Garb
n. clothing or dress, especially of a distinctive or special kind.
It was the first snow of the winter season. Kamui's army was situated deep in the mountains, after an unsettling vision came to Aqua in her sleep a fortnight ago. The dream spoke of a magical artifact that was needed to bring clarity to the group and power to their cause, and it was something so important that it warranted the need of a detour in their mission, so to speak. It was something that had to be done before they could breach the third realm of Valla.
Whatever that something was, it happened to be settled within the mountain ranges of the northern region. The ice fell down on their heads like a cold sleep, and everyone huffed to themselves as their veins filled with chill. Dreary, hazy, it was as if time itself had frozen still.
Nishiki and Flannel were outside one of the mess hall tents, stomachs full with food and bodies stinging with remnant warmth. They watched the crisp air in anticipation of more snowfall, but found nothing white except the color of their icy breaths. They watched the puffs escape their lips in transparent streams and shapes, a phenomena jokingly dubbed "Dragon's Breath" even though the only dragon they knew didn't breathe any differently from the rest of them.
It was here that Nishiki asked, "Flannel, do you like the snow?"
"I do," he said. His arms were crossed as he leaned against one of the trees surrounding them. "It's a good time of year. People lose a lot of stuff in the wintertime, and the best part is when I have to dig through the snow to find it! I like it a lot. What about you?"
"I like it a lot, too. I think it's beautiful." Nishiki sighed happily, taking in the natural awe of winter around him. "Not as beautiful as me, of course, but still pretty!"
Flannel rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, sure. I always thought that Hoshido was a warmer place, though. I heard the winters aren't usually that snowy."
"Sometimes," Nishiki admitted. "It depends where in Hoshido you live, though. In the Youko no Hama, where I'm from, it snows a lot. It would snow so much that the paths would be covered, and we'd spend a long time trying to walk through the slush..." He spoke with a clear reminiscence in his voice, his eyes and voice filling up to the brim with icy mist. "Haha, talking about it now is making me homesick, honestly."
"Homesick? You're sick of your home?" Flannel's ears perked up at the strange revelation. "I thought you liked it back there, though."
"No, that's not what it means," Nishiki corrected him. "Although I used to think the exact same thing! Hinata told me that 'homesick' is just when you've been gone from home for a while, so you start to miss it, or you remember little things about it for no reason at all."
"Oh, okay." Flannel grew quiet as he mulled this over. Then he said, "I guess I'm homesick, too."
"Really? I didn't expect that," Nishiki admitted. "What's your home like, Flannel?"
"Kind of like this." He waved his hands around their general direction, motioning to the treacherous landscape around them. Everything looked the same when buried under snow, but Nishiki could still make out the pines, the bushes, the brackets and the leaves. "When it snows, it snows. There's a lot of trees, a special hole where we bury all our bones, and all sorts of dens made from rock piles…"
"Wow. It sounds nice," Nishiki said. "Our homes are pretty similar, then, right? Although instead of stone, our dens are made from digging holes in the ground, or from a bunch of thick plants."
"Sounds good to me," he agreed. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I really am homesick, which is weird 'cause I've wandered outside my territory before."
"It's probably because we've been gone so long," Nishiki pointed out. "I mean, when we first joined, we didn't think we'd be here still, right? Turns out figuring this whole war on a third country isn't as easy as you'd think it'd be."
Flannel laughed chastely, and Nishiki watched as its life turned to visible vapor in the air, dissipating completely within seconds. "You said it! I don't mind helping out, though, since they saved our hides. I guess I'm just wondering when I can finally go home after all this."
"Same here. Maybe we'll be able to take a small break and visit them soon," Nishiki mused, eyes flickering to the rising smoke from a nearby campfire. "I miss them. My family, I mean."
"Yeah," Flannel said with a deep sigh. "Yeah, I miss my family, too."
.
.
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Lilith's power managed to form a stronghold for Kamui's army to stay in during a particularly bad blizzard. A small cave was transformed to their needs, and it became bigger at a moment's notice, with sleeping hammocks strewn about, and a warm furnace for a modest smithy against the far end of the cave. The other side served as the kitchen, where the walls and stovetops lined up against the rock formations, and several long, wooden benches stood obediently by themselves.
The group found solace during this time, and they all did their best to squeeze into the space given to them.
