A/N: I know this drabble gets vague towards the end – my actual intent was to have the last sentence be interpreted as pertaining to both Gojyo and Hakkai, so I'm sorry if that's a little confusing...and that's why I explained it here!
Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki. I only derive personal satisfaction from writing these stories, but no monetary profit.
Gojyo walked out of the bathroom toweling his long hair and slouched over the bed where he collapsed and lit up a cigarette. He looked sideways at Hakkai, who was sharing the room with him for the night. Hakkai was already in his pajamas, clean and somehow remarkably dry looking. Gojyo caught a glimpse of his profile over his shoulder – even when his face was straight, he seemed to have an enigmatic curve to his unassuming lips. Gojyo hated it. His eyes seemed strained, his face seemed weary. Seeing Hakkai like this was never pleasant. When he seemed weak or vulnerable, Gojyo felt betrayed: he had no right to be that way.
Because Hakkai always seemed impervious – clean and tidy and unruffled, always apologetic without being humble, strong without being arrogant. He was not perfect, but so damn close it was scary. In arguments, his ominous calm pervaded the conversation while he used his sharp tongue to eliminate any protest. His wit and intelligence was clearly above Gojyo's, his tastes and judgments refined beyond any manner he recognized. Hakkai always quoted fine literature and read books on things like chiropractory or ancient mythology. Hakkai always acted above everything around him, like he could laugh off any adversary. Gojyo expected that, he understood that. But when Hakkai was like this, he didn't know what to do. To Gojyo, simply Hakkai's being affected by the rain was disturbing.
Because Gojyo was impressionable. He lived like a carefree man and he acted impervious as well as he could, but the truth was that he often would do nothing but think over his mistakes in the jeep. Nonsensical things would parade through his mind, thoughts of a youkai that they fought the night before, or something Hakkai had told him about medicine, or a particularly colorful insult from Sanzo. He couldn't help regretting a lot of things – never his own past, it made him the person he was today. But things like all the little tragedies that happened along the journey, and the outstandingly, callously stupid things he would say to people without thinking, or the way he couldn't seem to understand how Hakkai was so clean.
He didn't regret himself, did he? He puffed on the cigarette. Hakkai sighed heavily, waving his hand before his nose while still staring absentmindedly out the window.
But maybe if he were more impervious right now, things wouldn't be this way.