Uses the same 'verse as 'Carrying a Torch', but you don't have to read that one first.

The rain had let up by the time Susabi arrived at the apartment block, dwindling to a spiteful, icy drizzle that flecked the streets. Water trickled off his suitcase handles. His umbrella hadn't been able to cover both him and all his luggage, and Susabi was grateful for the investment in water-resistant nylon. He had taken a combination of subway and taxi, with a liberal dose of walking on foot; the route was different each time, a course that wandered out of necessity rather than sightseeing, and he'd spent the last hour looping through various streets in the cold.

It wasn't always easy to find convenient netherworld rifts that could mask his arrival to the mortal world. Most of them were already under surveillance, and the ones that were fresh enough to be unmonitored also tended to be actively leaking hostile spirits, which Susabi could hardly turn a blind eye to. Though he had little concern for confronting an onmyōji, he had no need to stumble into a trap intended to catch weaker spirits; more importantly, he had no need for their curiosity, which would be a thousand times more lethal. Even if he had the protection of Takamagahara, the spirits around him did not.

He paused before turning down the final road to the apartments, risking a sweep of his senses through the area before giving a satisfied nod, and ducking his head against the chill.

It would be a relief to get out of the weather. His umbrella had shielded him from the worst of the storm, and his luggage had wheels to help trundle it along, but he'd still had to navigate around puddles and other pedestrians, across bumpy pavement and asphalt. And Ren - Ren liked to live above ground floor, as high up as he could go, so that he could still see the clouds through the netting of power lines and building signs. Even in the heart of a city, the yōkai instinctively gravitated towards the sky, towards being back on a mountaintop with nothing between him and the stars.

Susabi dutifully bumped the luggage up each flight of stairs, thinking darkly about the sensibilities of former wind gods each time his suitcases knocked painfully against his shins.

He juggled the key into the lock and pushed the door open without knocking first, wasting no time in getting inside so that he could toe off his shoes and slide the umbrella in the rack. A second one - blue, with a wave design around the rim - was already there, still dripping and damp. Ren must have only reached home a short time before he did; the rain had caught him too.

"You're still in your work clothes," Susabi remarked to the short-haired man who leaned his head around the corner from the kitchen, curious at the noise.

Ren made a shake of his head, stepping the rest of the way into view; a dishrag was in his hands, and he looked as if he had gone straight from the office to the sink. He'd remembered to pull off his coat and tie, at least, but he'd left everything else in place, and his shirt was just begging for a stray sauce spatter. "I started cooking as soon as I got home," he confirmed. "I wanted to make sure the vegetables had time to simmer. I haven't even had time to change."

"Here," Susabi said softly, trying and failing to hide a smile. "Let me help you out of it."

Ren matched his smile, ruefully, and set the towel aside as he obediently turned around, offering Susabi his back. Wasting no time, Susabi padded over the carpet and lifted his fingers through Ren's hair, combing through the thick, blunt locks. As he ran his fingers through the strands, the black color began to leech away, turning pale and white even as the hairs unspooled like a ripple of silk over his palms, flowing down over his wrists in a waterfall that reached to Ren's waist. Ren's ears lengthened into graceful points; his horns rose like branches, arching in their familiar curves until there was no trace of his human disguise left, and only a yōkai stood there, still neatly buttoned into a set of dress shirt and slacks.

Susabi leaned down, nuzzling the side of Ren's neck. "Should I help take off the rest?" he offered, unable to help from teasing.

"Then dinner would almost certainly be ruined," Ren answered, turning back around and blocking him with a finger against his lips. "Let me finish with the soup. Go ahead and unpack - and let your dragon out, I'm sure he's freezing in this weather."

True enough, Susabi's dragon blinked up at him balefully when he unzipped the luggage and pulled the shirts away from where it had nested. It flicked its forked out tongue at him, insolently tasting the air, and then slithered its weight out onto the floor, coiling itself into a dark spool by his feet.

"Serves you right for not turning small enough to be carried a pocket," he told it, and then got out of its way as it oriented itself and slithered back towards the main room.

Ren's dragon stirred as Susabi's wound its way up to the table where the large aquarium had been set; there was no need for a lid, not with creatures that were smart enough to undo one anyway. Trying to fit a dragon - let alone two - into the cramped confines of a Japanese apartment was an impossible task. Pet snakes, however, still required a permit and appropriate fees, but were at least within the constraints of urban zoning.

