+ Spoilers for chapters 19 and 20 in the manga.

+ This fic is the clean version that complies with FFN's guidelines. for the original version, google pseudocitrus archive of our own and see the story by the same name

+ I REALLY LOVE THIS PAIRING A LOT

+ I hope you enjoy (◡‿◡✿)

Snow & Spring

"I don't need any more shinki," she cried, and his chest constricted as she buried her head in his lap, trembling, warm. It wasn't right for him to still find her so beautiful in her broken sorrow — her tears leaving bright trails on her cheeks, her hair splayed around her like rays of sunlight. There was no sign of blight on her — she was alive, she was alive.

And yet. He closed his eyes. He had helped her survive but it was wrong that he, the murderer of their Ma family, was the one whose clothing Vaisravana clutched. He couldn't stay with her — he couldn't allow her to let him stay. She needed to take his name back, cast him out, and start a new family that wouldn't betray her.

He put his hands on hers, to pry them off. He opened his mouth to speak.

"All I need is you, Kazuma," she sobbed, and he froze. His chest constricted again, even more tightly; to his horror a flush rose on his cheeks.

"I don't want these horrible feelings anymore," she wept. "I don't want...I don't want...this horrible pain anymore..."

He gripped her hands. "You'll never feel this way again, Vaisravana-sama," he said, voice shaking. "Never — I promise — I'll ensure it — for as long as I stay with you."

What was he doing? His hands were trembling, but his knuckles were white.

This is how he could deserve to be with her — by being her best shinki — by ensuring she never felt pain for all the rest of her days.

For that reason, he needed to stay with her.

She buried her head deeper into his clothes and he held her hands more tightly. She had never been anything but kind to him. It had been the right thing, to save her. Wasn't it right that he stay by her side and help her heal?

Wasn't it?

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Vaisravana-sama. I'll make sure you never feel this way again."

:::

But it was hard being her single servant, in charge of her care and her household. The shinki that knew how to cook and clean were gone; the shinki that knew how to tend to her were gone. He helped Vaisravana to her bed, and arranged the sheets as best as he could around her, and she stayed there for days, eyes dim and barely moving for grief. He was careful to stifle his worry lest blight spread again across her already-weakened body, and though it was tough to be outright cheerful, he at least did his best to smile when he checked up on her.

"Vaisravana-sama," he called, three times each day, "would you like anything to eat?"

"No, but thank you, Kazuma," she replied each time, and it was just as well because he didn't know how to cook anyway. He fled without complaint and resumed trying to clean up and maintain the huge household.

He supposed that gods didn't need to eat to survive — but the Vaisravana that he had known never stayed in like this — she had loved to roam, and he had loved being at her ear as she explored and took in the sunlight. Now when he opened the curtains in her room he often returned to find them closed again.

Finally, when the house had been restored and each of its closets organized and memorized by him, there was nothing else he could do except force himself to enter the dimness of her room, and try to get her up. It was evening now and she didn't appear to have moved since his last visit today at noon.

"Vaisravana-sama," he said, "let's take a walk."

"I don't want to," she said back after a while, and he swallowed and approached the bed.

"I think it would be good for you," he said, and pulled back the curtains, dropping a triangle of soft evening light across her face. The light was a pure blue, softened by the snow outside. Her eyes narrowed against it.

"Come on, Vaisravana-sama," he tried weakly. If she didn't want to, he couldn't imagine actually forcing her, but he could do his best. He had already dressed into a thick kimono and socks. He showed her the parasol that he had found in one of the closets, one waxed with a cheerful crimson.

"Let's go walking together," he said, forcing a smile, and finally, for the first time in days, Vaisravana smiled back. It was faint, but his heart rose.

"Very well," she said, and pushed the blankets off, sitting up slowly. Despite having not eaten for several days, she looked just the same as always, though her eyes were red and hooded. Her thin sleeping robe had fallen slightly and despite himself his eyes followed the gap of it across her skin before he looked away sharply, cheeks warm.

Luckily, she didn't seem to notice. She rearranged her robe, yanking it over her bowed shoulders, and then called, "Kotoma —"

Kazuma started, looking back at Vaisravana just in time to see her face twist in pain. Kotoma had been able to take the form of a fur-lined cloak, and had been her constant companion during snowy weather like this, and Kazuma swallowed and dabbed at a tear that was about to drop off the edge of her chin.

