A Sort of Perfection
And you guys should so review, cause this is my longest oneshot ever.
And this is like, the first het fic on Shounen Onmyouji here. Jeez… I mean, I don't mean to insult the yaoi lovers, but are there more people like me here?
WE HAVE A CATEGORY! (Happy, manic, laughter.)
Akiko was a child.
No matter that she had come of age; that she should be married.
She had a childlike innocence and aura that drew Masahiro to her.
A childlike unwavering trust (because she believed and believed and believed and knew that he would protect her and that she didn't want him hurt.)
And she promised him, because she didn't make promises she didn't keep, and she was never one to take promises lightly.
Promised to see the hotarubi, the fireflies.
Promised to meet and be together even for such a brief moment.
Both of them took promises very seriously, beating themselves up if they broke even the smallest one.
When he failed to protect her... he took the curse's pain and suffering and placed it upon himself.
(And wasn't going to tell anyone; She'd had to ask Rikugou what happened, to share his memories, because the fact that Mokkun... Guren... could no longer remember was just that sad. And maybe because they really couldn't let Masahiro just bear the strain... And maybe because all the Shikigami knew how important Masahiro was to her, and vice-versa.)
Just because he tried and it wasn't enough... Just because he gave a simple promise and was unable to fulfill it, he placed a handicap upon himself willingly, even saying that it was proof that she was, Fujiwara no Akiko-hime was, well and fine and breathing.
The promise to see the fireflies was a simple, lighthearted one. Yet she meant it.
Pinky-swearing and all, she had meant every single word.
It was the grief that she failed him, that she was always a burden to him, that made her fall so easily to Kyuuki. Because she never had someone so dear to her the way he was...
In the sheltered world she lived in, where she grew up trusting... Masahiro was -important- to her.
She saw how he tried, innocent and boyish, to be polite and proper and how he was so... unpretentious... and how eager-to-please the both of them were, tentative and hesitant and painfully, painfully shy.
And Akiko knew that Masahiro was just as awkward around her as she was with him... And that it was all right.
Because they both were so similar, concerned and willing and wanting to carry the other's burden so the other could -fly-.
Fly free and happy and light, without worries...
At any cost.
Even though it meant more for them to endure, if it benefited others... It was all right.
Because Masahiro lives by the fact that he always saves, and perhaps he would break if he left someone to die, however cruel that person was to him.
Because Akiko knows how kind he is, even to the minor demons... And that no matter how he tried to hide it behind an abrasive exterior, he'd never inflict lasting harm if he could help it, trying to save even the corrupt.
I met someone, and... I think... Maybe...
Masahiro was a child.
Because no matter how he tried to hide it, he couldn't hide that he was a child, merely thirteen years of age.
Couldn't hide that he was really innocent, falling easily to Mokkun's jokes, especially those concerning Akiko.
Couldn't hide that he felt desperation at the fact that there were some things he could not change, however much he might wish it.
That he tried to hide it, very much so, that he wanted to change it and he would have given up anything, anything...
And even if he couldn't change the others' will, he'd try and try to help her, because he promised Akiko, he promised the princess, and he'll hold that promise above all else, he'll honor his promise to protect her.
Forever and ever and ever...
Because though he's young, though he's naïve... the emotion he feels for Akiko is real, is true. And his promise to protect her would last an eternity and more.
Because he might even love her, and her happiness is what he wanted for her.
And he was going to protect it, no matter what.
When he thought he lost her, Masahiro felt the dull achy feeling, hollow and made him feel strangely alone.
It was unbearable.
He wished never to undergo it ever again.
Masahiro trusts people, it might not seem it, because of his placid, polite mask and the harsh mask beneath it, but he believed in the innate power of people, the innate good in them...
And he was oftentimes disappointed because very few were even close to being good inside and out. He hadn't met anyone remotely near it in close to a decade. (He feels old thinking that.)
And then he met Akiko.
Nice, sweet, kind, Akiko.
She was pretty, polite and extremely intelligent.
She wasn't merely a pretty air-headed girl who giggled to fill spaces in conversation.
She was genuine, with a soft, tender, kind aura and an innocence that just made him want to stay with her, to protect her.
