The heat of a late afternoon, the baked thatched roof tiles cooling, the reds growing deeper across the skyline, did not prepare Hari for the greatest change of his young life. He did not know that once night fell, path and purpose in this testosterone-filled living complex, would become pristinely paved. Along with the night came a considerable buzz. On all sides, Hari heard whispers of another child having been brought to the hideout.
On that same evening, Hari had felt an itch. It was not unusual, but as he was seated in the dining room, kneeling at the end of a row of men all dining, and as he brought a mouthful of rice to his lips the irritation of his itch overcame the necessity of eating. He set down his chopsticks and with the cusp of two fingernails addressed the issue. It just so happened to be the edge of his nose, not quite the nostril, but as he scratched the sliding door opened to reveal the source of the murmurs.
Hari did not know that for Kai, it was the worst possible impression. Of course, Kai's dazed mind was still taking in the scenery, a large tatami room, and the sudden presence of a dozen men, young and old, taking their evening meal, but his eyes locked onto the closest and youngest whose finger was just too close to his nose.
While eating? Kai's insides twisted in revulsion and as he studied Hari, his palms started sweating and bumps formed on his skin. He'd just had a bath, he'd just started feeling clean, and the sight threatened to reverse the progress he'd made.
"Chisaki, have a seat."
Not by him, not by the dirty-
"Kurono, I'll leave Chisaki to you." Their boss ushered Kai to Hari's side with a firm hand.
"Yes, sir." Hari's fingers had dropped.
It did not take more than a moment to notice the boy named Chisaki fixating on the placement of his fingers. He also noticed something else, his irises were gold, the aura they cast in their stare suffocating. Why else had Hari moved so quickly to adjust? It crossed his mind to exaggerate, let his fingers linger, keep the strength of that glare on him, but Hari was more accommodating than that. Hari was more agreeable.
"I'll serve you," Hari pushed up from his kneeling position, drawing his eyes away with a natural air of reservation.
And just as he was padding across the tatami toward the floor wood hallway he caught the sound of a growling murmur.
"Wash your hands."
Hari's eyes narrowed at nothing, his palm ghosting the wooden frame of the door as he exited toward the kitchen. The itch of the evening was replaced with a bloom of irritation.
Maybe I won't? It also crossed his mind, but he wasn't particularly petty. He was new and witnessing someone picking at their face during a meal would put anyone off of being served by them.
So he did lather and rinse in the kitchen sink, then prepared an additional tray with rice, miso soup, alongside pickled vegetables, a portion of soy sauce drenched tofu, and one of the remaining cuts of broiled salmon. Just as he did for every man in the room, quietly chewing their food and glancing at the newbie, Hari politely set the tray in front of a still frowning Kai. When they looked at one another Hari saw it flashing at him like a neon sign.
You better have washed your hands.
The edge of Hari's lip curved, the shadow of a smirk, only a sliver of the petty slipping through his expression. Let him wonder.
Hari returned to Kai's side, taking up his chopsticks, throwing another look to Kai, wondering if he was unagreeable enough to refuse to eat. Unfortunately, his wondering was interrupted by a bark from the middle-aged man across from them.
"Get going, it's gonna get cold."
Kai snatched up his utensils and plunged them into the steaming white rice, hefting a large glob up and thrusting it into his frowning mouth. Hari sipped his soup, once again stealing a glance at his counterpart, unable to shake the sensation that he was beside someone on the verge of snapping. Kai's stiff movements, aside from the initial snatch, the initial allusion to someone used to grabbing and running, Hari noticed something else. There was a tremor, a twitch almost, like the first bite and the lack of a need to flee foreshadowed an eruption. Hari's first impression, less disgusted and more irked, melted with the sound of a faint and pitiful sniff.
Grey to gold, white to black, the tears running down Kai's face drained the minor irritation in Hari, itches now nothing, a pleasant warmth emanating from the cold he'd carried in with him.
Is he crying because of me?
Hari turned fully to him, pausing, holding his bowl midair, watching each clear drop roll down flushed cheeks and drip onto the tray below.
Is he sensitive?
Maybe it was the way the man had yelled at him, maybe it was fear at being served skin cells with his food, but neither was true. It only took their boss, after speaking to a few of the men, providing directions on which room to give Kai, providing a comforting pat atop his shuddering auburn hair, for Hari to understand. He was home, for the first time in his life, Kai was home. So Hari smiled, shutting his eyes for a moment, hoping this meant, when the meal was over and the tears ceased, he'd have another face to call familiar.
The boards beneath Hari's chest were worn, rotting and had he not distributed his weight so carefully, he surely would have fallen through. His muscles, trained as they were, were taut with tension, ready to spring at a moment's notice as the scenes below unfolded.
Taking aim, a single sweat-bead formed and rolled down his temple as he pulled the trigger. It was not fear, it was adrenaline, but it was also his drive that kept him steady. Do not fail. For him. Do not fail for him.
"I'm counting on you."
Spoken in private, before he was dismissed, his body still tingled with the determination to achieve brought on by a four word phrase.
Hari felt it now too, in the ceiling, braced, aiming, still. Blood burst like a mist, raining down around his young lord, wetting his sleeve, and Hari's first thought was-
I'll have to wash that.
Followed by his refocus, him retaking his aim, but he missed. The dread that came washed over his skin, turning his sweat cold. His chest tightened with a white, sharp slew of panic, he gripped around the handle of the gun. The thought, he's going to die, didn't fully form. The shield on standby played his part, protected Kai, and the rest of their team burst through the walls. No, Hari's thoughts had never reached the concept of death, not for Kai, because it was Kai. He would not lose.
