Chapter Text
Nothing was really his anymore.
Not his body, not his cursed technique, hell, his free time was near non-existent now, what with managing his section, every sparring sessions, and clan meetings he was forced to attend. It seemed as if life was punishing him for some wrongs from his past life, or any misbehaving he did during this one.
Well, in any case, he thought that given that he had had so many past lives, and that he knew better now, he shouldn’t be living this kind of punishment. He remembers well, priests were handing out cori bracelets and necklaces, and pretended to know the number of lives people had lived. His older brothers had been annoyed at their short reincarnation cycles –all under ten– but he nearly wept from their number. They’d told him they couldn’t count them. He didn’t want to count them. He knew they were many, and he didn’t want to know about it.
Stumbling upon Kaguya-sama’s resting –or unresting as she would joke– place had not been on his bucket list for the year, but what do you know ? Shit happens. Especially to him. As privileged as he is –thanks Kaguya-sama for hammering that in his brain regularly– the universe decided to repay him with bad karma. After living so long, you had to have done some truly messed up shit. Maybe he deserved to live in darkness. But, that hadn’t always been the case.
His sunshine used to be his mother. His real mother, who birthed him from her hips and raised him from afar, as well as she could. His mother was not the one that had produced his half-brothers, the one his father pretended he had been loyal to. No, his real mother, who’d smiled at him like they both could hold the sunshine between their hands, not the one who’d barely looked at him with anything else than jealousy for being born with the technique resembling his father’s. Mother had given him love, even though his father left her with a burden she wasn’t old enough to bear, and he, ungrateful child he was, could only recall her face in blurry details, and her voice in aborted melodies.
And then she passed.
There were other people, thankfully, and Satoru and Toji became the astral bodies he orbited around. But Toji ran away without him, and he fell out with his best friend. They had still been little stars, but stars tend to be far, far away. And you can’t feel the warmth of stars, can you? Still, the hope to be able to stand beside them one day was what had kept him going.
And then Satoru killed Toji.
What do you do when your star reveals itself to be a black hole? How can you live with that? Can you live with that? Knowing that which brought you joy destroyed each other, how could you live with that? He didn’t want to know. He wanted to forget, so Naoya did what he did best, what he always did: lock it up and pray it resolves itself. Much like Naobito had locked him up in the mausoleum, he locked away his grief and sorrow, in the hidden chambers of his heart, like he was hidden away in the underground passages of the estate.
Oh, that crypt, that unnamed space for their dead, buried deep under the oldest building, like a dirty secret. There they rested, those who weren’t useful, weren’t great enough, didn’t make enough children, weren’t worthy enough to have a headstone engraved with their name. It wasn’t inhabited, but it used to be.
Locking him up hadn’t worked. It didn’t stop his dreams of hands, hands all over him, dragging and pulling, and the water submerging him, or the rope biting at his—their—skin and the pain of dying over and over again. If anything, it made them worse. It had not made him stop dreaming of love, love so unconditional he would cry when thinking about it. Dreaming of waking up next to his beloved, sure in their shared love being true. Having a body which finally belonged to him, a grace to his movements he struggled to reproduce once awake.
The only thing that he felt had ever belonged to him was his voice.
Unlike his father’s which sounded husky, and raw, his voice was higher, richer. Some servants said he inherited it from his paternal grandmother, who had been a great singer. He didn’t know about that. His mum’s side was rather musical, and she used to have a beautiful, deep voice. He would like to think he got it from her.
So he sang, quiet as a mouse, on evenings he could. Sometimes he’d get an overnight mission in the countryside, and there he’d sing as loudly as he wanted. He made an effort to sing his mother’s songs, and hum his aunts’ and uncles’ melodies when he couldn’t remember the lyrics. And when he was locked up in the dark space underneath, sometimes, sometimes he’d sing lullabies to the curselings under the ground. After all, they’d been nicer to him than any other sorcerers. So he sang to them of sorrows, grief and anger, but also of joy, love and forgiveness, hoping to soothe spirits in the way he never could with a weapon. A weapon doesn’t soothe, it cuts and kills, leaving fresh ground for more curses.
He would lay down on the cold obsidian ground, and hum in time with the Earth. As ‘traditional’ as the Zen’ins claimed to be, they never took the time to breathe with the Earth beneath their feet. Kaguya had tried helping but she was shit at explaining. He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d always mimicked it unconsciously, imitating his mother’s family members. It was easy once you got the idea. Inhale with the earth, exhale with the wind, understand the tides and feel the myriad of lives under your feet. And breathe with them. Soon, you could predict rain, sunshine or storm, and be aware of your surroundings in a way impossible to reproduce. His mother’s family were terribly good at it, in an almost unnatural way.
