#nanami momozono x jirou

[sabraeal]

want your heart (to be for me), Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Ice skating, the more Nanami thinks about it, is a genius idea.

It’s date-worthy, for one; even before she ushers Jirou into line at the skate rental, the ice is packed with couples. Sure, the rink is right in the middle of a major metropolitan shopping district, but it’s all soft eyes and meaningful looks under the fairy lights; a winter wonderland made real by the magic of snow machines and mood lighting. And for two, there’s very little physical contact. Oh sure, there’s a little hand holding— it’s practically kissing, Ami would squeal, if she heard— but it’s all through gloves, no skin contact at all, and certainly nothing intimate. Not that there’s much magic left for her in that after being dragged hither and yon by every half-inconvenience kami; they don’t even think to ask anymore before they grab her. No, they just pinch their godly hand around her palm and pull her right through the veil or whatever. At this point, she probably has the most trafficked hands outside of a boardroom.

And for third, well— they don’t need to look at each other. Not that Jirou’s hard on the eyes, but— gosh, that’s half the problem, isn’t it? It’s one thing to see him on Kurama, monk’s robes and prayer beads and red eyeliner on point; there he's a kami through and through, as much a part of the mountain as the sakura tree. But here there’s no wings to distract her, no ritual cosmetics to keep her from seeing that he’s just…hot. Not idol-hot, the way Kur— ah, Shinjirou is, though she doubts a scout would say no to all one hundred and ninety plus centimeters of him, even with his scars. But…regular hot-guy hot. The kind that make a girl stop in the street to double take, wondering if someone could actually walk around looking that good.

The kind Nanami normally wouldn’t care to give the time of day, but well— most of them don’t keep sneaking glances at her when she’s not looking, or blushing every time their bodies bump in the pre-Christmas crowd. Boys like that aren’t affected by her, but this one, unfortunately, is. And it’s…distracting to say the least.

The line jostles forward, lodging her shoulder right under his armpit, face pressed right to the gray wool of his coat, and— really, where does Kurama find this stuff? Her own winter coat’s nice, calf-colored and a good size to cinch around her waist, but it still itches if she rubs it against her skin. This practically begs a girl to linger, to let her cheek rest a little longer, to maybe even long for a strong arm to wrap around her shoulders—

Nanami springs away, heat thundering up to her cheeks, pound of her heart nipping at its heels. Oh ho ho, no. She won’t be falling for any of Kurama’s tricks, thank you. Wouldn’t that be just like him, encouraging…canoodling through the strategic application of cashmere or whatever.

Jirou, however, hasn’t noticed. No, his attention is twisted over his shoulder, fixed to where couples idly circle the rink, eyes squinted and suspicious.

“Explain it to me again.” His heavy brows knot over the stern slope of his nose, uncertain. “We strap blades to our feet and attack the ice? And we do this for…entertainment?”

“It’s fun,” she assures him, resting a hand on that soft wool again; this time on the much more relationship-neutral sleeve area. “Have you really never gone skating? It seems like the sort of thing a bunch of boys would get up to after a couple hundred years.”

His shoulders heave, as casual a shrug as a mountain of a man like him can make. “It doesn’t snow on Kurama Mountain.”

A laugh sputters out of her; Mt Fuji already has its snow cap, and even if Kurama isn’t nearly as tall, it still gets more than its fair share of the stuff, especially this time of year—

But Jirou doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, doesn’t show a hint of anything in his eyes besides that same steady earnestness she found below the temple. “How is that even possible? Didn’t Kifune just get a dusting last week? You guys should have…?”

Been romping around in the first snow of the season, that’s what she wants to say. But Jirou just stares down at her, the faintest hint of melancholy in the dark shadows of his eyes, and she knows: he lives in the spiritual realm. Sure, it might look like the rest of the mountain— the temple even sits right where Kuramadera does, pathways twisting right up along its sides— but it’s different. A place where a sakura tree can bloom year round, littering each tengu hatched beneath its branches with plush pink petals; children of its roots born into a world of eternal spring.

It doesn’t even have a pond, now that she thinks about it. Just a bunch of wells that probably don’t lead to real springs, but like, some weird spiritual equivalent, and— ugh, if she thinks about this any longer, her head is going to hurt.

“Well, don’t worry about it! It’s easy.” She puffs out her chest, giving it a prideful pat. “I’ll teach you.”

Tomoe would have scoffed— what could a human like you teach me, he’d say, every elegant movement of his hands perfect in a way she could only dream of being, when you’ve only just managed to stop banging sticks together. But Jirou—

Jirou’s breath catches in that cavernous chest of his, all the more obvious with clothes that cling to him the way these do, dark eyes gone so wide she can see the whites. “Land God, you honor me, but I hardly deserve your—”

It’s an Olympic level leap that claps her hands over his mouth before he can get warmed up enough to mention her divine attention, or, god forbid, start bowing.

“Shh! Shhhh! I told you not to call me that here. Just Nanami is fine!” She lowers from her trembling tip toe, her palm lingering over his lips for one moment— two moments, maybe— more. Just to make sure. He’d done just fine using her name in front of Kei, there was no need for any of this…Land God stuff out here right where normal people could hear them. “And it’s not a big deal, really! You taught me to fly, after all. It’s only fair.”

“You are already repaying me for my help with that task,” he reminds her, eyes narrowed. “That is why you consented to be my guide, is it not?”

“Ahh, yeah, but this is, um…part of it!” She lays her brightest smile on him; it’s her best hope for a distraction. Well, short of touching him in a real, purposeful way— not just this casual brush of hands over his sleeve or hands bumping together— and considering how he’d handled that beneath the temple, it risks a little too much collateral damage for her taste. “I can’t bring you here to do the very human pastime of ice skating if you can’t skate, can I?”

His mouth pulls thin, considering her point.

“I suppose.” The fight seeps from the firm line of his shoulders. “So long as it isn’t too much trouble?”

“Oh come on,” she laughs, waving a hand. “What could go wrong?”

*

In retrospect, the warning signs — omens, Mizuki would have called them, tooting on his stupid flute— present themselves early. The guy manning the skate rental, for one, who took a good look at Jiro’s two meters plus and muttered, “I’ll have to check what they have in the back.”

The skate laces for another, which is a surprise to say the least.

“But you’ve worn kimono before,” Nanami reminds him, his pale scars standing out more starkly from the deep pink of his skin. “It’s the same principle. Just like…on your feet!”

