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Chapter Text

When, sweaty and exhausted, they'd finally made their way back to the empty inn through oppressive vegetation and crisscrossing trails, this room had been advertised to them as the best one available. A casual observer would have been skeptical, wary that it was as far from the hot spring as possible without being on the other side of the mountain, had deficient AC and was too small to lay out the two futons in any way that didn't suggest happy marital life.

But there was a window, that occupied most of the far wall and gave on a valley that looked like it had never been discovered by humankind (which was most likely the case, given the dubious species of the owner). Lush forests, a lake, and the moon casting a warm glow over all of that; cramped and sweltering as it was, this room was the antechamber to paradise.

Watanuki had been smiling at the view up until a paper bird had flown in out of nowhere, poked him in the forehead and unfolded in his hands.

"You," he said sternly, "are out of your mind."

"Are you talking to a sheet of paper?"

This, right now, was not the time to put up with Doumeki's habit of making fun of him whenever he damn well could. "It's a message from Yuuko," Watanuki snarled, attempting to glare the offending word into nothingness. He did not have much success.

"Is it talking back?" The question was breathed in braille on his skin, making him shiver in a way the choking heat should not have allowed. Doumeki was doing that thing he did now, where he stood so close that Watanuki could feel each of his intakes of breath without there ever being actual contact. At least until gravity did its work and, owing to Doumeki's more important body weight, forcibly pulled Watanuki back to close the space between them.

Yes, he wanted to say, yes it is, and it has her voice too. "I want to make one thing very clear," he said instead, still glaring down at the paper. "We are only here because we missed the last of the two trains a day that leave from this place, and the room was cheap." Probably because the owner of the inn owed Yuuko a few limbs. "This is purely incidental. The thought that it might be anything even remotely close to a honeymoon would be ludicrous."

"Okay." A hand was set low on his hip, firm and warm through the thin fabric of the yukata he'd put on not fifteen minutes ago, after a long, hot bath.

A long acquaintance with Yuuko had taught Watanuki to recognize a losing battle, and since even the laws of physics were against him he knew not to fight the inevitable. At least when he leaned back deliberately he was in control of his own fate: it was a thought he liked to hang onto.

When he glanced back at the letter the words had changed again, and he crumpled it in his fist before 'enjoy your wedding night' brought to his imagination the horrible vision of Yuuko's smug, smug smirk as she watched them in the crystal ball that every evil witch ought to own, like they were the protagonists of some stupid romance movie. He looked up suspiciously, searching for a mystic video camera of sort.

That didn't last long. Doumeki's thumb was rubbing small circles on his lower back, and whether Watanuki wanted it or not it was quickly becoming the focus of his attention. "I mean it," he insisted, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Doumeki's other hand reached around him and pried the letter from his lax fingers. He must have turned his head too, because his breath was warm on Watanuki's neck when he spoke. "Sure."

The next moment Watanuki's support was gone, and there was that shivering again, coursing down his back despite the dead summer heat. He whipped around, fully ready to impart the annoying bastard a piece of his mind about pretension and sarcastic one-word answers.

He never got there. Doumeki hadn't gone far; just far enough in fact to catch him mid-turn and pull him against his chest, hard and incredibly present and warm in a way that was nothing like the surrounding heat.

"Shut up," Doumeki breathed against his lips, and while that for once may have been valid advice it was still completely out of line, so Watanuki shoved hard at his shoulders. He didn't expect it to have much effect (heaven knew Doumeki wasn't one to be pushed around), and yelped in surprise when Doumeki tumbled onto the adjoining futons, pulling him along in his fall. Any protest he might have had was muffled in a kiss before it had a chance to reach full volume, but then he was pushing himself up on his elbows, righteously indignant.

Again, no words came out. Doumeki was looking at him and it was that same look that got to him, every time; the way Doumeki got focused on him, eyes intense and lips parted. Whatever it was he saw, it would have been obvious to any sane person that it wasn't actually there; but Watanuki had been waiting for him to realize that for weeks now, and still Doumeki never failed to look at him like there was nothing else in the world worthy of his attention.

