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It’s in the dead of night that Yudai leaves.
Slowly, carefully, quietly. He has to extricate himself from heavy limbs and heavier heads. The kids tend to sleep in clumps around the older members. Tonight, it’s Yuma’s cheek nuzzled into his arm and Maki’s leg thrown over his middle. He’s lucky that it’s them, that they sleep like the dead.
Yudai still has to step over the others to reach the edge of the clearing. Nicholas curled into Jo’s chest, Harua held snug in Euijoo’s arms, Taki’s face buried in the crook of Fuma’s neck.
There, Yudai pauses, his resolve wavering. The usually stern set of Fuma’s face is so gentle in sleep. Taki’s fingers are twisted in the back of Fuma’s furs. Yudai’s heart aches to see the two of them, his rattling breath getting tight as frost grips the soles of his shoes. It threatens to creep up his feet, his ankles, his calves. It keeps him frozen to the spot. The longer he lingers, the greater his desire grows. His fingers twitch at his sides—Taki’s hair is ruffled on his head. Someone should smooth it away.
Yudai tells himself that come morning, someone will. Fuma might notice as soon as he wakes up. Maybe Yuma will see later on and chide him, fussing about and fixing Taki’s general appearance. Maybe Maki will grin and mess it up more before tidying it back into place. Maybe Jo will quietly do it without anyone noticing.
It’s been years since it was just the two of them, frightened children cowering at the shadows in the underbrush. Now, Taki doesn’t have to cling to Yudai’s hand. He’s bigger and braver, but more importantly, he will always be cared for. And everyone who takes care of him is taken care of in turn. His boys—the eight stars in Yudai’s sky—will always protect each other.
It’s been a long time since they actually needed Yudai. He’s overstayed his welcome.
But even as he tells himself this, Yudai can’t break his feet free from the ice. He can’t shake the desire to leave something behind. Suddenly, as if possessed, he pulls his journal out of the front of his coat and leaves it at his feet. Drops the compass on top for good measure. There are no goodbyes to be found in there. Yudai has to force himself to turn away before he can convince himself that writing one is worth the wasted time.
But there’s no more time left to waste. He turns on his heel, frost crackling beneath his feet and bones creaking beneath his skin as he shifts and starts to run.
The air is painfully frigid in his lupine lungs. It crackles in his throat—Yudai aches with the urge to howl, to plant his feet and cry out into a starless sky, but he’s done enough. He forces himself to keep running, to keep following the acrid herbal scent through the dark woods. In his wolven form, the night is no problem. He deftly darts around trees and bushes, he takes the twists and turns with pinpoint accuracy.
None of the others were ever able to be faster than him. They’ve tried, oh they tried so hard. Countless times Nicholas and Maki demanded that he race them, incessant and over-competitive, nipping at Yudai’s ankles like pups. Their passion would inevitably rope in the others. Jo shyly stepping up to the starting line, Taki bounding over with his endless reserves of energy. Fuma would join too, on occasion, chuffing and butting his snout against Yudai’s neck in challenge.
Yuma would always run ahead, shifting back into his human form to make some kind of finish line out of twigs and leaves and dirt. Harua would clamber up some tree and watch at a point in the middle, excitedly cheering for no one in particular. Euijoo would roll his eyes but indulge them all regardless, making sure they were all lined up and that no one was trying to creep ahead, Nicholas, and then he’d call it: on your marks, get set, go-!
They’re a fast pack. That’s what they’re known for, that’s how they’ve survived. Yudai made sure of it. He trained them to break into an explosive sprint, to manage their stamina, to harden their endurance, to run and run and run, fast enough that they wouldn’t be caught. They would outpace any other wolf easily, each and every one of them. But they never managed to catch up to him.
Yudai hopes that they do not wake until mid-morning. Until after he is gone. God, he hopes that when they wake, they will have forgotten him entirely. But he knows that it is not possible. And he knows that it is even more likely that they will wake within the hour, disturbed and discontent by his fading scent. At the very least, Yudai is too quick for them to catch up. They will not make it in time. Yudai prays that they won’t.
A broken keen escaped him, pained and mourning. Were he human at this moment, his hands would be shaking. He already feels too human when hot tears leak from the corners of his golden eyes and into his fur. He doesn’t feel like much of a wolf at all —his heartbeat is rabbit-quick, prey-like and pathetic. He is scared. Yudai is so, so scared . He hopes he never reaches his destination. He hopes that he keeps running until he drops dead.
But it’s right as the thought comes that he breaks into the clearing, stumbling into the snow as the scent of wolf’s bane overwhelms him. It tries to force him back into his human form but Yudai grits his teeth and wills his wolf to remain. His head feels heavy when he lifts it, and his vision is blurred. He looks up at a semi-circle of cloaked figures, their faces obscured and their weapons drawn.
One in the middle raises a fist to halt them and then steps forward. “You came alone.” She dares to sound surprised. “I thought it would be a miracle if you came at all .”
