A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

"Nice hair ye've got, Shiro-kun!" Kasumi smiled as she skipped down from the railing of the bridge. They had agreed to meet by the night market square, even if it was broad daylight and no market in sight.

"…yeah, Mephisto thought so too", he panted, having run most of the way from campus. Stupid demon, stupid bet – stupid idiot brain that conveniently forgot succubus saliva is the strongest known aphrodisiac in Gehenna.

"I'm gonna feel bad about beating ya up when ye're this worn out before we've even started sparring." Kasumi rocked back on her heels, walking staff slung across her shoulders like a yoke and lower arms dangling leisurely over it. "Ya got stamina like an eighty-year-old."

"I know, I know." Mephisto had said something similar, the lecherous little imp... Shiro wiped his face with his tie: the latter had bounced around and
slapped him in the face when he ran, and eventually he had slipped it off. "You'll haahhave to beat me up some ohther time, I'm not fit for exercise rhight now. Got haah got myself a training injury", he puffed, indicating his right shoulder.

"Easier still ta beat ya up, then", she grinned, and twirled her staff around like a full-blown martial arts expert; it halted a mere decimetre from Shiro's nose. "But I think yer pride's taken enough damage from runnin' through town with that hair already, so I'll be nice." The staff made an elegant somersault and landed back in her hand. With a pleased smile and a clonk from the staff, she set the end down on the age-smoothed wooden boards of the bridge.

"You think it's a nice gesture to spare me, rather than end my suffering?" Shiro hoisted his eyebrows high to exaggerate the act. "You're a cruel woman."

"Well, if that's how ye like it~"

Shiro juggled the bundle with the bento boxes over to his right hand, to make sure he wouldn't move that arm around too much when he dodged Kasumi's playful jabs. They attracted quite a bit of attention from people around, and the occasional frown from elders who were of the opinion that it wasn't proper for adults to play with sticks in public. It so happened that Shiro rather enjoyed playing with sticks in public, and if he could irk some uptight old fart by doing so, he enjoyed it even more.

"Alright, twinkle-toes: what's that suspicious bundle ye're guardin' so carefully?" Kasumi eventually ceased her barrage of thrusts, after successfully herding Shiro backwards so that he was almost run over by a horse carriage. There were all kinds of things one could do in True Cross Town when holidays ambushed the calendar, of which one was going for an old-fashioned European two-span ride. Or getting ploughed down by one.

"Dinner." He assumed a better grip on the bundle and hoped to heaven that the dishes hadn't become jumbled when he hopped around. "I was gonna bring flowers, but you don't strike me as a flower type of girl."

"Aww, but ye did bring me flowers, didn't ya~?" Kasumi knew exactly how cute that impish smile made her look, otherwise she wouldn't use it like that. "Right, Fuji~?"

"It sounds so cutesy when you say that", Shiro grimaced. What was it with girls and his surname? Moriyama Sayuri had said the same thing.

"Goes perfect with ye' pink hair", she grinned back. "Guess ye look more like a dahlia, as it were. Come along, we'll find some nice place ta eat that." She nodded her head across the bridge, towards the forested area. "An' what's up with this injury ye've gotten…?"

The light rain earlier in the day was coaxed out of the vegetation by bright sunlight, and brought with it the lush, steaming smell of earth. Once again
Kasumi guided him through parts of True Cross Town Shiro didn't know existed: this time a majestic bamboo forest, where thick, bright green stems cropped up on worm-like roots all around them, like pillars in a cathedral that didn't bother with the formality of straight lines. Birds high above called shrill warnings through the rustling of leaves, but other than that the only noise came from their feet and voices.

Eventually, bamboo gave way to trees that curved out over the water like swan's necks to admire themselves in the still surface. It was a bashful place, the kind that draws away from beaten tracks and human disturbance to find peace in shaded groves. Moss clung tightly to the brink of the lake, ducking under the heavy trunks of fragrant mulberry trees and weeping willows that shielded the lake from prying eyes with their green hair. Glistening dragonflies cut through the air, dancing erratically between the glowing cotton motes that left the willows at the gentlest breeze.

"I had no idea there was a place like this here", he admitted. "Where is this?"

"Izanagi's Mirror", she replied, setting her walking staff to rest against the mulberry tree closest by, "from which the moon god was born an' climbed up inta the sky."

"I guess. If old myths were true."

"Nah, I just made it up. I don't know if it has a name – but I do know it holds prefect temp'reture fer swimmin'", she confided, and began the task of undoing the sash that held her robes together.

"Are you serious?" The words fell out of Shiro's mouth out of surprise, not protest. No girl he'd ever dated had proposed to strip down and swim out in the open - not to say he minded that first part of it.

