What started out as a drabble series of alphabetical prompts rapidly spiraled into...whatever this monstrosity is. The first nine chapters are tangentially connected, but the plot actually starts around chapter ten, lmao.

"You know, one of these days you could just ask to come in."

Hiyori speaks with her back to the window, cracked open to allow a ribbon of soft night air into the bedroom. Along with the liquid sweetness of cherry blossoms and grass, there's another smell: a scent that shimmers over her skin. Even in her human body, she detects it. When she speaks at full volume into the silence, something heavy thumps behind the curtain, and Hiyori calmly ignores the hair-raising volley of muttered curses that follows. Yato may be a god, but even gods stub their toes.

She turns around to see him untangling himself from the drapery, and goes over to help him before the curtain rod comes down on his head.

"Just checking for ayakashi," he explains, eyes watering. He balances on one leg, leaning against the windowsill to hold his injured right foot. "I was going to look under your bed next."

Hiyori raises her eyebrows. "Without Sekki? You must be confident."

"Well…they'd be small ayakashi, obviously."

She doesn't stop watching him; his cheeks puff out in thwarted bravado, and he releases his foot back to the floor to cross his arms at her. He's defiant, daring her to scold him.

"Yato."

Hiyori doesn't mind that he sneaks into her house all the time; she really doesn't. Compared to some of his misadventures, a little housebreaking is positively tame. She just wants to know why. And since he's without Yukine on this particular errand, she really does know he's lying—as if his refusal to meet her eyes wasn't enough.

Yato adjusts himself against the windowsill in stilted nonchalance, looking everywhere but at her. Finally, he twitches one of the curtains aside, glancing behind it for a split second, and loudly clears his throat.

"Yeah, it looks like the coast is clear—thanks to me. You're welcome."

Her sigh is heavy with resignation. Fine. He can keep his little secrets if he wants, but she has school in the morning.

"Thanks for your hard work, Yato. I'm going to bed."

She swivels away on bare toes, and so doesn't see his pupils constrict in panic, doesn't prepare herself for when he darts in front of her, curling his fingers over her shoulders. Her heels slip backward from the resistance, and his grip spasms around her upper arms. Hiyori stares up at him, rigid, waiting.

"Hey!" he spits out, smiling too much, when the silence elongates uncomfortably. "Hey! I know! You still need someone to help you review for your exam tomorrow, right?"

Hiyori blinks. There is no exam. Yato's gaze bounces between her eyes.

"Luckily for you, for just five yen you can have the most experienced tutor at your beck and call! Hell, I'll just take the exam for you. Come to think of it, it might be easier that way—"

His enthusiasm cracks down the middle when she tugs herself free from his hands. She hugs her nightshirt close to her body while maintaining a safe distance, staring up at him.

"Are you okay?" she asks, quietly watchful. She can live with his attachment to her, which borders on unhealthy codependence; she can live with his secrets. But this chaotic, unfocused anxiety worries her.

Yato's eyes widen, and he repairs his composure quickly.

"Of-of course. I just wanted to offer my services, to make sure you don't forget anything."

Forget.

Oh.

Hiyori's throat squeezes tight. Yato doesn't seem to realize his slip, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. When she suddenly brushes past him on the way to her desk, he turns, surprised, to watch. She grabs the first notebook at the top of a stack, and walks back to push it into his hands.

"Sure. You can read my notes to me. I've heard that when someone reads to you as you go to sleep, the information sticks with you better."

She hasn't heard that anywhere, actually, but it sounds believable enough. Before he can move, she slides into bed, pulling the covers all the way up to her chin. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices he remains immobile in the center of her room, the notebook hanging limply in his hands. Hiyori feels her cheeks start to get hot; she hasn't banked on this sudden strangeness, quivering like a heartbeat between them.

"You didn't pay five yen."

He's still turned away from her, looking towards the large window. The moonlight outlines him in blue, blurring the sharpness around his chin, his shoulders.

"Remind me tomorrow, okay?" she says, pressing her face hard against the cool pillow.

He nods once, and folds himself down to sit against the side of her bed, his head next to her knees. Without asking her where to start, he opens to a page in her history notes. When he starts reading, she doesn't even try to listen to the information. His voice is warm, heavy, weaving around her, and there's no room inside of it for anything but sleep.