Quietude
n. a state of stillness, calmness, and quiet in a person or place
He was drowning.
He had to have been, because there was a weight all over his body, something that swarmed his frame and dragged him down further into inky depths. His ears felt clogged and beads of moisture broke out across his forehead. His head was wrapped in the pressure of the abyss, and he feared that it would soon burst apart completely, only to be lost in the wild currents around him.
Nishiki reached out fervently, and tried to grasp at anything that would stay the process of drowning. A rock, some coral, even a ledge—as long as it granted him the chance of survival, he reached for it. His fingers were met with empty space, however, and clawed at the unattainable weight enveloping him. He cried out some incoherent words, and his breath escaped in bubbles before him.
He sobbed. The noises were muffled underwater, but surely someone heard it, anyway. His pitiful whines and cries echoed—those that became less childlike and more animalistic with each passing moment. He was a fox, after all, and when his instinct failed him and all else abandoned him, he only had his true nature to rely on. Like a fox, he yipped and chittered from the stress of it all, begging to Inari Okami or any other God that would hear him out.
They listened to him, for once. In the midst of the waves, Nishiki felt hands reach out for him, grabbing him by the wrists, causing him to emerge from the water gasping and strained all the while.
When he opened his eyes, Nishiki found himself to be completely dry, except for a sheen of sweat that covered his forehead and hands. There were no oceans or rock formations, nothing of the waves that once pulled him under. Instead, he found himself inside of a tent, curled up on a bedroll. Likely it was an infirmary setup in their main camp, but Nishiki didn't make that realization quite yet.
He sat up and looked around him. There was a standing tray next to him, carrying a glass of water and some other medical supplies that he couldn't name for the life of him. The water was tempting his dry throat, but he hesitated because of the drowning sensation. Was that a dream, or another one of his hysterics? Deciding that it didn't matter either way, Nishiki took the glass of water, and downed it in seconds flat.
He tried to return the glass to the tray, but he missed completely, causing it to fall to the ground and shatter to pieces. He winced at the noise, but otherwise looked undisturbed as he searched for the thing that made him feel as if he were underwater.
The offender was none other than a large blanket placed over his body. He sighed deeply: if he was this bad with fake water, he couldn't imagine how he'd fare being next to the ocean in real life. Angry with himself for such an idiotic mistake, Nishiki drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around himself.
The sensation of multiple limbs hitting him at once overwhelmed him. It came from behind, and he didn't bother stifling a scream. What was it now? A monster? A poacher? Some demon that snuck into his tent, and wanted nothing more than to impale his body until he had holes where his organs were? He wasn't prepared for the outcome, either way, and did nothing except freeze up—patiently waiting for the end to come.
After a few minutes, his curiosity got the best of him, and Nishiki dared to look over his shoulder to see it for himself. He laughed dryly at his discovery: his own nine tails flicked behind him as they normally would. Although they were a part of him, they felt so foreign and he nearly forgot they were there until he scared himself with their movements.
But the fear was imaginary, of course it was!
Between the imagined drowning and the fear of his own body parts, Nishiki realized that he was in worse shape than he thought possible. He became lost in his own mind, again, ignoring the world around him, and giving himself a near heart-attack when he finally noticed Flannel standing there this whole time.
Nishiki shrieked and tumbled out of the bedroll.
Flannel quickly went over to help him get back up again.
When Nishiki sat up right and proper, he couldn't hear anything Flannel was saying. All he heard were raging waves and swirling blood in his ears, pulsating to a chaotic rhythm that induced anxiety and fear. He slowly moved his hands up to his ears and scratched, quickly and carelessly, in an attempt to banish the unwanted noise from his mind.
Nishiki's fingernails dug up blood from his exposed skin, and Flannel almost screamed. The sound died on his tongue and morphed into some twisted whimper, but Nishiki continued to ignore him, because his mind had gone somewhere else, now. His body sat on the bedroll like any other, but his mind and body weren't in that same place—having disappeared off to somewhere that Flannel could never hope to know. His eyes were blank and his words were mindless whispers, all which trembled out of timidity, out of fear.
Flannel steeled himself, and grabbed onto Nishiki's wrists, flinging them away from his now-bloodied ears. He tried not to stare hard at the blood and skin that collected under his nails and stained his fingers. He also tried to ignore the countless bandages that wrapped around his damaged skin, as well as the purple bruising on his body that was surely a result of his past torture.
Flannel kept Nishiki's hands a safe distance from himself. He spoke with a newfound courage and resolve. "Hey, it's alright now, okay? Just relax. Calm down and breathe, or something. Actually, scratch that. Just breathe, Nishiki. Breathe."
He didn't expect Nishiki to listen to him right away, or at all. Flannel understood that this healing process would be a long one, and he wouldn't be surprised if Nishiki sat there motionless, unable to comprehend anything he was saying. Knowing that, Flannel was prepared to go through the breathing exercises with him, and maybe pick up the broken glass on the ground before someone got hurt.
After all, Nishiki thought he was drowning before and even got scared of his own tails! There was no telling what would happen next.
Yet, healing wasn't entirely impossible. After a few minutes of doing absolutely nothing, Nishiki seemed to understand Flannel's commands. He took a deep, sharp inhale—one that sounded painful each second it happened—and held it there for a moment. Finally exhaling, he shivered with the motions, as if breathing was an unfamiliar technique in and of itself.
Nishiki looked up, and Flannel swore his empty eyes were full as he stared at him, gaze unwavering for that fraction of a moment. After it was over, though, his gaze went elsewhere, and his hands folded over obediently, no longer twitching with the desire to hurt himself. Sensing this change, Flannel slowly let go of Nishiki's wrists, and joined Nishiki in a joined silence and peace.
They always talked about the calm before the storm, but do they ever talk about the quiet after the storm, too?
The two of them sat there, pondering the answer to this question. Nishiki didn't scream or cry, this time, and Flannel simply smiled. There was still hope for their sorry asses, after all.
.
.
.
For the first time in history, Flannel was cleaner than Nishiki.
It was surprising news for everyone, but no one was more shocked than Flannel himself. Of course, he didn't expect Nishiki to be in pristine condition when he found him, but he certainly didn't anticipate him to be so dirty, either. When Flannel first found Nishiki in that torture chamber, he couldn't help but lament at how filthy he was. His usual scent was of soap, honey, and perfume, yet the only odors that lingered around him were of blood, sweat, and tears.
His face was layered in dirt and grime, though there were some spots that were miraculously free from filth. There was dried blood everywhere on his body, must of it crusted into dark red, but some stains were so old that they went black. His nails and claws were defiled, as well, irregular in length and simply disgusting. His clothes suffered, too, since the threads were all frayed, and some segments fell apart at the seams.
Nishiki used to have leather guards on his arms and legs, but those were long since stripped away. His scarf—one of Flannel's favorite things about his ensemble—was reduced to a pathetic cluster of threads, blood-stained and sweaty. There were places on his body where stray threads and patches of cloth remained, and judging from the tears in the fabric, Flannel knew that Nishiki's captors liked using blades and whips, because his clothes bore evidence of such cruelty.
