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２０．大切な人 [precious person] -- 2/4
tactics
HaruKan with a bit of a twist haha
NOT WORKSAFE (het). Cheesy reincarnation fic. This may not be the Haruka/Kantarou you're expecting, haha. |D No spoilers beyond who the villains are. Some visual cues taken from Karumadoh's "Haru no Hana" doujinshi series. Follows the rest of the 20 Themes cycle (i.e., it helps to read them for setup, but isn't necessary for this fic other than "this is futurefic"):
Theme 12: together
Theme 19: butterflies
Theme 13: onsen
Theme 14: memory
Theme 20: precious person -- 1/4 | 2/4 | 3/4 | 4/4
COMMENTS ARE VERY VERY APPRECIATED.
+++
"Haruka, come see." Kantarou beckons to him, smiling. "It's spring again."
Haruka glances up from the newspaper for a moment; through the opened windows, he can see a single pink blossom in the bleak white tangle of winter branches. "Ah," he said. "So it is."
"Eh, is that all Haruka has to say about it?" Kantarou comes back to the table, sits down to lean comfortably against Haruka's side. Absently, because he has grown so accustomed to this weight, Haruka puts an arm around his shoulders to help him settle.
"I think spring is what I'll miss the most," Kantarou says, thoughtful. "It's my favorite time of the year, after all."
Haruka snorts. "You're too stubborn to die," he says, and ignores the cold that moves down his spine even as he says the words. "I wouldn't be surprised if you end up like Sugino."
Kantarou laughs. "I don't have it in me to become a white tengu," he says. "Ah, but I wouldn't mind having more time to sit here like this with Haruka." He closes his eyes and sighs, a strange smile bowing his lips. "This is comfortable."
Haruka looks down at him, grown skinnier over the years but still larger than life in some undefinable way, still really the only thing centered in Haruka's vision, and tightens his arm around Kantarou. "Ah," he says. "It is."
+++
Haruka awoke with his face wet, and pretending it was the rain was a lot harder when one slept indoors.
+++
Haruka stayed in the back when Ichijou Kagura came in to pick up the books; he could hear her exclaiming over them with what seemed like genuine pleasure, and was distantly annoyed to realize he was relieved by that. He heard Matsumoto talking to her as he rang up her purchases, and the way she calmly sidestepped an offer for a coffee date.
It was ridiculous -- even if Kantarou was hiding somewhere inside the girl, for whatever reasons he justified it, that didn't change that she was still human. If Kantarou was hoping for the same relationship as before, he would be disappointed; Haruka wasn't interested in going through that hollow, empty-chested feeling for him ever again.
When she was finally gone, Haruka straightened and pulled his sleeve back from his wrists, exposing the string of bells.
They remained stubbornly silent. Even when he shook his arm, the most sound they produced was a brief, tinny rattle.
Part of him wanted to hope that it meant that whatever lingering part of Kantarou's consciousness that rang the bells had been satisfied. His life had settled into a comfortable rhythm even in his modern age, completely surrounded by humans, and he was comfortable with these patterns. The potential of change didn't frighten him -- it had been a long time since he'd been frightened of anything -- but he found it distasteful and almost unnecessary. Change was a human thing.
Change was what killed off older youkai when they could not adapt to a world that would not stay still for them, and Haruka was very old.
Matsumoto came into the back, looking wistful and rubbing the back of his neck. He caught sight of Haruka and wandered over, the expression on his face changing to one almost of envy. "Ichijou-san was happy with the books," he said, stopping to watch Haruka cut another box open. "She wanted to give you her thanks."
Haruka shrugged, flipping the box cutter shut. "This is my job," he said. "It's what I do."
"She was really happy though," Matsumoto stressed, and Haruka thought: ah, jealousy. Matsumoto was young enough to be threatened by Haruka's looks and how they attracted women, though it was hardly his fault that Ichijou Kagura, of all their female clients, would be unfazed by his teenaged attempts at charm. "I bet if you asked her, she would give you whatever you wanted."
"Then you underestimate her," said Haruka. "Not everyone wants to find a date."
"Ehh, I could still hope," Matsumoto said. "But she was all about 'the guy in the back, I want to talk to him,' and I said you were busy, so she asked me to thank you. She might even come back, she said."
"Ah," said Haruka. "Is that so."
Matsumoto rubbed the back of his neck again. "You know," he said, "if you're not interested, you should tell her. She seemed really fixed on you." There was a slight self-deprecating note as he added, "Most women are, but it's not really fair to them, is it? You don't notice any of them."
"Haruka," Kantarou says, "you know, you're really unfair to all those girls. A lot of them really like you."
Haruka just shrugs, not looking away from his contemplation of the horizon. "It's not my fault what they chose to think about me," he said. "I'm not fickle."
"I'm not saying you are." Kantarou sits on the window ledge next to Haruka and rests a hand on Haruka's knee for balance. "But a lot of them really like you, and you're kind, so they think they might have a chance --"
"Who's kind?" Haruka shrugs, but then covers Kantarou's hand with his, comfortable and loose. "I'm not."
"None of them have caught my eye," said Haruka. "I'm just not interested."
"It's not fair, then," Matsumoto sighed. "You don't care and they're all over you! I care, and I can't get a single one to look at me twice." He watched Haruka unpack more boxes, then said, "Really, if you don't want to see Ichijou-san, tell her so I can have a chance."
Haruka glanced up, eyeing him. Matsumoto was actually taller than he was when not slouching, broad-shouldered and square-faced. He played some sort of sports or other and other than sneaking readings of the weekly JUMP before they were shelved was almost completely grounded in the practical everyday world. He had just enough reiki to have occasional hunches -- nothing more than a normal person off the street. Haruka could display his wings in their full glory, and Matsumoto would only think it was an elaborate cosplay.
"You wouldn't have any chance," Haruka said. "You're not her type."
"Eh, how would you know that?" Matsumoto frowned. "Ahh--! Don't tell me you're actually already going out with her?!"
"No," said Haruka, and picked up a box to carry to the shelving cart.
