Dreamer Awakened

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

            Momiji stirred the steaming pot on the stove and glanced out of the window over the kitchen sink.  It was getting dark, and she was getting worried.  Kusanagi should have been back by now, she thought, biting her lip.  She put the lid on the pot, turned the heat down and left the kitchen.  As she crossed the living room, the telephone rang and she picked it up.

            “Momiji?” Midori’s anxious voice came across the line. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re safe!  I’m at Mom and Dad’s and I just called home to check my messages.  There was one from Ms. Matsudaira saying that you had been in an accident.  I got so worried.  You’re okay aren’t you?”

            “Yes, I’m fine,” Momiji assured her, and then, “I’m sorry for not calling you sooner, but the night you left your first message was the night I had my wreck.  What was it that you needed to talk to me about?”

            There was a pause as Midori’s mind switched gears and then she said, “Oh, oh, that!” she laughed a little and said, “it’s about Kusanagi.  I think he misses you, Momiji.”

            Momiji’s chest suddenly got very heavy and her ears started burning.  She could have told Midori that Kusanagi was there now, but she was more interested in hearing why Midori thought Kusanagi missed her.  “So you’ve seen Kusanagi, then?”  Momiji asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

            “Not since I left that first message for you, but he came by the lab several times to talk to me and even took me home once.  At first it puzzled me,” Midori explained, “’cause I wasn’t sure why he was there.  I thought that maybe he was just checking up on me to make sure that I was okay, because he knew how much you used to help me – sorta’ like he was offering his moral support.  And then, I realized that every time he came by, it was because he was trying to find out about you.”

            “Really?”  Momiji asked, feeling pleased.

            “Yeah.  He was always asking if I had heard from you yet and then the night that he took me home, he asked me if I had been to your new house yet.  He was really disappointed when I told him no, and couldn’t give him any details of what it was like.  I did give him your phone number though.  Has he called you yet?”

            “Ummm, yes, he did,” Momiji mumbled, biting her lip uncomfortably, “the same night that you did, as a matter of fact.”

            “He did?” Midori asked, sounding relieved, “I’m so glad Momiji.  I knew that he liked you, but for some reason he just seems so shy around you.”

            Kusanagi, shy?  Momiji laughed at that and Midori asked her why she was laughing.

            “Well, Midori, it’s just that I’ve never considered Kusanagi as shy,” Momiji replied thinking about what made Kusanagi, Kusanagi.  “He’s smart and handsome, he can be sweet when he wants to be and he’s very talented,” she said thinking of his portfolio.  “He is also arrogant, overbearing, fatheaded and, if you ask him, never wrong.  Out of all the ways I could describe him, I would have never used the word shy.”

            “But he is,” Midori insisted, “maybe not in the normal way, Momiji, but it’s still there.  I’ve seen him look at you,” Midori’s words were reminiscent of Ms. Matsudaira’s, “and then, he gets this uncomfortable look on his face, like he’s not quite sure what he should do.  It’s funny sometimes, because the minute you turn around or the minute he thinks he’s being watched, his expression changes to that bored look he gets.  I know how much he means to you, so don’t give up on him yet, Momiji.  Just give him some time.  He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

            …he denies his destiny because of his desire to be human – for you…

            Susano-oh’s words floated through Momiji’s mind reinforcing what Midori was saying and Momiji smiled into the phone.   “Don’t worry Midori, I haven’t given up on him,” she assured her, “I don’t think I ever will.”

            They talked for a few more minutes, making plans to get together in the near future and then Midori rang off.  Momiji put the phone down and crossed to the living room window to look for the object of their conversation.  His bike was parked in the drive, but he was nowhere to be seen, and it had been dark for over an hour now.

 Where could he be? Momiji silently lamented. 

She pushed her feet into her shoes and opened the front door.  Cold air rushed against her face as she peered out into the darkness.  Stepping over the threshold, she wrapped her arms around her body trying to protect herself from the cold and the steady rain that had begun to fall.  Momiji shivered, the hard cast on her right arm pressing uncomfortably against her ribs.  She went over to Kusanagi’s bike and then down the drive, looking up and down the street, getting more worried by the minute.  The street was silent, except for the sound of the rain hissing against the pavement, and Kusanagi was nowhere to be seen.

