#angstgami

He leads her out of the alley onto a busy street, an arm still draped across her shoulders. Hiyori lets the foreign chatter wash over her, and it suddenly hits her that she has no way of understanding what they're saying. "But Yato, I don't speak French!"

"No worries! They can't see us anyway." He points to the tail swishing agitatedly behind her, and she realizes he must have just taken her spirit along for the ride. At least her desk chair is comfy enough for her poor body.

"But how will we pay? I don't have any euros."

He grins. "You just let me handle that."

They approach a cute bakery as they walk, little tarts and pastries lining the glass window. Hiyori has to peer past Yato, who is extra clingy today and still gripping her shoulder, to get a look at what they offer.

Catching her glance, Yato asks, "Wanna get something here?"

She turns her head to reply, mouth parted and words on the tip of her tongue, when she notices he has turned to face her. Noses inches apart, she's staring into ice blue eyes roiling with something like regret. "Yato?" she whispers, enthralled by how her breath on his lips makes him shiver. "Is everything okay?"

His features contort for the barest moment, like paper crinkling into a ball, before that megawatt smile is back and he releases her shoulder to open the bakery door. "Of course! After you, mademoiselle."

Uncertain, Hiyori walks inside, replaying the tortured look on Yato's face. Was it her imagination that he seemed so broken?

"What do you want? It's on me." Yato came to stand beside her, their shoulders almost touching. She catches herself wishing that he'd move close enough so that they were.

Such thoughts are too distracting, though, and she stutters, "Um, how about that little chocolate cake?"

"Your wish is my command!" With the dexterity of a cat, Yato vaults over the counter and grabs a chocolate cake, dropping some yen coins and a small note onto the counter. The store person looks bemused for a second while his eyes glaze over Yato's retreating frame, then shakes his head and helps the next customer in line.

"Yato, that's practically stealing!" Hiyori cries, trying to see how much money Yato left. He could have at least teleported to a bank to exchange money or something!

"Relax, I left more than enough. Here, let's take a seat." He gestures to a small wrought iron table just outside the bakery and plops down into one of the chairs. Once Hiyori sits, still grumbling about exchange rates, he hands her the palm-sized cake, dark chocolate ganache gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "I hope you like it."

Tentatively, she takes a bite. It's rich and moist and perfectly dense, the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate offset by the sweetness of the cake. Humming happily, she notices Yato staring at her lips. "Would you like a bite?"

"Ah, no. I mean, it looks good, but you have a little..." He gestures to the corner of his mouth while still looking at hers.

"Oh!" she squeaks, embarrassed. Scrubbing at her face, she asks, "Did I get it?"

"No, it's right here." He leans across the table and gently smoothes his thumb across her bottom lip, the palm of his hand cupping her cheek in the process. She desperately forces down the full-body shudder threatening to rattle her out of her bones; has he always been this warm?

Pink-cheeked, he withdraws his hand, chocolate smudged thumb on display. "Got it."

"R-right, thanks." Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush.

"Hiyori? You feeling okay? Your face is all red."

Crap.

"Ah, yeah, I'm just a little stressed from all that studying," she says, forcing out a strangled laugh. "I'll be fine after a little sleep."

With a frown, Yato glances at his cell phone and wiggles his fingers, counting. "That's right! It's late back where you live! Not to worry, I'll get you back in a jiffy." Once again, he grabs her hand and flips open his phone, the metropolitan scenery around them becoming her bedroom in a flash of white light.

She still has the cake in her hand. "Are you sure you don't want any? It's really good."

His hand on her shoulder tightens briefly. "Nah, it's for you. Enjoy."

"...Okay."

There's really only another bite or so left anyway, and as she licks her lips she remembers the feeling of Yato's thumb running across them. Get it together girl; save the flustered act for when he's gone.

With a deep, cleansing breath, Hiyori falls back into her body, groaning a bit at the stiffness in her back from lying limp on the chair for an hour. She ducks into the bathroom to change into her pajamas with a small wave signifying that she'll just be a minute. Her heart beats painfully when she closes the door, that slinking fear that he'll be gone again when she reopens it whispering you're just a human; why would a god bother staying friends with you?

