Loopholes
Something flares in him. Something ugly, foreign, despicable. And something that screams for a fight.
At first, there’s silence. Bokuto blinks once, confused, before he speaks. “Do I know you?”
The kitsune tilts his head to the side, a chuckle spilling from thin lips as he shakes his head, slicking his long locks of hair backwards in one smooth motion. “Well. You’re suspicious enough of me for me to believe that you aren’t a total blank slate, so I suppose that’s a good sign. Or a bad one, depending on how you look at it.” He pushes himself off the wall and spreads his arms, giving a mock bow. “My name is Junya, General. Though I’m sure you already know that. It’s a pleasure to be at your acquaintance again.”
Akaashi pauses, tilting his head to the side. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, confusion written on his face. “Again?”
“Yes,” Junya confirms, tilting his head to the side. He moves towards the desk at the back of the room, settling down in his seat and reclining, propping his feet on the wood. The papers are piled to the side. For a brief moment, Bokuto wonders if the paperwork is under the fox spirit’s to-do list or if they’re already completed. Both boast a different sort of scary to him either way. “Again. Why?” A knowing smile graces his lips; Junya’s narrowed eyes curve upwards when he smiles. Then he leans forwards, settling his legs on the ground, propping his elbow on the desk and leaning his cheek against hand. His other hand rests, palm down, on the table. Long, clawed fingers tapping a rhythm that clicks loudly in the silence of the room. “Something wrong?”
“Dude,” Bokuto starts. “I’m pretty sure I would remember you if I’d met you.”
“It’s impossible,” Akaashi adds, folding his arms in his sleeves. “Bokuto-san hasn’t even been dead for a month yet.” Though it feels like it’s been much, much longer. And it definitely doesn’t feel like Bokuto has known Akaashi for just a few weeks, and he’s pretty sure the immortal feels the same way. Besides—it feels like a month has passed already. They’re pretty close, anyway, right? Time is… a strange concept for immortals. When one has lived for millenia, mere days blur together, hours and minutes nonexistent, if not a little insignificant speck in their lives. Everything passes in the blink of an eye.
“Is that what you think?” Junya is still smiling, fingers tip-tapping away on the table. They’re clawed, the spirit realises with a jolt. And sharp.
Like the ones that sank into his arms, tore through flesh and nearly hit bone.
The thought makes his arms hurt. He presses them closer to himself.
Something about this man screams something more than just power. More than just danger. Something… other that raises Bokuto’s hackles. Akaashi, too, is tense next to him.
The only one that’s unperturbed is Beom, who stands with crossed arms as he watches their back and forth, uncharacteristically quiet. Listening. If he were an animal—a dog, a cat—his ears might have been perked. Information is always important to him, no matter how minute it is. But there’s a different sort of tension in the way he’s standing—like he wants to leave but can’t. Maybe it’s because he needs the information. Or maybe it’s something else.
“Stop playing games with them, old man,” Beom snaps finally, impatient.
“But games are fun, Kohaku,” Junya purrs. “You would know, wouldn’t you? We are, after all, cut from similar cloths.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“We both know you’re not stupid, darling.”
“Who the fuck are you calling darling?”
Junya only smiles. It’s patient, like he’s humouring a child. He even tilts his head to the side innocently, inquisitively, as he asks, “Are you angry with me?”
Silence. “Just get on with it.”
Junya hums, then turns his attention back to Bokuto and Akaashi, who are trying to process what they just witnessed. “Anyway,” he continues smoothly, folding his hands on the desk. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of reincarnation, Akaashi dear. It’s very possible. It’s happened before to various lucky people, so why can’t the General have that, too?”
Akaashi dear. Bokuto doesn’t like the way he says it. It’s like Beom all over again.
Silence. The kitsune smiles, eyes flashing gold in the dim light for the briefest of moments. But then he turns his gaze back to the snake demon next to them, who immediately tenses. It’s odd how Junya’s able to set Beom on edge more than the other two, but where the other two are afraid of the great, ancient, powerful unknown, the male is tense because of something else. “You left so quickly yesterday,” he laments, pouting just a tad. He rises from his seat; there’s a certain grace and control to his movements that none of them have. The grace of someone who has lived so long in their own body that every little muscle and movement is under their control. There are no unnecessary movements, each step languid and smooth. Beom swallows. “I’m hurt,” he begins, still stepping forward while the snake demon takes a step back. “—that you didn’t even bother to say goodbye, Kohaku.”
