#which is very vague but I can't narrow it down beyond that because I start to feel like I'm gonna cry and it's making my head hurt

[luckydragon10]

WIP Weds, Last Loves (Sept 21)

Soon, Last Loves will no longer be a WIP. OMG I can't wait to be done.

Meanwhile, I hope folks are looking forward to this weekend, when @daswarschonkaputt and I are going to launch the KinnPorTay ship in STYLE.

I'm a bit shy about sharing large snippets before publishing, but I feel like y'all deserve a bit more because you've been SO encouraging. 💖 So here's the opening section of Last Loves.

~~~

When Time finally leaves him for real, Tay stays in their high-rise condo for three days. 

He hates that he didn’t do the leaving himself. He waits for Time to come home, to talk, to figure out a compromise like they’ve always done. He knows he’s waiting in vain.

He cooks his own meals, watches a drama he’d been meaning to finish, and browses internet videos for promising singers, and meanwhile time slips away from him. 

After those first three zombie-like days of empty home (quite unusual) and empty bed (very normal), Tay goes out. At first he simply drives toward the ramen shop because it’s Thursday, and he and Time always get ramen on Thursdays. But he drives beyond it. Then somehow he’s driving to the outdoor shooting range his family owns, where he and Time used to have competitions while their parents chatted and watched. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps driving, heading to the arcade where they used to go as teenagers, where Tay confessed and Time gave him his first kiss.

Again he doesn’t stop, and this time he keeps driving, driving, driving, with no direction in mind. He drives until the cities fade into suburbs and pavement melts away into grass. The houses retreat farther and farther back from the narrow two-lane highway. 

Tay pulls off the road into a patch of rubble and stops the car. A farmhouse is in view a short ways back from the road.

He hears nothing. 

After a moment, he turns on the car again and rolls down the windows. A thin, hot breeze passes through the car, and he hears the sound of crickets and the occasional bird song. 

He’s been with Time for more than a decade. He’s loved him for longer. He hates Time for not loving him enough and hates himself for hating Time. 

Then the tears finally started coming, the tears that hadn’t surfaced for those three days of aloneness. 

He cries because happiness just seems so hard and impossible and far away. 

It takes an hour to get all the tears out. It’s just long enough for someone at the farmhouse to call for a patrol car, which comes by and parks behind Tay’s blue Bentley. Tay just laughs to himself as the officer gets out of her vehicle and approaches. She takes a look at Tay’s tear-stained face, another look at his license and registration, and apologizes for bothering him. 

Vaguely he thinks back to a scene at Kinn’s home shooting range, when Time talked about Tay’s dad getting him off for crashing his car. 

“You guys are a bunch of assholes,” the rude new bodyguard had said, disdain and insolence dripping off him.

Tay tries to argue the officer into giving him a ticket. She looks horrified. She insists on letting him go, saying he’s obviously not causing trouble. Which, to be fair, he isn’t, but he still wants the ticket. When he realizes he’s putting her in a tough position, he asks her for a verbal warning, and she humors him with pity in her eyes. 

The officer leaves. 

This time the tears alternate with laughter. Sometimes he laughs bitterly, sometimes hysterically, sometimes with snotty little giggles. 

When the tears dry up, Tay heads home.

He picks up fried chicken on the way.

[damienthepious]

If you’re doing commentary for biohc then “arum is being ignored - Lord Arum may be perfectly content to ignore him in turn.” (Also maybe a snapshot of rillas perspective in the last paragraph with arum? please?)

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet]

ohhhhhh fuck yes oh okay. (cw references to self harm)

[Arum is being ignored. Soundly and surely.

... Why?]

Arum hasn't had much cause to analyze anyone else's actions socially in quite a long time, and he wasn't particularly good at it way back when either, otherwise he might have caught on to this a bit sooner. Regardless, he doesn't trust it.

