Archive of Our Own

“Never venture up into that mountain, Ryouta,” Ryouta’s grandmother would often tell him. “Humans have been forbidden to go there since long ago. It is now a place where only spirits and the supernatural reside.”

“Why are humans forbidden there?” he would ask, his eyes taking in the visage of the tall lonely mountain that seemed to be forever encircled with a mysterious fog, as if the curtain of cloud was jealously guarding a secret.

“Because we have forgotten,” his grandmother answered with a remorseful smile as she cupped her hands over his ears. “We have closed our eyes, our ears and our hearts to all things but ourselves. And so the guardian beast of that mountain banished us from ever stepping foot into his world.”

“Why?” Ryouta asked, feeling an odd heaviness settle in his heart. “Why did we forget?”

Here, his grandmother turned her eyes to the mountain as if recalling a time when humankind was still young and foolish, needing the guidance of gods and spirits to live in the vast world around them. And Ryouta could not help but wonder how it must have been to live back then to be able to walk down to a creek and see a kappa, or to chase after a tanuki to retrieve his stolen snacks. When his grandmother spoke, her voice was wistful and sad as if it had been in her lifetime that their village was forever banished from the mountain.

“It is because we stopped believing in them, stopped looking to them for help and believed in our own power instead.”

That had been the only conversation they had ever held regarding the mountain that loomed over their small village. It wasn’t until Ryouta was nine that he finally dared to venture anywhere near the mountain with Shintarou at his heels, warning him of the dangers of what could lay beyond and reminding him that all humans had been forbidden to ever set foot beyond the fog.

“But that’s only because they stopped believing, right?” Ryouta asked as he reached out towards the twisting and coiling of the dense fog before him, feeling no ounce of fear as the cloud seemed to have an essence of its own, reaching out towards him in turn. He grinned, looking over his shoulder at his best friend. “Come on, Shintarou. Nothing would happen to us if we believe, right?”

The taller boy only crossed his arms with a frown, remaining rooted where he was. “It doesn’t really matter if you believe when the guardian of the mountain has forbade us from ever entering. And how can you believe in something you’ve never seen before?”

“Why are you afraid of something you’ve never seen before?” Ryouta shot back.

“Because I’m not familiar with it,” Shintarou answered with stubborn confidence. “Because it’s unknown. We don’t know what’s beyond the fog. We don’t know what would happen to us.”

“Then that’s all the more reason to find out, isn’t it?” Ryouta turned back to the fog, determination burning within his young eyes. “We’ve only ever heard stories and warnings never to enter, but that’s only because everyone in the village is afraid of what they no longer remember. What if it’s not as bad as we think it is? What if the thing we’ve forgotten wants us to remember? What if it misses us?”

“I’ll only say it one more time, Ryouta. Don’t go in,” the other boy stated firmly.

Grinning, Ryouta swiped the side of his nose with his thumb, brimming with the sort of confidence only children who believed in the impossible could ever muster up when they wanted to prove others wrong. “Just stay where you are, then. When I come back, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Before Shintarou could say another word, Ryouta ran into the fog, adrenaline pumping throughout his body as the cold air bit at his arms and legs. He wore a wide grin as excitement filled him, envisioning countless possibilities of what he might uncover once he broke through the dense fog. Perhaps he would stumble right into a youkai festival and they would cheer and celebrate all the more when they realized that humans still believed in them, still wished to be part of their world. Because for Ryouta, the world was already too vast and too wide at the age of nine to think that the only living creatures that inhabited it were humans and animals.

The fog seemed to go on forever, however, and soon Ryouta’s running slowed down to a jog and then to nothing more than a cautious walk as he attempted to locate whatever landmark he could find within the mist. There was nothing but an endless expanse of greyish-white fog circling him. The piles of fallen leaves and twigs at his feet snapped and crackled with each step he took, but otherwise there was only the sound of his heavy breathing.

There were no birds singing, no ray of the sunlight to break through the fog to show him the way.

“Hello?” Ryouta called out as he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello!”

He paused, waiting.

Not even the wind answered.

Ryouta’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Perhaps he was expecting too much, Ryouta thought as he continued forward at a slow pace. Or perhaps what the elders of the village had warned and told tales about all these years were simply false stories to keep children from wandering into the mountains. As his gaze roamed, Ryouta continued to see only an empty expanse of fog while only the steady inhale and exhale of his breath and the sound of leaves breaking under his slippers filled his ears.

That gave him a pause suddenly and he looked down at his feet.

There were leaves underfoot, yet there were no trees in sight. They had to have come from elsewhere, possibly the wind carried them here from a short distance away. Shuffling his feet around until he could see the grassy ground under the leaves, Ryouta bit the inside of his cheek, trying to soak up what little information he could gather. There were no trees near the border the fog had made around the mountain from where he came from, for a small grass clearing separated by a flowing stream kept the village a safe distance away from it. It could only mean the leaves had traveled from the mountain range itself, on the other side of the fog, blown into it by the wind.

It shouldn’t be much further, then, Ryouta contemplated.  Right, he wasn’t even anywhere near the forest that encased the mountain, so of course he wouldn’t see any signs of youkai or other tricky spirits that resided under the protection of the guardian beast.

Proud of his deduction and momentarily wishing Shintarou was around to witness it, Ryouta, in higher spirits, continued forward.

After two minutes of walking, he lifted his hands to cup around his mouth once more, “Hello!”

Ryouta waited.

“Hello!” he called out again, his tone desperate and hopeful.

It was soft, faint, but in the distance, Ryouta heard a returned, “Hello.”

Lips stretching out in a bright grin, he called out once more. “Yes, hello!”

“Hello,” the voice returned once more and Ryouta was able to locate it further ahead when he forced his ears to pinpoint the source.

Grinning wider now, he sprinted forward as he answered the formless voice, elation and anticipation coloring his face that perhaps the owner of the voice was something not of his world, something that humans had long forgotten. “Wait right there! I’m coming to you!”

When he finally broke through the fog, Ryouta almost stumbled as he came to a halt. Every exhale of breath was visible before his eyes as he looked around, completely surrounded by trees, fallen leaves and a thin mist before him. Joy quickly gave way to sore disappointment as he ventured further from the fog, ignoring how the cold mountain air pricked his exposed arms and legs causing goose bumps to form and the tiny hairs on his skin to stand.

“Hellooo?” Ryouta called out again, eyes darting from tree to tree, looking up and down as he walked further into the woods. “Are you still there?”

There was silence for a full minute before the same voice was heard again further up the mountain and though Ryouta was wary and knew better than to go too far, the uncertainty was not strong enough to fight off his utter determination to find something. He had broken a rule set by the villagers to never set foot into the mountain, had broken a promise to his grandmother to see what human eyes had never seen before, and Ryouta was too proud to return empty-handed and be punished for nothing.

It wasn’t bravery that allowed him to walk up the long unused mountain path because there was nothing there that he feared; it was youthful determination and stubbornness that allowed him to do what others refused to and that was to face the unknown head-on. And though Ryouta was young and foolish in his action, he could not stand to simply believe in old legends and age long fears without ever trying to overcome them.

However, the owner of the voice continued to elude Ryouta, leading him ever further into the mountain until the light of the sun dipped far behind the treetops, leaving him in darkness.

It was only then that fear gripped his mind, conjuring up feral beasts that gave no care as to what they had between their jaws. As the fear grew, it brought images of fearsome youkai who fed on the flesh of humans, who tricked and who were tricked. When night finally fell over the land, Ryouta was huddled against the trunk of a tree, a pile of dead leaves around his feet and legs in an attempt to keep the chilling cold at bay.

Odd sounds kept him jerking every so often, his heart raced in his chest as he covered his ears and eyes, willing himself to be back in his warm bed with the sound of his grandmother’s humming to sooth all worries.

Shintarou’s warning words came back to Ryouta every so often, mocking his youthful arrogance and confidence with his green eyes that seemed too old on his face.

Somehow, through the fear that nipped at his skin and the sounds that made him flinch, Ryouta fell into an uneasy slumber where fire ran rampant, voices rose and fell in urgency, and the color red blinded him. In the muddled haze of uneasy sleep, Ryouta felt hands on him, though he was not sure if they were the ghosts of his dreams or reality. They did not grab or pull roughly, however. Instead, they slipped through his hair, touched his pulse at the side of his neck and when they brushed against his forehead, Ryouta whimpered within his sleep, though not because the fingers that graced along his cheek afterwards were invasive and unwelcomed (in fact, even in the grip of sleep, Ryouta leaned against them).

He wasn’t sure what happened after that, for while there were hushed voices around him, he could not open his eyes and when those particular set of hands stroked down the side of his cheek once more, Ryouta succumbed completely to sleep.

When Ryouta woke the next day, it was in his bed and to the surprised sound of his grandmother’s voice and her thin arms wrapping themselves around his small shoulders. Though he was scolded for disappearing without a word, she was too grateful to have him back to truly punish him. The villagers, of course, were none too happy when they found that he had ventured into the forbidden forest, and when his grandmother got to her knees on his behalf to beg for forgiveness on the actions of a foolish child, an anger burned in Ryouta and tears collected at the corner of his eyes.

Shintarou found him later in the day by the stream that ran behind the village, searching its clear waters for crayfish to catch.

“I did warn you,” Shintarou greeted him when Ryouta did not acknowledge his presence.

Crouched in the running water that went up to his ankles, Ryouta reached in to flip a rock over, sending a few small fishes away to find other areas to seek shelter under.

