#loni writes

First, she had felt his fingers on the back of her shirt. Pinching, pulling. Probably removing a piece of lint. Whatever.

Then, she felt his fingers on her back, and he was… Petting her absentmindedly? Riyo had felt too bewildered to feel irritated. Was he scratching her? Is that it? Why? She hadn't felt itchy.

It had been weird, but she'd put it aside.

However, he'd done it again, a week later. Then, she'd seen him do it to Semiu while she was working, absentmindedly tracing his fingers over her upper back as she ignored him in favor of her smutty magazines.

Now he is doing it to Zanka, who looks mortified, embarrassed, and flustered — all at the same time. His head is so red, he looks like he's about to explode. If she waited long enough, maybe he'd be shooting steam out of his ears?

Riyo is resting her head in her hand as Enjin explains the intricacies of close combat Jinki to Rudo, his hand scratching along Zanka’s back as he stands behind the sofa that the younger boy is sitting on.

She doesn't think he notices. Not really.

“Why are you doing that?” she interrupts.

Enjinv turns to look at her.

So does Zanka.

And finally, even Rudo looks her way.

Rudo and Zanka both turn to look at Enjin, who notices that now, he's the one being looked at.

“What?”

“That.”

Riyo points at where his hand is still on Zanka’s upper back. Looking down, their mentor stares at his hand, frowns, and then pulls it away.

Holding it up in front of his face, he stares at it like it's a conscious offender.

“Sorry. Bad habit.”

That's all Enjin offers. Rudo doesn't think much of it. Zanka tries to bite down the giddiness that comes with finding out something new about Enjin.

And Riyo thinks he's being really fucking weird. However, she can tell, as she regards him with a mock-nonchalant look (an attempt to hide the layer of curiosity beneath it), that there's not much to gain from any further questioning.

“Weird,” she tells him, and Enjin reacts dramatically.

“Huh – Who are you calling weird?!”

Enjin thinks about it a lot. It keeps his thoughts occupied, and whenever he feels his hands drifting, he stops himself.

It is a little weird, admittedly. A tiny bit. Just slightly.

With a sigh, he tilts his head back into the pillow, looking at the ceiling.

"What's wrong?”

The comfortable weight moves off his chest, and immediately, he feels colder now. He has half a mind to tug you back.

You've been doing this a lot recently. Staying in bed together after the deed is done. It's nice. There are no cold sheets for him to roll around in. Instead, he's been feeling toasty and cozy. Sometimes, you even share very pleasant conversations that would not have come to be otherwise.

As much as he feels a little defensive about his enjoyment of the situation at hand – Laying in bed together, touching you – he really cannot find it in himself to complain in a sincere way.

“Nothing. Just thinking,” he tells you, wrapping his arm around your middle as you cuddle up against his side. Your naked chest presses against his, and it feels good. Right, the way custom-tailored clothes feel. In the way that they fit him and only him.

Not that he'd drone on about that in a way that you'd be able to get an idea of his thoughts. He keeps that to himself, as a sort of comforting piece of truth that feels good to think about.

“You can do that?” Your words are immediately followed by a giggle when he rolls his eyes and groans.

Once you settle again, you put your arms on his chest and lay your head on your arm. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah. 's nothing important,” Enjin shakes his head. Then, his brows draw together as he looks down at you, his fingertips dancing the way up your spine.

“Actually – Shouldn't you be asleep?”

Your lower lip juts forward, and the need to lean forward and tug it between his teeth bites at him. He swallows it down like an unwelcome taste.

“I should be,” you give in, “but I feel restless.”

His hand moves to rub at your back, nails gently scratching at your skin as you let out a content sigh before closing your eyes and resting your cheek against your arm.

Enjin continues like that, enjoying the small shivers you offer in return, whenever his hand trails off a little too far to either side. It's quiet in your small room, cozy and warm too.

It doesn't take long until you're fast asleep against him, your body moving against him, whenever you take a deep breath. His fingers do not stop their task, drawing shapes into your skin absentmindedly.

Really. It's been strange. He has been getting quite handsy recently. More so than usual, which already is a lot!

Enjin wishes he had any idea as to why that’s been the case.

This is not what Mycroft had meant when he said "ask John out." This looks like a full-blown proposal, and the two aren't even dating!

Mycroft caught Lestrade's eye, who was just as concerned and confused as Mycroft looked. John saw both of their faces and turned around, noticing Sherlock on the ground. His eyes grew wider than Lestrade and Mycroft's put together. "What is going on?"

"John," Sherlock started.

"Are you proposing to me?" John kept talking. Mycroft wanted to rub his face, but was trying very hard not to. Just let this play out....

"I, no," Sherlock responded.

Lestrade couldn't contain himself quite like Mycroft. He started pacing and whispered, "Oh dear lord,"

"Okay," John seemed to relax. "Cool, because I didn't even think we were dating..."

John seemed to be placing pieces together now. "Wait, are you-"

"Let him talk," Mycroft hissed from behind him. It's a miracle these two ever get anything done.

"I'd like the change that," Sherlock said, ignoring Mycroft. He brought out a jewelry box, though this contained a necklace, not a ring. "Will you go out with me?"

John lifted the necklace, which was a simple gold chain, with a hand covering his mouth. "Yes, Sherlock. I will."

He collapsed to his knees and hugged Sherlock, causing passersby to clap and cheer.

"Though, I would've said yes without the theatrics." John's voice muffled in Sherlock's shoulder.

"Oh," Sherlock replied. "I thought- Mycroft said-"

"Mycroft did not say this." He gestured to the two on the ground. "But it worked out and I'm very happy for you."

Sherlock looked unconvinced, and John was laughing into Sherlock's shoulder.

"Anyway," Lestrade chimed in. "Celebratory dinner?"

You don't, leaving his comment hanging in the air between the both of you. Enjin doesn't turn his head to look at you. It's dark in his bedroom, the lamp having been turned off hours ago. His vision is hazy from the dream he just woke up from due to your constant shifting. 

He nudges his nose against your temple. 

“Talk to me,” comes his plea. Soft. Not pushing for you to tell him anything, but rather offering an open ear, should you need it. He waits, with much more patience than he usually has for anyone. 

“Can't sleep.” Your voice is a little hoarse. Raw. As if you've cried while he was vacationing in dreamland. 

“I can tell.”

That earns a snort and Enjin feels a silly smile tug on his lips. At least you're not feeling bad enough to the point of being unable to laugh at him being a smartass. That's good. Less worrisome. 

Your breaths come evenly. A deep one goes in, your chest expands against his body, and you keep it in. Enjin counts two seconds, before you release your breath again. It's an effort to relax your body. To lull yourself to sleep but it's ineffective, apparently. 

“I feel antsy about today,” you confess, whispering your anxieties like a confession. The encounter with the Raiders had been less than fun. Even Enjin, for a second, had feared that you might suffer losses. Everything had turned out to be okay after all but the stress lingers. Of course, it does. 

A soft breath leaves Enjin now, as he absentmindedly pats your shoulder, his big hand cupping around the shape of it comfortably, with the familiarity of years gone by. 

“I get that.” He does. And you know. You can hear it in his voice, could tell earlier, when he had hung his head over Zanka’s bed, expression riddled with guilt. Exasperated, upon the realization that the people around him could get hurt so badly. “I get that.”

You feel his lips press against your forehead. He doesn't kiss you or do anything much except stay right there, the warmth of his skin against yours a comforting distraction. 

So many words linger on your tongue. Dangerous sentiments, which you've been dying to share with the man, whose bed you've been occupying for the past two years. Anxious thoughts you wish to discuss. Ideas to prevent such situations in the future. Plans for counter measures. 

You settle on a simple “Thank you”, burrowing your nose into the space where his throat meets his shoulder, occupying the little nook for yourself. Your nose brushes against his skin and you inhale the familiar scent which you've gotten used to now. The smell of tobacco mingles with the perfume he had put on earlier today. It's the one you had gifted him after your latest trip. 

“I think I can fall asleep now,” you mumble, your lips brushing against his skin. You don't miss the way he flinches slightly at the contact, his fingers tightening their hold on your shoulder. You're sure, he'll be a needy handful tomorrow morning. 

Perhaps, you'll indulge him. In exchange for this little comfort. 

“Good night, then.”

A soft groan falls from your lips but you have no counter arguments. He did make dinner and he also did the dishes. On top of that, he shoveled your property free of any snow.

All you had to do tonight was to eat a hearty stew, pick what dressing you wanted for your salad, and lie on the couch like a content cat. 

“How many?” you ask, your fingers running over the short hairs at the back of his head. They're slightly longer than usual now, since he's been on a small break. It suits Chris, makes him look a touch softer, a little more relaxed. Less like someone who has to keep it short due to combat. 

“Twenty, give or take,” comes the mumbled reply, his voice gravely and warm. He's comfortable. A sight that seems to have become something scarce and precious nowadays. It's why you hold onto these moments and safeguard them inside your heart. “Maybe thirty rates. You know… Inflation and all that.”

“You're pushing it, Redfield.”

That gets him to raise his head from his favorite cushion, so he can raise his brow at you. “You're a Redfield too.”

The reminder rests around your ring finger, twinkling in the warm light of the lamp when you cup his cheek. His beard rubs against your palm when he nuzzles into your touch and this action pulls a soft smile from you. It hasn't been long since you've officially taken his last name, so it still feels a bit foreign but his insistence on you truly being a part of the Redfield family, not just in a legal sense, doesn't fail to light a little fire in your heart. 

“I know,” you mumble, your tone a lot softer now. Chris notices immediately because the way he looks at you shifts completely. You feel that familiar ache that seems to find its home inside your chest, whenever you're the object of his gaze, so rich with affection for you. 

Leaning closer, he presses his lips against yours, steady hands finding your own before his fingers slip between yours. Squeezing them gently, he pins you against the soft cushions of the sofa, not bearing down on you at all. You'd be able to break his hold with ease, if you wished to do so, but there is no other place in this world that could feel any better than this. 

Something twists inside your tummy and you feel like a naive teenager in love as you kiss him back, tilting your head up to get a better angle. When he pulls away, you feel breathless. Sated, yet a little hungry for more. 

The smell of roasted potatoes and mulled wine surrounds you, cocooning you in a warm, homey embrace. Chris’ nudges his nose against yours, making you open your eyes – which you didn't realize you'd shut before he'd kissed you. 

“I'll also be taking at least twenty of those,” he tells you, his voice low and a little rough with the depth of his want. 

“Maybe you can haggle your way up to thirty.”

Sherry sighs softly, turning her head to see what he's looking at, and, as she expected, he's looking at you. “Did you guys fight?” she asks. “Seemed fine just earlier.”

“We didn't fight,” Leon tells her, his voice soft. Now that it's about you, he's listening. Typical. He's been selective about his hearing in recent years. There is no defensiveness to his statement. Rather, Sherry thinks she can hear worry lacing his tone.​

However, before she can ask any further questions, the older D.S.O. agent is already up on his feet, his bottle clanking down onto the wooden living room table. Then, he makes his way over.

Chris approaches him on his way, but Leon gently pushes the other man's shoulder, shaking his head as if to say “Not now”.

Once he's by your side, his hand finds your upper arm, and he tugs you against him. “We're leaving for tonight. It's quite late,” he tells Jill and Claire, not unkind in the slightest but with almost a silent plea in his gaze.