[If it is out of pity for what happened yesterday then Arum will-]

ahhhh, the main problem. Arum knows that his situation is pathetic, but he REFUSES to be pitied, especially for (what he considers) his absolutely shameful display the day before. He's so fucking embarrassed not only to have broken down like that, but to have done it in front of this pain in the ass. Arum still, in some small way, has a spark of his pride in him.

[(Nothing. Arum can do nothing. A thousand threats in his head and Arum cannot even hurt himself beyond superficially. Arum can do nothing.)]

he's SO angry and has ZERO ability to follow through on it. And he's far, far past the point of admitting it. Yes, he still has his pride, but he knows... he knows that he's beaten. He's biding his time, because that's the ONLY thing that he can do.

[Not that a knight would pity him. Discomfort is more likely.]

Pivot: he can't do anything about his anger, so set it aside. Discomfort from a knight makes him less angry, so it's easier to brush off.

[Well... fine, then. Fine. Ignoring Arum is much better than the last few obnoxious shifts together, isn't it? Arum wanted this miserable creature to shut his mouth and leave Arum be, and miracle of miracles, the rotten thing might actually obey.]

It is so fucking difficult to write around these two not knowing each other's names. Can't tell you how eager I am to get past that point. Also, you can very clearly see Arum talking himself into feeling this way, here.

[Nothing has obeyed Arum in... however long he has been here. Arum should find the change refreshing.]

I'm keeping it very deliberately vague, the ACTUAL amount of time that Arum's been captive. Mostly because there is literally NO way for Arum to know, considering that his prison is deep in the Citadel. He can't even tell day from night, let alone keep track of passing days.. months..... years. I think it's been... more than two years, less than five. I don't know if I'll narrow it down more than that.

[If-

That is, if Arum could find a way to focus on anything else besides the knight ignoring him in his rhythmic circle. He is so wretchedly distracting. Which-]

Alas, he started paying attention to Damien when he was expecting him to start bothering him again, so.... it's difficult to unpin that attention.

[Is strange, because Arum did not find any of his colleagues distracting in the interim. Perpetually ignorable, all the queen's knights and guards. Except- this one. Apparently.]

The difficulty with Damien thus far has been a breach in routine. The other knights may as well be parts of the scenery, for Arum. Damien has been too different to ignore, though. And now, even when he's ostensibly acting like all the others, he's done too much to differentiate himself, and it feels like a veneer. Which... to be fair.... it IS. It IS a veneer. Damien is playing at a lack of care and it is, very likely, driving Damien EXACTLY as crazy as it's driving Arum.

[That little pit of fury kindles brighter at the base of Arum's throat, refreshing heat against the dullness of his surroundings. Of course, even in silence this creature finds a way to torment Arum. Of course he does. He must know that Arum expects further stilted conversational attempts, further interrogation, further annoyance altogether, and instead of providing, he must be ignoring Arum deliberately, in an effort to force yet another outburst from the monster.]

Here, you can see Arum talking himself into something again. Or at least, he's taking a LONG mental walk to justify his instinctive reactions. He's ascribing malice to Damien's actions without any real evidence,

[Either that, or the knight is simply inconstant and unreliable and a menace to Arum's fragile peace of mind in that way, instead.]

This is far more accurate lmao. Damien, ironically, isn't really thinking about how his see-saw reactions might be affecting Arum. He's busy in his OWN head. working out how he feels about Arum's captivity. lololololol.

[Well, Arum thinks with a huff, the knight will certainly not be provoking Arum to any tirades today. If this particular knight wishes to ignore Lord Arum, late of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms, Lord Arum may be perfectly content to ignore him in turn.]

"late of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms" was a phrase that hurt my heart to write. Arum, in his own head, being darkly flippant about it... god..... poor thing.

AND. RILLA SCENE QUICK.. u said last paragraph with arum so i'm assuming you want when they're actually interacting before she bolts off,

[She grins again as she watches him do this, which Arum does not trust. She either does not notice or care about his suspicion, though,]

she cares inasmuch as she completely fucking understands why this monster would not trust her. Not so quickly, and not after everything he's clearly been through.

