Syzygy
(n): a conjunction of opposition, especially with the moon or sun or occurrence when three or more celestial bodies align or a pair of connected/corresponding things
Nishiki reached out, eyes blown wide, screaming: "Flannel!"
But it was useless, and the darkness proved it was useless by lashing out—devouring everything in sight. Flannel's body folded like a paper-doll, a black-and-white blur as he fell, fell, fell into oblivion, disappearing as a shadow into the moonless unknown. And Nishiki reached out his hand, stretched it so hard he could feel his bones unraveling, voice strained against his throat as he screamed.
He sat up straight in a flash, gasping and heaving for air. Sweat fell down the sides of his face, and amber eyes strained then darkened from the stress of it all. His thoughts were static, blurred, and too difficult to decipher in the moment. He turned his head sideways, and glanced at the body sleeping next to him…
Flannel. Nishiki almost sobbed as he grabbed at him, and bunched up the fabric of Flannel's sleeping shirt in his hands. His body shook, head bent low at his own admission—vision scintillating with colors and tears.
How did it come to this?
A moment later, Flannel stirred. Sleepy at first, then awake. "Wha—Nishiki? Are you alright?" He sat upright, the exhaustion in his eyes replaced by concern. "Did you have a bad dream?"
"I'm sorry," Nishiki murmured. "It's nothing. Please go back to sleep. I just—"
"You can tell me."
"Sure I can. That's not the problem, though. I'm sure you're tired—you should get some rest."
Flannel frowned. "We're both supposed to rest, remember? That's why you wanted to sleep with me?"
Nishiki, too influenced by humans and his own distress, couldn't help but blush at the words spoken just then. "You should really watch your phrasing."
"I don't need to hear that from you of all people," Flannel snorted. "But okay."
"..." Nishiki winced.
Flannel sighed. "It's that bad, huh? Are you sure you don't want to tell me about it?"
The fox shook his head. "I can't even—I don't remember it."
"You don't remember what you were dreaming about?"
"Nope."
"Even though it made you wake up in the middle of the night?"
Nishiki shrunk in on himself: arms wrapped around his knees, voice lowered to a hush, amber eyes hidden in the shadows of his limbs. "Even then."
"I'm sorry," Flannel muttered. "I'm also sorry that I wasn't able to make you sleep peacefully. You've been having a shitty time these past few nights, haven't you?"
Nishiki looked up, face screwed up in a curious yet grave expression. "It's not your fault, Flannel."
Are you sure about that? Flannel thought but did not say. "Still. I know we're super busy these days. You deserve to get a little peace, a moment for yourself." He remembered the way Nishiki looked in that prison those days ago, when he was half-dead on the floor. When he couldn't do much of anything for himself, let alone speak or sleep. Flannel's hands tightened into fists at the very thought of it. Never again. "Since neither of us can get back to sleep, how about some tea?"
Nishiki blinked owlishly. "You hate tea."
"Yeah," Flannel admitted. "But you don't."
And Nishiki couldn't even argue against that, or deny how comforting the tea ended up being. Green tea, infused with passionfruit and jasmine, was quite a treat, and a technique that Nishiki wasn't sure how Flannel knew himself, so when he asked for an explanation he was surprised to see him grow shy over it. A faint blush covered his face, his scarlet eyes averted to some other place that wasn't Nishiki.
But when he spoke, his voice was coated in certainty. "I asked Orochi for a thing or two about tea. Maybe three. I dunno. I mean, I still don't really like her, but—"
"You clearly like her enough to ask her how to make tea," Nishiki pointed out. He smiled happily as Flannel began to protest. "Thanks, Flannel. This is nice."
"You're welcome," Flannel said.
I'd pull the stars out of the sky for you, he thought but didn't say.
.
.
.
