"We'll see you next week."
"Yep, see you!"
You grab your bag and run back to your car, having just finished playing tennis. It's becoming late –almost 3 in the afternoon, you note from your watch– and you begin to regret those three extra games.
You swing your bag into the trunk of your car and get in, starting the engine and turning on the radio. The first thing you hear is an advertisement for the Brass Samurai, a new production. You snicker, the ad reminding you of a certain someone.
You swiftly drive home, managing to just avoid rush hour and therefore also easily finding a parking space on the usually overcrowded parking lot. When you make your way up two sets of stairs, you make a checklist of things you still have to do. Once you've gotten to unlocking the door, you've already realized that there's plenty be done.
"I'm home", you say, an announcement gone unanswered. You sigh. You should've known he wouldn't be home.
To be extra sure, you lock the door behind you before you go to take a shower. The bathroom is bare, with only a few towels hanging off a rack. You automatically yet unnecessarily lock the door and take off your shirt.
A small 40 minutes later, you're back in the living room, completely refreshed. You grab your wallet and get back to the car to do this week's groceries. Once you get back, it's past 5:30, no thanks to the queue in the store. You cook up dinner for two and leave a plate in the microwave for whenever he decides to show up.
Stomach filled, you look at the clock. It's already 7:30. You feel a bit lonely, having to experience an evening like this again.
"Hmm. What should I do? Simon cleaned everything yesterday and there's nothing I can do for work…"
You shrug, indecisive and discontent with your current inactivity. After a few minutes' worth of thought, you curl up in a chair in front of the TV and watch prat of some Samurai series for adults. The main character, a lean man with thin black hair and a dazzling outfit, was fending off some black-clad enemy when you hear the front door being unlocked. You glance over at the clock –8:10– and jump up from the chair, walking over to the hallway.
"Welcome home", you say, a wide smile on your face. Blackquill looks up and blinks.
"Good evening", he says. He walks up to you and gives you a short hug, only to walk to the table and sit down, taking documents out of his bag.
"If you're hungry, there's food for you in the kitchen."
"I appreciate the effort. However, there are pressing matters I must attend to."
You sigh, making sure he hears your concern and disappointment.
"Simon?"
"Hmph?"
"It's important to watch your health, remember?"
"I am still walking, am I not?"
You walk over to him and drape an arm over his shoulders, peeking at his papers.
"You should give yourself some time to relax."
"…"
You smile despite his stubborn behaviour. You thought of it as kind of cute, if you were entirely honest.
You place your hands on his shoulders now, feeling how tense he is.
"I'll give you an hour to work if you let me treat you afterwards."
"Hmph. You will not relent, will you?"
"Someone's gotta look out for you."
"Very well, if it suits your wishes."
You giggle. "I don't suppose I can get you to eat as well?"
Blackquill turns around to look at you, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"I'll be back in an hour, then!"
You hop back towards the bathroom. Unsure of what to prepare as you can't predict how far he'll let you go, you hang fluffy towels off of the heating and turn on a large water boiler for a few hot pads. They'll retain the warmth well over the coming hour, and you wouldn't want to burn Blackquill's back.
You disregard the humble collection of oils immediately, but stop to consider the scented candles. You weigh the pros and cons, and end up with a small, sakura-scented candle, the only one he would not call foul.
The next thing to debate is where he will allow you to treat him. You're sure he'll want to go back to work the moment you're done, but a stubborn steak inside of you decides that this time, he's going to listen to you. As such, you bring the candle to the nightstand beside your shared bed and light it, relishing the slowly increasing scent.
You return to the water boiler and fill two hot pads –and a third one, just in case.
You realise that you have to wait for another forty minutes until you're allowed to disturb his work again. You think you might just lie down and spend time on your phone, but you instead move straight past Blackquill, back to the chair, and pick up a book. Even if you promised not to bother him for a while, it's nice to be near him, considering he's drowning himself in his work and he isn't home often.
The thought crosses your mind that he might be trying to make up for what he missed out on when he was in prison. But that isn't your call to make; your specialty lies much closer to physical comfort.
