written for the 2005 Yuletide challenge, for the gracious carleton97, who requested, "Ghosts and love and yaoi, oh my!"

bon odori

Two candles cast shadows on the South wall of the apartment; and between them on the shelf was an omamori, embroidered with a prayer against ghosts. The flames flickered toward one another, then away, sometimes synchronized, sometimes not. One would stretch longer than the other, or else dwindle, almost to its blue core, then stretch back up, yellow and white, bobbing and twisting. It almost looked like dancing.

Mitsuo hadn't glanced down at his textbook for thirty minutes.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"What are you thinking about?" Hasunuma whispered. Mitsuo looked guiltily over his shoulder; Hasunuma was leaned over the back of the chair, shirt unbuttoned, smiling tiredly.

"Not statistics," Mitsuo confessed.

Hasunuma brushed a strand of hair out of Mitsuo's face. "You should get some sleep," he said. "You have class in the morning."

Mitsuo nodded and pushed himself heavily out of the chair. Hasunuma laughed softly and took hold of his arm, walked with him into the bedroom. He unbuttoned Mitsuo's shirt, slid it off of Mitsuo's shoulders and tossed it into the clothes hamper, then he followed it with his own shirt.

Mitsuo pulled off his jeans and climbed into bed. Hasunuma pulled the ponytail holder out of his hair then slipped out of his sweatpants, then got into bed behind Mitsuo, curling around him. He kissed the back of Mitsuo's neck once, and, within minutes, they were both fast sleep.

The headboard was decorated with Shinto prayers. There were juzu charm beads around the bedknobs.


*


At the end of the lecture on Childhood Development, Aiko closed her notebook. She leaned over and whispered into Mitsuo's ear, "Please shoot me."

Mitsuo smothered his grin behind his fist. "It'll be fine," he whispered back.

The professor dismissed the class, and then there was a general clamor of notebooks slapping shut, bookbags zipping open and closed, chairs scraping the floor. At normal volume, Mitsuo added, "We have two weeks until the test, you'll be fine."

"Whatever." Aiko shook her head. "You have a knack for this stuff, names and dates and stuff. I'm screwed."

Mitsuo laughed. "You are not screwed."

"I am super screwed." Aiko swung her bag onto her shoulder with a grimace of disgust. "But fuck it. Is your boyfriend working today?"

Mitsuo nodded.

Mitsuo had met Aiko at the beginning of last semester, in Theories of Urban Development; they were both studying in social work. This semester they were taking mostly the same classes-- and so they'd gotten into a habit of walking together after school, often to the ramen shop where Hasunuma worked. Aiko wound an arm around Mitsuo's.

"Well, then," she said cheerily. "Let's have some pork ramen while I'm still among the living."

They walked down the street together, and Mitsuo attempted to explain the history of theories of cognitive function while Aiko bemoaned her fate. They were, of course, joined by several people who were not among the living.

The ghosts all kept their distance-- Hasunuma had become a seasoned onmyoji over the years, and his charms were powerful. Mitsuo wore Hasunuma's paper ofuda all over his body; they lined the insides of sweatbands at his wrists and ankles, a choker at his neck, and a girdle at his waist. Most of the spirits floated parallel to Mitsuo and Aiko on the other side of the street, some ignored them altogether, some called to Mitsuo from across the expanse.

The charms didn't prevent ghosts from parading in Mitsuo's line of vision or talking to him, but Mitsuo had mostly learned to ignore that-- except on Saturdays, when Mitsuo and Hasunuma went to the park and Mitsuo listened to petitions. He wasn't heartless by a long shot, and if he could help, he wanted to.

A change had come near the end of high school. All of those many ghosts whose hearts were broken from unrequited love or sexual secrets, who had haunted Mitsuo for years, slowly went away, to be replaced by ghosts whose hearts were broken from injustice or obligation or because they were bound by circumstances they couldn't control. Hasunuma had explained the transition by saying that like attracted like, and since he and Mitsuo were finally together, there wasn't anything to pull that certain kind of ghost toward them. He didn't comment on the new kind.

Still, the two of them went to the park every Saturday, except for days when Hasunuma was scheduled to work, because he didn't want Mitsuo going alone.

As soon as Aiko and Mitsuo pushed through the doors of the ramen shop, the ghosts on the sidelines vanished. Hasunuma had charmed the restaurant almost as well as he'd charmed their apartment, which was nearly as well-charmed as Mikuni's shrine. Bells jingled and the owner looked up; he nodded at Mitsuo and called to Hasunuma, who came out from the back, holding a bowl of noodles.