She had only been standing there for several minutes, but already the rain had soaked through the thickness of her sweatshirt and she knew that she needed to go back inside.  But Momiji couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong, so she stayed where she was for a minute longer.  She sensed something out of place, but it was a vague feeling, a faraway feeling, and she closed her eyes to try and concentrate on it, so she might better understand it. 

She reached deep into her thoughts, trying to focus on the nebulous feeling, but the rain began to drip from the end of her nose, interfering in her concentration and she could feel her bangs sticking to her forehead in wet clumps, dribbling water into her eyes.  It was no use, she thought as a shiver ran up her spine from the cold and the rain.  The feeling had faded so she opened her eyes and looked up and down the street one more time.  Still no Kusanagi.  Momiji sighed deeply.

She’d better go in before she got sick, she thought.  She put a finger up to the tip of her nose, brushing the drops of water hanging there away, and turned to go back in the house.  As she swung around, she saw a shadowy mass looming behind her and her heart jumped into her throat.  Momiji gasped, frightened by its sudden appearance and she stumbled backwards.

“What the heck are you doing out here, Momiji?”

It was Kusanagi, she realized with relief as he reached out and grasped her arms, pulling her into his chest to keep her from falling over.  He was soaking wet, she realized, but she didn’t care, she thought as she grabbed the sleeves to his black coat, her fingers tightening on the wet fabric as her nose was squashed flat against the hard planes of his chest.  She let her forehead drop against him for a moment, glad that he was safe, and feeling safe being so near him.  She felt him give her a slight push, holding her away from him and so she stepped back and looked up at him.

            “What are you doing out here?” he asked again, his voice sounding angry..

            “I was looking for you,” she told him, “you’ve been gone a long time and I was getting worried.”

            Kusanagi frowned down at her.  He would have been there a lot sooner, but he had forgotten that he was supposed to be getting some burn ointment and he had had to double back for it.  “You shouldn’t be out here.  It’s dangerous,” he muttered, grabbing her arm and dragging her back towards the house.

            “Dangerous?” she echoed, stumbling to keep up with his long strides, “why would you say that?  This is a very quiet neighborhood, and I was standing in my own driveway.”

            Kusanagi didn’t reply for minute.  He couldn’t tell her about the Aragami.  Before Kusanagi had left Wakasa, he and Kunikida and had decided that until Momiji was stronger, the TAC would have to function without her. 

“Forget it, Momiji.  You just shouldn’t be out in the rain.  You’ll get sick,” he told her as he opened her front door and pushed her through.

            “You’re one to talk,” she said sourly, getting slightly irritated with his highhanded attitude, “you’re much wetter than I am.”

            “Yes, but I’m part plant – water is good for me - and I never get sick,” he shot back in a condescending manner, and then, “what’s that smell?”

            “You may be part plant, Kusanagi, but you’re also part human, so you’re bound to be susceptible… what smell?” Momiji wanted to know.

            Kusanagi’s nostrils flared and then he grimaced, “It smells like – burnt rice.”

            Momiji’s eyes widened in horror and she pushed past Kusanagi, wailing, “My dinner!”

            Kusanagi watched her tear across the living room and go skidding into the kitchen.  He took his shoes and coat off, a big smile curving his lips when he heard Momiji’s, “Oh, crap!” coming from the kitchen. 

            “I wonder what she’s done this time,” he murmured to himself in amused interest as he walked towards the kitchen.

            Momiji turned the stove off and grabbed the saucepan off the burner.  It was smoking rather ominously and Momiji gingerly carried it over to the sink.  She took the lid off, looked down and moaned.  The vegetables were soggy, most of the beef was hard and dry and a good amount of rice had gotten burnt, sticking to the bottom of the pan. 

            “Oh, crap!” she cried in frustration.  She had worked so hard to prepare dinner, her efforts clumsy and slow since she had only her left hand.  It had been perfect half an hour ago, she thought woefully.  If only Kusanagi hadn’t taken so long… Maybe, it could be still be salvaged, she thought, picking up a wooden spoon and poking it around in the pan.

            “Eeyeew,” Momiji heard Kusanagi say as he peered over her shoulder, his chin dripping wetly onto her shoulder, “so that’s what that smell was.”

            Momiji clenched her jaw and rounded on Kusanagi, her eyes shooting green sparks, “This is all your fault!” she said furiously, her fingers clenched around the wooden spoon as she took a menacing step towards him.