"I've brought you winter clothing to wear as well," he said quietly, holding out robes that he had found in another of the household's closets, and she sniffed, nodded, and stood, wavering slightly. Kazuma touched her arm to steady her.

"Thank you, Kazuma," she murmured, and began to undo her sash. She had almost completely untied it when Kazuma, heart pounding, found his voice.

"Va-Vaisravana-sama — w-w-what are you —"

She furrowed her brows at him. "I'm removing my clothing," she explained in confusion, and all at once Kazuma realized: of course Vaisravana-sama didn't dress herself. Of course her shinki had helped her into her elaborate clothes.

Of course this was Kazuma's task now, as her single remaining shinki, and he stammered, "Ah — ah yes — of course."

He quickly moved behind her, focusing on unfolding the robes he had brought, and when she slipped out of her sleeping clothes he threw the robes he had found over her. They were heavy and she stumbled forward in surprise. The sash fell to the ground; Kazuma picked it up, and reached to tie it around her waist. When he finished, he flushed and grimaced. There was a lot more of the sash left, even though he had knotted it twice and made the bow huge (and droopy, and messy). The sash trailed so far on the ground that Vaisravana stumbled on it when she turned around. Her robes weren't arranged properly on the front, either; they sagged, revealing the curves of both breasts. Blushing furiously, Kazuma grabbed the sides of her collar and crammed them together, stuffing the fabric more tightly into her twisted sash in hopes it would stay.

"I'm sorry," Kazuma mumbled. He felt his insides cringe with shame and then, for the first time since that day, Vaisravana laughed. It was soft and short, but a laugh.

"It's alright, Kazuma." And when he only looked away, she continued soothingly. "Well — it does look silly. But it's manageable." She tugged at the robes — at her right shoulder, her right elbow, her left hip — and in moments it looked as if the robe had always intended to fit her this way, loose around her shoulders, the sash a train of satin behind her.

"Just keep working at it," she told him kindly. When he didn't respond, she put her hand on his.

"Alright?" she prompted, and he swallowed.

"Yeah...yes, Vaisravana-sama." His inadequacies didn't deserve her kindness. They most certainly didn't deserve the smile she was giving him now, or the way her hand lingered on the name on his hand.

"Let's go."

:::

Snow was falling lightly outside. As they made for the entrance her gaze drifted and lingered on empty corners, empty gardens — but she kept walking, and Kazuma hid his huge relief. He had already arranged shoes for her beside the entryway, and he helped her put them on before stepping into his own and following after her into the cold. He opened the parasol with a crinkling snap and centered it over her head.

Time passed so strangely between her demesnes and the areas that humans walked. What human portions of himself that lingered tried to make sense of things. He had perceived days pass but it seemed to be deep winter now. He supposed he couldn't even be sure that it was the same year.

Fortunately, Vaisravana already seemed more lively now that she was outside. Her feet, which started off dragging long furrows in the snow, were now leaving neat steps. She paused every once in a while to take deep breaths of the cool air, as if using the coldness of it to scrape out the exhaustion and grief congealed in her lungs. Yes, it had been a good idea to leave the household, where the ghosts of shinki didn't haunt the corridors with their absence.

"How are you feeling, Vaisravana-sama?" Kazuma asked.

"I'm feeling..." She took a shuddering breath. "I'm feeling a little better."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kazuma said, relieved. Their aimless wandering had even picked up somewhat; in fact, Kazuma realized, Vaisravana seemed to be heading in a very particular direction, and belatedly he asked, "Vaisravana-sama, where are we going?"

"Here," Vaisravana said, and pointed up a set of stone stairs. Trees had protected it from most of the snowfall and Kazuma could see the stairs were worn to soft edges, with dry vines seeping through the cracks. Vaisravana ascended, graceful, effortless, and Kazuma stumbled up after her, extending his arms and leaning to make sure the parasol still covered her.

The area at the top of the stairs was smoking — no — steaming. Kazuma stopped, panting from the effort of climbing the stairs, looking down. They had arrived at a hot spring, a fairly large pool framed with rough gray boulders.

"Kazuma, will you undo my robes?" Vaisravana asked, and he was glad that she was facing away from him and didn't see how red he turned at the prospect. He folded up the parasol, shaking it free of snow, and quickly undid the bows and knots of her sash. Somehow his hand grazed her bare skin, warm and soft and snow-freckled, and he took a breath. He looked away as the robes slipped to the ground and made a colorful puddle at her feet.

