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The winds were playful among the trees even if the temperature had been steadily dropping for the past few weeks and Atsu had gotten to learn about how much she liked to feel the cold droplets of rain when having a hearth to turn to.
She had used to grumble the uncomfortable feeling away, the growing numberss that would spread from her fingers to her wrist, making her slower, turning digits white with a splash of red where she would press tightly, only so she could see the warmth return to her in the form of blood rushing. She had accepted the need for warmth pending on the axis of its absence, a yet another reminder of the uprooting that had been etched onto her.
Not any longer though. Not with the same strength.
There had been nights, there were still nights, in where shadows grew larger and the winds within herself turned furious, where the flapping of the image of yet another freshly buried grave was enough to make her gasp and heave, where she imagined herself grasping the reigns of her horse and call forth the wolf. She knew, those nights, blinded by rage and loss and sadness and grief, that the wolf would respond, its pelt as warm as her heart needed it to be. And maybe, she thought those nights, if she burrowed herself deep enough within the beast, she would be able to forget what she had learnt now, to go back to the apparent protection of rage that had kept her moving for so long.
Nights, however, passed.
The dent on her shoulders from where some of the heavier weapons she had carried had rested once were beginning to clear from her body; the discoloration of skin one she found herself touching from time to time whenever she went back to the spring, the warmth of the water a balm that kept her rooted, present, awake.
Atsu was not naive, she knew that quietness, as much as the rage that bared its fangs whenever she was open enough to feel it lapping at her feelings, would need time to be built around ideas and notions she had needed to construct in order to create an image that would last her long enough. She knew that the knowledge brought in by her travels would rust if not re-learned. She knew a part of her was afraid of what that would mean to her: what would she be, what would she want to be, eventually.
The wind was cold and playful though and she had learned that she liked to focus onto it, onto the voices carried by it, onto what short of stories she would be able to hear if she listened for them, for those whose voices had been erased and forgotten, severed and hidden.
She learned how much she liked drawing.
Not solely out of necessity so she did not get lost but as an active choice of anchoring herself around a place for long enough so her eyes were capable of seeing what laid beyond the most pressing details, the kind of those that would have been marked the difference between getting to see if something was attacking or, rather, passively sharing her space. A different set of skills, of that she was certain despite the brittle sensation that spread on the back of her head when she realized she still looked for something to lounge at her, to request payment in the form of blood. Most importantly, she learned she liked beauty: a truth she might have been privy off before but had never quite been able to explore beyond rushed out drawings that would eventually get creased if she did not put them to safety soon enough.
She learned different kinds of mourning.
She got to learn Kiku's; the way her face would spasm and contort as she tried to be brave in a way that sit far too close for comfort, resting heavily at the far end of her palate, almost touching her espohagus. She got to see the tears and the ugly crying and the way she would stare blankly when she thought she had hear her father's voice wihispered in the wind. She got to shown her own ways of picking flowers to those moments, the repetitve action of finding those strong enough to last no matter what type of weather as they were propped against the stone, softening the edges of the wound. She got to teach her to use the notes hidden among the chiming wind to speak to those no longer there. She got to see her learning enough for her to need to be honest about feeling the action sufficiently painful at times to defer the teaching portion onto another.
She got to learn Oyuki's. The way the woman cared, fiercely, to the point in where Atsu felt her own being unable to breathe any deeper to the risk of combustion. She got to watch the older woman hug Kiku until she had been able to walk into the tight knot they created, her own face striken with tears. She got to feel hands clasped at her biceps, then at her back. She got to learn about touch and proximity radiating from loss and she got to learn about the way Oyuki would always look into her movements with the precision of a hawk. She got to ask for help when burying the body of her brother and got the nod of someone already on their way of helping. She got to rest when her own knees gave out only for Oyuki to pick up the shovel and help her on the final stages, silent and resilient. She got to see the darkness dancing within the angles of her face but kept on a tight leash for Atsu herself was unable to feel anything beyond the initial, scorching reality on how she had lost twice what she had lost once.