Yudai bares his teeth at her but doesn’t snarl. She tilts her head, her hood displaced just enough for Yudai to see a glimmer in her eyes. The emotion is impossible for him to place. “Is this how you wish to die then? As a beast?”
It’s sickening, the kindness in her tone. Even worse is the way that Yudai knows that it is genuine. The huntsmen seldom take pleasure in their kills—at least, the good ones do not. Yudai had been hoping he would have one of the bad ones awaiting him tonight. That they would laugh and gloat in their victory. That they would slaughter him cruelly. That they would make it hurt. That he could have the satisfaction of dying with hatred in his veins.
A kind, merciful death will give him time to wallow in his regret. But alas, it seems that the cowards’ way out—the way that Yudai has chosen time and time and time again—has finally been closed.
In response, Yudai huffs, bowing his head. The huntsman gestures and the scent of wolf’s bane gets smothered as her subordinates pack up their traps.
As they do, she walks forward. Yudai keeps his body still, tilting his head up as she places her silvered blade along his neck. There, she pauses, and then promises, “This will clear their ledger. They will not be chased. I promise you this.”
Yudai’s teeth ache. He wishes to sink them into her neck, to take her damn head off. He doesn’t want to clear their ledger. He wants to burn it, to tear these huntsmen limb from limb. He wants to make sure that no one can ever touch his pack ever again. He wants to keep them safe from everything that threatens them: Taki’s smile, Euijoo’s kindness, Nicholas’s laughter. He wants to see Jo’s next drawing. He wants to see Harua and Yuma wrestle in the snow. He wants to see Maki turn nineteen. He wants to see Fuma’s muzzle gray with age.
But he forfeited that right four seasons ago. Last winter, when he let Harua get hurt by another pack. When he foolishly and stubbornly sought revenge. Yudai already did what he wanted. And now, he will face the consequences.
Gently, he presses his nose to the huntsman’s ear and then turns his face to the sky. It’s so dark tonight, the moon hidden behind clouds, the wind whipping up the snow around them. Yudai would’ve liked to see something beautiful before he goes.
“Koga Yudai,” the huntsman announces, turning the blade so that the edge presses against his neck. “Your punishment, for violating the treaties of these woods, and the peace between the packs who make their home in these trees.”
Yudai closes his eyes. He hopes that their dreams are peaceful.
“May God rest your soul.”
The silver burns like acid. Yudai cannot help his pained whine, but it’s stifled as his throat is sliced open. Gently, the huntsman lays him down in the snow. His fur has already started to stain and matt. His vision has already started to go.
She stands and looks down at him. Quieter this time, she repeats it. “May God rest your soul.”
Her footsteps crunch in the snow as she walks away. Yudai stares up at the sky again, the cold starting to settle into his bones, his tears hot against his face.
But eventually, it’s too cold to keep his eyes open any longer . And the warmth of the darkness claims him.
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…thundering footsteps tearing through the trees…
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… a howl at the edge of a clearing, furious and mournful all at once…
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… gentle but strong hands lifting a limp human form, fingers pressed to a bloody neck, a wondrous gasp of relief…
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“I wish I could hate you more.”
Those are the words that Yudai awakens to. Slowly, impossibly, but undeniably that is what happens—he awakens. His eyelashes flutter as his eyes open, and then squint shut at the harsh rays of the sun. He aches all over. Even lying flat has his limbs trembling. He can barely muster the strength to turn his head to look towards the voice.
The gaze he meets makes his heart sink to his stomach. “Haru a-“ he says or tries to say, but his voice doesn’t come.
“They’re saying that you’ll never talk again,” Harua snaps, tears welling in his already reddened eyes. He doesn’t look surprised or shocked to see Yudai awake. He just cries, clenching the fabric of his pants, dropping his head to his chest and sobbing, “And I hate you for it because you’ll never be able to tell us why you did this.”
Yudai manages a whine, animalistic and painful. Literally, physically painful. It makes tears of his own prick at his eyes, hand flying up to clutch at his bandaged throat. It’s the noise he makes as a wolf when he sees one of them hurt or sick, the noise he makes when nudging and nosing them in concern. It’s a noise that makes Harua shudder, lurching forward to clutch at Yudai and wail, and it’s a noise that has the flap of the tent bursting open as Yudai’s pack charges in.
At the front is Euijoo, bright-eyed and furious , his voice uncharacteristically harsh as he demands, “What were you thinking?”
He’s not the first to reach Yudai’s side though. The fastest of the group is Taki, who ducks under Euijoo’s arm and clambers over Harua to kneel on Yudai’s other side. His arms wrap around Yudai’s torso to lift him upright.
“Get up,” he’s saying, so quick that Yudai complies even though he’s trembling hard enough for his teeth to chatter. Harua lets go enough to allow Yudai the freedom to move, but clutches onto Yudai’s hand so tight, nails digging into the skin there.
