Chapter Text
“It’s time.”
The doorway to Rintarou’s room slides open and his sister, Yoshiko, enters.
Rintarou doesn’t move, saying one final prayer in front of the family altar. Once he finishes, he slowly rises to his feet, restricted by the wedding kimono he’s been dressed in. He regards her with a woeful gaze, which she mirrors before escorting him out of their home.
Almost every villager has gathered around their entryway, waiting for him with bated breath. He bows his head as he exits, avoiding eye contact. It seems like they continue to hold their breath as he passes.
The air is chilly, yet Rintarou feels suffocated. He discretely adjusts his kimono, tugging the layers of thick fabric away from his neck.
As he passes, hushed voices made louder by silence reach his ear. He’s learned to never pay them any mind, but it’s difficult to ignore them now. He glances at the crowd to his sides before focusing on Yoshiko’s back. She keeps her head held high, and he smiles wistfully knowing that she walks with a stern expression. A small comfort, but one nonetheless.
He should be the one comforting her, though, not the other way around. Some big brother he turned out to be.
“Are you sure we should go through with this?” One villager asks another, keeping her eyes locked on Rintarou.
“We don’t have a choice, she’s the only girl of proper age.” The other responds, turning her gaze away.
If they want to whisper, they can whisper. It makes no difference to him what they think. They made it clear how they felt about him long ago when they decided to pretend he and his sister didn’t exist until it benefited them with this asinine ritual.
A lacquered knife case tucked into the fabric of his kimono digs into his side. He shifts to adjust its position, his smile fading as quick as it came on.
If there truly is a god in that shrine, Rintarou intends on depriving everyone of the fortune they exchanged for blood. He’ll stake his life on it if it comes down to that.
The two of them make it to the edge of the village unscathed, where Yoshiko retrieves a paper lantern from the gate. The crowd fills in behind them as if forming a wall. It’s clear they intend to keep Rintarou out, and Yoshiko too if they can help it. He lifts his head, his gaze obscured by his ornate hair accessories. He regards the villagers with barely masked contempt, then turns his nose up at them as he looks back at Yoshiko.
“She’s going to infuriate the gods!” An irate villager fails to keep his voice down, pointing an accusatory finger toward Rintarou. “She’ll curse us, I tell you! Better to send no one than one like her!”
A few villagers chime up in a chorus of agreement, but the rest maintain their somber silence. Some turn away from the villagers who speak up, washing their hands of the whole matter. Some even leave the crowd. After all, if they don’t see it, then it’s no weight on their soul.
“Then we’ll go home right now.” Yoshiko counters, her tone calm yet dripping with venom.
The villager who shouted withers under her retort, drawing back from the crowd. Rintarou doesn’t bother fighting his smirk. Ever eager to embarrass themselves, it seems.
No one says anything in response, but they seem to draw together even tighter as if they’re afraid that he and Yoshiko will do just that.
They are afraid, though, and they all want to say the same thing. Why him? Why that one? An offering like that will infuriate the gods, he’s not suited to be a bride. What self-respecting god would want a woman who thinks herself a man? Why should they have to deal with the inevitable wrath of he heavens?
Everything they could say, he’s already heard. Ever since the village leaders made the decision, he’s been all but cast out. Yoshiko wasn’t suitable, neither was he for that matter, yet they were the only villagers with no family. The only ones who wouldn’t be missed. Never their daughters, never their precious children. Never the ones worth protecting.
Despite everything, Rintarou can’t bring himself to resent them for that. If it was his sister being sent up to die, he'd take her and run, consequences be damned. At least this way he can prove they're full of shit, or relish in the satisfaction of ruining their lives. What self-respecting god would demand a bride, after all. His hatred starts and ends with their abhorrent treatment of them.
The knife sits heavy on his waist.
Rintarou grits his teeth, inhaling through his nose to calm himself. He keeps his expression placid, not giving anyone the satisfaction of a reaction.
Yoshiko nods, then begins leading him out of the village.
The shrine is up a mountain path, an effortless walk made difficult when draped in silks. With no wedding party to carry him, Rintarou makes his way on foot with Yoshiko guiding him.
Luckily, Rintarou is no waifish bride, and the climb is still easy.