“I grasp the fundamentals.” She kneels in front of the bench, his knees brushing her shoulders, and Jiro wrenches his chin to the side, the slightest strain in his voice when he adds, “It’s the practical application that confounds me.”

“You were wearing boots, weren’t you?” she huffs, sitting back on her heels. “Didn’t you have to tie those yourself?”

“Shinjirou—”

His teeth snap shut with a clack, and ah, for all of Kurama’s complaining over hosting his grim onii-san, even trying to extract a date of his own out of her as compensation— that wild fox would eat his own tail, wouldn’t he? he hummed, too intrigued with the idea for any interest to be leftover for her— he’d put this all together himself. The soft coat, the perfectly tailored jeans, even getting down on his own knees to tie his bootlaces— Kurama had put effort into this.

“All right, well, pay attention, okay?” He glances down, cheeks red as she crosses his laces tight. “The bunny runs around the tree, and goes into the hole…”

*

It’s not until she gets him out onto the ice, however, that the shape of her mistake really starts to show itself.

“Um, Jirou?” She peeks out from around his elbow, watching the bulky muscle in his jaw flex. “You’ll have to actually…get out the gate to skate.”

“I don’t know how,” he informs her, knuckles white where he clutches either side of the wall. “Am I supposed to follow a…current of some kind?”

Nanami watches the couples meander past like leaves traveling through a gentle stream, and well, there’s worse metaphors, she supposes. “That’s not a bad way to think of it. Everyone is traveling in the same direction, but you kinda have to move on your own.”

“How?”

It’s practically a growl, and from a chest like his, it should be intimidating, the sort of thing that sends shivers down her spine. But instead Nanami bites back a giggle, and informs him, “One skate at a time!”

“So I have assumed. But how am I supposed to—”

“I’ll show you,” she promises, sliding off her guards. “But you have to let me on the ice first.”

“I’m trying—”

Her hands press to his back, and even through the wool of his coat, she feels his breath stutter, the bluster snuffed right out of him.

“Maybe,” she grunts, tensing her muscles. “You should try harder—”

On solid ground, she’d have no hope of moving him— he’s head and shoulders taller, for one, and used to standing his ground against fledglings her size for another— but with both blades firmly on the ice, he slides forward, arms flailing out to grab something, anything—

Until he falls face-first onto the rink.

“All right,” she coughs. “Let’s, um, try that again.”

*

It’s a trial to get him upright; maybe one of his other brothers might have been more help, if only because they're stronger, and— much as she hated to admit it— much, much taller. But between her middling height and his inclination to treat the ice like a cat does a bath, well…

“What if you just hold on to me for now?” It’d be easier to keep him steady closer to the rail, but between her lucky push and both their flailing, it’s a trek they’re unlikely to make. At least with all these other skaters between them and the wall. “Once you get some momentum, it’ll be easier to start moving, you know?”

“I think,” he sniffs, stiff as a board beside her, “I have experienced enough momentum for a lifetime.”

“Good thing you’ve got several to go then, huh?” She grins, even in the face of his withering stare. “Come on, ‘fall down seven times, get up eight,’ right? You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“I have no interest in falling down seven times,” he informs her. “The once was enough.”

“No, no, you got it now, I can tell. Here”— her hand wraps around his, palm hotter than those drug store hand warmers even through his gloves— “just let me pull you a little.”

“N-no, I”— there’s not so much words but noises as she squeezes, and all of them are negative— “don’t…”

Nanami hasn’t gotten this far listening to kami that tell her no, and she’s not about to start now. Botanmaru and the other little tengu might have quivered under Jirou’s glare, but she only grins.

“Come on, just a little— there we go!” Her own skates catch under her, the energy she’s putting in finally equal to the energy he’s putting out, tipping their momentum from a standstill to a gentle— albeit wobbly— glide. “You’re moving!”

Jirou might be the size of a man— larger than one, really, one of the tallest ones she’s seen on or off Kurama Mountain— and his legs might not shake beneath him, but just like every other kid’s first time on the ice, they widen, nearly tipping him right over before he catches himself. One skate stamps on the ice before it smooths to a glide, dragging the other behind. He doesn’t get far before he nearly overbalances again, struggling to get the other foot beneath him, to stand the way he might on solid ground, but—

But he does it, this time pushing off the leg the way he’s supposed to, weight a little too much on the inside to get him much farther than a few stuttering slides. There’s a light in his eyes though, a spark of interest, a puzzle halfway solved. It’s easier for him to get the next foot beneath him, then the next, falling into a toddling rhythm of step-skate, step-skate, and—

And he smiles. Not one of those nasty little sneers he wore when he got one over on Kurama or one of his other brothers, or the shy tight-lipped smile he would give her when they spoke, but— victorious. Joyful and dangerous all at once; the sort of grin generals must have gotten in ancient times when the battle was won and they could start looking forward to the spoils.

It’s not until his eyes lock on her, dark and focused in a way that makes her breath catch, that she remembers: she’s the only prize on the ice worth taking. At least to him.

It should be terrifying— he’s so much bigger than her, a kami in all the ways that count instead of just in name, and she’d seen the cruelty he’s capable of, given the right incentive. But the shiver that runs through her is a promise instead of a plea, growing warm-- no, hot as he straightens, approaching her not with a bird’s grace but a predator’s slow prowl.

Maybe this is the reason for all of Kurama’s rules; that laundry list of no-nos the Soujoubou has posted up in every brother's heart. It wasn’t the tengu who found themselves distracted by the mortal woman at the foot of the mountain, but the village women seeing J-Pop idol faces and shoulders used to bearing wings large enough for a man to take flight, and just thinking, what do the guys got around here that can compete with this?

He’s close enough to loom now, extended to almost his full height, and oh, if he just unfurled his wings this would be like one of those book covers she sees in the store, dangerous and divine all at once. And then his eyes widen, her only warning before he completely overbalances the other way, sprawling ass-first on the ice— and with her hand still locked in his, taking her with him.

“Ow,” is the first thing she thinks to say, followed by, “Oh, no!”

It requires a little wriggling to get an arm free, the ice seeping through the fleece-lined stretch of her tights as she rolls up onto her knees. “Are you alright? It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

“It will take more than that to harm a tengu of Kurama Mountain,” he informs her, sitting upright— fast enough that she nearly spills back into the ice. But one of his hands shoots out, steadying her, and she settles onto her heels instead. “You, however, are only human.”

