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Part 4

(In which time has passed, but not all wounds are healed.)

Yato caught sight of a newsstand as he drifted along the street and paused to check the date printed at the top of the day's newspaper. Time meant little these days, twisting and turning every which way. After the first few weeks, he had given up trying to mark its passage. Without sleeping or eating or spending time with friends, the minutes blurred into hours blurred into days blurred into weeks, months, years. Only two years, really, but it might as well be an eternity.

He frowned at the newspaper, trying to remember when he had last stopped by to visit Hiyori or the others. June? July? He didn't remember any particular date since July. A few months, then. The seasons were turning again. The leaves were changing color, the scarves and sweaters had come out of storage, and the wind blew lost items merrily down the street. It meant little to him when he couldn't feel the chill or nestle into the warmth of a sweater or hide away home when the night fell earlier and earlier, but he knew the days had still been warm and sunny the last time he'd sought anyone out.

He had sighted Bishamon and her team since then, sometimes with Yukine in tow and sometimes not, but he'd only followed them for a few minutes before drifting away again. No point getting too close.

Perhaps he'd better drop by to see Hiyori again. He still made it a point to check in every few months or so.

He found Hiyori exactly where he expected: hunched over her textbooks, furiously scribbling away. She had grown up in the past couple of years without him holding her back. It still startled him to see the little changes in her, even though he had always known she would keep growing while he and Yukine stood still.

Although Yato hadn't been around much lately, he had a good idea of what she was up to. After her mother's death last year—Yato hadn't caught all the details of the illness, but he had spent weeks hovering by Hiyori's side and wishing he could comfort her as she cried—her tentative dream of becoming a doctor like her parents had hardened with determination. She had thrown herself into her studies, aiming to get the highest marks and learn all she could. Now that she wasn't slipping out of her body and sleeping through class, Yato supposed she had a better chance of getting somewhere.

He peered over her shoulder, but her schoolwork didn't interest him. There had been a time, even after he'd given up making her remember, when he had carried on long, one-sided conversations with her and everyone else. Conversations with himself, really. There had been a time when he tried to stay engaged, interact, insert himself. He had run out of words a long time ago, though, so now he just watched Hiyori quietly as her pencil scratched furiously against the page.

How have you been? What are you working on? Do you still have nightmares about your mom? Can we do something fun? Together, even?

But he knew better than to ask. The resulting silence stung too much, and he could feel himself slipping away a little more each time his overtures were ignored.

He wished she'd look up from her work, do a double take, and yell at him as she kicked him right out the window. Another life. No one scolded him for invading their personal space or complained that his hands were sweaty or reprimanded him for being childish. He hadn't realized he would miss it.

Hiyori dropped her pencil and stretched, wincing as something popped in her back. Spinning her chair halfway around, she stared through Yato and out the window behind him.

No thrill of anticipation shivered through him. Hope was a frivolous thing at best and destructive at worst, and he knew better than to bother with it. He only watched quietly from the sidelines, indulging a mild curiosity to see what she would do.

Hiyori stared out the window for another minute, tapping her foot against the floor as she watched the world go by outside. A couple of years ago, she would have abandoned her studying to enjoy the fresh air, maybe leave her body on her bed and seek out Yato and Yukine. Now she only sighed to herself and turned back to her textbooks. A few minutes later her cellphone chimed and she typed a response, an exasperated smile tugging at her lips. Her friends, undoubtedly. Her real friends. Then it was back to work.

In another life, Yato would have lost patience within the first ten seconds. Nowadays, he had nothing better to do. Even watching her scribble away was more interesting than doing nothing at all. He could only imagine how she'd laugh if she learned something had finally taught him patience.

A timid knock came at her door.

"Come in," she said, spinning her chair around.

Yato could have smiled at the sound of her voice. It had been a while since he'd heard it, and it had taken on the same fuzzy edge in his memory as everything else. He had missed her, even if the sharp edge had dulled off the ache. He missed having conversations and teasing her, just listening to her talk or hearing her say his name. He missed talking back.

The door cracked open, and her father stuck his head inside. He had aged years since his wife died: tired eyes, new creases lining his face, rapidly graying hair. Loss had left its mark on him.

"Still studying away?" he asked.

"I have an exam coming up."

"You'll do great, like always."

"Thanks, Dad. I think I've got a pretty good handle on this. I've just got another couple of chapters to review and I should be good to go."

