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It had only been an hour past sunset when Sugimoto found Shiraishi lying face down with his head in the snow cradling a bottle of sake against his chest as he sprawled out on the ground. He wondered if the man was even still conscious.
“Shiraishi?!” he yelled as he advanced towards him. “What are you doing out here?”
The lying man stirred, feigning annoyance with an overplayed groan as he huddled himself into a ball on the icy ground. Sugimoto pulled him up by the crook of his arm.
“Let’s go back inside,” he suggested as he pulled the man from his slouch.
Jerking away and clumsily falling back into the snow, Shiraishi pouted and dragged himself further away from his partner, clawing at the snow with his bare hands that had grown reddish and frigid from the cold, not that it seemed to phase him.
Sugimoto easily caught up to him with a brisk walk, and once again, he attempted to lift him from the ground.
“Shiraishi, listen, you're going to end up with hypothermia if you stay out here.”
Shiraishi sniffled from the cold as he looked back at him before quickly turning away.
“Good! I don't care if I get hypothermia or frostbite or whatever!” he stubbornly retorted as he continued to crawl away from him.
Once again catching up with him, Sugimoto lifted him by his torso so he couldn’t easily escape and worsen the situation for both of them.
“What's with you today?” he shouted, trying to snap him out of whatever daze he was in.
Futilely pushing at the former-soldier's arms, Shiraishi whined, “Let me gooooo—! Leave me aloneee—!”
Sugimoto held onto the shorter man, dragging him away from the woods he was crawling towards. “Seriously Shiraishi, stop whatever this is. You're usually weird but this is a lot even for you.”
Pulling him from side to side with his body weight, Shiraishi attempted to free himself from the man's grip. “I know that I'm weird! I already know that's what you think of me so let me go already!”
“That's not what I— look, just come back inside before you freeze to death,” Sugimoto pleaded with him
Shiraishi did not respond, instead slumping over limply in protest as Sugimoto lifted him over a shoulder and carried him back to their room. Gently laying him onto his bed and wrapping a blanket around him, Sugimoto sat at the foot of the bed next to the scrunched up man as he covered his face with the covers he huddled up in. Glancing at him briefly before averting his gaze toward the hardwood floor, Sugimoto scratched nervously at the back of his head and slouched over.
“Shiraishi?” he called softly.
The man in question curled his body inward even more, lying like a wounded animal as he let out a simple “Mmhn?” in response.
Ceasing his anxious scratching, Sugimoto returned his hands to his lap and clasped them together to calm himself.
“Are you…okay?”
Shiraishi stayed quiet, only a few sniffles escaped as he continued to face away from him. Shuffling himself towards his friend, Sugimoto placed a hand on his shoulder to console him.
The room was dim and quiet, the silence only briefly being pushed aside by the sound of low breathing that became more irregular as they sat together wordlessly.
He was unsure just how long he'd stayed at his bedside, but when Shiraishi arose to face him, Sugimoto immediately noted his puffy eyes and the faint tear stains that ran across the bridge of his nose.
“ Shiraishi, ” he called again, his voice steeped in worry.
The man buried his red face into his scrunched knees, hiding himself as he tried to speak through sobs, “I'm sorry, Sugimoto…I'm sorry for trying to get frostbite, and, and—”
“It's okay, we all have our bad days. You're just drunk, it's not—” Shiraishi cut him off with more sobs.
“And I'm sorry that you had to save me again because I did something bad and uh,” he loudly sniffled, “and it—it's not fair y’know because you, you, uh, you do so much and I don't do anything,” he rambled incoherently.
“Shiraishi, what are you talking about?” he attempted to clarify.
He pulled his knees in closer and covered his face with his purple hanten to hide his shame.
“You should have just left me.”
Sugimoto immediately arose to refute him.
“Why would I ever do that?” he rebuked, “We need you—” Shiraishi cut him off once more.
“You already have my tattoos don't you? You don't need me. You never did.”
“What are you talking about? At Abashiri you—”
“I what? Got you trapped under a building while I escaped with the guys who blew your brains out?” he cried in protest.
“You…you didn't know,” Sugimoto replied softly.
His eyes began to well up with tears. “When do I ever know? I'm not smart like the rest of you!”
“Shiraishi! That's not—”
His tone shifted to a somber cadence as he spoke. “What, Sugimoto? I'm not that dumb. I know there's a reason no one else wanted to save me from the 7th back then.”
“ I wanted to save you! ” Sugimoto shouted coarsely with an unmatched sincerity in his voice.
The statement caused something to settle within Shiraishi as he relaxed his limbs. He'd known it to be true for a long time but hadn't considered the gravity of Sugimoto's actions until he plainly stated his intention.
Sugimoto continued, “I wanted to save you, not just for the tattoos, not for Abashiri, not for the gold, but because—”
In that moment some unknowable feeling stopped him from continuing his statement.
He tried to rationalize.
Was it fear? Fear of becoming vulnerable by leaving his bleeding, scarred heart exposed even after vowing to kill anything that threatened his life, no matter what or who it was.
Was it nostalgia? The reluctant admission that his goofy, occasionally irresponsible, lighthearted companion reminded him of a simpler time where he could just enjoy the comfort of autumn leaves and dried persimmons.
Perhaps it was even love that he felt.
He wasn't sure. All he could vocalize in that moment was,
“I couldn't lose you…”
Saying it aloud made his body unconsciously shiver, as though he anticipated some sort of retaliation or rebuke, instead he was met with Shiraishi quickly launching forward to hug him.
The former convict sniffled and sobbed against the soldier's chest, rubbing his tears into the man's coat.
“I don't even care about having all the gold anymore, not really,” Shiraishi admitted and his tears began to subside, “I just want to be able to buy some good food and booze every once in a while. I just want somewhere warm to sleep. I…I just want to live.”
The admission caught Sugimoto by surprise.
“Then why are you still with us?”
Wiping his face, Shiraishi let out an unabashed laugh as he continued to hold on to Sugimoto.
“I'm starting to think you're the dumb one,” he teased as his laughter continued to force up tears.
Sugimoto's heart began to race but he tried to keep his composure. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Shiraishi shut his eyes and buried his face into Sugimoto's chest as he hugged him once more.
“I said I'd bet it all on you didn't I?”
A faint reddish hue rushed into his cheeks as Sugimoto stifled the formation of a tear before it could roll down his face.
Finally, he returned Shiraishi's embrace, holding onto him as if he could somehow save him from his fate. He wanted to believe, even if only for just a small insignificant moment, that he was deserving of his companions' love. Despite all the horrible things he'd done, despite all the people whose lives he'd ended at war, despite all the blood on his hands, he could do this one good thing.
He could love him back.
Briefly, he pulled away from him, caressing the peach fuzz at the top of his head with a timid smile before gently wiping away Shiraishi's tears with his thumb.
“I guess I'll be betting on you too.”