            Kusanagi’s eyebrows shot up and he backed warily away, “How could you possibly blame me for this.  I wasn’t even here!”

            “Exactly!” Momiji shrieked, “if you had been here, this never would have happened!” she fumed.

            Kusanagi couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face at her illogical reasoning, but he should have tried, because Momiji hit him with the spoon when she saw it.  “Ouch! Momiji!” he said, swatting at the spoon as she tried to hit him again, muttering under her breath something about fat-headed, insensitive jerks.  “Stop that!!” he exclaimed backing up another step.  It didn’t hurt as bad as when she hit him with her cast, but it still hurt.

            She glared at him, watching him retreat, and her anger burnt itself out, simmering down to minor irritation.  Turning her back to him, she stomped over to the sink and started poking around in the pan again.  “You’d better go change into some dry clothes,” she muttered darkly over her shoulder, “it’s almost dinner time.”

            “I’m really not all that hungry –“ he began and then, when she whipped around with that dangerous glint in her eye, squeezing the spoon tightly, he hastily added, “ – but I think I can manage a bite or two… I’ll be back in a minute,” and rapidly retreated from the kitchen.

            Momiji salvaged what she could of their dinner, spooning it out onto two plates, and then went to change her own wet sweatshirt, replacing it with a warm, fuzzy, button-down sweater.  When she came back down stairs, Kusanagi was back in the kitchen, having replaced his dark blue shirt with a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of black jeans.  Momiji stopped in the kitchen door when she saw him.  Was there ever a time, she wondered when he didn’t look good?

            He was standing by the counter, staring dubiously at their plates, but when he heard her come in, he turned and held up his hand.  Momiji’s eyes slid to his hand where he held the tube of burn ointment between his long fingers.  As he walked over to her, she idly noted that he wasn’t wearing his black driving gloves.  He had strong hands, and Momiji, deciding that she like him better without the gloves, wondered why he chose to wear them most of the time.  Funny, in all the time she had known him, she had never asked him about it.

            She held her hand out for the ointment as he approached her, waiting for him to give it to her. 

He gave her a quizzical look and said, “Why don’t you let me help you?”

Momiji snatched the ointment from him, “Thanks,” she said crossly, eschewing his assistance, “but I don’t need any help.”

It didn’t take her long to realize how wrong she was.  It was a tiny tube, and she wasn’t able to hold the tube in her right hand because it was so small and the cast kept her fingers mostly immobile.  She tried to ignore Kusanagi as he stood in front of her, arms folded, watching her in amused silence as she stood staring at the tube for a long moment, trying to devise a way to get it open.  After several failed attempts to hold it between her chest and hand without it slipping, she finally managed to anchor it, shooting Kusanagi a triumphant look as she removed the cap.

“I bet you didn’t think I could do it, did you?” she said smugly.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, but a slight smile curved his lips as he remained still, arms crossed looking expectantly from her face to the tube, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

Momiji eyed him suspiciously, wondering what he found so amusing.

“Well go on, Momiji,” he prodded, “let me see you put it on.”

Momiji looked down at the little tube, and realized in chagrin that the only way she could squeeze the tube was with her left hand.  How was she supposed to get any on the back of her left hand if she had to use her left hand to squeeze the tube?  She heard Kusanagi chuckle and she shot him a resentful look.

“Never mind,” she mumbled crossly and put the tube on the counter.  “I don’t really need it anyway.”

She turned away from him but felt him grab hold of her braid, gently yanking her to a stop.

“Whoa, there, princess,” he said, laughter in his voice as he picked the ointment up and came around in front of her, his eyes glinting down at her.  “After all the trouble I went through to get this, the least you could do is use it.”

As he spoke he stepped closer to her and took her hand and examined it, his fingers gently pushing up the soft folds of her sweater and stroking the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending a pleasant tingling sensation up her arm in the wake of his touch.  Momiji was keenly aware of his closeness and she kept her eyes pinned to her wrist as he examined the burn, which was only slightly pink now and didn’t hurt at all. 

Momiji kept staring down, waiting for him to put the ointment on, tensely wondering what was taking so long as he continued to hold her hand without making any move to apply the ointment.  Kusanagi’s hand briefly tightened on her wrist and she felt him lean toward her.  Momiji’s gaze was drawn upward then, and as her eyes met his, she saw a burning heat.  It sent a jolt of electricity through her, but the look was gone so quickly, she wondered if she had just imagined it.

