Toshi's upset, Kat-chan comforts
.*Without a Word*.
It was early on when Kondo had come to learn that not everything in life warranted an explanation—or even had one. On some instances, it simply wasn't about why something happened, but how one dealt with what unexpectedly landed in his lap. And on this particular evening, that something was Hijikata.
Candlelight roused soft gold upon the interior of Kondo's quarters as he immersed himself in his favorite story yet again, so deeply engrossed within the tale of Kanko's bravery that he hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps on the porch. The shoji suddenly flying open across the track sent a jolt through his body and had his spine straightening—and when he saw Hijikata's face, he'd known then and there that something was amiss.
Contrasting the strength with which he'd opened the door, Hijikata turned and softly slid it shut again. Kondo's lips parted but whatever he'd intended to speak was abandoned at the sight of Hijikata remaining in place with his palm still pressed to the shoji and his shoulders dipping slightly.
Still without a word, Kondo waited. And when several short seconds passed with no change to the situation, he gently asked, "Toshi?"
Hijikata's face lifted and he turned, slow and deliberate, to meet Kondo's eyes. The intensity of emotion he'd worn so openly had faded now, and perhaps to anyone else, it would seem it'd all been but a fleeting moment. Kondo, however, was better versed than anyone when it came to his own, and that meant he knew better.
He closed the book immediately without even marking the page, set it beside him on the tatami, and pushed it away. Though he continued the quietude, he was acutely aware of the softening in his gaze as his hands lifted, palms open and fingers stretching out in invitation.
Hijikata remained still in his own contemplation, and it took one gentle drop of Kondo's chin before his feet began carrying him across the room. His approach was nearly cautious, but then he lowered to straddle Kondo's legs and willingly slid into the waiting embrace. Arms closed around him tightly like clockwork, drawing him even nearer, and Kondo pressed his lips unto one purple-clad shoulder.
He wouldn't demand what had stirred Hijikata's indignation, wouldn't pry for more than what Hijikata was willing to tell; instead, he simply held him–kept him enveloped in his warmth and let his fingers flex into the fabric of hakamashita. Regardless of what occurred, no matter what had come to pass, there was one thing that rang true: Kondo was there, as he always had been and always would be.
His lashes fell as time ticked by and Hijikata settled deeper into his embrace, making it easier to nuzzle him. And at last, the problem presented itself with the utterance of one name.
"Souji."
Kondo's lips twitched and he inhaled with a small shake of his head. "I know."