Dedicated to @wannabegeo, who feels away from home and needed a little pick me up.
They had ridden all day toward the next village on their itinerary. Tooru hated packing whenever they had to move to the next village. Tracking all his scattered things among the various caravan carts was awful, but he couldnāt help but love the thrill he felt every time they arrived into another town. New people, new stories, everything was so new, ready to be discovered. He could never get bored this way. Every new audience, every new routine was a challenge he couldnāt wait to take.
Everything was newā¦ except Hajime. Hajime was solid, permanent, unchanging. Hajime was there by his side, watching the sky for those who asked him about their future, only tearing his piercing gaze away from it to look at Tooru. This never failed to make him feel a roaring sensation deep in his chest. It was proudness, loud joy, scorching love. Everything that could make Tooru smile with shining eyes was āHajimeā.
Setting camp was a more pleasant task, and Tooru always managed to find a way to sneak away just before someone announced they needed new wood for the bonfire or other things. More often than not Hajime would drag him back to help - if he wasnāt enough convincing with his request for some very appreciated alone time with him - but today Tooru was allowed to slack off. He should be allowed to do whatever he wanted on his birthday, shouldnāt he?
He spotted Hajime right where heād imagined he would find him: they always looked for a clearing not too near, not too far from the village they were going to stay in for a while, and Hajime always chose to set their cart just a little over the outer circle of carts. His lover needed all the space he could get to see the stars, and Tooru didnāt mind one bit: stars were beautiful, even if they didnāt tell him the same stories they told Hajime.
He loved listening Hajime talk about stars.
At night, lying side by side on the cold earth, barely protected from the chilly night by the thick scarf they used as a quilt, he loved listening Hajime telling him stories about gods, about lovers, about heroes, about long forgotten battles and hunts, about simple men.
Hajime whispered them all in his ears, lips brushing against the soft skin of his pierced ear lobe, nipping almost unintentionally at it from time to time. He could feel Hajime grin against his skin in those moments, when he caught Tooru trying to suppress shivers not born from the chilly night air.
He always tried to keep his focus on the stars above them: the stage for Hajimeās stories was just so vast, so full of mysteries and possibilitiesā¦! Tooru had always felt a sort of attraction for it, even when he was just a child and the one telling stories wasnāt Hajime but his mum.
He could remember most of them, but the stories always lacked details, endings or some parts in the middle. His attention at some point always wandered from the starry sky, to concentrate on the man at his side, voice rumbling soft and relaxed while telling Tooru all the secrets of the cosmos.
Tooru more than the stars, more than their stories, loved catching slivers of their mysteries, their secrets, reflected in Hajimeās eyes.
He loved everything he could see and everything he couldnāt quite catch of Hajime.
He prouded himself in being a good actor and a good observer when the situation needed. He was a performer: he threw knives to a spinning target in front of an audience for a living He gave the audience the kind of thrill, the kind of show they wanted, and he couldnāt let them see his concentration, his fatigue, all the training and technique something apparently simple as throwing a knife required in order to hit the target exactly how he wanted, where he wanted. All the while, gifting blinding smiles to the people applauding and cheering him with every perfect hit.
His smiling mask didnāt show cracks, only the flawless, effortless art of a deathly throw made for sport. But around Hajime, masks were useless, unnecessary, for he saw right through them with his piercing green gaze.
Hajimeās eyes never looked at him. They pierced through him, resting just to catch his own very soul, bared for him to see, because Tooru couldnāt really hide anything to Hajime. He didnāt want to. Hajime was the only one that could read, feel, touch all his secrets. Tooru had given them to Hajime, without reserves, a long time ago.
Tooru was his, in every aspect - masks, secrets, and soul - , just like Hajime was his - stories, secrets, and soul.
Ohā¦! How Tooru loved letting go like this, sharing secret moments with his lover, stories that only the two of them would ever know! Just like the fact that they had already celebrated his birthday that night, right when the first rosy ray of light had pierced through the thick mantle of the night above them.
Yes, tonight there will be food, drinks around the bonfire the whole crew was building, dances and songs ātill the next morning, but the real celebration had already had place in their little cart full of pillows and quilts, bells and little knick-knacks chiming with every breeze and tremor.
He recalled that night with a longing smile on his lips, while slowly making his way too their cart.
This is a companion piece for Castor and Pollux were lovers
