Work Text:
Chihiro leaves the workshop without a complete katana yet again. He knows how to make one, it’s muscle memory, yet what he’s looking for won’t come out.
The sun is coming down at the distant end of the surrounding field. He’s in the middle of nowhere with magic safeguards in place so only his friends can visit him, but he’s told them all to limit their visits. He spends most of his time alone.
He goes inside of his house, and he hears the kettle singing.
“Hakuri? Shiba?” he calls out.
A voice he doesn’t want to hear calls out from his pantry, “It’s me! Sorry, I came a little earlier than expected.” Chihiro grabs his spare katana from his otherwise empty umbrella rack and marches over into his kitchen where Hiruhiko is holding a box of tea. He throws the katana at his head, and Hiruhiko moves to the side, gracefully dodging it. It gets stuck in one of the pantry shelves. “Whoa! That’s a rude way to receive guests.”
“You are not welcome here. You need to leave,” Chihiro tells him.
“I told you I was coming,” Hiruhiko says to him as if that gives him permission to go over. He sets the tea on the counter and opens the cabinet, making himself at home. Chihiro can’t believe his eyes.
Chihiro reminds him, “We haven’t spoken since the hotel. I hoped you were dead.”
“Hoped?” Hiruhiko looks at him and scoffs. “And here I thought my best friend would be relieved to see me alive.”
Best friend?
Chihiro needs to kill him. He looks at his hands. Can he choke him out? Will brute strength take him down?
“Do you have honey?” Hiruhiko asks.
Chihiro instinctively answers, “Yes. Wait.” He blinks. “No, you need to leave.”
Hiruhiko pouts, “Do you not check your phone?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I can’t leave,” Hiruhiko says to him. “Where’s your honey?” Chihiro instinctively points at the cabinet where it is and then curses at himself. He marches to go find his phone. He looks at it once a night, but he’s been forgetting to do it lately. He eats dinner after trying to forge something passable for a katana and then passes out.
Unknown Number: hey bestie ^-^ can I stay with you for a few days -Hiruhiko
Unknown Number: things are a little tense at home with you know. Yura being possessed by your uncle or whatever and I need to get out of here for a bit. I’m sure you can relate lol xD
Unknown Number: got your addy. wow you really don’t want anyone to find you xD? I’ll come by next week
“What the hell is X-D?” Chihiro murmurs.
Unknown Number: ugh things are blowing up here. I’ll see you in a few
“Hiruhiko, you can not stay here,” Chihiro yells out loud and tosses his phone back on his bed. He notices Hiruhiko’s large pink suitcase in the corner of his bedroom. Is he moving in?
He heads back into the kitchen where Hiruhiko is already dipping the tea bag in a mug full of hot water, and he’s frowning. “Well, where else am I supposed to go? I don’t have any other friends.”
“We’re not friends!” Chihiro yells, and Hiruhiko frowns.
“Okay, wow. If you don’t want me to sleep over, just say so.”
“I don’t want you to sleep over,” Chihiro says as plainly as possible. He’s barely recovering from having one of the worst years of his life and here’s this guy.
“Okay, fine. How about dinner?” Hiruhiko asks. He bats his eyelashes, pink lips smiling. Chihiro glares at him.
“One meal.” Chihiro holds up the number one. “We will share one meal together, and you will leave and not come back ever again.”
Hiruhiko sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re so strict.”
“Go sit down.”
Hiruhiko smiles, “Oh, you’re going to cook for me?”
“I don’t want you cooking for me, so this is the only other option.”
“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t poison you. We’re going to fight with our swords, remember?” Hiruhiko says as if Chihiro is so silly to forget, and he walks to the table that seats four in the corner of the small kitchen.
Chihiro pulls out two pieces of salmon from the fridge and asks, “Where is Kumeyuri?”
“In my suitcase.” Chihiro sets the salmon on the counter and blinks in Hiruhiko’s direction. He’s taking a long drink from his tea, and he makes a sour face. “I didn’t add enough honey.” Chihiro grabs it from its place in his cupboard and walks it to Hiruhiko. “Thank you,” he says sweetly.
Chihiro asks, “Can I see Kumeyuri?”
“No,” he says. “And if you go through my suitcase that’s just weird, so don’t.”
“You broke into my house,” Chihiro reminds him. “Why did you bring it?”
