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Chapter Text

Shouta heard him before he saw him.

He’d lost track of how long he’d been kneeling; the sun long since set and the incense he’d lit burning low. He’d begun to think he’d been ignored; that the pleas falling from his unpractised lips had been deemed insincere but he refused to stop. He would keep praying until his lips bled and his voice cracked and even then, he’d continue.

That was when he heard the humming.

Shouta couldn’t track an origin point; it came from all around him but also nowhere, the song unknown to him, yet achingly familiar, bringing tears stinging to his eyes. The air in the otherwise empty shrine suddenly grew heavy, almost too thick to breathe through. He was approached from behind, each footstep sending shockwaves through him without ever disturbing a single flame of the candles around him.

He fought to keep himself still, head bowed respectfully while every instinct screamed at him to curl up and protect himself; to hide and hope he escaped notice. It would be folly to try.

Shouta was why he was here, after all.

No god would deny a true call from their heartshrine.

“I have heard the prayers of thousands of men across a thousand lifetimes,” the god mused and Shouta held in a gasp at the sheer power the voice held. “And as their souls speak to me, they tell me their name. But you...”

Shouta’s eyes fluttered as he ran a hand through the ends of his hair, circling him to lightly drift across his jaw; his fingers calloused from an eternity of use. He could feel the strength in the deceptively gentle touch and knew it could send him flying with the barest move.

“I do not know your name.”

He shivered at the weight of the god’s gaze upon him as he stopped in front of him and didn’t dare look up. The pressure was already overwhelming, anchoring him down into the earth; he didn’t know if he had the strength to meet it. The smoke from the incense swirled dizzyingly around them; playing off the dim light of the candles and making him feel like he’d stepped into an entire different plane of reality.

“I am not quick to prayer,” he answered, thankful he’d managed to keep his voice steady.

“And yet you kneel before me in my shrine,” he said and Shouta was relieved that there was amusement in his voice instead of offence. He might not look upon the gods favourably but that didn’t mean he was fool enough to deliberately tempt their wrath. “If it is not a prayer you offer, then why are you here?”

Shouta swallowed heavily. “I come to beg for the aid of the God of Song,” he declared.

He felt the god pause above him, the heaviness of his gaze lifting for the space of a breath; the space of a blink. “That is a mighty gift to ask for one who does not worship,” he lilted, a delicate finger coming to raise his chin but he kept his eyes cast down. “Why do you ask this of me?”

“It is not for myself that I ask it. I come here for another; one who is devoted to you.” His heart ached at the very mention of him but he’d come too far to falter now. He took a deep breath and finally lifted his gaze to meet the god’s. “My son’s voice has been stolen from him. Please... help me get it back.”

Hizashi, the God of Sound and Song, looked upon him; his green eyes holding the depth of endless forests, of fields where the first songs were sung. Shouta grounded himself against the urge to fall and lose himself in them. His hair fell to his waist in a curtain of pristine, spun gold; so fine he could picture it streaming through his fingers like sunlight.

“And if I should require something in exchange?” he proposed.

Shouta’s jaw tensed. “There is nothing I wouldn’t give for him,” he swore, his back straightening. “Even if it means taking mine in its stead.”

The god’s head tilted with a low, considering hum; his fingers shifting to caress Shouta’s throat. “To take a voice...” Hizashi whispered and he felt it carry through his very being, “is to take the soul. It isn’t something to be treated lightly.”

Shouta knew it wasn’t. He could see it in the vacant eyes of his son; the vibrancy he used to carry lost to the wisps of despair. Hitoshi withered more and more each day and he refused to allow his son to become so diminished.

He let his head fall back further, his hands coming up to pull his scarf down and fully bare his throat to the god; a challenge in his eyes.

“I’d give it gladly.”

Chapter Text

“Hizashi!” Shouta screamed, hands desperately clasped over his ears to try and block out the overwhelming roar. “Hizashi, stop!”

His shouts meant nothing to the inconsolable god as he wept; nails stained golden with ichor as he dug into the skin around his ears. “It’s gone!” he shrieked and it sent ripples through the ground, making the old maples around them shake and creak. “They took it!”

“Hizashi!”

It was no use. Shouta fell to his knees as he was wracked with wave after wave of sound; the agonised and rage filled wails of a mourning god. Branches fell dangerously around them, each bigger than the last as his screams rocked through the trees and broke them off.

Distantly, he recognised the thunderous crash of a maple being felled; its roots ripped from the ground, unable to withstand the strength of Hizashi’s bellowing cries.

“How dare you?!”

He heard another resonating crack, far deeper than the first and he waited in vain; hoping it was simply an ancient tree succumbing to the unrelenting assault but it was far deeper than any root could bury and the ground below his knees began to tremble.

