Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They said time flowed in the spirit realm like a thousand years in a second.
They lied, of course.

There was a place where hours dissolved like mist — a lake hidden among flowers that never wilted, and a waterfall that never ceased. A space suspended between silence and whisper. Yone found this place by chance — or maybe, like everything in that world between veils, it was the place that found him.

He arrived as he always did: steady steps, serene expression, his slightly curved horns a reminder that even the Kanmei bear scars. He expected only the peace of the water, the forgotten scent of eternal flowers.
What he didn’t expect was the sound of a sword slicing through the air.

Behind the waterfall, a shadow danced.

Yone did not interfere on the first day. He merely observed, eyes half-closed. The spirit trained with cruel precision, movements repeated to exhaustion — a choreography marked not by technique, but by pain. The blade carved the space with restrained fury, and the aura, even in silence, begged.

He returned on the second day. Then the third. Then... he lost count.

Perhaps it was boredom, or curiosity.

He heard the echoes. And the title carried by the legend of the lake: the spirit of the legacy. A swordsman whose feet no longer touched the ground as they once had. He moved between strikes with the precision of one who had trained for centuries, and the pain of one who never forgot why.

The Akana never spoke. He didn’t need to. The steel said it all. Each strike was a scream left unspoken. Each pause, a moment of remembrance that pulled him back to what he was — or could have been. Trapped in a cycle. A broken spirit, held together only by the hope of finding… someone.

Someone who wouldn’t betray him.

Or someone who could stay.

At least, that’s what the spirits said.

Yone asked no questions. He simply sat by the shore, legs crossed, gaze steady. Sometimes, his fingers touched the hilt of the swords beside him, as if considering something. Other times, he simply listened. Not to the sound of the blade — but to what lay behind it.

Until one day, without preamble, he stopped.

The blade rested at his side, the spirit still partially blurred by the fall of water, his face hidden behind a mask, as if even sight were a wound too raw to face.

“You’ve been watching me for a long time, Kanmei.” The voice was low, hoarse, made of burdens.

Yone didn’t reply immediately. There was a trace of provocation in that tone. A test. Or a warning.

“I have,” he said at last. “Pain teaches. I listen.”

Silence.

The swordsman didn’t turn. His body remained still, but something faltered — almost imperceptibly — in the fingers holding the blade.

“Listening is easy. Staying is hard.”

Yone rose with the slowness of someone in no rush to end the moment.

“Maybe it’s not hard for me.”

The Kanmei turned his back, vanishing down the path of petals that led back into the vastness of the spirit realm. But Yi stood still for long minutes after that. His hand still on the sword. His heart, perhaps, still holding onto the answer he never expected to hear.

That day, he didn’t train anymore.
That day, he knew the traveler would return.

Chapter Text

There was no surprise anymore when the traveler returned.

He arrived with the same serenity as the wind passing through the immortal flowers. Always with the swords at his waist. Sometimes, carrying a morin khuur made of pale wood, delicate as if it had been carved from memories.

Yi no longer stopped his training. But he didn’t ignore it either. Between one slash and another in the void, between movements that carried the ghosts of a past that gave him no rest, he listened. Pretending not to, but listening.

The sound of the ancient instrument, adorned with small bluish petals, was gentle. But merciless. It slipped through the cracks in the spirit and settled in the places where the lament was loudest.

The Kanmei played as if he knew the pain on the Akana side. And perhaps he did.

Perhaps that was what made him dangerous.

Once, Yi stopped the dance abruptly. The blade froze midair, as if the music had cut deeper than any strike. The traveler didn’t even move. He kept playing, eyes closed, breath held. The song was light, almost childlike. But it carried something Yi no longer knew how to recognize: softness.

And softness, to an Akana, was slow poison.

“You don’t know me,” Yi said, without turning around.

His silent intruder stopped playing, unhurried. As if the song had decided to end there, on its own.

“No. But I keep coming back,” he replied, simply.

Yi said nothing.

The waterfall kept its continuous flow, but in that pause, something was different.
The kind of silence that slips between words, heavy with everything left unsaid.

They still didn’t know each other’s names.

Even so, the Kanmei’s presence had begun to take root like the flowers of that lake — silent, but impossible to uproot.

And Yi… hesitated.

The swordsman, made of absences and stitched wounds, had begun to wait for those footsteps that came slowly through the petals. He had begun to feel the weight of waiting. A weight he hadn’t known for ages.

A sweet burden — and that was what scared him most.

That night — or was it morning? — he didn’t train. He simply sat by the edge of the lake, where the space between him and Yone was still vast. But for the first time, it didn’t seem impassable.

“You play well,” Yi said, looking at his reflection in the water. A reflection that didn’t cry, but wanted to.

The other responded with a slight nod. Then sat as well, a few steps from the water.

“You cut well,” he said, with a faint smile in his voice.

Yi didn’t smile. But his shoulders, for a second, felt a little lighter.

They stayed there. No more words.

Only the waterfall’s flow, the scent of the flowers, and the hush of two presences that — though still nameless — had begun to recognize each other.

Chapter Text

His presence had become constant.

Not invasive.
Just constant.

The spirit Kanmei appeared with the same natural ease as the wind bending the blossoming treetops around the lake. Sometimes with his instrument. Sometimes only with silence. Sometimes, with questions that needed no answers — as if the simple act of sharing time was enough.

Yi noticed. He didn’t say it. But he noticed.

He noticed the absence of invasive questions. The absence of expectation. He noticed that the spirit never stepped beyond the point where the wet stone of the shore curved. An invisible boundary, never spoken, yet always respected. He never crossed it.

And that — that subtle care — confused him. And, inwardly, it hurt. As if kindness could wound more deeply than any blade.

That day, the traveler stood by the waterfall, the light of the eternal blossoms reflecting on his robes. The water flowed steadily, a familiar sound that filled everything, even the spaces between thoughts.

"I wonder, sometimes," he said, his voice low, as if he were speaking more to the lake than to the Akana. "About what keeps a spirit whole. What stops someone from unraveling here."

Yi was seated at the center of the clearing, blade resting on crossed legs, his body too still to be careless. For a long moment, it seemed he wouldn’t reply. But then, he lifted his chin slightly.

"You want to know my name."

He didn’t move. He didn’t smile. But his silence was a yes.

Yi almost answered.

Almost.

He felt the word rise in his throat, the sound of a name once spoken with pride and later spat out in rage. A name that, in another life, had meant something. A name once called by someone who said they would never leave.

But the sound died in his mouth. Yi’s eyes, still hidden, trembled behind the mask.

Flashes.
A hand letting go of his.
The blade turning at the last moment.
A voice saying "Trust me" before the fall.

His throat tightened.
The pain didn’t come as an explosion. It came as a withdrawal.
Yi lowered his head. The name dissolved into the void.

"It doesn’t matter," he said. But the tone was too soft to be indifferent. It was... protective.

And Kanmei didn’t insist.
He simply sat down again, crossing his legs with the same usual calm. He didn’t look directly at Yi. He looked at the water.

"I’m Yone," he said, as if stating the time.

No weight. No request in return.

That name landed like a leaf on the lake. Yi didn’t react. But his breath faltered for an instant — too brief for a stranger to notice.

But Yone noticed.

The conversation continued, not like a raging river, but like a discreet stream among stones.

They spoke of the sound of falling water.
Of the moss growing between the rocks.
Of the strange habit spirit butterflies had of always landing on Yone’s left shoulder.

"Never the right one?" Yi asked, in a rare moment of lightness.

"Never. Maybe because the right one carries the sword," Yone replied, with a faint smile.

Yi didn’t smile, as expected. But the silence around him felt lighter.

When Yone left, night did not fall. Because here, time was not linear. But the place darkened slightly. Just enough for the flowers to begin glowing more brightly.

And Yi stayed.
Alone. But less than before.
With another’s name on his lips.
And his own, still caught between his teeth.

Chapter Text

There was a kind of peace in that place that couldn’t be found even among the Kanmei.

Yone had already traversed much of the spirit realm. He had felt the wind over the lotus fields, seen ashes dance in the valleys where some Akana—the lost ones—hid themselves. But there, in that lake hidden among flowers, hills, and trees, something was different. Not just because of the scenery — but because of him.

The Akana who didn’t say his name.

The swordsman with restrained movements and pain etched into his shoulders.

Yone had gotten used to arriving without thinking much. Without a goal — at least, not one he dared to name. Sometimes he played. Sometimes he just sat and watched. Sometimes, he stood in silence, as if the mere act of being there was a conversation.

And it was.

In the spirit world, words were optional. But presences shouted.

Yone was starting to notice the patterns. The way the swordsman paused his blade for a second longer when he arrived. How his posture shifted subtly — less tension, less rigidity. How there was silence… but not the same as before.

Something was changing.

And something inside Yone was changing too.

He tried not to think too much, but deep down, he already knew: it was no longer curiosity. What brought him back wasn’t fascination with the tragic figure behind the waterfall. It was no longer the desire to understand that broken spirit — it was the desire to stay.

To stay for him.

With him.

Yone, who had spent lifetimes fighting for honor, for rites, for brothers and ideals, now wanted… just to remain. Without a sword. Without a mission.

Tranquility. Comfort. Company. Affection. He felt many things there.

He wanted to be wherever that spirit was.
And that was a choice.

On the last visit, the Akana surprised him.

Not with words — but with a gesture.

There were two teacups left on the stone. Small, rustic, made of a greenish porcelain that only existed in the most ancient corners of the spirit realm. They were there, in silence, like everything in that place. No explanation, no request. Just… there.

Yone arrived as usual. But he stopped in front of them like someone reading a poem with no title.

The spirit of legacy was kneeling behind the waterfall, cleaning his blade with a cloth that seemed woven from mist. He didn’t look at him. Said nothing. But the cups were there.

Yone stepped closer.
Sat down.
Accepted the gesture.

And for the first time, the silence between them was truly comfortable. A pause. Shared.
He looked at the surface of the water, where the Akana’s reflection broke apart in soft ripples.
Yes, he made up his mind in that moment.

He didn’t need a name.
He didn’t need a promise.

He had already chosen to stay.

And if that man, at some point, offered more than tea and silence — if someday he offered his name too, his story, the space beside him — Yone would be there.

Not out of insistence. Not for salvation.
But because he had found something the spirit realm rarely offered:

A reason to stop wandering.

Chapter Text

It was a night that didn’t feel like night. Just like any other, but the lesser spirits grew lazier, and the sky a little darker, so everyone considered it night.

He was already there, by the lake. As always — not out of duty, but from a habit that slowly took root. The instrument rested at his side, forgotten. And the swordsman trained as he did every day: with obsessive precision, as if fighting against a memory that refused to die.

It was the subtle shift in the air that made him stop.
The way the leaves didn’t dance in the wind.

The way the sound of the waterfall was muffled for a second.

Someone was approaching.

Yone didn’t think. He just moved — retreating among the stones, body pressed to the shadow of a rock covered in blue moss.

He didn’t even know why he was hiding, not at first.

Maybe instinct.
Maybe... fear of breaking something that was quietly being built there.

The stranger appeared on the path between the eternal flowers.

Tall.
Strong.
But not rough.

Hair the color of spilled moonlight, eyes that carried the fatigue of a thousand battles — and yet, open, alert. Like those of a wolf too young to be tired, but too old to trust.

Yone recognized him.

Not the face — but the essence.

Kanmei and Akana, fused. A walking paradox. As if the extremes had tried to reconcile within a single body... and failed, miserably.

"Born of balance and forged in abandonment," the memory whispered.
"Now seeking meaning in every battle."

The visitor stopped in front of the swordsman.

Yone, from the shadows, couldn’t hear the words exchanged. But he could see — and seeing was enough.

The spirit of legacy turned slowly, without sheathing the sword. His back straight, shoulders composed, as if he had already expected that interruption. The image always blurred by the waterfall that kept him apart. Like someone who had faced so many desperate searches that none could shake him anymore.

The way the outsider approached — not with reverence, but with presence. As if the spirit realm were just another territory to be claimed.

He gestured. A challenge, maybe. A request. A provocation? It was hard to tell. His body spoke in tension. In offering. In need of approval.

The swordsman didn’t respond immediately.

And then, simply... refused.

A slight tilt of the head. Without aggression. Without fear.
But also... without invitation.

The visitor remained still for a few seconds. Then nodded, as one who respects — or at least understands.

And left.

No fight. No promise.
Just the sound of leaves beginning to move again, slowly.

Yone waited. Long after, he stepped out of the shadows.

The Akana was already seated, as if nothing had happened. His hair, seemingly loose, fell over his shoulders, the sword rested beside him. The teacup, half full. An unspoken invitation, as always.

Yone sat in front, where there wasn’t as much water, just a few steps away — close, but never too close.

He didn’t mention what he saw.
The other didn’t either.

But the thought played in Yone’s mind, annoying like a pebble in a boot.

Kanmei and Akana... together. Not just coexisting. But seeking each other.

A seed of an idea, too bold to say out loud.

So a Kanmei can be with an Akana.

He stayed there, with the sound of water, the warmth of tea, and the shadow of a thought that wouldn’t leave him anymore.

Chapter Text

The world outside the waterfall was different.

Inside, where the water flowed endlessly, Yi could pretend.
Pretend that nothing changed. That the spirit realm didn’t move without him. That no one was watching.

That there weren’t eyes fixed on his shadow, day after day.

The figure who sat at the edge of the lake had become part of the scenery — like the eternal flowers or the stone where tea was left.
Yi had never looked at him directly. Never allowed himself to.

It was safer that way.

The waterfall blurred everything.
Faces. Intentions. Feelings.
And still, never enough.

Yone. He had heard the name on some random day, spoken with the ease of someone who expected nothing in return. Just presence. Just time.

Since then, Yi found himself thinking about it more than he admitted.

Yone.

The name sounded ancient.
Steady.
Unsettlingly… pleasant.

He didn’t know why he wanted to know more.

Maybe it was the way Yone’s voice broke the silence without destroying it.
Or maybe it was that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, when Yone touched the instrument with his long, refined fingers — soft notes like mourning, but too full of life to be only grief.

Yi spent days wondering why.

Then, he simply started to accept it.

But that day, something was different.

Yone had left something next to the teacup:
A folded piece of paper.

Yi didn’t touch it immediately.
He pretended to ignore it, as he always did.

But hours later, when the water flowed colder and the sky above had lost its golden hue, he reached out.
Opened the paper carefully.

And read.

"Amid the sound that hides it all,
The fall silences what’s left unsaid.
But even the bending stream learns,
To follow where the rock has led."

Yi didn’t understand everything right away.
But his stomach… turned.
As if something had come loose inside — not pain, not joy… something in between.

He read it again. And again.
Until he knew it by heart.

The handwriting was precise, almost calligraphic, but without vanity.
The words had been chosen with care. And that — that — was for him.

A poem.

Written for him.

Yi couldn’t remember the last time he’d received something that wasn’t a challenge, a request for wisdom, or a look heavy with pity.

But that… was just an offering.

A verse given with the gentleness of someone expecting nothing in return.

He rested his forehead on the damp stone. Eyes closed. The paper still between his fingers.
And for the first time in ages, the silence and solitude around him didn’t feel heavy.

There, inside the waterfall, where the world seemed purposefully blurred, Yi felt… less sad.

It wasn’t happiness.

Not yet.

But it was something. A step. A crack in the pain.

He wouldn’t smile.
Wouldn’t ask for anything.
Wouldn’t leave his hiding place.

But that night, he whispered to himself, in a voice too low for the waterfall to carry:

"I like poetry."

And as if the very veil between worlds had answered, the wind blew softer.
And Yi, though he wouldn’t admit it, hoped that the next day… another one would come.

Chapter Text

Yone recognized him by the still-warm tea.

It was always there, waiting for him, on the smooth stone at the edge of the waterfall.
Even if the Akana never said a word, the gesture was clear.
“Come back.”

And Yone came back.

More often than he intended.
For longer than he should.
With his heart more exposed than he ever wanted to admit.

Yone smiled to himself sometimes on the way to the lake. He didn’t laugh out loud — never.
But he felt that inner warmth, hard to name, every time the steam rose from the cup and he knew he wasn’t alone.

Even if the man never spoke.
Even if he only saw his silhouette behind the curtain of water.

It was enough.
More than enough.
Since he left the first poem. He hadn’t stopped writing.

Verses.
Simple.
Careful.

Like someone watering a flower in silence, hoping — not for a bloom, but for a glance.

He left them folded beside the cup, with the same calm he used to tune his instrument.

No demand. No urgency.

The songs had changed too.
Longer. Deeper. Notes suspended like unanswered questions, compositions that seemed to want to last forever — just so he could listen a little more.

Yone began to notice the reactions.

Almost imperceptible. A slight tilt of the head behind the waterfall. An arm that once remained crossed now resting by his side. Sometimes, the sound of water would pause… because the swordsman had stopped training to listen.

And then, one day, when he arrived, he found something different.

Beside the cup.
Where Yone would usually leave his little written gifts.

A dark, soft petal.
Dyed with makeshift ink from flowers.
And on it, written in a hesitant hand, as if each word came at a cost, a single verse:

“Still, I await the next.”

Yone stood still.

For a long moment, he didn’t breathe. Didn’t touch the paper. He just looked — and smiled, not quietly, not discreetly. But like someone who finally knew they were being seen.

He didn’t need a spoken answer.

Nor a direct gaze.

Chapter Text

Yi was restless.

It was an annoying discomfort, almost childish.
But he couldn’t help it.

Yone was late. Not by much. A few minutes, maybe less. But the time gap — once imperceptible — now scratched at him.

The cup was already in place, the tea still warm. He had already trained, and paused. Waited. Tried not to wait.

Ridiculous.

That was the word that repeated itself in short, dry thoughts, like sword slashes.

Ridiculous.

But the emptiness where the sound of music used to fill the air now echoed even louder inside him.

Until he arrived.

That gentle aura. That calm step.

Yone walked like he belonged there — and more than that, like he knew he would be awaited.
And it was only when Yi saw the way he looked at the cup — that soft smile, the quiet gratitude — that he realized just how much he had missed him.

The discomfort melted away with his presence.

The conversation came, as always, effortlessly.

Phrases about the weather — though it hardly ever changed there. About the sound of the water. About the flower that made the best dye. About songs with silly names and unfinished verses. And even a few more personal things — it was the first time Yone mentioned having a brother, though he didn’t go into detail, and Yi respected that.

Yi didn’t move much, but he was sitting differently.

Leaning slightly forward, his hand not so close to his sword.

And that afternoon, when time felt more fluid than ever, they were closer.

The waterfall still flowed between them — translucent, almost like a curtain.
Yone, with a disarming simplicity, had stepped through just enough to get the hem of his clothes and his shoulders wet as he leaned in, and sat there, close.

On the same stone. On the same level.
No longer on the margins.

Yi watched him through the water, now with fewer barriers. He still didn’t look directly — not completely — but it was different.

Clearer.
More present.

Yone was saying something about the song of the day.
How he used a less melancholic chord progression, how he wanted the sound to be something that could “fit inside a smile.”

And it was then, in the middle of a loose sentence, that Yi felt it.

The urgency. The need.
The impulse, stronger than fear.

He went quiet for a moment.
Then, breathed in.
And said, simply:

"Yi. My name is Yi."

The words slipped from his mouth like a confession.
And for a second, the world stopped.

The water didn’t fall any slower, the wind didn’t sigh any different. And yet, something inside him broke open.

A wall that had held too many memories, old traumas, old names — the one who betrayed him, the one who abandoned him, the one he never wanted to name.

But Yone was none of them.

The Kanmei moved little, but it was as if the entire universe leaned in toward that sound.

"Yi… ", he repeated, like someone tasting a rare fruit.

The exact pronunciation.
The soft intonation.
A faint smile, like he was storing the name in a precious place within his soul.

Yi closed his eyes.
For a moment, he just listened.
His name, spoken by Yone’s voice.

And he discovered he liked it.
Liked it… more than he should.
Or maybe, exactly as much as he should.

Yone said nothing else — he didn’t need to. His gaze — even through the curtain of water — was calm, patient, and strangely… happy.

Yi didn’t respond.
But he didn’t pull away, either.

He allowed himself to exist there.

Not as the spirit of a legacy.
Not as the betrayed master.
But simply as Yi.

