X. A Youkai's Name

"Why 'Natsume'?"

The silver-haired demon lifts his head to Matoba. After so long, the curious subject is breached. The youkai was adamant on this name for the contract. Maybe now, due to their increased comfort, it can be asked.

Natsume takes a moment to answer. He blinks back to gazing across the decorative expanse of the manor's ground, from shrubbery to a koi pond, a red bridge, stone lanterns. This was never designed by his master, but he certainly enjoyed the scenery and mood it sets. A breeze rustles the silver fringe, pulling the demon back from a reminiscing. Bringing green eyes to the exorcist, who has since leaned closer due to curiosity, Natsume's lips twinge a fraction. The curious face Matoba has makes him look younger, approachable. That seal covering the right eye denotes otherwise, sadly, to both those points.

"My former master said my eyes reminded him of summer."

Matoba chuckles, agreeing. He pulls his body back to lean on his hands. "Your former master sounded poetic."

Natsume nods. Was it poetic? Although he was older in human years than Matoba, he doesn't remember the long-past human as someone very cultured. Compared to his current master, he was an amateur in his field, a fresh, untainted power. This was all a long, long time ago.

"I don't remember much, but… he liked to shirk his duties when given the opportunity."

Matoba laughs, instantly catching the jab meant for him. It could be a directive from Nanase or his own shiki scolding him. Either way, it is endearing.

It's difficult to remember, hurts a little, so searching such ancient memories needed to remain as just that. Not just for humans, but youkai as well.

"He was lonely like you, too." With that said, silence takes over.

There are reasons they were meant to stay 'lost'.

Realizing his mistake, Natsume averts his gaze back to the grounds.

Matoba deflates with a heavy exhale. Time and again this youkai will suggest that he is lonely. Never has that been discussed. But it's always mentioned, as if the youkai doesn't want Matoba—or himself—to forget. It's not so much irritating, but concerning.

"He had you as a friend, didn't he?" Looking over, he catches the youkai blinking, lips pursed and cheeks dusting pink.

He was a friend to that master. Right?

"Yes. I suppose." A confused kind of reluctance. Natsume turns away again, not wanting his expressions to be read by the exorcist.

A softer sigh through his nose, Matoba grimaces and adds, "Then he wasn't lonely. Neither am I."

A friend.

Natsume whips his head to Matoba, mouth slightly agape and face much warmer looking. Having this human, this exorcist, say that feels forbidden. He is a revered exorcist, a skilled human and a leader, part of a community that has a strict attitude and policy on spirits and creatures. As a demon, a creature that is often regarded in stories or experiences as troublesome, receiving such consideration could either be a joke or a dream.

"We're not friends, Master."

The exorcist's brows furrow, and then he frowns. "You don't return the sentiment?"

Natsume tightly purses his lips. An anger begins to bubble in his chest. With this master, and all the teasing he has endured, it likely could be a joke. But—the genuine face he wears says otherwise.

"I don't know."

So Natsume leaves.

The anger stays with him for the rest of the day. Duties assigned to Natsume are completed, but in a slowly paced manner. The clan head is avoided at all costs. It's a poor lie to say he doesn't have time to ponder on the discussion (spirits' and otherworldly beings' lifespans are drastically different from humans), so Natsume finds distractions separate from his master.

The conflict can only be kept at bay for so long.

Yes, Natsume wants a friend. But why with a human? They're such fragile things—sickness and emotions and social constructs and short lifespans. Investing in an attachment with a human always ends in disaster. Always the tragedies are by the human without fault. Always there are causes that spontaneously happen because is it the way fate controls them.

And by turn, it controls Natsume.

There is that stern look. No jokes or light-hearted conversation—his master summons him with a strong, unwavering voice. Still irritated (and upset and confused and shy), Natsume drags his feet behind the exorcist. Led to a room that is used for practicing spells and related work, Matoba gestures Natsume to one of the seat cushions that have been arranged beforehand. Natsume's brows furrow, lips pushing out in a pout for himself.

Although a bit stubborn, Natsume isn't one to act out. When it comes to broaching the personal past (or even present) without permission, his chest constricts with both anger and grief. He is prepared if reprimanded. He'll be careful to not reminisce so openly any longer. They are meant to be buried and forgotten.

