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Ayato is a little too old for this sort of thing.
It is his fault for handling affairs without a bodyguard. He often tells himself that he shouldn’t leave the estate unattended and that when he gets back he’ll formulate a new plan going forward. Ayato never does. Ayato pretends that he forgets but it’s more that he intentionally pushes it to the back of his mind where it’s conveniently not thought about again… until he winds up in situations like this.
He’s hiding in the brush, peeking out and he counts one, two… four Treasure Hoarders. His knee smarts having wrenched it slightly—which at his age doesn’t take much. There’s a twinge in his back. Ayato grunts, rubbing his face, and he can just hear his sister’s voice now.
“I’ve told you,” Ayaka would say. “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re too old to be hoofing it outside alone.”
She and Ayato bicker as most siblings do, and he’ll snark back that she shouldn’t adopt her husband’s relaxed manner of speaking. Then Thoma will step in and Ayato will stalk off, not wanting to fight even if he pulled him into the argument, and well—
None of that matters at the moment. Ayato drags his face down and reassesses the scene. Were he younger, he could manage four Treasure Hunters. But here and now he can barely manage one because whilst not brittle, he’s a little worn down and, apparently, slower than he thought.
Perhaps he should take up Thoma on his offer to do daily calisthenics together.
Just as he’s about to make the terrible decision to throw himself back out there, a shout cuts through the air, followed by a whirlwind of hulking muscle. Ayato blinks in surprise, his hand stilled around the hilt of his sword. What on earth?
But then, he hears it.
“Arataki Itto’s the name and destroying your—well, I shouldn’t be crude but just know that beating your butts is the game, yeah?”
Oh. It’s as if time stands still. Ayato hears him, he sees him, Itto is right there. And Ayato is rooted to where he’s half-hidden in the bushes. He blames it on the bad knee. That’s why he doesn’t help and lets Itto have his fun, why he gapes, slack-jawed like an open-mouthed fish.
Ayaka would definitely tease him—will once she hears about this. And no, not because of Ayato and Itto’s short-lived romance that came to an abrupt halt decades ago, but because he’s the damsel in distress in this situation.
Itto is the same. He swings around a claymore like it weighs nothing, shouting out his attacks as if he’s in a stage play. Time has made him more graceful. His movements are defined, and despite his raucous demeanor as he brings down his weapon against one of the Treasure Hoarders, there’s a strange sort of refinement that doesn’t fit with Itto’s usual rough-and-tumble visage.
Maybe it’s because Ayato is watching him through rose-tinted glasses, one foot caught in the past.
The Treasure Hoarders disperse, scattering in different directions. Once gone, Itto hefts his claymore up, resting it against his shoulder, and then turns to where Ayato stands dumbly in the brush.
Itto is the one to break the silence. “Soooooooooo, you okay over there?”
“I seem to be in one piece, at least.”
“Whew! Seems like I got here just in the nick of time then. Ever since I saw you back in town—”
“Back in town?”
Itto stills in the same sort of way that a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar would. “Ah, well, you see—”
“Have you been following me?” The thought isn’t so terrible in the grand scheme of things but there’s one thing that bothers Ayato about it. “Itto, I was in the city two days ago.”
Itto rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, can you blame me? The last time we saw each other was so long ago and we didn’t exactly…” He trails off with a sigh. “My guy—”
“Itto.”
“I was in town, saw you, and I wanted to know how you were. The timing was never right though. You’re working and I just told myself I’d wait until you had a moment, and I guess that moment is now.”
Oh, what a stupid thing to do. But also exactly what Ayato expects from him. “You oaf,” he says then. “You boorish, oafish—”
“No need to be rude,” cuts in Itto with a sour expression. He drags a hand through his hair, avoiding his horns. “Man, this is… Look. I know it’s complicated but can you at least thank me for saving you—”
“You didn’t save me. I was about to handle it on my own.”
“—and let me look at your knee?”
Ayato says nothing at first. Itto has always been a wild, incorrigible man. There are still bits and pieces of who Ayato remembers there, but it seems that time has mellowed that boyish personality somewhat because the Itto before him doesn’t smirk back with a fanged grin, he just seems… tired.
“My knee is fine,” says Ayato finally, to which Itto just gives him a look. “Alright,” he amends, “it’s mostly fine, but it’s nothing that I can’t handle myself.”
Itto is quiet for a long moment as he regards Ayato with a cool expression. “So, you don’t want to talk? Really? Like, there’s not even a shred of curiosity for old time’s sake?”
Of course, there is. Itto must be the dumbest man on the planet to think that Ayato wouldn’t want to catch up. It’s complicated though. It’s so, so, complicated, and Aytao isn’t in the mood for dancing around broken shards of glass.
He fiddles with the hilt of his sword. “A camp,” he finally says, looking at the horizon where the sun is quickly setting. “We can set up a camp for the night. It’s too late for me to get back to the estate by nightfall.”
“Plus, your knee.”
“I told you, my knee is fine.”
Itto laughs, but it lacks the luster it did in their youth. “Whatever you say, compadre.”
xxx
So, for once in his life, Itto is right.
