𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 with his power, the leaves singing from one branch to the next. It shakes the cherry blossoms and makes fragrant, pink petals dance upon the wind within Seimei’s courtyard. One dares to kiss the onmyoji’s shoulder, another blends itself into Ren’s open yukata.
❝ Seimei-dono … ❞ Fujin starts again, and his sleeves shake out as he descends to the side of his low table, eye tracing over the painting upon it. He reaches for the pestle and begins grinding it into the small dish. ❝ You need more ink for this. Let me help, rather than let my gaze be distracted … ❞
It is his manner of expressing how he missed the mortal’s company.
In the past, Seimei would often remark about such mundane things, finding enjoyment in teasing Ichimokuren for acting as humans did—which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t capable. Far from it.
“If you insist, then I’ll appreciate your help,” he said simply, “so long as you don’t put yourself out merely for my sake.” He was nearly done regardless, but Seimei allowed himself to enjoy it, the perfumed breeze and unexpected company both. Many of their meetings past were spent in such peaceful solitude like this, before his duties took him elsewhere; so few were the opportunities to simply savor a quiet moment of existence together, in those days. “Thank you for the flowers.”
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