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1.
It starts, at first, with a sneeze.
“You alright?” Chihiro asks, handing Hakuri a tissue, who nods and takes it gratefully.
“Yeah, thank you,” Hakuri sniffles, wiping his nose before promptly sneezing into it again.
Chihiro blinks, watching him carefully. “Do you have allergies, Hakuri?”
With his head buried into the tissue, Hakuri shakes his head. “Not that I know of…”
That’s reassuring, but Chihiro’s still worried. It’s been a few days since the Rakuzaichi, and though home recovery seems to be going well, Chihiro can’t help his anxiety over the wellbeing of his first friend. It’s only natural for him to look out for his health, after all.
“Either way, you should be careful,” Chihiro urges, feeling the need to check over Hakuri once again. He’s still got some stitches, however few, and sneezing so violently could possibly tear them, right? He wouldn’t want to disrupt his healing injuries.
“R-Right,” Hakuri says, scrunching up the tissue and putting it in the bin nearby. “Thanks, Chihiro!”
“Any time, Hakuri,” Chihiro says, tasting Hakuri’s name on his tongue— then, briefly, wondering how Hakuri’s skin would taste on it, too. Looking at Hakuri now, who’s ditched the turtleneck for a simple collared shirt, Chihiro’s able to see the nape of his neck peeking out from underneath, and only with the strongest self-control he can muster can he bring himself to look away.
The pretty boy, with his blue eyes glimmering brightly in the early morning sun, notices Chihiro’s gaze and looks away, red dusting his cheeks.
Chihiro’s a little confused, watching Hakuri as he reaches for his glass of water over the bench. “Are you okay?”
Hakuri jumps, fingers on the glass slipping a bit; it’s a miracle he doesn’t drop it. “Y-Yes? Why’s that?”
Hakuri avoids eye contact, bringing the glass to his lips. Chihiro, mystified, stares as he tilts it, wetting his lips, then pouring the liquid down his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks nearly half of it in a single go.
For the first time in a while, Chihiro is speechless.
There’s nothing– there’s nothing weird about it, per say, but Chihiro’s finding himself with a sudden spike in blood pressure accompanied strange dizziness at the sight. The excess saliva in his mouth and the shaking hands are not important to note, he believes.
Hakuri lowers the glass, and– noticing that Chihiro’s been staring– looks at him funny, a drop of water falling from his glossy, pink lips. “Is there… something on my face?”
Chihiro feels his ears burn, and he looks away. “N-No, not at all. Sorry.”
A message buzzes through to his phone, and Chihiro takes the opportunity to stand up, not even checking it. He already knows he’s got a few jobs today. “I’ll be heading out for a bit. Call me if you need me.”
“Oh! Okay, take care.” Hakuri says brightly, the red on his cheeks not yet faded, “I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
Chihiro nods, ignoring the slight increase in his heart rate as he pulls on his coat and slides his keys off the table, the tiny bunny charm so lovingly gifted by Char muffling the sound of the jangling. “I’ll see you later.”
Hakuri grins. “See you when you get back!”
The mission he’d been out on had taken a little longer than anticipated, and Chihiro’s already a little worried about Hakuri at home by himself by the time he wraps up at around ten in the morning.
It’s not terrible timing, considering he left Shiba’s apartment at six, but four hours with no-one home has him a little worried. Allegedly, Shiba and Char aren’t due to arrive home for another thirty minutes, after all, and Hakuri is a little too accident-prone for Chihiro’s liking.
He takes the stairs up to their apartment and wonders how he’s doing. Is he bored? Has he cooked something? He hopes not. Last time Hakuri cooked, it turned out quite horrific. Hakuri’s quite proficient at baking, but cooking… not so much.
Chihiro unlocks the door and steps back into the apartment to find it dead quiet. He knows Char and Shiba have gone out shopping for who knows what— at the young girl’s insistence last night and Shiba’s reluctant agreement, it was a plan decided upon in seconds.
But Hakuri, while recovering, always seems to be milling about the house. Sometimes the boy will mutter to himself, carrying various objects back and forth in his attempt at following the directions of Char’s Fun DIY Book that seems to have awakened his inner child. Other times, he bakes, and Chihiro comes home to delicately-made desserts that only someone who hid in a kitchen of a master patisserie could hope to replicate.
“Hakuri?” Chihiro calls into the apartment, but no-one replies. The lights are still on and the lock wasn’t tampered with, so Hakuri must be somewhere. Maybe he can’t hear him.
Chihiro slips off his shoes and steps inside, looking around confusedly at the empty living room. “Hakuri, are you there?”
No reply again. Is he asleep?
His eyes flick to the side, and he notices that the lights in their shared bedroom are still on. Chihiro raises an eyebrow, and trots over to peek inside.
Next to their bed, Chihiro finds Hakuri sleeping rather comfortably over an enormous laundry pile.
Was he really that tired? Chihiro shakes his head with a little smile, shuffling over to wake his friend up. He kneels beside him, amused at how Hakuri hugs the little pile with both pairs of limbs, his head planted comfortably on top as he snoozes away with soft little snores.
“Hakuri,” Chihiro says quietly, shaking the boy’s shoulder, “Hakuri, wake up.”
Hakuri groans, burying his head into the clothes as he weakly shakes his head. He says something, too, but it’s entirely muffled by the laundry and Chihiro knows he would have no hope of deciphering it even if he tried his very best.
“C’mon, Hakuri,” Chihiro nudges him again, “I’ll make us some tea, soon.”
Hakuri pulls himself up with a little whine, and Chihiro’s instantly on high alert.
“Hakuri? Is something wrong?” He asks, a little frantically, as the boy blearily blinks his eyes open, his face red and flushed. His body sways a little as he looks up Chihiro with half-lidded eyes.
“Ch…Chihiro?” Hakuri yawns, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, “You’re back early.”
Chihiro frowns. “I’m a little late, actually…”
Hakuri nods, and Chihiro knows immediately that he’s not listening at all. He reaches down to feel Hakuri’s forehead, and his eyes widen as he registers just how warm it is. Hakuri, the poor thing, seems to have a pretty bad fever– and Chihiro is suddenly hit with a wave of panic.
“Hakuri, Hakuri?” Chihiro asks, feeling a little desperate, “You need to stay awake, okay? Just for a bit.”
“Mmm… don’ wanna…” Hakuri sleepily replies, rubbing his eyes to very little effect, and Chihiro’s heart melts a little.
Sue him– the sight is adorable, and very reassuring. Hakuri is okay, at the very least, and that does an embarrassing amount to soothe Chihiro’s panic.
So, with his thoughts in a calm, working order, Chihiro looks at the sleepy, feverish Hakuri, and considers what to do. It’s almost immediately that he agrees he needs to get the boy onto a more comfortable surface than abandoned chores.
