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You never expected to spend your whole adult life surrounded by children, let alone inside a clinic with your last name on the signage.
Helping him, too, was unexpected.
At least once per week, you’d see him, bloodied and exhausted.
Walking past your clinic late in the night or early in the mornings. You’d stop your paperwork, cleaning, or prepping and rush to let him inside. Your instinct to help, your oath to do whatever you can, sounding louder than the alarm bells.
He would always refuse at first, insisting that he was fine, that his wounds weren’t worth the effort.
You chose to help him anyway.
Although you were more familiar with the small, chubby bodies of babies and young children, you managed to figure your way around his too.
You’d ask him what happened. Why he was always hurt, why he preferred to bandage himself up rather than go to a hospital, all while gently taking care of his bruises and cuts scattered around his body.
He avoided eye contact, muttering words you could barely hear under his breath as he moved away from you. He never gave clear answers.
You could smell the cigarettes on his dress shirt. It scared you at first, wondering what dealings or gangs he might be in. Why his hair was always tied in that odd ponytail, why he carried around swords.
You never considered asking him for anything in return, but putting together that he was in public safety made you consider stopping your treatments altogether. You didn’t want to be involved in anything devil-related, even if it meant leaving him to fend for himself once again. You didn’t.
You made him promise he wouldn’t attract any of those creatures to your clinic. You hadn’t ever run into one but they still gave you the spooks. He stared at you then, really studying your face as he assured you his job was to protect the public above all else. You grinned. “Well I’m here when you need patching up,”
It was past midnight and you were still filing your patients for the day. Although your clinic was the smallest in town, you and your coworkers' level of care for each of the children you saw brought a sizable clientele.
For the first time, he waited at your locked door rather than walking by. You didn’t understand what exactly shifted, but you saw it when it happened.
For the first time, you asked his name.
You gently dabbed at the blood on his face
“It’s Hayakawa.”
You waited for him to continue.
“Aki Hayakawa.”
Yours was shared quickly after, along with what was left over from your lunch.
The injury he had this time wasn’t serious, his cheek would heal quickly. You were grateful it wouldn’t scar, his face was too nice for that kind of bruising.
You told him that, then quickly brought up your cat to deflect. When you had found her she was scared and on edge, leaving you with your own small wound that would scar over.
“What’s her name?”
“sweet and spicy noodles, but I call her sweetie for short.”
He looked over to your receptionist desk, a bowl of instant ramen you were in the middle of sat cooling on the counter.
“You’re so full of shit.” he ran his thumb underneath his nose. He laughed for the first time.
He lingered at the door while leaving. Words caught on his tongue.
After that, Aki would come in more often, with or without injuries. You didn’t need to push or lead the conversation.
He would talk to you easily, quickly.
It was raining that night when he cried in front of you. You hadn’t expected this man, tall and strong, a body defined and sculpted through fights with incomprehensible creatures, to pull his face into his hands and pour out his grief as if you weren’t even there. You didn’t understand the nature of his relationships at his job, how often people died or were injured. Images of people dressed like him, fighting with all their will in order to protect civilians from horrific endings.
You wanted to cry with him, but even worse, you wanted to hold him.
You didn’t.
His shirt was falling off as he let himself in.
Years of schooling taught you a level of professionalism that was needed in times like this. Although he was your patient, you couldn’t help but focus on the way his chest looked in the dim lights of your clinic.
The sun barely peaking out in the early morning through the windows behind him, hair down for once, your composure was truly tested for the first time since you started working.
You took a deep breath as you took your eyes off of his v line and instead made eye contact.
His face held both relief and agony. His brows tight as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
Blood dripped down his side, thick and warm. He watched you the entire time you worked on him, not saying anything. This one was going to stay with him for the rest of his life.
You tried not to think about how he might’ve gotten the injury. The fear of a demon arriving just by asking left you questioning your choice of words. You tried not thinking about the blood that was getting all over your carpet. The smiling sun seemingly bleeding onto the shore below it. You tried not thinking about the scent of cigarettes that would linger for the rest of the night.
