boundless || bokuaka

“That’s going to be difficult. How can you guys be sure that the heavens don’t already know?”

Shun’s smile is mirthless. “Do you really think he’d be here if that was the case?”

When Bokuto finally calms his little junior down, he musters some courage to head to the living room in hopes that he won’t look like he was just jacking himself off to the sight of someone who’s just woken up a few moments ago. He contemplates dousing his face in cold water, then thinks that’ll only make him look more suspicious if he goes out with a flush on his cheeks. 

Well, he does it anyway. 

Akaashi isn’t out of their room yet. A small part of the spirit wonders if the deity will request for a change of rooms, for the both of them to be separated. While Bokuto understands why he’d want to do that, he can’t help the sense of dread creeping up on him when he imagines how it would go down. Would Akaashi reassure him? Would he say nothing at all? He has no idea what’s going to happen after this. To them. To everything. 

Bokuto doesn’t usually get headaches, but man, he feels like he’ll be getting one soon if he keeps thinking about this. He’s thought about this since last night, thought about it while he was cleaning Akaashi up and gingerly changing his clothes, wiping him down, adamantly telling himself not to stare, not to touch any more than he should. Knowing what he’s been through, Bokuto’s surprised Akaashi didn’t stir at all. Perhaps he was truly tired. 

It’s funny—how much I trust you. 

You know what else is funny? The fucking way I’d do anything to make you say that to me again.

The sounds of voices tears Bokuto from his reverie as he steps into the living room. He’s first struck by the presence of two strangers standing around someone; judging from how relaxed they are, they’re no doubt familiar with this apartment. From what Bokuto can see of their back, they both sport the same curly, dark hair and look to be dressed in some light armour and robes. The metal on their shoulders glints in the light, fitted snugly on their forms. Broad shoulders, straight posture—probably the deities Shun mentioned. What were they called again? The siblings. Ah. 

Susuiro. 

Hwanjae is the first to see him. Well, obviously, since they make eye contact as soon as he steps out of the hallway. He perks up immediately, straightening and raising his voice. “Bokuto-san.”

The two deities turn. 

Bokuto is first struck by how similar they are. Which, okay, is to be expected, considering the fact that they’re siblings. One of them—the younger one, Bokuto presumes—has softer features. A little friendlier, and a warmer look in his eyes. The other has a harshness to him that it feels almost roguish, but still seems very put-together. Their eyes are the same shade of gold; one friendly yet distant, and another hard and appraising.  

Bokuto is struck by how tall they are . Not so much so that he’ll have to look up at them, but tall enough that he doesn’t have to look down either. The spirit blinks his owlish eyes and raises a hand. “Hey. Good evening.” 

Sure, he’d known that they arrived, but Bokuto was a little too preoccupied taking care of Akaashi to actually give them any notice. Now, though, the older one—he has a larger frame than his sibling, though not by much—inclines his head in greeting. The younger offers a small wave, hands otherwise clasped behind his back. Shun is there, too, and Beom peeks out from behind the two deities, brows furrowed. He’s still pale. The pang of guilt that slams into his heart makes it difficult for him to tear his eyes away. Evidently, they’d been standing around him before he arrived.

Your fault.

Remember what you owe and pay him back. 

… if he lives. 

Bokuto shoves the possibility of death aside, instead choosing to focus on the guests before him. He sticks out his hand, and the older one takes it in a firm grip; he’s struck by how callous his hands are. A martial deity, then.

“My name is Danro.” His voice is husky, like gravel crunching beneath Bokuto’s feet. There’s a hardness to it, though Bokutois sure that there’s no hostility to it. “This is my brother.” He gestures to the other deity, who inclines his head in one quick motion and offers a smile. 

“Susuiro Kai. We’ve heard a lot about you, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bokuto finds himself saying, letting go of Danro’s hand and grinning wide. “It seems like everyone seems to know me better than I know myself these days.” It’s a breezy statement said with little bitterness, but Bokuto finds himself thinking that it truly is ironic how in life and in death, his name is known to all. Shun coughs into his fist, and Bokuto shrugs before taking his seat next to Hwan-jae. “Sorry I couldn’t be here to welcome you. I had… uh. I had things to take care of.”

