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bunny-lily · 9 months ago

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Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them.

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air.

You envied them.

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia.

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So, why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before.

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse.

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation.

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it.

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last.

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively.

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word.

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether.

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward.

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded.

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing.

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you.

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver.

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway.

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud.

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went.

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done.

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living.

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door.

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no. A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them.

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing.

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you.

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not.

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close.

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food.

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction.

There was nothing.

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

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