Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It’s not that it’s surprising to Kazuha when the port gets locked down, just that they managed to do it so fast. Not even a quarter of the day passed between the Shuumatsuban’s ninja informing him of the boat he should be looking for and the port getting locked, and of course, it had to happen just after he’d managed to sneak into Ritou. He curses his luck. Some part of him is grateful that it’s raining — he’s nearly slipped three times, it’s impossible to see past the edge of anything, and the wind keeps blowing leaves in his face, but he can at least pretend the wetness of his face is just that, the rain.

He surveys the area as best he can, closing his eyes to listen and spatially place the guards surrounding the alleys and main road. Two in the alley to his left, one on the other side of the shop he’s hiding behind, and somewhere between four and five down by the dock, yelling at captains and couriers to get off the boats.

He has no way out.

“Tell me why I can’t just get the crate and leave!” The loudness of the voice startles Kazuha; the man was close. Kazuha shifts closer to the wall, ducking behind a box.

“The Tenryou Commission has ordered a total suspension of all incoming and outgoing traffic, no passenger boats receive clearance for a week and no transport or trade ships for three days. We’re looking for a fugitive and this is the only way he can get out.”

“We were meant to leave at dawn! It’s because of you idiots screening all the shipments that my courier was late and now you’re telling me we can’t even leave?”

The Crux was meant to dock this afternoon to deliver a stock shipment of processed silk flowers, the ninja had told him. Now it wouldn’t for another three days.

Three days.

How is he supposed to survive like this for three whole days? Guards come around the corner and Kazuha has to shuffle across the back door and into the alleyway, pressing his back to the wall of the shop and laying flat. A cat meows at him. He looks to his right, making eye contact with it, its white-socked paws dirty and feline eyes slitted. It’s shivering.

A force yanks him left. He would have fallen face first had the person not continued to pull him along in their stride. He struggles to keep up with the speed, unsure where they’re going. The man — hair red and held back with a band, golden haori around his waist fluttering with each heavy step, thin armour plates along each arm — leads him by the wrist through an empty shop and down another alley, running off the edge of the stone ground and onto the grass. Their footsteps are muffled by the soft turf, but the wet ground makes it hard to run. They stumble as they go but they run up along the wall until the man stops abruptly and Kazuha runs into his back. He’s not given the chance to recover when the man flips him around and pins him to the wall, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth. He struggles to breathe through the obstruction, panting to get air into his burning lungs, hands grasping at the one over his mouth in instinct, but with no real bite. The man is so close to him he can feel his body heat despite the cold rain seeping most heat from their bodies. The proximity makes something swirl deep in his abdomen.

Bright eyes look into his own, pleading with him to stay quiet with a mouthed shh. He looks grounded and commanding, in control, something Kazuha feels the complete opposite of.

Kazuha nods with the minimal leniency in movement that he has and tries to steady his breath. The footsteps just above them on the path tell him why they had stopped.

The man has moles under his eyes, one below each and perfectly symmetrical.

Kazuha wraps a hand around the wrist over his mouth, pulling slowly and replacing it with his own his index finger over his lips to show his cooperation. Leaning forward, he whispers, “There’s two guards moving up into the city, one at the entrance to the bridge, and some people moving boxes into the shop three buildings down.” He leans back to see the man nod, his red hair soaked through now, nose and cheeks pink from the cold. Kazuha pulls forward again to ask, “Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe,” he says, lips brushing the shell of Kazuha’s ear.

The warmth of the touch on his freezing skin sends electricity down his spine. He pretends the gooseflesh is a result of the rain. “Where? The guards are as far away as they’re going to get. Can we make it?”

The man leans up, looking over the edge of the wall for just a moment. He bites his lip, nodding.

Kazuha sticks close behind him as he leads them back up the wall and towards a little shack-like building on the edge of the city, quietly weaving around puddles and pots and corners of buildings. The man enters the building first, holding the door open for Kazuha.

Kazuha props the door open with a single, wet-socked foot. He unwraps the band securing his hair and wrings out the cold water dripping onto his shoulders. With a scan around the area — a glance to the still-secure fence, to the still-empty stone walkway, leaves billowing in the harsh winds, and heavy fog, he determines they’re alone, and shuts the door firmly. He can finally take a proper breath. “What an inopportune time for storm to strike.”

“It provides us with some cover, at the very least.”

Kazuha tucks a stringy, wet strand behind his ear, bending to remove his wet socks. He starts with the right. “Who is ‘us,’ kind stranger?” With a glance, he sees the look of confusion on the deer-like man’s face. He laughs, now tackling the left sock. “What is your name? I couldn’t possibly be in your hospitality and bear such disrespect.”

A mere moment's hesitation, and then, “Shikanoin Heizou.”

With a blade to his neck, Heizou stumbles back in surprise. Kazuha pursues. “Shikanoin Heizou of the Tenryou Commission?” His voice trembles. His legs are bent, strong in an offensive stance and ready to move. His extended arm holds his blade firm against the side of Heizou’s neck, a sliver away from drawing blood. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek when the near-fresh burns fight him to loosen his grip.

“Kaedehara, listen to me,” Heizou says slowly, raising his palms up. “I’m not here to capture you.”

Kazuha glares. “Why is the highest ranking detective of the Tenryou Commission here, with me?” he spits. “You’re going to drop me off on a ship in three days and report everything you’ve discovered? What is this? Some undercover gag for a promotion?”

“Kaedehara, I’m here to help you. If you’ve heard of me, surely you know I don’t report to anyone. I solve my cases the way I see fit.”

Kazuha purses his lips. “I'm supposed to accept that as an answer?" He knows the detective is telling the truth. Shikanoin Heizou is infamous for it. Kujou Sara herself couldn't put a leash on him. Yet, that makes him all the more dangerous.

"Kaedehara," Heizou repeats for the third time. His gaze softens. "What's happening to you is wrong. It's unjust. It's unfair. This nation needs to change."

"Agreeing on basic principles doesn't create trust, detective." The storm batters against the old shutters. Wind whistles through the cracks in the wood and goosebumps form on Kazuha's skin. The thunder roars. This nation needs to change. Kazuha blinks his vision clear.

Heizou sighs. He sounds relieved. "So you need some leverage," he hums.

"I need to know you won't sell me out the second the port opens again."

Heizou laughs.

Kazuha squints.

"Forget the need Kaedehara. I want you to trust me, so let me show you that I trust you."

"I understand your profession, but I'd prefer you refrain from speaking in riddles."

The detective's smile drops in time with his hands. They lay to his side, and his gaze becomes sharp. "The Tenryou Commission has been compromised."

Kazuha's blade falters. He fails to fully suppress his widening eyes. "Compromised? In what nature? What have—" This time, he doesn't bother trying to hide his reaction. "The unmarked boats on the port."

Heizou nods. "Think Kaedehara, who do you think they belong to? Who would go to such lengths? Think about the whispers you've heard in Ritou the last couple of months."

"The Kujou Clan… Kujou Sara, does she…? If he died because of a stupid ploy like this—"

Heizou shakes his head. "She's clueless. But with this information this early on, you have the ability to make the case that she, me, and everyone in the Commission was informed and complicit in this, if you so desire. That is the power I just gave you, Kaedehara. Do you trust me now?"

"... I'll believe you. And your intentions." His bottom lip quivers. "It doesn't answer why you would do this for me. You're risking your life for a stranger in the wind. Why?"

"Oh, surely you don't underestimate what it means to be the last remaining descendent of the acclaimed Kaedehara Clan, do you?"

"That's not the reason." His hand burns under the bandages, and his throat is dry from the sharp, cold streaks of wind filtering into the room. His head is beginning to pound from the plethora of stimuli — the new information, the state of his nation, his friend's death, this friendly detective, his injuries, the tears fighting to escape.

"It's part of the reason. Your Clan's descent was no chance occurrence, I know you've figured out that much. Your name still means something because you are the only one who bears it. And…"

Kazuha hasn't thought about his Clan in quite a while. It felt strange to have someone acknowledge his name after all this time. "And what?"

"I know what happened, Kaedehara. I know why your grip on your blade has significantly weakened over our conversation. I know why you look like you want to burst into tears. I know how much it hurts when a friend dies because of circumstances that were set against them from the very beginning. I know how it feels when you're too late to save them."

Kazuha's vision blurs.

Heizou raises his left hand to grasp the blade hovering over his right shoulder, not a single expression of pain in his grip or expression. Blood drips down his wrist and he wrestles the sword to the ground. It clatters when Kazuha finally gives up his hold, and moments later, disappears.

Kazuha presses the base of his palms to his eyes, willing his headache away and wiping away the tears trailing in the dirt on his cheeks. "Shikanoin… how do I get past this?" he mutters, sinking to the floor.

Heizou kneels before him. "You need to leave this nation, Kaedehara. Come back when the time is right. You can't stay here anymore. Let me help you."

Kazuha looks at him — properly for the first time since they've met. "Why are you helping me?" He asks once more. As a rōnin, he is more than aware of how cruel strangers can be, especially when they have authority.

"I'm not the kind who can sit on my thumbs when something bothers me. I don't have to know you to try and undo an injustice, do I?"

Kazuha sniffles and musters up as much of a smile as he can. He tucks a hand into the left fold of his kimono, finding the small roll of bandage General Gorou had given him for his hand a few days prior. "Give me your hand, Shikanoin."

Heizou wordlessly does so.

"This was completely unnecessary, you know that don't you?"

"I like to command my cases with a personal flair," Heizou jokes.

Had they not been in such proximity, the detective's voice would have been lost to the storm.

Having used a haphazard and mostly ruined scrap of the bandage to take off as much blood as possible, he begins to wrap Heizou's hand. He wraps around the thin gash, over the palm, under the palm, around the thumb, between the ring and middle finger, each a few times, and secures it with a bind around the wrist.

Heizou raises his bandaged hand, wiggling its fingers. "Now we match!" he exclaims.

