An Invocation in Every Breath

by Rabbitprint

Pre-game, Ichimoku Ren/Susabi, spoilers for character backstories. Ren isn't the first spirit Susabi's encountered who's been scarred by the selfishness of humans. But he is the first one to make Susabi afraid of doing the same.

3. Chapter 3

He didn't skip the calendar, despite every temptation. He didn't attempt to scry the future, reminding himself of the strength of Ren's talismans. The yōkai possessed both experience and power; it would be an insult if Susabi overreacted to the slightest danger. Instead, he compromised on the side of common sense, and set his instruments to monitor the spiritual flow near the towns that Ren had described. The ornaments glittered as they hung in his workrooms like intricate sculptures, colors rippling with each new tremor of energy - but none of them shone with the brilliant flare of an emergency, or the warnings of too much strength unleashed.

In the evenings, Susabi held his breath as the wheels spun in his hands, a looping cycle of constellations that confirmed the flicker of Ren's presence: strong and steady.

After a week, he finally forced himself to put his worries to rest. The threat of the gaki must have passed. Ren had survived the defense of the towns.

Again.

Holding himself to his promise - every new moon, every full - Susabi forced himself to concentrate on the daily work of Takamagahara, reviewing the integrity of the boundaries between worlds, and the constant flow of energy that would leak across even the best wards. But when the moon began to wax past the half-mark, edging closer and closer to full, he finally relented to impatience, and pulled down one of his instruments to scry directly for the yōkai's presence.

It was harmless, he told himself. If he had a sense of Ren's travel route, then he could properly bring a task from one of the nearest shrines to work on together, or have an inkling of other local spirits that might have drawn the yōkai's attention. If Ren had ended up near a river, perhaps they could enjoy a day by the water. Perhaps they could watch for fish, allow their dragons to splash recklessly, soak their feet in the water while they talked about nothing in particular, and let the long grasses shade them as they rested.

At first, the instrument refused to calibrate properly. Susabi frowned, shaking off the distraction of his own fantasies, and turned the carved loops carefully with his thumb as he sought to pinpoint the region. Apart from Ren's dragon, there were no signs of major spirits in the area - but there was only trace evidence of Ren's presence, which made little sense. Without supernatural concealment, the yōkai's power should have shown up as vividly as spilled wine across white silk. The territory was too wide for him to have left it already on foot, and he would never have left his dragon behind.

Finally, Susabi realized what had happened, and panic blazed the rest of his hesitation away.

Nothing was wrong with the surveying instrument. It was Ren's energies which were weaker than usual - barely strong enough to even register their life force. If his dragon hadn't been there, Susabi would have overlooked the yōkai entirely, and assumed he had long moved on.

The moon was still several days from being fully ripe. Susabi ignored it, tearing through the bridge from Takamagahara to the human world with all the grace of a sawblade. He burst into the long sunlight of a mortal afternoon, deceptively warm and nurturing over the trees. There were no signs of any battle, no bloodshed or victims gasping out for revenge. Nothing suggested an easy answer to his fears.

He found Ren deep in the forest, curled against the trunk of a massive tree whose bark had aged into grooves deep enough to swallow a person's fingers to the knuckle. The yōkai had pulled his knees up so that he could huddle against it for support, like a wounded animal that had chosen to tuck itself into a ball and hope for fate alone to decide if it would heal or not. His breathing was shallow, shoulders barely moving, as if he was dwindling away even as Susabi watched, losing a little more of himself with each draught of air that escaped his lungs. His dragon was draped in a weak coil on the tree's roots, barely twitching even as Susabi approached.

Susabi wasted no time in reaching out for the yōkai - and came to a halt with his fingers still outstretched, his instincts screaming at the sudden awareness of impurity in the air. An unmistakable miasma of kegare clung to Ren's body, wrapped around him like a decaying sheet that had soaked up the fluid from a hundred rotting corpses. Every inch of Susabi wanted to recoil away, repulsed by the foulness; he forced himself to hold his ground, and not retreat.

"Ren," he asked, urgently. "Are you well?"

The yōkai stirred, eyes squinting into a hard wince even as he forced them to open, turning his head painfully towards Susabi's voice. It took him a moment to focus, but he attempted a faint smile, as if bravery alone might succeed in concealing his appearance. "My apologies, Susabi," he finally managed. "There was a jorōgumo near here with whom... I had a disagreement with. Luckily, there is a river only a short distance north. I intended to purify myself there," he added, shutting his eyes momentarily in an exhaustion he couldn't entirely hide. "I was regrettably delayed. I will cleanse myself as soon as I can."

Susabi grit his teeth against his warring impulses, wanting to both pull the yōkai to him, and stay back to avoid defilement of himself as well. The negativity that pooled over the yōkai had coagulated into a thick haze, a complex series of pollutions formed from fears and hatreds that could not be mortal alone. On his own, Susabi was powerful enough to dispel the impurity - but there was more going on, something that had rooted inside Ren's heart, and not addressing that would simply ignore one injury in favor of another. There would be no purpose in wiping off the distortion from Ren's soul if he unconsciously invited it back again, a spiral of self-fulfilling despair that would inevitably drag the yōkai into death. "Tell me what happened."

He instantly regretted pressing Ren to answer when the yōkai pushed himself upright, stifling a groan. One of his horns scraped carelessly against the tree's trunk, dulling its sheen even further with flecks of bark. A long scratch marred his cheek, crusted over with dried blood; dirt and ichor stained his body as if he had been soaked in it. "West, where the rivers crest the cliffs," he began. "The jorōgumo had taken up residence near one of the waterfalls by the village, that fed the fields and wells. She was capturing village children - boys, mostly. She took a girl by accident, which is the only reason the child stayed alive long enough for me to reach her."

Watching Ren struggle to keep his head lifted was painful to watch - and surely even more so for the yōkai to maintain. Susabi crouched down to make it easier on him, studying the other spirit intently. A spider's poison was no small thing; the shape of the tragedy was already starting to come clear. "Were the villagers able to lure the jorōgumo out?"

Ren closed his eyes by way of answer: no. "They did not believe the threat was real, let alone the risk. No hunters had even been sent. I found her on my own, in the cave tunnels by the waterfall, and asked her to stop." He shifted his shoulders, exhaling slowly, his eyes still shut - as if he had already begun to drift so deeply that he had forgotten he was not simply entrenched in a dream. "She refused. She held a grudge against one of the head families there, and would not rest until every last blood relative was destroyed. Since the girl was blameless, however, the jorōgumo offered to trade her back to me... in exchange for one of my legs."

"What?"

At Susabi's horrified question, the yōkai finally opened his eyes again, mouth twitching in a facsimile of a smile. His chuckle was as dry as a sparrow's corpse, mummifying slowly in the sun. "Fear not, Susabi. I declined. I knew how much you would complain." His sigh lost all humor then, but his gaze, at least, flickered over the woods, attempting to remain present. "So... we had to fight. It took a long time. A very, very long time."

Extended battle and bloodshed: two more factors that added physical agony to the list. Malice from the jorōgumo, the bitterness of a grudge. Violence and hostile intent. Pain, too, contributed to kegare, both for the one inflicting and the one who experienced it. Susabi frowned. "Did she survive?"

"I hoped that she would. But," and Ren broke off there, unable to utter the rest, only shaking his head. His fingers pressed together weakly in his lap, first in a slow pressure, then hard enough to whiten his knuckles despite the grime on his skin. "The girl was alive, when I found her - hungry, frightened, but alive. But... the village was not happy with the tale she brought back to them of a spider's curse. They accused her of delusions. They accused her family, as well, of making up the tale to stain their honor. They blamed one another for allowing the children to stray too far in the first place. Even her parents were displeased, saying how unlucky it was that she survived but that their own favorite son did not. Her mother..."

Here, Ren's voice, already weak, faltered further. His dragon made a shiver, whining as it sought to bring its head up to lean across the yōkai's leg. Ren gathered it to him in short, painful motions, shifting his position by fractions until it was close enough to drape its chin over his knee, both of them too weary to do more than sprawl.

To the dulled color of its scales, he continued. "Her mother said that, if she had a choice, she would have gladly lost her daughter if it meant getting her son back. Her father - that he would have been happy if she did not come back at all, having brought the wrath of the head family against them. That girl will have to carry that knowledge around with her for the rest of her life," Ren added softly, his fingers pausing in their soothing strokes across the dragon's head. "But when I went to the child that night, and offered to take her to another village, she said that even though I had rescued her once, she could not see how anywhere else would be better. That she had been better off with the jorōgumo. And... perhaps she would have been, at that point. Perhaps she would have been."

"She would have," Susabi snapped brusquely, unable to keep the acid in his thoughts from reaching his voice. "If the villagers had continued to refuse any action, the girl would have been turned into a jorōgumo as well, and then perhaps the elder spider would have found enough satisfaction in having a family of her own to be convinced to stop. And better for her to be with one who would love her, than in a human village whose poison is far worse."

It was twice as cruel for him to say the words aloud, when both of them already knew that outcome. Cruel - but necessary to drag the venom out in the open, so that Ren would not be tempted to shoulder the truth on his own. The yōkai's mouth was already turning down. "Yes," he admitted in a whisper; he had already come to that conclusion, had already played it out in his mind. "After that, I went back to the tunnels to lay the bodies to rest. I buried the jorōgumo in the tunnels that had been her home, so she would have that peace. I buried the children outside, where their spirits would have fresh air. And then I... I had to stop a while to rest. I was just... very tired."

There. That was the explanation in full. Guilt would have easily cut through Ren's shields far faster than any fang or claw. It would have festered more effectively than any toxin, steeping a lethal elixir made of violence, death - and most of all - resentment and misery. Everything had added up until Ren's heart had lent its own despair into the mix, solidifying into layer upon layer of negative energies, a level of kegare that would sicken any human, let alone a spirit.

If Susabi had been the one to confront the village, he knew what he would have done: pinpointed the cause, visited the head family in a vision, and then pointed out that their choices were to either take action or die. That would have been the end of it. The rest would have been up to them.