The lights of the village dim, obscured by the thick foliage. Rintarou knows from experience that they can’t be seen or heard, but the two stay silent anyways.
They come to an old torii gate, marking the entrance to the shrine. They stop before crossing the threshold, something only Rintarou can do.
Yoshiko sets the lantern on a stone post with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Will you be okay?”
“You’re not supposed to talk to me, you know.” Rintarou muses wistfully. The rules never mattered to him, but he’ll never pass up an opportunity to tease Yoshiko.
Her melancholic expression immediately shifts to annoyance, and she sticks her hands on her hips. “Well, will you be okay or not?”
“I will be fine.” His voice softens. “Where will you go after this?”
Yoshiko looks down for a moment, studying the weathered stone steps. “I think… I’ll go east. As far away from here as possible. To the capital.”
“I see. In that case…” Rintarou reaches up, removing the accessories from his hair. He holds them out for Yoshiko. “Take these, and sell them. But don’t take the first offer you get from them. And don’t sell them in the first town you come to. You know where I keep our money, and you can sell anything you want. Or, take it. It’s yours now to do whatever you want.”
She gapes softly but takes them, cradling them in her hands. “Do you think… Mom will be mad if we sell these? She liked them so much… And Dad…”
Rintarou laughs, reaching out to pat her head. “Of course not. I can hear them cheering you on now.”
That lifts her spirits, and she grips the accessories with a smile. “Okay. I will.” Her smile falters, and her gaze falls. “Will we… ever see each other again?”
The question gives pause to Rintarou. He has no idea what’s going to happen to him as soon as he crosses that gate, but he knows in his heart that this is the end. He smooths Yoshiko’s hair back, then pulls her into a hug. “We will. I don’t know when or where, but we will.”
She buries her face into his chest and wraps her arms around his waist. Rintarou hears her sniffle, so he continues petting her head.
“You promise?” She asks after a moment, her voice wavering.
He hugs her tighter, placing his hand on the back of her head. He can’t promise. It wouldn’t be fair, but nothing in their life has been fair. If giving her false hope is the only thing that keeps her smiling, then he’ll gladly lie. “I promise.”
They stay like that for a while, but she pulls away first. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, clutching the accessories in her other hand. “If you break your promise, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I know. Take the lantern with you, I don’t need it. It’ll be dangerous walking down in the dark.”
Yoshiko nods, taking the paper lantern. The soft light illuminates her face, still shiny with tears. “See you later, then…”
He reaches out one last time, wiping her tears away. “Goodbye, Yoshiko.”
I’m sorry.
She bids him one final goodbye, lingering for a moment before hurrying back down the mountain. Rintarou waits until the light is gone before facing the shrine again.
He only hopes that wherever she ends up, she's happy.
And, against all odds, that one day they do meet again.
He steps forward, passing beneath the torii. The spaces between the stones are overgrown with weeds, and dirt crunches loudly beneath his sandals. No one from the village bothers to tend to the shrine since they’re too afraid to come near it, leaving it in a sad state of disrepair.
A shiver goes down his spine as he approaches the building. He shakes it off, jostling the doors open to step inside. It’s a dark, cramped space with nothing except a musty tatami mat. He wrinkles his nose at the scent.
What a depressing grave.
He begins undressing, discarding some of the outer layers of his kimono to fetch his knife. He lays the fabric over a suspicious stain in the center of the floor, then sits down. There are a few small slats on the sides of the shrine, and the moonlight illuminates small strips on the floor. Other than that, he's in pure darkness.
A feeling of trepidation gnaws at him, and he tightens his grip on his knife. No matter what happens, he can protect himself. He will see this through, no matter what this is.
So he waits, facing away from the door.
And waits, staring at the blank wall in front of him.
And waits, watching the moonlight move across the floor.
His back begins to ache, and Rintarou gives in to his discomfort to lower himself to the floor. If the god does show up to collect him, he likely won’t care if Rintarou lies down. The floor is uncomfortable, and the kimono fabric provides little cushioning. He dozes anyway, drifting in and out of sleep. Any slight noise sends a jolt down his spine, waking him up for a brief moment before he falls into deeper slumber.