"You've got this." He smiled, and for a moment the crevices of his face didn't seem quite as deep or careworn. "You're bright and work so hard. But maybe you could take a break and eat lunch with your old man while I've got some time away from the hospital?"

"Sure!" Hiyori pushed her chair back and bounded for the door, leaving her work behind without a backward glance. "What are you in the mood for?"

Yato did not follow them as they disappeared down the hall, discussing lunch options. It still felt voyeuristic to spy on people's personal interactions or intimate conversations, even more so than checking up on someone alone in their room. Maybe that was the skewed logic and lack of boundaries Hiyori and Yukine had always complained of.

But he had already sat in on plenty of Hiyori's conversations with her dad, especially right after her mother died, and he'd had more than his fill. A few qualms had never stopped him from doing as he pleased, but boredom could. Most everything bored him these days. Things were less interesting when he couldn't be a part of them. He cared, of course, what Hiyori was up to and how she was doing, but perhaps not as much as he once had. He couldn't quite remember the depth of that feeling anymore, even if he knew it had been there once.

Instead of tagging along—lingering too long on the edges of human affairs brought a half-forgotten ache to the surface that could easily sharpen into pain if he wasn't careful—he skimmed the pages of Hiyori's notes. Her handwriting was just the same as it had been all those years ago, scrawled across Yukine's math homework in bold loops. He thought she had used to loop the tails of her y's and g's, but everything else was a time capsule.

Although he wished he could write a note in the margins, something to jog her memory, he didn't reach for her discarded pencil. He knew by now that it wouldn't work, and it wasn't for lack of trying.

There was nothing to be done here, so he drifted to the window and through the wall and floated to the ground below.

If he had already checked on Hiyori, he supposed he might as well stop by Kofuku's for a minute or two. Check all the boxes at once. He wouldn't mind seeing Yukine either, but he had no control over the timing of those visits while he was exiled from Takamagahara. The best he could do was wander the city near open vents or Bishamon's favorite haunts and hope for a glimpse.

When he drifted through the wall of the shrine, he found Kofuku and Daikoku seated around the table, eating their lunch. Steam still curled from the pot on the stove, but no aroma permeated the air. One more quirk of nonexistence: without a body, he no longer had olfactory receptors. Just as he couldn't feel texture or temperature or touch, he couldn't smell or taste. He was probably lucky he could see or hear at all, although he could see farther and hear more than he should if he were still confined to his senses. Being unable to close his eyes—he had never before pondered the purpose of eyelids, but he had a greater appreciation now that he didn't truly have them—had been a bit unsettling at first, but he had grown used to the 24/7 vision along with the lack of sleep.

The broadening of some senses did not make the loss of others more bearable. Without smell or taste, even the best food seemed unappealing to him, little better than sawdust. He had convinced himself he wasn't missing anything, since he no longer felt hunger anyway and couldn't eat if he wanted to.

Still, even when he was not missing any one thing in particular, he felt the void of it all pressing down on him, until he was only a hollow echo drifting unseen through the streets. Hardly even a memory. He had learned to exist without such things, learned to accept his constraints rather than rail against them, but he knew what was missing. He felt what was lost.

So he didn't bother peering into the pot on the stove or paying attention to what his friends had prepared for their meal. It hardly mattered to him. He ambled around the kitchen, noting any differences from his last visit while he listened to Daikoku's gripes about the shop and Kofuku's begging to be allowed out. A new mirror hung from the wall, but Yato barely glanced at it. Its surface stayed glassy and blank as he passed. His reflection never appeared, even if he could see a ghostly image of himself if he looked down at his 'body'. He might be able to trick himself and the senses he didn't have, but apparently even such a harmless and indirect interaction with a physical object was not allowed. It hardly mattered. Kofuku had never kept a mirror in the house for more than a few weeks without her bad luck shattering it, and it would be gone by the next time he dropped by.

"What if I promise I won't destroy anything?" Kofuku wheedled. "I'll be on my best behavior."

Daikoku was unmoved. "Your aura will still bring bad luck everywhere. I don't know what poor fool you're playing with this time–"

"I'm not playing with anyone! I just want to do something fun!"

Yato could have smiled. He had listened to some variation of this conversation so many times, both before his disappearance and after it. It was a conversation that persisted through years, decades, centuries. He might have wondered how they could parrot the same discussion over and over again, but he supposed he had done the same. Yukine and Hiyori had probably despaired of it. Now he found it comforting, the vestiges of something that had not changed despite everything that had.

