Kurogane was never meant to be the caretaker of a shrine. He wasn’t that great at keeping things clean, and he never learned the proper customs or prayers. He’d watched his mother go through the motions when she acted as the shrine’s miko, never paying too much attention because he always thought he’d go off on some great adventure somewhere else.

Then she died and Kurogane, despite himself, just couldn’t let go of the shrine. It was all he knew, his mother’s legacy. He’d thought that, maybe, after he’d gone and lived an exciting life doing exciting things, he’d return and take over while she enjoyed her retirement at an old age. Death had other plans, and though Kurogane could have given it up to someone else, he thought that his mother would never forgive him for relinquishing their family shrine. 

People continued to come, after she died. Actually, he had never seen as many people as he did right after she passed. She was quite beloved in the nearby community; a town sat at the base of the mountain below the shrine and its citizens visited to pray often. Word of mouth made it a popular spot for travellers. When word got around that the miko had died, everyone wanted to pay their respects.

But without her there, Kurogane was lost. He was not a priest, and his grief only made him irritable. Maybe it was his stormy demeanor, but it turned people away. People continued to visit at first, but slowly, their numbers dwindled. It just wasn’t the same anymore. Soon enough, it reached a point where Kurogane would go days and then weeks without seeing anyone.

Well, good riddance, he thought. What good did a shrine like this do anyway? Where did all those prayers and offerings go? It was a waste, he told himself. So he shut the gates and declared the shrine to be closed.

He still stayed, though. Someone had to keep the place clean—or somewhat tidy, at the very least.

He was doing just that on a chilly autumn morning. He held the broom that his mother used to hold, the one that used to be too big for him but now almost seemed too small in his adult hands, and swept the steps on the haiden—the outer shrine where visitors used to come to say their prayers. No matter how many times he repeated this action, they always ended up covered in dust or dirt or, at this time of year, leaves. He was brushing dried leaves off the steps and into a pile he’d made when he heard the sound of water being disrupted. Maybe it wouldn’t have even been noticeable to any other person, but the sound was part of the shrine and he was so used to it that the silence that came when it was briefly blocked was jarring.

Kurogane turned around and looked down the path towards the temizuya where water poured from bamboo stocks and into a basin, the spot where visitors would cleanse themselves before venturing deeper into the shrine.

There was a person standing there, pouring frigid water over their hands with the wooden ladle. From where he stood, Kurogane couldn’t see the person clearly enough to get a good read on what they looked like, but he could tell the person was a foreigner. Their bright yellow hair almost blended in with the autumn hues in the trees behind them, slightly paler than the golden leaves on a gingko.

Kurogane watched curiously as the person expertly switched the ladle from hand to hand in the typical purification ritual, even pouring a bit into their left palm to take a sip. Kurogane almost forgot to be annoyed that this person ignored the closed gates at the bottom of the stairs they had to climb to get all the way up here, not to mention all the signs he’d put up.

The person put the ladle back where it belonged and turned to walk up towards the haiden, looking left and right with a pleasant smile. It was a beautiful place, which was probably the biggest reason anyone ever visited. Nestled in the midst of the dense mountain forest, the leaves that floated down to the earth with each gentle breeze made for quite the picturesque scene. Every season was just as mesmerizing, from the snowy winters to the pink cherry blossoms in the spring, all the way to the lush greenery that blanketed the area in summer. Though, to Kurogane, all of that was just normal. He’d grown up seeing the same things, year after year, and hearing the same awed voices going on and on about how gorgeous it all was.

Finally, the person seemed to notice Kurogane. They stopped at the bottom of the steps to the haiden and lifted a hand in a little wave. 

“Hello,” they said with a slight tilt of their head. They were very pale, Kurogane thought offhandedly, like they’d never seen a ray of sunshine in their life.

And hearing their voice, Kurogane could tell it was a man. He was wearing a thick kimono that was made with expensive looking silk, dyed to mimic the coloring of the sky at dusk. Kurogane couldn’t really tell if the kimono was supposed to be for a man or a woman; the sleeves were wide and draping, but the collar was loose, showing the layers he wore beneath it to keep warm. Maybe he didn’t really know what he was supposed to wear, so he just combined whatever he thought would look good.

And now that he was closer, Kurogane could see his brilliant blue eyes clearly. They sparkled like jewels as he looked up at Kurogane, framed by pale lashes that matched his hair. Speaking of which, his hair was unique in more ways than just its color; the ends fell just above the stranger’s shoulders, turning in and out in wispy waves. Shorter pieces framed his face, fell just in front of his eyes in a way that seemed intentional. Kurogane was used to dark, heavy, and pin straight hair. His own was midnight black, coarse to the touch and spiked, with just a few pieces that fell in front of his darker eyes. His own eyes were unique, his mother said, with their deep red coloring. She said it was remnants of the god they worshipped in his blood, which also accounted for his bigger than normal stature. He wasn’t sure he believed all that.

“Are you the priest?” The stranger continued when Kurogane didn’t respond, unperturbed by Kurogane’s rudeness.

“No,” Kurogane answered. “And the shrine is closed, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t notice,” the stranger said. His voice was slightly high, with a slight breathiness that softened his tone. “I didn’t know a shrine could close. I thought the gods accepted visitors at all hours.”

“Not this one,” Kurogane snapped. 

The stranger began walking up the steps. “Well, I am already here. It would be rude if I ignored the dear deity now.”

“Huh?” was all Kurogane could muster as the foreign man walked right past him and to the offering box that sat at the top of the stairs. 

The stranger reached into his sleeve, finding a pocket hidden in there. He found whatever he was looking for, which customarily would be a coin or some other bit of wealth, and held it between his palms. He said a quick, silent prayer. Then, he moved his hands over the box and let whatever he was holding fall inside. Kurogane didn’t hear it hit the bottom, so he wondered if the foreigner had some kind of paper money.

“Okay, you made your offering. Now leave,” Kurogane said, stomping up the steps to meet the man.

The stranger, the top of whose head came up to Kurogane’s chin when they stood face to face like this, looked up at Kurogane. He kept that smile present throughout it all. “I still need to finish my prayers. It wouldn’t be very fair to me to make an offering and then not even tell the god what I want.”

Kurogane’s eye twitched. “The god is sleeping, okay? It won’t hear you even if you tried.”

The stranger laughed, his head tilting back slightly, and he waved a hand. “You’re so funny, Mr. Priest!”

“I told you, I’m not the priest!” Kurogane yelled. “And I’m not trying to be funny, I’m trying to get you to leave!”

“May I ask what you were doing, then?”

Kurogane leaned back slightly at the sudden question. He looked down at the foreigner, regarding him for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when I arrived, you were cleaning,” the stranger said.

