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It is early summer, the time of the year when even the languid heat of midday is still a welcome reprieve from the recent memory of chilly spring mornings and containing the several month period between Chiaki's midwinter birthday and Rokuhira's midsummer one where he and Shiba were both sixteen to her seventeen. Too early for cicadas to buzz in the midday, but not yet too early for fireflies to light up late summer nights spent bumming around town or sneaking off to their favorite spots in the surrounding forest.
Shiba likes this time of year. He likes the heat, likes how Rokuhira will dress down to a threadbare tee and how Azami and Chiaki will loosen collars of their stuffy, starched clothes, or even take them off entirely to borrow something they were allowed to get muddy from him or Rokuhira. He likes the days with a nice breeze when no one wanted to be inside, and everyone did their best to ditch chores, work, and cram-school to meet up. He even likes days like today, when it's hot enough no-one wants to be outside, and he can laze around at Azami's playing video-games or at Rokuhira's staring at the TV.
This time it's just Shiba and Rokuhira and a tinny old television that occasionally needs to be smacked when the picture fritzes out and a whinny old air-conditioner that can't manage making the apartment more than a few degrees cooler than the outside. Still, what Rokuhira's apartment lacks in luxury, it more than makes up for in the lack glaring maternal figures. Azami's mother is still limited to trying to unlock sorcery and burns holes through their heads with her glare, but if either of them get anywhere near Chiaki's house, her mother would probably pull out her late husband's sword.
Of-times, Shiba thinks he and Rokuhira got the better end of the stick being orphans, though he's got enough self-awareness to know better than to say so out loud. Still it's nice to be able to sprawl out on the floor, flicking idly through the TV channels with an unorganized pile of magazines and manga spread on the floor between them, no-one to yell or scold that they ought to be doing something respectable or useful or whatever.
Shiba pages through the sort of magazine Azami likes - men and women with rock guitars and both wearing too much eyeliner -, half reading an out-of-date article about some band's relationship drama and half watching a cartoon. Rokuhira lies next to him on his stomach, apparently engrossed in an old manga that they've only got like half the volumes for, and not even consecutively.
It's a comfortable sort of semi-boredom, a feeling Shiba appreciates more and more as he gets older and his obligation to the Sorcery Bureau turn from training to errands to …
Rokuhira turns a page in the manga, his rust-red eyes intent as the story slips from dialogue to a scene of battle, a dark spray of ink across the page an easy match to an actual spray of arterial blood.
Suddenly feeling itchy, restless, Shiba rolls over and snatches the manga away, "Aren't you bored reading that same story over and over?"
Rokuhira sits up, puffing out his cheeks and then blowing out an annoyed huff of air, "Why's it matter to you, not like I'm making you read it." He reaches back to snatch the manga out of Shiba's hands, "Besides, you like this story too."
He does. The only reason they even have half the volumes in their shitty, middle of nowhere town that exists mostly as an afterthought to the nearby Soga estate is cause Shiba and Rokuhira have been absentmindedly collecting them whenever one happens to turn up in the local bookstore.
Shiba doesn't want to admit that he'd just wanted attention, so instead of answering he makes a face at Rokuhira, who sticks his tongue out at him in return before opening the manga back up. Instead of going to the battle scene he'd been reading though, he flips to the well-worn part in the middle where the hero is kissing his classically beautiful but still a bit of a strong-willed tomboy girlfriend goodbye before setting out - no guesses why Rokuhira likes this story.
Smiling before he realizes it, Shiba leans over, his shoulder bumping against Rokuhira's, "Oh, were you trying to figure out a plan to finally kiss Chiaki? You should have just asked me, I've kissed plenty of girls."
As expected, Rokuhira turns red and shoves Shiba out of his personal space before pushing the manga away and averting his gaze. He probably hadn't been making any sort of plan, Rokuhira was way too jittery and nervous about romance to even think of kissing Chiaki's cheek without going red in the face, but Shiba had made that offer genuinely for all that he's currently snickering at Rokuhira's shy reaction.
Shiba has kissed, and gone way farther, with more than a few people after all. He'd been delighted to discover upon entering his teenage years that he was handsome enough to easily draw that sort of attention, and while his pale hair and lack of any sort of family background had Shiba automatically assumed to be some sort of delinquent, the constant presence of Azami and Chiaki (such nice kids, from such nice families) meant most people his age saw that as something fun and exciting instead of something scary. He gets plenty of offers, and though Shiba's never found dating to be anything but a boring drag, if it's just fooling around he'll usually accept them.
Shiba leans over, trying to force Rokuhira to meet his eyes, "What? Everyone knows you two are gonna get together eventually, even if, at the rate you're going, you two are gonna be old and gray by the time the wedding night actually rolls around." Rokuhira's eyes are still boring solidly into the wall, his blush deepening the longer Shiba speaks, "Are you worried she'll think you're a bad kisser or something?"