As he drifts off again, he hears the sound of suzu bells ringing in the distance.
He jolts out of sleep again, feeling drained. When he opens his eyes, though, he’s in a field of golden grass. He stares at the stalks in front of his face, reaching out to touch them in disbelief. They feel soft, but he doesn’t know what they’re supposed to feel like in the first place.
He rises, looking to either side of him. He’s surrounded by a sea of gold that sways in a breeze he can scarcely feel. There are no mountains or hills, no trees, no buildings. It’s only gold grass and gray sky as far as the eye can see.
He stands, brushing himself off. When he turns, his eyes catch the only other thing in view. A single, withered tree. Beneath it is a tiny stone structure.
He walks towards it, approaching it much faster than expected. Upon closer examination, Rintarou realizes that the stone structure is a tiny version of the shrine he was in. It even has the same tiny doors, one of which is open a fraction. Rintarou reaches out to open the door further when an overwhelming sense of dread forms in his stomach. His hand stills, and as the dread blooms from his stomach to the rest of his body, he begins to quiver.
His hair stands on end as something shuffles toward him.
Grass crunches beneath footfalls behind him.
As the sound gets closer, Rintarou feels his breath constrict. He wills himself to move, to turn his head to meet whatever is behind him when he hears the sound of suzu bells again.
The clear tone grows louder, and louder until it pierces his ears and reverberates in his chest.
Rintarou snaps his eyes open and sits up with a panicked gasp. He chokes on his spit, leaning over to cough before realizing that he had fallen asleep. He grabs the knife where it had fallen out of his grasp and shoves himself up. He nearly trips over himself as he rushes out of the shrine.
He throws the doors open, drawing his knife from its sheath as he does so.
There, standing beneath the torii in the pale light of dawn, was a man wearing a white robe and scarlet hakama. His back is towards Rintarou, and he makes no indication that he noticed his presence. Rintarou didn’t get a look at the thing that was in his dream, but he grips his knife and steels his nerves. His knuckles turn white around the handle of his blade, and he steps forward.
Here, and now, it ends.
With one smooth motion, Rintarou raises the knife above his head.
He thrusts downward, yet rather than the give of flesh, he’s met with the resistance of steel.
The man, now facing Rintarou, has drawn his katana to deflect his blow. The sound their blades make when they meet is loud, ringing in Rintarou’s ears not unlike the bells in his dream. Undeterred, he presses on, slashing at the swordsman- the god. Rintarou meets his target this time, cutting his cheek. Blood oozes from the slight wound, rolling down his face like teardrops.
He falters at the sight, recoiling. Blood from a god… did he make a mistake? Why would a god bleed?
The stranger takes the opportunity to slam their blades together with a strong swipe, knocking the knife out of Rintarou’s hand. It skitters across the stone path.
Fear immediately replaces his confidence, and Rintarou takes another step back. He knew what awaited him at the end of this, he knew it was stupid to have hope that anything else would happen. But to lose like this…! It was shameful!
The stranger grips his blade, and Rintarou shuts his eyes.
I’m sorry, Yoshiko…
He feels an impact on his stomach, a dull pain rippling through his body as his limbs give way. He tumbles forward, expecting to hit the ground hard. Instead, he feels warm arms cradle him. His body slowly goes numb, and he falls limp. Rintarou opens his eyes.
He’s… not dead. He’s not even injured. He stares up at the man, unable to move.
“I am not your enemy.” He insists, reaching for Rintarou’s knife. “It’s alright.” He draws it upwards, and Rintarou stares at the blade with a peaceful resignation. It was kind of the stranger to placate him before his death, praying that it's swift and painless.
Rather than slit his neck, the man takes a fistful of Rintarou’s long, black hair and cuts it off with ease. It falls to the ground with a soft fwump. His head feels lighter, and the man lifts Rintarou’s body to carry him away from the shrine. He leans him against a tree nearby, placing the now sheathed knife next to him.
All Rintarou can do is watch the man with wariness. He can't even move his lips to ask what's happening, or who he is. He’s had two opportunities to kill Rintarou and taken none of them. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a strange man who just happened to show up on the night Rintarou was supposed to die.
It isn’t a good look.