“Yeah, so?”

“Why would you work to keep the place clean, just to turn people away?”

Kurogane’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. “What I do with my shrine is none of your business.”

“It’s not your shrine though, is it?” The stranger looked positively smug as he turned, the ends of his hair lifting slightly and then settling back into place, and walked around the offering box and to the doors of the haiden. “It’s Ginryuu’s. Just give me a moment to speak to Her, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Ugh!” Kurogane groaned like a petulant child, even going as far as rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “Whatever. Just be quick about it.”

Kurogane went back to aggressively sweeping the already clean steps as the stranger carried out whatever ritual he felt the need to do. When he got to the bottom, he pushed the pile of leaves off of the stone path and towards the grass. Hopefully they’d decompose eventually; knowing his luck, the wind would probably pick them up and put them right back where they were by the next morning.

It was about twenty minutes later when the stranger came skipping down the steps. “Ah, I feel much better now. Lighter, you know?” He grinned brightly at Kurogane, who scowled back at him.

“No, I don’t know,” Kurogane muttered.

“What, don’t you pray to Ginryuu every now and then? I’m sure She would love to hear what you had to say.”

Yeah, right. Kurogane tried that, and now look at him.

“I’m Fai, by the way,” the stranger said with a slight bow.

Kurogane gave him a nod of his head. Then, hearing his mother’s scolding voice in the back of his head, he sighed and introduced himself properly. “Kurogane.”

“I appreciate you letting me intrude, Kuro… er…” Fai scratched his cheek with one finger. “I apologize. Your name is a bit difficult for me. I might need some time to practice.”

Kurogane lifted a brow. He wasn’t sure how much he believed that, considering Fai spoke with perfect Nihongo. Kurogane couldn’t detect even the slightest accent, not even from another dialect.

“Seeing as we won’t be speaking again, that’s nothing to worry about,” Kurogane said.

“Aw!” Fai pouted and looked up at Kurogane with pleading eyes. “Don’t speak that into the universe, Kuro-priest! It might hear you and make it a reality!”

“I hope it does! How many times do I need to tell you that I’m not a priest?!” Kurogane huffed and turned away from Fai. “If you can’t say my name properly, then just don’t say it at all.”

“I’m wounded,” Fai said dramatically from behind Kurogane. “My heart, it’s been torn in two! However will I go on? I must pray to Ginryuu again!”

“What?!” Kurogane spun around, but Fai was already running up the steps to the haiden. With one cheeky glance back over his shoulder, Fai began his routine once again.

Another ten minutes later, and Fai was returning with a smile and a bounce in his step. “Much better.”

“Leave. Now.” Kurogane pointed towards the red tori.

“I’m surprised, Kuro-sama. I thought you would pick me up and throw me out yourself,” Fai said as he did as he was told and walked down the path and towards the exit. 

“Don’t call me that,” Kurogane muttered as he, for some reason, followed behind Fai. He just didn’t think it was right to interrupt someone’s prayer, even if they were the most annoying person he’d ever met and were only doing it to spite him. And even if he didn’t think it did a damn thing and was a useless waste of time, it was disrespectful in a way his mother told him never to be.

At the tori, Fai turned to give Kurogane a grin and a wave. “Until next time! Thank you again for letting me make my offering, even though you really didn’t want me to.”

Kurogane just nodded. Fai turned and began making his way down the hundreds of steps. When he got to the bottom, he’d walk through another red gate and be on the path that led to the bottom of the mountain, where he could return to the town and move on to wherever he was traveling to next. Kurogane just assumed that was what Fai was doing; he was probably touring Nihon, finding all the pretty spots to visit. The people in the town probably told him it was beautiful at the shrine and he decided to see for himself. Kurogane also had to assume that they would have told him that it was closed, and that Fai simply ignored them.

Kurogane went back to what he was doing, back to his routine, back to what he was most used to. He felt a bit off-center though, like his axis had been thrown off. Fai had come in like a whirlwind and made a confusing mess out of everything Kurogane was accustomed to. Now, Kurogane had to reset. More leaves had landed on the steps, so he began sweeping them away.

—

It was colder the next morning. Maybe that was why Fai had a stole draped over his shoulders as he bowed over the offering box.

Kurogane wasn’t even halfway out the door when he saw Fai standing there, already cleansed and dropping his offering into the box. Kurogane grumbled low in his throat and stomped down the path. The home where his family used to live was tucked away, back behind a line of trees to offer some privacy. He was the only one who lived there now, and he wasn’t used to waking up to company.

Fai had already made his way to the haiden to begin his prayers, so Kurogane waited at the bottom of the steps, tapping his foot impatiently. It was about ten minutes later when Fai finally descended; his face brightened with a smile when he saw Kurogane and his steps quickened.

“Kuro-sama!” Fai chirped when he reached the bottom step. He was about Kurogane’s height with the step’s help.

“Don’t call me weird things, you freak,” Kurogane snapped. “What the hell are you doing here? Do you not understand what closed means?”

“No, I do,” Fai said without missing a beat. “The thing is, the shrine doesn’t seem very closed to me. I mean, the sign didn’t stop me from going through the entire ceremony from beginning to end, did it?”

Kurogane felt a vein pop out on his temple. “Do you think if a restaurant is closed, you’re allowed to just go inside and make yourself food since it’s there?!”

“Perhaps if I was hungry enough,” Fai said while tapping his chin as if deep in thought. He held his finger up like he’d suddenly had a great epiphany. “Ah, that reminds me! I almost forgot!”

He held up something in his hand—a bento box wrapped in a silk scarf that Kurogane was too angry to even notice he had before. Fai held it by the knot in the scarf, placing one hand underneath it for extra security. He beamed with a grin.

“I brought you some food!”

“I don’t want it.”

“Aw, don’t be like that Kuro-sama! It’s my thanks to you for allowing me to pray here!”

Kurogane bared his teeth and nearly growled like a dog about to snap. “I didn’t allow you to do anything! You just came and did it!”

“And now I brought you food!” Fai stepped down from the last stair and walked past Kurogane. “Let’s sit on the bench over here.”

“I’m not sitting anywhere with you, you creep!” Kurogane yelled. Still, he followed after Fai, stomping his feet heavily the entire way.

Fai sat on one end of the bench and set the bento in the middle. He untied the knot and the four corners fell, creating a little place setting. The bento only had two layers, so he lifted off the top one and set it down, then took the lid off of it. It was a simple meal; some onigiri and grilled fish, as well as some pickled vegetables. There were some rice cakes and roasted chestnuts too.

Kurogane peered down at the meal. It did look good, definitely a hell of a lot better than anything he ever made for himself. “You made this?” The onigiri was molded perfectly; his always ended up misshapen and lumpy. 

