stellar ✶ @stellar-kaiju - Tumblr Blog

heartless - witch hunter! hoshina x witch! reader || wc: 21.4k || syn: there is more than one way to capture a heart || tags/warnings: mentions of death, mention of swords and other sharp items, bantering as a love language, slow burn, enemies to lovers(mostly one sided), attempted murder, guilt, feelings of remorse, nightmares, nonsexual acts of intimacy, mentions of pregnancy, children, forced brotherly bonding (it's me i'm the one forcing them), a sprinkle angst with a happy ending. || masterlist || taglist form ||

a gift for @stellar-headquarters! thanks to @sodaneko for putting together this gift exchange <3

hi my love, i'm your secret santa!!! I had so much fun writing this (as i'm sure you can tell) and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. Hopefully it lives up to your expectations, lovely reading dear.

His hands had once started soft like his heart but over time callouses formed over the wounds. His hands still so small, couldn't wrap around his mother's. The training he received had once started as gentle, something he might only need in emergency. His movements clunky and unpracticed but a smile still plastered on his face. As their ages rose it became harsher, longer, splinters implanting themselves in his once gentle hands. "Again," his father would yell when the sword dropped from his hands. Perhaps this is where his hunger started, his drive to be better than the day before, his hands guiding the wooden sword as it clacked against his brother's. It was yet to become part of him, to see the sword as an extension of himself.

The sweltering heat beamed into his skin and turned it red, beads of sweat causing his bangs to stick to his face as his body grew tired; still he refused to let up. Stopping would mean failure and he knew that wasn't an option. There were moments of calm between his storm, moments when he would sit with his mother in the garden. Dirt would burry itself beneath their nails and cling to their clothes, her hands would guide his to the weeds and help him pull them out. "Why do we pluck out the weeds?"

"If we don't then the real flowers can't grow." It should have been a one and done answer— childlike curiosity is not so easily satiated.

"But aren't the weeds alive too? Why do they not deserve to grow?" His hands delicately laid on top of the yellow dandelion, he could feel the petals beneath his skin and he was sure his hand would turn yellow if he rubbed his palm into it. It was such a small thing compared to him, he saw no harm in letting it grow in the garden.

"Oh Soshiro." She placed her hand over his, he looked up at her gentle smile with wonder. "I suppose one dandelion couldn't hurt." One dandelion to keep the gentleness she saw growing more distant in him every day. "You'll have to take good care of it."

The garden seemed much emptier without his mother. Everything felt wrong— the roses shouldn't be blooming and the sun shouldn't be shining, everything should be much gloomier. The day he lost his mother was a normal day for everyone else. He took good care of the dandelion so why was it that his heart hurt at seeing them now? "This is why we must rid the world of witches Soshiro." His father placed a stern hand on his shoulder as he looked out towards the garden, he saw this as nothing more than a lesson he could teach his son. One weed would ruin a whole garden.

More time was spent in the garden than in his home, his home always seemed too cold. His mother's smile no longer lining the halls with gentle kindness or pulling the faintest laugh from his father. It was easier this way, to train in the garden. Arms growing tired as they moved for hours and hours each day without break, his feet stirring dirt from the ground that would more often than not leave patches on his clothes. Even when rain pelted the ground Soshiro would still find his way to the garden with his blades as he began his dance. His body knew the motions: feet shoulder width apart, raise your arm, clear, decisive strikes. The blades an extension of his arm rather than just pieces of sharpened metal.

When he couldn't stand anymore he would laugh as he fell, he smiled when his knees would hit the ground and his chest ached as he desperately tried to breathe. "Again," he whispered to himself as he clawed his way up from the dirt and began his dance again.

Slippers pattering across the flooring of his home, voices rolled out from the doors of the study. He was quick to steel himself against the steadiness of the door. "Still no luck?" The voice was calm, an unsettling patience laced in the words. The doors were open just a fraction, Soshiro turned himself to gaze into the one room he was never allowed in. There was little to see, the smell is what caught his attention first. The putrid smell of rubber being burnt, he covered his mouth with his hand to prevent his gag from escaping. He watched with curiosity as his father stoked the flames of the fire, there was an object in the middle he couldn't make out from the distance. The fire cradled the object as it slowly burned.

"Obviously not—" The man scoffed before erupting into a coughing fit, his hand whipped out to hold himself against the wall as he attempted to catch his breath. Soshiro had never seen his father look so…small. His father stood bent over the flames of the fire: they cast a wicked shadow over his face and he couldn't tell if the glare in his eyes was caused by the flames or his own rage. "I can feel the affects growing stronger every day. We need to find the witch soon or you will all perish." Soichiro helped his father into his chair, his eyes meeting his younger brother's from where he hid behind the doors. There was a momentary flash of worry before he turned away from the younger.

"There is still time, if not I then Soshiro. Have faith in us and rest." There was a weight in the words he knew he wouldn't be able to forget.

He knew now, that witches were cruel creatures, they were weeds that needed to be plucked out. Wandering through the halls he feels more of a stranger than his father's child. The servants pass by him without a word, his brother is focused on a wild goose chase he's not sure has an end, and his father now spends most of his days asleep in his room. Stillness does not always equal peace—the stillness of the home sends shivers down in spine and sharpness in his heart. Soshiro's respite among the static that runs through his head, his mother's room, the furniture has been covered over with thick white cloths and a layer of dust runs over the ridges. Still— it is quiet here, peaceful, sometimes he finds himself talking to her and wondering if she could still listen. The room is still in a way that evens his breaths.

"The garden is growing well." He sits with his head against the closed door as he speaks into the silence. "I'm surprised I've been able to keep the roses alive this long." His hands fidget in his lap as he takes in a deep breath, "it's still hard to believe you're gone some days. I keep waiting for you to come outside while I'm pulling weeds and tell me there's no harm in keeping one." He laughs wetly as tears sting his eyes. He thought he had gotten past that: past the pain of no longer having her in his life. "I'll be leaving soon, there's not much I can do to help our family here on my own. I want to make you proud…I wish I had been braver to venture on my own sooner."

Traveling alone wasn't something he had thought he would be prepared for, the constant isolation and fear of the unknown. His brother sent word of their father's passing not long after— he hadn't cried, he hadn't screamed or cursed at whatever invisible force was pulling the strings of fate like he had with his mother. He treated it as a fact, his father is dead and soon he will be too. Hoshina had found a quiet companion in the unknown, he had grown to enjoy it. Every new inn held a new piece of information or a wonderful dinner, the beds weren't as nice as his own at home but they would suffice. He helped with building or gardening to get quick cash and before long he continued on to the next.

'You must capture the heart of my descendant or your own will stop when shadows fall on your fortieth year.' He had heard it so many times growing up, the constant timer that was placed on all of their lives. It was a childish dream to think he could ignore it. Every year the pain in his heart grew more and more, he would send letters home every now and then. So many towns had been marked off of his map, his brother would frequently beg of him to return home. There was no point, settle down and make the most of what life you have left, he had been traveling for years. He couldn't give in, he didn't want anymore letters to explain the deaths. If he didn't fight the problem he's unsure anyone else in his family would.

"Oh dear, do you really have to go? It feels like you just got here." The innkeeper had taken a liking to him, if not only because he could change the lights for her easier than she could on her own. "We would be more than happy for you to stay. Surely another week wouldn't be too long."

He smiled and shook his head. "I appreciate your hospitality, if I find what I'm looking for I'll make sure to stop back and visit." It's a lie, one both of them could easily pick apart. He hated stopping in the same place twice, there was no point in making ties with people if the strings would be cut apart sooner rather than later. No need to drag unnecessary people into his problems.

He put up his hood as he left money on the table, the weather biting at his cheeks and turning them a light shade of pink, his boots became littered with snow and mud. His soles already caked with mud from previous years of walking in the elements. His dual swords stay sheathed on back of his hips, the comforting weight was enough to keep him pushing forward if not for the promise of getting out of the cold again.

Snow clumped onto his lashes as his legs burned more profusely with each step. He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and yet it still seemed to not be enough, the winds felt as though they blew straight through the fabric and straight to his soul. A chill permeated through his body, his teeth chattered but still he kept on. Stopping would mean failing and he has come too far to fail now. The sun begins to set over the horizon as the town retreats from view; he knows there are twenty miles between him and the next stop. Air scratches his lungs as it circulates through his body, and every step reminds him of how far he still has to go.

Winter had not seemed this harsh in his childhood, the rose tinted glasses losing their gleam as he continues to grow. His mother is little less than a memory now, her warm and calloused hands trying to guide him back inside to no avail. "Soshiro, it's too cold to be out here."

"No!" His protest garners quiet laughter from his mother. She always had given in much too easily to her children's whims. "What was that for," he yelps and rubs the snow from his face. He scrunches his nose as he waves his arms in protest.

"You wanted to play outside, just catering to your wishes." She bows lowly as he groans and hits her arm to get her to stand up again.

"The snow is like magic."

"You know that word is forbidden," she bends down to his eye level. Even in his own memories he knows that her voice isn't quite right, her face wasn't structured that way. "But, between you and me…" she looks around quickly before smiling softly at him. "It is a bit like magic isn't it?" Her hands ruffled his hair and everything felt like home.

Uneven and shaky breaths escape his lips, she was right. The snow hurts like magic and takes away the beauty of spring, it would be better if there was no magic in the world. That was a child's dream; he need only get rid of one witch and maybe the snow would feel like how it felt that day once more. Smoke billowed through the trees in the distance, his own small mercy. He was sure his lips were blue and that the tears in his eyes had frozen to his lashes. His hands could barely move without a searing pain forcing them frigid. The cottage had snow piled over top but a small cleared off pathway he could make out up the hill. His hands knocked gently upon the door after he all but ran up the hill. "Oh dear," was all he heard before his eyes closed.

The last thing you were expecting to find upon opening your door was a man who looked near to a different kind of doorstep. His lips were an unforgiving shade of blue and his skin was cold to the touch. You mentally curse yourself as you drag the man to lay on your couch. Your hands are gentle as you remove his wet coat and shoes from his body, sighing you take rocks from their pot in your fireplace and wrap a blanket around them for a few minutes. He shivers on your couch as you move to hang his clothes up to dry. Your hand grazes the blanket with a hum as it warms and carefully put the stones back into their pot before placing the blanket over the man.

You swipe his bangs away from his closed eyes and notice how his breathing has calmed since coming in from the cold. "So reckless, who travels in this weather." Something about the man endears you, draws you in closer. His skin has begun to warm just slightly, his body moves to lean into your hand. With a shake of your head you leave him and shuffle your way over to the small kitchen of the cottage. Your hands delicately pick the white flowers from the small pot in which they grow, their earthy scent offering nostalgia of your mother making a similar drink. You rinse them off in cold water and pat them dry with a clean cloth before filling a pot with water and waiting for it to boil on the stove top. You lean calmly against the wall as you gaze into your living room, the man is still asleep but the color seems to have returned to his lips. "Why me?" There's not enough time to ponder as you hear the water boil behind you, turning down the heat you place the cleaned petals into the water and stir them with a wooden spoon.

