threshold of boxes, wondering how Kuai had ended up here of all places, though he supposes that all he wanted to do was get away from what troubled him in the first place.
“Kuai, my love,” he says, his voice as soft as he can make it. He gets no response, not even a quiver. Hanzo takes a deep breath. “Can you hear me?”
There’s not a peep. So Hanzo settles in, and starts to talk until he’s certain he’s being heard.
“I made you some tea, the type you like. It’s waiting for you, though I suppose I can bring it in, if you’d like,” Hanzo says, looking around the room. He sees that one of the boxes is open, the few and far between reminders that Kuai keeps of his childhood precariously on show. “They’ll be lucky, you know. Whoever grows in this room.”
Kuai sniffs, Hanzo isn’t convinced it’s in response, but he takes it as a good sign regardless. He folds his hands on his lap. He breathes in, deeply once again, trying to elicit the same from the man he sits by, but he’s not doing a very successful job. He’s not sure how to approach this, if he’s honest. It’s usually, terribly, the other way around. He kicks himself for how panicked he was just a moment ago.
“The sun’s up very high today,” he says, looking past the frosting on the windows of the room. He can hear it slowly climb the glass. “The garden is doing very well, too. I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad you’re here with me.”
No response, still. Hanzo thinks back to what Kuai would say to him, how he would approach this, but he pulls up blank. Hearing the rough breathing of the man he sits by, the ragged chokes on air as he tries to ground himself makes his heart ache in a dozen ways. He wants to be the strong man who, lifetimes ago, swore to protect him.
He wants to reach out, but he’s unsure what he’s even seeing. What if that hurts him more? Hanzo couldn’t live with himself if he allows that to happen, especially after everything the two of them have been through together. The heat in his chest is spreading to his finger tips, and he wants to be able to help. He wants to break this man out of what he’s going through.
Hanzo lives in nightmares. Every night he relives the life he’s been given, every putrid aspect clawing at him with fear and pain. He knows Kuai gets them too, but he’s always so quiet that he never knows until the morning. Whereas Hanzo destroys everything in his path, thrashing and unstoppable. Kuai is simply frozen by what he sees.
With a deep breath that is more for him, he extends a hand and rests it on Kuai’s arm. Immediately, his love begins to fight back, but at least his eyes are uncovered, and he’s staring at Hanzo with so much anger that it reminds him intimately of their old conflict. It’s never been like Kuai to hold him to this. He wonders if this is what he’s seeing. He hopes it isn’t.
“Kuai, my love, you need to breathe,” Hanzo says over the rugged, awful noises that escape Kuai’s throat. He keeps his light grasp on his arm, and pulls it away from his face to flatten his hand out from a fist. He runs his thumb along the creases of his palm as he begins to shudder.
“Can’t.”
“You can’t breathe?”
“No.”
“That’s alright, Kuai,” Hanzo says, because he knows he’s trying, and he knows that it’s not nice to be told to do something you can’t. “Can you see?”
“Yes,” Kuai says, then pauses as he clears his throat. “No.”
“Explain to me what’s happening.”
“Can’t.”
Hanzo nods, unaware if Kuai can make it out. He reaches out for his other hand, pulling it away from where it digs into his cheek, happy to not find resistance. He holds both of his hands as Kuai splutters around whatever lump is in his throat. Everything in him is begging him to just hold the man until he comes round, both to help him out, and for selfish reasons such as protecting him in a way he couldn’t others.
It’s with this selfish need to prove to himself that he can help those he loves that he rests Kuai’s hands on his shoulders and reaches out to pull the man closer to him. He ignores the shiner that the headbut to his jaw will inevitably cause, because the second he envelops the man, he feels him break down into sobs. Now sure that he is safe, whatever Kuai sees begins to seep from his body.
Hanzo holds him. He’s shaking, but as he breathes deeply as he has been, he eventually feels the body he holds to his own do the same. The arms around him tighten and loosen sporadically as he tries to regain his grasp on reality, the crook of Hanzo’s neck where he chooses to bury his face to hide from it all. Hanzo keeps one hand in his hair, the other on his back, holding him close.
When the final broken gasp of air seems to filter into the room, and Kuai remembers what his lungs are there for, the shaking dies down. But Kuai remains, as strong as he always is, in the position. He holds on to Hanzo, tightly and securely, as his breathing truly levels out to a standard any trained warrior would be jealous of. Hanzo certainly is.
“Kuai?” Hanzo tries. He feels more than hears the sigh from the man in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Hanzo,” he says. “I will not let it happen again.”
“Please do not say that. You have been through so much,” Hanzo says. He swallows. “You cannot keep it in.”
Kuai is silent, because isn’t that what he would always say to Hanzo whenever he got the silly idea of apologising for something he cannot control? He just holds on to Hanzo tighter, clutching to the man with such a force that Hanzo is sure his shirt will rip if they stay like this.
“I made you some tea,” he muses as he helps Kuai sit up straight. He reaches out to brush a tear from his eyes, being careful with the scarred one. He knows how Kuai gets touchy about it sometimes. “We can sit outside and-”
“I lost you,” Kuai mutters. Hanzo shuts his mouth instantly. “Again. I couldn’t… I wasn’t able to…”
“I’m here, my love,” Hanzo says and cups his face to look into his eyes; his gorgeous, beautiful eyes. He hates seeing the glossy fear that has overtaken them. “Unfortunately for you, you insisted I stay with you for as long as we both shall live.”
“I only regret that sometimes,” Kuai says with a small laugh, before he launches himself back into Hanzo’s arms. Hanzo squeezes him, light with the knowledge that he’s lying so obviously that it’s delirious. “You’re so warm, my dear.”
“And you’re awfully cold,” he says, smiling into Kuai’s hair. It’s soft, like he’d showered recently. He presses his lips against his head, and relishes in the happy breath that caresses his neck as he does. “Do you want that tea, now?”
“I could definitely go for some.”
“Come on then, I’m sure it’s drinkable by now.”
Kuai shakes his head with a smile as they untangle themselves, though he does not let go of Hanzo’s hand as he hauls his love to his feet. They both do a quick scan of their unpacked room before they leave. Hanzo goes to close the door behind him when he notices that the frost has melted. It won’t be gone forever, but he enjoys the way the ray of light shines into the spots in between the boxes
He watches as Kuai’s face tries to stay stoic, or at least a bit under control, as they go to get their tea. When they get to the kitchen, they sit at the table, hand in hand, in utter silence. All they do is occasionally sigh with a bit of content, a bit of a lump in their throat, or a bit of both. They’ll go outside, soon, for a walk. Clear their heads, exist without having to look over their shoulder, without conflict or hatred
He places down his cup and watches Kuai look out of the window. The light catches his face in a way that makes Hanzo’s heart sing. He looks positively tranquil, holding his own tea up to his lips as he lets the world return to him. It’s a quiet life, one that they’ve fought for, one that they’ve died for, and one they will never quite get used to.
After everything, it’s difficult, but it’s worth it. Kuai meets his eyes again, smiling softly, and Hanzo smiles at him back. Oh, how it’s worth it.