Note: Content warning for... I dunno y'all. Implied offscreen violence in a sexual context but not noncon stuff?

Writing feels good. I should do it more.

The homey smell of onions and garlic filled the room, steam pouring from the pan in front of her. Holding the handle in a tight grip, she scraped the burned bits from the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon, turning the contents for a more even sauté. She hummed bits and pieces of melody, without much regard for continuity or meaning; the catchy chorus of a recent pop song faded into an old lullaby from a mother she barely remembered to something that had sprung fully formed from somewhere deep inside her.

She was waiting for something, and killing time with the thing she enjoyed most, and for once, that was okay. The little voice that loved to remind her of all the ways in which she didn't deserve peace was silent. No one was yelling at her, and nobody had for years. Had there been a time when she'd been hurt? Maybe. The past was the past, and the past was hazy. Ephemeral. What mattered most was that she was here.

She tapped the side of the spoon on the pan, shaking off the bits of onion still clinging tight. The heat of the burner warmed her face, and she could feel every millimeter of her smile. Had there been a time when the reminder that she existed at all had been enough to drive her into a spiral of self loathing? Maybe. The past was the past, and the past was hazy. Ephemeral. What mattered most was that she was here.

Everything else was in the past.

The next hour passed in the blink of an eye. The aroma of soy sauce and oil. The wet sensation of chunks of bloody meat, fresh from the butcher, in her fingers. Birds singing in the soft spring evening, drifting in on a draft of cool air. The humming became singing, and she twirled, the white dress she wore billowing beautifully with the movement. In the same fluid motion, she grabbed an expensive white bowl — taken from her old home, of course — and filled it from a battered old ladle — Shirou's. It wasn't for her, but she couldn't resist the urge to take a small spoonful of it for herself. It tasted rich, with just a hint of fatty indulgence.

Perfect.

The bowl was hot, so as she sang, she set it on a little wooden tray, along with a glass of water, a spoon, and a small pile of napkins. It was all deceptively heavy, so she had to be careful with it. It would be a shame if she dropped it all over their beautiful home; she didn't mind cleaning, but she was always a little worried about the stains.

Her beloved was in the shed, these days. It was where he was most comfortable, so she'd been happy to clear a space of tools and junk and move their bed. Ever so carefully, she set the tray onto her hip, balanced on one hand, and knocked gently on the door. "I'm here," she said. "I brought dinner!"

"Come in," he called back, and she could hear the warm smile in his voice. He loved her. He loved her. The thought of it still brought butterflies to her chest, even after all this time.

She pushed the door open, reminding herself once again that she really needed to fix that latch, and the scent of familiar blood caressed her like an old friend. The room was badly lit — it didn't have electrical outlets that worked, so she couldn't exactly bring all her favorite lamps in to give the place a little more life. Still, she knew the room as well as the back of her own hand, so she did not falter as she entered, stepping over a coil of old chain that she still hadn't moved since the last time she'd changed them. The walls were old and crumbling, but vibrant chrysanthemums grew in the cracks, and vases of red and white roses flanked the bed.

The bed barely fit in the shed, but they'd made it work. Shirou, the love of her life, lay spread-eagled on the mattress, chains looped lovingly around his wrists and his ankles. Each length of chain dangled down the sides of the bed, each bound to a different leg. He was naked from the waist up, and the spots in which she'd carved sweet nothings into him were healing well. Most Beloved, the first, was healed almost to a scar, while My Hero, the most recent, still dripped blood. Of course she would let old wounds heal before moving on. Of course she would. His left arm looked a little chafed; she'd have to change that binding sooner than expected, but sometimes, he did get a little squirmy and that was okay. His broken nose looked like it had started bleeding again while she'd been fixing him dinner. That was a shame. She'd hoped it was done doing that, but at least she was here to help now.

His eyes lit up like beacons the moment she stepped through the doorway, and she wanted to cry happy tears. Love. She was loved. It was still something she could barely believe was possible.

She set the tray down on the old workbench they used as a nightstand, and leaned down to kiss him. His lips were dry and chapped, and the blood running over them gave them a certain taste, but he returned the affection as gently as he ever did. He'd never once been rough with her. Never pushed. Not once. His tongue probed questioningly at her lips, and she deepened the kiss, running her hands through his matted hair.

