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Like many times before, Yukine’s dream started in his childhood home.
He stood alone in the living room, decrepit and aged with time. Pots and pans clashed in the other room, too angry to be baking. Voices from the kitchen, spilling out from the lit doorway. But they weren’t any of his family’s. The whispers floated through the kitchen door, disjointed and garbled.
He started forward. The adjacent rooms were dark. Eyes, beady and hungry, watched through the darkness, waiting to strike.
He picked up speed. The living room lights flickered, and the eyes closed in. Yukine sprinted with all his might, but every step toward the kitchen only seemed to take him further back.
Figures started appearing in the hallway. Amaterasu, finger outstretched as she sentenced him to an eternity in a dark coffin. The sorcerer, luring him in with promises of comfort and safety. His father, smelling pungent of alcohol and body odor as he raised his hand to strike Yukine.
The whispers rose to a forte, swarming in his mind and burrowing in his brain like parasites. The lights flickered again, and didn’t come back on.
He crouched on the ground and screamed.
Yukine shot awake. He clutched his chest, throat closing tight with anxiety. The warm light of the lamp next to him did little to calm him, and all he could focus on were the whispers and the angry eyes and the angry fists aiming for his body.
He stood up in a moment of panic, tiptoeing around Yato’s sleeping form and scurried into the bathroom. He couldn’t tell if he slammed the door or shut it quietly—there was too much on his mind—but the next thing he knew he was leaning over the toilet bowl emptying his dinner into it.
He leaned over the bowl for a few moments, eyes shut tight, waiting for the moment to pass. With each second his heart slowed just a little bit. He tried to focus on the ground beneath him, the cool tile that shocked his skin through his thin pajamas. It reminded him where he was, sitting on solid ground, not the floaty faux-flooring of his dream.
"Everything alright in there?" A voice said. Yukine jumped as the door cracked open, and Daikoku's head appeared. His expression, creased with worry, softened when he saw Yukine hunched over the toilet. Daikoku let himself in, shutting the door silently behind him. Without a word he grabbed a cup from under the counter and filled it with water before offering it.
Yukine reached out to take it. He winced at how much his hands were shaking. He put the cup to his lips and closed his eyes. For a second Daikoku disappeared and Yukine's father stood in his place, reaching out to hit Yukine—no, Haruki—because he'd thrown up in the newly cleaned bathroom, ruining an hours worth of hard work, and—
Yukine opened his eyes. This was not his house. This was not his father.
He sipped the water and spit it back out into the toilet, before flushing. Gross.
"Did I wake you up?" he mumbled. Now the embarrassment was settling in. He clutched the cup in his hands, watching as his knuckles turned white.
Daikoku sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kind of. But don't worry about it. You wanna brush your teeth?"
Yukine nodded. Daikoku helped him up, and watched silently as Yukine put a toothbrush to his mouth, standing over him like a 6 foot tall guardian angel.
"So what's up?" the older shinki asked when Yukine was done. "We can't get sick like this from regular physical stuff. Something else is bothering you."
Yukine grimaced, gripping the base of the sink. Something else. Beer bottles and ripped up letters. Hasty bandages. Teardrops. A cold broken fridge. "I can't—I can't tell you."
Daikoku was quiet for a moment. And then, "Is it about the sorcerer?"
Even hearing that man's title made Yukine’s heart race. The sorcerer was gone, but the marks of Hagusa remained. Yukine suspected they'd never truly go away.
"Yeah," he decided. Daikoku knew about the battle with Yato's father. Everyone on the far shore knew about that. Just not anything specific.
And it would stay that way.
"Please don't wake Yato," Yukine added hastily. "I've been having nightmares, he hasn't been able to sleep well. He… needs to rest." His voice was barely above a whisper now.
Daikoku sighed, wearing that familiar soft expression. It used to seem so out of place on his rugged face, but now Yukine couldn't imagine Daikoku without it. "Come on. I'll make some tea. Can you walk alright?"
Yukine nodded. Weird. His father never asked if he could do something, never thought about him. Just demanded.
Haruki, bring me another beer!
Haruki, clean up this mess!
Haruki, get over here now!
"You want ginger or chamomile?" Daikoku asked.
Yukine blinked. They were in the kitchen now. He must have zoned out. "Um… chamomile please."