Once the tea is done you carefully pour it into two cups and place the pot off to the side to be cleaned for later. You set the mugs down on the table near the couch and bend down next the sleeping man. You gently shake him awake, his eyes a stunning shade of crimson, like blood on fresh snow, the intensity in his gaze almost has you jumping back. "Where?" You shush him and help him sit up as you move the pillow behind him to allow him to sit more comfortably. His voice is hoarse (likely from the cold) and you carefully lift the mug to his face despite his gentle resistance, as he sips the liquid it soothes his throat and he sinks into the couch.

"That was incredibly reckless, did you never get taught to not go traveling when the weather is like this?"

"I have something I need to find that's more important than just a little bad weather."

"Regardless, you're going to stay here so you don't end up bothering some other person by passing out on their doorstep. You're welcome by the way—" He finds himself enjoying your berating, it almost makes him laugh.

"I believe that would be kidnapping if you kept me here."

"Well, with good conscience I can't very well let you travel outside in this storm. So, you're going to have to deal with me until the weather clears up." You cross your arms over your chest as you glare down at him from where you stand next to the couch. "Don't smile like that, it makes me feel as though you're mocking me."

"I would never mock my savior." He rests his elbow on the arm of the couch and leans his head against his now closed fist.

"I should have left you out there."

"And what of your conscience?"

"You are acting far too familiar with me, it is too late to be having these conversations. I don't need my blood pressure spiking before bed." You wipe your hands on your dress and turn away. As you pass through the frame you hear his voice speak up from behind you.

"H- you forgot your tea." He catches himself, he shouldn't treat you like this. He does not know you, he has no need or want to know you.

"Thank you." He watches as you disappear around the corner with your mug, your home is still in a way that is different from his. Your home is still but not quiet, the fire crackles from where you had started it earlier, it fills the room with a slightly smokey scent. It mixes nicely with the smell of the freshly brewed tea, the peace reminds him of times he no longer feels at liberty to have.

Your presence scares him, he faintly remembers the feeling of your hand brushing away his bangs while he slept. Your touch gentle in a way he had not felt in years. He will leave soon and that is the only way he is able to fall asleep that night— with the quiet promise to himself to not get comfortable.

The draft blowing in from the window is what stirs him from his sleep along with the smell of food. He rubs his eyes and notices that his empty mug has disappeared from the side table he left it on before he went to bed. "You're awake, breakfast is almost done."

He doesn't understand why you're doing this, why you so easily allowed a stranger into your home. You haven't asked him for payment yet, hasn't even asked him to get off the couch and help you cook. You gets nothing from having him here, so why are you allowing him to stay? He isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he peels the blanket from his body with a shiver. He hadn't realized earlier he had been stripped of his coat and left in his sweater, it's much colder in the house than he had realized.

"Tomorrow I have to go into town, I hope the weather clears up a bit." He watches as you wipe your hands on your skirt in a similar fashion as you had the night before, seeming more like a habit than to actually rid dirt from your skin. "I assume that's where you were headed, yes?" He nods and inches closer to the kitchen as you serve the food up on two plates. "Do not look so dumbfounded at me, it is an easy assumption to make."

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath as he shakes his head. "Why?"

"Why what? That should be my question, why did you go wandering about in the woods in that weather?"

"Why are you allowing me to stay?" It was your turn to pause, you roll your eyes and place the dirty dishes off to the side.

"Because, I was raised that I should be kind to all living things." You answer with your back turned, your hands rest on the counter. "Even people who pass out on my doorstep on the brink of death." He lets out a quiet laugh at your slight teasing towards him, he pokes around at the food on his plate. You silently eat together before washing the dishes as he retreats back to your small living room and you back to your own room.

He waits for you to leave your room before giving up and deciding to make himself useful. He finds a broom near the front door and from looking out the windows can see that the storm has caused the once almost clear path to be completely covered with a few inches hiding it underneath a vast field of white. Hoshina doesn't see much of you that day, only hearing shuffling from your room or the door closing as you head to a room across the hall. If you see him stare at you, you don't react, at least not where he can see you. The living areas are at least clean, he chooses not to venture down the hall where he knows your room is. It doesn't feel as though he deserves that privilege, he is just a stranger who landed on your doorstep. No matter how intriguing he may find you, he should keep his distance. There is a longing within him to grow closer to you that he cannot place as to why, he hopes if he ignores it that the feeling will pass.

The weather does not let up in the following days, your shadow passing along the floorboards is all he sees of you for the time. Plates of food are left on the counter (although he does not know when or how you made them without him catching you in the act). He shouldn't care so much, he should be thankful at your kept distance. The further away you are the less likely he is to form an attachment he can't afford to have.

The fourth day he catches you as you wash the dishes. "And here I thought you had vanished into thin air." There's a sick satisfaction in watching you jump at his voice.

"Sorry, I usually aim to be a better host. I was taking inventory to see what I needed to buy while I was in town." You peer out the window and notice that the snow has begun to slowly melt. "Tomorrow we should be able to go, assuming the snow has melted enough." He nods and inches closer to you, the warmth from his body radiates onto your own.

"If I didn't know any better I would think you wanted to keep me here."

"Good thing you know better." You brush past him and attempt to go back down the hall, his hand catches onto your wrist. His hands are rough, you can feel the callouses that have grown on his fingers but his hold is remarkably gentle. His thumb swipes against your skin and a gasp flutters past your lips.

"May I know your name, to thank you properly." He sounds almost desperate for it, there's a burning beneath his skin.

"If I may know yours as well." You turn and look at him as he nods. He has not let go of your wrist, both of you look down before he allows it to fall from his grasp. It has been so long since you have repeated your name to someone, it feels almost foreign as your lips curl around the syllables.

"Soshiro." He doesn't know why his last name won't move past his lips, a barrier between fully knowing. He almost misses it, the way you repeat his name under your breath, a whisper on the wind. A shiver wracks his spine and he takes a step back. "Thank you, for…for allowing me here."

"Of course, I couldn't very well let you die on my doorstep." He finds it too easy, talking with you is too simple. There's a quiet comfort that fills him around you, where his thoughts become slower and his breaths deeper: if he thinks too hard about how close he's gotten to you over the last few days he would sooner cut off his hand. For now, at least, he allows himself this comfort.

You expect him to leave once you lead him to town, it's what you've been preparing for. The cottage feeling empty once more, his coat no longer hanging and his blades no longer resting on your small round table that sits by the couch. There is good to come of the emptiness, the silence that fills the void.

Birds chirp outside the kitchen window, it causes a smile to softly grow on your face. Neither of you address the melting snow or your languid movements as you eat breakfast together, he doesn't ask before he helps you wash the plates and place them in the cupboards. Gentle breathing fills the space between the two of you, it's not a deafening silence, quite the opposite, it's calm.

He doesn't mention it when you help him put on his coat or pull an extra scarf from the broom closet. You don't mention when he helps you reach the baskets from the shelf without a word, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. The hair on the back of your neck raises at the slight graze, if he notices the hitch in your breath, he doesn't mention that either.

"How did you sleep?" The first words you've spoken to him all morning. You chalk up the way his breath catches to the shock from the cold as you open the door. It's easier to not read into things, for the both of you, you're almost certain you won't be seeing the man again (you've rarely said his name, you don't want your mouth getting used to curling around the letters).

"Well, I've grown used to the couch, it's softer than I would've thought." There's the briefest pause in his words. "How…how did you sleep?" He doesn't know why he's asking.

"You don't have to lie, that old couch can't be that comfortable." You stop yourself from bumping him lightly. He's managed to break down your barriers so quickly, the careful prison of your own making. The pace of your steps slow gradually as you talk, you know it's only a ten minute walk to the town. "I slept well, that's to be expected though, it is my bed."

He laughs despite himself. "Right, of course." The snow crunches under the soles of his boots, your footprints side by side as untraveled snow lay before you. You carve your own paths, traveling slowly as to keep the moment for as long as possible. "The couch really isn't that bad, better than some of the inns I've slept in honestly."

"You poor soul," there's a breeze of laughter in your voice. The gates of the town come into view and you bite your cheek to keep the disappointment at bay. All good things must come to an end. "Looks like this is your stop." Your gaze stays low and follows the ground, the snow has become muddy and rocks and snapped twigs make homes in the powder.

"I wouldn't feel right to let you shop by yourself, I did have a hand in eating most of your food." He won't admit why he's offering himself to you. Offering his help, he deigns to say it's to 'pay you back' but he knows better, even if he won't say it.

"I don't have to buy much, you're welcome to join me. It might help you with what you're looking for."

"Yes, yes, it might." He is being foolish, he had almost allowed himself to forget his goal in the few days he had spent with you. It's better this way, to part ways with you before he drags you into his mess too.

Few words are exchanged as you walk around town together, you make quick work of collecting various herbs and oils. He finds it odd but doesn't question it, perhaps they're for cooking. You offer him fruit to try, his lips brushing against your fingers as he eats from your hand. You shove him lightly and he laughs at your reaction. Walking to the inn side by side, you notice children whispering amongst themselves and pointing. With a small smirk you bend down and pack the snow tightly in your hands and throw it at one of the children, the others begin laughing.

"We were wondering when you would show up!" A few of the children run up to you and wrap their arms around you. Hoshina throws you a questioning glance and takes a step back.

"It's harder for me to get out in the winter, my cottage is very easily snowed in." You ruffle the hair of the girl who still clings to you, she lets out a small giggle as she peers up at you.

"We could come shovel you out!" The boys puff out their chests and raise their heads high.

"I wouldn't want your mothers to worry about you, there's many scary things in those woods and it's quite easy to get lost. It's better for you all to stay in the village where it's safe."

"Why don't you stay in the village then miss?"

"I used to," there's a wistful look in your eyes. "My parents built my cottage, it's like a small part of them is always around me when I'm there." You crouch down to be able to look them in the eyes. "Plus it would be rather rude to my plants to just uproot them from where they sit."

"Who's this?" They move on quickly as they look towards your companion— look towards Sochiro you correct your own thoughts.

"He was just passing through, he got sick and I helped him feel better. He'll be staying in town for a bit so make sure to be kind to him."

"When are we not kind?" One of the boys tries to feign innocence but you pinch his cheek and he groans and rubs the area with his hand. "Hey!"

"That act doesn't work on me anymore." Soshiro shuffles his feet slightly and you take it as your sign to dust your hands off and stand up. "I better get him dropped off, I'll see you all again soon. Off you pop back home, your little faces are getting frostbitten."

He doesn't say much as you pick your baskets back up and walk into the inn, you can feel his calculating gaze on you as you get a room for him and come back with a key. "You're good with children."

"It's easy to be, they're good kids." You hold out the room key for him. "Here you go, one room, I didn't know how many nights you were staying so you'll have to work that out with the keep later."

