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He is sitting on the edge of the rooftop, staring down at the city that never sleeps. You know that he knows you’re there, but you scuff your shoes on the roof anyway. He gets weird, sometimes, about the whole hyper-vigilant ninja thing.
Leon turns, playing his part in this dance that you’ve started, and a tired smile graces his face. You smile back as you sit down next to him.
“Hey there, handsome.” You say it quietly, almost a whisper.
“Hey yourself, gorgeous.” He turns back to the city below after the obligatory wink, thus ending the first arc of the dance.
You sit next to him quietly, unwilling to disturb the skintight atmosphere, and wonder what part of the city has caught his attention. Is it the way humans and yokai mingle in (uneasy, but getting there) peace? Is it something smaller, the kid at the corner with the flowers waiting to cross the road, jiggling his leg in anxiety?
Is he comparing the way the city sparkles now to the emptiness of his past?
His hands clench into fists in the corner of your eye. You swallow down the urge to slide your hands over his. It wouldn’t be welcome, not yet.
“What do you need?” There is a quality to his voice that suggests he is asking something a little deeper than what you might need in the present moment. You wonder when you learned the shape of him well enough to recognize that.
“I don’t need anything.”
The snort from your side has your lips quirking up. “Everyone needs something.” His protest is still quiet, as all your words have been, but you feel the tempest underneath. You close your eyes and soak in the storm.
You always did like dancing in the rain.
“I don’t need anything, Leon,” you repeat, then turn to him, “not from you.”
He looks up at you, startled. You suspect he didn’t know that you could feel the storm, the raging behemoth that is desperately trying to fill up the emptiness inside him. The one that followed him from the future to the past. That emptiness that he wants desperately to fill, but not for him.
You know, suddenly, that it’s been a long time since he’s wanted something for himself. The ache of that knowledge settles deep inside you, another piece to the puzzle, another step in the dance.
“Everyone needs something,” he starts slowly, “from me.”
You lace your fingers together, quietly contemplating the next steps of the dance. You aren’t far from the well worn grooves of how this normally goes, it would be the matter of a moment to follow his lead back.
“There are things I would like from you.” He lets your assertion hang in the air, so you continue. “But no, I don’t need anything from you.”
“What would you like, then?” You look to your hands at the probably inevitable question, lips pressed together to prevent the instinctual answer. Anything. Everything. Whatever you’re able to give.
Instead of answering, you take a moment to peek down at the city again. The kid with the flowers has been replaced by a man in a trenchcoat. He stands there, still and patient. You take the step, twirling into unknown territory.
“I would like for you to know that you don’t have to pretend. Not here, not with me.” You find the courage to turn to him. “You don’t have to be anything. Not unless you want to.”
You watch as shock and awe and resignation chase themselves across his face. You are still aching to reach out, to take his hands in yours, to tell him that it’s okay, you know, it’s all okay. He looks down at the movement as you clench your hands harder together.
He reaches out and catches you. His fingers are cool on yours as he gently unclenches your hands and slides his palm against yours. His knees knock against your tangled hands as he turns into you. You stare at his hand in yours, breath caught in your throat.
His other hand reaches out, his brother’s hand, and a single finger tilts your chin up. His expression has settled into tenderness, and you swallow as it overwhelms you. “I think I can manage that,” he whispers with a quirk of his lips.
You don’t see the couple in the street below, but their laughter chases his kiss across your lips.