Daikoku's mouth turned upwards into an almost-smile, before he disappeared into the kitchen. Yukine sat at the kotatsu table, and listened to the household sounds. The kettle filling with water, the metallic chik chik of the gas stove being lit.
Gas. That was something Yukine understood. The first time he'd seen an electric stove he'd nearly had an aneurysm, not to mention Yato's goddamn cell phone. Technology moved so fast since… well, since he died.
Yukine wondered how long it would take him to catch up. Truly catch up, on 40 years' worth of songs and movies and games, on all the history he'd missed, on the skills he should have developed decades ago.
He supposed he could take his sweet time. He had at least a couple hundred years, as long as Yato decided to stay out of trouble.
Even so, something told him no matter how much time passed, his childhood would never fade. Some of the feelings always seemed to linger, under his skin like an itch that could never be scratched.
Not being allowed to lock his bedroom door at night. Neighbors pretending not to see his bruises as he walked to school. Wind blowing through his sister's hair as her feet perched on the ledge of a bridge. A cold winter's night, the last air his living lungs would ever breathe.
Clink.
Daikoku set a mug in front of him, breaking Yukine out of his thoughts. The mug was clearly one Kofuku had picked up somewhere; on it a cartoon cat clung onto a branch as the words hang in there floated cheerfully over its head.
At least his tea was cheering him on, Yukine thought dryly.
He sighed, breathing in the scent of chamomile. But another scent caught his nose, wafting from Daikoku's own mug.
"Is that…coffee?"
Daikoku smiled sheepishly. "Decaf. But yeah."
Leave it to Daikoku to drink coffee at two in the morning. Yukine almost laughed. Almost. But the thoughts of letters and beer bottles and bruises were too fresh in his mind, so he settled on a small smile. Even that felt too greedy. As if he shouldn't be smiling at all.
Yukine dropped his gaze. He stared into the mug, watching the water turn a calm chartreuse.
"Daikoku," he cleared his throat. "Does it… does it ever get better?"
Daikoku's smile fell. "What do you mean?"
Yukine winced. "Well, there's gotta be some things you regret. Or maybe things you just don't want to remember. Do you—does it ever hurt less?"
Another sigh, this time from Daikoku. "The sorcerer's battle was that bad, huh?"
Understatement of the century. Yukine wished it was only the battle that was bothering him. Things would be so much easier.
He nodded nonetheless. "Yeah."
Daikoku huffed, then took a long sip of his coffee. The steam floated up around his head, swirling through wisps of hair before dancing into the ceiling. Kofuku was right above them, sleeping. Yukine wondered if she'd be able to smell the coffee through the floor if she was awake.
"Some things get better with time. Being a shinki as long as I have, you experience some… less than desirable things," Daikoku confessed. "But the bad feelings will lessen eventually."
Eventually. Yukine wondered how long that would be. Months? Years? Decades?
"What about memories?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Daikoku blinked. "Memories?"
Shit. "I, uh, nothing. Forget I said anything."
"No, no. It's a good question." Daikoku put a hand to his scruff for a moment, a habit Yukine noticed the first night he'd been offered a room in their house. Daikoku would always do that when thinking. "Not all, but maybe some. There are things that my lady and I did when I first got my name, I still remember like it was yesterday."
"Oh." Yukine deflated. He imagined being stuck with nightmares for the rest of his life, waking up Yato night after night because of his stupid father.
Really, the man had done it all. He was long dead—Yukine looked that up the second he got home—and yet the asshole was still causing him pain.
Yukine wasn't even alive anymore, but his dad was still hurting him. As if killing him wasn't enough, he had to haunt a ghost.
And maybe that was the worst part. Because it had been over 40 years since Tajima Haruki existed, 40 years since he'd felt his father's calloused knuckles against his skin, but Yukine could remember the punches like they'd happened an hour ago.
Sometimes he had to stare at himself in the mirror just to make sure his cheek wasn't still swollen.
One part of Yukine hoped his father's stupid soul had turned into an ayakashi after he died. It was just what that asshole deserved. Then another part scolded himself, said he shouldn't think things like that. But only because it might hurt Yato. His dad's soul could rot with Inzanami for all Yukine cared.
"I know I'm hurting Yato," Yukine admitted. He didn't miss how drained his god seemed lately. How his fighting was sloppy when they got called out on odd jobs. How he would wince in pain when he thought Yukine wasn't watching. "Like, if I could just forget about the fight, then it'd be fine. And we could go back to what it was like before."