“Things? What things?” Another head pops up from behind Beom; blond hair slicked back and round, inquisitive eyes. He stands, too; Bokuto feels a strange sense of relief when he realises this guy isn’t as tall as the other two. He takes his place next to Kai, taking the initiative to reach out his hand instead. “‘M Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner. Was just kinda occupied lookin’ at Beom’s wound, and, you know. But holy shit, man. It’s not every day we get to meet a literal legend, ya know?” He grins wide as Bokuto takes his hand, gives it a firm shake. “Name’s Terushima Yuuji! Just Terushima will do.” 

Finally, he thinks, the grin reappearing on Bokuto’s face. Someone to match my energy. “Terushima. And who’s the legend here? I’m the one standing among gods.” 

He blinks, caramel eyes turning analytical as he tilts his head to the side and leans back, giving Bokuto a once-over before turning to Shun. “He doesn’t know?”

Shun purses his lips. “It’s… complicated.”

“I mean, I know a lot of people know me, for some fucking reason,” Bokuto interjects. “But me? A legend in this world? I’ve only been dead for, what, a month? I definitely haven’t done anything that would make me legendary.” Spoken as if his mind wasn’t sent whirring at the possibilities of why he would be. Something about his past. 

Well—the past that he’s only ever dreamt of.

Susuiro Kai raises his brows, and Danro turns around to focus an indecipherable look on Bokuto that’s just a little off-putting. “Uh… Right?” 

“He doesn’t remember,” Hwanjae says, his words a little rushed. He focuses an apologetic look on Danro. “He doesn’t know.” 

Danro holds Hwanjae’s stare. And then it softens and he blows out a breath, turning back to Beom, who immediately straightens under the deity’s gaze. Kai’s look turns into one of curiosity, mirroring Terushima’s. “Huh,” he starts. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing?”

“Well,” Beom starts, his voice hoarse. “It’s definitely not permanent.” 

Hwan-jae immediately refocuses on his cousin, expression growing stern. “Don’t talk too much.”

“It was literally a sentence, Jae.”

Danro interjects before the other can respond, frowning ( it looks like a very natural expression on his face). “I still can’t fathom how one ghoul put a hole in your stomach. With, what? A single bite?” 

Beom raises his eyebrows. “Glad you think so highly of me, General.” Bokuto jolts at the title—something he’s grown accustomed to being addressed by. He doesn’t know why he never thought that the Heavens might have other people with the title, too. The way he comes to attention does not go unnoticed by Kai, whose eyes flash to him for the briefest of moments, but—and Bokuto isn’t sure why he’s thankful for this—he doesn’t say anything about it. “And, no, it wasn’t a bite. It was blood.” 

Despite his best attempts, the demon fails to stop the spark of pain that fills his eyes before he looks down and away, but it’s a little too late. Hwan-jae purses his lips, furrows his brows, but Beom forges on before he can even speak. “Blood. That I took. It splashed onto Bokuto and it was burning him. Getting under his skin and shit.”

Terushima winces. “So you thought to swallow it? Are you fucking stupid?”

Beom’s gaze is positively venomous. “No, I’m fucking not. You didn’t see Akaashi’s expression.” 

Danro turns to face Shun. “If this is the way things are, I can’t help but wonder if we’ll have enough people to fight. Martial deity or not, with ghouls that can burn through skin, and the way you described things to me, even we have our limits.” His voice is flat but not unkind, his brows slightly furrowed, lips turned down in a small frown. He crosses his arms.  

“Well,” Beom starts, somehow mustering a tone of offense in his words despite his sorry state. “It isn’t that bad, alright? Jeez, it’s lik—” he sucks in a breath. The demon’s expression shifts into something more sullen, more gloomy, but at least it isn’t ashamed. Bokuto himself doesn’t know how thick this guy’s face is. “Okay, fine, I take it back. It hurts like a fucking bitch.” 

“You’d be dead by now if you weren’t immortal,” Danro points out, deadpanning. 

The younger Susuiro looks to be fighting back a smile, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes that he fails to hide as he says, “Okay, then how about this: do we know who that voice was?”

