The sun was relentless at its zenith, blaring and cruel; her robes clung to her skin in a way most vexing, her visage furrowed with discomfort. Traipsing about the thick of mortal merriment was far from Miko’s own idea of respite, but Makoto’s patient smile had the power to whittle away at her fortitude like nothing else.

No amount of kitsune’s wit could have kept her away. She had avowed defeat before the airy invitation fully left Makoto’s lips, and now she marched, counting the cobblestones as she went.

“Oh, Miko, look!” Makoto halted her stride so abruptly that Miko nearly rammed headlong into her back, pivoting for the new facet of her wonder. She reached for Miko’s hand without a word, twining their fingers tightly, leaving no stragglers behind. “Ei would love those…”

At once, Miko was thankful for the bothersome weather—the firmness of Makoto’s touch called her cheeks to dapple, red enough to rival the sun’s burn. “I have a hard time believing Ei would fancy anything here,” Miko said, ears flicking as Makoto led them deeper into the throng of people. “Aside from the three taiyaki you’ve already ravened.”

Makoto glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched. “We can always get more, besides,” she gestured to the stand they now found themselves before, eyes alight with flickering intrigue, “aren’t these just adorable?”

Bits and bobs of odd sizes and shapes dotted the wooden counter—small figurines crafted from stone and metal, rows of prismatic, paper yōkai, and dozens of hand-woven effects. Shimamura’s Sundries lay just out of sight from the rest of the bustle, its attendants peering up at them with hardly suppressed awe.

Two young girls—twins, if their identical faces spoke well and true—floundered before their elysian customer. The one on the right squared her shoulders and raised her chin, steeling herself for her practiced sales pitch despite the way her jaw trembled.

“Might I interest you in our wide selection of artisanal goods?” The words were clunky on her tongue, the syllables falling out slow and stilted; her sister elbowed her sharply, glancing pointedly at Makoto’s flashy hair fixture. “Your Excellency,” she tacked on quickly, bowing her head in respect.

“Raise your eyes, dear. I’m here to welcome in the season, same as you.”

The girl looked up at Makoto’s gentle words, the corners of her lips raised in the brash beginnings of a smile. “Does anything catch your eye?” she prompted again, cheeks rosy with renewed vigor.

“With such fine-made curiosities on display, I’m sure I can be convinced.”

Makoto’s praise wrought a giggle, the faintest puff of the girl’s chest. She took pride in her family’s work, brandishing each item with a loving description each. Miko regarded the exchange, heart clenching when Makoto stooped low to meet the girl’s eye.

Among the people, gods often played—performative in nature, engaging just enough to keep their reverent audience bated. But Makoto was far more affable than most. She joined in their merry, their sorrow, adopting their plight as her own—she would summon the deluge of abundance should their bountiful harvest ever wane.

A fearsome emblem of thunder’s might she may have seemed, though, at the crux of human mundanity, she certainly thrived.

She was beautiful beneath the golden blare of midday, childlike wonder softening her elegant mien. She was the picture of benevolence, dropping Miko’s hand in favor of rummaging through her billowing sleeves, surfacing a pouch of mora far heftier than her chosen purchase begot. She set it before the twins’ mirrored looks of astonishment, parting with a subtle wink.

“It looks just like Chiyo, don’t you think?” Makoto danced the paper yōkai through the air, tapping Miko’s nose with the tip of a folded horn. “I have a feeling Ei will agree.”

Miko huffed, swatting at Makoto’s hand when she made for another attack. “Ei is often assenting where Chiyo is concerned.”

“It’s quite endearing,” Makoto acceded, sighing fondly before she nudged Miko’s shoulder, changing the subject with a knowing lilt. “Thank you for humoring me today, I could sense your frown deepening with each passing storefront.”

“I wasn’t—” Miko stopped short, blustering in the face of Makoto’s lighthearted accusation. They had reached the city’s outer limits at last, the sunset wreathing Makoto’s frame in hues of orange and purple; she balked at the sight, at the humored brow raise that followed. “I just thought we could spend the day in… or something,” she muttered, suddenly contrite.

