#that it's almost like a death of their self to satoru. his golden student. his beloved. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enna-of-the-stars · 3 years

Text

This is Home: Chapter 2

If you missed the first chapter, click here

Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou Word Count: 5.1k Rating: General Audiences Summary: Natsume Takashi has never really had a place where he could settle down and call home, but that was before the Fujiwaras came along and bundled him away to a little town called Yatsuhara.

A ficlet about Natsume first moving in with the Fujiwaras and learning to break the habits that he's built over the years from constantly terrible relatives. Also, the Natsume Protection Squad develops instantly the moment Natsume walks into class. It just happens. That's it, there's no going back, the class just adopts him and Nishimura will fight anyone and everyone that will hurt Natsume.

CHAPTER TWO: Take Me Home

“Alright, alright, everyone settle down, settle down,” The teacher said. “We have a new transfer student today, so I hope everyone will welcome him.” And with that, the teacher nods at the twig-like figure hovering indiscriminately by the blackboard. Natsume’s hands are wrapped around his midsection, as he releases one to pick up a piece of chalk. His hands are weak and they shake slightly as Natsume slowly and carefully scratches out his name somewhere in the corner of the blackboard, taking up as little space as possible, while still making it readable just in case the teacher gets mad, because previous teachers have. The room is silent, and he can feel the piercing stares of the class honing in on every move he makes. Their stares bore deep holes within him and Natsume can sense the rising anticipation for his name to be released to the throngs of interested and curious students. When he finishes writing, there’s a collective breath as the whole class seems to relax suddenly. The constant frenzy of stares almost, almost disappear and Natsume can breath again.

“Alright, Natsume-kun, why don’t you introduce yourself?” The teacher’s voice cuts into the thick silence without much resistance. Natsume’s voice is just the opposite, slow, both methodical and heavy so that the silence fills where he pushes in every moment he pauses. The broken padlock and the stray fragments of rope have begun to creak. The lock clicks and clicks, it’s close to closing. The rope slithers up and around, reforming as it goes. But neither fully finish resettling.

“My name is Natsume Takashi, nice to meet you.” He deliberately ends it there. No use in continuing if everyone’s already dead set on believing the rumours that always hurry into a room before him. And it’s painfully obvious Natsume’s prediction is right; the moment he ends, the classroom erupts into a buzz and people are eyeing him just like they have always done. They whisper and collude, shifty gazes turning from stares into death threatening glares at the equally shifting Natsume. No matter how many times he goes through this, it still hurts. It hurts to see people like this, people that should have at least tried to welcome him, instantly throwing him aside and believing the rumors instead. It’s dark and full of shadows and the classroom seems dim. They don’t know him and they never will, he’s just that kid that no one wants.

“Well then,” The teacher’s voice once again cuts through the room, slicing the tension in two. “Natsume-kun, why don’t you sit over there, in the empty seat in front of Nishimura-kun.”

“E-eh?!” Nishimura sort of starts, snapping out of his daydreaming; everyone knew he had been napping, not daydreaming. But it’s too late, Nishimura has already over tipped the balance of his chair and yes, it seems gravity had a bone to pick with Nishimura as he flails, arms shooting up and out and waving all around before he falls, hard. The next thing he knows, the room is erupting in laughter at Nishimura, who in turn turns beet red and sputters as he sits up and meekly shuffles back into his seat. Even the teacher snorts, holding back chuckles as the entire class hysterically laughs. Natsume blinks, all the tension in the room is gone and no one seems to be staring anymore, instead they’re all laughing at, no, with Nishimura, who can’t help but sheepishly laugh along with them, mouth apologies, to which the teacher acknowledges whilst in the midst of laughing.

“Alright, alright, everyone back in your seats,” The teacher eventually cuts in, a kind smile already adorning his face. “Natsume-kun, why don’t you head to your desk now that we all know Nishimura-kun is back with us in the realm of the living.”

Hesitantly, Natsume nods and makes his way through the desks; people are still poking fun at Nishimura, so most of the class pays Natsume no mind. In fact, Nishimura’s little fall seems to have dusted away any tension that room had previously, and with the sun peaking through the windows just right, Natsume’s hunched shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. People may not have been the most welcoming, but that was to be expected; it’s obvious that they aren’t exactly cruel, not like before, so Natsume isn’t as afraid this time, less wary, to let a minuscule smile ever so slightly slip out as he makes his way to his new desk.

