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— November 4
“Hakuri.”
Chihiro only has to call for him once, but Hakuri immediately abandons his ball game with Hinao and Char to trot over to him. The ball bounces off Hakuri’s head and something in Chihiro’s chest does a little flip; the feeling’s gone by the time Hakuri reaches them.
Hakuri tells Chihiro and Shiba about the Sazanami clan cemetery and some vague information about a ceremony. Chihiro thanks him and sinks deep into his thoughts, focused on trying to glean something, anything, from Kyora’s words.
Hakuri goes back to the girls, jumping into their conversation with a grin. Chihiro watches Char pick up the ball and toss it to Hakuri. Shiba moves in his peripheral, and Chihiro turns to look at him, a questioning expression on his face; perhaps Shiba has figured something out?
All Shiba does is slide his gaze towards Hakuri, and then back to Chihiro. His eyebrows raise like he’s on the cusp figuring something out, but he doesn’t say anything.
“What?” Chihiro asks.
Shiba dismisses him with an easy, “Nah, it’s nothing.” and, well, Chihiro has no reason to prod deeper, so he asks him what he thinks about the cemetery.
— November 6
Chihiro and Shiba are sitting in the car trading theories about the Sazanami storehouse when Chihiro finishes up his sketch of the door he’d seen—felt?—through Kuro and calls Hakuri over to come take a look.
They’re sitting at a picnic table together—Hakuri, Char, and Hinao, that is—eating ice cream.
“Hakuri!”
Hakuri’s attention is all on him at once. He hands off his cone to Char who, when Hakuri’s back is turned, wolfs it down with no remorse.
“You ever see this door anywhere?” Hakuri leans down and crosses his arms on the side of the car to get a closer look.
“Door?” he puts a fist to his chin in thought. “Hm… I dunno…”
“It’s okay if you haven’t.”
Hakuri’s brows furrow in a way Chihiro wants to watch happen forever. He dismisses the thought immediately. Then—Hakuri’s eyes light up, and he tells them about the crest he’d seen, in the basement.
They start to come up with a plan for breaking into the Rakuzaichi that sounds like it’ll really work. Chihiro is itching to have Enten back in his hands. He nods with a certain finality and says, “Thanks, Hakuri. the information you’ve given us really helps. I appreciate it a lot.”
“You got it, samurai! Just tell me if I can help in any way!” Hakuri salutes him, smiling, and Chihiro nods at him again. Hakuri turns around and makes his way back to where the girls are sitting.
Chihiro goes into his thoughts again, teeth worrying his lip. He turns to Shiba. “If you cut the lights, would there be enough time for me to—what is it?” Chihiro frowns.
Shiba is watching him, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Kid’s real obedient, coming right over when you call his name. Like a dog,” Shiba tilts his head in Hakuri’s direction. He might have been grinning, not that Chihiro could tell. Shiba’s facial muscles were sometimes deader than his own. But there’s a twinkle in his eye that reminds him of when his father told a joke nobody else laughed at. “I can almost see his tail wagging.”
Chihiro says nothing, turning away to watch Hakuri reprimand Char for eating his ice cream cone, then go buy another one.
Shiba doesn’t miss the way the tips of his ears turn pink.
— November 7
Chihiro is dreaming again. Of his father, and their goldfish.
No, it wouldn’t be right to call this a dream. He thought he was sitting at the dining table, pretending to think a joke his father told was unfunny, when a huge Kuro swam past him. He realized, then, that their dining room was gone; surrounding them was a gigantic fishbowl, identical to the one they kept Kuro, Aka, and Nishiki in. A sound rang out—a crash, the clang of two swords colliding—and then the bowl shattered.
He’s standing in the ruins of his home, destroyed by sorcerers who came to steal the enchanted blades. There’s a distant, muffled roar coming from all around him—the forest is burning, casting an awful orange glow over the rubble—or maybe that’s the sound of his blood coursing through his body, heart thumping wildly and painfully.
“Why…?”
He can’t seem to blink. The fishbowl is in pieces, glass bits and bright pebbles strewn over debris. The goldfish are lifeless among them.
Chihiro moves his body up and away—robotically, almost, like he isn’t even controlling it—spots a shape in the rubble that makes him fall to his knees. it’s his father.
