#because the kominka life is calling!!!

[jamelalatise]

do you want to move to Japan and renovate a rural townhouse with me yes or no?

[rosierin]

Mischief & Manner │Miya Twins

In Tokyo, (y/n)'s days are neat and predictable—vintage dresses, polite manners, and the buzz of the big city filling the spaces in between. But summers belong to the countryside, where the air is thick with cicada songs, and her grandfather’s home stands at the edge of an ancient forest.

She has always known to stay on the path.

Until, one warm summer evening, she doesn’t.

The trees stretch taller, the air tingles with something unseen, and just as the forest begins to feel like a place she might never leave, she meets them— two masked boys with fox tails and knowing smiles.

The first time (y/n) met them, she was six.

The summer holiday had always been a sacred time for her, a time where she could leave behind the hustle and bustle of the city and spend a month at her grandad's rural paradise. The air held a different scent here— clean and free of pollution, filled with the scent of pine and wild sakura. The sky was clear and endless, the sun bright and warm, and the countryside full of rolling green valleys, open fields, and small woodland areas, waiting to be explored. Her grandad's house was her haven, a place of tranquillity and fond memories.

The same couldn’t be said about her parents’ estate.

Their home was big. Too big. A sprawling maze of winding staircases and labyrinthine corridors, each one polished to perfection. But (y/n) never got lost— how could she with maids constantly scurrying throughout the manor, each one dedicated to her every need. They hovered over her like shadows, ensuring that she never took a wrong turn. From preparing her three meals a day to brushing her hair, their attentions spared the young lady from the mundane demands of daily life. They were there to take care of her needs, down to the most trivial detail. They would even tie her shoelaces, if she so wished. She needn’t lift a finger.

Back in Tokyo, her days were dictated by the ticking of a clock.

Piano lessons at ten— hours spent reciting Für Elise until the once-romantic melody became nothing more than a series of lifeless notes.

Etiquette lessons at noon— back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“That’s not how a proper lady speaks— articulate your words.”

“Don’t slouch. A lady carries herself with grace.”

“Confidence, always. When you enter a room, the world should feel it.”

Gruelling as it was, at least the weekends offered a small glimmer of escape. Sometimes, she was allowed to see her friends. Not just any friends, though— Priscilla and Grace were acceptable, but never Jeanne. Her family is different from ours, they said, though they never explained what different really meant.

But somehow, she knew.

Her grandad’s home was that same kind of different.

It was small— just two rooms and a single bathroom, its walls built from the sturdy wood of Japanese chestnut trees. Nothing like the cold, impersonal stone of her parents’ estate. He had called it a kominka, an old, traditional house. Here, there were no maids, no schedules. No one to brush his hair or tie his shoelaces. He did everything himself, and somehow, it never seemed like a burden.

Maybe it was because she only ever visited in the summertime, but his house always smelled like sunshine. It felt warm. Alive.

Here, there was no schedule to follow, no lessons to endure or strict rules to uphold. Sometimes, he'd ask her to help him in the garden, but he never hovered, never corrected her trivial mistakes. He only laughed when she plucked a strawberry too soon, never scolding, never sighing in disappointment. He didn’t even make her wear gloves.

She'd never admit it aloud, but she preferred life at her grandad's.

For a lack of better word, here in Kyoto, she felt free.

As free as the birds that visited the birdhouse she and her grandad had built together. As free as the wind that made the chimes sing. As free as the river that had led her— step by step, deeper into the ancient forest— to the day she first met them.

“Be back before sundown,” her grandad reminded her.

The warm afternoon breeze tousled her hair as she stood at the base of the shrine, the scent of cedar and incense lingering in the air. He had settled onto a wooden bench nearby, stretching out his legs with a contented sigh. “These old bones aren’t as fit as they once were,” he chuckled, rubbing his knee.

(Y/n) frowned. “That’s not true! You still look young and sprightly to me.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “I wish.”

She grinned, but her attention was already drifting to the towering red torii gate that marked the entrance to the forest. Beyond it, a narrow path stretched beneath the trees, dappled with golden light. It was calling to her, like the start of an adventure waiting to unfold.

After waving him off, she flashed him a smile before venturing into the mouth of the forest, breaching two tall red pillars bearing the words— Fushimi Inari Shrine.