“She doesn’t like the vibes at home. That’s why I had to get out,” Hiruhiko says. “She’s going to be so sad when I tell her that her brother sent us back into that hell hole.”
Her brother?
If Kunishige made Kumeyuri and also Chihiro that equals? Brother?
Chihiro decides this is one of those fights that’s not worth having.
He takes out bok choy, bell peppers, zucchini, and onion for stir fry. He starts to cut vegetables as Hiruhiko hums to himself and drinks his tea. Chihiro’s tea, really.
He fries the vegetables first and plates them before cooking their pieces of salmon. This alone time is what he needed after a long day in the workshop. Only, it’s not alone time and Hiruhiko is there and he’s pulled out a novel from his pocket to read, so at least he’s not being too loud.
He fixes both of their plates and takes the food to the table. Hiruhiko claps his hands excitedly as Chihiro sets the food in front of him.
“Wow, we’ve been eating out for so long I forgot what a homemade meal looked like,” Hiruhiko says. “Thank you for the food.” Chihiro doesn’t say anything and stands up to fix himself a cup of tea as well. “You’re a really good cook, Chihiro. I can only make a few meals but nothing like this.”
“Thank you,” Chihiro replies softly.
When his tea is made, they finish their plates of food in silence. Hiruhiko insists on washing the dishes, and Chihiro just wants him gone and lets him. When Hiruhiko is drying his hands, Chihiro points out in the direction of his front door.
Hiruhiko huffs in annoyance. “You’re not even going to let the food sit in my stomach before you make leave?” Chihiro keeps pointing. “I haven’t even given you your gift.” Chihiro watches his face carefully, not bringing his hand down. “It’s plum wine.”
“I don’t drink wine,” Chihiro tells him. “Especially with someone who has tried to kill me.”
“Come on, live a little.” Hiruhiko rolls his eyes. “You’ve tried to kill me, too, and I’m trying to make the most of our time together.” Hiruhiko walks in the direction of Chihiro’s bedroom, and Chihiro follows him to make sure he’s just grabbing his stuff and leaving. Obviously, he’s not.
Hiruhiko lays down his suitcase on the floor and opens it. A bunch of clothes was haphazardly thrown in and on top of it all is Kumeyuri, laying on some pajamas like some styling tool. It feels disrespectful to allow it to lie there so casually, so Chihiro reaches for, and Hiruhiko smacks his hand away.
“Can you not? She’s been through enough,” he says.
“You’re the one that stuffed her in a suitcase,” Chihiro reminds him and frowns because now Hiruhiko has him calling Kumeyuri ‘her.’
Hiruhiko palms through his clothes, looking for something. “Well yeah, but she’ll forgive me because she knows I’m taking her somewhere where the vibes aren’t rotten.”
“Vibes?” Chihiro raises an eyebrow. Hiruhiko shakes his head.
“I think your vibes might be worse honestly.” Chihiro has no idea what that could even mean. Hiruhiko finds a brand new bottle of wine with a red ribbon tied around it, and he hands it to Chihiro. “Here. It’s rude to refuse a gift.”
Chihiro takes it, and he looks down on it. The packaging date is from fifty years before. He knows nothing about wine.
“Thank you,” Chihiro says plainly.
“So,” Hiruhiko smiles hopefully, “where am I sleeping.”
“At your house wherever that it,” Chihiro tells him. Hiruhiko groans and lays down on the ground next to his suitcase, grabbing Kumeyuri and holding it up above him.
“Can she at least enjoy the peace and quiet for five minutes before we leave?”
“It’s not like I can stop you.” Chihiro walks out of the room to place the wine in the cupboard. He has a feeling Hiruhiko is not leaving, and he needs to figure out what to really do with him. If Hakuri or Shiba have time to visit, they’re going to be so confused and maybe even try to kill Hiruhiko. Maybe he can compromise if he lets him see one movie with him. Although, he only has a DVD of Seven Samurai and The Sopranos season two dubbed.
Chihiro heads back to make a deal with the devil’s junior, and he finds that he’s already fallen asleep hugging Kumeyuri. He thinks he’s faking it at first, but the small snores that leave his mouth are impossible to fake. And now that Chihiro is taking a good look at him, he has dark circles under his eyes and cuts and bruises up his arms exposed by his rolled up sleeves. Chihiro wishes he was more of an asshole to kick him out like that. To take Kumeyuri from a sleeping baby.
