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siorrrhhh · 14 days ago

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A Hint of Bitterness.

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: Mild depictions of PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety. Self loathing from Wanderer himself. He needs therapy

Summary: Kunikuzushi struggles long after he's been set free from his ties to the Fatui. There's desperation in the way he claws for just a hint of normalcy, but how can he possibly obtain it when it's so far from his reach?

Chapters: 1/2

A Cycle of Misfortunes.

Thunder rolls low across the horizon. A distant growl was swallowed by the heavy gray clouds churning above the city. The first drop of rain lands on his cheek, trailing down his jaw before sinking into the collar of his clothes. More follow at a steady pace. Kunikuzushi doesn’t bother quickening his steps until the wind picks up, dragging the rain sideways and tugging at the frayed ends of his sleeves. He doesn’t flinch.

The stone path beneath his feet is slick now, collecting shallow puddles in the uneven dips between each ancient slab. The markets, if they could still be called that, are nearly abandoned. A few stalls cling to life under sagging tarps weighed down by rainfall and sheer stubbornness. Most vendors have already retreated, their goods packed in a hurry, their coins counted later. The few who remain watch him with a particular kind of stillness. Their eyes linger too long, then look away too quickly.

He doesn’t blame them.

He wasn’t really sure what he expected out here. More often than not he faced hapless presumptions of bypassers or ending up in a less-than-comfortable situation Nahida would urge him into for his own good, according to her.

It’s the teahouse he ends up ducking into. Not out of need, but the idea of sitting somewhere that doesn't feel like the open world is swallowing him whole is enough. His entrance draws a glance from the teahouse attendant, a young woman whose expression shifts imperceptibly. She offers the usual pleasantries, her voice barely audible over the soft hiss of the kettle in the back.

He orders the plainest thing on the menu. No need for indulgence.

“Would you like to try our Shawarma Wrap? There’s a sale today, for customers who…”

She trails off when he lifts his gaze. There’s nothing cruel in the look he gives her, just a measured pause like he’s calculating how much it will cost him in effort. He places the final mora down on the counter.

“No.”

That’s all. A blunt word with a tone of finality.

The world inside the teahouse is small, warm, but his attention doesn’t settle on any of it. The air is too full of noise, laughter, footsteps, and voices overlapping. It presses in on him like a weight behind the eyes.

Too loud, he thinks, but says nothing.

He stares at the surface of the table he decides to plant himself at like it holds an answer. Like it might settle something in him. It doesn’t.

He hadn’t planned to be there.

He told Nahida he’d take a walk. Nothing dramatic, just muttering an excuse and the sound of the door clicking shut behind him. She didn’t stop him. He hadn’t meant to end up in the teahouse. He felt too suffocated by everything and nothing all at once, the stillness of his life now bothered him with the fact it felt surreal.

The streets were wet and his thoughts had gone somewhere he couldn’t follow. By the time he’d realized how far he’d wandered, the sky had grown dark and lamps had started to glow. He didn’t want company; he certainly didn’t want to remember how it felt to sit in a room of strangers and pretend he was one of them. He didn’t need that reminder.

But here he was anyway.

The chair creaked when he leaned forward. The wood felt solid beneath his fingers. Grounding. He felt like if he pressed down hard enough, he could stop thinking entirely. Too loud, he thought again. Not just the voices. Everything. The smell of tea leaves, the clatter of dishes, the way joy curled around the room.

His own silence, in comparison, felt obscene.

He didn’t know the name of the place, nor had he cared enough to glance at the sign. Inside, the tables were small and square, with chipped corners and worn wood. The lighting was soft with dim lanterns, some flickering. He sat in the corner, not quite tucked away but far enough that no one would notice if he left without a word.

He kept his eyes on the table. It had water rings etched into its surface. The waitress said something to him, asked if he wanted sugar, maybe. He nodded once, vaguely. Enough to make her leave. He didn’t want to speak. His voice felt like it didn’t belong in his mouth.

He thought about Nahida.

He thought about the way she looked at him sometimes. It wasn’t in pity. She looked at him like she understood. Like she saw it, all of it, and just forgave it.