Sighing loudly, Shintarou sat himself down in the grass, keeping his eyes trained stubbornly on Ryouta until the other boy was ready to acknowledge him.

After a stretch of silence, Ryouta spoke. “There’s something up there,” he began, eyes still staring into the water. “There was a voice. It answered me when I called out, Shintarou. I followed it, but lost my way.”

Ryouta raised his eyes, brows creasing. “I don’t know how I ended up back in my room, Shintarou.”

For a moment, it looked as though his friend was about to lecture him on the cruelty of telling horrid jokes because while Shintarou believed in things such as luck and following the daily divinations, he was also a realistic person at heart. Shintarou, like the rest of the villagers and perhaps the world, no longer truly believed in higher beings. Ghosts were nothing more than nighttime stories to tell when one wished for a good scare and held no real backing. Much was the same with gods and worship.

Humans liked to think that gods could be real, but also refused to truly believe in something they could not vividly reach out and touch. Faith was at times a flimsy thing - a thread that could swing either way in the wind depending on proof and conviction, for only during their darkest hours do humans quickly turn their hands away from what they have produced to help them, to the unknown gods they had long left behind.

The other boy finally looked elsewhere, crossing his arms, fingers tapping quietly against his elbow in thought.

“That’s not all, either,” Ryouta continued as he stood, making his way out of the stream to fall back onto the grass beside Shintarou. “When I was asleep, I felt… some… one touching me.” At the alarmed look Shintarou gave him, Ryouta waved his hands in the air, laughing a bit. “It wasn’t-! It’s not what you think. They were just…”

Ryouta paused, trying to recall how they had felt, closing his eyes as if it would jog his memory some. The faint memory of cool fingers sliding against his scalp came back almost instantly and Ryouta unconsciously tilted his head back against the grass, as if trying to follow the gentle swipe the fingers had left against his skin.

They had felt familiar, he almost wanted to say, warm despite the coolness of their skin. Comforting in a way his grandmother’s hands were, calloused and aged as they were, when they mended his clothes, patched his bruises and scars and kindly chased away his tears. And then he recalled how the other’s fingers had felt, ghosting over the curve of his forehead where when normally if anyone even got so close, he would flinch and slap the intruding hand away, even if that person was his caretaker. For, ever since he could remember, Ryouta had never liked it when he was touched there.

Always, always, an agonizing ache would make itself known at the center of his forehead, often times rendering him incapable of leaving his bed. No one in the village really understood the reasoning behind this affliction, but all quickly avoided causing it, and his grandmother learned early to let him tend to his hair on his own.

“I can’t really explain it,” Ryouta settled with when he opened his eyes. “They didn’t feel threatening, I guess.”

“You guess,” Shintarou repeated flatly.

Grinning, Ryouta turned his head to look up at him. “If they were hands that intended to do me harm, how do you explain my still being here? Or rather, how do you explain how I ended up in my home when I know for certain I had lost myself in the forest?”

Luck was obviously out of the question and they both knew Shintarou would be looked at as a fool should he even utter such a thing, if only because being called a fool by Ryouta was the worse insult for him. Instead, the bespectacled boy shrugged, for once not having a realistic or fitting answer to something he clearly could not explain.

“Maybe someone is looking out for you,” Shintarou stated and it was obvious that he was humoring Ryouta.

Grinning widely, liking the sound of having a guardian of his own, Ryouta sat straight up, hitting his knees with the flat of his hands.

“I knew it! Don’t be too jealous that you don’t have one, Shintarou. Your guardian is probably just intimidated by how much you know about things. You know how they always say you’re an old man stuck in a young boy’s body,” Ryouta reassured the other boy.

Expressionless, the sun’s glare hitting his glasses and shielding his eyes, Shintarou quietly muttered, “Sometimes the things you say really feel like insults.”

“That’s only because you’re too sensitive, even when you try not to come across as such,” Ryouta prodded, though he still grinned.

That day continued on as most days did before Ryouta dared to break the unspoken rule of the village and though many were wary for days, nothing of great calamity happened. The guardian of the mountain did not send hordes of ravaging beasts to feast upon their flesh as some had fearfully whispered.

Ryouta found himself questioning more and more why the villagers, why man as a whole, feared so much for the unknown. If the tale of the humans being banished from the mountain was because of their disbelief in the world they used to live in, why carry on the fear when they did not believe?

Fear of the unknown was meaningless, because of what people lacked in knowledge, they filled that space with such imagined horror that they begin to convince themselves that they are true when the truth could be that there was nothing to fear at all.

Ryouta refused to bend to the way of what others thought, not only because he found it pointless, but because whatever had lured him deep into the mountain was something that had not brought harm to him.

Of course, from that day onwards, the villagers decided to make things harder on Ryouta. A mock guarding station was erected at the edge of the fog wherein every hour or so, men from the village would take turns looking out mostly to make sure crafty children like Kise Ryouta did not think themselves brave and enter. Though it was nothing more than a small hut with a cot and chair, Ryouta knew better than to try his luck so soon after being scolded and having his grandmother shamed for his mischief.

Life went back to the way they more or less did within the small village.

Children woke to warm, if somewhat meager, breakfast every morning before preparing themselves to school. Men and women of the village would either head out to tend to their farms, or, if they had work within the city, ride off on buses until late in the evening as the elders tended to things left behind.

Things were not so normal for Ryouta, however. As days passed into weeks into months to years, his nights were sometimes plagued with restless slumber. Dreams of flames scorching his legs, rough hands grabbing at his hair, angry voices filling the air and red, red, red blinding him caused him to jump awake in the middle of the night.

These visions did not always happen.

Sometimes they were replaced by cool hands, gently caressing and threading through his hair. Often, they felt so real that Ryouta would reach out in his sleep, wishing to grasp onto the dream, but always he would quickly fall into a sleep so deep he had to be woken roughly by Shintarou kicking his legs, telling him to hurry quickly before they were both late for school.

Normalcy and routine finally began to bore Ryouta when he was in his fourteenth year.

He was no rebellious child because the memory of his grandmother on her knees, kowtowing for his rashness, was still clear and burned in his memory when he would look up from his homework to see her slowly making dinner for them.

But Ryouta was still a boy, and a teenager at that. Small villages where every path, known or hidden, every nook and cranny and hidden caves and thick gathering of bushes where frogs collected during the heat of summer only entertained him for so long. And while the city had its different sights, sounds, smells, its own nooks and crannies, hidden paths and flashy arcades, Ryouta did not long to spend too much time so far away from his only family member who aged as he flourished.

Girls were quickly a new discovery all together.

Ryouta liked them as much as any other young boy did with their supple skin that flushed prettily when he gazed at them. Ryouta was not an entirely vain person, but he felt it was hardly shameless when he knew he was attractive to the opposite sex. Genes blessed him with blond hair and striking amber eyes that seemed to be the Achilles heel for most young girls who were shallow and felt looks mattered more than personality. Not that his personality was ugly, at least he thought.

Still, girls and the things they did to his young body quickly wore off in novelty when that soon became something normal.

Suddenly it was as if the world no longer held any wonder anymore, unlike his time as a child where imagined adventures were easily created in an open field with Shintarou as his faithful, if somewhat reluctant, companion. Gone were the days where he was able to wake up with the thrill, the knowledge that uncertainties rested ahead. Where he could discover things no one else had dared to, where he questioned the unchallenged mindset that had plagued his village.

And that was when he remembered the legend, the forbidden mountain where gods and spirits were said to have lived, where humans were forever banished from ever entering. Where he as a young boy had bravely set foot into the mist and mysteriously found himself safe and warm in the comfort of his bed the following day.

As always, when Ryouta decided to do something that could be considered as reckless and irresponsible, he consulted Shintarou.

“I honestly wish,” Shintarou told him that evening as they gazed up at the sky by the stream behind the village where Ryouta often hunted for crayfish while Shintarou lectured him on the dependable rotation of the stars in the skies, “that you would refrain from telling me your ideas. I thought I’ve made it quite clear that I don’t want to be a coconspirator to any of your plans.”

“That’s the perk of being a friend.” Ryouta smirked as he slung an arm around Shintarou’s shoulders. “You are always an accomplice purely by association.”

They both knew Shintarou complained for the sake of having something to complain about. Ryouta knew well that in any situation, Shintarou would always be the first to stand by his side, even if it was against the other boy’s better judgment.

“You shouldn’t, though,” the taller teen said, returning to the point of the conversation. “Regardless of how you ended up back in your room back then, I somehow doubt something like that would happen again. I don’t know what you came upon in the mountain back then, Ryouta, but if nothing else, it was truly luck that you were unharmed.”

“I recall someone saying I had a guardian to watch over me.” Ryouta teased.

“Do you really still believe in that?”

The question almost made Ryouta want to laugh because a part of him was certain that he still believed; deep within his heart was the little boy that could recall the faint hands that had so easily chased away his dreams of fire and red. Yet there was another part of him that no longer saw the world in vivid colors because there was no longer anything unexpected and the only monsters and gods that existed anymore were ones shown in movie theaters.

“I want to,” Ryouta confessed softly and though he wished to elaborate, there were things he could not tell others, not even to Shintarou. He couldn’t tell anyone about the dreams that gave him restless nights, the pain at the center of his forehead and the phantom sensation of something missing there. He couldn’t talk about how, in the middle of the night, there were times between the lines of wakefulness and sleep, he could feel those cool hands lightly touching his cheek, that the sensation of such a touch was too real to be a remembered dream.

