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Chapter Text

Folklore /ˈfəʊklɔː/

noun

the traditional beliefs, customs, and stories of a community, passed through the generations by word of mouth

They say a creature lurks in the woods far west from here. 

The tales started when a couple had driven into those woods for a romantic getaway in the spring, a chance to be away from the hustle and bustle of the town, a chance to find tranquillity in the welcoming sounds of birds and leaves brushing against each other, undisturbed and unbothered by human nature. The couple, driving in the dead of night, following a winding road that cut through the trees, were aghast to find something large dash into their path, swerving in order not to collide with it. At first, they said to have thought it was a deer, its eyes flashing, glued to the sight of the blinding headlights of their car.

However, deers do not have large, wide wings and certainly cannot rise to stand the height of a human. In their words, it was the most bizarre animal they had ever seen. That moment alone of pale, unfurling wings and strange, glowing red eyes was enough to send the couple into a panic, turning and speeding back the way they came, frantic to get away from this strange beast.

A loud clap, the sound of flight, suddenly cracked through the air like lightning, and in the rear-view mirror, the creature had simply vanished from sight.

There was only a quiet sigh of relief from the woman in the passenger seat, before her terrified shriek burst through the car suddenly, just a moment before something heavy landed on the roof; heavy enough to almost topple it over and send it crashing to the ground.

But it did not, instead the beast clung and clawed at the metal on the car's roof, tearing jagged stripes along its surface and even cutting into its interior. The sound of steel screeching in agony and the shrill scream of the woman kicking in her seat rang across the empty road. The couple said they must be the ‘luckiest people alive’ to have gotten away that night, lucky that the creature had soon let go of their car and did not follow after.

Though, not everybody believed in the story of a frightened, young couple yelling about a man with large wings and claws that could tear through the roof of your car. No, at first the townsfolk insisted it must have been a deer, caught by the headlights. Well, that didn't explain the tears in the car . It must have been a bear then: a large bear, aggravated at the fact it had nearly been hit. What about the wings then? Easy, the couple was young and in love and on their way to have a romantic evening- they must have drunk too much, it would have explained the man's poor driving skills and the hallucination of wings. Yet, while yes, the couple did plan on having a drink or two later that night, they swore they had not had a drop before when they saw the beast. Fear, then. When you're absolutely scared to your wits, you might see something that is not actually there, such as a tall, lanky creature with wings.

And so, the couple is dismissed quickly and their frightening encounter is looked over completely.

They moved town shortly after that.

The story reaches the ears of all those across the town, and a few get the stupid idea of going into the woods to try to hunt this monster. Try they did, and an encounter with said monster was thrown upon them. Only one man, of the six who had ventured into the woods as a group, came back alive. He'd sworn his friends were right beside him, that they were there one second and gone the next. They were picked off, one by one, by a creature hidden among the leaves, silently and swiftly. The man who came back went to prison for the suspected murder of the five other men. He swore his innocence, swore that he'd never dreamt of taking a life. Still, his protests were met with concerned and sickend glances from the townsfolk as he wailed desperately, trying to convince somebody, anybody , that there really is a beast that was out for blood in those woods.

More and more reports arose in the coming months: missing persons, suspected homicides... The townsfolk started to become anxious as the more times a new report came in, they were starting to believe the tales of a beast with huge, white wings and sharp claws and gleaming red eyes, a monster who stalks its prey and who had a particular thirst for the blood of the townsfolk. They were worried it would soon leave the woodland in search of more people to slaughter, that it would find its way to the town and make a massacre of its people.

When winter set in, suddenly all went quiet- eerily quiet. Apart from the fact that everyone was increasingly warned from going into the woods, there was an abrupt decline in cases and the news of the monster in the trees snowed over, much like the town. The winter in these parts were cold and unforgiving, thick layers of snow covered the ground and piled on the bare branches of trees, even lakes iced over and the sound of birdsong was forgotten. The town battled through it, as they do every year. They all felt a bit safer during the winter, believing the beast to have been frostbitten to death.

It was like a bad dream…

When the snow started to melt away and sprouts of life started to emerge once again after the long winter, people started to report sightings again, increasingly so as the warm weather arose, until it was spring-time again and people started to go missing once more.

It was the summer of that year when the town council declared nobody should enter the woods under any circumstance. It was clear those trees hid a danger that should not be ignored.

Years passed since then, and since, the number of missing persons and the mysterious sightings had dwindled so much that generation after generation believed the whole thing to be a fairytale- something the elders would say to their young, to scare them from wandering into the trees alone. After so long, the woodlands were no longer banned from entering (that is, within important reasons) like your job, for example. Scientists, researchers, journalists, healers, professional hikers etc, were among the few people allowed to enter. Again, provided you had a team to keep each other protected and safe.

 Besides, nobody ever wanted to go in alone.

As long as you hold no ill intent towards the life within these woods, you should be safe, is what everyone says.

Every now and again, someone would come up saying there's been a new sighting of the winged creature, leading everyone to believe it was still out there, prowling the trees, but perhaps not as bloodthirsty as it used to be, with so few cases nowadays.

Despite how many people claimed to have seen the monster, its descriptions were never the same. The only recurring feature was the large wings and blood red eyes. Everything else about the monster was told differently by whoever saw it. Some claim the monster was massive, reaching the size of the trees it lived in, with giant wings, claws and black fur covering the expanse of its hulking body. Others say it was smaller, still tall but nowhere near the monstrous description it was commonly claimed to be. For some reason, people liked to go back and forth on what colour it was, whether its fur was as black as night or as white as the moon. That is, if it had fur at all. Few rejected this idea. Most came to the agreement that it was furred or feathered in some way, but they could not say how much it had- it depended on who you spoke to.

You found that those who appeared more anxious, more afraid of the beast, when they spoke of it, were the ones who had described it so gruesomely, funnily enough.

But a researcher as keen as you wouldn't have let the tales of a mythical creature scare you off from studying what's inside those woods. It intrigued you, how the woods seemed to flourish with wildlife and plenty of healthy undergrowth, even in the harsh winter when everything else would die from the cold claws of hunger, the woods itself seemed to spring back up immediately- as soon as the first waves of warmth returned.

You wondered why this was. It was certainly strange, something you'd never heard of before, a whole forest coming to life so soon after winter. You had theories, but of course you needed to do some proper research before confirming anything.

You had to study those woods, it was as if something was tugging you towards them, but you could not say what . There was an odd feeling stirring you on.

So, with permission granted and a team of people to study with, you'd set off under the thick canopy of trees…

Unaware of the crimson eyes following you the moment you set foot into his territory.

If there was one thing Tomura did not understand about humans, it was their infuriating insistence on coming back into his woods; how many years of killing still did not deter them from the very obvious danger: him .

Entering the woodland, aflame with malice and loaded with various weapons to try and hunt him down or trap him- all of them pathetically underskilled and too easy to kill. What they don’t realise is that they were never hunting him, he was hunting them . For years, the same kind of people would troop into the trees to look for him, and he knew exactly what kind of humans they were, because they all shared the same scent: the scent of man mixed with idiocy. Those were the type of humans they were, men who reeked of recklessness and bad ideas.

Or, that was how it used to be, before they all stopped coming back years ago.

Tomura was glad to have a moment's peace. For once, he was able to roam his own territory as he liked, without the pestilence that was human beings. And without the presence of people, he could start to focus on other things rather than keeping men out of his woods. In the years since humans had ceased to enter, he saw to it that everything was taken care of, from the animals that slept here to the plants within his borders.

No , he was not some kind of mythical guardian sent here to protect and nurture, but this was his woods and he’d be damned if he let things go awry.

Under his watchful gaze, he’d make sure the plant life was thriving and the creatures were the healthiest they could be. He did need to eat after all… and he wouldn’t survive off of the vegetation alone, he needed to sink his teeth into something too, and since the humans had left him alone, he’d had to resort to the animals instead. Thankfully his diet didn’t require him to eat a lot, in fact he could go weeks without. This did not stop him from hunting regularly though, even when he left his prey uneaten, he found that killing was the best way to relieve his frustrations.

He isn't always sure what he's so angry about, but most of the time…it's people. Just thinking about them irks him and makes him itch, makes him want to tear something apart with just his teeth until there's blood dripping down his neck.

Tomura has lived this way for years, expanding his territory, preserving it. He’d come to know every inch of it and everything that went on at all times. 

It started off small, when people started returning to his woods once again. After so many years, he’d thought he’d rid himself of the repulsive human stench, but it appears they were no longer spooked enough to stay away. 

Maybe he’d have to remind them why they stopped coming in the first place.

He could sense the moment somebody had stepped through the treeline, it made his neck fur bristle and caused his wings to tremble, so he’d made his way over immediately to see what was going on. He was sure to stay hidden, to stay silent as he darted toward the border of the woods.

A single person made their way into the shrubbery, their gaze flicking around warily, like they expected something or someone to jump onto them. 

He felt bile rise in his throat when he saw them and gripped the bark he was perched on so intensely that it cracked. 

Why can’t humans just stay away?

The sound drew a frightened gasp from the human and they started to look around wildly, trying to locate the source of the noise. Tomura could smell the terror coming from them in intense waves. He watched as their chest started to rise and fall more quickly, and how they brought their arms up to cradle each other as they glanced every which way.

