Nuriko…

Chichiri sat deep in mediation, alone but for Tama-neko, inside the confines of his yurt, his thoughts consumed with the passing of the young violet-eyed seishi. The smiling mask he wore lay discarded beside his bedding, its permanent grin rather distasteful at such a trying time for all of Suzaku’s warriors, himself included. The loss had devastated the remaining shichiseishi; the young boy’s death left all feeling empty and lost, the warmth and zest for life he had brought to the motley band of protectors to the priestess gave more than a few the will to go on, despite the hardships and challenges strewn before them on the quest to summon Suzaku and save Konan.

Though he had known Nuriko for such a short time, he had grown attached to the effeminate warrior and to the ability he had to keep even the most serious situations light, alleviating the tension with a word, a smile, and his stalwart loyalty to Miaka, despite what the monk had heard of his initial meeting with the adolescent priestess. And in one short moment, his life was gone, sacrificed to a higher power than himself, one that, though he would never be able to see it physically, the courageous seishi had secured with his sacrifice. Chichiri knew, as instinctively as the rest of the southern god’s chosen, that the bubbly, vivacious young man kept watch over them even now. He had felt the pain of the loss as potently as the rest, the bond between them strong enough to allow them to feel the pain of his wounds as he passed on, though Tasuki seemed to give powerful utterance to the group’s feelings.

The young monk replayed the redhead’s lamenting words as they watched, helpless, as their dear companion lay frozen in the eternal repose of death, unable to tend to his wounds, unable to stop the incessant flow of life from his body, unable to save him from the inevitable. The fiery young bandit had been utterly drowning in grief as they buried their friend and fellow warrior near the resting place of the Shinzaho, an almost anti-climactic ending to the bright and sparkling life that had suddenly been stolen on that very spot.

Chichiri sighed, his heart heavy still at the tragedy, absently stroking the soft fur of the cat in his lap, its small body curled into a ball purring contentedly, blessedly oblivious to the events of the past day. He worried about Tasuki’s stability; the wounds of losing one of his closest friends and fellow seishi still fresh, the tall thief kept his distance from everyone, saying little to nothing despite Mitsukake’s, Chiriko’s, and his own pleading for him to open himself up and ultimately heal. The monk knew intimately how that course could change someone, his own grief over Hikou’s death had changed him in much the same way, the guilt rendering him utterly unable to move on, holding him in that moment, keeping him detached from friendship, from trust, from love.

In his lap, Tama-neko stirred, his head lifted toward the cloth door, perceiving the slight sounds of movement outside the tall monk’s yurt, and with a stretch and yawn, jumped down from his comfortable napping spot. He looked up at Chichiri, large green eyes silently waiting for the young man to go to the door, tail swaying side to side in an impatient manner. An audible rustle at the door of the tent broke into his thoughts, curious as to who should chose to visit him as such an hour. Rousing himself from his seat upon the thick wool and felt bedding, he stood, the snowy white linen of his tunic hanging loosely from his powerful, slim body, kesa draped over his shoulder to ward off the chill within the modest dwelling, and walked to the door, the small oil lamp near his bed illuminating the path. Pushing aside the heavy felt cloth, he peered out into the center of the dark and silent camp.

"Tasuki…"

The tall thief stood before him, his lean body clothed in only the ebony linen of his pants, the tracks of dried tears staining his pale visage, flaming hair falling over his nose and into his face, partly concealing the devastating look of hopelessness in usually brilliant golden eyes, yet accentuating the cold demeanor he exuded, as if he had become as frozen as the land of Hokkan itself. "Chichiri," he said hoarsely, his voice strained from hours of private grieving, and wiping away a stray tear with the back of his hand, he continued. "Please, Chiri, let me stay here tonight. I-I can’t be by myself right now."

