Originally posted on AO3 as a treat for Yuletide 2015.
Spoilers: For certain Taki-related events and backstory through volume 16.
Other warnings: Discussions of grief, depression (?), just … not a terribly happy story.
# # #
"Hey! How was the test of courage on Saturday?"
Tooru paused, shoes lifted halfway out of her cubby.
"I don't know if we should tell a chicken who didn't go."
"Awwww, come on, you know I would have if I could! But my mom would have killed me. How scary was it? I hear someone cried."
"It was just an abandoned school house, it wasn't scary at all. Sasada is such a wimp." A burst of laughter. "Yamada said that if she usually runs that fast, she should join the track team; we'd win for sure!"
More laughter.
Tooru dropped her shoes to the ground with an intentionally loud clatter. She ought to go over there and –
The flare of anger faded as soon as it had appeared. Even if she went over there, then what? It wasn't like she could change their minds.
"Come on, let's get going!" Banging around and laughter and the clatter of shoes against the floor swiftly faded to silence as Tooru stood there, staring at her cubby.
A haunted school house … she wondered if it was the one her grandfather had talked about. There were a lot of legends about it, and rumors, but he'd never mentioned seeing anything there.
It wasn't that far away from school. She could go by on her way home.
It wasn't like there was anyone waiting there for her (anymore) anyway.
But what was the point? She wouldn't find anything.
And even if she did, there wasn't anyone for her to tell.
#
But even though it was pointless, she found herself turning at an intersection where she'd usually walk straight, trying to remember the way. She slowed as she approached the school itself, the grounds full of overgrown weeds, and the building itself slowly crumbling. Half of its windows were boarded up, half broken, and the only spots of color were the vines tracing their way listlessly across its face.
"Hello?"
Tooru jumped, and ran to the entrance. The voice had sounded human, but.
"Bucket-san, are you there?"
She looked human, too: a girl in the same school uniform as Tooru herself, brown hair tied back into twin ponytails, her schoolbag at her feet.
"Please come out! I want to thank you!"
Tooru hesitated. Was there – did that mean that there was something there, after all? She couldn't quite make herself step forward and ask, but neither could she walk away.
(She had to know. Especially if there was something there. One of them ought to.)
"… Fine, I'll come find you myself." The other girl said. She bent down to grab her bag, saw Tooru, and stared, as though wondering what Tooru was doing there (a fair question) or if she was (also?) a ghost.
(Sometimes, Tooru wondered.)
Tooru looked back. "Hello," she finally said, voice a bit raspy. When was the last time she'd spoken, aside from giving answers in class? "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."
The other girl seemed to relax a bit. "It's fine," she said, and bit her lip. "I must have looked pretty crazy, just standing here yelling, anyway."
"You're not crazy." The words were out before Tooru had any awareness of having spoken them; propelled by years of defending her grandfather to strangers, to her parents, sometimes to himself.
The other girl rocked back on her heels. "Um, thanks." She smiled, tentatively. "But, how do you know? I mean, you don't know me."
"My grandfather always said that most people who society called crazy, just saw the world a different way," Tooru said. Her throat closed, and she could feel her eyes heating up. She didn't want to cry, not now. Not again. It had been weeks, why couldn't she just –
"I'm sorry, I should go."
What sort of idiot would she look like, crying in front of a complete stranger?
"No, wait!" The slap of running feet; a light hand on her arm. Tooru looked back. The eyes behind the girl's slim oval glasses were a darker brown than her own, and unexpectedly kind. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's not you, it's me." Tooru rubbed at her eyes; maybe if she did that hard enough, the tears wouldn't come after all. "I'm just. My grandfather isn't."
Why couldn't she just say it?
"Oh. I'm so sorry." The hand disappeared from her arm; the other girl bit her lip again. "I know it probably won't help, but, I'm glad you told me that. It helped."
"He would have been glad," Tooru forced out, watery. "He'd probably be asking you all sorts of questions right now. He always was."
"Why me?"
Tooru forced herself to take a deep breath; afterwards, she felt a bit calmer. "You're calling for a youkai, aren't you?"
"Yes, but. How did you know?"
"There've been rumors that this area is haunted since before the school itself was built." Another deep breath. She could do this. "There's a legend, about a young god – but you probably don't want to hear all that. My grandfather loved collecting legends like that. So, since you were standing here calling for someone …"
"I do. Want to hear more," the other girl said. She leaned forward, took one of Tooru's hands in her own. "Will you tell me more? If it's not too hard?"
