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Hajime had been human before.
At least he thinks he has. When he looks in the mirror he thinks he has the face of one. Tanned skin, large brown eyes, a distinct beauty mark placed on the left side.
It was his face. The one people associated and called Hajime Aikawa. Old customers, the rare living subjects of his photos, Amane. Upon seeing his face most would break into smiles and express pleasantries.
“Hajime!” they would say, “It’s been so long! How many years has it been since we last spoke?”
And when he would mumble that it had been maybe five, possibly ten years since they had last had a conversation, the other person would almost always widen their eyes, staring into Hajime’s own and exclaiming,
“It’s like you haven’t aged a day since! How have you been?”
Right, humans aged. He could remember he had once done that. Grown older so that his hair wasn’t as shiny and the lines on his face had gotten more prominent, especially around his mouth. His skin wasn’t as nice, but he can’t ever remember caring about things such as that before. It only began to bother him now, when looking in the mirror only yields soft hair and smooth skin, youthful eyes and a body untouched by time. It had been twenty years, but Hajime was frozen, fossilized.
After all, he wasn’t human. He had never been human.
But he was certain he once was. He had to be. He recalled a time where his blood was deep and thick and his tanned cheeks blushed pink. A time when red was smeared across his cheek, cuts blooming droplets of blood from his arms. Brilliant red that flaked to brown and bruised all sorts of wonderful shades of blue. He couldn’t deny that it hurt. And it did hurt, a distinct way from the usual humming beneath his skin. It hurt when he tripped over a loose stone, it hurt when he fell, and perhaps it hurt tenfold mentally upon hearing his camera clatter beside him.
It hurt when a cotton pad was pressed to the wound, drenched in a liquid meant to sterilize. It caused him to flinch away from the touch, although it had been nothing but careful, gentle. A calloused hand grabbed his own, a thumb idly caressing and rubbing circles around his joints.
“You’re lucky you know. It would hurt more if I had to pick rocks out of your skin. Gross, too.”
Ah, that’s right. When he was human he wasn’t alone either. So vast a difference from the solitude he existed in now.
“Are you almost done?” He grimaced, he did not want to think about pebbles mottling his flesh, even if he knew those gentle hands would pick them all out with care.
Kenzaki smiled at him, leaning in to kiss the top of Hajime’s forehead. It was a simple gesture, meant to be comforting, and he didn’t even feel it when Kenzaki pressed the pad to the wound once more.
“There we go. All clean now,” he said, tossing the cotton into a nearby trashcan at the foot of the bed.
Hajime got up to move, feeling the familiar shift and squeak of the mattress that reminded him that they should really buy a new one soon. They had more than enough funds with the success of Hajime’s most recent photo-book and the mismatched collection of the odd jobs Kenzaki found most fulfilling to him. But he knew that Kenzaki liked to live simple, and the more than normal wear and tear of the cabin was something like a comfort to him.
It was stability after all. Why did it matter that the mattress was old and one of the steps outside was missing a panel of wood? That sometimes the roof leaked when it rained and a draft snaked its way in during the winter. This old place was luxury to Kenzaki. Hajime wished he had thought of it that way. A luxury. Perhaps he took it all for granted. That the little things were nuisances and the assumption his time with Kenzaki was infinite. He never once considered it would end.
He felt a tug on his shoulder. Those hands again, those sturdy palms with deft fingers, pulling him back to sit. He obliged, ignoring how a past version of himself, the inhuman Hajime, would have resisted such kindness.
“It still needs to be bandaged.” Kenzaki said, soft eyes betraying the firmness of his words. A ghost of concern peeking out beneath his gaze.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Kenzaki’s words carried a bit more emotion to them, one Hajime had learned to identify over the many long years as worry. Humans worried a lot. About all sorts of things really, but most commonly they worried about one another. Most of Hajime’s emotions he had learned through Kenzaki. How both the purest joy and most soul crushing sadness could be wrestled from his usual stoicism, all because of Kenzaki. Fifteen years had passed since the two had met and it always felt like just yesterday Kenzaki had left him in those woods all alone. And only a few hours ago had he called him on the phone in the cafe, trembling breath on the other end of the receiver. Silence, and then the click of him hanging up.
That day Hajime had understood why humans cry.
But tears were unnecessary now. Not when Kenzaki was right here, fumbling with the roll of gauze they kept in a first aid kit under the bed, the bracelet he never seemed to ditch after fifteen years jingling against tough skin. It was endearing, to see that very little of Kenzaki had changed. Or maybe he pretended that Kenzaki had never changed. That over a decade and some change did not pass between their meetings, that otherworldly things did not have to occur to reverse their undead predicament. It was easy to pretend that things have always been like this. The two of them have always lived in peaceful content, alone in the woods. Together. Together and human.
