06—Crimson Amethyst
A fierce blaze.
His world lies in ruins. The small town in which he'd spent his youth, reduced to nothing more than a series of enormous, smoldering piles of cinder and rubble, plaintively casting ash, smoke and dust into the sky, obscuring the light from the moon and stars.
Despite the raging inferno, the night is oddly quiet. Or perhaps, with no other sounds competing, he'd simply grown accustomed to the roar of the flames. Were it not for the unspeakable horror before him, it could be peaceful. Almost serene. Just the sound of the fire, crackling, burning, as it works its way through, consuming what little remains of the town. Close enough for him to feel the heat of the flames, yet not so close that it's discomforting.
He draws in a breath through his nose, then recoils. Mixed in with the smell of ash and smoke is something else. A distinct scent that evokes memories of times spent with friends and family at casual outings, roasting meat over an open flame.
The scent pulls his gaze, and his eyes slowly expand with horrific realization.
It's a person. It's… people. Cooked human flesh.
His fresh understanding turns his stomach, causing him to double over, nearly retching its contents onto the ground. Forcefully breathing through his mouth to evade the stench, he chokes, coughs, and gags, his tongue quickly becoming coated with the dust and ash hanging thick in the air. It doesn't stop the questions from coming.
What happened? How did I get here?
He struggles to remember, but everything is indistinct and hazy, coming only in flashes. A house, his house. What kind? He can't recall. From the sky, something that looks like blood. An entire ocean of it, moving swiftly, dissolving or igniting everything it touches. Trees, grass, stone, wood…
People.
Someone, a woman with long, striking red hair caked with ash. She grabs him by the arm, pulling him behind her as the cursed substance consumes their house, his childhood home. A man behind them, running at their heels, urging them forward with his amber-colored eyes. The unholy fire spreading faster than should have been possible.
Then, nothing. And he was here, standing, looking around in a daze.
But alive, spared as if by some miracle, and the only thing even resembling its proper form, with everything else having been reduced to cinders.
And it's not lost on him.
This feels weird. Everything's gone except me. Nothing else is even closed to what it used to be.
He stands in the center of the surreal scene, a presence almost alien, as if a visitor to some field fresh with the scars of a battle that neither side had survived.
But there was a survivor.
One.
Him.
And the fact only raises more questions.
But how? Dumb luck? Or was our house just the last thing to get hit?
Wind from the heat of the inferno kicks up, stirring it like some self-feeding monster. Self-feeding, yet still seeking something more to devour. Looking toward it stirs his deep-seated sense of self preservation.
I can't stay here.
Shell-shocked, and in a thick fugue, this obvious thought impels him forward. Aimlessly, he wanders the fresh hellscape, surrounded on every side by the fresh ruins of crumbling buildings and the fallen forms of those whose lives had been both lost and claimed. Forms nearly unrecognizable as having once been human.
Thoughts and questions continually stir in his mind.
How did this happen?
Why was he the only person here who was still alive?
But they didn't matter. Some other thought overshadows them.
He was alive.
He'd survived, so he had to survive.
Circuitous and strange, it makes a sort of sense to him, though another thought runs parallel to it, niggling itself in and becoming deep and intractable. There, wandering about, surrounded by the inferno that seemed to live and move and breathe of its own accord, cutting off every chance for escape, sucking the oxygen from the air as it feasts upon the smoldering rubble and charred human remains.
There, in that place, a single, resigned thought persists, louder than all the others.
I can't. I won't make it. That I'm not already dead is a miracle…
A foregone conclusion, so obvious that even he as a young child could grasp it. Exhausted, asphyxiated, he collapses to his knees, then falls to his back, his striking red hair resting against the ground as he casts his amber eye's vacant gaze at the sky obscured by the thick cloud of ash, dust and smoke.
To where the more natural clouds have gathered.
Clouds telling of the coming storm that would soon be upon him.
Rain… That's good. Rain should put out the fire…
He breathes in another choked gasp. Heat from the encroaching blaze singes the inside of his lungs, bringing with it a realization.
It hurts. Everything… hurts.
A realization he acknowledges for himself, and for those unable to think it for themselves, their lives having been stolen. His last conscious thought, but not the last thing he sees. That privilege belonged to the man. A man, face smeared with dust and ash, with messy, dark and unkempt hair, his long coat, loose tie and white shirt all drenched with sweat mixing in with the rain that falls from the sky.
And gray eyes. Deep, sad eyes beset by tears shed from remorse and relief in equal measure.
