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Wakatoshi doesn’t usually indulge in bouts of self-deprecation.
Growing up, he was taught by his step-family to hold his pride above all else. His godly father, although never around enough for Wakatoshi to remember him more accurately, had ingrained into him a sense of superiority that he had not been able to shake off until he was much older. Wakatoshi was raised to carry himself with the grace and presence of the Greek warrior he was meant to be. He did not need others, his step-mother had said, and Wakatoshi had internalized it all at a young age, despite his mortal father’s best wishes.
He had not stood a chance when he made it to Camp Half-Blood.
Camp wasn’t all about training and surviving. Wakatoshi had been out of his depth the moment he arrived, and it had not taken much for him to fall on the bad side of a lot of people at camp. The first years, he had not minded. Wakatoshi was a son of Zeus, intimately familiar with the loneliness that came with it, and had been raised under the rules of a deeply Roman household. He was but a tool for his father’s legacy, so Wakatoshi had not minded the stares and the sneers whenever he got them.
After his quest, his perspective had certainly shifted. Called on by his father at age 13, Wakatoshi had left camp believing he was fulfilling a higher role, and had come back tired, beaten, and bruised with a dying demigod hanging off his back. Satori had made it through only by a miracle, with the assistance of ambrosia and urgent care provided by some of the Apollo children, but Wakatoshi had come back different. The quest had been successful, but his heart had hardened.
He did not go back to the Ushijima estate after that, and had chosen to stay at camp permanently. Wakatoshi visited his mortal father in California sometimes, feeling like he had pushed his own flesh and blood aside after his mortal parents separated, but there was such a huge rift between them that it sometimes made it difficult to hang around for a long time. He was not completely mortal, and he was not a God--in the same way he was not completely Greek, and not completely Roman. Wakatoshi was so many things at the same time it only made him feel inadequate for life at camp.
But Wakatoshi did not indulge in bouts of self-deprecation. His grandparents’ Roman lifestyle had made him difficult to break.
Except, somewhere along the way, Wakatoshi had become the kind of soft his step-mother had feared he would become in Camp Half-Blood. Loneliness seeped in through the cracks of his armor and had refused to let him go the moment he realized he truly was an outsider wherever he went. Satori had been there, the loyal companion he couldn’t do without these days, but the rest of camp still turned their backs to him. The Zeus cabin was empty every night, and training sessions went by without a single other demigod trying to join him. Wakatoshi’s heart had hardened, but his soul was left vulnerable to the outside.
Then the Aphrodite brothers and that Hephaestus kid had become staples of his daily life without him meaning to.
Tooru Oikawa came first. The Aphrodite head counselor was all bravado and cunning wit, challenging him during training, and failing to beat him every single time. Wakatoshi hated his fiery will, and how he got up off the floor over and over again without complaints, but the furious deep set furrow of his brow was different from the way other campers regarded him. It made him feel seen, for the very first time, by something other than Satori’s crimson eyes.
After Oikawa, Sugawara and Sawamura had appeared as a package deal. Wakatoshi knew them only from the periphery of his spars with Oikawa, but hadn’t paid them any mind until Sawamura had been paired with him for a training session by Ukai. The fight had been gruelling, unlike any Wakatoshi had fought before, but it ultimately led to his victory over the son of Hephaestus. Sawamura looked at him like he was a worthy opponent, brown eyes ablaze in the same way the forge always seemed to be alight with fire, and with a smirk that spelled out a challenge Wakatoshi felt inclined to answer.
Sugawara had been the kicker, just after, with honey warm eyes that turned from playful to anger in the second it took for Wakatoshi to stick his foot in his mouth like he normally does. Sugawara and Sawamura had taken his words, blunt as they’ve always been, and all traces of friendly rivalry had left their bodies in the same movement. Sawamura had held Sugawara back from jumping Wakatoshi right then and there, and then the three of them had been stuck in a never ending loop of antagonism.
But things had changed in the last year. Wakatoshi had somehow extended an olive branch towards Sugawara, and Sugawara had surprised them both by taking it, a symbol of what would later become a rocky and unstable friendship between the two. Sawamura had not been happy for the first three months, and then had eased into the idea little by little, prompted by Sugawara’s frankly dramatic antics that he seemed to not be immune to.
So, Wakatoshi did not indulge in bouts of self-deprecation, unless it was Sugawara and Sawamura making him feel like this.