When she pulled back, he looked disappointed, the way he always did. It was cute. She smiled, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. "You need a bath."

Shirou snorted. "I can think of a couple things I need."

She giggled, her cheeks flushed, and she pressed a soft finger to his lips. "First thing's first. You need to eat."

It wasn't the food that his eyes were hungry for. "That can wait," he said, but the nearly-deafening gurgle of his stomach put the lie to that almost instantly. The look of chagrin on his face was so pure and boyish that she dissolved into laughter; he tried to look stern, but soon he was laughing too. Their laughter faded at the same time, and she couldn't resist the little indulgence; she trailed her fingers over his scabbed and scarred chest, luxuriating in the feeling of his skin, and he shifted under her touch, greedy for more. Her fingers came to rest just above the waistband of his jeans, and she smiled. "Not yet."

With an exaggerated groan, he rolled his eyes. "When did you get so cruel, Sakura? I'm dying over here."

She pecked him on the cheek, then turned her back to him to finish preparing the dinner. Just one thing left to do. From a cabinet, she drew out a small glass vial, glistening with red liquid. "Who is it today?" he asked with interest.

She considered the vial, turning it first this way, then that, in her fingers. There was no label, but she didn't need labels to tell them apart. "Miss Fujimura, today. You've been tired lately, so I think you could use some of her energy." She uncorked the top, and with an entirely unnecessary flourish, she poured the blood into the bowl.

"You're telling me," he grumbled, and the chains rattled as he shifted slightly. "I don't know. Maybe I'm coming down sick."

"Well," Sakura said, sitting beside him, the tray on her lap. "I'll be here to take good care of you if you are." She dipped her spoon into the bowl, and offered it out to him.

He leaned up as much as the bindings allowed, hungrily swallowing the first bite. He fell back a little, a heavy sigh on his lips. "You're getting better and better, Sakura. One of these days, you'll be a better cook than I am." He smiled, and love swelled once again in her breast.

"Maybe that'll be what I write on you today," she said softly. "Teacher."

He considered this. "I think there's probably a better way to say it, but… it's not a bad idea." He glanced at the bowl, and she fed him another spoonful.

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan, then." The knife she used to carve into him was within reach, and a part of her wanted to grab it and put it to use right then, to make concrete this aspect of their relationship, but like she'd said. All that would come after he ate.

He ate in companionable silence for a few more minutes, and when the bowl was empty, she set it aside. "Good?"

He nodded. "Very."

She stood, and his eyes followed her, a question in his gaze.

"I've got blood all over my dress," she said simply. "I'm going to go pretty up a little." With a gentle touch, she caressed his face; down his cheek, over his chin, until her fingers rested on his throat. "Wait for me?"

He swallowed, excitement clearly getting the better of him. "Okay."

A few minutes later, she stepped out of the shower, a hungry heat burning in her lower belly. The towel she dried off with was a peculiar bright crimson, and it was strangely coarse in her hands. She stepped in front of the mirror, just for a moment, and—

She stopped.

Something was wrong.

The smell of blood filled her nose again, and this time, it turned her stomach. Nausea assaulted her every sense, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the mirror.

The Sakura that stared back at her was—

It was her.

But it wasn't.

In the mirror, her hair was not a familiar purple, but a solid black. The way it had been as a child. But that wasn't—

Was that right?

Was that her?

Tearing her gaze away from the reflection, she looked down at her hands, at her arms, at her chest; her skin was smooth and unbroken, the way it had always been. No scars to even mark her as broken.

The Sakura in the mirror—

Her body was covered, head to toe, in bloody tattoos. Tattoos or scars or burns; it was disconcertingly difficult to tell. Swirls and unfamiliar letters and lines and curses that radiated a palpable sense of hatred. Hardly an inch of untouched skin remained. She blinked, and the mirror-Sakura's eyes had become a piercing yellow.

Sakura, the real Sakura, took a panicked step back.

The Sakura in the mirror didn't move.

The bathroom swirled and pulsed, running like wet paint, and again, nausea and bile rose in her throat. Everything but her and the mirror dissolved into inky blackness.

Shirou. She needed Shirou.