But Ren had been there instead, unwilling to offer the same ultimatum. And now the yōkai had a fresh set of corpses to add to the litany in his soul, forced onto him by humans who were all too willing to abandon the responsibility for their own dead.

Leaning forward into the yōkai's space, gritting his teeth against the putrid energies that thickened the air, Susabi reached out and took Ren's face in his hands to turn it upwards. The sting of pollution prickled on his skin, like trying to cradle a live sea urchin against his flesh. "The villagers were the only ones who could have resolved it, Ren. It was their responsibility to ferret out the corruption of one of their own. The fact that they did not is their choice. You have done what you were able, and tried sincerely to fix matters afterwards. Inaction on your part would have meant even more dead innocents to pay the price," he added grimly. "Yes, the villagers will take refuge in denial, and never accept their role in this tragedy. But that is up to them now, Ren. You can do no more. None of us can. We can only aid those still living, and respect the cost of the dead."

Ren reached up and set his fingers on the backs of Susabi's hands, along the wrists, turning his face towards Susabi's palm. "I know," he acknowledged, his lips ghosting against Susabi's skin. His eyes had gone shut again, still stubbornly denying his own voice, hoping beyond hope for an alternative. "I know."

Susabi let himself linger, his fingertips tracing along the yōkai's jaw. One moment, and then another - and then he could not ignore the way time was slipping away any longer, and Ren's life with it.

"You fool," he whispered quietly, not sure which one of them he was speaking to. He stood reluctantly, feeling Ren's touch drop away. "Stay here."

He didn't waste any time. It took longer than he liked to gather the things he needed from Takamagahara, hunting recklessly through the supplies in his estate like a storm. He moved as quickly as he could, flinging open cabinets and leaving them wide as he raced from room to room, not caring for the chaos left behind in his wake.

Even with all his rushing, by the time Susabi returned, Ren had already slumped back against the tree; the yōkai did not open his eyes even when Susabi called his name, soft and urgent. His dragon's lungs were wheezing quietly, a raspy bellows that was all too quiet in the stillness of the night.

Water and salt, to let the ocean wash all things away, Susabi thought firmly, focusing on the stages of the ritual rather than allowing fear to override his wits. The bowl in his arms was full of sacred water from Takamagahara itself. He had dumped salt into it already, spilling it like a flurry of snow across his worktable. He was glad for the haste now, however; it meant he was already halfway prepared. Without waiting, he dunked the sakaki branch into the water and stirred the mixture up, hoping for the salt to dissolve quickly even as he soaked half his sleeve along with the leaves.

"Stand up," he ordered Ren, hoping the yōkai still had enough strength left for that much.

For a moment - as the other spirit did not stir - Susabi was afraid that Ren was already too far gone, but Ren's dragon finally whined and nudged hard against the yōkai's elbow. Ren's eyes slid open again, groggily. Inch by inch, leaning on both the dragon and the tree, the yōkai pushed himself to his feet, his head tilted back limply against the rough bark, his throat speckled with dried blood.

"Yes," he acknowledged, granting permission and participation both.

The ritual was far less formal than either of them had been part of in the past, but it didn't have to be; the familiarity it was what mattered most. A single memory could be more potent than any elixir: it could stand as a reminder that a person had survived once in the past, and could do so again. Recovery was possible, even if the present moment seemed too bleak to ever overcome. If Susabi could remind Ren of times when the yōkai had felt grounded as a god, of other purifications he had both received and given - then, maybe, it would be enough to remind Ren that he could survive this tragedy as well.

The poisonous energies that had attached themselves to Ren were the first parasitic influences that had to go, before anything else could be addressed. Satisfied that the salt had finally dissolved, Susabi lifted the sakaki branch and flicked the moisture onto Ren's body and face with enough force that water sloshed over the edges of the bowl; a messy gesture, one which would have earned him a glare from any priest. Susabi didn't care. He dipped the branch again to wet it, dousing the dragon, and then twice more for each of them as he slashed at the air around them both, using quick, brutal gestures. With its ties severed by ritual, the miasma finally began to part - but it lingered in a malevolent haze, refusing to be shed so easily, not with Ren's spirit still vulnerable.

Narrowing his eyes, Susabi tucked the branch into his sleeve and thrust the bowl out towards Ren. "Wash yourself," he commanded.

Moving gingerly, Ren dipped his fingers slowly into the liquid, soaking them first and then cupping a fistful. He splashed his face obediently, squinting as the salt water dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, over the cut on his face and into the scrapes of his fingers. Silent despite the pain, he brought up his hands again, rinsed his skin again, rubbing his body until every inch of exposed skin was soaked. The edges of his cloak were dark with water. His bangs were quickly drenched, plastered to his face; he wiped them back clumsily, washing his dragon as well, pouring handfuls of fluid over the creature's scales wherever he could reach.

Susabi held the bowl patiently as Ren went through the motions, visibly gaining strength with each repetition. Every cycle was an improvement - the yōkai was already breathing easier, his one good eye bright again, more alert, though his slender fingers were shaking as he started to come out of his haze. The miasma had dulled his wits with agony, but now that it had released him, Ren no longer had anything else as a distraction; he could not escape his own pain through the blessing of unconsciousness. The yōkai rinsed his mouth last, and then his hands a final time, and then stood there helplessly, as if unsure what to do now that he was fully awake once more.

Susabi set the bowl down on the ground without hesitation, and went directly to him.

He could feel the imbalance still lingering, a wavering uncertainty in Ren's spiritual essence. The external pollution had been dislodged, but it was the same as removing a thorn from a wound: the damage was still there, still hurting, and vulnerable to infection. Without a second thought, Susabi slid off his geta sandals and kicked them aside, standing with his tabi in the dirt, closing the height difference between them as much as he could. He leaned his forehead down to Ren's hair, cradling the yōkai's face in his hands as he closed his own eyes, whispering the words to invoke the blessings of Takamagahara and all the gods who dwelt there.

If he were human, he would have no choice but to ring the bells and use a haraegushi wand, and hope the gods who had blessed it had enough power - but the prayers were the same, both now and then. He had whispered and shouted and sung them in the past; these were no formal norito, but words for battle, and this struggle was no less vital than any other he had fought.

Ren shuddered, but his hands came up, gripping Susabi's arms back. His shoulders spasmed in cries that could not become full tears: grief for an inescapable reality, the sorrow of having tried and failed and made things worse, the guilt of failure, the sorrow of knowing that nothing was solved, and the only conclusion was a never-ending spiral of decay. It was a tide of every futile protest that could be made against the world, of a cycle that refused to be broken even as it tormented those bound by it - and yet, Susabi did not let go, willing his own warmth into his palms, forgiving everything he could think of for an act that had no blame.

He did not know how much comfort the ritual provided, and how much was simply another person's presence. When he ran out of words, he stood breathless anyway, praying to his own strength that it might help Ren somehow, as if his divinity could reach out and breathe strength into another's body. He clutched at Ren as if the yōkai were an ember in his fingers, a warmth that would eventually wither and go out for lack of fuel - but which Susabi would protect for as long as it was cupped in his hands. He had summoned a new realm within the circle of their arms, and he was cradling the only thing he could hope to protect inside it: the only thing he could try to shelter in a world so full of suffering, by blocking out anything and everything that sought to get past him.

Slowly, the shreds of negative energy continued to fall away, leaving behind simple physical weariness from the toll they had taken on the yōkai's stamina. The taint of kegare lightened under his hands. Ren's shoulders went gradually slack, loosening from their tension, the worst of the grief lanced out and allowed to bleed away without further harm.

He didn't know how long they both stood there. Ren had gone quiet and warm against him; his breathing was deep and steady. It felt like forever, and yet, not nearly long enough.

Ren's dragon finally stirred and rumbled low in its throat, hungry and restless. Susabi blinked, his muscles aching as he straightened up, dizzy from standing immobile for so long that he felt displaced from time itself. The sun had gone low to the horizon. Rich oranges and golds already streaked the sky, warning of the night soon to come.

Ren looked worn, but far stronger as Susabi glanced down at him; some color had gone back into the yōkai's face, and he merely looked exhausted instead of deathly ill. He hadn't released Susabi's sleeves. When Susabi moved gingerly, trying to restore circulation back into his feet, Ren blinked and looked up.

"Thank you," he murmured gratefully. His fingers squeezed Susabi's arms, firm enough that it was a reassurance of the strength starting to return. "I know that there is only so much that can be done. But... it helps to hear it again, from someone who understands. It helps so much. Thank you."

"I should pour the rest of the bowl over your head," Susabi glowered back. He stretched his shoulders, feeling a warning twinge deep in the muscles. Ignoring the pain, he reached out carefully to try and smooth down Ren's hair, running his fingertips along the yōkai's scalp where the horns rose gracefully skywards. He grimaced at the drying, streaked salt residue that coated Ren's skin, the red of his cuts newly irritated. "If this happens again," he added, less critically this time, "I want you to tell me immediately."

It was an impossible request. Ren had no method of finding him, of calling out all the way to Takamagahara to let Susabi know that something was wrong. Ren knew it, too; the yōkai's expression was bordering on exasperated as he glanced back up, holding himself still underneath Susabi's touch.

"I am not your duty, Susabi." The slight shake of his head was worse than any frown. "It is my own responsibility to take care of myself. But... it is true that there is no one who can purify me of kegare, should I become injured badly again like this. I should probably take a contract with an onmyōji master," he admitted heavily, with a sigh that he could not entirely conceal. "The spiritual power they can provide is no small thing, and it would sustain me, for a time."

"A master would use you poorly," Susabi retorted automatically, reaching up again to untangle a few of Ren's hairs that were starting to stick together in unruly loops. "I would kill them if they dared to bind you."

The touch on his arm arrested him; he looked down to see Ren's slender fingers weighing down the crook of his arm, gentle, but absolute in their command.

"You would not," the yōkai said softly. The words held no reproach in them, but they were as unarguable as the moon's pull on the ocean, unrelenting as law. "Not for this."

