Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

According to legend, over four hundred years ago, a great terror rose from the sea. Rokuhira Kunishige crafted six Enchanted Blades to combat the terror. Personally selected samurai ate the blades, gained their power, united the warring states into one country, and destroyed the terror. After the war ended and the warring states officially became a country, the six samurai became kami and each kept watch over a different region of the country to ensure safety and prosperity for the people and the land.

Fushimi grew up in the region protected by Kumeyuri. Everyone gave Kumeyuri offerings at the public shrines in the region, usually food, clothing, tools, pottery, and books. The region also gave Kumeyuri husbands. If a man was of marrying age, single, and had no family, he would go to the private shrine and wed Kumeyuri. Most marriages did not last even a year. The chosen man would turn up dead, run away, or be rejected at the altar. It was no surprise to the elders in the region. They claimed that Kumeyuri once had a lover and Kumeyuri was waiting for that lover’s return. The region just had not found the right man yet.

Today, the latest groom for Kumeyuri appeared in Tobimune’s region, signaling that the marriage was over and it was time to choose a new groom. Fushimi listened to the whispers in the halls at the Kamunabi branch office where he worked about how the groom would come from their part of the region this time. He heard some people drop his name into the debate, but he doubted that anyone would pick him. When he was in middle school, his parents died when a clan war spilled into their town. He finished middle school and immediately went to work as a member of the security forces provided by the Kamunabi to the area. Twelve years later, he was getting ready for a promotion and more responsibility. There was talk of a possible transfer to the main headquarters in Magatsumi’s region and he planned to take it whenever the offer came. He was an eligible candidate for Kumeyuri but he was unremarkable in looks and his sorcery was mundane but effective. He could not imagine a future in which a kami would choose him as their mate.

Fushimi returned to his desk and paused when he saw Misaka Natsuki waiting for him. Misaka was a few ranks above Fushimi and came from the Kuregumo region. This year the Kumeyuri groom selection fell to him. “I asked everyone to clear out for a while,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Fushimi sat at his desk and Misaka across from him. Fushimi licked his lips. “Do you want one of my men for Kumeyuri-sama?”

“I want you for Kumeyuri-sama,” Misaka said. “I reviewed the historical record and the legends. There’s not a lot of information, but you fit the description of the supposed lover close enough. This strategy might not work, and if it doesn’t, you can relocate to Kuregumo-sama’s region. If you tell them that I sent you, Kuregumo-sama will find a place for you. The samurai who ate that Enchanted Blade came from my family.”

Fushimi frowned. “Why do we have to replace the lover? Has anyone asked Kumeyuri-sama what they want?”

“No one knows how to talk to Kumeyuri-sama,” Misaka said. “Every time I’ve gone looking for them, I run into this weirdo named Uruha Youji. I don’t know what he’s doing in the hills and I don’t want to know. If you come across him, just walk away.”

“Maybe he’s the replacement for the lover,” Fushimi said. “Maybe Kumeyuri-sama is already satisfied.”

“I think Kumeyuri-sama would have better taste than that,” Misaka murmured. “Anyway, we need you to report immediately to the public shrine nearest your birthplace. You will lose your possessions and purify yourself. Kiri and I will escort you to the private shrine where Kumeyuri-sama will accept or reject you.”

“Alright,” Fushimi said. He touched the papers on his desk. “Should I finish my reports first?”

“We’ll delegate them to your team,” Misaka said. “You have to meet Kumeyuri-sama after sunset. They can’t wait.”

“Right,” Fushimi said. He licked his lips. He opened his mouth and closed it. Every reason he could think of to refuse sounded like fishing for compliments and it would be selfish to ask someone else to take his place instead.

“Give me your keys and I’ll settle things with your landlord and others,” Misaka said.

Fushimi gave Misaka his keys. He got up from the desk. “How will I know who Kumeyuri-sama is?”

“They’re a shinigami,” Misaka said. “If you take them some plants, the plants will wither when Kumeyuri-sama touches them.”

Fushimi nodded. He could not stall any longer. He got up from his desk and looked around his office at his team’s workspaces. “I want to say goodbye to my team first.”

Fushimi’s team were in the break room discussing what mission Misaka wanted to talk to Fushimi about, everyone assuming it would be something normal. Fushimi entered the room and all talking quieted. Everyone looked to him with anticipation. Fushimi tried to smile. He did not want to leave on a sour note. “I’m going to live with Kumeyuri-sama,” he said. “I’m sorry that I’m leaving you guys in the middle of things.”

His team stared at him and then many of them began speaking at the same time. Some were sad. Some were happy. They would take care of the reports. They would protect the region while Fushimi did his part with Kumeyuri. Everyone wished him good luck. Fushimi said goodbye individually and then joined Misaka in the hallway.

Misaka drove Fushimi and Kiri to the appointed shrine. It was not a long drive. Fushimi could not remember the last time that he visited this shrine. He normally went to the shrine closest to the branch office now. The monk in charge of the shrine surveyed the three of them a long moment when they assembled in the courtyard.

“Is this the next groom for Kumeyuri-sama?” the monk asked.

“Yes,” Misaka said. “His name is Fushimi. He was born in the hospital nearby.”