Shun and Beom’s expressions darken immediately; Hwanjae’s hand clenches into a fist. Danro notices, fingers twitching just barely; no one else notices his movement. “I have my suspicions,” the snake demon starts, an uncharacteristic air of caution to his words. “But if I’m right, then Bokuto isn’t the only dead man walking.”

Silence. And then Hwanjae frowns, clearing his throat. “Beom,” he starts, an edge now to his normally gentle voice. “You need to stop talking before you make things worse for yourself.” 

To this, Beom only scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a child, Jae,” he starts; somehow he still manages to sound offended, and that only serves to make the gold-eyed deity purse his lips and furrow his brows in blatant disapproval. Beom keeps his gaze fixed in front of him, staring into nothing. “I feel just fine, alright?” Bokuto doesn’t miss the way the demon’s hands curl into fists, the spark of anger and helplessness in his eyes followed by what can only be self-loathing. But it’s gone the next second, and he wonders if he’d seen it at all. “It’s not like the hole’s getting any bigger anyway. It shrank a little.” 

Shun’s jaw ticks. “Beom, that’s enough. If you keep talking, Hwanjae’s work will be for nothing. I know you’re not a child, but doesn’t that mean you should know your limits and how to take care of yourself?” There’s a pause. Then, Shun levels his gaze, meeting Beom’s glower, unfazed by his hostility. “I don’t think Junya will be too happy when he hears about your injury either. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out.” 

Bokuto isn’t sure what the intended effect is supposed to be, but when Beom starts choking out a bitter laugh, he concludes that this probably isn’t it. “Junya?” There’s a bitterness to his voice; the spirit can’t tell if it’s directed at the demon himself or the legendary kitsune in question. “What does that old crusty pervert of a fox care about—ugh.” Beom cuts himself off with a wince, hand fluttering to his gut, where the hole is. Hwanjae’s brows furrow immediately and he tosses a scathing look Shun’s way; it makes Bokuto glad he isn’t on the receiving end of it. 

“Both of you need to stop. You’re both injured and I’m already stressed enough as is,” he snaps. He opens his mouth, looking as though he wants to say more, but ultimately tamps it down with a sigh, forcing Beom to lie back down. “Seriously, can’t you both be a little more responsible?” 

Which is funny, because Bokuto’s always thought that Shun’s been pretty responsible. Beom? Questionable. But Shun? Bokuto had never thought of as someone who would shirk his duties.  

“Uh, hold up,” Terushima cuts in. His lips spread into a sheepish sort of smile when all attention focuses on him, but seems otherwise unfazed when he continues, “Are we talking about the same Junya here? Y’know, the one who—”

“Yes,” Hwanjae cuts in, an exasperated smile on his face, though not unkind. “Yes, that Junya, Terushima-san. The one that heaven wants to murder and worship at the same time.” 

Terushima blows out an appreciative whistle, looking over at Beom. “Well, then I guess you should take care of yourself.”

“You say one more word about him,” Beom starts calmly. “And I will have your head on a pike.”

Kai’s gaze lands heavily on Beom. Unfortunately for him, the demon’s shameless. So he grins instead. “Go on, Susuiro Kai. See if you can kill me.” 

The younger Susuiro opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in, Danro holds up his hand. The display of silent power, paired with a cautionary look, causes to reluctantly shut his mouth, but not before levelling a neutral glare on his brother before looking away. Terushima puts a hand on Kai’s arm; the whispered apology in his gaze along with the shake of Kai’s head does not go unnoticed by Bokuto. A pang of envy hits him unawares; he wonders what it would be like to have a lover like that. To have Akaashi by his side and freely express his affection for him without having to worry about whether or not he’ll be asked if they’re a couple.

He doesn’t think he can handle the pain of denying, that, no, they’re not a couple at all, because he’s sure Akaashi doesn’t see him that way, trust or not. Trust and love are different. You can trust someone you don’t like because they’re reliable, but love is something entirely different altogether. Love is a monster; it eats at you and claws at your heart when you least expect it to, and before you know it you’re in its grasp. 