[because she only nods at him, winks,]

gods i love rilla. she's still in her Investigating What's Going On In Here phase but she STILL needs to really, REALLY cement her solidarity with this creature she barely knows.

[and whispers, "I'll be back sometime, okay? And maybe then you can tell me your name."]

this is like Arum thinking, earlier, about how WEIRD it is that Rilla assumes that Arum is sentient right off the bat. She assumes, without needing to be told, that Arum has a name. That she should call him something besides monster, or even swamp lord. And she's also promising him another chance at this, more "conversation" and more pages like the ones he clearly wanted to devour. Rilla is observant, and she saw him. She wants to figure out what the fuck is going on here, and that means she's coming back. 💖💜💖

[owletstarlet]

Ooh I can't wait for these! 11 for tanunatsu please??

#11 from this list: “I almost lost you” kiss 

Established relationship because I damn well said so

“Wake up.”

The plea tumbles from Kaname’s lips and it’s soft but it feels manic. His hands are shaking where they hover above Natsume’s chest; he’s barely breathing and his pulse is thready but he’s alive, he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive—

Kaname’s afraid to touch, now; as much as every instinct is telling him to gather Natsume into his arms and never let go, he can’t tell if he’s injured. He doesn’t look it, mostly he just looks cold; the pallor of his face under the clear brightness of a winter moon, lips gone blue, and actual patches of frost spangled across his damp pajamas. But he’s so still, and there’s blackened blood under his nose, trailing halfway down his cheek on one side before it had dried, and Kaname thinks he might be sick.

“I need you to wake up.” His voice splinters halfway through, and he takes Natsume’s face in his hands, so carefully. “Please.” And god, his skin is a temperature that skin should never ever be. His thumbs trace the dark divots below his eyes. He wants to grab his shoulders, shake him, yell and scream until he opens his eyes and calmly tells Kaname the blatant and oft-repeated lie that everything is just fine here.

He can’t see Ponta, he’s not changed back to a visible form but he can feel the wall of warmth at his back. He turns towards that warmth, now, where he can make out a mass of translucent white right in front of his nose, and this close to it he can barely see the trees beyond.

“He won’t wake up,” Kaname says, and it sounds so obvious, childish.

Then, a part of that white mass moves in close just beside his shoulder, where he would more or less imagine Ponta’s head to be. A gust of air, warm and strong, passes over Kaname’s hands and ruffles Natsume’s hair.

He doesn’t stir.

Kaname hears a faint sound, almost like a deep harrumph, before a white burst of smoke erupts around him. Then Ponta is there, a cat once more, just by Kaname’s knee. “No need to be so delicate,” he says, testily. “You won’t break him. He’s just sleeping. Could’ve picked a better place to do it.”

Kaname could’ve sobbed from relief. His hands shift down to Natsume’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Ponta scoffs. “That yuki-onna is what happened.”

“Where—”

“Gone, now, I’d say. And good riddance. Oi,” he adds, waddling up to the side of Natsume’s head and batting him on the nose. “Don’t nap here, moron. Let’s go already.”

Taking Ponta’s lead, Kaname shakes Natsume’s shoulders himself; tentatively, at first, then much harder, because Ponta’s right, he can’t stay out here any longer. But Natsume’s head just lolls back onto the underbrush, and Kaname bites the inside of his cheek. “Come on, come back,” he says, loud as he can through the panic still threatening to snuff out his voice altogether. “You can come sleep in my bed again, okay? It’s so cold out here.”

When that garners no response, Ponta’s eyes narrow. “This is taking too long.” Then, without warning and in a move that should’ve been altogether impossible, he spins right around and launches a sharp kick right at Natsume’s face, with enough force behind it to knock his whole head to one side.

“Don’t—”

But it’s only then Natsume’s eyelids flutter.

“Mnn…ow.”

The noise that escapes Kaname’s throat then is very much like a sob. He cradles Natsume’s face between his hands once more and leans in close, chest constricting. Natsume’s own eyes are half-mast and dull, an uncomprehending gaze drifting over his surroundings and right over Kaname, not focusing on any one thing. That is, until Ponta wriggles in between him and Kaname, putting himself nose-to-nose with Natsume and glaring.

