Work Text:
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
Kaname, seemingly unable to push down the rising lump in his throat, paces back and forth, his footprints of mismatched shoes making an undiscernible drawing against the once pretty piled up white cushion, crunching at every step. Even when the winter season is barely at its peak, the cold could easily embrace anyone tighter than the warmth of wool jackets or the tightly wrapped scarves around their necks. It has been snowing all night and his surroundings, trees heavily blanketed in white and the absence of critters, now cozy and cuddled up in their hibernating spots, proves this. The chill of the morning should have bothered Kaname, someone who easily gets sick because of unpredictable weathers or because of some supernatural influence, but his anxiety is greater to distract him from this. The ticking of the watch in his jacket pocket seems to grow louder, alongside the growing vividness of memories of nightmares, every second that passes by without a sign of the person he is supposed to meet.
He recalls how yesterday, Takashi looked paler every time his eyes shifted from one corner of the school campus to another as they were about to go home. This grim expression is too familiar to Kaname that the slightest waver of the other’s smile has become too easy to notice—so easy that he catches these changes first before he could even take a breath. He remembers calling out Natsume’s name, trying to ground him to reality, but the other boy’s expression turned darker, his brows moved closer together, his breathing became heavier, yet before either of them said a word, Natsume was already in front of him, shielding him from something he cannot see. “What do you want?” Natsume almost hissed towards the entrance of the campus, towards empty air. Tanuma knows, however, that someone—something—is there. He felt his head pulsating, something that happens whenever a yokai is near, but he stayed quiet, awaiting Natsume to speak. There was nothing there, but if he tried hard enough to look, the winter air seemed to glisten, taking the form of a tall woman. “Fine,” Natsume confided, his voice a bit softer but his guard still up.
Is everything okay? Kaname wanted to ask. He wanted to, yet even now that he knows he is the closest to Natsume, he just…could not. There is always an imaginary line drawn between the two of them, he often told himself. A dilemma of wanting to help and not being a burden but knowing he was incapable of doing thus his help would always fall short and inevitably turn into just that. If only I could see the same world you see, Natsume. He thinks, almost like a plea.
“I will help you find your precious key.” Natsume turned to look at him, his eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed from the wintry afternoon. Seeing his face calmed him and his headache, and he almost blurted how much he found Takashi beautiful. He swallowed back the words, along with the thought of asking whether he could help find whatever the yokai was looking for. Natsume smiled at him and Tanuma’s heart instantly felt at home—like the first time they talked with each other, like how Natsume’s existence affirmed his own, both the unexplainable experiences and now his inexplicable feelings. His look told him he was about to do another favor for a yokai. Tanuma was not sure whether it was safe or not, but asking Natsume, who probably does not know the answer to that either, to just run away with him seemed wrong. He understood what Natsume wanted—at least that is what he would like to think—yet he also knew that being unable to step past that line is difficult for him.
Tanuma knew he wanted to be closer with him; he wanted Natsume to depend on him, however undependable he was. He wanted more with Natsume. What exactly more, he refused to think about it just yet. So the intimate awkwardness, low but untouchable, hung between them—something the perceptive ones, like Nyanko-sensei or Kitamoto, would have noticed by now.
“Talk to me after, okay?”
Natsume seemed to consider for a second longer. The way he blinked tells me so. It was something they still had to work out—this entire ordeal of not wanting to worry the other, so they kept their troubles to themselves, but they end up worrying the other more, nonetheless. Tanuma was working on that, albeit slowly and with much effort, and he saw Natsume doing the same as he nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. “I will see you later, then.” Tanuma stared at Natsume’s back, hurrying towards the opposite side of their way home. His heart was growing heavier with every step Natsume took away from him and he wished he was powerful enough, like Natori Shuuichi, to protect Takashi; so he could be someone who could stand side-by-side with Natsume.
The puffs of air grew thicker as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, the worry creeping in once again as he wondered what may happen to Natsume. I have to believe in Natsume, he chanted over and over and over and over and over and over—“Tanuma,” his eyes focused once more, and he found Natsume in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently but with enough effort to break his thoughts, their distance only a step or two. He stuttered to say his name back. The other boy’s face was painted with worry—for him and not even for himself—he thought. I made him worry again. He contemplated how he can stop Natsume from worrying, too.
“I’ll make sure I’m safe, so wait for me, Tanuma.” It was almost like a question; an agreement waiting for his confirmation.