“From this moment, you will not speak until you are in the presence of Kumeyuri-sama,” the monk told Fushimi. “You will remove your shoes and all of your clothing. We’ve already prepared the purification rituals. When those are finished, Misaka-san and Shirakai-san will escort you to the private shrine. You will wed Kumeyuri-sama there.”

Fushimi nodded. He slipped out of his shoes. He removed his Kamunabi uniform and folded it neatly. He removed his underwear and placed it on top of his uniform. He reluctantly removed his bandana, held it up for the monk to see it, and then placed it with the rest of his clothes in the hopes that they would include a new bandana later. Fushimi followed the monk through the shrine. Everyone that they passed bowed their heads as they headed to a hot springs at the back of the shrine. Fushimi cleaned up in the river nearby and then sat in the springs until the monks indicated it was time to dry off and dress.

The monks brought him a black kimono and all of the typical wedding attire. They tied a clean, new bandana around his head. Fushimi slipped into his sandals and followed the monks to the front of the shrine. The sun turned the clouds in the sky shades of pink, orange, and purple. The breeze was warm for this time of year and carried the scent of blossoms in the trees. Fushimi let the breeze blow through his hair. His heart beat a little faster in his chest. He did not know what to expect. He hoped that Kumeyuri would not immediately reject him. He wanted to do his part to bring peace and prosperity to the region.

~

When Uruha was born, the archipelago was a series of states run by clans in a constant existence of war and chaos. When he was thirteen, everything changed when an island appeared in the sea and its people invaded. Over the course of four years, alliances formed between the warring states against the threat from the sea, creating a new country. Uruha fought alongside his instructor Samura, their teacher Shirakai, and the rest of their dojo. The dojo achieved small victories and drew the attention of Rokuhira Kunishige. Rokuhira was scruffy and rough, but Uruha instantly liked him. When Rokuhira chose the samurai who would wield his Enchanted Blades, Uruha was the last chosen, but Uruha was not offended. Anything that he could do to end the war, anything that he could do for peace, he would do. He accepted Kumeyuri’s spiritual energy into his soul and became a shinigami just like the other sword bearers. The transformation was swift and stung but it took some time to process. By the time the sword bearers invaded the island a week later, they were used to their powers. It did not prepare them for Soga’s Malediction that killed every islander present on the island in the final moments of the war, however.

The last time that Uruha saw Rokuhira, the war had ended almost a month prior. Rokuhira led Uruha to a valley ringed by hills. They camped together under the stars. It would have felt special except for how the war ended. The memory of people dissolving into skeletons with flowers clinging to their bones haunted Uruha’s mind. He could tell that it haunted Rokuhira’s mind as well.

In the morning, Rokuhira turned to Uruha as the autumn sunrise filled the sky. Rokuhira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t let another Malediction or anything like it happen again. I’ve decided to confiscate everyone’s sheaths and reduce your powers. That’s why I brought you here. When I take Kumeyuri’s sheath, you’ll lose your ability to contain Kumeyuri’s unique powers. That power will react to the other Enchanted Blades’ powers and keep you from leaving this region. I’m sorry I have to trap you like this, Uruha, but I can’t witness that again or pass to the next life knowing any of you might do something like that again.”

“I thought taking our sheaths would kill us,” Uruha said.

Rokuhira shook his head. “Unless you find a way to become human again, nothing can kill you. You’re all shinigami. You’re not bound by mortality or humanity anymore. I thought that enhancing that power with the datenseki was the right thing to do, but maybe there was a better way. Maybe I should have just facilitated turning the six of you into regular shinigami instead or skipped the shinigami part entirely.”

Uruha slid the sheath from his belt and placed it in Rokuhira’s hands. Immediately he felt Kumeyuri’s spiritual energy spread outwards from his body as if it stretched into the horizon in all directions. He blinked and almost lost his balance. When the power settled, it felt very thin and almost imperceptible. He could no longer call his attacks like Play or Banquet. Uruha knelt down and touched a flower at his feet. It withered under his touch. His normal shinigami powers seemed to be unaffected.

Rokuhira added Kumeyuri’s sheath to his own belt where he wore the other sheaths. “I’m going to gather the rest of the sheaths. We’ll probably never see each other again.”

“I understand,” Uruha said. He stared at the hills. “How big is my territory?”

“Probably one sixth of the archipelago once I finish collecting all of the sheaths,” Rokuhira said. “Your powers touching each other will create the barriers. If you get too close to each other, you’ll be sent back to the center of your regions.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I hope that the people of this region treat you well.” He bid Uruha goodbye and left.

Centuries later, Uruha was no longer certain exactly how long ago all of that happened. Enough time passed that the people of his region had built him a house six times and no two houses were in the same style. There was confined electricity in his current house along with pipes that brought water and took away waste and contraptions that kept food cold or frozen. When Uruha looked in reflections, he looked middle aged now and his kimono looked more worn and weathered. Someone would likely gift him a new one in the same style in the next year or two as the people of the region tended to do. He was not sure what aging might mean for an immortal being. Perhaps someday he would actually die.

The sunset slowly dimmed in the sky and Uruha set out from his house for his private shrine. Tonight a new groom would wait for him there. The grooms were strange. Uruha understood the other offerings, but he did not understand the grooms. Some of them took one look at him and fled. Others would try to entice him to bed, which always ended in the grooms’ deaths. Sometimes he refused to go to the private shrine to meet the new groom because he wanted to spare the poor man the grief of the encounter, but that always meant having to go the next night because the humans somehow always had someone that they could sacrifice at a moment’s notice. He heard from some of the grooms that they were replacements for a lover that Uruha had long ago when he was human. It was confusing since he never had an actual proper lover as a human.