By some miracle, the man had been there, and saved his life, though how he never learned. But that his body had survived was of little consequence when compared to what had been lost. His parents, his home, and everything he'd known. For him, with nothing left to him, it had been as if he, his heart, all that made him who he was, had actually died that day.
The end of one life. The start of something else.
Not long after, the sun had risen on a new day. The flames receded, having finally gorged themselves to satisfaction, leaving nothing in their wake but ash, dust, and painful memories.
"—Huh!?"
On regaining consciousness, the boy exclaims, and sucks in a sharp gasp, surprised at being alive as he blinks his eyes up at the ceiling. Buzzing, fluorescent lights anchored in their ballasts, embedded in a ceiling made of white tiles. Lights so bright, and ceiling tiles so white and reflective, they force him to squint as his eyes adjust, taking their time to bring his surroundings into focus.
It takes him a moment to understand he's someplace else. That he's not dead, or in that field surrounded by some unnatural, rampaging fire, choking on ash and smoke, sprawled out underneath the indifferent night's sky, but resting comfortably in a clean, yet unfamiliar bed, surrounded by the faint smell of bleach and other chemical disinfectants.
He lets out another surprised utterance as he looks himself over, then considers his surroundings. A space unfamiliar, but not disconcerting. One which brings with it a feeling of security and comfort. What injuries he'd suffered during that nightmare, scrapes and cuts, deep bruises, and burns, had been dressed and wrapped in fine gauze and bandages.
He sweeps his gaze around the room, noting many other beds, each occupied by some person.
Each suffering from some injury.
Injured, but safe.
Safe, saved, and alive, and each face he sees, every small voice he hears reinforces a new realization.
So it wasn't just me who survived.
That thought alone brings with it some relief, and his eyes continue wandering the room. They come to rest on a window to the outside world. The sky, blue, bright and beautiful, proves time has passed since he'd been laying in that raging firestorm, resigned, not knowing the hand of fate would be stayed that night by some unknown man.
Yet for all the beauty of that mid-afternoon sky, his expression sours with a bitter frown.
All those people… And the world just keeps turning, like it doesn't even care.
Days pass as the boy remains in his hospital bed, bandaged and recovering from his injuries. It's as if he, in a genuine sense, is some newborn child.
Defenseless.
All that he'd been was lost in that cruel blaze. Parents, family, friends, leaving him a scorched and hollowed husk.
The passing of time brings with it newfound understandings of the events that had transpired. From what he'd picked up by mutterings and murmurings of the doctors and nurses, he understood that he'd been saved. Obviously, considering he was alive to understand and appreciate it.
Alive, but alone.
A realization which quickly weighs heavily on his mind, building into worried concern.
It's good that I survived, but what happens to me now?
Not a baseless concern, but one that would prove wholly unfounded.
As the thought burdens him, a doctor, young but seasoned, enters the room.
"Let's see, then…" he says, helping the boy to sit up.
Carefully, he prods the places that had been bandaged, watching closely for any reaction from the child. On seeing none, he arches his brow, rubbing his chin. Reaching across the bed, he takes a pair of surgical scissors from a tray.
"We'll need to redress these. And it's a good chance to see how you're recovering," he says in a reassuring tone, cutting away the bandage that had been placed over the least of his injuries.
The gauze falls away, and the doctor's eyes grow wide with surprise.
"That's… quite remarkable."
After wiping clean the space where the bandage had been with an alcohol pad, he sets to work, removing a few more bandages, and cleaning the space beneath each. His eyes continue widening with each bandage that he removes, and he lets out another expression of surprise. As the last falls away, he draws his hand, wearing a latex surgical glove, across his forehead before removing said glove and disposing of it.
"That you survived is one thing, but…" His voice trails as he scratches where his mask rubs under his chin. "Sorry. They keep telling me I need to work on my bedside manner. I'll just say this. Your recovery is coming along nicely. Better than I'd have expected, if I were being completely honest. And at this point, you should be able to eat on your own as well. I'll have something brought—"
The rest of his words remain unspoken. Footsteps clicking across the hospital tiles draw his focus. He turns toward them, then looks back at the boy.
"Well, perhaps later. It seems you have a visitor."
The doctor stands, turns toward the man with a nod, then leaves the room.
An awkward silence hangs in the air between the man and the boy. The same man who had been the last thing the boy had seen, and his eyes widen with recognition. Wearing the same clothing, his face rough with uncut stubble, unkempt hair, and the same forlorn, long-looking eyes, contrasting strangely with his friendly smile.
