What Lies Ahead
Wet strands of hair fell on Chizuru's shoulders. With a towel in hand, Hijikata carefully dried the strands with gentle beats. Chizuru, who probably felt that she was causing him trouble, made a move to stand. Sensing this, Hijikata firmly grasped her shoulder without a word, stopping the movement. "I'm sorry," came the usual apology from Chizuru. Hearing her small voice, Hijikata placed the towel on her head and slowly ruffled her hair with it. He lightly pressed his palm against the dark strands to prevent them from flying away, and with a wooden teeth, he carefully and smoothly combed through each strand, making sure not to tangle them. Soon enough, perhaps with the help of the temperature, the raven locks lost its complete dampness, and half-dried, it slowly and loosely fell freely against Chizuru's shoulders. To make sure of the feeling, Hijikata softly run his fingers though the lustrous strands. Whether it was because she just took a bath or it was from nervousness, he wasn't sure, but Hijikata watched fascinated as the pale skin of Chizuru's nape—seen through the dark locks—lightly changed its color. His eyes softened as a familiar sweet scent filled the air.
Hijikata's lips loosely arched upwards as he felt Chizuru stiffen when his fingers traced her nape. He leaned down towards the inviting scent—and kissed the soft open space, teeth sweetly scraping against the snow white skin.
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Women, in many ways, were strange creatures. They knew how to carry a child in those arms and knew how to give the tenderness a child needs, without learning through any step. In other words, it was a natural thing. The child in Chizuru's arms perhaps knew that it wasn't his mother he was held in care with, which was probably why he did not demand attention nor gave smiles, but he also did not start crying—instead the infant remained still, quietly staring up at Chizuru, sucking his tiny thumb from time to time.
From the garden of their home, Hijikata sat on the wooden floor of the veranda and watched silently as Chizuru and the mother of the infant enjoyed themselves with a little friendly conversation. He watched that just as Chizuru handed the child to his mother, it gave out a squeal and happily spread out its arms towards his mother. Chizuru's eyes softened at the sight and reached out her finger to the infant's small open palm. Feeling the little hand grasp her finger back, a bright endearing smile spread out on Chizuru's fair face. It was such an expression—something Hijikata had never seen.
"He was born in spring and nearly six months old," Chizuru, who came back after the short conversation with the mother and the infant, said as she sat beside him.
Hijikata gazed closely at the woman beside him; her face was back to its expression he had become used to, the one that belonged to her—his wife. Women, in many ways, were strange creatures. It was not as if they were taught how to do it—but they just know. They hold and know when to use each and different expressions—that of a woman's, that of a wife's, and—….
"Do you want to have children?"
To Hijikata, he meant it as a simple question, but as he saw Chizuru's expression—flushed adorably and slightly etched with confusion—he gave out breathy chuckle. "I know, I know," he whispered softly. Then, he took her hand in his and brought her palm to his lips.
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An arch made its way to Chizuru's lips instinctively as she felt the head on her neatly folded legs stir. The light weight gave her a ticklish feeling and she couldn't help but smile. Gently, as not to wake him, Chizuru quietly smoothed the hair against Hijikata's forehead—it was as if it was not a man's possession; the softness and rich feeling of his hair, though slightly envious, left a silky sensation against her fingers. Chizuru watched as Hijikata's chest and shoulders moved in rhythm with his breathing—the simple, silent movement was the very thing that gave her warm relief.
Careful not to move her knees an inch, Chizuru fixed the coverlet, which fell down around Hijikata's chest, and spread it over from his hands to his shoulders. He was sleeping on his side, so a mark would probably be left on his face when he wakes up. I wonder how he would react, Chizuru thought. It was too easy to imagine that a quiet chuckle escaped her lips. She sighed softly and returned to brushing the hair from Hijikata's face. He was a man who has lived with his hands always full—a restless man who had lived life a reason for death. That's why right now, it was alright; this was the kind of time he needs. This is what he needed. Even if for a little, he shorten his strides, take his time, and take his steps little by little and everything would still stay in balance in no time. Although it did not seem like Hijikata would wake up anytime soon, Chizuru silently whispered her longing prayers for him.
"Goodnight, Hijikata-san. Sleep well."
Chizuru reached for the hand—way too much wider and bigger than hers—laying still and slowly intertwined her fingers through it.
The larger hand against her own made a little movement—and gently, it grasped Chizuru's fingers in return.