Chapter Twelve: Clothes Make the Man
"How bad is it?", Souta asked, expelling steam as he spoke. The chill bite of the late fall morning had turned the boy's cheeks a bright pink.
"The weather stripping will need replacing," Sesshoumaru replied, tearing off a piece of the crumbling tar paper as if to confirm his deduction. He tossed it aside and began to examine the newly revealed plywood beneath. Discolored by countless rains and snowmelts, the panel stunk of mildew. He prodded the worst of it and felt the spongy rot give way.
Careful steps clattered up the roofing tile. Soon a shadow fell over him, blocking the wan sunlight.
"That's not good," the boy said before crouching down beside him. Together they poked at the rot.
"Has the weather oracle changed their forecast?"
Souta wiped his fingers clean on his pants before pulling out an electronic tablet from his coat pocket. After a swipe and a few taps, he opened the weather app. "Nope. It's still supposed to rain tomorrow and then snow next week."
He hummed, the oracle confirming what his senses already knew. He didn't prefer to be wrong, but in this case, he wouldn't have been opposed to it. With a nod, he stood up, and like the boy, wiped his hands on his pants. "We will do what we can. May I use the tablet?"
Without looking, Souta lifted it up and handed it to him, and then went back to prodding the plywood, testing the feel of it in different places. Soon he was tugging at the tar paper, experimenting with how easy it was to tear. As he ripped off pieces, part of him waited for the daiyoukai object. To tell him to leave it alone and not make it worse, like anyone else would say. But he said nothing.
Sesshoumaru selected an eBook app and pulled up a complete archive of Bikini Girl Basic Guides, a gift from Higurashi-san. She had said that it was in celebration of his recent recovery, but he suspected that she merely had more household tasks in mind for him. He smirked. The woman would be excellent at shogi, but perhaps not against him.
Scrolling down through the list, he found the guide on roofing and began swiping through the pages. It was still strange to read literature on glass instead of paper. But even that which was on paper had a certain sterility to it. A mechanical hand that prints each character with a precision any calligrapher would envy. And yet, it was the writer's flourishes and imperfections that made it an art.
His swiping slowed and he started rereading the chapters on roof construction and temporary fixes. Perhaps they could seal the hole and lay down new weather stripping. Then in the spring, they could plan to reroof the entire house.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sesshoumaru watched Souta destroy the exposed tar paper piece by piece. The boy had scarcely let him out of his sight since the night he was shot. In his indifference, he had even permitted the child to drag a spare futon into his room so that he could sleep there. As a one-time youkai lord, the experience was both novel and strange. In the past, he would have been irritated by such monitoring, but here he only found it perplexing. Had others ever worried about his safety in the same way as this boy did now?
He recalled the small, green youkai who once wielded the Staff of Heads. The memory felt old, like reading parchment bleached by years in the sun. The words were still there, just faded now by time and the elements. Jaken had always been a fretful sort, but he was more concerned about propriety, particularly when aspersions were cast toward his lordship's title. He frowned. Had his retainer truly considered his title so fragile that he worried over its treatment above the safety of his master? Or had he been conditioned to prioritize one over the other by that very master?
A young girl came to mind next. In all her time under his protection, Rin was rarely the type to worry, except in the beginning when it was her kindness that earned her the right to join his company. Perhaps what kept her from being too deeply affected was the fact that violence and loss had always surrounded her. She would follow him, and if he ceased to be, she would move on. He thought of the youkai exterminator boy and knew somehow that she had done just that.
But this wasn't the Sengoku Jidai any longer. Souta had no knowledge of lordships and titles. He did not spend his days playing in old battlefields chasing crows. The boy worried about him. About his safety. And about losing him.
"Sesshoumaru!" a voice called out to him.
He looked away from the tablet. Down below, Kagome waved at him.
"We're ready for you!"