Chapter Text

The water fell steadily, as always.
But time there seemed to hesitate.

Sitting close, sharing the smooth stone, their bodies wet from the curtain of water and their eyes half-closed from the light refracting in droplets, they looked like figures shaped by the very patience of the spirit world.

“It’s strange…” Yi began, his voice low but steady, “...how speaking of the past still feels like opening holes, even when everything has already turned to dust.”

Yone didn’t answer right away. He simply looked, with that way he had of listening with his entire being — full presence, unhurried, without judgment.

“And yet you speak,” he said, in a tone almost admiring, as if noticing the effort and treating it with the honor it deserved.

Yi gave a faint smile, the first in many decades, but too subtle to be seen.

“It’s just that now… it doesn’t feel like I’ll get lost in it.”

The words fell between them like the distant sound of a bell — small, but clear.
Yone looked away for a moment, perhaps surprised. Or moved.
And then, with a gesture bolder than any song he had ever played for Yi, he touched his hand.

The skin was wet — not from emotion, but from the fine waterfall mist that insisted on marking the moment.
But when their fingers intertwined, Yi could no longer tell what was cold and what was warm.

It wasn’t magical.
Not in the way one expects of the spirit world.
But it was steady.
It was an anchor.

And because of that, Yi continued.

“I had a pet chicken,” he said, in a lighter tone. “Her name was Barbecue, but I nicknamed her Bab.”

Yone raised an eyebrow but didn’t let go of his hand.

“That’s… cruel, isn’t it?”

“I was a kid. The name seemed funny at the time. She followed me everywhere. One day she ran off, thinking she could fly.”

Yone stifled a laugh — brief and delighted. Yi went on:

“I almost drowned trying to swim alone when I was six. My father said I just had to throw myself in and flap my arms. I nearly got swept away by the current. And… once, in my parents’ workshop, I touched a freshly forged blade. Wanted to see if it was still hot. It was. Burned my whole finger.”

Yone laughed — truly now — and Yi joined in, subtly. A rare sound, hidden beneath the water’s song, sweeter than he remembered himself being able to make.

And when the laughter faded, the touch still remained.

Their fingers intertwined.
Steady. Calm.

With every word spoken, Yi realized more of him had survived time than he’d imagined.
The memories, even painful ones, now came with the scent of forge smoke, fluttering feathers, and river water.

Yone was the bridge that made all of it accessible.

He was… steadiness. A pillar.

And maybe… maybe that’s what it meant to have someone by your side in the spirit world.

Not someone to pull you away from the shadows, but someone to hold your hand until you learned to walk through them on your own.

The conversation continued, flowing like the river beneath their feet.
Yone spoke little, but listened deeply. Sometimes he’d comment, sometimes he’d provoke a smile.

And at some point, Yi looked at him more closely.

Not through the waterfall.

But as he was, right there.
Present. Near.
Real.

And for the first time since he died, Yi felt something stronger than sorrow.

Chapter Text

The sky of the Spirit Realm was eternal in its colors — most of the time.

Too blue to be day, too gentle to be night. But sometimes it shifted, with golden hues, lotus pink, or a deeper shade of lilac.

Yone had grown used to this limbo.

But now, it felt like he kept counting the sky’s shades for a reason: waiting.

He arranged things carefully.
The cloth — slightly crooked.
The fruits — tasteless, but almost real in shape.
The tea jug — made with faintly glowing leaves, picked along the western bank trail, where spirits danced in the mornings.

Everything tasted like something not meant for the tongue, but for the gesture.

A mischievous spirit — he didn’t dare say the name aloud, but it was known for making too much noise in the wrong places. And planting tricks among mortals — had passed by days earlier, carrying supplies that clearly didn’t belong to this plane.

Yone asked no questions. He simply accepted.
If the gods wanted to be offended, they were welcome to it.

He only wanted to do something for Yi.

The thin line between what he felt and what he admitted had already snapped long ago —
But Yone was still silent about it.

He preferred to show it through small, steady, delicate acts.
Leftover poems. Longer songs. Hotter tea.

And now… a picnic. By the lake.

He felt foolish for it.
Ridiculously calm, ridiculously nervous.
He kept adjusting things, checking everything again, as if Yi would notice the imperfections —
And precisely because he was so absorbed, he didn’t notice when Yi arrived.

“…Trying to cook the impossible?” asked the voice behind him.

Yone froze.

Not like a warrior.
Not like a watchful spirit.
He froze like a man caught off guard by his own heart.

He turned slowly, like someone afraid to ruin the moment just by facing it.

And there was Yi.
Seated. By his side.
Without the waterfall’s curtain.
Without veils. Without distance.

The mask was still there — the Akana one, always covering his eyes, face still and unreadable.
But the aura was different.

Softer.
More… real.

Yone felt his stomach tighten —
Not from fear.
But from something that felt like…
A chill spreading through his bones. A warmth rising in his chest.

He could almost die again.
And for the first time, he thought it had been worth dying.

He almost thanked Yasuo in his thoughts.

“I didn’t hear you arrive,” he said at last, voice slightly hoarse but steady.

“I made no sound.”

Yone laughed, a low, surrendered laugh. Of course not. Yi never made a sound — unless he wanted to be heard.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Yi added. “Seeing me like this.”

Yone didn’t answer with words.

He just looked.

Let his gaze drift slowly over the features hidden for so many months behind water — the line of his jaw, the shadow of the mask, the soft spiritual glow outlining his skin. The long white hair — smooth as silk. Full lips…

And everything about him was beautiful. Painfully so.

“I would’ve minded if you had never come,” Yone murmured at last, eyes still fixed on him.

Yi looked away for a second, as if the compliment weighed too heavily.
But he didn’t retreat.
On the contrary, he leaned in just slightly.

“What are we eating?”

Yone gave a half-smile, glancing back at the food.

“Well… the bread tastes like stone, the fruits are pure shimmer, and this pie was definitely stolen from some festival. But I swear the tea is good.”

“Then let’s start with that.”

The cup was passed. Fingers brushed briefly.
Silence settled again, but something had changed.

It was the silence of two who had chosen to stay.

Yone drank little. Watched more.

Yi didn’t smile openly, but there were soft curves on his face that Yone was beginning to recognize.
Subtle reactions to the taste.
Small gestures of approval.

And somewhere between a sip of tea and the sound of the breeze touching the lake’s surface,
Yone realized something:

He had already fallen in love.

Without warning.
Without words.
Without a confession.

But it was there, as clear as the water beside them.

And Yi… well… he was there too.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

There was something poetic in the way the Spirit Realm shaped itself around the steps of a wandering spirit.

Paths that unfolded between suspended hills, inverted rivers, and forests that sang.

Yone moved through it all with the serenity that only death could bring...
But for some time now, another rhythm had been guiding his steps.

It was no longer the call of the journey, nor the duty to hunt what was twisted.

It was something simpler. More... delicate.

"Would this suit him?"

He wondered, looking at the glowing flowers wrapped around the branch of a tree that bent as if whispering secrets.

"Maybe this fruit, even without flavor, is pretty enough."

He reflected, gently picking up the ones that had already fallen, even knowing Yi didn’t care for such things — and precisely because of that, it made even more sense to bring them.

It had become a habit.
To always return with something.
A gesture. A color. A memory.

A kindness.

Yone was never the romantic one between the brothers.
That was always Yasuo.

The youngest was dramatic by nature — passionate, impulsive, shameless in his feelings, as if every emotion had to be lived out loud.

Yone smiled, alone, at the memory.

Maybe… he had inherited a bit of that too. But just a bit.
And with more composure, of course.

He was still Yone.
Reserved. Steady. Restrained.

…But not immune.

Not after Yi.

He thought of him constantly, more than he allowed himself to admit out loud.

The sound of his husky voice, the restrained gesture when sipping tea, the dimples that sometimes smiled more than he let show.

The pointed ears, always tugged — only on the right side — when Yi didn’t want to get lost in a memory.

The lips — oh, the lips — that looked like two petals just a shade darker than his pale skin. Full. Soft.
Perhaps Yone would never touch them.
Perhaps...

But the thought was born.
And with it, the yearning.

It wasn’t just affection, not just tenderness. It was desire.
To be near.
To know what made Yi sigh that way after tea.
To discover what it would be like to hear his own name whispered with more... intention.
To know if Yi would tremble at a touch, the way he sometimes did when receiving a poem.

He wanted to touch him with reverence, as if Yi were made of sacred glass and music. He wanted to hear him smile more often, and know it was because of him.

But the desire came after the love.

Naturally.

Not forced. Unrushed.

Yone wasn’t a man of urgencies.

He was like the songs he composed — drawn-out notes, silent between each other, careful.

Like the flowers he carried between his fingers — never plucked, only gathered when they had already fallen.

He still wandered.

It was in his nature.

A wandering spirit, guardian of himself.

But now, he always returned to the same place.

The same lake.
The same waterfall.
The same Akana.

Chapter Text

The lake was unchanged.

But Yone knew, the moment he stepped between the stones at the edge: he had changed.

It wasn’t the sky—it still shimmered in soft lilac between clouds as pale as mist.
Nor the water—it still glimmered beneath the waterfall, just as crystal-clear and loud.
It was something else.

It was the air.

That quiet, fragile presence hovering with familiar subtlety.
It was knowing that, even hidden behind the curtain of falling water, Yi was there.
Waiting.
Or, at least, present enough that Yone’s absence had been felt.

Yone adjusted the flowers in a basket woven from the spiritual fibers of a wandering vine.
He didn’t like baskets.
They were inconvenient to carry.
But in this case, he made an exception.

The flowers he found had no scent.
They were made of light.
They shone like they were formed from stardust—without warmth. Like Yi, sometimes.

He left them near the stone where he always placed the tea.
It had become a nameless ritual: Yone would bring the tea, Yi would accept it in silence.
And both pretended not to know what it meant.

"I'm back," he said—not loudly, but enough for the sound to echo past the waterfall.

There was no immediate reply.
But Yone heard the familiar sound—the soft scrape of ceramic being moved.
Then, a sigh.
And a good silence.

A silence that meant longing.

He smiled to himself, turning slightly, letting his knees rest in the green grass.

His clothes were still damp—approaching the waterfall always left him partly wet, though reality bent more to desire than to natural law here: he could’ve stayed dry if he wanted.
But he didn’t mind.
The dampness was a reminder of presence.
To exist there was, in itself, a privilege.

It was routine.
Part of the ritual of seeing him.

On the other side, Yi was quiet.
As he always was in the first minutes.
As if his heart needed time to adjust to Yone’s presence.

And then came the voice.
Low. Deep. Guarded.

“You took your time.”

Yone blinked.

Yes.
He had.
But only minutes.
Time was strange, and maybe it hadn’t been that long. But for Yi… it was.
And that mattered.

“I brought flowers,” he answered, simply. "And I found a new valley. There were colors you’d like. I almost got lost.”

Yi didn’t respond right away. But then, the water curtain shifted.
A shadow moved.

And he stepped out.
For the first time since they started sitting together, Yi didn’t remain behind the waterfall.

Just a few steps.
Nothing grand.

The mask was still there, yes, as always.
But… he was close.

And it was as if the whole world paused so Yone could look.

The Akana wore his hair down. His mask was tilted, just enough for his eyes—sharp, captivating, slightly upturned—to be seen clearly.

Yone found himself breathless for a moment.

Again.

It wasn’t a beauty that screamed.
It was something subtle. Serene.
Like the memory of a beautiful song.
Like a longing that doesn’t ache—but warms.

“I brought herbs for the tea, too,” he murmured, nodding with his chin.

“I noticed,” Yi replied, sitting beside him, saying no more.

For a while, they just drank in silence.

Yone tried to pretend his heart wasn’t racing—not with Yi so near.
Not with that soft scent that lingered around him, nor the strands of hair that swayed every time he blew on his tea.

And then Yi spoke, still not looking at him:

“You make me forget some of the bad things.”

Yone turned slowly.

“Is that good?”

“It is,” Yi murmured, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s very good.”

And for a moment, they were simply there—two different worlds.
Kanmei and Akana.

Marked by pain, by broken stories, by memories that would never come back whole.
But sitting side by side.

Without full masks.
Without hiding places.

Yone looked at the flowers in the basket. Then at Yi.
He wanted to touch.
But he didn’t need to.
Presence was enough.

And he knew—with the certainty of someone who has died and returned—that he would come back a thousand times more.

For Yi.
Only for him.

Chapter Text

It took him a while to realize.

Yi had always been good at silencing his own feelings—smothering them beneath the constant tide of memories that insisted on returning, like thorns beneath the skin. He had always been the observer, the one who listens, the one who hides. The one who feels too much, and so refuses to feel anything new.

But what he felt for Yone… that was something else.

It was subtle, like the white petals the spirit left upon the smooth stone, even when the breeze could have carried them away.

It was constant, like the warm tea Yone always offered him again, even knowing Yi rarely drank it all.

It was light.

And yet, the sweetest weight he had ever known.

At first, Yi thought it was just comfort.

That quiet presence, full of patient silence, that asked for nothing, demanded nothing, pressed for nothing.

But then the days passed, and Yone began to stay.

Really stay.

Not just as a visitor—but as someone planting invisible roots among the stones, the verses, the shared glances.

Yi began to notice.

How the other wrote more. How every word seemed chosen with a care he didn’t deserve.

How the songs grew longer—softer. Made for him, though Yone never said so.

And Yi… began to truly listen.

Began to want to listen.

Began to tuck the folded poems between dried leaves in a corner of the cave where he slept (or the closest thing he had to sleep). Began to brew the tea before Yone even arrived, pretending he hadn’t. Began to grow accustomed. Began to line the hidden corners of his refuge with the flowers he was given.

And that was the problem.

In Yone’s absence—one of the rare times he didn’t come—the fears returned like a violent river bursting through a neglected dam.

The fear of being abandoned.

The fear of having imagined it all.

The fear of betrayal, of being used, of being forgotten.

That old voice whispered, steady as ever:

"It’s always like this. They always betray us."

He almost surrendered.

Almost.

But no.

Because there was another memory—fainter, but alive—the memory of the swordsman he once was.

Before the loss. Before the forgetting.

A Yi who wielded his blade with honor.

Who smiled.

Who dreamed.

That Yi steadied himself within, and for the first time in so long, did not yield to fear.

"What if he’s not like the others?"

The question emerged quietly, barely a whisper, but it echoed.

Because Yone wasn’t like the others.

Never had been.

He asked for nothing, demanded no promises. Never invaded his space. Just… stayed.

And Yi, at last, recognized what had been there all along.

Tenderness.

Affection.

Longing.

Not as a prison—but as a gentle breeze, dancing through the ruins of what he’d thought was dead inside him.

On the next visit, Yone arrived as always.

Flowers. Tea. Poems.

Quiet smiles.

And Yi—did not look away.

He met his eyes.

And within his chest, he acknowledged:

Yes, he had feelings for Yone.

Yes, he wanted more of this.

Yes, he was afraid—but he was also ready to try.

And even if he didn’t say it aloud, even if part of him still hid, Yi surrendered a little.

Just enough to make it real.

Chapter Text

In recent days, the silences between them had shifted again.

Before, silence had been casual companionship—a kind of polite distance, almost ritualistic. Now, it was home. The pause between one glance and another where no words needed to exist, but if they came, they’d be met with ease.

Yi realized it when he noticed he no longer hid behind the waterfall.

Not entirely.

Sometimes he sat beside Yone as if he already belonged to something. As if that space between moss and stone had become a corner of the world meant only for them.

That misty morning, they sat side by side, shoulders nearly touching. Tea cooled slowly beside a half-open poem. The air was damp from the breeze carrying the waterfall’s spray, and Yi’s hair clung faintly to his face. He didn’t mind—he was busy watching.

More precisely, watching the subtle, curved horns that rose from Yone’s head. Small, almost decorative, as if part of some deliberate aesthetic. But Yi knew better.

“Can I…?” he asked suddenly, without thinking. His hand hovered, almost touching, almost retreating. “Touch them?”

Yone looked at him. Not surprised, but… curious. Then he nodded with unassuming calm, as if to say: You can do anything.

Yi brushed his fingertips against them, delicate as if touching a secret.

The texture was smooth, nearly polished, though their shape reminded him of branches, bamboo shoots. Firm, but alive in a way he hadn’t expected. His fingers trailed lower, and Yone didn’t pull away. A faint smile surfaced—small, and true.

“It’s not… common, is it?” Yi murmured, studying him again. “Doesn’t seem like an aesthetic choice. Or genetics.”

Yone took a slow breath before answering, eyes on the lake.

“No. It’s a scar.”

Silence.

“I nearly became an Akana once. Right after my death.”

The words came simply. But Yi felt a chill down his spine.

“I was… consumed. By vengeance, rage, loss. The kind of mute fury that burns inside you without a sound.” He glanced at his own palm. “The azakana was already there. Feeding on what little remained of me. But… at the last moment, I fought it.”

Yi didn’t move. Only listened.

“I expelled it. Or part of it. But it left marks.” He gestured to the horns. “This is what remained. A reminder. Of how close I came to losing myself.”

Yi didn’t know what to say at first. Part of him felt a strange… envy, as if he wished he’d had that same strength, that same will to conquer himself.

But most of him felt admiration.

And something more.

An affection growing harder to deny.

“Do you… control it?” he asked softly. “I mean—is it still there?”

Yone smiled slightly. But the smile had sad edges.

“Sometimes, it slips. When I’m too frustrated. When I’m… angry.” His gaze drifted to Yi. “But yes. I control it. You needn’t worry.”

And Yi didn’t worry. Not really.

In truth, he felt glad—glad that Yone trusted him enough to share this. The raw, unadorned truth. For someone like Yi, that was a rare gift.

They lingered in quiet for a moment.

Yi let his fingers slide from the base of the horns to Yone’s temple, where the skin seemed almost ordinary. Warm. Soft.

“Thank you… for telling me,” he whispered.

Yone just nodded, as he always did when he didn’t want Yi to notice how deeply moved he was.

But Yi saw. In the curve of his smile, in the way his body relaxed beside him.

And… the happiness felt real. Tangible. Something Yi could reach for without it shattering him later.

It was possible, after all.

To feel all this and not lose himself.

It was possible to love, even in silence.

Even if they hadn’t yet spoken the word aloud, it was there— In the tips of Yi’s fingers, In the care Yone poured into every poem. And in the way they leaned closer, with touches light and curious, full of quiet affection.

Chapter Text

It was night in the world of the living.

Or almost night—that twilight hour when the sky dances between ending and beginning, and colors have no name. In the spirit world, this translated curiously: the air grew thicker, almost perfumed, as if memories of life hummed louder, and the ground whispered the names of those once loved and still remembered.

It was the Festival of Spiritual Blossoming. One of the rare moments when the veil between realms thinned, and tributes crossed over, weighted with memory and love. The living left offerings on makeshift altars—handmade lanterns, food, tiny poems on paper strips tied to tree branches.

Yone knew this time well. He remembered walking through such festivals when he was alive—in the high hills of his homeland, with Yasuo darting around like a whirlwind. But now… now he moved among the echoes.

"Are you sure it’s this way?" he whispered, crouched behind a row of floating lanterns.

The little spirit beside him—a mischievous creature with perked ears and eyes gleaming like fresh coins—giggled and pointed with its flute.

Yone sighed.

This wasn’t exactly the most honorable act for a warrior: "stealing" offerings from the living’s festival. But he chose with respect. No solemn altars, no named tributes. Only things left randomly—forgotten in corners or beside unmarked stones. It was a quiet, careful gathering. A kind of… repayment.

When he returned, he carried a small handwoven basket—one he’d been using for a while to collect little treasures for Yi. Inside: fruits that shimmered in colors the living world would never see, poetry books, wagashi, glowing stones plucked from a lake, rice cakes wrapped in rice paper, and those enchanted sticks that, when lit, sparked like slow-motion falling stars.

It was excessive.
Maybe ridiculous.

But it was for Yi.

And that made it justifiable.

The journey back was easy. Like coming home.

Yi was already waiting.

Not that they’d planned it—they rarely did. But the rhythm between them had become its own invisible clock. Yi always knew.

Yone crossed the rippling paths of the lake and, for the first time in many days, saw Yi outside the waterfall, seated on the stone that had become the "center" of their world. The glow of his spiritual aura touched his hair like molten silver, his mask’s delicate contours like a master’s brushstroke, the dimples at the corners of his lips deepening with that quiet smile.

