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Chihiro is standing in darkness.
It takes a split second to register, and he whirls around, searching desperately for the sorcerer that he had been facing off against mere seconds before.
But there's nothing. No one around. He can't even be sure there's a ground below him, and the warehouse they had been fighting in had completely vanished.
Not to mention...
"Hakuri?" He calls into the void, eyes darting around. It's hard to tell which direction he's already looked in with darkness pressing in on every side. His heartbeat quickens.
No, Chihiro, stay calm. This must be the work of that sorcerer. There's no other explanation. He reaches for Enten and--
It's gone. At his waist, there is nothing.
Chihiro whirls around again, as if the katana would magically appear. Of course, it doesn't work like that, and he grits his teeth.
"Hakuri!" He calls again, desperation coloring his voice. The darkness just swallows his words. He's completely alone.
Calm down, Chihiro. He inhales shakily, steadying himself. He hasn't been attacked in this dark prison he's found himself in, so the likelihood of it being a mental attack instead of a blinding one is high. He must remain calm, and figure out a way to break the sorcery as soon as possible before...
Before what? What had he been here to do again?
Chihiro looks down at his hands. He can still see them, thankfully, his body the only thing that still remained in this void. His skin is pale, noticeably lacking the scars he had accumulated in the past three years. They're bony, too, and most notably...
He has both of them.
Something coils in the pit of his stomach. Something thick and heavy, like a leaden weight.
He lifts a shaky hand to the left side of his face, to the dreadful scar that mars his every thought. The tangible representation of his quest for revenge, the thing that keeps him going each day.
It's gone.
"Chihiro!" A heavy hand comes down on his shoulder. A familiar hand.
Chihiro whirls around and comes face to face with Rokuhira Kunishige.
"Woah!" His father exclaims, a startled look crossing his face. "Did I scare you? Sorry!"
Chihiro stares. It's all he can do to not immediately throw himself at his father, or collapse into a puddle of tears, or-- Or he's not even sure what. His limbs feel stiff, frozen. Something has clamped over his heart, squeezing it like a boa constrictor squeezes it's prey.
"You--" He finally manages, the word coming out strangled. Kunishige's mouth pops open into an 'o' and he points at himself.
"Me! Anyway, don't just stand there, c'mon!" He gestures emphatically before turning and disappearing into the kitchen.
Chihiro watches him go, his mouth a mirror of his father's. Slowly, like butter in a hot pan, his surprise melts away. He trods after his father, feet warm against the cool bamboo floors.
His father is standing with his hands on his hips next to their small kitchen table. As Chihiro approaches, he puffs his chest out, a grin overtaking his face.
"Tada!" He sings, making jazz hands around the table, set with two plates and a wilted bouquet of wildflowers. On each plate sits a pitifully burnt slice of toast. Or really, charcoal.
Chihiro stares at the toast. He can feel his father's expectant gaze on him, can see the energetic wiggle of his fingers out of the corner of his eyes.
"Haven't I told you I'll take care of breakfast?" He deadpans, looking up at his father in time to catch him deflate.
They switch roles. Chihiro busies himself with tying an apron around his waist as his father picks at his failed toast attempt, his shoulders slumped and face wilting. Chihiro ignores this, focuses on cracking eggs to scramble.
"Chihirooo..." His father whines, slumping down at the table. Chihiro doesn't respond, knowing his father would continue with or without any prompting. "I just wanted to do something nice for my hardworking little boy..."
Chihiro exhales, using a pair of chopsticks to mix the eggs. "I'm not a child anymore." He reminds his father. He hasn't, not for a long time. "I'm already--" He pauses, bites his tongue. How old was he? Fourteen. He was fourteen, right? Why did he feel so much older?
"Chihiro?" His father lifts his head from the table, looking at him quizzically. Chihiro meets his eyes, brow furrowing.
Something is wrong. This is wrong.