Most of them tried to stay near the furnace and the kitchen, where burning ovens exuded so much warmth that they forgot it was freezing anywhere else they went.
Supplies lessened by the day, and all efforts went into securing blankets, food, and firewood to brave the harsh conditions of the mountain. Flannel listened in to a conversation nearby held by Pieri, Cyrus, and Elfie. Benoît was there, too, but he disappeared after a short while. Together with some other nameless knights, they all talked about how miserable it was outside, and how lucky they were to having armor to keep them warm at times, where other units couldn't have the same luxury.
When Flannel spotted Nishiki across the way, he wanted nothing more than to abandon the conversation that he had no interest in and no part of. He always, always, always preferred talking to Nishiki than not, because the other was his closest ally in the army, and they genuinely connected on a level that the other humans (and human-minded, or so Kamui was thought to be) couldn't ever understand.
So, when the wolf noticed that the fox was occupied, he felt the sting of betrayal. Silly as it was, garous were normally very possessive by nature (and Flannel even more so than usual), and such spurned behavior was seen as normal. Yet, even Flannel himself had to wonder why he was suddenly so hurt in seeing that Nishiki was speaking to someone else.
A pretty, poised, playful little someone else.
Her name was Orochi, and she was just another ally-in-arms. The Hoshidan court diviner, former retainer to the late Queen Mikoto, and an overall tricky but charming woman, Orochi was a formidable force in and of herself. Flannel never thought twice about her, but seeing her figure next to Nishiki made his mind (and heart) race, and he couldn't stop the flood of jealousy that surged through him.
He tried his hardest to convince himself that it wasn't a big deal that they were huddled so closely together. It was cold, and they were trying to warm up! (But did they have to be so close to each other like that, they're almost on top of each other!) It was crowded, so everyone was practically pressed up against each other, anyway! (But Flannel wasn't. And Pieri wasn't. And Marx and Leon and Camilla and Elise and even Kamui wasn't.) Just because they spoke to each other with pleasant smiles on their faces didn't mean that they were talking about anything important! They could just be joking around, or laughing at the misery of their circumstances!
But why, Flannel thought hopelessly to himself, finally unable to deny his own thoughts any longer, would Nishiki smile at her like that?
Why would he sit so close to her? Wasn't he Flannel's friend, first? Or was the fox overly familiar with everyone he spoke to? They were arm lengths away from melting into each other, although judging from Orochi's curling lips and careful—but tantalizing—forward-leaning to accentuate her every movement, he could tell that melting into each other wouldn't be such a bad thing in her mind.
He really, really tried not to be so selfish or critical, even in his thoughts. Yet, there was such a dark urge brimming within him. It was the kind that desired attention and control over anything else. It was the kind that made people feel strange and guilty, two feelings which Flannel wanted no part of, regardless of the circumstances.
It took a lot of strength on Flannel's end, but he promptly decided that there was no need to be so cynical towards Nishiki and Orochi.
Even if the smiles they shared with each other made him feel so hollow inside.
.
.
.
"Aren't you cold, Flannel?"
"Huh?"
He blinked at Nishiki's sudden inquiry, face scrunching up in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
The fox's ears twitched obediently as he spoke with a calm demeanor. "It's cold outside, right? So, are you cold right now?"
"Right now? I guess I'm okay. I mean, I've been sitting near the furnace all day long, so."
"Hmm," Nishiki mused. "I see. I was just curious."
"Why? Are you cold?"
"Yes, of course I am! Why do you ask?"
"Because you asked," Flannel deadpanned. "And I guess it would explain why you're always wearing that scarf of yours."
"This old thing?" Nishiki laughed as he pulled on one of the folds, fingers tugging at the off black-and-white fabric until it yielded in his prying touch. "I wear it all the time, actually. Even in summer."
"Why? Wouldn't your neck just, uh, get really sweaty? And only your neck, too? Doesn't make much sense to me," Flannel scoffed.
"It's just a me thing, I guess." He glanced at the other with something truthful and bright in his eyes. "Is it weird?"
"H-How would I know? It's your scarf," Flannel muttered. "But it's nice, at least. Must be warm."
