stand up; it isn't that deep (KyhCad33 on fanfiction.net). Feel free to call me Kyh! I now have a sideblog for much more personal things @karnaisca if you'd like to get to know me ;P
So this is just to liven up the tags + make it official xD
But if anyone’s interested in reading some Faye/Lukas (FE:Echoes), I’ve been writing a 200-word drabble collection for the past month or so. Check it out on ff.net or AO3 if you’re interested!
With LeoSaku Week drawing to a close, here’s one fanfic I managed to whip up. Enjoy!
Title: no step had trodden black
Rating: T
Warning: Using canon always makes me a bit iffy about the whole thing
Genre/s: a bit of Angst, Drama, Romance
Pairing/s: Leo x Sakura, slight!Leo x Takumi, slight!Sakura x Xander
Summary: You have to count up to six before you can start all over.
Inspiration/s: The prompts, this amazing Leo/Sakura playlist, and the title is from ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost
crossposted from ff.net and ao3
Hoshido's royal family gets themselves caught in a trap. You think it's utterly pathetic. Zola is a sorcerer, not a trickster, and though the thought prickles your head, they have no excuse for taking the bait.
But you're angry at yourself, partly because you didn't know this was happening under your noses, but mostly because you had to rescue them. Because of all the people to choose, of all the places to be, of all the morals you have... Why is dignity of noble status?
At least Ryoma is wise. And though Hinoka is hot-headed and Takumi is uncouth, at least they aren't Sakura—because Sakura is meek.
As you watch her across the table, she folds from you, shoulders hunched, and presses onto herself like it gives her distance.
You make her uncomfortable.
Disgusting.
You wonder what's worse: to be undignified, or to have a toast with your enemy?
You think her siblings will have answers but she won't, and it makes your fingertips pulse into your goblet with magic.
Only one person notices. They're not yours, not Elise or Camilla or Xander—but it's her, the shy girl on the other side, the quiet one who's fit to tuck her tail away and pray the war won't reach her.
When her eyes level with yours, she drops them back to her plate. There is no animosity, no hatred, no conflict on her face.
Just compliance.
And you're angry because you let this happen. You let yourself see.
"You embarrass yourself," you mutter. She jolts up to look at you again. No one else notices because no one else should.
She still says nothing.
Teeth grit.
"Be proud," you hiss, "that you needed us to save you. Be grateful, like you should be."
Propinquity wills her to hear but she doesn't listen. She keeps herself low and small and unworthy, like she's the one wasting your time.
And if she's like this, she's right, and you don't know why you're even trying.
"Chin up, Sakura." It's pitying and mocking and condescending all at once. "Princess Sakura."
Magic leaks from her hands.
You sit taller.
The changing of seasons comes with new beginnings. For you, it's a dawn of a better era. Hoshido has won the war, your family is still alive, and it's better than you can say for everyone else.
Sending ambassadors to Nohr is Ryoma's idea. You are chosen to go because Hinoka is helping your brother while Corrin is busy with restorations. Takumi wants nothing to do with Nohr, and Azura...Azura might've been perfect.
Or, perhaps, better than you.
But complaints are a waste of breath amidst duty and your interest. Arriving in Nohr is filled with mixed emotions, of whether or not you should feel sympathetic or proud or humble. At least you're certain you're happy. Because the halls of Shirasagi are almost as lively as they've always been, and it makes you feel full, warm, alive.
Krakenburg, in comparison, is too spacious and disengaged.
And it makes you feel.
That's your first thought when the new king welcomes you—if what he does is even fit to be called a welcome. His retainers eye your own with cautious stares, and he bows at you, kisses your hand, because it's polite to do.
"The skies are dangerous in the dark," he says. "But I see you made it unharmed."
You want to ask if he's disappointed. "Th-thank you. I had a safe ride."
His eyes bore into yours. Iced, cold, frigid, they're like the temperatures that caress your skin. It takes all your willpower not to look away. You are a diplomat, you must remind yourself. And he is in your mercy; it's not the other way around. You hold something over him. You have authority.
"When I heard it was you that would be coming," he adds, "you could imagine I was rightly surprised."
But he knows which words to choose. Which ones not to say. Your nails dig into your skin. "I am more than...more than capable for r-reparations, King Leo," you bite back. "Your standards will be met and surpassed."
His brow quirks. "I wouldn't have agreed to this arrangement otherwise. But humour me when I say it was not so long ago that I saw you holding a staff instead of a scroll."
"And right now, I take up w-words instead of weapons."
You search him for answers. He's closed off. But when he searches you, you're an open book. He can read you, shrewd gaze too calculating, too intrusive. Buds sprung in curiosity, you let yourself ask, because he'll only prick himself.
You ask if he sees his sister in your eyes, if he sees naivety and youth and habits he wishes he held onto. You ask if he's happy.
He must see the question on you, because he licks his lips and says quietly, "I was never the first choice for the throne, but now, I am last in line."
You don't know if he expects the words to freeze you over—you have a bleeding heart, you're a healer, you've got sympathy in your veins—but they heat you up instead. He can't use that against you. He's not allowed to. "You're... I don't think... No. N-no kind of apology will sate you. No restitution will make you whole. And I won't say I understand, but it's over now, King Leo. The season of war—i-it has come and passed."
He's hardened. "Because passions wilt when the winds blow cold?"
You shake your head. "B-because time continues. Even if you don't."
Then you bite your tongue and doubt. He sees it, that moment of vulnerability.
You see the way his face loosens and crumples too.
You are silent.
He murmurs, "Come. This numbness outside irks me."
When he turns, he waits for no one. You stare after his cape, worn hotly on his shoulders, and miss the warmth of your home.
You think it's ridiculous that Nohr and Hoshido are working together. Corrin and Azura are out of their minds, and so are you for believing in them.
It's the talk of peace that must be getting to your head, that promise of solidarity and an end to strife. Ha. As if years of fighting can trickle down to petty rivalries. It almost sounds like a joke.
But if the talk of peace gets to you, then it gets to everyone else. Xander is receptive. Your sisters have begun to intermingle. Like this, you've become the stubborn one, when all you are is wary and careful; it's begun to weigh you down.
So you make yourself acquainted with Hoshido's prince Takumi.
And you hate him.
He's as insufferable as you imagined, with a bitter tongue made for pejoratives and a temper that's waiting to implode. Your head aches with just the sight of him, and it's driving you madder than any outlandish future plans that Corrin and Azura have in store.
But something clicks, and suddenly, you're spending much more time with Takumi. And suddenly, you realize that you have too many things in common. And suddenly, you're looking forward to your next conversation about history, or your next game of shogi.
It...feels weird.
It is weird.
It makes him more human. He's just the same as you. There are times when he'll be the only one to listen to what you say, or when he's the only one who 'gets' it. And it's become a tentative connection you've begun to accept.
Takumi's other siblings don't share the honour. Ryoma is for Xander, with crown princes and duties and responsibilities not for you. Hinoka is headstrong and straightforward, which Camilla works well with. Sakura, you've learned, is more than her appearance allows. She's tenacious and kind and eats red bean mochi whenever she can.
She, you've learned, is your sister but more demure.
One afternoon, you're playing with Takumi under a tree. The war council was a few hours ago, but the two of you are still talking about strategy; a pincer attack captures his bishop and you're a few moves away from a check.
Sakura comes with Elise to practice music—you hear your sister's laugh before you see them, and it quiets once they see your game in place.
Takumi looks at Sakura, then you, then turns uncomfortable. She pretends not to notice. You stare at the exchange with enough tact to suggest they should go, but Elise beats you to the punch.
"I think they could use a bit of music!" She gives Takumi the stink eye but grins at you. "Let's tune here, Sakura. They can't chase us away."
Sakura smiles but doesn't move. There's interest in her eyes as they drag from square to square, from piece to piece, from brother to brother. Takumi thinks about his next move.
"Is… Who's winning?" she asks.
Takumi purses his lips.
You say, "Me."
She nods.
There's an imbalance here, between kotos and sweets, and board games and books. You can give her a chance, only because you've done it before. "Why?" you ask. "Do you want me to teach you?"
She is surprised.
Reticent.
Her brother looks away.
Then she says, "N-no. But thank you."
Nohrian staves have less range than Hoshidan rods, but as a result, they are more potent. With the battles getting more difficult each day, so does the choice of buying between the two.
The shop's bell rings your entrance. Today, Prince Leo of Nohr is the person-in-charge. Behind the counter, he doesn't stand to greet you, but he does nod in acknowledgment.
"Spend wisely," he says. "It's easy to lose yourself in here."