The world beyond them was breath-taking. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, casting golden patches of light onto the mossy ground. Towering trees stretched high into the sky, their thick trunks adorned with twisting vines and delicate clusters of pale flowers. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of earth and the lingering whiff of afternoon showers. It felt like stepping into a dream— one spun from folklore and fairy tales. Everything about the forest seemed alive, as if it had been waiting for her.

Fwoosh.

She froze mid-step. A strange noise rustled through the trees, faint yet deliberate.

Curious, she turned toward the sound, half-expecting to see a squirrel darting between the leaves. When nothing appeared, she hesitated only for a moment before pressing forward. The forest was safe— wasn’t it? With nimble steps, she climbed over a fallen log, landing softly on the other side.

Fwoosh. Fwoosh.

This time, the sound came from somewhere ahead— just beyond a small thicket of trees.

Her breath hitched slightly. It wasn’t the rustling of wind through the leaves. It was something else. Something moving.

Swallowing her nerves, she crept closer, weaving between the trees as she searched for the source. But nothing came into view. No rabbit, no bushy-tailed squirrel, not even one of those adorable pink sugar-mice that her beloved grandfather used to sing about in her favourite lullaby.

With every step, the forest around her seemed to shift. The sunlight that once dripped through the leaves had faded, swallowed by thickening shadows. The warmth of the afternoon air now felt cold against her sun-kissed skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

She turned back the way she came— only to find that the path was gone.

Her heart clenched with panic. Hadn’t she just passed that fallen log? Where was the red gate? The more she looked, the more unfamiliar everything became. The trees loomed taller now, towering over her, their roots twisting like clawed fingers. The once sweet scent of earth had turned damp and heavy.

She called out, her voice trembling. “Grandpa? Are you there?”

Silence.

Tears welled in her eyes as fear took hold. Should she keep moving? What if she wandered further from the shrine? But if she stayed here, would anyone find her? With a quiet sob, she stumbled toward the nearest tree and curled up against its trunk, hugging her knees to her chest.

The forest was quiet now, too quiet. The only sounds were her tiny sniffles and the rapid pounding of her heart.

Then—

A glint of gold.

A flicker of silver.

Her breath caught. She sat upright, pressing herself deeper into the tree bark as the flashes appeared again, closer this time. Something— someone— was moving.

Silence.

Then— soft footsteps against the forest floor.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t look. If you don’t look, maybe they’ll go away.

“Yer lost.”

The voice was calm and composed, neither harsh nor unkind, but firm enough that it left no room for denial.

Cautiously, she lifted her head.

Two figures stood before her, bathed in the last slivers of fading sunlight. Both wore masks— fox-like and beautiful, with intricate crimson markings curling along the edges— but it was their hair that set them apart. One, silver-haired and slightly tousled, stood still and unreadable, his presence as cool and steady as the moon. The other, golden-haired and just a touch messier, tilted his head, a glint of mischief in his stance— radiant and careless, like the afternoon sun. Sharp, furred ears, the same colour as their hair, flicked atop their heads, and behind them, twin fox tails swayed lazily, catching the light as they moved.

“Yeah… and lucky for you, we found ya first,” the golden-haired one added, his tone far too amused for her liking.

Her pulse quickened. What does that mean?

She shrank back against the tree, gripping the fabric of her sundress as she tried to make sense of them. They weren’t like anyone she’d ever seen before. Their masks concealed their expressions, but something about them— about the way they stood, the way they watched her— made her wary.

The silver-haired one sighed, as if this situation was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Yer scarin’ her.”

“I just said we found her. How’s that scary?”

“Because ya sound like a fox that just cornered a rabbit.”

The golden-haired boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Not my fault she looks like one.”

Her breath hitched at that. A rabbit. Small, fragile, prey.

The little girl’s fingers clenched the fabric of her dress, her breath catching in her throat. The fear was still there, chest tight, but something about them— something in the way they stood, in the way they spoke— kept it from overwhelming her entirely.

Kitsune.

She had seen them before, in picture books and bedtime stories. Tricksters, guardians, spirits of the forest. Not all were good, but not all were bad, either.

Still, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

A beat of silence passed.