"Hello. You must be Shirou-kun."
With a friendly voice, the man confirms the boy's identity. A sincere tone, yet his presence and words bring with them a measure of uncertainty and suspicion. And why not? He'd never seen the man before, who somehow knew his name.
Still, he nods in reply, and the man's smile broadens.
"Then I'll ask you plainly. Which would you prefer? To be sent to an orphanage? Or to be adopted by me, a complete stranger whom you've never met?"
Shirou's eyes expand at the man's strange question. He, a boy who had just lost everything, and who was in possibly the most vulnerable position of his life, was being asked something ridiculous by a man who, by his own admission, he'd never even met before this moment.
He didn't even know the guy's name.
Despite this, as he continues to scrutinize the man with eyes that widen and narrow, and as he tilts his head, weighing the options, he understands what he's being asked. This man, the one who had saved his life from the fire that had claimed so many lives, is now offering to adopt him. To give him a new home.
To become his family.
"I don't understand. Are you a relative of mine?"
Shirou asks the obvious question, and the man shakes his head.
"No. Like I said, I'm just a stranger."
With eyes even more filled with suspicion, he looks the man over from head to toe. Somehow, and not aided by his ridiculous question, the man does not present as the most reliable of adults. At the same time, Shirou understands that doesn't matter. It's this man, or an orphanage. Either option is an unknown quantity, the difference being that this person seems willing, while there was no such guarantee of any person overseeing a house full of orphaned children.
So for Shirou, it's a simple choice. One he makes atonally, only holding out his hand and extending a finger toward the man, whose smile broadens further at the simple gesture.
"I see. That's good. A relief, honestly," he says, awkwardly roughing his hair. "I wasn't sure what you'd say. I know it's sudden, but let's get ready quickly. We'll have to get you used to your new home as fast as we can."
What few things Shirou has, mostly the clothing he'd been wearing when he was brought to the hospital, are quickly gathered, and the man clumsily stuffs them into a small box the staff had provided. Lightly frowning, Shirou watches him quietly as he struggles to get everything to fit, and draws a quick conclusion from his observations.
This guy sucks at packing.
The man stares at the box, frowning, and running his hand through his unkempt hair, adding to his disheveled appearance. Finally, he sighs, dumps the box, and makes a second attempt. As he does, he looks toward Shirou.
"Oh, one thing I forgot to mention, but it's probably the most important thing, and I definitely have to tell you before you come with me."
Only nodding, Shirou continues to stare in silence.
The man looks at the box and sighs in relief as he places the last article, Shirou's shoes, darkened from smoke damage, on top of its contents. He quickly scans the room. On seeing no one near enough to be a concern, he nods and turns his full attention toward Shirou.
"There's a lot more to say about it, but I'll start off with this. I'm a sorcerer."
In contrast to his expression, which is casual, almost lighthearted, his words and tone are heavy, almost exaggerated. Shirou's eyes widen in response, practically shining as they reflect the fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling. The simple reaction of a child. Innocent, naïve. While others would balk, perhaps call in some authority figure or law enforcer, Shirou simply accepts the words for what they are.
The truth.
"—Wow, mister… That sounds awesome."
The man nods. "It has its moments. I can't speak of it at length here, but I'll tell you more when we get home."
With that, and after handling the formalities of getting Shirou discharged, the two depart the hospital together. With no living relatives to contest the procedure, the adoption went seamlessly, and he became the man's son. The man, Emiya Kiritsugu, gave the boy a home, a family, and a sound foundation for building a new life to replace that which the fire had taken.
Though he couldn't recall much from that day, he could recall his father fondly retelling the tale, over and over, as if it was the happiest day of his life, and the feeling of pride that swelled within him as he recited his new name.
Emiya Shirou.
Eventually, with persistent determination, Shirou wore Kiritsugu down, and he accepted him as his student.
A student of the arcane.
As time passed, the boy matured, and his father felt comfortable occasionally taking his leave. Sometimes for months, sometimes as long as half a year, and yet each time he returned with a story to share.
Still, the house, the sprawling, single level Japanese style mansion, was far too large for a single person, and being left there by himself was both lonely and perplexing. What even was a child to do on his own in such a large house?
But patiently he would wait for the man, his father, who seemed to be always off chasing his dreams like a child. He'd wait for him to return, then sit and listen eagerly as he recounted tales from his latest adventure. A strange way for an adult to be, yet there was always something about him that enthralled Shirou.
Something that made him want to be just like him.
Though perhaps maybe a version of him that was a bit more reliable.