Love, Bokuto thinks, is a beautiful and terrible monster. 

Hwanjae sighs, running a hand through his hair. Danro frowns, then tucks a lock of the deity’s hair behind his ear in an almost reassuring motion. 

Ah. 

Looks like he’s surrounded by couples today. 

Then, Danro turns to Shun, neutral, stony expression sliding back into place on his handsome features. “I thought Junya didn’t interfere in these sorts of things.” 

Kai’s gaze on Beom is analytical; a hand finds itself tucked beneath his chin, expression thoughtful. “Maybe ‘these sorts of things’ isn’t Beom.” 

“Oh, fuck off, will you?” The demon hisses. “You make it sound like he actually gives a shit about his boy toys. I got news for you, pretty boy; he doesn’t.”

Shun opens his mouth—probably to advise Beom to keep quiet again—but Bokuto decides he’s had enough of their stupid banter. So he sits down next to Beom and asks, “Are you sure you’re just a ‘boy toy’ to him?”

Shun huffs, looking away. But not before he sends Bokuto a look like, you’re supposed to shut him up, not make him talk more. Which is something he ignores in favour of listening to Beom’s answer and observing his reaction. Bokuto’s never been an observant person per se, but the longer he’s been dead, the more he’s been forced to do just that when he can’t exactly interact with the living anymore outside of all these deities. 

“He treats us all the same anyway.”

There’s a bitterness there that Bokuto hears again, but he thinks this isn’t related to any sort of self-loathing or hatred for the fox. It sounds like a wish for something else that will never happen. 

At least, to Beom, it won’t. 

Hard to say about Junya, though.

“How’s Akaashi?” Shun asks, breaking the brief silence. Bokuto feels his ears go warm, his face flushing. Oh, shit. 

He clears his throat. “He’s fine now,” he starts. “Uh… resting, maybe. He’d just woken up, but he seems kind of tired.” 

Terushima makes a sound of delight, and Kai and Danro exchange a cagey look that Bokuto doesn’t quite understand. Or bother to, really, despite his curiosity. These deities are so much older than he is; the shit they’ve been through is no doubt thicker than a fucking dictionary. Maybe he’ll ask them. Or wait for his memories to answer his questions for him, when they come back. 

“You mean the Dragon Lord?” Terushima asks. “What’s wrong with him? Wait—” Terushima’s smile freezes in place. He whirls to face Bokuto. “—You two met.” 

Beom groans before Bokuto can answer. “Spare me this shit for a day, I’m fucking begging you,” he snaps. “I’ve got one foot in my grave already; the least you could do is spare me the ‘oh my gods, Bokuto Koutarou and Akaashi Keiji met!’ theatrics. Yes, they met. There’s no fucking explosion—” Beom sucks in a breath and winces in pain. He holds up a hand when Hwanjae turns to him and closes his mouth on his own accord, but that doesn’t make him look any less pissed.

Unfazed, Terushima barks out a laugh. It’s wild; unhinged. Carefree, in a way. “Holy fuck,” he starts, shaking his head. “This entire ordeal is an explosion just waiting to happen.” 

“Keep it a secret for now,” Shun says, brows furrowed. “We don’t yet know how Heaven will react, but you know it won’t be anything good.” 

“I wish someone told me,” Bokuto starts. “Just why Heaven is so against my and Akaashi’s reunion or whatever the fuck the dude at the temple called it. What’s so wrong about us meeting?”

Shun smiles, but it’s pained. “We can’t answer that.” 

It takes almost everything in Bokuto not to punch something. Instead, he says, “Fine.” Because he isn’t surprised at this outcome at all.

They only ever answer things that aren’t related to him anyway.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” It’s phrased as a question, but Danro’s tone falls flat. “If you want our help, you’re going to have to tell us how we’re supposed to when we don’t even know who we’re going up against. Or how many enemies we’re dealing with.” 

Shun purses his lips. “We would scout, but…” He throws a glance Beom’s way. 

The demon huffs out a bitter laugh. “But your scouter is otherwise incapacitated and an invalid. You can say it, Shun.” 

Shun doesn’t.