It’s nice honestly, the day is soft, wisps of air blow gently across the courtyard of the school. The sky is mostly a brilliant sapphire, clouds of pearl providing sporadic shade. The sun is gold, as it always is, shimmering and glittering and filtering its way into the classroom so that every desk is illuminated a golden yellow. The class seems small, but it’s better this way, better than anything the cities had ever been able to offer. The tension that had drifted away didn’t melt back in, and almost every classmate was chattering quietly, just under their breaths. But it wasn’t criticism, it wasn’t gossip, just simple curiosity and it suddenly hits him like a sack of bricks. I was wrong, Natsume thinks. The class hadn’t been like the others, the buzz that Natsume had originally perceived as gossip and scorn was actually just been that same curiosity that echoes now. They had heard the rumors, everyone knows them, but these people weren’t judging him. They were simply analyzing him, what his like were, where he’s been, what he’s actually like. And this, Nishimura kid, the one that sits behind Natsume, he’s no different either. Natsume would later know that Nishimura was not an analytical person in the slightest, at least not when it came to school. But looking down now, just before he sits down, Natsume sees a kind smile from Nishimura, who lifts a hand to wave hello.

“Sorry ‘bout that, I’m Nishimura Satoru by the way.” Nishimura smiles wider at Natsume’s slight nod. Soft spoken, and ever gentle, Natsume replies, forgetting the rope and realizing with surprise that it’s gone far, far away.

“Hello, Nishimura.”

The class is quiet after that, and when the break comes, Natsume silently falls asleep, too tired from the anxiety and fear that comes with moving to a new school, but for some reason feeling safe enough to rest, even if for just a few moments. Everyone notably quiets down when they see Natsume put his head in his arms and onto the desk.

“I-is he sleeping?” Someone whispers.

“I think so?”

“Should we wake him up?”

“Yeah, maybe? Break’s almost over soon.”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” A voice suddenly breaks in. Sasada hastily grabs Nishimura by the

crook of his arm. “You idiot! Natsume-kun is obviously tired! Let’s give him a few more minutes, the bell isn’t going to ring until ten after all.”

By the time the teacher comes strolling back in, everyone is in their respective seats. Natsume is still asleep at his desk, no one wanting to truly awaken him even as the bell signaling the end of break rings. They tried, but to their surprise, Natsume merely stirred slightly, face coming into view of the soon to be noon sun. When Nishimura saw the dark circles under Natsume’s eyes, he refused to let anyone else try to wake Natsume up.

“No, I understand what you’re trying to say, Nishimura, but have to wake him up! Class is about to start soon.” Sasada said.

“Your the one that said to give him some time, and besides, look at him! He’s exhausted. Come on, Sasada, you’re the class rep if you just explain things to the teach, it’ll be fine.” Nishimura retorted.

Sasada huffed and crossed her arms. Truthfully, she didn’t want to wake up the new transfer student either, he did look really tired after all. But at the same time, as class representative, it was her duty to help ensure a good working environment in the room, and with Natsume sleeping like this, it wouldn’t do any good for the work ethic she wanted to instill in her class. Yet, something inside her said screw that. She turned around and stalked out of the classroom to the teacher’s lounge, but not before glaring down Nishimura and sticking her tongue out at him.

“Geez, don’t hafta be so mean.” Nishimura said as he turns back around to sit in his seat. The rest of the class does the same as the late bell starts ringing and Sasada comes back with the teacher. The lecture starts with no discourse, and Natsume is allowed to sleep on as student after student slowly quiets down; something about Natsume makes all of them want to indulge him just a little, even if they have only just met. As the periods come and go, Natsume doesn’t wake up until lunch comes around. He slowly shifts and sits up, rubbing his right eye lightly and squinting at the sudden adjustment to sunlight. Ethereal, his pupils glitter gold and widen briefly before turning to cat like slits, giving rise to such a bright hazel that they look exactly like liquid amber. Students’ conversations sort of drop off, as they watched Natsume blearily rub his eye. Some other student, who Natsume would soon know as his friend Kitamoto, also stopped in his conversation with Nishimura. The two couldn’t help but stare; Natsume was lighting up the whole room with his gentle glow.