It was still so new, this ability to want something for himself, and to have it and want it still. It was new and terrifying and fantastic and if it meant that occasionally he had to end up straddling Doumeki in a thoroughly indecent fashion, clothing pushed down his shoulders even as he was kissed out of breath, well. He could live with that. He could even live with Yuuko's glib remarks, her snide comments and the crystal ball that probably had a regular paying audience, even though Yuuko was evil and bent on his doom and this wasn't a honeymoon, dammit.

But it was excitement taking over exhaustion. It was the impossible summer breeze flowing all over his body and the lips tracing his collarbone. It was the calluses of the hand splayed over his heart, grown from drawing the bow that protected him. It was the hardness pressed against his thigh and the short hair between his fingers. It was the one thing that Doumeki seemed to want from him but would never demand as payment for services rendered, and that Watanuki felt neither obligated nor reluctant to give.

It was everything but the inevitable. Yet it had happened anyway and Yuuko had no right, no right at all to be looking over his shoulder and telling him what to do.

Neither did Doumeki, but he'd stopped trying that a while ago. Well trained, Watanuki had thought at the time with no small amount of pride, until he'd finally figured that Doumeki had learned to make his demands without a coherent sound, after maneuvering Watanuki into such a state that he couldn't not comply.

Like now, with insistant hands that had sneaked their way between their bodies and were tugging at the loose knot of the yukata, making him draw back a little, just long enough for their clothes to fall open. Then it was skin on skin, and Watanuki couldn't resist pushing back against Doumeki's body any more than he could stop the whimpering noises he made in Doumeki's mouth, and it was all because of that look, except he wasn't any better at resisting with his eyes closed, either.

There was some comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one making noises, that some of the moans and groans and half-words that somehow made sense weren't his. Except that they were, in a way, and acknowledging that was as overwhelming as everything else.

Eventually there was an actual word, and shockingly, impossibly, that word was "wait". No, he wanted to say, no, dammit, no waiting, but before he could find his voice Doumeki had rolled them over, effectively pinning him to the mattress in a way that was difficult to protest. Even when Doumeki didn't resume the kiss and slid up his body instead, the tip of his erection leaving a wet trail up Watanuki's stomach.

There were rummaging noises above his head, and Watanuki looked up to find Doumeki's hand leaving his bag, wrapped around-

He froze, staring at the innocuous tube in something halfway between shock and horror, because. While the overhead gossip (that he wasn't listening to, but you couldn't always help hearing) may have given him the impression that they'd moved comparatively fast at first, this was- They'd never talked about this, not even in the half-words and looks that had let them move from kissing to touching, over clothes and then under, and from there to- well. There had been no discussion of this, no mention whatsoever, and if Watanuki had ever considered or even desired, well, he hadn't shared any of it and so it was horribly pretentious of the bastard to just assume-

There was a hand on him, cool and slick, and suddenly their hips were aligned just right and Doumeki's cock was sliding easily against his own, held together by Doumeki's fingers, and oh, okay, that's what he'd been going for, of course, why had Watanuki even expected something else from someone so slow.

Still a bastard for not warning, he thought even as he spread his legs and laid his feet firm on the mattress. He took a deep breath and pushed, making Doumeki groan and give him a suprised look, his rhythm faltering for a moment.

"Something wrong?" Doumeki sounded genuinely concerned if a little distracted, and might even have looked the part. But there was a drop of sweat rolling down his hairline, and Watanuki was suddenly overcome with the desire to lick it off, but Doumeki was too damn far to reach. He settled for another thrust, and "dont. stop." and reaching between them too; wrapping his hand around Doumeki's to make it move again, by the use of overwhelming force if he had to, god, why had the idiot stopped now?

At least he could take some hints, because soon then were moving together, urging each other on in breathless moans and fleeting eye contact, and the feeling built up fast, inevitable but still somewhat foreign, warmth pooling in Watanuki's lower body until his thoughts were a linear string of comeoncomeoncomeon, eyes clenched shut in effort, reaching for-

The warmth exploded, spreading through his limbs in hard spasms, and he wasn't sure when and if Doumeki had come but by the time Watanuki was aware of more than the shuddering relief again, Doumeki was laying at his side, pressing their foreheads together, and they were almost sharing the same breath but not quite so Watanuki reached up with trembling hands and pulled him down close, over him and all around, and for a while it was like they couldn't let go of each other's lips, licking and biting and sucking, stuttering and inconsistant but indispensable.

