Chapter Text
if mizuki is being completely honest, he really, truly only started saying it as a joke.
he’s never really minded participating in training, from one on one ‘death’matches to the weird six man formations they practice against what he assumes to be extremely realistic holograms of enemies and allies alike placed over bots. in fact, group training is where it all starts, because he’s usually paired with kiriko for it and mizuki kawano loves nothing more than to annoy kiriko kamori.
"i could use a little love.”
it was simply meant to annoy her, to get her to do that funny huff into their communications line when he says something that makes her cringe. it’s to get her to roll her eyes at him as soon as she teleports to his location and shoves ofuda in his face. and then he found he couldn’t stop saying it, enjoying how annoyed she gets by his tone, and at how he usually only says it when he’s barely injured.
“oh,” he purrs once, all disgustingly fake charm, layering it on thick enough to make kiriko perform an equally fake gag as she makes a tiny, innocuous cut on his forehead disappear. “so you do love me.”
“i’d love to push you down the ilios well.” kiriko snaps back, slapping an ofuda to his forehead after she’s sure the cut is gone. he recoils with a hiss, one met by a triumphant smirk. “if that answers your question.”
it’s supposed to be a joke. one his comrades know well, seeing as he’s heard the older members chuckle at the banter that tends to follow it- he’s even had a mildly embarrassing moment where he’d called for it while kiriko was ‘respawning’ and soldier 76 had come running instead with his biotic field. it’s just a silly little joke, and everyone knows it’s a joke. that’s how it was meant to be.
and then wuyang ye had to go and flip it on its head.
he doesn’t blame wuyang, really. he wants to blame the escalation on kiriko for not being available that fateful day (the downside to having an incredibly powerful ability, one that can ‘cleanse’ someone of almost any ailment, and a lot of experience is that you are often called away for missions abroad when necessary), or to blame commander sojourn for pairing him with wuyang in her absence.
but he can’t, because he was the one who stayed up the night before, unable to sleep and instead agonizing over what wuyang ye could possibly want from him, because no one is that kind (least of all to him) for free.
so it is, in fact, his fault when he slips up against the reaper hologram, managing to kill him but not his flesh arm being grazed by a stray shot. it is his fault that he’s too far away from his team, having followed reaper’s flank and is left without enough energy to drag himself to a the medpack he knows is around the corner. and it is, undeniably, his fault as he raises a shaky hand to his comm, speech a little slurred from exhaustion and from blood loss as he says:
“i could use a little love, if anyone can help.”
as he holds his arm, bleeding a little too much for a training excursion (kiriko is going to kill him), he honestly kind of expects to have the old man come hunt him down again- he’s got a weird soft spot for younger agents.
which is why the sound of water very quickly approaching him surprises him. it makes him straighten up subconsciously, terrified and a little thrilled all at once.
“should you be leaving our team without a support on the point?” he mumbles into his comm, still a little delirious. wuyang barks out a short laugh in return, the wind rushing through his own communications device and making his voice staticky.
“maybe not, but they can handle it. soldier’s got a biotic field after all, right?”
he appears in the doorway of the open ilios villa mizuki is huddled in not long after, a little damp but still smiling, like he was trying his hardest to get there as fast as he could while looking completely nonchalant about it. mizuki pretends he isn’t vaguely amused, or a bit flattered.
(he’s both, but that’s neither here nor there).
“heard you were in need of some love?” wuyang says, and while his tone is teasing, his eyes are a little worried, hiding concern under shades of warm brown. mizuki wishes he had the cognitive power to wonder why he seems so stressed about his injury.
“maybe a little.” he murmurs, pulling his hand away from his injured arm and holding it up for the water wielder, who gasps. the entirety of his palm and fingers are coated with blood, red incredibly stark against the green of the chain coiled in his arm. wuyang nearly trips on his feet rushing to his side, automatically holding out his beam and connecting it to mizuki’s body, filling it with the warmth of biotic healing.
“f-fuck,” the taller grits through his teeth, twitching at the itchy-tingly feeling that swarms his bicep. “i hate this part.”
the feeling of biotic healing is a lot different to kiriko’s healing ofuda; where being healed by her feels like warm wind and sunlight, biotics tended to feel like (at least to mizuki) ants crawling around on his wounds, or as if harsh static had settled over his injuries. doctor ziegler said he would get used to it with time, but he still can’t help the bitten off whine he makes in the moment at the feeling of his skin knitting itself back together. wuyang pouts in response, expression much akin to a kicked dog as he reaches out and brushes mizuki’s sweaty bangs away from his eyes.