He couldn’t remember the precise reason they’d stopped visiting.
Naoya remembers their hesitancy about admitting their blood relation, their affection nonetheless. They’d always visited under the pretense of maintaining inter-clan relationships, but the truth of the matter was, the Zen’in didn’t like them very much. They were a mix of different sorcerer families from the continent, and though connected to their roots, they were far from traditional. They lived all the way up north, and so had to travel a long time to see him and his mum. That was really kind of them, Naoya thought. Naobito had cut out private visits as soon as was socially acceptable, after the death of Naoya’s mother. She had been the live-in priestess at the Zen’in compound after all. If there had been more of a reason than mere dislike, he would probably never know. He wanted to connect with them, so he tried breathing as they did. It was hard at first, but breathing with the Earth is easy now. So there he lay, breathing, humming, sometimes even going so far as singing.
Naoya’s repertoire had no bounds other than his memory and tastes, but most often, he was singing his mother’s song. It was an old one, about true songs and ancestors turned to stone. Naoya could sing this one forever, altering its tones, but never the tune, never the lyrics. He also sang one that was clearly in old Japanese, and was mostly made up of nonsensical syllables to him. Kaguya had nearly wept when he went through that one for the first time. She had told him about a boy, the one his wife adopted, how he had sung that song too, and how glad she was that someone was still singing it. How happy she was she had been reborn, even into this wretched family. She refused to tell him who was her incarnation this time, even when he’d asked insistently. Naoya wanted to meet them so badly, tell them about how incredible she was, how lucky they were to carry a part of her soul. And, well, maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone in the world.
That’s how they found him. Laying on the floor, limbs taking as much space as he wanted, to have maximum contact with the cool stone. He felt like he was burning alive. His fingers were spread, palms facing down, to leech as much cold as possible. How he wished he lived in that old building on the mountain ! He would sleep in the Earth’s gentle hold, safe and away from all of the expectations. But wishful thinking wouldn’t get him anywhere. So here he was, singing until his ears hurt because of the echo, when the heavy carved door slid open.
Naoya shut his mouth instantly. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t do him much good to keep singing. Sensing Satoru’s heavy cursed energy, he doesn’t make a move to get up. He doesn't have it in him to do barely more than cracking his eyes open, and angling his gaze towards his former best friend. Even then, the light made him squint. God, how long had he stayed down there that the light seemed so strong?
“Toru…? wh’t’re ya doin’ down here…?” he mumbled.
A warm hand came to touch his forehead. Naoya sighed with contentment. Even though it must have been warm, it felt so cool to the touch… He hadn’t realised he’d felt that hot.
“Toruuuu...” he whined, as he took off his hand.
Satoru might have said something to someone else, as his presence weakened like he was not near him anymore. Then his voice rang out.
“Alright. I’m going to pick you up. Don’t fall off of me, yeah ?”
He nodded numbly, humming in acknowledgment. Satoru closes in on him.
Naoya distantly feels hands grabbing his shoulders, straightening him up, but when another pair of arms circles around his legs he feels the panic rising, and tries his best to get them off ! It doesn’t work. Panic engulfs him. It’s only when he’s secure against a narrow chest and the foreign pair of hands is far away that he relaxes. He knows he shouldn’t lower his guard. Loving hands have proven to be murderous in the past, but he can’t help it. He would probably welcome death as a respite from the pain. He nuzzles closer, to feel the blessedly cooling body, and his best friend’s heartbeat. He vaguely hears Satoru telling someone off, alongside with a feminine voice he knows, but can’t put a name to. His tired vision blurs, and suddenly he is in a new place.
He hears a shout, feels his stars’ distant presence, and promptly blacks out.
———————————————————————
When Naoya came to his senses, he was on a mattress so soft it felt like a cloud. He couldn’t tell where he was, but he felt safe. Which was rare these days, so he deduced he wasn’t at the Compound. His head felt lighter than it had been in years. He cracked his eyes open, just enough that he wouldn’t hurt his eyes with the light. To his surprise, the room he was in was kept dark. He opened his eyes fully.
The ceiling was ordinary in a foreign way, the walls carefully blank. The only sign of occupation on them was a corkboard full of pinned polaroid photos. Naoya stretched, spine creaking with the sudden movement, and got up. He was far too curious for his own good. He wanted to see the photos.
