Chapter Text
Many times has Nene been chased from places by farmers with pitchforks and commoners with makeshift torches. Additionally, she's been banned from the majority of the villages in the area, one by one, in the order that she’s visited them.
The witch blames it on humanity’s idiocy involving the unique, considering how the “devil-powered” stuff she does is mundanely positive. Specifically, the time she was shunned for talking Outjoy’s local grizzly bears out of depopulating the river’s fish. She’ll forever be salty about that. Nene is salty about a lot of things if she’s honest, but it all revolves around the commoners being unable to see her potential.
——— ——— ———
Yelled orders coming from witch-hunters are also very common. Very loud, too, when not blocked out by Nene’s panted breaths and foggy mind. She fumbles for her messenger bag’s two buttons with one hand, the other holding vials and containers of plants and specimens and what-nots securely to her stomach. Well, the grasp was secure when Nene had first started sprinting, but they slowly began to slip away as time passed. Her forearm keeps them as still as they can be — which isn’t very stationary.
Arrows are shot around her frame and she finds herself glad one wasn't a lucky shot. Her wand was snapped in half by one of the nameless witch-hunter’s leather boots, so she finds herself at her most vulnerable. She flips her bag flap up haphazardly. Watch your step, she thinks, even if she knows how unbelievably hard it is to do so when juggling both three things and duties at once.
A gasp escaped her as her vial of frifflebuffs escape her hold, making her stop with her heels to look back. But by then the hunters were already too close.
One of them throws their crossbow at her, which she finds odd, but can hardly dwell on. It might’ve given her a little boost if not a large stumble. She messily shoves her remaining items into the bag and doesn't bother to button it, her heart dropping at the sound of glass cracking. Her vial. That's the second thing they’ve broken today.
The more or less conspicuously placed trail of pebbles led her to a familiar pond accompanied by a small cliff ledge, and if not for her situation she would have stopped to gaze at it for the millionth time. The witch jumps into the shallow pond. A feeble splash emerges as she vanishes in the clear, teal water. The group of hunters are left behind in a state of confusion.
Shouts of disarray get muffled before going silent as Nene falls out of the water, landing on her back in a flowery plane, dry. She huffs repeatedly, staring at the floating water above her.
She eventually lets out a breathy laugh, sitting up. The smile stays at the sight of her untouched cottage in front of her.
Notes:
I had to search up messenger bag anatomy to remember what a bag flap thing was
(im tiering for the in the corner of a resonant town event so like see you in 10 days maybe)
Chapter Text
Nene never ended up finding her frifflebuffs.
Even if she can't pinpoint the exact spot in which she dropped them, she did manage to spend hours of her day inspecting the forest in and out with no positive results. She ended up having to ask around the forest, and, to her relief, Mafuyu had an answer.
"They took them,” the swan states bluntly, body resting in water, small ripples surrounding her.
Nene's eyebrows furrow. Confused, she asks, “Why would they take it? Don't they believe anything l breathe on is cursed?”
"Maybe they don't want you making more spells.”
The witch can’t help but scoff at the thought. How ridiculous, honestly. There's a brief moment in which she's left speechless.
Finally, she shakes her head. "That’s… frustrating. I'll just have to buy them. Thanks, Mafuyu," she says, not waiting for a reply. She trudges off.
——— ——— ———
Tension grew in the atmosphere of Lizzeriff at the exact moment Nene had stepped off the stone bridge and into its entrance. Eyes already began to fall on her bright teal hat, pointed and wide-brimmed. She internally frowned — just a few seconds and she'd gained a handful of armed glares on her. Even if these grounds have witch protection rules, it's not exactly delightful to know that everyone would hurt you if given a chance. She pulled her hat down slightly with the idea of hiding her face.
The plastered smile on her face —which had printed on at some point— falls as she leaves the herbalist, the doorbell ding jingling behind her. She’s tired of the artificial tone from workers — how they sound like they're trying not to sound like they're displeased with Nene's existence, to be exact the overly-done tone that makes it obvious is so… intentional. As if they want her to know she’s not welcome.
Foggy-minded, she walks through the unusually busy crowd, not paying attention to her surroundings. In retrospect, she really should have, because even the tiniest bit of focus could have saved her from the obviously scheming group of teenagers. They trip her, causing a curse (the non-magical kind) to slip from her mouth. A portion of her bag's contents escapes its container, surrounding her on the cobble floor. Her hat falls to the ground, swaying like a feather.
Confused about how she fell, the girl looks up, only to find the group already pacing off, giggling with each other.
Nene frowns. How disappointing.
She sits up on her knees, staring down at all her belongings spilt around the cobbled floor. It's okay, she thinks, I can do this.
The witch grabs the frifflebuffs first. Priorities.
She then decides on the stash of sweets that she keeps in an opaque box, distinct from all the other translucent containers. But, as she goes to place her hand on it, she sees someone else's.
She looks up. A boy.
She can’t help but stare at him — And, as she inspects him, she quickly notices all the little details. His attempt at neatness, how small things backfire on him; the incorrect buttons, how the fourth button was slipped into the third hole, leading every button below to a matching demise. The fact his cloak bears a few dirt stains around the edges. Those, and the upside-down witch-hunter broach he wore on his shirt cloth.
The girl freezes as she backtracks. Witch hunter. Oh.
——— ——— ———
To think Witch Hunter Akito would find a witch -a pretty one, too- the very day after he had skipped his 14th witch chase in a row is to forecast thunder on a sunny day — supposedly it’s not impossible, but it certainly does sound so, no? He wonders if this was the witch they had failed to catch last night. He heard one of the crossbows was cursed by the witch’s touch.
The only problem is the witch protection laws there. Something about the mayor of this town, Akito doesn't exactly know.
What he does know is that the find was useless here. He wouldn’t have even noticed that the girl indulged in witchcraft if not for the large hat that must’ve tipped off of her head during the fall. But by then he’s already begun to help, so he chooses to finish off the job like a chivalrous bloke. Learning of her hobby in a way explained all of the peculiar contents on the floor.
He hands her a handful of her belongings, which crosses off around half of them. "Are you alright?"
She's staring at him -more so just his shirt- with an almost fearful expression. Puzzled, he looks down to where her eyes land. It takes not a second for him to recognise his threat for a broach, upside-down.
He instinctively covers it with his hand, looking back at her with a more soft, gentle smile. “No— It’s okay. I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to,” he assures, letting his charismatic nature slip in. The girl hesitantly nods before mumbling a quiet thanks, jamming her things into her bag before Akito can even think to help. He decides to infer that she’s swift rather than desperate to leave.
That backfires on him when he offers a hand to help her up. She instantaneously rejects it (vastly quicker than either would prefer) and finds herself on her feet. Her eyes stay on the boy. Intimidated (and a little flustered, he thinks), he pulls himself up as well. It’s a bit reassuring to not be the shorter one.
The witch fixes her bag and flips on the buttons to ensure her mistake won't occur again. And, with a grateful nod, nothing more and none less, she begins to walk away, grace in her every step.
And that was that. Akito watches the rather stunning girl’s stride, almost bewitched (no pun intended).
He then frowns. A witch. He might’ve asked to accompany her on her way home if she wasn't one. But such nonsense would probably have him banished, he recognises. A quiet groan flees his mouth as the girl steps foot on the bridge.
Notes:
i’m actually fighting for t100 send help (i ran out of cans and have 9k crystals left)
Chapter Text
Akito is used to lectures about his shocking attendance — How he's never present on the occasion of a live hunt as of late, how he manages to get conveniently held up every time there's a meeting of importance.
But this one seems to sting a little compared to others, considering they brought in his mentor, Rui, rather than Chief. Rui’s soft tone of disappointment just gets to him a little more.
“I can’t keep excusing you, as much as I try to. Chief Tenma is tired of hoping you come in when the time is needed.”
“Did he tell you that?” The boy asks.
“It doesn’t take his words to know.”
The lack of reply urges Rui to continue. "This is your duty as a witch-hunter. I know that it might seem boring to you, but it's just protocol,” he says.
The boy's head hangs low. It feels like the present is now over a year ago, back when he'd been lectured over his inability to focus on a target while aiming his crossbow. He's never liked crossbows since that day. He feebly mutters, “I know.”
His mentor frowns. He goes to leave but pauses at the door, his calloused left hand lightly grazing the frame.
“Chief Tenma said that he's considering exiling you for disloyalty.” His voice is a low mutter that sends a shiver down Akito’s spine. Exiled. What a cold-sounding word. Rui slightly twists his head in his student's direction. “Akito?"
The hunter stares back, tense. "Yes?"
"You need to get this next witch. It doesn't matter how you do it. You just need to. You understand, yes?”
The boy spares him a nod.
—————————
“I’ve never seen ‘Kito looking so pensive! Tell me, tell me, just how bad was it? I only heard the last bit— I’ve never seen Rui like that!” Mizuki jabbers, blatantly ignoring how Akito tries to walk them off and instead opts to take quicker steps. They’ve always liked striding, anyway; they just tend to slow down because Akito doesn't.
Mizuki’s consistently walked Akito home after his work everyday ever since Ena’s passing, which they know Akito finds kind. As if he could hide anything from them with such a telling face — The subtle smile he looks away to make and the appreciative look in his eyes that he doesn’t realise he has, they see it all. It’s a sign he’s getting a little better.
“It wasn’t that bad. Stop snooping,” grumbled Akito, bringing them back to the moment. Right. Akito’s just annoyed at them for now. It doesn’t stop him slowing a bit once hearing the hasty click-clack of their similar boots. He knows the prodigy of the witch-hunters’ guild could run, they’ve never had a lecture from Rui to-date, but their heels on the gravel are too loud for his liking.
Mizuki pouts, giving him a tiny slap on the arm. “You could at least entertain the thought! ‘Kito, you’re so unsociable sometimes.”
“No one’s making you stick with me, y’know.” His head lowers just a tad, eyes going to the side.
Mizuki’s pout momentarily pauses, a mixed bag of emotions showing on their face. It’s the little things like these, the ickle moments of slight insecurity hidden as annoyance that drive them to do things like walk him home or try to excuse his absence to chief (though they’ve never admitted the latter to Akito). Honestly, he’s always trying to be a loner, all isolated and all that stuff. They can’t have that.
“Yeah, but I will,” they answer. A grin. “Wouldn’t want my damsel to trip on a rock, would I?”
Akito makes a little upside-down smile.
—————————
The witch-hunter is back at the bridge of Lizzeriff the next day. Not to go inside, though (even if he does wish to inquire of why everything is more livelier than usual, as there are even more people going around the place compared to yesterday). He stands by the bridge — the witch went, what, left? No, straight ahead. Yes.