That’s right, Kenzaki had always been human. Hajime…
“What are you thinking about?” Kenzaki broke the silence, tightening the strips of gauze he had begun to wrap around Hajime’s arm. They had run out of tape from the time Kenzaki fell off his bike last week, so injuries would have to be fixed in a haphazard manner. Of crudely tied knots and Kenzaki’s humorous attempts at making a bow. Really, the two of them needed to go to the store soon.
“What?” Hajime hadn’t noticed he was drowning, the thoughts had been loud since before he fell and got hurt and dropped his camera somewhere scenic. Maybe that’s why he tripped. It was all so loud it hummed beneath his skin like it used to. In that eerie and inhuman way. He could not tell Kenzaki this, of course, he was already displaying worry.
“You seem lost in thought.” Kenzaki tried again, “I just wanted to know what you were thinking about.”
Humans. Or perhaps humanity itself. But Kenzaki couldn’t know that. Couldn’t know that he still thought of himself as something removed from humanity. That even if the blood he spilled on the pavement painted the gravel red, for a brief moment he feared when he opened his eyes from the collision that all he would see was green.
Pale green translucent blood that didn’t clump or gush and instead would leak from him like a broken faucet. It would drip down his hands, coating them in a thin film reminiscent of slime. It would coalesce on the floor of the basement, sticking to bed sheets that didn’t belong to him and leave behind wet dark stains. It coated the bottom of Kenzaki’s lips, dripping down his chin until the sickly green was the only thing Hajime could focus on. He was supposed to be bleeding red.
Humans bled red.
“The camera.” Hajime tried instead, it only grazed his mind for a moment but it was there, “I’ll need to replace parts of the camera. It took a pretty bad hit back there.” He glanced to where it was lying on a table in the center of the room, shards of glass and plastic wrapped up in a pastel blue towel.
Kenzaki laughed, it caught him off guard. Short, but with a small note of endearance. “So that’s what it was. I’m worrying about nothing then.”
“You’re worried?” Hajime asked, of course he knew this already. But he had learned how to pry.
“Well…” a laugh again. Hajime thought he could never tire of hearing Kenzaki laugh. “You’re fine, aren’t you? You were just thinking about the camera. The camera that we can easily take in to get repaired. You just looked more worried than usual. I just thought…”
“I’m fine.” Hajime said, and he tried his best to sound as soft as he could manage. To a human, fifteen years was a long time. But to Hajime it had been a blip, a drop in the bucket of an overwhelming existence. The tone he put forth into his words was still something he felt as if he had to consider purposefully. Although Kenzaki had told him that tone does not come naturally to every human being. But he wanted to ease his mind, to soothe him, to be the balm that Kenzaki always had been to him. He barely even noticed his own voice cracked around the two syllables.
“If you’re sure.” Kenzaki replied in almost a whisper, he had finished bandaging Hajime and was rolling up the leftover gauze. “It’s just that...I missed you.”
“You missed me?”
“Yeah.”
But you were the one who left. It had been on the tip of his tongue ever since the two had been reunited. Ever since their curse had been lifted, since humanity claimed Kenzaki once more and blessed Hajime with something he never thought he would ever have. He was told to go and live among the humans. And it was true that Hajime wanted that. That it was a wish he carried with him. To be seen as human, to be seen as something other than what he was born as. That undead body, that ceaseless urge to kill. To fight. He wanted it extinguished. To disappear alongside his original self when he used the card containing the Human undead.
And humanity could give him that. Humanity did give him that. But Kenzaki was apart of the humanity he had grown attached to. A piece of what made it so appealing to him. To Kenzaki he was Hajime. And he was always going to be Hajime. He would never have to change himself and Kenzaki would understand. Would still acknowledge that he was Hajime Aikawa and he was a human being, a person.
So why did he leave? Why would he make it so fate would never allow the two to meet again?
Stop thinking about that. None of that matters now. You’re human.
“I missed you too.” And he meant it.
Kenzaki remained silent, opting to instead drop the gauze off the side of the bed in the commotion to wrap his arms around Hajime from behind. He was careful to slide his arms under his own, to not bump the wound he had just finished cleaning. He nestled his head in the crook of Hajime’s neck, digging his nose into his shoulder blade. Hajime felt him squeeze, not too strongly, pulling the two of them together into an embrace.
How nice it was to finally be able to touch like this, and so often. Kenzaki grabbed him into hugs as often as he felt he had the opportunity to do so. Sometimes Hajime would fuss, would protest. But he never meant it like that. Never.
Of course, he had dreamed about it before. Soft touches, Kenzaki holding his hand, the two of them lying in each other’s arms. The dreams left him feeling empty when he awoke. Hollow. If the two had met again, if they dared to touch one another. Well, it would only be pain. It would only be urges, violence, something primal. Inhuman. They would tear at each other with jagged fingernails and sharp teeth. Chains would bang together, completely unlike the soft and familiar jingling of Kenzaki’s jewelry.
It would be bloody. They would bleed green. The two of them could never meet again.
So curious it was now, that Hajime was able to lean against Kenzaki’s chest. To smell the combination of his shampoo mixed with motor oil. To feel the fabric of his shirt against his back and Kenzaki’s cheek against his own. His warm skin. Their warm skin.
