What Good Is A Flame
Prompt: Chojuro and a Fire Release user Suggested by: @/justmyownreality Word Count: 3k Warnings: Violence, blood, injuries including stabs and burns, first aid for said injuries, death via stabbing/burning alive, themes of exclusion, shirtless Chojuro.
A/N: Thank you Jmor for another lovely suggestion for a fic. Chojuro doesn’t get nearly enough love and I am here to fix that.
Hope you enjoy! <3
You stood on the shores of Kirigakure, overlooking the vast ocean. The moon, as bright as a paper lantern, reflected on the rippling surface. The sound and spray from the waves crashing into each other was comforting to many, reminders of the vast waters that gave Kiri protection and power.
But you weren’t many.
You dug your bare feet into the sand, letting the cool waves wrap around your ankles. You took a deep breath as you wove hand signs, building the hot chakra deep in your belly.
“Fire Release, Fire Dragon Bullet.”
Flames poured from your mouth, erupting over the water and generating steam wherever it made contact. You kept going, forcing the flames to grow bigger, brighter, hotter. You had to keep pushing yourself, by yourself, because you had no other choice.
You were somewhat unique in Kirigakure. Most people, naturally, had an affinity for Water chakra. Thus, the shinobi forces, from the Academy to the ANBU, were set up with that in mind. Pools. Fountains. Canals. Everywhere you looked, you could find water. And if somehow you couldn’t there was always the ocean surrounding the village.
So the fact that you had Fire chakra made you an oddity, or rather, a freak, as the other ninja loved to remind you.
Sure, you could walk on water just fine, but when it came to actually using the stuff, you had nothing. You performed the Flame Bullet rather than the Water Bullet, the Flame Whirlwind instead of the Great Whirlpool. Your teachers didn’t know what to do with you. The other students tormented you, calling you Crispy and Boiler rather than your name. After graduation, the ninja still avoided you and actively refused missions with you. Even your own house wasn’t safe, with your parents looking at you with disgust when you emitted smoke instead of mist.
What good is a flame surrounded by the ocean?
It was a question that had been posed to you a long time ago. You still didn’t know. So that’s why you stood on Kiri’s shores with only the moon to accompany you, pushing yourself and searching for the answer.
You repeated the exercise with the Fire Dragon Bullet again. You summoned several fireballs at once, followed by a wall of fire. You made the fire spin. You made it grow and grow and grow, and when you nearly couldn’t contain it anymore, you let it go, the flames crashing into the waves below before converting into hissing steam.
You gingerly felt the corners of your mouth, wincing at the blisters you found there. Perhaps one day you would figure out how to produce flames without scorching yourself, but today was not that day. You sighed and turned away from the ocean, headed for home.
You didn’t get far. As you approached the nearby buildings, your senses prickled. You were being watched. Your eyes narrowed as you studied the dark crevices between them. “I know you’re there. Show yourself.”
You were surprised to see Chojuro step into the moonlight, Hiramekarei strapped to his back. You had of course seen him plenty of times in Lady Mizukage’s office as you impatiently listened to your would-be teammates complain again about being assigned to a team with you. He’d not made much of an impression then, remaining silent and still against the wall, only speaking when prompted for an opinion by the Mizukage.
He was certainly the last person you expected to see pop out of the shadows now.
Chojuro studied you with a thoughtful expression. “Good evening, y/n.”
He remembered your name. That was a surprise.
“Good evening, Lord Chojuro,” you said. “What brings you out on a night like this?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said.
You rolled your eyes. “Training.”
“I see,” he said. “Then you were the source of that pillar of fire I saw from my house earlier.”
You folded your arms. “Is that a problem?”
“That’s awfully dangerous, isn’t it?”
“That’s what the ocean is for,” you replied, jutting your thumb over your shoulder. “It’s pretty good at containing fire.”
What good is a flame surrounded by the ocean?
He stepped closer, frowning.
“What?” you asked.
