Chapter Text
I borrowed your shoes and didn’t put them away.
You were crying and eating rice.
Routine was king in Youzen's post-Houshin Project life. In the beginning, when both human and youkai sendou had chaotically poured into Horai, sticking to a set routine had helped keep him sane. Now it was what kept him going day to day; a simple momentum he was too used to to quit. Wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to his office and wade through hours of paperwork and other nonsense bureaucracy; then come home, eat supper, and go to bed.
It was the supper part he was stuck on now. Fridge door propped open on his shoulder, Youzen stared morosely at its almost-empty insides. That's right, he remembered. Today was the day he was supposed to have picked up his monthly allowance of food from the gardens. Back in Kongrong there had been a distribution system set up that brought food to sendou households, but a similar system had yet to be implemented in Horai. It probably wasn't too late to go out to the gardens and get his food, but he was tired, and the thought of leaving his small house—apartment, really—was about as appealing to him than doing more paperwork.
A knock on the door jolted Youzen out of his thoughts. Startled, he looked at the door warily. He wasn't expecting anyone, and he didn't know anyone who would come visit him unannounced. Unless it was Nentou with some urgent problem, or something...
With a sigh, Youzen approached the door, yanking it open. If it was Nentou he wanted the visit over and done with as soon as possible; the man was a trial to deal with when Youzen was well-rested, let alone struggling with hunger and exhaustion after a long day of work.
But the person who greeted him when Youzen opened the door was not Nentou Doujin. He was several inches shorter than Nentou, with a messy mop of pale blue hair, and soft violet eyes to match. There was a polite smile on his face.
Youzen's brain scrambled during several seconds of embarrassing silence, eventually spitting out the needed information. This person's name was Fugen Shinjin. Remember the last time you saw him, right before he died in the Sennin War, in the inside of Kingou with your whole soul still aching from the wounds that fucking bastard—
Youzen felt his whole body tense, his grip on the doorknob becoming white-knuckled. Stop it, he thought desperately, don't think about that, not now with a guest right here—I have to greet him—I have to—
“...Good evening, Youzen,” Fugen said after a minute, during which Youzen found himself incapable of producing sound. “I brought you your food.”
He didn't use an honorific for you, Youzen's brain told him in a nasty voice, as he looked down and finally saw a wooden crate in Fugen's arms, his own name scrawled hastily on the top in marker.
“Oh!” said Youzen, surprised and thankful. “Sorry. Please come in.”
He peeled his fingers off the doorknob and stepped aside from the entryway, gesturing to Fugen that he should step inside. The shorter man trotted inside, pausing to slip off his shoes, and deposited the crate on Youzen's kitchen table.
Youzen closed the door behind Fugen and walked over to join him. “Feel free to sit down,” he told Fugen. With a nod, the sennin pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down gracefully, propping his chin in his cupped hands. Youzen popped the lid off the crate and busied himself with putting away the food. Fresh fruits and vegetables were on top, and Youzen knew he'd find dry goods such as rice and wheat flour underneath.
“Thank you for bringing this by,” he said after another moment of silence. “I really appreciate it.” The words sounded hollow. He hoped Fugen didn't think he didn't mean them.
“Oh, you're quite welcome,” Fugen replied, giving Youzen a polite smile. “I went to pick up mine just a little while ago and saw yours still there. I thought I'd bring it by for you.”
Youzen didn't recall seeing another crate with Fugen when he'd opened the door, and he winced inwardly for causing this near stranger trouble. Shame on him. What would his shishou think?
Outwardly he just gave a little embarrassed laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I'd forgotten today was pickup day,” he admitted.
Fugen made a hmmm sound, a non-committal acknowledgement that he'd heard Youzen's words. “Yes, I thought something like that might have happened,” he said. “You must be very busy these days, with your promotion. What's your fancy new title again? Headmaster?”
