神 - 4 - CASH

“  oh!  ”

it  is  way,  way  too  expensive  in  california.  every  day  he’s  thankful  for  zero’s  generosity  —  without  it,  he  wouldn’t  have  gotten  very  far  at  all.  but  now  he  is  making  money  of  his  own;  might  as  well  pay  it  forward  in  any  way  he  can!         (  and  a  bonus  if  it  earns  him  any  points  with  a  god  of  all  people…  )

“  i  can  take  you  somewhere!  do  you  have  a  big  appetite?  i  know  of  this  one  place  around  here  that  sells  noodle  bowls  the  size  of  our  heads!  ”       he  gestures  enthusiastically,  bouncing  on  his  toes.  it’s  one  of  the  only  places  in  the  area  that  can  satisfy  yoojin  —  they  don’t  always  let  him  in,  though,  on  account  of  his  piss  poor  attitude.

“  please!  it  would  be  my  pleasure  to  take  you!  ” 

          “Okay! Lead the way. We can get to know each other better over some chow.”          He’s practically singing in delight, eyes closed in rapturous bliss as he envisions the upcoming feast.

A glimmer of light and the blade at his side is gone: Yukine makes himself known as boy rather than weapon, peeking out from behind Yato with wide, boyish eyes.          “Noodle bowls?”

          “Oh, right. Can he come too?”

I. I, I, I.

"I died." The maw opens. Willow remembers the feeling in her fingertips and holds onto his hands tighter. Sorrow claws up her spine. She doesn't feel any heavier, always carrying it around, but she can feel the pain of it now where she didn't before. It presses down on her shoulders, digs in its nails.

"---Be--before that, th-though. Bef-before, I..."

I, I, I. Crying again. Can the librarian see the both of them, or is she just sobbing into an empty corner of the room? Her face is hot and pink and she can't catch her breath between the words any more.

The librarian’s watchful eye is drawn to the noise; she locks eyes with Yato, who peers back at her over Willow’s shoulder. She appraises him with a vague, puzzled look, trying to determine if the girl’s distress is somehow his fault, and struggling to remember when he entered the library. He’s too visually striking to have missed, yet this is the first she’s seen of him. 

She communicates her distrust in the way she stares into his eyes. You’re on thin ice. Then she looks back at the work on her computer and he slips her mind, forgets him. She does hope that girl is alright…

Maybe they should have the rest of this conversation somewhere else. But Yato is hesitant to leave the tranquility of the library; worried, perhaps, that something will be lost if they do. Libraries are sacred spaces, shrines of their own. Books, made from trees, create a forest indoors, their pages filled with the wisdom of humanity, its spirit. The contemplative hush in these buildings reads almost as ceremonial. There is a sense of kami here, a heightened awareness, that cradles their tragedy; if they go, what if they end up back at square one?

Willow used to be so buttoned up. She's forgotten how to do that by now. The ribbon holding her head up has unravelled. When Willow thinks about the obvious sadness she used to carry, she at least felt there was some dignity in pretending to hide it. Now everybody knows. Now everybody can see. He can see. She shuts her eyes tightly, holds her breath until she feels her heart overtake the rest of her thoughts.

It's nice not to be alone. She takes comfort in that now. Allows for silence until both of their tears come to a stop. Chin up. Moon-eyes blinking up at his, still swimming in the saltwater.

He knows little of her affliction, but enough to understand that it isn’t a choice. Even if it was, it isn’t the sort of choice a human being can fully comprehend, be trusted to make on their own. How could he possibly blame her? 

The crushing weight of responsibility weighs his shoulders down. Carrying such blame means nothing, will change nothing, but he can’t help it. In retrospect it all seems so clear: they crossed paths for a reason. Their fates were meant to intertwine, and he turned away twice. 

Now he knows better. He will not make the same mistake again. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s too little, too late.

“  i’m  sorry.  ”

it  comes  tumbling  from  his  mouth  before  he  thinks  of  what  he  is  saying.  but  what  is  he  apologizing  for?  is  it  for  shocking  a  god?  is  it  for  victor’s  transgressions?  is  it  for  his  continued  existence?  he’s  never  felt  so  terribly  small  and  confused.  he  can’t  look  the  god  in  the  eye  anymore.  sungkyu  bows  his  head  in  shame.

but  he  needs  to  change  the  subject.  if  he  dwells  on  this  feeling  too  long,  surely  the  waterworks  will  start.  this  conversation  is  already  so  strange  and  uncomfortable  without  the  dramatics.