One step forward.
Beom takes a step back.
Back and forth, over and over again. Beom reacts like a cornered animal, curling on himself, tense. Panicked, almost, though Bokuto and Akaashi can’t see his expression—wide-eyed, flushed. At a loss, his mouth parted slightly in an ‘o’. An arm comes up to act as a feeble barrier, but the fox spirit ignores it completely as he reaches a hand forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind the younger’s ear. He leans forward to whisper into his ear, leaving Bokuto and Akaashi absolutely mystified. Mystified, curious and amused. After all, Beom isn’t one to be so easily flustered. Junya’s breath burns the demon’s neck. “I didn’t even get to treat you.”
The air stills. Bokuto feels like he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be witnessing this. Akaashi is already looking away. It seems like something… overly private. But neither Neither Junya nor Beom seem to care—either that, or they don’t notice. The latter stays completely still for a few agonising moments, at a loss for what to do. Frozen, so much so that it’s like he’s dead. A dead giveaway that he’s a demon, if ever there was one. (Heh.)
And then he snaps out of it. Pulling away, pushing him back. Beom tears away like he’s been burned, clutching at the bare skin of his neck that still tingles in the wake of Junya’s breath on it. “When did I ever say you could call me Kohaku?” He snaps. The demon makes his way back to Akaashi, a feeble attempt at running away. Not that he manages to escape the fox’s sharp gaze. “And I had every right to. You wanted to—”
He stops.
Junya smiles; a close-mouthed smile where only his eyes curve up. He stays in place, crossing his arms. He takes up the whole room with his presence. “Yes?”
The demon sulks, sealing his mouth shut.
“Well,” Junya drawls. “It was only right for me to demand a little more after what you did to my papers.” He inclines his head, still smiling. “It took me quite some time to rearrange it, Kohaku. Besides. That amount of money shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Beom is like unwilling prey, unwittingly stepping into the trap set for him by the predator. “The money wasn’t the problem!”
Bokuto blinks. “But you were complaining about the money.”
The fox demon raises an eyebrow, making his way back to the desk. He doesn’t sit on the chair—instead, he slides his fingers against the surface before sitting on the desk. His silky hair cascades down his shoulders in soft, light waves. “Is that so? Well, it was either he paid an absurd amount—even for me—or he paid less if he—”
“Fuck off!” The demon that was hiding behind the dark-robed immortal steps forward now, unable to lie dormant when he gets in Junya’s face. So close that Bokuto is sure it’s an invasion of personal space if it were between mere strangers and even for enemies. He realises this, too, and he pulls away. “We aren’t here to talk about this.”
“Mm. You’re right.” A hand reaches out to close around Beom’s wrist. “So stay back later.”
Bokuto’s eyebrows raise so high up they’re about to shoot off of his head. Even Akaashi looks back to the two, surprised.
It’s like they’re not even in the room, but if this drama is what they’re getting in exchange for that, then Bokuto doesn’t mind too much. He isn’t sure if he wants Junya’s attention on him, anyway—something about him is unsettling.
Beom purses his lips. Then he tears his wrist away and walks back into the corner, pissed. Ignoring the red on his cheeks, he slinks into the shadows, content to have no attention from anyone for once. Then Junya turns his gaze to the other two, who tense beneath his gaze. “Now then.” He leans back against his arms, crossing his legs. “I hear you both had quite the battle in Miyagi. Along with the Nekoma and Karasuno factions, of course.”
“We did,” Akaashi responds coolly, acting like he wasn’t just eavesdropping on Beom and Junya(though it isn’t like either of them were trying to be quiet about it).