“Stay here.”
Rintarou would scoff if he could, instead regarding the man with a withering expression. The swordsman ignores him and stands, drawing his sword again. He turns away from Rintarou, brandishing his blade at nothing.
A moment passes, and nothing happens. Rintarou tries to wiggle his fingers and toes to regain feeling, but he can’t even twitch a muscle.
The man shifts his body weight, drawing Rintarou’s attention again. He glares at the pile of hair on the ground, sword angled towards it.
Rintarou’s gaze falls on it, too.
The sun begins to rise, casting long shadows. The man grips his sword, and Rintarou hears a single, quiet bell.
There’s movement beneath his hair cuttings, making them look as if they were writhing. Rintarou blinks, wanting to rub his eyes. He’s at an odd angle, and can’t tell if he's seeing things.
The shadows grow darker, much darker than normal. They creep outward, covering the stone path in pitch black. There’s a wailing sound like steel dragging against stone, as something steps out of the very shadows themselves.
A pit of dread forms in Rintarou’s stomach.
There’s a strange shuffling sound as it steps forward, its armor clanking with each step. The thing is dressed like a warrior, not unlike the swordsman in front of Rintarou. It kneels next to the pile of hair, running its fingers through it. It lifts some of the strands, letting them slip through. It lifts its head, turning its blank face towards Rintarou.
A shiver creeps up his spine, making his nerves stand on end. His muscles ache, urging him to get up and run.
It has no face, but Rintarou is sure that it’s grinning at him.
The swordsman whips his blade to the side, drawing the thing’s attention. It faces him instead, striking an imposing figure before them. The spirit draws its blade. It, too, is black as night, but in the light it has a sickening sheen as if it was coated with blood.
The swordsman wastes no time in rushing the figure, slashing at it. The spirit casually blocks his blade, then brings its own down like a cleaver. The swordsman ducks out of the way as the blade whips through the air. Rintarou holds his breath, his body tensing whenever it seems like the spirit is about to strike.
The swordsman continues his onslaught, deflecting its strikes with relative ease.
With every swing, the spirit grows more agitated, its movements becoming more erratic. It brings its blade down harder, and the echo of steel hitting steel makes Rintarou’s ears ring.
He pulls his gaze from the fight, willing every muscle in his body to move. Pins and needles flood his limbs, but he manages to regain feeling and scrambles for his knife.
The spirit whips around to face him and the swordsman buries his sword in its back. The tip of the blade pokes through its abdomen as thick, black liquid pours out of the wound and drips from the tip of the sword.
The spirit begins marching forward, walking off of the blade. Rintarou freezes, staring up at it in horror. It stands before him, its menacing aura radiating hate and hunger. It lifts its sword in the air above, the tip angled directly over Rintarou's chest.
This is it.
He can't look away.
“Move!!” The swordsman shouts, and Rintarou throws himself to the side. Rather than bury the sword in his chest, the blade catches his skin and drags down his side before sinking deep into the earth. The spirit bellows in rage, following its blade down. He struggles to not breathe in the miasma billowing off it, but his breath leaves him and he starts gasping.
He stares at the blade, unable to move anymore. The blade dig further into his skin as the spirit pulls at it, his kimono soaking up the blood that pours out of him. From his chest to his waist, crimson blooms out, staining the pure white fabric. The pain follows soon after, lightning jolting through every nerve in his body. It rolls off him in waves, as his breathing grows more shallow. He gasps again as his vision starts spinning.
The spirit wrenches its blade from the earth, and out from Rintarou. Blood splatters from the edge, landing on his face. It attempts to strike again, but before it can lift its blade, the swordsman slams into it from the side. It flies off, landing in the dirt with a heavy thud. The swordsman grips his blade, striding up to it and driving his sword through its chest with such force that the spirit gets pinned to the ground. It screams in rage, writhing around the blade and grasping the edge as it tries and fails to wrench it from his body.
The swordsman whips back around, wasting no time as he lifts him in his arms and rushes to a nearby spring.
“Sorry ‘bout this.” He strips the bloody layers of fabric from Rintarou, then does the same with his clothes. He carries Rintarou into the spring and submerges him.
