Work Text:
It’s during a drowsy, sunshine-drenched afternoon, a brief moment of respite where there isn’t any paperwork to file or field missions to carry out, that Yanagi appears at your desk, giving you no time to hide what you’ve been fiddling with during your break.
Though there’s no reason to feel guilty, it’s still slightly embarrassing for Yanagi to catch the rainbow strips of paper littering your desk, interspersed with fruit-flavored candy that Soukaku left earlier that morning as a present. In the center of it all, there’s a jar brimming with paper stars, the results of two weeks’ worth of progress made whenever you have a snippet of free time.
However, Yanagi doesn’t pause to acknowledge the way your hands are trapped in the middle of folding a half-finished origami star. Lips pursed in familiar frustration, she asks, “Have you seen Asaba anywhere?”
“Not since this morning, when we were doing reconnaissance in a Hollow,” you reply.
She sighs. “He’s supposed to have finished his break half an hour ago.”
“Do you need him for something?”
“I need you two to follow up on the work you did this morning. The ether readings have changed, and they wanted someone to check it out,” Yanagi says. “If you could find him and get him to come with you…”
“I get the gist. I’ll head out as soon as I find him,” you say, folding the ends of the paper expertly and tossing a newly formed red star into the jar.
“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you for cutting your break short,” she says apologetically. “Since you’re his partner, Asaba tends to listen to you a little more.”
“He barely listens to me at all,” you grumble. You pat the daggers tucked snuggly near your thighs, and Yanagi’s eyes drift to the mess on your desk.
“I was wondering where Soukaku got all those pieces of paper,” she says thoughtfully. “Did you bring them into the office?”
“Yeah. She thought the stars were candy, so I had to stop her from eating them. I taught her how to fold them, and in exchange, she gave me these.” You gesture at the hard candies littering your desk.
“It’s nice to do some crafts to relax.”
“There’s also something special about these stars. If you fold a hundred of them,” you say, “you get a wish. It was a popular story back in my elementary school. The local convenience store used to sell origami paper, and I would buy them with my allowance. I never did make it to a hundred, though.”
“Then there must be something you really want to fold a hundred now. I hope your wish comes true,” Yanagi says.
“I hope so, too,” you murmur.
A few minutes later, you’re cutting down the halls and up the stairways of your workplace, climbing until you reach the entrance to the roof. Barricade tape and warning signs block the landing, but with practiced precision, you duck under the tape without slowing and nudge open the door with your shoulder, which gives way without a fuss.
Cool wind whips at your face, and you scan the rooftop, nothing but a broad expanse of concrete and whirring, blocky machines, caged in by a metal fence. You jog down the length until you find who you’re looking for, lounging on the floor like a cat soaking up the golden afternoon sun, limbs askew and eyes closed.
Harumasa looks like he’s asleep as you approach him with silent steps. You crouch over him, your shadow cutting across his face, and he still doesn’t stir. For a few seconds, you watch him quietly. His headband flutters in the wind like a loose sliver of sunlight. His face is pale, splotches of dark ink forming under his eyes. Maybe he isn’t sleeping well.
“Admiring the view, partner?” Harumasa says without opening his eyes.
“Hardly,” you say. “I was just thinking about the best way to wake you up.”
“All you need to do is call my name and I’ll respond.”
“Right. Just like how the last few times I tried to do that, you kept pretending to be asleep until I used physical force.” You emphasize the last few words and Harumasa groans as he cracks open an eye, propping himself lazily up with his elbows.
“Come on. We’ve been working together forever at this point, and you still can’t be a little nicer to me?”
“I’m only nice to those who deserve it,” you say.
“Right, right. I bet Yanagi sent you up here.”
“How did you know?”
“You usually let me slack off otherwise,” he says easily. “It’s only when there’s something important that you bother me. Huh. If you think about it, that’s pretty nice of you. Isn’t there a word for someone who acts abrasive to hide how much they care about someone else? Ts–”
“Keep talking and I’ll tell Yanagi just where exactly you like to hide during break,” you threaten.
“Aw, don’t do that!” Harumasa gives you an exaggerated pout, and you roll your eyes. “Come here, partner.”
“Why?”
“Come on. Come closer,” he wheedles, and you reluctantly lower yourself until you’re sitting next to him, face to face, legs folded under you.
Once you do, Harumasa drops his head against your shoulder, leaning all the warm weight of his upper body against your side like he’ll fall apart without your support.