Nishiki sat cross-legged on the ground, right in front of a roaring campfire. Across from him was Orochi, sitting with Kagerou as they gossipped about something Nishiki couldn't possibly understand. To his right was Elise, tending to her healing staff and patching up a torn hole in her clothes. She was seated next to Sakura, who had gone about fixing her own clothes. Nishiki noticed that the Hoshidan princess' hair was growing longer these days, despite having been cut recently. He smiled at this mundane yet pleasant fact.
There were others scattered in their general vicinity, as well. Zero and Asura, who had an archery contest then started bonding over drinks, as well as retainers Luna, Lasward, and Odin, a trio who seemed oddly close as they sat together on a different log, red-faced and tipsy but still too quiet and collected as a whole, almost like they wanted to cherish this moment more than anything. Leon had come by earlier, as well, and Aqua had dropped by to check in on her younger sisters before sauntering off to who-knows-where.
Then there was Flannel, whose handsome face was illuminated by the light of the campfire as he approached. "Hey Nishiki," he greeted. "Mind if I sit here?"
Nishiki glanced at the empty log to the right of him. Perhaps it was strange to sit on the ground instead of the makeshift seating provided for them, but— "Of course not. Go ahead." And as Flannel nodded, taking his seat next to Nishiki, the fox continued to speak. "How are you?"
"Just fine. Went on a patrol with Harold and Pieri." Flannel shrugged. "Same old, same old."
"I see."
"And you?"
Nishiki's gaze was better at staying grounded these days, but there was something positively dreamy in his eyes as he glanced downward, hands gently running through his misshapen strands of hair. "Combing my hair."
"Oh." Flannel reached out and gently patted Nishiki's head, admiring his grooming efforts for what they were.
Once upon a time, the fox had loved all sorts of affectionate and adoring acts such as that. In fact, he even fished for compliments and acts of physical affection. Now, at Flannel's display of affection, Nishiki's shoulders visibly tensed up, his face making a sour expression. And yet, before Flannel could muster an apology, Nishiki relaxed. Then he gave into the other's touch with a deep sigh. "Have I...told you this story before?"
"What story?"
"About the comb."
Flannel saw in darkness almost as perfectly as he did in the light, so of course he saw it: the pristine white shape, the mother-of-pearls strung along the bone like a beautiful decoration, the impeccable form of perfect teeth. He had seen this very comb before, but he always assumed it was a normal object, just like the rest of Nishiki's extensive collection of self-care and self-hygiene products.
But for Nishiki to bring up a story for the comb must have meant it was important to him. Flannel's tail began to wag faster as he answered, "No, I don't think you have."
"It's nothing much," Nishiki mumbled, gaze downcast on the object in question. "It's an heirloom."
Heirloom? "So your parents—"
"My mother gave this to me as a gift a long, long time ago. Like, a really long time ago."
"Wow. It's gorgeous, and fits your image perfectly." Flannel's thoughts began to naturally wonder about Nishiki's mother, but instead of voicing his curiosities, he said, "You took good care of it, I can tell."
The fox grinned. He hid a laugh behind a slender hand, but in doing so one particular bruise stuck out against the honey of his skin. Flannel remembered some unpleasant things in the same vein(torture torture torture), tensed up, and failed to relax as Nishiki continued to speak effortlessly. "Thank you. I'm quite proud of this, actually. It's one of the few things I still have of my mother."
"..."
"Other than my own memory, obviously." He began to run the comb through his hair.
Flannel didn't miss a beat. "What was she like?"
Nishiki paused mid-comb. "What?"
"Your mother," Flannel nudged quietly, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "What was she like?"
"..."
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"No, I want to." Nishiki turned slightly, eyes burning with some strange emotion. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"
"From you, I'd listen to pretty much anything." Flannel noticed the way Nishiki's cheeks lit up, and resisted kissing him right then and there. "So come on. Tell me."
"Okay."