But there he is when she walks back in, same goofy smile on his face, and she lets herself relax. He's proven time and time again that he's not going anywhere; maybe she can start to believe it.

A giant yawn suddenly cracks her jaw with its intensity, and she's barely closed her mouth before Yato springs to her bed to pull back the covers. "Sounds like it's time for sleep," he says, fluffing her pillows and patting the mattress enticingly.

Turning the lights out on her way, Hiyori crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to her chin. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can make out Yato's form close to the edge of the bed. He usually leaves once she's under the covers, and she's about to ask him about it when he murmurs, "D'you mind if I stay with you 'til you fall asleep?"

She blinks. "Um, okay. Are you sure everything's all right?"

His face is cloaked in shadow, but his voice is as strong as ever. "Yeah, completely fine. I just wanted to spend a little extra time with you today is all."

Something about his behavior today still makes her uneasy, but as another yawn stretches her face, she resolves to ask him about it later. There's always tomorrow.

A little while later, as she's just about to fall asleep, Hiyori registers a presence near her head. Cracking an eye open, she sees it's Yato, eyes glistening in the moonlight as he hovers above her. Before she can collect her thoughts to ask him what he's doing, he leans in and kisses the corner of her mouth, lips soft and trembling.

"I missed some chocolate," he whispers, tracing the curve of her cheek with a hand. But then he's gone, the quiet thump of her window closing somehow unsettling.

While her exhausted brain struggles to process that he just kissed her, the rest of her floats on a sea of warmth and tenderness, that simple action clarifying her own affectionate feelings for him. She considers calling him, asking him if it meant what she thinks it means, but decides against it. Her head is still spinning, and besides:

There's always tomorrow.

It was only a matter of time.

Hopping out of Hiyori's window, Yato lands at the base of the nearby tree. Goodbyes have never been his strong suit, but he thinks he pulled this one off all right. He brushes his lips with a finger, trying to memorize the warmth and taste of her lips.

Not that he'll have memories for long.

As expected, Kazuma is waiting for him in front of Hiyori's house, looking haggard under the street light with smudged glasses and dark circles under his eyes.

"Did you get to do everything you wanted?" he asks, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "This was the longest Viina could push back the sentencing." His hand falls to his side, defeated. "I didn't think they'd actually convict you. The murder of the Ma clan was centuries ago, and Viina testified on your behalf-!"

Yato interrupts him with a snort. "Heaven has been looking for an excuse to get rid of me for eons. Makes sense they'd take advantage of me waltzing right into Takamagahara."

Kazuma huffs frustratedly. "Still, if you were to go into hiding-"

"They'll go after Yukine. Or Kofuku or Daikoku for housing a 'known criminal.' Hell, they might even try to get Hiyori to pull me back out. No, I can't let anyone else get dragged into this."

It's like Yato's words physically wound Kazuma; the hafuri visibly crumples. He takes a deep breath, eyes wet, and extends his hand. "The execution is at dawn. Heaven's guard will come for you then. Goodbye, Yato."

Yato stares at Kazuma's outstretched hand and the finality of the gesture nearly shatters him. "Goodbye, Kazuma. May you protect Bishamon for many centuries. And," he whispers, voice breaking for the first time, "Hiyori and Yukine, too."

Kazuma's hand is firm around his. "Of course. You have my word."

With nothing more to say, Bishamon's guidepost leaves Yato alone with his thoughts. The moment Kazuma is gone, Yato lets the first tear slip from his eyes and collapses to the ground, shuddering with the force of his sobs. It's really, truly over, and between his gasping breaths he lays out a small pallet and a pillow under the tree by Hiyori's room. If he's going to spend his last night anywhere, it's going to be near her.

Later, much later, as the first rays of the sun begin to peek over the horizon and Yato has cried himself into blessed numbness, he reaches for his phone. One more time. He needs to hear her voice just one more time. It's only when he hears ringing in his ear that he realizes he's already dialed her number. Three, four, five rings, and then:

"Hello? Yato..?"

His phone slides onto the pillow next to him, its bright screen seeming dimmer by the minute as the sun rises.

