Chapter Text
There was a reason, Sasara tells him later. A reason why he was so jumpy before.
He's seemingly nonchalant though, content to keep Samatoki guessing as they wrap up for the day, the teal strands of his hair damp and sticking to his skin. They're both sweating because it's been hot and, as their luck would have it, they've been working out of the office for the majority of the day. Some things just need to be handled personally and all.
"Would it kill you to just say it?" Samatoki slicks back his hair, annoyed at the way it gets into his eyes. But his shirt— "Fucking scum," he mutters, rubbing furiously at the bleeding red stains. If he heads home like this, Nemu'll have his head. Something about his occupation not being an excuse for him to look like a cheap Halloween costume.
Peering over from where he had dragged their job-of-the-day, Sasara clicks his tongue. "That's only spreading it, y'know?" He drops the body with a thud—an unconscious man on the heavier side that Samatoki thought he'd struggle with but didn't—brushing off his hands when he stands. "I have an idea! You've been saying you wanted to go to that bathhouse on the edge of 'bukero, right?"
Samatoki wipes his face and blinks against the sting of sweat in his eyes. "Yeah, why?" His leather jacket is on the floor where he had thrown it mid-job, growling at inhumane conditions and fuck, why the hell is it so hot? "You're telling me you wanna soak in hot water in this weather? Crazy bastard." Just imagining it has Samatoki sweating another bucket. "Keep your masochistic tendencies to yourself," he says, snapping his jacket up by the collar; the leather is burning to the touch and gritty from the dust.
"You know, the two will cancel out!" Sasara, to his credit, is still trying. For whatever reason.
"Hot weather and hot water doesn't suddenly equal cold enough to shrivel my balls," he shoots back, exasperated.
Sasara huffs, his hands automatically brushing his hair back. Unlike Samatoki's slicked look, it sticks up comically. "Trust me," he wheedles, bending down to sweep his blazer off of the ground. He gives it a good shake, ignoring Samatoki's disgruntled snort, and drapes it over his arm. "I've done it before and—"
Sasara's teeth suddenly clack together, his mouth clamped shut.
"And what?" Samatoki isn't in the mood for this game again. Lifting his foot, he kicks Sasara's ass. "Finish your goddamn sentence so we can go."
The surprise that appears on Sasara's face makes way for something more smug. "We're going?" he repeats, intruding into Samatoki's space with a Cheshire grin. Lucky for him, the heat has Samatoki's limbs feeling like molasses: he doesn't swing just yet. "You're going to come with me, Sa-ma-to-ki?"
"Disgusting," Samatoki says as he shoves Sasara's face away. It's so damn hot, his skin is prickling with just that touch. "Stop trying to act cute." Of course, that's Sasara's cue to go through another few poses, bouncing after Samatoki as he speedwalks the hell out of there. He resolutely doesn't look back. "I'm leaving. Don't follow me, you—!"
"We're heading the same way!"
"Who said I'd give you a lift back, huh? Why're you running? Hey!" A blue blur passes by Samatoki, arms pumping and limbs akimbo. Samatoki's boots dig into the ground as he immediately chases after his partner. "Get away from the car!"
Samatoki could have locked it… he realizes that after. They’re both dying in their seats trying to catch their breaths with the A/C on blast and Sasara says they’re gonna get sick like this but Samatoki says only idiots catch colds during the summer.
He turns it off anyway on their drive back to the city.
The windows are down and the breeze is cool against their skin, the sun highlighting Sasara's hair with gold. He's looking out at the scenery, his head angled away so that Samatoki can only glimpse his profile between glances. There's silence between them, something comfortable that puts Samatoki at ease even though they're technically still on the job. It's not home or Nemu, but Sasara's presence is... nice.
(Samatoki's stomach swoops and he feels like he's falling despite being grounded in his seat.)
"Hey," he says just to say fill the silence—anything to make the weird feeling disappear. But the blue shadow beside him doesn't stir, still curled up on his side like an extension of the sky beyond his window. He's sleeping, Samatoki realizes. There's something that catches in his throat after that, a lump that stops Samatoki from repeating himself, and so he swallows it down, looking away.
Sometimes, he forgets that Sasara isn't some wind-up doll that spits out jokes on command. With his ever-smiling eyes and upbeat personality, Samatoki doesn't often see Sasara with his guard down. But now... there's something lonely about the way he sleeps—there's something melancholic about his expression even when he's relaxed. Even so, Samatoki isn't going to bow his head, throw away his pride, and pry; it's none of his business and it'll stay none of his business until Sasara decides it is.
But... he can't look away.
