Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7207658.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      ノラガミ_|_Noragami
  Relationship:
      Iki_Hiyori/Yato, Bishamonten_|_Vaisravana/Kazuma
  Character:
      Iki_Hiyori, Yato_(Noragami), Yukine_(Noragami), Bishamonten, Kazuma_
      (Noragami), Ebisu_(Noragami), Kunimi_(Noragami), Kofuku_Binbougami,
      Daikoku_(Noragami)
  Additional Tags:
      i_hope_you_like_cheese_with_your_angst, it's_not_all_angst_i_promise,
      obligatory_beach_episode_included, Noragami_Big_Bang_2k16, Cunnilingus,
      Oral, Fingering, Kissing, Vaginal
  Collections:
      Noragami_Big_Bang_2k16!
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-15 Completed: 2016-11-02 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 27447
****** Within These Walls ******
by PracticingProductivity
Summary
     Hiyori sits at her desk, her journal laid open atop the wooden
     surface. Its contents have not magically changed since she checked it
     at Kofuku’s. Every day she had written about Yato. Every day until
     she turns the page and his name is never mentioned again. Why? How?
     What does the passing of one day really mean? A mere 24 hours and the
     memory of Yato had dissolved into threads too thin to grasp, yet
     their unraveling had left an aching void where the memory of him had
     once been.
Notes
     Written for the Noragami Big Bang 2016. It is much longer than I
     originally planned, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. As always,
     constructive criticism is warmly welcome :) Technically, there is a
     second (smut-filled) chapter, but with the big bang deadline it will
     be posted in the future. So this first chapter stands alone (per the
     guidelines), but the second chapter has been posted and the rating
     has gone up and tags changed accordingly.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Hiyori sits at her desk, her journal laid open atop the wooden surface. Its
contents have not magically changed since she checked it at Kofuku’s. Every day
she had written about Yato. Every day until she turns the page and his name is
never mentioned again. Why? How? What does the passing of one day really mean?
A mere 24 hours and the memory of Yato had dissolved into threads too thin to
grasp, yet their unraveling had left an aching void where the memory of him had
once been.
She thinks she won’t be able to forgive herself. She'd nearly broken her
promise to Yato. She will never let that happen again, she vows as she clenches
a fist. Her nails bite the palm of her hand. But how? She shuts her eyes,
willing an idea to come. She remembers how she’d once said to Yato that she’d
come visit him every day. True, Yato had been gone, but why had she not thought
to once visit Yukine or Daikoku and Kofuku?
Hiyori opens her eyes and her gaze once more falls to the entries laid open
before her. Lines filled with words and names, none of them Yato. Somewhat
absently, she reaches for her pencil. It's mechanical. She clicks it a few
times before tracing graphite across paper in the corner of the page. She
thumbs through the next few pages, writing the same thing. She spends the next
five minutes or so writing Yato’s name on every page. At the top of every page
his name will already be there every time she writes an entry - impossible to
miss. However, this system does little to bring Hiyori consolation.
Truthfully, she doesn't always remember to write in her journal. She could also
travel and forget to bring it. It's not good enough. She rakes her eyes over
the desk, not sure what she is looking for until she finds it. In the pencil
cup by her right hand protrudes the unmistakable grey butt of a thin-tipped
Sharpie. She takes the marker in hand. She forcefully pops the cap off, not
pausing to catch it as it rolls onto the floor. The tip is cool against the
skin on the inside of the left wrist. It tickles a bit, actually. She takes
extra care not to smudge what she’s writing. She even blows on it when she's
finished.
She pauses to admire her calligraphy - at Yato's name staring up at her,
written horizontally. That will do, she thinks, I can look at it any time.
Hiyori's cell phone starts to buzz aggressively across her desk. She catches it
before it reaches the edge. She answers without checking caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hiyori-chaaan~”
“Oh, Yama-chan! What's up?” Hiyori finds herself smiling despite her dark
thoughts just moments ago.
“You. Me. Ami. Girls night tomorrow night. Be there,” said Yama.
“Okay, but where is 'there'?” Hiyori asks.
“Erk!” Yama let out an awkward laugh. “Don't actually know yet.”
“If it's all right with you, I don't much feel like going out.” Hiyori thinks
back to just a day ago, when she had pulled Yato back from the Underworld. “I'm
sort of exhausted, you know? We could just have a sleepover here or something,
if that's all right with you.”
“Yup, fine by me,” Yama chirps. “I'll fill Ami in. Say we show up about seven?
Order pizza then watch a movie?”
“Sounds good.”
Hiyori ends the call and pushes her chair out. She stands, reaching her arms up
and giving them a good stretch. She takes a step back and her foot lands on the
Sharpie cap. She picks it up and puts it back in its rightful place. Then she
turns her attention once more to her wrist. It's a little embarrassing, but
Hiyori is satisfied that there's nowhere to keep Yato closer than on her skin.
The implications fail to cross her mind. All she knows it that it feels… right.
She changes into her pyjamas, with frequent checks on her Sharpie tattoo. It
doesn't appear to be smudging. Good. She settles into bed, hugging her arm
close to her chest as she falls asleep.
It only occurs to Hiyori when she wakes up the next morning that it’s summer.
Summer meaning, how is she going to cover up her little tattoo so Ami and Yama
don’t start asking questions - even more importantly, so Yato himself doesn’t
see it. She scurries around her bedroom, looking for ideas, for anything.
Inside the drawer of her desk she finds a pink wristwatch. She only realizes
after she's fastened it that the strap does not fully cover the kanji. With a
small sigh, she adjusts her watch so the clock face is on the inside of the
wrist.
“Much better,” Hiyori mutters to herself.
There's a little bit of black ink peeking out beneath the clock, but nothing
Hiyori can't explain away as an accident while she was writing something for
school.
                                       …
Ami and Yama arrive at the same time. Hiyori’s parents are both working late
and the housekeeper has gone home. So it will just be the three of them. Yama
comes equipped with a DVD in her hand that Hiyori doesn’t quite catch the title
of and Ami is carrying a plastic shopping bag bulging with what Hiyori
(correctly) assumes are snacks.
After removing their shoes, the two guests guide themselves into the living
room while Hiyori closes the front door behind them. She pauses for a moment,
her fingers curled loosely around the cool metal door handle. She allows her
shoulders to  deflate a little and her head droop forward - a mixture of
tiredness and resignation. A part of her wonders why she agreed to have them
over. She knows why: she hasn’t spent time with them outside of school in a
long time as almost all her free time is devoted to Yato and Yukine. She wants
to see them and have fun like they did so often in middle school. She can’t
count this past month, not when so much of their time together was invaded by…
him. Hiyori can’t even think of his name without a disgusting bitter taste in
her mouth.
“Hiyori~ you fall asleep again?” Yama sashays back into the foyer and notices
Hiyori is still standing in the entryway. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Hiyori drops her hand to her side. “Just a little tired.”
Yama’s lips split into a smirk, that sends pins and needles down Hiyori’s
spine.
“What?” says Hiyori.
Her friend’s sadistic glee intensifies at Hiyori’s innocent expression.
“You won’t be after the movie I’m about to show you.”
Hiyori can see her journey toward sleep dissolving into dust before her eyes.
She emits an agitated grunt as her face falls into her hands.
“I’m kidding.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Hiyori sighs.
“Hey guys, if you don’t hurry it up, I’m going to finish all these snacks
myself,” Ami calls from the living room.
“Don’t you dare!” Yama shouts back.
Hiyori looks up to give Yama a resigned look that says “let’s get this over
with.” Yama prances toward the other room, with Hiyori close behind - her gate
but a sad shuffle across the wooden flooring.
“Too late, already gone,” Ami teases as they cross the threshold.
The pizza is ordered and they chat about school, about their hobbies, about
everything and nothing at all.
“Any chance now that we’re about to watch it you’re going to give us a clue as
to what this movie’s about?” Ami asks when they are finished eating and have
been just talking for the past couple hours.
“No, no.” Yama waves away the question with the back of her hand. “Not a
chance. This movie is best experienced going in blind.”
Ami makes a noise that sounds a lot like disbelief and Hiyori passes her a
grimace of solidarity.
“It’s not another horror movie, is it?” Ami narrows her eyes Yama. “I didn’t
sleep a week after the last time you showed a ‘surprise’ movie.”
“Erm.” Yama bites her lip and gazes sheepishly up at the ceiling. “Sort of, but
it’s not scary.”
Ami’s eyes become narrow slits.
“I promise.”
“I am not sitting through another torture porn flick, Yama-chan,” says Ami.
“I’m drawing a goddamn line at torture porn.”
“I second that,” Hiyori adds. She’s seen so much blood. Yato flashes across her
vision, covered in his own blood. He falls into her. The blood sticky and warm.
She remembers the congealed bits crumbling away beneath her touch as she
stroked his head. She closes her eyes, trying to shut away the memory but it
only intensifies - the features of his face barely recognizable beneath the
thick layers of blood. The corners of her eyes prickle, she springs them open
again. Yama is rolling her eyes.
“It is neither scary nor gross. Would it kill you guys to trust me every now
and then?” Yama asks.
“Probably,” Ami replies.
“Why don’t we just watch and see?” Hiyori suggests, eager to put something in
her vision other than Yato’s blood, even if it’s someone else’s blood. At this
point she just wants to stop seeing him hurt.
“Thank you, Hiyori.” Yama clasps her hand. “I knew I could believe in you.”
Hiyori forces an awkward laugh. Truth be told she’s just as distrustful as Ami
when it comes to Yama’s taste in movies.
“I brought popcorn.” Ami pulls out a pre-packaged bag and walks over to the
microwave.
Meanwhile, Yama pops open the DVD case. It is the first time Hiyori gets a good
look at it. It’s
familiar, Summer Wars. Huh, that’s not a horror movie at all. She can breathe
easy. Her relaxation is short-lived however, when she notices the DVD Yama puts
in the player has a plain white top with something handwritten in Sharpie on
it. The dread begins to build. It’s a trap.
The TV begins to display an amateur-made menu. There’s no music. While the two
girls wait in silence for Ami to return with the popcorn, Hiyori reaches into
her pocket and pulls out her cell. She navigates straight to Twitter.
Yato: Everyone went to bed early tonight for some reason. I’m so bored.
Since Hiyori is still Yato’s only follower, it may as well be addressed
directly to her. She wonders if he meant it that way and briefly considers
inviting him over. Surely, if she spoke to him and made his presence known, Ami
and Yama would notice him. That is, until they forgot about him the next day…
Yato is used to being forgotten, Hiyori knows this, yet the idea that anyone
will forget him, pricks her heart like a thorn. Knowing that she almost forgot
wedges the thorn in deep.
At the least she can give him a suggestion based on her own evening activity,
right?
Hiyo: @yato watch a movie?
Yato: @hiyo yes we can go right now!
His reply is instant. She doesn’t have it in her to tell him no.
Hiyo: @yato I have company.
She’s aware that he is not the most socially skilled navigator, but she still
crosses her proverbial fingers he’ll get the hint. If he still shows up anyway,
she’ll figure out how to deal with the situation then.
“Oooh, texting your boyfriend,” Yama coos, her expression cat-like as she
throws an arm around her friend’s shoulder, trying to get a peek at Hiyori’s
screen.
“N-no, of course not,” Hiyori sputters. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
The microwave door opens then clicks closed. Hiyori tucks the device away, not
intending to check it again until after the film.
“Hiyori-chan has a boyfriend?” Ami asks, padding over from the kitchen.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Hiyori repeats. It takes a concerted effort to not
think of Yato as she says the word ‘boyfriend’ and she doesn’t know what that
means and she doesn’t want to think about it.
“Your face says otherwise. You’re turning red.” Yama pokes Hiyori’s cheeks.
“Because you’re embarrassing me,” Hiyori shoots at her. Then sinking into the
couch, “Let’s just watch the movie.”
“A marvelous idea.” Yama’s eyes sparkle. She hops over to the TV stand where
the remote sits on top of the DVD player.
Ami climbs over the back of the couch, tearing the seal on the popcorn bag as
she plops down.
“Is this even legal?” Ami asks, grabbing the first fistful of popcorn.
Yama doesn’t answer right away. She turns to face the others, standing in front
of the TV like she’s giving a presentation, the remote is her pointer.
“It would kind of be hard to watch legally,” she finally says.
“Because…?” Ami’s brows lift in with the rising upward inflection of the
question.
“Hush. Stop asking questions. Just watch.” Yama scampers over and joins them on
the couch between her two friends.
In big bold words, that are definitely not Japanese, the title fades in and
out. Ami says, “Fansub?”
“Yup.”
Ami opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
“I don’t mind subtitles,” Hiyori offers, shrugging.
“Good.”
About fifteen minutes in, Ami asks “Is this supposed to be one of those movies
that’s ‘so bad it’s good’?”
“Something like that.” Yama’s grin looks utterly wicked in the flashing blue
light of the TV.
In Hiyori’s opinion, it’s just bad. She sinks even deeper into the sofa
cushions. Her eyelids are becoming heavy and the subtitles have begun to blur
and have become difficult to read. Her friends seem fairly engrossed, laughing
when a line of dialogue is particularly bad, so she sneaks a glance at her
phone. Yato had replied to her earlier tweet almost instantly.
Yato: @hiyo what kind of company? Is it a boy?
“Is it a boy?” - what a weird question to ask.
Hiyo: @yato it’s just my two girl friends and we’re watching a movie at my
house. It’s terrible. Supposed to be so bad it’s good.
Yato: @hiyo what is your opinion on it?
Hiyo: @yato I’m too sleepy to have one. But I think it might be just bad. My
friends seem to be enjoying it, though.
Yato: @hiyo I have to admit, you’ve made me curious.
Halfway through typing  her reply, a masculine voice says beside her, “I need
to see this for myself.”
Hiyori nearly jumps, only stopping herself by gripping the sides of the cushion
she’s sitting on. Her head whips around to check on Yama and Ami, neither of
whom seem to have noticed Hiyori’s third guest. She knits her brow and gives
Yato a poorly-lit look of irritation, trying to say “why did you come here?”
without alerting her mortal friends.
Perhaps due to the bad lighting, he thinks she is merely confused - or maybe
it’s just Yato being Yato - but from his  perch on the sofa arm, he smiles down
at her. A crooked smile where one corner of his mouth is lifted slightly higher
than the other, and his eyes are an electric, pulsing blue.
His gaze captures Hiyori’s completely, she feels a tug inside her chest. Her
throat is being pulled into her throat, a swollen, beating lump. It’s
suffocating, trying to breathe around it. She hates it when he looks at her
like that because it’s just so, so… something. She rips away eye contact,
delivering her focus back to the movie, invigorated with a sudden desperate
need to pay attention to it. Slowly, her heart sinks back into place and she
can breathe again, feeling her throat clear and her cheeks cool.
It’s not long before sleep is threatening to steal away Hiyori’s consciousness
again. The subtitles are beginning to blur, and her eyelids are becoming too
heavy to keep open.
“Yeah, this movie is pretty bad. I wouldn’t blame you for falling asleep. If
you want to sleep, Hiyori, you can always lean on me.”
Yato’s voice startles her, and she catches herself before she jumps. Again.
She’d forgotten he was there. Yato chuckles at her surprise. Hiyori shoots him
a glare, hoping he can see it clearly enough to get the message without the
need for words. With her friends right there, she is unable to fully protest,
and it’s infuriating. Once more whipping back to the TV, she tries not to think
about his offer. She’s pretty sure he’s just joking, but a part of her also
doubts it and the whole idea of using his lap as a pillow is devastatingly
embarrassing and definitely not going to happen.
But… he’s right there. The kanji beneath her wristwatch sear into her skin.
 She’s got nowhere to lean because on her other side is Yama, and she doesn’t
think Yama would appreciate being used as a pillow. Ami may not mind, but alas
she is not sitting next to Ami. Yet perched on the sofa arm Yato’s lap is
perfect head-resting height. It would be a lie to say that Hiyori doesn’t
entertain the thought, but as quick as the foolish thought comes she lets it
go. She takes a deep breath, then resolves to sit up straight and stay awake
for the rest of the movie.
To her profound relief, Yato bids his farewell after the film credits. Despite
his absence her wrist tingles with his name for the rest of the night.
                                       …
Hiyori has dreams that years from now she’s graduated college, she’s a very
successful doctor, and a young man with blazing blue eyes and shaggy black hair
shows up at her doorstep wearing a tracksuit. A young boy with blonde hair in
his early teens accompanies the man.
“Hey, Hiyori, long time no see,” he will say. He’ll give her a little wave and
a winning smile.
But she will just stare and a,k. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
And then she will see his grin crack, his entire being shattering to pieces.
Sometimes figuratively - his face falls and tears begin to pour down. Other
times literally - he will burst into thousands of shards that penetrate her
skin like glass. The pieces too tiny to grasp, they prick her and they are
forever embedded into her skin. It is her punishment.
Then the boy screams at her, tears in his hazel eyes, “How could you! Look what
you’ve done! You promised him!” And he keeps screaming and screaming “You
promised him! You promised us!”
On nights like those she startles awake, slick with sweat and she remembers the
dream in explicit detail, remembers what she had forgotten and all she can do
is lay awake, her eyes dry and wide until she is too exhausted to remember the
moment she falls asleep.
                                       …
“Ugh, why is it so hot?” Yukine groans, resting his face on the cool(er)
surface of Kofuku's living room table.
It being a rhetorical question, Yato's only response is to shift from laying on
his side, to laying on his back.