Eventually Doumeki broke the series of kisses to reach inside his bag again (how had he known to take a bag anyway, when they'd been supposed to be home by sunset?) bringing back a pack of tissues. He pulled one out before callously dropping the pack on Watanuki's chest.

Watanuki sniffed, and focused the last of his energy on a cursory cleaning of the mess spread over his belly and chest before sprawling back on the mattress, utterly spent and now grateful for it.

"Not a honeymoon," he mumbled happily, already halfway asleep as Doumeki's hand came up to lay on top of his.

"Of course," he heard from far away, through the haze of much deserved slumber. "I haven't even asked yet."

Watanuki's eyes snapped open.

Chapter Text

Watanuki must have fallen asleep, no thanks to the bane of his existence who, as it turned out, could go from inappropriate statements to comatose in .7 seconds. The predawn light was casting a greyish glow over the room, and he slowly became aware that he was awake again. The night must have grown cold; he seemed to have crawled under what had to be Doumeki's blanket, considering the warm body pressed against his back and the arm casually slung around his waist.

It was oddly comfortable, but Watanuki had spent enough hours laying wide awake in bed for a lifetime. He made an attempt to wriggle away, with the faint hope of finding a toothbrush somewhere.

The arm wrapped around him tightened before he'd upped his ambitions to toothpaste, and he let himself be pulled back against Doumeki's chest with a put-upon sigh. "Overprotective freak."

Dead weight though he might be, said freak couldn't have been fully asleep, the way he pressed their hips together, sneaked a leg between Watanuki's, nuzzled his hair with a whisper that might have been a first name.

Yet another thing they had never discussed; so little had changed between them, away from the closed doors that Watanuki insisted on. But suddenly it felt weird that they were still calling each other by their last names. Weirder still that Doumeki might not, if given the chance. And it made Watanuki's heart race and his cheeks feel warm, and it made him want more and not care how selfish that was.

Even if it made him wake up the useless lump as he twisted around in that firm embrace to lay half on top of him and nip at his jaw.

"You're not asleep," he accused when Doumeki's head bent back, exposing more of his throat.

He got an appreciative groan in answer, and Doumeki's thighs spread apart, just enough for his knee to settle between them. And oh, that was nice, the strong muscles flexing against his erection, the hands gripping his hips, the moans that escaped the throat under his mouth.

It was all becoming so oddly familiar, the position, the slick feeling of skin on skin, and as he happily considered a reenactment of the previous night, the words rinse and repeat came to Watanuki's mind, and he didn't like the taste of them. Not that there was anything wrong with the idea of a repeat performance, but- But this was their first time away from home, and while still not symbol of anything it felt a little different from usual, a little special maybe, and the tube of lubricant was lying discarded by the bed, and he had considered, after all, so maybe...

"You're up early," Doumeki commented muzzily, although his hands running along Watanuki's back told an entirely different story.

"Shut up," he answered instead of I think maybe I want you to fuck me, astounded at the enormity of the thought. And by astounded he meant appalled, except the very idea seemed to make his cock throb, his teeth sharper against the tendon of Doumeki's neck. That drew a shuddering breath, and suddenly Watanuki was sure, because he wanted to know what sounds Doumeki would make then, how he'd look at him, wanted to catalogue all reactions and hoard them until the next time he couldn't get one in the other world, the one where Doumeki did not watch him like the most precious thing that was.

With this new certainty he kept mouthing at Doumeki's jaw and reached out blindly. His fingers traced the edge of the futon and found the tube. He swallowed heavily, just once, and pressed it against Doumeki's open palm.

"What-"

"Shut up," he repeated, cursing the rush of blood to his face with all he had even as he guided Doumeki's other hand further down his back.

