My submission to Noragami Big Bang 2016. My artist was the amazing leopah - her art is linked my tumblrs ( jaded-envy, noragami-musings). Recommended listening is on my 8tracks account (jaded_envy). Hope you enjoy!
"Two weeks?"
Hiyori tries to keep the whine out of her voice, she really does, but the pacifying look on the doctor's face tells her that he heard it anyway. "I'm sorry Iki-san," he says, replacing her sling. "I know it's not easy. But given your previous history of dislocations, I'd really recommend keeping it on for a while longer."
Apprehension begins build in her chest. Previous history?
Everything takes on a fuzzy feeling - she doesn't remember thanking the doctor, doesn't remember leaving the hospital, doesn't remember when she began walking home. The words echo and chase each other through the cracks in her mind and Hiyori tries in vain to catch them, to hold them fast and figure it out, to remember. But the implications slip out of her grasp, taunting her.
Anxiety twines around her stomach. Hiyori stops, stock still, in the middle of the sidewalk. It clutches at her, crawls up into her throat, and she knows she's beginning to hyperventilate, blotchy darkness creeping into her vision. She stumbles backwards against a wall and tries to remember her breathing exercises - inhale, one two three four five. She grips the wall with her good hand, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the brick below her fingertips, rubbing against the roughness. Hold, one two. She can't stop shaking. Exhale, five four three two one.
Slowly the panic subsides, and she can move again, can breathe easier. Her fingers tremble as she takes her notebook out of her pocket and flips through the pages. The words swim before her eyes, but there's no new names there, no event that she can't remember. She strokes the worn binding with her thumb over and over. It's okay, she tells herself, it's okay, you haven't forgotten anything. The doctor misspoke. You haven't forgotten anything, anyone. There's no one to forget. There never has been.
It's okay. It's okay.
It's shaky going, but eventually Hiyori makes it back to her apartment. The uneasy feeling persists, but it's dulled now, almost back at the level that she's used to.
Her shoulders slump as she contemplates the current mess that is her living situation. The sink is overflowing with dishes, and the clothes in the laundry basket tower above her desk. She had been hoping, once the sling was off, she would be able to finally take charge and clean her apartment. She hates living like this - a cluttered room makes for a cluttered mind, her mother would remind her, and at no point did that seem more true than now.
The card is still there on the counter, half unearthed from other pieces of mail.
Hiyori picks it up, rubbing the cardstock between her fingers. She had been planning on throwing it away when she got back from the hospital, but it seems that fate had other plans for her.
She finds herself flipping open her phone, fingers punching in the telephone number, then drumming on the table as she waits for someone to pick up.
"Hello hello hello!" a cheerful voice answers. "Cheap, fast and affordable, this is Delivery God Yato speaking, how may we help you?"
She blinks in surprise. "Hello…" she ventures, suddenly unsure if she really wants to go through with this. In the background, she can hear excited murmuring. "I…I was wondering if you would be able to help me with a problem I have…"
"Of course!" the voice on the other end chirps.
A flash of light and her little kitchen is suddenly crowded with the addition of two new people quite literally appearing out of thin air.
Her eyes widen, and she loses her grip on her phone, which clatters to the table. Before her, the two young men - one in what looks to be a jersey, the other in far more fashionable clothes - look equally shocked, if not more so.
"Hiyo-!" the younger, blonde boy exclaims, before clapping a hand to his mouth and cutting himself off. His excited shout snaps her out of her stupor, and she tries to regain her composure, smiling tentatively at the pair.
"I'm sorry…are you…?" She looks at her phone, then back at them, trying to figure out how they got there. "Were we just…?"
The boy blinks, and removes his hand from his mouth. "Th-that's right!" he stutters. "Delivery god Yato at your…service…" He elbows the taller of the two, who doesn't react. When she turns to look at him, she is struck by the intensity of his gaze, bright blue and burning. His face is tense and wan - he looks as if he's seen a ghost.
"Are you okay?" she asks, concerned. He blinks, then frowns deeply, not responding.
"Um…are you Yato-san then?" Silence. "I-I was just wondering if what was written on here was true…" She picks up the piece of paper with the number on it from the kitchen counter. "'Any wish granted'," she reads.
Yato starts so violently that she's afraid that she might have said something wrong, something deeply offensive. The blonde boy steps in front of him protectively, and smiles at her. "That's right! Any wish, as long as it's within our capabilities." His reassuring grin doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I see." Hiyori places the slip of paper back down. "And you are…?"
"Yukine." Yato's voice is low and clipped. He places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "My shinki." Yukine nods decisively.
"Yukine…kun?" she tries, and she's slightly bewildered by the way his eyes light up. Beside him, Yato grimaces and his grip tightens on the younger boy, who quickly regains his composure.
"So, Hiyori…san." Yato lets go of Yukine and begins to walk around her small apartment, casually peering at her living space. "How can we help you?"
"Well I have…" She frowns. "How do you know my name? And how did you get here?" She thinks back on their conversation. "And what's a shinki?"
"Caller ID," he replies smoothly, picking up one of her textbooks left next to the door. "As for the other questions, well…" He turns to look at her. "Let's just say that I've a few tricks up my sleeve. Now what do you need?"
Hiyori squints at him, curious as ever. Despite his casual tone, she's sure she can see his fingers trembling, and his eyes dart around the room, desperately avoiding hers. But she shrugs it off quickly and answers, "I um…dislocated my shoulder a few days ago. And well, the doctor says it'll be another two weeks before my sling might be ready to take off. But it's kind of hard for me to manage some of the things around the house with just one hand so…"
She bows slightly. "I'd really appreciate it if you could help me out!"
