Work Text:
お水をくれるの
慈悲深いあなたの
その絶望は
いびつにも愛しいの
繋いでいて
やわらかいから
you bring me water
you of deep compassion
your despair
is twisted yet lovely
keep holding on
because this is tender
- Cocco, "Beloved" 「愛しい人」
*
The first real fight he ever has is with Natori, where he discovers how words can be short, sharp, terrible things.
Natsume isn't prepared for it. This is despite how Nyanko-sensei and him quarrel all the time, a process which involves a torrent of accusations, smacks, insults, and empty threats. It's part of their routine, and Natsume welcomes it for what it is - a ritual born of familiarity (even though he knows Nyanko-sensei would, if told, start another dramatic monologue about prey and eventual consumption). Their arguments are the fond annoyances of togetherness. Like the disputes that Nishimura and Kitamoto infrequently engage in, all teasing and tussling and promises of the just you wait damn it variety. The kind which Tanuma and he take turns to sit out, mediate, or laugh at.
This is nothing like that.
*
It flared up in a cafe, at a station between the Fujiwara residence and Natori's condominium. Natori had called a few days ago, asking if he could come over with a summer gift for the Fujiwaras, to thank Touko for her previous present of jam. As it so happened, she and Shigeru-san had just left for a weekend trip to a hot springs resort, leaving Natsume to house-sit.
I'll call again, but we haven't seen each other in a while, Natori said, his voice echoing cheerily on the phone. If Fujiwara-san isn't home, how about we meet for tea outside? My treat.
So he'd ended up going to meet Natori on his own, an excursion that started the way most of their meetings tended to. Natori, casually elegant in a short-sleeved teal shirt and grey slacks, had behaved exactly like his usual public self. The ten-minute walk from the station had been an eternity of him radiating glamour to starry-eyed fans - he hadn't even bothered to wear a hat, this time - and making the fluffiest of small talk, when he'd cajoled Natsume into walking beside him.
They'd gone into the cafe. Natori had requested a secluded booth. And then their orders arrived.
Their star-struck waitress had barely left when Natori looked straight at him, all sparkles erased, and asked, point-blank, "So how are you doing with the Book of Friends?"
Natsume stared. "Fine," he said, cautiously. "I returned another bunch of names this month."
"And that went well?" Natori asked.
"The couple of times it didn't, Nyanko-sensei took care of them," Natsume answered.
"Hmmm." Natori picked up his teacup, taking a sip, and carefully put it back down. He sighed. Natsume felt a sudden wave of defensiveness wash over him.
"Do you have a problem with that?"
Natori cocked his head, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Don't you think it's *you* who has the problem, Natsume? The kitty's powerful, but even he can't be around you all the time."
"We've managed fine."
"Till now." Natori glanced at Nyanko-sensei, and back to him. "It's what comes after that worries me."
"Natori-san." Natsume sighed, too. "I know you're worried, and I appreciate it, but -"
"You need to get rid of that thing."
Natsume paused, a leaden sensation creeping into the pit of his stomach. He stared at his slice of mille-feuille, making no move to touch it.
Here it comes, he thought. We avoided this the first time I told him, but I guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up that he'd leave it alone.
In Natsume's bag, head sticking out from the side of its flap, Nyanko-sensei watched them in bright-eyed silence.
"Just because you've avoided a disaster up till now isn't any guarantee you'll be able to do that forever." Natori's voice was low, his tones clipped and urgent. "Let's not even get started on it being forbidden magic. Just think of how much more of a target this makes you than you already are, *really* think about it, Natsume. You don't even know how many, or what kinds of youkai your grandmother took names from. All it takes is one great beast, like the kitty. Maybe a couple, or more, if they decide to work together. It's not impossible, given how cunning some of them are. And then you'd be done for."
Natsume nodded, studying his cake. It was a very pretty stack of brown, wafer-thin slices of pastry, sandwiched with white cream and glazed red strawberries. It didn't make him feel hungry at all.
"I know. You're not wrong, Natori-san."
"You're not going to listen to me, though," Natori chuckled: a dry, bitter sound.
Natsume closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself.
"I understand how you feel, Natori-san. But the thing is -"
"What *do* you understand about me, Natsume?" Natori's voice cut him off. It had gone quiet and cold, like his face. Natsume swallowed, taken aback.
"I don't understand you, you know." Natori continued. "Sometimes I think I never will, no matter how much I want to."
Natsume flushed, struggling with dismay, and gripped by the sudden fear that he'd said something wrong. He'd never seen this Natori before, all shadows and knife edges. It reminded him of Matoba Seiji, but deadly serious. No mocking smile, no ironic commentary. Underlying it was a streak of what felt like sadness, which only made it worse.
"That's not true!" he managed to say, his voice tight.
"What part of it isn't?" Natori raised a brow at him.
"Why are you being like this all of a sudden?" Natsume asked, meeting that challenge with another. "I'm sorry if I made you angry, but what's gotten into you, Natori-san?"