Tooru felt like every nerve end was raw; like she was trying to walk on burnt feet.
Her grandfather would have told the story, probably without even asking first. He would have asked what the other girl's story was, too.
And Tooru was curious, too.
"I'll do my best," she said. "I might have to look up the details and tell you later. Will you … tell me your story, too?"
The other girl looked a bit startled. "If you want …"
"I do." Tooru paused. "… I'm Taki Tooru. From class 1."
"I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself!" The other girl smiled sheepishly. "I'm Sasada Jun, class 4."
Tooru did her best to smile back. "If remember correctly, my grandfather said that it all started with a young god who loved to come to the village and play with the human children …"
#
Tooru stood in front of the storehouse.
Birds chirped. A breeze rustled the trees and blew her hair across her face.
She laid her hand against the storehouse door. Resisted the urge to lean forward and lay her forehead on the cool surface, too, and pushed it open.
The kokeshi still stood there, silently welcoming her, and she smiled, remembering the first time she'd seen it. How scared she'd been, and how much her grandfather had laughed, even as he'd wrapped her in a warm embrace and promised not to let it hurt her.
Dust had started to settle lightly on most of the visible surfaces, and she frowned. She should have at least come in to clean –
But it had been too hard. It was still almost too hard.
But she'd told Sasada-san everything she remembered. She needed to know the rest, and all of her grandfather's notes were here.
He'd packed most of them away in boxes, and those he'd stacked in the back, she thought. He'd told her the story … three years ago, she thought. Maybe four. It shouldn't be too hard to find.
– And there was the doll he'd brought back from Hokkaido for her five years ago. Her mother had told him off for bringing her such a 'creepy' present. She'd protested, but her grandfather had winked at her behind her mother's back, promised solemnly to get rid of it, and then brought her out to the storehouse later, to show her its new home.
No. She was here for the notes, nothing more.
She lifted one of the boxes down, trying to read the dates without dwelling on her grandfather's handwriting, and pulled the lid off. She sneezed. Tall stacks of hand-bound journals stared back, each also carefully labeled and dated.
She picked up the first one with hands that were not shaking (maybe if she insisted hard enough, they'd stop), settled back on her heels, and started to read.
#
"I found a few more mentions of the story, if you're still interested," Tooru said. Quietly, although this corner of the library appeared empty. She set her bag down a free chair, opened it, and took out two of her grandfather's journals, passing them across the table to Sasada-san. "Sorry it isn't more." There were still plenty of boxes she hadn't gone through yet, but she'd only been able to make herself do so much.
Sasada-san shook her head, ponytails flying. She reached out, hesitantly, but paused before touching the top one. "Are you sure you don't mind? They're your grandfather's, aren't they?"
Smiling still hurt, but it didn't feel quite as impossible as it had before. "He would have loved to share them with you. Telling people about the stories he heard was one of his favorite things."
She wished she hadn't usually been the only one listening.
The hesitantly reaching hand became a fist, laid gently on the table. Sasada-san's direct gaze hurt almost as much as smiling had. "But do you mind? You didn't have to – I didn't mean to make you go so far out of your way."
"It's fine," Tooru said. Because it was stupid to not be fine, because at some point she had to start being fine again, because she wouldn't be able to bear it if it kept hurting this much forever. Because her grandfather would have wanted Sasada-san to read them, and that meant more to Tooru (had to mean more) than the part of her that wanted to tear them away and go back to trying desperately to ignore how much it still hurt.
Sasada-san touched her chest, where the talisman she'd almost lost hung from around her neck, and bit her lip. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision. "Do you mind if we move outside? Um, I just need to check these out first." The three books – hastily closed and pushed out of the way when Tooru had approached – all appeared to be histories of this area. Tooru wondered how many of them her grandfather had read, searching for the same information Sasada-san wanted now.
"No, that's fine," Tooru said. She didn't see the need, but couldn't bring herself to protest when it meant a reprieve from the other girl's searching look and her own conflicted feelings. She put the journals back in her bag and followed Sasada-san to the counter, waiting patiently for the librarian to check her out.
They stepped side-by-side out into the heat. Not as bad as it had been a few weeks ago, but Tooru didn't bother to hide her relief when Sasada-sansuggested they take refuge in the shade of a large, leafy tree.
They settled next to each other. Sasada-san fussed with the line of her skirt, then wrapped her arms around her knees and looked upwards. Tooru followed suit, and watched a squirrel cross from one branch to another, mouth suspiciously full.
"You don't have to be all right."