Natsume looks around, once again aware of the stares, which hastenly fall away when he looks at them. Self-consciously, Natsume grabs his bag and heads out the door, quickly shutting it behind him and fast walking away from the classroom. He shifts around, unsure of the school layout as other students that had filtered out from their own classrooms for lunch curiously looked at the new transfer.

There were too many eyes, too many people, not enough space. Natsume’s chest tightened as the reeling stares closed in on him and the air sizzled as he felt the burn of a flush threatening and licking fire onto his ears. The quiet voices grew louder and louder, echoing further and higher. There’s a buzz in the air just like before. Natsume can feel the world disappear as the air burns cold then hot then everything is gone and he runs. And he runs, and runs, and runs and runs and runs runs runs runs—

Gasping for breath, Natsume drops to his knees and falls to the wall standing tall to his right. The world is spinning in dizzy, maddeningly warping drifts. Spot are in his vision as they flicker in and out and the rush fills his head, roaring and screaming for him to find safety and there’s nothing but the roar, the gush, the sound and it won’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop. Natsume clutches at his chest and desperately heaves a moment too soon as he drops to the ground, hoping somehow, that his lungs would work and the air would work and god why won’t anything work ? And it doesn’t and everything burns brilliant and painful as the world shimmers in and out of existence. The bubbles have come back. It’s foamy and watery and there’s nothing but a waterfall overflowing and drowning. Moments pass, who knows how long; eventually the torrent of water stops and the world comes into focus again, but it’s still incomprehensibly shaky. Everything wobbles and wavers as Natsume struggles to stand, leaning heavily onto the wall, using it as a support.

Slowly, but surely, Natsume shuffles along, one hand maintaining its steadying position against the wall. The sun is still high in the air and the sound of other students laughing and talking still comes around from the corners and falls down from above. At least it’s still lunch... I think… Natsume shakes head in an attempt to force the world to focus, and thankfully, it does—the walls straighten, the ground flattens, and the rustling of the tree leaves finally comes into the forefront—and Natsume plods along. Other students have begun to round the corner and their voices drop at the sight of the transfer student. And god is the silence louder than anything Natsume has ever heard before. It screams and screams. He turns around and gives them a quick once over, before bolting, hoping, praying, that nothing would tilt and give way when he needed it the most. One corner after the other, gravel after concrete, and eventually Natsume finds the perfect corner. It’s secluded, impossibly drowning in the concrete walls that loom up above. A few trees surround it, providing shade, but most importantly, safety. No one can see Natsume from above. The concrete practically encloses everything in a shell, a protective cocoon that even if someone comes near the corner they would have to really look in order to see anything. It’s a small pothole really, but it’s more than enough for Natsume, he’s hidden in smaller before. This could be considered one of the roomier corners.

Natsume slips off his bag and sets it ever so gently down onto the cold ground. He leans against the wall, closing his eyes, relishing in not silence, but peaceful quiet. There’s no one around, no one to judge, no one to hurt him. He’s safe, protected, gone. Unconsciously, Natsume slides downwards, landing on the ground in a pile of twig limbs. A clink forces him to open his eyes.

Looking down, next to his foot, is the same school bag Natsume’s been using for the past few years. It’s worn, it’s old and most certainly out of style, but it’s stayed with him through all this time. He can’t remember where he got the bag, whether it was a gift or not, but either way it was the only thing he could call anywhere close to home. It was his constant throughout life; this bag was the only thing that he could count on, with its heavy strap digging into his shoulder reassuringly, reminding him it was there even after all the families that had thrown him away, all the people that had called him a liar, a thief, a problem child. This bag, with small embroidery on the tag inside with his name, “Natsume Takashi,'' was the only thing that reassured Natsume. Perhaps it was his mother that had made it all those years, before Natsume had even been born, preparing for him to enter middle school, or perhaps it was his father maybe? He can’t remember, not after everything. The rising panic settles in, can he even remember his father’s face? His mother… who was his mother again? She died before Natsume was old enough to learn her face, her voice. But his father… that voice was the only thing Natsume could remember, and even then it was hazy, barely there. The only thing that remained were the voices of those things that followed Natsume, those people that hurt him, that had him then tossed him away, passed him along to another to suffer with.

