Work Text:
With a swift, precise motion, Hyoga spun his spear, hitting the wooden practice target right in the center and shattering it into pieces. It was the eighth practice target today. Oh, look, lucky number eight.
Even with eyes trained to spot even the smallest details in every nook and cranny, all Gen could only see was a blurry white circle, eerily resembling a full moon.
“Whoa, how terrifying…” he hummed quietly to himself, watching from a distance.
He had witnessed Hyoga’s strength firsthand before, but it never failed to astound him. Hyoga had once defeated five burly men — each one larger than him — all at once, by himself, using his spear technique. Owari Kan Ryū, wasn’t it?
No wonder Tsukasa had spent days searching for him. Hyoga’s strength was formidable, a valuable asset to any ally. Gen definitely would not want to make an enemy out of him.
(However, sooner or later, it was inevitable; Gen knew this deep inside his heart.)
Putting on his usual carefree, ever-smiling face, Gen walked towards the taller man from his spot behind the trees. “Working hard as always, huh, Hyoga-chan~?”
Hyoga paid no attention to him. As usual. To Hyoga, Gen was no different than those five brutes with melted brains. The only difference was that Gen was weak, smaller (scrawny, even), and far more irritating. Sometimes, he wondered why Tsukasa had bothered to revive the self-proclaimed famous mentalist.
Without a word, Hyoga began to pull down his mask. Gen supposed it was difficult to breathe properly with half of his face covered. It must have been hot and stifling under the suffocating mask, too.
Gen’s eyes gleamed when Hyoga’s bare face was revealed. Ooh. So, his depetrification scar was hidden under the black mask, huh?
Gen had met many people brought back to life by Tsukasa, each with their own unique depetrification scars. They were all simple enough that Gen was sure he could replicate them with three strokes of paint. But Hyoga’s… Hyoga’s was different; it was shaped so intricately around his mouth, like craters on the moon, spreading across his lower face.
Gen found it charming.
The scars aside, Hyoga himself was actually very handsome. (No, he definitely did not stare at Hyoga’s face a bit longer than necessary, lost in the allure.) And who was Gen to ignore such an attractive man? He couldn’t resist teasing him.
(Seriously, why were there so many good-looking men here? First Tsukasa, then Senku, Kinro, Ukyo, and now Hyoga too? Geez.)
“Oh my, who is this handsome guy? Is that really you, Hyoga-chan?”
Hyoga didn’t respond. As expected, of course. Even a “You’re so noisy.” or a “Shut up.” would have sufficed. Hmph. Time for Plan B then, a.k.a. being even more annoying.
Before Gen could say anything else, Hyoga put his mask back on, his gaze shifted to meet Gen’s. His expression remained unreadable.
“Just so you know, flattering me won’t get you anywhere, Gen-kun.”
Gen blinked. Once, twice, and his smile widened.
“Aww, I’m happy to hear you know me, Hyoga-chan! Was I really that famous back in the modern world?”
Hyoga scoffed. “No. I just happen to remember the name of the noisy beansprout who kept following Tsukasa-kun around like a lost toddler.”
“ ‘A lost toddler’!? So mean!” Gen gasped, genuinely shocked by the insult. For a brief moment, his bubbly façade slipped off, but it didn’t seem like Hyoga noticed (or cared enough to notice, for that matter). He quickly composed himself and added, “Ahem. Back to the previous topic, I was not flattering you, Hyoga-chan. I was merely stating a fact.”
Hyoga stayed silent and still, though his eyes locked on Gen with caution, like a tiger — a white tiger — watching its prey.
Huh, interesting.
(Normally, when complimented, especially about their looks, people would feel flattered. Even the stoic king Tsukasa gave a small, shy smile when people called him handsome. Well, it seemed like Tsukasa had just been dethroned.)
It only fueled Gen’s mischievous nature even more.
“Say, Hyoga-chan, with such a handsome face, you must’ve been popular with both women and men, no?”
Gen carefully took a step closer. When Hyoga didn’t flinch, he knew it only because Hyoga allowed him to. So, Gen braved himself and took another step, and another, and another, until they were barely a meter apart.
Alright, close enough. Any closer, and Gen could kiss his plan goodbye.
Gen looked up, his shallow smile never leaving his face. “Tell me, Hyoga-chan, have you ever kissed someone before?”