Aiko waved. Hasunuma grinned. He took the noodles to the far booth and listened politely while the businessmen there chatted with him. He glanced over at Mitsuo briefly, then back down to laugh at a joke one of the patrons told. Mitsuo got the feeling sometimes that the shop owner wasn't exactly comfortable with Hasunuma-- and certainly not when Mitsuo was around-- but that he kept him on board because he was such a hit with the customers.

On Mitsuo's off days, when he had nothing to do but hang out in a secluded booth for Hasunuma's entire shift, eating ramen and doing homework, he saw customers order bowl after bowl of noodles, flirting with their server, Hasunuma, who was recognizable to anybody as extraordinary. He had dark sharp eyes, a dark wit, long throat, black hair pulled off of his forehead-- Although, from this angle, his eyes looked a little darker than normal-- rather, the skin beneath them did-- and the rest of his face looked paler. Mitsuo frowned.

"What's wrong?" asked Aiko. She followed his gaze over her shoulder, then looked back at Mitsuo, mouth twisted with amusement. "Jealous?"

"No..." said Mitsuo, then he glanced at her grinning face. It was still weird for him to be treated by other people like Hasunuma's boyfriend. He'd gotten so used to fervently denying that he and Hasunuma were lovers before it was true that it had been hard for him to break the habit. Mitsuo had gotten over it, mostly, slowly, but was still easily spooked by public declarations or displays of affection. Hasunuma, meanwhile, though always willing to indulge Mitsuo in his discretions, had never been interested in hiding anything-- neither the ghostness nor the gayness. It was almost as though Hasunuma enjoyed being ostracized.

"No," Mitsuo added, and by then Hasunuma was making his way over to their booth.

"Hey, guys," he said, reaching out a hand to touch Mitsuo's shoulder. This close, Mitsuo could see that his face was pinched with strain. "What can we get for you today?"

"Come here," said Mitsuo, still frowning, and held out a hand. Hasunuma raised an eyebrow, but he leaned over and let Mitsuo touch his face. With a quick look over his shoulder, the shop owner retreated to the kitchen.

"You're sick," Mitsuo said reproachfully.

Hasunuma smiled and pulled back from Mitsuo's hand. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you need to be in bed." Mitsuo let his hand slip from Hasunuma's damp forehead, but he caught Hasunuma's sleeve. "Tell your boss you're sick and you need to go home."

Hasunuma shook his head. "I'm picking up Kaoru's shift. I just have three more hours and then I'll be home."

"You're not gonna make it three more hours," Mitsuo scowled.

"I'm fine," Hasunuma repeated, smile dimming. "I just--" The owner called Hasunuma's name from the kitchen. "I have to go," he said.

"Can I have an order of bean paste ramen?" Aiko asked quickly.

Hasunuma looked over at her and smiled anew, winking. "Of course," he said. He walked away and Aiko propped her chin on her fist. She said, "I can't get over how pretty he is."

Mitsuo's mouth twisted. "I can get over how stubborn he is."

A few minutes later, Hasunuma brought Aiko's noodles out and a cup of tea for Mitsuo; and when further scowling had no effect, Mitsuo sighed and ordered a bowl of udon. After they'd both eaten, and after Mitsuo had failed several times to talk Hasunuma into cutting out early, Aiko left, wincing as she mentioned the stacks and stacks of homework that were waiting for her.

Hasunuma wandered over a while later and said, "Where did Aiko go?" He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"She went home, she had a lot of homework."

"You don't have any homework?"

Mitsuo raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to wait here until you get off work and make sure you don't pass out."

A brief look of exasperation flickered over Hasunuma's face. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the owner was in the back, and then he dropped into the booth. "You don't need to wait for me, Mitsuo. It's only two more hours."

"I can wait two hours."

Hasunuma frowned outright and took a huffy breath. He wiped his forehead again. "There's no reason for you to wait. You don't need--"

"You want me to have to walk home alone?" Mitsuo interrupted.

Hasunuma paused. He lowered his hand to the tabletop. "--No, not if you don't want to." He reached over to touch Mitsuo's arm.

"Alright, then." Mitsuo nodded, pleased. "I'll wait right here."


*


They took the bus back to the apartment. Hasunuma held on to the railing all the way up the long flight of stairs, and-- though effort never, ever showed on Hasunuma's face-- there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck.

