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Chuuya stumbled up the last of the steps with a hand pressed against his side and curses on his breath. Blood still pooled and ran down his side, and Chuuya had to grimace at the amount of it winding up on the concrete at his feet. He could only hope it was dark enough for Shirase to miss the trail entirely.
Chuuya swore when his foot went straight through the rotted wood of the first step, lodging several chunks of wood into his ankle. He half fell onto the platform, and he was only mildly relieved that the wood there managed to hold his weight. As carefully as he could manage, he wrenched his leg free and hauled himself under the shrine’s crumbling roof. He pulled himself to his feet, making the world tilt and spin around him, and the prayer box seemed to mock him as he passed it.
The frame of the shrine’s door was weak enough that Chuuya could pull it open with what little strength remained to him. He shut it behind him, grateful that it didn’t completely buckle, but before he was able to take two steps into the safety of the shrine, the world titled just far enough that Chuuya’s legs suddenly gave out from beneath him, sending him plummeting to the floor.
His vision blurring, Chuuya muttered weakly, “Shit.”
It took a few false starts, but he was able to pull himself up and against the wall. He brought his hands up, pausing to note the dirt and dust that coated them from the floor. He had more pressing things to be concerned with, but… still. Gross.
He tried to tear off a part of his jacket to make bandages, but his shaking fingers couldn’t seem to muster the strength. He’d waited too long, and when Chuuya realized this, a sob that was as filled with equal parts hysteria and despair escaped from his lips.
Refusing to just lie down and die, Chuuya pulled his jacket off entirely. He wrapped it around his waist, leaving the body of it around the wound and tying the sleeves together painfully tight. It would serve better than his fingers, and he had to hope his luck would carry him through until morning.
“That’s not going to help much, you know.”
Chuuya started at the voice. It took a moment to locate the speaker with his mind swimming and his vision still blurred and the impossible missed that poured into the room, but when he did, he almost thought the ethereal figure before him was a hallucination. It was the silhouette of a person, with something protruding from their head and another black, indistinct shape curling around them from behind.
Several balls of azure fire suddenly flicked to life, illuminating the figure’s fluffy, curled brown hair, slitted and dull eyes, an impish grin, and a devilishly handsome face. Now, Chuuya could see that he had furry ears protruding from the top of his head and the set of tails swaying behind him.
Chuuya blinked. “...the fuck?
“How rude!” the man exclaimed. “I knew I should’ve burned you rather than let you inside. Really, can you be any less ungrateful?”
“It’s abandoned property,” Chuuya said, his annoyance artificially bolstering his constitution. At the very least, masking his growing anxiety with snide remarks and a thin veil of bravado brought him some comfort. “It can’t belong to you.”
He shrugged. “Everything once belonged to someone, even if human’s short memories have already forgotten…” Then, the man frowned. He bent forward to direct a curious gaze Chuuya’s way.
“Are you some kind of god? Or a ghost?” Chuuya asked, frowning.
The man laughed. “Nothing of the sort. No, this place hasn’t had a god for quite some time, and I’ve chased away most of what you might call ghosts. You, lost one, are far more interesting than me, honestly speaking… Tell me, are you a god? Or a human?”
“I… what? I’m human,” Chuuya replied.
“Oh, really? That’s interesting.”
Chuuya shook his head. This was insane. “Can you… maybe do me a favor and call an ambulance or something?”
“What’s an ambulance?” the man asked.
“Fuck.” Chuuya slid back against the wall. And again, the panic started to build in his core, chilling his blood and clouding his thoughts. He tried to count and time his breaths, like Kouyou had taught him for his anger, but each time he sucked in too much air, his side was lit a fire with pain. He wanted to sob, but with the man peering at him as a cat would a dying mouse, he refused to seem any weaker than he was, however futile it might be. Grasping at straws, Chuuya asked, “You don’t happen to have magic healing powers, do you?”
Well, the man was either a cosplayer, a furry, or not actually human, and assuming the mist and fire filling the tiny room weren’t tricks Chuuya’s panicked and blood starved mind played on him, he was inclined to believe that last option.
