#11 for the soulmates au prompt!!!!! + horrible exorcists heheh
11. the one where soulmates share extreme physical sensation — if one gets hurt, the other gets hurt, and etc.
When it hits, Natori is grateful he’s alone, because the pain brings him to his knees. His glass shatters on the kitchen floor, but he barely hears it over the roaring of blood in his ears.
His eye. His right eye. It’s burning, it’s being torn out — No, the quiet, rational part of his mind tells him, it’s in your head. Nothing is happening. But the pain is fierce, and he’s still shaking when it subsides. For a moment, he curls down to rest his forehead on the cool tiles, then he bolts up. Before he has time to let his mind catch up, he stumbles to the bathroom to inspect his face in the mirror.
His eyes are a bit watery, but clear, intact. Nothing has happened. And yet it’s still throbbing, a sharp, insistent sting that has subsided but not disappeared.
His right eye. At last, his brain catches up with the feeling, and he thinks he feels the world tilt, just a little.
Since becoming clan head, Matoba’s movements have slowed. Natori isn’t sure if it’s compensation for his half-obstructed vision, a consequence of the heavy robes he seems to wear all the time now, or just an attempt to project some kind of grace, to make his elders forget just how young he is. His hair is long enough to tie back now. If it is his plan to seem something other than human, he is succeeding.
Natori does not usually keep an eye on him at gatherings. That is what everyone else is for — there’s never any end to discussion of the young prodigy of the Matoba clan, turned able leader. But today he tracks him carefully. Clearly, the curse remains. He can find no change in the man.
Maybe it was ridiculous to think the pain meant anything. Why should it? Perhaps it was some rival’s flimsy attempt at a curse. Spending the evening watching Matoba would be a waste of time, so he busies himself in conversation, pushing the incident from his mind.
It’s sheer stupidity that gets him hurt — chasing the ayakashi too quickly without watching the ground, without knowing the terrain. His foot catches on a root and he sprawls, ankle twisting, and yelps in startled pain. The ayakashi is gone in an instant, anyway, so there’s nothing to do but hobble back.
It’s healed by the time of the next gathering, his limp gone entirely. He chats genially with other exorcists, a skill he acquired in his day job, and picks up useless gossip. A marriage being planned, a family’s bankruptcy, a rebellious son leaving the practice. In the summer, it becomes oppressively hot in the villas where meetings are held, between the number of bodies and long robes and old buildings without air conditioning. He excuses himself to get some air.
Outside, it is barely cooler, the sun only half set, and he catches sight of a silhouette that makes him want to turn back at once. Matoba must have heard his footsteps, though, and turns to look.
“Natori.” A smile — slow — curves up. “Or else his onryō here to harass me.”
He is no longer in the mood for conversation. “Neglecting your guests?”
Matoba laughs. It’s a different sound than it had been, once. “You should host sometime. I remember your family had quite a nice house.”
“It’s a bit crowded.” What family remains there is more than enough.
“All the same.” He glances up to the house. “You’re right, though. I have people to greet.” As he passes Natori, he adds in an undertone, “I’m glad your ankle is better now.”
He leaves Natori with that, to stand alone in the fading light.
