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“Are you nervous?”
Quiche’s fingertips stilled on the rim of the glass.
He tapped one nail on its crystal surface, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he fixed Tart with a blank stare. What a moronic question.
“I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t,” Quiche replied icily.
He resumed idly drawing circles around the rim of his drink. “No one has attempted an inaeturnum with a human for thousands of years. All the speculation in the world can’t account for everything that could go wrong.” Quiche lifted his glass from the table and inspected the melting ice cubes as they clinked together. “Not that we haven’t already discussed it at length. We’re prepared. After all, she’s not a normal human.”
He raised his stare to Tart, who rolled his eyes in a sneer. “No, you dipshit,” Tart sighed. He plopped himself down in the lounge chair opposite of Quiche. “I mean, are you nervous about the part where you’re stuck with her for life?”
Oh. That.
Quiche smirked, resting his elbow on the table and swirling the glass. “Mm, no,” he hummed. “Regardless of whether or not this whole thing works today, I don’t think I could unstick Ichigo Momomiya from my life, even if I wanted to.”
He had no idea how he’d gotten this far.
He had no idea how he’d gotten her to agree to this.
It had been two years since Ichigo Momomiya had become his. Two years of living out a life Quiche had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies.
At the beginning, when they’d returned to Earth after the attempted coup on his planet, it had all felt like a dream. He couldn’t believe he could finally kiss her with no consequences. So he kissed her every time he saw her. He couldn’t believe he could finally tell her he loved her and hear it returned. So he told her he loved her near-constantly. Every small thing — holding her hand, playing with her hair, making her laugh — felt like getting a fix of a craving he’d been fighting for years. Finally being together with Ichigo Momomiya after all those years felt like gorging on cake after a lifetime of only licking the crumbs from a plate.
At the beginning, they had some small tiffs. Ichigo had snapped at him on occasion, telling him that he was acting “clingy” more than once. Quiche resented the word, not understanding that the object of his affection needed more space than what he wanted to give. They eventually fell into an equilibrium that satisfied Ichigo, and that Quiche was constantly testing. Two months into their relationship, Quiche gave her a diamond necklace. Ichigo promptly shoved it back into his hands and demanded he return it. He kept it in the back of a dresser drawer for nine months, before attempting to give it to her again.
She accepted the necklace the second time.
Then, a year ago, Ichigo moved out of her parents’ house. Quiche had been trying to convince her to move in with him, of course. After all, he was already accustomed to whisking her out of her room to spend nights at his place, sometimes three or four nights a week. But Ichigo insisted on needing her own space — and keeping the peace with her protective parents, who weren’t keen on her living with a boyfriend. If only they knew, Quiche thought to himself as Ichigo signed the lease to her apartment with her friend Lettuce. At least her being out of her parents’ house meant Quiche didn’t have to teleport her back into her room in the morning, so she could play “perfect, well-behaved daughter” with her overbearing family members.
The nights alone with her were worth it.
God, were they ever worth it.
Every time Quiche recalled being run through with Deep Blue’s sword, leaving Earth not knowing if he would ever return, the sting of rejection, being tortured to near death, and every other horrible pain he’d endured in his pursuit of Ichigo … it all disappeared the moment the moonlight glowed against her delicate, bare skin, and he felt her pillowy, warm lips press to his. He would experience every moment of misery in his past a million times over — over and over again, in every lifetime, until time ceased to exist — to experience the pure ecstasy in the way their bodies intertwined.
It wasn’t just those nights, either. They’d discovered … advantageous circumstances in which they could sneak away while at work, or disappear somewhere quiet while on a date together. Though Ichigo often acted annoyed with Quiche’s so-called “clingy” behavior, Quiche quickly learned all of the small things that delivered her into his hands, blushing and hot at the collar. Things like whispering his intentions into her ear, or teasing her inner thigh under a table. Ichigo feigned irritation with his constant flirting while in public, but she quickly dropped the act the moment they were alone.
Stuck with her. Quiche scoffed at the notion of it.
He wanted to bind Ichigo to him in every way possible; to guide the glow of her light to every dark corner of his psyche. She’d occasionally speak in self-deprecating ways, as if she was vapid or shallow, but she was anything but. Every day, Quiche found some new spark, some rare, glimmering gem nesting in the vast composition that made up Ichigo Momomiya. Last Wednesday, it had been a fleeting interest in sponsoring a penguin at their local zoo. The day after, the name of her favorite nail polish color: a light pink shade called Candy Floss. Two weeks ago, she’d cried for two hours after an argument with her friend Mint, because the friendship meant the world to her. And the next day, she showed Quiche the hand-written apology letter attached to a box of homemade chocolates. “Dark chocolate raspberry,” Ichigo had told him. “Mint’s favorite.”
I don’t think I could unstick Ichigo Momomiya from my life, even if I wanted to.
He’d never known a love like this. And he never wanted it to end.
Quiche took a sip from his drink. It was some sort of sparkling concoction that tasted vaguely of citrus. Ira insisted it was her go-to for hangovers, but he didn’t feel much different.
Tart crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He was dressed in dark blue formal robes that looked a half-size too small for his awkwardly lanky, teenage frame. He fixed Quiche with narrowed eyes. “So when we get back,” he started, “are you guys gonna have an Earth wedding or something?”
“No,” Quiche said, scoffing as he said it. “Too soon for that. At least, that’s what she says.”
“But she’ll agree to an inaeturnum,” Tart muttered in disbelief, shaking his head, “which is much more permanent.” He paused, before: “...she does realize it’s more permanent, right?”
Quiche shrugged one shoulder. “I explained the whole thing to her,” he said, “but she seems to think that because it’s part of our beliefs — not hers — it doesn’t count like an Earth wedding would.”
