As the last embers of the day painted the makeshift village in hues of orange and purple, a profound quiet settled over Riku's tent. The sounds of construction and distant laughter faded into the background, replaced by the soft whisper of the wind against the canvas. Riku, his body aching from the frantic pace of the past days, lay stretched out on his cot, staring at the dimly lit ceiling. The images flickered behind his eyes: the chaotic energy of the relocation, the startling sight of Serabil, the chilling whispers of the "last mission" — a cascade of events that had pushed him to his limits.
A soft tap broke the silence.
"Riku? Are you awake?" a gentle voice inquired from outside.
Riku recognized it instantly. Honami Ichinose. He let out a slow breath. He hadn't expected visitors, not now. But Ichinose was different. She had a way of cutting through the pretense, of seeing past the leader to the man underneath, a way that always seemed to leave him subtly off-balance.
"Come in, Ichinose," he called out, his voice a little rougher than he intended.
The flap of the tent rustled, and Ichinose stepped inside, bringing with her the faint scent of fresh earth and something warm, like brewed tea. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focused, held a touch of weariness, yet a familiar warmth shone within them. She carried a small, woven basket, clutched almost protectively.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, a small, tentative smile playing on her lips, as if seeking his permission, but her gaze was already assessing the space, planning her next move, ensuring she had the most advantageous position.
Riku pushed himself up, leaning against the wooden pole that served as the tent's central support. "Do you need my help with something, Ichinose?" he asked, his mind already cataloging potential new problems. He was always on alert, always ready for the next crisis.
Ichinose chuckled, a soft, melodious sound that seemed out of place in the grim reality they inhabited. "Is that the only reason I'd come to see you, Riku? Can't I just come to talk?" Her eyes sparkled with a teasing glint, but there was an underlying possessiveness in her tone, as if claiming his time for herself.
"Well, you can."
She stepped further into the tent, her gaze sweeping over the spartan interior before settling on Riku. She then moved with a practiced ease and sat down on the very edge of the makeshift cot Riku had been lying on, her posture relaxed, almost inviting, subtly drawing him back towards her space.
Riku, feeling a sudden awkwardness, pushed himself fully upright, swinging his legs off the cot and standing. He started to pace the small space, a habit he'd developed when deep in thought or uncomfortable.
"Riku, you don't need to get up on my account," Ichinose said, a hint of amusement in her voice as she watched him, a subtle smile playing on her lips, enjoying his discomfiture. "Unless you're trying to put some distance between us?" Her words were a soft hook, pulling him back.
He stopped, turning to face her, but still didn't sit back down. "It's fine," he mumbled, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. The air in the tent seemed to thicken with unspoken thoughts.
A comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the village outside and the crackle of a small fire someone had started nearby. Ichinose simply sat there, her gaze gentle, patiently waiting, as if she knew exactly how to make him uncomfortable enough to open up, to turn to her.
"It's hard, isn't it? Bearing all of that alone." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, carefully crafted to evoke a sense of vulnerability, inviting him to confide in her.
Riku looked away, towards the tent flap. "It's my responsibility."
"But at what cost?" Ichinose pressed, her voice gentle but firm, stepping into the emotional breach. "You looked… broken, Riku. When you came back after the last mission. Before you even found Serabil. We saw it. That look in your eyes, like you'd stared into the abyss and it stared back. It broke my heart to see you like that, knowing I couldn't reach you." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes filled with a manufactured concern, a performance designed to elicit his trust.
He clenched his jaw, the memories sharp and painful. The despair, the sheer impossibility of it all, the moments he almost gave up. He hadn't realized how much it showed.
"I just… needed to make sure they were safe," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "All of them. Every single soul."
"And you did," Ichinose said, her voice filled with quiet admiration, a carefully chosen compliment to soften him. "You always do. Even when we doubt you, even when you make us furious with your secrets, you always find a way. That's why I follow you, Riku. That's why I trust you, even when you don't trust me enough to tell me everything." She made it sound like a personal failing on his part, subtly pushing him to share more with her.
She opened the basket, revealing a small, steaming mug and a few carefully wrapped, dried fruits. The mug emitted the warm, earthy aroma of a brewed herbal tea. "It's just a simple blend. Helps with the exhaustion. I thought of you specifically when I brewed it." Her thoughtfulness was a gentle tether, designed to make him feel uniquely cared for by her.
Riku looked at the mug, then at Ichinose, a flicker of something akin to surprise crossing his features. "Thank you, Ichinose. But it'd be better if you give them to those who need it."
"You always put everyone else first. Sometimes, you need someone to put you first, even if it's just for a moment." She offered the mug, deliberately letting her fingers linger against his as he took it, a soft, almost imperceptible caress. The warmth radiated into his chilled hands. He took a sip. It was simple, yet comforting, soothing his frayed nerves.
"I don't think so," he said, his voice low.
"I know," Ichinose said, reaching out and gently touching his arm. Her touch was deliberate, a subtle assertion of intimacy, a quiet claim. "But you have to try. The village is built. Now it needs a home. And you, Riku, need to rest. We can't afford to lose our leader to exhaustion, not after everything." She made it sound like she was essential for his well-being, for the village's sake, intertwining their fates.
She stood up, only to sit again, settling closer to him, subtly reducing the space between them. "I should let you rest, but… I really want to spend some time with you, Riku. Just us. Are you fine with it?" Her voice was a soft plea, designed to make him feel guilty if he refused, to make him feel like he was disappointing her if he chose solitude.