He grabs a spare blanket from the end of his bed, and he drapes it over Hiruhiko. He texts Shiba and Hiruhiko both the same thing.
I think I’m almost done. Don’t come over for five days so I don’t break concentration. I’ll keep you updated.
It’s nowhere near done, but he looks at Hiruhiko from the corner of his eye. Even if all of this is the Hishaku’s fault, he can’t find it in him to be cruel to Hiruhiko. He’s struggling to find his place in the world without the man he looks up to there to guide him.
But Chihiro blocks himself from having too much empathy. He’s still a killer all the same.
Chihiro showers and goes to bed, feeling strange that Hiruhuko is there in the room. But he’s so exhausted from putting everything he has into forging and trying to get this guy out of his house that it’s easy to drift off.
Hiruhiko does not leave, obviously.
And Chihiro stops trying to get him to leave by the time breakfast is over because he knows it’s not going to happen. He gets a notepad from his kitchen junk drawer and makes a list, handing it to Hiruhiko who just finished washing the dishes Chihiro made breakfast in. He complained about his sore back the entire meal, so Chihiro doesn’t care to put him to work.
“What’s this?” Hiruhiko asks.
Chihiro says, “Grocery list. Make yourself useful.” He hands him a coin pouch as well, and Hiruhiko looks between the list and the coin pouch.
“I won’t disappoint you,” he smiles, seemingly happy to get chores to do. Chihiro scratches the back of his head and looks away from his grin.
“Don’t walk into the workshop. It’d be even to me unsheathing Kumeyuri.” Hiruhiko seems to understand the severity of it with the metaphor and promises to stay away.
Chihiro ties a bandana on his way out, and he walks to his shop where there are pieces of his dad’s former works spread about. It’s like a puzzle he can’t figure out, and although it can be frustrating, it mainly fills him with a deep sense of melancholy. He feels the ghost of his father in the heat of the flame and yet, he can’t make out what he’s saying. It’s ache all around. His hands, his back, his heart.
He knows he’s going to leave the workshop empty handed again by the end of the fifth hour. If he works any longer, he won’t have energy at all the next day. He’s upset with himself, standing with shoulders drooped and a comfortable frown on his face. And now he has to go cook for Hiruhiko. Will things ever get better?
Chihiro enters the house and finds Hiruhiko on the couch watching The Seven Samurai. He’s eating from a bag of chips that wasn’t on the grocery list. Chihiro goes into the kitchen in silence and finds everything he asked for in the fridge and in the pantry, plus a few more snacks. He checks the money pouch he gave him. He didn’t use any of it.
He walks out to the living room and asks, “Why didn’t you use the money?”
“I had my own,” Hiruhiko says and shrugs. “Can you be quiet? I’m trying to watch the movie.”
Chihiro thinks he is nothing but quiet these days, but he leaves to the kitchen anyways. The counters have been wiped down, and the floors have been swept and mopped. Chihiro feels uneasy, and he isn’t sure why. He’s been too tired to clean, but he didn’t think he’d ever have another person do it for him. He thought Hiruhiko would be more of a nuisance so having him be helpful is unsettling. Especially when he doesn’t trust him.
Chihiro grabs an apple and washes it before going to watch the movie with Hiruhiko. He needs to sit for a minute. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, an older one that Shiba got at an undisclosed location to throw in there last minute. He doesn’t have much. The coffee table is also old and scuffed up, and the TV is very old with a built in DVD player. It’s on a fold out chair and below it are now three DVD boxes.
“Did you buy a movie?” Chihiro asks. Hiruhiko puts his finger up to his lips to shush him, and Chihiro rolls his eyes. Out of curiosity, he stands and grabs the addition to the pile, staying out of the screen’s way. It was season one of The Sopranos dubbed. Hiruhiko also went thrifting it seems.
Hiruhiko says, “I wasn’t going to watch season two without watching the first one.” Chihiro wonders why Hiruhiko can talk but he can’t. This is his living room.
He sits back down on his end of the couch, and as he watches the movie, he finds himself falling asleep. Half of his body wants to shrug him awake because Hiruhiko is there, the other half drifts to the sound of his dad’s favorite movie.
