What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Guardian

"Tristan ?"

Someone shook my shoulders, and I had to focus upon the angry man that was forecefully asking for my attention. No, not angry ... worried.

"Kitsu..."

My nickname again, then a grumble about sleeping outside. Hijikata's voice was barely a growl, but it soothed my aches with incredible efficiency. I latched upon his ramblings as if my soul depended on it. Behind him, the tall warrior shimmered in the light.

"Don't go !", I pleaded, hoping that Tristan would return.

My only response was a worried frown. "I'll call Yamazaki", Hijikata stated.

Dread coiled in my stomach. If he dropped me to Yamazaki... the man would dose me with a sleeping draught. The very thought sent my heart tumbling in side my chest. Throat closing in fright, I shook my head vehemently.

"No", I croaked, fingers grabbing a fistful of silk. "No sleep. Please."

I wasn't above begging, so terrified by the perspective of nightmares. My earnest plea caused Hijikata to pause as he laid a hand upon my brow. The warm touch distracted me from the familiar pain that constricted my chest.

"You're shaking. Are you sick? Baka", he huffed. "Sitting outside in this weather."

Somehow, his rightful anger shook me out of my haze long enough for my brain to kick in. Was it the familiar tones of exasperation? Hijikata's anger, my saving grace... My despondent attitude seemed to decide him to get help. I panicked.

"No!", I almost yelled, grabbing the sleeve of his kimono in a vice grip.

He paused, towering over me as I struggled to my knees. Damn, I nearly didn't feel my legs anymore. "Don't leave, please."

He knelt, once more, by my side. The faint moonlight wasn't enough for me to distinguish his features, but his eyes commanded all my attention. At last, I took a deep breath, and was surprised to be able to do so.

"Panick attack. Memories."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and I was surprised to find no pity. Who else, better than a warrior, to grasp the concept of PTSD?

"I'll regret this", he sighed, his low tones causing me to shiver.

Then, his arms sneaked under my knees and he lifted me, carrying me away on the engawa. I marvelled that my weight didn't hinder his progress, or that his feet didn't make a sound on the wooden planks that so often betrayed my passage.

All I could think about what the warmth of his presence, and the strength of his arms as he pulled the shōji of his rooms open with a foot, and laid me down upon his futon. The sheets smelt like him, undisturbed yet as the lamp burnt beside a mountain of papers.

If I had been in possession of my mind, I might have frowned that he was still awake, tending to yet more work. But in my pitiful state, I only stared at the dancing flame as he pulled the covers over me in an attempt to warm me. I was an icicle in a flurry of warm coton.

"You would have frozen out there", he scolded me, his hands rubbing my limbs energetically from above the blanket. I watched, mesmerised, as his lips parted while he worked, brow furrowed in worry.

"Better than die in my sleep", I mumbled.

Toshizō send me a shocked look, as if he was taking the full measure of the traumas that haunted me. A resolved gleam shone in his eyes when he threw the covers up, and slid beside me. Then, his arms wound around me and held tight. My face crushed against the purple silk of his hakamashita, I inhaled deeply.