smoke signals
Mar. 24th, 2019 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: smoke signals
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Natori/Matoba
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 550~
-
Seiji smelled like wood smoke when he passed by.
The fire would keep the woodland creatures at bay and supposedly the night would pass in quiet. They knew otherwise, of course.
Off the genkan, a chime rang in the overgrown maple. If the post beams weren’t rotten, if the night weren’t unusually cold, if this place was more welcoming -- Natori may not have minded watching the sun creep down and disappear entirely. The air smelled like wet earth, grass sprouting at the bases of trees; spring, if it weren’t for the cold snap cracking into his bones, blades brushed with certainties.
Seiji snapped branches over his knee and fed the flame. Natori watched the smoke turn grey and feathery, embers red hot and dusty in the air.
“How’s the charms?”
“’s fine.” The ink sat heavy and black against the smooth grain of the paper. After a few seconds, the brush strokes sunk inward, and the shine disappeared entirely. “You think this will be enough? Wards wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Ahead of you,” Matoba said.
Natori looked at him. Matoba wasn’t nervous. He operated on reflex, a steadier power as old as stone, as old as stories, passed mouth to mouth and pressed thinly into paper. Steady.
Natori imagined a well and drew from it.
That night, he dreamt of creatures with teeth, he dreamt of carnality. The youkai ate the fire and left, satisfied for another year. The river cracked in half. The thaw came.
When he opened his eyes, slipped an arm out from under the blankets to gauge the temperature of the room, Seiji was watching him, mouth parted in a quiet oh.
Natori pushed a pebble around with the toe of his shoe.
Matoba was resting with his head against the frame of the bus stop, single eye closed. The line of his neck was obscured by the scarf Natori had wound there. His coat was warm enough.
He pulled a glove off, reached over to brush the back of his jaw. A red eye slanted open, leaned into his space.
“Your work was good,” he murmured.
“Thanks. All worn out though aren’t you?”
Seiji’s mouth curled. He leaned into the pressure, despite that those fingers were cold, gloves wet from wood and bare ground. “Not particularly. Did you dream?” he asked curiously.
“Some.”
“Prophetic dreams,” he said carefully, “shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
Natori thought of woodland creatures, the smoke in Seiji’s hair, dark and curling -- curling now around his finger, silken but stiff with cold. He rubbed the frost away.
“It’s fine,” he said, voice low. “I’ll tell you later.”
Seiji’s mouth briefly touched his hand, then his head bowed, chin resting over the scarf.
The bus emerged in the distance, rattling along the long curve of the highway.
Water drummed down a drain pipe and Natori didn’t think about a copse of trees.
Prophetic dreams, Seiji had said.
He watched Natori in sleep and between the two of them, knows he’ll burn as bright as his name someday.
He listened to the fire crackle and shudder, sizzling and hissing under a light rain. His mind raced. No matter.
Everyone had their limits, after all.
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Natori/Matoba
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 550~
-
Seiji smelled like wood smoke when he passed by.
The fire would keep the woodland creatures at bay and supposedly the night would pass in quiet. They knew otherwise, of course.
Off the genkan, a chime rang in the overgrown maple. If the post beams weren’t rotten, if the night weren’t unusually cold, if this place was more welcoming -- Natori may not have minded watching the sun creep down and disappear entirely. The air smelled like wet earth, grass sprouting at the bases of trees; spring, if it weren’t for the cold snap cracking into his bones, blades brushed with certainties.
Seiji snapped branches over his knee and fed the flame. Natori watched the smoke turn grey and feathery, embers red hot and dusty in the air.
“How’s the charms?”
“’s fine.” The ink sat heavy and black against the smooth grain of the paper. After a few seconds, the brush strokes sunk inward, and the shine disappeared entirely. “You think this will be enough? Wards wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Ahead of you,” Matoba said.
Natori looked at him. Matoba wasn’t nervous. He operated on reflex, a steadier power as old as stone, as old as stories, passed mouth to mouth and pressed thinly into paper. Steady.
Natori imagined a well and drew from it.
That night, he dreamt of creatures with teeth, he dreamt of carnality. The youkai ate the fire and left, satisfied for another year. The river cracked in half. The thaw came.
When he opened his eyes, slipped an arm out from under the blankets to gauge the temperature of the room, Seiji was watching him, mouth parted in a quiet oh.
Natori pushed a pebble around with the toe of his shoe.
Matoba was resting with his head against the frame of the bus stop, single eye closed. The line of his neck was obscured by the scarf Natori had wound there. His coat was warm enough.
He pulled a glove off, reached over to brush the back of his jaw. A red eye slanted open, leaned into his space.
“Your work was good,” he murmured.
“Thanks. All worn out though aren’t you?”
Seiji’s mouth curled. He leaned into the pressure, despite that those fingers were cold, gloves wet from wood and bare ground. “Not particularly. Did you dream?” he asked curiously.
“Some.”
“Prophetic dreams,” he said carefully, “shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
Natori thought of woodland creatures, the smoke in Seiji’s hair, dark and curling -- curling now around his finger, silken but stiff with cold. He rubbed the frost away.
“It’s fine,” he said, voice low. “I’ll tell you later.”
Seiji’s mouth briefly touched his hand, then his head bowed, chin resting over the scarf.
The bus emerged in the distance, rattling along the long curve of the highway.
Water drummed down a drain pipe and Natori didn’t think about a copse of trees.
Prophetic dreams, Seiji had said.
He watched Natori in sleep and between the two of them, knows he’ll burn as bright as his name someday.
He listened to the fire crackle and shudder, sizzling and hissing under a light rain. His mind raced. No matter.
Everyone had their limits, after all.
