Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nene doesn’t know how long they run for; all she knows is the water at her feet, the scales on her arms, Hanako’s hand in hers. She hates that they had to leave Kou-kun behind, and she doesn’t even know where she’s taking Hanako, but she can’t think, hasn’t stopped for a single moment to catch her breath, and any excitement from finally finding and saving Hanako has dissolved.

“Yashiro!” Hanako yells at her, but she doesn’t turn to look at him. She just listens to their heaving breaths as she tugs at Hanako’s hand, dragging them toward a brick tunnel that seems almost to float haphazardly on the waves.

“Where are we going?” Hanako asks, his hand tugging insistently at hers, trying to get her to stop, she knows. She runs into the tunnel without responding, feeling suddenly her anger at Hanako—and his horrible, horrible goodbye to her—bubbling back up to the surface.

“Wait,” he pleads, but Nene only tugs harder. “Hey! Yashiro…!” There’s desperation in his tone now, but her anger is suddenly all she can see, all she can feel, and when Hanako finally breaks, ripping his hand away from hers with a harsh, “I’m speaking to you!” she still doesn’t turn. She knows if she even glances at him, the tears will come pouring out, and she just—can’t.

“…Why did you come?” he asks her, the question quiet and interspersed with huffed breaths. Hanako breathes heavily for a moment, catching his breath and probably thinking up some ridiculous, excusing speech.

Sure enough, “If only you hadn’t come,” he says, and there’s a scold somewhere in there, but Nene ignores it, looking over her shoulder ever so slightly at him. His normally pale cheeks are flushed, his brow furrowed, and he’s lost his hat, disheveled hair on his head making Nene’s chest tighten with endearment and still-rising anger.

“If you’d just—stayed in the human world,” he continues, seemingly bolstered by Nene’s turning toward him. “It wouldn’t have mattered if the eldest Minamoto and No. 1 came and exorcised me,” is what he says next, and Nene wants abruptly to smack him. It wouldn’t have mattered? In what universe would that not have mattered? Even as she stalks toward him, anger in her hands and head and heart, she can’t think of anything that matters more to her than this stupid, stupid toilet-boy. And her heart breaks for him.

“Everything would’ve been fi—”

Nene slaps him, as hard as she can manage, across his cheek. Everything would’ve been fine, Hanako was going to say. It wouldn’t have mattered, he’d already said. Does he truly not know how much he matters?

“‘Why?’” she whispers, her hand stinging with the same shock written across Hanako’s face. “There is no ‘why’.” She clenches her jaw, grabbing a fistful of Hanako’s collar, gold buttons cold against her hands.

“I wanted to see the one I love! Is that so wrong?” she yells at him, right in his face so neither of them can deny it, and she didn’t know that that’s what she was going to say, but she realizes suddenly that it’s the truth, and the only truth she cares about.

Hanako’s cheek blooms red where she’d slapped it, his eyes a childish round. They glimmer like the moon with confusion. He stutters, “Lo. . . Huh? …What?” Oh, how she loves him.

And everything comes spilling out, with her hands still gripping Hanako’s collar and her eyes stinging with tears she knows aren’t far from falling.

“It was terrible! We couldn’t go to the boundaries, and I couldn’t leave this strange house…Oh god, I ate pizza with a dead body as the topping!” She’s horrified momentarily at that reminder, her expression not likely dissimilar to Hanako’s own bewildered one, but she shakes the feeling off. “And I—I knew Minamoto-senpai was going to try to exorcise you…” The tears build, hot under her eyelids when she squeezes them shut and all she can see is Minamoto’s cold, remorseless face as she’d stood, hidden ‘round the corner listening to him plan the destruction of her Hanako.

“I got Kou-kun to help me,” she continues past the sudden lump in her throat, “and we somehow managed to get you out of there.” She shakes Hanako by the shoulders, yelling at him, “We ran for our lives!” His boy-ish whining for her to stop only fuels her ire, pushing him down into the water beneath them, the shallow puddles getting his hair wet that only makes him look more endearing in his confusion.

“So why?!” she yells, straddling him now and hitting his chest weakly, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She knows the stricken expression she’d see if she opened her eyes, the expression that always falls on Hanako’s face when she cries. “Why’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth a complaint? I can’t believe you!” She punctuates each word with a punch even as she feels her anger dwindle, leaving her in a rush at Hanako’s next words.