Somehow that seems to piss the demon off more. Mismatched eyes settle on the wall, glaring. Bokuto thinks that if Beom’s eyes had lasers, the wall would have a hole in it by now. 

It occurs to him suddenly that maybe Beom isn’t pissed at the people around him, but at himself. Shun’s gaze softens, a spark of guilt rising in those amber eyes, but Beom keeps his gaze averted. So he sighs, kneads his temples. 

“But from what we’ve seen,” he continues. “There’s more than five hundred of them. They’re ghouls, but since we don’t know what our enemy did to them, well… it could still be a tough fight.”

Danro crosses his arms, frowning in thought. “I know a few people who might be able to lend some back-up, and I’ll go back up to request troops from the Lower Realm. But this isn’t going to go unquestioned, and you and I both know you can’t keep this under wraps forever. Oikawa’s going to want an explanation to give to Tenshu-sama.” 

Shun purses his lips, exchanging a gaze with Hwanjae. For a moment there’s silence, before the amber-eyed man speaks, asking, “We need to keep the fact that Bokuto isn’t in the underworld a secret.” 

That’s an odd choice of words. 

Kai fixes that analytical gaze on the spirit once more, lips turned down ever-so-slightly. “That’s going to be difficult. How can you guys be sure that the heavens don’t already know?”

Shun’s smile is mirthless. “Do you really think he’d be here if that was the case?”

More silence. 

“Well,” Terushima finally says. “You have a point.” 

“I don’t get why the heavens are so edgy about my being here,” Bokuto finally says, frustrated at his own cluelessness. “The least you could tell me is what’s wrong with me or something, jeez.” 

“We can’t,” Danro responds flatly. 

“Why?”

“It’s like this, see,” Terushima starts. “Some things are taboo to talk about, and for us it isn’t just superstition, since… well, since we sort of are superstition. We got orders not to tell you. Oaths we had to swear.” The faux-blond’s smile is apologetic. “In other words, we would tell you, but the punishment makes us all chicken about it, and I’m not going to deny that I’m one of them. So this is the most I can tell you.”

He almost opens his mouth to ask ‘why?’ only to realise that the entire point of Terushima’s words is to tell him that asking something like that will forever go unanswered.

That doesn’t mean Bokuto’s given up on sating his curiosity, though. 

But for now, he shuts his mouth, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “Fine.” 

“We’re getting nowhere,” Danro finally says, tired. “I think we should take a rest.” 

Shun’s smile is apologetic. “I’m sorry I shoved you guys into this and started a discussion without asking if you needed to rest. You guys just finished a mission too, right?”

Danro waves his hand. “It’s fine. At least we got the gist of the situation.”

“Where are you going to stay?” Hwanjae pipes up, letting his gaze slide over the trio. Danro shrugs in response, and Terushima grins.

“We don’t know yet,” the faux-blond says. “But we’ll probably find it.”

“We have some spare rooms,” Shun offers. “The apartment’s pretty big anyway” This is an understatement that Bokuto doesn’t bother refuting. “But, since Akaashi and Bokuto are already staying in one, that leaves… one more guest room.” 

Danro nods at Kai. “Give it to Kai and Terushima. I can sleep on the couch or something.”

Hwanjae shifts his weight in his seat, a blush rising. Shun frowns, oblivious to his reddening cousin. “We can’t have that. How about you take my room instead—”

“There’s no need for that,” Hwanjae cuts in quickly. “You still haven’t healed completely from the fight, Shun.”

“You aren’t taking my room, that’s for sure,” Beom grumbles. “I plan to go back in there to sleep tonight.” Which implies the demon’s been on the couch ever since he got back. “Shun, you’re on carry duty.” 

“No, he’s not,” Hwanjae cuts in quickly. “I’ll help you to your room later.”

Beom doesn’t respond, though he looks satisfied enough with his cousin’s answer. 

“Danro,” the ravenette starts, pale cheeks flushed red, golden gaze fixed on the floor. “You can stay with me.”

Danro’s gaze is indecipherable. “No arguments there.” 

And then they disperse, and when Bokuto gets back to the room, he finds Akaashi asleep once more.