He smirked. It was cute … funny, even. As long as Ichigo understood what she was getting herself into, Quiche couldn’t care less if she thought it didn’t count as much as a diamond ring and a white dress.
Though he wanted that, too. Binding her to him, in every way possible. She was touchy about the subject of marriage, understandably — after all, her relationship with Masaya Aoyama had ended with a broken engagement … an engagement that had fallen apart partially due to Quiche’s meddling. That fateful summer felt like so long ago, but Quiche often returned to the memories of the way he’d wormed his way through her carefully-constructed defenses in a dogged chase until she was finally kissing him under the golden light of the setting sun, there on the roof of the café. He relived the memory often in his mind’s eye — the first time she’d kissed him.
With an engagement ring on her finger.
Last time he’d brought up the idea of marriage, Ichigo had told him: “If you ask me to marry you one more time, you’re not even gonna have a girlfriend to speak of.” So he’d backed off from asking.
For now.
Tart gawked incredulously as Quiche set down his drink. “Does she at least understand the whole … I don’t know … eternal bond of the soul thing?” Tart asked. “I knew she was dumb before, but she can’t seriously think this is some kind of fake church-y bullshit, right? She understands how dangerous this could be?”
Quiche’s eyes narrowed. Annoyance tightened his jaw. “She understands,” he said simply. “She’s not stupid. Like I said, we’re prepared.”
Tart sighed, blowing his bangs out of his face with a look of vague disgust. “I don’t get it,” he mumbled. “But whatever. You dumbasses are made for each other, I guess.”
“Now that’s the spirit.”
A knock at the door. Both boys glanced up as it slid open.
Quiche’s face fell into an icy look of disinterest when he saw it was his mother.
Her shoulder-length black hair dipped into the room first, followed by her toothy grin and a martini nearly spilt on the rug. “How is my little prince?” Cici cooed, striding into the small study uninvited. Tart let out a vaguely-concealed snort-laugh. Quiche rolled his eyes.
“What is it?” Quiche drawled, his eyes following Cici as she stopped to lean against the back of Tart’s chair.
“Well I wouldn’t be a very good mother if I didn’t see you off before your big event!” she declared.
“Don’t worry — it would be well within your character for you to not show up at all,” Quiche replied icily.
Cici faltered for a moment in the stiff silence that followed, before she burst into bellowing laughter. “Haha, oh my, haha—” she laughed. “How cruel! I guess I deserve it, but damn if it doesn’t still sting!”
Tart stood from his seat, wearing a grimace and hanging his shoulders like he was trying to sneak out from under an impending fistfight. “I think I’m gonna, um …” he stammered, backing away from the chair, “... I’ll let you two sort this out.”
“I’ll see you later, Tart,” Quiche muttered reluctantly. He watched Tart slink out of the room, leaving only Quiche and Cici left in the small study. Cici wasted no time plopping down in Tart’s seat, swirling her drink in her glass and grinning up at Quiche as if he hadn’t just flung a brutal insult at her like a knife.
“You look great,” Cici remarked, eyeing Quiche’s ornate robes. She waved a hand in circles around her face, squinting at Quiche. “Who did your paint?”
“The priest, obviously,” Quiche replied.
The ceremonial portion of an inaeturnum had a traditional dress — which included painting runes onto each person’s face with a special ink made from the ashes of a plant. It was said that the plant was descended from one originally brought from Earth — a distant relative of what the humans knew as sage — but it had become weather-resistant on their planet over thousands of years, and no longer resembled its predecessor. The plant was said to grant protection to the wearer. The priest had explained the significance of it to Quiche as he carefully brushed on small, delicate strokes to form a symmetrical pattern along his jaw and up the sides of his face.
The inaeturnum itself wasn’t bullshit. But magical makeup sounded like bullshit to Quiche.
“Well he did a great job,” Cici added. “I just got back from saying hi to Ichigo — just wait ‘til you see her.”
“You were bothering her, too?” Quiche groaned. “What did you …” He hesitated, morbid curiosity wondering what they could have possibly talked about. He pinched the bridge of his nose. His hangover felt like it was worsening. “...wait, no. I don’t want to know.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Cici whined with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Call it a motherly instinct, but I just wanted to make sure she was doing okay.”
“‘Motherly instinct,’” Quiche repeated with a sneer. “Sure.”
Cici fixed Quiche with a look of annoyance. Quiche couldn’t care less if she was upset with him. His mind was too preoccupied with the weight of the ceremony ahead of him. The last thing he wanted was an uninvited visit from his mother.
Cici let out a long sigh, letting the silence hang between them for a moment. Quiche heard laughter somewhere down the hall, and the shuffle of feet as a few people passed by the doorway of the windowless room. He watched the door, feeling Cici’s eyes boring into him.
“Look, Quiche, I get it,” Cici said finally. She set down her drink and crossed her arms on her lap. “By all accounts, I’ve been a pretty shit mom. You’ve made that clear. But can you blame me for wanting to at least spend a little time with you today?”
“Yes, actually, I can,” Quiche snapped. His eyes narrowed in a seething glare. “Ever since I returned from the Earth mission, you’ve suddenly decided to care about my well-being for the first time in my life. Awfully convenient that you only begin to fulfill your role as a parent when I suddenly mean more to society than just acting as a weapon for their disposal, hm?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Cici argued, her expression darkening. “Don’t speak to me of being nothing more than a weapon. I’ve flown ships for this militia for longer than you’ve been alive. We all did what we needed to fulfill our duties.”
“No one commanded you to have a son.”
Cici glowered at Quiche as he shifted his jaw, feeling the grit of his clenched teeth.
“Fine,” Cici spat back. “That is true. However, I don’t regret it — you are ultimately the reason this planet was restored. If I’d never had you, we all would still be subject to the torment of the planet’s harsh conditions.”