Uruha sighed and paused along the path. He glided into the woods and followed his instincts until he stood before a squirrel breathing strangely. It stared up at him with wide eyes and confusion on its face. Death radiated from it like a beacon as its soul drew ever closer to its next life. It must have found something poisonous to eat. Uruha knelt down and touched a finger to the squirrel’s fur. He petted it quietly until the squirrel stopped breathing and its soul drifted into the air, sparkling in the moonlight. He sighed silently. He did not relish his powers when he first united with Kumeyuri, but he grew to appreciate his ability to hurry death for the unfortunate dying souls around him over the centuries that followed.

Uruha resumed his journey to the private shrine. He continued to hope that this sacrifice would just run away discreetly enough that Uruha would not have to meet anyone at the shrine for a long time. That had not happened in decades but it was always nice to have a break from the nonsense periodically even if it made his house feel empty. He doubted, however, that tonight he would be so lucky tonight.

~

The sunset slowly faded from the sky. Fushimi walked between Misaka and Kiri through the woods. It seemed strange to send Kamunabi as an escort instead of the monks, but it was nice to have people that Fushimi knew with him even if he could not speak. Birds stopped singing to each other and squirrels stopped chattering in the trees. He breathed deeply and tried to keep his heart calm.

“I met Kumeyuri once,” Kiri said after they were some distance away from the public shrine. “I defeated my grandfather in the dojo and he ran off into the hills. When night rolled around, I went after him because honestly he was being ridiculous not coming home. I came across this guy who could kill a bear with a touch of his hand. He said his name was ‘Uruha’ but he was definitely Kumeyuri. He didn’t look human. The moon seemed to reflect off his skin and his eyes were too green to be human.”

“Uruha is definitely human,” Misaka said. “Don’t let him fool you. He hasn’t seen the sun in decades. He’s just a freak.”

“People don’t glow in the dark,” Kiri said.

“Neither does Uruha,” Misaka said.

They arrived at an old stone path. Misaka and Kiri bid Fushimi goodbye. Fushimi bowed to them both and continued along the path by himself. As he moved through the woods, the half-moon emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the path. He arrived at the small, private shrine and pulled the weeds from between the stones. He dusted off the wooden roof and assessed his work. Fushimi lit incense and closed his eyes, pressing his hands together. He hoped that Kumeyuri would accept him. He hoped that Kumeyuri would bring peace and prosperity to the region. He hoped that he would not have to run away to Kuregumo’s territory.

A sandal tapped on the stone nearby. Fushimi looked over at the sound and froze. A man stood in the moonlight, glowing as if the moonlight reflected off his skin. His eyes seemed greener than jewels. His dark hair was up in a ponytail and framed his face in soft strands. He wore a kimono that looked very old and worn. His lips were pale and parted when he saw Fushimi. The hair on Fushimi’s skin stood on end. A part of him screamed that he should run, but he could not run not just because of his duty to the region, but because a part of him wanted to know this person, this creature. Fushimi’s heart pounded in his chest. It was difficult to do anything else but stare.

“I’m Uruha Youji, but most call me Kumeyuri since it is the name of my sword,” Uruha said, his voice practiced as if playing the expected role of a kami than embracing it. “The elders sent you here to marry me, but you do not have to do that. I will not be offended or angry if you choose to leave.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Fushimi said and he bowed. “I will not leave. I was selected to serve you, to please you, for the sake of the region. I want to honor that responsibility and duty, not just to the living, but also to you. I won’t leave this duty to another.”

“I never told any elders what I want or need, but you’re right, they’ll just send someone else if I refuse you.” Uruha sighed and his speech grew more casual. “If we marry, it’ll be in name only. I’m a shinigami. Everything I touch dies if I touch it long enough. If you can stand to live a life without physical intimacy, you may stay with me as long as you like. It will be a marriage in name only, a partnership of equals who can never consummate it.”

“That’s fine,” Fushimi said. “I will do whatever you need me to do. I will touch things that you can’t touch. Talk to people you can’t talk to. Anything.” He rose to his feet and approached Uruha. He bowed his head and held out a small bouquet of hawthorn and ivy. “Please accept this gift as a sign of my commitment to this arrangement.”

Uruha took the plants. They immediately began to wither in his hands. A small smile flickered onto his lips but did not reach his eyes. He searched Fushimi’s face. Fushimi did not look away. His heart continued to pound in his chest. It was just like what Misaka said would happen. Fushimi’s desire to run away did not abate, but he managed to ignore it.

“Last chance. You can still leave if you want,” Uruha said. “I heard Ibuki’s region is nice at this time of year.”

“I want to serve you in whatever capacity you chose to use me,” Fushimi said.

“Very well,” Uruha said. He placed the wilted plants in front of his shrine and then stood in front of Fushimi.

The moon continued to shine on them. The breeze ruffled the leaves in the trees. Neither of them moved for a moment. Fushimi realized that they could not join each other’s hands and Uruha was waiting for him to commit first. Fushimi licked his lips and took a deep breath. “As the moonlight as my witness, I offer myself to you,” Fushimi said. “I will serve you until my soul moves on to its next life.”

