one day ume and yuzu have a conversation (as they often do) and it is in the dark and the quiet (as it often is), but they are in the quiet and the dark with a faint starlight filtering in through the window and ume asks, "why will you not leave?"
and they mean doma, of course, and othard as a whole, because they both know there is little left here for him, and it's hard to say that what remains is enough to outweigh the rest. yuzu does not answer for a time, and ume is content to let him think, their arms crossed against his chest, cheek resting in the crook of their elbow as they feel the gentle thump, thump of his heart. "because i love this place," he says, quietly, "and the people in it."
"even if it does not love you back?"
"even if. it is beautiful, resilient, and i miss the sun here, the summers, the sound of the one river. it's hurt, and i did a lot to hurt it, and i want to make it better."
"but must it be you? they will not thank you for it."
"it is not a debt that can be repaid." ume sighs, filling in his answer themself, something he's told them before, "but still you must try." yuzu smiles faintly, though there is little humor in either of them. "...it is not noble, yuzu."
"i never intended to be."
"because i was, am, an instrument of their suffering. a remnant of a still bleeding wound. i need to make it better."
ume rises then, something angry or desperate in their black eyes as they look down at him. "you must know it was not your fault. some part of you must know." but yuzu only returns their gaze without answer.
they sigh again, gently knocking their forehead against his, whispering, "some part of you knows..."
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