KINTSUGI ⊳jin sakai x yuna

さんじゅうご(thirty five)

"You," Yuna speaks up as she steps into the clearing. "Are unbelievable."

"I stay true to my word," Jin answers. He's already elbows deep inside the gut of a boar he's been skinning for barely a few minutes. "I said I would be back with food before noon." He looks up at her, but she doesn't meet his gaze. "Here I am."

She's beside the dead campfire before he can finish his sentence. Yuna bites back a smile, sets the wood atop the extinguished coal, then unpockets a flint.

"I should stop being surprised by your efficiency," She comments while nurturing a small flame to life.

"Don't," Jin answers plainly. "I don't mind it." Yuna gives him no answer, doesn't even look up at him, but he can see the little impish smile on her lips.

"The fire should be just fine for cooking shortly," She exchanges the subject, approaching. "Can I..."

Silence falls after her unfinished sentence. Jin focuses on finishing another cut through the boar's fat layer before he looks up at her, and, to his surprise, finds her staring. At him, though he can't quite figure out why. Surely, there can't be...much to look at. The summer morning has been anything but chilly: his kimono sleeves are rolled up past his elbow, and maybe the collar of it is not as tidily pulled together as he normally keeps it. Some of the strands of his hair have fallen out, too, and, much to Jin's annoyance, they're sticking to his  sweaty forehead.

"Can you what?" He asks, his tone slightly taunting.

"Sorry." Yuna blinks as if woken out of a daydream, shakes her head. "Can I help?"

"It's nothing I cannot handle," He says sincerely, trying not to focus on the sound the blade makes as he cuts a cartilage. It's strange that in battle, blood and flesh barely disturbs him, but in calm environments, it's all that he can focus on. And not in a good way. Somehow, the sound and look of it gives him a certain sense of uneasy lightheadedness as well, but he'd never admit that.

Working with blood and meat brings back unpleasant thoughts, sometimes. Not always. It's a little like walking on unsteady terrain: falling is not a certainty, but it most definitely is a possibility.

The brought back memories are not always specific, either. Maybe it's not the sound the Khan's blade made before Taka's head fell. Or his uncle's last breath, or Ryuzo's small, barely perceivable whimper as he died. Sometimes it's surprised sounds, groans, sharp cries, gurgles, and anything in-between that mongols or bandits made during their last moments.

One strand of hair falls in front of his eyes, and a few stray hairs poke him in the eye.

He tries wiping his face on his clothed shoulder, but no such luck. Using his hands is a distant dream, unless he wants to cover his face in the boar's gore.

"Wait," Jin speaks up. "Could you—"

"Get your hair out of your face?" Yuna asks with a chuckle, and he nods. "Yes." She gets down on one knee at his side, angles his face towards her a little bit. With hands that seem to have the slightest bit of unsteadiness, she caresses his forehead, tucking the annoying strand of hair behind his ear in one movement. "There."

Jin offers up a small smile as a way of thanking her. As he looks back down at his task and Yuna leaves his side, Jin picks up on a distant crack that can't be traced back to the campfire's flames.

A quick glance Yuna's way confirms his suspicion. She's heard it too, and stands frozen in place, looking around, her hand hovering over the bow on her shoulder.

"No, no, no! Not that way, come on, please—"

Those annoyed, boyish tones could only have one source.