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The first days of autumn settled over the Fujiwara’s home with a subtle weight. They were used to Natsume living quietly in his own head, but a tension hung over him that they hadn’t seen in months. As the three of them sat around the breakfast table, Touko and Shigeru exchanged a quick glance. Late nights spent deep in hushed discussion, fretting over Natsume, weren’t new to them. At first, they had worried constantly - about whether he was settling in, if he was adjusting to his school, even what kind of tea he liked best (a question he’d always politely dodge). But, bit by bit, the three had since found a comfortable rhythm to their life. Lately, though, that rhythm had faltered. It felt like those uncertain first weeks again, when every shared silence felt tenuous.
Touko cleared her throat, gently nudging the silence aside. “Takashi, you haven’t been eating much the past few days. Are you feeling alright? Maybe the cold weather is getting you a bit sick?”
Natsume’s face stayed schooled in careful neutrality, save a slight, polite smile. He responded, “No, I’m fine, really.” A tree branch tapped against the window in the breeze. His eyes tightened and flicked to it, then back.
“Are you sure?” Touko pressed. “Is something going on at school? Or is something else bothering you?”
“Everything is alright,” he insisted, holding his hands up as if to shield himself from their concern. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Well, it’s a bit late for that,” Shigeru offered between bites. “We’re your family. Worrying about you comes with the territory.”
Natsume’s shoulders stiffened. He stood abruptly, the chair legs sharply scraping across the wooden floorboards. “I, erm- I have to, uh- I need to get to school,” he managed, not quite meeting their eyes as he slung his bag over one shoulder. “Thank you for the food.”
Touko rose and called after him, but the door had already slid shut behind him. She slumped back into her chair, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
“Maybe that was too forward,” Shigeru sighed.
“No, I don’t think so. Normally, he might go a little quiet - well, quieter - if you said something like that, but he wouldn’t practically run out of the room,” Touko murmured, curling her hands around her tea. She stared down into it, watching the wisps of steam curl towards her. “Something is definitely bothering him.”
The two sat in silence for a long minute, each searching for an explanation - or at least something useful to say to the other. Eventually, Shigeru stood. He pushed the chairs in slowly, and began gathering the dishes from the table.
“Well,” he said softly, “it’s certainly emptier in here when he runs out like that.”
The phone rang mid-morning. Natsume hadn’t gone to school.
The afternoon crept into the evening, and the house remained quiet. Natsume had come home on time, answered their questions politely, and retreated to his room with a book he clearly wasn’t reading.
They scolded him for skipping school. He had claimed he didn’t feel well, sat down to rest on the way, and fell asleep. From the kitchen of the old house, the Fujiwaras could hear the muffled creak of the floors as he paced upstairs.
Shigeru glanced down the hall, frowning slightly. “It’s like he’s back to hoping we just sort of forget he’s here.”
Touko nodded, drying her hands on a towel. “I thought maybe he just needed some time to himself, but…” She trailed off. “I’ll go check on him.”
She made her way up the stairs, softly stepping down the hall. She hovered a few feet from his door for a moment. Natsume tended to talk to himself - a habit she attributed to a life spent isolated, and one he seemed ashamed of. Touko could never quite make out the words from the other side of the door, but she would eavesdrop for the tone of his voice in these one sided conversations, hoping to glean some insight into the world in his head. She strained her ears for his voice, but today, he was silent.
She called out to his closed door, her voice carrying down the hall. “Takashi, we’re heading to the store. We won’t be long. Do you need anything?”
There was a pause, punctuated by quick footsteps. The door slid open and Natsume looked out, his hands bracing the door frame on either side. “You said you’re both heading out?” he asked. There was an edge to his voice that bordered on urgency as he held her gaze for the first time in days, though it felt like he was looking through her.
Natsume always seemed to be on the other side of a window - present, looking in, but separate in some near-invisible way. Touko searched his face for an explanation, but found none. To her, Natsume looked like a quiet afternoon at home - warm, wistful, and impossible to hold onto; the kind of delicate moment you don’t realize you needed until it was already gone. She wondered, and not for the first time, when he ended up on the other side of the glass, and if he knew how to find his way back.
