This Year: Bless Us
1 of 1 – Complete
It was that time again.
He wasn't really certain if it was one of Misao's favorite or least favorite holidays, but he was certain that she never missed it.
Never.
She had, since his return, each year dedicated her utmost skill and patience to her lantern building. She would then painstakingly decorate it with her black ink writing; and her wishes on the sides of the lantern in beautiful script. The Obon festival had always held importance for her; he had helped her celebrate it when she was younger. She would either go to float her lantern down the river or she would hang it out front of the Aoiya where it would shine merrily into the night.
He was not certain which practice she preferred anymore. He had been preoccupied last year and now he felt rather ashamed at his behavior. She had come to the Temple and asked whether he intended to pray for his ancestor's restful peace and he had dismissed her. He had dismissed, in a sense, his departed relatives and he hoped, now, that they held no lingering resentment over it. He hadn't been thinking clearly, maybe he hadn't thought clearly in a long time.
In the dismal silence of his room, he stood. Again, alone… always alone it seemed. Few had the patience or the resilience necessary to stand his defensive curtness and stony silences. Misao was an exception, but even she had her limits and now she was the one preoccupied.
She never dismissed her relatives.
Her dead parents held the greatest importance to her. She went to the Temple at least once during the Obon week and prayed fervently. It was one of the single most beautiful sights he'd ever seen: to watch Misao pray.
Misao, with her head dipped, her expression placid and peaceful only to see her shift a moment later into a smile. Even her unexpected giggles had inwardly pleased him. Misao was Misao and not even in praying did she do so like anyone else.
He turned away from his futon cabinet where his linens were perfectly folded within and then away from his empty table. The window was uncovered and sunlight was shining brightly through but he took little notice. He turned toward the door and slipped out.
He knew where to find her, just down the hall from him she would be diligently working on her lantern. She always built her lamp. It was not fancy but it was heartfelt and Misao had told him once that even though she'd never known them, her parents deserved the best and she'd give them the best she was able.
It had touched him.
Many things she did touched him.
She roused feelings and emotions. She stirred parts of him he thought were dead. She woke interests he didn't know he had. She made things enjoyable when he had once prefer things only be peaceful.
He walked the few paces, his strides long if not a bit uneasy. He tapped his fist upon the delicate frame of her door. She didn't pull it open for him, she just called out absently.
"In, come in!"
Impatiently, it seemed. Was her project going badly? With two fingers he pushed the door open to observe the young woman sitting upon the floor. He peered down at her a moment before paling slightly, gazing at her thin legs and tracing his eyes over the flesh that was stretched out before him.
"Stand up," he ordered curtly.
She all but jumped to her feet, startled, whipping around and almost falling over in her haste. Surmising from the look upon her face she had not expected him and certainly not the barked order to stand… but surely the girl could see that she could not sit in such a fashion.
"W-what?" she asked, baffled, perhaps a bit startled yet at his tone.
"It is improper for you to sit in such a manner."
She blinked. "I was alone…"
"You are not now," he pointed out.
She put her hands upon her hips, her expression tightening. "You're scolding me for sitting a certain way when I was by myself?"
"You should not make a habit of …"
"Of what?" she prompted, looking as though she were trying to tempt him into giving her naughty answers.
"Of sitting in a fashion that could be construed as obscene. It is unladylike and therefore to be avoided. You are not a child, behave like a young woman."
"Aoshi-sama…" she sing-songed. "I can sit however I like in my own room. I can stand on my head naked if I want to…"
He frowned at her. "That is beyond inappropriate, that is vulgar. How is your project going?"
A tiny wood frame had been built but was leaning slightly. A stack of paper sat off to one side, an ink bottle, a hammer, a pile of little nails, and even three different calligraphy brushes.
She took the change of direction well, her scowl vanishing. "Ah, okay… I'm not really much of a builder. I smashed my finger twice, but its going okay."
He turned his gaze downward toward the floor once more trying to forget the fact he'd just caught her sitting with her legs open. She couldn't see how innately wrong that was?
She couldn't see how… suggestive? Surely she knew how copulation between a man and a woman happened? And that keeping her legs splayed so… invitingly…
"Are you making one this year?" she interrupted.
He was thankful for the distraction.