Yukine is staring at her with wide eyes, and even Yato seems to be taken aback at her request. She squirms self-consciously. "I mean, if it's not…not too much trouble…"
The pair in front of her share a long look, which ends with Yukine sighing and Yato rubbing the back of his head. "Well, we can do that," he says, almost reluctantly.
"Really?" Hiyori can't help but beam, heart already feeling lighter. The effect it has on the two is startling - Yukine averts his eyes, mumbling, and Yato stares at her, eyes wide and somehow vulnerable.
"Oh!" Hiyori fumbles for her wallet. "You'll be needing payment right? That's…how much?" She frowns, sure that the card had had a typo on it, there's no way it would be only…
"Five yen." His hand is already out and waiting.
She hesitates. "Just five yen? That seems awfully cheap."
Yukine mutters something under his breath, rolling his eyes, and Yato narrows his eyes at her. "I do good work and I always finish a job."
"That's not what I meant…" She fishes out a coin, and places it in his hand. His fingers close around it.
"Your wish-" He stops himself abruptly.
Hiyori looks at him quizzically. Yato shakes his head firmly, as if to dislodge some thought. "We'll start right away."
She smiles at him, grateful for the assistance. "Thank you." He looks away sharply.
What did I do? Hiyori wonders as she gives them further details on what she needs them to do for her. Did I offend him in some way?
Maybe it's not her, she thinks - maybe it's just the way he is. And well, it'll only be two weeks right? Even if there is some sort of problem, he seems professional enough to keep it to himself, she reasons.
Just two weeks. It'll be fine.
He never should have picked up the phone.
Six years. Six years, and while Yato knew that things would never be the same, be okay, he had hoped that fate wouldn't at least throw salt in the wound.
So much for that.
Hiyori moves differently now - a little more hesitant, a little stiffer - but the sheer stubbornness that colors her every action has not diminished in the slightest.
It's painful to look at. So he doesn't.
But he doesn't have to see her to hear the embarrassment in her voice when she shows them the piles of laundry she needs done.
"You've been hurt," Yato reminds her gruffly, cutting off her apologies.
Hiyori smiles at him, and he averts his eyes. He taps his fingers against his thigh, wondering how to ask his next question.
"Why…" Yato clears his throat. "You don't have family or friends to help out?" Why contact us? Why ask me?
He has to know. He's never had reason to doubt his abilities, but he had never been so emotionally compromised before. Never cared so much about the person, about the bonds he was breaking.
Hiyori doesn't look at him. Her fingers play with the edge of her skirt. "My family is a little…overprotective. They have some reason to be," she adds hastily, "but I can take care of myself, really. If I told them that I needed help, my mother would drop everything to come out here, and I don't need her fussing over me."
She falls quiet. "Your friends?" Yato presses.
She shrugs. "Finals are coming up. Everyone's busy, you know? I'm sure if I asked, they'd help, but I wouldn't want to take them away from their own studies."
There's a pressure on his shoulder, and he stiffens when he realizes it's her hand, that she's touching him, as casually as she used to.
"I really am grateful for you being able to do this for me." Her voice is warm and relieved.
Yato doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead gives a curt nod. He busies himself with sorting colors and whites.
Hiyori leans over him. He breathes. She still uses the same shampoo that she did before.
"How did you dislocate your shoulder?" Yato blurts out, trying to school his thoughts back to the present. At least he knows it wasn't his fault this time.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her suddenly look down at her shoes, voice becoming very small.
"What?"
"W…wrestling…"
He has to duck his head to stifle his laughter. It's there, on the tip of his tongue - a teasing remark, one that would make her straighten up and ball her fists and make her shoot something equally insulting back.
But this isn't Yato's Hiyori. This is a stranger. She needs to be a stranger. He has to remember that.
Hiyori moves away, and he concentrates as best as he can on the texture of the clothing beneath his fingers, the quiet in the apartment. He's grateful that Yukine isn't here - his own emotions are hard enough to deal with right now.
She's scribbling something into a notebook when he looks up after filling the basket with laundry. The curve of her neck as she looks out the window, the absentminded tapping of her pencil against the desk, the small little furrows in her brow as she thinks about what to write next - his heart aches with familiarity. He half expects her to turn towards him, scowling, and scold him for staring and being creepy. Half expects to see her eyes twinkle with amusement and her mouth giving him a smile far softer than the words leaving it…
The basket clatters to the ground, and her head whips around, mouth already parted to ask him if he's okay and he can't look at her he can't look at her he can't.
He stammers out an excuse, and then Yato does what he does best - he runs away.
"You need to break it off."
Yato doesn't even turn around, just hunches further over his knees, fingers playing with the neck of the bottle.
He hears a long sigh and the rustle of clothing as Yukine sits down beside him, his back leaning against Yato's shoulder.
"If we…if we help her, if we get involved again…" His shinki trails off, slouching backwards. Yato can taste the bitter tang of sorrow under his tongue, feel the regret settle even deeper around his shoulders.
Even Yukine knew. Not once had he ever stung him, ever blighted him over the action, over the price that they both paid for their selfishness. Only the dull, heavy feeling of sadness lingered on. He couldn't even be sure that it was Yukine's anymore.
Yet an unspoken fact lingers between them - they could never deny Hiyori anything, especially not when she was in need. Wasn't that what landed them here in the first place?
"I know, " Yato says clearly. Yukine cranes his head to look at him, and Yato ruffles his blonde hair affectionately. "I know," he says again as his shinki ducks away from his hand, muttering. "Don't worry Yukine. This is just a job, right?" He stands up, absentmindedly flipping Hiyori's five yen coin up and down. "I've…I've granted every one of her wishes so far. I'll grant this one, and we'll be on our way."
