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auroraphilealis · 6 years ago

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Stubborn Love

Stubborn Love | It’s Martyn who goes with Phil to pick out the ring, and it’s Martyn who watches Dan and Phil’s stubbornness nearly cause the whole thing to blow up in their faces. He’d complain if they weren’t so obviously perfect for each other. | Outsider POV, Light Angst, Proposal Fic | 8,780 Words

This was intended to be a cute little drabble based on (this) prompt, but as I began to write it, the fic decided it wanted to be so much more. I really enjoyed creating a story from Martyn’s POV in order to explain just how strong Dan and Phil’s relationship really is. Thanks to @imnotinclinedtomaturity for 1. Encouraging me to write the fic, and 2. For editing for me as always. It wouldn’t be as wonderful as it is without her help.

Fill for the @phandomficfests: bingo 2018, word prompt: Commitment.

(Ao3 Link)

“This one,” Phil says, the awe in his voice unmistakeable.

The ring is all black, with a thin strip of black diamonds running through the middle. The outer edge of the thick band is ribbed with a gentle design that’s almost silver, but not quite. The most fascinating aspect of the ring, however, is the way that Phil is looking at it.

Martyn’s only ever seen that look on his brother’s face one other time. Or, rather, in one other situation: everytime he looks at Dan.

It’s kind of adorable, really. Normally, Martyn would rib on him for being so hopelessly in love, but he figures he can cut Phil a bit of slack today.

But only just a bit.

“You’ve hardly looked at the others,” Martyn teases, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips as he bumps his shoulder playfully into Phil’s. “And it’s a bit simple. Dan’s more edgy, isn’t he?” he asks, side eyeing Phil knowingly.

But Phil just shakes his head without looking up from the ring. He doesn’t say anything, he looks far too mesmerized by the soft black of the wedding band to defend Dan the way he normally would. Martyn can see the way his finger traces over the glass, as if trying to imagine what the ring would feel like pressed against his skin.

“What about this one, though?” Martyn asks anyway, pointing to a second ring that had caught his attention. It was black too, pretty similar but just a little fancier, with silver encasing the sides. “Isn’t it a bit more Dan’s style?” he wheedles, nudging Phil playfully again.

“No, this is definitely the one,” Phil argues, his eyes barely flickering to the second one.

It’s a declaration of such utter conviction that Martyn doesn’t question him again. The teasing grin falls from his lips as he looks up, catches the salesperson’s eye, and gestures them over. When he looks back, he studies Phil’s face carefully: the delicate pull of his brows downward, the determination pinching at his lips.

And he smiles, because he knows that look, too.

It’s the look Phil always gets when he makes up his mind about something. It’s the look he’d had when he’d told Martyn he’d fallen in love with the kid on the other side of the computer screen; it’s the look he’d had when he’d told Martyn he was moving in with Dan; it’s the look he’d had when he’d told Martyn he was going to ask Dan to marry him.

So it’s definitely the right ring.

Only it’s not the right size.

As the saleslady slips it free from the display case and hands it over for Phil to examine up close, Martyn can already tell that it’s not going to fit Dan. It’s absolutely massive, and despite the fact that Dan has pretty big hands - a conversation Martyn never wants to have with his brother ever again - even Martyn can tell it’s too big.

Phil tries to slide it over his ring finger anyway, and then his middle, index, and thumb, but on each consecutive finger, the ring continues to slide down Phil’s skin with no resistance. Martyn can see that his lips are pursed, even more tensely than earlier. This isn’t a look of determination anymore - this is a look of distress.

Martyn looks back at the saleslady and asks the question Phil clearly isn’t able to ask just then.

“Do you have this style in any other sizes?”

“One second,” she replies, and moves under the counter again, pulling free the little box the ring had sat in. Martyn watches hopefully as she glances at the bottom of the box, where he assumes information about stock must sit, but from the corner of his eye he can see Phil continuing to check out the ring. He runs his fingers over the dark metal, the little black stones, and his face absolutely melts.

The saleslady clears her throat.

“Unfortunately that’s currently the only ring in that style we have on hand. We can send it to be resized though. Where you looking to size up or down?” she asks sweetly.

Phil doesn’t answer her question.

“My boyfriend’s birthday is on June 11th. Can it be resized by then?” he asks instead, already worrying at his bottom lip, his eyes wide and pleading. Martyn rests his hand on Phil’s shoulder reassuringly, doing his best to keep Phil from panicking.

The saleslady looks taken aback, like she wasn’t expecting the question. She blinks rapidly a few times, clearly caught off guard.

“I - I’m not sure. I’d have to check. Would the pick up be in store, or -”

“Is it possible to have it shipped to the Isle of Man?” Phil blurts out, very obviously growing more and more nervous by the second. Martyn tugs on his shoulder a little, draws him into his side, and curls his whole arm across the plane of Phil’s back.

“Of course,” the saleslady hastens to reply, only now she looks proper nervous. “I’m just not sure it could be done and arrive at your location by June 11th,” she admits. She’s staring at Phil sympathetically, but it looks almost forced. Martyn jostles Phil a little, convinces him to turn and look at Martyn instead.

“We could try another style?” he suggests calmly, “Maybe look at just the ones that are in Dan’s size?”

“No!” Phil retaliates passionately. He yanks himself roughly away from Martyn’s side, and turns to glare at him. “It has to be this one!” he insists, his eyes fiery. His brows are pulled down, that familiar look of steadfast determination resting at his pursed lips, and Martyn sighs.

“Alright, okay,” he says in an attempt to placate his brother. “I get it, you want this one,” he reassures, turning back to face the saleslady. Her eyes are still wide, but at least she doesn’t look mock-sympathetic anymore.

“You can always come back to have it sized, sir. David Yurman does sizings at any store, no matter when the transaction was originally completed,” the saleslady explains, but Phil isn’t really listening anymore. He’s glaring down at the little - well, large - piece of metal resting in the palm of his hand as if staring at it hard enough will make it the right size.

Martyn just nods his head, because the suggestion is a fair enough one. Phil had invited Martyn along to be his moral support, to keep the salespeople from screwing him over, and to be the voice of reason in a moment such as this, so that’s what he’s going to do. He reaches out to grasp at Phil’s shoulder again, forcing his attention back onto Martyn.

Distressed blue eyes stare into his own. Martyn hates to see that look on his brother’s face.

“It doesn’t have to be the perfect size right away,” Martyn reminds him calmly, seriously. “You and Dan can come back and have it sized after his birthday,” he adds coaxingly.

“You don’t understand,” Phil huffs, the sound of his voice defeated. He drops his gaze, clearly unable to look at Martyn any longer, as his shoulders slump impossibly, all of the tension fleeing from them instantly. “It has to be perfect. I want it to be perfect when he sees it.”

Martyn stares at his face, at the longing and the determination there, at the way Phil seems to have slumped into himself. He hates seeing Phil like this, but he also can’t help feeling like Phil is being a little bit dramatic.

He sighs.

Phil might be in this thirties now, but he’s still the pouty little kid Martyn has always known him to be. Everything has to be perfect with Phil. Everything.

But then again, Phil is about to propose to the love of his life, so Martyn guesses he can understand. Martyn turns back to the saleslady, prepared to do whatever he can to fix this, to make it work, so that Phil’s plan’s aren’t completely ruined.

“What’s the fastest you can have it ready by?” he asks, voice serious.

“The turn around is 14 business days,” the saleslady rushes to reassure them, biting a glossy bottom lip, desperate not to lose this sale. “I can put a rush order on it, but I’m not sure -”

“If money’s the issue, it’s not a problem,” Phil says, interrupting her, eyes dark and desperate. His palm closes around the ring, and he stares at her, imploring.

Martyn’s fingers tighten on his brother’s shoulder, and does his best not to roll his eyes. It’s just like his brother to try and throw money at a problem in order to make it go away - anything to avoid having to deal with disappointment, to deal with his own problems in an actual adult way.

The saleslady looks upset, like she wishes she could give them better news, but knows that she can’t. Martyn just wants to calm his brother down, just wants to find the fastest way possible to get the ring sized for Dan’s birthday.

“The best I can do is make it a rush order, but you wanted it shipped to another location. Even with a rushed sizing, I can’t promise it’ll be there by June 11th.”

Phil looks devastated, but Martyn’s just determined.

“Put the rush on it,” he agrees, taking over for his little brother. “We’d really appreciate it if you could get it done any faster than 14 days.” Martyn offers the girl his most disarming, pleasant smile. ”And if you could make the delivery a rushed one as well, that’d be great.”

It’s a family thing, the Isle of Man. Martyn never feels right coming here alone. Over the years their family has grown to include Cornelia, and then Dan, and it no longer feels right to come here without them, either.

Phil’s blocked out a solid five days of his and Dan’s schedule for this trip. Martyn knows this because he helped organize it for Phil. They arrive on the tenth, and don’t plan to leave until the fifteenth.

Martyn doesn’t want to imagine what Phil will do if the ring doesn’t arrive by then. He’s been party to Phil’s tantrums for the better part of thirty years, and although Phil’s gotten quite a bit better about not throwing things at other people’s heads, he’s still not exactly pleasant to be around when he’s mad.

Martyn can’t imagine what Dan has to deal with back home, but if the way Dan still looks at Phil after ten years is anything to go by, Martyn’s willing to bet Dan’s more than happy to put up with it.

It makes him smile, and he curls his arm tighter around Cornelia’s shoulder, glad that he and his brother have both found someone willing to put up with them and all of their quirks. Martyn hasn’t asked Cornelia to marry him yet, but it’s mostly because he doesn’t feel like he needs to. To them, marriage is just a piece of paper. It doesn’t define their relationship in anyway.

It’s different for Phil; he likes to pretend that he isn’t all that into romance, but he really, really is. Martyn knows that to Phil, asking Dan to marry him is the biggest and best gesture of “I love you,” that he can think of, and Martyn couldn’t be prouder that his little brother is finally choosing to do just that.

Later, when he and Phil are alone in their mum’s kitchen, finishing up the after dinner dishes, Martyn bumps his shoulder and says, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Phil turns and looks at him, confused. “For what?”

But Martyn doesn’t answer, because Dan’s just in the other room with Cornelia, and he knows that Phil will figure it out.

On June 11th, they gather around the kitchen table to sing Dan happy birthday. Dan is all smiles, despite trying to pretend that he hates the attention, and he giggles at the silly little decorations Phil had insisted on sticking all over the homemade cake. As the song winds down, and Dan is instructed to blow out the candles, Martyn watches Dan glance over at Phil. His little brother is grinning gleefully - he always did love birthdays - and Dan is staring back at him fondly. His eyes speak volumes as he turns to “make a wish.”

It's disgusting, and ridiculously sappy, but Martyn’s grinning anyway.

Mum starts to cut the cake then, a handful of little dessert plates already stacked and waiting on the table to be handed around once they’re filled. Dan turns to speak to Phil, but Phil is already there at his side, a dorky birthday boy ball cap in his hand. Dan squacks as Phil goes to wrestle it onto his head, the sound of Dan’s high pitched, distraught voice filling the room.

Cornelia is laughing at all the fuss, and Martyn can’t help but to join in.

“Get a room!” Martyn groans teasingly, the tone of his voice joking, hands cupped around his mouth to make his voice louder. Cornelia shoves him, laughing all the while, but this only urges Martyn on. He joins Dan and Phil at the front of the table, and pushes in between them, just to mess with them both. His hands come up to ruffle both Dan, and Phil’s hair, and he laughs as Dan shouts in reproach.

“Twat!” Dan complains at the same time as Martyn knocks the birthday boy hat askew. He’s smiling, batting playfully at Martyn’s hand to push it away, but that’s not what catches Martyn’s attention. As Phil shouts “Hey!” in complaint, and shoves back at Martyn playfully, Martyn watches Dan reach up and carefully pull the dorky birthday boy hat properly back onto the top of his head, despite all of his complaints otherwise.

“Hey!” Phil complains as well, shoving Martyn back playfully, but Martyn isn’t watching Phil.

Dan’s not looking at anyone anymore, but he’s smiling this soft, secret smile to himself that Martyn isn’t sure anyone else notices except him.

Martyn can’t help staring, can’t help noticing. It’s ridiculous, how cute the action is. Five seconds ago Dan had been putting up a fuss about the hat, complaining that it was entirely too silly, and yet here he is fixing it back atop his head the moment it nearly falls away.

That small, secret smile speaks volumes about his feelings for Phil, and Martyn feels a bit of affection creeping over him. He can’t believe someone can love his idiot of a brother this much.

The feeling of Phil playfully shoving him again not only knocks Martyn out of his thoughts, but knocks him off balance. He reaches out for Phil instinctively, pulling his brother along with him as he stumbles across the kitchen floor. He doesn’t fall, but Phil does, and Martyn just manages to catch Phil awkwardly in his arms.

Martyn’s laughing as Phil’s gangly limbs wrap haphazardly around Martyn’s middle in an attempt to catch himself, but he still collides painfully with Martyn’s chest.

“If you wanted a hug, you could have just asked,” Martyn teases breathlessly, not one to give up an opportunity such as this.

“Shut up!” Phil groans, doing his best to drag himself out of Martyn’s hold, but Martyn’s not done with him yet.

“Awww, little brother. I’m just teasing,” he jokes, his voice low. He reaches up to ruffle Phil’s hair again, and Phil groans, immediately struggling against him. Martyn just wraps his other arm around Phil’s shoulders, and drags him back in real close before Phil can get away. “Come here, give me a kiss!”

With loud, wet kissy noises, Martyn smacks his mouth all over Phil’s face, laughing as Phil struggles against him, groaning and complaining all the while.

Eventually, Phil manages to tear himself out of Martyn’s hold, but not before the entire room has started laughing with him. Martyn’s still grinning when Phil finally rights himself and turns to glare at him. He chuckles when Phil punches him playfully in the shoulder, eyes darting over to catch Dan’s reaction.

It’s obvious he’s been watching the entire interaction just as much as the rest of their family has been, but unlike the rest of them who are smiling and laughing at witnessing such a familiar sibling interaction, Dan almost looks a little bit sad. He’s smiling too, but his eyes are a little dim, and his lips a little downturned.

Martyn flashes back to all the times Phil would come downstairs in the morning, looking exhausted, only to tell Martyn another story about how Dan’s family life wasn’t so good. It makes Martyn’s heart pang a little bit with the hurt for Dan, and he reaches out to pat his soon to be brother-in-law affectionately on the shoulder.

“Did you want a kiss too?” he teases, because he doesn’t know how else to cheer the boy up. He puckers up his lips playfully, laughing when Dan’s face twists up into a comical twist of disgust and amusement.

Phil shoves at him again.

“Get your own boyfriend!” he defends weakly, his voice high pitched. The sound is familiar, the same tone Phil has always has when he fights with Martyn, when he tries his best to come up with a witty come back, but the words just won’t come.

Martyn rolls his eyes in Cornelia’s direction, and sticks his tongue out at Phil.

“If we’re all done rough housing,” Kath interrupts pointedly, humor lacing her voice, “Don’t you think it’s time we settled down for cake?”

She doesn’t bother waiting for a reaction. Instead, she begins passing out the little dessert plates, purposefully placing them down at each place setting decorating the family dining table despite the fact that no one is sitting down.

Martyn knows it’s her way of insisting that they all do.

The Lester clan are quick to comply, filling in the seats around the table. Dan’s sat at the head of it all, still wearing the silly birthday boy cap that Phil had wrestled on top of his head, and he’s already dug into his rather large slice of cake.

“Did you bake this yourself, Kath?” he asks sweetly, voice soft, the way it always is when he talks to their mum. Martyn rolls his eyes to himself, but when he glances up to see Phil’s reaction, he just looks ridiculously in love.

“With a little help from Cornelia, while you and Phil were out for the day,” their mum admits, her smile shy. Dan is quick to compliment her, assuring her that it’s wonderful. He’s absolutely gushing, and it’d be cute if Phil weren’t making heart eyes at his boyfriend.

Martyn makes a gagging motion at Cornelia, who smacks him despite the smile on her face.

“Hush up,” she insists. They both know that Cornelia used to behave the exact same way, only she gets to see Kath far more often than Dan currently does, so it’s no surprise she’s grown a little out of the suck up stage.

As the conversation continues, Dan takes advantage of the moment to make a dig at Phil for the many adornments he must have added sometime after they got in for the night, and the table laughs at Phil’s expense because that’s what they do - they tease, and they joke, and they make fun of each other because that’s something that only family gets to do.

Phil’s cheeks are bright red, and he looks almost embarrassed, but mostly he just looks enamored.

As the six of them finish up the last few bites of their cake, Kath stands up with a great big smile and says, “Is it time for presents, then?”

The table erupts into an excited chorus of “yes!” as Kath leaves the room to fetch them. It’s only a moment before she returns with two wrapped presents in her arms.

Martyn turns to Phil expectantly, wondering where his present is. Phil hadn’t shown Martyn the backup present he’d gotten for Dan, and he’s excited to find out what it is, knowing all the while that nothing will be able to compete with the ring that’s hopefully in the post and on its way here by now.

But when Martyn’s gaze lands on Phil’s face, he realizes that something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

All the blood has drained from his brother’s face, and he’s biting his bottom lip hard, eyes wide and horrified. He won’t look at Martyn, he won’t look at Dan. He won’t look at anyone. He’s staring in distracted horror at the far wall of the kitchen, while Martyn stares at him and Dan begins to unwrap the presents that have been set in front of him.

Phil didn’t buy a back up present. Martyn can see it on his face. Phil didn’t buy Dan a back up present, and now he’s going to have to face the look of disappointment that is bound to appear on Dan’s face no matter what excuse Phil manages to come up with.

Unable to help it, Martyn finds himself desperately wanting to laugh. The idea of his brother coming up with the best birthday present possible for Dan, and yet unable to present it to him on his actual birthday, is almost too much. A part of Martyn feels horrible for Phil, who probably hadn’t been able to think of a single thing that could even began to compare with a proposal, but mostly, Martyn just can’t wait to see how Phil attempts to get himself out of this one.

He’s eager, more eager then he should be, as Dan unwraps first his present from the Lesters (a new build-your-own terrarium), and then his present from Cornelia and Martyn (a board game called Munchkin that they’ll probably all play together sometime this vacation).

Finally, Dan turns to Phil expectantly, a wide, excited smile on his face, only to find Phil avoiding his gaze. Martyn watches gleefully as Dan’s expression falls, confusion taking over. Phil looks like he’s literally dying, his face is so pale, and the way he’s biting his bottom lip makes it look like he’s going to bite straight through it. His entire body is turned away from Dan.

“Phil?” Dan asks, the confusion clear in his voice.

Phil swallows thickly, and finally turns so that he’s facing Dan. His expression is almost pleading, but when he opens his mouth to say something, nothing comes out.

Dan only seems to grow more concerned at this, only it’s not clear whether he’s upset or not. He just looks downright flustered, unable to comprehend what’s going on, and why Phil looks as terrified as he currently does.

Their parents look confused as well, though they aren’t speaking. It feels like a hush has fallen over the entire room. Cornelia is clutching at Martyn’s leg under the table, and her gaze is boring into the side of his face, but Martyn doesn’t look at her. He bites back his own grin, waiting, ready to watch the rest of the night’s events unfold.

“I uh,” Phil finally manages, his voice high pitched. He clears his throat and tries again, “I might have - your gift is - well,” he scrambles, voice growing more and more squeaky as he goes on. Martyn stares at him gleefully, unable to hide his smile now. This whole moment is just too hilarious. It’s just like Phil, to mess this up.

And while Martyn knows he probably shouldn’t be laughing, Phil is his little brother, and he just can’t help himself. Families tease, after all.

“I don’t have it,” Phil finally finishes lamely, staring down at the palms of his hands miserably.

Martyn finally glances over to Dan, desperate to see his reaction - only it’s not quite what he’d been expecting.

Dan’s always been kind of a chill guy. Martyn’s seen him get ragey when they play board games together, seen him gnaw at a video game controller the same way Phil does. He knows that Dan’s not a saint, but the expression on his face still somehow surprises him.

Martyn had been expecting a teasing grin, and a joke or two exchanged. He’d been expecting Dan to wheedle some kind of information out of Phil, to push for Phil to tell him what he’d got for him, and why it wasn’t here yet.

Instead, Dan just looks pissed the fuck off. His brows are all scrunched up, and he’s glaring at Phil with his arms crossed over his chest. It makes the muscles he has there bulge, a surprising feature Martyn hadn’t been expecting, and something that almost lends a bit of menace to his stance. It doesn’t matter that Martyn knows Dan wouldn’t hurt a fly, the image is still there.

“Phil,” Dan asks, his voice steady. “Did you forget to get me something for my birthday again?” The words are cold, harsh despite their lack of intonation.

And oh, oh shit, that’s why. That’s why Dan looks so pissed off. There’s no way Martyn could know the particulars of the time Phil had apparently forgotten, because Phil had never told him, but there’s obviously something there that makes the moment a sore spot for the both of them. Martyn has never seen Dan look at his brother like this before.

Nor has he ever seen his brother look so ashamed.

The room has grown tense. Their parents are sat stock still, looking nervous, now. Cornelia’s hand has turned into a claw against Martyn’s thigh. The air is thick with tension, and neither Dan nor Phil are looking at anyone else in the room.

“Well,” their mum finally says, clearing her throat awkwardly, and only seeming to add to the tension in the room. “I think maybe we ought to head to bed,” she adds, despite the fact that it’s hardly nine o’clock, and they usually take any excuse to have a family game night.

Her chair screeches loudly against the floor as she stands up, their dad following in her stead almost immediately. Martyn doesn’t know what else to do but stand as well.

Neither Dan nor Phil acknowledge anything that’s been said, though Phil winces at the loud sound of the chairs scratching against the floor.

Cornelia grabs tight to Martyn’s hand, and begins to tug him out of the room.

“Goodnight, you two,” she states hastily, wincing at her own poor choice of words, and then, “And happy birthday again, Dan!”

A harsh sound, too small and subtle to identify, interrupts the quiet of the room, making the atmosphere somehow even darker than before. The four of them rush out of the dining room as quickly as they can.

They don’t speak as they make their way to the upstairs landing and trail awkwardly into their rooms.

Martyn and Cornelia turn in early. While they lay in bed, Martyn quietly explains to Cornelia what’s happened, and why Dan’s present isn’t here yet. Her eyes get a little wet, and she purses her lips without saying anything, but Martyn doesn’t blame her. He doesn’t know what to say either, other than that his brother is kind of a stubborn idiot.

They’re up by eight the next morning, still feeling a little off kilter after the strangeness of last night, and they head down the stairs together for breakfast.

They aren’t expecting Phil to already be downstairs, looking disheveled where he sits on the recliner in front of the TV. He’s nursing a mug of coffee, dressed in a loose pair of pajama bottoms and a baggy t-shirt.

There’s a pillow on the sofa, and Phil’s left the blanket bunched up in the corner. It’s clear he slept down here last night, and the dark shadows under his eyes make it clear that he didn’t sleep very well either.

Martyn feels bad for him, he really does, and he pats Phil reassuringly on the shoulder as he passes him by. His brothers eyes flick up to him for a brief moment, but otherwise Phil doesn’t really react. Instead, he curls his fingers tighter around his mug of coffee, and goes back to sipping at it quietly.

Martyn sighs, and wanders into the kitchen to make himself something to eat.

He settles on a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee before he joins Phil back in the lounge, grabbing the TV remote while he’s at it. Phil doesn’t look too bothered about the news, doesn’t look like he’s paying any attention at all, so Martyn flips through the channels until he finds an early morning movie to put on.

It takes Cornelia a little longer to make herself breakfast - some eggs and avocado with toast that Martyn steals a bit of - and the three of them settle into the quiet of the morning. There’s a tense silence surrounding them for a little while, mostly coming from Phil and the tight way he’s curled into himself on the recliner, but eventually Martyn is able to get lost in the movie. His own shoulders untense, and he even finds himself laughing at the silly antics of the people on the screen.

“Dan?” Phil suddenly says, breaking the quiet tension he’d been harboring for the last hour or so. “Where are you going?” he continues. His voice is high with stress.

Martyn looks up, surprised at the sudden question. His arm is curled comfortably over Cornelia’s shoulder, and for a moment, last night hadn’t seemed to matter. Dan’s sudden appearance is admittedly a surprise, but more than that, the fact that he seems to be leaving takes Martyn off guard.

“To the shops,” Dan replies, shrugging on a large jacket as he makes his way over to the front door.

Phil shoves himself out of the recliner, and stands, looking as if he’s going to rush to Dan’s side and stop him from going anywhere. Martyn watches the way Phil restrains himself, watches the way he worries at his bottom lip, eyes pleading with Dan.

“What? Why? At 10 in the morning?” Phil asks, sounding desperate, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Martyn turns to stare at Dan again, takes in the dark circles under his eyes, and the anger brewing in his gaze. It seems clear that he hadn’t slept well last night either, despite having the bed rather than the sofa. Martyn winces, trying to imagine how bad last time could have been for Dan to be this fucking angry over it.

Dan zips up his jacket and marches the last few steps towards the front door, all the while glaring at Phil.

“To buy myself a present, because my boyfriend didn’t bother to get me anything.”

Martyn winces at the harsh words, and finally looks away. He can’t bear to watch this moment unfolding in front of him, can’t bear to be witness to something neither male probably wants anyone else to be witness too. Suddenly, Martyn feels really bad for being downstairs, enjoying a stupid movie on the telly, when Dan and Phil are fighting.

Martyn has never seen them fight before, and he regrets that he has to see it now.

“Dan,” Phil pleads. “I told you, it’s not like that,” he continues, trying to defend himself. It’s clear that Dan isn’t listening, though, because in the next few seconds, the sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut echoes through the room.

The sound of Phil falling back into the recliner is sharp, as is the deep, shuddery exhale that floods the room.

Cornelia is the first to leave the room. The tense atmosphere is back, and it’s almost suffocating. It’s clear that Phil didn’t want them to see that, clear that Phil is upset and wants to be alone, but he also looks to be frozen where he is on the recliner. Some part of Martyn wonders if Phil thinks it would be rude to excuse himself to the room he was supposed to share with Dan when Dan is so obviously upset with him.

He doesn’t blame Cornelia for leaving, but it does leave Martyn a little unsure of himself. He ends up switching on another movie as the first one ends, sitting stiffly on the sofa while his brother stoically tries to hide his emotions away.

Eventually their parents come downstairs too, but while their dad heads out for a game of golf he’d promised some of the lads, their mum stops to give Phil a warm, sympathetic hug and a kiss on the cheek before heading into the kitchen.

There’s some delighted exclamations, and Martyn hears the word “bake,” being repeated a few times over. The girls have clearly found something enjoyable to do away from the tension in the lounge, and if Martyn weren’t so cruddy at baking himself, he’d go and help them. As it is, he feels kind of stuck trying to cheer up his brother, who very clearly doesn’t want to talk just then.

As the morning wears on, the smell of cookies begins to fill the house. Laughter bubbles from the kitchen, and the hum of family and joy finally feels prevalent. It’s the way the Isle of Man is supposed to feel - but Phil is sat apart from it all, all clammed up and hiding what he really feels from the very people Phil should share it with.

Martyn’s just about to get up and insist that he and his brother go for a walk, maybe have a nice talk, when the door finally opens again and Dan walks in holding a ton of shopping bags.

Both Martyn and Phil’s heads snap up to stare at him, mouths gaping in surprise as Dan drops the bags carelessly at his feet before removing his jacket. Martyn can see Phil staring pleadingly at Dan, but Dan ignores him, avoiding his gaze. Once his jacket has been hung back up next to the front door, Dan picks the bags back up, and marches up the stairs with his spoils. The sound of a door slamming shut behind him echoes through the house loud enough that even the laughing girls in the kitchen fall silent for a moment.

The set of Phil’s shoulders drops again, and he sighs loudly as he falls back against the recliner. Martyn hadn’t even realized Phil had sat up straight until that exact moment, and he stares at Phil sadly as his brother closes his eyes, looking tired.

It’s another fifteen minutes before Dan comes back downstairs, this time wearing an expensive looking designer sweater, and what appear to be a new pair of jeans. Phil’s complained enough about Dan being a label whore for Martyn to guess what it is exactly that he went out and bought, and he finds himself feeling terribly for Phil’s bank account.

There’s no doubt in his mind that Dan charged it all to Phil’s credit card, and just after Phil had dropped a good two thousand pounds on Dan’s engagement ring. It’s a petty thing to do, especially considering whose card is used doesn’t actually matter when they share everything as it is.

That will be quite the discussion once Phil shows Dan what his birthday present really is.

Without hesitating for even a split second, Dan walks straight into the kitchen with a bright smile on his face, and starts talking to Kath and Cornelia as if nothing is wrong. Martyn can hear the brightness in his voice even if he can’t hear the words.

When he glances back at Phil’s face, he looks all the more dejected for it all, and slowly slides deeper into the soft cushion of the recliner.

For a while, they sit in almost-silence. The movie Martyn had picked out earlier has begun to wind down, and it’s nearly over now. The kitchen is filled with the excited sounds of baking mixed with Dan’s deep laugh, all while Phil sits and mopes in quiet pain over his fight with Dan.

Martyn’s about ready to give it all up, and leave the room as well, when the doorbell suddenly rings. Surprised, both Martyn and Phil glance over at the door. As Martyn’s gaze slowly falls back onto Phil, he notes how rigid Phil suddenly looks. Despite the obvious nerves, however, there’s something hopeful brewing in Phil’s eyes.

“Phil?” Kath calls after a beat, “Can you get that, love? I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she explains, sounding as bewildered as Martyn imagines she must feel. Martyn can’t tear his eyes away from Phil, though, from the stuttered way he launches himself out of the recliner and stands on shaky feet. Finally, finally, Martyn feels like grinning again, and he watches as Phil stumbles towards the front door.

“Y-Yeah, I’ve go-got it!” Phil stutters back loudly, the nerves clear in the way his hands shake as he finally makes it to the door and reaches up to fumble with the doorknob. Turning completely in his seat on the sofa, Martyn watches with greedy eyes as the door comes open.

Unsurprisingly, the postman is stood on the other side of the door. Martyn’s grin only grows larger.

“Is there a Philip Lester here?” the postman asks, sounding bored. The house is so quiet as everyone waits to find out who’s at the door, that the words almost seem to echo.

“Tha- that’s me,” Phil practically yelps, stumbling over the words. The postman hardly glances at him as he fiddles with a little handheld device, before handing it over.

“Sign here,” the man says blandly. As Phil moves to do just that, Martyn turns towards the kitchen, only to find Dan poking his head around the doorway curiously. His eyes are wide, unsure, and he’s biting his bottom lip like he knows that he was too quick to jump to conclusions last night.

Martyn has to stifle a laugh as he turns back to Phil just in time to watch Phil fumble with a small brown package the postman has left with him.

“Phil?” Dan asks, the first thing he’s said to Phil since he got back from his shopping spree.

Phil shuts the door, blatantly shaking with nerves, and turns to face Dan very, very slowly.

“What’s going on?” Dan asks suspiciously “What is that?” he prods. He sounds wary, but there’s no hiding the excitement, the hope in his voice. Martyn’s grinning like an idiot, but he just can’t help himself, because this is the moment he’d been waiting for. Last night, when he’d thought that Dan would joke with Phil and not mind so much that his birthday present was late, Martyn had been greedily waiting for the moment when Dan would finally get to see the huge surprise Phil had planned for him.

And now it’s finally here. Somehow, the fact that it’s coming on the tail end of this morning’s mini tantrum and petulant shopping spree only makes it all the funnier.

