WHY ARE YOU CRYING:
At the rate that he’s spewing out noxious insult after insult, the boy may as well transform into Sekki on the spot and slice his master into physical, pain-shaped cubes — or at least, that’s the impression that the twisting and writhing of Yato’s features conveys throughout the entire verbal assault. “Yukine… ” Left with nothing but a thoroughly battered ego to protect him, he resorts to a final bout of whining. “Yukineeee! Those are some really cruel things you’re saying, think of your poor master’s feelings!”
Yet Yato pretends not to notice when he finally relaxes, merely grips him all the more cheerily until he’s ducked out from under the clutches of that aromatic embrace, and continues to chatter on, undeterred. “But yeah, yeah — that’s exactly right! You’d be amazed at how many potential followers I’ve already talked to, ‘specially after I managed to set up my first stall!” The level of smugness he’s radiating is off the charts at this point, although there’s no missing the deeper furrow that runs through his brows as the conversation ( if it could even be called one, given its complete one-sidedness up until this point ) takes a more sobering turn.
“As for where we are… I have no idea.” He says it abruptly, gaze hovering on some distant point around the shrine in front of them; it’s hard to admit, especially when Yukine’s making that kind of worried face in front of him, but his time here hasn’t borne even the faintest of fruits ( aside from the trivial pursuits he’d begun in desperation ). No way out, no way home —
And no Hiyori.
It’s a relief that he’s looking away when the twinge crosses his features, and not for the first time, Yato finds himself feeling thankful that their bond runs in only a single direction. Breath finds its way out in a shaky sigh, and he runs a hand back through matted locks, slicking back his own bangs before continuing. “I don’t know why I was brought here, and I don’t know why you were, too. I… don’t know much of anything right now, to be honest.” Another, longer exhalation. “But, I mean — ”
He doesn’t know what else he can say at this point, what kind of reassurance he can offer that’ll be enough to ease the nagging uneasiness around Yukine that’s tangible as day. Heck, after how rough the last few days’ve been ( guilt; I should’ve been there for him sooner ) he owes him something better than the pathetic excuses he’s managed thus far. So, he’s thankful when the shirt provides an excuse to cut himself short, although its existence only sends him off on a completely different tangent.
“This is… Yukine, you… ” This is what he’s best at. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone right back to being teary ol’ Yato, with fistfuls of the t-shirt clutched in both hands while large, doelike eyes remain locked on the replica of his face. “I - I… this is… I - I’d dreamt about something like this before, sure, but… this is so niceeee!”
Bawling one’s heart out while desperately trying to protect the item in one’s hands from any water damage is a challenging task, even for a god. But Yato pulls it off somehow, alternating between choking, heaving sobs of extreme emotionalism to mumbling barely coherent words of praise for the garment. “Fans… F - Fans, Yukine, I finally have fans! To think that someone would make something like this… for me… For meeeee!”
“Think about my feelings! If you had, there wouldn’t be anything to yell at you about!” The rebuttal comes fast, but, by now, the genuine fury has faltered into what is mostly comfortable routine. He hadn’t thought he’d miss Yato’s antics, as troublesome and frustrating as they tended to be, but if they were at each other’s throats, then at least one thing — that they were together, despite the circumstances — was right. After all... without having ran into any other familiar faces, that presence didn’t seem at all guaranteed.
His arms are crossed, Yukine shaking his head as he listens to Yato babble on. “You say that, but I bet there aren’t any returning customers. Setting up a stall in a time like this... that’s obviously a waste of time!” Not that it had ever been a worthwhile pursuit in the first place, but that particular sting is dropped as the outside world again comes to mind — to their one and only returning customer, who had already almost forgotten them one time before, a time too close to this for comfort. And at that time... had Hiyori not only remembered them because Yukine could still move freely?
There was too much they didn’t know, and so he falls silent as Yato’s tone becomes serious, lost in thought as the truth comes to light — Yato, it seemed, knew just as little as he did. What this place was, it’s purpose, and, most importantly, how to get out of it... there was no way of knowing that, no matter how much they needed to. His arms, around himself, tighten slightly. “This place doesn’t make any sense. It sounds like a lot of people were just taken here too, but...” He bites his lip. “Why the hell would it be us...?” Why, out of all people, would they take some that ought by all means to exist invisibly?
It defies logic, and defies reason, much like an undeniably merciful overreaction on Yato’s part — “Stop crying! It’s just a stupid t-shirt!” If anything, it was disturbing that someone somewhere had printed Yato’s face on the thing, if it wasn’t Yato himself — and no matter Yato’s dreams, it likely wasn’t it a fan either. “Give it to me.” He grabs the t-shirt out of Yato’s hands, staring at it, nose wrinkled in disgust. “There’s no way this was a fan, Yato. When I woke up here, they gave it to me. Not that I know who that actually was, but...”
Yato’s only fan, in the human sense, was Hiyori, and, as far as he could tell, she wasn’t here. To expect any other allies in this place was foolish. “I’m sure you talked to someone when you got here too, didn’t you? And you know they weren’t friends.” Growing tense, his hands clench into fists, scrunching up the fabric without intending to, but hardly caring to preserve it anymore. Even more than Yato launching some terrible promotional scheme, even more than Yato wasting time that could’ve been spent searching for answers — his obvious ignorance only led to a far worse answer. “They’re mocking us, Yato! They’re toying around with us!”
He bows his head, arms trembling, teeth gritted together. It was more than place, more even than company. They had gotten inside him, rearranged things, stopped some things off, and now they were laughing. “Seriously, there has to be... something else, about what they did to us. You... feel different too, don’t you Yato?”