The young seishi looked down to gather his composure, his eyes lighting on the small furry form of Tama-Neko, sneaking out through the open door. Gently, he scooped the cat into his arms, hugging him tightly, then, giving the hapless animal a friendly scratch behind the ears, set him back down, watching for a moment as he strutted off into the cold, snowbound night toward the soft glow of Mitsukake’s tent. A weak chuckle passed Tasuki’s lips, looking back up at the older man, dark amber eyes pained as he attempted half-heartedly to lighten the mood with a joke. "Why’s that cat spend so much time with yah if it’s Mitsukake’s? What’dja do to it, Chichiri?"

His companion flinched inwardly, his rich chestnut eye alight with worry for he knew the bandit was attempting to hide the anguish and suffering with humour , a path that would, for a time, alleviate the worst feelings, but would ultimately multiply his pain. "Tasuki, if you stay out there any longer, you’ll freeze, no da," Chichiri said quietly, removing the deep navy kesa from his shoulder to wrap it gently around his friend, leading the young man into his makeshift quarters by the wrist, his body shaking slightly with the cold and the terrible torrent of silenced emotions just beneath the surface.

He does care, Tasuki thought absently, pulling the warm wool closer, surrounding him with the comforting scent of the tall monk, a pleasant mixture of sun and wind and masculinity, as he allowed himself to be led to the rumpled bedding within the confines of the yurt. Sinking heavily to his knees amidst the blankets, he withdrew a bit further into the kesa, hanging his head to avoid looking the monk in the eye.

Next to him, he felt the movement of the sheets, another’s weight added to the warm bedding, the well-built body of the older seishi seated gently next to him, his presence a solace to the lost red-haired boy. "If you need to cry, no one will judge you, no da. I’m right here if you need me, no da," the quiet words came straight from the heart, his approval all the impetus that was needed.

Composure ripped asunder, he uttered a strangled cry, tightly hugging his body to his friend, sobbing as he buried his face in the soft fabric covering Chichiri’s chest. "H-he’s gone, Chiri. Gone an’ I-I never told him what his friendship meant ta me," the younger seishi stammered, his body wracked with soul-shaking lament. "Gone forever…"

Gently resting his chin on the top of his head, the blue-haired monk sighed, allowing his rich brown eye to float closed, conspicuously dropping the strained, light-hearted tone in his deep voice to reveal the true nature of his feelings, subdued, full of concern and sadness. Draping both arms around the distraught warrior, the older man held him close, content to let him cry out his pain, unwilling to allow his friend’s fire, his light, to burn low with pent-up grief as he had allowed himself for years after Hikou had died. "He was one of us, Tasuki. One of Suzaku’s chosen. He knew what he was doing when he fought Ashitare, what he had to accomplish. He knew that from the beginning."

Roughly, the younger seishi shoved him away, startling the monk from his own private thoughts, gold eyes glaring in rage, hysterical with frustration, helplessness, and anguish, fangs bared in marked contrast to the scalding tears flowing down his pale cheeks. "How can you say that so damn calmly! He was our friend and you sit there tryin’ to make it all sound so fucking simple! How dare you!" he growled, thin frame trembling violently, and with a choked sob, lashed out viciously at the surprised blue-haired warrior.

Chichiri caught his arm just moments before it connected with his face, holding tightly to the younger man’s wrist, despite the frantic struggles to break free. "Tasuki, stop it. Your anger won’t solve anything," he managed to say, unable to keep the upset redhead in his grasp with but one hand.

"Damn you, Chichiri! Damn you!" he wailed shrilly, nearly suffocating with grief, his eyes shut tight against the sight of the young monk, desperately fighting at the hand firmly attached to his wrist, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, exertion draining his strength as he fought. "Damn you!"

Pulling the fiery bandit into a determined embrace, he calmly withstood the barrage of fists and strangled curses, physical pain meaning very little to him if it eased even some of the mental anguish experienced by his fellow seishi. "Stop it, Tasuki. Just stop it," he repeated evenly, wincing slightly with a rather hard blow, until the distraught red-headed boy was too exhausted to resist any longer, volatile anger giving way to the heartbreaking cries muffled against his body.