“What’s this about?” you grumble, but you don’t move away. It’s become a familiar routine at this point: he teases, you complain, but you still gravitate towards each other. Maybe it’s because you’ve been paired with Harumasa on so many missions that you’ve developed a habit of putting up with all of his mischief.
“I’m not feeling well,” he says. “Lend me your shoulder.”
“It’s a little too late to ask when you’ve already done it.”
“You know what they say. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”
“I’m sure you know all about that,” you say dryly.
“Now. now. I’m just being pragmatic.”
You usually don’t come to the roof at all, not unless you’re looking for Harumasa. But when you do come here, the air feels refreshing and cool, the sunlight more gentle. Though you pride yourself on being efficient and responsible, the first one to file your reports and to take notes during meetings, you can understand why Harumasa likes to nap here.
It’s comfortable. Or maybe it’s Harumasa that makes the place so comfortable. It feels like your own private corner of the world, one where it’s just you and him. Not that you could ever tell him that, of course, or it’ll make him insufferable.
“Yanagi needs us to follow up on the Hollow we investigated this morning,” you say.
“Again? We just got back.”
“The ether readings have changed. They want us to investigate.”
“Hm… but I’m on break…”
“Your break was over half an hour ago.”
“You’re on break!” he protests.
“So? I’ll be reimbursed for it.”
Harumasa groans. “You’re way too serious. You need to learn to take it easy. I’m not feeling well, you know.”
“Is that so? Well, if you want to nap the day away, I can investigate by myself–”
“Wait.” Harumasa’s weight shifts off your shoulder, and now you’re face to face with him again, close enough to see the way his smile slips off his face, the intensity of his liquid gold gaze. “I’ll come with you. Don’t do it by yourself.”
“You don’t think I’m capable, Harumasa?” you try to tease, but his lazy smile doesn’t return.
“You’re capable,” he says quietly. “You’re more than capable. But I want to be there to back you up.” He’s the first to look away, and you feel cheated, even though you don’t know what you would have said in response. “So, let’s get going. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can clock out of work.”
“Of course,” you say, a smidge too quickly. “I’ll need to file reports for Yanagi when we’re done.”
At least the awkwardness of the moment on the rooftop blows over quickly as you prepare for departure. Working with Harumasa feels like being a part of a well-oiled machine, every movement in efficient, coordinated sync, the consequence of a well-established partnership. You fall into a routine as familiar as meetings or paperwork as you prepare to enter the Hollow: checking your weapons, gathering your supplies, escorting your Bangboo guide, and then striding into the Hollow at the designated entry point.
Within the Hollow, you and Harumasa alternate who takes the lead as you follow your Bangboo, slipping through half-hidden pathways and narrow crevices, all the while avoiding lurking Ethereals. There’s little need for words with Harumasa when all you need to do is read the tension of his body, like a bow pulled taut, and simply follow what it tells you. You have your own private language of body gestures, flicks of the hand or turns of the head, refined over years.
It’s not as if you always worked this well together, of course. The first time you were paired together with Harumasa on a mission, both of you were fresh recruits to Section Six. You couldn’t stop arguing with him. His lax manner and sloppy dress infuriated you, but what was worse was how he always delivered results with minimal effort when you never did anything less than your best. In turn, he made fun of you for being a stick-in-the-mud and being unable to relax.
“You’re going to go grey if you keep stressing yourself,” he would tease, looking much too pleased with himself, as if he enjoyed your little spats.
Harumasa touches your elbow lightly, and you’re drawn from your thoughts. “Did something happen?” you murmur. The Hollow stretches before you, twisted metal and broken concrete buildings stitched together with corruption that shimmers like an oil spill, but there’s no sign of anything unusual.
“Nope. I’m just bored,” he says. “We’re not any closer to finding the disturbance Yanagi told us about. We might have to head back soon if we still don’t find anything usual.”
“We haven’t even gone that deep in the Hollow yet,” you say. “We should at least cover all our bases. What, scared of doing overtime?”
“Yes,” he says seriously. “Maybe a workaholic like you wouldn’t get it, but overtime is the public enemy of every government employee out there. So, what were you thinking about?”
“About… the past,” you say, relenting. “And how we used to fight all the time.”
“Oh? Thinking about me?”
“Only about how annoying you used to be.”
“Rude. Is this how you talk about your precious partner?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s too late to find someone else. You’re stuck with me,” Harumasa says cheerfully.