He wakes up to the TV off and the smell of spices in the air. He gets up and finds Hiruhiko with the rice cooker going and he’s stirring curry in a pot. He’s yawning himself as he looks at him blankly and does a peace sign. Chihiro has no idea how to feel about this strange rhythm they’ve found themselves in. How does someone like Hiruhiko manage to find himself so comfortable in a stranger’s home? How is Chihiro not unbearably uncomfortable with a stranger and known killer in his home?
Chihiro sits down at the table and says, “I thought you didn’t cook.”
“Not often, but I can make a few things. Yura didn’t raise me to be helpless.” Chihiro has a lot of questions for Hiruhiko, but does he really care? He doesn’t exactly want to be friends with this guy. He blames it on natural human curiosity.
“So, he raised you?”
“Yes. He trained me, too. He’s a really great guy.”
“He had my father killed,” Chihiro mutters.
“Aside from that,” Hiruhiko waves it off.
Chihiro tells him, voice growing stern, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
Hiruhiko puts his hands on his hips and looks at Chihiro. “What about your father? Would you say he’s a really great guy? After all you’ve learned the last few months?” Chihiro is scared at this newfound feeling of hesitation when the only thing he grew up being sure of was his admiration and love for his father. But with his hands dry from the forge, it becomes easy to remember deep down he’s always understood his father and his mission.
“Yes. He shouldered the responsibility for what people did with his blades even if he could not control what happened with them after they left his hands. He’d take responsibility for everything going on right now if he were alive.”
Hiruhiko purses his lips, as if taking in Chihiro’s words. “I respect that.” He tries to change the subject. “Why The Seven Samurai?”
“It was my dad’s favorite movie.”
“Ugh, he had okay taste I guess,” Hiruhiko fakes a frown. Chihiro finds the corner of his lips being tugged into a smile. “Why The Sopranos?”
“I think we got it on accident,” Chihiro admits. “Not a lot of action, though.”
“Ew,” Hiruhiko says. “You watched season two without watching season one?”
“I didn’t have season one.” And he can only watch The Seven Samurai so many times without getting existential.
Hiruhiko asks, almost yelling, “And you didn’t care?”
“There was nothing I could do about it.” Chihiro scratches his cheek.
“There was so much you could do about it,” Hiruhiko points out. “I can’t believe you live like this. No wonder you’re all.” Hiruhiko makes a motion similar to crumbling a paper up. “Repressed.”
“Repressed?”
“Yes. You don’t think outside the realm of possibilities of what’s in front of you.”
“You don’t make sense.”
“You’re doing it right now!” Hiruhiko seems really passionate about Chihiro not watching season one of The Sopranos. “Even I could accept that maybe your dad was a chill guy with just two sentences coming from you.” Chill guy?
Chihiro asks, “Can you accept that I skipped a season of a TV show?”
“Ew, no,” Hiruhiko shakes his head. But he seems to be smiling so maybe it is inside the realm of possibilities or whatever his thought process is.
“I slept through most of it anyways. I always figured that if I wanted to watch it all the way through then finding season one would be a problem for later. It’s just background noise for me,” Chihiro says. He doesn’t know why he finds himself admitting, “It gets a little lonely here.”
Hiruhiko makes a face at him similar to these sad hamster photos Char spams his phone with sometimes. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you company for as long as you like.” Chihiro isn’t sure how to feel about that.
They eat their dinner which is not bland surprisingly, and Chihiro washes the dishes in turn. Hiruhiko pulls out the bottle of wine and looks at Chihiro with an expectant grin.
Chihiro asks from the sink, “Isn’t it rude to ask someone to open a bottle of wine that you gifted them?”
“I think it’s more rude to not invite your guest for a glass.” Chihiro turns off the water and grabs two mugs from the cupboard.
“I don’t have glasses.”
“That’s fine,” Hiruhiko smiles, excited to open the bottle. “Do you have an old screw somewhere?” Chihiro opens the junk drawer and hands a long rusted screw to Hiruhiko. He maneuvers it inside the cork, and he twists it up, opening the bottle.
Chihiro asks, “The Hishaku trained you on how to open wine bottles?”