“You’re burned,” he said, pointing to the corner of your mouth.
Your lips pursed. The overheated skin screamed in protest as it contracted, making you wince. “Yes, I am,” you replied. “But don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve been hurt worse than this before.”
“Do you have any salve?” Chojuro asked.
“Not on me,” you replied. “Why, do you have some?”
He pointed down the street. “My house is just around the corner. I have an aloe plant there, if you would like something sooner.”
You blinked once. Twice. Three times.
“Why are you being nice to me?” you asked.
He looked surprised at the question. “You’re a comrade, aren’t you? And comrades always support each other.”
You snorted. “No one considers me a comrade in this village.”
“Then they should have paid more attention at the Academy,” Chojuro said. “You’re a shinobi of Kirigakure, and therefore, you’re a comrade.” He turned his head sharply. “Get down!”
You didn’t question it, you just dove. Senbon rained down, impaling the pavement where you’d just been standing. He darted to your side, freeing Hiramekarei from its holster. “Are you all right?” he asked.
You nodded, pushing yourself back up. “I’m fine. Where did that come from?”
The answer came from your opponents themselves. A group of five ninja, their identities concealed with red cloth, leapt down from the roof of the building next to you. As they landed, they each drew swords. Chojuro responded by raising Hiramekarei in a battle-ready stance. You pressed your hands together, ready to weave whatever signs you needed.
You all waited without moving, each side sizing the other up. Chojuro spoke first. “What do you want?”
“Want?” the middle ninja, who seemed to be the leader, said in a low, eerie voice. “Why, we’re merely taking advantage of a golden opportunity to secure the future of our great village.”
“What does that even mean?” you asked.
“It’s very simple,” the leader said, pointing their sword at Chojuro. “We know this one is slated to be the next Mizukage…and we can’t allow that. We’ve heard your plans, all this talk of peace.” They spat the last word. “Allying with other nations and favoring words over actions. It’s a disgrace to Kiri. So we are here to ensure that Kiri’s future is bright and red, as red as a bloody mist.” They then pointed the sword at you. “And since you’re here, we might as well get rid of any little fireflies that insult our village’s name just by existing.”
You’d heard enough. Your hands danced through the signs as the hot chakra began to pool within you again.
The enemies saw you preparing to attack and took that as their cue. They leapt forward as one, swords flashing in the moonlight.
“Phoenix Flower Jutsu!”
A series of small fireballs erupted from you. Some of them passed right by your attackers, hitting the ground with a hiss. A few found their mark, the flames colliding with legs and torsos. The two that were hit faltered, hitting the ground with yelps as they tried to extinguish the flames.
The three that were spared brought their swords down, blades hungry for you. A loud clang rang out as the blades found not flesh, but metal. Chojuro had appeared in front of you, Hiramekarei raised and blocking all three of the enemies’ swords. He pushed back, sending their blades flying with a simple flick. The leader jumped up and grabbed their sword, then rushed forward, intent on ramming the blade straight through Chojuro’s rib cage. Chojuro easily met them, blocking all of their attempts as Hiramekarei began to glow blue with chakra.
You left him to his fight, concentrating your firepower on the enemies you’d already singed. They barely dodged your next fireball, then threw a flurry of shuriken at you. As you dodged the projectiles, they converged on you. You successfully evaded the right, but you were just barely too slow for the one on the left. You yelped in agony as the blade nicked the outside of your bicep.
“Y/n!” Chojuro called. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me!” you hissed. You slid back before pushing a long stream of fire, enveloping your opponents and igniting their clothing. They dropped their blades and rolled on the ground, screaming in agony before eventually falling silent.
Chojuro was also close to victory. He had sustained some superficial cuts, but otherwise was uninjured. His opponents’ swords lay abandoned on the ground and two of them had been sent flying with Hiramekarei. Now only the leader remained, bleeding from several fresh gashes decorating their skin. “The stories didn’t exaggerate your skill,” they said, panting.