He nodded and handed the tablet back to Souta. Then with grace, he leapt from the roof to land softly beside her. Together they entered the house. The warm air inside thawed the chill from his cheeks, and he pulled off his boots in the entryway.
"Are you excited?" she asked, already in her house slippers.
An onslaught of packages had arrived over the past few days, and the women had been busily completing some project related to him. The most that they let slip was that it was a gift.
He gave her the slightest shrug.
"Well, I'll be excited for you," she replied with a smile. "I'm sure you'll feel different when you see it."
"I believe you overestimate what it takes for me to feel excited."
"No, I think I've got it about right."
His skeptical look only broadened her smile into a grin.
They walked down the hallway and into the living room where Mama and Grandpa waited. Folded neatly on the dining table was an assortment of clothes. A pair of white pants and a white, long-sleeved pullover. A gold and navy sash. And at the center laid out for display, a white, sleeveless, Chinese changshan-style tunic with a mandarin collar. The tunic was split at just below hip height, leaving two long panels, one in front and the other in back. The panels bore the same red floral print as his trench coat, no doubt salvaged from the tattered remains.
"So," Kagome began when his blank expression persisted, "Since we know now that your nightly adventures involve terrorizing criminals and other heroic stuff, we decided to do our part to help out. Especially since your old clothes were pretty much ruined."
Curious, he knelt beside the table and touched the fabric. The match between the floral print material and the tunic was passable. The same for the stitching. He raised an eyebrow at the mandarin collar.
"Exotic styles are popular for hero costumes," she spoke up, "And since you went for the Western trench coat, we figured you'd be okay with something non-traditional."
"At least it's not spandex," Mama added, covering a smile with her hand.
"I still say he could rock spandex. Superheroes wear spandex."
Grandpa shook his head and scowled at the ladies, obviously irritated at an old debate that wouldn't die.
Sesshoumaru picked up the tunic and folded it over one arm before stacking the rest of the items to pick them up.
"Before you go try it on," Mama said, confirming his next task without his consent, "Put this on underneath." Tucked under her arm was a thick, black vest. She held it out to him, and when he took it, it was somewhat heavier than he expected.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Think of it as armor. For bullets at least. It won't stop everything, but it's better than nothing. You're usually supposed to wear it over your clothing, but we figured you might want to preserve an invulnerability effect as part of your reputation."
He nodded and tucked it in with the clothes.
"Well, go put them on. We had to buy some sizes too large on account of your height and the vest. We'll pin it where it's too loose so that you can make the alterations."
He regarded her for a moment. 'Definitely a formidable shogi player', he thought.
Sesshoumaru climbed the stairs to his room and slid the door shut behind him. As he stripped down to his underclothes, he could hear the household's excited whispers outside in the hallway and he sighed. With his hearing, they might as well talk at their usual volume, though he appreciated that they were at least pretending to give him space.
"Don't put on the tunic or sash yet!" Kagome blurted out, "We'll do it after we've pinned your shirt and pants."
So much for pretending.
The vest was first. He pulled it over his head and adjusted the shoulder straps until it was centered over his chest. As he tightened it on the sides, he felt a wash of comfort he hadn't realized he missed. The vest wasn't as heavy as his old armor, but the sensation of feeling secure and protected was there. Like a piece of him had returned. After performing some stretches, he adjusted the tightness until he was satisfied. Next came the pullover shirt and pants. Both were too loose in places, but the shirt fit well across the chest and shoulders and the pants were an acceptable length.
The door slid open, and the women poured in. Slowly, they circled him, like a pair of wolves sizing up their prey. He eyed them as they passed, reasonably certain that he could take them.
"You women have no respect for a man's privacy!" Grandpa scolded from the doorway.
"You were peeking too," Kagome said absently, her finger lightly drumming against her lips as she assessed Sesshoumaru. "Definitely too loose in the torso and the hips."
Mama nodded. "What do you think, Sesshoumaru?"
"I agree," he replied, then added. "The pantleg is wider than my preference. As is the sleeve."