Another girl might shrink under the measuring stare he turns to her, quailing under the narrow angle of his skepticism, but Nanami only waves him off with a laugh. “I’m fine. Really! I’m made tougher than I look, okay!”

He grunts, unconvinced, but at least he doesn’t start fussing the way Tomoe would, checking bones and joints for the smallest twinge of pain. Instead he just sits there, staring, and—

Oh, she’s…she’s right between his knees. Kneeling there, having a whole conversation, when he’s only…

“Maybe skating was a bad idea.” The words all fall out of her in a jumble; she hardly even knows she’s said anything— like really said anything, not just thrown up some word salad— until Jirou’s eyebrows furrow. “It was silly to think you’d pick up on it the first time you tried. I’m not even that good at it either! It's like the blind leading the blind in here, right? If you’re getting tired of this, we can just go back and—”

“What do you mean ‘if I’m getting tired of this?’” He bares his teeth, surveying the rink with all the eagerness of a kid half his age. Well, half the age he looks, anyway. “I’m only just starting to get good at it.”

There’s no production when he stands now, skates staying right where he puts them.

“Come, Nanami.” He holds out his hand, that grin aimed directly at her, way too dangerous. “What was it you said? We have only fallen down twice, which means there are five more times to go.”

“That’s not what that means,” she says, but she’s already getting to her feet. “But sure. Falling five more times seems like a plan.”

*

Jirou might have promised falling down, but in the half hour since he’d given her a hand up, he hasn’t done it once. He just watches a few of the better skaters glide past, and in no time he’s speeding around the rink, spraying ice as he pulls to a stop beside her, the little shavings melting the instant they touch her tights.

“I must admit,” he says, watching where she idles against the railing, thighs already burning from her few shaky passes around the rink. “When you first proposed this ice skating, I did not quite understand the appeal. But now I see— it’s the closest these frail mortal bodies of yours can come to flying.”

It’s tempting to put him in his place, to tell him about airplanes, or skydiving or parasailing or any of the half dozen ways all these frail mortals have found to bring themselves a little closer to the sky, but instead she goes with, “So you like it?”

This is where Tomoe would fumble, would trip over himself to deny anything of the sort; it was natural for a yokai like him to excel in any human endeavor, but another thing entirely to enjoy it. So when Jirou turns to her, smile all victory and teeth, she’s unprepared for his enthusiastic, “Yes!”

Her jaw smacks her scarf, but there’s no time for her to recover, for her to even wrap her mouth around a shocked oh before he’s holding his hand out to her. “Would you do me the honor of joining me?”

It’s gloved of course, supple leather clinging to every contour of his knuckles, hand-picked by Kurama to fit like a— er, well, glove. They would have to be, after all; Jirou doesn’t come in a size that’s off the rack. Nanami might not be tall for a girl, but she’s not small either, and yet when she’d tried to wrap her hands around his earlier, her thumbs and fingers hadn’t even come close to touching, like a little girl trying to hold her dad’s hand—

“Nanami?”

Oh gosh, she’s staring. At his hand. “Y-yeah!”

The night might be cold, but Jirou’s hands are warm. Seriously warm, even with the layers of leather and cloth knit between them. She’d known that, of course— how could she not, when he’d had to catch her time after time those first few days at Kurama. Her new wings had been weak as a hatchling’s when they’d first grown, feathers patchy in places and grown in at odd angles, and though she’d been happy enough to fling herself from the highest outcroppings, the wind wouldn’t catch her the way it was supposed to. Wouldn’t hold her the way the other tengu told her came naturally.

And so it was Jirou who would scoop her out of her falls, stomach swooping with the sudden stop, patient in a way she hadn’t seen during that first visit with Botanmaru. Even with all the other tengu whooping and hollering— encouragement for her, and heckling for their former Soujoubou— he’d kept putting her on solid ground and telling her, give it a moment before you try it again.

She hadn’t of course, but, well, time was of the essence. Tomoe had been waiting for her.

Fat load of good that’d been in the end. Maybe she should have left him with his sky princess. At least then he wouldn’t be mad at her anymore.

“Nanami.” Her name rumbles out of him, concerned. “If you do not pay attention to what is in front of you, you’ll stumble once again.”

It’s kind of stupid how quickly he's picked all this skating stuff up-- some real godly bullshit, honestly. If she wasn't enjoying herself so much, she might start taking it personally that this being-naturally-good-at-stuff thing never seems to happen to her.

“Oh!” She shakes herself, tracing leather-gloved hand to woolen sleeve to furrowed brow, and— and it’s strange how Jirou doesn’t look away, doesn’t pretend he’s not concerned for her at all. How he doesn’t tell her to hurry up and pay attention, but lets them coast until she does. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry about that.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me.” The serious line of his mouth hooks at a corner, and he squeezes her hand. “I am not some weak human. I have all the time in the world.”

For you. He doesn’t say it, but somehow his eyes do, right before he turns them back to the ice, guiding her around the corner. I have all the time in the world for you.

*

“So what next?” Nanami flops down onto the bench, thighs already burning. Hopefully Kei’s apartment has one of those fancy baths, the ones with all the jets and stuff, otherwise she’ll be all aches in the morning. “We’ve done shopping, ice skating…any other human stuff you’ve been dying to do?”

“I believe that is up to you.” Jirou does much better untying his skates than he did tying them; with only a few tugs he has both sitting on the bench beside him, socked feet hovering uncertain above the pavement before he reaches for his boots. It seems cold concrete is too much even for yokai— or kami, or whatever the tengu considered themselves. “You are my guide, are you not?”

“Well, yeah.” Her shoes are easy to handle— just little boots that zip up the side, heels giving her an extra couple of centimeters, enough to at least give his shoulder a run for its money. But Jirou is used to tabi and wara-zori, stuff he can just slip on his feet and forget about, so of course Kurama’s settled him with a pair of boots that require strategy to get on and off. When he settles his boots in front of him, it’s clear he doesn’t know where to start. “But this is your first time down here. I figure I can take requests.”

“That is kind of you, Nanami.” It’s funny to watch his feet flex, uncertain, before he grits his teeth and shoves one of them down past the laces. Kurama could have been kinder when he selected these from whatever fancy Big & Tall section he found; there had to have been ones that pulled on or zipped up instead of laced, jack boot style. “But I trust your guidance. That is why I asked you to take me, and not Shinjirou.”

