A/N: Post Inazuma Spoilers / Prompts: (Action) Playing an instrument and (Word) Fragile / (Dialogue) "It's your lucky day, (name)."
Winter in Inazuma is a pale, fragile thing. Quiet and quaint, as though the whole world is wearing thick layers, bundled up to its ears. The cold air bites everything, sinks its teeth hard into the tough ground. The simple, light hush of electricity in the air turns deadly, leaving fissions of icy static on the skin.
Kazuha loves it. He loves the way the cherry blossoms thrive despite the bitterness, painting the grey sky pink. He loves the way children flock to markets with pennies in their fists, searching for hot, spiced drinks and wooden toys to throw or roll. And he loves the chill in the air, the way the wind carries him sweet songs of warmth and winter, something different to the usual springy melodies he encounters.
He does not love the way every Nobushi and Samurai comes crawling out of the earth, looking for a fight to get their blood pumping, but he still draws his sword when the situation demands it.
There's less of that on Watatsumi Island. Still enough that he has to fight his way across the plains, and still enough that he almost trips over a sleeping Hilichurl trying to dodge a sweeping blade, but certainly less than if he were wandering near Inazuma City. Truthfully, he can't stand being so close to the Raiden's home. He's still a wanderer at heart, and an exile in all but name. People look at him now and see something worth avoiding. He's not sure how much power the pardon Aether bartered for has, and even if it is worth risking, something in him still aches whenever he sees the steps rising up into the city.
Watatsumi Island is safer. Sweeter. The air is mellow, and brings plenty of stories. Inspiration for songs comes a little easier these days, since he shed some of that fragile, melancholy weight, putting the heaviness to rest.
The zither fits perfectly in his hands. Kazuha settles on top of a hill in Borou Village, a place where there are more hills than people, more rocks and weeds than food. A few people glance up when he starts to play, setting his fingers to strings and plucking aimlessly, head cocked as he listens to the wind.
"Kazuha?"
The General's face peers up at him from below, through the parted branches of a bowed tree. There is a smile growing there; Kazuha mirrors it, lowering the zither, the last notes of music trailing off into silence.
"Gorou," he says. "I didn't know you'd be here. The woman at the shrine said that Kokomi moved some of her forces closer to the border."
"Rumours of more Fatui on the horizon," Gorou says, shrugging. "She doubts it, considering their last ploy didn't end well. But she has to show that she's listening, and some of the soldiers were getting a little antsy anyway. Are you coming down from there?"
"Why would I, when you could come up here?" Kazuha asks, with a faintly teasing smile.
Gorou laughs. He's quick on his feet, not as light as Kazuha but twice as agile. He scales the rocky outcrop with ease, landing in a crouch beside Kazuha. One of his ears twitches, and he grins, cocksure and sweet.
"There's a leaf in your hair," Gorou says.
Kazuha chuckles, reaching up to brush it away. But he must miss it, because Gorou leans in and sweeps his fingers over Kazuha's fringe gently, smoothing his hair all the way down to the ends of his braid. Sure enough, a leaf floats to the ground nearby, the fragile edges worn ragged with winter's bite. Gorou picks it up and puts it in his pocket, and Kazuha is quietly charmed by the action.
There is something reassuring about Gorou's presence. Something steady, like the Geo Energy he favours. They both sit, cross-legged on the edge of the hill, side by side. Kazuha leans into his shoulder.
"I didn't get to see as much of you as I'd have liked, after everything happened," Gorou says. "I looked for you. The traveller came by often and said he'd seen you recently."
The questions are unspoken but obvious. Kazuha plucks a single note on the zither before resting it in his lap, folding one hand protectively over the intricate edge. He meets Gorou's sea-blue eyes and smiles, faintly apologetic.
"It's been a long time since I came home," Kazuha said. "Even longer since it felt like home. I miss it every day, especially in the winter. But I've been wandering for too long, I think. I'm not sure how to feel like I'm allowed to be here, and I keep drifting back to the sea, back to Liyue and Mondstadt."
"It makes sense," Gorou says. "You've been forced to stay away for a long time. But it's not like that, you know? Not anymore. Aether made sure of it, and Her Excellency would welcome you with open arms whenever you wanted to visit."
"I know." Kazuha plucks another note, warmed by the eager note in Gorou's strong, steady voice. "I do know that. And I've missed seeing you all. I promise I'll make it up to you."
"I don't need an apology," Gorou says, shaking his head and nudging him gently. "But if you want to make it up to me, you could do it right now."
"Oh?" Kazuha glances up, arching a brow. "How so?"
Gorou grins widely, both ears perked up on top of his head, fluttering gently. "Play me something."
It's hardly a tough request. Kazuha laughs quietly and picks up the zither again, settling into a familiar stance.
"It's your lucky day, Gorou," he says, closing his eyes. "I have just the right song in mind."
It's comfortable; everything from the position of his fingers to the long line of his back settles his soul. With Gorou at his side, the song comes easily. The melody isn't one that he's played before, but it resonates with clear, crystalline clarity over the hills, rolling past tall sprigs of naku weed and stirring the cool water down below. Gorou hums gently under his breath, and Kazuha plays the song as though it's an old friend, something to be cherished and loved.
[Word Count: 1,040]