Kazuha laughs, and a tear escapes his eye.

Heizou shifts along the floorboards, sliding up against the door with Kazuha to his right. He looks across the short gap between them, at the rips in the hemming of Kazuha's hakama, the torn kyahan revealing scraped and torn skin, his dirty shin guards.

"Shikanoin," Kazuha calls, leaning his head back against the door with a sigh. His voice sounds wet, and small.

"Hm?"

"How did you know?"

"Know what?"

Kazuha coughs into his elbow, waving off Heizou's concern. "How did you know where to find me? When I'd be here?"

Heizou smiles. "I've had an eye on all of the Commissions for a while, you know? It's not hard to intercept these things."

Kazuha looks to his left, scanning Heizou's face. "And yet that doesn't explain how you knew exactly when I'd be at the docks." He smiles. "Will I always need to specially inquire for the full breadth of an answer?"

Heizou takes the small tease in stride, then sighs. "Kaedehara."

Kazuha turns against the door, leaning into it with his shoulder to ease the strain on his neck. "Yes?"

"You're aware of why your samurai friend had blond hair, correct?"

Kazuha nods once, the small movement making him dizzy. "His mother was from Mondstadt. It's one of the few things he knew about her."

"Do we know anyone else with Mondstadt heritage?"

Kazuha raises his brows. "The housekeeper? Thoma?" He pauses, then his brows furrow. "Did they know each other?"

"Indeed they did, at least, from what I was able to gauge."

"What did you find, Shikanoin?"

"Let's just say, a letter from an unnamed sender being routed to the housekeeper of the Kamisato Clan piqued my interest." Heizou sighs, facing Kazuha head on. "I'll tell it to you straight, Kaedehara. Your friend prepared for your safety long before you knew of his plans to challenge the Shogun."

"W… what are you saying, detective?" He has his suspicions, and his vision has pre-emptively blurred because of them.

"Had the Kamisato Clan found out about your predicament after it happened, they would have been too late to provide you with any assistance. Your friend sent a letter to the housekeeper five weeks ago. He asked that they take care of you in the event anything happened to him."

A tear drips down his cheek. "He prepared all this? He knew that I would…"

Heizou shakes his head, eyes filled with sympathy for the rōnin reduced to tears. "I don't think he knew what you'd do, just that he wanted you to be taken care of. It just so happened that his casual letter of farewell to an old acquaintance was taken quite seriously, and preparations for the Crux to arrive two weeks earlier than expected were made. I intercepted the Commissioner's Shuumatsuban myself, after hearing one of them was taking a message to you. A tanuki, apparently."

"That's how you knew the details," Kazuha mutters. "And being part of your Commission gives you access to the knowledge about the port lockdown."

Heizou nods. "The Commissioner seems to hold you in high regards, having gone to such lengths without confirmation that you'd need any of the aid," he comments.

"He's a nice person," Kazuha says. A small curve of the lips accompany his words. "I imagine you've gotten quite familiar with the Kamisato's dignified practices through your investigations."

Heizou laughs. "I have to say, you catch on quick Kaedehara."

Kazuha shakes his head. "Truly, detective, I was simply waiting for you to admit you believed the unnamed sender was a Fatui agent prior to reading its contents."

"Please, I would never admit that."

Kazuha laughs. His chest aches at the movement. "Tell me detective, did the samurai's handwriting look Fatui in nature?"

Heizou chuckles. It was much more fitting of the rōnin to be laughing than crying. "It more resembled the look of a man who hadn't written a word in ten years."

"It was treacherous to read, I assume?"

"Your assumptions have been correct up to this point, I'll say that."

Kazuha breathes deeply, licking away the dryness of his cracked lips. The fluid makes it easier to smile, and it shows. He leans against the door with his back once more. "You know, Shikanoin, you're quite the delight in conversation." He sighs, at peace with closing his eyes for the first time in days. "Like the harmonies shared between leaves and the winds that carry them."

He makes out the sound of a deep, quiet laugh under the battering storm.

"A poet, are we?"

Kazuha shrugs. "In my free time." He opens an eye to find Heizou looking at him. He smiles, closing them again. "I'm not so sure I expected one of the Tenryou Commission to be like you."

"I do have a vision, you know? It's quite difficult to turn a blind eye, even if I wanted to."

Kazuha understands the sentiment all too well. He's seen the sentiment lead to people's demise. "I admire your courage to combat the practices you don't approve of, even as it compromises your safety and security. Your ambition."

Once more, Heizou's quiet but hearty laugh resonates through the room. "I believe there's another person in this room more worthy of that admiration. I think his name is Kaedehara? I can't be too sure."

Kazuha opens his eyes, turning to Heizou with raised brows. "Can't say I've heard of him."

Heizou shakes his head with a smile, grunting as he stands. He turns, holding out both hands to the limp body on the floor. When Kazuha takes them, he holds firmly, then calls upon the aid of anemo to help Kazuha off the floor and up to his feet. He tucks his arms under Kazuha's to ensure he doesn't collapse, and the rōnin grips his arms with equal vigour, the right hand noticeably weaker. Looking down to Kazuha's face, he asks, "Will you make it to the other end of the room?"

Kazuha nods. Beads of sweat roll down his temples, and his face is flushed from the exertion. He stays on his feet, regardless, and accepts Heizou's aid.

Heizou sets him down on a lone crate, then steps to the several old shipping boxes that were abandoned alongside this store house. He seeks out the box he'd packed and hidden here the very afternoon he decided to help Kazuha, a day ago. In it was bedding, food, and medical supplies.

He first sets out the bedding. It's a modest collection, having packed only what would fit in the singular box, but it's the kakebuton and a pillow from his futon at home, so he hopes it's soft enough. He folds the blanket in half so it can serve as bedding and covering at the same time, and places the pillow between the layers. He spots the way Kazuha’s eyeing the sheets. “Not yet, mister fugitive. First we have to ensure your fugitive wounds don’t stain my kakebuton.” He places the food tin in Kazuha’s lap, then takes a seat behind him on the crate. “Would you let me?”

“I would be foolish not to.” He unwraps his scarf with his left hand, pursing his lips at the torn edge. He’d either spend a fortune replacing his clothes, or wait however long his hand takes to heal before he can mend them himself. He attempts to remove his shoulder plating, but his wounded fingers don’t move the way he asks of them anymore. He lets his hand fall away from the fruitless struggle, looking at the ground as he tilts his head over his shoulder. “Shikanoin.” He moreso hears the man nod than sees it.

Heizou takes care in unhooking the plating, then undoing and unwrapping Kazuha’s obi. His beautiful yet damaged haori, and simple grey kimono come undone with the removal of the obi, and something clatters to the floor. Heizou stands to retrieve it.

“Ah-” Kazuha starts, nearly falling off the crate. “I- I’ll get it.” He feels a chill run down his back when his clothing loosens around his shoulders, exposing his upper back. He fails to save his knees from crashing into the hard floor, but he manages to bring the item back into his grasp.

Heizou kneels in front of him, looking at his closed fist.

Kazuha looks at him. He sighs. He opens his hand, extending it.

Heizou’s gaze flits between Kazuha’s solemn expression, and the lifeless Vision in his hand. He holds Kazuha’s hand in one of his own, then uses the other to fold Kazuha’s fingers back over the Vision. “You’re not a fugitive because you intercepted the divine punishment,” he whispers, finally understanding the full situation.

“You were never told?” Kazuha’s gaze remains trained on their hands.

Heizou shakes his head. “Not about this. I suppose they wanted to prevent any Vision-wielders feeling sympathy for you.”

Kazuha huffs a cynical, sad laugh. “They didn’t do a very good job, did they?”

If the air in the room hadn’t gotten so heavy, Heizou may have found the question humorous. Instead, he silently wraps an arm around Kazuha’s waist, helping him back up to the crate. He peels off Kazuha’s haori and kimono from behind, folding them neatly and piling them next to Kazuha’s bedding.

He lights a singular lantern, and leaves it half covered to minimize its appearance as much as possible from outside the storehouse but maintain its functionality. As Heizou treats the various bruises and scrapes along his back, Kazuha bides his time wrapping the lifeless Vision in his scarf.

For a short length of time, Kazuha doesn’t feel Heizou’s hands on his back anymore. “All done? Shall I turn around?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Are you aware of what your back looks like, Kaedehara?”

Kazuha’s expression morphs to one of confusion. “I’ve no clue what you’re referring to, honestly.”

Heizou sighs. “It’s… quite difficult to explain.”

“I’m not sure I understand what’s wrong, detective.”

“There’s quite a large scar back here. The shape is almost… well, lightning, in nature.”

Kazuha grunts as he shifts in his seat, turning to face Heizou. “A scar… I’ve never been so wounded on my back that it would leave a scar, especially not one to the caliber you seem to be describing.” He watches as an unexplainable expression flits across the detective’s face.

“This is quite dishonourable of me to ask, but would you be alright with me touching your back in a manner that may make you uncomfortable?” Heizou pauses, playing with the words on his tongue when he sees Kazuha’s unreadable expression. “I believe tracing the shape may help you explain where you got this.”

More than concern over discomfort, Kazuha is curious about the scar. He nods silently, turning around once more to give Heizou access to his back.

He shivers at Heizou’s first touch—two fingers, the pads pressed delicately above his right shoulder blade. Heizou traces his fingers down his back in a jagged, nonsensical motion, over his shoulder blade, down the middle of his back, and across to the left, ending just before his waist. “That was the main portion of the scar, the central branch of sorts,” he says.

In a daze, Kazuha struggles to listen. “Branch… there’s more…?”

