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I’m done for the night. Chihiro laid down his pencil. A moment longer cooped up in this makeshift workshop, and Chihiro might crack. An ordinary and by all means, temporary katana, leaned against the desk. Chihiro snatched it as he walked by.
"Every member of that clan, who governed the Razkuzaichi, must be eradicated." Soga’s threat was never out of mind. Chihiro glanced down at the sword in hand. Anything less than an enchanted blade was insufficient.
Cool night air greeted Chihiro as he exited his workshop. In the mountains, the stars shone brilliantly. No engines or sirens, just the rustle of nocturnal creatures and tree branches. A small house, nestled in foliage, stood about thirty feet ahead. Golden light from a window spilled onto the lawn. Chihiro stepped up to the front door. Unease prickled beneath his skin. His hand hovered over the door handle. Chihiro looked over his shoulder. His crimson eyes swept the perimeter of the clearing. A few feet beyond the tree line, and everything vanished into inky darkness. It was impossible to be certain no one was staring back.
Inside, Chihiro closed and locked the door with care. Thin walls and minimal furniture meant sound traveled easily in this house. Light spilled from a framed opening leading to the kitchen. Chihiro slipped out of his boots. His katana landed with a plop on the couch. Chihiro peeked around the opening. A low-rise table rested under the window facing the lawn. Pages of scribbled notes, supplies, and random books Shiba brought, crowded the space. Hakuri sat criss-cross on the floor with his head resting on the pages of an open book. He wore lounge pants and an oversized t-shirt, which hung loose around his shoulders. On Hakuri's exposed skin, Chihiro could make out various scraps and bruises.
Several days had passed since Chihiro and Hakuri first went into hiding. They had been advised to stay separated. Chihiro did not wait for the approval of anyone else. Hakuri would remain by his side. Hakuri was strong and capable. Between brainstorming sessions, Chihiro sparred to refine Hakuri’s martial arts. In addition, Shiba would stop by frequently to assist with training. Relying on sorcery was not sustainable. Once Hakuri could proficiently combine sorcery and physical prowess, he would become a calamitous weapon on par with an enchanted blade.
Crouching beside Hakuri, Chihiro could not help but take a moment to appreciate the softness in Hakuri's expression. The weeks following Chihiro's battle with Soga, had been melancholy. Chihiro buried his emotions for later processing. Hakuri turned on himself. Soga’s threat left a permanent guilt rippling in the blue of Hakuri’s eyes. Chihiro suspected that Hakuri thought he deserved the target on his back.
Maybe it had been wrong to tell Hakuri about Soga’s plans? No. Chihiro thought. He had a right to know.
Chihiro slipped an arm under Hakuri’s chest and began to lean him back. “Wha-,” Hakuri stirred. Strands of white hair stuck to his cheek and lips. Chihiro’s arms retreated to his side. “Hey,” Hakuri’s eyes widened. “I started to think you would be out there all night.” A feeling, Chihiro was reluctant to identify, unsettled his stomach; An ache that roused both fear and tenderness. “Are you going back out?”
Chihiro collected himself. “No. I’m done for the night.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to get washed up.”
“Alrighty.” Hakuri brushed the hair out of his face.
Everything about this hideaway reminded Chihiro of his childhood. The time spent in his workshop. The quiet of the mountainside. The calm Chihiro felt when he was around someone he cared for. He stepped into the hot shower, hoping to wash away the nostalgia. The sting behind Chihiro’s eyes only intensified, but he had no tears to cry. The last time he recalled crying was over his father’s dead body. Once the water turned cold, Chihiro reluctantly stepped out of the shower. Eventually he returned to the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt.
On the table were two steaming cups of tea. The color suggested the water had just been poured, but Hakuri was missing from the scene. The front door was cracked open. Chihiro forced himself to take a deep breath. If a struggle had taken place he would have heard.
A twig snapped outside. Chihiro snatched his katana. He whipped open the front door. One hand on the hilt, ready to draw his blade. Hakuri stood halfway between the shed and the house with a startled look on his face. He was alone and unharmed. Chihiro released the breath he was holding. Hakuri gave him a knowing look.
“Don’t be messy. Put your shoes on.”