He did, thankfully, and no other sound escaped from him than a shuddering intake of breath. But he did let go of the tube to bring a hand to Watanuki's jaw, pulling his face in for a harsh kiss. Their tongues slithered against each other for a moment, before Watanuki pulled back. "Your breath stinks." He was grimacing, but then they were looking at each other, making eye contact for the first time since waking up. That look was back on Doumeki's face, and for a moment Watanuki felt like smiling one of these smiles that had always been reserved to Himawari-chan before.

He hid against Doumeki's neck before that embarrassing moment could be recorded, but all that did was expose his throat to an onslaught of closed-mouth kisses, flickering touches and sounds like Doumeki was breathing him in.

"You, you are," Doumeki blew across his skin once, twice, then again and again. Watanuki had never known him to scramble for words like this. It made his heart race, his head swim with elation.

"I know," he conceded after a moment, stuck somewhere between helpless and impatient and wary.

"Good." There was a world of meaning behind that single word, but Watanuki got sort of distracted by the hand slid between his thighs, making him push himself a little further up. Ohgodohgodohgod he was really doing this, but when their eyes met and Doumeki seemed to be waiting for something, all he could give was a single nod. The slick, cold fingertip dipping in his cleft made his body jerk, his eyes fall shut, and he could feel the tension in the arm between his legs and oh, he was insane, but when Doumeki's finger pushed further between his cheeks Watanuki had not a single complaint to voice. His knees slid further apart even, and it would have occurred to him to feel ashamed if he hadn't been so nervous. When a finger slid into him he hissed, but he wasn't the only one. Doumeki was breathing heavily, his eyes shut in concentration, and there was something frighteningly reassuring about that. He focused on steadying his breathing, letting Doumeki ease his finger into him, and then another one, with care and attention and the determination that characterized him.

It felt strange and foreign but not unpleasant enough to make him draw back.

Warmth was spreading through him slow and insidious; not the instant heat of his earlier arousal, but something deeper, darker and somehow incomplete.

And then Doumeki's hand, the one not busy making him writhe in not-quite-discomfort, slapped something in his and he had to open his eyes to find himself in possession of a condom pack.

Oh. Of course. He should have thought about that himself, he'd been taught about this, posters and pamphlets and classes, and how come Doumeki was prepared?

Prepared and giving him the choice, always giving him the choice when safety wasn't at stake - even though Watanuki was pretty sure it was, at some unspeakable level.

His hands were trembling when he pulled the pack apart, following the pre-punctured line with almost religious attention. Doumeki pulled his hand away then, wiped it on the bedding, leaving him free access to an erection that suddenly seemed harder and bigger than ever before.

But he knew how to do this, in theory at least, so he swallowed and made himself look as he took hold of Doumeki's hardness and stroked, just once - getting a rewarding hiss and thrust - before unrolling the condom as attentively as he was supposed to.

He was barely halfway through when Doumeki started touching him again, pulled him closer, urging him on with ghost touches that made him itch for more.

"You have to tell me if something's wrong," Doumeki said suddenly, low and intense.

The idea sounded ludicrous. "What could possibly make you think that I wouldn't tell you if something was wrong?" he snorted even as he carefully positioned himself.

"Experience."

Watanuki's heart slammed against his ribs, and he pushed down.

He bit his lip hard against the scream, the awful burning bringing tears to his eyes. It was the physical pain was all, nothing to do with that single back-handed word, no relation whatsoever with the thought that he was number umpteen on what, come to think of it, was probably a very long list indeed.

"Oi." Hands tightened their grip on his thighs, forcing him still.

"What." His voice sounded just a little weird, but maybe Doumeki wouldn't notice. Watanuki wasn't going to back out now, because he'd made the decision and was sticking to it, but he'd rather not be talking right now.

The hand that came up and tilted his face did not allow for much pretense, no matter how hard he tried to look away.

"Experience," Doumeki repeated, frowning, "with you not speaking up when you're not feeling well."

Watanuki tried to wrench his head away before the words had even registered, but he was in no position to escape.

"Nothing else, you idiot, how long do you think I'd waited for you?"