Their scent though… it was different somehow; still human, definitely, but they did not smell the same as the men who used to march in here all those years ago. Their scent also did not carry the bitterness he was used to either.

Looking even more closely at the human now, Tomura could see physical differences too. This human was shorter, their hair bundled neatly by their shoulders, and their body covered by a long, single fabric that reached down to their knees.

Oh…

He took a deep breath, curious now.

They were female .

He’d never seen a female human before. He figured they did in fact exist, as most animals had male and female counterparts, he’d just thought he’d never seen one since none weren’t stupid enough to try and trap him. 

He could tell clearer now, their scent was sweeter in a way, more appealing- it was different.

The human moved again, looking as if she was about to scutter back the way she came. He now noticed she held something in her shaking grasp, its shape cubed and a pleasant smell coming from it.

His antennae twitched.

“H-hello?” 

Tomura almost flinched. She sounded differently too. How odd human creatures are, he thinks.

Despite calling out, the woman did not look his way, unable to pinpoint his location among the thick layer of leaves.

She did not say anything else after that, only bowing down quickly and then taking off back towards the road and out of the woods.

She didn't look back.

Confused, Tomura stared after her, sceptical if this was a new tactic that humans had come up with to ambush him. But nothing happened. He did notice, however, that the girl had left something in her wake. 

An offering.

Or at least, that's what he supposed it was. A honeycomb delicately wrapped up, left on the grassy floor. He’d taken it, obviously, after making sure it wasn't poisoned.

It was sweet .

That was the first non-violent human interaction he had, and surprisingly not the last.

In the coming years, humans started to leave things for him when they visited the woods. He found it incredibly strange at first, but took their gifts nonetheless, though still remaining unseen. It was also amusing, he thinks, to offer a gift and in exchange he’d spare their lives.

Sometimes they left him food, like the honeycomb. Other times they left small trinkets for him to find- he’d come to favour these, having grown fond of his collection over the years. He especially liked the few items that shone or glowed. Granted, not a lot of humans entered his woods nowadays, which he preferred, but he did enjoy hunting for whatever they brought him when they did visit. 

With such a violent history with people, he’d never thought he would allow them to enter and leave his territory unscathed. Even so, ever since that first girl, the humans who started coming weren't like the trappers he hated so much- no, these humans came into the woods cautiously, and left their offerings with a kind of respect.

He’d keep an eye on whoever came in, of course. He had to make sure they were respectful of his woods as well as him. Most of the time, they were only coming for a short trip or to gather a few plants and then leave. 

At times he’d catch them hunting his prey; those he did not allow to leave the woods alive.

The humans hardly ever entered or stayed during the night, but the few times that they did, they’d bring an item with them that projected the sun’s light to shine through the darkness. Or, they’d trap a small fire inside of a see-through cage so they could carry it with them during the night. Tomura thought these were better than any gift he’d been offered before. He found it incredibly hard to not charge straight into the beam of light so he could capture it for himself, instead he forced himself to wait until the humans slept so he could steal it. They always woke up confused but never gave him any trouble for it. He had three of these items stored away in his nest, and they were among his favourites. 

The periods of time in which people came into his territory were largely separated, only having the rare visit every few months or so since the honeycomb offering two years before. Although he was getting used to the occasional entry every now and again, he was still startled every time he scented a human inside his territory, or maybe he was startled at the fact that they weren't all trying to kill him- nobody really tired that anymore.

He still disliked the human stench, even if they brought charming gifts with them.

Now, his antennae perk as they catch the familiarising scent of somebody nearing the treeline. He hadn't had a visit in a while. Especially not from a group of people, as he could tell the closer he got to the border.

So, Tomura perches himself in the foliage of a nearby tree and waits. He’s just about in time too, as the small group of people appear the next second, crossing the road that marks the edge of his woods.

He isn't sure, he can never be with humans, after all , but it seems that there's somebody leading the group of five. Well, perhaps not leading, they seem to blend in with the rest of the few, only walking that few steps ahead and still chattering with the others.

For some reason, his eyes lock onto that one, and he feels a shiver run down his spine the moment you cross the line into his territory.

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Treat /triːt/

noun

plural noun: Treats

an event or item that is out of the ordinary and gives great pleasure.

Tomura rolls onto his back, his chest heaving, his wings buzzing. Squeaks escape him with every pant.

That was intense.

And now, with his head clear again, he lets out a groan. His hand comes up, about to run it down his face, until he stops himself. No. It’s…sullied.

He lets it drop back down, over the edge of the nest, unimpressed by his own actions.

He’d already been missing out on sleep because he was too horny to function, now he was waking up this way too? And it was getting harder to ignore! What had gotten into him? Aside from the obvious.

As much as he’d like to go back to sleep and become dead to the woods for the remainder of the day, he’d made too much of a mess of himself. He needs a wash after that. 

So, with a groan and a few sessions of self-care under his metaphorical belt, he forces himself out of his nest. He pointedly ignores the twinkle of your ring weaved into it.

Tomura carelessly wipes his soiled hand against some low-hanging fronds outside. He needed to renew his scent marks anyway. Doesn’t really matter how he does it, though his usual go-to is the blood of his prey. 

The sunlight offends him. He releases a huff and climbs into the cover of the trees. At least here he can remain unseen and cool. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the nearest spring. Not for him, anyway. He’s more than familiar with the journey. It’s his favourite spot to wash.

He soon pops his head out of the leaves. With a few glances, he confirms the coast is clear, then descends. His wings twitch in anticipation, but he keeps them steady. He wouldn’t like to accidentally get them wet, even if the sunshine would dry them relatively quickly.

Tomura dips his talons in first, hesitant.

It’s a refreshing temperature compared to the warm weather. He lowers his body into it next, sighing in relief as he starts to get himself clean once again. And whilst he’s here, he may as well clean properly. 

The water laps against his abdomen, lazy, without much drive. The little spring hardly makes a splash either, only sprinkling small beads against his back. He flutters his wings occasionally so it doesn’t collect the drops.

He takes his time brushing his claws through his fur, untangling any knots, clearing out old dust. The water drips down his chest as he works on his neck fluff. 

It’s rather relaxing…

Not too cold, not too warm. Nobody to bother him. It’s refreshing.

Purrs even rumble from his throat once he begins to wash his hair. He’s careful to avoid soaking his antenna, of course.

Simply threading his fingers through the strands is a soothing gesture. 

It leaves him in a better mood than the morning had found him.

He wonders if you’re out and about…

Or were you still cowering from that small scare he gave you? The notion brings a smirk to his lips. 

Curiously, he lifts an antenna, idly listening whilst he preens. 

The spring, tweeting, bees buzzing, a mole scuffling at the ground…

He swivels his antenna into another direction.

A cicada, leaves brushing, a woodpecker knocking, some rocks clattering somewhere…

And…humans. In the distance.

Tomura scoffs.

Their noise clutters his woods.

Where were you?

Clambering out of the spring, Tomura looks around, then promptly shakes himself off.

It feels good to be clean.

He pats down his fluff while surveying the trees. He’ll go look for you. He can sense you’re here somewhere, just further from your usual spots.

He stretches his limbs, then his wings, then takes flight.

Yes, he prefers not to fly during the day. But he isn’t exactly worried your simpleminded companions will see him. In fact, you’re not even close to them. Strange…what were you up to? Straying so far from safety? Another project of yours? Or possibly…

No, right?

You weren’t that silly, surely…?

He grins again.

Humans and their emotions! He doesn’t mind it. It’s entertaining once in a while. He just didn’t think you were like that. That you’d be so bold as to try and seek him.

Well, perhaps that’s a lie.

He’d smelt your spirited nature from the moment you had crossed his border.

This shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does.

He flies above the trees, the sun bathing his wings and wind blowing through his hair.

Maybe he just feels this way because he liked things the other way round, with him seeking you. He preferred it. He liked baiting your venturesome personality, seeing just how far you’d go. He would’ve liked to tease you a bit longer, but, he supposes this is just as interesting.

This was a bad idea.

No, no, backtrack– this was a horrible idea.

Why do you do these things? Why did you ever think going into the woods, alone, without telling anyone what you were up to, to chase down a monster, was a good idea?!

Maybe that’s why he didn’t eat you. You’d taste too much like stupid.

The snap of a twig makes you jump, and for whatever reason- probably because of the aforementioned stupidity- your first instinct is to clutch the glass jar you’re carrying to your chest. 

And, then you realise, stupidly, that the twig had snapped under your own foot. 

You let out a sigh. But you don’t know whether it’s from relief or just releasing the nerves trapped in your body. 

You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, not with those…dreams you’d had.

Whatever the case, you’re out here now…

You just feel bad for lying to your friend. They think you’re sleeping in, recuperating. No, no you’re just waltzing through dangerous territory on a sleep-deprived whim. 

Ha.

…You’ll be fine.

Hopefully.

At least the walk has woken you up a bit- and, you know, the anxiety that comes with entering a hunter’s grounds, that’s a great wake up call too- enough to allow you to belatedly ponder over the fact that you’re risking your life. Unnecessarily. Over a jar of applesauce.