The sudden rush of freezing water makes the pain worsen ten-fold, and Rintarou’s vision goes black.
“Yer gonna be alright.” The swordsman soothes as he loses consciousness.
—
When Rintarou opens his eyes again, he’s in an unfamiliar room. He tries to move, to roll over, but he can’t even muster the energy to lift an arm. He tries moving his arm, but sharp pain jolts through his body. Right, he's injured.
He stops moving, then runs his good hand down his chest until he meets the edge of the bandages. They’re wrapped around his entire torso, and he follows them to his side. Even feather-light touches still make the wound ache in pain. He stupidly decides to push himself upright, propping himself up with his elbows. The level of pain that rolls through him is enough to make his mind go numb. Rintarou adjusts before long, the sharpness fading into a persistent stab.
He can’t remember anything since he went unconscious at the shrine. The swordsman must have carried him here. Wherever here is.
The furnishings of the room aren’t familiar, so this must not be his home village. They wouldn’t have let Rintarou back in anyways, no matter how wounded he was. In fac, they would’ve celebrated.
He brings his right arm up, rubbing his eyes. When he opens them again, he's still in the same room.
Rintarou sits there for a moment, taking stock. He's not dreaming, the pain is too strong, and he's not dead. His chest tightens at the realization, but he swallows it down.
The door to the room opens and Rintarou flinches, which aggravates his wound.
“You’re awake.” The guest says, coming over to his bed. Rintarou looks up once he comes into view, doing a double-take.
He has fox ears.
“Be careful not to move, ya might rip somethin' open, and I really don’t want to sew you up again.” The man sits on the edge of the bed, and with a gentle hand, pushes Rintarou back down.
He goes down easy with no strength to fight back, but he’s too preoccupied to even care. He brings his hand up and rubs his eyes in disbelief this time, looking back at the swordsman.
He still has fox ears.
And he’s gorgeous.
Rintarou was so swept up in everything that he never got a chance to properly look at the swordsman’s face. Or absorb what he was seeing. The cut on his cheek is scabbed over, and the flesh surrounding it is colored pink. Even with it, he’s still handsome. More handsome, even.
Rintarou immediately banishes those thoughts from his mind. Maybe he is out of it, or dreaming. Or dead, and this is heaven. Why else would his first impulse be to study this guy’s face?
And, more critically, he still has fox ears.
“You-” Rintarou begins to ask, sitting up again.
“Stop moving, you’re gonna aggravate yer wounds.” He gripes, pushing him back down again before setting a small box on the bed and popping the lid open. He disrobes Rintarou, his hands wandering down his side as he applies gentle pressure. Rintarou hisses in pain.
He clicks his tongue in annoyance, then starts undoing the bandages.
‘Wait-” Rintarou tries to stop him, wincing as the swordsman undresses the wound.
“I’m just changing them.” He insists as he coaxes the bandages from his flesh. He moves slow, but it still hurts like hell.
Rintarou scowls, but relents and watches the fox man work. “Who are you?” He asks as he discards the soiled bandages.
“An exorcist. Miya Osamu.” He replies, reaching to the bedside table where the small box lay open. He takes a dark, lacquered container, and tugs the top off. He dips his fingers inside, producing a slight amount of shiny paste. “This will feel uncomfortable.”
“What-” Rintarou sucks in a breath as the fox man presses his fingers to the wound, his whole body tensing. He drags his hand down the full length, rubbing the paste in. After a moment the pain subsides, and Rintarou catches his breath. “Can you… quit interrupting me?” He gasps.
“Sorry.” The fox- Osamu, doesn’t seem particularly apologetic. “If I don’t take care of it, it’ll fester.”
Rintarou goes quiet again. He knew the wound was bad, he could still see how red his kimono had turned, yet it somehow didn't occur to him that infection would be an issue.
Osamu takes a roll of bandages from the box. “I know I said not to move, but can you…” He gestures for Rintarou to sit up. “Prop yourself up with your elbows?”
Rintarou does that, able to sit up with less pain now. He watches Osamu wrap the bandages around his torso carefully, from chest to waist. “Why do you have fox ears?”
“I’m a yokai.”
Rintarou looks at him, mouth drawn into a grimace. “So I’m dreaming.”