She got to learn that Oyuki's mourning, what made her present, was time. Time spent, given, offered. She got to watch as the woman grabbed her own shamisen when Kiku relentlessly requested (and needed) for notes to carry the messages she would not longer be able to share otherwise. She got to sit back and watch from the outside of the circle formed by something that more and more felt like a concept far too big for her to give a name for -not yet, not unless she was strong enough to accept something that would carry every other debris still present and standing- . She saw Oyuki correct and reform, to nod and let pass errors that felt true to Kiku's own voice as the kid stumbled forward, illuminated -or so Atsu hoped- but never blinded by her own need of healing.
She got to learn how she herself mourned. To re-relearn what loss was like when there were others to reach to and who reached from their own place.
She got to forgive herself. If only for long enough that her mind played tricks and were Kiku stood, the shadow of a young Jubei would sometimes be, a glimpse into a past that felt gray colored and yet pristine so desperatedly her brain latched onto it.
She heard herself narrate those memories though, rather than keeping them inside.
She learned to talk. To share. To speak.
Was still, if she was being honest.
Words were still difficult sometimes, her lungs were still heavy and scarred if she tried for far too long but there was the capability of hope, of retribution shaped under a different weigth than the one she had carried until then. Of responsability. Of learning what it meant to be there for those that surrounded her.
To care.
To love.
"Have you ever thought of having a family?"
And Atsu had known when Jubei had asked the question that he was only focusing on one single iteration out of that doubt. She had not quite replied then, had not fully given an answer that was satisfactory enough. She knew, had recognized, some of the telling details on her brother's furrowed brow, in the way he had moved and halt and how he had wanted to press forward when questioning about an "after". A kind of time Atsu had felt fuzzy and incapable of reaching her nor any version of her that co-existed alongside the sash at her waist with black slowly growing redder.
Getting to accept one's internal needs was easier than accepting that one wanted to be alive, after all. And she had come, after so many wilted flowers and so many songs played with the shamisen and so many ghosts coming forth to her on nights that lowered the higher end of the sky far too much, that she wanted to live. To exist in the beyond Jubei's question had given shape to.
The factual answer, however, was still fractured. Oyuki had stayed at first and then left only to return more and more as winter approached. "Like a fox basking on the warmth of the fire."
(Oyuki had laughed softly at this, eyes glimmering and searching hers as Kiku fell slowly asleep, a kind of question that had sit and rumbled and pinched at Atsu's heart. And it had burned the first time she had dared to look at Oyuki, to let her eyes travel from the hollow part of her throat to the way her fingers curled when playing, to the intricacies of the bony part of her wrist, how her skin was taut but soft, the cuts she sported on her fingertips as she pressed and practiced without rhyme nor reason and so easy to heal and even softer when tickled.)
(And oh, she had glanced away when her hand had hovered and she had allowed her muscles to relax so she had been able to touch and feel its warmth coursing through her. She had heard the air intake from Oyuki, the way her silhouette -scribbled in bright snow and black coal on her mind's eye- had trembled as Atsu had felt the stare seizing her up, a question at the ready but never quite said.)
(She had looked away, tongue playing with a fish bone that had valiantly survived their dinner and had found its way into her mouth, the blood it had caused coating the back of Atsu's tongue in sharp iron. And she had seen Oyuki's eyes falling on her lips as they moved as she played and pushed and prodded knowing, truly knowing, that time for action was running alongside the openness in which they would both be able to meet each other and Atsu had burned, burned burned that night)
Atsu had eventually mentioned that the homestead was indeed big enough, comfortable enough, safe enough, for the older woman to spend the colder months, permanently.
"I'm sure that they would love to have you at the Old Inn"
The two of them had been seating outside, just where the branches still gave out some protection as rain fell incessantly. Kiku had fallen asleep but neither of them had found themselves capable enough to rest and the image of Oyuki's eyes had kept Atsu restless: heart beating like a bird, its golden beak hungry for something she was not entirely sure what shape it would take. (Family, her brother had asked and there had been an afterwards there, a promise of something that would run parallel to their lives. And yet. And now.)
Oyuki had raised one eyebrow at the idea, smiling lopsidedly as she did so. Atsu knew she had already played at the Inn, had already been offered a sport for as long as she wanted it. She could see the regulars at the inn, those that knew enough of her, enough about her and the family that had lived once beneath the ginkgo tree, starting to warm up to the woman that had returned, to the kid that had moved in, to the woman that had appeared. And Ezo was indeed in need of repairing, many details still frayed. But the longer time she spent there, staring outside at the rain and the poodles and the way tiny rivers run through the knots of the tree, the stones that kept the mounds tight and secure, for the grass to grow through in an endless cycle of life and death, the longer she stared, the more she felt like she belonged. Belonged to a place that she could shape into something that would, maybe, answer to Jubei's question.