The question definitely caught Hyoga off guard, because Gen — if not for his skill at reading people’s facial expressions and body languages — almost missed the way the taller man raised his eyebrows.
There was a charged silence, a little too long to be comfortable, before Hyoga finally spoke. His tone lacked any emotion as always, but Gen could hear the tiniest hint of curiosity in it. “And what exactly are you planning to do with that information?”
Gen’s smile turned into a smirk. “Oh, it depends~ But I guess it’s a ‘no’?”
Without waiting for a reply, Gen closed the gap with one swift, light stride. Standing on his tiptoes, he pulled down Hyoga’s mask, which unexpectedly slipped down easily.
Hyoga’s narrow eyes widened in surprise. The sudden, calculated movement seemed to really catch him off guard.
Gen could see Hyoga’s eyes clearly now — they were the color of the deepest blue, with a trace of an intense purple. It was like looking at the night sky; so, so beautiful, Gen didn’t mind getting lost in them.
They were so close they could see their own reflections in each other’s eyes. Gen could feel Hyoga’s breath as he leaned closer, bringing his lips to meet Hyoga’s.
Hyoga could have pushed Gen away and put a stop to this… whatever it was. He was larger, stronger, far more capable. Yet, he stood frozen, too stunned to move, not even daring to breathe too loud. It was as if Gen’s gaze hypnotized him to stay still, to keep their eyes locked, to focus only on him and him alone.
(Or maybe, he was simply too intrigued by what would happen next.)
Their noses almost brushed, and their lips were a hair’s breadth away, ghosting over each other. Hyoga’s breath felt too hot on Gen’s skin.
And then, just as abruptly, Gen pulled away. A playful smirk on his face.
“Just kidding~!”
And Hyoga was left there. Disbelief evident in his eyes, betraying his effort to appear indifferent.
“Did you seriously think I would kiss you? Don’t get too excited now!” Gen chuckled, taking an airy step back. “My kisses are expensive, you know. I was a celebrity back in the modern world, after all~”
When there was enough distance between them, Gen created a flurry of white flower petals with a swift movement of his trained hands, blocking Hyoga’s view.
“See you later, Hyoga-chan~”
His voice echoed, leaving Hyoga standing there alone, surrounded by falling petals.
Hyoga stared too long at the petals, unconsciously bringing his fingers up to brush his lips. He could still feel Gen’s breath. It was warm and pleasant, unlike the strange turmoil inside his mind.
White flower petals Hyoga had known all too well fluttered around him. They danced gracefully in the wind, revealing Gen on the opposite side of the battlefield, standing proudly with Ishigami Senku.
A wicked smirk tugged at Gen’s thin lips. Mocking, looking down, pitying Hyoga for ever trusting him.
(Hyoga would never admit it, but he found that twisted expression on Gen’s face captivating.)
“It’s called black nightshade. I used it on the stage a lot. It’s one of my favorites~ In the language of flower, it means "liar".”
Oh.
Oh.
Now Hyoga got it. Asagiri Gen was — had always been — wearing a mask, much like himself.
He couldn’t help but think of how Gen resembled the moon: a pretty little thing to look at, hiding its ugly face beneath, shining brightest in the dark.
Gen’s mask was truly flawless. He played excellently as the frail, sweet, obedient boy, although noisy and annoying, who stuck to the strongest people in the empire for protection, like Tsukasa or Hyoga himself. He always wore a cheerful face, greeted everyone tirelessly every day, quickly and shamelessly apologized over every little thing.
No one knew what was really going inside Gen’s head. No one had ever been suspicious of him.
Gen was the perfect, filthy, proper traitor. And Hyoga liked proper people.
For now, Hyoga had no choice but to leave the rest to Homura and retreat — thanks to his broken spear — and report Gen’s betrayal to Tsukasa.
The next time they met, however, Hyoga would absolutely love to be the one to rip that mask off Gen’s face. He would strip away every layer of deception and make him cry, begging for forgiveness which Hyoga would never grant, even after there were no more tears left to shed.
The thought sent a thrill down his spine — sharper and deeper than anything he had ever felt before. Not even the excitement of standing before his final opponent in the country’s most prestigious mixed sports tournament compared to this. This was something else, far more exciting, intoxicating.
It would be Hyoga’s greatest pleasure, and he couldn’t wait for it.