You smile weakly. "I-I-I'll keep that in m-mind."
You've never had to be alone with him. In battles, you keep with other Nohrians—Laslow, Nyx, Benny, Beruka. Sometimes, his older brother or sister. Never him.
You've heard stories though. And you've seen how he works. He's ruthless on the battlefield, so quick to say a spell, so precise in where it lands. It's striking yet unpleasant; because as much as it's enemies on the other side of tale, you feel a bit lost when hearing of death and ruination.
You're glad, then, that he's not the enemy. Or at least, not anymore.
But you can daydream of possibilities, like when he uses the Brynhildr to impale trees into soldiers' bodies, or make the ground swallow them whole...
You gulp.
You don't want to think of the possibilities.
It's odd though, how he uses his magic to harm, while you, Sakura, use it to cure. His plants are beautiful—they are green, lush, robust, and much too healthy—but he makes life to take life. He creates only to destroy. He uses saplings to wither older blooms.
Why use beauty for such ugly things?
You don't understand.
"Princess Sakura?"
You yelp, almost trip, but manage to turn around without embarrassing yourself. He's looking at you intently. You shrink under his gaze.
"Do you need help with something?" he asks. "You've been standing in the same spot for a while."
You remember what you're here for. Ears turn warm. You say, "Yes! I-I mean no! I mean—s-sorry, I was thinking," and grab whatever's nearest.
Striding up to the counter, you put down a sun festal. It's not a bad choice, thankfully. But as you pull out your money, he says, "You should get a mend."
"...Pardon?"
A shrug. "Your magic is weaker than my sister's, but you're far more hardy than her." He inspects its design, narrowing his eyes. "I've seen you. You're strong enough for the front lines."
You don't know if this is a veiled compliment with good intentions. Perhaps, you think, he's joking—he's not, with brows stitched as a contemplative frown rests on his lips. You don't know what to think.
When you think of the Brynhildr perched in his hands, allowing him to decimate enemies with a flick of his wrist, you think it's not in your nature to kill.
So you shake your head. "It's...okay." Then a tentative smile. "B-but I'll get one next time!"
Maybe.
He shrugs again. "Whatever you want." His hand outstretches. "Then that'll be a thousand."
As you exit the shop, new rod in hand, you think you'll never understand him.
Xander and Sakura's engagement is the happiest news the army's had in a while. They're tired of Valla. They're tired of Anankos. And even if it's a military wedding, with resources lacking and time too consumed, it's the best reprieve they could ask for.
For you, it's hard.
Because it tells you that in the end, there is still a hierarchy. One of status—you are the second son. One of power—you aren't a leader. One of ability—you're not as adept with the sword.
One of love.
She doesn't love you.
Not when Xander is superior in every single way.
You stand at the front of the audience, as expected of a supportive family. Camilla is ecstatic, gaze intent to capture every single moment, but you don't dare look at the altar, at the priest, at your brother. It makes you feel something—it claws at your gut—and your head may try all it wants to rationalize you being here, but every inch of your body is screaming at you to run. You're just glad nobody notices.
When Elise begins playing her violin, adrenaline spikes.
Altar or aisle; there are no other places to look.
You try to stop shaking, but your hands won't listen. You try to put a smile on your face, but your mouth won't either.
(stop—)
And your eyes certainly don't.
They slip to the end of the line. Ryoma is there, arm hooked with his sister's, clothes tailored by Oboro to the finest detail. But he isn't what you're—they're here for. They're here for her.
She is beauty with her dress (traditional Hoshidan garb) and beauty with her flowers (braided in her hair, tucked in her arms) and beauty in her eyes (softened, glistening) and beauty in her cheeks (rosy, warm) and beauty in her smile (wide, nervous, giddy).
Your heart panics.
Your head hurts.
(don't—)
Because it's a smile to the altar. And as much as you can stare at her forever, it is the better brother you can't look at. It's her with the better brother.
But you must. You tell yourself you'll look when you calm down.
So you take a deep breath.
Then another.
And another.
Another—
You face a Nohrian prince and you're undoubtedly scared.
At the very least, the grip of your bow keeps you from fainting. Your hands itch to grab the rod at your side—it's a comfort, like an old friend you haven't seen in a while—but it's not the time or place to use. You've trained to kill. You've made yourself a murderer.
Self-defense isn't your motive. No, it's because this battlefield is vicious, and you can't be weak and hide behind others anymore. They should think of themselves, and you don't want to be the one to drag them down. You must be independent. You must stand alone. And if protecting yourself comes along with it, you won't turn it away.
Your vice is wanting strength.
But is that such a bad thing to desire?
Because you look at your opponent, mighty with his horse and the magic in his hands, and see control. He knows what he's doing. He knows what he wants. There is spite, a burning hunger that needs to be quenched. There is self-preservation, for reasons forever unheard, that lets him see another day. There is a will, a glory, that comes with being alive.
You don't need resistance or defense or attack; your heart wants more conviction. It wants to prove itself to others, to protect those it cares for. It wants healing to be done in a world without unnecessary war.
And it can't do that if you're weak.
So when he raises his hand to strike, you pull the string back and let go.
The cherry blossoms remind you of snow: slow to fall, light, and dusts the ground and sky completely. With colours so light, it's almost pure. Beautiful. Not because it's something you've never seen before, or because it's something you've never had, or because you complete it or it completes you, but it just is.
You look to your side, see Sakura, and think there could be nothing more beautiful in the world.
When she looks back, you can't believe you're thankful to see adoration in her eyes.
"Leo," she says, "what's on your mind?"
You want to wonder what could've been, if this wasn't happening. If you weren't here, if the war was ongoing, if your countries were still enemies. If you never listened, never saw, never knew—never loved. If you never loved.
But you can't. It's hard to think about because gods, you like what you have now.
So you answer, "You."
She laughs and reaches for your hand. You feel the lines in her palm. The way her joints bend. The way she shares her warmth and you share yours.
"Y-your hands are sweaty," she says, giggling.
You smile back. "Yeah." And as the cherry blossoms fall from their branches, you lean over to capture one in your lips.
Happy Thanksgiving to all Canadians! I hope you all have a nice day :)
Title: the news said it would rain today
Rating: T
Warning: possibly wrong ‘Japanese’
Genre/s: Drama, Friendship, Romance
Pairing/s: Azura x Kaze, other pairs
Summary: When Kaze gets new neighbours, he’s quickly entrusted to take care of their daughter: a girl named Azura who keeps to herself instead of speaking up. But what’s a bit of downpour if the sun shines in the end? With gloves, a coat, and boots on his feet, Kaze’s ready to handle any upcoming storms, both in her skies and his [modern!au].
(or: kaze waits for her; for nylon stripes, wisterias, and a little bit of rain.)
Chapters: [1]
crossposted from ff.net and ao3
clear skies: day 2
[raw carrots, chipped paint, help requests]
If he's completely honest with himself, one of Kaze's favourite past times is preparing food. Or rather, it's chopping things. Slicing vegetables. Repetitive but relaxing, calming in motion. He can immerse himself in the stillness, knife on autopilot and mind without much thought. Kind of like meditation, though he keeps his hands moving.
Now though, he chops and talks to his mother at the same time. Back-to-back, he only knows she's stirring a pot because the wooden spoon clangs on metal. The exhaust buzzes overhead. Hearing and smell shies away, boiling to indicate they're doing something right.
But Kaze knows it'll be fine. It's chop suey, after all, a favourite of his father's that Fujiko's mastered so long ago (probably to entice him home; his mother's incessant, though his father is equally stubborn), and he's eaten and smelled and tasted it enough times that she could cook it with a blindfold.
The sun beats past the window, into the kitchen and onto the counter. Though it's just past noon, the food is for dinner. His mother's got better things than being stuck in the kitchen all day. Her motto: 'The day is young. Raise it how you want to.' It's not the worst advice he's heard.
"School's in two days," Fujiko starts. Over the noise, Kaze hums. It's not a topic he needs to talk about, but he can't avoid it forever. "Did you finish your homework?"
"Almost. Nothing to worry about."
"And your brother?"
He slices a piece bigger than the rest. Popping it into his mouth, Kaze runs the carrot over until it shreds to bits. Crunchy. Almost tastes like nothing. He likes the way it feels instead of its taste. "I'm sure he found the time."
"Oh, I hope so. I told your father he didn't need to bring him every day, but-" She sighs. Kaze looks over and she throws her hands in exasperation. Gaze is withered. "-you know how they are."
"Men," Kaze agrees.
