They’re warm. Not all over. Their toes are cold and their left hand is frozen in the way that only comes with numbing deadness. But the sunbeam heats up their face comfortably and the body draped across theirs is the best sort of weighted blanket.
Only one though.
It’s an effort not to sneeze as their eyes adjust to the brightness. The living room filters in, golden in the afternoon. Warm like a breath and just as quiet. So much they almost don’t catch the sound of sketching on paper.
“Go back to sleep,” Michiru hums when she feels Haruka’s gaze on her. She’s focused, relaxed back into her chair in the way they know she’s been at it for a bit. The tea cup at her elbow, the blanket around her knees, and the sunlight catching across her cheekbones sing of a domesticity that fills Haruka with a different kind of warm. Later, they resolve, catching her eye and the softness there. Later. When the world moves with more purpose.
“You coming back?” The question is more sound than words. Seiya shifts against them, his own unconscious invitation, and settles. An almost silent sigh leaves Michiru at the way his mouth falls open. Her thumb smudges something on the page. Or something like that.
She shakes her head. “Go back to sleep,” she says again, low. Focused and loved.
The sunbeam moves and leaves only one of Haruka’s eyes in shadow. They can’t fight the sneeze this time. Seiya grumbles in his sleep, moving into the space Michiru left. Haruka yawns and drifts as the sound of sketching continues.
Soooo, gimme more of the transseiya stories, like, finding allies in H&M over time, discussing surgery, etc etc....oh my god so many thoughts in my head.
Haruka stares at their phone. It’s unnervingly quiet. Has been since about three minutes ago when it rattled its way across the kitchen table. They haven’t taken their eyes off it after its little dance. Something about it all just itches. They don’t get calls from her and especially not at this time of night. It definitely hadn’t been an accident, either. The call lasted unanswered for too long and cut too short for it to be anything but a bail out.
Haruka chuckles at the idea. ‘Course she would cower out.
Bzzt! The nervous dance begins again, as if on cue. Almost as if it knew they were talking shit. Haruka lets it ring. Unhurried, they glance at the digital kitchen clock. Two in the morning almost always means a call for help. And Haruka is nothing if not a sucker. Damnit.
They pick up on the last ring.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“You know, the park’s not exactly open this time of day.”
Seiya jumps as Haruka sits down on the bench next to her. That was satisfying. Even more so as she scowls in answer.
“Who closes parks?” Seiya mutters darkly. “Makes no sense.”
Haruka shrugged. They tug at their jacket zipper, trying to settle in. It’s kinda spooky, being in a park at night. They’d always thought so. Even back in the days they used to patrol with Michiru, waiting for The Silence. Something about the absence of movement where there should be. They try to shrug the feeling off, only partially successful. Seiya’s not exactly good enough company to ward away the chill of an empty playground.
“So what’d you bring me out here for anyways?” Haruka asks. “I’m assuming not for a smoke?”
Seiya shoots them a sideways look, black brows scrunching together. “You smoke?”
Haruka shakes their head. “Michiru hates the smell.” But Makoto likes the company, they add silently. The memory of the last late night conversation drifts by. It makes some conversations easier. Something to get rid of the nervous energy while talking. And Seiya looks like she could use the help.
She sits almost completely on the edge of the bench. Elbows on her knees and heels hovering off the ground like she’s preparing any minute to launch herself into the darkness. Seiya’s normal low ponytail is missing the normal neat, careful wrappings and Haruka has a sudden image of her bolting out of whatever hotel room the Starlights found to crash to meet up here.
“Wh-”
“Where are you staying?”
Seiya blinks, mouth half formed around words cut off at the breath. “What?”
“Sorry,” the corners of Haruka’s mouth pull tightly downwards. “You just looked so…” They shrug, looking her up and down as ways of explanation. It didn’t help the sudden self-consciousness sitting over the both of them. Why were they doing this? “Are you guys, like. Safe? Or something?”
“We got back a week ago,” Seiya says slowly. Her eyebrows almost meld together in confusion. “The Prin-” The word breaks off, jagged and sharp. Seiya’s scowl at the ground seems to watch it fall. A muscle works in her jaw. “Kakyuu insisted on finding a place of our own this time. I’m staying at the shrine.”