“Well, I bought the vegetables,” Fai said while gesturing to them. He shuddered slightly. “I can’t stand anything sour, but I’ve heard that most people love them, so I figured I should include them for you.”

That was strangely thoughtful, Kurogane thought. Reluctantly, he took a seat on the other side of the bench. Fai produced a pair of chopsticks and handed them over to Kurogane. Kurogane took them, but noticed that Fai had none for himself. “Are you not going to eat anything?”

Fai responded by picking up a chestnut with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. Once he chewed and swallowed, he sheepishly said, “I’m still getting used to using them, so I usually just resort to doing this.”

Kurogane raised a brow quizzically. It was hard to believe that someone who spoke such perfect Nihongo could struggle with chopsticks of all things, considering it suggested that he must have been in Nihon for quite a while. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Somewhere very far from here,” Fai said vaguely. “Please, try some! I want to know if my skills are improving.”

Kurogane considered declining, worried that there might be poison or something equally nefarious, but he gave in. He’d just woken up and he was pretty hungry. He broke apart some of the fish and took a bite. He was stunned for a moment when the flavor hit his tongue; it tasted nearly identical to the fish his mother used to make. It was still warm, too, meaning that Fai must have woken up early to make it fresh that morning.

Fai was leaning forward slightly, looking up at Kurogane eagerly. “Well?”

Kurogane finished chewing and swallowed. He nodded. “Not bad.”

Fai smiled, obviously pleased with the reaction. “Have more! I was eating here and there while I was making it, so I’m not very hungry.”

Satisfied that there was no poison, Kurogane did just that. The onigiri were stuffed with umeboshi, something else that made Fai cringe but that he insisted on including, and the rice was soft and fluffy. Fai picked at the rice cakes, apparently preferring their sweetness over the other options. Soon enough, the boxes were left only with the bits of rice and fish that remained.

“You must have really liked it,” Fai said as he packed the bento back up. He folded the corners of the scarf around it and tied the knot. “I’m glad!”

“I hadn’t had breakfast yet,” Kurogane said stubbornly. “Someone woke me up by ignoring the sign at the gate and barging in.”

“I wouldn’t say I did all that,” Fai said innocently. “You should have kept sleeping! I would have left the bento for you at the door.”

Kurogane rolled his eyes at Fai so purposefully missing the point. “I never sleep late,” he grumbled. “I would have been awake either way.”

“Then it was destined that we share breakfast!” Fai said happily, clapping his hands in front of him. “Next time, I’ll bring lunch too!”

“There won’t be a next time!”

Except there was. There were many next times, in fact. Kurogane was starting to get used to it. Every morning, Fai was there. Sometimes, he’d come out and find Fai already beginning his prayers; others, he’d be up early enough to watch as Fai arrived. And every morning, he would wait as Fai went through his prayers. Then, he would yell at Fai for imposing. And then, Fai would feed him a delicious meal. With each visit, Fai stayed longer and longer. It was becoming a predictable routine.

Eventually, Fai just moved in.

Yeah, Kurogane wasn’t exactly sure how he let that happen.

Kurogane stepped out of his little house, still tucking his kimono into his hakama, and he found Fai sweeping along the path with his broom. It took a few blinks for Kurogane to fully comprehend what he was seeing. Somehow, it seemed so natural that it didn’t even occur to him that something was off.

“What the hell?” As Kurogane walked forward, his foot brushed something on the ground. There was a bag, as well as a small trunk beside it. Kurogane paused to open the trunk and found folded kimonos and other items, all looking suspiciously like the ones Fai often wore. “What the hell?”

“Ah, good morning Kuro-sama!” Fai called as he skipped over to Kurogane. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you while you were still sleeping, so I just left those things there.”

Ignoring how Fai managed to carry the trunk all the way up the steps to the shrine, Kurogane let the lid fall shut over the kimonos. He stood up straight to regard Fai. “And just what is this?”

“Those are my things!” Fai said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I just figured that since I’ve been coming everyday, it would be easier if I just stayed up here! Don’t worry, I’ll work for my rent! I’ve already swept the entire path and I packed breakfast and can get started on lunch later if you show me the kitchen. I was also thinking that maybe we should work on cleaning the stairs going down the mountain? It would be more inviting to visitors if they—”

“Would you shut up for a second?” Kurogane held a hand up to silence Fai. He scratched the side of his head as Fai’s words caught up to him. It was still very early. “...Stayed here?”

Fai nodded. “Yes! It looks like there are multiple rooms, right? You won’t even notice I’m here!”

That was the worst lie Kurogane had ever heard in his entire life. “You can’t just decide to move in with somebody without even asking them!”

“Oh. Well, is it okay if I move in with you?”

“NO!”

Fai deflated. He looked a lot like a kicked puppy when he did that. He pouted slightly. “But it took me so long to get my things all the way up here. Could I at least stay for the night? I’ll finish cleaning and cook a nice dinner to make up for the trouble.”

“You’re going to do whatever you want anyway,” Kurogane muttered. He snatched the broom from Fai’s hand. Fai let go of it, holding his hands up like he was being held at the wrong end of a dagger. Kurogane felt a little bit bad for that. “It’s not your job to clean. It’s mine.”

Fai blinked his shining blue eyes. “But I want to help. It must be difficult to maintain this place all on your own. Is that why you closed it?”

“Not entirely,” Kurogane replied evasively.

Fai politely dropped that line of questioning, which Kurogane was grateful for. Instead he said, “I simply love it up here. It’s so beautiful, and I want to repay you for letting me be here.”

“Well… kitchen’s in there,” Kurogane said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder to point towards the door behind him. “You can repay me with some food, then be on your way.”

Fai grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a deal! By the way, breakfast is in the bag. I’ll call you when lunch is ready!”

Kurogane stepped out of the way as Fai dashed into the house. He sighed and shook his head. What the hell was he doing? He should have made Fai leave immediately. He kept giving in, and that was why Fai thought doing something like move in was completely fine.

He knelt down to look in the bag and found one of Fai’s bentos. He carried it to the bench to eat; it was just as delicious as any other day. Maybe even more so than usual, actually. When he finished, he got up to clean. After a little while Fai joined him, then brought him back to the house for lunch.

It was beginning to get so cold that Kurogane’s hands were going numb from being outside. Soon, snow would begin to fall. Kurogane forgot all about that when he stepped inside. Coals were smoldering in the hearth, warming the house, as well as under the stove, keeping pots of rice and soup hot until they were ready to eat.

“You don’t have many things to cook with, you know,” Fai said as he went back to the kitchen. He had a tasuki looped around each shoulder, the sash holding his long sleeves back from the food. He picked up one of Kurogane’s bowls and spooned some rice into it, then soup into another. 