Jill looks at you, then at Leon, and gives him a knowing look, bringing her glass up to her lips. Claire gives him an understanding smile, despite her words: “Rude. Oh well, I'll text you, and we'll just meet up again soon. Maybe next weekend for some shopping?”

The hug she gives you is warm and a little firmer than usual, and even Jill holds on a little longer than you're used to. Once you've all exchanged goodbyes, Leon escorts you to the car, opening the door for you and going out of his way to fasten your seatbelt before he slides into the driver's seat.

The ride home is quiet. Pleasantly so.

Once Leon pulls into the familiar driveway and kills the engine, you stew in this comfortable silence for a few minutes. You sit together, the only sound reaching your ears being those weird ticking noises the engine makes before it starts to cool off. Usually, you’d comment on Leon’s inability to let go of this old car – a cheeky comment mixed with some affection that you hold for his decision to hold onto what’s still working and “good”. Today, speaking is a little difficult for you, but you don’t feel pressured to fall into that old routine.

You know he knows.

It’s why he pulled you out of that little gathering and ushered you home. It’s almost as if it’s some sort of additional sense he possesses. His awareness regarding his surroundings is top-notch; years of training do pay off, but it’s different when it comes to you. Sharper, more subtle.

Almost as if he’s fine-tuned to your emotional state, he knows you’re feeling bad the moment you notice it yourself. It used to scare you. Now, it’s a great comfort.

The feeling of his hand on yours rips you out of your thoughts, and you look at him. Your lips stick together, dry and uncomfortable. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. Leon’s eyes meet yours, and he assesses you carefully. As if he’s trying to make sure to show that he’s simply doing this out of love for you. His brows are furrowed, and you yearn to reach out to smooth your finger over the skin right between them, but your arms feel like they’re made out of lead.

“You wanna head inside?” Leon asks, his voice firm but not unkind. You manage to shake your head “No”.

Leon waits a second, then another, before he leans back into his seat. The hand on top of yours gives a gentle squeeze. When you turn your palm to face up, he slides his fingers between yours and holds onto you, just tight enough to ground you.

“Alright,” he whispers, and his words are nearly drowned out by the rain that starts pouring down onto the windshield. “Let’s stay like this for a while.”

“Do they hurt?”

He turns his head towards you, wary now. You wonder how he turned so accurately, facing you despite his eyes being closed. His hearing must be very good.

It’s dark outside already and you really should not be out here, sitting in front of the door like this but you felt caged in. You needed some fresh air and some sort of distraction. The gods seem to be kind to you tonight.

“Your scars, I mean,” trying again, you don’t feel upset over his obvious lack of desire to talk to you. No one really talks to the daimyō’s daughter, unless they mean trouble.

“No,” he murmurs, as he turns his head towards the trash you found him digging through just now when you decided to sit down in front of the house. Tentatively he turns his attention back to you. Is he embarrassed? Or perhaps is he asking for permission? 

“Here,” you offer, stretching out a hand. The boy tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. His cheeks are a little sunken in and he looks exhausted but there is some sort of pull you feel towards him. A sort of quiet resilience that has found its home in the downturn of his pouty lips and carved its existence into the lines of his face.

A sigh of frustration leaves you and you tell him to come closer. When he obliges, you pull on his arm. He flinches and instinctively tries to free himself from your grasp but you’re stubborn as you put the small fruit in his hand.

“Eat some. I brought enough here with me since I had to sneak through the garden. There is nothing in the trash and it’s dirty,” you explain as you pat the space next to you on the little stone wall.

The boy holds the small fruit in his hand as he examines it with his fingers. “What is this?”

“A plum,” you tell him simply. “I pulled the stone out for you. You can just eat it.”

Hesitation cannot win over the feeling of his stomach twisting with hunger and he quickly puts it in his mouth to eat it. He squeezes his eyes shut even more than they’re already closed and there’s a frown on his face now. 

“That’s sour!”

For a moment, you’re stunned. With just two words, he suddenly seemed his age and you can’t help but laugh at his reaction. “I like it when they’re still a bit sour. If you come back after some weeks have passed, then they’ll be a lot sweeter,” you explain, plopping half a plum into your mouth.

It’s not often that you get to talk to someone your age and maybe it’s not the most clever thing to invite a beggar back to your home but that doesn’t deter you the slightest bit. “What’s your name?” you ask the boy while you eat another plum, offering your name before waiting for his answer.

He takes a moment to think before he replies, “My name is Shion and you should be more careful out here alone.” There is almost a tinge of worry to his tone and the frown on his face makes you grin. Saying something like that makes him sound like a nagging old man.

With a kind of bitter sarcasm that is utterly unbefitting of someone so young, lacing your voice, you tell him, “It’s probably more dangerous for you, right here in front of my house, you know? You never know when-”

And as if you’d summoned trouble, you hear shuffling inside the house and the voice of your father echoes inside, the door not doing much to hide his anger. Quickly, you hand the small basket filled with plums to the boy and forcibly turn him around.

“You have to go - Hurry! I need to go inside before my father gets even more mad at me. Take these with you, boy! I will see you around!”

With that, you turn around and hurry off to the other side of the house. The boy is left on the street, looking dumbfounded.

There’s a tinge of sweetness within the aftertaste of the plum you had given to him just now.

It is a warm summer day when your father whispers harshly, telling you to keep your back straight. The past few days have passed by like a whirlwind. Talks of marriage have never been unfamiliar business to you - the only daughter of a prestigious daimyō. Your father, a friend of the shogun, as close as friendship within such a hierarchy gets, has always received his favor.

So it was only a matter of time until you’d get wed off to someone the shogun trusts, in hopes of strengthening this friendship.

It’s more of a business relationship, really, but you are not in a position to criticize this bond of theirs.

When the sliding door opens, your forehead is already pressed against the tatami flooring. The servants lead the Yamada Asaemon into the room and your father moves to stand up but the rustling next to you settles as soon as it begins and he bows as he kneels next to you. Not quite as deep as you do and not for as long either.

He is a man after all.

You don’t doubt that even if your father was the poorest farmer in this country, his pride would still stiffen his back so that he could bow no lower than 45°. Respect only goes one to that man, unless the shogun is involved.

The Yamada Asaemon must have signaled for him to stay seated, or else your father would have at least had the courtesy to get up and puff out his chest as he does. The soft thumping on the other side of the table lets you know that he has taken a seat himself.

Raising your head, you make sure to keep your gaze cast to the floor, your vision barely reaching toward the white fabric of his pants. His work attire - how official. A show of respect? Or perhaps an intimidation tactic?

“Had I been informed of your acceptance of my offer, I would have brought the lady a present from my travels. I apologize,” the man speaks up and the deep tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine and it makes your fingers feel numb.

The chance to answer is taken from you, as your father laughs, “It is forthcoming enough of you to come by so quickly right after your mission even after we took so much time to answer. I apologize. I hope the shogun was not offended by my leisure.”

When his hand settles on your shoulder, you feel as if someone put a heavy boulder on top of it. Its warmth feels uncomfortable through the already too-warm layers of your expensive kimono.

“We wanted to make sure that my daughter understands just how much of an honor this truly is,” he explains and it takes every ounce of patience you have to not grimace when he sends you a disapproving look.

They had ridiculed you. Made fun of you for being wed off to a man with a permanent ailment and your father had nearly beaten you senseless, as if it was your fault the shogun had set up the blind executioner with you. In your father’s eyes, this was a failure that was indeed caused by your lacking persona. He’d told you how this reflected poorly upon his relationship with the shogun. 

“Do you know what this means? What this says about how much he values me? My daughter is worth nothing more than a crippled man!”

A crippled man who could cut you down this instant - is what you think to yourself. While you have never met the man face to face, he was the Yamada Asaemon who was assigned to your part of the town, protecting it from criminals. Daimyōs like your father would claim themselves to be the peacekeepers, while all they did was send their men to a certain death while filling their own stomachs with more food than the pigs they feed on could eat.

Thankfully, the voice inside your head is loud and clear. You can yell and scream and insult the man who had taken part in your birth as eloquently as you wished to. It is the only comfort you have. The only humor you can possibly find in such a predicament.

They exchange pleasantries, one man clearly far more genuine than the other, until your father nudges your side. “Go take a walk with your husband and then lead him back for some tea. We will have some things to discuss, which I shall prepare for this instant.”

Monetary things, surely. It seems your life as an entertainer continues from here on out, but your crowd seems to slowly shift. How miserable.

Getting up, you’re proud of how you manage not to stumble over the layers of fabric that seem to be draped endlessly over your body. “Let me lead you through the garden,” you speak demurely, still keeping your gaze low out of respect. 

It is when you’re outside, the door shut behind you, and a few steps into the garden, that he speaks up. This time, it’s directed at you. For the first time today.

“Are you alright?”

It’s a simple question and the answer lays heavy on your tongue but you swallow it down. “Of course.”

“Would you look at me then?”

You stop walking, keeping your gaze no higher than his chest, “I am not sure if that is alright, my Lord.”

His tone now is much more mild and something in his tone tells you he is smiling. “You can drop the odd honorifics and titles. I am going to be your husband soon, am I not?” The rough pads of his fingers are gentle as he tugs you closer by the sleeve of your kimono, ever so slightly. Like a child asking for an adult’s attention. 

“Or do you wish to annul the marriage? Perhaps, you have taken me into the garden so you could reject me dramatically, with a more illustrious scenery to fit the moment? Although I must admit, the visual aspects of such endeavors are usually lost on me,” the man tells you and when a soft gasp leaves your lips, you tilt your head up only to be met with a smile that makes your cheeks burn.

“Such jokes seem a little…of ill taste.”

“Even if I am the one making them? It is my ailment after all. Am I not allowed to make light of it?”

There is nothing clever you can quip back but your desire to do so anyway surprises you. Usually, you do well on holding back any snide comments but he makes it easy to let go of that control.

A defeated breath leaves your lips as you look at him. Carefully, his fingers travel along the end of your sleeve, grabbing your hand gently. His hand is warm, a little rough - from his sword, you assume - but the way it holds yours is very gentle.

“I hope you can forgive me for being this casual but I need you to know that I mean well with you. I know this arrangement isn’t ideal for you-”

You wonder if it is ideal for him.

“-and while I don’t know the exact circumstances of your life here…,” he tilts his head towards the main house, where your father must still be sitting inside, “I can at least promise that I will treat you as my equal. That is also all I wish for in return.”

He seems to know a lot about your family, even the parts that aren’t privy to the general public. Narrowing your eyes at him, you step a little closer, inquiring, “Why would you offer me this so selflessly? What do you gain from this arrangement?”

The man in front of you crosses his arms and a thoughtful expression crosses his face. He frowns slightly as he collects his thoughts and you think to yourself that he is quite handsome. On top of that, he seems to be as well-behaved as the ladies your mother would bring over would whisper to each other.

How ironic that you’d roll your eyes at their daydreams about the man and yet here you are, about to be married off to him.

“I think,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “You are someone who I wish to treat well.”

The wind blows softly, moving the fabric of your kimono ever so slightly and conducting a symphony of leaves as it slips through the bushes and trees of the garden. Taken aback, you blink up at him for a few moments. You take a deep breath, lick your lips, and then open your mouth slightly.