"Think of it as a bikini, ya prude", she smiled, dropping her yukata on a fallen trunk that had been eaten almost to invisibility by grass and moss. She was keeping her underwear on… dammit… but that black bra hugged her breasts perfectly… "Swimmin' is gentler on yer shoulder than sparrin'; good fer stretchin' out an' such." Oh, she was gorgeous, so gorgeous… was she saying something...? "An' ya need a good wash after that sprint."

Shiro was quietly grateful for betting against Mephisto. He would never admit that to the demon's smug face, but he was. Succubi live off sexual energy – can kill people, even, if they seduce the same victim repeatedly – and Carmilla's treatment had drained him enough to prevent any embarrassing mishaps from swimming with Kasumi.

But damn, she was hot. And funny. And rough. And if he was ever going to make a serious attempt with anyone, it was with her.

The water was indeed the perfect temperature. It soothed his skin and washed away the sweat and worries that clung to him. Shiro allowed the muscles in chest and back to stretch gently, as he had been taught to do for rehabilitation. Nothing but birdsong, clear water, and willow seeds filling the air with bright, warm snow… It doesn't take much to distract a human mind from its problems.

They talked of this and that, exchanged good stories, and tried and failed to catch diving beetles that scuttled about near the brink of the lake. Shiro may not have been allowed to say why his hair was pink, but Kasumi had no problem guessing who lay behind. He simply stated that Shizuku had been right in carving him as a wooden donkey.

Back up on land, Kasumi wrung the water out of her hair, and Shiro…

"Shit…" he groaned over the bento boxes. A stupid donkey indeed. "I forgot to bring chopsticks."

"That's cute, Fuji", she snickered, causing Shiro to grimace as if tasting something bitter. No guy wants to be cute, dammit. "We'll just make some then."

After a bit of rummaging in her clothes Kasumi brought out a woodcarving knife, and proceeded to scrutinise the closest mulberry tree for suitable twigs. Shiro jumped, grabbed hold of a branch with his left hand, and pulled it down for her.

"Guess ye're good fe' something after all", she smiled appreciatively, and set to work with cutting them chopsticks.

"Yeah, as Shizu-san's stand-in. Are you sure he's your brother? Or did he get all the family's growth hormones?"

"I've got a knife, Fuji, an' I'm tall enough ta reach the important parts", she threatened with a smile in her voice.

They sat side by side on the fallen trunk, letting the sun dry the few garments they wore while they ate. It was a very simple dinner, and a crude way to eat it, but Shiro couldn't remember he had ever enjoyed a meal more. The silence when they ate was nothing like the awful, tiptoeing tension he had known around the table when he was little. This silence was warm, relaxed, undemanding; peaceful. Peaceful the way very few moments in his life had been.

His eyes wandered idly over the glimmering of water behind the willow leaves, the blades of grass peeking up between his toes, the soft scent of mulberry every time he brought the chopsticks to his mouth… Kasumi's tattoos were spaced symmetrically over her thighs, belly, arms, chest… Tattoos were taboo in Japan, but Shiro didn't mind. He may be a stupid donkey, but not stupid enough to judge people by their looks.

"Normally I'd say it's rude ta stare", she teased with a grin, "but I've got a pretty good view too, so I ain't gonna complain."

"Shameless woman; I was looking at the tattoos", he said reproachfully. …although the body they were on did hold a fair share of his attention, too. "Didn't that hurt?"

"Mh", she grunted in response, mouth stuffed with lemon chicken. "The Futotsuki use the old tebori techniques fe' their tattoos. Takes hours, but there's somethin' in the rhythm – ye know, tchk tchk tchk…" She mimicked the motion of penetrating skin with her chopsticks. "It gets almost meditative after a while, an' when ye focus on that it hurts less. That, on the other hand", she said, pointing the chopsticks at the long scars in Shiro's side, "looks real painful."

"Just a hobgoblin." He traced the pale, shimmering tissue with a finger. "Their claws are made for digging, so they're not that sharp."

Then there was the ugly, triangular scar left by the tengu claw in his thigh; the semi-circle of white dots in his trapezius muscle where the naberius had bit him; the matching, jagged lines on each shoulder, where the tengu had grabbed him; and the by comparison insignificant scar in his eyebrow, from when he had held Shizuku and Kita apart in the changing room.

"Well, at least I've got eyelids, unlike Goggles-sensei." Injuries and loss of body parts were part of the job description if you were an exorcist, but that didn't discourage him – or the others. "Shizu-san's got one huge scar on his back", he remembered. "He never told me what did it."

