Work Text:
It is noon on a particularly cloudless day in May, and Shino is incredibly grumpy, Keno muses as he watches the purple-haired youth sulking out on the engawa. He has been there for the past few hours, hugging his knees to his chest and squinting angrily at the garden. Apart from Megu, who is embroiled in some kind of epic battle with Murasame by the fountain, Keno cannot see what it is Shino is watching with such irritation.
Nobody else seemed particularly able to figure out much apart from the fact that Shino had just been more of a brat than usual. Even Genpachi had said this, albeit a little wistfully and while resting his hand gently upon his peony birthmark. “Ah, if only he were older and more mature!” he had said, gazing off into some faraway alternate universe. “Aha ha ha ha.” Keno had politely swept off before he could hear any more of the demon’s fantasies.
But now, watching Shino’s obstinate form curl up on itself, he can’t help but wonder what it actually is that’s irritating him so much. Despite looking and mostly acting thirteen, he isn’t actually a child, so it’s probably something somewhat more important. But – here Keno tilts his head, thinking about it – probably not something serious, or Murasame and his bearer would likely be running around the capital seeking out some trouble or the other. So what is it? Although he already has an inkling of what – or who – it might concern, curiosity and sheer boredom drive him to find out for himself.
The day is hot. Keno reaches up to pull his hair into an effortless chopstick bun before he steps out of the shade and into Shino’s direct line of sight.
At first, there isn’t even a reaction. Keno counts the seconds. One, two, three…he’s at eight before Shino blinks a little bit, his eyes focusing, and he turns to look slowly at the kabuki actor who’s staring down at him, arms crossed and face unamused. “Keno?” he mutters, uncharacteristically unfocused.
The older man sighs, drops down gracefully into a seated position next to him. How anybody could remain vacantly staring out into the sweltering heat while the whole city takes refuge in the shade is a mystery to him. “You are troubled.”
Shino starts, jolting out of his reverie so violently he nearly falls straight off the platform and onto the grass below. It takes him a while to flail sufficiently to regain his balance and composure, and Keno politely waits until he is done. After the youth has settled down, Keno politely waits some more, for Shino to lose any delusion that he might shake him off the topic by staying silent.
Eventually, his patience pays off, and Shino sighs dramatically before speaking. “He’s pissed at me,” he mumbles half-heartedly. Absently, his nail finds a stray scab on his knee and starts picking at it.
Without even looking, Keno slaps Shino’s hand. “Don’t scratch,” he chides in a sing-song monotone that comes off as habitual. He doesn’t have to ask who ‘he’ refers to. “What did you do this time?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Shino retorts, defensively, quailing when Keno lazily turns his gaze onto him. He really is heartless. The thought comes to him almost instinctively, and he has to suppress a snort at his friend’s expense. “Well – I may have told him he was being overprotective. But it’s true, and he needs to stop hovering so much, and anyway – !”
“Shino.”
He shrinks, chastised. Now he is biting his lip, looking alarmingly like he is going to cry, and Keno worries. He doesn’t like children, and he can’t deal with bawling ones. “O-oi, don’t start crying,” he offers cautiously, one hand coming out to rest warily on a head of purple hair.
It is a testament to how distressed Shino is that he doesn’t even react to being treated like he is five. “I got mad and told him to get out of my face, and I didn’t mean it, but he turned and left and didn’t twist the doorknob so there was a clicky sound when the door closed, and that’s how you know Sou’s mad, and I’m sorrryyyyyyyy!” Throughout this singular sentence his voice has been growing to a crescendo, ending in a mournful wail that almost tugs at Keno’s heart strings. Almost. Children, he thinks to himself. Whatever thoughts he’d had just a while ago about Shino not actually being a kid, they were gone.
But still, he thinks, looking down at the sorrowful not-teenager next to him, he seems genuinely distressed. I kind of feel bad for him. He decides to be helpful. “Why don’t you go apologise, then?” It seemed like such an obvious solution.
Shino doesn’t even look up, taking now to drawing imaginary patterns on the wooden floor with his finger. “I can’t,” he says, morose.
Helpful, Keno’s mind supplies darkly, and then, as an afterthought, this is why I hate children. But he is a man who has been saved by a spirit’s mercy, and thus should practice the same in turn, et cetera, and so it is with a long-suffering sigh that he prods further. “Why?”
“Because,” Shino whines, “It’s the full moon today!” He looks at Keno like that’s supposed to mean something Important.
Keno stares blankly at him. Is Sousuke a werewolf? Is he unable to be contacted because he’s going out to hunt human flesh? Oh, that would be troublesome. After all that effort I went to to stay alive, too. “And?”
Shino scrambles to his feet at this, as if indignant that Keno could not know something so vital. “And,” he says petulantly, “He’s really sleepy!” he shouts dramatically, waving his arms around before turning and running off somewhere, the thud-thud-thud of his feet against wood still audible after he has disappeared into the shadows of the corridors.
What…was that? Keno blinks, then turns to look at the strange furry thing that has brushed almost sensually against his foot. He regrets doing this almost as soon as he does it, because Megu is looking lovingly up at him when he does. A few meters away, Murasame is squawking with laughter. What…is this… he thinks weakly, getting up abruptly. Maybe he should get a bit of rest, too.
---
A sliding door cracks open by a few inches, and through it a green eye is seen. It attempts to look at the four corners of the room, but fails, because there is a bookshelf in the way, and anyway Shino really isn’t much good at espionage. He spots the dark-haired head lying on a futon in the middle of room, and after watching it suspiciously for a while, he decides it is safe to slide the door open the rest of the way and let himself in.
Once he is in, he stares at Sousuke, who is soundly asleep, as he is wont to be on a day like this. Then it occurs to him that he hadn’t thought this far when stricken by inspiration while talking to Keno, and that he has no idea what to do next.
