#shibata katsumi

[owletstarlet]

can i offer you a nice omurice in this trying time

(Nov/Dec page of the 2024 natsuyuu poster calendar. I had fully forgotten about this page and it was an absolute delight to rediscover it given the subject matter of the one single fic I’ve been able to produce in all of three years—

[dailysmilingnatsume]

[nin-deer]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kitamoto Atsushi & Natsume Takashi & Nishimura Satoru, Kitamoto Atsushi & Natsume Takashi, Natsume Takashi & Nishimura Satoru, Natsume Takashi & Shibata Katsumi Characters: Natsume Takashi, Nishimura Satoru, Kitamoto Atsushi, Shibata Katsumi Additional Tags: Dialogue Heavy, like a lot, whoops ✌️, natori shuuichi mention, but only bc he's a famous actor LMAO, Not Beta Read, there /may/ be mistakes Summary:

A day out with Nishimura and Kitamoto was supposed to be nice and uneventful... That was until an old friend bulldozes his way back into his life, for better or for worse.

-

a gift for @absolutebeginnerthings for @natsume-ss spring natsuyuu exhange!! hope you like it <33

sorry if you got that first notif it wasn’t tagging you at first but i figured it out a;skdfa;sldjf

[goodlucktai]

soft ground, claiming moon

chase them all away

@natsumeweek 2023 day 5; healing/forgiveness read on ao3

title borrowed from monsters by katie sky

(previous)

x

It’s immediately as horrifying as Shuuichi thought it would be. 

He’s watching a fourteen-year-old boy writhe and bite back what surely would be a howl if he would unlock his jaw enough to let it out. It squeezes past his bared teeth in the form of guttural growls. His hands, clutching at his own arms, as if trying to hug himself together, are rending the fabric of his sleeves, fingers sharpening to points. 

And Natsume is right there. Surrounded by his friends, a motley crew of stupid, stubborn teenagers. They must know the danger they’re in but they don’t flinch. The fear on their faces is reflective of the pain that Nishimura is in, they don’t spare any for themselves. 

“You would let him turn in a room full of children?” Natori demands of Madara. He feels like he’s going insane. The shiki behind him are restless, but they don’t share his single-minded anxiety. Taki’s twin summons snicker at him and Madara flicks an ear derisively. 

“You really don’t have a clue,” the ugly cat says plainly. “It’s very annoying. Knowing a thing is knowing more than how to kill it. Stop talking and pay attention. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

By the time Shuuichi tears his eyes away from the ugly cat, it’s over. Nishimura is gone, and Kitamoto’s arms remain wrapped around a wolf. 

For a moment that feels like a small eternity, Shuuichi forgets to breathe. He can feel his heart in his throat.

The creature is breathing heavily, body heaving. Its thick coat is red-orange in color with white on the throat and belly, not unlike a fox. The face of it is more broad than angular, haloed by a slight mane, and its big ears are rounded at the top instead of pointed. 

“Nishimura?” Kitamoto says. His voice is barely audible even in the absolute silence of the room. 

The wolf lifts its head and finds his face. They stare at each other for two, three, four seconds. 

Then the wolf makes an abrupt turn, climbing clumsily into Kitamoto’s lap and shoving his snout against the boy’s face. Powerful jaws open, and Shuuichi is about to spring past Madara, after all, and then…

“Ugh—ew! Satchan!” Kitamoto sputters. “Don’t lick me!”

“Puppy kisses!” Ogata shrieks. 

“Let’s not swarm him,” Natsume says, holding an arm out to halt the girls from tackling Kitamoto and the wolf to the floor. “Let him acclimate for a minute. Shibata, are you taking pictures right now?”

“No, video.”

“Why?”

“Blackmail?” Shibata says it like Natsume must be stupid for asking. “Relax, if my phone gets hacked I’ll just say it’s my annoying cousin’s annoying dog or whatever.”

“You consider us family?” Taki presses a hand to her heart. “Shibata.”

Before Shibata can reply to that the way he would probably like to, Madara waddles past him. The cat plants its front feet on Kitamoto’s leg and peers up at the wolf thoughtfully. The symbol on his head begins to glow. 

Out of what looks like pure reflex, Ogata quickly knocks Shibata’s phone out of his hand and it clatters to the floor. If the recording picks up Madara’s voice, it will be lost under teenagers screeching at each other. 

The wolf leans down to sniff at Madara curiously. The symbol fades, and the cat says, “That’s a wolf alright.”

“You are remarkably unhelpful,” Shuuichi says. His voice comes out as little more than a wheeze. He feels like he’s just run a marathon. 

“Sensei,” Natsume scolds him mildly. 

“What more do you want?” Madara sits back. “He’s a human, not a yokai, so he isn’t likely to transform into a yokai, is he? He needs a physical form, no matter what shape it may take. The okami that bit him must have given him its own as a parting gift. Even with the curse that was twisting its mind apart, it probably knew that it wasn’t long for this life.” 

The cat looks around at the children and then past them at Shuuichi. With judgmental green eyes, Madara adds, “Okami are messengers, lesser deities. Whoever encountered one and saw fit to banish it with their shitty home-cooked spell deserves whatever they get.”

That much, at least, Shuuichi can’t argue. There is a strict code of conduct that the exorcist community must abide by, and while exceptions can be made here and there, crafting a spell of one’s own design and then using it without so much as getting it peer-reviewed first isn’t just against the rules, it’s downright stupid. 

He would like to give that person, whoever and wherever they are, the benefit of the doubt. He would like to believe they acted in good faith, doing their best to rid the world of another monster.

But for the first time since he made his mad dash to Hitoyoshi, Shuuichi doesn’t know. 

“It—he is a werewolf,” Shuuichi says. “That much is clear. He turned on the full moon and has weakness to pure metals, like silver. If he were to bite one of you in this form, the curse would spread.”

“Okay,” Kitamoto says, his tone suggesting he would like to add a petulant and? “He’s still my brother.”

“He’s dangerous.” 

“So are you,” Taki says sharply. “So am I.” 

“I’m pretty sure Natsume’s grandpa was a tengu or something,” Shibata adds. “He hasn’t come out and said it but the clues are all there. And I mean, the wind goes all crazy when I tick him off. So Natsume could probably start a hurricane if he got angry enough. That seems a little freakier to me than just turning into a big dumb dog once a month. No offense,” he adds insincerely, with a little nod Natsume’s way. 

“Don’t call him dumb,” Ogata says, because that is clearly more pressing than any tengu-related bombshells. “Natsume please can I hug him now?”