Susabi opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Ren's left eye had regained its sheen - but the right one never would, and its dullness was all the more marked now that they were standing together. He could easily imagine them both blotted out; he could imagine them missing altogether, or closed forever in death.

"For what, then?" he whispered at last, offering the rhetoric as a fisherman might toss an unbaited hook: knowing it would catch nothing, but lying to themselves even as they threw. "What would I be allowed to do for you, in defense against the world?"

Ren had more mercy than he did; the yōkai eased the pressure of his hand, straightening Susabi's sleeve in a tacit apology. "You cannot protect me from humans, Susabi. No matter what walls are put up to create a barrier between them and myself, I will always step outside to find them again. But - it is nothing for you to worry about. We all have our duties, and yours are much larger than mine. Your purpose in this world is greater than I am. I know this," he added, and it felt like as much resignation as recognition. "It is fine."

Susabi found himself swallowing hard.

"Go to the stream," he said. His voice felt rough, thick, and he didn't know why. He cleared his throat, releasing the yōkai reluctantly, though there was no longer any significant miasma to be concerned with. "I will send a spirit to ensure that everything was finished thoroughly with the jorōgumo. They will guard the child, and protect her from retaliation. You can close the matter in your thoughts after this." He did not need to say that the gods would only be able to shield the girl from her fellow villagers - not her own heart. There was no need for the reminder; he had done enough harm to Ren already. "Take your time in washing yourself clean. I will bring you fresh clothes from the weavers of Takamagahara, and dispose of your ruined ones."

Refusing to allow himself any more luxury, Susabi pulled away and hooked the straps of his geta in his fingers. The bowl - nearly empty now, just a shallow pooling of water at the bottom - went tucked in his arm as he left. With the yōkai out of danger, Susabi could afford to gather better supplies from his estate; Ren would not fit any of his own clothing, but even the simplest garments in Takamagahara were well-woven and comfortable, and Susabi could fetch spares from the trainee supplies until he could petition the weavers to create a new set that would fit the yōkai's height. He dug out fresh tabi for himself, changing quickly out of his damp robes. His dragon - concerned by his twice-abandonment as he had rushed around Takamagahara without coming to fetch it - nosed up to him, snuffling deeply at the scent of the yōkai in his clothes, and snorting in affront at the leftover miasma that was still in the process of dissipating.

By the time Susabi returned, it was well into night. The skies were clear, allowing the moon's light to spread freely over whatever it touched; the river was wide and flowed sluggishly, unhurried in its efforts to descend towards the sea. Ren's destination had been easy to find. Susabi had been able to easily identify the water's location from his workroom, and, more importantly, Ren's presence nearby. The yōkai's energies had started to kindle back to their usual strength, and they were a welcome beacon for Susabi to follow.

He pushed through the trees, following the smell of the river, and found Ren already there.

The yōkai was waist-deep in the middle of the waters, coated in the silver of the moon. His hair spooled out around him, clinging to his skin like wet silk, streaking his body in glistening trails. He wasn't paying attention to his own health, but was instead washing his dragon meticulously as it splashed over the waters, attending to it with a relaxed, tender smile as it shook itself off with each attempted scrub.

In that moment, Susabi realized he was staring longer than he dared. He should have turned away, given the yōkai privacy - but even as he was trying to summon the willpower, his own dragon dove eagerly towards the river, making no attempt to hide its presence.

Ren's dragon caught sight of its companion, rearing up with a splash - and Ren, turning around, saw them both.

His smile widened. "Susabi."

Even from a distance, the yōkai already looked healthier. The jorōgumo had left more wounds than Susabi realized - not just the scrape on Ren's face, but also across his arms and chest - but none of them looked deep, and none were still bleeding. As Susabi watched, Ren dabbled his fingers in the water, and then lifted his hand in invitation. A patter of drops ran down the yōkai's wrist, tracing the skin all the way down to his elbow, like starlight spinning itself into glass. "The water is pleasant tonight. Would you like to join me?"

Susabi's breath turned to stone in his lungs. "I," he said, and stopped entirely.

His mouth was dry. His senses ached with desire, raw need leaping hot as a fire that seared his thoughts to ash. All he could think about was how much he wanted to run his hands over Ren and pull the yōkai close again, and then - and then confirm for himself that Ren's health had been restored. That was all. That was all.

Except it wasn't.

He could not tell if the vivid image in his thoughts was true prophecy or his imagination, but all he could see was the vision of himself slipping off his robes and leaving them behind on the riverbank as he slid into the water. The pebbles would be cold under his feet. He would walk slowly towards Ren as the water rippled around them both, careful not to slip. And then - then he would reach Ren, and Ren's hands would lift up towards him, Susabi would touch his face, and they would be as close again as if they had never parted.

Only now, in his mind, Susabi was running his hands down Ren's neck, down his shoulders, fingers tracing his chest. Ren was making a soft sigh, his own hands skimming along Susabi's waist. He would feel the heat of Ren's body, so close in the water; he would keep the yōkai warm against the slight chill of the river by pressing him against his own skin. Their legs would bump against each other. Their hips -

Susabi wrestled his gaze away from the river, which made it only marginally easier to think; he turned mindlessly towards the rocks where Ren's clothing had been neatly folded, a tidy pile that would have to be replaced. "My dragon will watch over you until you are finished," he declared loudly, trying to banish all thoughts of intimacy from his mind. His voice felt stilted; he forced it to work. "There is - there is business I must attend to back up in Takamagahara. I shall set a ward over you to protect you for the evening, and confirm your health tomorrow."

It wasn't until he returned to his own estate that he finally allowed himself to breathe again. Even then - even with the mess of his workrooms to attend to - he sat in helpless silence, staring at nothing as his thoughts refused to calm, whirling like a tsunami that threatened to wash away everything and leave him with a wreckage where his soul had once been.

Susabi's mortal life had always been dedicated to his own villagers. None of them had dared approach him with an affection that implied a personal attachment - but he'd been lucky, he knew grimly. If other voices had been stronger, his weakening powers would have been blamed on age, and he might have been forced to breed in hopes of him passing them along. One of the villagers might have tried to feign devotion. One of them might have been good enough at lying.

Susabi had loved all his villagers, and then he had been afraid of them and then he had died. After that, he hadn't wanted anyone around him in more than passing contact; he hadn't craved them in his life, not when kindness only led to punishment.

But now, he couldn't stop thinking about Ren, in a thousand different ways that slid out of his control. He wanted to pull the yōkai to him and hold him in the protection of his reach, to learn every inch of the other spirit's body and know that it was healthy and safe. To delight Ren with the simplest of talismans that he had found from one shrine or another; to watch as Ren went through the painstaking work of braiding cords with no greater desire than to protect the mortals who would wear them.

He wanted to build a world where Ren would be able to smile every day, where the two of them could block out everything else and create a simple haven, where Ren would know that he would never be left standing alone again, watching quietly as everyone walked away. That Ren didn't have to huddle wounded in a forest with just himself and his dragon, because someone would be there for him now. He wanted to show Ren all of this, in every way possible: through his hands, through his touch, through the rhythm of his voice whispering promises into Ren's ears, prayers that would cause Ren to close his eyes and smile again, knowing with certainty that he was treasured this time, that he was -

That he was loved.

The walls of Susabi's study were lined with books and scrolls, with tools of spellcraft and ritual, knowledge that could only be found in the heavens - but none of them offered any answers as Susabi stared at them in helpless desperation. His wits refused to still. All they did was fly in a whirlwind of scattered directions, leaving the center of him aching around the realization that sat like a pillar of stone in his chest, immobile and eternal.

The stars outside were silent, wheeling and glittering outside in endless constellations. The feeling did not ebb, even as Susabi sat there throughout the night, unable to stop wanting, until it felt as if his entire essence had been transformed into a single incantation, a new norito singing in place of his soul: Ren, Ren, Ren.

---

He fed Ren for a week straight after that, bringing food that was half an apology and half a plea. The trays were tightly packed with fresh fish and seaweed, fruit and vegetables that had been selected with exacting care from the season's best. It was the finest rice, the strongest tea and wine. All were of the highest quality, fit for any noblemen's table - or as offerings for a god.

"Are you certain you do not have a shrine of your own?" Ren laughed, halfway through the week, when Susabi showed up with yet another tray heavy with dishes. "Or are you stealing food from the heavens instead?"

"I came by it honestly, if that's your concern," Susabi said stiffly, not wanting to reveal the number of favors he had volunteered to do for half the gods as trade.

But the quality mattered, both physically and spiritually. Food which had been selected as an offering had a deliberate purpose behind it, garnished with prayers of gratitude to flavor its essence. It was that intent rather than the richness of the food itself which made it truly nourishing for spirits, imbued with the wishes and hopes of the people. Most importantly, it would have been fare that Ren himself would have customarily eaten, back when he had been enshrined, and would provide him with far more strength than any common meal.

If Ren realized the origin of his meals, he did not let on. His appetite was healthy, though he always made sure to feed his dragon in equal amounts from his own plate - and Susabi's dragon as well, if Susabi didn't keep an eye on it.

This cannot be allowed to continue, Susabi reminded himself, as Ren split apart dumplings with his fingers and held them out to his dragon to be devoured. Even without the benefit of prophecy, even if Ren tried his best to observe his own limits, Susabi knew how the yōkai's story would end. All it would take would be a combination of poor luck, or too many villages at risk in a row, and Ren's life would be bled away forever.

I do not expect to live that long, he remembered Ren saying, in what felt like a lifetime ago. At the time, it had been regrettable to hear. Now it was an intolerable thought. Both of the obvious options - either entrust Ren to an onmyōji, or to humans as their enshrined god - were equally unpalatable. That, or force Ren to change his nature somehow, and never have faith again.

Killing the yōkai with his own hands would be kinder.

