The forest pressed close to the outer wall of the Ryuu clan's compound, tall and patient. From inside the kitchen, the trees were visible through narrow windows, their silhouettes shifting subtly as a soft breeze moved through the branches. The wind slowed to a halt, even the leaves subdued in a stillness that felt almost deliberate. It was the kind of view that reminded a person that they lived on the edge of something older than the village, something that didn't hurry simply because people did. That was one of the things Shiro loved most about Rei's home, which he'd come to think of as his own now. Throughout the tempest of his life, Shiro rarely had the time to slow down and just live, to let himself feel peace. This place, especially in the quiet moments of closeness he enjoyed with Rei, it gave him that. "But the lives of shinobi aren't meant to be peaceful."
Standing alone in the kitchen, bare feet against cool stone, sleeves rolled just far enough to expose his forearms, looked across the uncharacteristically messy room. It smelled faintly of old paper and heated metal, the latter coming from the kettle warming over the stove. He had learned the rhythms of this house well enough now to move through it without thought. The narrow counter where he and Rei usually ate, at least when she wasn't too busy in the lab. The way the floor creaked just slightly near the doorway leading toward the converted dining hall. The distant, ever present hum of her work bleeding through the walls even when the machines themselves were quiet.
Beyond the kitchen lay the lab, once a space meant for gatherings and ceremony, even some of the kitchen had begun to be overtaken by clear purpose: solving the medical problems that had been plaguing both herself and the village. The Lycan crisis dominated most of the room, diagrams and reports layered over one another in uneven piles, marked with fresh notes and revisions that betrayed long hours spent revisiting the same conclusions. Interwoven among them were older documents, Ryuu records written in hands that assumed their words would never be needed again. Some of the terminology was archaic. Some of it was uncomfortably familiar. "This wasn’t just about the Lycans. It never was." He thought, but Shiro knew better than to touch any of it. He had already read enough to know where the edges were, both of the research and of his place.
The kettle began to whisper. He reached for it on instinct, pouring the water with practiced steadiness into two waiting cups. Steam rose, briefly fogging the air between him and the window. For a moment, his awareness shifted inward, brushing against the quiet tension beneath his skin. Time responded as it always did now, not bending, not pulling, simply acknowledging him in return. He shifted his focus from that uncharacteristically somber thought to the weight of the cup in his hand, the warmth seeping into his fingers as he dipped the tea into the liquid, one of the last of his father's selection and one that had no business still being fresh considering the date it was made. But then again, Shiro had no business being so fresh himself, having been born well over half a century ago.
Rest had helped. More than he had expected. His body no longer carried the same sharp fatigue it did in the aftermath of Rei's private realm, the kind that came from being torn apart and stitched back together too many times to count. He still felt the echoes of that beautifully fucked up place when he woke in the night, the memory of everything he had to endure, and the thing he had to do, but those memories stayed where they belonged now... contained, manageable. But memories weren't all he took with him from that place. Shiro had used the quiet weeks to refine control, to test the limits of the gift the dagger had left him with in ways that left no record, witnesses, or trace. He'd learned how to stop time without freezing. And, finally and more importantly, he'd learned how to let time pass without slipping through it.
Movement on the second floor drew his attention. A familiar presence, weight shifting above, purposeful even before the day had fully begun. He did not look up immediately. There was no urgency in doing so. Rei would come down when she was ready. The kettle clicked softly as he set it aside. He took the second cup of tea from the counter and turned as she entered the room. His gaze lingered briefly. It always did when he looked at her. But it was more than his feelings that gave him pause as his pale blues set on her, noting the tension held in her shoulders, the way her focus seemed already divided between everything she had on her plate.
"You should eat something before you go," Shiro said with his characteristic calmness, stepping towards her to offer her the cup of Konohagakuran blend. The words, and even moreso the tone, were a familiar refrain these days. Shiro leaned back against the counter, folding his arms loosely. The stone was cool through his shirt, grounding him. "I know the briefing is done," he continued. "And I know you've already decided." The stormcaller didn't phrase it as a challenge. He'd long since learned that framing the conversation that way only served to unnecessarily sharpen it. "I've been through enough of this," he added, his eyes drifting briefly toward the lab again. Toward the overlapping trails of thought that connected the present crisis to wounds far older than either of them. "To understand why this matters... And why they want you there." The unspoken truth sat in the silence between words. That when things reached this scale, when the lines between disease and curse blurred, there was no one that the village trusted more than her.
"And I'm not saying it isn't important," Shiro went on. "But Rei.... this, on top of everything else..." He paused, his gaze returned to her, steady, intent, still convinced of the path he had chosen for himself. "You haven't slowed down," he said without finishing the prior thought, his eyes glowing softly, a side effect of his emotion and bloodline. "Not since before this started. Your recovery, your condition, new responsibilities, a new student, the disease..." He didn't mention the curse or any of the fallout from her clan. He knew that, for her, personal meaning layered with responsibility, and that Rei never took on anything lightly, even when she took on too much in his eyes. "You keep finding reasons to put yourself in the center of things," he continued. "And you're always right, on paper." He pushed himself away from the counter, standing straighter now. "That doesn't make it sustainable."