Hiramekarei answered for Chojuro, its chakra taking the form of a longsword before piercing the leader’s chest.
Just like that, the battle was over. You stumbled over to Chojuro, gripping your injured arm. “Are we sure that was all of them?”
“As best I can tell, that was, but we shouldn’t stick around just in case,” Chojuro said, resheathing Hiramekarei. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
You shook your head. “That’s not necessary, it’s pretty shallow and didn’t get near an artery.” You looked him up and down. “What about you? You’re pretty banged up.”
He shrugged and shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m a sword fighter. Those weren’t the first blades to taste my flesh, and they won’t be the last.” He stepped closer and examined your wound. “I understand if you don’t want to go to the hospital, but my original offer still stands. I have plenty of first aid supplies at home if you want to tend to your wound there.”
You hesitated, still unsure of Chojuro’s intentions. But then the image of him stepping in front of you replayed in your mind. Chojuro, one of your village’s Seven Ninja Swordsmen, had drawn his blade to protect you of all people.
You decided to take the risk.
“I accept your offer,” you said. “Lead the way, Lord Chojuro.”
He waved his hand. “Please, drop the ‘Lord,’” he said. “Just Chojuro is fine.”
“Ok,” you said. “Lead the way, Chojuro.”
He escorted you back to his house. It was smaller than you expected from his status. One story, with plain blue walls inside and out topped by a darker blue roof. As you stepped into the living room, you saw that the sofa, curtains, rug, and chairs were also blue. “Is blue your favorite color?” you asked.
He gave you a strange look, and you responded with one of pure innocence.
“No,” he said. “I prefer orange, actually.” Chojuro disappeared down the hall for a moment, then returned with a first aid kit the size of a suitcase. “Here we go.”
“Wow,” you said. “You weren’t kidding about having first aid supplies.”
He smiled as he set the kit on the coffee table. He then looked at your arm again. “You’re welcome to anything in here,” he said. He pointed back down the hall. “Bathroom is the second door on the left.”
“Thank you,” you said. You selected a roll of bandages, then set off for the bathroom. You washed your hands, then carefully cleaned the gash on your bicep. Then you attempted to wrap it with the bandages. It took some wrangling since you could only freely use one arm, but eventually the bandage was securely in place. You double checked it in the mirror, then left the bathroom to return the roll.
Chojuro wasn’t in the living room when you returned. Curious, you looked back down the hallway, but none of the other rooms had lights on. So you walked over to the kitchen and stuck your head in. “Chojuro? Are you in h-”
Your voice died as you saw him at the sink, his trademark blue sweater nowhere to be found. His shoulders and back muscles were well-defined, rippling under his skin as he too washed the blood from his cuts. The muscles in his arms flexed, clearly showing each one in turn as he moved. He lifted his head at the sound of his name, and as he turned, you saw his pectoral muscles had the same definition as the rest.
As your eyes made contact, your brain turned off. Your face felt hotter than your flames. “I’m so sorry!” you said, hastily dropping your gaze. “I didn’t mean- I’ll just-”
“No, it’s ok,” Chojuro said, putting his hand up reassuringly even as he blushed. “Sorry, I should have told you where I was. How’s your arm?”
Arm. He has nice arms. STOP.
“It’s fine,” you managed, refusing to look up. “Like I said, it’s shallow.”
He studied your face with a frown. “And your burns?”
Oh right. Burns. Fire. Hot. He’s hot. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU-
“I didn’t see your aloe plant. Where is it?”
He blinked. “I’m an idiot, it’s in my bedroom. Give me a minute and I’ll get it for you.”
“Ok, thanks,” you said. You turned to go, hoping to take a few minutes to get your thoughts back under control instead of replaying how each of Chojuro’s muscles moved.
Chojuro returned his attention to his wounds, his right arm crossing his body and reaching with a cloth for a gash on his right shoulder. His fingers just barely couldn’t reach. He frowned, trying to stretch just a little bit further.
Oh no, no, no, don’t you dare-
“Would you like some help?” you offered.