“I learned this from a video,” Hiruhiko says. He pours them each wine in a mug, and he lifts his happily to Chihiro’s. “Cheers.” Chihiro doesn’t say anything, but he clinks his mug against his anyways. They each take a sip from their mugs, and they each spit the wine back at the same time. “Gross!” Hiruhiko says. “I thought wine would taste better considering how much it costs.”
Chihiro’s nose is scrunched in disgust. “I thought you had it before.”
“When would I have time to drink?” Hiruhiko asks him.
“I don’t know. I don’t know you.”
“Ugh, you have no imagination,” Hiruhiko says and takes the mug from his hand. He pours all the wine into the sink. “At least I bought backup beer.”
“Back up beer? I’m going to sleep,” Chihiro tells him.
“Fine,” Hiruhiko frowns. “I’ll start The Sopranos without you.” He crosses his arms and pouts, but Chihiro is more than fine with it.
“Okay.” Chihiro goes to his room, and he finds Kumeyuri on the end of his bed. He picks her up, and he walks her out to the living room where Hiruhiko is getting comfortable on the couch. He’s not drinking beer though. He has a small bottle of apple juice instead. “Why are you leaving her just anywhere?”
“I didn’t put her just anywhere, I put her on your bed,” Hiruhiko says. He reaches out for her, and Chihiro hands her over a little easier than he ever thought possible. “Can I have a pillow and a blanket, so I don’t have to sleep on the floor? Even rats sleep better.” Hiruhiko bats his eyelashes at Chihiro, and the motion makes Chihiro feel a bit uneasy. His throat feels a little tighter.
“Okay.”
Chihiro hands Hiruhiko a spare pillow and blanket before locking himself in the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. The guilt he feels for getting into routine with someone as vile as Hiruhiko when he’s supposed to be making his best and final katana is going to be unsurmountable if he makes nothing in the next few days.
But the guilt is a little bearable because Hiruhiko isn’t all that bad to be around. He keeps Chihiro company in the mornings, stays out of the workshop, and he helps Chihiro make lunch and dinner. He watches TV or reads while Chihiro locks himself away, and he doesn’t pick fights with him. Sometimes Chihiro finds himself looking for a little too long, and he realizes how sad Hiruhiko is. When he catches Hiruhiko looking at him for a little too long, he wonders if he can see how sad he is as well.
They’re both between the end of a blade and the backs of the men important to them. What’s next to even look forward to? Because this can’t be this forever. It can’t be this dull ache, this unknown, and this need to emotionally detach from everything because feeling it all is too much.
On the fourth night, Chihiro and Hiruhiko watch the middle of season one of The Sopranos together because Hiruhiko refuses to rewatch the first few episodes when it’s getting so good. He also says Chihiro’s weird habits are beyond saving anyways. Chihiro doesn’t mind, and Hiruhiko gives him a beer that feels nice on his tongue. It was another day of failure, but at least he has a working television.
Kumeyuri sits between them on the couch throughout the night, a shared blanket on both their laps. Hiruhiko’s things are all over the living room now in some sort of organized chaos, the coffee table basically his vanity. The television lighting makes his hair comb and bobby pins shine.
The character on the television whose name Chihiro can’t remember talks to another character that’s nameless to him as well, “Says in these movie writing books that every character has an arc. Understand? Like everybody starts out somewhere, and they do something or something gets done to them, that changes their life. That's called an arc.”
Hiruhiko says the line out loud at the same time as the actor, “Where's my arc?”
Chihiro looks at him. He seems so melancholic about the scene. “I thought you hadn’t seen these episodes?” Chihiro asks him.
“I only know this scene because someone performed it at my improv class, and I loved it.” The characters keep talking to each other, but Chihiro is more interested in Hiruhiko. He just doesn’t know what to ask or even what to say. Hiruhiko looks at him, eyes pink and shiny. “Is this your arc, Chihiro?”
Chihiro sinks into the couch, sinks into the coldness of the beer swishing inside of him. He looks at Hiruhiko whose face is red from the alcohol and who is growing sleepy despite his interest in the show.
“Can I have multiple arcs?” Chihiro asks him.
“Yes. An internal arc is one. An external arc is another.” Hiruhiko looks into his eyes. “A relationship arc is one as well.” Chihiro gulps even if there is no beer in his mouth. Everything feels different all of the sudden. Blurrier yet less bloody. Still, if he comes into focus, a lot more complicated. Maybe this is his arc.