“  uhm,  uh  –  but  anyways.  yeah,  he  is  very  harsh,  my  boyfriend  —  ”       change  the  subject  back  to  yoojin,  something  easy  to  talk  about.  something  distracting,       “  he  thinks  he  knows  a  thing  or  two  about  being  lucky  to  exist.  a  nephilim  born  after  the  great  flood  —  he  probably  knows  what  he’s  talking  about.  ”

a  stiff  laugh,  and  then  a  grimace.  sungkyu  feels  like  he  is  digging  himself  a  social  grave.         “  i’m  sorry,  i  never  asked  for  your  name…  ”

All’s well for now. He commits to the idea of keeping tabs on this thing, though. If the spirit starts decaying inside its husk, Sungkyu’s human essence would inevitably disappear, creating an entirely new atrocity in its wake—at which point Yato would be forced to act. If nothing else, he could inform the heavens, outsourcing the problem to the correct paygrade.

          “Yato, at your service!”          He smiles brightly, tossing up a peace sign. All prior tension is snuffed out.          “Don’t look so glum! I didn’t mean to upset you. I’d like to be friends.” 

He will be held responsible for this friendship, should the worst come to pass. But he isn’t thinking about that anymore. Instead, he’s thinking about the ache in his belly.

"I should have prayed." Willow feels a sudden and sickening grief. It's been years since he had been forgotten. She had so stubbornly forsworn all Gods after the possession, forgot him further, denied the existence of the only benevolent power that ever looked upon her kindly. "If I had, even once, maybe I would have--"

The screw turns; the bolts loosen on her insides, and everything that's been holding her up since Hell - or maybe even before - starts groaning under the weight of of all that has been lost since she last saw his face.

Compared to others, Yato is a young deity, having only existed for a little longer than a century. He is lacking the wisdom and experience of his elders, with their shrines and devotees, prayers every hour of the day. He has no sacred comfort to bestow, no answers to give Willow. He cannot alter the course of her life or reverse the damage done. But he can grieve with her. He can remind her that she isn’t alone. He can decide, as a divine being, that right here, right now, this is where he is meant to be, this is where the living pulse of the universe has guided him, back to her when she needs him most. 

And he has decided.

"... Ah? Is this some kind of prank?" He presses carefully, the way a human would.

"What does that mean? 'Delivery God Yato'... What's a delivery god?"

Even though he'd rather jump right into it-- to testing this. To PLAYING with it, if he may be so bold.

He won’t be swayed, though. When he speaks again, his voice is just as cheerful as before, clear as a bell in summer air:          “A play on words. Very useful in advertising! By coming to you, I deliver myself; by doing my very best at whatever is asked of me, I always deliver!”

The permanent marker is capped and pocketed for the time being. Hopefully whoever is on the other end of the line has a job for him, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone has called out of curiosity alone. Usually he can talk someone into accepting his services regardless; five yen for whatever the customer wants is an impeccable deal.

          “So what can I do for you? How can I help?”

He fell through her radar at first. The quiet one might usually seek in a library corner is only so rare these days, with Willow's attention to the finer details - the pin-drops and the itch of faint thoughts against her skull - the only time she can get a silence like this is closing time, when nobody else is really around. With no thoughts to pick up on, she assumed she was alone until the sniffling started.

Familiarity seizes her; more nagging than her concern for this stranger is her concern that he is not a stranger.

"Hide and --" 'Seek' lodges itself in her throat, a meaty lump she can't speak through. Assaulted by the scent of wet grass and lilies, her body's instinct is to join him in his tears - but she can't even move for what feels like the longest time.

Hell has beaten her insides into something flat. Sorrow or joy, it is all the same middle-note since she returned. Even when she convinces herself it's something more, deep down she has always thought that she will never get back to the heights and the depths of what she used to feel, so fragile and human and fruitful.

She feels herself plummeting downhill toward something old and long-forgotten. Like a kid again, Willow moves to him, throws her arms around him like she has in the past.

Fate, fate, fate. He’s always wondered if she wanted to die when he found her drunk on the subway platform. He wonders now if intervening was an act of cruelty. Perhaps he will always be tethered to his original purpose, a god of calamity, despite his best efforts. Perhaps guiding her away from death doomed her to this abysmal, demonic existence.

He should snuff her out, kill her now, save her from this. But he stays his hand. He doesn’t even release her from the embrace. He can’t do it. At least not yet. 

          “It's okay. It's how it works. But this time you may remember.”          A good thing, maybe. One good thing.          “I’m sorry I was gone so long. I was gone too long. Something bad happened.”