He could not think of a solution. He dared not try and divine one. His thoughts were in constant disarray, and risked leaping to all the worst conclusions; attempting a prophecy in such a state would only skew the results far past inaccuracy. Now that he had touched Ren - and Ren had touched him back, beyond all their casual moments in the past - it was as if a tipping point had been crossed that had permanently shattered the careful balance in Susabi's thoughts. He wanted to reach out and touch Ren all the time now, in deliberate moments rather than accidental contact. He wanted to pull Ren to him, as if sight alone was not enough reassurance that the yōkai was still alive; he wanted to keep Ren inside the circle of his arms forever, feeling the yōkai's heartbeat like a drumbeat paired to Susabi's own.

Ren, too, seemed nearer than ever before, as if Susabi's desperation was a string being woven tighter and tighter on a loom, bowing the cloth in half with its need. The yōkai didn't seem to mind the change; if anything, he shifted naturally into it, accepting their new proximity. They sat closer, spoke closer, their spaces overlapping. Their hands lingered when they touched, as if forgetting they should pull away.

One afternoon, when they were resting in a grove of ginkgos - traveling towards a farming community that already had its own shrine for protection, and was therefore in very little danger - they ended up leaning against the same tree, shoulders pressed together. Its leaves were thick, fluttering above them like a bevy of miniature fans at a noble's court. The air was clean and calm. With no threats to the farmers, there was no need to rush. Susabi turned his head just enough that he could breathe in the scent of Ren's hair: a fractional movement, easily overlooked as an indulgence.

But when he shifted his arm to let Ren settle closer against him, his fingers nudged against the back of the yōkai's hand, and he suddenly froze, uncertain of how apparent his actions were.

Then - as Susabi held his breath, denying each moment for fear that he might blink and find himself mistaken - Ren slowly turned his palm, until his fingers were interlacing with Susabi's, both of them reaching instinctively for the other.

They sat there like that, both of them quiet, until their dragons came racing back and begged for dinner.

As if by unspoken agreement, their days started to begin earlier and end later, until Susabi would arrive with the dawn to find Ren already awake and waiting. The calendar seemed more and more arbitrary, an agreement that restrained rather than provide a guide - until, one evening, Ren broached the inevitable question.

"Would you stay for the night, Susabi?" They had both shed their outer layers in the warmth of the afternoon, and Ren had his cloak bundled in his arms; Susabi had shrugged his own robe over his shoulders awkwardly, trying to summon up the motivation to leave. "The woods are quiet in this area, and the sun has been quite beautiful through the bamboo in the morning. It would be... pleasant to have you here to see it, with me."

Susabi's fingers froze in wrapping his obi. "Would you want me here that long?"

"Yes," Ren answered simply. In a few swift steps, he had crossed the space between them - but his hand was slow and careful as he reached up, catching stray hairs that had been trapped in the collar of Susabi's robe, freeing them gently away from the taller man's neck. "But, I am surely being selfish in asking at this hour. The evening is already late, and you have had not any chance to prepare. Yet - tomorrow, perhaps, if you have time after your work..."

The question trailed off, hopeful, its wings barely begun to spread. All Susabi could see was Ren's face turned up towards him, radiant and waiting. "The moon," he protested, not even sure why he was trying to argue, save that it was the one coherent thought he could manage against the sensation of Ren's fingertips sliding into his scalp. "We would be past the proper time to meet."

The warm, gentle pressure of Ren's fingers on the back of his neck felt like an invitation only moments from being invoked. "Whenever you are here, Susabi, then it is always the right time for me."

The permission was too much. Susabi's hands twitched, fighting to remain rigid on his obi. All it would take would be a single excuse, a single reason not to observe propriety, and the rest of the distance between them would come crashing down, leaving them splintered in its wake.

"If I intend to come back tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick in his throat, "then you will be the only thing I think about all day."

They watched each other, swallowing silence. Susabi found himself searching Ren's face, sifting inflections in a desperate attempt to find the best thing to say next. He could not interpret the shifting of the yōkai's expression, a mixture of hope and trepidation that echoed what coiled in Susabi's own chest. He yearned for something to shatter the impasse and make the decision for him - and was terrified at the same time, terrified that he might be making a hundred mistakes, all of which would ruin everything forever between them.

Ren was the one who broke first. His fingers slipped down, down and away, like butterfly ghosts skipping across Susabi's chest. "There is - there is some matter to the east of here that I should look into," he fumbled, looking as helpless as Susabi felt. He glanced aside quickly; Susabi could see how fast the yōkai was breathing, sharp and shallow. "I should... see how the plum tree spirits are doing. It has been a while since I last spoke with them. I will not distract you further. Go," he insisted gently, still looking at the ground even as he stepped back out of reach, tucking up his hands beneath his cloak as if he could not trust them to otherwise behave. "I will see you next when the moon is dark, and then you can brighten the skies again for me."

---

The weeks of waiting helped calm Susabi's nerves - and eroded them even further, like water gently lapping at a beach and carrying it away, grain by grain. He did not know how he would refuse, if Ren asked again. He did not even know exactly how much Ren might have meant by the offer. All Susabi could be certain of was the strength of his own desire, which had to be contained before it grew completely out of control, and devoured something it should never be allowed to touch.

By the time the next moon phase crept around, Susabi had scavenged a sufficient distraction in the way of work for them to tackle. One of the younger gods had been wrestling with improvements to their own shrine, and had brought a request for help in preparing the paper shide; the head priest suffered from arthritis in his fingers, and was willing to allow a spirit from Takamagahara to assist in the number of meticulous folds and trims.

They took their shade in a bamboo grove that day, surrounded by a chorus of leaves that whispered readily at every stray breeze, their stalks swaying like dancers already enraptured by sleep. As they sorted through the papers, carefully arranging them to be cut and measured, Susabi hesitated and finally laid the question out in the open. "Do you miss it? If you became a village god again, you would not be able to travel the land as freely as you do now. Would it be enough for you to stay in a single shrine again, and wait for people to come to you instead?"

He almost didn't catch the slight, rueful pull to the corner of Ren's lips; if he hadn't known the yōkai so well, he would have missed it entirely. The truth was yes, then, but also no. "Would you still visit me there, if I did?" was all the spirit replied. "You would always have a place in my shrine. We could perform the rituals properly there, together. I could think of no one better than you to be there with me."

Yes, Susabi wanted to say; he drew breath for the courage to say it. But it was too much, too quickly: his own imagination recoiled and struck him like a whip across bare flesh, cutting deep. He could envision exactly what it would be like to wear jo-e robes and cross under the gates - only this time, it would be the serene face of Ren standing there inside the sanctuary, turning towards him from in front of the haiden, welcoming him inside. It would be Ren who would receive his words of devotion.

It would be Ren who would offer himself up as a target first, if humans ever needed a scapegoat to blame.

If Ren had been one of the deities of Susabi's village, he would have thrown himself into the waters instead, rather than let any of his worshippers prey upon each other. He would have carried the entire sum of the villagers' hate. Not because he thought he deserved it, but because he honestly might have thought it was the best way for them to vent their poison: to take it upon himself, the same way he had accepted the loss of his eye. Suffering nobly had nothing to do with it; Susabi knew enough about the yōkai to recognize that his very essence was dedicated towards protection, not the glorification of pain.

No. Ren followed a far more merciless ideal. Ren would have been strong when they refused to be, because the yōkai knew someone had to. He would have given himself up willingly to protect Susabi's mortal life - and Susabi choked down a stifled, agonized noise in his throat as he imagined the villagers beating Ren the same way, burning and bruising him, taking out their resentment freely upon his body instead.

And Ren noticed. He drew himself up, startled, his focus already sharp before Susabi could construct a decent excuse to deflect him. "This also pains you," he said softly, alarm coming into his face as he considered the months they had spent together. "All of this has been hurting you. Not simply the norito. I am sorry, Susabi. I am sorry -"

Lying would be futile. The rituals had stopped grating upon Susabi's nerves, but something else had replaced it instead, an ache of wanting and denial. "It's a trivial pain," he declared with a dismissive snap of his hand, not sure if he meant the shrines, or whatever else was dwelling in his chest these days. He set the paper in his hands down roughly, and picked up a fresh sheet. "Consider it to be of less worth than dust."

Ren was not so easily deterred. His hands lifted automatically, starting to reach out - and then stopped halfway, opening and closing helplessly like the final beats of a heart in surrender. "No. Not to me, Susabi. Never to me."

Of course, Susabi thought sourly, blocking out the sight of Ren by rubbing his temples, hiding behind his own hand. A spirit so intent on sheltering others couldn't call himself a protector if he had failed in something so simple. And now, Susabi had surely ruined Ren's memories of their time together, just as the village had ruined Susabi's. "I hurt myself with useless thoughts," he said aloud, "and nothing that will become a reality. If it would help to set your mind at ease, then tell me what you miss most about the work, and I will tell you if it is too much."

For a moment, it appeared as if Ren would not answer, his eyes still wide and pleading - then something broke in his willpower, like a flood shattering a dam. "I miss all of it," he admitted softly, the vulnerability opening wide in unguarded confession. "I miss blessing my own omamori, I miss reading the ema. I miss the taste of fresh salt offered as part of the shinsen. I miss watching the priests renew the shrine each year, preparing fresh shide and shimenawa. I miss seeing the smiles of my villagers as they began to gather the supplies for the yearly festivals, welcoming each new season. I miss hearing my priests late at night, when they were closing up the shrine and it would be only the two of us, and they knew they confide anything to me, and I would listen. I miss seeing children grow into adulthood and begin families of their own, bringing them to the shrine for their first introduction to me, so I would know their faces and always love them." It was a litany of yearning, a plea that begged quietly with each delicately restrained word. "I miss feeling the hearts of my people connected to me. If I focused on them - on just their small space in this realm - I always thought I might be able to make a difference in their lives. I didn't have to worry about the entire world. I only had to worry about them. It was simpler, yes, and perhaps cowardly. Even so... I miss everything."

Susabi frowned. It was the first time he could remember hearing Ren admit to any desire to return - not simply to the village, but to his entire past. Go home, he wanted to tell Ren - but there was no home like that anymore, not for either of them. There was only what loss had taught them both was safe to befriend.