Osamu, as if to prove a point, applies pressure to Rintarou’s wound. He gasps, vision going starry.
“It’s too long to explain, but if you were so willing to be handed over to a god, what difference does me having fox ears make? You saw that thing, too.”
“I was not willing.” He corrects, leveling a glare in his direction. “I had no choice.”
Osamu holds his gaze for a moment, his disaffected expression softening into something else. Rintarou had no clue what this guy is thinking. He turns back to his work, tying off the bandages. They’re tight, but Rintarou doesn’t feel constricted.
“Why are you helping me, then?”
Osamu places a hand on Rintarou’s back, guiding him to lie down. “Because if I don’t, your wound will fester. If it festers, it will eat away at your body and spirit. Neither of us wants that.”
“Because of that thing?”
“Yes. That thing, ” Osamu begins, cleaning up the medical supplies that were strewn about. “Was a god, at some point. But humans thought to sacrifice their own in the hopes of appeasing it, and now it’s… nothing. A corrupted spirit that feasts on flesh.” His tone is careful as he plucks a green leaf from a glass vial, holding it to Rintarou’s lips. “Eat this.”
He does, crushing the herb between his teeth. It's bitter, which makes his nose scrunch.
“I have the tools and knowledge to help you, so I am.”
He chews the leaf, looking up at this… fox man. This yokai, who happened to stumble across his shrine and decided to help him. “I thought kitsune played pranks on humans.”
“We can do multiple things.”
He stops chewing, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not poisoning you. And I’m not making things worse.” He sighs. “What’s your name, by the way?”
Rintarou wonders if he should answer, as he swallows the herb. If Osamu wanted to hurt him, he wouldn’t be going to all this effort. “...Suna Rintarou.”
“Okay. Rintarou.” He nods. “Are you hungry?”
—
Osamu returns with a tray of food, setting it down on the bedside table. He takes his seat on the edge of the bed and helps Rintarou sit up. It still hurts, but it’s easier than getting up on his own, and medicine Osamu gave him dulls the pain.
He reaches out with his better arm to one of the food dishes, but Osamu stops him. “If you move too much, ya might aggravate your wounds.” He says, grabbing the set of chopsticks. He scoops some steaming rice and holds it out to Rintarou, who stares in disbelief.
“You’re going to feed me.”
“Yes.” He says, urging him to eat.
Rintarou looks down at the chopsticks with skepticism, then up at Osamu.
He wants to feed me…? Rintarou sighs, then indulges. It’s better than ripping his wound open even if it is embarrassing.
It's a scoop of plain rice but it’s the best thing Rintarou has tasted in what feels like forever. His stomach cramps in protest at what must be his first meal in days, but soon relaxes at the promise of nourishment. He devours the next bite, and the next.
“It’s good that you’re hungry, means yer recovering.”
“How long was I out?” He asks around a mouthful.
“You were out for a couple of days. Three, including the day I found you. How do you feel with food in you?”
Rintarou takes inventory of himself for a moment. His side aches, his body is weak, his head hurts, and his memories feel fuzzy. “Fine.” His stomach growls. “Hungry.”
“Good.” Osamu nods and offers him some more rice.
—
It’s several more days until Rintarou can move on his own. His body still aches, and if he moves too quickly the wound threatens to reopen. He can walk around the inn room, at least, and Osamu helps him. The nightmares don’t fade, though. Osamu is a comforting presence, and he sleeps a bit better knowing he’s around, but doesn’t stop Rintarou from waking up in a panic thinking he’s back at the shrine.
Now that Rintarou isn’t out of his mind in pain, it’s a bit… awkward. Osamu keeps bringing him food and changing his bandages. He's already seen him naked, and… he doesn’t act bothered by Rintarou, but it doesn’t change the fact that he's stripping in front of someone he barely knows.
He winces as Osamu puts a bit of pressure on the wound. “That hurts.”
“Too bad,” he counters, using his fingers to spread the salve.
Rintarou stares at his face as he does this, trying not to seem annoyed. Osamu is helping him, but this closeness is… Rintarou is not used to it. Especially not with someone like Osamu. Visitors rarely came to his village, it was even rarer for it to be someone around his age, and they were never his type.