“I’m afraid not.” Infuriatingly, the man sat down right across from him and stuck out his hand to shake, an innocent smile plastered across his face. “I’m Dazai. Nice to meet you.”
Chuuya could only stare for a moment before, “...I’m bleeding out, and you’re trying to strike up a chat with me?” Needless to say, he didn’t move to shake the man’s hand. His own hands were a bit too busy clutching at his jacket in a desperate bid to keep his blood inside his body where it belonged.
“You’re going to bleed out, either way,” Dazai replied, shrugging. “Even if you managed to get to a hospital right this moment, it’d probably still be too late. So, since you’re going to die anyway, why not have a pleasant conversation? I’ll even show you some comforting illusions to send you off, if you’d like. Aren’t I magnanimous today?”
“Like hell,” Chuuya snapped, hard enough to trigger a coughing fit that wracked his body along with shocks of pain. “Kicking back with popcorn as someone literally dies in front of you is fucked up. What’s wrong with you?”
“Humans die so quickly, anyway,” Dazai answered, his tails flicking behind him. He propped his arm up on one knee and rested his chin on it, somehow managing to make himself look even more bored than he seemed before. “You’re all like mayflies, really. Whether you die today or decades from now… there’s really not much of a difference, is there?”
“It matters to me,” Chuuya growled. Unbidden, frustrated tears slipped down his cheek, brought out by his deteriorating physical and mental state. His movements felt sluggish, and his limbs were numb. He’d never lost this much blood before, and he felt cold. He wasn’t sure if it was from terror or blood loss, but either way, he hated it. He just wanted to go home.
“I haven’t… graduated yet,” he managed to continued, despite the tears running down his cheeks, “or had my first kiss… I didn’t even… say bye to Ane-san today… I don’t wanna die. Not yet, not now.”
And suddenly, soft fingers ghosted over his cheek, tracing his tears. Chuuya jerked back, his eyes snapping up to meet Dazai’s. The slits of his pupils had rounded out somewhat, giving them a softer look, and his smile was less cruel, as well.
“I’m sorry, young human,” Dazai said, his voice calm and enchanting. It sounded like home and honey, filled with all the calming effect of the sounds of the rain and wind on a tranquil evening. “I’ve upset you, haven’t I? That’s quite rude of me. This is your deathbed, after all. I’ll make it a kind one for you, until you finally drift off.”
And it sounded so, so enticing. What could be wrong with that? His pain had melted away, taking with it the fear and despair, and it left nothing but a gentle hymn ringing in his mind. It would be so easier to just let himself fall asleep to that melody, so much easier than struggling and fighting and suffering.
Chuuya’s eyes snapped open, and with a surprising show of strength for his broken body, he slapped the kitsune’s hand away. And just like that, the spell was broken, and all the pain and fear flooded back, now laced with an unspeakable anger.
He always fought. Like hell he’d stop now.
Dazai was staring at him with wide eyes, his composure shattered for once. His hand hung in the air, still hovering where Chuuya had slapped it as though the kitsune wasn’t quite sure what to do with it now.
“I’m not… just gonna roll over an die,” Chuuya growled, but it sounded far fainter and far weaker than he’d wanted. “Help me.”
“You broke my spell,” Dazai murmured, his voice filled with a stunned awe. He shook his head. “I… don’t die just yet.”
He knelt, his fingers running across Chuuya’s wrists, his legs, and his forehead, before they settled against his chest, hovering just above where his heart sluggishly beat. Dazai hummed, his eyes narrowing like a cat’s, and he pulled back.
“I can save you,” he concluded. The words were distant and muddled, as though the kitsune was speaking through water, and Chuuya struggled to focus enough to make them out. “It will, however, cost you. Are you prepared?”
“...don’t care,” Chuuya groaned. “Just… do it.”
A smile spread across the fox’s face. “Your wish is my command… master.”