Mitsuo pulled the jacket off of Hasunuma's shoulders once he had closed the door, and Hasunuma toed off his shoes.

"Why don't you go lie down?" said Mitsuo, taking off his own shoes. He checked to make sure that the kanji on the doorframe weren't smeared or chipped, that the ropes of paper cranes hung on either side of the doorway weren't torn; then he pulled off his sweatbands, unbuckled his girdle and choker, and set them all on a tray near the door.

When he came into the living room, Hasunuma was standing behind the desk, flipping through some papers. Mitsuo walked up behind him and said, "Let's go lie down."

Hasunuma turned and held the papers out to Mitsuo. "Before work I went through that chapter in your Statistics book," he said. "I made an outline."

Mitsuo took the sheaf of papers from him and looked through it-- all the vocabulary and equations were printed neatly, followed by definitions, brief explanations, and examples. Some of the items were written in red ink; there was a note at the front identifying those items as most likely to be on an exam.

Mitsuo's eyebrows lifted. He looked back up at Hasunuma. "Let's go lie down."

Hasunuma nodded tiredly but grabbed the Statistics book off of the desk and carried it with him into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and opened it, leaning back against the pillows and squinting at the text.

It was pretty typical for Hasunuma to read himself to sleep. He was voracious in his learning, and their apartment held more books than furniture, and often the books served as both. Most of what Hasunuma studied was occult-- calligraphy and sacred kanji, feng shui and sacred geometry, prayers and sacred syllables-- but through some of their ghostly encounters in the last few years, he'd acquired an appetite for military history and politics; and of course he had at least a rudimentary acquaintance with physics, biology, electrical engineering, meteorology, mathematics and cooking. He was brilliant but with no ambition-- or else Mitsuo was the only nexus of his ambition. He was listless, with shelves upon shelves of information.

Mitsuo touched a finger to the textbook. When Hasunuma looked up, eyes blurry, Mitsuo said, "You know, you should go to school. You're too smart to waste in a ramen shop."

Hasunuma smiled and caught the finger. He brought Mitsuo's hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "I wasn't aware that I was wasting."

Mitsuo turned his hand to cup Hasunuma's clammy face. "Well, I make good use of you, that's true." Hasunuma kissed his palm. "But you could be doing so much more than waiting tables. You should cut down on hours, and I'll get a part-time job, and we can both take classes."

Hasunuma breathed quietly into Mitsuo's hand for several moments before saying, "You don't need to get a part-time job."

Mitsuo pulled his hand away and sighed. "I never need to do anything."

Hasunuma watched Mitsuo stand up with what normally would have been his perfect shrewdness but, in his current state, was just wariness and exhaustion.

"I'm going to go make tea," Mitsuo said. "Don't do anything strenuous."


*


By the time Mitsuo came back into the bedroom, carrying a steaming cup, Hasunuma was slumped awkwardly against the headboard, breathing shallowly, asleep.

Mitsuo set the tea on the bedside table. He picked the open textbook up off of the bedspread and set it on the floor. "Hasunuma." He slipped a careful hand beneath the other man's shoulder. "Hasunuma..."

Hasunuma came awake with a start and Mitsuo brushed the hair off of his warm forehead. "Shhh, it's okay. Sit up." Hasunuma dutifully pushed himself off of the headboard, blinking muzzily.

Mitsuo held the cup of tea in front of him. "Can you drink this?"

Hasunuma nodded and took the cup with a fairly steady hand. While Hasunuma drank the tea, Mitsuo unbuttoned his shirt-- carefully navigating the teacup, pulling the shirt off of Hasunuma and tossing it into the clothes hamper. He unbuttoned Hasunuma's work slacks and then patted his hips. "Lift up."

Hasunuma set down his tea on the bedside table and lifted his hips, so that Mitsuo could slide the slacks down his legs and off of his feet. Hasunuma shivered, and Mitsuo smiled and spread the blanket over top of him.

"Isn't that better?" he asked.

"Mitsuo," Hasunuma whispered. He shrugged the blanket off of his shoulders and reached out for Mitsuo's wrist. He pressed Mitsuo's hand to his stomach, where his skin was burning hot.

"You have a fever," Mitsuo said.

Hasunuma nodded. "I'm sorry."

He reached out to undo the buttons on Mitsuo's shirt, but Mitsuo stilled his hands. "I got it," Mitsuo said, and he pulled off his own shirt. He pulled off his jeans and threw those both into the hamper as well. He touched Hasunuma's forehead and said quietly, "Don't be sorry."