The tides return and the waterfall gushes and flows. Natsume gasps for air and clamps both hands over his ears and curls up into a ball; the roar comes back and fills his head drowning out all noise. It’s loud, it’s painful, but it’s everything Natsume’s ever known, and eventually it stops, just like it always had. The world flickers back. Wary, Natsume breathes heavily for a bit, letting the mostly warm summer air filter in and out, warming up his freezing fingers and allowing a warmth to blossom his chest. With shaky hands, he weakly pulls at the strap of the bag lying next to him and opens it. Inside, unbelievably, is a bento Touko had pushed into his hands that morning. It’s wrapped in a colourful cloth decorated in simple white dots on a baby blue background. A bow is neatly tied at the top, holding it all together.

Natsume unwraps the bento with unsteady hands and is immediately surrounded by a heavenly smell. When he opens it with a soft snap of plastic, the fluffy aromas cascade and envelope Natsume in a gentle hug. Tamagoyaki, rice, leafy greens, and perfectly grilled salmon fill the bento, giving color and vibrancy that reminded Natsume of the welcoming lunch that he, Shigeru, and Touko shared together. Carefully, Natsume uses his chopsticks to separate a small piece off of the salmon and lifts it to his mouth. The moment he bites down, the crisp outer shell of the salmon gives way with a soft crunch, revealing the warm insides of tender meat. The tamagoyaki is soft, sweet and unlike anything that Natsume’s had before. None of his relatives had ever done this, making him breakfast where, Natsume wonders, Is this what love tastes like? Every bite is a treasure trove, perfect in every which way, golden and tender and full of the time and love that Natsume wonders if he was dreaming. What if all of this was just some cruel joke? The Fuijwaras were too nice, nicer than anyone had ever been to Natsume, too much like the dreams of family that he desperately wanted. What if they were just yokai, playing around with a stupid human child naive enough to truly believe what was happening around him. What if the Fujiwaras weren’t huma—

“Stop it.” Natsume growls out to himself. “Stop it. They’re real. Touko-san and Shigeru-san are real! They have to be real.”

A breath, and Natsume closes the bento. Even if the Fujiwara weren’t real, the food at least is and he has to save it. The Fujiwaras are nice now, but… so was Satanoka-san too, in the beginning. He can’t risk it. If there wasn’t any food anymore, the rest of the bento would at least tide him over just long enough so that Natsume could survive. Bits and pieces here and there would be enough. It was enough in the past, it will be now. So carefully, Natsume wraps up the bento, tucking it away safely into his bag. He swings the bag over his head and onto his shoulder, readjusting it like he had always done before, a habit, he realizes. Natsume looks up at the clear sapphire sky, the soft clouds rolling evenly, regularly over the wind’s waves and grabs at the strap of his bag once more as he methodically returns to the classroom, a few wrong turns here and there because the school was too new..

The bell rings as Natsume sits back down at his desk. The class settles as the teacher walks in, a different one this time, one Natsume doesn’t recognize. The lesson starts and Natsume swallows, he’s missed too many days in the past; the black board is full of incomprehensible math and everyone else seems to understand what’s going on. Natsume sets to copying what’s on the board. It’s okay, he thinks, I can figure it out. I have to. That’s when he realizes, all the periods before lunch had disappeared in a flash, and he had been sleeping the whole time, which could only mean one thing, the teacher was mad. They always get mad when he falls asleep in class. Always. So Natsume waits, hunching over, trying to make himself seem as small as possible. The earth could open up beneath him right now, and Natsume would gladly let it. Anything was better than getting yelled at.

But the cruel words never come, instead, the lecture merely continues. Natsume hunches further down, tension released from his shoulders, exhaustion overwhelming him all of a sudden. And it's as if he was Atlas, carrying the world on his shoulders, because Natsume can’t keep his eyes open, let alone sit up in his chair. The world is looming, it’s heavy, overpowering him until there’s nothing but darkness and silence.

“Wait, Kitamoto, lemme wake up Natsume first, before we go.” Nishimura said.

“Who?” Kitamoto replies from just outside the classroom door. He had just peeked into the room to find Nishimura.

“Oh, right, the new transfer student.” Nishimura said, pointing at Natsume’s sleeping figure leaning over the desk top. Kitamoto merely raises an eyebrow. “Just give me a sec, Kitamoto.”