"Then how would you--"
"I know," said Haruka, and wheeled the cart out to the front, ignoring Matsumoto's indignant sputtering behind him. The girl was long gone, but when he passed the registers he heard a faint bell chime.
After that, the day passed in a strange bubble of calm -- Haruka could feel a peculiar anticipation gathering in his skin, like a physical weight between his shoulder blades. When he rubbed his hands together, small static sparks jumped between his fingers, but by the time he left work, he could see dark clouds gathering in the horizon with the deepening twilight.
She stood at the corner with her arms folded over her chest, clutching at her own elbows, wearing a thin coat that probably offered no real protection from the coming night's chill. There was a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes that, like so much else, was familiar. Haruka slipped his own hands into his pockets and met her gaze evenly.
"You," he said, and stopped at that.
"Me," Ichijou Kagura agreed, and folded her arms, grasping at her elbows. She wore white and red again, and in the flare of yellowed light from the streetlamps and passing cars she looked only half-real. "Haruka-san, right? Matsumoto-kun told me."
Haruka tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged.
"I wanted to ask you some things." She lifted her chin a little, still smiling with that oddly knowing expression. "I don't suppose you would like to get some coffee with me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because," she said, "I'm pretty sure I have something you want."
He might have argued, especially against the smugness she wasn't quite hiding, or the mocking lift of one eyebrow. "I'm poor," he said. "You'll have to pay."
"I'm poor too," she said. "I'm a grad student. Money is a myth." She stepped aside to give him the room to stand beside her, and her next smile was more tentative, almost soft. "Shall we?"
Haruka glanced sideways at her, and thought about Kantarou's smile, the first time he had confessed. "Fine," he said.
+++
"When I was a little girl," said Ichijou Kagura, "my grandmother used to tell me stories about youkai."
Haruka eyed her over his untouched coffee. "Is that so," he said.
She laced her fingers together and rested her chin atop them, watching him thoughtfully. "I heard about all of them," she said. "Over and over, until I believed they were real. Sometimes I would go into the woods behind my house, and I know I saw them. But when I told my mother this, she scolded me for believing my grandmother too much."
Haruka ripped open a packet of sugar, then carefully began to shred the top sliver of paper between thumbs and forefingers. The sugar grains glinted dully in the cafe's articifial lighting. "Look," he said. "If you're going to tell me your life story, I'm not interested --"
"I'm getting there," she said, a faint sharpness in her voice. "I'm just setting things up. You can't tell a story properly without some backstory."
"Get on with it, then," Haruka told her. With practiced idleness he looked around the small cafe -- most of the other patrons looked to be college age, clustered in groups of twos, threes, and fours, most bent over open notes and texts and talking amongst themselves. The back of his head ached in a slow steady throb, like there was something he almost remembered lingering just out of reach.
"Mm." The girl sipped at her own coffee, then put it down, curling her fingers carefully around the hot paper cup. "When I was twelve, my grandmother told me about the Oni-Eating Tengu."
Instinct made him freeze automatically, and even as he cursed that kneejerk reaction, he could see that she had noticed. With effort, he swallowed back the first things he wanted to demand and said, "Your grandmother knew a lot of things."
"I thought so, too." She leaned forward, and suddenly now that she was that much closer, he could smell pipe smoke hanging around her, subtly different from the acrid tang of modern cigarettes. "I was absolutely fascinated. I couldn't stop asking her for more, even after her collection of stories ran out. I admired him the way most girls admire actors today." Her smile was self-mocking, but her eyes bored into him with unwavering intensity. "How he was the strongest of all youkai, sealed and unsealed by members of the same family, but vanished almost a hundred years ago ..."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Haruka kept his voice as even as possible. "Other than finding the books for you."
"Now, see," said the girl, leaning back again. "That's where things get interesting. I ended up doing some research on my own, when I realized there wasn't much else my grandmother would tell me. You'd be surprised at how much information there is available to someone who doesn't know when to stop."
He snorted faintly.
"So I tracked down the name of the one modern author who seemed to know anything about the Oni-Eater, supposedly the man who'd unsealed him," she said. "That's where I found Ichinomiya Kantarou's name, along with this." She reached into her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper, which she pushed across the table to Haruka. For a moment he couldn't break eye-contact, and then he looked down.
It was a black-and-white photocopy of some image, one of grainy quality and clarity. It was clear enough, though, that Haruka looked and recognized the face of the man in the picture immediately.
"Of course," said the girl, said Ichijou Kagura, "perhaps it's a coincidence, but I still wonder."
Haruka just stared. The picture had been snapped at some point before he'd met Kantarou, he thought distantly; he looked very young and wide-eyed, like he was barely out of school himself, and his hair was longer, slightly shaggier, than it had been at the end of his life. He didn't smile for the camera, staring at some distant point over the viewer's shoulder, stiff-backed in his formal clothes. Kantarou, who'd taken years to grow out of looking fifteen years too young, looked almost like a child in oversized clothes, trying too hard to play at adulthood.
"Haruka-san," the girl said quietly, breaking into Haruka's thoughts. "You must have cared for him very much."
His head snapped up and he stared at her. She had both her hands folded on the table now, and there was something like pity in her eyes, which galled. "You -- what, how do you --"
"My grandmother was a medium," she said quietly. "A very powerful one. She taught me a lot, whenever I visited her." She hesitated then, her eyes darting from side to side before she looked at Haruka again. "I know you're not human, Haruka-san, and it's not hard to guess what your connection to Ichinomiya-san was, if you look like you've been shot when his name gets mentioned, or when you look at me."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're imagining things," he said. "This sort of game isn't funny for children to play --"
"Ah," she said. Her pity burned. "You must have loved Ichinomiya-san very much, Haruka-san."
"I --" The rest of the sentence strangled in Haruka's throat. "I --"
"It's selfish of me, but I love Haruka, I want Haruka here, Haruka --"
He swallowed hard. There was a ringing noise in his ears that had nothing to do with the bells on his wrist, and the pressure at the back of his head and between his shoulder blades seemed to increase until it seemed almost like a physical weight, pressing him down. He broke eye-contact with the girl to stare at the copy of Kantarou's photograph, and for a moment even that face seemed strange to him. He swallowed again and tasted blood in the back of his throat.