That night, Nishiki told a tale about a beautiful woman named Nozomi, and the struggles she had in her love life. He talked about Nozomi, Hibiki, Kaneko, and Hanabi, and explained who each of them were and what they meant to each other. He spoke about people that no longer walked the earth—voice turning bittersweet at their names and stories—eyes locked in the faraway starlight. And whenever he felt as though Nishiki got too lost in the memories, Flannel gently pulled him out of it, his hands clamped around Nishiki's wrist and his gaze affixed to him. Prying. Powerful. Present. At this, Nishiki would laugh and apologize for his behavior, still, to which Flannel would immediately forgive him for, before asking for more stories. Stories about his mom, his dad, and their past lovers. Stories about how despite all the love they had, they shared the best parts with each other, enough that a child would be born out of their union.
Enough that Nishiki, beautiful and perfect and always himself, would be loved. Oh, he was so loved. Even when he failed, even when he cried, even when he felt like nothing more than a child—Nishiki had always been loved.
And he would always be loved. Flannel made sure of it, not through his words, but through the tenderness of his touch—rough fingertips going gentle as they swept over Nishiki's knuckles, and rubbing delicately at Nishiki's hands. Through the reverence in his eyes, those dark red irises, which would brighten and burn at the sight of his best friend and lover. Through the affirmation of his voice, tiny murmurs and hums that would be lost in the night, if it weren't for the eager fox soaking up every ounce of Flannel in his complicated glory.
As the fire roared and as the night went on, those two stayed by each other's side, and Nishiki spoke the most he had in months, voice rising to a familiar and friendly lilt, long-gone-out flames snuffing themselves back to life in the glints of his eyes.
Eventually, the fox grew tired, and all nine tails curled protectively around himself as he leaned onto Flannel's shoulder, eyes closed into a soft stupor. Then his voice hushed to the point of silence, heartbeat steady as he fell asleep to the rhythm in Flannel's chest.
And Flannel grew weary, too. He'd say goodnight to the humans who couldn't stand being out in the cold any longer, as well as his friends that gave him happy looks and knowing smiles as their gazes fell upon both him and Nishiki. Then he'd stare at Nishiki for a good minute or so, and wonder how it is they got to this point in their lives. How something as simple as friendship blooming at an unexpected rate at an unexpected time could grow into something so much more.
Then, right before succumbing to sleep himself, Flannel plucked Nishiki's pearl comb out of his hands, and put it into a place for safekeeping until the morning greeted them bright.
He'd sleep like a baby mere moments after.
.
.
.
"Where is it? Where is it?!"
"Nishiki! Nishiki, calm down—"
"My comb! Where is it? I just had it! Oh, I shouldn't have fallen asleep last night. I should have stayed awake, I should have kept an eye on it, I should have—"
"Nishiki."
"...Flannel?"
"I have it. Your comb. It's safe. Please, calm down."
"Oh. Oh I'm so, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't be."
Flannel handed him the comb back in one perfect, untouched piece, and marvelled at the glassy tears forming in the corner of Nishiki's eyes.
Nishiki, coming down from a fearful high, would be too dazed to say anything but "Thank you."
.
.
.
"You know, I don't think I've ever told you about my parents."
Nishiki paused. He'd been tending to a garden that Mozume started a while back, and helping some of the plants bear fruit. His hands were covered in dirt and leaves when he turned to Flannel with an incredulous look in his eyes. "...Oh."
"What is it?"
"I-I mean, yeah, I think you're right. About your parents, I mean." Nishiki clapped the dirt off the palms of his hands and stood to his feet. "You've never told me about them."
Flannel shrugged. "Guess not. You got a minute?"
"Of course."
Flannel led Nishiki by the hand, ignoring his protests ("I'm covered in dirt!" Nishiki cried out, as though that ever stopped Flannel before), until they reached the perfect spot nearby. A clearing that had the view of the night sky above them, and countless flowers around them. Nishiki spotted some fireflies hovering nearby, their lights flickering on and off in the evening dark.