After you’d decided to take action, you’d gotten changed and taken out a few things from your bag. You weren’t going to do much research today, so you wouldn’t bring equipment other than your notebooks and a pencil to write with. And a water bottle. It’s warmer today. Between this and that, you’d gone to check what food you had left for this expedition. You weren’t about to leave on an empty stomach. You’d need the energy. But when your eyes had landed on the jar, still unopened, sitting at the bottom of all your snacks…a thought had come to light.

What if your ring was not enough?

You saw him yourself. He didn’t look like a…creature who’d want a sentimental object. Even if it was a meaningful offering on your part, he might not have taken it that way. Maybe he just preferred actual food. Maybe that’s why he’s been hunting you, to make up for your lack of a meal.

You’d shuddered at the brief image of what he’d do to you if he caught you. Dead under his claws, his mouth dripping red, dripping you.

It isn’t like applesauce would satisfy that kind of hunger, but it’s all you could think of. If not this, then what else could you do to deter him? 

Moths liked sweet things, didn’t they? Occasionally. He looked like one. Partly.

So, you’d grabbed the jar and used one of your own hair ties to wrap around the lid. It was more of establishing your ownership over it rather than for aesthetic reasons. Although tying a small ribbon in the middle was cute… But more importantly, you need him to understand this as a second gift, a peaceful gesture, something from you to him.

You hope it would make a difference.

And if not, hey, he can enjoy your corpse with a spread of applesauce.

Yeah, this was a horrible idea.

No turning back now, though. 

You’ve never been down this path before. Or, maybe you had, when you were in that weird trance…Regardless, it isn’t aren’t all that familiar to you, so you kind of just wander, letting the atmosphere guide you. 

The woods are a sight to behold in this weather. Nearly everything is covered in sunshine, but it’s not unbearably hot either, you find between your clothing and the shade of the trees, you’re fine. There’s lots of animals running around too, more so here than nearer to camp. This is deeper into the territory, safer- for them, not for you. 

Anyhow, it’s mostly birds and the smaller mammals. Insects, lizards. And the occasional snake. You’ve been watching your steps for those. 

But the wildlife leave you alone, as you do with them, for the most part. 

While the birdsong is very pretty to listen to, you couldn’t let yourself become distracted however much you would like to stop by every tree and jot things into your notebook.

You wouldn’t find him that way.

You take a breath.

Ironically, the path isn’t leading you anywhere.

With a small glance to the side, you consider just…going through the trees instead. 

Your chances of getting lost would be significantly higher. But you’re already doing one stupid thing, why not another? It’s not like this creature is going to have his nest at the end of a trail. He’s smarter than that, much to your displeasure. 

“Off the path it is, then.” You mutter to yourself, turning unenthusiastically on your heel and taking a sharp right. 

Shrubs brush your waist as you push forward. A couple of thorns snag your clothes, which you snatch back with a hiss. A graze out here won’t do you any favours. 

Some branches hang lower and leaves obscure your vision. You need to lift some just to pass.

A couple of well-hidden rocks try to trip you, but you catch yourself and pretend it didn’t happen. And then a snail does the exact same thing, sneakily, slimily setting itself in your way, making you stumble and hop awkwardly as to not crush it.

Going off the path was harder than you’d thought.

You repress a sigh when you have to carefully duck under another massive spider web. This was becoming bothersome. How long have you been travelling now? An hour on the path and another off it? That’s what it felt like.

You lift a hand to shade your eyes as you check the sun. It’s gradually climbing, as it does. It’s higher than when you’d set off.

You wonder if he’s out and about…

He’s probably snickering at you, observing from an unseen location.

How funny it must be to watch your prey get themselves lost and exasperated.

You don’t give up, though. You started this and you’ll see it through.

A couple more paces, and heaving yourself over the sturdy trunk of a fallen conifer, leads you to a clearing. The open space is much welcomed after squeezing past trees for an hour.

The grass is lush, but neat. The breeze is fresh and warm. The leaves flutter and make patterns with the sunlight. A squirrel twists up a trunk. 

Your presence must have startled it.

Yet, it does not flee. Instead, it chooses a branch to sit on and starts to sort out the nuts it had stored in its cheeks. Adorable.

You decide this is the perfect time for a break.

Slowly, as to not scare the animal, you place your bag down and sink to your knees. You quietly grab your notebook, a pencil, and shuffle over to situate yourself amongst the roots of a trunk. 

The trees here were quite bulky, actually. Their roots made for comfortable backrests. 

And because the roots were so large, it was ideal for squirrels and the like to collect food without being spotted by birds. 

The squirrel takes its time to peel the skin, allowing you to take the time to sketch it out. You start simple: shapes, the body, no details yet. You can’t assume it will stay still forever, so you get the basic gist down first. Then: rougher lines, its eyes, the position of its paws. It remains where it is and you smile. Soon: you add the branch it’s on, some leaves, its fur, its tiny claws holding onto the nut. You use the rubber on the back of the pencil to add some shine to its dark eyes. You take brief notes on what kind of squirrel this is, the kind of tree it’s on, the kind of nut it’s eating. And finally, you add the smaller details: some shading, the fluff of its tail, the roughness of the nut, an insignificant three crumbs falling away…

You give yourself a satisfied hum. It's nice when a sketch looks the way you wanted it to and not like absolute shit.

You grab a snack bar from your bag. A treat for your victory. You flip to the next page and take a contemplative bite of the bar.

The pencil moves on its own.

You begin a similar process. A shape, lines, structure. It’s been a while since you practiced human anatomy. You give the drawing eyes, a nose, a mouth. At first it appears like any person would. Then you scrape your pencil in a wide arc on either side of the man- wings. You sketch what you can remember: fluff, antennae, long hair. Rough skin, scars, claws. 

When you look it over, when it’s supposed to be done, you can't quite place what’s missing. It looks like him. Morbid beauty. You don’t know what you’re misremembering. The big dots on his wings are there, and you think you captured the hunger in his eyes rather well. You’d also coloured in the strange, black gradient that travelled from the tips of his fingers and toes to the expanse of his limbs. What else was there?

Oh.

You pick up the pencil again and add a single spot on his face.

He had a mole on his chin. Now it looks better. 

Two successful sketches in the span of, what? An hour? Enough time for you to have gained your energy and eagerness to be off again. You still had someone to find. And you will find him. You’re determined. And stubborn. 

You pack the now-empty treat wrapper back into your bag, along with your pencil. You’ll throw the litter once you get back to camp. As you pick up your notebook, you take an idle glance to the squirrel who has been keeping you company. It amuses you how it has yet to finish its pile of nuts. You snicker to yourself, about to pack your notebook, when the squirrel moves.

It straightens up suddenly and pauses mid-chew. 

Then it races away.

The leftover nuts tumble over the branch in its haste.

What was that about?

You look around you, wary. 

Animals always know better than people do.

However, nothing appears out of the ordinary. 

You can’t hear anything either. No growls, no fur brushing through bushes, no pawsteps. And…no birdsong. The insects have gone quiet too.

Right. Break time is over.

You stand up from your spot, cautiously, keeping your back to the trunk.

As you rise…hair tickles your shoulder.

A breath ruffles over the top of your head.

You look up.

His grin is full of sharp teeth.

A shriek erupts. It sounds far away. 

You flounder backwards, and thankfully you don’t trip over anything like last time.

It takes you being a ‘safe’ distance to realise the shriek had come from yourself and you’re still wailing.

You snap your mouth shut forcefully.

You stare at the creature before you.

He tilts his head much like an owl.

He’s upside down. Technically. As if he were in the midst of descending the trunk, head first. His wings are folded over his spine. His claws keep him steady. It didn’t even look like he was struggling to stay in that position. Are his bones that light…? Or hollow?

You shake your head.

You can’t be thinking like a researcher right now. 

Are you seeing things?

How long had he been hovering over your shoulder? How did he manage to keep so quiet not even the squirrel had noticed until he was directly above you?

“Who are you?” You eventually manage.

Maybe ‘what are you’ is a better question, but that sounds rude. Does he even understand English? You can’t believe he’s here, when you were trying to find him. Was he regretting letting you go? If he were so hungry, why didn’t he just attack you when you were unaware? So many questions. You wish you had the gall to speak them all. You’ve already been bold in demanding his identity.

He doesn’t answer you. He isn’t even looking at you anymore.

His gaze is directed to your notebook.

You’d dropped it on instinct when he startled you.

It lay on the grass where you’d been, right on the page you’d drawn in.

He inches the rest of his descent from the tree, until he’s crouched on the grass. 

He stares, unblinkingly, at your sketch of himself.

Fuck.

Well, there goes any hope to make amends with him. He’s going to kill you just for doing this disservice. Surely he’ll be offended, or he’ll think you’re trying to mock him.

He pokes the paper.

You stand still.

He pokes it again, like he expects it to do something. When nothing happens, you see him tracing the edges of the pencil, just for a moment. He simply blinks at the smudge of light grey on the pad of his finger.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he lifts his gaze back to you.

It frightens you even more when he starts to crawl towards you.

Yes, literally crawl, on all fours, towards you. 

It reminds you of a leopard. A hungry one.

On impulse you take two steps back, your fear getting the better of you.

As he looms closer, you steel yourself.

You cannot run again.

You wanted this.

Didn’t you?

