Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hiyori? I’m closing the clinic. You should come too,” her father offers.

The train fast approaching Market Chipping lets out a booming whistle, belching black smoke obscures the window’s view. Hiyori can sense the floor around her rumble in time to the steady rhythm of the train’s pistons, akin to the drumming of a heartbeat.

Hiyori shakes her head, giving a small smile, “I’m good, I want to finish cleaning up. You go on, have fun.”

“All right then, I’m off.”

Outside her door, Hiyori hears the patients whisper as they leave. Rumours about the magic rooted in the world they live in. Wizards and witches who have gone berserk in their pursuit of power. 

Look. There’s Yato’s Moving Castle. 

Have you heard about what happened to that girl in South Haven? They said Yato tore her heart out. 

All goes silent when everyone leaves, leaving Hiyori in solitude beside the train engine’s humming. Even so, the lullaby of train whistles is getting softer, signalling the locomotive’s departure. She looks over to the medicine she has yet to organize and sighs. On second thought, she decides she should go out to get some fresh air.

-

Airships fly overhead. Country flags adorned houses. The routine march of the soldiers, the resounding echoes of drums and the shrill brazen sounds of trumpets form a symphony of celebration. Everywhere she looks bustled with excitement. Townsfolk are waving their handkerchiefs to see the soldier off to war as confetti rains from the sky. Unrestrained joy fills the streets

If Hiyori was an extravagant person, perhaps she would have enjoyed the wild display.

She wrestles through the sea of people until she arrives at an isolated alleyway. Slowing down her pace, she searches her pockets for the business card Akira gave her. 

Main square? Of course that’s where Yama-chan would open the bakery.

Hiyori racks her brain for a mental map of Market Chipping. If I just cross the bridge there and pass the street there, I would reach---

“Hey, miss, where are you heading?” 

Hiyori jerks back, nearly tripping her over own feet. The man looms menacingly over Hiyori, his friend leaning by the wall lazily. Both wearing the cyan-coloured uniforms of the military.

“You scared her, must be that moustache of yours,” his friend jokes. 

“I think she’s even cuter when she’s mad,” the man winks, bumming his friend on the shoulder, “So would you like to join me for a cup of tea, miss?”

“No, I’m good.” Hiyori sidesteps the man, keeping her gazing on the floor, trying to keep her voice steady. The words feel gross on her skin, sending goosebumps. Their gazes make her feel small, vulnerable. The man plants his hand on the wall beside her, blocking the path.

“Don’t be like that, I’ll make sure it’s fun,” the man says, his words honeyed. 

Their empty praise makes Hiyori’s stomach curl in disgust. She tries to calm her hectic heartbeat, her hands clammy from sweat. Her mind runs wild with possible ways to escape this situation. Run back from where she came from? Kindly ask them again to let her pass?

Hiyori freezes.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” The voice behind Hiyori is low, sing-song and melodic. The newcomer rests his hand on Hiyori’s shoulder, firmly gripping her shoulder. Hiyori doesn’t dare to see who it is.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m with her. Why don’t you two take a little walk?” His voice takes a cutting edge. The man wags his finger, waving his hand like a conductor at an orchestra. With a sudden jolt, the soldiers straighten their backs, march themselves mechanically out of the alleyway. Their sounds of protests echoing through the corridor. 

“Don’t hold it against them. They’re harmless.” The rigid tone diminishing.

Hiyori turns to face the person behind her. 

He was really pretty. 

Pretty in a way like a renaissance painting.

He had a slim frame, taller than Hiyori, but probably around the same age. The boy wore a battered pale green scarf. Otherwise, he was dressed completely in black. A loose blouse hung on shoulders, along with polished leather boots. His inky hair framed his face, a midnight black which seemed to shift to a dark violet every time the sunlight caught it just right.

And his eyes. His eyes were so incredibly blue. Gold flecks danced in the pools of blue, a darker shade crept around the edge, threatening to snuff out the light. Hiyori can feel herself being hypnotized by their subtle movements, knowing if she were to venture into their sea-blue depths, she would never want to leave. 

“So, where are you going? I’ll be your escort.” The boy’s voice snaps her out of her trance.

“I uh- I’m okay, I’m just visiting Akira’s,” Hiyori stutters.

“Alright, be subtle, I’m getting followed.” The boy nonchalantly loops his arm around Hiyori, guiding her through the alleyway. 

Viscous slime ooze from the cracks of walls, materializing into translucent creatures vaguely resembling animals. Their fluorescent bodies squirm to reach the two of them, muttering incoherent sentences. 

“Sorry, looks like I got you involved.” The boy makes a sharp turn for the next alleyway, dragging Hiyori alongside him. 

Hiyori’s breath hitched. More of the translucent monsters emerge, a cacophony of broken words meet them. The creatures are pushing and shoving against each other, hs flailing aimlessly in their direction. 

The boy quickens their stride. Hiyori wants to scream, tell the person beside her they were practically running into whatever those things were. 

“Hold on tight!”

The boy slides his hand down to Hiyori’s waist, holding her closer. Hiyori thinks she would be swooning if she wasn’t awfully out of breath from being chased by half a dozen monsters. Upon the next step, he launches them into the air. Hiyori suppresses a shriek, watching as the creatures below them collide. 

The boy laughs, the wind catching the wisps of his hair, creating an almost halo-like shape around his head. The town looked almost picturesque below them, swirls of colour masquerading the streets, snatches of music filtering up into the sky.

“Relax, drop your feet and start walking.” He wraps his fingers around the back of Hiyori’s hands. 

There they were, hopping over roofs, and Hiyori feels horribly light. Not just because she is walking on thin air, but because there is a soft bubbling sensation emerging from her stomach she is desperately trying to contain. 

She was having a fairytale experience, something Hiyori would never want. Hiyori was never a fanciful person, after all, she is the daughter of a doctor, old-fashioned and boring, hating extravagant displays and always avoiding crowds. 

Except, Hiyori likes this.

She likes this sensation of weightlessness, the way butterflies flutter in her stomach. She likes the growing warmth in her chest, how her heart races and threatens to jump out of her body. She likes the tingling surges that send goosebumps to her skin. 

Colours flush Hiyori’s cheek. Her head spins. Worst of all, a smile unconsciously spreads across her face.

“There’s Akira’s, right?” The boy turns to her.

