#nishimura satoru | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taizi · 6 months

Text

run, boy, run

chapter four

natsume yuujinchou pairing: one-sided kitanishi word count: 3k summary: Nishimura has a cursed mark on his arm, a crush on Natsume’s famous idol friend, and a whole lot of brand new problems that start and end with the taboo circle on his arm. full circle au

read on ao3

Satoru’s first clue that something is off is the black town car with dark-tinted windows parked a few blocks down from his house.

Most of his neighbors don’t have cars, and the ones who do have little boxy, fuel-efficient numbers that live under tarps in driveways until it’s time for the bi-monthly grocery haul.

The unfamiliar vehicle makes his lizard brain stir uneasily, but Satoru has been having a hard time lately distinguishing between things he should actually be worried about and things the curse is twisting all out of proportion.

Since no one else on the street is outwardly panicking, he takes that as his cue to keep walking.

Satoru’s second clue is what gives him real pause. Fish, perched on his shoulder, is making a noise he’s never heard from her before. It’s a subvocal thing, low and rumbling, and her beady eyes are fixed without wavering on the car.

Or something near the car.

Automatically, his hand drifts toward his pocket, and the cellphone there that’s practically bursting with the names of people who made him swear to reach out to them if he was in trouble.

Kiyoshi was still home when I left, Satoru thinks. I could just turn around.

But mom was still home, too, and if he walked back through the front door at the same time he should have been walking into homeroom, she would blow a fuse.

The thought of her tirade causes his arm to twinge sharply, and he drops his hand away from his pocket. Be normal, he scolds himself. You promised Kitamoto you’d be normal. Normal people don’t worry about random cars.

Since he first discovered Taki’s circle, Satoru has seen dozens of yokai around town, big and small, mostly minding their own business. And their own business had very little to do with Satoru unless he stuck his nose in it. If there’s a spirit over there on the other end of the street, one that’s causing Fish to bait her wings and grumble, then there’s a good chance it doesn’t have anything to do with Satoru anyway.

At the very least, he’s certain that it isn’t the monster that cursed him. He and Fish have an agreed-upon signal for that, which is essentially just Fish screeching like a klaxon until help shows up.

Still, Satoru pivots on his heel and cuts down a side-street. He’ll take the long way to school today. He doesn’t want to go near that car.

“We keep meeting in alleys,” an unfortunately familiar voice says cheerfully, just before a hand lands on his shoulder.

Fish takes off in a flurry of feathers, a distant speck in the sky before anyone could even think about catching her. The first thing Satoru feels is relief that she’s gone. Right on the heels of relief comes a cool wash of dread, and a dull, steady ache in his arm. He turns, already knowing who he’ll find behind him.

As easily as if they’re old friends, Matoba Seiji smiles.

At school, Nishimura’s friends are lingering by the entrance, getting more and more restless with every second. When the bell rings, and they should all be in class, detention is the last thing on their minds.

Over the last week, one or more of them has always been there to walk with Nishimura before and after school, but he insisted and they agreed to let the constant guard taper off a bit.

He’s been doing a lot better since their war council with Natori, but the curse is still active and present in his mind, and they can see it when it goes to work on him. When Nishimura starts to think his friends don’t trust him to do something as simple as make it to school on his own, and his arm blooms with vivid, obscene color, the only thing they can do is assure him. Tell him of course that isn’t true, they do trust him, and if he thinks he doesn’t need an entourage, then they’ll be willing to back off a bit and give it a try. Anything that might give him a foothold to wrestle control of his mind back.

But he was supposed to be here nearly ten minutes ago, even accounting for the way he constantly gets distracted by cute dogs and weird bugs and talkative neighbors. Tsuji, who lives a few houses down from Nishimura, once famously dragged him into homeroom by the elbow and announced, “I bumped into him in the combini this morning, holding the bento he bought for lunch in his hands, and he told me he forgot about school until he saw my uniform.” It was hilarious at the time.

“Sensei left early to make sure he got here,” Natsume says tersely. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m calling Kiyoshi-niisan,” Kitamoto says, phone already pressed to his ear.