"Why did they turn their backs on you?" he asked. He had always avoided the question before, but now he needed to know - if only to remind Ren that it had happened, that he shouldn't still harbor compassion for the very same people who had abandoned him to a slow, starving death.

Ren accepted his inquiry with a nod. "The storm... did not destroy the village, but it did damage it. The villagers were too busy rebuilding, and could not easily make the climb back up to the shrine. The priest was elderly - I was happier that he stayed at the foot of the mountain, rather than force himself to exhaustion just to see me." Despite the pleasantness of his denials, Ren's gaze was fixed rigidly towards the ground. He kept his hands motionless on his knees, his words shaped carefully on his tongue, as if he were swearing a promise over and over again, saying the words a thousand times to force them into reality like a spell incantation: it's okay. I'm happy this way. It doesn't hurt.

"And then, the priest passed away, before he could properly train a replacement. By that time, the villagers had so much else to concern themselves with. They stopped visiting. They stopped hunting on the mountain, and did not climb it anymore. They did not search it for herbs or plants. I waited - "

And here Ren's voice finally broke. Despite his self-control, despite his best attempts to appear unmoved, he could not keep his own body from revealing his heart. Hair trickled down over the right side of his face as he lowered his head, like a threadworn burial shroud drawn over the eye beneath. He did not brush it away; there was no reason to pretend he could see.

But the moment passed, with nothing left behind save the whispers of ghosts lingering in the strain of his throat. Ren steadied himself and nodded once. "I waited until there was no shrine any longer, and the land was no longer held sacred in their minds. And then I knew they had no need of a god on the mountain any more. And I was glad. For that meant they were not in danger. They did not need to remember me."

Susabi searched his face, but there was only truth there, unflinching: Ren meant every word. "You did not become angry?"

"No," Ren answered - and then, suddenly, like the sun melting away a storm, a smile broke through every layer of mourning he had worn. It was bittersweet, but genuine in its happiness, radiant enough to turn the bleakness of the words into a benediction. He lifted his head, turning to meet Susabi's gaze directly, not caring to hide despite how he might be judged. "Not in the slightest. It shows that their lives are well without me. That they are now strong enough - and safe enough - on their own. What greater joy exists than that?"

The breeze picked up. It stirred the grove in a slow wave of whispering leaves that built their voices into a chorus, branches lifting together, merging into a tide of sound with no end and no beginning. It shook the sunlight that trickled down through thousands of leaves, sending patchwork shadows dancing across Ren's face. The yōkai did not waver. He sat there, as calm and full of dignity as if he were not surrounded by the wilderness, but by the walls of his own shrine instead: unchanged in his grace, despite the losses that had robbed him of everything else.

This was the strength that kept Ren going, Susabi realized. This was the answer beneath it all, the truth that Ren had chosen, so absolute that the yōkai himself would crumble first before his faith ever wavered. It was a fierce core that refused to be dimmed, that fueled the determination behind each and every talisman drawn from Ren's very life essence: the sincere belief that the world could truly become better someday, even as the full cost of doing so would go forever unknown and unhonored.

Ren had accepted that fact about the world long ago. He had made his peace with it. His dream kept him from going mad with futility and bitterness, even as he left his heart open for those he knew would misuse it. His compassion did not leave him soft: it had been tempered past the point of steel.

Susabi could no more seek to erase that then he would have snuffed out the sun.

"There was a village once, plagued with storms," he said aloud at last, his words slow and reluctant, stripped of all their inflection. "This village was given a child by the gods, a child who could protect them by giving warnings through divination. And for a time, the village was grateful. But humans forget. When the child's powers weakened, the villagers forgot everything they had been given before, and thought only of what was happening to them at the moment. And so they only saw failure, and blame. Perhaps the time had come that the humans should not have been dependent on divination to safeguard them. But, rather than realize it, they chose to hate that which they thought had been taken away from them, that which they thought they rightfully deserved. They chose to blame the child for not being able to give it to them."

Ren absorbed the story quietly, grasping its history within moments as he allowed it to match up to what he knew of Susabi, piece by piece. Once Susabi had finished, he bowed his head - first in sorrow, and then apology, his fingertips sliding together on his worktable in humility. "Even if the village did not need the child any longer, they should not have hurt him for it."

"Even if your village didn't need you," Susabi replied, harsh, "they should have said thanks."

---

He couldn't stop. He couldn't. Each tentative piece of Ren's history was a fresh invitation for Susabi to offer up his own. They were laying out their own pains to each other like unrolling skeins of embroidered silk - stories which should have been horrifying, and instead were embraced, smoothed down and called beautiful once more, taken away from the hands that had once mistreated them.

And they were beautiful. Somehow, impossibly, the longer that Susabi spent time with Ren, the more that he found himself able to ease back into parts of his life he had thought forever marred. He could look at a row of amulets, and think only about Ren would be delighted by their shapes. Mochi being prepared for the morning prayer reminded him of Ren's unabashed glee as the yōkai wolfed down another of the snacks, snatching it away from Susabi's own plate and sharing it with their dragons. When Ren was there, the world took on a different sheen: it encompassed only Susabi and a once-god, given a second chance to love the things that had shaped them both.

He couldn't stop. Instead, Susabi found himself revealing even more: more time, more thoughts, more history. He was carving out pieces of himself with each amulet and ofuda because they were the only gifts he had, the only ones that could matter to someone like Ren, because they were intended purely for the yōkai's happiness instead of concealing cries for help. They meant that Ren could simply listen and indulge in his own enjoyment; he could lean into Susabi and relax, not worrying about another person's needs for the space of an evening.

This was the only true gift that Susabi could offer: not asking anything.

And yet, he wanted so much.

It was a fear that refused to be dismissed. All it would take would be for Susabi to present the question - even through the simplest touch on Ren's cheek - and Ren would turn his head up and smile and part his lips for Susabi to take them. He would give permission for anything and everything that Susabi wanted to do to him, because his own body was simply coin that he had to spend; because he'd given up an eye, and was willing to give up even more if it seemed a useful cause. Because if Ren thought, truly thought that it was what Susabi needed, he would share it, no matter how he felt on the inside.

But asking for more would make Susabi no better than the humans who had used Ren - who had insisted that he serve, without thinking of the consequences. It would make Susabi no better than the humans of his own village, who had tried to force Susabi to perform even when he could not, as if his only purpose in life was to give whatever they demanded, and when he could not, his very existence was useless.

The risk was too great. He couldn't add to the list of other people insisting Ren spend his time and energy upon them, particularly not when Ren was already coming so close to permanent harm. It would be safer if Ren could be convinced not to use his power - but he used his energy as recklessly as if he were still a god, exposing himself to nether forces and the greedy alike. And now Susabi himself was sinking into the ranks of the latter, unable to think clearly, because every time he tried, the same craving opened wide like a chasm inside him. He did not know how to save Ren. He did not know how to keep from making things worse.

Still. There was one thing he could manage to do right.

The next time they met, a rainstorm had passed through in the late hours of the night before, and the air was still heavy with moisture. They had settled in to enjoy the hush of the dampened forest under the shelter of a tree, and shared tea from Takamagahara, a chilled barley that Susabi had brewed himself from the streams running through his estate. Ren had praised the clarity of its taste, laughing and asking eagerly for more; Susabi had poured for him again and again, wishing for wine instead of water. When the teapot had run low, they had stretched out on the grasses, using a blanket to ward away the dampness of the soil as they watched clouds migrate slowly across the sky.

The birds were only now starting to stir, calling out snippets of song as they flew from branch to branch, rustling leaves which were still glittering with moisture. Susabi stretched his arms, finding Ren's already nestled beside him; Ren's hand stirred and reached automatically back, running his thumb along Susabi's wrist in slow, soothing strokes. It was such a simple contact, easy and effortless - but already so natural that Susabi could not imagine a time without it. Ren would always be there now, it seemed. Ren would always be there, for as long as Susabi wanted.

Finally, Susabi forced himself to sit up, his nerves already going cold, and pulled his hand away to drop it back resolutely into his own lap.

Ren stirred, concern cutting through the peace of his drowsiness. "What is the matter, Susabi?"

He couldn't find his voice at first. When it came, it felt like a stranger's. "I claim too many luxuries from you."

He could hear the rustle of clothing as Ren rolled over to face him, not yet alarmed enough to question the sudden change. "If anyone has that right, it would be you, Susabi." His reassurance was as placid as if Susabi had been fretting over the weather instead. "It is because of you that I have more years of life to look forward to like this, in strength instead of dwindling further. I know that with you watching over me, there will be someone there, should I descend further and be claimed by corruption or madness."

You could be a god with your own followers, and need none of what I provide, Susabi's mind supplied treacherously. But his own honor refused to let him stay silent. "If I truly performed that duty, then I would be restoring you to a shrine," he pointed out, finally glancing over his shoulder to see Ren's perplexed frown. "This alone will not keep you sustained forever. Not at the rate you are going."

To his credit, Ren did not deny the possibility. He sat up fully, shaking away his weariness; a yawn slipped through long enough for him to cover it with the back of his hand, unhurried and unguarded. Reaching out, he began to smooth away the strands of Susabi's hair from where they had caught along his clothing, untangling them with long strokes of his fingers. "One day, there may be humans who need me again like that, Susabi," he counseled. "As you keep telling me, now is simply not that time. But when and if it comes again, you will be why I will be able to answer that call. I would not be able to do that without the aid you have provided. Surely, you can see how much you have helped."

It was tempting to accept the comfort: of words, of promises, of confidence. Ren's hands were gentle as they gathered Susabi's hair back, sweeping it aside so that they could each have a better view of one another's faces. Susabi shivered under the touch. But the possibility of gratitude only made it worse: if Ren thought he owed Susabi, that his support might serve as a form of repayment, then Susabi was doing little better than to force the yōkai to trade affection for his very life.