Finally, once he crosses the short distance to you, he lifts easily, casually, onto his hind legs. And all the while, he never breaks your stare.

He’s taller than you. Much taller.

His frame blocks the sun, casting you into his shadow.

You feel small. You are small, in the face of a thing like him.

“W-who…” You try to repeat yourself, but he doesn’t even need to raise his wings to intimidate you. They rest halfway, not flared, but not folded either. “Who…are you…?” You wish your voice didn’t waver as it did.

In response, he lifts a single black claw, and hooks it under the soft part of your jaw.

Just like in your dream…

“Tomura.”

His voice spooks you.

You hadn’t expected an answer, much less for him to actually talk.

…So he does understand language, and he can speak it. How much? To what extent is his intelligence?

“You.” Tomura’s eyes narrow and his claw digs just that little bit deeper into your flesh. 

You’re stumped for a response. You? What does mean you? Perhaps his speech was not as fine-tuned as his understanding was. Perhaps it isn’t a statement he wants. It’s an exchange. He’s asking.

You tell him your name. With care.

There’s a spark of satisfaction in his eyes. 

You must have guessed right. He wanted your name in return for his.

Tomura hums, his focus dropping to your body. He echoes your name to himself, like he’s committing it to memory.

It sounds…pleasant, though his voice is raspy. Like he hasn’t uttered a word in years.

Your own gaze wanders, to his body, to his wings. They fascinate you. You itch to know what he is, how he came to be. Your hand moves by itself, reaching out to try and see how the delicate wings would feel under your fingers.

His other hand seizes your wrist before you can touch him. His grip is firm.

“No.” Is all he says, fixing you with a scarlet glare.

You, of course, shrink under his mean look. How could you forget he’s still a lethal predator? Obviously he wouldn’t want you touching him. You’ve worked with animals, you know this. You’d just…gotten distracted. “I’m sorry.” You reply genuinely, hoping he won’t spite you for your insolence.

His glare narrows once more, then he drops your wrist and returns to stoicism. 

He takes his claw away from your chin.

You internally shove down the disappointment.

What’s more, he turns away from you, and you feel an even bigger pit in your stomach. You nearly shout for him to come back, that you need to know more, that you aren’t finished with him, when he bends down to pluck your notebook from the grass.

Ah.

He returns to you, on two legs this time, his eyes lingering on the sketch.

He hands you back the book.

You take it, again, from him. This is the second time.

He pokes at the page of himself. “Tomura?”

You don’t know why your heart does a little flip. 

You nod to his question, captured. “Yes…that's you. Tomura.”

His antennae twitch as you say his name.

For a moment, you both just stand in front of each other. There’s a million things on your tongue and yet you can’t bring yourself to say them.

He captivates you.

“Oh.” You quickly dig into your bag. You almost forgot what you came here for. You replace the notebook with applesauce, and present it to him.

He looks…surprised.

You force your hand steady, keeping it extended for him. 

He glances between you and the jar a couple of times, before he finally takes it. He eyes the thing skeptically, like he isn’t sure what to make of it.

Was this an appropriate second offering? A fix to your measly ring?

It’s your turn to be surprised, pleasantly so, when he carefully undoes your ribbon with his claws, then unscrews the cap. He takes a small whiff, and you see his antennae jolt up. He looks at you again.

“It's for you.” You affirm. Does he like it? You can’t help but wonder.

Tomura releases a small grunt, then closes the jar again. He looks you over for the second time, then simply walks past you.

You nearly squawk with shock. Is that all? Just a grunt? Won’t he speak anymore? What does this mean? Will he stop chasing you now? “Uhm…” You turn and watch him go with a frown.

Tomura’s wings do a small flutter as he tucks the jar of applesauce into a crevice in a tree, on the other side of the clearing. He meets your eye, a dare in his. He beckons you over with a clawed finger.

You shouldn’t follow. You should go back to camp and be thankful you’re still alive.

You walk towards him.

He looks pleased, and leads you into the woods once again. 

In your eagerness, you get ahead of him, looking at what you pass by, wondering what he’s planning, where he’s taking you- only when you realise there’s no pair of footsteps alongside yours, do you snap out of your wonder. 

Before you can even ask or call, a leaf lands on your face. It makes you splutter, and when you look up, sure enough, Tomura is smirking from above. He then continues to climb through the woods, never going too fast for you, slipping from tree to tree with grace.

Even so, you glance up occasionally, just to be sure you haven’t steered in the wrong direction, but he’s always there, always a branch or two ahead of you. He moves so silently, no wonder nobody has seen him before.

Nobody alive anyways.

Should you feel as honoured as you do? That he’s allowing you the privilege of seeing and living? Seems like a pretty honorary thing. You hope he’ll let you ask some questions later on, maybe take notes on him. Would that make him feel scrutinised? It’d be too good of an opportunity to pass up, studying a man with wings. He is literally a walking myth. Or should you say flying? Climbing? He was surely responsible for all those missing persons years ago, there isn’t a doubt in your mind. Is he responsible for the welfare of this area too? Or is he somehow connected to the woods? It would explain his territorial behaviour: getting rid of threatening trespassers, constantly keeping an eye on whoever comes and goes. Is there a reason he’s singled you out? Does he do this to whoever visits? By the looks of it, it’s only been you from your team who he’s approached. Nobody else has hinted towards stumbling across him. So why you?

The sun is setting by the time Tomura finally slows down.

Somehow, the walk didn’t feel as long as it must have taken you.

There’s a long set of fronds blocking your way, leaving you curious as to where Tomura has led you. He simply hops onto a higher branch and lifts the leaves out of your way.

For a moment, you are left confused. 

The space doesn’t look any different to a regular glade. It’s pretty, sure, but there isn’t anything in particular that stands out to you. A huge field of grass, wildflowers, trees, the sun going down. 

A soft thud lands next to you. Tomura nudges you further into the glade.

You slowly walk forwards. He follows.

“I’m not sure I understand.” You confess to him after taking a few more steps, taking it all in. What is it he brought you here for? What did he want you to see?

Tomura huffs. “Wait.” He tells you.

Wait? For what? 

Before long, as dusk sets in, you notice a small flicker in the distance. Just one, and then it disappears.

You exchange a glance with Tomura. His eyes twinkle, his expression sly yet…somehow charming.

But you rapidly realise the shine from his eyes are only a reflection of what’s happening in front of you.

Tiny sparkles of light begin to emerge from the field. At first, only a handful, scattered. But with every second the sun dips lower, more start to flicker, and soon the entire glade appears to be dancing with fire.

Yet, there is no scent of smoke, no cackling of flames.

Only a sight that stuns you… 

A buzz flashes past you. 

Another lands on a flower at your feet.

“Fireflies…” You mumble in realisation, dazzled at the scene. You think you catch a noise of agreement from beside you, but honestly you’re too caught in the moment. You’d hardly seen any fireflies in the days past, you didn’t even know they were native. 

Tomura, apparently, cannot have your attention elsewhere for too long. You try not to jump when you’re suddenly steered by the shoulders, deeper into the meadow. You glance at the long claws, surprised at how gently they’re holding you. With a grumble, the man…moth? He sits you down, right on the grass.

“Is this what you wanted to show me? Fireflies?” You turn to him just as he plops down next to you, though he chooses to lay on his belly rather than sit.

He barely spares you a look, just nods.

A wonder, how he thought you’d be interested in something like this. His intelligence amazes you, though by now it’s nothing new. You ponder on this…what? Trust? He’s granted you with, to bring you this way, to sit with you, to think he might have had this planned.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to judge him before, to assume all he wanted was to eat you.

…Not that the signs weren’t there. 

Still, despite your caution, you’d like to believe you can trust him back.

Taking your gaze from him, you bring out your notebook. You’d like to jot down the area- not that you’d be able to navigate back here without him- and make a note of the fireflies as well. 

The sun’s set makes for poor visibility, but you make do. You can feel his gaze, obviously curious to what you’re writing. He seems to like that…if the tilt of his head is anything to go by. You keep your smile to yourself.

A small hiss takes away your attention, however, and you bring your head up to see Tomura glaring at his own wing. Or rather, he’s glaring at the tiny, twinkling beetle that crawls up the expanse of it. You nearly laugh, even when he gives a furious flutter, the firefly remains unphased.

“Lower your wing a bit.” You make a gesture with your hand, one that gives him pause. You’re given an odd look, and for a moment you consider if he understood you or not. Then, obediently, he lowers his wing. With gentle fingers, you position the wintery tip over your book. The light from the firefly illuminates the page. “Thanks.”

Tomura starts, incredulously, his eyes flicking from you to his wing to the beetle to the page to your fingers and back to you again.

You just can’t wipe the stupid grin that forms on your face. You might have offended him. But he looks funny. To his credit, he only rolls his eyes and plops his cheek in his palm, resigning himself to being your torch. This time you do laugh, only because his actions are so ridiculously reminiscent of a toddler not getting their way. 

In your laughter, you miss the way he looks at you, the way his lips part, the way his eyes study you, the way his antennae perk to the noise. No, by the time you’ve calmed down, he’s glowering at another firefly.

The glow helps, allows you to actually see what you’re writing. You even make a small doodle of the lightning bug. You give it a smiley face for, ahem, extra effect.