“As the stars as my witness, I offer myself to you,” Uruha said. He smiled when Fushimi’s eyes widened a little, not expecting such an offer in Uruha’s vows. “I will serve you until your soul moves on to its next life.”

“You don’t have to serve me too,” Fushimi said quietly. “I’m just some guy.”

“You’re my husband,” Uruha said, “not ‘just some guy.’ We’re meant to be equals. We serve each other.”

Fushimi nodded and licked his lips. “If you kiss me, what will happen?”

“I will steal some of your life,” Uruha said. “Since you’re not close to death, you’ll survive as long as it’s brief.”

Fushimi nodded. He moved closer and kissed Uruha, his eyes closing. Uruha returned the kiss, his lips were cold but inviting. A jolt seemed to shoot through Fushimi’s body and then a tiredness drifted across his mind. His arms and legs suddenly felt heavier. Uruha stepped away and allowed Fushimi to stand there without purpose as his mind seemed to spin in circles. When Uruha returned, he offered Fushimi water from a wooden cup, careful to pass it to him in such a way that their fingers would not touch. Fushimi drank from the ceramic cup and felt the fog begin to lift slightly from his mind.

“Let’s go home,” Uruha said. “You can recover there. You should feel fine in morning.”

“Alright,” Fushimi said. He almost reached for Uruha’s hand, but stopped himself before they could touch. He followed Uruha through the woods towards the hills. The moon continued to shine on them. Fushimi’s heart beat more calmly in his chest. He wanted to kiss Uruha again, but he doubted that Uruha would ever allow it.

~

As Uruha led the way to his house, the dying called out to him. There was something drawing closer to death up atop the hill. Another called out to him from kilometers away near the boundary. Someone within one of the towns struggled with heart palpitations. All of them needed Uruha to help them die faster, their pleas seemingly louder and more difficult to ignore at night. He pressed his lips together. He needed to care for Fushimi first. Even if this was a marriage in name only, Uruha was Fushimi’s host and it was only proper to settle him in at home first.

They arrived at the house. The door was already unlocked and Uruha opened it for Fushimi. “Welcome home. Please treat this place as your own.”

Fushimi slipped his sandals off at the entryway. His eyes moved about the modest space. “Thank you for having me,” he said quietly and then followed with an even quieter, “It’s good to be home.”

Uruha exchanged his sandals for slippers. “Find a pair of slippers that fit. I have several.” He indicated a few rows of slippers along a side of the entryway that were all different sizes. “I’ll start supper.”

“You don’t have to cook for me,” Fushimi said.

“You are my husband, even if it’s in name only, and I just drained some of your life,” Uruha said. “Cooking is the least I can do. Don’t worry. I have a system.”

Fushimi followed Uruha to the kitchen that adjoined the dining area, which opened up to the back porch. Fushimi sat at the table. His eyes were the same color as the wood and his dyed hair reminded Uruha of amber6. His skin was touched by the sun and his posture a little slouched with exhaustion. Despite the kiss, life radiated from him as if he had several decades left within him. It was difficult not to stare.

Uruha tried to focus on what he was doing. He always cooked for his husbands. None of them volunteered to marry him and he did not want them to see their time here as punishment. His cooking utensils and vessels were plastic, ceramic, clay, or wooden. He was able to handle ingredients without touching them with his skin directly, which prevented them from rotting or spoiling. He could feel Fushimi watching him intently. The kiss that they shared was warm and inviting. It sent a thrill through Uruha that he had not experienced in decades. He wanted to kiss Fushimi again, but he could not. He did not want to start a habit that would become dire later.

“Your ‘system’ looks complicated,” Fushimi said.

“Complicated is when an offering is a metal pan,” Uruha said as he maneuvered his equipment to prevent touching the food. “I make most metals corrode, though iron will burn me especially if it’s cold.”

“Like frostbite?” Fushimi asked.

“No. It blisters like a sunburn,” Uruha said. “I don’t really get it. I’m not sure if it’s something Rokuhira-san put into the sorcery of the Enchanted Blades or if all shinigami are like this. He didn’t really explain how the shinigami part would work. All modern things are trial and error.”

“Does that mean you have to bathe in the springs around here instead of a tub?” Fushimi asked.

“I avoid bodies of water,” Uruha said. “They’re…” his voice trailed. He was not sure how to explain it. It was more a gut feeling of doom than anything else. “I prefer a bridge.” He brought food and tea to the table. He sat across from Fushimi and placed his legs so that their feet or legs would not accidentally touch under the table. He did not have to think about it when he sat. It was just habit. He watched Fushimi give thanks for the food and eat. “What was growing up in your era like?” he asked after a while.

“It was normal,” Fushimi said and then paused. “I mean my dad worked, my mom stayed home. I went to school. My friends and I were in the sorcery club in our first year of middle school. A clan war killed my parents the year after.” He paused as if reflecting on something. “Normal stuff.”

“Clan wars are still normal?” Uruha asked. Most of his husbands stayed away from the topic of clans. Many of the recent ones told him about something called video games that sounded fun but also maybe annoying.

