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Outside of Otaru, years on and sharper minds. Fortitude, age, and experience. Softer in the heart, but grief and melancholy just the same. Gentleness with it, the kind that settles in when you finally feel at rest. Beauty only caught its allure when the beholder knew sadness in equal measure. But, a core sense of happiness birthed in Asirpa and Sugimoto as well.
She gave him the tools to construct himself again, that he was capable of it. Not an armament-vessel to be utilized by its weirder, but an individual. During their hunt for the gold and after, that the wickedness he bore need not define the remaining years of his life. In turn, he repaid her with a companionship overflowing with unyielding loyalty.
Sugimoto enjoyed his role as her aside, she steered the ship and he kept the sails winded. He did not leave much space for personal desires, found himself plenty occupied; his hands were never still. Romance appealed less and less to him with age, he realized. His misplaced projection on Ume lasted as a fond spot inside him, but much beyond that lacked. With closure, his apparition need not haunt her any longer, he allowed them to continue living their separate lives. Fulfilled, he described himself as, nothing less.
Anyone would require time to themselves, however. Healthy, he told himself. Running into town for restocking during winter months lead to the easiest opportunity for alone time. Enjoyed the sensory of a quiet forest and his tracks through winter grass or that of a bustling, growing city.
They were a regular at a hunting store, sold off pelts or feathers. Made it a ritual to unload their spoils first. Then, pick up more ammunition for his rifle, he became a better shot under Asirpa’s guidance. A reward for his hard word, Sugimoto would promptly fetch a treat thereafter. He needed his treat. Typically he beckoned nut preserves or tinned fruit in syrup, but craving someone fresher, he ambled to a stall selling wagashi. Far greater wealth garnered than previous trips, he deserved something more premium this time. And cute.
While vacillating between a fat bunny or multicolored flower, the rumbles of his full name cut through cold air.
“Sugimoto Saichi!”
Unmistakable, a discordant warm timbre not to grace his ears for years.
“Shiraishi?” Sugimoto called back, whipped around to face the sound of the voice.
The man waved his arms wildly as he approached, limbs clad in the same gaudy hanten he always wore. Kicked up snow in his trailblazing bath. “I barely recognized you without your hat- WHOA, HEY!”
Without warning, Sugimoto stepped forward and effortlessly gathered Shiraishi in his arms. Clutched him to his chest and swept him up, pulling him off the ground, laughing joyfully all the way. Clearly unaware of his own strength, he crushed Shiraishi in his compassionate grip. A hug that lasted too long, smothered Shiraishi in the rich scent of Sugimoto’s attus, he groaned and attempted to remove himself. Eventually relenting, Sugimoto dropped the man back down after a good spin.
“Shiraishi! It’s really you! At the sweets stand no less, I should have known!” He gaped in gleeful astonishment, shook the asphyxiated man’s shoulders.
“Ah… haha… yeah,” Shiraishi rasped, catching his breath. Then jabbed his finger feebly in Sugimoto’s broad chest. “I’m happy as hell to see you, too, buddy, but could you be more gentle! For fucks sake Sugimoto you got huge!!” He gestured his hands in an arc to exemplify the alleged girth.
“What? Oh… heh… yeah… I’ve been eating well!”
“I don’t mean that, dipshit, like,” Shiraishi made a grabby motion, “your muscles too! You could have killed me!” Despite the irritated words, his voice carried no malice. All the love in the world.
“Yeah, my old clothes didn’t fit anymore,” Sugimoto sighed. “I really liked that coat…” He frowned, picking at the wool of the one he wore. It didn’t look a thread different…
“What’s up with that neck scarf?” Shiraishi clicked his tongue. “The other one looked way better, those zigzags they’re just… so not you.”
“Wh-” Sugimoto’s eyes lit up in warbling reflections. Embarrassment painted across his face with a shade of pink unrelated to the season’s chill.
“Hey! First off, you’re the last person I wanna hear fashion advice from! Second!” Previously innocent expression faded, replaced by a desperate sorrow - and anger. So much red hot anger. “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?”
Exerting his strength, Sugimoto snatched up the man effortlessly. Pulled the sides of his hanten together, held him up by those alone, threatened to choke Shiraishi with the force. Apparently away from the man for long enough, a crowning trait of Shiraishi slipped his mind. He immediately allowed his body to drop its tension, easily slid out of the garment. This only encouraged Sugimoto’s rage.
“H-Hey, buddy!” Shiraishi began to step back, hands raised as a pathetic white flag. Backed into a corner, like predator and prey, they stilled.
Ghastly fluid seeped out of Sugimoto’s head wound, but curiously, tears fell from his eyes just the same. It pathetically trickled down his cheeks and splashed into snow below them.