Only to close it again.

Shion suppresses a laugh and you gape up at him, heat licking its way up your spine as he squeezes your hands gently. “I did step forward when the shogun offered this arrangement. Just as you have inevitably heard a lot about me, I have also heard a lot about the lady in return.”

He lets go of your hands but the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin and you almost feel saddened by the loss of physical contact. “I know the members of your family are the ones who are responsible for the uniforms of the Yamada Asaemon, as well as the clothing for the shogun, no?” he asks with a tilt of his head and you notice that he does this a lot. It’s cute and makes him seem a lot more approachable, coupled with that soft smile.

“The previous shogun took a liking to the work of my grandmother and appointed her as his personal seamstress. My mother takes care of the current shogun’s robes and I take care of the ones that all of the Yamada Asaemon wear,” you explain, despite your feeling that he might already know that.

Shion nods and smiles, “You were the one who sent me my uniform without the bell attached. I took the liberty to ask who was considerate enough to do such a thing.”

“So you decided to marry me because I didn’t attach a bell to your uniform?” you ask him, still lost on his motives. What a strange man.

It is then, that the peaceful conversation and the prospect of a proper reply is shattered by the voice of your father. It is almost impressive how the man manages to sound as if he had woven five layers of suppressed anger into his voice. You flinch and Shion’s expression falls slightly as he notices your change in posture.

With a soft sigh, he puts a guiding hand on your upper back for a short moment, redirecting you back towards the house as the both of you walk back. It’s quiet for a moment, the air thick with tension before he dispells it easily once more.

“I accepted the offer because I was curious if I could be a considerate husband towards such a kind person. Perhaps I also simply feel like I have a favor to return.”

A husband in return for a change in uniform design might be the oddest deal you have struck thus far.

You’re sitting across from your husband for the first time since your wedding. Right after the small ceremony, work had pulled him from your now shared home and you did not get the chance to spend any time with him.

Perhaps it was for the better. His absence had given you the chance to make yourself familiar with this house you’d be calling your home from now on. You’d wandered the corridors, made your feet familiar with the grass of the garden until it got too cold to do so, and listened to the way the empty branches danced with the wind as they parted from a few of their leaves. You wondered if they’ve held fruit this year. The trees seem familiar but you cannot put a name to them.

In those moments you had to yourself, it had been peaceful. This house feels more like a home than the grand estate of the daimyō - your father - ever did. Now you share this home with the man sitting across from you.

Your hands lay on top of the small table, your tea untouched.

Shion clears his throat and your head snaps up so you can face him, ready to listen to whatever he’s going to say.

“I am sorry for how uncomfortable this must be for you,” he says, sounding a little resigned. In turn, it makes you feel a little sorry.

“It’s not your fault!” you hurry to speak, your hand instinctively reaching out to offer some comfort but you’re unsure if he’d be okay with you touching his hand, so you drop it softly, letting it rest on the table again. “I am just not too sure what to say. This is my first time being married.”

Your words cause him to hold back a laugh and you feel heat climb into your cheeks. That was a dumb thing to say.

“What a coincidence,” he tells you and the lines at the corners of his eyes become more pronounced when he smiles, “It’s my first time being married as well.”

His joke eases the tension you’re feeling and you feel your shoulders loosen up a little. There is something very comforting about his smile and the lines of his face almost carry a sense of familiarity but you struggle to put your finger on the reason for it.

“How was your work today?” you ask, grabbing a hold of your cup and drinking your tea. Finally. It’s only lukewarm now but that doesn’t matter too much.

Shion looks amused. “Do you really wish to know? My work isn’t the best topic for a lighthearted conversation between newlyweds… Unless you are harboring a sadistic side I was not made aware of?”

You grimace. “Never mind then. Apologies for asking, you’re right.”

A low chuckle leaves his lips as he brings his cup to his lips. Your gaze is drawn to the lines of his throat as he drinks and your ears feel a little warm. 

After he puts it down again, he speaks once more, “I have a student who is going to be appointed as one of the Yamada Asaemon soon. Today, I spent most of the day training with him. No violent business.”

A strange sense of relief settles in your chest and you nod. “That sounds nice… Is it difficult to be a teacher to somebody else? I tried teaching one of the other daimyōs’ daughters how to sew once but I fear I lack the patience to offer guidance of any sort.”

“So you’re the impatient type?”

“It depends,” you defend yourself quickly, “I can be patient if I want to be. Are you going to answer my question?”

“There it is - your patience,” Shion retorts and you feel irked, breathing in deeply, causing him to laugh. 

“Anyway, it’s not so much that it is difficult, it just requires a willingness to understand the other. When teaching, you cannot apply the same words and actions to every pupil you teach. Not everybody is receptive to my ways of teaching.”

Humming in reply, you think out loud, “Are you a strict teacher?”

“I can be.”

“I cannot imagine that. Put on a frown for me, please. To stimulate my fantasy,” you plead, a little too excitedly before you cough and clear your throat, reining it in again.

His eyebrows pull together and yeah - he does look a little intimidating but soon enough a smile tugs on his lips and the muscles of his face fail him. He breaks the strict facial expression in favor of a charming, slightly awkward smile.

“Did that stimulate your fantasy?” he asks with raised brows and your teeth sink into your lower lip, as you’re trying to hold back your grin.

“Plenty. Thank you,” you reply, drinking the rest of your tea before getting up and grabbing a hold of his empty cup, carrying both of them to the kitchen before returning once more.

Instead of sitting down, you decide to walk towards the shelf that covers the entire wall on one side of the living room, standing in front of it as you have done plenty of times during the first few days here.

“Perhaps I can get someone to do the household chores soon-” Shion begins but you cut him off.

“There is no need. I enjoy playing house. My cooking may not be up to par but I fear you will just have to show me some of that patience of yours in that regard,” you smile. “We may have had servants at home but to be honest, that kind of lifestyle has never suited me much.”

“What kind of lifestyle suits you then?” Genuine curiosity resounds in his question and you hum softly in response.

“Perhaps we will just have to find out together,” you offer, reaching out to run a hand over the back of a little booklet. A scroll lays on top of it so you carefully pull it out.

“I apologize if this is an improper question to ask but why do you collect so much poetry and so many stories when you cannot read them by yourself?”

After offering up this question, you turn towards him again, slowly unraveling the scroll as you wait for his reply. Unsure, your eyes flit towards his form again before settling back on the calligraphy displayed on the scroll.

“Whenever I go out to the market, I stop by the place where they sell poetry. The vendors read it to me and I buy it if it appeals to me. It’s a simple explanation, really,” Shion explains. “Surely, you buy things you’re fond of a lot too, right? Even if they aren’t necessarily something you’re able to use a lot.”

"Even if it were something of the past,

With each day the white snow falls,

My love for you grows stronger,

Surpassing all that came before."

Your eyes wander over the words on the scroll carefully while you answer him absentmindedly, “I wasn’t allowed to buy what I desired. However, sometimes I would receive fabrics as a present, from a dear aunt of mine. That would be my personal little luxury.”

Shion frowns, “The daimyō is quite the strict man, isn’t he?”

“Imagine dealing with the shogun and then multiply that by twenty. Perhaps then you’ll get close to just how difficult he is to deal with.” Your eyes flit towards his face and you wonder, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you,” he refutes and you stay quiet for a moment.

“You are quite fond of these kinds of jokes, aren’t you?”

“I find them incredibly amusing,” he replies, smiling in a terribly boyish manner. Adorable, is what you think it is but you would not dare to say that out loud.

Clearing your throat, you read the poem on the scroll out loud in the way you were taught to do it - with an elegant tone and yet, carrying a tempo that commands attention. Your literary criticism is immediate, “This is a little sad, is it not? Why would one yearn for something that’s in the past… Wouldn’t that just break your heart?”

Shion thinks about your words for a moment before smiling softly. “Something from the past might just return to become a part of your present, no? Also, I do think it’s important to cherish beloved memories.”

His words hang in the room between the both of you and for a faint moment you get the feeling that he is waiting for something else but then he gets up before you can ask any further questions.

“Come on. Let’s go out and get some fresh air. We can continue our talks about the depths of feelings of the past outside,” Shion invites you and you huff, before following him.

“Don’t pour him sake,” Shion tells you and you sigh, switching over to pour sake into your own cup. It’s clear that you have had too much to drink tonight and Tenza is finding great humor in it.

He whisper-shouts your name, pulling on your kimono sleeve excitedly. “And then? What did Sensei say?”

Right. You were in the middle of your retelling of an uncomfortable encounter with a man on the street before you decided to be nice and pour Tenza some of the sake as well. It’s the first time you've had a drink like this. Before, you were not allowed to drink any alcohol but tonight, Shion brought out some sake for you two to share. Tenza decided to join, in search of some entertainment.

“He said ‘I suggest you keep your hands off my wife’ and looked at the guy all scary. Like this,” you giggle, leaning onto your hand, your elbow propped up onto the table as you try to imitate Shion’s expression from back then. It doesn’t look anything like any of his expressions at all and the grimace you’re pulling is so ridiculous, that Tenza snorts loudly.

The tips of Shion’s ears are a little flushed and he shifts awkwardly. His voice is gentle yet firm. “I could not let someone harass you,” he mumbles, drinking from his cup. 

“I knew sensei was a protective person but love really does change-oof!” Tenza groans and reaches down to rub his shin, right where Shion just kicked him under the small desk.

“Training tomorrow will begin an hour earlier than usual. Go get some sleep,” Shion urges the young man with a voice so kind that his words almost seem harmless. Tenza’s mouth is caught in a permanent gasp now, at the consequences of his nosy actions. While his mentor can be a little strict, he was not used to him practically throwing him out of his home.

Grumbling, he gets up and bows to you, foregoing his bow towards his mentor. “Good night. Please prepare more stories of sensei’s gallant acts for the next time I come over,” he tells you, a grin pulling on his lips.

With a grin of your own, you reach out and ruffle his hair, breaking into a fit of giggles when he groans about you ruining it. 

The world spins and you decide to rest your head on the table. You don’t know how much time passes as Shion leads Tenza back to the entrance to bid him goodbye. Their voices are far away and you close your eyes, feeling a little dizzy.

Cool fingers touch your forehead. “You had too much to drink,” your husband tells you gently, sounding a little amused. Still, there is a hint of worried care underlying his words.

“No such thing happened…,” you mumble and Shion huffs softly, sitting down next to you. Slowly, he traces his fingertips over your face, running them over the apples of your cheeks, along your brow bone before following the lines of your lips. 

“Don’t touch my face,” comes your complaint, slurred and hard to understand with your cheek pressed against the table.

Your husband merely smiles but you don’t see it, your eyes still closed. “I am looking at you,” he says in a tone that is so tender that it causes you to take a peek at him. The smile on his lips is a sweet one, so gentle that it pulls on your heartstrings. His brows are drawn together as his fingers draw shapes over your face and it makes him look painfully emotional.

The thought of him not knowing what you look like twists something inside your chest and your throat feels as if you’ve tried to swallow a small rock.

“I am looking at you as well,” you tell him and it would have made for an intimate moment, were it not for how jumbled your words sound due to the alcohol. He laughs softly and cups your cheeks with his hands to turn your face towards him better. His hands are warm, the skin a little rough from the regular use of his sword but they offer a comfort and now something you dare to call familiarity, that you wish to hold onto.