When he swung his legs over the bed, he realised he was dressed in a faded t-shirt, too big for him. The scars on his legs were in full view, and the ones on his nape and neck probably were too. He suddenly felt quite bad for whoever had to undress him. They weren’t a pretty sight. His hands traced them gently, even if he knew them by heart.
He eyed his kimono, carelessly thrown over the back of a chair. He stumbled his way to it, almost falling a few times. He took the garment and carefully put it on over the shirt. He tied his obi loosely, enough to not compress his middle, but not have the whole sash coming undone unprompted.
At last, he was able to take in the pictures. Toji’s, Maki’s and Satoru’s radiant faces grinned back at him. It must have been taken during some sort of school event, Maki was wearing sports clothes, with Toji and—to his surprise—Yuki Tsukumo cuddled up to her, and Satoru in an awfully tacky shirt with pictures of who he assumed were his children. They looked happy. His hand came to cradle his rib, as he continued to look, a foreign emotion making his heart clench.
Tsukumo was in quite a few of the polaroids, as well as Nanami, Ieiri, and even Satoru’s psycho ex. Well, Satoru’s psycho husband now, judging by their matching platinum bands. There were a few others as well, a guy in a dark suit, and a few kids he didn’t recognise. Only one kid caught his attention.
His bright pink hair matched his smile, brighter than the sun. Naoya felt an odd air of familiarity, as if he’d already met him. He knew him from somewhere, he had to, otherwise he wouldn’t feel so familiar. Far from being reassuring, the unexpected familiarity unsettled him. It came with a great sorrow, which seized his heart so hard he could barely repress his tears.
What was he grieving, he didn’t know at all. It felt confusing and far too scary for him to tackle. He missed Kaguya. She would have helped him through the feelings at least. He’d come to realise that she was like a sibling he never knew he needed, behaving far more gently with him than his brothers ever had. She felt like a sister, and their relationship only exacerbated the grief around the baby sister he never got to meet.
Anji, dear Anji, who took too much from their mother, and was sent away to a minor branch. He hoped she was happier where she was. The main line’s compound was no place for a child, the Zenins were too cruel. He saw it in Maki, who hadn’t escaped as a baby, and had to endure his bullying. It had deterred most of the older men to do anything crass, and had in a way diverted the attention to himself. Oh, Ogi had still been a piece of shit to her, but he was her father, so she couldn’t do anything about it.
However, he couldn’t really lie to himself and say he was only doing everything to protect her. He was not that good a person. He did pass his frustration onto her, his jealousy and rage, that she got to live a life free of the unwanted responsibilities he was weighed down by. How she could ever have wanted them baffled him. He had taken joy in making her cry, all the while distancing her from his elder brothers, who definitely wouldn’t have stopped at a beating.
He was, in a way, glad she got out, even if she had taken the spot he so desperately wanted, needed, next to Toji. Naoya wished someone had helped him then, stopped him from turning into the same trash that hated him. But maybe no one did because no one had loved him enough to care. Maybe they’d felt he would turn out to be just as rotten as the others, and that was why no one had cared. He had accepted that no one ever would anyways, but it still stung. Only Kaguya had ever been overjoyed when he decided to stick with her. Toji hadn’t cared much, and Satoru, though he liked him, had been into his own head more and more as time passed by. He machinally reached for his necklace, only to find naked skin. He froze.
Where was it? Where was she? Hadn’t she been with him only moments ago? He swiveled around, zeroing in on his button up shirt and hakama discarded on the floor. He tripped and almost fell flat on his face, but he managed to reach them, and forage through their pockets. Not in his shirt, not in his hakama. No, the necklace wasn’t in there. He frantically reached into his secret kimono pockets, but they were empty. All of them, in his shirt, kimono and hakama, were empty of all belongings.
The revelation hit him like a punch.
They’d gone through his pockets.
They had dared. The only safe space for his precious possessions, the only things he could properly hide, and they’d desecrated that. Now, he distantly wondered if this was retribution, and he was finally paying for bad karma. He wondered if the universe had decided he hadn’t gotten enough shit, and that now would be the moment that would break him once and for all.
The tantō and necklace were his most precious possessions, and if either of them was damaged or broken, nothing could ever replace them. He didn’t want to lose the last reminders of his mother and master forever. He’d already forsaken too much. Naoya breathed, long and full, to calm his nerves and silently left the room.
