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“Did you hear what that Igogusa said to me the other day?” A man said to another as they were walking past him. His ears perked up at the sound of her nickname. He hated when people called her that.
“What?” The other man said.
“She...” the wind carried off the man’s answer, but he had heard enough to get his attention. He placed his basket gently next to him, and slowly got up. He would come back for it later. He trailed off silently after the two men, wanting to listen to the rest of their conversation.
They walked past several fishermen who were coming back from a day in the sea, speaking boastfully while they were unloading their cargo on the shore.
“Really? She said that?” One of the men said, amusement in his tone.
“Honest to God. I don’t know what’s going on through that girl’s head, honestly.”
“Nothing good, that’s for sure, hanging out with that demon brat all the time.”
Ah, of course, Hajime thought. He really didn’t care too much what people said or thought about him, but that their resentment and bitterness would speal onto her was something that he had a hard time dealing with. He thought about making his presence known when the other man continued.
“That seaweed hair must be turning her brain to mush.” the man said derisively.
The other man laughed at the insipid remark. Now, we can’t have that, Hajime thought, as he reached down to his geta, sliding it off silently, and gripping the strap between his fingers. With a running start, he reached up to the side of the man’s head.
“If she’s in need of...” he didn’t get to finish his sentence: a geta clad hand impacted against the side of his head, knocking him to the side and into his friend next to him. Both men tumbled into the ground, one of them bleeding, the other stunned into silence, mouth open and eyes like saucers. The uninjured man scrambled quickly to his feet, leaving his friend behind.
“Want to finish that sentence, asshole?” Hajime said, kneeling next to the man, raising his hand to continue his assault. He could hear the other man running towards the fishermen on the shore screaming “HELP! The demon brat attacked Toshi!”
He turned towards the sound of the man’s screams. He could see that at least five men were already running towards him. “Tch,” he spat. The man at his feet had rolled into a ball, his arms around his head trying to protect it. Hajime stood up, abandoning his geta to the side and swiftly kicking the man with enough force to make him whimper. “Talk shit about her again and I’ll make you regret it even more.”
The men were upon him already. Five against one. He fought them off with everything he had. He gave as good as he got, breaking their noses, knocking off their teeth, busting their lips. He regretted the loss of his geta, but kept fighting until all had either ran off or lay unconscious at his feet, the guy who had started the whole thing had disappeared awhile ago.
Satisfied, Hajime turned away from the scene. He located his geta and limped away to look for his basket. Upon locating it, he winced as he leaned down to pick it up. Straightening up, he gingerly reached up to touch his face. He could feel blood coming out of a cut on his forehead entering one of his eyes. He wiped the blood coming out of his nose before it reached his mouth. He stared at his hands, there was a mix of his blood and the other men’s blood staining his knuckles.
She’s going to be so angry, he thought absentmindedly.
-
“Ouch!” Hajime yelped, trying to bat her hand away “Careful, Chiyo-chan.”
“Would you just hold still for a minute, Hajime-chan?” She chided him, “if you’re so keen on getting into fights over every little thing maybe I shouldn’t keep doing this for you.”
“Those assholes were talking shit about you,” he protested, trying—and failing—to hold still.
“And I’ve told you a million times that I don’t care what people say about me,” she told him sternly, but not unkindly.
“Well, I do,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Jeez.” she huffed, moving on to clean the wounds in his hands. He used the distraction to study her face: her brow was scrunched up and her tongue peaked between her lips in concentration as she gently dabbed some antiseptic in his knuckles to later dress the wounds. She’s so cute, he thought, repressing a sigh.
He wasn’t sorry about what he had done, but he didn’t like seeing her upset, much less being the cause for such an emotion. He was about to apologize when he noticed a red welt on her cheek. He untangled his hands from hers and gently grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He turned her face a little to the side to better study the mark.
“Who did this to you?” he asked.
“Your face is all busted up and you’re worried about this tiny thing?” she waved him off lightly.
“Tell me, Chiyo-chan,” he demanded as softly as he could.
"I got into a bit of an argument with my mother," she said, evasively.
Hajime saw red. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone laying a hand on her. "That fucking old bitch." He spat.
"Hajime-chan! Don’t say such horrible things," she told him sternly, her eyes flashing.
"But it’s true! How could that hag hit her own daughter?"
"She's still my mother and you have no right to say those things about her!"
"If I could, I'd beat her up," he declared.
"Agh! This is why everybody hates you, Hajime-chan!" She all but screamed, turning her face away from him.
He stared at her, his face clouding over with apprehension, his stomach tying into knots of uncertainty and dread. Had he finally gone too far?
“Even you?” He whispered.
He turned around to look at her, his face betraying none of the turmoil that had suddenly seized his heart. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her favor. She was silent for a few seconds, studying his face, her eyes expressionless.
He saw one of her hands reach up towards him, as if to touch his face. He went very still. Her fingers hovered near his cheek and his heart started racing. Her fingers made contact with his skin, still, he didn't dare to hope for her soft caress. Instead, he felt her pinching his cheek hard.
“You can be so dumb sometimes, Tsukishima Hajime,” she said.
“Ow! Chiyo-chan, that hurts,” he complained, massaging the spot where she had pinched him.
"Well, you deserved it!"
"Hmph," he grumbled, turning his face away from her.
Then he felt her hands coming up to frame his face gently. She turned his face towards hers and looked into his eyes: her face retained some of her initial exasperation, though her eyes were gentle.
"How could you possibly believe I would ever hate you?” She said as she tenderly caressed his face, mindful once again of his wounds.
“Oh,” he said, a ghost of a smile and a faint blush softening his features.
She smiled at him softly, letting go of his face to grab one of his hands. They sat there in silence, watching the sea. He caressed her knuckles lightly, her hand soft under his rough fingers.
"Your hair’s up," he commented, absently.
"Oh, yes. It was too windy today. It was getting in my face," she said, touching it a tad self-consciously.
"Would you let it down," he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "please?"
"Oh, all right," she said, somewhat reluctantly freeing it from the comb that precariously held it all together.
The mass of curls tumbled out of its prison, briefly framing her face before being swept by the sea breeze, the top of her face and eyes obscured by it. He stared at her for some time, mesmerized by the sight of her hair being gently carried by the wind, as if it had a life of its own. He reached for the back of her head and buried his hand into the thick wild mass, spreading his finger, trying to encompass it entirely. He moved his face closer to hers, tilting it at an angle.
“Perfect,” he whispered, her breath ghosting against his lips softly until he closed the remaining distance in a gentle kiss. He kept his hands buried in her hair, gently massaging her scalp as they kissed, reveling in the feeling of her wild curls tickling the sides of his face.
She ended the kiss a couple of seconds later, slightly short of breath and sporting a light blush that matched his own. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and circled his waist with her arms. He kept his hand in her hair, and turned his face to press his lips to the top of her head.
“I’m sorry about what I said,” he said into her hair.
“I forgive you,” she said as she pressed a soft kiss against his neck.
He let out a tiny sigh of relief and pressed her a little bit tighter to his side.
People could say whatever they wanted about him. They could call him brat, demon, bastard, son of a murderer… It made no difference. So long as he remained Hajime to her, nothing else mattered.