Despite the friendship he’d somehow managed to keep alive for a year, Wakatoshi still knew he stood on unsteady terrain. They argued constantly, and although he prided himself on being a patient person, Wakatoshi often lost his temper when faced with something Sugawara and Sawamura did or said. Their interactions could go from friendly and lighthearted to hostile in an instant, and no matter how much Wakatoshi tried to reign his own temper in, the other two always seemed to egg him on with their own reactions.
Tonight had not been an exception, and so Wakatoshi sulks in the Zeus cabin, getting ready for bed after fleeing the campfire still going on outside. Normally, he wouldn’t attempt to stay long after dinner, but Wakatoshi had wanted to make an exception, if only for today.
Tomorrow, Sugawara would leave on his first quest, called upon by his mother to bring back the Necklace of Harmonia, lost to history a couple hundreds of years ago. Hajime Iwaizumi and Kiyoko Shimizu, from the Apollo and Athena cabins, had been similarly chosen as champions by the goddess of love. From the outside, their trio felt randomly picked, but Wakatoshi could see why it would be them and no one else.
The campfire that night was meant to be a send-off for the newly chosen heroes. Wakatoshi had wanted to stay if only so he could make sure Sugawara was ready.
But they fought, like they always did. Sawamura had said something that didn't sit right with Wakatoshi, and because Wakatoshi had no filter stopping him from saying what he thought at all times, he had let Sawamura know he disagreed with his views. The fight had escalated, and Sugawara had attempted to get between them, only to be snapped at by Wakatoshi himself. Sawamura had snarled in response, pushed at Wakatoshi with the palm of his hand, and that had been it.
Wakatoshi had walked away, Satori hot on his heels, but not even his best friend had been able to stop him from locking himself up in his cabin by himself. The son of Nemesis had stood outside his door for all of ten minutes before finally giving up.
Gods, Wakatoshi wishes he understood why he couldn’t hold a conversation with Sawamura and Sugawara to save his life. It made him feel stupid and out of his depth whenever he managed to say the wrong word or react in a way that only made the whole thing blow up unexpectedly. For reasons he still couldn’t comprehend, Wakatoshi wanted their respect above anyone else’s at camp, and yet they seemed to be the people who least wanted to give him that. It drove him mad.
A knock on his front door pulls him out of his thoughts, just as he’s tugging at the covers on his bed to the side. Wakatoshi shuts his eyes tightly, head dropping back on his shoulders.
“Satori, I don’t want to go back to the campfire.” He calls out, voice tense. “I’ll just say my goodbyes tomorrow.”
From the other side of the door, however, Satori's voice doesn't come. Instead, Sugawara’s soft lilt travels, made even smaller by the material between him and Wakatoshi. “It’s not Satori.”
If Wakatoshi were a different man (a stronger one, perhaps) he would’ve been able to tell Sugawara to leave him alone. Unfortunately, Wakatoshi has long since realized that, just like Sawamura, he has a bit of a soft spot for this son of Aphrodite.
Sighing, Wakatoshi walks the short space between his bed and the door. He wonders why his heartbeat is so loud in his ears.
He swings the door open, squaring his shoulders--his armor to the world. “Sugawara. Sawamura.”
They’re both there, because of course they are. Where one goes, the other always follows. Wakatoshi has tried to tell himself he is not envious of their connection, but the strange, warm feeling pooling at the bottom of his gut contradicts him as usual. Sugawara stands right outside the door, hands fiddling with the hem of his orange t-shirt that he hasn’t changed out of. The campfire behind him gives him an otherworldly glow, the ends of his silver hair ablaze with oranges and reds. More so than any other day, Koushi Sugawara looks every bit his mother’s son.
Sawamura is a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, and the smallest of pouts on his lips. The light that surrounds them changes him in different ways than it does Sugawara, but the sight of him still makes Wakatoshi feel something like lightning dance on his spine. The reds and oranges of the campfire make the hard lines of his body more prominent, the shadows that result outlining only the best parts of Sawamura.
Wakatoshi has to look away from them both before he becomes dizzy.
“You didn’t have to leave the campfire,” Sugawara tells him, voice light, “you should come back with us. Spend a little more time with the rest.”
“You don’t have to force yourself to do this.” Wakatoshi answers. “I’m already in my night clothes, anyways.”
Sugawara goes to say something else, but Sawamura beats him to it.