With a huff, Flannel sat down, right in the middle of the clearing with his back pressed to the ground.
Nishiki, with some hesitance, did the same.
Flannel started things off by saying, "I guess I was just thinking of them because the other day, you mentioned your folks and stuff."
"Mm." Nishiki closed his eyes against the night sky, and felt the weight of his eyelids for the first time in a long time. Quietly, he said, "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
"Yeah, I know."
"So, your parents…"
"..."
"Flannel?"
"I didn't realize how much I missed them until now. Until you mentioned yours. Until I really thought about the wolves back home, my entire pack."
"Right."
"Once this is all over, I'd have to return there."
"Me too. I mean, I'd go back to the hamlet once I repaid all the favors here."
Flannel's mouth twitched at the thought of it. "Is that really something you're capable of doing?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, you won't run out of favors? You'll actually stop repaying them one day? And do what you want to do, instead of what other people want?"
"..."
"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Gods, I really know how to do that well, don't I?"
Nishiki giggled. "It's not that. You have a point about the favors, though. It does have to end somewhere, I-I'm just not sure where."
"I see."
"And I'm not sure what sort of stories or myths the wolves on Mount Garou believe, but…" Nishiki stretched his arm skyward, and pointed at the brightest star. "The foxes in my hamlet have a story about those that die. And how, even after they reincarnate, part of them stays in the sky with Inari Okami."
"..."
"They become a star."
"Wow, even your stories are pretty." Flannel smiled. "A star, huh? Even if it's just a part of you, or whatever, isn't that kind of scary?"
"What part of that is scary-sounding to you?"
"I mean, you'll be a star. You're far away from everyone else, and all people can really do is look at you."
"..."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't—"
"If I was a star," Nishiki cut in, "would you still love me?"
Flannel turned to look at him, but he couldn't see anything past the glimmer of his eyes, so he asked in a bare, meek voice, "What do you mean?"
"If I was a star," Nishiki repeated, "would you still love me? Or look at me?"
"Nishiki…"
"I would if it were you," he whispered. "If you were a star, if you were far away...I'd still think of you."
Oh.
Oh.
"I don't think anyone's told me that before," Flannel murmured.
Nishiki smiled. "First time for everything."
.
.
.
That same night, Flannel and Nishiki talked about everything. And nothing. And all that exists between that.
Nishiki listened eagerly to the story of Flannel's parents, and his many different siblings that existed in time periods before him. That never got to exist to meet Flannel, or the rest of their siblings, for that matter.
He didn't comment much on those parts, but Flannel somehow understood what Nishiki meant to say.
Your family would be so proud of you right now.
And the moon was at its highest point in the sky when Flannel said, "We wolves don't know anything about the stars, but there's a story about the moon."
"Really?"
"Yeah! Something about how when a wolf leaves this plane of existence, the Moon Goddess takes them in her embrace, and that's what makes the moon shine brighter at times." Flannel softened, his eyes and hair every bit like the moon he so revered. "Which is why a full moon is so important. It's a reflection of the past, the future, and pretty much everything in between."
Nishiki's eyes gleamed with understanding. "I get it," he muttered. "Our stories are pretty similar. We have the stars, you have the moon. It makes sense to me."
"Me too."
"So, if you ever become the moon, far away from where I can't reach…" Nishiki held Flanenl's hand in his own, intertwining their fingers and laughing at the small remnants of warmth he found there. "Then I will never take my eyes away from you."
Flannel, for all his charm and wit, said nothing in reply.
All he could think about was Nishiki, and how lonely his lips looked in the pale moonlight.
But he remembered the words he said to Orochi in the past, and the promise made to himself.
I have to go slow, he thought. I don't want to overwhelm him.
I don't want to make the same mistakes as last time.
Despite everything, Flannel did nothing more than nod, and brush his hand past Nishiki's face, admiring the angle of his cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes. Nishiki, quiet and content, sighed in response. His eyes fluttered closed and he brought Flannel's hand to his face, feeling his warmth and his skin for what it was.