Hiyori nods. 

They land on the balustrade, the boy perches on the rail. Hiyori lets out a breath she didn’t she was holding.

“Stay here, I’ll drive the phantoms off.”

Unable to form words, Hiyori simply nods again. The word phantoms ricocheting loudly in her head.

“That’s my girl.” 

Without hesitation, the boy leaps off the railing and Hiyori scrambles to the balcony. She is met with bright dancing bodies, the celebratory music fills her ears once more. The boy is nowhere in sight. 

He’s gone.

Hiyori hugs herself and squeezes, holding on to the thin strands of euphoria she is left with.

-

“Hiyori!”

A mop of caramel brown hair runs towards Hiyori. The animated figure hikes up the stairs, each step making her bulbous petticoat bounce. Akira attacks Hiyori with a tight hug. 

“Ami-chan told me you landed on the balustrade. Did you grow wings?” Akira’s head cocks to one side, her bright eyes piercing holes into Hiyori’s skull, looking for answers.

Hiyori avoids Akira’s intense gaze. Now after the euphoric buzz has subdued, she feels strangely empty, like the episode has opened an unfillable void inside her - as if she isn’t already miserable enough.

“It feels like I’m in a dream.” 

“Gosh, you’re in deep trouble,” Akira huffs, shaking her head, “Here, let’s find somewhere better to talk.” 

They manage to find some space in the storage room of the bakery. Akira swings her feet while she sits on top of crates, lecturing Hiyori.

“Are you sure he wasn’t a wizard? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him.” Akira crosses her arms.

“He was so kind…, he saved me.”

“Hiyori! What if he was Yato? Who knows what would have happened to you?”

“Yato? Yato’s only after beauties anyway,” Hiyori murmurs.

“Look, I’m worried about you, just be safe out there. Magic is a dangerous thing, even the Wizard of the Waste is back on the prowl.”

Hiyori is fully aware of whatever Akira is attempting to drill into her head is just coming out her other ear. She is more than distracted, her vision is imprinted with his azure blue eyes, her ears drunk on the way syllables roll off his tongue. 

“Hiyori? Earth to Hiyori? Are you listening to me?”

“Hm?”

Akira gives an exasperated sigh. “Hiyori, you’re hopeless. I have to go back to work, I’ll see you out the back.” 

Akira lowers herself to the ground, dusting her apron. Hiyori waits for her at the back of the bakery. 

When her friend reappears at the door, she’s holding a brown paper bag, to which she, not so gracefully, shoves it at Hiyori.

“Take the pastries, they’ll do you good in your sorry state.”

Needless to say, Hiyori gratefully takes the gift. “Thanks.”

Akira grabs her hand. “Listen, are you going to spend your whole life at your father’s clinic?”

“It’s my father’s pride and joy. And besides, I’m sure he would want me to follow in his footsteps.” Hiyori gives a reassuring smile. 

Jabbing her finger at Hiyori’s chest, Akira frowns. “That’s not what I mean! Are you sure you want to become a doctor? Why not become a hatter? A scribe would be nice, how about a horse-racing champion?”

“I haven’t really-,” Hiyori’s words are cut short by Akira’s greetings to the locals.

Hiyori watches awkwardly as Akira and the man make small talk. She sees how carefreely Akira wears her smile, wide and sincere. 

Stiffly, she pulls away from Akira’s grip. “I should get going.”

“Remember to look out for yourself, Hiyorin!” Akira says, enthusiastically waving goodbye. 

“Thank you, Yama-chan. It’s nice to see you doing well.”

-

The door of the clinic closes with a soft tinkling noise. 

Hiyori returns to the clinic late that day, later than she intends to. 

She drops the bag of pastries on the countertop, lighting the oil lamp on the way. Exhausted, she sinks herself into the nearest chair. She’s halfway untying her scarf and shrugging off her jacket when a cold breeze nips at her skin. Hearing the faint tinkling of the door closing shut, Hiyori spins around to see a man standing by the doorway.

“I’m sorry, the clinic is closed. Our doctors aren’t here.” Hiyori says, standing up from her chair, shifting uncomfortably.

I was sure I locked the door.

The man had high cheekbones, chestnut-brown hair parted down the middle. He wore a purple tailored suit, decorated with gold jewellery that shimmered in the warm light. He is, no doubt, someone who is well-off, from the city of Kingsbury perhaps? His copper-coloured eyes flicker between unearthly shades of crimson, boring into Hiyori. Agitation vibrates in the air around him, making Hiyori on edge just by looking at him.

“I’m very aware,” the man says, face curling into a bemused smile.

“Well, I think you better leave then. If you have any problems, I’m sure our doctors will be happy to arrange an appointment for you tomorrow.” Hiyori suggests. She clenches her fist to her side, knuckles turning white. Her stomach twists uneasily.

The man makes a satisfied hum. “I’ll ask a question before I leave.”

Hiyori gulps. 

“Did you really think you could change him, a wizard whose hands are tainted by the blood of the people he’s killed?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hiyori says, emptied of emotion. Though, a certain someone’s face did come up in her mind. She paces to the entrance, opening the door. 

“You should leave,” Hiyori says, this time more firmly.

Giving a chuckle, the man’s gaze softened. However, his voice turns sharp and tainted with malice. The acrid scent of tobacco runs from his mouth. “You’re very brave, Hiyori, being so vulgar to the Wizard of the Wizard.”

“The Wizard of the Waste?” Hiyori snaps her head to the doorway and her eyes widen. The monsters, “phantoms” the boy had called them, are frantically working to grab hold of Hiyori. She emits a noise precariously close to a squeak.

The man becomes translucent, passing through Hiyori as he reaches for the door. Whatever the man has done, the floor sways under her feet, Hiyori feels sick to her core. Black spots danced in her vision. Rooted in place, a silent panic arises in her chest.

“You won’t be able to tell anyone about your curse. My regards to Yato.”

Next, then the door slammed shut. Hiyori can breathe again.  

Hiyori closes her eyes, taking a moment to take in what had just happened. When she opens her eyes, she looks down. 

It’s herself. 

She’s passed out, unconscious on the floor. At the same, she is also looking at her own sleeping body. 

Hiyori clambers to the mirror, turning a full circle to examine herself.

A tail.

Akira is going to kill her.

-

Hiyori’s shoulders ache. 

