HOWL [Inosuke Hashibira x OC]

Chapter 4 - The Wild Boy

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I always dream of the same boy.

When I do dream, that is. Most of my nights are dreamless and morning arrives in a blink, too soon, like I never slept at all. If the rest of the world was cool about it, I'd sleep during the day when it's awful and peopley outside, then be awake all night instead, but demons put a damper on that plan a little bit.

But when I manage to sleep, and when I do dream...

My dreams are always about him: Inosuke, the wild child.

Growing up, I never questioned these strange dreams. I always figured he was some strange figment of my constantly churning brain, a kind of imaginary friend I'd conjured up out of isolation and boredom, or some kind of amalgamation of storybook characters I'd learned about, all cobbled together into one unique child.

In my dreams, Inosuke went on adventures in the woods with his forest animal friends, learned how to fight and defend from them, and grew up on chaos. He taught himself magic and swordplay and strength. Inosuke was tough as bark and free as the wind... and I was insanely jealous.

No dumb parents locking him in his bedroom or overprotecting him?

No stupid siblings always teasing him about things he couldn't control?

Only fun and friends and freedom and fresh air?

Sign me the fuck up.

As great as growing up on The Howling Wild seemed, the boisterous crew really made it magical and exciting.

My grandmas, on the other hand, teetered between severely militaristic and overly cautious. If I wasn't up before dawn and ready to practice swordplay or our family's signature breathing style or fist fighting or whatever they deemed necessary, then they forced me into my tiny personal cabin under the stairs, quarantining me from the others under the guise of 'health and wellness'... when all I usually needed was a nap.

When I tried to fight for myself or speak up, insistent that I needed a break or that I was fine, they drowned me under enough chores to make any seasoned deckhand weep... and trust me, some of them did. Obachan ran a tight ship.

So, to me, Inosuke's simple life in the wilderness seemed like a cakewalk. Many daydreams were spent wondering what he would be doing if he was real, or what he'd do if he were suddenly with me on The Wild, what kind of craziness would pop out of his mouth at the sight of a hot air balloon or how he'd react to Tokyo or Manila or Rio de Janeiro or London...

What it would be like to run with him through the reeds and trees with not a single care in the world... or dive off of a waterfall with him... or scale a mountain, cresting the top just as the sun rises... or-

Ahem. Sorry. Working on that.

Focus, Takara.

Now, you can imagine my surprise when he showed up knocked out, bloody, and supported between his friends at The Wisteria House.

Because I nearly shit my pants. Or, well, my yukata.

Let me back up and give some context.

Mrs. Fuji and I were in the middle of afternoon tea—a special blend of tart apple and light jasmine that I got in China—when a thunderous knock came from the front gate, loud enough to echo through the house and out into the courtyard. The two of us exchanged an exasperated look, and I got to my feet, wiggling into my shoes and straightening out my lavender yukata uniform. "I've got it, ma'am," I said, gesturing for Mrs. Fuji to stay seated, "Please, enjoy your tea. I'm sure it's just a neighbor asking for another of your recipes."