It's probably something like that. Even though Chiaki finds Rokuhira's clumsy nature endlessly charming and is in total agreement with Shiba over how cute it is when he gets shy, that doesn't stop Rokuhira from being constantly worried about impressing her, being worthy of her. It's more than a bit stupid of him, but also somehow the slightest bit admirable - wanting to be good for someone who'd love you regardless.
Shiba shifts closer, so that he's sitting face-to-face with Rokuhira, for all he's still determinedly avoiding Shiba's gaze. The air's hot and sticky with their proximity in the poorly ventilated apartment, but it's a pleasant, heady warmth, "Want me to show you how to make-out with someone?"
Rokuhira loses his staring contest with the middle distance, his pretty eyes zeroing in on Shiba's face in easily readable shock. It's enough that Shiba can't help but snicker, even though he knows his own reaction is likely to make Rokuhira think he was joking - he really wasn't though. He'd like nothing more right now than to lick Rokuhira's sure to be clumsy lips open and show him how to kiss, smug in the knowledge that lesson would be put to very good use with Chiaki later.
"What!? No, it's uhh." Rokuhira tries to scooch back but just bumps into the couch behind him with a thud. Foiled by his own furniture, Shiba can't help but let his snickers dissolve into full on laughter, especially when Rokuhira just gives up and mutters a quiet, "You're such an asshole."
"I'm being serious." Shiba insists when he's able to swallow back down his amusement, "Come on, I won't bite."
He would, but only in the fun way.
Rokuhira lets out another puff of breath, his eyes darting away as he slumps against the foot of his couch, something truly nervous and defeated emerging from behind his front of embarrassment and annoyance. "No. I mean, it's really not that. Or not, uh, just that." The words come out quietly, almost a whisper by the end.
Shiba can't help but match his frown, unsure in the face of Rokuhira's unexpected reticence. He can deal with embarrassed or grumpy, but he's never quite sure what to do when Rokuhira gets quiet like this - equally afraid to push as he is to leave him alone. Normally, he'd glance over to Chiaki for help, but that's a bit impossible at the moment.
Still, more than just an opportunity for him and Rokuhira to have some fun, this - Rokuhira and Chiaki being together, being happy - is important, so Shiba tries, "Then what is the issue? It's pretty obvious she wants you to kiss her."
Maybe it was the right thing to say, as Rokuhira looks back up at him. Though maybe also the wrong thing, because his expression is twisted into something horrible when he meets Shiba's eyes: anxious, guilty, and knotted, "But what if she doesn't? I'm a lot bigger and stronger than her now, so what if I read her wrong or she changes her mind, and I hurt-"
Shiba leans down and cuts off the anxious ramble with his lips.
Rokuhira wasn't expecting it, and for a second he's speaking anxious words into Shiba's mouth before he gets with the program enough to close his lips and startle back.
Shiba doesn't let him, leaning forward to trap Rokuhira between his body and the couch he's been leaning against. One of his hands comes up to grab as the coarse dark hair of Rokuhira's scruff while the other catches the hand he'd raised to push at Shiba's shoulder.
It isn't hard to keep him still . Rokuhira might have finally started growing into his wide shoulders and his work in the forge might be honing the muscles in his arms and chest to a distractingly firm bulk, but even though he can sense spiritual energy, he's no sorcerer or swordsman. Shiba's already gotten pretty good at killing men like that anyway, so by comparison holding a normal person down is no trouble at all.
Rokuhira's lips taste a little sweet like the soda they'd been sharing earlier. He doesn't close his eyes at all as they kiss, his gaze intent and peeved as he tries to shove Shiba off him with the same half-hearted annoyance he'd shown being teased earlier. After a few seconds, Shiba obliges and pulls back - though he keeps his grip on Rokuhira's hair and dominant hand.
"Alright we just proved that's stupid then. I'm stronger than you, and you got me to stop pretty easy, right?" Shiba asks, nervous beneath a grin. "Didn't even have to bite me or try to knee me in the balls."
"Should have thought of that." Rokuhira grumbles, his muscles untensing enough that Shiba's hands on him turn from restraining to simply holding, "You're annoying enough to deserve it."
Shiba grins at him more genuinely, then leans forward to plant an obnoxious, slobbery kiss - honestly more of a lick - on Rokuhira's cheek.
As expected, it makes him let out something that's pretty close to a shriek as he jerks backwards with a cry of, "Gross!" Shiba follows him down in a further slump, close enough that their chests are now pressed together and he can smell the ash and sweat of Rokuhira's skin. He's never been the sort to own more than one type of soap, nevermind anything like cologne, but somehow, on him, the smell of sweat is nice.