Shouta felt his eardrums burst, sending a sharp pain reverberating through his skull as blood began to trail down his wrists. He squinted, trying to see Hizashi through the golden glow he was emitting; his usual flowing, sunlight hair was raised in a threatening crest, his kimono rippling and flaring in a breeze of its own making. His lips curled up in a vicious snarl that not even the most savage of wolves could replicate; his eyes blood red, corrupted by the pure fury of every song cut short.

And in the face of such passionate rage, Shouta was afraid.

This was what it meant to be a god.

“Give it back!”

Shouta was knocked off his knees, flung back by a wave of uncontrolled power. He covered his head as best he could as he rolled and cried out as he slammed into a thick root. He winced and curled an arm around his aching ribs as another deep crack shook him further; a quake running deep through the ground.

Hizashi would bring down the mountain if Shouta didn’t stop him.

He didn’t bother calling out again; even without the breath knocked from his lungs, no pitiful sound he could utter could ever hope to make it over the tsunami crashing out from the God of Song. Even if he could, it would be pointless.

There was no reaching a deafened god.

Shouta took a bracing breath and shoved a finger in his ear; cringing at the painful grind as he dug and prodded at his damaged eardrum until blood dripped freely down his finger. He ripped his scarf off and threw it carelessly behind him before delicately tracing a symbol onto the hollow of his throat.

He’d never written this symbol in his life; never did more than roll his eyes at the desperation on the faces of the people he’d seen use it in attempt to gain favour. He’d only ever seen one use it with true reverence and gratitude.

Only one with the proper intentions of honouring the God of Sound and Song.

And Hitoshi had never led him astray.

Shouta struggled to his feet, planting himself against the combined assault of Hizashi and the growing shake in the mountain. He ignored the spike of pain in his chest and the battering of sound against his unprotected ears and bowed twice; deeper than any he’d given any living being. He clapped twice, trying to make the sharp sounds ring above the bass rumbles. Finally he dropped into a dogeza, pressing his forehead deep into the dirt and letting the smell of ozone and disturbed forest flood his senses.

Hizashi, God of Sound and Song, please, hear my prayer. Hear me, Hizashi and know my name.

Around him, the incessant barrage of sound ceased; plunging the world into a ringing silence. The cracking of the mountain slowed and gradually stopped; the trees wavering before falling still in their new bent positions.

Then, a soft exhale on the breeze; dancing around his ears with a delicacy he’d never felt.

“Sh-Shouta?”

Chapter Text

Shouta had never cared for the whims of the gods, of their endless demands or minds that changed with the wind. The endless barrage of gifts and tributes to try and remain in their favour turned his stomach when he knew those same devout followers could be tossed aside as easily as the turn of the tide. He’d seen the most genuine of prayers ignored, desperate offerings taken with no regard for repayment.

He’d long refused to waste his time and energy in such fruitless attempts.

With every footstep Hizashi drifted closer to the street festival, something told him that this god’s will would not be so easily denied.

The very way he walked had changed; his effortless glide staggering so each step fell in time with the beat of distant drums. Shouta’d stayed his course, hoping his clear refusal to divert from their path would be enough for Hizashi to give up on the distraction but as the gap between them grew from ten metres to fifteen to thirty, he finally groaned and closed the distance before he lost the god in the approaching crowd.

He tugged Hizashi into step beside him and ignored his smug grin. He subtly pressed his arm against his waist, feeling the reassuring tug of his kusarigama’s chains wrapped beneath his yukata. Any face in the crowd could be their enemy; whether manipulated by his own son’s stolen blessing or a mud clone they could never hope to anticipate.

The crowd grew thicker as Hizashi led him past the stalls, everyone gathering around the musicians in the village centre. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that Hizashi had brought them here; he’d probably felt the draw of instruments long before Shouta had ever heard them.

Did you create these works? he pondered as they drew closer. Did you whisper melodies for these artists to repeat in your name?

He knew not every song could be a godly gift but the pure delight on Hizashi’s face made him wonder if he enjoyed human creations as much as his own.

His steps turned to skips and Shouta pulled him to a stop before he could push deeper into the audience.

Hizashi shot him a betrayed look. “Hey, I wanna get closer!” he complained, still bouncing to the beat.

“You can hear well enough,” he dismissed. “We shouldn’t linger.”

He pouted at him but Shouta stood firm until he huffed and turned back to the centre of the crowd; craning his head around them to try and spot the musicians. He never stopped moving, seamlessly flowing from one rhythm to the next a heartbeat before the next song started; an otherworldly foresight that had the hair on Shouta’s arms lifting, as though he were standing next to grounded lightening.

“I was born at a festival, you know,” Hizashi announced abruptly, his bouncing fading into a gentle sway. “I stirred long before that but creation takes time; each whistle a strand of hair, an unconscious hum a drop in my iris... I drifted in an echoing void until suddenly... there was this sound.”