“I don’t usually cook much,” Kurogane responded as he took a seat on the floor near the hearth. 

It wasn’t like Kurogane was inept. He could keep himself alive. He just never really learned how to cook beyond the basics, and most of the time he didn’t want to bother with trying any harder than he had to. He was perfectly fine with rice and whatever else he had. He’d made an arrangement with one of the vendors from the town at the base of the mountain; every week, Kurogane would leave money in a certain spot and in return, the vendor would leave a stock of food. It kept Kurogane fed without requiring him to interact with anyone.

“It’s a wonder how you got so big,” Fai said teasingly. He brought over Kurogane’s servings, as well as chopsticks, then returned to get his own portion. 

Kurogane took a sip of the soup straight from the bowl. He nearly sighed in relief, the warmth spreading from his chest and down to his fingers. Fai sat, his feet tucked beneath him, and he spooned some rice into his mouth. He didn’t even bother with attempting to use chopsticks.

“You know, you won’t get any better with chopsticks if you don’t practice,” Kurogane said. To make his point, he picked up a single grain of rice with his own.

Fai smiled. “Will Kuro-sama teach me then?”

Kurogane scowled at Fai. “Yeah, right.”

He’d pretty much given up on getting Fai to call him by the right name. 

That evening, Fai had a similar dinner waiting for Kurogane. Kurogane allowed Fai to sleep in the spare room, the one that his mother used to sleep in that Kurogane never bothered moving into, even though it was bigger. The next morning, breakfast was waiting for Kurogane.

Fai didn’t leave after that, which deep down Kurogane knew would happen, except when he took Kurogane’s money to buy fish and meat from the town. Kurogane didn’t really mind that; it added good variety to their meals, and besides, Fai was damn good at cooking. 

That became his new normal. Fai also started helping out around the shrine, even though Kurogane insisted he didn't, considering he also cooked all of their meals. But Fai seemed more than happy to take the old broom in his hand and sweep along the path. It gave Kurogane more time to train; he’d learned how to use a sword since a young age because, though they lived in an era of peace, it was simply something he enjoyed. Since his mother died, he’d been slacking on his training, blaming it on his new responsibilities even though, with no one visiting, that really wasn’t true. He’d just lost interest at some point.

But now that Fai was there, he didn’t really have an excuse to not train. So, he picked his sword back up and gave it a try. Then the next day, he did it again. Soon enough, he was back to training daily. Sometimes Fai would watch him, which usually came with teases about how great of a warrior Kurogane was. On a couple of occasions, Kurogane had taught Fai a few things.

It was one day near the start of winter when Kurogane saw Fai reaching for the doors of the honden, which sat behind the haiden. Kurogane had not opened those doors since his mother died; she used to be the only one to go in there. She would take all of the offerings and all of the prayers of the day and offer them directly to the shrine’s deity, Ginryuu, which was represented by a stone statue within the honden. Kurogane used to peek in behind her to catch a glimpse of the god, but never dared go inside himself.

Now, he walked over to Fai and grabbed him by the wrist. Fai flinched and looked up at Kurogane in surprise. “Kuro-sama?”

“What are you doing?” Kurogane asked.

Fai looked back towards the doors. “I was going to clean. I noticed that there’s a lot of dust back here. It must be even worse inside.” 

He was right, of course. On the circles of gold that served as the door handles, dust tinged them slightly grey. Kurogane scowled.

“...You don’t want me going in there?” Fai asked softly. When Kurogane did not respond, Fai frowned. “It’s disrespectful to neglect Ginryuu. We should—”

Kurogane scoffed. “Disrespect? Disrespect what, the hunk of stone in there?”

He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. The winter sun streamed inside the small space, illuminating the dust that flew into the air from the disturbance. His mother used to kneel right there, before the statue of Ginryuu that sat on a stone pedestal. Ginryuu’s body twisted around itself like a snake’s, its head pointing upwards, its mouth open as if on a roar. Even after all this time, its ruby eyes still glowed the same. 

Kurogane swallowed. He never expected to open the doors again like this; he never expected to open the doors again at all. Still, to prove his point, he gestured for Fai to go inside. “There. Go ahead and say your prayers to Ginryuu directly. See what good that does you.”

Fai stayed where he was, looking troubled. His signature smile was nowhere to be seen. “Okay, Kuro-sama. I get it. You can close the door. I won’t go in.”

Fai turned to leave and Kurogane was left there with Ginryuu, stunned. It was the first time he’d ever seen Fai make such a face, the first time he’d properly wiped the ever-present grin off kilter. Even when Fai pouted or whined or pretended to cry, it was all an act. Kurogane felt almost like he’d pulled a curtain back and looked in at something he was never meant to see.

And he felt bad. Annoying as he was, Kurogane didn’t particularly like hurting Fai’s feelings. Perhaps they’d both been putting up an act—Fai’s fake teasing, Kurogane’s fake anger—and now they were both exposed and hurt.

He found Fai later, halfway down the steps down the mountain. Fai was sweeping away old leaves, rocks, and sticks, one step at a time. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck, one that covered the lower half of his face. His ears were pink from the cold.

“You’re really going to clean all these?” Kurogane asked. 

Fai peered up at him, then returned to his task. “Someone should, right?”

“It’s probably going to snow soon,” Kurogane pointed out.

“Then I’ll come back and sweep the snow away,” Fai said matter-of-factly.

Kurogane sighed and walked down the last few steps separating them. When he got closer, he saw that Fai’s fingers were red where they were wrapped around the broom. “How long have you been out here?”

Fai shrugged. “Just a little while.”

Kurogane shook his head. He took hold of the broom to stop Fai. “C’mon. You won’t be able to clean them all today, so leave it for now.”

Fai’s fingers were probably numb, so he didn’t put up much of a fight when Kurogane pulled the broom out of his grasp. Even with the scarf, Kurogane could see that Fai was grinning. His eyes, however, did not match.

“Kuro-sama is being so chivalrous!” Fai said brightly.

“Yeah, well. It’ll be a pain in my ass if I have to get rid of your frozen body,” Kurogane said. He turned to walk back up the stairs. “Let’s go.”

Fai followed behind him. They walked in silence for a bit and Kurogane felt painfully awkward. There was something gnawing at his belly from the inside, something sharp and cold. Each breath felt uncomfortable, like he was not in his own body. He’d been angry and Fai had been upset and he knew the anxious sensation would not go away if he simply tried to ignore it like Fai was apparently trying to do.

“Listen,” he said. He had to clear his throat, then tried again. “I’m sorry about before. Didn’t mean to be such a jerk.”

“Hm? Kuro-sama is apologizing! My, what a day!”