"Yes," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but firm. "I'm fine with it, Ichinose." He wanted to be alone but didn't say it, fearing it might be rude and hurt her feelings.
"You know, Riku," Ichinose began, her voice a soft murmur, almost conspiratorial. "I've been talking to the villagers. They've been saying some interesting things."
Riku tensed, his grip tightening imperceptibly on the mug. "Oh?" he managed, his tone deliberately neutral. He knew the whispers, the undercurrents that always ran through a group of people, especially after a crisis. He rarely paid them much mind.
Ichinose chuckled, a light, airy sound. "Don't 'oh?' me, Riku. It's about you." She paused, and Riku could feel her eyes on him, studying him, assessing his reaction. "They say you're... different. Around us, that is, compared to how you act around them."
Riku scoffed, a short, dismissive sound. "I don't care what they say. My focus is on ensuring their survival, not on their perception of my demeanor." He shifted, ready to dismiss the conversation entirely, to steer it back to logistics or defense perimeters. That was his territory, where he felt secure.
"But you should care, Riku," Ichinose countered, her voice gentle yet firm, cutting through his usual defenses. She leaned forward slightly, her expression earnest, as if sharing a vital secret with him. "They say you're always cold to them. Distant. They understand it's because you're the leader, and you have to make hard choices. But they also noticed something else."
Riku frowned, a flicker of irritation rising. What was she getting at?
"Since Levi, Erina, and I joined you," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "they say you've been... different. Friendlier. Laughing even, sometimes, especially with Levi, even when you're bickering. It's just with us, Riku. Only us." She let the words sink in, emphasizing the exclusivity of their connection, and more specifically, her connection to him.
The words hung in the air, pulling at something deep within Riku. He wanted to dismiss it as nonsense, as misinterpretations. But a sudden, uncomfortable silence filled the tent. He couldn't meet her gaze.
"They're starting to get jealous, Riku," Ichinose stated plainly, her voice soft but direct. "The villagers. And even the scouts. They think Levi, Erina, and I... that we've stolen you from them. That somehow, we took their leader, their protector, and made him ours." She painted a picture of him being "theirs," setting them apart from the others, subtly creating a dependency where he would need them more than the others.
"That's absolute nonsense," Riku retorted, his voice sharper than he intended, a defensive edge creeping in. He pushed himself further away from her, towards the tent pole, needing space. "I treat everyone equally. My decisions are for the benefit of all."
Nonsense? The word echoed in his mind, hollow and false. He knew, deep down, that it wasn't nonsense. Ichinose was right. However, he couldn't actually be cold towards those people who were dragged into this world because of him, and those who he admired.
Other than this, he had changed. Before, his heart was always locked but with Levi's exasperated friendship, Erina's steadfast support, and Ichinose's quiet understanding, he didn't even know when he started opening his lock. He found himself laughing more freely, even in dire situations. He felt a different kind of trust, a camaraderie that went beyond orders and obedience. His heart, once a cold, impenetrable vault, felt mostly open now, a fragile thing exposed to the world. And it was because of them.
He clenched his fists, frustrated by his own introspection, by the truth he couldn't deny. He hated being seen, being analyzed. He preferred the shadows, the unspoken, the unexamined.
Suddenly, Ichinose moved. She shifted on the cot, and before Riku could react, she leaned towards him, her head gently resting against his arm. Her posture was deliberate, a calculated invasion of his personal space, designed to disarm him, to create an undeniable physical bond.
Riku froze, dumbfounded. His mind, usually doing strategic calculations and crisis management, utterly blanked. He stood there, rigid, completely unable to process what was happening. Her hair brushed his arm, soft against the canvas of his sleeve, and he could feel the subtle warmth of her presence. He tried to think, to rationalize, to categorize this unexpected action, but his brain simply refused to cooperate.
A soft chuckle vibrated through his arm. "You're too shy, Riku," Ichinose teased, her voice muffled slightly as she remained leaning on him. The amusement in her tone was clear, a gentle prod at his sudden, uncharacteristic awkwardness, designed to make him feel a slight embarrassment only she could soothe.
"You're heavy," Riku blurted out, the first coherent thought that managed to break through his mental fog. It was a pathetic, almost childish retort. He regretted it instantly.
Ichinose lifted her head slightly, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she looked up at him. "Oh, am I?" she challenged, a playful glint in her gaze. She pushed off his arm, sitting upright once more, though her presence still seemed to fill the small space, a lingering warmth where she had been. The moment of physical contact, brief as it was, had shattered Riku's composure, leaving him vulnerable to her influence.
He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes. "It's just... unexpected," he mumbled, trying to regain some semblance of his usual stoic demeanor.
Ichinose smiled, a knowing, empathetic curve of her lips. "I know. But maybe... maybe that's exactly what you need, Riku. Something unexpected. Something that reminds you that you don't have to carry every burden alone. You can always lean on me." She reached out, her hand gently touching his arm again, a fleeting, comforting gesture, a subtle reinforcement of her presence and availability, positioning herself as his singular support. "The villagers see how you've opened up to us. And maybe, in time, you can open up to them too. It doesn't mean you're losing who you are; it means you're becoming stronger, with more people to lean on. Especially me."
Suddenly, someone entered in the tent.
"Hey Ichinose, it was my job to deliver these to Riku. You opportunity Grabber!"