He paused, his expression growing embarrassed. “If…you don’t mind…”
You walked over before you could change your mind and flee. You accepted the cool, damp cloth from him and gently tended to all of the wounds he couldn’t easily reach. Neither of you spoke beyond a quiet “Thank you,” from Chojuro which you acknowledged with a soft hum. You forced yourself to focus on the task and not on how his shoulders felt under your hands.
Somehow, you managed to get every wound cleaned and bandaged. You resisted the desire to let your hands linger and stepped back. Chojuro cautiously moved his arms, testing their movement. “Are the bandages too tight?” you asked.
“No, they should be fine,” he said. “Thank you for your help, y/n.”
“Of course, don’t mention it.”
He stepped away from the sink and picked up his discarded sweater from a nearby stool. “I’ll be right back with the aloe,” he promised. “Make yourself at home.”
You returned to the living room and sank onto the sofa. You rubbed your face with your hands, trying to ground yourself as you felt the blistering skin at the corners of your lips. “Just a little more,” you whispered to yourself. “Another few minutes and you can head home.”
You heard Chojuro’s footsteps approaching from the hall. You looked up to see him enter with a small potted aloe plant in his hands. He had also apparently had another identical blue sweater somewhere because he was no longer shirtless.
You couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
Chojuro tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you said hastily. You accepted the plant from him and carefully snapped off a leaf.
He watched you start to spread the gel onto your fingers, then shifted where he stood. “Y/n?”
You glanced up at him. “Yes, Chojuro?”
“Would you…” he hesitated, averting his gaze. “Like some help?”
When he asked the question, there was a small part of you that thought, No? I’m putting aloe on my face? Why would I need help?
And then you realized Chojuro would be touching your face, and that thought was silenced. “Yes, please.”
He sat next to you on the sofa. He took the aloe leaf from you and spread the gel on his fingers. Then, his dark eyes meeting yours, he gingerly touched your face. He traced your burns, covering them with the soothing gel. You sighed, both from the feeling of the heat leaving the blistering skin, and the sensation of his calloused hands caressing your face. He briefly pulled away to reapply more gel from the leaf, then tended to the other side with the same gentleness.
It was over far too soon for your liking. As he finished his work and pulled away, it took every ounce of willpower you hand not to take his hand and put it right back. “How does that feel?” he asked.
Please keep touching me.
“Much better,” you said. You allowed yourself to smile. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome, but I really didn’t do anything.”
“You did though,” you insisted, reaching out and taking his hand. Pink dusted both of your faces, but you kept going. “You reached out to me. You called me a comrade. You wanted to help me even before those guys attacked. And then, when they did, you drew your sword to protect me.” Your voice started to shake. “And just now, the way you treated me…” You blinked. You would not start crying now. “I’ve never had anyone treat me like that.”
“Like what?” Chojuro asked, his voice quiet.
You swallowed hard. “Like I matter.”
Chojuro’s eyes widened behind his glasses. His grip on your hand tightened. “Y/n,” he said. “You do matter. Never doubt that.”
You smiled faintly. “What good is a flame surrounded by the ocean?” you asked, repeating that stinging question from so long ago.
“Well, that should be obvious,” he said.
You looked at him curiously, waiting for an explanation.
“The ocean is powerful, yes, but it’s dark and cold. A flame then becomes a beacon, leading others to warmth and light.”
All of your remaining breath left you as you stared at him. He raised his hand to your face again. This time, when he made contact, you leaned into his touch, savoring the way your cheek fit against his palm.
“You matter, y/n. You matter to this village, to this world…” He took a careful breath, his hands starting to tremble. “And to me.”
“Chojuro…”
He still looked nervous, but he kept his hands where they were. You reached out your free hand and gently settled your palm against his cheek. As your thumb stroked his skin, his eyes widened at first, then slowly slid closed as he breathed your name.
You matter, y/n.
For the first time in your life, you truly believed that.