Though Chihiro knows he could carry Hakuri’s weight, he’s also terrified of accidentally triggering one of his more sensitive injuries– so waking Hakuri up to get into bed is definitely the better option.
But Hakuri doesn’t seem to be all that interested in waking up past half-lucidity, and Chihiro’s unfortunately forced to haul the boy to his feet by tugging under his arms. Then, with as much care and gentle strength he can muster, he leads Hakuri backwards, and it’s only a few paces before his friend’s knees hit the back of the bed and he plops down onto the mattress like a ragdoll.
Chihiro holds Hakuri’s shoulders as the boy’s eyes flick open and closed again, attempting to stay vaguely conscious, but it seems to be a losing battle. He opens his mouth to mutter something, but the speech that comes out is slurred– the product of sleep-talking, no doubt.
“Jeez, Hakuri, you should have said something,” Chihiro sighs, moving the sheets so that the boy can lay down comfortably, gently lowering his head onto the pillow. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this.”
Out of all people, Chihiro knows what it means to push yourself beyond your limits, and to suffer the consequences of it. Before his encounter with Sojo, something that seems so long ago now, Chihiro had a nasty tendency of running off by himself and working until exhaustion.
He remembers quite strongly the memories of waking up on Shiba’s shoulder, or even in his arms, as he brought Chihiro to safety. He remembers being scolded by Shiba until Chihiro got the message in the form of Char’s recapture, when his father’s insistence on acting rational even in the most dire situations finally clicked and he realised how silly he’d been.
Hakuri is a total mirror of him, in that respect. So reckless, so willing to get hurt just to see others safe– but unlike him in his kindness, in his attitude that seems to charm everyone around him. Chihiro hates seeing him unwell like this, but he can’t deny he’s grateful to see his friend has retained his adorable attitude even through illness.
“Chihiro…” Hakuri mumbles sleepily, reaching out a lazy hand, “‘m glad you’re back.”
Chihiro huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head, and tucks the blankets over his friend, smoothing them down carefully. He takes Hakuri’s outstretched hand and places it down on the covers, Hakuri barely conscious enough to obey.
“You should get some rest, Hakuri,” Chihiro soothes, and his voice seems to work on his friend like magic.
Finally settled, Hakuri’s eyes close, and he seems to quickly return to that fever-induced sleep that had kept its hold on him before Chihiro arrived. He’s unconscious, that’s certain, but his rest seems to be hardly comfortable.
Worried, Chihiro leans over Hakuri, watching him sleep off his fever, and realises this is the first time he’s seen the boy look so troubled. Of course, when they first met, Hakuri was quite the character and was certainly in a pinch, but so far, Chihiro hasn’t seen him make an expression like this before.
His face is all scrunched up, his breaths uneven, and if Chihiro had to wager a guess, he’d assume the boy was having something nearing a nightmare.
He remembers, then, that back when he was a child there was a ‘special’ methodology employed by his father to banish his occasional night-terrors adn help him fall back asleep after a nightmare. Chihiro wonders if that same technique might work on Hakuri to soothe his fever-induced fears and allow him a more peaceful rest.
With nothing left to lose, Chihiro uses a hand to brush Hakuri’s hair away from his forehead, and gently, so as not to wake him, closes his eyes and plants a tiny kiss in between his friend’s brows.
It hurts a little, considering Hakuri a friend. A greedy part of him wants to be a little more than that, wants to the person that Hakuri lets down all his barriers with and considers his soulmate. That’s just Chihiro’s wishful thinking, though.
By the time he’s pulled away, Hakuri seems to have been pacified, his breaths gradually slowing to an easier pace and his face relaxing.
Chihiro’s eyes soften, and he leans back onto the chair beside Hakuri’s bed.
His gaze, however, is unable to leave the hand that had sneakily escaped the covers earlier, one that looks so very lonely by itself, weak fingers twitching as if to coax Chihiro over.
It’s nobody’s business, Chihiro thinks, if he intertwines his fingers with Hakuri’s. Who are they to judge, anyway? Chihiro’s doing this purely out of concern for his friend.
It’s just for a little while, anyway. Just until Hakuri feels better.
Just for a bit.
2.
The next time Hakuri wakes up, he’s in bed.
He reaches weakly over for Chihiro, who should be there if they’ve gone to bed for the night, but his hand strangely falls flat on the pillow, indicating his friend’s absence.
“Chihiro?” He rasps, and it’s then he realises how dry his throat is and how awful he feels. His body feels like it’s far too hot, but his fingertips are icy. His limbs are like lead, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so lethargic.
“Not Chihiro, buddy, just plain ol’ Shiba,” a familiar voice says, and Hakuri looks up to find Shiba sitting on a chair beside the bed, tapping away at his phone as a glass of cold water and rather coarsely-chopped apples sit on the table beside him.
“S-Shiba-san?” Hakuri says weakly, trying to re-orient himself as best he can while the man watches him with a concerned expression, “I-I’m sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep…”
“No stress, kiddo.” Shiba says, waving a hand, “Chihiro found you conked out over the laundry, and you were pretty out of it when he put you to bed.”
Hakuri nods, his brain processing info at half its normal pace. He does remember trying to do a bit of housework while in his unofficial house arrest and feeling rather under the weather, but he doesn’t remember any of that.
He’s not all that sick, though. He can still help.
“Sorry, Shiba-san,” Hakuri apologises, making a move to get out of bed, but Shiba holds up a disapproving hand.
“No need to apologise,” Shiba says, taking out a thermometer from somewhere that Hakuri didn’t quite see, “I’m just gonna take your temperature, because if you’ve caught something like the flu, we don’t want you dying on us, you know?”
“N-No, I’m fine—”
“Ha–ku–ri,” Shiba chides, waggling a finger as he exaggerates the syllables of his name, like a parent scolding a cheeky child, “I’m doing this to keep you nice and healthy, alright? If you’re not running a fever, I’ll let you stay out of bed.” The way Shiba says it has Hakuri doubting immensely that he’s going to make it out of bed. The man seems very confident in his judgement of Hakuri’s wellbeing, so much so that it looks like he’s already brought medicines and other suppiles with him.
“Alright, open wide,” Shiba hums, and Hakuri begrudgingly opens mouth. He doesn’t need this kind of pampering, really. He’s not sick because when he is sick, Soya always seems to know, and Hakuri knows very well the sorts of remedies that his brother likes to—
He forces himself to cut off that train of thought. Soya isn’t here anymore, and Hakuri knows that at the very least, Chihiro isn’t interested in making him hurt. Shiba probably wouldn’t be, either.
Definitely wouldn’t be, Hakuri corrects himself.
