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"Chihiro, it's me," You say, knocking on the door three times, then two quick knocks.
The door opens and—
"I missed you," he says, and you immediately step forward to embrace him, uncaring of all the soot and sweat he's drenched in. You breathe in his presence, and he feels himself go stiff for a few seconds, unused to the touch of someone alive after being so cooped up in this place for so long.
It makes your heart hurt, just a little bit.
You feel his arms wrap around yours, and you note how nice they've been shaping up, and he presses onto your body harder as he buries his face into your shoulder, breath stuck in his throat, like he doesn't believe you're here.
Your hand makes their way to his hair, removing the bandana before running your fingers through the strands of his hair. He eases into the embrace while you hum a tune absentmindedly, and he slowly relaxes into the embrace completely. "Missed me that much?" You say, and all he gives you is a tired hum as he nuzzles into your neck like a cat.
Cute.
"Clean yourself up first, won't you?" You whisper to him, and he doesn't respond for a second, before he looks at you with the closest thing to a pleading expression on his face. It looks awkward on him, because he's not used to protesting at the people he loves, but you smile at him. "I'll handle everything else. You should rest for the day, you've been at it for a long while already," you tell him, and he falls silent for a moment, before acquiescing, letting go of you. "You'll cook the usual?"
You nod to him. "Curry, right?"
He nods, a small smile on his face now.
"Alright. Now go," you say to him, and he nods, putting his equipment in the forge to the side. You walk with him to the place you both call home, holding hands as you did so.
"… I missed your cooking," he says as you both get seconds on your plates as you both eat while sitting on the floor. He admits it so bashfully, like he's still a teenager, and you giggle softly as his ears redden.
"And I missed your presence," you say, leaning onto his shoulder. "It's been a long while, really."
Chihiro hums. He's putting more spoonfuls onto his mouth, like he'd been more hungry than he initially let on. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he pauses mid-way another spoonful of rice and curry together, like a cat caught in the midst of trying to swipe uncovered food on the table.
"Are you sure you're not skipping your meals when I was away?"
He avoids your gaze, and his silence is all that you need.
"Is it intentional or not?" You ask, leaning back to face him. He rests his head on your shoulder, and your fingers ruffle his hair out of habit.
"Sometimes," he pauses, taking in a deep breath, "I don't have the energy. Or… I wake up from a nightmare. Sometimes, my cooking just isn't like yours… Or I just forget to eat."
Silence ensues. It's all good, valid reasons—you feel a stab in your heart when he brings up his nightmares—even now, it's a topic he chooses to actively avoid, because both of you know what it all means. Losing you, losing Hakuri, losing his friends and comrades—the threat of another Malediction falling unto the country—all of it keeps Chihiro awake, a scream trapped in his throat every time he wakes up night after night, the stench of blood and smoke feeling all too real to just be a dream.
There's a reason why working in the forge is unpleasant sometimes. It's the one place that's filled with the memories of his late father, but it's also the source of all of his misery—of his new obsession, a goal he needs to achieve before anything else. Two blades lay broken before him, and it's all he's been dedicated to reviving—forging into something new, something that's undeniably made with a Rokuhira that isn't Kunishige.
He thinks Kunishige would be proud of him.
Some things have changed though, inevitably, because as much as Chihiro wants to deny it—he's forced himself in this path with the flames of revenge sustaining him. And yet, he finds that flame now kindled with the passion of the people he loves and protects—hell is hot for him, and yet there are people willing to endure that hellfire for him.
The thought of it burns him just as much as it warms him.
It's why he rarely ever faces you—or almost anyone else lately, for that matter; though Hakuri is a special case for you both. Hakuri worries twice as much for you both, and it's endearing in its own way, if only he didn't pass out often from crying for the two of you.
It's evening now—crickets begin to make noise, and the skies are darker. Chihiro twiddles at his thumbs, and you think it's a good time to answer him. He's never been that good with silence, even if it's what he's used to.
"I'll answer you in a bit, but first, can you do something for me?" You ask of him, and he stares at you, eyes blinking. "Um, sure," he says, unsure, but he complies all the same as he sits up, stretching his neck.
"Put your head on my lap first," you added, patting your lap softly, "then face me."
Chihiro does just as you order him. "Good," you say to him. It's fun watching his ears turn redder—if they could, the color would probably match his eyes.
"You're so…" He whimpers in embarassment, his hand covering his face. You feel yourself smiling too—barely does Chihiro ever show emotion, even with the people he loves. You don't mind it though—moments like these only make them much more special. "You need to live a little more, love," you say to him, hands cradling his face. You resist the urge to point out how warm they are. He probably knows that too; he's just not saying anything so you can't tease him. Typical Chihiro.
"Chihiro, I'm not asking much of you, and neither does Hakuri," you mutter, your thumb tracing circles in his cheek, "but I need you to take care of yourself more. You're… you're doing more than enough as is."
His breath hitches. You know why. "I know there's a lot to do—a lot to make, a lot to overcome, but… if you don't take care of yourself too, you can't—you can't protect everyone else," you finish, and Chihiro's gaze avoids you.
It's one of the things he's trying to work on—speaking honestly, letting him feel his own emotions more; and when he looks back at you with misty eyes, you think he's done progress.
"I'm…" he trails off, before he rubs his eyes, voice heavier than before. "I'm sorry," he whimpers, and you feel his tears roll down his cheeks. You wipe them away—it's the least you could do, when all he does is cover his eyes as his lip trembles, trying to keep the sounds in.
"It's okay, Chihiro," you whisper to him, lifting him off your lap and making him face you once again, with Chihiro kneeling on both of his knees to you. "It's okay, you're doing good," you say, and he cries once, twice, before you embrace him tight, and Chihiro whimpers, arms wrapping around your waist as he shakes in your embrace.
He doesn't say much, only opting to take gasps of air as he sobbed in your embrace, repeating apologies under his breath, and you comfort him all the same. "I love you," you mutter to him again and again, and you hope he believes it.
"…'m sorry for crying so much," Chihiro says groggily, eyes staring up at you as he leans away just a little bit from your neck. You don't have to look down to your lover to know he's still embarassed about making a mess everywhere. You wish he can just understand that it's normal to feel things.
A hard endeavor with Chihiro, it seemed.
"And I've told you more than a dozen times that it's fine," you say to him, voice fond even if it was laced with exasperation. You kiss him on his forehead, and you smile when he stiffens like a cat that'd just been peppered with kisses. "It'll always be fine if it's you."
Just as you finish saying that to him, there's another knock on the door. It's two knocks, then three quick knocks.
"It's Hakuri," the voice says, and you look at Chihiro, and Chihiro looks at you, before both of you stand up, holding each other's hand. You walk ahead of Chihiro even as you hold hands, and the door opens, and Hakuri's face morphs into pure delight as he sees not only Chihiro, but you too.
You're immediately dragged into a bone-crushing hug, and the only thing you can think to yourself is—
How nice it is to love, and to be loved.