"Thank you. Really, thank you." He doesn't pull away when his fingers brush yours as he takes the key, for a brief moment your eyes are locked with his and the world seems to spin slower.

"If you ever find yourself in need of an old couch to sleep on for a week, well, you know where I am." He nods as you pull your hand away first, there's a chill that resides where his skin once warmed yours.

"Or if I'm ever in need of some company."

"Oh really? I thought you didn't enjoy my company." You jest with him and cross your arms.

"It's tolerable, enjoy your day." He turns from you, your name passes by his lips briefly and you wish you could hear it more.

"You too Soshiro, I hope you're able to find what it is you lost." He throws you one last glance over his shoulder before he disappears up the stairs of the inn. Despite the loud atmosphere…you feel quiet.

The walk back to your cottage feels colder and the footprints from this morning have been covered with a fresh layer of snow. There's no trace, no proof that he was in your home. You hang up your coat and try to get used to cooking for one again.

Soshiro doesn't show his face again until all the snow has melted from the ground and the flowers have started to bloom outside your home. The letters he has sent you the only thing that warmed you through the winter. Often you would sit by the fire and reread the words just to memorize the way he wrote. The way his hands would drag on some characters and cut off abruptly on others. Sometimes he would leave a sending address, he wouldn't admit it but every few weeks he would stay somewhere longer than needed just in case you chose to reply. You've grown to know him more than you thought you would, more than you should.

His hands are nervous but gentle as he knocks against the wood, he has no reason to be here, he's gone through the town and decidedly marked it off of his map; and yet, his feet carried him to your cottage before he could stop himself. "One moment!" He hears your voice call from inside and it suddenly feels all too real again.

He finds himself with his back against the bark of a tree with a hand over his mouth. He hears your door creak open and can hear you call out before he hears it close once again. He thinks he's gotten away with it until he comes out from his hiding place and sees you standing on the other side. "Are we doing ding-dong-ditching now?" You tease him lightly and it makes his heartbeat quicken just slightly in his chest.

"Hi." His hands reaches up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, he lets go of a breath he's unsure how long he's been holding.

"Come in, you're just in time, I put some tea leaves in the pot not too long ago." You smile at him so brightly he's unsure of how there was ever snow around you. He's certain one smile would've been all it took to melt it. He follows you into the familiar home of your cottage and rests his bag on the hook by the door, his shoes resting by yours. The sight feels incredibly too domestic and he curses himself for the thought.

"How have you been?" It feels odd, to sit here on your couch and talk to you like you're familiar and not just someone who helped him months ago. He's not used to this anymore, not used to forming connections with actual people.

"I've been well, the weather has warmed up so that means my classes have started back up."

"Classes?" He asks with curiosity as he takes a drink of tea from the mug you handed to him.

"I teach the children some home remedies with herbs that grow in the village. I also help them learn to cook— even if it's only a few meals. Just, knowledge my mother told me that would be good for them to know."

"That's impressive."

"Thank you," silence fills the air again as you sip at your teas. The tea warms your hands and lap as you turn to sit to face him more. "How have your travels been?"

"Uneventful."

"I'm sorry, maybe I could help. What is it you're looking for?"

"I don't want you getting mixed up in my mess, it's no worry." He states finally, you know better than to push and clear your throat.

"I'm surprised you came back, I thought you didn't revisit towns you had already been to."

"It's funny actually," he already begins to laugh slightly. "I was getting ready to move to the next town and my feet lead me here before I even realized where I was going." The statement hides vulnerability behind the words, you don't move to point it out. You hum quietly and bring your tea back up to your lips for another sip. "That sounds weirder now that I say it out loud. Is that weird?"

"No, no, not at all." You all but jump to reply. "It's…endearing almost. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough here, despite your short stay, to come back. It makes me quite happily actually, the cottage was feeling a bit too…empty in recent months." You seem to notice your own connotation in the words and choke on air. "Not that, I mean. Uh, not that I'm trying to convince you to stay longer than you plan to." You look down into your mug, your fingers dancing around the edge.

"I don't mind," the softness of his voice betrays him. "We wouldn't want the cottage to feel empty again so soon." A barely there smile plays at his lips, his teeth poking out at the corners. It feels almost too simple— having him here, the way his presence fills the room and settles into the walls like a fresh coat of paint.

"What have you been up to, since I last heard from you that is?" Your words become slightly muffled as you raise the mug to your lips. His foot taps lightly against the wooden floors, his hands readjusting his hold on the cup.

"Traveling, searching."

"You always become so vague about that." You lean back onto the arm of the couch and curl your knees towards your chest.

"It's easier that way, it means that uninvolved people don't end up hurt." His gaze looks out your window over the vast expanse of greenery and the odd flower every so often. You stretch one leg out and poke him lightly with your foot, he almost jumps at the action. Soshiro isn't sure what to expect when he looks back at you: pity, concern, amusement— he finds gentleness in wake of it all. Your lips curling softly and your shoulders relaxing.

"Tell me of your travels then, what of the world." You start to bring your leg back up to your chest before his free hand rests lightly on your ankle. He's warm, almost too warm, opposite to how you had met with cold skin and purple lips. A shudder courses through your body, one that doesn't go unnoticed by Soshiro.

"Were my letters not enough?" He sees the hunger in your eyes for more and with a sigh he complies to your wishes. "The world is what you would expect," his touch is gentle as his thumb rubs soft circles into your skin. "Constantly at arms with itself over menial issues that could be resolved with conversation. There is good, there always is in places that seem the most expelled from goodness, brief moments where the world doesn't seem so dark."

Soshiro feels a bit like the snow; cold and unsurmounting, he supposes that would make you the warmth that melts him away. He doesn't tell you that even in moments of anguish when his heart felt like it was trying to pull itself from his body that he would think of you. He would think of your kind smiles and your gentle hands, of your breakfasts and weird herbs and special teas. The pain seemed to lessen when he thought of you.

"There must be more than that," you lean forward to rest your weight on the leg he isn't currently holding. "Tell me of the wonders, of the beauty. Tell me of the things I wouldn't even dream of seeing in this lifetime, there must be some."

"If you're so enthralled with travel why don't you go?"

"Oh, I couldn't. This is my home, I can't leave." You push away the thought, your mother had warned you the dangers of leaving your home. There were places— people that wouldn't take so kind to you, to what you do even if it was to help people. This town is safe, has been your whole life, leaving would feel like betrayal.

"You could, you just need to take the first step." His words are true, in theory that's all it would take, just pack a small bag for yourself and step outside your cottage and town.

"It's not that simple, there are responsibilities I have here…I can't leave them behind."

He doesn't push, just solemnly nods his head and gives your ankle a light squeeze. The silence feels deafening as it falls over you, the soft ringing of white noise. You both watch the window as you finish off your tea, you watch as the sun changes the hue of the world. How the flowers sway in the breeze and due still drips off the leaves. "It's late." He finally replies, you nod in return but neither of you make a move.

"It is." The silence is different now, in theory that's way that you look at each other and the tones of your voices, the beats of your hearts. "I'll let you get ready for sleep then." You pull yourself away from him before you allow yourself to get lost in the crimson hues of his eyes again, you've never seen such a beautiful color.

Once the sun has set over the horizon and the crickets begin chirping in the night breeze, you lay in bed and gaze at your ceiling. You trace the lines and your eyes make up the shapes of a face you shouldn't know this well. A shiver rakes down your spine as you pull the blankets away from your figure and set your feet down on the cold hardwood floors of your bedroom. Your door creaks open almost painfully loud and you make your way quietly down the hall, the soft glow of the living room lamp acts as your guiding light.

You shouldn't feel so surprised to see Soshiro still awake, he meticulously sharpens his blades and holds them out to feel the weight. You don't mean to startle him, you're not entirely sure you could; your eyes catch his in the glint of the steel and he turns to you slowly. "I feel bad."

"For what?" He seems almost amused as he looks at you, his eyes taking in your form.

"You've come to my home and once again you're sleeping on that old couch. " A mischievous glint appears in his eyes and he tries to hide his teasing smile as he carefully sheaths his blades and sets them down on the table. He doesn't say anything, just watches and waits as your feet shuffle awkwardly on the ground. "You know what I'm going to ask," you grumble.

"I don't think I do." He just smiles innocently as he hooks his chin on the back of the couch and stares at you.

"Oh for—" you cut yourself off with a groan. "Soshiro," it feels almost like a foreign sound as your lips curl around his name. He laughs softly under his breath but doesn't make you ask, he knows, you both do. He blows out the lamp on his way and follows you back down the hall and towards your room. He's not sure what he expected, but it feels so. You. For what little he knows at the very least. Potted plants sit on window sills and there's a jar of ink and letter paper on your vanity.

As you curl towards the wall you refuse to look at him, it feels almost too vulnerable. The bed dips but you remain staring at the wall, even when you can feel the warmth from his body near your own. His breaths lightly gliding across your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Thank you," his voice is but a whisper on the wind. He doesn't inch closer but you're all too aware that he's there. Still— something about having him here comforts you in ways you're almost certain it shouldn't.

When you wake again in the morning it's to the gentle sensation of fingers twirling pieces of your hair. You feel almost too warm where you lay, already having forgotten of the invitation from the night prior. "I know you're awake," his voice is soft and it's only really then do you truly stir from sleep. He laughs when you jump up and look at him, he's laying on his back one arm bent behind his head and the other (the one you assume was playing with your hair) now lays lamely on his chest.

"Don't laugh you jerk." You hit him with your pillow and he puts up his hands in faux defense and perhaps mercy. A slight pout plays on your lips as you lay the pillow on his chest and then lay your chin down to look up at him. He's truly a sight to see, his usually well maintained hair is now puffed up and strewn about in various ways. A single piece of hair sticks straight up, and his skin is tinged the lightest shade of pink you've ever seen. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, if not for your snoring." You squint your eyes at him as he just smiles teasingly. "Much better than the couch, you were right."

"I always am." You slowly sit up and stretch your arms above your head, his eyes tracing the curves of your arms. The sleeves of your nightgown slip down and he wants to kiss the freshly exposed skin, he does not move, you look over your shoulder confused. "Cat caught your tongue?"

"You wish." He throws the blankets off of himself and the two of you tumble out of bed, he's holds your hand as you stand up to steady you. Your hands go to smooth out the covers of your bed and his own find yours in the middle. "It's only fair, I did contribute to the mess after all." You roll your eyes but allow him to help.

You forget yourselves as you do housework together. You don't know why you allow him to help nor why his hands seem to have more care than your own as you go through the motions. He stays with you almost the whole day, following you as you tend to your plants and clean the counters and crevices. You make excuses for him in your head: excuses for why his hands seemed to brush yours no less than 15 times in the short day (yes you counted), for why there's a softness in his eyes that you know wasn't there the last time you had said goodbye. Most of all, you make excuses for yourself and why that was perhaps the best sleep you've had in a long long time.

"When will you be leaving?"

"Already sick of my company?" He teases and finds amusement in how you roll your eyes or how quiet huffs pass your lips.

