They walked the length of the barracks beneath a dark sky flecked in diamond shimmer, the air remaining stale and heavy with silence.
Hijikata led the way. While he was a man of common stature, the cadence of his heavy steps and slight forward tilt of his shoulders radiated an ominous aura, even when he had no menacing intentions. The front was an ever-enduring protective attribute, as important for Hijikata to don each morning as his actual clothing. Just like those garments, though, Kondo knew exactly what lay beneath.
The short trip to the housing wing served as an unnecessary reminder that he was the only one privileged enough who could make that claim. Lagging behind several steps, Kondo observed as lower ranking members cleared a path before them in a long stretch of porch. They dodged and stepped aside, some pivoting partway on their heels before turning back and bowing. One reached for a nearby broom in attempt to appear preoccupied, regardless of being off duty.
Apparently, anything was more desirable than contact with the individual they'd come to tremble at.
To those comprising the bottom layers of company hierarchy, Hijikata symbolized unwavering strictness and merciless discipline—a so-called demon vice commander who brought death and suffering to both friend and foe, who had no concern about how others perceived him.
In their eyes, he was the man whose laws had ultimately been the undoing of well-loved individuals like Yamanami and Kawai, and for reasons that seemed senseless without knowing the bigger picture. His tongue was as sharp with the truth as it was blunt, his resolve adamant and his purpose seldom clear to the many he didn't personally confide in.
But this man Kondo trailed was so much more than the infamy he'd managed to earn himself…more than his formal title, more than what the whispers echoed in these walls, more than anyone gave him credit for.
To Kondo, he was Toshi: neither a demon nor the bringer of misery, but a human who bled and grieved and needed and hurt and was doing the best he could just like everyone else.
Even when he wouldn't admit it.
Especially when he wouldn't admit it.
Though Hijikata's motivations had always been grounded in what was best for the Shinsengumi, his reputation made him largely unreadable and unapproachable—unlikable, even. Tension with Shieikan comrades who'd once been like brothers, Nagakura most notably, left him somewhat alienated. So while Kondo happened to very much enjoy his company and the way it felt to have him near, Hijikata was left to fend for himself when the needs of the country pulled them physically apart.
Unlike the others with established social circles, there was no surplus of support to turn to when hardship crashed on dandara shores, and no arms that would lovingly catch him when he stumbled. Of them all, Inoue was the exception: the one other who saw past those staggering walls of defense Hijikata built. In Kondo's absence, Gen-san could be the rational voice, sympathetic ear, or weathered guide, but he was also a father-like figure and there was only so far his comfort could reach.
Perhaps that was what Hijikata wanted, however. He never asked for help, never approached anyone for favors, never wanted to owe anything to someone else. Understanding his subtleties and discerning if he was in need of anything were akin to constantly deciphering subtext—something which, fortunately for them both, Kondo had become quite proficient at.
So, Hijikata could stalk about with his cold exterior, lecturing, intimidating, criticizing, reprimanding, and scaring everyone off. He could say things like, "I don't care what anyone thinks of me" or, "It makes no difference what they say." When everything was said and done, all Kondo needed was one look into his eyes to know the real story. What they told him tonight was likely more than Hijikata would have preferred to disclose.
He was hurting.
And because Kondo's heart beat in time to the same metronome, he hurt just as much. There was more to it, of course; he deeply regretted the loss of Kawai and the subsequent impact that rifled through the ranks like a shockwave. Still, nothing was quite as difficult to swallow as watching Hijikata acting like he hadn't been affected when he most certainly was.
His strength was staggering—with the blade, in spirit, emotionally. Sometimes, it was so staggering that Hijikata closed himself off from feeling the things that would remind him he was, in the end, human after all. Sometimes, he forgot that it was okay to be the one needing support instead of constantly giving it and that love was, in its purest form, a two-way street.
During those times, it was Kondo's obligation to remind him of the beauty of his humanity, and this night would be no exception; he would adore him, would become the sheath for the sword that protected him. And like this, they could both find solace.
The idle background noise of the common areas dissolved as their footsteps carried them through the corridors, decidedly human sounds traded for the trickling of water in the garden when their domicile location came into view.
Upon moving to Nishi Honganji, the pair had once again selected adjacent rooms; while it made good operational sense for commander and vice commander to reside in nearby quarters, there was a specific appeal to these that influenced their decision: the presence of interior doors.
From the outside, these living arrangements appeared separate, but the convenience of inner shoji allowed them to convert two into one…which could be quickly divided into individuals again to save face should the need ever arise.
While a cool breeze sighed through stark plant life encircling the small pond, Hijikata approached the nearest entrance—Kondo's—and jostled the shoji aside. Without looking back, he pressed his palm against the exposed narrow edge, the worn appearance of his profile coming into view and making Kondo long to reach for him.
He'd decided on the usual approach: to not push and let Hijikata come to him on his own, as neither fancied being fussed over or coddled. But the physical and emotional fatigue observed from earlier were so much more apparent now, that those original intentions were overridden on the sight.
Just how much relentless grief had Hijikata been forced to endure alone, until the situation resulted in…Kondo's mouth twitched…this? Unlike himself, Hijikata had no inclination to brood; when he was angry, he yelled and when times were trying, he sought comfort in Kondo's arms.
But in the absence of their warmth and with no place to expel this suffocating negativity, all on his own Hijikata had needed to swallow the overwhelming anguish his decisions (necessary as they were) had spawned. That torment only added to an already cracking foundation—the persistent needling of anxiety which stemmed from Kondo's acceptance of the mission in the first place. And more yet, the judgement he'd endured from peers and subordinates alike had only aggravated the existing complexity of the circumstances.
Above all this, however, loomed the most important precedent: visible weakness at the top was a disease, and putting it on candid display welcomed the spread of uncertainty and instability through the body. So, the perfect storm had mounted and churned a massive opposition, testing Hijikata, inviting him to break oath and destroy everything they'd—he'd—worked so tirelessly to build.
Still, he hadn't fractured.
Not when Nagakura confronted him. Not when even Saito ventured a step into questioning him. Not when his hands were bound by knowing Takeda was at fault for everything, but not having the decisive confession. Not when he heard Kawai despondently asking about the courier for the umpteenth time, day in and day out. Not when he witnessed an innocent man committing seppuku, not when Tani botched his duty, not when the jingling of delivery bells filled the air almost immediately after…
Hijikata had again accepted the full weight of responsibility, of the blame and indignation. He'd once more been so austere in his discipline, so committed, that even now the depth of his emotions remained tightly secured under lock and key.
…And he'd keep it that way, to spare his commander from even a sliver of sharing in it. Kondo's eyes softened. Had Gen-san told him nothing, he would have known nothing.
"Stay here." The words, of course, were devoid of feeling. "I'll light the candles."
It was a request which went ignored.
Kondo set himself in motion the moment Hijikata stepped over the track. He slung forward, a hand sending the door skittering closed after him with a haphazard shove, and his left arm thrust out across Hijikata's chest. Shrouded in darkness, Kondo stepped up behind him, his temple brushing against silk hair and the other arm joining to form a secure embrace.
Neither moved in those seconds immediately following, the softness of their falling breaths accounting for the only sounds in the space.
There was too much to say, and so much that needed to be out in the open: apologies and regret for having to leave, for imposing the crushing weight of Kawai's seppuku upon Hijikata, for impelling him into a role without having the full authority that came with it, for not being present when Hijikata had needed him most. It was all so heavy and all too much—complicated and intimidating to figure out where to begin—but they had to start somewhere. And in that second, Kondo decided his first move.
"…Toshi," he whispered at last. "I came back."