Oh.

Oh.

The epiphany hit him square in the chest, and took his breath away along with all the questions he hadn't even begun to find an answer to. All the how's and why's were swept off, leaving nothing in their wake but a single thundering question that tied everything together.

How long have you been in love with me?

Here he was, naked and kneeling, just about to be fucked by a man who could break him in half simply by not being in the right place at the right time, heat flushing uncontrollably through his body-

And he's never felt so powerful in his life.

He really didn't want Doumeki to see his face right now, because instead of rightfully smug the revelation made him humble, shaken by the responsibility he hadn't known was his. "It's none of my business anyway," he breathed shakily. There was no gloating to be done here, and when he bent down to press a kiss on Doumeki's lips it was soft, sweet, tender.

He accepted the offering. He accepted everything, really, because how could he not?

"Hn." Who else could manage to be both non-committal and this explicit in his opinion at the same time? "It's still true." And as Doumeki's tongue came to lick at his lips, Watanuki clenched his fists in the sheets against the dull ache and pressed down until he could go no further. By that point there was nothing chaste about their kissing anymore, and that was fine. Doumeki was moving under him, minute twists of his hips that made the feeling so much sharper, and that was fine too. More than fine, and anyway there were his hands too, roaming over his body; his lips speaking volumes on his skin without saying a word, and for a while Watanuki just relished in the moment.

But it wasn't enough. He wanted- it wasn't painful anymore, the position, but he was reasonably certain that there was more to this than -well- this. "Aren't you supposed to be moving?"

He shouldn't have talked, maybe, because it made Doumeki's mouth stop nuzzling his neck. "Like this? No, you are." The breath blew shivers down his back, but the words made the heat rush back over his skin. "Whenever you feel like it."

And so Watanuki did, cautiously, feeling the slide of every inch in and out of him, and eventually something changed. He still felt like a single wrong move could break him, but it felt good now, in a way he wouldn't have been able to describe even if had occurred to him to try.

There was something building up in his chest, like tears and laughter and sheer joy, and the only concern he had was that his legs might give out too soon.

The moment he formed that thought Doumeki twisted under him, bent his legs, propped himself up on his elbows, deepening the penetration and making Watanuki fall against his chest in one move.

He gave in, threw his arms easily around Doumeki's shoulders for leverage. "Aren't you supposed to be moving?"

He got what he asked for almost before asking, shallow thrusts and moans stifled against his neck as his cock was stroked between their stomachs.

And then Doumeki hit something inside and Watanuki's mouth opened on a silent gasp as he froze mid-thrust, the intensity of it overwhelming him for a moment.

"Something wrong?" Doumeki's voice was strained like he had to force the words through, but he'd stopped moving almost as soon as Watanuki had, and this wasn't acceptable at all.

"No," Watanuki ground out, pushing himself down again, harder, to get more of that sensation. "Fine. Move."

At least he didn't need telling twice, even had the initiative to sneak a hand between them, wrap his hand loose around Watanuki's cock. His hand was warm and sure and moved in rhythm with them, harder and harder until they were both moaning continuously, rocking against each other despite the precarious balance until Doumeki tensed with a frustrated groan, his head rolling back.

Watanuki moaned in dismay, but the break lasted little more than a few seconds before Doumeki was stroking him again, a little too tight and a little too fast and a little too desperate, and ultimately perfect.

He was left boneless and panting, held up only by the arms wrapped around him, strong and safe but trembling all the same.

"Look."

Moving was not a happy thing to do, but Watanuki followed the instruction anyway and glanced at the window.

The sun was rising.

"Nice," he conceded, slipping his glasses on to gaze at the changing colors, mellow and contented.

He was about to doze off when Doumeki moved, rolling him off completely to remove the condom. "You alright?" he flung not quite casually.

"Hmmm." Here were the suspicions again, not quite doubts but questions that couldn't find an answer by themselves. "You're…-" to say Watanuki was extremely reluctant to admit this would have been a gross understatement. "Surprisingly proficient. At this stuff." For someone with no experience.

