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In a word, Amami is nothing but wanderlust.
If there is any way to describe him, Shinguuji thinks, it would be that.
He is perpetually in motion. He exists in spontaneity. He is filled with an overwhelming curiosity. He is guarded, but unafraid. He thrives in the unknown.
Windswept hair and a persistent want for wilderness. Irresistible urges and a riveting desire, an incurable yearning, for freedom. It’s all him. A boy of impeccable mystery and a vagabond heart.
Yes, a transformational traveling entity, that is Amami Rantarou, ever fluttering into distant skies because to cage him is to torture him. He is destined for the thrill of adventure and nothing less. He will live with nothing less.
If he lands from his flittering journey, it is only to rest.
This is how Shinguuji finds him, wanderlust in human form on the cusp of his next escapade, worn map meeting library desk. Upon closer inspection, it is a familiar map, and so Shinguuji informs him, just as a matter of fact. Amami’s eyes reflect his intrigue as he invites him to sit down beside him.
“Teach me about it,” he says. “If you want.”
Shinguuji inclines his head. To Amami, he is compliant. “But of course. I will tell you all that you wish to know.”
This is how Shinguuji catches him, butterfly meeting flower, as he lures him in out of interest and perhaps, an unworthy fascination.
Amami finds him interesting, that much is certain. It’s how they’ve grown closer over the school year, in spite of Amami’s presence being so fleeting he could almost be a myth.
The feeling is reciprocated, that much is certain. It’s how Shinguuji finds himself speaking at length about his own ventures, interests, specialties, all far beyond the supposed limits to casual conversation.
Oddly enough, the most unbelievable thing is not that Shinguuji is far too weak to the attention to stop talking at all; it is that Amami listens in the first place.
His gaze is intent, engaged. He is an exceptional audience, like the gentlest of ghosts – those that roam the earth to make the haunted feel a little less alone.
Indeed, it is true, he likes talking to Amami.
Even so, Shinguuji will not dare to make an estimate for how long he could stay in these moments with him, words spilling, bones locked in place, as though he couldn’t escape even if he tried.
“Come to think of it, you’ve been to many places, haven’t you, Shinguuji-kun?” Amami asks a little further into the conversation. “How do you keep track of them all?”
“Is there a need to do so?” Shinguuji inquires back. “The memories revisit me when I require their soothing embrace. As it is, I find more pleasure in imagining the places I have yet to visit. It is exciting, don’t you agree?”
“Oh yeah, definitely! Even thinking about it, there are so many amazing places I haven’t been yet, and they’re just out there, waiting to be discovered.”
As reticent as Amami is, his love for exploration cannot be contained. Shinguuji delights in prodding at it.
“Your passion is truly magnificent,” he mentions. “If you did not have purpose to your travels, would you still partake in them, Amami-kun?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Haha, well,” and Amami admits it with a sheepish smile — his travels can be a little self-serving, a little too indulgent, a little too danger-hungry — but sometimes the world is so suffocating and Amami just wants to get away.
Shinguuji cannot help but agree.
Amami is unwittingly charming, Shinguuji is startled to find. Had he been of the more tenderhearted sort, he fears he wouldn’t be able to stop spilling himself to Amami until he had completely unraveled from the very fabric of his soul outwards.
It is simply far too easy to talk to Amami. His words are lovingly crafted, he is kind.
Shinguuji feels the ache in his chest, a sort of longing he might say, that flickers in the hollow of his chest, waiting to be found. He leaves it untouched, afraid that if he were to agitate it, he would never be able to contain it again.
He is content with their brief encounters. He is content with pursuing his studies without the weight of a friend – a friend, the word is foreign yet so very comforting on his tongue – by his side.
He is content, and wants nothing more. Deserves nothing more.
Then there’s Amami, with his reticent, charming smile.
Amami, in his spontaneity, shattering his carefully crafted resolve with, “Shinguuji-kun, next time I go on an adventure, won’t you come with me?”
And Shinguuji, foolishly overcome by a thirst for knowledge and a deep-set yearning to curb a climbing wanderlust of his own, responds, “It would be my pleasure.”
His next adventure, in fact, is made on a rather sudden whim, and Shinguuji barely has time to compose himself when Amami seizes him by the wrist one lonesome lunch hour and then they’re off, off and away.
