Fair Ankles

by spirallings

Summary:

Taken in under Fukuzawa's, the god of the harvest, wing in his youth, Atsushi, god of flowers and tigers, was a sheltered god. Though he made the fields his foster father grew ever more beautiful with his flowers, the air always warm, Atsushi still felt confined, frustrated, and lonely.

Loneliness brings those of a similar flock together.

Even those that live and rule amongst the dead.

Chapter 1

The upper world of the gods carried a sticky warmth that left Atsushi feeling light-headed and slightly suffocated. But it left a sweet aftertaste on the tip of his tongue, not unlike some of his more fragrant flowers and he had to blink himself awake as he nearly stumbled on the staircase.

 

He swallowed and his tense muscles only relaxed after a large, warm hand rested on the small of his back. Familiar and comforting in its lightness.

 

“Are you nervous?” Fukuzawa frowned. “Do you wish to go back? If you do not want to go, we can go home.”

 

Suddenly ashamed of his own nerves, Atsushi shook his head and smiled at the god of harvests, fertility and unwritten law. “No, no, I’m fine, I want to be here. We don’t have to go home.”

 

Gray-blue eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

 

Atsushi nodded once, hoping the smile made him look more confident than he felt.

 

He was nervous-- he’d never been to the upper realm of the gods before and he hadn’t yet met more than a handful of them. He was a minor god of flowers, the moon and tigers, he was inconsequential in comparison to the much more powerful ones in the upper realm, but he still wanted to go. He still wanted to see and know. Shouldn’t he get to know his fellow gods? He was well of age, in his opinion.

 

Fukuzawa studied Atsushi for a long held beat, then closed his eyes. He sighed and let his hand fall from Atsushi’s back, but he maintained his closeness. It was a comfort. “Very well, let us go then.”

 

But Atsushi knew--- the minute Fukuzawa (or better yet, Kunikida) found the first instance of Atsushi feeling uncomfortable, they would leave.

 

He couldn’t allow himself to feel the flicker of annoyance deep within his chest.

 

I can handle this. I can handle meeting the other gods. I’m ready.

 

It’d taken weeks to convince the god he’d come to see as a father that he was good and ready to meet the other gods.

 

“It’s not that I do not think you can’t handle meeting the others,” Fukuzawa’d said, expression severe and tired simultaneously. “It’s the others I do not trust.”

 

It hadn’t soothed Atsushi’s mind much but he was determined. He only knew of a few handful of gods, if not that, and even still he wanted to satiate his curiosity. Anxious as he was, the god he’d come to see as a father would be there. Kunikida would be there. Ranpo was sure to be around somewhere if he hadn’t grown bored with the company already. He wasn’t going to be alone.

 

They did not speak much after that and continued their ascent of the staircase that carried them far above the skies. The stars shone much brighter and closer and the thick sweetness of immortal waters and wine grew, sticking to the back of Atsushi’s throat. Below the marble, cool against his bare and exposed feet, he felt the first thrums of sheer power.

 

He swallowed.

 

The upper realm of the gods bustled with noise, music and the sound of clinking porcelain. Atsushi didn’t have to see their faces to feel the strength and power coming off of the other gods in waves, even purposefully louder than they ought to be; as if they were showing themselves off to each other in a game of whom was more impressive. Atsushi could feel it, even if they weren’t showing off their abilities.

 

The atmosphere was jovial and smelled of ambrosia, but there was a tense undercurrent that Atsushi would’ve not otherwise felt if he’d not always paid so much attention to the feeling of soil beneath his feet.

 

Fukuzawa’s hand returned to his shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. It didn’t move from his bony shoulder at all as they stepped onto the final step, above the threshold, finally introducing Atsushi to the realm of the gods he’d been kept away from for as long as he remembered.

 

Closing his eyes briefly, he inhaled and breathed out slowly.

 

He hid his trembling fingers in his overly long sleeves.

 

His father’s fingers pressed down, his warmth bringing Atsushi some comfort.

 

However still, Atsushi froze upon feeling dozens of eyes on focusing in on his face as he stepped through the upper chamber. They fell on Fukuzawa first, heads slightly lowered in respect to the far older god, then onto him.

 

Despite feeling like a fox caught in a tiger’s den, Atsushi straightened his shoulders, stood as tall as he could and trained his face to not show the anxious thrumming of his heart and tightening of his stomach. He vaguely felt Fukuzawa’s fingers tightening on his shoulder, trying to keep Atsushi beside him, but Atsushi moved forward of his own volition, holding his head high like the god he was.

 

Minor and insignificant as he was, unsavory as some of his duties were, he was still a god and he was allowed to be here. He had a right to be here, as was his godly privilege.

 

Even if he was starting to feel like an animal held on a spit above a fire.

 

Atsushi tried not to look at their eyes too much though he felt their curiosity as they sized him up. Some confusion was sent his way as well and he began to hear murmurs and whispers he couldn’t quite make out.

 

“You decided to come after all, then.”

 

Shoulders relaxing and feeling far more at ease, a smile curled on his lips. It broadened as Fukuzawa’s hand finally lowered.

 

“It’s good to see you here, Kunikida-san,” Atsushi said warmly.

 

Kunikida didn’t smile but he hummed, and that was enough for Atsushi, who was used to the older god’s more surly, serious attitude. The god of logic, strategic warfare and idealizations prided himself on it, actually. Particularly in comparison to the flighty god of desire that annoyed him so, who, his own words, had almost never taken anything seriously in his entire godly life.

 

While the god of strategic war didn’t seem too pleased to see Atsushi here, Kunikida was one of the reasons Atsushi wanted to present himself to the other gods in the upper realm; he spoke so often of the other gods and their on-goings in the heavens, his complaints about the god of desire’s exploits, heeding to Atsushi’s curious inquiries with a half-hearted annoyance that only had the young god more eager to meet the others.

 

Kunikida was one of the few gods Fukuzawa allowed to be around Atsushi until now and Atsushi had wanted to meet the rest.

 

“We’ve been waiting for both of your arrivals,” Kunikida said shortly, standing up straight as Fukuzawa approached. “You’re right on time.”

 

Atsushi hid a smile behind his sleeve as his father made a small noise of satisfaction, his own hands folded into his sleeves. It felt so familiar he briefly forgot all of the eyes lingering on his face.

 

Still as fixated on timeliness as ever, he thought in good humor. Lowering his sleeve and folding his hands against his stomach, he stood next to his father as Kunikida bowed to the elder god in respect.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Kunikida,” Fukuzawa said. The god was not known for his smiles, but Atsushi saw the muscles in his face relax and how Kunikida beamed in pleasure at the older god’s acknowledgement. “I trust you are well?”

 

“As always,” Kunikida replied, hint of a faint grin present. It was gone at the sound of bare feet and sandals shuffling against the marble floor and steel fasted itself onto his expression as he turned.

 

It was then that Atsushi not only felt but saw the stares on him and his muscles twitched into tension. Pursing his lips and clenching his jaw, he stood as tall as he could. For the first time since he’d arrived, Atsushi allowed himself to drink in the sight of all the gods surrounding him; and there were so many.

 

And they were all looking at him.

 

Some stares left him quicker than others, for which he was grateful because he was unused to such attention, but others lingered on his face. How Atsushi still managed to hold himself up and not dart back to his fields and flowers, he didn’t know, but he remained.

 

Fukuzawa stood next to him and his gray eyes narrowed, ice settling over the god of harvest’s expression, enough to make the earth beneath them quiver from his sheer might.

 

Atsushi started when the crowds began to part and he stiffened upon seeing the figure walking towards him, hands splayed out, dark robes billowing in the gentle wind and a young girl with golden curls and devious blue eyes trailing next to him, dressed in only the finest of fabrics.

 

“Ah, so this is the jewel you’ve been hiding all this time, Yukichi,” Mori demurred, smile spreading on his lips and gray eyes glittering with mirth. “My, you ought to be ashamed of keeping him from us for so long!”

 

Fukuzawa tensed and his mouth tightened into a flat line. “Mori,” he greeted coldly.

 

Mori’s smile widened sharply. “Yukichi. Wonderful to see you as always, and I must say, I’m quite pleased that you’ve finally brought your son to introduce him properly.”

 

Tension sputtered between the two older gods and Atsushi swallowed hard as those violet eyes fell on him.

 

The king of the gods’ smile widened and Atsushi saw something akin to satisfaction and pleasure flit across the immortal man’s face as Mori observed him, so deeply as if he could see through the bone and the body. Atsushi didn’t like how those eyes seemed to rake over him, taking in every non-existent blemish, every line and curve of his face, how the folds of his robes hung off of his slender body, and he shifted uncomfortably, but refused to be cowed.

 

Atsushi felt his father’s power crackle at his side and Kunikida shifting closer to his side.

 

Swallowing his fear and remembering his manners, Atsushi took a step forward, inclined his head in respect to his king, and bowed. “I’m.. humbled to finally meet you, your highness. I am Atsushi, god of flowers and tigers.”

 

There was a pause, and then Mori laughed.

 

Atsushi jumped at a larger hand grasping his own and he looked up with widened eyes to see Mori pulling him back up.

 

Fukuzawa’s face darkened and the air of the heavens grew heavy with the god’s increasing anger the longer Mori touched his foster child’s hand. Mori glanced at the other god once, his smile turning into a flash of a smirk, before releasing Atsushi’s hand.

 

“Welcome home, Atsushi.”

 

---

 

To say that Atsushi was feeling overwhelmed with all the attention was an understatement. Not to mention that his throat was growing sore from having to introduce himself so much time and time again, but after the initial greeting from Mori that left him on edge, it became easier to be around the other gods. To his relief, some were quite friendly and welcoming to him, particularly the younger gods. One that stood out was the god of farmers, virility, youth and sunshine, Kenji. The young god was all smiles and welcoming, warm hands, inviting Atsushi to join him in the feast he provided.

 

He also wondered if Kenji was the god of cows for how much he loved the beef dishes. He ate so much it made Atsushi feel a little ill to watch, though he, too, enjoyed it. He liked Kenji and was happy that Fukuzawa seemed to approve of the young god, for he was nothing but cordial to Kenji. The god’s warmth was infectious and Atsushi was enjoying himself and the atmosphere more quickly than he expected.