“i’m sorry, i know.” he murmurs, voice soft and warm and comforting as he traces mizuki’s cheekbone with his fingertips absently. “this won’t take much longer.”
wuyang seems to be unaware of how close they are, and of how touchy he’s being as he tries to soothe the feeling crawling up and down mizuki’s side with his own fingers against his skin. it works, but likely not in the way the boy healing him thinks it does, because mizuki now has what feels like two of kiriko’s fox spirits wrestling in his stomach. they’re probably supposed to be the butterflies she talks about sometimes when she likes someone, but the intensity of them makes him think half-deliriously that butterflies is not the animal he’d use to describe the feeling. it’s so intense, in fact, that he barely realises the tingling in his arm has stopped until wuyang pulls out of his space, giving him the chance to notice his headache has disappeared too.
“alright, you’re good to go!” wuyang claps his hands together (or tries to, but because he’s still holding his staff he ends up fumbling with it instead, almost dropping it on the floor. mizuki hopes his hat covers the amusement in his eyes). “but you should get checked out by captain amari or doctor ziegler after we’re done, okay?”
mizuki finds himself nodding instead of arguing like he would with kiriko, and that seems to satisfy wuyang enough.
“sounds good! let’s go.”
mizuki expects him to summon his little wave and disappear out the doorway, like how kiriko would likely teleport away from him to the teammate closest to the point. instead, wuyang defies his expectations once more and holds his hand out to mizuki, that warm, happy smile from before stretched across his face.
when he stares at it for a little too long, the boy falters a little, fingers curling into his palm in embarrassment.
“i know you have your own form of ‘movement’,” wuyang says softly, “but it would be faster to move with me and…” he seems to flush a little despite himself, pink tinting his ears, “i would rather you didn’t walk if you don’t have to yet.” his smile turns into something sheepish and shy, boyishly cute in its own right. “i’m a healer, but not a miracle worker.” he chuckles to himself. “that’s more zieler’s thing.”
mizuki should decline. he should say something about being fine- more than fine, thank you very much- about how he wasn’t shot in the leg and that he works better alone. maybe spit a sharp remark about how isn’t a child, hasn’t been one in a long time, and that he doesn’t need wuyang’s help.
instead, mizuki takes the hand offered to him and steps forward shyly before he can stop himself. the dull ache in his side seems even duller as the warmth of wuyang’s own hand seeps into his palm.
“yeesh, your hands are cold.” wuyang says, though without judgement or malice and instead in his usual chipper tone, smiling half teasingly up at mizuki. “should get your circulation checked out.”
and yet he doesn’t let go of his hand as he summons a wave and pulls mizuki along for the ride.
when they arrive back at the main point of the simulated map, reinhardt is dancing with his hammer while soldier 76 and cole cassidy watch from the side, amused.
“there y’are.” cassidy says, watching as they surf up the capture point directly below the lighthouse, voice fond and warm like it usually is with younger recruits. “everythin’ alright? athena paused the simulation when wuyang disappeared, but didn’t want to tell us why.”
mizuki breathes out subtly in relief- athena has always been considerate of recruits and their embarrassing situations, especially injuries, and he’s thankful that this is no exception. though he’s sure she reported it to doctor ziegler at the very least, and would probably be summoned to her office when she returned.
he opens his mouth to reply, but wuyang cuts in before he can.
“nothing too bad, we had it handled.” he nudges mizuki with his elbow, and the taller belatedly realises they’re still holding hands. he hopes his hat hides the flush that surges to his ears. “right, mizuki?”
“huh? oh, yeah.” mizuki clears his throat, tuning his voice to that cool, nonchalant tone as he looks off to the side- away from their still joined hands. he wants to pull away, but can’t find it in himself to let go just yet. “everything’s just fine.”
cassidy, gracefully, does not say anything about them holding hands, and neither do the other two men. he only tips his hat in acknowledgement.
“alright, s’long as y’all’re okay.”
wuyang giggles at the use of “y’all’re”, hiding it as a cough into the fist holding his staff, and mizuki does his best to bite back a laugh of his own. they finish training an hour later, with mizuki bowing politely in thanks before walking off to the locker room first. when he comes out of it, freshly showered and a little more refreshed, he’s startled by wuyang waiting outside, doing tricks with his staff.
“oh! there you are.” wuyang beams at him, and mizuki wonders briefly about why he seems to smile so much in his general direction. with his free hand, the shorter boy grabs his wrist before tugging him in the direction of the lounge. “captain amari’s having tea in the kitchen right now. let’s go ask her if you need anything extra for that nasty injury on your bicep.”
mizuki, who was too busy staring at the way the other boy’s fingers were almost able to engulf his entire wrist (they’re so warm, is he really not cut out for fire college or whatever?), startles out of his stupor at the prospect of talking to ana amari. it’s not that he doesn’t like her- it’s just that he feels like she can see completely through him, and that’s terrifying in its own right.