"Ren," he said, focusing on that distaste to reinforce his own discipline. "You should not offer me such trust. I, too, could be someone who simply seeks to use you thoughtlessly, serving only my own needs."

The seriousness of his tone finally made it through. Ren paused, his hands arrested in their motions as the yōkai regarded Susabi for a long moment. "You hate such things." It was not a question. "You would be on guard against them."

"Watchfulness alone doesn't make me immune."

"Yet, it would hurt you immensely to become the very thing that you detest." With the same road-weary patience that allowed the yōkai to see past the claims of a hundred mortal villages, Ren addressed Susabi's concerns point-by-point without yielding. "For that reason, I know you would be vigilant against it. And I am responsible to watch over my own limits. The only creature who can do that is myself - and I will not neglect that, not when I know forgetting would do you harm. Susabi," he repeated, bracing one of his hands against the blanket so that he could lean forward, lean in, and Susabi couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He couldn't feel anything, anything save a desire so overwhelming that it felt as if it would burn him alive to accept its existence, exposing him as having no more self-control than the very humans he scorned. He'd imagined it countless times on his own already. To finally reach out at last, and lose himself under Ren's touch - to stop fighting, to simply let matters happen without thought of how it would make things worse in the end.

He forced himself to look past Ren instead, at the clouds fanning indifferently overhead, blocking out all awareness of the other spirit any way he could.

"I can't," he finally managed aloud. "I can't trust myself."

Ren deftly cut through to the heart of it without pause, laying it open like a tumor under the knife. "And could you trust me?"

The polite answer would have been yes. It would have been a lie. "No," Susabi admitted. It felt like drowning again, but not in the smothering peace of a prayer: this was the ocean cold around him and in his lungs, nature itself eager to see him end his life. "If I asked you to give up your other eye for me, would you?" he pointed out, aware of how hurtful his answer already was. "Or if you thought it would help me, even if I did not ask outright?"

He did not know how much longer he could endure Ren's presence so close by, but thankfully, Ren saw his tension and yielded the space first. Laying formality like a peace treaty between them, the yōkai slid away, tucking his legs into a kneel. His fingers folded themselves safely in his lap, touching nothing and no one else. "Yes."

"And your hands? Your feet, your tongue? All of those?"

"Yes," Ren said again, softly, without hesitation. "If I had cause to believe it would make the difference."

He had to ask. He knew the answer, but the question came out like the last stones of an avalanche, cruel and uncompromising. "And your life?"

"Yes," came a third time, and then, "but I know you never would let it get to that point, Susabi. You would give up your own eye first, if you could, before you ever asked that of me." Ren straightened his shoulders, as composed as a scholar called to testify at a trial. His chin was up; his horns arched towards the sky. "If you took advantage of me, and became the kind of person you dread, it would wound you beyond measure. I know this. It is as much my responsibility to prevent that - not yours. So let me have this much, please, for just a short while," he insisted. "Take peace in that, and in this."

It was easier to talk now that they were sitting further apart; even so, something was going wrong, terribly wrong, and Susabi couldn't gather his logic together coherently, couldn't make things line up properly so that Ren would nod along and agree to all of Susabi's arguments. He was losing track of all his thoughts in his desperation not to allow Ren an avenue with which to hurt himself. "If you have to safeguard me at all, then I am neglecting my own duties," he gritted out. "If I do not have the strength, it should not be all on your shoulders to bear."

Despite the tension in his shoulders, Ren's expression betrayed nothing. His voice was gentle, patient - yet analytical, as if something in him had already pulled away, hiding behind an opaque shield as impenetrable as any of his talismans. "That is a risk we all endure, Susabi," he claimed softly, his voice firm and resolute. "That is what I am prepared for. It was my purpose as a god, and it is the shape of what I am now, as a yōkai." He hesitated. When he spoke again, his calm had not lessened - but a frown came and went almost instantly, a twinge of resignation so quickly restrained that Susabi almost missed it entirely. "Let it... let it be that way. Let me enjoy this much, for as long as we can."

It was tempting. It was too tempting, to close his eyes and indulge only in what he wanted, to fool himself into thinking that he knew Ren well enough to watch over him. To take the route that would allow him to mindlessly accept the comfort Ren was offering like this, and utterly blind him to any signs that the yōkai might ever want anything else.

Susabi had only to pull Ren to him, and then he would be free to roll the yōkai down into the softness of the blanket, press him against the grass, and indulge in the relief of pleasure. They would lose all track of time and indulge in the moment. They would forget about everything that could go wrong, and focus simply on what felt right.

And that would be it. They would be happy - or Susabi would be - and he would allow himself to stop worrying. To stop watching himself. To simply accept, and become complacent, and assume he would notice any problems long before they soured into rot.

And then - then he would wake up one day and suddenly realize just how tired Ren looked, or how the silences between them were getting longer and longer, how ideas were going more often unvoiced. How discussions would end faster. How Ren would laugh less. Smile only when expected. Protest less. Argue never.

How Ren might always answer, whatever you want, whenever his opinion was asked.

"No," Susabi declared, scorning the easy way out. "There's more to you. You chose this existence as a yōkai because it gave you the chance to stay alive and help others - not because you need to feel needed. Otherwise, you would have never left the first village that clamoured for enough favors. You and I both agree that the drive to protect others should exist in the world," he added, desperately attempting to temper the harshness of his words into a plea. "But whenever you cannot see that in human hearts, you choose to become it until they learn. You give away your power each time - and then you force yourself to heal simply so you can do it all over again. And because it's what people need at the time, you don't protest, do you? Because you know you can survive it. You pay the price for them, telling yourself that it's just until they can be strong enough to pay for themselves. But that time doesn't always come. In fact," Susabi added, regretting the accusation even as he voiced it, "has it ever?"

He did not know what else he could say. His courage felt as if it had abandoned him with each faltering word, even as Ren had weathered the attack without complaint, his spine as straight as if a knife blade had been pressed against his skin. Susabi should have been able to deliver his points with anger, with righteousness against the injustices of the world. Instead, it felt as if he was carving each word into his own ribs, bleeding into his breath.

He could only imagine how Ren had heard it.

"My village," the yōkai affirmed at last, softly. "It came for them."

"Your eye tells a different story, Ren."

"But it brought them there." Rallying his strength on that point of defense, Ren glanced up to meet Susabi's gaze, his mouth struggling to firm in a solid line. "It helped them reach a point where they do not need me in their lives right now. And that does make me happy, beyond all words," he repeated. "Should they ever require my assistance again, I will be there, but it brings peace to my heart to know they do not need me yet. Even if I am never able to accomplish anything else with my life, I will always, truly, be glad for that."

"And if you're saying that my only options are to ignore what you need, or to allow you to sacrifice part of yourself in exchange for my no longer needing you," Susabi parried icily, "then I refuse to accept either."

Ren's eyes had gone wide by the end of Susabi's ultimatum, startled; his composure had paled, broken entirely out of his defenses by the unexpected challenge. "Susabi," he said, sounding equally desperate. His head made a short, abrupt shake of denial. "That should not be your concern. Just... please, think about yourself, and what you would enjoy most. That would make me happiest. Don't worry about the rest."

Don't worry. How many times had Ren said that - and how many times had people accepted him only at face value, Susabi wondered. How long had people taken Ren for granted in so many ways, assuming his meekness to mean naivety, his apologies to mean personal shame, his willingness to sacrifice seen as a byproduct of self-worthlessness? To have people think that Ren cared so little for himself that giving his life away meant nothing to him, nothing, because humans couldn't conceive of any other choice: to have humans and spirits alike vilifying Ren's efforts because it justified their own lack of effort?

How often had Ren also been disappointed by the things that he loved?

And Ren had tolerated it. He had shut his own hopes away, just as Susabi had. He had acknowledged that people would not change. He had accepted everyone else assigning him motivations that diminished him, to always be the one to give a little more from his side: to be thought of as innocent or simple, that he was fulfilling a selfish need of his own simply by helping, while his real wishes went unheard and unacknowledged. He had resigned himself to never being seen clearly, to people accepting his aid, but not the intent behind it.

He had given up on anyone looking deeper into his nature, at what truly mattered to him - just like Susabi had. He had given up a long time ago, and believed that there would never be a way out.

"Ren," Susabi began tentatively, even as the yōkai's shoulders jerked at the sound, still stricken. "Everything you've said - everything you've shown is that you want humans to someday learn how to create their happiness on their own. That's why you're sad about your village, but you don't hold a grudge. They grew to independence, and you miss them, but you're not angry about it, because they're doing exactly what you want." He hesitated, almost stopping there, but it was already too late; he had flayed open both of their souls as casually as a butcher, and now the consequences could not be escaped. "How many times have the very people you've helped dismissed the wish in your heart, Ren? Can you say it truly makes you happy to have your hopes ignored? To have people take your help, and treat the rest of you as unnecessary?"

He knew how deeply he had hit the mark by way of Ren's silence. The yōkai drew in a long, trembling breath, closing his eyes; when he opened them again, he could not meet Susabi's gaze.

"Susabi," was all he said at last, and in that instant, Susabi knew that every accusation he had uttered had been correct. "When did you realize?"

"When I looked." The truth should have been a balm. Instead, it etched like raw acid in Susabi's throat. "When I looked at you, Ren, not at what you could do for me."

Gentler souls would have found a better way to use their words as gutting tools. But Susabi lacked that tact, and it was far too late now to try and mimic it. He saw Ren's head bow, lower and lower by fractional degrees, his hair shifting to shadow both his eyes and blot the gold entirely into black.

"You cannot blame them for their reluctance," the yōkai shared at last. His voice was flat, toneless - as if he was afraid that having dreams of his own would make Susabi value him any less. "All you can do is give, and hope."