So, still a little apprehensive but trying his best to be good, Hakuri lets Shiba stick a thermometer under his tongue, and there’s a strange silence that follows as they wait for the measurement.
Hakuri can’t talk, obviously, and he’s far too occupied with the feeling of metal under his tongue as he exerts all his efforts in keeping himself upright, his eyes occasionally fluttering shut a few times before Shiba mutters something to snap him awake again.
“Just hang in there, kiddo. Almost done.”
As if on cue, the thermometer beeps, and Hakuri parts his lips so Shiba can take it out, taking the mouth-end into a tissue and bringing it close so he’s able to view the little screen.
A little hiss tells Hakuri just how bad it is before Shiba even says anything.
“Thirty-eight point one degrees, Hakuri,” Shiba says worriedly, “You feeling alright?”
Hakuri feels… Well, he’s certainly feeling every goosebump on his skin, and it’s not pleasant at all. He wants something to drink.
He wants to go back to sleep, but instead he says, “Yeah, I’m… alright.”
Shiba’s expression drops. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m— I’m doing okay, really,” Hakuri lies, shaking his head, “I just need to sleep it off, I think…” he yawns, covering his mouth with his hand, and it's at that moment Shiba rolls his eyes.
“Alright, time for your meds,” He says, reaching down into a bag he’d brought with him— Hakuri didn’t even notice it, actually, but the rustling of it is grating on his ears. He winces, shuffling to get a little more comfortable in a sitting position as the man pulls out a handful of small boxes, each with colourful labels with brands he only vaguely recognises.
They’re tablets, Hakuri realises, watching as Shiba runs a nail over the tape of the first box to slice it open, the foil packets crinkling inside as he pulls out a sheet.
“Chihiro said you didn’t have allergies, so I just got the regular brand ones. Put your hand out.”
Hakuri does as he’s told, but is hesitant. He knows he should probably tell Shiba that he has problems with medicine, but the man is already breaking the pills out of their foil seals and into Hakuri’s outstretched palm…
“U-Um, Shiba-san…”
Shiba gives him a careful look, “You’re taking medicine, Hakuri, no matter how much you say you don’t need it.”
Hakuri feels his cheeks heat up as the hand with the tablets in it begins to feel a little sweatier. “It’s not that, really…”
Shiba pauses, his hands falling to rest in his lap. He leans in closer, his eyes clearly conveying his worry despite him wearing a mask over his face. “Are there allergies I need to worry about? You’ve had these medicines before, right?”
“Yes, but…” Hakuri trails off, embarrassed. Of course, he hasn’t had these medicines since he was younger than twelve, but he does remember the one problem he’s always had with tablets and capsules, a problem which only really got worse with Soya.
“…I can’t take tablets,” He admits sheepishly, his ears burning with shame. “I just… can’t.”
Shiba sits there for a moment, and Hakuri can clearly see the gears turning in his head as he considers their next move. If Hakuri can’t take medicine, then his recovery will be twice as slow, and he’ll be more of a nuisance for everyone…
“Hey, hey, relax,” Shiba soothes, and Hakuri hadn’t even noticed his breaths start to pick up until Shiba made him aware, “Gimme the tablets. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Hakuri obediently tips the pills in his hand into Shiba’s own, and he takes them with a little nod and another promise to be back soon, “So you’d better not fall asleep.”
Hakuri watches him leave, watches how he quietly closes the door behind him so as not to hurt Hakuri’s sensitive ears. His quiet footsteps don’t go unnoticed either— for someone who is quite large, Shiba seems to have the nimbleness of a man far smaller than himself.
While Hakuri waits, he sits and thinks about the last time he was sick like this. It was… only a few months ago, now that he recalls it, at the start of autumn when he caught a cold. It wasn’t that bad, really, but Soya trying to feed him pills to make him ‘get better’ whilst beating him black and blue really didn’t help, and he ended up developing a nasty fever after the attempted poisoning.
But this time, his body has simply collapsed all on its own. Maybe it’s from the stress-shock of moving out of home to here, a place where Hakuri doesn’t ever get hit, nor is he ignored or starved. Here, Hakuri feels safe, and that’s quite the large jump from what he’s used to experiencing while he’s unwell.
”Thanks for waiting, Hakuri-kun,” Shiba says, and Hakuri snaps out of his thoughts to find the man once again at his bedside, a spoonful of something that looks like jam with crushed chalk in it–
Oh.
“I used to do this with Chihiro when he was little,” Shiba chuckles softly, “The bitterness doesn’t really go away, but I can assure you a five-year-old had no trouble choking this down, so– ah, Hakuri?”
Hakuri doesn’t know when he started crying, but his cheeks are already damp with tears.
He can’t remember the last time someone has been so accommodating. It feels strange, knowing that someone’s had to go out of their way just to make him feel better, but at the same time, there’s a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest that isn’t from the congestion.
“S-Sorry, Shiba-san,” Hakuri sniffles, bringing his sleeve up to dab at his eyes, “I’m just a little– um, just a little tired, yeah. Sorry.”
Shiba gives him a soft sort of smile. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” He says soothingly, “Your fever is pretty nasty, after all. Here.” He holds out the crushed-tablet-and-jam laden spoon out to Hakuri, who takes it with a trembling hand.
“Take it easy, Hakuri,” Shiba says, as Hakuri eyes the spoon warily. “I know it’ll be a little bitter, but–”
Hakuri takes it into his mouth all in one go, shoving the spoon inside and licking it clean before he can think better of it.
His face scrunches and tears come to his eyes at the bitterness, but the texture makes the mixture easy to swallow, so he bears it for the sake of himself. Shiba has given him medicine, real medicine, after all, and the last thing he wants to do is waste it.
“Woah, that was quick,” Shiba says, impressed, as Hakuri hands him back the spoon with a grateful nod. “Sorry it was so bitter. I’ve got something for that, hold on…”
Hakuri swallows the last bits of sticky jam and bitter medicine as Shiba hands him a small bottle of warm, sweet tea. Hakuri does recognise the brand, and he can’t help the little smile that comes onto his face as he registers it as the first drink Chihiro bought him outside of the hospital— honey lemon tea, from the station’s convenience store. He remembers really liking it, but he didn’t expect to see it again so soon.
“Chihiro recommended this to me before he left on his other assignment,” Shiba says, as if reading Hakuri’s thoughts, “A bit of sugar and warm tea will be good for you. Drink up.”
So Chihiro remembered, huh? Hakuri feels a little giddy at the thought.
Hakuri bows as best as he can while sitting down, “Thank you so much, Shiba-san,” He says, incredibly grateful as he cracks open the bottle, “This is very kind of you.”