“He wants you to join us because they’re leaving tomorrow.” His voice sounds harsh, but when Wakatoshi turns to look at him, his cheeks are bright with a flush. “Just say yes, you huge brute.”
Huh?
“You want me to join you again?”
Sugawara sighs, expression inching towards frustration. “Yes, Ushijima. I don’t want to rush our goodbye tomorrow morning.”
Huh.
“I will change back to presentable clothes,” Wakatoshi says, dumbly. “It’ll take me only a moment.”
Sugawara doesn’t let him get too far, one of his hands coming to wrap around Wakatoshi’s wrist to avoid him from moving away. “Your pajamas are fine. Let’s just head back before it gets too late and Ukai comes to yell at us.”
“I don’t think that’s proper.”
“Just come already.” Sugawara insists, pulling Wakatoshi until he’s stumbling out the doorway. “My pride will not allow me to beg you to come, so please be nice to me just this once.”
Wakatoshi wants to say that he’s nice enough to Sugawara, but doesn’t. “Let me at least put on shoes?”
Sugawara allows it, but still whines about it as Wakatoshi rummages through the space underneath his bed where he keeps most of his shoes. Wakatoshi wonders if Sugawara only makes use of the theatrics to hide the fact that he’s terribly nervous.
When they make it to the fire, most of the campers have already left for bed. There are still a few stragglers, crowding around the chosen demigods, and they part easily to allow Sugawara to sit back down in his place. Wakatoshi follows along dutifully, Sugawara’s hand still wrapped around his wrist as he pulls Wakatoshi down on the space to the right of him.
When Sugawara’s hand falls from his wrist, however, Wakatoshi feels a sudden loss.. He aches desperately for the weight and warmth of Sugawara’s fingers. The thought surprises him.
No one comments on Wakatoshi’s presence, but he’s swept into the conversation effortlessly when it kicks back up again. Iwaizumi sits right across from Wakatoshi, his back against the fire, and Oikawa sits by Iwaizumi’s left side in turn. To Daichi’s left, Shimizu rests her back against the youngest Tanaka’s side, hands tangled in Yachi’s golden hair almost absentmindedly. Around them, demigods from all cabins swap stories, most of them recounting moments and events where Sugawara, Iwaizumi and Shimizu are the protagonists.
Wakatoshi does not have as many stories to share, but he talks when prompted. It’s a bit strange to be here, sitting almost in the center of all this attention by Sugawara’s right side, but something warm coils in his chest. Has he ever been a part of something like this? Satori had attempted in several instances to bring him away from the edges of camp and into the heart of this community, but Wakatoshi had been stubborn and scared. Tonight, Sugawara’s heat next to him is enough to keep him from attempting to flee.
The night progresses, and the stragglers start retreating back to their cabins one by one.
Wakatoshi had not realized how many people truly were around, until he watches them leave with soft farewells and tired eyes. They all share quiet moments with the chosen heroes, murmurs of good luck and well wishes whispered into ears when tight hugs are given. There are some who shed tears, and others who shake in someone’s arms until they have to be taken away. Wakatoshi had not been sent off in this way, and instead of feeling envy, he only feels relief.
Would he have been able to leave if someone had held him the same way Kageyama had held all three of these demigods? Would he have been able to shush Yachi’s tears to send her off to bed before it got too late? Would he have been able to let go?
At 13, perhaps he would have. Today, he’s not sure what he would’ve done.
The youngest Tanaka leaves with a shaky kiss at Shimizu's temple. Around the campfire, only six demigods remain.
Iwaizumi, with his shoulders slumped forward, and Oikawa, who sits as close as physically possible to him. They’re touching everywhere, from their ankles to their shoulders, and Wakatoshi wonders what he’s missed between them that suddenly seems so obvious to him. Shimizu sits by herself, back straight, poised regally like he’s always known her to be, hands tucked into her lap. Sugawara and Daichi, further apart than Iwaizumi and Oikawa, but still holding hands in the space that remains between them.
Wakatoshi spares a quick glance at Sugawara’s right, empty hand, and thinks how perfect his fingers would be laced through Sugawara’s own.
“I’m terrified.” Sugawara speaks these shaky words into the night, effectively pulling Wakatoshi out of his own thoughts. “I’m so terrified that we won’t come back. I’m not made to be a leader. I cannot promise I will bring you two back to camp.”