Osamu closes the box of salve once he finishes, placing it with his medical supplies. He wraps a clean bandage around Rintarou’s body, tight but not constrictive.
Rintarou redresses in his yukata.
“I think you’re well enough to travel now. As long as you take it easy.”
Rintarou pauses, then looks at Osamu again. He’s an exorcist, he must travel regularly to make money. Staying in one town for so long to help him must have been an inconvenience, and Rintarou is only one person with no money. He's grateful for Osamu's help up until now, but he’ll be able to figure things out on his own. Maybe he can find work in town.
“I need to leave soon. I have a job in another town, so-”
“I get it.” Rintarou nods, interrupting him. “I’ll be fine.”
He ignores the bitterness rising in his throat.
“I’ve gone ahead and bought you suitable clothing to travel in, they’re on the table. Be careful not to aggravate your wound while dressing.” He gestures over to the table as he stands. “I have to stock up on some supplies.”
He glances at the window to his side. It looks like it’s almost evening now. “Alright. Will you be back?”
Osamu nods. “We can have dinner together.”
He leaves without another word, and Rintarou is alone. If he had asked to travel with Osamu, would he have said yes? Rintarou eases himself up, then examines the clothes left for him. There’s everything he would need to travel, from sturdy boots to undergarments. The kimono and hakama are both black, which he appreciates.
Rintarou dons the clothing, careful not to aggravate his wound. He tucks his knife into the band of his hakama.
He glances at a hand mirror hanging in an alcove as he passes, then does a double-take when he catches his reflection. He plucks it from its spot, holding it out in front of himself to get a good look.
That’s right, Osamu cut off my hair. He reaches up, running his finger through it. It looks pretty sloppy, but it’s short for the first time in his life. He doesn’t even recognize himself.
Rintarou puts the mirror back, then leaves his room.
“Excuse me,” He begins as he approaches the inkeeper. “Could I have dinner sent up to my room later?”
“Of course, I-” She gasps when she finally looks at him, bringing her hand up to her mouth. “Oh my! You’re that injured traveler!”
“Ah- I am.” He fumbles over his words.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you up and about finally! That wound you had seemed pretty serious, you’re mighty lucky that exorcist found you when he did! What was that you wanted? Oh, dinner. Of course.” She starts prattling on as she makes note of Rintarou’s request.
“You know, that exorcist,” She blabs on, “He’s been running around nonstop ever since you got here. He kept asking me about this and that, and if anyone in town knew anything about some plant or something. For the medicine, you know. He sure seemed haggard, he must have been searching all night to find that."
Rintarou blinks. He doesn’t hear anything else she says.
Osamu went to all that trouble for him? He did say if he didn’t take care of the wound, it would eat away at him. Was he worth all that work, though? Osamu must have felt that it is his duty to help Rintarou, but now that he's well enough to travel, they're not bound to each other anymore.
“I’m glad to see you’re alright, though. I’ll be sure to send dinner up when it’s ready.” She smiles.
“Thank you.” Rintarou nods, heading out of the inn.
He wanders around the city, with no clear aim. It’s the first time he’s ever been out of his room, and the first time he’s ever been out of his village. The sun is setting, but there are more people out than he would've expected.
Couples, parents with children, young kids with their friends… there’s an energy in the air that should be mundane but feels foreign. His skin buzzes as he takes it all in. He watches as some people walk by him, chatting about what had happened to them during the day.
He passes by a restaurant with every seat full, the smell making his stomach grumble. Across the way is a kimono store, and a seamstress packing up the rolls of fabric for the night. There’s a cat on a roof, whose tail twitches in annoyance at a crow scavenging for food nearby. Some kids chase each other with wooden sticks, giggling as they run around.
It’s all terribly boring, but Rintarou's stomach flutters. He stops in the middle of the street, garnering some odd looks from the locals who pay him no further mind. A bundle of anxiety gnaws at him, his nerves standing on end like somehow this is all wrong and he’ll wake up any second.
A quiet chime reaches his ears, drawing Rintarou away from the dangerous precipice of self-pity.
That’s right, he reminds himself, I made a promise.