You told him about sweetie instead. How she actually liked baths unlike most cats. How you wanted to take her to the beach with you. Then, a book you recently read. His eyes narrowed when you shared your opinions on the sex scene. It was forward, but the crinkle in his nose wasn’t from the pain. You mentally let out a breath. “It could’ve been more detailed.”
He still hadn’t spoken a word. You tried again.
A new lunch spot you wanted to visit was opening soon. You wanted to invite him out. The name came out softly as you worked up the courage to ask.
He beat you to it.
His injury left him on paid leave for the next month, so instead of coming at 3 or 4 in the morning, he came at closing. You spent at least an hour together every night. Checking up on his wound, then talking, sharing food. He reminded you of a story you heard when you were a child. Hedgehogs, and their inability to share warmth, to get too close to those near them. Was it worth it to make new friends, to fall in love, or start a family when your life could be taken from you so quickly fighting those things? Were the hedgehogs even worried about love knowing how short their lives would be?
You could be wrong. Maybe it was porcupines.
***
The date, if you could even call it that, went much worse than you had anticipated.
It was awkward. Meeting outside of your clinic on a sunday with your coworkers not so subtly peering through the windows looking at you.
Your walk to the restaurant was quiet, the flow of conversation you typically had gone, now that it wasn’t accompanied with the stillness of night. You settled for listening to the bustling traffic instead.
You inched your hand closer to his, brushing up against him. He ignored your advances.
All dolled up for him, and he didn't so much as give you a glance of acknowledgement.
You couldn't stop yourself from staring at his side profile, his long lashes. His clenched jaw and prominent adams apple.
You wished you knew what he was thinking.
When you asked him about his scar he barely answered. The progress you both made in the past couple of months gone under the suns eye.
The food wasn’t even that good.
Aki hadn’t shown up in weeks after that. You forced yourself to stay late at your clinic anyway.
You didn't know what to do with yourself. Your relationship with him wasn't anything serious, but what you had was new and felt almost exhilarating. You still had your work friends, sweetie, a college friend whose life was moving forward more everyday. Her husband and baby took up all her time now.
You had thought your relationship was that of friends. Maybe one day soon treading past that line.
He was strong, but gentle in the way he spoke to you. He was such a hard worker. He was beautiful.
You got so used to spending your nights with him, sharing both of your pasts while keeping an agreeable amount from the other.
You realized how valuable your time alone had been, before he came into your life. Now you hardly went out alone, slept much less, stayed at your clinic for much longer than you should.
You felt relief, partly, at the idea that he was no longer getting hurt like he used to. Fear, mainly, at the realization of him blatantly avoiding you due to your not so good date.
It only hit you on your way home that he could be dead.
You kept thinking about that sunny morning. His face glowing with life from the time he finally had to rest. His cheek fully healed.
You knew you shouldn’t have been so worried. Even though he grew to become familiar company didn't mean you should mourn his unknown (hopefully unhappened) death.
Still, you nearly cried when you realized you only had a name and face, no number, social media, or even a company card to go along with him.
You immediately looked up recent Public safety deaths and hoped, hoped, you wouldn’t see his face pop up.
****
He only showed back up 17 days after your date. Ten minutes until midnight. A shaky exhale left your lips as he raised his left hand to the door.
You don’t remember when you started leaving it unlocked so late into the night.
His right hand held a bag of fast food. The end of the story popped up into your mind once more. Did the porcupine ever figure out how to spend its life, how to love without hurt? You hoped so.
You were happy, but it was getting to a point. The bags under your eyes were more prominent, your work getting sloppier. You weren’t going to the gym as much, weren’t catching up on your tv shows. Not even going to the beach. Your carpet with the sunny ocean view long thrown away.
You had no right to be upset with him, it wasn’t his fault that you were losing yourself.
You blamed him anyway.
Before you even understood what you were saying, staring at your burger, you told him about your vacation. A break you needed, deserved.
He listened patiently as he always did.
“Can I get your number? Just to check up on you.”
His voice sounded deeper than before. The scent of him thicker in the air.
For the first time you both walked out of the clinic together. His steps were quieter than yours. His suite was clean, no signs of injury on his body. Maybe he did get better at devil hunting
He stood closer to you than on your date.
You could feel his needles pricking into you.
Maybe he thought about you during those 17 days.