 

(The sheer strength that Kenji possessed, outright tossing a large, broken down pillar off the mountainside as if he were lifting but a feather caught him off guard, though. Fukuzawa hid a half-smile at the flower god’s shout of alarm.)

 

There were those, however, that Atsushi felt it better to keep his distance from. The war god was slight and thin, hair red as the fires that kept their halls warm and curled along his neck, but Chuuya’s smile, wide and toothy, spoke of knives and blades. There was a glitter in his bright blue eyes that was challenging and fiery and Atsushi’s smile wavered as he greeted the other god with as much civility as he could muster.

 

With Kunikida’s insistence, he shuffled away from the war god with purposeful feet.

 

Most gods seemed to eye him with some interest before growing bored, leaving him to entertain themselves elsewhere. Atsushi was only mildly put off by some of the more aloof and or arrogant attitudes he faced, but he bore them with a smile, ignoring the pulse of irritation from his father when he noticed other gods being rude to him.

 

Those savvy enough to notice were quick to turn up the politeness.

 

Sitting with the goddess of the hunt, and her brother, the god of poets, song and light, Atsushi looked around and assumed that he’d met most of the gods. He took the cup of ambrosia from Naomi, beaming, and because she was curious and asked him, he grew camellia for her. She watched in awe as it bloomed in the palm of his hand and Junichiro smiled in interest, leaning forward to get a better look at the sheer white petals.

 

Atsushi beamed with pleasure when Junichiro called it ‘beautiful.’

 

“Thank you,” he said, sitting up straight. He gently took the flower out of his palm and gave it to Naomi, who took it gratefully.

 

While his sister traced her fingertips against the edges of the petals, Junichiro scooted closer to Atsushi.

 

Vines lazily curled around Atsushi’s wrists underneath his sleeves, leaves poking through the hems. Junichiro glanced at them with smiling interest as he asked, “This is really your first time coming up here?”

 

Pale blue buds grew on the thin vines as Atsushi looked up, a benign smile on his lips. “It is,” he said, smile growing sheepish. He tucked a longer lock behind his ear. “Is it really so obvious?”

 

Morning glories were beginning to bloom on his wrist and Junichiro’s cheeks flushed faintly (gone so quickly Atsushi assumed he’d just imagined it), as he stammered out, “I don’t mean to say that in a bad way, it’s just that, you, ah--”

 

Atsushi hid another smile behind his sleeve, eyes crinkling in amusement; for a god also in association with the all-seeing sun, he was rather easily flustered. He wouldn’t have expected such. It was rather endearing and he was growing to quickly enjoy Junichiro and Naomi’s company.

 

“What my dear brother means to say,” Naomi purred, draping herself over her brother’s shoulder, still cradling the camellia in her hands, “is that you don’t seem to know many of us. Why, this is the first time we’ve even met!”

 

Atsushi’s lips twisted into one more wry (trying not to be too bewildered by how.. strangely touchy Naomi was with her brother; “do not question it,” Kunikida had drawled dryly, once). “Cannot say I’m surprised,” he admitted, “For as long as I can remember, I’ve only ever known my father, Kunikida-san, and Ranpo-san.”

 

He almost laughed at how their faces faulted.

 

“I am so sorry,” Junichiro blurted, a rather ungodly mannerism.

 

Atsushi allowed one chuckle to escape, glancing down to see the Morning Glory beginning to bloom, a deep violet-blue color. “He’s really not so bad. Ranpo-san is just... a bit much to take in, I suppose,” he laughed, scratching at his cheek.

 

An understatement, as the god of reasoning, scholars, victory and the bearer of the mystery cults was arrogant and full of pride to a grating degree, but it was a well-earned smugness. Having known the older god since he was a but a child Atsushi was used to it enough. For the most part.

 

Naomi snorted with a roll of her eyes and Junichiro smiled balefully.

 

“But I do know of you,” Atsushi added, smiling warmly. “Kunikida-san’s been kind enough to indulge in answering questions of mine for centuries.”

 

Junichiro hummed, shuffling a tad on his seat while Naomi clung onto his arm, chin perched on his shoulder. “Do you like it here?”

 

Atsushi’s smile faltered only some and he fingered the starry petals, grazing his nail over its soft edges. “I do, I suppose I just didn’t expect it to be so...” Considering his words carefully, he smiled crookedly, “Eventful.”

 

Junichiro laughed. “Chuuya-san is very overprotective of his wine.”

 

Clearly, Atsushi thought.

 

A fist-fight had nearly broken out when the god of desire had casually thrown a half-empty glass of wine behind him and off the mountaintop, incurring the wrath of the war god with a screech. It’d taken a cold smile and threatening clap of his hands from Mori to calm both gods down.

 

Thoughtful, Atsushi smiled down at his flowers and cradled them. “It seems as if I’ve met nearly everyone, so that’s good.”

 

He did not see the look the siblings shared, their smiles dropping. But when he looked back, their smiles were still present.

 

“Yes,” Junichiro said, lips curled upward, “You have.”

 

Atsushi stared and blinked; there was something.. rather odd in the other god’s smile.

 

He’s hiding something.

 

The god of light and song continued talking as if the lull had never occurred and though Atsushi smiled on and conversed, his smile did not carry the same mirth as it’d had before. He knew those smiles well; a smile that thought it was protecting him, a smile that drove him mad with frustration. A smile that thought he couldn’t handle unpleasant truths.

 

Fukuzawa did not smile often and the times he did were rare and treasured, but he often kept certain things from Atsushi. He’d never given his reasoning, only that it was ‘for the better,’ and Kunikida had been no better.

 

It’s best for you to not know.

 

Atsushi couldn’t stand it.

 

He was amongst his equals and even they didn’t think him capable.

 

Below, a single crack in the earth rumbled.

 

-

 

Before Atsushi made his decision to come to his welcoming, Kunikida had warned him to be wary of certain gods. None would dare harm him, of course, the god of strategy had reassured. Never while under the care of the god of harvest, for he, too, was a warlike god and not to be trifled with. While under the eye of his adoptive father, no god would be stupid enough to even think of harming Atsushi, but the young god had to be wary.

 

“Not all gods will be as kind and good as Fukuzawa-sama,” Kunikida had said sternly.

 

Atsushi knew that. He knew that the moment he’d met their king. He knew when he saw the ferocity of Chuuya and his ilk. None could be so kind and merciful as Fukuzawa, who’d taken the broken child thrown down from the moon, abandoned to a field full of lilies and snapdragons, and took him in as his own. He knew that the other gods could be petty and cruel.

 

He knew in the name that all mortals were too fearful to dare say.

 

The god those in the upper realm did not speak of.

 

The party would be drawing to a close soon, Atsushi could feel it, and though he’d come to enjoy the companionship of the Tanizaki siblings and Kenji, he too was waiting for it to come to an end. He could feel exhaustion seeping and he yearned to return to his fields and his tigers. A select few gods had already left, though many lingered.

 

Smiling sheepishly, he waved off a bowl of katsudon Kenji offered to him with a mild laugh. (“It’s a delicacy!” Kenji had crowed, beaming far too like the sun who loved him, “You ought to try sometime, it’s delicious. I’ll even make it for you myself!”)

 

He felt more than saw Fukuzawa walk up behind him. He turned, meeting the older god’s gaze with a silent one of his own.

 

Fukuzawa’s eyebrows raised slightly.

 

Are you ready?

 

Atsushi’s smile was small, but gentle, as he nodded.

 

Just about.

 

The god of the harvest hummed and folded his arms into his sleeves, nodding once. A silent beckoning for Atsushi to come along. Brushing down the front of his robes and letting the Morning glories settle into the fabric, Atsushi stood.

 

That’s when he felt the cold and the crackle of power; something deep, earthy and dark.

 

“Ah!” Mori exclaimed with a clap of his hands. He sounded pleased. “You’ve finally made it.”

 

The room came to a still. Everyone had gone silent. Fukuzawa tensed, muscles rigid.

 

There was a grunt of acknowledgement, and then a cough.

 

Slowly, Atsushi turned.

 

“A little late, perhaps,” Mori mused, “But I suppose it’s better to be late than to miss it entirely.” Eyes narrowing, his smile widened. “It would have been such a shame, Akutagawa-kun. How is the Underworld?”

 

“Thriving with the dead,” Akutagawa said cooly.

 

Speak not to the god of the dead.

 

Speak not of the god of the dead.

 

Lest, the god of the dead speak back to thee.

 

The Underworld’s king strode forward as if his feet never touched the marble floor and the gods parted to allow him entrance, bowing their heads not in respect or greeting, but reluctance. Mori was one of the few who looked the god of the dead in the face and did not flinch or wilt back. In fact, his smile grew to an almost comical degree, even more when Akutagawa inclined his head towards their king; an act of respect.

 

Mori clapped his hands together once more. “Well, now that you’re here, best to introduce you before Fukuzawa whisks him away again,” he laughed.

 

Had they been on earth, the ground would’ve shook beneath their feet from the anger Fukuzawa was graciously holding back and concealing beneath his stern, silver-eyed glare.

 

Mori, eyes glittering and smiling wide, turned and gestured for Akutagawa to do the same.

 

“Akutagawa-kun, allow me to introduce you to Atsushi-kun.”

 

All eyes fell on Atsushi, watching on quiet, bated breath and Atsushi swallowed. He felt all of their stares on him, but none did he feel more than the steely grey eyes that met his as the god of the Underworld turned to face him.

 

Shivers crawled slowly up his back as the other god stared at him, unblinking and unreadable, but he held his shoulders and did not look away. Jaw clenched, he raised his chin to meet Akutagawa’s eyes at an equal level.

 

Thin brows rose slightly, an act almost unnoticeable, and the god strode forward across the floor, closing the distance between them. He came to a stop when there was mere three feet between them. Cold came off of the god in ripples and Atsushi felt his flowers shiver beneath his sleeves.