Notes:
wooo!! tier 115!! (ignore how this is literally a crumb of writing i’ll make the next one longer trust)
5/24 update: Added Mizuki and like 200 more words (it's still insanely short)
Chapter Text
Nene finds herself discussing matters over tea with Miss Asahina and Mademoiselle Shinonome. Their reoccurring squabbles have made quite the ruckus around the forest; a ruckus large enough that Miss K requested someone of authority should sit them down and have them truce.
Hence why Nene, the only authority figure left in this forest, is sipping her tea and spiting the minty taste, regardless of how the tea managed to get minty (tea just seems to do that no matter the kind, she learned). Being the only witch around these parts can be troublesome.
“My ideals tick you off?” She hears Asahina say, bringing her attention back to the table. She then glances over at the other guest opposite Asahina, Ena, the way her eyes are shut, the agitated smile speaking just as much as her next words, which were forced through tight teeth.
"What ‘ticks me off' is how ridiculous your expectations are! You have a wonderful family of swans, their feathers both a lavish colour and cushion worthy—”
Asahina’s eyes widen. Cushion worthy, while meaning soft and ideal, is considered rude in this forest exclusively — In the sense that your feathers should be plucked, they’re saying. The bitter way it rolls off Ena’s tongue akin to a slur reeks of deliberation.
Ena continues, “—and yet you still find yourself disappointed they aren't above luxurious. You were supposed to leave this kind of idiocy behind after your mother migrated without you!”
Nene's mouth opens but holds no words, agape. If she wanted to be the responsible one here, she would stop this and try to set them up for some sort of agreement that’s destined to break down in a month. But she finds herself a bit abstracted, a spark of intuition yelling to look around. Her eyes study her -mostly- familiar surroundings.
Trees, bushes, plenty more trees, a path of blue sand by the trail of pebbles, and an orange bush.
The girl blinks. Nene knows this forest exceptionally well, so it’s a little odd seeing such a vibrant yet unknown— forget it, that’s just a man with a crossbow— forget it again, it's that witch-hunter from yesterday with the charming appearance.
And, as if he was waiting for her to notice him, an arrow emerges from the bushes. Ena and Mafuyu’s debate is immediately silenced by the zipping sound as it passes the three. It misses, though, engraving itself into the tree before Nene could even think to move. Sad luck.
Once frantic squawking is heard, Nene turns back to see that her once-human friends are now a goose with unnatural, brown eyes and a dark-purple swan. Curses. Her hair flies back as their wings flap hastily, blowing air onto her, and a gasp departs from the witch as they fly off. Words adhere in her throat despite her need to yell out to them, request they come back.
She ends up sitting back down, not bothering. Her eyes then dart to the arrow — what a mood ruiner! The poor tree, too.
Grabbing the arrow, she pulls it from the wood and turns to the boy, snapping it in half before chucking it to him, not caring when it doesn't even make half the trip. She stands up again, this time pushing out her chair as she does so. She trudges off, a bit of haste in her step.
—————————
He hated how perfect she looked. If it wasn't for the fact she was having tea with a goose and a swan, listening to their honks like they were comprehensible, he might’ve forgotten to shoot. It was a silly sight, he’ll admit — an amused smile lingers on his face even after his loss. The disappointment of missing is hardly new.
Still, he’s not accustomed to girls huffing and walking off on him, nor would he have ever followed after one if they ever did. It feels horrible and unpleasant, like something a stalker would do. How can some idiots do this?
He pauses, catching himself before he falls into thinking like that — thinking like he just got rejected, or something. This isn't like that. This is an act that’ll supposedly stop him from getting exiled.
The boy has himself distanced from the witch, a few trees back if one were to ask for measurements. He’s one of few who witness the impossibly curvy, twist-filled path the girl takes. It's so oddly specific that it feels like she’s just guessing and that it isn't specific at all.
Finally, after at least a mile of walking (though they’ve only walked so little), the girl pushes away two bushes and escapes the confines of the forest. Akito squats down to his knees, utilising the bushes as a spot to hide.
He observes as she clutches her bag close to her body, eyes on a pond in front of them. It's small and bland, a few sizable rocks surrounding it if you had to find any other mentionable features.
She twists around, facing him. Her eyes are on him, he’s sure of it, and he believes she’s to hand him a screaming — instead, with untelling eyes and -oddly- a small smile, she balances herself on the heels of her leather boots. That's what Akito predicted, at least; she doesn't steady herself at all, instead taking a descent into the waters. She makes no splash once making contact with the pond, only so much as a small ripple.
The hunter stands up. There’s none but golden dust in the girl’s silhouette, where she should be, which quickly disappears just like her. The water seems to change.
Curious, the boy takes a large step over the bushes before walking over. He kneels before it.
The water it holds is a clear -completely unnatural- shade of light teal, sparkling — so obviously magical yet placed in plain sight. Has no one seen this? It’s so peculiar, too. He finds himself allured by it, his normal kneeling position subconsciously morphing into a bent forward one, head hovering directly over the pond. It’s only once he loses balance for a second and narrowly saves himself a faceful is he made aware of his antics.
The boy’s lips purse. How long until she returns? Will she ever?
She might. And, if she were to, so long as he was nearby, he could quickly catch her, regain the chief’s approval. That's all it would take. That's all it would take, surely.
He just needs to wait closely.
—————————
It's been hours. The sun is sinking away. All sorts of insects and animals have begun to awake. It’s coming to be an earsore for the boy.
Frustrated, he sits up. Not a spec of evidence featuring her existence since she vanished into the mysterious water has appeared. He tried to touch the water during the test of patience, see its reaction — he was then met with a raging sting to the fingertip that made contact with it. He still feels the remnants of it now.
A sparkle of unlit fireflies had also joined because, apparently, the odd water attracts them. That’s what he assumed, anyway. He doesn’t know.
The boy glances in the direction of his home village, Nillyport. It’s all covered up by green, which is lit up by minute dots of light. More fireflies.
Sighing, he makes a final glance at the pond before beginning his stroll home. The various number of lively nocturnals’ volume only gets worse (notably an unnecessarily ear-bleeding cricket) as he begins to enter the unending maze of trees, and he begins to question his sanity.
His mentor said in the past that the easiest distraction is one’s own thoughts. He’s mentioned it twice, actually, both on his first days of training — one during a three-hour hike, the other as he was failing to focus on the target when aiming a crossbow. It’s always the wretched crossbow.
So, he decides to do something he normally would be reluctant to; following his mentor’s orders. Yet, somehow, his thoughts all lead to the witch. He’s still mad at her. Half a day and she didn't return (he just wants to feel better about the waste of time). The thought of her seems to block out the forest, though, so he can’t mind too much.
Choosing to indulge in the quantity of mixed emotions he has on her, he ponders. Maybe the girl was pretty, yes, and maybe he did hope she was at least a little bit charmed by their first meeting, sure, but he considers that to be the bare minimum (trust). He’s already attempted to murder her.
Buzz-buzz-buzzing fills his ears once again, only this time less dismissable than the others. Closer. His eyes flash back to the scene in front of him.
Huh. Fireflies have begun to follow him. They light up the path.
Everything else from this place seems to calm down as he begins to see the end of all of the trees. It's mainly quiet now. Even that cricket. Akito makes a mental note to visit more often once he catches the witch.
It's only once he’s left the forest, made his way through Nillyport’s gateway, does he think to pause. He twists his head back in the direction of the forest, his sight of it slowly getting lost behind the ascending drawbridge.
Back then, when she fell into the pond. Was that a taunt?
Notes:
im gonna blame the 9-day break on school. also planning on tiering for the canary event if i’m not drained out
Chapter Text
A sigh of relief escapes the girl as she looks up at the pond high above, already prepared to leave; she fixes her signature bag on her shoulder, its weight this time around much lighter. It makes up for itself with the lantern latched to her belt.
The fireflies have now lit up to indicate that the boy has left, which means she’ll need to thank Minori on her trip. It also means she'll have to find another two fireflies to keep, which worries her — None of them would ever be as willing as the last two. Maybe she could find them again? Their names were Winston, but so were the last eight.
So maybe Nene did wait until the boy had left (which took much longer than she had anticipated. From lunch to sundown!) but that should be condemned. What, was she meant to go out there to be slain? She refutes so much as the thought. She's run from towns, witch-hunters, normal hunters and even Lizzeriff’s town mayor, who she thought would’ve been more civilised.
It was sort of funny, that memory. She’d turned him into a frog (she was originally aiming for a mouse, but those can still bite) for a few minutes before having him promise to leave her alone — such is why Lizzeriff holds those witch-protection laws, though she hadn’t asked for so much.
Back to the topic, though. She wouldn't let herself be caught by a singular boy who waited politely for her to leave her pond. That’d be stupid.
Nene's method for leaving her hole-in-the-ground home is much more explainable than the magic of her home itself, purely because Nene doesn't use magic to leave. All it takes is an 88-step ladder kept to the side of the exit hole (so that she doesn't accidentally land on it — ouch). It always seems to wander back to its original spot the moment Nene takes her feet off, now in the pond, feeling the effects of wetness yet remaining dry. If only the water wasn’t so freezing. The fireflies fly off at the sight of her. Their job is done.
It's so dark. Well, prone, considering it took the boy a century to leave and god forbid she predicts what tomorrow might hold. That and the fact her lantern has no light.
That reminds her. Slipping just an index finger through the circular handle, Nene pulls the lantern into her hold, the button keeping it to her body popping off to set it free. The witch opens it up. It's nice to imagine that she's opening the door to a shared apartment with all its minute furniture. She just needs to find two volunteers to share it.
Her eyes look up from the lantern, eyeing around the area, purple irises darting at all the tiny sparks of light. If she were a chief firefly, where would she be?
The spot covered all over by wee glowing specs catches the witch’s attention. That’s right. She’d be with a crowd.
—————————
“Minori?” The girl calls out, trying to find the off-coloured firefly in the sea of corn-yellow. Nene doesn't dare to force her way through the crowd of insects, even if they are— well, insects.
A zoom-zip-zoom sort of buzz suddenly erupts from inside the dome of illumination. A small smile falls on Nene’s lips as she learns that the girl has been located; she likes to think of it as Minori’s trademark.
In just seconds, the peach-coloured light Nene awaited escapes the sparkle, hovering in front of her. Nene pulls out her new wand — it’s impossible to decipher what the girl is saying, if she’s saying anything, especially with her teeny, tiny mouth and matching voice box. It’s really a teeny, tiny everything, now that the witch thinks of it.