Natori stared at him, and shook his head. "I'm not the one who's got an issue here, Natsume."
"I don't think so," Natsume retorted. "You're the one who's upset about the Book of Friends. Not me."
"That's because, unlike you, I've actually considered what having it means. I've thought about it, since you first told me. And the only conclusion I can draw is that you're going to regret hanging on to it."
Natsume felt the heat return to his face. He didn't usually mind Natori dispensing life advice: eight years was enough of an age gap to make most of it sound sensible, and he'd always respected (worried about, a small voice in his head whispered) how much it had cost Natori to get to his current position as an exorcist. He also understood, instinctively, that Natori needed to feel he had something to give. But this was starting to cross a line.
"What do *you* understand about what having the Book of Friends means to me, Natori-san?"
"As I said, it's nothing but a liability -"
"I asked about what it means to *me*, Natori-san. Not what it means to you." Natsume took a deep breath. "Look...I - I know you hate youkai. I've always known. You told me we didn't have to agree on everything, the first time we worked together. Didn't you? And you know I don't hate them."
"No, you don't." Natori sighed again, the coldness receding slightly. Natsume watched the small black lizard dart across his forehead and disappear down the back of his neck.
A parasite, he realised. He'd thought about the awfulness of having to grow up with an alien presence on your body, one you couldn't ignore even if you tried. It was just that: a parasite, no matter how benign it seemed. An enforced symbiosis.
"But you do."
"You can think that if you want," Natori said. "As an exorcist, I prevent them from crossing boundaries with humans. That's all."
"Do you hate Hiiragi, too?" Natsume asked, his voice sombre. "What about Urihime? Or Sasago?"
"They're servants," Natori replied shortly. "That's all it is. There's a contract. They have duties to me, and I to them. Boundaries, Natsume."
Natsume shook his head. "That's not what I'm asking, Natori-san. Why do you always have to think in - in categories like that? I'm asking what you feel about them as *individuals*!"
"Youkai as individuals?" Natori laughed, the same unpleasant chuckle. "There you go again, being naive. What's the point of thinking like that?"
Natsume thought, with a twinge, of the occasions when Natori made negative remarks about youkai in front of his shiki. His ever-expressionless shiki, who never reacted, never objected, only obeyed.
Had he expected any other response? And yet he found himself unable to stop.
"What's the point of us being friends if you don't care about *me*, Natori-san? You don't like me just because I'm human, right?"
Natori kept quiet. Nyanko-sensei rumbled: a small, distant roll of thunder. Natsume pressed on.
"Why would you have helped Hiiragi all those years ago, even though she's a youkai? You aren't like the Matoba. You don't use people just to achieve your goals."
Natori still wasn't saying anything. Why? Natsume thought. He became aware that he was clenching his fists under the table, hard enough that his fingernails were digging into his palms. Natori had averted his gaze, his face drawn and tight-lipped.
There was a knot in his chest; an almost palpable heartache.
"Natsume," Natori said at last. "How do you define 'friends'?"
The lizard had skittered up his right cheek.
In the terrible silence that followed, like the crush of an invisible boulder, Natsume knew that he had to leave. This wasn't going anywhere. Maybe Natori was right, after all. Maybe he didn't really understand anything about him. He'd tried to imagine what life for Natori had been, but it wasn't like he had a lot of information to work with. Maybe Natori didn't actually trust him to understand. If so, that didn't surprise him.
He'd looked forward to this. He'd wanted to talk, to bask in the comfort of a rapport they'd tended over the last year or so. He didn't dare to think about just how much this meant, or what he would do if they couldn't keep it going.
People weren't necessarily better or easier to trust than spirits. He knew this. It looked like he would continue to re-learn this lesson, time after time after time. He just hadn't expected it would happen with Natori, too.
It hurt.
"Please have my cake," Natsume mumbled, standing up. He wasn't going to run, at the very least; he'd walk like the adult he knew he wasn't. He took hold of his bag, not feeling its sudden lightness. Nyanko-sensei had squirmed out in an orange-white blur, making a beeline for his plate. "Thank you for the treat."
*
Nyanko-sensei slurped the last stray crumbs of mille-feuille off his paws, and gave Natori a long, cool stare, toy-like eyes large and black and unblinking.
Natori, frozen in place, returned it for a few moments before dropping his head into his hands.
"I screwed that up, didn't I?" he said, fingers muffling his voice.
"Eyyyy," Nyanko-sensei harrumphed. "You're greener than a caterpillar at this, you fool. What, making all those movie things didn't help?"
"...Should I go after him?"
"You're asking *me*?" Nyanko-sensei tossed his head up in contempt, ejecting a high, hard snort. "Do whatever you want, you shady brat. Best remember I'll eat you if you make me lose my patience." He jumped down to the floor and trotted towards the door, causing a small commotion amongst the other customers and staff in his wake.
Natori slapped a couple of 1000-yen notes onto the table - almost double the cost of their orders - and ran out.