On the floor of his shed, sprawled out on a blue tarp, dressed in deep blue overalls, his tools scattered around him, Shirou stirs from his sleep, the last vestiges of his dreams fading quickly from his mind. Fragmented dreams of a life once lost, and a life newly found. His first life, which had been stolen by an unrelenting and unnatural fire, and the new life he'd gained with his adoptive father.
Stirred by the heavy groaning of the solid metal door to his shed being pushed open, he turns his head, shielding his eyes from the light that pours in from the outside. The light of the rising sun. Before that, there'd been some other things that had nearly woken him. Glass shattering against the outer wall of the shed, his private workspace. Many somethings clinking, rolling, and then coming to a rest on the concrete slab outside the door.
The frustrated yelling of what sounded like a child screaming something about some old codger. Yet in his exhausted and unconscious state, none had broken through, so there was nothing to recall. But the door, combined with the light, against which he now squints, and the chilled morning air rushing in, against which his skin bristles, is enough to rouse both him and his thoughts.
Time to get up already.
He yawns, stretching, and turning the rest of his body sleepily toward the door near which stands a young woman dressed in a familiar student's uniform, with shoulder-length lavender colored hair and eyes, who speaks with a gentle, sweet voice.
"Senpai? Are you awake?"
"I am now… Morning, Sakura."
He responds in a quiet, tired tone, wearing an absent smile. A voice tired, but deeper than his younger self, when he'd been in that dream. It would become deeper as time moves forward, carrying him along with it.
Unbeknownst to him, a third person observes quietly from the open doorway, his eyes fixed firmly on the scene of the young man, running his hand through his striking red hair, and the young woman, stepping into the shed, lowering herself and resting her knees on the smooth, cool concrete floor.
What by all appearances was a child dressed in an intricately designed set of full red leather cosplay, with bright green eyes that shone in the dark, and his lips pressed thinly in a focused line. Though he watches, observing intently, at this moment, Sakura has forgotten about him completely. Every thought in her mind is focused on this. The here and now. What she'd been waiting for since she'd been startled from her sleep this very morning.
"Good morning, Senpai."
For her, as is said, it's the simple things in life.
"You have some time still, but Fujimura-sensei will get angry if you keep sleeping in here."
Though she gives him a warning, her entire expression is alight by her radiant smile. These are the moments for which she so fondly longs. The moments which shut out the dark and twisted memories of her time in that cruel mansion. Taiasu proved a fascinating diversion, but this young man, her 'Senpai', will always be her rock and her anchor. That which keeps her firmly grounded.
And within her burns a desperate yearning to one day tell him so.
Oblivious to her feelings, and still burdened for the moment by post-sleep fatigue, he can only offer a simple reply.
"Yeah… I imagine she would. Thanks for waking me up."
For Shirou, Sakura has been an invaluable addition to his family, though it had taken her wearing both him and his guardian down over a long period for that to come about. Though aware of her as a woman, certain social complexities in his life, compounded by his own hesitancies, and that special lack of awareness that can cause one to fail seeing the forest for the trees, impede him from seeing her as more than a friend, his junior, and a wonderful, willing helper around his house.
There may have been some willful ignorance at play as well.
"It's not a problem," Sakura says, shaking her head. "You're always up so early, so I rarely get the chance to do this."
As Shirou struggles to shed the shackles of his fatigue, his words continue to come slow and sparse. Sakura only sits, watching and smiling, and still unnoticed and unmoving, Taiasu pays the shed interior quick consideration.
This place is pretty cluttered. Spanners, toolboxes… Must be his work space.
Cluttered workspace, cluttered mind. Whether that proves true in this case, only time would tell. Shirou notes Sakura's expression, her deep smile and eyes that seem to shine.
She's in a pretty good mood this morning… Wonder what's up?
"I don't think that's true…" he says, groggily responding to her observation. "But I prefer this. Fuji-nee is always so aggressive…"
After a moment, his words, those about his preferring her approach to that of his teacher, reach his ears, and he gives himself a firm head-shake.
Jeez, what am I even saying? Come on, stupid brain, get in gear!
"But I shouldn't put you out like this. I have to try harder next time."
Sakura gently shakes her head, causing her straight, loose purple locks to swish.
"It's no trouble for me. I'm happier when I can meet you like this, so you shouldn't put yourself out over it."
Still observing from outside, Taiasu sucks in a quick and quiet breath in realization of something.
W-wow. She's not being very subtle. She…
A wide smile grows across his face, and he swallows against a soft lump forming in his throat at his sudden understanding.
