A/N 1: Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? I have no excuses really, other than Real Life constantly getting in my way. But I'm back again, this time for Ruroken Week, an awesome thing that's happening on tumblr! Here's a little Kaoru-Yahiko headcanon that's been stewing in my brain for a long, long time.

Sketch Fourteen: Initiation

Because safe was never a word that applied to him, and what made this the exception?

Sometimes Yahiko would wake up in the middle of the night and panic.

Panic because he was facing an unfamiliar ceiling, lying on unfamiliar cotton, hearing nothing but the unfamiliar mild chirping of crickets. No hanging cobwebs, no cold wooden floor, no drunken brawling outside in the garden. Hands raised above his head in automatic defense, he would take a while to realize that it wasn't one of those midnight "surprises", when someone would find him curled up in the corner of the kitchen and drag him out by the scruff of his neck, tossing him on the ground while the others stood around and took turns to kick and laugh and swear at him. There was no leftover pain from beatings when he never stole enough, no white noise at the back of his mind trying to drown out the voice that told him you're samurai, do something!, no stubborn brain clinging on to memories of his father's receding figure – straight back, worn sandals, polished scabbard gleaming in the light.

Just him. Myojin Yahiko. In a room (his room now, although he could barely bring himself to even think that), on a futon (his futon), in new clothes that were still a little scratchy (his clothes). For some reason, this didn't sit well with him. It was wrong – it was unfamiliar, it was uncomfortable, it was not something he'd ever thought he'd feel. Safe. He hated it. Because safe was never a word that applied to him, and what made this the exception? Who was he to think that this would last, when everything he had experienced proved otherwise? He would wear off his welcome soon – it had already been a week, it couldn't last any longer than this – and then he'd be on the streets again. Unsafe. Empty roaring stomach, blinding brilliant sun that burned and shunned, rats crawling nibbling on week-old noodles as he lay on the ground in a pool of his own sick and blood, his mind numb and dense and his eyes clouded over with the look on his mother's face when she realized that they didn't have enough money to pay off their debts—

Yahiko tossed his blanket away and stumbled out, suddenly unable to stand the way the cotton gently pressed down on him. He wandered around the compound aimlessly, subconsciously picking out hiding spots until he spotted the training hall in the distance and sat down on the veranda facing it. Under the weight of the night sky, the training hall didn't look very large. It was scruffy and shabby, the patching on the woodwork obvious, as if done by someone in a hurry. The roof looked like it needed its tiles replaced a while back, and Yahiko could see a tear in the rice paper on the door.

This… this was what that girl had inherited. This forlorn little building with years of history crawling up its sides and slowly tearing it down. This was what she was so proud of, what she fought so fiercely to protect. Was it worth it? He remembered straight back, worn sandals, the crest of their lord on the pommel of a sword. Is it ever worth it?

"I still don't really know."

Yahiko jumped a little, and looked up to see the girl standing next to him. She gave him a wry smile and sat down next to him, hugging her knees as she contemplated the building in front of them.

"Don't know what?" Yahiko's voice was uncharacteristically hushed, but if she was surprised she hid it well.

"If it's ever worth it."

The two of them sat in silence for a while, both pairs of eyes still fixed on the training hall. A cool breeze blew through the compound and Yahiko heard the wind chime in the distance. He let out a sigh and to his surprise his shoulders slackened – he hadn't realized how tense he had been all this while. A stronger breeze blew past them, and the wind chime rang again – louder this time, its placid tinkling echoing through the compound.

"My father was the one who hung that wind chime."

Yahiko sneaked a glance at the girl next to him. She was still looking at the training hall.

"He bought it before he left for the war." Her eyes were distant, in the way his mother's would sometimes get. Yahiko shifted uncomfortably.

"He told me that in kenjutsu we strive to be one with nature, and he had always wanted to be like the wind. So he hung up that wind chime the night before he left and said," her voice trembled for a barely perceptible moment, "whenever the wind chime rang, it meant that he was here with me."

Yahiko stayed silent. He imagined a girl about his age watching a receding back with wide blue eyes. He waited for her to continue, but when she didn't he tilted his head away from her, his fingers tightening around edge of the veranda. What was he to say? My parents never left me anything to remember them by? When my father left, he didn't even look back? I wasn't with my mother when she died, I don't even know where they buried her? They were orphans, both of them, but unlike her he didn't have anything left to his name. He had no school to defend, no legacy to carry on, no wind chimes to take comfort in. What could he say?

"That's dumb."

The moment the words left his mouth Yahiko wanted to kick himself. You idiot! He didn't even dare to look at her now – her sharp inhale was all he needed to hear. In anticipation, he curled in on himself – would she hit him? Would she curse him? Or would she just toss him out onto the streets right now? He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes and flinched – she was going to hit him after all; he just hoped it was quick and hard, he didn't mind the pain if it was quick, it was easier to deal with than the multiple hits that left his body aching all over for days, that made him wish he would just die, that made him feel so weak and helpless, like the smallest movement or the gentlest touch would shatter him—

He heard an exhale and tensed. He felt the weight of her gaze on his back but he refused to look back.

There was silence for a while. Then laughter.

Laughter.

"You're right," she said, giggling, "It is dumb. What kind of comfort is a wind chime? How could a daughter possibly take comfort in a stupid wind chime when reports of the violence and war casualties got worse with each day?" She sighed and her voice lowered, as if afraid of itself. "A fifteen-year-old girl has no use for platitudes. She doesn't need a wind chime – she needs her father."