The black scales on Susabi's dragon gleamed like onyx as it crested the aquarium rim and peered down challengingly at Ren's dragon, which was coiled up smugly around its heat rock, giving no indications that it was planning to share.

Leaving the two to solve that particular argument on their own, Susabi continued to strip off the layers of his own human guise, shaking out his hair from its confines and letting his transformation melt away, shedding all pretense of mortality. The rain had seeped into his socks; he pulled them off in the same breath as he discarded the brown color of his eyes, abandoning the illusion and letting his bones remember their proper shape.

He switched his wet clothes with reserves from his first suitcase, sorting through the spare pants and shirts for his visit. All of them were basic, drawn from different shelves than when he visited the human realm on official business; around Ren, Susabi had no wish to be recognized as a creature of power, mortal or otherwise. As he fished for fresh socks, his hands came across the parcel that had been safely hidden among his undershirts - and he paused there, pulling it into view while he debated its importance.

It was a lightweight thing, folded down into a soft square and easy to overlook. Susabi's fingers lingered over the tissue paper it had been wrapped in, rubbing at the tiny creases that had amassed in transit.

"Are you ready?" he heard from the kitchen; he could smell the welcoming odors of miso and rice, rich with promise and flavor.

He tucked the package back safely beneath several pairs of shirts, drawing himself resolutely to his feet. "Coming."

They ate well, the steam of their meal trickling through the air. The conversation flowed easily between Ren's government work and gossip from Takamagahara, skimming over the usual patter of bureaucracy both mortal and divine that never seemed to change over the years. Hidden goals and plots always remained in fashion, even after shifting from battlefields to boardrooms. Power was trumpeted in the form of new taxation bills rather than conquered villages, but ambition remained eternally young.

Inevitably, however - as matters always did - the subject turned towards current affairs. It was inescapable: Ren would ask after Mushishi and Koroka, grateful for confirmation that the both of them were still safe in the remaining undeveloped forests west of Kyoto, and then for news of spirits that had been less lucky in the meantime.

"I wish we could take in more of them," Ren said again, after hearing the report of several lost dens of tanuki. "I am lucky to have your protection, Susabi. But I regret that we must turn away from other spirits in need."

"All the spirits out there need protection these days," Susabi countered, blunt and bitter. "Gods don't exist because of human belief - but humans can make this world so polluted that we can die alongside them. Mortals harvest everything they can from this earth, and spirits have simply become another resource for them to use. If anything, we're fortunate that so many of them don't believe in us anymore. If the onmyōji hadn't fallen from public favor, imagine how common it would be for spirits to be hunted down now. Imagine us being cultivated in mass farms. Imagine us being processed in factories."

Ren winced, his shoulders hunching instinctively at the thought: bloody and vicious and all too likely. "I know. I am glad, at least, that we can do what we can. I simply wish that we could help more, in some fashion."

Susabi found his gaze dropping; for all his criticisms, he admittedly felt the same. Every time they had reports of yet another binding or slaughter, or refugees fleeing across the country, he was reminded of how lucky he was in comparison. He had no worshippers to be concerned with; there were no earthly territories to protect. It was not a position he took for granted - and yet, he was loathe to strain his resources either, not when Ren's safety was forever uncertain.

"Enough of that," he announced, wanting suddenly to steer the conversation away from such a depressingly futile topic. He filled his cup of tea again, and took a bracing sip while it was still steaming hot. "I managed to take the entire week off from work this time. It pays to volunteer for extra duties during Kannazuki. All my responsibilities are parceled out to other gods for the time being. If anything new comes up, Miketsu has promised to handle it."

"She's grown to meet adversity well," Ren remarked, noncommittally, but Susabi could tell he was pleased by the faint color in his cheeks, the way the yōkai's eyes flicked briefly downwards as he hid his smile.

The urge rose in him to encourage it, to see delight flush Ren's face instead of sorrow. "I have your New Year's gift for you," he admitted impulsively, betraying every ounce of self-restraint he thought he'd mustered. "I wanted to bring it with me today, just in case I can't see you until afterwards. If you want, I can give it to you now - but it's only November. I won't have anything to surprise you with in December if you open it early."

