The billowing call of the wind instrument woke him from a pleasant night, the imagined noise of water sloshing around his feet, now lost with the end of his dream. Smooth stones were now the wooden floors beneath him, and the waterfall was apparently the running water  he’d left in the personal bathroom.. Perhaps his host wouldn’t notice the extra charge of water left on for six hours in the sink.  Following the music,treading lightly as the morning he’d came, Mondatta found him again, entrancing the birds. His extensive study of the world, brought him to the memory of the Pied Piper, a story he’d nearly forgotten, if not for the implicit grief of the ending. But birds were more free than the young man playing. He swallowed down the supposed premonition, letting himself into the room as he had the night before, lacking only the fear from before. “Good  morning. You are looking even more bright than before, Shimada-san.” To say he was never bright may have been taken as a slight to the trained ear. His words were careful now, testing the territory, though the smile was hardly perceptible now.

‘Good morning.’ Hanzo replied evenly, watching as his feathery companions flew off in fear of the stranger in the room. Such a pity... they were sure to meet again come the next morning. ‘It seems my music does not only attract the birds. Pray tell, do you enjoy music, sir monk?’ He asked after a sigh, standing up from the koto to slip both his hands into the sleeves of his kimono and present the monk with his undivided attention.

Rustling and creaking woke him from the light slumber of his dreamless sleep, the once darkened room partially illuminated by the bathroom light not too far away from him. He’d wakened himself to be washed.. It couldn’t be from disgust. Had the man been uncomfortable, he would not have been putty in his hands, hardly cooperative if he minded the action at all. He would pass by the bathroom to listen a moment, and pass on with some peace of mind. “Nights’ Blessings, Shimada-san. I will see you in the morning.” Mondatta paced himself away, humming the tune from hours before that had led him inside the cozy room.

After his shower, Hanzo went back to bed, having managed to read a small poetry book before falling asleep. Upon waking, the male took notice it was barely morning, which gave him time to get dressed and play the koto. Songbirds alighted on top of his windowsill, staring. They were used to Hanzo at this point, what with the male never having done them harm. But he didn’t feed them either so much as nature’s workings did.

 Gently he would guide the body of the man to the futon, coaxing his arms away from each other to pull at his sides,  hair pulled to lay away from his neck. Fine dark hair that he let smooth through his digits, once, twice over. ‘Combing out the loose knots,’ he told himself. Retrieving the blanket, Mondatta laid the fine cloth over him, hoping above all things it would not stick to his body. Peaceful.Not exactly an overjoyed happiness, but peace, as if it was thick in the air, and every deep inhale granted Hanzo more. Such a sweet face, to have such a hardened life ahead of him sounded cruel.To know that these hands would smear blood, and his lips tell lies..chapped from the cold. Without thought, his thumb lines over his bottom lip, coating it with a line of oil as well. How fitting it looked on him. Eventually, the floor became a viable resting place,and his own eyes closed quickly.

Hanzo woke up in the middle of the night with a start, sweating and panting to boot with his lips and hands trembling. In his dream there was Genji, but he seemed more dead than alive, and the elder brother’s hands were covered in blood.

Blood in your hands, Young Dragon. Hanzo could hear a voice speak in his thoughts, which caused him immense headache.

Looking to the side all of a sudden, with his pupils in a small dot, Hanzo noted the presence of the monk, seated on the floor with his back against the wall. Why hasn’t Mondatta left yet? Was the room not comfortable enough?

No time to waste...

Seems his enunciation wasn’t so poor to put off the young heir, and in this he took some pride. What noise he did hear was taken as a compliment- more than happy to receive such. From the middle of his chest, out to his pectorals, stopping about the collarbone to drag his forefinger along the dip between his neck and the bone. Lingering. Firmly he knuckled against the shoulders,slowly rotating,  spreading the rest of oil across his own arms as he finished on the return, tilting the man’s head to raise. By now, he’d covered nearly every inch of his exposed skin in oil, and his hands had become incredibly warm in the meantime, which now he rested  atop his shoulders. “ Is that better?”