It was the perfect moment to sigh in relief, feel at ease that their counterparts were capable of basic protection, but he had somewhere important to be.
"That was a close one, Overhaul," Hari threw himself into the dusty warehouse air, landing nimbly beside Kai in time for a reprimand.
"You're late." It was short and gruff from the natural nasal quality of his voice.
But in true Hari fashion, he brushed it aside.
"I missed a shot, but there was enough immediate effectiveness," he straightened and raised the muzzle with an informative air.
The adrenaline, the concern abated with the presence of the others, with Kai turning his back. They left behind two corpses, a spreading pool of blood, the husk of their comrade crumbling, mixing, creating an organic wet cement atop a stone floor. Hari had seen such gore and mess, destruction in the wake of their goals.
Beneath their masks his comrades were likely swallowing down their nausea, ignoring the reflexive desire to expel the scent of rot, meat, and death. The masks helped, but only so much. The night air was crisp and the smell of dirt was sweeter than the lingering odor of the statement they'd collectively made.
Joi chatter behind them, still perched atop Rikiya, snarling about the League of Villains and their blatant disrespect. Meanwhile, Shin was moving closer to Hari, then rushing forward to catch up to Kai's side. Hari watched, quietly, Shin dashing to Kai, but not too close, asking Kai if he was alright.
Of course he is.
For Hari watching Shin cling to Kai's coattails was bitter, like he'd sunk his teeth into a pickled plum. It was sour on his tongue, forcing saliva to build in his mouth and initiating his next thick swallow, but his smidgen of jealousy was short-lived. Kai shrugged Shin away despite not being touched, a gloved palm returning to his left sleeve to tug it off his skin. Red had soaked into the material and when they'd reached a safe enough distance that they were sure they weren't being pursued, Kai slid his olive jacket from his shoulders.
It was an acknowledgment of his position when Kai glanced back to check where Hari was, to throw his jacket over his shoulder in assurance that Hari would catch it.
And he did, folding and holding it to his chest, letting a smile form across his lips, hidden from the world, but not from Kai.
Kai knew, Hari knew, they both knew without speaking. Hari watched his broad-shouldered back stretch with his straightening, the black of his dress-shirt and the dark of the night keeping the movement hardly visible. It was their obvious secret and no one else's, even if neither had spoken it aloud.
Back at the residence, they separated from the rest of the men, toward their underground living space tucked away from the surface. Shoes scuffed against the gray cement floors. From the warehouse to their home Hari had stayed just a few feet behind him, it was his place to follow.
The moment the old man said, "Kurono, I'll leave Chisaki to you," the underbrush in Hari's path was pushed aside with a strong cold wind. The blurriness of his future came into focus when Kai glared at him through his tears years ago. But not completely, neither had verbally acknowledged what it was they shared and Hari spent much of each day wondering, if during the long nights working at his desk, Kai could hear his unspoken whispers.
"If you hadn't missed, it would have gone smoother."
It was the next part, not something Hari hadn't expected. He let out a soft sigh, muffled, but he was not at all perturbed.
"Things could have gone smoother, but what do you expect from a rag-tag group of villains such as them?" Hari proposed it as a means to divert.
Not that he couldn't handle the brat-like retorts Kai was inclined to spew whether in public or private.
He could tell more than anything that Kai was genuinely miffed. Not just because his skin was covered in hives and his nerves were frayed from the pride-driven, anxiety-sourced impulse to clean. He'd been disrespected, made filthy, and Hari was responsible for quelling the trembles and shakes before he erupted.
It was with another glance of those glaring gold eyes alongside a quick snap of, "You're filthy," Hari recognized he was being relegated to the punching bag position yet again. His white raincoat was covered in streaks of dirt, dust, and the memory of his missed shot. There was humiliation and disappointment in their private sphere, but Hari, despite sometimes consenting to the position, was no foot-stool.
"Of course, it is inevitable when one is asked to hide in the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse," Hari did not mumble, he spoke clearly and firmly.
It was his retaliation for receiving all of the blame for the failure of the exchange and as he unclipped his mask he noticed the sensation of eyes boring into him. He'd expected a glare, but those thin dark brows were knitted, those shining eyes watching him, the lines on his face intimating some kind of apology? Hari let his hood slide off as he slipped away his mask. The disappointment melted away, only when they'd crossed that unspoken threshold. Away from everyone, Hari waited for a sip of sweetness that was as rare as it was delicious.
"...Hari…"
It was only his name, spoken in two syllables, shaped with forbidden lips behind a gold-framed beak-shaped mask, calling out to him and only him. In two syllables, Hari heard the apology, the threads of intimacy binding them together like the jacket Hari clutched to his chest. He smiled with a downward tilt of his chin, tearing away to focus his senses on the moment. Somehow when he closed them, he could see those threads better, like koto strings strummed with quick and precise fingers, the melody only audible when they pretended not to hear it.
"I'll run a bath," Hari responded, the breathy silkiness of his voice harmonizing with the phantom instrument.
And Hari wondered if Kai did hear it, heard him singing, grateful to follow the path that had formed when he'd arrived that warm, summer night. When he opened his eyes he thought he'd see Kai's back again, always in front, always ahead, but no. He was not there, without looking, without seeing, Hari knew, Kai was beside him.