“There’s no time to waste,” Amami tells him, in lieu of explaining exactly how it is that they can speed through airport customs so abnormally quickly — and how it is that Shinguuji, who is quite familiar with being scrutinized by security, is met with no resistance whatsoever.
Amami will always be an enigma, he supposes, and that is partly what is so enthralling about him.
Even though every interest Shinguuji shows in him is merely academic, of course, Amami will never cease to amaze him.
As if to prove his point, he spends a good portion of the flight swimming in thoughts of Amami alone, tracing the minute ridges of his rings with his eyes, and imagining biting them off one by one.
The thought itself is slightly disconcerting. He doesn’t know why he would want jewelry in his mouth in the first place. It seems a little unsanitary.
When he asks Amami about it, the adventurer only laughs at him.
“You mean like a tongue piercing?” He sticks out his tongue for emphasis, which makes his speech go all wobbly. “Wouldn’t it be kind of pointless though, seeing as you’re wearing a mask all the time?”
“Put that back in your mouth.” Shinguuji tells him.
He spends the rest of the flight wondering if he should consider a tongue piercing at all, or if he might have to ask Amami to get one done in his stead. He seems eager enough.
That thought just entices a further spiral of thoughts about Amami though. For an outdoorsy type, he's certainly flashy, and Shinguuji wonders why that is until Amami quite literally commands his attention by asking if he can paint his nails to pass the time.
Shinguuji surrenders his hands without much reservation, peeling the bandages away after Amami agreed he could put them back on afterward - painted nails or otherwise.
It's a worthy distraction, he supposes, for if his heart spent half the effort pumping blood through his veins as it did in that flight alone, he's sure he could live a great deal longer. He doesn't want to think about it though, so he doesn't.
Out here, they are free.
It was a long walk and the night now frames their surroundings as silhouettes, Shinguuji laments, but Amami’s teeth are like ivory in the moonlight and he cannot stop smiling. It’s worth it.
Despite the harrowing hike uphill... they are still, somehow, themselves.
Amami lets the wind blow through him, lets the violent breeze almost sweep him off his feet, and smiles at the world below, thrilled — effervescent. In his exhale, he is breathless, he is sweating, he is beautiful.
This is Amami.
Wild, ruffled, untamed, only when he’s far, far away from prying eyes. He grants Shinguuji the privilege of bearing witness to it as if he were the only mortal in the presence of a god, yet even while thinking so, Shinguuji realizes it’s ridiculous.
Amami is just as human as he, but he feels like so much more than that.
The villages and trees have shrunken in the valley below, so far away from him, where he stands, atop a raised cliff. His grin is crooked, clothes disheveled, perfectly imperfect.
Shinguuji is still, steeped in the shadows of closer pines, and admires.
The sounds of the forest come alive with the first beat of a distant drum, and then, the air turns to music.
Under his breath, Amami hums along with it. His voice is not the prettiest, but the sincerity of it is soothing, like the ambiance of a quietly flowing creek.
It fades into silence as the music stills, an interlude of sorts, and Shinguuji is filled with a calmness unlike any other. Amami is looking at him. He is looking back.
“Hey, Shinguuji-kun. Slow dance with me.” Amami suggests, holding out his hand. The silence forgives him for breaking it. The world bends in mysterious ways for Amami. It affects all that surrounds him, as if they too fall victim to his charm. It’s all so peculiar.
Shinguuji does not respond. Forgets to respond.
Undeterred, Amami tacks on a pleasantry, as if it would add substance to his cause. “Please?”
Shinguuji blinks, momentarily catching himself in a stare, a fixation on the way Amami’s mouth seems to effortlessly form words, then raises his gaze to meet him. “For what reason, may I ask?”
“It’s a cultural tradition here, and since we just so happened to catch the height of their festivities, we might as well indulge a bit, don’t you think?” Amami smiles. The smile warms his expression nicely as his palm meets the nape of his neck and he laughs, a breath of bashfulness leaving his lips. “And to be quite honest, I don’t really want to embarrass myself trying to dance with one of the locals.”
Shinguuji chuckles, scanning Amami with an amused sheen to his eyes. “I see… you can’t dance?”
Amami looks away with a telling frown. “I can dance.”