After what had felt long, long enough for Atsu to feel the pinpricks of the rain that ricocheted off the ground and grazed her skin turn into sleet, Oyuki spoke, her voice soft and closer than what she had expected and Atsu had swallowed as she heard to the cadence of the older woman
"And what about you? Would you love to have me here?"
It was both dare and question as much as a request and Atsu bit onto her bottom lip as she kept her eyes faced forward, no matter how she saw from the corner of her eyes Oyuki turning and moving closer, closer enough for her body to feel her warmth, close enough for her to question how silent could she be.
She was no coward, though. She was as stubborn as she was prideful and as fragile as the moment felt she did not dare to let her voice lose its steadiness.
"Maybe. Or maybe I will grow tired of it and I'll request for them to take you."
A chuckle, soft, the kind of one that escapes through both nose and mouth, warm and speaking of comfort in a way that had been alien once to her but not any longer. Atsu knew that she could paint that smile, the way she would allow for the brush to hover over the surface of the paint, the way she would move it with just enough intent to create the idea of Oyuki's neck, her mouth, her nose, the way she would glance with just a touch of curiosity, a speck of mischief. The image hit her strong enough for her breathing to feel erratic for a second, one long enough for the ice and rain to slush at their feet, barely a few inches away from the illuminated portion of the soil she had so carefully reconstructed weeks ago.
Outside, deep in the storm, a wolf cried out.
"I think I will like to stay"
Soft. Thoughtful. A musicality to an echo of a request that felt as open as Atsu felt.
She cleared her throat.
Once. Twice.
"I'm sure Kiku would love to. She's been harping me about spending more...."
Oyuki was many things. Not truly a woman willing to lose time if she could help it.
"What about you?"
Ah. Another question. Atsu was beginning to understand that she would never be free of those. Maybe she could jump into the rain and follow the wolf. An inane thought, she knew as much: her hunt was over, she had made it so.
Which only led to a life in where questions were answered with just the faintest knowledge of how much one's heart would be able to beat without stopping. And Oyuki had not moved closer from her previous spot but her presence, the barest scent of sweat and wood and snow, the scent clear and crisp and calling Atsu forth, was enough for her to feel that the rain around them would shield whatever answer that would run past her lips. At least once they left the protective circle they now created; the older woman staring at her, back perfectly poised, fingers playing incessant lines against her clothes.
The one who had been the Onryō felt her own hands clammy and cold followed by a rush of warmth on the nape of her neck.
Time, they had time.
"Stay with us" Simple, short. Voice broken, lungs protesting as she swallowed the hundred or so words she felt gurgling inside of her: a much more in-depth explanation of what she felt was truly much more simpler. "I want you home"
(Their first kiss is slow at the very beginning, yelp swallowed, nerves roaring: it turns hungry the moment they realize they are answering to it as much as to each other. Oyuki bites first, teeth quick but Atsu replies as she grasps hands and pushes them closer to her. She stops when her fingers move beyond the fabric of Oyuki's clothing, the scarring on the woman's arm giving her pause as she asks for permission. Oyuki nods into the kiss and does not let Atsu move away, rather melting into the younger woman's body as the scent of flowers is carried forth by the wind, the ghust of wind playing with their hair as Atsu laughs into the kiss, nipping accordingly, Oyuki grabbing her by the waist with her own hand, bunching as much fabric as possible, losing her footing as she does.
Their second kiss happens seconds after the first one. A more tentative one maybe in the rush and need behind it but just as hungry as the first turned out to. It's as much of a question as an answer and Oyuki whimpers softly before grasping Atsu's neck and digs her nails onto the skin. It's Atsu's turn to moan then and neither of them know what to do until they lock onto the other and laugh.
Their third kiss is a secret. Majorly because they need some time-out before Kiku sees them. The girl will, eventually, but that's not the story the wind wants to tell. And so the wind hides them for a little while longer.
And so, The Onryō rests.)