“Who cares about whatever happens to me?!” he yells at her, and her eyes snap open to see Hanako’s face, eyes wide and panicked, cheeks still red, though he makes no move to push her away. It’s clear he truly believes that, he thinks no one cares about him, and Nene is too shocked to speak before he continues rambling.

“Didn’t you want to live to be a hundred years old?” he asks, timid now that it’s clear Nene won’t interrupt. The only thought that crosses her mind is, What? “You wished for it. You said you wanted to live for ninety more years in the real world,” Hanako says, blinking up at her. One of his hands circles her wrist where she still has her hand pinning Hanako down in the water, fingers gentle and contradictory to his flitting, shaky smile and still-wide eyes.

“Don’t you get it?” he rasps, and Nene can only think that Hanako is the only one who doesn't get it. “If Aoi-chan is saved, then you’ll die—”

“Stop it!” Nene shouts before he can even finish that sentence, tired of listening to his jumbled excuses for leaving her, even if he truly believes that everything he’s saying is true. If only he’d listen to her—

“Just—stop it already,” she says, choked up, sitting back and letting go of Hanako. “I care what happens to you,” she mumbles, letting her forehead fall onto Hanako’s chest where he’s still breathing heavily. “And—it’s okay. You don’t have to grant that wish anymore.” Hanako falls abruptly still under her, cold hands hovering hesitantly at her sides, and she can practically feel his uncertainty, not sure if he’s allowed to hold her.

“Why does it have to be like this?” she whispers, half to herself, arms trembling as she flops herself down in the water next to Hanako, wrapping her arms around his neck despite her words. “You’re always acting on your own, Hanako-kun, you idiot…” She feels scales rise on her cheeks where her tears fall. “I hate you!” she sobs, even as Hanako’s arms finally settle at her waist, so light she almost feels bad for being so dramatic, especially when hating Hanako will always be a lie.

I hate you, she will tell Hanako through her tears, but I love you is what every heartbeat in Hanako’s presence will say.

And someday—maybe even someday soon—she won’t even have heartbeats left to say it with.

*

Yashiro cries atop Hanako for a long while, ugly, hiccuping sobs that only pile more guilt on his already guilt-ridden shoulders, and eventually, he thinks they should at least get out of this dingy, wet tunnel; no matter how far they ran, the tunnel is still a bit out in the open, and he won’t take any unnecessary risks that might mean Teru Minamoto could find them again.

He sits up, prying Yashiro off of himself and wishing he had his usual courage to bundle her up in his chest, but for once, he cares about such a childish gesture being unwelcome, so he takes her hand gently instead, picking her up off the ground and patting her wet hair before leading them out the tunnel, Yashiro trailing behind with quiet, occasional sniffs.

He finds, on the other end of the tunnel, a run-down sort of alley, abandoned as all things this far out the shore are, and he lets go of Yashiro’s hand to climb a few steps up a rusty fire escape, sitting awkwardly and staring down at his hands clasped in his lap. Yashiro sits a few steps below him, retrieving a handkerchief from her damp backpack and wiping her eyes. Hanako watches helplessly, wondering what he could possibly say to her.

He’s not sorry for Aoi’s almost-sacrifice, even if she hadn’t known that’s what it was. He’s not sorry for disappearing on Yashiro the way he did. He’s not even sorry for not understanding—for still not understanding—what Yashiro meant, by saying that she loves him, that she doesn’t care about her wish anymore.

He’s just sorry for making Yashiro cry, for making her think she had to run after him, for everything he’s done that somehow still hasn’t made it clear that she is so cared about in the real world, yet she chases after him despite it all.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly. Though he isn’t looking at her, he feels Yashiro’s curious gaze on him. “…Even if I extended your life, I knew you’d never agree to it. Not like this.” He stares down at his hands, the most honest he’s ever been. “Aoi-chan is your best friend, after all.” He swallows heavily, his mouth twisting down. He still doesn’t look at Yashiro, can’t stand to see her tears.

“But. . . As long as you were alive, I knew your memories of us would eventually fade away. You’d resent me,” Hanako clenches his fists together, a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest worse than dying at that thought, but he grits his teeth and continues, “But you’d still be alive. I’d make you happy. That’s what I thought.” He looks up, eyes staring blankly at nothing in particular as Yashiro’s future lays itself out clearly in front of him.

