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Thunder crackled up in the skies as Natsuki and his squad were wrapping up their inspection of the Kokugoku Hot Springs.
It’s been half a year since Kunishige Rokuhira and Ibuki were murdered by the group calling themselves Hishaku, half a year since the rest of the enchanted blade wielders were secured in Sansos as to avoid reaching the same fate. If only the Hishaku targeted somebody else, maybe Natsuki would be personally protecting his brother at this time.
But as it was, his brother lost, and Natsuki’s squad was assigned to do the regular check-in of the Sansos, to make sure each fortress was seamless and secure. They couldn’t risk another wielder dying and giving the enemy free reign with another enchanted blade. Whoever assigned his squad here must be pulling his leg, though, as this sanso was where Uruha Yoji – the man that had plagued his life since the war – was being protected by a squad of fourteen elite Kamunabi fighters.
“Quite a storm coming,” Fushimi, the leader of the Kukugoku squad, commented, his eyes worriedly drawn to the skies. They were in the middle of a debrief when the thunder shook the establishment and distracted them for a bit.
Uruha was sprawled on a chair next to the window, out of earshot, feet raised on a table, uncaring for the two elite Kamunabi squads in the other end of the room. Fushimi had quietly confided to Natsuki that ever since Rokuhira’s death, Uruha had been listless. I honestly think he would have killed himself if the news got to him first before us. For reporting purposes, the inspection squad should physically see the wielders safe and sound, and so they were at least able to drag Uruha out of his room.
It felt weird not having Uruha trail by his side, being chummy and clingy and all the things that annoyed Natsuki. He couldn’t say he missed it, but still…
“Why don’t you stay the night, Misaka-san?” Fushimi suggested as the first few drops of heavy rain poured outside. “We’ve got rooms here for your team.”
Natsuki’s squad looked at each other, and then at him. It’d be good for all if they could stay the night, but ever since they arrived, Uruha had barely acknowledged them. Of course, it would give the impression that they weren’t welcome.
Natsuki glanced at Uruha then –
For the first time that day, their eyes met.
Natsuki was taken aback by the gloom that shrouded Uruha’s usually shining eyes. It’s been over a year since they last saw each other. It was grief, Natsuki could tell, especially that he went through the same hell. But he himself had moved forward, Uruha seemed to be stuck in this mire.
“Good idea, Fushimi.” Uruha finally agreed, his voice betraying no enthusiasm nor hostility. Still, his tone was kind. “Too bad the hot springs are useless in this weather. But the rooms should keep everyone warm enough. Thank you for your hard work.”
When the war was at its peak and Ibuki was quickly rising to fame because of his battles and how he wielded Kuregumo, thunder and lightning became associated with his name. Nobody knew where it started, but suddenly the whole country had the same belief – when the weather turns for the worse, evil was being dealt with. Ibuki was just around the corner.
Natsuki wasn’t a kid anymore, but for the first few weeks from his brother’s death, whenever the pattering rain drummed on the roofs, or lightning slashes through the sky, a small part of him would lose its hold onto reality, thinking – My brother’s still here. Only when his hands wrap around his brother’s sword would he be drawn back to the reality that Ibuki was no more, and the grief was much easier to face.
He did it now, gripping the hilt of the sword tight as the storm unfurled its weight outside.
A series of knocks disturbed his moment of quiet.
Turning around, he saw a silhouette he wouldn’t mistake for anyone else, even if he wanted to. It was just surprising that after a whole day of ignoring his presence, he would come alone to his room like this. But perhaps, Natsuki expected that, too. Why would he stay up late at night with nothing to do?
“Come in.”
The door slid open, and Uruha’s figure came into view. His hair was down, and he was already in his sleeping robes, but sleep didn’t seem to have arrived for him yet.
“Natsuki.”
“You didn’t even ask if I was sleeping.”
“You snore when you sleep. I didn’t hear anything.” Finally, a hint of a smile graced Uruha’s face. To the expense of Natsuki’s embarrassment.
“Shut up.”
Uruha walked into the room, closed the door, and took the spot next to Natsuki with a certain sense of familiarity.
“I’m sorry about Ibuki-san." Uruha’s voice was sullen. "I know it’s been a while, but I never got the chance to offer my condolences.”
“It’s fine. Thanks for remembering.”
“It should have been me.” Uruha muttered, but Natsuki heard it well over the rain. “Dying at the same time with Rokuhira-san would have been an honor. And Ibuki-san would still be here. Maybe you’d be the one protecting him.”
“If this is your idea of comforting me, it’s not really working.” Natsuki breathed out in frustration. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? How pathetic you’re becoming?”
