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“You have thirty seconds to explain to me exactly what you are doing here.” Mizuki narrowed his eyes, fighting down the wave of panic already washing over him. There was no choice for him but to be confrontational from the outset. A million possibilities rushed his mind, each one somehow worse than the last and yet he knew the reality he’d face would turn out far worse. The woman in front of him was pissed.
She knows.
“Kiriko. I won’t ask again.” He slowly edged toward her, almost hissing with how low his voice had become. There was something in her hand, glinting in the dimness of his apartment. A kunai? No, she wouldn’t. Surely not?
“You’re working for the Hashimoto?” There it was. Her voice was devoid of any of that usual warmth she held for him. Cold, hostile, bitter. And could he really blame her? He said nothing in response, only keeping his eyes fixed on the weapon in her hand. A chill ran down his spine, a pain in his chest slowly growing tighter with each second. Was it really going to end up like this? And you tried so hard to stop it. “Answer me, Mizuki!”
He raised his head only slightly, reluctantly meeting her eyes. Those eyes. They’d once been so beautiful, so affectionate; wells of sweetened coffee that he’d always made a point of looking into. Eyes that had flitted in and out of his dreams. Would it be better to be honest and direct? He didn’t know. At that moment, it didn’t feel like he knew much of anything. They didn’t tell him what to do if he was discovered. It was probably just expected that he’d slaughter all who knew, and flee. You’re not a coward, are you? No. He wasn’t. He confronted spirits on the daily.
“How did you find out?” Was all he said; there was nothing he could do to justify himself. The vinegar of regret was already flooding his mouth.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” She was right. But he’d at least like to know where he’d gone wrong. Selfish, he knew, but the Hashimoto would want to know, too.
“Kiriko-” He began, before finding that he had nothing to say. There was no chance of reasoning with her, no way of finding the thing that would make her forgive him. Do you even deserve her forgiveness? What a precious thing he had now thrown away. Did you really have a choice in the first place?
The kunai was now forced up against his throat, pressing hard. “Don’t,” he whispered, “don’t, I have my reasons.”
“Reasons?” She asked incredulously, almost seeming nauseous at the very idea of there being any valid end to this. Clutching the kunai even harder, she very nearly growled at him. “We are doing good for the people of Kanezaka. And you sought to destroy that. Go beg for mercy at the feet of your masters instead of mine.” Pure vitriol laced her tone. It pained Mizuki’s heart to see her like this, and to know what had to come next. But there was nothing left to do, was there? Something deep inside him shrieked and wailed to stop what was about to happen, and he pushed it down. You have to. It’s your duty. Ignoring the growing pit in his stomach, he raised his head fully.
“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Kiriko.” He murmured, a near-silent blessing for her soul. Shoving himself backwards, he struck out at her, knocking her off balance and reaching for his glaive in one movement. He yanked her head toward him, holding the curved blades to her throat. Immediately, she was struggling, kicking violently in an attempt to break free. Just like you’ve been taught. He could decapitate her right here and now, if he so wished.
Why are you hesitating?
Mizuki drew a shaky breath, finding his eyes unfocused. Why are you showing weakness? Kiriko continued to grapple with the arm he’d pinned firmly on her collar bones, gasping for air as it squeezed her lower neck. She found purchase as his fingers curled, interlocking them for one brief moment to thrust a gap between them. Now grasping air, he lunged forward at her, and was met with a kick in the face. A bowl fell to the floor, smashing into brightly coloured shards. Was he imagining it, or were there petals starting to swirl through the room?
“I thought you were my friend.” She hissed, a storm brewing in her eyes. Cold wind blew through the apartment, swishing curtains. Not now. Not ever. Or was this confrontation down to the spirits anyway? Now he expected to lose. A kunai swiped across his cheek, drawing blood. Batting it away, he stepped backwards into the wall, feeling as red teardrops slid down to his jawline.
“I was.” He swore it. He swore with every inch of his being. There had been nobody as close to him as her, save Toshiro, and he was far, far away. Only kept close in the glaive that he now held for the act of murder. Painful, burning ideas tore through his head, rippling down to his heart. Love, family, safety, comfort. Everything that he’d never been given the chance to know. And oh, how it hurt. How it seared him.
Is she…?
“Then act like it!” In a burst of fury, she charged forward, kunai reclaimed and ready to find a home in his jugular. He cried out in surprise, sidestepping her and raising his own weapon into the air. Nothing mattered now other than winning. Damn all those thoughts of defecting, of connection and kindness. Fight. His glaive swung forwards, meeting nobody.