The worst part, however, was his hair. Somehow, they must have known that Nishiki prided himself on his appearance, because they hit him where it hurts the most. The fox was known for his enviable hair, which was autumnal in color and soft to the touch. It was illustrious, luxurious, and shining—a result of his arrogant yet meticulous nature.
Now, the strands were all unevenly cut, and some parts of his hair were left as dirty clumps, while others were long and unkempt in comparison. It was humiliating, unattractive, and downright ugly. Flannel, thankfully, didn't say any of that aloud, but he had to admit that for a short moment in time, Nishiki was unrecognizable.
Flannel remembered all the times that Nishiki made fun of his long, unruly hair ("Don't you know how to use a brush?" he once joked), and how he had to take better care of his appearance in general. Those words seemed lost on him now, and Flannel wished it weren't so. He'd rather Nishiki have his full head of hair, completely clean clothes, and harmonious laugh that followed everywhere he went. It would be much better than whatever this mess was.
Flannel was so much cleaner than Nishiki right now. In a way, it was one of those small things that Nishiki always wanted for him. He just wished that he didn't have to nearly die in order for that wish to come true. He would take everything back if he could just reverse time, and save Nishiki from this horrid fate.
As Flannel stared into those desolate eyes, he felt that desire increase tenfold, and tears spilled out from him soon afterward.
I'm so sorry, he thought to himself. This is all my fault.
You're all my fault.
.
.
.
The next order of business was eating. Nishiki probably needed a good bath or shower, too, but the mess hall tent was closeby, and Flannel figured that they could get dirty with lunch and go jump in a river, or something. There were bigger goals in the recovery process, as well, like regaining exercise and training regimens, as well as possibly restarting their romantic relationship, but before any of that, Nishiki needed to eat. He could barely walk without Flannel's help, after all!
Besides, a good meal might be a nice change from the gray mush he must have had for the past few weeks. Flannel shivered at the mere thought of it.
Three large tents were pitched next to each other, and underneath the tents were long tables and rows of chairs. There was a large cauldron at the end of one table, where Mozume could be seen handing out bowls of soup to soldiers in a row. Though, there weren't that many people out right now, despite it being lunchtime and the prime time to get some grub. Flannel didn't mind it as much because fewer people meant fewer witnesses to any potential outbursts that Nishiki might have in the coming moments.
The two of them took seats at the opposite end of the mess hall, and Flannel retrieved two servings for the both of them. Mozume smiled up at him with something like pity, and normally he'd reassure her that the sentiment wasn't necessary. But her face was so sincere and her hands were so warm that Flannel didn't have the heart to be mean. "Thanks," he muttered, and scurried away with their food.
He sat down next to Nishiki, and placed one of the bowls in front of him, too. The fox simply sat there without protesting. He slouched over, though, and let his face fall into his hands as he nearly collapsed into the table.
Although it was entirely bad posture, Flannel didn't call him out on it, and waited for Nishiki to start eating.
It didn't happen as he thought it would. The soup was a hearty winter stew consisting of meat and potatoes, and one of Flannel's favorite human-made dishes thus far. He was pretty sure that he hunted the deer and lions used to make such a meal, and so he anticipated Mozume's take on such simplistic ingredients.
And yet, Nishiki was unresponsive to its enticing smell, as well as the way the steam rose in the air, hitting him squarely in the face yet eliciting no response. It wasn't snowing, but the forest surrounding them was cold and brittle, and so it would only be a matter of minutes before the stew got lukewarm, then cold altogether.
"Hey, you should start eating now. It'll get cold if you don't."
"..."
"Come on, you have to eat something."
"No I don't," Nishiki denied quietly. The words were few and far between, utterly bitter. Those weren't the kinds of words that Flannel was used to hearing from him, and so it took him a bit longer to process what was just said.
If someone was to be tortured for days on end, forced to eat nothing but atrocities for food, then maybe they thought it was better to avoid eating at all. Flannel envisioned Nishiki taking on such a mentality back when Vilra had her filthy ways with him. Was that what he told himself, day and night, in order to keep some sanity for himself? Was that the only thing he could tell himself as he laid there helpless and hurt beyond belief? He basically starved for all that time, and while someone else might have let Nishiki get by without lunch, Flannel refused to give in.
He needed to show him that there were things worth looking forward to, like Mozume's awesome cooking, or the sun when it sets at night. Though nothing could be done if he continued to shut himself away, or remain quiet when he should be loud, instead.
"Actually, you do need to eat something," Flannel insisted. "It's important. And Mozume made it, so you know it's good. I'd never feed ya something made by Felicia or Rinka. Hell, I wouldn't even eat it myself! So—"
"I don't want to eat." He spoke with finality, in a thin voice that was on the verge of breaking down, but not quite there yet.
Flannel wasn't having it. "I don't care about what you want to do right now. You're eating this soup, and that's that."
He realized that he snapped at him unintentionally, and feared the other's reaction, in turn. However, instead of crying or screaming, Nishiki's face drew itself into the barest frown, and his eyes focused on the table below them as he struggled to think of what to say.
Finally, he spoke. "I...can't."
"You can't? You can't what?"
"I can't eat," he murmured, the words falling out a softer and slower rate than before. "I just can't do it."
"What do you mean?" he asked gently. "What do you mean you can't eat? Is it your stomach? Or, uh, does your teeth hurt? 'Cause if you want I can eat the meaty parts and you can drink the soup."
"No!" Nishiki squeaked, then remembered himself, and rectified his frenzy with a calmer tone. "No, I mean...you wouldn't understand. And I don't know how to explain it…"
"I won't understand anything if you don't tell me."
"..."
"Nishiki, please. Why can't you eat?"
"...I'm...afraid…"
"Afraid of what?"
"I…"
Nishiki trailed off, drooping like a wilted flower, body threatening to cave in on itself. Flannel had the desire to throttle him by the shoulders, demanding an answer from his broken body, but decided against it. Instead, he gave the fox a much needed once-over. Nishiki was so much thinner now, and while he wasn't the pile of bones that Flannel kept buried underneath one of the pine trees, he certainly lost a lot of his healthy glow from before. If he didn't start eating regularly now, then the process of healing would take that much longer.
The idea of Nishiki being permanently scarred—never to heal in all his immortal days— made him blanch, and Flannel talked in a rushed attempt to drown out the negativity.
"I don't understand it, but it's just something you can't tell me yet, right?"
"..."
"Fine. You don't have to feed yourself, then."
"Then—"
"I'll feed you instead!" Flannel ignored any protests on Nishiki's end as he took his spoon and dipped it in the soup, making sure to gather a softer piece of meat together with the broth. Then he held the spoon in front of Nishiki's mouth, patiently awaiting entry.
Nishiki seemed flustered at the idea. Flannel wasn't too sure because Nishiki had a habit of staring at nothing in particular these days, lost gaze to the floor or the sky or anything else that wasn't a person. Yet he had no choice but to look at Flannel in that moment, and although he appeared resentful, there was something in his body language that indicated otherwise.