“I never said I would find another partner. You’re the only one I want.” You try to keep your voice casual, just like Harumasa, but something honest creeps in, something a little raw and unfiltered, like light through an unsealed crack.
And maybe he senses it, too, your inability to play the blithe role as well as he does, because he doesn’t jump in right away with another joke. The silence lingers, throwing the rhythm of your banter off-balance.
“The only one, huh…” From the way his hair shades his eyes, you can’t make out his expression or read his tone.
“Harumasa,” you begin, but a sudden beep cuts off your words. You glance at each other, all awkwardness vanishing as Harumasa glances at a device in one of his pockets.
Your Bangboo guide jerks to a sudden stop. This is the end of its automated guidance, as far as its data will take you. The two of you have reached the top floor of what must have once been a tower, a spiderweb of uneven, rusted metal and crumbling walls exposed to the low, grey sky. The floor slopes down to a sharp drop, leading to nothing but open air.
“Ether spike,” Harumasa says. His hand is already drifting to his bow. “But I don’t see anything. Where…”
It happens in a split second. Your body reacts before your mind can, years of training ingraining in you the necessary reflex to spring back as an Ethereal drops down from above, crashing like a meteor where you and Harumasa once stood.
Your daggers are already in hand, and you leap forward as an arrow flies from above, distracting the creature long enough for you to slash along one of its appendages. It roars, and you’re already darting behind it, Harumasa running along its other side.
It’s an Ethereal like none you’ve seen before. A Thanatos? A Duhallan? No, none of the existing classifications match. It’s eerily beautiful, its core pulsing with multi-colored light, corrupted growth framing it like a star, delicate, vine-like appendages darting out momentarily to propel the Ethereal away from your reach. This must be the source of the disturbance Yanagi told you about.
Harumasa calls your name, and on instinct, you fall back as he lunges forward with a dizzying series of slashes with his blades. You’ve faced worse than an unclassified Ethereal of unknown strength. Even if neither of you have expected to engage an enemy, that doesn’t mean you aren’t prepared to.
The battle continues back and forth, a waltz of sharp steel and split-second communication between you and Harumasa as you implement all the maneuvers you learned in training. It seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’re tiring the Ethereal, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time before you find an opening to destroy its core.
And then, Harumasa stumbles. It’s only a brief moment, his body dipping as something like a cough shudders through him before he steadies, but it’s enough time for the Ethereal to lash out several appendages like a bolt of lightning. You’re helpless to do anything but watch as Harumasa flies backwards, his body bent like a doll discarded by a careless child.
Before you can think, you’re running, propelled by some instinct deeper than habit at the sight of your partner on the ground, throwing your daggers with wild precision as the Ethereal howls like a wounded animal. There’s not enough time to do anything except to throw your body in front of Harumasa before the Ethereal lashes out again in a brutal, sweeping arc.
Your body explodes with pain. Then, you’re weightless. The Ethereal has sent you flying, and briefly, it’s like you’re back on the roof, Harumasa leaning against your shoulder, the wind in your face, before you’re tumbling over the edge of the tower.
In the field of your vision, something gold flashes. Harumasa’s headband. It’s all you can see, the afterimage of it burned into your eyes like the sun as everything goes dark.
—
From your earliest memories as a child, you had always been lonely. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to things that reminded you of the sun, searching for anything to give you stability or warmth.
Your story wasn’t particularly unique: your parents were killed in an accident in a Hollow. You were shunted from relative to relative who never knew what to do with you. You clung to academics and books to prove yourself because you had nothing else.
You had a decently high Ether aptitude, so when you got the opportunity to join an elite academy on a scholarship, why wouldn’t you take away your chance to escape away from relatives who never cared for you? At the time, you had been living with one of your mother’s older brothers–what was his name? You’d long since forgotten, and he hadn’t bothered to keep in contact once you left.
Either way, you graduated with honors and a flawless academic record. When Miyabi selected you to join Section Six, despite your lack of experience, you were excited.
“I believe you’ll deliver results,” Miyabi told you simply, that very first day. “That’s why I chose you.”
A flush of pride made your face glow. “I won’t disappoint you!”
It was so nice to be relied on. To find a place that needed you, where you were valued. You were tied to Section Six through more pragmatic things than fragile family ties that easily dissolved.
You did your best, but it was hard when you weren’t the only new member–Asaba Harumasa was assigned to Section Six at the same time as you. From the very start, your work ethics, lifestyles, and attitudes couldn’t be more different.