“Sort of,” Fushimi said. “They’re more local now. We lived along some sort of territory border I guess.” He frowned. “What were they like when you were alive? Was it like the history books say?”

“The history books are accurate for the most part when they aren’t trying to guess what people were thinking or feeling,” Uruha said. “The clans would hire samurai and fight with each other. I was born towards the end of that era. I was thirteen when the island appeared in the sea and seventeen when I accepted Kumeyuri into my body. I would have been nineteen when the unification became official.”

“You were a samurai at seventeen?” Fushimi asked.

“I was a samurai well before that,” Uruha said. “Our dojo routinely assisted in all sorts of conflicts even before the island. What were you doing at seventeen?”

“Working in the Kamunabi,” Fushimi said and then snorted tiredly. “I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised about the samurai thing.”

“Did you ever think you’d end up here?” Uruha asked.

“I thought you’d want someone hotter,” Fushimi said. “There are a lot of single orphans to go around.”

“I don’t know about ‘hot,’ but you are handsome,” Uruha said.

Fushimi’s chopsticks paused and then he shook his head. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that. I’ll forget I can’t kiss you.” He finished his food.

Uruha looked away. “You wouldn’t be the first to forget. Many who die disregard my warnings.” His gaze returned to Fushimi. “My compliments to the person who selected you.”

“Misaka-san did,” Fushimi said. “He said that he met you before, but he didn’t think you were Kumeyuri-sama.”

“Natsuki?” Uruha asked with a small laugh. “Of course he chose you. He probably did research about it. He looks exactly like one of his ancestors, you know, and acts almost exactly the same. They even have the same name. He was so mad when we met. It was nostalgic.”

Fushimi laughed, warm and genuine. His shoulders sagged a bit when the laughter stopped and he stifled a yawn. He seemed to slump even more in his chair.

“You should sleep,” Uruha said. “The bedroom is at the end of the hall near the laundry suite.”

Fushimi nodded and rose from the table. “Sorry, I’m really tired for some reason.”

“I kissed you,” Uruha said. “The effect should wear off tomorrow.”

Fushimi nodded and shuffled away. Uruha filled his cookware with water to soak. The voices of the dying became increasingly more difficult to ignore now that Fushimi was no longer in the kitchen. Uruha quietly glided to the bedroom door and peeked inside. Fushimi lay asleep on top of one side of the futon in nothing but his underwear. His chest rose and fell with each breath. The open space beside Fushimi was big enough for Uruha to join him. Uruha looked away. It was tempting but impossible. He left the house and headed into the night to relieve the dying from their wait.

~

Fushimi woke with the sun. He bathed and found modern clothes that fit him in his room. They were new or gently worn and seemed like offerings. He was not sure if he should wear them, but he did not want to wear a formal kimono and hakama every day. When he arrived in the kitchen, Uruha finished making breakfast. The sunlight seemed to reflect off Uruha’s skin and made him glow in a different way than the moonlight at night. Fushimi found himself staring but when Uruha smiled at him, he did not avert his eyes. Uruha brought the food to the table. Like supper the night before, the food was simple but delicious. It was strange eating while Uruha watched, but Fushimi liked the company. He had not had anyone to eat meals with outside of coworkers in the break room for over a decade.

“What am I supposed to do here?” Fushimi asked. “Everyone made it sound like some sort of sex dungeon. No one told me that you can’t touch people.”

Uruha laughed with a strange, welcoming warmth. “A sex dungeon does sound fun.” He paused as if contemplating the scenario and then shook his head to clear it. “I have a garden that’s difficult for me to tend. There are offerings to collect too. It’s easier for someone who’s not a shinigami to collect those things.” He left the table and returned with a pencil and paper. “I can make you a map of the shrines. You can take the cart to however many you want. Don’t worry about getting everything. I can move through the dead and collect the offerings that are far away from here.”

Fushimi imagined Uruha popping out of a rabbit’s corpse. He forced himself to finish chewing and swallowing while he tried to stop thinking about the blood and guts of it all. “‘Move through the dead?’”

“I can feel everything’s proximity to death,” Uruha said. “I can tell that there’s no sense of death radiating from you. I know there’s a fox with a den five kilometers that way whose been poisoned, but they just might pull through depending on how things go, so it’s not time to help them yet. There’s an old woman that lives alone in a city over there whose lungs aren’t working properly. I will help her pass on later tonight if she doesn’t die on her own first.” He paused and his fingers intertwined before unhooking from each other. “if I concentrate on their aura, I can travel directly to them, but that will kill them instantly if they’re close enough to death. I would help some of them during the day, but I prefer to do my job at night when it’s less likely I’ll run into something living seeking comfort when their loved one dies.”

“Do things try to touch you a lot?” Fushimi asked.

“Usually with humans and sometimes with pets because they seek comfort through human touch,” Uruha said. “I think that’s why so many of my husbands eventually try to entice me. It’s difficult for a lot of people to live without touching their spouse.”

“I don’t plan on killing myself,” Fushimi said as he finished his breakfast. “I don’t really touch people regularly either. I’m sure that I can stay here for decades. I bet I’ll be the husband that you have for the longest time.”

Uruha smiled a little but it did not quite reach his eyes. “My record is ten years. He only stayed because he killed one of the monks and did not want to suffer the consequences for it. He eventually ran away to Subaru-san’s territory. I never heard what happened after that.”