"This isn't right." He drops the pan handle, letting it fall against the stove with a clatter. He scrambles to untie the apron. Where's Enten? In the cellar, like it always had been. Chihiro grasps for his hip, finds nothing there.
"Chihiro?" His father has gotten up now, worry stretched across his face. Chihiro doesn't look at him. Can't. Something's tightening in his chest, the feeling of wrongness that only intensifies as Kunishige gets closer.
"Stop!" He shouts, shrill and tight, swinging his arm out. He abandons his attempt to untie the apron, fails again to grab at his hip. What had he been doing? Enten. The sorcerer. Enten? What?
The moment is suddenly broken by the sound of the front door sliding open.
"Yo!" Shiba greets, lifting high a plastic bag. "I come bearing gifts!"
And just like that, the tension is sapped from the air. Kunishige's face lights up, and he hurries over to his friend.
"Shiba!" He slings an arm around his neck, pulling him close. "How many times have I told you to knock? Chihiro was just making us breakfast!"
Chihiro blinks. He feels as though he's just lost a thought, let something slip through his fingers. He can't remember exactly what though, and when he looks down to check, he remembers the eggs. Quickly, he shifts the pan off the stove. They've miraculously not burnt, and he sighs in relief.
"Hi, Shiba-san." He greets, sliding the eggs out of the pan. Since Shiba will be joining them, he'll have to add another plate. Luckily he made enough eggs to easily split between the three of them.
"How's the city, Shiba?" Chihiro's father asks, sitting backwards in his chair and kicking his heels out. Shiba groans, settles next to the fish tank.
"Far from peaceful." He leans over, sprinkling a pinch of fish food into their tank.
Chihiro watches as the fish swarm to eat their surprise meal, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Please don't overfeed our fish, Shiba-san."
Shiba, caught in his tracks, clicks his tongue and retracts his hand. The fish, realizing they won't be fed more, revert to their usual lazy circles.
Chihiro finishes plating the food, bringing the plates to the table. His father's eyes are already glistening with hunger and excitement, and Chihiro can practically see sparkles around his head.
"Woahhh Chihirooo~" He drags out Chihiro's name, rubbing his hands together. "There's a reason you're always on cooking duty!"
"That's 'cause you can't cook, Kunishige." Shiba quips, pulling out his chair to sit and eat. "Thanks for the food, Chihiro."
"Thanks!" Kunishige agrees emphatically, before digging in.
Chihiro can't help the faint smile that crosses his lips as he settles into his own chair, draping the apron across its back. The kitchen feels warm, but the breeze coming in through the open patio doors makes the scene feel nice, pleasant. It's the perfect summer day, even with both his father's and Shiba's legs crammed up next to his under the small table. When he bites into his toast, it's burnt, but the eggs are perfectly cooked, and the toast just adds a nice layer of crunch. Shiba and his father chatter about the news from the city, and Chihiro tunes them out, enjoying this perfect moment.
And yet.
And yet, something feels off. There's been something throwing him off all morning-- or at least, the sensation that there's been something. Try as he might, Chihiro can't remember what that something is. But there's a hole at his side, the missing pieces of... something. Someone, maybe.
"I need to go to the bathroom." He pushes up from his seat, tries to keep his face neutral. Both Shiba and his father look at him, their conversation subsiding.
"Are you feeling okay?" Kunishige asks, his brow quirked. "You can go rest in your room if you need."
"You sure you wanna go right now?" Shiba grins, lifting the bag of gifts he brought. "You'll like what I brought this time."
"I need to go." He insists, and they drop it. He can feel their stares at the back of his neck even as he walks away.
The hallway to the bathroom feels impossibly long. Something wraps around his stomach, squeezes tight. He steadies himself with a breath, finally arrives at the bathroom.
His face is gaunt in the mirror, skinny in that typical fourteen year old way. His eyes are big, serious. His skin is clear, completely unmarred by anything. He traces his fingers along the ridge of his brow, along the left side of his eye, trails his cheekbone.