He lets out a whistle as he tilts Ayato’s knee from side to side. “Totally fine, right?” says Itto, enunciating every word slowly and drawing out each syllable.
Ayato does his best to not hide his face between his palms. “It’s… fine.”
Itto’s face meets his. “Ayato, this is obviously sprained. It’s the size of my fist and a little bit purple.”
Semantics. Ayato could claim that it’s mildly strained at its worst but Itto, despite his shortcomings, isn’t actually an idiot. One of his redeeming qualities is that he’s annoyingly observant, whether he wants to be or not. In their youth, he didn’t try to as such, it was something born from the genuine drive to just… meet people and have fun.
But they are no longer young. And this close, Ayato can tell that Itto has changed, from the way he moves with solid purpose, to the fine lines around his mouth and eyes, and the tired hunch of his shoulders.
“This is one of those times that a Cryo Vision would be useful, right? Lucky for you, I’ve come prepared!” Itto shuffles around in his bag and pulls out an oil cloth containing several Mist Flower Corollas. “Ice and elevate, yeah?”
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” says Ayato as he waves Itto on.
Itto gives him a goofy grin and sets about wrapping his knee up.
It’s awkward. The campfire beside them crackles. They’re close enough to the coast to hear the tide come and go. Itto is… Ayato doesn’t think he’s ever seen Itto so tempered. He is gentle as he wraps a bandage around Ayato’s aching knee, fingers ghosting smooth skin and the swollen joint with care. Itto is contemplative, he realizes, and not that Ayato thinks Itto is incapable of higher-brow thought, it’s just strange to see what the years have done to him.
“I can hear the gears turning in your head,” says Itto, finally. “We can’t avoid it, you know. Talking. About it.”
It being their damnable break-up. It still stings, even now. Ayato has shared his time with others but never has another person wormed themselves into his being quiet like this idiot. Or maybe he’s the idiot because there’s an oni-sized hole in his heart that never fixed itself.
“You left,” says Ayato tersely. It’s frigid—his tone. Frigid enough that Itto’s hands pause for a moment before setting back to work. “A letter, at least, Itto. Or you could have spoken to my sister but Celestia knows that she enjoys drama. Instead, you left without a word. You—”
“Granny Oni died.”
Ayato’s mouth snaps shut as that little tidbit sinks in. “When?”
“Back then.” Itto tucks the ends of the bandage in and pats at his knee gently. “Look, I know I didn’t do right by you. I have my reasons and they’re terrible reasons. Stupid reasons, but they’re reasons. And you of all people should know what it’s like to not want to share something that’ll hurt the people you care for.”
Ayato suddenly feels very naked, and it’s not because he’s sitting on a log in nothing but his shirt and underthings.
Itto says nothing else as he presses a Mist Flower Corolla against his aching knee. Ayato hisses, jerking, but Itto holds his leg firm.
“Just for a bit. Then you can let it rest. In the meantime, I’ll throw something over the fire.”
Ayato misses the warmth of Itto’s hands when he pulls away. He watches him dump a bunch of dry ingredients into a pot for a simple stew, and neither of them says anything as it boils quietly.
“I didn’t want to leave,” says Itto after an insufferably long time. “For the record.”
“Then why did you?” asks Ayato. Despite their whirlwind romance he never expected it to last. But he didn’t expect it to come to such an abrupt end either.
Itto pours out two portions of the stew into dented metal bowls. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” He says it quietly. There is such genuine honesty to it that Ayato wonders exactly what has happened to him in the last two and a half decades.
Instead of prying, Ayato graciously takes the bowl and says his thanks. Then he nearly spits out the sip that he takes.
Itto laughs loudly. “I said I’d cook, not that it’d be good.”
Well, at least some things haven’t changed. Ayato gives him a mock salute with his bowl before pinching his nose and taking another bite.
xxx
Later, the sky is a blanket of glittering stars, and the fire has dimmed to nothing but glowing embers.
Ayato cannot sleep. Itto cannot either. He tosses and turns beside him on the ground because earlier he insisted that Ayato take the damn cot.
“Just share it with me,” he finally hisses. “If only to quiet you.”
Itto stills. “Ayato—”
“It’s not as if we haven’t before.”
With that, Itto rolls over to his side, dramatically flailing about until they are on their backs, side-by-side, shoulders and hips touching. There is a nice familiarity to it. This is, strangely, less awkward than the miserable tension of their earlier silence in the camp.
Itto rests his head on one forearm. His other hand fidgets, pulling at the threadbare trousers that he wears. “I didn’t know what to do with myself,” he finally says. “When Granny died. I’ve… never really…” He sighs. “I don’t remember my parents much, but I’ll never forget her. I was angry—so angry. And I was angry at everyone even though I shouldn’t have been. Grief is rough, man, and I didn’t want to take it out on you.”
Ayato has never heard Itto bare himself so clearly before. He understands this, the pain of losing a guardian. Still. “You just left, Itto. It hurt. It hurt a lot.”
“Yeah,” replies Itto. “It does.”