"Haruka-san?" The girl's voice had risen slightly with alarm and he had a moment of petty mean pleasure at that -- let her worry, when she'd done this to him -- before he realized she was reaching for him. "Haruka-san, are you all right --"
He smacked her hand away, loud enough that the sound echoed in the coffee shop; most of the patrons turned to look before whispering behind their hands. The girl herself looked startled but not surprised, rubbing at her abused fingers.
"--Ah," he said finally. Roughly he shoved his chair back and stood; she tipped her head back to keep watching him. "I. I'm not ..." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then turned and stalked out of the coffee shop without looking back.
Fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind him and contemplated taking to flight -- the streets were otherwise deserted enough that no one else would notice, and there would be no way for her to easily catch up. Even with the faint drizzle that had kicked up, it would be better than --
"Haruka-san," the girl said again, as her hand closed around his sleeve and tugged.
Like a robot switched off, Haruka froze. Her fingers were almost painfully warm around his when she took his hand in both of hers, and even staring down at the sidewalk, he could see part of her as she moved to stand before him.
"Haruka-san," she said again, softly. Wet, she still smelled like pipe smoke and of incense, which was familiar enough that his throat closed against it. If he reached out with his eyes closed and all other senses extended, he thought he could believe it was Kantarou standing in front of him, Kantarou who was years dead and gone, because even the signature of the girl's reiki had the same shape and feel to it --
"Haruka-san," said the girl once more, and Haruka made a low pained noise before he caught her face in his free hand and kissed her.
It isn't magical or inspired or anything stupid, their first kiss, just teeth and harsh breathing and anger all tangled up with the want, until Kantarou pulls away to rest his forehead against Haruka's shoulder and whispers, in a reedy voice, "Haruka, I think we're in trouble --"
Her mouth remained soft under his when he bit down on her lower lip, suckling away the blood that welled up, but she made a small noise somewhere deep in her throat and realization of where they were crashed down through him.
Haruka tore back, ripping his hand from her grasp and shoving at her even as he stumbled himself, panting for breath. The girl stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open, and he watched as she lifted shaking fingers to touch her bruised lower lip.
"I think," he rasped, "you should leave."
The girl licked her own lips and drew herself up. "I don't think I should," she said, though her voice shook. "Haruka-san."
"I could kill you," he snapped, and didn't bother to hide his fangs when he did, watching her eyes go wide at the sight. "It'd be easy, and you wouldn't be able to stop me --"
"I'm not afraid," she returned, and her voice was gaining strength as she took a step towards him, then another. "Haruka-san, I don't think you have it in you to hurt me."
"You're an idiot, then," he snapped. "I almost killed Kantarou, why do you think I won't --"
"Because," she said, and Haruka made a sound like a struck animal when she took his hand again -- when had she gotten close enough to touch? -- and pulled it up to press it against her face. "Maybe I'm not him, Haruka-san, but I'm close enough that you can't risk it."
His mouth worked for a few moments, trying to vocalize some sort of protest and coming up with nothing. The girl blinked at him quietly before she smiled at him, and he was reminded of a dream where a white-haired red-eyed person waved at him from across a far distance.
"... You," he muttered, and let her draw him down once more.
+++
Later, Haruka wasn't certain how they managed to get back to his apartment -- after the second kiss, everything passed in a tangled blur until he came back to himself with the girl pressed up against his living room wall, one of her legs hooked around his hips and her jacket hanging half off one shoulder. She fit easily into his arms, smaller and slimmer than he was used to, but comfortable regardless.
"This is stupid," he muttered against her lips, rocking against her and closing his eyes when her hands wormed under his shirt, tracing patterns across his back and sides. "We shouldn't --"
"Probably not," she agreed, breathless. "But I want to anyway. Do you?"
He kissed her again, then tugged her head back with one hand in her hair, ducking to bite at her throat. Under his lips, her pulse fluttered rapidly, restlessly, like a trapped bird. She laughed deep in her throat, and that felt good too, so he drew his tongue along her throat, hoping to hear it again.
She didn't laugh again, but she sighed and dragged her nails down his back as her hips moved restlessly against him. He dropped his head to her shoulder for a moment, growling low in his throat, then ducked to paw at her shirt until cloth slipped and he could clearly see the dark outline of her nipple through her thin shirt. This Haruka bent and closed his lips over, tracing its hard rise with his tongue through the rough cloth as she gasped and arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
When he closed his teeth and tugged, she made a low hungry sound and groped down, fumbling to undo his pants as best she could without pulling back fully.
"You're right, this is crazy," she gasped, and Haruka had to lift his head to gasp for breath as her hand finally dipped down and her fingers wrapped around his cock. "This is crazy, this is insane --"
"Stop," Haruka growled at her. "Stop, I --"
"I don't want to," she murmured breathlessly, and her eyes were wide and bright as she stroked him -- a little clumsy, but still with odd confidence, like she was slowly remembering the familiarity of his skin. "I don't want to, don't make me --"
"I'll eat you alive," he muttered, and she laughed again, her hand moving with confidence now, and he had to curl his arms around her for support, pressing her harder against the wall. "I'll rip you apart and eat you --"
"How romantic," she teased breathlessly, then gasped when he bit her throat again, sucking until the pale skin was flushed bright red. "Ah --"
Blindly, without lifting his head, Haruka grabbed handfuls of her skirt, yanking it up to her hips before he reached under it, hooking his thumbs into her underwear and tugging until she dropped her leg, then shoved it down as far as he could reach. She was breathing in short, sharp gasps against his hair, wriggling desperately in his arms as he smoothed his hand up her inner thigh.
"I thought," she whispered, her voice thin and shaking, "you wanted to stop."
Haruka pressed two fingers between her legs, and she tensed with a high strangled gasp as he fumbled until he found heat and wet, stroking until her legs opened further for him. It took a moment of fumbling to find the nub of her clit, and she seemed to melt against him, still petting him with clumsy determination.