It doesn’t take much to imagine what sort of tortures Kurama would inflict on his least favorite brother: crowds and concerts and high class clubs with VIP rooms— or, if he was feeling particularly perverse, maybe even karaoke. A dream for any one of his fan club, for sure, but an expertly curated nightmare for the former fourth Soujoubou.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Nanami leans back on her hands, the metallic chill of the bench biting through her gloves. “I am starting to get hungry. Maybe we should go and get some din—”

Her teeth clamp hard around that last syllable. Dinner. It’s a definite date activity, for sure; one that would really double down on the good time she intended to show him, but—

But she hadn’t meant for this to be a date, not when she agreed to this whole tour guide thing. It was just supposed to be an outing, the kind friends did when they had nothing better to do on their day off. Just because Mizuki said that Jirou thought they were on one doesn’t mean she actually has to follow through— or that she should. After all, what would Tomoe think when he came back? She wouldn’t keep something like this from him— not when Mizuki would be so quick to inform him of his new position as persona non grata, no longer needed now that Nanami would clearly be packing her bags for Kyoto soon. And then she’d have to explain herself, like always, and she’s pretty sure I went on a date by accident because I have a real fear of disappointing people wouldn’t be as compelling explanation for a fox who lived by the motto of act first, laugh at the idea of permission later.

“Nanami.” It’s gruff, the way he says it, as stilted as the line of his shoulders. “You seem…uncomfortable.”

“M-me? No, No.” She shakes her head way, way too hard. “I’m not, really. I just…”

Am already tired of dealing with a problem that hasn’t even happened yet. No way she can say that either; she may not be able to see Mizuki, but she’s certain those words would wend their way back to Tomoe’s ears somehow.

Jirou stares at her, frown as furrowed as his brow. “We do not have to continue if this is not an enjoyable encounter for you. You have more than fulfilled your end of the bargain, there is no need to—”

“No!” Ah, she hadn’t meant to shout— and hadn’t meant to grab him either, but here she is with a death grip on his sleeve. “No, I’m…I’m having fun, really. Loads. Honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had since…”

Gosh, it’s embarrassing that she can’t even remember. The past few weeks have just been one crisis after another, blurring together into one endless bad time that stretches infinitely forward and back.

“A while,” she finishes, lamely. By the skeptical look Jirou slant at her, he’s not convinced.

“If you are concerned about injury to my feelings”— his voice may be gentle, but every part of him is braced, waiting for impact— “you may take heart in the fact that I would prefer a small discomfort on my part, rather than pain on yours.”

“I’m not uncomfortable! I’m having a really good time!” She huffs, her breath ruffling the hair that’s fallen out from where she’d parted it. “It’s just…”

He turns to her, boots on but still untied— it’d be a look if Kurama did it, and Jirou’s nearly handsome enough to pull it off too— and simply…waits. Just stares at her, all the intensity that stole him the Soujoubou’s seat now directed at her.

She doesn’t mean to say anything, really— at least nothing important— but those dark eyes fix on her, just her, and she blurts out, “Doesn’t this feel like a date or something?”

He blinks, long and slow, before saying, “I’m not sure I would know.”

Of course not; he’s never even been off the mountain before. Had barely known women existed until she traipsed onto the mountain, trying to fix all of Botanmaru’s problems. And here she is, worrying that he’s thinking about dates, that he might even be disappointed if she didn’t perform one to his exacting standards, and—

“But I was hoping it would be.”

Her jaw jostles from how hard it drops. “E-excuse me?”

“Please do not misunderstand. I would never presume that you meant for this to be anything more than a favor to a fellow god.” His arms fold over the wide expanse of his chest, eyes closed and turned from her. “It is simply…just as crows cannot change their color, a man cannot change what his heart desires.”

The air in her lungs is entirely too thin to manage more than a soft, “Oh.”

“You need not worry, I have no expectation of my hopes being fulfilled in that regard. My brother has already happily forewarned me that you were still wasting your time with that wild fox. My only wish was to see the world you belonged to, and”—for all the stern lines he’s structured his frown around, it does nothing to hide the pink that seeps into the tips of his ears, or at the highest parts of his cheeks— “why you loved it. I was simply…curious as to why you would choose to live here, rather than on Kurama Mountain. I am sorry if my intentions seemed…unclear.”

“No, that’s…they were clear.” Provide you were looking, and that you weren’t an idiot. Both things Nanami missed the mark on. “And this isn’t just some favor to a fellow god. This is a favor to a friend.”

He blinks. “…Friend?”

“Yeah, one who helped me when I don’t think they really wanted to.” By the rueful grin he tries to hide behind his coat collar, she's not wrong. “And I think…”

She swallows, gathering her courage. “I think it would be fine, if this was a date. Not a real one of course!” she hurries to clear up as his wide eyes dart toward her. Tomoe might not be able to admit he wants to date her himself, but there’s not a doubt in Nanami’s mind over just how well he’d take the information that she’d been out on a date with some other god. “More like…a demonstration. A, er, practice date.”

A stormy little knot ties itself right above Jirou’s nose. “Practice…date?”

“Right.” She nods, as if that might lend this an air of authenticity. Or intelligence. “So you know what to expect when you go on a real date.”

“Ah.” His teeth flash in a quiet sort of humor. “Of course. A…real date.”

It’s her turn to frown, now. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” He fixes her with that singular attention again, and really, this guy needs to meet another girl, if only so that someone gets to take advantage of all this tengu intensity. “If that is an amenable solution to you, then I have no complaints.”

“Great!” She claps her hands together, pleased. “So is there anywhere you want to go? Now that we’re on a date, I mean.”

He tilts his head, considering the question. More than it really warrants, in her opinion, but Jirou’s not the sort of guy to take things easy. “You mentioned you were hungry, did you not?”

“Oh, yeah!” She leans toward him on the bench, grinning. “You know, dinner’s a pretty common thing to do on a date. Looking for anything in particular.”

“I must admit…” His gaze shifts, embarrassed. “I am curious about these donuts you once spoke of.”

“Donuts?”

“Mamorinogami once traded you his Peach Elixir for a taste of one, did he not?” His cheeks might still be red, but Jirou turns to her, stretching every last centimeter to loom over her. “They seem to be a worthy meal, even if they were made by human hands.”

