Eros. (Benimaru Shinmon)

七十九

As I lay curled up, half-awake in the dim light of the early morning, I heard the low murmur of voices nearby. My eyelids were heavy, and I wasn't fully awake, but the familiar tones of Akira and Benimaru's conversation drifted through the quiet room, pulling me from the depths of sleep.

Akira's voice was tinged with curiosity, though it carried an underlying weight of something darker. "Why are we here, in Asakusa?" he asked, the question sharp, yet almost resigned.

Benimaru's response was laced with boredom as if he'd been asked this question a thousand times before. "Inori banned me from taking you guys to your home," he said flatly. "Out of respect for your hatred of me. I aim to diminish that."

A brief silence followed, and I could almost imagine the skeptical look on Akira's face. "And how do you plan to do that, Benimaru?" Akira asked, his voice now laced with a bitterness that cut through the stillness of the room. "How do you plan to make up for the fact that your decision that day led to my father's death, and so many others? All of which could have been prevented if you'd just let Inori fight."

I could hear the tension in Benimaru's sigh, a sound that carried the weight of regret and understanding. "I know that now," he admitted, his tone subdued. "After assisting Joker, I've come to see what I didn't back then. But Akira... the thought of her turning infernal, or even developing Tephrosis, it would devastate me. I've seen more of her abilities, and seen how powerful she is... but I've also seen how close she comes to losing control when her temper flares. That fear—it's only grown."

Akira sighed, and there was a long pause before he spoke again, his voice softer, almost contemplative. "I agree with you, Benimaru. I've seen it too. She's stronger than anyone I've ever known, but that strength—it comes with risks."

Benimaru's tone shifted then, a quiet determination replacing the weariness. "That's why I'm here. I'm determined to make things right with all of you, to win her hand—the hand I intended to win two years ago."

Akira's next question was quieter, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of the answer. "How much do you love her, Benimaru?"

I could feel my heart skip a beat, my body instinctively drawing closer to the warmth of the blanket around me, wanting to hear more but unwilling to fully wake up. The room was still, the air heavy with the weight of their conversation, and though I was on the brink of sleep, I knew I couldn't miss Benimaru's response.

Benimaru's voice cut through the stillness of the room, low and filled with a rare, raw emotion that made even the walls seem to lean in closer to listen. "I love Inori more than life itself," he began, his words carrying a weight that seemed to press down on everything around him. "When Konro lied to me that day... when he told me she had died... I felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It was as if my entire world had collapsed in an instant."

There was a pause, as if Benimaru was struggling to find the right words to convey the depth of that pain. "But the moment I saw her again, there in front of Company 8, taking a blow to protect them, to protect all of us... it did something to me. It reignited everything I felt, made me more determined than ever to fix everything between us. I couldn't let her slip away again, not after that."

Akira didn't respond right away. I could almost sense the conflict within him, the tension in the air palpable as he processed Benimaru's words. His gaze drifted downwards, settling on Ichijiro, who lay sleeping peacefully, bandages wrapped carefully around his small frame. The sight of his younger brother, so fragile and vulnerable, seemed to anchor him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Slowly, Akira lifted his eyes to where I lay, still half-asleep in Benimaru's lap. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if searching for some sign, some understanding, in the lines of my face, the rise and fall of my chest as I breathed deeply in my sleep. But it wasn't me he was truly looking at—it was the way Benimaru held me, protectively, as though I were the most precious thing in the world.

When Akira's gaze finally returned to Benimaru, it was met with a steady, passive stare. Benimaru didn't flinch, didn't waver. His eyes held a quiet determination, a promise that he would not back down, that he would do whatever it took to make things right. But within that calm exterior, Akira could see the unspoken truth—Benimaru knew that forgiveness wouldn't come easily, if it ever came at all.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air like a thick fog. Akira's jaw tightened, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if acknowledging Benimaru's words, but not conceding to them. He couldn't—wouldn't—offer forgiveness, not yet. The scars of that day ran too deep, the wounds too fresh.

Benimaru's gaze never left Akira, the intensity of his stare a silent message. He wasn't asking for forgiveness; he was simply stating his intent, laying his heart bare. Whether Akira accepted it or not, he was determined to see it through.

Akira, still holding Benimaru's gaze, finally broke the silence, though his words were unspoken. His eyes shifted back to me, his expression softening slightly, before he returned his attention to Ichijiro. The message was clear—Benimaru would have to prove himself, not just to him, but to all of us. And for now, that would have to be enough.

Akira let out a quiet sigh as he laid back down, the tension in his body easing slightly but not fully dissipating. He glanced at his sleeping teammate, his hand gently resting on the blanket that covered Ichijiro's small form. "When Ichijiro wakes up," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion, "I want to go home. I hate being in Asakusa."

The bitterness in his words was evident, and it hung in the air like a heavy cloud. The longing for home, for the familiarity of the place they knew, was something I understood all too well. Asakusa, with all its history and significance, was not a place of comfort for them—it was a reminder of the past, of wounds that had yet to heal.

Benimaru sighed deeply, the sound filled with a mix of frustration and resignation. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture weary and contemplative, as if he was trying to figure out how to bridge the chasm between us. He knew this wasn't going to be easy. Winning their trust back, mending the fractures that had formed, would be a challenge that required more than just words. It would take time, patience, and actions that spoke louder than any apology could.

"I get it," Benimaru finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a hint of weariness in his tone. "I know this isn't easy for you... or for any of us. But I'm not going to give up. Not on you, not on Inori, and not on fixing what's broken."

Akira didn't respond, his eyes already half-closed as the exhaustion of the day began to take hold. But even as he drifted toward sleep, I could see the lingering doubt in the way his brow furrowed slightly, the tension that remained in his posture.

Benimaru watched him for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he looked at the two teammates who had become such an integral part of my life. He knew the road ahead would be difficult, fraught with challenges that would test his resolve and patience. But as he settled back, his hand brushing gently against my arm, I could feel the quiet determination in him—a resolve to prove himself, not just to Akira and Ichijiro, but to me as well.

As the room fell into a hushed silence, I drifted back into a deep sleep, comforted by the warmth of Benimaru's presence.