"Perhaps, but that does not mean I have to repeat their mistakes," Susabi insisted. The words hurt to come out, as if he was feeling his way through a hallway of knives whose blades lanced him with every step. He was talking wildly now, staring into the world without seeing it, seeing only the blackness of the ocean at night, the icy liquid crawling into his nose and mouth and down his throat. "Ren. I will not be like them. I will not become another creature that leaves you marked, all because of my own carelessness. You might trust that I never will take advantage - but that simply forces the responsibility into your hands. If I can't trust my needs, then the only thing I can do is refuse to need things at all from you. I won't let myself. I can't let myself. I will not be like them."

He was facing blindly towards the sky at this point, making promises that felt like lies, over and over, condemning him with each self-denial. His own conviction was shaking inside him - a conviction he had never truly considered until this moment, because it had never needed to be put into words. Just as Ren could endure because of his faith that the world could change, so, too, did Susabi survive because he believed the same: that people could be different than the village that had killed him, that they could be better, and his own life would prove it. His own ability to follow a stricter discipline meant that humans had no excuse for ignoring the same. If he could embody it, and prove it was real, then they could not claim its impossibility.

Like Ren, Susabi kept that standard alive through himself - but now that he was forced against it, he did not know how long he could measure up. Failure would mean more than just a mistake that might harm Ren.

It would mean that everything Susabi believed about himself was as false as the hearts of his villagers.

He jerked when he felt a touch on his neck, startled out of the horror that had enveloped him whole. When he looked down, he saw Ren's hands there, the tips of the yōkai's fingers resting lightly against his jaw.

"Susabi," the spirit murmured - and that was all Ren had strength for, it seemed, for his mouth kept turning down, hard and tight. Then he rallied. "In my mind, you have never been the one asking for anything. I have been the one making selfish demands. And you have granted me everything, and more." A smile struggled through once, a brief and flickering expression that vanished like a butterfly in winter. "But not if it costs this much from you. Not if it makes you doubt yourself, and become afraid that each word you say might be a hidden weapon."

His fingers lifted further, whispering up along Susabi's cheeks, as if the boundary of skin between them was so fragile that Ren feared to tear it like a spiderweb. "I am sorry, Susabi. I knew it was hard on you to spend the time you did with me. You brought blessings back into my life by giving me a place where I could remember the things I treasured so much again. Yet, by doing so, I allowed myself to continue hurting you. I never meant to let it go so far. Please forgive me," he continued quietly, cupping Susabi's face now in both his palms, the heat of his body a mere shadow of how each word seared. "I thought, only one more day, only one more, and I would stop asking things of you. And each time, I could not. I thought eventually, you would have to be called back to your greater work, and you would forget about me soon enough. I wanted - I wanted as many memories as I could hold, when that day came."

The yōkai's smile returned, but it was openly pained now, sorrowing with each fresh word. "But... I have been beyond unfair to you, Susabi. You have been so gracious to me, and I have repaid you by forcing you to doubt and restrain yourself. The position I have put you in is impossible. I will not make you feel as if you must watch yourself like a prisoner. You have endured enough suffering in your life. I will not insist on more."

He paused then, and gathered himself to his feet, the bells on his cloak jingling like the cries of a mourning bird. "You said you will ask for nothing from me, but there is still something I will offer," he finished softly. "I will give you freedom from myself."

"Ren," Susabi finally managed to voice aloud, panic struggling through the numbness. His chest was in a vise; he was being crushed by a giant's hand, by all the pressure of the ocean's depths. His ribs were being crumpled into the smallest grains of sand. "Ren. Don't."

But the yōkai refused to stop. Taking only a few steps forward, he leaned down and kissed Susabi, chaste and gentle on the forehead: a slow kiss that ended reluctantly, his breath whispering on Susabi's skin, as if each second of time between them had already started to dwindle into the forgetting of myth.

"Goodbye, Lord Susabi," Ichimoku Ren said quietly, stepping back at last. "And thank you."

---

Lord Susabi is angry, the gods whispered in Takamagahara. He stares and remains silent during councils, even when questions are asked of him. He declines to offer his thoughts. He no longer speaks of the shrines. He must be angry.

But anger was the furthest thing from Susabi's mind. Every other emotion had crowded it out, filling up Susabi like a bowl overbrimming until the slightest tap of the table risked the contents to spill. His chest hurt all the time now. His heart hurt. He had lost the love of his villagers and then he had lost his home and his mortal life, and now he was losing things again, and he could not stop it this time either.

He had gone back up to Takamagahara mindlessly after Ren had vanished into the fields, immersed himself in his work, and had promptly been nauseous for a week.

Because Ren had been right. Susabi was the one refusing to take the easy route and simply, blindly trust Ren; he was doing it to himself, insisting on an impossible standard of perfectly reading Ren's needs and blocking both Ren and himself from any missteps. Just as Ren blamed himself for not finding the single, effective method for encouraging humanity, Susabi was taking the same degree of pressure onto his own shoulders, knowing the impossibility of success and berating himself anyway.

They had both been through enough in their lifetimes. If they could not find a way to keep the past from repeating, even with each other - perhaps it was better this way.

He tried to convince himself of this, over and over, even as it felt more hollow each time.

History was a paralyzing weight. The spiritual starvation of Ren's village was no less cruel in its own way than the lashes and beatings from Susabi's own hometown. The idea of one day echoing the same neglect and abuse out of his own mouth made him recoil, all the more so because he would be so far gone at that point that he doubted he would even realize it.

Ren was not the only spirit who had been badly used by humans; there were many amatsu-kami who never wished to be enshrined again. Despite that, there were an overwhelming number who remained devoted to helping humanity even when they knew the futility of it - but Ren was the only one Susabi had met who had experienced something so similar, and had come out on the other side still clinging just as strongly to his beliefs. Each of them had encouraged the other, like two trees leaning on each other while their branches reached up for the sky. They had asked after each other's limits. They had spoken up when they had encountered discomfort. They had watched each other carefully, respectfully; they had put each other first.

It was a lonely road, full of discouragement - and Ren had made it easier by being able to talk with him, by being with him, because they were both able to embody the choice untaken for each other, the doubts that Susabi didn't have to entertain because Ren was trying those methods anyway.

They might have both been lost in searching for the best way to guide humanity, but at least they had been lost together.

He pushed through his work methodically, staring at line after line of reports, scrolls unfurled on his worktables in sterile analysis of the worlds. All he could think of was Ren bleeding out somewhere at the hands of yet another foolish, selfish batch of humans that wouldn't even care to learn enough of his name to thank him in the briefest prayer. All he could remember of the yōkai's smile was the resolute expression on his face as the spirit turned to leave Susabi behind, going off to be killed a hundred ways over until he finally couldn't pick himself up one last time. His bones would be forgotten in a remote corner of the country. His dragon would be a withered husk.

No matter how much time that Susabi could convince himself that he was giving the yōkai by staying away, in the end, it would never be enough.

He finally forced himself to participate during one of the councils, speaking up over a minor matter regarding a few netherworld rifts in the northern Tohoku region. All the other gods stammered as they fell in line to agree. Susabi didn't even remember what he had said, only half his attention on the conversation; he might have ordered them to double the guard, or remove it altogether. He couldn't find enough enthusiasm to care.

Afterwards, one of the gods caught his sleeve as they were dispersing back to their own offices. "It is so good to hear your opinions again, Lord Susabi," she ventured slyly, using her fan to wave slow beats of air across her face. Her hair rippled in lazy coils; the serpent tucked among them kept peeking suspiciously at Susabi, its tongue flickering out to taste the breeze. "Your authority in these matters does much to guide our defenses. And how is, mmm, your personal project going? I'd heard you were trying to restore a yōkai to godhood. If anyone could succeed, I am certain you would be capable, my lord."

News of the rumor mill only sparked dull interest through Susabi's daze. He should not have been surprised that there had been gossip, what with his frequent disappearances down to the mortal world. He made a perfunctory shake of his head. "No. He's safer as only a yōkai. It would be best if he were never to become enshrined again."

The god nodded smugly, assuming inadequacy on the part of what she believed to be a lesser spirit, and swept on.

Susabi skipped the next three assemblies in a row.

The weeks turned. Susabi stayed in Takamagahara. He pulled the blinds closed on every window in his estate, unable to bear seeing the skies. The moon counted down each month in a merciless devouring of time. In the mortal world, the seasons would be shifting in an endless march forward, grinding humans down into dust.

In the mortal world, Ren might already be dead.

Susabi tried to focus on his duties. He performed horribly.

His workrooms were sullen and quiet, gloomy without fresh air and light. The paperwork had stacked up, scrolls left haphazardly open. His main table was a mess of tasks left undone. He shoved the trays aside in an attempt to clear space, and nearly knocked everything off - including the shimenawa hanging forlornly on its stand.

Cursing his own carelessness, Susabi caught it before it could topple over. He reached up and touched the braid carefully with a finger, running his finger along the fibers, trying to reassure himself that it was still intact.

"I won't add to that cycle," he whispered to it, trying to will his determination back into force, into a cold logic that would give him strength. "I won't take the risk of hurting you."

In his mind, he could almost hear Ren's voice echoing back, patient no matter how long the argument ran: If we do not even give them the chance to begin with, then how will they recognize moments of choice when they come?

Susabi's hand froze.

It had been a moment of choice for him. But only two paths had been present in his mind at the time: to either join the torrent of voices demanding things from Ren, or keep him safe by refraining altogether. It had seemed so clear at that moment. If Susabi could not be confident in his own self-control, then he did not dare to tempt it.

But he had been the only one insisting on his own powerlessness. He had balked at the very start. When presented with the possibility of following in the footsteps of both their villages, Susabi had come to a full stop. There was nothing noble in the decision; if Susabi was afraid of repeating exactly what his own village had done to him, then this was simply another form of it. This was letting someone else die because Susabi was too afraid to find out if he was strong enough to stand on his own.

He had always tried to be above the same humans who had killed him. Now, he was refusing to test himself to see if he actually was.

How many times have the people you've helped dismissed the wishes in your heart, he'd asked. And then, in his arrogance, Susabi had done precisely that. Ren had given him the opportunity to see if he could stand strong in his own beliefs, and he had flung it back in the spirit's face. He had laid out Ren's soul and rejected him in nearly the same breath, deciding that there was only one way to keep the yōkai safe.