Then the silver-haired Kitsune sighed, the sound slow and measured, like a breeze rustling through leaves. When he spoke again, his voice carried the same unhurried cadence. “Do ya understand us?”

His words were gentle, yet certain, like a statement more than a question.

The golden-haired one, however, leaned forward slightly, his tone sharper, more playful. “Or did we scare ya that bad?” His voice had an energy to it— lighter, more teasing, laced with something almost smug.

The girl flinched, her wide eyes darting between them. The silver-haired one exhaled, shifting his weight ever so slightly. “Yer not helpin’ .”

“What? I’m just checkin’.”

The silver-haired one ignored him, turning his masked face back to the girl. “Yer lost.” He said it again, the same quiet certainty in his tone. No accusation, no amusement— just fact.

That was enough to break her daze. She swallowed hard, finally finding her voice.

“I… I don’t know how to get back.”

The golden-haired boy hummed, tilting his head. “Yeah, I figured. Ya looked like a lost kitten when we found ya.”

The silver-haired Kitsune shifted ever so slightly toward the other. “A rabbit, earlier. A kitten, now. Make up yer mind.”

The golden-haired Kitsune scoffed. “She can be both.”

The girl blinked between them as they fell into an easy back-and-forth, their words slipping into something that felt almost like habit. Their voices were similar in a way— both smooth, both strangely melodic and carrying that same amusing accent— but where one was slow and deliberate, the other was quick and untamed.

Somehow, despite everything, it made them feel less frightening.

The golden-haired one suddenly clapped his hands together. “Well! We should probably do somethin’ about this before she starts cryin’ again.” He gestured vaguely in the little girls’ direction, making her frown. This?

The silver-haired fox exhaled. “Ya could try not bein' rude.”

“I could,” the golden-haired fox echoed with mock consideration. “But I won’t.”

The girl sniffled, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve as she attempted to mask her unease. “I-I wasn’t crying that much…”

That made the golden-haired Kitsune pause. Then he shrugged. “Sure ya weren’t.”

The silver-haired one tilted his head slightly. “Can you stand?”

She hesitated, then nodded. Carefully, she pushed herself up, her legs wobbling beneath her.

The golden-haired Kitsune huffed, hands on his hips. “Good. Woulda been a pain to carry ya.”

The silver-haired one shot him a look before turning back to the girl. “We’ll take ya back.”

She hesitated. “You… will?”

“Obviously,” the golden-haired one drawled. “What, ya think we’re just gonna leave ya here?”

She hadn’t known what to expect, but somehow, she felt a little lighter. Maybe it was the way they bickered, or the way their voices filled the once-empty forest, but for the first time since she’d gotten lost, she didn’t feel so alone.

And so, with one last glance at the darkening trees, she took a step forward— toward the Kitsune boys, and toward whatever came next.

The little girl’s small hands were swallowed by theirs, warm and steady as they guided her through the twisting forest paths. She wasn’t sure if they were leading her forward or if the forest itself was parting for them, but with each step, the once looming trees seemed less daunting. The Kitsune moved easily, as if they belonged here— as if the trees, the roots, even the wind knew them well.

The golden-haired one broke the quiet first. “Are ya scared?”

The little girl stiffened, straightening her back. “No.”

His masked face tilted, as if he were inspecting her. “Huh. Coulda fooled me.”

“I’m not scared,” she insisted, gripping their hands a little tighter.

The silver-haired one hummed, his voice as even as ever. “Yer holdin’ on pretty tight for someone who’s not scared.”

The girl quickly loosened her grip, cheeks warming.

The golden-haired one snickered. “Relax, kid. We don’t eat children.”

“I knew that,” she huffed, lifting her chin.

The silver-haired one let out a slow sigh, almost like a laugh. “Good. That woulda been awkward.”

They kept walking, the trees thinning little by little. The girl glanced around, the gentle sway of leaves above making her think of stories she had heard— tales of spirits, of gods who lived in hidden places. She hesitated before asking, “Are there… other spirits here?”

The Kitsune exchanged a glance.

“There are,” the silver-haired one admitted after a moment. “Some are like us.”

“Some ain’t,” the golden-haired one added, far too casually.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

The silver-haired boy gave the other a look before turning back to her. “Some spirits are kind. Others aren’t as friendly.”