With that, Dazai bent forward and, to Chuuya’s utter shock, pressed his lips against Chuuya’s own. He tasted as sultry as his voice sounded, offering promises that were as enticing as they were dangerous. Chuuya’s mind blanked as the kitsune’s lips moved against his own, before his vision tinged black around the edges.
Soon, it faded entirely, taking the rest of his senses and awareness along with it.
-/-/-
Running a finger absently across his lower lip, Dazai pulled back to watch the dazzling show before him. Black tendrils poured from the human’s chest, the ends of them vaguely resembling hands grabbing at the empty air. Dazai stepped just out of their reach, and he smiled as they started shriveling and dissolving.
“Quite a nasty thing you have inside you,” Dazai remarked, even as the black tendrils receded entirely. He hopped over the human’s legs and crouched next to him. It took a moment of fumbling with the buttons, but Dazai managed to open the human’s dress shirt and pull it to one side, allowing him a good look at the wound in his side.
Definitely a stab wound, but it was probably from a smaller knife. It was a bit odd for a human so apparently young to have such an injury, but who knew, maybe humans had decided to start another war or pillage their neighboring towns, again. Dazai wouldn’t put it past them.
Thankfully, the human’s odd power had healed his side to the point where it shouldn’t be lethal anymore, but Dazai still planned to prepare a few poultices to place around his bed, just to be safe. It wouldn’t do to lose the human so soon after Dazai had gone through all the trouble of saving his life.
He pulled the human’s shirt off entirely, accidentally ripping it in places. Well, it was already ruined from the blood, so the human shouldn’t complain too much. Dazai procured a roll of bandages and wrapped the young man’s side with all the efficiency of someone used to doing it daily.
Once that was done, Dazai sat back, and that was when he noticed the blood and pieces of wood lodged in the human’s ankle.
“Oh my.” Dazai frowned down at it. Slowly, he removed each piece, then shredded the pant leg with one clawed nail to allow him access to the wound before wrapping it, too. “You’re awfully good at getting yourself hurt, aren’t you? I can already tell you’re going to be a handful.”
Dazai bent and slung the human partially over one shoulder, but when he tried to straighten, he found himself tilting dangerously to one side.
Damn, Dazai thought, how is a human this tiny so heavy?!
It took far too long to lug the human into the back room, and while it was as decrepit and rundown as the rest of the shrine, it should be slightly more insulated for the sake the human’s comfort and health. Dazai managed to track down a futon, albeit a moth bitten one, and he spread it out and tucked the human safely between the sheets.
Not once did the human stir, but just to be safe, Dazai placed a sleeping charm on him to ensure his rest stayed undisturbed. Dazai pulled himself to his feet and hummed. Time for the poultices, then.
He stepped out of the room, but before he was able to go very far, something tackled him, almost knocking him off his feet. He stumbled, but managed at catch himself and the something—two somethings, to be exact—in his arms.
He laughed, then shed his human form to shift into his rather impressive fox one. Atsushi and Kyouka both yelped and jumped back, and Dazai gave them a fanged, inhuman grin.
“Dazai-san,” Atsushi moaned. “I thought I asked you not to shift on us and surprise us like that!”
Oh? Did you?
Kyouka smiled and stepped forward to run a hand through the fur just next to Dazai’s scruff. She couldn’t quite reach his back, being a full two heads shorter than he was like this, but she didn’t seem to mind. Dazai nuzzled her, doing the same for Atsushi when the tiger youkai hugged him again. It was always easier to show the two of them at least some of the affection they deserved when not in human form.
After they settled a bit, Dazai sat back on his haunches. Atsushi babbled to him, asking him about this and that and lamenting about how much time had passed, but Kyouka seemed a bit more distracted. She glanced around the shrine, even standing on her toes to try and peer over Dazai at one point, as though there’d be someone waiting behind him.
Watching her made Dazai’s tail flick, and soon enough, she asked the question he was dreading. “Is Oda back? Why isn’t he with you?”
No, Dazai told her, he’s not back.