“I tried to tell you I got you something,” Phil replies softly, eyes soft and a little pleading as he looks at Dan. Martyn can’t stop staring between the two of them, amused beyond belief. Dan looks shocked, and almost like he feels bad about this morning as he finally stumbles out of the kitchen doorway and more properly into the lounge. Kath and Cornelia are quick to follow, with Kath looking equally as confused as Dan.

Martyn catches Cornelia’s eye and winks at her.

“It was just a little late, is all,” Phil explains shyly, worrying his bottom lip the same way he’s worrying the little brown package between his hands. “I tried really hard to make sure it came on time, but…” Phil doesn’t finish the sentiment, instead opting to shrug his shoulders a little awkwardly. He still looks a little ashamed, like the reminder of whatever fight had occured ages ago hasn’t really left his mind.

Someday, Martyn has to ask about that. Maybe after this is all said and done, and the old wound isn’t quite as sore as it seems to be right now.

“Phil…” Dan breaths, arms slack at his sides as he stares guilty at Phil. Phil just waves him off, laughing a little wetly as he starts to tear away at the packing tape holding the little box closed. Martyn can see the tears pricking at Phil’s eyes, watches as one slips away. Phil purses his lips, like he’s trying to hold himself together. Martyn can see that both their mum, and Dan are confused about Phil’s sudden bout of emotion, and it only makes the whole moment feel that much stronger to him.

Phil’s not looking at Dan anymore, clearly too focused on holding himself together to meet Dan’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Dan,” Phil chokes out, shaking his head a little bit as he continues to tear open the box. “I just wanted it to be perfect, so I… well, I figured better late than never, right?” he asks, laughing darkly at his own words.

Martyn can hear him inhale sharply in an obvious attempt to hold back any more tears, but they seem to fall anyway as Dan stumbles forwards.

“Phil, I’m really sorry,” Dan starts to say as he gets closer, but Phil shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay,” he insists, finally getting the box open and lifting his head to stare shakily at Dan. His lips are quirked at the side in a nervous smile, and his cheeks are red with the held back emotion he’s trying so hard to keep in check. “I understand,” he adds, his voice ridiculously sweet.

But Martyn can’t blame him, not as he watches his brother reach into the brown package, fumbling around for something inside. When he pulls his hand back out, it’s with a folded slip of paper that he crumples up in his hand and shoves into his pajama bottom pocket, before reaching back inside again.

This time, Martyn knows he must be closing his fingers around a small, velvet box.

The air in the room feels tense, similar to last night, and yet filled with so much more charged energy. There’s a sense of knowing pervading the room, despite the fact that neither Kath, nor Dan know with any certainty what’s coming.

But it’s coming, and Martyn can feel it, as his brother smiles another wobbly smile at Dan. Phil’s body twitches as he starts to pull the present free, but his hands are hiding what it is. Slowly, Phil begins to crouch down, the movements of his body obvious, intentional, as their family looks on.

The gasp that Dan lets out as Phil finally settles down onto one knee is loud in the sudden quiet of the room.

“Dan?” Phil asks, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes. His hands shake as he finally reveals what he’s been planning for weeks to give to Dan. Martyn can see him fumbling with the top of the little black box in his attempts to get it open, but eventually he does.

“Oh god,” Dan gasps, reaching up to cover his mouth with his hands. He doesn’t seem to be concerned with how badly Phil is shaking. He looks far too stunned, almost disbelieving of what’s happening to much care about anything except what Phil’s about to do.

It only takes a moment for the tears to fall. Martyn watches as the tears cascade down his face in a surprised torrent of emotions. Dan doesn’t look like he can hold himself up much longer as he stumbles forward, stumbles closer to Phil until they’re mere meters apart.

Phil’s grinning up at Dan, seemingly giddy with relief that the ring is finally here, that he’s finally doing this, that it’s almost over. He doesn’t even look nervous that Dan’s going to say no. He just looks happy, and it blows Martyn away how someone can be so confident in their love for someone else, in that person’s love for them.

“Sorry it’s a little late,” Phil says, his voice stuttery and low. Dan collapses onto his knees in front of him, hands still covering his mouth, eyes scrunched up as he continues to cry. Phil just kind of laughs, and Martyn watches as he ducks his head a little sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry on your birthday,” he murmurs, voice so soft Martyn almost doesn’t hear it.

Dan chokes on a laugh that almost sounds like a little sob.

“Dan… you’re my best friend. You have been for a really long time,” Phil says, choking on his own swell of emotion. Martyn can see him holding back his tears. “And I know you know that. I know you know that I love you, too. But that doesn’t make it any less worth saying.”

Dan laughs again, and he looks almost like he’s proper sobbing now. His chest is heaving with the force of his emotion as his face scrunches up, and he stares at Phil, watching, waiting.

“I love you,” Phil says for good measure, laughing himself. The sound comes out stuttery, and Martyn isn’t sure if it’s the nerves, or the desire to cry, but either way, it makes Martyn a little weepy as well.

He glances over at Cornelia, and wonders for a moment if maybe, just maybe, Cornelia wants this as well, because the moment is just so beautiful and sweet it makes marriage almost feel like a thing.

Cornelia looks absolutely delighted, but she doesn’t look jealous or particularly interested in participating in such an event herself. It settles Martyn, to know they’re always on the same page, and he smiles as he turns back to his little brother.

“Daniel Howell,” Phil finally says, “I’m tired of just being your boyfriend, so… will you marry me?” Phil’s voice does something strange as he says the words, lilting highly, until he sounds just as unsure and nervous as he probably should, but it’s okay.

It’s okay because it only seems to make the moment seem even more real as Dan quite suddenly throws himself into Phil’s arms, knocking his boyfriend a little off center. Martyn can see him nodding his head eagerly into the crook of Phil’s neck as Phil’s arms move to wrap around him, can almost hear the whispered yes yes yes pressed against Phil’s skin, and feels his own tears start to fall.

He can’t help it, not when he can see just how happy Phil is, not after all the stress of the last 12 hours, not with a moment this monumental.

Marriage might not feel like a lot to Martyn, but he knows it's a lot to Phil, and apparently Dan as well, and it’s impossible not to be overcome with the emotions of the moment.

Sniffling, Martyn reaches up and swipes his tears away as Cornelia joins him on the sofa, tearing up as well. She’s laughing, the sound loud and boisterous in the room. It’s almost infectious, and Martyn hears Phil start to laugh as well.

From the kitchen doorway, Martyn can hear his mum quietly weeping, and his eyes dart over to look at her. She’s smiling despite the tears, and it’s enough to make Martyn smiles as well. When he looks back, Phil is rocking Dan in his arms, laughing giddly into the top of dark, messy curls. Dan’s grasping so tight to Phil, it looks like he’s never going to let go, not even long enough to get the actual ring on his finger.

In fact, for as much trouble as the silly thing is, it’s currently laying discarded on the floor at Phil’s feet, not quite forgotten, but by no means the most important thing right now.

It seems to take ages, but eventually Phil is able to pull himself and Dan together enough to get them up off the floor, and relocated on the sofa. Phil’s holding the little black velvet box again, and he slides the ring free as soon as he’s seated in front of Dan so he can slide it onto Dan’s ring finger.

Dan’s face is tear streaked, and he’s staring at the dark ring in complete awe. The moment it rests against his ring finger, he reaches up to stroke gentle fingers over the black stones embedded in it.

“It’s David Yurman,” Phil explains softly, affectionately. “Cause you’d mentioned before that you liked him, and I figured… well, you are kind of particular, Dan,” Phil teases, giggling a little when Dan sends him a mock offended look.

“Shut up,” he complains, but he’s smiling anyway, clearly used to Phil making fun of his affection for labels and brand names. He doesn’t once look up from the ring as he rolls it over his finger, taking in every last detail with greedy eyes. It’s obvious that he adores it, and Martyn’s suddenly proud of his brother because he really had picked out the perfect ring. That stubborn determination in the David Yurman store no longer feels quite so annoying.

“Wait,” Dan suddenly says after a moment, finally looking up from his ring. His brows are furrowed as he looks up at Phil. “What about you? Where’s your ring?” he asks, clearly confused.

The question surprises Martyn. Phil hadn’t once said anything about getting himself a ring. He’d been entirely focused on finding the perfect one for Dan, and it hadn’t seemed the least bit strange to Martyn in the moment. Wasn’t it like a thing where the person who proposed didn’t wear a ring?

Now that Martyn was thinking about it, it sounded kind of ridiculous.

“Oh!” Phil replies, sounding as if he’s just remembered something. “I don’t have one,” he admits sheepishly. He opens his mouth to continue, probably to explain, but Dan cuts him off before he can.

“Phiiil,” Dan whines, sounding entirely put out and almost offended. “That’s not fair. I want to see a ring on that finger as well,” he complains, lips puckered up in annoyance as he points aggressively towards Phil’s currently undecorated hand. “It doesn’t feel much like an engagement if only one of us is wearing the ring.”

Dan’s pouting, and he’s crossed his arms over his chest defensively as he stares at Phil. The entire image it makes is ridiculously cheesy, and the fact that Phil is smiling fondly at Dan makes it almost sickeningly so.

Martyn makes an undisguised gagging noise that goes ignored by the two boys.

“Come on Dan,” Phil says softly, reaching forward and gently prying Dan’s arms apart. It takes a little bit of struggling, but eventually Phil manages to take Dan’s left hand in his. He’s still smiling like a completely enamoured idiot. “Who said I’m not going to wear a ring, too?” he teases, squeezing Dan’s fingers in his.

Dan’s pout only seems to grow heavier. Martyn imagines Phil finds it absolutely adorable, but Martyn just finds it entirely ridiculous, and rolls his eyes despite the fact that he’s still smiling.

“I thought maybe when we get home, you could pick one out for me.” The words are said so soft, and low that Martyn almost misses them, but Dan doesn’t. His jaw drops open in surprise, and his cheeks seem to burn a dark red as the information hits him. The way his lips curl at the corner is enough to tell Martyn just how much Dan is living for the sentiment.

Shit. Martyn really has to give it to his brother. He really knows how Dan works. Chuckling in shock, Martyn can do nothing but watch as Dan’s expression turns to literal mush, it’s so sappingly sweet.

“As soon as we get home,” Dan agrees wholeheartedly.

Before Martyn is even fully prepared for it, Dan leans forward and presses his lips wetly to Phil’s, the force of his touch nearly knocking Phil over - which would have been unfortunate, considering Martyn and them are currently sharing the same sofa and Martyn really doesn’t need a lap full of his brother and his fiance making out.

Phil manages to catch himself, laughing into the kiss, one hand falling to the back of the sofa to keep him upright, and the other curling against the side of Dan’s face.

It would have continued to be cute if Dan hadn’t threaded his fingers through Phil’s hair and dragged his face so close that the image becomes almost pornographic. Martyn can’t help it when he says, “Get a room!” almost teasingly.

Phil doesn’t so much as bother to pull away from Dan when he picks up a pillow and tosses it backward at Martyn.

It misses, but Martyn’s not really all that surprised. Phil has always had terrible aim. Except, it seems, with Dan.

I’d love to hear what you thought, so come say hi!

#phanfic #phanfiction #phandom #phan #phandomficfest #bingo 2018

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creative-type · 7 years ago

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Monster of the Salt Rock Hills VI

First

AO3

AN: So I’d just like to say thanks for all the support I've had for this crazy little fic that has spun wildly out of my control. There’s a scene in this chapter that literally gave me the idea for this entire story. I'm proud with how it turned out, and I couldn't have gotten here (especially not this quickly) ithout y’alls encouragement.

So thank you, and here's to hoping I don't screw things up too badly down the road.

Summary: The day after stopping a drath summoning gone horribly wrong, Orrig and his team are summoned to the Salt Rock Hills to find and eliminate a monster that has been ravaging the countryside. But things quickly go awry and it soon becomes apparent that nothing about this case is as it seems. Thistle must learn to work together with her new coworkers and overcome her own insecurities to find the truth of the monster of the Salt Rock Hills before it’s too late. Set immediately after Chapter 6: The Knowing Ones

Chapter Six: Long Nights (and the Nightmares that Accompany Them)

Thistle had just finished gathering up her things when Orrig stooped through the door way of the spare bedroom. She tried to peer around his massive shoulders, but didn’t see any signs that Lyra or Brent had followed him. Almost unconsciously, Thistle tensed. They had already had their talk. She couldn’t imagine what else Orrig wanted with her.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Thistle said.

“Goot.” Orrig paused, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I must be asking, can you do spell like mage put on Brent?”

“You want me to bug someone?” Thistle said nervously.

“No. I mean can you do spell so ve can talk if problem? I no like you going by self.”

Meaning he didn’t trust her to go out by herself. “I can do a communication spell.”

“Distance no problem?”

“Not so long as I know where you’re at, I should be able to send a message,” Thistle said.

Orrig nodded once, satisfied with this answer. “Okay, is goot. I vant you to send message if any problem. I no care what time it is, if something happen I vant to know. I vill come.”

Thistle supposed this was supposed to be reassuring, but instead her imagination supplied her with dozens of situations where she would be forced to call upon Orrig for help, and one nightmare scenario where she wouldn’t be able to depend on him because he was one of the ones trying to hurt her.

With these unpleasant thoughts on her mind, Thistle said her goodbyes and followed the doctor down the dusty streets. Dr. Malady’s home was across town from Frank’s, which meant after gathering her belongings they doubled back to the high street and walked perhaps ten minutes in the opposite direction. There were two buildings on the property, Dr. Malady’s house and the building she used for her surgery. Both were a sort of faded grey that would suck the cheerfulness out of anyone who looked at them too long, but were in otherwise good repair.

“I usually keep a couple of rooms open in case I have patients who need a little extra looking after,” Dr. Malady said as she ushered Thistle through the front door. “Isla’s been staying in one, but you’re more than welcome to the other.”

“Did you ever find her? Is she doing all right?”

The doctor let out a noise that was almost a sigh. “That depends entirely on your definition of ‘all right’. The elf’s mage made sure she didn’t have to walk back into town, if that’s what you mean. Oh, would you look at this.”

Dr. Malady picked up a bucket of green beans that had been set on the inside of her doorway while Thistle tried to calculate the energy it would take to Teleport from the springs and back multiple times in the same day while carrying an extra passenger. Either Mum had astronomical reserves, or he shared his employer’s irresponsible use of magical resources.

“Anyway, I encouraged her to rest her leg when she got back in,” Dr. Malady said. “You don’t look the sort to tromp around making much noise, but I do ask that you keep things to a dull roar. Your room is next to hers, and she doesn’t sleep well. Come, I’ll show you.”

If Frank’s home had been overflowing with the stuff of life, Dr. Malady’s looked hardly lived in. She set the bucket of beans next to a small dining room table, sparing a moment to stop up a bottle of ink and close a leather-bound journal. A wrought iron candleholder holding three fat, dripping beeswax candles completed the image that she used the table for a desk more often than its intended purpose.

The walls were bare except for a faded portrait of a man and a woman and, strangely enough, a small black feather mounted in a glass case. Dr. Malady saw Thistle’s gaze and smiled.

“My parents,” she explained, “and the feather of a winged horse I came across almost twenty years ago. Had some snob offer me five gold pieces for it once. I almost had it made into a quill just to spite him.”

“Five gold pieces for a feather?” Thistle said.

“Oh, sure. They keep forever if properly preserved, but unless you manage to pluck it off a horse directly they tend to break, or get their vanes stripped, or otherwise damaged by the elements. I musta found this one right after it came off.” Her smile turned self-deprecating. “I’ve been told that it has magical properties, but no one will tell me which magical properties, so I hung it on my wall and hoped for the best.”

Thistle peered closer at the feather. It was a perfect glossy black and reminded her of an opal, reflecting with sparks of green and blue and orange fire depending on how the light struck it. “It’s beautiful.”

Dr. Malady chuckled, and together they went from the parlor down a hallway. There were two doors halfway down. Dr. Malady stopped at the first and knocked. “Isla, are you in there?”

There was no answer. A small crease formed between the doctor’s eyes, and she knocked again. “Isla? I’ve got someone here I want you to meet.”

Silence.

“Excuse me a moment,” Dr. Malady murmured before stepping into the bedroom. “Isla? Are you feeling well…?”

Dr. Malady’s voice trailed off, and she reentered the hallway a moment later. The sound of the door clicking shut punctuated the heavy silence. “She’s still not in.”

“Do you think she’s okay?” Thistle asked, remembering how pale she had been out by the springs. “Should we look for her?”

She shook her head. “No. She made it back to town, someone would have found me if something had happened to her. Isla is an adult and capable of making her own decisions. Whether they’re in the best interests of her health is beside the point.”

Doctor Malady reached for the second door and pushed it open. “This is where you will be staying. Take all the time you need to get settled, I’ll be out back snapping beans if you want company.”

“I know a little healing magic,” Thistle said. “If Isla wants me to, I can look at her leg.”

There was sadness in Dr. Malady’s smile. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think magic is the cure for what ails her. But never mind that. You get yourself settled in, and if you want this country bumpkin’s company you’re more than welcome to it. If not, I’ll try to have breakfast ready before you leave in the morning.”

She clasped Thistle on the shoulder in a kind, almost matronly way and went back the way she had come. Moments later Thistle heard the back door open and close, and she was left alone in the middle of an empty hallway, standing in front of two empty bedrooms situated in an empty house.

Thistle adjusted the strap of her bag, missing her destroyed journal more than ever, and went into her designated bedroom. Her stomach protested loudly, and with a fugitive glance to make sure no one was looking she reached into her bag and found a handful of rather squashed mushrooms that she had hidden away in case of situations like these.

It was hardly a filling meal, but it would last her until morning. With that pressing need taken care of she sat down on the narrow bed and surveyed the room.

There wasn’t much to be surveyed. The bed and a small end table were the only furniture in the room. There were no decoration on the walls, although Thistle knew some who would have considered the hand-stitched quilt a work of art. It wasn’t uninviting, per say, just barren, and it almost made Thistle miss having Lyra for a roommate.

It made sense to Thistle that this was a room meant to take care of the sick and injured. She had no doubt in her mind that Dr. Malady would have taken efforts to make Isla’s room more homey after it became evident that she would be staying for a long period of time. Still, she worried about Isla Clark’s continued absence, and wondered what it would feel like to come back day after day to a room that wasn’t her own after experiencing something as traumatic as the death of her teammates. Thistle had only just met Orrig, Brent, and Lyra. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose them during a mission.

It was an uncomfortable thought, but one that demanded to be considered. From the stories Brent and Lyra told, mercenary work wasn’t quite the illustrious, adventuresome career stories made it out to be, but there was danger. Thistle had witnessed Orrig nearly get absorbed by an abomination of goats, Lyra risk her life to make rude gestures at a Greater Drath, and Brent inches away from being dragged into the Pit by the legions of the underworld.

All in the same day. All in the same afternoon.

Thistle rubbed her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to deal with this now.

As promised, Dr. Malady was out in her back garden snapping beans. Thistle hovered anxiously in the back doorway of the house, not sure if it would be better to go out with her or spend the evening in by herself. Thistle didn’t particularly want to be alone—it was a nice garden, with neat rows of herbs that would be useful in the doctor’s work and a patch of flowers that were just this side of being untamed—but neither did she want to be an annoyance.

The thought of somehow making the day worse by intruding on Dr. Malady’s privacy made the decision for her. Thistle let out a small, wistful sigh and turned to retreat back to the bedroom unnoticed, resigning herself to finally cracking open the book she had brought along for the trip. A board creaked under her weight, and the doctor looked up for the first time.

“Well hello again. I was hoping you’d come out to join me.”

The words were so warm, so genuine, that not even the mean little voice in the back of Thistle’s head could turn around their meaning into some sort of hidden insult. Thistle found herself drawn out of doors almost before she was aware her feet were moving, and she settled next to the doctor on the back porch. A cat emerged from the shadows to hiss at her.

“Oh, hush,” Dr. Malady chided, never once breaking her rhythm of her work. “Thistle is a guest, and if you can’t play nice you can just leave. I haven’t got anything for you tonight anyway.”

The cat, a gangling black puff of fur with a small white bib, was little more than an oversized kitten. He gave Thistle a long, hard stare with piercing golden eyes that she was sure could see past the magical darkness of her hood to the monster that lay beneath. His tail twitched, as if in warning, before trotting away with the dignity only a cat could muster.

“That’s Salem,” Dr. Malady said. “There are a coupla strays that come around on account of the fact that I was stupid enough to start feeding them my leftovers. I don’t usually name them, but he’s taken quite a liking to Isla. She says it means peace in one of the old languages.”

Somehow, the knowledge that Dr. Malady was a cat person put Thistle more at ease. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“With this?” Dr. Malady said, gesturing to the bucket. “No, don’t worry yourself. I’m just sorry I can’t give you my undivided attention. With my schedule I have to stay on top of my chores when I can. Some of my patients can’t pay me in coin, and their pride doesn’t allow them to see me for free. It works out most of the time, although heaven only knows what I’m supposed to do with all this garlic.”

There was indeed a large pan of garlic cloves, as well as a heaping pile of potatoes and some carrots that might have come from the doctor’s own garden. Rosemary, sage, and basil were drying from the rafters, while Thistle noticed foxglove and cone flowers among the flowers blooming out in the yard. Every plant had a use, either for medicine or consumption—or in this case, both.

“Have you thought of emulsifying?” Thistle asked. “I read that there’s a chemist who found out how to hide the taste of medicine by putting into gelatin capsules, and garlic is good against colds. It might be useful to some of your patients who can’t get enough into their diet.”

Dr. Malady raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully well-informed.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to presume…” Thistle shrank down in her chair. “I mean, it is a lot for one person…”

“Don’t apologize for a good idea. I was just surprised. Most mages don’t bother with the more mundane aspects of medicine. They seem to think all they have to do is twiddle their fingers to magic the world’s woes away.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that came out more cynical than I intended. When I was in training I saw healers do things that I could never dream of. People ‘round these parts would call them miracles, but what they don’t understand is that there’s a limit. A limit, and a danger.”

“Aren’t there any mages in the Salt Rock Hills?” Thistle asked. In her experience even places that weren’t near an academy had their fair share of mages—tradesmen or hedgewitches or even whole families of spellweavers who had passed down their knowledge for generations. Those who had received a standardized education usually looked down at such practitioners, who often lacked any formal training whatsoever, but Thistle had learned more from small-town mages than she ever had in a lecture hall.

“If you want to get real technical, at the moment there are three: You, Isla, and the mute,” Doctor Malady said. She finished working through her bucket, and set it aside. “Otherwise no. Most were run outta town when the mines closed down, and the rest died off without passing on their craft. Even now there’s a distrust of magic among the older generation. I suppose the mystery of it is what drives the younger folk toward it, and away from here.”

“They were run out of town?” Thistle asked. “Is the because of the curse?”

Dr. Malady peered at her over her spectacles. “Where did you hear that from? No, wait, don’t tell me. I suppose it was Frank, wasn’t it?”

Thistle nodded.

“Of course he would,” she said, leaning back heavily in her chair. “I love Frank dearly, but there’s no proof of any curse in the Hills. It’s not often I agree with Jacob Swinehart, but I once heard him say people use the curse as an excuse for anything bad that’s ever happened to this town, when the truth is that life is full of bad without needing any magic to help prod it along.” Dr. Malady paused, lips pursing together in an unhappy line. She seemed to gather her words carefully before speaking again.

“Frank has endured more ‘n his share of loss. He’s one of the few who still remembers when the mines were open. What this town was and what it could have been. Then the year before I left for training his son died unexpectedly, and his wife never recovered. When I came back, it was as if she were a different person. Meloncholia had a death-grip on her, and when she got sick with influenza she had nothing left in her to fight back. It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone die of grief.”

“I had no idea,” Thistle said quietly. “That’s awful.”

“It is, and if thinking that his wife and son died because of some curse is what helps Frank sleep at night, I’m not going to tell him otherwise. The thing is, everyone in this town has lost someone. It ain’t no secret that we’re dying. Maybe not this generation or the next, but sooner or later the Salt Rock Hills will be nothing more than a forgotten memory.”

Thistle very nearly asked who the doctor had lost, but managed to stop before she made a fool of herself. She was about to change the subject to a different—hopefully happier—topic when she heard someone enter the house by the front door. Dr. Malady rose to her feet.

“Excuse me. That might be a patient.”

Doctor Malady brushed her hands on her skirt and went back into the house, leaving the screen door open. Thistle heard her take a sharp intake of breath, and then a low, “Oh, Isla…” and sincerely wished she hadn’t.

“Sit down and I’ll get you some ice,” Dr. Malady said. “I think I have some cabbage leaves that you can wrap it in tonight.”

“I don’t need your help!” Isla snapped. “I didn’t ask for your help. Just…leave me alone.”

Thistle heard heavy, uneven footsteps as Isla Clark made her way slowly up the hallway to her bedroom, heard her slam the door behind her. There was dead silence, before Dr. Malady made her way back outside. The lines on her face were deeper than they had been a moment ago, aging her fifteen years. She looked careworn and tired, like an old shirt that had been washed one too many times and was starting to come apart at the seams.

“I’m sorry,” Thistle said.

“Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault. Isla’s not the first patient to take her frustrations out on me, and she certainly won’t be the last. It comes with the territory.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I could do?” Thistle asked helplessly. “I could at least look at it.”

Dr. Malady drew her head over her forehead, her expression pained. “Isla’s already been seen by a qualified healer. Whatever happened out in the Hills can’t be undone. As her doctor, I can’t say any more than that without her permission. There are enough rumors out there as it is.”

Dr. Malady’s tone indicated the subject was closed, but Thistle burned with questions. There were few acute injuries that were considered untreatable by someone who knew what they were doing. Thistle couldn’t imagine an injury so horrific that it would leave Isla in such a state after being treated by a healer.

“In any case, it’s been a long day,” Dr. Malady, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “and I need to be up early tomorrow for my rounds. Forgive this thoughtless host, but would you mind it terribly if I retired for the night?”

“Of course not,” Thistle said. “I understand completely.”

“You’re a blessing. Everything in the house is open for your use, should you find yourself needing something. As you’ve seen, I have plenty of garlic to spare.”

Thistle laughed, because she knew that was what was expected of her. The twinkle returned in Dr. Malady’s warm, brown eyes, and she shook Thistle’s hand. “I don’t know how much we’ll see of one another come morning, but it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Should you find yourself in these parts again, my house is always open.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Good night, Thistle. I hope you rest well.”

Thistle had once heard that the difference between a true mage and someone who simply practiced magic was curiosity—curiosity for how the world worked and the insatiable desire to pick apart the underlying forces that drove it invariably onward.

Thistle was curious about the Salt Rock Hills. Nothing about it made sense, from the monster that chose winged horses for its preferred prey to the sudden closing of the mines all those years ago. Was there a curse, or did the belief of one contribute to the misfortune of the people? If the curse didn't exist, what had wiped out Marco Russo’s team of mercenaries, permanently maiming the one survivor?

No sound came from Isla Clark’s room, and Thistle found that troubling as well. It seemed odd to her that Isla would spend more than a month in the town where her teammates had died, especially since as far as anyone knew at the time the monster of the Salt Rock Hills had been killed.

Unless she had nowhere else to go.

Lyra would have accused of her of making assumptions and jumping to conclusions. Perhaps Isla stayed because she thought she could find work in the town that had no mages. Thistle rolled over on the narrow bed, unable to get comfortable and wondering what happened to a subcontractor if the one who hired them left the mercenary business—willingly or otherwise.

Which, of course, got her thinking about Rhys Taliesen and his offer. Thistle had absolutely no interest in working with someone who held anyone he perceived as lower than himself in such obvious distain, but she did have to consider the possibility that Orrig might die, retire, or—more likely—eventually fire her for incompetence. Thistle had spent too long wandering from place to place with no plan other than surviving another day. She couldn’t keep living on a hope and a prayer and expect not to be found.

The very thought sent a chill down her spine.

It was nights like these, when a dozen worries and anxieties tumbled in her mind with no resolution, that Thistle dreaded. It didn’t matter how many breathing exercises she did or how many imaginary pixies she counted on the ceiling, she could not sleep. Her mind was an overturned wasp’s nest of unpleasant thoughts and worries. It was so frustrating and so stupid to know that she was keeping herself awake fretting over things that could not be solved, which only served to make her worry more, starting the cycle anew.

Thistle couldn’t even peel off some her more obtrusive layers of clothing. Not only would have it been extremely rude to place wards in someone else’s house, there was a chance that Isla might sense the outpouring of magic and get curious herself.

From the parlor, the grandfather clock struck twelve, and Thistle groaned into her pillow. It was going to be a very long night.

Thistle was walking the boundary between sleep and waking when someone knocked sharply at the door. She bolted upright and tried to stumble out of bed at the same time, momentarily disorientated in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“’m up,” she said, biting her tongue to keep from crying out when she barked her shin against the end table. “I’m coming.”

The door opened a fraction of an inch, and Thistle’s perfect night vision could see one of Dr. Malady’s bespectacled eyes looking back at her. “I’m sorry to wake you, but Anne Marie has gone into labor,” she said in a hushed voice. “It’s still in the early goings, but it’s her first and she’s got no one but her grandmother to help her.”

If Thistle hadn’t been awake before, she was now. “Does she need help? I could—“

“I’ll see to Anne Marie and the baby,” Dr. Malady interrupted soothingly. “I’m just telling you so you didn’t wake up to an empty house and wonder where I’ve gone to.” She hesitated a moment. “And I know it isn’t fair of me to ask, but would you keep an eye out on Isla while you’re still here? This business with the winged horses has brought up every memory that she’d rather forget. I’m worried that…well, I’m just plain worried.”

Thistle didn’t know how she could possibly be of any help, but it was obvious Dr. Malady’s concern went deeper than that of a doctor and her patient. Thistle nodded, before realizing that Dr. Malady probably couldn’t tell what she was doing in this dark. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Thistle. You have no idea what a weight that takes off my shoulders. Godspeed.”

“Godspeed,” Thistle murmured as the doctor latched the bedroom door closed. She waited for the sound of Dr. Malady exiting the house before walking slowly back to bed. She sat for a long time after that, head propped in her hands wondering if the doctor had any idea how contagious worry was.

The clock had just struck three when Thistle was roused from a light doze by a noise from the room next door. Floorboards creaked under uneven footsteps, each one punctuated by the clack of a cane against the wooden floor.

Thistle rolled nimbly out of bed, her sensitive ears picking up a muttered curse as Isla passed by the doorway. Her heart thrummed in her chest along with a sense of unease.

this is none of your business. there’s nothing you can do, you’ll only make things worse. what do you think you’re going to accomplish meddling where you don’t belong

Thistle pushed open her door just enough to slip through. Keeping near the walls where the floorboards were less likely to creak she trailed Isla like a wraith through the night. There could be a perfectly innocent explanation why Isla was up at this time. Perhaps she was thirsty, or she needed the privy. There were dozens of reasons to get out of bed at three o’clock in the morning that had nothing to do with anything.

Isla was moving more slowly than Thistle remembered, her limp more pronounced. Once in the hallway between the bedrooms and the parlor she had to stop and lean against the wall, letting out a noise of frustration that was almost a sob.

When she finally made it to the parlor Isla called light to her hand. Thistle had to scurry back to avoid being seen, but Isla was in no state to notice her clumsy attempts at stealth. She scanned the room, and Thistle could see the lines of tension in her shoulders. The hand that gripped her cane trembled.

“Where is it?” Isla said, her voice desperate and thick with pain. “@$#&*%$, where’d she put it?”

Thistle couldn’t stand to see anymore. She crept out of the shadows, and in a timid voice said, “Do you need something?”

Isla swore and tried to spin around. Her feet got tangled with each other, and she crumpled in a boneless heap. The light vanished as her spell failed, purging the room into complete darkness.