A thousand thoughts swirl through his mind, a thousand ways to say I love you and I'll miss you and I'm sorry I couldn't stay with you, but he can't even manage a single sound. Quiet tears slide down his cheeks as he listens to her breathing on the line before she cuts it, staring at the first sliver of the sun on the horizon.

It’s here now, coating his heart in thick layers of lethargy as he replays the scene from the hospital over and over again in his mind, burning the desperate anguish in her voice, as she howled at him to end her life, into his soul. What a fool he is for thinking he could ever love her like she deserves. What a fool he is for thinking she could ever love him.

Because at the end of the day, he’s nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer playing house with gods who never have, and never will, accept him. Just a god who tried to do well by his first human follower in eons, but only ended up endangering her fragile life while her spirit sprinted closer and closer to the far shore. Pressure begins to build slowly in his chest, constricting his heart and his lungs as he comes to a devastating realization: there is no happily ever after, not for them. Not for a human who will die as surely as the sun will rise, not for a god who has already lived through the agony of losing a piece of his soul. If she, by some miracle, did come to love him, what would it matter? Sure, they’d have a few decades together in bliss, but then what? He’d stand there, ageless, as her eyes clouded over and her bones became weak and brittle, until her hand would still in his as he watched her breathe her last breath.

It’s unacceptable. As unacceptable as it would be to selfishly bind her soul to his when she passes just to keep her close, because she wouldn’t truly be his Hiyori, not anymore. She’d have the same hair and face and body, but this wouldn’t be the same Hiyori who pushed him out of the way of a bus, who carried him to Kofuku’s house while her skin fizzled with blight, who called him from the Underworld on breathless lips to cradle in her arms until he woke up. All memories of their time together would be wiped from her mind, only to resurface when her body writhed and burst open to reveal her karma inside if he ever let slip the only name he’s ever known for her. There’s no way he could stomach naming her when she’s Hiyori, can only be Hiyori, and the thought of looking into those deep brown eyes only to see the placid politeness of a stranger leaves him bereft. He’d never again be able to let her name roll softly off his tongue, never again get to reminisce about the quiet moments they’d shared while static danced between the spaces of their fingertips walking home together, never again see her look at him with such soul-deep intimacy as she cups his cheek and reminds him he can change.

If only he could cut his own ties, erase his own memories. How nice it’d be to live in blissful ignorance instead of this constant dull ache that’s burrowed its way into his chest, polluting his veins with apathy and inadequacy by turn. He’s tired, so damn tired, and as he stares at the sky through a mosaic of cherry blossoms, something quietly snaps within him. It’s not a feeling per se, more of a sensation, like the small pop when a bath plug is pulled and the water drains until there’s nothing left, and then he’s floating towards the sky. Another cherry blossom lands on his face, breaking the spell and causing him to plummet back to Earth, and he just wants out of this skin that can only touch Hiyori’s so ephemerally, wants out of this miserable existence scrounging for wishes to grant when he can’t even fulfill his own.

The sun slants low in the sky, barely kissing the tops of the distant trees beneath a watercolor sunset, when Yato makes his decision. Idly, he thinks that maybe he should give it more thought or give himself more time, but then the ache in his chest becomes a black hole, devouring every thought other than sleep. This numbness is almost enough to make him think he could do it, could stumble on with shaking breaths and fevered thoughts, but he knows it won’t last. It never does. Rolling to his knees, he makes a mental list of what he needs to get before midnight. Goodbyes are always harder when they’re drawn out.

Hours later, he finally hops into the tree next to Hiyori’s bedroom window, wearily rapping on the window pane to get her attention. It doesn’t matter what he promised himself he would or wouldn’t do after the hospital; he’s a new person now, with a new goal in mind. Hopefully she won’t immediately turn him away, though after everything he’s done to her, it wouldn’t be surprising.

She appears at the window with a kaleidoscope of emotion in her eyes, brown hair falling over her shoulders as she leans over to undo the latch. “Yato, is everything okay..?” She trails off at his blank expression, eyes darting behind him before meeting his gaze again. “Where’s Yukine?”

He breathes in.

“You’re going to do WHAT?” Yukine looked at him, a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear twisting his features into a grimace.