She stares blankly up her ceiling. Warm sunlight filters through the blinds, the soft commotion outside providing futile support, an anchor to keep Hiyori from being lost in reverie.

Yesterday’s events are like a fever dream, distant memories shadowed by reality. She had spent the whole night trying not to read too much in the mysterious man’s words, especially the sentence he said when he left. Only her useless daydreams give her the slightest bit of comfort, but even they are proving to be a disturbance, threatening to swallow Hiyori whole.

Dragging a hand down her face, Hiyori sinks further into the cradle of her bedsheets. 

What has gotten into me? 

The door clinks open, revealing her father at the entrance.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Hiyori pushes herself to sit upright, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Quarter past five, it’s still early.”

Hiyori hums. For a moment, her father hesitates before speaking. 

“I found you passed out on the floor last night.” 

A cold shiver runs down Hiyori’s back, guilt rests like ice in her gut. She quickly turns to look over her back.

No tail.

Hiyori returns to see her father look at her suspiciously.

“Sorry, I must have made you worried,” she whispers, fidgeting with her hands. 

“I have to leave for a work trip soon, don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone,” her father says, turning on his heel to leave her room, choosing not to inquire into Hiyori’s nervous demeanour. 

“Um, there was this man… he came here last night.”   I at least owe it to my father to tell him what happened. 

“Did he do something to you?” Hiyori’s father asks, eyes widening.

“N-no, I think he,” was a wizard , is what Hiyori meant to say. On the other hand, words refused to come out of her mouth. The muscles in Hiyori’s jaw jump, her mouth clamps shut. 

You won’t be able to tell anyone about your curse.

“Go on.”

Hiyori struggles hard to form her sentence. One second pass, two seconds pass, a blank silence settles in her room and her lip is still sewn together. 

“Hiyori, this is serious. Please tell me if he has made you uncomfortable.” Her father presses on sternly.

Her face turning into tinges of vermilion from struggling to spit out the words stuck in her throat, Hiyori finally gives in. 

“The man said he wanted to have an appointment today,” she sputters.

“That’s it?” Relief instantly washes over his features, but his voice is tinted with doubt.

“Yes!” Hiyori answers swiftly, and rather loudly. “He didn’t leave any sort of a note though.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you can check if he comes in today,” he suggests. “Do check-in if you feel sick, alright?” 

“I will. Stay safe on your work trip, dad.”

Splashing cold water to rid the vestiges of sleep (and checking the mirror one too many times), Hiyori continues her morning as usual. Her work shift is occupied between alternating between organizing paperwork and scheduling appointments for patients. More importantly, to her surprise, there was no unexpected nausea.  

She leaves at noon when her shift ends. Finding herself neck-deep in Market Chipping, the shrill winds whip her hair, weaving between buttonholes to send chills down her spine. Hiyori steps into a bakery to buy herself something to fill her stomach.

The bakery was a humble shop at the corner of the street, though not as impressive (or jam-packed) as Akira’s, it still stood its own ground. The fresh aroma of spices welcomed her in like a friendly embrace.

Hiyori grabs a croissant.

“How much should I pay for this?” she asks the shopkeeper, readying her coin purse.

No reply. Maybe she didn’t hear me?  

“How much should I pay?” Hiyori asks once more.

The shopkeeper’s expressions remain stoic. A man walks to the counter, bumping Hiyori's shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the collision. The shopkeeper’s face transforms into a casual smile.

“That would be twenty-seven dollars.”

“Hey, what about-,” Hiyori’s sentence is cut short by the man pulling out a thirty dollar bill. 

“Keep the change.”

Hiyori waves her hands wildly at the shopkeeper. She’s standing in front of the counter, yet the shopkeeper’s vision pierces right through her, staring languidly out the windows. Their eyes don’t meet, she realizes. Confused, Hiyori drops the croissant to rush out the door. (She wonders if the shopkeeper sees or hears it.)

The train engines blare. Feeling vulnerable in the icy wrath for a second time, the winds lash at Hiyori’s face violently. Suits and petticoats grow to become smears of colour as she paces the streets, trying to get people’s attention, hoping for someone to just see her, somehow prove everything happening up until this moment isn't some kind of cruel joke.

A million questions overwhelm Hiyori’s mind. Was this part of the curse? How did this start happening?

When the sun strikes its lowest, the remaining luminosity shifts from sunset to nightfall. Hiyori stands alone on the stone pavement of Market Chipping. Terror overtakes her senses. Her throat tightens up. And the bitter truth hit.

Hiyori is invisible. 

Scalding tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. In this world where magic and fantasy are rooted in the very land they walk on, it was easy to go unnoticed. Hiyori is nothing but a speck of dust - tiny, dull and bland. Was she going to disappear like this? Is her existence in this world going to become a phantom memory? 

Why am I scared? Wasn’t invisible all I’ve tried to do my entire life? So why am I angry now?

The haunting winds howl in response. Hiyori frantically rubs her tears away. Thinking her luck just about rotten enough, for a split second, her breath catches.

Blue eyes meet violet.

I see you.

And all fades to black. 

Chapter Text

Jaded and reluctantly, Hiyori rouses from her heavy slumber. She’s first aware of the warmth of the atmosphere and its strange earthy smell. Rubbing her drooping eyelids, her eyes snap open abruptly to take in her surroundings. (If it was possible, her muscles somehow sting even more.)

The second thing she notices is she is, in fact, not in her room, neither is she asleep in a bed. She had woken up in a worn-out spindly chair, in the middle of a completely foreign house. Fear stirs while she digs her memories to figure out how she got here.

I promise my father to stay safe.

Every inch of the mahogany floorboards are covered in dust, cobwebs hung on walls like ill-chosen decorations. Books stack carelessly on top of each other and miscellaneous trinkets spill from half-closed drawers. The room is beyond messy - there was no way someone could comfortably live here. 

“What is this place? It looks like a rundown heap,” Hiyori mutters to herself.

“You’ve woken.”

Hiyori spins around to find the person speaking. Her eyes grow wide. It isn’t a person. The fire is talking. It has eyes too.

“Are you Yato?” Hiyori whispers.

“No,” The fire scoffs. “My name is Nora, Master Yato’s fire demon.”

“A fire demon? You can see me?” Hiyori asks, her hand gripping the edge of her seat as she leans forward, intrigued by the talking fire.