He can’t bring himself to wake him up, so he settles on the bed instead. It takes everything in him not to touch his hair; he opts to admire his features instead. The soft, delicate cheekbones and the ink-black hair pooling around him. The jade pendant hung around his neck since time immemorial.

Akaashi Keiji, just who were you to me?

—————

All Kohaku does is sleep now. After that entire discussion, Hwanjae and Shun had managed to help him walk back to his room (having air pass through you is an unpleasant experience when there’s nothing to block it from going through), he’d collapsed on the bed and drifted off into sleep. It had been an hour or two before sunset when the Susuiro siblings and Terushima Yuuji had arrived, and the discussion had gone on for quite awhile. It had killed Beom not to say anything useful.

He’d felt utterly useless lying there, and he’d hated it. Hated himself for it, too. When he wakes up and checks the clock, he lets out a tired groan; everyone’s probably asleep by now. Five in the fucking morning. He hasn’t woken up this early in the morning since he was human. Funny how your schedule reverses when you die and your definition of ‘sleeping early’ becomes sunset and ‘waking late’ turns into sunrise where most of his kind go to sleep. 

He hadn’t even woken on his own volition. It’s the rustle that makes him blearily open his eyes, blinking the sleep from them with a frown. He’s hit immediately by the pain  of the hole in his gut, which means whatever Hwanjae had given to him to numb it has worn off. A muffled groan slips past his lips, but he shuts himself up before he can wake anyone up. He’s inconvenienced his cousins enough already. 

Kohaku doesn’t bother trying to sit up. 

A flash of white catches his attention. He turns his head so quickly his vision actually starts spinning, and a curse falls from his lips as he squints, trying to make sense of whatever is in his room when it shouldn’t be—

He meets a pair of golden eyes. 

A fox. 

Not a regular one. It’s lithe, the size of a deer, probably, with long limbs and white fur. There are red markings beneath its eyes, on its forehead. It’s ethereal in ways foxes are not, because this isn’t a regular fox. It sits by the bed, looking down at Beom, ears twitching. 

It’s one of Junya’s. 

Which is why he doesn’t bother questioning how it got into his room.

He groans in exasperation, huffing and turning his head so he can look at the ceiling instead because the last thing he needs right now is to be reminded of that old man. “Gods, can’t I get some peace? Get out.” 

The fox remains still. Silent, staring. He’s vaguely aware of the way it scans his body. Beom has no doubt that its master is seeing through its eyes. “You have better things to do than this. What are you even doing here?” 

Obviously, he doesn’t get a response. So, with a defeated sigh, he meekly reaches up a hand. The fox seems to know what he wants to do; it ducks its head, letting Kohaku comb his fingers through the soft fur. Its gaze, however, remains on his face. 

“Go back and tell your master I’m fine,” he manages, voice barely above a whisper. “What’s he even doing, bringing one of his foxes to look after me? One might think I’m not just his boy toy. Don’t you find it strange?” Talking this much is kind of painful, but Beom doesn’t really care. 

He pushes the fox away. Or, well. He tries to. Not that he succeeds when it turns into a weak nudge; he’s tired and barely has the strength to walk, let alone shove something away. The animal doesn’t move one bit, golden gaze fixed on Beom’s face. He can’t really read its eyes. His hand falls back onto the bed and he heaves a sigh. “Busybody of an old man.” His tone is pained. Exasperated. Endearing. 

He pretends he doesn’t feel any sort of endearment.

The fox doesn’t respond, nor does it move. 

“Jeez, didn’t I tell you to get lost?” His laugh is meek. Pitifully so, much to his chagrin and self-ridicule. “‘S rude to peek at people, you know. Didn’t your old man… didn’t that old fox tell you that?” A breath. “He did teach you guys manners, ri—”

A paw presses onto his mouth, effectively shutting him up. A part of him is grateful for the relief of not having to force himself to talk; the other is just tired. Exasperated, because, wow, now a fucking animal is fussing over him, how pathetic he must be.