But Shirou was in in chains and bloody and oh god, had she done that to him, had she carved his flesh and taken from his body and the darkness became a tunnel, her at one end, the tattooed Sakura at the far end as wind roared and her breath locked in her chest and she opened her mouth to scream—

The sound and fury fell away. She screamed, but she could not even feel the sound vibrating in her throat. There was a hand on her shoulder. Gripping tight. Pulling her back. Pulling her away from—

The other Sakura silently raised a single finger to her lips.

And smiled.

"Don't wake her up," Rin whispered.

"Look at her, though," Shirou whispered back. "We can't just leave her like that. It can't be comfortable."

Sakura was snoring softly, her face peaceful. She'd lost the grey pall she'd had this morning, and she didn't look nearly so clammy to the touch. However, only about half of her was on the bed. The top half. Her knees were planted firmly on the ground, her hands dangling; her chest, meanwhile, was on the mattress, her head turned to the side. Her back rose and fell gently in time with the snores, and what he was pretty sure was one of his scarves was wrapped firmly around her neck. Shirou wasn't sure if she'd fallen asleep in the process of getting into bed or getting out of bed, but it was a cute enough sight, seeing her all sprawled out like that, that his heart had skipped a beat upon poking his head into the room.

"She needs the sleep, though," Rin said. It was kind of nice to hear such a note of understanding compassion in her voice. "If you try to move her, you'll just wake her up. You said she's sick, right?" She shook her head. "No wonder she's tired enough to sleep like that."

Rin was probably right, but it just seemed kind of mean not to try to get her back into the bed. She was already probably going to wake up sore from sleeping in such an unnatural position, and Shirou didn't want to let that get any worse. "I'm just going to go tap her shoulder," he said.

Rin rolled her eyes. "Alright, Doctor Emiya."

"I haven't seen your medical degree, Doctor Tohsaka," Shirou replied pleasantly, and Rin snorted. Gently, he approached the sleeping Sakura, careful not to make any loud or sudden noises that might jar her awake. As silently as possible, he knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Sakura?"

The moment he made contact, her eyes fluttered open, groggily seeking out his face and meeting his gaze. When she spoke, her voice was heavy and slightly slurred; it must have been a really deep sleep. "Shirou…?"

Shirou blinked, surprised, then grinned. "You know, Sakura, I don't know if I've ever actually heard you say my name before." There was something nice about it, if he was being honest. Calling him Senpai after all this time was a little like an old, warm nickname, but at the same time, he'd always felt like there was a little bit more distance to it than he knew what to do with.

"Wel…" She shook her head gingerly, as though it hurt a little to move, and yawned wide. The sound she made was like a little squeak, and once again, Shirou's heart did something weird in his chest. "Welcome home…"

He smiled. Seeing her face like this, like nothing was wrong… it was like a cool drink of water after a long walk through the desert. It was like the moment he got to lie down after a hard gym session with Mitsuzuri, back when he'd been a regular at the archery club. It was like… coming home. "You were really out, huh?"

Sakura furrowed her brow; she looked like she was trying to remember a word on the tip of her tongue, but that she couldn't quite find. "I was having a dream…" she said, her voice still sleepy.

"Anything good?" he asked lightly.

"I don't remember what it was," she murmured. "But I think it was a nice dream…" Her eyes wandered back to his, and seemed to focus for the first time. She pushed herself back until she was sitting on her knees, and Shirou suddenly realized his hand was still on her shoulder. He went to take it back, but before he could, her smooth, slender hand was over his, gently pinning it there. "I remember feeling… warm," she said softly, her eyes hazy. "Warm and safe…"

Rin cleared her throat, and the two of them jumped. When she spoke, though, her voice was bubbling with laughter. "How're you feeling, Sakura? Any better?"

Sakura self-consciously adjusted the scarf as she scooted back, away from Shirou. "O-oh, Tohsaka-senpai, I-I didn't realize you were there," she squeaked. "I'm…" She trailed off, looking down at her hands. Shirou wasn't sure what she was looking for, but apparently she found it, because she soon nodded. "I feel a little better."

Shirou frowned. "I'm glad to hear that, Sakura, but you seemed really messed up this morning. You should probably get back into—"

She shook her head vehemently. "No, I'm okay. I've been…" She trailed off, her eyes widening. "Illya!"