That made his skin crawl.

He hadn’t asked for forgiveness. He hadn’t earned it. What did she know about the choices he made? What they cost?

“If you keep focusing on trying to protect yourself,” she’d said once, “you’ll never see the ones trying to protect you too.”

He’d clenched his jaw so hard it ached for hours after. Not because she was wrong, but because he wanted her to be. He didn’t want anyone to protect him. That kind of thing came with the weight of attachment. And nothing, nothing terrified him more than needing someone again.

His thoughts curled darker the longer he sat there. Small things. Ugly things. Resentments he didn’t like to name. He hated the quiet way she always waited for him to open up. He hated the way she smiled like it didn’t hurt to care. He hated the part of himself that wanted to go back.

A sound broke through it. A chair scraping. Not his.

His hand moved before he could stop it, snapping toward a weapon that wasn’t there, instinct firing like a broken spring. He stood halfway, his breath shallow, locking his gaze on the source.

The girl, just a server, had flinched with her tray half-raised. Her face had lost its color, and her smile collapsed. For a moment, the tension gripped the room.

And then he blinked. Something inside him uncoiled, slackening on itself. He sat down again, slower this time.

“…Sorry,” he muttered.

His fingers curled against the underside of the table, out of sight. They were still shaking. He let them.

The silence after hung in the air. It clung to the corners of the room. He didn’t look up right away, just stared at the worn wood of the table and counted the grain lines like they might anchor him. But the tray still hadn’t moved. The presence still hovered. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

She hadn’t left.

The server stood rooted in place; her knuckles had gone pale with her grip on the tray. Her eyes darted across his face in a way that made discomfort creep back into the corners of his mind. He hated when people stared, and hated it even more when they did so in silence. And now that he actually looked, something about her struck his memory. Her face. It looked familiar.

“Dana.” He said, sounding more like a statement than a question. Or maybe Dani. He couldn't remember. He remembered seeing her face once before with a passing glance.

She blinked. “Close,” she said, voice thin. “It’s Dina.”

He gave the smallest nod, tension bleeding off his shoulders in increments. The name didn’t help. It only confirmed she had seen him before.

“I didn’t think you were still around,” he said quietly, though it wasn’t quite meant for her. It was more a thought, something spoken to the window. She didn’t reply, setting the tea on the table with a gentler hand this time. The porcelain barely clinked.

Another pause.

“Is there… anything else I can get you?” She asked without any forced sweetness.

He glanced at the cup, then at her again. His eyes lingered too long on the tray and the unease in her expression, the careful way she stood like she was still waiting for him to snap again.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said, voice lower this time. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. Not remotely. But she nodded anyway, maybe knowing better than to push. She gave a quick, courteous dip of her chin and turned to walk away.

He stared after her, then turned back toward the window. Thunder rolled again, louder this time, followed by a flicker of white-blue light that painted the walls in fractured patterns. In the reflection on the glass, he could just make out his face. He looked pale, drawn, and worse for wear than he remembered before. His hand wrapped around the teacup too tightly.

Something in him wanted to break it, just enough to feel the fracture. Instead, he downed the whole cup in one swallow, the bitter burn trailing down his throat. He set it back down a little too hard, and the ceramic let out a soft, resigned clink.

He couldn’t stand this place anymore.

It was supposed to be quiet.

Kunikuzushi slipped through the side entrance of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, shoulders slightly hunched beneath the brim of his hat. The wide stone halls offered no comfort with polished floors, and the distant hum of lanternlight flickering against intricately carved walls.

Dripping trails dotted the pristine marble behind him. He didn’t shake it off nor did he care to.

In. Out. Don’t speak. Don’t stop. Find the furthest room. Close the door. Don’t come out.

He rounded a corner and immediately froze.

“…and Paimon’s still sore from yesterday! You try floating around all day dodging attacks! Do you know how much core strength that takes?!”

Aether’s voice followed, dry and unimpressed. “You don’t even have muscles.”

“Hey!”

