Solitaire - veridian - Kamen Rider Blade [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

The thing that frightens Hajime the most about letting his instincts run wild is how good it feels to do it.

A fight is ecstasy. Something hits him square in the face and the sound, the pressure, the pain blend together into something wonderful that sets his vibrant green blood aflame. His instincts thrum in his brain much louder than his own thoughts. The beast has no friends, no one it loves, only a warm, moving body to beat the life out of. He can't stop, and he doesn't want to.

The blade buried between two plates of armor doesn't sink as deep as it should, and he hisses. Dissatisfaction. His prey is not desperate enough to kill him. He isn't hitting it hard enough.

He lunges forward, claws finding purchase. Something thin and brittle is in his grasp, and he squeezes, hears a cry of agony, the only noise that's been able to reach him so far. But before he can snap what he's holding, something firm and solid slams against his chest, sends him reeling, and he lurches back a half-step. He is poised to strike again, but nothing follows. Why? The opponent is still in front of him. Why won't they fight?

Why won't he fight? Why won't he seal him? Why won't he—

There's no time to think. He has to kill. If the opponent isn't going to seize on this opening, then he'll punish them for it. Another cry of pain, and Hajime lets loose a feral snarl in response, a horrible, inhuman sound. When he strikes, nothing happens in response. So he does it again. Again. Again.

A wordless gurgle. A spike of fear blooms in his heart before being swept away by the joy of battle.

What snaps him out of it is the sound of his own chitinous knuckles threatening to crack under the pressure of his own punches, the ache of hitting someone too hard for too long, the sickeningly familiar sound of Kenzaki's helmet being struck, over and over. When he comes to, he has to stop to center himself, find the quiet amidst the excitement that's been stirred up by his own, uncontrollably violent impulses, and it's only once he's calmed down he realizes Kenzaki isn't moving.

"Kenzaki?" He reaches down to—what? To shake him awake? No, it's putting these disgusting claws on him in the first place that got him in this condition. But Kenzaki still hasn't moved, still hasn't said anything, and the hazy afterglow of a thrilling fight is stabbed away by sheer panic. "Kenzaki!"

It's strange, he thinks. He's had horrible thoughts about this happening to Amane; he can envision perfectly what it would look like if he killed her in his fervor for battle. His nightmares have painted torturously detailed pictures of it for him. In a similar vein, he's always been dimly aware that Kenzaki might lose the fight they've been destined to have, but the possibility didn't seem as starkly, heavily real. Because Kenzaki is strong, and he never gives up. Even if he was dead, he would surely…

Even if he was dead…

"Kenzaki," Hajime tries again, something cold and fearful settling into his gut. His eyes, looking everywhere in a panic, settle on the belt on his waist. Should he try to deactivate the transformation? See what he's done? That might be worse. And if that battle lust in his blood reignites, it would just remove whatever's left of the safety net that being transformed affords him.

Not that it seems to have done him any good this time.

"I've…"

The joy of victory blossoms in the brain of the beast inside him. Hajime wants to rip it out and smash it against the ground until it's little more than paste.

"Ha… jime?"

When Kenzaki calls his name, quiet, voice creaking with effort, it takes him a few moments to recognize the sound, deafened by despair as he is. His head snaps up, two very different spikes of adrenaline occurring at the same time, and he pushes one of them down, down, never deep enough. He still won't touch him, not when he's like this, not when his claws itch with need to bury themselves in something soft and warm and living. But he watches as Kenzaki slowly, delicately sits up, and he can hear him biting his lip to keep from vocalizing his pain. It's not an effective gesture; Hajime can tell by how slow and uneven his movements are that even this much is agonizing.

Kenzaki flips the buckle in his belt, and Hajime is assailed with the harsh, grotesque smell of blood as the armor falls away, forcing him to come to terms with what he's done. It oozes steadily from a wound somewhere on Kenzaki's head, dripping down and covering his face in it, and one of his arms isn't moving quite right as he reaches out to tenderly cup Hajime's face. Hajime jerks back, and Kenzaki only pouts and reaches further to do it again, soft pink fingertips tracing along the sharp silver exoskeleton of his jaw. "There you are," he murmurs, and there's so much warmth in his voice Hajime feels like it will burn him.

Here he is.

"Kenzaki," Hajime begins, but Kenzaki wobbles, gritting his teeth to keep himself from hissing in pain, and whatever he was about to say dies in his throat. Truthfully, he's not sure he'd thought of anything yet. Maybe he just wanted to call his name again.