“Who is it?” Isla demanded. She scrambled for her cane and held it defensively in front of herself. “W-who’s there?”

Thistle rushed forward to help. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who are you and what are you doing in Dr. Malady’s house?!”

She looked and sounded absolutely terrified. Thistle stopped dead in her tracks and called soft blue light to her hand. She leaned down next to Isla. “I’m so sorry. I heard you, and I thought…”

Her voice died as utter confusion washed over Isla’s features. “You’re…you’re the mercenary from the springs. What are you doing here? Where’s Dr. Malady?”

“Um, well, about that, the doctor opened her house up since we didn’t have a place to stay for the night. I’m in the room next to yours. And the doctor went out to help deliver a baby.”

The cane lowered a fraction of an inch. “Are all of you here?” she asked.

“Just me. My teammates are staying with Frank Cunningham.”

Slowly the panic left her, leaving exhaustion in its place. Isla scrubbed her face with her hands. “If the doctor’s out on call, then her bag’s not here.” She swore again. “I am such an idiot.”

Thistle offered a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

For a moment it looked as if Isla would refuse her assistance, but she reluctantly clasped Thistle’s gloved hand with her own. Thistle helped her to her feet, momentarily bearing the majority of Isla’s weight when while she regained her balance. Even in the harsh light Thistle could see that her complexion had taken an unhealthy greyish pallor, her face drawn tight with pain.

“I know a little bit of healing magic,” Thistle said quietly, almost embarrassed. “Is that why you’re looking for the doctor’s bag?”

Isla’s shoulders slumped. “I shouldn’t have snapped at her earlier. She was just trying to help. That’s all she’s ever done.”

“I can at least help with the pain,” Thistle said.

“I don’t have any coin to pay you.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Isla looked surprised. Her gaze flickered down to her left leg and then back up to Thistle, eyes searching. Thistle could tell that she wanted to refuse, but desperation won out in the end. Isla turned away from Thistle, ashamed, and nodded her head.

Thistle wanted to offer some word of comfort, but Isla pulled away from her and snapped her fingers. A thin line of magic bridged the distance between her and the small dining room table fast as lightning, lighting the three candles without so much as a glance before taking her slow, plodding steps to towards the nearest chair.

It was by no means an impressive display of magic, but fire was one of the hardest magics to control in small amounts, its very nature wanting to consume and destroy. To light three candles from across the room in the dark while in so much pain took a level of finesse that many mages never reached.

Isla slumped into her seat. “Are we doing this or not?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Thistle hurried over while Isla extended her leg with a grimace, faltering when she saw her foot for the first time. Isla’s ankle was swollen to twice the size it should have been, and was mangled by what appeared to be a single, massive bite wound.

“Just hurry up and get it over with,” Isla said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care if you have to numb the whole leg, anything’s better than what I’m feeling right now.”

Gently Thistle touched the ankle, feeling the warmth of inflammation even through her gloves, while her toes were cool to the touch. The swelling was to the point it was interfering with circulation. Frowning, Thistle called upon her magic and prodded on different pressure points in the foot.

The hind foot consisted of the ankle bone, heel, and two of the seven tarsal bones, while the ankle joint also included the tibia and the fibula. Thistle was sure that every bone in the lower leg and foot had been broken or somehow displaced by the bite, and that wasn’t counting the damage done to the muscles, tendons, and ligaments that held them all together.

There was far too much damage for it to have healed by itself within a month; in fact, Thistle was certain without magical intervention Isla would have lost the foot entirely. The problem was whoever had done the healing had botched it. There was too much scar tissue, too many calcifications in the bone that limited flexibility of the joints. At its worst, there were tissues that had been knitted back together wrongly, and there was no way to repair the damage that had been done without first taking everything back apart again. Thistle sensed bone rubbing against bone, spurs irritating the Achilles tendon, and one instance were two muscles had somehow fused together into one.

Thistle blinked back tears at the twisted, mangled mess that was Isla Clark’s leg. She couldn’t imagine the agony she experienced walking across the room, let alone the two miles to the springs. “I am so sorry.”

Isla looked down at her anxiously. “Can’t you do anything? I…I know it can’t be healed. I just want it to stop hurting so I can sleep.”

“I’ll do my best,” Thistle said. “Just give me a moment to think.”

Thistle sat back and pondered the best way to approach the healing. The first and greatest priority was to get the inflammation down and lesson the swelling—a relatively easy fix all things considered. What Thistle really wanted was to somehow keep such a severe response from happening again, hopefully enabling Isla to live a more normal life.

It was a problem of circulation, exacerbated by excessive amounts of scar tissue forming adhesions within the foot. She could separate the adhesions, but chances were they would reoccur with time as repetitive motion injuries degraded what little function she had left.

The only permanent solution was to somehow replace the scar tissue with healthy, normal growth. Thistle pulled her hood farther over face so Isla couldn’t see her eyes. She didn’t have enough knowledge about the anatomy of the foot to make a complete difference, but she could do more than mask the excruciating pain Isla had to deal with on a daily basis.

“Okay,” Thistle said, almost to herself. “Grab onto my shoulders. You’re going to need to brace yourself.”

Isla did as she was told, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Thistle was amazed that she trusted healers at all after what had been done to her. Either she was incredibly forgiving or incredibly desperate, and Thistle thought she knew which.

“On the count of three,” Thistle said. “One, two…”

Blue fire blazed from Thistle’s hands before she got to three, catching Isla before she had a chance to tense. She bit back a scream, fingernails digging into Thistle’s shoulders as magic forcibly tore through damaged cells and tissues, breaking apart scars and erasing solid calcifications of bone.

Thistle didn’t stop. She was too far into the spell, whispering encouragement to her magic even as Isla let out a broken sob and forcing the rapid growth as quickly as she dared. Too much magic would put her system into shock.

The entire spell took maybe thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Thistle waited wordlessly while the final spasms worked themselves out before loosening Isla’s death-grip on her shoulders. Sweat poured from Isla’s face, her haggard features almost gaunt after such an invasive healing.

“I’m sorry,” Thistle said. “It was the only way.”

Isla’s breathing came out in sharp, ragged gasps, and she seemed beyond words. Thistle bent back over her foot and tested the flexibility of the ankle. The range of motion was maybe half that of a normal person, but that was still leagues better than what it had been before.

Behind her Thistle heard the quiet plodding of feet, and turned to see that Salem the cat had somehow managed to get inside the house. He meowed softly before jumping on Isla’s lap, and began purring when she held him close.

“Whoever did this to you ought to be ashamed,” Thistle said. “What they did…that wasn’t healing.”

“No one did this to me,” Isla rasped.

“I can tell someone used magic to try and heal the bite.”

“No one did this to me,” Isla repeated. Shadow and candlelight danced across her face, deepening the hollows under her eyes. She looked up at Thistle for the first time, but her gaze was unfocused, haunted by something only she could see.

“I did it to myself.”

They were still sitting at the table when the clock struck four. Isla had washed her face and made a circuit of the parlor to test the new capacities of her ankle before Thistle suggested that it would be better to let it rest. Neither had been terribly keen on going back to bed, so Thistle filled two cups with water and sat with Isla Clark in a silence heavy with secrets and grief. They sat so long that Thistle was beginning to wonder if Isla realized she was still there, when suddenly she spoke.

“I wanted to be a healer when I was a girl. It’s what I went to school for. I thought I could change the world, that I could use my talent to help people and that it would actually matter.”

Isla looked into her cup as if wishing it were something else. In her lap the cat continued a slow, steady purr. She spared him a small glance, some of the harsh lines in her face relaxing. “I didn’t make it very far in my studies, but I did learn some. The healer they called in from Crossroads said I’m lucky I didn’t give myself a tumor.”

“I don’t understand, what happened?” Thistle asked.

“I…I don’t remember much of what happened that night,” Isla said. “But when that thing up in the Hills attacked me I panicked. It was so dark…I think I tried to call light, but I went unconscious before I could shape the magic.”

“A death spell,” Thistle breathed.

Isla looked up at her. “So you’ve heard of them. I never had.”

Old books called it a mage’s Final Glory, while newer research had spawned the term spontaneous dweomercraft, but regardless of the terminology one used the end result was the same. It was the natural phenomenon that occurred when a mage failed their spell in the worst possible way.

Once raw magic was gathered in preparation for casting, that energy had to go somewhere. Should an experienced mage change their mind mid-cast they had the choice of either regathering the energy or leting it safely dissipate into the environment. Both solutions had their proponents, although most agreed that it was best not to try to stop a spell that had gotten past a certain point.

The problem came if the mage was untrained or had mistakenly gathered too much magic and lost control. More rarerly, a mage might became incapacitated before being able to safely disperse it. The end result was often dangerous, usually tragic, and always unpredictable. A death spell was, in the purest sense, a type of wild magic born of a mage in distress.

And it sounded like Isla had been in more distress than most.

“I saved myself from bleeding to death, but the healer reckons I lost ten years of my life in exchange. I expended so much magic I was unconscious for three days.” Isla tugged a lock of greying hair disdainfully. “You’d never guess I’m only twenty-four years old.”

“But you survived,” Thistle said.

“And my teammates are dead because of my mistake,” Isla said harshly. “I thought…when it turned out the monster was still alive I thought maybe there was the reason I made it when Marco and Lucian didn’t, that what I had seen would help this new team kill the thing once and for all. That’s why I walked out to the springs today.”

For the first time Isla’s composure cracked, and she rubbed her eyes angrily as tears streamed down her face. “I thought wrong. The elf wouldn’t listen to a word I said. I might as well have died for all the use I’ve been.”

Thistle didn’t know what to say as Isla Clark wept, silently and bitterly. The cat climbed from her lap to her shoulder, and Isla clutched it like a drowning man did a piece of driftwood. They were practically strangers, but Thistle’s heart hurt for her. No matter what she said, Thistle refused to believe Isla was at fault for any of this.

There had been many, many times in Thistle’s life where she’d wished for someone who would just listen, and perhaps right now that was what Isla needed most, more than platitudes or the empty promise that tomorrow would be a better day.

Eventually the sobs slowed, and when Isla finally released the cat Thistle was there with a handkerchief. Isla accepted it gratefully and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry,” Isla said, sounding small and defeated. “I thought I’d have run out of tears by now.”

Thistle’s reply was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door that made them both jump. “Who could that be at this hour?” Thistle asked.

“It could be anyone,” Isla said. “Dr. Malady gets calls all hours of the night, though usually they don’t knock before coming in.”

There was another rap at the door, this time louder and somehow more irate. Thistle got to her feet. “I’ll see who it is.”

It felt strange answering the door as a guest in someone else’s house, but the doctor hadn’t yet returned and Isla was in no condition to be welcoming visitors. Thistle took a moment to straighten her hood and her gloves before opening the door to Rhys Taliesen, Mum, and Rizaek.

Rhys did a double take while Thistle felt her throat tighten. Both blinked stupidly at one another, and it was impossible to say who was more surprised to see the other standing there.

It was Rhys who regathered his wits first. “I thought your group was staying at the old butcher’s house?”

“The rest are,” Thistle said before she realized she probably shouldn’t be telling him anything at all. “Dr. Malady only had room for one.”

“Separating yourself from them already?” Rhys said, eyebrow raised. He had the gall to smile approvingly, as if she were a slow student who had finally grasped a rudimentary lesson. “Good for you.”

“What are you doing here?” Thistle said.

“Oh, forgive me. I was wondering, is Isla Clark here?”

“What do you want with her?” Thistle asked, wary of the gleam in his brilliant green eyes.

“That’s none of your concern.” He craned his head to look over her shoulder. “Where is the doctor by the way? I would have thought she would be the one answering the door.”

“She’s out seeing a patient,” Thistle said. “What do you want with Isla?”

Rhys let out an annoyed puff of air. “I won’t ask again, is Isla Clark here? It is of vital importance that I speak with her.”

Perhaps Lyra was beginning to rub off on her, but Thistle felt a sudden and intense desire to slam the door in Rhys’s face. Her patience with his condescending manner had worn thin, but before she could answer Isla appeared behind her.

“Is something wrong?” Isla asked. Her eyes were still puffy and red-rimmed from crying, and when she saw Rhys she stiffened, clutching her cane so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Ah, there you are,” Rhys said. “I would have liked the doctor to be in since she’s been warding you since the incident, but I suppose someone can inform her later.” He cleared his throat, and his voice was insufferably smug whenever he said, “On behalf of the peace keepers of the Salt Rock Hills, I formally arrest you for the illegal poaching of a protected species. Come with us peacefully and no harm will come to you, but resist and I won’t hesitate to use force.”

“What?!” Isla exclaimed. “I didn’t kill anything, let alone a winged horse!”

“You’ll find that I have proof otherwise, as well as the blessing of the local authority to bring you into questioning,” Rhys said, holding up a signed warrant of arrest. “Please don’t resist. You’ll only make a fool out of yourself.”

“Are you serious?” Thistle said. “You…you can’t just take her away!”

“I can and I will,” Rhys said in a clipped tone. “Nor will I allow for anyone standing in my way of bringing this debacle to an end. Should Miss Clark continue to claim innocence she will have her day in court, but I think once she sees what we’ve discovered she’ll choose to confess to her crimes.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” Isla said numbly. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“As a word of advice, Miss Clark, I would save my words for someone who actually cares,” Rhys said. “Now hurry up. You’re wasting my time.”

Isla looked at Thistle, confused and frightened, before Rhys grabbed her roughly by the elbow and pulled her forward. She stumbled, but managed to keep her balance as she was shoved out of the house.

“Stop it!” Thistle cried. “You can’t treat her like that. You’ll hurt her.”

There was nothing but utter distain in Rhys’s gaze. “Choose your next actions very carefully, or you’ll find yourself joining her for interfering with a lawful arrest.”

Mum smirked, and Thistle saw him subtly adjust his posture. He would fight magic with magic, and Thistle didn’t want to trade blows in close quarters with a mage with as much power as Mum. Not when there were innocent people at risk.

“Smart girl,” Rhys said when Thistle froze in place. “And in case you’re wondering, my offer still stands.”

Thistle watched impotently as Rhys took Isla away, presumably to the local jail. As soon as they were out of sight she rushed back into the house and called upon her magic.

A small blue sphere formed in her hands, and in her mind’s eye Thistle imagined one exactly like it springing into existence in the master bedroom of Frank’s house. For all the nightmare scenarios she had imagined, the reality was somehow worse

“Orrig? Orrig, are you there?” Thistle said, for once in her life not hesitating. “Something’s happened, and I need you to come over here.”

#The Monster of the Salt Rock Hills #Daughter of the Lilies #dotl #fanfiction #fanfic #creative-type writes #Orrig #Thistle

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cherry-kirsch · 7 years ago

Text

the midsummer light at your shoulder

pegoryu || 37376 words || sfw || spirited away au

In which Ryuji finds himself trapped working at Akechi's bathhouse to avoid meeting the same fate as his mother, navigates his life around Shu, Akechi's mysterious apprentice, who seems to remember him for some reason, and makes a lot of promises that he can definitely keep.

(a.k.a, Ryuji just wanted to explore with his Mum and Akechi ruins everything for everyone.)

[ AO3 ]

Yui eyed Ryuji from the rear-view mirror. “Ryuji… I know it’s hard moving to a school and picking up everything to move all the way out here… but it’ll be better for us.” She said softly, tucking black hair behind her ear.

Ryuji forced a smile onto his face, trying to seem cheerful for his mother. “I know, my new school seems cool.” He leant over from the backstreet, patting Yui on the shoulder. “You don’t have to explain it, Ma, I’m with you one-hundred percent.” Yui looked back at him with a grin, leaning back to ruffle his mop of bleached hair.

“What would I do without you, huh?” She asked as Ryuji laughed, half-heartedly trying to pull away from his mother’s hand. “Look at us being mopey daisies, that won’t be good for moving into a new house! We need to be excited, looking forward to it!”

Ryuji smiled and laid across the backseat sideways, stretching his legs against the window opposite him as he watched the outside world pass him in a blur from the window above him. The foot wells were filled with two suitcases, one for Yui and one for himself, and the backseat was littered with the remnants of what they had eaten for breakfast on the road, and he pulled the wrappers out from beneath him as he settled down more comfortably, sighing as he allowed his eyes to fall shut and the smile to melt from his face.

As much as he tried to remain happy and positive for his mother about moving, he already missed Tokyo. The bustling streets and the subway, the neon lights and Shibuya at night, and especially the fact that there seemed to be a ramen place around every corner. Now he was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, had to take a bus to school unless he wanted to walk four miles there and back every day, and the nearest ramen restaurant was in the next town over, almost seven miles away. If he had to look on the positive side, at least the house was nice; it was big, with three bedrooms and painted a beautiful blue, and being situated in the country did open a lot of opportunity for him to practice his cross country running.

He turned to face the back of his mother’s seat, staring at the back of her head as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and hummed along with whatever song was playing on the radio. She always seemed to be smiling and he never knew how she managed it. Even when times were at their worst she smiled through it, when Ryuji was a child he remembered being comforted by her smiles and through all the shouting and screaming his father did it was all he needed to hold on. Yui still smiled, but it was never to protect Ryuji from her pain anymore, it was a genuine smile that oozed joy and happiness from every edge, and it had grown even more so now they had moved far from Tokyo.

He couldn’t blame her either, he wanted to get away from the memories of his father as much as she did.

If he looked close enough Ryuji could probably see the scar through Yui’s eyebrow, and the dent in her lip. His father had long since left them, and Yui had long since taken her wedding ring off, and their bruises had long since faded away, but the memories stayed, harsh and pressing when he least wanted to remember. So, he tried his best to smile through it, he dyed his hair blonde and took up running, he started making family meals, anything that would make Yui worry about him just a little bit less.

The car stilled to a stop and Ryuji sat up, looking out the front window expecting to see their house, yet all he saw was a woodland path and a tree tunnel, the entrance lined with stone statues. Yui was muttering over her GPS. Ryuji leant his arms on the back of the seat.

“Ma? Is everything okay?” He asked and Yui looked up, a reassuring smile on her face.

“Yeah! I think the GPS is glitching…” She said, biting her lip as she tapped it gently. “It’s saying to go straight ahead.” She turned to look out of the rear-window, her brows creased together. “I probably missed a turn.”

Ryuji frowned. “Then maybe we should just follow the path.” He suggested. “I mean, if that’s what the GPS says.”

Yui smiled, turning back to press a kiss to Ryuji’s cheek. “Good idea, and even if this isn’t the way to our house there might be something cool to look at.” She said as Ryuji wiped away the kiss with the back of her his hand.

“Don’t kiss me, Ma!” Ryuji said, leaning back in his seat as his mother began her journey down the path. “I’m sixteen not six!”

Yui pouted, shaking her head. “You may be a grown man in your own mind but in mine you’re still my little boy!” She replied, a hand pressed over her heart and Ryuji groaned, hiding his face in hands. “I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday! You were 8 days late and the doctors told me to take a walk to induce labour, so I gave them the middle finger and told them to take a walk. My water broke right then and there.”

“I know this story off by heart, Ma!” Ryuji replied. “It’s embarrassing! You’re embarrassing me!”

Yui laughed as she made a sharp turn around a corner, causing Ryuji to brace himself against the window. “I’m not embarrassing you, Ryuji, I’m telling you about the best day of my life; the day you were born.”

Ryuji groaned again, his face going bright red. “Ma, please.” He begged as Yui laughed again and thrust her hand back to ruffle his hair once more.

“Fine, I was teasing you,” Yui admitted, pinching Ryuji’s cheek before he squirmed away with a noise of indignation. “But only because I love you.”

Ryuji grumbled but kissed his mother’s hand gently, and she grinned and pressed the place where his lips were against her mouth before she once again put both of her hands on the steering wheel. Ryuji turned his gaze to outside his window, watching the trees go by in a flurry of green and brown and tiny spirit shrines to flit past in groups, built haphazardly close to the side of the road and into the trees. He couldn’t help but imagine the tiny spirits scurrying away at the sound of their car, hiding away in their tiny stone houses to avoid being seen, and he grinned as he passed them.

Seeing the tiny spirits reminded him of the time he and Yui had walked to the shine nearby their house in Tokyo at New Years to pray for what they wanted in the coming year. Ryuji was six and instead of wishing for toys or money he wished that his father wouldn’t be so angry this year, Yui had wished for a new job; after seeing his plaque Yui had bought him bells and a pork dumpling, and spent the evening playing with sparklers at the shrine entrance. Yui had to carry him home.

The car braked so harshly Ryuji was sent tumbling into the back of his mother’s seat, emerging seconds later and rubbing his injured forehead and frowning at his mother. “Ma, were you trying to knock me unconscious?”

“Well,” Yui breathed, ignoring him completely. “This isn’t the way to our house.”

Ryuji’s eyebrows creased together, relaxing upon looking out the front window. Directly in front of the car was a strange stone statue, and behind that was a large red tunnel, peeling paint and plaster. Ryuji shook his head. “No, it isn’t.” he agreed before a smile stretched across his face. “But it sure is cool!”

Yui turned around in her seat, smiling at him. “Do you wanna go check it out?”

“Do I even have to answer that?” He replied and Yui grinned unbuckling her seatbelt to climb from the car as he followed quickly behind, slamming his door shut behind him.

Yui pointed into the tunnel enthusiastically. “Onwards, my son!” She chirped, already marching forward and into the tunnel, disappearing into the pitch black. “Hurry up, Ryuji!” She called after a moment.

Ryuji tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and made to follow his mother before he paused by the statue in front of the car. It was covered in moss and had two smiling faces, unnerved, he swallowed hard and quickly looked away, striding over to the tunnel. The entrance was dark and the other side was obscured by thick black shadows that almost seemed liquid; the wind blew in a way that made him want to step into it and keep walking, but when he looked around the trees were still. He was quick to realise the tunnel was the magnet pulling him in. Everything about the place around him put him on edge, and every thought about the tunnel being ‘cool’ was quickly replaced with a layer of underlying fear and anxiety.

“Ma?” Ryuji called, his voice raising an octave in an effort to be heard from the distance between them. “I’m not too sure. Maybe we should just go to the house!”

Yui’s laugh flowed from the tunnel, echoing off every wall. “It’ll be okay, Ryuji! You have to come through, it’s so cool!”

Ryuji sighed, steeled himself and walked through the shadows until they swallowed him whole. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, squeezing so hard that his nails dug into his palm. He felt he was only walking through the tunnel for thirty seconds when he emerged into an enclosed room, but when he looked behind him the other side was lost in the darkness.

Yui was standing in the middle of the room and turned when she heard him enter, a massive smile on her face. “Isn’t this cool, Ryuji?” She asked excitedly, throwing her hands out to the sides of her as she turned in a circle.

The room was very beautiful. It had a high ceiling supported by wooden rafters and big stained glass windows that dappled the floor a series of reds, and blues and yellows and purples and greens and brought all the light into the room. There was a row of three benches each side of the room facing each other, and, if Ryuji listened closely, he could hear a train passing as if were right outside.

Ryuji had to nod. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Pretty cool.”

“Let’s go outside!” Yui cried heading out of the curved doorway and into the bright sunlight.

Ryuji followed behind her, closing his eyes the moment the warmth of the sunlight hit his skin. When he opened the eyes, he had to admit the sight was something to behold; the grass was a lush, vibrant green and bordered by a river just below the slope of the hill he and his mother stood on. Off in the distance a plume of steam and thick black smoke rose high above the buildings that he could barely see over the curve of the next hill.

Yui squeezed Ryuji’s upper arm affectionately, smiling at him as he looked to her. “This reminds me of being your age; back then there were a ton of theme parks everywhere, now most of them are abandoned.” She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering shut, and exhaled slowly, her eyes opening. “It’s nostalgic.”

Ryuji gestured to the plume of steam with a small smile. “Looks like this one is still in business, shall we check it out?” He asked her and she nodded vigorously, releasing him to walk ahead.

They made their way down the slow slope of the hill and skipped across the rocks of the river, Ryuji making sure Yui didn’t trip or fall into the water, up the stairs on the other side and towards the gentle cluster of buildings. The path once dirt, nothing more than grass worn down to the dirt with years of use, turned into stone slabs and soon Ryuji and Yui found themselves surrounded by buildings coloured as bright as the rainbow.

Yui peered into a window as they passed. “Hmm, they all look like restaurants.” She stated.

“And they all seem to be closed,” Ryuji added, nodding to the closed doors and dark rooms inside.

Soon the wide street opened onto a wide row of street restaurants, each one overflowing with plates of food and drink and Yui looked at them carefully, striding over to one and pushing past the curtains in her way. She turned back to Ryuji.

“Nobody seems to be working there,” She told him before she scanned the rest of the restaurants with a frown. “This place seems like a ghost town.”

Ryuji tilted his head up to the sky, gazing up at the plume of steam with interest, he turned to his mother. “Ma, I’m going to have a quick look around. Stay here, okay?” He told her and she chuckled, patting his cheek gently.

“Okay,” she agreed, tugging him in for a quick hug. Ryuji hugged her tighter and breathed in the scent of her lavender perfume, a smell he had forever found the most comforting thing in the world. She drew back. “Don’t go too far okay? We still need to go back to the house, okay?” She grinned at him. “While you’re gone I’ll put together a picnic for you; a little something to make you feel a bit better about moving."

He frowned. “No one’s behind the counters…”

Yui smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, I’ll just leave the money out for them.”

Ryuji finally nodded, smiling. “Okay, I’ll be back soon.” He agreed, Yui smiled, content and turned as Ryuji moved away from her.

The shops around him were decorated generously with lanterns and painted vibrant colours, and Ryuji couldn’t help but thing that they, paired with the street-style restaurants, gave off the vibe of being inherently festival-like. He looked down at his jeans and trainers, scuffing the toe of his shoe, and felt like he should be wearing a yukata. Despite looking abandoned, the shops windows were filled with all sorts of wares and antiques and jewellery that caught his eye and drew him in to peer into the windows before he quickly grew distracted and left, searching for something more interesting to look at.

He turned right, back onto the main street and looked both ways. To his left was the path back river, and to his right was a set of stairs with a lantern shadowed by a tree at the top. Having seen the river already, he turned right and quickly climbed the steps in front of him, passing buy yet more shops as he ascended towards the unlit lantern.

He emerged from the steps in front of the lantern and he raised an eyebrow, hand outstretched to stroke the plaster. ‘That’s weird,” he commented before he turned to his right. “And that’s weirder.”

In front of him was a bathhouse.

The building itself was massive and grandiose, built in such a traditional and beautiful way that the bathhouses back in Tokyo sullied in comparison, the body of which was painted a rather striking shade of red, while the roofs were a brilliant jade green. Instead of a door there was a half-curtain, and two floors above that was the main gate; to the left of the building, the bathhouse flag flew proud on a chimney that spewed black smoke. Ryuji nodded appreciatively, whistling lowly as he strode closer to the mouth of the bridge that separated him from the bathhouse.

Slowly, he crossed to the middle of the bridge, tearing his gaze away from the building as he walked to the red railings, peering over the side. Beneath him there was a train track, and he eagerly watched as the train emerged from a tunnel and disappeared beneath his feet, and he crossed the width of the bridge just in time to see it slip into the distance.

It was then that he noticed the boy staring at him, his eyes wide with shock and his mouth open in a gasp. Almost immediately the surprised look was wiped off his face in favour of an almost glare as he strode towards Ryuji, the sun sinking low in the sky as the shadows from the railings stretched further across the bridge.

“You shouldn’t be here,” The boy warned him. “Go. Now!”

Ryuji’s brow creased as he pulled himself from the railing. “What’s your deal, man?” he asked. “I’m just looking."

“It’s almost night,” The boy told him and Ryuji glanced to the sun, frowning in confusion. He swore it was midday only a few minutes ago. “Leave now, before it gets dark.” Instinctively, Ryuji took a step back, his hands held up in surrender. The lamps around the bathhouse sprung to life the moment the air turned dark around them and Akira glanced back, his eyes only narrowing further. “They’re lighting the lamps.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Ryuji told him, his eyebrows creasing. “What the hell is going on?”

The boy turned back to him, pushing him gently off the bridge. “You need to leave,” He told Ryuji. “Get back to the river, quickly! Be glad that I was the one who found you here.”

“I don’t understand!” Ryuji cried in frustration, feeling almost hysterical as he stared at the boy in front of him, his black hair moving gently in the breeze. “It was midday only a few minutes ago, and now it’s night, why is it getting dark? I just came here with my mum, man, is this some kind of prank?” He asked.

The boy’s eyes widened, pausing. “Your mother?” He asked before he pushed Ryuji harder, causing him to almost stumble over from the force of it. “Go, find your mother and get back to the river. Cross before it’s too late. You have to trust me; can you do that for me?” he asked. “Can you trust me?”

Ryuji didn’t know why but he found himself nodding. “Yeah,” he agreed, his mouth dry. “I trust you.” There was something about the boy that was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly.

The boy nodded and turned back to the bathhouse. “Go, I’ll distract them.”

Ryuji was so terrified he forgot to ask what the boy meant by ‘them’ and sprinted down the stairs as quick as he could, his feet smacking on the cobblestones and lanterns lighting magically behind him as he turned the corner onto the street filled with restaurants and began the frantic search for his mother. He found her sitting on one the stools of a restaurant and he shook her shoulder quickly, tugging on the back of her denim jacket.

“Ma, we gotta go, come on!” Ryuji urged her, his voice panicked. She seemed to ignore him as she shoved her face into a plate of food. “Ma, please! We need to go, stop eating!” He cried, and as Yui turned to him he was very suddenly aware that she didn’t smell like lavender anymore.

Instead of Yui’s kind face and cupid lips, Ryuji gazed upon the literal face of a pig and screamed in horror. He watched in disbelief as a shadowy hand emerged from behind the steaming counter and smacked his mother from her seat, sending her tumbling to the floor with several china plates. Ryuji stepped back and turned on his heel and fled, his heart racing in his chest and tears burning in his eyes as he back to the crossroads between the bathhouse and the river.

The streets around him were now filled with ghostly spirits that were like shadows of people, all buzzing about different shops with a purpose. And he stood in the middle of all of them, biting hard on his lips to stop himself from crying as he hoarsely called out, “Ma? Where are you?!”, and looked back and forth. No one seemed to pay him any mind as he cried out, and so he turned and dashed towards the river, digging the balls of his hands into his eyes to wipe away the tears.

He got waist deep in the river before he realised that it was no longer a small thing that trickled water, but a body as large as the sea, and he cried out once more, scrambling back to shore with his jeans sticking uncomfortably to his legs. The frog dribbling water from its mouth seemed to mock him as he scrambled back up the stairs, his chest heaving as he stared across the river. The other side was glowing with lanterns from boats that seemed to draw closer, and the lights from the other buildings that he hadn’t noticed before; even the strange building that he and Yui had entered from was alight and glowing a warm yellow.

Ryuji felt like something was sucking all the breath out of him so he couldn’t breathe, so panicked he couldn’t think properly. His mind was reeling with thoughts of that boy, and the fact that his mother was turned into a pig. He hugged himself as he trembled, his lip wobbling; it all seemed like a hilariously bad dream, and Ryuji felt like he was five again.

“I must be dreaming,” Ryuji breathed before he smacked his hands to his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck! I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming! Wake up, Wake up.” He muttered to himself as he allowed his eyes to open, only to cry out and squeeze them shut again, crouching low until his knees touched his chin. “Come on. Disappear, wake up and disappear…”

Upon a boat docking at the steps, Ryuji leapt up in surprise, holding his hands up to cover his face and crying out once he saw them. “No!” He cried, trembling as he clenched his hands into fists, the yellow lights of the boats creeping through his fingers. “I’m see-through! Fuck this, man. No, no, no.”