“You look at me a lot.”

“Because you’re handsome,” you shoot back and he looks a little taken aback, the tips of his ears flushing red. With newfound bravery, generously sponsored by the alcohol coursing through your bloodstream, you reach out and cup his face in return. Running your thumb over his ear, you giggle.

“You’re pretty drunk. Let me help you get to bed,” with that he gently tugs your hand away from his face and you pout as he helps you up. Shion wraps his arm around you, helping you to get to your room. 

Your hands hold onto the fabric of his kimono. There is something about the way he looked at you when you told him he’s handsome. You decide that you don’t like it. “I really think you are handsome. It’s not the sake,” you promise, tugging on the fabric of his robes.

He pulls you along gently, opening the door to your bedroom before entering with you. Shion helps you get ready for bed, as much as is appropriate. When you change into your clothes for the night, he even turns to face away from you. Watching his broad back, you snort.

“It’s not like you can see me, even if I were to be entirely naked,” you tell him. The tips of his ears are red again and he huffs, shuffling in place.

“It feels inappropriate,” he mumbles, keeping his back turned towards you. “Did you get dressed already?” It’s quiet for a moment and he clears his throat, “If it’s alright, I will turn around-”

Your fingers find the back of his robes, tugging him closer gently… Or are you the one moving closer to him? Shion isn’t sure and his feet feel heavy, yet oddly light, as if he doesn’t have any in the first place. Your arms are warm as they wrap around his middle. As far as he can tell, they’re bare.

“Now, this is inappropriate.”

“We are married,” you tell him, leaning against his back, your cheek rubbing against the spot between his shoulder blades fondly. He’d compare you to a cat if your proximity didn’t toss his thoughts into a big, disorganized pile inside his mind.

“It’s cold. You should get dressed,” he tells you, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. His breath is heavy and his tongue feels restless inside his mouth. It’s too hot and his body is yelling at him to simply take a step forward and a way from your body against his back.

He doesn’t.

You remove yourself from his back and he hears the rustling of fabric, coupled with your clumsy steps. “Don’t trip. Be careful,” he tells you and you simply hum, pulling on your robes to sleep in.

“I was wearing my kosode,” you tell him when he turns around and he nods, guiding you to your futon and helping you lay down as he sits by your side. “I wouldn’t hug you if I was indecent. Not even if it was because of the alcohol.”

With a sigh, he nods again and when he tries to stand up after having made sure you’re safe and sound in bed, you grab onto his clothes again. As he regards you with a raised brow, you feel odd. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or this strange tension that hangs in the air between you. Maybe that is due to the alcohol too. Perhaps, this is why your parents never let you drink before.

“Stay. I can read to you if you stay with me for a while longer,” you whisper and Shion faces you for a moment, quietly. It’s a little cheeky to offer such a thing this late at night - to ask someone to stay a while longer already has its implications but something like that, to him at least-

A smile tugs on his lips and he reaches forward, gently rubbing his thumb between your brows, chasing away the frown that he finds with such accuracy, that you truly wonder as to how easy he finds it to understand you without needing to see. 

“What if the letters start dancing across the scroll?” he teases you for your tipsy state as he gets up to grab one of his poem collections for you to read out loud to him.

“Then we’ll just have to dance with them,” is all you offer and he huffs before leaving the room for a moment.

You hear him chuckling on his way down the hall to the living room.

“The old pond.

A frog leaps in -

The sound of the water.”

“So…the frog jumps into the pond?”

“You’re quite quick with your deductions, aren’t you?” Shion teases, and you raise your brow at him, pursing your lips in a dissatisfied pout.

“And you have bad taste in poetry. Why did you buy this? If you are in search of obvious retellings of natural happenings, I can be your source for that kind of information for the rest of your days,” you mumble, looking back at the scroll again as you lay on your tummy. 

One of you visiting the other’s room with poetry or stories in hand has become a habit. You’ve been spending the past weeks reading to him - faithfully, every single evening. Both of you seem to regard this as an essential part of your days despite not talking about it. Just like how you avoid putting a name to the feelings that have blossomed in your chest.

Shion feels his chest tighten at your casual promise of a life together. The teasing lilt of his voice turns into a warm and comforting one as his hand reaches out to gently cup your cheek. His thumb strokes over your protruding lower lip until you stop pouting. “But can you be as picturesque with your words?” he asks and you grumble.

“How would you even rate that?”

It slips out before you can do anything about it, hours of frustration from trying to work your way around clever plays on kanji, as well as the haikus of Basho taking a toll on you. 

“I am so sorry,” you say, trying to get up but your husband tugs on your yukata, urging you to stay on the comfortable futon.

“The old pond has always been peaceful. Quiet and undisturbed,” he speaks, undeterred by your antics and your little joke at his expense but you can tell that he is fighting off a smile. You being comfortable enough to join in on his neverending jokes about his ailment is causing him to feel a warmth that makes him feel unsure whether he wants to share it with you or lock it away inside himself for colder times.

“And then, a little frog comes along. It’s cheeky and doesn’t care about the current ways of the pond. So, mischievous as it is, it jumps into the calm little pond, causing a commotion. A big splash, a loud noise,” Shion murmurs softly, his fingers moving down your arm as he reaches for your hand. 

Almost naturally, he laces his fingers between yours and concludes, “Ripples move all over the place as the frog breaks the surface of the water. The calm pond is no more.”

Shion’s attention is entirely on you now and you look up at him as he sits next to you on the futon. You take a moment to process his words, wiggling your fingers between his while you are deep in your thoughts. 

“Is that kind of disturbance really that bad? Surely, for a pond that has never experienced anything, aside from its boring quiet life, something like that must be quite exciting, no?”

Amused, Shion lifts your hand to his lips, pressing gentle kisses against the tips of your fingers, one by one before he replies, “It’s quite exhilarating.”

A grin tugs on your lips. “So you’re the pond now?”

“Indeed, and you’re the cheeky little thing that decided to shake my life up a little.”

Pricks of warmth climb their way up to your neck and you suppress a shiver. “Is that so…,” you mumble quietly, feeling a little flustered at how happy he sounds about your presence in his life. It grows quiet once more as you return to the poem. Your husband keeps your hand in his and runs his thumb over the side of your finger.

A soft yawn escapes your lips and you blink tiredly, finally noticing how heavy your eyelids feel.

“The kanji for ‘frog’ can be read as ‘to return’,” Shion tells you and you look up at him for a moment, mulling over his words. His attention is fully on you and when he notices that you are lacking a reply, he almost seems a little…disappointed?

“Which also means, the little frog needs to return to her room for tonight,” he concludes and you sigh. With a nod, you get up and as per usual, he accompanies you to your bedroom. Despite how it is almost right next to his own; only a few steps away.

Leaning down, he kisses your forehead ever so gently before bidding you good night and returning to his room.

Your forehead feels warm throughout the entire night as your hand rests on top of it in an attempt to preserve the feeling of his lips against your skin for a moment longer.

Crimson stains your vision on a cold winter day, breaking the abundance of pure white that your eyes have gotten used to. 

The smell of iron stings deep inside your nose and your ears feel as if they have been filled with cotton. When you part your lips to speak, nothing escapes your dry throat and you force yourself to swallow before trying anew, “W-What-”

“Just help me get him inside. Quick!” Tenza all but shouts and you comply, your movements almost mechanical as you open the door fully, closing it behind him and leading him to the bedroom.

“Shouldn’t we call a doctor?” you ask, your hands anxiously grabbing onto the fabric of your kimono. You want to reach out and help but you are afraid of hurting your husband even more. You’re not even sure where he is hurting. All you see is how his clothes are stained a deep red.

Nausea climbs its way up your throat but you force it down. Carefully, you help Tenza sit him down. The young man seems unsure what to do himself, sweat beading on his forehead. He’s in distress but he is trying to keep it together.

You feel pathetic.

The wound is on his back and once you know this, it seems clear as day. The back of his clothes is dripping blood and you wince. “I sent for the medic, he should be-”

“Go wait for him outside. Someone needs to guide him here. I will take care of Shion until then.”

Tenza hesitates, shuffling a little before he springs up and into action, leaving the room. Carefully, you brace Shion against your body, unsure of how to lay him down, so this seems like the best option.

“I wanted to see you,” he rasps and you think you misheard. Shifting, you hold him in your embrace, his chest pressed against yours as you grab the thick blanket by your side. Pushing his uniform off his shoulders, you try not to react to the cut on his back. Using the blanket, you apply pressure on his wound. It doesn’t work too well.

“It’ll be okay…” you mumble, not sure whether you are trying to comfort him or reassure yourself. His head is resting on top of your shoulder, his fingers twisting into the fabric of your kimono. You had put on the purple one with the intricate patterns that could be felt by his curious hands. The fondness he expressed over this kimono did not escape you.

You had put it on for when you’d welcome him back. If you had hugged him, would he have been surprised? Would he have hugged you back, delighted by your affection? How long would it have taken him to realize what you’re wearing? Your husband has a sharp mind - you doubt it would have taken long.

Now the soft purple is ruined, stained murky red. Like an overripe plum thrown to the ground and stepped on until there was only a puddle of mush and juice left.

A wave of nausea hits you again, your hands pressing against his back with firmness, ignoring the wetness against your fingertips.

Tenza’s voice cuts through the deafening, high-pitched sound that has crawled its way into your ears as it chases away any and all thoughts, and relief floods you as your eyes lock onto the doctor he brings in tow. The older man seems calm enough at the sight of the wound, once you remove the bedsheet, that you feel a bit of it seeping into you as well.

It would be okay.

The doctor redirects your attention to the task of making sure that Shion stays awake as he works on cleaning the wound and stitching it up. Tenza scurries about the place, grabbing water and supplies from all over the place and he seems glad not to have to sit there in silence.

You hold onto Shion, asking him questions about his trip - What did he eat? How was the weather? Did he find something exciting and new?

His replies are sluggish, his head heavy on your shoulder but he answers, despite how strained he sounds. You try your best to not look at the stitches.

Once it’s done and finished, Tenza helps you change Shion into a comfortable kimono and your eyes find no joy in roaming over his body. All those little scars littering his body cause your thoughts to spiral. How much has he endured in the past? How much would he have to endure in the future?

Pushing those thoughts away, you carefully lay him down on his front, not daring to put any strain on his back. The doctor informs you about the things you should be aware of, instructing you on how to clean the wound and how to aid in his recovery. Tenza gets up to guide him out and when he sends a questioning look filled with worry your way, you simply shake your head and wave your hand to shoo him away.

The young man has had enough of a strenuous day as is.

“You can go home for today. I can handle the rest,” you tell him, still holding your husband in your arms. The look he gives you is not one that screams that he believes you much but his fatigue wins over his desire to help you and a mere nod ends up being his reply to your words.

“I will return after I finish reporting this to the others,” he tells you before he leaves and the moment he closes the door, it’s as if he’s sealed you inside a vacuum. You don’t know how you maneuver Shion onto the futon on his stomach but by the time you’ve snapped back into reality, he’s situated comfortably on it, pillows cushioning the parts of him that need it. 

—

It takes a few days for him to get back into a condition where you don’t fear that his fever might turn his brain into charcoal. The snow has settled outside but the cold that seeps into your body every night as you lay next to him, waiting for him to wake up, is not due to the cold weather outside.