“Idiot,” he snaps. “This is what you get for letting a snow demon possess you. You’re damned lucky Tanuma woke up in time to see you were gone or you’d have been long dead by morning.”

Natsume doesn’t seem to really register a word of that, but his eyes become a little bit clearer at the sound of Ponta’s biting tone. He squints a bit, frowns.

“Sensei…?” And, after a moment, gaze shifting upwards, “…Tanuma?”

Ponta ducks out of the way then, with a huff, and Kaname leans in close. “Yeah.” The single word feels like a burst of relief. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Natsume echoes, vaguely, giving Kaname a tiny smile.

After a moment, his forehead scrunches up, and beside him his fingers twitch in the dirt and shriveled leaves. “What—a-are we outside?”

Kaname just nods, tightly, not at all having it in him to elaborate if Natsume doesn’t remember.

“Oh…you���re crying.” And that vagueness in his voice and eyes is quickly replacing itself with distress when he takes in Kaname’s face.

Kaname just nods again, swallows hard; now is not the time for a breakdown, it’s not, he can do that later when Natsume is warm and safe and not watching it happen.

“Well, of course he is,” Ponta mutters. “A minute ago he thought he just found your corpse.”

“…oh.” The realization in his wide eyes shifts to something more like horror, then shame. “Tanuma, I’m sor—”

But the words are lost because Kaname’s kissing him, then. It’s a fierce, desperate thing, faces mashed together, his fingers curling in Natsume’s hair like he’ll evaporate into the January night if Kaname can’t hold him tight enough, every muscle in his own body rigid with residual terror.

Natsume remains motionless beneath him, cold mouth perfectly still. It feels as though he’s holding his breath.

But it’s just enough like kissing some lifeless thing, that that thought alone is enough to send him reeling back.

When he looks down, though, Natsume’s just watching him, eyes clear and soft and very, very worried.

Kaname blows out a long breath before he can trust himself to speak. “Your lips are freezing,” he says, with a little chuckle that doesn’t at all sound right. “And god, there’s ice in your hair…” His fingers comb back Natsume’s fringe.

“I’m okay,” Natsume starts, and Ponta promptly snorts. “Ah. I mean,” he amends, softly, “I don’t feel cold. Just…sleepy, kind of.”

“No sleeping.” The words come out louder than he’d meant them to, sharp and frightened. “Not until we get you back and warmed up,” he adds, forcing a calmer tone. He bends down, quickly presses his lips to the frigid skin of Natsume’s forehead, then shrugs off his jacket to drape across Natsume’s chest.

When he looks again, some of the trepidation has bled out of Natsume’s eyes, replaced with something a little warmer, drowsier. Trusting.

Kaname cups his cheek, tries to ignore the tremble in his fingers. “Let’s go home.”

***

Natsume’s recollection of the incident, of how he’d ended up half frozen in the forest, comes back to him soon enough. Kaname makes him tell it, in order to keep him awake while he’s getting him into the tub to thaw him out.

The yuki-onna had come to him initially just a few days prior, just as school was ending and the New Year’s break began. She was lost, and very weak, and Ponta had dispassionately noted how odd it was for her to have not vanished altogether. She’d strayed so far south of the more common haunts of yuki-onna, where the winters were so mild and snow so rare. Natsume never found out why she’d come, she claimed to not quite recall, but she hadn’t come alone; her sister had been by her side. But the two had become separated, apparently, on a windy night. She’d been frantic, her sister was hardly stronger than she was, but she’d heard tell from a few of the local youkai that if she were in trouble, she ought to seek out Natsume-sama for help. Ponta hadn’t been especially fond of the idea, given the particular penchant of her whole kind for killing off humans in creative ways, and skeptical about the gaps in her memory—which needless to say had left Kaname nice and anxious, as well as Taki when she’d heard. But Ponta had conceded that she was clearly frail, just on the brink of fading away entirely if she couldn’t find someone or something to possess, and he genuinely hadn’t believed that she could do Natsume any real physical harm by simply hitching a ride in his body until her sister was found. She wouldn’t dare, when endangering him would be endangering herself.

