The moon was high, pale and lazy behind a haze of clouds, casting silver light across the courtyard stones. Most of the spirits had long passed on. The shrine was still.
Yuzume sat on the veranda, legs tucked to the side, tail draped beside her like a curled ribbon of moonlight. She held her brush lazily, running it through the thick, downy fur with slow, distracted movements.
"You always groom it this late?" Riku asked, stepping outside with two cups of warm tea.
She glanced up, startled. "It calms me. Like brushing my thoughts."
He passed her a cup, then sat down beside her.
"I don't think I've ever seen anything like it," he said, eyes flicking to her tail. "I mean, it's… real."
She arched a brow. "You doubted it?"
"No. I mean... yes. A little. At first." He sipped. "But now I'm just kind of fascinated."
She set the brush down beside her cup and raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to touch it?"
He blinked. "Wait, really?"
She smirked. "If you're gentle."
"Always," he said, a little too fast.
Her heart flipped. She looked away.
He reached out tentatively, fingers brushing over the fur with the careful reverence of someone petting a cloud. She shivered slightly.
"It's warm," he whispered.
"I'm alive," she whispered back, trying to sound casual. It came out softer than she meant.
He chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Mmhm."
They sat like that for a moment, the brush of his fingers lulling her into a strange, quiet stillness. Her tail twitched gently under his hand, not in protest but something closer to delight.
"Can I...?" he gestured toward the brush.
She handed it to him, placing it in his palm carefully, like an offering.
He held her gaze a moment longer than usual before turning to the task. Slowly, gently, he began to brush. His motions were awkward at first, then steadier, more sure.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
The world went quiet. Just the sound of bristles through fur. The warmth of him close. The smell of tea, moonlight, and her heart knocking far too loudly inside her chest.
"You're really good at this," she murmured.
"I've practiced. On my pride."
She laughed softly, eyes still closed. "I thought you didn't remember anything."
"I said I didn't remember how I got here. I remember cats."
Her tail flicked against his leg.
"Careful," she warned sleepily. "It kicks when flattered."
"I'll risk it."
Silence settled again. Not the awkward kind. The soft, full kind.
"You know," he said after a moment, brushing one last time, "this whole shrine keeper thing might not be so bad."
Her eyes opened, gentle and laced with something deeper. "Because of the tail brushing?"
He smiled. "It's a strong incentive."
She smiled back, slow and sleepy.
The moment lingered. The air thickened with something unspoken.
But she only yawned and leaned her head against the wooden post, eyes half-lidded.
"You're not so bad yourself," she mumbled.
He sat a little straighter.
"Wait. Was that flirting?"
Her tail curled smugly along her side.
She didn't answer.