A/N: A tumblr user wanted some self-indulgent fluff based on the Paramore lyrics, "I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up/leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream." I hope this hits the spot!

Raindrops lazily slide down the glass pane of Hiyori's bedroom window, their soft staccato rhythm hypnotic in the late afternoon gloom. Yato stares at her ceiling while he waits for her to come home, eyes half lidded as he lets the rain count out the seconds until she's back. But should he even see her? Sure, she'd said he'd always been her god of fortune, but what if she was wrong? What if she was just she was just being her kind, resilient, compassionate self, and he was actually hurting her in his selfish unwillingness to cut their ties? Closing his eyes completely, he rolls onto his side in the fetal position and tries not to think about the times he's almost gotten her killed. Or worse.

Of course, that's all he can think about now. He sees her face, twisted in worry and concern, when she and Kazuma ran to his side during his battle with Bishamon. Sees her leaping after an ayakashi, intending to land a side kick but leaving her cord wide open to attack; doesn't she understand how vulnerable it makes her? It would only take one clean hit, one sluggish reaction for his world to shatter all over again. Memories of the hospital haunt him next, the way Hiyori shoved him away, half-ayakashi claws blighting him for the first time since they met. He'll never forget her tear-stained face as she hovered over him, fighting desperately to regain sense of herself while he resigned himself to either dying by her hand or reaching her with words. Thank goodness the words were enough.

Sighing, he flops onto his back again and rubs his face. She's done so much for him and he's done so comparatively little for her; there's gotta be some way he can make it up to her. She's saved him so many times: brought Kazuma to Yukine's ablution, stopped him from killing Bishamon, summoned his soul from the Underworld before he was lost to it for good, built him the shrine that granted him access to Takamagahara and got him one step closer to his dream. The shrine she built with those strong hands, hands that are always so warm when they grab his shoulder or brush his cheek.

An idea blooms in his mind, a small way for him to show his gratitude for the girl who has stridden with such purpose into his heart. His face aches with the force of his smile as he jumps off her bed to gather the necessary materials. She's definitely gonna like this!

Water drips from her umbrella like a beaded curtain as she walks home from school, anger at Fujisaki still smoldering in her gut. It's been bad enough seeing him around school after what he did to her family, did to her, but that smarmy little smile of his makes her want to wring his neck. Smug jerk. Huffing exasperatedly, Hiyori kicks the nearest trash can to release some of her rage and sends it tumbling down the alley, the metal banging reviving a different memory of a similar situation.

She lets the gentle drumbeat of the rain transport her back to when she was standing at the mouth of an alley just like this one, umbrella extended to cover her petulant god of calamity. How silly he is to think she'd forget him! Sure, she'd messed up once before, but now that she knows what she's up against nothing will keep her from holding his memory close to her heart. It's funny how quickly that silly, lazy, kind god has made himself such an important part of her life; the time she's spent with him these past few months shines like a beacon in her memories. Smiling, she continues her walk home, thinking maybe she should call or text him to see how he's been doing. Ever since he and Yukine helped her grandmother feel more at ease about the shinigami drifting closer, he's been in touch more often than he'd been after that stint at the hospital. He's still reluctant to show up more than once or twice a week, though, for fear of attracting his father's attention. Her heart clenches in pain and embarrassment that she could lose control like that, hurt him like that, and she vows to become stronger to protect him.

Her parents aren't home again, which doesn't surprise her given the amount of cleanup they have to do to keep the hospital from going under. She's determined as she walks upstairs to her room, planning to do as much studying as possible so she can help them get everything back on track. It's not fair that they have to deal with the consequences of a mess she helped cause.

All thoughts of studying promptly leave her mind, though, when she opens her door.

"What...what is this?" she asks, schoolbag sliding unnoticed to the ground while she looks around the altered landscape of her bedroom.

What used to be empty floor space is now covered in a veritable blanket castle, chairs and cushions piled high to support a network of quilts and bedsheets. From her spot by the door, she can see inside one of the entrances to what looks like a mini bedroom, a nest of soft pillows surrounding a puffy sleeping bag. Did Yato just dig around the house for fluffy things? On the very top of the structure flies a tiny flag, sporting his trademark crown and the words, "In the name of Hiyori."

"Hi, Hiyori!" Yato chirps from the other side of her bed, tying the ends of two blankets together. "I was just thinking about how much you've done for me over the past few months and I wanted to repay you somehow. So, welcome to Hiyori's Shrine!"

He made her a shrine? Looking more closely at the design of the blanket fort, she can see how it mimics the shrine she'd spent all night carving so many weeks ago, tips of her fingers becoming so numb she hadn't felt it when they'd bled. It has the peaked roof and double doors made from pillows, and, sure enough, there's a little snow puff Yukine and winky-faced Yato taped to the back on notebook paper.

Laughing, Hiyori says, "But Yato, I can't have a shrine; those are only for gods and goddesses."

Pinking slightly, he scratches his face and replies, "Well, I mean, gods and goddess grant people's wishes, right? You've granted so many of mine that it's gotta make you an honorary goddess. Or something."

It's Hiyori's turn to blush. Does he really believe she's comparable to a goddess, a being of such divine strength and beauty? When she meets his gaze, something like reverence flickers through electric blue eyes and she thinks that maybe he actually does. "Ah, well, you've helped me out a ton, too," she mumbles, still embarrassed that he holds her in such high esteem.