It shouldn’t be this easy. The thought floated by serenely in his head, gently nodding in his direction as it floated right on out of his head. It shouldn’t be this easy, but he shouldn’t have fallen in love with a human, either. “I’m going to release you, Yukine,” he repeated, voice surprisingly even. Something in the back of his head says he should be upset, angry, anything other than this vague indifference, but the thought is soon swept away by the insidious fog in his mind.

“That’s bullshit!” Yukine spat, taking a step closer. “Why are you saying this? What happened? Why won’t you talk to me?” His voice cracked on the last word, and even through the white noise crackling in Yato’s head, Yukine’s despair leaked through the bond and scratched at his ribcage with barbed claws.

Why wouldn’t he say this? He’d been a sham, a menace, a walking disaster for so long, he’s surprised it took himself this long to come to this conclusion. But he’s tired, oh so tired, and there’s not enough energy left in his brittle bones and worn out heart to give a proper answer. “It’s better this way,” was all he could muster, blue eyes dull as they met Yukine’s. “Better for you, better for me, better for the world.”

Yukine was at a loss for words, clearly struggling to process that Yato was serious. “But, that’s BULLSHIT, I thought--” He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it shakily before continuing, “Hiyori said I was your one and only weapon, that I was unique. You said you were happy with me, so why..?” Sinking to the ground, Yukine curled in on himself, whispering, “What did I do wrong? I thought we were finally happy, the three of us. I-I thought we were a family.”

Something like regret echoed distantly in the muffled corners of his mind, but it was too late to go back. His mind was made up, and he knew it was for everyone’s benefit. This was for the greater good.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, raising his hand while a bubble of blue light collected at his fingertips. Fear gurgled in Yukine’s throat as he cried, “Wait,” stumbling towards Yato with panicked eyes, tripping as he went and scrambling along the ground instead. “Please,” he choked, tears streaming down his face as they had during his ablution, “I thought you were different, I thought we were a team!” Looking up from the ground at Yato’s feet, he sobbed, “Don’t leave me alone in the dark.” A wave of despair flooded the bond, but it was too late; the words were falling out of Yato’s mouth, and Yukine stung him just one last time before his soul was separated from Yato’s, the character of his name floating off his skin to shatter in front of his outstretched hand.

Sighing, Yato said, “You’ll be much happier with Kazuma and Bishamon. They’ll take care of you much better than I ever could have.”

The boy who was once Yukine openly wept, rocking back and forth on the ground while his small frame was wracked by full-body sobs. “But I don’t want them,” he garbled, standing up to throw a punch at Yato. “I was happy with you! I finally belonged somewhere, and now-now I don’t belong anywhere. We could have helped you, we could still help you, why won’t you let us?!” His fist fell weakly from his latest attempt to hit Yato, and Yato took the opportunity to swiftly knock the boy in the back of the head. He wilted like an unwatered flower, crumpling to the ground in pile of unfulfilled promises.

“I’m so sorry,” Yato whispered above his unconscious form, memories of when he first named the boy cutting him like a thousand razor blades as he remembered the abuse his real father inflicted. “I guess I was a pretty terrible dad, too, huh? Maybe third time’s the charm.” Bending down to hoist his former weapon’s unconscious body over a shoulder, Yato reached into his pocket to retrieve Hiyori’s shrine. Kazuma will take good care of the boy, and Yato needed to borrow something from Bishamon’s manor. He glanced at his unconscious face one more time, no longer feeling the steady thrum of power and emotion that used to connect them, wondering with a small pang of regret what his new name will be. It’s not like he’ll be there to hear it, though, so he focused his energy on the shrine and stepped into the nothingness between worlds.

Yato breathes out. “He’s resting with Kazuma,” he answers shortly, brushing past Hiyori to sit on her bed, comfortable in the numbness that permeates his body like stuffing in a doll.

Large, concerned eyes peer into his as she joins him on the bed, sitting on the edge so she can turn and face him behind her. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” she asks, a gentle hand coming up to trace his jawline. “You seem really out of it.”

Her fingers are like fire along the ice of his composure, and he feels the walls of his indifference begin to tremble. “Yeah, it’s fine. I just-wanted to come say hi before I go hunt some ayakashi.” Extra lies don’t really matter now, do they? It’s not like she’ll remember them, anyway.

