Work Text:
The soft sound of ink on parchment calmed Kazuha’s mind and soothed his feelings. The raging storm turned into a slight drizzle with just a few words let loose.
On a day like this, he should’ve known it wasn’t meant to last.
The wind, which had been a calming and comforting presence just moments before, suddenly teased the paper out of his hands just as he was adding the finishing touches. In a panic, he tried to move the wind to bring it back to him, but it stubbornly refused to respond. Which likely meant someone else was in control of it.
Which meant someone else was here, and about to read his writing.
Fudgecakes.
He stood, motionless, afraid to turn around and see who, exactly, was now in possession of his paper, his words, afraid to turn around and see that all too familiar bemused frown and hear the “I think you’re better suited as a warrior, Kaz” which always hurt even when it was ‘just a joke’ and this was why he hadn’t written anything since Tomo died because Tomo was the only one who liked and supported his writing (Beidou would, but Beidou didn’t even know he wrote, not after how people had reacted) and even wrote with him sometimes and every time Kazuha tried to sit down and write all he could do was remember his friend, his brother in all but blood, but foolish him thought maybe just maybe it would be worth pushing through, maybe writing would help with the pain that came hand in hand with the anniversary of Tomo’s death, but—
“Kazuha?”
A gentle voice broke his panicked spiral of thoughts, dragging him back to the present. Somehow he’d found his way into a seated position, back against the lip of Beidou’s ship, the waves making it rock gently, reminding him of the way the Captain would do the same whenever the nightmares got too harsh and he woke up with tears running down his face and he just needed someone there with him.
In front of him crouched Aether, a worried look on his face and Kazuha’s poem still held carefully in his hand. Kazuha hated seeing that look on his face, hated seeing the crease in his eyebrows and the concern filling his eyes, hated knowing he was bringing his friend down with his sadness.
He swallowed thickly, knowing his voice would be raspy from the hours spent crying alone in his room, too hurt to go looking for comfort and too afraid to believe anyone would care anyways.
“Hello, Aether.” He winced at the sound of his own voice; it was even worse than he expected. He cleared his throat before continuing. “What brings you to the Crux this time of night? Or rather—” he looked up, noting the ink black of the night sky beginning to fade into a smoky gray— “this time of day?”
The Traveler gave him an unimpressed look. Kazuha knew he could see the eyes red from crying with worse eyebags than ever and the fresh bandages wrapped all up his arms, but he stayed quiet.
Aether knew, perhaps better than anyone, what the pain of losing someone feels like.
Over the years, Kazuha has learned it’s a pain that never fades; with every reminder of the one you lost, the pain twists deeper into your heart like a jagged blade, one impossible to pull out. Currently he feels as though there are two blades in his chest, one from the loss and one from the memories, which had forced their way back to the forefront of his mind with his return to Inazuma and confrontation of the Shogun, so much like the confrontation that had ended Tomo’s life and left Kazuha with nothing but a dead, masterless Vision.
Aether let out a nearly inaudible sigh, then handed him his paper and, after a moment of contemplation, kissed him sweetly on the forehead before retreating.
“You should keep writing,” he whispered softly, then disappeared in his typical fashion, leaving Kazuha blushing and confused but feeling more okay than he has all week.