Gently, Nishimura taps Natsume’s shoulder. And like a whirlwind destroying all that’s in its path, Natsume snaps awake in a flurry of motion, instinctively shying away from the hand that woke him up and consequently falling out of his chair. Nishimura falls back too, shocked at the sudden movement. Kitamoto surges forward to catch Nishimura and the two fall against each other, back to chest. Natsume scrambles up, a crazed look in his eyes as he stares first at Nishimura, then Kitamoto. His eyes dart back and forth between the two, chest heaving, gasping for air. A certain urgency flashes through Kitamoto and he wraps an arm around Nishimura’s middle and hauls him out of the classroom, almost carrying the severely protesting boy.

“Wait! Kitamoto what are you doing?!” Nishimura exclaims, kicking all the while being quite literally man handled into leaving the room. “Wait, Acchan! You can’t just—ack!”

With a lurch, Kitamoto practically throws the two of them down the stairs and away; he continues hauling the flailing Nishimura until they’re out of the school and far, far away from Natsume.

Natsume blinks rapidly before sliding down onto the floor, chest stuttering and breath disappearing, some spirit had ripped it from him, Natsume reasoned. Why else would he be so scared? But then again... I can’t believe I thought that Nishimura was a yokai… Natsume thought, before bringing both hands up to rub his eyes. The next time he opens them, the light is dimming and fire burns in the twilight. It’s golden hour, clouds vibrant and molten, sky burning away into black. Something about it sets Natsume off edge, something’s wrong. Hesitantly, Natsume stands back up and grabs his bag, leaving through the front of the school. Something’s wrong, it’s the familiar feeling of stares again and every hair on the back of Natsume’s neck is standing up, and yet the school is empty, too empty. Natsume hurries back to the Fujiwara house, the road stretching far in front of him. The bend in the road is thankfully familiar and it almost settles the uneasy feeling burning in Natsume with the sunset. Until he sees a shadow looming over him. A warm breath breathes down his neck, chilling a terrifyingly close.

“Natsume Reiko! Return my name!”

Natsume whips around and falls to the ground; above him is a horned yokai with no eyes and a mouth from one side of its face to the other. It opens its mouth again.

“Return it!” The yokai screams, a void opening where the mouth is, large and gaping. It lunges forward, hands clawing at Natsume’s arms and legs. Adrenaline snapping, Natsume scrambles backwards before flipping around and bolted as fast as he can away from yokai. He trips and falls, landing on his hand and slamming on to his right knee. The gravel digs into his skin, cutting it open and forcing his blood to flow onto the sturdy fabric covering his knee. The world tilts in confusing ways and Natsume runs, faster and faster until everything is just a blur, invisible to the eye. I can’t! I have to—I have to find a shrine, Natsume’s thoughts run. Shrines had always protected him before, so this time, maybe this time it would work too. So Natsume runs and runs and runs, until the world darkens and there’s nothing but him and the warm breath breathing down his neck every time he turns around.

Into the forest, over the roots and through the leaves, Natsume sees a glimpse of a staircase and staggers towards it. His lungs are burning and eating away at the precious oxygen supply that he has. Each step sends fire up his leg and into his chest, each grab of a tree trunk or root sends lava to his heart. Nothing matters except those stairs, The stairs, have to… stairs. Natsume breaks sharply to the right, the yokai following him. Up and up and up Natsume pounds along the stone stairs until with no breath left in him, he reaches a torii gate. And the moment he passes through, the yokai screams again, but proceeds no further, because it can’t. So Natsume falls to the floor on his back, his own lungs screaming for air, and the world tilting and swirling above him as he watches, strange for the season, perfect pink blossoms dancing on the air as waves crash and break about him. He closes his eyes.

A gentle touch awakens him. Natsume sits up, wincing at the sharp jabs of pain racing from his hand and knee, but then freezes at the sight before him. Lights, golden and shimmering float up and down, dipping with each lull of an invisible wave. The touch that had awoken Natsume was one of those gentle drops of yellow landing on his nose. It flew away the moment he sat up, but it lingered, drifting around Natsume before joining the sea of lights. They surround him, seemingly trying to lead him somewhere, so Natsume follows, mesmerized by the glowing faint warmth of all the lights sailing beside, above, and around him; feeling safer than he’s been before, Natsume understands no urgency. The lights bob up and down, fluttering faster and further every time he gets close enough, leading him on until just at the crest of the hill, an abandoned shrine, long lost to the echoes of time, stands firm despite its age.