“Are you expecting a ‘thank you?’” Quiche asked mockingly. “I didn’t choose you as a mother. I didn’t choose to be brought up as one of the chosen three to be sent to Earth. And I didn’t choose to restore this planet, either. I’m not the reason we are able to continue building society here instead of Deep Blue’s original plan of relocation to Earth — the real reason we are able to thrive here is Ichigo. She was the one who ultimately took down Deep Blue, and her team designated the Mew Aqua for restoring our planet.”
“Okay, let’s do this your way, then,” Cici said, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Your mission to Earth was a total and complete failure considering Earth is still in the hands of the humans, and you can’t even take credit for the restoration of our planet afterwards. You don’t deserve any of the praise and celebration, and by all accounts, this all could have panned out exactly the same if I decided not to have a child.”
She paused, letting her words dangle in the air for a moment, before: “Better? Now can I tell you that I love you, without you trying to fight with me?”
Quiche grit his teeth harder, picking at the skin around his nail beds. Her words stung a bit, but he knew better than to show weakness in front of her. “If that makes you feel better, sure,” he hissed.
Cici pursed her lips. “You’re a cruel kid, you know. Always been a pain in the ass”
“Learned it from you.”
That garnered a small smirk from Cici, who slumped her shoulders in apparent defeat. Quiche didn’t return the sentiment, continuing to tear the skin around his nails and feeling the prick of pain at his fingertips. He immediately regretted returning her remarks with one that gave her leeway to feel like they had connected in some way.
Cici let out a long sigh through her nose.
“Two years ago,” she started again, “when I was piloting the ship from Earth back to Novutera — after you’d gone missing — I spoke with Ichigo about you.”
Quiche glanced up at his mother. He stopped picking his nails, waiting for her to continue.
He tried not to remember the details of the days he’d been tortured in the basement of the old palace. He still had nightmares about the pain he’d endured. His left ankle was still weaker than his right. The doctors had told him it had been shattered in five places. Ichigo’s power had brought him back to life, but it had its limitations. The mental — and physical — scars of torment remained.
“It was the night before we were due for arrival,” Cici said. “Ichigo couldn’t sleep. She was worried sick over you. She was hoping I had a guess about where they were hiding you, but of course I had no idea.” She paused, appearing to ruminate on the memory. “She asked me about your childhood. She wanted to know more about what you were like growing up.”
“I’m sure you spared no kindness,” Quiche replied sarcastically. He tried not to show his surprise in hearing about the interaction Ichigo had had with Cici before she’d returned back to search for him. It wouldn’t be unusual for Ichigo to ask about his past now that they were together, but her apparent curiosity about him two years ago was news to Quiche.
Cici raised her brows, smirking. “I was honest with her, naturally. She’s a curious girl. Asked a lot of questions.” She paused to take a sip of her drink. She peered into her glass, licking her lips. “I didn’t understand why she put up with you, even back then. She’s always been too good for you.”
Quiche knocked his jaw back and forth, drawing a long, sighing breath. “I know,” he replied simply.
It was true, of course. Ichigo was simply perfect, in every way imaginable. It was no small miracle she still gave him the time of day. Every time she smiled at him, it felt like a blessing from a benevolent saint — a blessing he didn’t deserve. The sick, twisted inner workings of Quiche’s mind often felt at odds with the fiery, kindhearted girl who knew her way through some of the darkest pathways in his psyche … and loved him anyway.
Cici sighed, before uncrossing her legs and rising from her seat. Quiche made no move to stand, following her with his eyes instead. Cici smacked her lips, sipped the last of her martini, and set the glass down on the table next to Quiche. There, eye-level, she placed her hands on Quiche’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eye.
“Listen to me,” she started in a murmur. “Despite how you might feel about this whole ‘family’ thing, you can make it right, by breaking the cycle here. Right now. From today forward.” She raised one finger to Quiche’s face. “I can’t go back in time to fix our family, but you sure as hell have something good in your future. Don’t fuck this up.”
Her breath was hot and stale with alcohol. Quiche wrinkled his nose, narrowing his eyes and maintaining Cici’s fiery stare. He swallowed a tightness in his throat, watching as his mother’s eyes studied him, bright and clear. “I won’t,” he murmured.
Cici lowered her finger from Quiche’s face. She straightened her posture and sighed. She rolled her eyes, smirking to herself as she sauntered towards the door. “Break a leg, kid,” she muttered as she went.
Quiche watched the back of her head, thinking about how most sons would likely rush to console their mother, or offer some sort of excuses on her behalf. Some would offer teary-eyed promises. But those sons — loving, soft-hearted sons — were mostly reared by kind-hearted, present mothers. Quiche was not a teary-eyed son. And Cici was not a kind-hearted mother.
Their conversation was the closest they would likely ever get to what some might call “closure” regarding his upbringing — and that was enough for Quiche.
As soon as Cici went to close the door, another voice interrupted her in the hall. Quiche rose from his seat and straightened his robes as Pie stepped into the room. The crisp lines of his coat further accentuated his broad shoulders. He held a tablet in one arm, and a stylus in the other. His usual stoic demeanor was only subtly displaced by a furrowed brow, an expression few could accurately read. But after years of knowing each other, Quiche could see worry in his stormy grey eyes as he cleared his throat once.
“Everyone is in place. They’re ready for you.”
Quiche nodded, brushing invisible dust from his arms. He drew a long breath, meeting Pie’s stare on the exhale. “Tell me again. Lettuce’s research — this has been done before, between us and humans.”
It wasn’t a question as much as a demand for reassurance. Pie carefully closed the door behind him and tucked the stylus into the tablet. “This is hardly the time to be asking these sorts of questions, Quiche.”
“No, I know,” Quiche sighed, averting his eyes to the floor. He crossed his arms, attempting to cram his anxious thoughts back into their compartmentalized box. “It’s not … I’m not backing out, or anything. It’s just … humans can’t manipulate life like some of us can. They don’t know what it feels like to hold a soul in your hand.”