The fire contemplates for a moment. “I see, you have a curse on you, and you can’t tell anyone about it.”

So what the man said was true. “Can you help me break my curse then?”

“Don’t talk to me so casually, lowly phantom,” the fire cackles, voice gentle yet dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve met Yato before though, haven’t you? There are traces of his magic on you. I bet he doesn’t remember you.”

Hiyori stops , opening her mouth to retort but is interrupted by the violent thumping by the door.

The repetitive thumping continues and Hiyori frets over if she should answer the door. I don’t even know how I got here, I’m in no place to get the door.

Her panic subsides when a young boy descends the stair, impatiently buttoning his forest green vest over his dress shirt. 

“You’re awake,” the boy flashes Hiyori a wide grin, honey-coloured eyes twinkling.

A blur of blond hair and he rushes to the table to snatch his cloak. Bottles, books, bowls all clatter to the ground. Hiyori winces.

“Porthaven,” the fire announces.

The boy finished with a quick tie on his cloak. Hiyori gapes when the boy waves his hand over his face. His wheat blond hair turns ashen grey and a beard sprouts from his face. Right away, his boyish features are creased with wrinkles, his eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“Stand by.” 

Hiyori stifles a laugh at the boy’s attempt to deepen his voice (or maybe it was merely the magic’s effects).

“Hello, sir. May I ask why you are here?”

“The sun is already high. Is Master Yato at home?”

“Master is not here at the moment. I shall answer in his stead.”

“An invitation from Her Majesty.” The man holds out a letter. “It has come to war. She would like every wizard, magician and witches to aid our homeland. Master Yato’s attendance is required.” 

“Very well,” the boy answers, closing the door. 

Hiyori sighs. “War, what awful news.”

“How are you feeling? You were unconscious when Yato brought you in last night.” The boy says, slipping the letter into the inside of a book. His appearance returns to be childlike.

Hiyori’s blood runs cold. Yato? As in the Great Wizard Yato?

Another knock interjects their conversation.

“Porthaven, again.”

The boy looks askance at the door. “A client?”

Disguise returning, he opens the door again. True enough, this time a little girl waits at the entrance.

“State your purpose.”

“My mom sent me here.”

“The usual?” 

The girl beams. “Yes!”

“Alright.” Allowing the girl to pass, he closes the door behind him. She didn’t seem to mind the mess of a house they were standing in. “Don’t touch anything.” 

While the boy scours the junk for the required spell, light filters through the window, a gentle breeze bringing the soothing scent of ocean air. 

Unspoken realization hits. Market Chipping is not by the seaside. 

Hiyori hurries to the windowsill. Light stretches across the horizon, the sunlight comes as unwounded strands, laced between townhouses to illuminate the settlement, drawing rainbow mosaics on brick roofs. The brilliantly blue ocean looks like it had been bejewelled by pearls. Seagulls soar freely through the boundless sky, their cries reverberating. 

“Miss, are you a witch?” The girl questions, tilting her head to one side.

Hiyori hums softly. “That’s right, I’m the scariest witch there is.” 

The small girl giggles.

“That will be five silvers. Sprinkle this powder on your ship and the winds will favour it.” He exchanges the coins in her girl’s hand for a neatly folded paper bag.

“Thank you.”

“Do come again.” The disguised boy says, seeing the girl out the door. 

“Isn’t five silvers a bit cheap?” Hiyori crosses her arm, sitting on the windowsill.

The boy shrugs. “You should tell Yato, knock some sense into him.”

The third round of knocks cuts the air. 

“Kingsbury door.”

Scowling, the boy yanks his hood back on. He violently turns the doorknob before opening the door. 

“Stand by.”

“Is this the residence of Wizard Yaboku?” A well-kempt kingsman stood by the opening. He spoke with a posh accent.

“It is.”

“I bring a letter from Her Majesty. Please inform Master Yaboku his presence is needed at the Palace.”

“Our thanks to you. I shall pass this message on.”

The kingsman takes a deep bow, striding back to board his vehicle. Giving a long wheeze, the machine starts, driving the messenger off into the distance. Hiyori finds herself intuitively walking to the doorway, gawking at the view, utterly entranced by the scenery. It’s entirely different from the humble seaside town they were in a minute ago.

In this town, no, city , buildings stood tall and confidently. They were a clear display of the architect’s careful design paired with delicate craftsmanship - intricately carved marble pillars, gold-rimmed windows. Every niche, arch and column were chiselled with extreme detail. There were more banners visible in this single street than there was in the whole of Market Chipping. 

“Kingsbury huh?” Hiyori mutters.  

The boy closes the door and Hiyori is forced to tear her eyes away. 

He pushes his hood back. “Do you have a headache or anything? We’ll wait until Yato returns until then you can stay here.”

“That’s-, I’m fine.. no headache,” Hiyori stammers. “Can.. can I try the thing you did with the door? Where you change where the door leads to?”

The young boy raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sure. Each of the colours above the knob represents a different destination.”

Experimentally, Hiyori turns the knob, the colour wheel changes to green, eliciting a metallic chime. At the doorway this turn around is the misty marshes of the Wastes. Shutting the door, she doesn’t dwell long until she turns the knob again, colour changing to blue and they’ve returned to Porthaven. 

“This is amazing! It’s a real magic house!” Hiyori laughs in disbelief, childish joy fizzing in her stomach.

“You’re going to feed Yato’s bloated ego,” the boy replies, rummaging through the kitchen supplies. “I’m going to have bread, want some?”

Hiyori glances at the kitchen table. “There’s eggs and bacon too.”

Shaking his head as he half-heartedly clears the table for space, he answers, “It’s no use, we can’t use the fire when Yato’s away.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” Hiyori reassures, preparing the ingredients.

“You can’t!” the boy counters, “Nora doesn’t listen to anyone else but Yato in this house.”

Ignoring the boy’s warnings, Hiyori readies the cooking pan. “I’m going to ask you to be helpful for just a short while, little fire.”

“It’s absurd how you think you can control me,” the flame hisses, growing tendrils to swat the pan away. 

Hiyori wrestles the fire with her cooking pan, both refusing to back down. 

The sharp bell chime punctuates the cold air. Speak of the devil. 

Colour wheel switching to the black quarter, the windows turn pitch black. A raven-haired boy stumbles through the entrance, rude winds slamming the door shut. Hiyori doesn’t miss the way he limps.