And that had seemed to be the truth, at first. The New Year’s season had always necessitated a lot of travel for Dad, and with Natsume having planned to stay over most of the nights that Dad would be away, Kaname had had plenty of time to observe him, to make sure he was as fine as he claimed to be. But he’d looked to be perfectly well, not even a bit pale or fatigued or any of the general red flags Kaname had come to associate with youkai involvement. If anything, he was livelier and better-rested now that school was out and he was free to spend his days doing nothing of consequence, though he had confided that he was worried for the yuki-onna—he could barely sense her presence, he’d said, and most of the time she seemed to be asleep anyhow. Which was going to make tracking down her sister a tall order, if she couldn’t stay awake long enough to help at all, to tell them what they should even be looking for.

Up until tonight, of course. Kaname supposes in retrospect that he should’ve realized something was off when they’d settled in for bed, when he’d pulled Natsume close against his chest and frowned, realizing just how cool his skin felt all over. But Natsume waved it off when he asked, seeming for all the world to be perfectly content and sleepy, merely yawning and burrowing his face deeper against Kaname’s pajama shirt as Kaname tugged an extra blanket over them both.

When Kaname started awake, hours later, it was to a freezing room, an open window and an empty bed. And Ponta, clearly just arrived back from an evening of New Year’s revelry, asking just where the hell Natsume had gotten off to.

None of them are completely sure what changed, the coming-together of factors that finally allowed the yuki-onna to awaken, and to carry Natsume’s body away so deep into the forest that when he finally regained his senses he couldn’t find his way back again. Ponta’s best guess was that it was simply a matter of the temperature dropping in the night, enough for the ground to properly freeze for the first time in weeks. Enough to rouse the missing sister, to draw her out of wherever she had secluded herself to preserve her own strength, to start her back on her own search. And, as Natsume understood it from his own hazy recollection, she’d passed close enough by Kaname’s house in this search that her sister had sensed it, mustered what bit of energy she’d regained from resting within Natsume, and managed to well and truly take him over, enough to leave the house and give chase. The sister had fled, not realizing the possession and fearing that she was being pursued by an exorcist, until her limited strength failed her and Natsume’s body had caught up.

It was a happy ending, for the two of them, as far as Natsume knew, though admittedly they’d said little more to him than their thanks before vanishing into the night together. And in doing so, had left Natsume stranded and barefoot in his pajamas, in an unfamiliar part of the forest.

And to be fair, they wouldn’t necessarily have had any reason to know he was unfamiliar with it, or that he couldn’t just go back the way he came—after all, when they’d found him he hadn’t been that far away, he could only have gotten so far on foot. But Kaname doesn’t feel quite so forgiving on the matter, especially when Natsume told what happened next.

Because he’d scarcely begun to realize just how lost he was when he’d become drowsy, and dizzy. Not cold, he’d said; not really, and in no discernible pain, but after a few minutes he’d ended up on his hands and knees in the underbrush, his head reeling. And the next thing he’d known, Ponta was kicking him in the face.

At the very least, Kaname supposes he’s grateful that Natsume truly didn’t seem to feel the cold. Not until halfway through his bath, anyways, when the shivering set in, but by then he was well on his way to being a normal human temperature once more. And that’s the other thing Kaname can’t quite forgive, that both yuki-onna had been so apparently blind to the fact that they’d nearly frozen him to death. Natsume for his part genuinely hadn’t noticed; he’d been surprised when Kaname pointed out the ice on his clothes and in his hair. And, as Ponta had (reasonably) pointed out, yuki-onna in general were not known for any dealings with a human that a human ever walked away from, so it was likely they had no idea the kind of unintentional damage they’d inflicted. But regardless, if Ponta had found him any later than he had, it unquestionably would’ve been too late.