For a time they were both human.
Kenzaki turned his cheek to press a kiss to the side of Hajime’s mouth, grazing the edge of his lip. It was a surprising softness to the rest of his body, battle worn and exhausted from multiple transformations across a lifetime. The two didn’t have to fight anymore, didn’t have to transform as riders once again. Yet Kenzaki still carried himself with that responsibility. Still held his body rigid as if he expected the spell to come undone and all of this to fade away, as if he had to be ready at any time for a fight.
Hajime disliked that. Hajime wished he could finally relax.
And perhaps he should be angrier with him. Perhaps he should have felt upset for longer that Kenzaki had left him alone. That the past fifteen years had been as painful as they have been fulfilling. That Kenzaki was a piece of the humanity that Hajime wanted.
But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t. How could he ever give up something like this?
He moved his face in an attempt to kiss Kenzaki back, clumsy as it was Kenzaki still perked up and smiled against the grain of the kiss. It was awkward like this, to have Kenzaki wrapped around him from behind and Hajime craning his head back to meet where he slotted in near his neck. It was sloppy, disorganized as more often than not Kenzaki would crash against his cheek or the corner of his mouth and giggle as if he were still twenty two. As if they were never immortal beings, and they were just two young people in love.
Love. He loved Kenzaki, and he was never too sure when that had happened. There was never enough time to say it. Nothing more than stolen glances and brushed together fingertips. Ghosts of smiles and the reassurance that Hajime would always be Hajime. But it was love. He was almost certain that it was love back then as much as it is love now. A lot had changed in fifteen years but a lot had also remained as it had been. Now there were better words for it.
“I love you.” He mumbled, and for a moment he felt shy, naked despite the warmth of his coat and Kenzaki’s chest pressing into him. As if it were suddenly winter and the draft was back and Kenzaki wouldn’t go grab an extra blanket even if Hajime was stern about it. How long have they spent together without saying those simple words. Those obvious, simple words that hung in the gaps in the air when they kissed one another and when Kenzaki touched him in places that felt good. In the space between the sighs and the gasps and the quiet breathing. Perhaps it never had to be said. It was understood.
Yet with this Kenzaki paused regardless, still trapping Hajime in his warmth but maneuvering his head and neck so that he was looking at Hajime.
“What did you say?” He was smiling.
Hajime sighed through his nose, breaking the brief eye contact held with Kenzaki so that he could look out the window.
“Nothing.”
“Oh?” Kenzaki tried to move to his other shoulder, to meet his eyes one again. Hajime looked straight up. There was a small hole in the ceiling.
“I thought I heard something nice come out of your mouth.” Kenzaki pulled away, standing on the bed to look down at Hajime, who quickly looked down once again.
“If you heard it why does it need repeating?”
Hajime felt the warmth return as Kenzaki leaned back in, pressing himself flat against Hajime’s back and shuffling to rest his head in the familiar spot on his shoulder. A hand came up to cup his chin, feeling both flesh and beads against his skin.
“I love you too, you know. I can’t believe you beat me to it.”
Hajime’s face grew as warm as his back, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Kenzaki hummed, kissing Hajime from that awkward angle once again. He thought it would be easier if one of them moved to sit in front of the other. But Kenzaki seemed happy, nearly purring like a cat in how content he was to be pressed against Hajime and kissing him with a twinge of fervor. There was a trace of passion, but it lacked all urgency. There was no racing against the clock here. They had all the time in the world.
“I love you, Kenzaki.”
And he was alone again, and there was no warmth against his back and no blood beneath his cheeks. His head pounded. The room was cold. It was dark, but his eyes adjusted instantly.
His camera was in one piece on the table.
Hajime got up, scrambling out from beneath tangled sheets to make his way over to the bathroom, tripping over a loose floorboard in the scramble. Flicking on the light switch he was greeted by his reflection in the mirror. Messy brown hair, tired eyes, tanned skin. The same. Nothing had changed.
Except it had. There was a time when Hajime was human.
His nose was bleeding. On occasion he woke up to nosebleeds.
He grabbed a tissue off the counter and wiped. He barely paid mind to the sticky green blood streaked against an off-white.
His head still pounded. His nose still dripped. His body hummed as if on high alert. As if a signal would sound and then he would have to leap into action.
Against the undead. Against Kenzaki.
That’s right. Kenzaki wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here in almost twenty years. For a moment the two had reunited, and a promise had been made that Kenzaki would be turned human again. But there was no life spent together. No playful bandaging of wounds and shy love confessions.
None of that had happened. Hajime had never been human a day in his life.
So what was that then? It was more than a lucid dream. Fresher than a false memory. It was a lived reality. Somewhere else. Somewhere that no longer existed.
And when he met eyes with Kenzaki’s, when the hum in his body had quieted down for a single moment, he was certain.
He was certain Kenzaki had lived it too.