His head lifts. Their gazes catch. 

His eyes are still the blue of the sky and every flowing river, infinite dancing hues, all impossibly radiant. One side of his hair is tucked artfully behind his ear. It was really the same wizard she met in the alleyway. 

“Welcome back, Master Yato,” the fire calls out.

“I see our esteemed guest is waking up at last,” he muses, tone mocking Hiyori, “If you’re fighting with a fire demon, you must be fine.”

“My whole body hurts because I slept in a chair.” Hiyori retorts.

“That’s the thanks I received for carrying you when you passed out cold?” Yato sulks, flashing Hiyori puppy eyes. “I had to go fetch your body too, you know.”

“What about my body?”

Yato gasps dramatically. “When I found you yesterday, your soul was separated from your body. It was the reason why normal people weren’t able to see you. Your tail is your cord. If it’s ever cut off, your soul will be permanently severed and you won’t be able to return to your body. I’m afraid to say it, but you have a pretty nasty curse on your hands.”

Listening dumbfounded as Yato goes on to explain curses and magic further, Hiyori is torn by conflicting emotions. Maybe it was because Yato was much different than she expected, maybe it was because the Yato here was nothing like the boy who saved her that day, Hiyori is surprised. On the other hand, a bitter feeling settles in Hiyori. If he did remember her from the fateful day at the alleyway, he didn’t show it. Hiyori was afraid he can see the disappointment on her face. 

She realizes she’s spacing out when Yato waves his hand in front of her. 

“Pass me the pan?”

“Sorry.” Her face flares. Hiyori doesn't reciprocate his gaze, she hopes he doesn’t see the growing blush seeping down her neck.

Brushing their hands together, all the kinetic energy in the room seems to go off at a spark. Hiyori jolts forcefully away. 

The fire gives no signs of retaliation as the pan hovers over. Yato begins to place pieces of bacon on the searing skillet. The silence is only shattered by the spitter-spatter of the oil, soon reducing into a subdued sizzling. Hiyori searches for ways to crack the thick air between them.

“Um…” Hiyori starts, “Is it possible for you to get rid of my curse?”

Yato’s face glows. “I thought you would never ask. The charge will be five silvers,” he said, large grin hanging on his face.

“That’s awfully cheap, for a curse you said was very complicated.”

“I seek customer popularity, not fortune.” Yato shrugs, cracking eggs over the pan.

“I do have one condition, you have to stay here until your curse is broken. It’s far too dangerous to go outside by yourself with your soul always slipping out, ” he adds casually. 

Hiyori’s stunned. She was to live with the Great Wizard Yato, the very same wizard rumoured to be a ruthless killer and heart-eater. Although she’s aware the rumours probably weren’t true, she wonders what her parents are going to think, dancing so close to the line that is magic. It wasn’t as if Yato was wrong either. Wandering the streets with no one to acknowledge her existence was truly terrifying. Hiyori would rather not relive the experience, putting herself in danger.

“How long will it take? To break my curse I mean.”

Resting a finger on his chin, he says, “Hmmm, half a year maybe?”

“ Huh? ” Hiyori is stupefied. She knew the curse was intricately crafted, naturally making it harder to break. Still, half a year is too long. Who’s going to staff the clinic?

“Yukine! Can you bring me plates?” Yato shouts, leaving Hiyori to her own panic.

The blond boy returns with three plates. Yato brings the pan to the dinner table, dividing the contents between them.

“Here, all the other spoons are dirty.” Yukine hands Hiyori a mildly clean spoon, and she wipes the rest of the grime with her sleeve. Yato passes a slice of bread, pouring tea into the chipped porcelain cups.

“Let us dine, brethren,” Yato declares. Not sparing another second, wolfing down the food, he speaks through bites. “I haven’t had such good food in so long!”

Yukine scowls at the disgraceful sight. Hiyori resolves to not question what else they eat on a daily basis. Finishing his food and wiping his mouth, Yato asks, eyes widening, “So, what’s in your pocket?”

Hiyori furrows her brows, reaching into her pocket. Feeling its contents, she pulls out a piece of red paper. She blinks. 

“Let me.” Yato holds his hand out. 

Passing the paper, this time real sparks fly, dark angry flames licking the parchment. It flutters to the table, flames fully engulfing the paper. With not a trace of ash remaining, a strange symbol etches itself into the wood.

“It burnt into the table. Yato, is this…,” Yukine looks baffled.

“Ancient sorcery,” Yato judges, “And powerful, too.”

“From the Wizard of the Waste?” the younger boy frowns.

“He who was given a falling star, oh heartless man. Your heart shall return to be mine,” Yato deciphers. “Well, so much for ruining the table.” Smirking and brows knitted in concentration, he wipes his hand over the scorched mark. The flames relight themselves, fuming black smoke waltzing in the hazy air. Like a film playing backwards, the symbol slowly fades until it’s fully gone.

“It’s gone,” Hiyori mumbles, running her fingers on the wood. There were no marks.

“I better get going.” Yato sighs, picking up his plate to deposit in the crowded sink. He walks to the door, fumbling with the doorknob and the colour wheel shifts to black. He turns back. His eyes lock with hers.

“By the way, what’s your name?” 

“Hiyori. Hiyori Iki.”

“Hiyori,” he tastes the name on his lips, “Well Miss Iki, do make yourself at home, I’ll see you around. Nora, let Hiyori cook. We don’t want her to starve himself.” The smile doesn’t quite reach his face. 

“Very well,” Nora huffs.

For a moment, Hiyori thinks she sees the boy who saved her. But no matter what, she can’t seem to connect the dots between the different sides of this peculiar man. The Wizard of the Waste had said his hands were tainted with blood. Was Yato really a cold-hearted killer or just a teenage boy with a little too much on his plate?

-

For the next coming weeks, Hiyori settles herself in the moving castle. She moves into the spare storage room, to which she had to painstakingly clean herself. It seems her room was the single organized part of the castle. It took her a week until she couldn’t take the castle’s unsanitary environment anymore, taking on the responsibility of cleaning it herself. Bugs and spiders were swept out of their home, enough dust was cleared out to fill oceans. When Yato found out, he had wailed because everything I keep is special to me and you can’t throw that away ! Nonetheless, Hiyori still threw away the things she deemed useless, against Yato’s tantrums. 