Junya hums. “I know. And the General, too.” Eyes dropping to the bandages wrapped around the ex-athlete’s toned arms, then slowly tracing back up in a way that makes Bokuto feels like he’s being stripped. “Though I’m sure Hwanjae has already taken care of it.” Nine shadows rise behind him, all bearing the outlines of tails, despite the fact that there aren’t any physical ones behind him at the moment. He taps his nails against the table. Click-click-click-click. “Must have been rather exciting. It’s a pity I wasn’t there to see it.” A sigh. “It’s hard being this busy.”
Maybe if Bokuto was a little more familiar with the fox spirit, he’d slap him. “Exciting,” he starts. “Is definitely one way to put it.”
The fox spirit raises his brows. “Oh, you would definitely know.” He pauses when he sees the spirit’s bewildered expression and laughs. “Well, perhaps not the current you. But the you of the past and possibly near future… you would know.”
“It would be nice if you weren’t always talking in circles,” Bokuto quips. “I’ve had enough of deities that can’t ever talk straight.”
“Funny how I’m not straight then, huh?” Junya jests, then laughs. “General, I think you’ll find that finding a pure, untainted immortal that finds complete and blunt, straightforward honesty will be very hard to come by. Such deities are few and far in between, if any. And, for the record—” a wink “—I wasn’t speaking in riddles. I meant everything quite literally.”
“Anyway,” Akaashi cuts in, eternal patience clearly stretched thin. “We’re here to talk about the temple.”
Junya pauses. “Ah, right. I forget you came here for work. I suppose I had too much fun.” A smile. “It gets lonely when you’re this old.” And then, like he wasn’t just complaining, he rises from the desk, walking behind it to sit back in his chair. “Nasty business, that temple. Really nasty.”
“So you know what’s happening,” Bokuto says.
At the back, Beom perks up. Information at last—and the only reason he’s still here, the spirit suspects. For the intel.
“I know enough,” comes the ambiguous reply. “Who’s asking?”
“Me,” Akaashi responds. “I’m asking.”
Junya’s gaze is contemplative. Appraising, as it flickers between the two. Golden eyes glowing eerily in the dim light. Only a few lamps are lit, after all—there are lights on the ceiling, but they aren’t on. Bokuto wonders if all demons are naturally more inclined to be in the dark. And then why. Is it because they’re more powerful at night? Or does it bring a sort of comfort to them that the light does not?
“Unfortunately,” he finally sighs, clasping his hands together. “I cannot tell you everything. Even if it is you, Akaashi.” He spreads those pale hands. “My silence has been lavishly paid for, and I am a man of my word where payment has been given.”
Which reminds him. “I heard you don’t always ask for just money.”
Junya grins. “Ah. Well, you heard right. Curious?”
A little. But he doesn’t say it. It’s more than enough for the fox spirit, though. He sighs dramatically.
“They sent the prettiest lady to negotiate with me.” He leans back in his seat. “They know I like pretty things. She let me… play with her—” his expression is lascivious here “—and she told me their secrets. Ones they were likely prepared to give up after much agonising, knowing my style. But it’s quite alright; those secrets are more valuable than gold.”
“... I’m leaving.” The snake demon pushes himself off of the wall, expression blank. He meets Akaashi’s gaze. “If I stay any longer, I’m going to fucking vomit. Tell me what you know later.” He nods to Bokuto, then turns away, not even bothering to spare the fox spirit a glance.
The lift door opens. Beom steps in. Then it closes shut and he’s gone.
Silence.
“He’s the one that told me not to get my panties in a twist when we got here,” the spirit mumbles, breaking the silence, to which Junya barks out an amused laugh.
“Sounds like him,” he sighs, shaking his head, smile still present on his lips. “You’re as humorous as ever, General.” The kitsune flicks his gaze back to the lift. “He won’t leave the building. I assume you’d find him in the lounge.” Click-click-click-click. “Do me a favour, won’t you, dears?” He purrs. “Don’t tell him what we’ve spoken about. What I tell you here and now—keep it a secret from him.”
“Who are you calling ‘dears’?” Bokuto quips the same moment Akaashi goes “Don’t call me that.”
The only person I’d allow to call me ‘dear’ is Akaashi!
... Assuming he ever does, that is.
Junya laughs again. It’s not the soft, mischievous and amused one they first heard—no, this one is loud. Charismatic, boisterous. Enigmatic. It seems to echo, even, as he throws his head up and his shoulders shake in one smooth motion.