Kurogane stopped suddenly and turned around to face Fai. Fai stopped too, having to take one step back down to keep from wobbling. “I’m trying to be sincere here, you asshole. Would you take it seriously and quit it with whatever… this is?”

Kurogane gestured vaguely to Fai, who blinked up at him with big eyes. At least that fake smile was off his face. Kurogane used Fai’s surprise to continue.

“I really am sorry,” Kurogane said again. “I haven’t been in there in years and seeing you start to go in just made me start thinking of things I’d rather not think about. If you want to go in and clean, I won’t stop you.”

Fai blinked and it was like his soul returned to his body. He looked like himself again, not whoever was there before that was trying to shield himself from any negative emotions. “But do you want me to go in?”

Kurogane thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “It would probably be good to clean it every once in a while.”

Fai took a couple of steps up to be level with Kurogane and then tilted his head towards the top. He began walking up the stairs and Kurogane walked beside him. “You never pray,” Fai said as they climbed the steps. A statement, an observation.

“I think you pray enough for the both of us,” Kurogane muttered.

“It’s not the same,” Fai said. He looked at Kurogane from the corner of his eye. “But would you like me to add you to my prayers?”

“Do what you want,” Kurogane said. “It’s not like it would make a difference.”

“You keep making comments like that,” Fai said. “It seems to me that you don’t really believe in Ginryuu. Some people might think that’s strange, for a shrine-keeper.”

“Belief doesn’t really matter,” Kurogane said. “What does matter is what I know, and what I know is that I prayed to Ginryuu every single day and gave up everything I had, and my mother still died.”

Fai’s eyes widened when he looked up at Kurogane. Then, they lowered to the ground solemnly. “I see… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to stop you from praying or doing whatever you want,” Kurogane continued. “But I’m not going to waste my time.”

Fai was quiet as they reached the top of the steps. “The way I see it,” he said after a while, “is that my prayers are not for myself or what I want. I’ve lost people that I love too, and no amount of praying will ever bring them back. It would be very easy for me to get angry at the gods for not giving me something that is impossible. Instead, I simply ask for the gods to take care of their souls. That has to do something, right?”

Fai gave Kurogane a hopeful look. Kurogane swallowed. He thought it over.

“I guess… if you think it does, then it does,” Kurogane said quietly.

Fai smiled, pleased, and nodded. “Then that’s all there is to it. Now, what would you like for lunch?”

Fai walked ahead, leaving Kurogane behind.

It was around then that Kurogane began to wonder something, and that something had to do with Fai and Ginryuu: he wondered if Fai was some kind of trial sent to test Kurogane after years of disservice.

He couldn’t really explain it, not in any way that made sense or even aligned with his logic. If the gods didn’t listen to him when he prayed, why would they suddenly wake up to send him some strange and mysterious foreigner to challenge him? Had he really pissed Ginryuu off that badly?

Fai tested him. In the way he spoke, the way he smiled, the way he pushed Kurogane, the way he wormed himself into Kurogane’s life and settled there like it was where he was meant to be. Kurogane still didn’t know where he came from or anything about his past, other than him vaguely mentioning lost loved ones. Maybe he had no past, Kurogane found himself thinking as he watched Fai touch up the tori with red paint or clean the steps or secure loose stones in the path.

Perhaps Fai was a god himself, an immortal being that couldn’t talk about his past in any way that would make sense to a mortal like Kurogane. Kurogane had heard stories of gods disguising themselves to mingle with humans—it was the core of the legend that explained his red eyes and brute strength. And Fai certainly looked the part. Kurogane had never met a god before, but he had to imagine that they were incredibly beautiful. Ethereal, almost, something that could try to make itself look human but never quite get it right, always just slightly too perfect. 

It made sense, somehow. Only a god could find entertainment in Kurogane’s boring life.

Kurogane opened the honden a few days later, the first time he’d done so alone since his mother’s passing. He stood in the entrance, staring at Ginryuu. He tried to see something in the statue’s ruby eyes, some message or sign that what Kurogane was thinking had some truth to it. Of course, Ginryuu had never spoken to him before. Why would it start now?

He felt stupid and irritated with himself, but he could find no other explanation. Fai had thrown everything off, and Kurogane was simply trying to make sense of it all, even if it meant going against everything he said was true. Fai’s presence, his smile, the way he made Kurogane’s chest squeeze tight—

“Kuro-sama!”

It was the last day of the year, which also happened to be Kurogane’s birthday. He hadn’t told Fai that fact, yet Fai had still insisted on going to town to get ingredients for an extra special meal. Kurogane figured it had to do with the new year, but Fai hadn’t mentioned it, so he wasn’t sure if Fai was even aware.

Kurogane shut the honden and walked towards Fai’s voice. Fai ran up to Kurogane with packages in his arms; he hadn’t even stopped to drop off the goods he’d bought. He was breathing heavily and his face was flushed.

“Did you run all the way up here?” Kurogane asked. “I wasn’t going anywhere, you know.”

“I know,” Fai gasped. He took a gulp of air and grinned. “I just heard the best news. The town is setting off fireworks tonight!”

“Oh, right.” 

Of course they were. They’d set off fireworks on the last day of the year for as long as Kurogane could remember. When Kurogane was a child, he’d felt like they were celebrating him too.

“We should go!” Fai said excitedly.

Kurogane took the packages of fish from Fai’s hands and began walking towards the house. “No thanks.”

Fai hurried to follow him. “But it will be so much fun!”

“You can go if you want,” Kurogane said. “But I’m not interested.”

“Oh…” Fai’s steps slowed. “Well, that’s okay! We can have a nice meal here!”

Kurogane glanced at Fai. “You don’t have to stay here if you want to see them.”

Fai smiled sheepishly. “It just wouldn’t be the same without Kuro-sama.”

Kurogane blinked. His face felt warm and he wasn’t sure what to say, so he just rushed to the house to put the fish in the ice box. 

It was later, after they’d eaten and Fai was going to retire to bed, that Kurogane got out a bottle of sake and told Fai to grab a scarf and follow him. Fai looked perplexed at the sudden break in their routine, but he did as he was told. Kurogane grabbed a wooden ladder from the storehouse, which only added to Fai’s confusion, but he still diligently followed. Kurogane led him to the haiden and set the ladder against the edge of the roof.

“Climb up,” he said. 

“Huh?” Fai looked from Kurogane to the top of the haiden. “That’s rather high up, isn’t it?”

“Scared of heights?” Kurogane asked.

“Of ones that high, yes, I think I am!”

“I’ll hold onto the ladder,” Kurogane told him. “You won’t fall.”

