Ichinomiya Kantarou in 50 sentences (written for the LJ 1character community)
His favourite season is winter, despite difficult traveling and increased household expenses, since he can look forward to a warm bed and the promise of spring.
Sometimes his appearance works against him, especially with senior folklorists who already regard him as an unorthodox upstart, but it has frequently been useful for his cases.
Once, on a whim, he had scratched his name onto a brick before it dried: Haruka is still able to make out the characters on the wall, though their maker is long gone.
It is impossible to decide between the two bottles of sake, so he orders both, hoping for the oblivion of intoxication as soon as possible.
Youko disapproves of his interest in cosmetics and feminine articles of clothing, despite his protests that it is all in the name of research; one way to pacify her is to remark that a fox-spirit needs no make-up to enhance her natural beauty.
Haruka's expression when he is concentrating on a game is too serious, though Kantarou knows exactly how to make him smile.
Other youkai are always released after he catches and chastises them, but there is one that he will never let go, no matter what the cost.
He wants to believe that a wish made on a shooting star will come true, despite the rational part of his mind telling him that some things can never be.
Because he named them, they are his to command, though they only belong to him because they want to.
Youko binds the dressings around Haruka's arm as tightly as she can, wincing a little at the blood still oozing from the deep lacerations, and they all know it would have been much worse if Haruka had not taken the blow for him.
The full moon shines like a pearl in the velvet darkness, though he is too preoccupied with Haruka to appreciate the beauties of the night.
He sees his reflection everywhere in Haruka's room, when his only desire is to see himself reflected in Haruka's eyes.
The exact nature of his job defies categorisation, but he is the best at whatever it is that he does.
He regrets encouraging Haruka to don Western clothes when Youko complains of having to sew the buttons back on after a drunken night out.
When Haruka finds it necessary to go away temporarily, he curls up in the cupboard where the bedding is kept, inhaling Haruka's scent as he falls asleep.
These days, he writes such rubbish that the only thing to do is to burn the whole sorry mess, but at the last moment he salvages a sheet of paper covered with names from the fire, almost singeing his fingers in the process.
He knows of two types of tengu: White, the humans who fell into sinful pride and became monsters; and Black, who cannot be blamed for what they were born.
Every step creaks under Haruka's feet, though his body feels weightless in Haruka's arms.
Odd, that the same claws which would tear a youkai to shreds if he let them, could trace the lines of his face so gently.
Sometimes Haruka eyes him so hungrily that he feels uncomfortably warm and has to go outside to cool off, though any excuse for them to leave will do by that point.
Their relationship will have to start all over again, but he of all people knows how to retrace the past.
He absently strokes the top of Muu-chan's head as she nestles in his arms, and only realizes what he is doing when he sees Sugino's murderous glare as the white tengu launches himself across the room towards him.
His stature is a disadvantage in a fight, but his other abilities more than make up for his lack of it.
He had put the ribbon on Youko's throat at first as an added precaution when she was being particularly intractable; long after he is gone, she still refuses to have it removed.
When they finally return to the place where they first met, only Haruka looks exactly the same.
His hands are gnarled with age and tremble frequently, but Haruka still holds them tenderly in his own, and calls them beautiful.
He is puzzled when the caged bird he frees does not fly away immediately, since he had always thought that the only way to keep them by his side was to not release them.
Until he met Haruka, he had performed every exorcism as if it were his last; now, Haruka is here to make sure that it will not be so.
The scar on his chest still hurts intermittently, though the pain behind it will not go away.
Only two serve him, but he considers himself as fortunate as any king.
The hands of the clock do not seem to have moved since he sat down to write; even after it has been repaired, time still passes too slowly in Haruka's absence.
He does not know how Haruka will react if the precious rice-bowl were to break, and is not anxious to find out, even in his current state of inebriation.
The kimono that have only been used a few times can be sold, but they save the finest one to put on him at the last.
The colour of the walls has faded with age, though the glass objects filling the room are as brightly polished and brilliant as ever.
The pounding in his head will not stop and he has to go out and earn their daily keep; Haruka, the ingrate, flatly refuses to act as a means of transportation for someone who is still feeling nauseous from the excesses of the previous night.
It is all he can do to refrain from making a spectacle of himself in the coffee-house while watching Haruka eat a sundae, saving the topping for last and licking his lips in a fashion which is highly inappropriate for the middle of the afternoon.
Sometimes when deadlines are looming, he copies passages from obscure books and pads out the article with some of his more believable experiences.
Hasumi never admits that he is wrong, and it is difficult for Kantarou to claim the victory when he usually lets his evidence go after a good talking-to.
He was a part of their lives for only a relatively short period, but for one of them, the rest of his time seems to stretch for an eternity.
Haruka's outstretched wings are large enough to blot out the distant moon, though they enfold him in as close an embrace as he could wish.
Youko sings as beautifully as a bird, and Haruka cannot hold a tune to save his life, but domestic harmony sounds sweetest to his ears.
The bells peal for Rosalie's wedding in the same church where she first met them; though she no longer believes that Haruka is an angel, she still considers both of them her guardians.
He tries to count himself to sleep, but morning again finds him alone and staring at the ceiling in Haruka's room.
Minamoto Raikou's hands on his shoulders and the softly persuasive voice in his ear only serve to strengthen his resolve that he will never give up the only other person who had come this close to him.
Later, he is able to appreciate that the disparity between the Oni-Devouring Tengu at the height of his powers and Haruka at the point of his release was greater than the difference between lightning and a battery, but the latter is more useful and much less destructive.
Haruka, despite being unable to resist ice-cream, has never quite managed to overcome his distaste for other dairy products, and it surprises Kantarou when the milk is licked off his upper lip in a manner promising much more.
He had once tried to tame a feral cat, but it eventually left him when spring came, and he swore that he would never make the same mistake.
His teachers were severely disappointed at how their most brilliant student turned out, though he is perfectly happy where he is.
Perpetual motion does not exist: things break down and stop working eventually, but right at this moment, he feels as if he could live forever.
"I'm really happy to have known you, Haruka; we'll meet again, someday--"