This is all so…wondrous to you. Just how have you ended up here? Sitting in a meadow alight with fireflies, listening as nature sings to you, next to a creature- well, calling him that now would be impudent, wouldn’t it? He has a name. Yes, a mythical being whose origins and purpose you’re yet to figure out, whose chosen to share with you his name and this place, whose chosen not to drive you out but instead invite you into his world for reasons you long to understand. 

His wings are marvelous up close. You’re grateful to the stubborn beetle for not moving an inch and blessing you with the chance to better see his beauty. All the delicate, intricate lines of white, the deep scarlet eye, about the size of your palm, the very tip of each wing that reminds you of frost gathering on the tips of leaves. The top set of wings must be the length of your arm, if not more. The bottom set is shorter, not as sharp, but still very pretty, and with their own eyespots.

He is a gorgeous predator, you’re once again reminded.

The firefly finally decides to take flight and move on. It flits between you and Tomura, leading you to see him, still as he was before, but now with one of the beetles on his finger. 

You abandon your pencil and lower yourself to his level, settling on your elbows to share his intrigue. 

Tomura does not take his sight off the firefly, even as you shift. He stares, entranced by the light that comes and goes. The moment is disrupted when another firefly attacks his nose.

You contain your tittering with your hand at your mouth as he sneezes and shakes his head. His assailant is instantly deterred, and the one on his finger chases after it, taking its light with it. “You okay?” You ask through your fingers, hiding the grin on your lips. His hair had nearly whipped you from how hard he’d recoiled.

You receive a glare in return for your concern, as if he knew you found this entertaining. 

You quickly drop your hand and offer an apologetic- amusement barely contained- smile.

He seems to accept it. His neck fur smoothes down like a cat after a fright.

Soon, the glow of the lightning bugs begin to diminish. Dusk has passed. You wished they’d stayed longer.

As the moon rises, so does Tomura.

You pick up your things and stand with him.

Where do you go from here? Camp was surely far. You’d taken most of the day to get where you are now. Then again, you had no idea where you were going and had backtracked a few times when your ‘path away from the path’ had gotten too challenging for you. You really need to invest in a compass.

Thankfully, Tomura starts to make his way in a direction. 

He purposefully flaps his wings as he brushes past you. It would be endearing, if the dust didn’t immediately make you sneeze. 

You hear a snicker in front of you.

Ah, revenge.

Maybe it is a little endearing…

You’re spared from decision making as you follow Tomura once more, back into the treeline, pushing through the woods on an invisible path he treads with confidence.

You don’t question where he’s taking you. There’s no point, your only choice is to go with him. Besides, he must know where you were staying, right? He’s intelligent enough to know humans would need to sleep now. Although…that does not necessarily ensure he’s guiding you back to camp. What if he’s taking you elsewhere?

To his nest?

The idea brings a shudder.

You’re eager to see it, to observe what he’s made a home out of. Up a tree? In a hollow? In a cave? In a den underground? You itch to know how he decorates it, if at all. You reconsider how sentimental he may be. Does he sleep in a simple bed, or does he take it a step further as animals do? 

Another side of you does not share such eagerness, however. What would it mean, if he was taking you to his home? Would he offer you a place to sleep, or would he have other intentions? 

Once again, your pondering does not matter.

Something growls to your right. A pair of eyes flash from the undergrowth. 

You speed up to Tomura’s side with a small yelp.

Whatever it was does not pursue, slipping back into the shadows of the night.

It becomes apparent that nothing will take a chance with you while you’re with him. He is a larger predator, after all.

Before the moon reaches its peak, you’re led back to a familiar road. 

The sight is both comforting and disappointing. You wanted to see his nest, but perhaps it's for the best. You’ll still have a few minutes to walk along it before reaching camp, however Tomura stops where he is. He won’t cross over.

You know you’ll be fine if you stick to the road. Honestly you’re amazed at how quickly he’s gotten you here. You suppose he knows the fastest ways around the entire woods. 

“Will I see you again?” You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you feel. You still have so much on your mind, so many questions that need answering, too many conflicting emotions to part with him permanently. But the decision is completely his. If he doesn’t want to reveal himself again, if this was only a once-in-a-lifetime meeting, he has the power and right to do so. 

Tonight was too short.

Tomura remains silent. His eyes travel over you, as if he’s contemplating your plea. 

And to your delight, a smirk curls his lips. He nods. 

Before you can express anything, he paws you away. “Out.”

“Wait!” You catch his hand in both of yours, ignoring the startled look on his face. You still needed to tell him something. “...Thank you. For showing me the fireflies” For trusting me. “It was really pretty. I liked it.” And for not eating me, thanks.

For a moment, all he does is blink at you. Then he tugs his hand back with a puff, turning his face away in…shyness? Humility? 

You’re too giddy. You’ll get to see him again.

You give a final, polite dip of your head, then make your way down the road.

You last about three seconds before you turn back. 

But he’s already gone.

Well, gone from your sight.

You’re nearly sure he’ll watch you until you make it back to base.

It takes everything in you to continue walking.

What are these feelings he’s left you with? The need to learn more about him, the longing to spend time with him?

It was a sweet gesture, taking you to the meadow to watch the fireflies.

It doesn’t take long for you to arrive back to camp. And it doesn’t take long for you to decipher what you feel.

You really like him.

Chapter Text

Flutter/ˈflʌtə/

noun

a state or sensation of tremulous excitement.

There is a firefly trapped, buzzing and flitting where his heart should be.

What a night! 

Has it really been so easy all this time? Was all it took a few, fleeting hours with him to make you come back for more? He hadn’t influenced you this time, yet you sought him out, even brought a second offering.

The jar!

Tomura steers for it now.

He’d never received a second offering before. He’d never demanded for one. Nobody ever stayed long enough to provide it. Except for you. 

You, you, you.

His mind flits to that drawing you made of him. Has he really occupied a place in your head? Clouded your thoughts? Encouraged your pencil to create that image of him? Really, you’d made him to be too beautiful, he thinks. Your version of him was another being entirely- his hair was not as smooth as the clouds on a summer's day, his fur was not as fluffy as the down feathers on a nestling. Somehow, you’d even made the muscles of his arms look gentle. He’d admired the way you’d done his wings, large and intimidating as they should be. And his eyes…yes, you’d captured his eyes quite well. It must be how you remembered him from the other night, a predator staring you down. But then…why had you softened some features? Is that truly how you saw him?

He's only ever seen his reflection in pools or in broken mirrors left by visitors.

He does not share your vision.

Perhaps that is why he finds you interesting.

Tomura reaches the small clearing shortly, and shakes off a stray leaf from his hair.

The glint of glass, of your gift, beckons him towards the tree.

Your scent is still here.

It sends a tingle through his wings.

He carefully brings the jar from the notch in the tree, examining its contents more closely now. The amber mush looks incredibly inviting.

His wings twitch again.

He needs to manage his jitters or he’ll start fluttering off the ground like an idiot.

So he does the only thing he can to calm himself. He listens to his body’s demands and takes flight, propelling himself higher than usual. He needs the wind under his wings, strong gusts to carry him, not the tender breeze that runs through the woods. He needs the moonlight to wash his back, not the tops of trees. All the while he has your gift held securely to his chest.

The flight to his den is not a long one, but he prolongs the journey by circling his territory in a flimsy excuse to not land just yet. He knows there's no need to patrol. He can only justify one large lap, gliding so high he wouldn’t be able to detect anything anyway. Before he abruptly plunges downwards.

His hair whips across his face. 

He holds his breath.

His wings tuck.

He plummets at an alarming speed.

The sky and woods blur together.

He twists.

And then his wings burst open just before his talons touch the ground, the impact causing ripples in the grass, like a stone striking water. The strain on his back muscles feels satisfying- a good stretch. It’s been a while since he’s done that. His toes dip into the grass as he lowers himself to the floor.

He then pads inside the cave in front of him, pushing aside the ferns that conceal the gaping entrance. 

Flecks of pollen brush onto one of his antennae, to which he immediately and furiously paws off. That's become a recent issue, the flowers budding on the vines right over his den, shedding pollen every time he enters or exits. Just another woe of springtime.

He’s still pondering your sketch of him as he settles down and begins to undo the ribbon on the lid. Though, he grunts in surprise when he finds your scent all over the item. It’s clearly been broken in half, if the damaged threads are anything to go by, but the smell of you is very obvious. What exactly is this to have such a heavy hint of you on it? His mind conjures a picture of the item, unsnapped, stretchy, something not immediately visible on your person. But something with enough use for you to be carrying it constantly. He would’ve thought it was a bracelet- he supposes it could be used as one- but perhaps…

His nose twitches.

Your hair.

It belongs in your hair.

It holds that unique hint of freshness that he doesn’t know how to describe, probably something you put in your hair deliberately. Not that he sees why. He likes your natural scent just fine.

He allows himself to preen over his own intelligence.

For a moment he wonders, is this a gift too? 

Not intentionally, probably. But he’ll keep it as one. The idea of hoarding your things is growing on him. Your ring, the jar, the band…

With a grin he’d deny, he places the band carefully aside, then uses one of his claws to pop! the lid off.

The sweet smell hits him first. 