Fai sighed but did as Kurogane told him. He climbed up the ladder carefully until he reached the top. Kurogane followed behind, the sake tucked very carefully into his kimono. When he got to the top, he found Fai sitting in the middle of the roof, waiting for him. Kurogane walked slowly across and took a seat next to him. He pulled out the sake and uncorked it.

“What are we doing up here?” Fai asked, watching as Kurogane took a drink directly from the bottle.

Kurogane tilted his chin up at the view in front of them. “Look out there.” He handed Fai the bottle.

Fai took the sake and looked out. From where they were sitting, they had a clear view of the descent of the mountain and the town below. In spring, the view would be full of pink and purple flowers, but they were mostly bare at the time. Above, the winter sky was full of constellations. There were even some shooting stars streaking across the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Fai murmured. He took a sip of the sake and handed it back to Kurogane. “But you still haven’t said why—”

There was a loud bang and a shower of color. Fai’s eyes widened and his head tilted back slightly, his mouth falling open in wonder. A firework spread across the sky, bright blue like his eyes scattering in a burst, then slowly falling and dissipating. 

One after the next, fireworks lit up the sky. Some were pink, others purple. Some were very large and took up the entire sky and others were smaller and more sparkly. Fai watched each one rise, explode, disappear, then rise again. 

Kurogane watched Fai. He didn’t have to look at the sky; he could see each firework reflected in Fai’s eyes, each color glittering across shining blue like they came from within him. Fai watched with childlike wonder, barely even blinking in case he missed anything. He was smiling, stuck in a state of awe. Kurogane thought that was much more entertaining than anything happening in the sky.

Less than ten minutes later, the last firework was set off. Finally, Fai let himself blink a few times, the cold air no doubt stinging his eyes. “Wow,” he breathed. He turned his attention to Kurogane; he was positively beaming. “That was amazing!”

Kurogane nodded and finally looked away from Fai. “I figured out this was a pretty good spot when I was a kid. My mother hated when I climbed up here though.”

“Oh Kuro-sama,” Fai leaned on his hands in the space between them to look up at Kurogane with his big eyes. “Thank you so much for bringing me here. Truly. I’ve always wanted to see fireworks.”

“You’ve never seen them before?” Kurogane asked.

“Never.” Fai’s smile grew. “That was why I wanted to watch them with Kuro-sama. It’s more special that way, don’t you think?”

“Uh…” 

Fai was close. He was so close that Kurogane could see the flecks of darker blue scattered in his eyes and the pink in his cheeks. He could smell the sake on Fai’s breath. He could feel the warmth of Fai’s body. He gulped and turned away to take a big drink of the sake. 

“Be careful,” Fai said with a grin. “If you drink too much, you won’t be able to get back down.”

“Then let’s go,” Kurogane said. “It’s cold anyway.”

“Can we come back up here again?” Fai sounded so hopeful when he said it, his eyes sparkling with delight.

Kurogane swallowed and nodded. “Sure. Whenever you want.”

They climbed down slowly and made their way back to the house. Usually, they would be in bed by now, but tonight they sat in the main room and shared the remaining sake. Inside, Fai decided that they should be more civilized and got them both cups. At one point, Fai held his cup out to Kurogane.

“Cheers,” he said.

“To what?” Kurogane asked.

“The new year, of course,” Fai said with a smile. “It must be past midnight by now.”

“Right,” Kurogane nodded. He tapped his cup against Fai’s and then, stopping just short of taking a sip, he muttered, “Yesterday was my birthday.”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he said it. He’d never cared much nor bothered to share it with anyone before. Then again, he’d never had another person to share the information with until now. And for some reason, he wanted Fai to know.

Fai blinked. His eyes went wide. “What?! Kuro-sama—why didn’t you tell me before?! I didn’t get you anything—I should have at least made your favorite meal or—!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kurogane murmured. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Of course it is!” Fai said sincerely. “I’ll go to town again tomorrow to get all the things for your favorite meal. I’ll even get extra of your favorite pickled vegetables.”

Kurogane smiled slightly in amusement. “You won’t mind the smell?”

“Just this once, I’ll get over it.”

They both drank from their cups, as if to seal the moment.

“When is your birthday?” Kurogane asked hesitantly.

“During summer,” Fai answered. “On the summer solstice, actually. The longest day of the year.”

“Hm.” Kurogane nodded. “That fits.”

Fai glanced at him, perhaps curious about what he meant by that, but he didn’t ask Kurogane to explain. They finished the sake and both went to bed in their separate rooms.

“Happy birthday, Kuro-sama,” Fai said as Kurogane was sliding his door shut. “Next year, I’ll be sure to say it on the actual day.”

That made something strange stir in Kurogane’s chest and he found himself unable to sleep, even though the sake made his head feel heavy. It had already been months since Fai had decided he would live with Kurogane, and now he was talking about future plans, like this was now their permanent situation. 

And yet, Kurogane didn’t mind, not even that Fai was making these decisions entirely on his own. If anything, he thought it felt… normal. Of course Fai would be here next year, and the year after that, too. It was strange to imagine his room suddenly empty and his presence missing.

But that thought got Kurogane thinking about how many days it had been since he met Fai, which made his thoughts drift to their routines and his memories of Fai saying his prayers everyday. And that reminded him of something he’d always been curious about, so the next morning, which was particularly cold, Kurogane did something he had not done since he closed the shrine: he checked the donation box.

Fai was still asleep, apparently tired from the sake and staying up so late the night before. That was better though, since Kurogane felt almost like he was peering into a secret. But the donations were meant to be used for the shrine, after all. Kurogane survived off of the donations made from the many years his mother ran the shrine. If anything, it was strange that Fai continued to drop his donations into it even now; it was almost like he was paying himself.

Kurogane tried looking through the slats at first, but he couldn’t see anything. He lifted the wooden top off to see what was hiding in the dark and—

There was nothing. The box was completely empty. 

He’d watched Fai make his offering every single day for months. He saw Fai’s closed fist move over the slats, then open to drop whatever he was holding through them. But, he thought, he’d never actually seen what Fai dropped, nor had he heard the sound of coins falling. He’d assumed it had been something else—foreign money made of paper, perhaps.

Turns out, it was nothing. Fai had been faking it the entire time.

Kurogane stared down at the empty box in disbelief for minutes. He even stuck his hand into it to feel around in case he just wasn’t seeing clearly, but the box was as empty as it had been when Kurogane had taken out the last donations years ago.

“Kuro-sama!”

Kurogane lifted his head. Fai was walking down the path towards the haiden, waving overhead. Kurogane looked down into the box, then back at Fai, who was still approaching.

“What are you doing up there?” Fai asked as he began to climb the steps. “Finally saying a prayer?”

