Disclaimer: I do not own Noragami.
029./ we are tied together always
(a/n: this is a future-fic of sorts)
Yato sits at the table, looking down at his coffee.
(He has not been back in Tōkyō for a long time—has only visited Kofuku and Daikoku occasionally, and his daughter at her job in Ōsaka. He sees Tenjin and Mayu, Kazum and Vaisravana, in the heavens at meetings—sometimes afterwards, too, for drinks.)
He does not like coming back to Tōkyō, because it reminds him of her—and she has been dead for decades, now; he avoids counting, still, because every second feels like an immeasurable distance between them.
But, still, Yukine called him. (And his Shinki only asks him to come back for good reasons—Yukine understands, though he did not before, with his anger and grief. He loved Hiyori, too.)
"Hey."
Yato looks up.
His Shinki is so much the same boy he had been eighty years ago—still blonde, orange–eyed, looking forever–fourteen. He bites his lip.
"Hey." Yato nods. "So, what's up—?"
—It is then that he notices someone standing behind his Shinki; small, with long, dark hair, and— He swallows. No. Yato thinks. No, it's impossible. It's—
"—Yato." Yukine swallows, and pulls her forward. "I'd like you to meet our old friend."
a/n: for yatori week entry no. 2—bound.