"It is! Do you wanna see for yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
Nishiki stayed silent as he moved. He tugged gently at the leading edge of his scarf, until it unraveled in his hands. Then he reached over to Flannel—seeing as the two of them were seated by the smithy furnace for extra warmth—and slung the fabric over his neck, instead, feather-light and warm as his fingers brushed along his skin. Their touch lingered longer than their actual contact, and the closeness of Nishiki's being and the fleeting sensation of his breath flustered Flannel, stirring his heart.
Annoyed with such a forward gesture, Flannel looked for something in Nishiki's appearance that he could fault him with. Instead, when he met Nishiki's bright gaze, he found a deep kindness and sweet compassion that could put everything else in the world to shame. And his eyes were so full and wondrous, too, framed by long and perfect lashes. His hair perfectly captured the orange glow of a sun setting—soft but elegant.
In his search for imperfection, Flannel discovered nothing but flawlessness within Nishiki.
It was awful.
It was that same moment in time where Flannel realized that Nishiki's claim of being "the most beautiful creature alive" wasn't too far from the truth.
And once he thought that embarrassing string of words, he felt the heat of self-admonishment and disappointment rise up through him. When did he suddenly become so smitten? As much as he tried to deny it, his head kept filling up with new thoughts, all of which included some ridiculously infatuated sentiment about Nishiki and his beauty, his kindness, his near damn everything as it all complicated itself into one messed up web in Flannel's head.
He spoke, as if doing so would clear the cobwebs of his mind and nothing else. "What was that for? You really shouldn't move so suddenly, y'know."
And much to his delighted dismay, Flannel discovered that the scarf smelled like Nishiki, too. It smelled like his terrible soap and sweet scent, with hints of fresh mint lurking underneath. It was a brisk, clean, and friendly smell.
Much like its owner, the scarf lingered of distinct presence and warmth.
It was the youko's essence in cloth form, and Flannel wasted no time in burying himself in it. He lowered his face into the folds, and pulled one fold of the scarf upward, so as to obscure his visage at a charming angle. Yet to offset the idea that he actually enjoyed this little moment, Flannel shot an accusing glare in Nishiki's direction, and pretended to be disgusted at the mere thought of the scarf in question.
If he hadn't made it known that he thought Nishiki was sickeningly sweet, then he would have believed him in that moment in time.
"You looked cold," Nishiki simply explained. "Not bad, right? I love that scarf."
"Of course you do," Flannel groaned. "I didn't even wanna wear your stupid scarf in the first place!"
"Oh. Do you want me to take it back?"
"There's no point in doing that now," Flannel exaggerated. "Anyway, I'll keep it on for a little bit. Just to see if you freeze without it on, at least!"
"Fair enough!"
They sat quietly, again, their hands absentmindedly gravitating towards one another. Flannel almost jumped out of his skin when he felt the brief contact of Nishiki's fingers against his own. When the shock passed, he felt ridiculous, but realized it was perfectly fine to react the way he did.
Nishiki's touch was so gentle and so light that it felt like a ghost passing by him, or an angel whose wings barely touched him—pearly white feathers teasing at the tips of his fingers, and brushing by the bareness of his skin all at once.
Flannel was so, so thankful that Nishiki was quiet, too, because his head and heart were beating so harshly and so flusteredly that he didn't need the fox's usual jokes to throw themselves into the mix, too. Just his heart alone pulsed so loudly in his ears and in his head that when Flannel closed his eyes, he swore that was all he felt. All but the sensation of warmth and cold spreading through him at once, and the fleeting touch of Nishiki's heated hands and Flannel's cold denial.
When everything settled in his mind again, he spoke carefully, so as to not reveal any more of his emotional weakness than was necessary.
"It's not so bad," Flannel admitted. "But it's not my thing. I couldn't wear it all the time. Not like you do, at least."
"I understand. I actually feel a little bare without it on. It's a necessity for me, at this point."
For once, he easily agreed with Nishiki. He really seemed different without the image of his scarf on him. The accessory, as frivolous as it was, appeared to be an essential part of the youko's garb. He was definitely incomplete without it.
Coincidentally, while staring at his neck, Flannel noticed a small bauble hanging lowly from his hair that had he worn the scarf like usual, he might not have seen it at all. Without the scarf, however, the hair accessory was visible on Nishiki's person, and it piqued Flannel's curiosity.
"Did you always wear that thing in your hair?"
"No. Orochi gave me this, actually."