The house remained still around them, the forest beyond the wall unmoving. Shiro exhaled slowly, grounding himself again in the familiar. "You don't have to carry all of this alone," he said, voice filled with a blend of empathy, worry, and love. "And you don't have to prove anything to anyone by burning yourself out in the process." He gestured toward the chair near the small kitchen table, the one she actually used when she allowed herself a moment to stop. "We still have time before you need to leave. Sit with me for a minute." In his mind, this was what support looked like. Stability. Restraint. Someone standing firm while everything else threatened to move too fast. An anchor doing what it's meant to. Shiro believed, without question, that this was how he protected her.
[MFT .:. 1288 Words]
Standing alone in the kitchen, bare feet against cool stone, sleeves rolled just far enough to expose his forearms, looked across the uncharacteristically messy room. It smelled faintly of old paper and heated metal, the latter coming from the kettle warming over the stove. He had learned the rhythms of this house well enough now to move through it without thought. The narrow counter where he and Rei usually ate, at least when she wasn't too busy in the lab. The way the floor creaked just slightly near the doorway leading toward the converted dining hall. The distant, ever present hum of her work bleeding through the walls even when the machines themselves were quiet.
Beyond the kitchen lay the lab, once a space meant for gatherings and ceremony, even some of the kitchen had begun to be overtaken by clear purpose: solving the medical problems that had been plaguing both herself and the village. The Lycan crisis dominated most of the room, diagrams and reports layered over one another in uneven piles, marked with fresh notes and revisions that betrayed long hours spent revisiting the same conclusions. Interwoven among them were older documents, Ryuu records written in hands that assumed their words would never be needed again. Some of the terminology was archaic. Some of it was uncomfortably familiar. "This wasn’t just about the Lycans. It never was." He thought, but Shiro knew better than to touch any of it. He had already read enough to know where the edges were, both of the research and of his place.
The kettle began to whisper. He reached for it on instinct, pouring the water with practiced steadiness into two waiting cups. Steam rose, briefly fogging the air between him and the window. For a moment, his awareness shifted inward, brushing against the quiet tension beneath his skin. Time responded as it always did now, not bending, not pulling, simply acknowledging him in return. He shifted his focus from that uncharacteristically somber thought to the weight of the cup in his hand, the warmth seeping into his fingers as he dipped the tea into the liquid, one of the last of his father's selection and one that had no business still being fresh considering the date it was made. But then again, Shiro had no business being so fresh himself, having been born well over half a century ago.
Rest had helped. More than he had expected. His body no longer carried the same sharp fatigue it did in the aftermath of Rei's private realm, the kind that came from being torn apart and stitched back together too many times to count. He still felt the echoes of that beautifully fucked up place when he woke in the night, the memory of everything he had to endure, and the thing he had to do, but those memories stayed where they belonged now... contained, manageable. But memories weren't all he took with him from that place. Shiro had used the quiet weeks to refine control, to test the limits of the gift the dagger had left him with in ways that left no record, witnesses, or trace. He'd learned how to stop time without freezing. And, finally and more importantly, he'd learned how to let time pass without slipping through it.
Movement on the second floor drew his attention. A familiar presence, weight shifting above, purposeful even before the day had fully begun. He did not look up immediately. There was no urgency in doing so. Rei would come down when she was ready. The kettle clicked softly as he set it aside. He took the second cup of tea from the counter and turned as she entered the room. His gaze lingered briefly. It always did when he looked at her. But it was more than his feelings that gave him pause as his pale blues set on her, noting the tension held in her shoulders, the way her focus seemed already divided between everything she had on her plate.
"You should eat something before you go," Shiro said with his characteristic calmness, stepping towards her to offer her the cup of Konohagakuran blend. The words, and even moreso the tone, were a familiar refrain these days. Shiro leaned back against the counter, folding his arms loosely. The stone was cool through his shirt, grounding him. "I know the briefing is done," he continued. "And I know you've already decided." The stormcaller didn't phrase it as a challenge. He'd long since learned that framing the conversation that way only served to unnecessarily sharpen it. "I've been through enough of this," he added, his eyes drifting briefly toward the lab again. Toward the overlapping trails of thought that connected the present crisis to wounds far older than either of them. "To understand why this matters... And why they want you there." The unspoken truth sat in the silence between words. That when things reached this scale, when the lines between disease and curse blurred, there was no one that the village trusted more than her.
"And I'm not saying it isn't important," Shiro went on. "But Rei.... this, on top of everything else..." He paused, his gaze returned to her, steady, intent, still convinced of the path he had chosen for himself. "You haven't slowed down," he said without finishing the prior thought, his eyes glowing softly, a side effect of his emotion and bloodline. "Not since before this started. Your recovery, your condition, new responsibilities, a new student, the disease..." He didn't mention the curse or any of the fallout from her clan. He knew that, for her, personal meaning layered with responsibility, and that Rei never took on anything lightly, even when she took on too much in his eyes. "You keep finding reasons to put yourself in the center of things," he continued. "And you're always right, on paper." He pushed himself away from the counter, standing straighter now. "That doesn't make it sustainable."
The house remained still around them, the forest beyond the wall unmoving. Shiro exhaled slowly, grounding himself again in the familiar. "You don't have to carry all of this alone," he said, voice filled with a blend of empathy, worry, and love. "And you don't have to prove anything to anyone by burning yourself out in the process." He gestured toward the chair near the small kitchen table, the one she actually used when she allowed herself a moment to stop. "We still have time before you need to leave. Sit with me for a minute." In his mind, this was what support looked like. Stability. Restraint. Someone standing firm while everything else threatened to move too fast. An anchor doing what it's meant to. Shiro believed, without question, that this was how he protected her.
[MFT .:. 1288 Words]