Your relief is endless when you enter his room in the morning to see him sitting up on his futon. He looks a little tired and a touch more pale than he usually does but he seems to not be waiting in front of death’s door anymore.

Quickly, you hurry to his side, kneeling next to him. Your hands hover over his body, unsure where to hold onto, the desire to help him in any way you can thrumming within your limbs. “How are you feeling?” you ask carefully, your hands moving to busy themselves by smoothing out the sleeves of his robe.

Your fingertips burn with a desire to touch him, to make sure this is real. 

Shifting a little, he carefully rolls his shoulders back, hissing at the hot flash of pain. Immediately, one of your hands lands on his back, gently resting below the injury and offering support. “Don’t move too much. The injury is still not fully closed up.”

A raspy sigh leaves his lips. “I am sorry for causing you trouble,” he mutters, his voice strained from days of not talking. His brows are furrowed and his breathing is still a little heavy. A frown that mirrors his own makes its home on your expression.

“You are my husband. There is no such thing as causing me trouble,” you utter, gently flicking your finger against his forehead. He could easily move out of the way but he takes it in stride, the frown on his face giving way to a softer expression. 

“Then allow me to rephrase that: Thank you for taking care of me,” he tells you and you smile gently. Your hand stays on his lower back, your thumb rubbing back and forth over his skin.

“I was a little afraid that you wouldn’t wake up again. It’s silly and I know that but…,” Withdrawing your hands from his body, you fix the blanket over his legs. “That day I thought you’d bleed out in my arms, Shion. I am not a doctor, so coming to me first - in that kind of state…”

The only thing that hangs in the air between the both of you is silence before his hand moves to take one of your own, gently untangling the blanket from your fingers. You didn’t notice that you had been grasping onto the fabric way too tightly. His hand holds yours firmly enough to reassure you of his presence.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone like that,” he tells you quietly, squeezing gently. When you look back up at him again, he smiles warmly, His fingers move to tease your palm softly, tickling you, as he asks, “Who else would explain all of those poems to you?”

Slowly, your frown slowly melts into an amused expression and you shake your head. “They don’t make sense. Trust me, I have spent enough time complaining about them while you were resting.”

Shion’s eyebrows quirk up at that. “Did you read to me while I was asleep?”

For a moment, there is no reply from you. He’s left in the dark and the only thing that reminds him of your presence is the weight of your hand in his.

You clear your throat, “I thought it would be rude to just stop reading to you.” Anxiously, your fingers press into his hand ever so slightly. “I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”

You don’t notice that he has gotten closer to you until his forehead bumps against your temple softly, and his hand finds the back of your neck. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you, my lovely wife,” he whispers tenderly.  

Turning your face towards him a little more, you sigh softly, your forehead pressed against his as your breaths intermingle. “You need to be more careful from now on. This house is too big for me to live in by myself,” you complain and he laughs softly. His lips are so close to yours that you feel your cheeks heat up beyond a level you consider comfortable.

You shift and move away slightly. He seems reluctant about letting you go but does so regardless. Cleaning up the supplies that you have kept around his futon, you watch how he shifts in discomfort. “Are you alright?”

“I need a bath,” he mutters, scrunching up his nose. These past few days you’d wipe him down but for someone who is as clean and as thorough about his hygiene as he is, this must be a nightmare. There is no way he can go by himself though. Not with how hurt he is.

“I will help you wash up,” you announce and the grimace he pulls makes you laugh. Firmly, you grab onto his upper arm where he is not hurt, carefully helping him up onto his feet. On the way to the bath, you support his weight, thankful for the fact that the houses of the Yamada Asaemon all have their own private baths. Helping him wash up in a public bath would have proven to be very complicated.

Steam envelops you merely a few minutes later. Your husband is sitting on a wooden stool in front of you, only covered by a simple tenugui. Carefully, you remove the bandages on top of his injury. With bated breath, Shion waits for a reaction but it never comes. Tentatively he asks, “Is it bad?”

“It’s healing up nicely,” you answer calmly, feeling a little emotionally detached whenever you look at it. The nausea that would take over whenever you’d look at it, left after the fourth day of taking care of him. There were more important things to deal with and it had faded into the background.

The thought of you getting used to violence like that in any way deeply aggravates Shion. He feels a little helpless and it seems to show. Your wet fingers meet his face when you tilt his head back so gently that it fills him with the desire to reward every single one of your fingertips that have bestowed such a tender touch upon him.

“Are you alright?” you ask, your fingers moving to gently trace over his eyebrows, fixing them in place before following along the lines of his scars. There is something about them that makes you feel weirdly nostalgic in a way that causes something to stir in your chest but you pour water on that warmth, preventing the spark that might offset something. 

The way you are right now is alright.

“It just feels a little unfamiliar to be this exposed in front of you,” he tells you, his breath warm against your face and it is only then that you realize that you have been leaning down to be closer to his face. 

The way his lashes brush against the top of his cheeks makes you want to lean even closer but you clear your throat, straightening your back again before allowing him to tilt his head forward once more.

“You’re covered up. I wouldn’t mind either way. We are married and eventually, we’d come into contact with each other like this,” stating this firmly, you move on to wash his hair. His ears are flushed a soft red but the bath is warm so you pay it no mind.

Surprised at his hair’s softness, you find yourself taking much more time than necessary to run your fingers through the tufts of silvery white, separating the strands before pushing them back together again. Your fingertips push into his scalp in a gentle massage.

When your nails join in on the fun and you tug on his hair a little, a sharp intake of breath echoes through the little room and your fingers leave his scalp.

Turning away, you grab a hold of the little bucket and scoop water into it. Once you turn back, your husband’s ears are still decorated with that healthy flush that now spreads to his shoulders.

“I would like to let you soak in the tub for a bit but it seems your fever is coming back,” you mumble, washing his body clean with water before helping him dry himself off with a soft towel.

Handing him his robe, you turn away to let him get dressed once more, albeit you tell him to not pull the upper part of the robe up. Instead, Shion leaves it down, the garment tied around his waist securely as the both of you walk back to his room. It’s cold and the way he shivers ever so slightly pushes you to walk a bit quicker.

Once you arrive, he settles on his futon and you get to work. With practiced movements, you put the ointment on his wound before dressing it carefully to ensure that nothing would be able to mess with the healing process. 

It’s an action you don’t think about at all when you lean forward to press a kiss on top of the bandage. Shion startles slightly, turning his head towards you. You realize and freeze. “Don’t look at me,” you mumble, feeling a sudden sense of embarrassment flood your body. 

He turns around to face you, your embarrassment no hindrance to him as he pulls you into a hug. “I am not looking at you,” he mumbles back cheekily, his hands pressing you closer against his body. His upper body is warm against you and very naked but the need for comfort outweighs your bashfulness and you carefully wrap your arms around him, mindful of his injury.

Something as simple as a hug shouldn’t cause you to feel a feeling as bittersweet as the one that pulses within your chest right now but you don’t remember the last time someone had held you like this.

You don’t think anyone ever has.

If Shion can feel the way your shoulders tremble and how your wet lashes brush against his skin, he does a good job not commenting on it. All he does is hold you tightly as he whispers, mere inches away from your ear, “I am really happy that I got to return to you. While I was gone, I was really anxious about how you were doing back home.”

He sighs. “I am sorry for being reckless.”

Pressing his lips against the top of your head, he sighs softly, confessing, “I missed you.”

Your breath is warm against his shoulder as you stay like this for a while. He holds you until the trembling subsides and you part with a shaky exhale. With care, you reach out to pull up his yukata, helping him get his arms inside the sleeves before draping it over his shoulders. 

It’s late. The darkness slowly settles outside as stars creep out of their homes and show themselves in the night sky. Shion gets comfortable on his futon, laying on his stomach as per your orders while you go ahead and grab something to read to him.

You return with a new story for him - no poetry this time - wanting to have an excuse to spend more time with him. Rationally, you know you don’t need an excuse to spend time with your husband who is more than generous enough to let you waste all of his free time but still, this is the method of your choosing, your very own way of circling around your feelings. 

It’s easier to push them aside if you don’t verbalize them - if they don’t hang in the air between you and make it difficult to breathe. Suddenly those silly poems make a little more sense and the longing described feels more palpable.

The cold doesn’t seem to be a problem to you anymore. You feel too warm.

You discard the haori that you had worn over your kimono all day long to shield you from the cold. Instead of putting it away, you carefully cover Shion’s back and shoulders with it, mantling his body with it like a blanket.

Bemusedly, he pulls it closer around himself. “It smells like lavender, just like you do,” he breathes out, sounding a little exhausted as he settles, laying his head atop his pillow. Snickering at how docile he looks, you settle on his futon as well, right next to him on your tummy. 

Your fingers move to comb back a particularly messy patch of hair right at the top of his forehead, your eyes surrounded by tiny folds as deep as your affection for the sweet man as you smile fondly. Absent-mindedly, your fingers make their way through his hair, over the nape of his neck, and down his arm until they find his fingers, and then they travel back up to his shoulder. 

Today, it’s difficult to keep your hands to yourself but he seems to be alright with that. So you don’t, and simply continue touching him, while you begin to read.

“The days and months are travelers of eternity, just like the years that come and go. For those who pass their lives afloat on boats, or face old age leading horses tight by the bridle, their journeying is life, their journeying is home.”

Shion listens to you, letting out a soft hum of acknowledgement here and there. His face twitches in reaction to the words every now and then when he scrunches up his nose at some of the details, or when he smiles at how you dramatize certain passages.

By the time you reach the end of the book, your voice is lower than usual, much more intimate and quiet. The way your fingers casually trace over the nape of his neck, right where his hair meets his skin, has his skin burning. Flipping his pillow over, he buries one side of his face against the cool material in hopes of bringing comfort to the heat that wells up inside him.

Intrigued by his antics, you turn your head towards him once you finish the book, putting it away. Leaning closer, you pout as your fingers rub at his neck gently. “You must be tired, hm? Let me head off for tonight.”

Swiftly, you move in to press a lingering kiss against the top of his head, before whispering a quick “Good night”. With that, you’re off and once the door is closed, a soft sigh leaves Shion.

As he shifts to get more comfortable, he notices that you’ve left your haori with him. Brows furrowed, he presses the soft fabric closer to his nose, breathing in deeply. It doesn’t just smell of lavender but it smells of you.

It makes him feel an intense sense of yearning and his tongue presses against the roof of his mouth. His hips feel restless as the minutes pass by and his fingers tighten their hold on the haori while his other hand moves a little lower along the front of his body as he leans more onto his side.

The sting of his injury causes him to take in a sharp breath - or rather, it’s the feeling of his hand pressing against the mortifying hardness that is slowly arising underneath his yukata as he hastily pushes the fabric aside. He wishes the pain were more severe. It might have prevented such a shameful situation. 

Perhaps the mix of pain and desperation can wash away the shame that threatens to burn his ears as your voice still seems to echo within them, contorting in ways his mind conjures up. You have never made the kind of sounds that plague him at this very moment, that urge him to move his hand and his hips in an attempt to ease this ache. Shion is troubled by this sudden revelation of his mind's creativity. 

