Chapter Text
One heart beats in the hollow dark,
Waiting for the living spark.
I wander through the mist and rime,
To find the one marked out by Time.
As soon as I speak out your name,
You are the hearth, and I the flame.
For until your hand is held in mine,
The stars above refuse to shine.
One soul to breathe, one soul to see,
As I for you, and you for me.
Tethered by the silver thread,
Until the very sun is dead.
_ From The Bonding Vows
☆
They were the last ones left.
The banner still clung crookedly to Yuma’s wall, half the balloons had given up and sunk to the floor, and they had left a plate with exactly one sad cupcake in the middle of the table. The party noise had drained away, leaving a soft, comfortable quiet.
Taki stood by the window, fingers resting on the cool glass. The city lights blurred beyond the faint reflection of his own face. The bond hummed in his chest—warm, bright, not quite calm.
Behind him, Yuma was gathering empty cups like he needed something to do with his hands.
“You don’t have to clean everything tonight,” Taki said, not turning around.
“I know,” Yuma replied. “But if Harua comes back tomorrow and finds glitter in the curtains, he’ll organize another party just to celebrate it.”
Taki huffed a laugh. He smiled and then sobered. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what? Emotional damage by Familiar Friends not knowing boundaries?”
“For letting them,” Taki said. “For… staying. With all of it.”
The bond fluttered. Yuma went still.
“I wasn’t exactly forced,” Yuma said, voice quieter now. “Hard to be stuck somewhere you’re willingly walking into.”
That earned another shaky laugh. Taki finally turned to face him. Yuma stood in the middle of the room, still holding two cups he’d forgotten to put down, eyes fixed on Taki like he was trying not to look and failing.
The air between them felt thick, bright, waiting.
Taki took a few slow steps closer. “Can I ask you something?”
“That depends,” Yuma said. “Is it going to make the bond louder than it already is?”
“Probably,” Taki admitted.
Yuma sighed. “Proceed.”
Taki stopped a pace away. Close enough to see the way Yuma’s pupils widened in the low light. Close enough that every tiny shift in his breathing echoed in Taki’s own chest.
“Who am I to you?” Taki asked.
The words dropped like a stone in a pond, ripples shivering through the bond.
Yuma blinked. “You’re Taki.”
“That’s not an answer,” Taki said, and his voice cracked on it. “Am I just a witch you got bound to in an emergency? Am I still just the stupid human that annoyed you so much?”
The bond spiked. A painful mix of protest and hurt that definitely wasn’t his.
Yuma set the cups down very carefully, as if his hands might shake. “Don’t call yourself stupid.”
“You did,” Taki reminded him, with a wobbly half-smile. “Frequently.”
“I was wrong,” Yuma said.
Taki swallowed. “About the stupid part, or the annoying part?”
“Both,” Yuma said. His gaze didn’t waver. “You always annoyed me because you made it hard not to care.”
The bond steadied into something fierce and clear. Taki felt it, like a sunbeam through his ribs.
“You know how I feel,” Yuma said quietly. “You’ve felt it for weeks. Every time you walk into a room. Every time you nearly trip and I have to stop myself from catching you before you fall.”
“That’s the bond,” Taki said, but he knew—they both knew—that wasn’t all of it.
Yuma took a step forward. “The bond is the volume,” he said. “It doesn’t write the song.”
Taki’s throat tightened. “Then say it. Not here.” He tapped his chest lightly. “Say it… here.” His voice went small. “Please.”
For a moment, Yuma looked like he might bolt. His ears flicked, his fingers curled, his eyes dropped to Taki’s mouth and then jerked away.
“Taki,” he said, and the way he said his name was already an answer. “You were never just anything. Not ‘just human,’ not ‘just a witch.’ You were the only one I couldn’t stop paying attention to even when I was trying not to.”
He inhaled slowly, as if bracing against his own courage.
“When you were human, you annoyed me because you were fragile and reckless and so stupidly kind it hurt to watch,” Yuma said. “When you awakened, you scared me because you were suddenly… bright. Too bright. And I realized that somewhere along the way I’d stopped standing next to you out of duty and started doing it because it was the only place I wanted to be.”