She gets to know the people who reside in the castle too - mostly just Yukine anyways. (She has barely seen Yato, he was a ghost who slipped in and out of the castle as he pleases. Nora didn’t seem keen to strike up a conversation either.)

For starters, Yukine looks a lot younger than he actually is, only two years younger than Hiyori. He’s easily riled up and brash with decisions. Whenever Hiyori finds the time to, she accompanies the boy with his studies in magic. They almost always end in disasters.

Hiyori had woken up to a booming explosion one early morning, finding Yukine frozen in the living room, cradling a thick book in his hands, soot all over his face. She remembers she laughed so hard her stomach aches the day after. She was beginning to think magic isn’t all so bad.

In the few times where she does see Yato, he was coaching Yukine. Although Hiyori knows nothing about magic, she would say Yato’s teaching motives are on the questionable side - one time teaching his apprentice how to animate a quill solely because he needed to mass-produce promotional posters for his business. Yet, Yato is patient with Yukine. Even when Yukine becomes frustrated with a spell, storming off into his room, Yato would keep his voice gentle and carefree, waiting until the boy has let off some steam.

Yato keeps his work outside of teaching ambiguous. Whenever he leaves the house, the colour wheel turns to the black section. The darkness engulfs him like he was never there in the first place. He never returns for dinner, but Hiyori leaves a plate of food regardless. Every passing day, he comes back with more injuries. He would shrug them off, reassuring them they had nothing to worry about. 

Sometimes, Hiyori hears the faint floorboards creak at midnight, pained groaning merely separated by a wall. She’s forced to swallow the lump in her throat as the gentle rain lolls her back to sleep.

She wonders if she will ever truly understand the elusive boy. 

-

His clothing is replaced by feathers, shoes replaced by talons. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, tingling surges of pain start to flood Yato’s senses.

He staggers through the doorway, plunging himself into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

“Keep doing that and you won’t be able to change back one day.”

Yato groans, shallow breathing echoing in the room. Ebony feathers shrink back into his body. It feels like a thousand tiny pins had buried themselves into his skin, the transformation making his vision disoriented. Breathing in, he hopes the crisp air would clear his fatigue. He despises the iron tang of blood and steel still hanging in the air.

“I fought my own kind today.” Yato chuckles, voice hoarse.

“Father?”

“No, not my old man, but the very same hack wizards masquerading as monsters.”

“They won’t be able to cry when they realize they can’t change back.” The fire muses, stopping before continuing, “That goes to you too Yaboku. Cut ties with that half-phantom girl before you grow attached. I’ve already tolerated the apprentice of yours, you don’t need someone else to hold you down.”

“I know, Hiiro.”

“Humans are unreliable,” the fire says, “I’ll always be here for you, I’ll give you the power you need.”

“Thank you. Send hot water to my shower?”

“As you wish.”

Chapter Text

“Yukine, what would you like for today?” Hiyori says as she scrutinizes the tomato under her gaze, picking a few to put in her basket. 

“Anything is good,” the younger boy replies, “You don’t have to buy that much, Yato won’t be there for dinner anyways.”

Hiyori waves her hand casually. “It’s fine. It’s good to eat more for a growing boy like you.” Earning an irritated scoff from Yukine, she digs into her pouch, picking out the loose coins. She hands over the money with a generous tip, uttering her thanks to the vendor. 

She likes Porthaven. It was different from home. The houses here were shorter, farther apart, unlike the cramped streets of Market Chipping. Fishing boats frocking the harbour sway to the rhythm of the sea. Fishermen cast their nets into the glistening tides, some lounging lazily in their boats with a cigar between their fingers, wisps of smoke dancing in the oceanic air. The beryl sky and sapphire sea complement the vibrant houses and boats. Everything was so bright.

Hiyori slows down to the next stall.

“All fish sold are fresh off the boat!” the fishmonger says eagerly. Hiyori eyes the bass. 

Discord punctures the atmosphere. “The fleet’s returned home.” “They said there’s been another battle.” People stream out of the streets shouting, screaming and shrieking, pushing to the harbour to catch a glimpse.

From past the horizon, a naval ship glides towards the port. Except, the ship is disfigured beyond recognition, half of it completely blown off, the shiny white paint tainted with grime and soot. Smoke gushes from the wrecked boat. Navy soldiers jump into the sea as the large craft plunges.

Fishermen row their boats out, hand in hand, pulling the escaping soldiers into the smaller boats. Townspeople cry words of encouragement. 

“Let’s go home, I don’t have the stomach for these kinds of things,” Hiyori shakes her head, knuckles clenching the basket.

She turns on her heel to go back. Through the cracks of the crowd, a slither of red catches her eye. She bites the inside of her mouth to suppress a squeal.

It was a phantom. Resembling a snake, it curls in the air, beady eyes trained on her, but making no move to attack.

“Yukine,” Hiyori whisper-shouts, “Yukine, there’s a phantom.”

Yukine, who seemed more confused than scared, glances at the ghost-like creature. “What? Why is it here?”

“I don’t know!” Hiyori says more urgently, “But we have to go, please.”

They settle to go the other way, opposite of the phantom. Clutching fistfuls of her dress, leather boots click the pavement in sync with her thunderous heartbeat. She can tell that the phantom was following them, sluggishly lurking behind. As long as she got back to the castle safely, she couldn't care less. Speeding through hallways and corridors, she tears her mind away from the approaching danger. Instead, her mind wanders. If Yato was here, would they have lifted off into the skies again, gracefully escaping this terrible situation? 

Hiyori jolts to a stop. Her mind blanks. It was a dead end. 

The translucent snake towers over, shadows trapping Yukine and Hiyori at the backside of a house. Glassy eyes stare at Hiyori, giving a soft hiss, then averting its gaze to Yukine. This time, the tone was hostile.

Hiyori dives in front of the younger boy.

She never hits the concrete grounds.

Her right side erupts in pain. Fangs sink themselves into her shoulder, hurling Hiyori in the air. Her head throbs as she struggles to gain control, breaths coming in shallow pants. Muffled, she hears noises, shouting from someone familiar, but all is blocked out by a blaring rush of blood in her ears.

A booming squawk interrupts. 