“Oh.” Kyouka’s face fell, as did Atsushi’s. She pressed, “Then, how…”
I found us a housesitter, to take care of the shrine until Odasaku comes back.
Atsushi blinked. “A housesitter? Gods can do that?”
“Gods are very possessive of their shrines,” Kyouka said. “They don’t like leaving, or taking abandoned ones for fear of being corrupted by lingering feelings of regret or sorrow that the previous god might have left behind, nor could I see one accepting a temporary shrine. Gods are, by their nature, beings that don’t change easily and don’t enjoy change, in return. How did you possibly find someone willing to temporarily serve as the shrine’s god?”
Dazai chuckled, the sound, like the rest of his words in this form, ringing out from all around them. Oh, Kyouka-chan, have you no faith in your god’s familiar?
Atsushi and Kyouka exchanged dubious glances, and Dazai had to force himself not to laugh. They knew him far too well.
-/-/-
The first thing Chuuya noticed when he came was that he wasn’t dead, which was a pleasant surprise. He blinked, trying to figure out where he was… He was lying on a futon that was decidedly not his own, his side and leg hurt, the air was musty and stale…
He sat up, clutching at his side as he did, and the sheet fell free of his form. He wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore, which… okay, it was probably ruined, considering how much he’d bled all over it, but he only had so many uniform shirts, damn it. He was going to get murdered for losing another one.
Thankfully, it seemed someone had taken care of his wounds already, both bandaged neatly and cleanly. A certain kitsune came to mind, but Chuuya still wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t some sort of near-death hallucination. He vaguely wanted to peel back the bandages and check what was underneath, but he resisted the temptation since he had no desire to start bleeding out again.
“Good morning, master.”
Two voices spoke the words in perfect harmony with one another, and Chuuya jerked around to face two people, both bowed with their foreheads nearly touching the floor. One was a young man, probably close to Chuuya’s own age, with striking white hair in a choppy, almost clumsy style, while the other was a young girl. They both wore traditional wear, the boy in a brown and blue hakama and the girl in a red kimono.
Chuuya blinked. “Um… what?”
They both raised their heads in unison, but that was where their synchronization seemed to end. The girl watched him with a level, piercing gaze, and meanwhile, the boy’s striking gold rimmed violet eyes widened in unabashed curiosity.
“Dazai-san said you would be the new temporary god of this shrine,” the boy said, “so we’re here to extend our welcome… and, um, see if there’s anything you need?”
Then, the girl added, “We weren’t informed of your name, so you’ll have to excuse our rudeness for not using it, master.”
“I…” Chuuya’s mouth hung open, unsure what words to form. It was… surreal, to be called master by two complete strangers who both seemed younger than him to varying degrees. Also unsettling. And weird. Very, very weird. “My name’s Chuuya, so knock it off with the master shit. And where the fuck is Dazai?”
“My name is Kyouka,” the girl introduced. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chuuya-dono. Shall I retrieve Dazai-san for you?”
Chuuya rubbed his temples. “Yeah, please do.”
Kyouka stood, and Atsushi followed her not a moment later. He paused at the door and glanced back into the room before adding, “Ah, I’m… Atsushi. It’s nice to meet you!” He bow so quickly and so deeply that he almost knocked himself over, then quickly retreated out of the room and after Kyouka.
Chuuya sighed and pulled himself out bed, wincing when he put weight onto his leg. He made his way to the door, all while refusing to limp, and pulled the screen doors open. He blinked.
He remembered the shrine from last night, abandoned and rotting from the inside out. Pieces of the wooden flooring had been missing or splintered, leaves and dirt and dust littered most of the grounds, the former gardens had been overgrown with weeds, and much of the paper in the shoji screens had been ripped or damaged beyond repair, if not missing entirely.
Today, in the golden morning light of the rising sun, it looked completely different.