The countenance reminiscent of his terrible nightmares, back when he fretted over the man’s reaction to his double sidedness. He never recalled being freighted of Sugimoto after. Trust, what he was assured to possess - Sugimoto trusted him despite doing everything in his power to be undeserving of the friendship. As his eye trailed the fluid’s decent, little reminder of that fear, the mad vigor one never wished to be on the opposing side of. Yet the tears keyed him in on the underlying feeling - rage did not drive Sugimoto, in this moment, betrayal did.
Even in his short stint as a mole, he bore culpability, allowed things to go on for too long. Perhaps, as Sugimoto’s steaming red face and shaking bottom lip towered over him, he overstepped again. This time, he feared, Sugimoto would not want him back at all.
Sugimoto sniffed loudly, withdrawing the snot that threatened to roll down his lips. Feverishly, he wiped his wool sleeve to his face, smeared fluid across his blatant exasperation.
“Asirpa always gave me a hard time ‘cause I liked you so much,” Sugimoto sniveled through grit teeth. “But I knew you were a good guy still, I think she believed so too.”
“So, you’re still with Asirpa then!” Shiraishi beamed, deflected the conversation nervously. “That’s good I’m… I’m very glad to hear that.”
“Of course I am, asshat! Unlike you!”
“I’m just awful at goodbyes!” Shiraishi defended, laughed without a spine to back him up. “I had to… had to-”
Loud knocking on icy wood, the surface of the stall’s counter, alerted the two men. Tall and brawny, some hired muscle to keep out the riffraff of a sweets stand of all things. He glared down through his nose.
“Excuse me, could you please take this elsewhere?” The flighty store woman spoke for him.
Suddenly sheepish, Sugimoto’s shoulders fell, Shiraishi’s posture mirrored the chagrin.
“Sorry ma’am! And sir!” Sugimoto gesticulated his apologies and backed away. Timid, despite his overbearingly large frame.
“Here!” Shiraishi asserted, fished through his pockets, face draining in color rapidly. Thankfully before the vendor lost her patience, he flopped out a western style folio wallet. “I’ll- I’ll buy two sets!”
Wordlessly, the pedlar glanced up at her help, nodded. He stepped off into the curtains of the shop, allowing Shiraishi the breathing room to drop some coins into the woman’s hand. She snatched them and returned with two wagashi sets. Ushered the rabble away, made them leave as soon as they came.
They tumbled off, through the trodden down streets and mud that clung to one’s soles. Immediately upon darting out of earshot, Sugimoto leaned in to Shiraishi. Allowed him the smallest amount of unearned privacy.
“Hey! Where the hell did you of all people get the generosity to pay for-”
His deep-set eyes widened, began to point a shaken finger to Shiraishi’s busied hands.
“-are those real???”
“Oh? These? Glad you noticed.” A shit-eating grin etched into his bearded little face.
He tossed off the sweets to Sugimoto who continued to crane his neck around, chasing down what caught his eye. Shiraishi dramatically rose his fingers. Danced them, adornment gleaming and impeccable in the late day sun. Unmistakably solid gold jewelry; one to two rings on each finger, a few encrusted with gems.
“Cool, huh? A king needs his shinies!” Shiraishi proclaimed, dumbly.
Stupefied, Sugimoto stopped dead in his tracks. A passerby bumped into him, which unsurprisingly did not elicit even a flinch. He sized the man up, boot of his toe, to the crown of his shaved head. The shoes might have been new at least, but he still donned ratty slacks and stolen vests. Yet- over ten gold rings?
“Way to keep a low profile! Shiraishi I’m still getting more questions than answers!” He slammed the boxes of confections into Shiraishi’s chest, then shook the man shoulders again. Less anger and more exasperated irritation.
“Hey, look, man, it’s a long story!” Shiraishi stuck his tongue out, but inspired none of the intended quietude. “I’ll fill you in later! Relax!”
“You can’t keep that up forever. Asirpa is gonna beat it out of you when I drag you to the kotan,” Sugimoto grumbled and let out the air gathering in his flared nostrils. “You’re lucky I’m nicer.”
“Aww,” Shiraishi playfully bumped shoulders with Sugimoto as they picked up their gate. “Has Sugimoto Saichi gotten all soft? And not just in the stomach!” He cackled wildly, obnoxiously elbowing the larger man.
“At least I’ve done self improvement, all you’ve done is heckle me! And wear the same shitty clothes!”
“Hey, I’ve got a very specific brand to uphold,” puffed through his nose, “I’m very stylish,” he puffed out his chest, self assured, “Y’know this shade of purple is also considered regal in other parts of the world! I look great.”