And she had actually wanted to help herself, unlike some girl who let people protect her shamelessly, as if people were obligated to attend to her every whim.
Akiko was different, she didn't want him to get hurt.
She wanted him to be healthy, safe. Not to be hurt trying to protect her.
And yet she understood his reason, his -want- to protect her and his obligation and desire to help other people.
And she let him go, praying for his safe return and doing what she can to help him get back home safe.
He came back, always. (If you love someone, let him go...)
I found someone. Someone important.
Akiko was a girl.
She showed some definitive interest in the male species, though her sheltered life all but forbade her meeting of them.
Meeting Masahiro was possibly the best thing that happened to her life and she cherished every moment, every word she shared with the boy who agreed not to call her 'princess'.
She hardly ever socialized; she was bred to be a princess, a lady.
Someone lucky.
Someone pretty, beautiful and perfect.
Someone with a bright future ahead of her.
Someone whose fate had been decided by her family.
Someone prestigious enough to never need to work a day in her life.
... She hated it.
And so what if she was -lucky- enough to be born in a well-off household?
So what if many girls would die to be in her position?
She wanted to be like them, free.
She hated the wooden screen she had to stay behind. The slotted bamboo that let almost no light through...
And Masahiro knew it (it was always him), more so than anyone.
He saw how she stubbornly hiked the screen up, no matter how improper it was.
No matter how much she was expected to keep the screens down and be behind it.
No matter how improper it was to bring him into her room.
No matter that she was taught from childhood to be the perfect lady, soft-spoken, well-bred and gracious.
She loved to be free, in the light and the sun and breathing the fresh air...
If she had become the Mikado's wife, that would never have happened.
She would have lived behind the bamboo screens and been truly caged.
She felt content, even though they weren't really together, even though there was still a stilted awkwardness between them.
Until those days came; the days she was not allowed to see anyone face to face anymore.
The day she desperately pressed herself to the screen, hoping to see Masahiro properly.
Their hands found each other that day, and it had felt so right... they had stayed that way for a while, but when they parted, (and it was necessary, unfortunately) there was a sort of coldness, that they knew privately that it would only be made whole once they touched once again.
However discreetly.
However fleetingly.
No matter how it was improper, untoward... and...
... I think I might love him.
Masahiro was a boy.
He had moments where he might have looked rather effeminate, but he was, in the end, at any way you look at it, a member of the male species of Homo sapiens.
He was awkward, obnoxious and young... And he showed a great deal of promise.
He showed a minimal interest in girls, actually, and Guren had despaired and vented his frustrations out with Kou:
'I swear, that brat, he's going to grow up without interest in women at all.'
'Well then, Touda, won't that make him like you, then?'
'You're wrong there.'
'Oh?'
Anyways, the point was that Masahiro had absolutely no interest in women, just work-work-work and that old tanuki and the Onmyou dorms and the writing and...
... and then he met Akiko.
Their meeting was odd, and what he did learn was that she had a Kenki ability stronger than his, maybe even stronger than Seimei's...
She was pretty, he noticed.
And he protected her without thinking at all; shielding her as best he could and afterwards, hesitant and awkward and embarrassed.
He thought it strange; he never felt the urge to protect anyone to be so strong, especially not the princess he met for but a fleeting moment.
But it felt right.
And so, though it was exceedingly awkward, and though their meetings were always as fleeting as their first, he checked on her welfare.
He treasured the potpourri sachet she gave him, giving poorly baked excuses anyone could see through and carried it wherever he went.
Because, odd as it was, he felt that he should keep it on him all the time. And though it was cliché, it saved his life.
He was grateful to the tiny scented pouch that proved to be extremely potent. It was even helpful in helping Seiryuu to cross the water mirror. It had managed to drive away evil and help Guren calm down.
And he blushed frequently around her, turning a vibrant red at the mere mention of anything improper.
He was innocent.
He suffered, too.
Injuries and pain and sweat and blood and tears and bonds and work.
And the raw, painful feeling, like a knife in his gut being twisted that was internal pain.
That, he hid with a smile and cheerfulness and drowning himself in work.
And he thought he hid it well, hiding the hurt and pain behind a mask. The mask had a part of him, his wish for to be happy.