She makes a small flick of the wrist, mouthing the spell's trigger. It's a habit she’s grown into ever since witch hunting became especially popular for a month when teenagers saw it a trend to craft makeshift slingshots out of Y-shaped fallen sticks -or maybe they just ripped them from trees- and old, elastic clothes. It's better that they can't hear her, she’s inferred.
Blinking herself out of the anecdote, her eyes fall on the newly formed girl, the glowing bugs dimly illuminating her to the witch. She fixes her dress, once done, greeting, "Afternoon! We all hustled over here after the witch hunter finally left.”
Nene nods. "Mm. Thanks for that, by the way,” she says.
Minori grins. It‘s common. “Anything for another witch. You wouldn’t want to end up like me, huh?" She jokes, her smile growing a little tense.
“It couldn’t be that bad,” the other quickly blurts out. Try to keep her calm, she reminds herself. She’ll be buzzing again if you don’t. Change the subject.
Her left-hand raises, displaying the empty lantern to Minori. "Actually— since we’re on fireflies, I was wondering if you might have another two Winstons to spare?”
“Yeah! I just need one second. We planned for this!” Her grey eyes swiftly start to dazzle with interest. She looks so excited just from her words; her enthusiasm becomes infectious.
She then walked into the sparkle, the insects in her path moving out to give her space. She almost gets completely swallowed by the hundreds of bugs surrounding her. Round, pure eyes scan the sphere, hunting for something. It’s only once she finds it does her eyebrows unfurrow, returning to a smile.
Crouching down, Minori cups her hand below something — a firefly, Nene assumed. She uses her other hand to close the eensy enclosure. The girl then turns to Nene, approaching her.
"Your new fireflies," she announces. “We knew you’d ask to borrow another two of us, so we asked for volunteers beforehand. Winston and— another Winston were so enthusiastic!”
Nene's just surprised the girl knew which exact ones to pick. The witch nods, simply opening up her lantern again.
Minori disconnects her hands, freeing the two fireflies. Nene didn't see them for a few seconds, almost questioning the girl, but its light blinked on before she had the chance.
It wanders around for a few seconds, taking a journey as misleading as Nene's path to her home before finally finding themselves at home in the small metal box. They lay on a tiny mattress the witch had shrunk together.
Nene swallows quietly yet makes up for it in a loud clearing of her throat, shutting the door. Fireflies get romances. She never thought two bugs could make her feel so unaccompanied. Turning to her friend, her eyes fall on the nice light shining between them. “Thanks, Minori.”
“Mhm, no problem!” She nods. Her smile then falls as she seems to remember something. “Oh— yeah, right. Ena wants to talk to you about the witch-hunter.”
—————————
“That’s your brother?”
Ena hums, dismissing the witch’s astonishment. It was bound to appear. “He’s so tall now. But maybe that's just because I’m—” a pause. “—Well, bird-sized.”
Nene shifts a little, her legs crossed. She couldn't have been bothered with contorting the girl into a human and Ena found it much too cold to not bear feathers at the moment, hence why the choker-wearing goose is in the cranny that her crossed legs leave, snuggled comfortably. Nene both appreciates and envies the bird’s warmth.
Ena continues, “I want to check up on him, is all. Make sure his mentor’s still treating him okay.”
The witch nods before making a pause for ponder. “Can we really do that, though?”
There’s a small silence between the two.
“I know you could do it, Nene. All it takes is a berry and a spell.” The way she says it, her voice softer than it would normally be, makes Nene think she’d be deploying the pleading eyes of a teenage girl if she could.
The witch sighs. “You’ll need to help me brainstorm a plan, at the least.”
Ena would’ve smiled.
Notes:
I need to start up a counter of how often Nene gets terrorized cause even I feel bad
also I like didn't sleep properly at all last night (it's 7am) so I’m sorry if there are grammar mistakes or anything!! let me know if there are
Chapter Text
Akito’s sure he heard her just now. A squeak of fear and nothing more. He whips his head around, sharp eyes scanning the place. There are way too many trees to find anything; it's an impossible game of tag.
It's all the rustling from scattered places that makes it all specifically difficult. All the animals, insects, and even just the wind shaking the tree. It's overstimulating. He has to listen to specific sounds like heels on grass and human breath, shaky and afraid.
He knows that she's nearby. Is one of the little gut feelings he trusts.
His eyes widen before twisting his head to the noise of movement behind a tree. There. He readies his crossbow, quietly treading as he utilises patience. His hand places itself on the bark. He then steps forward, feasting his eyes on—
That’s a goose. That's yesterday's goose, choker-ed and brown.
The witch hunter blinks. So then, where’d she—
he's abruptly shut up by hands grabbing him from behind, one arm around his neck as the other takes his crossbow from him and tosses it to the grass somewhere. On instinct, he kicks backwards, grunting. In return, the girl behind him exudes a yelp, letting him go for a whole second before swiftly shoving him to the tree, her forearm pressing to his chest.
Stalemated, the two stay still like that for moments, wordless, their breath the only noticeable movement they each make. It's during that time does Akito make an analogy of her and a spider; she's more scared of him than he is of her.
The girl calms herself down, keeping her arm still at bay. With her left hand, she feels into the bag she always seems to carry with her. She pulls out a small, corked potion bottle labelled with something that Akito cannot read. She then proceeds to ask, "You want to see your sister, right?”
The abruptness catches the boy off. The way she asks so matter-of-factly, how she reaches for her bag again, lowering her arm to do so, as if she’s sure he won't attack her; she’d be right, but still…
He finally answers, “My sister died a year ago."
“She did. But do you want to see her?"
Huh. "I… guess so?”
Popping the cork of the bottle, the girl sets it in the bag and switches it for a simple cup. She pours an itty portion into it, so small it hardly gets off the base. "Then drink," she says, offering him the mug.
He cannot help an amused look. “Are you attempting to kill me?"
She returns it. “Unfortunately not.”
That sort of gives him a green light — it's not poison, at the least. Not with such an unenthusiastic answer.
Sure, why not?
The witch-hunter takes the cup and drinks it—all of it (which isn’t hard). hes unsure of why, and, by the beginning-to-be surprised expression the witch holds, she’s just as confused by his willingness. Another spark of intuition urged him to. His mentor’s warnings of intaking any specimens that could possibly contain magic? Irrelevant.
Nothing feels different once the cup’s content is empty, down the gull. The only noticeable effect is the burning sensation in his throat; the taste of frifflebuffs.
A little hesitant with all her movements (she must be concerned), the witch then reaches into her bag again, grabbing both the cork and a smoothed stick. It takes just a second for him to recognise it as a wand.
With the cork she plugs the little bottle, which she then gently plops into her bag. The wand, however, stays as she peeks around the tree for a second. Her leg lifts, the toe of her boot landing beside Akito’s shins as a sort of precaution in the event of Akito making a run for it. It wouldn’t have done much, the boy infers. Still, he supposes the small effort is a little endearing.
Out comes the goose. It waddles towards the two. The girl flicks her wand at it, whispering words under her breath. Once nothing occurs, she meets eyes with him before uttering a quick order: “Blink.”
He obliges. There appears a girl in place of the bird when his eyes open. Ena.
Wait, what?
He blinks again. And again. In the time he spends trying to un-deceive himself, his sister approaches him with an expression of delight. The hug she then gives feels so real. He can really feel her.
“Akito! Oh— you really have grown, it’s not just me. Have you finally gave in to eating carrots?” Ena asks, pulling off and looking up at him. She briefly fixes his orange hair in a moment of instinct, akin to back when she walked the boy to his hunter meetings. She’d have him face her before he entered the station and check him for any imperfections. After she’d see him fine, she’d unnecessarily name him unfixable and push him towards the building.
Akito stays staring at her, just that and nothing more. “Sorry?”
It leads the girl to sigh, “Never mind, it's immature banter. I still have plenty more to ask you, so start focusing.” She gives him two firm pats on the upper arm, hoping it will bring him back into the woods. “Is Rui alright? Not treating you as harshly as before, no?”
“… No, not necessarily. Hey—” Akito turns to the witch, tone embarrassingly weak as he pauses the conversation at hand. “is this… real? It's not just some gag for payback?”
Her eyes also seemed to soften in a dissimilar way—his eyes reeked of weakness, insecurity. Hers smelt of sympathy. “Mm. It’s her.”
As he turns back to his sister, he finds that she’s gone quiet, wordlessly examining him. He can tell she’s just as amazed by the reality that her brother’s in her reach right now. For what’s commonly a pushy, annoying, and ugly face, she looks cheerful to see him.
In a moment of impulse, the boy hugs her. It begins as an awkward, sibling hug a mother makes her kids do to get over an argument, but as his arms properly wrap around her, finds he misses her warmth, he finds he’s never clutched a person so tight. It's a desperate plea to keep his sister close, ensure she doesn't vanish again.
Ena hardly expects it; it’s not an action either of them is used to, especially from each other. It doesn't stop her from smiling and returning it. “I missed you too, Akito.”
—————————
It’s already sunset and the two siblings have just wrapped up their long chat. Akito doesn't know how Ena does it; the time passed so quickly, all moments lacking bore as they had moved the conversation to the table where he almost shot the witch. He learnt the name of Nene.
Walking in the direction of his home, the boy encounters Nene alone, eyes fixed on the sky as she lays not unlike a starfish. She’s pondering, he’s sure. So, as any ingenious bloke would, he approaches her.
Nene’s thistle eyes swiftly land on the boy as the sound of shoes on grass comes into earshot. By instinct, she tenses, sitting up, and shuffling herself back.
“No, no— I’m not here to hurt you,” the witch-hunter blurts, standing before her. “I just wanted to say thanks. And sorry.” He mutters the last bit.
He can see her visually clam up, the same as the last time he initiated a conversation with her back at Lizzerriff. It's not as if he can blame her for either time.
Collecting his thoughts, Akito finally speaks, “I need to ask a few questions. Can I sit with you?”
Lilac peepers stay on him, just a tad steadier. “I guess you can.”
It takes a moment for him to fathom that she indeed agreed. Any advancement between the two becomes a shocker, he’s noticed. Sitting on her left, a reassuring gap is left between the two as he looks at the witch. “How come Ena is a goose? Did you do something to her?” Akito asks.
“No, she was reborn as one. Did she not tell you?” Nene doesn't retain a reason to be dishonest. She’s never seen this witch hunter since two days ago, back at Lizzerriff — maybe he’s new?
Then, just as quickly as they landed on the girl, the boy’s eyes cower.
The subtle action tells her plenty. Her body twists to him just a little bit. “She didn’t tell you that she was a witch, then.” She infers. He can’t be new. Ena’s yabbered on about how annoying he was and how stupid he looked in his uniform. Frankly, Nene thought he’d look more like her.