Yahiko slowly unfurled himself, lowering his arm from his face.

"Adults," she leaned back on her hands, her mouth twisting downwards, "have the dumbest way of trying to make things seem okay when they're not."

For the first time, Yahiko took his time and looked at the girl who took him in. She was in her sleeping yukata, her braided hair tossed in front of her shoulder, the wind playing with the stray strands that had escaped. Her mouth was wound into something between bitterness and amusement, but her shoulders were relaxed and her eyes – they were determined and focused and clear. Slowly, the image of her leaning back in the moonlight faded into a warm hand on his cheek, a weak smile slowly withering away, a gentle voice murmuring assurances that everything would pass even as a chest heaved with the ferocity of its coughs and hands trembled as they reached for him—

Things were not okay; they haven't been for a while now.

Yahiko looked down at his own hands. He wanted the clarity he saw in her eyes. He didn't want to see the ghosts of the past blurring and distorting the present he lived in anymore. He was tired of seeing the afterimages of misery – he wanted to see the world as it truly was, unmarred and unembellished. He wanted to start all over again.

"Hey, say something, brat. You're unnaturally quiet, it's making me nervous."

"I'm not a brat." He couldn't help the natural retort.

A moment passed and he wanted to say something (he wasn't sure what exactly), but she stood up before he could and crossed the yard to the training hall. She turned around and beckoned towards him. Yahiko followed her into the dark, standing awkwardly at the doorway and watching as she lit the few candles near the wall where the dojo placards hung.

Master: (Blank)

Adjudant Master: Kamiya Kaoru

Students: (Blank)

"I made this yesterday." Yahiko wasn't able to see it clearly, but Kaoru was holding something in her hands. "I had to do it myself because our finances are a little tight and I couldn't get a master, but…" She took a plank of wood out from a bundle of cloth and hung it on the wall.

Students: Myojin Yahiko

"I don't think my calligraphy's that bad, right?"

Yahiko stood absolutely still, holding his breath. He thought if he breathed the moment would break and he would shatter.

"Hey, say something!"

His name—Myojin Yahiko. His name was on the wall. Myojin was a samurai name, a name to be proud of, his father had said. Yahiko had thought about that name countless times, had said it and heard it, but he hadn't seen it written down since his father left. He didn't know what calligraphy masters could do, but Kaoru's calligraphy was strong and smooth and gentle at the same time, with a flow to it that stilled his heart. No, her calligraphy really wasn't bad at all.

"Yahiko? Hey, Yahiko?"

He knew he should say something. He should compliment her, or thank her, or at least smile at her. But when he opened his mouth the words got stuck and the only thing he could do was sniff, and when he tried to smile instead all he could manage was a feeble twitch of his lips. There was a pain in his chest and it felt like his heart had melted and was seeping through his ribs, his eyes stung and really all he wanted to do was thank the girl in front of him but why wouldn't the words come out, and damn it now his nose was runny and his vision was blurry and why couldn't he just—

Gently, a pair arms wrapped around him and a hand came around to guide his head to the juncture between her neck and shoulder. She was warm, so warm, and the way her fingers lightly scratched his scalp reminded him so much of his mother. The cotton of her clothes was a little scratchy and he hated the way he trembled, but he raised his arms and brought her closer to him, his fingers tangling themselves into the back of her yukata.

"I don't know what you've been through, and I can't even imagine what your life has been up till now. But," she tightened her arms around him, "it doesn't matter to me, who you were or what you did. You can stay. I'm not going to be an adult and tell you that everything's okay – you're obviously not okay – but I'm going to tell you this: You can take as much time as you want to be okay again. It's safe here."

There it was, that word again: Safe. Could he allow himself to believe it this time? He shifted backwards and looked up into blue, blue eyes that were sharp and soft at the same time, eyes that seemed to tell him that it was fine to believe in things like honesty and courage and redemption and love. His father was dead. So was his mother. But here was someone else who was strong and gentle and warm. Whom he could start over again with. Hastily wiping his tears away with the back of his arm, he scooted back from her and knelt, planting both hands on the ground.

"I, Myojin Yahiko, would be honored to join the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu."

He heard a quiet gasp and then there it was, that hand on his head again. He looked up. She smiled at him, a wide smile that he could finally reciprocate, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw a flash of red slip around the doorway. And in that moment, as the warmth from Kaoru's hand seeped through to the rest of his body, Yahiko thought he could understand why the strongest swordsman of the era was currently residing in this dojo.

A/N 2: Sometimes it's easy to forget that Yahiko has had a very traumatic childhood, and the sudden shift into life at the Kamiya dojo must not have been easy for him. I think Kaoru would've been the one to help him transition into this new environment, and to help him realize that this is a permanent thing, that he no longer has to go back to life on the streets. And I think it would've taken a while, but moments like this really helped him along. Kaoru really has a way around people with PTSD, huh?

Anyway, for those non-tumblr users, Ruroken Week is happening on tumblr this week! You can check out the tag #rurokenweek for all the amazing stuff people have been doing. I've also put a link to my tumblr on my profile if you want to see what I've been doing/writing (there's a short drabble I did for Day 1, something I thought was too unpolished for the collection here).

As always, reviews would be awesome and concrit absolutely welcome!