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Kazuha woke up that morning to a sight he would cherish for years. His beloved husband was curled close into the warmth of his human body, nose nestled in the crook of his neck. Arms loosely wrapped around his waist, puppet joints on full display, as he rested there in such blissful peace. Even asleep, everything about his husband was beautiful and tranquil. The love bites that lay within perfect view darkened over time. Surely, able to be hidden underneath the sheerness of the bodysuit the puppet wore. If not, Kazuha would be sure to face retribution from an angry cat, as he would be embarrassed to be caught in situations where he must answer personal questions. Thankfully, according to Nahida's testimony, the scholars who usually surround Wanderer know how to give space when it's needed.
Heart aching terribly with love, the ronin couldn't help but shift his embrace just enough so he could wrap his arms around the petite body, pulling him in impossibly closer. The silver-blond knew that moments such as these, their slow, intimate affections, had grown in number. At the beginning, although Wanderer has ‘humored’ the musings of a poet, as so he put, but when it came to the surprises kisses the human wished to make, or the way he drifted closer, finding his cool, puppet body a comforting presence, there was always a subtle shift, a subtle tenseness that made him frown. Keeping their boundaries known, the humans never pushed. Only to make sure that they wouldn't have to push each other away. Simple, strange mannerisms were sprinkled across their relationship. Times when he would tenderly cup his cheek, his indigo eyes looked haunted and distant, but still full of love and adoration.
Other times, an idea to be mischievous enough to give a little jumpscare, Wanderer would look at the human as if he were a *threat.* Initially, he chalked it up to not being used to an intimate relationship like theirs. Or, physical touch as gentle and light as this. As the days passed, benign actions began to be well accepted, even craved for. Wanderer drifted closer to the warmth of a human, if his own hands felt cold and bloodied, fingers twitching for security. For the steadiness and foundation Kazuha provided. Each time, it was met with a side glance toward the puppet, lips quirking up in a quiet smile. A subtle ‘always for you,’ to reassure those ugly voices that lingered in the back of his husband's mind.
With time, when they began to desire more from each other, that went past their sweet kisses or their passing contact of pinkies, Kazuha answered all those unanswered questions. Although Wanderer was a puppet, a divine one at that, seeing the ghost of scars, of cracks that lingered like a dark cloud over his lover's mind and body, made the puzzle pieces click together. His husband trusted Kazuha to share the scars that plagued a grief-stricken puppet, scars that held so many stories, both forgotten and changed. The same scars that became a burden, a testament to the sheer strength of will no one, not even artificial creation, should bear alone. It's why Kazuha took it upon himself not to let this moment go to waste.
Eyes filled with emotions too vast and too deep to name, in their shared intimacy, Kazuha placed long-lasting kisses for each scar, no matter how faint or how deep they ran; they were given love and attention. Some required lingering touches. No matter what the story was behind them, no matter how cruel, or painful, or torturous, what mattered the most to the wandering samurai was the person his lover is becoming. The past shaped what is seen here in the present. Sins can't be purged. They can only be atoned for. As such, that was what the human had seen coming from the one who massacred hundreds of people.
Maybe Wanderer wished for nothing more than to witness the repulsion from the one who is a victim of his revenge. It would be easier than seeing his crimson eyes filled with tenderness, bleeding with overflowing affection. Affection he did not deserve, not after all the sins he committed. The puppet knew his dear husband killed people. But it wasn't out of a vengeful pleasure; it was a necessity. A necessity to survive and live. While the people Wanderer had killed…they didn't need to die. They had not wronged him. They were wrong by association. All the bladesmiths and their bloodlines had to be eradicated, their unknown payment for betraying a puppet who had no idea of death or parting of souls. Wanderer didn't know that they were not the ones at fault, for they and all their descendants were either unaware of their supposed transgressions, or were simply not born at the time.
That didn't matter to Kunikuzushi. What did matter was how he perceived those innocent people and used them as a scapegoat for his grief. Taking it on others who didn't know who he was, what happened in Tataratsuna, ending so many lives and futures of futures. All for the lies orchestrated by someone who only cared about what Kabukimono is, not who. That was one of the biggest regrets, the one that would be the most ‘sensible’ of all the sins. But, one sin, a personally imposed sin, was being too naive to notice. Kazuha would say something sappy, that the progress they made together, healing each other's subtle, hidden scars, was rewarded with these instances.