Yone stopped. For a second, he just… looked.

"Beautiful," he thought.

Only then did he notice he was smiling too.

"I brought… something," he said, voice low, almost measured, as he approached and set the little basket down. "Nothing too refined. But it’s a special occasion, right?"

Yi arched a brow, curious, before peering inside. The enchanted sticks’ sparks danced in the wind. He didn’t speak at first, but when he lifted his gaze to Yone, there was a brightness there. Something between surprise and… gratitude.

"You stole these, didn’t you?"

Yone coughed.

"Recovered. With the help of a… considerably small accomplice."

Yi smiled. And that smile was like summer after a very long winter.

They sat close, as always. Legs nearly touching, shoulders brushing whenever one shifted. They ate slowly, as if time no longer mattered. Laughed. Talked about how some fruits tasted like nothing, or how the rice cake dissolved before they could bite it. Yet everything seemed… delicious.

Maybe it was the company.
Maybe it was what had been building between them for so long.

Yone lit the sticks and handed one to Yi. The sparks burned slow and bright, swirling with color. Yi watched in silence, the lights’ reflection in his eyes multiplying the world.

"Why all this?" Yi asked—not sharply, just… wanting to understand.

Yone hesitated, then answered:

"Because today is when the living honor the dead. And I… am someone who died."

A pause.

"But you made me feel alive again."

Yi stilled. The stick in his hand crackled, releasing more light.

The silence between them grew thick. Warm. Charged.

Yone moved. Slowly. Always respecting Yi’s space, but… closing the distance. The world seemed to hush. The sparks stopped crackling.

"If it’s too much," Yone whispered, "say so."

But Yi said nothing.

He only closed his eyes.

Yone leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t abrupt.

It was slow. Deep.

Their lips met as if they already knew the way. Yi sighed against Yone’s mouth, and Yone felt as if something inside him had finally found rest. Tenderness. Promise. Desire held back too long.

A whole kiss, made from months of silence.

Yone held him by the waist; Yi, by the neck. Fingers trembling against the curve of Yone’s left horn, a silent acknowledgment of all they carried—and all they still wanted.

One perk of not being alive: they didn’t need to pause for breath. It was just a reflex now, unnecessary.

It lasted.

Sweet. Slow. Addicting.

Sometimes, they nipped at each other’s lips. Then tangled together until they lay embraced in the grass.

When it ended, neither opened their eyes right away.

Yone pressed his forehead to Yi’s, exhaling against his skin. Then, voice slightly drunk on the feeling, murmured:

"That was… good."

Yi just smiled.

Small. Almost shy.

But real.

"Yeah. It was."

Chapter Text

There was no other kiss.
Not because they didn’t want to.
But because they didn’t need to.
Not yet.

What they had now was something subtler—an invisible dance between closeness and respectful distance. Yi still hesitated, and Yone, even with the memory of that kiss burning in his mouth like embers refusing to fade, waited. Carefully. Patiently. Because more than wanting Yi, he loved him. And love, too, meant knowing how to wait.

Their routine carried on with the same quiet magic as before, but now with a new layer: a kind of warmth lingering in the air whenever their gazes held too long, or when their fingers brushed passing tea from one hand to the other. A mutual shyness, yet comfortable. As if to say: I know. You know too. It’s alright.

Sometimes, Yone smiled to himself.

That night, Yi called for him.

It was simple. A phrase left hanging in the air, while the glow of sparks from their last meeting still seemed to live in their memories:

"There’s a place… safer. Behind the waterfall."

Yone didn’t ask questions.

Together, they passed through the liquid curtain and reached the hidden cavern. Inside, the sound of the water was muffled, turned into a constant whisper that filled the silence like a lullaby. The space was larger than Yone expected, wrapped in translucent crystals emitting soft light in hues of blue and violet. Flowers adorned the walls—flowers Yone had brought, and the realization made him exhale softly. The ceiling glowed with the bioluminescent roots, casting shades of indigo and lavender.

"I started coming here when… the world hurt too much. It was safe. And now… I thought maybe… it’d be good to share."

Yi spoke without looking directly at him.

Yone simply nodded. There was nothing to say. Everything had already been spoken—in glances, in silences, in the act of opening this space to him.

In some places, grass grew, circling a perfectly round pool of water where light shimmered from glowing algae.

They sat side by side on a smooth stone and a delicately woven blanket, the temperature pleasant from the constant humidity and the warmth of their nearness. The crystal light traced delicate shadows through Yi’s hair. He was beautiful, even with the mask.

"We don’t have to sleep here," Yi murmured, his tone almost ironic, as if remembering the unspoken laws of the spirit world.

"But rest isn’t just sleep," Yone replied, his voice a shade lower, velvety like evening wind. "And I… want to rest with you."

Silence settled between them.

Then, Yi lay down first. His hair spilled over the stone and the makeshift blanket. A sigh escaped his lips—not from pain, but… surrender. A small one.

Yone hesitated for a moment before lying beside him. He didn’t touch him right away. Instead, he watched, as if memorizing every detail—the curve of Yi’s cheek, the shape of his lips, the rhythm of his breathing. Yi shifted slightly, just enough for their knees to touch, and that was enough.

Yone didn’t hold back then.

Gently, he draped an arm over Yi’s waist, resting his hand there. Yi didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned a little more, until their foreheads were close, their noses nearly brushing, their feet tangled together—as if whispering: I’m here. Stay with me.

"I still wonder if I should push you away," Yi whispered, his voice thick with fear and tenderness. "I’m afraid I’ll wake up and all of this will be gone."

Yone didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his fingers trailed through Yi’s long hair, reaching the tips of his ears—the ones the swordsman sometimes pinched when he wanted to escape dark thoughts. With the same care, Yone gave a soft pinch—not to hurt, but as a tender caress. A silent reminder: Don’t lose yourself in those thoughts.

"If this were a dream, I wouldn’t let you wake. If it’s not, I’ll still be here."

Silence fell over them like a blessing.

This closeness wasn’t carnal. But it was intimate.

It was permission to exist together.

Minutes later, Yi fell asleep first—or something close to it, if spirits could even sleep. Yone stayed awake a little longer, watching the tension ease from his face.

The peace wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

Yone felt it.

Felt everything.

The weight of tenderness.
The melancholy living in Yi’s shoulders.
The love growing like roots in once-dry soil.
The restrained, respected, yet still-burning desire.

He rested his head closer to Yi’s, closed his eyes.

And there, among crystals and whispers, he allowed himself to dream too.

Not of the past.
Not of what was lost.

But of what they could build.

Here.
Now.

Together.

Chapter Text

For the first time.

Not that he had never wanted to.
But for the first time, Yi acted.

The world was still wrapped in the quiet hush of the hidden cavern when he rose. Yone remained there, asleep—or at least in the closest thing to sleep a spirit could manage. His breathing was steady, his face softened, his pale hair spilling over the stone like liquid silk, tinted blue in the dim light. There was a weight in Yi’s chest—something he had never known how to name, but now, he was beginning to understand: the desire to protect something precious.

And he wanted to give something in return.

Yi stepped out slowly, soundlessly, slipping through the waterfall’s veil into the world beyond. He didn’t go far. This was still the spirit realm—full of jagged edges and dangerous turns. But nearby, in a hidden clearing, he found what he was looking for.

Flowers.

They weren’t quite like mortal flowers. Some were translucent, others shifting hues depending on the light. Small. Fragile. And yet, enchanting. Yi gathered a few, his hands trembling at first, then steadying. The whole time, he thought of Yone.

Not about how Yone might react. Just… of him.

The way he smiled faintly at the corner of his lips when he was about to tease—never using words beneath what he deemed elegant.
The quiet voice that always said his name like a reverence.
The long, firm fingers that tangled with his own.

When he returned, Yone was awake—restless, searching the cavern, his expression caught between worry and relief as Yi emerged from the mist.

"Yi…" His voice was warmth and relief and something deeper. "You disappeared."

Yi smiled. Small, but real.

"I went to get something for you."

He held out the flowers—simple, tied with a strip of thin bark, woven in a clumsy braid. Yone took them carefully. Their fingers brushed in the exchange. And his gaze—ah, his gaze—

It was as if Yi had brought him the stars themselves.

That day, their words were sweeter, longer.
They didn’t speak of the past, not then. They spoke of now.

Of simple things—the sensation of water running over their feet, the taste of the pale fruit growing nearby (Yi found it bland, but Yone insisted it was better than it seemed). They even spoke of silly things—stories overheard from other spirits, the strange sounds mortals made when praying during festivals, how a tiny spirit had once stolen a grain of rice and curled up in it like a blanket.

And then… came the silence. Soft. Enveloping.

Before Yone could leave, Yi found his courage once more.

They stood near the cavern’s entrance, where light spilled in colored fragments. And there, Yi reached up. Slowly, carefully, he untied the cords of his mask.

Yone held his breath.

And then he saw it—his full face. Real. No shadows, no veil.

Sharp eyes, deep as wild blackberries.
The mark on his forehead, mirroring Yone’s own—a prism, but in wine-dark hues, gleaming like crystal in sunlight.
And on his cheeks, two faint scars at the edges, sharp as blades.

Yi lowered his gaze, almost retreating.

But Yone didn’t let him.

He pulled him close—firm, yet tender. No words. Only action, heavy with emotion, gratitude, love.

He kissed Yi’s temple with reverence.
His cheek with tenderness.
And then, his lips, with more affection than the world could hold.

There was no urgency.
It was just… whole.

Their second kiss wasn’t as explosive as the first. But it was deeper. The kiss of those who know. Who love. Who choose to love.

When they parted, Yi didn’t pull away.
He stayed there, eyes half-lidded, still surrendered, still his.

"You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen," Yone murmured, voice low, warm, sincere.

Yi didn’t answer with words.
But the faint smile, the press of his hand against Yone’s chest, the sigh that escaped him—

They said everything.

Chapter Text

It felt different.
Lighter.

The pain was still there, of course. Like embers lingering after the fire has died. There were still moments when the past dragged him down like thick mud, still memories he didn’t dare touch with bare hands. But now… there was something else, too.

Something new.
Something sweet.

Yone.

He stayed.

Even when Yi pushed him away with silence. Even when he didn’t respond, when he hesitated. Yone remained—with patience that never felt like pity, with a kindness that asked for nothing, with a tenderness so honest it almost hurt. And with a presence… that warmed him even without fire.

Yi still caught himself smiling. Sometimes without realizing. Sometimes just from remembering a soft-spoken word from Yone, an awkward gesture, a small gift left beside his cup or makeshift pillow.

And now…
Now he liked what he felt.

He liked how his chest tightened when he heard Yone play for him.
He liked the way his stomach fluttered, full of spiritual butterflies—if such things even existed—like when he was young and still alive.

He liked how his body warmed just at the nearness of him.
He liked how his name sounded different—beautiful—in Yone’s mouth.

His thoughts drifted back to that face.
A memory he revisited more often than he should.

The hair, of course, tinged faintly blue like light reflecting on water. Loosely styled, yet tousled at the crown, with rebellious strands—Yi adored those rebellious strands. The short horns, curved backward in shades of violet and deep blue. Like flowering branches. Like beautiful scars.

The marked, firm face. The sharp jawline. The intense eyes, shifting between blue and lilac with the light. And the voice… that deep, steady voice that, when it spoke his name, made his spine shiver and then melt.

The exposed chest, part of the attire Yone seemed unconcerned about adjusting. Skin as firm as stone yet warm. Yi had allowed himself to look. Repeatedly. And now… he allowed himself to want to keep looking.

It was affection. It was enchantment.
It was the quiet care he felt watching Yone sleep.
It was the urge to brew tea even when Yone said he didn’t need it.
It was the impulse to keep the cave clean, though time didn’t pass here as it did in the mortal world, and not a speck of dust existed.

It was love.

And Yi finally admitted it.

Not aloud. Not yet. But to himself.
In the depths of his chest, without fear.

Because even with the scars, even with the echoes of the past still poking at him, he now saw another possibility: healing.
And Yone… was the bridge.
Not salvation. Not a miracle.
But the outstretched hand. The one who waited, held firm, and walked beside him.

Yi sighed, fingers tracing one of the flowers he’d kept from the day before. Small, fragile, its petals glowing like milk.
Just like the feeling blooming inside him—delicate, yet unbreakable.

Yone was everything.

And Yi wanted this.

Chapter Text

The wind moved lazily that afternoon.

It brushed the leaves with a gentleness, as if the spirit world had—for a fleeting moment—slowed its breath, grown calmer.

Seated near the lake’s edge, where the ground was strewn with smooth stones and low-growing flowers glowing amber, they shared the quietude of those who no longer needed to run.

It was one of those conversations that started small.
About the questionable taste of fruits they’d found along the way.
About how one of the lesser spirits had tried to "steal" Yone’s sword sheath, likely mistaking it for a toy.

But soon, the talk drifted deeper.

As it always did between them.

"My father died too young. I don’t remember much of him…" Yone’s voice was rough but weightless, low like distant thunder. "When I was young, from the stories my mother told, he seemed invincible. A hero. A swordsman straight from the old tales."

Yi listened in silence, his head resting against the crook of his arm.

"Because of that legacy—that shadow, and the lack of a guardian in our family—I thought I had to be perfect. Strong. Silent. Flawless." Yone paused, staring at the cavern’s crystalline ceiling. "Yasuo, my younger brother… he was different. Lighter. Had this impulsive, infuriating way about him…" He smiled, tender. "But he was good. Good in a way I envied."

Yi lifted his head slightly, gaze quiet, curious.

"I was hard on him," Yone continued. "Demanded too much. Was blind when he needed me most. When we lost each other… it was my fault. And even after death, even after everything… he forgave me. Still irritates me, of course. But I love him. He was my anchor. Still is, in a way."

The confession hung in the air like the scent of crushed flowers. Yi swallowed dryly, eyes fixed on Yone’s serene expression. It was rare to see him like this—so open, so human.

"Do you miss it?" Yi asked, voice soft, as if the question itself were too fragile for the air.

Yone didn’t answer immediately.

For a while, he watched the water’s reflection, the way light bent across its surface.

"Yes," he said at last. "Sometimes, the small things. The sound of wood being chopped. The smell of fresh rice at home. And Yas… of course. He was loud. But it was the noise that made the house feel alive."

Yi listened silently. He saw how Yone held himself—ever composed, centered—but his voice carried a weight so slight it might’ve been imagined. Loss. Longing. The subtle ache carried for years, as if it had become part of his bones.

The Akana leaned in, let his fingers curl against Yone’s in a touch more deliberate, more intimate.
Yone turned and smiled.

"And you?"

The question came gently.
No pressure. Just the safe space to be who he was.

Yi hesitated.
But he’d learned that with Yone, he could allow himself this luxury.
The luxury of trust.

"As I said, I had a pet chicken…" he murmured, almost smiling, gaze drifting away. "Louder than any child in the village. Followed me everywhere. But she’d go silent when I meditated. Sometimes, she’d attack straw dummies my master sewed for practice."

Yone laughed—a warm, genuine sound.

"Worthy of a feathered warrior."

Yi smirked, but soon his eyes grew distant.

"My parents… were blacksmiths. Strict. But proud of their craft. My mother taught me to fight, my father recited poetry at night. My master always smelled of lilies. And I…" He swallowed hard. "I wanted them to know I tried. That I fought with honor. That even… even as what I became, there’s still something of me left here."

Yone reached out.
Not hurriedly, but with certainty.
His palm cradled Yi’s face with reverence.

"I see it in you," he said, with a sincerity that made Yi’s chest ache.

For a moment, they stayed like that. Silence wrapped around them like a blanket woven of understanding.

Then Yi moved.
Without words.
Without plan.
Just the pull of something that had grown slow but now pulsed fiercely.

He leaned in, and his lips met Yone’s with the softness of a falling petal. But it didn’t stop there.
This time, there was more.
A hint of daring.
A gesture of surrender.

An unexpected heat—urgent, delicious. A tongue teased, explored, claimed space.

Yone froze for a heartbeat.

Yi.

It was him who initiated. Him who unraveled Yone.
With a touch gentle yet unyielding.
With desire, without hesitation.
With tenderness and hunger intertwined.

It staggered Yone, left him dazed—yet he reciprocated without a second thought.
Their lips moved with growing certainty. A longer kiss, deeper… more intimate.

Fingers clutched at grass in a shuddering sigh. They parted only briefly, as if to sear the memory of this sight, this touch.

Threads of saliva still connected their mouths. Their breath was so warm it might’ve fogged the air, had cold existed here.

They looked at each other,
As if to confirm they were in the same boat.
Pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, fingers interlaced.

And again, they closed the distance.

Breath ghosting over already-damp lips. Tongues reuniting before their mouths even met, taunting in a playful dance. Tangling passionately—slow and fervent, seeking to deepen the kiss, to savor each other’s taste.

Yi had suspected he’d enjoy this, of course.
But never this much.

When they pulled apart, Yone was spellbound.

The sound of their lips separating was sinful enough to make both bite their own with a grin… far too mischievous.
Caught between satisfaction and insatiability.

Yi seemed calm, but a faint blush dusted his cheeks.
Yone, meanwhile, blinked slowly, as if struck—not by a blade, but by love.

He’d been past thirty in life. Maybe forty; he’d lost count.
Carried too many scars to be easily shaken.

Yet this—Yi—had shattered him.

Completely.

And in the most beautiful way possible.

"You’ve defeated me," Yone murmured, half-smiling, half-sighing.

"I didn’t realize we were fighting," Yi replied, his small smile speaking volumes.

Yone drew him close, pressed their foreheads together—still molten from the moment—and surrendered.

Chapter Text

In the days that followed, Yone couldn’t shake the thought of reuniting with Yasuo. The idea of introducing Yi to his brother wasn’t just a wish—it felt like a silent vow to his own heart. He knew what he felt. No more doubts, no more fears: he loved Yi. And he wanted the world—even this realm where spirits wandered without time or direction—to know it.

But the spirit realm was vast. Finding Yasuo wouldn’t be simple, and he refused to pull Yi from the safety of their sanctuary. So he resolved to plan carefully. Until then, there was now. There were stolen moments between stifled smiles and furtive kisses.

And in those interludes, they lost themselves in each other.

Sweetly.

Music grew more frequent. Poems bloomed on fallen leaves, on rescued flowers, in shared silences over tea and lingering glances. Sometimes, Yone played just to watch Yi’s eyelids flutter shut. Other times, Yi hummed wordlessly, as if returning verses without needing lyrics at all.

Dancing became a natural extension of it all.

"Will you dance with me?" Yi asked one "evening," as the cavern behind the waterfall hummed with rare vitality.

Yone smiled, surprised. "Only if you lead."

And Yi did.

Spiritual projections shimmered around them—soft lights sketching ethereal silhouettes that mirrored their bodies, echoing the fluidity of their steps, the clasp of their hands, the rhythm known only to those who love. Yi moved with lightness, near-floating, while Yone, though his projection flickered if he strained too long, matched him as best he could. Their bodies touched, parted, returned. Their eyes found each other through the haze of light.

It was comfort. It was softness.

Yone had always loved Yi’s hands—the calloused fingertips, the rough palms contrasting the smooth backs—but in the dance, their slide against his own felt sacred. The precision of a trained spirit, deft and sure. Experienced.

And Yone adored it.

Then, in that moment—feet and souls entwined—truth pulsed between them.

Yone pulled Yi close, fingers firm at the Akana’s waist, his gaze holding Yi’s as if the universe could fit in that single look.

"You…" His voice was a warm breath. "…are everything."

Yone, in life and death, had never known how to say "I love you." Not to family. Not to Yasuo. No one.It felt… unnatural.

Yet these words rang just as intimate. A heart laid bare, pride in the admission.

In time, he’d learn to yield.

But this was a start.

Silence followed—the kind that doesn’t weigh, but wraps. Yi didn’t answer with words. He only looked at Yone as if he’d known forever. And in that gaze lay reciprocity. Warmth. Surrender.

The dance ended in a kiss.
The kiss, in an embrace that lasted until the waterfall’s roar faded to silence.

Chapter Text

Yone was late in returning.

In the past—not so distant—this would have made Yi's heart clench, his fingers curl with anxiety, the shadows of old abandonments rising around him like a cruel chorus. But now... now it was different.

