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Envy was a weakness. Indulging in it every now and then was human, but giving into its cloying allure was the last thing Ayato wanted.
It was natural, of course. Though he never wanted to find the time to, he somehow always gave into thoughts about his lack of childhood, the freedom to choose what he wanted to do, to socialize with people his age.
He’d come to terms with all of that early in his career as a commissioner. Before the Kamisato clan even arose from their destitute state after the death of his parents, in fact. If he was never going to get anything like that, the least he could do was provide Ayaka with the chances.
That was the reason why he had to turn away from this envy, really. He was giving Ayaka all he could— his time, his solitude, and his longing for her presence. All so he could see her happy.
“Thoma, I insist!”
“Ojou, I had that made for you! Is it not to your liking?”
Ayaka huffed, but stayed seated, pushing the plate of dango away from herself. Ayato watched this exchange from his seat, remembering the days when Ayaka used to stand to express her frustrations, back when she still had much of the baby fat Ayato never saw her lose. He also recalled that, given the circumstance, she’d steal a few from either Thoma’s or his own plate. From the bemused look on Thoma’s face, it seemed as if they were having the exact same thought.
This unsettled him greatly.
“You know very well it’s to my liking, Thoma. You’ve been having it made for me since we gained access to the teahouse. But I’m aware that you’re aware that sharing is just something friends do to show their affection,” she deadpanned. “Therefore, please, take it.
“Why not give it to waka?” Thoma settled, evading the swipe Ayaka aimed at his knees as he stood. “I’m sure he’d greatly appreciate your show of affection, ojou. I’m afraid that if I take that sweet, I’ll be sleeping off the sugar in it for the rest of the afternoon.”
Ayaka rolled her eyes, but directed her gaze towards Ayato, giving the plate a firm push in his direction with a face that said that, in no uncertain terms, will she accept a refusal to this offer. Ayato stifled a grin.
“I’m surprised you didn’t think to have it put in the hotpot, Ayaka,” he said, accepting it. In the corner of his eye, he saw Thoma make a face. He knew, without looking, that it was one of reproach. Do not give ojou any ideas, it would probably say. As if Ayaka wasn't always the one putting the oddest things in the pot between the three of them.
“I would have, if we were playing,” she said, picking up her tea, calm and cool and very evidently teasing Thoma. “But I’ve also done that plenty of times. It wouldn’t do to make the game stale.”
“Very sporting of you, ojou,” Thoma praised, but he was looking a little green now.
Ayato has only had one hotpot game where Ayaka has put her dango into the mix. That was a year ago, when Ayaka had just turned fifteen, and Ayato had graciously turned down every meeting he could just to spend the entire day with his remaining family. Years of court politics admonished him for even considering the idea of saying this in front of good company, but his emotions were starting to tip over the edge of the glass, so to speak, and if he wanted to keep his composure, he’d have to excuse himself.
Or avoid looking at the way Thoma and Ayaka were so familiar around each other.
One would be easier, but the other would give him the chance to stay with his family a bit longer, the source of his envy to begin with.
He moved to stand. “I’m going to need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said, keeping his voice neutral and cordial. He didn’t wait or look up to see what looks he was being given. He dusted off his slacks and took his chance at a tactical retreat.
Taroumarou followed him out the back as he passed, and he held the door open for him, taking a seat by the steps.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to calm his nerves. Taroumarou laid by his socks, keeping them warm as the setting sun lowered the temperature around them.
“Waka?”
Ayato hummed. “Is it time to leave, Thoma?”
The clatter and scrape of wood was loud in the silence. Thoma’s warmth emanated in the space between them as he sat down on Ayato’s other side. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were tired.”
“I’m not,” Ayato said simply, because Thoma didn’t need anything else from him, least of all lies and excuses. That was why they were such good friends to begin with. “Why did you leave Ayaka?”
“Oh, Naganohara-san happened to drop in just now. I kind of just slipped away. Between you and ojou, I don’t know who’s harder to pull away from work.”
That sounded like a complaint.
Ayato opened an eye to give Thoma a cursory glance. “Are you saying I’m a terrible influence?”
Thoma snorted, “Like I’m any better?”
That got a laugh out of him. True enough. Between the three of them, too much leisure time sounded like a terrible luxury to have.
“There’s that smile. I was wondering where it went.” Thoma bumped shoulders with him, like he used to. It loosened something in him a little, something none of his deep breaths and meditation could take away.
Ayato went back to closing his eyes. “What are you insinuating, Thoma-san.”
“What’s on your mind, waka?”
Thoma didn’t need anything other than what any of them gave him. He’d known that when he witnessed Thoma’s Pyro Vision wink into existence between them all those years ago. He’d known that in the many times Thoma has had to talk both Kamisato siblings from telling off people who were badmouthing him. He’d known when Thoma asked, just then, what was on his mind— the implication of having known that something was bothering him, clear as the glow of their Visions by their hips.
What Ayato lacked, Thoma provided. That was something he’d come to terms with as well, in his years trying to provide everything he could to Ayaka and Inazuma. Thoma had the time he didn’t have, the company he couldn’t provide, and the overabundance of moments he could never have with Ayaka if he wanted to keep the clan where he’d painstakingly pushed it uphill to.
Envy was a weakness.
“Ayaka considers you her brother,” he said, opening his eyes, both of them now, to meet Thoma’s, to see, to make him understand. “You are someone very precious to her, as you are to me.”
“Waka…”
“Her happiness is paramount, Thoma.” Ayato strained to keep the emotion from his voice. “Next to the balance of the Sanbugyou, her happiness is my priority. And your presence by her side, as her friend, her brother, and her retainer— you are to stay there, do you understand?”
“I do,” Thoma said, determination and worry clear in his eyes, a furrow between his brows. “I always have. But waka… You are just as important to her happiness as I am.”
“I am rarely here, Thoma,” and there is the emotion, the envy pulling the floor from under him and dropping him into its cloying embrace. “My years with her have come and gone, and will continue to in the years to come. We share those years between us. You have watched her grow, you have given her warmth and company, and you have given her the love I cannot from my seat as commissioner.
“I do not begrudge you this, no matter how much I want to. Will not, for as long as I live.” He averted his gaze then, looking up at Tenshukaku from their seats, watching the setting sun and pretending that the light reflecting off the buildings ahead is the reason for the tears in his eyeres. “You are as dear to me as you are to her, Thoma. Please know that.”
The warmth extended from his side to his back, across his shoulders. A hand settled on his opposite shoulder, and he let himself be pulled into Thoma’s chest, like he’d let Thoma do back when the grief was a bleeding wound that could only be staunched when he stopped long enough for Thoma catch up to him.
“I know that, Ayato,” Thoma muttered, soft but loud enough for him to hear. “I know. It’s okay, I’m here.”
The knot in his gut unraveled further the longer he stayed there, Thoma’s fingers combing through his hair, his corner of the sky over Inazuma shouldered temporarily by the boy who grew up to be one of the only people Ayato trusted to take it from him when he needed to roll his shoulders. He could only hope to be a fraction of the kind of comfort Thoma gave him in return. He didn’t think he’d be able to take it if he weren’t.
“Do you want me to tell you about her when you send correspondences through the Shuumatsuban?”
Ayato stirred, dislodged Thoma’s hand temporarily as he looked at him. “I think you’ve mishear me, Thoma. I want you to tell me of your days together. You are as important to me as you are to her, I said.”
Thoma smiled at that, not the boyish grin of smug determination, but the abashed smile of someone unused to this kind of affection. Ayato would have to fix that, would have to tell Ayaka to help him fix it.
“Of course, waka.”