“Ah…right.” No need to tell him it was actually a meat bun, made to taste like a donut. That's another one of those little things she doesn't need making it into godly ears. Gossips, the whole lot of them. “Donuts for dinner it is!”

[edensrose]

❝ no matter how 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 and 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 my life is right now , someday . . . 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘺 , a day will come when I can 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮 everyday ❞

╭˚ ༘♡ ·˚ rules + notes₊˚ˑ ੭

︰‧₊˚ʚ ::writing masterlist ꒷꒦ ˖˚˳⊹

︰·˚ ༘❀art masterlist ꒱

╰˚ ༘♡ ·˚my own characters₊˚ˑ ੭

[sabraeal]

want your heart (to be for me), Part 1

[Read on AO3]

The last of my Holiday Gifts for the year, posted a few weeks late due to this particular fic growing COMPLETELY out of control. It was supposed to be a one shot, but since this is nearly 5K in and of itself...I decided two parts would be the best decision.

A god’s work, Nanami has found, is never done.

She spends two weeks rolling about the ocean floor, trying to untangle the complex politics of the courts of the sea gods and their tumultuous marriages, but when Himemiko’s wedding drama settles enough for the waves to spit her back out on land, she’s sure-- certain, really-- that this time she’ll keep her feet dry and nose clean long enough to make it through exams.

That is, until some sky god falls in love with Tomoe, stealing him away to her cloud city or whatever. Three days of growing wings-- painfully one bone at a time-- and nearly a week of learning how to use them all ends in a burst of shimmering feathers the moment her toes touch the tip of Mount Kurama, all her hard work amounting to little more than pillow stuffing. Two days before the test.

Her just-barely passing marks would be worth it, if only that jerk would appreciate the effort.

“Thanks again for letting me stay, Kei-chan.” Nanami’s sure to put on her brightest smile, the one that makes Tomoe choke and Mizuki sigh.

Kei barely bothers to look up from her phone. “What? Oh, yeah, no problem.”

“Really--” she sprinkles a little more earnestness on this one, teeth hurting as she keeps them bared-- “it means a lot to me! It would have been a real pain trying to get back to the shr-- home tonight.”

“Yeah, totally, I get it. You really live out in the boonies.” Her fingers fly across the keyboard, nails ticking and tacking in the same staccato bursts as a typewriter. Or gunfire, maybe, considering the amount of bodies she’s leaving behind. “It’s no problem. My parents are never home, so you can come by whenever.”

Nanami blinks. “Wha--? Really?”

“Why not?” Her shoulders twitch in what might be a shrug’s lazier cousin. “I mean, I’ll probably be on a date, but if you need a place to be...the door’s not always open, because I don’t need my stuff stolen, but it’s here.”

It’s not the first time she’s had the rug ripped out from under her, but this is the first time it’s felt like a magic trick. Sure she stumbles, but she’s still on her feet, and what’s beneath her is so much sturdier than some raggedy old tablecloth. “That’s really kind of y--”

Kei flicks off her screen like punctuation.“Ami-chan’s at the door.”

The girl’s all limbs, but when Kei sweeps up from the couch it’s graceful, in a way Nanami could never manage. Or well, in a way she’d think she’d be able to, up until Tomoe slunk in with his stupid smirk, insinuating that everything about her was so unfortunately human. “Make yourself at home or whatever.”

“Oh, okay,” she murmurs faintly from the floor, the impulse to jump up and hug her fading as Kei strides through the door. “Thank you, I gue--”

The door slams shut on any more earnestness. Knowing Kei, that’s on purpose.

“Well well, Nanami-chan,” a reedy voice pipes from behind her, more confident in its welcome than it deserves, “it’s not quite as spacious as home, but I suppose we could do worse.”

Nanami twists around so tightly she nearly wrings herself out, her limbs tangled up so hopelessly that she can do little more than gape as Mizuki paws through Kei’s bed, making himself right at home. “Mizuki, what--?”

“As much as I hate to give that wild fox any credit, he certainly dreams up better bedding than this. Is this even real cotton?” He tugs at the fitted sheet, mouth thinning out to a grimace. “Ah, well. Beggars and choosers.”

“What are you doing?” Here, specifically, but she’ll settle for any answers that wrap up before Kei can saunter back in, Ami in tow. “You’re supposed to be back at the shrine!”

“Where else would I be?” he asks her, expression rumpled reproachfully. “I’m your familiar, Nanami-chan. If you’re leaving because of that nasty fox, then I will help you settle in your new shrine. Even if it means I’ll have to cut back on my brewing.”

Mizuki’s words may be nothing but aggressive support and positivity, but the disparaging glance he spares Kei’s bedroom-- well, he could teach the mean girls at school a thing or two.

“I’m not leaving! And certainly not because of Tomoe!” There’s no sense in doing that when he’s already spending all of his time sulking in the spirit realm, punishing her for daring to enjoy a kiss. “It’s just a long walk from the city to the shrine. It’s not safe for a girl in the dark!”

At least, that’s what Ami had told her, wide eyed and trembling. It’s the sort of thing Nanami would typically wave off-- it’s hardly the first time she’s had to make that walk after the sun’s set, and it certainly won’t be the last if Tomoe’s going to bury himself in tanuki every time her crush rubs his fur the wrong way-- but Kei put her phone down, serious, and agreed. And when Ami added, especially since Tomoe is out of town with his family, for good measure, and well--

Stretching her legs outside of the shrine seemed like a better and better idea every minute.

Mizuki tilts his head, eyes narrowing until he’s more snake than human. “You’re right,” he decides. “It’s much better for you to be here. I’d hate to think what that wild fox would do if he caught you on your date.”

Nanami whips around with a yelp. “My what?”

“Your date,” he clarifies, too confident for someone living so far from reality. “With the crow god.”

“Oh, that.” She laughs, the tension slumping straight out of her shoulders. “That’s not a date. I’m just showing Jirou around the city. It’s the least I can do after he taught me how to use those stupid wings.”

They hadn’t felt stupid at the time; no, they’d felt powerful and dangerous, like she was a Real God, not just some high schooler thrust into the spirit world at the whims of a butterfly who thought she might make a good lesson for his familiar. Ha. If she’s a lesson, it’s one Tomoe sure isn’t happy to learn.

