I do not own Touken Ranbu.


...

Kashuu Kiyomitsu is sick.

With the way his head throbs in pain as if someone has been hammering on it with a force that threatens it to split open; the way his body feels unusually heavy and exhausted despite having plenty, albeit unsteady, of rest; the way his throat suffers from inflammation that makes it hard to swallow even his own saliva, he can only identify it as that infamous illness called fever. Apparently, humans are quite prone to it.

It is fascinating, he muses as he rubs the goose fleshes off of his arms, his body temperature must be high judging from how hot his skin feels to touch, yet he is shivering uncontrollably, and it is in the middle of summer. It is quite a play of contradictions and Kiyomitsu may have laugh with its foolishness if only his pulsating headache isn't restraining him.

It isn't the first time someone in the citadel catches a flu. Even the Saniwa isn't an exception. He remembers how stirring it can get every time a toudan or two get exposed to it. However, seeing it and actually experiencing it are two completely different matters. He isn't expecting it to be this wearying that it drains all of his energy, reducing him into a frail looking doll or probably some kind of perished good.

Kiyomitsu thinks this is where the problem lies. Because of his weakened state, he becomes incapable of attending to his duties and performing his daily activities. He can't even stand properly without dizziness overcoming him, let alone go out of the room to welcome the day. At this rate, he will get stuck in his bed for the entire period, wallowing himself into misery.

He never wants to be idle, not in the least. From the moment he is given a life form, all he ever wishes is to be useful to his master in any way possible. That is why he keeps polishing himself. That is why he maintains a good standing. That is why he preserves the fineness he harbors. He doesn't want to be abandoned—again.

For the meantime, he decides to wait for Yamatonokami Yasusada as he takes the liberty of fetching an aid for his fever. Whatever he settles to bring, Kiyomitsu will be sure to receive it with open arms. There is nothing he can do, anyway, not with his present condition.

Kiyomitsu closes his eyes and lets the sensation of dull pain engulf him. With him like this, it feels as if his awareness is heightened into a certain degree, like he can sense every little thing on his surroundings but also, strangely enough, not quite. Because if he really can, he will notice Yasusada coming in the room, balancing a tray in one hand while the other hand is sliding the paper door close.

"Yasusada?" Kiyomitsu's voice is hoarse, very unappealing. But this is only to be expected for someone ailing a fever. He slightly hopes Yasusada is unable to hear him.

To be honest, he is strongly opposed to allow himself be seen as unsightly as he is right now. His hair is a mess with his tie nowhere to be found, his eyes are a bit puffy from constantly tearing, his skin is ridiculously pale and he is dressed with a nightwear that lacks elegance. It fails to cover the impending insecurities that he tends to bottle up. The hideousness and plain impurity that he is so desperate to hide are currently being bared and exposed and all he wants is to coat it with a concealer, paint it with a majestic colored lacquer and secure it with an exquisite type of cloth until it can be spotted no more.

However, for now, he can only be hopeful for Yasusada to see past his appearances lest he become detestable for the eyes of his friend. If the other uchigatana so much mentions a single hurtful or judging word, Kiyomitsu may cry on the spot.

"I brought the medicine, and some food. Can you sit?" Yasusada asks, placing the tray on the side of the futon before helping him. He drapes a haori on Kiyomitsu's trembling back and takes a sit close to him.

The haori somewhat eases the chills but the tenderness he receives from Yasusada is undoubtedly warmer than any blanket he has known. It pleases him to presume that being taken care by his toudan counterpart feels refreshing instead of him fretting over Yasusada as he normally does. This kind of change isn't bad at all.

Kiyomitsu begins eating the rice porridge specially prepared for him by his comrades as he makes an effort to blatantly ignore those stares Yasusada is openly giving him. Those eyes are boring holes to his whole being and it feels like they are trying to find his essence. It is rendering him self-conscious, not to mention—uncomfortable.

"What is it?" He demands, minus the bite.

"I'm just looking at you." Yasusada answers honestly. Such a simpleton person can really be so honest to goodness at fault.

"I know, but why?" At this point, Kiyomitsu can already predict that he is about to comment on his looks.

"Because I think you are really beautiful."