This time when Shiba leans down to press his lips against Rokuhira's, his friend hesitantly tries to kiss him back - warm and adorably clumsy. His lips are chapped, and he wavers between being too still and trying to hard in a way that makes Shiba want to laugh. Even like this, actually kissing, Rokuhira stills keeps his eyes open, though Shiba doesn't particularly mind. Not when they're such a pretty color.
"See, feels totally different." Shiba assures Rokuhira when they naturally part for air, before dropping a brief kiss right beneath Rokuhira's right eye. Trying to say without words that this is fine. That kissing is nice and fun and nothing he needs to be so scared about.
Something curdles, hurt and fearful in Shiba's chest when instead of leaning back towards him or smiling, Rokuhira's face twists back into that same awful frown.
"Yeah, but I'm not shy about telling you when you're a jerk or whining that something hurts. Chiaki never complains, especially if might make someone else sad. Really especially if it's one of us."
Shiba opens his mouth to refute that statement, then closes it when he realizes he can't. Chiaki may be sweet but she's not shy, and it's not hard to recall her telling him or Rokuhira off for someone else's sake, or even their own, ('don't tease Sou-chan so much; Kunishige, please eat a real meal; Tougo, you're really too young to be smoking'), but to his frustration Shiba can't call to mind any examples speaking up on her own behalf.
While he's distracted, Rokuhira pushes him off and away, rearranging himself so that they're back to their previous, their usual distance. "Just … leave it alone, okay? Things are fine the way they are."
Shiba doesn't leave it alone, obviously. He can't think of a good counter-argument to Rokuhira's worries, but that's just because argument aren't the type of fights Shiba's good at.
Sure Chiaki had the habit of babying them, that was beyond obvious. She's the only person in the whole word that calls Shiba by his given name, and she refers to Azami more affectionately than his own family - and that's not even getting into how her worrying is the sole reason Rokuhira doesn't let himself rot alive when he gets in one of his moods. But she's not shy or weak, and definitely not a coward. Maybe just a bit too stoic for her own good.
Back before Shiba and Azami had gotten serious about sorcery and Rokuhira about forging, when it had still been safe for them to play rough with each other, she'd won more than her fair share of their games - damn Soga genes shining through to give her a wicked combination of natural speed and hand-eye coordination. Personally, Shiba's thought more than once it's a waste her clan pushed her crybaby little brother to pick up a sword instead of his much more strong-willed sister, though Chiaki'd probably hate being a swordsman way more than her mild dislike at being a maid.
Shiba doesn't know how to put all that into words that will actually convince Rokuhira, but surely if he started something she didn't like or went to too far or too rough Chiaki would just stop him. Her being gentle and sweet probably just meant it'd be a shove or a slap instead of breaking Rokuhira's nose (which painful childhood experience told Shiba she was more than capable of - even more than doting Chiaki was really, really protective of Azami and Akemura and not prone to let anyone, even him, get away with teasing them too much).
For the next few days, stretching out long and sticky with the rising heat of summer, Shiba mulls over the problem over. At first, he toys with the idea of recruiting Azami to his cause. He's not just good at regular fighting but also the whole reasonable argument with words thing, before ultimately deciding that Azami's both too much still technically a middle-schooler (to his deep, stuck two grades behind them frustration) and too much an awkward, angry virgin (who won't even tell them what sorta girls he likes) to be brought into this plan.
Instead after wracking his brains a bit, Shiba decides that if words don't work the best thing is just physical proof.
He and Rokuhira are simple guys at heart after all.
So about a week after his and Rokuhira's conversation, which they mutually and wordlessly decided to pretend never happened pending further development, Shiba calls Chiaki away from a group of her female friends on day when she been allowed and he'd bothered to attend school. It's an action that invites a bevy of giggles, (he winks at the girls, half to make them giggle louder and half to make Chiaki sigh at him) to lead her to one of the less used hallways on the fourth floor.
She follows him easy enough, not looking particularly bothered when the bell rings to signal the beginning of lessons and the hallway totally clears out. Their teachers know better than to expect good attendance from Shiba at this point, and with the way Chiaki is most of 'em are used to her getting distracted either helping someone out or chasing him and Rokuhira down so they don't totally flunk out to be too upset about her not being there on time either. 'Sides, almost no one in their town's got the backbone to really take to task anyone with the last name 'Soga', even if they aren't from the main family.
Once they're totally alone, Shiba tugs Chiaki into a corner alcove, hiding them away from anyone else that might be playing hooky and tucking her close enough that their shoes line up in an unsteady parallel from how near they're standing. Outside the heat of summer is starting to reach its peak, but the over-conditioned inside air has the bare skin of her thin upper arm cool to the touch beneath his hand in a way that makes him want to lean closer and box her in to share his warmth.