A laugh bubbles from his throat; bitter and filled with self-loathing. It fades into a groan of pain not long after, and Kohaku’s brows furrow. He’s grateful for the dim light. It hides the way his eyes redden as he fights back his tears. He sighs, but it’s shaky. “You know, it’s kind of funny.” He ignores the way the fox seems to glare at him, an unmistakable way of it trying to tell him to be quiet. “Everyone’s always telling me to shut up. Only this time they all look scared when they say it. Concerned.” The scoff leaves his lips unbidden. “It’s not like I’m going to die.” 

Funny how he ends up pouring his heart out to an animal who can’t respond. To be frank, Kohaku doesn’t even know if it understands him to begin with. 

He’s torn from his thoughts when the creature jumps into his bed. It’s queen-sized, so it’s not exactly small, but that fox is huge. Still, the snake demon can’t find the strength to push it off. Especially not when it uses its snout to nudge his head, gently lifting it and curling around him, tail settling on his neck so its body becomes a pillow instead. The fox’s head hovers above his own, gaze unreadable even as it presses its snout against his forehead, beaded with sweat he hadn’t even realised was forming. 

“What the fuck.” Burying his nose in its fur, he laughs again. He feels a little delirious. “Your fur’s so fluffy.” 

The tail plops itself on his mouth.

Kohaku raises his eyebrows in amusement, making to push it off; it lets him. The creature reaches out a paw to lift the blanket, its eyes latching onto the gaping hole where his guts should be. Closing at an agonisingly slow rate because it keeps widening again. 

“Aw, you care?” He huffs out a tired breath. “Ain’t it funny how you care more than your master probably does?” He’s too tired to pretend he isn’t bothered by it one bit. Too tired to conceal his bitter longing. Tired.

The fox pauses, then looks back down at him. Maybe it’s offended by him insulting its master. Even if it is, he doesn’t bother apologising to it. It’s never been his style. 

The fox gently tugs away from its position, settling Kohaku’s head back on the pillow with utmost care before jumping down. He thinks it’s about to leave when it turns to face him at the side of his bed. Kohaku opens his mouth to bid his goodbyes up until the fox starts to look less like a fox and more like—

His mouth dries.

He almost sits up.

“Junya.” 

The fox demon’s gaze is unreadable, much like the fox that he had been just a few moments ago. Standing next to the bed like this, he positively looms over Kohaku. Everything in his body screams for him to run away or tackle this man, but in the end, he does nothing. 

“What the fu—”

Junya silently sits down on the bed. Kohaku feels the bed dip, and watches with bated breath as an arm settles on the opposite side of the snake demon’s body. That shuts his mouth up; those golden eyes are piercing, and it feels like Junya sees him for everything he is, including the parts of him he so desperately wants to lock away. 

“Get—”

Junya lifts the blanket once more, eyeing the wound once more; Kohaku’s shirt had ridden up in his sleep and he hadn’t bothered to adjust it, and now he regrets it when he watches the fox lift the shirt further (he hadn’t done that as a fox earlier) to eye the way the wound fights to close only to open further before closing again. His expression is cold, cold. Dangerous. The snake demon doesn’t dare to dwell on it. Pretends he doesn’t see the fire burning in those golden eyes. 

Except he can’t when they turn to him. 

“This is your fine?” There’s a certain harshness to Junya’s voice that makes Kohaku flinch. No doubt the action goes unnoticed, because the edges of the kitsune’s eyes soften right after. Kohaku watches him take a slow breath. 

“You have enough on your plate anyway,” Kohaku finds himself saying. “What are you doing, visiting another one of your boy toys at this hour? Don’t you have to work?”

“Do you think that lowly of me?”

Maybe it’s because I think that lowly of myself. “Oh, not you. Me. If it’s not business, then I’m just—”

“Do me a favour and be quiet.” Junya’s gaze burns again. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“You know how I am. Why the fuck did you come then?”

In response, Kohaku feels Junya grasping his chin and shoving something into his mouth. He doesn’t even struggle—he swallows because it’s Junya.

Trust is a dangerous thing. 

And, besides. “I have a hole in my stomach. There’s no way—”

But then his body feels like it’s on fire and he flinches. Junya scoots closer, settling a cool hand on the nape of the snake demon’s neck. Kohaku’s hand flies to his wrist; he feels like his insides are being burned. He wants to be mad, he does, but the heat goes from an excruciating one to a warm lull in but a moment. 