Kusanagi suddenly stiffened and he dropped her hand, jerking away from her like she had burned him.  Putting some distance between them, he turned his back to her, saying over his shoulder in his most offhand manner, “You’re right.  It doesn’t really need any ointment.” 

He put the cap back on the ointment and laid it on the counter, still not looking at her, and to fill the awkwardness of the moment, Momiji picked up the plates, one at a time, and carried them to the table.  By the time she had finished setting the table, Kusanagi seemed to be behaving normally and the awkwardness had passed.  Momiji sat down at the table opposite Kusanagi and picked up her chopsticks, looking down at her food without any enthusiasm whatsoever. 

Kusanagi sat and watched her face, saying, “You’re not really going to eat that are you?” and received a baleful glare from her.  It was a lucky thing she still didn’t have her wooden spoon, he thought, or he’d be picking splinters out of his forehead.

“Yes I am,” she huffed, “and so are you!”

She thrust a pair of chopsticks at him and waited for him to take a bite.  Kusanagi glanced down at his plate, a look of martyrdom on his face, and took a bite.  It was crunchy, it was chewy.  It tasted like burnt rubber. 

“Hmmm,” he said as he munched, and added just to bait her, “you know, it’s actually almost edible.” 

“GRRRRRR!” she growled, gritting her teeth and he hid his smile by taking another bite.

He watched her struggle to overcome her irritation, quite impressed when she took a deep breath and managed to regain her self-control.  He didn’t say anything else, thinking he had riled her enough for one evening, so they each crunched through their dinner in silence for a few moments.

Momiji, did her best not to look repulsed as she took another bite of her dinner, knowing that it would only incite Kusanagi to tease her more if she did.  She was concentrating so hard on maintaining a placid expression that when Kusanagi addressed her, she managed to hang on to her composure, but just barely.

“Momiji, do you remember the priest?” he asked suddenly, looking up from his dinner.

Momiji stopped in mid-chew, and tried to swallow her food without it lodging against the knot that had risen in her throat.  “What priest?” she asked faintly without looking at him, knowing very well which priest he was talking about and wondering how he knew about it.

‘There was a priest standing in the road the night you had your accident.  Do you remember him at all?” Kusanagi asked, watching her intently as he took another bite.

Momiji shifted in her seat, suddenly unable to sit still.  She didn’t want to tell him about Susano-oh.  Not yet.  “I – I seem to recall,” she stuttered, and then changed it to, “h-how did you know that there was a priest?”

“So you do remember him,” Kusanagi said, and when Momiji didn’t reply, added.  “There was another driver who witnessed the accident, Momiji.  He saw the priest too.  He said that the priest was the reason you crashed.  You swerved to avoid him and skidded off the road.  The other driver stopped to see what he could do to help, and by the time he called for help, the priest had vanished.”

Momiji’s eyes flickered apprehensively in Kusanagi’s direction and then away again.  He was watching her very intently and she was afraid her expression would give away too much if she looked at him, so she stared down at her plate, picking at its contents.

“You do remember him, don’t you Momiji.” Kusanagi repeated.  It was more of a statement than a question, and Momiji debated how much she should tell him.

“Did the other driver ever see the priest’s face?” she asked Kusanagi, still not looking at him.

“No,” he replied slowly and Momiji felt a little relieved, knowing that she could tell him most of what happened without revealing the identity of the priest.

She looked up then, her green eyes becoming unfocused as she thought back to that night.

“It was dark and raining that night, and I don’t really remember too much of the accident,” she told him truthfully as disjointed images flashed through her mind.  “I remember hearing something – it was loud, like thunder, but it wasn’t thunder– and then I saw someone  - the priest - standing in the road.”  Momiji tensed as she relived those moments in her mind.  “He was standing too close, and I new I couldn’t avoid him.  So I – I slammed on my brakes and swerved.

“I remember seeing the headlights of an oncoming car and then running off the road.” She stopped then, remembering the terrible pain she had felt and how she had felt like she had been suffocating. 

She spoke again without realizing it, telling him about the pain, the blood and thinking to herself that she was going to die.  She only realized she had spoken the words aloud when she heard a snap of splintering wood and she looked up to see Kusanagi holding the broken remnants of his chopstick between his clenched fingers.  He put them on the table and motioned for her to continue her story. 