“It isn't fair,” says Hiyori. “Right now I don't even have a physical body and
yet I'm sweating like crazy.” Her soul cord makes an involuntary swish in
agitation.
Right now the three of them have the place to themselves. Just moments ago
there had been five, but amazingly, Kofuku was actually given a wish to grant.
So she and Daikoku arre out doing that. Something about a man who had been
cheated and wished financial ruin upon the con-artist.
Kofuku's fan rattles ceaselessly, determined to continue its lazy oscillation.
Its uneven whirring suggests the appliance is not much longer for this world.
With its last breaths it is gently cooling their backs from the corner.
Hiyori twirls a pink mechanical pencil in her hand as her eyes rake the
homework she's been assigned, growling inwardly at the cruel irony of doing a
thermodynamics worksheet in summer heat that was threatening to melt her.What
is thermal equilibrium? When everyone is equally too hot to care about this
nonsense right now, Hiyori snarks silently.
With a final gruesome croak, the fan's head stopps shaking from side to side as
its blades slowly rattle to a stop. Hiyori sighs. Of course it had to die now,
of all times.
“Yukine,” says Yato, “Did you trip over the wire and unplug the fan? Go fix
it.”
“Why is it my fault?” counters Yukine through an incredulous intake of breath.
“I haven't even moved!”
“Okay. Sorry for blaming you. Now go fix it.”
Yukine grumbles as he rises to his feet. “You can't even see with that damn
book over your eyes.”
Curiosity pulls Hiyori's head towards Yato, who is wearing an open book over
his eyes to shield them from the fluorescent light above their heads. The green
binding and title are exceedingly familiar. In a heartbeat she snatches it from
atop his nose and clutches it to her chest like a mother cradling her child.
“Hey!” Yato whines. “I was using that.”
“Get your face sweat all over someone else's books,” says Hiyori, still
gripping the paperback. “I like to keep mine clean, thank you very much.”
Yato opens his mouth to protest further, but he is interrupted.
“Fan's officially dead. I don't think it can be fixed,” Yukine appraises.
“She's needed a new fan for a long time. Can't say I'm surprised she's clung to
that hunk of junk, though, god of poverty and all,” says Yato.
“She can't help who she is.” Hiyori refocused her attention on the equation in
front of her.
“I'm not judging. I'm just saying.”
“Now what?” Yukine asks. “You don't think she has another one, do you?”
“How the hell should I know?” Yato replies.
“Because you mooch off her all the time. Forget it, I'm going to go look for
one.”
Shortly after Yukine has departed the room, Hiyori raises her arms
victoriously.
“I'm finally finished!” she exclaims
“Congratulations,” said Yato drily.
Hiyori, with arms still extended, flops onto her back. Her arms thudding loudly
at her sides. Unexpectedly the fingers on one hand brush skin as they landed on
the floor. They recoil on contact, and her whole body stiffens. Has Yato's arm
been outstretched like that before she fell? Yato makes no obvious indication
that he iss particularly aware that they had touched on accident.
Her muscles begin to ease up a little and her fingers uncurl again into a
relaxed position. Sometimes Tenjin's warning that she not be involved with Yato
and other beings from the far shore, as well as her own mortality plagues her.
Her chest aches to dwell on the fact that she didn't actually have forever to
be with him, despite her promise. Only Yato has forever. Yato will be granting
wishes while Hiyori will turn to ashes.
Unexpectedly she feels his touch again. Slowly, gingerly, Yato slipps his
fingers halfway between hers. Such a simple gesture yet it sends Hiyori's heart
aflutter – warmth pooling in her chest that crawls its way to her cheeks. It is
not a reaction she anticipated. She focuses her gaze on the ceiling. Wow, that
light really is bright.
Hiyori can feel his pulse thrumming through his fingers, racing much like her
own. With shyness that matches his, she completes the other half of the
gesture, fully lacing fingers with him. Yato gives a gentle squeeze, and Hiyori
returns it. They are definitely holding hands just because, and Hiyori
definitely isn’t thinking about how nice it feels.
“Hiyori.” Yato says her name, barely more than a whisper.
She tears her eyes from above and settles them on Yato's face. She doesn't know
what she thought she would see, but she is slightly taken aback at his
expression. His face is burning a shy pink. His vivid blue eyes betray
something raw and unguarded and it makes Hiyori's whole body even warmer
somehow. A tiny, shy smile plays on his lips – a smile she findsherself
beginning to mirror.
Hiyori wonders what this exchange means, but does not get a chance to ponder it
further before Yukine returns. She sits up, letting go of Yato when Yukine
enters the room.
“They don't have one,” Yukine informs them.
“Then what are we going to do to keep cool?” Yato moans.
“I have an idea,” Kofuku chirps, hopping over to them, with Daikoku in tow -
walking normally, of course.
“How long have you been back?” Hiyori asks.
“We just got back now,” says Daikoku.
“Why don’t we all go to the beach?” Kofuku clasps her hands together.
“No,” Yato and Daikoku protest in unison.
“But, but, if we invite Bisha - and and ever since Capypa Land I’ve been
working reeaally hard on containing my aura. Please. I haven’t been in over
like two hundred years.”
Yato and Daikoku exchange tired glances.
                                      ...
The wind is a cool, a salty reprieve from the heat and humidity when it chooses
to grace them with such kindness. The waves slide gently over the sand in the
near distance. Hiyori is eager to get her feet wet. Just her feet, she reminds
herself.
She’s wearing a two-piece swimsuit. A rich mauve. Only the top is visible
through her open blouse. Around her waist she wears a blue slip with cartoon
sea turtles swimming amongst poorly drawn sea weed and cartoon bubbles. It’s
downright gaudy, but it was the only such “beach skirt” she could find that
wasn’t see-through. She presses her thighs together unconsciously, tucking her
freshly relocated tattoo safely against her skin. There are times when she
thinks it’s silly that she still does it. But she hasn’t forgotten the fear.
The vacuous cavity left by Yato’s absence that threatened to consume her whole.
She vows again today, as she does every day that she will never forget him.
The tall grass tickles her calves, disturbed by Yukine’s breezing past her.
“Last one in gets buried in sand!” he hollers as he skims across the sea of
sand.
“You’re on,” Yato shouts back.
He zips in front of Hiyori, his shirt already leaving his hand. The garment
blows into Hiyori’s face, filling her nostrils with Yato’s scent. It’s
dizzying. Hiyori takes a step forward to rebalance, but she’s wearing flip-
flops and instantly regrets it. The moment her weight shifts, the tip catches
and she careens forward - her arms flailing blindly for assistance. She falls
against something solid that catches her, and finally pulls Yato’s shirt off
her face. She breathes deep, letting the salt air refresh her senses.
“Are you all right, Iki-san?”
Hiyori looks up into her savior’s face from beneath the wide brim of her straw
hat. The loose weave creates freckles of sunlight on her skin.
“Thank you, Kazuma-san,” she says, straightening. “I’m fine.”
“Honestly,” says Bishamon, “who does he expect to pick up after him?”
Hiyori turns around. Daikoku opens his mouth, ready for a rant, but Bishamon
interrupts him.
“It was a rhetorical question.” She passes the shinki a small, understanding
smile. “I already know the answer to that, but let’s focus on the positive
today. I haven’t enjoyed the ocean in decades.”
Daikoku visibly swallows his complaints. He stands solid as rock, as his god
hooks her arm around his.
“But having Yukki and Yato-chan around makes every day so lively and fun!”
Kofuku says to her shinki.
Daikoku’s expression softens, his fondness for their room mates betrayed by but
a quirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Why are we still standing here?” asks a small voice in the middle of the
group. “Is it not true the last one in will become buried in sand?”
“I believe that is just an expression, young master,” answers Kunimi. “I do not
believe Yato-san and Yukine-san mean to bury the last person into the water.”
“No,” Hiyori corrects him in a flat voice, “knowing them, they mean it.”
“In that case…” Bishamon begins with her sun dress already halfway over her
head. She wordlessly passes it and her tote bag to Kazuma.
“I won’t lose!” she cries as she charges forward in a white bikini with black
accents.
Hiyori watches from the sidelines, smiling at the way Kazuma is watching
Bishamon. She wonders if Bishamon has any idea just how much she means to her
exemplar. They’d make such a cute couple.
“Neither will we!” Kofuku shouts.
Abruptly, Hiyori finds her wrist in Kofuku’s grasp and she is being pulled
forward. In the other hand Kofuku has Ebisu. Hiyori begins tripping helplessly
over the thongs of her sandals until she finally decides to abandon them. She
throws an apologetic smile in Kazuma’s direction. He gives her an understanding
smile.
They make it to the water’s edge, the tide nibbling at Hiyori’s toes, where the
sand is firmer and she plants her feet and pulls against Kofuku.
“What about sunscreen?” Hiyori asks grappling at her first delaying tactic.
“Oops.” Kofuku giggles.
“Now that I’ve won the race, I think I’ll join you guys in putting on
sunscreen,” Bishamon gloats as she walks past them.
“Oh, please,” Yato scoffs. “Barely.” He and Yukine begin walking back up to
where Kazuma is setting up their camp.
“You’re right,” Bishamon concedes then finishes all smugness, “I would have won
by a greater margin if I hadn’t gotten a late start.”
The two gods bicker all the way up from the water.
The beach blanket ripples in the wind, unfurled by the flick of a wrist. The
soft shnk of beach parasol as it is staked into the sand. Hiyori and Kazuma
strategically start setting down their bags and the cooler on the four corners
for the blanket.
Hiyori squats down to pull something out of her tote, squeezing her thighs
together as she does so. The others are to her back, but it’s reflex - just in
case.
“Yukine-kun, make sure you don’t forget to do your scalp and ears,” Hiyori
says, handing him a small tube.
Yukine, slightly embarrassed, takes it with a mumbled “thanks.”
“Hiyorin~ you’re such a wonderful mom.” Kofuku slithers her arms around
Hiyori’s neck.
Yukine fumbles the sunblock, choking on air.
“I’m too young to be his mother.” Hiyori wriggles away from Kofuku’s embrace.
Yato appears at her side, hands pressed together - ever hopeful. “Hiyori, I’ll
get your back for you and you can do mine.”
“Ah, no. I’m good,” Hiyori replies flatly, grateful she’s flexible enough to do
it herself. “Do gods even get sunburned?”
Yato’s disappoint at her refusal is apparent.
“That’s a good question,” says Yukine.
Kofuku giggles. “Believe it or not, yes.”
“It won’t make our skin peel, or cause permanent damage,” Yato explains, “but
it still hurts. We can also get ‘frostbite,’ losing circulation to our
extremities such that they turn blue and become dead weight. They won’t fall
off, though.”
Ebisu looks up at Kunimi and asks “Will you get my back?”
“Of course, young master.”
Between all nine of them, there are only three tubes of sunblock they must
share. Hiyori finishes first. She pulls a water from the cooler, pops the cap
off, and begins sipping while she waits for the others to finish. Daikoku is
doing Kofuku’s back, or at least trying to in spite of all her squirming.
“That tickles,” she giggles.
“I’m not even touching your,” says Daikoku.
“You sure it’s rubbed in all the way?” Yukine asks Yato.
“Of course it is! What do you take me for?” Yato scoffs.
Yukine snickers. “You really want me to answer that?”
“You ungrateful little --!”
Hiyori’s eyes and ears wander on, finally falling onto Kazuma and Bishamon.
Bishamon is sitting quietly, with her knees pulled up to her chest - her head
resting on them. Her face is turned in Hiyori’s direction, eyes closed. She is
totally at peace as Kazuma gently massages the sunblock onto her back. It is
completely rubbed in already, but Kazuma’s hands are still dancing over his
god’s skin. It’s impossible to tell if Bishamon is aware that his task is done.
Kazuma brushes a strand of hair back over her shoulder. His fingertips just
graze the back of her neck. Bushamon’s soft sighs reveal how she must enjoy his
touch
Hiyori watches with captive fascination superimposing herself and Yato onto
them. Yato gently kneading his hands into her back. His hands blazing against
her skin wherever they make contact. Caressing the outline of her
shoulderblades. His thumbs making circles as he travels slowly down, down. A
soft pink tinting Yato’s complexion as he boldly slips his thumbs just beneath
the hem of her swimsuit bottom, making sure he gets all the edges, but
lingering just a little longer than strictly necessary before retreating.
A different heat, not from the sun, flows through Hiyori. It pools in her
cheeks, in her chest and -- She rents her gaze away, washing away such
imaginings with the stunning view of ocean.
Before long everyone is done and drifting back toward the waves.
Hiyori sits on the edge of the blanket, sifting sand between her toes. Behind
her Kazuma is double-checking that their stuff is seagull-proof.
“You’re not going to go into the water, Iki-san?”
Hiyori’s toes curl, making little divots to hide them. She slowly uncurls them.
“I could ask the same of you,” Hiyori says, keeping her tone light.
“I am content to just watch,” says Kazuma.
Hiyori nods, though she doesn’t feel quite so content. She thought she’d been
clever, placing Yato’s name on her inner thigh, above the hem of any shorts or
skirts. On her wrist it had been smeared by the sweat that accumulates beneath
the wristwatch. Her thigh had seemed like a great idea at the time. It would
always be there whenever she bathed or changed and no one else would see it
there. Now it’s coming back and biting her. She’s not concerned about Kazuma,
but rather the inevitable demand from Yato and Kofuku that she finally join
them.
In that case, perhaps it’s best if she’s not easy to find. She stands up,
brushing herself off. She turns toward Kazuma.
“It’s not quite low tide yet, but I’m going to go looking for crabs and stuff,”
says Hiyori. “Would you like to come, Kazuma-san?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I hope you don’t mind if I pass.” Kazuma holds up
a blue paperback book.
“Not at all. Have a good read, then.” Hiyori smiles.
“Good luck finding crabs.”
“Thanks.
There’s a rock formation at the foot of a cliff some ways off that looks
promising. Its slick black spires protrude boldly from the sand. During high
tide, she imagines the water engulfing the whole formation, crashing foamy wave
after wave against the cliff face. As Hiyori gets closer, one or two of the
spires are easily taller than she is. She spies a mussel burrowing itself into
moist sand.
Within the formation, there is a small pool cradled in the curve of rock. It
houses a handful of urchins. Smaller rocks are littered about on the edges.
Hiyori picks up a couple rocks, glancing back over in the direction of her
companions. Kazuma is quietly reading his book, completely oblivious to her.
Yato and Bishamon are violently slapping ocean water at each other. Ebisu and
his shinki are playing shallower water. Daikoku appears to be helping Yukine
perfect his body surfing technique.
A bitter, rueful smile clouds Hiyori’s features. She dips her feet into the
tidal pool. The water level only reaches her ankles. It’s better than not going
in at all, she concludes. She knows if she tries to wade at all in the actual
ocean, Yato will try to drag her in. Then she’ll lose her skirt and her secret
will be all the world’s to see.
“Swimming with everyone would be nice,” Hiyori mutters as she steps back out of
the small pool.
“Then why don’t you join us,” a voice says behind her. Hiyori turns.
“Hiyoriiin~! I was wondering where you went.”
Kofuku engulfs her in a mighty embrace. Hiyori laughs nervously, trying to
gently pry Kofuku off her.
“I can’t.” Hiyori’s voice is weak and not as convincing as she’d hoped.
Kofuku pouts and cocks her head to  one side. “Why not?”
“U-um…” She mentally kicks herself for not thinking up an excuse ahead of time.
She scrambles to create a list of plausible excuses, going through each bullet
point one by one. A reason for not wanting to go in, and to explain her
hesitation in answering.
Hiyori clears her throat, and turns her eyes away from the woman who still has
her in her grasp.
“I-I’m on my p-p-period, see, and um…” her voice cracks.
Kofuku pulls back, holding Hiyori’s shoulders at arm length. The goddess sniffs
the air once, twice. After the third sniff, Kofuku’s expression grows
mischievous.
“You’re not on your period, Hiyorin,” Kofuku coos. “What’s the real reason?”
“That is the real reason...” says Hiyori. How can she smell that?
Kofuku hums. It’s an evil hum, filled with bad intentions. Hiyori starts to
back away. Kofuku lets go of her shoulders, but she’s still following. Her
fingers wriggle like she’s playing an invisible piano, and there’s a dark gleam
in her eyes.
“Did Hiyorin forget to shave?” Kofuku cackles. She continues to follow Hiyori,
step for step as she backs out of the pool.
“N-no, that’s not it! I already told you it’s because--”
“Let’s find out~”
Kofuku lunges forward with her arms outstretched. Her hands reach the waistband
of Hiyori’s skirt and yank down. The skirt catches against the back of Hiyori’s
knees. She loses balances and falls onto her back - the hard wet sand does
little to cushion the fall. As she falls, Kofuku manages to free her legs
completely from the garment. Hiyori flails her arms to regain control but only
grasps at air. She feels the thud before she hears it.
Hiyori whips herself into a sitting position, her hand going straight for the
name written on the inside of her left thigh but it’s too late. Kofuku is
kneeling in front of her, with wide eyes. The skirt flutters out of her loose
grip. Hiyori seizes the opportunity to snatch it back.
As she’s pulling her skirt up, Kofuku says, “Why is Yato-chan’s name written
there?”
“Ah, um.” Hiyori gropes for another suitable lie, because to tell the truth is
making her heart constrict and her eyes sting.
“Hoh~” Kofuku puts her hand in front of her mouth, splitting her grin in two.
“Hiyorin and Yato-chan were doing something kinky.”