Friends, no life-or-death “adventures”, graduation, college, a boyfriend tall and handsome and not him, marriage. He can almost feel it, how the scales had been so close to tipping towards that future; as much as it would hurt—and truly, he would’ve been thankful to Teru Minamoto for exorcising him if it meant he wouldn’t have to watch that—it would’ve been good, too.

“I’m dead,” he says bluntly, blankly. “…And a murderer. We can’t grow up together.” It’s just the truth, Hanako tells himself. So why would he rather throw himself off the school roof a million times than think about it at all? “And it’s not like I can stay by your side forever. But even so…” He stares down at his hands, stiff and tight in his lap, wishing he was powerful enough for what he wants—wanted—to do. If only he could’ve become something more of a god. Perhaps then, he’d have been enough.

“If there was some way for me to make you happy, then—then us meeting,” he sighs, “it would mean something.” Yashiro has been silent the whole time, and he chances the tiniest of glances at her, seeing wide garnet-red eyes still glimmering with tears. He looks away.

“The kid, or someone else doing it, wasn’t enough. I—wanted to breathe life into you by my own hand.” The admittance is big, scary, something even he hadn’t quite figured out until just now, yet it makes so much sense; ever since Yashiro had knocked on his damned stall in that damned bathroom, a sweet “Hanako-kun, Hanako-kun, will you grant my wish?” on her lips, he knew she was close to her end. If only he’d known that early that he’d do anything to make sure that end would never come.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, burying his head in his arms and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Yashiro lets out a soft, “Hanako-kun…” the one that means she’s sorry for him, which he doesn’t understand at all, but his whole being seems to relax just at the sound of his name so quiet and thoughtful in Yashiro’s lovely, lovely voice. Oh, how he loves her. 

He lifts his head a bit, resting his cheek on his arms instead so he can watch her, already feeling better. Her face has that lost-in-thought look, brows furrowed and lips pouting slightly. He almost wants to smile, or perhaps cling to her and let himself shed a few tears, but there’s still something somber in the air, so he sits and watches Yashiro silently go through about ten different emotions before she suddenly smacks her own cheeks, a sort of determined realization settling in her eyes. That’s never good…

“Are…you okay, Yashiro?” he asks cautiously, amusement flooding him at her exaggerated—and slightly panicky—“Huuh? Why wouldn’t I be?” He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else, though, because she continues speaking, a charming curiosity to her.

“But…you know, you really surprised me, Hanako-kun. To think, you’d do all of that for me. . .” Yashiro takes a long pause, misty-eyed, and Hanako tries not to let his own curiosity grow. “I wonder why?” she asks, soft and almost to herself for all that she got Hanako’s attention.

I love you, Hanako immediately thinks, the thought so automatic he has to stop it from jumping right out of his mouth. It’s as true as he could possibly get, and also the most forbidden and dangerous thing he could say; an apparition, loving a human? Especially one so close to death…He doesn’t deserve Yashiro’s love, no matter how much he craves it.

Still… “You’re asking why? Well…You’re my special assistant, of course,” he says, his go-to answer for questions like these; those times Yashiro would get curious, would ask in their quiet moments, What makes me so special? What makes Hanako fight the Wonders for her? What makes Hanako grant impossible wishes for her? You’re my assistant, he tells her. I love you, he says with everything he has except words.

Yashiro perks up despite the often-given answer, nodding at him with an encouraging smile; she wants him to say something, and he has a growing suspicion that he knows what it is. He just doesn’t know if he even can say it. Instead, with heat rising to his cheeks, he continues, “And you’re cuter when you’re smiling…” which is the truth if he’s ever known it. Indeed, at his answer, Yashiro smiles wider still, eyes sparkling and excited, so different from their earlier teary puffiness, and Hanako just can’t help but—

“And I bet you’d look funny at a hundred years old!” He grins at her, wide and unapologetic even as her smile drops into a somewhat menacing glare, arms crossed. It feels so good to smile the way he only can when falling back on badly-timed banter and crude jokes, and to see Yashiro’s angry pout that always accompanies such jokes, and the thought only makes his fondness for her grow. In the next moment, however, he’s back to flushed embarrassment.