"I'll wait until you're done, Vaisravana-sama," he mumbled, and retreated before she could ask him to help her bathe. He could not — could not — trust himself to do it — even now he felt the pressure rising up along his body, especially at a particular spot, and when he was out of view of the hot spring he fell to the ground and crushed snow into his face until the painful cold of it snapped him out of it.

What was he thinking? How could he possibly — how could he even allow his body to entertain the idea of —

She was a god. A god he had deeply hurt. A god who could still be hurt by any sinful thoughts he had.

Stop, he chanted to himself, stop, stop, stop, and when she called him again some time later, he stood on shaky legs and answered, he helped her into her robes again, and he did not speak the whole way back home.

:::

There were good days and bad ones, though the line between each was hazy. On good days she asked Kazuma to walk; on bad ones he came to retrieve her and the snow behind them was littered with the salt of her tears.

Her eyes were constantly prickling and the world around her was a constant blur — she kept looking up to keep her tears from falling and the sky and its brightness and stars were just a shadowy muddle.

The pain of losing her shinki was embedded like knives deep in every muscle. She didn't know how to remove them, and as much as it hurt her she feared losing the pain too, because then her shinki might truly be lost, the same way that she herself would be if no one were alive to remember her name.

She tried to keep her shinki alive in her in the last way she could, reciting all their names one by one in her mind, though no one answered anymore. Every now and then, going about her business, her heart would clench — as she called for someone who no longer existed to untangle her long hair, as she called for someone gone to help her put on her simple clothing. Kazuma was getting better at all these things but the politeness and formality with which he treated her hurt in its own way. He barely looked at her, barely smiled at her like her other shinki had. He barely touched her.

She hugged her own arms, tight. She loved them — the smiles they gave her — the laughter they shared — their soft and loving touches. She had loved them. She missed them. She missed them. She pressed her palms to her eyes.

"Vaisravana-sama," Kazuma called, cracking the door open, "are you hungry?"

Vaisravana cleared her throat and straightened. "Y-yes," she said, and made a smile. He brought in a platter for her, on which was a simple rice porridge in a large bowl. He had provided a single spoon.

"Thank you, Kazuma," she said, and when he turned to leave, her heart tightened and she grabbed his hand. Her fingers rested on his name. "Why don't you stay and eat with me?"

He glanced over at her; his eyes fell on her, up and down, and then he looked away again.

Vaisravana blinked. For the first time, through the fog of grief that smothered her body, she felt a pinprick at her neck, like a little bugbite.

Ah...was he...?

"Not today, Vaisravana-sama," he said, gaze turned away, "I need to clean the kitchen," but Vaisravana tightened her grip when he started to pull away.

"It's just you and me," she said, comfortingly. That little pinprick — was that why he was avoiding her, why he was so formal? Maybe she could put him at ease. Maybe she could encourage him into not being as distant. "There's no reason to clean and be concerned with appearances. Please stay here and eat with me."

"B-but I — I only made enough for you, V-Vaisravana-sama —"

"What, this amount? I don't need to eat all of this. Let's share it," she said, and finally, reluctantly, Kazuma sat down on the edge of her bed.

"It looks much better than last time," she said, stirring the porridge. There were no burned pieces; there were even flecks of green where Kazuma had somehow found green onions to shave into the broth.

"Thank you," Kazuma said. "Though it's nowhere near the quality of food I know you received —"

He stopped — stammered — did not want to finish saying, the quality of food you received before, from your other shinki.

He cleared his throat. "It doesn't match what's been given to you before," he managed finally.

"I'm sure you will keep improving," Vaisravana told him, and made a heaping spoonful, blowing on it to cool it. As she was about to put it in her mouth, she heard something, and she stopped, glanced at him. Kazuma's stomach had rumbled. He grabbed it fiercely, as if choking a traitor.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"I'm going to eat afterward," he said after a pause.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Vaisravana-sama, please —"

"Here," she said, holding the spoonful out toward his face, and he flushed.

"I made this for you, V-Vaisravana-sama," he murmured.

"It pleases me to share it with you," she told him. "Kazuma. Let's spend some time together."

She continued to hold the spoon up, and finally, slowly, he leaned forward, mouth open. He winced as he swallowed, coughed.

"Are — are you alright?"

"Yes, Vaisravana-sama, I think I just...swallowed too fast..."

"Is it good?"