Someone knocked on the front door, and Kofuku and Daikoku exchanged a look, part bewildered and part hopeful. They did not receive many visitors, and the shrine was quiet now that Yato and Yukine and Hiyori were gone. But aside from the occasional unexpected visitor, there was someone who stopped by on a semi-regular basis.

"I'll get it!" Kofuku said, jumping to her feet and taking off. The door slammed open with a bang, and she squealed. "Yukki!"

"Let the boy in!" Daikoku called after her. "We might as well feed him."

"Smells delicious," Yukine said, sniffing at the air as he entered the kitchen, dragging Kofuku along with him as she clung to his arm.

"Funny how you always show up at lunchtime," Daikoku grumbled good-naturedly, fetching a clean plate and dishing out a serving for Yukine.

"If you were that determined not to feed me, you shouldn't eat at exactly the same times every day. You were never this regular with meals when…I lived here."

Everyone in the room missed half a step, the space of a heartbeat, and then forged on without acknowledging it.

"Of course we're always happy to feed you!" Kofuku said. "Don't mind Daikoku. He's just a grump!"

Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that Yukine had wandered in, killing two birds with one stone, but now Yato had lost his newfound, if languid, sense of purpose. Back to nothing to occupy his time and mind. Without the halfhearted hunt to track Yukine down, Yato would be cut adrift to return to his aimless wanderings a little sooner than anticipated. He supposed it didn't matter. The end result was the same.

Kofuku and Daikoku pelted Yukine with questions as he settled at the table with his meal. Yukine was different from the boy Yato had known, at least in some ways. He might look exactly the same on the outside, just like he always would, but there were shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He had grown up a little in the past couple of years, quieter and more serious than he used to be. Although it had taken time, he had even learned the foundations of teamwork and how to work within a group of shinki. He still had a temper, but he rarely seethed with bitterness like he had for the first year or so. He didn't rage against the world or Bishamon and Kazuma or Hiyori or Yato. Yato couldn't say what had brought about the changes in him besides time, since he couldn't see what went on in Bishamon's household. Yukine was doing okay despite everything, or seemed to be, and that would have to be enough.

Yato studied Yukine while half listening to his story about some new shinki Bishamon had picked up. He only saw people grow and change and live through snapshots these days. Instead of change creeping up so gradually that he hardly noticed it at all, he missed out on huge chunks of their lives and checked in one day to be slapped in the face by all that had changed in his absence.

It was worse with Hiyori, who was reaching the stage in her life where everything was changing, but even Yukine grew in fits and starts when Yato wasn't looking.

Today, nothing in particular jumped out at Yato, no earth-shattering revelation. Yukine was maybe a slightly leaner, hungrier, more jaded version of the boy Yato had seen a few months ago. That seemed to be his normal trajectory these days. Although he had adjusted to Bishamon and her crew after many stormy months, something about that way of life didn't seem to suit him. Or maybe he still clung stubbornly to some remnant of the past, something that was holding him back. Sometimes he seemed fine, and sometimes Yato got the feeling that there was something still broken inside Yukine, something that hadn't quite healed yet. Maybe he just needed more time. Even the ugliest wounds scarred over eventually.

Now Yukine glanced at the clock and back down at his empty plate. "I should probably go."

"Aw, you never stay long enough anymore," Kofuku said with a pout.

"It's been a couple of hours," Daikoku said. "He has better things to do than hang out with us all day. I imagine he'll be reporting back to Bishamon shortly."

"Take me with you!" Kofuku cried, launching herself across the table in a shower of flying dishes. Yukine yelped as she threw her arms around him and sent them both sprawling to the ground. "Daikoku is a big meanie and won't let me have any fun. You'll do something fun with me, won't you, Yukki?"

Yukine wheezed out something that sounded a lot like, "I can't breathe."

Daikoku stood and lumbered around the table, grabbing Kofuku by the back of her shirt collar and dragging her away like a misbehaving kitten. "Don't assault the poor boy. Look what a mess you've made. If you need something to keep you busy, you can help me clean it up."

"But that's not fun!"

"Well, I already said you can't have fun. At least we're used to your bad luck breaking our dishes."

Yukine laughed as he scraped himself back off the floor. The humor sparked something back to life in his eyes and softened the severe lines of his face until he looked younger again, more like the boy Yato had loved and left behind. Yato felt something soften within himself too, for just a moment. Something warm to chase off the bitter edge of hollowness.