"Idiot," he muttered into her skin, as she finally let go of him to struggle with his pants, her breathing high and sharp. "Idiot, we shouldn't, you shouldn't --"
"I do," she mumbled back, clawing at his back as he shifted, pressed her harder against the wall. "I do, so it's too late, you can't take it back, you--"
He rocked hard against her, and didn't quite whimper at the wet heat of her, though she keened in her throat and clung harder to him, her face pressed into his hair. After a bit of shifting he pressed firmly into her and held still for a moment, gasping in an attempt to try and catch his breath.
"You," he muttered, gritting his teeth when she shifted minutely against him. Her face was flushed and her eyes wild, and for just a moment, she was the most beautiful thing in the world. "You're --"
"Haruka--san," she whispered, and slid shaking hands through her hair. "Please."
He closed his eyes and moved. It was awkward at first, with her shoulders flat against the wall and her knees occasionally buckling as they rocked together -- but more than that was the feel of her around him, her hands clenched in his hair, and the taste of sweat and human salt on his tongue as he worried carefully at her shoulder. She made tiny, mewling sounds of encouragement and he closed his arms more tightly around her, closing his eyes as they moved.
"Haruka, ah, Haruka, I love you -- I love you --"
Haruka came with a rough, guttural sound, biting down onto her shoulder hard enough that he tasted blood. It almost hurt, like finally relaxing after years -- years -- of tension.
She was still whimpering under him as he sagged, pinning her harder against the wall. He shook his head carefully, and when it didn't fall from his shoulders, he pressed his lips to her bloodied shoulder and pressed a clumsy hand between them, stroking her stomach until she grabbed his wrist and dragged it down to the proper place as she continued to rock, gasping for breath.
When she came, her fingers tightened in his hair so much it stung, a high breathless sound torn from her throat -- and then it seemed the last of the support holding the two of them gave out, and they slid together down the wall until they touched down on the floor in a sweaty tangle of limbs and clothing. Haruka licked idly at her shoulder until he could no longer taste blood, just clean skin.
"Oh," she sighed, her voice small. One small hand, tangled in the hair at the nape of Haruka's neck, moved in a sluggish little caress. "Oh, that ..."
Haruka muttered something incoherent back, his breathing slow and careful. Lying this way, his head slowly clearing, he became aware of a handful of other differences: she was soft where he remembered bony angles, subtle changes in the scent and taste on his tongue, and the long, tangled fall of silver hair that pressed against his face when he turned his head. She sighed, and the movement pressed her breasts more firmly against him and he thought: does this count as betrayal?
Kagura didn't say anything else, just stroking his hair lightly, and despite the uncomfortable position they were twisted into, Haruka found himself relaxing into a vague doze, shifting until her heartbeat was right under his ear.
And Kantarou is mostly bone and scrawny limbs beneath Haruka, but he clings with a strength that seems like more than his slim body should have. His silence is thoughtful as he slides his fingers through Haruka's hair over and over, a repetitive petting motion that is quietly, comfortably hypnotic.
"I'm jealous," he says at last.
"Jealous?" Haruka doesn't bother to open his eyes. "Of?"
"Whoever will come after me." There is wistfulness in Kantarou's voice, and a host of other things that Haruka is too sleepy to attempt to puzzle out. "But--"
Something sour turned over in his stomach. He felt strange, leaden and distant, more an observer than an active participant.
Very slowly, Haruka untangled himself from the girl's arms and sat back, rubbing his face. She moved with equal care when his weight was removed, straightening against the wall. They stared at each other in a silence that grew progressively heavier with each passing heartbeat. She was looking for something in his expression, he knew, and so kept his face carefully neutral.
Finally, she sighed and began to tug her clothing back into some semblance of order, no longer meeting his gaze. "Hey," she murmured. "Can I use your shower?"
Her voice sounded strange, but it didn't grate as much as his own when he cleared his throat and said, "Yes."
+++
The girl showered quickly, at least, and when she emerged, squeezing her hair in one of his towels, Haruka had not moved from his position, still seated by the wall. From the corner of one eye he saw her hesitate before her face set into an almost grim expression and she approached him. When she knelt beside him, he was immediately aware that she still smelled partly of him, and when he risked a quick glance at her, he could see the red mark on her shoulder clearly through her white shirt.
"I'm not sorry," she said.
Haruka's gaze slid towards her, then away.
"I mean it," she insisted, and for a sudden crazy moment he thought she would reach out and touch him, and wasn't sure how really he would react to it. "I'm not sorry at all. I'm glad."
Glad. He turned over the sound of the word and for a moment he didn't know if he could understand it. I'm glad it happened, I wanted it to happen, I don't regret at all.
"I do," he said at last, his voice choked in his throat. "Regret."
He thought, for some reason, that it would effect her. Instead, she just smiled again, and the look in her eyes was the same as when Kantarou had smiled at him for the last time. This time she did reach out and touch him, and he just barely avoided flinching when her fingers carded carefully through his hair.
"I know," she said quietly. "I'm sorry for that, at least."
He hunched his shoulders and turned his head away. She didn't try to shift closer, still petting his hair quietly for a few more moments, then pulled back and stood.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything."
Haruka heard her walk away, and the sound of his front door opening and closing. He didn't move long after the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the hall.
+++
While he didn't mean to sleep, he still dreamed: the grove of cherry trees was unchanged, except it was possibly longer than before, so that even his wings wouldn't be able to cross the distance.
And far away, the figure in white and red didn't turn when he called, walking slowly until its outline was obscured by whirling flowers.
[To be continued! ... yet again!]
tactics
HaruKan with a bit of a twist haha
NOT WORKSAFE (het). Cheesy reincarnation fic. This may not be the Haruka/Kantarou you're expecting, haha. |D No spoilers beyond who the villains are. Some visual cues taken from Karumadoh's "Haru no Hana" doujinshi series. Follows the rest of the 20 Themes cycle (i.e., it helps to read them for setup, but isn't necessary for this fic other than "this is futurefic"):
Theme 12: together
Theme 19: butterflies
Theme 13: onsen
Theme 14: memory
Theme 20: precious person -- 1/4 | 2/4 | 3/4 | 4/4
COMMENTS ARE VERY VERY APPRECIATED.