Nishiki opened his mouth after licking his lips (which were horribly chapped, Flannel noticed), allowing himself to be fed for the sake of eating and nothing else. Flannel carefully put the spoon in his mouth, and was surprised as Nishiki clamped down on it with unexpected strength.
With hunger.
Flannel smiled.
Nishiki groaned. "I h-hate this."
"No you don't."
"..."
"Another?"
"Yes."
Flannel fed Nishiki in silence, little by little, until his bowl was completely clean. Flannel finished his own serving in less than a minute (hungry since this morning and not wanting to take up too much of Nishiki's time), and asked Nishiki if he wanted seconds. There was a deadly look in his eyes that signaled don't push it, Flannel, so he listened to him and simply got a second serving for himself.
Nishiki was quiet as Flannel ate, and Flannel nearly finished his second serving. Just before he was done, though, he noticed something odd.
There were wet spots on the table, though there was no rain outside. In fact, it wasn't snowing or raining, and the ground was cold albeit dry. So he looked to Nishiki, and discovered something he wasn't expecting.
Tears.
Nishiki had the look of someone that was fighting back tears but ultimately failed.
Flannel abandoned his food in a heartbeat. "Why are you crying?"
"...I'm...still afraid…"
And Nishiki never said what it was he feared, but Flannel understood it, nevertheless. Something in Nishiki's eyes, balled-up fists, and wispy breaths made it clear for him. Almost as if he silently said, I'm afraid that I'm useless on my own. I'm afraid I can't do something as simple as eating without your help. I'm afraid I'm not the person I used to be.
All of which was answered by Flannel's silent words, which were loud and present as he rubbed circles into Nishiki's back. I'm afraid, too, he admitted. I'm afraid that it's all my fault. I'm afraid that I ruined you and I can't fix you again. I'm afraid that I've been worse to you than anyone else has. I'm afraid.
But—Flannel reasoned as he helped Nishiki stand to his feet, wiping away his tears in the process—we can be afraid together.
It's you and me until the end.
I won't give up on you.
.
.
.
Once Nishiki fully recovered, Flannel decided that he owed him big time. Not that he'd be cruel and say, "Hey, remember those times where I helped you recover from a deeply traumatic and disturbing event in your life? Well, I'm here to collect!" But rather, Flannel would make a joke—an appropriate, well-timed, and not-at-all malicious joke—about how many offerings to Lilith it took in order to convince her to create a small bathhouse for the two of them to use privately.
There were rivers nearby that the other soldiers used as their main bathing source (although it was freezing cold outside, so it took a lot of fire magic to make things bearable, let alone warm), but Flannel decided that they needed to be somewhere more intimate, and in a place where Nishiki could stay warm and not shiver to death, wishing Vilra had gotten the best of him when she had the chance.
They held hands all the way there. Or, Flannel held Nishiki's hand, and Nishiki didn't refuse. There was warmth in their embrace, but it felt different than usual—removed, somehow. Probably because the two of them shared so many memories together, but also because their relationship had gone through the wringer the past month or so. This would have been a usual occurrence before their fight, and although Flannel would have whined and insulted Nishiki to hell and back, they might have even gone to bathhouses together during their fight, as well.
As it was, Nishiki felt close but so far away, and Flannel didn't like the unknown distance between them. So he tried not to look so bothered by it all as he walked ahead of Nishiki with his head held high.
Their bathhouse, as furnished by Lilith's insane dimensional powers themselves, was fitted into a small cave in the deeper part of the forest. There were potted plants marking the entrance, and Flannel's nose was assaulted by a myriad of sweet-smelling soaps and shampoos. There were little stools and streams for actually bathing, and then the hot springs were further in. Relieved, Flannel dragged Nishiki along further, and sat him down at the nearest stool.
Self-care was usually Nishiki's wheelhouse, and Flannel recalled all the times that Nishiki boasted about his perfume collection, or went on and on about different soaps he tried in the past. He would distinguish body soaps from shampoos, shampoos from conditioners, and conditioners from bath salts. All the while, Flannel would roll his eyes, saying that a soak in the nearby streams was good enough for him. They would banter, but it always ended in Flannel secretly enjoying himself as Nishiki brushed his wet hair, or lathered him with soapy scents of jasmine and orange.
Nishiki seemed completely apathetic in regards to the bathhouse, however. It was disappointing, to say the least, but Flannel reminded himself that it took time for things like this to heal, and he didn't have the luxury to whine about Nishiki's lackluster reaction when they had actual bathing to do. So while Nishiki sat down and waited, Flannel checked the bathhouse storage for all the things they needed: towels, soap, shampoo, conditioner, spare clothing. There were even sponges and other weird devices used for cleaning, but Flannel stuck with sponges, as they were the only things he recognized from the pricey lineup of cleaning products.
He returned to Nishiki, and had a bucket of warm water at the ready. There were mirrors opposite the stools, and Flannel noticed the way that Nishiki seemed so plain in comparison to him. Body hunched inward, eyes trailing to the steam curling at his feet, Nishiki was a fragment of the elegance and grandeur that he used to be.
But Nishiki was still Nishiki, and he was the one that called out to Flannel on the day of his rescue. Even though he was completely broken, definitely traumatized, and hazardously put back together, there was still some part of him that longed for all of this. There was some part of him that longed for Flannel, and while unenthused, his cooperation to all of Flannel's antics meant that he didn't completely give up on himself yet.
Flannel scolded himself for worrying about something so painfully obvious. "Alright," he said to Nishiki. "Let's get clean."
.
.
.
The bathing process went by easily. Nishiki's clothes were in such disrepair that they came off with a few tugs here and there. After dousing the fox with warm water, Flannel wiped away the lasting dirt stains, and chased his body down with soapy water, too. Even that was a vast improvement by itself, and the Nishiki in the mirror seemed much brighter and healthier already. Most of the bruises that littered his skin earlier were already starting to heal, and Flannel seemed relieved.
Now came the fun part, which was actually submerging in the hot springs. He brought some extra soap, just in case (he figured that Nishiki smelled so strongly all the time, so he used more than was necessary to make up for that), and tested the hotsprings with his foot. The two of them were stripped down to towels and smallclothes, after all, and it wouldn't do anyone a bit of good to get second-degree water-burn, if such a thing existed.
Deciding that it was hot but not scalding, Flannel nodded, and went into the hot springs first. He sighed contentedly as the hot water surrounded him, relaxing his muscles and temporarily washing his worries away. No wonder everyone loved bathing so much, they got to be in a heated pool and chill out half the time! If bathing was mostly this and not so much the actual getting clean part, Flannel supposed he might have been a cleaner person overall.
He turned around and looked at Nishiki, who was hesitant to get in. "It's just water," he reminded him. "It's not gonna hurt. Uh, it is a little hot, though, so be careful."
"...All...Alright."
Nishiki walked over to the edge, and carefully placed one foot down, standing on the first step into the water. He yelped at the sudden change in temperature, and stumbled backward.
"Careful," Flannel said. "Do you need me to carry you in?"
It wouldn't have been a problem if Nishiki said yes, but he stared at Flannel, and glared at him with utmost hatred. The scowl on his face was disconcerting, and Flannel almost apologized for acting out, but Nishiki's words remedied any worries.