“it’s fine, it was gone when i checked before my shower.” he protests, albeit a bit weakly. it’s a lie, of course- while the flesh wound was gone, in its place was a pretty nasty bruise, mottled so different colors that it combined into an ugly shade of unadulterated discoloration. not to mention the phantom (no pun intended) feeling of shotgun bullets grazing his skin. “i swear, you’re a great healer, this really isn’t that necessary-”
“flattery will get you everywhere with me, but not away from going to see captain amari.” wuyang singsongs, glancing over his shoulder to grin at mizuki. the yokai member feels his face heat, free hand balling into a fist as he ducks his head, but he offers no further argument. he can’t when wuyang smiles at him like that.
they make it to captain amari in no time, standing in front of her together side by side. after a few moments of very heated, furious whispering (with a very amused captain studying them over the rim of her teacup), wuyang scoffs loudly before turning to her, much to mizuki’s dismay (though he honestly does very little to stop him, a trend he doesn’t know how to stop).
“hi, captain amari!” wuyang waves his staff at her, other hand still around mizuki’s wrist like he’s afraid he'll run off (and he’s right. he would.). mizuki grunts his own form of greeting.
she smiles, an amused hum leaving her as she places her cup down on its saucer.
“hello boys.” she greets them back, gaze flitting down to where they’re connected for the briefest of moments before glancing between the two of them. “is there something i can assist you with?”
mizuki opens his mouth to say no, but wuyang beats him to it, finally letting go of his wrist in favor of pulling the brim of his hat down over mizuki’s eyes and holding it there. he yelps in response, grabbing blindly to try and push wuyang’s hand away as the younger continues.
“yes actually. the reaper hologram in training today got mizuki pretty good- do you mind looking over his injury? i know doctor ziegler is away on a mission right now, but i don’t feel like my healing is adequate enough to fix large wounds like that yet.” wuyang finally takes his hand back in order to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly, an action so endearing mizuki almost forgets he’s supposed to be annoyed.
captain amari does not respond at first, instead leaning up towards the two. she motions for wuyang to lean down, waiting until he does before reaching out to pinch his cheek gently, earning a squeak from him and a snicker from mizuki.
“do not talk poorly about yourself, young man.” she says sternly, stretching his cheek the tiniest bit. “you are an exceptional healer in your own right. perhaps you cannot fix what angela can just yet, but you become stronger every day even if you do not feel it- never forget that.”
wuyang nods rapidly. satisfied, captain amari pulls away, leaning back with that same amusement from earlier twinkling in her eyes. the water wielder rubs his cheek, an embarrassed flush drowning his skin in pink.
“thank you, captain amari. that means a lot.” he laughs quietly. “you sound just like my sister when i’m talking down on myself.”
at the mention of his sister, wuyang’s eyes suddenly widen, and he scrambles backwards, almost tripping over his feet again in his haste.
“oh shoot, my sister!” he hisses. “we were supposed to start sparring together-” he spares a glance at the clock in the kitchen and squeaks when he sees the time. “10 minutes ago?! oh, she’s gonna kill me!”
captain amari and mizuki watch as he goes, yelling goodbyes over his shoulder as he races down the hall back towards the training rooms, summoning a wave as soon as he’s on the concrete flooring and disappearing down the hall. the two share a look in the silence, with mizuki looking away first. he hears her chuckle quietly, followed by the sound of her picking up her tea.
“so, what would you like to address first,” she hums, the slightest lilt in her calm voice betraying her amusement, “the hand holding, or the injury?”
mizuki wonders briefly if it’d be unethical and overdramatic to ask her to use an anti-heal grenade on him instead.
–
after his talk with captain amari, the joke (if he can even call it that anymore) spirals out of control.
he still uses it on kiriko, still uses the same disgustingly flirty tone as he asks her to heal the world’s smallest cut (and, consequently, gets a bruise on his shoulder from her punching him), but with wuyang it’s… different.
he still phrases it the same, using the exact same words, but the tone he uses lacks its usual mildly flirtatious, “e-boy-esque” (whatever that means. thanks, hana) flair. it comes out more sincere than anything, softer and gentler and all the things mizuki has never considered himself to be. and wuyang comes running every time, using every single ability he has just to make it to mizuki as fast as possible. the younger’s hands are always warm as they hold his shoulder or arm or leg as he heals the older like he can’t bear to not touch him as he helps. it’s the most non-combat contact he gets beyond the occasional pat from an older member or a squeeze from kiriko, and he hates the way he craves it. he hate that he finds himself gravitating closer to the shorter instinctually as their little game continues, wanting that casual, gentle touch that wuyang seems to be more than happy to provide, if the way he places a hand on mizuki’s back or shoulder means anything.