"You're already a gift, Susabi," Ren laughed, breezing past the dilemma as if it held as little weight as a cobweb. He tilted his head, the ends of his hair whispering over the carpet as he considered Susabi with narrowed eyes, suddenly evaluating. "Or... perhaps you can offer something else instead tonight, in its place?"

"No, now I do want to show you," Susabi protested, suddenly unable to bear the anticipation of not knowing the yōkai's reaction - but Ren had slid aside the dishes and was leaning across the table, laughing, his mouth hungry as he sought out Susabi's lips. After that, there really was nothing left to do but allow Ren to come towards him the rest of the way and push him down against the carpet and take everything that the yōkai desired, slow and sweet and glad to have Susabi home.

They stirred eventually, when the floor reminded both of them that there were more comfortable options, and the night had already darkened the windows into blackness. Ren got up to put the rest of the food away and run the bath, leaving Susabi with the dishes; he rinsed and scraped them dutifully, setting them aside to soak overnight.

In the dusk of the main room, the dragons had compromised their battle for the heat rock by ending up in a giant pile of scales, sleeping peacefully in a tangle. The shadows blurred their colors, making it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, and Susabi turned off the kitchen lights, and went to do the same with Ren.

He woke up the next morning unwilling to move. Ren was sleeping heavy beside him, limbs slack with trust, soft against his body. The sun was already coming in through the blinds. It was a weekend, which meant that Ren didn't have work to attend to either; there was no task from either heaven or earth that needed them alert.

If it had been a different month, Susabi would have simply rolled over and gone back to sleep - or rolled over and placed kiss after kiss on Ren's skin, until he managed to wake the yōkai and pull Ren's warmth into his arms as he had so many times in the past, enjoying one another's pleasures for days until their dragons complained.

But then he remembered the gift in his luggage, and forced himself to get up with a groan, heading for the bathroom to wash up.

Breakfast was light, consisting of toast and fruit and green tea. The fruit had been split open and laid out along the outer rim of a plate, an amber circle of honey pooled in the center for dipping. Thick layers of jam had been spread over the toast, mixing with creamy butter. They sat together at Ren's small table in the middle of the main room, talking idly about errands to run over the next week, stealing slices of orange from each other's plates and licking juice off the other's fingers.

It was a simple breakfast - on the sweeter side, following Ren's tastes - and finished easily, with nothing too heavy on the stomach. It was simple, and yet more delicious than anything Susabi had ever tasted in Takamagahara, in all the centuries of his life.

Both dragons were staying in their snake forms, conserving heat; the apartment was too cramped for flight. It had been years since Susabi had even seen Ren's dragon as anything other than a snake. It had learned to take advantage of its current appearance all too quickly, he thought critically, particularly where naps were involved. Once, in the spirit of appearances, he had tried to buy it crickets to eat. Ren's dragon had eyed him with withering disdain and refused to touch any. The crickets had sung in the cage every night, all night. Ren had loved it; Susabi hadn't slept at all. He'd had to catch each one of them and release them to plague a suburb instead, and even then he'd had trouble falling asleep for days afterwards, braced and waiting for that chirping drone.

After breakfast, they tackled the contents of Susabi's second suitcase, which was heavy with everything he'd brought for Ren: cash, account renewals, and paperwork that would have required more legal proofs than the yōkai possessed. The bottom of the luggage had been lined with bricks of yen bills, all neatly withdrawn from various banks across the country and mingled together as a basic precaution. Susabi pulled back the plastic bags to unwrap them first, sectioning them out by month as he checked the right amounts.

Ren, watching him stack a ransom's worth of yen across the table with brisk efficiency, made a wry smile. "You always bring plenty of reserves."

"I always worry." Susabi dug the last wad of cash out of the bottom of the suitcase and lined it up along its cousins, making a barrier wall that stretched across the table's width. "Especially when I've been told that there's been heightened activity from the Minamotos near Nagano. Here," he announced, finding the thick envelopes he'd secured safely in one of the inner pockets, and slid Ren the document folders, still smelling of fresh ink.

It was already routine by now, repeated over the centuries ever since the disasters in Heian-kyo. Next year, Ren's current identity would politely quit his job and leave to join relatives in the countryside, never to be seen again; the yōkai would take another name and discard the old one forever. Some spirits took the risk of allowing their illusions to age, sticking with the same cover story for decades - but too many of them had also been caught over the years, complacent in the belief that they had fooled humanity enough to be safe. Grey hairs did nothing to disguise one's spiritual traces from onmyōji on the hunt. Years spent in the same home, the same workplace, the same life was just begging to have you summoned and bound one day by an onmyōji bright enough to have lifted your trail from the supermarkets you frequented and the bathhouses you used. He had no desire to find Ren imprisoned simply because the yōkai had bought a particular type of carrot at the same store each week.