Taki, who has been pacing in restless circles since Nishimura didn’t show up on time, says, “He can’t see. He doesn’t have the circle anymore. What if—”

“Don’t,” Tanuma says, not unkindly, but more like he can’t bear to listen to her bolt down that frightening rabbit hole. “I’m sure he’s okay. Fish would have told us if he wasn’t.”

At about that moment, in an example of the most absurdly perfect timing any bird has ever had, an agitated magpie flutters down onto the closed gate and raises the alarm.

Sitting in the backseat of the town car, his arms folded tightly across his front to hide the way his hands are trembling, the unconscious Nyanko-sensei a heavy, boneless weight in his lap, Satoru says, as firmly as he can manage, “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Matoba replies easily. “Your little pet is proof of that.”

Even more glad now that Fish seized the opportunity to bolt at the first sign of trouble, Satoru insists, “She’s just a bird. There’s a ton of birds just like her around here. Natsume’s mom has crows in her garden.”

He doesn’t know how long he’ll get away with playing dumb—when Nyanko-sensei scared Matoba off that night after the visit with Natori, the lucky cat spoke in front of them both. There’s no way this guy forgot about that. But Satoru has no idea what is safe to discuss with this boogeyman Natsume was so careful to warn him about, so he defaults to bald-faced denial.

Something darts across Matoba’s face that looks like curiosity when Satoru mentions Touko, there and gone again in a split-second.

“This conversation would go a lot smoother if you’d do me the courtesy of honesty,” is what Matoba says, as if he’s been the epitome of good manners this entire time.

The half of Satoru’s brain that isn’t spinning in anxious circles puffs up in indignation.

“Courtesy? You’re the one who abducted me on my way to school!”

Rather than offense, Matoba seems to take delight in his attitude. He’s weirdly likable, for all that he’s also very dangerous and powerful, if Natsume and Nyanko-sensei are to be believed. It creates a sense of conflict in Satoru’s head, because part of him wants to sit here and argue with the friendly, conversational man, while another, much larger part wants to run far, far away.

That larger part wins, because Satoru is literally in the backseat of a strange car, alone, with his phone sitting out of reach on the dashboard up front.

He wonders, for a brief, hysterical moment, if anyone is missing him yet.

“I can see why you and Natsume are friends,” Matoba says, as if he’s a proud relative and Natsume is a charming, if ornery, little cousin. “And I can see that you know more than you are willing to share with me. Is that loyalty, I wonder? Or ignorance?” He leans in, his long hair falling over his shoulder, and says, “Are you being kept in the dark?”

Satoru presses his arms tighter against his middle, trying to think past the hurthurthurt that pulses through the curse mark. He’s glad he wore long sleeves today.

He’s beginning to see shadows again, even here in the well-lit interior of the car. It’s a fog that creeps into his head, past reason and logic and common sense. Sometimes Satoru can feel it starting to happen, his mind turning against him as dark sympathetic magic makes him doubt, but there’s nothing he can do when that happens except cling to what he knows and hope it’s enough.

He remembers, against better judgement, being made to wash the seeing circle away. Natori’s face frowning at him from across the table, even though he got what he wanted.

Was he being kept in the dark?

No, Satoru thinks. It was for his own good. His friends were worried.

Were they? Then where are they? If they’re so worried about him, why aren’t they here?

They don’t know where I am, Satoru thinks wildly. No one knows where I am.

He doesn’t know where he is, either. They’ve been driving for what feels like a long time, and the windows are too dark to see through unless he presses his face against the glass and he won’t do that while Matoba is watching him. Nyanko-sensei, Natsume’s unofficial shiki and glorified babysitter, is sprawled across Satoru’s knees in an unnatural sleep and dead to the world.

He’s on his own.

“I’m sure you must have heard stories about me,” the man says, almost gently. He’s still smiling. “But really, I’m not so bad. I just want to have a talk, and then I’ll drop you off wherever you want.”

Rattled, Satoru dares to glance sidelong at him. Matoba’s smile widens.

