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Once a year every summer, the warm breeze halts in reverence of a god. Glass chimes halt their fragile clinks in deference to the crimson wings cutting through blue skies. The shrine maidens hum in understanding, sweeping the grounds in anticipation of both the mortal and the divine.
”What form will they choose this year?” Tetsurou wonders aloud.
He leans against the windowsill, head propped on crossed arms as he awaits the break of dawn. While he much prefers the sunrise from the peak of Mt. Mitake, the view in Kawagoe reminds him of time captured in a bubble. The way light silhouettes of the Edo and Meiji era buildings allow him to reverie to his younger days. The faces and the technology may have changed, but the architecture subtracts years from his soul.
Knock knock.
“Tatsu,” a voice calls from behind his door. “Will you be joinin’ us for breakfast?”
Tetsurou takes one last snapshot in his mind before removing himself from his spot. When he opens the door, a man much shorter – but no less powerful – stands before him. The protector of the north.
“You know I hate going by my title,” Tetsurou says.
Genbu, also known as Kita Shinsuke to those who know him in a personal capacity, smiles serenely. “I know. I also know you respond much more quickly when you have someone to correct or admonish.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Tetsurou shuts the door and adorns the yukata he’d prepared the evening before. The fabric is interspersed with green and gold dragons as if swirling through an inky black ocean. Perhaps his own dragon form looks the same when he travels the rivers at night, accidentally scaring serow and villagers too far from their mountain homes.
Shinsuke waits at the bottom of the stairs when Tetsurou emerges from his room. His own light blue yukata has small turtles along the edges of his sleeves.
“Has the wind started again?” Tetsurou asks.
“It has.”
His heart swells. They have landed.
Although Shinsuke spends the majority of the year in the Tohoku and Hokkaido regions, he maintains a rather large home in Kawagoe which he allows other deities and youkai to reside in while he travels as long as they maintain the peace. For one week during the year, however, he hosts a summer gathering for himself and the other three Shishou.
Upon entering the dining room, Tetsurou is greeted by the sight of Byakko placing various dishes across the table. For the most part, they’re traditional items such as rice, miso soup, and grilled fish, but he also incorporates more western items – fried eggs, bacon, and chorizo. They can safely leave the last one to him as he’s the only one who’s passionate about spicy foods.
“Morning, Aran,” Tetsurou says.
Aran peeks up and beams. “Mornin’ yourself. Hope yer hungry after last night.”
“Starving. I don’t know how those obaasan walk up and down Mitake every day without breaking a sweat. They should take over for me up there.”
Aran chuckles and shakes his head. “You could always choose a river that ain’t all the way up in the mountains, y’know.”
“But who would bless all the dogs?”
“I suppose you'd have to allow Oguchimatami to do his job properly, then,” Shinsuke says, pressing a kiss to Aran’s cheek. While he is the image of propriety the moment he steps outside, his affection toward his husband is ever-present in his home.
Tetsurou scoffs. “That old wolf spends more time hunting serow than listening to humans.”
“I don’t blame him.”
The comment comes from neither Shinsuke nor Aran, but instead from the archway behind them. Without a second thought, Tetsurou whirls around, opens his arms, and lifts the protector of the east into the air.
“Kuro, put me down,” they protest.
Tetsurou refuses, marveling at the carefully painted red at the corners of their eyes. It matches the large red bird depicted on their kimono.
“What name shall I call you this year?” Tetsurou asks. “Kiri? Kenma?”
Houou, despite their earlier insistence on release, smiles for a moment. “Kenma. I spent the majority of the year in my female form and I need a break.”
“Kenma it is.”
Kenma stops wiggling and places his hands on Tetsurou’s shoulders to stabilize himself. His lips part slightly as if to exhale a thought, but he says nothing. An invitation, perhaps? What Tetsurou wouldn’t give to press his lips against—
“I hate to interrupt your reunion,” Shinsuke says, “but if you’d like to enjoy the festivities properly, I’d suggest ya eat yer breakfast before it grows cold.”
Tetsurou lets Kenma down, but not without placing a kiss on his forehead first.
“I’ve missed you.”
Kenma hums. “Me too.”
They eat in silence, consuming every morsel as quickly as possible without insulting Aran’s culinary skills. Kenma munches on his bamboo seeds while Tetsurou devours fish after fish. Shinsuke and Aran savor their dragon fruit salad and seared bacon respectively.
Once the table has been cleared and the four have collected their belongings for the day, Shinsuke claps.
“Now then, are we ready to depart?”
✧✧✧✧✧
Four pairs of geta clack on the pavement as four youkai navigate uneven walkways. The closer they are to the shrine, the more they have the luxury of a sidewalk rather than the narrow section of the street designated for pedestrians. Tetsurou leads the pack while Shinsuke takes a more leisurely stroll.