Quiche held out his hand, summoning a random chimera parasite in his palm. The small flicker of its spirit bobbed and moved under his command, dancing with the smallest light of a simple life. Pie watched as Quiche observed the parasite, before waving it away. “Humans don’t normally touch souls,” Quiche continued. “And Ichigo doesn’t know what it’s like to have someone touch hers.”
Pie observed Quiche silently, thinking for a few quiet moments. Then, he tapped through something on the tablet before tucking it at his side. “It’s unlikely you’ve forgotten already,” Pie started, “but Ichigo is the one human uniquely qualified to understand the feeling. Regardless of whether or not she understood what she was doing, she has initiated a soul bond multiple times before — in order to save the life of Aoyama, and then yourself. Granted, the bond isn’t the same as the more permanent, binding one you will carry out today, but …” He paused. “The sensation will likely be at least somewhat familiar for her.”
Quiche could feel Pie’s stare on him as he let his gaze drift aimlessly over the walls of the small study. “Though,” Pie added, “you already knew that.”
Quiche let out another sigh. “You’re right,” he murmured. He finally met Pie’s gaze. “It just feels different. Now that it’s finally time.”
Pie nodded once. The two sat in silence for a few moments. The buzzing activity in the hallway had gone quiet. Quiche knew there was no point in seeking further reassurance from Pie. The practical, measured delivery of information was Pie’s way of comforting Quiche, though Quiche knew — deep down — that Pie was likely worried for him, too.
There was no use delaying any further. Ichigo had already made up her mind, and so had he. There was no backing out now.
“Okay,” Quiche finally said. He folded his hands behind his back and straightened his posture, inclining his chin towards the door. “I’m ready.”
A light breeze blew the hem of his elaborately embroidered robes, the heavy fabric dusting the stone floor as Quiche rounded the corner and stopped, peering into the daylight just around the corner. The wind whistled just beyond the threshold leading outside. He could hear distant chatter of some of the onlookers perched on balconies and crowding their windows to catch a glance at the spectacle about to occur. A small group stood by the exit with Quiche — a few fellow noblemen and two assistants to the Emperor’s priest. Quiche waited patiently for instructions, breathing slowly through his nose in an attempt to calm his nerves.
It wasn’t more than a few moments before he felt a sharp elbow to his side. He glanced sidelong, and found Tart grinning up at him. “Hey, break a leg,” Tart said with a wink. Quiche let out a long breath, smirking as Tart fell to the side of the procession and took his place amongst the rest of the noblemen. Quiche spied Pie approaching from the other side of the hallway. He nodded to Quiche silently, finding a place near Tart.
Finally, all eyes turned to the Emperor’s priest, who walked past the small group near Quiche, and stood at the threshold of exit. The breeze blew back strands of his long, chestnut hair done up in a half-bun and decorated with gold ornaments. The metal of the priest’s jewelry clinked and chimed delicately in the wind. He drew a long sigh of air into his lungs, closing his eyes briefly before turning to Quiche.
“If you’re ready, please follow my lead.”
Quiche nodded, turning a corner and finding a place directly behind the priest as they both stepped out onto the glass bridge.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears, his feet moving of their own accord as he placed one foot in front of the other, attempting to ignore the number of onlookers along the walls of the city. The idea of performing the inaeturnum in the center of the city had seemed like a marvelous idea at first — after all, Quiche delighted in any opportunity to flaunt his bond with Ichigo in public. But the excitement of the public spectacle — a political statement, a meeting of worlds on a bridge for the sake of a metaphor — felt heavy on his nerves when he couldn’t seem to shake the worry that something would go catastrophically wrong … there, in front of the entire city.
If this didn’t work … if something happened to one of them … it would cause instant pandemonium.
It had to work. There was no option for the inaeturnum to fail.
Quiche kept his eyes trained on the back of the priest, beyond whom he could make out the outer edges of a second group beginning their walk towards the center of the bridge. A wave of hushed gasps rolled through the distant onlookers crowded to watch from the city walls. Quiche briefly found the eyes of Zakuro Fujiwara, whose towering height made her visible above the priest’s shoulder. A brief glance to the left, and he found what he recognized as Ira’s ridiculously elaborate updo bobbing in a collection of violet curls. A staff briefly came into view — the Emperor’s staff, as he led the second group towards them in a steady march. Quiche could see glimpses of fabric here, elbows there … but he trained his focus on the priest, even as he came to a stop in the center of the bridge.
Quiche heaved a long, laboured breath through his nose. The breeze tickled his hair as both groups finally came to a standstill.
The priest wordlessly bowed to the Emperor. The elderly man glanced only briefly at the priest before his eyes locked on Quiche. He narrowed his icy blue stare at Quiche for a moment, studying him. Something wordless passed between them in that moment. Quiche knew the Emperor was still unhappy about Quiche declining the role of his successor, but there was something strangely vulnerable in the slight scowl on the Emperor’s face … something more than an old grudge or a stern word waiting to be said.
He looked worried.
The priest stepped to the side, and Quiche mimicked the priest’s bow. His breath choked on the bubbling anxiety in his throat as he rose from the bow, but it was all forgotten the moment the Emperor stepped away.
There, standing in front of Quiche, was the girl he loved.
Ichigo Momomiya was a vision in pale pink, the expanse of her delicate, cloud-like dress swaying in the breeze. She was decorated in all manner of traditional gold jewelry, gold loops woven into delicate braids by her face, an elaborate gold headpiece donning her brow, and precious gems dripping from her ears. Small runes matching his decorated the sides of her face in red-dyed paint, complemented by the red painted around her thick, dark lashes and onto her perfectly full lips. A mix of traditional styles from his culture … and a dress from hers.