Something is missing. Something big.
His chest feels empty, cold. He's supposed to feel more than this, supposed to feel less than this. There's a hatred missing. There's too much joy. There's someone here that isn't supposed to be here.
There's too much Rokuhira Kunishige.
He bursts out of the bathroom, ignoring how the door slams into the wall. His feet slap against the floor as he bolts for the open door.
"Chihiro?!" His father's voice calls from behind him, and the worry in it is almost enough to make Chihiro stop. He falters, and it's enough for Kunishige to grab his wrist, pulling him tight to his chest. "Chihiro, what's wrong?"
He's warm. He's solid. Tears prickle at Chihiro's eyes. Why was he upset in the first place? He can't recall. He relaxes into the embrace.
"Chihiro!"
His eyes snap open at this new voice. Kunishige's arms around him tighten, but not enough that Chihiro can't see the new figure, standing silhouetted in the doorway, shoulders heaving and one hand propping himself up.
A boy-- perhaps slightly younger than him-- dressed in a white yukata, with silvery hair and piercing blue eyes. Bandages cover his entire body, and a dark bruise circles his right eye, but he stares at Chihiro with an unbridled determination.
"Chihiro!" He shouts again, extending his arm, and, without even thinking, Chihiro breaks free from his father's embrace, lunging for the boy's outstretched hand. It feels somehow like the most natural thing to do, like the missing piece of the puzzle.
"Chihiro!" His father and Shiba both shout, but Chihiro doesn't look back.
His hand slaps against the boy's with the sting of flesh, and suddenly the kitchen is gone.
Fire crackles behind his back, warming it through the thin layer of his cotton t-shirt. The boy's back dances with the shadows of flames. There's a searing pain at Chihiro's left temple, and something drips down his face. When he lifts his hand to touch it, it comes back red with blood.
"Chihiro!" His father screams from behind him, garbled with pain and too familiar.
"Don't look!" The boy hisses, squeezes his hand tighter.
Chihiro clenches his eyes shut. The boy's warnings are in vain, because he knows what he'll see when he turns around. The vision of his father's corpse is seared against the back of his eyelids.
Chihiro is flat on his back. The rough grit of cement against his head and back tells him he's in the warehouse, as do the metal beams stretching above him. He blinks a few times, tries to clear his eyes. He can tell without moving that his arm is gone, that Enten is at its rightful place by his side.
He makes a small noise, shifts his arm in an attempt to get up. This apparently summons Hakuri, who leans over his head a little too close for comfort. His eyes are wide and worried, and blood trickles from his nose.
"Chihiro! You're awake!" His voice sounds so relieved, his lips pulling apart in a shaky smile.
"What..." Chihiro tries to speak, but his throat feels parched. He licks his lips, moves his head to get a better grasp of his surroundings. "What happened?"
Hakuri leans back, stumbles to his feet. Chihiro can tell now, with his body not blocking the view, that the warehouse is completely empty. No sign of the sorcerer they had been chasing anywhere.
"I dunno." Hakuri admits, offering his hand to help Chihiro up. It stirs memories of the visions he'd seen, of the young boy dressed in white. Chihiro wasn't stupid enough to not notice the similarities between the boy and Hakuri, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. He takes Hakuri's hand, allows himself to use the help.
He's still a little woozy as he climbs to his feet, and Hakuri pulls his arm around his shoulder, allowing Chihiro to lean against him. "We were fighting that sorcerer." He says, walking Chihiro over to a stack of crates. "And then he cast some sorcery, and then..." Hakuri trails off, his blue eyes darting over to Chihiro. "Well, it seemed to be some sort of illusion sorcery. When I woke up, we were alone, and you weren't waking up, so I got frightened and--" Hakuri cuts himself off there, sitting the both of them down on the crate. His expression is thin, and he brings his hands together in his lap.