He knew how to be silent, unseen and forgotten, contrary to what many people believed. The advantage of being so loud and taking up so much space all the time was that as soon as you took up a normal amount of space or fell silent, people registered that as complete absence.
Unfortunately for him, Maki zeroed in on him the moment he reached the end of the corridor. When she moved, the other two gradually fell silent, and turned to see what she was glaring at.
Yikes! For the discretion, he’d miserably failed, but he didn’t dare get out of the shadows’ protective drapes. Maki continued to stare at him, silently and reproachfully. He stared back. Soon enough though, the missing weight from the tanto and the necklace became unbearable.
He stepped out of the shadow on shaking legs. Satoru, who was seated beneath the kotatsu, looked at him with a concerned gaze.
“Give it back,” he said, and oh how he hated the wobble in his voice.
Satoru whistled, all previous concerns apparently forgotten. “How aggressive Nao ! Not even a ‘hello’ or a ‘thank you’?”
Naoya scoffed. “Hi, Satoru,” he sneered, “How are you ? I’m good, thanks for asking, now give. me. my. stuff.”
He realised now that he was standing right in front of Satoru, looming over him, chest almost heaving in time with his breaths. Satoru, damn him, acted like he didn’t know what he was talking about. He reached for his – frankly awfully tacky – jumper but the guy ducked, and teleported to the other side of the room. Naoya, determined to live off pure spite, lunged across the table with frightening ease, and swung his leg underneath Satoru’s with all his might. Satoru, predictably, fell flat on his face with a high yelp. He tried to sit back up but Naoya was already blocking his arms with his legs.
So here they were, Satoru on the floor, his right wrist pinned by Naoya’s left heel, left arm braced against his torso, blocked by Naoya’s right knee, Naoya sitting on his ribcage like a particularly disgruntled cat.
Satoru whined, “You’re too heavy, get off me !”
“Not until you give me back my stuff!” Naoya’s tone was getting slightly desperate.
Maki got up, and was trying to approach, but Naoya turned to glare at her over his shoulder.
“Or was it you who stole my things ? I wouldn’t put it past a little pest like you.”
She froze, then frowned. “Well what could you have that’s worth all the trouble,” she snorted derisively.
He was up on his feet faster than she could blink. Maki backed up, by pure reflex. Before Naoya could do anything rash, Satoru piped up from the floor, “I thought you were past getting yourself worked up about things like this, Nao.”
Maki was the only one who noticed the concerned edge in his voice. Naoya clenched his fists so hard his knuckles popped. Maki’s gaze strayed to his hands, only to see them shaking, dripping blood like tiny pearls.
Yuki put her hand on her shoulder and taunted, “Well here we are again, I thought you’d learn your lesson after last time, but I guess it’s a known fact that little boys have a hard time remembering what they’re told.”
Naoya’s eyes snapped up to hers and she almost flinched at the intensity with which they burned. He smiled a mean, vindictive smile. “You’re the one refusing to give me my things.”
Yuki winced, an uneasy smile on her face. “Well, if you could be bothered to tell us what you’re accusing us of stealing,” she said, “Maybe I’d bother to give ‘em back.”
The blonde before her was shaking visibly, his jaw creaking.
“Stop playing dumb, Tsukumo, I know one of you nicked my things while I was passed out.” His voice cooled down to a dangerous degree. “And the little thief,” he said while eyeing Maki, “was very methodical too. Went through all my pockets.”
He leaned towards his cousin, on the verge of uttering more threats when the door slammed open, interrupting his tirade. Shoko emerged from the doorway, followed by a bored-looking Toji, who’d been advised to step out in case Naoya woke up. His eyes went around the room, picking up Satoru on the floor, Yuki grabbing their daughter by the shoulders, and the asshole glaring, fists clenched. Just as he was gonna ask ‘what the fuck is going on’, Shoko let out an exasperated cry.
“NOOO, I told you no sudden movements! No fighting! No getting down to business before I came back! Calm your asses down, I swear to god-” she walked over in long strides.
Shoko then pulled none too gently a very distressed Naoya towards the couch, all the while berating him, saying that he “had to take care of himself”, that “ you can’t just go in hibernation, you’re not a bear”, and “why the hell would you freak out the second you’re awake?!”.
Yuki and Maki looked as confused as him, which he didn’t take as a good sign. By the time he’d reached them, Shoko had pushed down Naoya’s clothes, and was inspecting the stitched up gash on his side. Naoya, who had been too dazed by the incredulity of the situation and his distress at the disappearance of his belongings, finally snapped back into reality, and promptly balked.