and every time it happens, as he watches the careful concentration on wuyang’s face as he meticulously heals any cut or bruise mizuki might have, or as he slings an arm behind mizuki on the couch, he thinks of the most prominent thing captain amari said to him that day-
“do not let your fear keep you from something that could very well make you the happiest you’ve ever been.”
the words weigh heavily on his mind and his heart, plaguing him with something else to think obsessively about besides the spirits that sit on his shoulders. he often finds himself pushing them out of his mind, especially when wuyang looks up at him, brows furrowed in concern and question, and it takes everything in mizuki to only respond with a shake of his head instead of smoothing the crease between his eyes out with his thumb.
they’ve also had one very amusing and very … confusing, perhaps, moment that makes him both laugh and contemplate.
though he’s not very close with doctor ziegler, she is kind enough to laugh at his dry jokes. he’s rarely had the chance to be resurrected (he’s a little afraid that if he goes down once, it’ll be permanently), but on the off chance she does need to, he always uses it to make her smile, especially if the battle is particularly grueling.
“hmm, my hero~” he sings after a deep lungful of air, rolling out the shoulder he landed on a few minutes before. she laughs, soft and twinkly, and it makes something warm fill his chest, like a child being praised.
a soft huff to his left makes him turn over his shoulder to look at a just barely pouting wuyang a few feet behind him. his brown eyes are trained on the fight in front of them, providing back up damage to a large turret a ways away, but every so often they flit to glance between mizuki and doctor ziegler before flicking away.
amused, mizuki approaches him, waving to the doctor as she zips off to assist genji, who is about to run out of stamina deflecting bullets. wuyang’s eyes stay firmly on the fight ahead as he approaches, never straying even as he gets closer.
before he can think better of it, mizuki is reaching up to take his hat off before setting it on wuyang’s head. he sputters, the wide brim covering his eyes and making him throw a wayward water shot into a burning building.
“y-you-! what was that for?!” he whines, actually whines, pushing the brim up with the heel of his free hand. he’s doing what he’s overheard anran call his “puppy eyes”, big and wide and just a tiny bit glossy, and mizuki can’t help his smirk.
“just boostin’ your morale.” he hums, placing a hand on the top of the other boy’s head and pushing the hat further down, resulting in more indignant sputtering. “can’t have my teammate all mopey and pouty, now can i?”
he leaves no room for wuyang to respond, just a lazy salute before he spirit walks back towards the fight, where he’s needed for close combat. he glances back only once, just to see wuyang standing there in his hat, gripping his staff in both hands as he holds it close. he can’t see the water wielder’s face from where he’s standing, but he finds that he wishes he could.
he finds that, after this interaction, he doesn’t use that joke again, at least around wuyang. for his own sake, he doesn’t let himself think about why.
–
mizuki’s most recent discovery is that the phrase, so to speak, also works outside of combat too.
he finds this out on an off-day as he stands in the kitchen slicing up apples for himself and a few of the girls to share during a movie. wuyang is there too, having apparently been accosted by juno in the hallway as he was leaving the training room. he’s dressed comfortably in an old overwatch t-shirt and what seem to be hangyodon pajama pants, ones mizuki overhears him vehemently defending when the girls teased him about them, ears going pink like they always do when hes embarrassed.
as he’s thinking about how the pink of his flush matches the pink of hangyodon’s mouth, the knife slips from his grip and slices his finger. by no means is it a deep cut, one that barely stings, but he still yelps in surprise.
“mizuki?” kiriko calls, voice concerned. he can tell from her tone that she’s about to teleport directly to him, so he calls back immediately.
“‘m fine, just cut my finger.” he calls back over his shoulder, stepping towards the sink to rinse his hand. he hisses at the sting of cold water (and pointedly does not think about how different wuyang’s water-based healing feels in comparison) splashing onto his wound, “send a little love my way?”
it’s mostly a joke (mostly only because for once he does actually need assistance, as his hat isn’t with him), one he expects to be met with the sound of her ofuda blowing in behind him, bringing the warmth of her healing with them to stick and settle into his skin, but is instead met with the sound of footsteps and a much more solid warmth behind him just moments later. he doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s wuyang, who cages him against the sink inadvertently as he reaches for his arm.
