his breath was the color of rain in his sleep; and he remembers it mistily - his eyes not meeting the newest addition - the newest attempt at keeping him here and there and frightfully, terribly asleep.

(Kino. she smelt of lilacs and summer. Kiyoshi. he smelt of cinders and his father's cigars.)

and ---

(Asato.)

it just wasn't the same.

I.

In his books on philosophy and the circles we draw in the sands of time, reincarnation is a strange, foreign reminder to the way foolish syllables gather at the corners of mind, sucking in hope. The putrid scent of desire. And the way he still reaches for him.

(comehomecomehome)

II.

Watari says that sometimes people return into our lives with softer hands and tender eyes. Asato is like that. (Because, in the din of their office, he can hear Hisoka's voice catch when he meets his eyes, warm like coffee and woodlands and the wet, wet sound of a sputtering fire, and says:
"You're too thin! Here, take some of my cake..." Pause. "At least try it!")

(and hisoka finds, in the proximity of Asato's tanned skin and warm breath, he excuses himself, and swears to anything up there he will not (is not) (never has) cr(y)(ing)(ed))

III.

My last name? (Pause) Tsuzuki. (Consider) Why?

IV.

"There's so much sadness in your smile."

(hisoka's hands are shaking, and Tsu---no, Asato's hair seems to glow gold in the sunlight. Like the thinning end of days. Like straw spun precious, bright.)

He had found him on instinct, he said. With intuition. He knew where he went. What corner he had shoved himself in, in the delicate air of the library. The beautiful-ugly scent of dust and decay in his blustered-wheat hair. The steeled nature of his wide eyes.

(Green, Asato had mentioned, was his favorite color. And he had said this with an affectionate smile, that held nothing, but honesty. Held nothing, but the barest of miles and miles and---.)

And in that moment, he permitted Asato to ruffle his hair. To press his nose into the crook of his neck. And murmur, soft and slow,

"I want to help you, Hisoka. I want you to know."

V.

(his chest is burning, and he fears more than ever that this moment is just an aching, disgusting, pitying ---)

But, Asato's hands are on his shoulder. Asato's hands are on his face. Asato's mouth is at the junction of his neck and shoulder, inelegant and without haste. And on his breath, there is the scent of sugar-spun-and-candied-lies. On his breath there is the gaping maw of time, uncoiling in his stomach and fluttering behind his eyes.

("pleasepleaseplease---" and hisoka touches Asato's jaw, to be certain, to be sure, and --- and --- )

he's bones. dead weight. and arching, ever close.

And it is all he ever wanted to know.

VI.

This first time Asato spends the night, Hisoka touches the flawless skin of his wrist.

Waits.

And somehow, in din of his study, Asato almost seems to change his face. Seems to overlay. (All dark hair and lighter skin and the clear, clear violet of irises - a shallow ring. And he can feel his body move. He can hear his voice.)

"Hisoka."

(and he is back. he is gone. and in the quiet, in the stilling of his furious pulse, Asato looks the other way. breathes in deep. and questions, soft - his voice like seas:"...are you remembering things?" unspoken. the tides. his mouth warm against his paling cheek.
'like me?')

And there is nothing he can answer. Nothing he can say.

Instead, he pulls away.

(waits. conflicthurtandarousalpain.)

Instead, he bows his head - still so much older than he, he is - and rests his head against the place where such ugly, sacred scars should be.

(and in the growing quiet. settled like rain on the open ocean, on the dying sea - he can hear the half-hitched sobs - "Hisoka,please." - and realizes this is where he should be.)

VII.

"I kept waiting for you to come back."

A small, meek smile. No sadness. Just years of weight and ebbing regret. He smells of sweat and dust and everything he remembers, his nose burrowed into his hair. (He can hear him uttering, soft and slow and lethargic: "Did you learn to cook, yet?" - and his eyes are so, so green, under his eyelashes. Longer than when he had seen him last. Marvels. And he knows that when he can catch his breath, he will laugh.)

"I will always ---"

(but, he cannot finish. hisoka's mouth is on his jaw. can feel the pale, pale green of his half-sobs, half-sighs. he can feel the sharp trickling of empathy in the back of his mind, welcoming him back. and Tsuzuki knows he believes him.)

the words are the same;

(tatsumi is surprised, this time. there is no request to leave hisoka behind)
And when he sees them, all muted strength - the barrier for each situation - each footstep and gesture seemingly timed, he can ---

And the way Hisoka finally does not deny the quirk of his lips behind the ruse of a book or a file, Tatsumi thinks, possibly -

That Watari was not out of his mind.

(he greets them this morning with a hesitant smile, places a hand on Asato's shoulder, and tells him:

"Welcome back.")

---
welcome home.
---