Nothing else was said after that, or the days after.

It was a week later that Ryouta finally decided to venture back into the mountain. The lonesome guard hut still stood in the clearing that separated the village from the fog that surrounded the base of it and, older now and craftier, it was far too easy for Ryouta to slip by the loudly snoring watchman.

Where in the past he had ran through the cold fog, Ryouta now leisurely walked because he knew there was an end to this veil that protected the forest beyond. When he finally stepped out of it, shivering until the final bite of the chilly fog left him, Ryouta quietly looked around, eyes scanning the light fog that embraced the trees like a jealous lover.

Though Ryouta knew it was impossible for nature flowed with the changing of the seasons, what he saw before him was the exact scenery that had greeted him when he was nine. Leaves were piled and littered the forest floor in the exact same manner as before, trees continued to reach skyward, their trunks bare and thin

“Are you still here?” he asked no one in particular, his voice no more than a whisper painted with the color of hope

Finally moving from where he stood, he followed the unpaved and covered path the voice from long ago who had lured him up. Sunlight guided him as it peeked through the tree tops and birds sung their songs above his head as if hailing his arrival.

Everything was perfectly normal. To the eyes of anyone, this was simply another mountain and that the only thing that stood out about it was that its base was constantly encircled by dense fog.

That was what Ryouta would have concluded had he not caught sight of a child’s arm hanging from the low branches of a tree.

Ryouta came to a halt, his eyes widening, and a quick chill ran down his spine.

The tree itself was not particularly tall and its branches were covered in thick leaves, obscuring any possibility of seeing the body that could belong to the chubby arm.

Ryouta’s mind quickly filed through a list of potential predators that dragged their prey into treetops to feast upon, but that line of thought rapidly gave way to startled shock when the arm twitched, its fingers curling and uncurling slowly.

Before he could fully come to grasp the situation and the complete horror of what he was seeing, Ryouta released a rather unmanly scream when he felt something rub up against the side of his left leg. Jolting sharply, jumping a good foot to the opposite side, he kicked his long legs as his heart raced and thudded heavily in his chest. After he had settled down, though not completely, shuddering every now and then, Ryouta finally looked down where he had once stood and found cat staring at him.

At initial glance, there was nothing about the feline that made it any different than any others Ryouta had often came across. It was dark in coloring, the tips of its ears dusted faintly in red, but otherwise it looked like any other cat. Upon closer look, however, and scrutinizing it for a long silent moment, Ryouta assured himself that he had not gone utterly insane and that the animal did, indeed, have a forked tail. Blinking, he hastily rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

The cat remained, though it seemed to be completely ignoring him as it went about licking its paws.

“Uh,” he managed in an amazing show of human intelligence and eons of evolution. “Hey, kitty.”

As if understanding him, the cat stopped mid-lick, its eyes flicking back up at him. Ryouta blinked, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in an uncertain smile. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the infant’s arm twitch once more before it slowly retreated into the thick leaves and Ryouta tried not to think about how frightening that was that there could be a monster child lurking within each and every tree, lowering their hands like fish hooks to lure clueless blond teenagers closer for an easy meal as told in the nighttime stories some of the village elders often indulged the young children in.

His attention returned to the cat when it rose up on its legs, its tail swaying almost carefully to the side as it continued to eye him and if cats could even hold expressions, Ryouta swore one of its eyes narrowed just marginally in disbelief.

“Um,” he began again, uncertain.

Further confusion was easily resolved by the cat, however, when it bolted away on all fours, running further into the mountains and without much further thought of horrid flesh-eating babies, Ryouta followed.

It was impossible for him to keep up with the cat, but Ryouta knew as long as he kept sight of it, he would eventually catch up and perhaps even find the owner or at least the place it had deemed to be its safe haven. Aside from the oddity of the child’s arm hanging from the tree, the cat had been the only other life form aside from the birds Ryouta had heard in the forest. It was as if all other creatures had gone into hiding, like the scent of a human caused them to seek shelter, and that they were as fearful as mankind as man was of the unknown. That was a disheartening thought, destroying all youthful hope that such creatures were eagerly lying in wait for a time when man would return to them.

As he chased after it, Ryouta’s head throbbed with a peculiar pain, not from the center of his forehead like he was used to, but the left side. It was no mind numbing headache that he usually experienced, but more of a phantom sharp blow to his head that darkened his vision and Ryouta stumbled to a halt to lean against a tree, releasing a soft low groan as he sagged against it.

“Shit,” he cursed between clenched teeth, his eyes tightly squeezed shut as he finally fell to his knees.

All thought of following the abnormal cat became less and less important as the pain swiftly spread from his temple to the rest of his head, and Ryouta released an agonized whimper, tears beading at the corner of his eyes as he bowed his head, hands clutching his skull with his short nails digging into his skin.

Unable to do nothing more than curl up in pain, Ryouta was unaware of any change in his surroundings until the torturous pain ebbed away from a singular point and it was only then did he feel the cool hand that gently brushed through his hair, carefully easing his hands from their tight grip of his head.

Darkness took him then, but no dreams of fire haunted him. Instead, the scent of fresh grass filled his every breath with the sound of childish jubilant laughter filling his ears and Ryouta could almost cry at the nostalgic ache in his chest when his eyes slowly blinked open and all he saw was the scattered sunlight through the leaves, smelled only the dirt and decaying foliage he rested on and heard—

“— you like the bird I gave you?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s very thoughtful of you, but I would appreciate it more if it wasn’t dead.”

“What’s the point of giving you a live one when it’d just fly off?”

“What am I supposed to do with a dead bird?”

“Stop being so ungrateful.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you, Taiga, for the dead bird.”

“Che.”

Momentarily confused, Ryouta continued to listen on in the conversation, blinking slowly as he continued to watch the wind cause the leaves above him to rustle. When the realization that there were others nearby hit him, he quickly sat up and just as swiftly slapped a hand over his mouth as the sudden vertigo caused his stomach to tumble. Swallowing thickly as he lowered his hands, Ryouta licked his lips as he looked about, trying to locate the owners of the voices.

He found them sitting on the forest floor some distance away with their backs to him. Rather, he saw one person, conversing with the owner of the other voice. As quietly as possible, Ryouta stood and made his way closer, hiding behind a tree as he observed the stranger.

He saw someone with hair color that resembled the sky dressed in a light colored yukata. From behind, their left arm was in constant motion as if they were petting something in their lap as they continued with their quiet conversation. Torn between making himself known and remaining hidden, Ryouta pressed his lips together, eyes observing them with inquisitive intensity. So focused on what was before him, Ryouta only managed a sharp surprised yell as he was suddenly and harshly yanked back by his collar, choking as his hands went to his throat, trying to make sure he could still breathe.

“Ah? What is a human doing here?” a deep voice drawled out.

The figure seated before him turned then, revealing his face that appeared no older than Ryouta’s own age and as he continued to choke, Ryouta jabbed his elbow back hard causing his attacker to let go with a loud cry of pain. When he was released, he ran forward a few steps, coughing as he rubbed his neck and quick annoyance rose in him as he turned around to face his assailant.

Biting words died on his tongue, though, as his eyes relaxed from their glare to widen into wonder as they took in the large black wings behind his attacker’s back. The man rose from his doubled over position, dark eyes flashing in anger, but Ryouta could only focus on the wings, the glossy feathers and how even in his dark blue hair, there were few feathered tufts here and there.

Frozen in awe, Ryouta continued to stare even as the youkai reached out with a low growl, his hand fisting in the front of Ryouta’s shirt with his lips pulled back to reveal canines that were slightly longer than of a human’s and it was as if that was the only further proof Ryouta needed to realize the man was a different creature altogether. (Like the obvious wings protruding from his back weren’t proof enough.)

“You little shit—“ the winged man began.

“Daiki.”

The man, Daiki, stopped. His eyes flicked from Ryouta’s face to the person behind them before he tsk’d, shoving the blond away none too gently and crossed his arms. Stumbling back a bit, Ryouta continued to stare, still not quite believing what he saw.

“Are… are you an angel?” he managed after a short while, not bothering to conceal the wonderment in his voice.

Loud laughter followed his question and the glare on Daiki’s face was directed behind Ryouta this time, a low growl once again emitting from the winged man’s chest.

“Daiki is a tengu,” the same quiet and almost monotone voice that Ryouta had heard before answered instead and Ryouta finally turned then, eyes blinking down into steady blue.

The boy, for Ryouta refused to believe he could be any older than he was, was much shorter than Ryouta, pale, and his eyes stood out like clear pools of water on his face. He held the cat Ryouta had chased earlier in his arms as the feline continued to laugh. Ryouta wasn’t focused much on the cat though, startling as it was to learn that it could laugh, for the blue eyes he gazed into filled his entire vision, drawing him into their unblinking depths.

With a shudder, Ryouta blinked back into the present as Daiki picked the cat up by the scruff of its neck, dangling it in mid-air as the tengu snarled at it.

“Something you find funny, Taiga?”

Taiga’s expression almost seemed like a feline version of a leer, his eyes narrowing in unadulterated glee as he swiped his paws out, the soft pads of it brushing against the tengu’s dark skin. “Just that you’re so pretty you left the human speechless, Daiki.”

It was odd to hear such a deep voice coming from a cat so small.