“Could you try to finish your paperwork on time? When you don’t, it slows the entire process down,” you would tell Harumasa.
“It gets done, though. Does it really matter when I do it?” he would reply.
Frustratingly enough, even then, the two of you did so well on missions together that you were always assigned to be each other’s partner. Maybe his work on the field earned him a little respect in your eyes; it was the one thing you couldn’t really criticize him on. But at the same time, it was infuriating that you had to put so much time and effort into delivering flawless results, and Harumasa always skated by with minimal effort.
One particular fall, the two of you were assigned to a mission to investigate high-level Ethereals in a local Hollow. Soon enough, you and Harumasa were surrounded. As skilled as you were, parrying several different Ethereals meant one could easily slip into your blind spot and strike. Too late, you only noticed when it was already moving, and you could only grit your teeth, bracing for impact–until its limbs met a flash of steel. Harumasa had leapt in front of you, pushing the Ethereal back and giving you enough time to strike its core.
“Harumasa–” you began to say.
“On your left!”
And then you were flung into the heat of battle, with no time to process what just happened until the threats were neutralized.
It was only then you saw the gash running along Harumasa’s arm, blood soaking into his rolled up sleeves. Without a word, you took out your medical kit, and started applying disinfectant. Harumasa didn’t even wince as you dabbed away the blood with cotton balls. You knew, from the location alone, he had got it while protecting you.
“I’m sorry,” you told him, wrapping bandages around the wound. “This is my fault.”
“What are you talking about? I did this on my own.”
“But if I hadn’t been so careless–”
“You’re my partner. I’ll always have your back,” Harumasa said. His tone was as blithe as always, but there was a strange, tenderness underlying it.
His face was coated in dust and drying blood from battle, and yet, his eyes were still a startlingly pure gold, vibrant and warm. When he looked at you, it was like he was seeing you, all of you, warming you like the sun. He didn’t avoid your gaze or look past you, like your relatives had.
After that, you settled into Section Six, not because you were needed, but because you were wanted. Your arguments with Harumasa melted into something softer, something more playful. He was your partner, and you no longer grumbled about taking the same missions as him.
One day, when you were sent to fetch Harumasa for some mission or meeting (a favorite errand of everyone’s to send you on because you had developed an uncanny sense of knowing where he liked to hide), you found him hunched him over in an empty office, knuckles white against a table as he coughed wetly, the force of it shuddering through his entire body.
Harumasa, who had always looked for any excuse to slack off, who slept on the job, who acted like nothing could bother him, looked more vulnerable than you had seen before.
You knew he had a medical condition, but he never talked about it. Even when he did, he always made it seem so trivial. A minor inconvenience, and nothing more.
“You need to go to the infirmary,” you said, rushing over. “Or the doctor. I’ll call someone right now. I’ll–”
“Don’t,” Harumasa rasped. He grabbed your arm with more desperate force than you expected. “It’s fine.”
“You’re–”
“It’ll pass. Just let me… lean on you for a little.” Half-crouched on the ground, he collapsed his weight against you, and you both sank to the floor. You wrapped your arms around him and he leaned his head against your collarbone. You rubbed circles along his back, a meager offering to soothe him until the coughing subsided.
Harumasa’s breathing was shallow, and you wondered if he could hear the racing of your heart, the fear making it pound uncontrollably. His illness was more serious than he had ever let on.
“Are you okay?” you asked quietly.
“I’m fine. It’s just all the pollen and dust, you know,” he said. There’s that familiar carefree, teasing edge to his tone, but it’s strained by his recent coughing.
“You don’t have to joke with me. I’m your partner. If there’s something I can do for you, you can let me know.”
There’s a moment of silence before Harumasa sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “I just don’t want the others to know.”
“I won’t tell them,” you promised.
He took a few more shallow breaths before speaking, voice cheerful, deceptively light and hollow, like a bird’s bone. “I have Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome. It manifests primarily in my heart and lungs, but in exchange, I have high Ether aptitude. It’s the reason my parents… left me, a long time ago. A doctor took me in, but… Well. I was recruited to an academy, graduated, and ended up here. But you know about that part.”
You’ve known Harumasa long enough by now to know that he was only giving you carefully curated bits and pieces of his past. There was something he wasn’t not telling you, but that didn’t change the fact he had decided to place his trust in you, regardless.
