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Yato has developed a habit of cleansing the Sekki after every battle, more of an expression of gratitude between god and shinki than anything else.
Yukine was a little freaked out, the first time Yato did it - understandably so, as it approached a level of intimacy he wasn't accustomed to at that time. Since then, though, it's become a natural part of their routine, as familiar as the way they walk the city's streets and sleep and everything else, side-by-side. Yukine even grudgingly admitted that it feels good, like “getting a massage and a bath in one," his cheeks dusted pink as kitten's paws and his eyes firmly averted so he wouldn't have to see the smug, proud smile on Yato's face.
Some gods complain about the time it takes to perform such rituals; when you have many divine instruments, you often worry less about the upkeep of each individual one. Maybe because having many means that there are always back-ups and devalues them, or maybe because it takes more work to care for all of them, but Yato turns his nose up at that excuse. Most other gods don't battle with their shinki often enough that it would be a hassle to clean them after each use - certainly not as often as Yato does, being the sort of divine stray that takes whatever commissions he gets and can't afford to depend on idle prayers to sustain him, unlike Tenjin or Kofuku.
(Hiyori remains his only human believer, and while the strength of her belief is nothing to sneeze at, it can't build him a widespread following that would ensure his survival.)
Even if he is untouchable by mortal standards, Yato knows he is by no means a perfect god himself, but at least he doesn't take the Sekki for granted. As far as shinki go, Yukine is all Yato has, and all Yato wants. There’s something to be said for the one-on-one type of bond that leads a god and a weapon to rely on each other completely, something about unwavering trust and mutual appreciation that runs as deep as the chasm between the Near and Far Shores. There are many facets to Yato's love for his shinki, and this cleansing is only one of them.
So after every stormy night, Yato sits at another god’s shrine with the blades laid across his lap, dips a washcloth into the trough of holy water, and meticulously scrubs away the blood and grime and toxic flecks of Ayakashi remains. The last one was an enormous spider-like abomination that glowed neon yellow and ugly green, and the Sekki handled it like it was nothing. His talent never ceases to amaze. For one so young and relatively inexperienced, Yukine has the power to match just about any other weapon. Yato tries to refrain from commending him too much, because he knows it will go right to Yukine’s head, but he often slips up and does it anyways, showering him with praise and affection in equal measure after a job well done.
Nights like these remind Yato of when he first named his shinki, brought him into and out of battle, when his blade was so new and keen, gleaming with untapped potential. The air was crisp and clean as fleeting flakes of snow floated down from the heavens. It felt like a beginning, for both Yato and for his new weapon.
Then the rush of exhilaration turned to overwhelming sadness. The tidal wave of Yukine's memories crashed into Yato, all at once – a boy with a brave smile on his face, who watched his mother and his sister leave, watched his father turn to drugs and alcohol, watched his own life turn to shambles until he could no longer smile. The house was filthy and cold and dark, and every promise to pay the electricity bill and get the lights back on went unfulfilled. Each blood-red sunset blurred into the next, with bruises on cheeks and arms and hips kept black and blue, purple and permanent, by constant aggravation.
The echo of terror and tears and loss choked Yato's throat, and if that was only from the memory, he couldn't imagine how much worse the real experience was. He understood that it was a relief, a mercy, for it all to end, even if it was at the age of fourteen in the trunk of a car later found swerved into a ditch, both driver and "passenger" killed. It was a miracle that the boy hadn't taken matters into his own hands before it came to that, but then, he wouldn't be a shinki today. He still had a will to live, somewhere in all the midst of all that pain, or maybe because of it. A sense that the life he had been dealt was not the one he deserved.
That boy had a name, too, but he wouldn't be able to bear it if Yato were to give it back to him, so Yato chose the farthest possible thing from it. He renamed the spirit after the snow, pure and fresh, clean and bright.
Yukine is still afraid of the dark, though it isn’t possible that he remembers why. Yato does. He shed his own tears that night for the sake of the boy that had been lost, and he gave him a chance for something new.
Pitying him without ever telling him the truth of his past life felt cruel, but not as cruel as it would be to give him back his memories. Yato keeps them to himself, refusing to make the mistake of revealing a god's greatest secret ever again, and tries not to treat Yukine differently than he would treat any other shinki.
Despite Yato's sympathy for him, Yukine has had to learn discipline, has felt first-hand the consequences of blighting his god. Yet even in that agony, when almost all of Yato’s skin had burned dark and the feverish heat rose off him in waves, when he was on the brink of death, he wished for Yukine to repent not to save Yato but to save himself. Yukine had already suffered enough for a lifetime – seeing the Ayakashi clinging to his back, threatening his precious second chance, was worse than any of the pain Yato went through that night.