He walked you all the way to your apartments’ front door and called you after hearing the lock click.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re still ok.”
You wanted to cry.
You didn’t.
Again, everything happened quickly after that night.
His kindness was overwhelming.
You couldn’t tell if it was in response to all the free treatments you gave him or as an apology for ghosting you.
For the first week of your vacation he was at your door with warm meals cooked for you, fed and played with sweetie.He talked more, much more, and when you started letting him stay over longer, the nature of his work came out as well.
He talked about his past. Deep breaths in-between mentioning his brother, then his parents. Now it was the revenge he seeked.
It was weird how your positions nearly mirrored the start of your relationship. He was the one helping you, speaking more, waiting for your answers.
Your heart ached.
Public safety, Devil hunting, contracts, his family. It felt as if you knew so much about him. His words coming out as steady as the flow of water from your sink.
He washed the dishes he brought over, dividing his attention on both you and his task at hand.
When he finished you were left overwhelmed. You felt wrong, then. He wasn’t a porcupine or hedgehog but something worse. When he got closer to you, he hurt less but you more. You couldn’t both be creatures, only him.
You wouldn’t be the one that told him not to seek revenge on a monster like that. Fighting the gun devil, avenging his family, wasting his soul and body away in public safety, all of those words weren’t meant for you to share with him. At least not like this.
When he finished cleaning up everything he put a cup of tea into your hands.
You never expected how quickly and harshly he could fit into your life. Cleaning for you, cooking for you. Throwing everything off balance and leaving you stressed, constantly stressed. His death, his life, your feelings for him.
You couldn’t even tell his feelings for you. Despite opening up, his actions still felt stiff. Like everything was done to apologize.
But you still kissed him back that night.
Your tongue smooth against his, asking him softly, ‘why didn’t you reach out for those 2 weeks?’
His hands gripping your waist gave you an answer that made you feel sick. ‘I had a lot going on, I’m sorry.’
You thought you would, but you didn’t sleep with him that night. You weren’t as easy as you expected yourself to be.
That was the first time that the “it's getting late,” came from you and not him.
He knew he deserved it, walking home hard, and with questions he knew he’d have to answer to you properly, and hopefully himself.
Despite your initial thoughts at keeping a reasonable distance from him, you three spent your entire second week at his apartment.
Somehow your routine became his. His, yours.
You slid into bed next to him like it was something normal. He made you coffee every morning before going to work. He washed the laundry that you brought over. He kissed you more, deeper.
You felt that his emotions needed to be worked out before anything could happen between the both of you.
That was your way of saying, ‘I don’t want to be with a suicidal man.’
That was your way of saying, ‘please take me as seriously as I take you.’
‘Please value your life as much as I do.’
He didn’t listen.
On the last day of your vacation he didn’t come home.
You thought your final straw would be the sword, cutting his time in half. The massive fox he had control over. The first real argument you both shared.
But you must’ve been more shallow, because it was none of that. It was the IV’s and oxygen attached to him. His limbs split open in ways that you would’ve never been able to fix.
****
He showed up surprisingly quickly after being discharged. But you wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.
The door was locked when he pulled at the handle. He made a face that you had only seen once before. Even if he sobbed into your arms, even if he swore he wanted something more with you, you knew better than to continue to be by his side.
You thought you knew, at least.
But you didn’t really know anything.
You had the conversation you were both dreading. Leaving public safety wasn’t just for you, wasn’t only to be with you. It was to promise him a life, not whatever he was treading before. Your skin pricked when you looked at the scars on his arms. It had been months since you last touched him. The bags under your eyes back to what they originally looked like. Your laundry left undone. Dinner dates with coworkers, less late nights. Body hollow, but at least without the looming anxiety that came with being close to him. Looking at his face you wanted to apologize for leaving him.
But how could you apologize for something that was barely there.
You had grown mentally, in the 3 months he was recovering. He had grown physically. It made your stomach twist at the idea of him immediately going back to training once he was discharged. Made your lip tremble as he held your face in his hands and promised you he wouldn’t get hurt again, rather than promising to quit his job.
You both hadn’t learned any lessons at all.