You understood what it was like to be left behind, to have nothing but yourself to cling to. Sympathy and pity weren’t what he wanted. No generic condolence could change his past or his fate.
Instead, you drew him closer to you. Harumasa let out a small, strangled gasp as you sheltered him in your arms. “I’ll be here for you, so thank you for trusting me.”
Sometimes, words were cheap. The only response you needed was Harumasa’s arms wrapping around you in return, a tentative promise.
It’s only a few weeks after that, when you were passing by a convenience store on the way home from work, that you saw the origami paper strips lining the shelves at a discounted price and remembered the elementary school pastimes of your classmates.
As a child, you had wanted to make a hundred stars so you could make a wish for your parents to come back. But now, there was something else you wanted: not to make someone come back, but to make someone stay with you.
—
Your body aches. It’s all you’re aware of at first, a throbbing pain, spreading through your body in waves.
Your vision is blurry, the Hollow wavering in front of you like smeared paint, black protrusions and metal platforms blending together, a nightmarish portrait.
You drag your arm in front of your face, flex your fingers slowly until the world stops spinning.
You’re alive. Against all odds, you’re alive, but you have no idea where you are or how much time has passed. You’d probably fallen into a distortion.
With any luck, Harumasa has already left and called for back-up. You could survive in a Hollow longer than most ordinary people could, but you didn’t want to test your limits. For now, you would have to do your best to survive. With agonizingly slow movements, like you’re dragging your body through water, you check your daggers and equipment, and survey the area around you. It’s full of twisted metal structures corrupted with black growth, platforms and stairs jutting from rocky walls, like a building that’s been swallowed by a cliff, with no particularly distinguishing feature.
It then takes even longer to convince your legs to support your weight, and to take a few steps without leaning against the wall.
Something clatters in the distance, heavy limbs dragging on the floor. Ethereals. This part of the Hollow is infested with them, a mutated sea of green and pearlescent black cores, though you’re temporarily sheltered in the area where you fell. As long as you avoid them, you should be fine; you’re no longer in any condition for prolonged combat.
All you can do is slowly drag yourself around, daggers at the ready, sneaking past any Ethereal you see. It’s agonizing work to be so careful, especially when you’re occasionally hit by waves of dizziness and your injuries make your reflexes slow.
Is Harumasa safe? Did he escape? Did he destroy the Ethereal? Or did something worse happen to him? There’s no point thinking like this and driving yourself insane, but your thoughts scatter like a flight of migrating birds, and no matter where they go, they always end up drifting in Harumasa’s direction.
Maybe you can blame Harumasa for distracting you when an Ethereal catches sight of you before you can fully conceal yourself. You can do nothing but mumble curses under your breath as more Ethereals are drawn to the noise and you’re forced to draw your weapon.
It’s harder to fight without Harumasa to cover your back. You’ve gotten too used to having him at your back. Several times, you open your mouth to call his name, but he’s not there to answer. It’s just you, clumsily dodging blows and aiming weak strikes at Ethereals you normally would have been able to dispatch with ease.
You might die here. The thought comes, unbidden. You’re weakened, surrounded, when an Ethereal looms over you. You twist your body around trying to dodge, but your body refuses to move as fast as you need it to as the Ethereal prepares to strike–only to still, stagger a few steps, and then collapse onto the ground, a spray of arrows protruding from its back.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you whip your head up in the direction the arrows came from. It can’t be, but it is. It’s him. Your partner, his mouth set in a grim, furious line as he draws his bow back. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look so angry.
In what feels like no time at all, the remaining Ethereals fall and your body feels light as you fight with renewed energy. Hardly any of them could get near you before Harumasa has shot them down with enough force that their bodies slam into the floor with a shattering crack. As soon as the last threat is neutralized, you’re running to Harumasa, but he’s faster than you.
“Harumasa—” Your words are muffled as Harumasa pulls you into a hug. His fingers dig into your shoulders, his grip tight. There’s something possessive and desperate about his touch, as if he might never hold you again and he has to memorize the shape of your body while he still has the chance.
His skin gleams with sweat, his white shirt sticking to his torso. Has he been running around this whole time, looking for you, without resting? You press your ear to his chest, where his heart rabbits in his chest in a frightened run.
“I thought you died,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
“I…”
“I thought I lost you. And I couldn’t stop until I found your body, and I would have to tell the others that you… because of me, you…”
“Harumasa, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to hear that.”
