Making things right P4
Imported from SF2 with no description.
The seasons have started to change since I first met Yuki. In all this time, I've done everything I can to keep the truth from my father. As much as it sickens me, he seems content to believe I've joined the family's sick traditions; like Yuki is nothing more than a tool for my stress relief. The words alone make my stomach twist. But as long as he believes it, he doesn't ask questions about where I go or how much time I spend by the cave. Instead, he just throws out sneering little comments: remarks about how no beast could be that good, his tone dripping with mockery.
Every time, I want to snap. I want to scream that it's not like that, that I'm not like him. But I don't. I can't. He'd never understand, and worse, he might grow suspicious. So I swallow my anger and keep my head down, even as I feel it curdle in my chest like acid. I made a vow to stand by Yuki, but the more I think about what my family has done to her, the harder it is to keep hold of my sanity.
My father walks around our home as if he's untouchable, laughing, drinking, living like none of it matters; like he hasn't left decades of scars behind. I look at Yuki, at the quiet strength she holds, and the thought claws at me: Is he supposed to get away with this?
“It's another lovely morning, isn't it?"
Yuki's voice cuts through the dark thoughts circling my mind, soft and unexpected. I blink, the world snapping back into focus: the gentle rustle of leaves overhead, the dappled sunlight breaking through the canopy, the scent of the cool earth beneath my feet. Yuki stands a few steps ahead of me, her calm gaze meeting mine.
This has become a routine for us. Early mornings spent walking together, exploring the quiet parts of the forest that feel untouched by time. In these moments, the weight on my shoulders lessens, just a little. Being with her is a double-edged sword: she soothes me like no one else, but she also brings my thoughts to places I shouldn't let them go.
I can't admit it to her, but the more time we spend together, the more I think I'm falling in love with her. And that only makes the shame worse. The son of a family who has done unspeakable things, my family, has no right to feel this way. Telling her would be selfish. Another scar on a soul that's already endured too much.
“Tasuke?"
Yuki's voice breaks through my thoughts again. I hadn't realized I'd stopped walking. She tilts her head, her expression soft with concern.
I shake myself free of the haze and force a small smile. “Sorry. Just getting lost in my head again." I glance up at the treetops where a pair of songbirds flit between branches, chirping gently as they settle close to each other. “Yeah… Another great morning."
Yuki doesn't look convinced. “Is it your father again?"
There's something about the way she asks, direct but kind, with a sort of quiet strength that catches me off guard every time. She's changed, too, these last few months. She's become more assertive, more comfortable around me, like the pieces of herself she'd hidden away are finally coming back together. She doesn't hesitate to call me out, to check on me. She makes me feel seen, even when I don't want to be.
I exhale, trying to keep my voice even. “Not really." It's not a full lie, but it's enough. I can't let her ask the right question. If she did, and I had to answer, really answer, everything between us would shatter.
As my gaze drifts down to her, something catches my eye. A faint shimmer in the light, a patch of scar tissue on her scales. I crouch beside her, my fingers reaching out before I can stop myself, brushing lightly over the rough texture.
“Is it getting smaller?" I murmur, startled by the realization.
The scales beneath my hand feel warmer than usual, almost like heat is radiating from them. I pause, briefly wondering if it's just the morning sun playing tricks. I don't pay it much mind, too caught up in how the scar looks less jagged, as though it's beginning to fade, however slowly.
“Perhaps," Yuki replies quietly.
Her voice pulls my attention back to her face, and I realize she's turned away. I freeze, my hand still touching her, the sudden weight of my actions hitting me. I forgot to ask before touching her. Stupid. It's something I always do, something I promised I'd respect.
“I'm sorry," I blurt, quickly withdrawing my hand. “I didn't mean to do that."
She clears her throat softly, her posture relaxing just a fraction. “Don't worry about it."
The silence that follows is heavy. I fall into step beside her again, but every step feels weighted with regret. She doesn't say it, but I know she hates being touched. I don't blame her. After everything that's happened, it's a miracle she lets me anywhere near her at all. We stop by a narrow stream, its waters clear and rippling softly over smooth stones.
Yuki lowers herself onto the grass, the morning sunlight catching on her scales as she gazes at the water. I sit beside her, careful to keep a respectful distance. The moment feels like something fragile, something precious. The only sounds are the soft trickle of the stream and the faint rustling of leaves. In this quiet, I let myself breathe.
I close my eyes for a moment and listen, just listen. The forest feels alive around us, unbothered by the chaos of humans. Here, at least, it feels like the world can still be good.
Yuki watched Tasuke out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering longer than she meant it to. Something was wrong, she could sense it. Normally, his silences could be traced back to his father, but this time felt… different. There was a weight to him she couldn't quite name. Something was eating at him, and it scared her more than she cared to admit.