“Yes,” she confirmed, “but we shouldn’t be long.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” he said quickly. “You don’t need to rush or anything.”
There was a sudden clarity about him, an energy that had been missing. Touko pushed down her concern and reached a hand out, brushing her fingers against his cheek for a moment. Natsume’s eyes fell to the floor as she softly said, “Alright, dear. We’ll be back soon. You stay here and relax.” He nodded as Touko turned and walked downstairs.
She found Shigeru pulling his shoes on by the door. “Does he need anything?” he asked.
“He said no,” she replied, tightening the scarf around his neck, “but let’s get him that lemon tea he likes.”
They idly chatted about dinner plans, the changing weather, and the errands they had lined up for the weekend, before their side-by-side walk fell quiet. A deep shade of ink was rapidly spreading across the sky, driving away the last streaks of orange and pink in the wake of the sun.
She broke the silence first. “It feels as though he’s still waiting for us to stop trying. And then when he goes back to this distance, it’s like losing him.”
Shigeru sighed. “I don’t think he’s trying to be distant. It seems like he’s just still too nervous around us to let himself settle in and just… be.”
Touko shifted the shopping bag in her arms. “We know he wasn’t treated well before, but do you think it might have been worse than we think?”
“I’m not sure, but I doubt he’ll tell us either way,” he said quietly into the fading twilight. “And I don’t think it’s something we can force, either.”
“No,” she agreed, a thickness creeping into her voice. “We’ll just keep the door open, and maybe he’ll step inside one day. But if something were really wrong, he’d tell us, right?”
Shigeru heard the undercurrent of panic in her words, and spent a moment finding his response. “I think he’d want to.”
He took the bag from his wife’s hands, carrying it alongside his own as they turned onto their familiar street. They had walked under this line of streetlamps so many times that they knew the count of steps between them, knew which ones flickered during storms, and knew the weathered lines down the surface of each one’s facets. The metal posts bounced their footsteps back to them on the street, interrupted only by the crunch of early fallen leaves underfoot.
Eight lampposts stood between them and home. A biting gust of wind blew down the street with unseasonal fervor, scattering the crumpled leaves into the air. The wind carried with it an odd sound, somewhere in between tearing paper and shifting gravel. The Fujiwaras paused to listen, when another sound hit their ears: a scream. It was pained, ripped from a raw throat, and unmistakable.
“That’s Takashi,” Touko gasped, terror instantly squeezing her throat.
“Let’s go,” said Shigeru without hesitation. He grabbed her hand. The groceries hit the pavement, littering the ground beneath the seventh lamppost. They were already sprinting past the sixth. Another scream split the air as they passed the fifth, and the rest of the count became a blur. Touko felt an infinite stretch between her and where she needed to reach, jarred back to her senses only by Shigeru throwing an arm in front of her at their gate. Another frigid gust of wind ripped past, making her raise a hand to shield her eyes. She squinted through her slitted fingers, desperately searching for Natsume - and found him instantly.
Between them and the house, Natsume was suspended in the air above their heads. His face was twisted in pain, and he clawed frantically at the air near his throat. His jacket was ripped in a few clean lines near the shoulder, and through the darkness, Touko could just make out a dark stain spreading across the fabric. Blood dripped down his clenched arms and beaded in the dirt below him. Terror rooted her and Shigeru in place as they watched him thrash in midair.
Natsume’s eyes locked in on something in the middle distance, and his expression shifted. “Shut up ” he hissed out, in a low, breathy tone they’d never heard before. In the same moment, he wrenched one arm free, balled it into a fist, and punched through the air in front of him.
The ground under their feet trembled. Touko and Shigeru gripped the gate to keep their footing. In the same moment, Natsume dropped. His legs buckled as he hit the ground, bringing him to his knees. Then, almost reverently, he pressed his palms into the dirt.