Mitsuo leaned forward, slipping beneath the blanket, and Hasunuma hissed when his own feverish chest touched Mitsuo's. Hasunuma pressed a kiss to Mitsuo's shoulder.

"Here, lie down," Mitsuo murmured, and he helped Hasunuma reposition on the pillows.

Hasunuma winced at every scrape across his skin, whether from the fabric of the sheets beneath him or from the fabric of his briefs as Mitsuo pulled them carefully down his thighs. His thighs and belly fluttered, and the tips of his fingers trembled on Mitsuo's face. Mitsuo licked gently at his cock till he came.


*


In the morning, Mitsuo brought another cup of tea into the bedroom, only to find Hasunuma leaned against the dresser, blank-faced, wearing another pair of work slacks and pulling on an undershirt.

"What are you doing?" said Mitsuo, frowning. He set down the cup of tea.

Hasunuma shrugged. "Getting ready for work." He sat down on the bed with a pair of socks. His face was still drawn and pale.

Mitsuo moved to stand in front of Hasunuma and planted his hands on his hips. "There's no reason for you to get ready for work, since there is no way you're going to work today."

"I have to go to work, Mitsuo," Hasunuma grumbled. "I feel fine."

"No-- no way. Look, yesterday was yesterday, but there is no way I'm letting you leave the house in your condition. You need fluids and rest."

"If I don't go into work I'll lose my job." He was wearing a slight frown, watching his own hands pull on his socks, but there was something in his voice: some non-inflection, carefully restrained, not saying, And then what will you do?

Neither did he mention the reason why he found himself sick with no sick days: last month, Mitsuo had been possessed while changing clothes in a department store. He'd been halfway to Yotsuya before Hasunuma realized that he wasn't coming home, and Hasunuma had missed five days of work, tracking down Mitsuo and then exorcising the spirit, then helped Mitsuo to recover. Hasunuma really was in danger of losing his job.

Mitsuo put a hand on his chest. "I don't care. You're sick, go back to bed." Hasunuma's frown tightened with irritation; that's how tired he was. He didn't push back against Mitsuo's hand, but he didn't lie back and he didn't answer. He was waiting for Mitsuo to move so that he could go about his business.

Mitsuo sighed. He put a second hand against Hasunuma's chest and pressed gently. "I'll take care of it," he said. For a moment, there was resistance-- but then, rather than voice his skepticism, Hasunuma dropped his gaze and lowered himself back to the bed.


*


Kaoru's phone number was stuck with a magnet to the refrigerator, along with several take-out menus, Mikuni's cel phone number, the number at Mikuni's shrine, a photo of Hasunuma and Mitsuo at the beach, a sexually graphic stick-figure doodles Mitsuo had drawn on the back on an envelope, and, of course, Shinto emblems of protection.

Mitsuo's call got Kaoru out of bed, but he said he didn't mind to cover for Hasunuma. "You take good care of him," he said, with only barely perceptible discomfort.

Mitsuo laughed politely into the phone. "Yeah, I'm trying."

After that, he called Aiko's number, which he knew by heart, and told her he was interested in getting a part-time job as a tutor. She immediately hired him for Tuesdays and Thursdays at a fair hourly wage. At the end of the phonecall, Aiko said, "How's your boy? Still sick?"

"Yeah," Mitsuo sighed.

"You're taking good care of him, right?" she asked, smile audible in her voice.

You're taking good care of him, right?

It was hard to know how to answer that.

The fact was that Mitsuo had retreated to a cave so long ago he couldn't even remember. He had been too hurt, too haunted, no friends, knowing he was too naive for the world-- and for some reason Hasunuma had retreated to that cave to be with Mitsuo, without ever saying anything about it. Sometimes Mitsuo wondered what Hasunuma had been like before they met. When they'd started hanging out in high school, it was only ever them-- and Ichi, who came along later, and Mikuni, who was a grown-up and a pervert and didn't count-- but had there been other friends, before Mitsuo? Other hobbies, other interests? Before he spent 45 minutes every night meticulously checking the wards around their apartment, what did he do with his evenings?

Whenever Mitsuo asked about Hasunuma's life, Hasunuma acted like there was nothing to tell-- a long void of nothing. Reading books, watching movies, kissing a few boys but nothing serious, and waiting. But waiting for what?