Before anything could escalate, the still nameless boy reached out to pluck the cat from Daiki’s hand, running his fingers down the dark red fur of its back, cradling Taiga in his arms as he chastised both of them.

“Please behave in front of company.”

“Intruder, you mean,” Daiki corrected, his eyes narrowing down on Ryouta who, at the attention, perked up and grinned as his awe returned.

“I’m not an intruder!” Ryouta specified cheerfully, waving his hands dismissively. “My name is Kise Ryouta. I live in the village near here, actually.”

“Right,” Daiki sustained, looking away to rest his eyes on the blue-haired boy beside him. “Like I said, intruder.”

His shoulders drooping sadly, Ryouta clasped his hands before him, bowing his head. “Please don’t make me leave! I’ve always believed in you! The village I come from, no one thinks beings like you exist anymore even though they forbid anyone from entering the mountain! I’ve always, always, wanted to meet you! So please, let me stay!”

With his eyes tightly shut, Ryouta couldn’t exactly see what sort of expressions were passed between the trio before him, but Taiga’s voice was the one to answer, sounding curious.

“Tetsuya, what do you think?”

Lifting his head a bit, Ryouta peered from under his bangs at the boy named Tetsuya, trying not to feel uncomfortable as blue eyes gazed at him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was simply something off about the blue-haired boy when he, by all accounts, was the most normal looking thing Ryouta had come upon thus far.

“I don’t see the harm in it,” Tetsuya eventually answered, and the breath Ryouta had not realized he held eased itself past his lips when those unnerving eyes finally looked away and the boy walked off after he set Taiga down.

As the boy walked silently away, Ryouta quirked his head, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck, feeling just a bit awkward suddenly when left alone with two beings he had been warned about since childhood and never thought he would ever have the pleasure of ever encountering.

It was Taiga who spoke up first, chasing away the silence as Daiki’s gaze followed Tetsuya’s retreating back, a frown marring the tengu’s expression.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been here,” Taiga pointed out, the cat’s tail swaying to and fro behind him as he made his way over to Daiki’s bare foot, pawing at his calf expectantly and adding a demanding, “Hey. Scratch me,” when Daiki didn’t take any notice of him.

Daiki lowered his gaze quietly, turning his frown down at the cat for a long moment, before he nudged Taiga away with his foot, muttering a low, “Do it yourself,” before he unfolded his impressive wings, taking Ryouta’s breath away at how far they spread wide and how dark they were against the brown backdrop of the forest, before with two heavy beats of them, Daiki took off into the treetops, following Tetsuya at a distance.

Wonderstruck, Ryouta followed the tengu with his eyes, lips parting as he watched every up and downward beat of Daiki’s wings and how the light played off his glossy feathers. Taiga’s form shifted, until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ryouta, stretching his arms wide above his head, ears flicking at the top of them. Ryouta let out a startled cry, jumping back and blinked widely at the man-cat before him.

“You really need to stop doing that,” Taiga pointed out helpfully, scratching behind his furry ears as he raised a brow, his voice suiting him much more now than it did in his furry form. “This is the second time.”

“Because you pe- youkai keep doing things that startle me!” Ryouta bit back, a hand on his chest to calm his heart. Not a moment later, catching the furry ears, he leaned closely with a smile, already lifting a hand. “May I?”

Taiga gave him a guarded look, the ears that Ryouta wanted to touch turned back against the flat of his head. “Why are you here?” he asked instead.

Smile dropping, Ryouta sighed, tossing another glance in the direction Daiki and Tetsuya had wandered off in. When he realized the duo had disappeared, his shoulders drooped. “Like I said,” Ryouta responded, eyes still gazing ahead, “I’ve always believed in the existence of creatures like you youkai. I wanted to see if you were real. And to answer your other statement, yes, I’ve been here before when I was younger.”

Crossing his arms, Ryouta narrowed his eyes at Taiga. If he really thought about it, his current reaction to the knowledge that such creatures like youkai were real and not only the stuff of legends was, honestly, too calm. Ryouta supposed people were usually more dumbstruck, unable to form coherent sentences or even gather their thoughts, yet here he was, as collected as he could be when his knowledge of the natural world was being shifted as he had a rather polite conversation with, he assumed, a nekomata.

“How do you know I was here before?” Ryouta asked the youkai, curious.

Shrugging, Taiga freely answered, perhaps not finding any reason to lie to a human that, in all outwardly appearances, seemed completely harmless. “I was there when Tetsuya and Daiki found you.”

“Then, were you the one who carried me home?” Ryouta asked, blinking, gaining interest again in the tengu.

Taiga shook his head, yawning lazily. “Daiki did; he’s faster since he can fly.”

The knowledge that he had been more or less air-lifted home and had been unconscious for the duration of it left sore disappointment in Ryouta’s stomach. A more pressing matter, however, was how the tengu knew which house had belonged to him.

“Uh, but how did he figure out which house was mine?” Ryouta questioned, wondering if perhaps the guardian Shintarou had teased him about really was just a youkai stalker.

Tapping his nose, smirking a bit at the uncertain look on Ryouta’s face, Taiga said, “Your scent. You humans don’t use your nose correctly, but our noses can pick up your distinctive scent easily. He pretty much followed his nose to the right house.”

For the rest of the day, Daiki and Tetsuya remained elusive, leaving Taiga to keep Ryouta company. However, the tengu and nekomata were not the only youkai Ryouta ended up seeing. Once it became clear that he posed no threat whatsoever, more of them came out of the woodwork, just as shy and curious about Ryouta as he was about them. Questions of all sorts were asked of him while he only managed a few of his own, as he spent more time answering than questioning. Ryouta quickly learned that the voice that had answered him all those years ago had been one of the yobuko echoing his hopeful hellos, and the gruesome hanging infant arms were indeed connected to youkai children who did not actually feed on the flesh of humans, but rather enjoyed playing wicked tricks on them to frighten them.

The mountain was not a hidden treasure trove of an abundant youkai as Ryouta had thought it was. Taiga informed him that the youkai were scattered all around the world, though few ventured into human territory anymore, causing the ever widening gap between both worlds to grow.

Ryouta discovered that not all youkai were evil; though there were those who did not know when to end their tricks, and not all youkai were good, each youkai had the capacity to be either purely depending on their mood. Indeed, there were some who had once feasted on human flesh, but those had long died out when man refused to believe in their world, fearing bullets, bombs and other men instead.

The sun quickly dipped behind the mountain as Ryouta learned of the different types of youkai that still existed and though Taiga was not quite old enough to remember a time where the human world and the spirit world intermingled, he provided as much knowledge as he could when Ryouta asked about the guardian of the mountain. What Ryouta had always envisioned as a ferocious and fearful god was not quite far from the truth from Taiga’s description.

“Lord Seijuurou,” Taiga provided, back in his nekomata form as he stretched on the ground, yawning widely. “is actually guardian of the entire land surrounding this particular mountain to the big river to the west. He has many warrior gods who serve him to keep peace among the youkai.”

“What is he like?” Ryouta asked with a grin, eyes wide and brimming with child-like interest. “What does he look like? Is he huge? Does he have a body the size of houses and claws as big as a human?”

Taiga laughed, shaking his head. “I only saw him once and he is none of the above. Rather, it’s his aura that keeps those under him in line. There is not a single youkai who would dare to overstep the bounds he has placed on them. Even Daiki, who used to be a terrorizing tengu, listens to him.”

“Do you think I’d be able to see him one day?” Ryouta asked, glancing down at the nekomata who had reverted back to his feline form.

Taiga gazed evenly up at him, his right ear twisting back to pick up the laughter of Kuzanari, one of the many tanuki that were running about behind them.

“You won’t,” Taiga disclosed as he shifted, tucking his forepaws under his body to get more comfortable. “He’s been in a deep slumber ever since I can remember. The only ones who ever go to him are Tetsuya and that guy.”

“’That guy’?” Ryouta repeated, wanting Taiga to elaborate.

“Atsushi. You’ll know which one he is if you ever see him. He’s as big as a tree.” He provided, his whiskers twitching as he smirked.  

Ryouta leaned back on his arms, stretching his long legs out before him as he ‘hummed’ contemplatively. “I suppose you wouldn’t know why he banished humans from this mountain, then, would you?”

When the nekomata didn’t answer, Ryouta glanced down, and Taiga directed a penetrating look in his direction. Just a bit unnerved, not quite sure if he had somehow offended him with what he thought was an innocent question, Ryouta did not have time to brush it off with a smile before he was interrupted.

“Hey,” Daiki greeted them when he landed in a fluttering of dancing leaves behind them. “Intruder, it’s time for you to head back home.”

“My name is Kise Ryouta, please at least try to remember it,” Ryouta said in a sulk, slighted by the indifferent look the tengu gave him.

“Intruder Ryouta, you should head back before it gets too dark,” Daiki amended, expression blasé even as Tetsuya, who seemed to have materialized from nowhere beside him as Ryouta was certain the boy had not been there before, leaned down to pick Taiga up.

Undeterred by the attitude from the tengu, Ryouta stood with a boyishly gleeful expression. “If it gets too late, would you fly me back home?”

Daiki blinked at him and it was obvious that he hadn’t expected Ryouta to ever learn of it. A blush colored his cheeks before he snarled down at Taiga, who looked entirely too content in Tetsuya’s arms. “You bastard, you told him?”

