Holy crap guys,
It's been a while.

For those of you who slightly care, all is well, I'm not dead (obviously), and I'm hoping to get my writing going again. The only difference is that I'm going to try writing more meaningful and thought-provoking stuff. Lol, I've been reading to much good literature.

Protocol:

word count - 748
no betas, just me
all credit to this oneshot's characters go to Amano Akira.

-Deezy

Upon a quiet summer day was the calm gaze of aged eyes. His lips were pressed into a hard line and his steely eyes only watched; within the courtyard was the view of the first plum blossoms. The light purple blossoms filled the air with sweet fragrance, and the gentle wind carried it all around. All the man had to do was simply sit, smell, and exist. And that is exactly what he did.

"Hibari-sama, I'm just about done with your lunch. Will Kusakabe-san be joining you this afternoon?"

The man did not look to the girl standing behind him. He continued kneeling, enjoying the summer blossoms. But he did let out a small sigh, idly remembering a note his acolyte left. It stated he had private affairs to attend to for the next few days. That was four days ago. He found the length of time annoying.

The girl waiting behind him heard his infinitesimal sigh, her response starting with a little smile. "Then I will only prepare enough for you."

"…"

Wearing blushed cheeks, the she silently disappeared back into the house. Her braids swayed in tune with every tat her feet made upon the flawless wood floors.

The courtyard returned to its normal setting. Speechless. While another breeze brushed through the tree blossoms, the small pond remained still. The occasional burst of children laughing and playing trailed from outside the manor's walls, but the old man did not move. He only breathed, deep and relaxed, trying to only focus on the blossoms.

After long—through the sways of wind, random eruptions of happy screams, and occasional riffs of cooking utensils—the young woman returned with a lunch befitting a feudal lord. As she kneeled down to place the tray of food, she noticed his breaths had softened. His eyes stayed shut. With a soft chuckle, she left to replenish the empty pot of tea.

Alone again and away afar, the old man was in a different time. It was not a place of fantasy, but a place of the past. He was remembering the fruitful days long gone. Before his mind could soar farther, there was a light clatter. The picture show stopped, and his eyes saw the swaying blossoms once more. The girl had returned with hot tea. Lunch was sitting next to him already.

"I did not want to wake you," the young woman said gently. The old man slid his eyes over to watch her pour the tea. Placing the cup before his food she nodded and continued, "I'll be straightening up inside."

The sliding door behind the old man clicked shut, and everything became comfortable for him once more. Bright sky with large and billowy clouds, the never-changing plum blossoms falling from the branches, the alluring scent of tea. He sat at ease on his porch, that is, until he heard the crash.

It was loud and quick, and it came from a room nearby. The man rose to his feet, gave a quick glance to his kimono, and proceeded across the courtyard. Inside of the vacant room laid a family heirloom in pieces, next to it was the young woman trying to clean it up. He only observed with his usual firm stare.

"I'm very sorry Hibari-sama." Her eyed were begging to look away from his. "I was being careless as I dusted." Her eyes were now wearing cloaks of red. "I will replace it immediately."

Those steely eyes glanced down at the broken vase in pieces. He had no care for the useless piece of junk, but still the man felt uneasy. He did not like to be uneasy; there was only one thing to do if he was not feeling calm.

"Leave," he declared adamantly to the young woman holding the delicate pieces of porcelain. His voice stunned her in place. "Now," he added. The unease in his chest was mushrooming; it was making him angry. The girl stood in a split second, giving the old man a deep bow and abruptly leaving the room. Anguish was running down her face. The old man noticed a small cloth lying on the floor.

A steadied crouch, a quick fetch, and an assisted standing up (by the sideboard the vase stood upon), the aged man inspected the cloth with embroidered kanji on the corner. His calloused thumb lightly rubbed upon the soft fabric. He next breath was shallow, different. Then the sound of his home's entryway shutting echoed through the silent house.