Matoba observes the inner conflict on the demon's face, from skewed brows to pursed lips to rigid form. The green eyes look down in his direction, shaded by the seal tied around his head. Hopefully what the exorcist has planned will ease the demon's distress.

"Please remain there. I want to try something for you." Pointed ears perk at the words. "I don't mind where you look, or if you rather have your eyes shut. My request for you is to listen. If during you no longer wish to participate, you may leave at any point."

Tilting his head up, eyelashes blink against the seal's fabric. "Just that?"

Catching green with red, Matoba allows a very slight smile. With one nod, a scroll is procured from his left haori sleeve and is rolled out before him. Ancient letters in dry, dry ink on layered rice paper. The edges are cracked, but the document is thankfully intact. Matoba brushes his fingers across the ripples in the scroll, attempting to flatten the paper to overlook the beginning lines. Firstly, he needs to reassure the youkai before him.

"O-Demon, be at ease. With these words, prepared and arranged in accordance to your nature, the calm will come."

The words that follow reverberate around the room, intended for the silver-haired demon. They are ancient, particularly new to the master. There is a pause, a lick and swallow, and it starts again. A chant. Natsume, a little frustrated at this, considers leaving, and—well, he has the permission as such by his master. Green eyes glance to Matoba's face. His eye is focused on the script, cheeks a brush of red. This strikes Natsume as strange. His master is skilled in chants and doesn't require texts due to memorization. Thus realizing, Natsume licks his lips, settling legs once restless.

Although the words have since lost modern usage, simply the power of a voice proves effective. It now penetrates, sinking, echoing deep shivers inside of him. The repetitive words persist, but the smooth tone is consistent. Natsume means for his eyes to remain open, but the lull brings them to half-mast. What truly has more influence in soothing? The chant, or his master's voice? Does the human know of this? Could humans be affected by the mere voice of another like this?

Natsume releases a heavy exhale built up in his chest. A calmness does swirl in, freeing the tight discomfort and anxiety from earlier. A warm, eased drowsiness, like drunkenness. Head feeling heavy, Natsume slants forward, eyes dwelling on lips expelling that shallow heat. A blink of black eyelashes and an eye returns the gaze.

"...I don't want to be a burden to you." Another pleasant breath in and out, unconsciously measured. The verse is finished and Matoba raises his head to assess the demon. Natsume is noticeably relaxed with unrolled shoulders and drowsiness in his green eyes. Despite the scrutiny on him, Natsume continues, "You shouldn't worry about me." When Matoba smiles softly, a nostalgic pain erupts in Natsume's chest. Unwittingly, a weak groan resonates from his throat and a deep frown settles once more.

Seeing and hearing this, the exorcist rolls the scroll to the side, moving himself closer before the demon. In spite of this shared serenity, his knees and hands are close enough to touch the other's, to rouse the demon if needed. There, he can return to repressions and defenses for his own undisclosed reasons, and Matoba to his own ignorance and deflection. But, defaulting to that would surely taint this progress. Maybe a simple touch to the demon's knee will ease the recoil to normalcy.

They both feel a connection of the tranquil flow through that touch. In turn, Matoba breathes out relief of the returned bond. A long kept wish finally lifts from years shamed.

"If I have ever obtained a shiki, I would treat it well."

With that said, moist green eyes fully shut and Natsume's head lowers to Matoba's shoulder. There's a pounding in his chest, an aching warmth. It must be his soul beating, delirious on this connection and feelings. (Demons don't have hearts, really.)

"I didn't expect becoming a shiki. Let alone enjoy it." The relaxed body slumps further onto the exorcist. 'Enjoy'?—not at all just that. Knowing and being acknowledged of his existence is plentiful. Coupled with constant attention placed on him gives much, much more. Being a servant isn't shackled obedience—there is pleasure in being useful with his skills. And there is pleasure in other things as well.

Nails dig into the front of Matoba's black haori. "Master… I also like it when you touch me."

A quiet chuckle is right against Natsume's burning ear. Matoba could not help the reaction; the statement is too vague. The youkai sustains most of his shudder. A red eye flickers to bone-white horns. Matoba sits on a thought, unsure if he is allowed to broach it. But, if it is not asked, he will not know.

"You don't like it when I touch your horns."

Natsume shifts his head so he can strongly declare, "That's wrong." Then, with a gentle shake of his head, chest tight and burning, he continues, "I do. That's why I don't want you to."