Stretching up in the cradle of Tetsuya’s arms to place his front legs on the boy’s shoulder, Taiga’s lips pulled back to reveal his fangs in an insolent feline grin. “Are you being shy, Daiki? Don’t want people to know that the big, bad tengu has a soft spot despite his fangs?”

“Get out of that form and I’ll show you how soft I am,” Daiki growled, his shoulders hunching up as the feathers of his wings ruffled when the large appendages rose to give the tengu a larger appearance.

The building tension between both youkai was abruptly put to a halt when Tetsuya wordlessly shoved the nekomata into the tengu’s chest in a mildly exasperated manner; Taiga yowled loudly and dug his claws into the tengu’s chest at the sudden action, causing Daiki to curse out as he stumbled backwards, his wings flapping. As Daiki yelled at Taiga to stop clawing at him and got into another verbal spat with the nekomata, Tetsuya calmly looked up at Ryouta who, during the entire interval, only watched with discreet human inquisitiveness and amusement.

“Kise-kun,” Tetsuya called to him and hearing the sound of his surname spoken outside of a school setting and by such a quiet tone of voice made Ryouta start. The other youkai had all taken to calling him by his first name, something that Ryouta was more than happy to allow, but he could not help but stare at the sudden cool formality that stood before him.

There was really nothing outstanding about the other boy; in areas of looks and height, he was average at best, but all the same, the lingering feeling of something not quite beingright about him made Ryouta feel apprehensive and guarded. Still, in his fourteen years, Ryouta had mastered the art of deception and playing things off as insignificant in order to keep those around him at ease. (Rather, it was more like keeping others at a safe distance so that they did not wish to get too close for him before he wanted them to be.)

“Yes?” Ryouta answered with an easy smile, stuffing his hands into his school slack pockets as he tilted his head to the side.

Tetsuya’s expression remained neither relaxed nor strained, as he slowly blinked up at him. “I’ll lead you back.”

“Ah, I’ll… I place myself in your care,” Ryouta managed, downright discomfited. He wasn’t entirely sure why the boy offered when they hadn’t at all traded any words, friendly or not, with each other. If he could request it and not seem demanding, Ryouta would have preferred either Taiga or Daiki so that he could spend more time in questioning them about youkai.

With a quick farewell to the others and, after managing to make Daiki promise to take him flying at another time, Ryouta followed Tetsuya back to the coiling fog that surrounded the mountain. The walk was not one that was accompanied with comfortable silence, rather one that was strained from Ryouta’s side. He did not dislike Tetsuya; Ryouta was not a person who was quick to judge others, or quick to categorize one under like or dislike, but there was an irrefutable small voice in the back of his mind that only made itself known when the other boy was around that constantly whispered for Ryouta to keep his distance.

Was he a youkai and if he was, what kind was he - but Tetsuya looked too plain, too human. There was nothing about him that stood out.

So what was it, then, that made every inch of Ryouta’s body uneasy around him?

As he lowered his gaze from the boy’s back to the ground before him, Ryouta made a rather disquieting and troubled discovery. Tetsuya, though he wore no shoes or sandals, bore no dirt on the soles of his feet nor did his steps leave behind broken dried leaves or twigs. As Ryouta followed him further along, he noticed that the only sounds of footsteps he could pick up were his own.

The boy before him left no trace of himself behind - his entire persona was faint and Ryouta realized then what unnerved him so much about Tetsuya. There was no aura around him, no presence, so that anyone who looked in his direction completely looked through him.

It was as if he was a—

Ghost? Ryouta’s mind provided and though he had encountered supernatural creatures that were more fearsome than the lingering ghosts of restless humans, he couldn’t suppress the chill that bore goose bumps along his arms.

Tetsuya was unaware to his discovery and soon the boy stopped, Ryouta almost walking into his back. He stopped just in time with an embarrassed look as the shorter boy turned around.

Ryouta was prepared to bid Tetsuya farewell and to thank him, but something else entirely blurted out of his mouth when he opened it.

“Are you a ghost?” Cringing, because he had usually more tact than that, Ryouta rubbed the back of his head with a culpable look. “Ah, I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I wanted to say.”

“You still said it,” Tetsuya pointed out, his countenance not giving away how he might have felt at being given such a query.

“Sorry,” Ryouta apologized, dropping his hand and stuffing it into his pant pockets simply to have something to do as the awkward situation settled over them.

After a brief pause, Tetsuya inclined his head politely, causing Ryouta to quickly straighten and do the same, blinking rapidly at the forest floor as the boy murmured, “If it makes it easier, then simply think of me as a ghost.”

Ryouta’s next words died on his mouth for when he blinked, Tetsuya was nowhere to be seen and only the distant cry of a raven echoed through the clearing before the fog. Releasing a slow breath, which misted as soon as it passed his lips, Ryouta lowered his gaze to the place Tetsuya had once stood, wondering why even though he felt relief, his heart coveted for something that he could not yet place.

The confusion stuck with him as Ryouta left the mountain, returning to the village in both a more sober and jubilant feeling as the thing he had always wished to confirm had been proven correct by his own eyes.

That night, Ryouta did not dream of fire, loud voices or the color red. Instead, he dreamed of black feathers and wings that beat heavily in the wind. He heard the many voices of the youkai from Taiga’s high feline laughter to Daiki’s gruff murmurs. He was much younger in this dream and he was running, his heart beating rapidly not in fear but in unending joy as the trees passed by him in a blur and his left hand grasp securely onto someone’s wrist, pulling them along as he grinned and tilted his head back into the wind.

Within this dream he felt peace, a feeling Ryouta had never once experienced and had only ever read about. There was not a care in the world other than the feeling of completefreedom and the warmth of the person he kept close at his side. When he came to a sudden stop, laughing as his companion ran right into him and knocking them both down, Ryouta turned around onto his back, circling his arms around their slight shoulders when he faced them. Though their face was blurred and obscured by the sunlight shining into his eyes, Ryouta did not think anything of it, unhesitating as he raised his hand to cup their cheek.

Ryouta heard his name being called and he beamed, his chest filling up with sudden affection and impulsive longing that made it hard to swallow. When he pulled the person down to breathe in their scent, he found the only way to truly describe what he smelled was the collation of all the seasons condensed into a single breath where the frosty bite of winter eased into the slow comforting fall of autumn into the familiar warmth of summer and finally the constant blooming affection of spring.

His heart ached with an unimaginable yearning for this person that when they attempted to pull away, he held on tighter, unable to allow them to escape the safety of his arms as if he knew if he released them, he would never have them again.

As he continued to tighten his hold, their form seemed to shrink within his arms until the only thing he clutched were the remains of their clothing and Ryouta trembled, rolling onto his side in the grass covered ground and buried his face against their quickly cooling warmth. When he woke the next day it was to find that he had clutched his pillow tightly to his chest and that there were dried tear streaks on his face.

Breakfast with his grandmother was a quiet affair and school was simply another day playing at being distantly polite and kind where the only person Ryouta cared to seek companionship in was Shintarou.

“You seem different today,” his best friend stated at the end of the school day as they made their way back to the village from the bus stop. “Oha-Asa said that Gemini will have a revelation during the next few weeks, though it didn’t state whether they would be good or bad. Be careful with what you’re looking for, Ryouta.”

Grinning, more to ease Shintarou’s obvious concern than anything, Ryouta inclined his head in thanks. “You’re always looking out for me, Shintarou.”

“It’s not like I care,” Shintarou scolded him, scowling as he looked away. “I simply have to because if I don’t take precautions ahead of time, I don’t have any way of dealing with the mess you involve me in.”

Aggrieved, Ryouta moped as he said, “That’s a really roundabout way of saying I am the cause of all your problems.”

“If you realize that much then I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me out of things,” Shintarou heartlessly retorted to which Ryouta only made a show of bemoaning how cruelly his childhood friend treated him and the lack of favoritism that Shintarou should show towards him.

That same afternoon, after making sure his school work and chores were completed for the day, Ryouta snuck out once more towards the forest with some dango packed to share with his newfound friends. Easily making his way around the little guardhouse, Ryouta ran straight into the fog with an excited grin on his face.

When he finally cleared it, Ryouta came to a halt as before him stood the most massive man he had ever encountered in his life. Standing easily as tall as the trees themselves, the man blinked down at Ryouta before he grinned and crouched down so that he could take a closer look at him.

His voice, when he spoke, was deep and jovial. “You must be the human Taiga was talking about yesterday. You’ve caused quite a stir in our forest.”

Filled with more awe than fear, Ryouta swallowed. He was hardly short, standing at six feet and one inch, but no normal human could ever tower like the youkai in front of him. “You must be Atsushi?”

The youkai laughed, causing the ground to shake slightly at the vibration and the trees to groan and creak as the leaves shook above their heads.

“Atsushi is my companion. I am Teppei.”

“Kise Ryouta,” Ryouta greeted and bowed his head when Teppei inclined his. Intrigued by the new youkai, Ryouta continued with a question. “What kind of youkai are you?”

Teppei grinned, resting his chin on the palm of his right hand as he settled down onto his butt before Ryouta. “I am a zuijin and, along with Atsushi, we guard this forest for Lord Seijuurou.”

Ryouta had heard of zuijin, or zuishin as they were sometimes called, warrior gods who protected shrines and doubled as bodyguards to the guardian god of the mountains. To actually see one and to learn that they were so great in size made Ryouta’s lips stretch out in a smile, holding up his bento box full of dango as an offering to the youkai.

“It probably won’t fill you, but I’ve brought some snacks today for everyone.”