"It's...yes. It's actually fine." He seemed surprised, and pleased. "You should try some," he started, but she had already lifted up another spoonful and placed it in his mouth mid-syllable.

He swallowed, uneventfully, red, and when the spoon neared the next time he opened his mouth obediently. He searched his mind and her face for clues as to why this was happening, and by the time the bowl was almost finished, he had found the answer in his memories, each fixed in his mind's eye with a clarity he had never experienced before. He saw her saving him — saving everyone, making them her shinki, never turning down a plea for assistance. That was his god: a deity as much of war as of helping anyone who came across her path. Wasn't this why he was so devoted to her? Wasn't this why he had been so loyal to her, why he had wanted her to live?

He didn't deserve any situation in which she might need to help him or care for him, but as she continued to feed him he saw things again, with his sharp vision. The way her hand stopped shaking. The way her back straightened, the way the corner of her mouth tipped up.

And yet. The porridge was almost gone.

"Save some for yourself," he said as she scraped the last few grains and spooned them toward him, and when he added "please" the spoon slipped and smeared on the left corner of his mouth.

He grimaced and Vaisravana laughed. It wasn't a quiet, amused laugh, but one filled with loud delight.

He swallowed the spoonful and before he could wipe the last bit away, Vaisravana leaned forward and pressed her mouth over the spilled portion. He felt her tongue lap briefly, twice; and then she withdrew, leaving him wan.

She smiled, even as her nape stung just a bit more. The warmth of him was nice and for a moment the hollows around her felt filled. "That's enough for me."

A good day.

:::

A bad day.

Kazuma had found a book somewhere detailing the procedure and he could now tie her robes properly. He jerked the sash tight, tight, tighter and each time her bowed body shook listlessly. He found pins and tried to tie up her long hair, turning and turning and rolling it until the ends swayed just over her shoulders. They were frayed and split and even partly knotted and he swallowed. He needed to figure out how to help her take care of her hair, next.

"How are you feeling, Vaisravana-sama?"

"It's the same as always. I miss them." Her voice was dull. "I miss everyone."

His chest tightened. "I'm sorry, Vaisravana-sama," he mumbled, and when she glanced at him with a faint smile he did everything he could to keep his face straight despite the guilt rising in his throat.

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. As long as I have you, Kazuma, it will be fine," she said, and reached for his hand again, just to touch it, to remind herself of her last existing name, just to hold it and feel it and ease her stabbing grief. But, at just that moment, he turned away, walking out the door and leaving her reaching and empty.

He helped her into her shoes but it seemed that he was careful not to touch her. He held the parasol for her to cover her from snow, but he used both hands to hold it, and didn't leave his name free for her to try and hold. They walked, wordless, to the hot spring, and Kazuma undid her robes and hair pieces and then turned and left. She stepped into the water, and the warmth of it removed the goosebumps from her body but not the deeper cold that lingered in the hollow of her. She looked around and the shinki that took turns combing hair with her, that laughed and played with her, were gone, gone, gone. She was one of the most powerful gods and there was nothing she could do to bring them back.

Her body felt so cold. She hugged her arms.

She took a deep breath, and then decided.

"Kazuma," she called, and then louder, "Kazuma," and finally she heard him approach, slow.

"Yes? Vaisravana-sama?"

"Come here," she said, and rubbed her neck as it began to sting a bit. "It's alright," she said, "come here," and finally he approached, picking his way carefully to the edge of the spring, still holding the parasol. He stood behind her, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Did you need something, Vaisravana-sama?"

She turned her head toward her shoulder, glancing back at him. "My hair is tangled. Will you comb it for me?"

"Of...of course, Vaisravana-sama. I would," he said, "if I had a comb..."

"It's unnecessary. Just use your fingers."

She turned back forward, setting her back to him. The spring had a wide stone step along this side, which served as a bench; sitting on it, the water only covered her body to the waist. Her hair fell straight along her back but for ripples where it rested on her shoulder blades and the muscles of her back. Swallowing, he reached out — raising tresses by the handful from the hot water, combing his fingers through, setting untangled strands on the snow. The feeling of his hands against her back was nice. Finally he got to her head, and carefully palmed water onto it to wet it before combing there as well, pulling her hair behind her ears, his nails running gently from the top of her brow to to the nape of her neck, once, twice, again.

This felt good. She reclined back into his hands. This is what she missed — being close. Being not lonely. Being touched, and loved, and...

She winced as her neck twinged again.