Ren accepted the packets with a resigned expression. "Is it so soon already?" he asked, even as he was opening the fastenings of the first one and retrieving the papers inside, laying them out on the table like parts of a puzzle. Hangan's clean, precise penwork filled out each field exactly, with no overrunning space; each sheet could have been printed directly from a computer, with no distinctive calligraphy flourishes that might have identified the author.

"Seven years," Susabi confirmed. "We should make this your last winter here."

Pale fingers ran over the manila folders, tracing the edges. "I could stay, adjust the transformation - "

"No." Then, to gentle his refusal, Susabi shook his head. "Please, no. If even half the rumors of recent captures are true, then you're already taking a risk. If it were up to me, I'd have you on the other side of the country before the end of the year, where you would be safe."

"You mean, far away from any human beings," Ren clarified unrelentingly, his hands gone still on the table. The gold of his eyes had focused unwaveringly on Susabi. "Hidden in a mountain cave somewhere, never to see their cities or hear their voices again for as long as this world remains."

"Safe," Susabi repeated, aware of the impossible nature of his demand, and equally aware of its innate futility. "And even then, who knows how long it would be before you had humans hiking up the trail to find you, anyway."

His bitterness hung in the air like a haze of trapped smoke with nowhere left to escape, swirling and churning as it poisoned each breath - and it was this that Ren listened to, rather than the shape of Susabi's words. He reached out across the table, across the papers that bound him as surely as any summoning ward, and set his fingers on Susabi's wrist.

"Give me time," he said quietly, a promise that had been said for so many years that it, too, had become immortal. "We still can't give up hope yet."

Closing his eyes for a moment in gratitude that they had not argued - that Ren had known enough to perceive the source of Susabi's protectiveness - Susabi nodded, and set the matter aside. "Lady Enma continues to lend her assistance, so if anyone becomes suspicious of your identity, contact her people and she'll help. Hangan says he can keep you in the current Ministry for now - he's moving you to the Health and Welfare Bureau for the Elderly. There's a list of potential apartments at the end. Pick the one you like best, and I'll get the payments organized once you've settled on it."

They opened up the next bundle of papers together, spreading the skeleton for Ren's new identity further across the table, like anatomy dissected and categorized by body part: family registry, education history, test scores and job credentials. An unremarkable face, and no health concerns of note. Vaccinations all in order, along with financial records. Average, consistently so: plain in name and form, and just as easily dismissed.

Ren shook his new set of seals out from their padded envelopes, carefully examining the characters, and then lined them up in order of formality. "I think I'd look good with glasses for this next face," he mused wistfully. "Do you think I could get an identity with a longer haircut, too?"

"I could, if you insisted on anything other than civil service work," Susabi retorted, reaching out to doublecheck the names printed on each seal. He also missed Ren's hair; it felt strange every time he saw the yōkai's mortal guises, as if he had misplaced Ren permanently in the human world and now was simply fooling himself each time he called the yōkai's name. "We could set you up as an eccentric bookstore owner instead, peddling self-help texts."

The suggestion drew forth a disbelieving laugh. "I could be a secondhand appliance seller," Ren replied. "Promoting used rice cookers for discount prices."

"You could be a musician. No one would even question the snake, then."

Ren arched an eyebrow, resting his chin on his hand as he took up the challenge. "I could be a host club worker," he parried back smoothly, with a dangerous nonchalance that warned of mischief. "And help comfort dozens of patrons each night."

Not good. "A voice actor."

"Art school nude model."

"Coffeeshop owner."

This last one earned a smile from the yōkai, and Ren inclined his head towards Susabi, warmth softening his eyes. "And you could stop in and see me every day, just another harassed businessman on the way home from work," he offered lightly, only a hint of his true yearning showing through. "But any of those would stand out in people's minds, and make it more difficult to vanish discreetly. People remember that which is distinctive. I have no wish to jeopardize Koroka or Mushishi with my capture. Nor you," he acknowledged firmly, reaching out to trace his fingers over the back of Susabi's arm, a drifting touch that barely brushed his sleeve. "My whims are not so crucial that any of you must pay the price for them - as would happen, if I were careless."