The sun is long gone, settling down for the night and the sky is still that dusty black right at the end of twilight. Ink drenched shadows curl over the steps and Natsume takes a seat at the back of the shrine. The little lights flicker and bloom and settle. One moment they glisten and glow along the treetops, lighting up the flower blossoms, casting yellow rim lights; the next moment they twirl and dance downside up from staircase to tree and finally to Natsume, landing peacefully into his palm. Breathtaking and beautiful, the sky darkens into a velvet black and the world refocuses. There’s only the light of the fireflies and the smell of the blossoms. Natsume breathes in, letting his lungs finally, peacefully, take in the air that was robbed from it so long ago. By the time he’s breathed his fill and looks up, the stars have awoken, winking back at Natsume from the far off distance engulfed in space.

And it’s only now, does Natsume finally recognize the meaning of the dark. It’s too late, far too late. He should’ve been back at the Fujiwara house by now, but he’s not and suddenly, the panic settles back into his chest. It grabs at his arms, his chest, clutching tight and forcing the air out of him as it snakes its way around his neck and tightens impossibly. A noose. The world falls again and flickers. In and out. In and out. It’s too cold, too cold. The buzz is back and rings in his ears infinitely loud and obnoxiously drowning drowning drowning—

“Takashi!”

The flood stops and Natsume finds his footing, coming to the surface for the first gulp of air in who knows how long. He gasps and sputters as a figure comes rounding the corner. Natsume whips around and stares at the dark figure, overshadowed by the looming trees. But the lights around him start swirling and suddenly, Shigeru’s face comes into focus, illuminated under the glow of a thousand fireflies. A hand reaches for Natsume, patient and kind, waiting for him.

“There you are, Takashi. You gave us quite a fright you know?” Shigeru said, jokingly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Why don’t we go home before Touko-san cooks a feast for twelve.” He winks.

The water returns, but it’s no longer a waterfall of gushing drowning liquid, instead its softened. The small droplets simply dip low and fall with a quiet pit patter. Shigeru’s eyebrows knit together as he moves forward, gently sitting down next to Takashi. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it in silence when ever so slightly, Takashi moves closer. Shigeru’s eyes soften and he wraps his arm around the crying boy’s shoulders. They sit in not silence, but quiet. Takashi doesn’t let any tears fall with sound, but the warmth of an arm around his shoulders is enough to let the waterfall flow. And the lights continue to glow; small flickers flash and float.

“Takashi-kun!” Touko exclaims as both Shigeru and Takashi enter the house. Touko still has that apron on when she comes practically running into the genkan to greet the two. “You had me so worried! Thank you, Shigeru-san, for finding Takashi-kun and—Oh my! Takashi-kun, your hand!”

Shigeru frowns and carefully takes a look at Takashi’s hand, and only then does he see the true extent of the injuries. Bruised and battered, both hand and knee were scraped raw only just scabbing over. The cuts weren’t too deep, superficial at most, but the bruising would only get worse before it got better and even then, the open wounds still needed to be properly cleaned and patched up.

“O-oh, I’m sorry, Touko-san. It’s nothing, really!” Takashi answers, clenching his fist and turning it away from Touko in an effort to hide them away from her.

“Natsume Takashi!” Touko raises her voice a slight pitch and suddenly both Shigeru and Takashi are ramrod straight. “We’re going to patch you up,” She gives a pointed look to Shigeru before continuing. “And then all of us are going to enjoy a wonderful dinner!”

And with that, Touko whisks Takashi away, pulling him into the kitchen and sitting him down in his chair. She grabs a clean napkin, lightly wetting it before returning to Takashi and rolling his pants up past his knee, dabbing at the still bleeding cut. Shigeru on the other hand enters the room a moment later, a small innocuous white box in his hand. He sets it down on the dining table and starts pulling out antiseptic, gauze, and band aids. When Touko finishes, Shigeru sweeps in, patching Takashi up. The two work in easy unison and Takashi can feel the physical burn of love coming from the two of them. And like the fire bursting with sparks, the sting of newly cleaned wounds lights another spark in his heart.

He’s home.

click here for chapter one

#natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #natsume takashi #nishimura satoru #kitamoto atsushi #fujiwara touko #fujiwara shigeru #yokai mentioned #natsume protection squad #natsume's class loves him #fanfic_enna #Rainbows Only His Eyes Can See_series #series_enna

15 notes · View notes