“Sorry?”
“Mm. She taught me most of the spells I know. Then she was killed by a witch-hunter,” tells Nene, and it feels like a viper’s bite. It makes his heart feel itchy — is that normal? It doesn’t normally burn so much. His sister’s been a touchy subject as a whole.
“I was told that she was killed by a witch,” he recollects. Mizuki told him so (not that he necessarily trusts them. It’s just hard not to when they’re one of your two friends).
She merely shakes her head. The light wind stirs the hair she keeps in a high ponytail, having it sway to the right of her.
His eyebrows furrow. “How do I know you aren't lying to me?”
“Well, all I have is my word. You don't have to, I guess — I’m a witch. But it is what I know happened.”
Akito’s expression grows pensive. Why did she have to word it like that? So believably, he means. She didn't even have a reason, she just— he couldn’t explain it if he wanted. All the boy knows is that he’s stalemated between a witch and Mizuki.
As much as his intuition peaked today, akin to the sun, it’s beginning to settle. There’s no spark of who to believe. With a huff, he prepares to get up. “Sorry, I need to go. Today was a lot,” he pipes up. “I’m sorry about yesterday. You don’t need to forgive me or anything. I just—”
“It's just your job,” assumes the girl, leaving the boy to nod. Her eyes lower to the grass as she answers, “Yeah, I kind of get it. Just like a knight would, no? It's for the cause.”
He didn't think she’d be so agreeing.
She wasn't. “Just— Don’t do it again. I’m still a little wary, even now, but I think getting past that is due.”
The boy never thought a talk like this would be so sophisticated. Well, not sophisticated, far from it; it's more fitting to say he finds the blunt honesty of the conversation to be refreshing. The common quiet between the two shows some form of brevity.
“Find me if you ever want to talk to your sister. You know where to look, right?” Nene says.
The boy nods. “Right. Oh, and—” His hand (rather hesitantly) reaches out to her for shaking. “Akito.”
“I know,” sings her. She accepts it with just as much reluctance. “Nene.”
The hunter smiles. “I know.”
It makes her lips upturn an ickle tad. Pretty.
He stands up, lets go, and continues his walk home (oh, how he’d digressed). His smile drops once it’s out of the witch’s sight, expression losing the softness as he left hand tightens. Mizuki.
Notes:
Getting this in before the month’s leave mark (also if you read chapter 3 (a predicament to stumble upon) and Mizuki wasn't there check again :3
Also petition to name mizuaki akizuki??? its cuter please
Chapter Text
“No luck again?” Mizuki asks, winding the windlass joined to the drawbridge once they see him enter Nillyport’s walls. The disturbed expression tells.
Akito’s head lifts a subtle amount; he didn’t expect to find his suspect so quickly. They most likely stole another hunter’s patrol shift to see him. The menacing scowl of confliction erases itself with a blink into the moment, instead trying for an untelling blank. A hum for yes, and then he begins to walk home.
The shorter person’s eyebrows furrow. As if the boy could hide anything from them. Finishing their winding, they secure it and almost run to catch up with him. “What’s got you so pent up? You can always try again tomorrow.”
His eyes lower, replying with silence. He knows that Mizuki hates it, as brave of a face as they pull.
It's always a tense smile, trying to seem sly over nervous. He can see it printed on them from the corner of his eye. “C’mon, ‘Kito. Don’t give me that.” They attempt to examine the boy’s complexion from the small sample of his left side. No avail.
Akito can see his home. It’s so close. It’s always been close to the gate and far from the hunters’ guild. “Okay. Back when Ena died, you’re sure a witch killed her?”
Mizuki pauses. They do, and, apparently, that’s enough for Akito to assume. He exhales shakily before beelining to his door; he doesn't want to cry. Teenage boy syndrome.
It causes the other to pick up the pace. “Akito, please, wait,” they plea, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you’re all I have of her left.”
“You killed her, didn’t you?” He hisses, a frustrated glare handed to them as he grabs for his doorknob.
"I didn't mean to! She just— I aimed for the witch and she jumped in the way." Their throat feels so distastefully dry, all hydration reaching their eyes, and they hate it. They miss this morning. Everything has just gone wrong. “I’m so sorry, Akito.”
Akito looks at their attire; specifically, the pretty dress they bought when dragging the boy to Outjoy’s summer marketplace. He remembers accompanying them as they sewed it to fit them nicely. Every part of their outfit has a story to it and, unfortunately, every story brings Akito a sample of dopamine to think about at night. Mizuki’s his friend.
He looks into their coral eyes, conflicted. Too much has happened today. Too much the past three, really; he’s unadjusted to an eventful day.
Opening his door, he lets himself in and closes it behind him without a last glance. He knows it hurts when someone does that — Like mentor like student.
—————————
“I quit.”
Rui’s eyes widen upon impact. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m not fit for this job. I’m sure you know that, though,” Akito elaborates, leaning forward in his seat, his hands tightly closed on his thighs. The room has never been so quiet — even with others in the building, assumably chatting and yapping and jesting, it’s all behind the closed door to Akito’s back. He regrets shutting it behind him.
“Wait, wait—” His mentor, stuck in disbelief, shakes his head. “You can’t just quit! It’s— It’s like knighthood; you swear an oath ‘til retirement!”
It’s honestly cute how he fumbles over his words. The boy cannot help a hint of amusement at the reaction, but he decides to shake it off. Now’s not the time. “Then I retire.”
“That's not how it works,” Rui sighs. “you’re either too old to continue hunting or you're exiled, as far as I'm concerned. I've never had someone just up and quit.”
Akito’s eyes fall to the side. Drat.
Witch-hunting has put him off like carrots on his plate ever since his last interaction with Mizuki. Now that he’s thinking of it, just the thought of killing real people was displeasing. He never wanted this job.
Maybe that’s the key difference between him and Mizuki (or any other witch-hunter dedicated to the sort, really) — He saw them human; they saw them a new, anthropomorphic species altogether. A dangerous one.
Rui, at the expression of solemnity on Akito's face, softens his own complexion. “Hey, Akito?"
Olive peepers return to Rui. How regrettably gracious of him. “Hm?— Sorry. Yes?”
"I know that you were virtually pushed into this position, given your previous situation. So,” he pauses. "I’ll see if l can do anything.”
The subordinate knows that look on his face, and Rui knows he does, hence he tries to avoid making it. But at this moment, all he wants is for Akito to expect absolutely zilch.
—————————
"Tsuk-Tenma?" Soft wards manage to echo in a threateningly silent room with a just-as-quiet door. Sometimes Rui wonders where his chief keeps the oil. If he could, he’d get his hands on it and oil every door in the facility; they’re all so creaky from all the running in and walking out that everyone does. Maybe Chief has forgotten the art of sharing with all the other redeeming traits he once retained.
The chief’s words bring Rui out of his thoughts. Right. Stop staring at the door’s hinges, coward. Tenma’s sapped eyes are waiting for his to reciprocate. “Rui? What is it?”
He sighs, “It’s about Akito. He wants to resign.”
“Exiled.”
“What?”
“I said he’s exiled. Was I not concise?”
"Never clearer, but—” Rui’s eyebrows furrow. Closing the door behind him, he approaches the boy standing behind the desk. He’s surprised Tenma once resembled something welcoming to him. "You can’t just exile a boy from his hometown.”
“He’s disloyal to witch-hunters. Is that not an exile in our code?” His tone is freezing; a day in the snowy winter bearing the old, thin, and abhorred uniform.
Rui’s eyes fall on the wood bookshelf filling the right wall, books in a vague order Rui can’t find. He doubts Chief has read them all.
Chief speaks again to the sound of silence. “Send him a letter. He has a week to leave,” he orders.
And, as always for the past few months, there’s no negotiation to be made. Not a speck of mercy. Taking his time with a long blink, the boy exhales until his throat aches for sweet air. “Yes, Chief.”
Notes:
tenma after having more works in the “Tsukasa tenma dies” tag than “Tsukasa Tenma is a loser” tag (its okay i love my loser)
Chapter Text
The wretched sound of wood crackling is unfortunately yet expectedly deafening. Akito’s normally unsteady hands are never stiller as they clasp around his ears. His house. His house is actually moving. Moving is one thing; flying is another. Nothing should fly. Well— perhaps a fly could, or a bird. But not a house. Not his house that he’s marvelling at.
Dirt that sticks to the house's foundation slowly begins to crumble back to the ground his house once sat on. Even Nene, the daring witch responsible for this, looks a little surprised. He gets why, this is only her second time ever doing this, but to see her slightly raised eyelids at something that isn’t him is a little refreshing. Bystanders are really just standers who are nearby now; they’re all either too petrified to move or frozen in awe by the unmistakable usage of magic.
He decides to make a quick wave to them; he's not much better than the perpetrator herself. They'll have to run after this. He then clutches his covered crate of fragile goods once he feels them begin to slip.
With the slow guidance of her wand, it starts to inch forward, and they both take a step back. She brings it towards the tiny pebble, sitting obliviously tranquil on the floor.
Then, she lets the house drop. It disappears once it collides with the pebble, but, to most eyes, it looked to have at least grazed against the cobble path. Now it's gone. Whether that's more shocking than the flying part? Maybe not. It just makes him a little worried for his house.
—————————
“Dear Shinonome,” Ena reads out, “This letter is to notify you of your current position as a witch hunter. Due to recent events, the Witch-Extermination Guild has decided to terminate your employment within the week of forwarding this letter.”
Akito’s eyebrows furrow as he listens. “What does that mean?”
“It means you're fired in a week,” his sister answers bluntly. To assume Ena could comprehend the sentence in full would be an overestimation, frankly— it’s more of an educated guess, by the sounds of it. If they’ve given something for the boy to read, then it can’t be something they have the guts to say in person.
She sets the off-white paper on the table so that the weak, dying winter sun can illuminate it better for reading. Rui and his silly writing. Even Tenma struggles to read it, so Ena’s previous illiteracy was only half of the problem. She continues to read the next paragraph. “Additionally, an exile is due at the same time. Please utilize your next week to dispose of your belongings. We apologise for any inconvenience caused. Hey— wait, no, they can’t do that!” Beginning to grow feathers, she looks up to see if she needs to decipher the maze of literature for him, but he knows the score. It was the ‘exile’ that made it clear.
“They can,” he mumbles, eyes low on the table. He doesn’t want to think about this. “When did you learn how to read?”