Touko hadn’t noticed them in the fading light, but lines and symbols were etched in a circle around him on the ground. Natsume dragged his hands across the edges, linking them. The dirt seemed to ripple beneath his touch.
Across from him, something lurched into view atop the circle of symbols. It was as though their eyes couldn’t focus on it, like it was in a color they couldn’t see. Still, through the half-darkness and the pulsing air, they could make out a shadow of a form - a monstrous creature, writhing in place, straining against some unseen bond. A sound like steam and metal crashed through them as it struggled.
Natsume didn’t flinch. He shakily rose to his feet, reaching a hand into the pocket of his bloodstained hoodie. He pulled out a small book and held it in one hand. The pages began to delicately fan themselves out, the sound of ruffling paper cutting through the hisses of the shadow.
One page stood up vertically from the center of the book. Something was written on it in a language neither of the Fujiwaras could recognize. Natsume tore it cleanly from the handbound spine. His voice, rasping and tired, rang through the courtyard as he said, “I already told you, this is the only home I’ve ever known. I won’t let you take it from me.”
Natsume deftly folded the paper, leaving bloodied fingerprints on the back of the thick parchment, and tucked it into his mouth. He clapped his hands, the crisp sound piercing the chill air, as he threw his head back and closed his eyes. The ink began to separate from the paper and flow as if carried away on an unfelt breeze. There was a flash of light, and the shadow was gone. Natsume fell back to his knees, breathing heavily.
The courtyard fell silent. The icy wind had died down, and the circle etched in the dirt had faded away. Then his eyes fluttered open, and he saw the Fujiwaras standing at the gate.
He sat motionless. Blood continued to roll down his fingertips and drip into the dirt. A moment passed that felt endless as his world fractured around him.
The Fujiwaras didn’t speak. Shigeru stood frozen, his arm still thrown instinctively in front of Touko. Natsume couldn’t tell if he was shielding her from the monster, or the one who brought it here. They looked at him, wide-eyed and pale, their groceries forgotten somewhere on the street behind them. And that look, somehow, was the worst part.
Natsume felt his throat tighten. His vision swam in and out of focus. He looked down at his hands, streaked with blood and dirt. He whispered, “I’m so sorry. You saw. You weren’t supposed to-”
Then his vision went black, and he collapsed into the dirt and blood around him.
In the next instant, the Fujiwaras ran across the courtyard.
“Takashi! Takashi, can you hear me?” Touko fell to her knees and scooped his head off the ground, propping it on her lap. She wiped the dirt and sweat from his eyes as her own panicked tears began to land on his face.
Shigeru pulled the jacket aside, revealing the gashes across Natsume’s shoulder. “He’s hurt. I’m going to call for help.”
“There’s no need, really,” came a third voice, light and unmistakably haughty.
Nerves shot, Touko and Shigeru’s heads snapped in the direction of the voice. Their eyes found Natsume’s calico cat sitting a few feet away. It cleaned some dirt off its white head with one paw, eyeing them as it added, “There’s nothing beyond a bandage that your doctors can do for him. He’ll wake in a few hours.”
For a long moment, they stared at the cat. Nyanko-sensei sighed, exasperated. “The scratch is superficial, and the fainting happens every time he deals with a powerful one. He may be uniquely skilled, but he’s still just a human, after all.”
“You’re… you’re a… wait, every time?” Shigeru managed.
“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” Touko interrupted.
“Quite sure,” replied Nyanko-sensei. “This happens more often than he will ever admit to you.”
Shigeru sat down hard on the ground, locked in a perplexed stare. Touko reflexively brushed a hand across Natsume’s forehead.
“He’ll keep lying,” the cat continued. “That’s what he does. Not because he’s secretive, but because he’s afraid. For a kid that stares horrors beyond the comprehension of most mortals in the face on a daily basis, he’s rather fearless. The only thing he’s terrified of is the thought of losing what you’ve given him.”