Shiba scoffs, giving Hakuri’s hair a quick ruffle. “Nonsense, kiddo. You’re sick. I’m not going to leave you to just brave it out on your own. Don’t tell me that’s what you usually do.”
The following silence is quite awkward as Hakuri obeys Shiba’s request, and Shiba’s face pales in realisation. “Oh, buddy,” Shiba says, wincing, “I’m so sorry.”
The bottle of tea that Hakuri had put to his lips stills as he frowns in confusion, giving Shiba an uncertain look. “For what?” He asks, “It wasn’t your fault.”
The blonde man blinks, “N-No, it wasn’t, but no kid should have to go through a childhood like yours, Hakuri,” He says, floundering, “You deserved better, and just between you and me;” He leans in conspiratorially, “I’m glad that you got yourself out of there, if that’s any consolation. You should be proud.”
That’s a viewpoint Hakuri hadn’t really considered. In that moment, in the basement of the Rakuzaichi’s auction house, he had no other thoughts aside from how badly he wanted Soya gone. He wanted him suffering, wanted him bleeding and wanted him dead, away from him where he could never be touched by him again. It’s only really hitting now, over a week later, that he’s finally free. And that he freed himself.
Chihiro was an invaluable help, sure. That woman, too… and the Kamunabi lady, also. All of them helped, and Hakuri is so grateful to them. But killing Soya with his own hands was something that liberated a very vital part of himself from his brother’s clutches, and being told that that is something to take pride in makes him feel, suddenly, quite warm and fuzzy inside— and it’s not because of the illness.
“Thank you, Shiba-san,” Hakuri says, feeling his cheeks heat up, “It— That means a lot.”
Shiba smiles. “But of course, kiddo. You’re a good kid who’s worked hard, and now’s the time for rest. I’ve left some apples here—” He points to the rather mushy-looking fruit, “—so feel free to dig in while I go and clean up the kitchen before Hinao arrives. She says she’s going to cook today, so be excited, hey?”
Hakuri tries for a laugh, but it’s clearly made a little damp by the roughness of his voice. “I’m looking forward to it.” He says, “But what time is Chihiro getting back?”
Shiba shrugs. “Depends. It’s just a little bit of extra work from the Kamunabi, so don’t get too worked up about him. I doubt he’ll be back before dark, so make sure to get some rest, alright? Don’t stay up waiting for him.”
Hakuri closes his hands tightly around the bottle of tea in his hands. “I won’t,” He promises, “But thank you, Shiba-san, again. I really do appreicate it.”
“Aw, kiddo,” Shiba grins, picking up the bag of medicines as he gets up from his chair, “You’re a good one. I’m glad Chihiro picked you.”
Whatever Shiba means by that statement Hakuri doesn’t know— but, like he’s learned to with everything else he doesn’t understand, he takes it in stride and nods as Shiba shuffles out of the room, giving Hakuri a small wink as he closes the door quietly behind himself.
Now, how to get rid of those rather unappetising looking apples…
3.
When Hinao gets the message that Hakuri’s fallen ill, her first step is to immediately close the cafe and dart for her phone, wallet, and keys.
Poor Hakuri, catching a fever! A quick message to Shiba did inform her that he had already gotten medicines for Hakuri, but had thought nothing of lunch– and for goodness’ sake, the clock had already struck eleven! Char’s over there too, she knows, and Shiba’s not even going to feed her?!
Though, Hinao has to admit: Shiba’s not exactly a textbook example of self-care nor other-people-care. He can be just as reckless– no, far more reckless than Chihiro when it comes to his life. It’s just that he shows it in his dependence on alcohol and cigarettes.
She can’t fault a war veteran for falling to coping mechanisms, but still…
Before she heads over to Shiba’s out-of-town apartment, she makes her first stop at the supermarket to grab some things for the little family. A few drinks, a handful of cooking ingredients, and a little treat for the two kids. Her hand does hover over one for Chihiro, too, but she’s suddenly reminded he dislikes sweets and promptly gives up on any endeavour to try and win him over with sugar.
Checking out is short, the walk to the train station is a little less so, and before long Hinao’s standing in the elevator of Shiba’s apartment complex as it grumbles its way to the fifth floor. She yawns, wondering what mission Chihiro’s got today– unfortunately, the Kamunabi is scarce with their leaks, and Azami wasn’t particularly chatty last night.
“I have arrived!” Hinao declares, kicking in the door to Shiba’s apartment and having two sets of eyes immeditately swiveling around to meet with hers.
It’s completely silent as Hinao takes in the sight of gun-for-hire, secret war-criminal extraordinaire sitting quite comfortably at the table as the last child of the Kyonagi clan attempts to clip brightly-coloured barettes into his hair.
Shiba hits her with a smile, light and breezy, and she shudders.
“It’s good to see you, Hinao,” Shiba greets as she adjusts her groceries from hand to hand, slipping her shoes off to step into the apartment with a satisfied smile.
“Yup! It has been a while, Nee-chan!” Char nods sagely, tugging a little too tightly on a pin and making Shiba’s eye twitch, “I have been most miserable without you in this household.”
Hinao offers a smile as she wonders where the hell the kid keeps picking up such bizarre language. It’s not her, because as crypitcally as she might speak, her dialect says nothing of ‘Shakespeare cast member who got separated from their troupe’ that Char so strangely favours. It’s not Shiba’s influence, either, or Char would have been speaking some terrible Kansai-ben by now, and having just the one speaker of it is more than enough.
So that leaves two either culprits, doesn’t it?
But, as Hinao makes her way into the kitchen to plant her shopping on the bench, she notices a very obvious lack of lovebird-activity in the living room.
As if noticing her scanning the apartment for them, Shiba jerks a thumb towards one of the bedrooms with a little sigh. “He’s spending all his time in there with him, the idiot.”
“He’s gonna get sick!” Char agrees, shaking her head, “Young people these days…”
Hinao chokes. “You– Hey! You can’t say that, Char!” She exclaims, shaking her head in amusement, “But also, I thought Chihiro had work today again?” She hums, pulling out her goods from the store and placing them on the bench– so long as Shiba has rice, which he certainly will have, Hinao will be able to make a nice, warm meal for the poor Hakuri.
“In ten minutes, yes,” Shiba sighs, shaking his head and earning himself a disgruntled click of the tongue from Char, who straightens his head and begins tying knots into it again, “I told him he should leave early, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested. He’s going to miss lunch!”
Hinao sighs fondly. “Guess you can’t help them, can you?” She says, turning around to dig out the rice cooker from where she remembers it being stored last, “The kids have been through a lot. It’s only natural they’d get attached like that.”
Shiba grumbles something that sounds awfully like, “Yeah, attaching, huh?” To which Hinao dutifully ignores. It’s not her place to say whether Chihiro and Hakuri are getting– or have gotten, rather– ‘too close’, because, well. There could be worse circumstances, and at their age, Hinao could barely say she was any better.