Sounds like something I used to say to dad. Chihiro thought as he stepped into his boots. Katana in hand, Chihiro joined Hakuri on the lawn. A pale crescent moon hung overhead. Wind sifted through Chihiro’s damp hair, twisting it into unruly knots. The collar of his shirt was wet and rubbed against his neck. The air smelt of pine and soap from his shower. There was nothing Chihiro could register with his scenes that he should be afraid of. Yet his body was tense and his mind raced. He wanted to grab Hakuri by the shoulders and tell him not to do that again.
Do what? Chihiro argued with himself. Go outside for fresh air?
“Sorry if I scared you.” Hakuri hugged his arms close to his chest. “I’m reading a book on astronomy. I wanted to see if I could find some constellations.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just on edge.” Chihiro willed his hand to loosen around the hilt of his blade.
“I get it.”
During the day, Chihiro hid his exhaustion, fear, and grief behind an impassive exterior. At night, the world stilled, and all the emotion he buried was unearthed. Under the gaze of heaven, he could only think of the people he lost and the person he wanted to protect most. Hakuri’s white hair caught all the light the moon and stars had to offer, turning it a pale silver. It was hard not to stare.
“So, can you name any constellations?” Chihiro asked.
“No. I think I need to keep reading.” Hakuri ran a hand through his hair. A flushed giggle escaped him. As Hakuri lowered his arm, his shirt shifted to reveal a sizable bruise on his shoulder. A spot Chihiro had hit earlier that day during a sparring match. Guilt pooled in his stomach. Chihiro knew some of the details regarding the abuse Hakuri endured. In Chihiro’s opinion, the worst part was Hakuri’s pain tolerance. He hardly seemed bothered by taking a hard hit. Chihiro spaced out, oblivious that his eyes were locked on Hakuri's shoulder.
Hakuri tilted his head to meet Chihiro’s eyes. An amused grin spread across his friend’s face.
“What?”
Curious eyes studied Chihiro up and down. “It’s funny seeing you in sweatpants,” Hakuri paused, “...still holding a katana. Do you have it strapped to your side at the beach? Do enchanted blades rust?”
Chihiro shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
“No rest for the samurai.”
Truly. Chihiro thought. He held his katana more than he held his phone. “Our tea is getting cold.” He did not want to get caught mourning the experiences he would never have. Besides. Chihiro reflected. I don’t want to be anywhere else. A feverish warmth settled deep in his chest at the realization. Shit. His hand reflexively tightened around his blade. Chihiro turned away quickly to walk ahead of Hakuri. How long had it been since he felt this attached to someone? Had he ever felt like this?
“Oh, right.” Hakuri followed.
. . .
Chihiro and Hakuri sat adjacent to each other at the dining table. Chihiro wrapped his hands around the warm cup of tea. The smell of citrus and honey filled the house. He sipped slowly, savoring both the tea and the moment. Every day would be a similar routine until it was time to march back into battle. Their mundane tranquility was fleeting. Chihiro caught himself eyeing Hakuri's shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Chihiro whispered into his cup. Hakuri froze mid sip.
“For what?”
“Hurting you.”
“You didn’t—we were training.” Hakuri ran his fingers over the bruise on his chest. It was a small reaction, but Chihiro saw Hakuri’s fingers twitch. Chihiro rose quickly to fetch ice from the freezer. He created a make-shift icepack wrapped in a towel. “Chihiro, I’m fine. This is nothing. We are fighters. Pain and injury are in the job description.” Hakuri rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous smile painted his face.
“We aren’t in a fight right now.” Chihiro offered the icepack to Hakuri. A beat passed and Hakuri only stared. Chihiro sat close enough that their knees touched. He extended one leg behind Hakuri so he could move in closer. Hakuri's cheeks flushed, but he made no comment. Chihiro did not find pleasure in invading Hakuri’s space. Every day, Chihiro observed how Hakuri valued his own life less than others. Chihiro was not in the mood to talk Hakuri into loving himself. Gently, Chihiro pressed the icepack onto Hakuri’s skin. A sad haze fell over Hakuri’s eyes. He whipped his eyes before a tear could fall. “Tell me if it gets too cold. I’ll ask Shiba to bring pain medicine in the morning.” Chihiro lifted the icepack for a moment. He pulled up the collar of Hakuri’s shirt to cover the bruise, then placed the ice pack over the fabric. Warm fingers found their way on top of Chihiro's numb hand. Chihiro lifted his chin to meet Hakuri's distant gaze. "Hey-." Chihiro placed his free hand on Hakuri's knee. "What are you thinking about?" Chihiro searched for any indication that he crossed a line.