They brought Natsume to his room and laid him gently on his futon. Shigeru cleaned his wound and wrapped his shoulder in a thick layer of bandages. Touko sat beside him, wiping the dirt and blood off him as lines of worry pulled her face taut.
They didn’t press Nyanko-sensei for any more answers until tears began to roll down Natsume’s face.
“Is he in pain?” Touko asked, panic rising in her voice.
“Not physically,” the cat responded, choosing his words carefully. “He’s coming to understand the emotions that drove the creature to such darkness. He sees their memories when he sleeps. A useful gift on occasion - but more frequently, a hassle, in my esteemed opinion.”
Touko chewed her lip and began wiping away the tears streaming down Natsume’s cheeks, her own eyes swimming. “He deals with this often?”
“Often enough,” Nyanko-sensei grumbled, padding over to the open window. He leapt onto the sill, then took a moment to observe the small family. “The boy can choose what else to explain when he wakes.”
As he moved to leap out the window and onto the roof, Touko cried out, “Wait! Just - is he safe right now? Is that… thing… coming back? Or anything else?”
The cat’s eyes narrowed as he looked back over his shoulder. “He’s safe, and if anything tries to return, I’ll be waiting.”
Natsume sat bolt upright. His eyes frantically searched the room, but found it empty. He turned his head to the open window, where the soft light and breeze of the next morning was already spilling in.
In the stillness, deafening memory crashed in on him. The days spent dodging a youkai dead set on reclaiming its name through revenge. The chance to handle it once the Fujiwaras left. The binding he etched in the dirt. The shame that it clung to in the wake of its duel with Reiko. The decades of “what if” that festered into unbridled rage. The look in his foster parents’ eyes when they saw him kneeling in the dirt. His hands were knotted into his sheets. He gritted his teeth until he thought his temples may split apart.
Natsume had spent his life looking for a reason to keep living in this terrifying world. He used to tell himself he’d find it in isolation when he was old enough to seek it out. He used to believe he was so accustomed to loss that he knew to never hold onto something too tightly. That way, he wouldn’t feel it as much when it slipped away.
When he was a child, he ran. He ran from the gnashing teeth of youkai, from the jeers of classmates, and from the judging eyes of people who sighed with relief when he didn’t make it home for dinner. Now, he was better at hiding than running. He had learned to lie, to smile, and to look at people without meeting their eyes. But lately, there were times he forgot himself. He had genuinely laughed and had felt the sun on his face without turning away. He had started to learn what it felt like to have a home. He often thought of Reiko walking through the same halls, and spent hours lost in the lines of what he’d tell her if he could reach across time. He wasn’t one to wish that things turned out differently. Unconditional acceptance, and all the pain that came with it, was a gift Natsume gave the world that he had never gotten in return. But now, in the raw light of a morning yet unmarred by words, he felt the ghosts of every mistake he had made.
He had gotten too comfortable, too complacent. He had forgotten that no matter how much you want something, no matter how much you scream for it, it’s sometimes out of your reach.
His shoulder burned. His hands, still tightly balled up around the blankets, were cramping. The youkai’s memories still rang in his head, but the only sound was carrying from downstairs. He could barely hear Touko and Shigeru, talking with soft voices. Dishware clinked. The sink ran for a moment. They were in the kitchen, and the kitchen didn’t have a line of sight to the door. So Natsume didn’t think about it. He couldn’t bring himself to think anymore.
He frantically pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. He tiptoed down the stairs, as quickly and quietly as he could. He grabbed his shoes, but didn’t put them on until he was on the other side of the gate. The tiny voice in the back of his head - the one that shook when it spoke, the one he thought he’d outgrown - whispered, “Run.” So he did.
The stone bench in front of the small shrine was cold, the morning light too low in the sky to have shaken the nighttime chill from it. Long shadows of ginkgo trees flickered across the clearing. Most of the birds had already left for the winter. The fan-shaped leaves rustling in the wind drowned out the song of any that remained.