You tentatively bring your arms around him, and a shudder wracks through his body at your touch. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“Then don’t do something so reckless again! If you die… If you die, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”
“I can’t promise that. You’re my partner. I told you I would have your back. If I see you in trouble, I can’t just run away.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I want you to live,” you murmur. “I want you to live, no matter what.”
“Then you have to live with me.” Harumasa pulls back abruptly, bringing his hands to your cheeks, and pinching.
You attempt to reply, but you can only make a garbled noise of affirmation. It’s hard to talk when Harumasa is pulling your cheeks like taffy, but maybe he isn’t ready to hear your response.
You place your hands over his, and Harumasa stills, your touch a soothing balm. He lets out a breath. “Let’s get out of here. You need to get your injuries looked at.”
For the rest of the time until you leave the Hollow, Harumasa clings persistently to your side, refusing to move a step unless you have as well. You would call his pace leisurely if not for the tense way he holds his body, poised for threats from any direction. You’re half-tempted to ask if he would feel more at ease holding your hand, but you have a feeling he would never let you go again if you did.
Harumasa doesn’t relax even when you’re back at your workplace, where he escorts you directly to the infirmary and paces outside the entire time, causing the nurse’s eyebrows to crease in irritation at the sound of his rapid footsteps.
“I’m fine,” you announce the second you step out of the infirmary. “Okay? The nurse said I had no major injuries, though I’m not supposed to be on the field for a week. And I have to do a few more check-ins.”
It’s only at your words that Harumasa finally relaxes. “This is probably the first sick day you’re going to take,” Harumasa says, but his teasing doesn’t quite match his eyes, which keep roaming your body for stray injuries which the nurse might have missed.
In the office, you’re immediately assailed by Yanagi, Miyabi, and Soukaku, who fuss over your bruises, the bandages peeking under your clothes, and the patches on your face.
“I’m glad you two are okay! I was so worried when I heard what happened. I know you’re capable, but you shouldn’t be so reckless,” Yanagi scolds lightly.
“Take the time to rest and recover completely,” Miyabi says. “Section Six needs you, and we can’t function well if you’re not around.”
“Take these snacks! They’re tasty, and they’ll help you feel better!” Soukaku says earnestly, shoving an armful of packaged chips at you.
It’s been a long time since anyone has worried over you like this. It’s a little embarrassing how everyone’s attention is focused solely on you, and you can’t keep a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Everyone… I promise I’m fine! You don’t have to fuss over me like this.”
“Don’t forget to go back for your checkup,” Yanagi interjects. “All right? I don’t want to see you on the field until you’re cleared. And you, Harumasa! You need to take care of yourself, too.”
“Yanagi is right,” Miyabi says. “Maybe you should get a check-up as well.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harumasa says, holding his hands out placatingly. “My injuries aren’t as bad as theirs. In fact, I’ll be a good partner and take care of them, promise.”
“That’s a first,” you interject, “Since when you were so excited about doing work?”
“I’m only excited when you’re involved,” he says, and you don’t know what to say to that.
The rest of the day passes by pleasantly once Section Six is satisfied that you’re doing well, though they keep making excuses to stop by your desk and leave you drinks from the vending machine or little treats. You fill your time with paperwork and organizing files, and when those are done, crafting paper stars at your desk.
“What are you gonna wish for when you have a hundred stars?” Soukaku says, sprawling across your desk and picking up a strip of paper to fold with clumsy, childish joy.
“I’m actually not going to wish for anything. I’m going to give my wish to someone else.”
“What? You can do that? Then I wanna give wishes to you and Nagi and Miyabi and Harumasa!”
“Thank you, Soukaku.”
“Who’re you going to give your wish to?” Soukaku asks as you hand her more origami paper strips.
“Hm…” You survey the star you’ve just finished folding. “It’s for someone important. It’s a little embarrassing to talk about it out loud, though.”
“Why? I think whoever it is will be happy that you’re thinking about them!”
“Do you think so?”
“Yeah!” Soukaku says. “I would be happy if you gave me a wish!”
“Then should I make you a hundred paper stars, Soukaku?”
“Really? Yay!”
By the end of the work shift, you’ve finally filled your glass jar with the necessary number of stars. You should feel happy, but what you didn’t tell Soukaku is that you wonder if it’s too presumptuous to give this to Harumasa. After all, you still remember what it’s like to be rejected by people who were supposed to love you and take care of you.
You cradle the jar in your hands, the product of all your meticulous work over the past two weeks. It’s heavy with the weight of your feelings and your ridiculous wish.