Hundreds of masked… things departed from the boat and ascended the steps as Ryuji scrambled away and up the grassy slope, coming to hide behind two abandoned buildings near the slope leading up to the shops and restaurants, his knees clutched to his chest and his head hidden in them.

“This is fucked up,” Ryuji whispered, his voice hysterical as he neared tears. “This is so, so fucked up.”

Every fibre in his body was screaming in terror and panic, telling him to run as far away as he could from whatever hell this was. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Part of him hoped that this was all some stupid dream that he would wake up from soon, and he’d be back in the car with Yui and they’d all be fine – Yet, he couldn’t help but find everything so alarmingly real from the weird shadow ghosts to the pig that had replaced his mother, and somehow that made it worse.

Ryuji bit on his lip hard, but nothing could prevent the tears from escaping now, and they leaked down his cheeks and dripped from his chin generously as his body racked from the sobs.

Carefully, an arm slipped around his shoulder and Ryuji’s head snapped up, gazing into the eyes of the boy from before. He immediately flinched back, shaking his head as he turned from him but the boy held him steady and kept him where he was. “Don’t be afraid,” The boy told him softly. “I just want to help you.”

“Get away from me,” Ryuji said, trying to pull himself from the boy’s grip and put as much distance between them as he backed himself against a wall, anger and bitterness rising in his chest. “I don’t want anything to do with you after what you did to my mother! Go away!”

The boy held a berry in his hands and moved it closer to Ryuji’s mouth. “You need to eat food from the Spirit World, or else you’ll disappear.” He told him as Ryuji turned his head away, shaking his head furiously.

Ryuji scowled. “Get the fuck away from me!” He hissed, thrusting his hands out, only to find his eyes widening when his hands passed right through the boy’s body as if he wasn’t there at all. “W-What’s happening to me? No, no, no…” Ryuji breathed as he snatched his hands back and clutched them carefully to his chest.

The boy shoved the berry past Ryuji’s lips while he was caught off guard by the shock and he chewed instinctively, panic immediately rising in his throat upon realising what he had done. “Don’t worry, this won’t turn you into a pig.” The boy assured him and Ryuji relaxed tenfold. The boy waited patiently until Ryuji had chewed and swallowed the food in his mouth before he gave him a small smile.

“There,” he said, holding a hand out. “All better.”

Ryuji eyed his hand carefully, hesitating as he moved his own from his chest to press his fingertips against the boy’s palm, relief flooding through him when their skin met. His body slowly faded from transparent back to normal and he breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his palm to the boy’s fully. “I’m alright,” he breathed before he flashed a shaky grin. “I’m okay.”

“I’m Shu,” The boy told him as he threaded their fingers together.

“Where am I? What happened? Nothing makes any sense.” Ryuji said, his voice cracking.

Shu took his other hand. “I promise I’ll explain everything in good time, but you have to follow me for now.” He said.

He froze, his head snapping behind him before he leant down and pushed Ryuji up against the wall, shielding him with his body and pressing him closer with an arm as a bird circled above them. It slowed down, as if to consider them, and Shu leant closer to him and pressed Ryuji’s face against his chest as the bird turned and disappeared into the inky black night.

Shu leant back, his eyes trained on the sky. “That bird is looking for you,” he said, standing up and trying to tug Ryuji up with him by the hand. “We have to go.”

Ryuji nodded, trying to pull himself up only to find the back of his calves stuck firmly to the back of his thighs. He looked up to Shu in a panic. “I can’t,” he said, trying once again to pull himself up. “My legs are stuck! I can’t move!”

“Calm down,” Shu told him gently, before he thrust out a hand and moved it gently across the length of his curled-up legs as warmth spread through his skin and a faint glow emitted from his palm. “In the name of the wind and water within me, unbind him.” He said before he pulled Ryuji up to his feet with a firm yank of his hands. “Now, follow me.”

Before Ryuji could reply Shu was dragging him across the grass fast then he could have ever run before. Buildings passed him in a yellow and red blur before they turned sharply into a drab brown side street, dashing straight towards a closed door that had ‘no entry’ scrawled on it before it flew open and they whirled inside, the door slamming shut behind them. The room they ran through, Ryuji realised, was a store house filled with black casks of sake and giant wooden buckets of vegetables, but it was gone as quick as he had time to absorb it and they flew through a freezer room, the chill escaping the warmth of his skin as the thick metal door slammed open and closed with them passing through it.

The next room was a pig-shed, the cages at either side of the two packed pigs inside them like sardines, and Ryuji let his eyes flit from pig to pig, scanning all of them for semblance of his mother as his heart sunk low in his chest. They reached the end of the shed in an instant, and the humid air hit Ryuji like a brick wall as the bathhouse came into view. They dashed towards it’s glowing yellow windows and clouds of steam and came up short by a wooden fence and a gate, Ryuji’s chest heaving as Akira scanned the bridge and allowed Ryuji to peer past his shoulder.

Shu turned to him with a serious expression. “You have to hold your breath while we cross the bridge,” he told him as he leant over the gate and unhooked it, stepping through after Ryuji. “A single breath will break the spell.”

Ryuji nodded, his hands closing around Shu’s bicep as they walked from the shadows towards the golden light that covered the bridge, crossing through yet another gate as they finally joined the main pathway. Two frogs were standing at the mouth of the bridge, bowing to every spirit who passed.

“I’m back,” Shu said to one, and they blinked, bowing incredibly deeply.

“Welcome back, Master Shu,” They said as Shu stared straight forward and Ryuji’s grip tightened on his arm. He was suddenly very aware that they were drawing closer to the bridge and the thought caused his heart to beat wildly in his chest, almost threatening to escape.

Ryuji drew in a deep breath. “Hold it.” Shu told him and Ryuji used his free hand to clamp it over his nose and mouth, his cheeks popping from his face as if they were filled with tennis balls and growing red as the two crossed over onto the wooden slats.

As they strode towards the entrance of the bathhouse, it was like Ryuji didn’t exist to anyone around him and they passed him without so much as blinking an eye in his direction. It seemed that the only spirit who did notice him was a tall spirit that seemed to be cloaked in navy blue, it’s face the mask of a kitsune, and it followed him as he and Shu passed him by and Ryuji hunched his shoulders, pulling himself closer to Shu.

The end of the bridge was in sight and Ryuji’s cheeks were threatening to burst as he pressed his hand more firmly against his face, his lungs begging for air as a cat ran and leapt at his and Shu’s faces, stilling in the air at eye-height for just a moment.

“Master Shu!” It cried and Ryuji’s hands fell from his mouth, taking in a sharp breath as the cat landed, it’s eyes widening, blinking at the space Ryuji occupied. “Wha—is that a human?!” It hissed, leaping up again as Shu stuck out a hand and encased it in a black bubble.

Shu and Ryuji flew through the rest of the ground in a flash, as they ducked behind the crowd of bathhouse ladies and entered a walled garden through a small wooden door, closing it firmly behind them as Shu tugged Ryuji in between a blue hydrangea bush. Watching as the bathhouse staff dashed past calling his name through the sliding glass doors to the left of them, their bare feet smacking on the wooden floor so loudly that Ryuji could hear it outside.

Ryuji glanced at Shu, who watched the chaos inside with narrowed eyes, and his heart sunk in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, clutching his knees to his chest. “I breathed. I fucked up.”

“It’s alright,” Shu told him as he turned to him, rubbing his back comfortingly as he leant in close. “You held it for as long as you could, but you can’t stay here. It’s not safe. I’ll create a distraction while you escape.”

Ryuji felt the panic rising in himself again and he gripped tight onto the front of Shu’s white over shirt, shaking his head though he felt embarrassingly child-like. “Don’t leave me,” he said quickly, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please.”

Shu drew in a deep breath and rested his hands on top of Ryuji’s, gently prying him from his shirt as he gave him a stern look. “You can’t stay here if you want to rescue your mother.”

“Shit,” Ryuji muttered, his eyes growing wider. “You mean she really is a pig? I wasn’t dreaming?”

Shu placed two fingers on Ryuji’s forehead, brushing stray strands of blond hair from his face. “Ryuji, listen carefully; You can escape through the back door. Go all the way to the bottom of the stairs, and go into the boiler room.” He told him, and as the words fell from his lips, the images flowed into Ryuji’s mind. “Sojiro should be there. Talk to him.”

“Sojiro?” Ryuji repeated, blinking at Shu as he removed his fingers from his head.

He nodded. “Yes. He’s the boiler man, ask him for a job. If he refuses, ask him again.” A small frown crossed his lips. “If Akechi find you he’ll turn you into an animal like she did your mother.”

“Who’s Akechi?” Ryuji asked.

“The master of the bathhouse,” Shu answered. “Sojiro will try to turn you away, but just keep asking for work. It’ll be hard but I’m sure you’ll manage.” He glanced behind him as the sounds grew louder and he clutched Ryuji’s hands tighter before he glanced back. “I have to go now. Remember, I’m your friend.”

A realisation hit Ryuji like a ton of bricks and he tugged Shu’s hands as he turned to leave. “Wait. How did you know my name?” he asked and Shu looked back with a soft, caring smile.

“I’ve known you since you were a child,” Shu told him before he stood up straight, Ryuji’s hands falling from Shu’s. “Remember, not a sound.”

With a frown on his face Shu moved from behind the bush and towards the glass door as Ryuji crouched behind the hydrangea bush helpless to do anything except watch Shu leave with a sigh. “Calm sown,” Shu called loud enough so those could hear him inside. “I’m coming.”

Ryuji ducked back behind the bushes, his heart pounding in his chest as he heard the sliding door open and slam shut, waiting until the voice drowned out to nothing before he crawled around the bushes on his hands and knees to the other wooden door. He straightened to his full height once the dirt below him changed to dark wood and he found himself high above the water, the wind ruffling his hair as he treaded towards a precarious wooden staircase.

He gazed down it and gulped, it seemed rickety and unbalanced and the platform at the bottom was barely visible. He took in a shaking, anxious breath.

With a hand steadying himself on the wall to his right, his stepped lightly down onto the first step, his legs shaking and his heart pounding. Upon realising there was no longer a wall to balance himself on he crouched down until he was sitting on the stairs, and shuffled down onto the next one, his knuckles turning white as he gripped onto the edge of the stairs, his feet cautious and trembling as he stepped down, the plank of wood shattering into splinters with a groan beneath his feet.

Screaming, Ryuji immediately flew to his feet, dashing down the stairs as quick as he was able from the fright until he reached the stone platform at the bottom and ran face-first into a stone wall, slamming himself flat against it as his chest heaved. As he struggled to catch his breath, a window high above him cracked open and he stilled immediately, leaning closer to the wall as he edged around the corner and continued down a much safer set of stairs.

Ryuji skipped down the last stairs and landed gracefully in front of a thick green door.

Behind it he could heard the roar of the furnace, and he tentatively reached out a hand to pull it open, the heat hit him in a wave as he stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. A shadow shaped like a large spider was splattered across a wall lined with drawers and Ryuji swallowed hard, hiding behind the corner of the furnace room before he slowly edged around it and pressed his back flush against the wall, drinking in the room.

Most of it was taken up by a behemoth of a furnace that spewed orange and yellow flames, like a giant metal dragon, a man with six long, spider-like arms sat on a raised bed directly opposite it, using two hands to reach behind him into the drawers to collect and grind herbs, one to pour tea into his mouth with a kettle, two to stoke the fire with a variety of wheels and levers in front of him, and the last arm to pull what looked like colourful tokens from dangling clips. Ryuji assumed this man was Sojiro.

The heat inside the room was almost suffocating.

“Hey!” Ryuji yelled and Sojiro jolted, turning to him with wide eyes as he pushed his glasses up his long nose. “I want a job!”

Sojiro scoffed and turned back to the fire, brushing soot from his glasses with an arm. “You need to learn some manners, young man.”

Ryuji scowled. “Shu told me to come here and ask for a job, could you give me a job?” He asked before he paused, his face softening into a frown. “Please?” he added as an afterthought, before looked down at the ditch between the two sides of the room and watched large chunks of coal crawl past him towards the furnace on the back of tiny black balls before they whirled back around to what looked like drainage holes on the opposite end of the ditch.

“I don’t need any help, I have all my workers right here,” He said as the black balls emerged from their holes again carrying coal. “The place is covered in soot. I enchant it, and I never have to lift coal myself.”

Ryuji peered down at them curiously. “So they’re made of soot?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sojiro replied as if it was obvious. “I don’t need any help, human. You can leave.”

“But Shu said—” Ryuji began and Sojiro’s frown deepened.

He turned to glare at Ryuji. “I don’t care what Shu said, he’s just as much a slave as the rest of us here, he’s not Akechi so I don’t have to take orders from him.” Sojiro spat bitterly, turning back to the roaring fire as Ryuji lowered himself into the ditch and carefully tread through the sea of soot sprites to make his way to the wooden platform at the other side. “You’re in the way.” Sojiro told him, not even looking behind him as Ryuji almost fell over several chunks of coal, tucking his knees to his chest as he reached the other side.

“As I said,” Sojiro continued, his hand reaching into a drawer to retrieve something that smelt like ginger root. “I have all the help I need. I have no use for a human.”

Ryuji huffed, resting his chin on his knees. “Why does everyone call me ‘human’ like that?” He mumbled to himself. “Like they’re better than me. Like I’m the outsider.”

“You are the outsider,” Sojiro reminded him as three more tokens fell from the hatch above his bed with a tinkle of bells. “You’re in the Spirit World, human, this isn’t your world. Humans have lived years thinking that they’re better than everyone else, its time they got a taste of their own medicine.”

Ryuji scowled down at his feet. “I’ve always been treated like dirt,” he said bitterly and Sojiro paused, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow. “Everyone has always treated me and Ma like we’re below them. Even my father. You don’t get to lecture me about bein’ treated badly and like you’re worth nothing.” He thrust out a foot and the soot sprite nearest to him startled, dropping the chunk of coal on itself and exploding into dust.

Ryuji’s eyes widened. “Shit, man. I didn’t mean to—”

“Just stop talking and continue what you started,” Sojiro told him sternly, though his voice was kinder than before.

Ryuji looked down at the coal and stood up, bending down to pick it up. For a chunk of coal, it seemed to weigh a ton and he groaned as he shuffled towards the furnace in a sort-of crab walk, his fingers almost grazing the floor as he made his way closer to the plume of fire. The rest of the soot sprites were watching curiously, stilled in their own activities as Ryuji crawled his way closer and closer to the metal beast until he was standing on the edge of the walkway before it and hiking the coal up in his hands until it was chest height, pushing it forward with all his might to send tumbling into the fire before the mouth of it, ducking behind the wall next to Sojiro’s raised bed to avoid being scorched by the fire.

“Well,” Sojiro said, mildly impressed. “You’ve certainly got the ambition.”

Ryuji sucked in a ragged breath. “You don’t know the half of it, old man.”

“Really?” Sojiro said as he turned to him with a wicked grin. “Try me.”

Before Ryuji could reply, hundreds of soot sprites collapsed under their own chunks of coal, pretending to be squished so that Ryuji would do their work for them. All it took was a scowl and some rather colourful language on Sojiro’s part to get them to stop messing around and get back to work; only to stop again when the service door to Sojiro’s right slid open and someone entered through it, shaking a bucket invitingly.

“Sojiro,” A female voice said and Ryuji started, pressing himself closed against the wall. “I brought your breakfast. You better not have stockpiled your plates again.”

Sojiro grumbled as he handed over a pile of dirty plates and bowls. “Here they are. What is it?”

“Tempura, rice, and vegetables,” The voice told Sojiro, who only sighed and accepted the china offered to him. The underlying disappointment did not go unnoticed by the woman. “Don’t look so disappointed. It’s filling and healthy.”

“Whatever makes you believe like you’ve not poisoned me,” Sojiro replied before he turned to the ditch and knocked on the wood of his raised. Bed. “Break time!” he called and the soot sprites immediately threw off their coal and dashed over to the edge of the platform, clamouring for whatever was being shaken around in the bucket the woman carried.

He had no choice but to watch as a woman with blonde hair knelt at the ledge and reached a slender hand into the bucket on the crook of her arm, scattering konpeito candy to the sprites with a swift arc of her arm. Eventually, she just held the bucket over the ditch and emptied it of the small candies, her eyes flitting up to meet Ryuji’s. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open in shock as Ryuji tensed up and tried to melt into the wall.

Her look of shock quickly melted into one of anger, her wide blue eyes creasing as she stood up and pointed directly at him. “You!” She cried, and for a moment Ryuji was afraid she’d walk over and punch him in the face. “You’re the human that everyone’s looking for. How the hell did you get here? Oh… when Akechi finds out…”

“He’s my grandson,” Sojiro interrupted, not even glancing at the two as Ann’s brows creased and Ryuji shot him a very panicked look. “He wants to get a job here. I have my soot sprites, so I was wondering if you could take him to Akechi.”

She scowled and crossed her arms across her chest. “Oh no,” she said with a glare. “I’m not getting myself killed for someone I hardly know."

“He’s a strapping young man,” Sojiro continued and the woman eyed him with sarcastic agreement. “He could do the harder work around the bathhouse. Just think about it, Ann.”

The woman – Ann – raised an eyebrow. “I am, and it’s still not enough to even consider doing this. If Akechi figures out that I helped a human through the bathhouse then I could lose my job,” she said. “Or worse; I could be turned into an animal.”

Sojiro considered this. “What if I gave you these sugared strawberries?” He asked, and Ann’s eyes visibly widened before she sighed and held her hands out for them.

“Fine,” she said as she stuffed them down the front of her over shirt. “But if he gets killed or eaten by Akechi it’s not my damn fault and I never saw him.” Ryuji stared between them with wide eyes, his mouth open as Ann turned to him and picked up the bucket and dirty plates. “Well, come on then, take off your shoes and follow me.”

Ryuji complied quickly, stuffing his socks into his shoes and leaving them in the ditch as he followed Ann, knocking his head off the roof of the low-hanging roof of the service door as he crawled through it and slid it closed behind him, hurrying after Ann, who was already halfway across the room.

“You have to go to the top floor,” She told him, peering around a corner and waving him forward once she was sure that the coast was clear. “That’s where Akechi lives.” He followed her into a service elevator, ordering it up the moment both of his feet were inside, and stumbled towards the wall and gripping the wooden sides. Ann eyed him carefully. “Do you want to lose your fingers?” She asked him and his hands snapped back as if the elevator was red-hot coal.

The elevator came to a stop in a shadowy hallway, and Ann looked left and right before she emerged onto the polished wooden floor and made her way towards the golden light of the main corridor and stairway, Ryuji almost tripping over her heels. The fusuma that made up the structure of the hallways around them were golden and painted with beautiful red, pink and white flowers, such as cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums, and Ryuji found them extremely pleasing to look at. Ann turned and corner and dipped into an elevator and Ryuji followed, placing himself behind her as she pulled a golden lever and the elevator shot up once more.

“Halfway there,” Ann told him, not turning around, as her face set in a hard line. “Don’t wander off.”

Ryuji nodded. “Yeah.”

Instead of blank stone, the back of the elevator opened to wooden slats that peered down into the baths below. Enticed by the scent and humidity, Ryuji leant closer, trying to see through the steams to get a glance of what was happening beneath his feet; yet all he could see was a vague outline of an octopus-like spirit being bathed by pretty women in kimonos.

“Here we go,” Ann told him and Ryuji snapped back to crouch behind Ann immediately. “Ah! The radish spirit!” She cried, her voice several octaves higher as she forced a smile onto her face. “I’m sorry sir, but the elevator doesn’t go up anymore, you’ll have to take a different one.”

Ann snagged Ryuji’s sleeve and dragged him behind her as they edged around the spirit and made their way around the platform over the baths, crossing over a bridge to the platform at the other side as the steam curled around them. The two passed rooms filled with an assortment of spirits as they passed by yet more beautiful fusuma, finally coming to stop in front of an elevator with a scarlet red door. Ann smacked the up button hurriedly, looking behind them at the following radish spirit, and pushing Ryuji behind her as the elevator opened and spirits and staff spilled out chatting among themselves.

One frog-spirit paused in its tracks, sniffing the air loudly as it turned back to Ann, calling her name as Ann shoved Ryuji into the elevator before the radish spirit.

“What?” She called, a scowl evident on her face. “I’m a busy woman, you know.”

The frog-spirit sniffed the air around her as he approached. “That smell…” he said. “It smells like human! You smell like a human.”

Ann just raised an eyebrow her hand rested on her hip. “Oh, do I?” she asked. “You know, saying that without any evidence is impolite. Humans reek, and to be honest I’m offended.” She said as Ryuji wheezed, crushed against the back of the elevator by the radish spirit.

“You’re hiding something,” The frog-spirit said, it’s lips stretching into a smile. “Come on, Ann. You can’t hide it from me.”

Ann sighed and pulled the sugared strawberries from her shirt, holding it out to the frog with a deadpan look. “Is this what you smell?” she asked and its eyes grew wide, drool dripping from the corners of its mouth, as Ann turned back to the elevator. “Pull the lever to your right to go up!”

“S-Strawberries!” The frog stuttered, reaching out to grab them from Ann’s hands before she snatched them away, closing her fingers around the fruit as she held them high above its reach. “Come on, Ann! You can share it with me! Just a bite, between old friends for old time’s sake.”

Ann raised an eyebrow, giving it a look of disinterest. “Really? Last I heard you called me a bitch to all your little buddies.”

The frog looked visibly shaken and laughed nervously. “I didn’t mean it! Ann, come on!”

“Sure you didn’t,” Ann replied sarcastically.

Ryuji groaned as he reached around the radish spirit for the lever, his fingertips falling short. He huffed again and pushed his body forward, curling his fingers around the handle and pulling it down swiftly. The doors of the elevator closed to image out Ann shoving the strawberries in her mouth and the frog crying out in despair, and it jolted to life almost immediately. The doors opened to the second floor, one that seemed to be traditional tatami-mat dining areas for the customers of the bathhouse, the radish spirit sighed and reached out to the pull the level again. The doors closed and the elevator continued its journey upward.

The elevator door opened a second time and this time Ryuji stepped out onto marble floor and an extravagant hallway, across the way from two large gilded doors. He turned to the radish spirit and bowed with it before it stepped back inside the elevator and pulled the lever once more; the doors closed and Ryuji was alone.

“This is crazy,” Ryuji muttered to himself as he headed towards the door on the right, eyeing the fancy-looking vases and mirrors nervously; pressing his arms across his stomach. “Really crazy.”

The right door was painted red and sported shining golden handles and a rather peculiar looking knocker. Ryuji instinctively reached for the handle, giving a harsh pull only to find the door was sealed tightly shut.

“Aren’t you even going to knock?” A voice asked him and Ryuji sprang back as if the handle had burnt him, his eyes falling to the knocker as it glared at him. “Pathetic. Though I suppose you’d better come in.” The door in front of him swung open and Ryuji instinctively took a step back as more doors opened themselves to him in a long, glittering corridor. He eyed it suspiciously, clutching the front of his shirt. There was an audible sigh.

“I said,” The voice said and Ryuji felt as if someone was grabbing him the front of his shirt. “Come in.”

With a harsh tug, an invisible force dragged Ryuji through the glittering corridor of doors as easily as if he was feather light, and he held his arms out to steady himself as the doors slammed shut behind him. His bare feet only increased his speed as he turned a sharp corner into a carpeted corridor, barrelling towards a door that opened at just the right time for him to trip over his own toes and sprawl face-first onto the carpet, his knees tucked uncomfortably under his body.

Ryuji groaned as he sat up, straightening out his legs.

The room he found himself in seemed to be an office, opulently-built and largely unoccupied by anything that wasn’t necessary or wasn’t a rather large expensive vase. He looked up and a hearth was to his left, while a desk was to his right. He turned right, brushing himself as he stood up and faced the man who was staring at him with a strange smile.

The man looked barely older than he was, and his shaggy brown hair fell to his shoulders and framed his reddish-brown eyes. They were captivating, Ryuji noted as a shiver ran down his spine, but not necessarily in a good way. Ryuji had to guess this man was Akechi.

“Well,” Akechi said, resting an elbow on his desk as he placed his pen down. His smile only stretching. “You may not be as pathetic as I thought.”

Ryuji had to bite his tongue from spitting out a flurry of curses. “Could you give me a job?” He said instead and Akechi blinked at him a moment before bursting out into laughter.

“Absolutely not!” He replied, his lips now stretching into a rather cruel grin. “I mean, look at you!”

Ryuji’s shoulders hunched, pulling himself closer together as he glared, his hands clenched into fists. “What about me?” He asked.

Akechi leant back in his chair. “For starters, I wouldn’t believe you’ve ever worked a day in your life. You have no muscles on your arms, you have a weak left leg, and you’re already speaking rudely to a superior and someone who could become your employer.” Ryuji bit hard on the inside of his cheek. “You haven’t said please; you’ve been scowling this entire time and you’ve failed to address me by name.” He leant across the death, his eyes glittering. “What is my name?” he asked.

Ryuji tried not to scowl at him. “Akechi.”

“Surname? And it wouldn’t kill you to be politer about it.”

“Goro,” Ryuji scowled, the words falling from his lips like poison. “Mr. Goro.”

“Good,” Akechi nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Do you speak like this to everyone?” he asked.

“Only those who deserve it,” Ryuji replied before he could stop himself and Akechi chuckled, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Shit.”

Akechi rested a hand beneath his chin. “And I deserve it, do I?” he asked before his face darkened. “Don’t swear. It’s unbecoming.”

Ryuji hesitated. “No,” he said, biting hard on his tongue. “You don’t.”

“You’re finally learning how to hold that tongue of yours,” Akechi said with an appreciative nod. “Good. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s my employees mouthing off. Now, what do you want?” He asked.

“I would like a job,” Ryuji said firmly. “I mean, I would like a job, please.”

Akechi smiled and turned back to whatever was lying on the desk in front of him, picking up his pen. “I’m sorry, but I can’t offer you a job. But I can turn you into a pig like I did your mother,” he said, before his eyes flitted up to Ryuji’s. “Or would you prefer a lump of coal?"

Ryuji drew in a sharp breath, leaning backwards. “I would prefer you to please give me a job.” Ryuji said, grinding his teeth together to avoid saying something that would get him turned into an animal. “I can work hard. Scrub floors, run errands, anything you want. I would just really like this job.”

“I’m not hiring,” Akechi told him with a glare. “Now—”

Before Akechi could finish speaking the beaded curtain to the right of them both was thrown open with a loud noise, and a rather angry looking girl in a golden kimono stormed into the room with a chest spilling precious jewels in her arms. She slammed it down on Akechi’s desk as he flinched, his smile growing strained as he looked up to her brown eyes and the orange curls that fell around her shoulders. The man that Ryuji had once found terrifying was now reduced to nothing more than a wobbly look beneath this woman’s gaze, though she barely glanced in Ryuji’s direction.

“Do you think you can buy me with diamonds?” She hissed, her voice dangerously low as Akechi leaned away slightly. “I am a person, not the high-end prostitute you seem to think I am!”

“Futaba, sweetheart,” Akechi said, and what should have been a sweet nickname came out laced with bitterness and a small twinge of fear. “Can we talk about this later? When I’m not dealing with humans.”

Futaba fumed, and a sudden look of realisation dawned on his face as his eyes grew wide. “No.” She snapped. “We cannot talk about this later! We never talk about things later, you keep me locked up here and I have to grin and bear it; I could tear you apart, Akechi Goro, just try me.”

Akechi sighed. “Fine,” he replied, glaring up at her. “What do you want?”

Futaba paused for a moment, finally turning to Ryuji. The moment her eyes locked with his, a grin stretched across her lips and she whirled back around to Akechi. “I want you to give this boy a job,” she told him and both Ryuji and Akechi’s mouths fell open. “And I want him to come and help me with my kimono every morning.”

Akechi shook his head. “You can have everything you want except for that.” He clarified.

It was then that Akechi – for the second time in three minutes – realised he had made a massive mistake by saying no to Futaba, as she grabbed him by the front of his grey pea coat. “If you don’t do this for me, I will make your life more hellish than it already is.” She threatened, her voice low and sickly-sweet. “You will give this boy a job at the bathhouse, he will work in the baths and he will come up here every single morning to help me with my kimono.”

Akechi looked on helplessly. “I could help you with your kimono,” he offered feebly.

Futaba scowled. “Like hell you will,” she said. “I don’t want you anywhere near me when I’m changing. Or at all, but, yet, here I am.”

Akechi and Futaba stared at each other for a moment before Akechi’s gaze dropped and he sighed. “Fine,” he caved and a piece of paper floated from his desk into Ryuji’s hands, a pen quickly following. “I’ll give him a job.” He looked to Ryuji. “Sign your name.”

Ryuji complied and the moment the pen stilled the paper floated from his hands and into Akechi’s. “Oh, your name is Ryuji. How… quaint.” He said, before he held his hand above the characters of Ryuji’s name, causing some of them to float up and stick to it. “Your new name is Ji.” He told Ryuji.

Futaba looked to him softly. “I’m sure we’ll become great friends, Ji.” she told him. “Allow me to walk you to the elevator.”

“Futaba,” Akechi said, his voice a low warning and Futaba glared as she joined Ryuji’s side, taking his arm in her own.

“I know,” she snapped and Ryuji looked down to see a rather funny looking tattoo on her arm. “It’s not like I can leave this floor anyway.”

The door in front of them swung open with a wave of Futaba’s hand and closed swiftly the moment her trailing kimono had passed through the door. She sighed and released his arm, tucking her hands behind her back as they made their way slowly towards the elevator at the end of the corridor.

She turned to him with a small smile. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she told him and Ryuji blinked at her. “I wish I could’ve stopped that from happening, but even I have limits.”

“Who- What—?” Ryuji stuttered before he sucked in a deep breath and arranged his thoughts, looking ahead before he phrased his next question. “Who are you? Why did you help me?”

Futaba looked ahead. “My name is Futaba Sakura, I’m Akechi’s… fiancée, and I helped you because you needed it. I didn’t want him to turn anyone else into an animal. It’s a cruel fate.”

Ryuji nodded. “You say ‘fiancée’ like it means ‘prisoner’.” He noted, and Futaba let out a sad chuckle.

“Doesn’t it?” She asked, and Ryuji didn’t quite know how to reply.

They reached the elevator far too quickly for Ryuji’s liking and Futaba pressed the button for him, pulling something from the folds of her dress as the doors lid open. She took Ryuji’s hand and pressed something into his open palm, curling his fingers around it before he could glance at what it was.

She pressed her hand over his closed fist with a smile. “I trust you won’t let me down now that I’ve vouched for you,” she told him. “Ann will be waiting for you. Never forget, your name is Ryuji.” She pressed her forehead against their clasped hands before she released him and shoved him into the elevator, turning back to Akechi’s office as the doors slid closed.

Ryuji stared dead ahead for a solid thirty seconds before his gaze drifted down to his fist. Slowly, he opened it, and resting in his palm was a card just small enough to be tucked discreetly into a pocket without anyone knowing it’s there; on it was his name, and tears pricked in his eyes as the scent of lavender filled the air around him.

That night, Ryuji dreamt of his mother and the way she sounded and felt and she rocked him to sleep.

The memory was warm, and he remembered the curves of her arms as she cradled him close – something she hadn’t been able to do properly since he was five – rocking him gently back and forth with her lips rested against his temple, murmuring a thousand comforting words that melted him further. He whispered right back to her, telling her everything that he’d wished he told her before she was turned into a pig; that he was thankful for everything she’d done for him, that he loved her so, so much, that maybe this move wasn’t going to be so bad after all. He felt safe pressed close to her, and he wished he had spent longer like that when he had the chance, before he grew into his gangly legs and body.