“‘Other parts of the word…?’” Sugimoto repeated as a question.
Shiraishi froze momentarily, quickly recovering by sticking out his tongue once more. “Oops! Ignore that.”
“Purple isn’t even a coveted color anymore, jackass,” Sugimoto mumbled. “We’re out of the Meiji period now, they lifted that kimono ban.”
“Whaaaat?” Shiraishi bemoaned, scrunched his eyes closed and threw his head back. “After all the fleecing I had to go through getting this shade on hanten… But look at you!” He clasped Sugimoto’s back. “You’ve got an attus now!”
“I made it with Asirpa!” Sugimoto claimed, excitement teeming off him. “It took a long time, but it’s perfect... It feels right.”
“You’re really into the whole hunter-thingy life here, huh?” He queried, some indescribable emotion behind his words.
“Asirpa keeps me fed,” he shrugged, just as vague. “That’s all I ever want from anyone.”
“Speaking of… While we’re in town…” Shiraishi drew out the syllables. “Wanna hit up a ramen shop? I’ll pay again! Promise! We can sit down to eat our wagashi, too!”
Sugimoto’s stomach answered for him, gurgling on time. “H-Hey, alright… I haven’t had anything since this morning…” Turned down an alley, lead them to the cook shops.
“I get the feeling just about anyone could lead you around like a dog if food is involved,” Shiraishi clicked his tongue. Muscle memory guided him to a cook shop he recalled seeing on his way into the area.
“It’s those two!” The distant shouting of a woman’s voice echoed down the block.
Twin fear arose, the hairs on the back of Shiraishi’s neck stood. Determined, Sugimoto turned on his heel to catch a glance at a familiar voice. The saleswoman from earlier, her hair a mess and anger radiating off her body. Curiously, she sported something between her fingers, accusatory.
“You can see that one’s stupid face on it!”
Several policemen barreled behind her, armed with their standard fare.
Frustration hit Sugimoto at first, but the understanding sort. The kind that reminded him every bit of why he loved and hated this man. Without Shiraishi his life grew too quiet.
He began to smack his chest, get his heartbeat rising. “I don’t know what the ever living fuck you did to piss that lady off but,” Sugimoto shoved the snacks into his knapsack, “I get the feeling we need to leave!”
“It’s real gold, y’know!” Shiraishi cupped his hands to his face and yelled back, as if reason stood a chance.
“Hey!” One of the policemen roared. “Aren’t you Shiraishi?”
Sugimoto gripped Shiraishi’s arm with nearly enough force to break it, began to drag him while he sprinted out of town. A frequent visitor to Otaru, he knew the shopping distract very well; enough he could confidently drag Shiraishi and his rickety joints out of there before the cops collected their asses.
Two pairs of boots stomped hard and fast, crunched snow and muck. Picked up speed with each stall or pedestrian they crossed. Wove through swarming bodies and languid horses, dodged the incessant shouts of their pursuers.
“Sugi- muh…” Shiraishi began to pant, his limbs numb in cold and pain. “I can’t keep up with-” a panicked wheeze. “You’re guh…”
Sugimoto breathed hard through dry air, yet maintained his core strength. “Have we lost them yet?”
“Hell no!”
Stopping on a dime, Sugimoto effortlessly flipped the man over his shoulder. Shiraishi sputtered for air and thrashed at the uncomfortable position.
“Could you have warned me- whoa!” Shiraishi’s nattering silenced as Sugimoto picked up again, jostled the man around with each large stride.
Shiraishi garbled complains, but knew better than to attempt to escape the grip. Unable to ever breakaway from Sugimoto’s strength before, he certainly faired no better now that the man sported a proverbial barrel for a chest and tree trunks for arms. Sugimoto picked up speed, no longer concerned with Shiraishi keeping up. The extra weight packed on him meant nothing, he easily cleared the edge of town. Dusted snow plumed around them as foliage and shrub brushed against him. Otaru now firmly at their backs.
Tromping further in, keenly ignoring Shiraishi’s complaints in getting smacked by a tree branch, Sugimoto found himself satisfied with the distance. He sloughed the rangy man’s body off his shoulder and into a cradle of sticks and snow, an audible thud sounded upon his intimate meeting with a stone.
Sugimoto did his best to maintain an intimidating pose, arms crossed and a scowl wedged between his facial scars, but his heart pounded. Trips into town brought little excitement beyond whatever sugary treat he absconded with. The idea of consequence grew to be a foreign concept to him, but now future safety in showing his face around the only town reasonably within distance of the kotan was at stake.