She relaxes her temper at the look of defeat, the transformation calming before dissipating. “Nene,” she replies simply. She then looks behind Akito, where he knows she is somewhere. She must’ve turned her attention to them at the sound of her name. He does none but glance back at her for a second before twisting his head back to see Ena shaking her own. Her eyes then return to him. “And she learnt from Mafuyu, which you wouldn’t know. Her family was wealthy. They could afford to learn.”
The boy blinks before nodding.
“Anyways, Akito, where do you think you’ll move?”
Oh, right.
Right, he was exiled. It’s still a bit bizarre, that thought. He would’ve never believed that he actually could get exiled — why on earth did he do that? He’s homeless and jobless, now.
He should’ve stuck to the plain, monochrome life he finds is his comfort zone. Everything is confusing now; there’s no black and white.
He shakes his head out of introspection (and it answers his sister’s question). Stop thinking. You’re no good at it. “Not a clue. Any suggestions?”
“You could probably find a discount at Lizzerriff.” Akito mentally jumps at the voice, so close yet not Ena’s. Turning himself around in his chair, he finds Nene standing directly behind him. She merely glances at him before pulling out the third and last chair and joining the two.
“Why do you say that?” he questions.
“Lizzerriff’s Rejoice starts soon since the snow is gone. Almost anything there is cheaper.”
Lizzerriff’s Rejoice. The boy remembers going with his family once as a kid — a time to celebrate spring’s rebirth if he remembers right? Yeah. The winter had left everyone stuck in their homes to ration for weeks. They celebrated once the snow had finally cleared. Over decades, however, as all celebrations are treated, it’s been watered down to a nice week to make a profit. A little sad, but the village’s population take care to ensure a lovely festival — the food is good, in short.
“Akito, remember when you tripped during the dance?” And Ena was there too. Unfortunately.
He refrains from saying something rude, answering, “No. I don’t,” and then pondering the idea. Maybe. But he’s already struggling in the first place; he never sold his house. It was just kind of… taken away. Everything was sort of taken away.
“So… what can you do?” Nene asks. Did he say that out loud?
Akito blinks. Eyes. Three pairs of eyes burn into him. Wait, three? There are only two. He’s forgetting to think right. He brings his own greens down to his lap as they all think.
Brood.
It’s hard to think like this. Something feels to be creeping on him, and he has to remember it’s just his cunning nerves. He doesn’t do it too much.
That’s a lie, though — he cogitates a lot. He regrets just as much.
Then, Nene stands, saying, “Hold on. I’ll be back.” before walking off down the blue path —that sort of just appeared this morning?— of stones. The two siblings watch as she leaves in stunned silence.
Ena is the one to break it with an attempt to console. “Maybe she just needs a quick walk? She thinks better in solitude.”
But Akito knows better than that, keeping his eyes on her behind Ena (who has to have already caught onto how they just aren’t quite making eye contact). Her hair almost blends into the grass, albeit it isn’t the same variant of green. Maybe so is why she’s still alive; she camouflages.
As promised, Nene gradually returns with her wand in hand, her middle, index and thumb twirling it around thoughtlessly. Following behind her in the air is… something small, grey. Her stride is calm. Once she comes near, she places her magic stick on the table. It’s a pebble with a star etched on it, he realises.
“My home is in here.”
“Sorry?” The purple haze surrounding and slightly tainting its colour catches Akito’s attention momentarily. It's more of a thistle purple from Nene’s lilac eyes, as often as he finds himself describing them as the former. Thistle is niche. A prettier colour, in his opinion, but maybe beauty is something she can squeeze around the rules for.
“My house,” she repeats. He’ll lie, it's a fruitful clarification.
“You’d think it’d be like— a portal through the pond water.”
“That's what everyone thinks. That's what you get everyone to think.” She takes a seat, which he enjoys. Something amongst those lines of feelings. Her presence is warm. “The pond is just a protection barrier against threats. No one assumes a house is in a rock, hence no one attempts to move the rock or anything.”
Huh.
She goes on with a curt, “Be my neighbour. Technically, it’s still your house, so...” Her words then pause, eyes wandering as she seriously thinks, visibly winces, and abruptly gets cold feet. “I can get you another rock to live in if you want, I just—”
“I don't mind,” he cuts her off calmly. Turning his gaze to Ena as he attempts to find justification, he finds a suspecting look. An I-see-what’s-going-on sort of look. He grants a quick you-see-it-better-than-me glance at her, then adds to himself, “It is your home though, so it's up to you.”
Since she nods and affirms her want for him to share the rock, he assumes that there’s most likely a complication of some sort that she’d hate to commonly deal with in the scenario where they didn’t share a stone.
—————————
It all happens in a few moments. Akito hadn't known so much could happen in a flicker of time until now — a moment translated directly to a second in his head.
Yet, in a hypothetical second, his acquaintance's breath hitches. Reaching down, one of her hands snatches the stone as the other latches to his free wrist, prodding the boy to sprint with her. Akito, struggling to secure the small crate of honey and fragile items and whatnot, finds himself following but confused. His right hand fails to find a good grasp on the knotted-together, cloth handle. This, though he was too baffled to realise, was the first moment.
In the second moment, they run. He can hear the jars and containers rattling away. He goes to smother it with his cloak, eyes locked on the girl. He queries, "What? Did you see a hunter?"
She slips into the crack between two not-so-nearby houses, turning back to make sure the boy doesn't hurt himself on the wall. His cloak saves him an injury, but the crate makes a loud clang on impact. Quietly yelping, she mutters a sorry, reaching in the cloak and trying to quiet the sound by holding the lids of jars, steadying them. She walks backwards as she does so. “Not a hunter. Just someone I know.”
“You sound ashamed.”
“And you sound nosy.” They come to a stop and Akito fixes his cloak. At the sight, Nene brushes off the dress Akito hadn’t expected her to own; god forbid she entered Nillyport in a witch hat, sure, but is she not cold? “That just— came out, sorry.”
“You’re fine.” The dress is faintly familiar. Akito lets his eyes wander for a second. He lets them trail back to strict eye contact once he realises it makes his words seem rude. This must be the third moment. Or maybe fourth? Moments aren’t seconds, he realises. They’re clusters of such, and it took him a handful of seconds —and even fewer moments— to learn. “So… can I ask who, exactly? Or is that far?”
She looks down. “My mum.”
There’s a pause, which makes her go on. “You wouldn’t believe it if your mother was proud to hear you’ve become a witch.”
Fair.
“I think…” He stops for just a second, not a whole moment. What does he think? “You’re mother would be relieved to know you’re okay. Those things hardly matter when you miss someone.” Ena.
“… Maybe.”
Her lack of fruitful response, though understood, leaves the need to act. Gingerly, the boy brings Nene to peak out from between the houses. “Maybe sometime, then. See anyone else you know?” He figures the word couldn’t spread to the people he does know so quickly.
She shakes her head. “None.”
Very gently, she grabs the boy’s hand and starts to walk — although that lasts only a second as she slowly accelerates to an evoked strut, to some sort of unorthodox skip, to aware running. Akito finds it rather easy to keep up this time; she’s pacing herself to suit him.
—————————
“This is…” His voice doesn’t ring in Nene’s ears, but it does make itself cosy. She couldn’t dare look Akito in the eye, both a bit too infatuated by the hybrid of their two buildings and simultaneously just as embarrassed by it. Gods, how does one mess up so badly? The styles of both buildings fail to mix, too, since Nillyport makes the buildings higher quality near the castle. In short, Nene’s forgetting how to breathe.
Clutching her chest, she attempts to collect her rhythm of respiration because this is just catastrophic. She giggles—even if anything but happy—and whispers something she depicted mandatory: “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, no, it’s okay. You couldn’t help it.” She feels a hand on her back. It’s a tad hesitant to rub, easily avoiding her skin and residing on the dress’s fabric, but the comfort is still embedded.
She looks up at him and stares for a second.
“… How come you do that?”
“Sorry?”
“It’s really not okay. But you—“ Nene pauses for a thought. “You’re so patient with me that it feels unreal. And, frankly, you aren’t even close to nice when you talk to Ena alone, so… what gives?”
There’s a bit of surprised silence. It’s easy to say why — what does one say to that? She can feel the difficulty of eye contact beginning to dawn on her, slow and crawling yet achingly clawing. She holds it in a way she imagines and hopes is gentle.
“I’ll work on it,” he says, which sort of throws Nene off. She quickly recovers, though, and finds a nod fitting. He goes on to add, “Still, I can't say I'm mad or anything. Let’s just see the damage.”
She nods again and he hums back. Making her way to and opening her respective door without a glance back, Nene finds Akito on the other side of the building, having opened his own door (though she had expected him to just follow her in. By his complexion, their thoughts must align). The two glance at each other before ogling the absolute chaos their houses have evolved into.
Walls that have become pillars scattered around, different sorts of rooms that have merged into hybrids—Nene’s lounge at the back now has a wooden tub, currently empty with but a rag left idle on its ledge and two fireplaces. The long, chestnut dining table sat in the centre of her first floor now has an oval, different-coloured addition embedded in it. It’s not precisely in the middle, which bugs her. The floors are also victim to the mesh, two mixed patterns scattered around in discord. It’s at that feature does Nene recognise that Akito’s home would be a lot more square if all their cottages did was collide peacefully — with how it looks, his house is acting as an extension of her own, his floor mixed around the house with hers.
This means the placements look deliberate; Akito might think this was deliberate. Some sort of way to coax him into staying, and looking at this mess, he really doesn’t have a choice. Witchcraft has its limits, and Nene’s own are even more scarce.
Lilac eyes stay observant, her frame bystanding as she watches the boy close the door behind himself. Almost scruffy, dirt-bearing pants covering lanky legs move themselves to swoop around the table to reach a focal point in (technically their house, though it’d sound weird off the tongue. Sounds as if they’re wedded or something). A small wall by the far end of the dining table sits well-aligned with all their portraits and treasured belongings, and a little table to accompany it which isn’t her’s. Curious of the sight, Nene finds herself following. She forgets to close her own door.
“Your mother was pretty.”
As her eyes follow his dialogue to her family portrait and lead to his own, the words “Speak for yours” feel easy off her tongue; the answer sounded bright. The silence accompanying it, however, causes an unsalvagable uncertainty. Please reply.
… She guesses she doesn’t mind it too much, though, now that she’s focused on his sombre eyes. They gaze at the family portrait. She wonders how long they must’ve sat as the artist illustrated, what conversations they may have slipped in amongst each other. They seem happy. She imagines so, with the way he and Ena banter. They’re so comfortable with each other, it’s—
Hold on.
They’re shaking. Not with emotion.
She blinks away from her thoughts, a hand taking hold of the table as her eyes and head divert to the stone kitchen counter, which has adjusted itself to the right. Cups slide and jump. Nene’s jars of candied fruits follow. Everything seems to quiver, so very subtly inching themselves to the left.
