written for themusicalbookworm on tumblr (ily)
the title is a reference to the song they are dancing to.
"Who knew Tenjin could throw such a hell of a shindig?" Daikoku said, his eyes traveling from the blazing chandelier overhead, to the luxurious open bar, to the dance floor in the center of the cavernous chamber, golden surface gleaming under a new coat of wax.
"Where did you think he spent all his money? Ray Bans? Beard cream?" Yato appeared next to Daikoku, keeping his nose in the air and his eyes squinted against the glory of the room.
"Why the snark?" Daikoku asked, frowning. The open bar, at the very least, had his stamp of approval.
Yato shrugged. "I just don't see the big deal. So he's loaded. Whatever."
Daikoku glanced across the room to where Tenjin was holding several of his guests rapt with stories of his many achievements. Among the spellbound listeners were Yukine and Hiyori.
"Ah," he grunted, comprehending.
"Yato-chaaaaaan!"
Kofuku slammed into Yato from behind, knocking him nearly to the floor. She wrapped his arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a particularly pink, loud backpack.
"Guess who just got here, Yato-chan!"
"Wh-who—Kofuku, air!" Yato wheezed, clawing at her grip around his neck. Kofuku slid off him, and allowed Daikoku to dust her off. She happily ignored his grumbles and Yato's dry choking as oxygen returned to his windpipe.
"Who just got here?" Yato asked, rubbing his throat. Kofuku pointed to the entrance. The huge mahogany doors were swinging inwards, allowing a large group of people to enter the room.
"Bishamon—?"
"And it looks like almost everyone else," Daikoku added, forgetting for a moment to chide his mistress as she took off across the room, an ear-killing shriek of "Bishaaaaaaaaaaa!" echoing behind her like a rocket trail. More than several heads turned to follow her. Tenjin lost the hold over his audience as they looked in the direction of the commotion.
Hiyori and Yukine, having detached themselves from Tenjin, arrived at Yato's side just as Daikoku left to try and contain his mistress.
"Oh, did you remember I existed?" Yato asked them, hunching his shoulders sulkily.
"It's been so long since I've seen either of them," Hiyori said to Yukine, seamlessly continuing their conversation.
"Yeah. It's good to see her on her feet again, after…" Yukine hesitated. Hiyori nodded solemnly.
"Hey!" Yato waved his arms, hopping with annoyance. Yukine wrinkled his nose.
"Hiyori, do you smell something?"
Hiyori's lip twitched upward, and her cheeks pinked.
"Now that you've mentioned it Yukine, I think I do."
"Smells kinda like day-old horseshi—"
Yukine yelped loudly as Yato collared him, trapping him in a headlock and roughing up his hair.
"Don't swear—and don't disrespect your master!"
: : :
Meanwhile, across the room, Bishamon gracefully disentangled herself from Kofuku's embrace.
"It is good to see you too," she said, her voice warm. "Though I was not expecting it to be quite so…"
She looked around at the other gods and shinki, most of whom were still staring straight at her. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"…Public."
As though summoned, Tsuyu glided through the crowd like a puff of spring air. In her wake, the guests returned to their conversations, relieving Bishamon from being the target of their scalding curiosity.
"I'm so happy you were well enough to make it," she said. Her usually inscrutable countenance glowed with genuine welcome, and Bishamon's stomach unclenched around some of its anxiety.
"I know better than to miss out on one of Tenjin's parties," she responded.
As she glanced around the enormous room, Bishamon admitted to herself that even for Tenjin's extravagant tastes, this was impressive. She turned her head to take in the rest of the sight, and caught Kazuma's gaze for a half-second. He broke eye contact at once, his gaze falling to the gleaming tiled floor. Bishamon frowned.
"I will let you mingle," Tsuyu said. If she had observed their silent exchange, she didn't let on. "I think there are many people who will be happy to see you flourishing again."
And she floated away into the crowd, leaving behind the sweet, purple scent of plums.
"'Flourishing' is putting it a bit generously," Bishamon muttered, shaking her head. Already, her heart was racing, her palms chilled and sweaty. Kuraha took her arm.
"Shall we find somewhere to sit, my lady?"
"Yes, please."
There were round tables dotting the perimeter of the dance floor, and Kuraha led her to one, lowering her gently into one of the delicate chairs as her other shinki fluttered nearby like worried butterflies.
"Go," she directed. She tried to smile, putting her hand on Kuraha's arm and squeezing it lightly. "Enjoy yourselves. This is a party."