“Hey, partner.” Harumasa’s sudden voice makes you stiffen and whirl around, keeping the jar hidden behind your back.
“Harumasa.” You take a breath. There’s no point in being embarrassed. “Do you have time right now?”
“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. I was just about to ask you that, too.”
“I assume we’re both free, then. Come over to my place,” you tell him bluntly.
“Your place?”
“Yes.”
Harumasa tilts his head like an inquisitive bird, considering. “Sure, but I didn’t realize you were that excited to see me after work.”
“Oh, don’t get full of yourself.”
The two of you are back to your usual banter, but it’s devoid of its usual lightness. The events from the Hollow still linger over you, and Harumasa sucks in a breath before giving a casual smile. You respond with a roll of your eyes, but it feels wooden, everything unsaid thickening the air like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.
The journey back to your apartment is peaceful. You take the train, watching the familiar strips of buildings and city lights streaking past, soft smudges against the glowing sun, sinking like a pat of butter in a red, syrupy sky.
You live in a relatively nice building, the salary from your job affording you a lobby as well as a doorman and a fast elevator. At your apartment door, you fumble with your keys, fingers heavy and clumsy as you’re aware of Harumasa’s presence behind you, waiting.
The door clicks open and you step into your apartment, a one bedroom, one bathroom affair with sturdy, comfortable furniture, books and knick-knacks lining the shelves of the joint living room and kitchen. More books are stacked precariously on the single table you use for both work and meals, situated in the center.
You slip off your shoes and into your house slippers, offering a pair to Harumasa, who after putting them on promptly walks over to one of the shelves in the living room and pokes at a little Bangboo statue. There’s a whole forest of them lining the shelf, all in different outfits and poses.
“I didn’t realize you were such a fan. Hey, do you get the public security ones to help you cross the street?”
“Don’t touch it. It’s a collectible and I’m trying to get the last one in the series,” you say crisply. “And of course I do. It makes the ones patrolling the streets happy to help.”
“Wait, really?”
“They’re adorable, Harumasa. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“It’s not a bad thing! I just think you have a surprisingly cute side, that’s all.”
“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your face schooled in a neutral expression, before gesturing to the table in the living room. “Take a seat. I’ll make some tea.”
You brew a pot of bitter green tea, taking out a plate of crumbly packaged cookies to snack on. They’re the least sweet snack you have in the house which Harumasa would be happy to eat.
For a few minutes, there’s only the clink of your cups and the crunch of cookies, a pleasant way to spend your time after work. Neither of you talk, the food giving you an excuse not to. It’s ridiculous how such a small gift could make you feel so nervous. You need to do it now. Otherwise, what would the point be of inviting him over?
You run your finger along the rim of your teacup, pressing hard enough to feel the edge of smooth porcelain dig into skin. “There’s something I want to give to you.”
“A present? For me?”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy,” you say, before standing to retrieve the jar of stars, which you had shoved into your work bag.
You hold it behind your back until you’re in front of Harumasa, at which point you place the jar on the table and slide it over to him.
A hundred stars for one wish. You explain the story to him as Harumasa cups his hands around the jar, peering intently as if he could see the hours you spent painstakingly crafting each individual star.
“I know it’s a little silly,” you say quietly. “But I want whatever you wish for to come true, no matter what.”
Harumasa’s eyes when he looks at you are just like stars, warm, bright gold, that you would trust to guide you no matter what path you tread.
“I want you to be happy,” you say, the words falling from your mouth like a wish of your own.
“Happy, huh?” Harumasa closes his eyes briefly, stars winking out of existence.
“I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous. You don’t have take this gift if you don’t want–”
“Whoa! This is mine now. You can’t have it back now that you’ve given it to me. It’s just… there are some things about my illness I haven’t told you.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you say.
“I want to tell you, though. People with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome don’t typically live long lives. The illness is terminal. The oldest-recorded person lived only to be 26.” Harumasa says it matter-of-factly, the numbers rolling out of him like he’s simply reciting information from a medical brochure. “In late stages, the body breaks down. And if someone with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome is in a Hollow when their body breaks down, then they’ll turn into an Ethereal.”
This is the knowledge Harumasa has been carrying with him all this time and hiding from everyone in Section Six. It must have weighed him down like stones, knowing that if things take a turn for the worse in a mission within the Hollow, he’ll become one of the monsters you and Section Six have to put down. How long has he carried this by himself?