Comfort came with routine, steady food, no longer fearing for his life, but it brought stagnation. Shiraishi knew nothing of sitting still or partaking in safe and reasonable decisions. Dark brown eyes stared at Shiraishi pathetically nursing the bump on his head. In that moment, every ounce of him missed that man.
“Stand up!” Sugimoto commanded.
“Wehh,” he whined in response, rubbed the bruising spot. “Why’d you have to throw me down like that!”
“‘Cause I’m mad as hell at you!” Sugimoto retorted childishly. “We killed too much time in Otaru, it’ll be too dark to make it all the way back home at this rate.”
Shiraishi laughed nervously, made a comical little sound with his tongue.
Displaying some decorum, Sugimoto relented and offered a hand, guiding his companion back to his feet. Impossible to ever hold anger with the fool, or perhaps continued softness fostered this breed of forgiving kindness.
“But,” Sugimoto began, “I probably was gonna need to stay at the kuca anyways, c’mon.”
Shiraishi nodded along, sheepish, knowing he did wrong, but let the man guide them. Sugimoto gestured in the direction, they began their hike.
“That woman… she was the one that sent the police after us…” Sugimoto began, swiped icy underbrush from out of their path as they treaded roads unmade.
“Oh!” Shiraishi piped up, shuffled through his ridiculous number of pockets. “Bet she got pissed I didn’t pay in yen. It’s a valid currency, y’know! Hell, it’s even a gold alloy! It has real value!” He proudly sported a coin and flipped it to the other man.
Quick enough reflexes to catch, he scooped it up and studied the shimmery disk. Briefly, he recalled what the saleswoman cried as they scampered away. Sure enough, Shiraishi’s dumb mug adorned the center. For a moment, Sugimoto pondered the ‘gold alloy’ factoid.
”You didn’t… not after we,” he gawked, disbelief in his breath.
“Wait!” Shiraishi stopped his trot, bowed his legs and waved his hands. “I have a perfectly good explanation that-”
“Actually- I don’t wanna hear it,” Sugimoto grumbled, slipping the coin away. “I’ve learned way too much today, I don’t wanna ruin the rest of my night.”
~~~
Evening soon approached, but more than physical activity or poor visibly, he feared any more instant complaints from his traveling companion. Perhaps sloth grew too comforted in taking the king’s bones, this length of hike held no contents to their previous arduous gold hunt excursion. Yet, Shiraishi still bemoaned each step he took. As the hunting hut grew within their weary sights, Sugimoto elapsed his bated breath.
“Whoa, it’s way different from what I remember!” Shiraishi ogled the shape of the kuca.
“Of course not, they’re annual- Shiraishi it’s not even in the same place as it was when you were here last.” He shook his head, blinded by the bumbling stupidity.
Larger now, Asirpa grew in age and height while Sugimoto filled out through the shoulders and sides. Just the right size for a Shiraishi and him to fit, but it was cramped by design. Started a fire, in an act of teamwork. Sugimoto supplied the last bits of on-hand kindling and the other made use of a matchbox he procured.
Dusk bit at the tips of their fingers, frost gaining on them quickly. Sat by the fire, squeezing inside the kuca, they extracted every bit of warmth they could. Without a proper meal, they’d settle for their packaged goods. Sugimoto offered dried fish and Shiraishi supplied sake. Chief among it all, their collection of acquired sweets.
“Man, I’ve never eaten nerikiri for dinner, but like…” Shiraishi spoke between bites, lips smacked crudely. “I think I’ve found my calling.”
“Hey!” Sugimoto growled drunkenly, swatted the man’s tricky escape artist fingers. “Leave mine alone,” he slurred, “you have your own set.”
“But you’ve barely touched yours!” He bemoaned, reaching for a white bean flavored blossom.
“Yeah, ‘cause ‘m savoring it!” Sugimoto blew a raspberry and flopped forward, shielding his sweets from prying hands. “Ugh… they really fill you up, though.”
”I think what filled you up was the sake,” Shiraishi commented like a smartass and downed his last wagashi, stealing the sake bottle again to take a hearty swig.
”Maybe,” he yawned and slid the wooden cover back over his treasures. “I think I’m ready to sleep. ‘M gettin’ your ass up bright and early, don't you forget.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he whistled and covered the fire, letting it smolder its last licks of light. “I’ll head to bed, too.”
“G’night… Shiraishi,” Sugimoto spoke, lurid and low.
Shiraishi fiddled with his bag, tucked it underneath his head. Uncomfortable. He stared vacantly at the now darkened hut’s peak. Moonlight shone through the entrance, reflected off crystalline snow. White crested the fuzzy edges of everything inside like a halo. Sleepless, cold.