“And we will. Come tomorrow, I’m all yours.”

“All mine?” Miko teetered forward, drawn forth by the promise of unfettered indulgence. She was woozy from the day, inches from sundering the tenuous space left between them, but the glint of Makoto’s teeth begged her look of askance. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch, darling,” Makoto whispered, sealing their lips before further doubt was sowed.

She tasted of the tart dregs of yuzu, of early summer’s cloying offering. Miko pilfered the luring vestige until she grew lightheaded, leaning back to admire the besotted look of fervor now veiling Makoto’s face. She swiped her thumb below the glossy puff of her bottom lip, popping it into her mouth, humming deep enough for Makoto’s lashes to flutter.

Their morning had been lazy, hours spent tucked away beneath the Archon’s illustrious sheets, every mumbled sentence and wander of lips tugging unnamed psalms from Miko’s own throat. A lackadaisical afternoon soon followed, wandering through the Tenshukaku halls, fingers grazing and glances knowing, curled around each other in the furthest alcove of the library as the pile of books beside them slowly thinned… she could get used to this.

Or she wished to, but a god had many a pious gaze to attend, and Makoto’s days often did not end until the sky dusted pink with the coming dawn. The words she had pondered half awake and bleary eyed when the other woman finally fell into bed, the words she had clung tightly to for fear of what they demanded, tumbled without grace and tremulous between them.

Makoto did not speak, though the smile remained, and the kitsune swallowed thick around the sharp spike of panic. Bird's chirrup and distant guard footfall was her only reprieve, shifting where she sat across from the face of ageless majesty. Miko gasped when the hands that once caressed the page, placed the frayed tales of yore face down and settled at her neck with the same sort of care.

The Archon laughed once, high and sweet, before she kissed the twitching kitsune soundly. Miko squeaked at the intrusion, welcome and warm though it was, and slid mindless fingers through the unbound cascade of downy hair.

Tart and wet from the berries they had fed each other, Makoto’s lips pried the unrest from where it nestled, confidence and candor rekindling with every new brush of tongue. They had fancied this dance a number of times before, but Miko never grew tired of the way it made her heart sing— falsetto and high in her throat. Just when she grew emboldened enough, nails cutting desperately into the front of loose-fitting robes, Makoto pulled back with a dragging tug at her bottom lip.

It was improper to whine so loudly and yet… the kitsune’s eyes remained closed and she fell forward, sighing heavily when their foreheads pressed together. She flicked her ears when the whirring refused to abate.

“You think you’re falling for me?” Makoto’s voice sounded distant, but the teasing lilt came through clear as day.

Miko slapped halfheartedly at her rumbling chest, frown deepening just so. There was warmth that buzzed unbidden at the crook of the Archon’s neck, and so she burrowed there, hiding the flush of her cheeks when she mumbled breathlessly, “have a little mercy, Mako.”

Laughter was a beautiful thing, and Makoto’s was the richest of all, unbeatable by even the lushest of summers; Miko curled her fingers around the fabric in her grip, wondering if it was as tangible as it sounded. Arms wrapped around her waist then, pulling until she straddled the other woman’s thighs and her chin rested at the crown of Makoto’s head.

“My apologies, Miko.” The words were muffled by the kitsune’s chest, and they sounded far from sincere. Joy fluttered its dainty winds when lips pressed to her sternum, words spoken directly to her stuttering heart. “I fell for you quite some time ago in truth.”

Indescribable, the feeling of teetering on the brink of an unknown thereafter, and Miko laughed in kind, arms outstretched in wait for the free fall. This felt like something of a glorious prologue, the beginning musings of their unfolding story. Surely there were to be books written about their plummet into love.

Perhaps she ought to be the first published recount of such a wonder. For now though, their tale would remain here, nestled between where their smiles melded.

Fabric fluttered down sun-warm skin in the haze of affirmation, books toppled, lips parting for a cacophony of sound. Dust particles and the golden light of early afternoon hallowed them both, alighting Makoto’s unyielding stare a sharp lilac.