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To feel is to be weak.
He hadn’t noticed someone entering the room. Though to be honest, the person in question was so similar to the wind that it would have been more surprising if he noticed him at all. He’d only recognise his presence once he spoke, a light and soft voice complementing those gentle eyes. They’re an angel’s eyes , he had said once before, when he couldn’t stop staring at them, during a time when he felt delirious from a recent battle. When he was riddled with losses and fatigue, yet it all disappeared when he saw those rose-colored eyes.
He was beautiful. And he knew it. So why did he feel so hollow?
To care is to give in.
The ronin starts speaking. Making mentions of other small things. Her Excellency was smiling a lot today, she spoke more than she usually would. The soldiers are spry and excited, is there another event happening soon? I spotted some familiar faces from the neighboring islands, it seems like things have been going well.
Yes, things are going well. He knew this. It did not take a blind person to realize this. Things were fine, there were very few problems, plans were occurring as anticipated, people were happy.
Last night, he spoke with his men. Witnessed their high spirits and palpable joy. The air was buzzing with energy, like many nights do, as small chats blossomed here and there around the mess hall. Smiles, laughs, cheers and yells of ‘huzzah!’ seemingly bounced off the walls of people. And in some cases, he was the center of attention, dedicating his words to his companions, his allies, his friends, his people. Things were good. Life was good. Nothing was wrong.
And it still felt wrong.
To love is to be vulnerable.
His partner was inching closer now. If he had been speaking himself, he couldn’t tell. Coming out in automated responses, nothing out of the ordinary, and his beloved still took it all in. Took the bait he ensnared in his empty, hollow words without a second thought. Or perhaps he had become too good at hiding himself?
Hiding the ugly intricacies of himself and passing off a ridiculously perfect image of his being?
And that would be fine, wouldn’t it? No one had to know. They didn’t need to know his ugliness. No one had to know him as he was.
If he had felt that his partner shouldn’t be with him, and instead continue to chase after that lover he lost a year ago. If he had felt that his soldiers shouldn’t be alive and should be buried in the ground. If he felt that the world felt ‘wrong’ just because it was happy.
No one had to know those thoughts belonged to him.
But why?
To be happy is to sacrifice.
Was it not more exhausting to hide? To conceal? To keep it locked away, shut tightly in a box with its key tossed into a never-ending well? Wasn’t it better if he could make his words known, his thoughts clear, and then let them all abandon him? The sting of abandonment, being left behind, couldn’t be as bad as the gut-wrenching stab that tore out of his stomach when his juniors thanked him for his weapon lessons. It couldn’t be as painful as the shattering feeling in his chest when her Excellency smiled at him, in gratitude, in grace, in everything that shouldn’t be showered upon him.
After all, he would still live, wouldn’t he? Being abandoned wouldn’t kill him. It wouldn’t hurt him.
Somehow, his partner is on top of him now. Showing affection, he realizes. It was a practice he often read in Her Excellency’s books, of couples bonding through close physical contact. Sometimes it was simple, other times it was not, and most of the time, it would elicit joy and elation. It should be evoking joy and elation. It should be.
But all he could feel was fear. Confusion. Terror .
He wasn’t being attacked, no, nothing of the sort was even remotely happening. There were no enemies, no dangers, no one around to blackmail him, nothing that could kill him, nothing that would snatch his life away with a single wave of its hand as if he was the smallest, most powerless creature alive. His room was dark, no one else in sight, his skin felt the pinpricks of cold air gently swaying past them both, and thought it made his partner let out a quiet shiver, he couldn’t even breathe.
This is wrong.
His lips were trembling. He couldn’t think. His mouth, was it speaking? What was he saying? Things he wouldn’t say normally? Things he shouldn’t be saying at all? Was it all nonsense? Hogwash? Gibberish? Anything?
The words felt so foreign. As if it wasn’t actually him speaking. It was a stranger, an unknown person, it wasn’t him . Nothing he said was coming from him . It wasn’t him .
This is wrong.
He was lying down now. Caught in a trap? No, this isn’t a trap. You know this. It’s not a trap, he’s just being affectionate. You know this.
A hand crawls up his arm. This is a coercion, isn’t it? This thing is trying to coerce me! But I can’t move! You’re not supposed to move, you aren’t being coerced! He’s being intimate, you’ve read about this before!