And if being the Mikado's wife was to make her happy… then he'd see her off with a smile on her face, never mind the pain hiding just beneath the surface; that was for when he was alone.
I met someone, and she was lonely.
Akiko was a lady.
She was not meant to fight, she could barely defend herself, and probably would not have been able to use the blade she had brought for herself had she been given the chance to defend herself.
If she hadn't been used to get to Masahiro, she'd never have used the slim knife.
If she had, it would have felt like it was made of lead and would never have been able to turn it on anyone.
She... she was horrified.
Horrified that she had hurt someone, and him of all people.
Her expression was not her own.
The words that escaped her lips had not been hers.
She hurt someone else.
An innocent.
(Well, maybe she might not have been able to hit someone trying to harm her, either, unless she was desperate.)
Him of all people.
She hurt the one who cared for her.
The one she cared for.
The one who understood her.
And she didn't like it. Didn't like that she had to be prim and proper no matter what and her one act of defying that image wasn't even anything she wanted.
She wanted it to count, but nooo… she stabbed him; she stabbed Abe no Masahiro.
She never wanted that.
She didn't want that and she desperately tried to make amends, to live with it and never, ever be weak.
And if she was weak and was unable to help, then she'd bear it. Bear the pain and the sorrow and the regret...
Because she could do it, and it meant that she wouldn't burden anyone with her pain and she'd be strong for once.
Just once in her life, she always wished to be strong, and not defenseless.
To be able to protect someone. Especially someone she cared for.
To help the people who always seemed to be there to save her, pretty, innocent damsel-in-distress she was.
To be something other than the pretty, perfect lady she was expected to be.
I'd do anything... anything... for him.
Masahiro was a soldier.
He had a mission, and goals, and he knew he had to fulfill them.
He knew that his life was nothing compared to those he had to save, and that though he was a boy, a mere thirteen, he'd face danger and death and risk his life to protect those people, those precious people.
And he did.
Because Akiko was near and dear to him. Because he cared just that much. (And more.)
Because there were things more important than his own life. Infinitely so.
Infinitely more important than the brash boy who spoke big dreams of surpassing the greatest Onmyouji of all time.
More important than all the hopes and dreams he ever had, because these things... these people... were there.
There and not a figment of his imagination and present and authentic and real.
Because they were real. They were not dreams. And they made him who he was, who he wanted to protect, those he thought of most, and who he gave his promises to.
He kept those promises like fragile glass.
And that was what made them so much more important than himself.
The purpose for him trying to exorcize malevolent ayakashi.
The reason why he smiles, and why, when he does smile, it's true and not fake.
They were something he cherished, that though his grandfather may be an old raccoon, though his father did nothing to shield him from his grandfather and melodramatic tendencies.
Though he always sort of deceived his mother (but she understood, anyway), though Akiko was like his promises, delicate and fragile but sometimes strangely (immeasurably) strong.
Though Mokku/Guren/Touda might be a tad bit like Seimei at times, and though the other Shinshou might not quite forgive him, excepting a precious few, like Kou had (but maybe it was because of something else, that she knew Guren would never do so willingly and definitely was regretting too much over something he had no control in. Or maybe it was because she maybe, perhaps loves him. In a decidedly unplatonic manner.), and maybe even those like Rikugou who may have finally forgiven him.
Though Taiin might forever fear Guren (and maybe not forever), though Seiryuu might never forgive him completely and let them be friends again. (And they were, once upon a time...)
... Even though, even though...
They were always in his heart.
The reason for him to return home after everything was over.
I promised to protect her.
Akiko was a dreamer.
If… and there were so many what-could-have-beens and possibilities that would have changed the course of everything.
If she hadn't been cursed.
If she had become the wife of the Mikado.
If Masahiro had never promised to see the hotarubi with her.
If she hadn't succumbed so easily.
If they had not shared their bond.
If they had never met.
If he wasn't as strong as she knew he was.
If she did not possess her Kenki ability.
If they hadn't found something in common (he hated to be called grandson, and she hated to be called princess) and found a simple sort of love in each other.
But everything had happened. And they were here now, together.
(Forever and ever and ever and ever… and…)
Because, though some experiences were unpleasant and painful, she would never have it any other way.
Because there were just so many ways that they would be unable to be together.