“Shiba-kun, you got any rice?” Hinao says, digging through the pantry, “I can’t find it!”
“Bottom shelf, left-hand-side at the back,” He calls back, and there’s another upset grumble from Char that Hinao tries her best not to laugh at. She moves a few empty containers around before landing on the massive tub of rice, conveniently labeled ‘rice’ that Hinao knows was not Chihiro’s doing.
“Mister Shiba, hold still!”
“Agh–! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Hinao snickers as she prepares the rice, rolling her eyes at the sounds of their antics that fill the room with a domestic warmth she’s missed so dearly ever since leaving home. Cooking for the people she loves, being around them as they do their ordinary things… it’s quite a soothing feeling.
At some point, Chihiro leaves, giving her a few short words before hurrying out of the apartment. Hinao just hopes that worry that she spotted on his face doesn’t interfere with his work.
After bidding him good luck, Hinao returns to letting her mind drift around aimlessly, centered on the intel she’s received from work over the past few days as she sets about preparing the– admittedly few– ingredients for Hakuri and everyone else’s meals.
Then, slowly, the creak of a door comes from across the apartment, and Hinao looks up from where she’s got her chives lined up on the chopping board to see Hakuri rubbing his eyes as he stands in the doorway. His skin is paler than a ghost’s, yet his forehead and palms are red as he waves an exhausted greeting.
“Hakuri-nii!” Char exclaims, her fingers still buried in Shiba’s hair, “Good afternoon!”
Hakuri nods, the mask on his face a little crooked and hiding his smile, but the glitter in his eyes is still as bright as ever, “Wh-what time is it?” He asks, and Hinao looks at him pityingly.
“It’s just turned half-one,” She says picking up her knife and beginning to work, “You must be exhausted.”
Hakuri gives a vague gesture, taking a seat on the couch and distancing himself quite far away, which absolutely won’t do if Hinao has anything to say about it. He’s masked and his voice is weak– bringing him a little closer won’t hurt, she’s sure of it. Besides, Char and Shiba can eat at the table– Hakuri’s more than welcome to eat on the other side of the kitchen bench.
“Come on, you,” Hinao rolls her eyes, gesturing for Hakuri to come over and take a seat in front of her, “Wash your hands and have a seat. I’ll keep the cooked food away from you, so you don’t need to worry.”
Hakuri hesitates for a moment, but then Hinao starts preparing him a glass of some of the cold tea she bought earlier, and the addition of a straw seems enough to goad him over.
“There, there,” Hinao hums happily as Hakuri sits down, “Drink up. It’s good for you.”
“Thank you,” Hakuri responds with a hoarse voice, nodding gratefully as Hinao takes her chopped vegetables to the stove on the opposite side of the kitchen, “You’re very kind.”
“Pssh, nonsense!” Hinao giggles, listening to the hiss of the vegetables as they are tossed into the pan, “You’re sick, and I want to feed you. So, you’re gonna sit there, and I’m gonna do what I want.”
“Um…”
Okay, maybe Hakuri’s a little to dense for that sort of approach. Hinao keeps forgetting he’s quite sheltered, consistently fooled by his excitable nature and ability to connect so flawlessly with the people around him. Hinao suppresses a grin. “Just hang tight, Hakuri. I’ll feed ya.”
“I’m– yes, please.”
Hinao nods approvingly at Hakuri’s quiet acceptance of help. It hurts a little to hear, though, because the Hakuri of before– of two days ago, even, wasn’t all that interested in the help others had to offer him around the small things in life. It’s likely the sickness that has taken all the fight out of him, and from what Hinao’s heard about the Sazanami household, she doesn’t like to picture what Hakuri’s previous sick days have been like.
So, doing what she does best, she doesn’t think about it. She moves her mind to happier things, like how she’s grateful the kid’s out of that house now, that he’s got a weird source of supervision at the very least and a guy he likes.
(The latter might just be conjecture, but she has a pretty decent inkling that’s not the case. They quite happily sleep in the same bed, after all, and she doesn’t really want to think about what sorts of things follow as the usual ‘sharing a bed’ happenings)
The rice cooker beeps with perfect timing, and Hinao gladly shoves Hakuri’s lunch into a bowl. The poor guy needs the sustenance, no matter how little he can stomach of it, if he’s wanting to get better. Spinning around with it steaming in her hands, she slides across the bench to Hakuri, a pair of chopsticks quickly following.
“Thank you, Hinao. It looks delicious.” Hakuri says appreciatively, and Hinao (though she really shouldn’t be so charmed by this little brat) preens at the praise.
“Oh, any time, Hakuri,” She says, feeling a little chuffed, “I hope it suits your tastes.”
Hakuri nods, unhooking his mask from his ears and picking up the chopsticks. “Thank you for making it for me,” He repeats, before digging in first.
He takes the fist bite of chives, egg, and rice, and Hinao’s heart melts at the sight of his eyes lighting up in joy.
“Wow!” He exclaims as best he can with his faulty vocal cords, “This is so– it’s amazing!”
Hinao smiles, watching as the boy slowly picks away at his meal. He shows clear signs of a reduced appetite, but it’s no question that he enjoys the meal– he’s eagerly picking away at it, because it’s Hinao’s cooking and her cooking is the best.
She turns back to her fry-pan and readies the next topping for over the rice, this one for Char. The sounds of Hakuri’s chopsticks against the bowl are slowing quickly, but she’s glad, that at the very least, she was able to get some carbs in the guy.
Chihiro will probably be worrying over the guy all night– this was, in fact, the topic of conversation in their messages as she was heading over, so she knows how stressed Chihiro is about this whole situation. She thinks he’s being a bit overprotective, but it’s (unfortunately) not her place to mention anything.
By the time she’s finished up another three bowls of donburi, Hakuri’s laying his chopsticks over a half-eaten bowl with ashamed eyes. He looks… well, he looks fed, but it appears to Hinao’s eyes that he might just pass out any second.
“I’m sorry,” He says, “I-I don’t think I can eat it all…”
Hinao nods reassuringly. “That’s fine, Hakuri. I’m just glad you ate something, is all. You can go back to bed if you need.”
Hakuri stares, evidently not having expected that response. “Is that– is that really okay?” He asks, and Hinao rolls her eyes.
“Go to bed,” She teases, shooing him away with a flick of her hands, “You look like you’re going to keel over sooner rather than later. Go get some rest, alright?”
Hakuri fidgets a little, picking up his mask and putting it back onto his face, “I…”
“C’mon, kiddo,” Shiba calls from across the apartment, his hair finally clear of Char’s accessories, “Just take your rest.”