Natsume wasn’t sure why he had come here. He wasn’t hiding from a youkai. Still, his feet hurried him up the stone steps dotting the nearby hillside. He sat now on the solitary bench, bracing his forearms against his legs, hands clasped and head low. The shadows of the branches casted bars across his face. He couldn’t think of a single set of words, lies or otherwise, that would make this any better.
They knew. They could never look at him the same way again.
He’d have to leave. That was probably for the best at this point. His hands went numb. He doubted anyone else would want to take him in. Maybe he was old enough to live on his own. The cold wind cut through his thin sweater. His friends wouldn’t believe that the Fujiwaras would ever make him leave. Maybe Taki and Tanuma would understand, but not the rest. He couldn’t explain it to them. The stone bench sapped any warmth still clinging to him from home. The trees were so loud, he thought he could force a scream from his raw throat and no one would hear. The thought was almost a comfort.
Then something plush and warm touched his neck. A gentle hand was guiding his ivory scarf around him. Two more hands draped a coat over his shoulder, and he thought he might crumple beneath its weight. Then the Fujiwaras were there. He was frozen, head still low, hands gripped so tightly his knuckles gleamed white. They sat on either side of him.
“I haven’t been here in years,” Shigeru mused. “I wonder why? It’s beautiful, especially in the fall.”
“It really is,” Touko said softly. “We used to visit a lot. We should come by more often.”
Natsume tried to straighten his back, tried to thank them. He tried to place the words to apologize, but he couldn’t find them around the metallic fear in his mouth. Time slowed to a golden halt, the moment suspended in amber, crystallized with life still inside. It felt like the last chance they had to sit together like this. Anything he said or did would only end it sooner. Was that for the best?
A soothing hand rested on his back. “Takashi, do you remember those crows that kept visiting us?” Touko asked. He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made him sit up to look at her. She took the opportunity to pull out the sleeve of his coat and take one of his hands, guiding him to put his jacket on. She brushed a stray leaf off his shoulder as she continued, “I think they lived near here. I always saw them fly back this way in the afternoon.”
Natsume opened his mouth to reply, but closed it after a moment when the words didn’t come. He tried to latch onto any of the thoughts racing past him until Touko said, “Actually, that’s a lie. I’m sorry. You see, I didn’t see them fly back this way. I only saw the black one going home. Takashi, I never saw the white crow at all.”
His eyes snapped wide. He turned to meet hers, forgetting his shame for his panic.
Touko laughed. “I wish I did, though. The way you described it sounded beautiful. But I didn’t want to push you to tell me more about something I was already pretending to see. It didn’t really matter that I couldn’t see it, though. It was clearly real to you, and that was enough.”
He could feel the heat creeping into his face in sharp contrast to the chill morning. Before he could respond, he felt Shigeru place a hand on his shoulder and turned instinctively.
“A while ago, I told you about when I was a kid. I thought the house was haunted, and this odd girl came over. You remember?” Natsume nodded slowly, so he continued.
“I used to see her around this shrine sometimes. Seeing you here now, it makes me realize you look a bit like her, actually, but that’s beside the point. I told you how she made a huge mess then ran out, and I covered for her. But I didn’t tell you that she blew the paper off the shoji and shattered the windows. I certainly didn’t tell you that she had painted on every piece of paper she could find, and they were scattered all over the room afterwards. In fact, I had forgotten that detail until I saw you do the same thing.”
Natsume opened his mouth to apologize, but Shigeru cut him off and continued. “We also didn’t tell you that Touko had been having such bad headaches that she was planning to go to the doctor the next day, but they stopped right after your so-called ‘science experiment gone wrong.’ I was supposed to leave for a work trip that day, too. It makes me wonder what might have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
“Takashi,” Touko interjected softly. “Maybe no one had looked closely enough to see before, but for anyone who really cares about you, who is really watching and trying to understand, it’s not that hard to figure out.”
Startled, Natsume jumped to his feet and spun to face them. “It, uh- I’m sorry, I-” he began, but Touko interrupted him. “You don’t have to apologize, and you don’t have to explain anything to us,” she said, hardly above a whisper.