 

“The god of flowers and tigers,” Akutagawa said softly, “Is that not you?”

 

Atsushi was surprised by the hoarse quality to the god’s voice, as if rarely used unless necessary. But though the god spoke softly, there was a steel to it that had Atsushi on his guard. “It is,” he said slowly.

 

The other god raised a hand to cough briefly into it and continued to look at Atsushi over the edge of his fingers--- long, slender and pale.

 

All of the Underworld’s king seemed to be long and slender, his skin pale as the sea god’s pearls. Atsushi could see now that he had only a slight height advantage over himself and his face was... remarkably young. Were it not for the truth Atsushi knew of the other god, how long he’d been ruling the dead, he would’ve mistaken him for a fellow younger god.

 

Akutagawa lowered his hand, letting it hang by his side as he observed Atsushi. “I’ve been called away from my kingdom because of your apparent arrival.”

 

His tone was neutral, but there was the slightest curl to the god’s mouth that seemed to be deeply unimpressed with what was standing in front of him.

 

Atsushi bristled and tawny eyes glimmered. His mouth tightened.

 

“I apologize from distracting you from your duties, my lord,” Atsushi replied cooly, forcing a gentile smile out of politeness in spite of the bite that lived beneath the surface of that last syllable.

 

It seemed to be noticeable to those who knew him well enough, because it earned a hiss of his name from Kunikida, feeling his glare against the back of his head.

 

The god of the dead’s face didn’t reveal much or any expression, but there was a subtle widening of Akutagawa’s eyes, catching onto the certain emphasis. If possible, the gray color grew in intensity and the god’s mouth twitched once more.

 

“You must truly be remarkable to draw the attention of so many of our fellow gods,” Akutagawa said and there was a definite curl to his mouth that looked like a sneer.

 

Atsushi’s cheeks flushed a little in anger, trembling through him as thorns grew on rosebushes. The smile became more difficult to keep on his face and the lines around his eyes tightened.  “You flatter me, Akutagawa-sama,” he said with a sweetness sharp enough to pierce skin.

 

He knew it wasn’t a compliment, but seeing the twitch in the other god’s jaw and the narrowing of his eyes made it all worth it, feeling satisfaction at the sight.

 

Atsushi also knew that crossing any lines with the god of the dead was dangerous, that angering him could end badly for him, but Atsushi didn’t care. He’d heard only select stories of how Akutagawa punished those that tried to defy the laws of death, the misfortunate fates of the mortals that attempted to climb into the Underworld and bring the dead back to life, but they were more than enough. He’d heard that his temper was dangerous and he could make shadows move to his will, using it as a weapon. That his own clothing (all black, his robes thick and covering his body up to his neck, the long sleeves ending at the line of his knuckles, all seeming to move to their own accord) could be used as a weapon and he had used it before.

 

Atsushi had not been told many things about the God of the Dead, but the first thing he’d been told was that he needed to avoid him at all cost.

 

A touch too late for that, now.

 

The tension between the two gods was growing increasingly more apparent and some of the other gods looked uncomfortable, though some looked eager for what could come of such opposing beings tearing at each other verbally.

 

Bored gods looked for entertainment anywhere they could.

 

What infuriated Atsushi more than the other god’s unwarranted rudeness was how difficult it was to read his face; there were shifting thoughts on his face, but Atsushi couldn’t fathom what, and Akutagawa’s mouth parted to say something more.

 

What, he would never know, because there was a hand, heavy, warm and familiar grasping his shoulder.

 

“Atsushi.”

 

Stilling, Atsushi turned to look out of the corner of his eye, finding pale silver staring the god of the Underworld down. Unblinking and unafraid of the younger god, no matter his domain.

 

Akutagawa’s jaw tightened at the god of fertility’s hard, rigid stare, but he said no more.

 

Fukuzawa’s hand fell from Atsushi’s shoulder, returning to the inside of his sleeves. “We thank you for inviting us, but it’s time for us to go. Much work is still to be done, and I’d rather not overwhelm Atsushi.”

 

A defiant part of Atsushi wanted to protest that he was fine but the look on Fukuzawa’s face when he glanced at him quelled that over-confident part of himself quickly. Cheeks flushed, chagrined, he looked down and nodded, avoiding the eyes he felt on his face.

 

His thank yous and goodbyes went by in a blur after that, making sure to bow low to his king, ignoring the prickle of hair on the back of his neck as Mori observed him. He left in tow with Fukuzawa soon after.

 

A couple of the Morning glories fell out from beneath his sleeves and onto the floor.

 

He was gone by the time the god of the dead picked it up, a black tendril emerging from his robes to take it in its teeth by the stub and dropping it in the god’s open palm.

 

-

 

The god of harvest did not yell, did not shout, but his quiet disapproval for Atsushi’s behavior towards the god of the dead bled out in his silence and the shame grew in the pit of Atsushi’s stomach.

 

Kunikida was the one more verbal in his scolding, telling Atsushi off for nearly instigating what could have been a fight with the temperamental Akutagawa.

 

“I told you to avoid him if you could!”

 

“I didn’t know he was coming,” Atsushi protested, hands flailing in agitation. “And he was being so rude--”

 

“That’s just par the course for Akutagawa,” Kunikida said curtly, lips pursed. “He’s rude to everyone but Dazai and Mori. He’s technically a king, it’s no surprise that he’d look down on you. But you cannot let that get to you, Atsushi-- he’s dangerous.”

 

Atsushi tried not to sigh. “I know he is, Kunikida-san, but--”

 

“Akutagawa answers to no one but himself and Mori, Atsushi,” Fukuzawa said, standing from his throne of bark and fine wood. “It’s fortunate that he tends to mind his own business.. but it would be wise to practice caution, Atsushi.”

 

The god of harvest was not normally expressive, but Atsushi was well accustomed to the god’s moods and emotions since being raised by him. Now, he saw worry and fatigue in those silver eyes that took care of him for this long.

 

He knew what Fukuzawa did not say out loud. It was the entire reason he’d been so reluctant to have Atsushi meet the other gods, or allow the rowdier of their kin to stumble upon him.

 

The scars on his left hip throbbed dully.

 

I just want you to be safe.

 

The morning was spent with Fukuzawa in the fields, watching his father cause the seeds to grow into trees that would bear fruit for the mortals. In an open field, cream colored tulips grew around the two gods in a circle. Fukuzawa was careful in his plucking of one, holding the stem between his fingers. He took the flower off the stem and tucked it behind the young god’s ear.

 

“Well done,” Fukuzawa murmured with a ghost of a smile.

 

Atsushi beamed and the flowers bloomed more bountifully.

 

-

 

Akutagawa, for his part, had been left to his own devices after Atsushi stiffly thanked him for coming and meeting him with a bowed head, and had spent the remainder of the party with a cup of ambrosia in his hands that he barely touched. He preferred to observe and did not interact much with the other gods as the god of harvest and his ward left, the god of strategy soon following.

 

He ignored the sharp smile of the desire god, one that spoke of an amused interest he wanted no part in. He did not linger long, and with a quick, silent goodbye to Mori, Akutagawa sunk back into the earth below, back to his realm.

 

As the sighs and murmurs of the dead greeted him, the growl of his great beast welcoming him home, Akutagawa pondered the deep, rich petals that hid beneath the flower god’s sleeves. He was careful not to touch it much; being in the Underworld, it could die at any given moment, petals shriveling and falling to the dark floor. He laid the flower on the open book filled with blank pages, settled in the crook of the paper.

 

“Why does such a weak god get such an entrance?” Akutagawa asked himself in a murmur, dragging his nails through the fur of his guardian beast. Rashomon growled a happy rumble and laid its head on its front paws, bright red eyes closing and dark tail swishing from behind.

 

What could such a weak, minuscule god, the god of flowers and, from what he’d heard amongst the murmurs of the dead, tigers, due to earn the interest of all of Olympus?

 

Akutagawa couldn’t see it at all.

 

And what could possibly give the younger god such confidence and nerve to talk back to him?

 

Now that his annoyance had ebbed, he found it rather impressive.

 

Closing the book gently so that the petals sunk into the paper, preserving the flower as long he could, Akutagawa left to stand by the river of forgetfulness. He watched souls slip into the water and climb out, drifting towards their new birth and lives. He pondered on his curiosity and frowned.

 

What’s so special about you?

 

-

 

Atsushi took a handful of the soil in the abandoned field and frowned, his brows knitting together as he stared at the tall grass, bent down heavily from the bodies that’d been left there. The bodies were gone now, sunken into the earth as ashes. Death had already taken their souls. Some weapons were still littered in the dirt, entangled in vegetation and dirt. Some were beginning to rust. The battle was weeks over and only some of the dead had their bodies returned to their families. Most had perished in this field.

 

He could still smell the faint scent of blood.

 

The soil slipped between his fingers and he lowered to his knees. He took a stalk of the tall grass in his hand and plucked it out of the ground. It was a dark brown, withered and old. Atsushi ran his fingers along the ridge of the stalk and it became green once more.

 

Their souls were gone already. Their fates had been decided below the earth where no mortal could see. The god of the dead had dealt with them, already, he was certain.

 

And yet, he still felt the faint remnants of their agony and despair. Those who had died without being buried properly by their families, who’d not wanted to be fighting at all, whose who’d left behind lovers, children and friends--- Atsushi felt them all. He felt it in the soil and the air he breathed.

 

“How unfair,” Atsushi breathed, brows knitting together. His finger clenched around the green stalk and lowered it back into the ground, commanding that its roots take hold in the soil.

 

The lingering sadness of the dead felt heavy in his chest, and Atsushi was awash with empathy. He knew the feeling of abandonment well; he felt it whenever he looked up at the moon and all her cycles.

 

But Atsushi was lucky; he’d been gifted with kindness by Fukuzawa and knew that affection as he grew. These poor souls were not so fortunate.

 

Many of them would go unremembered, a horrible fate for a warrior. But Atsushi wouldn’t forget them.

 

Atsushi closed his eyes and let his will breathe into the earth.