He catches the coin and spins around in one smooth motion, moving before he's even righted himself. Behind him, Yukine scrabbles to his feet, grumbling something, but the pounding in Yato's ears and the oily, sickening feeling creeping up from his stomach chase away his words. He walks faster despite Yukine's shout, breaking into a run, relying on exertion and the wind to burn it all away.
But later that night, long after Yukine's fallen asleep, Yato lies awake, the guilt crawling over his body, burrowing underneath his skin. He closes his eyes, rolls over on his side.
"I did the right thing. I did the right thing." He whispers it over and over, an incantation that haunts his every breath now. A prayer to a god he knows does not exist, a prayer for reassurance that he knows will never come.
It's a rare rainy day for the season, and Hiyori's grateful for Yukine's presence next to her - the extra hand for groceries allows her to shield herself with her umbrella instead of getting soaking wet.
"So Hiyori," Yukine says, "what's school like?"
"Oh you know," she answers vaguely. "Busy. It's a lot of work, but I enjoy it."
There's a hungry look on his face, as if he's eager to hear more, so she elaborates a bit, telling him about the current theme they're on and some of the diseases they're covering. He's a willing audience, and the pittering of rain on the fabric of the umbrella make a nice accompaniment to their conversation.
Hiyori's just starting to warm up to the topic when her heart starts to skip.
No no no, she thinks desperately as her hands start to tremble. Not again, not again, she begs, as she always does, when her stomach begins to churn and her breathing becomes erratic.
Yukine's saying something, his boyish voice reaching her ears, but she's unable to comprehend his words. Her vision begins to darken at the edges. Why now? she wonders in vain.
Then there's something warm touching her wrist, and she realizes slowly that it's Yukine's fingers, that those are Yukine's eyes staring at her, worry in their depths. The warmth grounds her, and her awareness sharpens as his other hand squeezes her shoulder.
"-okay? Hiyori, are you okay? What's happening? What can I do?"
She takes a deep breath. Another one. Then another.
"I'm okay." Her voice is weak and shaky, but slowly she's coming to herself. "I'm okay."
She straightens. Yukine hovers over her, face creased with concern.
"Just…just a panic attack. Or at least the beginnings of one." She manages a weak smile.
"Panic attack?" he repeats, frown deepening.
Hiyori shrugs, trying to hide her embarrassment. "I…I get them from time to time. I'm sorry - you didn't need to see that." She twirls her umbrella and begins to walk again, quicker this time in hopes of outpacing his questions.
Yukine takes the hint and doesn't say more about it on the way home, even though he continues to watch her carefully.
"Thanks," Hiyori says to him quietly as they reach the apartment. "They're usually…worse. Longer. But you being there helped a lot." She smiles at him, hoping he understands that she means it.
Her assurance doesn't ease the look of worry on his face. She busies herself with unlocking the front door.
"We're back," she calls to the apartment, and is still surprised when someone responds back with a "welcome home". Yato rounds the corner, hands busy with drying a plate.
Yukine slips off his shoes in record time, making a beeline for his…well she still wasn't sure what the relationship was between the two to be honest. Close enough to talk to each other without speaking at least - Yato always seemed to know how Yukine was feeling, and Yukine took cues from him that Hiyori couldn't even begin to comprehend.
Low murmurings come from the kitchen, and Hiyori's face burns with shame. She doesn't want to see their pitying looks, doesn't want them to look at her like she's crazy, like there's something wrong with her - she gets that enough from her family and friends.
But there's no trace of any of those thoughts or emotions on their faces when Hiyori enters the room. She reads only worry in the turn of Yato's mouth, in the crinkling of Yukine's brows. There's something else too, mirrored in their eyes, something deeply sorrowful and empathetic. Something that looks like understanding.
"Are you okay?" Yato asks. She hears none of the judgement, none of the wariness she's used to. Only genuine concern.
The corners of her mouth begin to lift, along with the feeling in her heart and the weight on her shoulders. She beams at them, and this time there's nothing forced about her expression.
Yukine smiles back, tentatively. Even Yato's face seems to brighten, though his eyes still have a haunted look to them.
"Dinner time?" she asks lightly.
"As soon as someone finishes the dishes," Yukine says, shooting Yato a look.
The lightness stays with her throughout the rest of the day, and she sleeps better that night than she has in years.
"Hiyori."
Yato's voice cuts across her concentration, and she blinks, her textbook fading out of focus. She turns to look at him. "Hmm?"
"Did you…" His mouth works, and he seems to be struggling with something, the fight reflected clearly on his face. He clears his throat. "Where were you before you came here?"
"I'm sorry?" She had no idea what he's asking her.
"I mean," Yato amends, "are you from this area?"
"Oh! No, actually, I only moved here for medical school. I used to live in Maebashi with my parents and brother; that's where I went to high school. For most of it anyway. I transferred in during the second half of my first year, and before that I went to school in Tokyo - I grew up there, but ended up moving away in the summer. I've only been here for the past three years, but it's really nice, not too small but not overwhelmingly big…"
Hiyori becomes aware of her babbling, and stops herself. "Sorry," she says, laughing at herself a little. "You probably didn't want to hear my life story." But her laughter falters when she sees the expression on his face. His eyes glow with intensity, as if trying to memorize every word she's saying, and his face is tense, rapt.
"Were you happy?" His voice is low and serious.
Hiyori opens her mouth to brush off the question, to tell him, yes, of course. True, the move had been abrupt, and it had taken a long time for her father's career to recover. But she still had her mother, her father and her brother; her friends had never lost touch with her, and she ended up with deeper bonds with those she cared about, renewed motivation, and eventually a bright promising career.
But her words wither in her throat at his piercing, icy gaze. He looks at her like there's nothing in the world as important as the answer to his question, and inwardly she trembles at the attention.