“Why are you undressing me ?!” He flinched away from Shoko who was still prying at his torso. “Unhand me!”
Shoko let out a snort. “And let you pop my beautiful stitches again? Think again asshole.”
“S’not my fault they popped,” Naoya vehemently protested, “I can’t let you guys take my stuff, now can I?”
Satoru sighed, and shook his head. “Nao, we didn’t take anything from you.”
“Yes you did!” the other cried out. Maki almost flinched. She’d never heard that kind of desperation in his voice. “My pockets are empty, and my necklace is gone!”
Yuki let out a derisive laugh as she plopped down on the couch next to him. “I don’t believe a guy like you would dare to wear a necklace. Also, I personally didn’t search through your pockets.”
Maki just shook her head and hid behind Toji. No matter how braver she had become, being in Naoya’s presence just brought back too many memories.
Her mum let out a frustrated breath. “Alright, Naoya-kun.” She turned towards him. “I’m going to help you find your stuff, that way you can calm your ass down and not pop our Shoko’s stitches. BUT ! You’re going to speak your mind calmly, and politely, or else I won’t help you out.” Her eyes glinted with annoyance.
Naoya acquiesced silently, sliding his arm back into his kimono sleeve. His anger had died down, but not his distress.
“So, once again, what things did you lose?”
“...”
“Listen boy, you’ve got to help me out.”
“...a tanto.”
“That’s it? You’re getting this worked up over a little blade ?” Yuki looked perplexed. Maki echoed the feeling, Naoya was usually disdainful towards people who relied on weapons.
Naoya’s gaze hadn’t stopped shifting around the room, as if plotting for an escape. “No..” he said, “there’s also a necklace, with a silver pendant. I never take it off, so don’t lie and say none of you nicked it.” His eyes gradually hardened.
Tsukumo let out a laugh, “well, if it’s just that!” She put her elbow on her knee, and smirked. “I don’t have these, neither does Satoru, or Maki. So if-”
“Oh no yeah I have them.”
Naoya turned his incredulous gaze towards Ieiri. What had she just said? She had them all this time and let him work himself up over something for nothing in the end? What was her problem ? Seized once again by a wave of rage, he shoved Shoko away, uncaring of the stress it put on the stitches she had just redone.
“Then why didn’t you say that earlier huh?”
Satoru made a move, teleporting between the two. He put his hand in front of Shoko defensively. “What’s your problem, Nao? Did daddy hit you too hard? Has your brain stopped working? Stop being such an ass, they’re just objects!”
Naoya couldn’t with Satoru anymore, he couldn’t. He would be nice, and help him, and then go right back to antagonising him. He stepped towards him, hand coming up to grip his jumper. Satoru made no move to escape. Naoya tightened his fists in that fabric, staining it red.
“They’re ‘just objects’…? They’re ‘just’ objects ?!” His hands shook violently, and Satoru looked a little lost. “They’re not ‘just objects’ you bitch! They’re all I have left, give them back!”
“I’m not even the one who has them!”
“Aren’t you tired of always taking and taking and taking?” Naoya cried out, “Can’t you just leave me alone for good ?” He teared up, vision blurring. “Please, give them back to me, please-”
Toji, who had been shielding Maki since Naoya had been pushed onto the couch, could not help but think that they were getting a glimpse of the true Naoya, a glimpse he’d gotten himself, a long time ago, during that confrontation in the snow.
It seemed the Zen’in were all mentally unstable. Satoru was now grappling with Naoya, who was trying – and failing – to strangle him with the unbearably orange jumper he wore today, all the while downright begging for the blade and necklace. Yuki was as flabbergasted as he was, as they’d never seen Naoya actually tear up and beg, and so she remained silent and unmoving.
Naoya had gone past trying to strangle Satoru and was now pushing him to the side to get to Shoko, who had to have his precious items. The fight continued, and they ended up on the ground, Satoru pinning him, and him struggling to get out of his grasp. As he was about to use his technique and send the bastard flying, Shoko abruptly crouched and mechanically jerked her hand towards him. In it were his precious tanto, the necklace wrapped around it.
His hands went for them immediately, not bothering to support himself anymore. As he and Satoru fell and sprawled to the floor, he curled up over the objects, cradling them to his chest. As he finally got the soothing presence of Kaguya's soul back, the tears threatening to spill finally did, and he let out a sob of relief.