 

When he opened them again, rosemaries, gladioli and white chrysanthemums were blooming all around him, spreading through the field. The deadened brown could no longer be seen; only green and vast colors could be seen all around him, filling the empty fields with color. Lips quirking into a faint smile, Atsushi stood. He breathed and no longer smelled blood.

 

The despair of the dead was ebbing. He felt it. His smile grew.

 

For a god as lowly as himself, this was the most he could do.

 

The smell of his flowers, sweet and soothing, lulled him into lowering to the ground to lay on his back and close his eyes; he drowned in his element, surrounded by his flowers and the faint pull of the moon, hidden behind the sun and its glory, and Atsushi could’ve fallen asleep right there. His flowers drank in the sun and he bathed in the cool shade of the tall grass.

 

He could rest here. His tigers were hunting, though they’d been reluctant to leave his side initially. They would return to him soon enough. Whenever Fukuzawa wanted him to return home, he would know. He’d feel it in the soil.

 

And the full moon wasn’t for another two weeks.

 

For now, he enjoyed his rare time alone.

 

Atsushi would’ve fallen into a light nap in the sunlight had he not felt the faint rustle of feet stepping through the grass. Atsushi wasn’t terribly bothered by this; since being introduced to the other gods, his social circle had grown quite a lot. Junichiro often came to see him, occasionally with his sister and other times not. He enjoyed the god of light’s companionship, although his relationship with his sister was... odd.

 

Kunikida told him it was best not to question it.

 

He’d even come across the messenger of the gods, quick-footed and mischievous, several times. Their initial meeting had been brief but Mark spoke to him as if they’d known each other for centuries. He appreciated the red-head’s friendliness, though it sometimes felt a touch overbearing. Atsushi tried not think much on it (though Fukuzawa found the messenger god’s actions suspect) and just took it as friendliness.

 

Sitting up, Atsushi twisted around to see who it was (probably Junichiro, which was a pleasant surprise), greeting already on his tongue-- when he stopped, body tensing and eyes widening.

 

Akutagawa’s finger grazed the tip of a gladiolus, just barely touching the edges of the petal. Amongst a sea of color, his dark robes clashed harshly. He looked horribly out of place.

 

“This wasn’t here before,” Akutagawa said, running his fingertip along the bulb before removing it.

 

Atsushi almost wanted to tell the other god not to touch his flowers, afraid that it would wither underneath his touch, but the flower was as healthy and bright as it’d been before. It didn’t seem affected by the god’s touch at all.

 

Back stiff, he twisted to sit on his knees. He watched the other god warily, though Akutagawa seemed more interested in the flowers than him, brushing a finger over a rosemary. He swallowed when deep grey settled onto him.

 

“You made all of this.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

He bit briefly on his bottom lip before meeting Akutagawa’s stare more steadily. “I did.”

 

Thin brows knit into a narrow eyed stare. “Why? What does a field of where the dead once were concern you at all?”

 

The petals of the chrysanthemums shook as Atsushi stood, resisting the urge to bristle and give the other god a sour look. He managed to remember Fukuzawa’s word of caution in time before he let it show. Instead, he channeled a more stony expression, the best he could.

 

His eyes gave him away as he replied.

 

“It’s not fair that they’re forgotten and abandoned by history just because they lost. To be forgotten is...” Atsushi paused, having to take in a small breath, “..Is terrible. Nobody deserves that.”

 

“Everyone forgets the dead, in time,” Akutagawa said.

 

Atsushi was appalled by the coldness of the man’s voice. Some of his anger flashed through and the leaves trembled in his wake.

 

“Maybe. Maybe they’ll forget their names, but these flowers will be here in their stead. And that’s what the humans will see and remember, and perhaps it’ll be a comfort.”

 

The lines of Akutagawa’s eyes relaxed, only subtly, but his expression remained infuriatingly difficult to read.

 

“You have a great compassion for those who’ve already passed on,” Akutagawa said after a long held stare that left Atsushi nearly shifting on his feet. He said it listlessly, without emotion, though there was a note of.. something in his stare that Atsushi couldn’t quite make out.

 

Were it anybody else, he would’ve called it wonder.

 

Atsushi kept his gaze held and the leaves relaxed, swaying in the faint breeze. “I felt their sadness and wanted to give them something in return.”

 

Akutagawa’s gaze sharpened and honed in on him, taking a step forward, and Atsushi wished he’s said nothing at all as the god approached. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing.

 

“You felt them?”

 

Atsushi’s jaw clenched. “Yes,” he murmured.

 

“How?”

 

Lips pursing at the strangely intent expression on the other god’s face when he’d barely seen slivers of emotion before, Atsushi considered how to answer, how to best describe what he felt. What he’d been able to feel for decades now whenever he’d come across a place of rest for the dead; he didn’t have the eloquence to fully explain, and thus, he chose the most simple answer he could come up with.

 

“I felt it in the soil,” he said simply.

 

Silence passed and it was difficult not to squirm underneath the god’s intense stare. He felt Akutagawa’s eyes roaming over his face, the slightly narrowing of his eyes and the hardened line of his mouth. The most Atsushi could do was hold his ground and not be intimidated by the other god.

 

He was nearly ready to finally break the silence when Akutagawa pulled back, stepping backwards, eyes closed. “I see,” he said.

 

Atsushi stared at him, brows furrowed.

 

It was difficult to tell due to the expressionless face, but the god’s body language seemed more relaxed that it’d been before. Akutagawa’s eyes weren’t as tight when he looked at Atsushi.

 

The ruler of the Underworld glanced over the field, then turned back to Atsushi. “I suppose they’re not bad,” he said quietly. “Few beyond family and loved ones mourn for the dead. You are a strange sort.”

 

This time, Atsushi did huff and was ready to retort when the god gently cupped a chrysanthemum in his palm. “But I suppose that you are interesting,” Akutagawa said, admiring the flower before letting it go. “Give my regards to your father.”

 

Blinking, the snappish retort died in Atsushi’s mouth as the other god turned on his heel, and in a flash of dark clothing, he was gone.

 

Atsushi stood in the field of bright flowers, the smell warm and floral, the wind singing quietly as it blew between the blades of tall grass. He felt the rumble of his name in the earth and he was quick to return to his foster father.

 

He returned to the field the next day and the flowers still thrived.

 

When he stopped upon the resting places of the dead, colorful flowers grew and bloomed in their memory, and Atsushi wondered if the King of the Dead below could see them. He wondered if he could smell them, and he wondered if the dead smiled at their beauty, wrenched souls eased.

 

-

 

Time meant little to gods, and though decades or centuries could pass for humanity, it feel not like weeks, months, or sometimes days for them. Atsushi couldn’t be sure how long ago it truly was since he last met the God of the Dead, but it was long enough that Atsushi was left surprised upon coming to one of Fukuzawa’s many shrines to make the vines, flowers and leaves grow more vibrant, a little something to make the line of the god’s mouth twitch into a ghost of a smile--

 

To find Akutagawa giving a spare piece of raw meat to a little of kittens, their mother perched on a step, tail tracing lazily against the dirt. His tigers were lounging in the sunlight upon their rocks, chuffing quietly into the early afternoon.

 

The god’s dark robes were stark in the blinding sun.

 

Eyes widened, Atsushi stopped and retreated behind the thick trunk of the willowtree that loomed over the shrine. Cattails brushed against his hair as he peeked to get a better look, eyes squinted as he scowled at the other god.

 

Atsushi knew he was a minor god and that he had little fighting capabilities, not nearly as many as Akutagawa had. Or so he’d overheard. But if the god even thought of disrespecting his father’s temple---

 

Nails sunk into the wood, sharpened and long as a growl threatened to rumble in his throat.

 

If Akutagawa was aware of Atsushi being there, he gave no indication of it, because he remained crouched in front of the litter of kittens. Fingers splayed out to let the kittens lick at them, his dark robes brushing against the grass, the god’s face was hidden behind the peculiar long dark locks.

 

Akutagawa showed them his open palms and Atsushi watched, astonished, as a kitten with black fur and white spots rubbed her head against his skin. Atsushi heard the little one purr happily as Akutagawa curled his fingers, scratching underneath her chin. The kitten crawled into his palm, meowing loudly in demand to be held.

 

The god of the dead obliged and stood, the kitten tucked in his arms.

 

The mother watched them, yellow eyes staring unblinking until she seemed satisfied with her baby’s safety, and returned to her nap. The kitten’s purring grew louder as Akutagawa ran his fingers along her spine. The other kittens were yowling and meowing up at the god, rubbing against the hems of his robes in order to be held like their sister.

 

Atsushi could only stare.

 

Even his tigers seemed unbothered by the god’s presence.

 

The yowling grew in volume and Atsushi gaped as dark tendrils emerged from the ends of his robes, as if the thread itself had a mind of its own. The kittens purred happily and rubbed the heads and necks against the heads of the tendrils (that’d taken their own strange shape; almost wolf-like).

 

He leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the other god’s face, but the movement drew the attention of his beloved tigers.

 

The female, Mei, raised her mighty head and released a loud chuff as she raised herself to her paws, ears twitching. Her chuffs grew louder and happier as she leapt off her rock, approaching her god. His attempts at trying to shoo Mei off so that the god of the dead wouldn’t notice him proved futile when she nearly bowled into him.

 

Atsushi yelped and the kittens meowed pitifully when the dark tendrils disappeared, Akutagawa going stiff and wide-eyed. Atsushi would’ve laughed at how startled he looked if not for the prickly tongue licking his face.

 

“Yes, yes ow--” Atsushi laughed, lightly patting Mei’s large jaw as she chuffed in his ear, urging her to climb off of him, “I’m happy to see you, too. You, too, Kai, but please you’ll crush my spine get off me please.”

 

The tiger siblings growled, annoyed, but clambered off of their god. Atsushi sat up, brushed the grass off of his robes and tiger lilies slowly grew out of the bushes as he stroked their fur with a smile, their chuffs vibrating beneath his touch.

 

“So,” a raspy voice murmured, “The flower god truly is also the god of tigers, then?”

 

Jaw twitching, Atsushi shot the other god a sharp look, lips pursed. “Is that contradictory?”