She really likes… No, it's a lot more than that. She loves this guy. This feels almost intimate. Is it really okay for me to be watching this?
He pulls his head away from the door, then his smile sinks like a stone. His mouth hangs open as his hands fly to the sides of his head, his eyes snapping wide as another dreadful realization comes to the fore.
W-wait—she loves this guy, but I said all that stupid crap earlier!
As Sakura continues rousing Shirou, Taiasu engages in equal parts deep self-reflection and harsh self-criticism.
It's fine, right? It was just a stupid comment, right? Just a casual, off-handed compliment. Nothing to worry about. She even said she didn't read anything into it. So why am I getting upset—BECAUSE SHE ALREADY LIKES SOMEBODY, YOU JERK! What if she HAD read into it!? You could have made—
Inside the shed, Sakura giggles softly, brushing her hair back behind her ear. Shirou attempts to force his body upright, crinkling the blue tarp underneath him, and scattering some tools, sending them clattering a short distance across the cement floor.
"Just… give me a second. I think my brain is still asleep."
He directs his sleepy smile and gaze toward her. Then, as if proving his words, his eyes slip closed, and his head nods forward.
"… Senpai?"
He snorts, snapping his head back and giving himself a firm head-shake.
"S-sorry… I'm awake, I promise. I still have to help with breakfast too, right?"
"Doesn't seem like you're awake yet," she says, her smile shifting for a moment into something of a playful smirk. "I'm guessing you were up late, so take your time while I get breakfast ready, okay?"
With every word she speaks, her tone brightens, becoming more cheerful, her eyes shine and her smile broadens, and it becomes impossible for Shirou not to notice that something is up.
Really strange. Why is she in such a good mood this morning?
"I can't make you cook breakfast all by yourself. I have to at least help."
Finally, he rouses himself, lumbering to his feet, fighting his fatigue and grunting lightly as his shoulder pops in response to his broad stretching motion.
"All right, I'm ready. Let's go, Sakura."
"S-Senpai?"
"Hm? Something wrong?"
"No, nothing wrong but… I was thinking you might want to change before going inside?"
When he stands, ready to leave, she turns her head away and blushes red. Why? Was it what he was wearing? Or was it her suggestion that he might want to change first? Was it the suggestion itself, or did it evoke images of his form in her mind? Whatever the cause, she turns red, and averts her gaze, pulling uncomfortably at her long white sleeves before glancing up at him in an almost practiced, demure fashion.
Shirou looks himself over. What he sees causes him to groan with realization, and he runs his hand from his face up over his head, pushing it backward.
"Jeez…"
Right, my overalls. I was wearing them when I fell asleep, so of course I'd still be wearing them. Fuji-nee'd clobber me for sure if I showed up at the table dressed like this.
"Sorry… I thought I was more awake than this."
The red in Sakura's cheeks fades as she nods, smiling.
"It's fine. We'll get breakfast ready while you take care of that." She scans the untidy workspace with her gaze. "And you should probably pick up some in here while you're at it. Otherwise, Fujimura-sensei might have something to say."
Shirou sighs, folding his arms. "Right, thanks. I'll be in after I change. Please go on ahead of me…?"
His voice trails as he picks up on something in her words.
Wait… She said 'we'? Who's we? Does she think Fuji-nee's going to help?
"We'll be waiting, Senpai."
Sakura steps through the doorway, and looks to her left to see Taiasu glaring at the ground, arms folded, and angry wrinkles creasing his forehead.
—can't be going around saying stupid things like—
"Taruko-kun?"
Her soft-spoken words cut into his thoughts, bringing them to an abrupt halt. He shakes the vexation from his expression, forming a more neutral line with his mouth as he looks up from the ground.
"Sakura? Everything good?"
She nods, then stops.
I… I forgot to ask—!
With everything that had happened that morning, it would've been more surprising for her to have not been absent-minded. She shakes her head quickly, then turns back to the shed.
"Senpai? I'm sorry I forgot to ask, but is it okay if we have a guest for breakfast?"
"Huh? A guest? Someone you know?" Shirou steps out and looks around the yard at eye level, scratching his head. "I don't mind, but maybe introduce me?"
He continues looking around the yard, and Sakura giggles.
"Senpai, he's—"
"—down here." Taiasu says with a small frown, finishing her thought.
Although accustomed to being the smallest person in any room, being overlooked still brings him a… small… measure of irritation. Startled at the sudden voice, Shirou glances down, taking a quick step back.