“All you have to do is tell me the truth,” he goes on. “Just level with me. Are your eyes the same as mine? Do you see the same strange world that I do? Is that why you and Natsume are such good friends, hm? A common perspective? It would explain a lot.”

Something about that remark wriggles past everything else, a slippery eel darting through muddy water. It’s the first clear-headed thought Satoru manages to grasp.

“What’s that mean?” he asks. “What does it have to do with us being friends?”

“Well, historically, Natsume doesn’t have the best track record, does he?” Matoba’s voice is rich with laughter. It isn’t mean-spirited, but it rubs Satoru wrong anyway. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Satoru blurts. The pain in his arm recedes and the shadows peel away—he’s still afraid, but it’s the normal sort of fear now. It’s not the influence of a monster, leaning on him until he can’t see or think or hear straight. And it’s eclipsed, easily, by irritation. “He’s my friend because he’s funny and sarcastic and nice to everybody and a sore loser at trivia games. I like him. Our whole class likes him. It has nothing to do with whatever you’re talking about.”

That curiosity flicks across Matoba’s expression again, like something Satoru told him is brand-new information, completely unheard of.

It doesn’t do anything to curb his knowing smile which, in Satoru’s opinion, has become less likable and more punchable with every second Matoba talks about Natsume like he actually knows anything about him.

“And even if he did see your strange world, or whatever, what does that have to do with me? And what are you accomplishing by kidnapping me?”

“I would hardly call it kidnapping—”

“There are so many other things he has to worry about without worrying about you,” Satoru goes on, warming up to the subject. “You just show up and make his life difficult and threaten him and drag him into dangerous situations like he doesn’t endanger himself enough as it is! Yeah, he told me stories about you, because you scare him.”

For the first time, Matoba seems genuinely thrown-off.

“No I don’t,” the man says. “He’s well aware that there are better things to be afraid of.”

Satoru knows that much, too. Being cursed by a yokai on the edge of the woods was equally as scary as being forced into a car by a stranger. Maybe those two situations were entirely different, but the way Satoru’s heart thundered in his chest, the way he wondered for a brutally honest split-second if he’d ever see his brother or his friends again, was exactly the same.

“That's the point,” Satoru says belligerently, aware that he’s digging his own grave, “Natsume knows a monster when he sees one.”

Matoba studies him with keen eyes. His smirk is a quiet, thoughtful thing now.

“One last question,” he says. Lifting a pale, elegant hand, he points to the other side of the partition, at the burly figure in the driver’s seat. “What do you think of that guy?”

Burying anxious fingers in Nyanko-sensei’s thick fur, Satoru darts a glance that way, trying to find the trap in Matoba’s words. The driver, for his part, doesn’t turn to look back or acknowledge Matoba in any way.

“I don’t know,” Satoru says defensively. “He hasn’t said anything this whole time.”

Matoba’s smile widens, as pleased as a cat with a canary.

“That’s fair,” he replies, and gestures with his hand. The driver catches the signal somehow and twirls the steering wheel, pulling the car around in a neat U-turn. “A deal’s a deal. Where am I taking you?”

Home, Satoru wants to say, except mom will be there, and she’ll be angry if he shows up when he’s not supposed to. Kitamoto, is his very next thought, filled with wanting, so he says, “School. Even though I’ll definitely have detention thanks to you.”

“Studious,” Matoba says with a laugh. “I admire that.”

Rubbing one of Nyanko-sensei’s velvety ears between his fingers, Satoru asks, “When will sensei wake up?”

“I’d give it another hour,” Matoba replies, his tone reassuring. “He’s a little too eager with his teeth when it’s just the two of us, so I figured it was best to be extra cautious.”

Secretly, Satoru wishes Nyanko-sensei had managed to get one good bite in. Then maybe Matoba would have slightly less to be smug about.

Something strikes the windshield, and Satoru flinches in surprise. The car continues gliding smoothly forward, but another tiny projectile joins the first, and then another after that. Satoru stares as all the windows on the car are plastered with scraps of paper until the vehicle is entirely covered.

The interior is dim now, cave-like, and Satoru clutches Nyanko-sensei closer.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Matoba says, making another gesture. The car slows and comes to a stop. He sounds unbothered, unlocking the doors with the button panel by his arm. “They’re here for you.”