"In that case, we'll pin one leg and sleeve. That way when you rip the stitches out, you can match the pairs and alter them so that they're even."
With pins pressed between their lips, the women descended on him. Carefully, they began to pin the excess fabric. Back and forth, they debated the path of the new seams, applying a mix of their own sense and his guidance until they created the shape that best suited him.
Once satisfied, they stepped back and admired their work. Then they gestured to the tunic. Mild annoyance briefly graced his face, but he did as requested and put the tunic on. The fabric was stiffer than the shirt and pants, but without sleeves, it didn't hamper his movement. The women pinned the torso, but the rest fit well.
"Time for the sash," Kagome said with a nod. "You don't tie it like a normal obi-"
"I know how to tie this style of sash," Sesshoumaru interrupted.
Palms out in deference, she smiled in apology.
Deftly, he wrapped the sash around his waist several times and tied it into place. When he was done, he coolly looked at his audience, feeling that he had adequately proven that he was still capable of dressing himself.
"You need to look in the mirror," Mama said, unable to hide her smirk.
He scowled.
"No, it's good," she amended. "Go look."
Passing other nods of approval, he left his room and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. But when he found the mirror, he was unprepared for what he saw. In it, the past and the present stared back at him through startled gold eyes. His mouth gaped slightly. The old lord was there, in the colors, the sash, and the armor, but the design was something new. Reinvented to fit his new world and purpose. It was both entrancing and disorienting, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
"See I knew he would like it," Kagome said, grinning as she peeked a look at his reflection.
"I'm just glad that the sleeveless tunic works with the pullover," Mama sighed, edging in on the other side. "I'm still not certain if I like a mandarin collar without sleeves on a man."
"It's not like he doesn't have the arms for it."
"True."
"In any case, he'll need something sleeveless. The summers get too hot here for a man to be running around dressed in long sleeves. Not to mention in white. Imagine all that sweat. Especially under the arms."
"Wait, do dogs sweat?" Mama asked.
"Well, he's a dog youkai. Maybe being a youkai comes before being a dog."
"And youkai sweat?"
"I don't know… Sesshoumaru, are you a youkai or a dog first? And do you sweat?"
"I am more sensitive to temperature now than in the past," he replied, answering neither question.
"He's definitely going to sweat," Kagome concluded. "No sleeves for sure."
"Enough!" Grandpa fumed. "A man's sweat is his pride and proof of his vitality!" He squeezed in past his granddaughter to catch Sesshoumaru's eyes in the mirror. "Do not heed these females, and their… their sexist attitudes. As a man, your sweat is an honor! Never be ashamed of it!"
"Females?!" Kagome blurted out in shock. "Sexist attitudes?!"
"Calm down," Mama soothed as the two started to squabble. "Remember that we have one more gift?"
"Oh, right," Kagome said, the argument swiftly forgotten, "Let me go get it."
A moment later, she returned, and the others stepped back to join her, leaving Sesshoumaru alone with the mirror.
"So, there's one last thing," she said warmly, "A finishing touch."
Pulling himself away from the ghost in his reflection, Sesshoumaru turned to spy over his shoulder at her, and for the second time that day, his mouth gaped. In her hands was his mask, and along its hairline was a cap of long, silver hair whose ends pooled at the floor. It was his hair.
"We know that you're not a lord anymore, and that's why you cut off your hair. But you're still a warrior, right? It seemed like a waste to throw it away, even before all of this."
"And it's removable," Mama added. "In case you don't like it."
Nervously, Kagome held the mask out for him to take, and with a hesitancy that felt so unlike him, he took it. He stared at the face of the mask, again mesmerized by the blend of his past and present. Seeing his old self in the details and the hair, but his new self in the design. Even though he was the one who crafted the mask, the hair transformed it into what it was meant to be.
Flipping the hair forward, he secured the mask over his face and pulled the cap into place. Then he tossed the flow of hair back. It cascaded down his back with a weight that felt familiar and reassuring. He felt whole.
