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He wasn't sure how could he end up like this: having a name (divine enough), living in a nice house (not his own, a shared one), and with a person who was supposed to kill him (Niwa's descendant of course).
Normally people would like such a peaceful situation. But it's not the same with Fujin - as the Traveler called him - who has not known many things other than pain throughout his miserable life. He's just moved back to Inazuma just to live with this certain Kaedehara for a while after Lesser Lord Kusanali's advice. She came to a conclusion after arguments and said it was for his own good, but he considered any kind of good things to be just pure torment. He agreed since he still owed her in some way though. Then he was sitting at the table in their house's kitchen, cutting some vegetables so Kazuha could cook them later.
"You seem unfocused. Not used to cutting veggies?"
That young samurai again, the one who always "smelled" things in the air and accused him of everything.
"I'm more used to cutting people's faces, like yours."
Fujin replied harshly, and Kazuha chuckled over that. Ridiculous. Can this man even hate though? Fujin wished he could ever try doing the same for a few days.
Kazuha stood beside him and picked up the half-peeled potato. He investigated it as if to find any point that was missed, and Fujin immediately took that back. Unintentionally, the knife he was holding left a small cut on the other's finger. He gasped though didn't need to breathe, the potato on his hand felt much heavier. Kazuha calmly cleaned the wound and still with that smiley face, he assured him.
"It's okay, just a small cut. See?"
But Fujin wasn't okay. He feared the fact that he was filled with hatred and that maybe someday he would hurt Kazuha more badly. Even if it was just a small cut, he wished it was him instead. He mumbled "sorry" under his breath, tried his best not to show any hesitancy when he sat back down and continued peeling the potato.
---
He helped with the cooking, didn't he? Then why did seeing the food in front of him feel... wrong?
"You know I don't need food to survive, then what's this extra plate?"
"But you do enjoy food, right? I'm not that selfish to just cook for myself."
"And you enjoy doing nonsense, don't you?"
Kazuha pushed the plate close to Fujin and shoved the chopsticks into his hand. "Just try", he insists. He followed the family's traditional recipe and as far as he knew about Niwa and Kabukimono's story, there's no way Fujin would hate it. If there to be something that Kazuha wasn't aware of at that moment, it was that delicious food never meant good food.
And even Kazuha got injured in the process. But how could he resist those kind red eyes? Some grabs wouldn't kill, not to say he was immortal in the first place.
Tatarasuna was covered by the ocean so fish was a popular cuisine back then. Boiled, grilled, dried, etc. And especially this kind of grilled fish, it hit too close to home. It was used to bring butterflies into Kabukimono's stomach, but after hundreds of years, it started to feel like dirt that buried all of those sparkling creatures deep under.
Fujin's stomach churned. Fortunately, his skin couldn't be any paler so Kazuha wouldn't detect his discomfort. They finished the meal, and Kazuha volunteered to wash the dishes because Fujin did the ingredients. Good. Then he could lock himself up and get sick in his own room and never let Kazuha know.
---
Fujin sat by the window and watched the nothingness outside. His stomach felt wrong. It hurt. Ridiculous, a puppet didn't even have the gag reflex to just empty it. Even a newborn human can do it to get rid of anything bothering their body, but he couldn't. It reminded him of the time he was with Dottore. He was forced to take several unlabeled potions and poisons, and was terrified by the mad doctor's laughter as soon as he found out that Scaramouche could not spit out any drop of them no matter how hurtful it could have been.
The only humanity he had was tears and feelings. Buer said he also could love, like a human, but he wasn't convinced. Feelings are for weaklings, among any kind of species. And how many were there of his species? That he was the weak one already.
Someone knocked on the door. Well, it was Kazuha, of course. Who else could be? Fujin slammed the door and showed off with a grumpy "What?"
"I brewed some green tea." Kazuha smiled, as always.
"You made me eat then drink? You're not the young master of the Kaedehara clan anymore to waste the supplies like that on me."
Fujin realized that his words may have hurt as he saw the slight frown on Kazuha's facade. He was about to say sorry, but then a twisted thought crept into his mind. This is the expression Kazuha should have shown toward him when he has just known the true story. Not smile, not sympathy, but frown and anger. They were more bearable since his broken soul couldn't hold any kindness. He smirks.
"Finally can't hold that gentle-man-like expression in front of me anymore?"
"I'm not-"
"Liar..." He shut the door between them before Kazuha could say something nice. He'd better keep that frown clear.
---
He craved for it - Kazuha's frown and anger - then why it was still not enough? He still felt that discomfort in his stomach, in the hollow right in the middle of his chest which was supposed to hold a heart. One was too full, one was too empty. Fujin kneeled by the toilet, wanting to do it but not knowing how. He thrust a finger down his throat. Useless. It just caused a sore throat.