"I can do it myself."
Ah, so it was indignation in his eyes, not hatred. Flannel felt chills despite the warmth enveloping him. "S-Sure you can. Just wanted to ask, anyway."
Yikes, his emotions are all over the place, huh? Better be more careful with what I say.
"Ugh…" Nishiki squeezed his eyes shut, and placed his foot back in the water. Then his other foot came in, too, and finally he was knee-deep in water—still on the last step, though, and not fully in the springs.
Flannel, impatient, was glad that Nishiki couldn't see the way his tail was wagging in the water now. He bit his lip to prevent unwanted commentary from coming out, and waited for Nishiki with bated breaths.
At last, Nishiki submerged, and he slowly waded over to where Flannel was. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes seemed to say, there, are you happy now? To which Flannel only smiled and agreed that yes, he was happy.
"I didn't get to scrub you before, so let's just scrub it now."
"Scrub?"
"Your back."
Nishiki paled, and his tails curled around him protectively. "Don't wanna."
"We have to. There's still dirt! It won't hurt, I promise."
"..."
He didn't agree or disagree, but as Flannel moved around to view his back, Nishiki stayed still. It wasn't a show of obedience, but rather that of indifference as his gaze turned cloudy, and he seemed to be distracted by his inner thoughts than the outer world—another habit he gained since the incident.
Flannel didn't blame him for it as he poured soap onto a sponge, and lathered it until it became white bubbles at his fingertips. Happy with the result, he brought the sponge to Nishiki's back, and started to scrub.
Nishiki screamed.
It wasn't a loud scream—not one of those ear-splitting screeches that he proved himself to be capable of—but a chaste sound with above-average volume, suited to startle more than anything. Flannel flinched, but regained his composure as soon as he could. He tossed the sponge to the side as quickly as possible, trying to sound unbothered as he spoke to him.
"Nishiki, it's okay. It's just a sponge, and—"
"Don't touch me!"
There wasn't sadness, apathy, or confusion in his voice, which were all of his emotions as of late. There wasn't even regret or hatred! Instead, a single, prevalent sensation took him over, replacing everything else that Flannel had come to know about him.
Fear. Pure, unadulterated, unbridled fear.
Flannel became flustered. "W-What? What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Did I…"
"No, no, no! Just stop it, okay? Stop it, stop it, stop it!" He nearly sobbed, and brought his tremulous hands up to his face, covering his eyes as if to mask himself from whatever gruesome sights were replaying in his sights—in his mind.
Before Flannel could say anything, Nishiki cried out, "Stop it."
He seemed as if he would melt into the water, his skin burning into a heated shade of pink, his nails digging into his head as he maniacally clutched at uneven strands of hair. As if doing so would block out all the offensive noise in his world.
All that noise collected into one singular gasp as Nishiki felt something light touch his hands. The contact was so warm and tender that it couldn't have been Vilra, Mara, Dante, or any other poacher or villain that wanted to hurt him. At this realization, Nishiki took hold of himself long enough to stop panicking, and glanced up at his savior.
He saw the black-and-white angel again, the same one from before when his world was gray and sideways. The angel reached down with reassuring hands, saying that everything would be okay and that sponges were sponges, not knives or arrows in disguise. The angel swiped his fingers over Nishiki's, smoothing out the knuckles and soothing his skin with tranquility.
The angel—Flannel, his name was—spoke once more. "It's okay. It's fine. Just a sponge, alright? There's no weapons here or anything. So do you think you could let me try to wash your back again? I don't want you to freak out anymore."
"...You can try," Nishiki conceded in a low, defeated voice. "I...I…"
"It's fine," Flannel reassured. "I'll get the sponge again."
This time, Nishiki didn't scream as the sponge scratched at his back. It moved in all manner of direction: up, down, left, right, diagonally, zig-zag, circular, square. It did all of that and he didn't scream. He almost sighed as a thin layer of exhaustion and dust fell off his back, and the water dripped down into its source, and his short breathing reminded him of where he was in the world.
The rest went by without incident, and soon enough the two of them were leaving the hot springs and drying off. The towels were soft and plush already, but Flannel took extra care as he dried off Nishiki's hair, as well as the rest of his body. He did the same for himself, and threw on a clean set of clothes. As for Nishiki, he gave the nine-tailed fox his usual socks and zori, but instead of a simple shirt and pants-combo underneath his white-and-red haori, Flannel opted for white pants and a white kosode, instead, thinking its flowy cloth would be more comfortable to move around in. Nishiki wouldn't be doing any fighting anytime soon, and even if he did, their human clothes didn't matter in regards to transformation.
To top it all off, Flannel wrapped a white-and-red scarf—hand-sewn by Oboro herself, a "get well soon" present from her to Nishiki—around Nishiki's neck, pleased to see some normalcy return to Nishiki's appearance, at least.
It was here that he noticed the silver-and-jade hair ornament that Orochi gave Nishiki was missing. He felt bad, but part of him was oddly glad it was gone. Then he remembered the reason why it was gone (did you have to take everything from him, you damned poachers?) and instantly regretted his momentary joy.
With an awkward cough, Flannel asked, "Ready?"
"...Ready."
"Good."
He lead Nishiki by the hand again, and the two of them re-entered the outside world. It was shockingly cold in comparison to the bathhouse and hotsprings they just enjoyed, but there was something refreshing about the icy surroundings.
The first snow of the day began to fall right over their heads. Flannel laughed at the timing of it all, and squeezed Nishiki's hand with a renewed fervor. "Next stop, main camp. I think it's time for you to rest."
Nishiki didn't respond yet again, and Flannel would think nothing of it, except as they walked he swore—and he still swears, to this day—that Nishiki squeezed his hand back, if only for a fraction of a second.
If only then.
.
.
.
"How is Nishiki?" Orochi asked. "Better, I hope?"
Flannel blinked at the woman. He hadn't spoken to her properly since the day he returned from the poacher ambush, where he sobbed and grovelled into her lap like a lost child. He couldn't yet say that his hatred for has disappeared, but he admitted that she wasn't as bad as he made her out to be.
Like hell he'd admit it out loud, though. He shrugged. "He's doing fine. Definitely better. It took a while, but he's starting to eat on his own. And, uh, bathe on his own, too. He talks more than he used to do."
"I know he was deathly quiet at first," Orochi agreed. "I tried talking to him the second day he got back and he said nothing."
Flannel glowed at knowing that he breached Nishiki's social walls when Orochi couldn't, but masked his true feelings for her sake. "Don't feel bad. It took a while to get him to say anything on my end, too. And even when he does talk, I can't help but feeling kinda bad."
"Why is that?"
"Well, he used to be so loud, y'know? And so fun. Laughed a lot, too. Now he's so quiet and he gets mad at weird times and starts crying for no reason...guess I can't blame him for any of it, though. It's my fault he's like that in the first place."
"It's partly your fault," Orochi pointed out. "Those poachers are to blame, which is why we took most of them out. But Vilra—"
"We can talk about her later."
"Fine. Just don't beat yourself up over it, okay? I'm sure it's hard for Nishiki, too, to go back to the way things were. Speaking of which, where do you two stand?"