There was no denial for that truth. Susabi caught Ren's fingers and pressed them against his lips in a kiss that was both an apology and gratitude, holding them there until he watched the tightness fade from Ren's eyes, and be replaced with calm.

He unpacked the rest of the supplies while Ren continued to study the details of his next life. These ones were far more immediate in application: fresh salt to purify the corners of his apartment, and gofu for the doors and windows. It wouldn't have been appropriate for either of them to set up a kamidana - Ren's apartment was a home shrine, for all purposes - but Susabi had brought in a fresh warding arrow instead to serve, and that would take care of most potential threats. Everything had been requested from and blessed by the gods of the local shrines; while Ren's powers would have been more than enough to ward away negative influences, they also would have radiated his signature like a beacon to any eager hunters. These wards were weaker, but they allowed Ren's apartment to blend in with its neighbors, huddled under a protective umbrella of identical energies.

Unpleasant compromises - but they all were, these days. An onmyōji would be throwing their souls away to try and leash an agent of Takamagahara against their will - but Ren, Ren could be bound. If the yōkai's life were claimed in contract, Susabi would obey the one who held its reins - right before he annihilated them for their trespass. But the damage that might be inflicted on Ren, in the meantime, could be irreversible.

There were too many yōkai who had suffered. Too many forced to act against their beliefs, their very natures twisted beyond recognition. All it would take would be one power-drunk master eager to test the limits of their control, and Ren's hands would be steeped in the guts of the same humans he had devoted his entire life towards protecting.

But trying to prevent one prison by placing Ren in one of his own making - that, Susabi could be equally guilty of. He found himself silent as he watched the yōkai start to memorize the details of the new life he'd have to act out, following cautionary rules he'd never asked for, restrictions that Susabi knew he would gladly disregard if he could.

Yet as Ren gathered up the papers back into order, false names sliding into place beneath his fingertips, the yōkai paused. "I don't truly need a different face," he admitted, which eased the clench of tension in Susabi's chest. "I am lucky that I can be myself at home, and there are other options to pursue if I start to feel lost. For all that I joke about it, there is great safety in being another unremarkable face in the crowd... never noticed, and easily forgotten by the end of the day."

Like constellations suddenly aligning into shapes instead of stars, Susabi pressed his thumbs into his temples as the realization blindsided him. "I'm an idiot," he realized, cursing himself for a horrifying lack of foresight. He'd been so caught up in the idea of his gift that he hadn't considered that it trespassed across the exact same precautions that he'd been lecturing Ren on. "I need to get you something different for the holidays. I was foolish enough to get you something to wear. Which means you can't actually use it for more than one identity, and then after that it's useless - "

"Let me see it," Ren insisted, halting his tirade with a touch to his arm. "Even if I only wear it once outside, it will be worth it."

Susabi wavered, pitting his last fragments of determination against Ren's expectant gaze. "All right," he said, willpower breaking completely at last, even as he was already standing up to fetch the gift from the other room. As much as he wanted to resist the temptation, it was impossible to not crave seeing Ren's reaction in person. He wanted to memorize each second of it and carry the memory back with him through all the cold weeks of winter, until he could return after the New Year and celebrate with Ren in person.

The scarf he had prepared was spun from cashmere, woven on the looms of Takamagahara itself. Susabi had insisted on using only earthbound materials for every part of its construction, from the fibers to the most basic components for the dyes; one of the weavers had agitated themselves into a nervous fit at the very thought of such substances touching their loom, and he'd had to promise to purify the equipment with his own hands afterwards. But such precautions were necessary. At the end, the scarf that had been produced could have still come from a mortal craftsman, and would not betray anything other than the quality of its making.

In that, the weavers had outdone themselves. The scarf was beautiful, softer than silk and warmer than wool. It had been patterned with blue and white and gold in loose swirls that resembled the winds playing with clouds on a summer day, dragging out pale tufts and allowing them to drift into mist. It had made Susabi think of Ren the instant that the weaver had offered it up, spreading it wide like a river of color pinned directly to the fabric - which is why he knew it was perfect.

He held his breath anyway as Ren methodically unwrapped the outer tissue, tearing as little of the paper as possible as he worked his way through the layers.