Shirou and Rin exchanged a wary glance. "Illya…?" They asked simultaneously.

"Is she still here?" Sakura's voice was anxious, but not exactly terrified.

Instantly, Rin's guard went up. She whirled, and even from here Shirou could feel the magic swirling around her. "Illyasviel was here?"

Sakura frowned. "I guess she's gone…" She didn't look relieved by the possibility. If anything, she looked… sad. "I was hoping she would stay, but I guess she left." She frowned, and Shirou noted that she still seemed to be half-asleep as she spoke. She wiped at her eyes like a sleepy toddler. "You didn't notice any big holes in the house, did you?"

"N… No?" Shirou said. "Big holes?"

"Oh, good," Sakura said, sighing a little and dropping her hands into her lap. "I was also worried that Berserker would get impatient and try to come inside."

Shirou looked at Rin, and Rin looked at Shirou. He wondered if the look of confused incredulity on Rin's face was a mirror of his own. "I think we have a lot to talk about," Shirou finally said.

It took nearly an hour and a half for each of them to tell their respective stories.

Sakura went first; she regaled them with the halting, nervous story of finding Illya passed out in the snow, bringing her back to the house, and nursing her back to health, at which point she got so tired she passed out. Illya had just been gone when they'd woken her up. Shirou couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she wasn't telling them, but Rin seemed more than satisfied with Sakura's tale. Shockingly so, even.

"You believe me?" Sakura asked tentatively.

Rin blinked. "Why wouldn't I? You're not a liar. Not about stuff like this, anyway."

Sakura sagged a little at that, but she nodded slowly. "I wish I hadn't fallen asleep," she mumbled. "I wish I could have convinced her to stay."

Rin looked at Shirou, as though he might have something valuable to contribute, and he shrugged. "It sounds like you two made some kind of connection," he said lightly. "Maybe she won't want to kill us as much if you two are friends now."

"Friends," Sakura said cautiously, as though she would trigger a landmine below her feet if she said it too confidently. "She… I don't know. She seems lonely. I hope the two of us can be friends."

"I swear," Rin said sourly. "If this power of friendship crap is what wins this Grail War, then I don't want it. I'm out. Done." Shirou had spent a lot of time with her over the last few days, though, and it was getting easier to tell the difference between when she was being genuine and when she just thought she was being genuine. Sakura and Rin both looked at him as he laughed, mirrored looks of confusion and bewilderment on their faces.

"You wouldn't get it," he said, then started laughing again.

Rin and Shirou's turn was much more chaotic; the two of them kept talking over each other, bickering harmlessly about small details that didn't matter, jumping confusingly backwards and forwards in time. Shirou didn't remember ever having a sibling, but he thought that maybe this was what it was like. It was a wonder that Sakura seemed to be following any of it as well as she was. They didn't leave anything out, even if there were parts that Shirou would have preferred Rin keep to herself. Sakura didn't need to know how long he'd been unconscious, or the part where Archer had tried to pick a fight with him on the side of the road. She really didn't need to know that last bit.

Sakura asked a few questions, but they were short and to the point. He could almost see it in real time as she drew her armor back over herself. The kind of pleasantness she used as a shield when she was truly hurting. Is she trying to stay strong for me? Or is she that close to breaking? Again, the scarf around her neck drew his eye. Though she claimed to be feeling better than she had been the night before, she still wore it as though she were feverish. Shirou didn't know what to make of that. This was new. If she was comforted by it, though, then who was he to make a fuss?

"And then we got here, and found you," Shirou said brightly, trying to make up for the hurt that might-or-might-not actually be there. "And now we're all caught up."

"That's a strong way to put it," said Rin. "If anything, with Sakura's story, we have more questions than answers. And we already had a lot of questions."

"I think we have some answers at least. If Illya was willing to sit and talk with Sakura, then maybe we have another ally."

"Or maybe she's going to exploit our weaknesses." Rin's voice was cold as she crossed her arms over her chest, but she threw a nervous glance at Sakura. "No offense, Sakura. You did a good thing, but… I'm worried."

