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Autumn
He cradles a chrysanthemum in his hand as he skims through the treetops towards the Takeda residence. While making the journey he was rather proud to find one impeccably full bloomed and dusted pink in a way that reminds him of the blush of her cheeks. Perfect for the purpose of this trip, an inevitable conclusion that Kotaro knew would arrive sooner or later.
Yet now he is steadfast and his purpose sticks in his head like the thudding, searing headaches that once completely encompassed his mind and thoughts - only lulled by death forged by his hands. That is - until her and her genuine laugh that pierced through his suffocating haze of agony and lodged straight into his heart. It opened a path he never knew possible for someone so pathetic, so worthless as he who never believed there was any other option than to kill, kill, kill and seek forgiveness for every breath he continued to take.
He spots her on the veranda overlooking their usual meeting spot, leaping down from his perch. “Hello again. This is for you,” he announces, holding out the chrysanthemum as she looks up from the hands wrung together in her lap.
“Kotaro,” she says unsettled, almost flying from her seat. Her features suggest she did not sleep well; he wants to claw at himself for causing such distress to someone so divine, “Please-”
“This will be the last time I visit you for a while,” he continues, resolute despite the knot between her eyes as she stares up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her hands falter before they reach him, and desire makes him close the gap. She glances at the flower he presses into her hand.
“...What are you going to do?” She asks, weakly. Kotaro smiles. He can hear it all in her voice. Worry, confusion, fear- fear FOR him, not of him.
“I don’t want to cause you any more trouble because I love you,” he explains plainly and her fingers wrap around his hands so tightly it constricts his heart. “But I won’t die since you don’t want me to.”
“But-” she begins, but there is an exasperated shout from afar - Sasuke this time- and their time is nearly up.
There is no time to ask for permission for her lips -regretfully- so he squeezes her hands lightly and blissfully revels how unaware she is of her bodyguard in the distance because her attention is solely on him- him! Like he is worthy like he is important, and when he’s with her he can almost believe it.
“I’ll show you-” But she silences him with a resounding kiss, desperate and terrified to get her message across, to confirm his decision once and for all.
Come back to me, Kotaro.
When she opened her eyes all that's left is the chrysanthemum in her hand, his promise ringing in her ears.
Trust me.
Winter
She’s standing on the same veranda overlooking the garden blanketed in white. She only meant to pass by but she pauses out of routine, almost hopeful. Waiting with bated breath, imagining Kotaro descending from whatever miraculous location nobody ever seems to find him, greeting her sincerely, eagerly.
“What are you looking at?” The tray she’d forgotten she was holding lifted out of her hands with good reasoning as she jumps, breaking out of her stupor. Yukimura watches her curiously as she brings a hand to placate the shock to her heart.
“Nothing, milord,” she says with a shake of her head, putting the memories behind her. “I apologize for dozing off.”
She's aware how acutely she’s being studied as she takes the tray back, frowning slightly at the once steaming teapot now cold to the touch. With a bow, she turns to head back to the kitchen when Yukimura’s voice reaches her from behind.
“Saizo told me the search is almost over. They haven’t been able to find him for some time now.”
The tray and her heart seem to weigh down with the news, her knuckles straining white against the smooth ridges. When she turns around Yukimura glances at the across the garden, seemingly reminded of the countless times he chased the Hojo ninja off the property only to have him return again and again. “He’s resilient. It only means they haven't found him,” he repeats and she musters a smile.
“I know.”
Spring
In the garden she naps under a tree with sloping branches forming a thick eave of pink blossoms, sunlight dancing to the gentle spring breeze.
“Take a break,” the other cooks had concerningly chided her before thrusting the tray into her hands and tossing her out of the kitchens. She was too hard working they decided when they didn’t think she could hear them, too caught up in her duties to mask her grief. “In love with a ninja who betrayed his clan,” they would mourn with a shake of the head and a pointed look.
She had fallen asleep before she had touched the snacks and tea, perhaps she was working too hard. Tasks, duties, responsibilities- she wanted more and more every day until she could crawl into her bed and sleep until the sun rose again. There was nothing to grieve, however, only someone she was desperately waiting for. Every day that passed would bring her closer to him, she knew. So she worked. She slept. She waited.
She dreams of Kotaro pouring tea for both of them, a camellia branch and his kusarigama discarded to the side. “I thank you for this meal,” he murmurs quietly and she forces down a laugh at how refined his words are while his movements are frenzied, eager to devour every crumb on the tray. He licks his fingers contently before wiping them on his blood and dirt-stained clothes, which seems to do more harm than good she thinks before he stares at her.
Adoration, she realizes, still reflects in his eyes when he looks at her before abashedly dropping his head. “Have...” A pause. “Have...you been waiting?”
She inhales the sweetness of cherry blossoms and the sickly metallic stench of blood and understands she is not dreaming at all.
When Kotaro looks up again his eyes turn to saucers, blinking profoundly as he reaches for her - pausing once to rub his hands over the fabric of his pants lest he stains her with filth- carefully grazing the tears cascading down her chin. She hiccups a sob, rocking forward to fall onto his chest. She could hear his chest reverberate with a flustered “oh,” before his hands continue to seek the trail of tears on her cheeks, finding none when she buries her face against his shoulder and fists the back of his clothes with every fiber of her strength.
There will be time later when she will examine him closely and see the tip of his finger gone, the thin scar across his neck where his throat was nearly slit, and run her palms over the wounds littered across his body with desolate grief. For now, the sweet perfume of her hair wafts through his senses as he rests his cheek on her head, closing his eyes in peace for the first time in forever.
I love her. He repeats it like a mantra as she shifts one hand between their bodies, resting over his heart, her cries subsided enough for her to finally whisper a response.
“Welcome home, Kotaro.”