+++
"Haruka, come see." Kantarou beckons to him, smiling. "It's spring again."
Haruka glances up from the newspaper for a moment; through the opened windows, he can see a single pink blossom in the bleak white tangle of winter branches. "Ah," he said. "So it is."
"Eh, is that all Haruka has to say about it?" Kantarou comes back to the table, sits down to lean comfortably against Haruka's side. Absently, because he has grown so accustomed to this weight, Haruka puts an arm around his shoulders to help him settle.
"I think spring is what I'll miss the most," Kantarou says, thoughtful. "It's my favorite time of the year, after all."
Haruka snorts. "You're too stubborn to die," he says, and ignores the cold that moves down his spine even as he says the words. "I wouldn't be surprised if you end up like Sugino."
Kantarou laughs. "I don't have it in me to become a white tengu," he says. "Ah, but I wouldn't mind having more time to sit here like this with Haruka." He closes his eyes and sighs, a strange smile bowing his lips. "This is comfortable."
Haruka looks down at him, grown skinnier over the years but still larger than life in some undefinable way, still really the only thing centered in Haruka's vision, and tightens his arm around Kantarou. "Ah," he says. "It is."
+++
Haruka awoke with his face wet, and pretending it was the rain was a lot harder when one slept indoors.
+++
Haruka stayed in the back when Ichijou Kagura came in to pick up the books; he could hear her exclaiming over them with what seemed like genuine pleasure, and was distantly annoyed to realize he was relieved by that. He heard Matsumoto talking to her as he rang up her purchases, and the way she calmly sidestepped an offer for a coffee date.
It was ridiculous -- even if Kantarou was hiding somewhere inside the girl, for whatever reasons he justified it, that didn't change that she was still human. If Kantarou was hoping for the same relationship as before, he would be disappointed; Haruka wasn't interested in going through that hollow, empty-chested feeling for him ever again.
When she was finally gone, Haruka straightened and pulled his sleeve back from his wrists, exposing the string of bells.
They remained stubbornly silent. Even when he shook his arm, the most sound they produced was a brief, tinny rattle.
Part of him wanted to hope that it meant that whatever lingering part of Kantarou's consciousness that rang the bells had been satisfied. His life had settled into a comfortable rhythm even in his modern age, completely surrounded by humans, and he was comfortable with these patterns. The potential of change didn't frighten him -- it had been a long time since he'd been frightened of anything -- but he found it distasteful and almost unnecessary. Change was a human thing.
Change was what killed off older youkai when they could not adapt to a world that would not stay still for them, and Haruka was very old.
Matsumoto came into the back, looking wistful and rubbing the back of his neck. He caught sight of Haruka and wandered over, the expression on his face changing to one almost of envy. "Ichijou-san was happy with the books," he said, stopping to watch Haruka cut another box open. "She wanted to give you her thanks."
Haruka shrugged, flipping the box cutter shut. "This is my job," he said. "It's what I do."
"She was really happy though," Matsumoto stressed, and Haruka thought: ah, jealousy. Matsumoto was young enough to be threatened by Haruka's looks and how they attracted women, though it was hardly his fault that Ichijou Kagura, of all their female clients, would be unfazed by his teenaged attempts at charm. "I bet if you asked her, she would give you whatever you wanted."
"Then you underestimate her," said Haruka. "Not everyone wants to find a date."
"Ehh, I could still hope," Matsumoto said. "But she was all about 'the guy in the back, I want to talk to him,' and I said you were busy, so she asked me to thank you. She might even come back, she said."
"Ah," said Haruka. "Is that so."
Matsumoto rubbed the back of his neck again. "You know," he said, "if you're not interested, you should tell her. She seemed really fixed on you." There was a slight self-deprecating note as he added, "Most women are, but it's not really fair to them, is it? You don't notice any of them."
"Haruka," Kantarou says, "you know, you're really unfair to all those girls. A lot of them really like you."
Haruka just shrugs, not looking away from his contemplation of the horizon. "It's not my fault what they chose to think about me," he said. "I'm not fickle."
"I'm not saying you are." Kantarou sits on the window ledge next to Haruka and rests a hand on Haruka's knee for balance. "But a lot of them really like you, and you're kind, so they think they might have a chance --"
"Who's kind?" Haruka shrugs, but then covers Kantarou's hand with his, comfortable and loose. "I'm not."
"None of them have caught my eye," said Haruka. "I'm just not interested."
"It's not fair, then," Matsumoto sighed. "You don't care and they're all over you! I care, and I can't get a single one to look at me twice." He watched Haruka unpack more boxes, then said, "Really, if you don't want to see Ichijou-san, tell her so I can have a chance."
Haruka glanced up, eyeing him. Matsumoto was actually taller than he was when not slouching, broad-shouldered and square-faced. He played some sort of sports or other and other than sneaking readings of the weekly JUMP before they were shelved was almost completely grounded in the practical everyday world. He had just enough reiki to have occasional hunches -- nothing more than a normal person off the street. Haruka could display his wings in their full glory, and Matsumoto would only think it was an elaborate cosplay.
"You wouldn't have any chance," Haruka said. "You're not her type."
"Eh, how would you know that?" Matsumoto frowned. "Ahh--! Don't tell me you're actually already going out with her?!"
"No," said Haruka, and picked up a box to carry to the shelving cart.
"Then how would you--"
"I know," said Haruka, and wheeled the cart out to the front, ignoring Matsumoto's indignant sputtering behind him. The girl was long gone, but when he passed the registers he heard a faint bell chime.
After that, the day passed in a strange bubble of calm -- Haruka could feel a peculiar anticipation gathering in his skin, like a physical weight between his shoulder blades. When he rubbed his hands together, small static sparks jumped between his fingers, but by the time he left work, he could see dark clouds gathering in the horizon with the deepening twilight.