Teppei graciously accepted the offering and even when he finished it within one bite he still praised Ryouta for his consideration. The zuijin wasn’t able to keep him company for very long and was tight-lipped about anything regarding the guardian he served. As he watched the massive youkai walk off, Teppei’s step causing the leaves to rustle and the ground to tremble lightly, Ryouta smiled for the youkai and unknown beasts his village had always feared were no different than humans save for the mystical powers they possessed.

It was unfortunate that they did not long to see what he saw, but a selfish part of him wanted to keep it this way. Better it be only Ryouta who knew of the world beyond the veil of the fog than to have other intruders disturb what he had quickly come to claim as his. (And that was the ugly human desire within him, wasn’t it, to keep something special and precious for his eyes only so that the world would not sully it with their hate.)

Finally moving from where Teppei left him, Ryouta headed through the unmarked mountain path, unsure of how he would find Taiga or Daiki, but certain at least that if he kept walking he would come across a youkai or two that could point him in the right direction.

The leaves and twigs broke and snapped under his foot as Ryouta walked, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any signs of a forked tail or black wings and disappointment filled him when he found nothing. He paused at the top of a slope, frowning down at his bento box as he was still unable to find anyone. When his eyes passed over the ground, however, he noticed a trail lightly hidden under the leaves. The imprints in the soil, however, were not those that belonged to humans, but rather more like hooves of a goat only slightly larger in size.

Curiosity piqued, for what harm was there in following an old trail in a forest protected by welcoming, if somewhat mischievous spirits, Ryouta walked along the path.

As he walked, the wind caused a few leaves to scatter and his eyes followed their movements entranced. Distantly, Ryouta recalled childish laughter, the feel of the wind in his face as he raced through a field and the comforting feeling of having what he needed within his grasp. An unexpected gush of wind flowed down from the mountain suddenly, bringing with it the cold air from the peak and the leaves around Ryouta were picked up, tossed about everywhere, blocking his path until he had to stop, as he shielded his face from wayward twigs.

Once the wind settled down and the leaves fell back to the forest floor, he dusted himself, flicking bits of dead grass, small branches and wet leaves from his shoulders.

When Ryouta looked ahead, he stilled, eyes widening at the sight before him.

What looked to be a pure white horse stood lonesome in a clearing before him. With its back facing him, the creature seemed utterly unaware of his presence. Everything about it was white, from its mane, tail and hooves and it almost seemed to shimmer in the sunlight as it bowed its neck and tapped repeatedly its front leg on the ground before it.

When Ryouta took a careful step forward a pulsing throb at the center of his forehead made him stop. Lifting a hand to rub in a slow circular motion at his temple, Ryouta pursed his lips together and pushed on, not letting a little headache from preventing him to get a closer look at the animal. With every step, however, the throbbing increased and Ryouta stumbled to a stop against a tree as both hands clutched his head, his bento box falling to the ground with a thud. Forcing his eyes to remain open, Ryouta looked to where the horse was only to find that it had disappeared, leaving no trace of itself behind.

The headache remained though, and with each pound Ryouta could feel the veins at his temple pump along in rhythm.

Miraculously, even as it worsened with each beat of his heart, the headache vanished in an instant and Ryouta’s eyes fluttered as the pain faded away. Still leaning against the tree, he only flinched a bit when a soft voice called to him from behind.

“Kise-kun.”

Ryouta wasn’t disappointed that it was Tetsuya who was the one who found him, rather it was somewhat reassuring that the boy, at least, was still around. Gathering himself for a moment, Ryouta turned around with a small smile, trying to hide his earlier aliments as he greeted Tetsuya.

“Tetsuya, I didn’t notice you at all!”

“I’ve always been here,” the blue-haired boy stated before he held up Ryouta’s bento box. “You dropped this.”

“Ah! Thank you. Would you like some dango?” Ryouta asked, leaning down just a bit as he opened the box in offering with Tetsuya still holding it. Though the other boy had stood close to him before, Ryouta had never really took much notice of the odd warmth he felt from him (and it caused him to blink, to pause, recalling laughter and the wind) and it lulled him to bend closer even as a part of him wished to lean away. “I think I’ve brought enough for everyone. Teppei had some, too!”

“You’ve met Teppei,” Tetsuya stated rather than asked. After a brief moment, looking over the assorted colors the dango came in, Tetsuya reached into the box to pick out a stick, offering the rest of it back to Ryouta once he did so.

Carefully closing the box, Ryouta nodded with a grin. “Yes. I was a bit shocked at first since I wasn’t at all prepared to see a youkai so large.”

“Hm,” was Tetsuya’s unenthusiastic answer as he chewed the treat thoughtfully, one side of his cheek protruding and Ryouta chuckled softly, finding it endearing. “You’re looking for the others, aren’t you?”

With a small smile still on his face, Ryouta nodded in answer, taking that moment to observe the boy before him again. Perhaps it had been rude of him to brush Tetsuya off as unimportant, as someone who was human like him and though, still, in all outward appearances there as nothing about Tetsuya that stood out, there was something abouthim that lured Ryouta in. Alone like this, there was a draw from the boy that made it hard to look away; it made every sense Ryouta had focus on him when otherwise, in a gathering of youkai, Tetsuya faded away completely into the background.

He was not a ghost even if he left no imprints on the forest floor as he walked, but Ryouta would be blind if he still thought of him as a human and normal.

What was it, then, about this sudden curious individual before him that made him both relaxed and circumspect at the same time?

“I’m sorry,” Ryouta began softly as Tetsuya continued to eat, “for calling you a ghost. I really didn’t mean to.”

Ryouta was unprepared for the way his heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly in his chest at the look Tetsuya gave him then. He wasn’t sure if the other boy was conscious of it and Ryouta could not quite describe the sudden emotion that was revealed in those blue eyes. Had they always been so open, Ryouta wondered, and he had never noticed those brief times before because he was more interested in the youkai around him? (But how could anyone not notice this, Ryouta chided himself, the nearly overwhelming sadness that seemed to engulf Tetsuya’s very face and held back only by a thin veil of indifference and calm acceptance. Did he look at everyone like this, Ryouta wanted to know. Did those eyes look at Taiga or Daiki or Kuzanari with such naked and open longing, a longing Ryouta was certain he had once felt but only in his dreams where the wind rushed through his hair and his name was spoken with reverence and love.)

Who are you, Ryouta suddenly wanted to ask, unable to look away from Tetsuya’s eyes and the fear and wariness returned even though he wanted to reach out. Conflicting and contradicting emotions coiled within Ryouta: he wanted to know, but feared to hear Tetsuya’s answer; wished to remain close, but longed to run away because suddenly the slighter boy before him seemed more fearsome than any youkai he had encountered thus far.

Within a blink, the look disappeared and Tetsuya’s impassive face returned just as Ryouta was knocked over onto his side roughly, the bento box flying out of his hands as a heavy weight settled upon him, claws digging into his clothing as a voice shouted out:

“Stay away from Tetsu-chan, human!”

“But I come in peace!” Ryouta wailed, hissing and trying to relax his body as he turned his head and blinked as his vision zeroed in on three furry fox like tails that sprouted behind his attacker’s humanoid body.

“Humans are tricks-y creatures! You can never trust a human!”

“That’s really odd coming from you, Satsuki. Aren’t kitsune known for their mischief?” Tetsuya calmly asked.

In an instant, the kitsune was off of him, attaching herself against Tetsuya’s side with a flush to her cheeks as she pouted.

“Tetsu-chan, I’m a reformed kitsune. I haven’t tricked anyone in ages,” she complained, her voice light and almost sing-song.

“Ah,” Tetsuya amended. “My apologies, Satsuki, I must be thinking of Shun.” Turning to look down at Ryouta, he continued, “Are you all right, Kise-kun?”

“Ah,” Ryouta echoed intelligently, still staring at the enticing tails, hands suddenly itching with a great need to feel them in the same desire he had to touch Daiki’s wings. “I’m fine.” Pushing himself up, Ryouta quickly dusted himself before he grinned in greeting. “But as I said, I’m not here to trick anyone. Rather, I want to be friends. Ah, Kise Ryouta is my name, by the way.”

The kitsune, Satsuki, eyed him for a moment, her ears pivoting in his direction as if to attempt to hear any lies he hid in his words. Then she smiled, pretty and fanged and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Ryou-chan!”

Once Satsuki retrieved his fallen bento box, and ate a few dango herself, they took off heading off the faint trail Ryouta had followed to find the others. It was almost like they had all decided to play hide-and-seek all at once and, as a collective, chose to reappear when they heard Satsuki calling out about food. In a flurry of feathers, fur and scales, they flocked towards Ryouta, arms circling around him in greeting and thanks as they partook in their snack. Even Daiki ruffled his hair as if he was still a child, to which Ryouta complained mildly.

When the tengu reached out to flick his forehead, however, Ryouta reacted instinctively, quickly intersecting the dark tengu’s hand with his own and slapping it away.

A tensed silence settled over them as all eyes suddenly focused on the two and Ryouta swallowed, shamed and apologetic as he muttered with his eyes lowered to the ground, “Sorry I… I’ve never liked it when someone tries to touch my forehead.”

Ryouta couldn’t tell what expression Daiki wore, but the tengu’s feet shifted to move closer and the heavy warm weight of the youkai’s hand settled at the back of Ryouta’s neck, soothing and forgiving.

“Don’t be an idiot; why are you apologizing?”