Momiji looked away then and finished telling him what she remembered.  “I remember the priest standing by the car then,” she told him softly, her voice sounding far away.  “He stretched out his hand and touched me, and then… I don’t remember anymore,” she finished, suddenly realizing that it must have been Susano-oh who had saved her; that she would have died if it hadn’t been for him.

It was quiet for a moment, and Kusanagi’s voice sounded taught when he spoke into the silence.  “Do you remember what he looked like, Momiji?  Did you ever see his face?”

Momiji’s eyes came sharply back into focus at his question and she looked away.  “No.  I never saw his face,” she lied.

She didn’t think that he believed her so she asked her own question, hoping to avoid any further discussion of the priest.  “Speaking of mysteries,” she said, keeping her voice casually curious, “just where did you go this afternoon?”

“Huh?” Kusanagi asked suddenly straightening in his chair, taken aback by the turn in the conversation, “I, uh, I…”

“You were gone far too long just to be buying burn ointment, Kusanagi,” she told him matter-of-factly as she finished her dinner and put her plate in the sink to be washed.  She came back to get his and gave him a look of inquiry, letting him know that she was still waiting for an answer to her question.

He evaded it by grimacing and saying in a pained voice, “I feel like a just ate a wet bag of cement.” 

Momiji gasped in outrage and he turned to hide his smile, heading sluggishly towards the living room moaning as he went.  He collapsed on the sofa, his whole body sprawled the full length, and chuckled dryly as he heard Momiji banging around the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner dishes.  Thank god for Momiji’s lousy dinner; otherwise, he’d still be in there humming and hawing, trying to think of a reason why he’d been gone so long. 

Momiji fumed silently as she slammed around the kitchen, wiping clean the table and washing the dishes.  The ungrateful, wretch, she grumbled to herself.  He said he was here to help, so why was she in here, by herself, cleaning up the dishes.  She stopped scrubbing at the saucepan for a minute to scowl down at it and say under her breath, “After insulting my dinner, the least he could is offer to help,”  Never mind that it really was terrible.  She had put a lot of effort into it for that fat-headed, insensitive oaf.  She went back to scrubbing the pan, working off a great deal of her anger in the process.  By the time she was through, she was only slightly steamed at Kusanagi, and she entered the living room fully intent on extracting an apology from him. 

She passed through the kitchen door and paused looking around.  Where did he go, she wondered, not seeing him any where.

“Kusanagi?” she called and then heard his husky moan in response.  She followed it to the sofa and found Kusanagi sprawled there, his arm flung over his eyes.  Momiji stopped by his side, hand on her hip, her lips thinning in annoyance.

“Wet bag of cement, huh?” she said in a softly menacing way.

Kusanagi didn’t budge, but she saw him grimace, his teeth flashing white against the bronze of his skin, “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything quite that bad before.  Of course there was that time that you – UUNNGH!” he huffed as he felt a heavy weight clobber him in the stomach.

Momiji sat down on top of him, straddling his torso with her legs, smiling in satisfaction at his grunt of discomfort.  She watched as he dropped his arm from his face, his cat-like eyes flashing at her.  “What the heck are you doing?”

She gave him her sweetest smile and said, “I think you owe me an apology.”

Kusanagi’s eyes widened in astonishement, “For what?  Supplying the wet bag of cement now firmly lodged inside my stomach?  I don’t think so- ohhh,” he replied defiantly, his hands going to her waist when she bounced up and down on him a little.  He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and held her stationary, saying smugly, “I think you’re the one who should apologize to me.”

“And just what would I have to be sorry for?” she demanded, trying to pry his fingers loose from her waist.

“Well for one thing, hitting me, first with your cast and then with that wooden club you call a spoon,” he said.

“What!?!  You earned both of those whacks with your crude remarks and wise cracks!”  He tightened his fingers around her waist and she grunted, pulling harder than ever.

“-And then there’s forcing me to eat a wet bag of cement – I read somewhere that ingesting concrete can be lethal,” he informed her with a glint in his eye.  “You’ll be sorry that you made me eat it when they have to bury me.”