He didn’t notice what Kurogane was looking at until he reached the top step and saw the open and very empty offering box. For the first time since they met, Fai was speechless. His mouth opened and closed a few times and he looked very sheepish. Apparently, he never thought that Kurogane would actually check the box. As they stood there in awkward silence, snow began to silently fall.

“I don’t get it,” Kurogane said quietly. “Why would you pretend to make offerings?”

“Well, I…” Fai cleared his throat. His shoulders curled in a bit and he averted his gaze. “I never actually… had any money. I was completely broke, actually. But you were watching me when I came up here and I thought it would look bad if I didn’t give anything so—”

“But you kept doing it,” Kurogane said, almost like a question. “And—what, is that why you came here? Because you couldn’t afford to go anywhere else? You needed a free place to—”

“No!” Fai cried, returning his eyes to Kurogane and even taking a step forward. The empty box remained between them.

“Then why?” Kurogane asked again.

“Because you were so angry when I first came here,” Fai said; now it was Kurogane’s turn to feel sheepish. Fai continued, “And you wanted me to leave, but when I came up here and started going through my prayers, you seemed more okay with me being here. So I just kept doing it because I wanted to come back here. Because I… well, I wanted to see you again.”

Kurogane blinked. He had to clear his throat, which suddenly felt very tight. His heart was beating faster than usual. “But you… I mean, you didn’t have to… and why would you—?” He was stammering, nervous in a way he had never felt before. But why?

“I told you before,” Fai said, very softly. “I lost people I loved. My entire family, to an illness that nearly destroyed my country. I couldn’t make any sense of it—why did it have to happen? Why did I have to lose everything? That was when I began traveling. I started studying different religions, trying to find any kind of god that could explain it to me. I’d been in Nihon for a while before I came here. The people in town told me about this place, and about Ginryuu and about you and what happened. And I thought… maybe you couldn’t make sense of anything either. And maybe we could figure it out together. And then I had so much fun—it was the happiest I had felt in a long time. I didn’t want to leave.”

Kurogane listened to Fai’s story, his brows furrowing. He felt like a jerk now for how he had accused Fai before. When Fai finished, he slowly returned the top of the offering box to its place, hiding how empty it was. 

“I still don’t understand why you kept pretending to make offerings everyday,” Kurogane said softly.

“At first, I guess it was out of habit and to keep up appearances,” Fai said. “But then, it started feeling like I was offering something. Not money, but something else that could help maintain the shrine.”

“And what was that?”

Fai pressed his lips together tightly, like he was trying to keep something in. His bright eyes flitted away and—was he blushing? His cheeks certainly looked more pink than usual. Maybe that was from the cold, Kurogane thought, though it seemed different than that. He’d seen Fai’s skin go pink often as the weather got colder. This, though, felt more like a flower blooming across Fai’s face, heat spreading across his nose and cheeks.

“That’s between me and Ginryuu,” Fai eventually said.

Kurogane nodded. “Fair enough,” he muttered. Then, he thought of his suspicions from before, and before he could stop himself he blurted, “So you’re not like… a god yourself?”

Fai was so shocked that not even whatever had made him clam up could stop him from staring at Kurogane with wide eyes, his mouth falling open. His face was still flushed. “Huh? Me? A god…?”

Kurogane was the one blushing now. “W-Wait, I just meant—! I mean the way you were acting and how you suddenly showed up I thought that maybe—”

Fai began laughing, and it was unlike anything Kurogane had ever heard before. Fai’s head tilted back slightly, his hands coming to his ribs as he laughed and laughed and laughed. His voice got higher, his breath a bit wheezy like he couldn’t catch it. Tears gathered in his eyes. And even though Kurogane knew it was all at his expense, he found himself not caring in the slightest, because seeing Fai in so much pure joy made him forget everything else. It was like Fai was the only thing in focus, the only source of light in the dark, and all of Kurogane’s senses attuned to him.

“Kuro-sama!” Fai choked out before immediately starting to laugh again. “You’re so silly!”

The same thing Fai had said that day they first met. This time, Kurogane’s heart leapt to his throat and he told himself it was from embarrassment. “N-No I’m not!” He was reminded of his mother, who teased him often when he was a child for his rambunctiousness. He used to say the same thing to her, waving his fists in the air while demanding he be taken seriously.

And she would do the same thing Fai did: smile with amusement and shrug her shoulder, apologizing without really meaning it. Fai covered his mouth like he was trying to hide his smile for Kurogane’s sake, the same way she used to. 

“Did you really think I was some kind of divine being?” Fai asked once his laughter had calmed down.

Kurogane looked away. “I dunno. Probably not. Or that maybe you were sent by one.” He scratched his head. "You speak Nihongo perfectly and cook all the food like you've done it your whole life... that stuff just didn't make sense to me."

“Well, if you must know, I've always been rather good and picking up languages. And cooking styles. But Kuro-sama, I thought you didn’t believe in things like that?” Fai tilted his head. He wasn’t trying to prove anything, Kurogane could tell. He was genuinely curious.

“I… don’t,” Kurogane murmured softly.

Fai hummed. His eyes moved around as he thought about it himself, first looking up, then to the left, then to the right. His lips pursed slightly. Kurogane wondered if the blond knew just how expressive he was, even without words.

“Well, maybe I was sent by someone without even realizing it,” Fai finally said after considering it for a moment. “Maybe the gods stepped in and changed our destinies so we could meet.”

“And help each other figure things out,” Kurogane finished, going back to what Fai had said before.

Fai grinned and nodded. “Exactly.”

Kurogane frowned. He never did like the idea of fate or destiny. After all, didn’t that mean that some cruel force of nature had decided that it was necessary for his mother to die? Did it not remove him of his own agency and the ability to choose?

He didn’t voice any of that. He didn’t want to upset Fai. But Fai seemed to get the hint that Kurogane was not fully convinced, so he just shrugged and gave a loose, easy smile. “Or maybe I just decided to climb a lot of stairs because I was bored and we just happened to meet. Coincidence can be a funny thing.”

Kurogane, despite himself, wasn’t so sure. He felt like a contradiction, everything he’d ever thought to be true unraveling from Fai’s presence. Because, somehow, it felt like more than a coincidence. Fai felt like more than a coincidence. How could someone like that just happen to stumble into Kurogane’s life? If he was only a coincidence, then why did there seem to be a space that he so perfectly filled?

It was a few days later when these questions finally ate through Kurogane’s mind and he found himself kneeling in the honden. With the doors shut behind him, the space was dark. He lit the candles and the light danced across Ginryuu’s shining scales. He sat in the same spot his mother used to frequently occupy, the place she reverently bowed her head and said her prayers and offered everything the visitors had given to appease the deity.

Now, Kurogane glared at the dragon. He sat there for a while, almost like he was waiting for Ginryuu to say something first. As always, the god was silent.