“I don’t know,” Chihiro is honest. Hiruhiko smiles and continues to nurse his beer and pay attention to the TV. Chihiro has no other option but to do the same. The only conscious decision he makes that night before falling asleep on the couch is to not move Hiruhiko’s feet off his lap.
They wake up in the early dawn with their heads on opposite sides of the couch armrest. Hiruhiko is balled up, and Chihiro is laying as straight as possible. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t bad sleep. He tries to zone in on the reason why he’s up so early. Hiruhiko sits up slightly to glare at him, and Chihiro realizes it’s his phone that’s ringing in the distance.
He gets up and fixes the blanket on Hiruhiko before going to find his phone somewhere in his bedroom. Shiba is calling.
“Hello?” Chihiro answers, yawning.
“Did I wake ‘ya?” Shiba asks.
“Kind of.”
“We were just wondering,” Shiba says, voice trailing off a little. “It’s the fifth day now. Technically. And we want to visit and take some groceries. We miss having you around.” Chihiro scratches at the back of his neck. He misses them, too. He’s not exactly lonely or low on groceries, though.
Chihiro says, “I’m okay on groceries. But I need three more days.”
“Are ya’ eating?” Shiba asks.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. Full meals.” And beer.
“Okay. Call me whenever you want us to go over. We’ll be there in a flash.”
They say goodbye to each other, and Chihiro feels a little guilty for lying. He walks back out to the living room and finds that Hiruhiko has fallen back asleep with his cheek pressed against the arm of the couch. Chihiro can’t help but reach over and lightly touch his hair. The soft sensation makes the tips of his fingers tingle. He takes the sensation to make them a meal to share.
It’s that afternoon when Chihiro thinks he finally understands what he’s been doing wrong with forging. But it’s hour five, and he’s exhausted and spent and there is a cut on his forearm that he tied a bandana around that he needs to properly clean. He makes a note for himself the next day and goes back inside the house. Hiruhiko is on his place on the couch and immediately notices the bloody bandana.
“What happened?” he asks, standing up.
“I cut my arm,” Chihiro says, walking to the bathroom. Hiruhiko walks in after him, rushing as if Chihiro were dying.
“Let me help you.”
Chihiro lets him because he’s learned there’s arguments worth having with Hiruhiko, and this isn’t one of them. Hiruhiko unties the bandana and drops it in the sink. He uses a clean towel to wipe down the blood and grime from his arm, and sprays antiseptic spray on it. He holds Chihiro’s arm in his hand closely, examining the wound. He can’t see the blush forming on Chihiro’s cheeks.
He says, “You don’t need stitches, but I’ll wrap it for you.” He goes through Chihiro’s first aid kit, grabs a roll of gauze, wrapping it around Chihiro’s injury. He looks up at him when he’s tying it together, and he catches Chihiro staring. Chihiro instinctively looks up at the ceiling, and he hears him laugh under his breath.
When he says he’s done, Chihiro tells him, “Thank you.” He’s still unable to look at his face.
“That’s what best friends are for.”
When they eat dinner together that night, it’s a little quieter than usual on Hiruhiko’s behalf. It started raining while they were preparing dinner, and the noise of the rain hitting the shingles is the only noise in the space. Chihiro nudges Hiruiko’s foot under table and asks, “What’s wrong?”
Hiruhiko gives him a thin lipped smile. He gets happy over Chihiro noticing or remembering the smallest things about him, but he’s feeling down. “I have to go back tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Chihiro says. Now he’s feeling down, too. Thunder cracks.
Hiruhiko says, “We should finish the beer tonight.”
“And season one of The Sopranos,” Chihiro adds although he mainly wants an excuse to sit next to him.
“Do you know what’s happening?” Hiruhiko smiles.
“Not really.” Hiruhiko finds him funny and laughs. Chihiro’s eyes stay down at their food for the rest of the meal, the rain filling his ears. His body feels full with something he can’t name.
When they clean up the kitchen and find themselves back on the couch with their beers and snacks, Chihiro has no idea what’s happening. But Hiruhiko is invested and at some point, he sits down on the floor to get a closer look at the TV. Chihiro finds himself moving down on the floor next to him.
Hiruhiko sometimes will talk during the show to ask small questions. “Have you finished up your mysterious and important work?”
“Almost.”
“This arc is almost complete,” Hiruhiko whispers.