Kunishige is dead in his arms, and there’s blood all over him, and Chihiro can’t breathe, chest tight and hollow at once, an aching pain that he can’t see through because tears are streaming down his face. Something else, too—hot, burning, blood—dripping from the wound on his temple and cheek. He finally blinks, or his vision shutters and comes back, and this time the one dead in his arms is Char. Chihiro couldn’t save her from Sojo. It happens again, a flicker of black; now Hakuri lays broken and bloody in front of him, Enten nowhere to be found.
He can’t take it. The breath is knocked out of Chihiro’s body; one second he’s staring at the blood on his calloused palms, and the next—
He gasps awake, eyes frantic and searching in the darkness of his room.
“Hakuri,” Chihiro croaks, throat painfully dry. He swallows and tries again: “Hakuri,” a plea. Hardly louder than a murmur.
Hakuri hears him. The shape in front of him moves—it’s barely visible, just a shade darker than the rest of the room is—and Hakuri rolls over to face Chihiro. He reaches out and doesn’t open his eyes; doesn’t have to when they’re only sleeping inches apart from each other, opening his arms just wide enough for Chihiro to slip into their embrace.
He doesn’t remember exactly when they started sleeping in the same bed. In the beginning, Chihiro was really only there to keep watch; they had no idea if those yakuza still wanted to kill Hakuri, or if the Sazanami were going to come back for him. Hinao would have let them stay in her apartment above the café Haruharu, but it was closed for renovations (thanks, Sojo), so Shiba got them a few rooms from a hotel down the street. Chihiro and Hakuri shared a room, but had separate futons laid out. Chihiro didn't even really expect to be sleeping at all. So it was surprising to him when, at Hakuri's suggestion, Chihiro welcomed it. Somehow, it just felt natural. right.
— Several days ago…
Chihiro was sitting in the windowsill, Enten clutched in both hands as he watched the dim night sky. Tokyo was so different from the countryside where he lived with his father; he could hardly see the moon with all the light pollution from the city.
A noise stirred him out of his memories. Hakuri was muttering something in his sleep; pleading. His quick breaths turned into gasps, then into sobs as he begged someone —“Brother,” he was saying, “brother, that hurts.”—to stop hitting him. Before he even realized it, Chihiro was across the room and crouching over the futon where Hakuri slept.
He reached out tentatively, almost pulled back when Hakuri’s face twisted in pain, just barely brushing his shoulder to wake him. “Hakuri? are you alright—?”
Chihiro barely finished asking the question when Hakuri—awake now—shot out his hands to clutch onto the lapels of Chihiro’s jacket. He shoved his face into Chihiro’s shirtfront, crying until he ran out of tears. Chihiro’s hands hovered awkwardly. should he… comfort Hakuri? Pat him or something?
He didn’t have long to ponder that before Hakuri pulled back, wiping his face with his sleeve. His eyes were red and puffy, nose dripping a little. He mumbled, “Um… sorry. For–for worrying you…”
“It’s fine,” Chihiro said, settling on the tatami floor beside him, hands in his lap. After a moment, he added, “I get them too. Nightmares.”
Hakuri looked at him wide-eyed, like he didn’t believe someone as amazing as his samurai would ever lose sleep over bad dreams.
“So I… understand. It isn’t pleasant.” Internally, Chihiro cringed at the awkwardness in his voice. How long had it been since he spoke casually, like this, to someone his own age? “If you want to talk about it… I can listen.”
“Samurai…” Hakuri started, and Chihiro looked back at him. “Isn’t the floor uncomfortable? Y–you can sit here! If you want!”
Hakuri scooted back, making room for Chihiro in the small futon. Chihiro considered it—there wasn’t nearly enough room for the two of them, both quite tall, to fit under the blanket together—then stood and tugged his own futon closer to Hakuri’s, so they were right next to each other. Hakuri watched him the entire time, silent.
Chihiro lied down on the futon, eyes on the ceiling. He felt more than saw Hakuri shuffle and turn over on his side to face him.
“The Sazanami clan… They aren’t exactly a loving family. Well, they sure think they are… but the way they express their love, it’s…” Hakuri repressed a shiver, and Chihiro turned his head to him. “Well, you probably saw the state of me.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Chihiro could think to say. He didn’t know how to put words to the feeling of quiet rage bubbling up inside him.
Hakuri fidgeted with his blanket anxiously. “Ah! It's okay, samurai, really, you don’t have to feel pity for me—”
“It isn't okay, Hakuri.” Hakuri went still. Chihiro didn’t dare break eye contact with him. “It’s not.”