A short laugh. "Men! You're right." Stir again; wouldn't want to burn it. Chop; he needs to get this done. "They're carbon copies of each other, don't you think? Hotheaded, reckless, grumpy. Even their scowls are the same! It's a curse, I tell you—their name must be stifling. Too much responsibility for one person to handle."
'But don't they handle it well?' "And here I am, not bound by the curse."
"And I thank the gods every day. I couldn't bear to deal with three rebels in my house." He coughs, lips twitching. Fujiko giggles. "We should've called you both 'Suzukaze.' Then together, us three would veto your father and put him into place."
"I doubt he'd like that."
"He wouldn't. He'd fuss over everything and make tantrums." He eats another slice. "But it's no trouble. We'll take good care of our big little baby."
Chopping irregular, slow and unsteady, he tries not to laugh. It's a struggle to make them even. Dangerous. "Mother, please. I'm still cutting something."
"'No, Saizou. You can't do that, Saizou. Bad Saizou.'" He'd blame the exhaust if he didn't know better. "But are you almost finished? I need to add them in soon."
"Give me a moment."
"Don't take too long now. 'Chop, chop.'"
Allowing himself one last snort, Kaze takes the knife back in control. After years of kitchen duty, his cuts are almost as quick and smooth as his mother's. He listens to the blade cut the carrots, hit wood as the buzzing behind him quiets. Into slices, he rotates and repeats. Into squares, they slide onto a plate. They mix with the greens and mushrooms, then turns summer into autumn as they mingle with the rest of the pot. It hisses. Lid's placed over. Heat turns off.
"And we're done," Fujiko sings. "Wonderful job, Suzukaze. Thank you very much."
"Glad to be of help." Eyes catch the sink, the mess piles. "I could wash these too, if you'd like."
She quirks a brow. "Only if you'd like to. It'd be a shame to spend the last days of vacation doing chores."
He shrugs. Picking up the sponge, he soaks it with water. Scrub the soap back and forth. If he angles them right, light glares on the dishes. A bit disconcerting to see but Kaze's fine with it. He'd rather do this than twenty-page readings. "It's alright. I've got nothing better to do."
"Your homework?"
Kaze winces. "Soon. Promise."
"Mm hm." Wash, lather. "Why don't you visit Corrin?" she asks. "Mikoto's always glad to have you over."
"Not today. They're busy."
"Oh?"
"Out somewhere with the Keichos," he tells her. Bubbles form, then they're swept by water. The rack clacks under weight. "I don't know where. Corrin didn't say." Clamped up after divulging and quickly changed the subject—very Corrin-like. But it doesn't mean he's not curious. News about the Keichos still makes the neighbourhood agog; it'll take more than five days for their novelty to burn out. "Point is, I'll be staying in."
Fujiko's pensive, mouth slanted and pursed. Then, she says, "So you have no other friends."
A spoon drops. "P-pardon? What—I didn't—excuse me?"
"Well, if Corrin's absence is the only reason you're here..."
"...Mother."
She shuts the exhaust. Silence bathes the kitchen until Fujiko rinses, her laughter like clashing utensils. "I'm only teasing, dear. Words fluster you too easily." His ears redden. "But don't worry! Mother thinks it makes you charming."
"A redeeming value?"
"Your one and only. Finish your homework after you're done, okay?"
"Okay." And though embarrassment leaves blushed traces behind, a smile tugs his lips. The faucet drains out grime. "Actually, Mother, you might find it funny that all I have left is Lit."
It's nearly four when the doorbell rings. Kaze has a couple pages left to do—he has to analyse poems about seasons and romanticized heartbreak he's sure Kamui'd like—with a foot crossed on his chair and the other rocking it gently. He can't quite wrap his head around it, usually so wired to logic and math and science, but he continues reading. Just a bit more and he'll be done.
Fujiko's voice carries. She calls out an "I'm coming!" that cuts straight through to his room (his door's wide open; he's been listening to her hum all day), as does the swinging door and his mother's glee. "Corrin! What a wonderful surprise."
Kaze does a double take. Then a grin.
His mother's still talking. "Suzukaze told me you were going to be out today."
Corrin's response is low, muffled between walls. He takes the time to read another passage.
"Hm? What did you do?" Half a passage. "Really now! That must've been fun." Flip. "It's good as long as it wasn't boring, dear. How are the others?" Pen scratch. "Excellent, excellent. Tell them I said hello." Short pause. "Thank you, sweetie. But don't let me keep you here for any longer. My son's in his room..."
Kaze turns to the side. Propped hand cups an ear. Words enter and exit as he catches them with his palm, rereading and absorbing and sticking information in his head. Stairs creak in afterthought. Vacuum whirls. Kaze ignores the squeaking bed and runs his eyes to the page's end. He flips. Two more pages.
"Sorry if I'm bothering you."
Corrin speaks into a pillow. Kaze tunes in his words, tunes out the noise, and reads all at once. Or not. He can't multitask. The vacuum mixes with an apology. His eyes see words that don't register. "Don't worry, I left the door open on purpose."
More rustling. Then nothing. '...Autumn weighs leaves with / Old age until fell. Like the poem by Monk Hamada (1743-1828)...' "How was your day?" Kaze asks.
A groan.
Frequency in white noise, he manages another page. His lined sheet's inked. Slow progress—better than nothing. "Where'd you go?"
"I thought you heard."
"I didn't."
He can only guess what's running through Corrin's mind. Disbelief, probably, as if Kaze lied. Not his fault Corrin's got an indoor voice. "We went to the city."
"Huh." Should've known. In any case, it's more interesting than dead poets, and Kaze leans into his chair and spins. He sees Corrin chest down and staring at the bed's backboard. His profile doesn't say much but he's clearly annoyed. He's always annoyed lately. "With the Keichos?" Azura. "You did that a few days ago."
"I know," he grumbles. Kaze wheels to the door. Singing hushes. "Father was going to buy us ice cream."
Oh. Oh no. He stares until he's certain Corrin won't talk. "And?"
"It-" Head buried, all that comes is garble. Kaze moves close. It's on his tongue—'Corrin, are you okay?'—but it's a stupid question with an indirect reply so he keeps it sealed and shut. His friend's fourteen. He keeps himself reminded. "It didn't go well."
A man could hope. "What happened?"
"We lost Azura." Corrin rolls over, missing Kaze's alarm by speaking to the wall. "One moment, she was with us. The next, she was gone."
Blink. Worry fades. It's irritation instead of anxiety; Azura should be fine. Uneasiness lingering, his socks poke the bottom of the mattress. "Must've been troublesome." Scary,' he thinks. But he could be wrong.
"It wasn't fun, that's for sure." Kaze bites his cheek.
"How did you find her?"
"We didn't. She doesn't have a cellphone so we looked all over the place. Backtracked and everything. Still couldn't find her. Father was going to call the cops when Nishiki rang." He sighs. "He said she was at the pet shop because it was the only place she knew."
Good for her. "At least she's safe."
A scoff. "Yeah. And after that, we went straight home."
Corrin without his rising breath is still and immovable; if he shakes, he shakes no matter how long it takes him. But his silence is eerie, dissonant against the off-key music in the background. A calm aftermath with an inside storm. But the question is, who's he angry at? It's not a stupid question, Kaze's sure, but it's the mathematician's answer that'll tick his nerves.
Either way, the warpath's going to rage for days at this rate. Might as well redirect it. "Let's go to the kitchen."
Corrin faces him. His eyes are still narrowed. "What?"
"I'm hungry."
"A bad liar to boot." His creases turn friendly. Much better. "Studied too hard?"
Kaze shrugs. "Starvation waits for no one."
Corrin laughs again and sits up. Chair pushed back to desk, the bed sheets smoothen, the door opens, and the vacuum sounds. Corrin's voice carries over everything, noise and all, which makes Kaze smile more than words do.
"But only because I can't let you starve you in your house," he says.
"We have mint in the fridge," Kaze adds.
His grin is blinding. Corrin should do it more often. "That helps too."
Dinner is always an odd affair.
Morning and lunch has birds and his mother. Late afternoon has Corrin and tea. Dinner has plates and cups that bump on tables—scraped, scratched, bruised. Breaths too, if you're listening closely. Even then they're next to nothing. It's like Kaze with Saizou but on a grander scale.
At least there's one voice that cracks the silence open. Perhaps that's why Fujiko is called a mother; she knows when to mend and sew and break what needs to be broken.
"-the sales have been surprisingly excellent these days. Eri's over the moon, and she thinks the shop renovations might come closer than we expected. I think so too, if all goes well. We'll be able to start after winter and finish when July rolls by. But, well, summer's coming to an end. The sales will drop once autumn comes."