Momiji gave up trying to pry his fingers loose, and instead grabbed the front of his shirt, crumpling the grey jersey beneath her fists.  “Give me a break!” she scoffed, “you could eat a bucket of nails and call it gourmet!!  Now say you’re sorry!” she demanded, shaking him by pulling back and forth on the front of his shirt. 

Kusanagi just laughed and Momiji shook even harder until she felt his fingers find the skin beneath her sweater and feather softly against her back and sides, his thumbs still hooked in the loops of her jeans.  Momiji froze, her eyes widening, and looked down at him.  His expression was feline, a lazy smile hovering on his lips. 

“Jeez, Momiji,” he murmured, “look at all the weight you’ve lost.”  His fingers still splayed around her sides and back, he jiggled his thumbs, moving them back and forth and her jeans slid loosely around her waist.  “It’s no wonder though,” he told her, his smile broadening, “with the way you cook.”

“Kusanagi!” she screeched.

Her voice ended in a yelp as she felt him yank on her jeans again, but stronger this time.  Momiji had little time to react as he lifted her off of him and rolled her underneath him, careful not to hurt her, so that their positions were reversed.  She found herself staring helplessly into his face and he gave her a devilish grin.

“Now apologize,” he ordered, his voice teasing.

“No,” she pouted up at him.

“You’ll be sorry,” he warned her, but she stubbornly shook her head.

“Apologize,” he ordered again, and when she still refused, he suddenly doubled over in anguish, and collapsed against her, his face resting against the curve of her neck. 

“Kusanagi? What is it?” she said, panic rising in her when he gave a guttural moan.  “Kusanagi?  Are you all right?” still he didn’t answer, his body going slack against her as if he had slipped into unconsciousness. She was really scared now.  What was wrong with him?  “Kusanagi, answer me!”  she demanded, her voice trembling in fear.

“Are you ready to apologize yet?”

She felt his voice rasp against her neck and a fury begin to rise inside her.  He had really frightened her!  “Kusanagi!” she yelled at him and raised her knee, putting her foot against his thigh and shoving as hard as she could.  He was caught off balance and he went thudding to the floor, but taking her with him, his hands still wound around her waist.  She landed on top of him, her forehead smashing hard into his nose and he let go of her, grabbing his nose at the sudden jolt of pain that went stabbing through it.

Suddenly free, Momiji scrambled off the top of him, her ribs hurting from the impact, still furious that he would scare her like that, and headed for the stairs, ignoring his repeated calls to her.  She didn’t even make it around the sofa before he caught her arm and swung her around.  Her face was white with anger and fear and her green eyes stood out in vivid contrast.  She avoided his gaze and so he put a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Momiji,” he said softly, seeing the pain and anger in her luminous eyes. 

Seeing the concern in his eyes, Momiji took a chance and leaned towards him, praying that he wouldn’t turn away.  He didn’t, but he didn’t put his arms around her either, standing stiffly as she clutched his arms and rested her face against his chest.  She closed her eyes, and felt her anger slipping away into sorrow, wishing that he would hold her and feeling sad because he remained unmoving, neither denying nor accepting her embrace.  

Feeling suddenly exhausted and unable to bear his indifference any longer she let her hands fall away from him and turned, walking away from him, unwavering in her steps even when he called to her again.  He moved in front of her and blocked her forward progress, not understanding her sudden change of moods.

“What’s wrong, Momiji?”

“Why did you leave?”

She blurted out the words before she realized it and by the look on his face, she could tell that she had not only surprised herself, but had caught him by surprise as well.  Deep inside, she already knew the answer to her question.  Susano-oh had told her why.  But she still wanted to hear it in Kusanagi’s own words, so she asked again.

“Why did you leave Tokyo, Kusanagi?  You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Momiji watched his expression become grim and shuttered.  She didn’t think he was going to answer but he finally said,  “I left because I wanted you to be happy, Momiji.  I wanted you to be able to lead a normal, happy life, and as long as I was around, I knew you couldn’t.”

Momiji’s mouth fell open in astonishment, not quite sure that she heard him correctly.  “You left to make me happy?” she echoed faintly and when he nodded, said in a stronger voice, “how could you possibly imagine that leaving me would make me happy, Kusanagi?”

He turned away and moved restlessly around the room, coming to a halt in front of the darkened window.  “I can never give you what you need, Momiji.  I can never be normal.”  His voice was heavy and he quit speaking.  He put his hand to the cold glass of the window, tracing the droplets of rain running down it, his mouth twisting in bitterness as he looked at the deep blue of the mitama standing out vividly against his skin.