Kinuha pulled out a chair for herself and sat down. "I will stay with you, my lady, in case you need anything," she said, leaning back and crossing her arms decidedly.
"No."
At the sound of his voice, Bishamon's already weak heart stumbled.
"The rest of you can go," said Kazuma, quietly. "I will stay here."
The rest of her shinki looked at her, waiting for a verdict. After a moment, she nodded.
"If you wish to stay here, Kazuma—" She hesitated briefly, hiding the tremble of her lip. "I would enjoy your company."
Her shinki dispersed into the crowd. Akiha quickly found his way to the buffet table, while Kinuha made a beeline for the open bar. Kazuha and Karuha found Yukine—the only other young shinki in attendance—and attached themselves firmly to his sleeves. Beneath the thready beating of her own heart, Bishamon felt their spirits begin to lift. She let out a long breath. Things had been somber in her house as of late. A party would be good for them.
"Do you need anything?"
Kazuma's voice plucked her out of her thoughts. She looked over to see him staring straight ahead. His lips were set, eyes fixed, jaw as tight as a bowstring. Bishamon searched that expression for something besides stone-faced obedience—and found nothing.
A dull, gray pain throbbed inside her ribs. "Some water, perhaps," she said.
He rose instantly, disappearing into the crowd. Bishamon leaned forward, putting her head in her hands.
: : :
"When's this party gonna get groovy?" Kofuku demanded. She was firmly drunk, clutching Tenjin's lapels with both hands and stomping on his toes. Daikoku pried her nails loose of Tenjin's suit, lifting her bodily away from him and flinging her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Sorry," he grunted.
Tenjin brushed himself off, chuckling. "She does have a point," he admitted. Summoning one of his shinki with a flick of his wrist, he whispered something to her. She gave a brisk nod, then hurried away.
A moment later, Yato barreled up to Tenjin, steam pouring from his ears.
"Okay old man, I know for a fact you don't get enough offerings to finance this type of extravagance, so I demand to know who's backing you."
"Are you hoping to once again ride the coattails of my success?" Tenjin said suavely. "I might be able to introduce you to some generous clients, if you prove yourself capable, and hygienic…" He gave Yato a once-over, his lip curling. "…Although I suppose that would be a bit much to ask."
Yato's face turned an apoplectic shade of purple.
"I'm not the greasy one around here, you perverted, moldy-ass motherfu—"
"Hiyori, I found him!" came Yukine's voice. A second later the two of them appeared out of the crowd. Yukine was carrying a plate piled high with his successful raid of the buffet. Yato made a grab for it, stuffing eight shrimps into his mouth in lieu of showering Tenjin with the filthiest of epithets.
"Hey!" Yukine jerked the plate away.
Suddenly, music began wafting from somewhere above them, drifting down over the gathering like flower petals. Yukine, Hiyori, and Tenjin turned to look for its source. Yato sneaked another shrimp.
"Whoa," Yukine murmured.
"Is that—" Hiyori whispered, awestruck.
"A full orchestra?" Tenjin finished, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Yes, it does seem that way, doesn't it?"
: : :
As soon as the orchestra struck up, Bishamon lifted her head from her hands—only to meet Kazuma's, clouded with worry behind his glasses.
"You are not feeling well," he said.
"I'm fine," Bishamon snapped, snatching the water from him. It slopped over her wrist, splattering her dress. She didn't dare look up at him, but instead stared silently at the constellation of water drops on the silk over her knee.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Kazuma took the water from her. She hadn't realized her hands were shaking.
Beneath the orchestra's music, he asked gently:
"Would you like to dance?"
Slowly, Bishamon raised her eyes to his face. Kazuma's lips were straining into a smile. It was a passable—though obviously painful—effort. The rest of him seemed to be caught between the uncomfortable extremes of agony and desperation. He looked truly miserable.
"Yes," she said, taking pity on him. "I would love to."
They walked together to the edge of the sprawling dance floor, where many of the other guests had already paired up—many comporting themselves with more enthusiasm than skill. Bishamon smirked as Yato, a stolen rose between his teeth, was executing a questionable tango with Hiyori as his partner. Daikoku had started square dancing in a corner of the floor with some of Bishamon's younger shinki. Takemikazuchi was aggressively failing to foxtrot with Kofuku, who kept stomping all over his feet so that it looked like he was doing an Irish jig. The only ones successfully dancing were Tenjin and Mayu, who shared an elegant, nondescript two-step while avoiding the hubbub around them.
"Do you know how to waltz, Kazuma?" Bishamon asked.