“There is.” Heizou places his fingers back up near the top. “From here, this central line, there are many more than branch outward. Like this,” he says, tracing a new branch. “And this.” He feels the rivets of Kazuha’s ribs as he traces that one. “And this.” He goes over each one, noticing the gooseflesh that has formed on Kazuha’s skin, and the shiver that seems to run through his body. He quickly finishes tracing the last few branches, hoping he hasn’t made the rōnin too uncomfortable. “Were you, perhaps, struck by the Shogun as you fled?”

Kazuha shakes his head. “She paid very little attention to me. It was the guards at Tenshukaku, and to some extent Kujou Sara, that pursued me.”

“And the Vision?”

Kazuha sniffles, his skin bare and feeling the chill of the weather. “It was indeed electro, but by the time I’d caught it, it was already lifeless.”

Heizou places a hand on Kazuha’s shoulder, turning him slightly. “Not that. The Shogun. You said she paid very little attention to you, but what about the Vision? Did she make any attempt to retrieve it?”

Kazuha’s brows furrow, thinking back as best as his muddled mind allowed for the painful memory. He takes a quick breath. “This!” he realizes, holding out his bandaged hand. “There was a single instance where I felt my body seize, my hand burn. I was holding the Vision in this hand, that’s what this is from.”

Heizou nods in understanding. “And when you refused to let go, your vessel was forced to absorb the toll of her divine power. That momentary loss of control you felt must have been the electro coursing through your body.”

Kazuha looks at Heizou. His gaze lands on the symmetric marks dotting the cheeks just under each of the detective’s eyes. Permanent, and beautiful. “Do you think it will fade, detective?”

Heizou’s inquisitive expression fades, replaced by concern. “Do you want it to?”

Kazuha smiles sadly. “It is a reminder of my failures, and a physical manifestation of the Shogun’s will to oppress her people. I would be grateful to have such a mark not… permanently etched into my skin.”

“Perhaps I used incorrect terminology,” Heizou mutters, quickly untying his haori. He drapes it over Kazuha’s shoulders, wrapping it around to cover his back and arms, biting back a smile when he feels Kazuha shiver at the warm cloth. “It isn’t so much of a scar as it is a pinkish red marking. It’s got a slight texture, likely from irritation, but my safest guess says it will fade. The Shogun was using a mere fraction of her power, and you… you have an anemo Vision. Barbatos will take care of you.”

Kazuha smiles, gripping the haori with his left hand.

Heizou stands, kneeling before Kazuha to inspect his chest and tummy. He nods approvingly. Deciding to tackle Kazuha’s burnt hand last, he first cuts away a portion of Kazuha’s kyahan to properly clean and bandage the deep scrape on his knee. Kazuha takes in a sharp breath above him, wincing to bear the pain.

“Does it hurt beyond the pain of the scrape? Anything wrong with the joint, perhaps?”

Kazuha shakes his head. “I believe my body survived the worst inflictions. I’m quite fatigued, and everything aches, but nothing in particular has been giving me trouble.”

Heizou sighs in relief. “That’s good to hear.” He seals the bandaging around the knee, then holds out a hand.

Kazuha places his right hand in Heizou’s, who begins unwrapping the messily wound bandages.

Heizou eyes the still sealed box sitting by Kazuha’s thigh. “You haven’t touched your food, Kaedehara.”

Kazuha glances at it, then back at Heizou, sighing. “I haven’t quite retrieved my desire to eat just yet.”

Pausing his application of the burn salve, Heizou looks up at him. The dim light from the lantern bathes the rōnin’s expression, casting a deep shadow on his face. His now dry, fluffy hair appears gold rather than its usual silver. “It’d be wise to keep your strength up now, Kaedehara. You’ll be spending time at sea, which is hard on the body on its own. When you make it to land, it will be foreign, with foreign food and foreign ingredients, cooked in ways your stomach isn’t familiar with. You’re going to embark on a very difficult journey soon. Won’t you have a bite of your homeland while it’s possible? Surely you’ll miss it.”

Heizou’s not sure he’s ever been quite so delighted to be the cause of a person’s grin before.

“I really, truly did not expect to meet someone like you in a place like this, detective.”

Heizou shakes his head, biting away his own grin. “Oh, Kaedehara, I’m going to tell everyone you’re a Tenryou Commission sympathizer.”

Kazuha barks a laugh, and Heizou fails to suppress his own. “Please! Go ahead! Maybe they’ll lessen my sentencing.”

When the giggles die down, Kazuha sighs, resting Heizou’s tin in his lap, and carefully undoing the wrapping with his left hand. Packed inside are a few servings of onigiri, some pickled veggies, a small cloth bag of shrimp crackers, and a skewer of dango. He can’t help but admire how the detective meticulously selected foods that would last a few days without going bad, yet also included a variety of hearty foods and sweets to make a full meal. He taps Heizou’s knee with a bare, cold foot. “You’re a good man, Shikanoin.” He doesn’t wait to take a bite of the onigiri.

Heizou hasn’t much of a response to that. The concept of being ‘good’ was puzzling to him, and he’s not sure he quite believes Kazuha’s words. He’s grateful for the sentiment, nonetheless. He finishes wrapping Kazuha’s hand, this time more neatly, ensuring every inch of his fingers, hand, and wrist are bound, keeping the salve in contact with his skin.

“Won’t you treat your own hand? I couldn’t have done a stellar job,” Kazuha says through a mouthful of sticky rice. He’s pocketed the bite into his cheeks to get the words out, and Heizou suppresses a laugh, silently flicking away the grain of rice stuck to Kazuha’s cheek.

“I’ll take care of mine later. I hate to interrupt your meal, but I have to leave soon, and I need you to change your clothing.”

Kazuha puts down the tin, quickly chewing as he stands, draping Heizou's haori over the crate where he'd been sitting. “Change? What would be the need?” He gathers the neat pile from the floor — his haori, armour plating, and folded kimono — into his arms, holding them at his bare chest as he approaches Heizou, who’s come back with a simple navy blue yukata and obi.

“You can only stay here until tomorrow night. When we leave, you’ll need to look like anyone but Kaedehara Kazuha.” He steps around Kazuha, draping the surprisingly well-fitted yukata over his bare shoulders, then takes the armful of clothes Kazuha hands to him, placing them in the box.

“What’s tomorrow night?” Kazuha asks. He wears the yukata properly, wincing as he bends to take off his hakama which Heizou promptly accepts. “I thought the port was locked down for three days.”

“It is. Tomorrow night is when I originally stated I’d have the solution to an open investigation, part of which involved this storehouse. I decided to bring you here because, at present, I am the only person with clearance to this place.”

Kazuha pauses his collapse into the soft, lovely looking kakebuton with wide eyes. “Open investigation?! Have I not already trampled evidence, or- or compromised something?”

Heizou laughs, pushing on Kazuha’s shoulders to ease him into the bedding, and handing him the tin once more. “Relax, Kaedehara. I solved the case ages ago. Don’t tell anyone, but I was using the extra days to slack,” he says with a wink.

Kazuha lets out a tentative breath, and a tentative smile forms on his lips.

“I thought it would be a good place to bring you for the moment, as I can easily explain any signs of activity as my own.”

Kazuha continues eating, shaking his head. “Yes, that’s right. That will teach me a lesson on questioning the most remarkable detective of the Tenryou Commission. You don’t earn the title for nothing.”

Heizou smiles, taking a seat on the floor next to Kazuha. He folds the end of the blanket over Kazuha’s legs. “I can ensure your safety here for the night, Kaedehara. When I return tomorrow, I’ll have another location set.”

To this moment, Kazuha still finds himself questioning just why a stranger would go to such lengths for him, though he knows for certain he’d do the same for Heizou now. After all, drawing his blade for the sake of a friend is an honour.

“Will you be okay? Will anyone suspect you? You’re here quite late, and surely someone will catch on that you’ve reappeared as soon as I've disappeared.”

Heizou is touched by the concern. “For better or worse, Kaedehara, I have that Kujou Sara’s trust. If anything she’ll assume I was out hunting you down and tease me for failing. You were with the resistance for a few days before the tanuki contacted you, right?”

Kazuha nods.

“If I say you likely went back, no one will question me, nor will they challenge that Sangonomiya is involved in your disappearance. It will be difficult for anyone to track you down when they believe you’re camping with the resistance and their flawless strategist for a leader.”

“All the while I’ve hidden just below their feet.” He crunches down on a shrimp cracker to punctuate the victory.

Heizou smiles at his optimism. "Rest easy, Kaedehara."

Kazuha swallows his bite, resting his hand on the edge of the food tin. "I can't even begin to thank you, detective."

Heizou rises, dusting off his behind. He takes the lantern off the crate, placing it by the head of Kazuha's bedding. "No need. I'll come back for you before sundown tomorrow. If anything goes wrong before I arrive, escape to Konda Village and tell the village head that I sent you, understand?"

Kazuha nods. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Indeed," Heizou agrees, picking up the old shipping box now filled with Kazuha's clothing. He visibly winces when the weight of the box digs into the gash on his palm. He quickly replaces it with a smile as though Kazuha hadn't been watching, as though Kazuha doesn't realize how much pain he's putting himself through just to help him. "I look forward to greeting you safe and well rested tomorrow," Heizou says.

"And you as well."

With those words, the raggedy door opens and shuts, letting a gust of cold air into the storehouse despite the detective's best attempt.

Kazuha shivers, placing the tin off to the side and hugging his knees to his chest. He pulls the bedding up, tucking it above his knees and holding it place with a cheek laying atop.

Heizou's haori comes into view. On instinct, he rushes to stand, the detective's name on his lips before he remembers his place. No one can know he is here, thus, no one must see or hear him.

He sighs, settling back into his covers.

The covers are soft, like they've been in use for years, and they have a distinctly home-y scent. He recalls Heizou having said it was his own bedding, and something about that information makes Kazuha smile.

Every once in a while, he'll decide to stay at an inn, where the bedding smells of fresh fragrance from the standard soaps used at the establishment. But most times, he'll stay at a stranger's house, kind people putting him up when it's raining out and he needs a place to stay. Usually it's a couch or an old mat on the floor, all of which he's grateful for.