"On our feet?" Flannel balked. "What d'you mean?"
"No, you idiot. I mean, where do the two of you stand romantically?" Orochi's pleasant face drew into a determined scowl just then, and Flannel was reminded of the chief reason he didn't like her. "Surely you're going to get back together once this is all over, right?"
"That's the plan," he said. "But I wanna take it slow. He's all messed up and I don't want to make things worse."
"I agree, just don't lose sight of the main goal, alright? And don't forget to tell him that you love him. Or that you forgive him." She placed her hands on her hips, and leaned forward accusingly. "You were in a fight before he got captured, yes? You did make sure to apologize to him for what you said?"
"Of course I said sorry!" Flannel snapped. "Is that what you wanted? To lecture me? What do you take me for, anyway?"
"Oh yeah?" Orochi laughed. "When did you apologize to him?"
"I apologized to him the moment we got back to camp!"
"...When he was knocked out?"
Silence.
"Flannel?"
"Yeah, but so what?"
"Flannel! You can't be serious! He wasn't conscious then. He wouldn't have heard you apologize."
"But he could feel it, I just know."
"Listen, take it from a woman who's had experience with these kinds of lovers. Listen to me when I say that once you feel comfortable talking to Nishiki about those things, you should apologize to him, and tell him how much you love him. That would heal him about as much as the medicine does."
"I'll think about it," Flannel muttered. "No promises."
"Stubborn as always," Orochi scoffed. "Fine, but don't say that I didn't try to help you two throughout all this."
"I won't."
"Good." She turned on her heels, and began to walk away. Just as he was cursing her silhouette and shape, she swiveled back around, and shouted after him. "Don't run yourself ragged, now! Won't do Nishiki or yourself a bit of good if you forget to watch out after yourself, too!"
Is she being nice to me? Flannel couldn't understand it, despite his ability to read people well, but he figured that there was no reason for her to be resentful of him—at least not right now. He nodded and responded in kind.
"Sure thing!"
.
.
.
As the days went by, the number of invisible soldiers increased, as reports of unseeable swarms of chaos destroying villages and towns multiplied, and more invaders made their way into camp, only to be destroyed by Kamui's capable forces.
All the while, Nishiki was left out of the battle, for his own sake more than anything else. During those times where he wasn't allowed outside, he holed up in Sakura's tent, and she tried to humor him in her own ways.
Mostly, it was through bad jokes and awkward storytellings, but Nishiki was too deadpan to refuse her, and so while she fumbled over herself, he merely watched—as if he were a spectator to some sports failure and not a person engaged in conversation.
Because he certainly wasn't engaged, although Sakura was secretly glad that her blunders went by unnoticed. "U-Uh, and so, if you want, you could help me out, with, uh, with some inventory management."
"..."
"Y-You don't have to!" she squealed. "I-It's just to pass the time, since you and I, are, uh, here while the others are busy. And before I start healing people, I'd better make myself useful."
"..."
"Eek! Forget I asked, okay? It was just a thought, and—"
"Sure," Nishiki answered with a shrug. "I don't mind."
Her eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?"
"...What else am I…" Nishiki paused, taking in a breath before continuing. "...supposed to do?"
You really are healing well, Sakura thought to herself. Your voice sounds less strained, and you didn't hesitate to answer me this time. I'm sure Flannel will be glad to hear it, too.
"Right you are," she agreed. "O-Okay, so, uh, here's half of the medicinal supplies stock journal. You have things listed from A to L, while I have the things listed from M to Z. We don't have a lot of time before people start to need healing, so maybe we only need to refill one or two of the items each."
Nishiki was motionless for a whole minute, eyes lost in the black leather-bound journals. Sakura almost had half a mind to tell him to forget it, but he spoke up suddenly, causing her to jump in her place. "Okay."
"Great! Do y-you want to start?"
Nishiki flipped open the book to a random page, and came across an entry that had less numbers than desired. "...Aloe vera. What is...what is that?"
"It's a plant that has a lot of uses. It can be used for sunburns, for regular burns, for general health...we mainly use it for burns, though."
"We have...seven? It says we need fourteen."
"Ah, the numbers don't have units because each one is different and it takes too much time." Sakura groaned at the thought of it, always worried that if she happened to die on the battlefield, no one else would be able to decipher her notes. "For aloe vera, we have seven plants and we need fourteen in stock."
"...Where can we find it?"
"In a forest like this, it might be hard, but sometimes the pantries have aloe vera for a minty taste," Sakura mused. "Should we check in with the kitchen staff?"
"Yes."
"Great!" She placed the journals in her bag, which was hidden underneath her ikusa miko robes, alongside her quiver full of holy arrows. She walked without inhibition, and it was there that Nishiki realized something.
When it came to medicine, Sakura was passionate about things, and lacked the fear she otherwise carried herself with. Nishiki remembered in the past how he once encouraged her to be proud of her skills, and she has definitely taken it to heart. If only he weren't so damaged from the torture, because he would have commended her hard work immediately, or voiced how impressed he was at her knowledge and prowess.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the case, but Nishiki desperately hoped she still understood what he meant to say. In exchange for his silence, she reached out her hand, and he grabbed it with little hesitation. She squeezed his hand—something that most people had the habit of doing these days—with a small smile on her face.
He gave the smallest of squeezes back, and closed his eyes as she took the lead.
I'm proud of you, Sakura.
I'm proud of you, too, Nishiki.
Let's get better together.
.
.
.
Several more days later, and Flannel was together with Elise and Nishiki. The three of them were tasked by Mozume, who was once again in charge of cooking, to collect berries from the forest. The Nohrian princess took charge in this instance, face lighting up at the thought of eating all sorts of sweet things in the days to come.
Together with the beast users, she held a wicker basket in her hands. Unlike the two of them, she wore a bag slung over her shoulder, which had her tomes in it just in case she needed to fight, with her healing staff tucked at her side for the same reason. "Ready?" She smiled at them. "It's gonna be hard to not eat them instead, though…"
"If you eat more berries, that's less pie for later," Flannel reminded her. "But how you guys eat that nasty stuff is beyond me."
"..." Nishiki said nothing, but he inhaled loudly enough to signify his presence.
Elise laughed at the both of them, anyway. "I guess you're right! Okay, here we are, the berry bushes that the scouts found earlier. They said there's also a stream nearby that has more bushes, but let's get this first." Her eyes darted over the different shapes, and she skipped over to one bush that was farthest away. Flannel watched as she began to pick berries at a brisk pace, and he nodded to Nishiki in turn.
"Let's go over here, okay?"
"Mmm."
Flannel picked at the berries he found. Most were black and some were red, and although he had knowledge of their names, he didn't care enough to remember them at the moment. He did sneak in a few bites, but decided that nothing could beat the taste of freshly-killed meat.
He looked over to see how Nishiki was doing. "Hey!" he called out to him. "Don't just step on the berries that you drop, pick them up!"
Nishiki checked around his feet and on the bottom of his heels, and realized he'd been stepping on them without regard. In fact, he wasn't even checking the basket to see that the berries were in there safely or not. He was cleaning off the branches by shaking them and swiping at them, showing little regard for the task at hand.