"Wha-?" Suddenly, he found himself flat on the floor, utterly winded as orbs of glowing blue fell about him. Kiriko knelt above him, one hand wrapped tightly around his throat. Sputtering, he reached to release her hand, but she remained steadfast in her goal. How? Why? Hadn't he seen her do that before? On the Hashimoto? Aren't you one of them? Or do you really think you're that different? Mizuki punched up at her, realising at the last moment that she hadn't been squeezing, nor had she been pressing down. Something wet dripped onto his face, and he instinctively tried to swerve. He couldn't die, not like this. The spirits wouldn't take him. He kicked ferociously and finally scored as she yelped when he hit her back and loosened her grip. Slipping out from underneath her, the man rolled and secured his hold of his glaive. "No tricks." He grunted, chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.
She said nothing, only staring with narrowed, hateful eyes. There was a blue hue to her sclera, and a watery sheen over the top. Under the dim light, he could just barely make out the worm-like tracks of tears trickling down her face. For the briefest of moments, he reached out tenderly. The next thing he knew, there was a shooting pain in his wrist. "Agh, fuck!" He cried, face contorting in agony. She clenched his now sharply twisted and limp hand, panting. Not quite broken, yet. But Mizuki clearly saw the bind he was in. Would there be a way out? Or would he need to beg for his life to her like his father once had to the sky?
His glaive shot down again, skimming along his now adversary’s arm. Blood began to bloom in the shallow slit. He winced, his horror at his own actions welling in his chest, exacerbated by Kiriko’s own cry of pain. Yet he found himself unable to stop, thrusting his weapon forward as the grip on his wrist stayed unyielding. Again, metal met skin.
“Let go!” But she only twisted the joints further, causing a scream to erupt from within him.
"You deserve worse." She sobbed out, words broken up by emotion. "How could you? How could..." Anger was now giving way to heartbreak and Kiriko's face was crumpling. Her grip began to loosen.
Now is your chance.
He couldn't.
"Kiriko," he began, now whispering so quietly he wasn't even sure if she could hear, "Kiriko, please just listen."
She dived forward at him again, this time bare-handed. You have an excuse. Could he really call it self-defence? He had to. Reluctantly, he gripped her wrists, gritting his teeth through the pain of his own near-broken one, and threw her into the wall. She’s forcing you, she won't hear you out. Tears were forming in his own eyes now, blurring the already hazy surroundings.
“Kiriko!” No matter how much he tried to call her name, she wouldn’t respond. Only keeping her eyes on the next way to overpower him. Maybe she just thought it was all a farce. Desperately, he struck her onto the floor, retrieving his glaive and hovering over her. The very point of the blade pressed into her neck, ready to slice and tear at the slightest provocation. Her breathing quickened, eyes snapping tightly shut. Was she scared? Disgust at himself found a quick home within his heart. No choice. One last chance. Give her one last chance.
Kiriko’s eyes fluttered open again: wide, staring, suddenly vulnerable. An entirely new look to him. But what could she have hoped to achieve here? Killing him herself? A discussion? A denial. That wasn’t in his nature.
“Please.” Mizuki whispered again, letting his entire face soften. “Please. I don’t want to do this.” Begging.
She still didn’t say anything, only gasped for air. Each slight movement brought the glaive dangerously close to breaking skin. Are you really going to kill her with her own father’s weapon? It was only a suspicion, he reminded himself, and he was begging to not have to.
Silence. Only their heavy, sometimes stilted breathing remained. He blinked ashamedly when he realised the tears had escaped, slipping down his face like lost souls. She was still staring at him, face reddened with emotion as she heaved. The glaive remained denting her throat. Finally, after what felt like eons, she spoke.
“Why?”
Mizuki slowly moved the blade away from her, discarding it to the floor. “I can explain.” His voice cracked pitifully. “Just give me a chance. Don’t kill me yet.”
Every moment felt like an eternity of his entrails being ripped out and devoured, each agonising second drawn into the length of earth’s existence. The lights flickered, shadowing Kiriko’s face and expression momentarily. Slowly, she nodded. With great caution he moved off her, kneeling down. She could now have a clean shot at him, if she wanted and he flinched as she sat up, eyes still trained on him like a fox stalking a rabbit.
“I didn’t join the Hashimoto, Kiriko,” he whispered, “I inherited a debt.” At that, doubt covered her face and he felt like he’d been plunged into hell again. But she stayed quiet. That had to be worth something. “I was forced into this.”
Her expression was unreadable; too many conflicts going on at once to decipher whatever she was thinking.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Any of you.”
“How much did you tell them?” Despite her clear hurt, she kept her voice as steady as she could. He didn’t know if that was any better than trying to stab him.