The wolf perks up, rounded ears pointing forward, and Ogata opens her arms for him without waiting for permission or approval. The wolf picks itself up on unsteady legs, wobbles for a moment, then bounds with ungainly enthusiasm into Ogata’s snug embrace. 

“Oh, I was so worried about you, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says, squeezing him for all she’s worth. “I knew you would be but I’m still so, so glad!”

Taki drapes herself over both of them, worming her arms in there somehow, and the wolf whuffles against their hair, wriggling happily. 

“Here,” Tanuma says, appearing at their side with a shallow bowl in one hand and a bottle of Calpico in the other. “He’s barely had anything to eat or drink all day. I don’t know if his tastes will be the same like this, but…” 

“Should we save the snacks for when he’s a person again or let him have some now?” Kitamoto wonders aloud. 

“We can always go get more,” Natsume reasons. 

Shuuichi watches the convenience store bags come out, and a box of Chocorooms gets popped open, and Kitamoto offers the wolf a handful of the chocolate-covered biscuits. An hour ago, Shuuichi would have been horrified to watch the boy stick his open palm within inches of a cursed animal’s teeth. As it is, his alarm springs from a different source entirely.

“Don’t,” Shuuichi says sharply, his mouth moving before he gives it permission to. When the kids stare at him, their expressions a mixture of disdain and frustration, he adds, “Wolves can’t have chocolate.” 

After a beat, Tanuma says, “What?”

“It’s the same reason dogs can’t have chocolate,” Shuuichi says, unable to believe he’s having this conversation. “There’s a chemical in it that’s toxic to them. It’s literally poison.”

Kitamoto yanks his hand back and holds the biscuits an arm’s length away from the wolf. Shibata is frantically looking something up on his phone. 

“Is that true? What else can’t they eat?” Taki says, looking as though she’s seconds away from flinging all of their snacks out the nearest window. 

And really, Shuuichi finds himself thinking, it’s typical. For all his knowledge and research on werewolves and lycanthropy, for all his determination when he arrived here, it’s the three-hour-long learning spree he went on when he agreed to babysit his manager’s seven-month-old cockapoo for the weekend that would have ultimately done the job. And he turned around and used it to prevent the wolf from dying.

The wolf—Nishimura mostly sticks to either Kitamoto or Natsume’s side, his head on their knee or shoulder. He soaks up the attention from his friends but he seems more tired than anything. 

Taki reasons aloud that the first full moon probably took a toll. She thinks that things will get easier as they go. Only time will tell. 

“I’m still going to try to break the curse for you,” she says, holding his snout in her hands and looking him in the eye. “I’m going to try everything. But even like this, we all love you so much.”

He licks her fingers. Message received. 

A few hours later, when the moon was no longer at its zenith, the wolf shuddered and whined, burying his nose against Kitamoto’s stomach. The change happens a little bit faster this time, pale skin peeking through the fur, ears folding back into messy russet-colored hair. It seems slightly less painful, the body returning to the shape it’s supposed to take. 

Finally it’s Nishimura sitting there, pale and exhausted in Tanuma’s oversized jacket. He leans against Kitamoto, pressing his face into his best friend’s shoulder. 

“I like you better as a wolf, Satchan,” Shibata says in a falsely-earnest tone.

“Literally no one invited you, Sumi,” Nishimura replies hoarsely. 

The room is full of relief and laughter as Tanuma drapes a blanket around Kitamoto and Nishimura’s shoulders, as Natsume presses a cold bottle of Pocari into Nishimura’s hands and Ogata tucks the frog stuffie into the blanket with them. 

Nishimura’s friends care about him so much that there is no room left for things like fear or disgust. They’re so loyal to one another, their lives entangled comfortably, their every conversation about the future a vision of togetherness. 

Shuuichi wonders if any other werewolf changed under those conditions. Under their adopted siblings’ gentle, fearless hands, in a room full of faces who looked at them with affection and trust. 

The curse pulls from nature, shaped by the moon and the toxin in the monster’s bite. What else does it absorb? If those fundamental moments are ones of fear and hatred, then it’s little wonder why the recorded history of werewolves is so frightening. 

It’s clear that Shuuichi’s presence is no longer needed, if it ever was in the first place. A quiet word to his shiki sends them ahead of him, back home. Hiiragi lingers to receive a particular set of orders, and sets off in the opposite direction to begin investigating the exorcist at the root of this mess. She is fond of Natsume and his friends and will tackle this job with particular fervor. 

Shuuichi is on the porch watching her departure when a tug on his sleeve draws his attention.

He turns to find Nishimura, of all people, who skitters back a whole two steps when Shuuichi looks at him. 

“Sorry,” the kid says quickly, as if convinced Shuuichi would bite his head off for standing too close. 

This is the boy that Natsume so fondly described on the phone as your number one fan, Natori. He asked Shuuichi for an autograph earlier. Now he can barely look at him, studying his house slippers intently and wringing his hands. 

Shuuichi boxes up the ache in his chest and shelves it for another time. He offers Nishimura a smile, knowing that there’s no way to undo the damage he’s done, but that’s no reason to add to it. 

“No need,” he says. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me. It seems I just never learn.”

“You,” Nishimura starts, and then pauses. Trying again, he says, “You really hunt monsters?”

“My clan did for many generations,” Shuuichi says readily. Frankly, he owes Nishimura whatever answers he wants. “I’m the only one left in my family with the proclivity for it.”

Nishimura nods slowly. He looks over his shoulder, back into the sitting room. It’s a small miracle his brother let him out of his sight for this long after the night they just had. Nishimura must think so, too, because he takes a deep breath and blurts, “It would have been okay.”

Shuuichi frowns, not understanding. 

“If you had to—hunt me,” Nishimura says. He still isn’t looking at him. “If I was going to hurt one of them and you had to stop me. That would have been okay.”

You only see monsters, Taki had said the very first time Shuuichi met her. She stood between him and Natsume with her arms spread wide, tiny and formidable and determined. Are you even looking?

“No, kid,” Shuuichi says gently. “It wouldn’t have.” 

[treecakes]

Natsume Popularity Poll Results!!

Thank you for participating! These results are not exact, and are instead rounded numbers, compiled over two separate days of rounding numbers (once around four days in and once after the polls were completed, because as more votes were coming in, the less accurate the rounding would become).

Theoretically I could have checked the API of the polls, but I didn't feel like it.... so rounding it was! :') On to the results!