To keep them both safe. That had been the true root of it all.

Susabi sank into his chair, digging the heels of his hands against his forehead as the bitter clarity of truth rushed in.

The possibility of making a mistake with Ren had seemed so unimaginable that he'd shied away entirely. But it had been his own pain that Susabi had thought about most, couched under Ren's as a pretense - his terror at becoming something that he wasn't sure he could ever forgive in himself. He'd been given the chance. And he'd said no, just like so many of the humans that Ren had tried to help, because he'd defaulted to the same degree of excuses: that he simply wasn't capable, that it wasn't his nature, and so creatures like Ren were admirable, but impossible to match.

And Ren - true to form - Ren had taken the responsibility onto his own shoulders, like drinking a cup of poisoned wine at a table fast enough that no one else would have a chance to taste even a drop. He was making himself pay the price, because Susabi hadn't wanted to.

Susabi had made a promise. And Ren had watched as it had immediately been ripped apart, piece by piece, right in front of him - and then he had lowered his head in acceptance, as elegantly as if he had been kneeling on the banks of a river, waiting patiently for an execution.

Susabi shook his head, dismissing the image along with his uncertainty. "I refuse," he whispered again, to the empty air of his workroom. He reached out to the shimenawa a second time, gently caressing the braid with the back of his knuckle, as he might have once touched the face of its crafter. "I refuse to be like them."

He pushed himself to his feet.

---

A simple divination pinpointed Ren's location in the south of San'you, drifting along the coastline near Shikoku. The reason was clear enough for his wandering: he was deep in the wilderness where several rifts to the netherworld simmered, continually bubbling over with energies. None of them were volatile enough to warrant emergency action. Wards had been established long ago, and merely needed maintenance.

But power still leaked through. A fresh wave had congealed near the ocean like a knot of fat clouds, gathering strength before it would inevitably drift towards human settlements, and Susabi guessed at Ren's intent even before he confirmed the yōkai's proximity.

He could feel the two powers in conflict as soon as he stepped into the human world, the energies as heavy as a thunderstorm that had glutted itself on a week of summer heat. The unyielding pressure of Ren's talismans felt like a wall painted on the sky itself - a literal one, Susabi realized, as he suddenly noticed the stillness of the air where an ocean breeze should have been, the waves muffled in their perpetual roar.

Lacking his former power, the yōkai could not purify the nether force directly - but he could imprison it in place as the winds that would have carried the pollution onwards exhausted their strength. Blocked from their course, the energies bled away harmlessly into the air, washed clean by sky and shore. Ren and his dragon worked in practiced, efficient tandem, ofuda whirling like a flurry of golden insects as the two of them faced what seemed like an endless tide, and refused to yield any ground.

Somewhere, a village would be spared because of what Ren was doing today. Somewhere, a stranger would not sicken: would not weaken, not wither, not die.

The nether force was pinned down, but it would take hours to finish spinning out its wrath. Susabi could already see the barrier of winds straining, slipping at the edges and forced to push itself continually back into place. Every time the clouds bulged past, Ren bowed his shoulders and leaned forward, wrestling the power from his own soul to drive them away once more.

Planting his feet firmly, Susabi lifted his own hand, and called the stars down from the heavens.

Divine fire took shape joyously around him, forming comets that flung themselves gleefully towards destruction. They roared through the sky like molten hail, unerringly soaring past Ren while leaving both him and his dragon untouched. The stormfront shattered in a series of moonlit bursts as the stars ripped its belly open and ruthlessly chased down the remains. The remnants of its energy dispersed harmlessly under the force of the explosions. Each star burst further into chains of light that danced through the air with a firework's giddy abandon - and Ren turned in surprise, pulling his arms tightly around himself as if he expected to be next.

Then he recognized Susabi, and the shifting of his expression - transforming from uncertainty into raw, desperate yearning - was all the answer Susabi needed.

The distance between them was no wider than a courtyard. Susabi destroyed that too, crossing the grass in long steps until he had gathered Ren up in his arms, hearing Ren's voice whisper his name over and over. His hand cradled the back of Ren's head; his fingers tangled in pale hair. Every excuse he might have harbored had been scattered along with the clouds, abandoned to the ocean, as Susabi held Ren tight to him and gulped down huge breaths of air that tasted only of fresh, clean wind, and nothing at all of sorrow.

---

He came back to his wits painfully, like a drunkard, clutching at Ren as if the yōkai were the only thing keeping him from dying a second time. Neither one of them had wanted to let go, tightening their grip every time the other person's weight had shifted. Inevitably, Susabi's balance had suffered, gravity finally refusing to be ignored; when he reluctantly straightened up, loosening his hands from Ren's shoulders, he almost lost all sense of willpower again at the sight of Ren looking back up at him, golden eyes so familiar and so close.

And then Ren pulled him back down and kissed him, carefully, delicately, giving Susabi plenty of time to pull away if that was what he desired.

It wasn't. Susabi kissed back, hungrily, refusing to second-guess his own wishes this time, accepting Ren's permission - and then kept kissing Ren, trying to be careful around the yōkai's horns, until he finally gave up and pulled Ren down to the ground with him. sitting on the grass as he tugged Ren into his lap. Their knees tangled clumsily, Ren making a surprised, delighted yelp as Susabi leaned back and pulled the yōkai over onto him, no height concerns now that neither one of them were standing.

He touched his lips carefully to Ren's face, his neck, allowing his fingers to slide over the other spirit reverently, memorizing each inch. Ren's caution mirrored Susabi's own; they traded unspoken questions of permission, each touch slow as their hands explored each other, both of them asking and receiving with every careful tug of their robes, exposing skin to the air, to the sun, to each other.

And then Ren stretched up, laughing softly, his eyes full of affection as his hair spilled across Susabi's shoulders. He smiled down at Susabi, sliding a hesitant hand along the waist of Susabi's outer robe, fingers dipping between it and the layers underneath - before pausing and looking back up at him in a silent question.

Susabi kissed him hard in response, pulling at his own clothing in an attempt to get it off and only yanking the robe clumsily against his own belly. Ren laughed again - the sound almost unbearably sweet - and slid both his palms up over Susabi's chest like a blessing, like benevolence, as if Ren was smoothing away every fear and concern Susabi had ever entertained as easily as he pushed off the rest of Susabi's robes, baring his shoulders to the sky.

But when Ren reached down towards his waist again, Susabi shook his head, catching the yōkai's hand - his first refusal. "Wait. Just for now," he reassured, to dispel the concern in Ren's expression, and pulled his hand up to press Ren's fingers against his lips. Both of them were already sweaty and sticky, and there were better places to rut than on the ground in the wilderness; never mind that they had been doing exactly that, regardless. "I need to tell you something first."

Nodding, still recovering his breath, Ren sat back, his composure pulled on deftly despite how his clothes were disheveled, unraveled in a tangle of gold and blue around his waist. Thankfully, his dragon had left them both in peace; Susabi had dim memories of it flitting away, while his own had been left behind in Takamagahara again. It made it easier to speak with just the two of them there - but not by much.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate on anything except for the warmth of Ren's body against him. "Ren. If there is anything in this human world I would protect, it would be you. If you become a god again, and humans neglect you once more, I will destroy their village myself to save you from them until another village is worth receiving you. I will do this over and over, as I protect all the spirits in Takamagahara and help bring balance to this world, and I swear I will always include you first in my domain. I promise you this, Ichimoku Ren," he added fiercely, aware of the years of broken trust that lay like bones in both their histories. To fall short now in sincerity would be unforgivable. Shallow assurances had filled both their lives; Susabi knew how keenly a frivilous vow would hurt.

Refusing to surrender to his own fear again, he cupped Ren's chin, keeping his attention fixed on the yōkai. "And I also promise that you will not have to grant me whatever patience it takes until I finally trust myself not to take advantage of you. That is my responsibility. You should not pay the price while you wait. But I will succeed, Ren. I will do better than all the people who haven't even tried in the past. I will honor the effort that you want to see in this world - and I will believe in you."

Ren managed to keep his composure for all but the end of Susabi's words. His gaze finally dropped, but the wavering smile that blossomed on his face was warm. "I didn't want to let you go," he admitted. "I could do it for my village. I could accept relinquishing myself, and my divinity. But for you... I thought that this would be the loss that would define the rest of my existence forever as a yōkai." He closed his eyes long enough to press his cheek into Susabi's touch; then, opening them once more, he caught Susabi's hand and placed a kiss against his palm, as softly as a secret.

"In all the years to come," he confessed into Susabi's skin, so quietly that it was nearly lost under the sound of the ocean waves, "I was certain that when I would think back to the one moment I lost something I would regret forever, it would have been the day I walked away from you."

Ren stopped there, and then - ignoring all restraint - tugged Susabi back towards him, his kiss as hungry as if he were making up for a hundred missed opportunities. Even when he paused for air, he refused to release Susabi entirely, fingers pressing tight against skin, along Susabi's ribs, guiding his body until the yōkai had slid back across Susabi's lap and was looking down at him with defiant affection.

"Musubi involves both giving and taking," he announced, his voice far calmer than the flush on his cheeks betrayed. "That's how souls flourish in balance. So here is my promise for you, Susabi. For everything you take from me, I will take something back as well. And whatever I offer to you will come because you offered me something first." He started to lean in again, and Susabi found himself automatically yielding, his whole weight tilting towards that warmth - but then the yōkai lifted his chin, unwilling to leave the full matter unaddressed. "As I am safe with you, so too you will be safe with me. For as long as that understanding exists... will you accept it, Susabi? Will you accept me? That you can trust yourself in my care, always, and I will never be lost in yours?"

Chuckling, Susabi caught and pulled the yōkai down until he could kiss him once, twice, again and again, relishing the sweetness of everything he could hold - everything that was given to him, and everything he could give.

"Yes," he vowed, and it felt like a prayer, the most important one of all: an invocation to Ren in every breath.