Pausing, she watches the others. They're silent. "If anything," she continues, "we should start next year... I do hope the good news continues until spring though. Last year was quite troublesome."
"It was trouble for everyone," his father mumbles, a comment not meant to be heard. Fujiko snaps her head to face him. Now the silence is truly unbearable. He grumbles. "Snow was too high."
"That's true."
Exchanging looks, they linger before he drops it to his food. Fujiko can't wipe her smile off. "You had to shovel the driveway every hour," she says, "and you complained every time you went out."
"Mm."
"And I remember the roads were icy. You slipped twice trying to salt them."
His eyes narrow. "You did too."
"I didn't fall face-first."
"You couldn't get up."
She stares. She beams. "Oh yes. I couldn't, could I? That was funny. You looked absolutely terrified."
He frowns. "Your hysterics surprised me."
"Careful, love. I know when you're lying."
Saizou catches Kaze's gaze, rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Disgust in his features, there's mirth in Kaze's. He stifles his laughter. His twin smirks. 'Get a room,' he mouths.
Kaze eats a carrot.
The rest of the meal is filled with quips (mostly from Fujiko—Saizou Senior'd rather enjoy the food than his wife's bantering) and silent, one-sided conversations ('Gods, their flirting is making me sick'). Saizou finishes first. When he's excused by the others, his feet amble him upstairs. Kaze's excused next, Fujiko intervening before he offers to wash the dishes again, but his father finishes eating before him; his brother would get a kick out of that too.
Steps rising, he climbs to his room and goes past the lighted bathroom. The shower runs. Kaze sits on his chair. There's unfinished work from before.
Right, he thinks. Lids drag. At least it's only a page or two left. And half an analysis.
Still, he has to finish it. Mr. Yukimura might look soft, but anyone who assigns detentions without batting an eye deserves better than half-done work.
Just the thought of it gives him cold dread.
So concentration on a full stomach, the ten minutes it takes for the faucet to shut equates to finishing poems and starting notes. Kaze gets the gist of the theme: what can you do to leave a legacy once all is said and done? Or how love works like that, messy ties still on your mind years after their ends.
He hears slippers slap on the floor, clean cut and heavy until they stop by his door. Another distraction. He looks up. Saizou—fresh and dapper—run a towel through his wet hair. He looks like he wants to say something, so Kaze cleans his welcome mat.
"Bathroom's free," his brother announces.
"Thanks." Kaze pauses, stares at the book, says, "Did you ever visit Orochi?"
"Do your work."
He'll take it as a yes. "You too."
It's meant to be a pleasantry but Saizou frowns. And Kaze winces because he knows he shouldn't have said anything. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Saizou says. "I hear enough from Mother."
It's times likes these—tugging mouth, burying brow, challenging stare—that they look years, not minutes, apart. Defensive, Saizou's shut and Kaze can't pry him open. He was never the handyman.
Still, he can try to fix it. "Do you want me to wake you up on Monday?"
"I'll do it on my own, thanks." Slippers back off, sliding through droplets on the floor until they disappear from sight. Mother'd be mad to see her hard work go to waste. "Just worry about yourself, Kaze."
The next room shuts with a thud.
Kaze sighs.
Saizou doesn't get up by himself.
Not that Kaze would know, of course. Maybe Saizou does but sleeps in. In any rate, he's not awake by the time Kaze leaves the house.
But to be fair, Kaze likes going to school early. And to be fair, Saizou went to bed late. To be fair, Kaze has a consistent sleeping schedule.
With a last goodbye to his parents (Mother waves cheerily; Father nods and continues reading the paper), he grabs his bag and exits the house. Mental checklist: homework, hardcover books, lunch, office supplies. All check. The weight of his day carries itself.
He dumps it all in his bike then steers it clear on the road. Wheels spin past other neighbours up before eight, and he smiles as he passes, says good morning when they do. Miss Nara's in front of Mr. Sumeragi's house, ever so steady with sweeping the steps. She doesn't notice him pass. He smiles at her back anyway.
School is a thirty minute walk past his street—cut in half if you bike—out of suburban peace and into the first of many busy traffic lights. But if you're like Kaze, who, as law-abiding as he is, speeds through the twists and turns and squeezes himself through as many gaps he can find, then it's reduced to a quarter than normal. He's got tricks around town, knows most of the roads less travelled; he owes it to deliveries for teaching him secrets only he shares.
The grounds are almost bare when he arrives, students trickling in like mud's on their soles. But there are a few ready to start their day. Some clubs are even in business: archery at target practice, gardening by the school walls, soccer doing laps around the field. Kaze greets as many as he can from the sidewalk to the bike rack, from the bike rack to the entrance.
Inside the school is even emptier. The lockers are lonely, squeaking in sobriety as he fills them with later subjects. The halls are too; every sound he makes seemingly echoing off the walls.
As he heads to his classroom, he sees how each class's notice board has changed flyers, paper fresh and crisp and smoothed without ears. Curious, he takes the time to read each one. Cooking club is looking for members. There are a few volunteer opportunities here and there.
Nothing of note.
By Room 3-C, he's spent more time reading notices than it took for him to get to school, and he places the information like files in his head. Retention by repetition. Perhaps they'll be useful later. As he slides the door open, he locks them in a safe and hopes they don't slip past when he's not looking.
Polished rows and pristine floors look different in bustle, against the cheers of his classmates after the bell rings for home. Now, when it's clear, it's almost new. First day of school, and he's stepped into the room for the first time.
"Kaze." At the back of the room, the voice greets him good morning. She has a sketchbook in one hand and coloured pencils in the other. "Early, aren't you?"
He laughs and takes his seat. Three from the door, five down to the back. An empty chair to his left, then Kagerou. Routine—she's always here before him. He prides being almost as constant as her. "As are you. But I haven't seen you in a while. It's nice to be talking again."
"Sentiments shared."
Monotone. He smiles dryly. "When did you get back?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
"Really? You don't look tired."
She shrugs. Lines connecting, the strokes are bold. Art bends and swirls at angles he wouldn't think otherwise. "I slept on the ride."
"No jet lag," he notes.
"No plane."
"Yeah? Where'd you go?"
"Edge of the city. Countryside. We visited my grandparents." Tilt head. Squint. Clack. Erase. "It was a lovely trip."
"Sounds nice."
"Looks, too." She smiles then pauses, as if beauty is only as good as it's seen. But Kaze waits, and his patience is soon rewarded. "There, you can see the stars. Clear daybreak, overhead sun. 'Awespiring,' I say."
Unobtrusive, she means, with skylines out of the way. Rare in sight, the thought is pretty in itself. Ink around white space that draws your stare to the holes.
"What a change some distance makes," he says. "It's not too far from here, is it?"
"Yes. Just two hours. It's quite clean there. And fresh. My grandparents like it, so I suppose it's fine."
"Happiness before everything."
"Not usually." Eyes soft, lead hardens. Brusque. "But what of you, Kaze? Did you do anything special?"
Blink, it's fleeting. His gaze goes to the book bind, following the spiral path until it lands on the edge of her fingers. Held tight, he skips those too. "Nothing as exciting as you, I'm sure-"
The door opens. A few classmates trickle in, conversations begin to unfold. Various directions, volume builds and scatters. They exchange looks. Kaze starts again. "You know," he says, motions wayward, "the usual: deliveries, chores, homework."
"Babysitting."
He coughs. "That's...not the usual."
"The middle Ohara," she explains, shrugging. "As always."
"Corrin's not a child."
"Is in my eyes." Pause to think, to string the words. "I've also heard there's a new girl around. You've been taking more chicks under your wing, I see."
"A new girl." Oh, he realizes, and shakes in mirth. "Azura's not a child either."
She shrugs. "Teenagersitting."
"'Looking after.'"
"Vagueness doesn't mask meaning, Kaze."
"Person guarding."
"Guard it is," she complies. "Still the same."
No. It's different. But he's afraid his words won't flow as he wants them, cost so high he can't afford the price. His wallet's broke; currency exchange isn't at its peak. "But I'm not at her every beck and call. We've only met once, actually."
'Besides, I'm sure she can take care of herself.' Although he thinks back to what happened with Corrin. He frowns.
Kagerou doesn't notice. She just raises her brows the more he speaks. Then they furrow as she fixes her drawing. "You're not doing a good job then."
"Room for improvement," he says.
"There's that. I know you're capable of being above average."
"High compliment, Kagerou. Thank you." Kaze's back to spirals and thumbs. "Who told you about Azura?"
"Orochi."