Learning about their flaws, the past, how they were never perfect, never capable of being all-knowing, simply because they will always be living and growing till a predestined end. Needless to say, the beginning of their relationship was rocky. Wanderer, for all his defiant and standoffish nature, never knew how to be vulnerable after conditioning himself to be guarded. Guarded against pain of all kinds and types. Be it perceived pain or some other cause and effect. And yet, it was the life that was given to them. A chance to learn how to live despite their self-loathing or a self-imposed law, no matter how you lived, having the chance to learn, forget, to become someone, was that not something to be happy about? Loving with all your soul, laughing to ignore the pain, and smiling to give comfort, all are wonderful aspects of human nature, regardless of your physical constitution.
But if his husband were awake to hear his thoughts, or come to that conclusion, it would be cherished regardless. Wanderer would chalk it up to that poetic nature he could never be rid of. Kazuha would argue it's just his sincerity. Having a preference to see growth past sins, redeeming oneself by actions of love, selflessness, genuine words without unhidden agendas, that is what the mortal wishes to see. Regardless, it would just be their daily banter of affection. Something the ronin had picked up early on in their relationship is that Wanderer enjoyed starting the most obscure, nonsensical arguments with Kazuha. It didn't matter what their topic was, the puppet would start them with a sassy remark or a side comment that caused a brow to be raised. Naturally, the human responded with his thoughts and perspective. That brief response soon turned into a heated discussion that ended with his husband bursting into laughter.
They continue to have these silly moments that almost always end with laughter or a flustered expression from either of them. Wanderer tended to be the one who would become flustered. Kazuha had to placate his lovers ‘catty nature to get back on the puppet's good side. There is something increasingly heartwarming to see those deep, deep blue eyes shift from fazed to offhanded demand. Although he is standoffish, mysterious, the puppet craved for affection in whatever form his dear, beloved samurai gave. Be it the smooth, silver-tongued confessions, the sweet, passionate kisses, or the most loving of smiles sent in his direction, it was something that held sentiments of authentic emotions.
(Wanderer was never upset at the cheap way Kazuha wins. Affection from his mortal lover is nothing short of welcome. To be loved so passionately by someone who has every right to thrust his blade into his chest is the kind of love Wanderer had ached and yearned for. Love was something that had always been a thing of the past, but with his husband, with Kazuha, this was the past that shaped his future.)
Something drew crimson eyes' attention, watching how messy, fluffy, and indigo hair shifted. There were stray strands that popped out of place, which made the human stifle a giggle, unable to barely hold back an amused quirk of his lips. Every time, despite his husband's flawless appearance, one very amusing fact that was learned is that no matter how he woke up, Wanderer's silky hair would always become messy in some type of way. Complaints would be on the edge of a tongue, cheeks flushed and pouting. Until Kazuha opted to brush those soft locks. That catty nature was quelled as a loving heart took care of the soul of his heart. Small moments like these, their precious, seemingly mundane, have every reason to be loved.
Head leaning down, just enough, the human pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the top of the puppet's head. Nose scrunching at the contact, Wanderer's eyes twitched as he grumbled. Nosing closer, almost like a cat, into the warmth of his heater. Heart skipping a beat at the most, an adorable display of affection, Kazuha felt love bleed into how the embrace pulled him in closer. Maybe it was sentiment, maybe it was appreciation for growth, but even for these simple displays, the silver blond heart trembled with tenderness nonetheless. What is growth without the hurdles that had to be jumped along the way? Wanderer has started the race of life with a stumbling sprint, slowing down with a trip, aiming to go for the marathon of eternity. Poetic as it was, that thought was a justified explanation for this.
Slowly, the doll's eyelids began to flutter open, dazed navy eyes, still heavy with sleep, looking distant. Head lifting slightly, pupils casting glances around the surroundings. Almost like a lazy cat that had been teased awake. When the puppets' gaze focused, it met the sweet crimson that was his beloved human. Wanderer's eyes looked beautiful with the morning sun peeking through their curtains, casting a faint highlight that brought out the lighter hues of that galaxy. This sight alone is enough for pink to dust the ronin's cheeks, an easy lie ready to slip out by the cause of the sun. Although the idea of having his beautiful lover grow flustered by the admission that he is enamored with something as simple as eyes is a fun idea. No matter how it turns out, Kazuha would enjoy making this fellow a defensive and adorable wanderer. Or, be on the receiving end of a scrutinizing gaze.