“Maybe it’s just getting started,” Chihiro tells him. Hiruhiko looks away from the screen at him and he seems to think. He smiles, and Chihiro doesn’t know why it’s so overwhelming. So confusing and warm.
“Yeah,” Hiruhiko agrees. “I think you’re right.”
They finish the first season of The Sopranos, and Chihiro thinks he finally understands a random scene from season two now. He’s a little too drunk though so maybe it’s wishful thinking and a combination of perhaps a literary concept and Hiruhiko’s analysis of the show merging in his head.
Hiruhiko says something about a character, and Chihiro does remember one thing. He tells Hiruhiko, “I mean. He is a rat.”
“What?” Hiruhiko looks heartbroken. “Did you just spoil season two for me?”
“No,” Chihiro tries to lie, but Hiruhiko somehow sees through him. Hiruhiko flicks his cheek. “I mix up all the characters.” Chihiro’s cheeks are rosy from the alcohol and failing to lie.
Hiruhiko says, “You haven’t said one thing about the show. You sooo spoiled the season for me.”
“Sorry,” Chihiro says to him, genuinely feeling bad. Hiruhiko still smiles at him, though.
“Best friends forgive each other for worse, so I’ll let it go. This time,” he says and pokes his finger at the middle of Chihiro’s forehead. Chihiro finds himself grabbing onto his wrist, and they both stare at each other. Their knees are touching as they sit on the floor, the credits on the TV rolling. Chihiro’s grip on his wrist softens, and he’s about to let go when a final strike of thunder takes out the electricity.
Hiruhiko jumps closer to him, and Chihiro finds himself putting a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s fine,” Chihiro says. “The power just goes out sometimes. It should come back soon.”
“Do you have candles?” Hiruhiko asks. Chihiro didn’t take him for someone scared of the dark.
“I do,” Chihiro tells him and gets up to look in his pantry where he has candles for this exact reason. He grabs three of them and a lighter before heading back out to the living room. Hiruhiko is still on the floor drinking his beer.
He tells Chihiro, “At least we finished the show on time.” Chihiro nods and lights the candles, setting them all on the coffee table. “Ugh, packing is going to be so annoying.” Chihiro sits down next to him, his knees touching Hiruhiko’s again. He takes the final lukewarm swig from his beer because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.
“What time are you leaving?” Chihiro asks him.
“Maybe in the afternoon. You might be in your workshop by then.”
“Yeah. Probably.” Hiruhiko turns to look at Chihiro closely, his elbow on his knee and resting his face on one hand. His entire focus is on Chihiro.
“Are you excited to be done?” Hiruhiko asks.
Chihiro isn’t sure if the feeling is excitement. “I think I will just be glad to be able to do something again.”
“Do you feel dread?” Hiruhiko asks him. “Knowing that if you lose, you lose everything?” It’s a loaded question and still it feels like common sense to Chihiro.
“Don’t you?”
“Sometimes I think that if I lose everything, that at least I can start anew,” Hiruhiko whispers. The candle flickers. It’s a secret only for Chihiro and the candlelight and the vibration of the rain. Hiruhiko wants a new arc. Chihiro can not write it for him. Yet, he wants to do something for him. Give him a catalyst. “Do you think that’s stupid?” He looks smaller than Chihiro has ever seen him. Insecure and scared to be raw and open like that. Because his life is dedicated to the Hishaku’s purpose and if he is thinking about his life without that, that would make him a traitor. A rat.
“I don’t think it’s stupid.” Chihiro tells him. “I don’t know who I will be after all of this is over.”
“Are you scared of finding out?”
“There’s no other option other than finding out or dying.” Without saying it, they both know it. Chihiro does not want to die again. Now Chihiro is also cut open, heart exposed.
Maybe Chihiro can blame the alcohol later, but he leans in and kisses Hiruhiko. He wants to know what his lips feel like. They’re soft and wet. Hiruhiko is frozen, eyes wide open while Chihiro’s are heavy and wanting to close. Chihiro pulls away, still staring at his lips. What’s wrong with him? He wants to kiss him again.