The book you're reading is one Simon recommended to you. It's a classic samurai-defends-lady novel, with much attention paid to formalities and polite courting techniques. You can tell that it's Simon's copy –he takes good care of his books, but the edges of many a page are bent, and some pages have scribbles referring to analytical psychology in small, slanted writing. In the chapters you chew through, the main character is caught in a dilemma, doubting between declaring his never-ending professional loyalty to the noble lady and confessing his other feelings to her. Unbeknownst to him, however, his beloved lady is being courted by a stranger from the neighbouring country.
The pages in which the warrior's dilemma is thoroughly described are positively covered in Blackquill's handwriting. It makes you smile, thinking of a younger Simon scratching down his thoughts and opinions so that he could review them later.
After a while, you look at your watch and a feeling of victory makes its way into your heart. It's already 9:20; you've given him more time than originally planned. You close the book and stand behind his chair, teasingly playing with a lock of hair at the nape of his neck.
"You promised", you singsong.
Blackquill grunts in response, but cleans up his things nonetheless.
He moves to take off his surcoat, but you cover his hand with yours to withhold him.
"I'd like it if you would let me do it properly this time."
"I have no time for this. There is much left to do."
"I know. But if you keep going on like this, your body won't be the only part of you that's exhausted."
Blackquill gets up and turns around. His grey eyes dig into you.
"What I do with my spirit is not for you to worry yourself about. A night's rest outside of the clink is plenty to restore me."
You're sure he can correctly interpret the look in your eyes. At this point, your body language would get the message across to anyone.
Blackquill sighs, and shakes his head.
"Very well."
Your heart jumps up and you smile brightly. "Thank you, Simon", you say.
He disregards the excitement in your voice, but you see the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"Go and get yourself ready, then. I'll get the things from the bathroom."
Blackquill grunts his approval and you both move to your assigned destinations. You leave all towels save for one, and pile up the three hot pads.
You manage to get to the bedroom without dropping anything, and find that Blackquill has already folded his surcoat and suit jacket. As you place the supplies on your half of the bed, you glance over at the candle. It's not yet halfway out; the room will retain its scent for a while.
You roll up your sleeves and open and close your hands several times, partially in preparation and partially in excited anticipation.
Blackquill is folding his dress shirt; unlike yourself, he's paying attention to doing it properly. You scan his upper body –he still hasn't gained much weight. He remains muscled and of generally quite large stature, but you can easily catch unhealthy glimpses of the outlines of his ribs.
Despite your concerns, you smile, having decided that you'll get him to eat something first thing when you're done. His work can wait.
"Just lie down on your stomach", you instruct him.
"No, hang on."
You tiptoe and slide off the elastic keeping his hair together. The bushy ponytail sinks, and his hair is spread equally down his back.
"What was that for?", Blackquill asks, mainly out of curiosity.
"To give your scalp some time to rest too. There is no way you don't have a headache right now."
"Heh. Correct as always."
You softly rub his shoulder and gesture for him to lie down. He slips out of his shoes and positions himself on the bed. You suppress a chuckle when you're reminded that he is nearly too tall to fit. The blankets, however, are even smaller than the bed itself –every night, it's either his feet or his shoulders that get sacrificed to the cold.
As though he's slightly embarrassed, Blackquill closes his eyes. You sit down on the small ledge left beside him and stroke his hair to the right, where it won't be in the way.
Because you'd decided to start with his shoulders, you place two hot pads on his lower back for the time being. You cover them with the towel you brought. Although it has no real function on its own, it serves as comfort and it retains heat, so you've made it a habit to use them.
Blackquill shows no response to the procedures, but when you put your hands to his skin, he involuntarily jolts. You can understand when you feel the temperature of his body. Your hands are cold in comparison.
"Just relax for now", you softly say.
"Hmm." You could have sworn that he was flustered, but it looks like he's as pale as always.
You move your hands to his left shoulder and add some pressure, trying to establish where your attention should go. Not before long, you find an impressive collection of knots.
"Simon, this could hurt a little."
You press down with both your hands and make small, circling motions with your thumbs. You hear Blackquill's breath halt for a second. Determined to do a good job, however, you keep going.
Once you've warmed him up, you increase the pressure and make use of the heel of your hand in the worst places. Your thumbs are drawing circles, kneading the knotted muscles beneath his skin. Over time, you feel him intentionally relaxing, making the entire thing easier for you.
You slowly move down, onto his shoulder blade, and then inwards and back up along his spine. You stop when you reach the nape of his neck, giving yourself a moment to stretch your hands.
