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When Hinata comes home with his eyes red-rimmed and a bruise forming in the corner of his mouth, Oujin aches with an anger he long thought he’d forgotten how to feel.
He says nothing about it, not immediately, because Hinata is a prideful boy at his core, and a doting brother above all else. His siblings, too young to know when they’re being lied to, accept it when Hinata tells them he hurt himself by tripping over. When they tease him and giggle about how clumsy their nii-chan is, Hinata laughs along with them. Only Oujin knows that he laughs to keep himself from crying any more than he already has.
Which is why Oujin waits. He waits for when the children are in bed and Hinata is washing the dishes to approach the boy from behind, empty of all but his basest urges to rip and tear and punish.
“Oujin-san.” Hinata acknowledges him without needing to turn; refusing to turn. Oujin knows Hinata doesn’t want him to see his pain, just as Oujin doesn’t want Hinata to see just how monstrous he truly is. Their dance is one of mutual caution, careful not to misstep lest they stand on each other’s feet. “Is everything okay?”
Normally, Oujin abides by their unspoken rules. He wants Hinata beside him, beyond all else: to push him away by crossing boundaries would ruin the fragile thing built up between them, and Oujin doubts he could live another day without Hinata by his side. For a thousand years of existence to culminate in entrusting his heart to a human child would be embarrassing if Hinata weren’t so utterly precious to him.
And it is because Hinata is precious that Oujin seizes him, turns him around, cradling Hinata’s face in one hand as he examines the bruise blooming there, mottled and purple. It is unsightly on Hinata’s beautiful features. It is made beautiful because Hinata is beautiful, but the sight of it still sets his heart ablaze with anger.
“Oujin-san—!” Hinata squirms, trying to escape, hands dripping with dishwater pushing at Oujin’s chest. He is ashamed and afraid of having his fragility on display, for what is he if not the reliable older brother? But it is in Oujin’s nature to keep his prey from escaping his clutches, and he will not let Hinata go. Not without answers.
“What happened?” Oujin asks, the first words he’s spoken since Hinata returned home, and he knows they come out wrong by the way Hinata shudders in his grip. He can’t modulate his tone, not with this aching emptiness inside of him, demanding that someone suffers for damaging what is his. “Did somebody hurt you?”
“No! I already said I tripped, I’m fine—!”
“Hinata. Do not lie to me—”
“Just leave me alone, it doesn’t matter…!”
To call it a fight would be giving Hinata too much credit. His frustrated, helpless writhing in the web of Oujin’s arms is more akin to a child’s tantrum, and when they end up on the floor — Hinata pinned beneath the grip of more hands than Oujin is normally comfortable using on him — the boy bursts into tears, certainly angrier at his weakness than Oujin himself.
“Why are you making me talk about it…?” His words are interspersed with sobs, warbling and broken; the dying cries of a snared rabbit. Oujin would feel guilty if it wasn’t such an enticing view. “You’ve never made me before!”
This is true. Oujin knows Hinata gets bullied, it’s one of the many truths of their cohabitation that normally goes unspoken. When Hinata comes home with his textbooks ruined, their pages torn, or his sketchbooks water-damaged from being thrown in puddles— Oujin says nothing, because Hinata is a prideful creature, and he sheds his painful experiences like a spider sheds its skin.
When his things are broken, Oujin pays him a little extra to replace them. When his hair is ruined by glue and childish cruelty, Oujin helps him wash and brush out the mess. They do not talk about it, and Hinata does not ask for help, only accepting charity if it is offered in silent acknowledgement. But—
But.
“You are hurt,” he answers, voice softer than before, thumb brushing feather-light over the forming bruise. “I ignore the pain you carry within, as I know you prefer. But I cannot turn a blind eye to your physical suffering. How am I meant to see you like this and not feel furious?”
Perhaps he’ll regret saying that, later. Though the chasm within him may not be wide, Hinata doesn’t need to know how deep Oujin’s fury truly runs. He strives to be a home for these children, not a mere beast. To admit that he can even feel anger at all is a threat to their fragile, illusory peace, for it may facilitate Hinata one day realising just how easily Oujin could crush him within his grip.
At present, however, it matters little. Hinata’s face crumples where he lays beneath Oujin, and with a shaky sob he surges upwards, into Oujin’s arms — the two, not the many, with which he can wrap solidly around his trembling bunny and cradle him close, nose in his hair, rocking him gently: shush, shush now, it’s alright, he’s here…
Hinata sleeps in Oujin’s bed that night, a special treat for them both. Just this once, they ignore the boundaries and the steps to their dance: Hinata allows himself to be fragile and needy, a helpless little thing, offering himself up to Oujin’s mercy. He does not shy away from Oujin’s desire, suffocating though his possessiveness must be, kissing away Hinata’s tears with a reverence normally reserved for gods.
The yawning, aching emptiness within Oujin only grows in response to Hinata’s indulgence. Such is why he must temper himself, lest he lose control completely.
What a waste it would be, to devour Hinata whole. He’ll just have to satisfy his hunger with the ones who damaged what belongs to him, for now.
Visiting Hinata’s school is an unfortunate necessity, given the circumstances. To breach those walls is another violation of the boundaries between them, for he is not nii-chan or Hinata here but Uzuki-san, one student among a sea of many, allowed and in fact expected to be the child his age suggests he should be.