Chihiro watched as Hakuri fought to keep the tears welling up in his eyes from falling. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away, gently. Instead he reached out and—when Hakuri flinched, minutely, he pretended he didn’t see it—rested one hand on his shoulder. Reassuring. At least he hoped it was. Hakuri didn’t push him away, so it must have counted for something.
“You’re probably right.” Hakuri grinned, bright despite the sleep in his drooping eyes. “But you know… when you're with me, samurai, I feel safe! You protect me!”
“...That’s enough.” Chihiro said, shutting his eyes. “You don’t have to praise me all the time. And… it’s fine to just call me Chihiro.”
“Ah! Is that so? Then, goodnight, Chihiro!”
“Goodnight, Hakuri.”
— The next morning…
Chihiro woke up with Hakuri all but in his arms. Somehow he’d wormed his way in under Chihiro’s blanket, and Chihiro, surprising himself, had chosen to pull him in tighter. In his sleep. Unbelievable.
He went about the rest of his day pretending it didn’t happen. Pretending he wasn’t thinking about it, still, when he crawled into bed beside Hakuri again that night.
This time, it was Chihiro woken from a nightmare—it was always that day, 3 years ago; it haunted him—by Hakuri, eyebrows pinched together in worry. His soft hand on Chihiro’s arm was more of a comfort than he thought possible. Hakuri said something about, what was it, the feeling of safety? That another body could bring. So they started sharing a bed every night; when one of them woke from a nightmare, the other held him close, until the fear passed, and his breathing evened out, and they sunk back into sleep together.
Chihiro couldn’t complain about the arrangement. Waking up from a terrible memory and having someone to hold him, protect him, make him feel safe even if only for a moment in the night—he didn’t know how much he wanted it until he had it. Not to mention, Hakuri’s peaceful sleeping face in the morning, sunlight filtering in through the cheap curtains… it made Chihiro’s gut twist in a pleasant way.
The image of Hakuri’s bright smile, in that dark room, didn’t leave Chihiro’s mind for days.
— November 7, again
Chihiro buries himself in Hakuri’s arms. If he notices Chihiro’s trembling, he doesn’t comment on it. Just holds him closer, combs his fingers through Chihiro’s hair, pushes his face into the crook of his neck so they slot together as if they were always meant to.
It’s warm, Chihiro muses, oddly pleased. And if nobody else knows that sometimes, Hakuri’s hand in his is all it takes to soothe Chihiro’s fraying nerves, well. That’s fine too. He thinks he likes sleeping in Hakuri’s arms.
— November 8
11:54, the car’s clock reads. Shiba went in ahead of him ages ago. Chihiro should be leaving now. His hand tightens on the Cloud Gouger’s handle. He opens the car door, steps out—one glance over his shoulder, a quick nod to Char and Hinao—and shuts it behind him. He starts forward towards the Sazanami mansion.
“Chihiro!”
Hakuri’s voice stops him in his tracks. It makes him turn around. Hakuri has stepped out of the car, one leg extended, poised to follow, but still holds on to the door. Chihiro crosses the short distance between them quickly.
“What is it? Remembered something about the Sazanamis I should know?”
Hakuri shakes his head no, looking nervous. Chihiro blinks, confused. If it wasn’t the Sazanamis, then the mansion? Or perhaps he discovered some flaw in the plan? He doesn’t expect what Hakuri says to him at all.
“Um, just… Come back to me in one piece, okay, samurai?!” Hakuri all but shouts at him. His cheeks are pink. Hinao and Char are watching them with open interest. “‘cause, y’know, I’m still gonna need someone to protect me after this is over!!”
Oh.
Chihiro’s face goes a little warm. “Of course I will,” He huffs, “you too, Hakuri. Be careful.”
Hakuri nods, steps forward, and slams the car door behind him. He rushes forward, right into Chihiro’s space, tilts his head down an inch and then—kisses Chihiro.
It lasts only a second. A fraction of a second, really. Before Chihiro can even react, Hakuri shoves him away, face flaming red, yells out “Okay, bye, be safe!” but so quickly it comes out like one word: ‘okaybyebesafe!’ and throws himself back into the car.
Chihiro nods back, turns in the direction of the mansion, and resumes his approach. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the car’s side-view mirror, misses a step and almost trips; rights himself and continues walking.
That glimpse in the mirror only confirms his suspicion—his face is just as red.