The poor boy’s eyes widen a little in shock, embarrassed, and he nods. “R-Right! I-I’ll go to bed!”
He scampers back to the bedroom, and Hinao watches him go with an amused expression. It’s clear he’s the type of person who loves caring for others, but as soon as it’s his turn to be loved, he’s completely out of his depth.
Well, Hinao thinks bemusedly, Chihiro’ll train him out of that real quick.
4.
Hakuri-nii is sleeping.
Char watches him from the door, watching as his breaths rise and fall erratically, and hopes he’ll be okay. Hakuri-nii is her big brother, after all, and she doesn’t want him to be sick. Being sick is the worst.
Chihiro-nii is out right now, so Char knows that Hakuri-nii has no-one to keep watch over him until he comes back. Which means the responsibility to be his guardian must fall upon her reliable shoulders–
“Hey, Char, don’t go in there,” Mister Shiba scolds, shaking his head, “You’ll get sick.”
Char pouts, feeling rather injusticed. Who is this geezer to tell her she’s not allowed to take care of her big brother? He’s not doing anything, anyway, sitting at the counter and knocking back shots of the alcohol Chihiro-nii had told him not to touch last night.
“Why not?” She retorts, crossing her arms, “You go in there!”
Mister Shiba sighs. “Because I’m far older than you, Char, and I know how to not get sick.”
That’s a lousy excuse if Char’s ever heard one. She rolls her eyes at Shiba and sticks out her tongue, turning back towards the door with a determined step. She’ll take care of Hakuri-nii, and no drunken old man like Mister Shiba is going to–
She shrieks as something picks her up by the elbows, hoisting her into the air.
“Aaand up you go,” Shiba sighs, forcefully removing her from the room as she flails, attempting to make this man unhand her. She’s old enough to do what she wants, so why does Shiba insist on such barbaric methods of oppression!?
“Let me go!” She demands, her unfortunately small hands fighting against Shiba’s perfectly level grip on her arms, “I have to take care of him!”
Shiba pauses for a moment, then bursts into good-natured peals of laughter. “Oh, Char,” He giggles, shaking his head, “You don’t need to do that. He’ll be fine, you know? He doesn’t need constant supervision.”
“But, Mister Shiba–!”
“I said no, Char,” Shiba says, shaking his head as he places Char back onto the ground. “As long as we’re awake, he doesn’t need someone in the room with him.”
Char frowns. “But he’s all alone in there…”
She doesn’t want Hakuri-nii to feel lonely, holed up in a room all by himself. She wants to do something for him, at the very least, because sitting around while he’s sick and she’s bored is the worst thing ever.
Shiba’s hand rests on his chin, thoughtful. He seems to consider a few possibilities for a moment, but Char doubt’s he’s got anything useful in that head of his.
Finally, he nods, clicking his fingers affirmatively. “Right,” he says, and his eyes glitter with something mischievous as he looks down at Char, “Grab some paper, and some scissors.”
Char stares at the weird, forty-year-old man with a funny look. “I don’t know where those are,” She says honestly, and Shiba facepalms. Char would also facepalm if she was that stupid, so she doesn’t take it to heart.
Whilst Shiba goes to rummage around drawers to produce crafting supplies, Char settles herself at the table, and wonders what he’s going to make. Something to make sure Hakuri isn’t lonely, but just out of paper and scissors? She can’t think of anything short of a thousand paper cranes that could entertain him.
Shiba dumps paper, pens, her crafting kit, and a pair of scissors onto the table with a grunt, and then sits down opposite her, tugging a piece of paper from within the pile and letting it settle neat and flat on the surface of the table.
Char, eager to find out what he’s trying to do, watches his demonstration with rapt attention.
He folds the paper in half, then in half again, and then in half once more, flattening it with his massive, calloused hands that still show signs of the nail polish Char gave him last week.
“Alright, and then you draw a little half-guy like this…” Shiba mumbles, picking up a pen to doodle a boxy-looking man sliced in half by the edge of the paper. He sets the pen down, and then reaches for the scissors. Char still has no idea what he’s trying to make.
So she watches, entranced, as Shiba cuts out the little man shape while muttering something to himself that she can’t quite hear– but guesses it’s about how he dislikes arts and crafts, or something. Shiba’s an old man, so of course he’s grumpy about these sorts of things.
Then, Shiba pulls on the folded half-man, and Char gasps as it’s unfolded to reveal a string of paper-people, all holding hands.
“I’m flabbergasted!” She exclaims, showing off her brand new word and ignoring the uncertain look Shiba gives her. If he thinks it’s wrong, then he should double-check because no doubt he’s wrong.
“I’ll give you this one to decorate, then?” Shiba asks, leaving it on the table– in perfect range for Char to swipe it and claim it as hers. Of course she’ll decorate it– this way, Hakuri’ll have heaps of people watching him while he sleeps!
With the glitter and glue and glitter-glue and sequins and markers at her command, there’s nothing Char can’t create. It takes her only a creative few minutes before she’s got a glittery, red and blue mix of little people held between her fingers.
“Know what she meant about ‘craft herpes,’ now…” Shiba mutters as he eyes the glitter falling off the paper chain to the floor– Char makes a note to try and clean that later. Maybe.
With a proud smile, Char holds up her creation to Shiba, who gives her a very approving nod. “It’s truly the pinnacle of human creation, young Char,” He says, patting her on the head like how Chihiro-nii always does, “We’d better gift these to him, hmm?”
“Duh!” Char rolls her eyes, snatching her chain of imitation-family as she storms off towards Hakuri and Chihiro-nii’s bedroom with a roll of her eyes.
“Shh, Char,” Shiba chides, patting her on the back, “You don’t want to wake him, do you?”
Char shuts her mouth and slowly, so as not to make the door creak nor her footsteps echo, opens the door and creeps inside. Hakuri-nii is fast asleep, a cool towel on his forehead as he pants ever so slightly under the blankets. Char feels kind of bad for him– she hates getting fevers. Hakuri can’t even go outside to play!
Gently, exercising the caution expected of a master craftsman and excellent little sister, Char lays the paper chain of people across the foot of Hakuri’s bed, and slowly back away towards the door again.
The chains of little paper people lie across the foot of Hakuri’s bed, just past his toes, all holding hands and diligently watching over Hakuri with their silly faces drawn on with half-dry markers. They might not be perfect, but they’re enough, and Hakuri will be glad to have so many friends to greet him when he wakes up.
“Good job, Char.” Shiba praises, his voice a low whisper as Char tip-toes back out of the room.
As the door closes on a sleeping Hakuri surrounded by tiny paper friends, Char has to congratulate herself on another job well done.
5.
“Hey, Hakuri-kun,” a mellow voice greets as Hakuri wakes up again, his throat and skin drier than a desert, “How are you feeling?”