The hopeful tone that had been present in her voice the prior year was absent this time around.
"I have not decided," he answered.
He wanted to, certainly, but only under certain conditions.
"I have enough stuff," she added, a slightly optimistic tone seeping into her voice. "I mean… if you decide you'd like to. I'm sure they'd be happy you did."
She smiled at him softly and he nodded. To melt under a girl's smile… Hannya would find this so amusing.
Her entire expression brightened. The tense line of her body seemed to ease. Had she been so anxious?
"Come in, come in, have a seat."
He did so, closing the door softly behind him. Interruptions were not welcome, especially not when he was in her room with her alone. He'd been alone with her many times since his return but never in her bedroom with her unaccompanied.
He had no improper expectations; it was the novelty of the experience that had so entranced him. It was Misao's room and he was participating in a project with her, something he hadn't done since the girl was about as tall as his knee.
She started grabbing things and shoving them in his direction. He took the dark painted wooden pieces and the nails and hammer and began to assemble a small frame. As he did so he began to question his motivation. Was he doing this for his deceased relatives or was he doing it to be selfish and spend time with Misao? Would his parents approve such a self-centered motive? Would they even approve of a possible relationship with the young woman?
His parents had never known Misao, nor for that matter, had they really known him. They'd been murdered just before his fourth birthday and he had been taken in by the Oniwabanshuu. It gave he and Misao something in common that he was not certain she knew of. That they were both Oniwabanshuu orphans, but even so it was the case of many ninjas that he worked for the group. War time was hard, especially on children. It was easy to take them in and train them…
"Ah! You're good, Aoshi-sama!"
He looked up to see Misao admiring his lamp frame. It was nothing special, nothing gorgeous certainly. It was a simple square frame.
"Do you know what you'll write on yours?" she asked.
"No. What do you normally put on yours?"
She shifted, shrugging slightly. "It changes from year to year. This year I'm going to ask that they watch over me and my hope that I don't disappoint them."
He nodded. Noble, generic, rather unexpected of her. He'd have expected something a bit more on the cheerful or flamboyant side.
"I think I will express my desire for them to rest peacefully and my hope that they can forgive the fact I have disgraced myself and my family name."
She looked struck, positively haunted and he wondered which part of his statement had upset her. Her face paled and she looked away from him quickly.
"Misao?"
"I … sorry, Aoshi-sama, I hadn't thought of that and then I was ashamed I hadn't."
"Thought of what?"
"Of… your family. I always rather greedily considered you our family, but you actually do belong to another family…"
He blinked and felt warmth pool inside him.
Her family…
No one, he thought, could be as straightforward and amazing as Misao. No one could make him feel as special and wanted as she.
"And it makes me wonder too about my family… What if… I'm not like other girls, what if they don't want a daughter like that?"
"We cannot begin to know what those long parted from us could want… our lives are our own, we can only hope we do not make choices that would shame them."
Again, she looked up at him and there was something faintly frightening about the look in her eyes. It was a deep, struck expression, something that seemed to pierce straight through to the heart of her.
What was that?
What was that expression of hers?
What did it mean?
Why didn't he know?
"Some people wouldn't understand though…" she murmured, setting aside the paper she'd been holding.
She turned away reaching for her ink bottle and a brush.
"Understand what?"
"Just generally," she replied somewhat dismissively. "They just wouldn't understand; they aren't as accepting as other people. That's the problem with family sometimes, sometimes they're hard-headed idiots."
What was she thinking?
She uncapped her ink and dipped her brush and began to write.
"I'm sure your family has nothing to be disappointed about with you."
She shook her head absently, waving it off and sending a droplet of ink flying.
"No, not my family, Aoshi-sama. I was thinking about yours."
His?
This was about him? Was Misao worried about what his family thought of him?
Of course…
Of course she would.
Now he understood the look on her face previously. Now he understood why the expression had both baffled and troubled him.
Misao, he thought, was of the mind that no one loved him as much as she did. He didn't know if that was true or not. Might his parents have disowned him after his actions? Would they have forgiven and accepted his repentance? Misao had.
Now he realized it hadn't been upset over her own parents and their feelings, Misao was clearly not preoccupied with that. She was caught on how much it would possibly hurt him if his parents disapproved of his life.