"Well…" started Sakura. She seemed a little less groggy, but there was still a sleepiness to her. "We have a lot to be worried about. What's one more thing?"

"I have an opinion," Archer's dry voice drifted in from the direction of the hallway. As always, the sound of that smug bastard filled Shirou with the desire to perform uncharacteristic violence. "Does anyone want to hear what I think?"

"No," Shirou and Rin said in unison.

Sakura smiled sheepishly. "A-are you sure we shouldn't hear what Mister Archer has to say?"

"We already know what he's going to say," Shirou said. He cleared his throat, then launched into the best Archer impression he could muster. "Don't trust anyone. Friends are made up. You should have killed her, even if she was being nice, because that's all I know how to do. Also, stab Shirou in his sleep, because he's not having a bad enough day yet."

Sakura frowned at him, but there was a strange look in her eye, and Rin blinked at him. "Wow, Emiya," she said finally. "That was chilling."

"I don't sound like that," Archer grumbled. "But fine. If you don't want to hear it, whatever. Not like I give a shit."

Rin slapped her palm to her face probably a little too hard. "Oh my god. That is what you were going to say."

Archer folded his arms over himself and remained silent. Sakura even managed to smile, pulling her sweater around herself a little bit looking very comfortable otherwise. Shirou would have been mostly pleased with the exchanges—a reprieve where they'd had none—but one matter remained unattended. Well… At least one.

Assassin was nowhere to be seen, and though the Command Seal was still burned into Shirou's flesh, the sinking feeling in his gut was only getting worse.

And as if the act of glancing nervously down at the back of his hand were enough to complete the summoning once more, something shifted in the room. In the air. The breath in his lungs, just a fraction denser. The lights, just a shade dimmer. Rin was laughing. Sakura was smiling. Archer was trying to look bored and only sort of succeeding. None of them could feel it.

But he could.

Before the thought had even coalesced into something concrete, he was already pushing himself to his feet. It hurt. His muscles ached. His bones ached. Pain thudded dully in the back of his skull. That was okay. None of that was particularly out of the ordinary. Not worth mentioning, really. Still, it took him longer to stand than it normally would, even after a particularly strenuous workout.

"Emiya?" Rin said softly, blinking up at him. "You okay?"

Shirou tried to grin, but from the shadow of concern that flashed across her face, he didn't think he succeeded. "I'm good. Just need to stretch. I'm gonna walk around a little bit." He turned, not waiting for an answer, and fought to keep the pronounced limp from showing any more than it absolutely had to.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Rin started, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her scoot back from the table to get up. "You're hurt, and we don't know what's—"

In a show of surprising initiative, Sakura reached across the table and took Rin by the hand. Rin froze, as bewildered as if she'd just been slapped, and Sakura shook her head subtly, but firmly. Rin sat back, a strange look on her face.

Shirou pretended not to notice.

The door slid closed behind him, and he stood alone in the cold air. His breath misted out before him. Snowflakes danced in the air, but there was a frantic desperation to their swirls and descents. The wind had picked up a little; the flakes had grown fat and heavy. The grass had been covered by a thin layer of frosty snow, and it felt like the storm was only beginning.

Fuji-nee would know how much snow we're supposed to get, he thought blandly. It was an oddly normal thought.

"So you're back," he finally said.

The wind whistled distantly.

"Contractor." There was an almost hollow stiffness to the word, as though the implacable facade had been… not shattered, exactly, but… shaken. Cracked. For the Heroic Spirit, it was practically a whisper, but something about his voice rattled Shirou's bones in a way it hadn't since that very first night.

That first night.

How long ago it was.

How innocent he'd been.

He wasn't dressed for the cold. He shoved his hands into his pockets, but that only helped so much. It was getting colder. He didn't know what to say. What was there to say? Sorry for being such a screw up. Sorry for not being strong enough. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Shame bit the back of his throat like bile.

"We should speak."

"Yeah," Shirou sighed. He scuffed a bit of snow off of the front path with his foot. He'd probably need to shovel it in the morning. Anything to think about except what I really need to. "We probably should."

I don't think I have anything special to say today. Quarantine fuckin sucks, y'all. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there. Comments and shares always SUPER appreciated, you know the drill.

Next chapter: Resonance