"I…I mean…" Hiyori looks away, breaking their gaze. She bites her lip, trying to calm the rattling in her chest. "I…don't know. I've always felt…like I was missing something." She shakes her head, embarrassed. "It was probably just the move. I missed my friends, the city, you know…" she finishes lamely, flushing.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hiyori swears she can see his face crumple, his eyes squeezing shut, but when she turns to look at him she finds him gazing back at her, expression unreadable.
"Is everything okay?" she asks anxiously, and he gives her a little smile, small and somehow hurting. "Um…what about you Yato-san? Are you happy?"
"I should go finish the cleaning the counters," he says abruptly, turning to go, and she's left with a million questions in her mind, none of which her textbook can answer.
The first thing Hiyori noticed was the buzzing.
It thrummed beneath her skin, rang in her ears, clutched at her chest. She tried to probe at it - had she forgotten she had an important test tomorrow? Was it someone's birthday today and she didn't get them a present? - but it squirmed out of her grasp. Still, just brushing at the edges of it made her stomach bottom out at the magnitude of the void, at the importance of the loss.
The next thing she noticed was that she was in a hospital bed, a mystery that was far easier to solve. There'd been an incident at the hospital, her parents told her, faces pinched and worried. Something had happened - they didn't know what - but Hiyori had ended up fainting in the middle of the mass panic.
Her mother brushed Hiyori's bangs out of her face, eyes filled with concern. Then she asked the question that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Do you remember?
She didn't.
She didn't remember most of the last year, she discovered. Memories tickled her brain in bits and pieces - dinners with her family, starting high school, a trip to Capybara Land with her friends - but there were voids in between, like the skeleton upon which it all was built had disintegrated.
Yet no one else seemed to think she was missing anything. When questioned, her friends claimed she had been sleeping during the times she couldn't remember - her family looked bewildered at the implication that she had been spending such a large amount of time outside of her home.
She became consumed in finding those memories, those missing pieces of herself. She knew, somewhere in the fragments of her past, there was something important, something she promised not to forget - a promise she had broken and was being punished for.
But nothing yielded answers for her. Any evidence of that year - pictures, schoolwork, notebooks - had gotten lost during the move, or so her mother surmised. Wandering around the town during her infrequent visits back only gave her sore feet and a scolding from her parents to not stay out so late. Cognitive therapy, while helpful for her panic attacks and anxiety, did not help her recover what she needed most.
We're worried about you, her father said, his big strong hands gentle on her shoulders. Don't stress yourself, her mother chided, holding Hiyori close. Put it behind you, her psychologist suggested, not unkindly.
You forgot, her mind hissed at her. You forgot and it's all your fault.
In Hiyori's defense, she really did think that her hands were completely protected from the cookie sheet.
In retrospect though, she probably should have put on an oven mitt instead of using a kitchen towel. Or let Yato do it, like he insisted.
But then he said that word - "can't" - and well, who could blame her for trying to prove him wrong?
Her hand snatches back before the pain registers in her mind (and part of her is dutifully tracing the nerve reflex pathways like a good medical student) and she thinks, well, maybe I deserved this a little bit.
Then the burning agony made itself known and all she can think is that it hurts, it hurts, I'm an idiot, it hurts.
"Dammit - Hiyori!" The oven door slams shut, the cookies rescued, and Yato comes to crouch next to her on the kitchen floor. Warm hands encircle hers, tugging them open. She hisses in pain.
Hiyori stays still, hardly daring to breathe, as Yato tends to her blister. There is something tender in his administrations, in how he gently he dabs salve on her wound. He's never let her get this close to him before, and Hiyori finds herself unable to tear her gaze from him. She studies the profile of his face, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Stray strands of his hair tickle her wrist as he bends to wrap a bandage around her finger.
Yato doesn't seem to realize that he's finished, because he continues to cradle her hand loosely in his own. He stares at her fingers, lost in thought, and she thinks she can see something in his face, some glimmer of…regret? Longing? Awe? She can't tell. All she knows is that she's never had someone hold her like this - like she's something precious and ethereal, something that might slip away at any moment.
But then she shifts slightly, and he straightens. "It's not that bad," he mutters, dropping her hand back into her lap. "Be more careful next time."
Hiyori feels her face grow hot, her heart hiccupping unsteadily. She can still feel the imprint of his fingers on her wrist, still catch a whiff of that faint scent that follows him wherever he goes. She suddenly wishes that she had been able to keep that position forever - that he could have kept his hands on hers, kept staring at her with that tender look.
Her hand throbs in pain, temporarily driving out that train of thought.
But she can feel it still, hovering in the recesses of her mind, and recognizes it for what it is - the beginnings of a crush.
The next week passes by in a blur. Every morning her heart feels lighter and lighter, and she sleeps sounder than she has in years, untroubled by nightmares. The low key anxiety is always there in the daytime, of course, like static in her mind, but Yato and Yukine's presence seem to tune it down to where she doesn't hear it.
Even her friends begin to comment on her attitude, teasing her for absentminded smiles and the way she rushes out of the classroom after lecture. They hound her for details on the new boy she must be seeing, and she waves them off with a polite denial and assurance that yes, if she was seeing anyone she'd tell them…
It's not technically a lie. It's not as if she and Yato are involved in any way beyond their business-customer relationship. It's not a reluctance on her part - she certainly wouldn't mind getting to know him more, possibly more intimately if she's being honest with herself. But he's always so tense whenever he sees her, guarded and on edge, though she doesn't understand why.
Still, she thinks he enjoys her company. Sometimes she catches him smiling, quiet and small, at something she says or does. And recently, there have been rare moments where he seems to forget his caution and talk to her animatedly, looking at her with soft eyes. Times where she finds herself taken aback by his enthusiasm, by his unabashed passion that leave her feeling dizzy and confused, makes her close her eyes hard and fight to regain her composure. She can't seem to reconcile the two - distant, cautious Yato and bright-eyed, exuberant Yato.