She stood at the corner with her arms folded over her chest, clutching at her own elbows, wearing a thin coat that probably offered no real protection from the coming night's chill. There was a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes that, like so much else, was familiar. Haruka slipped his own hands into his pockets and met her gaze evenly.
"You," he said, and stopped at that.
"Me," Ichijou Kagura agreed, and folded her arms, grasping at her elbows. She wore white and red again, and in the flare of yellowed light from the streetlamps and passing cars she looked only half-real. "Haruka-san, right? Matsumoto-kun told me."
Haruka tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged.
"I wanted to ask you some things." She lifted her chin a little, still smiling with that oddly knowing expression. "I don't suppose you would like to get some coffee with me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because," she said, "I'm pretty sure I have something you want."
He might have argued, especially against the smugness she wasn't quite hiding, or the mocking lift of one eyebrow. "I'm poor," he said. "You'll have to pay."
"I'm poor too," she said. "I'm a grad student. Money is a myth." She stepped aside to give him the room to stand beside her, and her next smile was more tentative, almost soft. "Shall we?"
Haruka glanced sideways at her, and thought about Kantarou's smile, the first time he had confessed. "Fine," he said.
+++
"When I was a little girl," said Ichijou Kagura, "my grandmother used to tell me stories about youkai."
Haruka eyed her over his untouched coffee. "Is that so," he said.
She laced her fingers together and rested her chin atop them, watching him thoughtfully. "I heard about all of them," she said. "Over and over, until I believed they were real. Sometimes I would go into the woods behind my house, and I know I saw them. But when I told my mother this, she scolded me for believing my grandmother too much."
Haruka ripped open a packet of sugar, then carefully began to shred the top sliver of paper between thumbs and forefingers. The sugar grains glinted dully in the cafe's articifial lighting. "Look," he said. "If you're going to tell me your life story, I'm not interested --"
"I'm getting there," she said, a faint sharpness in her voice. "I'm just setting things up. You can't tell a story properly without some backstory."
"Get on with it, then," Haruka told her. With practiced idleness he looked around the small cafe -- most of the other patrons looked to be college age, clustered in groups of twos, threes, and fours, most bent over open notes and texts and talking amongst themselves. The back of his head ached in a slow steady throb, like there was something he almost remembered lingering just out of reach.
"Mm." The girl sipped at her own coffee, then put it down, curling her fingers carefully around the hot paper cup. "When I was twelve, my grandmother told me about the Oni-Eating Tengu."
Instinct made him freeze automatically, and even as he cursed that kneejerk reaction, he could see that she had noticed. With effort, he swallowed back the first things he wanted to demand and said, "Your grandmother knew a lot of things."
"I thought so, too." She leaned forward, and suddenly now that she was that much closer, he could smell pipe smoke hanging around her, subtly different from the acrid tang of modern cigarettes. "I was absolutely fascinated. I couldn't stop asking her for more, even after her collection of stories ran out. I admired him the way most girls admire actors today." Her smile was self-mocking, but her eyes bored into him with unwavering intensity. "How he was the strongest of all youkai, sealed and unsealed by members of the same family, but vanished almost a hundred years ago ..."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Haruka kept his voice as even as possible. "Other than finding the books for you."
"Now, see," said the girl, leaning back again. "That's where things get interesting. I ended up doing some research on my own, when I realized there wasn't much else my grandmother would tell me. You'd be surprised at how much information there is available to someone who doesn't know when to stop."
He snorted faintly.
"So I tracked down the name of the one modern author who seemed to know anything about the Oni-Eater, supposedly the man who'd unsealed him," she said. "That's where I found Ichinomiya Kantarou's name, along with this." She reached into her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper, which she pushed across the table to Haruka. For a moment he couldn't break eye-contact, and then he looked down.
It was a black-and-white photocopy of some image, one of grainy quality and clarity. It was clear enough, though, that Haruka looked and recognized the face of the man in the picture immediately.
"Of course," said the girl, said Ichijou Kagura, "perhaps it's a coincidence, but I still wonder."
Haruka just stared. The picture had been snapped at some point before he'd met Kantarou, he thought distantly; he looked very young and wide-eyed, like he was barely out of school himself, and his hair was longer, slightly shaggier, than it had been at the end of his life. He didn't smile for the camera, staring at some distant point over the viewer's shoulder, stiff-backed in his formal clothes. Kantarou, who'd taken years to grow out of looking fifteen years too young, looked almost like a child in oversized clothes, trying too hard to play at adulthood.
"Haruka-san," the girl said quietly, breaking into Haruka's thoughts. "You must have cared for him very much."
His head snapped up and he stared at her. She had both her hands folded on the table now, and there was something like pity in her eyes, which galled. "You -- what, how do you --"
"My grandmother was a medium," she said quietly. "A very powerful one. She taught me a lot, whenever I visited her." She hesitated then, her eyes darting from side to side before she looked at Haruka again. "I know you're not human, Haruka-san, and it's not hard to guess what your connection to Ichinomiya-san was, if you look like you've been shot when his name gets mentioned, or when you look at me."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're imagining things," he said. "This sort of game isn't funny for children to play --"
"Ah," she said. Her pity burned. "You must have loved Ichinomiya-san very much, Haruka-san."
"I --" The rest of the sentence strangled in Haruka's throat. "I --"
"It's selfish of me, but I love Haruka, I want Haruka here, Haruka --"
He swallowed hard. There was a ringing noise in his ears that had nothing to do with the bells on his wrist, and the pressure at the back of his head and between his shoulder blades seemed to increase until it seemed almost like a physical weight, pressing him down. He broke eye-contact with the girl to stare at the copy of Kantarou's photograph, and for a moment even that face seemed strange to him. He swallowed again and tasted blood in the back of his throat.
"Haruka-san?" The girl's voice had risen slightly with alarm and he had a moment of petty mean pleasure at that -- let her worry, when she'd done this to him -- before he realized she was reaching for him. "Haruka-san, are you all right --"
He smacked her hand away, loud enough that the sound echoed in the coffee shop; most of the patrons turned to look before whispering behind their hands. The girl herself looked startled but not surprised, rubbing at her abused fingers.
