All the Red Things by Harukami

They didn't talk about it for two days, when they arrived at a different town and Sanzo, presumably to avoid Hakkai's brooding (they could count the number of words Hakkai had said in those days on both hands, and most of them were "No" or "Yes" with at least one "Thank you" in there, said cold, as if he wasn't trying to thank anyone for anything), put Hakkai in a room with Gojyo (who had been quiet and not shoving back at Goku. Had in fact kept his hands to himself the few days. Goku was on edge, practically shaking with the silence. Gojyo couldn't seem to bring himself to violence despite that. Poor kid. Poor kid.)

The door shut.

They were silent. Gojyo lit up a cigarette. His lighter sputtered and went out the moment he'd finished. Out of gas. At least it had taken him that far. Hakkai took a seat on the edge of the bed. The air was thick, shoving Gojyo back and he thought unless he popped it, he'd be out of the room, out of the building, out of this damn trip and this damn life and back to one he could drift through with disgusting ease that he hated. Better. Better.

"I can't believe you hit him," Gojyo said.

Hakkai said nothing.

"He was just a kid."

Hakkai said nothing.

"You--"

Hakkai rose and looked out the window. "It doesn't matter now," he said.

Gojyo felt bile rose in his throat and stomped over to him, grabbing him by a lean muscled shoulder, slamming him back. The glass rattled. "You can't do that. You can't just grab a child and hit it like that."

"They don't know who the mother is," Hakkai said, blandly. "The father was Hyakugan Maou."

"You don't know that, they just know it was a youkai. Could have been--"

"I know."

"Hakkai--"

A muscle leapt in Hakkai's jaw. "Believe me. I know."

"Then how'd the child get out here, huh? Why wasn't it in that guy's stomach after he ate her?"

Hakkai pulled away from Gojyo. He straightened his clothing with abrupt, unpleasant, sharp gestures. "She escaped. She died in childbirth."

"The villagers didn't say shit about that. He was just some three-year-old kid in a damn orphanage." Gojyo was shaking. He was shaking. "With red hair and eyes. That was it. There's nothing -- that was it."

"I know, though," Hakkai said, vague and impossible to argue with.

"So, what," Gojyo said, shaken. "You'll beat a child because he's related to Hyakugan Maou? Is that what you are saying?"

"No," Hakkai said.

Gojyo slammed a hand into the wall beside his head, beside the window frame. "What are you saying."

"I would have killed a child because he was related to Hyakugan Maou. Because he killed his mother. Because he doesn't deserve to live--"

Gojyo couldn't bring himself to hit Hakkai. The attempt hurt; his arm hung in the air like something broken, shaking like something twisting in the wind.

Hakkai's smile at him was bland and quiet. "I know, you say. Where was it the child's fault?"

"You--"

"You have to understand," Hakkai said. "That doesn't matter."

Gojyo said, "I'm buying cigarettes," and left.

He somehow managed to convince his legs to walk him back four hours later. Hakkai was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, like the previous scene hadn't happened. Gojyo realized he'd forgotten to get a new lighter.

"Hey," Gojyo said. "Do you have--"

Hakkai looked up at him. One eye was red and swollen, and wetness still trickled down that side. It was strange; Gojyo hadn't known he'd damaged the other so badly he couldn't even cry around the glass eye.

"No," Hakkai said.

"-- A light?"

"I have nothing," Hakkai said.

Slowly, Gojyo sat beside him.

"I would have killed him."

"I know."

"I would have killed him. He was three years old, and I--"

Gojyo tilted his head up and stared at the ceiling. He put the unlit cigarette between his lips. "Yeah," he said. "I forgive you."

"Why?"

"Love you," Gojyo said, the words rolling out numb and tired and he didn't expect they'd be heard. They tended not to be, whenever he'd spoken them before. They felt trite, cliched, maybe because they'd never had any value. It wasn't like he knew what love was. It wasn't like he'd ever wanted it, anyway.

Hakkai raised his hand. Gojyo closed his eyes.

Hakkai's hand closed gentle on his shoulder.

"Gojyo."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Why?"

"You didn't. Allow me, I mean."

"Eh. I would probably have let you if you'd really had to."

"No," Hakkai said. "I saw you at that time. You'd have killed me to stop me."

"I don't know," Gojyo said. He couldn't really remember. It felt like a long time ago, somehow, a long time ago. "That why you stopped?"

"No," Hakkai said. "Yes."

"Mm."

"We all have something we want to protect."

"I need a light," Gojyo said.

Hakkai considered.

"Oh," he said, after a moment, startled. "I have matches."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Gojyo said, and covered his eyes, and started to laugh.

Hakkai lit his cigarette for him, and there was a soft gentleness in the gesture as he squeezed a fist around the lit match, put it out.

"That's over, then," Hakkai said.

"Yeah. That's over."

"Oh," Hakkai said, and put his head down on his knees. "Oh, it's over. I'm glad."

Gojyo drew in a breath of cigarette smoke. Damn fresh cigarettes. It was like they'd been rolled yesterday, or maybe even tomorrow, they tasted that fresh.

"Yeah," he said, and put an arm around Hakkai, who leaned, emptily, against his side.

"Yes," Hakkai agreed, and closed his eyes, let his cheek rest on Gojyo's thigh, drifted to sleep.