Mitsuo stared at the beach photo, at his own wide smile and Hasunuma's smaller one, at Hasunuma's arm wound around Mitsuo's chest from behind-- then at the protective kanji and the stick-figure sex.

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "I'm trying."


*


Mitsuo came home with two bags of sushi take-out, just as the sun was going down. He set the bag in the foyer and then checked the charms on the doorframe, the paper cranes, the bells, then pulled off his ofuda. He slipped out of his shoes and then carried the take-out into the tiny kitchenette.

Hasunuma was there already, wearing his sweatpants and an old t-shirt, pouring a glass of water. He looked at the take-out bags in Mitsuo's hands. He said, expressionlessly, "I made dinner."

"Oh," said Mitsuo. Sure enough, there was a pan of pork and a pot of rice on the counter, both covered with cellophane. "Well, that's okay, we'll just stick this stuff in the fridge for tomorrow." He darted around Hasunuma, and set the bags on the counter. "So I guess you're feeling better."

"Yeah, I am. I called in to work today and they told me Kaoru had come in to cover my shift."

Mitsuo smiled. "I told you I'd take care of it." Hasunuma nodded but he didn't smile back. A moment passed in silence, then Mitsuo said, "Wow, that pork smells really good."

Hasunuma nodded and turned to unwrap it. "Let's have some." He pulled plates down out of the cabinet, and Mitsuo fished some dinnerware out of a drawer; Hasunuma dished out the meat and the rice, and then they carried it into the living room, kneeling down at the coffee table opposite each other.

They ate in silence.

When Mitsuo was finished, Hasunuma-- who had only eaten half of his serving-- stood and reached for his plate.

"I got it," Mitsuo said, standing up. Hasunuma turned and went into the kitchenette with his own plate, and Mitsuo followed behind him.

Hasunuma dumped the uneaten portion of his dinner into the trashcan and then put his plate and dinnerware into the sink.

Mitsuo did the same and then leaned against the kitchen counter. "So, listen," he said. "I got a part-time job as a tutor."

"Oh?" said Hasunuma. He turned on the tap in the sink and let the water run.

"Not in Statistics," Mitsuo laughed.

"That's good."

Mitsuo hesitated, then stepped up against Hasunuma. "Don't be mad," he said. He pressed a kiss to the back of Hasunuma's shoulder. "I just figured it's time I start helping with the finances."

"I'm not mad," Hasunuma said quietly. "If you want to tutor, then that's good."

Mitsuo put his hands on Hasunuma's waist and pushed the side of his face into Hasunuma's back. He hummed in his throat and then said carefully, "I went to the park today. For just a little while. I talked to a few ghosts, and I wrote some stuff down for you to look at later."

Hasunuma's back seemed to bend a little beneath Mitsuo's cheek. He said, "I will."

Mitsuo sighed. "I just don't want you to worry about me all the time, Hasunuma. Worry about yourself a little, if you need to worry. I want you to know that I can do these things by myself."

"Okay," Hasunuma said quietly. He turned off the tap and put the dishes into the hot water, making small short movements so that he wouldn't shake Mitsuo off.

"Mmm," said Mitsuo. His hands moved from Hasunuma's waist to his chest, then down to pull up the hem of his t-shirt. He slid his hand across Hasunuma's stomach-- then below the elastic of his sweatpants.

Hasunuma turned around in the circle of Mitsuo's arms. He leaned down and kissed Mitsuo on the cheek, then on the mouth, then he tilted Mitsuo's head back and pushed inside. Mitsuo opened up for him and groaned. Hasunuma's mouth was still a little warmer than usual but Mitsuo pressed his tongue against, over it, until his own mouth was swollen and wet.

Finally he pulled away, breathing hard. With one hand he unbuttoned his shirt and with the other his jeans, tugging roughly at the fabric, staring at Hasunuma's face. Hasunuma watched him but didn't offer to help. Instead he pulled at his own clothes, stepping out of the sweatpants and pulling off the t-shirt.

Mitsuo leaned past Hasunuma and fished around in the drawer until he came up with a small squeeze tube of lubricant; they had learned through arduous trial and error the importance of keeping lubricant in every room. Mitsuo opened the tube then handed it to Hasunuma, and moved past Hasunuma to lean forwards against the kitchen counter.

Hasunuma touched the skin of Mitsuo's back slowly. He ran his fingers up the spine, then down to the tailbone, then trailed his hand backwards over the swell of Mitsuo's ass. Finally, he came to rest at the cleft, and Mitsuo sighed, folded his arms on the counter and dropping his head against them. It was wet and almost cold, and slick, and then Hasunuma pushed a long finger into him.