He could feel it. Deep within his fractured soul, between the scars the spirit world hadn't erased, there was a certainty. Small, serene, but solid as a rock in a river's current:

He will return.

And that was enough.

For the first time in so long—perhaps since leaving mortal life—Yi truly trusted. Not in spoken words or empty promises, but in Yone's constant presence, in his eyes, in the way he touched Yi's waterfall-damp hand or said his name with near-sacred tenderness.

While Yone was away, Yi took time to withdraw. He meditated. Sought within himself answers that had always eluded him. Forced himself to face his fears head-on—his traumas, the losses, the guilt. He cried quietly, near the roots of a spirit tree. But it wasn't a cry of pain. It was relief.

He was healing.

There was still much road ahead. He knew this. But now there was light—not the kind made of pure energy or floating crystals, but what bloomed from a simple thought: I am loved.

When Yone returned, carrying small artifacts "borrowed" with help from his little spirit accomplice, Yi smiled. Not from surprise, not from relief, but with a new warmth in his chest. Almost... welcoming. Like watching someone come home.

"I thought you'd try to be discreet this time," Yi remarked, his voice low and teasing.

Yone merely smiled, that half-smile of his, almost bashful. "I am discreet."

"Mm-hmm."

Their reunion was peaceful, almost mundane, but in that calm was something glorious. They talked a while, shared what Yone had brought—flavorless fruits, fragrant petals, more of those little sticks that lit up like tiny stars. Then, as the day began to fade into blue-tinged hues, Yi finally spoke:

"Today... I have plans too."

Yone raised an eyebrow, curious, but waited—respectful, as always. Yi then led him deeper into the cave behind the waterfall. The lights floating among the stones cast soft reflections on the damp floor, like a private constellation.

There, Yi had prepared something simple. A padding of leaves and flowers, gathered by his own hands and woven together as delicately as an Ionian tree-weaver might craft. A makeshift futon. Petals arranged with care, forming a circle. Comfort. Space. An invitation.

"It's for us," Yi said. "For... dreaming together. Even if spirits don't sleep."

Yone paused a moment, taking it in. Then he looked at Yi, eyes full of tenderness and something deeper, more solemn.

"You are the dream," he murmured.

They lay side by side, as if the whole world could fit in that flower-strewn space beneath the waterfall. Their fingers intertwined naturally. Yi rested his head against Yone's shoulder, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. And for the first time, he didn't think of running. Didn't expect pain. Or an end. Just... peace.

Yone kissed his temple. Yi smiled and kissed his hand in return.

Eternity could be kind.

The crystal light danced across their skin, painting soft shadows in their hidden shelter behind the falls. Outside, the world seemed asleep—but between them, everything bloomed in silence.

Their breaths grew deeper. Closer.

The kisses began as they always did: long, slow, almost meditative. At the corner of a cheek, along the jaw, at the curve where neck met shoulder. But there was something different. Something unfolding as naturally as a flower bud unafraid of morning.

Yi was the first to yield to the call. His hands slid reverently along Yone's robes, fingers finding small gaps in the fabric. His lips trailed tenderly down to Yone's collarbone, tracing it with feather-light kisses, barely more than breaths. He explored the shoulders, the partially exposed chest, then lower—his kisses reaching the abdomen with the delicacy of someone guarding a secret.

Yone felt the touches as if time had stopped, as if the spirit world itself had held its breath. He responded without hesitation, pulling Yi closer, undoing the ties of his clothes with calm hands, leaving them merely askew—unplanned, yet intimate.

His hands traveled along the Akana's back, broad fingers mapping contours with growing familiarity. His lips found the warm nape of Yi's neck, leaving slow, thoughtful kisses. They traveled down the spine, then back up to the neck, like a wave receding only to return stronger.

Their skin met with fewer barriers, their bodies entwined not in haste, but in certainty. Sighs escaped between pauses, heavy with restrained desire—as real as any bond they'd ever forged.

It wasn't the culmination. But it was the beginning. An invitation.

Their bodies didn't fully unite that night, but they offered themselves, permitted each other. Came to know one another.

They rested intertwined, their breathing synchronized, fingers still holding each other's skin. As if saying, without words: "I'm here. And I'm not leaving."

Chapter Text

The diffuse light filtered through the high canopies of trees that belonged to no mortal forest. Below, the waterfall maintained its constant melody, but up here, in the greater lake, a deep calm reigned.

Yone and Yi had ventured beyond the cave together for the first time. It was a simple idea—train a little, move their bodies, laugh at themselves. But when they stepped onto the still water’s surface, gliding effortlessly like shadows dancing beneath the mist, they realized this was more than just training. It was a reunion with who they had once been.

The water welcomed them, lightly wetting their ankles as they moved, yet without weight. Of course, in the spirit realm, a single thought could turn the intangible into solid ground. Still, neither of them seemed to want that. The dampness on their skin was welcome—it reminded them they were alive in some way, even here.

Yone made the first move. A clean, swift, sideways strike. Yi blocked it easily, a faint smile touching his lips. He countered with a spinning step, forcing Yone to retreat two paces, his feet gliding over the liquid surface. The sound of their blades meeting echoed with a sharp gleam, yet without aggression—as if the swords were conversing.

And then the true dance began.

Swift, fluid movements, nearly impossible to follow with the eye. Every strike from Yi was precision, every motion a reminder of who he had been—and still was. His sword seemed an extension of his body, his control absolute, flawless.

Yone, in turn, was strength and technique, steadfastness and presence. His strikes carried weight, even the quickest ones, and his posture was impeccable—like a guardian who would never abandon the gate he had sworn to protect.

They fought for long minutes. The water rippled in small waves beneath their feet. Crystals beneath the surface reflected their distorted silhouettes. With every clash, every parry, what grew was not tension—but admiration.

Yone stepped back at last, laughing softly, the exhaustion only an illusion.

"I forget sometimes," he said, spinning his blade between his fingers. "That you truly are a master swordsman."

Yi smiled in return, lowering his sword.

"Sometimes, I forget too."

And it was true. It had been so long since Yi had fought with such lightness, such relish. Perhaps since before death. Since before grief.

Yone watched him with a kind of silent reverence. There was something deeply poetic in the way Yi moved—like a calm river that, upon meeting a fall, sharpens into a blade. It wasn’t about brutality, but precision. A clean, honest cut.

There was beauty in it. Not just technique—there was history. A past of honor, battle, glory. Even after everything, even after becoming Akana… that remained.

And that, more than any words, spoke volumes about who Yi was.

And it left Yone breathless.

Because even after everything, even with the scars and pain, Yi was still that—honed beauty, memory in motion. A warrior whose elegance had outlasted his very soul.

When they finished, the swords were lowered calmly. Their breaths came heavy, yet they smiled. Yi adjusted his tied-back hair, a faint gleam in his eyes that Yone hadn’t known until now.

For a moment longer, Yone simply stood there, watching. His chest rising slowly, as if he wanted to sear that image into memory forever. And somehow, he knew he would.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Yone had left.

Not for long, and never without warning. He always left soft words behind—implied promises, and a lingering touch that whispered "I’ll return." Yi knew. And he trusted.

Alone in the cavern, wrapped in the quiet sound of water trickling from the inner spring, Yi sat cross-legged, eyes closed, mind open.

It was time.

The moment he’d always postponed. The one he’d pushed away with stifled cries, with training, with Yone’s comforting presence. But he knew it was still there—throbbing in the depths of his soul like a poorly sealed wound.

So he took a deep breath. Dragged the pain to the surface. And faced it.

The memory emerged like a heavy, suffocating mist.

And there he was.

Yi’s gaze fixed on that face. Young. Determined. A student, a disciple… a child of his soul.

He had loved him.

Loved him more than he could express, more than he’d thought possible. The boy who’d grown under his guidance, who’d first gripped a sword with trembling hands, who’d learned to meditate at his side, to slice water without breaking its flow. Who’d laughed, wept, fallen… and grown with him.

Yet that same boy had once looked Yi in the eyes and driven a blade through him.

The memory was sharp. The sound of the wind, the scent of blood. The pain—yes, the physical pain—but the true agony was another. It was betrayal.

The child he’d loved… had chosen to kill him.

And Yi… hadn’t struck back.

Never. Hadn’t raised his sword. Hadn’t resisted. Because deep down… he’d loved him too much to harm him. Because he’d been more a father than a master. Because, until the very end, he’d wanted to believe it wasn’t real. That he wouldn’t do it.

But he had.

And that became Yi’s deepest wound.

That was where everything ended.

Or where it all began.

In the silent cavern, Yi let his eyes open. The spring water reflected the crystalline ceiling, tiny lights shimmering like submerged stars. And Yone’s flowers… still remained there. Immortal. Unshaken.

Just like the feeling now blooming in his chest.

He wept. Silently. Not tears of anguish—but of release. A crack in the hardened stone he’d become. The first real light seeping through the fractures.

He wasn’t healed. Perhaps he never would be, entirely.

But he was on the path.

And that path… was safe.

Because even in the oldest, deepest pain, something new was growing—like those flowers Yone had scattered, each one a gentle promise: I won’t abandon you. I chose to stay.

And when Yone returned… Yi would be ready to tell him.

Not everything, perhaps. But one more piece.

Because now, he knew: the love he’d lost… didn’t erase the love he could still have.

Chapter Text

Yone returned in silence. As he always did.

He needed no announcements or heavy footsteps—his presence was felt in the air, in the almost imperceptible shift in temperature, in the subtle scent of flowers that now followed him as if they were part of him. And Yi, his eyes slightly red but now dry, lifted his face when he heard the soft sound of boots against the smooth stones at the cave’s entrance.

There was hesitation in his gaze, but also determination. A belated reflection of the courage that now stubbornly returned.

Yone said nothing. He only smiled gently. Placing the small basket he carried beside the spring—some orange-hued fruits that certainly didn’t exist in the world of the living, a little packet of sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaves, and what looked like a small cake—he settled without ceremony. Yi didn’t even glance at it.

That wasn’t what he needed right now.

He only said:

"I thought of him. My apprentice."

Yone sat beside him. Not too close, not too far. Just enough.

Yi stared ahead, as if speaking to his own reflection in the water.

"He was so young..." His fingers brushed the ground beside the spring. "Just a boy. More fear than certainty. And yet, he did what he did."

His voice didn’t crack. It was steady. But there were fractures in it. Like ancient marble—beautiful and fragile at once.

"And I... I could never bring myself to feel anger. Only... this pain that won’t leave."

Yone kept his silence. Not the uncomfortable kind—but the kind that was shelter.

Yi continued, softer now:

"I wonder if I could’ve saved him. If, instead of teaching him to win, I had taught him to... live. If... he would’ve chosen me, in the end."

The silence grew thicker, but not heavier. It was the kind of pause where the world holds its breath just so the moment can exist.

Then Yone moved his hand—just slightly—and rested it over Yi’s. Not squeezing. Not intruding. Just to be there.

"I don’t want answers," Yi murmured, as if reading his thoughts. "I just... needed to say it out loud."

"I know," Yone replied, his voice as quiet as the water flowing beside them.

He didn’t look at Yi directly. He knew Yi didn’t want to be seen as someone wounded. So he averted his eyes with respect, with care. Like someone cradling a sacred secret in their hands.

But the touch between them—Yi’s warm skin, Yone’s firm palm—was where all their communication took root.

There was no pity there. No "sympathy." Just... sharing.

Yone shifted then, slowly, adjusting his shoulders to lean lightly against Yi’s—close enough to offer refuge without seeming like protection.

"I don’t pity you, Yi," he said at last, his words both heavy and weightless. "I’m proud of you."

For the first time, Yi seemed to shrink—but not from pain. From relief.

And when he rested his head on Yone’s shoulder, it was like letting the weight of a thousand blades slip from his chest.

The ‘night’ came slowly, the spirit realm growing drowsy. They had been there for hours, and neither had measured the time.

But Yi had spoken a piece of his truth. And Yone had listened with the right kind of silence.

This was how something worth keeping was built.

This was how, together, they began to live.

Chapter Text

The journey was silent.

Yi walked beside Yone, their steps barely grazing the perpetual mist that blanketed the spirit realm’s ground. It was like treading on veils—something serene about it, as if the earth didn’t bind them but guided them gently. Neither knew exactly how long they’d been following that path. But they weren’t in a hurry.

They were holding hands.

The first time they’d sustained a touch like this.

It was a simple gesture, almost innocent, yet extraordinarily intimate for the two of them. They were not creatures of touch—not in life, nor in death. But this—this loose, yet firm intertwining of fingers—was more. It was acceptance. Companionship. A tender reminder that they weren’t alone. Not anymore.

The mist curled around them like a living shroud, contouring their bodies, dancing with their presence. There was no cold, no heat. What warmed them came from within—that rare sensation of safety, of hope. Of love. Even if neither of them said the word often.

"We’re here," Yone murmured.

Before them, the forest opened into a small, suspended plateau where twisted branches formed a natural canopy. At its center, smooth stones encircled a lone tree with translucent leaves that shimmered amber. Above, the sky—or what passed for sky in this realm—seemed closer than ever. Stars flickered intensely, as if each whispered a long-forgotten name.

Yi looked around, mesmerized, and removed the mask he still wore outside the cave. For him, it was an act of trust. Vulnerability. And in this place, he felt he could.

Yone watched in silence, then sat on the ground, pulling a slightly crumpled bundle from the basket. Inside lay a modest meal he and the mischievous spirit had managed to gather: Ionian rice, deftly stolen buns, baozi, paper lanterns in muted lilac.

"It’s not much," he admitted, "but I thought we deserved... a moment."

Yi smiled—the kind that started in his eyes before reaching his lips. He sat beside Yone—not across, not apart. Beside. Shoulders close. Silences compatible.

"Do you always find places like this?" he asked, picking up a baozi and examining its soft glow under his fingers.

"Only when I’m looking for something for you," Yone replied without thinking, and Yi lowered his gaze, hiding a blush that, in this world without warmth, burned from within.

As time passed, a deeper shade of blue draped the plateau like a silver mantle. The lights around them pulsed with breath. Yone lit the paper lanterns, nestling them carefully into the damp soil. Each bloomed slowly, scattering ember-bright flecks like fireflies.

"They remind me of you," Yone said, watching the lights. "Subtle. Persistent. Beautiful without effort."

Yi wanted to reply, but his throat tightened. So he simply leaned closer, his head resting lightly against Yone’s shoulder. Not habit, not custom. But want. And now, courage.

Silence wrapped around them like a blessing—until Yone, slowly, slid his hand back into Yi’s, fingers lacing once more. Yi looked at him. There was something new in his gaze: openness. Vulnerability. Hunger—not of the body, but of presence.

Yone said nothing. He only turned, deliberate, bringing his face closer. Yi didn’t pull away. Their eyes closed together.

The kiss unfolded like everything between them: unhurried. Long, calm, savoring. Laden with everything unspoken.

It was the kind of kiss that warmed a world without temperature. That turned mist to cotton.

For the first time, Yone truly felt—this was living.

Even in death.

And Yi—eyes still shut, fingers still entwined—felt something even rarer: that happiness wasn’t an illusion.

The stars above burned brighter.

And, foolishly, Yi thought of naming them.

Ah… they were getting stickier now.

Terrible for his swordsman’s image, but fine—they liked it.

Chapter Text

The wind blew differently that nameless morning.

It wasn’t colder. Wasn’t heavier. It was… attentive.

As if the Spirit Realm, in its silent way of speaking, were whispering something Yone couldn’t yet translate.

He sat by the water’s edge. The eternal flowers still floated, as always; the waterfall’s murmur flowed with the same unbroken sweetness—and yet, something in his body refused to settle into the present.

A quiet restlessness. Unmistakable.

It didn’t come from his mind. It came from his soul.

Like an unresolved note lingering in the air. Like a poem recited up to a certain line… then stopping.

Yone knew this feeling.

It was rare. Like the presence of someone loved before their name is even known.

And now, it returned.

Echoed in his chest with the precision of an old name.

Yasuo.

He rose slowly.

Shook out the hem of his robes, gathered his instrument, his swords, the notebooks of poetry—not in haste, but in care. Like someone packing up a home, even knowing they’ll return.

His eyes traced the path Yi usually took—but they didn’t need to. He already knew where to find him.

Inside the cavern, bathed in the violet half-light of bioluminescent roots, Yi sat in lotus position, meditating. Not deep. He never sank all the way. But he was at peace.

And Yone hesitated.

For a moment, he wanted to ignore the call. Wanted to return to that space between flowers and silence.

But the echo persisted. Not as urgency. As truth.

He stepped forward with steps meant to go unheard. Still, Yi lifted his gaze.

Calm. A little drowsy. But attentive.

He read the man’s expression with effortless precision.

"There’s something out there, isn’t there?" he asked, before Yone could speak.

Yone smiled and knelt before him. Brushed his fingertips over the fold of the blanket draped across Yi’s lap, tugging it gently higher. The gesture said little, but it was care.

"I don’t know what it is… only that I need to listen better."

Yi tilted his head.

"Will it take long?"

No resentment in his voice. Just the honesty of someone who’d learned that presence doesn’t require possession.

Yone shook his head, slow.

"Not too long. You know—"

"I know," Yi interrupted, softer. "I’ll know when you’re coming back."

A pause settled between them, but it wasn’t discomfort. It was… solemn.

Yone drew a small, folded paper from his inner pocket. Held it out, pressing it between Yi’s fingers.

"Just a verse. So it won’t be complete silence."

Yi accepted it with a nod, studying the closed fold as if it pulsed.

"I’ll keep it."

The next touch was quiet—hands fitting together.

Yone leaned in.

The kiss was lingering.

Slow. Warm. Savoring.

As if every second against Yi’s lips was a prayer before departure.

A mouth resting against his as if to say, voiceless: I’ll return, because I choose to.

When they parted, Yi murmured:

"May the sound carry you only where it’s good."

And Yone smiled again. Let his fingers rest against Yi’s nape, foreheads touching for one long moment.

"I’ll be back soon," he whispered.

"I know."

Chapter Text

Yone's thoughts were always occupied with Yi, naturally.

Did he miss him? Absolutely. But he kept moving forward.

Every now and then, kissing one of the petals he had brought from home—delicate, soft. Taken with reverence after it had landed in Yi’s hair.

The path was long.

The sound was always ahead.

Not as a trail, but as a delicate omen, dancing between the veils of the spirit world. An incomplete melody—part flute, part wind, part memory. Yone didn’t hear it with his ears. He felt it. In every bend of the road, in every leaf that turned on its own.

It was as if the world was telling him: Go on. He is near.

And so he went.

Not out of anxiety, but out of trust.
The kind of silent faith that only blooms when you’ve loved someone so long that their name becomes a gesture, and the gesture becomes a song.

The Spirit Realm unfolded before him in its ever-inscrutable beauty. Even the dark places were beautiful. There was no ugliness there—only sorrow. And even sorrow shimmered along certain edges.

The Dream Grove was the first to appear.

Spiraled trunks, foliage like lace veils. The ground, covered in phosphorescent pollen, seemed to breathe in time.

And leaping between the branches, a faun-like spirit.
Pale hair like most spirits, curious eyes, laughter that chimed like distant bells.
She didn’t speak to Yone, but she waved. As if to say: Don’t forget to dream, even when chasing the past.
Yone nodded.

And the sound called him again.
The incomplete melody hummed like a longing that hadn’t yet found its shape.
He crossed suspended fields, stairways made of thick clouds, and finally reached the Lake of Memories.

The water there was not water.
It was liquid glass.
It reflected not the sky, but what lay at the bottom of the soul of whoever gazed into it.

On the opposite shore, a Kanmei.
Face covered by a smooth mask.

They painted without brushes—their hands touched the air, and images formed on the lake like living windows:
A hug never given, a farewell that lasted too long, a glance lost before finding an answer.

Yone did not interrupt.
But he felt his own memory bubbling to the surface.
Yi, in the exact moment he revealed his name.
The water glimmered for a second.
Then stilled again.

The music called once more.
Deeper now.
More resonant.
And it led him to the Gates.

No one knew where the Gates were, and yet, everyone recognized them.

Sometimes they appeared in forests. Other times, over lakes. Sometimes, in places they shouldn’t fit.
Yone saw them form before him—immense. Embedded in the void. Made of bone and spiritual obsidian. Adorned with runes in forgotten tongues, wrapped in chains that trembled without wind.