“Stop saying nonsense, Kou,” Oikawa says, voice tight, “you’ll all be back before you know it. There’s no need to be so scared.”
“He’s right.” Iwaizumi speaks next. “I cannot promise I can protect them both. I can’t promise you I’ll bring your brother back, Tooru. I shouldn’t have promised Tobio I’d bring his sister back.”
“Why are you both being so negative?” Oikawa sighs. “It’s only a quest.”
It’s never only a quest. Wakatoshi knows this in his heart.
“Because I’m scared as all hell, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says again, “I haven’t even been a demigod all that long.”
“You’ve been a demigod your entire life, Iwa! There’s nothing to be scared of!”
“Tooru,” Sugawara begins, the hand that’s holding Sawamura’s tightening until his knuckles are white, “this isn’t capture the flag. I haven’t been out in the world for over five years. Kiyoko has been here longer than I have. Hajime is an excellent fighter, but he was protected by an older demigod all this time. We’re--gods, Tooru--we’re children . There’s no way we can’t be terrified of this.”
“Well, I know that!” Oikawa yells. “But I can’t hear you guys say these things! Tell them, Shimizu! Tell them you’ll come back!”
Wakatoshi’s eyes find Shimizu. He knows she can’t make that promise, and yet her mouth curls into the softest of smiles. Something horribly dark curls in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her promising something that might as well be unattainable.
“It’s perfectly understandable to be scared.” Wakatoshi answers instead, holding Shimizu’s eyes when she turns towards his voice, her mouth open around a lie that never came. “Maybe it’s okay to be a kid once in a while, no? Today, at least, you all get to be terrified of what’s out there.”
Sawamura snorts, but the sound is not unkind. “The brute is right, Tooru.” He says. “Tonight, before they’re forced to be heroes, they’re allowed to be just kids.”
Oikawa’s shoulders shake with repressed tears, but before anything else can be said, Shimizu’s hand reaches across the space between them to settle on his shoulder.
“I cannot promise you these things, Oikawa,” she says, “but I can tell you we will all do our best to come back home to all of you. Can you try to hold down camp for us? Yachi will miss her brother, and Kageyama will probably hide away in our cabin while I’m gone--they’re gonna need someone to comfort them. I couldn’t think of anyone better for it than you.”
Oikawa doesn’t cry, but his face is blotchy red with the emotion he holds back. Biting hard on his lower lip, the son of Aphrodite nods shakily.
Silence stretches her arms around their shoulders. The sounds of the forest surround them, and the fire is next to them, lulling the tension away.
Wakatoshi does not startle, but he’s certainly surprised when Sugawara’s pinky grazes the side of his hand in the space between their bodies. It’s brief, almost not there, and Wakatoshi wonders if he’s imagined it before Sugawara actually curls his pinky around Wakatoshi’s own.
Koushi leaves tomorrow, he thinks, and Koushi wants him here tonight.
Wakatoshi will not lose the chance he’s been given, not when it’s staring him right in the face. Satori had been hounding him for a year about trying new things, and this thing in particular that hung between him, Koushi and Daichi was certainly something completely new. With a silent prayer to Tyche, Wakatoshi reaches to engulf Sugawara’s hand on his own, lacing their fingers together like he’d thought about doing only earlier today. The movement is a bit choppy and uncoordinated, but when they finally find the right angle, it’s like a puzzle piece clicks into place.
Wakatoshi knows he stands in unsteady territory. He knows the ground could swallow him up at any moment if he takes a wrong step, and yet there’s nothing more gratifying than the feeling of Koushi’s cold hand on his own.
They stay there until the fire is all but embers, and Ukai and Takeda have come to usher them away. Wakatoshi does not let go of Koushi’s hand as he stands, and Koushi in turn does not let go of Daichi. He pulls them along towards the Zeus cabin, retrieves blankets and pillows that have no owner, and then guides them to the shoreline at the lake.
They sleep with Koushi tucked between them. Wakatoshi doesn’t know much, but he knows there’s a reason why Daichi and Koushi always find each other on the difficult nights. He’s never been more blessed than in this moment, where the two of them had chosen to keep him close.
Wakatoshi sleeps with panic tight around his throat that night, the reminder that tomorrow will come for them no matter what he does.
“Come back, Koushi,” Wakatoshi whispers, when he’s sure his companions have fallen asleep, “come back to us, please. Make sure we can both see you again.”