Haruka nods in sympathy. “It’s hard giving them space,” they agree.
Seiya’s hands clench around each other for a moment. Two. And then tension slinks away into the night with a sigh. She looks tired. With sagging shoulders and a too distant gaze, she just looks beat. Haruka watches from the corner of their eye as Seiya slowly sweeps the hair back from her eyes. More than just a trip across the skies - although they knew nothing about what that was like - or even for the time of night.
“How do you do it?” she asks after a while. A small question. More of a confession really. Like someone pushing the words from her lungs. It’s enough to make Haruka swallow back the snappy response that sprung to mind. Instead, they settle for a sigh. A smoke would really help this conversation.
Their leg bounces in the silence. “You just kinda,” they start, mulling it over. “I dunno. Deal with it, I guess. Accept you can’t control what they do.”
“But what about…” The muscle in her jaw works and jumps as she chews over words. “But can’t you? To a certain point? So people just listen more? See you better?”
Something lights up a corner of Haruka’s mind at the desperation in the last bit of that question. Almost a nagging familiarity. “They’re their own people, dude. We can’t exactly be everything they need all the time. And they don’t want us to be.”
“No, I don’t mean -” Seiya curses something. A clipped, almost hissing noise of language that settles into a low moan of sorts. It could be anything, but swearing in all languages feels the same to Haruka.
It’s different watching someone else flounder for words. Does their leg jump as much as hers does? They know for sure they don’t mutter through things. Maybe that’s the consequence of needing to translate. Honestly, it’s a little grating. They stuff down the urge to reach over and still her bouncing leg, to cut off the strange, rapid sounds. But without an outlet it only gets worse, they know. So they wait. And wait.
What feels like hours later there’s a pained sort of noise. One that’s not entirely otherworldly. “I’m just,” Seiya starts, voice catching on a strangled breath. The words are slow, almost like her tongue can’t quite remember how to form the words. “I’m tired of feeling like this. Like I’m lying everyday to people when I go out, lying to myself saying it’s fine. And I miss how it used to be before-” A reflex swallow and air breathes into Seiya’s hands. One slow, long breath that whistles through the space between skin. “Before everyone…”
The nagging familiar light finally erupts into clarity and Haruka openly stares now. Really watching. Michiru always teases how long it takes them to really notice what’s going on and maybe, maybe Haruka’s been oblivious this whole time on this bench. But a memory of before - Seiya, bold, brash, and bigger than life that first night they met and every night afterwards in that stupid red suit. Cocky and carefree in a backwards hat, shoulders back, proud and daring the world to try anything - blares bright compared to now. The way Seiya’s shoulders tuck in, the way those blue eyes bore into the grass below, the desperation of being seen as before…
Well, it just all rings a bit too familiar.
“Before everyone found out,” Haruka finishes. Seiya flinches the smallest bit, chest curling inwards, nose scrunching in pained frustration. Fingers flex. Forearms stiffen as the words linger. There’s a nod, robotic and halting, gaze determinedly fixed on the middle distance of the dirt.
Haruka sinks further back into the bench, their own eyes skywards. Silence is good for thinking sometimes. Wait around long enough and the right thing to say will show up for you to use. Right now, though, maybe not so much. Especially since Seiya seems to wind tighter with every passing moment next to them. The bouncing leg has stopped, trading in for the coiled tension when Haruka first sat down. They let it happen - old habits die hard and it’s still a little fun to let Seiya stew - but eventually. Eventually the too familiar wins out.
“You can go back, you know,” Haruka says towards the stars. “To Before, I mean.”
Seiya begins to shake. From the night chill or the idea, Haruka can’t really tell, but it brings an urge to do something to soothe.
There’s a sniffle. A breath a bit too hard. “It won’t be the same,” he finally says, voice hesitantly sinking into that low skip that takes Haruka back to an after concert dressing room. Different from the rest of the conversation. More like Seiya they know.
“Nope.” Seiya doesn’t jump at the hand on his shoulder. Only unwinds. Relaxing at Haruka’s touch like a house cat settling in. A first for everything, as they say. “It’ll be better.”