He awoke to a hand pressed on his shoulder blade and immediately stilled, his heart jumping to his chest and something leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Meet me at the bridge, I’ll show you to your mother.”. The moment he recognised the voice as Shu’s, the weight on his back was gone.

Ryuji sat up in bed, finding only the sleeping bodies of the other bath workers. He pulled the futon from his feet and dressed himself in the uniform he was given not even seven hours ago, pulling on the knee-length pink trousers and white undershirt, tugging on the bigger pink over shirt and tying the flapping sleeves with a tasuki chord before he crept between the futons and made his way to the front of the bathhouse through the boiler-room. When he arrived, Sojiro was asleep and slumped over his raised bed, and it took everything inside Ryuji to close the service door behind him softly and pad over to the ditch. The soot sprites, as if sensing his presence, poked their bodies from their hidey-holes and delivered Ryuji his trainers upon seeing him. He slipped them on and darted across the room in an instant, charging through the metal door and back up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the garden. He creeped past the front windows in case anyone was up and about, and emerged at the main entrance of the bathhouse, his eyes immediately falling onto Shu.

“Shu,” Ryuji called and Shu turned, his gaze softening.

“Ji,” Shu replied as Ryuji joined his side, leading their way across the bridge. “Follow me.” Ryuji nodded and fell at Shu’s heels, tucking his hands into the front of his over shirt as he trailed behind him, staring straight at the back of Shu’s head.

Shu, Ryuji realised, was a bit of a mystery. He knew nothing about the boy apart from what was painfully obvious. He had black hair; grey eyes; and seemed around the same age and height as himself. He walked as gracefully as a river danced, and he always sounded so serene – Ryuji felt calm just listening to him – and his uniform was different colours from Ryuji’s, a white over shirt and blue undershirt and trousers instead of pink. Whatever the case, there was something extremely comforting and trustworthy in Shu’s presence, and Ryuji felt like he had known him his entire life.

I’ve known you since you were a child.

The thought of his words was gone as quickly as they came as Shu lead Ryuji through bushes of vibrant flowers until they emerged on a hill overlooking three pig pens. Ryuji’s heart jumped into his throat, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he hurried down the hill, heading towards the third pen before Shu pointed him towards a small enclosure with only one sleeping pig.

“Ma,” Ryuji cried, running towards the metal bars that separated him from the large animals. “Can you hear me? It’s Ryuji.” The pig did not stir, though it flicked an ear at the sound of his voice. Ryuji’s hands tightened on the nailing in front of him. “Are you sure this is my mum?” He asked Shu quietly, his eyes never leaving the pig.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Shu replied quickly.

Ryuji’s brows furrowed. “It’s… she doesn’t seem like my Ma.”

“She ate too much, so now she’s sleeping it off,” Shu told him softly as tears pooled dangerously in Ryuji’s eyes. “I doubt she even remembers being human. Study her carefully, remember which one she is.”

Ryuji stared forward, his eyes wide and burning and glistening with tears as he gripped the railings so hard his knuckles went white. “Don’t worry, Ma,” He said, lifting a hand to scrub at his eyes and the tears threatening to spill. “I’ll help you. I promise I’ll rescue you, somehow. Just don’t get any fatter you hear?!” Ryuji yelled before he turned and fled, tearing his hands and eyes from the pig pen as he darted back the way he came, rubbing furiously at his eyes with the balls of his hands until he was sure they must’ve been red.

Shu found him crouched behind a bush of hydrangeas in a field not too far away, his knees tucked to his chest and his face hidden in them. He bent down until he was eyelevel with Ryuji and nudged him gently, a neatly-folded pile of Ryuji’s clothes was rested gently in his hands, and with his heart hammering in his chest he took them gently. He lifted them to his nose, breathing in the scent of his mother’s fabric softener before he pulled them away and hugged them to his chest like a safety blanket, desperate for the comfort and familiarity they contained.

“I thought they were thrown out,” Ryuji said softly, looking to Shu. “How did you get them?”

Shu smiled. “I took them when Akechi wasn’t looking; you’ll need them to get home.”

Ryuji returned the smile with wobbling lips, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his brows furrowing when his fingertips grazed something that felt suspiciously like paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it, overcome with emotion and realisation when the scent of lavender filled his nose and spotted his name written neatly in the middle of the paper.

“Futaba gave me this,” Ryuji said, his hands shaking as he stared down at it. “I forgot. And that’s my name… Ryuji. I almost forgot my name…”

“That’s how Akechi controls the bathhouse,” She explained, shuffling around until he was sat shoulder to shoulder with Ryuji. His presence comforting weight at his side. “He steals their name and gives them a new one. If you forgot your name, you’d never get back to the real world.”

Fear clawed its way up Ryuji’s throat and he swallowed it hard, forcing it back down. “I could’ve been Ji… stuck here forever…” Ryuji shivered.

“It’s a fate the best of us fall to,” Shu said with a bitter smile. “I don’t remember my name.”

Ryuji looked to him, clutching the slip of paper tighter, afraid that it would suddenly blow away in the summer breeze. “Your real name?” Ryuji asked in clarification and Shu nodded.

“Yes,” Shu said before a small smile crossed his lips. “But for some reason I remember yours. Strange, but life and fate work in mysterious ways.” He looked down at the slip of paper in Ryuji’s hands. “Remember to keep that paper safe, Futaba obviously wanted you to have it so you remembered. Don’t lose it.”

Ryuji nodded, taking one last long look at his name and breath of lavender before he folded the piece of paper back up and tucked it into his pocket, clutching his old clothes to his chest once more, his whole body trembling gently as he fought to hold in the tears. He lifted a hand and dragged it across his eyes, sniffing loudly as Shu placed a hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dropping his grip on the clothes to press his hands over his eyes as tears dripped down his cheeks. “This all my fault. Akechi was right, I am pathetic.”

Shu shook his head gently. “You’re not pathetic, you’re far from it.” He reassured him. “And you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Ryuji.”

Ryuji shook his head furiously, his lips turning into a scowl and his brows furrowing until they were almost touching. “No, you don’t understand.” Ryuji told him bitterly, moving his hands to scratch up and down his arms, leaving angry red lines in their wake. “It is all my fault. I was the one being stupid and moody, I was the one who was nothing but negative about moving. She just wanted to cheer me up. It’s my fault that we’re in this mess and she’s the one that’s the pig.”

The tears slipping down his cheeks were now an unbroken stream, and Ryuji cried, he left his body shake and tremble, and he let himself feel like he was Alice from the storybooks his mother had read him as a child, drowning in the force of his own sadness from a moment where everything had been just a little bit too big.

Shu removed his hand from Ryuji’s back to take his hands, pulling them away from scratching his arms raw and clutching his clenched fists in his hands. Shu’s hands were smooth and soft, Ryuji noticed vaguely, and they tingled gently with the magic beneath his skin.

“Blaming yourself won’t do any good,” Shu told him, his voice nothing more than a whisper as Ryuji hiccupped from the force of his tears. “The most you can do now is do your best to save your mother.”

Ryuji nodded, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as a small ball of discomfort and homesickness squeezed his stomach. “She’s all I’ve ever had,” He managed after a moment, his voice cracking. “It’s just been me and her, y’know? Us two against the world.”

Shu gave Ryuji’s hands a comforting squeeze. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through, losing a parent,” He began, his thumbs tracing gentle circles over Ryuji’s knuckles. “But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that you of all people can get through this. You’ll always have friends here to help you, and you should never be ashamed to ask for that help.”

Ryuji opened his eyes to stare Shu directly in the eyes, his heart sinking as he gripped desperately onto Shu’s hands. “But who can I trust?” he asked softly. “It feels like I can’t trust anyone.”

“You can trust me,” Shu told him. “And Futaba and Ann. We’ll all be here to help you, no matter what.”

Ryuji sighed, his body trembling. “Futaba and Ann hardly know me.” He said uselessly, suddenly feeling two-feet tall.

“You hardly knew me when I told you to trust me,” Shu pointed out and Ryuji went still, his gaze drifting from Shu. “And did you trust me then?” He asked and Ryuji nodded. “Then I give you my word that you can trust Futaba and Ann. With your life, it came to it."

Ryuji nodded once more, pulling his arms around his knees as Shu removed a wrapped package from the front of his over shirt. “I brought you something, since you haven’t eaten yet.” He smiled when Ryuji eyed the package suspiciously. “It won’t turn you into a pig, but I did put a spell on it to give you back your strength.” He held out and unwrapped the package, handing him one of the three onigiri that rested inside.

Ryuji took it and immediately shoved the whole thing in his mouth, sniffing once more as tears pooled in his eyes. Wordlessly, Shu held out the package and Ryuji took a rice ball in each hand, alternating bites between each as tears bubbled down his cheeks and the memories of him and his mother back in their tiny apartment in Tokyo filled his mind with bitter sweetness. To him, there was nothing more filling than onigiri prepared by someone he loved or had come to love, and it moved him that Shu had become one of those people and made the dish specifically for him.

Shu wrapped an arm around Ryuji’s shoulders in a comforting gesture, stroking his shoulder gently as Ryuji swallowed what was in his mouth and broke down into body wracking cries and sobs. His entire body trembling as he choked out noises that sounded like a cat being strangled and gasped for air, leaning close to Shu as he held him tightly and made comforting sounds, never once loosening his grip around Ryuji.

“It’s okay,” Shu assured him as he dug the balls of his hands into his eyes in an effort to wipe away the tears that spilled like beads between his fingers, his thumb tracing soft circles on Ryuji’s bicep. “Everything is going to be alright.” Ryuji nodded and Shu handed him a handkerchief, allowing him to dry his eyes before he pulled him to his feet. “It’s time you headed back. I’m supposed to take you to Futaba.”

Ryuji nodded and brushed himself off, clutching his pile of clothes to his chest as he followed Shu back up the hill and through the bushes of flowers until he arrived at the wall garden, slipping through the door and out onto the rickety staircase, skipping down it as quick as he could behind Shu.

Once he arrived at the boiler room, he stored his clothes and shoes with the soot sprites, careful they were all folded neatly and tucked the slip of paper into the pocket of his work trousers before he and Shu slipped through the service entrance and back into the bathhouse towards the elevator that would take him to the top floor. Shu accompanied him until Futaba’s bedroom door.

“If you’ve got Futaba on your side, everything will be just fine,” Shu assured him. “I need to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He promised, taking Ryuji’s hand and squeezing once before dropping it. “Stay safe.” He told him, and Ryuji had no time to reply before Shu turned and ran for the window down the hallway, the glass panes flying open with a wave of Shu’s hand as before he leapt gracefully from the railings of the balcony.

Ryuji rushed after him, reaching the balcony in time to see a beautiful white-silver dragon drift across the sky, curling like a snake, it’s black mane fluttered in the breeze as Ryuji watched closely in awe.

“Woah, Shu’s a dragon…” Ryuji breathed, the corners of his lips curling up into a smile. “That’s fucking awesome!”

“He’s quite beautiful in that form, isn’t he?” A voice asked and Ryuji whirled around to see a smiling Futaba, quickly realising that he was meant to be doing her kimono. She strode over to his side, leaning her forearms on the balcony as she watched Shu streak across the sky. “He’s always out on missions, Akechi’s fault really. I worry about him.”

Ryuji nodded in understanding. “So do I.” He replied before he frowned. “But I don’t really know why.”

Futaba laughed, pressing a hand over her mouth. “He gives of the impression that he’s to be trusted, doesn’t he?” She asked and Ryuji nodded once more. “That feeling isn’t wrong. I’ve trusted him with a lot of things in my lifetime, and he’s always protected that bond between us.”

“He told me that I could trust you,” Ryuji blurted before he could stop himself and Futaba turned to him, an eyebrow raised in silent question. “With my life. If I had to. Was what he said true?”

Futaba considered this for a moment, leaning away from the balcony. “I am not like Akechi,” she said softly, the smile on her faced melted into a look of nonchalance. “I do not take pride or joy in terrorising workers or humans. What he did to your family is despicable, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted him dead; I know I do.”

Ryuji’s eyes widened in shock. “You want Akechi dead?” He repeated in disbelief. “I know he’s bad, but he can’t be that bad… right?” he asked.

“If only you knew the things he has done,” Futaba said, wrapping her arms securely around her body. “To everyone here. And to me.”

Ryuji frowned. “What has he done?” He asked.

Futaba sigh shrugged sadly, turning back to her room. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. Or I’ll tell you myself.” She promised him as she padded gently over to her door. “I need your help picking out my kimono, can you help me?” She asked, and although the question was a change of topic, Ryuji nodded and followed her inside, puzzling silently over her words as he closed the door behind him.

At dusk the bathhouse sprung to life.

The golden light of the lanterns cast a warm glow onto the cobblestones and greenery outside and the workers bustled about inside, arms laded with futons and clean sheets and trays of magnificent dishes, preparing the baths for the customers that would inevitably arrive to fill them. The frog-men were already barking orders at the other workers, yelling at them to carry more, work harder, scrub more, and every time an order was spoken in the direction of Ann she threw her cloth at the frog and stormed away to a place that was quiet and free from higher-ups. They didn’t seem to mind Ann being gone too much, and Ryuji assumed it was because she was a good enough worker that nobody cared what she did as long as she got it done.

Everybody seemed to care where Ryuji came and went.

He was tasked to polish the floor and though he might not have been as fast as the other girls around him, he put as much power into his legs as he could – ignoring the twinge in his left – and finished shortly after them, ignoring the way the frog-men snickered around him. He stretched out his left leg, massaging just in front of the knee for a quick moment before he leapt to his feet, snatching up a bucket before the frog-men could nit-pick about what they liked to call, ‘His lacking work ethic’.

Ann eyed him carefully as he began scrubbing furiously at the floor of a bathroom. “You shouldn’t put so much elbow into scrubbing the floor,” she told him. “If you keep working like that then your arms going to be aching before you’ve gotten half of the floor done.”

“But, the frog-men said—” Ryuji began, straightening up to roll out his shoulders, and Ann interrupted him with a scoff.

“The frogs are foremen,” Ann explained with an amused shake of her head. “They’re so fussy about everything when they haven’t worked a day in their lives. We’re the ones working our fingers to the bone while they welcome guests.” She scowled before she took the cloth from Ryuji’s hands and dropped back into the bucket. Ryuji blinked up at her while a mischievous smile crossed her lips. “No one will notice once the water goes into the tub.”

Ryuji grinned right back and stood up just as frogman poked his head around the corner of the room. “Ann, Ji, you’re on the big tub."

Ann made a noise of indignation. “No way, that’s frog work, you—”

“I didn’t issue the orders,” The frogman interrupted before Ann could insult him, the smile on his face plain proof that he’d wished he’d been the one to issue the orders. “They’re from Akechi.” He struggled to keep a straight face. “Good luck.”

Ryuji had to snatch a sponge from Ann’s hand as the frogman left.

Ann let out a loud groan, a scowl etched onto her face, and snatched up her own bucket to place in Ryuji’s arms. “I fricking hate that guy…” She murmured as they rounded the corner outside the bathroom, ignoring the snickering and teasing remarks as they headed for the largest room on the right side.

“Akechi?” Ryuji asked.

“Who else?” She asked, stepping inside and dancing between the kelp that scattered the floor.

Ryuji followed hurriedly after her, his left knee buckling the moment he stepped onto the slippery greenery. He hit the ground hard, the air immediately knocked out of him as his chest heaved from the force of the impact, his breath nothing more than a wheeze. While the other workers watching them laughed, Ann hovered worriedly over him, pushing the buckets from his head and from around his body.

“Are you alright?” She asked him gently, taking a firm grip on his bicep to pull him up. “What happened?”

Ryuji nodded, trying to regain his breath as he gently pats his knee. “Knee.” He managed, drinking in the humid air around him.

Ann eyed his leg. “What about it?”

“Injured it a while back,” He told her, massaging it gently. “Broke it. Hasn’t acted up since Shu unstuck my legs.”

“Magic has a way of sticking to old wounds,” Ann told him. “It’ll wear off soon enough. How’d you break your leg?” She asked. Ryuji gave her a wobbly smile and she immediately backtracked. “You know, what? It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s get this tub done. And clean this floor."

Ryuji sighed in relief, retrieving his bucket as Ann did hers, scrambling up and into the tub. The inside was as slippery as the floor around it was, yet, instead of kelp, it was covered in a thick layer of brown and green sludge and smelt like mud and murky water. He gagged as his foot sunk deep into the sludge beneath them, and Ann just gave him a sympathetic look and handed him a sponge.

It seemed that no matter how much he scrubbed at the sides of the tub with his sud-soaked sponge the sludge wouldn’t budge an inch. Ann was getting increasingly frustrated, growling loudly beneath her breath and muttering a multitude of curses as her knuckles went white around her sponge, and Ryuji just grit his teeth and bear it though his arms ached desperately for a rest.

Ann growled again and threw her sponge at the wall in front of her, splattering them both with soap suds. “I can’t believe this! The tub hasn’t been cleaned in months and they gave it to us just because they want to make your life harder than it already must be.” She pushed her sleeves up further and snatched up the sponge again, scrubbing even more furiously, if that was even possible. “I’ll wring their necks! Ugh!”

Ryuji snatched up the bucket upon spotting the murky soap suds. “I’ll get us clean water, that might help.” He suggested and Ann barely glanced up.

“Do you know where the pump is?” She asked him as he scrambled up the sides, his fingers struggling for a tight grip. A quarter of the bucket spilled down the side as he tumbled over the rim of the tub, landing in a ball on the wooden floor, clutching at his head.

“Yeah,” He replied as he scrambled to his feet and snatched up the bucket. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Ryuji immediately darted for the side door to pour out the bucket, sliding open the door and dumping the contents into a bush of hydrangeas. He was about to close the door when his heart leapt into his throat in surprise and he spotted the strange spirit from before; the navy blue one with the kitsune mask. Rain fell gently outside, spattering against the glass windows as Ryuji stared at the spirit, clutching his bucket close to his chest.

“Hey, are you cold?” Ryuji asked it quietly, his voice barely rising above the noise of the rain. “Do you want to come inside?” He asked.

The spirit did not reply to either question but stared right at him. Ryuji swallowed hard.

“I’ll leave the door open for you,” Ryuji told it before he turned and fled to the water pump, hurriedly filling the bucket with clean water before he stumbled back to Ann, peeking outside on his way back to the bathroom to find the garden devoid of any sign of life.

Ann peeked over the edge of the bath as he entered. It seemed that while he was gone she had managed to clean most of the kelp from the floor. “It seems you got the water for nothing,” she told him with a sigh. “The sludge isn’t budging.”

“What do we do then?” Ryuji asked.

“We should get an herbal soak,” Ann said with a smile. “It’ll be so murky that customers won’t notice the sludge covering the inside of the tub. Just go to the foreman and ask for an herbal soak bath token.” She said as she pulled herself from the tub. “I’m going to clean the outside.”

Ryuji nodded, turning for the door before he paused and turned back. “What’s a foreman?” He asked.

Ann sighed in annoyance, but she was smiling so Ryuji didn’t take offense by it. “The foreman is at the front of the bathhouse; you’ll see him greeting customers and handing out bath tokens.” She explained with a small quirk of her lips, taking the bucket of clean water from Ryuji’s hands. “Hard to miss.”

“Thanks, Ann,” He said with a small grin.

“Don’t mention it,” She replied. “Just go get that bath token.”

Ryuji nodded, giving her a mock salute before he turned and hurried to the front of the bathhouse. Like Ann said, the foreman was easy to locate; he sat tall behind a podium, handing bath tokens to workers in kimonos and the same uniform as himself, and he seemed to be an anthropomorphic cat. Ryuji approached tentatively, and the cat didn’t notice him until he was right underneath his nose, and scowled.

“What do you want, blondie?” The cat asked, handing a bath token to a worker and giving them a quick smile. “I’m busy, stop bothering me and get back to work.”

“I need an herbal soak token, please,” Ryuji asked carefully and the cat scowled.

“No! I can’t afford to give you a bath token like that, it’s expensive.” The cat replied.

“Morgana,” A voice interrupted and Ryuji turned to the worker. “I need a bath token for the radish spirit.”

The cat – or Morgana, Ryuji presumed – reached for a bath token and handed it over with a smile. “Sulphur bath. Thank you!”

Ryuji frowned at the exchange. “But… I was told the tub had to be soaked with an herbal bath token.”

“You’ll just have to do it by hand, Ji,” The cat told him snottily, handing another bath token to a worker who asked. “I can’t go around wasting my best water on a human.”

Ryuji grit his teeth as the phone at Morgana’s side rung, and he hurried to pick it up. As he turned away, the spirit with the kitsune mask materialised just to the left of the cat, and Ryuji’s eyes grew wide as he bowed a head before it disappeared again. Morgana turned back and glared at him.

“I told you to leave, go on!” He said, his paw over the receiver. “Shoo!”

Morgana turned away again, only to glance back with a bath token rose through the air and dropped into Ryuji’s hands. His mouth fell open and Ryuji smiled before he bowed deeply, curling his fingers around it.

“Thank you!” He said quickly, turning to rush back to Ann and the bathroom.

“Wait!” Morgana cried, his voice almost a screech. “Come back! Wait… no! Everything is perfectly fine, Akechi, sir.”

Ann smiled when he darted back into the bathroom, holding a hand out for Ryuji to place the bath token into, only to frown when he did, considering it carefully and turning it back and forth in her hands. Ryuji watched her nervously. The token was rectangular, scarlet red and had three yellow stripes the width of his thumb across it.

Ann let out a puff of impressed breath, a smile playing on her lips. “You got a good one.” She said and Ryuji immediately felt himself relax, sighing gently as Ann made her way over to the wall across from the bath, knocking twice on a wooden pane before it popped open. She looked behind her shoulder. “You might want to watch this,” she told him and he immediately fell in at her side. “Right. Attach the token, pull one, twice… and, then the token goes to Sojiro and he sends us our water.”

Ryuji followed Ann’s gaze as a wooden pipe popped from a plank of the wall, and she hopped over to it, climbing the bath easily as Ryuji scrambled after her. She waited until he was at her side, a rope attached to the pipe in her hands.

“Just pull this to get the water going,” Ann told him, holding out to Ryuji as he took it carefully and gave a small tug. The water that flowed from it smelled heavenly, the scents he could decipher from the swirling mixing pot of pale green water were a mixture of rose, mugwort, chamomile, hibiscus and lavender, and just smelling it made him feel immediately relaxed. Ann smiled. “I’ll get us some breakfast.”

Ryuji smiled thankfully, suddenly very aware that he hadn’t eaten since earlier in the morning when Shu had given him the rice balls. “Thanks, Ann.”

Ann just punched him good naturedly on the shoulder and slide down the side of the tub. “No problem, you dope,” she said, pausing when she reached the entrance to the bath. “You can let go of the rope, by the way.” She told him, laughing when he dropped it as if it had burnt him, before she left him with only the sounds of the water filling the tub for company.

He heard a small noise and turned. The spirit with the kitsune mask was back and standing in the corner of the room, its hands full with bath tokens. Ryuji slipped down the side of the tub and met the spirit where he stood. He made a noise again and thrust his hands out to Ryuji.

“For me?” He asked. “I only needed one.”

Ryuji almost felt the spirit was frowning as it made another noise, shaking the bath tokens in its hands as it held them out to Ryuji again. Ryuji shook his head.

“Thanks, but I don’t need them anymore.” He said.

The spirit’s hands shook and Ryuji felt overwhelming sadness fill the air around them before he dissolved and the bath tokens clattered to the floor in a heap. He knelt immediately to gather all the tokens in his arms and drop them into an empty bucket, wondering why the spirit had decided to help him with the tokens before he leapt up, panicking with the sudden realisation that the bath was overflowing. He scrambled up the side of the tub and tagged hard on the rope, breathing a sigh of relief when the water stopped flowing and the pipe snapped back into the panel of wood it came from.

“Ji!” A voice shouted and Ryuji yelped, falling backwards down the tub. “Akechi wants to see you!”

Ryuji rubbed the back of his head and groaned, staring at the upside-down face of the frog-man. “Yes sir!” He replied as he scrambled his feet, following the frog-man to the main entrance of the bathhouse.

The minute Ryuji arrived at the curtain the smell hit him like a basketball to the face and he gagged, clamping his hands to his nose before Akechi smacked them away and gave him a glare. In front of him was a giant creature oozing black slime and mud, and Ryuji swallowed hard, forcing a wobbling smile on his face.

“Ji, this spirit is your first customer,” Akechi said, a sickly smile plastered across his face. Ryuji returned the strained smile and nodded. “Would you show him to the bath?” He asked.

Ryuji nodded, his eyes watering from the stench. “Yes, sir!” He chirped.

The spirit thrust out a hand and Akechi blinked, nudging Ryuji forward. “Oh, take the nice man’s money, Ji.” He told him and Ryuji nodded, biting on his tongue to avoid snapping at him.

The spirit dropped a gold bar and copious amounts of sludge into his hand and Ryuji bit down his urge to gag as he turned. “This way, sir!” He wheezed, leading the spirit through the bathhouse to the big tub.

Ryuji dropped the gold bar into a bucket at the door as he waved the spirit in, finally gagging once he was sure the spirit couldn’t see him. Regardless, the spirit ignored him and leapt straight into the bath; what was once clean and beautifully smelling water now leaked over the side of the tub almost gelatinously, coloured brown from the mud that seemed to melt off the spirit and leaking black ooze. It wasn’t long until Ryuji found himself up to his thighs in the dirty water and he immediately reached for the bucket of bath tokens, dragging them over to the panel in the wall.

He knocked on the panel until it popped open, hitting him square on the forehead, before he reached into the bucket and pulled out a token, slippery hands fumbling with the clip and the polished token, cursing when it clattered to the bottom of the compartment. He cursed and grabbed another token, safely fastening it to the clip and tugging hard until it disappeared. The pipe popped from the panel in the wall and Ryuji waded through the dirt and mud, sliding up the side of the tub and tugging hard on the rope.

The soak cascaded down from it like a waterfall, completely immersing the spirit as Ryuji was knocked back by the force and sent tumbling backwards. A hand caught him, and Ryuji was lifted in the spirit’s palm, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, man,” Ryuji told it with a relieved smile.

The spirit made an incoherent bubbling noise and pulled Ryuji closer to his body. Ryuji stuck his hands out to prevent himself from being force head-first into the water and met something plastic instead of what he supposed would be the slick mud of the spirit. He frowned and cast his gaze through the water, blinking through the warm cascade as his hands gripped around what looked like a bicycle handle.

Ryuji turned. “There’s something stuck in his side!” He called to the onlookers. “Like or a thorn or something.”

Ann finally pushed her way through the crowd. “A thorn?” She called back. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” he called back.

Akechi took this moment to leap from the balcony he was standing on, hovering just above the spirit, a frown on his face. “This is no ordinary stink spirit,” he said, curling his hands together and pulling them apart quickly, rope forming between his palms before he threw it to Ryuji. “Tie this to whatever is stuck in his side.” He told him before he turned to the workers. “And you lot help too!”

Ryuji grasped the rope tightly and forced his hands through the water as Ann clambered up the side of the tub to join him, groaning when his hands and the rope slipped from the thorn. Ann pushed her hands through the water, holding the rope steady as Ryuji looped the rope around and tied it off, sending Ann a thankful smile.

Akechi turned to the group of workers as Ann and Ryuji took the rope in their hands, beginning to pull. “All of you! Stop stumbling around and work together! Heave!"

The workers scurried for the rope, waiting until all of them had a tight grasp until they began to pull in time. Ryuji’s arms screamed as he wrenched hard, and his palms were burning from the friction between the rope, but he grit his teeth and pulled harder and harder; never letting up until the thorn popped out and his eyes widened.

“A bike?” He asked as both he and Ann blinked at it.

“Heave!”

With that last word, the bike spilled from the spirits body, dragging everything out with it. As Ann was swept away by the sheer amount of rubbish, debris and mud that had previously housed itself in the spirit, Ryuji stayed on the edge of the tub, waiting until there was nothing but a fishing line left. With a pop, he freed the fishing line and black goo oozed from the puncture wound the hook of the line left.

Suddenly the water stopped and swelled, rising in a massive wave as the calm of the water caught Ryuji and wrapped him in a bundle of the water – protecting him as the wave pushed all the debris from the bathroom and sent the workers in the way flying. Through the warping, green water Ryuji could see Ann clawing her way through the waist-high water, calling what looked like his name only to stop dead when a figure rose from the water.

The figure was a beautiful woman, her brown hair curled around her ears and her eyes a comforting shade of brown. She smiled as she rose higher, the long sleeves of her pale blue gown just grazing the water as the white skirts floated around her; giving Ryuji the immediate image of sea foam.

Her eyes closed and she bowed her head. “Thank you,” she told the awed crowd. “For freeing me.”

She disappeared in a cloud of steam and the water immediately dropped from around Ryuji. He blinked, coming back to his senses, to find a green sphere the size of a golf ball in his hands, and as Ann rushed over he clutched it to his chest.

“That was a river spirit,” She said, blinking. “You cleansed a river spirit.”

Ryuji just gave her a nervous smile, holding the ball close to his chest as Akechi praised him through his teeth, and he thought of Shu and wondered where he was.

“Hey,” Ann said, nudging him on the shoulder as she sat next to him, holding a plate out to him. “I saved you some dumplings.” Ryuji smiled, thanked her, and took one.

Both were sitting on the balcony out of the side of their room, their legs between the railings as they kicked their feet over open water. The air around them was warm and comfortable, and Ryuji felt himself relax as he took a massive bite of the dumpling and stared across the water and to the cliff at the other side; to where he knew his mother was waiting for him in a pigpen.

“Ji?” Ann asked and Ryuji turned to her.

“Yeah?” he replied.

She smiled. “You did a good job today, well done.” She looked away, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Not everybody could do what you did; cleansing a water spirit, that is.”

Ryuji smiled, looking back across the water. “Thanks, Ann.”

The train passed beneath them with a spray of water, the yellow headlights casting a ghostly glow over the blue water. Ann watched it and sighed wistfully, resting her chin on her hands. It was at that moment that Ryuji realised her hair was no longer up in twin tails, but hung free around her neck, curls cascading down her back.

“One day I’m going to get on that train and never look back,” She told him, following the train until it disappeared into the distance. “This place sucks, I’d much rather be somewhere I love.”

Ryuji considered this gently, his eyes still fixed on the water. “Where would you go?” He asked her.

She shrugged, smiling. “Who cares?” She asked. “If I was as far away from here as I could get, I’d be happy anywhere.”

“Even in the Arctic?” Ryuji asked, chuckling and he knocked Ann’s shoulders.

“Even in the Arctic.” She agreed, laughing as she knocked his shoulder back. Their laughter faded off and Ann sighed, her brows furrowing. “It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere but the bathhouse. I want to go out and see the world,” She said, tentatively reaching out a hand towards the sky littered with sparkling stars. “I want to go to the human world!” Ryuji’s eyes widened. “I want to be friends with you, no matter if I’m a spirit and you’re a human. Even when you return to your world.”

Ryuji stared at her, drawing in a ragged breath as his heart squeezed painfully. “Ann…”

“I know it’s not practical,” She continued, blabbering as if she was trying desperately to explain herself. “But it’s my dream. And I’d rather be anywhere but here, under Akechi’s roof and following his rules.”

“Ann.” Ryuji said and she turned to him, nervously biting his lower lip. “I’d love that. Really. It’d be fucking awesome! But… how would you become a human?” He asked.

Ann considered this and shrugged. “I don��t know,” she admitted, a smile stretching her lips. “But I’d find a way.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Ryuji said, smiling right back.

“I hope you’re not planning on leaving without me,” A voice said and Ryuji turned, smiling when his eyes settled on Shiho, Ann’s girlfriend. “That would be quite unfortunate.” Ann immediately turned and grinned, opening her arms wide for Shiho to fall into, pushing her fringe back to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. Ryuji watched the exchange fondly, a small smile curling his lips.