Maybe it was strange, that the big, life threatening situations were the ones wherein they connected the most, even though Akiko rarely left the house.
She dreamed of happy things, of places and events. Of the future and beautiful maybes. Of new beginnings and happy bunnies and fluff.
Right. Well, life was never going to turn out the way she wanted it, and she didn't really want a life of happy bunnies and fluff.
She wanted a happy ending, she supposed.
One like those in the fairytales.
For once.
Her life was almost a fairytale, when she thought about it.
Princess.
Unreachable.
Fated to be with someone she didn't know.
Shut away from the world.
Saved.
But still, she dreamed.
She woke up with nightmares sometimes.
Times where Masahiro didn't go back home.
Times where he dies protecting her.
Times where she couldn't control herself and she stabs him over and over and over and over.
Times where he left and didn't come back.
(It had happened once, she knew, though they both hid it.)
Times where he didn't keep a promise. He'd -die- before breaking one, she knew.
And that was exactly what she feared.
When those nightmares wake her up, maybe a little (a lot) shaken, she sits up and enters his room, just watching him sleep, and knowing that she could never hurt him willingly.
I only wish to keep him safe...
Masahiro was a fighter.
(Noun, a pugnacious or determined person.)
He didn't have to like to fight, but he was able to do so.
He wouldn't be likely to escape unscathed in a fight, but he would fight and wouldn't run away and stand his ground and defended people.
He knew what was important and would fight for it at all cost.
Because he had priorities. And because he had precious people.
And because he had something to lose. And because perhaps he might break without that something.
Akiko had fought, too, he thought, a little regretfully.
She had fought, maybe not physically, but mentally. She fought with herself, her capabilities, her limitations.
She fought when she shouldn't have, and she paid dearly for something she shouldn't even experience.
She strove to be herself, to help him within her capabilities, even with sometimes crippling limitations.
He'd never let her leave the house for that reason. She might understand his need - want - to protect her, but she'd think nothing of throwing her life away for him.
And he couldn't bear that.
Couldn't bear her gone, out of his reach forever.
Couldn't bear the pain that would come from losing her.
That is why, when he fights, he does it thinking of those people. He draws strength out of seeing them alive. Happy. Safe.
He'd like peace, he thinks at times.
But he'd never lose. Because he can't, and because the consequences might be far too great to lose.
The price to pay might be too dear; he might not be able to take it.
Akiko hated to be called princess, as her status demanded.
It was mostly because it insinuated that she was weak, and she wanted to be strong... to be useful.
But Masahiro knew that she hated to be used, to be exploited, to be manipulated.
She wanted to be of help to others, but not to be -abused-.
She was strong. Because she tried. At least -she- tried, though she had almost crippling limitations...
She was able to try, for better or for worse.
And he knew that if she could, if she was given the chance to, she'd do anything and everything to learn more and be of more use to him.
She trusted him.
She trusted -him- more than anyone.
With everything.
With herself. The honest, innocent, pure faith like that of a child.
Because he always did come through for her (he wanted to do more than that) and because she relied on him.
Because she loved him and if she could take his burdens away, she would.
He knew that.
He knew her love and affection and everything she felt for him were real.
And she fought (in her own way), and he fought, and they were trying to protect each other...
She's very special; one of a kind. She's also dear to my heart.
Akiko was a princess.
She was never meant to fight, and she was sometimes so passive she was barely there sometimes.
But she was strong. Which was a totally different thing in itself.
She was strong, not physically, (that was not proper for a princess. And Akiko was nothing if not proper,) but emotionally.
She could wait; wait for him and Mokkun to come back because that was what she could do and even if she misses him, she was a lady and she stayed at home.
Because she would've been merely a burden.
Once, that thought would have wounded her... but now, she knew that there were things she could do; small things, it was true.
But they aided Masahiro and could perhaps let him come home, come back to her... that was enough.
That was enough, because he was Masahiro and she was Akiko and Mokkun was Guren and the Twelve Shikigami would protect him and...
She wasn't ever, ever going to let go.
Never ever.
Because she was constantly there, praying for him.
She was there. And she cared for him deeply.
She was a presence fighting to stay constant with him, to stay near him, because that was enough for her, was enough for them.