Oujin is an anomaly here. The students stare as he passes, following politely in step behind Hinata’s homeroom teacher, for his style of dress is antiquated even by Tokotsu-ku’s standards. He doesn’t mind it — their curiosity is proof of their youthfulness, and Oujin has always been fond of children.
What troubles him is that Hinata might catch wind of his visit. He’s glad when he’s led into an empty classroom, free from prying eyes, sitting only when the teacher offers him a seat: humans take their social displays seriously, and Oujin likes to mind his manners. It’s endearing to be told what he can and cannot do by creatures as insignificant to him as flies.
“It’s nice to properly meet you at last, Oujin-san,” the teacher says, offering him a smile that he returns indulgently: his anger will not prevent him from being polite. “I’ve heard much about you from Uzuki-kun! We were all pleased to hear that he’d finally found someone willing to adopt not only him, but his younger siblings as well. He’s such a hard-working boy, he deserves a father as generous as you.”
Oujin doesn’t bother to correct the mistake. For all their ingenuity, humans are small-minded, unable to conceptualise things which exist beyond the false confines of their preconceived notions. If Hinata sees him as a father-figure, or at least chooses to describe their relationship in such a way, Oujin won’t contest that: he knows he is more to Hinata than a mere guardian.
“I’m humbled to hear you say so,” he responds, careful to ensure his words are as polite as they are cold. “Unfortunately, however, I cannot say I have come to engage in mere small-talk about Hinata. He informed me last night that he’s been having an issue with bullying as of late…?”
It is disappointing but not surprising to see the way the teacher’s demeanour shifts in response to Oujin’s words. Having shown his hand, this is no longer a casual discussion between adults but an interrogation — or at least, so it appears to be from the perspective of this human fool. Oujin’s ire is not with Hinata’s teachers, useless though they’ve been, and he finds their reticence to accept fault more frustrating than their apparent helplessness could ever be.
“We’re aware of Uzuki-kun’s feelings on the matter, but little spats between students happen all the time—”
“You call my ward coming home with his face bruised a spat?” Oujin interrupts the excuse before it can even begin, now allowing his disdain to drip from each word. “Tell me, the ones who did that to him: were they injured? Do you have any evidence indicating Hinata fought back, or do you merely assume that he would?”
“Nobody on staff saw the incident as it happened, so I’m afraid I can’t say—”
It takes a great deal of self-control on Oujin’s part to keep his hands where he left them: his human pair, folded atop his lap, and his extraneous few, hidden beneath the folds of his haori. Self-indulgently, he thinks about letting some crawl across the floorboards to grab this man by the ankles and tear him limb from limb, only refraining solely because of the mess it’d make and the trouble it’d cause.
Clearly, Hinata’s school has no interest in keeping him safe. So Oujin will just have to do what he came here to do in the first place.
It doesn’t take Hinata long to notice something’s changed. He’s a smart, resourceful boy, always keenly aware of the world around him, and Oujin is expecting it when he’s confronted, Hinata’s face contorted with familiar anxiety.
“Oujin-san, what did you do?” He wastes no time getting to the heart of the matter, something that thrills Oujin more than it should. He’s pleased Hinata feels comfortable enough to be so frank with him, because it means that he knows what Oujin is capable of and yet refuses to be afraid — or at least show that he is. “The boy that hit me, he’s been missing for days— the police came to our school…!”
Well, that’s unfortunate, but it’s not as if they’ll ever be able to figure out the truth of the matter. What’s important is that Hinata no longer gets hurt, and that Oujin gets to enjoy the fruits of his labour, in more ways than one. Consequences beyond Hinata leaving him are irrelevant in comparison.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he replies, breezy, smiling. Hinata fixes him with a sullen look, almost pouting, and Oujin can’t resist cupping that sweet face, brushing his thumb over the soft curve of Hinata’s cheek. “Perhaps he simply ran away from home?”
Hinata tries to pull away, but it’s too late: the makeup concealing his bruise is ruined by Oujin’s touch, collecting on his glove, and the blemish beneath is an ugly yellow-green stain in the corner of Hinata’s mouth. It is healing, but slowly, and though Oujin’s already eaten his fill for the week, the physical proof of Hinata’s pain alone is enough to make him want to go right back down to the basement and turn even more of the corpse below into venomous slurry.
“You’re lying,” Hinata says, more sulking than accusatory. “Did… Did you hurt him?”
Oujin doesn’t like to lie to Hinata. The boy is too smart to be fooled, most of the time, and he deserves Oujin’s honesty if nothing else. But Oujin doesn’t want to tell the truth, either, which is why he does neither: rather than speak, he bends down to press a kiss to that mottled bruise, lips lingering tantalisingly close to Hinata’s own. Admittance in the form of sweet silence.
He’s smiling when he pulls away, ruffling Hinata’s hair with the hand that had cradled him, and feels satisfied when the gesture prompts the usual complaint: Jeez, Oujin-san, I’m not a child anymore! A statement which is as true as it is false, for Hinata has not been a child for quite some time now, and yet is also so achingly young in comparison to Oujin’s own millennium-long life.
Perhaps, in one or two hundred years’ time, he will struggle to remember the little rabbit he kept caged in his web, and wonder why he ever entrusted such a fleeting existence with the weight of his own ancient heart. But for now Oujin is content, because he knows he is as reliant on Hinata as Hinata is on him. They are symbiotic.
And he is happy.