“N-no!” Hiyori grows flustered, heat and color rise in her cheeks in equal
measure. Her fists quiver. “Yato didn’t write his name there.” A deep breath.
“I did.”
Kofuku’s hand falls. Her grin is gone as well. “You did? Why?”
Hiyori lowers her head in shame, and to hide the tears welling up at the
corners of her eyes. “Promise to keep it a secret. Especially from Yato.”
Kofuku nodded vigorously.
“That time when Yato was in the Underworld, and I didn’t visit you,” Hiyori’s
voice shakes unable to speak more than a few words at a time, “I almost forgot.
About the far shore. About Yato.” Tears drip onto her bare feet. “If I hadn’t
run into Yukine-kun, I might have - I would have - I promised Yato I would
never forget him.”
“Oh Hiyorin. But you didn’t forget.” Kofuku puts her arms around Hiyori again,
gently this time.
When Hiyori’s sobs have quieted, she lifts her head from Kofuku’s shoulder. She
wipes away the trails left by her tears.
“Promise me you won’t tell Yato. Or anyone.”
“I won’t.” Kofuku holds out her pinky. Hiyori curls her own around Kofuku’s.
Kofuku gives it a little squeeze and adds, “But you should tell Yato yourself.
It would make him happy.”
Hiyori lets Kofuku’s pinky go. “Happy I nearly forgot him?” Her tone is full of
self-chastisement.
“Happy you care so much that you’d turn your body into a shrine for him,”
Kofuku clarifies.
Hiyori chokes on air, and her entire face lights up yet again a most brilliant
shade of pink. Her mouth moves silently in the shape of words she’s too
breathless to speak.
“My body is a what? ” When she is finally able to talk, Hiyori’s voice cracks
to little more than a high-pitched rasp. Her mind reels, a spinning top
teetering on the edge of the table until it’s spinning on nothing, until it
hits the floor with a wobbly crash. She thinks back to the shrine she made for
Yato, what it had meant - a symbol of her dedication to him. But Kofuku was
saying she’d made her body into a shrine. How is that possible?
“A shrine,” Kofuku repeats herself. “Shrines are a symbol of devotion, a link
between the two shores, and are decorated with the god’s name. Writing a god’s
name on your body, and keeping it there, is the ultimate display of devotion,
symbolizing your body as shrine for that god - meaning they will not only
always have a home on the near shore, but a home with you.”
“O-oh.” Hiyori can barely process the explanation, she’s much more focused on
remembering how to breathe.
“I think I’m hungry; I’m going to go get a snack,” Hiyori declares after a
sizable pause. She literally cannot think about this anymore or her head might
explode.
She doesn’t wait for a response from Kofuku before hurrying back to their
umbrella. She tries think only of the way the sand sticks to her wet feet
instead, but it’s a poor distraction. Her mind keeps going back - back to Yato.
In her body. Her body, a shrine for Yato. Kazuma’s hands on Bishamon’s back.
Yato’s hands on Hiyori’s back. Her face is burning, eyes following the prints
she made on the way to the pool, to find her way back without having to see -
“Hiyori.” Yato’s voice yanks Hiyori’s head up.
She blinks helplessly at him, eyes wide, and wants nothing more than to
disappear.
“There you are,” he continues. “Let’s go surf together.”
His whole face is alight with eagerness. It makes the rejection that much
harder, so Hiyori goes for more excuses.
“Weren’t you just surfing with Bishamon-san and Yukine-kun?” Hiyori asks.
“Yeah, but…” Yato’s glances to the side, rubs the back of his neck with a wet
hand.
Hiyori is trying not to stare, but little drops of the oceans are sliding down
his skin. The movement catches her eye every time, drawing her gaze back to
Yato’s skin. She wonders how soft it would be if she were to reach out right
now and touch .. She busies her hands with fixing her skirt.
Yato takes a step closer. “I wanted to go with you. It’ll be fun.”
He reaches towards her, a feather-light brush of his fingers against the
outside of her wrist - like static it crawls up her arm into her heart. The
guilt twists into a knot in Hiyori’s stomach. She wants to so badly, but he can
never see it.
“I’m sorry, but I think I will pass.” Hiyori tries to give him her best smile,
knowing it’s still not good enough.
The light in his eye dulls a little, but he tries to hide it by changing the
topic. “All right, so who’s getting buried? You dipped your feet in the water
earlier, which makes you safe.”
Yato twirls around on the hunt for his victim. He and Hiyori’s eyes both fall
on Kazuma, who’s still in his T-shirt. Noticing their attention, Kazuma looks
up from his book. Yato’s subsequent grin borders on maniacal.
“Congratulations, Kazuma,” Yato calls to him, “you’re the lucky winner.”
“Oh joy. What exactly did I win?” Kazuma slips a bookmark between the pages,
and sets the book down beside him.
“The privilege of being my sandpuppet.” Yato stalks towards him, ready to
pounce.
“If I recall, you said ‘the last person in the water gets buried.’ I have not
been in the water, therefore I cannot possibly be ‘the last person in,’” Kazuma
replies.
Flawless logic, Hiyori inwardly applauds him.
“All you have to do is lay there, correct?” says Bishamon.
Kazuma looks a bit surprised, a little betrayed. “Surely, you’re not siding
with him on this.”
“We’re allies now,” says Yato.
Kazuma looks for a reaction from Bishamon. She offers no contradiction, only a
bemused smile. Any hope of escaping the situation flutters away, heavy
resignation settling on his shoulders.
“All right!” Yato wastes no time in pulling Kazuma out into the open sand and
sun.
Having given in, Kazuma tosses his shirt over to the blanket and then lays down
on his back. He gives Bishamon a resigned sigh. The sand is still plenty moist
from high tide and sticks to him with ease.
“Okay, how do we start?” Ebisu asks.
“Ebisu, you do his right arm, I’ll do the legs,” says Yato.
“I’ll get the left arm,” says Bishamon.
“I can help with the legs,” Hiyori offers with a silent apology, kneeling down
beside Yato.
“I wanna help too~.” Kofuku skips over, spraying sand on everyone. Before she
can even pick up her first fistful, Daikoku takes her hand.
“Maybe it would be best if you didn’t,” Daikoku says gently.
“Eeeeh?” Kofuku pouts a child’s pout. “I never go out, and when I finally can,
I can’t do anything? That’s not fair.”
“If you so much as sprinkle a grain of sand on Kazuma, that might very well be
the end of him,” says Yato.
“It would not,” Kofuku huffs. “That’s so mean, Yato-chan.”
“Not intentionally,” Yukine adds.
“Not you too, Yukki! Hiiyoriiin.” Kofuku drops to her knees on Hiyori’s level
and shuffles over, hands clasped together in a plea.
“Um” is all Hiyori manages to say before Yat cuts in.
“You’re the goddess of poverty, you are queen of disaster.”
“Bishaaaa?”
Bishamon and Kazuma exchange a silent, conspicuous glance that tells all.
Kofuku whines wordlessly.
“Bishamon-san and I are both gods of fortune, correct?” Ebisu pipes up. All
heads turn. His words ride on a current of maturity at odds with his small
child body. “Then that is two gods of fortune to one god of poverty. I think
the odds would be in our favor. Our ‘good luck’ should counteract Kofuku-san’s
‘bad luck.’”
“Ebisu-chan.” Kofuku is evidently moved. Fresh tears glisten at the corner of
her eyes.
“Three to one,” Hiyori corrects him. She surprises herself with how quick her
reactions was. She can feel Yato’s gaze on her. Her cheeks warm a little. “Yato
is a god of fortune now too,” she finishes quietly.
Hiyori catches Yato’s eyes, bluer than the sky, an ocean brimming with warmth
and softness, an adoration the depths of which promise to be endless - and as a
slow smile spreads across his face, Hiyori feels herself falling into that
ocean. She has made eye contact with Yato many times before. She got a taste of
what lay within his eyes in Capypa Land, when held her hand - so close to his
lips her could have kissed it but didn’t. Yet it isn’t until now that it clicks
- that Hiyori knows she’s fallen for him, and she’s fallen hard. She wants to
say something, do something but is frozen by her own nerves, by their audience
and feels so helplessly full of love for Yato that it feels like she’ll burst
if she keeps it contained. It’s a force that steals her breath for a heartbeat.
And yet there is no outlet, so it pools in her chest hot and tight, threading
through her heart and extending to the very tips of her fingers and toes,
pulsing with the need to be close to him.
“Even better. That makes it three to one.”
Ebisu’s voice rescues Hiyori from the dizzying intensity of her epiphany, and
she is silently grateful.
“Then it’s decided!” Kofuku declares, oozing glee.
“Don’t just decide on your own,” Yato shouts.
“I think it will be fine,” Hiyori says. “What Ebisu-san said makes sense.”
Yato twists his mouth in disapproval but ultimately relents.
“Hiyorin, I knew I could count on you.” Kofuku throws herself onto the girl,
knocking both of them to the ground.
“I guess it’s settled then,” says Bishamon.
Daikoku lets out a long suffering sigh, and Kazuma joins him, their signal of
surrender.
“Yukine-kun, would you like to join in on burying me?” Kazuma’s voice is
gentle.
Yukine casts his eyes down, slowly chewing on a banana he swiped from the
cooler. The others have already started piling sand on top of Bishamon’s
shinki, but Kazuma keeps his gaze locked in Yukine’s direction. The young boy
waits until he’s finished eating before finally answering.
“All right.”
Having heard the exchange, a small smile tickles the corners of Hiyori’s mouth.
She exchanges a look with Bishamon.
“Yukine-kun, why don’t you help Yato and me with the legs,” says Hiyori.
Yukine nods and stations himself on the other side of Hiyori, who scooches over
a bit to make more room. The action brings her closer to Yato, close enough to
smell him without turning her head. His normally sweet scent is salty with sea
water. It’s only just bearable.
Everyone except Bishamon is roughly scooping up handfuls and carelessly
plopping them ontop of Kazuma. More than once Hiyori has caught Bishamon’s
gentle placement of sand - her fingers lingering, still there just for the sake
of touching him.
Beside her, Hiyori can see Yato’s muscles working beneath the skin. She wonders
if kissing his shoulder will taste like the ocean. She tries not to think about
as she molds the sand around Kazuma.
With so many people working on him, Kazuma is encased very quickly until his
nothing more than a human head attached to a sand body. The pair of Kazuma’s
legs is unpreserved, the sand a shapeless mound encasing his waist downwards.
Daikoku and Kunimi have been sitting out, watching them from the shade of the
blanket.
“Now what do we do?” Ebisu asks.
Bishamon hums a curious note, her eyes dangerously pensive. The warrior god
shuffles over towards the legs opposite of Yukine, and begins delicately
tracing little crescents, stacked like bricks across her shinki’s hips.
Ebisu’s eyes glow with understanding. “Yes, that’s a perfect idea.”
While Yukine and Bishamon are working on making scales, Yato and Hiyori set to
making fins out of new mounds of sand. Before the final touches of the fin have
been put on, Hiyori hears Bishamon growl.
“Yato. What have you been teaching him?”
Hiyori looks up to see supple twin mounds of sand piled upon Kazuma’s chest in
perfect shape, with what are undeniably disturbingly detailed nipples.
“What?” Yato snaps back without missing a beat, ready for a fight.
“Only you would encourage something so vulgar.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Bishamon’s eyes narrow with distrust. Yukine’s head is in his hands.
“Is something wrong with the sand breasts?” Ebisu catches on quick.
“Well, um, they are a bit...detailed…” Hiyori trails off.
“Is that bad?” Ebisu’s eyes dart between the two women.
“The mermaid part is fine,” says Bishamon. Her eyes remain locked on Yato, “but
the question is where you learned to mold breasts with so much… detail.”
“I had no hand in this, I swear!” Yato waves his hands frantically as if the
motion could dissipate Bishamon’s irritation.
“Oh, you don’t like them?” Kofuku sticks her tongue out a few playful
centimeters. “I thought it would be funny.”
“So it was your idea.” Bishamon’s eyes close and she brings two fingers to her
temple.
The sand atop Kazuma begins to shiver, the peaks of his sand breasts crumbling
in miniature avalanches as he chuckles with his whole body. “I should have
expected something like this would happen,” he says.
“Fine. If you guys don’t like them, we’ll get rid of them.” Kofuku swats at the
mounds, shaving it flat again and giving Kazuma a faceful of sand.
He spits helplessly to free his mouth from the stuff.
“It looks like it was a good thing you didn’t remove your glasses,” Bishamon
says, as she brushes the sand off and carefully removes them. Then she moves on
to clean up the rest of his face.
“So it was,” Kazuma agrees, his expression a grim mask.
“Now we need to fix this,” says Yukine. He moves up and starts tracing
horseshoes up Kazuma’s middle.
“Yes, we must make a proper merman.” Ebisu follows his example, together
creating a full pack of fake abs.
“And the pecs too,” Yukine adds, creating two more larger horseshoes on the
upper chest.
“Don’t forget the nipples aaaand the belly button,” Kofuku squeals as she pokes
her index finger into the sand in three places. She puts that same finger to
her chin. “Hm, something’s not quite right. Oh!” She draws a second pair of
horseshoes on Kazuma’s middle.
“Is that supposed to be eight-pack abs?” Yukine’s brow crinkles, incredulous.
“That’s not even possible. There’s no such thing as eight-pack abs.”
“I’ve seen real merman.” Kofuku plants her hands and leans on her arms,
shifting her weight forward as if to further emphasize her point. “And they
have eight pack abs. It helps with swimming.”
“But mermen aren’t real… are they?” Hiyori directs the question to Yato.
“Sure they are,” he replies with ease. “They were water spirits that existed
because there were humans who believed they do. They were not the same as gods,
though.”
“ ‘Were’?”
Yato becomes quiet, a storm of thoughts brewing behind his eyes.
“People don’t believe in them like they used to,” Bishamon answers for him.
“They are far shore beings, so they are equally invisible to humans. There may
be a few left, but they are in danger of being totally forgotten in just a few
more generations.”
“That’s so sad,” Hiyori murmurs.
“That’s just how it is for us.” Kofuku’s expression is uncharacteristically
somber.
Hiyori doesn’t miss the shadows on Yato’s face. She hops up, claps her hands
together loudly. “Let’s take a picture, shall we,” she chirps with forced
positivity. She races back to her tote bag and pulls out a small red digital
camera, then hurries back.
She stands in front of everyone, fiddling with settings.
“You helped turn me into a merman; you should be part of the picture as well,”
says Kazuma.
“Daiki!” Kofuku shouts, before Hiyori can say anything. “Come take our
picture!”
Her shinki turns away from his conversation with Kunimi. He then says something
short to his conversation partner before obediently strolling over to the group
at a leisurely pace. He holds out his hand for Hiyori to pass him the camera.
“All right,” Daikoku says, his voice gruff. “How many do you want?”
Daikoku holds the camera out, waiting for the auto-focus to kick in.
“Just one or two is fine,” Hiyori tells him. She goes back over to where Yukine
and Yato are. She places herself between the two of them, sits down in the
sand.
“Ebisu, it looks a little crowded over on that side. Why don’t you come over by
me?” Bishamon says. She’s lounging on her hip, the hand she’s leaning on for
support is right by Kazuma’s head.
“Okay.” Little Ebisu hops up and scurries over to Bishamon’s side.
“I suppose I should probably go on that side too,” says Yukine.
Kofuku bounds up and to Daikoku’s side, fixing a concentrated stare at the
camera screen. She makes a contemplative noise. Then she giggles - that kind
that only means trouble.
“That’s good, Yukki. Hiyorin, move a little closer to Yato-chan.”
“Like this?” Hiyori scoots closer in. Her shoulder bumps his and her heartbeat
picks up a pace. He is warm.
“Even closer.”
“Kofuku-san, I’m not sure how much  closer I can get without phasing through
him,” Hiyori says in her best deadpan. “And I can’t do that, not even if I
leave my body.”
“I don’t see what’s so bad about that. Yato-chan’s already been inside your
body once before.”
“Ah-- that’s--!” Hiyori grapples with finding something to protest but comes up
with nothing. What is she exactly trying to deny - that it would be bad, being
that close to Yato? And then her brain betrays her mightily, making leaps and
bounds through the gutter to a different kind of inside and Hiyori’s face is
absolutely steaming.
She looks over at Yato who is also beet red, but trying to hide his head in his
hands.
“Can we not talk about that?” Yato mumbles.
“I second that,” Hiyori squeaks.
Daikoku sighs, loudly. “You’re fine, Hiyori. You don’t need to move over;
you’re in the picture.”
Kofuku hmph’s and Hiyori brings a hand to her face as if to wipe away the
blush. Daikoku asks if they’re ready. They all smile and that’s one picture
taken. He prepares for another. What happens next happens in a matter of
seconds. Before his finger can complete his pressing the capture button, Kofuku
throws herself forward yelling “Group hug!” Her weight bows Yato and Hiyori
forward and her arms hook their necks, pulling them inward. The goddess of
poverty makes V’s with her fingers on both hands as though she were oblivious
to the face that Yato and Hiyori’s faces were mere centimeters apart. Hiyori’s
nerves are on fire. There’s a click as the camera takes a photo, and the shock
evaporates.
Hiyori whips her head up, a wordless yell passing her lips as she pushes away
from Kofuku and Yato with enough force to send Yato flying into Kazuma’s fish
fin.
“What was that?” Hiyori cries.
“A group hug,” Kofuku replies all doe-eyed innocence.