"Oh," was all the yōkai said as he finally got to the bottom and held the scarf up to the light, everything else forgotten as he, too, looked at the piece of the heavens caught between his hands. "Oh. Susabi."

"Happy holidays," Susabi said, a fragile hope coming through all his self-beration, because Ren was right: it was worth it.

They helped each other dress, fingers deftly tucking in shirts and smoothing down folds of clothing. There was no requirement for formality, but there was a ceremony about the trip anyway, as if they were both preparing for a night out at a kabuki play instead of a stroll in a shopping center. It was the first time he'd seen Ren in months, Susabi reasoned. Even if it hadn't been, each visit could never be taken for granted.

He watched as Ren coiled his hair back underneath its transformation, the locks darkening, truncating into a shorter cut that would have looked at home in any business office. His horns withered and vanished. After they disappeared, Susabi ran his fingers along the line of Ren's shirt collar, straightening it out even as Ren turned around and reached a hand up to fix Susabi's bangs.

The scarf was the last piece of all. After they had bundled on their heavy wool coats and gloves, Susabi took it back into his own hands, languidly looping it across Ren's shoulders and coiling it back around as if it were a golden river that he was coaxing to lie still in its bed. It shone like a fragment of summer against the black wool and their plain outfits, its clouds given form by white coiling threads. Even knowing the danger for Ren to wear something so distinctive, Susabi couldn't help the satisfaction he felt in restoring something true about the yōkai, a fragment of his real nature wrapped around the illusion of a placid-faced human: a strength so brilliant that it could never be dimmed, no matter how many layers were added on top.

"The heavens themselves should be jealous," he found himself saying, not without a certain dose of smugness. He tucked the ends into Ren's coat, smoothing them neatly underneath the lapel roll. "You wear this better than any of the gods in Takamagahara could even dream."

"Don't say that," Ren laughed, cupping Susabi's cheek before pulling away to slide his shoes on. "That's how curses get started, after all."

They rode the train down to Machida, leaving the dragons to coil sleepily in the tank: two average Japanese men with neatly-trimmed black hair and brown eyes and not an ounce of mystery about them. The morning crowds were already thick as cold rice porridge, all shoppers with their minds on Christmas and the social obligations that went with it. Along with Christmas came December purifications and the New Year - far more pertinent for Susabi and the other kami, along with far more work - and then the seasons would be allowed to renew themselves, winter melting back into spring.

For now, it was the tail end of the year that occupied the thoughts and wallets of the pedestrians around them. Ren had his own gift obligations for his mortal connections - all the polite pleasantries that were to be expected of a low-level office worker in government - but none of them ran deeper than business relationships. All could be fulfilled later with purchases of food and alcohol, with little consideration beyond that of brand and price tag.

With nothing else to attend to, they both took their time in strolling through the stores. They moved slowly, as was wise for spirits: there was no reason to draw attention to themselves as anything other than the humans they imitated. Other spirits who craved recognition of their natures - or simply to be reminded of it, wearing human skin for so long that it became maddening to never be recognized as themselves - pushed the limits of their disguises, adding hints of their true forms through their clothing, their food preferences, their makeup and jewelry. Inevitably, they earned the attention of onmyōji. Some gloried in those battles, free to lash back at their attackers at last, dropping the illusion to let themselves be revealed for the first time in decades.

Others were grateful simply to stop running, no matter the cost.

Ren, thankfully, had centuries of experience in living on the edges of human societies, of being overlooked and unnoticed. Hiding hadn't bothered him then; it didn't affect him now. Even if Susabi resented humans for their ingratitude, he was ironically grateful to them now.

They drifted through the crowds, choosing their route through the simple method of giving way to other pedestrians. Over and over, they found their path shunted into less-used walkways, until they finally found themselves near one of the cafes tucked away on a lower level of the stores, where a stairwell blocked its entrance almost entirely from sight. Even it was packed with customers panicking over holiday lists, checking their phones for the latest deals and coupons, chattering with one another for ideas.

They ordered coffee as an excuse to sit, and pastries to have it with. Susabi's cup was plain with only a little sugar, but he said nothing as Ren indulged in a concoction that was both bright red and topped with whipped cream. They spoke little as they drank, the noise of the cafe filling in for them like a waterfall of sound. It felt good to be in the center of so much life with Ren beside him; it felt as if they both were where they belonged, in an obscure corner where no one knew them, and where the conversations were focused on what could be given to others instead of what could be taken away.