"I need to know if I have to buy more food or not."

"I don't want to impose."

"Soshiro." He knows that look— odd how a part of his brain has already memorized the small idiosyncrasies of your face.

"I can leave tomorrow."

"Do you want to?" Truthfully, no, no he does not. If he could, he would follow his brother's advice and make a home in this town if only for the excuse of seeing you more often. You take his pause as an answer and smile at him. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, I won't kick you out just yet." He finds himself okay with that, despite the ticking time on his life, he would be okay if today was his last day as long as it was with you.

His stomach growling makes the both of you laugh as you head to the kitchen. He stands at the counter and just observes you, it feels like he's trying to commit you to memory. He hums in response to most of your questions and stares at your lips for others. He finds it amusing how you roll your eyes and pretend it doesn't affect you but he can see it in how your hand shakes as you lift the pans or how your teeth worry at your bottom lip.

When he climbs into your bed again that night you turn over to face him. Only the subtle traces of moonlight through your window allow you to see parts of his face. Absentmindedly you reach a hand up to trace from his forehead down the curves of his face till you stop at his lips. "If I didn't know any better," you can feel the warmth of his breath against your finger. "I would say you wanted to kiss me." Your hand slips away to lay balled up in front of your face. He throws his arm over you and rests his head on top of yours. "Sleep well."

It should be that simple, it shouldn't feel this…this right to be next to him in this manner. Only a few months have passed, most getting to know each other over inked words on paper. He should still feel like a stranger to you, should still sleep on the rickety old couch no matter how lumpy or uncomfortable it may be. He shouldn't be waking up in your bed, helping you cook breakfast, and you most certainly should not be tracing his face with your hand as though trying to know the shapes to sculpt from stone for later. And yet— as he lays next to you, his arm wrapped loosely around you, you can't help but feel at peace. The momentary peace in an otherwise cruel world.

You never would have expected for his blades to be flush with the skin of your neck as you are cornered against the wall of your home. His face that was once gentle laced with anger and pain.

He had woken you the same as he had done the day prior, with gentle fingers playing with strands of your hair. His heartbeat a steady sound that had almost lulled you back to sleep, the golden light of the morning made him utterly glow and you wanted to frame this moment to keep it forever.

"You know how to garden?"

"I used to with my mother." He had followed you outside as you took shovels and pails of water to your front garden (although after winter it could hardly be called a garden again). Few sprigs of tulips and peonies began to sprout in the garden, he watched for a moment as you carefully plucked the rocks from the soil but not the weeds. "Why do you not pick out the weeds?"

"Because they deserve a place to grow too." His eyes widened slightly at your words but you didn't notice as you continued to clean up the garden and prune the few bushes that were still alive. "Soshiro?" He hadn't realized he had spaced out until your hand gently laid on top of his next to a singular dandelion already in bloom.

"What?"

"Will you hand me that pail of water?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just." He pauses and looks to where your hand still rests on his. "Got lost in my thoughts."

"It's okay," he hands you the pail and works on another small section of the garden. He has to stop himself from pulling out the weeds, they do not seem to ruin your garden, they seem to fill it with more life. "What's behind the other door in your home?"

"Hmm?" As the sun streamed through the clouds there was a hazy halo around you, it made him choke on his spit and try to blink his blush away. "Oh, just a greenhouse of sorts. Nothing too grand, just plants that wouldn't survive this climate very well."

"Can I see it?" If you had known then what you know now, you wouldn't have agreed so readily.

"Once we finish up here you can help me, it's a win-win."

"You just want more free labor."

"Is it free if I'm allowing you room and board for the small price of gardening?" He can't fault your logic and just rolls his eyes at you. "You look nice like this."

"Like what?" He is still kneeling on the ground as he shuffles through the soil to get bits of debris left behind from the wind and melted snow of winter.

"You look calm, relaxed almost."

"Gardening has always been like that for me."

"Perhaps you should do it more then, calm looks beautiful on you." You turn before he can see the embarrassment at yourself on your face. He sits stunned at your words before shaking himself out of it. Once you both had finished the front garden you lead him towards the previously locked door with a gentle hand.

He's frozen as you mumble words under your breath, wind picks up and if he didn't feel so sick to his stomach he would say you looked beautiful. Your hair floated around you and there was a calm smile on your lips, a slight glow came from carvings he previously hadn't seen on the door. He took one shaky step back, you hadn't realized it yet. The pain in his heart steamed to start all over again and he covered his mouth with his hand. Not yet, he had to steel himself and wait for the right moment.

His blades were still holstered and resting on the table in the living room. He couldn't make a run for it lest you notice. He took a shaky breath and once you opened the door to the room he spoke. "I'm going to get a glass of water."

"Okay, what's mine is yours." Your voice sickened him, what had once lulled him to sleep now made him wake in fear. "Will you bring me something too?" You were still pretending, he didn't know why. Why couldn't you just stop pretending to care about him and just kill him the first night he had slept beside you. Witches truly were cruel, you the cruelest of all.

He evened his steps as he made his way to the living room, with shaky hands he reached for his blades. He couldn't easily sneak up behind you if he wanted to. He needed to look you in the eyes when he did it.

You hadn't been aware of what was happening, the pot you were holding crashing to the ground at the same time your back made contact with the wall. "Sosh—" The blade of his dagger rested against your throat as he looked at you with the same eyes you found comfort in.

"You aren't allowed to call me that, you aren't allowed to call me anything." Confusion riddled your face, eyebrows drawn together and a frown on your lips. "I can't believe I…I was so stupid as to almost fall for your tricks witch." A look of realization passed your features. Features that he once had memorized but now all he saw when he looked at you was the gravestone of his mother and the letter of his father's death he received from his brother. He no longer saw peace when he looked at you, only death.

Your father would have called you foolish for trusting him, for trusting a human and showing him your magic. He had always said you were much too trusting in the world but never wanted to take away your kindness. It is now as someone you once trusted holds a blade to your skin with the intention of killing you that you finally agree with him. You are very foolish indeed. When the man (you no longer feel allowed to say his name since he has stripped the right from you) asks for your family name you once again choose to be foolish and give it to him. You watch his eyes become muddled with a mix of emotions; most of all pain, you hate that you have made him feel this way.

Hoshina's hands shake as he tries to tighten his hold on his blades. His whole body feel cold, colder than the night he fell on your doorstep, his brows furrow and his frown grows deeper. Of all the people it could have been, why you? He sees the tears in your eyes and finds himself unsure, he has practiced over and over again. He knows what he needs to do, just take your heart and he can be free. He has never killed a witch before, had never allowed his blades to harm another person, as a tear rolls down your face you don't look at him with hatred. That is the worst part, it would be easier if only you looked at him like you hated him. He can't do this.

Hoshina closes his eyes and you feel as his other blade plunges itself into your abdomen, if someone were to ask you your favorite color you believe you would still say crimson. You watch him leave through the door of your greenhouse before your world goes black.

His back hits the wall just when he is out of view from you, his chest heaves as he tries to remember how to breathe. He allows the tears that were welling in him to finally escape his eyes as he comes to terms with what he has to do, what he has already done. Your blood stains the steel of his blade, hand shaking as he lifts it to eye level, his hand covers his mouth and he rushes to your kitchen. He washes the blood from the blade and sheaths it as he peers into the greenhouse. He sees you on the floor, your clothes stained with blood and eyes closed. Before he can think he carries your limp, but still breathing, body to your couch and lays you down. He is able to find bandages in your closet and cleans your wound with a rag before wrapping you in bandages.

He regrets his act of remorse, he should have killed you while you were passed out. It would have been kinder to you and to him, instead, he leaves and finds himself on a path to go back to his own home. He hurriedly wipes tears from his eyes but his pace is slower than it should be. His arms cross over his chest and he uses his smile as a mask, moments play in his mind like the reel of a movie and he wishes it would all just stop.

His feet carry him over the threshold of what was once his home and he collapses into his brother's arms. Soichiro doesn't ask, just holds him and takes them both over to the couch. He does not speak for three days despite the coaxing from his brother and his wife, he keeps holed up in his old room and only comes out to collect the food left outside his door.

The garden no longer feels the same, he can only think in passing of you, thinking of your hand over his while explaining that weeds deserved a chance to live too. He thinks of your body bleeding in your greenhouse, that it was his own hand that caused it. He thinks of waking up to you in the morning and going to sleep next to you even if it was only twice, he thinks of the peace of your home and how quickly it had vanished and been replaced with fear. Hoshina finds himself seated on the ground in front of his parent's grave, the ground is hard but it is real beneath him and that is the only kindness he finds himself allowing.

The crunching of leaves isn't enough to break him from watching how delicately the words were carved into stone. "This is the first place you go after holing yourself up?"

"I found her." He doesn't want to admit it, his brother hums in thought. A hand is placed on his shoulder as he crouches down next to Soshiro. A leaf falls from the tree above the grave, it twirls and dances on the wind before settling calmly on the stone. "I found the witch." There's realization in his brother's eyes, his mouth drops open only slightly and the hand on his shoulder grips him tighter.

"What happened?" He places himself aside as he sees the dull look in Soshiro's eyes, how he isn't smiling or celebrating, how he hardly allowed the words to come from him in the first place. He sits down and waits. For a while neither of them say anything and only look towards the stone.

"I didn't want it to be her." He looks towards his hands, they ball into fists as he tries to stop the shaking. "I'm so stupid, I let her live." His eyes are wide and his expression is pained as he turns away from the grave. "I had my blade to her and I let her live, I dressed her wounds and left."

He doesn't know what he expects, screaming, anger…he is met with his brother's arms wrapped around him and gentle words in his ear. "You are not stupid, you are human." He allows himself to cry. He allows the emotions he's been keeping from himself to finally be let out, his hands hold Soichiro like a lifeline and perhaps now he is. He will not pretend to understand the universe, how the brother he hated for so long has become the only person he now can rely on.

"You are too kind for your own good. She is the reason our family is dead and you will be too, she is why you cannot see your wife grow old or your children turn into adults. And yet, here you are, comforting me as I cry over how I couldn't kill her." He pulls back to see his face, to see how his brother does not look angry, he's unsure if it is practiced calm or an act.

"I am not too kind, I am your brother Soshiro. I watched our father destroy himself long before any curse ever had while our mother tried to live with love. There is so much of you in her," it does little to calm him. "You are gentle Soshiro, she would be proud to see how you have grown."

"It's my fault they're dead, it is my fault you will be dead. If I had been able to kill her you—"

"Soshiro." His brother cuts him off and helps him to stand off the ground. "Listen to me when I tell you this," he waits until Soshiro looks him in the eyes. "I had allowed myself to fall for the same trap our father did. I allowed myself to become overrun with hatred and missed out on spending his final moments with him. When I came home the servants had already buried him, it made me realize that life is to short to be living it as we have." He sees the confusion on his brother's face and sighs softly. "Soshiro, it is not your fault that they are dead. Choose to live for yourself instead of pacing your life on the wishes of the dead. You will only drown in your own misery." He leaves him soon after that, leaves him in the gently blowing wind that makes the grass tickle his legs.

