Chapter Text
It was probably an understatement to say that Itsuki absolutely loved the village that Chika had decided for them to settle in, after years of clumsy courtship and gentle, embarrassed touches under moonlit pine. It was a quiet place, with its populace numbering hardly more than three hundred; it was easy to know most everyone and anyone—if not by name, then by face. Neighbors two streets over would bring each other fresh baked apple pie, and the local physician was a name passed around over one or two slices.
The local physician was, of course, Itsuki. He was, to be more accurate, a healing witch—though he could fix far more than just people and animals. He was more or less generous with his services, but he was always strict with his patients. Yes, Alice could start walking in two weeks, no less. No, Rutger couldn’t eat that strawberry cake, it’ll give him rashes. Not even if he really wants to. And for the last time, no, Stephanie wasn’t to run the length of the stream without supervision. Somebody put a leash on her if they must—she’d end up with worse than scrapes if she was left alone.
Best of all, the villagers didn’t mind that Itsuki and Chika were witches. They ooh’ed and aah’ed when Itsuki coaxed a broken wagon axle back into place or when Chika hummed a tune to which the flowers in their garden would sway and dance to, their petals fluttering open and closed as though they were singing along in voices that no one but Chika could hear. There weren’t any pitchfork-and-torch persecutions. Neither of them were ridiculed or mocked. Instead, they were lauded and appreciated, treated with almost affection because of their rarity. It was the kind of peaceful life that Itsuki had, secretly, always wanted and Chika, not so secretly, longed for.
Spring this year was quickly turning mild, and it was time to forgo the heavy winter jackets and gloves. Itsuki was grateful to finally dump the winter wear into the laundry basket. He stretched a little and, from the window, caught a glimpse of Chika wandering the gardens outside, singing the flowers awake after months of being buried beneath the snow.
Above them and their cozy cottage in the far-flung countryside, the sky boasted the softest blue and the remnants of a light shower the night before. Itsuki took his first deep inhale of the season and already he found himself smiling, even as Souta sauntered in and looked up at him with a swish of his tail.
“Good morning to you too,” he said, reaching down to scratch between Souta’s ears, who allowed the display of tenderness with almost pride. If he’d been a person, he would probably be glowing with lazy triumph. He padded, barefoot, to the kitchen, Souta at his heels.
Breakfast was prepared in short order. Itsuki was known for his efficiency at treating wounds (on both living and non-living things), and his dexterity, fortunately, extended to the kitchen. He let Souta have a few tiny nibbles of bacon every so often as he cooked, and Souta made his appreciation of this known by licking Itsuki’s fingers clean.
When arms hooked around Itsuki’s waist from behind, he didn’t even look up. Instead he pushed the bacon onto a plate with a smooth slide of a fork across the sizzling pan. Chika rested his chin against Itsuki’s shoulder and nuzzled into him.
“Good morning,” he said into Itsuki’s neck.
“I know it is,” replied Itsuki, skillfully going about kitchen duty with a clingy lover bodily attached to him. “Go and sit down—look, you’ve got Souta mad again.”
Souta, true to form, had his back slightly arched, fur bristling. He wasn’t baring his teeth, at least. Not yet anyway. Chika ignored him though. This was the usual exchange between them every morning, and the aggressor was normally the one who failed to make the first move on Itsuki.
“He’s always mad,” he said. “This won’t make a difference.”
“It’ll make a difference when he claws your leg,” Itsuki said jokingly, though Souta let out a sort of low sound that seemed to mean, He can be damn sure I’ll claw his leg.
“Fine,” Chika relented, releasing Itsuki from his tender hold and moving away to sit at the table. While he waited, he waved a hand and caught his reading spectacles and his thickly bound journal as they drifted toward him.
“You’re getting better at that,” Itsuki commented as he lay out the plates and utensils. “I barely have to fix any broken vases anymore.”
“It’s easier to get the oak outside to hand me my things than it is to tell them to get up and come to me themselves.”
“Of course it is.”
Chika reviewed his journal as they ate, occasionally lifting his legs out of Souta’s scratching range. Sometimes he would frown—a tiny crease between his brows that Itsuki had learned to smooth out with his lips at the end of a long day—and other times he would hum thoughtfully. He would pause between forkfuls and stare at some words, maybe numbers, that wrote themselves into the pages every day. Itsuki always found himself staring a little too much, but that was okay now. Eight years ago, staring at Chika for more than two seconds had been cause for severe embarrassment, but now it was a luxury he afforded himself every day.
“How is it?” he asked finally, when Chika lowered the journal and took off his spectacles.
“It’s going to be a tough day,” was all Chika said.
“Tonic?” Itsuki asked.
“Make it two.”
After breakfast, before Itsuki prepared his physician’s tools and Chika set out for the day, Itsuki set up his small iron cauldron and brewed three, not just two, bottles’ worth of tonic and salve for Chika to use. He noted the dwindling supply of ingredients in the cupboards and made a mental note to let Chika know of what else to look for in the woods.
“Stay safe,” he reminded Chika at the little wooden gate a stone’s throw away from their cottage’s front door. “Don’t listen to the birds—you know what happened last time.”
Chika grimaced, remembering when he’d gone missing for three days after wandering paths that only the birds knew. “I’ll be more discerning of the road signs next time.” He leaned in and kissed Itsuki’s lips—something in between gentle and passionate—before squeezing his hand reassuringly as he always did every morning. Then he was walking down the dirt road, turning into the grassy field and vanishing as soon as he stepped foot into the green.
He would spend perhaps two days out there this time, judging from the way he’d scowled at his journal at breakfast. There were more than a few trees that needed waking after a long, harsh winter.
Meanwhile, Itsuki flipped the wooden sign hanging from their door and officially started this warm spring day.