Sasada-san's words were as quiet as they had been in the library, but they struck Tooru like a splash of cold water to the face. She stared, but Sasada-san kept looking upward.
"I wasn't for a long time, after my dad passed. After my mom passed, too. Some days I'm still not. My –" she paused and swallowed. "My stepfather went through most of my mom's stuff, after she passed, and packed it away. I know he asked me about some of it, but I can't … I don't remember it. It was over a year before I was even willing to touch those boxes. If I'd known … I never would have asked you to do that."
"It's really not –" Tooru started, but stopped. It didn't feel right, when Sasada-san was being so open. "When does it get better?" she asked, instead. She buried her face in her knees, unable to look at Sasada-san after saying that. She'd suffered so much more, it didn't seem right to force her own emotions on the other girl, too. "I'm so tired of hurting all the time."
A long pause. "… I don't know," Sasada-san finally said. "I'm not sure it ever really hurts less, but I … think about it less? Usually? But then sometimes it all comes rushing back. Sometimes I can smile at the good things, sometimes I still just cry." Tooru looked up. Sasada-san was staring out towards the school, gripping her talisman like she was afraid that if she let go, it would disappear again. She caught Tooru looking and smiled wryly. The same sort of smile that Tooru sometimes thought was the best she could manage anymore. "Sorry, I've been trying not to bring anyone else down anymore. But I have to thank him," she said. "If he hadn't found it …"
"No, don't apologize. I –" Tooru hesitated. "It helped, to hear that." She pulled out the journals back out of her bag and held them out. "… It's not fine yet," she said, and felt a bit of weight fall away just from that admission. "I don't know when it will be fine. But. I want to help. So."
Sasada-san took the journals with careful hands. She settled into a cross-legged posture and rested them on her tented skirt, opening the first to the bookmark Tooru had left. She looked up. "Is it all right, if I go ahead and read this here? I can take them home and read them there instead, if you'd rather –"
Tooru twitched, resisting the urge to immediately, violently reject the idea. She couldn't. Not yet.
And Sasada-san would understand that.
She hadn't realized how much of a relief it would be, to not feel like she had to pretend to be fine.
"I'd rather you didn't," she admitted instead. "... I don't mind it. Sitting here. And … maybe next time, you could come over to my place?"
The house wasn't as dusty as the storehouse – her mother would never have stood for it, when she was home to care – but Tooru could still feel her grandfather everywhere she went. It … might be good, for it not to be quite so empty anymore. Just for a little while.
Sasada-san smiled. "I'd like that," she said.
#
"Bucket-san! Please come out!" Sasada's voice echoed down the empty, run-down hallways, disturbing the dust motes that danced in the sunlight.
"Please!" Tooru echoed, a bit awkward. "We'd really like to see you!"
Sasada glanced at her. "You don't have to be here. You've done so much already."
"Do you mind me being here?"
"No! Not at all." She smiled, awkwardly, and touched her talisman again. "It's reassuring, actually."
"Then I want to be here," Tooru said. She didn't know if they'd ever see the spirit who'd helped Sasada. The schoolhouse seemed like a perfect place for them to gather, but in the daylight, it also just felt like an old, dilapidated building. Was there really anything magic, any spirits here? She didn't know, and even if there was, she didn't know if they'd be able to see it. This could all just be for nothing.
But she wanted to know more, and she wanted to help Sasada.
It was strange, to want things again.
Sasada ducked her head. "Thanks."
Tooru shook her head and turned back forward. "Bucket-san!"
#
"Thanks for having me over," Sasada said. Tooru set the two cups out on the table and settled to her knees opposite her. "Your parents don't mind?"
Tooru shook her head. "My mom works late most nights," she said. "My dad is out of the country right now." It felt wrong to mention it, a bit too much like complaining, and to Sasada, whenshe ought to be grateful she had anyone left at all.
"My step-father used to work late," Sasada said. "He mostly stopped when my mother got sick, and never really started again." She looked at her hands, wrapped around the steaming cup. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll always want what I don't have, and only ever appreciate it once it's gone. I love my step-father, I do, but sometimes I'd just like to stay out after sunset without him worrying all the time."
Shocked, it took Tooru a moment before she laughed. "I used to wish my mom would stay home more often," she admitted, the first time she'd said as much to anyone. "But … I don't really, anymore. I feel guilty sometimes. Like I should care more. But especially recently, especially since –"
Her throat closed up again.
She'd been doing so much better, since meeting Sasada that one day. She'd been starting to feel – not normal, but lighter. Not quite as buried under the weight of everything. She'd thought she was better.
