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It had started out a spar like any other. Racing around the training range, waves splashing and amulets fluttering, Wuyang and Mizuki locked themselves in the rhythmic choreography of combat. They found themselves here rather often lately. It was a place they could be vulnerable without ever speaking words. It was a way to engage in something physical and intimate without ever baring their most tender feelings or their darkest secrets. A method of exchanging sweat and heavy breaths that could both satisfy their most primal urges, but allow them to continue to live in denial about just how much they craved each other.
That's how it had always been before, and neither of them had any reason to believe today would be any different. They traded blows without a second thought, lost in the flow of movement. For the most part they were evenly matched. The battle would normally come to a head when one of them would get too cocky and make a careless mistake, rather than outright becoming overpowered by the other.
Today, this would be Mizuki's fault. He hadn't paid attention when Wuyang had washed away a katashiro he had placed down. When Wuyang closed in on him, he did his best to dodge, but the cresting wave that carried the water wielder was much faster than he expected it to be. Wuyang glided past him and swung his staff against the back of Mizuki's knees, knocking him off balance and sending his kasa skidding across the ground away from him.
“Gotcha!” Wuyang called as he leapt from the bubbling water and practically pounced on Mizuki. But Mizuki was determined to not give in yet, and a wrestling match ensued. Droplets of water flew as they rolled among the puddles, trying to pin each other down and claim victory.
Wuyang was first to see an opening. He clamped his legs around Mizuki and rolled him onto his stomach, leaving Wuyang straddling his back. Wuyang's pupils were blown wide with adrenaline and glee once he realized he was moments away from victory. He reached for Mizuki’s mechanical arm — the metal clicked and hissed in protest as Wuyang tried to bend and pin it behind him. Mizuki writhed underneath him, and Wuyang’s fingertips slipped on the smooth surface. He opted to pin Mizuki's other arm instead, and this time he was successful in closing a hand firmly around Mizuki’s wrist. He could feel the man’s tendons shift under his fingertips as he twisted Mizuki's arm behind him and firmly pinned it behind his back. Much to Wuyang's delight, Mizuki immediately stopped struggling.
“I won again,” Wuyang bragged. He continued to sit atop Mizuki as he paused to catch his breath. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure Mizuki could hear it from where he lay beneath him. Wuyang panted as he stared down at Mizuki’s mop of silver hair, which dripped sweat that slipped down the nape of his neck and disappeared into his collar. Wuyang squeezed his wrist tighter.
“Did you even try, Mizuki?” Wuyang asked, to no response. “... Mizuki? You don't have to ignore me cause you lost, you know. Just admit I’m the best and I’ll let you up.”
He listened to Mizuki's breaths. They were just as labored as his own… but they were slowly picking up in speed. Wuyang loosened his grasp just a bit. “Mizuki?”
Underneath Wuyang, Mizuki was rigid. His green eyes were wide and unblinking, his pupils pulled into points. Wuyang realized Mizuki was beginning to hyperventilate into his mask, and the younger man jumped to his feet in surprise. Mizuki didn't move, as though he were locked in the vulnerable and presumably uncomfortable pose that Wuyang had put him into. His arm remained bent behind his back, like Wuyang had never let go. Mizuki's knuckles went white as he clenched that fist, clearly frozen in some sort of terror.
“Mizuki, what's wrong? Are you okay?” Wuyang found himself frozen as well as he tried to process what was going on. Immediately he raised his staff and began to gather bubbling orbs of water near Mizuki, fearing he had somehow injured his arm, though he was certain he hadn't. Mizuki didn't even react to Wuyang's efforts. An eerie feeling settled over him; it was like Mizuki was somewhere else entirely.
“Not again,” Mizuki choked out, “please not again.”
“Mizuki…?” Wuyang knelt down in front of him, his entire demeanor brimming with concern. His fingers trembled as he cautiously ran his fingers through Mizuki's hair.