The snake writhes, flinging Hiyori side to side. With one last wounded bellow, what’s left of the creature turns liquid, escaping into the fissures in the pavement. Pressure released, Hiyori falls. Her whole world comes to a screeching halt. 

Adrenaline numbing the force of impact, awkward limbs splayed on cold stone, sounds flood back.

“Hiyori! Hiyori!” Yukine is hovering over her, eyes glimmering with fat tears as he stuttered out the words, “I’m-, Are you okay? Oh god-, I should have- I should, I’m so sorry!”

Hiyori coughs, pushing herself to sit upright. “I’m fine.” Another round of coughs doing nothing to comfort the boy. A body lays motionless beside her, in the very same clothes. My soul must have slipped out , Hiyori realizes.

“You’ve been blighted.” From where she was bitten, a purple patch blooms. A bruise? It creeps up her neck, spreading like a spider web. Flickering dust chips off her shoulder, caught in the wind like a million dandelions seeds. Yukine pulls the other Hiyori over his shoulder. “We have to get you back. Can- can you walk?”

Hiyori staggers to her feet only to lurch over. The boy kneels down. “Lean on me.”

“You’re already carrying me. Don’t…, I can manage.”

Yukine shakes her head fiercely. “Please. If- if you don’t get back fast, I- I don’t know what will happen, I can’t-, just please.” 

Hiyori obliges, wrapping her arm around Yukine’s shoulder, steadying herself as she tries her step. Hiyori doesn’t know how long it takes for them to stumble back to the castle.

-

Opening the front door, Hiyori can barely hear Yato’s obnoxious welcome through her hazy state.

“Hiyori~” The name dragged out on his tongue, “Took you long enough, I was beginning to die of hunger.” Hiyori squints to make out the blurry shape of Yato hurrying down the stairs. The jolly tone tails off. “Yukine, what happened?” Panic is evident in his wavering voice.

“Phantoms.” 

Yato swears. “Bring me a chair and purified water.”

Hiyori’s head burns. Her whole body feels like it is swimming in molasses. Everything hurts. Her weight shifts into strong arms, guiding her towards the armchair. 

Hiyori collapses into the chair. Had she already returned to her body? Why didn’t the phantom attack her at first? After all, surely they were sent by the Wizard of the Waste, right? She had so many searing questions, all too tired to ask. She shrugs off her thick coat, thrown haphazardly on the floor somewhere. Yato’s voice melts when he speaks, reducing down to a whisper. “Here, I need you to drink this.”

A warm hand cups her jaw. The cold glass meets her lips. Water washes down her throat, coursing all over her hot blood, sending shivers down her spine. The purple bruise on her shoulder diminishes and dissipates.

Yato rests his hand on Hiyori’s forehead. He frowns. “You have a fever.”

Firm arms wrap around Hiyori again, lifting her off the chair. The sweet scent of cinnamon drowns her. It was her favourite scent, warm and homey. She feels giddy, leaning into the embrace. 

Hiyori is tucked into her bed, an extra blanket pulled over her trembling body. Yato holds her hand, rubbing soothing circles on her palm. Hiyori lets him.

“Get some rest.” There it is, the smile that never reaches his eyes, the empty smile that holds empty promises. Yato releases her hand. 

“Where are you going?”

“I have… work to do.” 

“Don’t go.” Hiyori coughs. “Stay, please .”

“If I stay, I’ll only distract you.” The boy chuckles nervously, distancing himself. “Sleep tight, Hiyori.”

The door closes.

-

“It's a shame that the phantom couldn’t get the job done.”

“I agree. Yato is a difficult one, no?”

“He’s my son after all.”

-

When Hiyori wakes up again, there is only one of her. Her tail is no longer there. There is a damp towel weighing down her forehead. The comforting and ambrosial scent of food hangs in the room, subdued crackling from the living room down below. She finds Yukine asleep on the foot of the bed, slumped over, sitting on a chair.

“Yukine, don’t sleep like that. It’s not good for your back.” Hiyori peels off the towel.

The blond stirs, mumbling. He stretches his arms. Hair ruffled, it’s an endearing sight, really. Hiyori wishes she had a younger sibling.

“You’re awake!” Yukine gleams, “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Hiyori assures, not wanting to worry the boy more. “Thank you for bringing me back yesterday. It seems that I always need someone to carry me back,” she jokes.

“Don’t say that! It- it was my fault. You were defenceless and I couldn’t even toss out a spell.” Yukine looks down at his fist.

“It was my choice. I chose to jump in front of you. If anything, it was my fault for being reckless. You brought me back when I couldn’t walk. I’m just glad we’re both safe. Thank you, Yukine.”

The boy blushes, mutters, “Me too.”

Hiyori clicks her tongue. “It smells great. Is someone cooking?”

Yukine looks scandalised, jerking out of his chair. “Oh my god! Yato is cooking? He’s going to burn down the house!” He speeds out the entrance. “Hiyori, stay here! I have to go check on that idiot.”

Hiyori laughs wholeheartedly.

Yukine appears at the doorway the next time with Yato accompanying him. The raven-haired boy was carrying a bowl of soup.

“I made you food,” Yato says, handing over the bowl, “I’m sorry if it’s bad, I’m not used to cooking.” He rubs the back of his neck.

The soup is impossibly fragrant, a blend of gold and the vibrant colours of various vegetables. Thick wisps of steam curl into the wintry air, the heat seems to travel from her hands to cast a hearty feeling in her chest.

“That’s awfully thoughtful of you,” Hiyori muses.

“Is it so hard to believe I actually care about the people around me?” Yato sighs dramatically. 

Blowing on a spoonful of liquid, Hiyori tries a bite. The soup is more like the soup her mother serves when she’s sick, chicken broth, was it? Warmth finds her entire body before flowing down her throat. The spicy aftertaste lingering on her tongue.

“‘Is really good,” Hiyori takes another bite. 

Yato whoops, punching his head into the air to celebrate. “That’s what you get from masterchef Yato!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The taste was borderline addictive, but Hiyori won’t say that. “So where’d you get the recipe?”

Yato chokes, face flared with colour, though he quickly regains his composure. “A good chef never reveals their secret.”

She snorts (her parents definitely would have reminded her to be more ladylike.) “Whatever you say.” Hiyori finishes her meal, occasionally chit-chatting between bites. Her heart is light, laughter slipping past her lips easier than it’s ever been.

“You have to make this more often.” Hiyori wipes a napkin over her mouth.

