The Mosaic
After lights out, Kabuto stood in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection that had ceased to feel like his own long ago.
His fingers traced over the hard, pale scales lining his jaw, the ridges of his altered body. He had never given much thought to his appearance in the years following his transformation. But now, with the prospect of seeing you, he felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest.
Regret.
He wondered what you would see when you looked at him now.
With a quiet sigh, he stepped away from the mirror and made his way to your office.
When he arrived, you had already changed out of your uniform. Instead of the practical nurse’s attire, you wore a blouse and pants. Kabuto hadn’t yet seen you in anything but work clothes, and somehow, this caught him off guard.
It was a small, mundane thing. And yet, it made him realize just how little he truly knew about you.
For all the years he had spent lamenting your absence, romanticizing the memory of you, he had never stopped to consider the most important thing. You.
Not just the version he had constructed in his mind.
You.
It was embarrassing, really. Stupid.
What did you do in your free time? What were your hobbies? Did you have a family? Did you usually wear blouses like this? Or had you made an effort just for him?
The thought made his stomach twist. He wished you had. But he knew you didn’t owe him that.
“Kabuto!” You greeted him with the same warmth as earlier, waving him inside. “Come in. Can I offer you tea? I’m afraid the kids have eaten most of my cookies, though.”
He hesitated in the doorway. Part of him was still waiting for something to go wrong, for this moment to slip away like all the others.
“Tea sounds good.”
He didn’t care for tea, he wanted an excuse to stay longer.
You moved easily through the space. Kabuto noted, with no small admiration, how effortlessly you kept the atmosphere comfortable. He had expected awkwardness, the weight of all that had gone unsaid between you, but somehow, you made it easy.
You always had.
Then, without warning, you turned to him,“You sought me out before the war, didn’t you? It was you.”
Kabuto stiffened. So that was what this was about. He suddenly felt foolish. Like a child caught in the aftermath of an impulsive, embarrassing mistake. What had he been thinking, going to you back then, only to leave you in confusion?
“I did,” he admitted.
“You had a snake in your stomach.”
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “I did.”
“Why did you seek me out? And why did you leave so soon? I never knew it was you, Kabuto. Not until now. You looked so different from our last meeting.”
He looked down at his hands, fingers tightening around his cup.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He exhaled. “I was a different man back then. And I sought you out because you were the only person alive who had ever shown me kindness… even if it was just your job.”
There it was. The truth, laid bare between you. You didn’t say anything right away, giving him the space to continue. But he didn’t.
“Why didn’t you stay longer?”
He swallowed. You deserved an explanation.
“Because I realized you didn’t owe me anything.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I suppose, in that moment, a part of me understood how naïve I was being. And how unfair it was to expect anything from you. I was just a patient to you. Nothing else.”
A pause.
It was harder to read Kabuto’s expressions now than when he still had the soft, dark eyes you had once been so fond of. But when you looked at him, really looked, you thought you saw an old wound, not yet fully healed.
Gently, cautiously, you reached out. Your fingers brushed over his jaw, caressing the ridges of his skin. To your surprise, his scales were soft when stroked downward. Kabuto went still, completely caught off guard.
And then, against his better judgment, he melted into your touch. An instinctive reaction, a desperation so raw and immediate it startled even him. It was the kind of response that came from years of deprivation, from a man who had forgotten what it was to be held, to be touched without expectation, without pain. Taking it as permission, you stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace. Kabuto didn’t move at first. Didn’t breathe. And then, hesitantly, his arms came up, holding onto you like you might slip away if he wouldn’t be physically holding you here, in reality. If he had tear ducts, he would have been crying.
It was the second time in his life he had ever been embraced. And somehow, it felt even more undoing than the endless cycles of Izanami. Because this moment was not something he had earned. It was not something he had taken. It was simply given. And that, more than anything, unraveled him.
It wasn’t that he had been wrong about identity. He had always believed it to be a construct, a structure built from experiences, shaped by the people one admired… and loved. He had thought himself different. But that was where he had been mistaken. That wasn’t his crooked idea of identity. That was identity.
He had been given a name at five years old by a woman who had chosen to care for him. But wasn’t that the same for everyone? Every person in this world had been named by another. He had been shown kindness, but wasn’t kindness meant to be given? To be received? To be part of what made people whole? For so long, he had believed himself to be an exception. But he wasn’t.
He had spent his life resisting the idea that he belonged, that he could be without having to take, without having to prove himself. But identity wasn’t about possession. It wasn’t about deserving or not deserving. It was about balance. About give and take. And that wasn’t wrong. That was simply life.
“I’m glad you don’t have a snake in your stomach anymore,” you murmured, snapping Kabuto out of his thoughts.
A breathless laugh escaped him, muffled against your shoulder.
When you finally pulled away, Kabuto felt unmoored, like a man still trapped between dreams and reality. He wasn’t sure what to do next, if an explanation was in order, if he should say something…
“Why are you doing this?” he finally asked.
You tilted your head. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”
“No!” It came out faster than he intended, almost desperate. He cleared his throat. “No, not at all.”
This time, he was the one to reach out, his fingers lightly grazing yours.
“I’ve long since moved on from the little crush I had on you back then,” you admitted. “But now, seeing you here… it feels like a sign. Like a fresh start.”
“You’ve already given me more than you know, I’d like to return the favor… if you’ll let me.”
“Then kiss me, Kabuto.”
He didn’t hesitate because he was afraid of rejection. He hesitated because he wanted to get this right. And that was new.
With a slow breath, Kabuto leaned in. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t a man taking something because he thought he had earned it. It was an offering given freely because you weren’t asking him to be something greater. You weren’t asking him to prove anything. You were simply asking for him.
When he pulled back, he didn’t retreat far, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath unsteady, his fingers still curled at your jaw.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You smiled against his lips.
He exhaled shakily, “No.”
And then, after a pause, he spoke quieter “I’d like to do it again.”
You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers lingering against his skin.“Then do it.”
So he did. And this time, it was easier.