He wasn't like the others, she knew that, but the doubt always lingered in the back of her mind, whispering its cruel questions. What if he changed? What if fear or obligation pulled him back into the shadows his family cast? Would she have to kill him? The thought should have terrified her. It didn't. She already knew what she'd do: she'd take him far away from this place and hope that whatever darkness haunted him would stay behind. That they could return to this; to quiet mornings and shared silence.
And earlier, when he touched her scar, her body had reacted in a way that startled her. That warmth, sudden and sharp, had rippled through her like a current. It wasn't fear. She knew what fear felt like, and this wasn't it. If anything, it had been something far more confusing; a heat that left her chest tight and her thoughts scattered.
She turned her gaze back to the water, hoping it would cool the strange flush she still felt under her scales. Her heart raced as it always did when her thoughts wandered like this. She didn't understand it. It wasn't fear, not exactly. But it wasn't excitement, either. It was both, and neither. Like every emotion she'd numbed for so long was trying to wake up all at once.
She glanced at Tasuke again. He was staring into the stream, his shoulders slightly hunched, that faraway look on his face making him seem so distant. She could feel him holding himself back, like something was pulling him away. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else. Yuki sighed quietly, resting her chin on her forelegs as she gazed at the rippling water. For so many years, she'd only cared about surviving, about forgetting. But now? Now, all she could think of was Tasuke.
She wished she could bridge that distance between them. She wished she could take his guilt away. Most of all, she wished she could give him back even a fraction of what he'd given her.
“Tasuke, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?" Yuki asked.
She watched him carefully as his gaze drifted to the sky, the soft rustle of leaves filling the silence while he thought.
“I'd like it if we didn't have to worry about the future," he answered honestly, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of longing. “It's not just my father; it's so much more than that. I think a lot about what we'd do if anyone knew you existed. Maybe I could lie about you being some kind of animatronic, at least to a few people. But it wouldn't hold up for long." He laughed under his breath. “Maybe we'd just have to disappear into the dense forests and make a life there?"
Yuki tilted her head, studying him. She still struggled to fully understand the weight of what Tasuke worried about when it came to the modern world, but his words, stirred something within her. The image of an untouched forest, a life free from fear and secrecy, wasn't unappealing.
“I wouldn't be against the idea," she replied softly, but then a spark of inspiration lit up her eye. “Tasuke, can you make a fire?"
“…Yeah, but why?" I asked, tilting my head.
There was something about Yuki's smile that made me pause. It wasn't like the ones I'd seen before. Usually, her smiles were small, quiet, fleeting things meant to show appreciation or understanding. But this one… This one was different. It was brighter, livelier, almost as if she was proud of something and couldn't wait to share it with me. It reminded me of the kind of smile a friend might have when giving you a handmade gift, personal, meaningful, and full of quiet excitement.
“Gather everything you need. I'll return shortly," she said. My chest tightened at the thought of her wandering off on her own, but the way her smile lingered; so calm, so confident, made it impossible to argue. “I won't be far," she added, almost as if sensing my hesitation.
I sighed, nodding reluctantly. “All right." Whatever she had in mind, it was clearly important to her.
Once she left, I set off into the woods, gathering what I needed to make a fire. Twigs, small logs, and dry kindling. I went back and forth, carrying armfuls of supplies and dropping them near the bank of the stream where we'd stopped. Each time I returned, Yuki wasn't there, but I told myself not to worry. I trusted her.
I focused on the task at hand, keeping my mind busy. I built a ring of stones to contain the fire, carefully arranging the kindling and twigs in its center. The larger logs were stacked close by, ready to be added once the flames took hold. Then came the tricky part: starting the fire itself. I crouched low, gripping the sticks for the drill technique. Two minutes passed. Then five. Then ten. Sweat dripped down my forehead as my arms started to ache.
God, I forgot how hard this is, I thought, gritting my teeth.
This was something I'd learned as a kid, but I hadn't done it in years. Still, like riding a bike, the motions began to come back to me. My muscles moved almost on their own, guided by a long-buried memory. Finally, I saw it: a tiny ember glowing faintly against the wood. My breath caught, and I quickly cradled the ember in the kindling, shielding it with my hands. Gently, I breathed life into it, coaxing the fragile glow until it burst into a small flame.
“Got you," I whispered under my breath, a smile tugging at my lips.
I carefully placed the flame beneath the twigs, feeding it until it grew. Another ten minutes of quiet, steady work passed, and by the time the fire was licking up toward the logs, it was strong and steady. Leaning back on my heels, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and stared into the flames.
"There. All set."
I took a moment to watch the flames dance, their flickering light casting shadows against the trees. It's strange how something so dangerous can also be so calming. The crackle of burning wood filled the air, wrapping me in a quiet, almost meditative stillness. Then, a twig snapped behind me. I blinked, the trance breaking, and turned to see Yuki standing there.