“Aaah, our merman,” Yato laments. The fin where Yato landed has been destroyed.
A thin wire of guilt coils around Hiyori. She places a hand on Yato’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry. We still have the photos.”
“Now that the photo has been taken…” Kazuma shakes, freeing himself from the
sand as he pulls himself up into a sitting position.
“Our merman grows legs!” Yato gasps in mock awe.
“Let’s go split us some watermelon,” cries Kofuku.
Daikoku grabs her by the wrist as she dances past. “You will have absolutely
have no part in this,” he says.
“Aww, but why not? We’ve got three gods of fortune here.”
“Because no amount of good luck could stop the havoc you’d cause blindfolded
with a baseball bat,” Yato snorts.
“You can set the watermelon down. Gently,” Daikoku yields. “But that’s. It.”
Kofuku stomps and pouts her way back to the umbrella. She rustles up a medium-
sized melon from within one of their bags and trudges back to where Kazuma is
now standing and brushing off his legs. She dumps the melon onto the sand, far
from gentle. Miraculously it doesn’t explode.
Kunimi joins them with a long stip of black cloth in his hand. “I’ve brought
the blindfold.”
“Why doesn’t Ebisu-san go first?” Hiyori suggests.
“Okay.” Ebisu nods his face determined.
“I am content to watch,” Kazuma says. He catches Daikoku’s eye as if to say “I
will be your backup.”
“Then I’m next.” Yato puffs his chest out, as if being able to crack a
watermelon is something to boast about.
Hiyori hides a tiny smile. “I don’t mind going last.”
“So one swing each?” Yukine proposes
There are nods of agreement all around.
Once Ebisu is blindfolded and wielding the bat, without permission, Kofuku
bounds over and spins him around three times.
“Ready, go!” she cheers.
Ebisu stumbles over the tiny crests of sand in the general direction of the
watermelon. Everyone is trying to give him directions, however, he’s out by
about a meter and pounds nothing but sand. Yato hits the watermelon, but only
grazing the side. Yukine gets one good hard whack, but the watermelon stays
intact. Hiyori grazes it as well.
Bishamon struts over to the imaginary starting line, holding out her hand for
the baseball bat and blindfold. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
She ties the blindfold tight. After being spun, she takes a couple steps
forward before she calls out “Come, Chouki!”
Kazuma is summoned to her earlobe.
“Hey, that’s cheating!” Yato yells.
“It’s no different than when you were all trying to give Ebisu directions,”
Bishamon replies, raising the bat high above her head with two hands.
“Veena, I’m afraid I have to agree with Yato on this one,” Kazuma says in her
ear. “Ebisu is only a child.”
She blows out a large sigh. “Fine, Kazuma. Revert. I’ll do it without your
help.”
He appears again beside her and takes a couple steps back to give her space.
The baseball bat is still raised. Bishamon takes one, two, three more steps
forward. She stops. Then without Kazuma’s assistance, she brings the bat down
full force, an audible crack ringing through the air as the watermelon splits
cleanly in half.
Everyone except Yato applauds. He just crosses his arms over his chest, acting
unimpressed.
Daikoku scoops up both halves of the watermelon, and dusts off any sand still
clinging to it begins slicing the fruit atop the cooler with a long knife.
Everyone crowds him to get a slice.
“Oh, this is a good one,” says Yukine.
“Yeah, really good,” Hiyori agrees, the sticky juices squirting down her chin.
Daikoku also passes around sandwiches.
When she’s done eating, Hiyori wordlessly gets up and walks down to the water
to wash the sticky watermelon juice off, unaware that she is being followed.
She stoops over, her hands held together like a bowl, as she lifts up water to
her face. She jumps when she hears Yato say her name.
“Are you all right?” he asks. His eyes search hers, hoping to find the answer
there.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You don’t seem fine. You seem a little distant today.”
Hiyori looks down at her feet, watches the way the tide pulls the sand out from
under her. She wants to tell him everything, but fear has her tongue-tied. How
do you tell someone that you almost forgot they existed and you love them at
the same time? If she truly were in love with him, she wouldn’t have forgotten
him. That’s how she is convinced these things must work. But it doesn’t explain
why Hiyori’s chest hurt when she couldn’t remember Yato, or why that when he
has a smile just for her, she feels like she’s melting and why she thinks of
lining up his mouth with hers.
“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” Yato continues. “Just tell me if
there’s anything I can do.”
“It’s complicated,” Hiyori finally says.
“Is there anything I can do?” Yato’s begins to take on color as he averts his
gaze and quietly adds, “As your god of fortune.”
Hiyori’s own face turns red. Her god of fortune. She doesn’t know where to
begin. She doesn’t know if she will say or do something she’ll regret. She
wants to hold him, feel him there and never forget his warmth. But it’s too
uncertain, her newly realized feelings, his feelings, whether Yato will forgive
her - whether she can forgive herself. Her eyes sting.
Yato catches a tear rolling down her cheek with the pad of his thumb. It’s gone
but his hand still remains, gently caressing. Hiyori wants to lose herself to
his touch, but guilts prevents her. She swallows the storm of emotions, tries
her best to sound normal.
“Thank you, but I’ll be okay,” she assures him.
Yato’s hand falls to his side. His gaze and his brow are wrought with concern.
“Let me know if that changes.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes a sea of
concern Hiyori wishes she knew how to wash away.
He has such beautiful eyes. She wonders if he knows that about himself. She
wishes she could tell him.
“I will.” Hiyori tucks a stray hair behind her ear and turns to the limitless
sea where it meets the horizon. “Let’s go back.”
The others are waiting for them. Yato walks a little ahead of her. She watches
his arm swing with his stride. Her fingers twitch at her side, itching to reach
out and take what’s right in front of her.
Hiyori comes home that evening to a nightmare.
                                       …
One of the hardest dreams Hiyori ever has is about her wedding day. It’s a
western-style wedding. She has on a stunning white dress, with sheer sleeves
and a long train. Sakura petals decorate the aisle carpet, a sea of red and
pink. As Hiyori rounds the corner to walk the aisle, the whole room stands to
greet her.
On her left, her eye is instantly drawn to the familiar pink shock of Kofuku’s
hair. She and Daikoku are literally bawling tears of joy. Bishamonn is there as
well and she looks absolutely stunning in a sleek blue dress. Her arm is linked
affectionately with Kazuma’s. Several of her other shinki are there as well.
Hiyori sees Tenjinand Mayu, both sending her warm smiles.
On her right, is Mother and Father. Her mother is dabbing at her eyes with a
tissue while her father’s arm is around her.. Masaomi is next to Grandma. Next
to her cousins is even her beloved Touno-sama. With her hero there and everyone
beaming at her it is nothing short of the perfect wedding.
Her bridesmaids, Yama-chan and Ami-chan are already at the alter. The best man,
Yukine, is grinning like a fool. Waiting at for her at the end of the aisle is
her groom, whom she loves with her entire soul. The person she is fated to be
with forever. His back is turned. It’s a dreadful slow march to reach him.
And when she finally gets there and her future husband turns to look at her his
face is nothing but a blur - a censor that covers his entire face. She can’t
even make out the color of his eyes. She begins to panic. The man speaks to her
but she can’t hear anything he is saying over the sound of her own heartbeat
thundering against her ribs. She forgets how to breathe. She clutches at her
chest, willing her lungs to work and her heart to still and for her goddamn
eyes to work. It’s futile.
A voice breaks through the din humming in her ears. It’s muffled and she only
can make out a few words but she catches it say, “do you love this man…”
She wants to tell it that she doesn’t even know who this man is, how can she
love, let alone marry, someone she doesn’t know but her own voice isn’t
working. The crying doesn’t start until Hiyori wakes up, and then it doesn’t
stop until she’s cried herself back into a dreamless sleep - the sobs so heavy
they hurt and suffocate like a tangible weight is pressed upon her chest.
                                      ...
Hiyori opens her book to read before bed when the power is cut. What timing,
she thinks. She’s in a ski resort in the mountains with her parents in the dead
of winter. She’s in a room by herself, and her parents are down the hall. The
trip was only for a week, Hiyori gave Yato strict orders not to follow her,
like he had when she’d gone camping this fall. It had been an absolute
embarrassment.
The room she’s in is furnished with queen-sized bed, a desk, a kitchenette and
an old fashioned radiator. Mounted on the wall opposite the bed is a large
widescreen TV.
She shuts the novel, and places it on the bedside table next to the alarm
clock. She scooches to the edge and swings her legs out of bed. The window
curtains are still open. Outside the wind roars and snow falls furiously from
the sky, and there is very little light to be had. They have picked a wonderful
week to go on vacation. The forecast had said lots of snow, great for skiing,
not winter apocalypse.
Hiyori walks cautiously reaches for the bedstand and picks up her cell phone.
She begins writing a text to Yato but stops before hitting send. After all,
there is no point. There is no reception here, definitely not in this blizzard.
Not being good for much else, she uses the blue screen of her cell like a flash
light - peeling down the sock on her left foot, exposing her ankle to the blue
light of the phone’s screen. Yato’s name is written there in black Sharpie.
It’s easier to cover in the winter. She crosses her leg over her knee, tracing
the strokes with a finger.
She still hasn’t told him that she’s in love with him. Each time she finds
herself alone with him, another opportunity to confess, she is reigned in by
the memory, the horror of having broken her promise. She can’t tell him,
because how can he believe she loves him if she can’t even remember him after
only a month. It hurts.
There’s a loud knock on the door. “Room service.”
Hiyori opens the door to a small middle-aged woman with a cart stacked high
with wool blankets. Along the hall floor are several small dim emergency
lights.
“We apologize for the inconvenience, but as you can see with have lost power in
the storm. This also means we have lost central heat. So we’re going around to
show guests how to use the radiator. May I?”
“Of course.”
The woman pulls a flashlight out of her apron pocket and switches it on. She
enters the room and demonstrates how to work the valve then points the
flashlight beam at the bedstand. “There should be a flashlight in there for
you. We have a large furnace in the basement going now but as it is such a
large building and you are on one of the upper floors, it may take a few hours
for heat to reach your room. In the meantime, it may get pretty cold, so we are
passing out extra blankets.”
The hotel staff member scurries into the hall to return with a heavy blanket.
“I’m just going to set this on the bed. If you need anything else, head out the
door, follow the lit corridor and on your right there will be staff in a small
office. Again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Shortly after the woman is gone, Hiyori greets her mother and father at the
door.
“Are you going to be all right, sweetie?” Her mother asks.
“If it gets too cold, your mother and I are right down the hall. We’ll be
warmer as three people together.”
Hiyori forces a polite smile. “Uh, no thanks. The era of sleeping next to my
parents is long past. I’ll be fine on my own. I have the extra blanket they
gave me, and I can always add more layers.”
Her mom puts an arm around her shoulder and gives her a quick peck on the head.
“Just let us know if you change your mind. We love you.”
“I will. Love you too.”
The first thing Hiyori does after the door closes and locks and go for the
flashlight. Maybe she can keep reading her book. Just as she was told, there
was a small black flashlight in the bedstand drawer. She snatches up her book
again and plops onto the bed. A hard rectangle greets her rear end as she sits
down.
“Oh, right. My phone.”
She picks it up and sees the unsent message again. The forecast promised snow.
They left out the part about it being the winter apocalypse. She shrugs and
hits send, tossing her phone to the other side of the bed.
She has one finger inside the cover of her book when her phone rings. Her
immediate response is to question how: she has no service. Yato’s name is
displayed on her caller ID. That’s probably why. Gods must have special phone
service powers or something. She rolls her eyes but decides to answer it
anyway.
“Yato, I’m fine. You don’t have to wor--”
A blinding light explodes from her phone.
“Yato, I’m telling you this is a really bad idea. She told you not to bother
her.” Yukine has his arms around Yato’s waist, while Yato is trying to hold the
phone out of his shinki’s reach.
“Hiyori, are you okay?” Yato bounds over to Hiyori and takes her by the
shoulders, tries to catch her eye in the darkness.
At first Hiyori is too surprised to respond. She simply sits there with her
mouth agape for several long moments before she finally says, “I’m fine.”
“See, Yato?” Yukine sighs, removing his god’s hold on the young girl. “She’s
fine. No need to crash her family trip. Sorry, Hiyori.”
“It’s all right. I appreciate your concern,” she assures him.
“You said it was the snowpocalypse, and the news is saying it’s one of the
worst blizzards in years.” Yato strains against Yukine’s hold to get closer to
Hiyori, trying to read her face in the darkness. “You sure you’re okay?”
Hiyori sees a flicker of light reflecting off the whites of Yukine’s eyes as he
rolls them dramatically.
“I’m sure,” she says.
“It’s a little cold in here though,” Yukine comments.
Yato’s head jerks in the direction of her bedstand, where the hotel alarm clock
sits. The red glow of the LED displaying the hour is conspicuously absent.
“You’ve lost power.” It isn’t a question, and while some of Yato’s hysterics
have dampened, concern still lurks in his voice.
“There’s a wood-fueled furnace in the resort,” Hiyori explains in her best calm
voice. “It’s only a matter of time before it reaches this room. They’ve given
me extra blankets in the meantime.”
“Is that going to be enough?” Yukine’s tone is dubious.
“It could be hours , before your room is heated,” Yato frets. “You could get
hypothermia in that time. You could freeze.”
“I really think you’re blowing things out of proportion…” says Hiyori.
“Definitely not,” Yato replies.
“We may be immune to things like the cold, but you’re not.” Yukine releases
Yato. Oh great, he’s joined the campaign.
“I understand and appreciate your concern,” Hiyori attempts to reason, “but
even if you want to help, I’m not exactly sure there’s anything you can do.”
Yato’s fidgeting is hard to miss even in the darkness.
“Look,” she continues, “this is me climbing into bed all snuggly warm with
extra blankets. I’m fine. See?”
She pulls the blankets up and peers over them at the two boys. It occurs to her
that just a minute ago she’d been fine with their visit and now she is pushing
them away. It takes but another moment to realize why. It’s so easy to feel
comfortable around them, to just let things be the way they always were. It’s
so easy to forget that… she forgot. And every time she is with them that fact
invariably is determined to make itself known.
It creeps up each time she tutors Yukine. She finishes explaining how to solve
an equation, and while he works on his own, she spends that time reflecting on
how little she deserves his friendship. It oozes into the forefront of her mind
when Yato smiles at her. She smiles back, but it doesn’t come as naturally as
it used to. It still haunts her at night.
“Aren’t you two cold?” Hiyori asks. “You don’t have to stay here.”
“A little, but we’ll be okay,” says Yukine.
Hiyori feels a little tug at the corner of her mouth. His reaction is so
different from when they first met, it really warms her heart.
“Are you cold?” Yato asks pointedly.
“Um… a bit still, actually,” she admits. “The extra blanket only does so much.”
“You’re cold,” Yato says, bringing up one hand. “We’re cold.” He brings up the
other, creating a scale with which he mimes weighing those two facts. Her
clears his throat.
“We could all squeeze under the blanket and share body heat. Warmer that way.”
Yato sniffs, trying to play the suggestion with every ounce of nonchalance he
can muster.
A hard silence grips the room. Not even the sound of their breathing can be
heard. Then there’s a loud smack as Yato slaps the back of his neck.
“Ow, Yukine! Get ahold of yourself, dammit!”
“It’s your fault for making such an indecent suggestion!” Yukine snaps back.
“Don’t blame me for your impure thoughts,” Yato fires at him.
“Um…” Hiyori begins, too weakly to interrupt.
“It was your idea,” Yukine shouts.
“It’s purely for the sake of sharing body heat. There is nothing remotely
indecent about my idea,” Yato insists. “Goddamn teenagers and their hormones.”
“I’m a teenager too,” Hiyori mumbles, utterly unheard.
“You seem awfully persistent with your ‘innocent idea’ and that’s not why I--!”
Yukine groans, then takes several deep, calming breaths. He throws a hand over
his face to hide some of his embarrassment. “It’s because--because I feel bad
about… last time...”
“I will sleep in the middle,” Yato declares. “Problem solved.”
“Don’t just decide on your own and talk like I’m not here!” Hiyori finally
snaps.
Both boys whip their heads around to look at her.
“I’m sorry, Hiyori, it was just a stupid idea and of course only if you want
to--” Yato swallows the rest of his sentence.
“Yukine-kun, you are forgiven.” Hiyori’s eyes and voice are gentle, motherly
even. “All your trespasses before your ablution are but water under a bridge.”
“O-oh… thank you,” Yukine mumbles, evidently at a loss for how to respond.
“Yato.” Hiyori’s tone grinds back to a sharp point as she addresses him. She’s
about ready to tell him off for such a ludicrous suggestion and for fighting so
adamantly in its favor without consulting her first. But… it’s really damn cold
even under all these blankets. With the loss of power, heat has dissipated from
the room very quickly and it will still be some hours before the furnace
reaches her floor. She’s the bitterness she feels toward the blizzard for
forcing her hand is piling up.
“Let it be known this is not my first choice,” she continues. “However, it
seems to be the only one… for the sake of staying warm.”
“R-really?” Yato chokes out, like he’d been anticipating outright refusal or at
least significantly more resistance.
“Yes, really. Now hurry and get in the bed before I change my mind.” The human
girl shifts over to the side, leaving room for her friends to join her. She
tries not read into why Yato is so eager to sleep next to her.
Yato crawls into bed beside her, occupying the middle.