This time it was a well-loved futon.

Kazuha always found something especially intimate about knowing what a person's home smells like — the unique scent that follows a person around, the scent they themselves would never notice because it belongs to them. Kazuha thinks he'd lost that scent a while ago. He doesn't remember what scent his home carried, and he couldn't remember the last time he met a person that didn't smell like anything in particular. Maybe him, but there was no way to confirm that anymore.

He nuzzles his cheek into the soft plush of the bedding, relishing in the warmth. When was the last time he slept on something that wasn't the equivalent of a hay-filled mat?

He reaches for the food tin, munching on the last of the pickled veggies with the un-squished side of his mouth. Licking his fingers clean, he cleans out the shrimp crackers, downs the last dango, and chugs half the water canister in the same minute.

Food made and packed by the detective, bedding from the detective's home, shelter secured by the detective, safety ensured with the detective's status, yukata likely from the detective's closet — to be grateful was the smallest of thanks. Kazuha's never owed a single person so much before, and he's not sure he enjoys the feeling. After all, to be indebted is to be imprisoned.

He forces himself to quiet the thought — there was no use mulling over it now. He needed help, Shikanoin provided it, and he will do whatever it takes to repay the favour.

Brushing through his hair with his fingers, he pulls the length to one shoulder, laying on his good side. Once more, he tucks the bedding up to his chin. Surrounded by the scent of the detective, he sighs, tinkering with the masterless vision beside his pillow. He taps it a few times, as if that would magically imbue it with anemo and make whatever dormant electro lay within swirl back to life. He pulls the vision under the covers, hugging it his chest. He bites his lip when a tear runs down his face, into the detective's pillow. He blows out the lamp.

His feet remain cold, his back aches, and his hand throbs around the cold, empty vision.

"Ah— Doushin Shikanoin! What are you doing here? It's rare to see you outside of the city, especially this late."

Heizou refrains from clicking his tongue. He was hoping not to come across anyone from the Commission, but given the situation, he might as well take advantage of the opportunity. "Just visiting the old parents," he says, lifting up the box in his hands. "Got some things their incompetent son can't fix on his own."

The officer chuckles at the quip. "Who would have thought our great detective can't do a few household tasks?"

"Right?" Heizou exaggerates his agreement, then lowers his voice, leaning up. "Do me a favour and don't tell anyone what I'm up to? It's a little embarrassing…"

The officer winks at him knowingly, whispering, "I got your back, sir."

Heizou skitters off, rolling his eyes at the encounter. At least he's got an alibi, a realistic one at that.

Eventually, he's reached his parents house. He cautiously steps over the veggies planted at the side of the house on his way to the back door. He sits on the steps, opening the box to take out the medical supplies. He makes quick work of the flimsy bandage Kazuha had wrapped for him, cleaning his wound with water from the spigot and just hoping it doesn't get infected — he's drank this water with cuts in his mouth before, it should be fine. Maybe. He swiftly wraps his hand back up, the self-inflicted wound of his dramatic flair now neatly hidden behind the clean, white mending. The cushion makes it easier to pick up the box again and he shuffles the sliding door open with a foot, kicking off his geta.

"Heizou? Is that Heizou?"

"Mother," he sighs, dropping the box in favour of hugging her. He holds her, grip tight, grateful there's no way for his parents to get caught up in any of this Vision Hunt mess.

"How have you been son? Come, let me give you some food."

Heizou smiles, catching her hand to stop her in her tracks. "Listen, mother, I need your help." The seriousness in his tone concerns her.

With furrowed brows, she touches his face. "W-wait, I'll go get your father."

Soon, the small family is seated around the dining table, Heizou on one end with his parents on the other, worry-stricken expressions meeting his gaze.

"The less you know, the better," he starts. "Honestly, I would rather not tell you anything, but I can't ask for your help and not tell you what it's for."

"Heizou, we'll help you with anything, what's wrong?" his father asks.

"There's something happening with the Tenryou Commission."

"At work? I knew that place was bad for you, you should have stuck it out with Sango!"

"Mother…"

"Quit! Quit and move back home, we'll take care of you."

"Dear, let him talk."

She sighs, slouching in her seat.

"I don't want to leave. If I leave, I can't help anyone. Right now, I'm trying to help a friend, and I can't do it by myself," he explains, choosing his words carefully. "The Commission is trying to capture him, but he doesn't deserve it." He pauses, leaning over to the box at his feet and pulling out Kazuha's clothes. "I'm going to help him leave Inazuma soon, but I don't want him to go without these. He… he doesn't have anything or anyone left, I thought he should at least have his own clothes, but they're all torn. Mother, if you could…"

His mother stands, rounding the table to sit beside Heizou. She takes the clothing from him, inspecting it. "What a beautiful pattern," she comments, smiling at him. "You're working so hard to help this boy, of course, your mother will support you." She pecks him on the cheek, collecting all the pieces on the table.

"I'll come to pick it up in three days, just before the festival. Do you think you could have it done by then?"

His mother purses her lips, smoothing out the fabric. She rises. "I'll get started right now. It's a big job, but I wouldn't be a mom if I couldn't make the impossible happen for my child." Petting his hair, she takes the haori with her to the living area, already piled high with other projects.

"And listen, because he's a fugitive, nobody can know that I helped him or that you guys helped me too, you know that right?"

"We know, we know," his father waves him off on his way to the kitchen.

"You don't have to give me any food, father."

"Nonsense, we just caught some fish this afternoon. Take some to your friend."

Heizou smiles. He crosses his legs, laying his arms atop the table and resting his head on them. He watches his mother on one side of the room, his father in the kitchen, and wonders if the last descendant of the Kaedehara Clan ever had such a simple, peaceful moment with his parents.

"Kaedehara…" he mumbles, lips pressed to his arm. "The world has been so unfair to you."

When Kazuha awakens, he's not surprised to find no sunlight peeking through the cracks of the storehouse. He's not surprised to find that the rain hasn't stopped at all, only lessened to a drizzle. He is surprised to roll over, half-asleep, and come face to face with a bare knee.

He shoots out of bed, groaning at the restrictive ache in his body. Rubbing his eyes, he mutters, "Shikanoin…?"

"Good morning."

Heizou's voice is hardly a whisper, soothing to the pounding of Kazuha's head. He lies back down, pinching the bridge of his nose. Resting the arm on his forehead, he cracks his eyes open. "Morning?"

Heizou tilts his head. "Well, more like afternoon, but who cares about the details?"

Kazuha smiles, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "How long have you been waiting there?" he mumbles, sleep fighting his slowly alerting senses. His voice croaks slightly, throat dry and unused.

"Long enough to know you're definitely going to get seasick on the Crux."

Kazuha huffs a quiet laugh. "Is that so?" he says through a sigh, rubbing his eyes awake. "And how do you know that?" He stops shuffling, remaining on his back. He pulls his arms out from under the covers, folding it down to his chest and resting his hands there. He watches as the detective leans forward, resting his elbows on the knees of his crossed legs.

"I suppose I don't know anything for sure, but, if you sleep that still, the rocking of a boat certainly won't be rocking you to sleep." With a lick of his lips, Heizou's smile is replaced by a look of concern. "But seriously, Kaedehara, I was worried."

"Why?" Kazuha begins to shift, but Heizou tells him to stay put with a gesture.

"I expected you to be awake when I came in, and when you weren't, I expected you to at least wake up when I approached you. If anyone but me had come through that door today…"

Kazuha's brows furrow, finally coming to realize what Heizou must have been mulling over for hours. He, too, is surprised that he didn't awaken simply by the opening of the door, and he's upset it's taken him this long to realize how dangerous the situation could have been. "I normally awaken with the slightest of shifts in the wind…" he tries to tell the detective, a shaky smile on his lips.

Heizou shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "All of this… it's too much for one person."

"Detective—"

"Kaedehara, please, this is—" At a loss for words, Heizou fails to suppress his frustration. He runs a hand down his face, frown ever-present.

A pained expression flits across Kazuha's face when he rises. He leans back onto his hands to steady himself. "I'll be fine." His voice is still hoarse, lips dry, but he smiles.

Heizou laughs an equally sad laugh. "Of course you'll be fine," he says, eyes glossy. "You're you. But what happens to you along the way, how it'll change you— it's… it's just…"

"Unfair?" Kazuha offers.

Heizou nods. "I've seen it happen. How people get hurt, how it changes their hearts. I'm so sick of standing by and watching."

Kazuha's heart warms at the knowledge that there are still purehearted, dignified individuals like the detective in the Tenryou Commission, someone who will use their power to resist oppression rather than enforce it.

"How many people have you bent the rules for, detective?"

Heizou chuckles, leaning closer with a whisper. "Between you and me…" he begins, reaching for Kazuha's hands in his own and holding them up. "... we don't have enough fingers to count."

Kazuha shakes his head, chest aching when he laughs. When Heizou frees his hands, he finally stretches the sleep from his body, wiggling his now-warm toes and detangling his hair with spread fingers. He notices the detective's uncharacteristically empty waist. "Ah, Shikanoin," he says, nodding towards the crate. "You left it here last night."

Kazuha musters up the strength to stand as Heizou ties his haori around his waist. He sits on another dusty old crate to wear his geta, lips pursing at the unfamiliar feeling of the straps on his bare feet. His socks were torn, and it was probably better that he didn't wear them to appear less recognizable.

Once done, he watches as Heizou stuffs his items into another crate. "I'll fetch them later, they should be fine here for now," he mentions.

Kazuha hums in response, standing. He places a hand on the door handle.

"Wait."

Kazuha turns.

"Face this way," Heizou says. He's stood with his arms crossed, looking Kazuha up and down in the murky, dim light.

With his arms hanging at his sides, Kazuha picks at his yukata, slightly unsettled by the detective's sharp gaze. "What is it?" he mutters.