The girl looked up at them, wide-eyed. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry,” the golden-haired Kitsune said, squeezing her hand lightly. “We got ya.”

Something in the way he said it made her believe him.

They walked in comfortable silence after that, the exit of the forest now in sight. The girl felt her heart sink a little. She was almost out. Almost home.

Almost gone.

The thought made her hesitate. She looked up at the two fox-masked figures beside her, at their strange yet familiar presence, their easy, teasing voices. Would this be the first and last time she saw them?

“…Will I see you again?”

The golden-haired one made a thoughtful noise. “Dunno. Depends.”

“On what?”

He grinned behind his mask. “If ya come lookin’.”

The girl frowned. “But I’m leaving tomorrow… I have to go back to Tokyo.”

That made the golden-haired Kitsune whistle. “The big city, huh? No wonder ya look so fancy.”

She pursed her lips. “I am fancy.”

The silver-haired one sighed. “Don’t encourage him.”

Too late. The golden-haired boy ruffled her hair as though she was a puppy. “Well, Your Highness, if yer so fancy, maybe ya can find yer way back next summer— without getting lost."

The girl’s frown deepened. She bit back a small pout. “I won't.”

The golden-haired one laughed. “I guess we'll see.”

She looked up at them, expectant. “Will you be here?”

The silver-haired one gave a small shrug. “You’ll have to find us.”

Something about that answer felt right. Like a secret left in the wind, waiting to be discovered. As the trees finally opened to the path she knew, she held onto that thought— next summer, she would find them.

They walked in comfortable silence once more, the forest thinning around them, the distant sound of cicadas filling the air. The golden-haired Kitsune gave an exaggerated sigh. “Guess this is where we say goodbye, huh?”

The girl didn’t answer right away. The thought made her chest ache in a way she didn’t quite understand. They had only just met, and yet…

Her steps slowed as they reached the base of the shrine, where the stone steps stretched up toward the world she knew. The Kitsune stopped just short of the tree line, carefully watching her leave.

At the top of the shrine steps, the little girl hesitated, turning back toward the forest.

The Kitsune stood at the bottom, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. For the first time, she saw them as they truly were— like something out of a picture book, guardians of the woods, belonging to the whispering trees and shifting shadows. The breeze stirred their hair and the ribbons tied to their masks, making them look almost unreal, like a vision she might wake from at any moment. Their twin tails swayed idly behind them, brushing against the fallen leaves, their movements slow and deliberate.

She clutched the hem of her dress, suddenly feeling small. “Before I go… can I ask for your names?”

The silver-haired one tilted his head slightly, and the golden-haired one’s shoulders shifted, as if he might’ve been smirking beneath his mask. They answered together.

“Miya.”

She murmured the name under her breath, as if tasting it, letting it settle on her tongue. The sound rang through the air like wind chimes, light and familiar, despite being new to her ears. It made her smile.

“And yers? Little Miss...” the golden-haired Kitsune asked.

She straightened her back, chin lifting slightly, just as she had been taught. “(Y/n).”

At the sound of her name, their ears twitched— an almost imperceptible movement, but she caught it nonetheless. Their tails flicked in unison, as if acknowledging it.

“Fancy name,” the golden-haired Kitsune mused, arms folding across his chest. “Kinda suits ya, though.”

“Better than yours,” she said, mimicking his tone, jutting her chin challengingly.

The silver-haired Kitsune let out a quiet chuckle while the golden-haired one scoffed, indignant. “Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean?”

“It means we should let her go before it gets too dark,” the quieter one interrupted, already turning back into the woods.

“Yeah, yeah,” the golden-haired one muttered, his tails flicking dismissively.

(Y/n) stifled a giggle. “I’ll see you next summer.”

The golden-haired Kitsune glanced over his shoulder. “That so?”

“We’ll be waitin’,” the silver-haired one said, his voice carrying in the warm evening air.

(Y/n) smiled. “Goodbye for now."

With that, she turned and made her way down the shrine steps, her hair catching in the golden light. As she walked away, the last thing she heard was the distant sound of bickering.

“Ya just had to get the last word in, didn’t ya?”

“Least I didn’t trip up the stairs.”

“That was one time!”

(Y/n) laughed softly to herself, holding the memory close as she disappeared beyond the torii gates.