Soshiro does not know how long he stands there, he feels trapped, his feet stuck in place as he looks at the ground where his brother once stood. Live for himself. Is that not what he had been doing? He has been to so many towns, met so many people, he has experienced so much of the world in search of the witch. He can't throw away everything he has been taught, that would be failure. He cannot fail, he cannot fail— he does not want to die.

When he is finally able to drag himself away from the grave and back to his room he does not sleep, doesn't get the bowl of food left for him by his brother. He stares at the ceiling and breathes. He allows himself to become aware of how the air fills his lungs and how his heart beats beneath his skin, he allows himself to become aware of the things that make him alive. His eyes close for only a moment, he is asleep before he is aware that he is dreaming.

The world feels hazy as he opens his eyes, everything feels much too bright. His arms are wrapped around a figure, he watches them take slow and steady breaths, sees how their hair curls over their shoulders and how warm they feel beneath him. As they turn over he gasps, he is met with your face. Your relaxed expression, your brows unfurrowed and lip not caught between your teeth like it often is when you're in thought. This cannot be real, he cannot. Your eyes open and he feels you look into his very soul. "Why?"

The scene changes before his eyes: your body is now on the ground and he hovers over you with a knife in hand. He sees the blood spilling from your body and drops the knife as he uses his hand to cover up your wound to try and stop the bleeding. "No, no, you can't."

"Why did you do this Soshiro?" Your hand reaches up to hold his face and his hand rushes to cover yours, your skin becomes stained a deep shade of red.

"I didn't, you. You," he can't find the words as he cries and holds you. "You can't die, this isn't how it went." He tries to pick your body up but finds himself sinking into the ground. "I patched you up." You smile softly at him and he watches as your eyes begin to dull over and your breathing becomes more shallow.

"Soshiro, it's okay. You can't let me go."

"Please," he sounds so broken as he holds you close to him. Your eyes glaze over and he feels as you go limp in his arms and your breathing stops. The world goes black again, he looks down and his hands are empty and stained with blood, your blood, there is nothing but an expansive void around him. "Hello?"

"Was it worth it?"

"Was what worth it? I don't understand— where am I?"

"You completed your task, you got rid of the weed in your garden. Was it worth it to kill her to save yourself?" He wants so badly to say yes, he wants to feel like yes is the only answer. He cannot allow himself to say it, not while your blood still stains his hands and he cannot allow himself still feel your warmth upon his cheek. "You will drown in your own misery Soshiro."

He awakes with a gasp, his heart is beating rapidly as he sits up and tries to catch his breath. The door bursts open and he sees his brother run in and put a hand on his shoulder. "Soshiro, are you okay? I heard you scream and—" He is cut off as his brother for the second time that day sobs into his arms.

"I don't know what to do." For the first time in years, he feels small. The world feels too big and he feels as though it is swallowing him whole to leave him in his own misery as his brother had said. "I can't…I can't kill her. I can't kill her," her repeats the words like they are the only ones he knows. "I can't kill her—"

"You don't have to."

"But I don't want to die." It is a painful truth to both of them. If he does not kill her then they will both die, Soichiro and his wife will die, their unborn child will die and so will he. Soshiro will die if he does not kill you but he cannot do it. He cannot allow his hand to be the one that takes you out of this world even if it means his own end. "I don't want to die."

He does not know how to calm his worries, mostly because he knows he can't. He sits down beside him on the bed and holds him close as his hand gently combs his bangs back from his eyes. "I know, I know you don't." It is all he can offer and he knows it is not enough but he has nothing else to give, only his company. The cries start to come to an end and his breathing evens out. "Rest now." He gently lowers Soshiro back onto his pillow and tucks the blankets below his chin. He leaves the room and brushes away the tear streaks on his face with a gentle hand and a clean cloth. He ends up falling asleep in the chair in the corner of the room.

When Soshiro wakes up again in the morning he sees his brother's sleeping form and guilt rises in his chest once again. "I'm sorry," he whispers as to not wake the man. He drapes a blanket over him and slowly leaves the room. His feet take him to the garden before he can think, he sees his brother's wife and before he can turn to leave she calls to him.

"So you're the one who kidnapped my husband last night," she jests at him. He cannot find it in himself to smile. "Come with me," she holds out her hand and when he does not take it she rolls her eyes and drags him out to the garden herself. She is stronger than he gave her credit for. "You know Soichiro was so happy to see you when you came back. Though this is our first time officially meeting I know he cares for you." She hands him a watering can. "You know how to garden, yes?"

"Yes." His voice cracks upon the word and he clears his throat. "Yes, I used to garden with our mother."

"Good, help me water the flowers. It is difficult to get to them all by myself. Soichiro would throw a fit if I stayed out here too long in the heat." She places a hand over her stomach with a small smile as she rubs over it softly. Soshiro looks towards her with mixed emotions. "I know of your curse, I know of what will become of me, of Soichiro. He made it clear to me before we started to get serious. He wanted me to know what I was getting myself into, I signed up for a life with him no matter how short it may be. Do not feel guilty over our choices."

He helps her water the flowers, he requests she sit in the shade as he picks through the weeds. "I do not wish for my brother to kill me when he wakes up and sees you standing in the sun."

"Oh, alright, but only because I do not wish to worry his heart." As she sits underneath the small awning she lets out a quiet sigh. "It is a truly lovely day."

"When are you expected?"

"A month." He has a month to get himself together so that his brother needn't worry about how little time he gets to spend with his family. "I know what you are thinking, do not ruin this lovely day with those thoughts."

"How could you possibly know what I am thinking?" He sneers at her but she just lets out a laugh.

"It is written all over your face, you believe you are going to kill the witch in a month, yes?" His mouth opens and closes and he cannot find the words. "You men are all so simple." His brother appears in the doorway behind her with a small laugh, he watches as he bends down and places a kiss to her forehead.

"I do hope you don't mean all of us."

"I do." She smiles as he places his hand over his heart and fakes pain. "Oh quit it." She hits him lightly and Soshiro finds himself smiling lightly at the interaction. "Soshiro is trying to ruin this lovely day with thoughts of killing."

"Oh dear," he shakes his head and joins his brother in picking at the weeds. "We are happy with our life, we know of the dangers, why do you still feel beholden to worries that are not yours to hold?"

"I could have killed her and I didn't. This could have been done before I came home. Instead I ran with my tail between my legs like a dog that got scolded because I couldn't do the very thing I've been training to do my entire life."

"Have you ever killed anyone?" He shakes his head. "No?" His brother hums in thought and brushes off his knees as he stands and walks over to pick a bucket up for Soshiro to put the weeds in. "Let me tell you then," he watches as the emotions leave his brother's face. "It is a horrible feeling to feel someone stop breathing because of you, to watch the light fade from their eyes and their body lay still on the ground. There is nothing worse than holding their heart in your hand and knowing that you are the reason it will never beat again." Soshiro gulps and his hands stop putting the weeds in the bucket, he feels frozen again. "Soshiro, how did you feel when you had a knife to her throat?"

"Scared. It…it felt wrong."

"Good. Do not let yourself do it again."

"But—"

"No, Soshiro. There is nothing that you need to feel guilty for, nothing you need to bear the responsibility of." He runs a hand through his hair as he shakes his head. "I am such a bad brother that I allowed you to live like this for years."

"You are not a bad brother."

"I am. If anything, I am the one who should be guilty not you. Here I am living life with a wife and a child on the way and you have been suffering for years because I always thought it would be better to leave you alone than to force my ideas on you." He covers his face with his hand. "Soshiro…I am sorry. I am so sorry that you cannot accept happiness for yourself because of our family. Please, just, let us change your mind? Give us one month to change your mind."

"Okay." When his brother holds out his hand to help him up, he accepts it.

For the first night since he got there, he sits at the table and eats with his family. Although there is guilt still welling beneath his chest every time he looks at them he learns of all the things he missed out on. He learns Soichiro's wife's name, Yumiri, and that they met when he was on his own travels.

"Oh, he was so stoic when we first met. His eyes looked like haunted shadows, his hair was much shorter back then." She laughs and Soichiro shakes his head although there's a smile on his face as well. "I'm glad I approached him, although he wanted nothing to do with me at first. Although, I can't say I blame him. I am quite a handful."

"That you are."

"Oh hush you," Soshiro finds a small chuckle escaping him as he listens to the story. "It took a lot of convincing to get him to go on a date with me. He simply just would not have it."

"To be fair to me, I didn't want much to do with anyone because I was worried about dragging them into my mess." The words ring true to Soshiro as well, he feels a subtle ache in his heart that he knows isn't the curse but a pain of his own making. He had said those words to you a few times and now here he was, having already dragged you into his mess before he even knew he was pulling you along like a child in a candy store.

"Well, I'm glad you did. I wouldn't trade this 'mess' for anything in the whole world." She makes quotations with her hands over the word mess and nudges Soichiro lightly with her shoulder. "Perhaps a really big cookie." As they laugh he wonders if this is what he has been missing this whole time. He can't help the guilt that still tries to bury him— he tries to remember how long it had been since he heard laughter at the dining table if at all. His mind can't seem to find a time, all he can manage is to think about how heavy this room had once felt.

"I do remember you asking me to go out dancing the second night I got to your town."

"Well, of course. You arrived during one of our festivals, I was simply just trying to raise more money for the town by getting a passerby to purchase a ticket."

"I'm sure that's all it was," she holds her hands up and shrugs although there's a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Soshiro, have you ever gone dancing?" He shakes his head and Yumiri gasps and abruptly puts her hands on Soichiro and shakes his shoulder lightly.

"Oh we have to teach him to dance."

"I said that I've never gone, not that I didn't know."

"Then you will have to prove it, Yumiri loves to dance." He doesn't think he deserves this. The calm, the normalcy, why should he when he has been gone for so long. He looks down at the plate of food in front of him and pokes around at the food. "You know, I was scared to send you letters."

"What?" His head whips up from his plate with wide eyes.

"I thought I teased you too harshly as a child…thought you wouldn't want them, wouldn't want to talk to me." He clears his throat and shakes his head. "I truly have not been the best brother to you and yet, you still have welcomed me back into your life with open arms. It's…It's almost bittersweet how long it took for me to realize what I actually wanted from my life."

"Well…I…" He pauses to think carefully of his words and sighs as he lets his utensils rest against his plate. "I spent so much time hating you, you were everything I wanted to be. Even when you stopped." They both know what he's alluding to as he looks between Soichiro and Yumiri. "I still felt as though I was chasing your shadow in the dark. We have both made mistakes and I'm glad we're here now." He thinks back to his time in the garden with Yumiri and how she said Soichiro mentioned him often. "You are not a bad brother, we lived in a bad environment." They can both agree to the later part of the statement. Dinner is finished with quiet goodnights and a pat on the head from Soichiro, he shakes his head and glares at his brother as he leaves the room muttering softly under his breath.