Heizou approaches him, pausing once again a few steps away and scrutinizing Kazuha. He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"Shikanoin," Kazuha chastises.

"It is to our advantage that most don't know what you look like. It's likely most of the guards we come across won't recognize you at a glance, but…"

"Am I still too recognizable?"

Heizou nods. With a sigh, he steps closer. "This," he murmurs. He pulls at the black straps knotted at the base of his neck, and his headband comes undone. His hair too, now falls to its full length, enough to tickle his collarbones. He holds the headband by the edges of the widest portion, placing it over the red portion of Kazuha's hair, laying it flat and following the band around to the nape of Kazuha's neck, being careful not to brush his shoulders or throat.

Carefully, he completes the knot, securing the band in place. He fiddles with Kazuha's silver strands, pulling some out to conceal the appearance of the band more, make it look more natural and ensure none of the red streak shows. Finally, he takes a step back, assessing his work. He nods approvingly. "Better."

Kazuha lets out the breath he'd been holding, licking his lips. His stomach churns.

The detective reaches around him, pulling the door open and ushering Kazuha out. The further they integrate into the bustling streets of Ritou, the more anxious he feels. He wishes there were a better way, but the best way was to act natural and pretend Kazuha was any other citizen. They were fortunate enough that only the port was on lockdown and not the entirety of Ritou.

There are guards stationed in the square and at the beach. They avoid the ones in the square using back alleys between shops, but ones at the beach will recognize him and may report that he was at Ritou, which can be linked to the time of Kaedehara Kazuha's escape during an investigation. It is a gamble they will have to take, and Heizou doesn't mind spinning up a few lies later.

The important part was to keep Kazuha safe for the next two days.

"How do you feel? Do you want me to do all the talking with the guards?" he asks as they turn the corner to approach the route.

"Will they say anything at all? Several people are passing by with no issue."

As if on cue, a guard waves at Heizou. "You're right, but I'm not a regular person to these guys," Heizou whispers, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He waves back stoutly. "Just smile cutely, and hide that bandaged hand," he rushes to add.

Kazuha laughs at the instruction, following with his hands folded together behind his back.

"Doushin Shikanoin, I didn't know you'd be out here!"

"Naoto-kun, finally got switched off Tenshukaku duty, huh?" Heizou says with a wave, continuing to walk so they don't get caught in full conversation. It works enough, as the Officer simply waves back, the other on duty paying the two no mind.

When they pass the guards, Kazuha quickly moves his hand in front of them and out of their view. They both take a breath of relief once they’re off the beach. Kazuha hides his right hand in the fold of his yukata to protect the burns from the drizzling rain.

Heizou takes notice. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs, nudging Kazuha’s elbow with his own.

“About what?”

Heizou nods to his hand. “I should have brought a parasol. I rushed out here without thinking. Honestly, it would have been really good to hide your face.”

“We’ll remember it for next time,” Kazuha says with a smile.

They continue down the path through Konda Village. Kazuha looks around more than usual, at the kitsune statues, the scattered petals from the Sacred Sakura, the straw roofs, the fresh lavender melons. Suddenly, he has a craving for them—to roast them in an iron pot over a charcoal flame and scoop out the insides with a long, wooden spoon, like he used to with him when they were teenagers.

Heizou was right—he’s going to miss home, and he wants nothing more than to take it all in, all at once.

Lost in the scenery of his homeland, he doesn’t realize that they’ve already come this close to the City. He furrows his brows, stopping near the entrance to the village at the foot of the City.

Heizou takes notice momentarily, turning with a curious look.

Kazuha flits through the scenarios in his head—plays through the reasons why the detective would bring him to the City. His heart tells him one thing, but his head says another.

His hands, feet, and ears are freezing, his head pounds, and the sound of rain rushes in his ears. “Did you do all this just to gain my trust? Just to walk me right into the Commission's hands without my resistance?”

Heizou’s eyes widen. He shakes his head. He reaches a hand out. “Kaede—” Kazuha’s hands go to his left hip, ready to draw his blade once more. He looks around hurriedly, then turns to Kazuha with a harsh whisper. “Put that away, now!”

Kazuha backs up. “Why are we here, what could you possibly have brought me here for if not to walk me into your station?” He’s glad it’s raining. Surely he wasn’t crying because of something as simple as betrayal from a man he shouldn’t have trusted anyway, and after just meeting? Surely not—it was just the rain seeping into his eyes, that’s why they felt hot, that’s why his face was wet.

Heizou doesn’t get the chance to reply.

“What is that? A fight? Why does he have a sword?”

“Someone get the guards!”

“Fighting in the city? Why?”

“More of that Vision Hunt nonsense? They should just give them up already, why do they have to cause so many issues in our nation? Just do as the Shogun says.”

Several eyes have turned onto the two boys. The swift sound of guards pattering up the hill does not fall on deaf ears.

Kazuha’s grip on his hilt falters at all the attention. Heizou’s hand grips his wrist. He looks the man in the eye.

Heizou takes off. Kazuha falls into step behind him.

They have one pursuer. Heizou assumes the other went calling for backup. He could easily stop and take out this one guard, but that wouldn’t help him when the others showed up.

They needed to hide, then take a different route into the City.

He changes trajectory just slightly, still running off towards the beach. He can hear Kazuha struggling to keep up behind him—he’s practically being dragged by Heizou’s hold on his wrist. He whips up a small current behind Kazuha and immediately feels the rōnin catch up to him.

They approach the cliff leading to the beach. Without stopping, Heizou twirls Kazuha by the wrist, using the momentum to pick him up—one arm under his legs, the other supporting his back. He leaps off the edge, and Kazuha grips him vigorously. He uses anemo to soften his landing and blow away his footprints in the sand, rushing into a small, hidden cave under the cliff's edge. The mouth of the cave was angled in such a manner that it blended in—it was hard to find if the location wasn’t already known.

He’s banking on the guards in their pursuit not knowing of its existence.

He tucks both himself and Kazuha into the corner beside the entrance, hiding them from immediate visibility. He places Kazuha onto his leg, leaving one arm supporting his back. He pays no mind to the grip Kazuha has on him, ignoring the sting from where Kazuha pinches his skin. After all, he did just jump off a cliff without warning. He wonders if it will leave a mark.

Kazuha struggles to get his panting under control. “Shikanoin—” His eyes widen when Heizou snaps a hand over his mouth, looking him in the eye once more.

“They’re already here,” Heizou mouths silently. “I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry.”

Kazuha pauses, looking down. If Heizou feels the warm tears running into his hand, he doesn’t say anything.

The sand does a decent job at hiding the guards’ sounds, but the quiet crunch of wet sand gives them away. There are several sets of footsteps outside, far enough away that their chatter is unintelligible.

Kazuha loosens his grip on Heizou. He wipes his eyes, then looks at the detective to get his attention. He holds up four fingers.

“Four guards?”

Kazuha nods. He holds up one more finger.

“Five total?”

Another nod.

Heizou responds in kind. He removes his hand from Kazuha’s mouth now that he’s got his breathing under control.

Kazuha takes the opportunity to lean closer, placing his lips right by Heizou’s ear. “They’re talking about me,” he whispers.

Heizou backs up to look at him, then mimics Kazuha’s method. “You as in the guy who started a fight, or you as in Kaedehara Kazuha?”

“Kaedehara Kazuha.”

Heizou’s eyes widen.

Kazuha closes his eyes, listening in as best as possible.

“He had a sword, alright?”

“That’s not enough to arrest anyone, tons of people have swords.”

“Miss Kujou said we have to bring in anyone with an anemo vision.”

“Shikanoin has an anemo vision.”

“Idiot! He’s on the Commission, obviously he doesn’t count.”

“Do you really think it’s him, Yamauchi?”

“A sword and an anemo vision. That’s the description we got.”

“I bet he already left Inazuma. We’re just wasting our time.”

“The ports are closed, he couldn’t leave.”

“He probably found a way, why would he stick around here?”

“He couldn’t have left. There’s no way. And we checked all the boats, they’re all here for goods. No one’s got room for passengers. If he’s hiding, he’s hiding in Inazuma.”

“Why the hell would he hide in the City? That’s a suicide mission.”

“You can question him all you want after we actually catch him and make sure it’s the Kaedehara kid, alright? Quit your chatter and open your damn eyes, where the hell did they go?”

The rush of energy he had during the chase has worn off, leaving Kazuha lightheaded, and the distant chatter, despite their contents, soothes his head. He rests his head on the detective’s shoulder, controlling his breathing, counting the seconds and steadying himself to each count to keep himself awake. He’s grateful for the secure arm around his back.

As the sun sets below the horizon, the air gets cooler, and gooseflesh forms on his skin. Enveloped in the darkness of evening, the uniform patter of rain, and the warmth of the detective’s body, Kazuha finds his exhausted body shutting down, eyes flitting between open and closed.

“Kaedehara.”

Kazuha takes a deep breath, blinking himself to consciousness. A change in the chatter makes him alert. “They’re leaving,” he murmurs.

Heizou shifts, shrugging Kazuha’s head off his shoulder and into the support of a hand in his silver hair. “They’re gone?”

Kazuha nods. “Said they won’t be able to find anything in the dark, especially after searching for hours. They’re going back to question the people in the village, then report what they found to Kujou Sara.”

Heizou sighs in relief, the tension in his shoulders relaxing for the first time this evening. “Okay,” he mutters. He shifts, sliding Kazuha off his lap and onto the sand, carefully placing his head on a dry, moss-covered wall. He unties his haori, placing it around Kazuha’s shoulders yet again. Holding the front closed with two hands, he looks at Kazuha. “Kaedehara?”

With sleepy eyes, Kazuha mumbles, “Detective.”

Heizou smiles. “I’ll come back for you in about half an hour. If you need to sleep, go ahead, you’ll be safe here.”

