Kazuharu

Kazuharu was always going to be a heretic. In their hidden attic overlooking the bamboo-lined streets of The Great Panda City, the air was sharp with the scent of rebellion. Hikozaburou watched as Kazuharu drew the final white line of war paint across their cheek, their hand steady. The small fren on Kazuharu's head twitched in its sleep. They didn't need to ask if this was the only way; they had exhausted all other paths weeks ago. When Kazuharu caught their lover's gaze in the reflection of their katana, the grin that spread across their face wasn't cruel. It was the fierce, private smile of someone who had finally found the one thing worth breaking every rule for. Hikozaburou simply placed a hand over theirs.