Youzen grimaced slightly at the word. “Yeah, headmaster,” he replied. “Though I haven't gotten used to it yet. Everyone keeps calling me, kyoushu-san, Youzen-kyoushu, and it's strange to hear.” Especially coming from comrades that had fought with him over the course of the Houshin Project; with them he had to bite his own tongue to keep from telling them, please, just Youzen...
“Oh?” Fugen arched an eyebrow. “I thought someone like you would have taken to this instantly. Didn't you love the spotlight?”
Youzen frowned, irked by Fugen's assumptions and by the fact that they weren't technically wrong. “The only spotlight fixed on me at the moment is Nentou Doujin's burning gaze as he delivers yet another lecture on how the entire sennin world depends on my ability to do paperwork fast enough.” Fugen laughed a little. “Besides,” Youzen continued, “what I've always wanted is to be well-known and well-respected, not necessarily any leadership responsibilities.”
“Heh,” said Fugen. “You're almost sounding like Bou-chan. He's really rubbed off on you....”
They were both silent for a moment, the sudden grief in the air almost palpable.
“Um,” Youzen said, scrambling for a distraction. “Can—can I get you anything to drink? I'm so sorry, I should have offered earlier.”
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Fugen seemed as eager to latch on to the change of topic as Youzen had been to come up with it. “No thank you,” he said. “Unchuushi said I'm not to eat or drink for 48 hours, to give my soul time to adjust.”
“Oh, you're a recent restoration?” Youzen said. “I'm surprised you're out and about already. In the beginning it took people almost a week to get their bearings straight.”
After the initial migration to Horai, there had been murmurings amongst human and youkai sendou alike about returning houshined souls. They weren't gone, just unavailable, and grieving friends and family had naturally wanted them to be available again. The more people got settled, the louder the requests had become, until finally something had to be done.
Spearheaded by Taiitsu Shinjin and Unchuushi, as well as a couple youkai sennin of similar scientific ability, the Houshin Restoration Project was created with the goal of giving houshined souls artificial bodies to return to. Even with a dedicated team working on it day and night, the project was a lengthy one, and it had its fair share of hiccups and setbacks.
“Yes, so I've heard,” Fugen said. “But it seems they're starting to get the hang of things. I was walking within the hour.”
“That's good,” Youzen said, glad the project was starting to pick up steam. He would be happy when it was over; its existence generated enough extra work to keep him at his office for two hours every day. And, of course, there were those he wanted to see again...
“How's the new body holding up?”
Fugen studied his fingernails. “Fine,” he said. “It looks and feels exactly like my old one, I suppose. The sensation of it takes some getting used to.”
“I can imagine,” Youzen said, and then wondered if he really could. Probably not. Probably Fugen knew that too, and was disliking him for saying such a thing. Damn him and his inability to hold a conversation.
“Well,” Fugen said after a pause. “I should be going now. I want to be back before it gets dark.” He stood up from his chair as he spoke. Youzen moved to show him to the door.
“Thanks again for dropping by,” Youzen said as he pulled open the door. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Fugen said politely. “If there's anything else I can do for you, Headmaster, please do let me know.”
He'd probably meant it sincerely, Youzen thought, but something about that sentence rankled him. He kept his face as calm as Fugen's, well-practised in not letting any of his inner emotions show on the surface.
“Thanks. If anything comes up I'll be sure to let you know.”
With a final nod of farewell, Fugen was off, hopping daintily from rock to rock in the amber Horai sunset.
Youzen closed his door and sagged against it, feeling even more exhausted than if he'd gone to fetch his food by himself. Perhaps he'd just skip supper tonight; he was hungry, but he'd have to cook, and with the state he was in figuring out what to make with his new plethora of ingredients was beyond him.
You're pathetic, the nasty voice in his head told him. You can't even make food for yourself and you think you can run a country?
I know, Youzen thought tiredly. I'm waiting for this charade to fall apart just as much as you are.
He pushed himself away from the door and went to brush his teeth.