With his sleeves pushed up, Ryuuren hummed pleasantly as the hot water in the basin sloshed around his moving arms. He paused to jerk one elbow and then the other to make the water roil in a raging tempest and he blew air through his lips, making storm sounds. Suddenly, a small, worn, sparkling clean teacup surfaced at the top of the rollicking sea, propelled by his hand and, with a little help, made it to port safely, where it was set aside on a drying cloth.
"How's it going?" Shuurei asked with a pleasant smile, peering into the basin.
"Ah, Soul Friend, the last of the dishes has made it securely to shore," he told her and indicated the stack drying next to the basin.
With a quick inspection, Shuurei nodded her approval, glancing over the neatly stacked, spotless dishes, cups, pots and pans.
"I never would have guessed you were so handy in the kitchen," she beamed a wide smile at him. "Thank you so much, Ryuuren."
A few seconds passed and he said nothing, only looking at her face. Her cheeks reddened slightly.
"Um…" she scratched her cheek awkwardly. "I'll just dump the wash water outside…" She reached for the basin, but Ryuuren swept it up in his arms. "But…"
"Working for one's dinner creates an elegant balance," he declared as he swept out of the kitchen with the water basin in his arms, steadied against his chest.
After completing his task efficiently and dependably, as he did everything he undertook, he noticed the whisk of cool night air over his perspiring face and his wet arms. A little of the dirty dishwater had splashed down the front of his shirt, ruining the delicate silk fabric. His hair straggled down and stuck to his sweaty cheek, having lost a few feathers to the dishwater.
He was a mess. He was delighted.
Kitchen chores after dinner had somehow become his domain during his most recent, unusually extended visit with his Soul Friend #1 and her family. Since he had taken over these tasks, he had implemented a speedy and effective system for cleaning the dishes, washing the floors, scrubbing all the surfaces and storing the food. In fact, his system simplified and improved the process so much that Shuurei and Seiran had adopted it as they worked alongside him. Even Shouka could manage to find items without terrorizing all the cupboards.
Each night, when chores were done, and after the family had sat companionably together or wandered off to their separate pursuits, Ryuuren would retire to make preparations for his early morning departure. Then, when morning came, he would stay and repeat the process again each night. No one asked him to leave. No one asked him his intentions. They simply let him stay, so he did.
He wandered all around the house and the grounds, sometimes lying on his back near the vegetable garden contemplating the sky for hours by himself. Sometimes, he sat quietly with Shouka, reading and making the occasional observation about facts in the book he read or in his head, to which Shouka would add or subtract based on his experience. Sometimes, he would chop wood beside Seiran and tell bawdy jokes he'd picked up during his travels, until the quiet man smirked at him and now and then told one back. Most often, he followed Shuurei about playing his flute to inspire her hard work or instructing her in ways to make her work less taxing. Finally, she thrust a broom in his hand and told him to make himself useful.
As he made his way back inside with the empty basin, he could see through a window all the gleaming surfaces in the kitchen glinting under the lantern's glare. His chest filled up and he sighed with satisfaction. Nature's beauty, he decided, took many forms.
After he put the basin back in its place, he turned to Shuurei, who was drying her hands on her apron. She had the most inelegant hands, he observed—reddened, scarred, callused. He smiled and turned back to the window.
"Shuurei, eastern sun in Kiyou is best for a vegetable garden," he stated as his eyes scanned the sparse and unkempt grounds outside the window. Tomorrow, he thought, he would transplant the garden to its proper place.
"Is that so, Ryuuren? You're an authority on gardening now?" she teased. He smirked and turned back to her to see her twisting her upper body and reaching behind her, struggling to untie the knot in her apron string.
After a moment, she gasped as she felt herself being tugged backward by the knot. She stumbled unsteadily and bumped her back into Ryuuren's chest.
"Ryuuren!" she exclaimed as he gripped her shoulders to steady her and then dropped his hands to work at the knot.
"There's a place for everything in nature," he said from behind her, and she fell silent when she realized this was yet another instance of Ryuuren's unique kindness. She had to smile at his quirky ways.
"Most things are not where they should be," he added, and she felt the slight tug of his efforts on the apron tied around her waist.
"When one can hear the secrets of nature," he explained, and she felt the apron loosen and fall away, "one can set things right."
His arms reached around her from behind and held the apron up in front of her.
Neither of them moved nor spoke, but each felt the other's presence and warmth. His chest filled again, a feeling he had grown used to in this house.
Ryuuren hesitated, uncertain for the first time in his life. He looked out toward the little garden he had made plans about for the following day. Plans… He had foolishly, arrogantly, thought he might harness the future and do what he wanted with it—make a garden blossom. His eyes focused on the reflection of Shuurei in the kitchen window, surrounded in the circle of his arms.
"Soul Friend," he said in a quiet voice.
"Mm," she answered softly, a little breathless.
"I'll be going now. The wind calls," he explained, but his voice sounded oddly choked to him. He dropped his hands and stepped back from Shuurei.
"So soon?" she spun around and reached for him, but her hand met the bunched up fabric of her apron as he handed it back to her.
He pushed his sleeves down and turned toward the door, lifting his cloak from a peg on the wall next to Shuurei's and Shouka's. He slipped his flute into his belt from its now accustomed place in an otherwise empty vase on the table.
"That's what it means to be Ran Ryuuren," he said wistfully and left with a gentle breeze slipping through the door.