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When Hyakka awoke, he was amazed to find the steady almost endless stream of patients lessened into a trickle. Only a few mononoke and ayakashi came through harping at the top of their lungs over an illness or a piece of news they wanted to gossip over. Attempts to fall into a pocket of sleep were thwarted by one conversation after another.
One-sided as they were, considering the person of interest spoke in a hushed gentle voice not unlike stablehands tending to spooked horses. Cracking one eye, Hyakka peered through sleep’s veil toward the young doctor perched upon a stool aside an aging desk laden with the tools of his profession. Shoulders rolled back, head held high and lips twitching upward every so often at a story told - Mao was the perfect listener.
Hyakka sighed internally. He always had been the perfect listener. Even when they were young, and Hyakka attempted to drag him into one confrontation after the other - show him the fruits of his labor - Mao followed along, surely knowing the outcome. No matter how many scoldings Hyakka received from their tongue-wagging elders, Mao came to his side again and again.
Pain pricked the length of Hyakka’s arm and he rolled onto his back to alleviate the strain. It was strange. Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to all sorts of pains and annoyances. Fights weren’t an uncommon occurrence even in the circus. Yet, no matter how many times he fell, he always got up with this feeling of death looming —
He willed himself not to look toward Mao at the thought. Hearing the distant laughter of the patient he was speaking to, and his own polite chuckles.
You can still find it in yourself to laugh?
Turning his head toward the rows of cabinets and drawers, now neatly arranged without their contents spilling out, he made a mental note to ask Mao how he managed to create such a loyal shikigami.
Most of his own were as destructive as they were helpful but the shikigami in Mao’s employ seemed happy, if not wholly intent, on helping him at every turn. Hyakka was sure he’d even heard him scolding Mao once.
Can a guy with that much talent really be a nobody?
Flashes of fire, yelling, a beloved body and spirit ripped from this world - the voices shouting that it was Mao. It was him who did it — him who killed her.
Why else would their teacher want him dead?
Was it obvious to everyone from the start that Mao was that kind of person? That he would betray them at some point, just like Mozuku?
Hyakka-sama, take care of yourself.
Mao, dark-haired and brown-eyed, the fullness of his cheeks betraying his youth even though he was a few years older than Hyakka himself. Those eyes reflected a world unseen to him but they weren’t filled with contempt or exasperation. Only concern as he took in the bandages on Hyakka’s arms and waved to him from his place by their teacher’s horse. Hyakka only turned his nose up and stormed away, but on the inside -
“Well, I’ll see you next time, Mao-sama!”
“Mm, take care.”
The door’s bell chimed and thrust Hyakka from his thoughts. Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up to his elbows and scanned the room. It’d been cleaned entirely and that girl - Nanoka - was tucked into Mao’s bedding fast asleep. Hyakka grumbled to himself. Why did she get to lay on it when he was the one who did all of the heavy lifting?
Hyakka, you should be kind to girls.
His heart stuttered at that voice. Soft as a spring rain, yet warmer than a flame during the coldest of nights, it haunted him like the tender brush of an ember against the palm of his hands — easy to summon, but difficult to hold onto.
Sana-sama..
“Hyakka-sama,” a voice from his memory overlapped with the one from his present, carefully drawing him from his thoughts and into the simultaneously cramped and spacious room of Mao’s office. The man in question, stared at him from his desk, keeping a respectable distance although the slight twitch in his finger spoke of a desire to do otherwise. “Is everything alright?”
For someone who shouldn’t trust him, he was oddly careful and worrying. It almost made him sick to his stomach. How could he act like that after what he’d done?
I have no memories of that time.
The simmering ire immediately doused. Mao’s eyes then, it reminded him of how he’d looked nine hundred years ago. Lost and confused but yearning for something. To know or to be accepted, Hyakka wasn’t sure.
Hyakka clenched his jaw and flopped down. “Mind your own business,” he said firmly. Grasping the hem of the garment tossed over him, he drew it up to his chin and focused his gaze on the windows. The glass was cool and dark. Night must have fallen sometime when he’d been asleep. Had Mao been working the entire time?
The dismissal wasn’t answered by a rebuke or anything at all. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he glanced aside, both surprised and annoyed at being given Mao’s back to view. His shoulders moved fluidly and the krrch-krrch-krrch of a grinding pestle filled the air. It’d be difficult to get back to sleep but at least Mao wasn’t asking him any uncomfortable questions. Or treading any closer than what he’d been already.
Hyakka tucked his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, content to let the minutes tick by to the sound of Mao grinding the herbs in the mortar. After the second hour passed, he had to consider the countless drawers and jars. Did he make all of them by hand? How long did that take and how much did he need? It sounded like a painfully long process and to do it in silence was even more aggravating. Although with his eyes closed, the sound was bearable and even somewhat soothing —
“It must be hard,” Hyakka said abruptly, interrupting the stillness surrounding them.
The grinding stopped, and Mao’s quiet voice answered. “Hard?”
“For those idiots to be depending on you all the time,” Hyakka clarified, dismissing the soft snort from Mao. Was he always that cheeky even when they were younger? It was easy to miss but still. “Back where I was, everyone knew better than to force their problems off on me.”
Although he was the Fire Head User, he could still be a bit of a hothead sometimes. Everyone knew to keep their distance and he could come and go as he pleased.
“As expected of Hyakka-sama.”
Hyakka tensed, whipping around hard enough that his shoulder ached at the movement. “What’s that supposed to mean!?”
Mao hadn’t turned to face him and that only incited his anger even more.
“I don’t mind though,” Mao said, turning the pestle in his hand before the steady krrch-krrch-krrch started again.
Hyakka frowned. There were a multitude of questions rolling about in his mind. What did he mean by ‘he didn’t mind’? What was his reason for starting up this place to begin with? What did he get out of it? For all the people he hurt during the Gokou Family’s fall, for the one that he killed that he should have loved more than anything —
What was this supposed to be?
Hyakka glanced aside at the girl - Nanoka - still sleeping soundly. Even her, what was Mao’s purpose in keeping her around? They were connected, both ayakashi, but —
She’s not Sana-sama.
“Do you want to?” Hyakka asked, likely faltering Mao’s pace when he heard a light clatter against the inside of the mortar. Determination and desire linked together and threatened to burn his insides from how many questions wanted to spill from his lips. “Are you trying to atone —”
“Hyakka-sama,” Mao interjected and the crisp snap of his voice immediately gave Hyakka pause.
Tension thickened the air and for a moment, Hyakka wondered if this was it. Mao’s breaking point. Where they’d finally settle what they should have outside of the Ryounkaku. Heat trickled down into his palms and a budding flame began to bloom between his fingertips. Mao slowly turned, and Hyakka held his breath when he saw a sliver of brown peek from beneath white bangs. The scar bisecting his eye scrunched as Mao’s eyes narrowed, his lips parting and Hyakka stiffened up.
“You should sleep longer,” Mao said, almost seeming exasperated and weary, one thin dark brow raised. “It almost sounds as if you’re concerned.”
Apprehension bled out of Hyakka like water slipping from the mouth of a jug. Mao held his gaze for a moment longer then turned away, resuming his work as if nothing happened.
Did he really do it? How can he be so calm?
Hyakka gritted his teeth and growled in frustration, flopping down and curling up on his side. “Forget it!”
He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his fist to his forehead, letting the flame go out.
Give me an answer, Mao.
The moment seemed to slip away and Hyakka curled up tighter, holding his trembling fist to his chest.
If I kill you, would I be taking the life of an enemy or a friend?