Spurred on by Flannel's scolding, Nishiki nodded his head once. "Mmm-hmm."
Flannel rolled his eyes, and continued along his collection. "Call me if you need something," he said. "I'll go over here."
"Yeah."
"Good." Flannel made his way over to the other bushes, closer to Elise and farther from Nishiki.
She noticed him, and bounded over with renewed energy. "I love blueberries!" she cheered. "Don't you?"
"They're alright."
"And also, I saw rabbits in the bushes. They looked up at me with big eyes and ran away. Do you have any tricks for letting them know that I'm an ally, and not an enemy?" Elise seemed entirely serious about this matter as her smile faded into a frown. "How do I get animals to understand that I'm on their side?"
"As long as you don't hurt 'em, they'll get used to you." Flannel thought about Elise's steed, and how she seemed so naturally keen with animals, anyway. "Rabbits are nervous, though. Don't let it bring you down."
"I won't! Thanks, Flannel. Oh, hey, do you like blueberries? Or blackberries? Or—"
"Flannel…"
The two of them paused. Flannel turned on his heels, only to see Nishiki doubled over, quivering and shaking.
He dropped his basket in an instant, and ran over to his side.
"F-Flannel…"
"Nishiki, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you—"
"There's a…"
"Yes?"
"S-Spi...spid…"
"A spider?"
Nishiki winced at the word itself, and curled inward. His tails formed that protective shell around him, and his ears folded in on themselves. Again. "Y-Yes."
"Oh, jeez." He searched the bushes for the offender, and came across a large, yellow-and-green body in a weaved web. It was nowhere near Nishiki now, yet the discovery alone must have done him in. Flannel knew that he hated spiders, but the way he cowered and screamed now was strange.
Did Vilra torture him with spiders, too? Flannel snarled at the thought.
He picked up the spider and tossed it further into the woods.
Elise came up gently behind them. "Maybe we should go now," she offered. "W-We have a lot of berries! I think we'll be good with this many."
"Good idea," Flannel agreed. He gently lifted Nishiki to his feet, even if the fox was curled up on himself, eyes trained to the ground like he was afraid of looking up. "Come on, Nishiki, let's go."
"..."
"Nishiki," Flannel said. "It's okay, it's alright. The spider's gone and it can't hurt you anymore."
He glanced up from his slouched position, with dewy eyes that were so unbefitting of a village chief, but very becoming of a beautiful person such as him. "Are you...sure?"
"I'm sure."
He held out his hand for Nishiki, and although it took five solid minutes (Elise impatiently waiting at the path for them all the while) for him to react to it, eventually, Nishiki grabbed onto his hand.
Flannel lead him back to the main camp, with Elise charging the way like she was the vanguard of their little army.
They marched on.
.
.
.
Days later, and the recovery process was kicked up a notch. Or maybe, in reality it was more than one notch. Either way, the leap from berry-picking to sparring was a large one, no matter who you asked.
It wasn't out of the blue. Flannel didn't just go to Nishiki and force him to do some battle training, or fighting, or anything too physical considering the hell he had gone through for weeks on end. No, he would be cruel to ask that of him, and so the thought never occurred once. Of course, Flannel planned for a fun sparring match in the future, but he didn't mind waiting and holding back on Nishiki while he healed.
It was out of their control as were most things. Kamui's army was ready to march on to the next big step, and so they would spend the last two days packing their things and moving out. In that time, most of the tents had been folded in, and a lot of their supplies were loaded into convoy wagons, or kept with Lilith. Needless to say, those that didn't have any jobs to do were rather bored, and so their entertainment was sought out in each other.
A ring of a few dozen soldiers gathered in one of the clearings, fighters squaring off one-on-one while onlookers cheered them on and placed meager bets on who would win. The rules were simple: no killing, no maiming, no hitting "sensitive" spots on the body. Anything else went, and the matches were interesting in their own right.
Zero, for example, was never one to back down from a challenge, although it took some goading on Odin's end to convince his fellow retainer to join the fight. Most of the crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed as sleek arrows flew through the air, and gasped as Zero dodged another hit, another strike meant for him. His body was lithe and fast, however, and his resilience to magic—as his current opponent happened to be none other than Orochi herself—was greater than most. For a while, it seemed the onmyoji met her match.
Then she surprised him with the spirit of a tiger that flew out from her hidden scrolls, running him down with a burst of energy. The crowd went wild, and there was raucous applause at her display.
Flannel and Nishiki were part of this same crowd, albeit a bit farther away from the action than the rest. While he didn't want Nishiki to necessarily partake in the sparring matchups, he thought that spectating would be a good place to start.
It went unsaid about how important it was that Nishiki see physical force be used in a positive light, rather than a negative one.
He looked to the fox in question. "Orochi's pretty strong, huh?"
"...She is," Nishiki murmured. His improvement since the first day had grown by leaps and bounds, but there was still hesitation in his voice. He also wasn't looking at Flannel, but instead of staring into space like usual, he kept his eyes on Orochi. "I knew that, though."
"Oh, yeah? Well, next time, maybe you could try." Flannel blinked once, twice, then scratched at the back of his head. "I'm sure you'd win by a long shot."
"Maybe."
"Hey, you two." Orochi approached Nishiki and Flannel with a lovely gait, flipping long strands of violet hair over her shoulder as she moved. "Were you watching me just now?"
"Yup," Flannel said. "Pretty impressive. Thought you were losing there for a second."
"Hehe, well, I gotta give Zero his kicks, too. Are you planning to do a little fighting, yourself?"
Flannel looked to Nishiki, who was preoccupied with the new matchup in the center: Oboro versus Nyx, the latter who was dragged into this by Tsukuyomi, who was cheering her on from the opposite side of the circle. He sighed. "I don't think so. Watching is good enough for us."
"That's a good call," Orochi said. When she noticed that Nishiki wasn't looking, she leaned in closer to Flannel to say, "How's he holding up?"
"Fine, actually. I bet he could even take 'em on if he wanted to," Flannel admitted. "I dunno if that's the best thing right now, though."
"I agree. And that's why—"
"Hey, guys!" Hinata, who cheered on Oboro in the fight, called out to the three of them cheerfully. "No one wants to go next. Any takers on this side?"
"I've had my fill, thanks." Orochi smiled at him as she gave a tiny wave of her hands. "Maybe it's time for all of us to pack up shop."
"Aw, but it's just gettin' fun! How about you, Flannel? You up for it?"
"No thanks." Flannel glanced at Nishiki before adding on, "I'll just watch for today."
Hinata looked over to Nishiki. His smile was still in place, although there was a hint of trepidation in his visage. "Nishiki, are you well enough to fight?"
"I don't think that's the best idea," Orochi piped up.
"Yeah, it's probably—"
"...Okay," Nishiki muttered. He'd been staring at Nyx on the other side of the circle, who hardly had a scratch on her. Oboro, in comparison, had bruises all over her arms, likely from violent black magic attacks. The physicality of the fights were familiar, and Nishiki felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. "I can try."