His voice grew hushed, almost reverent and a shiver ran through Shouta as he pictured Hizashi lost in the dark. Sound may have always existed but song… how long did each ripple of sound push and pull at him before it was enough to bring him into the light?

“There weren’t many people, nothing like this; no lanterns or bright lights, no instruments... just a family and a fire. The father was stomping his feet as his children ran around him, jumping through the sparks each time the wood cracked,” he recalled and Shouta could see it so clearly, he almost felt like he’d been tugged through time to watch. “Then the mother, sitting away from the smoke as she fed her baby... she did something new. She opened her mouth... and she sang.”

He shivered, turning to look at him but he was still focused on the musicians peaking through the crowd; a slightly distant expression on his face.

“And I opened my eyes.”

“It must’ve been a beautiful thing to wake to,” Shouta murmured.

Hizashi hummed beside him, swaying to gently press against him before riding the wind of the song again. “It was.”

The music picked up again, a sound so joyous and infectious, Shouta had to suppress the urge to hum along. Light giggles rang out around them and he looked down to see children grab onto each other and run into the clearing. He couldn’t help his smile as they spun around; jumping and flailing with a loose freedom he could scarcely remember having.

The hair raising ozone beside him suddenly faded and he whipped his head around just in time to see Hizashi dart through the crowd and into the clearing.

Shouta pushed after him. “Hiz-!” he started, hand uselessly reaching out before he dropped it with a ragged sigh, bordering on a growl. There’s no stopping him now.

Hizashi effortlessly glided through the clearing, kicking up the loose confetti on the ground until it hovered around him, reflecting off the lanterns like fireflies. He kept his eyes shut as he danced, never pausing for a moment as he whirled around laughing children. The clearing grew brighter, the very ground beneath Shouta’s feet warmer with every spin and leap.

He dipped low, his hair flaring out around him and opened his eyes. They met his own and Shouta’s very breath caught in his lungs.

He couldn’t take his eyes off him, the rest of the festival falling away as he watched this ethereal being, music made flesh, put the very sunset to shame with his beauty.

Hizashi’s smile was as gentle as the first breath of dawn as he raised himself back up and Shouta found himself wishing he were out there too; that he’d been the one supporting him as he arched and spun. He could never hold the world’s gaze as Hizashi could and he’d never want to…

But maybe he could hold him up into the light.

Heat rushed to his face and he ducked into his scarf, falling back a few rows in the crowd. He shook the thought from his mind even as his gaze stayed locked on Hizashi.

Some of the shyer children lingered at the edge of the clearing, hiding behind the legs of their parents even as they bobbed to the beat. Hizashi twirled over to one; gracefully falling to his knees to take their hands in his. He leaned forward to whisper in their ear and whatever he said had them slowly let go of their mother’s skirts and let themselves be picked up and held in Hizashi’s arms.

He made his way back to the middle of the crowd, seamlessly dancing over other children as they ducked through his legs. He spun, holding the little one high over his head and making them let out high pitched laughter before setting them on his feet; holding their hands as he led them in the dance.

The sight tugged at Shouta’s heart, memories sending a bubbling warmth through him even as it lurched in his chest. He could remember a time when a similar weight rested on his feet, when the clash of drums rang out around them until the feet balancing on his grew confident enough to stand on their own.

Hitoshi had told him with such a straight face that he was too old to be going to festivals and Shouta carefully masked the rage and pain he’d felt at the world that had convinced this eight year old that he didn’t deserve to be a child.

“That’s too bad then,” he’d shrugged. “I was really looking forward to it; the food, the games... I even heard there’s going to be fireworks at the end of the night. But if you think we’re too old to go...”

Hitoshi’s eyes lit up at his words before he ducked his head and played with the sleeves of his hakama. “I mean... if you wanna go, you can. Adults go... when they don’t have to look after their kids.”

Shouta swallowed at how painfully small he looked. “That’s true,” he allowed, keeping his voice gentle. “I wouldn’t want to go on my own though. I’d be lonely by myself.”

The boy froze. “O-oh... well... I guess I can come,” he muttered, voice filled with tentative hope that he was clearly trying to hide. “Just so you’re not lonely.”

“Of course.”

Hitoshi had stuck by his side all night but it hadn’t been long before Shouta noticed his attention being drawn to the street performers; his fingers tapping along as they played and chanted and danced. He’d slowed down so they could watch and made sure to pass by every stall the boy’s eyes drifted to.

He bought the food that made Hitoshi unconsciously pat at his stomach, taking a single bite before declaring that it was too sweet or too much for him to eat and Hitoshi would be doing him such a favour if he finished them for him.

By the time the fireworks were about to start, he’d begun to sleepily fall against his side as they made their way to the hill for a better view. Shouta knew he’d object to being carried so he pointed to the tree on top of it.