The fight. Not the fight with the sorcerer, but earlier. The fight between God and shinki; before Yukine drew a line against Yato. Before he scraped skin off trying to scratch the name Yuki off himself. Before Hagusa, before all of this.
Every moment past that was just another awful memory for Yukine to bear, and another pain in Yato's chest. Not to mention all his human memories.
"It's just not fair…" Yukine mumbled.
Daikoku gave him a knowing look. Daikoku, who gave Yukine an ablution outside this very room. Daikoku, who'd put his life on the line to free Yukine from Amaterasu's cursed coffin. Daikoku, who brewed Yukine tea and helped him when he was sick.
"I understand," he said simply. "It's the hardest part about being a shinki. But it's what makes us human, isn't it? I don't think Yato will mind if you need time to work through your nightmares. We went through a lot with that battle. Even my lady and I. But Yato's worked it out with you before. Something tells me he won't mind doing it again. You're a good kid."
Yukine smiled, glancing back down at his drink. The tea was probably steeped by now. He took a sip. Chamomile and honey danced on his tongue. Daikoku must have put the honey in. Yet another thing Yukine didn't deserve.
"Thank you," he said. And he meant it. Gods, Yukine didn't know what he'd do without Kofuku and Daikoku's support.
Daikoku nodded, and there was that soft look again. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden creaking of the floorboards interrupted him.
"You guys havin' a tea party in here, or what?" A familiar figure stood in the doorway, yawning.
Yukine set his mug on the table, familiar guilt riding in his chest again. "Yato! Did we wake you?"
"Nah," Yato said. He rubbed his eyes slowly. "Had to use the bathroom. Just heard you guys talkin' so I thought I'd check it out. Daikoku, is that coffee? Are you crazy?"
Daikoku rolled his eyes. "Quiet down, will you? If you wake My Lady up with your nonsense you are spending the rest of the night in the garden."
And there it was. They had all been through so much. At this point, suffering and pain were intertwined into their lives. Yet here Daikoku and Yato were, bickering and joking like nothing had changed. Things were so goddamn normal right now, Yukine could laugh.
Because here was proof that Yato and Daikoku could still foster the broken pieces of their lives, pick them up and mend them back together. So maybe, just maybe Yukine could too.
"Come on Daikoku," Yato complained. "You wouldn't do that to—Hey, Yukine what's wrong? Are you crying?"
Yukine covered his face in his hands, cheeks burning. He had barely noticed the tears until Yato pointed them out. Now the gaze of the god and older shinki stuck to him like glue.
"See, Daikoku," Yato scolded. "Look what you did. You're scaring him!"
"No, it's not that," Yukine said through his hands. "I'm just…glad." Glad that he still had Yato and Daikoku, and Hiyori and Kofuku and everyone else. Glad that the sorcerer was defeated.
Glad that he had people now who would make him tea when he was sick, or rush to his side when he was feeling down.
Oh. Yukine never had that when he was alive.
He wiped at his eyes, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or keep crying or maybe run out the door and hide in the woods somewhere. "I'm okay. Really. Just…the past few days have been a lot. And I—I'm happy things turned out."
A beat. Next thing he knew, Yato's arms were around him and the god was cooing in his ear. "Awww, didja hear that Daikoku? The kid really cares about us!"
What an incredibly Yato thing to say. Though Yukine was a bit relieved; he'd never really had anyone to be sappy to. Telling people exactly what he thought was…awkward.
"Get off me, sweaty!" Yukine said. He pushed his god away lightly. As Yato reeled to the side, Yukine didn't miss how instantly cold it felt in his absence. He waited for Yato to come in for a second hug; this time Yukine might not let go so quickly.
But Yato didn't. He repositioned himself and sat at the table and turned to the other shinki in the room. "Fine, if Yukine doesn't want my love, then maybe you could make me some tea?" He stated up at Daikoku, with those weird puppy dog eyes that somehow always seemed to work.
This time was just as effective, because Daikoku sighed and disappeared back into the kitchen. As soon as he did, Yato's playful composure fell. He leaned toward Yukine slightly, eyebrows pinched in concern. "You sure you're okay?"
Yukine nodded, clutching his warm teacup in his hands. "I'm fine. Just…had a nightmare. Couldn't sleep."