He wonders what you’d sound like if he worshiped at your feet. If he showed proof of his gratitude, right between your legs. Over and over again, until your cries die out and turn into soft murmurs, until your skin is warmed by his reverence.

Shion returns your haori a few days later in a hurried manner, his face turned away from yours as he hands it to you rather passively before leaving. It’s freshly cleaned and the smell of lavender is nowhere to be found.

It smells like nothing. 

It is when the leaves start turning green again and you get to describe the various shades of the flowers blooming in your garden to your husband, that you feel the desire for there to be more within this. How much closer can one really get when they’re married?

Shion treats you well. Not once has he gone back on his promises and you have more than you could wish for. Not only are you well-fed and warm, but you are also free to do what you want and he treats you kindly.

Yet, every kind word of his leaves you with a deep ache.

It is also during that same spring that Shion starts to avoid you.

At first, it’s just the small things. He flinches away from your casual touches. You chalk it up to a miscalculation on your side. Perhaps he is not that comfortable with it after all. 

Within your presence, he starts to look increasingly uncomfortable. He is in deep thought most of the time around you, and he doesn’t realize you’ve been calling his name many times in a row, trying to grab his attention.

And then, he blatantly begins to avoid you. The hours you’d spend reading his beloved poetry and long-winded stories to him dwindle down to the smallest fraction of an hour until he tells you that he’s too tired for your shared reading time.

Long pages remain unread, the new stories you’d bought stay hidden within the beautiful fabric you had wrapped them up in to surprise him with, and your nights feel a little colder now, despite the weather warming up.

It is on a warm spring day, that Tenza refuses to leave until you promise him to visit the sakura matsuri later that week. It feels like only yesterday when the plum blossoms in your garden had started to bloom and yet, it was already cherry blossom season. “Bring Shion-sensei with you!” is the last thing he tells you.

It’s not that easy.

Frustration sinks its claws deep into your heart. It’s not as if he doesn’t talk to you anymore or as if he is unkind. He shares with you the same kindness as he did when you got married but that is precisely what irks you.

Back then, you barely knew each other. Back then, you were just happy to have gotten out of that household, away from your father. Back then, you did not harbor this many difficult feelings for this man and it is only when your eyes sting and your lower lip begins to tremble, that you get up.

Distance is not a wall, it can be minimized, one step at a time. Even if it were a wall - you didn’t climb over the manor walls when you were younger for nothing. You’d climb over any wall he would build.

Your feet carry you to his room, a route you’re awfully familiar with by now. Softly, you knock as you take a deep breath. Once your husband bids you inside, you enter.

“Tenza asked for us to go watch the cherry blossoms with him.”

“Did he phrase it like that when asking for our presence? How cheeky,” Shion mumbles, his hands working to polish his sword with an uchiko ball. There is no humor in his tone like there used to be and the straight, confident posture you put up falters ever so slightly.

“I want to go,” you tell him and he nods, still not stopping his work, not turning towards you either. 

“You are free to do so. You know you needn’t ask me for permission, as long as there is someone to keep you safe.”

“Together,” you add and he stops, carefully putting down his katana as he finally turns towards you. You continue, “Please, come along. It will be fun. I have been working on a kimono recently and it would be a good opportunity to wear it.”

Shion looks like he might deny you, his brows furrowed, his expression stuck in that internal conflict that has nestled somewhere inside his mind. You wish you had the courage to talk about it, to pester him more whenever he tells you that it’s nothing.

The shuffling of your feet as your toes grow restless against the tatami mats is loud enough for him to relent. A night out might also distract you a little and lift your spirits. Recently, you have been rather quiet and it makes him feel guilty.

He wouldn’t dare pinpoint himself as the cause of the shift in your behavior but he is aware that his recent changes have made you… Uncomfortable, perhaps. Shion doesn’t know what exactly you are feeling but he doesn’t dare to ask. He doesn’t have the right to do so.

With a nod, he complies, “Alright. We can head out together then. It’s at the end of the week, right?”

You didn’t notice that you had been holding your breath, so the first breath you take after his reply feels exhilarating. “Yes! I will ask Tenza where he wants to meet up that day and I will also take care of the rest. Thank you!”

As you hurry out of his room, Shion smiles gently, the pitter-patter of your feet against the floor accompanying him as he picks his tools back up.

—

When the day arrives and he is washing his face as you wander about, getting ready, he is reminded of a poem the old lady at the market has read to him once.

"Even though we may be apart,

if I am to hear that you pine for me

as the Inaba mountain pines, 

I shall return to you."

Reaching up, he ruffles up his hair, frustrated by the resurgence of this memory. It is ridiculous to think that you have seemed so excited for him to join because it is him in particular.

The more, the merrier - that is what you’d say whenever you’d invite the other Yamada Asaemon over for dinner, or whenever you’d tell Tenza to tag along for your walks together. Futile, is what it is, to hope and pray and spend his day interpreting your awkward shifting when he’d sent you away that first night, telling you that he was too tired to have you read to him.

Futile, to search for meaning in the way your tone has changed around him. It is especially futile to think about how you’d react if he were to reach out and claim your lips.

His face feels warm.

Your hand is cold as it touches the nape of his neck and he flinches. Dumbstruck, you stand there for a moment. He’s never been one to be surprised by your presence. He had chalked it up to his heightened senses, due to his lack of vision and you’d thought it a good enough explanation. On top of that, he was a seasoned fighter.

“You’re warm… And you seem a little out of it,” you mumble gently, the awkwardness of the past few weeks forgotten in light of the possibility of him being sick. “Are you coming down with a fever?”

“I am alright,” he tells you, sounding a little flustered. Ever so softly, you reach out to lay the back of your hand against his forehead. It doesn’t seem to be a fever but his skin is a little warmer than you’re used to.

With a soft sigh, you let him know, “If you are feeling unwell, we can stay at home, you know?” You take your hand off his forehead but he grabs a hold of it mid-air, tugging it towards his lips. Pressing a gentle kiss against where you had just touched his skin, he breathes deeply.

“I want to go together.”

A tingling sensation spreads over your skin and you smile. “Alright. Let me go grab your kimono.”

“I can get it myself. My closet is right there,” Shion points towards the closet in his room but you huff in reply, pulling your hand out of his hold.

“Now, don’t tell me I spent all week hurrying to finish your kimono, just for you to want to wear one of your old ones. How terribly unkind.” You’re pouting and it weaves itself into your manner of speech in a way that Shion finds so charming that it tugs on the corners of his lips.

“The kimono you were referring to a few days ago when you told me about this…was mine?”

“I have plenty of my own that I have made over the years. Since we have gotten married I have made even more. On top of that, you make sure to gift me fancy fabrics every time we go out, so I wanted to repay that favor,” you tell him, the end of it sounding a little flustered, and he smiles warmly.

“I will gladly wear it then,” he tells you and you smile, content now as you go to retrieve it. You leave most of the work to him, your back turned to him as a way of giving him privacy. It is only the details that you busy yourself with, helping him fix up the obi in a nice way, as well as smoothing out the odd wrinkle or two. 

A happy smile tugs on your lips. “Is it comfortable?”

Shion runs his hand over the sleeves, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. “This is incredibly soft,” he mumbles softly, almost in awe. You smile triumphantly.

“I found this fabric the other day when I was out with Tenza. I wanted to make sure you get to enjoy the clothes you wear. Just for your knowledge, the color is really pretty too. A dark blue. It reminded me of the night sky so I just had to take it with me,” you explain proudly and he smiles.

“Thank you,” is all he replies but it’s filled with enough tenderness to make up for the lack of colorful words.

You feel at ease, for the first time in weeks, as the both of you walk towards the designated spot for your meeting with Tenza. Once you meet up with him and some of the other Yamada Asaemon, you feel the rest of your awkwardness dissipate. 

It was fine this way. Shion could spend his evening with his colleagues and you could just stay with Sagiri and Tenza, trying out the different foods Tenza would carry over from the stalls to the blanket you were sitting on.

So that is what you do for the entire duration of the little festival. Your hand rests on Sagiri’s arm as the both of you move from one food stall to the next. She doesn’t ask any questions, seemingly knowing that there is something going on which must be solved between you and your husband.

She offers you a gentle squeeze as she rests her hand on top of yours, trying to comfort you. You smile at her but it looks awkward and wrong. The way Shion seemed more approachable again today worries you. If you return home and he ends up going back to his avoidant behavior, you don’t think you’ll know what to do.

You walk back to where the others are sitting.

It is only when everybody is knocked out from either the alcohol, too much food, or long-winded talks, that your group goes silent. Only soft conversations happen here and there. You’re seated on a soft blanket, the cherry trees blossoming around you, their petals illuminated by the moon as they drift onto the grass.

“The plum blossoms in our garden are this pretty too,” you murmur softly. Shion, who is sitting next to you, hums in reply.

“They are almost the same color, right? Both are popular topics for poetry after all.”

“I think plum blossoms are prettier,” you tell him firmly and he huffs softly. His fingers bump into yours on top of the blanket but neither of you move to change anything about that. Turning your head to look his way, you’re startled by how close his face is to yours. It’s quiet for a moment and you feel awkward.

Behind you, Tenza and Sagiri are eagerly mumbling. You catch a few words such as “kiss” and “romantic”, and heat flares up inside your chest. It feels as if Shion is playing pretend in front of everybody tonight. As if everything is alright.

But it’s not.

Getting up quickly, you dust yourself off. “We should head home. It’s late,” you declare, your tone tinged with a sense of detachment that causes Shion to purse his lips but he nods, following suit regardless. He gets up, grabbing what little you had brought along before bidding everybody goodbye and following you.

Brisk is the pace you set, your geta clacking against the floor rhythmically. Shion follows you, two steps behind you as he keeps his attention on you regardless of any distance between you. It’s noticeable and only upsets you more.

Shion tries to strike up a conversation twice. Once, by bringing up the sweets you had tried with Sagiri and the second time by asking about the view. Both times, your replies are curt and to the point, your desire to not talk to him evident. 

He doesn’t say anything else.

You step inside the house first, discarding your geta and getting ready to head to your room for tonight. Your endeavor is cut short when you’re pulled back into your husband’s arms, your back against his chest.

“I am sorry if I upset you.” His words are met with silence from you and his arms tighten their hold around you in response as he whispers, “Talk to me. Please.”

“I don’t want to,” is all you reply, grabbing a firm hold of his arms and freeing yourself from his hold. Never one to get overly physical, he lets go of you easily but is persistent regardless when he follows you through the house.

When you open the door to your room, step inside, and turn around to close it, he’s quick to nudge his foot between the sliding door and the frame. Neither of you anticipates just how much power you put into sliding the door shut.

A gasp leaves you when he hisses and pulls his foot away. Immediately, you open the door and pull him inside. “Sit down and let me take a look,” you mumble, guiding him towards your futon. “I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to. I just wanted to-”

“To shut your stupid husband out. I know,” Shion replies as he sits down, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. Regarding him with furrowed brows, you sigh softly as you sit down and grab his foot, squeezing gently.

“Does it hurt?”

“Tenza would stomp on my foot with more force than that during training back when he started. I will be fine,” he reassures you, allowing you to drop his foot on the soft futon. “I am sorry for upsetting you. That was not my intention.”

“Then what was your intention?” It’s a fair question and Shion knows this but despite his desire to tell you everything, he keeps quiet. 