They did not creak. They did not ask.
They simply existed.

The Gates of the Ancient Demon.
Most Kanmei turned away.
Most Akana… had already fallen through them.
The landing place of all hearts too wounded to resist.

Yone had been there once. A long time ago.

He felt the darkness whisper through the cracks. Not as a threat, but as a familiar greeting. The rage he had once nourished. The pain he wouldn’t let go. The fury that had almost become home.

But now, he was not the same.
Neither the one who was lost.
Nor the one who searched.

He did not stray from the path.

The sound began again.
With a different note.
Closer.
Clearer.

Yasuo was near.

Chapter Text

The path had narrowed.

It was like walking inside an echo—everything around resonated in familiar tones, recalling old footsteps, muffled arguments, poorly hidden laughter.

The incomplete melody no longer came from afar. It was here. In the air. In the ground. In his chest.
Yone knew before he saw.

And then, he saw him.

His hair tied back, unruly, messy as always. A pale shadow swaying with the lazy wind of that corner of the world. His back slightly hunched, like someone resting more from lack of direction than true repose.

His sword planted beside him, loyal and silent.

And that expression—ah, that expression, cynical and sincere all at once, as if he had been waiting to be found… but would never admit it.

Yasuo.

He was sitting on a thick, twisted root floating between two fragments of land, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded like someone pretending not to notice the approaching presence—but noticing.

Always noticing.

Yone stopped. Didn’t speak.
Just watched him for a while.

Yasuo was the first to smile.
Not a wide smile—it didn’t need to be.
It was brotherly. Subtle. Full of unspoken layers.
Like a gesture that said: "Took you long enough."

Yone stepped closer and sat beside him without asking for space.
He knew the spot had always been his.

"Knew it was you," Yasuo murmured, staring into the emptiness ahead. "No one else carries such a loud silence."

Yone smiled. Small. With his eyes.

"And you still say too much with half a sentence."

Yasuo shrugged, the same as ever.

"Solitude sharpens the tongue."

Silence came, then. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a pause of recognition. Of reunion. Of everything that didn’t need revisiting now—but that both knew was there, lurking between memories.

"Missed you," Yone said at last. Quiet. Honest. No frills.

Yasuo only nodded in response, like he didn’t need to hear more.
But there was something in his eyes, something almost damp, that confessed everything.

"And you, little one… are you alright?" Yone asked, glancing sideways.

"You know I hate that nickname. And I’m… here," Yasuo replied, unhurried. "Not always the same as being alright. But… it’s a start."

His gaze wandered. Searched for something among the petals drifting around them.

"You seem calmer than last time. No angry silence. Almost like a decent older brother."

Yone sighed and smiled—Of course, there was the talkative side. He knew it wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

"Well, if you really want to know. My heart is racing. Or maybe… at peace."

Yasuo looked at him. Really looked.
And then, laughed.

"Finally. And here I thought I’d die twice without ever seeing you in love."

"Almost happened," Yone replied, with that sharp tranquility only he had. "But then… I found a treasure."

"Oh, sure, sure. Hope this treasure’s shinier than copper. Can’t be the only brother with good taste."

The remark made Yone roll his eyes, muttering.

"Yasuo."

"I’m happy for you," he said, sincere. "Even if I don’t quite know how to handle it yet."

A brief silence. Yone smiled with more affection. Then simply added, lighter:

"He’s… the most complete silence I’ve ever known. And the most beautiful."

Yasuo smirked. A hint of teasing, of course—younger brother’s habit. Couldn’t resist a slight eye-roll. Yone and his poetic turns.

Time passed slowly.
Not like something slipping away, but like something settling—between the two brothers, between the memories surrounding them.

They spoke little. But as always, it was enough.

They talked of wind. Of blades. Of the weight of carrying one’s name and the relief of sometimes letting it rest on the ground.

Yasuo told a story about a spirit fox that tricked him three times in a row—"and still was too pretty to stay mad at." Yone laughed with his eyes. And that was enough for Yasuo to know he was okay.

Neither mentioned Yi. Neither needed to.

But when the silence had stretched like a comfortable cloak, Yone spoke. Without warning. Without hurry. Like someone watching water and tossing a stone just to see the ripples.

"I wish you could meet him."

Yasuo, who’d been chewing on a dry leaf stem, paused.

"Yeah?"

Yone didn’t look directly at him. His gaze stayed fixed on some point between light and mist.

"Not out of obligation," he murmured. "But… it would matter. To me."

Yasuo didn’t answer right away. Let the leaf slip from his fingers and watched it drift down.

"Alright," he said, simple. No ceremony. But his voice had weight. "We’re family. And… you don’t say things like that for no reason."

Yone nodded once. That was all he needed.

"He… doesn’t talk much either?" Yasuo ventured, with a sideways grin.

The older brother took a deep breath, as if the question pierced him and warmed him all at once.

"He speaks with his eyes. And with silence. Like the lake."

"You’re getting too poetic."

"Maybe."

"But it’s fine…" Yasuo concluded, standing and stretching his shoulders. "Poetic, yeah. But happy. I can tell."

Yone rose too, with that restrained way of his, like someone who doesn’t let much show—but lets just enough.

"So when I go…" Yasuo started, dusting off his hands, "do I bring something? A gift? A charm? A dowry?"

Yone finally looked at him, straight on. And, with a faint quirk of his lips, answered:

"Just be yourself. That’s enough."

Yasuo smiled, wide this time. And for a moment, he looked young again.

"Great. But c’mon, tell me, have you two already…?"

The question hung in the air, too light to seem malicious, but too loaded to be innocent.

"Yasuo."

"Why do you always fight with me?"

"You always ask stupid questions."

"Ugh, the pleasures of life—which I’m pretty sure you’ve neglected for thirty years—aren’t stupid. Y’know, I used to have the whole Heiyan poetry collection on ‘The Body—’

"I know. You always had terrible taste in poems."

Yasuo feigned offense, clutching his chest like he’d been struck.

"Terrible taste? Oh, please. And to think you once borrowed my volume on ‘The Charms of Summer and Dew-Kissed Smiles’…

Yone clicked his tongue softly. A subtle warning. But there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed him—he remembered. And it wasn’t exactly a protest.

"For laughs," he said flatly.

"Oh, sure, sure. Laughs. You, who read even the dedications with a furrowed brow like you were deciphering prophecy." Yasuo waved his hands dramatically, mimicking his brother. "‘To my autumn lover, who danced like the wind…’ he recited, then laughed loud. "An underrated masterpiece, if I may say."

"You may not."

"Good thing I’ve ignored permissions since forever."

Yone crossed his arms, gaze lost again in the mist around them, but there was peace there. Acceptance.

Yasuo huffed, but the smile stayed, alive. One of those that escapes even when the chest resists.

"Will he like me?" he asked suddenly. No warning. No irony.

Yone stopped.
Glanced sideways, his gaze half-hidden under pale strands of hair. As always, he didn’t answer right away. But when he spoke, it was in that softer tone Yasuo knew well.

"He’ll understand you. That’s already liking, in his way."

The younger brother went quiet. Scratched his neck, uneasy for reasons he wouldn’t name. He’d grown up under the shadow of broken promises, and yet… something about Yone, in that moment, made everything seem possible.

"If he’s as quiet as you, we’ll need a third sibling just to fill the silence."

"You’ll understand each other without saying much," Yone said, not smiling, but with too much tenderness in his eyes.

"So he really is like you, huh?" Yasuo teased, slipping back into his usual tone. "I’ll bring something, though. Maybe a gift. Maybe a bottle of sake."

"Maybe some common sense."

"Never had that in my collection."

They walked a little farther. The ground shifted in small fragments, but their steps were steady. Yasuo paused when a pale blue petal-flower hovered before him, suspended by an invisible thread.

"What if he doesn’t like me?"

This time, the question wasn’t a joke.

Yone was silent for a moment. Then, with a calm that was his alone:

"If he doesn’t… he’ll still try. For me."

Yasuo lowered his eyes. The flower brushed his shoulder before floating away. He nodded. Just once.

"Alright. Then… I’ll try too."

They didn’t need to say more.

In that space between brothers—between memories and new beginnings—there was something that never changed: the will to walk side by side. Even after so many roads.

Chapter Text

The trail wound between gentle hills as if the Spirit Realm itself was drawing the path in real time. There was no rush—just the soft sound of footsteps among the leaves and the easy conversation stretching lazily through the air like a good-humored breeze.

Yasuo was talking.

And talking a lot.

Yone couldn’t remember the last time his brother had so much to say—and so little to hide.

Though Yasuo had always been like that by nature.

Between one curve and another, between the shadow of a bent bamboo grove and a bridge of swaying roots, Yasuo told disjointed stories. Small, silly ones, full of exaggerated expressions and gestures that nearly knocked lesser spirits off the path.

"...And then she disappeared again! Poof! Like smoke. Or perfume." Yasuo gestured wildly, and a golden leaf flew straight into his face. "I don’t even know if she’s real or just some very well-staged mass hallucination."

Yone arched an eyebrow, his gaze fixed ahead, but the corner of his mouth threatening to smile.

"The ‘she’ is the fox?"

"The Fox. With a capital F." Yasuo corrected, dramatic. "Nine tails, a dangerous smile, and an unfair talent for making me look like an idiot."

Yone didn’t answer right away. He observed.

Not just the landscape—but his brother.

The way he walked lighter, as if the old weight on his shoulders had eased a little. As if their silent reconciliation earlier had made room for something more: hope.

The word felt strange inside him. But good.

"And you?" Yasuo cut through the silence, leaning slightly. "Are you gonna make me walk all the way to wherever this ‘place’ of yours is hidden without telling me where it is?"

Yone didn’t answer immediately. He just looked up at the sky—tinged with a purple that wasn’t from sunset, but from permanence. Then he looked ahead. The path widened, and between the white, mist-like trees, the glow of familiar flowers was already visible.

"Home," he said at last, simply. "Where I chose to stop."

Yasuo fell silent for a moment.

"He’s gonna like meeting me now, right? Not too early?" he asked, lowering his voice slightly. "Or is he gonna want to stab me out of pure precaution?"

Yone smiled. One of those smiles that came from deep within, slow and true.

"Yi doesn’t stab on impulse. Only if there’s a reason."

"Great." Yasuo snapped his fingers. "Now I’m nervous. And you know I’m adorable."

The path curved one last time. And there, between silver and green-tinged trees, the lake appeared.

The steady waterfall.

The same lake where flowers floated in silence.

Where time flowed without hurry.

Where a stone still held two cups, side by side.

Yone stopped.

His heart, forged of steel and memory, beat once, harder.

Yasuo stopped beside him. And for a second, said nothing. Just looked.

Then let out a low whistle.

"Well… now I get why you stopped wandering."

Yone closed his eyes for a moment. Breathed in the scent of the flowers. The sound of the waterfall came from afar, like an old friend smiling.

"Yes," he murmured. "Here, things bloom slowly. But they bloom true."

They didn’t move forward.

Not yet.

But home was in sight.

And Yi… too.

Chapter Text

It took a while.

Long enough for time to lose its shape, for days to blur into nights.

Yi couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so much time alone.

But it was fine.

It didn’t bother him. Though there was longing.

Solitude was space.

And he allowed himself to fill it.

With meditation.

With reflection.

With confrontations he’d once put off.

Every fallen petal around the lake seemed like a memory—and at the same time, a chance to heal it.

Little by little, he gathered the shards of himself, unhurried. Like someone rebuilding an ancient vase not to make it perfect again, but so it could hold the present with dignity.

When the memories weighed too heavily—when the voice of a traitorous apprentice echoed louder than the Spirit Realm allowed—Yi withdrew into the nest he’d built for himself and Yone.

Wrapped in the gifts he’d received—Yone’s verses, the symbols of constant care—he let himself be soothed.

At last, he accepted that it hadn’t been his fault.

He hadn’t failed.

Though a stubborn part of him still whispered that maybe, just maybe, he’d said something wrong. Done something wrong. That his apprentice had only acted as he did because he was flawed.

But… that wasn’t quite true.

He knew it. And now, he was learning to believe it.

He still trained every day.

But the weight of the sword was different now.

No longer the steel of regret.

No longer the blade of self-punishment.

He moved as he had in the old days—with lightness.

With fluidity.

With the grace of one who knew how to dance between strikes and winds.

It was almost like being alive again.

And then came the feeling.

That subtle pull in his chest.

Not pain.

Familiarity.

Yone.

Yi knew before he saw him.

He knew by the way the world’s breath seemed to align.

By the way the air grew calmer. The way the lake smoothed, the way the silence became… comfortable.

He sat at the lake’s edge.

Legs crossed, hands resting on his thighs.

His hair tied with ribbons. The mask, of course, still in place.

He waited.

Without anxiety.

Without expectation.

Just… waited.

And when Yone appeared among the petals, Yi smiled.

He didn’t run.

He didn’t embrace him right away.

And neither did Yone.

Even though the longing was deeply sweet.

They simply looked at each other—like two souls who knew exactly where to stop, even after walking so far. And then they stepped closer.

"I’m back," Yone said, his voice serene.

"Welcome back," Yi answered.

And that was all.

Or all that needed to be said.

The embrace came after.

Slow.

Sweet.

Silent.

Arms that already knew each other’s shape.

Bodies fitting together like rediscovered pieces.

And then, the kiss.

Not the first.

Not the last.

Deep. Lingering.

Yi sighed. He’d truly missed this. Tangled his fingers in the short hair of Yone’s undercut. Then slid his tongue into Yone’s mouth.

Felt long fingers gliding over his hip and neck.

Pulling him in.

Loving him.

And when their lips finally parted—still touching faintly, as if an invisible thread insisted on binding them—Yi felt it.

Something.

A slight shift in the air.

A third rhythm, quiet but present.

He turned his head slowly, still leaning against Yone’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded.

And saw.

A silhouette.

Standing at the lake’s edge.

Arms crossed, one eyebrow arched, hair slightly tousled by the spirit wind.

Yone let out a muffled sigh.

Yi narrowed his eyes.

"...A guest?" he murmured.

The visitor smirked, as if he knew he’d interrupted something sacred—and was amused by it.

Chapter Text

The silence didn’t break.

It changed shape.

The presence of the new visitor didn’t shatter it—only molded it, like wind reshaping the surface of a lake.
Yi remained in the same position, but his eyes were alert, still damp from the kiss.

His body still remembered Yone’s warmth, and his soul still wanted more of him, as if their time apart was a freshly stitched wound.

For a moment, no one moved.

He assessed him. Relaxed posture, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword and the other on his belt, a gaze caught between curiosity and playfulness. And yet, something in the air vibrated differently.

Yasuo.

Yi knew without being told.
Not from description—Yone rarely spoke of the past in enough detail to paint a picture.
But from essence.
From the way his presence made Yone seem a little more… brotherly.

Yasuo was everything he wasn’t:
Unrestrained.
Expressive.

Just slightly insolent.

He carried the smile of someone who had erred so much he’d forgotten to blame himself, now using charm as armor.

"So…" Yasuo began, shattering the tension like someone diving headfirst into unknown waters, "…you’re the spirit who made my brother stop walking in circles."

Yi blinked, slowly.

Yone let out a short sigh, already halfway resigned.

"Yasuo…" he murmured, almost apologizing in advance.

But Yi wasn’t offended.
In fact… he was amused. A little.

"Yes," he replied, with the calm of someone who knew exactly what weight he carried on his shoulders. "It’s me."

The answer came steady, without arrogance, but with that contained elegance only Yi could wield.

Yasuo grinned wider.

Not in mockery, but in genuine admiration.

"Fair," he said. "You’re exactly the kind of enigma I imagined Yone would fall for."

Yone crossed his arms and turned his face slightly, stifling a laugh caught between his teeth.

The contrast between them unfolded like a painting made of opposing colors.

Yasuo—made of wind and words, of sarcasm and easy laughter, his hair tousled as if he’d never had time to fix it.
Yone—all order and restraint, as if every strand of hair had been placed by intention and honor.

"You seem… much more alive than I imagined," Yasuo remarked, studying Yi with unexpected sincerity.

"I suppose it’s because I chose to live," Yi answered, without arrogance.

Yasuo nodded.

"Yeah. That’s good. I like that."

Yone crossed his arms, sighing with silent theatricality.

"You don’t have to flirt with my beloved on the first day, Yasuo."

The sound of that word—it was the first time Yi had heard it. My beloved.

A subtle smile played at the corner of his lips, forming faint dimples. He loved hearing that.

"I’m not flirting. I’m studying," the swordsman said with a smirk. "He’s too calm. It intrigues me."

"And you’re too loud," Yi shot back, without malice.

There was a second of light tension, punctuated by the breeze carrying petals between the three of them.

Yasuo blew them aside.

"Yeah. I think we’ll get along."

Yone just shook his head.
Those two were opposites.

Yone, in the middle, was the thread stitching them together with firmness and grace.

"I’ll make tea," Yone said at last, moving slowly, as if sketching the scene with his footsteps.

Chapter Text

Yasuo stayed.

He didn’t announce it, didn’t ask, didn’t explain.
He just… stayed.
Like someone sitting beneath the shade of a tree and deciding that, for now, it’s a good place to breathe.

Yone didn’t complain.
Yi didn’t approve.
But he didn’t kick him out either.

It was strange at first.

That constant sound—Yasuo’s voice filling the spaces around the lake like wind through a narrow corridor. He talked a lot. About everything.

About forgotten weapons.
About a mysterious fox that might’ve been a goddess or just a nightmare too beautiful to be real.
About food, clothes, music, the weather.
About Yone, sometimes—unintentionally, but intentionally.
And about himself—like someone trying to rediscover who he was with every word.

Yi listened. Or tried to.
Most of the time, he just nodded silently, eyes half-lidded like someone meditating—or waiting for the verbal storm to pass on its own.

Sometimes, Yasuo noticed.

"Ignoring me?"

"I’m practicing contemplative listening," Yi would reply.

"Is that a fancy way of saying, ‘I didn’t understand a thing, but don’t repeat it’?"

Yi would bite into a rice cake in silence, a smile too faint to be seen.

That was answer enough.

The rice cakes were a curious but routine detail:

They appeared daily, in small baskets wrapped in fragrant leaves. The same ones Yone shamelessly stole with the help of his tiny accomplice—that round-eyed spirit with paws too quick to catch.

Yone stopped making excuses for it. He just handed them over with a smile that said, Don’t ask.

And Yi stopped pretending he wasn’t amused.
He accepted.
Chewed.
And observed.

Yone and Yasuo trained together.
It was beautiful.
Like watching two different dances trying to share the same rhythm.
Yone—precise. Fluid. Discreet as an old promise.
Yasuo—reckless. Instinctive. Fast as a daring thought.

The playful rivalry between them was obvious.
Cuts in the air, taunts in their glances, sharp-edged banter.
But there was respect.
In the distance they kept.
In the way they held back their strikes at the last second.
In the faint smiles that followed every well-matched exchange.

Yi watched. Always with a rice cake in hand.
Eyes half-lidded—not from boredom, but focus.

Yasuo seemed to know he was being observed.
Sometimes, he exaggerated his movements, spun more than necessary, added an unnecessary flourish—then glanced sideways, waiting for a reaction.
Yi rarely gave one.

But occasionally, when Yasuo did something truly impressive, Yi let slip a soft murmur:

"Hm."

Yasuo would grin as if he’d won a duel.

At night, sometimes, the three of them talked.
Yone between them, like a living bridge.
Yi, quieter, but present.
Yasuo, louder, but sincere.

There were moments when Yi felt that understanding Yasuo was like trying to hold mist in his hands.
A man of layers.
Complicated.
Tense beneath the surface, but always masked by laughter.
As rebellious as he was respectful.
As bold as he was… needy?

Yes.
Yi noticed.

Yasuo wanted to be seen.
Wanted his brother to notice him—and Yi too.
Not out of pride, but fear of being cast aside again.

Yi understood.
He didn’t say it aloud, but he understood.

"He likes you," Yone remarked one night, as Yi rested his head against his shoulder, eyes nearly closed, the sound of the waterfall lulling them.

"Am I likable?" Yi asked, flatly, but with a touch of irony.

Yone smiled into his hair.

"You’re impossible. But he sees what I see."

"What do you see?"

Yone didn’t answer right away.