Worry lines still crease her forehead as she turns away from him, murmuring, “Okay then.” The sadness in her tone is the first real crack in his armor, small bits of emotion spurting through like hairline fissures in an aquarium. Unbidden, his right hand wraps around her waist and he pulls her close, the warmth and smell of her like sunlight in the darkness of his mind. The weight of what he’s about to do, has already started doing, crushes him then, slowly but surely, and he deflates against her back, throat tight as the first real wave of emotion he’s felt in weeks chokes him. But Hiyori is so sturdy, so strong, and his left hand reaches under her arm to clutch her shoulder, the feeling of her pulse under his fingertips proof that despite him, she’s alive and well. He’s greedy, though, always has been, and she is his oasis. Nuzzling over her shoulder near the crook of her neck, he feels more than hears her sigh contentedly, and that is his undoing. Tears well in the corner of his eyes as the numbness is ripped away, leaving pain and regret and sorrow to run screaming through his veins. The hand on her shoulder tightens as wave after wave of repressed agony tears through his body, a small tremor starting in his hands that is soon stilled by Hiyori’s hand firm on top of his own.

“Yato, just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.” Her promise wraps around his heart like garotte wire, but instead of throttling life out of him, it burns new meaning into his existence, meaning he doesn't want, now that he's made up his mind.

It's hard to breathe. “I know,” he rasps, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat. “But I am.”

There’s a knock on the window and Yato hovers over her shoulder for another heartbeat, pressing his lips down in the ghost of a kiss before sliding off the bed to answer the knock.

As expected, it's Tenjin and Mayu, looking somber when they climb through the window.

“Tenjin? Mayu? What's going on?” Hiyori asks, concern fluttering across her features.  

Glancing at Yato, Tenjin says, “We’ve come here to cut your ties, Hiyori. We heard what happened at the hospital and agree with Yato that this is the best way to ensure you and your family stay safe. You've played with gods for long enough. It's time to form tighter bonds with the Near Shore.” Mayu gives Hiyori a sad smile and shakes her head, conveying her attempts to stop Tenjin in a few simple gestures.

“But, you can't! This is my choice to make!” Hiyori says, looking horrified as she searches each of their faces for any sign that her words are getting through.

“That's just it, Miss Iki; this isn't just about you. More and more innocent people are getting sucked into this mess with the conjurer, and as gods who must protect the greater good, we can't have humans interfering in celestial matters. I'm sorry, but this must be done.”

Predictably, heartbreakingly, she looks to him, hope beading like dew in her eyes when she quietly says, “You'll stop them, won't you?”

It’s all he can do right now to meet her gaze without flinching, the intensity of her soul blinding. He’s taken advantage of her light for too long; it’s time to set her free. “I won’t,” he says, even though the darkness that has coated his thoughts begins to slough off under her steady gaze. “Goodbye, Hiyori. Thanks for everything.” It’s too cold inside him; he’d sap her warmth before it could properly nurture her soul. She’ll find someone better to share her life with. Taking a deep breath, he summons the ties that bind them, running his fingers through the ethereal threads one final time.

Before she could do more than yell, “Yato!” and lunge for him, Tenjin had Mayu in her pipe form and was slashing her down through the swirling bonds, severing them cleanly. Yato watches Hiyori’s eyes dim as she falls towards him, unconscious because of the strain on her spirit, and that tortured look on her face before the ties were cut make him so glad he’ll be joining her in amnesia soon.

Tenderly, he scoops her up from the floor and carries her to her bed, the indent where they sat together moments ago still clearly imprinted on the comforter. Soon, even that evidence that she knew him would be gone. Gazing at her sleeping face, a face that no longer knows his, he quietly mourns the loss of his first and best human friend. Thoughts of ‘she was more than that’ whisper deep beneath the writhing ball of tangled hurt that is burning through his stomach like he’d swallowed molten lead. It’s too late now, it’s always been too late; gods and men are not meant to fall in love. Brushing her hair out of her face, he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, savoring the softness of her skin beneath his lips. Seeing her bare neck gives him an idea, a way to stay with her even when he’s no longer of this shore, and fumbling hands untie his fluffy-fluff scarf. Delicately, reverently, he wraps it around her neck, nestling it deep into the crooks of her shoulders so that she’ll know how much she was loved. It’s just a love that cannot be, and the reminder sends a wave of bone-crushing sadness sweeping through him. But he can’t let it paralyze him, not yet, and so he turns around to thank Tenjin and Mayu for their help.