He doesn’t hesitate to bring the glass to his lips and take hungry laps of the delicious treat. It tastes divine. Like a man starved, he raises the jar higher and tilts his head back, taking greedy, needy mouthfuls of the tart purée. The taste is nearly as maddening as you are. He laps some more. The texture on his tongue is heavenly. The way in which he devours it is sinful. Some of it escapes him and drips down his chin. But he’s too lost, too hazy to care. His wings buzz fiercely in reaction, and squeaks erupt from his throat with every gulp. He’s only able to snap out of the sugary daze when he feels the mush land on his chest fur.

He bristles. 

He’d just cleaned this morning! 

Tomura growls at himself. He quickly lowers the jar and bows his head to try and groom away any stains with his long tongue, and also taste more of the treat. He’s relieved a moment later to see his white fluff untainted, albeit a tad sticky. He supposes it’s worth it. He’s never tasted anything like what you’ve given him. Of course, he’s more of a carnivore, but even still, this simply puts all fruits to shame.

He is disappointed to see only half of the jar remaining. His wings slow to a stop.

Should he have the rest? Should he store it? He’s too worried it might spoil. He doesn’t understand human-handled food. 

Gross.

It’s clicking to him now that he’s eaten something man-made. Sure, he knows it comes from apples, but the way it’s been treated isn’t natural. 

He’ll excuse it, though. It’s too tasty not to. And because you gave it to him.

Maybe you have more. Maybe he could get you to bring another jar.

Whilst he thinks, his tongue licks over his lips in contemplation.

The simple, subtle trace of it convinces him to finish the remains of your gift. 

He takes it slower this time, savours it. 

His tongue curls as he feeds from the jar, almost sensually. Truly, this is something devine. The blend of sweetness and tartness, the smooth and undisturbed texture, the hint of vanilla, all of it melts on his tongue. A moan of appreciation echoes in the glass, his breath fogging the interior at the top. His eyes slip shut, and he tells himself it’s to better grasp the taste…until he starts to see you. He can smell you on this jar, when it had been in your bag and in your hands. He wonders…what would you taste like? There’s been countless times where he’s considered eating you, yes, but this isn’t where his clouded mind is leading him. No, he’s seeking a different taste. Still you. But not your blood, not your bones. He takes another mouthful, and he thinks: would your lips be as sweet as this? Would it bring him as much satisfaction to lap his tongue over yours instead of the purée? How prettily you’d whine if he shoved his slender tongue down your throat. Or perhaps…elsewhere? Would that please you? The act is foreign to him. Animals typically don’t mate for pleasure. But he knows humans tend to. And he knows he could make you scream. He’s a quick learner, he’d learn what makes you squirm in an instant. How delightful it would be, if he curled his tongue into your sex, and he could enjoy a different kind of treat your body would offer him.

He licks glass.

His eye blinks open.

Empty.

A pout forms on his lips to see he’s finished the entire thing. He feels strangely flushed. Tomura swipes his tongue across his upper lip, then down to his chin to gather the last remains of the sugary taste. Has sugar always made him so dizzy? Not to this extent. There was a bigger factor to consider.

His pheromones are naturally stronger in spring. He should’ve been more mindful, but the applesauce was just too good to think about anything else- he’s sent his aroma everywhere with the flaps of his wings, giving his den a thick, sweeter musk. Of course, he is mostly resistant to his own chemical fragrance. Mostly. But both the season and the thoughts of you are like a tag team against him.

He sets the jar down with your band.

He cannot refute that he likes you. Not anymore. Especially not after tonight.

And especially after tonight…he’s starting to believe you must like him too.

Your sentimental ring, such a heartfelt offering even before you knew him. Then, your admiration towards his woods and how he maintains it. Even when he revealed himself to you, yes you were frightened, but it only took one day before you sought him out once more. And you’d brought with you one of the best offerings he’s ever had. Did you know he’d enjoy it so much? Your drawing, as well, just proves you’d been thinking of him, and you didn’t seem repulsed by him either. 

You let him take you away. You trusted him. Hell, you were playful with him. You weren’t afraid to hold his hand.

You wanted to see him again, when he left you by the road.

You must like him. You must.

And now he knows he must have you.

“You came!” You cheer, feeling a burst of relief at the sound of wings. 

Tonight, you had your notebook held in your hands. You’d really like to have a more in-depth study of him, of what he is, of how he functions, thinks, feels, behaves. You hope he doesn’t mind. The last thing you want to do is offend him and go home without any trace of him. 

So, when you hear wings beating and a branch dipping, you know he’s kept his word to you. 

Tomura lands on a tree branch above you, his scarlet eyes, as usual, glowing faintly in the moonlight. 

You smile as he hops from the branch, touching down in front of you, the flap of his wings sending a light, brief wave of wind that takes your hair from your shoulders. “Hello, again.” 

Tomura tilts his head down to meet your gaze. A rumble from his chest is what you decipher as his own form of greeting. 

It had been difficult to sneak away from your camp tonight.

Thankfully, nobody had noticed your late arrival last night, and you’d managed to slip into your tent and into your sleeping bag without disrupting anyone. But you had stayed up for hours, going over your notes, going over what had just taken place, of the fireflies, of him, of that encounter. You’d felt too jittery to find sleep. And it showed in the morning. Your tentmate had commented on your tired appearance, suggested perhaps taking it slowly today, but how on earth could you do that? If only they knew, they’d understand. No, you wouldn’t tell a soul about Tomura, but now that you were aware of his existence, so many previous theories seemed to solve themselves, and at the same time, new ones sprouted in your mind like the flowers in the woods. Of course these woods were a wonder to you. Of course it was thriving and flourishing and out-performing all the other woodland territories in the area, despite living in the same circumstances. Tomura must be behind it. You were certain now. How long had he been doing this? Caring for the woods? Claiming it as his own? Living so near to your town and yet nobody had a clue until missing posters were strung up? Is that when he’d arrived? A few years ago? Had he been born here, or moved in? Oh, you had so many new questions. Your friend simply could not understand your longing to throw yourself back into the trees and learn everything anew from a different perspective. So that’s exactly what you had done, all day today, trekking so far unlike before, but knowing where and when to stop and turn to visit another hotspot to re-do notes and write anything new- your notes had notes. Your tiny notebook had gone from being half-full to bulging with information in the span of the morning to the evening. Your hand was cramping and your feet had been begging for a break.

It had taken your tentmate finding you by a dried riverbed and coaxing you back to the campsite in time for their supper, that you had a break. Instead of conversing and exchanging notes with the others, you’d found yourself thinking, still, about Tomura. Whilst you ate, you’d wondered if he’d had your treat yet, if he’d liked it, if he’d want more. You’d wondered if he’d really meet with you again that night, if he enjoyed your presence that much, or if he was just tolerating you, or perhaps, if he were studying you the same way you were studying him. You knew from confused glances that your team found your quietness unlike you, but you said nothing to give away your thoughts. Again, your tentmate had asked if something was bothering you when it was time to tuck into bed, but you'd brushed it off, told them it was in fact the opposite of being bothered. At least, at that, they seemed bemused by your giddy demeanor. To appease them, you’d revealed how many notes you had written in that day, just a skim through the passages, and they’d been both amazed and bewildered at how you’d done so much in a day. Finally, the sky had grown darker, and you allowed yourself a nap, your body in need of it after today. 

You’d awoken with a start. Had you overslept? You never specified an hour with him. Did he even understand that concept? Still, you hadn’t wanted to be late. What if you arrived and he’d already left? The idea terrified you into hurriedly gathering your bag and sneaking out of your tent. Practicing stealth whilst you were in a rush was not your finest move, but alas, you were quick to flee, even if you had woken anyone up. You’d been down the road in the bat of a bat’s wings. 

And so…seeing him now, here, seeing he’d really come again, to meet you, you were happy. Just hearing his approach felt like a show of trust. He’d let you know he was coming, he hadn’t snuck up like usual.

You had to ask. “Did you like the applesauce?”

His eyes brighten, and as a response, he leans closer to sniff at you, as if searching for more of the sweet treat.

You nearly burst into laughter. This is who you’d been afraid of? He reminded you of an eager labrador rather than an apex predator. “I don’t have any more.” You tell him apologetically, fighting to keep the grin off your lips.

Tomura continues to sniff over your top half. A small growl emits from his throat, his face near your neck.

Strangely, the action doesn’t frighten you. “I don’t have any more,” you repeat, almost to yourself as you consider something. “But I can get you some, maybe tomorrow?” You knew someone from your team was likely to have their own applesauce, or at least something similar. Yes, you’d be technically snatching something that didn’t belong to you, but…well…if it helped in making Tomura like you, it was for the good of science. 

At once, his growl dies down. He blinks at you, then nods vigorously. 

Now you can’t contain your grin. “Okay.” Already you’d secured a meeting for tomorrow night as well? Score. “I’ll get you more applesauce, on one condition.”

Tomura narrows his eyes, and he brings his face away from yours, looking wary of what you might ask of him. Or maybe he’s just unappreciative of you making demands.

You continue regardless. “I wanna take some notes.” You tap your book. But as soon as the words come out of your mouth, you think you sound too imperious. In a rush, you add, “please. I have so many things I’d like to ask you- I’ve been studying these woods for days and now things are finally making sense…I can see how well you take care of this place and I can tell you must care about it so much, honestly I’d really appreciate anything you’re willing to tell me. I just…I have to know. About this place. About you.” Your voice turns shy on the last sentence. Were you being too much? 