But his fingers found Yi’s and intertwined gently.

"Everything that bloomed in you. Even after winter."

Yi didn’t reply.
But he stayed silent.

The kind of silence that meant: I heard. And I liked it.

On the other side of the lake, Yasuo skipped stones across the water, like a boy pretending not to wait for an invitation.

He’d stay a little longer.

And, strangely, Yi didn’t mind so much anymore.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t hard to notice—Yasuo had a certain glint in his eyes every time he looked at Yone.
Something between relief and admiration.
Like someone who’s found something precious and still can’t believe they’re allowed to touch it without it breaking again.

Yi thought it was…
Almost endearing.
Like a child who still apologizes for shattering a vase, even after helping glue every piece back together.
Even after already being forgiven.

It was a quiet, subtle kind of remorse.
But still present.
Yasuo, for all his loudness, carried his guilt with forced levity.
He masked it with jokes. With exaggerations.
But Yi saw it.
So did Yone.

The days flowed more naturally now.
The three of them together no longer felt like three sharp edges of a blade—but rather, the sides of a triangle that, despite its tensions, held up something greater: belonging.

Yi had learned Yasuo’s rhythm.
It was made of dramatic pauses, sudden topic shifts, and exaggerated gestures that hid fragile truths.
But once the pattern was deciphered, it became easy to follow.
To pay attention.
He even enjoyed it, sometimes.

Because beneath the nonsense and slippery jokes, Yasuo had a keen eye.
He knew where it hurt.
He knew when to pull back.
And, most of all, he knew when to exit the scene.

"Oh, just remembered I left… a spirit tied up in the bamboo grove," he’d say, in the most improvised tone possible, rising mid-conversation.

Yone would arch a brow.

"Doubt it."

"Me too. But just in case."—and then he’d vanish into the trees, whistling.

Yi watched with the faintest quirk of his lips.

Yasuo knew.
He knew what Yone and Yi felt for each other—and he knew that space, too, was a gift.
And they took it.

The moment his brother’s presence faded, Yone would turn.
Slowly.

With that look of someone who’d waited all day for this.

"He’ll be a while," he’d say, more confirmation than warning.

"He always is," Yi would reply.

And then… words were no longer necessary.

The makeshift futon felt softer.
Or maybe it was just the way their bodies fit better now—looser, surer.
Yone no longer hesitated to pull him close.
Yi no longer retreated to think.

Their mouths met with hunger and tenderness.
Longer.
Hotter.

Kisses that started as breaths and ended as silent pleas.

Their breathing grew ragged.
Their bodies pressed together as if trying to disappear into one another, yet always respecting that invisible line still holding them back from instinct.

Saliva sometimes spilled between lips that refused to part.

And when it did, Yi would simply wipe it away with the back of his hand, staring at Yone through half-lidded eyes and a contained smirk.

"Not yet," he’d murmur.

"I know," Yone would reply, voice rough, body still burning.

They weren’t reckless.
They wouldn’t do… that.
Not yet.

Not while Yasuo was around.

There was a line there—thin, but unbroken.
Made of respect, of timing, of context.
And of silent promises that when the right moment came… it would be right, without the rush of hiding.

For now, this was enough.
Enough to have their fingers tangled.
Their bodies side by side.
Their mouths still damp.
And the heat lingering in the air, suspended like the scent of an overripe flower.

Of course, there were small marks, strategically left—behind Yone’s neck, hidden by his hair; beneath Yi’s clothes, always fastened outside these moments.
Luckily (or unluckily), they always faded quickly. That was the way of the spirit realm.

Outside, Yasuo tripped over some spiritual root, probably fake-arguing with a spirit wolf just to buy them time.
And Yone laughed, his face still pressed to Yi’s.

"He’s trying."

Yi nodded. Smiled. Pulled him back into the same kiss.
And they stayed like that.

Chapter Text

Yasuo's journey wasn't over yet.

Everyone there knew that.
But he had his rest.
And sometimes, resting was already a form of healing.

He stayed for days—or weeks, perhaps.
He sat with Yi a few times—really sat with him, not just to tease or joke.
They talked.
About the dead.
About the living.
About carrying the name of someone they no longer were.
And the fear that, one day, they wouldn’t be remembered as someone worth loving.

Yasuo didn’t say it in exact words, but Yi heard it between the lines.

And answered with silence.
A silence that embraced. That said: I understand.

Yone watched the two with the same gaze one gives to a tapestry being woven—with care, with pride, with a kind of peace that only comes when what was broken begins to realign.

But then… the moment came.

Yasuo was different that day.

Sitting by the lake, bare feet in the water, eyes fixed on a point only he seemed to hear.

"I hear it," he said, almost a whisper.

Yone stepped closer.

"What?"

Yasuo smiled sideways, and there was something both childlike and ancient in that gesture.

"The breeze. The sound. And… her laugh." He turned his face. "That fox. That beautiful pest. She still calls me. I don’t think she ever stopped."

Yi approached from behind, steps quiet.

Yasuo looked at him too.

"It was good being here. I needed this. Needed you."

"And you will always be welcome," Yone said without hesitation.

"Always," Yi added, surprising even himself.

Yasuo smiled wider.

The kind of smile that hides tears behind teeth.

"Careful… I might start believing that."

Yone took a step forward.
And the two brothers embraced.
Not as warriors.
Not as ghosts.
But as boys who once ran through the mountains—and lost each other for far too long.

When they pulled apart, Yasuo held out a hand to Yi.
Yi looked at it for a moment.
Then took it—firmly.

"Thank you for looking after him," Yasuo said, no jest in his voice.

Yi answered with a short nod.

"He looked after me too."

The wind blew between the three.

And for a moment, the spirit world seemed to breathe with them.

Yasuo took one last look at the lake.

At the stone with the teacups.
At the flowers that never died.
And then he left.

No fanfare, no magic.
Just quiet steps.
And the sound of a whistle, fading slowly through the trees.

The breeze carried him.
And he went.
Because that was his rhythm.
Because that was the call.

Yi and Yone stood there, side by side.

Wordless.

Only certain that Yasuo would return one day.
Because now—he also had a place to come back to.

Chapter Text

Yasuo's absence left a kind of hangover.
Not a pain, but a strange pause.
Like when music stops after filling the air for so long—and the silence suddenly feels... too vast.

Yi noticed it first.

Yone too.

It was as if they kept waiting, reflexively, for a dumb remark, an ill-timed joke, a stray whistle from behind the trees.
But it never came.
And in its place, silence returned.

Slowly.
Warm.
Familiar.

The kind of silence they’d built before—one they knew well.
Yasuo’s absence left space. And they filled it. With what they did best: being together.

At first, they still stole quick kisses outside the cave.
As if a mischievous spirit might catch them any moment.
As if the world still had eyes everywhere.

But then they’d remember: they were alone.
And they’d laugh about it.
Laugh softly, faces pressed close, like two conspirators finally free.

Their moments together grew longer.
Lighter.
More theirs.

They spent afternoons on picnics, spreading cloth over soft grass, sharing sweet fruit and freshly found dumplings (no questions asked, of course).

Sometimes they danced.

Without music.

Or with it—when Yone plucked melodies from ancient instruments hidden in forgotten spirit caves.

They still trained.
Ritually, with blades and discipline.
But something softer lived there now—a pleasure in movement, a mutual respect woven into every breath, every turn.
No longer out of duty.
But to celebrate being alive.

Sometimes they wandered.

Through flower-drenched hills where the wind seemed to speak.
Followed hidden crevices behind thick roots, leading to mountains untouched by time, where the silence of centuries hummed.

There, they found a place... different.

A vast, shallow pool—ancient and mirror-clear.
So clear it reflected even what no longer existed.
Countless swords buried in its depths—some ordinary, others impossibly massive, hilts like ancient trees.

Yi walked among them with careful steps, as though reading tombstones.
Yone beside him, hands drifting close, fingers sometimes tangling.

Other days, they uncovered ruins.
Remnants of temples that might’ve once stood in the physical world.
Remnants that still pulsed with energy.
Gateways to portals, perhaps.
Or just echoes of what the world refuses to forget.

They returned to the refuge lazily.
Tired, but laughing.
Laughing fully, the way you only can when you’re no longer running from anything.

And at night...

At night, their bodies drew closer.

The futon became a meeting point between two worlds: theirs.

Where no one else was watching.
Where intimacy didn’t need to hide.
Where touch was no longer tentative, but certain.

Hunger lingered there.

The kind held back by respect, now swelling with want.
Longing, nurtured in slow, deep kisses, breaths too tangled to pretend it was just restrained affection.

And desire...
That, knocked at the door.
Patient.
But present.

Yone felt it.
Yi too.

Night draped over them like velvet.

And when the spirit world settled into quiet,
they stayed awake.

The heat between them,
gazes held a second too long,
a hand sliding slow along a waist—unhurried,
unafraid.

Yi looked at Yone.
Yone looked back.
Both knew.

The time for waiting... was nearing its end.

But for now,
a thread of air still lingered in their chests.
A moment suspended between almost and now.

Chapter Text

It was warmer than usual.
Or perhaps it was the world around them imitating them — reflecting what burned within.

The makeshift futon was there, but time had made it more than a refuge.

It was now an altar.

The dark wooden bowl rested beside them, filled to the brim with camellia oil.
The first touch was no different from the others.

But something was new.

Permission.

Yone approached slowly, his eyes locked on Yi’s, as if every blink was a renewed vote of trust.
The hands came first — fingertips, light, almost shy, resting upon the face.
And Yi… didn’t pull back.

On the contrary.
He closed his eyes.
Leaned into the touch.
Like someone accepting a prayer.

"Are you okay?" Yone murmured, his voice already hoarse with anticipation.

"Now I am." Yi replied.

Their lips met with familiarity and hunger.

Long kisses, hot, wet.
Tongues searching each other with thirst, dancing in an unhurried cadence.
The hands moved like someone deciphering sacred ground — exploring shoulders, ribs, and hips with the delicacy of a prayer and the boldness of desire.

Yi sighed softly against Yone’s mouth, fingers tangling in the light strands of his hair, pulling with impatient tenderness.

Yone, in turn, traced paths with his lips along the other’s neck, whispering ancient verses at every sensitive spot — especially behind the ears.

Hearing Akana’s hoarse moan nearly unraveled him with lust.

Frankly, they’d been hard ever since they entered the cave.

The clothes slid off slowly,
like petals falling from a night flower.

Nothing was torn — everything was revealed.

Uncovered.

Savored.

Kanmei’s face traveled down his beloved’s bare abdomen.

And oh, gods — he was salivating.

"You are… beautiful," he whispered reverently, hands resting on Yi’s waist.

"I know," Yi replied, with a crooked smile and half-lidded eyes, irony and fire in his tone.

Yone laughed against his skin before continuing the descent, leaving kisses like warm trails along the way.

Akana’s body was a temple carved by experience.

Slender, yet firm.

Delicate, but never fragile.
A man in his fullness.
A living masterpiece.

Yone wanted to paint him with flower ink. And something deliciously indecent.

Sighing, the swordsman arched his back, placing his hands between Yone’s hair and horns, as if guiding him with silent authority.

Straight to the base of the penis, where arousal was already rising, seeking relief.

Yone didn’t hesitate.

He parted the inner thighs firmly, pressing gently before planting kisses below the navel — until reaching the testicles.

There, his tongue slowly ascended the length of the erection, savoring.

Teasing.

Every gesture was a wordless prayer.

Yone offered himself, body and soul, to the deity that was Yi.

And he, eyes rolled back and lips bitten, surrendered in a chorus of low moans — a music only the two of them knew how to compose.

Yone wrapped his lips around the head, circling it with his tongue until he tasted the bittersweet nectar on his own lips.

“Yone…!”

The sound escaped Yi’s teeth, still trying to hold back moans with a thread of composure.

Trying — and failing, adorably.

And there, Kanmei understood.

The sound of his name in that tone.

The taste.
The call.
The need.

And oh, gods…

He loved that man with every atom of his existence.

His mouth descended more boldly.
But was interrupted.

Or rather — repositioned.

Yi pushed him firmly and settled atop him with feline ease.

Sometimes Yone forgot just how strong his beloved was.

Far beyond him. Far beyond Yasuo.

Beyond any swordsman.

When Yi sat on his face, Yone rolled his eyes at the delicious indecency of it all.

Sacred and profane.

Devastating and divine.

When Yi sat on him, it was as if the heavens reversed — as if the altar gained a life of its own and demanded absolute devotion.

Yone didn’t resist.

Nor did he want to.

There, between Akana’s firm thighs, he found a wet, throbbing paradise. Anchored by fingers digging into soft skin, guided by sighs from above.

His tongue was firm, patient, exploring.

Sliding into the tender entrance, tasting eagerly.

Drawing slow circles, then faster, alternating pressure and softness like a musician who knows every chord,
every note that makes the soul shudder.

And Yi…

Ah, Yi.

Bent over himself, eyes half-open and hands tangled in his lover’s white hair, was the perfect image of divine ruin.
Long hair cascading like silk down his back, making a little chaos of white strands.

His thighs trembled, his belly contracted in waves, and his moans — low, sweet, irrepressible — made the cave air vibrate like the taut strings of an ancient instrument.

"More..." he whispered, voice thin between desire and delirium.

Yone obeyed, without hesitation.

Deeper.

Firmer.

More of him.

His fingers, slick with camellia oil, found their way. It wasn’t the most ergonomic position for it, but he didn’t care.
His hand slid down Yi’s lower back, between his cheeks, and plunged alongside his tongue. Just one digit, but enough to make his beloved tremble.

The sounds Yi made now weren’t words, but fragments of pure pleasure, ragged breaths and contained pleas.
When he rolled his eyes and arched his body, Yone knew he was guiding him to the edge —
with his mouth, with his fingers, with his heart pounding along.

Even so, Akana’s fingers tightened around his own cock, restraining himself. And Yone grumbled at that.
Especially when Yi lifted off him and he — futilely — still tried to chase him with his mouth.

"So hungry," Yi murmured, lips trembling between a sigh and a tease.

And Yone… smiled, because it was true. Opened his eyes, panting, lips still glistening, gaze drunk with desire.
But he said nothing.

He surrendered.

Submissive to the living altar above him.

Yi slid down slowly, thighs still trembling, fingers leaving subtle marks on his lover’s pale skin.

His hand ran across Yone’s chest — slow, exploratory — as if mapping newly discovered land.

His half-lidded gaze burned.

He took in every muscle, every line.

Yi loved those broad shoulders.

The contrast with the narrower waist.

And even more, seeing the long cock standing up, calling for him. Hard, throbbing, wet at the tip.

Admiring Yone from above was priceless.

If he were a little more desperate, he’d already be riding him.

But not yet.

His kisses descended with controlled urgency — a hot drag of lips and teeth down the throat, chest, belly rising and falling with sighs.

He nibbled with intent. Licked the inside of his thigh as if wanting to redraw it with saliva.

When he reached the base of the cock, he smiled with restrained mischief.

Yi wasn’t the talkative type, of course. But his thoughts? Oh, those ran wild.

"So hard for me..." he thought to himself, running his tongue along the shaft, unhurried.

Yone arched his body, but Yi held his hips down.

A command wrapped in honey.
And Kanmei obeyed.

Akana’s mouth descended eagerly, taking only the tip at first, playing with the rhythm, alternating between teasing slowness and sudden tongue thrusts.

Then, he took it all at once — hot, wet, tight — making Yone let out a moan that echoed like muffled thunder in the cave.

Kanmei’s head fell back, teeth clenched, voice caught in his throat. It almost sounded like a growl.

"Yi… for the love of the gods..."

But Akana just looked up at him, eyes teary and intense, and went down again.

Each movement of his mouth was a blend of liturgy and lust.

Cheeks flushed, lips sealing around the flesh with firm affection, as if savoring a forbidden fruit — and choosing it as his feast.

His hands held the base, pumping with steady rhythm, while his tongue swirled, pressed, caressed every exposed nerve.

Yone was on fire.

His body trembled, his belly contracted in suppressed spasms, his cock pulsed in his lover’s mouth. His fingers clenched the flowered futon — until Yi stopped.

Stopped.

"Yi... for hell’s sake..." Yone panted, almost laughing in desperation.

"Not yet..." was all he whispered. Soft, loving, and full of mischief.

He climbed back up, lips swollen, gaze fierce and fevered.

Straddled Yone with the same ease one ascends a throne.

His body still damp, white strands clinging to his skin with sweat that shouldn’t exist in the spiritual realm.
The camellia oil bowl was almost entirely poured between them.

Making a mess between abdomens and pelvises.

The oil flowed between them as if the night itself anointed them.

Skin against skin, hot, slippery, perfumed with flower and lust.

"You’re trembling..." Yone murmured, loving like a surrendered man, his voice hoarse with lust and tenderness.
His hand touched Yi’s face, caressed his cheek, made him sigh.

Akana slid two fingers down his thigh, gathering excess oil and bringing them to the entrance pulsing with anticipation.

The look he gave Kanmei was pure challenge.

"And you talk too much…"

The touch was slow. One digit. Then two. And Yone watched, eyes melted, as if witnessing an indecent miracle.
The way Yi prepared himself… was like watching fire mold itself to fit a blade.

Yone moaned at the sight — barely noticing when his hand instinctively moved to grip his own cock, trying to relieve the unbearable tension.

"No."

The word came soft, but with command beneath.
Yi’s hand grabbed his with firmness and pushed it back against the futon.
And Yone grumbled alone — Enchanting.

Yi positioned himself.

Guided the tip of the cock against himself.

Didn’t enter.
Not yet.
Just played — sliding the head there, side to side, biting his own lip at how hard Yone was.

"Yi… please…"

It was almost a cry.

And it was enough.

With a choked moan, Yi descended.

The cock penetrated inch by inch, with delicious, wet resistance.

Yi was tight.

Hot.

Like living silk wrapping around Yone’s cock.

He descended inch by inch, abdominal muscles trembling, eyes closing halfway.

But he didn’t stop.

Not until he’d swallowed every bit of that insane erection that seemed made just for him.

They both sighed — the most delicious feeling they’d ever known.
And there he stayed.

Still.

Just feeling.

Yone’s pulse inside him.

The way he squirmed, how his eyes glowed with pure pleasure.

Kanmei exhaled deeply. He closed his eyes for a second.
And honestly? He’d been trying not to cum since he saw his beloved preparing to take him.

Yi moved for the first time.

A slow, almost indecent grind, like he was trying to mold himself once again to the shape that filled him.
Yone let out a long, low moan, trapped between his teeth.

Kanmei’s eyes were teary.

Not from pain.
But from the unbearable beauty of seeing Yi like this.
Riding him.
Taking him.

Yi rolled his hips.

Once, twice.

Testing the angle, feeling every nerve ignite.

The oil made everything slip, their bodies gleaming under the cave’s dim light, and each thrust was an explosion of heat.

The pace increased gradually.

Nothing abrupt.

Everything meticulously calculated.

Yi rode with lethal precision — like someone wielding an ancient secret.

Yone, in turn, gripped his lover’s thighs, then ass. Hands sliding between sweat and oil, guiding him, encouraging him.

His body arched, seeking more depth, more friction, more of him.

But Yi only gave what he wanted.

As much as he wanted.

"Yi…" he gasped, half-laughing, half-crying.

Akana leaned forward.

Kissed him hard.

Their tongues collided in a feverish clash.

And then, Yi bit his lower lip.

"I want to see you come undone."

And then it truly began.

The movements were now firm.

Fast.

Rough, yet beautiful.

Flesh met flesh with wet slaps.

Moans intertwined.

The sound of skin against skin filled the space like a carnal mantra.

Yone gripped Yi’s hips tightly, thrusting upward, making the Akana’s body jolt in waves of pure pleasure.
He shoved his cock into him hungrily, burying it in soft flesh until the head was grinding against Yi’s prostate with terrifying precision.

“Gods…! Yone…!”

The cry was a sob of sheer ecstasy.

Yi’s eyes shut tightly, his head falling back, spine arching in a shiver that rippled through his whole body.
He was close.

Yone felt it.

Felt the clenching around his cock.

Felt the trembling.
Felt the bliss building like a storm.
He wrapped Yi in his arms, turned him over gently — without pulling out — and took control.
His hips moved with force.

Deep, full thrusts.
Each one pulling desperate, broken moans from the lover beneath him.