Yukine halts at the edge of the bed, his fingers curled around the end of the
blankets. “Um, about the flashlight…”
“We can leave it on, Yukine-kun, though I don’t know how long its battery will
last.” She sets the flashlight on its butt on the table, the beam striking the
ceiling.
“Thanks.” The relief is subtle, but audible in his voice.
Ultimately, it is not a bed made for three people. Yukine’s climbing in forces
Yato to shift further over. Yato’s legs bump Hiyori’s, but there is nowhere
left for her to go that doesn’t involve rolling off the edge of the mattress.
In the poorly thrown light, she can just make out Yato’s features. Curled on
their sides facing each other like this, their knees are connected. Knees,
unfortunately, are bony and so it is not a desirable position and entirely
unromantic, not that she was hoping for that or anything.
“Good night,” says Hiyori, rolling onto her other side to face the wall.
“Good night,” the boys say in unison.
She smiles. It’s cute how in sync god and hafuri are, she thinks.
She has another wedding dream.
The ceremony is complete. Yato lifts her veil, presumably to kiss her. His
hands freeze once her face is revealed to him. His eyes - his mind-numbingly
gorgeous eyes - widen a little.
“I’m marrying--married to Hiyori Iki,” he says, dazed. “I don’t recognize you.
Are you her? I can’t remember what she looks like. I’m sorry” He twists his
head around to look at his best man, his hands still frozen next to Hiyori’s
face. “Yukine, is this woman Hiyori?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember either,” Yukine says apologetically.
Yato seeks their guests for confirmation. Hiyori follows his gaze. One one side
she can see all her family and friends, exchanging horrified, scandalous
whispers. On the other, Yato is addressing rows of empty chairs. There is no
one sitting on the side where Yato’s guests should be. But he keeps answering
as if there are people talking to him. If people are talking to him, then why
can’t Hiyori see them? She means to ask Yato but when she turns to him, both he
and Yukine are gone.
She turns again to ask her guests if they saw where the groom went, but there
is nothing to speak to but air. It is just Hiyori. She stands at the altar
bewildered and alone, her tears watering a browned and wilted bouquet.
Hiyori thinks she catches a glimmer of Yato in her peripheral, spins to catch
him but he’s not there and she’s just whirling in circles chasing air.
She wakes in gasping sobs. A firm hand grips her shoulder to steady her quaking
body.
“Hiyori,” Yato says her name in a whisper.
It takes a moment for Hiyori register who it is. She covers her mouth with a
hand, unable to stop crying, but doing her best to not make too much noise. His
comfort makes it hurt more, her heart squeezing and folding in on itself. She
doesn’t deserve this.
Maybe it’s her emotions running high, or the dark making her bold, or a bit of
both but Hiyori decides she can’t keep it the secret anymore. She can’t let
Yato unwittingly comfort her for breaking her most important promise to him.
When her sobbing has calmed enough to speak, Hiyori whispers, “I’m sorry, did I
wake you?”
“Don’t apologize for having a nightmare.” Yato expertly dodges the question.
He has no idea. She fights back another fit of sobs, just barely.
“Is Yukine-kun awake too?”
“I don’t think so.”
Both still their breathing to hear Yukine’s over the howling winds outside. His
breaths come in the slow and steady rhythm of sleep.
“I know it’s foolish to ask if you’re okay, but…”
Hiyori shushes Yato with a finger to his lips, a gesture that lasts no more
than a fraction of a second. She then reaches for her cell phone next to the
bed, settles back onto her side, and opens up a blank text document and begins
to type. Fresh tears slide sideways down her face as she writes, rolling over
the bridge of her nose. When she’s finished, she passes her phone over to Yato.
Yato, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you
some time ago. I can’t keep it from you any longer. I hope writing it this way
is okay. I know it’s selfish of me but I don’t want to wait, and at the same
time I don’t want to wake Yukine-kun.
Part of the reason she wants to write is because it feels easier than saying it
aloud, like somehow it’s still a secret as long as it does not literally pass
her lips. It’s a foolish comfort, and one she spares sharing with Yato.
Preserving Yukine’s rest is a convenient excuse.
Okay. You can tell me anything. Yato’s eyebrows are knit with concern as he
hands the phone back with his reply.
Hiyori takes several deep breaths, inhaling Yato’s scent. Under normal
circumstances this would have calmed her. But the nature of what she was about
to tell him was too closely tied to her fear of never being able to be near him
again. She writes without once looking up. For a long time the the sound of her
thumbs tapping the keys fills the room. When she’s finished, she closes her
eyes as if they are floodgates that can stop the flow of tears. They aren’t.
During the month or so you were gone in the Underworld, Yukine-kun was training
with Kazuma-san, so Yukine-kun and I took a break from our tutoring sessions. I
spent that time focusing on my studies and spending time with Ami-chan and
Yama-chan. I kept a journal, and I thought of you and wrote about you every
day. But one day, the entries just stopped. And I stopped thinking about you
all the time. Just sometimes. Eventually I became overwhelmed with the feeling
of having forgotten something incredibly important. I would catch myself doing
things for someone I couldn’t remember. Eventually, I just… forgot. It felt
like something precious had been torn from my heart, leaving a hole there. It
hurt, knowing I had lost something, and it hurt not knowing how to fill that
hole.
Had Yukine-kun not by chance run into me one day, I may have forgotten
completely. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I broke my promise to you. I can’t ask
you to forgive me, especially when I can’t even forgive myself. I’m sorry.
Her fingers shake uncontrollably, still gripping her phone with white knuckles
after typing her message. Yato carefully pries the device from her grasp and
begins to read.
Hiyori doesn’t want to watch as he reads her confession, but she wills herself
to. She owes him that much, not running away. The screen casts a window of blue
 light that clearly illuminates Yato’s face. She tries to guess where he is in
reading by his expression - as first his brow uncreases, then they lift as his
eyes widen. The corners grow wet. She wants to wipe them away but she doesn’t
deserve to touch him. So she wipes at her own tears instead.
Yato’s eyes flick back and forth for what feels like an age, like maybe he’s
rereading it because he almost can’t believe it’s true. Hiyori doesn’t have the
strength to break the silence. Finally, Yato meets her gaze, his blue eyes
glowing in the screen’s light, and it is her undoing. She clamps both hands
over her mouth as the sobs silently wrack her entire body once more, her
eyelids fall - squeezing out a fresh torrent of tears. He doesn’t offer comfort
like he had just moment ago and Hiyori reminds herself she doesn’t deserve it,
least of all from him.
When she’s finally able to open her eyes again, she sees that Yato has placed
the phone down between them. There are glistening trails of tears down his
cheeks. Forgetting herself, she lifts a hand to brush them aside. Yato catches
her, bringing her hand down and holding it in both of his. He holds her like
that for a while, giving a final squeeze before letting go and propping himself
up on an elbow. He touches her cheek, brushing away the wet streak left by her
own crying with terrible gentleness. Then he leans forwards, bringing his lips
close her forehead stopping just short. Her breath tickles her bangs against
her skin. He hovers for a moment there, but ultimately pulls away
“Goodnight, Hiyori,” he whispers, his voice cracking, and he carefully rolls
over, facing away from her.
Speech has departed from Hiyori’s abilities. She can do nothing but cry into
her pillow until sleep finally takes her. In the morning when she wakes up, her
room is warm and she is alone.
                                       …
Hiyori hasn’t seen Yato for a little over a week now, and it’s beginning to
worry her. She doesn’t go to Kofuku’s. Yato needs to make the first move, she
knows this, but it scares her. What if this is his ways of cutting ties with
her, of punishing her. Using Sekki would have been a greater kindness than she
deserved. Her only solace are the kanji printed on her ankle. She traces the
strokes with her finger every day.  It’s there when she’s in the bath. It’s
there when she puts her socks on and takes them off.
It’s still there the afternoon she comes home from school and Yato is sitting
in her desk chair sidesaddle, his arms resting on the back. He doesn’t look at
her when she comes in, doesn’t apologize for just barging into her room.
“I got your text,” he says, his voice like gravel - hoarse from crying.
Hiyori bites her lip, remembering the frantic plea she had typed the morning
she’d woken up alone. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to send
that text. But she was desperate, suffocating. She felt like the blizzard had
stolen into her hotel room, piling on top of her, forcing her to curl into a
helpless ball under its might force while the cold seeped into her very bones.
“Again, I am sorry. Even if you can’t forgive me, I will keep my promise. I
will never forget you. If you’re willing, I’d like to show you all the ways I
have to remind myself.”
“Oh, right,” Hiyori manages.
Yato’s gaze flicks to her for the briefest of moments and then returns to
someplace faraway.
She waits for him to say, to do, something else and so she just stands there
helplessly, her bag growing heavy in her hand still, until it is no longer
comfortable to hold - when she realizes that he is waiting for her to make the
first move. She tiptoes over to the foot of her bed where she deposits her
school bag gently - like she is trying not to wake a sleeping bear. She tiptoes
a bit closer to her desk, very conscious of Yato’s space, and points.
“Maybe you saw,” Hiyori’s voice wavers unevenly, “but on my desk I h-have a
picture,” she swallows, “of you two.”
Yato swivels, swinging his legs around front. On her desk, directly beneath the
lamp, is a framed photograph. The frame predominantly belongs to a large yellow
Capyper, squeezing Yato and Yukine into a bear hug, fitting them into the shot.
On the bottom part of the frame, a strip of white paper is glued. In clear
concise writing it reads Yato and Yukine-kun in Capypa Land.
Yato nods in acknowledgement. The corner of his mouth twitches. It’d be too
much to hope it was because of an oncoming smile, Hiyori thinks. He still says
nothing.
Like she’s navigating a minefield, Hiyori comes closer, reaching past Yato with
a shaking hand to pick up her journal. She retracts it hastily. She flips to a
relatively recent (impersonal) entry and points to where she’s written Yato and
Yukine’s names.
“I journal every day, and here. Your name is on every page.”
As she puts the journal back, she catches that Yato is watching her movements
more than he is watching her. The realization stings a little. She stifles her
reaction as best as she is able.
“It may not have been enough before,” Hiyori continues, “but I have the picture
now and I’ve also been writing your name various places that I know I will see
regularly. For example, my shoe locker at school.” She nods as she finishes, as
if reassuring both Yato and herself that this system will most definitely work.
She’s not ready to tell him about her migrating tattoo.
“I am also going to visit everyone at least once a month. I will see Daikoku-
san and Kofuku-san even when you’re not there. As long as I keep contact with
the far shore, I don’t think I’ll… forget.” She nearly chokes on that last
word.
For a long time the only sound in the room are his and her breathing. It’s a
silence that is anything but comfortable. It’s a silence that screams, jagged
at the edges she made when she broke her promise to him.
“If there’s anything else you think I should do, um, I’m open to ideas…” Hiyori
trails off.
Still silence.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccups, her vision swimming beneath a sea of tears. She
buries her face in her hands.
She startles when two strong arms circle her. But his perfect smell calms her.
She just leans into Yato’s chest. He’s warm. He settles his cheek against the
top of her head, holding her with every part of his body that he can.
“I’m sorry too,” Yato whispers against her hair. “For leaving, and for at the
same time being unable to come back without you.”
Hiyori clutches at his jacket, pulling him as close as she possibly can
creating a curtain around her face, trapping his scent against her nose.
“I don’t think I really ever said ‘thank you’ for saving me. Again. So thank
you.”
Hiyori smiles into him. “You’re welcome.” Her voice is muffled.
They just hold each other like this for a long time, neither of them wanting to
let go. Eventually, Hiyori pulls back and looks Yato straight in the eye.
“I never wanted to forget you; I… you’re too important to me,” she says in a
voice a soft as down. “I knew something was missing, but I couldn’t remember
what it was. It hurt, even though I couldn’t remember why. I don’t ever want to
feel that - I don’t ever want to come anywhere close to forgetting you again.”
“I know.”
Yato’s hands are warm where they touch her, her nerves singing with delight at
every random path he traces with them. The warmth of his touch is all-
consuming, melting Hiyori into him as far as she physically can. She wishes
silently that staying with Yato forever would mean staying like this forever.
It is strange, she muses, how openly she has welcomed the realization that she
does not just love Yato, but she is in love with Yato.
She hears him swallow, sees his adam’s apple bob with the motion.
“I honestly believed that if when I came back that you had forgotten me, then
nothing mattered anymore.” His voice is thick with dampened emotions. “I still
feel that way,” he whispers.
“Yato,” Hiyori buries herself deeper into his embrace, “that’s not true, that’s
not… healthy. You still have so many people who care about you, and you care
about them too, right?”
His eyes are watery with unshed tears. She knows hard he is trying to hold them
back. It makes her chest ache.
“Of course I care about them but…” He pushes her back a little to catch her
gaze. “It’s different with you.”
An expression she can’t name flickers across his face, yet unwilling to fully
fade. His eyes search hers, desperation plain as day written in those blue
eyes. The tears he’s been holding back begin to leak down, one by one. Hiyori
reaches up a hand to his face to catch them. He leans into her touch, his gaze
burning with an intensity that sends hot tremors along her spine, the warmth
carving out a home between her vertebrae.
He licks his lips like he’s prepping them to speak the words waiting at the
back of his throat.
“You are...” is the most he manages. He leans forward unconsciously, one hand
finding its way to her jaw, his knuckles grazing forward to her chin. His eyes
are more blue and more beautiful than they have any right to be.
“ ‘I am’ what?” Hiyori breathes.
She’s not sure she’d hear him even if he finishes his sentence. She’s too busy
wondering if his lashes have always been that full and if he really looks like
he wants to kiss her or is that just wishful thinking.
“Hiyori, you’re my first...” he pauses. His eyes drop to her mouth, or at least
she thinks they do because then her eyes fall to his and --
She’s not aware that she’s the one kissing him until she notices how still he
is and he’s not kissing her back. At all. She practically leaps off him,
stopped only by his firm grip, his arm frozen around her waist. Yato’s eyes are
blown wide, mouth agape, cheeks blazing red. He looks, if nothing else,
terrified.
“believer,” he finishes flatly.
Hiyori is not one to swear, but oh god. Oh shit . She completely misread that,
didn’t she? She’s such an idiot. She threatens their relationship first by
forgetting him and now by trying to jump his bones. Hot tears well up at the
corners of her eyes, she squeezes them shut and the tears spill down her face,
dripping of her chin. They’re hotter than the blush painting her face. She
grips his jersey tight in frustration and her own unwillingness to let go. She
wants this entire situation to just evaporate - never have happened. Everything
is fine, except now they’re not fine and it’s all her fault.
“Yato,” she chokes, unable to look at him.
The apology is not even halfway past her lips, when Yato’s hand finds the back
of her head and he presses his mouth against hers. His lips are so so soft and
kind and filled with tenderness and affection that she realizes just how little
she knew about what she meant to him. His every loving thought conveyed to her
very soul through his lips. A warmth comes from within her, stirred by his
gentle touch that trembles with the weight beared by the depth of his emotions
- and she finds herself trembling beneath that same weight, trying convey her
own feelings that radiate outward with the warmth building in her chest.
Yato brings his other hand up to her face. Hiyori weaves her fingers through
his hair, guiding him closer. Their kiss is broken by a loud thump.
Yato takes a step back, breathless and dazed quickly transforming into an
expression of devilish amusement. Hiyori blinks rapidly, peering behind Yato
and expecting to find her chair on its side. But Yato’s eyes are flicking
between her face and somewhere behind her. Understanding dawns on her. Her face
pales. She whirls and confirms her suspicions.
“Why?!” Hiyori wails. “Why does this always happen to me?” She directs the
question to her empty body, which lays collapsed on the floor.
Yato just laughs.
She takes a deep breath. “I’ve gotten a little better at this…” She settles
back into her body.
Yato’s mouth is curled into a wicked and crooked grin, which might have made
Hiyori’s blood boil if it weren’t so damn sexy.
“Let’s move you someplace safer, in case it happens again,” Yato says as he
scoops up her up before she can begin to stand and sits her down on the edge of
her bed.
She hides her face in his shoulder. He tilts her head up to look at him with
just his fingertips.
“Hiyori.” He tucks away a stray lock of hair, his fingers gliding along the
shell of her ear to the edge of her jaw. A lovely shade of pink colors his
cheeks. “Do you think I could kiss you again? Please.”
Hearing Yato say those words out loud has a dizzying effect in the best of
ways. Hiyori answers by looping her arms around his neck and pulling his head
down, greeting him with a slow and steady kiss.
“I have an idea,” Yato says when they break apart. He smiles, his entire face
softening with unmasked adoration. It warms Hiyori from the very core of her
heart to the very tips of her fingers and toes.
“What idea is that?”
“So you don’t forget, I could just stay by your side forever. Literally,” Yato
says, capturing her gaze. “It’s what you wished for, isn’t it? I want to take
that wish seriously.”
Hiyori flushes, but bravely maintains eye contact and counters, “Are you
implying you weren’t before?”
“I imply nothing of the sort.”
Hiyori raises her hands from Yato’s shoulders to cup his face - a gesture which
paints a pretty blush across his cheeks. She takes a certain satisfaction in
having such an effect on him.
“I would like that very much,” she says, cradling her words with affection. Her
thumbs gently stroke his skin.
“Good. Because so would I.” He brushes his knuckles along her jaw, guiding her
in for another kiss.
That night in Yato’s arms, Hiyori falls into a deep, blissful and dreamless
sleep. And this time when she wakes, she is surrounded by her favorite scent in
the whole world, in the embrace of her favorite person.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     It's finally here. This monster comes to its conclusion. I hope it
     was worth the wait. Please leave feedback~! It inspires me to write
     more and to keep improving. Thanks, I hope you enjoy!