“Why did you let him stay if he was only here to hide?” Fushimi asked.

“Time passes slowly when no one sleeps here,” Uruha said. He took the dishes to the sink and touched the food sticking to them with his bare fingers. The food turned to dust or sludge and easily dumped out into the sink. Uruha began using soap soon after and cleaned quickly.

The sun continued to shine and Fushimi found his attention drawn to the back of Uruha’s neck. It would be so easy to approach him from behind and kiss him there as a way to say goodbye before going outside. Fushimi bit his lip and looked away. He could not do something so casual even with decades of life within him. The kiss last night knocked Fushimi out for hours. It was not difficult to figure out what a stray neck kiss might do. He reluctantly picked up Uruha’s map and examined it. It had landmarks and distance estimates between shrines. “What should I transport the offerings in?”

“There’s a kura with a cart inside it on the other side of the garden,” Uruha said. “The gardening supplies are in there too.”

“Alright,” Fushimi said. He slowly, deliberately stepped away from Uruha towards the entryway. “I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful,” Uruha said.

Fushimi headed outside. The birds sang to each other and a cool, fresh spring breeze moved through the hills. The garden was bare and ready for new crops. There were tools but no seeds in the kura. Fushimi set out for the first shrine on the map with the cart.

~

It was exciting having a husband who did not feel like dying or running away. Uruha glided through the house, pulling cookbooks from the shelves. He flipped through their contents and compared recipes for lunch. He learned cooking at the dojo, but hated doing the dishes especially back before he could just touch the stuck on food with a finger to remove it. Some of the oldest cookbooks advised how to cook over a fire. The newer books assumed that Uruha had a stove. There were so many options to make even the same dish. Most of them were dishes that Uruha never had in life. It was difficult to decide what to make.

Uruha stared out the window towards Subaru’s region. When Uruha met Subaru, Subaru was one of the people handling the cooking for their forces against the islanders. Uruha wondered if Subaru had a modern kitchen or if he continued to cook over open flame. He wondered if sushi prep had changed in the centuries. His thoughts drifted to the other sword bearers. Maybe Samura had a house too. It probably would be awkward with his large wings, although maybe when Rokuhira took Tobimune’s sheath away, Samura’s wings disappeared like how Uruha could no longer pour alcohol from any vessel that he wished to no matter what was already in the vessel. Maybe Ibuki was no longer the embodiment of electricity and could have human companions. Maybe Soga no longer generated insects.

Uruha frowned. He did not want to think about Soga. He did not want to think about the Malediction. He did not want to think about hundreds of thousands crying out as death overcame them. He did not want to think about the flowers clinging to their skeletons. He shook his head to clear it. He was supposed to be thinking about lunch anyway. He headed into the kitchen to start working on it.

When Uruha finished making lunch, Fushimi arrived. Offerings went into the fridge, pantry, and storage. Uruha would take some of it with him at night wrapped in fabric and give it to those who needed it more. Once everything was stored, Uruha joined Fushimi at the table for lunch. Fushimi gave thanks for the food.

“I saw Kiri at the shrine,” Fushimi said. “She said to tell her grandfather that he should come home if I see him. Do you know where he lives?”

“He doesn’t live,” Uruha said without thought. It was a memorable incident. “One night, I traveled to a man and a bear who were both near death. She saw me kill the bear. I chose not to let her see her grandfather’s corpse because I didn’t want her to touch me. I don’t know why no one found his body later.”

“Do you have to kill people often?” Fushimi asked.

“My power speeds up death but it’s not necessary to die,” Uruha said. “I only involve myself with the dead no matter the species when they are alone and suffering especially at night.”

Fushimi finished his food and contemplated what Uruha said. Then he reached into his pocket. “I brought you something.”

Uruha frowned deeply. Fushimi so far was obeying the no touching rule but maybe he did not understand what Uruha meant when he said that they were now equals when they married. “I’m your husband and not a kami. You shouldn’t give me offerings.”

“It’s not an offering,” Fushimi said. He held out his hand, hiding something inside it. “It’s a gift. I saw it in a stream and I thought that you’d like it.”

Uruha cupped his hands and placed them under Fushimi’s hand very carefully. Fushimi let go of the object and a beautiful stone fell into Uruha’s hands. The surface was smooth as if shaped by rushing water. It was a mixture of green and brown tones and sparkled in the sunlight.

“I thought that since we can’t touch, I should get you something that you can touch,” Fushimi said. The sunlight from the window grew brighter and illuminated Fushimi. He smiled and all that Uruha could think about was how much warmth and life radiated from him.

Slowly, Uruha looked away and turned the stone over in his hands. It did not break or turn to grain. He knew that it would not, but a part of him always expecting things to ruin at his touch. “Thank you,” he said quietly and swallowed. “It’s pretty.”

“I knew it’d work,” Fushimi said almost triumphantly and took his dishes to the sink to rinse them out. “I’m going to get more offerings. Do you want anything?”

Uruha opened his mouth and closed it before he could say, “A kiss.” He licked his lips and shook his head. “I have everything I need.”

Fushimi left. Uruha turned the stone over in his hands one more time and then put it in a pocket where he could touch it whenever he wished. He smiled and then headed to the sink. If his heart could beat still, he knew that it would be pounding. He missed the excitement of the sensation.