Kazuha hardly processes the sentiment, but nods nonetheless, curling into the haori.

The short rest seems to have been enough to gain his grips, for he awakens to the sound of Heizou’s careful approach. He sits his aching body up, sitting straight to greet Heizou. “Where did you go?”

Heizou kneels wordlessly, pulling Kazuha’s legs out from under him. He peels off the geta, replacing them with socks for Kazuha’s cold feet, and a pair of flat-soled shoes. “Visited a friend of the family in Konda. I honestly thought you were going to pop an ankle when we were running from the guards. I think this will be better until you have more strength.” He then reaches around Kazuha, unhooking the clip that attaches his vision to his yukata. He holds it in his hands, looking at it, how it looks indistinguishable from his own vision. He sighs, placing it into Kazuha’s hand. “Tuck it into your yukata with the masterless vision. At least if you ever have to draw your sword again, you won’t match Kaedehara Kazuha’s description exactly.”

Kazuha nods, doing as he’s told.

Heizou exits the cave then, and Kazuha follows behind, finding Heizou grinning with a parasol over his head. “I got you one too,” he says, holding it out.

Kazuha nods, taking it with a quiet thanks.

Heizou picks up Kazuha’s geta, hooking them onto the thumb of his free hand, the other holding his parasol, and leads them with a different, non-conventional path this time. They start across the beach, and Heizou maps in his head the path across the river, then behind the city and into the shrine. It’ll be a much more inconspicuous entrance location, and the guards from the foot of the City won’t cross their path.

“Kaedehara,” he calls. “What are you doing all the way back there?” He doesn’t have to look back to know Kazuha has stopped walking. He does too.

Kazuha remains silent.

“Kaedehara, we don’t have all night you know.”

Kazuha feels his throat constrict for the third time that night. “I know, I’m sorry, let's continue,” he says, rushing forward. Heizou catches his wrist.

Tightening his grip, Heizou says, “Do you trust me?”

Tension builds in Kazuha’s shoulders. He bites his lip, his limp hand tightening into a fist.

“Kaedehara—”

“I do! I do trust you. I have to trust you. Shikanoin, I…”

Heizou tugs on Kazuha’s wrist and he twirls around, falling forward. Heizou lets his umbrella fall to the floor, and Kazuha’s does the same when Heizou grips his other wrist. “Then everything’s okay. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kazuha says, cheeks red with shame. “I knew not to question you. I knew I trusted you, but I panicked, I just—”

“I know.”

Kazuha’s winded by the interruption, pausing his blabber. “You know?”

“I know, Kaedehara. It’s okay. I’m an officer and I was bringing you to the City without explanation, no wonder you panicked,” Heizou continues. “I’m not upset with you, if anything I’m upset with myself for failing to tell you anything. How are you supposed to trust me if I don’t trust you with any information? And now I’ve put you in a position where you didn’t feel you could ask even though we’re still heading towards the city.”

“Because you have a plan.”

“And you need to know what that plan is, because you’re the one who will face the biggest consequence if we’re caught.” Heizou sighs, following with a smile. “You don’t have to apologize to me, okay?

Kazuha doesn’t budge. “You know that’s not true. I already have no home to return to in Inazuma, if I get caught, it is what it is. But it’s not like that for you, you have a career and a family and… and if you get caught because you’re helping me, you’re going to lose everything. I almost got us caught because I didn’t trust you, even after everything you’ve done for me.”

“No, Kaedehara. I would truly lose everything if I knew what position you were in and didn’t help you,” Heizou says. With a thumb, he rubs circles onto the inside of Kazuha’s wrist. “I’d lose my honour, my integrity. I’d lose myself. That’s much more valuable than any old career.”

“Shikanoin…”

“Helping you isn’t only for you, Kaedehara. Helping you makes it so I can look at myself in the mirror at night. I’ve failed so many people, I’ve let so many people get hurt, I’ve had so many people under my watch die that I can’t— I— I need to help you, if only to ease the weight on my conscience, I need you to be okay, I need you to stay alive.” His breath shakes, and Kazuha’s eyes are glossy. “I’ve felt your guilt before, Kaedehara. When you knew you should have trusted someone but you didn’t. It hurts here, right?” he says, placing a hand over Kazuha’s chest.

“As though the weight of my sins are crushing it, yes, it aches very much.”

“Then that’s enough. Let that be enough.” He removes his hand, using it to raise the nearest parasol over their heads. “I forgive you, and I trust you, okay?”

“Shikanoin…”

“I’m honestly glad you have that cautious instinct to you. I’m sure it’s saved you plenty of times, yeah?”

Kazuha sniffles, tucking a damp strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll have to re-evaluate its accuracy after tonight.”

Heizou laughs, taking a deep, long breath, releasing all the tension of the situation from his body. “Come. We’re almost there.”

Heizou hooks the extra parasol on his waistband, keeping Kazuha’s geta hooked with a thumb and the parasol over their heads with the rest of his hand. His right hand is busy holding Kazuha’s wrist. Neither of them pull away.

“There’s a teahouse in the city that doesn’t ask questions. If you stay in the rooms on the second floor, they know there’s something going on, and leave it at that. I booked a room out for your last two nights here.”

“Thank you, detective.”

“No need, I’ll be keeping you up all night telling you about my great successes as a detective.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Heizou raises a brow at Kazuha, who laughs in sentiment.

“I can carry my own geta you know.”

“No. Your hand needs to heal.”

“Then you could let go of my other hand.”

“Also no,” Heizou says, punctuating his refusal by sliding his hand down Kazuha’s wrist and into his palm, entwining their fingers. “Should we stop at the shrine and pray for your safety?”

Kazuha scoffs. “Right, because the Shogun is going to keep me so safe.”

“Careful there, Kaedehara. What if a member of the Tenryou Commission hears you say that?”

“The only Tenryou member out there who could understand the sarcasm is holding my parasol for me, I think I’ll be—” he stops abruptly, leaning closer to the detective. “I heard Kujou Sara speak. She’s just ahead, on the bridge. We can’t turn around because she saw you already. She wants to approach you.”

Heizou winces, lamenting their luck. “Archons-almighty, we can’t catch a break tonight.” He squeezes Kazuha’s hand in reassurance. “Your head is hidden by the parasol. If we can no longer leave, we’ll just have to keep going.”

They continue up the steps, making the turn for the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye, Heizou does spot her characteristic shadow, the Tengu mask shaping her silhouette making her unquestionable.

“Why hasn’t she approached me yet? Can you still hear them?” he asks Kazuha.

He’s surprised to glance at the ronin and find him grinning, just barely biting away a laugh. “Just out of curiosity, Shikanoin, is the Tenryou Commission full of gossipers? Do they run an agency or a rumour mill?” Kazuha’s shoulder’s shake as he fights off a laugh.

“Man-alive, Kaedehara. What in the name of Barbatos are you on about?”

“No! Don’t go up to him!”

“Why? I’d like to ask Doushin Shikanoin about his relaxed nature as of late. The Commission is facing a crisis, and he has done nothing but run off as he pleases.”

“Miss Kujou, clearly you don’t understand the social rules.”

“What rules?! This is absurd.”

“Look at them? Can’t you see? You should never interrupt a date like that, especially because you’re a woman. What if his girlfriend thinks you’re a rival?”

“A- A what?! Girlfriend? Rival?”

“Yes, yes! Wearing his haori, holding his hand… Shikanoin’s even carrying her geta! They must be on a date. So what if he misses a little work? He’s working on his social life! You would never understand, Miss Kujou.”

“He’s right, he’s right, you would never understand, Miss Kujou.”

“What nonsense! How absurd, this is ridiculous…”

“They think— they think you’re my girlfriend?” Heizou hardly gets through the question without snorting. “Are you serious?” He cackles, and Kazuha shoves his face into Heizou’s arm.

“Shut— shut up! If you laugh, I’ll laugh, and then she’ll hear me and recognize my voice!”

“If you didn’t want me to— to laugh, you…” he interrupts himself, flaring his nostrils to get a grip on his breath. “... you shouldn’t have told me what they were saying.”

Try as they might, they end up spending the rest of the walk to the teahouse knocking into each other and tittering quietly about the whole thing. It doesn’t help that Kujou Sara and her two assistants continue following them, becoming increasingly less subtle with each passing second. Eventually, Heizou can also hear their voices, and though he can’t make out what they’re saying, just knowing the topic of conversation nearly sends him into a fit.

Kazuha has squeezed all the blood from Heizou’s hand in an attempt to get a grip, and they tumble through the door in a fit of giggles.

The attendant stares with an amused confusion as the two boys fall to the floor, laughing uncontrollably. “Oh Detective… who would have thou— thought that romance… romance could be lifesaving?”

Heizou slaps a hand to his forehead, tearing up. “Shut up! Archons-almighty, I can’t breathe!”

“S-so, Shikanoin, when are you going to introduce your— your girlf— friend to your co-workers?”

The question sends Heizou into another fit. “Oh, goodness it has to be soon— I can’t wait to— to tell them how pretty she is and how— how big her— her b—”

Kazuha smacks him in the arm, both of them gasping for air through each giggle. “Don’t be crude, there’s— there’s a lady here,” he manages to say. He grips Heizou’s shirt for stability, leaning onto his arm to take deep breaths. He avoids Heizou’s eyes, knowing it will only make him laugh again.

Heizou catches himself first, staying on the floor to support Kazuha, but looking up at the attendant. “Sorry about that, we’re having a moment.”

Kazuha pinches him to punish him for saying as such, because it makes him laugh again. Heizou flinches, grinning, but holding himself together.

“Honestly, it’s quite refreshing to hear some laughter around here,” the attendant says, eyes soft and smile still amused. “You’re here for Shikanoin’s room two-oh-two, I imagine?”

“That’s right,” Heizou says with a nod, wiping his damp, flushed face down with a hand. He stands, holding his hands out for Kazuha, who takes them. He hauls up the still-giggling rōnin, who, instead of keeping his balance, leans into him, mouth right by his ear.