“It’s nice to know that some things don’t change, even after so long,” he sighs when he calms down, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Then he straightens, leans forward in his seat. “Alright,” he starts. “I’m done dragging things out. Ask.”
Junya waves his hand. Two chairs appear in front of his desk, and he tilts his head, gesturing for them to sit. For a moment, Bokuto and Akaashi sit there, dumbfounded, before moving at the same time to take their seats in one smooth motion, which only serves to fuel the kitsune’s amusement. “The temple,” Akaashi starts after they’ve both settled down. “Tell us what you know of it.”
“Wait.” Bokuto holds up a hand. “Aren’t we supposed to discuss… like, payment first?”
The kitsune blinks. Then he chuckles, shaking his head. “No. Since it’s the both of you, there is no payment required.” He inclines his head. “Neither of you are ‘normal’ clients, after all. But if you insist…” A grin; like a too-cunning fox, which is what he is. “I wouldn’t mind discussing it.”
“Nope!” Bokuto is quick to respond. “Nope, nope, nope. We’re good. Keep it free, thanks.”
Junya blows out a breath. “Is that so? Pity, then.” He sighs. “Oh well.” The fox spirit pauses, examining the two, as though he’s weighing his options, wondering what he can say and what he can’t. “Like I said, I can’t tell you everything. But I can tell you this: the person behind it is a demon. One you’d be quite familiar with, Akaashi. Me, too, though not as much as you would be. He’s from your era. You’ve met on several occasions, and none of them were favourable.” He turns his gaze to Bokuto. “You as well, General. Though not in your current state—not yet, at least.”
“Who?” The words leave Akaashi’s lips before he can stop them.
“Akaashi,” Junya starts, crossing his arms. “This I cannot say. My silence has been paid for and earned by the other party, and business is business. I am a man of my word. However…” The fox spirit pauses, contemplating. Then he says, “It would do you well to check behind the paintings of the goddess when you visit the temple. Look closely at the figurines. Especially where worship is due. And the staff—watch them, Akaashi Keiji. Do what you do best.”
Akaashi hesitates. “Do you know what you’re implying?”
“I know how words work, Akaashi,” comes the smooth reply as Junya tilts his head to the side. “Yes, I know exactly what I’m implying. I’m simply not saying it. Silence and all, you know?” The smile is sly, mischievous. The spirit winks, like he’s sharing a secret, which he is. It’s the first indication that he might be fun to hang out with after all.
“You know you could have died back there, right?”
“Well, yes. But is that really a bad thing?” Fox eyes, a sly smile, unbothered and uncaring. “My death would be insignificant. I have lived long enough, you see.”
“You know,” Bokuto starts dryly. “Normally people would thank someone for saving their lives. But I’m not hearing any from you.”
“Oh, is that what you were expecting?” Junya blinks. “Well, then thank you, I suppose.” His tone is flippant; no matter how one looks at it, there’s no sincerity to it at all. “But, really, you should have just left me there to die.”
“Why were they after you anyway?”
A smile. “Well, General. When someone knows too much and has lived for too long, people tend to go after their throats.”
“... I never told you who I was.”
“No,” the fox spirit clips cheerily. “No, you most certainly didn’t, Bokuto Koutarou.”
The spirit blinks. Oh, deities, I did know him.
And he’d saved him. From something, from someone. Were they hunters? How old was Junya then? Old, still, but clearly not as old as he is now. A few centuries? A few millennia? He couldn’t tell then, and he definitely can’t tell now.
“So you’re saying that the mortals aren’t praying to Ebisu-sama,” Akaashi starts. “But a demon.”
Oh. That does sound pretty bad.
“Perhaps,” comes the swift, nonchalant response. “I was paid not to say the outright truth, you see.” A smile. “Such a common mistake. But I suppose it’s because of idiots like them that I still get to keep my little stream of information going.”
“But why?” Bokuto finds the question leaving his lips before he can stop them. Akaashi looks a little miffed to have the words stolen right out of his mouth, but Junya offers a secretive smile in response as he leans forward. “Why would they do that?”