Dozens of people also don their summer wear – bright-colored yukata with floral hair pins and matching bags. Many couples walk hand-in-hand, but there are equal amounts of school children giggling and racing each other to the shrine. Tetsurou laughs along with them.
He nudges Kenma’s shoulder. “Remember when we were that young?”
Kenma slips his hand into Tetsurou’s and squeezes. “You’re such an old man.”
“That would make you an old man, too. Just because we don’t age anymore doesn’t mean you don’t have a cranky soul.”
“At least I wasn’t born in the Edo Period.”
“By one year.” Tetsurou looks up and grins. “At least I’m not as old as that.”
He gestures to a 15-meter tall torii gate. The red has faded into burnt orange, but still, the surrounding trees enhance its vibrancy. People stop and bow before they pass through, asking the gods’ permission before they step into their domain.
“It’s almost as beautiful as the day it was built,” Shinsuke says.
Tetsurou shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you’re almost in your 1500s.”
“I can,” Aran mutters.
Being the youngest of the group – a relic of the Showa Period – he’s likely been more than privy to Shinsuke’s musings about the way Japan used to be. Shinsuke had met previous incarnations of Houous, Tatsus, and Byakkos as well as several other youkai during his time. He’d been much more solitary in those days, but upon meeting Tetsurou, he’s never had a true moment of peace since.
The closer they get to the gate, the more noticeable it is that an altercation is occurring. Two men press their foreheads together, one with dyed golden hair and the other with dark hair. They wear identical sneers as they yell at each other.
“Of course they’re already fightin’,” Aran says with a sigh.
“Not like they’ve ever stopped,” a man to their side says. He lifts the camera around his neck and aims it at the growling duo, the first twins to both receive the title of Inari.
Shinsuke laughs behind his hand. “It wouldn’t be summer without Osamu and Atsumu about to kill each other. It’s refreshin’.”
“Oi!” Tetsurou calls. “You two gonna stop any time soon or do we have to put the festivities on hold?”
The twins turn their heads toward their newfound target. They’re locked on.
“Yer hair is just as terrible as always,” Atsumu quips.
“Not as bad as yers, but gettin’ there,” Osamu agrees.
“Can we get going before the crowd gets worse?”
Osamu runs over and wraps his arms around the man with his camera still out, somehow careful not to break it. “C’mon, Kiyoomi. Lighten up a little. It’s a festival.”
Atsumu gags. “You two are disgusting.”
At that, Kiyoomi relaxes into Osamu’s hold while flipping Atsumu off. Mature, considering the receiver.
Tetsurou feels a tug at his side and Kenma looks up at him silently. It’s the way he’s always looked at Tetsurou when he wants space from others. Luckily the others are preoccupied with Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s current fight over which one of them Osamu cares about least, so Tetsurou gestures toward the torii gates.
“Let’s go,” he whispers.
Kenma nods.
As they sneak past, Shinsuke catches Tetsurou’s eye. Instead of calling them out, he smiles and turns his attention back on the Inari twins and the only human brave enough to insult either one of them.
Tetsurou and Kenma walk through tunnels of windchimes, all of them swaying in the gentle summer breeze. They slip out into the surrounding trees, forbidden grounds for mortals, but what priest or shrine maiden would scold them for walking where they please?
Kenma leans against the bark and closes his eyes.
“Is that an invitation, or—”
“Kiss me, you idiot.”
Tetsurou rushes forward and presses his lips to Kenma’s. Youkai like him eat as much a month as a human would in a single meal, but when it comes to Kenma, he could spend years kissing him and still never have his fill. If he could shirk his duties and stay by his side every day, he would, but his lifespan would decrease to nothing if he took the risk.
So he lets himself have this for as long as he’s allowed to have it. As long as Kenma allows him to have it.
The summer haze descends on him as they pull apart, the humidity further scrambling his brain the way Kenma’s lips always do.
“We should get married again,” he murmurs.
“The first time wasn’t enough?” Kenma responds.
Tetsurou shakes his head. “We were in the middle of a war back then. I want to do it properly this time.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring box. On the inside are a pair of rings attached by a red chain. Even before they’d been given their titles, they were connected by fate’s string. A small town in Saitama. A stray ball kicked too far. Two boys so quiet that they learned to read each other’s thoughts before they could parse each other’s words.
Kenma sighs, but a hint of a laugh attaches itself at the end. “How about next year?”
“I think I can manage that.”
Once a year every summer, Susanoo-no-Mikoto and Kushinadahime happen upon two youkai whispering words of love, surrounded by green leaves and painted glass. They laugh in understanding, themselves intertwining their fingers as they continue to bless the couples and newlyweds who grace their home.