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Her voice is in his ear and he can’t breathe as her teeth work the space under his ear. Whatever hold sleep still had over him is gone the moment she curls her fingers around him. It’s unfair. Totally unfair how she can do this to him with the simplest brush of her hand. Completely unfair how Haruka’s mouth on his neck makes him want to melt back into the sheets.
“I mean it,” Haruka murmurs against his skin. He hates the way his hips buck at the feel of it. It just makes them smirk. “There’s no fucking denying it now. I just... wanna lick something off those pecs.”
They’re trying, he reasons, tilting his head to give them more access. Haruka just needs more practice at dirty talking. But honestly? The idea of his partners licking something off his new flat body is slightly exhilarating. More than he thought it would be.
He wakes with a start. Convulsing. Gasping. Clawing for something solid as the world crumbles apart around him. Blood and wind roar in his ears, drowning his own screams. Light too bright flashes then vanishes completely, cries too loud for one voice fill his head. He has to move, has to run, has to fight whatever’s holding him. His arms and legs are trapped no matter how he struggles and all around him is dark dark dark he has to go has to move has to -
Fall.
He’s falling. Just for a moment.
And then his shoulder aches and something like stars explode in his knee as something heavy lands with him. On him. Something holding him, trapping him. Instinct kicks in. He fights. Flailing best he can but his arms won’t move. He screams but his voice dies on his breath. He clutches something ready to tear ready to hit as hard as he can ready to break away ready -
“Seiya!”
He gasps reality back to order.
Light filters back, blink by blink. The ground’s solid with carpet, the wind stills to the gentle hum of the electric fan. His fingers hold white-knuckle tight the familiar warmth of a scarred arm.
And their faces come back to focus. Green and gold, solar fierce, worry tight, pin him to the floor with careful precision. Ocean waves and tidal blue search for his familiarity with a cavernful of siren empathy.
Both haloed in the army of his fading ghosts.
He’s shaking. Shivering under their hands as the two of them coax him back. A gentle squeeze unlocks his fingers from Michiru’s wrists. His nose twitches with sniffles, air leaving him in soft stutters. Haruka smoothes out the already healing bruises on his skin. The world calmly slots back into place with every touch. Muscles lose tension. Breathing calms. He stays on the floor as they arrange themselves around him. Heavy and solid. Grounding him in their gravity of the present.
There was no grand entrance. No spectacle of the prince returning home, no grand announcement of a hero victorious. Only the gentle click of the door falling shut for a sign.
Haruka looks up from their place on the couch. They can just see the entryway if they tilt their head just so, they discovered long ago and it serves its use now. Or at least, they can see the shadow of it. He hadn't bothered to turn the light on.
"You alright?"
Seiya jumps in his place, flinching back into darkness. His answering grin is a bit too quick, a bit too practiced even for him. "You look like a giraffe."
Michiru, next to them, pauses the movie. She at least has the wherewithal to turn in her place to look at him, glowing backlit by the tv. It's late, Haruka notices belatedly. The dying blue light paints them all in muted greys and hides most of Seiya's face from the both of them. But Haruka still catches the pink of his nose and the downward tilt of his eyes. And the way his hand rubs almost absently across his chest.
Shit, they think.
Michiru sees it, too. She’s up in a fluid moment, drifting towards him without hesitation. Her hand covers his own, the other reaching to his face. Haruka watches as his shoulders curve in, watches his head sink, hears his shaky breath from across the room. Words, soft and meant only for the two of them, float on her soothing tone and Haruka sees him nod. Without her, he’d stay at the door the whole night. Somehow they all know. So she leads him by the hand.
Any other night they’d have a quip. Some bright jab to make him roll his eyes. Any other night Seiya wouldn’t need to be invited into Michiru’s arms, both of their heads settled in Haruka’s lap. But tonight, they’re still. Soft. Fingers - string calloused and athlete rough - ghost along his skin and hair. They coax his hands to relax, for the tight line of his shoulders to ease into something more like his usual slouch. Michiru presses lips against his collar and Haruka hums something without melody.
