time out

A/N: This was originally written back in 2021, and it's such a bummer that it didn't see the light of publishing until now. Revisions and additions have been made for the continuity.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Kento doesn't pine. He struggles, trudges, flounders, and eventually falls.

AKA: Kento Nanami doesn't want a lot of things in life, but he wants her (in it).

Their days in Ehime pass quickly. Besides the three primary yokai she's been sent to hunt, she takes him along for her other errands here, namely visiting the many temples in the area and inspecting the seals of the protective wards. He's never really shown interest in the onmyodo community, but seeing her perform these rituals makes him think to reconsider his position as a jujutsu sorcerer and join their community instead.

"Senpai wouldn't like that, Nanami-san," she laughed then, "but the omyodo community always welcomes new devouts!"

Then they visit small museums and galleries, historical sites, and even natural formations. Kumakogen is severely different from Tokyo, and he thinks to visit his family in Kanazawa soon. Maybe he'll even invite her. When he thought about it aloud, she replied enthusiastically.

"As long as my schedule allows for it, Nanami-san."

Back then, he thought of her smiling at him, whilst surrounded by all the Nakatsu peach blossoms, to be a sight he'd never get to see. He thinks about her too often now, despite spending each day of this trip with her, eating his meals his her, and talking about everything they see with her… It's an overflow, he thinks, an overload. He thinks he might as well turn the shade of peach blossoms, the color of the sunrise and sunset, the bright but fading color of her hair.

"There's one more thing I'd like to show you, Nanami-san, if you're alright with staying up late."

One their last afternoon, she asked him if he'd wanted to go bird watching with her. Reluctantly, he agrees, and she takes him to a campground up a mountain, telling him that the birds they're looking for can only be found in Ehime.

"Basan are what they're called."

Only then he realized that what they're looking for isn't just a bird, it was a yokai.

"They're harmless chickens, really, but the frighten easily."

She described them with much fascination, and he wondered if there was a yokai she doesn't know about.

"There's always new yokai to be found, Nanami-san."

And when she spotted it, she pulled him quietly behind her, close to her, right beside her. His skin touched hers and the small voice began again–

"There, look."

But he stopped it, he stopped it and any other thought about her because he saw it too. The basan looked like a chicken, albeit larger, and breathed fire. They were gathering around what looked to be the remains of a large bonfire. Then they began eating the charred wood and the ashes, beating their fiery wings in what looked to be satisfaction.

"That's where they get their name," she spoke, "basabasa, basabasa…"

They watched the birds in silence, and he couldn't see her expression in the dark, but he was thankful she couldn't either, else he thinks his entire body would be as red as the basan's plummage. Then a dog started barking nearby, startling the basan, who all ruffled and beat their feather before vanishing.

"Well," she sighed then, "that was a very abrupt ending. I guess we should head back now."

She didn't tell him it was getting late, and neither did he, but when they arrived back at the hotel, she did ask him, "Do you want to hang around for a bit?"

And he told her, "Of course."

And she smiled like it was something he was supposed to say.

Now, they're seated at the inn's outdoor dining. He's sipping his drink and she's picking the last of her food, and somehow they've found nothing else to talk about. He looks at his plate and she looks at hers, then suddenly she takes out a marker.

She draws a line on the skin of her palm and asks him if he can see it.

"What do you think of palm-reading?"

It's not often they can have conversations like this, in the dim time between night and day. And it's not often that he stays up with her, joins the graveyard shift with her, messes up his entire routine just to be with her in a faraway place–

They're just friends, aren't they?

"It's one of the many things that wasn't passed down to us."

She draws another line, and completes the character for seven–nana.

"But now, you've got pop-up stalls all over Japan and online celebrities claiming they can read your fortune."

Beside it, she begins drawing another character.

"Have you ever been to one, Nanami-san?"

The lines are jumbled and a mess, but he can read it–mi.

She's written his name on the palm of her hand, and he feels his face start to burn. He looks above him, at the insects buzzing around the hazy light, trying to ignore the heat flooding his body.

He is far from the cold, empty lights of Tokyo, and here in the lush and verdant pines of Ehima. Maybe he shouldn't have taken the offer to accompany her here. Maybe he should have stayed in the city, and left her to do what she needed to. And maybe then he wouldn't be in this situation, in this small, quiet space with nothing but the sound of the insects and fading buzz of people and the presence of her too close to ignore.

The inn smells stale and old, but is otherwise clean and well-kept. Right now, in this hour, not many visitors would dine outside, so they're the only guests here. If they make a sound, nobody will hear it, so why is she speaking in whispers?

"No, I haven't."

Kento Nanami has been to many places and seen many people, but not a palm-reader nor even a fortune-teller.