It took Quiche a moment to recognize a familiar flower decorating her jewelry, and tucked into her hair.
Cherry blossoms.
Even her dress was reminiscent of one of the pale pink flowers, the way it gently carried with the wind. A perfect ode to her home in Tokyo.
He didn’t realize he’d been staring until the corner of Ichigo’s mouth moved, turning up in a nervous smile. He wanted to say something to her. He wanted to tell her how perfect she looked, how happy he was to see her … how he’d been so anxious right up until that moment, until the sight of her melted the nerves away. But Quiche was conscious of their audience, feeling the eyes of everyone around them as he instead offered his outstretched hands to her in invitation. On the next exhale, he relaxed his face into what he hoped was a half-smile. And on the inhale, Ichigo slipped her soft, delicate hands into his.
The priest cleared his throat. A heavy stillness settled over the droves of onlookers watching from either side of the city’s walls.
“To those gathered here today,” the priest began in Japanese, “an inaeturnum is an age-old tradition in the culture of the Viatorem that serves to bind two souls together. The practice stems not only from the emotional bond formed by two individuals, but also from the ancient gift of holding life in our hands, granted to our people since ancient times. This ceremony has been a closed practice of our people for thousands of years. And today, we will be witnessing something truly remarkable — the first inaeturnum performed with a human in over ten thousand years.”
Ichigo’s palms felt warm in Quiche’s hands. Her pinky finger was twitching. Quiche’s eyes darted between the priest and Ichigo, carefully surveying every twitch of her brow … every time she bit down on her lip. Pie’s words served to soothe Quiche as he felt his heart quicken: “Ichigo is the one human uniquely qualified to understand the feeling.”
The priest continued: “What we are about to witness is a historic event, a binding not only of two souls, but of two worlds joined together at last. The last several years have carried both triumphs and challenges brought on by the reunification of Earth. Our people have been slowly gaining back our right to access the resources our native planet has to offer, and the human settlers on Earth have been allowed to remain on its surface, undisturbed and without further conflict.
“This unity — this unprecedented peace between worlds — would not be possible if it were not for the two individuals standing before us today. Mew Ichigo Momomiya is the leader of Earth’s chosen warriors, carrying the will of the Earth itself in her blood. She carries divine power of light and life never before seen in our two worlds. Her brave defense of Earth placed her in direct conflict with our tenth prince and former general leading Operation Continental Resistance. Yet, it was nothing short of fate that led these two individuals to recognize that they shared more similarities than differences. And just like the Viatorem and the human races at large, there were vast and difficult obstacles they faced along the way — some of which on the soil of Earth, and some of which occurred here, on Novutera.
“Yet here they stand, together with friends, family, and the people of Novutera who have long awaited the unity being witnessed here today.”
Quiche glanced up briefly over Ichigo’s shoulder. Behind her, he quickly spotted all five other members of Tokyo Mew Mew, with the addition of Ryou Shirogane, Akasaka Keiichiro … and Masaya Aoyama.
Quiche and Ichigo had discussed Aoyama’s presence at the inaeturnum at length, after Ichigo insisted that he be present for the event. Quiche was less than thrilled with the idea — partly for his own selfish reasons, and partly due to fear over how the unstable flicker of Deep Blue’s leftover power would respond once Aoyama set foot on the planet. But the human boy had been able to reign in the bite of Deep Blue’s old power nipping at his heels … and stay out of Quiche’s way.
Quiche let his stare linger on Aoyama for a fraction of a second.
It wasn’t long ago that Quiche had broken nearly every dish in the Café Mew Mew kitchen — hurling glass against the pale pink walls until cuts littered his skin — at the news that Ichigo and Aoyama were betrothed. It wasn’t long ago that he harbored an insurmountable rage over the thought that he had lost his chance with Ichigo for good.
How the tables have turned. To Aoyama’s credit, he had been remarkably calm the past few days after arriving on Novutera. No broken dishes. No threatening teammates with knives. And no love declarations as he prepared to let go of Ichigo forever.
In many ways, Aoyama was a better man than Quiche. More mature. More composed. More kind.
But Ichigo belonged to Quiche.
And so Quiche felt no ill-will towards Aoyama as his stare flicked back to Ichigo. She’d chosen him. He’d already won. It was a petty thought, and Quiche released it on a long exhale. The breeze picked up around them, as if to carry it away.
“Now, I ask of the two individuals standing before me today,” the priest continued, “are you ready to initiate the bond?”
The priest looked to Quiche first. Quiche nodded once, firmly. “I am.”
Then, the priest looked to Ichigo. She swallowed hard, drawing a shaking breath through her nose. “I am,” she said quietly.
Quiche subtly squeezed her hands, still resting in his. She was sweating; her skin was warm and slick from nerves. Ichigo’s gaze slid to Quiche, and he could see in that moment that she was petrified.
He wanted to fix it for her. He wanted to reassure her, to comfort her, to tell her she could always back out of this, if she’d changed her mind. But Quiche had no time to do any of those things, because before he knew it, the priest had raised one hand over them both, and declared: “We’ll begin.”
A light glow began to emanate from the hand of the priest. He began reading off lines from the book he clutched in his other hand, the ancient dialect of Loq sounding strange even to Quiche. He could vaguely make out the words and phrases of the prayer, asking a higher power to bond two into one. After a half-minute of reading the first passages, the priest paused briefly, before moving on to the next line, drawing his gesture down to hover near where Quiche gripped Ichigo’s hands.
When the priest began to read the next passage, Quiche felt it — the feeling of something digging into the underbelly of his soul. He inhaled sharply at the discomfort, gritting his teeth at the strangely hot feeling emanating from his chest. He tried not to show it in his face. Instead, he watched Ichigo carefully, seeing her lips stretch to a thin line, and her nose curl as she began to feel the effects of the bond clawing at her, too. The priest continued to read, the glow emanating from his hand growing gradually stronger with every word.