She was dripping wet, water trailing down her scales but my eyes immediately caught on something strange: a noticeable bulge in her throat that shifted slightly as she moved.
“Yuki, are you… alright?" I asked, concern edging into my voice. I'd never seen anything like this before.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stood there, her eye catching the light of the fire, and for a moment, there was an expression on her face that almost looked smug. Without a word, she stepped closer to the fire, her movements deliberate but unhurried. Lowering her head to the ground, she opened her mouth, and I watched, completely transfixed, as the lump in her throat began to shift upward.
Slowly, carefully, it passed through her, and one by one, a small pile of fish tumbled out onto the dirt beside the fire. I blinked, stunned. Did Yuki just spit up fish? The fish were perfect. There wasn't a single bite mark, no blood, no sign of damage. Just sleek, pristine fish lying unmoving in a neat little pile covered in a thin sheen of what I can only assume is saliva.
“...You caught these?" I finally asked, my voice low with disbelief.
Her smile returned, calm and sure. “When you mentioned living off the forest, a memory came back to me. I used to dive into these waters and catch my meals for the day." A hint of pride flickered across her face as she added, “I know it might not be much, but… thank you."
She... did this for me? The ache in my chest was back again, sharp and unrelenting. How is it possible to love her this much when we've only known each other for such a short time? The thought was overwhelming, almost painful, as if my heart wasn't meant to hold something this intense. I swallowed hard, forcing the emotions back into place before they could spill over and betray me.
“Well, I'd better get these ready and set them by the fire," I said, my voice as steady as I could make it. I added a smile for her sake, hoping it masked the turmoil beneath.
I gathered the fish, their slick bodies cool against my hands, and carried them to the stream. Behind me, Yuki settled onto the ground, her figure illuminated by the firelight as the warmth began drying the water from her scales, and though her calm expression never wavered, there was something deeply reassuring about the way she watched me, patient and composed. At the stream, I crouched to clean the fish. The cool water rippled softly as I rinsed each one, the repetitive task grounding me. My knife made quick work of the gutting and scaling, the familiar motions keeping my hands busy while my thoughts wandered.
Everytime I glanced back, I saw Yuki just lying there, watching me intrigued but she never said anything. It was as if we'd done this a thousand times before and I too found myself drifting into the fantasy that we were out in the forest on our own, living off the land. What had started as a joke now felt strangely comforting. Being in this moment calmed my worries in a way I hadn't expected, as if no matter what came next, we'd be fine together.
Preparing the fish would take a little time, so I let my curiosity win out on what she said earlier.
“Do you… remember much else?" I asked.
Yuki's gaze moves to the fire, as if losing herself in a memory.
“Not much," she said, her voice a calm murmur. “Most of it comes in pieces, like bits of light through leaves. But… when you mentioned living in the forest, I thought of the two of us, sharing warmth in a cave, listening to rain falling just outside, cold, but gentle. I remembered how the air smells after it rains, how it feels cool against my body. And then I thought of water, the kind that pools in quiet streams."
She paused, her lips curling into the faintest smile. “I could hear it. The splash of something breaking the surface. I saw a fish leap, silver and alive, and suddenly I remembered diving after them; catching them." She tilted her head just slightly, her tone light and matter-of-fact. “It was easy for me. Like something I've always known how to do."
She takes a slow breath in, as if savoring something in the air that wasn't there. “When I woke from those thoughts, I had to see if they were real," she continued, her voice steady but quieter now. “If the memory was mine, or if it was just… something I wanted to believe."
She shifted slightly, her claws pressing gently into the earth as if grounding herself in the moment. “The water was cold when I stepped in, the kind that wraps around you and sinks into your flesh. It felt right, like a piece I'd forgotten falling back into place. I stayed still, waiting, watching the surface ripple, and then I saw them. The way they moved… it was like I could feel it before they did. So I followed."
Yuki's head dipped slightly, her mouth opening, and with surprising speed, snapping shut. “And just like that, I remembered everything. How to move, how to catch them. It wasn't something I had to think about; it was already there, waiting for me."
Her words trailed off, and she glanced at me, almost cautious. “It's strange, isn't it? To forget something so completely, only to wake up and find it still part of you."
I stared at her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. “Not strange," I said finally, my voice softer than I expected. “Kind of amazing, actually."
Yuki tilted her head again, her expression unreadable, but she didn't look away. “Maybe," she murmured, then added, “It felt good to remember something. Something that wasn't…"
Her voice faded into the soft crackle of the fire, unfinished but understood. She didn't need to say it. I already knew. Something that wasn't pain. Something that wasn't them. I had already skewered the fish and placed them by the fire to cook. The soft crackling of their skin gives off a pleasant scent.
