『• ✎𝐹𝒶𝓇 𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒 •』
paperfortunes:
Jihan stood out on the pier stretching his arms above his head as he looked out over the ocean. He could feel his muscles flex and relax; hidden muscles coiled deep beneath the surface of his human form that yearned for the feel of the cool water. He sighed and muttered an apologetic, “not today, too much to do” to himself as he hoisted up the heavy fishing net he had been repairing. As he turned, he looked down the beach. It was a clear, sunny afternoon and the harbor was easily visible about a mile away. As usual, it was bustling with activity. A pair of small fishing boats were just starting to pull away, heading out for an evening cast. He gave a small salute of well wishes and hiked the balled up fishing net on his shoulder, continuing towards his humble home.
He watched his steps, carefully avoiding any jagged shells that might be resting atop the sand, his mind lost in thoughts of the rest of the day’s chores. He wasn’t paying attention nor expecting any visitors and so when he did finally look up to see someone poking around the outside of his house, it caught him by surprise. He dropped the fishing net to the sand, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the stranger peek into one of the windows, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to be particularly threatening, but Jihan was naturally suspicious of uninvited guests.
“Hey! Can I help you?” he called out, puffing his chest out in what he hoped would be a slightly intimidating stance.
-
His surveillance was futile, the silence as response a little disappointing after his day-long journey. Hayato sighed to himself, the exhaustion from the last twenty-four hours finally catching up to him. “Maybe I should find somewhere to stay first...?” He mused aloud, taking slow, contemplative steps around the perimeter of the hut.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to receive a response when it was what he had desired in the first place, but it did nonetheless. Hayato backed away from the humble hut, blinking as he collected himself. “Ah...” a string of Japanese fell from his lips, hands moving around in flustered gestures before he pinched the bridge of his nose to take a moment to regain his senses.
“No...Yes?” Hayato corrected himself after a short pause. “I meant yes. I was told to come here for help.” Studying the other’s appearance, Hayato rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly at a loss. “Are you Mr. Song Jihan?” From his experience, he knew better than to judge others based on appearances. His brief internet search history told him enough about what an imugi was, but it didn’t quite prepare him for what to expect. “I’m Shirai Hayato, I was told Mr. Song Jihan lived here?”