You wished you were the hedgehog, then. You wished you could hurt him in a way that would make him finally quit. A way that would stick, and not fall to the ground with a wet shlack, leaving a mess between the both of you.
Breaking up hurt him, but didn’t change him. You were jealous. He changed you so much. So, so much and so easily too. You were more conscious of your actions and words. Tidier when he was around, more frugal with your time and spending. He seemed nearly identical, save for the newfound intimacy. Your two weeks with him felt so massive but insignificant. The moments felt like nothing in the widescope. Being a doctor, having sweetie to look after, being there for your niece, your old friend, all of that was worth more than just a simple two weeks.
But time, regardless of how short, didn’t lessen the hold on your heart and the value of your relationship.
Like the stupid animal you were, you came back to him, closer now. No longer worried for the scars and pins, because even if you got them, there were plenty of things in your life to help pull them out.
Just as quickly as the time in your vacation, you found yourself sliding into his bed, drinking his coffee, letting him read his newspapers to you.
You wondered if the fight, the breakup, even happened.
It felt like playing house. How you both got ready in the mornings together. How you had to find a new route to your clinic. The dinners he cooked for you, the secrets you shared.
The way he would hold you now, closer than he ever had before. How you only felt love in his embrace.
This time, you were nervous when he kissed you. His weight pressed into your spread legs while his tongue reclaimed what it had lost. He pushed you harder against his counter. Dinner forgotten and starting to grow cold. You wondered if it would be worth the inevitable loss.
One day again, he wouldn’t come home. One day he would lose to one of those beast he insisted on fighting.
His hands sliding your skirt off helped push out those thoughts.
He was on his knees infront of you now. His kisses trailed from your ankles to your thighs, then finally reaching where he knew you wanted it the most.
He used his mouth, then his fingers to spread you open for him. Wide, then wider. Your right thigh was over his shoulder as he took his time on you. It’s like he wanted to apologise with every drag of his warm tongue. Every suck and additional finger said, ‘I’m here now baby’. You finished so quickly, all over his mouth as he continued kissing and slurping you up. Your fingers tugged hard on his hair, your soft “please,” finally catching his attention.
He brought you to his bed, and you were finally able to ignore the weight of the situation. His mouth was making quick work against your neck, your chest.
He was bigger than you imagined, his hard length bare against your thigh as he inched himself closer.
Of course he would put you in missionary, the gentleman he was.
You wondered when the last time he slept with someone else was. Was it during your 3 month break? Or those 17 days he didn’t see you.
His hands trembled on your waist.
It must’ve been longer, then.
He fucked you deep into his matress with shallow, grinding strokes, leaving you both breathless, panting into each others mouths.
His hair was in both of your faces. Maybe you should have tied it back up for him.
You were certain you would die at that moment. So close to him, feeling so good, feeling all the love he couldn’t speak to you. Some part of you hoped he would die here, too, rather than on the street ripped to shreds.
Your hands found his hair, then lowering to his nape, you brought him closer to you as you deepened the kiss. His mouth relentless against yours, eating you whole. Hands gripping hard on your waist to keep you from moving away from him.
The stuttering of his hips into yours, accompanied with his massaging fingers brought you to another orgasm. He tried but failed at keeping a steady rhythm, the feeling of you tight around him leaving him delirious.
He came with a breathy moan, not bothering to pull out.
You were both sweaty and exhausted once it was over. He didn’t bother moving from his place on top of you. He studied your face, then ran his fingertips down your cheek. He kissed you one last time before apologizing. You didn’t need to ask him what for.
You spent the whole week tangled up in the other. He fucked you again and again. Taking you in his shower, pressed up against the cold glass. His bed with your legs hiked up over his shoulders, diving into you raw and heavy. He wouldn't let go of you if he didn't absolutely have to. Holding onto you while bathing, while sleeping, while eating. His proximity and clinginess didn't hurt. You weren’t even sure if it ever did.
You never expected him to be vulnerable in this way.
Peeling back his layers and insisting you look at him, then accept him as he was, as he did, and as he planned on continuing to be.
You felt it was the calm before the storm, you knew a good future with him wasn't possible when he went out and risked his life everyday for others.
Who would risk their life for him?
***
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