Yato may have saved Yukine by giving him a name before corruption could find him, by enduring the blight and the ablution rather than releasing or killing him, but Yukine has in turn saved Yato's life many times over, even at the expense of his own. That's why he bears this form now, a hafuri vessel, the most beautiful and sacred and loyal of all shinki.
At times he's still the sarcastic, prickly boy he was when Yato first named him, but he's no longer so closed off, not so quick to throw his problems onto others. He relies more on Yato and on Hiyori, finding ways to make the most of this afterlife of sorts, steadying himself with both hands clinging to theirs. Yato still feels the stings of Yukine's resentment for the living, sometimes, but he can’t fault him that.
Yukine stays sharp, sometimes too sharp, but he's learning better self-control. He dulls his edge so as not to cut Yato's hand if it slips in the process of cleaning him.
Yato shakes his head, blinking back into the present, into the steady rhythm of cloth into water and onto blade. He supposes this is probably enough. The Sekki practically sparkles under the moon, water sluicing off of steel like quicksilver when he holds up the blades for inspection and admiration. The wrappings that hang free from the hilts curl only loosely, a sure sign of Yukine’s contentment. Yato thinks he spent more time on the cleansing tonight than usual, but the fact that Yukine never once interrupted him or commented on it is the best indication that he really does enjoy this careful attention Yato gives him.
Satisfied, Yato calls, "Yuki."
In a quick flicker of light, Yukine reverts to human form. He rolls his shoulders once and slouches them comfortably, yawning, not a single snarky remark on his tongue. Besides keeping the Sekki itself honed and pure, the cleansing always relaxes Yukine (making him less prone to insulting Yato, as an added bonus). He remains quiet for a long time, looking out into the dim, snowy half-light. Yato's heart clenches, overcome with the relief of seeing such a gentle, peaceful expression on Yukine's face. Again he wonders how any god could choose to skip the opportunity to do something so simple and so rewarding for their shinki.
When Yato holds out his arms, Yukine stands there and looks at him like he’s an idiot for a moment, but eventually he gives in and steps close enough for Yato to draw him in and hug him. His downy nest of blond hair smells like Hiyori’s shampoo. He's so small. He'll always be this small, no matter how much he's grown already on the inside. It's a comfort, in a way, that he is as stationary, as fixed in time, as Yato is, but it's also a constant reminder of the unfairness of the universe. Yato wonders if this is really enough, if the life of service and danger Yukine has been consigned to as a shinki is truly better than the quiet emptiness of what lies beyond on the Far Shore.
Maybe Yukine catches something of the emotional turmoil in Yato, because he murmurs, "You okay?"
Yato tries to laugh it off, but it comes out weak and stunted. "Yeah, I'm - just feeling sentimental, I guess."
He didn't mean to fall into such deep reflection on things, but now that he's started, he can't stop. He's glad he's already sitting down on the shrine's steps, because he suddenly feels that he might crumple if he were standing up.
Yukine would be better off if Yato released him, if he was free to do as he pleased. With his talent, he could probably have his pick of the major gods, any of which would be preferable to the one in the sweaty tracksuit. Even now, Yukine could easily spend most of his time at Hiyori’s house, sleeping in comfort and eating all he wants and having unrestricted access to hot baths, yet he settles for hanging around in the cold with Yato, occasionally crashing in Kofuku’s attic if they’re lucky, not always knowing where their next meal is coming from. He could do better than this. So why doesn't he?
Is Yato holding him back?
Yukine shifts restlessly in Yato's embrace, and Yato knows he's holding too tight but can't bring himself to ease up. Panic races in his chest. No matter what, he has to do what's right for Yukine. He can't be selfish.
"Hey, let me go."
Yato tenses, his eyes wide, his fingers bunching up in fistfuls of Yukine's coat. "L-let you go as...as my shinki?"
"What? No, you're just kinda crushing my ribs, geez -" Yukine sounds annoyed, but falls silent when he sees that there are real tears in Yato's eyes. He detaches Yato's clinging hands from his clothes and holds them, a little awkwardly, between the two of them, not quite sure what to do. Hiyori is the one who's good at comfort, not him. "Do you wanna tell me what's wrong?"
“I’m sorry, Yukine,” Yato whispers, swallowing a sob. He must look so pathetic, blubbering like this over nothing. Yato squeezes his eyes shut, feels the warm tears dribble down his face, grips Yukine’s hands harder almost without consciously realizing it. “I know I’m just a shitty excuse for a god, I know this isn’t the second life you deserve, I know you’d be better off with someone else, someone who actually has a following and a shrine and can take care of you, I try but I know it’s not enough and I know –”
“Yato,” Yukine interrupts, not meanly but firmly. “Shut up. I don’t stay with you for nothing.”