"You guys are ridiculous," Yukine said. "I've missed…"

He trailed off, and his expression shuttered again. He aged a decade in the span of seconds, the humor draining from his face and leaving his eyes jaded and dark and world-weary once more.

Kofuku and Daikoku ceased their scuffling and exchanged a look.

"Maybe–" Kofuku started.

"I should go," Yukine said. "Thanks for the meal."

"Of course," Daikoku said gruffly. "It's always good to see you, even if you eat us out of house and home."

"You should come more," Kofuku agreed, regarding Yukine with large, earnest eyes.

Yukine looked away. "I'll try. Just been busy, you know."

"Of course," said Daikoku. "Always busy working for a big-shot god of fortune like Bishamon, I'm sure."

Tension snapped taut in the air again, and Yato felt himself between them for the space of a breath.

Yukine cleared his throat and looked toward the stairs. "May I…?"

"Of course," Kofuku said quickly.

Yukine took the stairs slowly, not quite the march of a man going to his own execution, but perhaps that of visiting a grave. Yato drifted after him and watched from the doorway as he stood in front of the little shrine on the windowsill.

In the beginning, Yato had wished Yukine would keep his thoughts to himself. The tears, the raging, the begging, the words—"Come back. I believe in you. Why isn't that enough?"—had been too much to bear. Yato had tried everything to comfort him, but Yukine had never sensed a thing.

Now, Yato wanted to shake Yukine until he jostled the thoughts out into the air. The silence could be maddening, deafening. What went on in Yukine's head these days?

It was better not to know. Getting invested and caring too much only hurt more. Yato had had enough of pain. It was easier to watch from the sidelines.

He couldn't blame Yukine for running out of words. It was hard to keep talking to someone who never talked back.

Yukine shook himself out of his reverie after only a few minutes and retrieved a five yen coin from his pocket to add to the neat stacks lined up all along the windowsill. He always carried one when he came to visit. Bishamon was a far richer god than Yato had ever been, and apparently didn't mind doling out an allowance. Yato wished he could hear the wish attached to each one, wondered if each still had a wish at all or if it had become merely an automatic gesture.

Yukine turned away without a word, dry-eyed and grim-faced as he strode past Yato and back down the stairs. He said his goodbyes to Kofuku and Daikoku, promised to come back soon, and escaped outside.

Yato expected him to stop in at Bishamon's nearest shrine and slip out of his reach, but he passed by and continued down the street. Yukine's purposeful strides slowed, and he shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered aimlessly. Yato followed along, if only because Yukine's drifting reminded him of his own.

Yukine roamed the streets for nearly half an hour before drawing up short.

"Hiyori?"

Sure enough, Hiyori walked down the sidewalk towards them, chatting animatedly with her father. She perked up at the sound of her name—even now, she was sensitive to the Far Shore—and looked around, her eye catching on Yukine as he started towards her.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked politely when he reached her.

"I guess not. I don't suppose you'd remember me." Yukine paused, and Yato wondered what direction he'd take this conversation today. "We met in the park a while back. I was studying for a math test and getting upset that I couldn't understand it, and you stopped to help me out. We had an impromptu tutoring session."

At least it was a more positive direction. Yukine's claim was vague enough to be plausible and close enough to the truth, and Yato didn't sense a trap waiting to spring shut. Yukine had run across Hiyori many times in the past couple of years, sometimes by accident and sometimes seeking her out, and the earlier encounters had been fraught with hostility as he demanded she remember him and accused her of killing Yato. Her recollection of such incidents seemed slippery at best, and nothing Yukine tried jogged her memory. She had grown up too much for the Far Shore altogether, perhaps. Thankfully, Yukine's hostility had dulled over time, and he rarely cried or begged her to remember him either. Now it was more like checking in on an old friend for a few minutes and then going separate ways again.

Hiyori's dad started in surprise when Yukine appeared—seemingly out of nowhere to him, perhaps—but recovered quickly. "That's my girl!" he said, beaming. "Always helping out. She's a smart cookie."

"Yeah," Yukine said, a flat note creeping into his voice. "Yeah, she is."

A puzzled crease carved itself into Hiyori's forehead. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't remember… What was your name, again?"

"Yukine."

Hiyori smiled, and the wrinkle disappeared from her brow. "Did you pass your test?"

Yukine stared at her for a long moment before saying, "Yeah, I did. Thank you. For everything."

"Of course." She hesitated, shifting from foot to foot as she grasped for where to take the conversation next. "And school is–?"

