.
.
"I love this place," Bishamon said. Unlike other restaurants, where it often took several tries before a hostess or server would notice them, in the sushi bar they could sit wherever they wanted. A conveyor belt of small plates of sushi would rotate slowly, and all they had to do was pick which pieces they wanted. "How did you know I wanted to go here?"
Kazuma smiled. "I didn't," Kazuma said. Bishamon laughed.
It was a very good arrangement. Each plate was saucer-sized, color-coded by price. Fatty tuna rested on red plates, the most expensive, while egg and bean curd sushi sat on cheap white saucers. They ate quietly, stacking their plates; Bishamon noticed Kazuma kept unstacking and re-stacking the plates by color. "You're keeping track of the bill?" she asked.
"Er-" Kazuma blushed. "It's just easier this way."
"I'm eating more than you." Bishamon only now noticed her stack of saucers was nearly twice as tall as Kazuma's. He smiled, apologetically.
They drank cups of sake and watched the conveyor belt rotating. Customers filtered in and out, and as Kazuma tapped his chopsticks against the saucer Bishamon could see the tendons moving just beneath the mark on his hand.
She reached out and brushed her fingertips along his knuckles. Kazuma stopped, chopsticks poised mid-air.
"Veena?"
"Sorry." She gently traced a line across his mark, then patted him on the wrist, affectionately. "I just had the urge to touch it, is all."
Kazuma blushed but looked at her sternly. "You've been drinking too much sake."
"Have I?" she lifted her cup, amused. "You haven't drank enough."
"One cup is enough," Kazuma said. "It's nighttime in the Near Shore. One of us needs to have their wits about them."
"If you say so," Bishamon said, and she tossed the drink back like a shot. She could see Kazuma fighting not to smile.
There was a warm silence between them. There was the sound of patrons chattering, the soft clink of dishes, the door swinging wide and open.
"Do you remember that day you told me you could draw a borderline, Kazuma?" Bishamon swirled her drink. "That was the moment we decided to find more shinki. I remember telling you I was afraid what happened to the Ma clan would happen again, and you said, 'that is a distinct possibility, because you are unable to give people proper affection.' Do you remember that?"
"I do," Kazuma said. Bishamon tucked back a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You said to me, 'the war god Bishamonten's inherent nature cannot be undone, but people still desire my master's love,' and it didn't occur to me until just now that maybe you were talking about yourself as well. Were you?" Bishamon asked. Her eyes flicked upwards, meeting his.
Kazuma gave her a little shrug. "I am still one of your shinki," Kazuma said. She frowned, setting down her chopsticks.
"Kazuma, was I...am I cold to you?"
Kazuma shook his head. "No," Kazuma said.
"What about back then?" Bishamon said.
Kazuma hesitated. "That was a long time ago," Kazuma said, finally.
"Did I treat you badly?" Bishamon said, worried.
"No, of course not." The conveyor belt spun, quietly. "You treated me like a servant."
"Oh, Kazuma," Bishamon said. "I didn't mean to...I didn't know-"
"Veena, it's okay," Kazuma said. He smiled. "We got much closer after I began scolding you."
Bishamon laughed softly. Kazuma smiled.
"Why are you thinking about this now?" he asked, quietly. Bishamon shook her head.
"I don't know," Bishamon said. "Somehow this reminded me of the old days."
"Conveyor belt sushi reminded you of the old days?"
"You know what I mean," Bishamon said. "Perhaps I have had a little too much to drink. I can't quite clear these thoughts from my head."
"Do you know the cure for that?" Kazuma asked.
"What? More sake?" Bishamon said. Kazuma laughed softly.
"I was going to suggest bad karaoke."
Bishamon laughed. The last time she and her shinki went out drinking, Bishamon sang drunkenly using an empty sake bottle as a microphone. "You are never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Unfortunately for you, Veena, I have an elephant's memory." Kazuma's mouth quirked. "I suspect I'll be making fun of you for that for centuries."
Bishamon laughed warmly. Kazuma smiled and rubbed her back, then grabbed another plate of sushi, setting it in front of her.
She thought of the old days again. The first few weeks of mourning, how she lay on the futon, weeping ceaselessly. How Kazuma came and let her rest her head in his lap, how he quietly carded his fingers through her hair. Somehow she had forgotten the days that followed. How, after she stopped crying, she told him she didn't need him now, that she would call for him when she needed him. How he would bow and murmur quiet apologies before softly shutting the rice paper door.
There was the sound of high heels clacking as they walked together on the sidewalk, Bishamon hugging Kazuma's arm for balance. She has always been grateful for him. Even if she didn't know how to express it - even if she didn't have the words.
But Bishamon was a war god, and for her, admiration was best expressed by the swing of her sword; her arm clutched around his spoke plainer than any words she could muster.
Kazuma. I need you to know - I need you to understand - that you are necessary to me. Even if I don't always express it. Your existence is tied to my own.
xXx
.
A shinki's mental state was felt directly by its master. Kazuma if anything was extremely disciplined, keeping his emotions firmly in check.
But even that sip of sake was enough to lower his guard, albeit a little, and as he watched Veena's lips close around the piece of sushi, he felt his face flush. Her tongue flicked over a stuck grain of rice on her lower lip. She smiled at him, her eyes warmly meeting his.
Stop this he thought, and he focused on his hands, on the grain of the chopsticks in his grip. She will never feel the same way as you do. And it was only after he was able to wrest a modicum of control that Veena's face grew troubled. She stared at her plate of sushi, frowning.
"Was I cold to you?" she asked, and Kazuma realized that on some level, that stern reprimand he had given himself had somehow transmitted back to her.
"You were never cold," he said. "You just didn't know how to properly express your affection."
She frowned, then gently rested her hand on top of his. "Am I doing better?" she asked. He shifted his grip, squeezing her fingers.
"Yes," he said, smiling. She smiled back at him, stroking her thumb along the underside of his wrist.
Maybe, he thought, as he walked beside her, Maybe it is better if I don't overthink it. And for a moment, he let himself feel happy as her arm curled around his, the weight of her body leaning against his shoulder.