"I-it ain’t fair, Chichiri. It just ain’t fair… H-he gave up everything for the Shinzaho, an’ now, a-an’ now…" The young thief shifted in his friend’s soothing caress, giving himself up to the hot tears streaming down his face as he rested a pale cheek against the already damp linen, tongue tripping over words that hurt too vastly to utter. "H-he was one of my only real friends, ’s-sides Kouji and the rest of the S-Suzaku Seven, an’ all I ever did was make fun of ‘im…" A fresh bout of tears welled up in his now-red rimmed eyes, shaky sobs of guilt tearing loose from his heaving chest, arms clutching at the thin form of the monk, wrapping tightly around him as if loosing his grip meant death itself.

"He knew. I’m certain of it," the tall young man whispered close to the other’s ear, the embrace tightening slightly for a moment, punctuating his words, his own cerulean hair blending with the wild silky vermilion beneath his cheek, a single tear escaping his brown eye to land on the sleeve of his tunic. "I think he always knew."

"Chichiri…" He felt safe there, cloaked by the monk’s well-muscled body, the older seishi patiently allowing him free reign to explore and confront all the feelings of sorrow, heartache, and grief, despite the time it took to do so, the steady thrum of his friend’s heart in his ear a bright beacon in the darkness around him.

"We all feel as you do, Tasuki. Not one of us feels any less pain than you do. Even Chiriko feels it, despite the short time he’s traveled with us. We’re bonded, all of us, to Suzaku and each other, whether old or young, strong or weak." Tasuki could hear the wisdom and patience in the older man’s words, even the subtle hint of sorrow, gentle fingers stroking the silken strands of cinnabar at the back of his neck as Chichiri buried his face in flame made substantial, breathing in the scent of the bandit’s hair, careful not to disturb the upset young man in his arms. "And just as Mitsukake said, we don’t have the time it takes to heal completely right now. The best we can all do for the time being is not to forget Nuriko’s sacrifice and move on, no matter how hard it is to let him go."

Long minutes passed before either spoke again, the thick felt walls of the small yurt witness only to the exhausted weeping of the young thief against the older monk, both men mourning the loss of their friend in their own way, clinging to each other in the ruddy light of the oil lamp. His sobs came slower now, the hot, salty tracks down his face fewer, his lean body exhausted, a tired sigh escaping his lips into the tear-soaked linen under his cheek.

"I miss him, Chiri. I miss him so much it hurts," he whispered, wiping away the last few teardrops as he rubbed his aching eyes, and nestled closer to the silent monk, spent of emotion and tears to voice them.

"I know. I do, too." Tasuki felt himself tenderly extricated from his friend’s embrace, strong arms laying his body gently down on the thick felt blankets, a faint noise of protest slipping quietly from his throat, and he looked up at the still-seated seishi, sleepy golden eyes puzzled. A wistful smile graced his companion’s features, a rare sight without his mask, a look which caught him up in a caress of its own, the rich mahogany of the monk’s remaining eye warm with compassion overlaying a deep sadness in itself. "I think we should get some sleep, no da. We have a long ride ahead of us if we’re going to make it to Sairou, no da."

The familiar playful tone returned to his voice as he stretched out his long legs, moving just slightly away from the younger man, the action breaking the pleasant warmth between them, then reached for his kesa, placing the velvety navy around the drowsy thief. When he was content that his companion was comfortable enough, Chichiri settled himself back into the heap of blankets, his tall frame adjusting swiftly to the heavy fabric at his back, and pulling a soft grey sheet up to his waist, he yawned deeply, eye closing under sleep’s powerful spell.

"Chichiri?" Tasuki mumbled, shifting his body closer to his friend, dropping his head on the monk’s chest, strands of silky flame spreading over the creamy white linen as he draped a well-muscled arm around the older man’s waist. He could hear the steady pulse of his heart through the fabric, his chest rising and falling slowly to the measured rhythm of his breath, as well as the sleepy rumbled reply to his inquiry.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks." Golden eyes floated gently closed as the bandit gave himself up to the soothing spirit pillowing both his body and soul, grateful for such a friend as he had found in the reticent monk.