When Hiyori wakes, even before her eyelids flutter open, a smile begins to
tickle the corners of her lips. Her face is pressed against Yato's chest. His
arms are wrapped around her. She buries her nose deeper into the folds of his
shirt, inhaling his soothing scent – her favorite in the whole world. His
warmth curls around her, all the way to the tips of her toes. As cliché as it
is, Hiyori wonders if last night was a dream and if she is still dreaming. She
doesn't want to open her eyes to find out. She curves an arm around him,
tugging him closer, feeling him solid and real in her embrace. The soft
vibration in his chest as he says her name – she starts to believe – it coaxes
her eyes open.
Then her ears are assailed by the shrill cry of her alarm clock. She groans
loudly.
“I hit snooze the first time,” Yato says, shutting off the alarm. “I hope that
was okay...”
Hiyori nods briefly, not catching the rest of what he is saying. She's too busy
relishing the fact that this is real. He pulls away a little to get a better
view of her face. He's watching her expectantly. She thinks there may have been
a question somewhere in there but she can't recall what it is.
“I'm sorry,” she says, sheepishly. “I'm still half-asleep. What did you say?”
Yato's eyes dart toward her pillow then back at her face. His face colors a
little. He presses his forehead against hers, and she feels her own cheeks
warming to match his. She can hear him swallow his nerves.
“Do you think I could give you a good morning kiss?” His voice cracks, rising
an octave higher than normal.
But all Hiyori can think about is his breath is warm against her skin. And the
color that had begun to build drains from Hiyori's face all at once. Her eyes
widen in horror as she realizes that it doesn't smell bad. At all. It's a
little sweet even. It must be a god thing. Because she knows in all likelihood
that her breath smells like she's had roadkill for breakfast. Her hand flies to
her mouth of its own volition.
Yato springs away and snatches his arm back. His own expression mirrors her
panic. Her hand falls.
“I-I'm sorry,” he stammers. “If last night was a mistake--”
“No!” Hiyori shouts, slapping her hand over her mouth once more. Her cheeks
warm again. Her voice comes muffled through the spaces between her fingers.
“Last night was not a mistake. It's just...”
Yato watches her, holding his breath.
“...I have really bad breath in the morning,” she mumbles.
Relief floods Yato's features. He chuckles a little, smiling as he reaches for
the hand covering her mouth.
“I'll be the judge of that,” he says.
She squeals in protest, and promptly hides her face in her pillow.
“Hiyori,” Yato says flatly.
She rolls onto her stomach, shakes her head, face still firmly planted in her
pillow.
“Hiyori,” he says her name again, affectionate and a little exasperated.
She does another turn, rolling so her back is to Yato and her face is to the
window next to her bed. Yato scooches closer, placing a palm on her shoulder.
“You've nowhere left to run.” His tone is light and airy. His lips brush the
nape of her neck.
She pushes herself up, wobbling a little as the mattress springs bounce beneath
her weight. Then she clears Yato and the edge of the bed in one graceless leap.
The thud from her landing shakes the floorboards.
“Hiyori-chan, everything all right in there?” her mother calls out from the
other side of the door.
“Yeah, Mom,” Hiyori calls back. “I'm fine.”
She whips her head around to face Yato, her eyes wielding daggers. She glances
at the clock.
“Crap, I'm not going to have time for breakfast if I don't hurry,” she says. “I
need to get going.”
She shoves her arms into her uniform jacket. She doesn't bother to button it.
She reaches for her doorknob, about to leave, when a pair of arms circle around
her middle. Yato rests his head on her shoulder.
“I'll see you later.” It it as once a promise and a question.
“Yeah,” she tells him, a smile gracing her lips. “I'll see you later.
                                       …
“So you do have a boyfriend?” Yama greets Hiyori as she enters the classroom.
Her Cheshire grin is mostly concealed behind a sheet of handouts. Mostly
Hiyori burns scarlet. She sputters the beginnings of denial but it unravels,
unsure of how she's supposed to describe her relationship with Yato now.
“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”
“For one, you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” says Yama. “I believe
that's called 'the walk of shame.' “
Hiyori knits her brows together. “It's a uniform. Of course I'm wearing the
same clothes as the day before.”
“No, no, I mean the exact same clothes,” Yama clarifies.
“Your shirt is wrinkled, and so is your skirt,” Ami explains.
“That doesn't necessarily mean anything,” Hiyori protests weakly.
With eerie synchronization, Ami and Yama quirk their brows at her.
Hiyori wilts under their knowing gazes. She remembers clearly how she'd fallen
asleep in her clothes, wrapped up in Yato's arms. Kissing him. She had never
understood how couples could “lose track of time” so easily – how Yama would
sometimes apologize for being late because she had been with her boyfriend just
moments before. But now she knows. Yato's touch was so gentle, as if he
softened all the way to very core of his being, to handle her like fine china
because he couldn't bear the thought that touching her too solidly might break
her – as if it could. Perhaps a part of him had been in disbelief, Hiyori knows
she was. Still is, to a degree. It had been so easy to push aside, when the
idea of being with Yato romantically had seemed so absurd – impossible, never
going to happen, except it is happening and the reality is difficult to grasp.
The bell rings and class begins. Hiyori tries to pay attention to lecture, but
fails.
His lips are so soft. She wants to feel them again, taste them. But everything
that has transpired – they were together from dusk 'til dawn, as if the whole
experience could exist within a time capsule that now closed. An isolated
incident. It still feels strange. She worries over how she is going to greet
Yato when she sees him next. Can she trust herself that they really had kissed
and it wasn't all just a dream? But if it were a dream, that would mean no more
tender kisses, shared warmth, his scent all around her – inhaling as if it
oxygen alone were not enough to sustain her. It would mean an end to those
things, and Hiyori doesn't want that. Every fiber, every nerve, every cell that
makes up her being screams in protest at stopping what has just started with
Yato. The thought makes her heart collapse on itself, sinking like an anchor to
the pit of her stomach.
She silently chastises herself for her anxiety. She has nothing to worry about.
The next time she sees him, it probably won't be just the two of them. Yukine
will be there, and Kofuku and Daikoku. If she's with them, then doesn't have to
worry about how she's supposed to act. Or so she assumes. She's counting on it.
But there's another voice inside her that lifts her heart up, sending it
aflutter, that reminds her what being alone with Yato might yield – what he
said this morning. She feels the heat rise in her cheeks, shakes her head to
clear it and goes back to taking notes.
She peeks at her neighbor's notebook. In her reverie she's missed quite a lot.
She sighs, inwardly. At this point she has become accustomed to have to copy
her classmates' notes. It's a miracle she passes, let alone is able to do well.
When Hiyori thinks the teacher might not be looking, she steals glances outside
the window. She half-expects to see Yato out there, watching her. The other
half of her hopes he really will be. The sky is clear today and it makes her
think of Yato's eyes. Again. The way they light up when he's happy, how they
pierce her to her center with their beautiful intensity. And his crooked smile
is so ridiculously cute, and – she almost doesn't let herself think it - sexy.
But the school day passes without Yato appearing, and Hiyori is surprised to
find herself a little disappointed.
“Heeey, who's up for some delicious baked goods?” Yama waggles her eyebrows as
they pass through the school gate.
Ami grinned. “Sounds yummy. I'm in.”
“Hiyori?” Yama prompts.
“Ah, thank you for the invite, but--” Hiyori fakes a yawn, “--I think I'm going
to head home and nap. Have fun without me.”
“No worries. Next time then,” says Ami.
“Definitely. Bye.” Hiyori nods and lifts her hand in farewell as she begins
walking.
“Don't fall asleep before you reach your house, Hiyori!” Yama calls after her,
waving enthusiastically with her arm high in the air.
“I won't!” Hiyori shouts back, turning her head as Yama evades Ami's elbow to
the side.
Of course, she has no plans to nap. She's going to safely deposit her body at
home and pay a visit to Kofuku's shrine. Excitement and anxiety wage a war
within her, hot and tingly beneath the skin. The journey home is a mix between
nearly running and walking as slowly as she possible can. There's also a period
of standing in the middle of her bedroom, outside her body, with her feet
cemented to the floor and tail frozen mid-swish. Oh god. Does Yukine know yet?
What if he doesn't approve?
Hiyori takes a deep breath to calm herself and then immediately regrets it. In
her spirit form, her heightened sense can pick up the smell of Yato that
lingers in her room, that clings to her sheets. It's intoxicating, and add fuel
to the flames of her anxiety as the events of last night replay behind her
eyelids with crystal clarity. She invents a mantra for the way to Kofuku's:
Just act normal and everything will be fine.
When she gets there Yukine is going over his exercises for their tutoring
session. Daikoku and Kofuku are enjoying a cup of tea together at the living
room table.
“Hey, Hiyori,” Yukine greets her casually.
Excellent, she thinks to herself. She exchanges pleasantries with the three of
them.
“Where's Yato?” Hiyori asks. Her voice cracks on his name. She clears her
throat loudly then she sits down next to her student.
“He's asleep upstairs,” Kofuku says.
Yukine rolls his eyes. “He said he couldn't get any sleep at all night. So now
he's 'catching up.'”
Hiyori's mouth forms a small oval, but no sound comes out. Her shoulders fall
back a little and stiffen. A trickle of guilt travels down her spine. Her bed
isn't really made to fit more than one person. She remembers being fairly
comfortable, however. Yato must have been cramped trying to give her room and
not fall off the bed simultaneously. No wonder he couldn't sleep.
“I see,” says Hiyori, forcing her body to relax through sheer willpower. It's
only mildly successful. “So did you encounter any problems with the exercises I
assigned you last time?”
“Just this one part.” Yukine points to the offending question. “It's not that I
was completely stumped, so I tried answering it. But I thought the question was
also kind of weirdly worded so I wasn't one hundred percent sure what it was
asking.”
“Okay, why don't we go over the rest of it first, and then we can come back to
that one after?” Hiyori suggests.
“Yeah, sure.”
Hiyori skims over his answers, pleased at her ability to focus for the time
being. She jots a couple notes in the margins. Yukine fidgets as he watches.
“Very good, Yukine-kun!” Hiyori smiles broadly when she's done. “You only made
a couple mistakes, but they are relatively small ones.”
“Thanks.” Yukine rubs under his nose and turns away bashfully.
Hiyori imagines Yato ruffling Yukine's hair with pride. She nearly chokes on
air. And she was doing such a good job not thinking about him too. She swallows
and clears her throat again.
“Now let's go over that one you had a problem with...”
As she goes over it with Yukine, she's vaguely aware of footsteps overhead.
“Yato-chan must be up now,” Kofuku says. Then there's a sharp intake of breath
followed by “Yato-chan! Hiyorin's here!”
There's a thundering that Hiyori nearly mistook for her own heartbeat, but the
source is above her. As Yato nears, his footsteps slow deliberately. The door
slides open and their eyes lock of their own accord. Hiyori quickly blinks
away.
“Hi, Yato,” she says. Her voice wavers nervously.
“Hi,” says Yato, a little breathless. He runs a hand through his hair.
“I'm just going over Yukine-kun's homework with him. I hear you've been
sleeping all day.” She keeps her tone light, though her body is rigid and
heavy. She swore she was going to act normal but she's too caught up thinking
about what the new normal might be to remember how to function at all. A hot
swarm of butterflies in her stomach has robbed her of calm.
“Uh, yeah. I had a tough time falling asleep last night, I guess.” Yato rubs
the back of his neck.
His cheeks are a little pink and Hiyori feels her face warming to match. She is
about to apologize for the size of her bed, but a head of blond hair in her
peripheral reminds her they're not alone and she promptly pushes the apology
back down. She doesn't want to make things awkward for Yukine.
“That's too bad,” she says after a pause, shifting a little.
Hiyori's and Yato's eyes are all over the place, sometimes on each other but
mostly finding other objects in the room to admire. The silence is suffocating
and feels eternal. In reality in only lasts about twenty seconds.
“Hiyori, you don't have to act weird. I already know,” says Yukine.
“You do?” Hiyori regards him, wide-eyed.
“Yato couldn't fucking shut up about it all morning. It was bragging non-stop.
He finally fell asleep after fondling the shrine you--”
“You little shit! She doesn't need to know that!” Yato hooks his arm around his
shinki's neck and reels him in for a noogie.
Hiyori giggles at their antics, a weight off her shoulders. She tucks away that
bit of intel to ruminate on later.
When things calm down, she asks, “And, Yukine-kun you're okay with it?”
He shrugs, rubbing the spot where Yato had ground his fist into his hair.
“Yeah.”
“That's a relief.” Hiyori places a hand over her chest, letting out a breath
she'd been holding. “I don't want to make things awkward between the three of
us.”
“Yato by himself has us filled to the brim with weird. Awkward comes with the
package.”
“You want another one? I can give you another one.” Yato points with one hand
to the opposite arm, which he is holding out in a hook-shape, ready for noogie
number two.
There's a stare down. Yato ultimately backs off, his phone ringing loudly. He
puts it to his ear, his entire demeanor doing a one-eighty. His voice is
chipper as he answers the call.
“Delivery God Yato, at your service! Fast, affordable, and reliable!” Yato
makes some affirmative noises into the phone. He puts a hand on his shinki's
shoulder. “Yukine, we've got a job to do. I'll catch you later, Hiyori!”
There's a flash of blue light, and the two of them are gone. Hiyori stays
seated at Kofuku's living room table. For a while she just stares at the wall,
Yato's farewell echoing in her ears. She doesn't know how to prepare herself.
When is later? Would he visit her again tonight, or was that just a generic
goodbye? Previously she would have thought nothing of it. She has no idea how
she is going to be able to get any homework done knowing that Yato may drop by
any minute. Knowing that a visit might mean a repeat of the night before, her
face warms and her pulse quickens.
“Already know what?” Kofuku asks innocently.
“It's nothing important,” Hiyori tells her hastily. “Well, I just stopped by to
check on Yukine-kun's homework and assign him new stuff, but since he's no
longer here, I'm going to go as well. I have a lot of studying to do as we have
a huge test coming up.”
“Bye, Hiyori~!”
“Come back when that test is over,” says Daikoku.
“Will do.” Hiyori jumps to her feet, tries to shake the nervous energy out.
Then she heads home.
                                       …
It's nine o' clock and no sign of Yato. The hot water of the bath feels nice as
it always does. The perfect way to relax before bed. And as has become routine
since she began writing Yato's name on her body, she stares at the Sharpie
tattoo she has created. It is in the same place it has been all winter, on the
inside of her right ankle. It's beginning to fade. She'll have to fix that.
What Yukine said earlier floats up in her mind – Yato had been fondling her
shrine as he fell asleep. The shrine she had made. She thinks about what Kofuku
said, her body being a shrine. But what does that even mean? So far, it hasn't
seemed to change anything. Would Yato be able to use her to travel to
Takamagahara? She smiles wryly at the thought.
The smile quickly dissolves into a frown. Yato is bound to find out eventually,
if she keeps doing it. How is she going to explain? She'd die of embarrassment.
Yet at the same time, if Kofuku is right about the shrine thing, then wouldn't
removing it be like erasing one of Yato's shrines – an insult to his very name
as a deity?
She sighs, sinking into the bathwater, the surface tickling her chin. She
doesn't want to have to think about any of this, but she realizes it's
necessary. Yato will find out. But what is she supposed to say now or in the
future? She doesn't even want to imagine how the conversation will go. It is
equally likely he will be humbled or have it all go to his head. The reason is
simple enough. It isn't that she doesn't know why she writes his name. Because
she never wants to forget again, because she's in love with him. It's that last
part she fears. She is afraid of what will happen if she says it out loud.
Surely nothing bad. She doesn't fear rejection. She knows he will mirror her
love, but it's just so embarrassing and is it really okay for a human and a god
to be together?
Another sigh. Hiyori rubs the ink with the pad of her big toe. It is more of a
smudge at this point. She'll have to fix it soon.
When Hiyori gets out of the bath, she makes her third attempt that evening to
concentrate. She makes a point of being very organized. You have to be when you
skip out on a significant percentage of class to visit your friends from the
Far Shore. Except, Yato is more than a friend now, isn't he... Her face grows
warm, recalling the softness of his lips on hers. She thinks if he were here
now there is no way she could get anything done, and then she kicks herself
when she remembers that he's not here and she's still not getting anything
done. She's been rereading the same paragraph in her textbook for the past half
hour – reaching the end only to realize that she has absorbed none of its
contents, forcing her to read it again. And again. She is beginning to
genuinely worry if she'll be able to pass this test.
She closes the book with a groan, her head turning towards her window half-
expecting and half-hoping she'll see Yato perched on her windowsill. He's not
there. Her eyes flick towards the marker in her pencil cup. It's too risky to
rewrite his name now, he could show up at any moment. She goes back to watching
the window, willing Yato to come and as if responding to her prayer his head
pokes through. A relieved grin turning up the corners of his mouth.
“Good,” he says a bit breathlessly. “You're still awake.”
“Yeah. How did your job go?”
“Another satisfied customer,” he beams.
“That's good.” Hiyori stands up.
He's sitting on her sill, with one leg dangling inside her room, poised for
entry. But he just sits there, regarding her with a shy smile. It takes her an
awkward moment of silence to realize that for once he is waiting for her
invitation.
Hiyori rubs her arms up and down, not looking at him. “You can come in.”
