#mayuhimu

Mayuzumi sighs. “Well, first of all, I’m not gonna die even if you decapitate me, because fucking Akashi still has my heart.”

“Go on.”

“Do you really like playing this game so much.”

“Mm.” The tip of his sword digs deeper into Mayuzumi’s skin. “I’m waiting.”

“Second of all, I’m really sorry I tried to kidnap your kid, okay? That was like, three visits ago. Maybe four.”

“Muro-chin isn’t my dad,” said kid calls from behind a rock, staring at him suspiciously. “And he should just eat you already. You’re weird.”

“You know I don’t want to get a stomachache, Atsushi.”

“Rude,” Mayuzumi mutters as he finally feels the pressure on his neck disappear. It’s infuriating how Himuro isn’t that much taller than him but still looks so much more imposing, even with him swishing around that fluffy thing on his shoulder. He wonders idly if it’s a tail (and if he could discreetly touch it without immediately getting shredded) as he steps away carefully from where he had been. “Okay, so here’s the deal - ”

“You’re here on Akashi’s behalf to offer me another, vastly convoluted way to defeat my dear brother.”

At this, Mayuzumi rolls his eyes. “Wow, I don’t even have to sell it to you anymore, do I? But yeah, the usual.”

“So this is just perfunctory.”

“Right.” Another day, another bullshit assignment. It’s no great secret now that Mayuzumi would vastly prefer telling Akashi to piss off than do to his bidding, but that he would also rather do that while staying in one piece, thank you very much. While Himuro is only marginally less annoying than Kagami and his ragtag group, at least he isn’t yet directly in Akashi’s line of fire. Yet. Mayuzumi shrugs, motioning to go. “Well, that’s all then - “

Himuro grabs his wrist, startling him so much he almost falls backwards.

“I didn’t tell you to leave,” he says, and this time Mayuzumi thinks he isn’t hallucinating the mild interest in his voice. “Tell me more.”

Behind them, he can hear a childish grumble to the tune of ugh, finally.

2.

“Muro-chin, didn’t we just pass through here?”

“I forgot something,” Himuro says, without looking back. Over the months Atsushi has become accustomed to running after him (sometimes reluctantly, dragging his feet) over all manners of terrain that he doesn’t really worry anymore about the kid getting lost or eaten by bears or whatever. In any case, Atsushi is bigger than most children of his age, and less prone to doing stupid things like helping lost pilgrims and fighting off swarms of bees for random villagers.

“Is there something in the water?” Atsushi asks as they stop near the stream. The something in question is beyond the bend, and Himuro sees it soon enough: a figure lying prone in the middle, clinging to a rock as the water rushed over him. “What - ”

“Atsushi, can you bring me some firewood?”

“Eh?”

-

Atsushi sits next to him, roasting a string of ayu on a stick. A few feet away, beyond the fire they’d just made, is Mayuzumi propped up against a rock, unconscious as the gaping wound on his chest heals bit by bit. 

Asleep, there is something almost serene in his expression, something that Himuro has never seen before. Usually he just looks bored, or annoyed, or some combination of both with a healthy side of contempt. Maybe having to be around Akashi all the time would do that. Atsushi passes him half of the fish, and they eat in silence.

“Nngh.”

Atsushi scuttles closer to him as Mayuzumi groans and starts to wake, his eyes fluttering open in disorientation. The child pouts and clings on to Himuro’s sleeve. “He’s still weird.”

“You’re not that great either,” Mayuzumi shoots back. Then he looks down at his chest, and then back up at Himuro. “...Please don’t tell me.”

“You kind of fell out of the sky,” Himuro tells him noncommittally. The sun hangs low on the horizon, burning the clouds orange and gold. Atsushi sneezes, loudly. Maybe it’s best to stop here for the night. “You’re free to go, if you want.”

“Wasn’t planning on being stuck here with you anyway,” Mayuzumi grumbles, sitting up straight. Himuro finds himself eyeing the other youkai’s fingers as he pulls at what remains of his collar; though Mayuzumi isn’t in any terrible state of undress, whatever attack he’d taken had left him topless for the most part. Mayuzumi, catching his gaze, narrows his eyes. “...What are you doing.”

He doesn’t bother looking away. “Sitting here, mostly.”

“Great,” Mayuzumi says, standing up. “Keep doing that.”

“Aren’t you going to thank Muro-chin for saving you?” Atsushi pipes up at this moment; Himuro’s almost forgotten the kid is still there, huddled up against him. “You know. Because he did.”

The wind picks up around them, gently at first, then howling and furious. Frowning, Himuro moves to shield them both from the leaves and other flying debris.

“I don’t owe anyone anything.”

When the wind dies down, Mayuzumi is no longer there.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” Himuro says. He looks up at the dying light, and notices a single feather, long and silver, land softly at his feet. That he picks up, turning over in his fingers, then slides into his sleeve.

(3. 

“Is this what you imagined it to be?” Himuro asks. They are sitting on a hill somewhere far from home, far from anything they know. “Freedom, I mean.”

“Not really,” Mayuzumi replies. He coughs. “Well, maybe a little.”

Mayuzumi leans heavily on his shoulder, his hair gently tickling Himuro’s cheek. Around them, there are flowers, although what kind they are Himuro has no idea. In all his journeys he’s never had much time to look at the flowers.

Now he’s too late.

Himuro takes his hand; there is blood on it, too much blood, and the scent of it all makes him lightheaded. This time is different, because he can hear the beating, however slowly, of a heart. “In what way?”