Hakuri tries for an answer, but all that comes out is a weak rasp. Embarrassed, he looks to the side to find a face he certainly wasn’t expecting.
Rather, a face he doesn’t know at all. Who is this man, and why does he look so at ease in Mr. Shiba’s apartment? Hakuri has too many questions that need answering, and yet no voice to ask them with.
“W-Who…” He tries, his throat burning in protest as he utters unintelligible words, but the man by his beside just shakes his head and hovers a glass of water nearby, encouraging Hakuri to sit upright and take it in his– admittedly sweaty– palms.
“My name is Azami,” The man says, letting Hakuri pull the glass away with a certain level of care to ensure that it doesn’t go spilling all over the bed, “I’m Shiba’s close friend. He asked me to watch over you while he rests before a job.”
Hakuri frowns. “Ch– hi…”
“Chihiro?” Azami asks, cocking his head with a little confused smile, “He’s also asleep. Have you checked the time?”
Hakuri glances to the digital clock on the bedside table, which reads a rather early three a.m. Makes sense Chihiro would be asleep, but why would this man come to supervise Hakuri during the night? Isn’t that a lot to ask of someone?
He’s grateful Azami is here, of course, but why?
“They were really worried about you, you know?” Azami says, a soft smile on his face, “Chihiro refused to sleep unless he knew someone else would be there to take care of you in the event you woke up.”
Hakuri blinks, taking a slow sip of water as his mind wanders. Was Chihiro really that worried? Hakuri’s not all that injured, and it’s just a fever, so he can’t fathom the reason why Chihiro would be so concerned for his health– though he’s glad Chihiro’s getting some rest. He did say, before he left today, that he had two assignments, and Hakuri would hate to see him become tired to the point of risking injury through exhaustion.
“Do you need anything to eat?” Azami asks, “I have medicine for you, too, but there’s a little bit of rice porridge Chihiro made for you before nearly falling asleep on his feet. If you’re up for it, I can heat it up now.”
Hakuri considers it for a moment. He hasn’t has anything since lunch, and though his throat hurts, he wouldn’t mind something soft and easy to eat. He nods.
“Of course. I’m assuming you’ll want to take your medicines first? Oh, on second thought, they should be taken with food, so I guess that’s a given, huh?” Azami gives Hakuri a reassuring look. “Wait there, I’ll get you your things.”
And then suddenly, Azami disappears in much the same manner as Shiba, gliding out of the room like an apparition and leaving Hakuri in confusion behind him. Seems birds of a feather really do flock together…
Hakuri waits, like he did before, before Azami returns with a small tray and places it gingerly on the bedside table. “Sorry for the wait,” The man says, his voice strangely soothing to Hakuri’s ears, “You should take this first.”
Hakuri wonders what it is about that voice that surprises him so. It’s soft and mellow, but carries the coldness of one who’s witnessed great acts of violence, and the intonation is quite clear, as compared to Shiba’s strong Kansai accent. It sounds familiar, but different enough that it doesn’t evoke painful memories to listen to.
Azami’s voice sounds like Father’s, he realises, but it sounds nothing like the Sazanami Kyora that Chihiro killed. No, it sounds like the father of before, the father that held Hakuri as a boy and told him he loved him, told him he was worth more than just the sorcery he did or didn’t possess.
“Hakuri-kun?”
Hakuri’s throat seizes, and he falls into a coughing fit, his throat raw and sensitive as he chokes on air to clear his airways. He takes a few desperate, rasping breaths as he coughs, over and over, until something dislodges and he’s finally able to breathe again.
“Be careful, Hakuri-kun,” Azami worries, Hakuri’s glass already in his hand as he offers it top him, “Come on, you should drink.”
Hakuri takes it with a weak nod, immediately downing as much of it as he can in one go without risking choking on it and sending himself back into another fit again.
“Easy, easy,” Azami urges, his hands hovering anxiously over him as Hakuri’s breaths even out again and his throat begins to open up just a bit to let air into his lungs. “That’s it, take your time. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
Once Hakuri has settled, he realises that he is, in fact, quite ravenous. He ate what Hinao made for them, of course, but both she and Char know that he ate very little compared to the two of them. He had lost most of his appetite then due to the fever, but now…
“If you could…” Hakuri whispers, not daring to raise his voice for fear of losing it, “Um, the medicine…”
Azami, to Hakuri’s relief, catches on rather quickly. “Oh, it’s here,” He says, picking up a tiny bowl usually reserved for sides that, just like Shiba had made earlier, has the strange mix of tablets and jam mixed up together in it. He holds it out to Hakuri with a little smile. “To— um, Shiba said you struggled a bit with tablets, so I did it how I used to do it for Chihiro, if that’s not a problem…”
Hakuri blinks. “Shiba-san said this was… l-like how he used to do it for Chihiro, too…” He trails off as the ‘close friend’ bit of information sinks in. “That’s cute.”
Azami rolls his eyes, but it’s very clearly not aimed at Hakuri. “All of the parenting techniques of both Rokuhira and Shiba are derived solely from me,” He says, shaking his head as Hakuri takes the medicine from him, “Those two knew nothing but playtime, then, so I was the one left to teach Chihiro how to not accidentally kill himself.”
Hakuri huffs a laugh. “Shiba-san is really,” He takes in a shaky breath to suppress a cough, “Really fun, I-I think.”
Hakuri, not waiting for Azami’s response, immediately takes the medicine in order to fill the space— he doesn’t like sitting with it in his hand, because he knows he’s not going to like it, and unlike his brother, he has never been one to enjoy prolonging his own suffering.
Azami chuckles lightly as Hakuri takes his medicine. “Of course, Shiba and Kunishige were always more inclined to goofing around than I was. I suppose it was with Chihiro that I started to become a bit paranoid.”
Hakuri raises an eyebrow, trying to suppress his face at the bitterness in his mouth, “You s-sound as if you were his parent, too,” he croaks with a smile. Azami’s cheeks, even in the dim light, redden quite a bit.
“Gosh, Hakuri, no wonder Shiba spoke of you often, you’re a little charmer,” Azami says, grabbing the tray and placing it over Hakuri’s lap, “Come on, you should eat something.”
Hakuri puts down the used dish in his hands and nods obediently. His stomach is nearly crying for something, and though his throat is already protesting, Hakuri doesn’t think he could go much longer without food…
He mutters a quiet thanks, and digs in. And, as he eats, he happily sits and listens to Azami talk about everything Chihiro.
“ –Though Rokuhira had never had a child or a sibling, he was still a pretty good father. I remember heading over after work when Chihiro was about six, and they’d fallen asleep together on the couch watching a movie. It was so cute.”