“Oh.” Mizuki pulls the sound too long; goosebumps pimple up her arms. “Well, I suppose he will be very disappointed, then.”

A strange knot knits itself in her stomach, heavy as a stone, rattling around as she shifts onto her hip, frowning at him. “What do you mean by that? This is what he asked for.”

Or rather, he’d said, I have grown curious about this mortal world. I want to see why it draws so many crows off the mountain. Same difference, if you ask her.

Mizuki stares at her. “You told him it was a date.”

Her jaw drops. “I did not.”

“You did, you said--” he pitches his voice higher, nothing like her own-- “Is that all? It’s a date!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she insists, cheeks burning. “It’s just-- it’s a saying. I’m sure he knows that.”

Even still, Nanami can’t forget the wide-eyed way Jirou had looked at her, nor his murmured, is it...?

Mizuki hums, unconvinced. “If you say so, Nanami-chan.”

Her mouth opens. To say just what, she’ll never know, since the door flies open at the same time, and with the reflexes of a god-- or a girl who has learned not to get caught-- she shoves Mizuki straight out the window.

Ami blinks, staring at the place he sat only seconds ago. “Did you just--?”

“Hey, keep it moving,” Kei snaps from behind her. “We don’t got all night, do we? Nanami’s got a date to go on.”

“It’s not a date.” She’s sure of that, certain, but as Kei elbows her way into the room, dropping down to her vanity with an expression that could only be called stern, it comes out much meeker than she‘d managed with Mizuki. “It’s just an old friend--”

“Whatever.” A drawer rattles open, and oh, Nanami had thought her little compact with two shades of blush was the height of luxury, but Kei’s got enough make up to glam up a small country. “You want to look hot or not?”

“Ah...” Nanami blinks. There’s glitter in there. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt...”

Kei’s the kind of girl whose mouth is too sharp for smiles, but a smirk fits her just fine. “That’s what I thought.”

“So what’s the deal?” This is the longest she’s ever seen Kei without her phone, her hands too busy dancing across an absolutely massive palette instead. It’s the sort she’s only seen in store windows to make the big ones look reasonable by comparison. “Should we take pictures of his license plate? Have Ami follow you in disguise?”

“Me?” Ami hiccups, flushed.

“Well, I can’t.” She sniffs, reaching into her vanity for yet another little plastic case. “I’ve got a date too.”

“Ah, no, that’s not--” Nanami imagines Kei flashing a phone in Jirou’s face and can’t decide whether to laugh or grimace-- “he’s a friend, I promise. That’s all.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Kei warns her sagely, unimpressed. “But guys our age only have one thing on their mind.”

“Oh, well, he’s, er...” It’s impossible to explain that he’s an ageless being that typically sits in a hall outside of time and space. “A little older. So it’s fine.”

“How did you meet?” Ami asks, so sweet-- too bad it’s drowned out by Kei’s, “Does he have a brother? Friends?”

Somehow she doubts that either Kurama-- er, Shinjirou or Jirou would appreciate her spreading around that they were related. Or, well, whatever the tengu had going on, living on Kurama. “Through, er, Tomoe’s family.”

Ami’s eyes round. “Oh.”

“What about that guy anyway?” Kei leans back, her hand guiding Nanami’s chin this way and that, inspecting her work. “I thought you two were, you know...?”

It’s stupid how her eyes tear when she says, “We’re not.”

Kei frowns, grip easing on her jaw. “His loss then. What about this guy? Is he hot? Would it drive Tomoe nuts if you--?”

“Kei-chan,” Ami gasps, hands clapped to her cheeks. “Nanami already said that this was just a friend! There’s nothing for Tomoe-kun to be upset about, and even if there was, Nanami-chan would never!”

It would be nice to be as kind and put together as Ami thought she was. “Right,” she lies. “There’s no way he could complain about me showing our friend around, nope!”

Kei arches one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows, skepticism palpable. “Right. Now what are you going to wear?”

It takes the whole half hour for Kei to lean back, one of those dagger-point grins on her face as she declares, “Oh yeah, he’s going to choke on his own tongue.” 

Considering how she’s the only woman he’s ever met, she doubts that will be a high bar to clear. “This isn’t a date.”

“Okay,” Kei says, unconvinced, which is all she manages before the doorbell chimes, delicate as crystal. “I’ll get it.”

“No!” Nanami catches herself before she can grab her, pushing her mouth into the semblance of a harmless smile. “I mean, he’s my guest! You don’t need to put yourself out.”

A spark flares deep in the morass of Kei’s green eyes, and oh, she has made a mistake, saying the exact thing that would pique her interest. “No, no, let me.”

It’s only five yards to the door, but with both of them on their feet, it becomes a contest of inches, Kei’s sharp elbows fending her off at the same time Nanami tries to catch her ankles with a heel. It’s a tumble, really, one of them making headway before the other draws her back, over and over until Nanami knocks the phone from Kei’s hands into the couch, making a mad dash before the girl can recover.

The door’s open hardly more than a crack, but she calls out, “Jirou!” nonetheless, like she can audibly mark her territory, her smile wide if strained, and when it swings wider--

Oh.

Intellectually, Nanami had known he couldn’t walk around the mortal world in his monk’s robes and beads-- and there’s no way his wings would fit in the subway-- but still, she’s not prepared to see the former fourth Soujoubou of Kurama idling in the hall with jeans. There’s no red dabbed at the corner of his eyes either, no tabi or wings or undefinable magic something-- he’s as mortal as they come, just some guy--

A camera clicks behind her, and she turns just in time to watch Kei pocket her phone, gaping. “This is your not date?”

Oh, that’s right, he’s gorgeous too. Because the spirit world runs on soap opera rules.

“I told you, you didn’t have to take pictures!” Nanami hisses through her smile.

“This isn’t for your thing,” Kei assures her. “This is for personal use. Are you sure he doesn’t have a brother?”

It’s quiet, pitched to stay between them, but she sees Jirou glance back, brow furrowed, before his gaze slides to her. “Nanami,” he says, serious as always. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

All she can do is stand there stupidly, staring at the way his hands flex at his side. Oh no, this is definitely a date.

“Hey,” That knife’s edge of a smirk splits Kei’s lips, one of her hands already outstretched. “I’m Nanami-chan’s--”

“Leaving!” she gasps, surging forward to drag him through the door. “We’re leaving!”