“Tell me, General,” he purrs, hooded eyes curving into crescents as his lips curl upwards. “How do the gods of the Higher Plane amass power? How do they amass the power that they share with those of the Higher Realm?”
Bokuto blinks. “Is that how Higher Realm deities get their power? By sharing it with the ones above?”
Junya tilts his head to the side. “I forget that you don’t know such simple things anymore. I’ll be concise, then, since this isn’t the main topic of our conversation today. How much do you know?”
So Bokuto holds up three fingers and ticks them off one by one as he goes, “The Upper Realm is for cultivators that achieved immortality and did something impactful to the world. The Lower Realm is for those that said cultivators took up with them, usually something like… A deputy chief, or something? And they don’t have temples dedicated to them. But, Upper Plane dwellers are true gods who have shrines and temples built in their name. I don’t know much else about them, though.”
“Well, you’ve got the basics down,” comes the spirit’s reply. “All cultivators have to work hard to achieve a certain level of power to achieve immortality, and then they all have to do something impactful if they want to ascend. Some cultivators can achieve ascension before immortality—usually the young ones, the extraordinary ones in times of war. The Heavens are an odd bunch, you see—impactful does not equate to positive. It could be saving your entire kingdom from a natural disaster single-handedly, or it could me massacring an entire army with your bare hands, or destroying another kingdom. All of these count as impact. ” He simpers, here, watching Bokuto’s expression. “Twisted, isn’t it? But I’d assume you already know this, so I’ll explain something else.” He splays his hands on the table. “Every deity in the Upper and Lower Realms have passed a certain point of power, but they are not all at the same level of it. Your power ages and grows with you.” And then he blows out a whistle. “I feel like an old teacher.”
“You’re old enough to be one,” Akaashi points out, to which Junya offers a very calm smile.
“I know.” His pointed, golden gaze meets with the spirit’s and he asks, “Following well, little disciple of mine?”
“I’m not your disciple,” Bokuto huffs. “And I’m not little.”
“Hmm.” Junya’s still smiling—the insufferable kind that makes you want to punt someone. “I’ll agree with you on the first half. Everyone is little to me at this age, General. Even our little Dragon Lord here.”
The dark-robed deity’s expression visibly sours at that form of address, but for once, does not deny. Bokuto wonders why, is already opening his mouth to ask the question, but Junya’s already continuing. “The lucky ones receive blessings when they ascend, if they’re noticed by any of those of the Upper Planes. Blessings that come in the form of power. ” And then his eyes flash. Junya’s golden eyes burn bright even in the light, narrowed pupils and a fanged smile. But it all disappears so quickly that the spirit wonders if it was an illusion. “Naturally, if you’ve received an Upper Plane dweller’s blessing, you’ll have more power. And, of course, the dwellers aren’t limited to just our gods. The Upper Plane is where every god of every culture dwells.”
“You know a lot,” the older blurts, as if he isn’t trying his best to wrap his head around the idea. But the kitsune only laughs in response.
“I would hope so. It would be odd if someone of my age and profession didn’t know a thing or two about the Immortal Realms.” Propping his elbows on the table, Junya tilts his head to the side. “Which brings me back to my question. Naturally, if you’re sharing—or, well, giving, technically—your power with or to someone else, how would you replace it? Replenish it?”
“Prayers,” Akaashi responds. “Prayers from the mortals, seeking your divine power in an attempt to satisfy their wishes.”
“Precisely.” Junya snaps his fingers in the immortal’s direction. “Prayers. And if prayers are how deities amass power, then why can’t demons do the same?”
Silence.
Then, from Bokuto, a very small “oh” fills the room.
The fox spirit gives him a few moments to take in the information, eyeing the both of them in a strangely analytical way that sort of makes the ex-athlete feel like Junya is the scientist and they’re the subjects that he sorely wishes to cut open and examine. For a brief moment, Bokuto wonders what he’d be looking for in the first place. But then he remembers that every person who’s seen him with Akaashi has always stared at them like they’ve grown an extra head. He supposes that this… ancient fox demon is no exception.
He doesn’t know if he should be disappointed or not. He wishes someone would tell him why it seems so wrong to be with Akaashi.