His voice made it easier to take in things, even when he bantered with Nyanko-sensei or when he jumped whenever something appeared before him or when they talked about the most random things or whenever he talked about his yokai encounters or whenever he called his name—oh, especially when Natsume called Tanuma’s name. Kaname held on to those words, like a promise, no, an oath. “Okay, I’ll wait for you.”
This following morning is the agreement, and Natsume is running late. Tanuma hasn’t even slept properly, nor did he seem to try to, for fear he might dream about Natsume being devoured again. He did not realize he was only wearing a layer of his sleeping clothes underneath whatever it was he first grabbed as he rushed towards the door of their house, at the first sign of sunlight. He did not realize he wore only one of the pair of his winter boots and wore one of his father’s pair, completing a mismatch. He did not realize it was still a few hours too early to wait at the park for Natsume. He did not realize Nyanko-sensei, who was going home at this time from a night of partying with the yokai gang (or The Dog’s Circle, as they like to call themselves), passing by him. He did not even realize he could just go directly to the Fujiwara’s house. His head was filled with Natsume.
Is Natsume safe? Is Natsume okay?
Careful and attentive—Natsume often describes Tanuma this way, but it is only when Natsume is involved that he often fails to be this. Even more so towards other things and people, he cannot, like that time he dove in first towards the flock of yokai or when he incessantly asked Nyanko-sensei about Natori and the exorcists during the Omibashira incident. Funnily enough, whenever it is about Natsume’s emotional needs, his senses grow tenfold stronger, as if it could compete with Natsume’s spiritual powers. It is as if his bond with Natsume is both the predicament and solution.
“Tanuma,” someone cries out loud and the boy does not even need a second thought to know it is Natsume’s voice calling out to him. He’s okay. A sigh of relief escapes his mouth the moment his eyes lay upon Natsume—panting and flushed from running, but safe. Altogether, the cold, the anxiety, and the sleep-deprivation overwhelm him and Natsume barely makes it in time to catch him. “You’re fine,” Tanuma breathes out before succumbing to the weight all over his body. Natsume, dressed as lightly as Tanuma, who rushed at their meeting place, clearly startled by Nyanko-sensei’s news about the boy waiting in the cold, appearing on the verge of fainting at any moment, nods repeatedly in response.
As Tanuma slowly regains awareness, still in a drowsy state, he discovers that he is floating high above the ground, with Natsume grasping onto him tightly, both of them resting on something soft and comforting. It is a cozy feeling against the chill; he thought. Judging from his continuous grumbling about Natsume owing him ten pieces of sweet buns from Nanatsuji, he concludes that it is Nyanko-sensei’s yokai form who is carrying them. They banter back and forth before Natsume sees him looking, clearly relieved at his wakefulness, albeit unsteadily.
“About the Yokai yesterday,” he starts, as if he is too embarrassed to talk about it. “It was a Snow Woman who had lost a key to her snow globe. She said if you take a peek there after turning the lock, you can see the person that ties you in this world.”
Tanuma stays quiet. His consciousness seems to be fading in and out, but the embarrassment he heard from Natsume seems to have solidified into something akin to resolution, as if he has come to a conclusion, ready to take a step forward. Who did you see? He wants to ask, but he finds no strength to speak. Natsume smiles at him, as if he understood what the silence means between the two of them. He looks at him and he feels Natsume’s gaze envelopes all his being, even the parts he wants to hide—the worried and weak and insecure. The way Natsume’s a-little-too-long hair, because he is used to cutting it himself, flutters in the snow and wind; the way his back, never turned away from those in need, yokai or human, is softly lined against the morning sun; the way his eyes, always looking and not only seeing, soften as if ready to receive the whole world—all of it are ethereally breathtaking.
I would love you over and over again, Natsume.
This—feeling and honesty—makes Tanuma complete; it makes him enough and more, both to Natsume and to himself. It surprises him how long it has taken him to figure out, but not astounded by how easy it is to admit—how natural, how it feels fated; almost inevitable. He welcomes home this warmth, as it finally finds its name; he lets it melt the harrowing thoughts of tomorrow’s danger, as it celebrates the present. Here and now. Natsume is here; now. Tanuma’s feelings are here; now. It is like time finding its course, sailing through people’s and yokai’s lives alike, like how the seasons come and go, leaving memories of greens, golds, reds, and whites. It is like how the first time he says Natsume’s name—the lingering quiet of his words sweet.
Tanuma lets it all in, thoughts and words and memories. But something, he almost says aloud. Even without the snow globe, I know…
“I saw you, Tanuma”
I will see you, Natsume.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