“Imagine what they think we’re doing in here,” he whispers.

Heizou closes his eyes, leaning his head back and taking a deep breath. It does not work. He laughs.

Then Kazuha laughs.

Before Kazuha loses all composure at the entrance yet again, Heizou pets the titular Shiba Inu on the counter with a, "Thanks for the room, Taroumaru.” He takes Kazuha’s hand and collects his geta off the floor, dragging the silver-haired boy off down the halls. Kazuha nearly trips on the last step up the stairs, feeling lightheaded. Heizou slides the room door open for him, tossing the rōnin into the padded floor before taking a seat next to him.

Perhaps it’s the change of atmosphere, the privacy, or just the way Heizou’s looking at him, but Kazuha finds it in himself to catch his breath. Turning onto his good side, he props his head up with an arm, his injured hand lightly holding the cloth together at his chest. “My insides are aching like I’ve just taken a beating,” he comments, grinning.

“I’ll have to thank Kujou Sara for making you smile like that,” Heizou says quietly.

Kazuha shakes his head. “It wasn’t her.”

Heizou shifts to look at the rōnin head-on. He scans his pale, flushed face—the reddened apples of his cheeks, the way his damp, stringy hair frames his small features, the curve of his slightly chapped, pink lips grinning like he’s not an active fugitive on the run.

“How do you find joy even in situations like this, Kaedehara?” Heizou whispers, almost awestruck. He reaches forward, wiping away the water dripping from Kazuha’s hair onto his face with a thumb.

The soft, warm pad of his thumb feels like a needle on Kazuha’s freezing skin. He plays with the edge of the detective's haori, still wrapped around him. He leans into Heizou’s touch, then takes his larger hand into his own, holding it to his cheek. “Dearest detective, fortune finds those who smile, on nights of bad luck.”

Heizou pauses, then squints his eyes, then the corners of his lips tentatively curl. “Did you just write me a haiku?”

Kazuha laughs, letting Heizou’s hand go. “Perhaps.”

“Off the top of your head? Just like that?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m a bit of a poet.”

Heizou tilts his head. “You also said it was only in your free time.”

“Maybe I’ve had a lot of free time,” Kazuha says with a shrug. He grunts, shifting to get his feet under the blanket. “At least, up until now, that is.”

Heizou shuffles to the other end of the kotatsu, pushing it towards Kazuha. It shifts only slightly, but it shifts enough. Kazuha struggles to remove his footwear, tossing it to the door and laying his socks out to dry. He winces through every movement.

“How do you feel?”

Kazuha pauses from his position on the floor, nearly lying down but supported up by his elbow, clutching the cloth at his chest to keep it closed. “I’m okay,” he says, looking at Heizou. “Can’t get comfortable, that’s all.”

Heizou stops fluffing the kotatsu, eyeing Kazuha down as he continues to shift about—wincing when he lays on his left, grunting when he has to turn to his right, groaning when he gives up and lays flat on his back. He pats out Heizou’s haori, laying it to his side closest to Heizou.

With careful eyes, Heizou scrutinizes Kazuha’s body—his thin wrists, his dry, cracking, reddened knuckles, the peeling patch on his leg exposed by Kazuha’s bent leg, the way his yukata catches on the bend, leaving his thigh and most of his leg exposed. He blinks the haze away, looking upwards.

“Kaedehara.”

“Mm…” Kazuha mumbles, rolling his head over to look at Heizou.

Heizou laughs. “Don’t fall asleep just yet. I’ve yet to get any food in you. This place has great noodles you know.”

Kazuha smiles in return, rubbing at his eyes. “Is it okay for you to call me that? Won’t someone hear?”

“Well, it’s like I said. People who stay on the second floor have things that need to stay private. These rooms are soundproofed.”

Kazuha’s movements and expressions are miniscule due to his fatigue, but Heizou sees the flit of surprise. “That’s so interesting. I didn’t think they’d go that far.”

Heizou raises his brows. “Really? You seemed to have the right idea earlier.”

Kazuha rolls his eyes.

“With that crazy hearing of yours, you might not want to focus too hard on any sounds that aren’t mine. Might hear something you don—”

“Stop that.” Kazuha throws a sock at him, but laughs nonetheless. “You’re so crude, detective. Nearly mentioning breasts in front of another woman, too.”

“Says the person who kept playing up my girlfriend. How could I not?”

Kazuha shakes his head, grin plastered to his cheeks. “Well, your girlfriend is due to pass out from exhaustion, so if you want to feed me I suggest you do it soon.”

“See? There you go, playing it up again.” Heizou stands, kneeling by Kazuha.

“Playing the part saved us tonight.”

“I’m glad it did.” Heizou places a hand under Kazuha’s neck, supporting his head so he can pull on the end of the headband still concealing Kazuha’s red hair. “This tends to give me a headache after long enough,” he says, pulling the band off the crown of Kazuha’s head after loosening the knot. “It’s more comfortable to lay without it anyway, and you look more like yourself.”

Kazuha brushes his fingers through his hair, watching as Heizou’s delicate hand folds the band neatly, placing it on the kotatsu.

“Try not to fall asleep. I’ll be back with food. What’s your favourite?” he asks on his way out.

Kazuha contemplates for a moment. “Let’s have your favourite tonight. We can have mine tomorrow.”

Heizou nods, then disappears behind the sliding door.

Left in silence, Kazuha does just what Heizou warned him about, and manages to hear whispers through the walls. He discovers that there are four other people up here with them—a woman nursing her child, humming a lullaby Kazuha doesn’t recognize, and two men in another room, together.

He wonders what detriment the mother must be facing for her to be hiding here with her child, and he wishes he had more strength, that he could help her. He wishes the men sharing a room didn’t have to do so in a place like this, where he, as a fugitive and traitor to Inazuma, is hiding. Nothing about love could ever be a crime, and for them to share this teahouse with Kazuha feels unjust.

It serves to remind him how backwards this nation is, and his heart aches knowing his home is so dissonant with his beliefs. How could he run away and tell anyone that he was from Inazuma? What pride could he have in his nation? What pride could he have in knowing the only power he had was the power to run? He should stay, face the issues head-on, but that would only result in his own meaningless death—nothing would hurt those around him more than a meaningless death.

Even in that case, did he have anyone that would be hurt by his loss? The Kamisato Commissioner came to his aid, but as a Commissioner, such is his duty. He was gone. His parents were gone. His Clan has fallen from grace, and he would never be able to restore it—he wasn’t someone like Kamisato Ayato, nor could he ever be someone like Kujou Sara.

What did he have left in Inazuma that he could call this nation home?

He’s known what it meant all this time—for him to be a rōnin, to be a wanderer, but at least he’s always had someone to come back to. When he’d visit the beaches of Watatsumi Island, he could return to Narukami Island and hear the winds whisper about him, how he was waiting. He could take a trip to the wounded villages of Kannazuka and find him there, and the relief would feel so dear.

He no longer had any person nor place to return to. He was a rōnin, and for the first time, it felt like he was actually learning what that meant.

If only he had more power, more strength, maybe he could bring about some form of change, and yet, power and strength are not what he seeks. His desires contradicted his ambitions, and his needs contradicted his wishes. The physical pains at his chest and knee and head and hand throb, they sting and feel sore and are tender, and yet, it’s the mental anguish that Kazuha cannot bear.

This is home, yet there is nothing here that feels like home. This is his nation, and yet he has nothing but contempt for its leaders. This is where he belongs, and yet he wanders with no sense of belonging.

Was he right? Was his father merely sparing his feelings when he said the Clan’s fall from grace had nothing to do with him? Was it really all because he was too incompetent to live up to his name? Was it because he was too enveloped in his own desires? In fulfilling himself and his life of wandering? Perhaps being a rōnin was suitable to him, but what about his Clan? What about his lack of power right now? In the face of an indomitable foe?

Who would he be if all he could do was run away?

“I'm back, Kaedehara," the detective says, balancing a tray piled high with food with one hand, the other sliding the door closed. "They're going to deliver some more in a bit, but we can start with this." He places the tray on the kotatsu, turning to Kazuha with a smile on his lips, but it drops at the expression on his face.

Kazuha had sat upright, his mouth a thin line and bottom lip quivering. "Mm," he mutters. "Let's eat." He shuffles closer to the table, picking up a sandwich.

The crusts are cut off. The bread is soft and warm, and the crusts are cut off. It's ridiculous. Did Heizou request that? Were they served that way to begin with and Heizou enjoyed it that way? Why were the crusts cut off sandwiches meant for two grown men? It’s so ridiculous.

He starts crying.

"K- Kaedehara—" Heizou approaches him, kneeling at his left. Uncertain what to do with his hands, they float in the air. “What’s… what’s wrong?” he asks.

Kazuha grips the sandwich with enough strength that it begins to tear.

Heizou catches his wrist, gently peeling off Kazuha’s taught fingers, and placing the sandwich back on its plate. He slides the tray further into the table, resting an elbow in its place to lean over and look at Kazuha. “Kaedehara,” he says, still hesitant about where to place his hands. Kazuha refuses to meet his gaze, looking off to the right and rubbing at his face occasionally.

Heizou learns that he’s a silent crier. He doesn’t babble or sob, he doesn’t wail or whimper, his chest doesn’t heave and he doesn’t gasp for breath. He sniffles and chokes, his shoulders shake, and he swallows his hiccups. He sits upright, maintaining posture, he wipes at his tears with his fingers to ensure he doesn’t soil the clothing lent to him, and though he’s facing away, Heizou spots his long lashes flitting up and down as he blinks rapidly, trying to clear his tears.