For now, in her thirteen years, she found peace, contentment, happiness, and a sense of normalcy that she was never able to experience.
(Eternally a princess. She feared to spend her life as such. As expected of her, a lady of court. To be merely a lady and see the world through a bamboo screen.)
She hurt him once.
Stabbed him painfully near his heart and almost caused his death had the Takaokami-no-Kami not intervened.
(She visited the shrine in secret once she began living in the Abe household, veiled, to thank the Dragon God and offer her prayer.)
And she felt it.
She felt -everything-.
Felt her fingers slipping into the folds of her kimono and grasp the handle of the knife.
Felt her fingers curl around it tightly.
Felt him holding her close, panicked and worried but -warm-.
Felt his silent cry as her hand, her own hands, plunged the knife deep, through the coarse fabric that his clothes were made of... Through skin, tissue and bone.
She would never forgive herself.
Never forgive herself for the betrayed, shocked look on his face.
But she could bear it.
Bear the pain and grief because that's what they did for each other: help each other and worry over each other and bear each other's pain.
Because that was just how they were, lifting others up and silently piling troubles upon themselves just to relieve others of their burden, a disregard to their own problems.
Like he bore her curse once upon a time and how she always died just a little more inside each day he left secretly in the middle of the night and that even though she knew he was strong, he just might not come back and he might leave her and she could just stay at home.
I care too much, perhaps. But I cannot let him go.
Masahiro was a protector.
He knew that sometimes, Akiko would enter the room in the dead of the night and watch him sleep.
He could hear the faint hitch of breath in her throat and the ragged breathing telling him she was crying.
That she was sad.
That she was remorseful over something she had no control over.
And he wanted to just wrap his arms around her and wait for her to stop crying.
But he never brought it up. He didn't quite know why, but she never mentioned it him during the day. And being a protector sometimes meant staying silent and being supportive.
But some things are best bared out in the open, even if it's just to one trusted person. A shared burden. A halved burden.
And he saw that though she could bear it, though she could hold it, that she was strong in her own way, he saw that she was slowly losing vitality, losing the simple cheerfulness that made her so special.
It was painful seeing her that way, and other people were starting to notice.
It was especially painful for him.
He lay awake that night, uneasy and restless, his back to the doorway.
Akiko padded softly into his room, standing for a moment at his doorway before inching closer. Her breathing was ragged again, he noticed. She seemed lost.
He stayed on his side, curled on the mat. The nights were growing cold now. She was closer than she'd ever been when he was asleep.
She paused. She was beside his curled form now. She kneeled beside him, almost tentatively stroking his hair, long strands of it catching on her fingertips.
Masahiro turned to face her, his voice a husky whisper. "Akiko."
She jerked back, wide-eyed and almost mortified. "Ma-Masahiro?"
"Akiko," he repeated, more firmly. "Whatever it is, it's not good for you to keep everything inside."
Tentatively, he reached and tilted her chin slightly to see her eyes better.
She was crying now, wet crystal droplets running down the curve of her cheek.
He gave a comforting smile, his eyes telling her he understood, it was alright.
He cared.
Trembling, she grasped the simple, white sleeping-robe he wore with shaking fingers, hugging him close, breathing in his scent.
Sobs wracked her slim frame; he could feel her shivering in his embrace.
He held her tight, her face burrowed against his neck. Slowly, the shaking stopped and he breathed normally again.
He loosened his hold slightly, so that they spoke face to face.
"You - You were -gone-, Masahiro!" she wailed, making his shoulders tense. Gone?
"What do you mean, 'gone', Akiko?" he asked softly. "I'm here." By your side.
"You... You were -dead-!" she continued, almost dazed.
Ah, he thinks. A dream. "It was just a dream, Akiko. You're safe. I'm here. I'll protect you." Never mind that he had truly died once, that he'd almost left her.
She shook her head defiantly. "No! I − I killed you! It was my fault! All of it... was my fault, Masahiro!"
He tightened his grip around her once again. "It's all right. Everything's fine, Akiko..."
"I... I don't want you to die," she murmured, exhausted.
"... I have my duty, Akiko."