[ID in alt]

1st - Natsume Takashi (~208 votes)

2nd - Fujiwara Touko (~106 votes)

3rd - Hiiragi (~68 votes)

4th - Nyanko-sensei (~54 votes)

5th - Tanuma Kaname (~50 votes)

6th - Hinoe (~41 votes)

7th - Natori Shuuichi (~27 votes)

8th - Matoba Seiji (~25 votes)

9th - Natsume Reiko (~21 votes)

10th - Fujiwara Shigeru (~16 votes)

11th - Nanase (~13 votes)

12th - Yorishima (~11 votes)

13th - Taki Tooru (~8 votes)

14th - Nishimura Satoru (~6 votes)

15th - Benio (~5 votes)

16th - Urihime (~5 votes)

17th - Kitamoto Atsushi (~4 votes)

18th - Shibata Katsumi (2 votes)

19th - Misuzu (1 vote)

20th - Sasago (0 votes) :(

[dorothydalmati1]

Dr. Slump Arale-chan Season 2 Episodes 30-32: Penguin Village Grand Prix

Written by Shun'ichi Yukimuro

Part 1 storyboarded and directed by Minoru Okazaki

Part 1 animation directed by Minoru Maeda

Part 2 storyboard by Katsumi Endō

Part 2 directed by Hiroe Arakawa

Part 2 animation directed by Sadayoshi Tominaga

Part 3 storyboarded and directed by Hiroki Shibata

Part 3 animation directed by Mitsuo Shindō

[thelemoncoffee]

Hi hello Lead Hearts questions: I was thinking about Ellodie and if she would make hats for the other characters and that lead me to wonder what kind of hats would the cast wear if they were to wear hats?

ooooh that's a fun thought- i never thought about Ellodie making hats for the others but it would be fun. i think i can think up hats they'd all wear,but i don't think Ellodie would be the one to make alot of them due to her specializing in fancy dress hats.

Here- Everyone who doesn't have a hat, and what they'd wear:

Zenko Kairi - ascot cap, i have no explanation for this, i just think he'd look cute in one

Tamami Doku - she doesn't feel like a hat enjoyer, she'd rather wear headbands with random decorations on them. i simply cannot see her wearing a hat

Fumiko Umemoto - either a barrette or a halo hat. the Fancy Hats™ for the fancy girl.... either that or whatever hat is currently the most popular to wear

Kazuhiko Ichigo - baseball cap or a bucket hat- he's a surfer, what'd you expect?

Daiki Dekiru - cowboy hat, he'd look so silly in one and also he's a ranchboy so it fits

Neiro Shibata - it wouldn't matter what hat she wears, she'd punk it out somehow. i can see her wearing a baseball cap and beanie specifically tho

Juno Shizu - beanie or ushanka, mostly to tame the fluff (it just shoves his hair further into his face)

Takao Hagiwara - refuses to wear a hat, he put way too much effort into his hair to fuck it up with a hat.... they convince him to wear a cat ear headband instead

Masaki Futagoza - i'm just straight up stumped for him, i know he'd probably like hats but idk what kind he'd wear. i asked my friends for ideas and the answers i got were "beanie" which makes sense yeah, and "The Hat" ....whatever that means

Kasai Sachie- ya know those really floppy sunhats? yeah. either that or an ushanka, opposite seasons but both work really well for her i think

Kobe Katsumi - fedora, not cause he's a snively self righteous jackass, but because i genuinely think he'd pull it off really well... he just needs to fix the rest of his fashion sense

Asuka Seo - voted second most likely to wear a tophat to prom, only beat out by Ellodie.

Ohara Susumu - sunhat! or bonnet- something you'd imagine someone to wear to a cottagecore picnic.... does a flower crown count as a hat?

the missing people who already wear hats are Ellodie(tophat), Chiba(cap), and Hibiki(beanie) Bonus: Ellodie would offer to fix the tattering on the bill of Chiba's cap but she'd decline cause she doesn't trust Ellodie not to add unnecessary detail to it (Ellodie wouldn't dare)

[wewerecore]

CORE Pro #121 Trios Kingdom 2023 - Night Two 09/02/23 Charles Chrin Community Center - Easton, Pennsylvania Attendance: 998

Match #1

Trios Kingdom Quarter-Finals Kerry Morton/Starboy Charlie/Marcus Mathers vs. Donna del Mondo (Giulia/Maika/Thekla) Winners: Kerry Morton/Starboy Charlie/Marcus Mathers

Match #2

Trios Kingdom Quarter-Finals Big Mouth LOUD (Katsuyori Shibata/Kazunari Murakami/Manabu Hara) vs. Black Generation International (Kaito Ishida/Flamita/Yutani) Winners: Big Mouth LOUD

Match #3

Trios Kingdom Quarter-Finals The 37KAMIINA (MAO/Yuki Ueno/Toi Kojima) vs. Los Cancerberos del Infierno (Cancerbero/Luciferno/Virus) Winners: The 37KAMIINA

Match #4

Trios Kingdom Quarter-Finals Titus Alexander/Alan Angels/Kevin Blackwood vs. Just 5 Guys (TAKA Michinoku/Taichi/Yoshinobu Kanemaru) Winners: Titus Alexander/Alan Angels/Kevin Blackwood

Match #5

Non-Tournament Match Ren Ayabe vs. Joshua Bishop vs. Shaw Mason vs. Derek Dillinger Winner: Ren Ayabe

Match #6

Non-Tournament Match Trios Kingdom (Ethan Page/Andrew Everett/"Hot Sauce" Tracy Williams) vs. King Of Trios (Hallowicked/Lince Dorado/Trent Seven) Winners: Trios Kingdom

- During intermission UltraMantis Black presented Raychell Rose with her certificate of completion from UltraMantis Black's School of Professional Wrestling Management and Bartending and her provisional wrestling manager license. These proceedings were interrupted by Jake Something and Vincent Nothing demanding a match against Giant Baba Yaga tomorrow night. They didn't have to wait long as Giant Baba Yaga appeared puffing away on an American Rebel cigar. But Baba Yaga did not arrive alone, fresh from his win in the previous contest she was joined by Andrew Everett, who now insisted on being called by a different name. Tomorrow night it will be Something/Nothing vs. Giant Baba Yaga and Andrew The Giant.

Match #7

Trios Kingdom Semi-Finals Kerry Morton/Starboy Charlie/Marcus Mathers vs. Big Mouth LOUD (Katsuyori Shibata/Kazunari Murakami/Manabu Hara) Winners: Big Mouth LOUD (Katsuyori Shibata/Kazunari Murakami/Manabu Hara)

- Marcus Mathers was helped to the back by medical staff after his ankle appeared to give out shortly before he was submitted by Manabu Hara. Mathers' lower leg had previously been injured at the hands of folkstyle during our Pittston Tomato Festival event.