"Awesome!" Hinata shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "I think they convinced Harold to fight, too, so he'll be your opponent! Go get 'em!"
"Wait, wait, wait!" Orochi stood between Hinata and Nishiki, who seemed ready to go off on their own adventure apart from the crowd. "Y-You're not seriously thinking about sparring, are you Nishiki? I don't think it's a good idea."
"...Why not?"
Orochi groaned, and looked to Flannel with a pleading expression. He understood her silent pleas and sighed. "Yeah, uh, I agree with Orochi, for once. I don't think it's a good idea to start roughing it up yet, y'know? It's fun to watch, too!"
Nishiki's eyes narrowed—not out of malice, but out of scrutiny. "...You can watch me, then."
"Nishiki," Flannel warned. "Don't push it."
"I...won't…"
Flannel and Orochi watched as Nishiki stepped into the inner circle. The other spectators were caught up in bad jokes and revelry, but as soon as he stepped into their view, they went quiet. After all, it was commonplace for torture victims to be dismissed from service, or for them to demand that their military term ended where it was. Being locked in a single room for weeks on end, beaten and bruised to an inch of his life, was something that warranted leaving.
So the fact that Nishiki chose to stay with Kamui's forces was saying something. And the fox had been recovering for the most part, not interacting with anyone outside of the occasional greeting or wayward glance. They all figured that Flannel had him under his wing for the time being, too concerned for the fox's health to relent that to anyone. Yet the fact that Nishiki stood in the sparring circle, for all the soldiers to see, meant otherwise.
Harold emerged from the other side, wearing a wide grin and brandishing his trusted ax. He is the retainer to the youngest Nohrian princess, Elise, and she often boasts about his combat prowess to anyone that hears. Although he is notorious for his bad luck, when the going gets tough, the tough get going!
And Harold goes, alright. He goes into the center of the field, opposite Nishiki and facing a crowd of nervous supporters. Flannel and Orochi both think this is a bad idea, and Hinata is fired up from watching Oboro fight, so now he's hoping his other friend can hold his own, too. Then there's Nyx, Zero, Odin, Oboro, and Tsubaki, who are also scattered throughout the crowd, all of them interested in how this fight between the unluckiest man and most-recently-unluckiest-beast will be.
There is a real, tangible static in the air, and it commands silence over everyone. Orochi is the only one willing to speak, and it's in a hushed voice to Flannel's side: "Should we pull him out while we have the chance?"
"Too late for that," Flannel scoffed. "Let's just see how it goes. And maybe...we'll have to stop him before it gets bad."
"Ugh, fine."
"Okay!" A rowdy sniper from the sidelines stepped into the circle, announcing the fight as if it were an official tournament and not a made-from-boredom scrap like it was. "You know the rules, fellas! No maiming, killing, or doing anything that prevents you havin' kids when this is all done." A round of crude laughter, albeit hushed, resounded throughout the crowd. "First one to admit defeat loses. Aaaand...begin!"
The sniper ducked back into the audience, and a rousing chorus of cheers erupted. Flannel and Orochi were silent as they watched Nishiki, waiting for him to make a move.
Somehow, Nishiki got himself a beaststone, and the item almost seemed lost on his person. He'd been without one for so long, now (even in recovery days he was seen as a human more often than not), that most people wondered if he still remembered how to use it. Its amber body fit in the palm of his hand perfectly, and it glowed with anticipation against his trembling fingers.
Harold didn't approach Nishiki yet, merely gauging him from afar as he readied his battle ax, feeling the weight of it in his hands. He gave a lopsided grin as a show of friendliness and respect. Although he was completely clueless and terribly unlucky, Harold was a kind soul and understood more than anything that this was a harmless fight between friends. Or, at least comrades, because he preferred Flannel's company more so than Nishiki's, but his heart was in the right place.
After a few minutes of doing nothing, Nishiki exhaled, and flipped into the air—disappearing into a spectacle of light. He came back down fully transformed, his body lithe and beautiful as always, but there was an air of anxiety around him, and he shivered to dispel whatever unseen horrors were clinging to his bristling fur.
The crowd went wild.
Flannel's heart sunk into his stomach, and Orochi covered her mouth with her hands. Were they wrong for doubting Nishiki, or even wronger for letting this stupid idea go through? Granted, it was the first time that Nishiki actually wanted to do something (he passively let Flannel lead him along for most of the time thus far) these days, and it would be cruel to deny him the chance just because he wasn't at his best yet.
Harold made the first move. He closed the distance between him and Nishiki with a decisive sweep, and swung his axe at a low angle, aiming for the beast's legs. Nishiki dodged it all too easily, his body moving so fluidly that it was hard to believe he'd been out of commission for all this time. It was almost as if nothing had changed, and that instead of recovering from a traumatizing experience, Nishiki spent his days training and practicing for this very encounter.
Things got more heated as Harold swung again, although this time, when Nishiki dodged him, he was quick on his feet and counterattacked, striking him in the side with the blunt edge of his blade.
The sound Nishiki made was ungodly, and it was then that Flannel and Orochi knew they made a mistake. Flannel immediately transformed, and Orochi wielded her scrolls.
They weren't fast enough, though.
In the blink of an eye, Nishiki jumped onto Harold, pinning him down with surmounting strength. Harold, instinctively, lifted his ax into the air and whacked at Nishiki. The result was a harsh blow to the side of Nishiki's head, causing him to reel backwards and stumble off of the man's body.
Flannel and Orochi, while horrified, saw this as an opportunity to stop Nishiki before he really lost control. But Nishiki moved so fast that they couldn't grab him like they wanted, and although Orochi launched a spell in his direction, it glided off of Nishiki's pelt, as if enchanted.
The fox's body was brimming with sheer energy, and he screeched. The crowd began to disperse, afraid, although most people were like Flannel and Orochi in the sense that they wanted to stop Nishiki before he went crazy.
Harold got the worst of it, as the ax was knocked out of his hands, and he was tackled to the ground once more. Nishiki wasted no time by biting viciously at him, tearing through clothes and leaving dents in the armor. He bit and snapped at anything he found, ignoring Harold's pleas ("I give, I give!") and disregarding the mob of people around him. He tore and tore, and everytime his muzzle resurfaced, Harold was mortified to see how red it was, and further shocked to realize that it was his blood staining Nishiki's mouth in such a way.
"You're dead you're dead you're dead you'redeadyou'redead! dead dead dead—"
"Nishiki!" someone—probably Flannel—shouted. "Stop it!"
"I'm gonna kill you, I'm gonna fucking kill you. Don't touch me ever again! Don't touch me!"
Before Nishiki could land any fatal blows, he felt something burn the back of his neck. He howled and faltered, giving Flannel enough time to lift him up with his large claws, and throw him down on the ground—away from Harold—in an attempt to subdue him. It wasn't easy, given the fact that Nishiki was screaming and biting the entire time.
He was so lost in his anger that he didn't see Orochi come up from the side, and lift Harold up to his feet. He didn't hear Harold's insistence that it was "okay" and "Nishiki's not to blame!" He didn't hear the crowd going crazy, and people demanding that Nishiki be punished, or that Harold get a healer to treat him right away. He didn't even see Flannel, himself, as the world became blurred and hazy. Was it tears, or dizziness, or the claws that Flannel had embedded in his skin—finally forced to use violence to coerce him?