“Not as much as they wanted.” Vague, entirely unhelpful. He braced himself for another blow as Kiriko’s eyes narrowed again.
“Don’t dodge the question, Mizuki.” Still just as hostile as before, she was just now letting him see how much he’d hurt her. He suddenly felt that he would do anything to see that smile of hers again. There was no way of him wriggling his way out of this; only the truth could set him free.
“I lied. A lot. I told them I didn’t know your last names, I didn’t reveal any plans. I lied and said you kept me out of everything. I only told them the truth for the first week, Kiriko. Please,” he wept, “they don’t know anything. Not really.” Couldn’t she see his sincerity? She had to.
“You’re forgetting you lied to us, too.” She stared intently at him, the aqua hue around her pupils remaining. Biting his lip, he nodded. Foxes eat turtles.
“Do you really think I had a choice?”
There was silence at that. Too stubborn to admit anything, Kiriko’s gaze dropped, as did his own. Tenderly, Mizuki reached for her hand, a thorn of regret piercing him as she flinched. But she let him take it. It was icy, trembling, ghostly. His thumb traced over her knuckles, still throbbing with pain.
Sitting there, he felt so filthy. Covered in deceit and betrayal. Everything that he’d ever wanted in his life had now been thrown away thanks to the life he’d been entirely unwilling to partake in. The Hashimoto had been far from a family, and he had found himself longing and yearning for a real, genuine connection often. He was told daily that they were what he needed, that they could bring him money and good living. For a time he’d believed it, but he didn’t want to anymore. He didn’t want their blood money, or any part in their violence.
Even back then, there’d been times of doubt. When he’d been sat next to their prisoner, listening to stories of a family he’d been ripped away from, worrying whether his wife would receive his next letter and whether his daughter was safe as she walked home from school. Mizuki had pushed that all down, tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling it gave him deep in his heart. In some way, he could be complicit in that. If Kiriko really was Toshiro’s daughter, then…
“Believe me.” He murmured, repentant.
“You’ll need to prove it, Mizu.”
That nickname was enough.
“I will.” He interlaced their hands. This would be a promise he’d keep for the rest of his life. Their eyes met again, and hers softened. She believes you. You’re lucky. “I’m sorry, Kiriko.”
“Apologies are pointless, now. I won’t forgive you. I can’t,” she touched his face softly, “but I will give you a second chance.”
He exhaled heavily, feeling as his shoulders dropped all their tension. There was so much to do, now. Going back to the Hashimoto couldn’t be an option, and they knew where he was, what his exact movements would probably be. Fear of retribution began to engulf him. What if they hunted him down? You’ve been outrunning the spirits all your life. The rest of the Yōkai would have to know, too. Would he even be allowed to stay? That thought panicked him even further.
“Kiriko,” he looked at her again, hand tightening around hers, “would you help me leave the Hashimoto?”
The hesitant look in her eyes surprised him, but his confusion was hushed by her nod. “Yes. I’ll keep you safe.” He could have collapsed in relief. Questions were still racing through his tired head, but Kiriko’s commitment to him seemed to be all that mattered. He’d make her trust him again.
Red streams still trickled down their skin, and his hand slid up her arm. The wounds were superficial, but did that really absolve him? Guilt had it’s own web within his soul, having been spun since he was a child, and he felt so deeply that there was nothing he could do right.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I know,” she placed her hand on his, rubbing where she had twisted, voice gentle, “I didn’t, either.”
Mizuki wondered whether it was love that he felt for her. Night and day, he’d been thinking, no, dreaming of her. Her eyes, her voice, her talents. He felt pathetic for it. Will you ever truly be happy? He wanted to be happy. With her.
“Kiriko?”
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
“You… I… We need to take care of these cuts.” Confessions weren’t for him. He’d happily die without ever letting her know his feelings, whether they were love or not. He didn’t deem himself as deserving of it.
“No,” she shook her head, “no, let’s take care of you first.” Something glowing yellow was in her hand. An ofuda. Warmth swallowed his wrist as Kiriko laid it on top, the pain fading. Golden wisps danced into the air as the talisman melted into the skin. Blood still dripped down her arm, and he reached out to stop her as she moved to the slash across his cheek. He was met with a scowl, and dropped his hand. As she laid the ofuda on his face wound he shivered, and a faint pink colour flowered on his cheeks.
“Thank you, Kiriko.” He breathed, the colour in his cheeks only deepening. “Your arm…”
She looked down at it. The blood was beginning to congeal, a gross, sticky lump running all the way down. A grimace flashed across the Miko’s face, and the two wounds were quickly healed, only the blood remaining. An apology was bubbling inside of Mizuki’s throat, and he hastily swallowed it. She had said apologies meant nothing; there was no use overwhelming her with all the ones that he had to give.