"It's a lot to unpack right now." Hakuri closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Moments later a smile returned to his face. “I can hold it. Finish your tea." Chihiro complied.
. . .
The two mugs clanked together as Chihiro placed them in the sink. Two beds were rolled out on the floor in the living room. Hakuri settled under his blankets. Chihiro checked the front door to make sure it was locked. Maybe I should patrol the perimeter? Chihiro thought.
“Chihiro.” The room was dark. Chihiro turned toward Hakuri’s voice. He could just make out Hakuri’s figure. “If anything happens, I will transport us to my warehouse.”
“Okay, I trust you,” Chihiro said as he laid his katana next to his bed.
“I won’t be a burden," Hakuri whispered to himself.
We are so alike. To Chihiro’s dismay, an amused huff escaped him.
“Sorry?” Hakuri remarked.
“No. No. I’m sorry.” Chihiro gathered himself. “I just feel like we should irritate each other much more than we do.”
“I can be annoying. Give it time.”
“Do I annoy you?” Chihiro asked, now lying back on his pillow.
“Of course not. I imagine someone might find you annoying as they watch your blade fall between their eyes.”
“No witnesses.” Chihiro deadpanned. Hakuri’s laugh was sickly sweet, it filled Chihiro with a joy he thought was gone for good.
After a few minutes of lighthearted conversation, Hakuri's voice grew hazy with sleep until he fell silent. Chihiro turned his cheek into his pillow so he could look at the sleeping boy beside him. Hakuri's chest rose and fell steadily. Soft white hair spread against his pillow. A gentle soul born into a family whose love was violent. Despite all of it, Hakuri held a benevolence Chihiro was drawn to, like a moth to a flame.
Chihiro shifted out of his blankets. He lifted Hakuri into his arms in a fluid motion. Through his clothes and blanket, Chihiro could feel the muscle Hakuri had gained. He was deceptively dense. Sleeper build. Chihiro huffed to himself. The couch creaked as Chihiro eased Hakuri on to the cushion. As Chihiro leaned away to grab a pillow, a hand caught his wrist. Chihiro’s skin was ignited where Hakuri touched him. The hammering in his chest robbed his lungs of air. Until recently, only battle made his heart race like that. Chihiro opened his mouth to apologize, but was quickly robbed of all function.
“Don’t let go.” Hakuri begged. A deep pain and fierce heat rose in Chihiro’s chest. Any reservation Chihiro felt dissipated upon hearing the grief in his friend's voice. Chihiro laid his head on one end of the couch. A warm weight fell upon Chihiro’s chest, causing his breath to hitch. Hair tickled his chin, and warm breath grazed his neck. A few seconds later, Hakuri smiled into Chihiro’s shirt. “Calm down or else you're going to have a heart attack.”
“I-.” Chihiro sighed. Heat crawled up his neck and face. "I don’t know where to put my hands." Hakuri had molded into his side. Their legs were tangled at the other end of the couch.
"Whatever is comfortable." Hakuri readjusted so one of his hands settled on Chihiro's lower abdomen. If not for the fabric of his shirt, Chihiro would have gone into cardiac arrest. After a few moments of contemplation, Chihiro placed his sweaty hand over Hakuri's. Chihiro willed himself to relax. He traced the lines and ridges of Hakuri's palm. Eventually he built up the courage to lace their fingers. Hakuri hummed an approval. With his other hand, Chihiro rubbed circles into Hakuri's arm until he was sure Hakuri had fallen asleep. Every touch had a spark. It deepened his sadness and devotion. He had more to protect; more he could lose. Chihiro lifted their laced fingers to his lips, then placed a tender kiss on the back of Hakuri's hand.
Tomorrow I will forge a blade that will end this war. Eventually, Chihiro was swept into a dream about introducing his father to Hakuri. Chihiro knew they would have loved each other.