 

Akutagawa’s placid expression did not change, though his mouth seemed to twitch. The kitten, who’d been sleeping in his arms, twisted around to look at Atsushi. She meowed loudly and leapt out of the god’s arms.

 

Heart catching in his mouth, Atsushi made to grab her before she hit the ground-- cat though she may be, she was still so young--

 

The dark tendrils of Akutagawa’s robes returned to shoot out and catch her before she made contact, lowering her down more slowly. Unbothered, the kitten mewled and joined her siblings to crowd around Atsushi’s legs.

 

Stiff fingers returned to stroking Kai’s fur.

 

“I suppose it’s not,” Akutagawa said finally, robes returning to hang off of his body, still. “It’s just a bit strange; a god who rules over flowers rules over beasts that humans both fear and love.”

 

“I don’t rule over them,” Atsushi said quickly. Mei’s large snout nudged against his thigh, rumbling softly and he kept his hand rested on Kai’s head, rubbing the fur between the ears. “I’m not their king, nor their ruler.”

 

Akutagawa’s thin brows seemed to raise, however slightly. “Then what are you to them?”

Atsushi pressed his lips together. “Their friend.”

 

Akutagawa hummed.

 

The kitten that Akutagawa had been holding was now standing on Atsushi’s shoulder, who had one hand raised to keep her steady. She meowed and licked at his face as he stood, gently shooing his tigers back to their rocks. They growled lowly, chuffing happily when Atsushi pat both of their heads as they moved back towards their resting rocks. They briefly glanced Akutagawa over before deciding he wasn’t a bother. His tigers fell to sleep soon after.

 

The kittens remained rubbing against Atsushi’s ankles, the littlest one still meowing in his ear and purring as she nuzzled his jaw.

 

“They like you,” Akutagawa said, gray eyes fallen to the small crowd of kittens at Atsushi’s feet.

 

“I suppose they do,” Atsushi said neutrally, not comfortable with revealing that part of his godliness with the other man; very few knew. “They like my father more, though. He’s quite fond of cats, and they return the sentiment.”

 

The mother yowled, demanding his attention. Heeding to her, he lowered into a kneel to let the little kitten off his shoulder. He remained lowered and smiled as the kittens returned to their mother to feed.

 

Atsushi turned to the other god, whose arms were crossed as he watched the family. He still couldn’t read the look on the god’s face, but it looked almost fond or amused.

 

“The tigers don’t usually let anyone but Fukuzawa’s worshippers here,” Atsushi said, drawing to a stand.

 

Grey eyes flickered to him. Atsushi swallowed and fiddled with his fingers, feeling vines growing around his elbows out of nervousness he wouldn’t show on his face.

 

“This is my father’s temple,” Atsushi said.

 

“..I know it is.”

 

Atsushi cocked his head, brows drawn together. “Why are you here?”

 

The lines around the god’s eyes tightened and his frown grew heavier, darkening his expression.

 

“Is there a problem with my being here?”

 

“No,” Atsushi replied, frown pulling at his own lips. “I’m only curious. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be at one of my father’s temples.”

 

There wasn’t much change in the other god’s expression, on a minuscule relaxation of his mouth.

 

“...Those cats seem to be here all the time,” Akutagawa said finally. His gaze was averted, not looking Atsushi in the eye. He didn’t elaborate.

 

Oh, Atsushi gradually realized. He likes cats.

 

He had to bite his inner cheek to keep from smiling.

 

“Cats generally tend to gather around here, it’s where they go to have their babies,” Atsushi said, not unkindly, glancing at the mother cat nursing her children. She blinked lazily and Atsushi’s smile burst forth.

 

“They also tend to avoid most people,” aside from myself and my father, “But they seem to like you.”

 

Akutagawa blinked, as if surprised, and it became harder to stifle the sudden smile on Atsushi’s lips.

 

“Do they,” Akutagawa murmured, glancing at the kittens and their mother. His stare fell onto the tigers, who were watching him sharply. “They don’t, however.”

 

Atsushi allowed himself a laugh. He missed the stare shot towards him, though it wasn’t unkind.

 

“They don’t really like anybody, I’m afraid. It’s in their nature. They’re also my companions, so they’re not what you would call ordinary tigers.”

 

“They’re your guardians, then,” Akutagawa said.

 

Mei rose her head to look at the god and bared her teeth, showing that she was paying attention.

 

Akutagawa didn’t seem too bothered, though he, smartly, didn’t approach her.

 

“You could say that,” Atsushi replied, biting his cheek to hide a smile when Mei growled at her brother for lightly slapping his tail against her hind leg.

 

Birds chirped gently and softly from their perches on the roof of Fukuzawa’s temple and the wind made the reeds sway, warm under the glow of the sun. Some of the grass was starting to turn brown and so Atsushi urged it to become green once more.

 

Neither god spoke as the ground around them grew emerald in color once more, the silence broken only by the quiet rumbles of Atsushi’s sleeping tigers and then the brushing of Akutagawa’s robes against the grass.

 

“I’ll be taking my leave,” Akutagawa said shortly, “I’ve been up on the surface long enough.”

 

Stopping short of reclining with his tigers, Atsushi twisted around to look at the other god, Akutagawa’s back facing him. The little kitten that he’d held earlier meowed and cocked her head at his departure.

 

“You could come back,” Atsushi said, words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.

 

Akutagawa paused and looked over his shoulder.

 

His eyes were narrowed, suspicious, and Atsushi smiled.

 

“The kittens like you, I’m sure they’d like it if you came back to keep them company. Their mother won’t mind.” Atsushi gave him a small smile, knowing it wouldn’t be returned as Kai lowered his head into Atsushi’s lap.

 

Akutagawa stared at him and the shadow that lingered on his face dissipated some.

 

As Atsushi looked at the other god, how his pale skin gleamed in the sunlight and shone against his dark hair, he thought he looked... quite handsome.

 

“I’ll consider it,” Akutagawa said, eyes closed and head turned.

 

Well, that’s an answer as good as any, Atsushi thought.

 

“Good day to you then, Tiger-God.”

 

In a dark swarm of shadow and a single crack of the earth, loud and vibrating in the soil, the god of the dead was gone before Atsushi could say goodbye or tell Akutagawa not to call him that.

 

Mouth parted, Atsushi watched as the earth swallowed the crack where Akutagawa had once been standing, leaving not even a speck of dust behind.

 

His hand lowered to his tiger’s head as Mei sidled to his side, sighing. “And I thought I’d already met the strangest of the gods.”

 

Mei shook her head and growled, earning Atsushi a smile. Her brother soon came to join them and Atsushi ran his fingers through Kai’s fur.

 

Atsushi remained at his father’s temple until the thrumming in the earth told him Fukuzawa was calling for him. Awakening from his nap, Atsushi stretched and climbed atop Mei’s back. The wind was cool against his skin as the moon lifted into the dusk sky, Atsushi’s hands gripping the tiger’s fur lightly as she ran, her brother running alongside her.

 

He returned to his father’s side and slept beneath the stars with his tigers on both sides of him. He wondered what kind of god of the dead spent his time on the surface with small kittens, what kind lord of the Underworld would treat them so gently.

 

-

 

Atsushi discarded his robes at the mouth of the cave, folding them into a neat pile for him to return to. Leaves and vines hid them and covered the entrance of his resting place. Exhaling, he let the light of the moon wash over his skin and breathed her cool touch in. His chest twisted in both pain and happiness.

 

He leapt forward and where the young god once stood, was a massive white tiger.

 

Mei and Kai rose to attention when the larger tiger let out a rumble of announcement and ran with him, flanking his sides and following him deep into the sharp rocks of the mountain range.

 

His white fur, streaked with stripes of black, glowed in the moonlight and his claws dug into the soil as he ran. He climbed the rocks with ease, scaling up the mountainsides until he came to a peak he could stand on. Purple eyes surrounded with bright gold-yellow observed the land before him, the hand that he helped to make fertile, beautiful and fruitful, and he roared.

 

His tigers roared with him.

 

The cries and wails of the beasts forced to painfully transform under the moon’s light abated and the white tiger god’s tail twitched as he listened. Their whimpers lessened and their aching bodies were soothed. Lowering to his stomach, he lounged atop the peak and his guards took their perches along the sides.

 

There were many families of tigers in this valley. He watched them as they came out of their den, mothers carrying their young away from treacherous rocks, too sharp for them to touch, too smooth for them to clench their dull claws into. He watched the fathers and mothers hunt and bring food back to their young, their mates. He saw lonely tigers eating modest kills alone.

 

He roared. They roared back.

 

Their voices echoed between the mountains.

 

He could no longer hear the cries and sobs of mortals turned beasts.

 

His flowers meant to only bloom in the cover of night were bright, strong and beautiful.  Their petals brushed against his fur as they grew along the mountaintop and the ledge were he laid.

 

He growled and chuffed, satisfied.

 

Humans rarely ventured into the valley of the tigers, and rightly so; while some paths and trails made it easier for travelers and merchants to pass through, others were rough and dangerous. His tigers usually stayed away from humans, more wary of them than hungry, thought some made the mistake of going near the cubs or accidentally walk into their dens and paid for it. He would roar so that humans would be too afraid to pass through the more deadly paths.

 

Sometimes the more foolhardy humans attempted to venture through those quicker trails. Most didn’t make it out at all.

 

He’d leave their bodies out when he could so they could receive proper burials. When he could not, his tigers would. White lilies would grow where the bodies had been left.

 

But there were no humans in the valley this night. He would’ve smelled them if there was.

 

Tonight, he could relax, smell his flowers, and drink in his mother’s moonlight.

 

The night passed on as slow as the west wind that blew through his fur, gently caressing the strands, and its air was so sweet that he could’ve fallen asleep to it. The stirring of the earth deep below startled him out of a sleepy daze and tiger sat upright, gold eyes glowing brightly in a glare to the valley floor.

 

The tiger was perturbed by the sensation of the earth cracking and opening again, bringing a cold presence with it, before closing once more. Lifting himself up, the white tiger searched out the source.