Sleep does not come easy to him, every time his eyes close he sees you shroud in blood and lifeless with his own hands stained with death. He finds himself slipping into slippers and standing on the patio as he looks over the moon lit garden, it was once his mother's garden, he has never thought of it as his own. Just one more thing he thought he was never allowed to have. The air is chilly and he shivers slightly each time the wind blows and disturbs his figure. There are potted plants hanging from the awning and he inspects their leaves if not only to give his brain something to do besides imagine you.

"You have a few spots, that's not good." His father would have thrown it away, thinking the plant diseased and not fit for the picturesque garden he was trying to keep. "Don't worry, you deserve to grow." He feels odd talking to the plants but it is helping him and so he will not think too long about it. His hands are gentle as he picks off the few spotted leaves and holds them in his off hand. "There, all better." He pats the pot and laughs quietly at himself. When a sneeze wracks him he decides it's time to head inside, he discards the leaves in the bucket he threw the weeds earlier.

He moves around the house like a ghost, his footsteps not resounding on the floor or through the halls. It is a skill he has learned from his younger days and a habit he cannot break. He thinks of how you always managed to hear him, he never seemed able to sneak up on you (despite him trying a few times) you somehow always knew he was there. He is yet to know if he is grateful or not. It was the first time he had truly been seen as himself and not just the child who kept to the garden or the man who wandered from town to town never truly making a home for himself.

He feels calmer a he lays back down, softer almost. His eyes trace shapes in the grain of the wood of his walls, slowly he allows sleep to overtake him. He dreams the same awful dream and awakes to find his brother next to him again. He finds the quiet comfort nicer than he would like to admit: knowing that he still has someone that cares about him in such an unconditional way. There is no price on the arms that wrap around him no responsibility tacked onto the voice that tries to calm him and shoo the guilt settled deep into his bones.

His days make him feel trapped in a loop, he finds his doesn't mind it— the routine of it all. He wakes to his brother by his side, eventually once he has calmed down and gone back to sleep or finally moved from the bed he goes to Yumiri's garden, he eats lunch, tries to make himself familiar with the halls of once was once his home, eats dinner, tries to rest and finds he can't, returns to Yumiri's garden, and finally tries to sleep only to have the same horrible nightmare. The pain is deserved, he knows that. Knows that he doesn't deserve to get to live the rest of his life happy after how he knows he has hurt you, how he has betrayed you. Every day it feels a little easier to breathe but there's still the gnawing in the back of his mind that tells him it is his fault.

Soichiro and Yumiri can only help him so much if he is not willing to help himself. He does what has always helped calm his mind, he practices in the garden. He plants his feet firmly into the dirt and holds them shoulder width apart as he holds his blades. He has not touched them since…they feel almost foreign in his hands, the weight wrong and the grip of the handles slipping. He closes his eyes and pushes all other thoughts from his mind, he allows the ministrations his body know well to guide it through feel alone. When he goes to lunge forward he can almost hear the sound of his dagger being thrust into your skin, he shakes his head and opens his eyes to reset and begin again.

It grows warmer day in and day out and yet Soshiro finds himself in the garden trying to remember how his daggers were once apart of him. They used to move with his body and now he feels like they are twisting him up and laughing at him when he fails. This is all he knows, all he has ever felt good at. "You're still out here?" He turns to see his brother watching from the doorway and he puts his daggers away. "I remember how you were always out here when we were younger. You would go until you fell to the ground and even then you would still stand back up and go again."

"Not all of us were praised so intently for our swordsmanship." He knows the cut is still healing, that his words will hurt his brother. "Sorry—"

"No, you can say it." He holds his hand up to cut his brother off. "I was truly awful to you, I thought if you gave up then it would make me feel a little better about myself. Truth be told, you scared me, your skill scared me."

"Me? I scared you?"

"Still do."

"I have never once beaten you when we have sparred." He scoffs more at himself than the other and crosses his arms. "Why would you be scared of me?"

"You don't even realize how great you are do you?" Soichiro steps out from under the awning to join him in the garden. "Even now as you feel disconnected from your blades you still move as if you are one thing instead of a man holding two daggers. You're persistent, there is nothing scarier than an opponent who won't quit even after becoming battered and bruised."

"Quitting means failure and I cannot fail."

"Not always, quitting can mean success. There is nothing left to fight and thus you can quit fighting." A flash of something passes over his eyes and he shakes his head. "Is that why you cannot allow yourself to let go Soshiro?"

"Let go of what." It is not a question, they both know what he means, one of them is just more apt to say it than the other.

"You know very well," he trails off. "Come with me." He does not wait for a response nor does he turn around to check Soshiro is following him as they head further from the house and down the hill. He knows where they are going but he does not stop, he allows himself to be lead. His brother pushes open the door to what was once the place they trained with their father. The items are covered in a thin layer of dust and debris, it feels cold despite the temperature outside the room. Soichiro throws a wooden sword to him and picks one up for himself.

He places his daggers on top of small table that stands in the corner of the room and they ready themselves. Bowing to each other there is something each of them gains from this that they will not speak aloud. Once they nod to each other the distance they put between them is closed in the blink of an eye. Wood clashing against each other and bated breaths as they await what the outcome will be. Neither let up, for every inch one gains the other closes just as quickly. There is no talking, the only conversation exchanged is from their swords meeting each other.

Soichiro's swings are wider than his, he shifts his weight to the opposite leg before using all his force to swing his arm towards his opponent. In a move to hopefully catch him off guard Soshiro waits for his brother to shift his weight before he takes a single step to the right and ducks down, with a gentle swipe of his own leg he finally has Soichiro down. He holds his own fake sword to his neck and uses his knee to pin Soichiro's arm down to the ground as he throws his sword to the side. "You're rusty in your old age."

"I'm not that old." Soshiro helps him up and they both spend a moment to catch their breaths. "Losing does not mean failure."

"You realize that makes no sense right?" Soshiro laughs and goes to pick up the discarded sword to place it back in it's spot.

"Give me a break, I'm trying to sound wise here. It's harder than it looks." He swipes his hair out of his face and grimaces slightly as sweat clings to his hand. "What I mean is, I lost. I lost but I don't feel like I failed."

"But you lost."

"You beat me yes, but, listen Soshiro. I have one question for you."

"What now?"

"Oh don't give me that," he punches his arm lightly as Soshiro looks at him unamused. "Do you still feel like you have to kill her?" He finds himself unable or unwilling to answer the question. He tries to open his mouth but no words come out so he turns his back to him. "In the month that you have spent trying to find who you are without the guilt of the curse weighing on you, do you. Answer me truthfully, do you still feel like you have to kill her?"

"No," the words escape him before he can process that he is saying them. That he has felt them.

"Then, I have not failed."

"You're an asshole." He pushes his brother but just winds up with his hair ruffled which only adds to his anger (sulking).

"Yeah, maybe, but at least you don't have to feel the weight of the world on you anymore."

"I still feel guilty." He still sees his hands stained with blood that does not belong to him. "When I sleep, I still see her dead in my arms and I know…I know that it is my fault."

"Guilt doesn't always have to be bad, sometimes it's just a reminder of things that we feel passionate about."

"Then why do I feel so bad?"

"Because you still care."

"I don't want to." He looks at him and doesn't see the shadow of a figure that was always better than him but sees his brother, the man who is kindly smiling at him and had picked him off the floor when he had fallen into depths he could not pull himself from alone.

"Then that is exactly why you need to." He hands Soshiro his swords and walks to the door. "Yumiri should have lunch all settled by now, we wouldn't want it to get cold. We need something to eat after all the calories we just burned."

"Can you stop doing that?" Soichiro hums at him as they make their way back tot he house. "Stop saying things that make my head flip upside down and then acting as if they were the simplest words in the world to say."

"Sometimes they are. It's good that you still care Sochiro, it means you're human. We all make mistakes, it's how we handle them and move on that dictates if we have grown from the past."

"I don't know what to do."

"Apologize."

"I tried to kill her, I don't think a simple apology is going to fix this one. It's not as if I can slap a band-aid on it and fix the trust I broke. A broken glass can be taped back together but it will still spill."

"I never said a simple apology. You're not entirely wrong, sure it will still hurt but it's better than you not being there at all."

He thinks of the words over the entirety of breakfast as they talk he finds himself blocking them out. He wonders if you will scream at him, if you will curse his name and throw things to get him to leave. He shakes the thought from his head, that isn't you. No matter how hurt you may be he knows you will still try to find the good in him and perhaps that's what makes him hate himself even more. The knowing that you may still accept him even after he tried to kill you. He almost hopes you do yell and scream at him, that would feel like a much more deserved fate than to be allowed close to you again.

Soshiro takes careful consideration in picking a flower from the garden, the only flower that seems worthy is a singular bloomed white tulip. The petals have an almost blushed hue towards the bottom but are a stark white at the edges. He finds himself unsure of what to write to you, he knows this is the coward's way out: writing to you instead of facing you and the damage he has done. A start is better than none, is all he can think to try and console himself from the feeling. He spends the rest of the evening writing, he doesn't think, only writes to you about all he can think of. When he emerges from his room to join his family for dinner he feels lighter, even if only barely so.

"You look like someone finally took the chip off your shoulder," Yumiri comments with a hint of amusement in her voice. He has not seen too much of her as of late, Soichiro wanting to keep her in bed as long as he is able as she recovers from having their son.

"I started writing, all the words that I want to say to her but have not been able to." He expects applause, maybe even just a smile and congratulatory statement. Instead he watches as the smile falls from Yumiri's face and her arms cross over chest.

"You cannot be serious." She doesn't wait for him to reply as she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "A letter? You told me you tried to kill the woman and you believe that a letter filled with words that I suspect you yourself only want to hear will make amends When she puts it like that it does seem a little silly. "I never took you for a coward Soshiro. You are either going to face her or live out the rest of your days not speaking of her again, I will not stand for this foolishness when you have finally come to terms with the fact that you care."

He shrinks in on himself as he is scolded. He knew it was foolish, he should've known better than to allow himself the easy way out. She's right, what did he think would happen? That she would get his letter and suddenly come running to his arms as though nothing ever happened. No, he knows what he really wanted. He wanted her to receive the letter and throw it out so he could say he tried and be met with failure. He wanted to prove himself right that he is not deserving of her, and he may very well not be.

"You are going to pack your bags and see her, I will not take no for an answer. Make amends the proper way or not at all. You are no coward Soshiro."