For the first time she can remember since That Year, she feels…comfortable. There's something about Yukine and Yato that puts her at ease, that makes her laugh easier and feel genuinely excited in the smallest things. She loves watching them interact with each other, arguing and squabbling over stupid things. She loves seeing Yukine's face glow with pride when Yato brags about his charge's penmanship, the way that Yato listens with rapt attention when Yukine explains something to him.
It's easier than ever to ignore the persistent gnawing gap in her memories, to push it aside and fill the hollow feeling in her chest with the two of them. The swell of affection that bubbles up when Yukine asks her how her day was, stumbling awkwardly with his words, or when he shyly passes her a pencil he sharpened for her. The fluttering of her heart when Yato brushes past her, the faint scent of whatever cologne he wears tickling her nose…
So when the doctor tells her she's free to take off the sling, the force of her disappointment doesn't surprise her.
"R-really? Already?"
The doctor smiles at her. "Mmhm. You seem to be doing well, and I don't think we have to worry about recurrence." He pats her good shoulder. "What a relief right? I'm sure you're tired of not being able to use your arm!"
"Y-yes…" Hiyori finds herself thinking instead of coming home to her little apartment and finding it empty, of hearing nothing but the clicking of the clock and the rustle of the pages of her textbooks. Of the emptiness worming its way back into her life, the hollowness gnawing at her more and more with nothing to keep it at bay.
She finishes at the hospital and wanders the streets for an hour, unable to go home to be greeted for what could be the last time. The sun shimmers on the store windows, and a crisp breeze ruffles her hair as it chases leaves off the trees. Hiyori toys with her notebook, wishing that there was some way that she could make the time stretch further, to have them stay.
Well. Well why not? She knows she should feel a little guilty for being so selfish, but…
"Hiyori!"
The smell of something delicious greets her along with Yukine's excited shout. He peeks around the corner of the kitchen. "Welcome back! What did the doctor say?"
"Ah…" Hiyori takes off her shoes as slowly as she can. "Well…"
They take the news differently. Yukine bites his lip and won't look at her. Yato's face is as impassive as ever, but there's a tightness around his eyes and a cloudiness to his gaze.
Their reactions give Hiyori the courage to speak again.
"Actually though…if you weren't too busy with other requests…" She twists her fingers in her sleeves. "F-Finals are coming up, and I could use some more help. With the dinners and the dishes and such…"
"Really?!" Yukine bursts out. He begins to beam.
Yato shoots him a look, and Yukine abruptly quiets, smile disappearing.
She can see Yato chewing at the inside of his cheek, mouth twisted in contemplation. Her heart beats fast, and she hopes he can't hear it, can't see the flush she can feel creeping into her face.
"Payment."
Hiyori's prepared this time, dropping the coin in his hand as soon as he holds it out. It catches the light briefly before his fingers cover it.
The awkward silence is broken by the shrilling of the kitchen timer, and Yukine rushes to save their food. The tension eases in the room.
"Thank you," she says quietly, giving Yato a shy smile.
"Anytime," comes his soft response.
It's wrong.
So wrong.
But Yato can't stop. Not when everything he's been missing, longing, praying for, is right there.
He lets himself sink while he can, while he still has an excuse. He lets himself smile a little when Hiyori pretends to casually switch from calling him Yato-san to Yato-kun, anxiously watching him out of the corner of her eye for his reaction at her "slip". He allows himself to be dragged along with Yukine when she insists on taking them out to restaurants, "because five yen can't possibly be enough for all the things you've helped me with Yato-kun". He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her that all the money in the world couldn't make up for what he did to her.
And sometimes it's so miserably easy to forget that it's not like it was before, that there are six years and missing memories and a severed bond between the Hiyori-that-was and the Hiyori-that-is.
He knows she worries about him. Worries about what she's done to him, to make him act so closed off towards her. But he ignores it. It's easier that way.
Because how can he tell her that what's wrong with him isn't anything she's doing or anything she's not doing, but that she doesn't remember what she did? That she doesn't remember what he did?
Yukine doesn't say anything, but then again, he doesn't need to. Yato can taste his hope, fizzy bright popping in the back of his throat - feel the tickling, like feathers, down his neck. They both missed Hiyori, both keenly felt her absence in the past years. Yato, at least, is used to loneliness, used to people fading in and out of his life because of things he's done. But Yukine…Hiyori was there when Yato summoned him back to the Near Shore, called him her friend even when the blight crawled over him, patiently tutored him and pushed him and cheered him on. In a way, Hiyori was as responsible for Yukine as Yato was.
Yukine doesn't say anything about leaving after their conversation. Yato shouldn't be as grateful as he is for that.
It isn't until she starts seeing again that he realizes the extent of his selfishness.
They're in the living room. He's wrestling with the old TV she has, trying to get it to work after it suddenly decided to short out, and she's studying at her desk.
From the corner of his eye, he can see some of the smaller ayakashi that tend to congregate in the corners of the apartment. Yukine had been keeping their numbers down with an idle borderline, but it was impossible to completely rid the place of such small fry.
One of them skitters across Hiyori's textbook. She flinches.
His heart stops.
She blinks, then resumes her work.
It was nothing, he tells himself, trying to steady his trembling fingers. Just a hard question. No reason to think otherwise.
A few minutes later, Hiyori bolts up from her hunched position and stares around wildly.
"What is it?" he asks.
Hiyori frowns. "Did you see that?" Her eyes dart around the apartment.
"See what?" His heart pounds against his ribs.