Blackquill's breathing is deep and rhythmical. He opens his eyes to look up at you, but the usual negativity is blurred over. He exhales and smiles lightly. The urge to tease him for his currently rather vulnerable state grows with the second, but you're glad to have gotten him to this state in the first place, so you wisely hold your tongue.
You turn and place your hands on his right shoulder, testing once more for the severity of the damage done. To your great dismay, however –
"In the name of everything holy…"
You can't help but share your discontent. Although hesitant, you push into the muscles.
"Ngh." Blackquill is unable to suppress a groan.
"I'm sorry, just hang in there."
Your encouragement is not entirely welcome, and you're wholly aware of the glare he's sending your way.
As you continue to rhythmically knead his shoulder, you're preparing to convince him to take it easier from now on. Now that he has to face pain as a direct result of constant stress, you have an argument to back up your reasoning.
You wince when your hands start stinging. You decide to get back to his shoulder later, and repeat what you did before; you make your way down his shoulder blade, and then go up following his spine. You halt once more at the nape of his neck and you stretch your hands, discontent with the amount of work you managed on his right shoulder.
You remove the towel from his lower back and feel the pads beneath it. They are still hot to the touch. You carefully move them to his upper back, positioning them between his shoulder blades.
"I'll be right back", you tell Blackquill. His glare had ceased as you had continued your work, and he now silently follows you with his eyes.
You take the old towel and move to the bathroom, where you set it aside for future washing. In its stead, you take one you had left hanging over the heating and you return to Blackquill. In the few moments you'd been gone, he has soundlessly moved away from the nightstand, allowing for more room for you to sit on. His arms are now crossed beneath his head.
For a second, you take in the sight of his relaxed state. A warm, fuzzy affection rises in your chest.
Blackquill notes your return and closes his eyes. You're glad with his cooperation, and you return to your seat on the bed. As you drape the towel over his back, he opens his mouth.
"How are your hands?"
His voice is soft and gentle. You feel your heart beating quickly.
"Don't worry about them, I can handle it!"
Blackquill grins. "Of course."
You place your hands above the small of his back. Although there won't be many tense points here, a light massage tends to have calming effects.
As you rub small circles with your thumbs, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he returned the favour. His hands are large, and though calloused, they can be gentle. Not to mention that Blackquill uses them in a large array of varying activities, including calligraphy and the use of swords.
Your train of thought is interrupted when the body beneath your fingers suddenly shifts. Following a large intake of breath, Blackquill had sighed, causing a general physical displacement. You glance over to his face. He appears to still be in a state of relaxation. His lips are faintly parted, most definitely unconsciously.
You move to end the job as your hands travel up and then circle back down to the small of his back, first on the right, then on the left.
Unwilling to speak and break the current mood, you rush to get a new towel. You're relieved when Blackquill appears to not have moved, and you slide the slowly cooling hot pads back down to his lower back, covering them in the warm towel.
Now that his right shoulder has been heated and is in a different position, you're positive you can achieve some type of positive resolution.
You decide to explore the situation by simply starting as it is. As expected, the knot is still there, but it's more easily accessible due to the new position of Blackquill's arm.
As you begin rhythmically kneading the muscle, Blackquill holds his breath, biting through the pain.
"Can you relax for me?", you ask him. You feel some of the tension beneath your fingers disappear. As you continue, it naturally diminishes.
After a while, your fingers are numb, and you can no longer feel the knot. You decide that it must be gone, and after clenching your fists once or twice, you dig your fingertips through Blackquill's hair and place them on his scalp.
"What-"
His body involuntarily jolts at the unexpected touch, and his eyes snap open.
"What are you doing?"
You're taken aback by the hostile edge to his voice. You may have intruded on his privacy too much this time.
"Uh, you had a headache, so I thought I'd, you know, help."
Blackquill blinks.
"Was I… not allowed to touch your hair?"
He looks away. "…Apologies."
"No, it's all right, I shouldn't have untied your hair in the first place, I knew you were touchy about it –"
"You caught me by surprise. That is all."
He's lying. It isn't difficult to tell. If it's something important, you're sure he'll tell you at some point, however.
You remain seated, fingers close to your chest following their quick retreat. Blackquill is keeping silent.