He turned to face the others. "Well?"
Stunned silence answered him, and he enjoyed the peace it brought.
"How much does he look like his old self?" Mama asked, finally managing to string some words together.
Kagome shook her head and laughed under her breath. "If we found a big fluffy boa for him to wear over one shoulder, I think we'd be obligated to call him Sesshoumaru-sama from now on."
He snorted, obviously pleased.
A series of clatters, ringing like shattering glass, erupted from outside. They were soon followed by a volley of thumps.
"What was that?" Mama asked, anxiety in her voice. "Is Souta still on the roof? Did he just fall?"
"He's well," Sesshoumaru said, his head tilted toward the front of the house. "I will see to him." He pulled the mask up and off his face and handed it to her. "Do you have the device I requested?"
She nodded and reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out an inexpensive smartphone. "I setup the app you wanted."
"Thank you." Then he paused. Looking at the three of them, a swell of gratitude tightened in his chest. "For all of this."
'Of course," Grandpa replied with a humph and he crossed his arms. A smile quickly followed. "You're family."
He nodded and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. The sound of thumps and clattering continued when he reached the entryway, and a loud bang followed as he pulled on his boots.
When he stepped out into the chill morning, he discovered a battle zone. Across the ground lay shattered roofing tiles and his carpentry tools. The roll of tar paper he had bought yesterday was in an unfurled heap. Even the ladder had been kicked away from the eave and rested on the ground. The salt of tears punctuated the air, and above him, he heard the upset boy stifling his sobs.
Sesshoumaru sprang up and landed lightly on the roof so as not to break any tiles. Souta sat along the eave, his legs dangling off the edge. He walked towards him, and then took a seat beside him. Together they sat in silence except for Souta's occasional sniffle. Every so often he rubbed his eyes hard with his palms, trying to erase his embarrassment. Not that it mattered. Sesshoumaru already knew he'd been crying.
"You're worried about me?" Sesshoumaru asked in a way that resembled a statement more than a question.
Another silence passed, then Souta nodded.
"I come from a time where violence and death are commonplace. To have someone worry about my safety is a rare experience for me. One I'm not yet accustomed to."
"I don't care," he blurted out, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "You're here now. Not there. Just stay here and fix the roof and other stuff. I don't want you to be a hero."
"But it was me being a hero that saved your life, remember?"
Souta was quiet.
"I believe there is a path to purpose in protecting this city. In acting heroic."
"Then promise me that you won't get hurt again."
Sesshoumaru sighed. "I cannot."
"That's not good enough."
"I know," he admitted and set his hand on Souta's shoulder. "Take out your tablet."
The boy did as he asked, producing his tablet from his coat pocket. As he did, Sesshouamru pulled out the smartphone from his pants pocket.
"As the apex predator in times past and present, it's distasteful to be the one who is being tracked," he said, unlocking the device. Then he made a series of taps. "But I will grant you the privilege of stalking me."
A notification message appeared on Souta's tablet. A follow request from Sesshoumaru by his mother's favorite stalker app. If he accepted it, then as long as the daiyoukai carried his phone, he could use the GPS and cell towers to track him whenever he wanted to and vice versa.
"If you are worried, then you can find me no matter where I might be," he assured, "No one else has that permission. And should I be injured and unable to return home, it will be your task to save me." His eyes gripped the boy with unexpected seriousness. "Are you willing to accept this responsibility?"
Silence. Then Souta nodded, his tears drying up. He tapped accept.
"Good."
"Are you angry with me?" he asked sheepishly.
Sesshoumaru looked at the mess strewn about on the ground below. The tiles aside, nothing was broken. And despite that, he knew there were spare tiles stacked in the shed, a fact that he was certain Souta knew as well. Still, even if there weren't, he doubted that he could feel anything like anger towards the boy.
"No."
"Will you help me clean it up?"
"Yes."