She hears Akito gasp. “Why is it doing that?”
Not a clue. Um. “Maybe the house isn’t stable yet.” She doesn’t want to have him worrying, for some reason. “Let’s just—“ She flinches at several clangs and crashes from pots and a pan fleeting from their hooks near simultaneously. “Leave.”
And they do so through her door, Nene being the one to close it behind him. Her boots meet the grass and she shivers. Something hurries her, and she has to take deep breaths to calm her loose nerves. It’s fine. Just fine. It’s…
“Up. Nene. Look up.”
Her eyes follow up, above the boy and to the exit hole. It doesn’t show the pristine water. Leather clothes. Pink hair and coral, teary eyes, hugging a blonde boy, his face hidden in their shoulder.
Unfortunately, she’s familiar with both. She hears Akito swear in front of her.
Notes:
I’m back!!! iwndjwj sorry for leaving for 6 months! I don’t have that good of a reason for leaving (do I need one) but soz! anyways here a few things that happened while i was gone
-t74 on picture perfect!!!
-i failed english (i forgot to pass half of my work in)
-my crush got a buzz cut on the last day of school
-maelune updated! (love you, please don’t disappear again)
-planned a lot for this story (lie. like 4 chapters)
-got an idea for an ‘everything, everywhere, all at once’ inspired akizuki series (akito’s a dragon at first i love it)
-sort of kinda ran away from my dad??? like i went to the police and then my mum picked me up without him knowing so idk. anyways living at mum’s!!! i’m safe
-finished my school year also! i start to go out to the city next year which is so fun
-revamped my sonic obsession with the movie and shadow generations. i loved the movie so much i was shedding tears of joy in the first 5 minutes
anyways yeah!!! also beware Mizuki and Tsukasa get really relevant from this point and the next chapter will be almost entirely from Mizuki’s pov >///< (i actually love them so much)
Chapter 9: A world without evil is one without us
Notes:
ahehbwhw happy anniversary to this fic!!! wahhh it’s embarrassing how long it took me to make chapter 8 but look at me!! chapter 9!!
gonna start putting non-serious things in the beginning notes and related to plot stuff at the end so i can divide my thoughts
i also had an author come into my school today and she told us that fanfiction was her best way of developing her writing. She also had the us guess what fanfiction she wrote as a teen and i blurted twilight instantly and i was unfortunately right???? (she’s team jacob)
^^moral of the story the grind will continuealso tw for burns and manipulation!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Tsukasa, I… I don't know. The water doesn't feel right."
Dismissing as ever, Tsukasa merely glances at the aqua liquid. His eyes meet Mizuki’s in the reflection, clear as day in opaque teal. "You haven’t touched it yet. The water is pristine."
"That's the problem."
"You worry too much, Mizuki. Honestly, I’ll just do it myself at this poi—" They notice how his eyebrows raise as their hand dips in hastily.
It starts off with a burn. Really, that should be enough reason to retrieve their hand from the pond's confines. Burning. A jolt that lasts forever sprints through their nerves and begs, pleas, for their arm to raise. It hurts, they imagine it’s saying. It hurts. Pull out. Take your hand away.
Selfish and human, they retract the limb from the liquid—liquid being a careful choice of words; this isn't water. Their forearm is in the process of reddening. It stings. A little less than the critical gaze on them, unfortunately. They flip to the boy.
Expectedly: "Mizuki."
"It hurts!" they plea, displaying their arm. Is that steam? The liquid left on their arm just evaporated, now that they're staring—which, what?
Tsukasa's calloused hand finds a weak grip on their arm, inspecting it. It’s a cold sensation, relieving and healing. Mid-survey, he begs, “But you're doing so great. Just this, and witches will be extinct. Doesn't that sound nice?” A small smile falls to his lips at the concept. His words are a gentle coo, as always. Not always, though; always with Mizuki. “A world without evil.”
There’s a moment of silence. No. Say no. It’s going to hurt.
—————————
“Mizuki.”
Coral eyes raise from the lack of anything they’ve been staring at. When they land on Tsukasa, bandaging them up, they smile. It’s compulsory, Tsukasa’s learnt. He likes it when they smile, so they do. It’s a level of obedience he’s grown proud of. “Yes?”
His eyes linger on the—to put it bluntly—repulsive, pathetic limb. Crippled, unusable, deduced to a prune. It’s hellish: the ugly, irreversible truth of magic’s capabilities. “I’m… sorry for having you do that. I shouldn’t have disregarded you like that, but you handled it well.”
A pause. "Bad wording." They aren't 'handling' anything. Not anymore. "I'm sorry, Mizuki." Are they mad?
They both take a second to ogle the result of his ignorance. Yes, Mizuki’s mad.
“No, no. It’s okay. It’s just magic. It’ll wear off in a little while, right?” Chief mentally grimaces at their simple lie. It makes him feel like nothing but a terrible caretaker; can’t they be honest for once?
“Same as any cruel magic,” he reassures them, regaining poise.
“‘Cruel magic’? What’s that?”
“Just magic, Mizuki. All magic is cruel.” He can see that cog oil and refurbish itself in their head. Guiding their forearm to his lap before wrapping the remains of their fingers, he queries if it’s worth bothering. Is there any recovery from this? If he pinched them here, they wouldn’t feel a thing.
A pause occurs in his work. How will they hunt?
They answer his internal ask with a shrug, which has him realising the thought could not have been an internal ask alone. “I guess I’ll just use a spear for a little while. I don't think I'll be so good, though. I'm no good at using this hand." Their right, intact hand raises, fingers spread wide and straight.
Tsukasa stares at the ring on their index. "Then this is a perfect opportunity to learn. I've always wanted to be ambidextrous."
Their hand lowers. The weight of a head rests easily on his shoulder. Quietly, they murmur, "Yeah."
"Tired?"
"Mmn."
"You did well today. I'm proud of you."
—————————
Tsukasa's been watching them.
It's not hard to notice when someone's keeping a closer eye. They say kinder things. They hang out more often. They find excuses to talk to you. All in an abrupt time with no slowly edging you in. It's fine at first, sure, but his sweetness always fails not to rot after weeks.
Mizuki's unsure of why he's surveilling them, though. Occam's razor says it's just to ensure they're okay after all of this, but when has that theory ever left anyone sleeping sound? There's more to it. The constant, masked nerve he wears says so, and Mizuki hates it.
"Mizuki."
… It's getting repetitive.
Mizuki can't help wincing as the comb he holds forces itself through a knot. Pink eyes don't think to look at him in the mirror as they answer, "Yeah?"
"Do you remember when I first found you?" he questions them, and they reminisce the last time he asked. Because he's queried it on more occasions than Mizuki could ever bother counting, and every time, he tells a new story. The story will involve Mizuki back before they'd think enough to make memories―ironically, the same time Tsukasa had decided to let them in.
Whatever Mizuki says in reply to him, he'll say: "Mm. I remember it. You were so short."
And he'll pause for a second, and then tease: "You still are.” And Mizuki'll find a new way to play-fight with him to break the routine someway. Today, they spit in their hand, turn around, and wipe it on his chest; he recoils, chuckling.
There's a constant, humoured tone in his voice as he elaborates, "I remember it like yesterday. You were so quiet. Bitter and snappy, too, and you'd never eat our food. But you had something in you." He places the comb on the bed beside them and begins collecting their hair in his fist to tie. She eyes it; the junction of the comb is the body of a cat. A kitty, really; This cat's eyes are much too wide and hold much too little mileage and trauma to be old, staring beadily back at them. Its black fur swirls into purples and blue in a colour-mixing incident.
"What 'something'?" They ask.
"Hmm. Well, sometimes, you were sweet. And mostly, your bitter attitude was nice on the tongue. Brought contrast to the family dynamic," he explains. Mizuki doesn't remember that; t hey remember only ever talking to Saki when the two were alone. Sorta. But Tsukasa constantly suggests that they really have been talking to him and that they did, in fact, have a soft spot, and he managed to get to it.
And maybe he did. It sort of makes sense in their head; why would they completely ignore someone so nice to them?
But when Mizuki glances at the look on his expression, it holds the sweet, heart-warming complexion of a liar. It holds everything, really; warmth, nerve, deceit, and a slight sorrow Mizuki cannot validate.
"I remember this time..."
Something in them—something from that hellish pond, still screaming—begs them to stop indulging him.
"We were..."
Don't.
"and then you..."
... It's actually quite easy to block him out. Mizuki's come to do it often in the name of work—stupid assembly meetings and other obligations Mizuki couldn’t bother caring about. They've come to envy Akito's disregard for his position. He had almost hibernated entirely this Winter.
Oh, actually. That's a bittersweet name. Pink eyes fall on the small pebble that sits at their vanity, a metaphorical, misfortunate medal of their betrayal. Thinking about him hurt. Maybe if they made up. But, as of now, there's no universe where that could occur. Mizuki would have to let them out—which, how would that work, though?
Would they have to grovel, or just ask politely? Would they have to shake them out, and if so, from which angle?
… Stop thinking about letting them out.
Maybe that’s why Tsukasa’s watching them; he just can’t trust them. Not enough for something like this.
Yeah. Actually, that’d be just it.
God, that took a second to realise.
Their eyes rise to the vanity's mirror. They hadn't even noticed, but he's done their hair. Two high ponytails. He's coiled their hair with his finger to try to give it a thick feeling despite Mizuki's hair being quite thin. It's the way he did before; just on Mizuki this time. A near-perfect replica of her hair.
And at the sight, Mizuki realises who Tsukasa’s talking to.
At the sight, they recognise that they aren’t at all the one he speaks to. Never has been for years.
At the sight, Mizuki doesn't trust themselves either.
Notes:
do people actually plan their fics before posting them? i fear only the good ones do (guess who didn't plan). But anyways, i don't really care if it's out of place, mizuki and tsukasa found family gone wrong! Woo!
also i changed the fics name back to fireflies because i rewatched the princess and the frog and i mess with them. also minori deserves it
Chapter 10: A while to wait
Notes:
i've moved schools and like. I'm lowkey thriving?? also i have an inkling this boy from my old school may perhaps like me.
also i didn't get a choice on electives but this school is making me do woodtech and it's... it's growing on me... help me...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s ear-splitting, trying to scrape up the finals of dinner on a porcelain plate. Nene can tell the sound bothers Akito by the slight grimace on his face and how he is reluctant to do said raking, so she doesn’t. She doesn’t mind being mindful of him; he doesn’t enjoy loud or “off” sounds, and it’s not hard to account for. So, she gently places her fork on the near-finished plate and asks, “Are you full?”