He left the not-question hanging, staring determinedly at the window. There was a brief exhalation that from anyone else would have been a sigh, some more fumbling in the mystery overnight bag, and then something was pressed in Watanuki's hand.

He opened the booklet suspiciously.

"That's Haruka-san's writing." That much was easy enough to recognize. Considering the source, nothing else was.

"I found it in the library two months ago." He didn't explain which library he was talking about - there really was no need.

"What were you doing there?" For all the wonders Yuuko claimed it held, the temple's library was chock-full of old myths and superstitions, of knowledge forgotten and fundamentally useless to the average teenager.

"I go there to read when I can't sleep."

It was said so easily, so casually that for a moment the only implication that sunk in was that Doumeki had a habit of reading up on things that had one chance in a million of ever becoming useful, just because-

And then his eyes widened and his mouth felt a little dry and he leaned back against Doumeki's chest, momentarily unable to come up with a proper retort.

Because two months ago was when they'd stood face to face, looking in each other's eyes for twenty agonizing seconds before Doumeki had moved closer so, so carefully. Two months ago was when Watanuki had freaked and turned away and run.

Two months ago was when, having spent the night exhausting the reasons why he didn't like Doumeki at all and certainly not in a way that could possibly have justified the way his heart had been beating at that moment, Watanuki had gathered all his courage to drop by the temple and found Doumeki sweeping the path as usual, precise and handsome and humiliatingly matter-of-fact.

"You couldn't sleep," he said through an indomitable grin.

"It happens," Doumeki answered with no embarrassment whatsoever, snaking a hand around Watanuki's waist to point at the book. "I found this in another secret compartment."

Watanuki turned the page, and found nothing he could understand there either. "I still can't read it."

"There are pictures," Doumeki said against his hair, and Watanuki was pretty sure he was amused. There was something disturbing about that, but he flipped through the book anyway, and soon found a picture, drawn in the same artistic strokes as the calligraphy.

Watanuki slammed the booklet shut, his face burning in mortification.

"Haruka-san left you this?" he asked, breaking away from Doumeki's arms and wrapping the blanket closer around himself.

"Looks like it."

Doumeki still sounded like he was enjoying this immensely. Watanuki resented that a lot.

"Is there... you know. Are there... details?"

A hand sneaked under the blanket, which Watanuki slapped away before turning around in order to glare at Doumeki properly.

His face was as blank as ever, but he still looked and sounded like he was smiling.

"Only general advice. Your name isn't on it."

It was a very patronizing smile. But that was still a relief. The thought that Haruka-san had predicted, or even seen...

"There may have been a few covert references to early April blossoms."

Patronizing and smug.

Watanuki fell back on the bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. "The train is leaving in six hours," he groaned. "I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to the outdoor bath and drowning myself."

"Okay."

What was it that came after patronizing?

"And at no point are you and I going to be in the same place at the same time until it's time to go to the station."

"I'm going to stay here and sleep a little," Doumeki told him, as if it was of any interest.

"Now you can sleep." he growled. "You're such a smug bastard, Shizuka."

This time the smile was neither smug nor patronizing; moreover, it was really there.

Chapter Text

As far as he could remember, Watanuki had always been slightly disoriented upon waking. No matter where he was in his sleeping cycle, there was always a moment when he opened his eyes of who am I, where am I, what time is it?

Lately, he'd had to add am I really awake to the list of questions. The answer wasn't always obvious, but sometimes it was easy enough.

When he could see perfectly without his glasses and found the smell of smoke rather pleasant, Watanuki knew where he stood.

"Good evening, Watanuki-kun."

"Haruka-san."

This had happened often enough that the greeting came easily, but something seemed slightly off this time, and Watanuki had no idea what it was.

Doumeki's grandfather turned to face him, exhaling slowly. Plumes of smoke wrapped around Watanuki like old friends, and he almost missed the look he was given.

Almost. And suddenly, Haruka-san's smile was not warm and reassuring anymore - suddenly, it looked a lot like his grandson's smirk.

"You look... different," he said, with hardly more than a hint of suggestion.

It was more than enough to bring proof positive that being a pure spirit did not in any way prevent one from blushing beet red.