Match #8

Trios Kingdom Semi-Finals The 37KAMIINA (MAO/Yuki Ueno/Toi Kojima) vs. Titus Alexander/Alan Angels/Kevin Blackwood Winners: The 37KAMIINA

- While Titus Alexander was clearly frustrated following their elimination, with some encouragement from Alan Angels and Kevin Blackwood, Alexander was coaxed into returning to the ring to shake the hands of The 37KAMIINA. After shaking hands, Titus Alexander immediately attacked Alan Angels who had suffered the fall. By the time Kevin Blackwood realized what was transpiring, Alexander was leaving the ring and soon exited the building through the crowd.

Upcoming Shows:

CORE Pro #122 Trios Kingdom 2023 - Night Three 09/03/23 Martz Hall - Pottsville, Pennsylvania 01. Something/Nothing (Jake Something and Vincent Nothing) vs. Giant Baba Yaga and Andrew The Giant 02. NWA World Women's Championship Match: Kenzie Paige (Champion) vs. Maika 03. TrustBusters Reserve (Big Dan Champion and Joshua Bishop) vs. Fire Katsumi and Akira Juumonji 04. Torneo Cibernetico: Cancerbero/Luciferno/Virus/Flamita/Starboy Charlie/Shun Skywalker/Yutani/Bendito vs. Yoshinobu Kanemaru/Hallowicked/Adrenalina/Explosivo/Fantastico/TAKA Michinoku/Taichi/Fuego Del Sol 05. Ren Ayabe vs. Kerry Morton 06. Titus Alexander vs. Kaito Ishida 07. Athena and Queen Aminata (with Raychell Rose) vs. Donna del Mondo (Giulia and Thekla) 08. Trios Kingdom Finals: Big Mouth LOUD (Katsuyori Shibata/Kazunari Murakami/Manabu Hara) vs. The 37KAMIINA (MAO/Yuki Ueno/Toi Kojima)

CORE returns to the Good Time Theatre at Dorney Park in Allentown, Pennsylvania! 09/04/23 Television taping for The Great Pro-Wrestling Adventure Hour as seen on Defy TV.

[scorpionatori]

NatsuYuu + Yahoo Answers (rip😔🙏🏻)

[ror-art]

@natsumeweek Day 1 -  Nature / Nurture

shibata owning a flower shop! think itd be good for him to be surrounded by plants! also gives him an excuse to keep bringing plants and saplings to natsume and tanumas apartment and stopping by unannounced bc its ‘good for you to have lots of plants around’

also a bonus natsume since he starts working there also lol

[mikazukidoesart]

@natsumeweek day 2: Past/Future

My love for crossovers is kicking in! I imagine Natsume and Nishimiya meeting each other once in their hard times as kids, then another chance encounter in the future along with their bullies turned friends.

Bonus:

[owletstarlet]

patron saint of the lost causes (1/2)

“You can stop looking at him like that.” Taki’s voice is frank, but not unkind. Katsumi could not be less in the mood for whatever the hell kind of conversation this is about to be. “Like what,” he replies anyhow. “Like you broke his best friend."

(For @goodlucktai. You know what you did.

ao3 link | part 2

The thing is, Katsumi really doesn’t want to hear that he couldn’t have known what was going to happen. He knows. Knows because nobody will let him forget it. Knows from his 2AM search history the night after, curled up on his side on a guest futon in the Fujiwaras’ sitting room, feeling pinned down by the blue glow of his phone screen under the duvet.

Here’s how it happens.

***

It’s not that it’s uncomfortable, exactly, to be alone with Tanuma Kaname while walking the forty-five minute round trip between the temple and the combini through nothing but trees and rice paddies and still, thick summer air. Tanuma’s a decent guy. Quiet, thoughtful. And, as he’d made very clear within two minutes of Katsumi meeting him, fiercely loyal.

All good traits, really. But carrying a completely meaningless conversation with someone he honestly doesn’t know all that well doesn’t seem to be within his skill set. And that’s fine, it’s whatever.

It’s just that Katsumi’s starting to feel like a jackass when he’s the only one who’s talking.

School’s been out less than a week, and for some godforsaken reason he’s been talked into coming all the way out to Hitoyoshi by the group chat he’d been added to months ago, for some other godforsaken reason. The conversation had turned to potential vacation plans—the seaside, or a theme park. And it’s not like Katsumi would’ve said no; he’s got a whole month to fill here. But when Tanuma had either hedged or failed to respond altogether, the others had gotten it out of him pretty quickly that the better part of the month both before and after Obon would be full up with temple preparation and events. Apparently, even back when the temple had still stood vacant, some of the locals who had ancestors’ graves out in the crumbling cemetery there would still come out to tidy up as best they could and leave behind their flowers and incense and prayers. This is the second Obon since the temple had reopened, and not only were more visitors expected, but they’d need to be able to properly host them and provide an adequate place of worship.

From just that couple of messages, the others seemed to work out in short order just how overwhelmed he was. Which was news to Katsumi; sure, the guy wasn’t much of a texter, or talker, for that matter—but the messages had just seemed brief, concise, and apologetic.

But when they all show up on the temple doorstep a week later and Katsumi sees the way Tanuma’s shoulders sag with sheer relief, he knows the others were right.

Thus began a multi-day frenzy of scrubbing wood floors, polishing every metal surface within an inch of its life, weeding, dusting, and near-vicious refusals of Tanuma’s father’s offers to compensate them for their efforts. Katsumi certainly wasn’t against the concept of getting paid for busting his ass like this all day, but the man was drowning in paperwork and nonstop phone calls and visitations on top of whatever else it is that priests do all day, so he’d let it drop.

“He really does just radiate that dutiful son energy, huh,” Katsumi says to Kitamoto one day, leaning on a rake and blinking the sweat out of his eyes in the brutal 2PM heat, watching Tanuma pause to tug a crooked, bright red knit cap back into its place on the head of a tiny Jizo statue with endless care. He didn’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds kind of dickish coming out of his mouth anyhow. “Just looking at him is making me tired.”

Kitamoto hums. “That’s part of it,” he says, at length. “But this is his home, too.”