The door slams shut behind them with the force of foxfire, her hair billowing out around her shoulders as it hits the frame. With a smile grit so bright her teeth ache, she chirps, “Well, let’s get this show on the road!”

Only hours ago, there’d been a whole plan for this whole debacle. Not a solid one-- Nanami didn’t really do itineraries, and she doubted Jirou would appreciate being hurried along like a tour group-- but she’d had ideas. Tokyo Tower, maybe, or the Skytree for something more current. The art museums in Roppongi were also an option, though she thought one of the ones down by Ueno Station might be more convenient. Cheaper too, since she doubted the former fourth Soujoubou would be flush with pocket money.

But none of that is Date Material. Not that she wants it to be, it’s just-- Nanami hates to disappoint. If this is going to be Jiro’s single trip to the mortal world, then she really should try to make it special, maybe even go along with--

“I don’t understand,” Jirou huffs, coat shrugged so high it must itch his ears. “It’s a tree.”

It’s a long way down from the gallery to the mall’s lowest floor, but Nanami leans over anyway, wondering whether she could grab one of the snowflakes hanging from the rafters if she just reached out her hand. “I’d think out of anyone, you would understand how important a tree can be.”

“The sacred sakura is the source of Kurama’s life and power.” His lips peel back in a sneer. “This is indoors.”

“It’s a Christmas tree!” The bulky banister digs into her back as she turns, grinning up at him. “Don’t you guys have--?”

Slouched in his wool coat Jirou looks like any other guy walking past, but skepticism pulls his spine straight, putting him head and shoulders above even the tallest passerby. With his arms crossed and face drawn into a forbidding scowl, it hardly matters that he doesn’t have his wings or isn’t dressed in his monk’s robes-- he’s every inch a god.

Or a spirit, or-- ah, whatever tengu are. She’d never been too clear on just who made the cut for kami, and at this point in the game, it’s a little late to ask.

“Ah, right, no, you wouldn’t.” With the way time works on the mountain, Jirou might even predate the concept. “It’s from the West. It’s a night where couples go out, and--”

Her teeth clamp down, biting back the words. What’s wrong with her, mentioning couples’ holidays to the only guy who has ever confessed to her? Especially when she already rejected him for reasons-- reasons that have flitted off to the spirit world, probably to discourage her too, and--

“Are you going to get souvenirs for your brothers?” she asks, breathless.

She braces for him to scoff, to tell her that the once-soujoubou has no need for gifts, but Jirou only blinks. “Souvenirs?”

Ah, right. The tengu never leave the mountain. “When you go somewhere, it’s polite to bring back gifts. Food and stuff! A little slice of the mortal realm for everyone to enjoy.”

Only a few months ago, Jirou’s frown would have been enough to make her back track and tremble, hoping his wrath wouldn’t come down on her the way the gods were so fond of doing, But a week under his wing, so to speak, and now she knows: he’s thinking. “...Polite?”

“C’mon.” She hooks her arm around his. “There’s a store right over there.”

It doesn’t strike her until they’re in front of the novelty chocolates, Jirou standing as still as a deer in headlights, that oh yes, the man from the magical mountain might be paralyzed by choice.

“There’s so many,” he manages, strained. “How do you do this? This whole world is so distracting. It’s a wonder any one of you gets anything done with all this going on.”

Nanami leans a hip against the wall, not bothering to smother her grin. “It’s because we’re getting stuff done that there is all this.”

His mouth rounds. “Oh.”

She plucks a box off the stacks of snacks, a to-scale miniature chocolate Skytree. “Do you think this is why the mortal world corrupts the tengu? I’ve never thought about it, but I suppose we’re spoiled for choice down here. And everything must seem so fast.”

“Maybe.” He approaches the word slowly, lips wrapping around on tip-toe, as if sneaking up on it might make it easier to say. In the end he grimaces anyway, cheeks flushed. “I’ve since realized that the corruption of the mortal realm might have less to do with its vices, and more to do with its, er...”

His dark eyes flick toward her, pink creeping up to his ears before they skitter away. “Taking into account the other prohibition of Kurama, the first Soujoubou might have been more concerned with keeping his brothers from distracting themselves with the, er...mortal women that lived there, rather than any other excess.”

“Oh,” she squeaks, her own face suddenly hot. “Yeah, I guess that would be...”

“I agree.”

Her head snaps up, watching as he delicately picks up a snow globe from the shelf behind him, a small version of Ueno Park painstakingly modeled inside. “We are told that we hatch from beneath the branches of the sacred sakura. I certainly don’t remember anything before my time at Kurama. But for Shinjirou to be the Soujoubou’s son, then that means he must have...”

Jirou’s mouth pulls thin.

“Well, there must be some lady tengu, right?” Nanami can’t recall ever seeing one, but she’d be the first to admit: her sample size is small. “On one of the other mountains, maybe? It’s not like the Soujoubou...”

His steady stare is more answer than she needs, and yet he still tells her. “I heard he was a handsome man, in his younger years.”

“Ah.”

He lifts his shoulder, cheeks burning too bright to be casual. “The last century was a hard one.”

“Right,” she murmurs faintly. “I’ve heard kids will do that to you.”

An hour and three stores later, Jirou finally settles on some wagashi shaped unseasonably into sakura blossoms, sold two in a package, grimacing as Nanami shakes out the shrine box to pay for them.

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, with a smile, “I planned for this!”

He does insist on paying for the lucky cat three stores over, pulling out a stack of bills that certainly aren’t from the spirit world. “It’s for the Soujoubou,” he explains, firm. “It wouldn’t be appropriate to ask you to pay.”

“You’re bringing Manekineko onto a mountain full of birds?” Her mouth twitches as his furrows wearily. “He’ll be one well fed cat!”

“The Soujoubou likes them. Cats, I mean.” He softens as she gazes down at the bag, like he can see the figure even through the glossy paper. “He says they carry their weight keeping the mice out of the kitchen.”

Nanami blinks. “You guys get mice in the spirit world?”

His mouth hooks into a smirk. “ Whether they are made by gods or men, few things have as little respect for boundaries as a mouse.”

“Ah.” She stares down at the bag. “I guess that makes--”

The gloss shimmers as it flies from his hand, knocked back to the pavement. Nanami needs a solid second of blinking for the moment to come into focus: the bag laying on the ground, Manekineko’s box slid half out of it; Jirou standing stock still on the walkway, as if the ground was made of glass and even a breath could make it shatter; a little boy sprawled on the ground at his feet, staring up and up and up, tears already beading on his eyelashes.

