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Hanagaki Takemichi was a man of many names. He wore as many masks as he did emotions, and there was never a guarantee that the Takemichi you were speaking to was Takemitchy or Hanagaki-kun, but either of them would make it work.
That was why Takemichi—not the person, the man he was—but the very concept of him was so wonderful. It seemed to be an intrinsic part of whoever he was that leaving someone in need was a non-starter. Even if the boy trembled at every sound because he didn’t know any of the people around him, or if he made references to things that hadn’t happened yet, he would always square his shoulders and help bear the burden. (The view from behind Takemichi was the safest place that anyone could be.)
He did not complain about his burden, nor did he try to pawn it off. In fact, he always seemed to be dissatisfied with it—begging for others to hand over their share. If he could have done it, Takemichi would have single-handedly solved every conflict that threw itself at Toman’s feet. There was just something magical about the boy who could never be felled, who held secrets unimaginable, who was burdened by so many other things that Toman’s problems seemed feather light.
There was no burden besides Takemichi himself that could stop him from accomplishing what he set out to do. No amount of fake smiles could erode his resolve, no amount of broken promises could make him hate you: Takemichi was inhuman in all the best ways, and it made Hina want to cry.
Unlike everyone in Toman—save for Chifuyu—she knew who Takemichi The Great Concept was. She knew Hanagaki Takemichi, the carefree, boyish, and impulsive hero that had sobbed at her with spite, yet did not regret having bled for the sake of others. She knew him when he used to teach Akkun how to shoot baskets, and when he’d trip over his feet to get the latest volume of his manga before anyone else. (She knew about the note in his mother’s file citing child neglect, and the x-ray of his shoulder from when he’d tweaked it during gym—or at least that’s what he’d said happened.) Hina was also familiar with the strange man that was wrapped in Takemichi’s skin— Takemitchy. She saw him compulsively scan the train platform, the way he’d watch his back—glance over her head—when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Hina knew that Takemitchy was deeply afraid of something or someone, and he managed that fear by throwing himself into harm’s way for the sake of others, as he’d say. Takemitchy had a very real need to be in danger. He found a way to sniff out pain from a hundred miles away and somehow insert himself directly into its heart.
(Takemitchy’s heart was a withered, sunbleached thing that was abused by the elements and the man that held it. He did not guard it, repair it, or try to hold things within it. All that filled him was a fire that hungered for agony, and empty hearted as he was, Takemitchy fed it. And as beautiful as those flames were, they made him inhospitable. His porcelain skin would not crack, but he was kiln hot, glowing, and choking down ash he didn’t want to let be free. No one could burn as brightly as he, but no one could approach him as he was. He was untouchable, and he’d deluded himself into believing it.)
But most importantly of all, Hina was familiar with the way that they would lie. The fact that He lied about everything just as easily as breathing.
Conversely, she could recognize His truths.
She knew that the smile that lighted His face, as they gazed at the fireworks, was authentic. She knew when he fibbed about how much his ribs hurt despite his movements being fluid. When he could not bring himself to crawl out of bed, body wracked with sobs so powerful that Hina felt them vibrate the floors, she could tell that they were genuine. Pain was always something real to Him, something that was undeniably True.
Filled with fire yet weighed down by torrents of tears, Takemichi was built of contradictions. He was a patchwork man sewn by a power much stronger than anything Hina dared to imagine. But she Knew Him. And that was all there ever was to it.
(Except when she didn’t.)
“You promise you’ll be alright?” she asked. “My dad wouldn’t mind, you know? Giving you a ride home? I could still walk you if you wanted.”
Takemitchy was standing on the welcome mat outside their door, earmuffs disrupting his hair, and a scarf looped around his neck—courtesy of Hina herself, who was currently freezing her ass off. Dressed in only her house clothes, and slippers on her feet, she was seeing the boy off.
“I’m not going to get into any trouble,” he flushed. “I know I’m kind of a trouble magnet, but there’s no trouble to attract. Finally, there’s nothing to worry about!”
(That was his first lie.)
Hina shivered in the winter air, the cold cutting through her thin clothes. She shook her head, as if the cold was fogging her mind.
“But it’s getting dark out. You shouldn’t walk home on your own anyway—let me just grab my jacket!”
Takemitchy’s hand found hers before it could reach the doorknob, his gloved fingers keeping her exposed skin from burning with the cold. “Hina, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry so much.”
He pulled her hand towards himself, snatching up the other one and pulling her into a hug. “You’ve been sick the last few days,” he pouted. “You shouldn’t even be out here! You’ll only get sicker if you try to come with him—and if you do, you’ll have to walk home alone, and I won’t have that.”
(Truth.)
Hina just grumbled, her face buried in his parka. She was always skilled in playing with the flames, dancing her fingers just out of reach of his soul’s hungry heat. The warmth he emanated always seemed to heat her core, flames licking at her palms melted her heart instead of charring flesh. Hina always walked too close to that edge, and she knew that he was aware of it too.
He tucked her head beneath his chin—that fuzzy scarf tickling her already sensitive nose. When she abruptly pulled away to sneeze, Takemichi sighed. It was a sound swimming in fondness, but of someone who wanted to say I told you so. (Which he totally warned her about, three days ago when they’d launched into a snowball fight without gloves or jackets.)