"I can try to read yours," she says, staring at his name on her hand, "just to pass the time."

This is already past his "bedtime", he thinks. This isn't like him at all, but then again, this place is foreign to him and unfamiliar. He's seated directly across her, and he knows his knees are almost close enough to hers, and he's uncomfortable. The lightest of touches won't mean anything, he knows, but needs to keep the voice in check, he needs to keep the voice silent. Then again, why would she choose to eat outside at a time like this? Sure, it's quieter, and the air flows freely, and the stars can be seen in the sky…

"I've read some books about it before."

Unless this is what she wants, because, because…

"And I tried it on… on some people before."

…this is what he wants.

"I tried it on Ieri-senpai, and she laughed in my face saying she didn't believe in it."

That sounds like Ieri all right.

"What did you see?" He hazards the question, wondering if it was anything bad. If she'd read his, what would she see?

"The long line across her palm," she says, crossing out his name on her skin, "it signifies a long life."

"But the really strange thing, are the lines that sprout from either end of it." She draws an upward curve and a downward curve from either end of the horizontal line, "I haven't seen anything like it in the books I read, but I told her it had something to do with good fortune or something like that."

She laughs, waving her inky hand, "She told me, everything has got to do with good fortune. That it's all in the karma, anyway."

He can't help but laugh either. It's in Ieri's nature to be cynical and sarcastic, but the things she says make sense.

"Which… I can't disagree with." She breathes through her nose, "It's all about one's own luck, at the end of the day."

She picks up the marker and directs the tip to her arm.

"Won't that be a waste?" He asks.

She looks at him and he looks at the marker in her hand. It's the same marker she used here, and it's probably the one she always uses. He knows the ink is imbued with blessed energy and is close to being semi-permanent, so what she writes on whatever surface stays there.

So his name, however crossed out and messy, will stay on her palm until she decides to use it. Now, he thinks his question sounds… dumb.

"Not really," she replies, mirthful and decided on what to write, "and it doesn't matter what I write because, at the end of the day…"

She trails off as she writes in the space of her skin. He remembers the tattoo of water and koi on her arm from earlier. It was eye-catching enough with its bright blues and oranges, but seeing it in action… He remembers the tattoo itself leaping from her skin, manifesting raging waters and larger-than-life koi to subdue the nobiagari. The sight itself was breathtaking, beautiful, it was as vibrant and as majestic as anyone could have ever imagined.

But the thing about her clan's inherited technique, is that most of the grand and colorful techniques are one-time use because of their scale, at least until they're drawn again. And because they've been completing mission after mission within this short span of seven days, he's been witness to her drawing and redrawing the images and characters used in her technique.

And now, after everything, all the missions on their itinerary are complete and they're due to head back to Tokyo tomorrow, what's next?

"When are you headed for Kanazawa, Nanami-san?"

Right. Because she is going to ask at some point, and he is going to Kanazawa and meeting with his parents, and maybe introducing her to them– No, no! He quiets the voice with a steady breath.

She finishes writing with a flick and smiles down at her arm; he wants to see what she's written.

"At the end of the day, ink is just ink." She turns her arm towards him, and the characters she's written…

Na-Na-Mi-Ke-N-To.

She's written his name in kana, and the thought of it makes him flush, makes him want to avert his gaze, sink deep into the chair and disappear. He feels his own heart beating in his ribs, feels his own face start to twitch and burn–he's going to smile and the voice is going to say something and he's going to make a mistake–

"I can't exactly summon you with this, can I?" She chuckles, "I can't even write your name correctly, Nanami-san."

He exhales through his mouth, shaky and out of breath, and starts to laugh along with her.

"Even if I did, it's just a set of characters written in ink," she says, "lines and shapes in an arsenal of one-time techniques."

He looks at his name on her skin and feels the urge to trace them, use a fingertip to press his name into her arm to tell her that he, that he…

"How do you write your name, Nanami-san?" She asks, shifting to the edge of the seat. She's offering the marker to him with her other hand, and leaning her arm close for him to write.

She doesn't know how intimate this is, he thinks.

Or maybe she does, the voice chimes in.

Maybe she knows and maybe she's known it all along, and this time they have with each other in this small, quiet space can be used to… to what?

To tell her?

To, to… to confess? Clarify?

"The 'nanami', I already know."

She begins writing his surname in kanji below the kana characters.

"It's the 'kento' part I'm struggling with."

Has she never seen his full name before?

"Nanami-san?"

She looks at him with what he thinks are curious and worried eyes, and he wants to cover his entire face, knowing that he's been caught staring, dumbfounded, at her and her question. She couldn't have known, no. He's never made these confusing feelings known to anyone but himself, and he isn't so transparent as to make her feel that he's…

He's… what?