"Wah! Sorry, I didn't—"
Taiasu sighs, shaking his head.
"It's fine, I'm used to it."
Shirou takes a moment to look him over.
Just a kid? That's some outfit, and those ears. Wow, those ears. I hope he grows into them…
He takes a few mental notes. The small, child-like, off-worldling adventurer, in his eyes, seems nothing more than a simple, strangely dressed child with ears shaped a bit oddly for his head.
Understandably, as they'd just met after all, neither he nor Sakura, who'd only just learned that he's more than his unseemly appearance and unassuming demeanor would suggest, could know just how much more there is to know about him.
Though in time, they certainly would learn.
"This is your guest?"
Sakura nods. "Is it alright to have him over for breakfast?"
Shirou takes a few moments to consider before giving a dismissive shrug. Having another person to feed for breakfast, a small person at that, was no cause for concern to him.
"I mean, if he's your friend or something, I guess I'm fine with it."
She shows another radiant smile, fueled by his willingness to accept her request. Not the nature of the request; for her, that's irrelevant. It was simply that he'd been agreeable to what she'd asked.
The simple things.
"Thank you, Senpai!"
Seeing her smile causes Shirou to go a shade of red.
Sh-she can turn every head with that smile.
For all of his efforts to keep his feelings in check, sudden moments like this… Well, at the end of any day, he's much like any other guy, at least when it comes to things like these. Remembering himself, he shakes his head, derailing his current train of thought.
"Yeah, it's no problem," he mutters.
Taiasu cuts his stature at the waist with a deep bow.
"Thanks. Sorry for the trouble."
Shirou stares down, blinking a few times.
"Y-yeah. like I said, it's no trouble…"
Weird. But at least he's polite.
He turns back toward the shed, as Sakura turns toward the house wearing a firmly fixed daydreamer's smile. She plants her foot squarely on a small, round, crystalline object. Before she can react, the object shifts, and she stumbles backward with a soft yelp.
"Kya—!"
Shirou turns, sending his hands out on reflex and taking a quick step forward.
"Sakura—!"
As gently as his sudden movement allows, he grabs her shoulders and pulls her in, helping her steady herself on her feet. The distance between them closes to zero. Her back presses into his chest, the top of her head, her silken purple hair brushing up under his nose. Her scent passes through, directly into his brain, sending it into overdrive.
Cutting his breath short, making his heart smash into his chest, and setting his face almost on fire.
Reinforcing the fact that beneath each of his hands, there are her shoulders.
Her soft, delicate shoulders.
Feeling his chest pressing into her back, her own face blazes like the sun, the morning before a powerful storm breaks.
Both their minds reel.
D-damn it—I was half asleep before, so I'd forgotten. She's so—damn it! It's impossible not to notice with her this close—!
Briefly, and only from a distance, Taiasu had appreciated Sakura's physical beauty, and had swiftly squelched any inclination within himself to give further consideration to such a thing, and doubly so on learning she had eyes for someone else.
The same could not be said for Shirou.
Over what was quickly approaching two years, he'd only become more aware of it as she'd continued developing into an attractive young woman. He'd grown accustomed to it, building a sort of tolerance during the time they'd spent together. Her as his friend, junior, and best friend's sister, and he as her senior, and reluctant, yet eventually willing, recipient of her help with such things as cooking, cleaning, and laundry.
In this moment, though, he's viscerally, painfully aware of her as a woman, heavily conflicted by his feelings about this sudden re-realization.
Come on, stupid! She's your friend's sister, and your junior at school! Get your head out of your ass—!
Torn, bitterly vexed, he inwardly berates himself, while Sakura's thoughts are carried in a distinctly different direction.
H-he's so close—his chest… I can feel it… Even his heart racing… Senpai…
Sakura's feelings are not so unclear, regardless of how much she struggles to keep them to herself. Her inner strife, the conflict in her feelings, what she feels, her desire to share them, and her hesitation in doing so, all come from someplace else. For this, like so many things in her life, her past serves as a firm impediment, staying her hands and her words.
In their anxious moment, Shirou is the first to break the heavy silence.
"Are you okay…?"
"Y-yes… Thank you…"
It all happens over a few brief seconds, but for both of them, it feels like much longer.
The sound of something hard scraping against concrete brings them back to reality. Sakura takes a quick step forward, her heart hammering against the inside of her chest, not daring to turn around. Now that she's far enough away, and with the air bereft of her scent, Shirou sucks in a deep breath to settle himself down and force some of the red from his face.