“Everything’s a little clearer,” Mayuzumi says, his voice a little raspier than before, a little quieter. Himuro watches the black bruises spread slowly, crawling up his shoulder, down his sides, a virus even Tenseiga cannot cure. Mayuzumi reaches up and touches his chest. “Like the fact that we’ll all die, anyway. Someday.”

“Someday,” Himuro agrees. Not now, he wants to say, but it would be a lie. He closes his own hand around Mayuzumi’s, listening to the wind in his ear. Thump, thump. “Atsushi will miss you.”

“Little brat won’t remember much.”

“Trust me, he will.”

I will.

Then something hits his nose, then his chin: petals, small and white, the entire hillside dancing with springtime. It is almost enough to hide the scent of decay and blood--almost.

“You don’t have to overexert yourself,” he tells Mayuzumi. “It’s fine.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Mayuzumi tells him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were saying stupid things.”

“Are you happy, then?”

“Mm.” He reaches up, touching Himuro’s face, brushing aside his fringe. “Close your eyes.”

Himuro does so.

HanaHimu:

“I can’t sleep without you here...” Tatsuya mumbled as he clung to Makoto. “Please don’t leave...”

Makoto froze, unable to bring himself to leave. The way Tatsuya clung to him, whined out his request... He couldn’t say no.

That didn’t mean he could just say yes, though. Relationships weren’t his forte in the least. It would be easier for him to treat this like he did his friends. Laugh it off and leave.

So why couldn’t he bring himself to leave the other boy? Why did he want to stay and wrap his arms around Tatsuya?

He sighed after a while of thinking. “Fine, fine... I’ll stay right here...” He turned the best he could and laid back down. “Get some sleep.”

“You promise you won’t leave...?” Tatsuya’s eyes were wide, full of fear.

“I promise...I won’t leave until you tell me to.” Makoto kissed his forehead. 

“Thank you...” Tatsuya held the other tight. “I’m sorry...”

“No need to apologize.” Makoto sighed. Sure, most people would make this annoying, but something about Tatsuya...made it hard.

“Are you sure...?” Tatsuya sniffled and peeked up at Makoto again.

“I’m sure.” Makoto replied with a sigh. “Now you seriously need to shut up and get some sleep.”

MidoAka:

Seijuurou wished he could keep himself from crying. He wished he wasn’t so scared Shintarou was going to walk out at any minute. He was, though, he was terrified.

He’d made a mistake, cried. His father had always told him that was weakness, why didn’t he listen? Now he was going to lose the one thing he had.

“Please don’t leave me...” He choked out, grabbing at Shintarou’s sleeves and the other’s eyes widened.

“Why would I leave you?” He asked, his voice soft. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“I made a mistake...” Seijuurou’s voice was quiet. “Please, please don’t leave.”

Shintarou knelt and wiped the tears from the redhead’s eyes. “I promise I’m never going to leave you.”

Seijuurou wrapped his arms around the green-haired boy and shook with tears. “Thank you...”

MayuHimu(Thank the generator, okay):

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Chihiro asked, obviously displeased by the other’s sniffling. “What did I say to make you cry?”

“How can you handle so many prodigies at once?” Tatsuya asked, the tears still threatening to spill.

Chihiro realized then it wasn’t happy or sad tears about to fall, but angry tears. His lack of issue with the prodigies on his team was making this guy angry? Odd thing to get worked up about...

“Someone needs to learn to calm down.”

“Calm down? How can I be calm?” Tatsuya hissed, eyes narrowing. “Around someone like you--”

“And here I was, thinking that you’d hid a dead body somewhere.”

This time he does look up, peering over the book in a deader expression than normal at the man throwing his keys on the table. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Tatsuya looks like he’s about to chuck the plate at his face. "Very funny. You’ve never had kusaya before?”

“No.” A pause, then a sigh. “I wish you’d have let me cook today.”

“Whoa, I thought we were supposed to split the chores.” Chihiro sits up from the couch, stretching, and reluctantly puts his novel down. The living room is tiny and still cluttered with unopened boxes, and he crosses it in a couple steps to the equally tiny kitchen. “You always make a mess when you cook.”

“Then you’d clean it up, won’t you? Splitting the chores.” Tatsuya flashes him one of his brilliant smiles, and he stops. Sometimes he wonders how the hell this relationship even started, and this is one of those times when he’s looking at this smile too beautiful to call his own. Like some scene from when a mediocre light novel protagonist has an epiphany about his relationship with a stunning girl and muses on the surreality of it all. He thinks back to that year he went abroad to America for a summer and--

He frowns. There’s definitely a hand sneaking towards the plate with malicious intent. Chihiro darts in at the last moment and snatches his kusaya away from harm, staring accusingly as he does so. “That’s so unfair.”

“Didn’t know you started stealing my lines either.”

“You’re hotter when you shut up.” Then Chihiro leanes in to actually shut him up, mouth-first. He tries to slide the plate back to the far side of the table, but finds that it actually takes a really good sense of balance to do anything while making out next to the sharp corners of their new dining table. Fuck it, he thinks, and starts really going for it.

(It doesn’t really help that Tatsuya already has a hand in his hair and grabs away at his scalp, and Chihiro feels hot despite the air conditioning on full blast and they’re barely a minute into doing this and he feels another arm snake around his waist and into his jeans and his mind just stops.)

There is a crash.

Chihiro breaks away first, annoyed at how even in this disheveled state Tatsuya still looks impressively put-together with that fucking smirk on his face, though the unmistakable redness is a victory on Chihiro’s part. He warily sidesteps a piece of porcelain. “Fuck.”

“Oops.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Hey, I’m not kissing you if you eat that--that...is that even a Japanese thing?”