***

Katsumi feels sort of bad that Tanuma has to make this annoyingly long walk just because he himself doesn’t know how to get to the nearest Lawson. He’d lost a fierce, best-of-ten coin flip battle with Nishimura over whose turn it was to pick up snacks. It’s not that it’s a nightmarish distance away considering they’re on the bare outskirts of town, it’s just the late afternoon sun beating down on them that makes him ready to commit  homicide. And most of the way there between the wooded temple grounds and the main residential area is along a dusty gravel road between sunken rice fields, riddled with potholes and not especially worth it to navigate with a bike.

And Lawson isn’t even good.

Precisely none of this is Tanuma’s fault. This is an objective fact that he, of course, knows.

But they’ve only just left the store, and Katsumi ran out of random topics to fill up the stagnant air about ten minutes ago. The best he’s got at the moment, short of intermittent bitching about the heat, is his completely unfounded opinion of some new game he’d seen an ad for at the register which he never intends to play.

And Tanuma doesn’t look especially anxious, or at least not like he’s here under duress or anything—he was the one who volunteered to show Katsumi the way— but he doesn’t look especially comfortable, either. He’s already fished a bottle of tea out of the shopping bag, fiddling with the wrapper between sips and watching the dusty gravel crunch beneath their shoes. His responses aren’t rude, just a little off key, a subdued smattering of ‘oh’s and ‘hm’s and ‘I see’s that don’t always quite sync up with Katsumi’s words, a second too late or too early.  

Maybe it’s the truly ridiculous heat that’s getting to the guy. But he’s drinking his tea, and he’s wearing the same old wet towel he’s had slung around his neck all week, ojiisan style. He’d just re-soaked it again in the little sink outside the combini bathroom. It’s funny, Katsumi thinks, that Tanuma’s such a painfully self-conscious person, but then there’s these odd little things here and there that it doesn’t even seem to occur to him to be self-conscious about at all. He didn’t get out much as a kid, from what Katsumi’s heard. It’d be almost endearing if Katsumi was in any sort of mood to be endeared. As it stands it’s too fucking hot out here and now he kind of wants a stupid neck towel too.

Katsumi doesn’t want to make shit awkward, not when he’s staying in his house. But why had it been somehow easier to talk to Tanuma when they were being chased around some hell-mansion about to be murdered by some ghost-doll-things.

He’s not gonna take it personally. Even with his actual friends, where he seems most at ease, Katsumi’s seen him get fidgety, fingers worrying at a fraying shirt hem or drumming on his knee like he doesn’t always quite know how to physically handle too many eyes on him at once, or so many voices in the room. And more often than not, if one of the others picks up on this, he’s seen them seamlessly take the volume down a notch, give him some room to breathe, a little radius of calm. As though his comfort level is some sort of sixth sense for them all.

And Katsumi’s starting to wonder if running his mouth so that Tanuma wouldn’t have to was really the best course of action here. Maybe silence, comfortable or otherwise, would’ve spared them both.

Hell, too late now.

“…and it’s only available on the newest consoles, because of course it is, and even though Sakatani managed to get his hands on a copy and says he’ll let me play, apparently the graphics are kind of ass, so—uh. You good over there?”

Tanuma’s pinching the bridge of his nose, mouth twisting a little and pace falling a half-step behind Katsumi. He doesn’t really answer, just gives an absent diplomatic little hum like he has done for most of the conversation.

Katsumi stops walking.

“Hey.”

And Tanuma honest-to-god almost shuffles right past him, reaching up to rub at his temple now. He only stops when Katsumi snags the strap of the little freezer bag that he’d brought in a thoughtful yet desperate bid to keep the drinks cold and the tops of Nishimura’s chocorooms from all melting together inside the box. Tanuma blinks hard, like all the dust in the air has gunked up in his eyes.

Katsumi frowns. “Your head hurts?”

Tanuma just blinks again, nods once. The look on his face is strange. Vague, kind of.

Katsumi swears under his breath. “Hey,” he says again, louder, when Tanuma’s gaze slides away and out of focus. He grabs his shoulder, shakes him just enough to get his hazy attention back.

“Is this some youkai thing?” He tries to make the words slow and clear. “’Cause if we need to run…” Their chances wouldn’t be stellar, probably, out in the very-wide-open with no visible houses or people that Katsumi can see, but if they booked it they might make it back to the temple in 20 minutes. Barring being gutted in a rice paddy by invisible monsters.

Tanuma frowns, like he’s trying to grasp at the edges of his focus. “I don’t…”

“You don’t know? Or you don’t think so?” If there were time, Katsumi would feel like an ass for getting in his face and snapping at him. But he can feel Tanuma listing forward where he’s still gripping his shoulder, and he puts another hand under his elbow to steady him. “Should I call someone?”

Blink, blink. Apparently, that was too many questions at once. “…hot,” is what Tanuma finally settles on, in a small voice. Then his knees buckle.

Fuck.

Katsumi just barely manages to keep Tanuma from a total faceplant. He’s not so heavy, but it’s so abrupt that trying to catch him sends Katsumi falling back hard onto his own ass as Tanuma’s knees hit the ground.

Katsumi yelped as they went down, but Tanuma hasn’t made a sound. They’re both on their knees. Katsumi’s got him by the shoulders, and his head’s lolling forward, bumping into Katsumi’s chest.

And, shit. He was not lying. Katsumi can feel the heat rolling off him. He manages to maneuver a hand up to the side of his neck, and very nearly yanks it away, hissing through his teeth.

“Right, so,” he mutters. “Probably not youkai shit, then.”

Probably not doesn’t mean definitely not, though, and even as he’s trying to lower Tanuma fully onto the parched ground, curled onto his side, Katsumi’s fishing out his phone.

One bar. He’ll take it.

He hesitates for a second, torn between dialing Natsume, firing off a group message, or just calling an ambulance. He settles on the first—Natsume’s got the fastest mode of transport, which also happens to be an apparently giant and terrifying monster, if Sensei’s own words are to be believed, so that’s two birds one stone.

He hits Natsume’s name, fingers shaking.

And, dead air. Not even a dial tone.

He swears, checks the screen. Zero bars. A stupid little red x where the bars ought to be.

Goddamn backwoods towns and their goddamn backwoods reception.

“Hey.” He lays a hand on Tanuma’s shoulder. Katsumi can’t see his face, but his breaths are coming short and harsh. “I’m gonna borrow your phone.”

Less than one minute later and he’s given it up. Tanuma’s got the same network carrier, and an older phone to boot. It’s like there’s some fucked-up barricade made of yellowing rice fields, choking air and far-off cicada screeches between themselves and outside human contact.

Well then.