“I bet we’ll see better up there,” he proposed. “Do you think so?”

“I guess,” Hitoshi yawned into his taiyaki.

He made a show of holding his hand up to his head, then to the branches in the distance. “Hmm, I think the lower branches are a little taller than I am... do you think you can sit on my shoulders so you can measure?”

“Okay,” he agreed and Shouta scooped him up and placed him on his shoulders for the rest of the way.

He was half curled over his head when the first bright purple firework went off; surprising him enough that he nearly tumbled off him. Shouta caught him, a fond smile curling his lips and placed him on the closest branch; easily climbing up beside him and wrapped his arm around him. Hitoshi jumped at the loud bangs before giggling and gasping at the bright explosions; tugging at his sleeve whenever one was particularly big.

Shouta watched the bright colours play across his face, his eyes wide with pure wonder and the largest smile he’d ever seen from the boy and knew at that moment that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. That he was more than just the boy he’d taken in after finding him curled up hiding from the rain like a discarded kitten.

He knew, in that moment, that Hitoshi was his son.

The warmth in Shouta’s chest faded, replaced by a bitter pain.

And his son drifted further from him every day.

Hizashi caught his gaze again and whatever he saw this time made him pause, his bright smile slipping. He blinked and crouched down, gesturing for all the children to come in close. He grinned as he whispered to them and they began to jump in place and call out agreements. The little one let themself be swept up by the other children as they all rushed to pull others into the circle until there wasn’t a single child left among the smiling adults.

He began to dance his way through the crowd towards him and Shouta turned his back on him; carelessly pushing passed people until he broke through the crowd and ducked between two stalls.

Hizashi easily caught up with him, still dancing to the rhythm and suddenly his smile, his hair, his everything was too bright for him to handle.

“We’re supposed to be avoiding drawing attention,” he hissed.

“How can I?” the god laughed, raising his arms high above his head as he began to spin in place. “This is what I was made for! Can’t you feel it?!”

“We’re wasting time,” he ground out.

Hizashi’s spinning came to a slow stop; the sparkling joy that had been lighting his eyes since he first heard the drums fading as he stared at him. Shouta almost couldn’t hold his shrewd gaze; the weight of it stripping his defences until there was nowhere left to hide.

“You’ve cut yourself off from it,” Hizashi said, voice soft with realisation. “You can’t feel the music anymore.”

Shouta faltered and turned away, ducking into his scarf. How could he? What sound was there to find joy in when Hitoshi’s voice could be lost to him forever?

Hizashi moved closer, the small width of the alley leaving him hovering so close he could feel the warmth of his skin. “Close your eyes.”

Shouta couldn’t help but fall back a step, bumping into the stall wall behind him. “No.”

He softened, his determination fading into something more hopeful. “Trust me, Shouta,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.”

He took a shuddering breath, half turning to leave the alley but the thought of stepping back out into the street without Hizashi’s warmth by his side struck him cold. He let out a low sigh and stilled, his eyes begrudgingly falling shut.

Hizashi’s hands slid gently over his closed lids; never pressing down or squeezing, simply keeping a light, reassuring pressure. “Feel the drums,” he urged softly, his lips close to his ear.

Shouta’s eyelashes fluttered as he fought against his instinct to rear back, to rid himself of such weakness. His hand hovered above Hizashi’s wrist, ready to yank his hand away from him when a sudden pulse ran through the ground; so much stronger than when he could see.

He gasped as another beat shot through the ground, soaking into the soles of his feet.

“Feel their rhythm twine and meld with your heartbeat until they become one.”

The drums sounded through his very bones, his body throbbing in time as bright shocks of warmth rushed over him; starting at his feet before running to the tip of his skull until he felt he could glow with it. The heat didn’t burn him; he felt cradled within it, even as he felt it growing strong enough to pull him under.

“Listen to the twang of the shamisen; the pluck of the koto,” Hizashi directed, pressing against his back. “Hear it float on the wind and curl around you. Let it pick you up and take you somewhere new.”

“I don’t want to get lost,” Shouta whispered, words slightly slurred; falling from his lips like the slow drip of honey.

“You won’t,” he promised, smile clear in his voice. “I will keep you safe as it guides you there.”

He took in slow breath, the koto filling him almost as much as the air itself; rushing his lungs and leaving him dizzy. Travelling with Hizashi had shown him the true power of sound. It could be all encompassing; it could swallow and drown and smother...

But if it weren’t for the drums still rooting his soles to the earth, Shouta could have sworn he was no longer touching the ground.

The shamisen wound around him, lifting him until he was sent flying through the heavens, stars rushing passed him in blurs.

It lasted for an eon.

It lasted for the space of a blink.

Until he landed in a field.