Ann smoothed back her hair. “Of course we wouldn’t.” She promised. “You’d be coming too.”

Shiho chuckled, curling herself closer to Ann’s chest. “I’m glad to hear so, I’ve grown quite fond of Ryuji himself.”

“You two are like… my two gay sisters,” Ryuji said with a grin.

Ann grinned back. “Well you know what they say, family and friends stick together.”

Ryuji nodded as Ann and Shiho giggled, chatting amongst themselves about whatever came to mind, and looked down at the green ball in his hands, lifting it to his nose. It smelled like herbs and peppermint and, experimentally, Ryuji bit into it, barely shaving a sliver off with his teeth; the pungent taste hitting him almost immediately as he gagged and spat the contents of his mouth into the water below him, shoving the meat dumpling into his face.

“Ji!” A giggle came, and he turned, cheeks stuffed full, to see Chihaya standing in the doorway of the balcony. “Shu’s here, he says he wants to see you.”

Ryuji swallowed the food in his mouth and placed the rest of it down on the plate, tucking the medicine ball into his trouser pockets as he stands up and walks towards the door. Shu is standing in the doorway, a small smile stretching his lips and Ryuji made his way between the colourful patterned futons – the entire room waiting with baited breath as he reached Shu.

“Ji,” He said, bowing deeply before he straightened and offered his arm. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

The room dissolved into pleased squeals and excited looks and flushed faces as Ryuji nodded, his own cheeks burning red, and took the arm offered to him by Shu. No sooner did his fingers curl around Shu’s arm did Shu whisk him away as quickly as a leaf caught in the wind, the entire world passing by in a blur until Shu came to a stop, his hand’s covering Ryuji’s eyes before he could adjust to the light.

Ryuji laughed. “What’s this all about, man?”

“It’s a surprise,” Shu said, his voice a rumble in his chest pressed right up against Ryuji’s back and he swallowed hard. “I thought I’d bring you here.”

Ryuji was about to question what Shu had meant before his hands fell from his eyes and Ryuji’s mouth fell open at the view. He and Shu were standing in a field of purple, blue and white lavender as the moon rose on the horizon, colouring the sky blue, purple and black hues as it crawled upwards. The scent filling his nostrils was homely and comforting and almost made him dizzy, and his hands trembled as he dropped to his knees to pluck a flower from its shrub, holding it just under his nose as he breathed deeply, his entire body now shaking.

He dropped the flower and pressed his hands to his face, eyes burning as he tried to fight back the tears that flowed steadily down his cheeks. He blubbered, his chest heaving as his lungs rummaged for oxygen, suffocated by the tears and his hands. His cheeks felt tight and burned, and his mind trickled full of memories of his mother – and this time, Ryuji let them come, unable to supress them any longer.

Shu’s hand was a gentle weight on his back, rubbing soothing circles as Ryuji sobbed. “I’m sorry,” Shu whispered, his lips pressed into Ryuji’s hair. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I thought the smell would comfort you.”

“It does,” Ryuji choked out. “It’s okay. It’s just… my mum always smelt like lavender.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Shu repeated softly. “I’m sorry.”

Ryuji pulled his hands from his face to hold Shu’s gently, a smell stretching his tight cheeks. “No one’s ever given me a field of lavender before.” Ryuji told him, laughing. “Heck, no one’s ever been this kind to me.”

“Why not?’ Shu asked him, reaching out to brush a tear from Ryuji’s cheek with his thumb. “You deserve seventeen fields of lavender if that was what you wanted.”

Ryuji laughed and fell back into the bushes of lavender, tugging Shu with him, until they laid side by side in the sweet-smelling flowers and stared straight up at the sky above them, which was steadily growing darker.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve been this happy with anyone besides my mother in years.” He said gently.

“Don’t you have human friends?” Shu asked.

Ryuji bit hard on his lip, forcing out a harsh laugh. “People don’t really seem to like me that much.” He sighed. “I got kicked out of the track team and my old school because I attacked a teacher,” he said, spitting it out quickly. “It’s not something I’m proud of. And I hate myself even more for making my Ma worry about me.”

Shu was silent for a moment. “What happened?” He asked. “If you’d like to tell me.”

Ryuji swallowed hard, unpleasant memories bubbling to the surface of his lavender-filled mind before he nodded slowly. Shu leant up on his elbow, staring down at Ryuji patiently as he waited for him to continue.

“I guess I should start at the beginning…” Ryuji said, his throat going dry. “My dad… He wasn’t the best—Fuck, that’s putting it lightly. I mean, he used to get angry when he drank, like, really fucking angry. And, I’m not talking about tipsy, I’m talking full on piss-drunk, hangover in the morning.” He explained quickly.

His hand was still laced with Shu’s, and he felt slightly more at ease when he gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But, for whatever reason, he’d take it out on Ma and me. He smacked her around… like she was nothing to him, and he smacked me around too.” He lifted a hand to his face, his fingers grazing his brow bone. “She… has this scar, through her eyebrow; she hit it when he threw her against it.” The fingers travelled to his lips. “And a dent in her lip from where his wedding ring caught her in the face just a little too hard.”

Shu’s face was growing more distressed with each word, squeezing onto Ryuji’s hand tight. “Ji…”

Ryuji sucked in a trembling breath. “We left him during my second year in junior high.” He managed, his voice cracking. “Ma saved up so hard for us, scrounging up what money she could make from her jobs to get us an apartment and a better job four hours away. She divorced him soon after, got a restraining order and everything. Finally, free.” He squeezed his eyes tight shut. “I got into Shujin Academy, joined the track team, and then I met him; Kamoshida.”

“Kamoshida?” Shu asked.

“A PE teacher, the volleyball coach,” Ryuji explained bitterly, forcing the words from his lips as if they were acid. “A fucking slime bag. The teachers knew about everything, Ma wanted to make sure I was okay, and he told everyone about everything, laughing as if it was some sort of game and not my life.” His mouth fixed into a wobbly line, the tears once again burning in his eyes. “So I attacked him and tried to claw his eyes out. He broke my leg. I was kicked out of school.”

The air around them was silent, save for the gentle buzzing of the bee’s wings and the gentle chirping of cicadas around them. Tears dripped steadily down Ryuji’s cheeks as he sniffed, scrubbing his nose and eyes with the back of his hand before he laughed wetly.

“Heavy, huh?” He managed. “Guess that wasn’t what you were expecting.”

Shu looked down at Ryuji for a moment, before a smile stretched his lips. The space between them was minimal at best and comforting, and it seemed that Shu understood and accepted him, his hand giving Ryuji’s a reassuring squeeze as he asked, “What do you miss most about the human world?”

Ryuji tilted his head back and thought. “Ramen,” he decided finally. “I really miss ramen.”

“You can get ramen here, silly,” Shu told him, nudging his shoulder.

“Yeah, but human ramen is ten times better.” Ryuji told him enthusiastically. “I’ll have to show you some time.”

Shu smiled. “I’d like that.” He said, pausing a moment before he reached out and pushed Ryuji’s hair back from his face. He had to admit it had grown longer in the short time he had spent in the spirit world, and with no mirrors around he could hardly imagine what he looked like. Shu frowned. “Why is your hair two colours?” He asked.

Ryuji blinked, lifting a hand to card through his hair, finally figuring that his roots were starting to grow back in. “I dye it blond.”

Shu’s brows creased, confusion etched across his face. “Why?” He asked as Ryuji let his hands drop to his chest.

“I dunno, it looks cool,” Ryuji said after a moment of consideration. “After everything that happened in my family, it seemed like a good change. It’s a pain to keep though.”

Shu considered this, reaching out to run his hands through Ryuji’s hair. He could hardly keep in a groan at the sensation of Shu’s fingers carding through his hair and his nails gently scratching his scalp, and he opened his eyes when Shu stopped, returning his smile.

“Well,” Shu said, leaning back onto his elbow. “I think your hair would look nice black.”

Carefully, Ryuji stretched out his arms to run his own fingers through Shu’s curls, watching as his eyes widened in surprise. “I think your hair is nice.” Ryuji told him as Shu’s cheeks flushed pink.

“T-Thank you,” he managed finally, stuttering the word out between his nervousness.

Ryuji laughed. “So you can hand it out, but you can’t take it, huh?” He asked and Shu scowled half-heartedly, pushing Ryuji back into the lavender and pinning his arms to the ground, moving until he was almost straddling Ryuji’s waist. His breath hitched in his throat, suddenly realising how close Shu was; how their noses were almost touching, and how he smelt like roses, and how he enjoyed being pinned down by an attractive male way too much.

“What about you?” Shu asked, and the sound of his almost husky tone sparked something deep in Ryuji’s stomach. “You talk a lot, but is that all you are? All bark and no bite?”

It was hard to ignore how the word ‘bite’ stirred something deep within his stomach, twisting tightly until he felt like he could hardly breathe, his legs kicking a little. Shu was staring down at him with a look that he couldn’t quite place; his eyes were lidded and a mischievous half-smirk curled his lip, and if Ryuji wasn’t in his right mind he would’ve called that look lust. To distract himself from that alarming thought, his wriggled his hands from Shu’s and lunged for just beneath his ribs, and Shu cried out in surprise and laughter as he tumbled backwards and Ryuji straddled him – attacking his sides with his fingers.

He grinned triumphantly down at Shu’s flushed face. “The tables have turned, haven’t they?” he asked before he picked a flower from beside Shu’s head, tucking it into his hair. “There. You’re beautiful.”

Shu’s eyes widened as Ryuji’s did, smacking his hands to his mouth to prevent further words from slipping from his lips. He felt big then, almost ten stories tall as he leant over Shu, blushing a frightful shade of red with his hands pressed tight against his lower face.

“Beautiful?” Shu asked softly. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Ryuji nodded furiously. “Of course!” he blurted without thinking. “Who wouldn’t think you’re beautiful? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

The sky above him seemed infinite, glittering with tiny stars and the promise of a thousand galaxies, as he looked down at Shu, their forms illuminated by the silver moonlight. His eyes seemed to glitter as he opened his arms wide for Ryuji to fall into and drink in his scent, warm and soft in just the right way, his skin as soft as a trickling stream beneath Ryuji’s.

Shu’s fingers tangled in the curls of his hair at the nape of Ryuji’s neck, stroking the skin there softly as Ryuji’s arms curled around his waist, holding him tight as he rested his ear on Shu’s chest – his eyes closing to the sound of Shu’s heart beating steadily in his chest.

This time, Ryuji awoke to the hard-wooden floor of the balcony outside his room and the sound of giggles.

He sat up, his eyes bleary and his head heavy, turning with a groan to face the crowd of girls that stood in the doorway, staring down at him as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He had learnt not to find it strange when the girls watched him, they had done it many times in curiosity especially since he was doing what Akechi liked to call ‘woman’s work’ instead of foreman work, but there was something very peculiar in the way Chihaya smiled at him as she handed him a cup of steaming tea.

Ryuji took it gratefully, mumbling a thank you as Chihaya grinned. “So, how did your date with Shu go?” She asked and Ryuji spat out the tea in shock, his cheeks going red.

“D-Date?!” he stuttered, before he shook his head and downed the cup of tea, placing it next to him. “It wasn’t a fricking date.”

Hifumi smiled serenely, tucking strands of ebony black hair behind her ear. “Where did he take you?” She asked him quietly.

“The lavender field.” He said and, this time, Ann giggled.

“I took Shiho there when I wanted to confess to her,” She said slyly, a grin stretching her lips. “So… did Shu confess to you?” She asked him. “Did you kiss?”

Ryuji’s cheeks burned as he shuffled back, trapped by the railing digging into his spine. “A-Ann!”

Chihaya sat cross legged on the floor, and Hifumi, Ann and Shiho were quick to follow. “Or did you have sex?” She asked him bluntly, and Ryuji almost choked on his breath. “You smell like lavender, so you must have been lying in it in some way or another… or rolling in it.”

“Don’t embarrass him like that, Chihaya,” Hifumi scolded. “He doesn’t have to say if he doesn’t want to.”

Ryuji shook his head furiously. “We didn’t confess! Or kiss! Or… do it.” He forced out, and Chihaya and Hifumi giggled at the words, hands pressed over their mouths. “I don’t even like Shu like that! I just feel comfortable around him, and I think he’s pretty great, and I miss him when he goes, and I could see myself falling for him… but! —”

Hifumi just let out a quite laugh, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Ji,” she told him softly, cutting him off from the babbling rant he was about to stutter his way through. “Feelings are complicated and you don’t have to work them out as quickly as you get them. These things take time, and you can’t rush them.” She smiled. “Just take a deep breath, and let yourself relax.”

Ann smiled and pat Ryuji’s head comfortingly. “Yeah, feelings are hard at the best of times, and it may take a while to figure them out but, and I promise you this; you will figure them out. And you’ll feel lighter.”

“Thanks Ann,” Ryuji said, grinning up at her. “Thank you.”

She shoved his shoulder playfully. “Alright you sop; Akechi called you up to his office so you better jump to it!” She told him as Ryuji sprung to life and pulled on his work uniform, dragging his hand through his hair. “We’ll see you for breakfast later?” Ann called after him as he darted out the door, only sighing fondly and shaking her head when he yelled back a hurried, ‘Yeah!’.

He reached Akechi’s floor as quickly as he could manage, hardly remembering to gather himself and knock politely on Futaba’s door before he entered, closing the polish wood behind him

Her room seemed the most normal to him. It’s high ceiling gave way to a magnificent crystal chandelier, and the wall were draped with fairy lights and paper star chains; the carpet beneath his feet was plush and felt as soft as velvet between his toes, and it was scattered with patterned cushions. The centre piece was the queen sized four poster bed draped in white gossamer and beautiful sheets, yet they were hardly used by Futaba and traded in favour of sleeping on the floor on piled of the cushions. A bathroom was connected, and on the opposite wall was a heavy curtain, and Ryuji knew this would lead into Akechi’s office.

“Ji?” Ryuji looked to the bathroom door, startled to find Futaba staring around the doorway at him and smiling. “Oh good, you’re here. I’m just done bathing, I’ll put on my undergarments and be out in a minute.”

Ryuji nodded and Futaba’s head disappeared back into the bathroom. It had only been a day or two since he had begun to help her with her kimono, and yet he felt utterly relaxed around her, undergarments and bathing were so regularly mentioned that he no longer felt his cheeks burn at the mere mention, and he could finally tie an obi – if somewhat shabbily.

Futaba emerged from the bathroom in a green silk slip and, with a simple wave of her hand, several kimonos floated from the inside of a particularly large chiffarobe to rest gently on the edge of her bed and she skipped over to them, her wet hair hanging in rat tails down the back of her slip.

She considered her options before she turned to Ryuji. “Which one would you choose?” She asked him.

The first was a beautiful back, patterned with cherry pink flowers and tiny white birds; the second was white and had pale pink sakura trailing up the skirt and the long, flowing sleeves; and the third was her golden dress, complete with trailing sleeves and flowing skirt that shimmered when the sun hit it just right. Out of the three, Ryuji found himself most drawn to the second and pointed to it.

“The second one,” He told her.

Futaba looked down at it and then back up at Ryuji, a smile stretching her lips. “I’ve not worn that one in years.” She said wistfully as the rejected kimono floated back into the chiffarobe. “This one it is then. Pink obi?"

“Pink and black,” Ryuji replied.

Futaba smiled and untied her slip, allowing it to float gently in the air for a moment before it ducked between their bodies and drop gently onto the bed. He helped her into the juban white slip, and another covering, and her arms straightened out instinctively as he slipped on the kimono; as he did so, he noticed the strange tattoo on her arm, it was red and welted, budding with fine beads of red blood, as if she had tried to scratch it off with her perfectly oval nails.

He was careful to make sure the back seam was centred before he moved to her front and folded the left side over the right, gathering the excess material in his hands so the kimono ended just below her ankles, tying beneath the gathering of fabric with the koshi himo belt. Ryuji secured the gathering of fabric with the datejime belt and wrapped the first belt around her waist, covering the gathered fabric with a strip of fabric as wide as a book. Once that was secure, he tied a thinner belt on top of it into a bow, patting Futaba gently on the back once he was done.

She strode over to the mirror, turning this way and that before she smiled, satisfied and turned back to Ryuji. “It’s lovely,” She told him. “I especially love the bow.”

“I don’t know how to tie it properly, so I improvised.” He said smiling.

“It’s good,” Futaba replied. “Well done.”

With a click of her fingers her hair rose above her and dropped back fully dry, and she gathered it carefully into a bun, tying it off with a simple band and securing it with a floral sakura pin. She curled the tendrils that escaped from her around a finger, and, as if her hand had turned into a curler, the hair fell away from her fingertips curled to perfection.

Ryuji sat gently on the edge of her bed, his eyes trained on the exposed tattoo on her arm. “Futaba?” He asked, and she turned, an eyebrow raised. “What’s the tattoo on your arm?” At his words she seemed to grow paler. “I mean! If you don’t mind me asking.”

Futaba hesitated a moment before she shook her head. “No, I don’t think I mind.” She said softly, letting her hands drop to her front and curl together. “It’s what Akechi uses to keep me on this floor of the bathhouse, like a ward. I can’t leave.”

Ryuji blinked in disbelief. “Keeping you here?” he asked. “Why is Akechi keeping you here?”

“He wishes to marry me,” Futaba replied bitterly, a cynical on her face. “He thinks that the marriage and union of the two most powerful witch and wizard would result in the most magically inclined child. All he wants is an heir, he doesn’t intend to love whatever child we should have, and I know because he hasn’t intended to love me.”

“You don’t love him either,” Ryuji stated bluntly, more a fact than an accusation. “It’s mutual.”

Futaba raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you love the man that kidnapped you?” She asked and Ryuji’s jaw dropped.

“He kidnapped you?” He repeated in disbelief as Futaba nodded and moved towards the bed, perching next to Ryuji.

“Akechi is all I’ve ever known.” Futaba said simply, smoothing out the skirt of her kimono. “I’ve heard the story second-hand, from the few hand-maidens Akechi has allowed me to have in my three-hundred and fifty years here; I was taken by him when I was fifteen and given a brand new, much better life.” She continued as if reciting it word-by word.

Ryuji shook his head in disbelief, reaching to cradle Futaba’s hands in his. “Whatever life you had before must’ve been better than the life you have here.” He replied softly, and Futaba gave him a soft look.

“It was,” She said, allowing a smile to curl the corners of her lips. “I remember my mother sometimes, just little bits of memories Akechi has long since made me forgotten. Like how we used to bake together, and how she’d make me lemonade during summer, and how she smelt of lemon balm.”

“My Ma used to smell of lavender.” Ryuji said mindlessly, not quite thinking. “What happened to your mother?”

“She died,” Futaba told him, her smile dropping and her head hanging, her eyes squeezed shut as her hands trembled. “Akechi told me that I was the one who drove her to do it; the suicide. He gave me her letter, listing all the reasons and ways I had been a bad or ungrateful daughter. Her death was my fault.”

Ryuji shook his head again, giving Futaba’s hand a reassuring squeeze before he dropped them, reaching down to cup her face. “Futaba, your mother committing suicide was not your fault.” He told her gently as tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over her cheeks. “Your mother sounds like she loved you very much, and it sounds that you loved her too.”

“I did,” She managed as the first tears escaped, the others quickly following as she trembled and shook beneath his fingers. “I do. I love her with all my heart, and I’d do anything to have her back with me again. To have her hold me.” Ryuji opened his arms and she fell into them, clutching at the front of his uniform. “I miss her so much.”

Ryuji stroked her hair softly. “I know,” He said. “I know you do.”

“I just wish I could’ve told her how much I loved her,” She mumbled against him. “How much she meant to me. That I didn’t mean to be a bad daughter.”

“I’m sure she knows that you love her,” Ryuji said quietly, cupping her face in his hands once more. “And if there’s one thing I know, it’s this; no mother could ever think her child was bad. You could get on her nerves to no end, annoy her silly, but she’d still love you with every fibre of your being, and tuck you into bed if you asked her to.”

“Everyone who I’ve ever cared for has left me,” Futaba said quietly, her eyes falling from Ryuji’s. “My mother wishes that I was never born, I am a prisoner inside this wretched bathhouse. What’s even the point of living?”

Ryuji’s jaw dropped and he took Futaba’s hands in his, clutching them in his own. “Futaba, I can promise you that your mother loved you with all of her heart, nothing could have ever made her think otherwise.” He told her firmly as she avoided his gaze. “She baked with you, made you lemonade; she wouldn’t have done that unless she cared for and loved you. She never would have signed and wrote that letter.”

“Then what other explanation is there?” She asked hollowly.

Silence filled every corner and crevice of the room, a deafening noise that made him feel numb as he watched her tremble, close in on herself and become even less of the woman that she knew she could be. Realisation struck him as suddenly and as shockingly as a cargo truck and he staggered from the weight of it.

“Who gave you that letter?” Ryuji asked her.

Her eyes met his, confusion lacing her eyes. “What?” She asked.

“I asked who gave you that letter,” He repeated, a serious look taking over his features. “Who was it? That gave you the letter?”

Futaba frowned. “It was Akechi, why?"

“Have you ever wondered if Akechi forged the letter?” Ryuji asked her and she fell silent for a moment. “If the letter was just a cover up for killing your mother?”

“The letter had her seal,” She said numbly. “Her seal was protected by powerful magic. Only love can break it.” She continued and her eyes widened in realisation, clasping her hands over her mouth. “I loved my mother so much I broke the protection ward on her seal, and Akechi forged the letter.”

Ryuji gave her a soft smile. “Your mother could never hate you, Futaba.” He told her, brushing the stray hair from her eyes. “No mother could ever hate her child.”

Futaba gasped, a hand pressed to her heart as she knelt over, sobs beginning to wrack her trembling body as her hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to kill Akechi.” She muttered, and in her voice Ryuji could feel the threat of tears. “I’ll wring his neck. He’s going to regret the day he took my mother from me.”

Ryuji rubbed her back gently. “And I’ll be there, cheering you on as you choke him out.”

Futaba laughed at that, straightening up to rub her eyes. “Yeah?” She asked. “You better bet big money on me.”

“I would,” Ryuji promised. “If I had any. And Futaba?” He asked and she turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “There’s many reasons for living. If you want one, how does eating ramen with me in the human world sound?”

“That sounds…” Futaba began, a smile stretching across her lips. “Perfect.”

Ryuji watched the sunrise from his balcony.

The other girls were still awake, chattering loudly some floors below him, a trilling and murmured noise of laughter and music and shrieking that blended beautifully into the sound of the water lapping beneath his feet and cicadas in the trees; a background music of summer that made him feel utterly relaxed and at peace. His legs dangled off the edge of the balcony, rocking them back and forth in a way that made him feel utterly weightless and childlike, his face pressed between the wooden supports as he hugs them close – brows furrowed in extreme concentration.

Amongst the tri-coloured sky, he was sure he saw a shimmer of silver, getting bigger and coming closer. Something fluttered from the heavens and he stood up, leaning his body over the railings to catch it in his hands, clamping one hand over the over to prevent it from fluttering away in the wind. He pulled his hands closer to his body, shielding them from the wind as he lifted a hand and stared down at what rested in his palm; it’s a single, perfect silver scale, as delicate and as pretty as a cherry blossom petal. Ryuji stopped dead, his eyes widening as his head snapped from his hands back to the sky.

“Shit!” Ryuji cursed, allowing the scale to fall as he smacked his hand off the railing. “Shit!”

Shu – his dragon form really – tumbled from the sky like a falling star, barrelling straight for the open doors of Ryuji’s dorm in a flurry of scales. Ryuji’s heart stopped in his chest as something wet and warm fell in droplets onto the skin of his face, with trembling hands he reached for his cheek and smeared the droplets, retching and shaking when he pulled his fingers from his face to find them covered in thick red blood.

He drew in a startled gasp as Shu passed him so quickly his hair rose on his arms, and he cried out when he slammed right into the wall at the other side of the room, splattering everything inside with a fine layer of blood.

“Shu!” Ryuji yelled, supporting himself on the blood slicked railing. “What happened? You… You’re bleeding.” He breathed.

Shu curled up, his tail barely missing Ryuji as he leapt out of the way. His talons ripped apart the bedding that covered the floor, but he looked right past Ryuji’s shoulder as he hissed, curling himself closer to the wall – it was then that Ryuji realised that Shu has been followed by a fluttering flurry of whiteness, like a shimmering school of fish.

Ryuji darted for the sliding doors, trying to push the door closed before the white things made impact. He groaned as he struggled to push the doors closed, the tracks stiff from years of misuse, and yelped when the door shifted with one last big push, flying forward just as the white things plastered themselves against the glass; he ducked down, protecting his head with his hands as he swatted the things away, his brows furrowing in confusion when his finger met a paper butterfly and they all fell to the floor and peeled away in flurries of white confetti.

“Paper?” He whispered, and Shu let out one final growl before he sped through the air past Ryuji and took off back into the sky, spiralling and splattering blood as he smacked into every wall on his way to disappear into the window of Akechi’s office. He rushed to the balcony, almost toppling over as he craned his neck to gaze up at the window.

“Ji!” Ann’s voice cried, and he found himself swaying over the railing before he steadied himself and turned to her. “You need to come downstairs! There’s a rich guy who’s giving all of us gold,” she said, scrambling for her pockets before she grinned triumphantly, holding the small nugget between her thumb and forefinger. “See! It’s real!”

Ryuji pressed his lips into a fine line. “Have you seen Shu?” He asked and Ann sighed, resting a hand on her hip. “He was bleeding and hurt.”

“Ji, I know you care for Shu, but I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Ann said softly, trying to comfort him with a smile. “He’ll just have a scratch, nothing to worry about.” Suddenly, she froze and blinked owlishly, taking in the state of the room with wide eyes. “is that… blood?”

Ryuji nodded. “Shu’s.”

“Where did he go?” She asked him and Ryuji gestured above them.

“Into Akechi’s office.” He said, hands shaking. “I need to get up there.”

Ann blinked. “Up there?” She asked. “You do realise that ‘there’ is Akechi Goro’s office, right?"

Ryuji nodded quickly. “I know, but… I help Futaba, she’ll let me into his office.”

She frowned. “Futaba?” She asked. “Who’s that?”

Ryuji felt like he should question her but shook his head dismissively. “Never mind, I just need to get up there.”

“Elevator.” Ann told him and Ryuji nodded and dashed past her, taking the stairs two at a time towards the golden elevator, only to smash face-first into the chest of a foreman.

Ryuji pulled himself away from the glaring man and looked furiously over his shoulder. “Move, I need to get into the elevator.” He protested, lunging for the door again, only to be pushed back with so much force he toppled onto his backside. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

The foreman glared. “A ‘matter of life and death’ is the well-being of the bathhouse and the happiness of our most prized customer.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. “You can’t use the elevator.”

Ryuji stood up and groaned, smacking his palm against his forehead. “Ugh! I don’t have time right now to argue about capitalism with you!” He said, his brow furrowed with the weight of his glare.

The frogman frowned. “What now?” He asked before his eyes travelled to Ryuji’s hands. “And is that blood?”

Ryuji opened his mouth to reply before he grabbed a plate of food nearest to him and catapulted it directly into the foreman’s face and dashed away in the ensuing chaos, which, truth be told, wouldn’t do much to dissuade the foreman that the blood on his hands was because Shu was coughing it up all over his room and not because he killed a man.

Oh, well. He’d deal with the fallout from that little stunt later. And then he smacked into another foreman, only to realise that the foreman was Morgana.

“What are you doing, blondie?” Morgana barked, glaring down at him. “Move out of the way, can’t you see our honoured guest here?” He continued, gesturing behind him with a fan before he smacked Ryuji over the head with it. “Now hustle!”

Ryuji was about to reply before Morgana was yanked away by the back of his uniform and thrown against the crowd that lined the walls of the wide hallway. Ryuji started and stumbled back only for a kitsune mask to lean in close to his face, almost nose-to-nose, the painted red mouth smiling creepily at him.

He drew in a sharp breath and a small step back and bowed deeply. “Thank you for helping me out earlier!” He said, holding the bow for a moment before he allowed his head to slowly rise.

The spirit was crouching in front of him now – and Ryuji was quick to notice that his body was massive and swollen by what he assumed was all the food the bathhouse workers had been feeding it – his hands outstretched to Ryuji. It made a small noise, shaking its hands, and Ryuji stepped closer, peering into the cup of the spirit’s hands as they overflowed with nuggets of gold. As some scattered to the floor like fallen grains of rice, Ryuji drew back to look the spirit in the face.

“I don’t want any,” Ryuji told him softly, and he allowed himself to reach out to gently caress the spirit’s arm as it began to tremble. “But thank you. I’m in a really big hurry, so I have to go.” He told the spirit before the spirit dropped the mound of gold. The last thing Ryuji saw as he pushed through the crowds that were threatening to suffocate him in their eagerness to get as much gold as they could lay their hands on was the spirit’s kitsune mask staring after him in distress.

His shoulder slammed painfully into a wall as he finally managed to squeeze his way through the crowd, and he nursed it gently as he dashed through identical corridors of beautifully painted fusuma before he finally arrived at the window he had been searching for. The track was rusted and stiff and he almost broke his fingernails prying the window open wide enough for him to squeeze through, and when he finally managed to hop onto the window ledge, he slipped and almost skidded off the tin roof he was trying to land somewhat gracefully on.

Ryuji took in a shaky breath, steadied himself and climbed back up the gentle slope of the rusted roof, a long, unstable looking metal pipe running under a ladder greeting him when he finally reached the top. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he looked anywhere but the drop into the sea below before him. His gaze fell to his hands and after one, steely look at the dried blood on his palms he smacked his hands against the wall he was steadying himself on, took a deep breath and ran.

The pipe was blistering hot on his feet, and it came away from the wall as he ran. The only reason he wasn’t screaming was because his breath had hitched in his throat uncomfortably as he curved dangerously and leapt to the ladder, his knee connecting painfully with one of the rungs as his arms curled around ones higher and his chest heaved.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut when the pipe landed in the water below with an almighty splash, and he had to bat away the distasteful thoughts that screamed that it could’ve been him that was falling along with the pipe.

“Come on,” Ryuji muttered to himself as he reached for the next rung, pulling himself up onto the ladder properly. “Can’t give up now.” The ladder, to Ryuji’s relief, seemed to lead directly to the wide window that framed Akechi’s office.

He was almost at the top when he swore that something tapped him gently on the back of his head, and he turned in confusion only to find that Akechi was flying towards the window directly above him in his bird form, something that he had grown accustom to during his short time working at the bathhouse �� it was how he kept an eye on all his employees and made sure none of them were mouthing off, goofing off, or otherwise being unhelpful to the kingdom that was his bathhouse. Ryuji cursed and ducked close to the ladder, pressing himself so firmly against it that he was sure the shape of the ladder would be etched permanently into his chest. It was only when he hadn’t been swooped by several angry birds (or Akechi himself) and at least ten minutes had passed that he finally looked up and continued to climb the ladder.

It wasn’t long until he had reached a window under the concrete supports of the balcony above him, and, with shaking hands, he let go of the ladder to peer in through the bottle-green panes. The room before him was unfamiliar and unrecognisable through the foggy glass, but he had no choice but to force his way inside. He considered the window for a moment before he rammed his elbow sharply into where the window would part and open, only to find it would budge and that he had a red mark on his arm that would turn into a rather unsightly bruise.

Ryuji was just about to ram his body into the window at full force when it opened inwards and he tumbled in with it, catapulting himself halfway across the perfectly polished marble floor of what seemed to be a bathroom with the entire force of his body. He groaned lightly, rubbed his knees, and took to his feet.