The bond surged with every word, wrapping around them both.
“I said I chose you,” Yuma finished, voice soft but unwavering. “Friend, partner, anchor, all of it. What I didn’t say is that I’m in love with you. And I was long before any spell or bond or fate decided I should be near you.”
Taki’s breath left him in a shaky rush. He’d felt it, all of it—the spikes of fear, the warmth, the way Yuma’s chest tightened whenever he smiled—but hearing it out loud still hit like crossing a threshold he hadn’t dared touch.
“You’re in love with me,” Taki repeated faintly.
“Yes,” Yuma said.
The honesty in his eyes resonated in the bond. It glowed, full and steady.
Taki laughed, tears in his eyes. “You know what this feels like, from my side?”
“Overdramatic?” Yuma guessed.
“Like I’ve been knocking on a door that was already open,” Taki said. “I thought you were enduring me. Turns out you were just… as stupid as I am.”
Yuma’s lips twitched. “An unfortunate fate.”
Taki’s heart pounded, hard enough he was sure it left echoes in Yuma’s ribs. “For the record,” he said, “I’m in love with you too. Not because of the bond. Not because you anchor my magic. Because you’re you. Because you show up when I fall apart in stairwells and because you complain about my handwriting and still hold my hand anyway.”
Yuma’s fingers flexed at that—remembering, maybe, the way their hands had lingered over books and shields and mugs.
“I know,” Yuma admitted. “I’ve felt it. Every time you look at me and try very hard not to.”
“It’s different hearing it, though, right?” Taki asked.
Yuma’s gaze dropped to his lips again. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Silence settled around them, dense with the words they’d finally dragged into the air. The bond wasn’t a question mark anymore. It thrummed with something decided.
Taki took one last step forward, until there was no real space left between them. “I was just hoping I was right” he whispered, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out, fingertips grazing Yuma’s. The magic between them wasn’t just a bond anymore; it was a song they were composing together, note by note.
Yuma’s hand turned, lacing their fingers without hesitation.
“This is who you are. You are the world to me,” Yuma murmured.
“You’re the spark that steadies my flame, the earth that tempers my fire. You’re the current weaving through my waves—holding me steady when I’d otherwise burn or drown alone. You’re Taki.”
His free hand rose, fingers brushing along Taki’s jawline. His touch was cool, like the night air, but where he touched, a trail of shimmering starlight seemed to linger on Taki’s skin.
Taki leaned into the touch, eyes closing for a heartbeat. His heart hammered a frantic, happy rhythm he knew Yuma could feel as clearly as his own.
“You always make it sound like a spell,” Taki said, smiling unsteadily. “But I know you just mean you love me.”
“I do,” Yuma said.
He tilted his head, hair catching the lamplight, and didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Taki every second to pull away.
Taki didn’t.
When their lips finally met, it wasn’t the explosion of fire Taki had once braced for.
It was a sunrise.
Soft and quiet, tasting of cool rain and everything they hadn’t said until now. As they kissed, the magic between them surged—not as a flood, but as a gentle, swirling mist of gold and silver light that filled the room, curling around their ankles, brushing their cheeks.
Taki felt a sudden, profound lightness, as if every year he had spent waiting—for power, for belonging, for this—had been worth it just for this single, breathless moment of connection.
He slid his arms up around Yuma’s neck, pulling him closer. Yuma’s hands settled at his waist, holding him with a fierce, protective tenderness. In that kiss, the boundary between them blurred until they weren’t sure where one soul ended and the other began—only that both had chosen this, chosen each other, freely.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, the bond settled into a deep, contented hum.
“So,” Taki whispered, slightly dazed, “still think this is unfortunate?”
Yuma’s laugh trembled against his lips. “Yes,” he said. “Tragically so.”
The bond pulsed with joy that made a liar of him.
Yuma didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slid from Taki’s waist up to the nape of his neck, fingers threading gently into his hair. The touch grounded them both, a quiet anchor in the swirling light still drifting through the room.