"Ah, that. So 'e still doesn't talk about it…?" She blew air at a willow seed that drifted dangerously close to her bento. "Well, 'e was at a sensitive age… Kaori an' Kei had left life's path by then: my younger sisters, an' Shizzy's older sisters", she filled in, tapping one chopstick absentmindedly against her lip as she spoke. "So it was mom, dad, me an' Shizzy. We'd been trekkin' north, through the mountains, when the village we stayed the night in was swept by a wyvern." Kasumi pulled a bitter grimace, and for a moment Shiro was reminded that there was a significant difference in age between them; there were lines in her face you wouldn't find in his, carved by time and experiences he hadn't seen. "Kill fer sport, bloody things. The villagers didn't have a clue what was happenin', with people suddenly getting' hoisted inta the air, or torn open like gutted piglets. We did what we could ta buy them time, so mom started chanting." She gazed out beyond the lake, beyond the horizon into the past, mechanically plucking with her remaining food. "It got her in the back, broke 'er spine. But she kept chanting." A translucent smile ghosted her lips. "Dad fought like an animal ta protect her. It was… beautiful. The things humans do fer each other. 'E was a great man, our dad – Shizzy's so much like him at times. 'E wasn't older than thirteen when it happened, but 'e ran like 'e had Satan an' all his sons at his heels ta help dad protect mom, an' I ran after 'im… Mom made it, dad didn't. That's when Shizzy got 'is scar." Her smile grew a little warmer, her gaze a little closer in time. "'E's grown a lot since then, in every way. That khakkhara 'e's got used ta be twice as long as 'e was. It was dad's."

Shiro followed her gaze, past the lake and into his own memories.

"Your dad was awesome."

"He was."

"Your mom, too."

"Yeah." Kasumi smiled into her bento, pushing tamagoyaki out of the way in favour of some maitake mushroom. "Shizzy told me ye're alone", she began softly. "No parents, no siblings. How would ya feel 'bout getting adopted?"

By her and Shizuku? He'd never even thought about it – mostly because he wasn't-

"Nothin' with papers an' crap: just havin' someplace ta call yer own", she interrupted his silence. "Family's where ye feel ye belong; where ye' heart is. So…?"

Adopted. Shiro tried his best not to show he'd been hit in the gut by a millstone, and dragged down to the bottom of the ocean by another. He should've known, really. He was seven years younger, a child by comparison; Kasumi didn't see any prospective husband in him, only a second little brother to tease and care for. It was his own damn imagination that had tricked him into believing he-

A small, warm hand laid itself over his on the trunk and effectively short-circuited any thought he had.

"…or maybe ye were thinking 'family' in some other way?"

The tiny, bright light of hope in her eyes lit Shiro's insides like a bonfire, tied his tongue to his palate, and left him an absolute grinning idiot.

On the way back through town they walked hand in hand, glowing with that special light that comes from two young hearts beating together. Shiro almost got hit by the horse carriage again, but that was okay. He'd forgotten his tie over by the lake, but that was okay. He had a spare, and everything was okay, because Kasumi loved him.

It's a powerful thing, love. It twists one's head worse than does a demon, and weaves illusions stronger than any kitsune's work. One could say it's human magic, worked on another human and binding the two together in a world of their own where everything is perfect. …well, almost everything.

"So what are ye planning ta retaliate with? Ye know, fer this?" Kasumi stretched up on the balls of her feet to pull a strand of his bubblegum pink hair.

"I haven't thought of anything yet", he admitted. "Any ideas?"

"Hoo~ plotting tagether now, hm?" That impish gleam crept into her eyes, the one he loved so much. "Well well~ I don't know what weak spots te aim for, so could ye give me a quick break-down o' the enemy forces…?"

"Alright…" Shiro brought up his hand to count off the things he knew. "He loves manga and anime – all kinds of it. He's a neat freak and abhors bacteria. He's ticklish."

"He's ticklish?" she laughed incredulously. "How d'ya even know that?"

"Long story best left untold", he replied. "He's a disaster in the kitchen. He's got more plushies than a ten-year-old girl. He absolutely sucks at drawing, and gets insulted if you point that out. He loves sweets and doesn't take well to holy water in his tea. He-"

"Oi, Fuji." Kasumi raised their joined hands and pointed. "I think I've found yer retaliation."

"You're a devil, Kasumi." Shiro snickered, grin widening with each potential application that lit up in his mind. Yes, that would be perfect. "Have you got a tissue paper I can borrow?"

A/N:

Fuji means Wisteria with the kanji used in Shiro's surname.
Twinkle-toes – because Toph Beifong is awesome.