All the while, Tomura’s look had gone from guarded to somewhat surprised by your plea. Still, he’s silent as he seems to consider you. Then, after a moment, he gestures for you to follow him. 

You do so, at once.

The journey isn’t as long as it had been last night. He travels on foot in front of you, dipping under low branches and brushing aside ferns without making a noise. Your eyes stray without your permission, wandering from the silvery locks of his hair, down to the wintery pattern on his wings. His backside is hidden from view, but you can just about peak his broad shoulders and muscles as he walks. His feet barely cause disruption on the pine needles strewn across the path. Despite being bare, they look as polished as a ballet dancer’s. 

Soon, you’re guided into a tiny clearing, one you recognise. You’ve passed it a few times during your days here, but never paid it much attention. The space is too small to do much in, the bushes encircling you and Tomura are in close proximity. 

You aren’t sure what you expected by him bringing you here. Until he plops himself right in the middle of the grass. 

You blink.

He crosses his legs under him, staring up at you.

Slowly, you lower yourself to sit in front of him.

A bird, twittering, glides past, low over your heads. Tomura stares at your book.

Was this his way of consenting to your notes? You slip your bag off your shoulder, setting it beside you, and dig inside for a pencil. “You don’t have to answer whatever you don’t want to.” You say kindly.

He nods.

Where do you start? There’s so many things to say and you don’t want to annoy him with questions. You start small. “How long have you been here for?” You open a new page.

Tomura stays quiet. You almost think he won’t answer. “Long.” He rasps eventually.

The timbre of his voice sends a fluttery feeling down your spine. As you begin to jot things down, you realise you’re in need of more light. The moon can only do so much, bless her. So you pause to grab a small, travel-sized lantern from your bag. Lifting it, you flip the battery-powered switch on the bottom. A warm light dazzles you both.

And then it’s snatched from you.

You yelp in surprise, as Tomura clutches the lantern in his claws, holding it right up to his face. His pupils are dilated. His wings give excited twitches.

Oh.

Right.

Moths enjoy the light.

And he’s a big one.

“Tomura?”

It seems to take a massive effort from him to glance at you, just quickly, before he averts his gaze back to the lantern.

“I need the light to write.” You explain gently, though you won’t be too upset if he hogged it for a while. Just as long as he could function…

He makes no indication of listening. 

Okay, then.

You snatch it back.

In an instant, he lunges at you, and sharp teeth are bared in your face. The force drives you onto your back, and, for as much as you’ve built trust with him, you fear he may actually take a chunk out of you. His snarl makes you shiver. His features, murderous, are illuminated perfectly for you to see.

The lantern clanks against a stone, and the light is directed away from the two of you. 

His slitted eyes slowly dilate again. Then he gives himself a shake. He almost looks as shocked as you feel. Hurriedly, he gets off of you, as if he’s realised what he’d been about to do.

You sit up, willing your heart to calm down. It was just a reaction. It was nothing personal. Right? “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have taken it so quick-”

He interrupts you with a small hiss. His antennae droop as he assesses you. “No.” It’s as if he’s making sure he hasn't hurt you. “Tomura sorry.” He glances back at the fallen lantern, shifting awkwardly back into sitting. “Sun?”

That brings a frown onto your lips. His apology was cute, though your heart was still racing. Your attention is brought back to the lantern. “The sun? You think that’s the sun?” Carefully, you bring the object back in front of you, making sure to lower the brightness, in case that would help.

You think it does, because he doesn’t immediately jump for it again. “Not sun?” He mumbles to you, his gaze flicking between you and the light.

“No, it’s not.” How do you explain electricity to him? Batteries and coils? “I suppose it’s similar, like fire.” 

Tomura snorts. Despite his constant glances, he’s in control of himself. You hope.

Now that you can see better, you finally pen a few things down, your shaky handwriting slowly becoming steadier as the moments pass by.

“You said you’ve been here long. Were you born here?”

He shakes his head.

“Can you tell me where you were born?” 

“Away.” He says flatly.

You take it as a sign to move on. Don’t ask about his origin. You decide to skip the question of how old he might be.

“Was the woods always like this? Before you arrived?” 

Another shake of his head. “Bad.”

So he nurtured it. As you thought. 

While you tried to keep your questions simple and relevant to your research, you found you cared more about what was relevant to him.

You’re on another page when you ask, “what…are you?”

For a moment, you think you’ve offended him, if his frown is anything to go by. However, instead of a rebuttal, his frown deepens and he looks away from you. He shrugs, the fur around his neck shifting gently. “Tomura.” He mumbles.

So even he doesn’t know. Perhaps, you assume, because he’s the only one of his kind, because it’s unlikely he’s ever seen another being like him. The closest would be…well, humans, which you’ve seen he dislikes. So why does he tolerate you?

No, not even tolerate. Why does he go through the effort of seeing you, talking to you, if he hates mankind?

You voice it aloud. “Why me?”

Tomura turns back to you, his eyes widening a little.

You go on. “I mean…if you don’t like people, why are you giving me the time of day?”

He considers you for a long while, as if thinking of how to word his answer, or maybe thinking of how to avoid answering altogether. “You…” His voice, for the first time, sounds uncertain. He huffs, searching for words as he gazes past you, like what he’s looking for will be there. “Different.” His nose scrunches up, and he nods towards you, uttering your name and after, “...good.”

A moth flutters between you and sits on top of the lantern, its wings are white like his, softly flexing as it rests against the glass.

“Oh.”

You don’t know how else to respond to him. That was…oddly sincere coming from someone like him. Is this really the same man who wiped out troops of hunters without mercy? 

Tomura doesn’t look at you anymore. Instead he’s staring at the moth in silence. His own wings are drawn tightly against his back.

You immediately feel like your reaction wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I think you’re fascinating.” You blurt out stupidly. 

One of his antennas twitch. He glances up.

“I mean…you’re just…” You fumble for speech, similar to how he just was seconds before. “You’re amazing, you know?” You can’t stop the tumble of endearments that follow, “everything about you- and I don’t just mean from a researcher’s perspective- Although, well, you are pretty unbelievable from a researcher’s perspective, which is, well, why I’m here in the first place-” A breath. “But, I’m saying from my- not my professional view- you’re incredible, you know?! I mean, you have wings! And yet you’re built like I am, and even though you retain some animalistic traits, you’re surprisingly empathetic, and smart.” Your cheeks are burning. “You’ve just been really kind, I think, to me, when you don’t really have to be, and, well, I’m honestly grateful- and touched- because, y’know, you’re kind of really pretty and I’ve never really felt so drawn to someone before, but of course I’m not saying it’s all about looks- even though like I just said, you’re handsome, but-” You choke on your words. You need to take a pause. Why can’t you stop humiliating yourself with this blabber? “...sorry. You’re, um…nice.” You finish off in a small, breathless voice. You might as well hang yourself off a tree right now.

This is why you could never score a meaningful relationship. You’re utterly hopeless.

The look on the moth-man’s face says it all. His antennae stick straight up, shocked. His usual calm and composed eyes are wide in disbelief. His lips are set in an unsettled manner. Hell, even the fluff around his chest is bristled. 

You must be the most efficient man repellent ever made. 

So, as much as it stings, you aren’t surprised when he gets up and leaves. 

There’s bile clawing its way up your throat.

Why do you do this to yourself? Not only have you ruined any chance of getting to know him, but now you’ll never be able to complete your research. Not truly, anyway. Not when you know all the answers lay with him. And now he’s walking away from you- no, he’s actually legging it. He’s gone from your sight before you can even register how humiliated you feel. 

A hand to your face tells you how red you must be. Your skin is searing. Your blood feels like it's on fire, scathing you for messing up so tremendously. You are unbelievable, not him. Clearly. Honestly! 

You think you’ve reached some new, undiscovered low. Because you might be the only person in the world to horrify a mythical being with your deluded feelings. You had one dream about him! One! 

And you think you’ve formed a special connection with him over the span of, what? A few days? And you didn't even know he’d existed until recently. Just because he’d shown you an ounce of kindness didn’t mean you were special. Just because he’s been singling you out doesn't mean he actually likes you. Not to the extent of reciprocating your feelings.

You’ve buried your face into your hands, groaning helplessly. He didn’t even bother giving you a scowl or a growl. You think his silence is so much worse. 

In frustration with yourself, you slap your notebook closed, cursing under your breath. You feel like a massive idiot. 

You pack your things with a temper, and you accidentally knock over the lantern again.

The moth that had been sitting peacefully is startled away.

You watch it disappear into the night.

Way to rub it in.

You’ll cry on the way home, for sure.

The crack of a twig signals something lumbering towards you.

You’re unsure whether that's a bad thing, because you’re at a point where you’d plead for anything to take away the mess you’ve made of yourself. If a wolf got you, you think it would be merciful. 

Another rustle.

Tomura reappears.

How stupid of you to believe it couldn’t get any worse, right? Of course, now he’s come to sneer at you for your silly little speech and your silly little emotions. 

You duck your head. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. You’re hot with shame.

His footsteps pad closer, and he stops right in front of you.

You stare at the floor.