And he leaps to her, landing with a cat's grace just in front of her. He takes
his index finger, touches it gently to the corner of her jaw, traces its
outline. Hiyori leans her face into his gentle touch, a smile tugging at her
lips. His finger curls gently beneath her chin, lifting, drawing her onto her
tiptoes. Her eyes flutter closed in anticipation as he bends forward to meet
her.
When his lips touch hers it's as if the ground beneath her has crumbled into
stardust. She stumbles into him, throws her arms around his neck for balance.
He catches her with an arm around her waist and a hunger stirs within her, his
warmth radiating through her pyjamas, rippling across her skin. A static that
clutches their bodies close together. His whole hand cups her face now, a
trembling mess. Hiyori loses herself to the kiss, her senses blocking out
anything that isn't Yato.
Yato pulls away, resting his head against hers for moment, catching his breath.
“I've been waiting to do that all day,” he breathes.
“Me too,” a breathless laugh escaping Hiyori's throat.
He draws back a little further to admire her face, and Hiyori imagines her
expression looks an awful lot like his. His eyes are half-lidded, flashing
something primal beneath absolute adoration.
“Daikoku told me you have a big test coming up,” says Yato.
“I do.” Hiyori grimaces. “I can't afford many distractions, unfortunately.”
“Can I still see you?”
“You can. As long as you don't distract me too much.”
“I'm not distracting you too much right now, am I?”
“Not yet.” Hiyori smiles and reels him in for another kiss.
                                      ...
Hiyori is a bit surprised by how affectionate Yato is. She realizes that she
shouldn't be, but she still is. Probably because she's not used to having so
much physical attention on her. And of course, he picks the night before her
exam to be especially affectionate.
She's reclining on her side on her bed, propped up by an elbow, trying to re-
read her notes. Yato slips an arm around her, and pulls himself flush against
her. Heat blossoms in Hiyori's cheeks and she tries not to go rigid. He presses
a series of soft kisses along her neck. The warmth of his lips lingering and
alive on her skin. It is very distracting, to say the least.
“Yato,” she says, inhaling sharply.
He hums a question against her skin.
“You're making it hard to concentrate,” she tells him.
“I'm sorry,” Yato mumbles, as he releases her from his embrace and sits up. “I
just... wanted to be close you.”
“Um, you can be close but maybe not that close,” she says.
There's a long pause, and then the gentle pull of Yato's fingers combing
through her hair.
“Yato, what are you doing?”
“I'm going to braid your hair.”
“Um.”
“For good luck. Is... that not okay?”
“No, it's fine. I guess I just wasn't expecting it.”
They fall back into a comfortable silence as the gentle pressure of Yato's
hands eases away some of her anxieties about tomorrow's test. It's nice. He
leaves when he's done, letting her sleep. The room is cold without him there.
Once this stupid exam is past, Hiyori wants to ask him if he'll stay over again
if she can ever gather the courage.
                                      ...
The exam is difficult, but every time she touches her braid, she thinks of Yato
and the answers become a little clearer.
“We're free!” Yama cries as she bursts through the school gates. “That test was
hell. This calls for a celebration. Karaoke tonight?”
Ami laughs at her antics. “I would, but I promised my mom I'd help it her out
with something so tonight is a no-go for me. I can do Saturday.”
“Saturday works for me too,” Hiyori agrees.
“All right! Saturday it is!” Yama shouts.
When Hiyori gets home she's a little surprised to find that Yato isn't already
waiting for her in her bedroom. He must be out doing odd jobs or slaying
ayakashi. She takes an early bath to relieve the residual tension. She feels a
little sad taking out the braid, but she has to wash her hair.
He visits her in the evening, catching her off guard. It's very late – close to
midnight – but there's no school tomorrow so she's not worried about staying up
too late. She's sitting in her desk chair in her pyjamas, her ankle folded over
her knee. She's putting the finishing touches on his name, tattooed in Sharpie
on her ankle. Satisfied, she clicks the cap back on the pen and deposits it in
her pencil cup. He knocks on her window just as she is blowing on the ink for
it to dry. She jumps in her seat and scrambles to stuff her foot in her sock
before going to open the window. In the back of her mind, she worries if it's
smudged.
“Hey, Hiyori,” Yato greets her as he enters her room. “Something wrong with
your foot?”
“Huh?”
“You were kind of staring at it intently.”
“I just have a bruise there,” Hiyori answers quickly. “I was wondering how it
got there.”
“Does it hurt? Do you want me to look at it?”
“N-no! It doesn't hurt! I just noticed it when I changed my socks and was
surprised. That's all.”
“Well, I'm glad it doesn't hurt.”
“Me too...” She trails off as Yato steps right in front of her.
His fingers trace the shell of her ear as he tucks some loose strands behind
it.
“You're beautiful,” he says.
Hiyori can feel the color of her cheeks changing. She is unsure how to respond
to that. “Thanks. So are you,” she replies quietly.
He bends forward and tilts her head up with his knuckles beneath her chin.
She shudders into the kiss, frantically matching the movements of his lips with
her own. She feels his tongue run along her lower lip and flits hers eagerly
against his and she nearly loses it. He tastes even better than he smells. She
savors it, draws his tongue into her mouth, gives it a gentle suck and oh the
noise he makes has her knees shaking. She breathes heavily through her nose,
desperate to maintain contact. Her nose is assailed by Yato's sweet scent and
her heart sets a drum beat in her ears and she can hear nothing else.
Hiyori clutches at him, crushing herself against him, trying to fuse into one
perfect being. Yato loses his balance, fumbling backwards a step. He catches
her before she follows after him, holding her by the shoulders at arm's length.
His face is on fire, surprise in the arc of his eyebrows. She isn't sure what
she expected to see on Yato's face, but his expression sobers her. He gazes at
her, his pupils wide, panting. The magic of the moment begins to dissolve as
she understands the desire that has overcome her – that she'd been too
exhausted to feel before. Yato clears his throat and the moment fractures like
a bullet hitting glass.
Hiyori backs out of his reach, leaving his hands to hover in the air. He wipes
at his tracksuit, drying his hands. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flitting
between Hiyori and the floor. Hiyori rubs her shoulder, fixating on Yato's
boots.
She's not entirely sure why they stopped – why he stopped. She hadn't wanted
to, but now that they had, she is disoriented and paralyzed by self-
consciousness. She wants to feel that magic again, it plucks at her heart like
she's a marionette whose strings are not attached and can't act on the commands
her heart is giving. Her arms fall limply to her sides. She wants to ask why,
but she fears the answer.
So instead she blurts out “Did you want to stay over tonight?”
“S-sure,” Yato blinks his surprise at her. “If you want me to.”
“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.” Hiyori walks over to her bed and crawls
beneath the covers. “It's already really late...”
Yato nods dumbly, and climbs into bed after her. He switches off the light at
her bedside and sidles up against her. Her puts his arm around her and hugs her
back to his chest. She laces her fingers through his and pulls his arm around
her as she rolls over, hugging his chest to her back.
Hiyori's melts beneath the kisses he plants on her neck. A smile crawls across
her lips, leaning into him, pressing her back into his chest. Her hips shift
back a little, brushing against his pelvis. Her breath hitches as Yato places a
warm hand on her hip and gently moves her forward again. And then she realizes.
The dilated pupils, the breathing, keeping her from pressing against his
pelvis. She sucks in a sharp breath, hangs on to it. It's as if with this new
knowledge, everything has changed somehow. She rolls around to face him. He
releases her from his embrace, arm flying high above his head like it did that
morning and he just holds it there. She can't make out his face, he's just a
dark shape. She has no plan even now that she's facing him. There's something
all twisted in her chest, a confusion. In the darkness, none of this feels
entirely real. She doesn't know how to make it real, she only knows that she
wants it to be. She wants to say something but no words come to mind.
“Hiyori?” Yato drops his arm, and uses his elbow to prop himself up. He
examines her face. She realizes she's been quiet for a while now.
“I'm not keeping you up by being here, am I?” he asks. “Should I go?”
Hiyori's arms circle around his neck and she raises herself to meet him.
“Stay,” she whispers against his lips, pulling him back down to the bed with
her.
She holds him tightly, as close as she can, to feel as much of him as possible.
He makes a surprised noise as he goes down, his lips locked against hers. He
hovers over her for a moment, but her kisses are needy, teasing, tasting, and
he settles on top of her, eager to provide. In her greed for him, Hiyori's
movements are sloppy, her hands wandering aimlessly over his body. And there's
something intrinsically sensual about seeking out his tongue with hers,
connecting deeper than just the surface of their bodies.
Yato pulls back to kiss her pulse, her own whimper surprising her. He sucks at
the sensitive flesh, and a ribbon of pleasure coils between her legs, she
writhes beneath him, pressing up, up and into him. She kisses his forehead, his
temple, anywhere she can reach. He lifts his face and she catches his earlobe,
suckles and nibbles and he lets out an unsuppressed moan that shrivels into a
pleasurable whimper and god that's hot, and she wants to hear more. She grazes
her teeth a long the shell of his ear, up and then down.
“Yato,” she whispers against his ear like a promise, reverent, before curling
her tongue against his earlobe, sucking it back into her mouth. He lets out
another moan and she smiles with sadistic fondness.
“H-hiyori,” he moans, there's a hint of a question in his tone. As if he has as
much trouble believing this is true as she does.
She loves him. She loves him more than she had ever thought it possible to love
another person. No, not just any person. He is a god. Hergod. Her god of
fortune. His only shrine was hers, he'd told her that hers would always be his
number one as if it were a matter of course. Of course she'd be his number one.
And in that instant she realizes that he's loved her for a very long time, long
before she had any idea that she loved him back. His number one believer. She's
tattooed his name on her body, her body a shrine. For a god. For her god. She
releases his earlobe.
“Yato,” she says his name again, her mouth still next to his ear, her voice
cloaked in reverence. She lingers, presses a soft kiss to his temple, and in a
tiny tentative voice adds, “-sama.”
Yato freezes completely and makes a noise like he's choking on air. He lifts
his face to explore her eyes in the faint moonlight. She feels suddenly self-
conscious – as if none of what she has done so far has come as close to the
embarrassment of addressing him with that honorific. It had felt like the right
thing to say, but maybe it was wrong somehow.
His eyes are wide and his voice cracks like static. “What did you just say?”
His fingers grip her sleeves tightly. His chest heaves against hers with the
effort to breathe. His body begins to shake.
The was a sliver of hopefulness in there, she's sure of it. She doesn't know
where all her boldness tonight is coming from, but it doesn't fail her here.
She cups his face in both hands, her expression soft. She waits until he's
looking into her eyes before she repeats herself.
“Yatogami-sama.” She kisses his trembling lips. “My god of fortune,” she
whispers.
His whole body trembles, his erection twitches against her, and his lips come
crashing down on hers and then he's kissing every inch of her face, repeating
her name over and over like a broken record. She strokes his head, running her
fingers through his hair. He nuzzles her, and she feels a wetness on his cheek.
She touches it with her hand and he goes silent.
His grip on her pyjamas loosens. He rubs up and down her arm. He laughs, and it
sounds almost like a sob.
“This is backwards,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “I'm a god. I'm supposed to make your dreams come true. Not... not--”
He kisses her lips so softly she almost doesn't feel it.
He swallows. There's that broken laugh again. “Not the other way around,” he
finishes so quietly she almost doesn't hear him. He punctuates the last word
with a kiss and there's so much love behind it she can feel herself melting
from it.
“Your dreams?” she echoes, her fingers tracing the curvature of his face.
“My very own shrine,” he catches her hand and kisses her fingertips, “you
haven't forgotten me,” he kisses her lips, “you haven't given up on me,” the
edge of her jaw, “you believe in me,” the tip of her nose, “you called me
'Yato-sama,'” he laughs and kisses her lips again. “Hiyori, you...” he
swallows, hesitates, “make me very happy.”
Hiyori giggles gently, pressing her forehead against his. “You make me happy
too.”
One of his arms is looped around her, his hand tracing warm, shapeless patterns
onto her lower back. His other hand stills to pull her flush against him and he
captures her in a kiss that reignites the lust that pulsed through Hiyori's
veins and shook every fiber of her with need. She lets out an uncensored moan,
slides her tongue along the seam of his mouth.
She circles her legs around his waist, forcing his pelvis against hers. A
strangled moan erupts from his lips, as his erection comes to rest fully
between her legs, joined by her own cry as she becomes fully aware of her own
arousal. The the fabric of her bottoms, damp from her own lubrication, is
pressed against her. The tip of his cock rests just shy of her clit, and
without a thought to it, she wriggles against him, seeking to correct this
horrible misalignment. She can feel his cock twitch from the friction.
He trembles, grabs her thighs and disentangles himself. The air is cold and
cruel between her legs.
“Is something wrong?”
He laughs, shaky and thin. “I don't think you know what you do to me.”
“I don't understand.”
“Exactly.” He kisses her forehead. “Maybe we can talk about it another time,
but for right now, I don't want to rush things. I want this be perfect.”
“It already is.” She brushes his bangs out of his eyes, cups his cheek in her
hand. The words come more naturally than she expected them to. “I love you.”
Yato falls completely silent for a long while. Hiyori feels tears damming up
behind her thumb.
“Are you--”
“Hiyori,” he cuts her off, his entire body shaking. He takes her face in his
trembling hands, brings himself close – she can feel his breath on her cheeks
when he speaks. “Do you really mean that?” His voice is like broken glass.
“I do.”
He rests his forehead against hers. “I love you too.”
She snakes her arms around him again, holding him tight, close to her heart.
“No one's ever...” He burrows his face into shoulder, leaving the sentence
hanging. His fingers grip the back of her pyjama top.
She doesn't know what to say or do, so she just holds him. He stays like that,
half-sobbing, until his breaths finally slow after several long minutes.
Hiyori kisses the top of his head and closes her eyes, gently carding her
fingers through his hair until she too finally falls asleep.
                                       …
“Yama-chan?” she probes, her fingernail picking at the corner of a page in the
song book, where the lamination had begun to split. They're at karaoke, but
she's not really in the mood to sing.
“Mm? Having trouble picking a song?”
“No, that's not it...” Hiyori's cheeks redden as she tries to speak the
question she's practiced asking all this morning in her head.
“Oh my god,” Ami puts a hand over her mouth. “There is someone isn't there?”
Yama's face lights up. “You need help asking him out? I owe you, anyway.”
Hiyori waves her hand in front of her. “No, no. I don't need help asking him
out--”
“So you two are already together?” Ami exclaims.
Yama grabs Hiyori by shoulders and shakes her. “How long have you had a
boyfriend without telling us? How long, Hiyori!”
“It's only been a week,” Hiyori squeaks.
Yama stops the shaking but doesn't release her. She regards Hiyori through
narrowed slits for eyes. “Could be worse, I suppose. Who is he?”
“You don't know him.”
“Then you'll just have to introduce us,” says Ami.
“Ah, yeah.” Hiyori forces a laugh. Would they even remember if they met him?
Probably not.
Yama finally lets go. “Anyway, you had a question?”
“Yeah...”
“Well?”
“Yama-chan, you have a boyfriend...” Hiyori trails off, unable to complete her
thought.
Yama blinks at her. Following a long pause she says, “That is not a question.”
Hiyori clears her throat, forcing the words out. “Have you two been...
intimate?”
“Oh my.” Ami covers her mouth again. “Hiyori, have you two already--”
“No!” Hiyori screeches. She shrinks back at her own reaction. She takes a deep
breath before continuing: “I was just wondering how long Yama-chan has waited.
I mean, what's normal?”
“He didn't try to force himself on you, did he?” Ami hisses.
Hiyori whips her head back in forth in favor of yelling again.
“Good,” Ami says. Both she and Yama look relieved.
“So then what has you asking?” says Yama.
“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Hiyori huffs.
“Right, sorry,” Yama chuckles. “Yes, to answer your question: we waited
three... no, four months.”
“Before...?” Hiyori's eyes widen. She leans forward. She needs to hear Yama say
it without any ambiguity.
“Before having sex.”
Hiyori swallows hard.
“But seriously, why do you ask?”
Hiyori looks away. Tries not to think about how ready she'd been to rip her own
clothes off the night before.
“Because you want to?” Yama ventures.
Hiyori buries her face in her hands.
“Bulls eye.” She can hear the smirk in Ami's voice.
Hiyori groans, peering at her friends through the gaps between her fingers.
“You've only been together two days,” Ami points out, cocking her head to the
side.
“Yes, but I've known him – we've been friends for a lot longer.”
“I see.” Ami nods sagely. “That changes everything.”
“It does?”
Yama shrugs.
“Listen, Hiyori.” Yama grabs Hiyori's wrists and lowers her hands to her lap.
“A girl's allowed to have a sex life. If you're sure this is something you want
– something you both want, then there is no wrong time do it. Even if you'd
just met the guy.”
“She's right,” Ami chimes in.
“I don't know if it's something he wants to do...” Hiyori trails off.
Ami tilts her head to the side. “What do you mean? Have you talked about it?”
The prospect of having a conversation about it with Yato makes her a little
lightheaded.
“No,” Hiyori replies. “It's just he seems like he wants to, but he hasn't made
a move.”
“So either he doesn't actually want to, or he does but he's afraid to take
advantage of you,” says Yama.
“He did say something about not wanting to rush...”
Ami folds her arms over her chest and shrugs. “Some guys are like that. They're
afraid of making the wrong move or hurting you, so they end up not doing
anything.”
“He could be one of those.” Yama nods. “But if he said he didn't want to rush,
he may not be ready.
