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the time that is given

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Yato was enticed out of foggy half-remembered dreams by the scent of sakura blossoms and thundershowers, and a warm heavy weight against his back.

“Bishamon—” he muttered, opening his eyes a crack and spitting out a mouthful of sunshine blonde hair.

Everything hurt, but it was a dull pulsing ache, easily ignored and without the sting of fresh blight, and he was lying on fresh sheets with the early morning sun streaming through the open window and the god of war curled up next to him in bed, her face tucked into the joint between his neck and shoulder.

“She’s been awake these past few nights tending to you.”


He barely felt the shinki squeeze his hand through the layers of bandages but when he turned his head there he sat. His hair rumpled, and his tie loosened.

“You almost lost the foot to blight,” he said, squeezing his hand tighter, “We were afraid we’d lose you to the blight a few times. But you’re a fighter.”

“S’all I’m good for,” agreed Yato, coughing to try and clear his throat, “Yukine?” 

“He’s fine, in better condition than you certainly, and being doted on by the clan,” Kazuma smiled, “Everybody is in awe of the way he cut through the Pacification Ring, you chose well.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t take all the credit, little snowflake told me he was gonna ask you for lessons, looks like he learned something.”

“I’m glad,” said Kazuma, sighing sharply and letting his head drop so that Yato’s knuckles rested against his brow, “I’m glad.”

“Kazuma…” breathed Yato, “You—”

“You know,” Kazuma interrupted, his voice hitching, “Obligation only takes you so far, and gratitude wears thin with time. Love is different, loyalty and admiration. Those things linger and even grow stronger with time and familiarity.”


“Just let me—I don’t think we realized just how little time we might have with you until we almost lost you.”

“What is this?” said Yato, mustering up a sad smile and a feeble chuckle, “Some sort of shitty love confession.”

“Maybe. Yes. I don’t—”

“You are mine now, Yatogami,” murmured Bishamon nudging her nose more firmly into his neck, “Mine to kill and mine to keep safe, as you’ve kept me safe. I’ll not relinquish you so easily.”

“Eh, you—”

She scraped her teeth across the tendon of his neck with a warning grumble that sent an inappropriate shiver racing through him.

“Sleep, Yato. Kazuma you too, we deserve the chance to rest and the bed is big enough for three,” she mumbled cracking one violet eye a slit, just to watch Kazuma flush from ears to neck.

“Says you, bed hog,” groaned Yato, even as he shifted slightly, making room for Kazuma.

“Veena,” he scolded, “Yato is resting, we shouldn’t—”

Yato felt Bishamon’s mouth curve into a self-satisfied smile against his neck, as he dragged her exemplar into their bed and she looped one long leg over both their hips to keep him there.

“Sleep,” she ordered. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”