It was still basically the same, with the layout of the stone paved paths the same and the buildings featuring exactly the same layout, but it almost seemed as though someone had come in the middle of the night and both cleaned and renovated the entire grounds. It was hard to believe it was the same shrine Chuuya had stumbled into, so much so that it seemed more plausible that someone had carried him all the way to a similar shrine for some sort of elaborate prank while he slept.
Chuuya bent and ran his hands over the wood of the floor, and sure enough, his hands came back clean when last night, a thin coat of filth had clung to them. It really was cleaner, for whatever reason.
Chuuya frowned as he wandered, taking in the new details of the shrine. He hadn’t gotten a great look at it last night, since he’d been too preoccupied with potentially dying, but… man, it looked a lot better. He could tell at least that much.
He finally rounded the last building, stopping only when he reached the top of the stairs. A traditional Torii gate stood just before them to mark the shrine’s entrance, and Chuuya ran his hand across its surface. It was a bright red and smooth to the touch, telling him that it’d probably received a fresh coat of paint. He shifted his focus to the stairs themselves. To his surprise, unlike the rest of the shrine, they were exactly as he remembered them, cracked with roots and weeds growing up through them, with small flecks of rusted brown that Chuuya knew must be his own dried blood. He frowned and took several steps back, but oddly enough, the trail stopped the moment it passed through the Torii gate and onto the shrine grounds.
So, at least, it was still the same shrine, of that Chuuya was now sure. But… how and why would someone clean an unused shrine in the middle of the night?
“Confused?” a familiar, sultry voice asked.
Chuuya turned sharply on one heel, but he hissed when he accidently placed more weight onto his bad ankle than he’d intended. Dazai, the bastard, stepped forward to try and offer Chuuya help, but the kitsune paused when he was practically growled at.
Chuuya spat, “You. What the hell is going on?”
“I saved you,” he replied evenly, with an infuriatingly cool smile. “You’re welcome. Now, aren’t you cold? You can’t just stand out in the autumn weather with no shirt on, not with your terrible human constitution.”
Now that Dazai had mentioned it, it was cold, and the chill started to seep into Chuuya’s skin. Dazai removed the outer layer of his clothes, a traditional midnight colored haori. He moved to drape it over Chuuya’s shoulders, but before he could, Chuuya snatched it from him and pulled it on himself. Dazai stepped back, a smug look on his face, and Chuuya tried not to feel ridiculous. It was warmer than expected, but it wasn’t designed to fully close at the waist, which meant Chuuya practically had to hold it shut from the inside for it to be practical. Coupled with the fact that he was wearing it with no shirt and modern pants, it was… well, a look.
“Yeah, thanks,” Chuuya grumbled in an attempt to sound as ungrateful as possible. “Now, why the fuck is the shrine… like this?! And who the hell are the two kids that greeted me this morning and called me ‘master,’ of all goddamn things?! Do you know how weird and concerning that is?! You aren’t some kind of sex offender, are you?!”
Dazai blinked, only mildly fazed by the volume and feroisity of Chuuya’s inquiries, which was better than no reaction at all, but still annoying. “A god returned to this shrine, and therefore, its caretakers were able to return, as well. When they spend too much time without a god, the caretakers will fall into a slumber until their god, and subsequently their power, returns, which is why the shrine is in better condition now. And funny you should call them ‘children,’ since they’re both far older than you. But, um, no I haven’t had or intend to ever have sex with either of them, nor have I committed any sex crimes in my life. Why are humans always thinking about sex? Honestly.”
“Well, excuse me,” Chuuya snorted. “Their names were… Atsushi and Kyouka, right?”
Dazai clapped. “You remembered, Slug!”
“Slug?!”
“Because you’re slow, obviously. A good name, isn’t it?” Dazai smiled innocently as he spoke, but his tone spoke of anything but innocence. Chuuya really had to resist the urge to sock him.
“You’re an idiot,” Chuuya snapped. “My name is Chuuya! Stop calling me ‘Slug.’”
Dazai laughed. “Well, that’s good to know. It’d be bad if I didn’t know the name of my own shrine’s god, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not a god. You’ve said it yourself, I’m human,” Chuuya said. “So why the fuck do you and those… caretakers, or whatever you call them, keep saying I’m some kind of god?”