“I don’t mind if you aren’t by my side at all times,” you continue, “I was content just being your wife in name but when you go ahead and build up my hopes, treat me with so much care, and familiarity, just to turn around and avoid me-”

Shion feels his heart sink when your words are interrupted by a choked sob and his hands move to cup your cheeks. A Yamada Asaemon’s hands never tremble, for it would be detrimental to the techniques they use for their executions. He swings his blade with firmness, confident in the path he has chosen to tread in this life.

All of his confidence is washed away by the teardrops that run down your cheeks, his thumbs trembling as they wipe them away. Apologies are all that he manages to utter before he pulls you in for a hug. 

He breathes in deeply as he holds you. “I was unaware that keeping my distance would affect you so,” leaning down, he buries his face against the side of your neck. “I suffer whenever you aren’t close but when you are close to me I suffer twice as bad. I love you deeply and I have loved you since I can remember.”

Pursing your lips, you sniffle, finding comfort in rubbing your damp cheek against the soft material of his kimono. Allowing for his words to sink in for a moment, you ask, “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he murmurs softly and your breath hitches when you feel his lips against your throat. Shion takes a deep breath, “I was enduring.”

A wry smile tugs on his lips, hidden away from your sight. He huffs, finding humor in his suffering and you tremble when his warm breath washes over your skin. “The self-control I take such pride in seems to crumble so easily when you’re around me.”

His hands find your waist and his fingertips press into the fabric of your kimono with such desperation and yet, he holds back. As always. “That night…when you read to me and forgot your haori…,” he continues, going lower until his lips are just shy of touching the bit of collarbone that presents itself to him.

“It smelled so much like you that I felt intoxicated by it. Your voice kept ringing in my ears and I was aching to touch you but I couldn’t.” His voice gives way to a shuddering breath when your hands cup his cheeks.

“But you can,” you tell him, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. If this was a man’s desire - no, your husband’s desire for you, then you wish for it to swallow you whole and mold you anew.

“I’ve yearned for you to touch me,” you whisper and your breath hitches when you feel attention fully on you as he leans back from your embrace.

“You should have told me.”

“I know,” comes your reply. He doesn’t fault you and neither do you blame him in any way. 

“I will make up for the lost time,” Shion promises, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead, “I will leave no inch of you untouched. You won’t ever have to ache for me the way I do for you.” 

When you lean forward to press your lips against his - not in that tentative and careful way you used to, whenever you’d kiss his cheek but ardently, with a need that shakes him to his core - only then do you feel his hesitance disappear.

His hands find your waist with a firmness that you have grown familiar with and you smile against his lips, your breathing still stilted by your earlier tears. Shion notices and leans back to kiss your cheeks, right where your tears are drying. 

“I love you,” he tells you again, “I love how your voice sounds in the late hours of the night whenever you read to me. The way you smell makes me feel weak, especially when the smell of your favorite sweet treats lingers on you. Whenever I am away from you, I find myself thinking about you endlessly until I come back home.”

Grabbing a gentle hold of your hand, he pulls it up to his lips, leaving a kiss on each fingertip. “I adore these hands that cause my skin to burn beneath their touch.”

“I wouldn’t want to burn you,” you whisper bemused. A smile tugs on his lips and he lets go of your hand in favor of pulling you close.

“I wish you’d burn me terribly. The pain might distract me from my longing,” Shion whispers, his breath warm against your lips. His voice is quiet and you don’t dare to breathe in fear of sending it away with the wind. “May I kiss you?”

With a soft laugh, you pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss. Gently exploring the other, your lips move together, falling into a comfortable, warm rhythm. You’re both a little clumsy, inexperienced, and hurried by your need but it’s sweet nonetheless and it fills the empty cup in your heart ever so slightly.

But a sip like that would not quell your thirst. Not anymore.

Your hands find the obi that they had neatly tied to hold his kimono earlier. Shion lets out a soft breath at the feeling of it untying and your hands diving beneath the fabric of his kimono. “We don’t have to-”

“I want to touch you,” you urge, firmly and in a way that won’t allow for him to question if you are doing this out of your own desire. “Don’t you think you’ve denied me your affections long enough?”

“I can share my affections with you but this is a bit…,” he mumbles, his cheeks red and you cup his cheeks. 

Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss against his lips before telling him, “If this is too hasty for you, I am willing to wait. I love you.”

The expression on his face is barely visible to you through the little moonlight that shines into your room. It’s one you haven’t seen on him before and you don’t get to decipher it for long before he moves forward to kiss you once more.

This time, he dives in to taste you, his tongue exploring yours as you engage in a heated kiss. His body presses into yours and you don’t know when it is that your back meets the futon underneath you but you don’t care enough to spend another second wondering about it. 

Traveling lower, his lips find your jaw, then your throat, and your collarbone right after. The trail of kisses he leaves is hot against your skin and you find yourself feeling entirely too warm in your intricate kimono. Relief floods you when you feel his hands settle on your obi and your own hands move to help him out with the complicated bow.

Once the bow is untied and the belt is discarded, his hands move to glide over your shoulders, parting the fabric from your skin.

To his chagrin, his palms slide over another layer of fabric. A frustrated sound leaves him and you huff, amused by his antics. “Please tell me there aren’t any more layers to this. I wasn’t aware that my wife’s real identity was that of an onion.”

“Your wife likes to stay atop the latest fashion trends. There is no way I’d compromise my comfort and wear a kosode on top of my hadajuban. I’d be sweating way too much,” you explain, slipping your arms out of the fabric of your kimono and letting it fall down around you.

You could clean it later.

“Unfortunately, I think you’ll be working up a sweat regardless,” Shion teases as his hands work to untie your inner robes with such dexterity that it almost makes you feel impressed.

Your hands move to rid him of his robes and once the both of you are entirely bare, with no fabric between you to separate your bodies, you feel shyness creep up inside you. Hesitantly, your hand reaches out to brush over his chest and the way he shudders causes your touch to be firmer - more explorative and sure in its approach.

Your other hand moves to settle on his shoulder as he kneels between your legs and he allows you to acquaint yourself with his body. His own hands are resting on your thighs, balled into fists.

“You can touch me too,” you whisper, leaning forward to kiss him for a short moment, feeling as if your chest would burst if you didn’t release all of this pent-up affection. Moving your hands to his, your fingers gently uncurl his fingers from their firsts, leading them to your waist. They settle on your naked skin and he shudders visibly. A soft laugh leaves you.

An embarrassed smile finds its place on his lips and he leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “I am sorry but now that I get to touch you, it feels a little overwhelming,” comes his soft explanation and you smile. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat when his hands slide over the curves of your waist, tracing your skin up to your chest. Carefully, his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling the sensitive nubs until they perk up under his attention. The rise of his chest speaks for his delightment and he leans lower, still hovering over you but moving lower to take your nipple into his mouth.

It’s an unfamiliar sensation, different compared to your touch. His mouth is hot, his tongue wet and soft when it licks over and around your nipple before there’s a slight sucking sensation. It sends a hot tingle down your stomach and you gasp softly, your hand finding purchase on his shoulder while the other settles on the back of his head. 

Strands of silver slip between your fingers and you tug gently while his lips leave your chest, the cool air of the room brushing against your wet nipple and sending a shudder through your body. You think you can feel him smiling against your tummy as he works his way lower, down to your pelvis.

His hands are gentle as they explore your curves. Sliding along your hips before grabbing a hold of your thighs, squeezing to feel your flesh between his fingers. You wonder how all of this feels for him.

Settling on his knees between your legs, he leans back over you. Meeting him halfway, you lean up to kiss him again. The initial eagerness has died out and what you are left with is a warm simmer between your legs. One of his hands slides between your thighs, his fingers exploring eagerly. A soft gasp tears itself free from your lips and Shion asks, in a whisper, if you are alright with what he is doing.

You nod and pull him a little closer until his lips rest against your collarbone once more. His breath is heavy as he slides his fingers over your folds, cupping your mound before dipping between your lips. There’s a stutter in his breathing once he gathers some of your wetness.

A smile tugs on your lips. “What? Surprised?” you tease, moving your hips a little so that his fingers glide back and forth between your folds. He follows your motions, thankful for the bit of guidance you seem to be offering.

“Just new to this,” he murmurs, playfully nipping at your throat. “It’s a little difficult to really get a feeling for it unless you indulge in the real thing. The few drunken words of others can only provide so much information.”

Your soft laugh reaches his ears and he moves upwards until his lips meet yours once more. “So you’ve been receiving private lessons, hm?” you tease and he chuckles, his thumb finding your clit and circling the swollen nub slowly, applying gentle pressure. Meanwhile, two of his fingers dip between your folds, finding you unbearably warm and wet for him as he slides them in and then out again steadily.

The soft gasp that leaves you sends a tingling sensation up Shion’s spine and he gulps.

“They were rather unpleasant lessons, although the knowledge I have gained seems to be proving useful,” your husband shoots back with more wit than you wish he’d have right now. 

A little impatient, despite your desire to take your time, your hand moves to wander across his chest, tracing the defined lines of his abs. The muscles move under your fingertips, taut and firm as you continue lower until you reach his cock.

The way your husband bucks his hips into your touch and the way his breath hitches in his throat when your fingers wrap around him diffuses your anxieties. He has half the heart to tell you that you don’t have to touch him, that this is about you but you manage to chase all of those thoughts out of his mind once you begin to stroke him.

A little too slow for his liking and a little too gentle. Even so, he doesn’t stop you or complain. His hand wraps around yours and he squeezes it gently. “A little more firmly,” he tells you and his words are so airy that it knocks the wind out of you. All you manage is a slow nod as you follow his instructions, picking up on how he seems to like it. His hands rest on your hips, one of them still wet with your desire.

You wonder if he’d touch himself like this when thinking of you - if his breath felt as hot against his pillow as it does on your skin, and if his thighs trembled ever so slightly, just as they do now.

Tugging on your wrists, he coaxes you to let go of him. Reluctantly, you follow along, immediately missing the weight of him in your hands. Was it that unpleasant for him?

As if he’s read your mind, he presses a kiss against your temple and explains, “I want you to feel good too.” Breathing out softly, you shake your head. You were ready to protest but how could you, when he says something like that?

Shifting on top of you, he moves his lips lower along your body but you stop him in this endeavor, cupping his cheeks as you pull him back up to kiss you once more. “Please,” his voice comes in such a deep, parched tone that seems to rumble inside his chest; you find it hard to focus on what he is saying. “Let me have a taste.”

And as much as you want to give in - the fantasy of his lips caressing places you wouldn’t dare ask him to kiss making you feel a heat unlike anything else - you simply wrap your legs around his hips, keeping him right where he is.

“There will be time for that later,” you tell him, and the way he swallows at that, the movement of his adam’s apple faintly visible under the light that the moon provides, tugs on the corners of your lips and makes you pull him a little closer.

“You’re terrible,” Shion mumbles, his lips finding their home on your face, over and over again, wandering from your cheek to your temple, and then up to your forehead, “Have I not waited long enough?”

Pushing his hips right up against yours, you shudder at the warm weight of his cock that settles on top of your tummy. “I think there are more pressing matters,” you argue, shifting to change the angle of your hips. A soft sigh falls from your lips when he pulls back a little before sliding back, the underside of his cock rubbing back and forth over your clit as he slides it through your folds.