"Vaisravana-sama," he murmured finally, "I'm done," and she turned. Her hair was pulled off the edge of the spring and rested in cords over her right shoulder and breast.

"Come here, Kazuma," she called, taking his hands, "your turn," and he reddened.

"I — I really don't think —"

"Come here," she repeated. Her strength was incredible and despite his hesitation she took the shoes off his feet and tugged his legs, still clothed, into the spring.

"V-Vaisravana-sama — wh-what are you —"

"Kazuma," she said, looking up at him through the steam and falling snow, "let's have sex."

"Let's — what —?!"

"I know that you want to," she told him. "My neck has been hurting."

"Your —"

He paled; he tried to pull away. Despite his best efforts he had hurt her after all. "I'm sorry, Vai —"

"It's fine," she interrupted. "It's fine, it's like a bug bite, it's barely anything. It won't be a sin as long as we both want to. And it will stop hurting," she added, "if we both want to, and do it." This had happened before with her other shinki (her heart winced; she shook her head)…and…and alleviating their worries had always eased the pressure on them.

Though if she were completely honest, she would admit to herself that banishing Kazuma's anxiety was not the sole reason she held his hand so tightly.

Vaisravana was asking him. Don't, his brain warned, don't, but when her eyes fixed him, when she held his hand with her soft skin, it was hard to remember the reasons he had told himself why he shouldn't touch her. Especially if she was asking.

Wasn't he her shinki? Wasn't he supposed to serve her?

"Let's do it," she repeated, and somehow he found himself nodding and saying, in a weak voice, "Okay."

He was nervous; he barely looked at her when he said it. He was still sitting at the edge of the hot spring and she stretched up, placing her mouth beside his ear.

"It's alright," she whispered, and eased herself around him, shivering. The water in the spring splashed and snow steamed as it melted.

"Kazuma," she sighed again, as if taking pleasure just in the sound of his name, she was so warm and soft around him, she had completely taken him over, his fingers tightened against her back and he tried to say her name back, but his head was light and heart fast and his mouth stumbled.

She straightened with a laugh. "What did you say?"

"V-Vaisravana-sama," he stammered, "I meant to say, 'Vaisravana-sama,'" and she shook her head.

"But what did you say?" she repeated.

"'Veena,'" he admitted, abashed, and she smiled at him and placed her hands behind his head to keep him from looking away.

"I like it," she said. It was short, intimate. "Call me that, from now on."

"Alright," he said, and tried it again, "Veena-sama," but she shook her head.

"No. Just 'Veena.' Say it," she said, and shifted her weight deeper against him, tightened her muscles around him, "say it," and he gasped.

"Veena-sa — Veena. Veena. V-Veena," he said breathlessly as she began to move her body against him.

They sat for a while afterward, catching their breath, their racing hearts. Vaisravana sighed and for the first time in a while she her body felt strong and warm and steady and at ease. She looked up at the sky and though it was dimming, it wasn't blurry with the tears she was trying to keep in.

She turned to Kazuma and pulled him against her. For once he was too tired for his airs, and there was no hesitations, no retreats, no protests or fleeing looks. She set her belly to his back, her legs at either side of him. Exhausted, his head leaned back easy against her shoulder.

"Thank you for your hard work, Kazuma," she told him, smiling, and he gathered his breath.

"Thank you..Veena."

Finally, it was really his turn. She kissed his brow, and began to comb his hair.

:::

That turned out to be the last of the bad days. As they went home Kazuma saw it: Vaisravana's steps firm and purposeful, her back straight. She was so silent on the way back that Kazuma jumped when she finally spoke, her voice firm and fierce.

"Kazuma."

"Y-yes? Vais…Veena?"

"I've decided. I'm done burdening myself with the terrible pain I've been feeling…I'm done, especially, burdening you with it."

"It's not a burden," Kazuma said hastily. "It's not. The truth…" The truth was so close. He steeled himself. "I need to tell you. I'm — I'm sorry —"

"Stop apologizing!" She turned to him, kicking up snow. Her eyes glinted in the light of their household's lanterns. "It's not your fault. The only one to blame for this is Yatogami. And tomorrow, we search for him."

Kazuma paled. "Search for…Yatogami? Why?"

"To avenge my shinki." Her hands were fists; her eyes narrow. Sometime between the spring and the snow she had withdrawn every knife of grief from her, and she held them now in her hands, sharpened, polished. It was easy; she was a god of war.