Calloused hands take one of hers and she looks up, startled that he's closed the distance between them so quickly. "But you've saved me," he murmurs, sincerity making his eyes glow like sunlight on deep ocean water. "Saved me so many times. This is the least I could do. Now c'mon, let me give you a tour of your shrine. And of course, I'll be your loyal familiar!"

Smiling, she lets herself be tugged down to duck through the quilted flap that leads to inside of her shrine, hand warm as it's cradled in his. Soft lights twinkle on the ceiling from a string of Christmas lights Yato wove through supporting chairs, and it doesn't escape Hiyori how intimate this is. There's a single sakura blossom on the pillow at the head of the sleeping bag, petals still beaded with rain, and her heart swells as she realizes how hard it must have been for him to pick it for her. Maybe one day they can mourn his former shinki properly.

"Well, whaddya think?" His muted voice cuts through her thoughts, so close his breath tickles her face. Those catlike eyes are searching her face, and it hits her that he's worried he's overstepped his bounds.

"It's lovely, Yato," she whispers, free hand coming up smooth the wrinkle in his brow. "Thank you so much."

Cheeks aflame, he looks away and mutters, "Ah, yeah, you know. Just wanted to do something nice."

"It's very nice," she agrees, stopping to stifle a yawn. It had been a long day between Fujisaki and general stress about the hospital.

"Oh, are you tired? I thought you might be since you've been up late studying so much these days. Here, let's get you all tucked in; can't do much homework when your brain is sleepy."

Before she can protest, Yato is ushering her along the floor to the turned down sleeping bag and opening the flap. "In you go!"

"But-I'm not-now really Yato hold on!" She tries to pull her hand away but only succeeds in tugging his whole body closer, the added weight tipping them backwards to crash into the pillows surrounding the sleeping bag. There's a beat of silence as they look at each other, faces inches apart, hearts thumping wildly, until Hiyori blushes and pushes his chest back.

"S-sorry," she says, hand still on his chest. Is his pulse always this quick?

"Ah, no, I'm sorry. Here, let's try that again." He gestures to the sleeping bag and Hiyori knows an exit from an awkward situation when she sees it. Nodding, she crawls the last couple feet to the slippery fabric and eases herself inside, lying on her side facing the opposite wall. A shiver runs through her entire body as she replays the last 60 seconds, how her face looked reflected in eyes that were overflowing with something she dares not name, how fast his heart raced beneath the fabric of his shirt. They're so close, he's right there, and she doesn't know if she can handle being drowned in his heady smell any longer.

A jersey'd arm wraps around her waist and she squawks, "Yato! What are you doing?"

Right next to her ear, his voice whispers, "You were shivering. That means you're cold, right? Thought I'd help warm you back up." The way he says it reminds Hiyori of a child confused about why he can't have a sleepover with his older sister and her boyfriend, and lets the issue slide. He's just trying to be helpful, and she was shivering. No need for him to know he's the reason. "It's fine. Just-just don't move around too much, okay?" He hums his assent and snuggles closer to her, head resting near the crook of her neck while he tightens his grip on her waist ever so slightly.

Forget cold, she's burning now, his every exhale raising goosebumps on the skin of her neck while the heat from his chest radiates through her back and makes her feel like combusting. After a few minutes, though, she gets used to way he holds her somewhat possessively, pressing her to his chest as if he were trying to imprint her on his soul. The thought makes her blush, and she mentally scoffs at herself. As if they were anything more than friends…

His arm twitches on her stomach as he starts to withdraw it, and Hiyori instinctively presses it back down. The question is apparent from the hitch in his breath, so Hiyori preemptively answers, "Don't go yet." The weight of her responsibilities hangs heavy over her head as she continues, "I just-I just don't want to be alone right now."

Suddenly she's being crushed to his chest, the arm across her waist having rolled her to face him so he can wrap both arms around her back. "You'll never be alone if you don't wanna be, Hiyori. Not as long as I'm here." Gentle hands rubs small circles into her shoulder blades and she lets herself melt at his touch, burrowing into the space between his neck and shoulder, lips resting on his pulse. Every thump of his heartbeat calms her, and it's not long before she's struggling to keep her eyes open in his warm embrace.

Faintly, she hears, "Sleep, Hiyori," which makes her struggle to organize her thoughts, lost as they are in this pleasant haze. "How will I know you'll be here when I wake up?" she murmurs, words hard to form when her lips graze his neck.

There's silence for a beat before he removes his hands from her back and gently detaches her from his chest. She barely has time to complain before something warm and soft is being draped around her neck, Yato's nimble fingers completing the knot at the back of her head. "There, see? You know I'd never leave my fluffy-fluff scarf behind."

It's all she can do not to bury her face in it, the tattered fabric still warm from where it had rested around his neck. She's heard the rants and lectures about how important the fluffy-fluff is to him and knows he wouldn't part with it unless it were absolutely necessary. It's a gesture of trust, she realizes belatedly, a promise in the form of threadbare cotton.

"Now c'mon, go to sleep. You've earned it." He's pulling her back into the crook of his neck and dragging a blanket over the two of them, his head resting gently atop hers. The urge to sleep is overwhelming and she lets it tow her towards unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge he's not going anywhere.

Hours later, she wakes cocooned in Yato's arms with his fluffy-fluff scarf pushed up her face like a ski mask. His breath is deep and even, and when she tentatively moves her hand on his chest to wiggle out of his embrace, he grumbles and pulls her closer. Well, that's fine then. Closing her eyes, she snuggles into his chest, the dual rhythm of his heartbeat and the rain lulling her back to sleep.