He waited until after she’d thoroughly mopped up her snot before wrapping her in another soul warming hug and ushering her back inside. As he held the door open, letting out all their heating, he offered her a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m getting to be pretty popular around here, you know? No one’d be willing to pull anything on me, even if they wanted to.” Takemichi gave her a thumbs up, reassurance written across his pockmarked face. “So rest easy, alright?”
(A very, very careful lie.)
She nodded sullenly before her dad shouted from the living room that he was getting snowed on.
“Be careful, Takemitchy,” she whispered, scared to see his eyes.
“I always am,” he beamed.
(Liarliarliarliar!)
Hina closed the door as dread set in. She found that she couldn’t fall asleep when she crawled into her bed, despite her body practically giving out atop the comforter.
She woke up to the night sky, just as dark as when Takemichi had left, and her phone ringing. Seeing Takemichi’s number sent panic straight to her lungs, and by the time Draken’s tough tone filtered through the speaker Hina had already put on two more sweaters and a pair of socks.
“It’s not too bad,” he shrugged—or at least she thought he did. “He’s just really out of it right now and well… uh—if you came down it’d probably be better.”
Her voice was a lot harsher when she hissed her response. “Of-fucking-course I’m coming. What do you take me for?”
The very obvious sound of Mikey chuckling, alongside Chifuyu’s gasp, told her that she was on speakerphone if she cared. Newsflash: she didn’t. It actually gave her something else to think about while she laced up her boots. “Sano Manjirou, I have slapped you before and I will do it again. You will not let that boy out of your sight, do you hear me?”
It was Draken’s turn to snicker, and Mikey’s time to flounder for words. “Yes, ma’am!”
She tutted lightly, zipping up her coat and tucking her house key into her pocket.
“And Chifuyu, dear?”
“...yes?”
“If either of them get out of line, you promise you’ll tell me when I get there?”
Hina thought she heard a gulp, but it could have just been her shoes clomping down the stairs.
“Pro-promise.”
She didn’t say anything when she hung up, simply slapped her phone shut, and took off down the sidewalk. Takemichi’s house was four blocks away—not an insignificant distance, but one that could be sprinted across. She couldn’t care less how she showed up, if she was heaving and drenched in sweat, soaking wet, or frantic. It didn’t matter that she was wearing her pajamas underneath her snow gear, nor that one of the shoes was hers and one of them her father’s. So long as she could put her eyes on him, she would forgive herself for her single-minded idiocy.
He was fine, they’d said.
Dazed, spacy, and forgetful, but okay.
(His flame hadn’t gone out yet, she hadn’t let his smoke slip through her fingers.)
Hina entered the Hanagaki home rather disrespectfully, but everyone did, so it was more a tradition than anything at this point. Soaked outerwear was left on the floor, her boots practically slipped out of, as she padded into the living room. Her cold and wet socks left foot imprints on the hardwood floor.
Propped up against the couch, Takemichi looked pretty good, all things considered. His face was unblemished, save for the red mark on his cheek from where it’d been pressed into the armrest of the couch. A blanket was pulled up to his chin, and an untouched, long cold cup of tea sat in front of him.
Chifuyu and Mikey sat like private school boys, their hands crossed, and smiles ranging from shit-eating to scared shitless adorned their faces. Draken was as he was always: unbothered. He was the only one here that she respected at that moment because he was the only one with the guts to call her.
“Boys,” she nodded. “What happened this time?”
No one spoke, but the looks they sent each other clearly meant their cover story was incomplete. Mikey opened his mouth, but Hina stopped him before he could start.
“Don’t you dare tell me it was a hit and run, or some other obviously bogus excuse.”
Mikey closed his mouth, and Hina’s chest constricted. Her pulse had never felt so loud.
“We were meeting the heads of a smaller gang that popped up nearby—it was basically all symbolic. No one was supposed to get hurt,” Draken sighed. “Toman was supposed to welcome them into our ranks, but there was a small minority that didn’t want that. And they retaliated.”
Unhelpfully, Chifuyu added, “With a bat. To the back of his head”
Hina thinks Mikey may have hissed at the kid.
“I see.”
No one wanted to break the silence, but Takemitchy didn’t seem to mind it. He readjusted a bit, a groan leaving his lips as his eyebrows crinkled. “Why’s it so fuckin— ugh— quiet in ‘ere?”
“Because I didn’t know what CD you felt like listening to today,” Hina replied smoothly.
It seemed to take a moment or two before Takemichi realized it was her who had spoken—that she was even there in the first place. He gasped like he’d been shot. “Hina!”
She sat herself on the edge of the couch, right in front of him.
“Yes?”
“Whend’you get here?”
“Five minutes ago.”
“Well, who brought you?”
“I walked.”
Takemitchy’s eyes were red, as if he hadn’t just been sleeping, when he opened them. He squinted at her, suspicion written all over his face.
“And it’s still dark?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you were alone?”
She sighed, hands smoothing back his hair. “Yes, I was. I got a call that trouble went off and found you again, so I came as quickly as possible.”
As if it mattered at all, he whined, “But you’re sick.”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
(Truth.)
“I know.”
(Lie.)
It didn’t matter how well Hina knew Him—which record, not CD, he would’ve wanted her to play—she would always fall short of understanding him completely. Sometimes she wondered if Takemichi and Takemitchy were the same person, and if Hanagaki was just dealing with Something.
It didn’t matter that He told her the most truths, and that His expressions were always more genuine around her, for He would always betray her in the end. He would always leave her flesh frozen and her life lightless, when He inevitably threw Himself away.
(It was only a matter of time before He burned Himself out.)