He feels like a coward as he packs his bags and takes the single flower with him. He feels like a coward as he says his goodbyes and for once, leaves his daggers at home. The distance is shorter than he remembers it being, only a two day trek from his home. Maybe if he had found her later— no, there is no good in thinking of what ifs. It feels odd to look at the cottage, to see the shingles and the slightly crooked steps. The flowers have begun to bloom and there still rests dandelions in the flower bed. He stops himself from walking closer, he cannot do this. She will not want to see him, she will not—

—his thoughts are cut short when he sees the blinds move on the window by the door. He feels frozen in place as their eyes lock, his breaths escaping him and his heart beating so rapidly he swears he can feel the beats in his fingertips. Your eyes are blown wide and your mouth hangs slightly open, your hair has grown longer since he last saw you. The curtain falls over your face and he still finds himself frozen, he can hear clatters from in the house before the door opens. He takes an uneasy step forward, you close the door until only half of your face can be seen. He does not move again, his eyes trail down to your stomach subconsciously. Your hand holds over where he suspects the wound is, he swallows the words that want to bubble up his throat. What does one even say to someone that he tried to kill. "I'm sorry," the words feel as quiet as a breeze but he knows you hear them. He can tell in the way you jump at the sound of his voice, he wishes you did not but he understands why you do.

You don't speak, can't speak as you look at him. There are bags under his eyes and his skin is tanner than it had been some months prior, you notice that his blades aren't jutting out from his hips, you notice the panicked look in his eyes. He thinks all hope is lost when you close the door. He lets out his breath, he goes up your rickety steps and bends down to place the flower on your doorstep. You can find use for it, he's sure. "I dislike cut flowers." He freezes again at the sound of your voice. "Will you stand up and look at me," your voice shakes but he can tell you're trying to remain calm.

He raises from his bent over position and looks at your eyes, they hold no malice, only pain. The last time he saw them he thought death was the only thing reflected back to him, he has found that they now look a bit like fear. He's projecting, a nasty habit he has yet to quell. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, so you've said. You have not said what you are sorry for. Is it for coming to my home and betraying my trust, for holding a knife against my throat and calling to me with anger, perhaps you're sorry for stabbing me, for bandaging me up after hurting me and treating me in a way far too kind for what I would expect, are you sorry for showing up with a pitiful excuse of an apology looking as you do. What exactly are you sorry for." You are out of breath as you finish, your hands flying around you wildly.

"For being a coward." He knows that is not all and can see how you wait for his continuum. "I didn't know what to expect, I had never truly met a witch before…I know that is no excuse and I do not want to play it off like one. I am sorry for the ways in which I have hurt you, that I have betrayed you when you had welcomed me instead of leaving me to die. I am sorry for all the things that I cannot say, and I am sorry for being a coward and not staying to fix my mistake after I had made it." He sounds broken, you almost want to slap yourself for how it makes you want to invite him inside and ease his worries.

"You are stupid, you are arrogant, you are so many words that I cannot even begin to fully express to you and words that I do not yet know. After all you have done to me, I still find myself wanting to let you back in."

"You shouldn't. I don't deserve it."

"You have done enough of making choices for both of us. This." You take a deep breath and shake your head. "This does not mean I have forgiven you, I am not sure if I will ever truly forgive how you have hurt me. What I will allow is for you to try and make me trust you again. You are not welcome in my home, I should want nothing to do with you. My father would turn over in his grave if he knew I was allowing you to apologize."

"Thank you, I truly appreciate it. I try my best to get you to trust me again, to trust myself again."

"Very well. Goodbye." You shut the door in his face, it might be rude if not the circumstances for which it was done. You were not shutting him out forever and frankly he cannot think of a better gift the world. No, you, a better gift you could have given him (no matter how undeserving of it he feels). He walks away from your cottage with a small smile on his face at the victory he has just won, a small battle is nothing to celebrate over though, not when he knows he has a very long road ahead of him.

He gets a room at the inn, he does not know when he will be checking out but he knows that it will be quite a while. As he lays down on the bed that night, he doesn't notice the lumps or how hard it is. He doesn't notice that the window doesn't quite shut all the way and that a breeze is blowing the curtains ever so slightly, he doesn't mind the dust that permeates through the air. Instead, all he thinks of is you. He thinks of how he can begin to win your trust back. When his eyes close that night he finds that the nightmare doesn't come. The gentle memory of his last morning shared with you doesn't turn sinister and he doesn't awake with a gasp or tears staining his cheeks. He wakes gently, stirred at the light chirps of birds filtering through the crack in the window as they sit in the tree just outside.

He makes quick work of getting ready and walking back to your cottage, the air is brisk but it doesn't bother him. When he arrives at your door he is unsure wether he should knock or simply allow you to find his presence. He never has been good at sneaking up on you, he wishes he knew how you always seemed to know he was there. No matter how soft his steps somehow you would still see him, he finds it more comforting than frightening. His knuckles tap lightly against the wood and before he knows it you open the door. "Hello."

"Good morning." The words feel awkward escaping his lips. Is he allowed to act so casually with you? He's not sure what is safe and what will cut off the bridge he has made for himself.

"Have you eaten?" He shakes his head. You close the door again, he doesn't wait long before you open it once more. Your hair is styled as usual and he takes note of how your clothes are much lighter in color than they had been in winter. "I still won't let you inside, I don't trust either of us. There is a good spot for breakfast very near the town entrance, we can eat there."

He follows you as you lead him into town, sometimes he'll see a wince as you walk and grab your stomach and he can't help but want to reach out. His hands ball into fists and go back down to his sides before he can get far enough to touch you. The last time he did he hurt you and he's not certain he isn't hurting you now by just being here. He's careful to keep at least two steps between you, not too close and not so far away that you should notice.

After you find a table he doesn't look up from it, even as drinks are placed in front of you, he just mutters a small thanks you and looks at his hands. "I'm sorry."

"You've said that already."

"I don't believe I will ever be able to say it enough, I want to tell you I was a fool. I won't pretend that you don't already know that, I am a fool and a coward."

"You are a fool," you agree with him and take a sip of your drink. "But, you are not a coward. At least not the worst coward I've seen."

"I hurt you and ran away to not face the consequences."

"And yet," you tap the table in front of him. "Here you are, you came back and are now facing what you had previously run from. That is no cowardly thing."

"I don't understand how you can be so kind, I haven't been kind to you." You hum and your nails continue to tap at the table as you think. When you snap your fingers he looks up at you, his eyes do not make it past your chin.

"I am kind because I want to be. Do you want to be kind to me?"

"Yes, but I do not—"

"You do not deserve blah, blah, blah." You mimic his talking with your hand and lean your head on your palm. "Do you want to be kind?"

"Yes. But it's not that simple."

"I believe it is, just have to take a step right?" It's the first time he's look in your eyes that night, he can see the pain swimming in them but also the sincerity in your words. He remembers the words he said to you and smiles softly at them. "I'm not going to forgive you overnight…but. I appreciate the first step."

"Thank you for meeting me halfway although it was more than too much to give me."

"I decide how much of myself I give away to others, you have no sway over it at all." The words calm him, here he is being comforted by the person he should be comforting. "I don't need you to coddle me, that's not how I let you back in. Just show me you won't do the same thing again. I do not wish to be betrayed by you another time." He notes how you still refuse to say his name, perhaps that is just another barrier that he will have to get past.

"I do not intend to betray you ever again."

You leave him alone in the diner after your breakfast, there are things you need to take care of and would prefer to do them alone. When he does finally get up to leave he sees a familiar group of children nearby, the boys both holding wooden swords as the girl sits atop a barrel with a paper crown on her head. He cannot catch himself before he walks over to them. "Sword fighting?"

"It's you again!" The girl jumps and the boys quit their fighting to turn to him. "Where's Miss?"

"She had some errands of her own to run. What is going on here?"

"I'm a princess and they're trying to rescue me but are fighting over which one gets to be the prince that saves me. I wanted to be one of the knights but drew the short straw." She kicks her small leg with a slight pout on her face.

"I see," he hums and bends down to be eye-level with the boys. "Have either of you used a sword before?" They shake their heads and a mischievous smile crosses his face. "Would you like me to show you how to properly wield one?"

"It's not fair if Mayu isn't able to join us too."

"Don't worry about that, I'll figure it out, I will meet you all here tomorrow around the same time okay?"

"Deal."

He ruffles each of their hair before he parts ways and heads back to the inn. There are a few things he needs to take care of before tomorrow if he is to truly teach the children. First of which is how to teach. "Ah, didn't think about that when I said it." He laughs to himself and rubs the back of his neck.

When he shows up the next day he has one carved wooden sword tucked under his arm as he leans against the wall. The children show up not to long after. "Alright, let me know if I don't explain something well enough. This is for you," He bends down a little to hand the girl the wooden sword. He shows them the basics first, how to properly hold the sword, how far apart their legs should be, don't swing it around without intent, and don't use it unless you're certain you need to. He finds that teaching isn't as bad as he had thought it would be.

He spends the rest of the week teaching the children and only catching you in passing for dinner. He's unsure why he doesn't tell you he's been teaching them. The topic just simply doesn't come up (he lies). Soshiro finds you beautiful like this, smiling at him under the dim lighting of the restaurant. "What is your favorite color?"

"What a personal question," you tease him lightly. It's funny, the difference a week can make on a person. "Crimson, my favorite color is crimson." Like the color of your eyes. "What is yours?"

"Yellow." Like the dandelions that grow in your front garden.

"Will you come over for dinner tomorrow?"

"I wish I could but unfortunately I should return home. My brother had his first child not long before I left and I want to check in on him."

"Of course, there's no need to feel sorry."

"I hadn't even said anything."

"But you were thinking it," Soshiro rolls his eyes.

"You always somehow do." Your nose scrunches, he knows you are holding back a smile.

"Because men are very easy to read. Your eyes typically give your thoughts away."

"My eyes?" You nod as though it is the simplest thing you could have said. Perhaps it is.

"When you are sad they turn a deep hue, the darkest parts passing off as a purple if you squint. When you are happy there's a fleck of gold that shines brighter in your left eye than your right."

"And how are they right now?"

"Crimson with a hint of gold." He doesn't respond as he gives you a gentle smile. There's something fragile and unguarded in the way he leans towards you, a microscopic movement you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking for it. He notices the slight uptick to the corners of your lips. "Are you going to come back, to town I mean." Something is reserved behind the words he can't quite place. It would be far to bold of him to assume it was sadness: and yet, as he looks towards you he sees a far away look on your face even as you turn your head to look out the window.

"Yes, there's a few things I need to see to the end."

"Then, I suppose I will see you around." You grab your bag and moves to stand, he moves with you. His hand reaches out to steady you when you stumbles lightly, you don't pull away and let the warmth of his hand sink through your clothes and into your skin. Your head tilts up to look in his eyes, you can almost feel his breath against your face. "We," your words lose you for a moment. His head leans in a fractious amount and your eyes close despite yourself. You clear your throat and turn your head away. "We should get going, the earlier you leave town the earlier you can go back to the people you care for."

And what if I care for you— it goes unsaid as he nods and steps back. "Right, you should probably get some rest anyway, it would be rude of me to keep you." You don't miss the way his thumb brushes lightly over your arm before he pulls it away and he doesn't miss the way you bite your cheek. "May I walk you back home?"