Tanuma’s eyes are open now. Not a lot, but that’s got to be better than passed out. Katsumi manages to work an arm under his shoulders, get his opposite hand under his head and neck. “Let’s get some tea in you,” he says, because he’s not sure what the fuck else to do. He can feel a pulse that’s far too quick thrumming under his fingertips, can see the intense splotchy flush across his cheeks that seems to have crept up out of nowhere. Tanuma doesn’t answer him, just scrunches up his eyes against the direct sun on his face, makes a small pained noise that makes Katsumi feel ill.

Making him drink turns out to be less than an inspired plan. He doesn’t seem to register the tea at first, letting it dribble down his chin, but then after a few slow gulps, he gags. And then proceeds to be sick, all over Katsumi.

“Eh. Didn’t like this shirt, anyways,” Katsumi tells him, hoping to exude literally any emotion other than pure terror, and barely managing to turn Tanuma’s face away in time before he gags again.

By the time he finishes, there’s tears in his eyes, and his breaths are coming ragged and loud. He doesn’t seem to notice that Katsumi’s dug through the combini bag, sliding the 2 liter of mugicha under his head and neck like a pillow, and tucked the bottle of Calpis that Taki had asked for underneath his armpit. The rest of Tanuma’s own bottle he upends over his neck and chest, soaking his towel and the top of his shirt. That, at least, elicits a reaction, a faint confused “hm” that would be perfectly reasonable for anyone whose friend has just drenched them in a bottle of jasmine tea.

It makes Katsumi smile, just a bit. “Gotta cool you down. Sorry.” He’s got no idea if it’s the correct thing to do; he’s based the entire tactic on some random lackluster TV drama he’d seen years ago, where some captain of a school track team overheated during a practice, and her teammates tried to care for her on the field while someone fetched a teacher.

At the very least, it didn’t seem to be hurting. His eyes are open wider now, marginally less clouded over. Katsumi’s positioned him on his side again in case of more puking, his cheek squashed against the tea bottle, and he seems to be focused on some spot on the gravel past Katsumi. He looks like he wants to say something, mouth forming around the shape of words, but nothing comes out.

Katsumi turns. There, lying maybe a half meter away on the ground, is something small and rectangular. Some kind of talisman, Katsumi thinks; it’s made of thin pale wood and covered in some inked-in kanji and symbols he can’t make out. He doesn’t touch it, at first. “This is yours?”

Tanuma nods, just a little, then screws his eyes shut like his head is protesting the movement. But by his side his fingers twitch vaguely in Katsumi’s direction. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when Katsumi was getting his phone. Katsumi scoops it up and places it in his palm, and Tanuma’s fingers close immediately around it.

He digs his own phone out again, an exercise in futility, and dials 119, resisting the urge to chuck it into the field as the call refuses to connect. It’s not like he couldn’t half-drag, half-carry Tanuma back towards the nearest house if he really needed to, but god knows how long it’d take, and even with his net zero medical expertise it seems like a bad idea to be moving him from this spot unless it’s on a stretcher, or on the back of a giant invisible wolf monster.

Tanuma’s staring at nothing at all again, his knuckles white from gripping the talisman. Katsumi frowns, grabs Tanuma’s wrist.

“You’re gonna break it. The wood’s pretty thin.”

Tanuma, predictably, ignores him. Even as weak as he is, with his thumb digging into the center of the thing, he’s likely to snap it in half.

But he doesn’t, or can’t, resist when Katsumi takes it from him. “Let’s keep this in one piece, huh. We need all the damned luck the gods want to chuck our way right now.” He’s about to slide it safely back into Tanuma’s pocket when he pauses, glancing down at the talisman.

“You’re sure nothing’s about to pop out and eat us, right?”

But Tanuma’s eyes have fallen shut again. He doesn’t seem to have passed out; he’s still gasping like he’s run a marathon.

“Right. Gonna take that as a yes.” He finishes tucking the talisman away, then slides his hand up under Tanuma’s fringe. He frowns. The intense heat, he was expecting. What he was not expecting was the desert-dryness of his skin. Katsumi’s own hair’s been plastered grossly to his forehead all week long, only to poke up and frizz at odd angles throughout the day. He hadn’t noticed earlier because of the damp towel and the tea-soaked shirt, but Tanuma’s not sweating.

He swallows back panic. God knows how he’s got any more panic to spare, really. “Look,” he says, not expecting an answer. “Nobody’s coming, because apparently nobody in this entire fucking town uses this road except us, so I’m gonna get help.” He blows out a breath. “I think we passed a pay phone. Ten minutes ago? Maybe less. I’ll make it five. If you get eaten by monsters while I’m gone and I ran in this weather for nothing I am gonna be pretty damn irritated.”

***

The only coffee the vending machines have, at least on this floor, is some dismal off-brand that only comes black. But Katsumi resolutely ignores the acid roiling in his stomach when Kitamoto passes him one and pops the tab. It’s something to do. Chug coffee, scroll his phone. Rinse, repeat. At least it’s cold.

“Hey.”

Something lands in his lap. A squashed-looking cinnamon roll, another vending-machine offering.

“Eat that too or you’ll puke again, probably,” Nishimura tells him.

Katsumi has to bite back the reflexive dickish retort. Nishimura looks just about as shit as Katsumi feels, but he’s still got it in him to be kind. Katsumi’s got nothing in him but raw nerves and stomach acid, at this point.

“Right,” he mutters. “Thanks.”

There’s not even a good reason anymore for the weird shitty haze over his brain. When Tanuma’s dad had called, just before three AM and only two-ish hours after they’d been forced to leave the hospital last night, the news had been good. He was awake, talking a little, and the fever definitely wasn’t gone but the numbers were creeping back downwards. They’d need a few days, at least, to run some barrage of tests and keep an eye out for lasting damage. Tanuma’s dad had been judiciously vague about just what kind of damage, but the half dozen browser pages on heatstroke currently open on Katsumi’s phone had given him a pretty grim idea.

The Fujiwaras’ house had been closest to the hospital, so they’d spent the remainder of the previous night all sleepless and huddled together on the floor of Natsume’s room. Katsumi hadn’t even put up a fight when they’d dragged his futon into the very center of the room between Kitamoto’s and Natsume’s, when Nishimura had idly flopped his own legs over Katsumi’s, or when Taki pulled up some aggressively cheerful magical girl anime on Natsume’s laptop to fill the dead air. When Sensei had tucked himself in by Katsumi’s hip and gone to sleep. When Touko-san had patted his arm, after their very late dinner, her eyes so gentle it hurt. He’d felt liminal, then, like he’d take off and run if he could just escape his own skin, but at least with the others all squashed up against him he could remember to breathe.