Junya turns his hand, intertwining his fingers with Kohaku’s. He doesn’t dare dwell on it, but squeezes nonetheless, because he should enjoy this fantasy while he still can. A rush of energy flows into him—qi. Junya’s. 

It’s refreshing and soothing. Cool. And overwhelmingly abundant, overwhelmingly powerful. Junya’s qi. Against his own will, he finds himself relaxing. He doesn’t even resist when Junya’s hand cups his cheek; no, he leans into it, eyes fluttering shut. The pain fades into something numb and distant. He’s sweating more now, but the qi from the kitsune cools him. 

“What was—”

“Phoenix essence. Just a bit.” Junya’s thumb swipes across his cheekbone, voice soft. “Don’t talk anymore.” 

“That shit’s too expensive to be wasting on me. Why?”

“It isn’t a waste if it’s you.” His finger flicks the tip of Kohaku’s nose. “You’re not just a boy toy.” 

“Haha, funny joke.”

“You’re mine.”

“You mean I’m your boy toy,” he scoffs. You’re mine. Only in Kohaku’s dreams would he dare to believe such a beautiful lie. 

Junya chuckles. “No, Kohaku.” The hand cups his cheek again. Kohaku doesn’t like the gentle touch. He hates it. But he doesn’t want Junya to stop. “You’re mine.”

“Better watch it, Junya. Starting to sound a lot like the romantic type.”

Junya raises a fine eyebrow, slowly leaning down so their breaths mingle. Gold burns him. “That’s exactly what it is.”

The anger rises in him and he looks away. “Get out. I don’t need your lies.”

Junya doesn’t, of course not, because when has he ever listened to Kohaku’s pleas? “I marked you with my scent. Whoever harmed you is a fool.”

“Wow, thanks for calling me stupid.” 

“The fool who experimented on the ghouls is the cause of your injury. He is the cause.” He feels the cool press of Junya’s nose against his cheek. He can’t do this. He needs to get as far away from this man as possible.

“You sound like you actually care. Might wanna watch it, old man.” He huffs out a laugh. “People might think you and I are—” He stops himself.

Lovers.

“What?” Shit. Of course Junya won’t let him off so easy. “We’re what?”

“Fuck off.”

“Never pegged you to be a coward.”

That sets the ball rolling. “Fuck you.” His voice almost cracks. 

“I can’t do that right now.”

“I hate you.”

Junya laughs; his cool breath dances across Kohaku’s skin. “No, you don’t.” A butterfly kiss. “Say it.”

“I—”

“Kohaku.”

“Fine!” He tries to shove Junya off, but his hands end up curling into fists around the fabric of the kitsune’s shirt. “Fine. Lovers. Lovers.” He spits the word out with bitter longing, the most raw he’s ever felt since… he can’t remember. “Fucking lovers. Happy now? But that’s not—” What we are.

“You think I’d feed phoenix essence to my boy toys? Visit them when they’re wounded? Do you know how much one pill is worth?” Another kiss; closer now, to his lips. “No, Kohaku. You are not a boy toy to me; you are more. You are mine. My person.” He feels cool lips brushing against his. Junya looks up to meet his gaze. “I’m not lying. You’d know how to tell.”

“You’re a skilled liar.”

“You would let feelings cloud your logic?” Junya huffs out a breath, slowly lifting himself from his position. Kohaku mourns the loss of his warmth, but does not make to pull him back. Cool hands caress his cheek, and then Junya kisses his forehead, his nose. Hovers above his lips. 

Kohaku is the one who makes the move to capture them between his. And when Junya pulls away, he chases them, to which the kitsune obliges. It is soft. It is slow. Junya. 

When he pulls away and Kohaku chases again, he laughs, pecking a short kiss. “I have to go.”

His grip tightens on Junya’s shirt, but only for a moment before he lets go. 

“If ever you need me, you know how to find me.” A cool forehead presses against his; Kohaku closes his eyes. 

One moment Junya is there.

The next, it’s like he never came at all.