"There was…I thought I saw…" She trails off, then shakes her head fiercely. "Nothing, sorry." She gives herself another shake, then returns to her book. But he sees her look up occasionally, gazing around, searching for something.
It could have been anything. A trick of light. The flutter of the curtains that she spied out the corner of her eye. But when he looks out the window and catches a glimpse of a large ayakashi dipping in and out of view, he knows it's not.
She's become accustomed to buying things in threes - three bento boxes, three cans of soda, three snacks from the convenience store - when things fall apart.
Hiyori already has her next request planned out - the faucet has started to leak terribly - and the five yen coin is warm in her hand when she comes home after her last final.
There's no greeting from Yato when she calls a welcome. She ventures further into the apartment, and finds him staring out the window, lost in thought, with a pile of clothes neatly folded in front of him.
"Yato-kun?"
He starts, eyes briefly snapping to her face before looking away.
She crosses the room and bends to pick up the clothing. He flinches slightly, but doesn't move.
"How were finals?" he asks as she tucks her shirts back into their drawers.
"I think they went well," Hiyori answers. She turns to face him. "Thanks for all of your help. It was nice to be able to focus on my work for once, and not to worry about everything else."
Yato nods, but his eyes are fixed on the ground.
She hesitates, but plunges forward. "Um…I'm sorry to continue to burden you like this…" Liar. "But I just noticed that the faucet started leaking this morning…"
He doesn't say anything. Emboldened, she presses ahead quickly. "And um, well it's a little too late to start on that now, so I was wondering if you would…with me…would want to go-"
"No."
Hiyori blinks, the rest of her fumbling attempt to ask him out dying on her tongue. "O…oh is that something you can't do? S-sorry, but well, I have other…"
"It's not that I can't. It's that I won't."
She's taken aback by the harshness in his tone, the lack of emotion in his eyes, as he slowly stands up.
"I…I understand." Hiyori bows, hiding her face and stinging eyes. "I'm sorry that I've been such a burden to you, I know that you must be very busy with your other requests."
"That's not…" Something flashes over Yato's face, but it's gone by the time she raises her head to look at him properly. "Don't bow to me. You don't…i-it has nothing to do with you." He turns his back to her, fists clenched. "It never did. It wasn't your fault."
She opens her mouth to speak, but he's already moving towards the door. "It was…it was nice to see you again Hiyori."
The door closes, and she's left staring at the wooden frame. The silence in the room clutches at her, but all she can hear is the echo of his last words.
It was nice to see you again.
See you again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her legs move and she finds herself dashing out of the apartment after him. She doesn't even remember to lock the door.
Following him is hard going. He moves quickly, and jumps from roof to roof, but the challenge of keeping him in view stops Hiyori from questioning what she's doing and why. She estimates it's been about an hour and a half since she left the apartment when Yato ducks into a small doorway.
Voices rise, and she can hear Yukine's outraged shout before a sharp retort from Yato cuts him off. The phone rings in the middle of their argument, and she presses deeper into the shadows as they tramp back outside. Neither one of them notices her on their way out.
You're being paranoid Hiyori, a voice is saying in her head. It's just a saying, just a phrase, it means nothing, there never WAS anyone to remember to begin with, everyone said so…
The inside of the place is half finished, and bare pipes snake their way across the ceiling. Their living area is spartan, just two futons with some duffle bags sagging against an unpainted wall. The only personal touch is a small wooden shrine perched atop a box.
Hiyori runs her fingers along the splintered wood of the shrine. It's surprisingly solid for how delicate it looks. Maybe he really is a god if he has a shrine, she thinks. She lifts it carefully, and a scrap of paper flutters from underneath it.
She recognizes that handwriting.
Panic jolts through her, and Hiyori digs through the box. There - more sheets of paper with her own cramped, neat writing. Here - a stack of pictures, with a younger her smiling from the top photo.
A planner, Iki Hiyori inscribed on the front. She picks it up and flips through it, heart racing in her chest. The dates…
I was right, she thinks fiercely. I'm not crazy, I WAS missing something, I was RIGHT. Relief seeps through her, and she sways with the sudden burst of defiance and the validation that comes with it.
Her hands tighten on the planner, then let go to upend the box. Documents and photos and a random assortment of items go flying across the floor of the apartment. Her memories go flying, and she is trembling with a burning, curdling rage.
The door clicks open.
One look at her face, tense and seething, and he knows.
"Yato," and he winces at the drop in formality, "what exactly is this?" Hiyori holds up a slim volume in her hand. He squints, and his heart gutters out as he recognizes the planner.
"Ah…um…" He stumbles around for words, anything to take away the accusatory look off of her face.
"And why do you have my notebooks from high school?" Hiyori thrusts another paper in his face. "Or these photos of me that I don't remember ever taking?" She points at the offending pictures.
"We knew each other before, didn't we?" Hiyori paces frantically, fists clenched. The papers flutter in her wake. "That's why you said it was good to see me again." She stops suddenly in front of him, hands on her hips. "You have something to do with my missing memories don't you?"
He's taken aback by the force of her anger. "I-"
"How could you?! Do you have any idea what it's been like to live without them?" She kicks the box in front of her. "It's like…like having something hollow eating away at you, haunting you…" She quiets, staring at her crude illustrations in the open notebook between them.
Yato feels faint.
"How?!" Hiyori glares at him again, mouth set and eyes burning. "Why? What happened? How did this happen?"
"I…" He can't do this, can't tell her, can't relive it all over again. But he finds himself answering anyway, the hurt in her expression and voice pulling the words out of him. "I cut our ties."
Her brow furrows in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"It means…it means that I made it so that you wouldn't remember me, or Yukine, or anything associated with us." His fists clench.
"But why?" she asks again, softer now. She touches the back of his hand, questioning.