He’s back in bed, now, bath finished, swaddled up in every extra blanket that Kaname could find. He had been very reluctant to leave the room even for the two or so minutes it took to locate said blankets, the fact that Ponta was literally sitting perched on top of Natsume’s chest when he’d left (and sending Kaname off with a longsuffering “just go already, I won’t let him wander off again”) notwithstanding. He had tried not to visibly rush back to the bed when he returned, but the panic must’ve been a little too obvious in his eyes, because Natsume immediately tried to prop himself up on his elbows, giving him a smile that was surely meant to be reassuring but far too weary around the edges to be so. Kaname had just laid him back down, wordlessly, with a quick kiss to the forehead before he began situating the blankets. Ponta had given up his spot on Natsume’s chest in favor of settling down instead near his thigh.

“Okay,” he says, once he’s finished fussing with the bedding. “How cold are you?” Which might be an idiotic question, if Kaname’s lips on his skin just now were anything to go by, the answer is still very. But he’s learned by now, when asking after Natsume’s wellbeing, to phrase it so as not to allow him the out of merely saying he’s fine when he obviously isn’t, otherwise he’d be claiming he was just fine up to his dying breath.

And to Natsume’s credit, he does try to be more honest about it, nowadays, to Kaname, to their friends and to the Fujiwaras, though it’s so visibly difficult for him to try to relearn every instinct he has just to let on that he’s unwell.

“I’m…it’s not so bad anymore.” His voice is a little muffled; he’s buried up to the nose in soft fleece. “I don’t want to move, though.”

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much anyways, with your feet in that state,” Kaname says, mouth twisting. Natsume hadn’t really been aware of it until they’d gotten back, but taking off through the woods at top speed had torn up his skin pretty thoroughly, cuts and scratches up to the ankle that had bled in the bathwater, and the nail on one foot had been ripped clean off. Kaname had done what he could with a first aid kit, Natsume’s blood on his fingertips enough to set his stomach churning but knowing his aversion to hospital trips.

“Are you gonna just carry me everywhere, then?” Natsume’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“If you need me to,” he says, his returning smile sitting brittle on his lips, sliding his fingers through Natsume’s still-damp hair and wondering if he dried it well enough. “But it’d be better for you to just stay in bed.”

Natsume blinks up at him; he can’t seem to keep his eyes open all the way. “You know…I’m sorry about the circumstances, but it is pretty fun when you carry me.” An honest-to-god delirious giggle, then. “You’re strong.”

“I’m not that strong.” An easy counter. “You’re not that heavy.” He pauses, realizing he’d been hovering in an awkward half-crouch beside the bed that’s making his thighs ache, and sits on the edge of the mattress. Ponta shoots him a brief exasperated look, make up your mind already. “Do your feet hurt a lot? I can find you medicine if it’d help you sleep.”

“Mm…no, they’ll be alright…” he frowns a little, and Kaname feels a movement by his hip, and realizes that Natsume’s trying to work his hand free of the many blankets tucked tight around him. Kaname tugs them loose, only to have pale fingers catch his sleeve.

“Don’t you want to lie down?”

No, Kaname thinks, and if he wasn’t sitting he’s pretty sure he’d be pacing. But there’s a quiet apprehension in Natsume’s words, so Kaname gives a constrained nod instead. “Let me just get the lights.”

It doesn’t actually help his nerves any, lying in the exact same position they’d fallen asleep in earlier that night; the chilly tip of Natsume’s nose brushing against his breastbone and Kaname’s arm draped over his shoulders. When the occasional shiver comes, he rubs Natsume’s back, and Kaname does appreciate that much, it means he can feel him breathing better. Natsume always seems to migrate into this same position; it means he’s comfortable and Kaname’s glad for that but he certainly can’t say the same. Even Ponta keeping a lookout only helps so much with that; every muscle and nerve in him feels like a taut rubber band twisted over and over on itself, acid churning in an empty stomach. He starts at every little sound, every slight creak of the aging house settling around them. There’s no real noise from outside; the night is still, no wind, no forest creatures making any sound this deep into the winter. Objectively that silence should be better; but it’s not, really, it just feels all the more ominous. Kaname’s wound so tightly, ears pricked for every sound, that all it takes is for Ponta to speak out of the blue to startle him so badly that it wakes Natsume back up.