"It's hard to care as much anymore," she made herself continue. "About that, about most things, but." She swallowed. "… I'm not sure that's going to come back. And I'm not sure I'll care if it doesn't."
"If it's important to you, it'll come back," Sasada said. "I think. I'm not the same as I used to be, before … everything. But I'm still me. You'll still be you, Taki. I believe in you."
"Thanks," Tooru said, and rubbed at the corners of her eyes. She wasn't going to start crying again. She wasn't. "… You can call me Tooru."
"I'd like that. … You can call me Jun, too. If you want."
They shared a tentative smile.
They spoke on no topics more serious than the latest history assignment while finishing their tea. After collecting the cups, Tooru said, "Do you want to see the storehouse, too? Since you're here?"
Sasada's – Jun's – face lit up. "I'd love to! … If you don't mind?"
"I'd like to," Tooru said. "… You're one of the only people I know who would be interested."
"Their loss!" Jun said cheerfully. "Is it terribly creepy? Like the school?"
"… My parents and my older brother think so," Tooru said. She attempted to shake off the remembered resentment, and the guilt (except it wasn't even guilt, really, so much as a nagging feeling that she probably should feel guilty). "But it's a pretty typical storehouse, really. Lots of shelves and boxes."
"That's a shame. I'd still like to see it, though. I mean, a real storehouse! There aren't many of those around anymore."
"Well, this house has been in our family for a really long time," Tooru said. "Just let me put these away, and we can go."
She led Jun back outside and over to the storehouse and pulled the door open.
Jun eagerly preceded her in – and just as quickly jumped back out, clutching Tooru's arm and half-hiding behind her. "What is that?!"
Tooru tensed. Had something gotten inside? If anything had happened –!
But when she peered inside, Jun hesitantly looking over her shoulder, it all looked the same as usual. "What is what?" she asked.
"That, that thing!" Jun pointed – at, Tooru realized belatedly, the kokeshi.
"Oh. Sorry, I guess it does look a bit scary, sorry." Tooru smiled sheepishly. "My grandfather found it while traveling. It's a kokeshi, meant to protect the storehouse from invaders."
"It certainly would have worked on me," Jun said, but slowly released her arm and re-entered the storehouse, more cautiously this time. "Is it actually … I don't know, alive?"
Tooru looked at the kokeshi's unchanging wooden face. "I don't know," she said. "I've never seen any signs, but I'm not sure I would? I don't think I'm like you."
"What do you mean, like me?" Jun asked, turning to face her. "I'm not sure I can see anything either. It was only that one time, and … maybe I just hallucinated it all."
"You didn't," Tooru said firmly. "Maybe it was just … a special time of the day, or month, or maybe he's very strong and chose to show himself to you?"
"But then why wouldn't he come out again?"
"I don't know." Tooru wish she had answers. She gestured down the narrow path between two shelving units that towered over their heads. "Most of my grandfather's journals he packed away in boxes. Back here."
"Do you think some of his other journals might have information about the schoolhouse in them, too?" Jun asked. She rushed to catch up, although she soon slowed again, distracted by gazing around at the contents of the shelves; at the masks on the walls.
"There's a good chance," Tooru said. "He always wrote everything down, and he tended to revisit local legends a lot." She smiled fondly, fighting the inevitable rush of loss. She could do this. She could.
"Oh! What's this?"
Tooru whirled to see Jun leaning over, in the act of picking up a doll. Her doll.
"Don't touch that!"
The words ripped themselves from her throat.
Jun flinched.
The doll fell.
Two short strides, and Tooru knelt beside the doll, head bowed, hair shielding everything from her vision except the doll.
"I – Sorry, I didn't mean –"
Tooru picked it up, gently. It seemed unharmed, but its small porcelain face seemed to stare at her accusingly – for letting Jun touch it? For leaving it alone here in the storehouse for so long?
(For being alone, now? Even though she'd give anything if only –!)
"Tooru?"
Some distant part of her took note of the hesitance in Jun's voice. Wanted to respond, to reassure her that it was all right, to apologize for overreacting.
(Another, darker, part took vicious satisfaction in leaving her hanging.)
But she just couldn't quite make herself speak. She felt like she, too, was a doll, hanging limply from broken strings.
(She'd thought she'd been doing so much better.)
"… I'll see you in school, okay?"
Footsteps.
Silence.
She uncurled slowly, carefully, like she was as old as –
No. Don't think about it.
– and even more slowly placed the doll back on the shelf, carefully smoothing out every wrinkle and misplaced fold, blowing away the dust as well as she could.