“Well," I said, forcing a grin as I gestured toward the fish roasting over the flames, “if worst comes to worst, at least I know we've got a backup plan."
Yuki's smile returned, this time warmer, softer, and more sure than before. “Indeed, we do."
It was a small step, but Yuki could sense that Tasuke was no longer as burdened as he'd been earlier. Knowing that he, too, found the idea of living for themselves appealing eased some of the doubts lingering in her mind. No matter what came, she believed they could always be together. As she watched Tasuke tend to the fish, her gaze softened, and she brought a claw up to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her heart.
A part of her wanted to set off right now. To leave everything behind—the past, the fear, the pain—and start fresh. But another part knew it wasn't so simple. Tasuke had a life beyond the forest, full of things she didn't fully understand. The modern world, maybe even friends. A sudden thought struck her, sharp and unwelcome. Did Tasuke have a mate?
Thinking back, he often spoke about his childhood or the intricacies of modern life, but rarely did he mention other people. She didn't know if he had close friends or someone special waiting for him. Could he be neglecting them to spend time with her? The idea twisted inside her until she shook her head, willing it away. Assumptions wouldn't help. If she wanted answers, she could simply ask.
"Tasuke. Do you have a mate?"
Her words startled him. He jerked, dropping the fish he was skewering onto the ground.
“W-Why do you ask?" he stammered, hastily picking it up and dipping it back into the stream to clean it.
“Well, you haven't spoken much of friends. So I was wondering if you had any… or a mate?"
He kept his back to her, focusing intently on cleaning the fish. “I have a few friends. We talk sometimes, but they're busy with their lives, and I have mine." He placed the fish by the fire and grabbed another, his hands moving faster than before. “And no, I don't have a mate."
For some reason, a sense of relief washed over Yuki, but it didn't settle her curiosity.
"Why not?"
Tasuke cleared his throat, his movements faltering for just a moment. “I guess I haven't met the right one yet."
“The right one?" Yuki tapped a claw lightly under her chin. “A strange saying. I take it you mean to only be bound to one being?" He nodded, and she tilted her head slightly, beginning to piece it together. “Is that a normal practice?"
“For most people, yes, but it can be… complicated." Tasuke placed the last fish by the fire, but even then, he didn't turn to face her. “I know you don't remember much… but did you have a mate?"
Yuki's teeth clenched as flashes of different humans plagued her mind. Faces blurred, voices harsh and cruel. Her chest tightened, bile rising in her throat as the phantom weight of their touch pressed down on her. She dug her claws into the earth, the warmth of the fire and the sound of Tasuke nearby anchoring her. Forcing a breath, she pushed the memories back, swallowing the nausea. Not now. Not here.
“...No," she said finally, her voice quieter. “Even if I did, I wouldn't know where they are. Or why I was alone in that cave." Her gaze dropped to the fire, the glow dancing faintly in her eye.
“I'm sorry." Tasuke's voice was soft, and when she glanced up, his guilt was written all over his face. “I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
She shook her head gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It's only natural to ask a question in return." She paused, her expression softening. “Let's try something lighter. What is your type?"
Tasuke blinked, caught off guard. “How do you know that saying?"
Yuki smiled faintly. “The movie we watched before. Did I use it correctly?"
He hesitated before nodding. “You did. Uh… as for my type?" She leaned in slightly, her curiosity clear, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well… I guess I like someone who's honest."
“An important trait," Yuki said with a nod. “What else?"
“I-I'd want someone understanding. Someone who'd stick with me through thick and thin."
“Very sound," she said, tilting her head slightly. “But what about looks? Isn't that what the phrase is mostly for?"
I can't believe Yuki cornered me like this. How am I supposed to answer without making it painfully obvious? I thought vague personality traits would save me, but now she wants to know about looks? How do I explain my type without basically describing her?
“So… the thing is… with looks…" My mind blanked completely. Yuki is beautiful, and every part of her stands out, but there's no way I can be vague enough to avoid suspicion. “T-Tall?"
“Tall?" Yuki repeated, tilting her head, her curiosity growing.
It was all I could think of. Yuki is taller than me when she's standing up, but not by much. Her body length, of course, was another story entirely, but I couldn't for the life of me think of anything else. What could I even say? Horns? Feathers? Scales? Claws? She would've known right away.
Her mouth started to open, and I panicked. Quickly, I grabbed a few fish from the fire. “We better eat these while they're hot."
Yuki paused, studying me for a moment, her gaze lingering longer than I expected. Then she nodded, her tone calm. “If you wish."
We both fell into silence as we ate our fish. I focused on the meal, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. I'd dodged a bullet there, and I hoped she'd be satisfied for the time being. What I didn't notice, not until much later, was that while I ate, Yuki's eye never left me.