“But I love your cooking!” Hiyori’s heart races. She ignores the compliment. Yato chuckles anyways. 

“Thank you…, for cooking and for taking care of me.” She adds, bowing her head. 

Yato’s mouth falls open in surprise, watching her with wide eyes. It transforms into a smile as bright as dawn on a dazzling summer’s day.

“Always.”

The words so sincere everything else almost feels like a beautiful lie. Hiyori can only hope she isn’t red like a beetroot.

-

Hiyori makes a speedy recovery. Her throat doesn’t hurt as much and she begins to find strength in her legs again. Yato and Yukine take turns keeping her company despite her demands of not wanting to be a hassle. Most notably, Yato is a surprisingly great cook. It turns out his chicken broth wasn’t beginner’s luck, he’s able to cook one delicious meal after another. Hiyori gets just a little jealous.

“Hiyori, you don’t want to miss this!” Yato calls from the balcony, “Come here!”

“What's it now?” Hiyori answers back, dusting her apron. She’s used to Yato’s ways to get her attention, she hikes on the stairs regardless.

Yato waits at the entrance, holding open the door. Once Hiyori steps through the door, she’s met with blinding lights and strong winds. Holding down her dress, it takes her a second to adjust, to open her eyes. Words spill before she can even stop it.

“It’s beautiful.”

The crisp mountain air is pure exhilarating. Peaks rise from the grounds like they are reaching for the skies, the summit of the Alps covered with delicate snow. Green blankets at their base, trees bundle together rolling down the alpine slopes. The evergreens stretched up to the seaside. Dark cauliflower clouds hang low, casting shadows. Yet at the same time, vehement light rays pierce through. It was a wonderland pocketed in the constant industrial towns. The castle whistles, chimneys blowing steam and smoke, trudging over the rocky terrain with ease.

“It’s called Star Lake.”

“I didn’t know a place like this existed.” 

“Told you you wouldn’t want to miss it.” Yato teases, “We’re going to have a picnic! Isn’t that nice?”

Hiyori raises an eyebrow. “Is this another one of your impulsive decisions?”

“Of course not! I’ve been thinking of taking you here every day.”

“Shut up,” Hiyori mutters, ducking her head.

-

They haul out a table, placing it by the sea. Yukine runs back in to collect teapots and bread. After everything is placed down, Hiyori can finally indulge in her sandwich. The gentle waves of the sea calm her heart like a lullaby.

Somewhere along the line, they finish their food. Yukine flocks in the meadows, water cupped in his hand as he chases down Yato.

The older boy yelps. “Stop! You’re going to make my clothes wet!” 

Needless to say, all three of them end up soaked by the end. Laughter fills the dusk and gradually turns into the black velvet night. Luminescent stars embed themselves into the dark fabric, perfectly complementing the moon. There were thousands of them, but Hiyori can always appreciate their individual beauty. She likes how the fabric of her dress was just thin enough to let the cool air through, getting chills down her back. It leaves her in tranquillity, for a moment she could forget her problems. They lay in the grass, wordlessly gazing up at the shifting stars.

Soon, Yukine is sent off to bed by Yato.

He looks at them incredulously. “Why do I have to go to bed early?”

“A child needs their beauty sleep,” Yato laments. 

“As if! You’re only older than me by two years,” He moans pitifully, “And you’re not my mom .”

“You’re going to fall asleep in class tomorrow,” Yato coos, shoving Yukine into the castle. They bicker all the way too. Later, Yato returns and they are alone. He lays back down into the grass, next to Hiyori. 

“Yukine’s a good kid,” Hiyori says as a way of conversation.

Yato hums. “I still remember when he was a little boy.” The sentence leaves them in silence. Crickets chirping to bridge the gaps between them. Agonizing minutes pass before Yato speaks. “Do you know any constellations?” He turns her to look at Hiyori. He stares at her with those eyes that could put the moon to shame. 

Hiyori shakes her head. “No…, my brother mentions about them in his letters when he travels. He says they guide him on his journeys.”

He pats the space between them, beckoning Hiyori to come closer. “Here, I’ll teach you,” Yato says softly.

Shuffling closer, their arms pressed together. Tracing his finger along with the specks of silver and gold, he settles on the brightest star. “See that star there?” Hiyori nods. “That’s Deneb, the tail of the Great Swan called Cygnus.” He moves his finger diagonally to the left, pointing a fainter shimmer. “This is Albireo, the Swan’s beak. They form a line that represents the body of Cygnus. Good so far?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Yato stops at the center of the body. “That’s Sadr, the chest of the Swan.” He traces a perpendicular line right across its chest, connecting the stars under his fingertip. “And that’s its wing.” 

He drops his hand back down his side. “They say there was once a fairy weaved beautiful clothes, her fabrics soft as water. She had fallen in love with a mortal man and gave up everything to run away with him. When the heavens found out, they create a river in the sky to keep the lovers apart. Only once a year, they are allowed to meet and all the magpies in the world would help form a bridge across the river.”

Hiyori scrunches her nose. “That sounds dreadful. People should be free to love who they want.”

Yato laughs, a musical sound that makes Hiyori’s heart stutter. His eyes warm, reflecting the myriad of nebulas and stardust in the sky. “I guess so.” 

He continues points out more stars - Vulpecula, the faint inconspicuous fox prancing in the stage of the night sky. Equuleus, a small foal galloping over spiral galaxies and light-years. And Capricornus, the zodiac constellation overshadowed by its companions. Hiyori listens to their stories, tall tales lead down from generation to generation. Yato reminds her that the stories were probably made up by old men who waxed poetic on their tragic lives, but Hiyori finds solace in all the stories he tells. She’s utterly enamoured by the stars and Yato’s longing for them. Billions of stars, Hiyori wonders if there’s a bittersweet myth tied to each one. Maybe she will ask Yato to bring her here again, they could stargaze together until they ran out of stars and ran out of stories. 

Midnight comes in the form of a light shower. The gentle patter peppering the grass, pummeling the surface of the sea. Their faces drip with the water, letting the rain lead them as they frolic in the field. Drenched, Yato laces their fingers together. Walking back to the castle, the kaleidoscopic sky seems to sing for them.

He, who is cold and distant despite wearing his smile warm and inviting like the sun. Hiyori thinks she understands a bit more of him.