Then, suddenly, Ichigo drew another long, shuddering breath through her nose — and the light around them magnified with it. Quiche blinked into the sudden swell of energy around them, and the priest — momentarily startled — began to read from the passages even faster. Ichigo stared up at Quiche, eyes wide, the look of pain still knitting her brow together and straining her jaw. The light dulled on Ichigo’s exhale, but as she gasped another breath of air into her lungs, the light exploded around them in a brilliant flood of gold.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Quiche hadn’t the faintest idea why the energy of the inaeturnum had suddenly grown so overwhelmingly strong, and why it seemed to ebb and flow with every breath Ichigo drew into her lungs. Quiche heard the chatter swell amongst the crowds lining the city walls to watch them. Hushed voices broke out on either side of the bridge, sharp and scared. Quiche struggled to maintain a look of calm as he focused all his attention on Ichigo, straining to block out the sounds of panic erupting around them. The priest began speaking louder, nearly shouting over the voices of the onlookers as he continued to rattle through the passages of the ancient text.
Ichigo’s breathing was short and ragged. She drew small, scared breaths, the pulsing aura of light rapidly growing by the second. Her hands were trembling in Quiche’s grasp. He realized with a start that the tips of her fingers had gone cold. She was visibly recoiling on every inhale, her face — bathed in otherworldly ribbons of light — growing paler by the second. Quiche spied the fuzzy black tips of her feline ears rising from her hair, and flattening against her head in fear. Earth’s power in her was stirring, appearing on its own accord. Defending her. Lending her all the strength she had left.
On Ichigo’s next, shaking inhale, tears pooled at the edges of her eyes as the light stuttered and grew to be nearly blinding around them. She screwed her eyes shut in visible pain on the exhale, and red teardrops full of her eye makeup beaded down her face.
Quiche wanted to take it all back. He wanted it all to stop. But the consequences of interrupting an inaeturnum were dire — oftentimes resulting in serious injury … or worse. Quiche felt panic snapping at his mind. Regret at asking Ichigo to go through with it. This was his fault. This was his idea.
Quiche clenched his jaw, watching more red tears spill down Ichigo’s face before he made up his mind. Fuck the optics. Fuck this ceremonial bullshit.
Quiche let go of Ichigo’s hands, took two steps forward and wrapped her into his arms. He tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder and pressed his cheek up against her hair. She fisted his robes in her hands as she held on fast to the fabric on his chest. Her whole body was trembling against him. The priest continued in his rapid-fire recitation of the texts, and Quiche could make out the roaring panic of onlookers as they realized — as Quiche had — that Ichigo was in more dire straits than they could have ever anticipated.
“Ichigo,” Quiche breathed into her ear, clutching tight to her shaking body. “Ichigo, hang on. Hang on. It’s almost over.”
Another stuttering exhale. A small, soft sob against Quiche’s chest.
“It … hurts,” Ichigo stammered. Her voice cracked as she struggled to let those two simple words slip from her tongue. The sound of her voice — meek and watery — broke something deep in Quiche, distracting from the discomfort he knew paled to hers. Pure, unbridled fear ripped through him as he squeezed Ichigo even tighter. He buried his face in her hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he gasped into her hair. “I’m so sorry, Ichigo. I’m so…”
He gasped air into his lungs, choking on a sob. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as he squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding ribbons of light circling their bodies. His face felt hot and wet, as he begged to some silent power, something he didn’t quite understand. Please, please, please. Not her. Not like this.
Quiche could feel the vibrations of Ichigo’s sobs against his chest, growing more violent with every inhale. Her weight felt heavy in his grip. Her balance swayed. Quiche could feel the soul bond squeezing and tightening in his chest, feeling an immense pressure as if the tension could pop at any moment. Just a little further. Just a little longer, and—
All of a sudden, the light died behind Quiche’s eyelids. His eyes flew open to see the last ribbons of light snaking their way inside of Ichigo’s body.
Ichigo hung limp in Quiche’s arms, leaning her weight against his chest as her head lolled against him like a ragdoll. Quiche scrambled to quickly lower her towards the ground, her knees buckling under her as the expanse of her pale pink dress gathered and pooled at her waist. He tried to block out the panicked shouting from the onlookers and the occupants of the bridge. Close by, someone was crying.
The priest dropped to his knees, too, examining Ichigo as Quiche held her up by her shoulders. Quiche took her chin into his hand, examining her face for any sign of consciousness. “Ichigo,” he said shakily. “Ichigo, can you hear me?”
“Is she dead?” someone asked in Loq, just behind Quiche’s shoulder. A flicker of rage sparked in Quiche’s mind at the question. He could see in his peripheral that Ichigo’s friends had maneuvered their way to the front of the processional, standing in front of the Emperor and his guards.
He did his best to block out the distractions buzzing around his field of vision, and the feeling of thousands of eyes watching them. “Ichigo,” Quiche breathed, staring intently at her closed lids as he held her face in one hand. “Ichigo, please.”
He felt her head shift to one side with a slight roll of her neck. And suddenly, Ichigo sat up with a gasp.
Her chin snapped up straight, and her eyes shone with an otherworldly light behind them. She gasped air into her lungs until she couldn’t anymore, her jaw gaping open as the golden light poured from her sockets. Silence descended on the whole city, dotted only by shocked gasps as everyone watched in a mix of horror and awe.
Then, Quiche felt it.
Something clicked into place, deep in his chest. The tension snapped, the squeezing feeling suddenly gone.
And Ichigo fell forward, coughing.
“She’s alive!” a voice called out.
Quiche rushed to support Ichigo’s back as she doubled over, swallowing hungry gasps of air into her lungs between coughing spells. Ichigo was alive. Ichigo was breathing.