“Then you should not feel ashamed. Besides, the locals are aware that you are foreign and will likely guide you along if you ask politely.” Shinguuji rests his cheek in his palm. “You have a deceptively honest looking face, Amami-kun.”
“Is that your way of comforting me?”
“If that is how you wish to interpret my words, then I have no objections.”
“Do you ever answer questions directly?”
“Do you?”
Amami smiles despite himself, and is quick to cup his other hand over his mouth to hide it. “Haha, fine, I’ll give you that one. Cherish that victory while you can.”
“Well, you are good at observing people.”
“Hey, that’s my line,” Amami’s hand slips up to mirror Shinguuji’s, held against his own cheek as he regards the other critically. “And you still haven’t answered my proposal. My arm is getting tired like this.”
“Then set it down. That is no fault of mine.”
“Please. One dance is all I ask.” Amami says, flicking his wrist. His lone bracelet slides down the length of his forearm, and Shinguuji’s eyes do not follow it. Instead, they remain steady on Amami’s face. “No-one is going to see us. It’s just you and me up here, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“I assure you I am not,” Shinguuji’s voice is even. His fingers have found one another, and are twisting together, tying invisible knots to extract the tightness from his throat.
He is not one to be easily shaken, or so he believes, but Amami is terrifyingly adept at catching him off guard.
“I won’t hurt you,” Amami replies softly. “You have every right to push me away whenever you like.” Teasingly, he adds, “And if I step on your foot, you can return the favor as many times as you see fit. How’s that for a compromise?”
The fidgeting stops. “You are interesting, Amami-kun… very interesting, indeed.”
Amami’s complexion colors, very quickly and fleetingly darkening the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, before he pulls himself back to his usual composure. The compliment — if it could even be called that — gets swept under the rug.
Avoidance, too, is in typical Amami fashion.
“Let’s dance,” Amami says, a rung higher on the confidence ladder than before.
Shinguuji is not terribly stubborn, but he is one rung lower, left static by Amami as an entire entity.
Dance, he proposes so quickly and easily.
Let’s dance, as though it held no weight between them, when they were two teenage boys — though were they boys at all, when upon reaching this hilltop they hardly felt human anymore — on a trip, on an adventure, on a journey on their own.
Amami speaks again. “If it makes you feel better, you can tell me all about the anthropological history of dance or something while we’re at it. You’ve been holding back on me lately. You know I love to listen to you talk.”
There’s a brief moment where Shinguuji simply stares at him again, and Amami stares back stubbornly, hoping his so-called ‘deceptively honest looking face’ is enough to sway him.
His words, if anything, had been enough.
“Ethnochoreology,” Shinguuji says eventually.
“Sorry?”
“Ethnochoreology is the study of dance, particularly ethnic dance, if you dissect the name literally. The ethno, the choreo, and even the -logy … each syllable has its own significance.” He explains, seeming barely conscious of the way he finally takes Amami by the hand and the way the adventurer’s fingers gently fold between his. “You have heard of this before, yes?”
“Ethnic dance, yeah? What about it?”
“Kukuku… there are many theories surrounding dance, particularly surrounding the question of how it has survived for so long when it has no apparent survival advantage. Even if it were for emotional impact, one dance cannot be preserved indefinitely such as some other art forms can...”
“Why has it survived, then?”
“Well, I must ask you, why do you think this is so?”
“Simply because there are enough passionate dancers to keep the art alive maybe?” Amami tugs him closer, and is pleasantly surprised to be met with little resistance as Shinguuji follows with each backward step.
“Hm, that is unlikely.” He says. “The common explanation is its significant cultural value, perhaps. Dance is a unique form of visual imagery, one which molds the human form into stories, in a way.”
“What story do you think we’re telling, then?” Amami smiles, and in a swift moment of boldness, rests his forehead on the shoulder of the taller. The closeness brings Shinguuji pause, but after quickly assessing that it was perfectly safe and not uncomfortable, he allows it.
“The story that Amami Rantarou is an incompetent dancer.” He quips.
“Wh – hey now,” Amami pulls back suddenly to laugh, and though Shinguuji has to hold onto him to make sure he doesn’t fall, he finds it less an inconvenience and more of an antic he is willing to partake in. “Why are you so convinced that I can’t dance?”