Bright sunlight warmed his skin, the deep scent of soft earth coiling through his senses. There was laughter, both familiar and foreign, beckoning him closer with every bright peal. The tall grass tickled his hands, a breeze he couldn’t feel tugging at his hair as he made his way towards the sound, his steps sure and unhurried; he knew they would wait for him no matter how long he took.

Multiple sets of feet stomped to the rhythm of the drums, flashes of gold and purple and silver dancing through a field; the flowers themselves bending towards something far brighter than the sun could ever hope to be.

Shouta crested the hill and saw the purple flash chasing the silver, darting through the grass while the gold stood waiting; steady and unwavering. He took another step closer and the gold came into focus; solidifying into a silhouette that made his heart swell and ache to be near them.

A twig broke underfoot and they began to turn towards him, the wind picking up to obscure their face with their hair and Shouta could just make out the curl of an upturned lip when-

The music stopped.

Shouta almost faltered, feeling his mind slingshot back into his body; unmoored without the drum acting as his anchor. Clapping and cheers went up around them as Hizashi’s hands fell to his shoulder blades, holding him steady as his breath came in unsteady pants.

He was slow to open his eyes; the light of the sunset and lanterns so much duller compared to the bright field warmed by noonday sun he could’ve sworn he was just in.

“Where did it take you?”

Hizashi’s soft voice against his neck made him shiver. If he turned around… would he see the same twist to his lips? Would he see…

Shouta blinked away the phantom silhouette, shrugging off his hands. “We need to keep moving,” he ordered, his voice little more than a thick rasp and headed back out into the street.

Hizashi’s gaze was heavy on his back but he didn’t turn and soon enough, light footsteps began to trail behind him; the dancing children calling out goodbyes in their wake as they made their way out of the town.

Chapter Text

“I’ve never been cold before,” Hizashi croaked as another set of shivers wracked his body. The sweat damp sheets he was resting on belied his words, beads of it trailing from his temples as he weakly tugged the blanket closer.

Shouta pulled it tighter, settling it around his shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

He pouted as he curled in tighter. “I don’t care for it.”

“Hush,” he said, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped his top knot behind his ear. “Save your strength.”

“I fear I don’t have much left,” he replied, a weak smirk pulling at his lips.

Shouta ignored the frigid chill that sent through him. “Always with the dramatics,” he scolded, shaking his head. “Humans have survived sickness since the dawn of the stars; just because you’re new to it doesn’t mean you’ll fail to. Where’s that accursed optimism you’re so fond of?”

Hizashi let out a breathless, cracking laugh. “It seems you’ve taken it for yourself,” he smiled before breaking out into bone breaking coughs.

He couldn’t help but cringe at the wet sound. A droplet of black rot ran out from between his lips, staining the waxy pallor of his skin as it slowly ran down his cheek. He heaved, eyes widening as he struggled to breathe through the coughs.

Shouta quickly pulled the bowl closer and hefted Hizashi up, slipping behind him and holding him to his chest; keeping his upper body open no matter how much the exhausted fallen god wished to curl up in his misery. He kept his shoulders wide, encouraging him to try and take deeper breaths as he spat out another thick wad of black, tar-like phlegm into the bowl.

Hizashi panted, his head falling back limp onto his shoulder. Shouta reached for the wet cloth beside the bed, the water it sat in a sickly dark grey, and used it to gently wipe away the black coating his lips. It stung where it touched his skin and he could scarcely imagine the pain it must’ve caused Hizashi; sticking to his insides and burning him from within.

“Dad, the water’s ready.”

Shouta looked up to find Hitoshi hovering anxiously in the doorway; a large bowl of steaming water in his hands. His voice put his body at war; he wanted to sink into it, the pure relief and joy at hearing it again flooding his body while his fear for Hizashi kept winding him tighter and tighter.

“Thank you, Hitoshi,” he said, dropping the cloth back in the bowl.

“Mm, thank you, my loyal listener,” Hizashi echoed, exhaustion leashing his voice to a whisper.

Hitoshi near shivered from the praise, a light blush dusting his cheeks and Shouta was sharply reminded that this wasn’t just someone he’d met and gone on a journey with - Hizashi was his son’s favoured god; his patron, with him since he was just a toddler even if he’d been unaware. For all that he’d grown fond of him, Hitoshi was the one who had worshipped him for years without fail.

“I just wish I could do more, Hizashi-sama,” Hitoshi said ashamedly, kneeling to place the bowl in his lap.

“More? If you did more, the heavens themselves would have to bow to your generosity,” he grinned with a slow wink, pulling a snicker and another shiver from his son.

Shouta wasn’t the only one who would be losing someone if things got worse.

“Come on, lean forward,” he prompted, keeping his arm slung around Hizashi’s chest as he slumped over the bowl. Hitoshi helped him tuck a cloth over his head, trapping the steam and hopefully forcing it down the god’s stubborn lungs. “Don’t try and heave it in, just let the steam do its work.”