“How am I supposed know to whether he's just trying to protect me or if he
isn't ready?”
“You could always talk to him about it,” Ami suggests.
“Nononono!” Hiyori waves both arms crossing and uncrossing them like she's
warding off evil. “That's – that's way to embarrassing.”
Yama chuckles. “Not everyone can be as direct as you, Ami.”
“True,” Ami concedes tossing her hands up in the air. “Some of us have to have
our friends play match maker.”
“Sh-shut it!” Yama sputters. She turns to Hiyori. “Or you could do what I did,
which is drop a hint so big it is literally impossible to miss.”
“What did you do?”
“One time when were making out in his room, I just started taking my own
clothes off one article at a time. He followed suit and the rest is history.”
“That is a pretty big hint.” Hiyori marvels Yama's forwardness. She's doesn't
think she can mirror that kind of courage.
“I'm sure you'll think of something.” Ami gives her arm a squeeze.
Hiyori has her doubts. “What if he doesn't get the hint? Or doesn't take it?”
“Then I guess you'll just have to talk about it.” Yama punches her shoulder
lightly.
                                      ...
“So how's your foot today?” Yato asks the next day.
They're sitting across from each other on her bed, both pretzel-legged.
“After karaoke Yama and Ami wanted to walk around so we spent the better part
of the afternoon wandering the streets of Tokyo. So they're a bit sore, but
otherwise good.”
“Shall I give you a foot massage?” Yato makes grabby hands at her.
“I don't know, are you going to charge me 5 yen?”
Yato chuckles. “This one's on the house.”
“In that case, how can I refuse such a generous offer?” Hiyori leans back
against her pillows at the head of her bed, and straightens her legs. She
adjusts the skirt of her dress a little.
Yato takes her foot and pull it into his lap. He works his thumbs in circles,
seeming to know exactly where to apply pressure. Finding a knot, he presses
into it. A contented sigh passes Hiyori's lips. She relaxes deeper into the
mountain of pillows, sliding towards him – an idea sprouting in her head. Her
knees bend, her skirt begins to fall up her thighs. Yato's eyes go wide and his
face crimson.
She doesn't have the courage to use words. But the thrill of Yato looking at
her like that outweighs her embarrassment. She tries to tell him between
fluttering lashes. Her shy smile, bottom lip between her teeth. She wants to
tell him he is free to look without ever having the words leave her mouth. She
spreads her legs a little wider. Shaking fingers curl around the hem of her
skirt, drawing it up even higher as she gathers more fabric into her fist. This
is it, Yato, she thinks. This is my big hint. And it backfires miserably.
“H-how's your bruise?” Yato blurts out, yanking her sock off in one fluid,
excruciating movement.
And then panic stills Hiyori's breath, her jaw chewing on words that are stuck
between her teeth and won't come out.
“Is this... my name?” Yato's voice thin. His finger is straight like an arrow,
poised just above the mark on her ankle. She can just feel his fingernail
lightly hovering against the smooth lines of his name, painted on her skin.
He pulls her stocking the rest of the way off. He slowly removes her other sock
to compare. It's bare.
“Hiyori,” he murmurs a tiny question on the tail end of her name. “When you
said you had ways to make sure you never forgot again, was this – is this one
of them?”
He traces the characters with the crescent of his nail, leaving a thin wake of
little pins and needles. He doesn't look at her, can't. His eyes are glued to
her foot. Hiyori watches him carefully, stiffly. The warm exhilaration from
before has given way chilled anxiety.
They're quiet for a long time before Hiyori grinds out a “Yeah.”
Yato's eyes are stretched as wide as they go, collecting moisture at the edges.
His mouth is slightly agape in... awe?
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Hiyori mumbles, somewhat indignant,
all her words running together. It's a miracle Yato understands her. Her cheeks
color.
“And it's not a good idea anymore?”
Seeing the expression he wears drives a stake through her chest.
“N-no!” Hiyori is quick to reply. “I mean, I keep writing your name so...”
“It's not permanent?”
Hiyori begins to relax a little, taking deep breaths. She can do this. She has
already said she loves him and this is just saying it again but in a different
way, she tells herself.
“W-well, I kind of didn't want anyone to see it, and having a permanent tattoo
might make that a bit difficult,” Hiyori fumbles. She is afraid telling him she
just doesn't want his name permanently emblazoned on her person might be taken
the wrong way. “Tattoos aren't exactly looked on fondly in Japan.”
“That's true... But. Do you know...” he begins, trailing off.
What that means? Hiyori finishes in her head.
“Kofuku-san told me.” She has to swallow a lump before she can continue. Hiyori
is staring at her foot now too. She closes her legs and fixes her skirt. “She
said that it was like turning my body into a shrine – that... That it was like
giving you a home...with me. And I probably should have been too embarrassed to
keep writing your name, but I want you to have a home with me. Because you do.
Because I love you, Yato.”
His mouth moves around the syllables of her name but no sound comes out. The
tears that had been welling begin to spill over one at a time. And suddenly he
seems so far away. She scooches closer, slips her arms around his middle and
buries her head in his shoulder. Yato touches the back of her head with his
hand, gently toying with her hair. His touch is so delicate it's like he's
afraid he might break her. Then as if he finally realized she's not a porcelain
doll, he circles his other arm around her and crushes her against him. He
shudders into the embrace.
“Thank you,” he lets out, his voice like fractured glass.
Hiyori doesn't know what to say to this. She strokes his back and places a soft
kiss to his temple. She says it again, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Hiyori,” he breathes, the words floating along a current of
relief.
She gives him a gentle pat, hiccuping a tiny pleased laugh as she does so. “I
know.”
He pulls back to regard her face, and she can see the shimmering trails on his
cheeks left by his tears.
“Hiyori, may I kiss you?”
Her lips ease into a smile. “You don't have to ask.”
He kisses her then, warm and tender. Hiyori wills all the warmth and all the
love she has for him into this one kiss, this one embrace, and she finds
herself shivering, unable to contain sheer power of it. Her own body is
electrified by Yato's love for her. It washes across the shore of her
consciousness, smoothing away all other thoughts. Right now there is only Yato.
His sweet taste on her tongue. The soft caress of his hand on her cheek. And
just like that the fire is ignited yet again. Warmth floods her limbs, flowing
through every fiber of her being. All because of Yato.
Hiyori breaks away and leans back. With two fistfuls of his jersey jacket, she
pulls Yato down onto the bed with her. He follows her, quick to capture her
lips again. She uses one hand to press his chest away from her while the other
gropes for his zipper. She tugs at it once, twice, and then she's freeing him
of his jacket. He undoes his scarf. She plants her hands on him, frustration
curling her fingers into fistfuls of his T-shirt. She yanks it free from where
it's tucked in his track pants. He helps himself out of it, and the moment he's
free of it, before he's even tossed it aside, Hiyori's hands are on him,
exploring the surface of his skin.
Yato's eyes flutter closed as a sigh passes his lips. It's as if the warmth
radiating off him is passing through her arms to her very core. When his eyes
open again, they flicker nervously from between her eyes and her chest. His
fingers toy with the first of the two buttons on her sweater, his face an open
question. Hiyori answers by undoing them both and shrugging off her sweater.
Then she gets straight to work on the buttons of the bodice of her dress, one
by one, starting from the top. Yato has stopped watching her face, riveted by
the progress of her hands. His own cheeks turning redder and redder. She smiles
coyly, undoing the last one and pulling her dress over her head to toss it on
the floor.
Yato gapes at Hiyori, at the simple lace design on her bra. He searches her
expression. All she has for him is a smile.
“Hiyori,” he rasps. “This is... are you sure?”
“I'm sure,” she says. “I've been sure from the moment I first kissed you. I
want... to give you my everything.”
“ 'Everything'?” he echoes, his eyes widening.
She presses her index finger against his sternum. She lightly traces the
outline of his muscles, the lines and curves of her beloved. She dips a teasing
finger into his belly button, beneath his waistband.
“Everything,” she repeats.
Yato echoes her again, this time only a murmur. His fingers track up her sides.
He pauses at the band of her bra, follows it as it wraps around her back. He
fumbles with the hooks for several seconds. The instant her breasts are free,
her breath catches, and her nipples harden in anticipation.
“You're beautiful,” he breathes, straddling her hips beneath him.
Hiyori flushes harder at this. “You're not bad yourself.”
Yato chuckles fondly. He runs his fingertips over the peak of her breast, and a
soft gasp escapes Hiyori. She arches into his touch. He leans forward to kiss
her again. Hiyori eagerly teases his lower lip with her tongue, his mouth opens
slightly. She releases a tiny moan when she touches the tip of his tongue with
hers. Yato cups her breasts, flexing his fingers gently. A spark of pleasure
shoots through her, sizzling between her legs as he pinches her nipples between
thumb and forefinger. She writhes beneath him, hips bucking for friction but
finding none, she whimpers into his mouth. She can feel the damn smug grin
crawling across his lips.
“Y-yato!” His name is a breathy plea, breaking the kiss.
She bites her lip, her eyes falling to where to where he's straddling her. His
track pants are loose, but the shape of his erection his unmistakable through
the dark fabric. She rests her hand on his thigh. Her thumb twirl circles on
the inside of his leg, just below... She searches his face.
She swallows hard, her request hoarse, “M-may I... touch you...?”
“Ah, um, yeah,” Yato shifts a little, glancing away from her and back. “You
don't to have if you d-don't want to...” he trails off, his hands leave her
chest.
“I want to.” She looks at him shyly.
He gapes at her like he is having difficulty processing what she just said.
“If you want – and only if you want to – you are free to touch me...”
“Like this?”
“Ah.”
Hiyori's fingers find the tip of his penis through his pants, stretching them
out to stroke the rest of the head.
“Yes,” he hisses. “Please, keep touching me.”
She explores the shape of his erection through his pants. He presses into her
hand, his eyes slip shut and a series of groans rumble within his throat. She
listens to the noises he makes, her own arousal and curiosity piqued further
with each new utterance of his pleasure.
Yato swings one leg over so he's no longer straddling her and settles at her
side. He bows forward and cups her chin, kissing her softly. Hiyori hooks her
arm around him, pulling him close. Her breasts flattening against his chest.
The skin on skin contact awakens another pulse of pleasure in her loins. She
shimmies out of her panties, then wrestles Yato free of his pants and boxers.
His cock bobs free and she runs her fingertips along the inside of his bare
thigh, up the length of his cock, her touch featherlight. Yato shivers,
planting a languid kiss to her neck. His cock twitches greedily in her hand.
“Hiyori,” he breathes.
“Mm?” she massages the head of his cock with her fingertips, relishing the
subtle way his hips jerk into her touch.
Her breath catches as his hand strokes its way along her thigh, beneath the
curve of her ass.
“May I touch you too?”
Hiyori nods. “Y-yeah.”
Yato's splays his fingers out, runs them down over her stomach, downwards,
through the thick patch of curls between her legs. One of his fingers happens
over her clit, a moan erupts form her throat, turning into a whimper as Yato's
finger, now become slick in her own juices, slides over her entrance.
“May I, uh,” Yato's whole face is flushed, “kiss you here too?”
Hiyori nods quickly, silently. His hand still hovering around her nether
regions, he scoots down, and positions his face between her legs. He kisses the
inside of her leg. He presses his lips to her clit softly. A trembling gasp
shakes her body, Yato's name erupting from her when he touches her with his
tongue, draws the small bundle of nerves into his mouth.
He sucks that ribbon of pleasure down between her thighs. It curls, spirals
down the walls of her vagina, but the space is empty. It grows taught around
air, amplifying the void she feels inside her.
“W-wait,” Hiyori manages. She shivers. His saliva is quick to cool against her
when he lifts his head up to look at her. “I want you inside me.”
Yato tests her entrance with his finger. It slides in with relative ease. He
wiggles it around a little.
“I want that too, but I don't think you're ready,” he says quietly.
“I am.” Her voice is firm. “I want this.”
“No, I mean, you're too tight.”
“Huh?”
“I wouldn't fit.”
“Oh.” Hiyori chews on her lip. If her face wasn't already as red as it gets, it
is now. “That's okay. Yama said it would hurt the first time. I'm prepared.
“W-what?” she asks in response to his horrified expression. He almost looks
pained.
He sits up. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“But isn't that normal? The first time?”
“I wouldn't know... but I don't think it has to,” says Yato, his brow
determined.
“You've never done this before?”
Yato glances away. “...You're my first.”
Hiyori sits up as well. “You're mine too. We'll figure this out together. I
don't mind if it hurts a little.”
He shakes his head vigorously. “I'm not going to hurt you. We don't have to
rush this. We can work our way up to it. If not this time, then next time. I
want you to feel good, Hiyori.”
His words are like a balm that warms her whole body and soul. Why does he have
to be so damn sweet. It's too much.
She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay. Thank you for
thinking of me.”
“Always.” The relief that settles over his shoulders is palpable and she has to
chuckle at it.
Yato reaches for the back of her neck, pulling her lips back to his, and then
he slowly guides her back down. He lays down beside her.
Hiyori rolls into him, feeling his bare skin on her own. She explores his
profile with her hand, the inside of his thigh. His member is firm in her hand,
and the noises her touch illicits entices her to touch him more. She feels his
finger return to her entrance, gently tracing circles around the edge, probing
inside with just his fingertip. The space around his finger is cool and
punishing. She shivers.
She's impatient. She gives his cock a squeeze, fisting his erection up and
down. His hips quiver into the rhythm of her hand.
Yato sucks her bottom lip between his teeth and slides a second finger inside
her, curling it against her walls. A moan reverberates from her very core She
flexes her fingers helplessly around his member, all ability to think
evaporated. She writhes into him as he develops a rhythm, mapping her walls
with his fingers.
The fog of pleasure dissipates slightly, Hiyori resumes her ministrations. He
shudders and withdraws, his fingers to loosely curl them around her wrist. She
can feel their slickness from her juices.
“I appreciate the gesture, but if I come now, it's all over,” he says. “Just
being with you like this is...”
“I can relate,” Hiyori says with a breathy chuckle.
She releases him and tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling him in for more
kisses. He slips his fingers back inside her.
“Does it hurt?” he asks when he has three fingers inside her.
“No,” she breathes. “It feels good.”
“Good. You should top. You'll have more control that way if it's
uncomfortable.”
Hiyori's pulse is thunder in her ears. Finally. She pushes him onto his back
and swings her leg over, so she's straddling him. She runs her fingertips up
the underside of his cock, in awe of him, of where they are. It twitches
impatiently, and a shy smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.
“I love you,” says Yato.
“I love you too.”
Her hand closes around him, guides him to her entrance. Then intending to treat
it like ripping off a band-aid, Hiyori slides down onto him in one fluid
movement. She gasps. Yama had warned her how much it would hurt. She could not
have been more wrong.
“How are you? Are you okay?” Yato asks.
“It feels amazing,” she says, meeting his gaze, a grin breaking across her
face.
His pupils are wide, and the blue in his irises seems to shimmer. You'reso damn
beautiful itisn't fair.
“If you ask me, you're the beautiful one,” he replies, the corner of his mouth
quirking upwards.
She slaps her hands over her mouth. Crap. She said that out loud.
He laughs from his belly, his body shakes. His cock pulses inside her. She
feels full like this. She feels whole. Her body is his shrine and he belongs
inside her. Just from that tiny bit of movement, she can feel the ribbon of
pleasure from before swirling down again, lining her walls, coiling around
Yato's member inside her.
“You can move,” she tells him, breathlessly.
“Are you sure? If you need more time to adjust--”
“Yato,” Hiyori cuts him off, her eyes plead with him. “Please.”
He swallows. He slowly rocks his hips into her. She meets him, pushing her hips
down onto him. He strikes a cord within her, plucking a moan from her.
“Faster.”
“Fuck, Hiyori,” Yato groans as he obliges.
Their rhythm is far from perfection, but with each thrust that Yato buries
himself to the hilt, that ribbon grows increasingly taught. She feels it
fraying, pulsing through her and around Yato's cock. She grinds herself onto
him, harder – trying to reach that fullness again and again. Until the ribbon
snaps, and splinters, delivering ecstasy to her every nerve. She cries out, his
name a prayer spilling from her lips.
The lingering threads undulate as Yato continues to thrust into her, sending
shallow ripples across the surface of her skin. Her thighs tingle where his
hands still grip her, her nerves on high alert. Her body singing the bridge to
another orgasm as Yato continues to fuck her. He says her name. Captures her
gaze as he spills his warm seed inside her, moving beneath her until the
pleasure is too much and his eyes flutter closed.
They both slow to a halt, stay there unmoving but for their heaving chests as
they labor for air. Hiyori becomes vaguely aware of the sweat-slick strands of
her hair sticking to her skin. She doesn't care. She smiles at Yato. He smiles
back. She leans forward, kisses him softly, before easing herself off him, his
already softening cock falling out of her.
She collapses in an exhausted heap beside him. He immediately rolls onto his
side and puts an arm around her, pulling her close for a kiss.
“I love you,” he says between feather-light kisses, his words gently bumping
against her lips.
“I love you too.” She wipes his fringe – plastered to his forehead – away from
his eyes. “Always.”
“So how was it?” Yato asks, unable to completely hide his concern. “It didn't
hurt, did it?”
“Not one bit.” Hiyori gives him a peck on the nose.
He gives her a relieved smile. “I'm glad.”
“Actually, Yato...”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you'd maybe... want to spend the night tonight?”
He chuckles breathlessly. “Such a generous offer, how could I possible refuse?”
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