The relief that warmed his face made Ryouta chuckle a little, lifting his head in a cheeky grin and Daiki answered it with a small smile of his own, his hand lingering at the nape of Ryouta’s neck before it slipped away. Everyone returned to what they were doing almost instantly, telling stories, playing around. Shun, the kitsune Tetsuya had mentioned some moments before, eventually showed up though he was greeted with groans when he saw Ryouta and instantly made it his duty to fill the human up with as much horrible puns as possible to which Ryouta only laughed politely to.

During the tomfoolery, Ryouta noticed an absence he had taken for granted the first time he had entered the forest and found his new friends. Tetsuya had disappeared, possibly easily slipping away as the youkai played amongst each other, loud and carefree.

Ryouta tried to ignore the small nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him to go looking for Tetsuya, for there was no reason or any cause for concern. If anything, Ryouta was certain Tetsuya knew the mountain like the back of his hands and, moreover, the youkai would never let anything happen to him. As he thought of Tetsuya, however, all usual cheer left his face and Ryouta became more quiet and subdued, pondering over the ache and the fear that took over him when the blue-haired boy was close.

Shifting closer to Satsuki who was seated next to him, Ryouta turned his head to question, “Satsuki, is Tetsuya a youkai like the rest of you?”

Ears twitching, the kitsune looked at him with the same look Taiga had given him, penetrating, guarded and protective. “Tetsu-chan,” she began slowly, looking away from him, “is different.”

It really didn’t answer Ryouta’s question, new ones sprouting in its place as he found himself wanting to know what was different because he felt it whenever Tetsuya around: the push and pull that played in his chest whenever his eyes fell on the inconspicuous boy. Satsuki offered little else, however, and Ryouta was left to wonder and pine for the boy he had all but written off when he first saw him.

Disaster struck three days later when Ryouta’s grandmother took ill and passed away in the hospital. The proceeding days after blurred before Ryouta’s eyes and while all expenses of the funeral and hospital stayed were paid for by the kind hearts of the villagers (for his grandmother had been his only family), Ryouta found he still could not quite grasp the situation he had suddenly been flung into.

Colors of all shades and shapes of all forms moved around him, but Ryouta could only remember the feel of aged calloused hands on his skin when his grandmother helped him bathe, laughing at his antics and he could only hear her sounds as she moved about in their small kitchen, preparing breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks in-between. At her funeral, Ryouta sat with his legs tucked under him and his grandmother’s picture clutched to his chest. His eyes focused only on the ground, the condolences of those who had come to the proceedings were muddled to his ears. Long after everyone left, Shintarou stayed at his side, sitting next to him and saying little.

Ryouta did not know what happened afterwards, or how he found himself later that evening in the forest. All he knew was that he needed to get away, that he could no longer sleep in his bed knowing that down the hall, his grandmother’s mattress rested empty and cold and that come morning the sounds he had grown up to would no longer greet him.

There was no longer any warmth in the home he loved.

Like everything else that day, Ryouta’s passage through the mountain was another blur of colors. His ears picked up no other sound than the dull beating of his heart, his skin felt not the chill of the air and pricked only in memory of the warmth that had left him. Somehow, one way or another, his legs brought him to the clearing he had encountered the strange white horse in, only this time his listless eyes picked up from behind the dull blur that had filled his world, the shapes of Daiki, Satsuki and Tetsuya were seated on the forest floor. Slowly, as if he was submerged underwater, he picked up Satsuki’s voice.

“Tetsu-chan,” the kitsune whispered from where she sat beside Tetsuya with Daiki crouched on the other side, his wings held high and spread above their heads and it was only then that Ryouta realized it had begun to rain lightly, “Tetsu-chan, why can’t we replace what you’ve lost?”

Tetsuya did not answer (and presumptuous as it was, Ryouta knew the answer for it was impossible to replace one person with another; unthinkable to replace those who still lived in the place of ones that have died and the ache, the loss that filled Ryouta once more caused his throat to tighten) and as Ryouta watched, the boy reached out, pulling the kitsune into his arms as her tails curled around him. Ryouta turned away from the scene before him, his own loss resonating painfully in his chest (though a part of him wished to venture forward, heedless of the ache in his head, to seek comfort in Satsuki, Daiki and Tetsuya).

It was Taiga who found him sometime later, lightly soaked in rain water as he huddled against the trunk of a tree, knees pulled to his chest with one hand gripping the area above his heart and the other his forehead. The nekomata said didn’t say a word and Ryouta squeezed his eyes shut, letting the rain cool the tears that flowed down his face.

“It hurts,” he whispered, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt and digging into his skull as the throbbing in both areas increased. “It hurts,” Ryouta choked out again as Taiga’s furry weight settled against his shoulder and the youkai pressed its face against his throat.

Ever cold, the rain continued to fall.

====

Deep in the forbidden mountain that no humans dared to enter were the friends Ryouta had quickly come to care for. Months after his grandmother’s passing, Ryouta had found little reason to stay within the village for long, though he did not neglect his school or his friendship with Shintarou. His days were filled with the youkai’s mirth, their welcoming warmth while his nights were another matter altogether.

Dreams and nightmares that had once been sparse and blurry became more vivid with each night. There were times in which Ryouta could smell the thick smoke of fire and jerk awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and trembling with his forehead pulsating in pain. Those nightmares were filled with loud voices, raging, screaming with rough hands pulling on his hair, his legs and pinning him down then a searing pain and a scream that seemed to cause the ground to tremble and quake and the nightmares would leave Ryouta restless and ill-tempered the next morning.

He found his solace not with Taiga, Satsuki or even Daiki, but in the quiet, warm unassuming form of Tetsuya. The boy he had feared became someone his eyes sought out for the most for during that most horrible day in Ryouta’s life. After Taiga had given him what little comfort a nekomata could, Tetsuya and the others found him with Taiga and gathered around him. It was then that Ryouta found that the ache that constantly haunted him from childhood ebbed and shied away with the single cool touch from Tetsuya’s hands. (And while it brought question to mind if it had been Tetsuya, who all those long years ago, that had once brought him comfort in the dead cold of the fearsome forest night, Ryouta did not ask for the answer was obvious.)

Ryouta still quietly questioned who and what Tetsuya was, though he found he did not care much if he ever found out because Tetsuya would never mean any less in his eyes. The others were quick to pick up on his sudden change in attitude around Tetsuya. Some playfully warned him to keep his hands to himself for Ryouta found that they itched and ached when Tetsuya was near though he did not reach out to hold the boy and the obvious desire to do so, he supposed, was plain on his face to anyone who looked.

Daiki was Tetsuya’s most fierce guardian, chest rumbling in a low growl whenever he felt Ryouta stood too close, or looked too long which Taiga only snickered and teased him about for behaving like a mother hen.

For his part, Tetsuya seemed to indulge Ryouta, remaining close but since that day in the rain, he never touched Ryouta and though it was a disappointing thing, Ryouta did not complain much for Tetsuya’s mere presence kept such headaches away.

Instead, in their place sounds of childish laughter filled his ears, the rush of the wind across his face and through his hair and always, always, the warmth of the person beside him. These visions and sounds plagued him when Tetsuya was near, leaving him empty and cold when he was without the other boy, yearning for the warmth, the smell of the seasons and Ryouta could not help but constantly question who Tetsuya was and why was it, that while he eased his pain, he was also the sole cause of a greater hurt that burned in Ryouta’s chest when he was not near?

There were times, also, when Tetsuya thought Ryouta did not notice (and that was a silly thought for though there was a time when Ryouta didn’t take much note of the blue-haired boy, Tetsuya now filled his every thought) he would catch the boy watching him with the quiet sadness and longing he had seen in that clearing so long ago.

What was it that Tetsuya saw in him that made him reveal such a look? What was it aboutTetsuya that made him feel the ache of such longing resonate within him?

There were times in which Ryouta’s dreams and nightmares intermingled - bright sunlight quickly giving way to darkness and the lick of flames; where gentle hands that touched him with affection and tenderness, easily brushing across his forehead bringing not pain, but indescribable warmth was replaced by sharp pulls and demanding fingers grasping his hair until tears pricked at his eyes and the only sound he screamed out for was a name he could never recall. There were times in which those dreams came to him when he slumbered beside Tetsuya against Taiga’s soft thick fur when the nekomata shifted his form to be as large as a tiger’s and Ryouta would start, staring widely at the calm and softly breathing form in front of him.

There was a constant war within Ryouta.

Surging waves of conflicting emotions that left him wide awake in the middle of the night where part of him craved the calming presence Tetsuya provided and another loathed to be near him for there is something there he did not wish to touch, did not want to uncover and even that loathing brewed a desire to dig deeper, to find out why, of all the youkai, Tetsuya was the one Ryouta needed and hated the most.

There were some days Ryouta kept himself away from the mountain, forcing himself into the normalcy he had once lived through though his thoughts were filled only with the need to return to it, to seek Tetsuya’s comfort, to test Daiki’s patience and bury his face against the soft fur of Satsuki’s tails. Shintarou constantly voiced his worries when he noticed Ryouta’s moods were far from the norm.

“I see you leaving your house constantly,” the taller teenager stated one evening in the field near the stream Ryouta had once caught crayfish in. “Where are you going?”

“Would you stay in an empty house, Shintarou?” Ryouta asked in turn, eyes staring above at the purple, orange and dark blue of the evening sky. “Would you remain in a house that is no longer a home?”