From where he sits on the shrine’s wide stone steps, Yato blinks up at Yukine, his blue eyes glowing bright behind the tears. "Why, then?"
“Because…” Yukine glances at the ground between them with a small frown, searching for the words. “I know you’re trying, and I’m trying too, and you haven’t given up on me so…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders high enough to nearly touch his ears. “I won’t give up on you, either. I know how much it means to you, your big dream about becoming a god of fortune, and I’m your shinki, so I figured I should be at your side to help you reach that dream. Or something. Maybe it’s dumb or my head’s filled with wishful thinking but I – I know you - you love me? So I...I love you too.”
This time, Yukine initiates the hug. Yato's struck dumb by it for a moment, then wraps his arms around Yukine’s narrow back and buries his face in Yukine’s shoulder, ugly crying. A year ago Yukine might have recoiled, but he hasn’t shied away from physical contact in a long time. He leans over Yato, only taller because he’s standing on the step below the one Yato is sitting on, and he pets Yato’s hair tentatively, making soft shushing noises.
“I’m never going to abandon you,” Yato cries, shaking his head definitively. “Never.”
The words strike some aching chord within Yukine, one he didn't know was there or why it is. He tries to say, “I know,” but his voice breaks, and now he’s crying too. His shoulders collapse inwards and he holds Yato as much to ask for support as to give it.
Neither of them have ever been so open to one another, hearts laid bare, and it feels almost as if they have been briefly granted the ability to see each other’s souls. In that moment, they are not god and shinki, they are something greater.
Yukine knows of the darkness Yato tries to hide within himself, his bloodstained hands from an age of violence long ago. He knows he can’t make Yato share it with him, but he thinks, hopes, that Yato might do it on his own someday. And Yato feels Yukine’s bitterness, not as a sting to the back of his neck but a stab from within, a crystalline clarity – he’s always known why Yukine would feel jealous of the teenagers whose lives had not been cut short as his had, but he couldn’t grasp the creeping loneliness behind that feeling until now. Yukine fears the dark, but he’s just as scared of being left behind, and that fear of being forgotten is something Yato knows all too well.
Though they are dissimilar in many ways, they are both effectively cut off from the living, when it is the living who they most need to remember them, or else risk fading from existence. Hiyori is their bridge. They cleave to each other, but also to her, and in a way she is responsible for this, all of it. She is the only proof of the hope that they are both real, that they are not just supernatural beings, that they are people, that they have a place and a role in this world. She keeps them from the Far Shore, keeps them near to her, where they belong.
(She gave Yato a shrine, however small, to call his own. That alone helps to soothe the anxious thing eating away at his soul.)
And although she is missing from this moment, she is very much present in everything shared between them. They don’t need to say it to know it. Thinking of her makes them feel alive, makes them want to breathe, so they do. Inhale, exhale. Spirits and gods don’t need air, but Hiyori is a spirit too, at least by half, and she breathes, because breathing is human. Yato and Yukine may not be as tethered to that humanity, but they can try, she gives them the strength they need to try, and if they sync their heartbeats and their lungs just like this, maybe they can do it.
Their heads are bowed, noses touching, and they manage it with difficulty. They breathe. They stay like that until their tears are done with them and they can’t seem to find the energy for any more, and there’s peace. The reverie slips away, and they feel a little silly, so they break apart and cross their arms and pretend it wasn’t so profound.
“Man, you’re such a crybaby,” Yukine complains. “I have to wash my coat now, it’s got your tearstains all over it.”
“Me?” Indignance is written all over Yato’s face. “You’re one to talk!”
“I’ve seen you cry over a stray cat just because it was acting cute.”
“You’re a stray cat!”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”
Yato sticks his tongue out and blows, and Yukine jumps back with a yelp, voicing his disgust for the spittle flying everywhere, before he lowers himself to Yato’s level of immaturity and does it back at him. They banter back and forth in good humor, and eventually their feet are leading them to Hiyori’s house, retracing the sidewalks of the city they know under the glow of the street lights, marking the way to the closest thing they have to home, because sometimes home isn't a place but a person, or maybe it isn't complete without three people, a god and a blessed weapon and a girl.
The weather isn’t bad enough tonight to force them to look for shelter; it’s more of an unspoken agreement that they want her company to help even the scales after the disorienting sensation of sharing so much between just the two of them. Yato throws his arm across his shinki’s shoulders, still arguing with him loudly, threatening to call for the Sekki to make him quiet down, but inside there's nothing that could make him happier in this moment than the sound of Yukine's laughter.
Yukine doesn't want Yato to let go of him, and Yato never will.