"No."
"Good."
And she twirled him onto the dance floor, keeping well out of the way of Hiyori and Yato, who galloped around its perimeter while laughing hysterically.
"Viina—!" Kazuma yelped. She grinned, catching him by the wrist before he could stumble into the path of another couple, and swinging them both into the center of the dance floor.
"I'll teach you," she murmured.
Several minutes later, Kazuma was blushing almost to the point of tears.
"So my hand goes—?"
"Here, yes."
"And we…?"
"Move like this. Watch my feet for a moment."
Kazuma did watch her feet, as it gave him an excuse to look away from her very, very close face.
"See how our feet should mirror each other?" she asked. Her breath swept over his ear, sending a riot of chills down his spine, pursued by a rush of heat that nearly knocked his knees from under him.
"Vi-Viina," he sputtered. "Um. I'm—I'm not learning very quickly."
"You're doing fine," she reassured him. Her fingers gently squeezed his shoulder. "But…do you want to stop?"
Kazuma swallowed. The silk warmth of her body pressed against him, his hands resting on the suggestive bell-curve of her waist. As close as she stood to him, her sweet, sylvan godsmell was overpowering. He closed his eyes.
"No," he said, hating how gravelly his voice had become. "Let's…let's not stop."
She smiled. And then the music changed. Above the soft, rhythmic counterpoint of the orchestra, the voice of one violin began to soar: a wistful, heartaching solo that melted over the dancers.
Bishamon let out her breath in a soft puff. She took her hand out of Kazuma's, winding both her arms around his neck. Without her tall heels, she was able to rest her head against his chest. He hoped she couldn't hear his stuttering heartbeat.
"I've always liked this song," She admitted. Kazuma decided he would bribe the orchestra to play nothing else for the rest of the evening.
This time, they didn't bother with the steps. Bishamon didn't move away from him, and the two swayed together, rocking in the tide of the music. Kazuma held her cautiously, one hand on either side of her waist. His Adam's apple bobbed against her forehead as he swallowed. Bishamon peeked up at him.
"You can hold me closer, Kazuma," she said. He squirmed inside his suit.
"I-I know—"
"Are you tired of dancing with me?"
"No!" he exploded. A few people turned around to look. "No," he muttered, his face dark with humiliation.
"Then something else is wrong," Bishamon surmised. "You should tell me, before it blights you."
Kazuma winced at her casual tone.
"It's really nothing, Viina. Nothing that would hurt you."
Bishamon looked up at him again. Her eyes were bright and fierce. He felt uncomfortable, exposed, like she was taking him apart from the inside, examining every broken piece of him, every mark of decay.
"Whatever hurts you, hurts me," she said.
Her forgiveness was so much worse than her rage. While Kazuma silently agonized, Bishamon looked down again. She began talking quietly, as though only to herself.
"I have always admired good dancers," she said. "If you look closely, you can see how perfectly they talk to each other. The lead partner must not be overpowering, and the other must not let themselves be trampled or dragged behind. And with the best dancing, it looks effortless—as effortless as breathing."
She sighed deeply. Kazuma let his hands creep from her waist around her back, hovering over the bare skin that radiated warmth.
"I think you would make a good dance partner, Viina," he said. Something in his voice had changed. It rumbled against her ear, making her shiver.
"You lead firmly, and you know which direction to go. You know how to make it look easy to everyone else. You hide all the effort. You are determined, and righteous, and…" He trailed off. They stopped swaying, and Bishamon looked at him.
They were no longer talking about dancing.
"You might find someone else—a better dancer than me." Kazuma smiled down at her. "Someone who knows how to waltz."
Bishamon met his eyes for a moment, then looked down at his buttons. Before her eyes turned away, Kazuma thought he saw more in them than the ballroom lights.
"I don't need a better dancer," she said—so quietly he had to lean in close, until her mouth was almost at his ear.
"I don't need someone to match me. I just need…someone to stay with me. I can't be alone. I don't want to be by myself. It doesn't matter if you trip, or don't know the steps, just help me, Kazuma, I need you to be here, I don't want to feel as alone as I did when…"
Her fingers dug into the back of his neck, stinging him. She clung to him, letting him bear her weight like a child. A surge of unbearable yearning overtook her.
"Never leave me out there by myself again," she sobbed.
The violin was climbing to its final note, and the vibrato hung quivering, dying.
Kazuma rested his forehead against the top of her head. And, at last, he wrapped her in his arms, clutching her as helplessly as she did him.
"Never, Viina."