Shintarou did not answer, but Ryouta felt the weight of his friend’s gaze all the same and his chest constricted when Shintarou muttered, “Don’t leave those who still care for you behind,” because in Shintarou’s tone held the understanding, the unwilling acceptance that Ryouta would one day leave and forget the village in which an awkward bespectacled boy had once offered him dango and who had stood beside Ryouta through thick and thin.

Three days later, Ryouta was following Tetsuya through the forest deep within the mountain at a slow pace with the blue-haired boy a step or two ahead of him. Tetsuya did not ask Ryouta where he had been, did not question his sudden disappearance and only quietly and gently accepted the white lies that Ryouta offered. That ate at something inside of Ryouta, that Tetsuya never asked of something no one was unwilling to provide. It was not that the boy was foolishly kind for there were many occasions where Tetsuya showed his sharp tongue and he was constantly blunt and honest to a fault. But Tetsuya never expected anything from others, never demanded with haughty arrogance and he never questioned the obvious conflict he could see on Ryouta’s face when Ryouta stared at him.

Ryouta was staring at the moment, at the back of Tetsuya’s head as he followed him. His eyes took in the way the light played off the locks of sky-blue hair, how some strands swayed in the wind and locks curled at the nape of Tetsuya’s neck. Trailing down the other boy’s back, Ryouta settled his gaze on Tetsuya’s hands that, countless times before without his knowing, had chased away the pounding of his headache (and in turn leaving another in its place that settled in his heart).

(The wind rushed against his face, causing him to tilt his head back. Childish laughter filled the air as the sound of galloping hooves reached his ears and he looked behind him to see clear blue eyes watching him, keeping pace with him and in that moment he felt he could do anything as long as they never looked away.)

Hissing, Ryouta stopped, a hand rose to press against the center of his forehead, and he doubled over as the pain increased as the dreams and nightmare that came only in his slumber plagued his waking moments.

(Angry voices haunted him as fire licked at his legs, fear bled from his every pore and the blue eyes that had always been his constant companion was nowhere in sight. Instead, the harsh, firm earth greeted him, darkness folding over his eyes and he screamed, screamedas he kicked his legs, managing to knock one of his assailants over, but more took the man’s place as he was finally pinned and then nothing but an intolerable pain surged from the center of his forehead.)

Distantly, Ryouta heard Tetsuya call his name and all he could think was that it was wrong.

“Kise-kun?”

(Ryouta.)

“Kise-kun.”

(Ryouta.)

It was the same, but it was wrong because the voices within his dreams – or were they memories? – did not sound so formal, so distant, so damnably aloof when they said his name.

It was wrong because that was not the name that voice should be calling and when Tetsuya came closer, Ryouta’s hands shot out, grasping tightly onto the boy’s forearms as he painfully straightened himself to stare down at the ever constant calm of the blue eyes that belonged to Tetsuya, to the entity he still did not fully understood, but knew he needed.

“Who are you!?” Ryouta snapped, his fingers digging harshly into Tetsuya’s flesh. “Why do these visions only come when you are around? What are you?”

Softly, Tetsuya answered, “A ghost.”

It wasn’t the answer Ryouta wanted and to receive it, though there was not an ounce of a mocking tone in Tetsuya’s voice, made Ryouta flushed with anger. “Then why are you haunting me? Why are you showing me things I don’t understand?! Why me, Tetsuya?” Ryouta cried, “Why is it that when I look at you, I want you and fear you at the same time? I can’t stand to be near you, but without you I can’t think of anything else!

“Why does it hurt, Tetsuya?” Ryouta continued in a lower, scratchy voice as he closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together (and only with Tetsuya, only with this boy could Ryouta ever be able to do such a thing with when anyone else who even dared to ghost across the skin of his forehead, Ryouta would shove away).

“Kise-kun—,” Tetsuya began before Ryouta cut him off harshly because it was wrong; the voice was the same though it no longer held the youthful joy it once did in his dreams and Ryouta’s heart ached and yearned.

“That’s not my name,” Ryouta bit out, his breath hot against Tetsuya’s face as he opened his eyes and he released Tetsuya’s forearms to wrap his arms around his shoulders, pulling the other boy closer and almost, almost he could catch the scent of winter, the easing comfort of autumn, the heat of summer and the constant, unwavering blossoming affection of spring. “Say my name, Tetsuya.”

Because while Tetsuya had always made himself accessible to Ryouta, had never denied him his closeness and comfort, Tetsuya had never broken the formality he had placed between them, had never lowered the walls to allow Ryouta any closer (and Ryouta had once been the only thing that had once belonged to Tetsuya just as Tetsuya had once belonged to Ryouta, and he was the thing that could never be replaced no matter how hard the youkai around Tetsuya had tried).

“Tetsuya, please.”

Tetsuya shifted within his embrace, cool hands rose to touch Ryouta’s cheeks and Ryouta closed his eyes with a shuddering breath, allowing the other boy to pull him down, bring him closer and when Tetsuya pressed his lips at the center of Ryouta’s forehead, he held his breath.

Tetsuya whispered a soft, careful breath against his skin, and Ryouta’s name left his lips like a caress.

“Ryouta.”

When he remembered who it was he held in his arms, Ryouta’s knees gave out under him and he pulled Tetsuya tight against his chest. Silently, Ryouta wept.

And deep, deep in the mountain far above the fog and trees, kept safe and guarded by Atsushi and Teppei, Seijuurou woke.

===

There was a legend older than the one that spoke of the guardian who banished humans from his mountain that used to be told to little children within the village. The legend spoke of a pair of kirin who kept the land green and fertile, who blessed all that was living. It told of the god who watched over them, who allowed them to run free and jovial through his territory, always keeping a constant guarding eye, but never restricting their range.

The land flourished under their hooves, under their ever running feet and youkai and human alike thrived in and around the forest for in those days there were more than a single village that settled there.

All was bright and simple until one day a stranger from another place, with the face that resembled a smirking fox led a band of youkai hunters into the mountains, who longed to make their name famous decided to hunt the kirin for their horns were rumored to bless one with immortal life.

They succeeded.

One of the kirin fell to their blades and the god that watched ever closely raged, sent down fire and youkai but in the midst of battle, that kirin was lost.

The kirin left behind wandered, ever returning to a clearing in the mountain where its companion had fallen, always waiting for when the other would return as the guardian banished all humans from his land, from his mountains and encased it within a fog not to keep mankind out, but to hold safe the kirin left behind.

The one that was stolen found its way in a village at the foot of the mountain where it remained, cut off from the world it had come from and with each passing of the humans it chose as its caretaker, it would dull out the memories of the villagers so that none would question its ever youthful appearance until it, too, forgot the feel of the wind against its face, the laughter that had once filled the air and the warmth that was once a constant companion at its side.

Until one day, Ryouta, who in all outward appearances looked and smelled like a human, set foot past the fog, into the mountain and remembered.

===

Tetsuya bowed his head briefly when he entered Seijuurou’s chamber. Resting upon his bed, the sheets pooling in his lap and hair a flaming red with four horns curling heavenward from his brow, Seijuurou beckoned Tetsuya closer and the kirin obliged, sitting on the edge.

“How are you feeling?” Tetsuya inquired, blue eyes taking in the god’s pale complexion, how his dual-colored eyes stood out against his stark face.

Seijuurou, with the flames of dragon blood flowing through his veins, looked down at his hands and slowly flexed his fingers, and Tetsuya could recall a time when he could make the earth shake with a single breath said, “Recovering.” The god paused, then asked, “Where is he?”

Tetsuya didn’t need to ask who Seijuurou meant, his expression softening just so and when his lord reached out to ghost his knuckles against his cheek, said, “He is with Daiki and the others. He is running through your forest.”

He is home was left unsaid, but the look in Seijuurou’s eyes, the way hidden tension in his shoulders relaxed and the ease in which he settled further against his pillow spoke clearly that he understood what Tetsuya meant because during his long slumber, Seijuurou had sustained the earth with his energy and now with Ryouta back, it was time for the kirin to look after his kin.

===

The fog that had once circled the mountain near Shintarou’s village in his youth vanished completely one day. The villagers, frenzied and uncertain, consulted a local Shinto priest, who only advised the people to remain away as to not test the guardian god’s temper.

Shintarou was not sure what to believe.

He only knew that the day his best friend disappeared so, too, did the fog.

What troubled him the most was that no one seemed to remember Ryouta, or ever recalled that his grandmother had ever had a grandson who lived with her. Were he anyone like Ryouta, Shintarou would have gone searching, investigating anything he could about his friend’s disappearance.

Instead, Shintarou continued on with life as best he could, entering high school, college and finally when he returned to the village as an uprising doctor, built a house in the field by the stream where Ryouta used to catch crayfish in.

There Shintarou lived in the house waiting for it to become a home.

Because while he did not believe in spirits and the supernatural world, Shintarou believed in the stars, things like fate and destiny and that when people parted, often, they would reunite and the bonds they would build then would become stronger.

With that outlook in mind, he waited every day on his back porch with warm green tea ready and a plate of dango to snack on.

Shintarou didn’t have to wait long.

One evening, when he was older, his eyes took in the familiar, comforting and still youthful form of Kise Ryouta with a slighter boy at his side stepping out of the forest beyond the stream, and his friend’s face was spread in a bright smile as he came closer.

Shintarou smiled and poured some tea

“Welcome home, Ryouta.”