“Calm down, brat.” He pokes at Kaname’s ankle with a single paw. “I was just going to say it’s actually safe for you to go to sleep, hard as that is for you to believe, apparently.”

“I know,” Kaname murmurs, watching Natsume’s forehead scrunch up as his awareness returns. “Sorry. I’m trying.”

“Are you, though?” Ponta drawls, and Kaname sends a tired glare in his general direction.

“Hm…mm?” Natsume frowns, eyes sliding slowly into focus, reflecting the light of the single lamp Kaname had left on beside the bed.

Kaname smooths back his hair with one hand. “It’s alright.” He tries to sound surer than he feels, on that point. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’s…” His frown deepens, both his hands sliding up to the sides of Kaname’s chest under the covers. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

“That’s because been busy picturing all the different ways you could possibly prance off and die the second he takes his eyes off you,” Ponta says flatly, and Kaname winces.

“…Oh.” He lets out a slow breath. Then, looking resolute, he inches himself upward, wriggling out from under the mass of bedclothes piled on top of him until he’s nose-to-nose with Kaname, his cheek squashed against the pillow. He’s panting a little from the effort, gripping Kaname’s shirt with both hands, but his eyes are steady. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be.” Kaname reaches up, traces the pad of his thumb across Natsume’s cheekbone, the skin cool but no longer cold to the touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being kind, not reckless. You even talked to me about it first.” The significance of that had not been lost on Kaname, either, that Natsume had come to him with this before coming to a decision, even when all evidence pointed to it being a fairly benign situation to involve himself in. At the time Kaname thought his heart might just have grown too full to ever fit properly in his chest again. And yet here Natsume is now, trying to apologize for it. “We didn’t know this would happen,” Kaname adds, gently. He’s not certain he can be reassuring when his pulse is still hammering away like it is under Natsume’s hands, when there’s a current of nausea beneath the tight smile he offers. But he can try, because Natsume deserves as much.

But then it’s Natsume who’s taking Kaname’s face into his own hands, and closing the distance between their lips. It’s as tender as it is deliberate, Natsume cupping his face and holding him there, as if Kaname’s the one that’s ephemeral, precious, who might slip away so easily. His lips are still rough and cracked from the cold, but his lashes tickle Kaname’s skin like moths’ wings.

“No, we didn’t know,” Natsume breathes, eventually, into the scant space between them. Their foreheads are pressed together still; his fingers have slid up and back into Kaname’s hair. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you, too.” He pulls back a little, then, eyes searching. But Kaname doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, his chest tight.

“Thank you,” Natsume says. “For finding me.”

I didn’t find you, Kaname thinks, Ponta found you. But those words don’t come. What he says, instead, half-blurted, half-choked, is: “I love you.”

…oh.

“Oh,” Natsume echoes, softly, eyes widening into twin moons in the lamplight, and Kaname fleetingly thinks of sinking through the mattress and vanishing then and there. That…he had not meant to say that, just now. But he can’t (won’t) take it back, either. He forces himself to meet Natsume’s eyes, hopes to god he says something more because Kaname’s words are utterly spent.

“You’ve never said that, before,” Natsume adds, at long last. He chuckles, the sound of it breathy and stilted. “I guess I should get lost in the woods more often, huh.”

But Kaname can only stare, tongue-tied, through eyes that have begun to sting. Natsume pauses, taking in Kaname’s face before his brows scrunch together in apparent distress. “I’m sorry, that was a cruel thing to say, wasn’t it.” Gentle thumbs brush below Kaname’s eyes, swiping away the building moisture. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

It’s too late for that, Kaname thinks with some distant degree of frustration at himself. Natsume should definitely, definitely be resting right now. Not dealing with Kaname’s apparent inability to get a handle on himself, or some ill-timed confession. But here they are, and now Kaname’s the one clinging onto Natsume’s pajamas like a terrified child, face buried deep in his shoulder and shaking. And Natsume’s rubbing his back, so gently, kissing his hair and whispering to him to breathe, it’s alright, just breathe.