No matter how you try to hide your feelings, Harumasa knows how to read you just as much as you know how to read him, because he raises a hand and lazily waves it through the air. “Don’t look so worried. It doesn’t bother me that much.”
“I’m your partner. Of course I’m going to be worried about you,” you say quietly. “I told you, didn’t I? I want you to be happy.”
Harumasa gazes down at the table, away from you and the jar of stars in front of him. “You are, huh? Can I trust you with something else, then?”
“What is it?”
“If anything happens to me,” he says, “and I turn into an Ethereal, you have to promise that you’ll kill me.”
There’s no other answer for you, not when he looks at you like that. “I promise. I won’t let anyone else do it.”
“Then I’m all yours, partner.”
“But…” You reach for Harumasa’s hand across the table, slowly and reverentially sliding your fingers under his, feeling the press of each callous on his slender fingers. These beautiful hands, which you have saved and which have saved you again and again. “I gave you a wish, you know? So you can have anything you want.”
“Eh? Didn’t I tell you what I wanted?”
“It doesn’t count,” you persist. “If it helps, I’ll tell you what I want.”
“All right, what is it?”
“I want you to live forever.”
“That’s way too long,” Harumasa protests.
“Then live for a hundred years at the very least,” you say. “I wanted you to be happy for a long, long time. I made you a hundred stars, so each star is worth one year of happiness.”
It’s ridiculous, you know. It’s not pragmatic at all. And maybe it’s cruel, too, to ask Harumasa something like this. But if he’s going to be selfish, then you’re going to be just as selfish.
“A hundred years? Then you need to live that long, too.” Harumasa shifts his hand and hooks your pinky lightly with his own. “It’s not fair if I have to live that long without you. That’s going to be my wish.”
“Then I’ll make it come true,” you say. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re partners. Where you go, I’ll go.”
In the window across from you, ink-blue shadows flood the world. The sun had set while the two of you were talking, and the city lights wink like scattered gemstones across dark velvet.
“If you talk like that, then I’m not going to want to leave,” he says quietly. “You make me want to act selfishly.”
“Then act selfishly. I’ll forgive you.”
He lets out a sigh, squeezing your pinky. “You’re not fair at all.”
“Good,” you say archly. “Stay the night, Harumasa.”
Harumasa stills at your words, and you can feel the faint tremor of his hand. “I have nightmares. It’s not going to be a good time for you.”
“That’s all right,” you say. “I’ll take care of you.”
It’s easy having Harumasa in your apartment, where he fits seamlessly into your normal routine, the same way he does at work. You lend him towels, and baggy pajamas, and then the two of you take turns using the bathroom. You order cheap takeout from a local restaurant, which you eat in front of the glow of your television, watching the news. As you wash up the dishes, Harumasa perches on the counter, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes or smile.
Harumasa, framed in the soft glow of kitchen lights like a halo behind him, hair askew, wrinkling his borrowed clothes, makes your heart ache. It would be nice to have him around like this, all the time. You’ve forgotten the warmth of having someone in your home until now.
You should bring out the futon you keep for guests, but you don’t mention it, and Harumasa doesn’t ask. So he follows you to your bedroom, knees bumping against the side of the metal frame as you pull out an extra pillow for him.
Harumasa dutifully takes out his rows of medicine, orange bottles lined up your nightstand, brightly colored pills falling down his throat with each sip of water from the glass you’ve brought him. He folds his golden headband neatly next to the bottles, and finally places the jar of stars to stand guard over everything. It makes you feel ticklish that he wants to keep your gift so close.
Your bed is too small for two people, but neither of you complain as your legs tangle together, Harumasa resting his forehead against yours. In the dark, you grope for his hand, entangling your fingers with his, where they belong.
“Good night, partner,” he whispers. He’s so close his breath tickles your face.
“Good night.”
“It’s too late to turn back now,” he murmurs, but you can’t tell if he’s saying it to you or himself.
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” you say, tracing nonsensical letters on his back with the fingertips of your free hand, a message he can’t read.
“I know. I guess we’re stuck together.”
“I told you. We’re partners. I’m yours forever,” you say.
Harumasa squeezes your hand. “And I’m yours, so let’s take good care of each other.”
If you strain your head, you can see a faint strip of moonlight from your parted curtains illuminating your nightstand where a hundred paper stars glow. Like a promise, a wish, of a hundred years of happiness.