"Because knowing me put you in danger." He wrenches his hand away from her, ignoring the look of hurt that flashes across her face. "You used to…have a condition. You got into an accident because of me, and it made your soul sometimes slip out of your body. You asked me to fix it, and I did." He crosses his arms, staring at the wall.
"Slip out…what? You fixed it by cutting our ties?" Hiyori's face is pale, and she bites her lip, confused.
He sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face. "I was the reason that you kept leaving your body, the reason why it was dangerous for you." He shrugs, affecting a far more curt tone than he feels. "You wanted to stop. To cut ties with me was the only way."
But she's already shaking her head. "You're lying."
"I'm not-"
"You are!" She shoves him, and he stumbles, more out of surprise than from the force of her push. "You are, you have to be. Why is so much missing then? Why do I…" and his heart twists further when he sees the glimmer of tears in her eyes, the way her face is screwing up with pain, "why do I feel like it was someone I was missing, something that I forgot to do that…that I swore…?" She trails off, sniffing.
He stares at her. "What?"
Hiyori shakes her head. "I don't believe it. I can't believe it. I can't have agreed to that!"
Now the anger is rising in his throat, making him say things he doesn't want to say. "Well you did, believe me, and it wasn't exactly easy for me eith-"
"Tell me the truth!" She grabs at his jacket, yanking him closer. Tears are running down her face in earnest, and he's struck dumb at the sight.
"If I felt for you," she says fiercely, scrubbing at her cheeks, "even half of how I feel around you now, there's no way, no way I would ever want to give that kind of connection up!"
He can't look her in the eye.
"Well?!" Hiyori demands. "What could have possibly made you-"
"You begged me to!" he explodes. "You begged me, over and over again, to make it go away, to make it stop-" He cuts himself off, closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "If you knew," he says, shakily, "if you knew how much I…how much you…" He covers his face, digging his fingers into his scalp. "It was the only way," he manages. "We both knew it. It was…it was the right thing to do." Exposed to the light, his mantra sounds weak and pale, shriveled, wilting in the face of the magnitude of his actions.
She quiets at that. When she speaks again, her voice is low and leaves no room for arguments or excuses. "Tell me what happened."
"…Through me, your attention was focused too much on the far shore," he recites dully. "You became involved in matters that didn't concern you. And I…I…" He swallows thickly. "I am a god of calamity. N-nothing good comes out of associating with me, only…only disaster. For everyone.
"Your father's hospital - the incident there - that was because of me. And it wasn't just the hospital. You were…you were also…" His hands are shaking, sweating worse than normal. Hiyori swims before his eyes, and then he sees her clearly, the way she appears in his dreams - her infested cord, her wild eyes, her snarling mouth.
Sever her cord or sever her ties. The calligraphic swirls on the ayakashi's body hypnotize him, its chittering laughter taunting him.
Please. Her small voice echoes in his ears, reverberates and layers until it's all he can hear. Please. Make it all go away.
"Th-the details don't matter. You were targeted because of something I did, and I stopped it by stopping me from mattering to you."
"Then why?" Hiyori almost pleads. "Why did you agree to my request, why did you get involved again if it's that dangerous for me?"
"Because I'm…," Selfish, he thinks, stupid, weak - but says, "because you asked me to, and I couldn't…couldn't say no." His voice comes out rough, hoarse. "I didn't mean…I only wanted to…to help. To do what I could to make things better…make things easier for you…"
"Well you did a pretty poor job of that didn't you!" she snarls. "You cut our ties, carved this…this hole in my mind, this buzzing anxiety and panic that won't go away, and just up and left me! Didn't I deserve to be told? Don't I have a right to my memories?"
Hiyori grabs the box, begins to stuff the papers and photos that she had scattered in her tirade. "I'm taking this back with me," she declares, voice trembling. "And you…you…" She shakes her head forcefully. "Just…stop it. Stop helping me."
The door slams. He closes his eyes and lets the despair wash over him once again.
The offending articles are spread across her kitchen table. It takes Hiyori an hour of working out on her small punching bag, half of a tub of ice cream, and one long hot shower before she feels calm enough to inspect the box's contents further.
She starts with the pictures, sifting through them with a closer eye.
There's no denying it, she thinks as she flips through them. Not a single photo jostles or jolts her memories; her participation and presence is irrefutable but unimaginable, unrecognizable. Some of the backgrounds seem familiar - there's the park by her old high school, and that's…Capybara Land? - but no accompanying rush of nostalgia follows.
The Hiyori in these pictures is almost as mysterious as the events depicted. Her eyes are clear and warm, not dimmed by the cobwebs of promises forgotten or haunted with anxiety. Hiyori finds herself jealous of this version of her, carefree and smiling at the camera, at these people she no longer remembers.
Hiyori touches the glossy surface, fingertips tracing the figures past-her interacts with so happily with. A woman with pink hair, every picture of her blurry with motion. An older man with gruff features, but lined with affection. A young man with glasses, looking calm and assured in one picture, relaxed and laughing in another.
Yukine, face open and honest. And Yato…
It's almost like she's looking at someone completely different from the one who she invited into her apartment a few short weeks ago. She's never seen his face so unguarded, his eyes so soft, his expression so radiant. Photo after photo, again and again. That enraptured look, his beaming smile - each one directed at Yukine or…her.
Something in Hiyori's heart shifts, tilts, and her head spins with the sudden change in perspective.
It wasn't just her missing these memories, missing the presence of people she couldn't remember in her life.
"If you knew how much I…how much you…"
What had his face looked like, as he had said that? She tries to remember, tries to see clearly through the haze of anger that blurred out his features when she had confronted him.
Pieces of his behavior click into place with a resounding snap. His desperation to keep her at an arm's length while being unable to stop himself from reaching out for her.