Natsume stood, glancing back and forth at the two faces patiently watching him. He could hardly breathe. He raised a hand to loosen the scarf around his neck, but his hand stilled. Undoing the knot would only squeeze his throat tighter.
“I… Thank you,” Natsume finally managed, the words hoarse through his raw throat. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied, I hid this from you, and I made you worry. I thought I had more time and I didn’t mean for you to see…” he trailed off and shook his head, dismissing the thought. “It’s too late now.”
He forced a smile. “Thank you, both, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you’ve done for me. I never wanted to scare you or make you feel unsafe in your own home, but I know that doesn’t change what happened. I know you’d never ask it of me and don’t worry, I won’t make you.” When he couldn’t bear to look at their faces anymore, he dipped his head into a bow before them. “If you could give me the day to gather my things, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be gone by nightfall.”
His blood was pounding in his ears. The wind rustled the stalks surrounding them.
“Takashi!” Touko hissed, and the sharpness of her voice startled Natsume upright. She jumped to her feet and quickly closed the distance between them, gazing up at him. Her brow was furrowed; her eyes were wet. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Have we done anything to make you think we want you to leave?” asked Shigeru firmly from the stone bench behind her.
“N-no, but-” the boy began to respond, but Shigeru continued, “Then, please, Takashi, stop acting like we’re waiting for you to show yourself out. I told you yesterday. We’re your family, and you’re ours. So you’re not going anywhere. Do you understand?”
Natsume held Shigeru’s eyes for a moment. He had played out his departure in his head dozens of times. He knew how to say goodbye to a family that didn’t want him. He didn’t know what to say to a family that did.
His voice broke as he managed, “You mean… You mean I- I can stay?”
“Takashi,” Touko whispered. She cupped a warm hand to the side of his cold cheek, turning his face towards her. He didn’t look away. For once, he was too stunned to remember to be afraid of her kindness. Smiling at him, eyes shimmering in the shifting light, she continued, “You’re our son. You have to stay. It’s not home without you there anymore.”
The voice that told him to run was silent. The script of lies he had relied on was blank. The world had shrunk down to this one moment, made only of Touko’s warm hand and Shigeru’s gentle smile. For the first time, the world was small enough that he could find his place in it.
Natsume’s shaking legs gave out. He fell to his knees, sending gingko leaves spiraling into the air around him. He brought his hands to his mouth, stifling the sobs rising too fast for him to hold back.
“Oh, Takashi, sweetheart,” Touko murmured, kneeling beside him. She pulled the sleeve of her shirt over her hand and wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks. But the window had shattered. They were on the same side of the glass now, and years of loneliness and fear that had built within him were meeting the morning light.
Touko pulled him into her arms, holding him as he wept. Shigeru sat beside her, a steady hand on Natsume’s back. The two exchanged a look tinged with something between sorrow and relief.
For the first time, they saw Natsume's heart laid bare, and the pain that spilled forth was unbearable. They sat together before the shrine, the wind in the leaves fading into a faraway echo. And for the second time, he cried in their arms as they offered him a home.
Touko gingerly balanced two cups of tea on a small wooden tray as she stepped out of the kitchen. “Oh, excuse me!” She said, sidestepping the cat napping at the base of the stairs.
He opened one eye languidly. “I’ll forgive you in exchange for an extra shrimp tonight. Have I mentioned that you make the best fried shrimp I’ve ever had? Maybe two extras, in fact.”
Touko laughed. “Well, that explains a thing or two. It’s a deal.”
She continued down the hall toward the back porch, stopping short of the open door. Framed it in sat Natsume, his back against a wooden beam. He was looking out into the garden. She followed his gaze, but couldn’t quite land on what he was seeing.
Crossing the threshold, she sat down beside him and handed him a cup. He accepted it with a smile and soft “Thank you,” holding its warmth close. The curls of lemon steam filled the air between them. Natsume closed his eyes for a moment and smiled.