“what happened?” wuyang murmurs against mizuki’s shoulder, warm breath brushing against the exposed skin of his neck. mizuki tamps down a shudder, trying to reign himself in at the feeling of wuyang almost-not-quite pressed into his back, warm fingers on his bare elbow. it’s hard to think with the blood rushing in his ears and the gentle scent of sea salt and sandalwood overwhelming him.
“i just-” his voice cracks, and he’s quick to clear his throat, pretending he can’t feel the way wuyang’s mouth twitches against his skin as he presses forward just barely to peel over his shoulder. “i just cut myself. it’s no big deal, i can run to the doctor’s office for a bandaid.”
“no need.” wuyang says cooly, like he has no idea how flustered he has mizuki. and honestly? he probably doesn’t. “i was practicing tai chi with my water today when juno found me. i still have my glove.”
mizuki doesn’t even get the chance to suck in a breath before wuyang’s crowding closer, placing his right hand on his elbow and sliding it slowly up mizuki’s sensitive forearm. he can’t bite back the soft whimper that escapes him, both at the feeling of wuyang’s warm, soft hand on his cooler skin and at the deeply nestled fear he might hurt the boy behind him with his curse. wuyang shushes him gently, thumb soothingly rubbing over the pulse point on his wrist.
“‘s this okay?” he asks quietly, left hand hovering by the sink, not yet beginning to channel water through his glove. the position has mizuki fully boxed in against the counter, with wuyang’s left hand pressing against his side. “i don’t want to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable.”
mizuki tries to speak, but his voice catches on another noise. wuyang hums in response, moving to step away, but mizuki shakes his head, knees feeling a little shaky.
“no- no, please.” he says, and doesn’t realise he’s pleading until he feels the way wuyang’s grip on his arm tightens just barely. “it’s- fine. it’s fine. just…” he looks over his shoulder and down at wuyang, hoping his expression isn’t giving something he isn’t ready to share away. “be careful.” he turns away quickly with a short, bitter laugh. “i’m cursed, remember?”
wuyang frowns against his shoulder with a soft huff, and for one confusingly terrifying moment, mizuki thinks he’s going to pull away completely. but of course, like the younger always does, he defies mizuki’s expectations and presses closer, built chest firm against mizuki’s back. he says nothing as he begins to channel the water through his glove and turn it into biotic healing. that refreshing warmth mizuki has come to know so well encases his finger for a few heartbeats, and mizuki does his best to control his breathing as he watches the wound disappear.
“this is a new technique i’ve been working on, so it might not hold properly.” the shorter murmurs. mizuki can now just barely hear him over how loud the blood rushing in his ears is. “if it splits open again, go see doctor ziegler.”
there’s no room for argument, so mizuki swallows dryly and nods, whispering his thanks and clenching his hand into a fist to try and hide how it shakes. wuyang hums again, unusually quiet as he holds his thumb over mizuki’s pulse point, likely feeling how hard it’s pounding underneath his skin.
is he angry? mizuki wonders, worry pooling at the bottom of his sternum, cold and painful and all too familiar. is he angry at me?
the yokai member flinches when he feels wuyang’s hand slip back to his elbow, warm thumb sweep across the inside of it, gentle and sweet.
“i hate when you talk about yourself like that.” he says, tone neutral, but soft all the same. “like you’re unworthy of being loved because you’re ‘cursed.’” wuyang leans further into him, and for his own sake mizuki decided that he imagines the feeling of wuyang’s lips on his shoulder over his shirt for a brief moment. he wants to turn around, to see what kind of face he’s making, but…
do not let your fear keep you from something that could very well make you the happiest you have ever been.
… he’s too much of a coward to do so.
“a lot of people care about you.” wuyang continues, still rubbing the inside of his elbow, and mizuki can’t think. “remember that.”
with one last pass of his thumb, wuyang lets go of him, stepping away from mizuki and putting what feels like miles of distance between them. cold air rushes to meet the taller’s back through his thin shirt, and he shivers inadvertently. he turns over his shoulder in time to watch as wuyang wipes his hand on the bottom of his shirt, shaking it off afterwards, all while not looking at him. mizuki shudders out a breath, turning forward again with his hands coming to grip at the counter as he hears wuyang walk away. he gives himself a minute to recover, counting to sixty in his head as he recenters himself, steadying his breathing and filing away the feeling of warmth and care and love that wuyang had taken with him as he left in a locked box in his mind. with his still shaking hands, he turns the faucet off, finishes cutting the last apple, and then spirit walks his way back to his room, quickly and quietly.
though he does not go unnoticed like he wanted, as wuyang catches a glimpse of his paper doll following after him in the corner of his eye as the movie plays on the screen in front of him.