The memory of Yuuko's excessively evocative delivery of the same line didn't help, although dealing with her had been easy enough. All Watanuki had had to do was threaten to hold the sake and beat a strategic retreat to the kitchen before she could retaliate.

Here in the dream there was no escape, and Haruka-san's easy smile was turning out to be a lot more insidious than Yuuko-san's grins.

"Ah, what do you mean, Haruka-san?" he managed to stutter, and realized the instant he'd said it that playing innocent with Doumeki only ever made him say things straight out, and the shameless bastard must have learned that from someone.

The smile gained an indulgent quality, and there was no answer. No direct one, anyway. "How was your little excursion, Watanuki-kun? Did Shizuka treat you well?"

He was like a lion, Watanuki decided. A great big beast that looked cuddly and slept a lot, that smiled and smoked and plotted, all in the wait for that one moment when their prey showed a sign of weakness that they could take advantage of to pounce.

"I- He- It's not-" But he'd never been able to tell Haruka-san anything but the truth, even if he had to bow his head and stare at his own feet as he did. "Yes," he admitted, defeated. "Yes, he does." Which did not by any means stop him from being a self-serving, perverted bastard.

One with sure hands and strong arms and the voice and eyes to break a thousand girls' hearts, which did not really play in his favor either.

"Very good," Haruka-san congratulated him. Or possibly himself. "You can tell my grandson I am proud of him."

"Um." No, no he really couldn't.

They lapsed in silence after that, and Watanuki found himself wishing to wake up, or at least for Haruka-san to warn him against another death threat. Anything would have been better than this charged silence.

"Is something troubling you, Watanuki-kun?"

Alright, not anything.

"It's not important," he said, skirting the line between creative interpretation and outright lie.

"Is it not? Whatever it is, it seems to be weighing on your mind."

Watanuki glanced at him and sighed. If there was anyone he could talk to about these nagging doubts...

"Is it true that everything is foretold?" he asked softly, staring back at his feet.

It was hardly a relief that even Haruka-san seemed to hesitate at that. "For a given value of true," he answered cautiously. "Do you have something specific in mind?"

Watanuki almost snorted. How could he not, after the weight of the revelation he'd had that morning?

"Dou-" he swallowed and tried again. "Shizuka and I, we..." He didn't want to finish the thought, let alone the sentence. "I've been told that our destinies were linked. By a lot of people," he finished lamely.

Haruka-san sat by his side and took a long, dramatic drag of his cigarette before speaking. "One does not always choose one's travelling companions. But every choice made on the journey leads to the final destination. How could it be otherwise?"

It took Watanuki a moment to keep up with the metaphor. "But if I'm on a train to Osaka, it doesn't matter if I eat chocolate bars or onigiri. I'm still going to end up in the same place."

The man's smile turned indulgent. "Perhaps in your eyes it will be different."

Watanuki took the time to ponder this, to enlarge the idea to more than a trivial example. Still...

"But you left him that book."

"Shizuka was always to be the depository of the knowledge I've acquired in my life."

So answering a question without, in fact, answering the question, appeared to be a family talent.

"But it was about me," Watanuki protested, agitated. "Predictions and diagrams and- and April blossoms!"

Haruka-san entirely failed to look fazed. "Other things as well. Birds, butterflies, chrysanthemums."

Something like horror struck Watanuki. The codes were too easy, too transparent, and the mental images... he shook his head to push them away. "He never mentioned any of that," he admitted, feeling like something was caught in his throat.

Haruka-san turned to him, smiling gently. "Interpretation is a part of fortune-telling. By themselves, even the clearest of signs are meaningless."

"So it meant nothing."

"It meant confidence." Haruka-san paused, and let it stretch longer than Watanuki felt necessary. "As a child, Shizuka did not take well to not succeeding at things he felt strongly about."

Watanuki blinked, and opened his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom in the shop with a wide, triumphant grin on his face.

It had been worth it. The frustration, the fear, the embarrassment, it had all been worth it for that single piece of information.

Doumeki Shizuka had performance anxiety.

He would never live it down.