Then he put his hand on his stomach - where he thought it should be. An Anemo swirl was summoned, successfully pushed the food out. No retching or coughing, it just - poured out. There were just some small sounds of thick fluid splattered down the toilet bowl. It left a fishy taste on his tongue, halfway digested though there wasn't bile or acid. It was still disgusting. For a moment, he felt fortunate. Kazuha would not sense this out since he didn't make loud noises. He did it over and over again until his stomach was emptied completely. It hurt, but it was a release.
He wiped his mouth and felt an instinctive urge to breathe, to gasp for air, to fill his synthetic lungs with something. But he preferred to be empty. His chest was empty, so was his stomach or his lungs. Those fake things didn't need any refill.
Fujin underestimated his humanity. He was a bit confused when the dark spots covered his vision and his limbs went numb. His eyes rolled and he fell unconscious, right in the bathroom, unflushed toilet. And there was a high rate that Kazuha would find it out...
"No."
---
Fujin woke up on the soft futon mattress, blanket up to his chin and warm towel on his forehead. He hadn't even had a fever, his skin was as cold as any unused furniture in this old house. It must have been another artwork made of Kazuha's obsession with nonsense kinds of stuff.
Speak of the devil. The white-haired boy entered the room and put a glass of warm water on the bedside chabudai.
"You're awake. How do you feel now?"
Kazuha frowned - not the one filled with sadness or hatred - but with worry. Fujin felt pathetic and pitiful. He quickly sat up and grabbed the towel off his forehead. He didn't look at Kazuha in the eyes - he feared. Kazuha must have felt disgusted, seeing what happened in the bathroom back then. Maybe he should think twice before living with any random criminal and malfunctioned puppet. He swallowed.
"Sorry... I'll leave if you want..."
"You didn't answer my question. How do you feel? Was it because of the food? Or for I forced you to eat?"
Fujin huffed.
"Why does it matter? If you're annoyed then I'm leaving. That's it."
Kazuha grabbed his arms when he was about to storm away. He was still weak but he couldn't bear Kazuha's gaze any longer, and maybe Kazuha felt the same with his existence. So should this be called anger?
"You're not going anywhere, at least until you're better. Stay. I didn't say anything about annoyance."
The grab felt like a frostbite on Fujin's arms. He snapped, but he was still too weak or Kazuha was so strong that he couldn't break free. Just like that time back then with Dottore. He was sent back to Dottore? He stopped pretending to hold his breath. He gasped. He shivered. He stuttered. He -
"I'm sorry... Let... let go off me... Please..."
His hands held up to cover his body from the non-coming hit. He closed his horrified eyes, didn't want to see the next move of the other. Who was that anyway?
"...jin. Fujin!"
Who was Fujin? He didn't know that name...
"Breathe with me. There, there, I'm Kazuha, you remember?"
Kazuha... Who was Kazuha too? Kazuha...
He slowly went back to reality, found himself sitting on the floor with Kazuha kneeling beside him.
"Kaedehara" was the last thing he managed to say before falling faint, again.
---
Fujin woke up again, on the same soft futon, but the sky was dark. It must be midnight, quite a long time after the accident. He curled up further into the blanket feeling too embarrassed. Kazuha saw.
His arms still felt like injuries at the places Kazuha grabbed. Were they really hurt, or it was just his imagination? A phantom pain? He didn't know so he wanted to make sure. Kazuha must be sleeping then, and Fujin sneaked into the kitchen, took a knife. The one wounded Kazuha back then.
Fujin hesitated, then made a slight cut on his wrist. No blood. How humble. What did he expect to be honest? The injury started healing as soon as the blade left its edge. He made another cut, close to where felt like a frostbite. Both hurt - the cut and the bite - in different ways. He was more eager, to cut over the "bitten mark" and hoped that when the cut healed, that phantom pain would also disappear.
"What are you doing?!" Kazuha came with a lamp. He rushed to Fujin's side and took the knife away.
The samurai got the from-nowhere-or-anywhere bandages and started covering the cuts.
"They'll heal, and there's no blood. You're doing nonsense again..."
Fujin said, with a more calm tone than before. He was tired of convincing Kazuha to be sense-ful.
The other didn't reply right away. His gentle touch on the puppet's arms felt nice and warm - and slowly the frostbite feeling disappeared.
Kazuha didn't ask further - which made Fujin felt grateful. He didn't want to tell about it or to answer anything. Kazuha in his comfy sleeping clothes seemed to be so informal, so peaceful. And for a split second, Fujin let exhaustion take him. He leaned forward and rested his head on the samurai's shoulder. The other tensed up a bit, but then covered his arms around the hurt puppet and caressed.
"It's okay now." He soothed.
Fujin didn't care much whether tomorrow would be painful or not, whether would Kazuha continue to do nonsense or not. The present felt nice and for once, he would let himself be vulnerable.