Kunikuzushi’s brow twitched. His expression didn’t move.

No. No. Not them.

He stepped back, shoe scuffing lightly against the floor as his body instinctively tensed. The last thing he needed - the very last - was them. The traveler and that obnoxious floating emergency ration, taking up space in the only place he thought might suffocate him less than the rest of the world.

Of course they were here. Laughing. Bickering. Existing too loudly in the same space as him. The universe had an impeccable sense of cruelty.

He didn’t move for a moment. He just stood there, still, trying to disappear into the wall like smoke.

Then he muttered, voice low and venom-laced, “I don’t have time for this.”

He started to turn.

“You could say hello, you know.”

Kunikuzushi felt himself grow rigid. That voice didn’t come from the hallway. It came from behind him.

He turned his head, slowly.

Nahida stood at the far end of the corridor. She was barefoot, as always, framed by hanging vines that curled like fingers around the doorway beside her. The soft green glow in her eyes didn’t judge him. It never had. And somehow, that made it worse. He wasn’t sure if he was more offended that she had the audacity to approach him, or that an ugly thought festered inside of him that he didn’t want her to.

Kunikuzushi didn’t reply right away, nor did he need to. His silence was louder than any insult.

“I could also walk back into the rain and drown in it,” he said at last. “I’m still weighing the better option.”

She smiled, but not the kind of smile people give when they feel sorry for you. It was the kind he hadn’t earned.

“You knew they were here.”

“I did.”

“You let them be here.”

“I did,” she said again. “Because they needed a place to rest. Just like you.”

“I didn’t come here to rest.” His voice dropped lower, barely restrained.

“You’re not very good at lying,” she replied softly, tilting her head. “Especially when you’re soaked and tracking mud into sacred marble.”

He glanced down.

Mud, sure enough. Splattered across the white floor like a signature of his arrival.

He didn’t have a comeback ready. He opened his mouth, ready to bite, looking almost bothered if not hurt that she even allowed them here to begin with. But she didn’t wait for it. She turned, walking calmly down the corridor, slow enough that he could follow if he chose.

“They’ll be happy to see you, you know,” she said over her shoulder. “Even if they don’t say it.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

That stopped him more than he was willing to admit.

It didn’t take long to dry himself.

The cold grip of rainwater no longer clung to him and dragged against every thread of fabric. But the heaviness hadn’t left. His steps were quiet on the stone as he approached the open hall, where the three familiar figures stood in quiet conversation. He paused, just outside their notice, caught in a moment he didn’t particularly want to be part of.

Nahida turned slightly, catching him from the corner of her eye. She tilted her head gently, beckoning him without a word. He scowled. The twitch of his brow betrayed how that simple gesture needled him like a child, but he stepped forward anyway.

Paimon’s voice reached him first.

“- And he really can’t travel right now, so he asked Aether to go in his place…”

“If it’s just medicine,” Aether said next, “it won’t be a long trip.”

Kunikuzushi frowned. Paimon let out an exaggerated groan at the mention of travel, slumping midair. Her eyes drifted up and caught sight of him, her whole body freezing in place.

Displeasure flashed across her face like a stormcloud. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to fling something barbed and undiplomatic, but Aether noticed him too. The traveler’s shoulders tensed just slightly, barely visible, but it was there. He didn’t look hostile, but he certainly didn’t look thrilled.

Kunikuzushi arched a brow, lips curling with practiced malice. “I wasn’t particularly expecting a welcoming gesture,” he sneered. “So you can relax.”

He could feel it then, that familiar heat rising under his skin. Attention always made him feel like a live wire. Nahida, graceful as ever, diffused the moment with ease.

“We were discussing a commission,” she said. “A request from Dr. Nahim in Aaru Village. One of his patients fell ill, and he himself was injured a few days ago. He can’t travel, and asked Aether to deliver the medicine in his place.”

The tale might’ve earned a yawn from him if he were being honest, but she wasn’t finished. There was a certain lilt in her tone. His eyes narrowed.