He drops something. They make a soft sound as they land by your knees.

A stack of flowers.

Primrose. Daffodils. Some species of orchid. Closed, wood sorrel. Bluebells. A single, red tulip.

They’ve been hastily picked, their stems plucked at different lengths.

You don’t know what to make of it.

As you look up, he crouches down. 

What baffles you the most is that he doesn’t look disgusted at all. There’s something gentle, something tender in his eyes instead. And you don’t understand.

Was he not repulsed by you? Did you not send him running with your awkward, and frankly, weird declaration of your feelings? 

“For you.” Tomura mumbles, nudging the tulip closer. Now, his antennae are bowed. Is that pink on his cheeks, or is your mind trying to salvage your pride by forcing hallucinations on you? It’s difficult with your lantern packed away. 

Hesitantly, still reeling, you pick up the red flower. 

“Why?” You can’t help but choke out the question. Why would he bring you flowers after clumsily admitting your attraction for him? Was it out of pity?

Something like a purr answers you. You don’t need the light to see how cheeky his expression has turned. But he gives no verbal response otherwise. 

Slowly, you examine each of the flowers and make a small bouquet in your hand. You’ve seen these around, so they don’t surprise you, but you still pretend like they’re the most interesting thing you’ve come across. Anything to distract yourself.

When your lip gives a small wobble, you immediately reel it in. “...I still don’t think I understand.” You offer him a meek glance. You won’t embarrass yourself further by tearing up. You won’t.

Tomura’s grin only widens. Still, crouched, he leans forward to press his side against yours. Then, he plants his hands down, and weaves himself around you, in a very cat-like manner. His wing drapes over your head. “Come.” His voice is right by your ear. 

Before you know it, his clawed hand is reaching for yours. 

And he pulls you to your feet, and begins to bring you into the trees. All the while he has a wing extended, touching your back lightly. It feels warm. 

You hardly ever tear your gaze from him, even as he looks ahead. You simply cannot. And you’re unable to stop yourself from hyperfocusing on the way your hand feels, wrapped in his. He makes it look small. And his claws, which you’d once been so fearful of, are so carefully curled around your flesh that you hardly feel anything other than yourself falling even more than you already have. 

Over a stupid dream.

Nevertheless…he makes your head turn to thistledown.

You felt as though you were floating, gliding over the grass, instead of walking alongside him, one hand in his, the other occupied by the flowers he’d given you, and your bag hanging off your shoulder. When had you turned to such a sap?

In your own defence, you’ve never gotten so moony over a man before- and Tomura was so, so much more than just a man. In a literal, and a meaningful sense. How could you not fall and follow him wherever he took you?

The long trek doesn’t seem as long when your attention is constantly being tested. Between the thicker foliage, areas you hadn’t yet encountered, and his hand in yours, or his slight, sometimes glances when he thinks you aren’t looking- you are plenty occupied until you arrive.

At which…you’re left confused. He’d brought you to the bottom of a small cliff.

Through the darkness, you can make out some vines, draped over the cliff face, reaching all the way to the ground. The distance between the trees and the looming rock is few, just a tiny patch where you can stand without the branches blocking the sky overhead. But why here? What did he want to show you?

You direct your confused expression to him.

He purrs back, amused.

When he lets go of your hand, you swear you feel a physical ache- just your heart being dramatic. 

Tomura walks towards the cliff, and at first you wonder if he’s planning on climbing the vines. But if so, for what? He has wings.

And then he simply parts them, revealing to you a hidden opening.

It looks very dark.

He walks through, leaving you alone.

“Wait!” You yelp, quickly pushing aside your concerns and rushing after him. The cave was indeed scary, but being on your own in unfamiliar territory at this hour was even scarier. 

You have to pause as soon as you get inside. At first you see nothing, just a void. It’s your sense of smell that’s attacked first, a thick aroma, sweet, drawing your attention. You have to blink multiple times before your vision slowly adjusts to the gloom, and things begin to appear to you.

The first, is a sliver of moonlight, cutting into the den from a tiny crack in the stone roof. The shaft of light reflects off of a few objects, like a shattered mirror, a rusted badge, the tip of a hairclip, which you realise are piled neatly next to each other. In fact, the more you adjust, the more you can make out, not just shiny items, but pieces of clothing and even an old book- a strategic stack of an assortment of trinkets, displayed in one corner of the cave. The only oddity is a few papers, all scrunched up, by the foot of the pile, discarded. You wonder what they were. The ground is firm, unlike the soil outside, though you can spot a few tufts of greenery here and there- a few defiant sprigs that don’t seem to mind the lack of sunshine. However, the faint sound of dripping water reveals to you how they survive here. In the far end of the den, a tiny, lazy stream of water trickles down from somewhere above, slipping down the rocky wall and landing in a puddle. Around that encourages more greenery, moss spreading along the walls and around the edges of the puddle, even a few fungi sit near. On the ceiling, ferns dangle, though by the neat arrangement you figure Tomura has probably spent time maintaining their growth so things don't appear messy. And finally…against a different wall of the cave, a nest. A beautiful, intricately built nest. Moss, bracken, fronds, feathers, twigs, leaves, cotton, a configuration of nature’s tools all woven together to create a large, circular nest. It looks thick, healthy, plush, even. 

You register Tomura nearby, watching you expectantly as you examine his home.

You’re about to tell him how much you like it, when you catch sight of something that makes your breathing hitch.

Your ring.

You move before you think.

You get to your knees, setting down your flowers, needing a closer look at the thing you’d thought you’d never see again.

It catches the light of the moon and sparkles, as pretty and clean as when you’d given it up. 

And it’s…attached to his nest, held steady by a thin stem, wrapped around the silver. 

Your hair tie, now that you were fully adjusted to the dark, was also built into the nest.

Why weren’t these with the rest of the offerings, by the pile? 

As well, your jar sits close by, and you notice there’s nothing, not even a drop of the applesauce you’d given him.

He’s kept all of your things by his nest. But why?

A warm breath stirs against your neck.

You almost forgot he was here.

With a shudder, you glance over your shoulder. Were you invading his space? Too close to his sleeping place?

But he looked rather pleased, his eyes crinkled as he stares at you. 

“Your den is…impressive.” You give another look around the space, trying not to flush at his proximity or the way the sweet smell is getting to you. There was truth in your words, still. “Did you do this all yourself?” Were you the first person to ever be invited in?

He nods.

“It’s clean.” That’s also true. You would assume a cave to be dustier, stuffy. But he’s maintained the den rather well. 

“Good?” His wings flutter briefly behind him.

You grin back. “Yes.” You touch the floor with your fingertip, and whilst it’s cold, there’s hardly as much sand and grit as you’d expect. An image pops into your head, one of Tomura tending to his space, plucking out overgrown plants, weaving feathers into his nest, using his wings to sweep away the dirt from the ground. “You clean up better than most men.”

The sarcastic reference makes his head tilt. 

You clarify quickly, “I like it.” 

That brings a smile to his lips.

But what did all this mean? Him bringing you into his den? 

You’re touched he trusts you enough to do this, though a certain implication keeps nagging the back of your mind. The rosy aroma wasn’t helping you either. It reminded you of the first night you saw him, led to him in a trace by following a similar smell. It made your thoughts fuzzy and brought you warmth despite the cool air of the cave.

He’s close.

Very close.

Close enough, if you were to lean in…

A hand comes up to your chest. His. Lingering.

You glance down, brought away from your thoughts. His claws lightly graze your collarbone.

“Go home.”

What?

Was he kicking you out? Have you done something wrong?

He must see the puzzlement on your face, because he adds, “humans miss you.”

Your team? “They’re asleep.” Why were you making excuses to stay?

Another purr rumbles from him. He nudges you to your feet, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at the small of your back. You quickly gathered your flowers.

You try not to feel disappointed, but what were you expecting to happen?

As you move aside the trailing vines and come into the open, you examine the area. It seemed darker around here, despite being partly exposed to the sky. You’re relieved that Tomura doesn’t stop walking, taking you home through whichever path he knows best. You wouldn’t want to be alone in these parts. 

“Why did you bring me to your den?” You can’t stop yourself from asking. What was the point of it? Or was it simply a show of trust?

Tomura glances at you, then shrugs. Perhaps he doesn’t know the answer to that either. 

You shift closer to him subconsciously, and the two of you quietly exchange words at random intervals, mostly questions surrounding each other. You liked getting to know him, and you liked that he was curious about you too. 

By the time you’ve reached the road, your shoulders brush.

You turn to him. “I liked these.” The clumsy bouquet is held by your chest. “Thank you…”

His eyes glint with something, briefly. He nods. 

You want to ask, to make sure you’ll see him again, when you remember the empty jar that sat by his nest. He’d requested another. You’d bring it tomorrow. For sure. “Goodnight, Tomura…” You hesitated, your feet unwilling to move. The bid felt incomplete. You weren’t even sure what it was that kept you, until you took a step closer to him, and reached up onto the tips of your toes. 

A kiss on his cheek. 

It was pure muscle memory. Or that’s what you tried to convince yourself it was.

And as much as you would have liked to see his reaction- if he liked it, or if he found it strange- you were already halfway across the road, afraid of your own forwardness.

You never looked back, not even when you reached your tent.

Your cheeks were ablaze.