There was a feeling settling itself in Flannel's stomach, and it wasn't the usual light but happy feeling that the magic medallion gave him. It was a heavy weight—anxious, conflicting—that threatened to break underneath its own pressure.
"I didn't realize your birthday came early this year," Flannel teased, each joking syllable hiding the venomous edge of distress and disarray.
"I know that's what it seems like," Nishiki agreed easily, completely unaware of the vicious adages that hid themselves in the crevices of Flannel's voice. "No, but it was just a gift to repay me. I helped her collect some herbs a few days ago, since she helped me out with grooming my fur before that. So I guess this was her way of repaying me again. It's kind of silly, isn't it?"
Flannel stared at the object. It was a small hair pin, connected on a string. The centerpiece of it was a jewel, colored a deep jade green, such that reminded Flannel of the treetops in the forest, or the grass in the fields. Surrounding it was a body of silver, shinier than any of the ore they had crafted in the smithy. It was clear to see that such an object was bought somewhere outside their astral fort, and that it was a souvenir from some beautiful yet faraway land.
It was meant to be given as a precious gift, and oddly enough, it suited Nishiki. It was beautiful, mundane, but thoughtful. It matched its recipient in such a way that Flannel knew it wasn't just a random gift given to someone out of kindness.
It was a true display of genuine emotion and gratitude.
He looked away from it, and grumbled out a lackluster response, in comparison.
"Yeah, but it's yours. You must like it."
"I do! I really like it."
"Because it's beautiful, right?"
"Right," he confirmed. "But it was a gift, so I would like it even if it wasn't beautiful."
"You're just saying that right now 'cause it is beautiful," Flannel countered. "If I gave you one of my treasures, you would call it weird and wouldn't be able to admire how awesome it was!"
"That's not true at all. I mean, if you gave me insects or corpses, I probably wouldn't...admire them the way you want me to. But if it's anything else, and if it's from you, I would keep it close to me."
Flannel scrutinized the other for some fault in integrity, but found none. Still, he asked, "Are you sure about that?"
"Positive."
"You'd do that for just about anyone, huh?"
"Maybe."
"Definitely."
"Actually, no," Nishiki denied. "I wouldn't do it just for anyone."
"Then why—"
"But I'd do it for you, Flannel. Just 'cause it's you and not anyone else! I'd do it for you."
To that, Flannel had no snappy comeback. Instead, he gaped—eyes wide and mouth slightly hung open—at the utterly tender, unexpectedly genuine sentiment presented to him just now. He never expected to hear such sappy words, even if they were from Nishiki of all people. But to hear them, anyway, and to bask in their praise and glory made him realize a thing or two.
If this was praise, then he could see why Nishiki liked being revered so often. He could understand the need to be the most captivating person in the room, if it meant receiving compliments and unwarranted attention like that at any given moment. He could relate to the feeling of sweet euphoria that pooled within him, then bubbled over, like a spring filled with too many feelings and yet absolutely nothing at the same time.
Flannel realized that for the first time in his life, someone other than his bloodline regarded him in such a bright and positive light. He realized for the first time, in all the infinitely long years he had been living on this planet, that—despite living in the dark—even he deserved to bask in the light.
It was that same moment in time where Flannel realized that, unlike everyone else, he could put a name and face to the light that guided him. Unlike everyone else, he could see, hear, and speak with the entity that seemed to bring out the best in him. And unlike everyone else, Flannel had a presence alongside his existence that made his darkness feel natural and secure, for once in his infinitely long life.
Flannel realized that he had a light watching out for him this whole time, and his name was Nishiki.
.
.
.
The two of them parted ways, and Flannel tried his hardest to not be bothered by an ornamental piece of silver that swung from Nishiki's hair like a pendulum—utterly intent on hypnotizing him into a swelling bout of jealousy and rage, despite it being the most insignificant thing to come across him thus far. Even though it was a tiny hair accessory, it enlivened itself to be so much more In Flannel's mind, and it took a great deal of self-restraint to hold back on ripping it out from Nishiki's person where it sat.
Instead, Flannel ignored it (as he did most things), and pretended like the shiny hair bauble was just that, and not another enemy that threatened the security of his own self and his place with others.
He hid the emotions and turmoil beneath his own surface, where it would fester and accumulate for the days to come, but it would never truly leave him.
Not until it exploded, at the very least.