Yudai almost topples over again but he’s supported by Taki, who throws his arms around Yudai’s shoulders and buries his face into Yudai’s neck. The bandages are dampened by hot tears. “How could you?” He whispers, shattered. He sounds as young as he did the day that Yudai found him. Again, Yudai whines, bringing a trembling hand up to hold Taki in place.
Because I love you, he wants to say, and he’s so glad he can never speak again. Because it’s all I knew how to do.
Euijoo is still shouting as he drops to his knees by the side of Yudai’s cot, furiously grabbing Yudai’s thigh, stopping only to fiercely kiss his knee through the blanket. Maki’s also shouting, but also sobbing, but also somehow cheering. “See!? I told you he’d make it, Yudai’s always been so strong, oh my God this is crazy, holy fuck Yudai you are so insane.”
He squirms behind Yudai to sit on the top of Yudai’s pillow and then squeezes himself along the wall to make room for Jo. As always, Jo is totally silent, but he’s as pale as a ghost. He sits next to Maki, the two of them solid weights for Yudai to lean back against . He doesn’t mean to, but exhaustion forces him to slump over. They keep him upright and steady.
Quietly, Jo whispers, “Please don’t do that again,” before he kisses the crown of Yudai’s head.
As he does, Yuma slinks into Yudai’s lap, cat-like and graceful—he’s always been the least wolf-like out of all of them. He doesn’t stay there for long. He takes Yudai’s face in his hands and tilts it from one way to the other , eyes sharp and glimmering, an artist’s gaze. Yudai knows, undoubtedly, that it was Yuma’s hands that healed him.
“Mind his bandages, Taki,” he warns over Euijoo’s still-impassioned rant about how they could’ve made a pack appeal, how Yudai always runs off and tries to do things on his own—when Taki sniffles and moves his face from Yudai’s neck to his shoulder, Yuma nods and then wriggles off the bed between Harua and Euijoo. He puts his face on Yudai’s thigh and closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering exhale.
Nicholas unceremoniously flops down at Yudai’s feet. Everyone is looking particularly blotchy, but he’s the most swollen by far. His hand wraps around the blankets covering Yudai’s feet. His fingers dig into the soles like he’s trying to dig his nails into Yudai’s skin. It’s strange, seeing him so silent while Euijoo is shouting. It’s always the opposite. But Nicholas’s trembling lips are pressed together firmly. His eyes are bright as he stares Yudai down furiously. I wish I could kill you myself, his gaze says. He still kisses the blanket over Yudai’s feet, a reverent act that has Yudai’s heart clenching in his chest. When the tears fall from Yudai’s eyes, too many hands reach up to wipe them away.
One of them belongs to Fuma. It’s the only touch that lingers, cupping Yudai’s jaw, turning his face to look up at him. Fuma’s eyes are dry, but shadowed and sunken in. He stands over the others, sturdy and broad as always. The shadow of his form has Yudai’s chest loosening when a shuddering exhale of relief. He closes his eyes and tilts his head into the touch. He doesn’t wince when Fuma’s nails sharpen to claws and dig into his cheek. He doesn’t flinch when he feels the warm blood start to drip down his face.
Fuma lets go soon after, but not before he says, “You’re a damn fool, Yudai.” Then he circles around to sit by Yudai’s calves. It’s there that he looks to Euijoo and says, “Breathe.”
Euijoo stops mid-sentence to take a deep, shuddering inhale. It sounds almost painful. There is no exhale. Just a sudden, wretched sob that is torn out of him, the rest of his tears buried in Yudai’s knee. At the sound, and sitting at the foot of the bed, Nicholas’s eyes well up and he drops his head and starts to cry. Yudai can feel Jo’s tears drip into his hair, he can hear Maki’s babbling stumble over a sob. Yuma’s breath hitches against his knee. Harua hasn’t stopped crying at all.
Yudai whimpers, apologetic and low. Taki pulls back to glare at him with a tear-stained face, snapping, “You’re not sorry enough!”
Fuma, that asshole, stifles a laugh into his hand. When Yudai huffs at him, betrayed, all he offers is, “You did walk into your execution without even trying to fight it. Or let us fight for you.”
You can’t, Yudai wants to say. It’s not your job. I am your eldest. I’m supposed to protect you. You are my strays, my wonderful and beautiful boys, and I have doomed you enough. Do you understand what you have done by saving me? Do you understand that we might be doomed? You shouldn’t have stayed here so long to let me recover. I’m too weak to protect you now. I wish you let me die. I wish that you just buried me. If you loved me, then that’s what you would’ve done. You would’ve let me die for you, let me die because I love you.
Fuma’s grin just widens, as if he knows exactly what Yudai cannot tell him. As if he delights in the fact that Yudai will never be able to say it. As if Yudai’s cut vocal cords are a blessing. Maybe, in some way, he’s right.
But he says nothing in return. He just reaches over, tugs Yudai’s hand free from Taki’s arm, and kisses his knuckles. All of them, four kisses against four bony knobs.
“You’re a damn fool, Yudai,” he says again, and Yudai hates himself when his tears start to fall faster.