After the bathroom, it wasn’t hard for Ryuji to navigate himself to Futaba’s room and burst unceremoniously inside. Futaba, who had been playing a rather intense game of cards with several enchanted sets of her kimono, had thrown her cards across the room and spilt tea on the mahogany desk at his dramatic entrance and then turned to glare at him.

“Ji!” She shrieked, her voice higher than normal. “I was winning!”

Ryuji slammed the doors shut behind him. “Futaba, you know that out of anyone I would be so proud right now,” He replied quickly, making his way over to the desk and sitting down opposite her. “But we kind of have a problem.”

“What problem?” She asked. “Did you put chili powder in Akechi’s underwear again?”

“No!” Ryuji replied, his brow furrowed. “Shu may be bleeding out in Akechi’s office and I need your help to get him out.”

Futaba blinked at him. “Excuse me?” She asked.

“I said—” Ryuji began, slower this time.

“I know what you said!” She replied shrilly and Ryuji winced. “I’m just wondering why you’re asking me of all people to help you! I can’t leave the floor and you want me to haul a dead dragon down at least fifty flights of stairs because we can’t take the elevator.”

“He’s not dead.” Ryuji protested weakly before he paused and tugged his knees up t his chest, hugging them close. “At least I hope he isn’t…”

Futaba looked at him a moment, her brown eyes scanning his softly before she placed her teacup onto the desk, stood up and brushed out the front of her kimono. “Come on then,” She told him. “Let’s go get Shu.” Faintly, Ryuji wondered what had made Futaba change her mind quickly, but the thought quickly left him in favour of following her to the door as she crouched gently behind it, her ear pressed against the glossed wood. Ryuji crouched next to her and pushed gently on the door until it was open enough that they could both peer through.

“Well, we’re in a fine mess now,” Akechi said, straightening the golden buttons on his sleeves. “What is the… thing that’s eating my guests and workers? Do you know?” By the tone of Akechi’s voice he knew perfectly well what the ‘thing’ was and took pleasure in torturing his subordinates, and Ryuji watched as he fished a golden pocket watch from a shelf.

The foreman in view tittered nervously, rocking gently on the balls of his feet. “Actually… it’s a No-Face.”

Akechi smiled. “Yes. That’s right, a No-Face.” He replied, his voice too calm to be comforting. “And what do you think attracted him here?” He asked, only to continue before the foreman could even open his mouth to answer. “Your greed lead him here, to my bathhouse, for that I should turn you into a lump of coal.”

The foreman trembled under Akechi’s gaze, his eyes squeezed tight shut. “I-I’m sorry, sir.” He stuttered out.

Akechi scowled in disgust. “Get out of my sight, and don’t do anything stupid until I get down there.” The foreman nodded hurriedly and scurried towards the door, stopping only when Akechi’s magic forced him to. He was staring down at the carpet, and Ryuji could see Shu lying at his feet as still as stone, in disapproval as he tutted gently. “Oh, the carpet is a mess. Shu’s bleeding all over it. Could you send someone up to get rid of him?”

The foreman nodded again. “Of course.”

Akechi nodded, straightened his collar and took one last look in the mirror behind him. “After all, I have no use for him anymore.” He looked back down at the carpet. “And send someone up to clean the carpet.”

Akechi walked towards Futaba’s door and Ryuji panicked, throwing himself into the nearest pile of plush pillows as he clasped a hand over his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest. Futaba waved a hand and the teacup and spill cleaned themselves up, her cards flew back into her hands and the kimonos enchanted again, holding their own cards with their sleeves. She managed to sit down just as Akechi pushed open the door.

“I’ll be leaving again,” Akechi told her. “Don’t leave.”

Futaba sniffed as he made his way over to her dresser. “It’s not like I can any way.” She replied.

Akechi stilled for a moment, his gloved fingers dropping from where they were caressing the gorgeous silk kimonos, before he walked towards her, hands resting on her shoulders as she flinched and shrunk beneath his touch. It was strange for Ryuji to see her like this, this girl beneath Akechi’s fingers wasn’t the Futaba he knew, and it made the fire of anger lick its way up his throat and threaten to spill from his lips.

Futaba squeezed her eyes shut as Akechi tucked orange hair behind her ear. “I think it’s time we get married don’t you think?” He asked softly and Futaba all but froze, her wide eyes meeting his.

“W-What?” She stuttered quietly, her eyes meeting his as he moved around her, hands always touching her in some way, and sat opposite her. “What do you mean?” She asked.

Akechi smiled. “We’ve known each other long enough, haven’t we? It only seems right that we get married now.” He replied easily.

“I’ve only known you this long because you have kept me here, a prisoner under a roof I didn’t wish to live under.” Futaba replied, scowling furiously at him. “I can’t leave, I can’t open window or go out on to the balcony because you’re so afraid that I’m going to throw myself off and you’ll lose the only power you have. I haven’t felt the sun on my skin or the wind or the sea spray in three hundred and twenty-five years.”

“I know,” Akechi said, his eyes filled with fake sympathy and he took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles. “It must’ve been so hard for you. But, once we’re married, all that can change; you’ll be the lady of the bathhouse, your little tattoo will be gone,” The fingers of his other hand brushed over the tattoo gently. “And you’ll be able to go to any floor you like. Even outside if you so choose.”

Futaba eyed him as she snatched her hands away from him, clutching them close to her chest. “Why?” She asked him. “Why are you allowing this of me now? And why only if I agree to marry you?”

“Well, you will need to be healthy to carry my child,” Akechi told her softly. “And you can’t exactly stay healthy if you’re cooped up inside all day, can you?”

Immediately all the breath in Ryuji left him, escaping from between his fingers like water, and his eyes widened, the impact of Akechi’s words knocking all the anger out of him and leaving only a hollow numbness. Futaba was looking at Akechi with the same eyes that Ryuji guessed he must be, her mouth falling gently open.

“You… slimy, sick man,” Futaba breathed angrily. “You want to blackmail me with my freedom, as if I’d ever agree to that. I’d rather live a thousand years locked up in the depressing dictatorship of a bathhouse than marry you.”

Akechi sighed. “Don’t be difficult Futaba.” He told her and he scowl deepened.

“Me? Difficult? Never!” She barked back sarcastically, standing up so she was towering over him. “Why, after all you’ve ever done to me, would I ever agree to marry you? Much less carry your child. You can’t buy me with jewels, the promise of my freedom, I won’t let you trap me again.” She glared right down at him, her hands trembling in clenched fists at her sides. “I refuse.”

In an instant, he was stood in front of her, his fingers clasped tight around the wrist of her raised hand as his other hand gripped her chin, tilting it towards him and ignoring her when she struggled and tried to pry his fingers from her. “You don’t have room to refuse me,” Akechi told her, his voice dangerously low. “I could have taken anything I wanted by now. Your lips,” A thumb gently caressed her bottom lip, “Your skin,” He bent in low to her, his lips crazing the curve between her shoulder and neck, “Even your soul,” He whispered as his fingers caressed her hair, pushed it back from her exposed collar bone. “Don’t you know how lucky you are?”

“Don’t pat yourself on the back,” Futaba whispered back, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her raised hand clenched into a tight fist. “You don’t deserve a reward for being a decent human being.”

He squeezed her chin and wrist more tightly and Futaba whimpered again, hardly allowing the sound to pass her lips. “I have never hit you, Futaba,” Akechi said, his voice too calm to be calm as he released her, pushing her away from him. “But you are testing my limits. And that is a dangerous game to play.”

“Congratulations,” Futaba whispered dryly, clutching her sore wrist to her chest and curling her body away from him. “Wouldn’t want to test you, would I?”

Akechi ignored her. “Don’t you want to leave this floor? Go outside?” Akechi asked her, as if she could say anything but yes. “You could have all of that and more, I swear it to you. Futaba,” he said before he paused, reconsidered, closed the distance between them with a few steps and cupped her cheek gently with his hand as she flinched. “My beautiful rose bud. Marry me.”

Futaba held her head high. “And what if I refuse?” She asked him. “What if I say no?”

“I break you,” Akechi said, and he said it so easily and so lightly that Ryuji found it even more sinister.

Futaba stared resolutely back at Akechi. “Do anything you want to me; it still won’t get me to change my mind.”

Akechi chuckled, looked at Futaba as if she was a naïve child. “Who said I was going to do anything to you?” he asked and Futaba’s eyes widened. “You’re too precious to me, too perfect. No, I’d never hurt you, but Ji on the other hand… your precious manservant… oh, I have a list of things I’d do to him.”

Futaba couldn’t do anything but stare. “Don’t you want to know?” He asked her oh-so gently. “Don’t you want to know what I’d do to him, Futaba?” She shook her head and Akechi stared down at her. “I can’t hear you.”

“No,” She whispered, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“What was that?” Akechi asked.

“No!” She cried and Akechi smiled, rest his hands gently on her shoulders, his fingers curled into her soft flesh, holding her there as he smiled. “Don’t hurt him… I’ll do anything, just don’t do anything to Ji.”

Akechi released her again, holding her almost tenderly against him as he brushed hair back from her face. “Is there something you want to tell me?” He asked her softly.

Futaba nodded slowly, and when she spoke next she sounded utterly broken, “I’ll marry you Akechi.” She said, and she didn’t protest at all when he gripped her by the shoulders to press a kiss to her lips.

“I need to leave now,” He told her as he pulled away. “I’ll be back soon to talk about the wedding.”

The moment the door slammed shut behind Akechi, Futaba fell to her knees, scrubbing furiously at her lips with the back of her sleeve, tears crawling gently from her eyes and down her cheeks as Ryuji scrambled from the pile of pillows and joined her on the floor, hesitating to touch her. He opened his arms for her and Futaba fell into them, pressing her face into his chest and sobbing into the fabric of his uniform.

“I’m sorry,” Ryuji whispered to her as he hugged her close. “I’m so sorry, Futaba.”

“Don’t,” She sobbed, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper as she pulled herself from him and scrubbed at her eyes. “Don’t apologise.”

“But… you have to marry him…”

Futaba cupped Ryuji’s face in her hands so carefully, as if she was afraid that he would break. “Let’s just rescue Shu right now, and then we’ll figure out how to rescue me.”

Ryuji leant into her touch. “You’re too good for this world,” He told her gently. “You’re way too good for Akechi. How dare he. You deserve to be happy.”

“Let’s rescue Shu, and then I will be,” Futaba told him with a teary smile. Ryuji helped her up and together they strode into Akechi’s office.

Shu was lying on the floor by the fireplace and Ryuji immediately dashed over to his side, falling to his knees in front of him, his hands dancing over his scales, afraid to touch him in case he broke. “Shu?” Ryuji asked, his fingers grazing Shu’s mane. “Shu? It is you, right? God, there’s so much blood.”

His trembling fingers were sticky with blood, and they stained Shu’s fur as he pushed his mane back from his eyes. It was then that Akechi’s bird swooped on him, cawing loudly in his ear as its wings smacked him in the face. “Go away!” Ryuji yelled, swatting uselessly at the air around him. “Stop it! Go away!”

“What a racket,” A woman’s voice tutted and Ryuji immediately froze up, turning slowly to see who had spoken behind him. His eyes met a bored looking woman; she had bluntly cut brown hair that she pulled up into a plaited up do, wore a gorgeous, flowing blue dress, and had a hand rested on her hip. “Turn it down a few hundred notches.”

Futaba scanned her up and down gently. “Makoto…?” She questioned and the woman smiled.

“I see, we have a smart one here,” Makoto replied before she looked down at herself and tutted as she raised a hand. “Oh, I’m transparent. Never mind.” With a wave of her hand, Futaba had shrunken into a tiny orange mouse, and Makoto’s smile widened. “There, it suits you. Gives you a little more freedom.” Futaba squeaked and scurried onto Ryuji’s shoulder and Makoto shrunk Akechi’s bird into once the size of a robin.

Makoto turned to Ryuji. “If you tell anybody about this I’ll rip your mouth off.”

“W-What are you doing?” Ryuji asked her.

“I came here for him,” Makoto told him, pointing behind Ryuji’s shoulder. “He took something of mine and I want it back. Hand it over.”

Ryuji scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Akechi’s sister,” Makoto told him, scowling as she folded her arms across her chest. “Unfortunately. And who are you?”

“None of your business,” Ryuji bit back, scowling.

Makoto just smiled at him, unfazed by his reply. “Thanks to you I’ve had a good look at this place. It’s lovely, isn’t it? Now, do us both a favour and hand over the dragon.” Ryuji shook his head and curled his body over Shu’s as Makoto frowned. “Now, there’s no need to be like that. He stole my precious steal.”

Ryuji shook his head furiously. “Shu would never steal.” He told her. “He’s kind and generous, he’d never steal.”

“All dragons are kind. Kind and stupid,” Makoto told him. “And greedy. He’d do anything my greedy brother asked in exchange for magi, it’s too late for him now. Anyone who steals the seal would die, it’s charmed.”

Ryuji looked down at Shu in horror just as the dragon’s eyes snapped open and his tail trashed out, severing Makoto’s projection in half. She just sighed and muttered, ‘Paper cut’, as she disappeared, the only evidence that she’d been there at all was a severed paper butterfly. Shu collapsed again and the floor beneath them opened into a long chute; Ryuji barely had time to grab onto him before they were plummeting down into the dark abyss below.

“Shu!” Ryuji called, his voice lost in the howling of the wind passing them, pushing through the wind until he had a firm grip on Shu’s horns. “Wake up!"

For a moment, he swore he was submerged in water, the scales beneath his bare legs transformed into the cool, gentle embrace of river water, his eyes wide and his mouth open, bubbles escaping his lips and he blinked – upon opening his eyes once more, he found he was still falling through the air, Futaba gripping tight onto his uniform. It was then that Shu’s eyes snapped open again, wide, molten silver as he shot up, narrowly avoiding crashing into the shadows and hard concrete below them, finally seeming as if he were somehow in control of his actions again. He ducked through an opening the wall, and Ryuji had to press his chest close against Shu’s to avoid losing the top of his head, and then he hardly had any time to scream before he was plummeting to the floor once more.

Shu had managed to crash into the boiler room vent, smashing it to pieces and decimating Sojiro’s work space. As Sojiro caught Ryuji’s body before it hit the ground, Shu backed himself up against the wall of drawers, spraying the blood that fell from his mouth like a gruesome waterfall with every hiss that escaped from between his teeth and every thrash of his body.

“Ryuji!” Sojiro said, his voice filled with relief, and Ryuji was stunned with the realisation that he almost forgot his name again. “What’s happening?” Ryuji didn’t even reply as he scrambled from Sojiro’s arms and moved to face Shu, knocked back onto his behind by a quick whip of Shu’s tail. “Get away from Shu. It’s dangerous."

“He’s hurt,” Ryuji said in way of explanation as Shu growled and collapsed onto the floor, thrashing in pain. “Something inside him is killing him. I think he must’ve swallowed something.”

Sojiro looked at him in disbelief. “Swallowed something?” He repeated.

Ryuji scrabbled in his pocket for the medicine ball, taking it gently in his hands. “Shu, it’s me, Ji.” Ryuji said softly. “Ryuji. Remember? Do you remember the lavender field, and how you saved me the first night I was here?” At the sound of his voice, Shu stopped thrashing and looked at him with wide eyes, his chest heaving and his mouth dripping with blood. “Do you remember?"

A wet growl escaped Shu’s teeth and Ryuji smiled. “Good,” he said as he tore the medicine ball in half, one half he kept in his hand, the other half he stuck back in his pocket. “Shu, I need you to eat this, okay?” He continued, kneeling next to Shu’s snout as he pried it open. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Shu’s jaw opened wide and before he could change his mind, Ryuji stuck the medicine ball as far down his throat as he could get it and quickly removed his hand. Almost instantly, Shu began thrashing again, though this time Ryuji held his snout shut, forcing him to swallow the medicine as his tail thrashed and knocked against the drawers, sending flurries of herbs and spices down onto the floor. His left leg screamed with the pressure he put on it, but he held fast, using his chest as leverage.

He only let go when Shu stopped struggling and coughed up a thick ball of black goo – it landed in a group of soot sprites with a clink as Shu collapsed, and Ryuji moved over to investigate. As he did so the black goo melted away, revealing a golden seal decorated with an image of a frog and a black slug with beady white eyes.

It scanned Ryuji up and down and startled, darting back towards the safety of Shu’s unconscious body. Ryuji grabbed up the seal and moved to stop it, trap it between his fingers, and ending up standing on it, gagging as black goo oozed between his toes.

“Ew, gross!” Ryuji moaned, hopping on one foot back towards Sojiro and Shu. “Fucking gross man!"

“Don’t come near me with that thing on you! It’d bad luck!” Sojiro warned, glaring at Ryuji so violently he had to stop still in his path. “Put your thumbs and forefingers together and come here.” He told him. Ryuji did as he was told and Sojiro took his hand and cut the circle that Ryuji had made in half.

Ryuji clutched the seal in his hands, his thumbs tracing over the curves of the frog decoration as he peered at it curiously. “This must be the stolen seal that was stolen from Makoto,” He said, mostly to himself, before he turned to look at Shu. “I guess Shu must’ve stolen it then.”

“A witches’ seal,” Sojiro tutted. “Shu should have known better.”

Ryuji watched as Shu’s dragon form melted into his human form, shrinking until Shu was lying face-down on the bloody floor, and he dashed over to cradle Shu in his arms, hugging him close and he pressed his ear against his chest. There he found Shu’s heartbeat, faint but strong, and he sighed in relief, hugging Shu just a little bit tighter.

“He’s breathing faintly, but at least he’s not dead,” Ryuji said gently, moving a hand to push hair back from Shu’s face. “Makoto’s seal had a curse on it.”

Sojiro bent over Shu’s unconscious body, his bushy eyebrows raised as he scanned the boy up and down. “Yes, it’s certainly powerful magic.” He agreed, turning to boil a kettle and pull a range of herbs and spices out of the drawers with his free hands. “It’s made him ill, almost killed him, but I think I can make him a tea that’ll help.”

He waited with baited breath as Sojiro prepared the tea, and he cradled Shu as gently as a baby, shushing and comforting him when he stirred in his sleep, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead, and when Sojiro held the teacup to Shu’s lips he didn’t place Shu down on the cushions Sojiro had laid out on the floor until he had stilled and calmed completely. For a few minutes afterwards, Ryuji remained hovering over Shu and gently wiped the dirt and blood from Shu’s face and hands, smiling once he was done and tucking the blanket tighter around Shu’s body.

“You know, Shu turned up here one day just like you,” Sojiro began, and Ryuji turned, curious to face him. “He kept saying that he wanted to learn magic. I didn’t approve, magic is fickle and greedy, and tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen to me. I offered him a job working for me, I always thought of him like a son. Like my second child.” Sojiro sighed then, pained and low, as if he held the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. “He said he had nowhere else to go. He became Akechi’s apprentice, and as time went by he grew pale, his eyes grew sharper, and I lost him; just like I lost my daughter.”

Ryuji blinked at Sojiro, imagining Sojiro being a father, having a daughter. It was foreign to him. “A daughter?” Ryuji questioned. “You have a daughter?”

“Have,” Sojiro replied. “Had. There was a woman that I loved once, a powerful sorceress with the most beautiful eyes and the most intelligent mind. She had a daughter too, a little girl with orange hair and her mother’s kind eyes, she wasn’t mind, of course, but I loved her as I would have loved my own.” He sighed then as if the mere memory of the event pained him. “She died, killed herself according to Akechi, and I haven’t seen her daughter since.”

Futaba squeaked, tugging on the curls of Ryuji’s hair.

“Sojiro, I’m going to return the seal to Makoto,” Ryuji told him as a smile crossed his lips. “And I think I’ll be able to bring your daughter back too.”

Sojiro’s eyes widened. “Really?” He asked. “No shit?”

“No shit, indeed, Sojiro,” Ryuji agreed. “I promise you that I’ll return your daughter to you.”

Sojiro scanned Ryuji up and down, scrutinising before a grin crossed his features. “I’ll have to hold you to that.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Ryuji asked and Sojiro gave him a sly smile, fishing something from a drawer by his bed.

“Getting there will be easy, but getting back will be harder,” Sojiro told him as he held a slip of paper in his hands. “These are train tickets. I was saving them to leave, but I think that you need them more than I do. Makoto’s house is the sixth stop, Swamp Bottom.”

Ryuji took them gently, clasping them tight in his palm as he looked solemnly at Sojiro. “Thank you,” he told him before he turned back to the pit, bending down to speak directly to the soot sprites. “Could you get me my clothes?” He asked and the soot sprites looked at each other, nodded furiously and scrambled back into their home, returning moments later carrying Ryuji’s clothes. He thanked them and had only managed to pull on his jeans and discard his work shirt when Ann burst into the boiler room.

“Ji!” She cried, almost throwing herself on him in a bone-crushing hug. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Akechi is angry. The rich guy turned out to be a No Face, and Akechi says that you let him in here.”

Ryuji blinked at her a moment before he frowned, groaned and put his head in his hands. “I must’ve. I’m sorry, Ann!”

Ann grabbed him by the shoulders and shook his body furiously. “What? Are you serious?!”

“Yes!” Ryuji replied, his head swinging back and forth. “I thought he was a guest! I didn’t realise he was going to eat people alive. He looked so cold out in the rain.”

Ann glared at him. “Well now he’s warm in the bathhouse and eating all of our closest friends.” She replied, sighing as she released him gently. “Just… put a shirt on and follow me. Akechi wants to see you.”

Ryuji rolled his eyes and pulled on a shirt and his hoodie, managing to stuff his feet into his shoes before he grabbed up the seal and train tickets, about to shove them in his pocket when Ann snatched both from him, peering at them both curiously before her eyes widened and snapped back to his.

“Train tickets?” She asked, her hands trembling as she held them up to him. “How did you get those? I’ve been saving for years to get two…”

Ryuji gently took them from her, stuffing both items in his pockets as he pulled his uniform back on top of his regular clothes. “Sojiro gave them to me, I need to return Makoto’s seal to save Shu.” Futaba squeaked something that sounded suspiciously like a bloodless coup in his ear. “When I get back I promise you’ll have train tickets, more than two, as many as you want.” He looked to Sojiro. “You too.”

Sojiro shook his head, smiling at Ryuji’s words. “You have a tall order to fill with all those promises, kid.”

“And I’ll deliver,” Ryuji replied with a grin as he bent down to tie his shoelaces, straightened up to look at Ann. “Now, take me to Akechi.”

Akechi’s ‘customer service’ smile dropped from his face the moment that the beautifully painted fusuma slammed shut, and he glared furiously at Ryuji as if he were the one thing that made his life utterly miserable in every aspect.

“What took you so long?” Akechi asked furiously. “I don’t pay you to take your sweet time, I pay you to come when I call you!”

Ryuji gave Akechi a flat look. “You don’t pay me.”

Akechi glared. “Talk back again and I’ll turn you into a vase and smash you.” Ryuji had to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from saying something that would ultimately get him killed. Now he thought about it, he had been holding his tongue a lot more lately, and if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he didn’t know. “Just suck up to him and squeeze every piece of gold from him. Understood?”

Ryuji rolled his eyes but nodded. “Understood.”

“What’s that filthy mouse?” Akechi asked, his eyes falling to where Futaba was half-hidden in the warm hood of his sweatshirt. Ryuji looked between Akechi and Futaba.

“Don’t you recognise her?” He asked and Akechi scowled.

“Of course not, but if the bathhouse has a mouse problem then we need to get it sorted immediately.” Akechi replied, turning to pull open the fusuma and push Ryuji forward. “Now go in there and get me my gold!” Ryuji fell onto his hands and knees as the door slammed shut.

The room was completely wrecked; on one side the fusuma had been ripped multiple times, the large table had been cracked in half and half-melted candles dripping wax onto the tatami mat floors, every wall was decorated with food that Ryuji had guessed No Face had thrown in anger, and then his eyes met the spirit himself. He had almost doubled in size since Ryuji had last seen him, and the fox mask was peering at him oh-so tenderly from under a mop of ink-blue hair.

He didn’t move as Ryuji got to his feet, his eyes never leaving his, but his eyes followed him as he moved around the table to his side.

“Do you want some gold?” No Face asked him, his voice nothing more than a comforting hum. “I’m not giving it to anyone else.” When Ryuji didn’t reply, No Face patted the spot beside him and Ryuji walked over to it. “Is there something you want? You can have anything you want; all you need to do is ask.”

“I would like to leave,” Ryuji said calmly. “There’s somewhere I need to go and I’d really like it if you allowed me to leave.”

No Face frowned at him. “Why do you want to leave?” He asked. “You could stay here, with me, forever.”

“You should go back to where you came from,” Ryuji told him softly as No Face began to tremble. “You can’t help me with what I want. Don’t you have a home?” Ryuji asked No Face. “Or a Mom? A Dad?”

“I don’t want to…” No Face breathed, his hands shaking violently. “Lonely… I’m so lonely…”

“Can’t you get back home?” Ryuji asked him. “I could help you.”

No face shook his head. “Don’t want help… I want Ji. I want you.”

“You can’t have me,” Ryuji told him softly, his face solemn. “I’m sorry. You can’t have me; people aren’t possessions that can be owned by any one person. You can’t have me.” It was then that No Face began to cry thick tears, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. “But we can be friends.”

No Face didn’t seem to be listening as his hands overflowed with gold, thrusting them towards Ryuji. “Take the gold.” He said.

Ryuji shook his head slowly, took a step back. “No,” he said. “I don’t want it.”

“Take it!” No Face told him furiously. “Take it!”

“Are you going to eat me?” Ryuji asked carefully but No Face only repeated ‘Take it!’. He felt in his pocket for the other half of the medicine ball and looked back to No Face. “I was saving this for my Ma, but here, you can eat it.” He said and No Face opened his mouth wide as Ryuji threw the medicine into the gaping mouth in the middle of his stomach.

Immediately No Face doubled over, his face etched with pain as he looked furiously back at Ryuji. “What did you feed me?” As soon as the words passed his lips he began vomiting up grey sludge at a rather alarming pace. “Ji… What did you do to me?” No Face’s words were fragmented now, warped from the medicine working, the sludge pouring from his mouth, and how he groaned in pain as he crawled towards him on his hands and feet, like and fat and rather strange looking spider.

Ryuji had never been afraid of spiders, he was always the one who would have to trap them under a cup and take them outside for his mother, but in that moment, as No Face approached him, his mouth wide, salivating and dripping the grey sludge of all that he had eaten, he wished he had been – And that was when he turned on his heel and ran.

No Face was hot on his heels, scurrying after him dangerously quickly as he pushed through the fusuma. He didn’t care for doors and knocked two panels onto three rather unfortunate henchmen as he chased furiously after Ryuji, black goo separating from his body like silk from a spider’s web. Ryuji ran like his life depended on it, ignoring the sharp, shooting pains in his leg as he turned the corner, almost crashing into Akechi in his hurry to escape from the spirit.

“Enough is enough,” He said, his brows furrowed in concentration as he summoned a glowing ball of pure light. “I don’t care if he’s rich. He’s going to destroy the bathhouse and I can’t allow that.” He threw the ball at No Face, and he projectile vomited right into Akechi’s face.

Ryuji had to stifle a laugh as she skidded down the stairs, watching carefully as No Face crashed into a banister, dry heaving over the drop to the baths, hardly caring to wipe the drool from around his mouth. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “No Face!” He called, waving furiously, and No Face’s immediately locked onto him as Ryuji took off running, only this time he crawled on the walls of the bathhouse instead of on the hard-wood, polished floors.

“That’s not my name!” No Face cried as he vomited once more, one of the bathhouse woman falling ungracefully from his mouth.

Ryuji half turned to him as he flew down another flight of stairs. “What’s your name then?” He called, a smile curving his lips.

“Yusuke! My name… is Yusuke!” No Face – or Yusuke, Ryuji supposed – called back, slamming painfully into a wall as Ryuji reached the bottom of the stairs, diving out of the way before he could get caught up in the goo that looked from Yusuke’s body.

Ryuji led him through the servant’s quarters, allowing him to cough up two more people as he made his way through the kitchen, muttering threats under the heaving of his breath. Neither ran, and so Ryuji found it easy to navigate his way through the winding corridors and find the door that lead out to what Akechi qualified as a dock, waving at Ann as they spotted each other.

Ann grinned at him as he hopped into the paddle boat. “For a minute I thought you weren’t going to make it.” She told him, letting go of the steering paddle with one hand to punch him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

Ryuji chuckled breathlessly, rubbing his injured leg like the nurses at the hospital had taught him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Neither did I.”

“Is your leg alright?” She asked, nodding down at him, and Ryuji nodded back.

“Yeah, it just gets stiff sometimes.” Ann nodded and returned to paddling as Ryuji peeled of his uniform and shoes and socks before turned to where Yusuke was standing on a large pipe, staring after him. “Hey! Over here!”

Ann had snapped around at the sound of Ryuji’s voice, and her eyes widened as she spotted who exactly he was calling to. “Ji, what do you think you’re doing?” She hissed, groaning as Yusuke dropped into the water and began swimming after them. “Great, now he’s following us.”

“He needs to get out of the bathhouse,” Ryuji replied as he smoothed out his shirt. “I think it was driving him crazy.”

“He’s not the only one,” Ann grumbled under her breath before she sighed. “And anyway, where’s he going to go?” She asked him.

Ryuji thought for a moment before he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said finally and Ann rolled her eyes as if she had been expecting that answer. “But I’ll help him out. Just like I helped him out by letting him out of the rain.”

“You’re missing the part where you almost destroyed the bathhouse and brought a No Face in.” Ann reminded him.

“Same old, same old,” Ryuji replied with a shrug. “And his name is Yusuke.”

Ann raised an eyebrow curiously. “He has a name?”

“Yeah,” Ryuji replied as they pulled up next to the train tracks, finally meeting Ann’s questionable gaze. “And, yeah, I know it’s weird.”

Ann just shrugged and looked off into the horizon. “You’ll have to walk from here, the station is just up the tracks. You can’t miss it.” She told him with a smile that he quickly returned. “Ryuji? Don’t get yourself killed. Promise?”

Ryuji gave Ann another smile, this one gentler than the first. “I won’t, Ann. I promise. And I never go back on my promises.” Ann smiled, and moved to punch his shoulder again before he wrapped his arms around her neck, dragging her down into a warm, comforting hug. “Thank you, for everything you’ve ever done for me here. I owe you big time.”

Ann’s arms hung limply at her sides for a moment before she hugged him back, her hands a gentle weight on his back. She laughed wetly, as if she was crying. “Take me and Shiho out for ramen in the human world and we’ll call it even, yeah?”

Ryuji laughed right back, and, when he drew back, Ann didn’t try to hide her tears from him. “Sounds good.” He said. “I’d say goodbye but I think that’s a bit too depressing.”

“Just a tad,” Ann agreed with a giggle, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Let’s just not say goodbye.”

“Okay,” He agreed, turning before he stopped again and turned back to her. “Ann?” He asked.

She looked up from where she was turning the boat. “Hmm?”

“I’m glad to have met you.” He told her and she stared at him. “I’m glad to have met you and Shiho, and Shu, and Sojiro, and Futaba and Chihaya, and Hifumi. Even Morgana. You all made this place bearable.”

Ann stared at him a moment longer before she scowled, trying to blink away the tears beading in her eyes. “Dope,” She cursed, but the insult was half-hearted. “You can’t just go around saying thing like that. But… I’m glad to have met you too, Ji.”

“Ryuji.” Ryuji said and Ann blinked at him, tilting her head in confusion. “I want you to know my real name; Ryuji.”

“Ryuji…” Ann repeated slowly, as if testing the weight of hi name on her tongue. “I like it. It suits you.”