"But I... If... If I were in danger, Masahiro," she said softly, calmly, her eyes betraying her heavy heart. "You... You'd do anything to save me, right?"
"Of course." The answer was immediate. Certain. Definite. Sure to happen.
"I - I don't want that, Masahiro. Don't you see? I want you to live; I don't want you to die. I want... you to stay... here... with me."
He released his hold on her, settling into a relaxed position before grasping her hand. "Akiko," he started, his voice slightly unsteady. "I don't want you to die either. I... I want to stay with you too. You understand... that I wouldn't be able to bear it if you died."
"Neither would I," she said, and he was surprised at the firmness in her voice. "I... I don't think I'd let you go." She placed her free hand on their clasped hands. "I don't think I could... Even if I tried."
She wouldn't let him go, he knew. He knew she would never be free of sorrow if he died.
It was a painful thing to know, that they were both so self-sacrificial, so selfless... Yet selfish in other aspects that they had little control over. It was something that caused them both suffering, in the silent of the night.
"I'll protect you, you know," he says, almost conversationally. "But," he continues, looking at her almost tenderly. "I'll do what I can to come back to you. I promise."
She remembers, smiling. "Promise?" she says, holding her pinky out at him.
"Promise." And there was a conviction in his tone she could never doubt.
Akiko looked at him at the same time he looked at her, and they laughed, almost carefree and happy, and for once perfectly sure.
"Promise," he repeats softly.
They fell asleep like that, pinkies still entwined, to Mokkun's amusement.
(He called all the other Shinshou, who all 'aaw'ed and 'ahh'ed and Kouchin stifled a chuckle. Lack of memories and all, Touda was still the same. He'd picked up on the couple very quickly, and though he and Masahiro weren't as close as before, he'd delighted in the fact that Masahiro colors and stutter very quickly in such matters.)
I make promises because I intend to keep them, but if there was something more than that, I'd give it to her to reassure her, to tell her everything I feel for her.
Akiko was a woman.
She was wise and she knew, just knew what would help her special person.
Akiko was a woman who had both wisdom and an intuition to be proud of.
It was that intuition, that foresight that was the reason why Masahiro was able to come home, it saved him several times.
The scent that warded away evil, while by no means infallible, was able to serve its purpose and even more, occasionally. Yew. Sorrow. Yet how had the scent of the Japanese Yew able to dispel it? She might not find a true, final, answer, but at least she had helped him. She really did.
Dried peaches that were supposed to feed him, became instead a medium of spiritual energy. 'Your qualities, like your charms, are unequaled.'
She helped him too with that, unwittingly, as Tenitsu told her when they were alone in the house one day.
She was glad.
And she did know something deep in her heart of hearts that there was something between them.
More than words and time and obstacles and anything that could stand in their way. More than ideals and dreams and imaginations and hopes.
Maybe she hadn't known quite at first when he was leaving and that he might not come back when Mokkun was gone. (He had convictions he wouldn't break.)
But then all of a sudden, he'd embraced her tight.
She could hear his breath, a little more ragged than usual. She could feel his heart beating faster than usual through their robes.
She could feel a sort of muted desperation from him; a pain he was hiding from her...
She'd known then that Masahiro was serious and he might not come back.
She'd told him she wanted to see the fireflies with him.
She wanted to see him alive, with her, next year.
He'd hesitated before agreeing.
She saw him off with a brittle, fragile smile.
A smile veiling painful emotions.
A smile that would shatter into hundreds and thousands and millions and billions of pieces in a moment.
(She prayed he'd return, that he'd come back. Please, oh please...)
I don't think I could let you go... I don't think I could... even if I tried.
It was true.
Had she tried to let him go... she just couldn't.
How could she let go of the boy who was so giving, so -kind- to her?
Let go of the one she wanted to be safe?
Let go of the person she loved?
She couldn't.
Her fate was sealed the day she met him and Mokkun the first time.
It's strange to stop now and think, 'how could I live without him,' because it feels like we were always supposed to be together.
Masahiro was a man.
And that included being incredibly dense, unfortunately.
But there were things he could tell, and he complied with.
Like how Akiko hated to be called 'princess'.
Embracing her that time before he left to save Guren (Though she hadn't known it) was the closest they'd ever gotten when both parties were conscious.