“…You’re not expecting me to go, are you?” He asked, incredulous. The way his tone sharpened made it sound more like an accusation than a question. He already didn’t like where this was going, he knew she had a knack for this, and she hadn’t even finished her sentence.

This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

The sun bled softly through the canopy overhead, casting fractured light across the forest floor. Thin streaks of gold filtered through the branches, glinting off moss-slick stones and weaving between the roots of ancient trees. A breeze stirred the leaves above, brushing strands of dark hair across Kunikuzushi’s cheek.

He didn’t bother fixing it. Let it fall where it may.

His pace was measured, though not out of fatigue. He didn’t tire like they did, and he’d rather be anywhere else. Why had he agreed to this?

Right. Nahida.

Of course it had been her. No one else could’ve talked him into this kind of nonsense, traipsing through Sumeru’s forests with a glorified errand boy of all people. He didn’t want to be here. He’d made that perfectly clear, he thought. And yet here he was, following as though he was some obedient lapdog. The thought alone made him grimace in disgust.

Still, he said nothing.

Pride kept his mouth shut, even as the presence of the Traveler and his floating gremlin gnawed at the corners of his patience. It felt suffocating to be near them for this long. He cast a venomous glance toward Aether’s back, not that the other noticed. Or maybe he did and he just didn’t care.

The forest deepened as they moved further off the main path. The low buzz of cicadas replaced the rustling of the city, and every now and then, a startled bird would burst from a bush in a panic. He found himself watching those birds - small, pointless things - far too intently.

Maybe because they could just leave.

"...and it gave Paimon the nastiest glare! Like really, really nasty. I would've kicked its butt if it wasn’t for you!"

Her voice cut abruptly through the quiet. Kunikuzushi twitched. The sound grated on him like nails on chalkboard.

“I’m sure you would’ve, Paimon,” came Aether’s reply. He had that kind of voice that said I’ve heard this story five times already.

Kunikuzushi didn’t respond to any of it. He barely even listened. The words became background noise as a familiar, constant whisper that blended into the sounds of the forest. It didn’t stop the thoughts, though. Those always found a way through. He should’ve come alone. He could have done this alone. Delivering medicine wasn’t exactly a task requiring two people and an overgrown flying fungus.

But Nahida had insisted.

He’d snapped at her, of course. Told her this was beneath him, and she hadn’t even flinched. She smiled - as maddening as it felt - and said it would be good for him.

As if she knew what was good for him. How could she possibly know anything that was good for him?

Kunikuzushi blinked, realizing too late that his eyes had been fixed on a tree for far too long. The bark had started to blur. He looked away, annoyed with himself. He wasn’t losing focus, but he was tired. Of this, of them, of being perceived at all.

“…We can stop there, if you want?”

Aether’s voice pulled him back.

Kunikuzushi’s gaze sharpened. “What?”

“Vimara Village,” Aether repeated. “We’ll reach it by tonight.”

Only then did he realize they’d stopped. The forest had grown dim while he wasn’t paying attention, the edges of twilight already beginning to lick at the underbrush. Paimon hovered just ahead, arms folded and mid-yawn, clearly ready to collapse into the nearest patch of moss.

He frowned at being pulled so abruptly from his thoughts. They were the only moments of quiet he’d managed.

“…Very well,” he said under his breath. “We’ll stop there.”

By the time the last ridge gave way to the forest floor, the village had crept into view, half-shrouded in dusk under spilled lanternlight.

Vimara wasn’t much. It was a scatter of slanted thatch rooftops slumped beneath the dark boughs of the forest, their silhouettes barely held together by stubborn wood and age. Lanterns swayed from crooked beams and ropes strung between trees, their amber glow flickering over the moss-covered planks that formed narrow walkways above a shallow stream. The water there shimmered faintly blue in the moonlight, broken only by the occasional ripple of wind or a wayward leaf.

Kunikuzushi lingered at the edge of it, just before the first step onto the bridge. The scent of damp earth and moss clung to the air, quiet in a way the forest hadn’t been.