Hm? "Oro-? Ah, Saizou." So he did see her. Kaze grins in confirmation. As stiff as his older brother is, he melts in all the right circumstances. It's just wishful thinking that he'd melt amongst family.
Kagerou nods. "You, technically. Unless it was through Ryouma."
"Probably Ryouma." Though his mood drags down, unimpressed. Kamui to Hinoka to Ryouma, maybe? Sounds about right.
She says what he wants. "Odd linkage. But nonetheless, you're now a self-appointed guard." He snorts. "Do the proper procedures."
"I'll most definitely try."
"'Do.' That's-"
"Greenie!"
Kagerou's undeterred by the loud noise. But Kaze is. His head snaps to the door, startled, dull ache cracking the muscles of his nape. Kamui skips over—as if the sight, not the nickname, was the giveaway clue. High energy, wide grin; the person behind her is less energetic.
His brows shoot up to his forehead.
"-your chance to fix your first impression," Kagerou finishes.
He doesn't have time to prepare before Kamui slams her hand on the empty desk between them. Azura winces. Whether it's because it must have hurt or it's because of the sound, he doesn't know. But she takes her place on Kamui's left, closer to him and the door than a stranger and the middle. Closer to the walls, closer to safety.
"Mooorning!" Kamui chirps. "And that includes you, Kaggie. How're my two favourite seniors in the world?"
"Good," he says, more in question than not.
"Could be better."
"Awesome! But Kaze, sweetheart, ooze some more confidence over there. Strut your stuff! Wheel your deals! I know you're a strong and independent man. Don't go falling out of your throne. And Kagerou! Dear friend, I simply adore your optimism for a greater tomorrow. But did you know that ball of heat-" And to this, a point to the window. "-shines just for you? You need to absorb its luster! Radiate your surroundings! Become the light of the people as you dispel darkness in your wake!"
Kagerou shakes her head. "No thank you. I'm fine like this."
"Well! There it is!" Kamui's, pleased. "There's the confidence you so lack, Kaze."
He looks at Azura, drinks in the blue of her uniform ribbon, her buttoned-up vest, long sleeves against the heat. The days are cooling, enough for socks when sleeping, but it's a wonder she isn't sweating underneath. When she notices him staring, she tugs the ends of her uniform. Hands hide under cloth. Twist, turn, nervous.
He smiles. "Good morning, Azura."
Her hands stop and she nods. "Hello." Then, like an afterthought: "Suzukaze."
He smiles further.
Kamui slaps her forehead. "Oh, yes, yes, yes—sorry, Azura, I get awfully sidetracked and babble all the time—but Kagerou! I wanted the two of you to meet. Azura, this is Miss Art Club President Extraordinaire. And Kaggie, this is my beautiful and multi-talented cousin, Azura."
"Nice to meet you," Kagerou says.
Azura nods again.
Surveying the room, Kamui frowns. "I guess my third favourite senior isn't here, but Azura, listen up! The most reliable third year room is 3-C. We've got these two—who, may I add, are denizens more than capable of making this world a better place—and Nishiki. Yes, Nishiki! Who is, um, sadly as late as ever."
"Nishiki?" Azura mumbles, lilt so slight it's a breath rather than a sentence. He sees her mouth curve before straightening. Kagerou sees it too, sees it as he does. Her throat clears.
So he's obliged. "He not here in the mornings, but he's in the courtyard during breaks."
Another cough.
"But you can still try your luck," he adds, as Kagerou works on finer details. "Maybe he'll come earlier because it's second term." 'Or maybe when he knows you're looking for him,' but that's impersonal and touchy and assuming.
Kaze's not perfect—he knows, and he doesn't try to straighten it out. Saves do little when flustered under pressure. Fixing clipped ceramic only works if you have all the tiny pieces. So it's a comfort that she appreciates the thought, keeps her hand still and visible.
"Maybe," she muses. This time, she lets her smile be seen. "He goes to this school?"
He hums encouragingly. "Those in the area do. There's an all-boys and an all-girls some ways away, but...we're in a commercial area. They're not."
Azura stares in interest. "I see."
"That's not to say the other two aren't in commercial areas. They're simply less sparse." Racking his brain for stories he's gathered over the years, he says, "And it's less dense in student population; workplaces scatter over there instead. There's also a hospital, so many are the elderly. But it's mostly because there's more housing here."
"I see." Epiphany now, struck in realization. Yellow lights as her eyes lock onto his. "How interesting."
She might just be saying that, hides as well as he does, but he breathes nonetheless.
Kamui dances around, careful not to tip anything over. Left feet and loud mouths don't mix. "You know, you babble as much as I do, Green Boy. Look at that, cousin—we're running a bit late on schedule." She looks at her bare wrist, taps it. "Gotta go to 3-D and meet my boss."
Azura glances back. She doesn't need his permission yet asks for it anyway. What an amusing girl. "Tsubaki?" he asks Kamui.
"Yep." She thinks. "Well, meet him again. Proper introduction or whatever. All that boring stuff." A feral grin. "But with any luck, we'll find him with Rinka. They have the best arguments, no joke."
"Hardly proper for their status," Kagerou mutters.
"Nope! But they're fun. Let's catch them in the act, Azura."
Again, she looks back. A second on Kagerou, who inches away to her sketchbook. Then on Kaze, who smiles close-lipped. Like a divide she'd rather not choose, she opts instead to stare at the centre and let Kamui decide for themselves.
"Okay," she says after a moment.
"Okie dokie! We'll be going then, Kaggie, Greenie."
"Goodbye," Kagerou says.
Kaze nods. "See you later." Linger on Azura, who's not looking. Kamui's apologetic but he doesn't mind. "See you both."
"See ya."
Sharp flit. To the wall. "Until next time."
He watches them go, Kamui boundless as she bumps into chairs and desks and people, 'sorry!'s on the top of her lungs. Azura's quiet, steps without a trace. Fleeting and quick, Kamui leaves marks and she's the waves that wash them away.
Kagerou laughs, charmed. "That was the most I've heard you say in one sitting. I'd never think of demographics."
He's only learning. "As long as it worked, I suppose."
"It did. Surprisingly."
He says, thinks, assumes, "She's more of a listener."
"You know her more than I do." Hands on the perforation, she rips the paper off. Kagerou stretches over to hand the drawing over. "Here, a souvenir."
He stares at it—its stars so lurid his eyes cross from corner to corner, grass mismatched in shade, trees' pressure changed in frequency. It's high enough to fly over his head, and he laughs because she must have been working on it all this time. "Your thoughts on the countryside?" he asks.
"On life," she says. He takes it.
What an art it is to reflect your own perspective with something so out of world. Kaze can't do it, can't begin to try, so he must understand Kagerou the least. But that's alright. The art is pretty. He can appreciate it that way. "Thanks. I'll hang it up on my wall."
She smiles. "I'd like that."
As he combs through each line and detail (looking, searching, missing the meaning), the person between them comes to sit down. He greets Kaze, who greets him back, then Kagerou, who goes to her sketchbook again.
The next time he sees Kamui is at the start of lunch. He's meandering with Kagerou as he unpacks his food, topics vague and nonsensical, when the door slides open and he hears his name—his actual name, full length and all. He hurries to clear his things before she slams her hand on his desk. Again.
The sound is as loud as earlier, but there are more people to hear it. A loud slap, unmasked without Nishiki and loudmouths in the room, the others stare. Then they look away, like this happens every day.
And knowing Kamui, it does.
"Suzukaze," she pants. Tired, like she ran as soon as the bell rang. He raises an eyebrow. Heartbeat dwindles to a steady pace. Even Kagerou looks interested. "I've got a problem."
What a shock. "What is it?"
"Or, well-" Kamui scratches her head, sending hair up in a flurry. Panic habit. So is ignoring what anyone says. "-I think you can help? Depends if you're busy later. Or if I'm imposing too much. Or any other excuse you have. If you have any. But I seriously need your help so please, please, please don't turn me down-"
"Kamui," he says, gentle, firm. "You need to tell me what it is first."
"Right! Right. Haa, sorry. I'm sorta winded."
He shakes his head. "Take your time. Exhale. Deep breath."
She does, clears her lungs and intakes sharply, rids the last of her nerves with a powerful blow. Puff goes anxiety. "Okay. I'm good." He pours her some of his tea. "Ah, thanks-a-daisy."
Letting her down a shot of a canister lid, he presses, "So?"
"Tell your mom the tea's as good as always, bud. But yeah. Okay. So in the morning, me and Azura went to visit Tsubaki, right?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, well, it was all fine and dandy. You know, usual formalities and reintroductions or boring jazz like that. But then he decided to be a total jerk and said we were having a StuCo meeting after school..."