"I should go," Yukine interrupted. "I just wanted to…say hello. Sorry to bother you."

"Oh! It's okay. Thanks for saying hi and telling me about your test. Good luck with your studies."

"Yeah." He brushed past her without another glance and continued on down the street. "You too."

Hiyori threw a look over her shoulder as she walked away, then shrugged a little and went back to talking to her father as they turned the corner.

Yato eyed Yukine in concern, but the kid showed no sign of breaking besides the grim resignation lining his face. It would have been so much easier for him if he'd had Hiyori to lean on, instead of losing them both at once. He had always been afraid of Hiyori forgetting him, like Yato had been. Yato wasn't the only person Yukine missed.

"Are you alright?" Kazuma fell into step beside Yukine, looking exactly the same as always in his glasses and stiff suit. Yukine glanced at him sidelong, but showed no real sign of surprise. Not much impressed him these days.

"Yes."

"You know–"

"I shouldn't keep bothering Hiyori. I know."

"You've been doing better at moving forward, but hanging on to her will make it harder to let go. Every time she forgets, it's hurting you."

"Like Suzuha," Yukine murmured.

"I understand the temptation of trying, of hoping that next time might be different because it was once, but it's not changing anything. And it won't bring Yato back."

Yukine's eyes went hard and cold, and he set his mouth in a sharp line. "Don't worry," he said flatly. "I ran into her by accident. I wasn't looking for her."

Kazuma closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to lecture. We just worry."

"I won't sting Bishamon."

"That's not…" Kazuma let out a breath. "Speaking of, Veena is fixing to go out on patrol. I thought you might want to volunteer."

Yukine hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground, scuffing his shoes along the sidewalk. "Maybe later. I'm not feeling it right now."

"You haven't come out much recently. You should keep yourself busy. Keep your mind off things."

"Tomorrow, maybe."

"Kinuha isn't feeling well, and the twins are still in a huff from their argument yesterday. Veena could really use you."

Yukine sighed harshly. "Right," he said. "You're right. I'm coming."

Kazuma dropped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed once before releasing him. Yukine didn't acknowledge the gesture, but some of the tension drained out of him.

Yato had missed too much to fully understand the trajectory of Yukine and Kazuma's relationship, but it had improved somewhat. All the old betrayal and mistrust might still simmer below the surface, but it was buried deep now. Sometimes Yukine chafed at Kazuma handing out orders as Bishamon's exemplar or grew irritated when he pried, but they had slowly developed some semblance of their old trust again. Not quite as mentor and student, but something else. Yato didn't see enough of them outside their work with Bishamon as weapons to judge where exactly things stood now, but if Yukine had found some much-needed guidance and support in Kazuma, he was glad of it.

"Come along, then," Kazuma said.

Yato followed them to the nearest shrine and watched as they disappeared to Takamagahara where he couldn't follow. Perhaps he could roam the city until he found Bishamon and her patrol, but he couldn't work up the desire. He had never gotten used to seeing Yukine in Bishamon's hand.

Nor did he feel like wandering right now. He was sick of it. He was sick of being homeless and alone, but he supposed it didn't much matter what he wanted. He couldn't have any of those things anymore, and usually he found it less painful not to try.

But today he needed a break. Against his better judgment, he went back to Kofuku's.

Kofuku and Daikoku bustled about the shop, laughing and banging things around as they rearranged products or restocked the shelves. Yato didn't check—he went straight upstairs to the attic.

No one came up here anymore besides Yukine on his visits. Kofuku and Daikoku never ventured up the stairs, even if they occasionally glanced at them sidelong, and there was no one else who had any reason to. When Yato needed a break, he retreated here where no one would bother him. It was easier to pretend he still existed when there wasn't anyone around to prove him wrong.

He stretched out on the floor and pretended to feel the wooden planks beneath him, paced the room in circles, looked out the window at the humans scuttling by below, listened to Kofuku and Daikoku's voices from downstairs. In a few minutes, Hiyori might drop by after school and Yukine would come in from the shop and Daikoku would call them down for dinner. It almost felt like he still belonged here.

It was a heady, dangerous feeling, and Yato paid for his indulgence if he ever stayed too long and dreamed too big, but he stayed anyway. In reality, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do, and at least this still felt almost like home.

So he stayed for a long time. He couldn't say how long, since time meant little now and he no longer slept or ate to mark its passing, but the sun rose and set several times. A few days or weeks, perhaps.

He was just starting to consider leaving his refuge when Hiyori burst in the door.