She should be able to find a duster back in the house.
(She'd feel guilty later.)
#
I should know better than to let myself sleep in like that.
Tooru dashed towards the school. As long as she ran, she should make it with a few minutes to spare.
The previous evening had been a bad one. She'd spent half of it worrying about what she was going to say – wondering if she should call, but she couldn't: she didn't have Jun's (Sasada's?) number. And then when she woke up, that fruitless, grinding weight in her gut, that always made her feel like surely, if she stared at the ceiling a bit longer, if she aligned the events of the day in her head a bit better, it would go away, and she'd be prepared to actually face the day.
But it never did. And she knew that.
She dashed up the stairs and dodged around someone standing near the top on autopilot, before the belated impression – long brown ponytails, glasses, surprised expression – made her skid to a halt.
They stared at each other, the silence between them heavy and awkward.
"… You'll be late," Jun said, and immediately bit her lip, looking like she wished she could take the words back.
"Yeah." Tooru looked down the hall, if only because anything seemed better than looking at Jun's face. The words she'd tried to align in her head all crumbled, leaving her holding nothing.
Nothing but the fear that this would slip away, too. "I'll see you at lunch?"
Jun's tentative smile hurt, too. "We can meet by the tree?"
Tooru nodded. Hesitated a moment more, and turned and ran.
#
Jun was already sitting there, underneath the tree where they'd first properly talked, when Tooru arrived.
"I'm sorry," Tooru said, and her voice seemed to echo in stereo. They shared sheepish smiles.
"I shouldn't have yelled like that," Tooru added.
Jun shook her head. "I shouldn't have been touching your things without asking. Your grandfather's things." She laughed, a short, sad sound. "If anyone had tried to touch my parents' things that soon, I'd probably have done a lot worse than yell at them."
"If it had been something else, I might not have cared as much," Tooru said. "But that doll is special." Because her grandfather had given it to her. Because her grandfather had saved it for her, had made it a special secret that only the two of them shared.
She shook her head and opened her bento, starting to eat. After hesitating briefly, Jun started eating too. "I brought a few more of the journals," Tooru offered. "If you wanted to look at them with me after school."
Jun's chopsticks paused. "I'd like that," she said.
Tooru didn't invite her back to visit the storehouse again, and hated the relief she felt when Jun didn't ask.
(She would, just … not yet.)
#
Tooru paused on the threshold to her grandfather's room and took a deep breath. Her mother had taken care of the funeral details, but otherwise not touched it. And Tooru … hadn't had the courage.
Until now, is what she told herself, but her feet seemed determined to make that a lie.
Another deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the door open.
Silence. (Though what else should she have expected?)
The room was still, and dark, and its familiarity cut like a knife as she carefully walked over to the window and opened the curtains. The light flooded across a desk, bookshelves, the bed that Tooru did her best not to look at. She started at the desk, dusting its flat, empty surface and the small shelf above it, which held only a few books. One fell over, victim of an accidentally too-hard swipe, and even though Tooru had told herself that she was only in here to clean (because if the storehouse needed it so badly, surely his room would, too) she couldn't help but stop and pick it up.
Flip it open, instead of propping it back up against the other books where it belonged.
Her grandfather's handwriting stared up at her, and for a moment that was all she could see.
Another journal. (His last.)
The words a story she remembered him telling her over dinner, his body slowing but his eyes still bright and his voice still strong. She wanted to read onward, but she didn't think she'd be able to bear it, when it ended. To bear seeing the blank pages afterwards.
She shut the journal with a decisive snap. She'd just raised it to put it back on the shelf when she noticed an extra scrap of paper peeking out the bottom. It looked a bit large to be a misaligned bookmark; maybe one of the pages had come loose?
She flipped the journal back open, and the paper – a loose piece, folded into quarters – fell out from between two pages. She ignored the text in favor of folding the paper open.
A … spell circle. She wasn't certain, but that was what it looked like.
She looked back towards the journal, skimming.
… old legend … satellite branch of the family that remained closer to our onmyouji roots … makes youkai visible to normal eyes … no success with initial experimentation …
She put the journal down.
A spell circle that would let normal people – that would let her see youkai?
She had to tell Jun about this.
… no success …
No. What would be the point in disappointing her further?
If she could make it work, though …
She looked at the paper again. Jun had said that the spirit in the schoolhouse looked and acted human. (Well, except for the bucket on his head.) The paper looked too small for that.
There was a nice patch of dirt back behind the house, though.