Momiji came up softly behind him, her voice sounding sweet and gentle when she began speaking in a hesitant sort of way.

“I have never really given it much thought, Kusanagi, the difference between you and I,” she admitted, “because it never really mattered to me.  You are very capable of giving me everything that I need,” she told him, “but only if you want to.”

He turned around then, his eyes hard with anger that was directed not at her, but at himself. “No I can’t Momiji!” he said tightly, “I cannot give you everything you need – I am not even human!”

His soul longs for the humanity that Orochi’s mitamas have erased…

The words echoed through her mind and Momiji wondered how she was to fight for him, when he was unwilling to fight himself.

She stepped forward and took his hand in hers.  She turned it over and looked at the blue seed buried deeply there, her fingers tracing the hard ridges that had left a lasting scar upon his soul.  She let her green eyes drift to his face, and she saw with her own eyes, the look that she had seen in the photograph of her and Kusanagi that night at her mother’s house.  Longing, sorrow, bitterness; it was all there, exposed to her for the first time.

“My needs,” she murmured, stepping closer to him, raising his hand in her own until it cupped her cheek.  “are very simple, Kusanagi.”  She closed her eyes and leaned her face against his hand, cherishing the warmth of his fingers.  She opened her eyes again, focusing her green gaze back on his face, his eyes, locked on her as if mesmerized  “I need someone to share my secrets with, who will listen to my dreams without laughing - someone I can take long walks with and sit in silence with.  I need someone to hold me when I’m lonely and someone who wants to hold me when he feels alone.   Do you still believe that you cannot give me what I need, when all I need is you?” she asked him.  “Do you think that the blood that flows through your veins makes you less human because of its color?  I know what you are Kusanagi, even if you refuse to see it yourself.  You are simply a man – different, yes, but a man nonetheless.” 

She slowly dropped her hand away from his, fully expecting him to pull away from her, and felt her heart flutter against her ribs when, instead of moving further away, he closed the distance between them, his thumb stroking her jaw as his other hand came up and cupped the back of her head, tipping her face towards him. 

Kusanagi could feel his self-control slipping.  Standing so close to her, feeling the softness of her skin as he cradled her face, the warmth of her body calling to his, he felt himself falling into her deep green eyes.  He struggled to free himself from the spell that her body was weaving around him, but found that her words were a stronger seduction than even her closeness, offering him the freedom he had denied himself, accepting him as he was when he struggled against it himself.  Kusanagi stared down at her, his eyes flickering to her soft lips, and he knew that he was in trouble.   One kiss, he thought, unable to fight against the desire he felt any longer.  Just one, and then he would let her go.

Momiji gave Kusanagi a searching look and saw the emotional conflict in his eyes.  He was still fighting, she could see it clearly, but she felt a surge of hope as he closed his eyes and lowered his head toward her.

Momiji’s eyes drifted closed and she felt Kusanagi’s breath feather across her cheek as his lips brushed against hers, lightly at first and then with increasing pressure. Momiji felt her breath catch in her chest as Kusanagi deepened the kiss, his mouth sliding hungrily across hers and she clung desperately to him, her arms wrapping around his neck.  Her knees went weak but Kusanagi kept her firmly anchored in place.  He pulled her tightly up against his body, his hands sliding beneath the softness of her sweater to touch her, setting fire to the skin of her back as his fingers slid upwards, his thumbs brushing against the curve of her breasts that were flattened against his chest.

Slowly, he gentled the kiss, ending it as his hands came around to cup her face once more.  He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged and he didn’t move for a long moment.  Momiji’s eyes fluttered opened and she stood, looking wide-eyed and silent into his face, a feeling of hope filling her heart.

“Does this mean that you have changed your mind about yourself, Kusanagi?” she asked weakly, and smiled a little at his reply.

“I don’t know what it means,” he mumbled, finally letting her go and stepping awkwardly away.

It might not be a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no, Momiji thought, feeling light-headed with renewed purpose.  Kusanagi mumbled something about making some coffee and beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen and Momiji watched him go, in a kind of daze.  Her first kiss, she thought, sighing in pleasure, her face awash in color as she relived it.  And what a kiss it had been!