~

Spring progressed towards summer. Fushimi learned how and when to plant vegetables in the garden. He learned how to tend to them and identify plants that did not belong there. Every morning he woke with the sun. He started with the garden and after lunch made two trips in different directions to collect offerings. After supper, he would fall asleep without issue. It was strange how quickly and easily he slept after supper. He missed walking outside at night and watching the moon. He wanted to be able to welcome Uruha home like Uruha did for him so often, but every time he opened his eyes in the morning, the sun was rising and Uruha was already home.

Today the garden was slick with mud. Fushimi easily pulled weeds, careful to take the entire plant including the roots. He sprayed a mixture from offerings on the plants to deter pests. The sun disappeared behind the clouds. Fushimi stood up and watched as the clouds shifted from puffy and white to gray, heavy blobs. It would rain again soon. He put his gardening equipment away, placing his gloves on top of his tools. He closed the kura and then paused as a chill passed across his spine and the hair on his body stood on end. Sprinkles spit from the sky. Fushimi did not move his head, but his eyes moved up towards the northern hill nearby. A man observed him, his body glowing in the growing darkness from the impending storm. His clothing looked authentic to the warring states era like Uruha’s clothing and his hair was long. Fushimi wanted to run but his legs would not respond. He wanted to avert his eyes, but he did not know what might happen if he looked away.

Abruptly a downpour began, blanketing the hills in a sheet of rain. Fushimi lost sight of the samurai. He immediately returned to the house and removed his boots at the entryway, his heart thundering in his chest and rain dripping from his clothes and body. Footsteps approached and he held his breath. He looked up at Uruha and sighed in relief. “Thank Kumeyuri-sama.”

“For what?” Uruha asked and handed Fushimi a towel. ‘There’s nothing to thank it for in this era. It just prevents me from leaving the region.”

“I’m just happy to see you, Uruha-san,” Fushimi said. He dried off as best he could and then headed to the laundry. As he walked, he thought about the samurai standing on the hill. He seemed to have a sheath at his hip that looked very old. Fushimi frowned and asked, “When that Rokuhira guy took your sheath, did he take all of the other sheaths too?”

“I would assume so,” Uruha said as he followed Fushimi down the hall, “but he didn’t have all of them when I last saw him.”

Fushimi pulled off his wet shirt and wrung it out in the sink. He could feel Uruha’s gaze follow each moment. He hung his shirt on a hook so that it could dry out before going in the dirty clothes pile later and slowly turned to look at Uruha, whose eyes fixed on Fushimi’s chest, watching it move with every breath. Fushimi felt a thrill grip him and he moved his hips to draw Uruha’s gaze lower. He wanted Uruha’s stare. He wanted his attention. It was something to hold onto when Fushimi was alone with only his hand to guide him under the shower in the mornings.

The rain continued to beat on the roof. The lights flickered. Fushimi held his breath and waited, but the samurai did not appear in their house like a horror movie villain.

“What is it?” Uruha asked, no longer preoccupied.

“There was a samurai on the northern hill when I finished gardening. He disappeared when it started to rain.” Fushimi stripped off his jeans and wrung what water he could from them before hanging them on another hook.

Uruha’s eyebrows drew together and his eyes darkened. He folded his arms and then toyed with his lips with his fingers in thought. “Did he have wings?” the question sounded both doubtful and hopeful.

“No,” Fushimi said. “His hair was long and not tied back. He had his sheath at his right hip.”

Uruha stilled and his fingers near his mouth curled. “Left handed…”

“Probably,” Fushimi said.

“Don’t get the offerings today. I can do that tonight,” Uruha said. He put a hand in his pocket where he kept the stone that Fushimi gave him. “That samurai is Soga Akemura, the wielder of Magatsumi. Rokuhira-san had that sheath already with him when he took mine. If Soga-san has his sheath again…” his voice trailed. His gaze found Fushimi’s eyes. “If you ever see Soga-san again, come home immediately no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Don’t talk to him. Don’t let him touch you. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Fushimi said. He held Uruha’s gaze.

Uruha nodded and stepped away from the doorway, pulling his hand from his pocket. He looked around as if trying to think of a way to ward away Soga that would not affect himself. “I’ll make lunch,” he said in a slightly detached voice and glided down the hallway.

Fushimi tossed his wet bandana into the dirty clothes and went to his room to find something dry to wear. He was tempted to look towards the hill to see if Soga was still there, but he kept his eyes on his clothing. He was not sure what he would see on the hill or what he might accidentally invite home if he looked too closely.

~

Soga had Magatsumi’s sheath and he watched Fushimi garden. Those thoughts preoccupied Uruha’s mind for the rest of the afternoon and evening. It was possible that it was not Soga. Maybe it was just a cosplayer who got too bold or an illusion in the rain, but Uruha knew in his gut that it was Soga. Uruha watched the rain continue to fall, creating puddles and rivets throughout the hills. He could not see anyone on any of the hills viewable from the house. He should go and investigate, but he wanted to wait for the rain to finish. He already knew what he would likely find and going now or later would not change things.

Uruha felt eyes on him and his gaze shifted to Fushimi sitting at the table while eating supper. A small smile flickered onto Uruha’s lips despite his worries. Fushimi watching him was always welcomed. “What?”