I'll figure out how to make it work somehow, Grandfather. I promise.
#
The first time, Tooru sat there for three hours, seeing nothing, until the setting sun and rising chill forced her to retreat inside.
The second time, what looked like a small brown bird landed in the middle of the circle and paced around for perhaps a minute before once again taking wing.
But she could see it after it left the circle, too. It must have been just a bird.
Slowly, her life began to settle into a new pattern: school, walking home with Jun, standing in the schoolyard with her and shouting. Clutching the secret of the circle close, wanting to say something but not wanting to make Jun share in the disappointment she felt every time she got home, and tried drawing the circle again, and once again saw nothing.
Some days, she almost forgot to mourn.
Most days, as she sat staring at the circle that had been her grandfather's last discovery, at the circle that had never worked for him and would probably never work for her, she had a hard time doing anything else.
And then one day, she saw a small tengu march through the circle, accompanied by a couple of golden koi who floated through the air at his side. She held her breath, afraid that if she moved or even breathed, he would disappear.
But he didn't even glance her direction, simply kept walking until he reached the other side and once again disappeared from her sight.
It had worked. It had actually worked.
But – what if she'd just been seeing things? What if she'd been wishing so hard, that she'd just dreamed everything up?
She pinched herself, and flinched at the sudden pain.
All right, not a dream, at least.
Maybe she should try talking to one next time, just in case.
(If there was a next time.)
But then there were tests to take, and high school to think about, and for a while Tooru didn't even have time to do more than scribble a quick circle near the veranda and glance at it occasionally as she studied.
Then a series of storms prevented her from doing even that, for a while. She would lay her grandfather's memo across the half of the table not covered in her schoolbooks, but nothing ever walked across it.
Maybe their house just didn't have any youkai.
(Or maybe it had been a mirage after all, and she had no more ability to see youkai with the circle than without it.)
(Or maybe youkai didn't exist at all – but no. Her grandfather believed. Jun believed. She believed too.)
Throughout this all, there was one constant: their daily visits to the schoolhouse. No matter the weather, Jun insisted on going, and Tooru went with her. She would not make Jun do this alone.
On clear days, they'd stand outside and shout. On stormy days, Tooru dragged Jun inside, and they wandered the slowly-deteriorating hallways, still calling for the youkai with the bucket on his head.
Every day, as they stood at the gate to the schoolhouse, about to head their separate ways, Tooru hesitated. Wanting to say something. Wanting to tell Jun that she was right, that youkai were real, that she had proof –
Every day, they exchanged their goodbyes, and she walked away, words unspoken. That night, surely, she'd see something again. Then she'd tell Jun about the circle.
Surely.
#
Sunday dawned overcast and chilly, but not raining, and not so cold that the ground had frozen. Yet.
Finally free of her other obligations, Tooru ventured into the backyard again, and redrew the circle. She'd drawn it enough times now that she no longer needed to refer to her grandfather's memo, though she always carried it with her.
She stepped back, looking at her work. It seemed sound. Surely today –
A long, dark blue yukata sleeve, nearly as tall as Tooru herself, slid into view from the right side of the circle. It was followed by the rest of a body, and a head nearly as large, towering over her. The youkai – it could hardly be anything else – had a large scar across its forehead, and wore a strange, uninviting smile.
Tooru took a step back, rethinking her initial intention to greet it. There was just … something about the youkai that worried her.
Perhaps sensing her movement, it turned, and their eyes met.
Tooru's knees gave out.
"A mere human like you saw me, did you?"
Its voice rumbled through her; its laugh high-pitched and frightening.
"You little brat. I should eat you."
Tooru couldn't help her gasp.
"But that wouldn't be any fun. I'll give you three hundred and sixty days. If you can find me by then, I'll spare you. But if you can't, you lose. And I'll eat you."
But how could she possibly –?
"And then, I'll go back through your memories and eat the last thirteen people whose names you spoke."
"You can't –!"
But the youkai didn't listen, it simply giggled again and continued walking.
Tooru sat there for a long time after it disappeared – or had it? She had no way of knowing, and for the first time, that bothered her.
She had to. Somehow, she had to win.
#
"Tooru!" Jun ran up. "How was school today? Did Takada-sensei also give your class that assignment about the Warring States period?"
"J –"
– eat the last thirteen people –
Tooru stopped. Forced a weak smile. "Yes. I haven't really looked at it yet."