Despite your discomfort and hesitation, you reach out to touch his head. He remains motionless in apparent apology. You cautiously brush some hair aside and place your fingertips just above his temple, where you apply light pressure. You're not sure why, but you place your left hand on his arm to reassure him. he looks up at you, no longer apologetic. He isn't exactly expressionless either –he appears to be giving you consent for your actions, but you could have sworn there was a shadow of sadness behind the obvious.
You move your fingers in a small, circular pattern. Through the cluster of thick hair, you find your way to the nape of his neck, all the while continuing to soothe his skin. From there, you go across the top of his head towards his hairline.
Once you get to his fringe, you halt. Your fingers dance down and follow the dark traces below Blackquill's left eye.
He shrugs you away and slowly lifts his upper body, leaning on his hands. The towel and hot pads fall off, unnoticed.
"I'm sorry", you admit. Blackquill shakes his head and sits down.
"You know what lies beneath these stains. Therefore, there is no need to apologize. And… thank you. I feel improved."
You know how difficult saying that must be. He isn't open with his emotions, hasn't been so on many generally emotional occasions. But you don't need hypersensitive hearing to read into his heart sometimes.
"That's good to hear." You smile at him. "And your headache?"
He looks away again, and this time there's no denying that he looks embarrassed.
"Equally improved."
Your humble smile turns into a determined grin.
"My advice turned out to work well, didn't it?"
Blackquill looks you in the eye.
"What do you mean to say?"
"Heheh. How about you eat dinner now?"
His reaction isn't unlike one he would show in court, but you aren't phased.
"I'll warm it up for you if you get up~"
You couldn't quite believe it, but it looked like he is considering your offer. He glances over to the alarm clock on the nightstand. When you follow his lead, you find that it is already nearly 10 o'clock.
You look back at Blackquill, who isn't responding. You decide to respond for him.
"I'll turn on the microwave, then. Get dressed -well, you don't have to." You get up, stretch, and smile teasingly.
"Hmph."
He looks grumpy, but you know better.
Slightly drained, you make your way towards the kitchen. You turn on the microwave as promised, and prepare for tea along with it.
Two strong arms -clothed in a white dress shirt, you note- encircle your waist from behind. The heat of his body is pleasant against yours, and you tilt your head backwards. He still looks slightly grim, but your reaction draws a smile to his lips.
"How much work is there left for today?", you ask him after a few moments of sweet silence. You continue your preparations for tea, pouring now boiling water into a large ceramic pot.
"I have done plenty for today."
You chuckle under your breath, surprised but amused nonetheless.
"What are you planning?" You try to hide the mischievous tone in your voice, but the rumble in his chest indicates that he heard it.
"Hah. I have already admitted my defeat. Would it please you to hear it loud and clear?"
He nearly sounds sarcastic.
"You're taking it easy, right?"
"To someone's advice."
You manage to turn around, still encircled by his arms, and properly look him in the eye.
"That's a relief, Simon."
He smirks. "Anything for the lady."
You tiptoe and press a soft kiss onto his lips, lingering for mere seconds.
"Go sit down, I'll be there in a minute", you tell him.
Blackquill gently strokes a strand of hair away from your face, smirk softening into a smile, and lets go. He leaves for the living room and you can hear the chair creaking a few seconds later.
You smile to yourself. Tonight promised many things. Simon wasn't one to let a favour go unreturned.
Once the microwave signals the completion of its task, you bring the plate over to the table, joined by the tea after a second run to the kitchen.
You silently enjoy your share of hot tea as Simon wolfs down the food in a somehow still polite manner.
Upon clearing his plate, Simon's hands join yours around your cup, thumbs drawing circles on your knuckles.
You glance up, and your eyes meet his. He's struggling to speak, as indicated by his furrowed brow. At last, his lips part.
"I appreciate what you're doing for me."
Such a simple sentence, but you feel the glow of happiness spreading through you.
"I have little to offer you in return."
"Aren't you enough?", you rhetorically ask. Blackquill blinks, and laughs.
"If you so desire, so it shall be."
He gets up, approaches you, and cups your face in a large hand. The hand slides down, towards your wrist, and Simon tugs slightly, inching you to get up. With a strange glimmer in his eyes, he picks you up bridal-style and steps back towards the bedroom.
Indeed, tonight promised many things.