Does, not did. And what he said earlier: “I’m still trying to figure it out.”
Ayato swallows thickly. “I came to terms with it a long time ago. I accepted it—”
Itto laughs bitterly. “No you didn’t. Why else would you be giving me the cold shoulder?”
“Itto, I’m not—”
“The moment you saw me jump in to help you wanted me to leave, Ayato.” Itto drags a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes. “The moment we set up camp, you—”
“I’ve missed you, you brute,” hisses Ayato, more aggressively than intended. He groans, a sharp sound that cuts through the air. “Archons, I didn’t mean to snap. And I’m not angry. Sore about it, yes. Mildly irritated, absolutely. But I forgave you a long time ago. I just never thought you’d come back.”
Itto rolls over onto his side. Ayato refuses to look at him, keeping his gaze trained on those twinkling stars above them. But it doesn’t last. He eventually cracks and tilts his head.
Ayato looks at Itto, really looks at him. He sees the well-worn edges that time has worn into his being. He’s weathered nicely, and handsomely, and he gives him an irritatingly soft expression that makes Ayato want to kiss him stupid.
“I know that look,” says Itto.
“What look?”
Itto’s tone is playful. “You know the one.”
“I don’t believe that I do,” scoffs Ayato. “You’ll have to refresh my memory—” He cuts himself off as Itto shifts, leaning up on an elbow to crowd his space. He smells like the outdoors, like sweat, like the smoke of the campfire and the medical tinge from the salve he slathered all over Ayato’s knee earlier.
“Say, did Ayaka and Thoma ever get married?”
“What? Yes?”
Itto hums. “And did you?”
Ayato finds himself tongue-tied. Itto reaches over and pulls at a loose thread on his sleeve—and then the touch remains. His fingers are hot, their warmth bleeding through the linen.
“I did not,” says Ayato when he miraculously finds his words.
“So there’s a chance?”
“For what, Itto?”
“To make up.”
Oh, this utter fool. Ayato laughs—he can’t help it—and what a laugh it is. He doesn’t think he’s been so amused by something since… well, since they were together, he supposes. “Itto, you can’t just kiss and make it work again.”
“But can I try?”
No. Yes. Ayato shouldn’t let him, he knows that he shouldn’t but Itto has always been the one that got away even if as the head of the Kamisato Clan there were no grand illusions of it working out long term. Perhaps it’s because Itto is older but he’s properly dressed in a shirt and trousers. Ayato reaches out and curls his fingers into the soft material and tugs at it.
“You’re still a menace, then?”
Itto’s mouth falls into a lopsided grin. “There are a few things I never grew out of.”
“You weren’t exactly young back then either, you know.”
Itto hangs over him, the tips of his hair ticking Ayato’s face. “No, but I wasn’t old either. All the years that’ve passed, Ayato—I guess they put things into perspective.”
“Your sense of timing is still terrible, I see. Are you going to kiss me or not?” Ayato thinks he may be pouting.
Itto takes his damn time, tracing the length of Ayato’s nose with a fingertip. Then he cups Ayato’s cheek and crosses the distance, giving him a soft, sweet kiss that borders on too chaste. “I’ve always regretted not trying to make it work,” says Itto then, his breath warm against Ayato’s face.
He pulls back. It isn’t enough for either of them—Ayato can tell by Itto’s flushed face—but there’s something to be said about savoring the moment. They tread tricky waters, shuffling about like green little teenagers who have no idea what they’re doing.
They don’t even know what they’re doing now. They’ve never really known because what are relationships but ever-evolving problems? Ayato has always been a good problem solver but some equations are more difficult, and Itto has always been the sort of algebra he hates.
“Tea,” he blurts. Itto’s face scrunches in confusion. “The rules of engagement, which I doubt you know. Come to the estate and have tea with me, and we’ll go from there.”
“Engagement,” starts Itto, and then with an eyebrow wiggle, he finishes with, “or engagement?”
“Itto, don’t be crass.”
“Can I kiss you again?”
“Would you maim me if I said no?”
Itto whines, his head hanging dramatically. “You’re already maimed.” Then he flashes Ayato another grin. “I can kiss it better—”
“Itto.”
“Ayato.”
Ayato still holds onto Itto’s shirt. They still share space, inches apart, and Itto’s eyes keep flickering towards his mouth, desperate to press their lips together again. Lines should be drawn, though, despite how keen Ayato is to indulge in that request.
“It will not be as easy as going back in time.”
Itto’s expression softens. “I know that, but I want to try. Ayato, I still—”
Ayato shoves his fingers against Itto’s mouth. “Save that,” he begs. “There will be a better time for it.” Those three little words. Oh, he knows, he feels them too, he’s never stopped feeling them, but the wound is still fresh and aching, and Ayato refuses to fall in too deeply, too quickly.
A kiss to his fingers. Itto nods, nuzzling Ayato’s sword-callused fingers.
They do kiss again, over and over, sweet, lingering things that tell stories of missed years, that are exploratory because their bodies and needs have changed.
Ayato may be a man of conviction but he finds that he carries a weakness for ex-boyfriends whom he never stopped loving.