Finally, Kurogane sighed and ran a hand down his face. “God, I’m an idiot,” he muttered to himself while shaking his head. “What am I even doing here? If you were real, you’d probably strike me down for desecrating the place or something.”

Ginryuu remained silent. The light from the candles reflecting in its eyes gave the illusion that it was listening though, that it was focusing on Kurogane and his troubles. Perhaps that was why Kurogane continued.

“I just… don’t get it,” he said quietly. “I don’t get what I’m feeling for that guy. Is it even real? I mean, it’s just ‘cause he’s the only other person here, right? Put two people together for long enough with no one else to talk to and they’re bound to start getting close.”

Kurogane moved into a more comfortable position; he crossed his legs and put his elbow on his knee so he could prop his chin in his hand. 

“But then, I guess… was that the point?” Kurogane murmured. “It could have been anyone, but it was him. And maybe if it had been someone else, I wouldn’t be feeling like this. But because it was him specifically… I do?”

Really, Kurogane was working through what he thought his mother would tell him if she were there to hear his plight. He could almost hear her voice in his ear, helping him make sense of it all.

Perhaps there was no divine intervention, no gods pulling strings or sending messages. Maybe Fai climbed the stairs to the shrine that day because it was what he needed to do for himself. Maybe two wayward souls were drawn to each other by some inexplicable innate feeling, both needing comfort and, somehow, knowing they could provide it to each other before they even knew it. Maybe Fai was always meant to ignore the sign and make that fake offering and maybe there wasn’t actually an empty space for him to always fill—maybe Kurogane had been the one to make that space for him.

Kurogane thought that he understood what Fai meant now. Praying did not mean waiting for a response; the statue would always be silent. Clear answers would never be given. Kurogane would never know why his mother had to die or why he couldn’t stop it or why Fai was the one to enter his life. But that was never the point, was it?

Maybe it was fate that allowed them to meet that day, but that didn’t mean Kurogane was a victim to it. What he did next was his choice.

“Kuro-sama!”

Fai’s voice was muffled by the doors and distance. He was looking for Kurogane, and this would probably be the last place he checked. Kurogane kept his eyes on Ginryuu.

He bowed his head slightly. He still did not believe there was some great god listening to him, yet he still felt the need to show his gratitude. Maybe to Ginryuu or maybe to the universe as a whole. He had offered nothing, but still, he had been given everything.

He opened the doors and snuffed out the candles. Fai was still calling for him and had just turned the corner when Kurogane stepped out. Fai jumped slightly like he’d seen a ghost, obviously surprised to see the doors to the honden open and even more shocked to see Kurogane emerging from them.

“What were you doing in there?” Fai asked as he approached Kurogane.

“Just… saying a prayer,” Kurogane said.

Fai tilted his head, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you—?”

Kurogane cupped Fai’s cheek and Fai’s voice cut out. Blue eyes went wide. It was still shocking to see them; Kurogane couldn’t believe that anything so bright blue could exist. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had a favorite color until he saw them. But it wasn’t just blue that was his favorite; it was the specific shade of Fai’s eyes, which shimmered like sapphires. There were some darker and lighter flecks scattered throughout, but Kurogane could only see them when he was as close as he was at that moment.

“Kuro-sama?” Fai asked. His voice was a whisper; this close, he didn’t need to speak loudly. Or maybe he was just so shocked that his voice couldn’t work properly.

This was Kurogane’s choice.

He leaned in close and pressed his lips to Fai’s. It was a short kiss; Kurogane was not confident enough to go any further. But he felt Fai’s lips move to kiss him back, and that sent his heart soaring. It only lasted a moment, and then Kurogane moved back.

Fai was breathing harder than usual. His cheeks were flushed pink. His face reflected a thousand emotions at once as he looked up at Kurogane, then over at the honden, then back at Kurogane. 

“...Did Ginryuu tell you to do that?” Fai asked teasingly.

Kurogane smiled slightly. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Fai was grinning when Kurogane kissed him again.

—

In spring when the first cherry blossoms bloomed, Kurogane opened the shrine and allowed visitors again. Then, he and Fai left.

It was only temporary, a trip to the neighboring country of Koryo, which was originally going to be next on Fai’s itinerary before he found Kurogane. It had been so long since Kurogane descended the steps of the shrine, it felt almost like stepping into another world. He was worried about leaving the shrine on its own and considered keeping it closed until they returned.

But Fai was by his side, reassuring him that everything would be alright as he finally went on the adventure he’d always dreamed about as a child. Kurogane had spent years preserving the shrine and his mother’s legacy, giving up his entire life for its sake. The townspeople promised to keep an eye on things and even had a rotation of volunteers to look after the place until Kurogane and Fai returned. It was almost overwhelming, the reminder of just how many people had loved his mother and the shrine. All those people he had shut out in his grief that were still willing to help him. 

“You said a while ago that you were offering something to Ginryuu,” Kurogane said to Fai as they stood on the boat that took them to Koryo. Fai was leaning against the railing, looking down at the water. “What was it?”

Fai glanced at Kurogane. He looked back down at the ocean, blushing. “If I tell you, you’ll tease me.”

“You tease me everyday, idiot.” Kurogane reminded him.

Fai laughed slightly. “Yes, but you deserve it.”

Kurogane gave him a glare. “I should push you over for that.”

Fai just laughed again. Maybe, if someone else were to overhear them and see the look Kurogane was giving, they’d be frightened for Fai’s life. Fai, however, knew better than that. 

“I told you,” Fai said. “It’s between me and Ginryuu.”

Kurogane rolled his eyes and leaned his hip against the railing. “Right.”

Fai rested his elbow on the railing and propped his cheek in his hand. He peered up at Kurogane, smiling in a way that reminded Kurogane of a lazy cat. “Maybe Ginryuu will tell you. If you ask nicely, that is.”

“Tch,” Kurogane scoffed. He looked out towards the water. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Of course, Ginryuu stayed silent, same as always. Kurogane found that he didn’t mind the silence quite as much anymore.

Fai did tell him eventually, years later after many of their adventures together. He’d revealed that what he’d offered up was love, that he had given it all to Ginryuu to give to Kurogane. Maybe then, he’d thought, Kurogane would not shut the world out anymore. And, well, it had worked, as was clearly obvious.

Kurogane had been the one to close the shrine and his own heart, but maybe Ginryuu had been the one to allow Fai in. Maybe that love, which grew and spread with each day, was the only thing that could get through to Kurogane, and Ginryuu knew that and stepped in to help them both. 

Or maybe Fai was an idiot that ignored clearly posted signs and did whatever he damn well pleased.

Kurogane was grateful either way.