It's past 10 in the morning now. Visiting hours had started at 9, and they’d all piled on the first scheduled bus towards the hospital this morning and arrived before 8, anyhow. They had, of course, not been allowed to step foot out the door without a bag loaded up with bento lunches and a firm promise to Touko-san they’d be back by late afternoon when visiting hours had concluded to get some rest. Though she’d been saying something about “getting some things ready” to bring over herself for Tanuma and his dad, and based on the look on her face when she’d said it Katsumi’s half expecting her to march through the waiting room doors in the next hour or two like a woman on a mission with half the contents of the closest supermarket and drugstore loaded up in her arms. The thought makes his chest feel tight.

But they’d shown up just in time to be informed that Tanuma had an MRI among other things scheduled that morning, and that no, they did not know how long it would take.

Across from Katsumi, Natsume’s dozed off, despite his own best coffee-fueled efforts. He’s slumped sideways onto Taki, lank-haired and restless, flicking through an old magazine with disinterest as her heel bounces on the scuffed linoleum. Sensei’s perched across both their laps, still absurdly half-stuffed into the duffel bag in which they’d smuggled him through the hospital doors, which seems pretty pointless to Katsumi if he’s just going to sit there with his entire head sticking out at this point. But he seems entirely unbothered, his eyes closed; maybe asleep, maybe not. But they’re the only ones tucked over in this little alcove of a waiting room, and damn if not a soul has interrupted them for a good two hours.

It’s probably for the best that Natsume’s getting some sleep, really. He hadn’t gotten any more than Katsumi had; Katsumi had heard his muffled hitched breaths last night when they were all pretending to sleep. Out of all of them, he’s said the least this whole time.

“You can stop looking at him like that.”

Taki’s voice is frank, but not unkind.

Katsumi could not be less in the mood for whatever the hell kind of conversation this is about to be. “Like what,” he replies anyhow. 

“Like you broke his best friend,” Nishimura says, lowly, before letting out a slight oof like he’s been elbowed in the ribs.

Damn. Alright then.

None of them seem to be holding their breath for him to respond, at least. They don’t seem to know what to say, either, really. He’s weighing the pros and cons of just fleeing to the bathroom when Kitamoto finally says, “Natsume knows better than anyone that this isn’t on you.”

“Why?” Katsumi feels his gut give a little lurch. “Was it some kind of youkai shit after all, then?”

Taki shakes her head. “I mean, you’ll have to ask him, but. Sensei did go and check the area out last night and ask around and everything, and it all seemed normal.”

Sensei remains silent, naturally, but his ear flicks in Taki’s direction.

Kitamoto’s mouth twists. “What I meant was, just keeling over in random places with no warning or explanation is like. A hobby of Natsume’s.”

“We love it,” Nishimura mutters. “It’s great.”

Sensei huffs.

Katsumi glances at Natsume, still slack and dead to the world on Taki’s shoulder. And okay, maybe he kind of still looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. But much less so than when they were kids. Less so even than the first time Katsumi had come to this town. “How many times constitutes a hobby?”

And Nishimura frowns, then honest-to-god starts counting on his fingers.

Taki watches him, mouth twisting like she’s considering it. “I guess it depends what counts as keeling over. Or what constitutes a warning.

“Enough times,” Kitamoto says, decisively.

Nishimura scuffs his toe on the floor. “And with me and Acchan, he’d just be lying through his teeth about it, for months, because he didn’t think he could—“

Could what, Katsumi wonders, but Nishimura never finishes the thought. Kitamoto bumps their shoulders together Nishimura huffs, apparently relinquishing the rant building inside him, but Katsumi thinks the look on his face, the tightness in his eyes, is just this side of grief.

“Anyways,” Nishimura says, after an uncomfortable beat, sounding only slightly more subdued. “Even if you don’t wanna hear it, you’re the Big Damn Hero in this situation. No ifs-ands-or-buts, okay. We all know it. Natsume knows it.” Taki nods, flint-eyed like she’s daring him to argue.

“You can’t predict this stuff,” Kitamoto adds, after a moment, his expression hard to parse. “With anyone. And you’ll just make yourself crazy thinking you can.”

“Okay,” is all Katsumi can think of to say. It sounds dismissive, probably, but it’s all he’s got right now. He watches Natsume scrunch up his nose in his sleep. The council hath spoken, and he is too goddamned tired to refute them.

tbc

[dailysmilingnatsume]

[nin-deer]

day 5!!!!! almost there!!!!!

honestly was just experimenting w lineless and i dont hate it, so i count it as a win <3

ID under the cut!

[ID: Natsume and Shibata sitting on a grassy hill, bodies turned slightly away from each other. In the middle is a tree with no leaves, branches spreading out. Natsume is sitting criss-cross applesauce with his arms in front of his torso, hands hidden by his legs. Shibata is sitting with one leg propped up, a hand wiping away something on his face.]

[goodlucktai]

soft ground, claiming moon

no other place to go

@natsumeweek 2023 day 4; calling/answering read on ao3

(previous) (next) 

x

Shibata and Ogata arrive thirty minutes too late to witness the confrontation, juggling a ton of bags between them, but Shibata doesn’t even make it all the way out of the genkan before he’s scowling. 

“Okay, we’re anxious,” he says, staring into Tanuma’s face like he’s been personally wronged by it somehow. “Why are we anxious?”

Tanuma, who got up to politely greet them at the door, does about as well as he always does under scrutiny. Which is to say, very poorly. He starts twisting his hands together. Shibata is only halfway out of the entryway and he’s already gearing up for an interrogation. 

Ogata shoves her way past Shibata to meet Taki’s tackle-hug halfway, and beams at everyone else over Taki’s shoulder even as she spits out a mouthful of tawny brown hair.

Their presence isn’t exactly a calming factor, but it’s still a relief to see the two of them. 

“I brought presents!” Ogata says cheerfully. She parts from Taki and collapses on top of Kitamoto in greeting in a move reminiscent of annoying sisters everywhere. Kitamoto squawks and goes down under her weight. Since Nishimura is still attached to his side, he goes down with them. 

Takashi laughs at their tangle of limbs. He can feel Natori’s eyes on him, and glances over to find the exorcist watching the welcome committee with an incredulous expression. 

“When you said you had everything under control, I was expecting a little more decorum,” the man says with false brightness in his tone. “Your friends understand what’s going to happen, don’t they?”

“Natori-dono,” Hiiragi says evenly before Takashi can speak. 

He holds up his hands. “Right. I’m sorry.” 