“Sorry,” Chihiro mumbles although he is lacking shame. Hiruhiko stiffly turns to the side and puts his beer on the coffee table before grabbing Chihiro by the collar of his shirt and bringing him back in for another kiss. Chihiro breathes him in, his arms naturally finding their way to his side and pulling him closer. Hiruhiko’s hands move and hold Chihiro’s face, his hand cupping his scar, holding all the hatred in his world.
Hiruhiko hastily pulls away and whispers, “Crap.”
“What?” Chihiro asks, pressing his forehead on his cheek. Hiruhiko’s hand goes to the back of Chihiro’s hair where he starts to play with it gently. It makes him sleepier. Fuzzier. More content and soft. He’s okay with having his soul bared.
“Yura is going to kill me once he gets unpossessed.” Chihiro smiles.
“Probably,” Chihiro says.
Hiruhiko sighs, “Problems for later like you say.”
“I don’t say that?” Chihiro pulls away from him, a bit confused. Hiruhiko laughs, and his cheeks are flushed, and the candlelight in his eye is very beautiful. A pink sunset. Chihiro can’t help but kiss his lips again. Is this really what he wants when there’s no inhibitors stopping him? Kiss the enemy on a rainy day? “I’m sleepy,” Chihiro admits because if he kisses Hiruhiko more, he’s going to get wasted beyond remembering.
“Go to bed,” Hiruhiko says, pulling away. Chihiro already misses all the heat that comes off of him.
“Come to bed with me,” Chihiro says. “The couch will be cold.” Hiruhiko presses his hand against his cheek as if thinking about it.
“Hmm, well, since you’re asking so nicely.”
The candles and lights all get turned off. They both stumble as they change into warm pajamas, Hiruhiko borrowing a sweater from Chihiro. They barely manage to brush their teeth in the dark bathroom without falling over each other and by nothing short of a miracle, they make it under Chihiro’s bed covers.
Chihiro cuddles into Hiruhiko, hiding his face in his perfumed neck. Chihiro’s hands rest under the sweater and flat on Hiruhiko’s warm back, letting him hold him and stroke his hair until they both fall asleep.
Chihiro wakes up before Hiruhiko and examines the Hishaku mark on his hand. Hiruhiko’s fingers twitch in his hold, and his eyes slowly open up. They stare into each other’s faces quietly. The rain has fizzled out into a comforting drizzle.
Hiruhiko scoots closer to Chihiro, and he kisses him. It’s more daunting in the daylight. It’s braver. Chihiro’s fingers stroke Hiruhiko’s arms as he holds Chihiro’s face. Hiruhiko’s hands wander down, hugging Chihiro around the waist and tangling their legs together. It’s a long kiss. A goodbye kiss.
It’s difficult to get out of the warmth of the bed, but Hiruhiko is starting to get texts asking where he is, and their time is running out. Chihiro brings Hiruhiko onto his lap as they’re already struggling to get up, and Hiruhiko’s arms wrap around his neck. They devour what’s left of one another.
When Hiruhiko really needs to start packing, he pulls away from Chihiro with a scarlet face and asks, “Why didn’t you kiss me sooner?” Chihiro shrugs, and Hiruhiko rolls his eyes. His lips are red from all the kissing, and Chihiro’s feel sore. Hiruhiko gives him one last kiss before getting off of him, and Chihiro feels unbearably cold in his bed.
He makes breakfast while Hiruhiko packs, and Chihiro tells him not to throw Kumeyuri inside the suitcase. He rests her against the door, ready to go next to his suitcase. They eat their meal on the same side of the table, Hiruhiko watching his face as he chews. Chihiro stares back, Hiruhiko smiling when he catches him.
They take their time washing the dishes together, hip to hip as Chihiro hands the dishes to Hiruhiko to dry and put away. His phone keeps vibrating, and they know he has to go.
At the door, Hiruhiko gives Chihiro a long hug, resting his cheek on his shoulder. Chihiro lets him stay there for as long as he needs to because the logical part in both of their minds knows that once he leaves, the next time they reunite, they will be enemies again.
Hiruhiko pulls away and looks at him, and Chihiro kisses his lips one last time.
Hiruhiko asks, “When your arc is complete, can you come kiss me again?” Chihiro nods. Hiruhiko smiles and stands on his tippy toes, leaving a kiss on Chihiro’s forehead. Then he grabs his suitcase and Kumeyuri and teleports away.
Chihiro puts on a bandana and walks into his workshop. He finishes his katana that afternoon.