Mayu looks at him worriedly, a question in her eyes, but Tenjin doesn’t want to spend more time in a human’s house uninvited than necessary and hurries her out of the room. They have no business being here anymore. With a final glance at her sleeping frame, Yato hops quietly out of her window, the finality of its closing creak just another bullet hole in his tattered heart. He’d been numb for so long that the sudden influx of feeling left him with a different kind of numbness, the distorted reality of the world immediately after a lightning strikes, and he just wants to rest.

Hopping down from her tree, he slumps against its familiar trunk as the will to move leaves him. That’s fine; here will do. He reaches into his pocket to remove a small knife covered in fine cracks gilded with reds and golds. It’s an artifact from Bishamon’s manor, the same type of weapon Aiha used to attack him when she was under Kuguha’s influence before the battle with Bishamon. A cursed weapon, one that can kill gods, and Yato sighs as he feels its weight in his hand. Soon, he can rest.

His jacket and plain white shirt come off easily without the fluffy-fluff in the way, and his hands only tremble a little as they hold the knife blade to his chest. He supposes he should feel less relieved, less excited about the prospect of reincarnation given that he doesn’t know if he’ll actually be reincarnated, but he doesn’t care either way. This life has fought him, tested him, and broken him; he’s more than happy to dissapear now. His only regret is Yukine, who will remain burdened with the memories of both Yato and Hiyori, but Yato has faith in Kazuma and Bishamon to raise him well. Besides, Yukine has always been such a strong soul; he’ll make plenty of friends and serve a god with a much purer soul. The tip of the blade sinks into his chest, grounding him, and he takes a final deep breath before using all of his godly strength to plunge the weapon deep into his heart.

Hiyori narrows her eyes and gestures to the bed. “Well, all right then. We can wait for him together.” Realizing the innuendo, she blushes and squeaks, “I-I’m going to try painting my nails in spirit form, on the bed, where you can sit and talk to me; there will be nothing else going on!” She literally jumps out of her skin in embarrassment, her physical body crumpling to the floor while she catches her breath.

Mechanically, Yato nods and says, “Of course not,” before sitting on the edge of her bed, hands listless by his side. How is he going to do this? How can he do this?

After curling her body into the fetal position on the ground with a huffed, ‘good enough,’ she walks over to him and reaches for his forehead, tail lashing behind her. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’d usually never let me live something like that down.”

Her hand is a brand across his forehead, the familiarity of her touch too much for him to handle right now. He leans back and mumbles, “What were you saying about painting your toenails in spirit form? Wouldn’t that make them soul-nails?”

She smacks him lightly, grumbling about puns, and clambers over the bed to sit facing the opposite wall as she screws open the base coat.

Yato grants himself another look, knowing he’s too greedy but unable to really care right now, drinking in the innocent pink of her polka dotted skirt and the way her white cami reveals strong back muscles. She’s always been strong, even before she met him, and he clings to this thought the way a child clings to the thought of magic long after they know it isn’t real. Despite her pleas to not leave her, she’s never really needed him, a fact Yato finds himself repeating over and over in his mind until the pain turns to numbness. He’s doing this for her. He can’t keep putting her in danger; the hospital was the last straw on an already overburdened camel. It’s time to make things right.

The air is still in her room, just the gentle creaking of the bed when she leans to paint another toenail breaking the silence. Yato begins to slump sideways on the bed until his feet are near her pillows, and lets gravity take control when that position proves too tenuous since he’s so close to the edge. He’s always been good at going with the flow. From his new position on the floor, he settles his feet near her pillows and stretches alongside the edge of the bed, wrist tucked behind his head as a casual pillow.