"--Ah," he said finally. Roughly he shoved his chair back and stood; she tipped her head back to keep watching him. "I. I'm not ..." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then turned and stalked out of the coffee shop without looking back.
Fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind him and contemplated taking to flight -- the streets were otherwise deserted enough that no one else would notice, and there would be no way for her to easily catch up. Even with the faint drizzle that had kicked up, it would be better than --
"Haruka-san," the girl said again, as her hand closed around his sleeve and tugged.
Like a robot switched off, Haruka froze. Her fingers were almost painfully warm around his when she took his hand in both of hers, and even staring down at the sidewalk, he could see part of her as she moved to stand before him.
"Haruka-san," she said again, softly. Wet, she still smelled like pipe smoke and of incense, which was familiar enough that his throat closed against it. If he reached out with his eyes closed and all other senses extended, he thought he could believe it was Kantarou standing in front of him, Kantarou who was years dead and gone, because even the signature of the girl's reiki had the same shape and feel to it --
"Haruka-san," said the girl once more, and Haruka made a low pained noise before he caught her face in his free hand and kissed her.
It isn't magical or inspired or anything stupid, their first kiss, just teeth and harsh breathing and anger all tangled up with the want, until Kantarou pulls away to rest his forehead against Haruka's shoulder and whispers, in a reedy voice, "Haruka, I think we're in trouble --"
Her mouth remained soft under his when he bit down on her lower lip, suckling away the blood that welled up, but she made a small noise somewhere deep in her throat and realization of where they were crashed down through him.
Haruka tore back, ripping his hand from her grasp and shoving at her even as he stumbled himself, panting for breath. The girl stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open, and he watched as she lifted shaking fingers to touch her bruised lower lip.
"I think," he rasped, "you should leave."
The girl licked her own lips and drew herself up. "I don't think I should," she said, though her voice shook. "Haruka-san."
"I could kill you," he snapped, and didn't bother to hide his fangs when he did, watching her eyes go wide at the sight. "It'd be easy, and you wouldn't be able to stop me --"
"I'm not afraid," she returned, and her voice was gaining strength as she took a step towards him, then another. "Haruka-san, I don't think you have it in you to hurt me."
"You're an idiot, then," he snapped. "I almost killed Kantarou, why do you think I won't --"
"Because," she said, and Haruka made a sound like a struck animal when she took his hand again -- when had she gotten close enough to touch? -- and pulled it up to press it against her face. "Maybe I'm not him, Haruka-san, but I'm close enough that you can't risk it."
His mouth worked for a few moments, trying to vocalize some sort of protest and coming up with nothing. The girl blinked at him quietly before she smiled at him, and he was reminded of a dream where a white-haired red-eyed person waved at him from across a far distance.
"... You," he muttered, and let her draw him down once more.
+++
Later, Haruka wasn't certain how they managed to get back to his apartment -- after the second kiss, everything passed in a tangled blur until he came back to himself with the girl pressed up against his living room wall, one of her legs hooked around his hips and her jacket hanging half off one shoulder. She fit easily into his arms, smaller and slimmer than he was used to, but comfortable regardless.
"This is stupid," he muttered against her lips, rocking against her and closing his eyes when her hands wormed under his shirt, tracing patterns across his back and sides. "We shouldn't --"
"Probably not," she agreed, breathless. "But I want to anyway. Do you?"
He kissed her again, then tugged her head back with one hand in her hair, ducking to bite at her throat. Under his lips, her pulse fluttered rapidly, restlessly, like a trapped bird. She laughed deep in her throat, and that felt good too, so he drew his tongue along her throat, hoping to hear it again.
She didn't laugh again, but she sighed and dragged her nails down his back as her hips moved restlessly against him. He dropped his head to her shoulder for a moment, growling low in his throat, then ducked to paw at her shirt until cloth slipped and he could clearly see the dark outline of her nipple through her thin shirt. This Haruka bent and closed his lips over, tracing its hard rise with his tongue through the rough cloth as she gasped and arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
When he closed his teeth and tugged, she made a low hungry sound and groped down, fumbling to undo his pants as best she could without pulling back fully.
"You're right, this is crazy," she gasped, and Haruka had to lift his head to gasp for breath as her hand finally dipped down and her fingers wrapped around his cock. "This is crazy, this is insane --"
"Stop," Haruka growled at her. "Stop, I --"
"I don't want to," she murmured breathlessly, and her eyes were wide and bright as she stroked him -- a little clumsy, but still with odd confidence, like she was slowly remembering the familiarity of his skin. "I don't want to, don't make me --"
"I'll eat you alive," he muttered, and she laughed again, her hand moving with confidence now, and he had to curl his arms around her for support, pressing her harder against the wall. "I'll rip you apart and eat you --"
"How romantic," she teased breathlessly, then gasped when he bit her throat again, sucking until the pale skin was flushed bright red. "Ah --"
Blindly, without lifting his head, Haruka grabbed handfuls of her skirt, yanking it up to her hips before he reached under it, hooking his thumbs into her underwear and tugging until she dropped her leg, then shoved it down as far as he could reach. She was breathing in short, sharp gasps against his hair, wriggling desperately in his arms as he smoothed his hand up her inner thigh.
"I thought," she whispered, her voice thin and shaking, "you wanted to stop."
Haruka pressed two fingers between her legs, and she tensed with a high strangled gasp as he fumbled until he found heat and wet, stroking until her legs opened further for him. It took a moment of fumbling to find the nub of her clit, and she seemed to melt against him, still petting him with clumsy determination.
"Idiot," he muttered into her skin, as she finally let go of him to struggle with his pants, her breathing high and sharp. "Idiot, we shouldn't, you shouldn't --"
"I do," she mumbled back, clawing at his back as he shifted, pressed her harder against the wall. "I do, so it's too late, you can't take it back, you--"
He rocked hard against her, and didn't quite whimper at the wet heat of her, though she keened in her throat and clung harder to him, her face pressed into his hair. After a bit of shifting he pressed firmly into her and held still for a moment, gasping in an attempt to try and catch his breath.