Paimon’s voice, mercifully, had dulled into something resembling a low hum. He glanced up,watching her as she was floating in slow circles beside the Traveler, her head dipping every few seconds as if she was one blink away from sleep. Occasionally, she’d bump into Aether’s shoulder with a muffled noise of complaint before resuming her drowsy orbit.

If only she'd stay like that permanently.

He trailed behind them as they entered, ignoring the elderly man who had greeted them. Aether exchanged a few words. Pleasantries, probably. The man had legs like brittle twigs and eyes dulled by time, and Kunikuzushi paid him no more mind than he would a passing bird.

The so-called “inn” they were led to wasn’t much more than a wooden shed. A single room with two beds shoved up against opposite walls, an oil lamp sputtering on the small table between them. The windows, such as they were, let in the faint light of the village lanterns, casting shadows across the crooked floorboards.

Displeasure didn’t even begin to describe what he felt.

This had to be punishment, and he hadn’t even done anything lately.

He watched Aether silently as he entered first, dropping his bag onto one of the beds with a tired exhale. He didn’t understand why he did this sort of thing all the time.

Kunikuzushi settled onto the opposite bed, propping his chin against his palm, his elbow crooked on the windowsill. He didn’t say anything at first while he stared, the small flame of the lamp catching in his eyes.

This was it? This was what the Traveler did? Meander from village to village, doing chores in exchange for a few mora and creaky floorboards?

It would’ve been pathetic if it weren’t so infuriating.

He let the silence sit, just long enough for Aether to start to relax before he spoke, his voice smooth with mockery wrapped in silk.

“Let me guess.” His voice was languid. “You took on a request from some wide-eyed villager with tears in their eyes and no Mora to their name. Because you just can’t say no, can you?”

He tilted his head slightly, pretending to have a thoughtful expression on his face. His tone was light - falsely so. There was nothing light about the way his words curled around the air between them.

“Tragic,” he added, letting the word drip from his mouth like poison. “Really.”

He didn’t know why he’d said it.

No, that was a lie. He did know.

It was easier to poke at someone else than let the quiet sit too long. And Aether, the blank slate he was, was so easy to jab at. He was someone whose goodness bordered on delusion, and refusal to break made Kunikuzushi want to see where the cracks were, just so he’d feel less alone in his own.

Aether didn’t spare him a glance, slipping off his boots with ease and placing them at the foot of his bed. The soft squeak followed, the wood frame settling beneath his weight. Paimon shifted beside him in her sleep, a soft murmur leaving her lips as she buried her face deeper into the pillow.

Kunikuzushi’s gaze moved to her.

That hat again.

Perched lopsided over her head, the tiny nightcap seemed a little too big. He didn’t remember if she’d always worn it. Maybe she had. The thought tugged at him longer than it should have.

He was pulled out of it by Aether’s voice as he set his travel bag down on the nightstand.

“We should reach our next stop by noon tomorrow. The caravans will give us a lift before sunrise. It’ll save us a few hours, at least.”

Kunikuzushi’s expression soured immediately. Of course Aether would act like nothing had happened. There wasn’t a hint of recognition or even a pointed glance. It twisted something in him, jabbing slightly at his ego. He tried to summon something clever to snap with, but nothing came.

He caught the subtle shift in Aether’s expression; it wasn’t anything more than a hint of discomfort. It passed so quickly that he’d almost missed it. He’d seen it enough in others. Hesitation, unease, distrust. He supposed he was still a stranger to them.

Kunikuzushi didn’t have the will to blame him.

The last memory they shared was a fight. It was violent, messy, if not personal. He hadn’t made much of a better impression since then, and still didn’t. Reclusive didn’t begin to describe him afterwards. Half the time he wandered the edges of the Sumeru forest like a ghost. The other half, he was being dragged by Nahida to the Akademiya with some flimsy excuse to “socialize.” As if he could just… adjust.

He scoffed to himself. No thanks.

Breaking the silence, he leaned back slightly.

“Already planning our romantic getaway, huh?” He said coolly. “Or maybe you’re hoping they’ll throw a parade for you the next day. All these ‘good deeds’ must be exhausting. How do you manage without gagging in your own righteousness?”