“Why are you staring at me?” Wanderer grumbled, eyes fluttering as his head dropped back down, nestling on the safety of Kazuha's shoulder.
“Because you are beautiful, my love,” the human replied easily. “I can't help but keep my eyes on your every feature.
As predicted, Wanderer's cheeks turned flush with embarrassment. It was easy to create situations such as these. In all the time they had been together, no matter what poetic words, smooth phrases, quick wits, or the subtle edge closer, Wanderer never failed to be flustered by every single thing Kazuha did to him. His dear puppet has gotten used to it by now, but there will be times when a silver tongue can catch an unassuming vessel off guard. Resulting in laughter coming from one, and the other red-faced, pushing the mortal's face away. Never a dull moment in this relationship. Never a bitter moment.
“Unbelievable. Already making me flustered first thing in the morning,” the puppet huffed. Turning his head slightly, indigo hair soon covered dark eyes as he buried his face back into the warmth of a human's neck. “How can you be this smooth when you just woke up?”
One of Wanderer's arms drifted up from the waist, letting a hand gently rest over the steady rhythm of his husband's heart. It was a habit that started the night they started sleeping together. Every morning since then, the silver-haired male would find his companion pressing a hand over Kazuha's heart. Each time, if caught, he would mutter some flippant reply or retort before removing his hand quickly. Leaving the bed, saying that the ronin's body shouldn't exert more energy since they were *‘too fragile.’* That was then. But now, shamelessly, the wandering samurai would often catch his hands feeling up his chest, or hands slipping between his haori and yukata, feeling the warmth. Cheekily smiling, teasing by saying, “Oh, because I have to warm up my cold puppet hands,” as an excuse to do such actions. Alas, it came to be too hard to *not* shoot back retorts of his own.
Chuckling, Kazuha merely smiled. “You inspire me.”
Wanderer glanced up, eyes giving a look that read, ‘you say that every time,’ implying that was the signature phrase to be uttered. Rolling his eyes playfully, the vessel just sighed as the pleasantly warm body shifted to pull the puppet closer in the ronin's embrace. Kazuha hummed softly, hands moving up and down in comfortable rubs. The motion soothed the soul, all tucked away in this perfect, loving, warm caress. Careful, gentle, the human shifted downwards so both could be underneath the soft blanket more comfortably. Wanderer made a questioning sound, an eye glancing up, curious. Chuckling, the wanderer gave a soft, gentle smile. “Why don't we sleep in some more? You have no missions from Nahida, and I do not feel like leaving the bed.”
Wanderer, very much knowing, reached up to twirl the strands that lay along the toned muscles of his husband. Silver blond, soft to the touch, the color of a blade. But not sharp nor prone to violence. Yes, Kazuha killed people in the past, the puppet knew, but he never took the joy the past self did. Kazuha was kinder, gentler, and more loving than he was. He could have always done better. But at the end of it, the doll's beloved, most cherished, human part of his soul, was chosen by Kaedehara Kazuha. Sins and all, every ugly part, every beautiful part, was chosen. Truths and lies, deceit and sincerity, the complexities that the violet-haired puppet held, were loved.
Maybe the absentminded look in violet eyes made the puppet look thoughtful because soon, his cheek, gently embraced by a calloused hand, burned and wrinkled, was placed along such warm artificial skin.
“What are you thinking about, my love?” Kazuha asked quietly.
‘My love.’ Wanderer's eyes closed, nosing into the hand so softly. “You,” the puppet whispered. “You and how warm I feel..that you chose me.”
Humanly so, Kazuha was enamored again and again. Falling in love was hard for him to do, but loving Wanderer is breathing itself. To hear that confession with reverence and the rarest of vulnerability, loving became easier than breathing. Loving Wanderer was not just breathing anymore; it was entwined within his soul. Holding the beloved, most cherished, and desired puppet closer, the ronin buried his nose into his dark violet hair. “I will always choose you. No matter what choice it is, you will be the one.”
Kazuha felt the way his Wanderer smiled into his neck. For that, everything mattered, everything was perfect. As long as the samurai had this healing heart embraced by his own scarred heart, no matter what weather or storms they faced, it would be fine. Because this is his universe, his sorrow, and more. His everything.