Yato's frown deepened. "Another one? Was it the same?"
Yukine shrugged. "More or less, yeah." He stared into his drink, not looking his master in the eye.
"You should have woken me up," Yato said plainly.
"But I…" Yukine shrugged again. "You were sleeping, and I know you haven't been sleeping well because of me, so I didn't want to wake you—"
"Hey," Yato cut him off. "I told you before, I don't mind. Here, I'll give you my word." He cleared his throat and raised his fingers up, like a goddamn boy scout or something. "I, the god Yato, declare that my shinki are hereby allowed to wake me up for any reason, at any time. Unless it's a prank."
And, gods, that was it. Yukine smiled, and Yato smiled back. And suddenly they were both laughing. Giggling as quietly as they could, trying not to wake Kofuku above them. Yukine laughed so hard that his chest hurt. He didn't even know that was possible to do quietly.
Wow. He hadn't felt that since…he couldn't remember. He'd never had this with his family when he was alive. Sitting at a table together and laughing, it felt surreal.
"Yato," he started. Yato's laugh dwindled, and he looked at Yukine more seriously.
"Yeah, kid?"
"I—" Yukine looked down at his lap, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. "Thank you. For not giving up on me, I mean. Even after all I did."
A beat. Yukine heard some shuffling, then a hand on his shoulder. "I'm never gonna give up on you," Yato said. "Not in a million, billion years. You're my shinki, my harufi, nothing's going to change that."
The world froze. Yukine couldn't believe it. After all he'd done to his god. He'd drawn a border against Yato. He'd scratched his chest raw trying to get his name off. He'd tried to kill Yato; he'd attacked because he was so buried in his own despair that he thought the man in front of him was his father.
But Yato pulled him out of his own mind and saved him. He'd taken everything Yukine threw at him and didn't give up. And this wasn't the first time.
Yukine had nearly turned into an ayakashi three times in the short year he'd been a shinki, yet Yato stayed with him, despite it all. On the night Yukine was named, Yato gave him his only jacket. When they were homeless, Yato always gave Yukine a bigger portion of his food. After a battle, he always checked on his shinki. Yato always put him first.
Yukine turned and suddenly dove into Yato's arms. His T-shirt was soft and it smelled like fresh linens and that special fabric softener Kofuku always bought.
Yato seemed shocked for a moment, but slowly lifted his arms to embrace Yukine. His embrace felt like home.
Haruki didn't have a home—not a true one. But now Yukine did.
Yato ran a hand through Yukine’s hair, soft and gentle. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The two stayed like that, just soaking in each other's comfort.
“You give good hugs, kid,” Yato mumbled eventually. “You should put that on your resume.”
Yukine chuckled, tears pricking his eyes. “I'll keep that in mind next time we get called to a babysitting job.” He sniffed, and pulled away from the hug.
Just then, Daikoku walked in, a cup of tea in his hands. He set it down in front of Yato.
Yato eyed it suspiciously. “You didn't poison this, did you? You're being awfully nice, Daikoku.”
“If you don't want it I'd be happy to dump it down the drain,” Daikoku deadpanned.
Yato snatched the mug off the table and cradled it in his arms. “No!”
Daikoku sighed, a smile twitching at his lips. “Consider the tea a thank-you gift. For saving the world.”
Yato sighed. “Don't need to thank me. That bastard needed to go down one way or another. Just too bad you all got roped into it.” With that last statement, he glanced over at Yukine. Yukine quickly dropped his gaze to his mug.
“But hey,” Yato said. He set the mug on the table and stretched out, lying on the floor. “Now we're all safe. And I won't have to see Take’s stupid face for at least a hundred years.”
Yukine smiled at that. Yato and his stupid feuds. He turned to Daikoku. “Thanks again for the tea. And…for earlier.”
Daikoku took a seat next to him and patted him on the shoulder. His eyes twinkled knowingly. “Anytime.”
The trio lilted into a comfortable silence. And Yukine realized he wouldn’t mind more sleepless nights like this, as long as they came with those who cared about him. Maybe, just maybe, he could truly start over now. With people like these by his side, he figured it wouldn’t be so hard.
He glanced up out the window. Above them, the moon shone bright and silver, watching kindly. And in the morning, he knew the sun would rise again, just as it always had.