“You’re everything to me…”

The words came between gasps.
Between thrusts.

Between frantic declarations.

“I love you so much it hurts…”

And his mouth was lost in the curve of Yi’s neck, biting, kissing, whispering promises.

His right hand played with Yi’s left nipple, pinching, rubbing.

Making the Akana roll his eyes in overwhelming pleasure.

Yi wrapped his legs around him, pulling him deeper.

One hand dug into Yone’s defined back, the other stroking himself in time with the thrusts.

Bodies pressed together.

Breaths entangled.

The end was near.

They both knew it.

— “Come with me…” Yi whispered, the words broken by moans.

Yone groaned loudly.

Buried himself to the hilt.

Thrust again—once, twice, three times—

And then, he was gone.

The heat exploded inside Yi. His release came intense, hot, pulsing into the Akana and flooding his insides.
Yone’s whole body trembled, back arched, muscles taut.

And as his climax filled his lover, Yi came too—a cry caught between his teeth, his body convulsing beneath him, his own essence spilling between their bellies. Soaking both Yone and himself.

It lasted forever.

Or maybe the world simply stopped spinning.

Silence.

Only the sound of water again.

Of soft sighs.

Of tired, blissful smiles.

Yone collapsed on top of him, still inside.

Their legs tangled together.

The oil, the semen, the sweat… all mixed.

A desecrated altar.

Or perhaps… one far too sacred.

“Yi…”

“Hm?” came the lazy sound against his shoulder.

“I… suppose I won’t be able to walk for the next few minutes.”

Yi laughed.

And kissed his neck.

“Good. Stay here with me.”

Chapter Text

Time did not pass.
It unraveled.

Like the ink of a poem exposed to rain.

Their hands were still entwined. Their bodies—sweaty, slick—tangled like the roots of ancient trees long since merged.

They shifted positions a few times. Always interlaced.

Yone was still inside Yi—but now, they simply rested.

Breathing.
Ironically, alive.

Their lips found each other again.
Lazy.
Soft.

Kisses that asked for nothing more—just the taste of the other, the warm flavor of I’m here.

Yi traced his fingers over the Kanmei’s chest in a slow, almost childlike back-and-forth, as if drawing invisible maps.

Yone, in turn, kept his hand resting on the curve of his beloved’s waist, as if holding him was enough to keep the world from starting up again.

"That was…" Yi began, but the words dissolved between the brush of lips and a whispered moan of pure contentment.

Yone smiled without opening his eyes.

"I know."

Silence.

Outside the cave, the Spirit Realm remained at peace—the waterfall spilled unhurried, flowers whispered in gentle breezes, and no spirit dared interrupt.

Inside, a new kind of ritual was unfolding.

A mutual reprieve.
An altar of exhaustion and pleasure.

Yi adjusted himself over Yone’s chest, his hair sticking to the other’s skin.

He kissed his collarbone. Then his chin.
Then the tip of his left horn—a gesture he’d learned was intimate.

Yone sighed at just that.

"If you keep kissing me like this…" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and bliss, "I’ll end up asking for everything all over again."

Yi laughed—a muffled, impure sound against his neck.

"You think that’s a threat?"

Then the silence returned.
The good kind.
Full of unspoken meanings.

Minutes—or maybe hours—later, Yi spoke in a low, confessional tone:

"I never thought heat could feel so… safe. But with you… it does."

Yone held him a little tighter.
His fingers combed through the white hair with tender devotion.

"You’re my home."

They said nothing else.
They didn’t need to.

In that hidden cave between veils, where time bends and pain learns to sleep, two men allowed themselves simply to be.

Yi slept in peace.

In the arms of someone who didn’t try to fix him. Someone who didn’t treat his pain like a problem.
Who just… loved him.

Chapter Text

Time, at last, caught its breath.

The breeze slipping through the cave’s crevice was warm but carried the steady sound of water—that hidden cascade, the liquid curtain separating the heart of the grotto from its secret lake.

Yone opened his eyes slowly.
His entire body still ached in the best way.
The kind of ache that tells stories without words.

Beside him, Yi lay on his stomach, his face half-buried in the disheveled futon, his long hair splayed like wet silk.
He breathed deeply.
At ease.
Unguarded.

Yone smiled.
Not the wide one—but the small one.
The one only Yi knew.

Carefully, he shifted just enough to rise, his muscles protesting in silence.
He stretched, languid, then walked to the overturned oil bowl.
Empty.
Of course.

Returning to Yi, he brushed his lips against his temple.

"Come."

"Hm…?" Yi murmured, still caught between drowsiness and wakefulness.

"Bath."

The word sounded like both invitation and promise.

Yi grumbled something between protest and sigh but pushed himself up.
He slid his still-lazy body into Yone’s arms, which encircled his waist.
They walked like that—naked, slick, complete—toward the back of the cave.

The inner waterfall was narrow, like a constant crystal curtain, hidden by the vegetation clinging to the rocks.

The sound here was different.

More intimate.
More muted.
As if the world truly couldn’t reach them in this hidden corner.

Yone stepped through first.
The water rushed over his skin with an immediate shiver.

Cold.
But delicious.
He held out a hand to Yi, who hesitated a second… then followed.

Both stood beneath the falls like living statues, eyes closed, bodies pressed close.
The water washed away everything—the oil, the sweat, the spend.

But the touch… that remained.

Yone gathered a handful of the flowers floating near the rocks—tiny violet petals, soft as dew—and began rubbing them gently over Yi’s back.

His hands moved in slow strokes, rising from the base of his spine to his shoulders, then down his arms.

He massaged like a sculptor.
Like someone tending to something precious.

Yi just closed his eyes and let him.

"You’re too beautiful," Yone murmured, more to himself than to be heard.

"You’re flattering me because you used me as an altar," Yi replied, a crooked smile on his lips, eyes still shut.

"No. I’m flattering you because I’m grateful. And because I love you."

Silence.
Water.

Yi turned, droplets streaming down his face as if the lake’s very spirit were touching him.
He leaned in.
Pressed his forehead to Yone’s.

"I don’t know if I deserve all this…" he confessed in a wet whisper.

Yone dragged his thumb slowly over Yi’s lips.

"You don’t have to deserve it. Just… receive it." A sigh, then a grumble. "Still. I think you deserve far more…"

And he kissed him.
Slow.
Wet.
Sweet as the first time.

Their bodies nestled together again, unhurried.
This time, not out of need or urgent desire—
but for the tenderness of belonging.

The water kept falling, tireless.
But between them… all was calm.

Chapter Text

Not long ago.
The warmth still lingered on their skin.
But now, time had changed its texture.

First, they needed a new bed. Apparently, petals and vines were terrible to wash without falling apart.
For that, Yone made a quick trip—brief. The basket returned with fabric, a needle, and thread this time.

When he came back, the preparations began.

Yi watched from the other side of the cave, lying on his side atop the new pile of fabric—poorly aligned, hastily stitched, still carrying the scent of flowers from the mortal world.

His fingers propped up his jaw. His gaze, lazy.

And there he was.

Yone.

Sitting cross-legged, he furrowed his brows with almost childlike concentration.
He held the needle as if it were a tiny sword, trying to stitch the edge of the new futon.
Trying.

The fabric was crooked.
The stitches, uneven.
And the thread was already tangling comically along the hem.

Yet the Kanmei pressed on.

Serious.
Dedicated.
Silent as a monk—or a samurai in battle.

Yi bit his lower lip, stifling a laugh.
It was so rare to see Yone fail at anything.
He was the kind of man who always seemed to know what to do.
How to walk, how to breathe, how to carry the world without crumbling.
Strong, calm, with a stubbornness that bordered on honor.

And now…
Now, he was locked in combat with a needle and a strip of dyed cotton.

Perfect.

"You’re losing this battle, you know?" Yi remarked at last, his voice laced with just the right mix of laziness and sweetness.

Yone didn’t look up.

"Not yet. I’m... reorganizing my strategy."

"Calling for reinforcements?"

"Only if you come without criticism."

Yi chuckled softly, sliding closer, his skin still bare beneath the poorly sewn sheets.

He sat behind him, pressing his chest to Yone’s broad back, arms winding over his shoulders.

He whispered against his neck:

"Let me see this disaster up close."

Yone handed over the needle reluctantly—but not without saying:

"This isn’t a disaster. It’s a scar with potential."

"Hm… that explains a lot about you, actually." Yi kissed his nape, as if stamping the tease with affection.

He took the needle.
Straightened the fabric.
And with more skill than he’d admit, began fixing the crooked stitches.

Yone didn’t comment. He just smiled faintly, as if he’d expected this all along.

They stayed like that for a while.

One sewing.

The other quiet, eyes closed, feeling Yi’s warmth against his back.

"You know…" Yi began, softer now. "I could get used to this."

"Sewing with me?"

"No. Watching you try. Watching you stumble, even just a little. It’s comforting to know the man who makes my soul tremble… can also lose to a piece of cloth."

Yone turned his head, meeting the Akana’s eyes.

He smiled.

One of those small, almost shy smiles.

"Then keep watching. Maybe I’ll mess up on purpose."

Yi kissed him right then.

Quick.
Sweet.

Chapter Text

The days that followed changed little, and yet everything at once.

Yi remained silent.
Yone, serene.

But now, there were kisses in the middle of the afternoon.
Whole kisses, wet, lascivious.
Sometimes impulsive. Sometimes teasing.
Sometimes just because longing came early.

Yi began hugging him from behind, out of nowhere, when Yone played his instrument.
His lips brushed Yone’s neck.
Bit. Gently.
And then he’d say:

"Keep going."

Yone, breathless, kept going.

The tea was still prepared.
But now it was served with touches to fingers, with glances that undressed more than clothes ever could.

In the cave, where they once slept side by side… now they slept entwined.
Legs between legs.
Bodies pressed close.
Hands wandering even as they dreamed.

And there was more.
More than sex.
More than muffled moans against each other’s chests.

There was love.

In the way Yi carefully set aside fruit for him.
In the way Yone wrote poems with softer verses.
In the way Yi allowed himself to smile more—even if just for a second.

There was love in the way the two stayed silent—and yet were full of everything left unspoken.

The world remained the same.
The lake, eternal.
The flowers, untouched.
The waterfall, undisturbed.

But them…
They were no longer the same.

And at the end of that day, when Yone caressed Yi’s shoulder, kissed the skin there, and said:

"I’m still here."

Yi simply closed his eyes and replied:

"I know."

Chapter Text

Yone was training, as always.

Body steady, feet grounded on the smooth stone.

The swords sliced through the air with precision — the metal hissing like enchanted wind.

Exact movements, controlled breathing, sweat running down his temples like a blessing from the gods.

The beauty of discipline. The dance of control.

Yi watched.
Silent.

Seated on a smooth rock inside the cave.

But his mind… was far from quiet.

Beautiful. Strong. Disciplined. Precise. Attractive. My man.

The phrase roamed in his chest like something too dangerous, too true.

Seeing Yone like that, body marked by effort, skin glowing, soul exposed in every strike…
It was as if reality screamed what his heart already knew:

I want all of him. Again. And more.

Yone finished the movement with a final spin.
The sword struck the ground.

Loose strands of hair fell over his eyes.
His breath still heavy, muscles vibrating in tension.

Yi licked his lips.

Discreetly.

Or perhaps… not so much.

Yone’s eyes found his.

And in that instant, the world lost its definition.

Yi stood up with deliberate slowness.

Each step like a melodic threat.

And when he was close enough, he spoke in the softest, most velvety voice. A false innocence.

"You train well… But I think your focus is about to slip."

"Gonna distract me, Akana?" Yone murmured, his tone as deep as the pulse still throbbing between his legs.

"I already am."

And then, without another word, he pressed against him.

Arms around the neck. Warm mouth on the still-sweaty jaw.

Yone held him naturally, hungrily.

His hands slid down Yi’s waist like touching a relic — sacred, desired, promised.

Yi bit his collarbone.

Then his lip.
Their mouths met in a hungry kiss.

Iron and flower.
Desire and devotion.

Yone lifted him by the thighs — and Yi wrapped his legs around his waist with sinful precision.
The friction between their bodies, even clothed, was almost cruel.
Their cocks pressed against the fabric, so hard it hurt.
And Yi moaned against his mouth.
A muffled, intimate sound.
Unbearably good.

Yone walked with him in his arms.
Not far.
Just to the darkest part of the cave, where echoes didn’t dare intrude.
There, he pinned Yi against the stone, still holding him.
Stole his breath with a rougher kiss.
More possessive.

The Kanmei moaned.
A low, hoarse sound, stuck in his throat.
His hand slid between them, tearing away the fabric that separated Yi from the world with rough affection.
Luckily, the clothes fell to the floor intact.

The Akana’s cock sprang free, damp, pulsing.

Yone grabbed it without hesitation, pressing it against his own belly while biting the lobe of his ear.

"You turn me into chaos…"

And Yi leaned in, as if whispering a secret against his lips:

"I want you to fuck me standing."

Yone closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep control.

But there was no control left.

Not after that.

Not with Yi saying those things, with those strong thighs gripping him, with that exposed neck and hungry eyes.
The Kanmei unfastened his belt.

Let his pants slide down along with the rest of his clothes.

His cock, hard and throbbing, sprang free like a wild beast — slick with anticipation.

Yi bit his lip as he looked down.

"You really think that’s gonna fit like this?"

"You really think I won’t fit?"

They exhaled and smiled, complicit and euphoric.

Yone stepped away to grab the bowl of camellia oil — freshly made, always present — and spread it on his fingers.
The sound of the liquid, the sweet scent — everything conspired.

"Turn around." he ordered.

Yi obeyed.

Happier than he’d like to admit, to the misfortune of his ego (which he'd lost long ago).

He braced himself against the stone, ass raised boldly.
Firm thighs, round glutes, his entrance throbbing, contracting.
Yone knelt just to spread the oil there.
One finger, then two, then three.

He pushed them in slowly, listening to every moan.
Every sway of the hips.
The teasing sensation of soft flesh tightening around his digits.

Beautiful.

"Feels good…" he whispered when he was sure he was stretched enough.

Yi didn’t reply.
He just arched more.
Challenging.

Yone stood.
And without warning… pushed in.
His cock entered slowly, opening the way with pressure and glide.
The head met resistance, then gave in.
The entrance wrapped around him like living silk.
So tight it hurt with pleasure.
So warm it almost made him come right then.

"Fuck… Yi…"

"Do it…" the Akana growled.

Yone obeyed.

Thrust hard.
Deep.
Fast.
Each stroke was a thunderclap of flesh.

The sound of hips colliding.
Of ragged breathing.
Of moans.

Yi screamed.
Whispered.
Lost rhythm.

And still, moved his hips to meet more.
Yone pulled him by the shoulders.
Kissed his nape.

Bit down.

His hand slid down to stroke him hard.

"Come for me."

"Only if you come first."

"I will."

And he did.

The orgasm hit like lightning.

The hot rush filled Yi inside, and his own climax sprayed against the cave wall.

Their bodies contracted.

Faded.

Became one.

And for long seconds… there was only silence.

Then the sound of breathing.
Of sweat dripping.
Of a heart beating where his chest touched his back.

Yone stayed there, inside him, face buried in his shoulder.

And Yi, panting, smiled.

"I like this routine." The Akana’s voice sounded like a satisfied purr.

"Yeah… me too."

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a quick outing.
Just a few hours. Maybe less.
But saying goodbye to Yi… had never been easy.

His body still felt lazy—in the best way possible.
His muscles remembered the pleasure; his skin still carried the other’s scent.

But Yone needed to go.
Because love is also action.
And he wanted to return with more than just memories.

Yi lay among the blankets in the cave, his hair disheveled, his mask discarded.
His gaze was soft but alert.
Yone approached with a woven basket and an expression caught between surrender and discipline.

"I won’t be long," he said, even though he knew Yi hated time-bound promises.

"Take your time…" Yi replied, his voice a slow whisper. "But come back with a kiss."

Yone smiled. And leaned in.

The kiss was slow. Warm.
Their lips met like lovers who’ve known each other for centuries and still find ways to surprise.
Their tongues slid together tenderly. Yi’s hand rose to the nape of Yone’s neck.

Three kisses. Then two more.

Then a "peck" that lasted too long to be called a peck.

Only then did Yone pull away.

And even then, reluctantly.

The mortal world pulsed differently that time of year.

In Ionia, the air was always thick with memories.

Trees dressed in vibrant hues, and paths brimmed with voices—prayers, laughter, the sound of hand-carved flutes.

It was the season of small festivals.
Celebrations of harvest, spirits, unwritten stories.
Nothing as grand as the Spirit Blossom, however.

Yone moved among them like a shadow—not out of fear, but habit.
A presence that didn’t impose.
But observed everything.

Beside him, his little spirit-accomplice—a furry, mischievous creature the size of a pumpkin—floated along, gleefully pointing at things it wanted to steal.

"Only what has no name," Yone said sternly. "No altars. No dedications. Understood?"

The spirit grumbled something like "Understood, sort of" and vanished into the leaves.

Yone walked with his hands behind his back. His linen robes flowed gracefully around him as his eyes traced every detail.

Children ran with paper lanterns.
Elders whispered verses at the feet of ancient trees.
Teens exchanged silk ribbons like promises of desire.

Everything was too alive.
Almost painful.

Yone paused at a stall selling sweets. Mochi lined bamboo trays. One, a soft lilac hue, reminded him of Yi’s skin glowing in the cave’s light.

"This one," he murmured to himself, and with a subtle gesture, the treat vanished.

He kept walking.
Ran his fingers over dyed leaves. Collected petals from an abandoned altar.
Picked up tiny ceramic bells with distinct chimes—one tinkled like laughter, another like the whisper of water.

He imagined their sound between Yi’s fingers.
Imagined the smile Yi would try to hide.

The spirit-accomplice returned, its mouth stuffed with stolen fruit—some clearly from offerings.

Yone crossed his arms, stern.

"We’re returning these. These have names."

The spirit rolled its eyes and dropped the fruit as if it were worthless. Then it pointed at a little banner where someone had written, in childish handwriting:

"I want to meet someone who truly sees me."

Yone read it.
And smiled.

"This one… we can take."

By the time he returned, it was nearly "night" in the Spirit Realm’s time.

He followed the path home, calm. And with the same thought as always:

I could do this forever.
Search the world, just to see you smile.

Chapter Text

The basket was full.

Fuller than it should have been—with sweets, flowers, bells, and small intentions.
Yone walked like someone carrying a precious secret.

And he was.

Every chosen item was a silent note to Yi.
Every fruit, a caress in the shape of a gesture.
Every petal, a word that didn’t need to be spoken.

He’ll smile.
He’ll pretend he doesn’t want to. But he’ll smile.
And then… he’ll want to thank me. In his own way.

Yone smiled to himself, his eyes fixed on the winding paths between mist-covered hills. The trail leading to the cave was nearly second nature to him now. He knew it with his feet, his lungs, his heart.

But before he reached the lakeshore…

He felt it.

A coldness that didn’t come from the air.
But from a presence.

The spirit was there—and it was small.
Not in size, but in demeanor.
The aura was Akana, but faint. As if fading from within.

It was a girl.
Short hair, clinging to her face. Anxious eyes.
Sitting beneath a gnarled tree, arms wrapped around her knees.

She didn’t notice him at first.
Or pretended not to.

Yone approached without threat.
Without voice. Without touch.
Just presence.

When she finally lifted her face, he saw:

Fear.

Anxiety.

Emptiness.

She looked young—or as close to it as an Akana spirit could.

There were marks on her wrists, shadows under her eyes.

And the question written all over her body:

Where do I go?

“Are you… lost?” Yone asked carefully, his voice soft as velvet over steel.

The girl stared at him as if hearing a forgotten language.
Her lips parted. Nothing came out.

Yone crouched down.
Set the basket gently aside, shielding its contents—Yi would kill a spirit for less if his sweets got crushed.

“What’s your name?” he tried again.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, whispered:

“I… don’t remember.”

The answer fell like a stone into water.

Yone’s stomach tightened.
It was rare.
But not unheard of.

Spirits were sometimes born distorted.
Others forgot everything in the crossing.
And some… simply lost the thread of who they’d been.

“I… hid,” she continued, trembling. “I tried to follow the lights. But they reject me. And the others… the others call me broken.”