Uruha raised his head, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“It’s been six months, Uruha. I hate thinking what could have been, I’m already over that. Do you think you’re the only one haunted by guilt?” I had to pick up my brother’s sword next to his corpse because I arrived too late! The last part, he held back. Uruha didn’t have to know he’s still carrying this burden when Natsuki’s supposedly lecturing him about letting go. “We can only move forward.”
Uruha scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one stuck in one place.”
“Would killing yourself make you feel better then? Will that free you?”
“Where the hell is this coming from? Why are you suddenly so angry at me?”
“Maybe because you didn’t even acknowledge me once today, and then you come barging into my room at night being all pitiful.” Natsuki hissed. He suddenly realized he sounded as if he was whining for being ignored, but it was already out there.
“I…I didn’t know you were coming, and I didn’t get to prepare myself enough. To face you, that is.” Uruha backed down, the red accent around his eyes drooping as he sighed. “Alright, I was ignoring you. But asking me to kill myself is just too much.”
Maybe it was. Fushimi did tell him Uruha might have done that. Not that he would apologize. “You know I don’t mean it that way.”
Uruha tentatively reached for Natsuki’s hand then, testing the still waters that they haven’t treaded in a while. From the moment he held Kumeyuri, Natsuki’s animosity towards him did not go unnoticed. Uruha might have been young then, but he was no fool, he understood the position he had taken from Natsuki. But it wasn’t his fault, really, Rokuhira chose him and Uruha was just fulfilling his heaven-sent duty.
But in the chaos of the war and the endless deaths they have caused and suffered, it was with each other where they found a bit of reprieve during those rare quiet nights. Natsuki was Uruha’s first kiss, Uruha remembered it well, he could almost taste it at the back of his mouth, the slight tingle from a spark of electricity that coursed through Natsuki’s body as their tongues inevitably touched. Uruha wondered if Natsuki still did that.
He remembered the other nights after that, hands roaming over skin, being each other’s source of warmth. Uruha had once thought he could look forward to this when the war has been won. Maybe it’s also why Natsuki felt hurt that Uruha snubbed him the whole day. Uruha had a hope of what would happen if they’re left alone together again after all these years – just like now – but then…
The crime they have allowed to happen. The sins they now bear.
Uruha pulled back his arm, remembering the blood of the innocent that tainted these hands.
Natsuki didn’t deserve to be part of any of that.
To his surprise, Natsuki was quick to snatch his hand back, pulling him forcefully enough that it makes Uruha lose his balance. With a gasp, Uruha pressed his free hand on the floor to stop his fall.
“You’re doing it again.” Natsuki growled, his hand tightening around Uruha’s wrist. “Stop closing me off. All of you wielders pushed people away after the war. Don’t think I do not know. My brother…you…” Natsuki’s shoulders sagged, his grip loosened, and an unknown weight seemed to settle in his person. In a defeated voice, he added, “You’re the only one left.”
Uruha knew exactly what he meant.
After the war, the people they fought with who survived, they either disappeared or became an entirely different shell of the person they once knew. Shiba left the Kamunabi, Azami became a high-ranking official, Samura left the dojo in an attempt to live a normal life.
Ibuki lost the will to fight, and Natsuki who thought they could go back to being the duo they were before was let down.
Rokuhira left after taking the enchanted blades and was hidden to the world until his death.
It's been over ten years since the war ended, and they’ve both lost people, one way or another. And at this point of the road, they found each other once more.
They’re the only ones left.
Uruha twisted his captured hand, and his fingers work its way in between the spaces of Natsuki’s own. Natsuki’s gaze trailed from their enjoined fingers, then slowly upwards, meeting Uruha’s expecting eyes. Uruha’s breath caught in his throat – in this dim, thunderous night, Natsuki’s eyes shone like the flash of lightning that just sliced through the sky.
“There are things you’re better off not knowing.”
“Then don’t tell me. I just…want you.”
When the thunder rolled in, Natsuki moved as well too, pulling Uruha close and grabbing him by the waist in one swift motion, his free hand already cupping the side of Uruha’s face as their lips met in a fervent, charged kiss.
The cold of Natsuki’s lip piercings was immediately dispelled by their warm breaths, lips and tongues sloppily entangled bridging years’ worth of disconnect. No matter how many times Natsuki told himself that he hated Uruha for what he took from him, he also knew that there were things only Uruha could give. Especially now, when neither of them has anywhere to go.
Perhaps in another six months, and the next years after that, they’ll meet again and again under the same pretense, ensuring Uruha’s still alive and safe. Until the Hishaku was annihilated and Uruha could once again step out onto the world with freedom. Natsuki would be there to personally escort him back to the capital. Maybe then he would hate Uruha a little less, and acknowledge the fact that this man who forcibly took a spot in his life had already carved a place in his heart.
But for now, the storm rages.