Kagerou muffles a snort.
Kamui follows suit, twisting to her right and dragging Kagerou in the conversation. "Right?! Like, what the heck. It's the first day back to school! He's a total monster."
"Can't say I'm surprised," Kagerou says. "It's Tsubaki."
Sigh. "And as much as it pains me to say this, Kaggie, you're right."
"Wait," he says, gears turning, squeaking. After years of grease, oil learns how to get in his head. Immobile turns to motion, and teeth fit like a perfect puzzle. "This is about Azura, isn't it?"
"Got it in one!" Azura this, Azura that. It's not hard to guess if the Ohara siblings spin her on their axis. Yet he listens each time. Moth to flame, just pique his curiousity further. "I mean, it's nothing big. Just walk her home safely. You'll be going the same way anyway, won't you?"
"Of course." 'Unless something comes up.' But let's not jinx it. "Was that all?"
"Uh, hm. I guess so. I might've overpanicked."
"It's alright. I get it." Eyeing his drink, lip stain marked with Kamui, he adds, "You can have the rest of the tea."
She grins. "Really? Sweet. I'll pay you back extra, Greenie. Favours for free. But not really free, because I owe you big time, and—you get my drift."
"Sure. I'll ask you if I ever need anything."
"You better." Taking the tea can, it's gulped to nothing. Magic—in a moment, it's gone. "Well, I better go then. I told the others I'd be buying something in the caf." Then she frowns. "Oh yeah, Kazoo, I've actually got another request: could you pretend I never asked?"
He keeps his lips pressed. Ryuurei flickers through his head.
Hiding secrets is nothing new to him. Or, at least, withholding the truth is. But there's an inkling that this won't go well. If he slips, it'll blow up in his face. Vacuum seal's the only way. "No problem, that's doable."
"Yikes, just thinking about how much I owe you is an absolute nightmare." Kamui presses a finger on each side of her head, massaging temples and praying for peace. She smiles though, as if to assure him she's joking. "But thanks. Gonna go and get my food now. Have a good lunch, you two!"
"You as well," Kaze calls out. Kagerou waves. Kamui's out of the door before they know it, and everything's almost short of a dream.
Kagerou pinches him awake. "She's the exact epitome of whimsical."
"Flies in and out and doesn't bother to stay," he agrees. Spirited, it's the reason why she draws people in. Kagerou knows it, and his answer lifts the corner of her lips. "She nets as many fish as she can, doesn't she?"
"That means you're a tuna." Too big to escape, it's an apt comparison. She watches him unpack his lunch before swallowing her own. "So you don't have anything else to drink."
A shrug. "Doesn't matter. I'll buy something later."
Her eyes crinkle. "Bluefin."
After school, he runs into a problem: he doesn't know where Azura is. His first guess is Kamui's classroom, but bumping into Felicia on the way there takes him on a goose chase around school. Class 2-E instead of 2-B, she's gone when he peeks in. Lockers are crowded—no blue in sight. Courtyard, nope; classrooms, nope; stairwells, cases, long-drawn halls. All nope. He's stacking places in his checklist and she's shooting them all down.
So he takes another round, past every nook and cranny and corner. To 2-E he goes. Still empty. To the courtyard, he passes his class along the way...
...only to see Azura by its door, idly fiddling her skirt and bag. He blinks. Double take. He blinks again.
She stares at the ground, ignoring anyone who passes by, but her grip is tight that he thinks skin will break, chipped like the paint on the wall she's leaning on. Now that he has a good look at her, he notices her hair drops lower than expected. Undone, it's almost to her ankles and brushes the tips of her socks. Blue on a uniform canvas and she's even paler than before. Perhaps it's because she's ut of place; she can't camouflage with her colours.
So he'll save her from the trouble. "Azura," he calls out. "What are you doing here?"
For the first time today, it's someone else that jumps in surprise. Her head tilts slowly. She must think he's a stranger. But that's one thing he's not, and her face warms as soon as it reaches his.
When she shuffles over, comforted beside him than within the safety of her walls, he realizes why she's here.
"Suzukaze," she starts. He smiles as she stares right at him. On her end, it's a twist of the brow, a narrow pout. "Excuse me, but I'm...I don't know how to go home. I wondered if I could walk with you."
There's that drawl again, as if she's forcing the words from her mouth. Doesn't she know she'll strain herself like that? "Of course you can. It'd be my pleasure."
"Thank you," she breathes.
Her relief is palpable. He relishes in its taste. "No harm done."
They make their way to the outside, barely a crowd left yet still too much too handle. Azura sticks as close as she can without touching. He slows his strides to match hers. Left, then right. By the time they reach their lockers, they're synchronized to half his normal pace. But it's not bad, he thinks. There's always a time and place for leisure. It just so happens that today is one of those days.
As she watches him unchain his bike from the rack, he asks, "Did you wait long?"
Small talk. Azura purses her lips politely. "No."
"That's good to hear." Metal clicks in place. "I'm glad I saw you then."
"Mm?"
"It'd be a shame if we missed each other," he clarifies, then hesitates. "So Kamui's in a Student Council meeting?"
Vague enough. He overheard it from a classmate, it's common knowledge within the school. She nods. Twinge of guilt.
"Then it's good you also came to find me," he says, making his words airy. They light her surprise before composure sets in. "Those meetings take too long for my liking."
She shakes her head. "I would have waited in the library."
"Really?" He'll keep that in mind. "I could recommend some books if you'd like." Shrugging his things into the basket, he says she can do the same. With a moment's thought, she arranges their bags cozily, and they lie side by side in tight slumber.
Sidewalk to noisy streets, there's silence between them. Kaze doesn't want to force something that isn't there. Azura is simply quiet. She drinks in the sights, inhales the sounds. It's enough to be happy and there is no need for conversation. Smell the roses. Smell the city.
And so Kaze leads. His steps are deliberate, paving footholds that Azura climbs on. Slightly in front, he shortens his strides further, measures the bike as if it's a flag in the air. She's shielded from the people they pass. Closer to shop windows, she could graze brick if she wants to. He comforts her in the only way he knows.
In turn, she's placating. She keeps close, draws in when it's packed. She's not matching his pace because he's the one matching hers, but she doesn't slow nor stop and holds her head high through the crowds.
But she does stop.
He doesn't notice at first, missing her gasp and scuffle amongst the afternoon cacophony. It's only when he sees grey instead of blue—misses her hair that weaves around her—does he panic and look back. She had stopped a few feet away. Kaze breathes.
"Azura?" She blinks and scurries forward. She doesn't do this often, does she? "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry."
That doesn't answer his question. "Did you want something?"
She hesitates all the time, like she can't do this, can't do that, not allowed, unauthorized. Patience is his virtue, but they aren't immortal. "Whatever it is, I can assure you it isn't a bother." Her eyes snap to his. "Come on, what is it?"
She thinks, motions across the road. He looks. "There's a store," she begins, "'Faint Haze?'"
You can't see it from here. But her accent's perfect. He looks back at her in faint surprise. "You mean the one in the inner streets? Sasaki's?"
A smile. "Yes! Oboro Sasaki."
"Sasaki Oboro," he corrects gently, curiousity growing. "We could make a detour if you'd like."
"Ah, no. I just want to know, how would I go to the store?"
"From here?" Azura nods. He jogs his memory, remembers the way his bike turns. "You cross the road, then go to the left. When you reach the first intersection, go right. Then right again at the next. Keep walking straight, and you should find it."
Puzzled voice, pursed lips. Kaze's confused too. "Yes, then right again."
As if realizing it's going nowhere, she nods and thanks him.
But he wants her to say she understands. "You know," he starts, and it clicks as he does. Oh, her accent. Oh, her slow words. Oh, the way Nohrian names fall so impeccably from her tongue. She's Vallite, he has to remember, not Byakuyajin, even though she can hold conversations. Handlebars hot, he stifles a laugh.
"Azura, hidari." A wave from his left hand. "Migi." His right. "Cross the road, go left-" Wave. "-right-" Wave. "-right, and then straight. Massugu." He motions forward.
Red paints porcelain, over and over, until the patches are all even. "Thank you."
He nods. No need to smile—he'd call her out on her gratitude and there's no need to be patronizing. "How do you know Oboro?"
"I saw her when I came here," she tells him. And then she adds, "Last time."
Two blinks. But Kaze pays Corrin no heed. Her words are too vague, anyway. Like his, except he doesn't know if it's on purpose. "Despite her age," he says instead, "she's helped come up with some of their more popular designs. Did you see the mannequins on display by the window? Those are by her."