Her hand scatters the pictures across the table and she shoves herself back from the table. She can't look at this anymore - can't deal with the frustration of seeing all the evidence, to have the truth of their relationship staring at her in the face, and to feel nothing, to remember nothing. Taunting her.
For once, sleep comes swiftly, relieving her of the mixture of anger and guilt and regret that settles in her chest.
But the feeling doesn't go away. And she knows what she has to do.
Hiyori runs her thumb along the buttons of her phone, thinking.
She dials.
The phone rings, and rings, and rings, but she doesn't hang up. She knows, deep down, that he will answer.
Silence. Nothing but the sound of breathing tells her that he's picked up.
"Yato."
She waits. The numbers on the clock above her stove blink. The steam from her tea curls upwards, dissipating in the cold air. The sun slides in between the blinds, playing over the kitchen counter.
A flash, and the tap of boots on the linoleum. He hovers in the periphery of her vision, face drawn, expression unreadable. She doesn't turn.
Eventually, he crosses to the other side of the table. The chair scrapes as he pulls it out, turns it around so he can straddle it, arms resting on the back rail. He refuses to look at her, staring instead at the table.
Silence stretches between them, settling around them like dust. Hiyori's eyes flit across his body, examining every detail of his face, his clothing. Was there ever a time where she knew him well enough to touch him? A time where she held those hands, rough and callused as they are? She wills herself to remember, to imagine the wide grins and the feel of his jersey, like she must have, years before. But the only memories she can conjure up are recent - the small smile playing over his mouth, the warmth of his fingers on her own. The look of deep, abiding remorse. She can't recall anything else.
"I'm sorry."
Hiyori blinks, and Yato's face comes back into focus. His mouth is set in a hard line, trembling slightly, and his eyes are glossy.
"I didn't…I shouldn't have cut our ties. I could have found a different way, but…" Yato buries his chin in his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm sorry I did this to you, Hiyori."
"I'm sorry too."
He cracks open an eye and frowns. "What?"
"I was…I was someone important to you, wasn't I?" Hiyori touches the pictures in front of her, pushes them towards him. The expression on his face tells her everything she needs to know.
"It's been hard for me," she continues, "feeling like I've been missing someone, that I've forgotten something important and I failed…" Yato's face grins back at her from the trappings of the photo - eyes bright, radiating joy. "But it must have been just as hard for you, right? Having to get rid of my memories?"
"It was the hardest thing I've ever done," he whispers.
Silence, again.
She has to know.
"I'm never going to get those memories back, am I."
He bows his head. She watches his knuckles turn white as they grip the edge of the table. She doesn't need to hear his words to know the truth - somehow, Hiyori had always known it was permanent, what he had done. What she had asked him to do. She closes her eyes briefly, in farewell to the year worth of memories that she'll never relive, in acceptance that the hole in her heart will never truly be filled. She'll always feel a little empty, a little hollow. Something will always be missing.
She takes a breath.
"Okay then."
Hiyori stands up. Yato's eyes follow her as she walks around the table to stand in front of him.
She holds out a hand. He stares at it. His eyes slowly track up to her face, and she can read confusion and defensiveness and fear in their depths.
"Let's start over. My name is Iki Hiyori." She smiles gently at him.
"Hiyori…" He stands up abruptly, chair clattering to the floor. "Hiyori, this isn't going to work, you know this." He opens his hands, closes them, clenches them into fists. "It's just going to end like it did before, you're going to get hurt, there's nothing good that can come out of knowing me…I'm Yato, I'm a god of calamity, I can only take and never-"
She lays a finger against his mouth, cutting off his frantic babbling. "Yato," she says, lingering on his name. She can see a flash of delight in his eyes at hearing her call him, despite his words. "I'm happy to meet you."
His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth against her hand as if to protest more, but she continues loudly. "I hope you don't mind if I call you that…it's just I feel as if I know you already. Though I'm sure I'd remember looks as good as yours if I did." She grins cheekily at his shocked expression.
"Somehow," and here she tips her forehead to rest against his, ignoring the rising blush on his cheeks that she knows is mirrored on hers, "I have the feeling that we're going to be great friends."
She closes her eyes and feels him relax, little by little, against her. She drops her hand from his mouth, letting it trail down his chest to curl around his fingers. They hang loosely in her own, and she's beginning to feel the full force of embarrassment when they suddenly tighten, then interlace. When she opens her eyes, her vision is overtaken by blue, blue, blue. There's doubt in his expression, and the corners of his mouth keep twitching downwards, but she focuses on the brightening gleam of his eyes and the smile breaking out on his face that he's unable to suppress.
They stand like that for a little bit, hands clasped together, foreheads touching, until the embarrassment that Hiyori had been successfully ignoring begins to tug at her again. She's positive that her face is radiating heat with the force of her blush, and judging by the deepening color on his face, Yato's just as flustered as she is. He clears his throat awkwardly, and she jumps, letting go of his hand abruptly and straightens up, putting a few inches between them. She clasps her hands behind her back tightly as he rubs the back of his neck, eyes dancing around their surroundings to avoid meeting hers.
"A-anyway…" she gropes around desperately, "anyway t-that faucet really needs to be fixed, so…" She grabs her wallet from the counter, fishing out five yen, holding it out to him. "So will you…grant my wish?"
He looks at her, face still slightly flushed. There's wonder in his eyes, and she swallows against the fluttering of her heart when he steps closer to her.
"Your wish has been heard, loud and clear," he murmurs, and in his voice is the understanding of what she's truly asking for. His hands cover her own, the cool coin pressed between both of their palms. She finally recognizes the smile he gives her - bright, joyful, with the same soft eyes that looked at her this way six years ago.
"May our fates intertwine."
Comments and criticism welcome! Thank you for reading!