His eyes rise from his plate. A bashful smile appears. “I don’t think I have been the past two weeks. But... less empty compared to usual, I guess.”
“How much food do we have left?”
At her question, he stands and opens the pantry, which she isn’t used to. Living alone, questions like these come as a reminder of something you’ll check next—she was preparing to do what he’d done by herself. But he seems eager, so she decides to remain comfortable in her seat, ogling him. “We’ve got, say, three—no, five weeks of bread, maybe?”
“How come you’ve so much stocked?” she questions.
“I don’t leave the house in winter. Too cold, and I'm also just... not a morning person anymore. I’ve started to bulk for it.”
But winter’s finished. “Which means these are the extras from...?”
"Well—maybe. They aren’t that old, I swear. I got them a little before Mizuki found us. I forgot to eat the past few days before then.”
Nene does believe him. Still, after learning that, it’s going to be a little harder to swallow every time he offers bread. There’s always a slight, picky voice at the back of her mind she can only dismiss so often.
“Why’s that?”
“I was more focused on going out. I was planning on staying in a little longer, but my mentor called me in, and suddenly I’m hunting you, and then this whole witch thing is just—” He makes a little gesture with his hands before finishing, “boggling. But it pulls me in, and it’s all so... lords, what’s the word?”
The first words that come to mind are: "Enticing? Alluring?”
He turns her way, snapping his fingers into a point. “Think I’ve heard those words before. They sound about right.”
“Yeah.” She smiles fondly. “I had the same feeling when I was introduced to magic.”
The memory is old yet terribly unforgettable, etched into her brain like the star on the pebble she lives in. She thinks fondly of the time a lady in a cloak took her small hands in her own and danced with her until they began to frolic in skies adorned with pink flowers and wax candles. Though her mother had quickly warded her away from the fantasy once she was safely on the ground, the feeling stayed. A vial of frifflebuff juice tied to a note had been mysteriously tucked into her once-oversized bag; who would not indulge, just a hint?
“...I’m honoured to have plagued your mind so much,” she adds. Is that flirtatious?
“I’m glad you still do, too.” Oh. No, that was flirtatious.
Her eyes wander as she attempts to fight off a sensation of pink. She stands. Clearing her throat, she decides on a change of subject with the use of light, faux coughing. “Five—” No, that doesn’t look right. “Three weeks of bread, and I’ve got...”
“Eight meals. And a bunch of fruits and berries.” She can’t see it, but she hears his little smirk, and she imagines it is stupid-looking.
Nene approaches the food stock, bobbing under Akito’s left arm, holding the door. Everything of hers is kept in glass containers and such, while Akito’s stock has been placed on cloths and left to stale. Maybe in a colder home, it wouldn’t be so bad, but a pebble like Nene’s very easily stores heat, meaning a doomish fate for his loaf. She’ll encase everything when free time is due—he’s been nice enough to also share stock, meaning it’s also her food. She’ll maintain it in its best condition.
She picks up the large glass casing of her frifflebuffs. They’re a musky purple—a colour she associates with lust. When they start to grow old, their colour transforms into a dark magenta. This is when they turn bitter and yucky, as though their desire has faded away.
Nene hopes never to be that colour metaphorically, though it is a pretty one as is. The colour of a thistle flower. “Do you want some?”
The lid is lifted. Nene leans back on the door; she trusts he won’t let go of it and assures she doesn’t sigh, relieved, when his grip remains firm. She then goes on to say, “Have some. You’re hungry.”
He takes two with his vacant hand, squashing them in his mouth before swallowing both simultaneously. “Aren’t you adamant. What, are they that good?”
“...I mean, yes, but—” A small berry gets chucked down the hatch. She forgets to chew it first—living alone for the past few years has worn her manners out a little. Still, she can’t remember to care. Which is fine, she supposes. The boy’s been living alone all the same, so there’s no shame in being a little impolite. “They keep the magic running through you.”
“Sorry?”
...Heh.
She’s always wanted to explain this to something; never had she expected to explain it to someone any time soon. It’s always been a tree she’s laid her back on, or that dog who’d slipped far, far away from its owner continuously and kept finding her in the woods. She’d always return it (minding the ungrateful owners), but otherwise, the dog’d be hers for the day.
But back to the subject—this has been something she’s always wanted to do. Holding any urge to audibly snicker proves to be a test of strength in her throat. Still, Nene smothers it, weaving it into her chest, letting a small smile be the only evidence of its existence. “Frifflebuffs have magical properties to them. You know that. It gets into your bloodstream—it’s actually really cool. You can see it when you bleed; your blood shimmers.” Admittedly, she’s perversely performed some blood-letting just to see it. “At first, you need a concentrated amount of the magic in them to kick it off. But, in total, that would equal eating around over a hundred—hence, I fed you that little vial.”
“Is that why they say too many of them make you hallucinate?” He shifts his weight onto the other leg.
She pops a finger snap, pointing his way. A little, smug tone plays on her tongue as she raves on, “Bingo. But that’s just a tale they use so no one starts to see the works of magic or anything. They can’t just stop selling such a loved berry.”
Akito just nods. It creates the need to falter—to force cold feet upon herself before her interests overcome her usual, collected nature.
But no. Nene has been telling the reflection in the pond about it; this boy will simply suffer through it if he cannot bear the lecture. “Anyways, that magic lasts you about a few weeks. But you have to keep it flowing in you, so you keep eating them. Not as many, though—just a few will suffice. Your body will know what to look for in them.”
Akito takes the liberty of another berry. He’s not saying much, and it’s impossible to tell if he’s okay with just listening or not.
But he holds a smile—raw, unforced. Maybe a tad tired, but he doesn’t attempt to leave. That, at least, is reassuring.
―――――――――
Nights are never too cold here. Sometimes Nene hates it; some nights, she stares at a blank room with an arm mindlessly up, bearing an ache she chooses to dismiss. It once was cold. She enjoyed the sensation that came hand-in-hand with the warmth of company. Maybe the lukewarm temperature finally got to her head when she entrusted Akito with the privilege of sleeping upstairs with her.
Or when she carefully set down the majority of the spare blankets in a flat pile for him to rest on because she didn’t want him waking up with a sore back.
Or when she placed that blanket stack beside her mattress only the length of her wand away. For safekeeping, is her reason. Of course, it is but an excuse. She does not hold any distrust with him. Maintaining a close eye on him should not be in her best interest; resting with vulnerable faith in him would not be, either.
Which, in theory, will mean they will be resting—not beside, but—next to each other. That is a stupid statement, though; Nene is staring at his tranquil form, eyes shut, unconscious. She’s been guilty of it for the past week (he has an easier time falling asleep). This isn’t hypothetical.
She hates how her eyes refuse to stop looking at him—hates how she’s questioning whether he’s comfortable or not, despite him being the most peaceful she’s ever seen him. Akito is a tense boy. It’s prominent, and he tends to easily get irritated by his sister’s teasing.
Not that this is all that related, but she doesn’t know all that much of him, in retrospect: he cannot read. He’s lost his parents. He skips hunting sessions, and he’s never actually drawn blood from a witch. He is—what is he?—charismatic. Charming. He tends to be that way for the people he meets, only to unsweeten as they come close to him.
The thought offers a question: how close would that make them? Is his curtness a key to knowing how familiar he finds you?
Akito shifts in his slumber, having Nene shift her body back, fearful. Eyes gloss him. They assure her that no signs of stirring are occurring, and although no symptoms are displayed, she fixes her blanket over her, preparing to feign sleep in case he is to wake.
Okay, maybe resting here was not such a smart choice. Nene’s too distracted to sleep.
She turns. Her eyes find the roof. She finds, lucky lass she is, that she cannot submit to slumber—whether that is a choice or her body’s unpleasant rejection. She longs for Miss K’s sweet lullaby that she’d sing to the woods every night.
And, to her own irritation, she is throwing herself up, sloozily hunching her back as her eyes find her magenta blankets. Ugh.
―――――――――
A cup of tea.
On a personal level, Nene hates the sound that is made once she swallows down. The gulp is putrid, and though she does try to distract herself from it, the thought conjures every time her head and cup tilt up towards the roof—not even a second later, she’s experiencing the weird sound. A cringe is evoked. The cup plunges down, though her hand still bears a grip upon it. It rattles despite her support, and she tenses her hold to silence it. Hand finding lips, the palm clasps her face. She grimaces, cheeks puffing out, yet she nonetheless holds it in.
How does this concoction make one tired? she ponders. If anything, all she can sense in the moment is her restlessness. A second swallow is endured—something to will the taste down. Her eyes force shut.
Another sip. Just take another sip; maybe she can tire herself out on the horrid taste.
—————————
Nene yearns for a spell: some kind of incantation to send a woman to nap and a man to slumber with one point. Even better, a spell that could function like an arrow and politely murder anyone. So would be such an easy way out of this god-forbidden cage. Unfortunately, however, magic forbids harm nor injury directly forged from the wand's tip, and Nene intends to commit to that rule forevermore.
Still, two and a half weeks. They’ve only a week left of rations despite their efforts, although they weren’t their best. Not to say their efforts were bad, it’s just...
"Eat."
"Not gonna eat? Fussy, much?"
"One portion of bread a day was never enough."
"It’s no wonder you missed your shot. You’re malnourished."
Akito had miscalculated their rations upon assuming Nene would let him starve in the sugared wording of ‘conservation.’ Yes, she won’t hold him down and have him say ‘ahhhhh’ to every bite, but the repeated prodding and subtle shunning work fine against his reluctance.
Hence, this fine night, while she’s trying a new method for sleep-catching, she’s surprised to find him kneeling by her lying body with two bread portions in hand.
It’s honestly rather embarrassing to be found like this; she had waited until the boy’s breathing had slowed and his eyelids sat easy like they had every other night. She’s managed to sneak away unfound three times already—the grass she rests on is far more free-feeling, aiding her eyelids down. It’s only then does she return to her mattress and plummets.
“We didn’t have dinner since you were too focused on your…”
“Studies. My invisibility spell study.” Invisibility isn’t a common word; nothing unnatural to the unmagical is, Nene would guess. She couldn’t blame him for not being familiar with a term only used in fiction. “I figured you’d have eaten in your own time.”
“That wouldn’t feel right. At home, we always eat together, anyway. Same place, same time.” An odd way to justify something that lacked any need to be, but alright. “You can’t be yapping in my ear about skipping meals and then not eat yourself.”
“It was just this once,” she sighs, taking the food. She pats down a spot beside them and, with it, prods him to lie down. In the faux, black, and void-like sky above, her eyes fixate on the circle of a similar colour. It’s outlined in aquamarine chalk, signifying where exactly its existence is. Once, it had shown the pond’s water, ever still. “It’s not like I find pleasure in missing meals.”