It’s ridiculous, really, that he can’t calm himself down until he’s practically cried himself inside out. His chest hurts, his head is buzzing and he’s soaked through the flannel on Natsume’s shoulder with tears and snot and spit—but the words I thought you were dead, I saw you and I thought you were dead have been playing on some awful loop in his brain for the past two hours and it’s all he can do not to repeat them now—if he does he’ll just lose it again.

Once his breathing has evened out to a semi-reasonable pace, the warm weight near his ankle shifts a bit, and he hears a sardonic, “Are you finished?”

“Sensei.” Natsume angles a slight kick in the cat’s general direction, but between Kaname’s own legs in the way and the swathes of bandages and blankets packed around them it doesn’t make it very far. “He does care,” Natsume mutters, and Kaname raises his head to see Natsume scowling at the foot of the bed. “He’s just being rude.”

“Of course I care.” Ponta blinks back at them, wholly unbothered. “He promised to make gratin tomorrow. He can’t do that if he’s cried himself to death, now can he.”

Natsume pointedly ignores that, before propping himself up on a trembling elbow just far enough to reach for the water bottle on Kaname’s dresser. “Here,” he says, his gentle smile incongruent with the way he almost drops the bottle between them. “You’ll get a headache.”

And Kaname can’t contest that, really. He can already feel the pressure mounting between his temples. He accepts it and winds up downing about half of it in two gulps. When he offers it back to Natsume to take his own drink he keeps his own hands over Natsume’s unsteady ones, but Kaname’s the one whose fingers have grown cold now.

“Better?” Natsume asks afterwards, voice still infinitely kind and patient but Kaname can practically see the fatigue etched into his face. Kaname just nods, sheepish. He should never have woken him.

“Um,” Natsume continues, less sure, “I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it right now, but…”

“N-no, thank you.” His voice comes out low and wrecked, and clearing his throat doesn’t make it any better. “You should rest.”

“Okay.” A pause, and Natsume gives him a long look, making no move to get settled back down under the covers just yet.

“What’s wrong?” Kaname asks, with some trepidation. Natsume’s eyes are wide, solemn but luminous.

“I love you too.”

…oh.

“Oh.” Kaname’s mouth feels very dry, suddenly. There’s a bubble of unbelievable warmth, of hope, rising in his chest, but anxiety follows fast behind. Natsume’s face looks so open right now, the kind of transparent expression that doesn’t often come easily for him and he’s waiting, waiting and Kaname has to say something and—

“You don’t have to say it just ‘cause I said it,” is what comes out, eventually. His voice still sounds rather like he swallowed a toad, and he clears his throat in vain, gaze dropping to some spot on the rumpled coverlet between them. “You don’t owe it to me or anything. You might not even remember any of this in the morning, anyways.”

He raises his eyes again when he feels cool fingers light on his chin. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s true, and you should know it.” Exhaustion notwithstanding, his voice is clear, and his eyes are so warm Kaname couldn’t look away again if he tried. “I love you, okay? I love you.”

Kaname just nods, he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry again or hyperventilate or possibly all three but then Natsume’s reaching for him and kissing him and kissing him, lips, forehead, eyelids, nose and cheeks, and Kaname doesn’t have to say anything at all. It’s all slow, feather-light and lingering; Natsume’s too tired for anything more but Kaname’s content to lie there and let himself be kissed, his mind resonating with it: I love you too, I love you, I love you…

“Sorry I scared you,” Natsume murmurs, eventually. His fingertips skim a lazy circle on Kaname’s shoulder, their noses nearly touching still. “I’ll do my best to not get lost again.”

“Not without me.”

Natsume’s lips twitch. “Okay. Not without you.”

***

Thanks for reading! I’ll take one more prompt from this list before starting the next part of Never Felt Like Any Blessing if anyone would like to submit one!