“Anyway,” he continues, leaning back. “That’s all the information I can give to the both of you. I’ve exploited my only loophole. What you do with what you know is up to you. And, as usual, if anyone asks, say nothing about me.” Junya simpers. “No matter how special you might be, I make no exceptions if this condition is broken.”
“Is that a threat?” Bokuto bristles. He doesn’t like being threatened. He doesn’t like Akaashi being threatened. Is this what Junya always does? Threatens Akaashi after he imparts whatever knowledge he has?
The fox spirit. “That’s a nice expression you have on you, General. Fierce. Reminds me sorely of the old days.” A tilt of his head; light hair falling before his eyes as he continues to simper and smirk as though he’s asking for a beating. “You tell me.”
He’s itching for a punch.
And it’s evident that Junya can tell when his smile only widens into a grin as he rises. “General,” he starts. “Might I trouble you to leave our darling Akaashi and I alone for a bit?” He acts as though he doesn’t see the way the ex-athlete bristles at yet another person giving the deity a doting nickname. He can’t help it, after all.
Love is a fickle thing.
But it’s funny, because Bokuto is pretty sure he isn’t in love.
For how can one fall in love for someone they’ve only just met?
But, again—
Love is a fickle thing.
Selfish. A monster that rears its head at you and spits in your face when you least expect it. A fluffy animal that you seek when you are in need of comfort. The creature in your closet that you fear as a child come alive, and yet, the angel you’ve always dreamed of meeting in your daydreams.
Love is as despicable as it is seductive.
Of course, the kitsune doesn’t stop there. No, he dares. He dares to look at the spirit in the eye as he casually, easily sets a hand on the dark-robed deity’s shoulder, smile still pleasant on his lips. Akaashi doesn’t so much as flinch, as though he’s used to his touch.
Something flares in him. Something ugly, foreign, despicable. And something that screams for a fight.
All he sees is red. Red, red, red. The scent of iron beneath his nose, warm liquid splashed onto his cheeks. The smell is sickening, the overwhelming amounts of liquid life everywhere disgusting. Jarring, daunting, terrifying. Red, red, red, red.
But his heart is beating in something more than just fear. It’s the thrill. The thrill of a good battle. If he can ignore all the blood, the bodies, the severed limbs(how he wishes he could) then this would be perfect. Red on the floor, red on his weapon, his armour. His comrades, screaming for help, to be saved. Screaming the names of their loved ones and praying to useless gods as they reach their ends.
He hates it. He hates it all, the grief and sadness and twisted gore and violence of it. The battlefield is merciless.
Oh, but how he loves a battle.
How he loves the thrill when their weapons clash, each blow he gives and takes. Everything is such fun, with his heart beating in his chest, blood racing through his body.
Bokuto Koutarou loves the battlefield.
Bokuto Koutarou hates death.
So whenever someone dies by his hand, he pushes his emotions down, down, down, before he plunges his weapon home, and when they go limp, when they fall to the ground after drawing their last breath, he always, always, whispers his apologies, hoping he can repent for the crime of murder one way or another.
It’s always harder when he remembers the people he’s killed all had families and loved ones waiting for them at home.
It’s always harder when he knows that whoever they’re waiting for won’t be coming back.
But he can’t keep himself off the battlefield when the thrill of it, of a fight, of his heart pumping through his blood, is something he so loves.
To him, war is a drug. Toxic, yet, so, so addictive. He can never quite tear himself from it.
But that doesn’t mean he’s never wanted to kill people when he knows he is fully capable of it.
“Bokuto-san?”
Akaashi’s voice tears him from his thoughts. Jarringly so. He almost jumps in his seat, surprised as he jolts back into reality. The deity’s brows are furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Shaking himself out of it, he rises from his seat. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll leave you both be.” And then he excuses himself, rushing out of the room, hands shaking. He’d seen more than just a memory. He’d felt it. Tasted the temptation of a fight. Bokuto’s hands are shaking—if he hadn’t been snapped out of it, he might have wrapped his hands around Junya’s neck and—
He shakes his head. Don’t think about it.
The lift opens with a soft ding. Bokuto steps in. It closes behind him.