Should I go sleep next to Sou? Shino struggles for a little while, pride and conscience warring in his mind. But I wouldn’t like it if somebody was mean to me and then tried to climb into my bed… he shudders at the thought. Maybe I should go.
But Sousuke is only a meter away, and he looks to be asleep. It can't hurt, he rationalises, and eventually his desire for comfort wins out – he really wants to snuggle with Sou, and anyway, I won’t wake him if I’m quiet enough, right?
Mind made up, he makes his way over to the side he knows Sou habitually sleeps leaving open, and moves to curl up on top of the blanket. From here, he can smell Sou’s soap, a clean scent that makes him think of spring. He snuggles a little bit closer, a little mindful of his slightly less than hygienic state (from sweating in the sun all day) but feeling, ultimately, more entitled to enjoy their proximity. This is familiar, and Shino can feel his earlier distress slipping away even as he unconsciously tries to burrow closer to that source of comfort.
He is so relaxed that it takes him a moment to register when an arm falls across his back, pulling him in. Wha – he’s gonna be so mad! – Shino panics for a brief second, but already he can feel a thumb rubbing in a gentle circle at his shoulder, a comforting gesture from times past when all he could do was cough, and all his best friend could do was remind him he wasn’t alone.
Hesitantly, and almost reluctantly, he looks up to meet Sousuke’s eyes; in that moment he is taken back by how blue they are, and Shino feels embarrassing tears welling up because Sou doesn’t look mad at all, he looks sleepy and warm and welcoming, and there is something else he cannot quite place but it is there and it feels just as much his as the rest of Sou does.
He tries to choke back the sniffle he can feel coming, but it’s too late, and Sou looks alert now, the hand moving away from his back to rest on Shino’s cheek. “Shino?” he asks, and it is always like this – that instinctive worry, Sou looking out for him, and he isn’t that sickly little child any more but he may as well be with how helpless he feels.
Shino is just turning to lean into Sousuke’s touch when he sees the doubt flicker across those familiar eyes, feels the hand freeze and begin to pull away. He knows what Sou is going to say, even as he opens his mouth, begins to apologise because the whole reason they had fought was Shino's desire to not be mollycoddled. Shino doesn't let him finish his sentence; bravely (and without really thinking), his own hand flies up to clasp Sou’s where it is, impulsively brings it to his chest in the space between them.
“Sou,” he finds himself saying, voice quavering only faintly (he thinks), “You stupid asshole.”
Sousuke looks down at Shino, this messy-haired rash idiot staring up defiantly at him with his brows harshly knit together, most likely unaware of how pink his face is, unconscious of the way his lip is wobbling just a little bit, and how his white-knuckled grasp does little to hide his trembling. He is seized by fondness, and elects to say nothing in favour of choosing to shift so his other hand can thread through the fine hairs just behind Shino’s ear, the same area he used to hold to keep Shino’s hair away from his face while he retched blood into an urn. “Is that what you came to tell me?” he asks faintly, teasing. The hand Shino has in custody is going a little numb from the loss of blood - he makes an executive decision to extricate it so as to gently tip Shino’s chin so that he can look into his face properly. “Hmm?”
His touch is gentle but firm, and his face is so close. Shino can barely move, and his heart is thudding away so loudly all he can hear in his ears is a steady thump thump thump. His senses are heightened from all the blood rushing to his brain, but the thinking functions have stopped; the hand at his ear is distracting but so soothing, and Sou is here, not mad at him, and he is what safe means to Shino, and he is the sky that Shino cannot live without.
He suddenly becomes acutely aware of his wobbling lip, and it is like a dam breaking when he suddenly bursts out, “I’m sorry, Sou!” before launching himself straight into the other, arms going to wrap around Sou’s shoulders and his own head falling into the crook of his neck like it is where he belongs. "I'd never want you to go away, I'm sorry, I'm a liar, and I don't do enough for you!" The tears are flowing freely now, and he is only faintly aware of the fact that he is chanting “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” repeatedly into the soft fabric cotton of Sousuke’s t-shirt.
Sousuke closes his eyes, brings his face down, and Shino can feel him smiling gently against his scalp. “I forgive you,” he says softly, “but you worry me so much, you know?” He has manoeuvred them so the blanket is no longer an awkward layer dividing them, and though his voice is sleep-heavy his words are clear.
Shino halts the rain of apologies and presses closer, as if trying to occupy the exact same space as Sousuke. “I’ll become stronger so- so you don’t have to give up so much for me,” he promises, voice a whisper. But then he pulls away just enough to look Sou in the eyes, and at that moment he looks no more than a scared child. “But you have to stay with me, okay? I mean – “ he looks contrite – “I mean, but will you stay with me? Please?” In a smaller voice, he adds "Wherever we go?"
Sou smiles because it is clear that Shino is trying to give him a choice here. But the answer is so obvious that he doesn’t think to reply at first, only pulls the smaller figure back in so he can have him closer. The world falls away for a bit and he has drifted off into his own thoughts for what may be hours when Shino makes a strange gurgle-snort in his sleep, one hand coming up to rest, half-curled, right in front of Sousuke’s nose. It pulls Sousuke out of his daze, and he turns the request over in his head a few times, watching his most important person rest right next to him. Features unmarred by the stress of the difficult world he has come to live in, Shino could almost be the child he so strongly resembles.
Seized by a puerile idea, Sou lifts his hand, and extends his little finger to hook it around Shino’s, before angling his wrist so that their thumbs touch in the universal symbol for a promise.
“To the ends of the earth,” he says lowly, almost to himself. It is a promise so fanciful and grand he almost feels absurd for making it, but he is not lying.
Nestled in a space between reality and dreams, Shino smiles.