For what it had yet to be.
"I should go now," Flannel muttered. "It's late and I've kept you up long enough."
"You always know how to keep me in suspense," Nishiki laughed. "It's almost cruel."
Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. "Nishiki…"
"Stay." Nishiki frowned. "Please? A little longer? For me?"
I can't. I shouldn't. But— "Just a moment," Flannel compromised. "I'll stay for a moment and nothing more."
Nishiki, in all his mischief, beauty, arrogance, vulnerability, and brokenness, smiled. He smiled bright and wide—fox-like in every aspect including his own—gleaming and sharp like a predator, but soft and sweet like a prey. He smiled, and the world paused. He smiled, and Flannel felt his heart fall out of its own beat. Crazy. Erratic. Rhythmic.
Nishiki smiled, and the words that followed were smooth, simple, and straight to the point.
"A moment is all I need."
Flannel had no time to react as Nishiki leaned in and dragged him by the wrist, until his whole body yielded to his touch, until his eyes widened, until his head snapped forth, until his feet stumbled over each other, until his heart beat faster, until his face filled with flush, until his teeth and bones rattled with wanting, until—
Until Nishiki kissed him.
And Flannel, though cautious and careful and quick to learn from his mistakes, was no fool in this moment.
He kissed him back.
.
.
.
The sun never found the moon so painfully before.
Nishiki kissed Flannel, emotions warped and pent-up, but straightened out as pure conviction left his heart, traveled through his throat, and out of his mouth.
Every confusing thought, every dark future, every muddied past—
All of it disappeared at once, caught in a sweeping wave of emotion and wanderlust, and perhaps lust of a different kind, powerful and passionate as his hands couldn't help but wander, all on their own, like every part of Nishiki was separated from one another, and needed to physically anchor itself back to Flannel if he ever had a hope of surviving.
He kissed Flannel, drank his sweet breath and ate up his words, savoring his surprise and his hesitance in full. Flannel had spoken of an old humans' tale about a big bad wolf, and how it ate up all the sheep.
But what of the fox?
In this tale, in their wonderfully twisted and twistedly wonderful story, the fox was neither trickster nor victim. He was simply one half of a whole; a sun to a wolf's ever-changing moon. He was a living creature, and living things needed each other to survive.
Every kiss, every touch, every sigh and word out of Flannel's mouth was a breath that Nishiki didn't know he needed.
Not until he realized how long he'd gone without it, how touch-starved and heart-broken he'd been, in more ways than one, due to extraneous circumstances but also circumstances of the heart. And Flannel allowed him his remedy—molding his body to Nishiki's, matching passion-for-passion. His hands hovered over Nishiki's shoulders, neck, then head, not quite sure of where to go. But Nishiki guided him in his kiss, pulling him in, drinking him more, going further, and further, and further still. Flannel's hands found themselves cupping Nishiki's face, holding his bones and skin and blood in his hands so carefully that it all might collapse if he was just a touch too harsh. And even though Flannel was ambushed at first, he quickly caught up to speed, riding the rhythm of their love without missing a beat.
He beckoned Nishiki closer, pulling and pushing as much as he did, eliciting his breath in sweet, sweet sighs and yelps as Flannel added force. Not too much to be uncomfortable or painful, but just enough to keep him on edge—to straighten out the bends in the rods of his spine. Enough that Nishiki's voice shifted into sweet dulcet tones, longing and wanting and bright.
Flannel pulled him in closer, but stumbled as Nishiki slipped out of his grasp, like water, like a snake—slinking towards the shadows.
For a second, Flannel despaired, thinking he'd gone too far or crossed some invisible boundary. But when Nishiki turned back to look at him, Flannel realized he wasn't retreating out of fear or disgust.
Follow me, his eyes seemed to say. Come, come, come. Come to me, Flannel.
Watch the sun as it sets.