The priest to the side of them closed the ancient book in his hands. “It’s complete,” he breathed. Quiche stole a glance towards his elder as the priest observed them in shocked silence. The priest nodded once towards Quiche, before murmuring: “It worked.”
Quiche’s attention snapped back to Ichigo in the same moment. Her eyes flew open on her next inhale, restored to pools of chocolate brown. Quiche grasped the sides of her face with both hands, searching her stare for any lingering signs of distress.
They’d done it. The inaeturnum was done.
“It’s done!” the priest called to the onlookers, rising shakily to his feet. “The inaeturnum is complete!”
Cheers erupted from the throngs of people packed on the city walls. The friends, family and nobles gathered on the bridge turned to speak in awe with each other. Some hugged, and some began to wipe away their tears. Quiche was only vaguely aware of the revelry erupting around them as he stared into Ichigo’s eyes, watching and waiting for her to say something. Anything. Anything to let him know she was okay.
Ichigo swallowed, her coughing finally subsided into full, shuddering breaths. Her makeup was all over her face. Her hair stuck to the sweat on her skin. But she was awake. She was alive. And something deep Quiche’s soul leapt in joy as she stared up at him, and her gaze slowly softened.
A small smile curled at her lips. She wordlessly nodded and began to wipe the makeup from her face with the heel of her palm. She was okay. It was going to be okay.
Quiche dove forward and wrapped her in another embrace, collecting her onto his lap and tucking her into his shoulder. Her arms encircled Quiche’s middle and clung to the back of his robes. Ichigo wasn’t shaking anymore. Quiche cherished the feeling of her lungs expanding against his, and the puffs of her breath on his neck. He had nearly been the cause of her breath being snuffed. He’d hurt her, but she was alive. The weight of what he had brought her into — the pain the ceremony had caused her — he knew it would dwell on his conscience for an aching eternity. But amidst the guilt, he found relief in the fact that they had made it through, together. And finally, Quiche felt Ichigo slowly pulling back. His hands rose to cradle the sides of Ichigo’s face. Then, he leaned in and kissed her.
The kiss was explosive, a sudden surge of joy leaping in Quiche’s chest at the thought that she was finally his, forever. Their very souls were bound together, something he could have never dreamed of, even in his wildest fantasies. He desperately wished he could have taken Ichigo’s pain from her in pursuit of their bond, but now that it was complete, it was all too easy to get lost in the ecstatic feeling of a kiss between bonded souls.
He vaguely registered the sounds of the cheering swelling around them. He remembered the priest, their friends, the Emperor … everyone watching them in that moment. So Quiche reluctantly broke from the kiss, wordlessly grinning down at Ichigo before hoisting her up and into his arms, fluffy pink dress and all. Ichigo yelped in surprise, clutching to Quiche’s neck as he turned in a full circle to look around at the walls of his city, lined with people who never could have imagined the lives they lived now if it weren’t for the salvation of the girl resting in his arms. He couldn’t believe his luck. He could scarcely comprehend it wasn’t all a dream.
But he was growing tired of the noise, the adrenaline beginning to fade from his nerves. He needed to assess Ichigo’s condition. And he needed answers. Quiche turned to the priest and nodded in a short bow, still carrying Ichigo in his arms. When he bowed, his face fell into the poofy mess of pink fabric collected around her waist.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Quiche said loudly over the crowd noise. He turned to the Emperor and gave him a similar short bow. Then, he turned on his heel and forced the crowd to part for them as he carried Ichigo off of the bridge, and away from the thousands of eyes of the crowd.
A few people made remarks towards Quiche as he passed, but many stayed silent in awe, having seen up-close what Ichigo had experienced. Quiche was grateful that no one tried to stop him as he carefully made his way back through the doorway, down the quiet hall where the crowd noise was muffled in the distance, and back to the small study that still smelled vaguely of Cici’s spilt martini and old books. There, he finally dropped Ichigo to her feet, before walking backwards two steps and slamming his back against the door.
They both caught their breath for a moment, staring at each other in dazed silence. Quiche could still hear the distant roar of the crowd outside. The only clear, sharp noise in the room was the sound of them both catching their breath.
Finally, Ichigo’s shoulders slumped. She furrowed her brow, then her lips split into a smile. “You have … um …” She pointed to her lips before erupting in a fit of giggles. Quiche had never heard a sound quite as lovely as her laughter, after everything they’d been through that day. The guilt began to ease from his shoulders, at least temporarily. He grinned back at her, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand to wipe off what he was sure was a mess of her red lipstick.
Suddenly, they were interrupted by a short knock on the door. Quiche rolled his eyes as he felt it against his back. His first instinct was to ignore it, but it the knock was followed by a soft voice: “Please pardon me—“
It was the Emperor’s priest. Quiche made a snap decision. He turned on his heel and yanked open the door, hurrying the man inside and shutting it swiftly behind him. Quiche strode over to Ichigo, looping an arm around her and protectively collecting her closer to him. He narrowed his eyes at the priest and demanded sharply: “Start talking.”
The priest, wide-eyed and disheveled, gave a low bow as he stammered: “I-I am terribly sorry for the unexpected distress. If I had known how dire the physical effects of the ceremony would be—“
“It’s already done,” Quiche snapped. He glared at the priest as he rose from his bow. “I want to know what happened to Ichigo just now. Why did the bond latch on to her breath? It looked like it was eating her alive.”
The priest took a moment to collect himself, nervously adjusting his robes. “I-I can’t say exactly what just occurred, given we have very little record of how this type of ceremony affects a human soul, but I … I can give you my best conjecture.”
“Please do.”