What did you see, Hakuri? Chihiro wants to ask. He bites his tongue, focuses on regaining his sense of self. He flexes his hand, draws it to where Enten sits at his hip, a comforting weight.
"You were--" He begins, then cuts himself off. Hakuri's head jerks up at the sudden sound, and his eyes are wide as he stares at Chihiro. "You pulled me out of it, didn't you?" The boy, his hand, those piercing blue eyes.
Hakuri glances away, presses his lips together. "...Yeah." He admits. "I saw a bit of your vision. I'm sorry." He lowers his head, eyes disappearing behind a curtain of hair.
Chihiro leans his head back, closes his eyes. He can still see his father and Shiba and the kitchen table, can still see the fish. Can still taste the burnt toast, feel the sun on his back. He opens his eyes. "It's fine." He says.
"Was that..." Hakuri begins, then stops, his mouth opening and closing. He looks pained for a second, then tries again. "Was that your father?"
Chihiro exhales slowly. "Yes."
"Ah."
There's silence. Chihiro thinks he can hear water dripping somewhere.
"I think," Hakuri begins, tilting his head back in a mirror to Chihiro, "I think the sorcerer was trying to trap us with our desires."
Desires.
"I think it showed us what we wanted most." Hakuri doesn't look at him, lacing his fingers in his lap. "And then when we tried to escape, it tries to get you with your worst nightmare."
His legs are kicking absentmindedly, a gesture that brings Chihiro back to the kitchen table, his father's foot brushing against his. He shuts his eyes.
"As a way of subduing an opponent." Chihiro's voice is level when he speaks. "I've encountered something similar before, but it just showed a person's trauma."
This nicer vision had been much more effective. Chihiro didn't want to think about what would have happened in Hakuri hadn't been there.
"Actually... How did you manage to escape alone, Hakuri?"
Silence.
When Chihiro cracks open his eyes, Hakuri is staring at him. Caught, his gaze quickly darts away, his shoulders jerking.
"Well." He clears his throat, laughing a little. It's the nervous laugh Chihiro has come to hate, one Hakuri uses often. He presses his fingers together, tenting his hands. "The vision... it was too nice. I realized it must have been fake."
Chihiro thinks back to the boy in the yukata, to his black eye and the bandages on every stretch of visible skin. He wants to ask about it. He wants to ask. But he doesn't have to.
Hakuri takes a deep breath before speaking, still avoiding Chihiro's gaze. "It was... similar to yours, I guess. My father and siblings and I, sharing a meal at a restaurant." He smiles, not a happy one. "I've just become part of the Tou. My siblings are happy with me. My father ruffles my hair, tells me I've done a good job." His hand travels to his head, as if still feeling his father's touch.
"It was too nice." His voice is hushed. "It was easy to break free."
Chihiro is silent, letting the information settle in the air. He can tell there's more Hakuri isn't sharing, but he won't pry, not with Hakuri's gaze aimed somewhere at the floor, not with his hands white-knuckled together.
"Ah!" Hakuri exclaims, suddenly leaping up from his seat on the crate. He turns to Chihiro, any trace of his former mood gone. "How long have we been gone? Shiba-san's gonna freak out!"
Chihiro exhales at the thought, fishes his phone out of his pocket. It had been way too long, and the mission had failed anyway. They had been unable to even make contact with the sorcerer, and had failed to get any information.
Well. His eyes trail up, to where Hakuri is frantically pacing. His hand still feels the ghost of Hakuri's grip. If Hakuri hadn't been there, its likely Chihiro would have been trapped in the illusion, or perhaps the sorcerer would've come back for revenge.
But Hakuri hadn't abandoned him. Hakuri had even helped him. Chihiro closes his hand around the sensation of Hakuri's fingers curled against his palm, standing from the crate.
At the very least, he's glad to have gotten to know Hakuri even the slightest bit better.