Somehow, he’s not dead. He’s here, now, standing in an unfamiliar city, with an unfamiliar person who saved his life.
He wanders again, unwittingly following the bell chime, and coming to a small torii gate. Rintarou passes beneath it, climbing the meager flight of stairs. The five steps exhaust him, and he leans against a stone wall to catch his breath.
Further in, he sees Osamu standing before the shrine. In one hand, he waves a suzu bell tree. Its clear tone rings out, relaxing Rintarou’s frayed nerves. He watches as Osamu does whatever it is he’s doing, mesmerized by his movement and the sound of the bells.
The moon hangs in the sky, illuminating the shrine and Osamu. He’s haloed by light, his silver hair is almost glowing.
Rintarou blinks, then rubs his temples as he looks up at the sky. The first guy he meets outside of his village and he’s already lost it. Osamu is just someone who happened to help him, and they were about to go their separate ways.
After a while, the sound of bells stops. Rintarou looks over to see Osamu tucking the bell tree into the folds of his clothing. He bows his head and presses his hands together in prayer, then turns away from the shrine. When he finally notices Rintarou, his eyes go wide for a moment and he walks over. “You’re up.”
“Mm.” Rintarou nods.
“You look good.” He gestures to Rintarou. To his outfit.
“Oh…” He shifts awkwardly, turning his head to the side. “Thanks. And thank you for… buying them. They fit well.”
“I’m glad.” Osamu smiles, and Rintarou can only bear to look for a second. There’s something devious in his eyes, though, and Rintarou wilts under it. “I’ve seen you naked so much that I had a pretty decent idea what size you are.”
Any affection budding in his chest is gone in an instant, evaporating like mist in the afternoon. He refuses to dignify Osamu with a reply.
Osamu steps closer. “Do you have a dream, Rintarou?”
Disarmed by the sudden non sequitur, Rintarou studies Osamu for a moment. “A… what?”
“A dream. An aspiration, something that you live for.”
“I... suppose…” He begins, at a loss for words. What had he lived for, all these years? He dedicated all his energy to raising her, to making sure she was safe and happy. Now she’s on her own and pefectly capable of taking care of herself. Rintarou wouldn’t stoop so low to assume she’d never miss him, but she can be happy at the same time. He doesn’t say any of this out loud.
Osamu’s lips quirk up in a faint half-smile. “Have you ever thought about living for yourself?”
Rintarou flicks his eyes back up to Osamu’s. “What do you mean?”
His half-smile melts into a full-blown smirk, and Osamu raises an eyebrow. “What do I mean? I mean prioritize your happiness.” He breezes past, hopping down the stairs.
Rintarou watches Osamu walk past, rooted in place. His own… happiness.
He’s right. This was his second chance. Yoshiko was dear to him, and he would find her one day, but she would be fine. She finally had a chance to experience life on her own, without her big brother worrying about her every move. She can finally be surrounded by love instead of hate.
Between raising her and being condemned as a sacrifice, he had never had a life of his own.
Didn’t he deserve the same?
“I…” He calls out without thinking.
Osamu stops and faces him, tilting his head slightly.
He pauses, then, “I want to travel with you. It doesn’t matter where.”
Osamu watches him for a moment, then laughs. It’s like the sound of a bell. “I’m glad.”
Rintarou blinks. “You are?”
“Well, it would be a bit awkward if you didn’t.” Osamu walks back over to him, mouth turned up in a knowing smirk.
Rintarou doesn't follow his logic. “...It would?”
He raises an eyebrow, then his expression melts into something soft. “Did you think I was leaving without you?”
He doesn’t dignify that with a response either, turning away. Maybe… it was stupid of him to think he was being left behind. Maybe. It’s not like Osamu went to any great effort to make it clear they'd be traveling together.
A feather-light touch on his waist makes Rintarou flinch.
“Someone has to take care of your wound, after all.” He explains in a tone of voice that shouldn’t send a shiver down Rintarou’s spine but does anyways. He only lingers for a moment before pulling away and beginning to walk in the direction of the inn. “Anyways, I’m starving. I told you we’d have dinner together, so let’s go.”
Rintarou watches him for a moment, before catching up and falling in step with him.
Things would be better now.