“Are you in danger?” Fushimi asked quietly.

“No,” Uruha said. “I’m immortal. Soga-san can’t kill me. You however…” If his heart still functioned, it would tighten at the possible things that Soga might do to Fushimi. Soga always had a plan and sometimes it was a plan that Uruha would never think of doing. Maybe Fushimi would be safe here tonight by himself. Maybe Fushimi would be safe tomorrow doing his gardening and picking up the offerings. Maybe Soga would try to force something. Uruha did not know, but he did know that he could not resign Fushimi and himself to house arrest forever either.

“If he wanted to do something to me, he would have done it when I saw him on the hill, right?” Fushimi asked. “Maybe he was just observing.”

“Or he was figuring out when to kill you,” Uruha said. “Soga-san has his own morality. I don’t understand it, but I never asked him to explain it either.”

“I could carry something on me that would ward against him,” Fushimi said. “I could keep it with my gardening tools so it wouldn’t affect you.”

“You’d need an entire suit of iron,” Uruha said. Even then, Soga-san could always use the Magatsumi to get to Fushimi anyway. “If Soga-san is still in my territory, I’ll find him and meet with him tonight.”

Fushimi finished his food and said it was delicious like always. It was difficult to know if it was true since Uruha could not taste it himself. Fushimi leaned back in his chair and ran his tongue along his teeth, his mind turning behind his eyes. He focused on Uruha again. “What can I do to help?”

“Stay alive,” Uruha said. “Let me do the rest. Hopefully this is just a matter between shinigami.”

“Alright,” Fushimi said. He stifled a yawn. The tea that he drank every night was not drugged but it was a blend that Uruha learned how to craft long ago at the dojo to encourage sleep. Fushimi would not be able to sleep through an emergency but if nothing happened during the night, he would not need to wake. “Sorry, I’m really tired.” Fushimi rubbed his face.

“Don’t be,” Uruha said. “I’ll confront Soga-san and gather the offerings. By morning, we’ll know what to do.”

Fushimi nodded. He pressed his fingers to his lips and cast them towards Uruha before shuffling off to get ready for bed. Uruha watched him leave and then stared at the dishes, not wanting to do them at all. He sighed, put them to soak, and then checked on Fushimi. Once again, Fushimi laid on one side of the futon, leaving the other half inviting and open. Uruha turned away and did not even contemplate what he could not have. He had too much to do.

Uruha left the house and locked the door. He felt death near the top of the north hill and sent himself to the dead body. He emerged from a beetle. Centipedes and ants crawled along the rocks. A butterfly slept nearby in the trees. Soga had been here with his sheath just like Fushimi reported.

Uruha closed his eyes and concentrated on Soga’s aura. It was far away where it normally seemed to be throughout the centuries. Uruha opened his eyes. He shook the insects trying to crawl on him from his feet and legs. Death called to him from the valley and other parts of the region. He had offerings to collect too. People turning into skeletons moved through his memory. Fushimi becoming a skeleton passed through his mind. He could not leave the offerings. He did not want to leave Fushimi alone all night either. He sighed and disappeared form the hill. He tried to do his nightly duties as fast as possible. He kept alert in case Soga’s aura entered his territory again, but Soga remained far away for the rest of the night.

Uruha returned to the house in darkness. He put the offerings away and settled on the floor beside Fushimi’s futon, keeping a distance between them. There was no sign that anyone had been in their home or had disturbed Fushimi. Fushimi’s chest rose and fell with each breath. His eyes remained closed. Life radiated from him. Uruha watched the sky slowly lighten from the window.

“Uruha-san…?” Fushimi murmured after a while.

“Morning,” Uruha said.

“Did you sit here all night?” Fushimi asked and sat up slowly, his nails scratching his chest sleepily.

“No,” Uruha said. “I felt better sitting here when I came home.”

Fushimi put his hands under his sheet and then slowly, carefully took one of Uruha’s hands in his, making sure that there was a constant barrier of cloth between their skin. Uruha tensed, but his powers did not activate and he did not feel Fushimi’s life draining into him. “We can’t let fear control our lives,” Fushimi said, his grip tight on Uruha’s hand. “I will come home the instant I see him. I won’t let him touch me. I’m going to be with you for decades. I promise.”

Uruha should pull his hand away. Even with the cloth protecting Fushimi, they should not get used to touching so that they never accidentally touched without a barrier. Yet, Uruha did not move. He swallowed. Fushimi’s hands were so warm even through the sheet and the longer that Fushimi held onto Uruha’s hand, the more that the temperatures of their hands seemed to adjust to each other. Uruha could not remember the last time that someone held any part of him for so long without consequence. He swallowed again and willed the sensation of tears in his chest away from his eyes even though his tear ducts no longer functioned.

Fushimi slowly let go and left to get ready for the day. Uruha remained seated for a while, the sheet still covering his hand. The will to cry remained deep in his chest. He wanted Fushimi to touch him again, to hold him. He wanted to be able to press his face against Fushimi’s face and wrap his arms around him. He wanted to kiss him again. He wanted all of the impossible things.

Slowly, the sensation of tears in Uruha’s chest subsided. He rose to his feet and went to start breakfast. He put his hand in his pocket and ran his fingers along the smooth surface of his stone. It was not enough. It was never enough.