 

The god of the dead seemed to melt into the darkness, so much that any other being would’ve noticed Akutagawa walking across the fields towards the edge of the valley where the mountains began. No human would’ve noticed him, and animals would’ve fled at his arrival.

 

Only Atsushi would’ve felt the movement of the earth.

 

His tigers stirred at his movement, growling softly in confusion, but he paid them no mind, twitching his tail once to soothe their worries.

 

What could the god of the Underworld be doing here ?

 

Said god did not venture into the mountains himself, but he stood before it and looked up at the high peaks, his face as expressionless as ever. From this height, only Atsushi could see Akutagawa’s face so clearly.

 

The white tiger leaned his head downward to get a better look, narrowing his eyes. His claws dug deep into the rock, ensuring that he would not fall.

 

If he were to describe any sort of emotion visible on the god’s face, it would have been mild curiosity and interest; for what reason, Atsushi did not know. But seeing no malicious intent in the god’s face nor his eyes, the tense muscles in his back relaxed and a growl threatening to burst forth quieted in his throat.

 

Akutagawa’s gray eyes narrowed sharply at the top of the mountain and the white tiger nearly jumped back, startled, when that piercing stare suddenly, somehow, met his own.

 

But out of some sheer stubborn determination, Atsushi refused to move and instead met the dark-clothed god’s gaze with an intense one of his own, as if daring him to enter this domain he protected and gave life to. Akutagawa, Lord of the Dead, would not scare him.

 

The white tiger and the god stared at each other, hundreds of feet and a high rock separating them both, unblinking and unyielding.

 

The spell only broke when the corner of Akutagawa’s mouth twitched with some kind of unknown emotion, appeared to huff to himself, and moved away from the edge of the valley, descending back into the darkness of the nearby woods that even Atsushi’s tiger eyes could not follow.

 

As Atsushi watched him go, he wondered if the god had recognized him. He wondered if he somehow knew.

 

If he did... Atsushi was unsure how that made him feel.

 

Stomach twisting oddly, the white tiger watched the darkness of the woods to see if the god of the dead would return. He did not. The white tiger cocked his head and wondered if Akutagawa’d lost interest in whatever he’d come for.

 

..Well, it was no business of his.

 

The white tiger remained atop his perch until the moon’s light faded, his mother’s touch disappearing, as the sun’s first rays broke through the blanket of stars. Accompanied by his guards, the great white tiger leapt from the mountain to return to his cave, where he would rest until his father called for him.

 

As his claws touched the ground, the grass ticked against Atsushi’s human ankles and feet.

 

Warmth of the sun beginning to beam upon his back as Morning began her daily job, Atsushi quickly retrieved his clothes, dressed, and curled up between his tigers as he retreated for a much-needed nap.

 

“I wonder what he was doing up here,” Atsushi murmured sleepily before turning onto his side, nuzzled against Kai’s back as he let Sleep overcome him.

 

-

 

The moment white fur fell away into pale flesh, illuminated by a dying moonlight and growing beams of sunlight, Akutagawa turned his eyes away. All he caught was a bare shoulder and he was not so crass as to continue looking. He waited until he heard the shuffle of feet and heavy claws scraping against the grass before he looked again; the Flower God and his tigers were already gone, disappearing back into the mountains.

 

So, this is the tiger they were muttering about, he thought.

 

Akutagawa couldn’t remember when he started hearing the spirits of the dead murmuring about the valley where tigers lived and the white tiger with the oddly colored, unnaturally gold eyes that roamed its gorges and mountains. Only a very small number spoke of it and Akutagawa wouldn’t have known of it if not for his walks through the Fields and Gin herself mentioning it.

 

If not for meeting Nakajima, as he would be known to the mortals, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it other than a minor interest.

 

Sometimes the dead could recall where they had died and what had been around them, sometimes they carried memories of their lives. Some who lived near the valley or traveled through it mentioned of a white tiger with gold eyes that also gleamed royal purple, staring at them and guiding them through the safer paths of the mountains or keeping them out of more dangerous ones. It was not the cause behind their deaths and its appearance was brief. Gin mentioned once, that some mortals were beginning to worship the ghostly tiger. A rather small group, but significant nonetheless.

 

Flowers always bloomed beautifully around the valley and the slopes of the mountains. The mention of the flowers tugged at the back of Akutagawa’s mind and he wondered. He’d shaken it off as a silly notion; flowers didn’t mean anything.

 

But it was was the detail about the eyes that caught Akutagawa’s attention.

 

The color of Atsushi’s eyes were so vivid and distinct, and the details matched what he’d heard about this white tiger. They had to belong to only one person.

 

To sate his curiosity, he came to the valley under the light of the full moon.

 

And when Akutagawa saw those eyes staring down at him from the mountain’s ledge, the white and black striped fur gleaming with an ethereal silver glow, he knew.

 

He knew when he saw the gold-yellow surrounding the pupils of rich purple, staring down at him with far more intelligence than any beast ought to have.

 

Seeing fur turn to flesh only solidified what Akutagawa already knew.

 

The tigers and their god were long gone by the time Akutagawa stepped out of the familiar darkness of the woods, stopping before the field where Atsushi had landed. Left behind were tall blades of grass and white flowers littered about the planes. He plucked one and rolled the stem between his fingers; an anemone. They hadn’t been there before Atsushi touched the ground.

 

Akutagawa brushed a fingertip along its edges.

 

The sun began to rise higher and the dead below, his kingdom always increasing in size, were beckoning to him to return to his duties. Frowning, he nearly had the earth below his feet crack before him to let him descend.

 

Akutagawa took one more glance at the flowers, some brushing along the length of his robes.

 

Turning on his heel, he opened the ground below a willow tree nearby and returned home.

 

“You went to the surface again,” Gin said, the latest soul she’d claimed being sent to the Fields. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

 

“I believe so,” Akutagawa murmured as he walked through the halls with his sister.

 

Gin hummed and lowered the mask she covered the lower half of her face with. The air that would be toxic to mortals bothered her none. “It must have been quite worth it; you rarely venture to the surface without reason.”

 

There was a pause before Akutagawa answered. “Perhaps.”

 

It was not a satisfactory answer and he felt Gin’s stare scrutinizing him, though she did not pry further. Instead, she said goodbye to her brother before he entered his bed chambers and returned to her duty.

 

Once the door behind him was closed, Akutagawa opened the book placed beside his bed. He took the anemone from the folds of his robes and placed it on the page after the Morning glory.

 

“You just seem to become stranger by moment, Tiger-God.”

 

-

 

“Oi, cub! Atsushiiiiii~” Ranpo trilled, poking his head through the doorway of Atsushi’s bedroom, startling him.

 

“Ranpo!” Atsushi breathed, frowning. “I told you not to call me that--”

 

“Whatever, cub, you’re still a kitten no matter what you say,” Ranpo waved him off, his grin seeming to widen as his green eyes twinkled mischievously. “You’ve got a visitor.”

 

Atsushi sat up. “Oh? Who?”

 

Ranpo gestured vaguely, “That red-haired one you always go on walks with, I believe the mortals call him Tanizaki--”

 

Atsushi sighed, moving off of the floor where’d he’d been preparing Fukuzawa’s green tea. “I know who he is,” he said exasperatedly, feeling a smile curl on his lips despite himself. “Tell him I’ll be right there, if you don’t mind--”

 

“I do mind, but I’ll do it despite it being a waste of my time, cub,” Ranpo retorted; his tone would’ve piercing and cutting to anyone who hadn’t been exposed to him since their childhood. Or godhood. Atsushi was used to his eccentric attitude by this point and paid it no need.

 

He instead rolled his eyes and sighed as Ranpo trotted off to go bother (interrogate) his fellow god, put away his tea-making tools and herbs, and shook off the leaves and lint clinging to his robes. Once Atsushi felt presentable and clean enough, he greeted Junichiro with a warm smile (one that was returned readily) and, accompanied by his tigers, joined the other god on a walk around Fukuzawa’s plains and fields.

 

Friendship with Junichiro was easy and happened quicker than he expected; while he was sure that the red-haired god was older than him, he seemed to be around the same age of Atsushi. Their relative closeness in age made it easier for Atsushi to speak to him on a more friendly level, something he did not share with the older gods who looked down on him for his youth. Junichiro was also kind and welcoming, friendly in a way that was not overly loud as Mark’s was. His smile was warm and he took appreciation in Atsushi’s flowers with nary a drop of condescension. From what Atsushi could glean, it was all genuine.

 

It made Atsushi smile.

 

Ever since they’d been introduced on Olympus, their meetings had become steadily more frequent, though Junichiro too had his own duties to attend to. Whatever chances Atsushi had to spend time with his fellow god, he cherished; it was nice to have a friend outside of Ranpo and Kunikida, though they were more family than friends.

 

Grinning as Junichiro admired the many fruits and crops Fukuzawa grew for the mortals, a trail of flowers blooming beneath his feet as he walked, they spoke of their fellow gods and the quaint, but simple and endearing lives of the humans they protected. Junichiro was his main source of information and gossip about the other gods and their squabbles.

 

Atsushi laughed into his peach as Junichiro sheepishly retold the story of an incident where the god of war had to dress as a bride for a giant in order to steal a precious crate of wine that no god could make. All successful due to the machinations of Dazai, of course.

 

He bit too hard on the pit in his laughter and yelped, earning a chuckle from the god of young men and poetry. Junichiro wiped off the juices of the peach that’d trickled down Atsushi’s chin, only to stutter and hastily remove his hand as he apologized for his forwardness after seeing Atsushi’s wide-eyed stare.

 

Atsushi laughed it off and smiled gently at Junichiro, lips curling wider at the flush on his cheeks. It hadn’t been the last time Junichiro acted in such a way and Atsushi wasn’t sure how to think of such behavior. But it did not spoil his friendship with Junichiro.

 

Junichiro was kind, sweet and adored the poetry he was a patron for, even reading them aloud to Atsushi and exposing him to the writers of the mortal world. Atsushi enjoyed it greatly. Sometimes Naomi joined them  and she was also enjoyable to spend time with, not bothered by her domineering personality as goddess of the hunt and young maidens, though it threw Atsushi for a loop at first. Her attachment to her brother was also questionable and.. odd, but Atsushi still didn’t want to tread on that territory.

