5. Lost Moon
The organization officially issued an order.
Both of them were granted time off to recover.
Mutsukumo didn't react.
He simply sat on the chair, legs crossed, showing neither dissatisfaction nor satisfaction.
Izala lay on the bed.
He was still weak, but not completely immobilized.
"So boring,"
Izala sighed.
Mutsukumo glanced at him.
"You want to get injured again?"
Izala smiled faintly.
"...I'm used to it."
Mutsukumo didn't like that answer.
He stood up, walked toward the bed, and leaned down to look at him.
"...You don't have to get used to it."
He said.
Izala blinked.
He didn't respond immediately.
But the smile on his lips...
Was no longer that distant, indifferent kind.
---
Mutsukumo didn't take his eyes off Izala.
He had always known Izala was thin, but now...
Why did he look so small?
He looked at him.
Messy green hair spread across the pillow.
Pale skin, wrapped in layers of bandages.
His wrist was so slender, it felt like it would snap with just a bit of pressure.
Mutsukumo asked himself-
Why?
Why did Izala look so fragile in his eyes?
Since when did he start paying attention to this?
Since when did he begin to hate seeing Izala like this?
Mutsukumo frowned.
He didn't like this.
Didn't like seeing Izala in this condition.
Didn't like the strange, creeping feeling inside his chest.
He reached out.
His fingers gently brushed against the soft green strands of hair.
Izala slowly opened his eyes, meeting his gaze.
Neither of them said a word.
Mutsukumo pulled his hand back.
He turned away, avoiding his own thoughts.
Too troublesome.
---
Mutsukumo leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, trying to ignore what was swirling in his mind.
But his eyes still lingered on Izala.
Izala stared at him.
A long while later, he finally spoke, slowly:
"...What are you thinking?"
Mutsukumo paused for a second.
Then let out a dry laugh.
"Thinking about when you'll be healed so we can get back to missions."
Izala blinked.
He didn't answer right away.
Just looked at him, as if trying to see through his façade.
Eventually, he smiled faintly.
A smile unclear whether it was happy or sad.
"It's always about missions, huh?"
Mutsukumo frowned.
"...What do you want, then?"
Izala leaned his head back, his heterochromatic eyes half-lidded.
"Nothing."
Just that...
He found it a little funny.
Mutsukumo stared at him for a few more seconds.
Then huffed and stood up.
"Troublesome."
He muttered, turning to leave the room.
Izala watched his back as he left.
He didn't call him back.
Just smiled softly to himself.
---
Mutsukumo walked out of the room.
But he didn't go far.
He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette.
Smoke drifted lazily, but his mind was a mess.
He didn't like this feeling.
The discomfort of seeing Izala in such a weak state.
The annoyance of constantly noticing him.
Why?
Since when had he started to care this much about someone else?
He squinted, stubbed out the cigarette, and turned back toward the room.
Izala was still there.
But he had fallen asleep.
Mutsukumo stood still.
He looked at him for a long moment.
"...Goddamn it."
He exhaled, scratching his head in frustration.
He walked over and pulled the blanket over Izala.
Not gently-but not harshly either.
Then he sat down on the chair beside the bed, arms folded.
He didn't leave again.
He stayed in the room quietly.
He didn't know why.
But he didn't want to leave him alone.
---
Mutsukumo didn't think too much.
He just felt uncomfortable sitting on the chair for so long.
So...
He climbed onto the bed.
Izala was still sound asleep.
His breathing was even, face peaceful like a painting.
Mutsukumo reached out and wrapped his arms around him.
Naturally. Without hesitation.
Izala fit perfectly in his arms.
Fragile.
Small.
He lowered his head, pressing his nose into Izala's hair.
A faint scent of forget-me-not flowers spread out.
Not too strong, not too distinct.
But very sweet.
Mutsukumo closed his eyes.
For the first time...
He felt at peace.
---
Mutsukumo blinked.
Morning light streamed through the gap in the curtains, making him frown slightly.
He reached out to the side.
Empty.
But...
Still warm.
He sat up, scanning the room.
Izala wasn't there.
He must've just left.
Mutsukumo got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom door.
The faint sound of running water echoed.
The door wasn't locked.
Mutsukumo slowly pushed it open.
And...
He saw him.
Izala stood there, back turned toward him.
His hair was soaked, water running down his back covered in freshly bandaged wounds.
A sight both fragile and... irritating.
Mutsukumo didn't speak right away.
He simply leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Then spoke, voice low and raspy:
"Aren't you still not fully healed?"
---
Izala didn't turn around right away.
He stood beneath the stream of water, as if he hadn't heard the question.
Mutsukumo frowned.
He stepped forward and grabbed his wrist sharply.
The water continued pouring down, soaking his hair, leaving it clinging wet to his skin.
Izala was pulled toward him, but he didn't resist.
Mutsukumo looked down at him.
From this close, he could see the pale face, and tired light flickering in those heterochromatic eyes.
"You really are stubborn."
His voice grew deeper.
Izala tilted his head slightly, replying calmly:
"Aren't you the same?"
Mutsukumo paused.
He didn't like being countered.
But he couldn't deny it either.
Two stubborn fools.
They both knew it.
But...
Neither would back down.
---
Izala was suddenly lifted off the ground.
His entire body enclosed in Mutsukumo's arms.
Mutsukumo frowned, his voice irritated:
"You're not healed yet. What if you catch a cold?"
Izala blinked.
He didn't speak. Didn't struggle.
Just quietly looked at him.
Mutsukumo carried him out of the bathroom and set him down on the bed.
Then grabbed a towel and began drying his hair.
Not gently.
But not roughly either.
Izala could feel the warmth from his hands.
And also...
The unspoken concern.
He lowered his eyes slightly.
Didn't argue.
Didn't deny it.
---
Mutsukumo continued drying his hair.
The soaked green strands slowly dried, revealing Izala's calm face.
He said nothing.
Just focused on what he was doing.
Izala was silent as well.
No protests, no dodging.
Just let him be.
The air was strangely quiet.
No sharp words.
No provocations.
Only warmth, from his hands.
Mutsukumo stopped.
He looked at Izala, frowning slightly.
"If you were this obedient all the time, that'd be nice."
Izala blinked.
Then tilted his head slightly and replied softly:
"Then you should try being this gentle all the time."
Mutsukumo froze.
He didn't know what to say.
In the end, he gave a small laugh.
"Funny, isn't it?"
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