His chest is pressed against yours, the weight on top of you comfortable as it presses you deeper into the sheets. Warm lips find yours once more and you have lost count of how many kisses you have shared tonight. It doesn’t matter since there will be too many to count soon anyway. You’d make sure of that.

When he finally sinks into you, it’s not as violent of a sensation as you expected it to be. Not as harsh and unrelenting as the women in your life would whisper when the men were gone. 

It’s warm, almost unendurably so and yet, you wish to cling onto this warmth. The stretch isn’t painful - a bit uncomfortable at most. You’re more focused on how he feels inside you and how you find it difficult to tell which heartbeat belongs to you, his heart thrumming in his chest that is right up against yours.

Bottoming out inside you, Shion lets out a soft groan. His forehead meets yours and your breaths intermingle. “I love you,” he sighs, relieved to finally be able to say it freely and you smile up at him fondly, cupping his cheeks. 

“I love you,” comes your echo to his confession before your back arches and you push up against him more when he finally moves. The drag of his length inside you burns in a way which your fingers could never hope to replicate and your toes flex, your heels arching off the futon.

A choked sound of Shion’s has your head tipping back, your eyes fluttering shut at how good and right he feels buried inside you. Your eyes burn behind your eyelids and you’re only aware of the tears that escape the corners of your eyes when Shion kisses them away.

“Are you hurting? Should we stop?” he asks, his tone ever so gentle but it’s a little strained and you think you see his cheeks flushed with such a beautiful color that you make a mental note to explore this particular hue in the morning hours, accompanied by the light of the morning sun.

The shake of your head is immediate and you whisper a soft “No”. Putting your hand on top of his that is cupping your cheek, you turn your head to press a kiss to his palm and you get to watch as the firm, upright man on top of you melts, his expression twisting into one that you finally understand.

A suppressed chuckle leaves you in the form of a shaky breath and it’s wobbly as your lips tremble. “Feels good,” is all you manage to speak and he smiles down at you fondly, prompting you to return his smile. Your cheeks hurt.

The need for conversation subsides as he begins to rock his hips into yours again, pushing himself deeper with each thrust. Your thighs begin to tremble when one of his hands slips between your bodies to find your clit, circling it once more with his thumb to help push you over the edge.

Moans, heavy breathing, and the sounds of his skin meeting yours over and over again fill the room, echoing inside your four walls in a way that would usually make your ears burn with shame. Right now, you’re freed from any sort of feeling of that sort.

Your nails dig into his back, pulling him closer as his hips move insistently and his lips lavish your throat with soft bites that he caresses with his tongue to soothe the pain. All it takes is a particular grind of his hips and his name leaves you as a choked sound, your vision turning white as you close your eyes.

It feels like all the air leaves your lungs and you feel dizzy, your walls pulsing around his shaft as your body trembles in his hold, the soft tremors continuing until he removes his thumb from you and stops the onslaught of his mouth on your body. Shaky breaths are all that leave your lips for a few moments as you finally fill your lungs greedily.

Forehead bumping against his shoulder, you keep Shion close, the quick rhythmic up and down of his chest soothing your quivering body. The man above you is breathing heavily, way more out of breath than he’d be after one of those training sessions you were allowed to watch.

A breathless chuckle leaves him as he presses a little closer and it is only then, when you feel the wet sensation between your thighs that drips down your folds and onto the sheets, accompanied by a squelching sound that shoots heat into your cheeks, that you realize he has spilled himself inside you.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers, cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that has never before been yours to claim from anyone. The way the folds around his eyes join in on his expression of joy as his cheeks push up against them while he smiles has you feeling a warmth that you wish to never miss again.

Blurry is your vision as you watch him pull out of you, making do by wiping the excess of your combined essence with the corner of his futon’s cover, before he lays down next to you. Your sniffling reaches his ears and he laughs joyfully, pulling you closer. “Cry as much as you wish to. I will be right here to wipe your tears,” he promises, chasing your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Although I do prefer you smiling and laughing.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you move as close as possible, resting your head against his chest. It’s quiet for a while; comfortable. Your breath evens out and you relax against him as his fingers trace shapes into the skin of your back. You’re too tired to decipher what kind of shapes they are.

After a while, you speak up and laugh softly at the way Shion startles ever so slightly. He must have thought you were already asleep.

“Does this mean I can come to your room and read to you again?” you ask mischievously, looking up at him with an unbearably cheesy smile pulling on your lips. You’re glad he can’t see it.

Shion smiles down at you warmly before pressing his lips against your forehead. Lingering there, he whispers,

“You may read to me in our room. Every single evening, for as long as you wish to stay with me. Every poem or story that piques your interest.”

“For as long as I wish to stay?” you ask teasingly, shifting to press your lips against his jaw. “That is going to be a long time.”

“It could never be long enough.”

A few months later it’s still warm, despite the late hour.

Too warm to stay inside, which is why you are sitting outside on the engawa, humming softly as you try not to spill the juicy goodness of your fruits onto your yukata.

“Don’t eat too quickly or you might not be able to sleep.”

Tilting your head back, you look up to see your husband hovering over you as he stands right behind you. There’s a teasing smile on his lips and the light of the setting sun illuminates his skin nicely. He looks warm.

“Oh, come on now. I am not eating that quickly,” you shoot back, opening up another plum to remove its stone, just to throw it into one of the bushes. A product of nature returning to nature. No harm done.

He chuckles, sitting down next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Couldn’t find any shut-eye inside? I could give you a few tips.”

You snort inelegantly. 

“It’s too stuffy and warm inside the house,” you explain, munching away on your plums. Resting one hand on the wood of the engawa, you lean back onto it. Autumn is around the corner but it’s still very warm. The ongoing heat rewards you with sweet plums so it’s a little easier to forgive the weather for now.

“You know, when I was a child I used to steal plums from my father’s trees.”

Shion tilts his head at you in a way that compels you to reach out and pinch his cheek but you hold back. “I know,” and the smile he gives you with that reply tugs your expression into one of cautious confusion.

“Did I tell you about that before?” comes your question, which your husband denies with a shake of his head. He holds a hand out to you, palm facing up. Removing the stone from a plum, you hand it to him.

“I got to eat them as well,” he explains and you look at him for a few moments, your gaze tracing the scars on his face and the way he eats the plum. Brows furrowing, he sticks out his tongue and mumbles that it’s sour and it is only then that you finally realize.

Putting your head in your hands you laugh, dumbstruck. Shion raises a brow at you, feeling a little anxious about how you’re feeling. While he did poke fun at you just now, he’s not sure if it’s all that funny to you. Maybe you’d feel differently about him now, or perhaps you’d-

“It’s not sour,” you tell him and he laughs at how you sound as if he knocked the wind out of you with one simple statement. Your shoulder bumps into his as you lean closer, grabbing a hold of his hand that rests on his lap. He intertwines his fingers with yours, bringing your hands up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your fingertips.

“You’re right. It’s sweet.”

NOTES:

Tenugui - a type of traditional Japanese towel

Hadajuban - traditional sort of underwearn, worn underneath kimono

Kosode -  the direct predecessor of the kimono, short sleeved and worn underneath intricate kimono in some places when the switch from kosode to kimono happened

Engawa - A wooden terrace

—

The first poem is by Ariwara no Narihira, taken out of the KOKINSHŪ.

Frog poem is by Matsuo Bashō

“蛙 (kawazu) - Frog can also be read as (kaeru) which can be translated as “to return”, meaning that Shion was joking here about himself being the pond and the reader being the frog. She returned to him after their initial meeting

The story the reader reads to Shion is “The Narrow Road to the Deep North” written by Matsuo Bashō.

The poem where Shion is getting ready for the festival is by Ariwara no Yukihira from Hyakunin Isshu: Poem 16.

And somewhere along the way, Chris had become a bit of a poet on top of that. 

Today, however, his glances could not be chalked up to his lovesickness. It's far more unusual than that. 

He's right to watch you and finally, when you try to rub your eyes and your fingers bump into your glasses, making you flinch, he gets up. Swiftly, his hands find the back of your chair and he turns it around so that you have to face away from your computer, your attention solely his. 

“You're done,” Chris tells you. The moment you open your mouth to offer a rebuttal, he offers you a sharp glare. “That's an order, soldier. We are taking a break.”

His hands only leave your chair when you get up and Chris is sure he heard something that sounds dangerously close to “abuse of authority” in the midst of your complaints, that you utter beneath your breath. For now, he lets it slide. 

Chris Redfield is a man on a mission. Priority: High. Assigned: Solo. Objective: Getting you out of the office to get some fresh air and making sure you don't collapse in front of your documents. 

Most naturally, he grabs your jacket first, holding it out in front of you so you can slip your arms into it. With a sigh, you relent, turning your back to him before you slide your left arm into its respective sleeve, then the right one. The nape of your neck is slightly exposed where the back of your shirt dips lower and Chris feels the need to press his lips against the skin there. 

Tempting. Now is not the time though. 

Once he's put his own jacket on, the both of you head outside, and head to the space just in front of the facility, where there is a patch of fresh green. A sign of spring rearing its head. Another reminder of how quickly time passes nowadays. It seems to accelerate with every year and its ruthless pace becomes noticeable to Chris with every prolonged look into the mirror. Each wrinkle is another reminder of how much time has passed, a mark that life has left on him as if to congratulate him on his survival. 

He glances at you. 

It's funny. Whenever he looks at himself, he sees all these changes but whenever he looks at you, he's struck by how much you haven't changed. Your eyes are the same, the way you furrow your brows has remained the same, and even the purse of your lips when you catch him staring at you, reminds him of how you'd react twenty years ago. 

“What is it?” you ask, trying to sound annoyed but with the way you try to bury your face inside the collar of your jacket, he can tell that you're embarrassed. 

“You're beautiful.”

A nod. Then, you blink, staring off into the space right in front of you before turning your head towards him so quickly, he worries about your neck for a second. 

Your eyes search his, as if there's a joke hidden somewhere in there. As if he'll withdraw the compliment any second now but luckily, you don't find anything like that. 

“What's that about?” you ask grumpily, pushing your hands into your pockets as you mutter something to yourself. “I am not even wearing make-up today. I don't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep either.”

A hint of self-consciousness belies your annoyed tone. Chris’ hand reaches out to you, grabbing the back of your jacket and tugging you against his front. Strong arms wrap around you, until your side is squished against his front. 

It's not optimal but he doesn't care. 

“Doesn't matter,” he murmurs lowly, lips dangerously close to your forehead. If you lean in just slightly, he could kiss-

“Well. It does matter because you should be getting plenty of rest.”

There's the chiding. The groan that escapes you only makes Chris squeeze you a little tighter. “Work is important but so is your health.”

Eventually, you relax into his hold and sigh softly. “I'll sleep as soon as I get these documents done. Promised.”

“A full eight hours?”

“I might even be able to do ten,”you mumble, leaning your head against his chest. You can practically feel his smile against your temple, his lips pressing into your skin as he rumbles a soft “Good”. 

It's quiet for a few moments and the only movement around you is the soft puffs of air that become visible right in front of your lips. 

“I feel drained,” you admit but before he can interject, you add, “but at least I look beautiful.”

Chris huffs softly. “You always do.”

You always have.