Nishiki couldn't tell.
Flannel spoke. "Stop it," he begged. "Please, please, please calm down."
"Let me go! Let me go! I'm gonna kill 'em! I'm gonna kill—"
"Just who are you gonna kill, huh?"
"VILRA!" Nishiki shouted. "SHE'S—"
"NOT HERE." Flannel's voice rose to a fever pitch, voice eerily booming throughout the entire field. While most of the other soldiers left by now—a group of them taking Harold from Orochi and delivering him to Elise, stat—there were still a few there to witness this sad, sorry sight.
Flannel ignored them all and focused on Nishiki. He felt the fox's chest seize up, and noticed the way his body stiffened, too. The realization dawned on all of them, and it hurt to say.
But he had to say it. "Vilra is not here. You were hurting Harold, do you understand?"
"...I…" Nishiki's voice, once caustic and enraged, had dropped to a broken whisper. "W-What?"
"No one here is going to hurt you. That's what I've been trying to say."
"..."
"Please, please, please," Flannel implored. "Don't do this to yourself. I'm gonna let you go, okay?"
"...Okay…"
Flannel did as he promised, releasing Nishiki at once. The fox sprung out of the wolf's arms, and into the middle of the clearing. There was a tiny gasp from Oboro, who was closest to him and thoughtlessly afraid, as well as a general atmosphere of discomfort among the rest of them. Nishiki looked around to see accusing eyes and faces filled with distrust. He noticed Orochi in this way, although she was definitely much more sympathetic than the rest, but that somehow made it worse.
And when he turned to Flannel, he saw none of that at all. No anger, fear, disappointment, or sympathy. Just a tired look in his eyes, one that reminded Nishiki of all the days and nights Flannel spent by his side, in an attempt to make him feel better about himself.
To make him heal.
Hadn't he thrown all of that away, though? Did he ruin any chance they had of going back to the way things were? At this, Nishiki broke into a sob, and began to slowly back away.
Flannel approached him with equal slowness. "Nishiki, wait."
"No," he said. "No, I…I have to go. I need to go."
"Nishiki, stay. You're injured and we need to—"
"I'm going!"
He sprinted through the woods behind him, away from the clearing but towards the camp. It was relieving to know that he wasn't abandoning his cause quite yet, though it was equally worrying to think that he wanted nothing to do with Flannel right now, especially considering that Flannel was the only one who truly cared about him at the moment, and the only one who could understand such innate bloodlust.
Instead, the wolf had to face the uncertain crowd on his own, although Orochi stood there with kind eyes, as if to reassure him that she was on their side, too.
It meant little to him, but he grinned anyway. "Don't stand there looking stupid," he scolded them all. "Go find something else to do."
"Flannel…"
"And if any of you have a problem with Nishiki, you can talk to me about it. Uh, I guess. Okay, I'm going to go now, too, but don't make this a bigger deal than it is."
He spoke with such confidence, with such ease, as if this was another "thing" that humans simply didn't understand, and not an issue about someone almost killing an ally with murder in their eyes. And even though Flannel was the honest type of person—one that said it as it is, and didn't hold back on others—he also knew how to read the room, or in this case a meadow, and could adjust accordingly.
If he was good at hiding his true emotions, and lying in general, well, he only had one fox to thank for that.
He chased after Nishiki a moment later, secretly glad that no one could see the frustrated tears leave his eyes.
.
.
.
"Hey, Nishiki, we need to talk."
"..."
"Listen, I talked with everyone and sorted things out. So it's okay now, alright? It might be weird because humans always pretend that things are okay when they're not, but I told them not to be mean to you because it wasn't your fault. Also Harold said 'sorry' and he totally forgives you."
"Flannel…"
"That's me! So, I was thinking, today I wanted to head out towards the mountains, because there's rumors of a diamond mine in there, and how cool would it be to find an old miner's skeleton and add it to my collection? I haven't added to my collection in a while, so it should be fun!"
"...Because of me, right?"
Flannel paused. His smile fell, although he tried not to overtly frown. "Huh?"
"You said you haven't collected...done anything fun in a while, because of me? Because I just…I'm more trouble than I'm worth, right?"
Nishiki wasn't looking at Flannel. He was leaning against a tree, arms crossed and shoulders hunched over, shivering as if cold. He had long since transformed back into a human, but his hair wasn't long enough to cover his face from this angle anymore.
Flannel could see the tears clearly as they fell.
He gulped. "No, why would you even think that? If you were trouble, I wouldn't even bother."
"You wouldn't even bother?"
"...Yeah. But you're not trouble, at least not to me."
"You don't have to...to lie to me, Flannel."
Flannel's heart fell to his stomach earlier, but it fell to his feet this time around. His voice eked out a pathetic, "What?"
"I know that this is wrong," Nishiki cried out. His words were much better-sounding these days, but his tone returned to being broken, disjointed, painful to even listen to. Flannel almost begged for him to stop (again), but Nishiki didn't give him any time to interject.
"I know that I s-should get over it already. I know that she's not here and she can't h-hurt me anymore. I know that."
"Then…?"
"But then you always do all these things for me! And you sacrifice for me and I, I don't think you should do that anymore!"
"Nishiki," Flannel murmured. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you should give up on me."
If he had all the time in the world, Flannel still wouldn't be prepared to hear that. He spent so many days and nights doing the opposite of giving up on Nishiki, even when his logical mind told him that this was war, and you were bound to lose friends one way or another. Hell, he lost his entirely family because of war. Why would losing Nishiki be any different?
But it was different, because this time, Flannel was strong enough and old enough to make a difference. This time, Flannel could go after his loved ones, instead of secluding himself in the mountains and hoping for the best. This time, Flannel had the chance to change fate, as irreversible and fickle of a thing as it is. This time, he could make a difference.
So why was Nishiki turning all of his efforts into nothing right now? Why was he insisting otherwise?
Why, why, why?
"Why would you say that? I've spent this whole time believing in you, I'd never give up on you! Why would you—I don't understand!"
"Because I'm messed up!" Nishiki screamed. "I'm messed up, aren't I? I can't even tell what's real anymore! I-I know she messed me up, I know I'm ruined. I-I'm…"
"Nishiki—"
"I'm ugly," he bemoaned. "Gods, I'm so ugly and stupid and useless and, and, and—"
"You're not any of those things! Stop saying that! Stop saying sad, weird, awful, untrue things like that!" Flannel was crying now, too, but he refused to let his voice fall to pieces, as well.
At least their tears were matching, if nothing else.
Nishiki laughed hollowly. "I know what you're thinking. I know w-what they're all thinking that...about me. They're thinking about me and I hate it."
"You...you can't just say those things, though. You shouldn't say them."
"I already did."
"..."
Nishiki's thoughts caught up to him. They had to have, since he went quiet, voice wracked with tears and stress. And the realization of what he said—all the hurtful things he brought into existence—weighed down on him.
Crushing him.
He ran away.
…
And this time, Flannel didn't follow.