“Stupid.” The mountain of a man-- of a god glares down the long slope of his nose, just as remote and aloof as Kurama itself, and Nanami stiffens, her breath caught in the heavy weight of her lungs. Even without his robe, he’s imposing, and the boy on the ground shivers the way Botanmaru used to at the very sound of Jirou’s name. She can’t forget how the little crows had all feared him, how they would flinch at even the gentlest raised hand--

“Here,” Jirou murmurs, crouching as much as a man his height can manage. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?”

“N-no.” The boy blinks, shaking his head. “I mean, yeah. I can...I can get up, I think.”

“Then there is no reason to sit on the ground.” His large hand juts out, just in front of the boy’s face. “Who do you belong--?” Jirou catches himself. “Do you have a guardian nearby? A...parent?”

“Y-yeah.” That small hand folds into Jirou’s, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He can’t be more than six or seven, too young to be wandering alone, but too old to suffer being stuck to someone’s side. “My m-mom.”

“A mother.” Jirou’s face softens. It does things to her stomach that Nanami refuses to contemplate. “She must worry over you.”

The boy flushes, tucking his face into his shoulder to hide it. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe.”

“Come, then.” With an awkwardness that’s almost endearing, Jirou shifts his grip, holding the boy’s hand so delicately it might as well be made of glass. “Let us see if we can find this woman. Your return will go a long way toward easing her mind.”

The boy’s cheeks blow out, half a pout. “Okay, mister, if you say so.”

It takes only a minute or two to locate his mother, weighed down by a half dozen bags and on her phone, placing a frantic call to the help desk.

“Daisuke!” she gasps, clutching the boy to her, not letting him shake her off. “How many times have I told you to stay close! There’s too many people for you to go running around!”

“I just wanted to check out the Lego store,” he huffs, suffering through her kissing and scolding with belligerent embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to go far. I would have come right back if I hadn’t run into-- er, I mean...”

“Run into?” His mother blinks, and that’s when she notices Jirou, looming awkwardly a few steps away. “Daisuke!” she hisses, manhandling him into a bow. “I’m so sorry that my son inconvenienced you, sir. I promise that we raised him better than to be such a bother.”

“Ah.” One hand raises, soothing. “Please, you don’t have to explain to me. I understand. Young boys often seek out their own adventures.”

“Oh.” The woman’s eyes trail up him, from the thick sole of his boots to the fur trim of his hat-- and when she’s done, she glances over his shoulder, squarely at Nanami, before she asks, “You have children of your own?”

“No, no.” His hands wave between them, a soft denial. “Younger brothers.”

“I see, I see.” Or so she might say, but the gaze she fixes on Nanami is far too speculative, the implication so heavy she can’t help but turn away, flushed. “Go on, apologize for interrupting their night, Daisuke.”

“Sorry,” the boy informs the pavement. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Really, it’s no trouble.” Jirou’s voice is always heavy, each word spoken with a palpable weight, but for once--

For once, there’s a laugh bubbling beneath it, too light to be smothered by seriousness, one that sets his lips twitching, a smile haunting the corners of his smirk. Happiness.

It looks nice on him. 

It takes another ten minutes for Daisuke’s mother to be content with her son’s apologies; Jirou’s protests going unmarked with each bow and scrape. Don’t go easy on him, she insists, he needs to learn some manners.

“I think,” Jirou murmurs, humor clinging to the shadows of his words, “that maybe Shinjirou is lucky the Soujoubou did not bring his mother to the mountain. They are fearsome.”

There’s an ache in her chest, an old one, the kind that never fills but simply is grown used to, until it feels natural to never heal. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember much about my mom.”

His mouth is already open with his next question, but she can’t stop herself, not when the words are already struggling their way out through her lips. “You’ve changed.”

She glances up at him just in time to catch the way his eyes round and his mouth slackens, a blush blooming across his cheeks that has nothing to do with cold. “What...?” He clears his throat, and once again he’s Jirou, aloof and alone, the strongest tengu on Kurama. “What do you mean?”

“The Jirou I met a few months ago wouldn’t have helped that boy.” Her elbow pokes into his unyielding side. This guy obviously doesn’t skip ab day. Or...whatever day they trained to make what should be love handles into solid steel. “He would have just told him he was weak and a disappointment to his ancestors. He certainly wouldn’t have helped him to his feet, let alone find his mom.”

“That’s...true enough,” he admits, reluctantly. “My mind was always bent toward pleasing the Soujoubou. To living up to his example and becoming the strongest of his sons. I thought that if I became a man he could rely on, if I made the rest of my brothers as strong as me...”

That it would protect him. Or rather, their way of life. He’d explained as much, when they descended into the Thunderbeast’s lair.

He coughs, cold steaming his breath. “All those years, I worried over only the most superficial aspects of being Soujoubou. I neglected to see even the most basic truths, the ones my master had gone to great pains to show me, even as I proved over and over that I did not understand. There is more to strength than the physical. There is more to discipline than denial.”

Nanami hooks a hand around his arm, squeezing it. “It’s good that you did learn it though. It takes a very big person to admit when they were wrong.”

She doesn’t add, especially a god. She’s learned the hard way that you never know when one is listening, especially when their winds are such tattletales.

“It was you that showed me that, Nanami. I allowed my vision to be clouded by pride, and you--” Jirou glances down at her, that stony glaze softening to something almost human-- “you saved me. All of us on Kurama. Our lives have been changed by your touch, and I, for one, will never forget what we owe you.”

“O-oh.” The way he looks at her, it’s so-- so intimate, the way she catches Tomoe looking at her in the breath before he turns away. The way she wishes he would without needing to hide it. That someone would, without acting it was some great sufferance, a lowering of their standards.

And here Jirou is, giving it to her for free, no strings attached. In a way that makes her want to turn toward it, the way flowers do for the sun, unfurling her petals to bask in its glow--

It’s too much.

“Oh, is that, um--” her eyes dart over the street, trying to find something to hold onto, some flotsam in the storm of these feelings-- and she finds it. “Ice skating?”

Jirou blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Come on.” She hooks her arm through his, dragging him toward the stop light, eye fixed on where the crowd presses around Ueno’s plaza. “Let’s go.”