They both look toward the sound to see Taiasu with a vexed frown marring his expression. He kneels down and picks up a small, rounded crystal. Both their stares follow as he walks toward a second one, bending down and lifting it. Then a third, and a fourth, before one of them finally comments.
"Taruko-kun? What are those?"
He freezes as his hand closes around the shard, and he turns his head up and toward Sakura. Most of the red burning in her complexion has faded by this point as she stares down at him, wearing a soft frown born of curiosity. He glances over at Shirou, to see him still quite red and wearing a similar expression.
"Ah… sorry…" He holds up the shard, letting it reflect some of the morning sunlight. "They're mine. I, um…"
Once he's slipped the crystal into his pack, he turns toward them and lowers himself with another deep bow.
"Sorry for leaving my stuff lying around. Especially to you, Sakura." He rights himself, and turns more fully toward her, tugging at his fingers. "Since you tripped over them. You could've gotten hurt. I'm really sorry."
He lowers himself again with another bow, then moves to collect the remaining two.
Don't ask anything else, please—!
"Okay, but what are they?"
Taiasu winces as she repeats her question.
Damn it!
He forces an awkward smile as he thinks hard and fast.
She said I can't talk about magic or my world, but what am I supposed to say to get her to—!
His eyes snap wide with realization as his thought echoes.
'Or my world!' Of course! SHE already knows I'm not from this world, so I just need to—!
"They're something I brought with me from home," he says, his tone forced and stiff as he locks eyes with her. "Again, I'm really sorry for leaving my stuff lying around."
Both she and Shirou blink a few times, then her eyes expand subtly.
I see. Something he can't say.
She nods her understanding.
"Please be more careful with your things, Taruko-kun."
Inwardly, he breathes a huge and relieved sigh as he returns her nod, showing a slight smile. He moves toward the last two to collect and return them to his pack.
"But what are they?"
Genuinely curious now, Shirou repeats Sakura's question, and Taiasu almost drops the one he'd picked up as he goes full-on face fault, falling forward, his forehead slamming into the cement slab.
Gods damn it—!
"They're crystals I've collected," he says curtly, standing up, rubbing his forehead, and returning the last one to his pack. "I'd taken them out for something, then forgotten about them."
He looks up toward Shirou, trying to suppress a visceral eye-twitch.
Gotta change the subject, or this kid's gonna… This kid? Wait, what's his—!
The thought sparks another realization. Something he doesn't yet know, and he hits on the perfect thing to change the subject.
"Oh, right! I forgot to introduce myself!" For a third time, he lowers himself with another bow, but more shallow this time. "My name's Taiasu. Taiasu Taruko. I'm an—!"
Still facing the ground, he snaps his mouth closed, wincing viscerally.
C-crap, I almost said I was an adventurer—! I can't be saying stuff like that!
"—visiting! I'm visiting here for a while!" Quickly, he conjures up a valid conclusion to his thought.
He straightens himself, then catches Sakura arching an eyebrow from his periphery. Unsure of what he'd been about to say, his near slip doesn't escape her notice. By this point, the red in both hers and Shirou's complexions has completely receded, and both their focus is fully on Taiasu now. Shirou's head tilts as he gives him another, more careful inspection.
He's… Why's he wearing a…?
He runs his hand through his hair as his gaze comes to rest, focused entirely on a very specific part of Taiasu's outfit.
"Ah, sure. I'm Emiya Shirou. Nice meeting you."
Though completely distracted, he absently returns Taiasu's introduction.
Why'd would he be wearing a—
"Shirou… That's a strong name."
Letting his eyes close, he absorbs the simple greeting and exchange of names, wearing a light, focused and thoughtful frown. He folds his arms and gives a single, firm head-nod.
"Yeah… That's a good name."
Shirou blinks, his head tilting in the other direction now.
He likes my name? Who says stuff like that?
Another realization dawns on Taiasu, and he claps his face, grimacing.
"Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't think to ask, but is it okay for me to call you that? Or should I call you by your family name?"
Sakura giggles, and, feeling awkward, Shirou roughs his hair again.
"I mean, I really don't care. I'm fine with either."
Jeez, nobody's ever just come out and asked me that sort of thing before. What's with this kid?
A simple grin takes the place of his contemplative frown, and he nods again.
"Okay, then I'll call you Shirou. I mean, if you're sure. And you can call me Taiasu. Or the other thing, if you're more comfortable with that."
Shirou stares blinkingly at him for a few seconds more, then shakes his head.