Shakily, he stood, the wreck of his apartment now becoming far clearer to him. Ceramic shards were scattered on the floor, the wall sported numerous dents, drops of blood had been flung onto the skirting board and his furniture was in disarray. That could all be tended to later.
~~~
The sink spluttered as Mizuki turned the tap, hissing menacingly loud as he wet a cloth beneath.
“I won't be able to stay here.” He realised aloud, turning to Kiriko to carefully wipe the blood off her arm.
“You can stay with me.” That was what he’d hoped to happen. Something in her tone suggested it was her hope too, yet he dismissed it as a way for her to keep an eye on him. And could anyone really blame her for that? They’d just tried to kill each other, and he had admitted to his entire purpose being a lie. Perhaps house arrest would be a more appropriate term than staying. But he didn’t know what she was thinking. Everything was only a guess, a guess funded by his own low self-esteem and fear of the supernatural beings chasing him.
“The others need to know, too.” His voice lowered again, cracking in shame. “Will… I still have a place? In the Yōkai?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. It’ll take a lot for all of us to trust you again.” It was the admission he’d expected, but not the one he wanted. “But… You are helpful, Mizu. Everyone liked you.”
“They were my friends.” He affirmed.
The slightest of blushes came across Kiriko’s face, and he assumed he must be concussed. Or is she unwell? His brow furrowed in concern, and he lifted her chin. “I’m okay.” She whispered. “I just don’t know how to feel right now. I… I have a lot of feelings, Mizu.”
Thumb gently rubbing her jawline, he let his face relax slightly. “I know.” The web within him seemed to wrap around his heart, strangling it with rope, not silk.
“Your face is still covered in blood.” She pointed out, and took the cloth from him. His body froze as she stroked his cheek, dissolving the blood and any trace of their battle. “I was hurt. I still am. Part of me thinks I must be dreaming. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was - my dreams often involve you.” Her voice was like honey to his ears; sweet, soft, melodic. Every little thing she’d done around him, Mizuki had put down to coincidence, or the spirits messing with his head as they had in the past. But anyone else would be a fool to deny the softer tone she held for him, the higher pitch, the greater care took around him.
“I found it strange, how I’d never cared for someone like this before. I’ve always cared, but not in this way.”
“...What are you saying?” His voice was barely audible to himself, sounding so far away it felt like he was watching his body from the heavens. The tips of his fingers felt slightly numb in anticipation.
“I don’t know,” a long pause, “I think I may be in love with you, Mizu.”
Stunned, he stood in silence. A steady drip of water from the tap mirrored his own rapid beating heart. Kiriko’s eyes watched his own, and he found himself unable to blink, lest he lose any moment of looking at her.
“Kiriko,” he leaned forward, “Kiriko…” Tears began to pool in his eyes, and he was forced to blink. Her eyes only widened in concern, and she reached to wipe the tears away. Why are you crying? Why are you showing weakness? It echoed in his mind daily, but did he need to worry now?
His fingers tensed on her jaw, and so slowly he was barely aware of it, he brought her closer. “Mizu?” It brought him back down to earth, and the next thing he knew, both his hands rested on her face.
“I love you.” With this whispered confession, he leaned fully down to kiss her, finding her lips already moving towards his. They were so soft, so sweet. If it were possible, this would be the rest of his life, Mizuki was sure of it. Kiriko’s hand touched his hair gently, caressing the bridge between the crop and his ear.
After what felt far too short of a time, they reluctantly pulled apart. “I love you.” He repeated, the moment feeling too good to be true.
“I love you.” His partner murmured, pressing her head to his chest. “We will find a way, Mizu. For you to be free, for all of this to be okay. I promise.”
He nodded slowly, hearing as a downpour began outside, silencing the rest of the world. They were safe in their cocoon, even if in the devastation left by their own emotions. Even if it was under the control of their enemy. They’d need to leave soon; he hadn’t reported in nearly a day and the Hashimoto were full of suspicion already. All it would take was the slightest spark for them to assume his defection.
Mizuki held Kiriko close. The spirits couldn’t get him here, and he didn’t want to spend any more time thinking about his masters than he had to. For the first time, there was no dark cloud hanging over him, no frantic need for bells and amulets and talismans. Kiriko could be his bell, his safety. As long as he did the same for her, and there was no limit to what he would do to keep her safe. Feelings smothered by his own self-doubt and guilt were gingerly being unearthed, flourishing under her cleansing of his soul.
You should count your blessings.