‘Mhm.’ Hanzo replied in a soft murmur, his skin had now a pleasant scent of aloe to it. 

Seemingly too sleepy to sit up, Hanzo remained with his chin on the makeshift pillow that his arms served at that moment. His breathing was deep, calm... unconscious. Usually, the male would have made an effort to straighten himself and shoo somebody from his room, but as it seemed, Hanzo had fallen asleep under the monk’s ministrations.

“You may have any interpretation of that as you wish.”Being vague felt safe, but temporary. Past the elbow and back again, over a myriad of scars, some disappearing under the pressure of his hands, others, deeper, like the one across his shoulder, never fading. Feeling his compliment was lost, he spoke again, softer, though poor in perfect pronunciation. “誰..もがあなたを嫉妬すべきです、ハン….サムな男。About at his sides,  He chanced focusing there, to the stomach. Rinse, repeat, another handful of oil as he progressed.

At least the man didn’t call him ‘pretty’ as some would refer to Hanzo as mostly because of his slightly more delicate curves and traces, something the male always tried to mask behind a stoic, serious face.

His footsteps are quiet between retrieving and replacing himself behind the man,  guiding the long hair to  sit on one side of his shoulders, fingering through the strands briefly.” रमणीय।” [Delightful.] Not a moment spared after to  spread a fair amount of oil on his palms, humming the bittersweet notes of the previous song. “You take such care here.. I find myself envious of a few things that I see.” To mark his point perhaps, calloused knuckles drag down his back, following the built shoulders, to the lower back to stop short of the dimple on his backside. “So much potential.. I’m sure it’s something to see you in action.” Back up again, entertaining his forearms with the oil as well, rather taken with the idea to see his body glistening.

In action? What could he mean with that? As in to put his muscles to some decent work? Though the thought was a little weird, Hanzo almost felt as though the other was worshiping his form... due to the awkwardness of the musing, the young leader was quick to discard it, simply clearing his throat.

He may have felt somewhat strange to a degree, but there was no denying the relaxation brought forth by the massage. Hanzo knew just how badly this monk had been wanting to touch his skin, the thought of which caused him to roll his eyes before putting his head to rest on top of a makeshift pillow out of folded arms.

 He knew that kind of address. Casual,but not so heartless as a stranger.The strength in him renewed in small ways,  taking the man’s side again to gesture to the bed, not too far away. He was grateful not to be sent away, though as he watched the calm eyes, listened for his tone, that concern faded off. Once settled in a sitting pose behind the heir,the monk worked on slipping off his jacket. “ Lotion prevents bruising, if you have some on hand.. I have been known to make some marks.” Dancing on the edge of something..dangerous, it felt, all the while,working on his neck in the meantime.

Still skeptical -- alas, when was he not? -- Hanzo’s gaze kept shifting its focus awkwardly from front to side, as though that would allow him to catch a glimpse of whatever the monk was doing with his back exposed to him. It is just a massage, Hanzo repeated to himself, chin jerking towards the drawer.

 The corners of his mouth felt unusually tight- and he began to realize that that awful attempt an inviting curve of his lips was on his face. It drooped until it was a small, unsure line,blues lowering  to scan the all more interesting floor.  His knee bends as he pushes himself to his feet,wordlessly turning to leave for the door.Embarrassment was rushing as far as his ears while his hands clasped in front of himself to mask any further signs of a reaction. If he ran, that would be shameful.

Though Hanzo was initially repulsed by the other’s smile, it would be a slight to deny him the request... what harm could a simple massage do anyway? It wasn’t as though he would die from one. So long as the other didn’t try to force a smile again, Hanzo thought he should be fine.