Ryuji just smiled as he turned and began walking up the tracks, lifting a hand to wave back at her. “I’ll see ya later, Ann,” He called, raising his voice so it carried over the sound of the waves lapping at his ankles. “No goodbyes remember?”

She laughed again, the sound as clear and as loud as the bells that Yui had bought him all those years ago at the shrine, the ones he kept on the zipper of his backpack, forever reminding him that things would get better, they had to get better. “See ya later, you dope!” Ann called after him, and Ryuji just smiled and waved a hand again.

Ann had disappeared into the horizon by the time Ryuji reached the train stop. It was nothing but a sandstone platform, he noticed as he pulled on his shoes and socks, standing up just a little bit straighter as the train began to pull up. It slowed and Ryuji walked towards the door, climbing aboard and handing the tickets to the ticket inspector upon being prompted.

“We’d like to go to Swamp Bottom,” Ryuji told him and the man nodded, pointed to Ryuji, Futaba, the bird and then behind his shoulder. He turned to see Yusuke standing behind them, his head ducked. “Him too please.” He said and the ticket inspector complied, running the tickets through his machine and stepping aside to allow them to pass.

Ryuji immediately sat down on one of the plush red velvet seats that lined the walls of the carriages, and Futaba and the bird crawled off his shoulder to sit on the window ledge, both jumping up and down excitedly as the train began to move. Yusuke hesitated by the door way until Ryuji looked to him with a comforting smile, patting the free space behind him. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Come and sit down.”

Yusuke seemed to smile at him before he nodded and sat down beside him, his hands tucked back into the inky-blueness of his body.

Outside the window the ocean passed by endlessly as the sun began to set, the water that seemed to go on forever was broken occasionally by a house or two, or a far-off village that Ryuji didn’t think he would ever reach even if he wanted to get there. The other commuters on the train, spirits that were only inky black shapes of people wearing a different array of clothing ad carrying various baggage, got off at different stops occasionally, and it was only when the train sped past a station where a silhouette of a young girl was waiting wistfully for a train (just not specifically the one he was on) that he realised that the train service was beyond a normal one – it was for the dead. The spirits around him were just that, spirits, nothing abnormal about them aside from the fact that they were moving on peacefully to their next life. It made sense why none of the passengers has tried to make pleasant conversation with him.

By the time they reached Swamp Bottom, they were the only passengers left on the train and the sky was a deep blue. The train sped silently away once everyone had departed and Ryuji watched its warm golden glow disappear behind trees and shrubbery, sighing as he shook out his shoulders. The path in front of him seemed to stretch out for miles, disappearing into the darkness of the night and a collection of trees in the distance, and Ryuji steeled himself and began to walk, Yusuke following close behind while Futaba and the bird slept soundly in his hoodie pocket. He stopped dead as something glowing yellow began to hop down the path towards them, only growing more confused when the sound of rattling metal graced his ears. A lantern stopped in front of him and bowed deeply, and, out of common curtesy, Ryuji bowed deeply back. The lantern then turned and began hopping up the path, stopping after a moment to stare at him.

“I guess it wants us to follow it,” Ryuji whispered and Yusuke nodded, nudging him forward reassuringly. He squared his shoulders. “Here we go.”

The lantern led them to a small cottage, pausing occasionally on the way to allow Ryuji and Yusuke to catch up, and leapt up onto the overhanging arch of the farm entrance gate as they stepped over the threshold, once again reduced to a regular lantern. Ryuji peered at it curiously in passing but headed straight for the door of the cottage.

To his shock, it opened the moment he was about to reach his hand out to knock. Inside, Makoto was sitting peacefully by the fire, a pair of glasses perched on her nose and book open in her hands, and she smiled at them. “Come in,” She told them, and Ryuji hesitated a moment before he stepped inside, the warmth of the fire instantly relaxing him. Yusuke, however, looked far more distressed.

“It’s alright,” Ryuji told him, shooting Yusuke a comforting smile. “Don’t worry.”

Makoto smiled at him, standing up and closing the book softly. “Your friend here is quite right, there’s no need to worry. I won’t hurt you.” Yusuke stepped inside and the door closed softly behind them as Makoto walked over to the stove top and lit it with a flick of her finger. “Do sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”

Yusuke complied immediately, taking his seat graciously at the table, but Ryuji walked up to Makoto’s side, the golden seal resting heavy in his palms. “Uh… Makoto, I believe Shu stole this from you. I’ve come to return it.” He said, thrusting his hands out towards her as he bowed deeply. “Please accept my sincerest apologies on behalf of him.”

“Now, there’s no need to be so formal,” Makoto told him gently, and Ryuji immediately straightened up as she took the seal back from him. “I accept your apology. I understand now that Shu had no choice in what he was doing, it was my fault for lashing out.” She frowned at the seal, peered at it more closely. “The protective spell is gone… how on Earth…”

Ryuji flushed red. “Oh, do you mean that slug?” he asked, and Makoto looked up in surprise. “I’m really sorry but I squished it.”

Makoto looked at Ryuji for a moment before she burst out into a peal of uncontrollable laughter. Ryuji watched her carefully as she calmed down and tucked the seal into the pocket of her dress. “That slug wasn’t mine,” Makoto told him, a devious smile on her face. “It was my brother’s. He put that slug inside Shu to control him and you went and squashed it.” She giggled again. “Oh, I can’t wait to see his face when he finds out…”

Ryuji frowned. “Then what happened to your spell?” He asked.

Makoto took Ryuji by the arm and led him gently to a chair, sitting him down as four mugs floated from the kitchen and placed themselves in front of Futaba and bird, Yusuke. Ryuji and Makoto, it was only then that Makoto sat down and the teapot floated over to pour their tea. “What happened indeed…” She hummed as she stirred sugar into the depths of her mug, eyeing Ryuji with a knowing smile. “Only love can break that spell.”

Ryuji choked on his tea and scaled his tongue. “Love?” He repeated weakly.

“Yes,” Makoto agreed with a smile. “Love. Young love is always the most beautiful don’t you think?”

“I’m not in love with him,” Ryuji spluttered. “I’m not.”

Makoto smiled again and leant daintily on her hand. “Really? If you’re not in love with his then why did you come all of this way to apologise for him and return the seal?”

Ryuji felt himself growing increasingly red. “I’m his friend, I was just doing him a favour.” He sighed then, ran a hand down his face in frustration. “Look, I don’t know what my feelings for him are, okay? All I know is this; He’s the kindest and most sincere man I know, the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles and he smells like roses and lavender and the ocean, he was there for him when I needed him most, and I could happily stay in his arms for as long as I lived.”

Makoto leant back in her seat and a took a sip of her tea. “It sounds to me like you saved each other.” She told him.

“I trust him wholeheartedly with my life and soul,” Ryuji replied simply and quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I do feel something for him. But how do I know what that something is?” He asked her, staring resolutely down at his hands.

“Listen to your heart,” Makoto began, resting a hand over her heart as she closed her eyes. “Press your palm against your chest, over your heart, close your eyes and listen. Can’t you hear it sing to you? Like a shell that you’d hear the ocean in when you lifted it to your ear.”

Ryuji did as he was told and frowned. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Feel the beat of it beneath your fingers, a gentle, comforting rhythm, and follow it to where it longs to go.” Makoto continued, her voice as smooth as silk, and Ryuji found himself drifting in the feeling of his own heartbeat, his entire body relaxing as he twisted and turned inside the sensations of his own head. “Allow yourself to get lost in it. Then you’ll find out what you want. What do you want, Ryuji Sakamoto?”

“I want Shu,” Ryuji replied without hesitation. “I want to eat ramen with him in the human world. I want my Ma back.”

Makoto smiled at Ryuji opened his eyes. “I think your own words speak volumes don’t you think?”

Ryuji nodded slowly before he turned to Futaba and bird, nudging them forward. “Can you change these two back into their original forms?” He asked.

“Oh, the spell on them wore off ages ago,” Makoto said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They can change back if they want.” Futaba shook her head wildly and Makoto chuckled and shrugged. “Each to their own.”

Yusuke took a sip of his tea and made a noise in Makoto’s direction, she scoffed. “Me and Akechi? We don’t get along at all, we’re twins but we’re nothing alike… and have you seen his house? How absolutely tacky.” She considered this a moment. “I don’t think he even sees it as a house per se.” She turned to Ryuji then, a sympathetic smile on her lips. “I’s like to help you, Ji, I really would, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s one of our rules here. You’ve got to help your parents and Shu on your own.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Ryuji asked, staring down into the depths of his mug.

“Just use what you remember about them,” Makoto told him simply. “And everything will come easily.”

Ryuji met her eyes and frowned. “All I know is that I must’ve met Shu once before but I don’t remember it.”

Makoto nodded her head. “That’s a good start.” She said. “Once you meet someone you never really forget them, it just takes a while for your memories to return.” Makoto stood up then, resting a hand gently on Ryuji’s shoulder as he looked back into his mug. “While you’re thinking, your friends and I are going to make you something. Don’t worry, Ji, everything will be fine.”

Ryuji settled into his chair and thought about how he couldn’t remember the last time someone told him everything was going to be fine.

Ryuji didn’t know how long he had been sitting in that chair by the door. Seconds, minutes, hour, or maybe even days, but he felt utterly exhausted. Every time he tried to think of where he’d seen Shu before, he kept thinking of him lying on the floor of the boiler room, close to death and surrounded by a pool of his own blood, and when he tried to think of anything else he thought of his mother, cold and alone and stuck as a pig in one of the pig pens.

Behind him, Makoto was teaching Yusuke how to knit while Futuba and bird spun the spinning wheel for Makoto. Ryuji stood up and walked over to them slowly, his body suddenly feeling years older.

“Makoto… I need to go home…” Ryuji began, and Makoto turned to him. “Shu could die while I’m just sitting here thinking, and my Ma could’ve been turned into bacon by now…” He trailed off, rubbing his eyes furiously with the back of his hand to avoid the tears pooling there from escaping.

Makoto gave him a sympathetic smile and turned back to something she was sewing. “Just wait a little longer…” She told him softly, stitching twice more before she grinned and pulled the thread, holding it out to him. “There we go! Keep this on your wrist, it’ll protect you.”

Ryuji took it gently from Makoto, peering down at it curiously. It was a plaited thread bracelet the colour of the sea, and when he turned it to and fro and finally slipped it onto his wrist, it sparkled every colour of the rainbow, though it didn’t seem to be made of sparkly thread.

“It’s beautiful.” Ryuji told her with a soft smile.

Makoto smiled back and gently pat Ryuji’s wrist. “I made it from the thread that your friends spun and wove together. Now you’ll never be without them”

Ryuji clutched his wrist to his chest. “Thank you.”

The windows rattled with a rather forceful gust of wind and Makoto smiled knowingly as she peered out into the inky darkness of the night. “What good timing,” she said as she turned back to her teacup. “Our final guest has arrived. Could you open the door for him, Ji?”

Ryuji nodded, already heading for the door. “Sure.”

He flung open the door and stopped dead, in front of him, uncut, unbruised, and practically perfect in every way, was a dragon with white-silver scales and a black mane. Ryuji didn’t hesitate as he flung himself at the dragon, his arms wrapping tight around the beat’s neck before his hands reached to cup his snout, pressing his forehead against his. Shu. The name echoed through his mind and Shu himself seemed to understand as he let his eyes flutter shut and pressed his forehead more firmly against Ryuji, a slow purr inching its way from between his teeth as Ryuji clutched onto him like he was a dying man and let his hands explore his face.

“Shu!” Ryuji cried, his name falling from his lips like he had been born to say it. “Shu! You’re alright… You’re okay.” A puff of hot air graced his cheek and Ryuji laughed, it was almost as if Shu was smiling at him, assuring him that he never should have worried. “Thank goodness.”

“Ah,” Makoto hummed, leaning casually on the doorway as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. “Young love.” Ryuji turned red at her words and faced her, his hands never leaving Shu’s mane. Shu bowed his head low upon seeing Makoto, his eyes squeezed shut. “Shu, I don’t blame you for what you did, but in return you must do something for me; protect Ryuji. Protect him with your life and soul and never have another regret again.”

Shu looked up at Makoto and nuzzled his head against Ryuji’s, huffing gently when Ryuji giggled and half-heartedly pushed his head away from him.

Makoto smiled, satisfied, and turned to Futuba and bird. “It’s time for you two to go home now, and, Futuba? Do me a favour and punch Akechi in the face.” Futuba giggled at that and gave Makoto a quick kiss on the cheek before bird flew her onto Ryuji’s shoulder. Makoto turned to Yusuke. “And as for you, Yusuke, why don’t you stay with me? You can be my helper.” Yusuke nodded in agreement, a smile crossing the painted features of his mask.

Ryuji looked at Makoto for a moment before he charged forward and wrapped her in a hug that she quickly reciprocated. “Makoto, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t worry,” Makoto told him. “Everything will be alright, Ji.”

Ryuji pulled back and held Makoto’s hand in his own. “I want you to know my real name. It’s Ryuji. Ryuji Sakamoto.” He told her and Makoto smiled.

“Ryuji Sakamoto,” She repeated, testing the name on her lips. “It’s a wonderful name. Take good care of it.”

“I will,” Ryuji promised.

Makoto pushed Ryuji back towards Shu, watching carefully as he climbed on his back. “Travel safe!” She called as Shu took slowly to the sky, allowing Ryuji one more exchange with Makoto. “Goodbye!” Ryuji waved until Makoto was just a small spec on the ground, and his hand dropped to take a firm hold of Shu’s mane when the forest below them turned into miles of clear ocean.

Ryuji’s hair was whipped back by the sea spray and wind, his fingers gripping tight onto Shu’s soft mane, and he allowed his eyes to close, allowed his lips to curve in a grin, and Shu chuckled beneath him when he leant up, tilted his head to the sky and whooped loudly into the wind. His legs rubbed against Shu’s scales and they felt like the gentle caress of river water, his mane brushed his face and Ryuji swore he felt seaweed.

I’ve known you since you were a child. Those had been Shu’s words, hadn’t they?

And then the realisation of it all smacked him in the face.

He was three and oh-so tiny. He was all black hair, wide dark brown eyes, and hands sticky with apple juice and whatever fruit his Ma had been feeding him before, she was smiling and blotchy. Her brow was an angry shade of red and purple and when he had tried to put a Hello Kitty plaster over it Ma had just laughed and gave him a wet kiss, she fiddled with her wedding ring, and she never took it off; not even to wash the dishes with the soapy suds that he loved so much.

Dad was there too, smiling serenely as he watched Ryuji play amongst the grass and drunk something that looked like Coca Cola from a bottle. He loved Coca Cola, but when he asked Dad for some, pulling on his jeans, he had taken one whiff of the stuff and almost gagged, burying his face into Ma’s shirt as Dad laughed. She had told him to stop in a hushed voice and Dad had grown angry, glared at her, called her a rude name he didn’t understand and told him to go play by himself while he talked to Ma.

He rattled a stick against a tin can and stuck his bare feet into the cold water of the river. He had snuck candy into the pocket of his dungarees and he had offered some to Ma when they went to the bathroom. It was her favourite candy, strawberry Puccho, and she had taken one kindly, but refused anymore, tucked the packet more deeply into his pocket and told him not to tell Dad. He splashed the water more proudly, being careful not to splash himself – he had dressed himself today like an explorer from one of the programmes Ma let him watch on low-volume when Dad was out of the house.

He could imagine snakes hanging from the tree branches, lions hiding among the tall grass and crocodiles in the river. He giggled then, dropped his stick into the river and stepped onto a rock. He looked around, stopped another stepping stone, and leapt to it. For a moment, he was victorious, standing tall on the mossy rock, and then his foot slipped and he tumbled backwards, falling into the icy chill of the water, his Ma’s cry ringing through the air.

The next thing he noticed was that he was lying on his back on the grass, his chest heaving and every part of him soaked to the bone. The feeling of the water was still there, caressing him gently, sticking to him like sweat on a warm summers day, and Ma was crowding over him, clutching him close as she sobbed into him. Ryuji hugged her back, his tiny arms clutching her head close, breathing in the scent of her lavender perfume.

And he remembered a boy. A boy about his age with curly black hair and eyes like clouded, molten silver. A boy who pulled him from the river and breathed life back into him. A boy.

A boy…

What did that boy look like again?

“Shu!” Ryuji cried, his voice barely carrying over the roaring wind in his ears as he grinned, leaning down to Shu’s ear to speak to him normally. “Shu! I know who you are now! I remember! I was out with Ma and my dad, it was a picnic that he had planned it was his idea. He had gotten angry, told me to play by myself while he talked to Ma… he hit her, that’s what I heard when I fell. I fell into the river, and I drowned, I was sure I drowned… died, except I didn’t, not really… because someone pulled me out.” The words were picking up speed now, falling from his lips quicker than he could register them. “I slipped. I thought there were crocodiles, I imagined crocodiles. But someone pulled me out, and… I think that someone is you! You pulled me out of the river Shu!”

Shu huffed beneath him, his entire body tensed. “Ma told me that story ages ago, the river is all filled up now, they built buildings over it.” He told him, his mind wandering. “Its name was the Akira River. I think that’s your name, Shu! The Akira River!”

Shu’s eyes widened as if he’d been shot, and Ryuji had to lift his arms up to shield his face as his scales flaked off and drifted off into the sky like cherry blossom petals, carried off into the wind before they disappeared into the sea spray. Ryuji reached out to steady himself, but found there was nothing to hold onto, and the body beneath him was growing smaller, he scrambled for it, his fingers clutching onto Shu’s sleeve.

And both were falling, tumbling down together, their hands interlocked tight, their eyes never leaving each other.

“That’s my name…” Shu repeated, dumbfounded before a grin stretched his lips. “That’s my name! My real name is Nigihayami Akira Nushi! My real name is Akira!”

Ryuji laughed and moved through the air to wrap Akira in a bone crushing hug before he leant back, cupped his face with his hands and planted a kiss on his lips. It tasted like sea spray and tears and river water, and he found himself melting when Akira clutched the front of his shirt, pulled him towards his body more closely, and kissed back.

They pulled back from each other, and Ryuji stared at him for a moment, opened his mouth. “Akira, I—” He began, and that was the only thing that left his lips before they slammed into the water beneath them. And, this time, like in the lavender field, neither of them let go.

When they reached the entrance of the bathhouse, clothes slightly damp and fingers interlocked, everybody seemed to be waiting for them. Akechi was standing in front of a pen of pigs that had been set up on the other side of the bridge from them, he looked the worse that Ryuji had ever seen him; his hair was a mess, he had dark purple circles under his eyes, and he’d dressed himself in mismatched clothing, as if he hadn’t been paying attention when he was picking out his wardrobe.

Ryuji stopped, hesitated, and Akira looked to him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, reassurance, and Ryuji smiled feebly before they crossed the bridge. Akechi smiled at him the moment he was close enough to talk to.

“I see the guest of honour has finally arrived,” Akechi said before his eyes snapped to whose hand his was joined to. “And I see he brought Shu with him.”

Shu gave Akechi a steely look. “Your deal, Akechi, release Ji’s mother.”

Akechi smiled, shook his head with a click of his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah! I get to give him one last test first,” He said with rather eccentric gesture. “It was part of the deal was it not?” He turned to Ryuji. “And as for you, you must guess which one of these pigs is your mother; if you guess correctly, I release your contract, turn your mother back and you’re free to go. If you guess incorrectly, however, you stay here forever, we eat your mother for supper and Shu’s blood pays for your own.”

Ryuji’s jaw dropped. “You’re a sick psychopath, you know that?” He hissed and Akechi laughed.

“I’m just merely getting my dues, Ji.” He replied.

Futaba leapt from Ryuji’s shoulder, scampered in front of Akechi and turned back into her human form. Akechi leapt back in shock before his face completely dropped, his eyes filled with a sudden fear at the look of Futaba’s face. “Futa—” Was all he was able to get out before Futaba reeled back and punched him hard in the face.

Akechi stumbled back, clutching his nose, and Ryuji watched as scarlet dripped between his fingers and stained the cobblestones beneath him, putting as much distance between him and Futaba before he fixed his nose.

Futaba glared at him, strode forward until she was in front of him again. “That was for keeping a prisoner for three hundred and fifty years! For threatening me, trying to blackmail me into marrying you, and for being a complete and utter asshole!” She punched him in the nose. “And that was from your sister.”

Blood was dripping steadily between Akechi’s fingers again, and he glared furiously at Futaba as he shoved his handkerchief to his nose, the white fabric blooming with red. “You’ll pay for this,” Akechi hissed, his voice coming out wet and distorted. “I’ll wring your neck, I’ll—”

“You’ll not be doing anything to me,” Futaba said harshly and Akechi immediately fell silent. “So I’ll offer you a deal. If you want to keep your life, you release Ryuji from his contract and relinquish the bathhouse to me, you’ll go and live somewhere else. And you’ll never return here again.”

Akechi smiled then. “Ryuji has to pass his test; I specialise in making curses not breaking them. If he passes this test the curse will be broken, I made it that way.”

Futaba grit her teeth and glared. “Fine,” she said. “Ryuji passes his test, and you relinquish ownership of the bathhouse to me, you leave and you never come back. Understood?"

Akechi went silent, looking directly into Futuba’s eyes before his gaze dropped and he stared resolutely down at the floor. “Fine.” He muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine. So, Ji, which one of these pigs is your mother?”

Ryuji dropped Akira’s hand after one quick squeeze and stepped forward, his eyes scanning the crowd of pigs. There were twelve in total, all remaining perfectly still and looking at him with curious eyes and their heads slightly tilted. His heart sunk in his chest as he looked back at Akechi, his face falling.

“There must be a mistake,” Ryuji said to him. “None of these pigs is my Ma.”

Akechi raised an eyebrow. “None? Is that your answer?”

Ryuji nodded and the contract in Akechi’s hand exploded into a puff of smoke, Futaba grinned and Akira wrapped him a comforting hug. At the same time, the pigs turned back into the spirit workers of the bathhouse, all grinning in congratulations, and the crowd that had collected around the entrance immediately erupted into applause.

Futaba turned to Akechi with a cruel smile. “I think you’ll be leaving?” She questioned and Akechi glared, cursed at her, and turned into a bird, flying away angrily into the distance.

“Ryuji!” Akira called and he turned, finding him standing at the other side of the bridge, waiting for him with his arm outstretched. Ryuji grinned and dashed to Akira, taking his hand in his own as they sprinted down the steps. “Your mother woke up at the other side of the river, she should be there waiting for you.” Akira told him.

Once they arrived at the place where the river once was, Ryuji blinked in shock. Instead of miles of water, there was a sea of grass that lead directly towards the station at the other end. “I can walk across,” Ryuji murmured. “It’s all grass.”

“But I can’t go any further,” Akira said and Ryuji’s head turned to him, eyes wide. “Not yet. Just go back the way you came, but you have to promise me that you won’t look back until you’re at the other side of the tunnel. Can you do that for me, Ryuji? Can you trust me?”

Ryuji immediately found himself nodding. “Yeah,” He agreed, his mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Akira nodded, smiling softly. “You should go.”

Ryuji moved to step forward before he stopped and turned to Akira. “Akira, I think I love you.” He said and Akira froze completely, his eyes widening. “I mean, I know I’m in love with you, so I must love you, right? Shit… this wasn’t how I wanted this to go…”

He trailed off and Akira startled him by cupping his face in his hands and tugging Ryuji’s face close to his. “Ryuji.” Akira said and Ryuji’s eyes snapped to his instantly. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“Will we see each other again?” Ryuji asked desperately, clutching at Akira’s hand that rested against his cheek. He never wanted to let go, not if it meant losing Akira forever.

Akira clutched him right back, pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. “I promise.”

Ryuji closed his eyes, lingered in the warm feeling of Akira’s touch once more before he broke away and dashed down the hill towards the station, forcing himself to look forward as tears pooled in his eyes and his legs ached terribly. He saw his mother looking out over the grass and waving at him as he drew closer, and when he jogged up to her side, she wrapped him a warm, lavender scented hug.

“Where did you wander off to?” Yui asked with a smile, leaning back to push hair from her son’s face, only to pause and frown when she saw him crying. “Ryuji… Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” She questioned gently, and Ryuji opened his trembling lips to say something before he burst into tears.

Everything that had happened to him; getting himself stuck in the spirit world, losing Yui, falling in love with Akira, rescuing Futaba from Akechi, had all piled up into one giant ball of emotion that he hadn’t even began to unravel until he laid eyes on his mother again for what felt like the first time in years. It was all he had ever wanted to have her human again, and now that she was here, rubbing his back, kissing his face and whispering comforting words to him that his heart longed for something else. It longed for Akira and the way he looked beneath him, surrounded by lavender flowers. It longed for how he held him tight, warm and as if the only place he’d ever belong would be in his arms. It longed for the way his lips felt against his and how intoxicating it felt to have him kiss back.

He felt terrible for even thinking of the spirit world now that he had gotten his mother back, but the ache buried itself deep in his heart in a way that he couldn’t quite shake himself from it.

“Come on,” Yui whispered into his hair, her arm around his shoulder guiding him back through the tunnel. “Come on, baby. Let’s go home.”

He thought of Akira, and how cute his curly hair was. Of the boy who rescued him all those years ago, of his eyes that looked like molten silver in the moonlight. How he carried himself with purpose.

Akira…

They passed through the tunnel and Ryuji’s mind instantly went blank.

What was his name again?

Kaisei High School was better than Ryuji expected it to be.

His teachers were nice, even kind to him, and he was able to join the track team with little to no problem. He had made friends with a boy who he shared books with for the first week of class called Yuuki Mishima, and they passed notes in class, doodled in the margins of their work books and thoroughly enjoyed superhero and spy movies. He had frequent conversations with a girl called Haru Okumura, who could most frequently be found on the rooftop tending to her plants.

Ryuji could never shake it but there was always something that he found a little too familiar about them. He wasn’t sure if it was in the way that Mishima always startled him by pouncing on him in the mornings, or if it was because Haru always moved with a regal sense of purpose, forever looking like she was gliding through water.

He thought about it as he sat on the roof, idly eating his lunch and gazing off onto the horizon. It was a Thursday, and one of the few lunchtimes where Mishima had his Computing and Programming club and Haru was off doing something else where, and he revelled in the feeling of being utterly alone on the roof top.

“May I join you?” A voice asked and Ryuji could hardly prevent himself for jumping. He turned and his eyes met a pair of grey ones that sported a pair of thick black glasses. The boy frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ryuji shook his head, laughed, and patted the free space beside him. “Nah, don’t worry about it man. Sit down.”

The boy smiled and took his seat, unwrapping his bento before he turned to Ryuji with his hand outstretched. “My name is Akira Kurusu, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ryuji smiled and shook Akira’s hand. “It’s nice to meet’cha. I’m Ryuji. Ryuji Sakamoto.” He peered at Akira more closely as he dropped his hand, watching as he pulled off his glasses. “So did you transfer here too?” He asked, and when Akira looked back at him, he felt like he had been slapped.

Those eyes, and that gaze, like liquid silver piercing his very soul was so chillingly familiar that it shook him right to his very core. There was a boy that he remembered a long time ago, one with messy, unkempt hair and eye like molten silver that he associated with the gentle caress of every river he stepped into. And there was a boy he remembered more recently, the same boy with curly black hair and eyes that sparkled under the moonlight.

“Shu,” Ryuji breathed and Akira gave him a large, dimply smile. “Akira…” And Ryuji fell into the arms he felt like he belonged in, his lips slotting Akira’s so perfectly. Akira didn’t even care when he knocked his lunch for his lap so he could straddle him, his arms curling around his neck to tangle in his hair.

All that he could think was that he was kissing Akira again, finally, and it was just as perfect as when he dreamt it at night and woke up crying, wondering why his heart ached for someone he had never met. But he had met him, he knew that now, and he remembered everything about him; how he smelt like roses, and how when he smiled genuinely the corners of his eyes crinkled and he got dimples, and most of all he remembered how Akira felt beneath him and how his lungs felt like they were on fire as they kissed.

“I love you,” Ryuji managed between kisses, not wanting to separate his lips from Akira’s for a second. “Fuck, I love you so much. I missed you so much…”

Akira drew back, planted a hot kiss on his neck. “I missed you too, I missed you so much…” He murmured against the soft skin of Ryuji’s neck. “I dreamt of you, of how it would feel to hold you again, to kiss you again.”

“I forgot you,” Ryuji confessed quietly, holding Akira just a little bit tighter – like if he let go he’s forget all over again. “I forgot you but I still dreamt about you. And I missed you so much that sometimes I woke up crying and wondering who you were. But I know now, I remember. And it was you.” He pressed his lips hard against Akira’s, his next words mumbled against them. “It was always you.”

He pressed his forehead against Akira’s and hugged him close. “Ryuji,” Akira mumbled against him. “Skip class with me, I want to take you somewhere. Would you like to go with me?”

Ryuji found himself nodding before Akira had finished talking. “I’d go anywhere with you.” He said and he allowed Akira to pull him off his lap ad help him to his feet.

Akira lead him out of the school grounds and down the main street, their fingers interlocked and their shoulders bumping every time they took a step. They finally stopped in front of a building and Ryuji looked up, his eyes scanning over the words, ‘LeBlanc’, before he peered inside the window; it looked busy for such a small café and it exuded a warm, golden glow and a feeling of the upmost comfort.

Ryuji turned to Akira in confusion. “Why’d you bring me here?” he asked

Akira just smiled. “Go inside.”

Ryuji peered at Akira for a moment before he dropped his hand and pushed open the door. Immediately he was greeted by the scent of brewing coffee and curry spices, and he closed his eyes to take a long, deep breath, and, when he opened his eyes and looked around, his mouth fell open.

“Hey,” Ann said, grinning at him from the booth she was perched in with Shiho, Yusuke and Makoto. “We finally found you, you dope.”

Futaba grinned at him from the bar. “Took you long enough,” she said. “What was the hold up?”

Sojiro nodded, a small smile crossing his lips while Ryuji looked to him, not really concentrating on the mug he was cleaning. “It’s good to see ya kid, and thank you for bring Futaba back to me.”

Futaba rolled her eyes. “Geeze, Dad, you’re such a sap.”

Yusuke smiled nervously. “Do you remember us?” He asked, only for Makoto to roll her eyes and punch him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

“Of course he remembers us,” She told him with a grin. “I can tell.”

Ryuji found himself floundering, unable to find the correct words to express how he felt. “How…? I…” His eyes fell on two familiar figures and a cat. “And you two… and Morgana?” Haru and Mishima smiled and exchanged a look.

Morgana flicked his tail, grinned. “Who else would it be, blondie?"

“Haru… Mishima…” Ryuji began, confusion filling his every sense. “Why are you…?”

Haru giggled, and it sounded like the tinkling of glass. “You probably don’t recognise me, but I’m the river spirit you cleansed, Ryuji.” She began, giving him a small wave. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, and thank you for all that you have done for me.”

Ryuji’s eyes snapped to Mishima and the boy laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I jumped at you when we first met. You breathed and I saw you crossing the bridge. I’m sorry for that by the way.”

Ryuji shook his head. “No, no… it’s fine, I just…” he breathed, looking around the room at his friends and the people who he had called family during his time in the spirit world. “I just can’t believe that you’re all actually here. I missed you guys so, so much.”

“Well we’re here now,” Ann told him with a smile.

Shiho nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and I believe you promised all of us ramen.”

Ryuji laughed then, hiding his face in his hands as he began to cry, and then he felt the first set of arms around him, squeezing him tight, and then another and another, until he was sure that everyone was hugging him tight and close, desperate to never let him go again. And he hugged them all back, allowing his tears to trickle freely down his face as he laughed, squeezed them tighter and promised never to let them go again.

And he never goes back on his promises.

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