 

Naomi also shot both him and Junichiro odd looks occasionally, glancing between them with an odd emotion he couldn’t read.

 

But the majority of his time with Junichiro was spent between himself and Atsushi. Days spent with Naomi became steadily less frequent.

 

Going unnoticed by the mortals sheering the crops Fukuzawa bestowed, Atsushi and Junichiro came to a rest by a river coated with high trees. The soft pink buds bloomed into healthy cherry blossoms with a single touch of Atsushi’s fingers and he listened to Junichiro recite the poems of one of his patron mortals. A small smile on his lips, he lazily stroked Mei’s fur and looked out on the water, dipping his toe into the cool waves.

 

From the water, he felt despair and love and he nearly started, pulling his foot out. Kai lifted his head and chuffed at his god, though Junichiro didn’t appear to notice. He continued to recite and Atsushi only half-listened as he leaned in closer to the water. He dipped his fingers in and waited.

 

Oh, he thought to the river, brows furrowing, I am so sorry.

 

From the water, white roses and red spider lilies grew.

 

Junichiro frowned when he noticed that Atsushi was no longer paying attention and closed his book. “Is everything all right, Atsushi-kun?”

 

Atsushi gently wiped the water off with his robes and Mei licked the back of his hand. “A mortal drowned themselves in this river not too long ago.”

 

Juncihiro’s back went rigid. His eyes narrowed. “How.. do you know that?”

 

Atsushi smiled sadly. “I felt it.”

 

The difference in reactions between the lord of the dead and the god of light and poetry was startling.

 

“We need to go, now,” Junichiro said, tone hard and he would’ve grabbed Atsushi by the wrist to pull him up if not for the two tigers growling at him.

 

“What---” Atsushi breathed, confused even as he followed the other young god. “Why? What’s the matter--”

 

“If you can feel death, then he must be nearby,” Junichiro hissed, a dark expression that Atsushi’d never seen before on his normally warm, kind face forming.

 

Atsushi stilled, “...Do you mean Lord Akutagawa?”

 

Junichiro’s stiff, rigid body language as he walked away with Atsushi was enough of an answer.

 

Atsushi’s brows furrowed and curiosity intermixed with frustration beckoned to him. “Why do none of you speak of him?”

 

Junichiro stopped and Atsushi was relieved to see the shadows on his face leave, warmth and surprise returning. “Pardon?”

 

“Lord Akutagawa,” Atsushi repeated. They’d stopped below a willow tree and Atsushi brushed a cattail off his shoulder. “None of you speak of him, and when you do, it’s.. “ he paused, pursing his lips, recalling how Kunikida had warned him to stay away from Akutagawa decades ago, “...It’s not that flattering. Why?”

 

Junichiro’s expression grew uncomfortable. “I’m... not sure if I should say.”

 

Atsushi barely held back a scowl and the urge to stomp his foot in frustration. “If I’m to be told to stay away from him, I’d like to know the reason why, Junichiro-kun,” he said cooly.

 

He’d been told of Akutagawa’s temper, his anger, his dangerous abilities, though only in the vaguest sense before Fukuzawa or Kunikida changed the subject. They did not like to speak of Akutagawa themselves and apparently thought it best to not talk to Atsushi about him, if they could.

 

Atsushi was tired of it.

 

Conflicted, the other god pursed his lips but at the determined glare from Atsushi, he eventually caved with a sigh. “Very well... We should sit, Atsushi-kun, it’s quite the long story. And I can only tell you what little I know and have been told.”

 

With his tigers pressed against his back, Mei’s head in his lap, Atsushi sat and listened with patience as Junichiro joined him, and remembered.

 

-

 

As the old gods began to quarrel and worry over their dwindling power over the new gods, freshly born from chaos, earth and the grand oceans, Night and Shadow gave birth to two young gods; Death itself and the god that would become the ruler of the dead.

 

Death was quiet, Death was clever and sly, and Death came without notice. Death was merciless. Death terrified the gods new and old, and the brother of Death was just as frightening, if not more so. For he could turn his very own clothes, dark as the shadows he lived in and was born from, into weapons that could kill gods, titans and giants. As a last gift by his father, Shadow, he could become invisible and kill without ever being seen, just as his sibling, Death, could steal souls from bodies that no longer breathed.

 

He brought the restless souls of the dead under his command and could create an army, making them tear out of the earth itself to raze the very world the gods ruled over--should he so desire.

 

And against the old gods and the giants after Mori recruited him, he did, with a viciousness never before seen. Death followed her brother wherever he went, snatching the souls of the departed and taking them far below the earth where they would pass on and rest, or be punished, according to her brother’s will.

 

He was young, he was powerful, but he was wild and untamable, just as the beast that now guarded the gates to the underworld was. He made the other gods uneasy due to his origins, how easily he controlled the dead, and the iron gray of his eyes that could not be swayed and glinted so dangerously when angered.

 

When he touched the snout of a beast with eyes red as the fires of Tartarus, fangs long and sharp, claws deadly and always, always hungry, Rashomon itself lowered to its legs and rested its head on its front paws; bowing before its master.

 

Just as he’d killed the old king of the gods before him, Mori was worried his newly minted position would be usurped by another and he would meet the same fate as he predecessor.

 

Lovecraft bore no interest in the humans below the heavens and returned to sea bestowed to him with sleepy gratitude.

 

His rival, Fukuzawa, was the favorite contender amongst the gods for King, but he too, had little interest in the heavens, though he cared for the humans below and wished to more closely watch them. He went to the earth itself and grew crops, caring for wayward, lost and abandoned gods.

 

Mori, relieved, then turned his attention to the youngest and most unstable, and knew that he had to keep some form of control over the son of Night and Shadow.

 

What better way to do so than to banish him where he could not interfere with him and the heavens?

 

“To you, I will bestow the Underworld where the dead will live. There, you will be king and make sure your subjects can never return to the land of the living. It is yours, now. Rule well.”

 

Some say that Akutagawa was unhappy with his lot. Others say that he’d taken the land of the dead with humbled gratitude, perhaps even elation. It was difficult to say which was more frightening; to be burdened with his lot or to take it willingly.

 

But just as the gods feared she who was death, though it would not touch the immortal gods without divine interference, he was the brother of Death, and the mortals feared him, too.

 

They sacrificed to him with their eyes closed, for it was shameful and dangerous to worship in the cult of death, lest he come to them quicker than expected. They dared not to speak his name, lest he speak back to them. Those who did worship him directly were scorned, ostracized and became pariahs. They prayed that they would live long lives, so as to not meet him too soon.

 

For he was immoveable and fair, for he would punish those who committed great sins in life, for his anger was a frightening sight to behold though he felt little else, and those who tried to escape the Underworld were punished in the most brutal, horrible of ways. Akutagawa could not be swayed and he could not be convinced to bestow longer life.

 

And so, down far below, in a mirror of the earth and the heavens where the gods lived, the dead wailed, moaned and sighed, and Akutagawa lived as king with his sister, Death, and all those under his direct command. And in the Underworld, he remained. For if he were to return to the surface, death could follow.

 

And everyone, mortal and god alike, was terrified of death.

 

-

 

When the sun set and Junichiro left to rejoin his sister in the heavens, Atsushi returned to the river, a contemplative frown on his face. He placed his bare feet in the water and felt the dead mortal’s lost love in its waves. His red spider lilies and white roses remained.

 

“As you can see, we tend to avoid Akutagawa for a reason. Rarely does anything good follow whenever he arrives anywhere,” Junichiro had said, a strained smile on his lips.

 

Atsushi had considered telling Junichiro about his several encounters with the god, then thought better of it. The way that his face had darkened so upon mention of Akutagawa, how his fists had clenched in his lap as he retold the story to him, spoke of Junichiro’s dislike of him.

 

Atsushi had thanked him for his story and Junichiro smiled warmly, squeezing his hand and bowing briefly before he left. Atsushi’s smile disappeared as soon as Junichiro was gone. He returned to the river afterwards.

 

He frowned at his reflection in the water. His tigers curled up by his sides and he leaned against Kai’s stomach with a sigh while the water lapped gently at his ankles.

 

“I don’t understand,” he murmured, drawing a curious growl from Mei. He pat at her head. “He spoke of Akutagawa-sama as if he was some... some heartless beast, but..”

 

Akutagawa had held those kittens that lived in his father’s temple with a more gentle touch than some human children. The kittens had adored him and their mother had not minded him.

 

Atsushi had feared that Akutagawa’s touch would kill his flowers, but nothing of the sort happened. He’d held those petals and treated them as fragile as they were.

 

The monster that Junichiro had described, the unfeeling beast that Fukuzawa and Kunikida spoke little of but felt little regard towards--- Atsushi did not see that in Akutagawa’s face.

 

Oh, the god of the dead’s face often revealed little what he was thinking, but it was far from expressionless. It rather frustrated Atsushi that he could not read what Akutagawa felt or thought those few times they’d met. What’s more-- it tickled his curiosity.

 

Atsushi snorted softly at the thought; curiosity? How typical of a god who lived amongst large, ferocious cats. It was in his nature, or course.

 

He’d written off the other ruler of the Underworld as aloof and rude. Then, his assumptions were pulled into question in both that field, his father’s temple and.. that night in the valley.

 

Atsushi’d stared into the bottomless iron of those stormy gray eyes and did not see an emotionless beast.

 

“You are the strange one, Lord Akutagawa,” Atsushi murmured sleepily as he sunk into the warmth of his tiger’s fur, “Not I.”

 

The God of Flowers and Tigers slept and the white petals of his roses and the red of his spider lilies fell into the water, only to grow anew. The lingering wails of the mortal who’d drowned in the river slowly ebbed away with the gentle laps and waves.

 

-

 

Hirotsu rarely called Akutagawa away from his duties and rounds as he himself was quite busy leading souls across the Acheron, but this time, he requested that his lord come to the bank of the river.

 

“There is something you ought to see,” he’d said, then blowing the smoke of his pipe into the dark air of the Underworld.