When the door lock springs up, Satoru grapples for the handle and wrenches it open before Matoba can change his mind. He all but topples out of the car, Natsume’s cat clutched in the crook of one arm.

By the time he’s managed to find his feet, large hands are on his shoulders, guiding him upright. He jerks back reflexively, whipping his head around, but it’s not another stranger. It’s Natori, and the breath goes out of Satoru’s lungs in a rush of relief. He doesn’t even question how the man is standing here in front of him, the last place on earth a famous actor should be.

“Easy,” the man says, studying Satoru’s face carefully. “Are you hurt?”

Satoru shakes his head. For all that he was running his mouth a moment ago, he’s got nothing to say now. He lets himself be pushed behind Natori’s back as Natori makes himself a wall between Satoru and Matoba.

“There is such a thing,” Natori grits out, glaring murder at his shadowy counterpart, “as going too far.”

“You’re always one step ahead of me, Shuuichi-kun,” Matoba replies genially. “It seems like every remarkable child I manage to find has already been snatched up by the Natori clan.”

“This child has a family willing to press charges,” Natori bites back. “If you don’t think his aunt would take you to court and drag your name through dirt until she won, that’s only because you haven’t met her yet.”

Kitamoto’s mom, Satoru’s Auntie Mikako, is a force of nature. If she got wind of this, it’s over for Matoba already.

But he remembers Natsume’s warnings, how he talked about Matoba’s connections and his powerful family, and he doesn’t want the Kitamotos anywhere near him.

“Natori-dono,” someone behind Satoru says.

Jerking his head, as if shaking off a collar someone tried to put around his neck, Natori says, “This is far from over. But for now, get lost.”

“It’s always such a pleasure,” Matoba laughs, and leans out the door Satoru left hanging ajar to pass Satoru’s phone to Natori. After snapping the door shut smartly, he rolls down the window, because of course he has something else to say. Satoru tenses when Matoba looks at him, and Natori makes a furious sound, but the strange man only adds in parting, “Natsume is lucky to have a friend like you. I hope he keeps you close.”

From anyone else, it might have been a threat. From Matoba, it sounds genuine. For the life of him, Satoru can’t get a bead on this guy at all.

When the car pulls away, Natori says, “Follow. Make sure he leaves,” which Satoru assumes is a command to his shiki. He’s too busy staring down at the lucky cat in his arms and keeping his breathing steady to worry overmuch about what’s going on around him now.

That is, until Natori touches his chin, a gentle instruction to lift his head. The man looks angry and exhausted and worried, his eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he demands.

“I’m sure,” Satoru replies. “All he did was talk to me. He asked me questions about Natsume and the guy driving the car and then said he’d drop me off at school. He’s really weird.”

Natori’s face does something strange. “There wasn’t a guy driving the car.”

Satoru frowns at him, pushed well past his personal threshold of stuff he’s willing to put up with. He’s over today. He’s going to have to deal with an unexplained absence from school and his mom’s temper when she finds out, but that sounds like tomorrow’s problem. All he wants right now is his bird and his best friend and a stack of comfort movies and sugary snacks, and maybe his brother, too. He doesn’t think that’s too much to ask for.

“It’s not like it was driving itself,” he mutters.

“No,” Natori says slowly. “You misunderstood me. There wasn’t a human driving the car.”

Satoru blinks at him. As he watches, a little black tattoo crawls up the side of Natori’s face, coming to rest on his forehead.

“Oh,” he says dumbly.

Belatedly, he looks over his shoulder, and finds Hiiragi lingering behind him, where she’s probably been this whole time. She’s a little hazy around the edges, like he needs to squint to see her properly, but she’s there.

“You’re not wearing the circle?” Natori asks in a quiet voice. He sounds like he already knows the answer.

Satoru shakes his head, wide-eyed.

“Guess my eyes adjusted,” he whispers.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #nishimura satoru #matoba seiji #natori shuuichi #my writing #full circle #natsuyuu fic #and it only took me 2 years :)

32 notes · View notes