He presses the button that’ll take him back to the ground floor. He doesn’t remember the combination of numbers that Beom pressed in.
The spirit leans against the wall, runs his hands through his hair, blows out a sigh.
He’s sweating.
The doors open again. Bokuto steps out, turns right towards what he assumes is the lounge area, judging from all the couches splayed about. He spots Beom, sprawled on one of the couches and sipping from an iced Starbucks drink that’s… oddly colourful. He joins him, of course. No one pays either of them any mind. No surprise for Bokuto, but they’re all treating the snake demon like this isn’t the first time he’s been here or behaved like this.
“Got kicked out?” Said demon asks nonchalantly, noisily taking a sip from his drink. “What did you guys talk about?”
“Yeah.” His expression sours. “I want to fucking punch him.”
Beom barks out a laugh at that, but something about it is almost bitter. “Yeah? Me fucking too. We can both do that later on.” Then, again. “Tell me what he told you.”
For a moment, Bokuto worries his lip, wondering if he should just ignore what the kitsune told them to do. But alas, in the end, he says, “He told us not to tell you.”
Something flashes in the demon’s eyes. Rage, sort of. And something else he can’t quite pinpoint. “That fucking asshole.”
“Why do you hate him so much anyway?”
“You just met him.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m not going to keep talking about this.” Beom finishes the rest of his drink, then eyes Bokuto. “... Let’s get you some Starbucks while we wait for Junya to finish… whatever the fuck he’s doing with Akaashi. Not fucking, jeez, stop being so overprotective. They’re probably discussing something else.”
“I wasn’t being overprotective!”
Beom pauses, then gives him a once-over. And then he laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, boy, ” he starts. “You have no idea.”
——————
“So…” Junya trails his fingers across his desk, gathering imaginary dust on them and flicking it away. “Bokuto Koutarou.”
“Yes.” Akaashi’s expression is wary. Everything is. He’s tense—more so than he usually is around Junya. Something about the way the fox seems to be picking fights and baiting Bokuto… he doesn’t like it. And the way the latter seems to be walking right into his traps? He likes that even less. “Are you surprised, too?”
The kitsune barks out a laugh, like, seriously? “Of course I am. You’ve never brought another acquaintance with you to meet me before. I must say, I feel like a mother watching her son grow up. Very odd, very mixed. Happy, but also put off.” He meets the other’s cold, unconvinced gaze, smiling. Like he knows he doesn’t believe him and doesn’t care, which… he really doesn’t. “Are you tired of that?”
“Of course I am. You have no idea what it’s like whenever someone sees him with me.”
“Well, to be fair,” he hums. “It’s a very understandable reaction. I’d imagine that the older ones always have a far more exaggerated response compared to the young ones who only have hearsay and warnings to go off of.”
“Hearsay?” Akaashi perks up immediately. “Of what? Of us?” His brows furrow. “What is there to say about Bokuto? He isn’t immortal. He never has been. I would know him if he was.” Even though I feel like I do, even though he says he knows me.
Junya doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “Their reactions are warranted.” He walks over to the horn perched on the stand at the front of the room, running his clawed fingers over the surface. It’s not smooth—it’s rough, the way a horn should be. Not polished, pitch black. It sucks the light out of anything near it.
The immortal eyes the horn with a grimace, a hand reaching up for a split moment to touch the bottom of his earlobe because he stops himself from reaching for the empty space above his head. It’s not his horn, no, but it must have been painful to have that cut off. “I want to know why.”
Silence.
“Junya.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
The kitsune chuckles, then smiles. “Not so dormant and well-behaved anymore, are you?” He asks. But then it fades when Akaashi doesn’t budge, hands tightly folded in his sleeves. He sighs. “My silence has been paid for for many, many, years, Akaashi. I couldn’t tell you anything even if I wanted to, and I wish I could. But the heavens have been very thorough with their wording of the deal and the oath they made me swear.” For once, he is sincerely apologetic. “Apologies.”
He scowls. “Not even a loophole?”
A pause. “Well… perhaps one.” He tears his hand from the dragon’s horn, a relic from millennia past. “You knew him once. You did. A very, very long time ago. Before the divine war broke out.”