“Hmm, you’re unaware? I suppose that makes sense… We should probably sit down, should we not? This might be a long conversation, and I doubt you want to spend all of it standing on that leg of yours,” Dazai pointed out, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the offending limb.
Chuuya grimaced, but relented. “Fine.”
Dazai offered an arm for Chuuya to lean on, but he shrugged the kitsune off and marched himself back into the shrine. Dazai followed with an amused quirk to his eyebrow, making sure to keep a few paces behind Chuuya and direct him when he went too off course. Eventually, they reached the same room Chuuya was pretty sure he’d woken up in. The futon had been replaced with a small table and several pillows set out next to it. Chuuya claimed one, and infuriatingly, Dazai claimed the one directly adjacent to him instead of the one across the table, like Chuuya had been expecting.
Now that they were inside, Chuuya slipped his arms inside the haori and let it hang open. Funny how Dazai had yet to offer him an actual shirt.
“Tea?” Dazai asked. “Or maybe coffee? Atsushi and Kyouka are good at making both.”
“So, they’re like… servants or something? You just make them run around and do all the cooking and cleaning?” Chuuya prodded, crossing his arms. “Can’t you do anything useful?”
Dazai chuckled. “Ah, well. They’re responsible for maintaining the shrine and catering to their god, which does involve some chores. Not many, but some. So yes, I suppose you can think of them as hired help. I, on the other hand, serve more or less as the shrine’s security. My job is to keep threats and trespassers out.”
“Okay, great.” Chuuya leaned back, shifting his weight back onto his arms so he could stare absently at the ceiling. How was this his life now?
“You seem to be adjusting to the idea of youkai and gods fairly well,” Dazai noted.
Chuuya waved dismissively. “The ears and tail help.”
“So you have questions?”
“Yeah, same one. Why are you calling me a god? I’m not.”
“No, not explicitly,” Dazai said.
Chuuya sat up, frowning at him. “...what do you mean?”
“It’s such a cruel thing to do to a child, really,” Dazai remarked, and Chuuya was confused at the shift in tone and apparent tangential nature of the kitsune’s words. “Have you ever wondered what that mark on your chest is?”
“I don’t have a mark on my chest.”
Dazai snickered, flicking a finger Chuuya’s way. “Check again. I think you’ll be surprised.”
Highly skeptical, Chuuya glanced downward. He saw his stomach, still bound tightly by bandages, then trailed his eyes upward until… his vision blurred, making it different to make out, but there were… marks.
Chuuya had seen himself in the mirror. He knew himself, his own body. And yet, as his vision came into the focus, the curled, inky markings spiralling out from where his heart beat beneath his skin were entirely foreign to him.
“That’s impossible,” Chuuya breathed.
“It’s not,” Dazai assured. “It’s the marking of a seal. Another spell was placed on top of it to make it difficult for humans and youkai alike to notice, but it was easy enough for me to partially unravel that. I didn’t completely undo it since it’d attract all sorts of unwanted attention if left completely exposed, but I did weaken it enough that even a human would notice it if they stare directly at it. Like you’re doing now.”
“You said it was a seal.” Chuuya dragged his gaze away from it, forcing it to focus on Dazai, even as he let a finger absently trace where he thought it was. The skin wasn’t raised or distinctly textured, which was a relief. “What is it sealing?”
“A god,” Dazai answered. “An evil god, to be exact. Typically, humans will seal evil gods within special pots or trees or whatever is most convenient. I suppose you happened to be convenient, in this case. You must have been a child, since I doubt an adult would’ve been able to withstand that much corruption without permanent damage.”
Chuuya frowned. “And children can?”
“Children are inherently pure.” Dazai paused, a thoughtful look taking over his features. Absently, Chuuya noticed how nice his face was when it was unguarded and contemplative like that, and a distant, dull part of him noted he should probably be focusing. It was difficult, though, to focus on Dazai’s words, no matter how relevant they were, when they sounded so fantastical and so… disorienting, for lack of a better word. “They can withstand more exposure to evil forces than adults.”