“Hey Sugimoto…” Shiraishi drew out the vowels unassumingly. Attempted secrecy in his intentions, at least.
“What?” His voice creaked with exhaustion, yet held no animosity.
“It’s cold out here, without the fire going anymore. I'm used to warmer weather," he explained.
An exasperated sigh, knowing nonetheless. They’ve played this game before, played coy with the homosexual implication of this sort of closeness. Never stated anything outright, Sugimoto simply could not squeeze the vulnerability out of the man. In all aspects of life, Shiraishi slipped through his fingers. Not tonight, though. The innocence of Asirpa’s presence could shield him no longer. Just the two of them in the cold and pine-needles.
“C’mere,” Sugimoto relented, rolled over to bring them face to face. He slipped off his dark blue coat and offered it up as a blanket for the two of them.
Wordless, Shiraishi chuckled and wiggled over. Closeness, finally. A wonderful sort that swelled in Sugimoto’s heart. Missed this intimacy desperately, something deeper than platonic expression, but not unfitting of the description either.
“You smell like alcohol,” Shiraishi beamed, loud even in the night. The din of his voice reverberated through bones in a pleasant teaming.
“You’re an awful flirt, I hope you know that,” Sugimoto breathed, closing the gap between them.
Tender hand, weighty and well-worked, cupped Shiraishi’s cheek. He pressed their lips together flat and gentle.
“It worked, though, didn’t it?” Shiraishi gloated, self assured chuckle following.
Sugimoto answered with another kiss, soft and closed lipped as the first. Not their first time kissing, but certainly so alone like this. Lacked any of the hurry, nothing hushed and quick, bodies intertwined for the rush of it. They had nowhere else to be. Shiraishi deepened it, met with soft noises from Sugimoto - whom often displayed quite the pension for volume. Rekindled feelings that once sat on ice went ablaze. Sugimoto pulled the man in, his small and pudgy frame against Sugimoto’s stocky upper body.
Slipping his fingers beneath Sugimoto’s firm attus, Shiraishi reached for pliant skin. Muscular, undoubtedly, but flush with fat just the same. He always considered himself a tits guy, this extended to men. Pouring out soft groans from lip to lip, Sugimoto swirled with excitement.
Relieving himself alone in hushed and fleeting moments paled in comparison to the sort of opportunity he faced now. Limbs pinion to one another and bodies tangled, a surge of human touch. Shared heat and breath to remind him he relished in emotion just as any other, not a broken toy soldier - an individual whom lived beyond those constraints, passed the sin of it. The idea that even he held that ability, one to express something so meaningful and good. A part inside himself worth redemption, it kicked and screamed to be seen.
Their hips ground together, Sugimoto hooking his large thigh around the twigs that grew from Shiraishi. His hardness nestled against the noticeably flat expanse of Shiraishi’s slacks. Wishing to inspect why, even as Shiraishi’s length could rarely be felt though his clothing while hard, he dragged his hand to grope at the intimate spot. Shiraishi eked out a surprised noise and began to pull off Sugimoto's eager touch.
“Ah?” Sugimoto whined, breathless, his eyes chased after the presence of the man’s slicked lips.
“Hey, uh, Sugimoto…” Shiraishi lead, embarrassed laced in his drunken intonation.
“Did I- oh, shit, was this too forward?” The words tumbled out his mouth, exposing his keyed-up desperation.
“No, just,” he chuckled and withdrew his hand from Sugimoto’s clothing. “Y’know when you’ve had too much to drink…”
“What?”
“Sometimes, it's like… Well the blood flow is bad!”
“Huh?”
“I probably can’t get hard right now!” Shiraishi blubbered, sake protruding in a miasma of his breath.
For a moment, Sugimoto stared dumbfounded, attempting to comprehend. He blinked stupidly, bright eyes hazy from their drinking proclivities. Pathetically, he dropped his head to the pillow of straw and groaned.
“Shiraishi…” he spoke the name like a curse.
“Sorry… if I knew you were interested I probably wouldn’t have drank so much,” he explained with a pensive huff.
“No,” Sugimoto laughed mirthlessly. Despite everything, a buzz of affection hummed in his chest. The absurdity of it charmed him. “No, that’s alright.”
Sugimoto recoiled, removed his sexual touch and instead utilized it in pulling Shiraishi to his chest. Garnering the message, he buried himself into Sugimoto’s neck.
“This is good too,” Shiraishi breathed.
Sugimoto kissed the top of the man’s head. Nestled his nose in the trimmed hairs for a moment.
“I missed you a lot.”
“Yeah, me too, big guy.”