“ If I am your teacher, I also care about if your body is not performing well. It would be a shame to see you struggling the next morning without any noticeable improvement. A massage before the day ends is a fine way to  loosen our tense muscles, and  prepare for sleep.” His palms open in offering, plain and , with the intent to smile in his cheeks, but not quite managing something that was pleasant, teeth showing too much. “If you’ll allow me.”

Twitching an eye, Hanzo almost felt like running as the monk attempted to smile. A massage, he said? Where did that come from? And why was he asking?

“Yoga remains what it is, despite what it is used for.. It can put a man on display.. or, create fair exercise that can help with back pain. Gather what you will from that. I had understood that the slight hunch of your shoulders noted something of your pain.” A bluff, masterfully crafted on the spurr of the moment. “Strain or whichever name you wish, my question remains. Sleeping on a a limb that is sore will not bode well for your early morning training.”

‘Why so concerned about my muscle strains all of a sudden?’ As an uptight guy, Hanzo, indeed, had a few knots in his muscles -- not that he didn’t exercise, but stress always got the better of him.

“ Not very much, I’m afraid.  I am not so usually attracted to music. It distracts, in my experience.” Having the privacy shared with a promise of entertainment felt personal, as if he’d been invited by the low voice in so many ways. Still it was though the monk was not there, and he played for an invisible crowd of thousands. Such a bittersweet tune he sung, though laced with love in the lyrics, it spoke of something much heavier weighing on the singer himself. The burden of love, not the joy of it, not the spring in one’s step when their heart soared. Sacrifice, made melancholy by the twanging of his instrument. “ I think I should be happy with whatever you play.” As before, he sits close, within arm’s reach. “ You did not happen to pull any muscles during our exercise, did you?”

‘Do you mean strain?’ Hanzo corrected the man, playing a bittersweet tune without lyrics. ‘What were those positions for anyway? I have seen them before... in a certain book that is none too pure at that.’ Jerking his chin towards his bookshelf, Hanzo pointed out the one he was speaking of -- he did not even bother to hide it. ‘It was a gift... from an ex lover who is no longer.’

A palm braced against the door, Mondatta chancing that he may have crossed more than the barrier of the threshold. Hanzo had not shown himself to be temperamental, nor quick to anger, but still he feared a quiet man, whose alliances were strong within a criminal background. There would be no hesitation if he sought to kill. Clearing his throat,  just enough of his face peeking forward to view the man. Even if he was the elder between them, realization of a single human’s power could be overwhelming. “.. Your talents are well, Shimada-shi.” Still, he could not tell if he could waver from shi, perhaps san, but, there was perceived distance between them.

‘I am glad you enjoy it.’ Hanzo replied, seeming unfazed that he had an spectator. ‘Do close the door on your way in.’ A quiet invitation as digits idly played with the strings. ‘What other song do you wish to hear, monk? Are you any acquainted with Japanese music, or would you rather that I switch to something else?’

  Gentle strings plucked, not much louder than his own hum. gradually his ears tuned to hear this tune, upon an instrument that was so wholly unusual to him. The leader of the minks did not prefer music outside of meditation, and even then, silence was preferred, to better absorb the energies of the natural earth. Even with what Japanese he knew, he couldn’t quite grasp what he was singing about. Just that it was passionate, patient, and melodious.. terms Mondatta hadn’t correlated the man with in any light.   The monk abandoned the warm spot in his room to pad out where he heard the strumming, cautious to not disturb the door while he followed an artful tune, only humming when he was sure he was acquainted with the chorus. Perhaps even with the Shimada’s rigorous regimen, the favored brother had time for other talents. The mild pain in his chest began to subside,  a long exhale, releasing just enough tension.

Sleep wouldn’t come no matter what, even after a long, tiring day the darkness still brought demons, though song made them fade away -- if only temporarily. His lips caressed the words that fell past them, hair swaying gently to the breeze, digits seeming to move of their own accord at this point. Even the crickets outside his room stopped their symphony as though not to interrupt the singer.