And Flannel, ever loyal and ever loving, obeyed.
.
.
.
Flannel hadn't realized how hungry Nishiki was. Nor did he realize how fast he could run, his body carrying nothing except the weight of its heart.
They came to a standstill in some abandoned ruins somewhere—space and time becoming unimportant to Flannel. All he knew was that they were standing in the remnants of a place that once was, and in the rubble of the past laid a beautiful stage for their current love, bright white stones completely engulfed in the moon's light.
Stars shining above them in tandem.
"Nishiki," Flannel said hastily, out of breath, out of time. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know," Nishiki admitted. His voice wasn't the least bit apologetic or regretful, but there was some other emotion in there, too. It had been there before, but Flannel still didn't know what to call it. Or where to place it in the mess of his own heart. "Stringing you along, for one. Or ruining your life, for another."
"You—" are my life— "could never ruin anything." Flannel took Nishiki's hand and placed it over his own beating chest. "You are everything to me."
"Flannel—"
"I love you."
"I love you, too." Nishiki kissed him on the cheek, but pulled away before it could evolve into something more. "But that's the problem, see. I don't want you to think—to fear—that this is wrong. That we're going too fast. That I'm overly fragile. That I'm something that's going to break."
"..."
"I know it. I know your fears, because they're mine, as well. I know the look on your face, the thoughts in your head. I know what other people are thinking, too."
"That's—"
"I won't break," Nishiki insisted. "Not anymore."
"..."
"The problem is, I might already be dead."
Alarm settled in, freezing the warmth in Flannel's veins like ice. "What?"
"I could be dead," Nishiki pointed out. His smile was less cruel and more sorrowful. "This could all be a lie, or a dream I'm having. I could be dead."
"Or you could be alive."
"And how do you know that?"
"You're alive," Flannel said. "I'll prove it to you."
Moon and stars shared their light on that night, bright beams cast over them, the two lovers lost in the shadows of broken pillars and forgotten homes. Flannel grabbed Nishiki, and—with one hand supporting the back of his head, the other hand snatching his body and bringing him closer to Flannel—kissed him. Kissed him hard, with enough friction that their fangs and lips overlapped, that bare bones scraped against flesh and blood came out, that Nishiki's scream morphed into something pleasurable and happy, that Flannel's sighs escaped him only to be devoured by someone else.
Then he laid him down, hands caressing all over his body, but then focused down on his chest. On his clothes. The haori, the shirt, the shoes, the scarf—he had never been so quick to disarm Nishiki before. To disrobe him. To tease at the ribbons and ties, to smirk when Nishiki laughed beneath him, to laugh as well when the pretenses finally faded away.
"I love you," Flannel whispered, destroying the boundaries between them one-by-one. "I love you more than the sun."
"I love you, too." Nishiki reached upward, his hand delicately placed against Flannel's face. Sprawled out on the ground, hair messy, body half bathed in the moonlight and half obscured by disheveled clothing—Nishiki was a vision in the night. "You're my moon."
"And I meant it when I said you're alive."
Nishiki smiled, mischievous. "Did you also mean it when you said you'd prove it to me?"
Flannel laughed and laughed, his one hand roaming downward, while the other tossed away the last layers of clothing separating them. Nishiki had also been quick to remove everything from Flannel, as all the layers and shirts and buttons were cumbersome. Annoying. But they were gone and all that remained were the contours of their skin, pure honey and silk pitted against each other. Warmth and cold in one beautiful embrace. A single moment away from melting.
"I did," Flannel said. "And I will."
Nishiki's skin blushed raw and red at Flannel's touch, both of their eyes bright and wild and sharp—teeth gleaming in the starlight. And theirs is a story not of the wolf eating the sheep, but of the wolf and the fox, devouring each other. Loving each other. The fox then wrapped his arms around the wolf's neck and leaned in to whisper, voice dusty and sweet and low.
"Then show me."