But she's waiting on an answer, and he's going to give it to her. At least, he's supposed to. So he sits up and moves closer, ignoring the way the voice hums when his knees bump against hers.

"It's written with the character for key, or lock." He says, taking the marker from her hand and proceeding to write on her arm.

He doesn't touch her anywhere else, doesn't look at anywhere else, doesn't even breathe or think, because she's already so close and her presence is so enveloping that he might choke if he didn't know his own name–

"Kento," she says, eyes focused on the characters, "so that's how it's written."

He's looking at her looking at the lines, and he hopes she won't–

But she looks up and meets his eyes. There's only such a small distance between them, still, she doesn't flinch or squirm away.

"Thank you, Nanami-san."

She seems already so comfortable around him that he could, if he wanted, if he dared–

Go ahead, the voice dares him.

No, he wouldn't.

She wants you to, the voice presses.

No, she doesn't, he grits out.

But thankfully, she leans back in her chair. And suddenly, air floods into the space between them and he can finally breathe easy.

"You have a good name." She nods.

The voice wants to tell her it's a good name to say aloud.

He refuses to let it be known, but a question bubbles in is throat.

"How do you write yours?"

Come to think of it, he's never really seen her written name either.

"It's a little easier than yours, I think," she says, "here."

She takes the marker from him and begins writing on her arm, beside his. And when she shows it, the voice wants to memorize every flick and stroke, every line and curve of her name.

"Can I…" He hesitates, "May I try?"

It's a small question asked with a hushed tone. Is he embarrassed that he asked? Not really. But is he embarrassed for asking it? Yes.

"Of course." She hands him the marker.

He pushes his jacket sleeve to his elbow and starts writing, on the same area as her arm. He follows it carefully, each and every line, trying to write it as how she has written it. But when he finishes, it comes out amateurish and shaky. It's like he's never written on his own skin before.

And he hasn't, not even in school.

"Good," she smiles, before reading her name aloud, "a little shaky, but good."

They've both got each other's names written on their skin now, and he feels like this should mean something. So he writes his name on his arm too, beside hers.

Now…

Now, it's a perfect match, the voice cheers.

He's too shocked at himself to react.

Match?

"You know, if this could summon sorcerers, everyone would probably get a tattoo of senpai's name."

Satoru would probably get a tattoo of his own name too, he thinks.

"But he can't be in two places at once," she continues, "so that'd probably be a bust. It'd be more like a…"

…a Gojo Satoru vanity project–

"…a vanity project or something."

They're on the same wavelength, so this, this entire thing–his name on her skin and her name on his skin, both written in special, permanent ink–this must mean something. The voice wants it to mean something. There are stories about special marks and symbols, fated lovers, and intertwined destinies, but he knows this isn't it.

When they leave the restaurant, he notices it's almost midnight and thinks how storybook this is. The voice tells him to kiss her goodnight.

And when they reach their rooms, the next day is just a minute away. She doesn't unlock her door and neither does he his.

Instead she turns to him, he turns to her, they turn to each other at almost the same time.

He can hear the voice, but he refuses to listen to it.

"But thank you, really, Nanami-san." She says, "I'm really grateful you came with me. It's nice to be a little less alone in a place like this."

She turns her keys and places her hand on the doorknob, but she isn't turning it. Instead, she turns to him again, opens her mouth, but stops.

Was she hesitating? Did she forget something?

The voice speaks–

"This is… nice." She smiles.

"Yeah," he echoes, "this is nice."

He looks at their names on her arm.

She looks at their names on his arm.

This must mean something.

He could smile at the thought, but she beats him to it and smiles big enough for the both of them.

"Oh, let me–" She mutters something under her breath, and then the characters are lifted from his arm to hers, "It'd be a waste if this was washed off, sorry."

The voice tells him he should have told her he'd like to keep it.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Nanami-san."

But he feels hazy, heavy, he feel like he's about to burn as red as the basan.

"See you."

He waves goodbye, and only realizes, once she's closed the door, that he's matched her smile with his own. He looks at his arm where their names once were, traces the lines from memory, and wonders about putting their names together. He thinks about the feel of her skin under his hands, the warmth of it and the warmth of her so close and so…

The voice tells him he should have kissed her, pulled her into his arms, and press his name on her skin until the ink bled through, trace his name on her skin until he's sure she's memorized every stroke and every flick–

He could have asked her, and she could have said yes, and…

And where would that place them?

The voice tells him each of their beds are big enough for two people, they could have figured it out.

Kento decides to drown that voice in cold, cold water.