"You," he muttered, gritting his teeth when she shifted minutely against him. Her face was flushed and her eyes wild, and for just a moment, she was the most beautiful thing in the world. "You're --"
"Haruka--san," she whispered, and slid shaking hands through her hair. "Please."
He closed his eyes and moved. It was awkward at first, with her shoulders flat against the wall and her knees occasionally buckling as they rocked together -- but more than that was the feel of her around him, her hands clenched in his hair, and the taste of sweat and human salt on his tongue as he worried carefully at her shoulder. She made tiny, mewling sounds of encouragement and he closed his arms more tightly around her, closing his eyes as they moved.
"Haruka, ah, Haruka, I love you -- I love you --"
Haruka came with a rough, guttural sound, biting down onto her shoulder hard enough that he tasted blood. It almost hurt, like finally relaxing after years -- years -- of tension.
She was still whimpering under him as he sagged, pinning her harder against the wall. He shook his head carefully, and when it didn't fall from his shoulders, he pressed his lips to her bloodied shoulder and pressed a clumsy hand between them, stroking her stomach until she grabbed his wrist and dragged it down to the proper place as she continued to rock, gasping for breath.
When she came, her fingers tightened in his hair so much it stung, a high breathless sound torn from her throat -- and then it seemed the last of the support holding the two of them gave out, and they slid together down the wall until they touched down on the floor in a sweaty tangle of limbs and clothing. Haruka licked idly at her shoulder until he could no longer taste blood, just clean skin.
"Oh," she sighed, her voice small. One small hand, tangled in the hair at the nape of Haruka's neck, moved in a sluggish little caress. "Oh, that ..."
Haruka muttered something incoherent back, his breathing slow and careful. Lying this way, his head slowly clearing, he became aware of a handful of other differences: she was soft where he remembered bony angles, subtle changes in the scent and taste on his tongue, and the long, tangled fall of silver hair that pressed against his face when he turned his head. She sighed, and the movement pressed her breasts more firmly against him and he thought: does this count as betrayal?
Kagura didn't say anything else, just stroking his hair lightly, and despite the uncomfortable position they were twisted into, Haruka found himself relaxing into a vague doze, shifting until her heartbeat was right under his ear.
And Kantarou is mostly bone and scrawny limbs beneath Haruka, but he clings with a strength that seems like more than his slim body should have. His silence is thoughtful as he slides his fingers through Haruka's hair over and over, a repetitive petting motion that is quietly, comfortably hypnotic.
"I'm jealous," he says at last.
"Jealous?" Haruka doesn't bother to open his eyes. "Of?"
"Whoever will come after me." There is wistfulness in Kantarou's voice, and a host of other things that Haruka is too sleepy to attempt to puzzle out. "But--"
Something sour turned over in his stomach. He felt strange, leaden and distant, more an observer than an active participant.
Very slowly, Haruka untangled himself from the girl's arms and sat back, rubbing his face. She moved with equal care when his weight was removed, straightening against the wall. They stared at each other in a silence that grew progressively heavier with each passing heartbeat. She was looking for something in his expression, he knew, and so kept his face carefully neutral.
Finally, she sighed and began to tug her clothing back into some semblance of order, no longer meeting his gaze. "Hey," she murmured. "Can I use your shower?"
Her voice sounded strange, but it didn't grate as much as his own when he cleared his throat and said, "Yes."
+++
The girl showered quickly, at least, and when she emerged, squeezing her hair in one of his towels, Haruka had not moved from his position, still seated by the wall. From the corner of one eye he saw her hesitate before her face set into an almost grim expression and she approached him. When she knelt beside him, he was immediately aware that she still smelled partly of him, and when he risked a quick glance at her, he could see the red mark on her shoulder clearly through her white shirt.
"I'm not sorry," she said.
Haruka's gaze slid towards her, then away.
"I mean it," she insisted, and for a sudden crazy moment he thought she would reach out and touch him, and wasn't sure how really he would react to it. "I'm not sorry at all. I'm glad."
Glad. He turned over the sound of the word and for a moment he didn't know if he could understand it. I'm glad it happened, I wanted it to happen, I don't regret at all.
"I do," he said at last, his voice choked in his throat. "Regret."
He thought, for some reason, that it would effect her. Instead, she just smiled again, and the look in her eyes was the same as when Kantarou had smiled at him for the last time. This time she did reach out and touch him, and he just barely avoided flinching when her fingers carded carefully through his hair.
"I know," she said quietly. "I'm sorry for that, at least."
He hunched his shoulders and turned his head away. She didn't try to shift closer, still petting his hair quietly for a few more moments, then pulled back and stood.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything."
Haruka heard her walk away, and the sound of his front door opening and closing. He didn't move long after the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the hall.
+++
While he didn't mean to sleep, he still dreamed: the grove of cherry trees was unchanged, except it was possibly longer than before, so that even his wings wouldn't be able to cross the distance.
And far away, the figure in white and red didn't turn when he called, walking slowly until its outline was obscured by whirling flowers.
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That line made my heart ache. Poor Haruka.
And I have got to stop reading this right before I leave for work. It's addictive and I wind up late. -_- Still worth it. I love how even after being with her, everything is still not fine. It's a nice change from a lot of reincarnation fics.
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But I'm really really glad you're liking it♥♥♥
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I'm so glad you're enjoying it, seriously♥
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The sex bits worried me because I had no idea if I pulled them off right, so it's good to know it worked. XDThank you for taking the time to read thismonstrously long bastard hahaand comment♥♥♥ :DFrom:
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Man, you write hot sex scenes. ::bows in admiration::
May I offere a teeny typo/usage thing? -- in this sentence
He thought, for some reason, that it would effect her
you need "affect" rather than "effect."
...and now off to read more!
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Ahaha, and I'm glad you liked the sex scene. XD; It makes me happy to hear it was successfully pulled off♥