“I’ll pay it off any other way, I swear. Please.” Mizuki continued to gasp out words that didn't make any sense to Wuyang, leaving his mind overflowing with more questions. There was no indication of what the problem might be or what a solution could entail, only Mizuki breathlessly panicking on the ground before him. His arm was still seized up behind his back, like some sort of invisible force was anchoring it there. Wondering if Mizuki might calm down if he were more comfortable, Wuyang reached for his balled fist. Mizuki didn’t react as Wuyang’s hand grasped his, but the moment Wuyang tried to gently move the man’s arm, Mizuki’s breath hitched in his throat.
He didn’t protest any further, and so Wuyang cautiously pulled Mizuki’s arm out of that stiff angle, lacing his fingers as he did so. It didn’t appear to be broken or injured, luckily — but Mizuki’s distress still wasn’t letting up. As Wuyang drew Mizuki’s hand closer to him, gripping it protectively, Mizuki whispered feverishly to himself in Japanese. It was muffled by his mask, but Wuyang’s heart ached as he picked out please and stop and a generous amount of I’m sorry in rapid succession. But despite his protests, Mizuki didn’t even try to escape Wuyang’s touch, apparently resigning himself to whatever fate he believed was looming.
Wuyang ran his thumb over the back of Mizuki’s hand as he wracked his brain. Maybe this had something to do with the spirits that Mizuki had always lamented. Could Mizuki be seeing something nobody else was able to? “Shhh…” Wuyang continued to try his best to soothe Mizuki, determined to bring him back to reality. “You’re safe, Mizuki. You’re here with me. Can you hear me?”
“Don’t…” Mizuki started before lowering his head, pressing his forehead against the ground. His panic was slowly but surely beginning to fade, much to Wuyang’s relief.
“Don’t what? It’s just me, Mizuki.”
At last, Mizuki turned his head. He looked up at Wuyang in a daze from where he still lay flat on his abdomen on the ground. “Wuyang…?” He blinked rapidly while his pupils gradually refocused. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that.” Wuyang replied with a strained smile, a reflection of his efforts to stay calm for Mizuki.
“Where are we?” Mizuki steadied his breaths as he turned his head and reminded himself of his surroundings. Then he looked back at his arm, and at the hand Wuyang was holding. He swallowed hard and shook his head.
“We were sparring, remember? I pinned this arm behind your back and then…” As Wuyang spoke the words aloud, something dawned on him. His gaze shifted to the mechanics that made up Mizuki’s other arm. How this had come to be had always been a mystery to the younger man, and he had never dared to ask. But guilt began to pool heavily in Wuyang’s core as he realized just how deep Mizuki’s scars likely ran.
Sure enough, Mizuki shuddered. His fingers clamped around Wuyang’s. And then, they were gone. Wuyang’s face fell as Mizuki let go of his hand and rolled onto his back. With a quiet grunt Mizuki sat up, removed his mask, and pressed the cool metal of his other hand to his face.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mizuki muttered into his palm.
“Don’t worry about it?” Wuyang repeated incredulously. “Look, I want to make this right if I hurt you, Mizuki. Can we please talk—”
“No!” Mizuki snapped. Immediately shame wracked him when he saw Wuyang visibility wilt beside him. “No,” he repeated, but much more meekly. “I can’t.”
Silence hung between them for a moment.
“I wish you’d let me help you, Mizuki…” Wuyang spoke quietly. But he reached for his staff, and used it to pull himself up. There was a weight in his chest that felt heavy and wrong as he stood up straight. His knees wanted to buckle and bring himself back to the ground beside Mizuki.
But Mizuki stood up as well, and listlessly brought his hand to rest near his collarbone where, under his gear, flesh connected with metal.
“Wuyang…” The younger man lifted his head hopefully at the sound of his name.
“You can’t.”
Mizuki turned and stepped away to retrieve his kasa. Wuyang called Mizuki’s name as he exited the training range alone, but Mizuki couldn’t hear him. His ears still rang with the sound of steel splitting flesh and the wicked laughter of the demon who was owed her dues.
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