Kiyomitsu almost coughs out the spoonful of porridge on his mouth. He plants his hand on his lips and forces the food down while deliberately slapping his chest. Yasusada is quick to pat his back and offer him water. When the fuss is over, he glared at the other uchigatana.

If what Yasusada said is a mere joke, then Kiyomitsu is quite offended.

Whereas if Yasusada intends it to be a mockery, then Kiyomitsu is truly hurt.

"What are you saying? That's not even funny." Kiyomitsu says with all seriousness. He discards the forgotten food as he swiftly gulps the medicine and focuses his attention on his counterpart, though he refuses eye-contact at all cost. "You should know by now that I'm far from being beautiful. I let you see me like this, after all."

"What? I mean it, you know." On his peripheral vision, he can see how Yasusada is scooting closer to him, gazes still lingering purposely at him. Kiyomitsu's eyebrow crease.

"Yasusada," He starts. He doesn't really want to voice it but for the sake of proving his point, he will swallow his discomfort and say it. Besides, there is something about the fever that constrains him to act uncommon. "There's no way I'm beautiful. I am a child of the river bank. The people who lived where I came from were casted off by the community because of their unclean—"

"Ah. I already heard about that." Yasusada interrupts him before he can finish. To be honest, he vaguely appreciates the distraction because he isn't confident about completing his spiel.

"However, isn't that the reason you were brought up like this?" The other uchigatana questions. His voice is laced with genuine confusion and a bit of determination. Kiyomitsu isn't sure why.

"Like what? What about my upbringing?" He asks, fighting the temptation of looking at the other.

"The one who forged you suffers from poverty. He is familiar with the ugliness of the world and knows exactly what it feels to be discriminated." Hearing those words gives Kiyomitsu a cringe, but he lets Yasusada continue. "But that's precisely why he made you exceptionally beautiful. Right?

He was a great sword smith, a master of his craft. He made you into a true beauty that contradicts all the filthiness that he has seen. You are the aftermath of his sufferings. You are the product of his desperation to live. You are what he was not, what they were not. And I think you look better this way, bare and uncovered. Your natural beauty is coming out perfectly fine. You are indeed beautiful. Do you understand me?"

Kiyomitsu gives in and looks at him. Of how Yasusada can express those words with his straight face is beyond his comprehension. But when their gazes meet, he is face to face with the honesty that he once suspected. Yasusada's sincerity is knocking at the doors of his heart and it isn't forcing its way in, it seeks for an access gently, carefully. And maybe, just maybe, he can believe those words. He can indulge himself that there is one person who thinks so highly of him; that there is this one person who can appreciate his beauty that he, himself, already casts away.

He wants to smile. He is grateful towards Yasusada and his heartening words that boost his confidence and he really wants to repay him with a warm smile. But at the same time, he wants to cry. He desires to let him know that his words reach him, they are properly delivered and embraced and their genuineness results him to get teary.

Yasusada scoots even closer to him and reaches out his own hand to him. "You should have more confidence in yourself. Even our current master considers you as their pride and glory, and everyone in the citadel agrees to that, especially me." He smiles when Kiyomitsu gives him a look. "I like you more this way when I can see the real you. So beautiful."

Kiyomitsu closes his eyes as he leans and consents to the kiss in the forehead that Yasusada proffers.

"Your hand is cold." He complains without really meaning it. He just can't form a more coherent response to every little thing. Yasusada fills not only his stomach, he also fills his heart. He cures not only his fever, he also cures the afflictions of his mind.

"No, you just feel hot." Bickers his counterpart and they both laugh.

Who would think that an illness can actually cure a more severe ache? Because of his fever, Kiyomitsu forsakes his urges to look presentable and cute; because of that, Yasusada sees all the facts and reality that he earnestly seals behind a mask. But instead of hearing judgmental words like he expects, he receives the most kindhearted approach he can ever hope for.

Yasusada bestows him praises that he always aspire to gain, compliments that he constantly craves, and acknowledgements that he forever yearns. He causes him to be reminded of his past but he, as well, helps him to open a new understanding of it and a better way of viewing it.

Yasusada wholeheartedly accepts him, regardless of what he is, and Kiyomitsu supposes Yasusada's love is probably what he needs all this time.

...


I'm accepting all forms of reaction, from calm and normal to bloody and trashy, just send me a review if you have some. Thanks a lot for checking it out!