"Yes, she told me."
"So she did. She's good at what she does."
"Pretty." Azura thinks. "Beautiful," she elaborates.
Kaze gets her the tiniest bit more.
Yet, he gulps.
Another twinge of guilt.
The week flies by without incident. Before he knows it, it's the end of the week and Student Council has another meeting. After school, Kaze waits in the art clubroom. Bag slung on his shoulder, his spine is stick-straight. Kagerou's skeptical.
"You seem off today," she says.
He frowns. "If you say so."
"No need to pretend. I know you know." She goes through her supplies, picks out pencils and brushes in quiet routine. "You do things faster, more mechanical. Like your mind's somewhere else."
She doesn't need to look at him to see his frown digs deeper. Pens stack on markers that stack on easel. Paint cans strew the sides. Messy drawings are tossed behind the spine. Her workplace is like a painting in itself: busy areas, crowded corners, soft strokes and shades in fitting form. When she's adding the finishing touches, she asks, "Is this really necessary?"
The question's out of the blue. Kaze slips from stiffness. "What do you mean?"
"You, being here," she replies. A pencil points at his chest. "You clearly look ready for home."
It's an eviction if he's ever heard one. But it's hard for him to keep his mind still when he's already trying to keep his body in check. What can he say? 'Orochi's pretty good at advice. I'm sure she's rubbed off on you;' 'Despite us not being that close, you make a better sibling than my brother;' 'You're my friend. Why can't I be here?'
"I don't want to be imposing," he confesses. "Or hypocritical." A laugh.
"Not really. Art Club members have a right to be here. Even on days without meetings." She drags a chair over, places herself in front of Kaze with a canvas in between. "But hypocritical... You're no better than Kamui. This is about that girl, isn't it?"
He closes his eyes.
"Calm down," Kagerou says. "You're thinking too much." He hears a sigh and lead scratching. It's pleasant to hear. "You said you'd be her guard, so act like it. Right now, you're just being flimsy."
He winces. True, but if your head's too littered, it gets difficult to clean. "I'm just waiting. If she doesn't need my help going home anymore, then I don't need to baby her."
Forthcoming, suspicious.
He'll feel bad.
As if to say that's unreasonable, Kagerou sniffs. And he is, unreasonable, in a way. Like he's not thinking things through. He's glad she doesn't say it out loud. "You have wonderful posture," she mutters, peeking over to look. "You'd make a good model."
The question slips before he can rein it in. "Would you like me to? Model?"
"Not today." She hides. "Go see Azura."
He gazes at white space, the lining staples. Just her skirt and socks and shoes, yet he can tell she's squinting. At him, at her work. She's not taking no for an answer. He'll try anyway. "She must've left already," he says.
Kagerou looks at him again, eyes piercing straight into his. Intense and bold and striking to negate indecisive feelings. "You know, Kaze, you wouldn't be making all these excuses if you were going home with a friend."
Kaze blinks.
Azura smiles, subdued but pretty. "Hello."
"Good afternoon," he says. Starts careful and ends giddy, like a drunken fever. "I wasn't expecting to run into you here."
Eyes to bag to shoes. "Yes. But I saw your bike, so I waited. You?"
"I was idling. I'm just about to go home." It's not to dismiss Kagerou, but using her as a scapegoat leaves a bad taste in his tongue. He dragged her into his issues. He should've been mulling over them himself.
'But sometimes, it's nice to tell someone. Kagerou's a good listener even if she might not like the conversation.'
Azura nods. They stand there for a moment, eye to eye. She's not sure what to say, either can't find the right words or doesn't know how to say them. So he lets her think about it, unchains his bike only when she bows her head. He rolls it to open ground and she walks to the left of him as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
He's amused. She's befuddled. Then embarrassed, she looks away and her teeth dig low. "Sorry?" she says. "I thought-"
"No, no," he tells her. "You thought right."
Teeth pull up. "Don't tease."
Cheeky. He walks on the clouds, far from the ground, that it makes her curious to see what's up there. Leading, she follows. Laughing first, she echos through. Annoyance dissipates to mist. It's easier to breathe.
Basking in sunlight, he asks, "So how was your day? How were classes?"
Azura replies with a wave of her hand, tilts it back and forth in 'so-so' motion. Truly ambivalent, her face doesn't betray anything, but she sets her shrug wrong: hard, mistimed, tense. Quick to miss, it's what Kaze sees best.
But what's a pressing subject? "The first few days are like that," he says. "Your thoughts are still stuck on summer, you know? It's difficult to get into things."
She nods. And for her, Kaze realizes, she might be stuck in Valla. Much harder to shake off, much harder to forget. Much harder to believe. Mulling it over, he wets his lips and stares at the stoplights. Yellow for caution, red to stop. Take a back seat and think things through.
Green, she pulls him along. "Do you, um. The first day," she corrects. "When I came here, you said 'Akita-inu,' yes?"
"Hm?" Snapped forward, he has to gather his thoughts. "Oh. Yes, yes. I remember. I still need to show you what they look like."
"Remember, remember," She mumbles under breath. "Well, no, it's okay. Kamui helped and we searched on the internet." Her steps float. "In Nohrian, 'Akita-inu' is sometimes called 'Great Hoshidan dog.' I call them 'Nohrian Akita.' I remember where I'd heard that."
Contagious, his bike's pumped on the wheels. "So you do know what they are."
"Yes! Back then, I was thinking that it seemed I heard it already..." Trailing off, her eyes travel and she falls silent. Then she nods. "Yes. That's right."
It falls tense.
Superfluous? Or maybe something else? Either way, the lovely atmosphere's gone, and in panic, he blurts out, "Did I tell you they're my favourite animals? If I had to choose a pet, I'd definitely choose the, erm, 'Great Hoshidan dog.' Is that right?"
Oh, of course not. His accent's horrible, words so butchered they're unrecognized. He'd be proud to say he had half of Azura's linguistic abilities, but he can't, and all he can do is laugh at himself. Even Azura looks offended, however mild the dosage is. Mirth skyrockets.
She enunciates, "'Great Hoshidan dog.'"
He repeats, "'Great Hoshidan dog.'"
Still rough, but clearer. Pride straightens her back. "Good student," She notes.
"Thank you." But he shrugs self-deprecatingly. He's better as a cushion. "Actually, that—Nohrian equivalents—that's interesting. I don't know a lot of them, so it's fun to learn. I'm afraid languages aren't my strong suit."
It's polite to share your own. But careful with information, divulging it's a task. "For me," she says slowly, "it's math."
"...Really?"
"Yes."
"Huh." That's convenient. And the more he thinks about it, the more dubious he turns. Brows stitch to see her differently. Logical, verbose. Parallels; they fit. There's a word for this—Kagerou uses it all the time—but tongue tips aren't spoken and so he bites them down. "If you need help, I'm good at that."
That makes her do a double take. And like she comes to the same conclusion, their distance shifts. They're matched arm to arm and stride to stride, but her thoughts have drifted away. "Really."
"Really."
"Okay."
He doesn't force it.
It's not until they get to their neighbourhood—at her pace, that's fifteen, twenty minutes of contemplation; plenty of time to mull over and rehearse—that silence is lifted. "Suzukaze," Azura says, "you're nice."
The compliment catches him off-guard, and he turns from the houses to look at her. Her eyes are curt and honest. Very expressive. It's a good look on her, he admits. "Why you're nice for saying that too, Azura."
"Yes, very nice. But you aren't pushy—'pushy?' Not force...y. Is that right?"
"Busybody. Or mother hen. I think that works better."
She smiles. "There. Like that."
Her speech is laconic but succinct: gets things across so minimalistically. When he thinks about it, it's not that she's quiet or untalkative or awkward with conversations. She's just good at keeping it simple. A comfortable rhythm, there's no need to break it.
They go through the house numbers. Five. Seven. "Fiction or non-fiction?" he asks.
"Excuse me?"
There's a thought process here, though contrasted perceptions muddle the results. "You seem like the type to like both. Because of languages."
"Because of languages," she repeats. "I see, then fiction." Head still, then a nod. "Kamui has many fiction books."
"Oh, she loves romance novels. Has bookshelves of them. Don't let her talk your ear off, because she can go on for ages."
Azura grimaces. "She did."
He laughs.
Thirteen. Fifteen. They turn the corner. His house is thirty, hers is nineteen; a few paces later and they're at her front porch. At twenty, Miss Nara's back (still?) on the Sumeragis' yard, but she notices him this time and waves.