Sasara still draws his attention like a moth to a flame. Like a man who keeps burning himself away for every joke and laugh he gives, Sasara is a sea of fire that Samatoki can't seem to ignore. In the end, there'll be nothing left but dust—as if a curtain has been lifted from his eyes, Samatoki can suddenly see the way that Sasara looks tired as if all of his years had finally caught up to him, the shadows under his eyes darker now that the bright sun of his smile is missing. Something wrenches in Samatoki's chest, a feeling of unease and helplessness tied to worry of all things.
Thankfully, the moment doesn't last.
"We're here," he says. "Get up." The car is parked now and Samatoki doesn't want to deal with lugging around a grown man into a respectable establishment.
He's ready to hear Sasara whining about something or another, but his partner's eyes only open slowly before shutting again, forming the perfect smiling crescents a moment later. "That so? Then let's go!" It doesn't even take seconds—every stretch, step, and skip is coated in Sasara's usual pep as if he flipped on a switch and Samatoki is stuck watching as he bounces into the bathhouse with his energy at one hundred and one percent.
"Don't worry! This isn't a business visit," Sasara says cheerfully to the couple manning the counter. He waves off their anxiety with a flippant hand, leaning in close to examine the prices a second later as if he didn't memorize them weeks and weeks before. This bathhouse (like the other establishments in Ikebukuro) is under their protection, which means... "I hope it's okay for us to use your services for today! Phew, ain't it hot?" He turns to Samatoki, all smiles and cheeky banter at the tip of his tongue before turning back to the bathhouse owners. "Let's see, let's see. That's two adults, which comes up to..."
For someone who says he isn't threatening in the slightest, there's something sharp about the way Sasara grins, the way he leans closer and laughs lightly, the way his eyes open just so. There's an edge in his voice, something that hints at a threat despite how friendly his words are.
"No, please. Our services are always free for you—" They glance quickly at Samatoki and then look away from his narrowed eyes, "—both. We'll clear the area. Please, go on ahead." Like mice, they scatter to chase their remaining patrons away, scared of the yakuza's wrath.
Crossing his arms, Samatoki leans against the wall and tries not to sound too amused. "The hell was that?"
Sasara's hand flies over his heart, fluttering like a bird's wing. "What was what? I didn't do anything!" Samatoki rolls his eyes and fights against the instinct to reach for his smokes. "We both know they're not going to be scared of you forever, Mister Hardcore. Might as well take advantage of it while we can! Juuust for today." Before he can say anything else, a handful of people walk between them muttering under their breaths. Huh, Samatoki thinks. Fear really makes people move faster.
"Go on, go in first," Sasara says from over their heads, cell phone in hand. Bouncing on the soles of his feet as if they were made out of springs, he can't seem to stand still. He's too excited to be cooked like a lobster, and Samatoki says as much. "Tsk tsk, it's a test of endurance! With your pride as yakuza on the line. Shouldn't you be more excited?"
Samatoki can't decide whether he wants to sigh or scoff so he settles for something in between, something that sounds far too fond. "Whatever." Brushing past his partner, he makes sure their shoulders knock together roughly. "If you're not there in ten, I'm leaving," he warns. With his ear already pressed to the phone, Sasara does a quick OK with his fingers before greeting the person on the other end jovially. His voice carries even when he isn't trying, the end of his sentences punctuated with laughs. It rings in Samatoki's head even when he's too far away to hear, and he's almost glad when the locker door squeaks open. Always too loud in all the wrong ways, Sasara tends to keep the more important things under lock and key, his mouth zipped shut. How much can one man get on his nerves? The kicker is that he's not even trying.
"It's too hot," Samatoki grumbles to himself. It's the only excuse he can find to explain the jumps in his emotions and, this close to the baths, he can feel the heat he's been trying to escape twofold.
He's not about to be another punchline in one of Sasara's shitty jokes—not if he can help it.
There's movement from the doorway that catches his eye and, "What're you still doing here?" Sasara asks, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a lopsided grin. Huh? How long has it been since Sasara's call? How long has Samatoki just been standing there lost in thought? Frowning, he finds a conspicuous looking bag in Sasara's hands, one that Sasara promptly tucks away into a locker as soon as he's able. "Feeling shy?" He peers around Samatoki, taking in the empty room and then— "You're right," he says seriously, pausing so that the weight of his words really sink in. "What a crowd, huh?"
"Worry about yourself," Samatoki shoots back.
Sasara raises his eyebrows, hiding a grin behind his hand. "Oho! Make that a tough crowd."
For a moment Samatoki contemplates taking him out, but against his better judgement he lets it go. "What took you so long anyways? Got scared?"
He's rewarded with Sasara's indignant expression, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth twitching in an effort to keep smiling. "Scared? No way! Why would I be scared? You're so hot-headed, you won't last a minute in there!"