"Well, we do have a couple of weeks before it's due," Jun said. They began following the familiar path back to the schoolhouse. "Do you want to come over to my place to work on it afterwards? My stepfather is really interested in that period, so he's got a bunch of extra books we can use."
"I … don't think I can, tonight."
She knew that there was no rational way she'd be able to catch the youkai who'd cursed her just by drawing circles – not when all he had to do was simply avoid them. But she couldn't think of anything else to do. And if she could get rid of the curse now, before she dragged anyone else down with her –
(Before she dragged Jun down with her)
"Oh. Well, maybe next time?"
"Maybe."
They entered the schoolyard and Jun put down her bag. "Bucket-san! Bucket-san, please come out so I can thank you!"
Tooru drew breath to do the same –
But what if youkai counted?
She knew 'Bucket-san' wasn't his real name, but what if it still counted? What if she ended up inadvertently sentencing him to share in her fate?
She couldn't risk it.
"Sorry, I … have something else I have to do today. Bye!"
Tooru turned and ran, closing her ears to Jun's confused questions.
#
The rest of the week, Tooru stayed behind after school to help with the cleaning.
(She'd inadvertently said her class representative's name when she offered.)
She breathed a sigh of relief when she left the school, far later than usual, and didn't see Jun standing at the gate.
(She'd accidentally greeted two of her neighbors on her way home.)
She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening covering every spare inch of the backyard with circles large and small, but nothing stirred through them except a handful of dead leaves in the chill breeze.
(Her mother had called to let her know that something had come up and her business trip had needed another extension. She'd asked how Tooru was, and Tooru had said 'Fine'.)
(Did 'Mom' count as a name?)
By the end of the week, she'd said well over thirteen names, even trying her hardest to remember not to. Something had to change.
Maybe she should just stop talking entirely.
#
"You're avoiding me, aren't you."
Tooru jumped. She was starting to run out of excuses to stay late at school – today she'd just hidden in the back of the library – but she'd thought for sure that she'd stayed long enough.
"Did something happen?" Jun asked, stepping out from behind the school gate. "It did, didn't it. Did it have to do with youkai? Did you see one too?"
Tooru shook her head. "Nothing happened. I've just been busy."
"So busy you went out of your way to ask Matsumoto-kun if you could help with afterschool chores?" Jun crossed her arms.
"They looked like they needed the help," Tooru said, wishing she could lie more convincingly. "And today I just really had some things I needed to look up."
Jun looked unconvinced. "You'd tell me if you saw something, right?" she asked, meeting Tooru's eyes, her expression sincere. "Even if it was frightening? No, especially if it was frightening? You've been such a help to me …"
I want to help more, Tooru wanted to say. She wanted to tell Jun everything, or better yet to have nothing to tell; to go back to before she'd even discovered the circle, when it was just her, Jun, and their fruitless attempts to find the youkai who had helped her.
But she couldn't. She couldn't let that youkai have Jun too.
"Of course I would," she said, and forced a smile. "But it really is nothing."
The clock on the front of the school chimed out the hour, and Tooru gratefully jumped on the excuse. "Sorry, I've got to run. See you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow."
I'm sorry.
#
Again, after school another day:
"Something really is wrong," Jun said, and stepped closer. "Come on, tell me. I promise I won't laugh, or run, or whatever it is you're afraid of. You listened to me, you should know I'd listen to you, too. No matter what."
"I'm not afraid," Tooru said, more vehemently than she'd intended, and stepped back.
(She was terrified.)
"And there's nothing to say."
(She'd said three more names, this past week. She had to try harder.)
"If you're going to lie, at least make it believable," Jun said, and Tooru could hear the hurt in her voice.
She couldn't do this anymore.
"Will you lay off already?" Tooru barely recognized the voice as her own. "Why do you have to keep pushing?"
"Because I care!"
They stared at each other, in the wake of Jun's shout.
Please don't.
Please, just go away.
Before I hurt you, too.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't."
Tooru turned to walk away.
Jun caught her arm. "Maybe I do, anyway." Her eyes were serious, and as kind as the first time they'd met.
Tooru put her hand on Jun's, made herself remove it from her arm. "J – Please. I'm just – I can't deal with this right now."
(Please, not Jun.)
Jun stepped back. "You know I'm here for you. If you need anything. Anything, all right?"
Tooru made herself smile. "I know."
This time, Jun didn't try to stop her as she left.
I'm sorry.
#
At graduation:
Even with all of her efforts so far, all Tooru had to show was the ability to draw her grandfather's circle increasingly quickly, a handful of encounters with small local youkai who had run before she had a chance to ask them anything, and a new reputation for silence. – And the fact that she'd somehow managed to both graduate and get into the local high school, despite having spent nearly every spare moment drawing circles.