They fell into silence, listening to Hizashi’s rattling breaths. More than once, Shouta had to pull him back up when his head dipped dangerously close to the hot water. He watched Hitoshi out the corner of his eye, his fists clenched tight over his thighs; still for the first time since they’d crashed through the door and Shouta’d sent him to work.

He watched his nails dig into his palms and knew the inactivity was doing him no favours. He handed Hitoshi the cleaning bowl, careful to keep the cloth from dripping over the sides. “Take this; throw the water outside then burn the cloth. Don’t let it touch you.”

Hitoshi took it with no small amount of relief clear on his face. He held the bowl away from his body as he got to his feet, pausing just before he reached the door. “Is... is he gonna be okay?” he asked tentatively.

Shouta took in the fear clouding his son’s eyes and as much as he had wished to see emotion in them again, he would give anything for it to not be this. “We’ll do everything we can,” he promised.

Hitoshi’s grip tightened on the bowl and he gave a jerky nod before turning on his heel and heading outside. Shouta longed to follow him, to comfort his son as well as bask in his voice’s return but just the very thought of leaving Hizashi’s side caused a blinding ache in his heart.

He took a settling breath and held his hand inside the cloth. When he felt no steam remaining, he took it off Hizashi’s head and set the bowl aside. He shifted him down so he was reclined in his lap; his head resting high on his thigh, his eyes falling shut as his breaths came slightly easier.

Or perhaps Shouta was just seeing what he desired to see.

“He’s a special boy,” Hizashi abruptly announced. “I knew he was touched by music long before I ever gave him my blessing. Everything he went through, all the horrors people committed against him, he never resented me for it; never asked to return it. He’ll keep what’s left of me safe.”

Don’t talk like that, was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t bring himself to be harsh with him; not with the reminder of what he’d done for Hitoshi.

Shouta knew from the moment he stepped into Hizashi’s heartshrine that getting his son’s voice back wouldn’t be as easy as simply asking for it, even with a god on his side. He’d been prepared to sacrifice his own voice and anything else Hizashi required to return it. Every step closer they got to the demon, the knowledge settled around him like a shawl, heavy and resigned.

When the ritual began, he was ready to step onto the dais. He was ready to lose himself to the same fog that had enshrouded Hitoshi. He was ready to never say “I love you,” to him again; for his hearing to deafen, to be stricken blind, whatever it took to balance the scales.

He kept his eyes on his son and on the god he’d somehow grown so fond of, knowing they could be the last thing he ever saw and wanting to take their memory into the void, when his feet fused like lead to the ground.

His eyes widened as he heard Hizashi humming and knew the god was holding him in place as he strode past him to the dais. He ignored his calls and demands to stop, to tell him what he was doing and by the time his feet were finally free, he was too late to stop him.

Watching Hizashi rise into the air, freckles glowing like starlight across his pale skin, Shouta’d been transfixed. His hair took on that same glow, slowly fanning out around him before the light floated out of him, the golden essence dancing through the air like fireflies towards his son. It sank into Hitoshi’s skin and he too rose; his eyes and mouth beginning to glow a purple almost too bright to look at. The more he absorbed, the brighter the glow became until it was almost white.

Some deep, ancient part of him knew he was witnessing something near unheard of; the sacrifice of pure power from a god to a mortal. Who would willingly forfeit the very thing that made them a god to something as fleeting and insignificant as a human?

Who would be willing to die, just so another could sing?

Shouta had been so lost in the moment that he hadn’t heard the steps sneaking behind him. He hadn’t noticed the scent of death coming off their breath, the putrid drips leaking from their fingers and burning the ground they fell upon.

He hadn’t noticed as the demon they thought they’d left behind reared back.

He only realised when it lunged past him; when those fingers, pale as death and spread wide, latched onto Hizashi’s stomach as the last of his golden essence left him and he dropped, screaming to the floor.

But this time, Hizashi’s scream did nothing.

It didn’t fling their enemy back. It didn’t shake the foundations of the earth.

Because it came from someone all too human.

Shouta had readied his kusarigama but the demon was already scuttling back into the shadows and he had to choose between futilely following it or staying by Hizashi’s side as he screamed and writhed and a quiet and confused voice called out, “Dad?”

There was no choice to be made.

“Let me see it again,” Shouta requested stiffly, already tugging his clothes aside; Hizashi weakly trying to help. He undid the wrappings on his stomach and pulled the bandage away from his wound; his nose wrinkling and he ducked into his arm to try and escape the scent of rot filling the air.

The five points where the demon’s fingers made contact with Hizashi’s skin were the worst of it; each point indented like the light touch had caved in his flesh. The skin around the wounds was a grey so dark it was nearly black; the veins swollen and a sickly green as if pus had overtaken his blood.