Chiaki blinks up at Shiba in what might be surprise at his action. Unlike Rokuhira who always seems like he's staring straight through to the soul of everything he turns his eyes on, it's often hard to tell whether Chiaki's half-lidded, far-away lilac gaze is focused on what's in front of her or some thought a million miles away. Her resting expression is a restrained distance, though it's never been too difficult to melt it into an affectionate smile.
The expression, like the refined angles of her face and the thoughtlessly graceful way she tends to hold herself, is something she shares with many of her relatives. No one would ever mistake her as anything but a Soga - Chiaki resembles her clan's head Hiroto so much they could be siblings not distant cousins - but, as always, her variation of those familiar features is Shiba's favorite.
"Tougo." Chiaki finally says after a minute or so of staring, and then nothing else. Not quite a question, and definitely not a complaint. Shiba hasn't let go of her upper arm, but neither has she pulled away - instead gone still, neither stiff nor relaxed. Her posture brings to mind the sensation of scooping up a house-cat that isn't particularly in the mood to be cuddled but has decided allowing a familiar embrace is less troublesome than squirming out of a firm grasp.
"Sorry, need to bother you for a bit." Shiba replies, which isn't really an explanation. He can feel himself grinning as her pretty face settles into a slight pout in anticipation of his nonsense. Despite the chilly air, there's something warm starting to brew in his chest. It's nice being this close, a rare treat now that they're past the age boys and girls can play tussle or casually touch.
She smells good. Not strongly of perfume or cologne, just clean like nice soap or fresh laundry. Right before he leans down to kiss her, Shiba has the slightly fuzzy thought that he hopes Chiaki gets him with her nails when she slaps him for this. He wants her to draw blood so he can enjoy the sting and so that she'll feel guilty enough to pat his head and fuss over him later.
And of course, less in service of his own enjoyment, an angry handprint and some accompanying scratches across his cheek would be excellent proof for Rokuhira that Chiaki did understand how to say no.
Shiba presses their lips together without much gentleness, then bites slightly when Chiaki's mouth purses into a tight, surprised line. Through his continue grip on her arm, he can feel a new, uncertain tension jolt through her body.
This time he's kissing as a provocation not a coaxing invitation, and he aims away from gentle and towards a little rough. When Chiaki opens her lips to inhale slightly at the sting of the bite, Shiba slips his tongue into her mouth - finds himself oddly charmed by the shape of her teeth.
And for a pleasurable minutes or so, there is nothing but that enjoyment. Warm and close and intimate. Everything about Chiaki is soft, her tongue, her skin, the thin muscles gone limp in the arm he's still holding - hmm, that last one is …
Shiba remembers what he's actually set out to do and pulls away to break their kiss, squashing a tiny flair of disappointment at both the distance and her lack of reaction. Maybe, she wanted to tell him off before hitting him?
It's not that. Chiaki is silent, her eyes fixed straight ahead on his own and still somehow not looking at Shiba in the slightest. Her arm he's still holding exists as a dead-weight, and the only sign she's feeling anything at all and hasn't just fainted standing-up with her eyes open are the near inaudible, quick shuddery breaths he can hear in their silence.
Despite how close they're still standing, Shiba shivers.
"Chiaki?", he tries, slowly loosening his grip on her arm. Not wanting to force her still and close anymore, but afraid she'll crumple if let go. "Are you okay?"
Chiaki doesn't fall, which only makes him feel a slight bit better. Instead she stays that same deathly still, face unreadable as she thinks over her answer. It takes time. Long enough for goose-flesh to rise on Shiba's skin.
Finally, she opens her mouth. Then, so quietly he almost can't hear, mutters, "I don't - ...," she swallows, and starts again, " I don't think Kunishige would like it if we did stuff like this."
He's not a graceful loser in general, but Shiba's never hated being wrong about something more than he has in this moment. Guilt tastes like bile on the back of his tongue at learning what fear and hurt look like on his friend's face.
"I-, sorry, I was just teasing." Shiba makes himself smile and leans back as much he's able without leaving their small alcove, caught between wanting to give her the safety of space and himself the reassurance of closeness, "I know you li-," he stutters, wondering is she considers that good enough, then corrects himself, " I know he likes you."
There is an obvious and immediate relief, her posture relaxing and a warm light returning to Chiaki's eyes, "That's not a nice joke, Tougo. Don't play it on anyone else, okay?"
When he nods, Chiaki reaches up to ruffle his hair, a smile on her still slightly swollen lips. An obvious and immediate acceptance of his apology - she probably wasn't even angry in the first place. The only person that got hurt was her after all.
Shiba decides to accept things as they are and leave well enough alone.