 

Akutagawa was suspicious, though intrigued; unless the rivers flowed violently due to an intruder or a foolish soul attempting to escape the afterlife, the waters were staid and calm. When he came to Acheron’s shores, he saw the waters as calm as ever.

 

He scowled. “You ought to know better than to waste my time like this, Hirotsu--”

 

The warning in his tone was obvious, though Hirotsu was unbothered, even raising a hand to stop his lord. Then, before Akutagawa’s annoyance could fester, he pointed to the water once more.

 

His eyes widened and he kneeled down, dipping his hand into the water. He pulled it out and stared at the red spider lily sitting in the middle of his palm.

 

“There was a trail of its petals after this particular soul I’d crossed the river with,” Hirotsu murmured, arms tucked behind his back. “Some white ones as well.”

 

Akutagawa ran a finger along the thin petals. “Cause?”

 

“Drowning. Self-inflicted. Too distraught by the death of her lover to move on,” Hirotsu intoned. “Her lover is in the Fields of Asphodel”

 

Akutagawa hummed. “I remember her as well.”

 

“It is not the first time I’ve taken such lovers across the river,” Hirotsu said, tucking away the coin left behind as payment. “Though I cannot say I’ve seen flowers being left behind with a soul before.”

 

Akutagawa looked at him, and Hirotsu’s brows rose the slightest in surprise at the sudden intensity on his lord’s face, normally so devoid of overt expression, “Did she seem full of despair?”

 

Hirotsu hesitated before answering, “...Yes, though she did not wail as loudly as souls like hers tend to. She took some flowers out of the water and held them. She still cried, but she seemed to enjoy the flowers. Her despair was not quite so.. overwhelming as her sort tend to be.”

 

Tender was not a word he would apply to Akutagawa, but there was no better way to describe how delicately he held the lily in his palm. “I see,” the Lord of the Underworld murmured.

 

“Do you perhaps know the source, My Lord?”

 

Small and hidden as it was, there was a slight upward quirk to Akutagawa’s mouth.

 

“I have a hunch.”

 

-

 

“Thank you, Mei,” Atsushi smiled, taking the branch of hibiscus from between Mei’s teeth. Chuffing, she nuzzled against his leg and departed to join her brother, who was gathering jasmine flowers and leaves for Atsushi. It was still early in the day, the buds should still be closed.

 

Plucking the buds off of the branch, Atsushi stored them away into a small pouch; Ranpo preferred the sweeter teas and had begun to whine when their stores were running low. Fukuzawa had quietly told him that Ranpo could wait a little while longer for more, but Atsushi smiled and offered to go and find some more herbs, for both tea and their food. Besides, he wanted to find more tea leaves for Fukuzawa. He preferred the finely ground matcha, though he often told Atsushi not to worry about making it; Atsushi didn’t mind. He found the activity quite relaxing.

 

He himself preferred jasmine and the lighter teas made from his own flowers.

 

A chuckle escaped him when the littlest kitten licked at his bare toe, drawing it in closer and smiling as the kitten mewled for his attention. Her mother was dozing on the temple staircase and the kittens continued to crawl around his legs, sniffing at the flowery ingredients he used for tea, meowing at him in desire to be pet.

 

Once all the flowers were off the branch, Atsushi lowered it and grinned as the kittens batted their tiny claws at it, deciding it was their new toy. They gave piercing meows when Atsushi brought it up too high for them to reach, making him laugh and lower it back down.

 

They’d grown quite a lot since he’d last seen them.

 

They’d been so small he could hold them in his palms just months before. Soon, they would be just as big as their mother.

 

At his most relaxed in days, Atsushi smiled as he played with the kittens and when they grew bored, returned to adding flowers, leaves and herbs to his bags of ingredients. It was late morning by the time his tigers returned for a nap, having given their god his jasmine flowers and leaves, the kittens were sleeping, and Atsushi was attending to the tall flowers that adorned his father’s temple.

 

Frowning thoughtfully at the cherry blossom tree, Atsushi reached a hand upward and touched the branch; the flowers had fallen out already. They never did last long.

 

Upon his touch, rich pink flowers bloomed and weeped downwards towards the ground, and Atsushi grinned in triumph. The sweet aroma wafted over him and he sighed, relaxed. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He chirped with a light pat to the trunk.

 

Once all the flowers were finished blooming, Atsushi decided to pluck some as a new ingredient for tea. He did not hear the quiet creak of the earth cracking open nearby. He did not notice the oncoming presence till both Mei and Kai lifted their large heads, orange eyes bright and alert as they growled softly.

 

Shoulders stiffening, Atsushi turned to ask what was wrong before a loud mewl interrupted him.

 

The littlest kitten, the little girl, trotted away from her family and climbed up a set of dark robes emerging from the shade of the trees.

 

Atsushi gaped as she crawled up Akutagawa’s arm and nuzzled against his cheek, purring loudly. Curious, her siblings soon followed and surrounded Akutagawa’s ankles.

 

Akutagawa rubbed her back with his fingertips. “She’s gotten bigger.”

 

“Yes,” Atsushi breathed, lowering his hands to his sides. “She has, they all have. But they seem to remember you quite well.”

 

Akutagawa’s gray eyes flickered towards him as he hummed. “I expected that you’d be here.”

 

Atsushi pursed his lips and shifted on his feet, recalling the story Junichiro had told him about this very god before him. “Yes, well.. it is my father’s temple. Should I not be?”

 

Akutagawa folded his arms so that the kitten could leap into them. “No. There is no issue with you being here, so long as there is no problem with my presence.”

 

Atsushi glanced at the happily purring kitten in Akutagawa’s arms and the others rubbing against his covered ankles. His tigers were still watching the Lord of the Dead, suspicious as always, but they did not move in for an attack. The tension in Atsushi’s body slowly sagged. “No, of course not. They like you, so...”

 

He smiled and met those stormy gray eyes.

 

“You are welcome here.”

 

Just the slightest did Akutagawa’s eyes widen at his smile, and Atsushi caught a glance of it before the man looked away and suddenly coughed. The noise was harsh and dry.

 

His smile dropped and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I could get you something for that.”

 

Akutagawa stifled a sudden cough and turned slightly narrowed eyes onto Atsushi, who now felt quite on the spot. “Excuse me?”

 

“I’m making tea ingredients,” Atsushi said quickly, “And I have just what you could need for that cough, it’ll help soothe your throat.”

 

Akutagawa gave him a prolonged stare, only the mewls and purrs of the kittens filling the silence between himself and nervously shuffling Tiger God.

 

“Unless I am mistaken,” Akutagawa began slowly, “It would seem as if you are inviting me to sit with you.”

 

There was an odd expression on his face and Atsushi cocked his head slightly; he was staring unblinkingly at Atsushi, gray eyes bright with what could only be surprise. He stood still, seeming not to notice the kittens vying for his attention.

 

The corners of his lips quirked upwards into a smile.

 

“You’re not mistaken. Because I am.”

 

Atsushi was the first to move, taking a few steps closer as his smile broadened at the disbelief slowly being written on the other god’s face, gray eyes widening further in clear surprise.

 

“Would you care to sit with me as I make tea, Akutagawa-sama?”

 

Akutagawa’s mouth suddenly opened and closed, unable to find the proper words in time and Atsushi had to stifle a laugh behind his sleeve.

 

The smell of jasmine filtered through the temple and the air outside as Atsushi poured warm water for Akutagawa’s cup, beaming in pride and triumph when the other god took a sip and admitted, quietly, that it was ‘decent.’ He would take what compliments he could from the terse god, rather cheerily thanking Akutagawa for doing so and helped himself to some as well.

 

He continued to play with the kittens, using the hibiscus branch, and let them lick at his toes. Akutagawa stroked the youngest kitten’s fur and watched Atsushi brush his tiger’s fur and collect the rest of his herbs and flowers.

 

They did not always talk. When they did, Atsushi did most of the speaking, telling Akutagawa of the different teas he made, which of his flowers in this particular area he was most proud of and Mei and Kai’s bad, if amusing, habits. When silence fell and they drank their tea quietly, Atsushi was surprised at how easy and natural it was.

 

On occasion, he watched the light of the setting sun fall onto the God of the Dead’s face. It illuminated his pale skin, emphasized the dark color of his hair and its white tips... and the gentle lines of his face as he took his turn playing with the kittens.

 

To treat a young animal with such kindness was no mark of a monster.

 

They sat together until the sun set and Fukuzawa called to Atsushi to return home through the fields and the earth itself, the tall grass and crops brushing against each other as they whispered of Fukuzawa’s call to his foster son.

 

Atsushi did not know what to make of the sudden disappointment he felt.

 

“Ah--” he said softly, brushing down the front of his robes and gently shooing the sleepy kittens back to their mother. “I should be going.”

 

Akutagawa grip on his cup tightened before he released it, lowering it to the floor. “I should be as well.”

 

His tigers lumbered back to their feet and Atsushi gathered his tea ingredients. He turned to Akutagawa and smiled. “Thank you for indulging me, Akutagawa-sama.”

 

Akutagawa made a small noise and nodded. “And I thank you for the tea, Tiger-God.”

 

Atsushi’s smile became a huff of annoyance, hands on his hips. “I have a name, you know!”

 

A ghostly smirk danced on Akutagawa’s mouth. “Oh, I know.”

 

Shadows flickered along the edges of his robes as the earth cracked beneath his feet before Atsushi could further protest. “Farewell, Nakajima,” he murmured.

 

In flash of dark robes and shadows, Akutagawa disappeared beneath the earth. Where he’d once been, a red spider lily had been left behind.

 

The scent of jasmine tea lingered in the sleepy emptiness of Fukuzawa’s temple.

 

Several weeks later, the kittens, now ever bigger than before, mewled upon Akutagawa’s arrival, and Atsushi smiled, welcoming him with a cup of warm jasmine tea with a hint of hibiscus.

 

Atsushi laughed when a cherry blossom fell into Akutagawa’s cup.

 

The sun observed the two young gods and the fates smiled as they weaved their strings with their nimble, all-knowing fingers.