"Sorry if I scared you. But I don't die that easy." A flash of white amidst all the red on his face. Kenzaki can smile even now. Hajime wants to rip that gentle expression right off of him. He doesn't deserve to be looked at like that.

"I… should be the one apologizing. I thought… I thought that I…"

"Well," Kenzaki says, hands finally falling into his lap, "you didn't."

He didn't.

The weight of those two words feels like it will crush him, squeeze out all his innards through the gaps in his chitin and leave a bright green mess all over the floor. There's a thrill in the base of his brain at the thought of seeing Kenzaki covered in it, of the thought of such a tremendously violent fight. He chokes back a surge of emotion, far too many of them all at once to name, and Kenzaki tenderly nestles against his shoulder, somehow finding space for something as fragile as a human body between all the jagged edges and spines of the Joker Undead.

He fumbles for his cards. This isn't right. Not like this. While he still has the awareness to change back, he should. Hajime has never allowed himself the luxury of wishes, of hopes, of dreams, but if there's one thing he could have, just one thing, it would be for Kenzaki to remember him as Aikawa Hajime, not the monster he's currently leaning into, after he's sealed him away.

"Doesn't matter to me," Kenzaki breathes, as though reading his mind, "what you look like. You're always Hajime."

"Except when I'm not." Hajime is a skin he wears, a disguise he retreats into for his own selfish comfort. They both know what his true, horrific nature is.

But Kenzaki shakes his head. "You're always Hajime," he repeats. "Sometimes you just get a little lost. That's all. But I'll keep bringing you back, even if you hate me for it."

He does, a little bit. Something inside him hates this man for teaching him about things like friendship, like hope, like love. It would have been easier if they had ended things between them before they got to know one another, if Kenzaki had been less of a bleeding heart, if he'd just sealed Hajime away already—so that he never would have known the warmth of someone nestled against him, even in this brutal, violent form.

"You can't do it forever."

Kenzaki punches him in the gut. There's barely any force in it, and Hajime suspects the hardness of his shell has done more damage to Kenzaki than Kenzaki managed to do to him. "Shut up. Yes I can."

Hajime doesn't respond, opting only to slide the two of hearts into his Rouzer. Kenzaki leans back to give him room to transform, and once the much smaller human form of Hajime Aikawa finishes manifesting, he pulls him close, for just a second. At this distance, the smell of blood is stronger than ever, and the desire to wring even more out of him thrums in Hajime's chest. But the embrace is over as quickly as it started, and Kenzaki stands, and the urge to attack him fades as quickly as it came.

"Did you get it all out of your system?" Kenzaki asks. Hajime doesn't respond to that either, pulling himself onto his feet and turning brusquely away.

What a terrible thing to ask, when the system is designed to fill back up again.

"Do you really see Hajime Aikawa and the Joker as the same being?" Hajime asks, quietly. It's also a terrible thing to ask.

Kenzaki's expression doesn't waver for a second, though, as he looks over at him. "Of course. Because even when you were wailing on me, you just kept begging me to seal you."

Hajime halts in his tracks. He hadn't even realized. He had been so caught up in the spectacle and the thrill of the fight that he hadn't thought for even a second about what else he might have been doing, or that he had even been capable of doing anything else at all.

Kenzaki stops just a few steps after, realizing the sound of crunching leaves next to him has ceased. "Hajime?"

"Why didn't you?" He resumes walking like nothing has happened, carefully ignoring what feels like a gaping wound in his chest, his heart teetering precariously at the precipice.

"You know why."

"You should have run, then. If you won't seal me, stay away from me."

Kenzaki sighs, as though the demand is unreasonable. "I thought you'd prefer beating the tar out of me to finding someone who can't fight back while you were… y'know. Lost."

He wouldn't prefer that, Hajime wants to snap, but he doesn't relish the thought of killing anyone either. He purses his lips. "I don't enjoy hurting you," he finally manages.

"Never said I thought you did," Kenzaki replies, quietly, the back of his hand brushing against Hajime's. What meets it are blunt, soft human fingers. Not the razor sharp claws they both know are lurking beneath the façade. If he took Kenzaki's hand now, it wouldn't hurt him. It might be pleasant—the air is just slightly too chilly to be comfortable, and Kenzaki's hands are always warm, just like the rest of him.

Hajime puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He can see Kenzaki out of the corner of his eye; he's wilting a little when he doesn't return the gesture.

"Next time we fight," he says, voice gravelly, eyes fixated on the horizon, "seal me."

"Hell no." A blunt refusal, as always.

The rest of their walk is silent. Hajime thinks this is probably how it should be.

His hand clenches in his pocket. Maybe it's colder than he thought.