His failure had led to this.

“Is it bad?” Hizashi rasped.

Shouta scraped the dried and corrupted poultice off the bandage, dumping it into the spit bowl and applied a fresh layer. The way the wounds festered and spread their rot to anything they touched was unlike anything he’d ever seen; eating through the poultice like something alive. “It’s not worse.”

He rewrapped the bandages and pulled the blankets back over Hizashi, tucking the edge over his own leg so they wouldn’t be too tight around him. Hizashi nuzzled into him and he let his hand fall to his head, smoothing back his flyaway hairs and running his thumb over his damp forehead.

“I owe you twice over now,” Shouta murmured. “You never took your due.”

Hizashi hummed, coughing with his mouth shut as it caught in his throat. “I’ve lived a long life. I have received every gift under the sun; every offering touched by the moon,” he recounted before hesitating. “Now, there is only one thing I desire.”

“Name it,” he pledged.

For the first time since he’d met Hizashi, a tinge of nervousness overtook his smile. He slowly raised a shaking hand, his strength faltering just before he could reach him. Shouta caught in his own and brought it to his cheek; the cold of it leaching the warmth from his skin.

“I would have your name,” Hizashi whispered and Shouta’s breath hitched. “I would spend what time I have left, knowing I was yours.”

His hand spasmed around Hizashi’s and he pressed his mouth into a tight line as his bottom lip began to shake. “Why would you want to tie yourself to me?” he choked out. “Everything I’ve cost you... you’re like this because of me.”

“I’m like this because I made a choice; one I will never regret,” he said gently but with such firm surety that Shouta couldn’t help but believe him. “I was lost in your music the moment you opened yourself to me. You’re a melody I never want to forget. You’re my heart song, Shouta.”

His breath left him in a heaving rush and he brought Hizashi’s cradled hand to his mouth, placing a trembling kiss against his chilled palm.

Shouta had gone from near trembling at Hizashi’s feet to swatting him away like a gnat when his enthusiasm grew too great and he’d prance around him like a fool. When did pushing him away stop being birthed from irritation to instead be almost teasing on his part? When did his incessant noise stop dogging his every step and become the one thing he needed to lull him into true slumber?

He’d worked his way into every part of him; he found his eyes in every shade of green, heard his laughter in the gentle brooks and chittering birds. No fire could hope to warm him the way Hizashi’s smile did.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair for them to have a taste of this closeness; for him to have brought Hizashi home, to reintroduce him to his son only for him to be torn from his arms. It wasn’t fair that Shouta had finally admitted to himself what he’d always known; what the twinkling in Hizashi’s vibrant eyes meant. It wasn’t fair that he never got to walk through that field and know the sun was waiting for him and he cursed his fool heart for ever thinking he could have it.

It wasn’t fair.

Still, Shouta did his best to smile for him.

“Aizawa Hizashi,” he announced and nothing could hide the shake in his voice. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Hizashi gave a crooked smile, tears welling in his fever fogged eyes. “You say I have earned two boons. Will you grant me one last gift?”

He took a deep breath and squeezed his hand. “Anything.”

He lost the fight against his tears, spilling over his lashes to trail down his cheeks. “Sing to me,” he asked with a strangled sob. “Don’t leave me alone in the dark.”

Shouta shut his eyes and bowed his head against the pure stab of agony in his heart.

How many times had Hizashi asked him to sing with him on their journey? How many times had he refused and seen his face fall into a pout as he declared that, one day, he would get him to agree?

Every night he tried to cajole him to join as he sang to the heavens, his only accompaniment the wind weaving through the canopy and the popping of the fire and every night, Shouta shut him down.

He regretted it now, if only so he could’ve seen the look of awe and peace on Hizashi’s face when he wasn’t so sallow and fragile; his smile struggling to widen as his lips cracked.

His low baritone came out quiet and unpractised but his familiarity with the song and Hizashi’s joy lent him some confidence. It was a lullaby created to be endless; each round leading into another, never to be silenced until you were sure the one you were singing to was deep in their slumber.

It was one of the few good memories he kept of his parents; his mother’s arms wrapped around him as his father’s voice blended with hers, a united force against his sleepless nights.

“Beautiful,” Hizashi whispered, reverent and achingly weak.

He relaxed in his lap, gazing up at him at with what he now allowed himself to recognise as love before he slowly drifted, his breath coming shallow and thick; shivers still besetting his skin even in sleep.

Shouta didn’t stop.

Hitoshi slipped silently into the room, curling up at their feet; his arms tucked beneath his head. Neither of them acknowledged the tears falling from his eyes; running over his nose to drip onto his arms as he made no effort to wipe them away. Eventually, his eyes fell shut as well.

Shouta’s voice grew hoarse, cracking and falling short as he reached for the higher notes.