Moving faster than necessary, Samatoki's arm darts out and hooks Sasara back around the neck. He tightens the hold and grins through gritted teeth, "Wanna say that again, Nurude?"
Sasara wheezes, smacking Samatoki's arm. "Let go—hey!" He swallows and Samatoki can feel his throat bob, the hot air of his breath on his skin. "I give, I give!" Sasara's back burns against his chest even through their shirts, and it's odd. The heat that creeps up his face is odd.
Samatoki shoves him away and scowls at himself. What the hell was that? Undeterred, Sasara rubs his neck. He must see the flush on Samatoki's face because he comments, "So even the mighty Aohitsugi isn't immune to hot summer days!"
"Watch it," Samatoki warns for the tenth time that day. "You're on thin ice."
"No worries," Sasara replies way too brightly, and Samatoki instinctively knows (and dreads) what's coming next. "I'm used to you giving me the cold shoulder. But anyways!" Shrugging off his shirt, he continues, "Here's the reason! Y'know, for the flinching and all."
It startles him how stark the ink is on Sasara's skin—it's unnatural only because it's new, because Samatoki isn't used to seeing (or thinking of) Sasara's back as a canvas to be filled with art. There's beauty in the details, details that Samatoki can only glance over, too overwhelmed by what this means. The snake twists and turns on Sasara's back amidst the lilies; graceful thin lines make way for splatters of black, for patterns that give life to snakeskin and scales carefully carved by a needle. Petals as soft as silk and pollen dusted stamens—
They match.
It isn't perfect, but they compliment each other: a demon and a snake. Samatoki and Sasara. An unforgiving hannya, a being filled with anger, jealousy, and resentment paired with the serpent that she eventually embodies. Their stories are so entangled, so intertwined and dependent on one another that it's almost impossible to mention one without the other.
"C'mon gashira," Sasara teases now, turning to look at him over his shoulder. "Don't leave me hanging."
Samatoki's fingers ghost the air above the ink, hovering uncertainly above the snake's darker shadows. He wants to touch it, to trace it and memorize it as the tangible proof of their partnership, of their own choices. Meeting the rare sight of eyes the colour of spring, Samatoki feels his mouth go dry.
(To hell with fate, he thinks. He has everything he needs right here.)
"Don't 'gashira' me." Because he isn't—at least, not yet. "We're the same rank."
"Everyone knows it's only a matter of time," Sasara says with a sigh. "But alright, fine. 'Toki, then. What do you think?"
He thinks he's so very lucky to have someone like Sasara Nurude as an associate, partner, and best friend. He'll never say it, but he's honoured that they're equals. The tattoos on their backs aren't soulmarks—these hadn't been decided for them and maybe that's why Samatoki is so grateful. To be accepted like this is... well.
The corners of his mouth pull up into a smile, and he finds himself giving in. "Not bad." There's too much he wants to say but, unlike Sasara, he's lacking all the right words. It's enough though, isn't it? He knows it is when Sasara beams back at him, shining as brightly as the sun.
They finally get to soak in the warm water afterwards, their muscles loosening after a long day of work. The tiles are cool when Samatoki tilts his head back, breathing in the humid air. "You're the only one," he says slowly, "who's never asked."
With his eyes closed, Samatoki can hear Sasara huff out a laugh. He sounds like he's leaning back too, a comfortable drawl coating his words. "Asked 'bout what?"
"My soulmark."
Because Samatoki doesn't hide it, this brand on his back. Even his ink encompasses it, making way for the quiet proof that he isn't meant to be alone in this world. To think someone out there has the same unique mark in the same exact place. To think that they would be his perfect match, no questions asked. The bottom line is that Samatoki doesn't need a soulmate to complete him—he's already whole with or without another person by his side. Still, he doesn't cover it. Despite what it stands for, it's still a part of Samatoki Aohitsugi.
"Ah."
When Sasara shifts, the water moves along with him. When he lifts his hand and combs his hair back, the droplets fall from his arm. He's not looking at Samatoki when he answers, his gaze fixed on the surface of the bath distorted by ripples.
"It's... not something I should ask about." Exhaling loudly, Sasara sinks shoulder deep into the water. "Or that's the feeling I get anyways." He shrugs, the barest glimpse of skin breaching the surface. "Some people are really sensitive about that stuff and I already push enough of your buttons, ain't that right?"
Samatoki snorts. "Least you're aware." And then, "Are you one of those people?"
There's a pause before Sasara laughs loudly, hysterically, and Samatoki half worries the clown is going to keel over and die from just that. He laughs and laughs until Samatoki tells him to shut the fuck up because he gets it already.