“I don’t exactly either.” He advances upon her offer. Her eyelids shut as she listens to the outer world’s ambience: quiet breathing; slight shuffles of their body; and crickets, though, these are faint. They likely have their window open.
“They sleep on us, you know,” says Nene.
By the way Akito asks “What?”, she knows he’s interested.
“They put our home under their pillow every night. Mizuki, I mean.” Opening her eyes to take a bite, she stares at the blacked-out circle. It’s most likely covered up. “We go to bed later than her. They most likely listen to us talk.”
“They can hear us?”
“I’ll figure out how to fix it someday, but sounds echo in and out of here. I guess it makes for a nice sleeping aid.” Her eyes shut again quickly. They wish to stay that way; though she doesn’t deny them, she shallowly promises herself not to submit to fatigue.
“…Huh.” He turns her way. His dinner is a quarter done. He’s very subtle in this lighting; Nene chooses not to use her lantern with awareness of how Mizuki is resting—she hates dearly how considerate she is for them.
“Akito?”
“Yes?”
“Pack your stuff,” yawns Nene. “There’s a... a bag in my closet.”
Shuffling can be heard, but all—rather loud and confused—words Akito replies with grow muffled. A shallow promise is one bound to be broken and forgotten, despite how immediately she did so, like her words was a cursing of fate. Besides, the warmth occurring, seeping through Nene’s body, is much too nice to decline.
Notes:
how to use em dash on a laptop??? i've been using my clipboard for it but it may kill me
Chapter 11: Finally losing to you
Notes:
i yearn for the akimizu dragon story that's been dragged around my head for two years they consume me. typa story i'd publish using different names
oh yeah and i'm doing sound production next year (unless they don't accept me)!!! i'm becoming a soundcloud rapper you guys its my destiny
i'm also doing actual pe instead of health (by choice) wish me luck
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Quiet—gods, are those two quiet. Embarrassingly soft, to the point where Mizuki wouldn’t have heard them if not for the slight squeak of their bed―bless it. To that sound, from the kitchen, they slide off their seat and find themselves at their bedroom’s door in less than a moment, a small room at the back of the house that they've grown fond of. Cold in summer, freezing in winter—it’s an excuse to call in sick on days with hunts and thick snow.
… Not that it works. They could be retching in the morning and still wind up aiming a crossbow with focus before noon. Tsukasa likes his ace on shift at all times.
Their eyes fixate upon the sight: those two. The witch who witnessed Mizuki’s worst misfortune, her body halfway out the window—and the darned boy who’d attach to magic’s hip over Hunters’ Guild’s, waiting for her to flee Mizuki’s room so he can follow. The door creaks as it opens, revealing the sight, and soon after, the three reciprocate the shocked eye contact. The room seems to halt with them.
Mizuki hears a swear, but it’s completely impossible to tell which one whispers it; everything is far from acute. Not that Mizuki is crying, no. They cannot tell why the sudden impairment is occurring. This is just sudden. They're used to routine: white and black, seeing witches dead in their path. These two are very much alive, though, and they want them to stay that way.
To their own, impulsive dismay, they quietly ask, “May I come?” And with their words come their vision again. How long had they been enveloped in silence?
The pretty girl in a more pleasant dress from her robes, only just scraping her knees, hesitantly shakes her head no. She has a way of holding herself that pulls Mizuki in. It’s no wonder the boy chose magic—sailors always pursue a siren’s beckoning.
“You can’t, no. Tsukasa can’t know.” And for whatever reason, she doesn’t question Mizuki.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she questions.
“Ena. You— it was meant to be you, and...” Mizuki cannot say that they’re sorry for that. Not yet. But they’ve listened and slumbered to the harmless conversations the two have forged and they know she’s no threat nor does Mizuki wish to hurt her. She’d have to be the most human witch Mizuki’s seen—that, at its finest, is a very jarring thought; it’s much too large for someone brought up to believe they were two separate species, one a morphed monster to mix and manipulate the other.
The lass nods. Only once. “This is us being equal. Nothing more.” She grabs the wand from her bag, filled sufficiently, and commands the pebble their way. It confuses them at first—however, upon contact with it, Mizuki swiftly comes to terms with why. By the time they’ve clutched the ickle stone close to their chest, she’s dropped out of the opening and disappeared akin to every other time they’ve come face-to-face with her.
Then comes the other one’s turn: the escaping boy. He gives one, long look. It’s weird; for the first time in Mizuki’s consciousness, the boy reads completely unreadable. His complexion is blank yet complex. They don’t like it, whatever it shows.
He looks away. He knows Mizuki’s prone to deciphering faces to the t, even if they’ve never told a soul. “I’m not mad anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” they repeat.
“I would hope you are,” he near scoffs, though it is all jests.
He pushes himself off of the bed and approaches. Wait, is the immediate thought in Mizuki’s head. Though their foot slides back, it’s a much slower action than his strides. They’d never get away in time. Wait.
Their body tenses still as he adjusts their blouse and their lips tie shut as he adds, “Get outta here one day. Do some good for yourself.”
“Wait,” they finally blurt. Always a step behind, all they utter is, “Don’t touch me, I— you’re a part of them.”
That makes him frown. His eyes find the sight of Mizuki’s left hand, what remains, and quickly dismissing their comment, he lifts it. “… She’s, um. Sorry for this, by the way.”
They can’t feel any need to react when they see him squeeze the thing that once resembled a wrist. It’s not as though it hurts—not as though the limb could relish in pleasure or warmth, either, though. They prefer to imagine it as a soft gesture. “It’s fine. It’ll wear off soon enough. Then I’ll be good as new.”
“’Wear off?’ Where’d you get that nonsense from?”
Mizuki doesn’t think to answer; they’re sure they are proud to be under Chief’s wing, they are, but for whatever reason, they always clam up when discussing.
He watches them, and eventually, he only smiles. Through it, there’s nothing but pity. “You need to stop taking his word for everything.” He lets go, letting the arm ragdoll to her side. “See you, Mizuki.”
Wait, not yet. “See you.” They’re not ready yet—one last moment.
Maybe he sees that in their eyes. Yet, cruel as magic, he turns around and jumps down to the table of pot plants just outside their window.
They wanted to say more. More is a vague word they dislike, because when they try to think of more, a blank slate of erased words show up, and they could never have time to recall.
So maybe an apology is enough. A promise to fulfil his suggestions may shatter in fruitless agony.
Mizuki’s eyes close. They’ll miss their little remarks. It was nice to sleep with them as an ambience; neither had a harsh voice.
—————————
“Mizuki?”
Their eyes rise and open to the noise. How long had they been in thought? And how long have they been sitting like this? “Tsukasa?”
“Why do you have the window open? I get it’s a little warmer, but it’s no weather for a pleasant breeze,” he coos, beelining past them to pull the pane of glass shut. Once so is completed, he turns back to oddly-sat, gloomy-appearing Mizuki. “What’s wrong?”
They mentally swear. Keeping their eyes low on the harsh, cooled floor, their hand clutches the pebble. It presses to their chest, and they wonder if their heartbeat creates a vibration in the tiny world’s ground. They know the two regularly endured plenty of earthquakes even from the slightest movements.
“… Mizuki?”
Their eyes squeeze but do not shut, and as they’ve done any time the tenseness in their ribcage gets overbearing, they let their mouth perform. “I hear them, Tsukasa. I hear them calling to me.”
“Calling to you?” He seems to buy their spout.
“Calling and cooing and tempting. In my head. They— they’re trying to lure me, Tsukasa. I’m scared.”
His eyebrows furrow. Staggerly, he approaches and kneels in front of them. “It’s okay, Mizuki. You’re just being bewitched.”
“They tell me to let them out,” they plea. They’d hate to see his expression as of now, hence they fail to look up. “And I almost did.”
A pause is what they receive, and it only ails the suffocating taut in their chest, as though a ribbon that had been sticking out of the clutter had been pulled, winding the mess impossibly more rigid. Mizuki should be used to this; they should be used to lying, and they do believe they are. But this is ultimately different. This could leave them headless.
“… It’s okay, Mizuki.” His words are none but arbitrary. “At least you didn’t. As long as you don’t.”
“What if I do?” They ask a little too quickly. They cannot help but yearn to know their range of consequences—better yet, the range of lenience Tsukasa has for them. So much of their history has been burnt through and drowned away, and he seems to be the only, unfortunate thing that stays. With that in mind, that now means he is the only one who can restore the missing pages and holes in their metaphorical biography; he is the author, essentially, and he writes Mizuki’s truth with every word, laugh, and sigh.
Care, lies, and memories, they all mix into Mizuki’s memory. Maybe they’re fine with that; a false past is better than none. As of now, all they wish is to be assured indirectly.
They look up almost naively. Tsukasa’s eyes are lethal. They stare and dig into them, a shovel puncturing its way into their soul. “You won’t.”
They would have fancied it better if he had declared their beheading. Shifting back, their body seems to slip ever-so-slightly towards the door. They cannot help the wide eyes, the fearful look. “I won’t.”
“Promise?” He asks.
“Promise. I’m sorry.”
His expression softens, eyelids raising. A second goes before his face is hidden behind their back and something that weighs like a chin rests on their shoulder. An arms wrap around their body, pulling them close, one hand sliding up to their hair. It holds their scalp, gently bringing their head to rest on him. Mizuki hides their mouth in his dress-shirt. He’s warm.
All they were asking for was a little bit of consolation, and yet―as unlikely as the occurrence may be―they find that his word would be much more comforting. More than… whatever this may be―this trap holding them taut, they’d call it.
Although they may loathe the gallows-esque comfort, consolation is consolation, and Mizuki retains a poor habit of taking what they are given and cherishing it much sure than they should. This time is different, though. Needs to be, just to amend the countless times it was not. This time Mizuki moves on knowing they’ve disobeyed and never repented. That can be their truth.
Notes:
i actually had this chapter half done by the time i posted the last one and the only thing the roused me to update (i was done two weeks ago) was the fact yandev hasn't finished his game and that i should finish my fic before him. He has been making his game ever since I started education and I might finish it before he does oh my days
also if i do end up finishing this fic (or i just fold) i'll probably rewrite some earlier chapters cause like. I feel like the fact witches are considered another species entirely (they are btw) isn't talked about a lot (to be fair, I think Nene is oblivious)
Yoyle on Chapter 3 Fri 12 Apr 2024 10:16AM UTC
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yowcherspooks on Chapter 3 Fri 19 Apr 2024 11:25AM UTC
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