“That’s all?” Yashiro demands, her glare sharp and knowing in a way that, for some reason, has Hanako stuttering out, “N—No, that’s not all…”

“Then what is it?” Yashiro asks eagerly, her pretty smile back that Hanako now realizes is totally being used to manipulate him. “What’s the other reason?”

Hanako feels his cheeks heat further, didn’t even know they could be this hot when he doesn’t technically have circulating blood, and he crosses his arms at Yashiro, avoiding her gaze. “I’m not telling,” he says petulantly, just to see Yashiro’s shocked face from the corner of his eye, and hear her devastated, “But why?!”

She turns her back to him once again, and he feels another little twinge of guilt; she wishes for something dramatic, romantic, he knows because he knows her. He only wishes he knew how to be loving the way she wants. But Hanako-kun, No. 7 of the 7 Wonders has never been one to turn down a wish from Yashiro Nene, has he?

He moves, swift and silent, crouching on his knees behind Yashiro where she sits on the edge of a rusty metal stair—on a fire escape, in a run-down alley, on the other end of a waterlogged tunnel, as far as far can be from shore—taking one of her hands as gently as he possibly can, and kissing her knuckles, featherlight in a gesture he’s displayed a thousand times, yet it’s this one that makes Yashiro’s breath hitch. Hanako relishes in it, in her warm back against his chest when he wraps his other arm ‘round her shoulders, pressing them close.

He noses at her temple, breathing in her warmth in that intimate way he hardly ever allows himself—only in those moments where she’s been gone, and he’s just got her back, and all he can feel is the rush of relief at holding her again. Only this time, the feeling is multiplied by the mass of a hundred suns, flooding him so suddenly he can’t help but squeeze her closer.

“I had no intention of ever seeing you again,” he tells her, and oh god, he sounds wrecked, emotion finally bleeding through. Yashiro turns to look at him, straight at him, maneuvering them so they’re properly facing each other, her hand holding his to her chest so tight he wouldn’t be surprised if she declared it her own property—and he’d let her.

Hanako cradles her cheek, sighing at their closeness, at his desperate want reflected so clearly in Yashiro’s shining, teary eyes, and he wants almost to sob at the “Hanako-kun,” breathed against his mouth.

“But I’m so glad I got to,” he rasps, attempting a smile even though he knows how broken it must be, “. . .Man, what’s wrong with me?” He tugs her to him, finally giving in to the overwhelming urge to nuzzle her close, burying his face in her neck and clutching her to him, warm and real and everything he doesn’t deserve. She tangles their hands back together, clinging to his rough palm even as her lips brush Hanako’s neck, and he sighs.

He cards his fingers through Yashiro’s still-wet hair when he pulls away, not going far, though a few tears fall down Yashiro’s cheeks anyways. He swipes them gently away with the hand still caressing her jaw, Yashiro bringing their joined hands to her lips and brushing a tear-stained kiss on Hanako’s knuckles, so sweet and nervous, he can’t take it anymore.

Their hands still entwined, his hand still cupping her cheek, Hanako leans close, Yashiro meeting him halfway and slotting their lips together. Hanako kisses Yashiro as thoroughly as he knows how to, as tender as a murderer can possibly kiss the girl he loves, their hands pressed together between their chests. Yashiro whimpers, soft and keening, and Hanako forces himself to break away from her, lest he get carried away.

But God she’s beautiful like this, held in his arms and hands, tears sparkling, streaming because of him, hair falling from her clips because of him, lips swollen and kiss-bitten because of him, alive because of him. He realizes belatedly that she’s trembling, that he’s shaking a bit too, and that there’s a wetness on his cheeks that wasn’t there before—and so he just pulls her back into his arms, her hand finally leaving his just so she can properly cling to Hanako in return, crying into his shoulder as he kisses her neck and her temple as lovingly as he can, letting himself—and Yashiro—have just this one little moment.

“I am too,” Yashiro whispers to him, and it takes Hanako a long, long moment to even register the words, let alone decipher what she means by them. Her warm hands press brands on Hanako’s back where they wrap around his shoulders, and he holds her close and tight by the waist in return, her breathing slow and sensuous and perfectly fine—not dead, Hanako chants in his mind, because he saved her, and will continue to save her.

“I’m so glad we met again.”