He blinks. “What? But that’s…”
“From before you were even a deity, yes.” Junya turns to face Akaashi. “Like I said—a very, very long time ago.”
“But how?”
“I can’t say.”
“... Fine.” He huffs, settling back in his seat with crossed arms. “Then how did you come to know him?”
Here, he barks out a laugh. It’s almost bashful. “Oh, that’s an embarrassing little story. It would bore you.”
“You? Embarrassing story?” He raises a stoic eyebrow. “You must be joking if you think such a thing would bore me.”
“... He got me out of a bind when I was at my weakest.” Junya sighs, shaking his head. “He’s the reason I know you, the reason you know me. ”
“What?”
“Do you truly not remember him?”
Akaashi pauses, trying to rack his brain for something, for anything. But he can’t find a single damn thing. Whenever he feels something resurfacing, it fades away just as quickly. Like…
Like there’s an empty space in his mind where something was supposed to be.
Shun says he was wiped.
But why?
And… if Bokuto did exist back then—
Then why wipe his memories of him?
It’s like trying to keep sand in the palm of your hand. It never stays and just keeps slipping. Except he can’t see the sand and he can’t even bring it up to him before it’s already slipping through his fingers. Grasping for nonexistent threads.
“I… no. I can’t. I can’t remember him. I don’t know him. I never knew him. And even if I did have memories to go on…” He trails off, then frowns. “Well. I wouldn’t know what’s real and what isn’t.”
Junya hums in thought. Then, he asks, “How long has it been since the both of you have met?”
“Almost three weeks. Maybe more, maybe less. You know how time is with us. Too hard to keep track of now.”
Junya chuckles. “You don’t have to tell me that.” Then he approaches him, leaning down, because the deity is still seated. “Strange, then. Whatever they gave you must have been very strong. You’ve been staying with the General every day, yes? Spent every waking hour with him?”
“Why are you phrasing it that way?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He raises a finger. Akaashi flinches back, but, unperturbed, the fox demon reaches forward. “Its effects should have worn out by now, at least. It’s been centuries, millenia, even. It’s only a matter of time—ah.” He taps a spot on the deity’s forehead. “Found it. There. That should speed things up… even if it’s just a little. But it’s still something.”
“What—”
The spot Junya touched burns. A white-hot, searing pain that tears through his head and causes him to gasp. Akaashi shuts his eyes tight, palm flying to his forehead. He’s always prided himself(sort of) on his high tolerance for pain, but this… this, is something else entirely. “What did you just do?”
“Something I could have done sooner.” Junya settles in his seat, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair, cheek against the palm of his hand. “I wanted to spare you the pain. But now is a good time to do it—it’s the first time you’ve met him since the divine war, after all. And, from the looks of it, he isn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon.”
“What?” The pain is so fucking distracting. He can barely register what the kitsune is saying, what he means. It’s taking everything in him to reel in his thoughts, because his focus is geared towards preventing the urge to scream. “What are you talking about?”
“The effects won’t come immediately, so bear with me. If anything confuses you, bring them to Kohaku. He knows where to find me. He always will.” There’s a strange tone in his voice when he says that last part, but Akaashi is too out of it to bother trying to pinpoint it. He’s panting, sweating. The pain’s eased a little—at least he doesn’t feel like screaming—but those few seconds, that one minute or whatever, felt like fucking forever. “Better?”
“... Barely.” His voice comes out hoarse. “What did you do to me?”
“You’ll know in time. If anything confuses you, ask Kohaku.” Junya leans forwards, tucking his finger beneath Akaashi’s chin and forcing the deity to meet his gaze, narrowed eyes mischievous. “You really are quite the beauty, aren’t you?”
Akaashi pulls away as though he’s been burned. “Don’t touch me.”
The fox spirit bursts into laughter. “Relax, Akaashi. I won’t. You are not mine to take.” He waves a hand. “Feel free to leave. I’m done with you. But be a dear and call in Kohaku, won’t you? He should be in the lounge, as he always is.” A smile. “I’d like to have a little chat with him.”
Akaashi leaves so fast he nearly trips over his robe.