She looked forward to being able to do so all day, once school let out for break.
Surely, at some point, she'd figure out how to break the curse.
"Tooru!"
She turned and watched Jun dash over. She seemed determined to stay, even if she'd eventually accepted that Tooru would no longer walk home with her in the afternoons, or really say much of anything.
(Tooru wasn't sure why, honestly – it wasn't like they'd known each other well, before, and now that Tooru was refusing to say anything about youkai – or really, about much of anything – what purpose did sticking with her serve?)
(But … even though Tooru wished she wouldn't stick so close, she also couldn't help but be guiltily glad that she did.)
"Are you doing anything interesting over break?" Jun asked.
Tooru shook her head.
Jun laughed. "Same here! I can't believe it, though – high school already? I'm not sure I'm ready."
"You're ready," Tooru said.
"Thanks," Jun smiled warmly. "Maybe we'll be in the same class, this time. I think I'm going to try for class representative."
"I'm sure you'll make a really good one," Tooru said.
(She hoped they weren't.)
It was probably the most they'd talked without fighting – or without Tooru running away – in weeks.
"I hope so." Jun said. "Um. Just so you know. I'm still going to be going to the old schoolhouse over break. I haven't seen anything yet, but … I'm not going to give up."
The invitation was clear, and Tooru wanted to accept it.
Oh, how she wanted to.
But.
"I'm probably going to be too busy," Tooru said. Knowing how it sounded. Knowing she should at least say something like 'Good luck'.
"All right," Jun said, and they both pretended not to notice her disappointment. "Well. You know where I am." She hesitated. "I guess. If we don't run into each other before then, I'll see you in April?"
"See you in April."
Maybe by then she'd have broken the curse, and she could finally tell Jun everything.
(And if not, at least she wouldn't take Jun down with her.)
I'm sorry.
#
"There's a new transfer student in my class." Jun set her books down on the library table and took the seat across from Tooru. "His name's Natsume. Natsume Takashi."
Tooru didn't look up from her assignment. Sometimes Jun would leave if she pretended she was ignoring her for long enough.
(Sometimes she wouldn't.)
"He acts really strange, sometimes. Like, he'll buy a bottle of water and just pour it all out in the middle of the road." In her peripheral vision, Tooru saw Jun leaning closer, and when she next spoke, her voice approached a whisper. "I think he can see youkai. Actually see them."
Tooru forced herself not to react.
"Our class is doing another test of courage next week. I'm going to ask him if he can help me find Bucket-san."
Tooru wished she had been able to help more.
Jun hesitated. "So. If whatever made you shut down like this is a youkai problem. Maybe he can help you too."
Tooru looked up. "It's not."
"I know. But if it is." Jun half-stood, then hesitated. "I –"
Tooru tilted her head.
Jun shook hers. "Never mind."
She left.
Natsume Takashi.
Maybe – but no, she couldn't involve a stranger, too. Not even if he could see youkai.
#
A note in her shoe cubby, after a week of unexpected silence.
Tooru –
I meant to tell you this in person, but … I guess I'm too much of a coward after all.
Natsume claims that he can't see youkai, but I don't know. He was shouting on the rooftop, though I couldn't hear what he said. And – I can't swear to it, but I thought I felt Bucket-san touch my head for a moment.
And … I'm leaving. My step-father's work reassigned him, and it's too far to commute, so … I'm going with him.
I know things have been difficult for a while now, and I know you probably don't want to hear this, but. You'll always be my friend. All right?
– Jun
#
Exhausted, sore, triumphant, Tooru stumbled home. She'd left the sealing mirror in Natsume's capable hands, and those of his adorable cat.
(Jun had never mentioned that Natsume had such an adorable cat!)
She paused in the act of removing her shoes, everything else momentarily forgotten.
Jun.
As the deadline approached, she'd tried to put her out of her head. She'd never said her name; at least she would be safe.
But now … she'd always told herself that she'd tell Jun the truth, if she survived.
But then she'd left. She was in a new place, surrounded by new people. Maybe she'd forgotten about Tooru entirely.
Tooru finished taking off her shoes and walked slowly up to her room. She pulled the note – Jun's new address on the backside – out from under a stack of textbooks and looked at it.
You'll always be my friend.
She swallowed. Even if Jun had forgotten, she hadn't.
She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write.
To Jun,
Before anything else, I want to say: I'm sorry. And thank you.