Ren must have felt the same way; his attention was entirely on the room. "Do you still love watching people?" Susabi couldn't help but ask, watching the yōkai's gaze dance across the crowd as a one table had a tray of sprinkle-covered drinks delivered to them. "Even though they haven't changed at all over the centuries?"

At last, Ren's focus came back towards him, unworried by the bleakness of the odds. "It's a good thing we haven't either, then," he remarked, taking a deep sip of his own sugary drink. "We're still here for them."

They relinquished the table eventually as the afternoon crowd started pouring in, weariness already etched on faces that either sought a quick jolt of caffeine, or simply a rest from so much walking. Outside, the din hadn't lessened. If anything, a new rush of young children had joined the sea of people being swept through the district: spots of color in bright kimono and tiny jackets, trundled along with bewildered expressions from all the noise. They sprouted like clusters of mushrooms everywhere Susabi looked, eyes wide and overwhelmed.

"It's Shichi-Go-San weekend, isn't it?" Ren observed as he took a careful step back from a family of six, giving them as much room as he could as they hurried towards the train station. "I'd forgotten it was coming up so soon."

"I try to forget it exists at all," was Susabi's dry response. Another reason to be grateful he had never been enshrined: even after centuries had passed, he was still terrible with children.

They took a crossover to get back to Ren's apartment, choosing to walk to the next stop rather than tackle the overflowing crowd. It was quieter on the side streets, though not by much; other families had thought to try using alternate routes, hurrying along while their offspring asked in plaintive, piping voices if they were there yet. Susabi and Ren shifted routes accordingly, allowing for space; there was no hurry to get back, and the sun had just begun to saturate the sky with warmth. If they lingered too long, it would be time for dinner - but there were dozens of smaller restaurants in the area, each one welcoming to customers. Any leftovers would be gladly welcomed by the dragons.

They were on a looping detour towards one of the smaller train stations - its battered sign a small dot in the distance - when they heard the sound of high-pitched wails being hiccuped in staccato, echoing from one of the nearby bridges that spanned the belly of a broad canal.

Ren's steps picked up speed; Susabi had no choice but to follow. As they got closer to the bridge, they saw the source of the distress. Two humans were huddled on the walkway: a mother and her young daughter, both of them pushed to their limits. The girl was despondent with grief, sobbing with every shred of breath in her lungs. The mother, clearly mortified, had crouched beside her and was begging her offspring to calm down, or at least to be silent long enough to scurry somewhere discreet.

The child was having none of it. She had gone red in the face with screaming, tiny fists balled up while she shrieked her despair to the heavens, driven past all endurance.

Susabi gave her only the briefest glance, willing to allow the woman her privacy by pretending he neither saw nor heard anything - but Ren had already stopped in place.

"Susabi," was all he said.

With a sigh, Susabi steeled himself and joined the yōkai as he crossed the road, and headed towards them.

He and Ren split up automatically: Ren going to the child's side and making soothing noises, while Susabi grimly took on the task of trying to determine just what had occurred. The mother was doing her best in the face of both her offspring's distress and the mounting disapproval of society, faces popping around corners and other pedestrians muttering, people making visible detours to avoid the scene. She bowed frantically as she saw the two of them draw near, as if hoping she could still drive them away and save face through early politeness.

"We were on our way to her kimono fitting when this happened," she blurted, desperation loosening her tongue. "I'm so sorry, she's been trouble all morning. Come on, Rumiko, we're going to be late, please just let mommy get you a new one afterwards - "

The girl promptly stamped her feet and let out a fresh round of bawling.

Equally desperate as he saw the situation continue to decay, Susabi took a step closer to the mother so that she wouldn't have to shout simply to be heard. "What did she misplace?"

The woman's gaze jerked to the canal below, and Susabi edged towards the railing until he could peer over. The waters beneath were running fast and high from the rains. In their murk, he caught sight of a shockingly bright pink blot: a knit hat that had descended into the river, and had been caught at the last minute on the edge of a broken bridge strut. A line of multicolored fluff decorated its rim, waving like the fronds of an anemone. The current was tearing hard at it; the fibers were swollen with moisture, clinging to the metal, but even they couldn't hold forever.