"Kaze," she calls. Each letter's emphasized. "Come over here. I need help with something."
Gauging Azura's reaction—blank—he turns and says, "I'll be there in a moment, Miss." And to Azura, he settles for: "I'll see you later." Definite, so she won't have to weigh her choices. And he won't have to weigh his.
With a soft "yes," she turns around and enters the house. He stares after her, waiting until the lock clicks, before he crosses to the other side. Miss Nara has the gardening tools out. There are trimmers, spades. A weed puller.
Ahhh.
He leans his bike on the nearest post just as she says, "Pesky things, those weeds. My back get sore pulling them out these days." Muttering, she adds, "Fortunately, you're more like your mother than your father."
The jab doesn't go unnoticed. "Don't worry, Miss," he says. "No one gets them out quite right except for Mother."
Her wrinkles accentuate. "There's a fine line between modesty and lying, Kaze."
Laughing weakly, he rolls up the sleeves of his pants and fits the gloves. He takes the puller. When he crouches down to nearest weed, he hears his bones snap once and feels his muscles tighten. Prolonged stretching. He wonders how bad it'd feel for Miss Nara.
Like carrots, he's good at weeds—stake, squeeze, pull, toss. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Until Miss Nara speaks, nothing else registers.
"Kaze," she says, "your girlfriend's very pretty."
Choke. The pattern breaks. He rubs a wrist to his cheek. "Wh-what?"
"I always wondered when this would happen," she continues. "How could someone like you ever stay single?"
"Miss-" When he turns to face her, she has that look again. Taut and narrowed, as if daring him to deny. He loses on purpose. "...I mean, thank you."
"Us old women monopolize you too much. I hardly ever see you have fun." He opens his mouth. "Aren't you in your senior year? You shouldn't have time to pull out weeds anymore."
"But-"
She waves her hand dismissively. "This will be the last time. Why don't you teach Takumi to be your protégé."
It's not like he can say no. Can he? Compliance always overtakes him and he just lets himself be swept by its currents. Go with the flow; he knows how to swim. "Sure, I could." A smile. "But I'll feel sad that you won't need my help anymore, Miss Nara."
"I'm sure I'll think of something. Or you will." She eyes him carefully, adjusting the glasses on her bridge. "Just be sure to spend some time with your girlfriend. She won't appreciate you being pulled—is that her watching us?"
He whips around. Sure enough, Azura's by their window: long hair, fair skin, it's their uniform vest and skirt. The distance makes her face unclear, but she's startled because the curtains pull shut.
Blink.
Blink again.
'What was that?'
But he can't deny it makes him happy. Somehow. Maybe happy's not the word to use, but it's a nice feeling. Like when you find some change in an old jacket, or—or when you flip a book to the page you wanted in one try. Unexpectedly lucky. That's the word.
He remembers Miss Nara and puts on a poker face.
"So she's the shy type," she tells him.
"She's...a private person. She doesn't mean badly."
"Of course she doesn't. No one does, if they only wanted to see you again."
"Miss."
"Don't start now. Why else would she be looking this way?"
Again, the curtains slide apart. Azura keeps them close, gripping the ends together with one hand, but she tentatively raises the other. Then she waves. Rather lively too, with fingers apart and arcs widely going back and forth. It's such a boggling experience that Kaze's manners slip away, but he remembers to wave back and swings the weed puller.
Azura nods.
The curtains close.
Miss Nara laughs. "She's interesting. A bit terse, but that'll be good for you. You're a rather ambiguous man." As a matter of fact, he still doesn't know what to think of it. "But you know," she adds thoughtfully, I'd love to talk to her sometime."
That snaps him out of it, gives him an idea—a good idea—that makes him smile. "Miss Nara," he says, "if you ever see Azura, would you mind calling her over to help you out?"
"Oh, Kaze." She rolls her eyes, probably thinking that only he could make up future favours, but her glasses twinkle. "It's not nice to drag people into your chores so you can spend more time with them."
There are still two months between now, but we realize LeoSaku week takes place at a time when a lot of you may have things going on such as school or the holidays, so this is a preliminary post for those who wish to get an early start on their entries.
Here are the prompts for the fanweek:
Sunday, December 18: Proximity/Distance
Monday, December 19: Winter/Spring
Tuesday, December 20: Confection/Chess
Wednesday, December 21: Magic/Nature
Thursday, December 22: Tranquility/Anxiety
Friday, December 23: Hurt/Heal
Saturday, December 24: Writer’s Choice
You can chose which prompt to use (or use both) and you don’t have to submit something for all seven days. This is meant to be fun rather than stressful. Interpret and utilize the prompts however you wish and have fun!
Rules/FAQ is here. if there are any further questions, feel free to leave a message in the ask box. We’ll be tracking the tag #leosakuweek2016 when the time comes.
I haven't done much in the fanfiction business lately, unless you consider 'a lot' as bumping up the word count for TNSIW by 100. I'll be working on it over summer break though, so hopefully some chapters will be out before school starts again!
I'm also going to do a few summer courses--which'll take my availability down a notch--but I'll certainly be working on TNSIW in my spare time :)
And welp, this is more of a general announcement than a progress report, but I'll share a small tidbit for Chapter 2: Kagero(u)'s going to show up (yaaay!).
I’m currently writing a oneshot (for asugi/caeldori, if anyone’s curious), but Chapter 2′s pretty good. It’ll actually be longer than the first chapter if my outline’s not lying :P
More platonic relationships and all. They’re kinda spoilery(?), so no snippets this time. To make up for it, here are a few fun facts about TNSIW Chapter 1:
I went through a couple of scene drafts. For one, Kaze was going to talk to Arete. And the whole ‘lunch with Saizou’ wasn’t going to happen. But the progression felt odd, so the scenes are as they are.
If I mention anyone, they’re probably going to have a role no matter how small it is. Tsubaki and Felicia are pretty big. The Hoshido royals have varying significance (and to who), but they’ve got a bunch of screen-time.
I seem to like the idea of Nishiki having part time jobs. Really though, I just couldn’t resist placing him in a pet store.
Kamui’s jingle near the end is definitely my favourite part. She should help with the shop’s PR.
So far:
I′m writing Chapter 2 which has 2700~ words and is 30~% done!
Frostbite883's FE AU HCs: Camilla and Hinoka are zoo keepers who took care of twin male panda cubs since their birth. The panda cubs names are Houji and Qi.
Ooh, that’s pretty cute! I’d imagine Camilla as Team Mom while Hinoka’s more Team Dad, but both of them would be pretty proud and protective of ‘their children.’
Dunno if you wanted more headcanons about this, but that’s what I did (can be seen as either romantic or platonic w/ Hinoka). Hope you like them!
As baby pandas, Houji and Qi would always climb up the trees and fall. It’s normal behaviour and they’ve never gotten hurt, but Camilla always frets over them afterwards
Houji + Qi would probably play a lot with each other when they’re younger, but don’t hang out too much when they grow up. Still, they get together sometimes and laze around. Maybe sleep close to each other or something
Panda twins are rare, so Houji + Qi are pretty famous throughout the zoo. Lots of donors give away toys, and Hinoka + Camilla find themselves with a bajillion balls and plastic donkeys to use for panda entertainment. Bonus: due to popular demand, a rocking horse was installed. The twins fight over that a lot
Camilla secretly takes pictures and videos of Houji + Qi at random. Hinoka gets caught in them sometimes, but the best ones are when she realizes what Camilla’s doing, and all that’s left of her are blurry limbs or flashes of clothing. Bonus: when pandas are dust bathing, Camilla tries to convince Hinoka to do the same. She never does
When they were born, Hinoka mostly tended to Houji and Camilla to Qi (birth mother neglected them, which is how Hinoka + Camilla came to be their parents). They’re respectively seen as the ‘better parent,’ but they always makes up for it by playing with the other panda as often as possible
The pandas are really attached to the zookeepers, so if they’re not around, they kind of shy away and sulk. On the other hand, Camilla gets all dramatic and wonders how her babies are doing; Hinoka keeps quiet, but she finishes her lunch fast so she can see them quicker
Hinoka + Camilla cried when their children got children, and they dote on them like they do with Houji + Qi
I’m not a panda/zoo expert (yikes) but I did a bit of research so hopefully it isn’t too bad.
Have a wonderful rest of the day~
ONE LAST BONUS:
Hinoka was the one to name them, Qi being older and Houji being younger. Later, when Camilla asked what their names meant, Hinoka admitted to blurting them out because she had millet porridge for lunch that day
gamechangershow
stormborns
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