It’s leaning close. Closer. Closer. Why is it so close to my face? I’m going to die now, aren’t I? Should I at least stay still, and let it happen to me? Perhaps this is retribution, for all the times I’ve fooled everyone. For how much I pretend to be this perfect, wonderful, amazing person when in reality, I’d rather be dead.
This is wrong.
The darkness closes in. He feels breathless again. He can’t think. Whatever was in front of his eyes before has changed, transforming into a hulking mass of black, encroaching into his view like a spider about to consume its prey.
It hurts.
Why does it hurt? He deserves this.
But it still hurts. You deserve this.
He wants it to stop. But he deserves this.
What happens next turns into a blur. He doesn’t register a voice calling his name, not until he’s already drowning into the bottomless ravine in his head. He can feel himself tumbling, down, down, down further into himself.
And suddenly, nothing.
“He had a panic attack again.”
There was a sting in his tone. Like an arrow piercing through the pregnant silence between them. The high priestess almost wanted to take a jab back at him, a retaliation that very few have ever witnessed. Yet in his presence, it was easy to release her calm demeanor. A companion from war will forge unbreakable ties after all.
Though she probably couldn’t anyway since the matter in question involved her dearest friend.
“It has been getting worse.” She spoke instead, tucking away her worry into the depths of her heart. “I thought it had been the worst when you were not around, but now I fear there is little anyone can do.”
“How long has this lasted for? From the very beginning? Since I left? Since the first time?”
“I thought he had told you… The first time you saw him was not the first.”
“So it has been ages.”
“It has.”
What they had was a staggered conversation; sentences thrown across each other, one after another momentary pause. She could not see her guest’s eyes; he had held his gaze on the floor ever since he entered her tent. But it didn’t take much to fathom the dissatisfaction that was written on his face, the way the gentle breeze that entered her presence was gradually churning into a tempest. She couldn’t blame him.
But what use is there to blame herself?
His voice was tempered like steel. “He doesn’t deserve this.” was his declaration. How ironic that his words were not hardened by his family’s blades but by his will to protect. “He… This isn’t… This should not have happened.”
“Kazuha-”
“You do not understand how terrifying it is.” Finally, he looks up, and she realizes why he shied his eyes away from her. If not to conceal his anger, then it was to conceal his grief. “I was right there. He was looking into my eyes. He looked fine .”
“And then in the next moment, he… He almost died . In my arms.”
The heart was a beautifully terrible thing. In a moment of bliss, it could bring about the warmest, fuzziest feelings of one being in love. And yet all it takes is a single, fickle change in environment, for the heart to sink to the deepest caverns of the tumultuous oceans. All it took was for a body to become limp in his embrace.
His beloved had almost died.
“He … he stopped breathing , Kokomi.” In an act of uncultured defiance, honorifics were dropped. “I could not hear his breathing. His eyes looked awful, his skin felt cold and clammy , he stopped moving.”
“He is alive, Kazuha.”
“That’s not the point!” An ill-timed decision of comforting him had instead unleashed a sliver of that tempest. Kokomi felt as though she would be flung to her desk like a rag doll. Much to her relief, was how the ronin had collected himself. His hands, once clenched by his sides, now clasped together so tightly they were turning white. As if he tried to hold hands with him.
“I thought I was going to lose him”
Ah, of course he would fear so. How could he not, if he had already lost a beloved before?
“You will not.” She assured him, crouching down to comfort the crying man. Rhythmically patting his back to soothe him. “I won’t let it happen.”
She paused then, gauging his reaction, and chose to stop. Not because she deemed it appropriate, but because she feared saying more would cause her to crumble in equal measure. Kokomi was a high priestess, a leader, a tactician. All of those were true. But nothing could compare to her distraught state when she found Kazuha sprinting towards her with the unconscious general in his arms. Nothing could compare to her tireless healing, her best efforts to keep her dear friend alive.
They did not share affections. None at all. And yet, the tug on her heart never lessened after he and Kazuha got together. She would still treat him, and has always treated him, the same as before, regardless of their own personal lives.
Perhaps this was why she too felt tempted to crumble. Because in this scenario, in this state her general was in, she could do nothing . The dozens of books she had read to prepare herself for war, even those that included educational information on preserving one’s mental health, all said the same thing; his trauma could originate from anywhere . His panicked state could originate from anywhere .
So unless she was a certified doctor (which she was not), she could do little to help.
Kokomi chose to pocket that thought again. It was probably better to not think about it, when she still needed to comfort Kazuha. Perhaps in doing so, she would learn how to comfort herself.
Beside them, their dearest canine general laid sleeping.