The mother joined him in staring down at the situation with equal hopelessness. Even if someone could climb down the side of the canal, the river was too wide to wade into; someone would have to swim, immersing themselves completely in the icy liquid as they fought against the mud and debris to get to the bridge's underbelly.

That thing is doomed, Susabi decided immediately - and, just as quickly, realized he couldn't afford to let Ren see the situation, not unless he wanted to witness the yōkai dive straight off the bridge.

"Her aunt gave it to her for her birthday," the woman volunteered helplessly, fingers clutching the railing as she leaned further over, as if trying to guess at how dangerous it would be to climb down. "She won't go anywhere without it."

The current made their decision for them. Even as Susabi watched, hesitating on what to say, the river finally yanked the child's hat away: gone into the destiny of the water treatment plants, if it wasn't shredded by the river along the way first, neon threads tangling the riverweeds and confusing the fish.

The woman's expression crumpled with a mixture of exhaustion and resigned finality. Susabi felt the same; if he was lucky, then Ren would be willing to let the matter end there as well. It wouldn't be unprecedented for the yōkai to insist on following the river all the way down to the nearest processing facility, or to try and cajole any available water spirits to search.

"Perhaps on your way home," Susabi began to suggest - and in that moment, both he and the woman froze and turned, hearing the sudden, ominous silence where a child's wailing should have been.

But the damage had already been done. Ren was crouched beside the girl, smiling broadly. The multicolored cashmere scarf was draped around her shoulders like a brilliant cloak, and she giggled as she buried her face in it, cooing while she smeared mucus and drying tears across the threads.

The child's mother let out a stifled yelp of horror; she scurried over to her daughter and immediately tried to convince her to let her take it off, which set off another round of wild squealing and fresh weeping. "Please forgive the ill behavior of my daughter," she protested in dismay, full-on social shame coloring her cheeks and shoving words through her horror. "Here, give us your contact information. I promise to dry-clean it and return it in perfect condition, or purchase a new replacement -"

But Ren was undeterred."You're on your way to Shichi-Go-San, right?" he asked, showing no concern as the girl finally tugged the rest of the scarf possessively out of his hands and into hers. "It's better for her to remember this day with joy, rather than loss. As long as the scarf makes her happy, she should keep it."

Through a storm of clutching hands - Ren's attempts at reassurance, the mother's equally aghast apologies, the child's heartbroken squalling - Susabi finally caught up, stepping as close as he dared. "It's all right," he declared for them all, aloud: a resigned proclamation spoken with the authority of Heaven, as well as his heart. "I know better than to argue him out of these things. You'll be late for your ceremony if you don't hurry. Go on."

It was mention of time that tipped the scales. The woman hesitated, and then - seeing her child promptly rubbing their face across the scarf again, giggling with each fresh smudge - surrendered, bowing deeply as she muttered an embarrassed, "Thank you."

Susabi could guess by the guilty duck of the woman's head that she would try to do her best to settle the debt anyway - he would have to remind Ren not to walk along this bridge in the future, just in case she would cross this path again - but he bowed back, closing the matter with neat formality and giving her the opportunity to escape.

The pair of them disappeared down the road, the mother keeping both her child's hand and a corner of the scarf securely in her fingers. Already, peace was starting to return to their section of the street; having nothing else to draw them out, any bystanders had resumed their errands, shopkeepers vanishing back into the havens of their stores rather than glare from afar.

"I am sorry," Ren said quietly, standing up at last and dusting off his coat, "about the scarf."

"Don't be." Even though they were in public, Susabi reached out and rested his gloved fingers on the yōkai's shoulder, a brief reassurance of affection. "I said I'd have to find something more useful for you anyway, didn't I?"

"You gave me something priceless already today, Susabi," Ren answered implacably. He glanced up sidelong; even through the disguise of a human form, the affection that radiated forth was every bit the yokai's true face. "You gave me the chance to help."

The winds chose that moment to pick up in renewed ferocity - November air cold and cutting - and Ren shuddered involuntarily, rubbing his arms and trying futilely to pull the collar of his coat closer to his body.

Susabi barked a laugh, untangling his own plainer scarf and draping it around Ren's neck. "Here," he announced, folding the fabric in snug lines even as the yōkai ducked his head to burrow instinctively into it. "Let's go home. We can warm up there - and think of a suitable replacement together."