The tip of her cord peeks in and out of his sight while he stares at the ceiling, swaying to the gentle rhythm of her focused painting. It begins to dip closer and closer to his face, though, and he reaches up to hold it on instinct. Belatedly, he realizes that this is her soul and that she’s probably uncomfortable with this level of intimacy, but as he begins to withdraw his hand he hears a faint, “It’s fine. You can um, you can hold it. It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

The melody of her voice entrances him, draws him in, and he feels the hand holding her cord start to tingle. How he wishes he could hear that voice forever. But he’s a god while she’s a human, and suddenly it’s like he’s back in the underworld, trapped, out of place as a living being among the dead. Only this time he’s immortal, watching a girl he loves and trusts so much constantly put her one life on the line for him, and who is going to save her? He’s always been unworthy.

It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t belonged anywhere until he met her, doesn’t matter that she eases his heart and brings laughter bubbling from his lips. Nothing matters if she’s gone, and so to protect her, he has to let her go. The tightness in his chest returns and it’s like his soul is aching, calling out one last time to the spiritual manifestation of hers cradled so tenderly in his hand.

He feels something tug at his heart and before he can process what it could be, he’s inundated with images and emotions that surge like electricity from her cord. Visions zip through his consciousness, some intelligible and others not, but the ones he can make sense of chill his being to the core. There she is, spit flying from her lips as she screams and batters against the cursed door trapping her and Kazuma in Takamagahara before his showdown with Bishamon. Whatever is happening lets him feel her anger, her fear, her despair, all of it for him. The image fades, replaced with her terrified face as she yells into the Underworld for him, each call laced with fear and worry and desperation. He sees, for the first time, the initial look upon her face when she figured out his real name, and his heart breaks at the relief that flashes through those bottomless eyes when she calls it. He wonders if she knows how much she’s healed the dark cracks inside him.

The final image is one he knows all too well, one that keeps him up at night while Yukine snores softly beside him. They’re back on the rooftop together, her anguished cries to take her with him now accompanied by a landslide of emotion that tears into his heart like a rabid animal. The bitter loneliness, the surety that no one could possibly accept her anymore crashes through him in waves, and he wants nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare so he can rid her of these memories for good.

But there’s one more that shimmers into life before him, a scene he hasn’t seen before. She’s talking to his father, of all people, words flying back and forth until his father comments that she must love Yato to be so protective of him. Through the embarrassment and anger that Fujisaki could rile her up so easily, Yato feels the unmistakable warmth of love flood her veins at the thought of him, her Yato. The image shatters the same moment his heart does, and Hiyori’s room comes into focus briefly before being blurred by tears that run silently down his cheeks.

She loves him, too. She loves him, and Yato chokes back a sob because they still can’t be together, he still can’t take away her humanity by letting her waste her precious life years on him. He’s been selfish for too long as it is, and it’s time to think of the greater good for once in his fucking life.

“Hey, Yato?” Hiyori asks, quietly, like a secret. “Next time would you paint my nails?”

His throat constricts. The lump in his throat makes his voice come out rough and low when he replies, “Sure thing, Hiyori.”

The smile in her voice when she says, “I can’t wait,” wounds him more than vitriol ever could.

There’s a knock on her window and Hiyori bounces up, exclaiming, “Yukine!” while heading to open it up.

Yato hopes Tenjin and Kazuma could talk enough sense into him to let this happen as quickly as possible. When Yukine shuffles through the window and meets his gaze, Yato sees anger, betrayal, and, thankfully, resignation rolling across his weapon’s features. He doesn’t even need to call his name for Yukine to transform for him, thoughts of you better make this quick echoing across their shared mind.

Hiyori looks confused and then wary, taking two steps back when she sees the tortured look in Yato’s eyes. “No,” she whispers, realization twisting her face into a horrified grimace. “You can’t!”

With a deep breath, he summons the ties that bind them and watches them swirl around their bodies in the symbol of forever, but he’s been around long enough to know there’s no such thing.

He doesn’t think he can shove enough air through his constricted throat to say more than, “Goodbye, Hiyori,” before he’s swinging Sekki and their bonds are parting like a hot knife through spider’s silk.

He’s always liked watching her. Now, when he sees her on his regular check-ins, her hair streaked with grey, he reminds himself for the thousandth time that this was for the best, that she could be happy without him. Cloudy magenta eyes find him staring from across the street, devoid of the warmth they once housed, and she walks across to greet him.

“Do I know you?” she asks, voice deeper and richer with age.