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The train came to a halt at the mostly empty station, and Uruha felt like his heart did as well. The piercing screech of the brakes brought back memories of how grating every word felt when he'd learned of Kunishige's death, only now, no words were needed. He was there himself, to witness years of love and devotion slip away, once again helpless, once again too late.
He should have turned his attention to the enemy or closed his eyes entirely, anything to stop the flowing blood, if only in his mind, but Uruha didn't know anyone who would look away from the sun being extinguished. A bitter thought passed through his head that he didn't know many people at all. It never mattered before. Kunishige's light and its eclipsing absence that followed were blinding enough to cover him from others' eyes. A lovestruck hero. A grieving wreck. Uruha came to expect to be left alone to his musings and his tears, so when another light peeked under the umbra and told him off for sleeping with a blanket over his head way past noon and brought in half-cooled off lunch, Uruha didn't know how to react. Only for a moment — he quickly snapped at the guard and kicked him out of the room, but some of that brightness still lingered, and Uruha felt sick to his stomach because he was not supposed to feel good anymore. He didn't touch the food until hours later, when it'd gone cold completely and he was so hungry he could pretend the soggy noodles and hardened rice were his punishment instead, and when he finished, behind the clinking of the chopsticks he thought he could hear a relieved sigh from the other side of the door. The reds of the sunset rested on his cheeks. He did not get up to check if it was real.
Something in his heart had told him that it was, and something in his heart was tearing itself apart to not accept the four figures of the men he'd grown too close to as anything other than a vision. In his seat, separated from them by more than just a layer of glass, Uruha was carved out of the world, a familiar feeling that he had embraced at Kokugoku Fortress, now wrapped tightly around him and holding his breath in anticipation to hear him break.
He'd love to sit next to them. Looking up at the endlessly beautiful sky, watching the clouds pass, his palm tentatively sliding towards his bodyguard's, their fingers intertwining for everyone to see, and smile to themselves, and tactfully turn away when Uruha pulls him into a kiss. Bleeding out, trickles of red mixing in common failure, heart trembling in fear of letting his bodyguard see him die and breaking for the last time when life leaves him first. Anything but this excruciating loneliness.
But death was playing favorites, back in the war and today at Kokugoku, because if death was fair, the mocking little marten on the other end of the cabin would drop dead before he got a chance to speak, his cold rustling voice exposing the sharp meaninglessness of the scene just behind the window. Uruha knew how much his life was worth, another four bodies now stacked atop that price, so he would not flinch, would not abandon his isolation for an instant of selfish comfort. All he could do was pray for not a second more to pass by. Maybe then there would still be a chance.
He had prayed for it once before.
The station fades away, into a distant future, and the seat under him turns into the wooden boards of Kokugoku's engawa. He hears a burst of laughter from the closest hot spring, followed by loud splashing. Autumn wind touches his untied hair. He is happy.
He is, but it's the happiness that feeds the coiling anxiety. How long before he's robbed of it again?
His bodyguard's figure flickers between the trees, still beaming as he wrings out his bathrobe, and when he notices Uruha and waves to him, hurrying over, Uruha does not wait, meeting him halfway instead. He's wasted so much time, months flying by as "guard" became a "bodyguard" became "his bodyguard", that every little moment spent without him feels like it's adding up somewhere, and Uruha can't live another fifteen years on his own. He lightly kisses his lips and allows himself to be carried back to the fortress, so when they sit down, his clothes are just as damp.
— What happened to you? — Uruha laughs, shifting in the now uncomfortable fabric. His bodyguard glances to the side, and a new flush covers the one the steam gave him.
— No-o-othing. Look, it's going to rain soon anyway, — he deflects, pointing at the cirrus clouds unevenly coating the sky. — Not today, though. Maybe tomorrow?
Uruha sighs.
— I wish for there to not be a tomorrow.
It slips out accidentally, but Uruha can't say he didn't want it to, to draw power from being formed into words and be heard, both by the gods and by the person next to him.
— Uruha? — concerned, his bodyguard leans in closer, as if that'd help him make out the thoughts that worry Uruha. If they were palpable, they'd be smoke in the wind — Uruha sees that in his eyes, and it makes him smile.
— You misunderstand me, — it's hard for Uruha to stay pensive like that, but he knows it's going to keep coming back again and again. — Today is lovely. Tomorrow, there might not be any of this, any of-
He stops himself to not give any more strength to his fears, yet the quiet "you" just hurts more as he searches his bodyguard's face for a reaction.
— You're so... — a sigh of relief mixed with laughter. He takes Uruha's hand into his own, so warm against Uruha's cold fingers. — Just wish for a better tomorrow instead.
There's not a hint of mockery in his words, only a genuine desire to protect Uruha, so even the simplest advice sounds so full of love. He's not wearing his usual hat, the water droplets shining in his golden hair, and Uruha has to remind himself to breathe. "Effulgent," he thinks as he moves his other hand to touch them, and they stream down his fingertips, each one a gentle promise of a rainy day tomorrow that's going to be better than today.
— You're right.
His bodyguard's face lights up, and that's all Uruha needs to feel that it's the right choice. He makes a wish under his breath, enough for him to hear it, already imagining the tapping of the sun shower on his umbrella that they'd share, staying so close to each other and closer yet when it's over.
The next day comes and goes, and the fortress still stands, and his bodyguard is by his side, the hot water saving them both from catching a cold after laying down in wet grass. There is still worry, still doubt, but they've been washed away, and Uruha hopes they never find their way to shore. They have no light to guide them, after all.
He’s made the same wish since. Some days, it would give him something to tease his bodyguard about. Some days, he would get a drowsy "I told you so" in return as they drifted off to sleep, and Uruha could only smile, reminiscing about the day's events, and silently wish for a better one still.
Yesterday, those wishes fell on deaf ears.
The frame of the perfect picture hit the ground, and the sound of shattering glass brought Uruha back to reality. A quick draw of the sword, and blood was on his hands now, with no vengeful satisfaction but a quiet reminder of just how little time was needed to take someone's life. How long it must've been before the train arrived. Too long.
Uruha shook his head, turning his attention to Chihiro, whose eyes had but the embers of Kunishige's radiant determination at that moment, and it was up to Uruha to breathe the spark back into him, no matter how brightly the cunning rays of hope called him outside, piercing his chest at every second of indecisive inaction. He needed guidance more than ever, and this time, when he called out, he was answered.
The train sped up, the fight picked up the pace, and with a flash it was over, the steel of the enchanted blade as incandescent as the eyes behind it. Uruha's pupils drew in every last bit. He felt at ease, if for a moment, the warmth of reassuring confidence washing over him to take him even farther back, to when one man's gaze lit up his whole existence. Yet those memories didn't come, stilled by a terrible thought that crept inside the remains of his heart instead.
Did gaining that light back mean losing the other?
Nightfall was fast approaching. Autumn wind sent shivers through his bleeding arm. There was nothing more he could do. Just wish for a better tomorrow.