She let him enfold her in his arms, relaxing and holding him tightly.
She'd wait for him.
He felt needed, like he had to stay and protect her.
But she knew his duty.
She saw him off with a smile, but he saw pain lurking just beneath the surface.
He wished he could just take it away.
Take it away and leave her free from burden to live her life.
She'd never let him, he knew.
She did not see the need for him to take her suffering away merely to place it upon himself.
He didn't want her to worry, yet sometimes, it seems to be all he does.
And he hated it.
Hated that, out of all the things he could do, he'd make her worry and concerned and anxious.
He wanted to make her happy, content.
He wanted her to be without the worried look in her eyes and the tremulous expression on her face when she knew she was exposing herself to more danger.
I wouldn't be able to bear it if you died.
He couldn't imagine his life without the Fujiwara Princess, even though it had almost been that way.
That was what made it so frightening.
I will protect her, no matter what.
Masahiro and Akiko were together.
It took far too long for that to happen, according to some people.
It took a lot of pains for it to happen, according to others.
Abe no Seimei merely cackles in some strange scary manner, should anyone ask.
It is strongly advised that you don't ask.
Genbu and Taiin and Kouchin and everyone else would just smile before changing the subject.
It was taken for granted, how they were together.
They just were, and that was it.
We belong together.
Masahiro and Akiko understood each other.
It was in how they interacted, how they move together.
It was harmonious, like how each step was carefully plotted and practice to perfection.
Even the occasional stilted awkwardness looked entrancing.
Charming.
Enchanting.
It was an entertaining sight, to see how they could understand each other without speaking.
It was funny to see how he would stumble over himself in his efforts of getting her treated they way she is supposed to be treated, as a lady.
It was even funnier to see how she would subtly make herself useful, anyways.
It was funny how they don't really outright dissuade each other from formalities, it never got close to being improper.
They were always still formal, following decorum and such.
It was odd how they could sense the other's pain, and would manage to comfort the other.
We couldn't be anything but.
Masahiro and Akiko complemented each other.
He was the boy to her girl.
The fighter to her dreamer.
The protector to her princess.
The soldier to her lady.
The man to her woman.
They were perfect together not because they were flawless together, but because they loved and you could see it, everything.
You could see how both of them tried for each other.
You could see how his adventures were kept secret (sort of) by her subtle distractions, how he didn't try to hide his leaving from her, how she watched him leave…
And how she waited. Waited for him to return. Because she loved him…
Together forever and never to be parted… because that is the way it was meant to be.
Masahiro and Akiko completed each other.
He came back alive.
She was so happy it almost hurt.
She greeted him with the smile of someone broken that was slowly healing.
He saw her face... The face of someone crushed who was given hope... and he smiled apologetically.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," he says softly. "But... I'm home."
He always spoke softly to her, except when he was being especially vehement that she didn't do anything wrong.
Akiko smiled and placed the potpourri sachet into his palm.
"Welcome back," she looked solemnly into his eyes and curled his fingers around the scented bag.
He looks at her almost quizzically.
"You should keep this with you all the time now. You will keep it, right?"
"I will," he clenched it tighter, looking fervent. "I will. I promise."
She smiled, before yelping; a sharp sound that ended quickly as he held her close to himself.
"I missed you," she said serenely.
"I-I missed you too."
They stayed like that for a while, loving and content.
He was home.
And that was all that mattered.
Guren, who had not recovered his memory, but still found it amusing to annoy Masahiro, chose that very moment to drop in.
Kouchin, who had been following Guren just in case, just watched and laughed.
There is a wholeness when we are together…
Masahiro and Akiko were right together.
They did see the fireflies during summer.
Akiko giggled like a small child and clung on to his arm. He had stiffened briefly, but smiled at her. They were together and alive and they fulfilled their promise…
It wasn't happy bunnies and fluff. It wasn't perfection, because the world isn't perfect (and the world is all the more beautiful, that way).
It was not perfect perfect. But it was beautiful, it was real, it was true.
It may not have been true perfection, but it was a sort of perfection that is sometimes found in people who genuinely care for each other.
And who would do anything for the other.
Because that was the way it was.
That was the way Masahiro and Akiko were, and that was it.
We belong together…