Hakuri smiles. The image of little Chihiro curled up into a man almost like his carbon copy was adorable. The Chihiro of the past seemed so much more gentle that it was hard to believe how much he’d changed in just three years.
Though, Hakuri supposes, the same could be said for himself. There were also moments, of course, where those soft and delicate parts of Chihiro were revealed to him– and in hindsight, maybe those times when Chihiro hesitated or when he made mistakes and lost the iron-like grip over his emotions was the real Chihiro all along.
“ –But after his tenth birthday, Chihiro started doing most of the cooking, which I remember yelling at Rokuhira for for days when I came home again to find him cooking a stir-fry whilst his father napped on the couch.” Azami huffs, shaking his head. “I suppose it paid off for Chihiro, because he’s an excellent cook now, but Rokuhira…”
Hakuri looks up as Azami trails off, a wistful look in his eyes and suddenly, though he was hesitant around this man before, he finds himself perfectly at ease looking into the eyes of someone who clearly loves Chihiro as much as he does.
“Ah, you probably don’t want hear these stories do you?” He laughs, a little embarrassed, “I’ll let you eat in peace. I’m here to watch all night, but feel free to go to sleep whenever.”
“N-No,” Hakuri coughs, “N-No, please tell me more about Chihiro’s childhood. I’d… really like to hear it,” He says, entirely honest.
Of course Hakuri wants to know more about Chihiro. He wants to know him better than he knows himself, because Chihiro is just that special that Hakuri would feel like he’s missing out without being the best at Chihiro-themed trivia.
Azami smiles, settling into the chair. “Then, allow me to share the story of Chihiro’s first visit to the hospital for a raisin stuck up his nose…
+1.
When Hakuri wakes up, there’s a boy beside him in the bed, one with a mask haphazardly falling off his face as his palm rests over Hakuri’s chest.
Hakuri wonders what part of Chihiro possessed him to come back here when he’s still sick– doesn’t Chihiro know that he should take care of his health, too?
Then, with a soft little groan and a flicker of his eyelids, Chihiro stirs, opening his eyes to meet Hakuri’s own. Hakuri’s breath hitches, belatedly realising they’re quite close to each other and that he’s not quite ready to be greeted with the ethereal sight of his crush this early in the morning.
Chihiro’s eyes shine in the dreamy light that filters through the curtains, bathing him in a heavenly glow that could only ever be possessed by an angel.
Is Hakuri dead?
“Morning, Hakuri,” Chihiro says quietly, drawing his hand away from Hakuri’s chest and leaving it so very, very cold, “How are you feeling?”
If Hakuri’s honest, he’s been better. His throat hurts, his nose is stuffy, and he wants to have a bath. Actually, he wants a lot of things right now, but for some strange reason, the main thing on his mind is how badly he wants Chihiro.
Chihiro’s face is close, too close, and like this, he’s going to catch whatever illness Hakuri has. But Hakuri, like the coward he is, can’t find the courage to look or move away. He wants Chihiro to look at him more, to latch onto Hakuri’s borrowed shirt as he lets him kiss the other boy silly.
“Hakuri,” Chihiro mumbles, their breaths mingling as Hakuri feels a hand fall to rest on his shoulder, “I… um.” He pauses for a second, his cheeks going bright red. Hakuri wonders what he could possibly be trying to say that would make him so red.
“My lips are really cold, but– but you’re hot. Could you warm them up for me?” He says with an awkward little smile, and Hakuri bluescreens.
There are many thoughts that hit him at once. Many of them wonder who that terrible line came from, and others immediately pin the blame on Shiba. Some voices in his head are terrified, telling him urgently to back down and move away, because Chihiro’s doing the wrong thing flirting with him.
Hakuri is an idiot, though, and he’s not interested in listening to whatever thoughts tell him to back off anymore. Chihiro’s here, he’s close, and all it would take is a little lean in…
Chihiro’s happy little hum doesn’t go unnoticed by Hakuri as he presses their lips together, sliding closer on the sheets so Hakuri’s able to rest a hand on his cheek as they taste each other’s lips for the first time.
It’s not sweet, nor is it bitter– it just tastes exactly how Hakuri thought Chihiro would taste like. The experience, of course, is enhanced greatly by the fact that Chihiro is a good kisser– he guides Hakuri through it gently, the movement of his lips a simple rhythm that Hakuri doesn’t struggle to match, even with the lethargy weighing down his body.
It’s good. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, all cute under his fingertips and his warm lips on his. Hakuri, however, can’t help the urge to take just a little bit more.
He should be more honest with himself, actually. It’s not so much of an urge as it is a need, a primal longing to give Chihiro everything he’s got, to hold him tight and claim him as his. So, as the stupid, needy boy he is, he licks at the seam of Chihiro’s mouth, not-so-subtly nagging for a way in.
Chihiro knows him far too well, because he doesn’t even hesitate. He parts his lips slightly, just enough so Hakuri can use his tongue to pry the rest of the way through and– hungrily, as if he hasn’t eaten in days–licks his way inside Chihiro’s mouth. His heart skips a beat as he earns a little muffled sound from Chihiro, the other boy’s cheeks turning as red as Hakuri’s fever-dusted own.
The two of them lie there and kiss for what feels like hours. Hakuri, through his fever-induced haze, wants nothing more than to steal Chihiro’s air for himself, wants to coat his tongue in Chihiro’s saliva like it’s a medicinal balm. Chihiro, with his hands twisted in Hakuri’s shirt, only tugs him closer, deeper inside.
But Hakuri eventually realises that he needs to breathe, needs just a little break, and so he pulls his tongue out of Chihiro’s mouth, panting and red-faced as he blinks himself back to reality.
He feels giddy. He feels like he’s won the lottery, like he’s just escaped a very dangerous situation, like he’s completed a challenge successfully– the endorphins have hit him like a truck, and when he looks at Chihiro’s face, shy and similarly pleased, he can’t help but burst into peals of laughter.
He knows it’s bad, giggling like this when his hand is still left on Chihiro’s cheek, his tongue still tasting of Chihiro’s saliva, but it’s impossible to stop. Chihiro’s smiling, too, and Hakuri might just be so deep in love that he’s drowning in it.
“Hakuri,” Chihiro smiles, his voice lilting on the edge of a chuckle, “I think I like you,” he says, and Hakuri is hit with another wave of drunken ecstasy as he leans in close again, taking in every pore and hair on Chihiro’s perfect face. “You’re so cute.”
“I think I like you too, and you’re cuter,” Hakuri responds with a little huff, “But you– you’re going to get sick.”
Chihiro seems entirely unbothered, his smile easy and forgiving. “It was definitely worth it.”
Then, Chihiro’s lips rejoin with his, and Hakuri thinks he’s never been happier.