Mitsuo made a long, quiet moan against his wrist, while Hasunuma slipped the finger in and out of him-- Hasunuma's other hand continued to pet Mitsuo's pale back, his pale sides. He added a second finger and a curl to his push, twisting his hand inside Mitsuo, and Mitsuo began to pant.

After a moment, Hasunuma murmured, "Here," and touched Mitsuo's arm. Mitsuo pushed himself up and braced against the kitchen counter, and then Hasunuma spread him wide with both hands and pushed forward into Mitsuo with his cock.

After that they were fucking in earnest.

Mitsuo's hands curled over the counter, scrabbling at hand-holds: the edge of the sink, the drawer-handle, his own thigh. Hasunuma was breathing loudly in his ear; then, just then Mitsuo's limbs began to tremble-- a tremor beginning at the tips of his fingers and deep inside his mouth, and moving inwards and outwards-- Hasunuma wrapped his hand around Mitsuo's cock and pumped it four, five times. He bent forward and whispered, "Why don't you want me?" at the exact moment that Mitsuo came, bending against the kitchen counter, helplessly, over and over.

Mitsuo slumped forward. He panted against the linoleum. Hasunuma was still hard, was still fucking him; but his hips had slowed, waiting for Mitsuo to recover. Mitsuo groaned and reached behind him, blindly, to touch Hasunuma's thigh.

"Wait," he said, weakly. Hasunuma's hips stilled, and Mitsuo nudged him back (out), enough for Mitsuo to turn and lean against the counter, facing Hasunuma.

Hasunuma was breathing heavily, eyebrows pulled low.

His cock hung between, purple, swollen and wet with lube; and suddenly it really was amazing how strange Hasunuma really was, with his thin face and beautiful eyes, brilliant mind, no friends. The young gay shaman. A taciturn onmyoji whose lover everyday-- with friends and a career and autonomy-- became more and more equipped to leave him behind.

He watched Mitsuo with subdued eyes, waiting to hear what Mitsuo wanted or didn't want, or what he would say.

"Come on," said Mitsuo. He walked out into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He leaned back and held out a hand for Hasunuma; he brought his leg up and Hasunuma slid back into him.

His thrusts began slow, long and deep, almost stilling altogether-- Mitsuo whimpering, Hasunuma's hips flush against his-- and then sped up, until Hasunuma was bent over Mitsuo on the sofa, looming and rutting. His dark hair had come loose at some point. Mitsuo cried out every time Hasunuma cut his hips forward; and then Hasunuma's mouth pressed against Mitsuo's temple and he said, "I'm no better," voice ragged, like Mitsuo had never heard it before, sounding like ghosts whose hearts were broken with grief-- "I'm no better."

Hasunuma kissed Mitsuo's face, burrowed into his neck, and said, "I'm just like those spirits. I want to be inside you-- and live there-- and make my heart beat-- like that--" He pumped his hips and said, "please," and then came.

Hasunuma slumped onto Mitsuo, then rolled and slid, so that they were both lying halfway on the sofa, halfway on the floor, breathing into each other's faces.

After a long moment, Hasunuma said, "I'm sorry."

Mitsuo reached past the curtain of Hasunuma's dark hair to his cheek. "Don't be sorry." He pushed the hair back so that he could see Hasunuma's eyes-- they were the same eyes as before, in the kitchenette, beautiful, something wounded and isolated in them.

"I don't want you to be sorry," Hasunuma said.

Mitsuo smiled, touching his face. "I'm not."


*


When they could move again, they moved apart. Mitsuo walked his sore lower body carefully to the bathroom to get two towels, a wet one and a dry one, to clean up their sex mess. Hasunuma, in the meantime, checked all of the charms on the door, on the windows, and at the vents; a truncated, exhausted version of his usual sweep.

The met in the bedroom. Mitsuo wiped them both off, then dried them, grinning tiredly, and they both climbed into bed and passed out.

They turned as they slept-- Hasunuma's chest against Mitsuo's back, then Mitsuo's chest against Hasunuma's back, then facing away from each other, then face to face. Mitsuo threw an arm over Hasunuma's body only to withdraw it, or replace it with a leg. Neither of them woke until the morning, when Mitsuo pushed himself onto his elbows and blinked in the dim light of the room.

He touched a hand to his warm forehead and said, "Wow, I really feel like shit."

Hasunuma got up to make tea.