Tonight has yet to end, and Heizou finds himself worrying about tomorrow. Kazuha had been smiling—laughing to his wits end, even—mere minutes ago. Leaving him with his own thoughts for only a little while seems to have set him off. Whatever it was he had been thinking of, Heizou had been a distraction from it. It wasn’t going to be something he could solve like a case, or fix with a few deductions. Even if he knew what caused the mental anguish, let alone what the issue itself was, he could do nothing.

So when he leaves Kazuha alone tomorrow, how will he fare?

Heizou has learned over the years that a victim’s mental state is far more important to a case than anything else. A case only needs solving when a victim wants justice, but what would justice mean if the person in question was still miserable? Was still stuck in time, unable to move forward? What type of justice would he be working for if he couldn’t help victims seize their life once more? Even more than dealing with punishment, it’s necessary to ensure a victim’s wellbeing. How could he ensure Kazuha’s health when he’d be leaving in two days? How could he ensure Kazuha would attain justice if the issues lie with the shogunate itself? How could he ensure Kazuha’s mental wellbeing when he wouldn’t be able to go check on him? When he doesn’t have the time to learn who Kazuha was? When he didn’t know him well enough to know what to say?

Kazuha could not become someone Heizou failed to help. He wouldn’t let it happen.

“Kaedehara, look at me.” He speaks firmly, yet his tone is gentle. His heart aches when Kazuha forces himself to laugh.

“Goodness me, detective. I can’t imagine what you think of me. I’m not usually like this, really. Please, give me a moment to compose myself.”

Heizou’s eyes glisten when Kazuha’s voice breaks on the last few words. He places a hand on Kazuha’s shoulder, who immediately shrugs it off. Sighing, Heizou stands, pressing his hand firmly to Kazuha’s shoulder to prevent him from shifting, then takes a seat in front of the weeping rōnin.

“You’ve been plenty composed, Kaedehara,” he says, crossing his legs. “I admire how strong you are. Not only are you incredibly skilled with a blade, you laugh when you’re happy and cry when you’re hurt. Many people are not so honest. They can’t bear the thought of being vulnerable. Your vulnerability makes you strong. Did you know that?”

Kazuha shakes his head and begins to shift away.

“It’s true,” Heizou says. He catches Kazuha’s hand, pulling him back. “Keep looking this way.”

“Shikanoin—” Kazuha mutters, voice cracking.

“I’m glad you’re not usually like this. It would hurt me to think you face such hardship frequently.”

“With the way you speak of me, one would think we’ve witnessed the sakura blossom for several springs together.”

Heizou raises his eyebrows at the sentence, grinning incredulously. “Do you always do that?”

Perhaps Heizou’s smile was contagious, for Kazuha’s lips curl at the corners. “Do what?” he says with a sniffle.

“The way you speak is lovely, that’s all.”

“Well… thank you.”

He’s not quite as giddy as he’d been earlier, and he’s still sniffling, and his eyes and cheeks are still puffy, and he’s got quite messy hands, but he’s smiling.

“If I wasn’t already so red from crying, you’d have made me blush, detective.”

Heizou reaches across Kazuha to one of the warm washcloths on the tray, placing it on the ronin’s waiting hands. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t compliment my girlfriend at every possible opportunity?”

“Even when he’s a sobbing mess?” Kazuha asks, voice slightly muffled through the washcloth.

Heizou can hear the grin in his tone anyway. “Especially when he’s a sobbing mess.” He starts taking the bowls and plates off the tray, spreading them on the table in front of his and Kazuha's places.

Kazuha finishes wiping down his face, using the now cool cloth to clean off his hands before folding and tucking it back to its place on the tray. He takes a few deep breaths, clearing out his airways and composing himself.

"Kaedehara," the detective calls.

Kazuha tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "What is it?"

"Would it be presumptuous of me to ask what had you so upset?"

Kazuha smiles, though his eyes are filled with sadness. "You left me in silence. I had to fill it in with something." He shrugs.

"And you filled it with thoughts that make you cry?" Kazuha looks down into his lap, and Heizou catches himself from using a thumb to tilt it back.

"I…"

Hesitance, confusion, and guilt all flit across Kazuha's expression all at once, and Heizou decides not to hold back this time. He places a hand on Kazuha's plush, still pink cheek, tucking his head down to look up at Kazuha. "If you cry like that every time I leave you alone, I might just get on the Crux with you."

“How I wish I could pack up all the things dear to me,” Kazuha says, holding the hand on his cheek. “I suppose it’s too late for that.”

Heizou sighs, busying his hands with setting out the food. “You should eat.”

And he does. They eat, passing bowls between each other, placing things on each other’s plates. Their comfortable silence is interrupted a short while later, when a server brings a second tray of food, this one filled with an array of dango and other in-house desserts. On her way out, she takes their empty tray, leaving them with a polite “the kitchen will be closed for the rest of night, and noise is to be kept to a minimal level to ensure comfort for all guests. Goodnight.”

They are left alone once more. Through the crack between the door and the frame, they see the hallway lights go dim, the frosted windows that faced the hallways also losing colour. The room darkens, and the atmosphere softens.

Heizou moves to pick up a dango with his chopsticks, pausing when he spots Kazuha still aimlessly looking at the now closed door. He rests his chopsticks on a dish, leaning an elbow on the kotatsu and watching Kazuha from behind. His shoulders rise and fall steadily, his posture proper and noble. “Kaedehara,” he calls, softly.

Kazuha hums in response.

“What was on your mind? While I was gone?” he whispers.

The silence stretches, and Heizou waits for the gears to settle in Kazuha’s head.

“I don’t think I feel at home here anymore, detective.”

“Because you’re being exiled?”

Kazuha turns slightly, looking over his shoulder at Heizou, the soft overhead light providing just enough illumination to see the detective’s distinct features. He shrugs, shaking his head. A smile paints his features, a small upturn of the corners of his lips, solemn, and humble. “Because I have no one left.”

His voice was steady, full of shame and acceptance. So quietly spoken, so simple, so hurt. Heizou feels his eyes fill, his cheeks burn, and he suddenly can’t meet Kazuha’s gaze. He bites his lip, a pain growing in his chest. If only there was more he could do; if only he had met Kazuha sooner; if only this were a simple case he could solve. Instead, he must send Kazuha off to fend for himself in a foreign nation. “I’m so sorry, Kaedehara,” he mutters.

“I have no one to blame but myself.”

Wiping at the corners of his eyes, Heizou looks up again. “None of this is your fault.” Kazuha smiles at him, but Heizou knows the look in his eyes. He knows what it looks like when guilt plagues someone, he knows that Kazuha doesn’t believe him.

Kazuha turns back to the food. Rather than eating, he files away his utensils, taking a healthy sip of water to clean out his mouth and wiping down his fingers with a wet rag. It’s when he moves to stand, already on his feet, that Heizou catches one of his hands.

“Detective?”

“You’re going to leave Inazuma, and find a new home in Liyue. You’re going to meet new people, and they’re going to think you’re great, and be your friend and your ally. And then,” he continues. He stands, now eye-to-eye with Kazuha. “Then you’re going to come back. When the time is right, you’ll be here, and you’ll help stop this—”

“Shikanoin—”

“You will!” Heizou insists, squeezing Kazuha’s hand when he starts shaking his head. “You will. I know you will.”

Kazuha’s eyes well up again. “But I feel so powerless.” His voice breaks at the end, and he barely chokes out the last word.

As a powerless man himself, Heizou has very little to say.

Kazuha pulls his hand from Heizou’s grasp, turning away just as another set of tears pour over onto his cheeks. He wipes at his face as best he can, opening the oshiire and pulling out two futon sets. He starts by laying out the shikibuton, layering three for each of them. The tatami on the second floor isn’t heated like the one’s on the bottom floor, the detective had mentioned, so he figures the more cushion the better. He winces when he kneels on the floor, the ache running up spine. He tastes the salt on his tear-soaked lips when he bites the bottom lip, carefully lining up the corners of the futon.

It’s when he’s fluffling out the kakebuton that the detective comes to him, placing his hands on his shoulders. Kazuha looks away. The detective ushers him to sit on the bedding, taking the sheets from his hands and continuing the work. Kazuha reaches over to the space between their beds where the pillows had fallen, picking one up and hugging it to his body. He lays on his side, facing away from the detective. He curls up around the pillow and lays his head on it, embarrassed and tired and sore all over. His face is red and itchy and so is the skin under his bandages. His toes are cold and his belly feels too full and his tongue feels too dry and he wants to disappear.

Somewhere between the lights going out and the shuffling of the detective behind him, fatigue washes over Kazuha. He’s half asleep. Delicate fingers brush over his bare shoulder as a blanket is tucked over his shoulders. The futon dips behind him, and a hand brushes the hair from his face.

“The maple leaves in Ritou have turned red,” Heizou says. “I noticed when I went down there to collect you. Every year, they turn red, and I think of you. Isn’t that funny?” he chuckles quietly. “I’d never even met you, but I couldn’t help it. Our archon desires eternity, an unchanging Inazuma with an unchanging population.” He twirls Kazuha’s red strand around his index finger. “But the leaves change colour every year. Time passes. The leaves fall, then the branches are bare, and a few months later, they grow again.” He brushes a thumb lightly over Kazuha’s cheek. “This nation, too, will change.” He wipes the drying tear streak with it. A fresh bead of water glimmers on his bottom lashes. “When you leave here, the maple leaves will fall, and I will think of you everyday until they grow back, until they grow red again, and by then… by then I hope, instead of seeing red maple leaves on the trees, I’ll see them on you, on your beautiful, mended haori, in your red hair and red eyes and in your name, when I call it.”

Kazuha turns over, settling on his back. Heizou’s fingers linger on the shell of Kazuha’s ear when he tucks the now stray strand of hair behind it. A brief desire to stay crosses his mind. He stands.

Kazuha's breath is even, steady, and quiet. Heizou smiles at the calm on his face, glad that he’s got a moment’s peace, even if it’s just because he’s too tired for anything else. “Goodnight, Kaedehara.”