“I thought it’d be the other way around.”
Dazai shrugged. “For diseases, yes. For evil and corruption? Adults are far more susceptible to that.”
“...why?”
“Well, because adults have lived longer and accumulated more of it through exposure and their own sins, that makes the threshold lower for them to-”
“No,” Chuuya cut him off, shaking his head. “I meant… Why me? Why would they do that to me, of all people? How could they?!”
Dazai was quiet, his eyes glazed and offering no answers, and of course they wouldn’t. They’d just met; Dazai wouldn’t know anymore about it than Chuuya would. He wouldn’t find any answers about himself here, only more questions.
Chuuya shook his head, giving up and instead asking, “You said a god came back here. You didn’t mean whatever god is sealed within me, right?”
“Not entirely, no,” Dazai answered. He leaned across the table, tracing one dangerously pointed nail across the marking on Chuuya’s chest. Chuuya shivered and raised his hand to slap him away, but his hand froze when the markings began to move and writhe on his skin, coming alive like snakes embedded in his own body. Dazai pulled back, and the markings stilled again. “I undid the seal, at least partially, so that you could take on some of the properties of a god. That allowed you to heal your body to the extent where your life was no longer in danger, and it also enabled me to bind you to this place as its god and form a contract with you.”
Chuuya blinked. “Um, repeat that, please.”
“That’s why Atsushi and Kyouka were calling you a god,” Dazai elaborated. “Because, at least temporarily, you’ll be serving as this place’s god.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” Chuuya blurted. “I… I have to go back, I have school, and I can’t just… be a god?! How would that even work?!”
Dazai titled his head, regarding Chuuya as one might a whiny child. “I’m not opposed to you leaving. You can do as you please, but you should try and spend a significant amount of time here, to allow the shrine to purify the corruption emanating from that seal of yours.”
“I didn’t agree to this,” Chuuya repeated, shaking his head. It was too much, too fast, and he was very, very overwhelmed.
“You did, actually.” Chuuya leveled a glare at the kitsune as he spoke, but unperturbed, Dazai continued, “You asked me to save you, and I told you there would be a price. This shrine needs a god, at least until Odasaku comes back, so that was my price.”
Chuuya wanted to snap and rage at him, but in a way, the request was a fairly reasonable one. Dazai had saved Chuuya’s life when he had absolutely no reason to, and although Chuuya would have prefered to know the terms of the deal before being bound by it, but he still agreed to them and it was what had kept him alive. He realized that maybe, playing god for a time was far better than what his alternative would have been.
“Fine,” Chuuya huffed, resting his chin on one hand.
Dazai clapped happily. “Yay.”
“But I’m gonna need to know,” Chuuya added. “Will you be able to reverse… whatever it was that you did to me whenever your real god does come back?”
“Not currently, no. Undoing magic is far easier for me than constructing it,” Dazai explained. “However, if that is your wish, then I will do my utmost to learn how to recreate the portions of the seal I’ve unraveled.”
Chuuya sighed and let himself fall back, wincing only slightly when his back hit the wood of the floor. “I guess that’s all I can ask for, really.”
Dazai laughed again, calling to mind what honey might sound like if it had a voice. A rustling of fabric had Chuuya glancing to where Dazai stood. Tucking one hand behind his back, the kitsune bowed at the waist and knees while extending a hand towards Chuuya. A playful glint shone in his eyes, and in that moment, he seemed much more cat-like than fox-like.
“Shall I give you a tour of your new shrine, master?” Dazai purred.
Chuuya rolled his eyes and pulled himself into a sitting position. “You can knock it off with the ‘master’ shit. It sounds sarcastic coming from you.” He side-eyed the kitsune again, but Dazai hadn’t budged, his hand still hanging in air. Waiting.
Sighing, Chuuya took it and let himself be lead. How bad could this wind up being, honestly?