*
Natsume hadn't gotten far when his arm was grabbed from behind. He yelped, thinking for a second that it was another youkai assault. Then he was swung around to meet Natori's face. It was back to normal, the chilly calm banished by concern. His features had anxiety written over them.
Natsume gazed at him, expressionless. "Please let go," he said.
"No," Natori replied, looking around. There weren't many passers-by, but they would start to attract attention if he was recognised, which was liable to happen at any moment. "Just - come here for a second, would you?"
Natsume began to protest, but he was yanked down a narrow side street, so abruptly that Nyanko-sensei almost fell off his shoulder. Natori dragged them, Nyanko-sensei yowling disapproval, into the grounds of a small shrine, its torii gate flanked by tall cedars.
Natsume finally managed to shake Natori's hand off. Nyanko-sensei, still grumbling, had repaired to a nearby clump of wildflowers to chase butterflies.
"What do you want?"
"Natsume," Natori said, and paused. "I - I'm sorry." He stopped again, biting his lip, brows knitted together. Searching for the next thing to say.
It was yet another Natori he'd never experienced before. He too bore no resemblance to the Natori Shuuichi of movies and TV and CD covers, the leading man whose smiles dripped with easy suaveness, who knew how to lean over women and induce blushes by tossing out candy-cotton words like he meant them. He'd slipped into using ore, instead of his usual watashi; his sentences had lost their genteel veneer of composure.
It made him sound like a peer. Like someone standing on the same ground, looking at the same things.
Natori reached out. For a moment Natsume thought he was going to pat his head, the way he often did. In the next instant, he'd been tugged forward. His face bumped into the soft cotton of a teal shirt. Startled, he registered the press of a large hand on his hair, and another on his back. Natori's arms were wound tight around him. Natsume could feel tremors of tension in them.
He breathed in the crisp fragrance of Natori's cologne, closing his eyes. The painful knot in his chest had begun to unravel.
"I'm sorry," Natori repeated. His mouth was next to Natsume's ear, his breath a pleasantly ticklish warmth. "I won't pretend that apologies are going to solve our disagreements. But I didn't mean it like that. Forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," Natsume said quietly.
"You even call things who keep threatening to eat you 'friends'," Natori murmured. "That's why I asked about all that...I just wish you'd learn to guard yourself better. Do you even *know* how much you make me worry? You don't, do you."
"But I've got friends looking out for me," Natsume said, pushing away a little so he could smile up at him. "Including you, Natori-san."
Natori shot him a Look, but returned the smile: a real one, this time, wry and warm. It sent a rush of relief through Natsume. Maybe this would work out, after all.
Natori released him, stepping back. Natsume gripped the hem of his shirt.
"Natori-san," he said. "I...I want you to tell me about how you grew up. How you studied exorcism. Anything. And - I'll tell you, too. About me. If you want."
"I'd like that," Natori replied, his voice low.
"As for your question," Natsume continued, holding his gaze. "My friends are those who choose to be with me, in whatever way they can."
"Well, that sounds a lot like you," Natori said in resignation. "Just promise me you'll be careful about who you choose, too."
The lizard reappeared, flickering ink-dark over his left cheek.
Natsume let go of Natori's shirt and reached up to touch it. Natori inhaled sharply, eyes widening. But he stood very still, letting Natsume's fingers move across his skin. Their light, cool caress traced the lizard's trail as though they were drawing a tactile spell, one that would somehow neutralise its uncanny presence.
He watched Natsume's face: the serious set of his soft mouth, the long fringes of lashes that shaded his eyes, dark and intent. It made his heart clench with sensations new and raw and frightening. Fragments of a whole he hadn't realised was cracked. They threatened to bring light-headedness and sleepless nights. He sensed they might cut him off from the well of pretence he'd long been accustomed to drinking from.
Natori removed Natsume's hand, gently but firmly. Natsume jumped, blinking. Crimson blossomed over his cheeks.
"I - sorry! I didn't mean to - I didn't know I was -"
"Natsume," he said, softly. "We don't need to rush. Why don't we keep talking, first?"
Natsume nodded. Nyanko-sensei, who had reappeared onto his shoulder, made a sound remarkably like a purr.
*
It won't be their last altercation. He knows how stubborn they both are, although he suspects the odds are on Natsume winning that particular contest. But he'll prepare, from now on. There are ways to tread without destroying the bridges they've managed to build between them.
Everything needs study, Natori thinks. Acquisition by repetition. He's worked to become good at exorcism. He'll have to practice how not to spin flimsy veils of pride that serve no real purpose, and which obscure what he needs to see. There are no glasses to help him with this. Focus too hard on one thing - say, a book of forbidden magic, and lose sight of its context, its ridiculous, reckless, precious keeper.
Maybe - although it's currently an option of low probability - he'll attempt to re-examine his own mental treatise on the relations between humans and the spirit world. Natsume is a one-man revisionist school on that subject; it's not entirely inconceivable his thesis merits further consideration.
Maybe the kitty won't actually eat anyone in the process.