This is a really strange kid. Okay, I can't stand it anymore.
"Sure, Taiasu is fine. I'll just call you that, but I have to ask. What's with the cape?"
Sakura stiffens, but for being all in, desiring to have his curiosity sated, Shirou takes no notice. It's an unusual spectacle, after all. How often do you actually see a person walking around in a cape and mantle?
"Huh? Cape?" Taiasu looks himself over, then at his back, and his eyes widen. "Oh, right! My cape!"
He looks back. "What about my cape?"
Shirou smirks stiffly. "Well, I mean… Why are you wearing a cape?"
"That's what you were asking?" Taiasu says, head tilted and prodding his chin. "Why wouldn't I be?" He shows a simple grin. "I mean, capes are cool!"
"Ah—"
Shirou lets out a confused sound. His lips then press into a thin line, and he stares blankly, trying to process as Taiasu states what for him is little more than a simple fact, rather than an opinion or casual observation, in a way that seems to decide the entire issue.
I-I mean, I guess? Well, he is a child, but it's still really strange.
Taiasu twists around, reaching down and seizing it by its end, then bringing it up to his face, his eyes closed, as if deeply considering the very existence of it.
"And besides that, I really like this one. It was a gift from a dear friend."
"Oh. I see…"
Shirou draws in a soft breath, then smiles lightly, his blank stare clearing, though a small, confused thought still lingers in his mind.
But what sort of person gives a cape as a gift?
Finally, all he can do is yield with a resigned shrug. With that land-mine side-stepped, Sakura breathes a quiet, relieved sigh, though not so quiet as to escape Shirou's notice. As he turns toward her to ask, something on the ground near the shed, reflecting red in the sun, catches his eye, distracting him.
"Huh…?"
He moves toward it, kneeling down and taking it in his hand, turning to reveal a vibrant red plume about the length of his forearm.
"I've never seen a bird with feathers like this."
He holds it carefully, inspecting it, letting himself be drawn in by its sheen, and Sakura approaches to look as well. Seeing what he's holding, Taiasu again grimaces, clapping his hand over his face.
Gods damn it, how did I forget about that, too—!
"Wow. Neither have I," Sakura says, leaning in close enough to catch its smell as she draws a deep breath. The feather's scent carries up into her nose, and she smiles comfortably.
It smells warm, somehow. It's…
"… It's really pretty."
Shirou turns to her as she voices her thoughts.
"You think so?"
Still staring at it, enthralled, she nods quietly. Shirou looks from her to the feather, and back again, then shrugs. Casually, he extends his hand, holding it out to her. She takes a quick, surprised step back, tracing a path with her gaze from the feather to the young man holding it out to her.
"Are you sure?"
He nods. "I don't need or want it, so it's fine."
Tentatively, she reaches out her hand and takes the feather in her gentle grasp. Holding it by the hollow end, she twirls it around, letting it catch in the sun's light, reflecting its subtly differing shades of red.
"It's beautiful…" she says, holding it up and inhaling deeply. "Thank you."
"Ah…" Shirou turns a quick, deep shade of red and averts his gaze, again running his hand through his hair.
D-damn it! Her smile keeps getting to me!
"It's fine. It's just a—aw crap! I still need to change! Sakura, can you go get breakfast ready, please?! I'll be in to help as soon as I'm done in here!"
Not waiting for her answer, and grateful for the diversion, he spins on his feet and rushes into the shed, pushing the door closed behind him. Sakura remains enamored with the feather in her hand, breathing in deeply through her nose, enjoying its warm scent as if it were some sort of flower.
She sighs contentedly, her face alight with a radiant smile that warms further with each passing moment. Quietly, Taiasu lets his stare drift between her and what she holds, his expression shifting rapidly between a light smile and a concerned frown as he considers the feather.
The phoenix tail feather.
She's… I mean, she really seems to like it.
Finally, he settles on holding a small, soft smile, and he shakes his head.
"No. I think it's more about who gave it to her."
"Hm?" Sakura snaps out of her elated daze and looks down. "Did you say something?"
Taiasu shakes his head again. "Nope, nothing. Just thinking out loud. Did Shirou say something about getting breakfast ready?"
Smiling, she nods. "Yes. We should go."
His smile lifts into a grin and he returns her nod. They make their way through the yard toward the large house, Taiasu watching as she continues cradling the feather like some precious keepsake. They reach the door, and she slides it open, then looks down to find him standing to one side, waiting.
She stands, blinking a few times, and he gestures toward the doorway.
"Just, you know? After you?"