Yone felt something heavy settle in his chest.

A memory in disguise.

Yi, curled up behind the waterfall.
The silence that screamed.
The scars that asked for no explanation.

“You’re not broken,” he said, calm but firm. “You just haven’t found the right place yet.”

The girl looked at him again.
Something flickered in her.
Trust. Or hunger for it.

Yone hesitated.
He wanted to go back.
He wanted Yi.
The touch. The warmth. The kisses on his nape and the rough moans in the dark.

But Yi would understand.
He always did.

Yone picked up the basket.
Stood.

“Come with me. I know a safe place.”

The girl didn’t move.
But her eyes wavered.
Yone reached out his hand.

It took a moment.
But she took it.

Fingers icy. Aura in turmoil.
But in that instant, there was something sacred:

Contact.

And Yone was no longer just a wandering swordsman.
He was shelter.

On the lakeshore, Yi felt it.
Yone was coming.
But not alone.

And his expression shifted.
Not out of jealousy.
But memory.

Because he, too, had once been… like that.

Chapter Text

The presence was light.
Like a leaf fallen before the wind.
Like the sigh of someone who doesn’t want to be heard.
Yi felt it before he saw.

He was sitting by the lake, feet touching the water, his body still carrying the scent of the last few days with Yone.

When he saw him emerge from the mist of the trail and reach the lakeshore, Yone said nothing.
He held a basket in one hand, and with the other—still steady—he guided the girl.

Akana.

Too young to be there.
Too young for the weight in her eyes.

She walked slowly.
Her eyes wide, alert.

A mask covered the right side of her face.
Her hair fell unevenly over her shoulders. Her hands—small, tense—clutched the hilt of a curved blade. She held it like someone clinging to their last tether to existence.

He took a deep breath.

Pushed aside his own impulses—pride, discomfort, the subtle fear threatening to surface.

Yone had brought her because… he didn’t know how not to.

And that…
That was one of the things Yi loved most about him.

Kanmei approached calmly. Placed the basket in its usual spot, like an unbroken ritual, even in the face of the unexpected.

"She was alone," he explained, his voice quiet, unguarded. "She didn’t remember her name. Or the way."

Yi looked at her again.

The girl trembled but didn’t retreat.
She gripped the blade’s hilt like someone trying to remember why they still fought.

And that… that hurt more than he expected.

Because it was him.

It was him, years ago.

Alone. Terrified. Clinging to steel to keep from crumbling.

The girl stared at him for a moment.
Then looked away.

Her eyes were red, but dry.

She wasn’t crying.
Maybe she’d already done that too much.

"I…" she tried, her voice a thread. "He must… be worried."

Yi frowned slightly.

"Who?" he asked softly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Brow furrowed.

"I… need to go back. To him."

No one answered.
Because no one knew who "him" was.
Maybe not even her.

What Yi did know was that there was pain there.

Fresh pain.
Sharp pain.

The kind he knew all too well.

Yone looked at him.

A silent plea.
Not for approval.
But for understanding.

And Yi… understood.

He sighed.

Stood up slowly.

Approached, but not too close.

"You can stay here," he said, without harshness. "No one will rush you to remember."

The girl didn’t speak.
But she nodded.
Like someone grasping at anything that didn’t hurt.

Yone watched them both.

The light of Yi’s aura brushed lightly against the girl’s hair.

And something inside him tightened—tenderness, admiration, love.

Because Yi hesitated.
But he didn’t turn away.
And that… said a lot.

Later, as the girl slept curled beneath newly-sewn blankets, Yi and Yone sat a little ways from the cave.

The basket between them, untouched for now.

Yone brushed his fingers against Yi’s hand.

Slid between his knuckles like a wordless thank-you.

"You understand," he murmured.

Yi didn’t look at him.
But he answered.

"You’re the kind of man who rescues. I fell in love with that too."

The silence that followed was light.
And sweet.

Chapter Text

She spoke little.

Most days, she preferred the farthest corner of the cave, knees drawn up, hands wrapped around her own sword.

She didn’t train with it—just held it.

Like someone clinging to the last thread of their identity.

Yi watched her in silence.
Whenever Yone left on his expeditions, it was Yi who stayed.
At first, out of hesitation.
Later… out of care.

The girl reminded him of things he didn’t want to remember.
The youthful face.
The lost gaze.
The way she took a deep breath before speaking—as if every word had to push through a forest of fear.

And most of all…
the way she held the blade.
Like his former apprentice.

The one he trained.
The one he swore never to abandon.
The one who smiled and killed him in the same motion.

Sometimes, Yi closed his eyes.
Because it was easier to pretend it didn’t hurt.

But she was still there.
And now, she was his responsibility.

That afternoon, the cave was quiet.

Yone had left not long ago, basket in hand, a warm kiss still lingering on Yi’s lips.
The girl—who still couldn’t remember her own name—sat near the water, tracing spirals in the algae with her finger.

Yi didn’t approach.
But he wasn’t far.

And then, she spoke.

“I… think he used to say that.”

Yi turned his head slowly.

“Say what?” he asked softly.

The girl hesitated. Eyes glistening.

Then, in a low, almost trembling voice:

“Every movement must have purpose. Every silence, intention.”

The words cut through the air like steel buried deep in the soul.

Yi froze.

Not because of the words themselves.
But because…

That phrase was his.
Or rather… his apprentice’s.

An Ionian proverb, passed from masters to disciples.

From the boy who repeated those words with pride, as if mimicking his master to prove himself worthy.
The same boy who, in the end, stepped behind him—and drove a blade through his back.

Yi closed his eyes.
A deep breath.
A hand on his own leg, steady.
Don’t give in.

But then…
The sound.

She was crying.

Not loudly.
Not uncontrollably.
But in the most painful way possible: silently.

“I… don’t know who he was. But he took care of me. I remember that. He… used to brush my hair. Said I was stubborn. And… smiled when I made mistakes, but pretended he didn’t. And now…” Her voice broke. “…now he’s gone.”

Yi didn’t answer right away.
He felt the weight inside him.
The memory. The anger.

But she… was just a girl trying to remember what she’d lost.

He stepped closer, slowly.
Kneeled in front of her.
Didn’t touch her at first.
Just waited.

When she lifted her face, trembling, eyes wet and lips parted in pain, he opened his arms.
She hesitated.
Then fell into them.

The embrace was awkward.
Her sword clattered to the ground.
And her hands clutched Yi’s robes as if he were all she had left.

Yi held her tightly.
Firmly.
Not with pity.
But with presence.

“You don’t have to remember everything now. You just need… to breathe.”

She sobbed.
Her fingers twisted into his clothes.
And Yi… stared into nothingness.

The pain was still there.
Throbbing.
But he locked it away.

Because now…
He was someone’s foundation.

And foundations… cannot crumble.

Later, when she had fallen asleep beneath the blankets, Yi remained there.
Sitting beside her.
Keeping watch.

Yone found him like that when he returned.
Basket full.
Eyes alert.

They didn’t speak.
But the way Yi looked at him—weary, but whole—
was answer enough.

Yone sat behind him.
Wrapped his arms around Yi, chin resting on his shoulder, hearts aligned.
And Yi… finally, breathed.

Chapter Text

Time passed.
Not in days.
But in gestures.
In small, shared silences.

Yone watched.

He saw how Yi rose each day despite the pain hidden in his eyes.
How he held back words that threatened to tremble—just to be steady for someone smaller.
How he kept watch over the girl’s sleep.
How he adjusted the blankets when she curled into the corner.

And that…

That made Yone love him even more.

With more warmth.
With more reverence.
With more desire to care.

So, little by little, he began taking her along.
On short expeditions.
At first, just along the edges.
Then beyond the veil, into the fields where Ionia’s warm winds still breathed.

Always with her hand secure in his.
Firm.
An anchor.

She didn’t speak much, as usual.
But she observed.
And marveled at everything.

Yone taught her patiently.
How to recognize a fruit made of pure light.
How to listen for the footsteps of small spirits before they disturbed the altars.
How to hide behind lanterns.

And she… smiled.
Not always.
But when she did, Yone felt something bloom inside him.

That afternoon, they found something different.

Perched on a stone, nestled among written prayers, was a small paper bird.
Folded with care.
Simple, yet delicate—feathers traced in red ink, a golden beak, and wings brushed with calligraphy.

The girl picked it up gently, as if it were glass.
The wind made it tremble between her fingers.

Yone crouched beside her, smiling.

"It’s a jun-tsuru. A paper bird inspired by two things."

She looked at him, eyes bright with curiosity.

"The first is a real bird from Ionia. It lives in the wind plains. Rare, beautiful, untamable. They say it never lands where there’s no freedom… or courage."

He lightly touched one of the paper wings.

"The second… is the meaning of the word."

The girl stared, her eyes alight with that hunger for meaning only those who’ve lost everything know.

"Jun. It means ‘talent’ in an ancient tongue. They combined the two—the bird and the word. Thought it’d make a good inspiration: freedom, courage, and talent. So they created this."

The girl squinted.
The bird fluttered in her grasp.

"Jun…" she murmured.

Yone nodded.

"Jun. A beautiful name, isn’t it?"

She blinked.

Went very still.
The wind paused.
The trees around them seemed to hold their breath.

Then, she smiled.
Not a small or shy smile.
A full one.

The kind worn by someone recognizing something long lost.

"It’s my name," she said, voice fragile but clear. "I… am called Jun."

Yone felt something tighten in his chest.
As if the whole world had made sense for a second.

He touched her shoulder.
Kneeled to meet her eyes.

"Welcome back, Jun."

She cradled the bird against her chest, like someone reclaiming a piece of herself.
And whispered, almost to the wind:

"That’s what he called me. The man who used to braid my hair."

She didn’t cry.

But there was something in her eyes that shone too brightly to just be light.

When they returned, Yi waited by the waterfall.

Arms crossed.
Gaze stern.
But his heart… already lighter.

"Did you all come back in one piece?" he asked as they approached.

Yone laughed.
And Jun ran to Yi.
She didn’t speak—just held up the bird.
Then said:

"I remembered. My name is Jun."

Yi didn’t answer right away.
Just knelt down.
Looked at her.

"It’s a beautiful name."

And in a rare gesture, he hugged her.
Brief.
But tight.

Yone watched.
Heart full.

Chapter Text

Jun wielded the blade with more confidence each day.
Not arrogance—never that—but that rare spark that blooms in those born for it.

Yi watched.
Corrected.
Guided.

"Elbow higher. Breathe before you pivot. And if you miss… reset with grace."

Jun obeyed, eyes attentive.
Absorbing each word like a secret.
And smiling when she got it right.
But not just any smile.
That kind—the one reserved only for those you admire.

And Yi felt it.
The weight.
The beauty.

The pain.

It had been a long time—too long—since someone had looked at him like that.
As a master.
As someone to cherish.
As a guiding light.

It was good.
Almost too good.
And so, he avoided thinking.
Avoided remembering.

The past hid behind Jun’s eyes, but he refused to dig too deep.
Because now… she was here.
Present.
And she needed him.

After a longer training session, Jun asked permission to explore.
With a shy but eager smile.

"Just for a bit… I’ll run over there, in the hills."

Yi nodded.

And watched her silhouette disappear among the trees, her hair dancing in the wind, her laughter light—like someone who, for a moment, felt just like a child again.

Yone approached from behind.
His arms wrapped around Yi’s waist naturally.
His face nestled into his beloved’s shoulder.

"She’s improving," Yone murmured. "And you’re taking such good care of her…"

Yi didn’t answer right away.
But he leaned back further.
Body relaxing, still warm from training.

Yone brushed his lips along Yi’s nape.
Slowly.
Unhurried.

"She’s lucky…" he whispered. "So am I."

Yi closed his eyes.
Exhaled.

"Yone… she’ll be back soon."

"She’s still far away," Yone replied, voice lazy yet full of intent.

His hand slid along Yi’s side, thumb stroking beneath the thin fabric.

"I’m just taking care of you too."

Yi turned slowly, gaze weary but full.

Yone pulled him in gently, hands gliding up his arms to cradle his face.

"You’re so strong… But you still carry more than you should."

The kisses came after.
Soft.
Then hungrier.

Yi yielded.
As he always did when it was Yone calling him back into his own skin.

"We shouldn’t…" he murmured against Yone’s lips.

"But we will," Yone answered, already trailing kisses down his chin, his throat.

Between each kiss, Yone whispered low, tender things.

"You deserve to be touched with devotion… deserve to hear you’re cherished… that you’re beautiful… that you’re strong… "

The words curled into Yi’s skin like warmth.
He felt his knees weaken.

And then, without realizing, his hand was already interlaced with Yone’s.
Bodies pressed close.
Breaths ragged.

"Just… a little," Yi whispered, defeated.

Yone smiled against his lips.
And kissed him once more.

Soon after, he guided Yi to the willow tree by the upper lake.

A tree that bent over itself, with leaves so long they touched the ground and created a kind of ethereal refuge.

There, where the light was filtered in lilac tones and the sound of the wind muffled any sigh, they existed alone.

Yone pulled Yi by the waist, pressing their bodies together with the precision only learned when one loves someone through every season.

"It's hot," Yi murmured, but his voice didn’t ask for distance.

"Mhm... that’s your fault, surely," Yone replied, voice low, hoarse, burning between his teeth.

Their hands met first. Then, their mouths. A long, wet kiss, full of secrets. Their tongues touched like old accomplices reuniting after a sin committed in silence.

Beneath the tree, there was shadow, yes. But also heat.
The heat of restrained desire, of longing turned into urgency.
And of love, always love, hidden behind every ravenous touch.

Yi pulled Yone by the collar, forcing him down. Lips met his neck, then his collarbone, then the line between his nipples. Breathing already ragged. The world already gone.

Clothes were removed. Pushed aside with reverent haste. The sound of fabric coming undone in their hands was almost as arousing as the low moans escaping.

Yone knelt between the Akana’s legs. His eyes, locked into Yi’s mulberry hue, asking for permission—and also taking it.

"I’ll worship you until time forgets the names of the gods," he whispered.

And Yi smiled. An impure smile. A smile of someone who knows exactly what lies between their thighs—and wants the other to lose himself in it.

Yone’s tongue descended slowly. First across the belly, then the groin. Then, straight to paradise: Yi’s cock, already hard, already throbbing, already begging for a mouth.

And that’s what it received.

A hot, firm, hungry mouth.

Yone enveloped the head with his lips, then went lower. And lower. His throat relaxed. The sound of indecent suction. Yi’s moans becoming musical notes only they would hear.

Yi’s fingers tangled in Yone’s pale hair, gripping, guiding, losing rhythm. A loud moan slipped free.

"Yone…!"

The Kanmei responded with more pressure. Tongue swirling, teasing. Hand pumping the base with the precision of a warrior. Eyes tearing with desire.

When Yi arched and nearly lost his breath, Yone stopped. Mouth still red, lips trembling, eyes aflame.

"Turn over," he said, voice low and hot as embers.

Yi obeyed.

Almost eagerly.

He lay on the leaves, chest to the soft grass, ass raised. And waited. Shameless. Ready.

Yone spread the cheeks with reverence. The sight made him moan.

"Gods…"

And then, the tongue. Wet. Firm.

It descended the cleft, circled the rim slowly, then deeper. Saliva mixed with anticipation. Hands caressed thighs, hips. Yi moaned loudly, face buried in his arms.

"More," came the whisper and command.

Yone did not deny him.

His tongue penetrated, insistent. Then fingers. One. Two. Three. With camellia oil he always carried.

There was no pain in the spirit realm (at least, not physical)—but still, Yone would never stop being careful with his beloved.

When Yi began to push back against the touches, desperate for more, Yone removed his own clothing with quiet brutality.

And positioned himself.

His glans slid against the sensitive entrance, already open, already yearning.

"Now," Yi growled, shameless, without pause.

Yone obeyed.

He entered slowly, pressing into the wet opening. Felt the heat yield, then clench, then pull him in.

Yi's cry was muffled by the leaves. A cry of pleasure. Of surrender. Of nearly premature bliss.

The Kanmei sank in to the hilt, hips pressed close, testicles slapping against hot skin. They stayed like that. Just breathing. Just feeling.

"Come on..." Yi whispered, face content against the grass. "Fuck me."

It was a beautiful, maddening demand.

And Yone did just that.

The thrusts came like waves. Deep. Perfect.
The leaves trembled with each motion.

The friction was hot, wet, maddening. The sound of skin against skin was rhythm—wet, obscene slaps. Music. A profane liturgy.

Yone gasped. Choking on his own moan, he could’ve rolled his eyes back from the pleasure of feeling his cock buried inside the Akana.

The head hit Yi’s prostate with every thrust. Yi screamed. Moaned. Bit into his own fist not to summon the gods.

The Kanmei leaned over him. His hand slid to Yi’s cock, stroking it in time with the thrusts. The kiss was bitten between sweaty shoulders. Yi's body trembled.

"You’re so beautiful..." Yone whispered between thrusts. "Being fucked like this, with the leaves listening to everything~"

Yi moaned loudly. He moved against Yone’s cock like one seeking redemption.
His insides squeezed tight around the Kanmei. Demanding more of him.

"Come with me," Yone murmured, desperate, hips accelerating. "Oh Yi..."

Climax came like thunder.

Yi’s release spurted onto the leaves. Yone’s followed inside—hot, deep, pulsing like a drumbeat against flesh.

They collapsed together. Side by side. Warm. Dirty.

And when it was all over, when the world began to breathe slowly again, Yone kissed Yi’s nape and whispered:

"Should we be more responsible?"

Yi laughed. And pulled him into a lazy kiss.

"We already are, enough..."

Chapter Text

Jun came running back. Her feet barely touched the ground, and her breath came light but full—as if the air tasted different that evening.

The hill she had run down still clung to her skin—the warm dust of leaves, the faint traces of earth. But her smile? It was whole. The smile of someone who had remembered. Not everything—but enough.

She had something to tell them.

That’s when she saw them.

The scene was subtle, but... telling.

Yone and Yi were by the lake, half-lying, half-sitting, tangled like vines. Their legs intertwined, their bodies pressed close. Yi leaned against Yone’s chest, eyes closed, lips marked by recent kisses. And Kanmei… ah, Kanmei wore that silly grin on his face. A smile that could melt swords.

The tip of Yi’s ear, usually pale as a snowflower, was flushed.
Yone cradled his face between his hands, whispering something—whatever it was, it made Yi smile with half-lidded eyes, pure contentment.

Jun stood there for a second. Just watching.

She suspected, of course. They looked a little too "melted," even for people who had just had tea.

But she said nothing.
Not then.

Instead, she stepped harder on the leaves to make noise and announce her presence—the way a child loudly enters a room to avoid trauma.

"Hey!" she called out, even before seeing them recompose themselves. "I remembered more things!"

Yi coughed. Yone masked it with a serene smile. They shifted apart—just enough to seem a little less... clingy.

"Tell us, Jun," Yone said, his voice still rough but full of tenderness.

She flopped down onto the grass beside them without ceremony, radiant. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

"I... I remember I used to run. Through the hills. Between the trees. I trained! I climbed to the highest branches of an old fig tree. And I always... always came back with scraped knees and messy hair."

Yi gently tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

"That explains a lot."

Jun laughed.

"I'm remembering more. Today... I saw a tree. Alone, on top of a hill. It had silver petals. Real silver, like the moon had dripped onto it."

She paused, her gaze distant.

"I think I’ve seen it before. In life. Or maybe it’s a memory of both things, mixed together. But it was beautiful. So beautiful I almost cried. I just stood there... staring for the longest time."

Yone watched her with silent admiration. Yi, meanwhile, had a glimmer in his eyes she didn’t fully understand—a mix of pride and melancholy, as if he saw an older version of himself reflected in her.

"Do you know the tree’s name?" Yi asked.

Jun shook her head.

"But I remember the feeling. Being near it was like... being forgiven. Or maybe just... accepted."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was the kind that held the weight of something sacred.

Yone leaned over and ruffled her hair affectionately. Yi smiled faintly and stretched out an arm, inviting her to lean against him.

Jun hesitated only a moment. Then she accepted.

The three of them stayed like that. Tangled in silence. The warmth still lingering between the lovers, now joined by the gentle energy of the girl finding herself again.

"I want to go back there," she murmured. "Someday. With you."

Yone nodded.

"We will. On a day when the world is calm."