Yato was hurt.

It resonated in my mind, but I refused to believe it. He'd been hurt before. Although, not like this.

Bandages. They're everywhere. Spiralled all around his neck and down to his feet. Quadruple layered for good measure. I couldn't watch anymore — couldn't bear to see the agony in his eyes as he scrunched up his face. His body was shaking, breath trembling with an uneven structure. He couldn't see; there was an excessive amount of blood in his eyes.

Was he dying? Kofuku repeated otherwise but I couldn't ignore the panic on her face.

Daikoku treated him, applying unfamiliar substances to his wounds. Sweat trickled down his forehead; he was stressed. He was the only one who knew how to treat this kind of attack. It had something to do with deformed phantoms — something about a mass disaster, but I couldn't focus nor think straight.

Yukine was crouched in the corner with his eyes glued on Yato, unusually quiet.

Pity surged over me. He must've felt so alone; his master — his only father figure — was in unbelievable pain and all he could do was watch. I took a seat beside him and hesitantly asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

I couldn't hear him very well. His folded arms covered his mouth. I noticed there were tears in his eyes. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

He buried his head into his arms. "He's so stupid."

"Huh?"

"He's so freaking stupid. It's his entire fault for getting himself in this mess. We were only trying to help the little boy," he said, voice laced with distress.

I gently rested my hand on his back. His body shook. He was sobbing. I reluctantly murmured, "It's okay…"

In all honestly, I didn't know. He refused to look me in the face. He couldn't let me see his worst. My chest ached. I wanted to help Yukine, but he wouldn't open himself up to me. He probably blamed himself. Maybe he was there at the time; maybe he felt like he couldn't protect Yato enough.

"Hiyori," Kofuku said with a tired expression, "I think you guys should go get some rest. We'll take care of Yato, I promise."

"Okay." I lifted the corners of my lips reassuringly. "Come on, Yukine."

Heads down, we walked to our futons. They weren't as cosy as I remembered. My chest felt hollow. There was an undeniable feeling of something wrong, and I couldn't just shake it off — there was nothing to distract myself with. I was left only to dwell in the endless thoughts of pain. Physical, that chewed Yato from nearly every part of his body. Emotional, that tore the working mechanisms of Yukine's heart. I asked myself questions that nobody knew the answers to. But I knew for sure, sleep didn't come with ease that night.

The sun touched my cheeks; they were moist. I stretched and took a deep breath, relishing the warm covers of my bed. Everyone must've awoken by now. I calmly wandered into the main room.

Yukine looked at me and mumbled, "Good morning."

Thank goodness, Yukine was okay. Yato should be alive — well, as alive as a god could get. However, he was not in sight. I clutched my nightgown. "Morning. U-Um, how's Yato?"

"He's fine," he said.

My body suddenly felt lighter. I let out a sigh, relieved. The memories of suffering and agony from last night had less meaning. I smiled. "So, where is he?"

"Like I would know," he grumbled, shuffling through pages of schoolwork.

"Huh?"

He glanced at me and scratched the side of his neck. "I think he's in the spare room, doodling or some shit."

Sure enough, Yato was inside, drawing on a sketch pad. My breath caught in my throat. He looked like a mummy with the amount of tape wrapped around his figure. Surprisingly, he was energetic — drawing like there was no tomorrow. I advanced towards him and crouched down. "Hey."

He jolted, flipping the sketch pad and slamming it into the ground. "Yes?" He studied me, eyes wide — shock, maybe? I probably shouldn't have surprised him — and blurted, "Oh, hey! Hiyori."

From observation, he was tired. He had dark circles, pale skin and a dull glint in his eyes. A square bandage obstructed his cheek. He was wrapped from the neck down, hiding the extent of his treatment underneath a black robe. I bit my lip. "How are you feeling?"

He gave a quirky smile. "Could be worse."

He was strange. From throat-wrenching pain yesterday to that? I could never imagine Yato being so... optimistic — not like it was bad or anything. In fact, it was wonderful; amazing. He was much stronger than I could ever be. Nonetheless, it was odd. I furrowed my brows and asked, "Doesn't it hurt?"

He pursed his lips and gazed at the wall. "Well, yeah, but it's okay."

"You looked like you were in a lot of pain yesterday." I frowned.

"I was." He lightened his face and said, "But I couldn't give up. I still have promises to fulfill, like yours, Hiyori."

He just sounded very cool. My face felt hot. I stammered, "I-I wish I could help somehow."

"What are you saying?" He chuckled. "You don't need to do anything. Being by my side is enough."

I played with my fingers. "B-But, still..."

He grinned, warmth filling his eyes. "Okay, fine." He leaned his back against the wall and said, "I have a headache, can you help me?"

A light bulb flashed above my head. I glanced at him, cheeks burning. "Where does it hurt the most?"

"Here." He pointed to the middle of his forehead.

"Okay." My heart thumped; loud and clear in my ears. It went like this: I sat up, brushed his fringe away, and gently pressed my lips against his forehead. Before I knew it, his hands were on my waist. They were sweaty. When I pulled away, his eyes were wide and blue and beautiful, which contrasted with the scarlet that flowered his face.

"Y-You..." He froze — lost for words, and held a tight grip.

My face flushed with embarrassment. "O-Oh, I'm sor—"

He dived forward, and the next thing I knew was his lips were on mine — deeply. He pulled me closer. His mouth was hot and sweet and sticky, in a good way. Soon enough I was in his lap and my arms were tangled in him, hands grasping onto him like a lifeline and begging to be closer and closer. My chest was engulfed with painfully satisfying sensations. Our tongues joined. It was strange, but new and exciting and I couldn't get enough. I ended up feeling overwhelmingly breathless until we broke apart.

He panted, as did I. His face sizzled like a flame, as did mine.

"Sorry. I wanted to do that so badly," he breathed and turned away. "You were too cute with those innocent eyes of yours."

I sighed — to catch my breath, relieve myself, and contain my happiness. We were so close, and I felt wholeheartedly content. I smiled into his chest and mumbled a handful of words:

"So... Does it still hurt?"

I found inspiration for this one-shot from a really nice yatori drawing. It's called "Blush" by nek-niki on deviantart. Check it out!

Thanks for reading. Please review!