The priest glanced between Quiche and Ichigo. He looked to be picking through his words carefully. “It would be assumed … based on available data, some of which has come from Mew Lettuce’s historical research into relations between humans and our kind … that Mew Ichigo’s spirit would be slightly weaker than yours during the bond. I’d anticipated that much when I began to initiate the proceedings. That was not the case.”
The priest’s eyes fell on Ichigo. “Mew Ichigo, what you just experienced … did you feel your Earth-given power reacting to the bond?”
Quiche looked down towards Ichigo. She nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. “Overwhelmingly so. It almost felt … angry. I’ve never felt my power surge like that.”
The priest nodded. “I thought so.” His stare fell back on Quiche. “What Mew Ichigo has just experienced is not typical of a forged bond between one of our kind and a human. I should have known better. Because Mew Ichigo is not entirely human.”
The priest paused for a moment, before continuing in a low tone. “Mew Ichigo’s soul is encased in something divine. She has the life-spirit of a planet living inside her soul — something not easily touched by common beings like us. I’ve only experienced contact with a similar spirit once. The spirit of the former ruler of our nation.”
Quiche narrowed his eyes. Deep Blue. He was saying that Ichigo’s power was more god than human, at least in their society’s eyes. It made sense — though the sheer awe of it fell heavy over the three occupants of the room.
“When you attempt to coax divine power into bonding with a common soul like yours,” the priest continued slowly, “it will not go quietly.”
Ichigo shifted her weight under Quiche’s arm. “So, if I’m understanding this right,” Ichigo murmured, “Quiche is now bonded … to Earth? Or … Earth’s power inside of me?”
The priest nodded. “That’s correct.” His eyes flicked to Quiche. “Quiche has not only entered an inaeturnum with you. He has just entered one with the divine will of Earth.” He paused, swallowing hard, before quickly adding: “Please forgive me, Quiche — if I had known—”
“It’s perfectly fine,” Quiche interrupted. He drummed his fingers on Ichigo’s arm. The irony of it all began to set in, and a smirk curled on his lips. Him. Tied to Earth. After he’d once been its greatest enemy. “I could not have asked for a better outcome, actually. What a fitting development. And what an honor to be bonded to the spirit of the planet our people once called home.”
The priest took a moment, staring thoughtfully back at Quiche before nodding once, slowly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he murmured. “It is honorable indeed.”
He turned his focus to Ichigo. “Mew Ichigo, should you experience any adverse effects of the inaeturnum in the common days, don’t hesitate to alert any of us here in our court, and we will do everything possible to ensure your safety and comfort.”
Ichigo nodded. “I will,” she replied. “I’m feeling alright now. Just a bit sore … and tired.”
“That’s to be expected,” the priest replied. He glanced between Ichigo and Quiche before folding his hands behind his back and taking a step backwards. “I’ll take my leave. Please accept my deepest apologies for the distress I’ve inadvertently caused, alongside my congratulations for a successful outcome.” He turned to Ichigo and gave a short bow. “And further congratulations go to you, Mew Ichigo, for becoming the first human princess of our court in recorded history. Now that you are officially part of our governing body, I look forward to what more you’ll be able to accomplish. I wish you nothing but the best in your future.”
Quiche could feel Ichigo stiffen in his arm. He knew the topic of her new title was a sensitive one. She bowed her head briefly, and muttered a “thank you.” Then, the priest nodded once more to Quiche before turning to head out the study door. Luckily, he had the sense to close it behind him.
Finally, Quiche slid his arm from Ichigo’s side, coaxing her hands into his. Ichigo’s wide-eyed stare contained multitudes. She looked every part scared, dazed and excited as she squeezed his hands tightly in hers. The noise of the crowd had dulled outside, replaced by the muffled voices of party-goers in a distant room of the building.
Ichigo drew a deep breath. “Are you sure?” she murmured on the exhale, low and soft. “That is … be honest with me. You didn’t sign up for being tied to Earth’s power like I am.”
It was a selfless question, especially after the near-disaster of the ceremony Quiche had just put her through. Entirely selfless — and entirely like Ichigo to ask.
“If I remember correctly,” Quiche replied with a smirk, “you didn’t sign up for your power, either. Sometimes fate has a will of its own. And if that fate is yours, it’s perfectly fitting that it’s mine, too.”
His answer seemed to satisfy Ichigo. She visibly relaxed, her shoulders slumping and her brows relaxing above her tired eyes. She pursed her lips, before a smile stretched at her cheeks. She let go of Quiche’s hands and reached up to pinch the tips of his ears. “Mm, you’d look awfully funny with my cat ears, though.”
Quiche let out a snort of laughter through his nose. He snatched Ichigo’s wrists and held them away from him. “I dunno, kitten. I think they look cuter on you.”
He’d never grow tired of kissing Ichigo Momomiya.
As he pressed his lips to hers, he let the weight of their bond fully settle into the depths of his heart, and he realized he felt really, truly happy. More than just the happiness of hope, or the happiness he often felt in anticipation of what could be. No — the feeling was one of pure, satisfactory bliss. The happiness of feeling like there was no all-encompassing, perfect future he imagined in his fantasies. He was living that fantasy. His once-distant visions were now his reality. And as he drew back from his princess’s soft, perfect lips to look into deep pools of brown, he could scarcely anticipate what new, fantastical visions awaited them in their future. Together.
Ichigo smiled up at him, and Quiche’s heart burned with warmth.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you, too.”
Quiche released her wrists, and Ichigo stepped back. She cocked her head to the side, examining Quiche’s appearance for a moment.
“Actually, cat ears would suit you,” she said with a giggle. “Would you really be okay with them, if my power … you know … suddenly decided it wanted you to be a cat, too?”
Quiche grinned. “For you, anything.”
Ichigo laughed, wiping the last smear of stained makeup from her face before taking Quiche’s hand in hers, and leading him towards the door. Leading him towards the rest of their lives together, waiting beyond the threshold — waiting for them to begin.