The answer comes naturally. “Well, it appears that you have yet to show me that you can.”
Amami’s eyes glimmer at the hidden challenge. “Fun fact, in some countries, dancing is a euphemism for fighting and vice versa.”
“I do not wish to fight you at the present moment.” Shinguuji says. “But it is true. The phrase ‘sword dance’ is a reflection of such a notion, and some forms of combat can be viewed in an aesthetically pleasing light. Two souls, at war with each other, desperately trying to slit each other’s throats…” Shinguuji hums, leaning his head back to gaze towards the sky. “It’s a beautiful sight.”
“The way you think is really intense,” Amami remarks, watching the reflection of stars flicker across Shinguuji’s eyes. “So you find conflict beautiful, do you?”
“Many aspects of humanity are beautiful, yes, but conflict is where they thrive. It is at the heart of human turmoil,” his voice drops to a soothing whisper. “Betrayal, murder, true righteousness… it all becomes unclear in times of conflict. That is what I have deduced.”
Amami, unwittingly, cracks a smile at that. It’s seemingly his answer for everything. Smiles.
“It’s a pretty fair deduction, I would say.”
It’s quiet as they sway with the distant music, and without words to fill the air, Shinguuji is suddenly incredibly aware of their proximity.
“Say, did you have an ulterior motive, Amami-kun?” He asks softly, vaguely, no context required.
Amami raises an eyebrow. It’s only a subtle movement, and the hand that curls around Shinguuji's waist is far more distracting than that.
“What do you mean?”
“You have a mission to fulfill on your travels, do you not? While your invitation may have seemed harmless at first, I have reason to believe that our goals do not perfectly align. Inviting me would be a hindrance, if that were the case, so I must ask.”
“Haha, very perceptive of you,” Amami sounds amused, “I suppose I do. But I’m not going to tell you what it is.”
“... that is… unfortunately cruel, Amami-kun.”
“And to that,” Amami smiles up at him, a playful look on his eyes, “I say that is another aspect of humanity that I find beautiful.”
“... that is my line,” Shinguuji responds curtly, and it comes as an astonishing realization that this familiarity — that his very own words rolling off of Amami’s tongue — could exist outside of his own perceptions. That he himself existed outside of his own perception, and that Amami could evolve the meaning of his words, echo his sentiments, transform and let observation become a lighthearted foray into fondness.
Humans are truly exceptional creatures.
Amami laughs, of course he does, and Shinguuji is thankful that his mask is obscuring the inevitable tug of his own lips.
“Kukuku… laugh while you are still able. I will reveal your intentions soon, Amami-kun.”
Amami shrugs, “You can try. But let’s just enjoy tonight as is, alright? Just you and I. Nothing complicated.”
“Of course…” Shinguuji examines his face, attempting to ignore the way Amami draws him closer by the back of his spine, as it is too dangerous to entertain the train of thought that might follow. “Hmm… answer me truthfully though, I am not inconveniencing you, am I? While I could not be more grateful for the opportunity, it is only now that I realize that these are the sorts of trips you enjoy taking on your own.”
Amami raises his eyebrow once more. “What gave you that idea? You think I come to dark forests in the middle of nowhere to dance by myself?”
“Ah, well… what I mean is, you have an affinity for traveling alone, do you not? I hope you are aware that just because you promised it, does not mean you are obligated to take me places. You are entitled to your own free, unchained will.”
“Oh, I know that.” Amami says. “But now I’m beginning to think you don’t want to be here.”
Closer, closer. He keeps getting closer. Amami certainly is dangerous.
Shinguuji feels his breath catch in his throat. Breathe, answer, do not become emotional.
“No! No, I,” Shinguuji blinks rapidly. Calm down. “Please don’t misunderstand, rather than not want to be here, I don’t believe I am worthy of being here… in a sense.”
Amami’s gaze softens considerably. “Don’t be silly. Of course I want you here.”
“You… want me here.” He responds quietly.
“Actually, I’d like you to keep traveling with me, if that’s okay.” Amami says. “I mean, we’ve only really just begun, and you scared me a bit with that talk. You know I’d send you straight back if you wanted, but for what it’s worth, I want you to stay. If you like.”
Shinguuji, overcome by an unfathomable, indescribable feeling, responds, “Believe me, I’d want nothing more.”