Aether shot him a glance. It was a quiet look from the corner of his eye, threaded with an unmistakeable hint of weariness reserved for a repeated irritation they had already resigned themselves to.

He didn’t acknowledge him with a word or even a sound.

Kunikuzushi’s expression darkened, scowl pulling more defined across his features. His back straightened, dragging his cheek from where it had rested lazily in his palm. A shadow of heat crept up his neck that felt like humiliation disguised as disdain. He could have sworn he’d seen Aether roll his eyes.

He didn’t say anything about it, but he felt it.

Typical. You try to bait a reaction and all you get is a self-righteous statue with the patience of a shrine maiden. Pacifist to the bone, and just as infuriating. A knot of something twisted low in his gut. Irritation, sure, but beneath it, buried like an ember under ash, was something uglier he didn’t want to think about.

Envy.

The Traveler - that man - was always easy to look at, not just in the way people appreciated beauty. It was deeper than that, rooted in the way others believed in him. He moved through the world untouched, as if he belonged to it. People followed him with unshaken faith, and trusted him without hesitation. They revered him, sometimes, acting if he was the sun itself walking.

And Kunikuzushi? He was a shadow that lingered after.

He had long since stopped seeking warmth in the eyes of others. Awe had been replaced with suspicion, and admiration had curdled into fear. It didn’t matter what name he used now - Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, The Balladeer - it all led to the same conclusion. A threat, or a warning. Something to keep at arm’s length. People didn’t see him back then, they only saw the reflection of what he was.

It should’ve hardened him. It had, mostly. A quiet ache still buried underneath if he even thought about it for too long.

This was the man the world opened itself to. This was what it meant to be human and not have it ripped away. Even now, in a crumbling shack of a room with creaky floorboards and thin bedding, Aether carried peace like it was part of him. Kunikuzushi was still clawing toward it.

A shuffle broke the silence. His gaze moved up in time to see Aether lean toward Paimon, her small body curled tight on the pillow. Her mouth hung half-open, a trail of drool soaking into the fabric beneath her cheek. She looked ridiculous, really, he wanted nothing more than to make a snide remark about it.

Aether, without a word, reached forward and brushed the loose hair from her face. His fingers were careful while he took a wipe, cleaned the drool gently, then discarded it into a small wooden bin near the bed.

Kunikuzushi’s stare lingered longer than it should have.

It was nothing aside from a mundane gesture. An ordinary scrap of humanity. So why did it leave him feeling so utterly hollow?

He didn’t understand it. Not truly. But watching that simple display of care stirred something volatile in him, a sharp pressure in his ribs that pushed outward like it meant to break free.

How dare he? How dare Aether hold peace like it was his birthright, while Kunikuzushi had spent half a millennia tearing himself apart just to understand it?

His voice came out clipped when he finally spoke again.

“Pray, tell me,” he said, drawing the words out, “who exactly is this Doctor Nahim? So grievously wounded he can’t endure a few days’ journey to Aaru Village himself… and yet you’re the one playing errand boy in his stead?”

Aether didn’t even blink. Of course.

Kunikuzushi exhaled. The breath felt like it was pulled through gritted teeth. Every second spent in this room was a slow boil beneath the skin. He leaned back, arms crossing tightly over his chest trying to contain the frustration swelling in his chest.

“Next time,” he muttered, “try picking a commission that doesn’t end with us one rope bridge away from death by gravity. I might actually stick around longer.”

At last, a shift could be heard from Aether.

Aether’s brows rose, and he finally, finally, turned to face him. He had that maddening, unshaken calm when he replied.

“So you do plan on staying?”

The words landed heavier than they should have. He hadn’t expected them to sting, but they did.

Kunikuzushi’s fingers pressed into the fold of his arms. That was what got a response? Not the mockery, not the goading, not the sharp edges he’d so carefully honed? It was insulting. He scoffed, dragging his gaze away. He curled in on himself slightly, shoulders pulled toward the blanket as he turned his back to the Traveler.

“Shut up and blow out the lamp.” He muttered.

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