Taki’s breath hitched. “Yuma—”
This time, there was no hesitation. Yuma closed the remaining space, drawing Taki into a deeper kiss—slower, hungrier, the kind that unraveled edges and tasted like promises finally kept. Lips parted, breaths mingled; Taki’s hands tightened at Yuma’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer as the bond thrummed in perfect, heated harmony. Gold and silver light coiled tighter around them, warm and intimate, echoing the rhythm of their shared pulse.
When they parted again, gasping softly, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, Yuma rested his thumb against Taki’s lower lip, tracing it lightly.
“Good,” Taki said, smiling. “We can be tragically in love together, then.”
“Idiot,” Yuma murmured.
“Yours,” Taki replied, without hesitation.
The bond answered with a warm, resonant chord that felt a lot like yes, mine.
☆
The city looked softer in late spring. Magic hung in the air like pollen—gentle, lazy, content.
Today, the tables at their favorite café were full. Nicholas and Euijoo sat under a vine‑covered awning, arguing over whether Euijoo’s new runic theory was revolutionary or just unfinished homework. Harua lounged nearby with a very smug Maki asleep on his lap, clearly having won some bet Yuma would rather not know about.
Yuma was laughing right now, quiet but real, at the sight of Taki trying (and failing) to coax their cups into matching tea instead of one cup of black coffee and one that looked like strawberry juice.
“You’re going to break a cup again,” Yuma said, chin propped in his hand.
“It was working until you looked at me.”
“That’s not how physics works.”
“With us it is.”
Yuma conceded the point with a tiny smile. “Drink mine, then, before it explodes.”
They swapped cups automatically, the way they always did. The bond hummed lightly but no longer demanded attention; it had become another rhythm in the day, the sound of shared breath, casual touch, easy warmth.
Jo passed by, dragging a laundry bag the size of a small planet. “If any of you can cast a spell that folds clothes, I will pay you in cake.”
“No promises,” Nicholas called.
“Good,” Jo said. “I don’t trust your love‑powered laundry magic.”
The others laughed. Someone started playing music on a charm‑speaker. The air filled with the same noisy affection that had carried them this far.
When the group finally collapsed around a single table for lunch, Fuma and Kei arrived last—hand in hand, looking so uncharacteristically flustered that every conversation froze mid‑sentence.
Fuma cleared his throat. “We have… news.”
Taki blinked. “You can’t be resigning, I’m not ready and you—you love paperwork.”
Kei looked at him before waving his hand. A brand new ring glistened on his finger “No resignation. Just… a different form to sign.”
Harua gasped before anyone else processed it. “You didn’t!”
Fuma’s glasses slid slightly down his nose. “I did.”
Jo practically howled. “You’re getting married?!”
Kei sighed happily. “Apparently, yes.”
The table erupted into cheers, laughter, and Harua conjuring champagne out of thin air. When the fuss died down a little, Taki still sat frozen, blinking in delighted disbelief.
Beside him, Yuma tilted his head, smirking. “You’re redder than your strawberry juice.”
“I just—! They—! Married?!”
“Could be us someday,” Yuma said easily, sipping his coffee.
Taki choked on air so hard he nearly teleported by accident—
—and then actually did.
A bright burst of golden light cracked through the courtyard, and when it cleared, Taki and Yuma were gone, leaving only the smell of ozone and a single half‑empty teacup still steaming.
The others stared.
Nicholas sighed, unimpressed. “Again?”
Harua grinned. “At least this time it’s romantic.”
They reappeared on the roof of the highest tower—Taki wide‑eyed, hair ruffled, Yuma clutching his wrist and laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
“Teleportation panic?” Yuma asked between chuckles.
“Instinct,” Taki groaned. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I can and did.”
Taki covered his face. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Yuma leaned against him, still smiling. “That’s why you love me.”
He didn’t deny it.
Below them, the city glowed with evening light—stable, alive, endlessly changing. Above, the wards shimmered gold and blue, intertwined, like the circles they’d drawn together that day in training.
Taki looked out across the rooftops, his hand finding Yuma’s almost without thought. The bond answered, a soft pulse of shared peace.
“Maybe someday,” he said quietly.
“Maybe soon,” Yuma replied.
And the laugh that followed scattered up into the stars, blending with the hum of the bond that tied them, earned, not owed. Chosen, not forced.
☆