Still, he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

Shouta’s eyes squeezed tighter shut as light played across his face. He twisted away from it and his neck screamed, the ache so sharp it involuntarily pulled his eyes open. He squinted in the light of the sunrise, raising a hand to his neck to try and knead out the pain; a yawn falling from his sore throat. He hated falling asleep sitting up, he hadn’t done it in so long; not since-

He froze.

He fell asleep.

Shouta swiped a hand across his face and rushed to face Hizashi’s side of the futon. No shiver or cough greeted him.

Hizashi was still.

Hizashi was never still. He never slept, never needed rest. Always, he moved and hummed and tapped; music twining like something alive beneath his skin as he danced to sound unheard. But now... he lied motionless; his back towards him, the sweat that had been coating his skin dried into the blankets.

Shouta’s hand hovered over his arm, trembling; tears stinging at his eyes. He’d fallen asleep and in Hizashi’s last moments... he’d been alone.

“Hizashi...” he croaked, his eyes falling shut as he gently turned him onto his back. He bowed over him, his hand clutching his mouth shut against the anguished wail brewing in his lungs. He didn’t deserve to scream, to sob or rave, not when he’d failed Hizashi again.

He swallowed his grief and his hand fell to Hizashi’s chest. Hitoshi was still asleep; he had to wake him up, he had to know that the god he’d devoted his life to - who had given his in exchange - was gone. He had to be strong for his son, he had to be...

The skin beneath his hand was warm.

Shouta’s eyes shot to Hizashi’s face.

It was flushed.

Not with fever or exertion from coughing; his cheeks were a healthy pink. The black that had been creeping at his lips, the bruises under his eyes... they were gone.

Shouta pressed his ear to his chest, holding his breath as he listened and hoping beyond hope.

A heartbeat met him; strong and steady as any drum.

He slowly sat back up, hardly daring to blink in fear of Hizashi changing; of this being one last cruelty done upon him and closing his eyes for even a heartbeat would mean he’d lose him forever. But his breaths were clear; so deep and slow, his chest hardly moved for stretches of time before finally expanding again like great bellows.

He felt a tear break loose from his lash line, carving down his face before falling free onto Hizashi’s cheek…

And he twitched.

Hizashi nose wrinkled, eyes starting to move behind their lids. He cooed as he snuggled deeper into the futon before his eyes slowly blinked open; tinged with sleep but clear of any fog or pain. He smiled as he looked up at him and it may have been the most beautiful thing Shouta had ever seen.

“Morning,” he purred before his eyes snapped wide in pure shock. “Shouta?”

Shouta’s breath rushed out in a sob and he pulled Hizashi to his chest, clinging to him desperately and feeling his arms twine around him to hold him just as tight. “Hizashi!”

He was warm in his arms, solid and real; his heart beating a strong tattoo against his own wildly beating one, feeling as though it would burst from his chest to merge with Hizashi’s.

“I thought...” his voice caught and he squeezed Hizashi tighter, ducking into the crook of his neck.

“So did I,” Hizashi returned shakily.

“I love you,” he rushed out. “I didn’t say it, but-“

“You didn’t need to. I still heard you,” he breathed, his lips brushing his crown. “I love you too, Shouta.”

Shouta shivered and pressed himself impossibly closer until he couldn’t tell where he ended and Hizashi began. He never wanted to find the edge, never wanted to feel bereft of his warmth, of his weight, his light. Hizashi’s hands moved to cup his jaw, tilting his face up and how could he ever have denied the love in his eyes? How could he ever have seen endless dips and valleys of green and think there was no room for him?

Shouta tangled his fingers in his hair and brought his lips to his own and no godly power could hope to replicate the sparks, the softness of Hizashi’s lips like the gentle crush of velvet as they moved against each other. He kept his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second; memorising each golden shade of his eyelashes, his soft sigh as he pressed closer.

He rested his forehead against Hizashi’s as they reluctantly broke apart, sharing each other’s breaths. Hizashi nuzzled against his nose and smiled, breathless laughter falling from his lips and Shouta answered with his own; the relief and joy like nothing he’d ever felt before.

It was only the tickle of bandages against his skin that brought him back down from his euphoria. “Wait, your stomach,” he remembered and pulled back, arms still wrapped around him as he held him in his lap.

The bandages around Hizashi’s stomach had come loose and Shouta waited for that sickly scent to wash over him... but there was nothing.

Hizashi frowned in confusion and pulled them away and Shouta almost gasped at what he revealed.

The wounds on his stomach were completely healed; five deep set scars in their place, white with age as if they had graced his skin years ago.

Shouta ran his fingers across them. “How could this happen?”

Hizashi laced his hand in his own and turned to Hitoshi, who was struggling to sit up as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes; his grin lighting up his face like the sun shining through the clouds. “Because you prayed to the God of Sound and Song.”