He looks as convinced about all of this as he was when he got here, but at least he’s sitting quietly to the side for the most part. 

It’s not enough to keep Nishimura from avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. He looks very small and very sick and deeply uncomfortable to be sharing his first full moon with his favorite movie star. Which is fair, given that his favorite movie star showed up here to kill him. 

Kitamoto and Taki are probably going to carry a grudge against Natori into their next lives. As it is, Taki won’t dismiss her familiars as long as Natori won’t dismiss his. Her foxes are smiling, teeth bared. It will take very, very little to convince them that they ought to take a chunk out of someone’s arm. 

Sensei is back in his lucky cat form but his eyes are the deep vivid green that means trouble. He doesn’t quite manage to look menacing with the cake frosting on his whiskers but Takashi feels safer with him nearby anyway. 

Ogata tugs one of her bags closer and starts digging through it, producing a small pile of stuff she’s accumulated for her friends since she’s seen them last. 

“Wait, so you’re an exorcist?” Shibata says to Natori, his voice carrying skeptically across the room. “You can’t emote your way out of a paper bag, and you think you’re qualified to go hunting monsters?”

Nishimura flinches and studies the big frog stuffie Ogata gave him as if he’s going to be graded on it later. Kitamoto can’t sit any closer to him than he already is, but he looks willing to try.

Natori’s back straightens. He looks stunned. It’s a much better look on him than the grimly determined one he’s been wearing up until now. 

“Excuse me?”

“Satchan has made me suffer through about a hundred of your movies. I think I’m over -qualified to critique you at this point,” Shibata says in a scornful tone, folding himself onto the cushion on Nishimura’s free side. He’s proving a point two-fold with the nickname and his choice of seat. “So I’m going to say what everybody’s thinking: it’s bullshit that you won Best Actor last year for your role in Dusk when your co-star carried that whole film.”

Okay, so Shibata has chosen violence. Tanuma must have told him why Natori is here. Takashi knows from experience that trying to stop Shibata now would be like trying to stop a trainwreck from happening with his bare hands. It’s easiest to just allow things to play out and then do damage control. 

And also Takashi is still angry at Natori; letting him be bullied by a high schooler seems fair.

One of Taki’s foxes—the one called Chikao, Takashi thinks, but it’s indistinguishable from its twin Chimon, so he doesn’t actually have any idea—gives a high-pitched, yipping laugh and climbs into Shibata’s lap. He’s the only human in Taki’s circle who is anywhere near as catty as they are, which means he has their full approval. 

“Hi, Chimon,” Shibata says, clearly pleased as he strokes its velvety black ears. “I’m not a chair, you know,” he adds, so no one gets the idea that he has feelings. 

Natori seems to be wrestling with the clear and present urge to let himself be offended by the opinions of a teenager. Sensei is chuckling, a soft whuffling half-muffled by his dessert. 

“Okay,” the exorcist finally says. “I understand why none of you are happy to see me here. And maybe I could have done things a little differently. But I hope that you all understand that I acted in what I believed to be your best interest. You know—better than most people your age—how dangerous these things really are.”

“We were there,” Taki tells him. She’s holding Tanuma’s hand, maybe for her own benefit, but probably for Tanuma’s. “We do know. We’re ready.”

“They’ve done all their witchy stuff already,” Kitamoto says. “Circles and charms and whatever else. This is definitely the most fortified temple in Kumamoto.”

“Or, like, all of Kyushu,” Shibata says. 

“All of my friends on the mountain are keeping watch,” Takashi adds. “Nothing that happens is going to get past these walls.”

“It’s what happens in the walls that I’m concerned about,” Natori says through gritted teeth. “This is a stupid risk. You are half-human, you realize that? You can be hurt or killed just as easily as your friends can.”

“Not by him,” Takashi replies firmly. 

“You’re much nicer on T.V.,” Ogata informs Natori with a frown. 

“Natsume,” Nishimura pipes up suddenly. He’s looking past the tangle of their best friends right at Takashi. He’s still wearing Tanuma’s jacket but it’s not doing anything to stop him from shivering. 

He has steadily looked more and more ill throughout the day, but now he looks horrible. His brown eyes are stark and bright in his pale face. 

“I hear it,” he says very quietly. 

The atmosphere changes on a dime. Natori surges to his feet, but he’s blocked from making any forward movement by Nyanko-sensei, Chikao and Chimon. Hiiragi murmurs something that Takashi can’t make out, but whatever it is convinces Urihime and Sasago not to instigate anything. 

Ogata picks the frog stuffie back up from where Nishimura dropped it and pushes it gently back into his hands. Shibata starts grumbling about the tears in his sleeve from Chimon’s claws, left there from when the fox went tearing away with its twin, and how his wardrobe always gets ruined when he visits “you people.” When Tanuma waves him over to help with the charms, he gets up with great reluctance. Taki presses her hand flat against the floor and activates a few softly glowing circles. 

Kitamoto hasn’t budged from Nishimura’s side and won’t be budged come hail or high water. He looks as frightened now as he did that day in the hospital, waiting for someone to tell him that his best friend was going to be okay. 

Takashi kneels in front of Nishimura and offers his hands. Nishimura grabs them quickly and squeezes hard. 

“It’ll be okay,” Takashi whispers. 

“What if it’s not?” Nishimura’s voice is just as soft. 

Takashi remembers being a child, hated for something beyond his control. He was so often abandoned that he barely knew what it felt like not to be alone. Then he moved here, into the Fujiwaras’ bright, warm house, and now he has light and warmth to spare. 

But he’ll never forget how desperate he once was for any kind touch, any comforting word. He’ll never forget the difference it would have made. 

“Then it’s not,” Takashi says. “But we’ll still be here.”

“Natsume, move away,” Natori calls urgently. 

“Enough,” sensei shuts him down. 

“Wolfy-Satchan can’t be any more difficult than Shibata when he’s in one of his moods ,” Ogata says, smiling,“and we still love him somehow.”

“This isn’t my moment, so I’ll let you have that one,” Shibata snaps. “That one .”

Nishimura curls in on himself and breathes harshly. Kitamoto is near tears but he squeezes his friend tight against his side and presses his face against Nishimura’s russet-colored hair. 

“I can hear it, Acchan,” Nishimura manages between pants for air. 

“So answer it already.” Kitamoto hugs him harder. “Go wherever you have to. Just make sure to come back.”

Outside, the moon reaches its peak. Beneath their hands, Nishimura changes. 

[justaregulardecoratedemergency]

if the Beanpole Gang™ stayed at shibata’s in s6ep3