"Yes." You answer too quickly but doesn't attempt to correct yourself. There's less distance between them as they begin walking out of the restaurant. Their steps are synced together when they pass through the town gate. His hand twitches down at his side but he makes no move to grab yours. It's silent save for the sounds of leaves rustling in the swaying wind or the soft crunch of the grass as they walk. There is peace once again in the silence.

When they reach your doorstep he hovers his hand over the small of your back as they go up the slightly slanted stairs. They turn to each other, nothing is said for a moment.

"Looks like this is me."

"It would appear so." Neither makes a move to step away.

"If you had to guess, when would you say you would be coming back?"

"Every other week." Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips and you look down to your feet. "It's about two days travel to go in between…"

"We wouldn't want you to push yourself, but still…what about your responsibilities?"

"I've already explained the schedule to those involved." His voice feels shaky as he speaks to you. "Don't tell me you'll miss me," he tries to tease but it comes out far too soft.

"I would never." Your hand reaches out to turn the handle of your door. "I am counting down my moments of peace before you ruin it once more." Your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes as you take one step over the threshold of your home.

"Rest well."

"I will." The door closes and you are gone from his view. Despite the warmth in the weather his walk home feels colder than it had mere minutes ago.

He makes good on his word, every other week you watch him go past your cottage and into town. It's almost annoying how precise he is, he arrives at the same time without fail. To say you hadn't been waiting for him would be a lie. It continued for months, the quiet chats and ever so often meetings. The children had excitedly told you of his teachings and something stirred within you that you couldn't quite place but felt a bit too much like love. Even as the weather changed he still passed by your cabin at exactly as the sun had set past the horizon and you sat by the window with a book and cup of tea.

A knock at your door startles you from your thoughts, you don't know who it would be at this hour. "It's too early for this, if you're trying to sell me—" You cut yourself off when you see Soshiro standing in front of you with a terracotta pot held gently in his arms. "Hello." He noticed that you still refused to say his name, he found himself alright with that. If not saying his name kept you talking with him then he would be fine if you only called him idiot for at least then he would feel like yours.

"This is for you." His fingers brush yours as he hands the pot to you. "There's a tulip seed already in the soil."

"Would you like to come in?"

"I would love to." You step to the side and he enters your home for the first time in months. It is the same as it was the first time he had been welcomed in but something in the air feels different. He stands by the door and doesn't move even after you walk towards the kitchen to water the soil and place it on the window sill.

"I invited you in, there's no need to stand by the door like that. You act as if this is the first time you have ever been in my home."

"It feels different now."

"We are different now." He takes his shoes off and sets them next to yours, he makes his way to your much more tattered couch and seats himself at the end by the table. "Truth be told. I don't know why I invited you in."

"Because of my amazing personality."

"You have a way of worming yourself into places you shouldn't be." You lean in the doorway but do not move closer. "I should've told you to get lost the first time you came to me."

"But you didn't, now you are stuck with me."

"Yes, it would seem so. I don't know yet if it is a curse or not." You allow yourself to move towards him, you sit on the opposite end of the couch and pull your knees up to your chest. "I heard you've been teaching the children how to wield swords."

"Yes."

"You no longer carry your own."

"I feel no need to…I do not want to, there is no one here who would harm me." His eyes subconsciously look down and you find yourself shrinking in on yourself. "I am sorry, truly sorry, for the pain I have caused you."

"It has not all been pain, there have been moments of peace and kindness."

"They cannot cover what I have done. I will never be able to truly make it up to you."

"You already have, you have changed and allowed yourself to be kind again. I cannot take the actions of a spurned man to be his true nature."

"And to you, what is my nature?"

"Gentle." For the first time in a very long time, Hoshina Soshiro is gentle. He will take every action he can to live up to what you think of him. He has to, he wouldn't want to disappoint you again. "Did you only come back to make amends? If so there is no longer a need for you to visit, well, visit me. I had forgiven you when I woke to find myself bandaged instead of dead in my greenhouse, as stupid as it sounds."

"That was not the only reason no." The words catch you off guard and your head whips to him.

"May I know the other reason?"

"Maybe. For now, how about a dance?"

"That's abrupt," you laugh softly but find yourself standing. "We have no music."

"Sure we do," he holds his hands out and when you step closer he places one hand on your waist and waits for you to take his other. One hand is delicately placed on his shoulder and he nods when your hand finds a place in his own.

"If I step on your feet you cannot laugh."

"I would never." He would, you both know it, you see the shine in his eyes. A flicker of gold in a sea of red. The sound of your breaths fills the air as well as the soft thuds of your feet as they make contact with the floor. You step on his foot and lightly mutter an apology as he chuckles softly. Your eyes squint at him but they hold no real malice. His hand raises above your head and he takes a step back. "Do you trust me?"

"I don't know, I suppose we'll have to find out." You're thrown into a fit of laughter as he spins you back towards him and dips you lightly. Your faces are so close as your arms wrap around his neck, his own around your waist. His hair falls and lightly brushes your forehead, he moves closer and his nose bumps yours. "We should stop spinning."

"We have stopped," his voice is hushed. His hold on you tightens incrementally and pulls you ever closer. Your fingers scratch lightly at the hairs at the nape of his neck and you delight in how he shivers. "May I?"

"Ask correctly and we can see," your eyes have already closed.

"May I kiss you?"

"Finally, I was beginning to think you would never—" He cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours, slowly he lifts you up and your hands keep pressed against his head so he won't pull away. You feel as he smiles into the kiss and you can't help but also allow a smile to break from you. "It's rude to cut people off when they're speaking," you pull away but the tip your nose still rests on his.

"You didn't seem to mind," you lightly hit him on the shoulder and delight in how you can feel him laugh.

"I told you, you have a knack for getting into placed you shouldn't be."

"And where have I gotten myself now?"

"I shouldn't say, you will loft it over me until the end of time." He presses his lips to yours once more and he adores how your nose scrunches.

"That doesn't seem too bad."

"You would say that."

"I can say more if you would—" It is your turn to cut him off with a swift kiss. He laughs against you and you smile into return.

"I believe you have said enough."

"I can work with that, love." The pet name falls so casually from his lips that you almost don't notice it. You shake your head at him but can't hide your smile very well. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth but he's quick to catch your wrist. "Aww, are you trying to hide your smile?" He places a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "Do you like that? Being called love."

"More than I care to admit."

"Then, love, would you like to make lunch with me?"

"I would want nothing more."

"Not even a kiss?"

"Well perhaps that," It's not need. Your noses bump each other and laughter spills from the corners of your mouth as your lips press against one another once more.

You find you work well together, you bump into each other a few times but nothing too severe (the kisses you give each other as you pass may also add to it). When you steal items from his plate he pretends not to notice just as you pretend not to notice when he puts carrots on your plate and none on his own. He dries the dishes as you wash the grime from them, once everything is as it should be you notice the setting sun. It took longer than you assumed it would— perhaps the impromptu kissing before putting the vegetables in the boiling water was longer than you care to admit.

Your hand holds his as you find yourselves going down the hall and to your room. He sees the tulip he had given you hanging upside down from where you had pinned it to the wall. Handing him a folded stack of clothes you move to the bathroom to change and when you knock on the door to get back into the room you find him already laying on your bed and staring at the singular tulip. "I thought you would have gotten rid of it."

"It was a gift. It would be wasteful not to keep it," you allow yourselves to settle together. Your head lays on his chest and his arm wraps around your shoulder while the other is under his own head. "Your heart is beating quite fast."

"Is that bad?"

"No, I like it. Means you're excited to see me." You place a kiss over where you think his heart is, he swears he can feel your lips through his shirt.

"That's not fair."

"What?" You look up at him with a knowing smile.

"You know what." He scoffs. "Two can play at this."

"Oh no, whatever will you do?" You feign fear and roll your eyes. A heat rushes to your cheeks when he gently turns you so you lay under him. As he leans over you it is his turn to smile as he sees your eyes widen. He lifts the hem of your shirt slightly. "That is hardly appropriate."

"Oh hush," His eyes trace the small scar on his stomach as he moves down the bed before lowering his head to the spot. "Just need to repay the favor, it would be unfair if only one of our hearts jumped." You swear you will kill him as he gently kisses the scar before smoothing your shirt back over the skin and laying next to you once more.

"You are unfair." He looks at you as if you hung the stars in the sky and that only makes it worse, to see his crimson eyes flicker with love. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Honey drips from his voice and his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

"Like you love me." He hums and that is all the response you need.

As he lays in your bed, in the cottage that once belonged to your parents he is stripped of what he once was. He is simply human same as you, and your hearts beat in tandem. Here he is seen not as a boy laden with grief that once wandered the halls of his home as a ghost, he is not the man who carries dual blades and moves so fast even if you do not blink you still can hardly notice. In your arms and in your bed, he is your Sochiro just as you are his.

He thinks not of the curse, not of how he may meet his end or you eventually yours. There is no better gift than being with you in the present. Even as the years pass and your cottage begins to hold both of your things as your hair becomes peppered with grey. Soichiro's son Shuichiro grows, another child soon on the way. You and Soshiro continue to make your home together, a daughter of your own already making it her mission to terrorize Shuichiro.

On Soichiro's fortieth birthday there is a somber tone to the evening. "Don't look so down, I'm okay with the life I have lived. I have seen the world more than most people and have found what makes me truly happy in this life. I have been luckier than most." It does little to cheer up the faces in the room.

As the sun sets they allow him a moment away from the others with his wife and children. Soft whispered goodbyes, and sad smiles as their father kisses their foreheads. Soshiro cannot look, he finds himself once again in the garden. "I figured you would be out here," your voice appears by him. "Such a nice night for such a sad day." You lean your head on his shoulder, he does not cry although tears do begin to sting at the corners of his eyes.

"Where's Mei?"

"She wanted to stay with the others, she wanted to say goodbye if this was the last time she would be able to see him." He can hear cheers come from inside the house and he finds himself running back inside, Soichiro laughs as tears fall from his eyes.

"I don't…I don't understand?" He pulls his brother into a hug and holds back his own tears.

"We had it wrong this whole time huh?" Soichiro shakes his head and tries to wipe the tears from his face. "You seemed to have captured her heart, and she yours." The pieces click and he can't help the laugh that bellows from within him. He lets go of his brother and turns to you, you tilt your head in confusion that is quickly replaced with laughter as he picks you up and sins you around.

"We did it." He kisses you softly and holds you close to him. "Oh my love, we were idiots."

"I could have told you that."

"We had to capture the heart of a witch, and we assumed that meant killing them." It's easy to laugh looking back on it now. "All we needed to do was be kind."

"All you needed to you was be you, however silly you are."

"Thank you."

"What am I being thanked for this time?" You brush his bangs from his eyes.

"For trusting me with your heart."

"Only because you trusted me with yours. Hey, this means I can properly watch you grow old now."

"Will you still love me when I get wrinkly?"

"Hmm…I don't know, ask me again in five years." And that is enough for him. Any extra time he gets with you and his family is a blessing and one he doesn't plan on letting go.

taglist(empty, fill out this form)

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

stellar ✶