The girl, the woman, astonished him.
He wondered, even, would their disapproval hurt her more even than himself? Something in him whispered that would be so as she took all matters of his straight to heart.
She continued to write, what, he couldn't know, he didn't try to read across the distance that separated them.
He returned to his own work only looking up again as he required the ink. She passed it to him as he requested and only then did he notice she was building yet another frame for yet another lantern.
"Is the other broken?" he asked.
"Huh?" she looked up, glancing at her other lamp. "No, I think its okay. This is for something else. Okon tells me I get 'lamp-happy' and make too many. I don't think it's possible to have too many. Build until the supplies are gone!"
Her voice was enthusiastic but her eyes were shadowed. Something was troubling her, but he didn't ask as she returned to her work, her back to him. That was another mystery… why was she sitting with her back to him? Misao never sat away from him in such a manner. She always sat facing forward, open to him. She had turned that way after the comments about his family.
Odd.
He wrote; his message was short and concise, a plea for forgiveness. He repeated the same message on two other panels and on the last; he placed his wishes for their peaceful rest and then sat aside his brush.
Looking up he saw Misao sliding her paper panels into her frame and he could see her message. All of them looked the same and it was the same generic message she'd recited back to him earlier. A wish for them to watch over her and their peaceful rest. That was it.
She finished it by scrawling her surname at the farthest left side in tiny letters on each panel around the lantern the bottom corner. It was a sort of signature of her work and she did it every year.
"Are you done with the ink? I have one more."
She wasn't looking at him; rather, she had her eyes on her paper as though she were trying to think through what she wanted to write. He had the suspicion she didn't want to look at him.
Puzzled and disturbed, he slid the ink across the floor toward her and she took it without comment.
His work was completed but he found he was in no rush to leave. He had nowhere else to be, nowhere else that really mattered, nothing to do, so he stayed. What was she going to write? What was that lantern for?
Silently he crept closer; kneeling behind her bent over form, peering over her should curiously. Across the bottom of the pre-measured paper she scrawled her own surname: Makimachi, across the top, she scrawled his: Shinomori.
Vertically down the page she began to write, her characters small and he watched, engrossed, as a message formed.
"Please forgive Aoshi-sama. His heart is good."
His chest suddenly felt full.
Always, always, no matter what he did… she forgave and accepted everything. How could one person handle so much?
It hurt. The realization, the knowledge, the everything, it hurt. His chest was full of feeling, his throat ached, his eyes burned. It was a tense, raw awkwardness. He dropped his head down pressing his forehead against her shoulder and she jumped at the contact. He pressed his face into the cloth, turning his nose toward her neck burrowing against her as much as he could, breathing in her scent. She turned her head toward him, he could feel her breath faintly, the warmth of her skin seeping through her garment, almost as if reaching out to him.
"Aoshi-sama?" she murmured.
Confusion.
Fear.
Hope.
He shifted and slid his arms under hers, down around her tiny waist. The brush fell from her hands, the ink splattering against the table as he hauled her up. He curled his legs in front of him creating a little nest and he plopped her into it. Awkwardly she all but tumbled against him, hard, against his chest, her weight against his thighs and almost against his groin. He crushed her against him, his arms tight. She was so thin and frail, so small.
She was breathtaking.
If any form of perfection could ever be found in a person's heart, in a person at all…it was her.
Perhaps his confusion hadn't been about his feelings for her but knowing exactly what those feelings were… was that it?
He didn't know and found it really didn't matter anymore.
"It's sunset already."
Her voice roused him from the dozing stupor he'd slid into in the last hour. The August heat was unrelenting and they were both sweating. Their bodies seemed to absorb each other's heat and then pour it off them twofold in volume. His clothes felt clingy but her weight against him was comforting in its solid, reassuring realness.
"We still need to get candles and insert the platforms for them to sit on. Plus, I have to find the candles and knowing Jiya, I'll have to buy the candles," she grumpily complained but made no move to extract herself from his embrace.
For a moment, they sat in silence and then she tipped her head back staring up at him.
"Are you all right?"
She was worried. She was always worried… or more accurately, he was always worrying her.
He allowed a faint slip in his icy façade and quirked his lips upward. "Well, Misao. I am well."
She stared at him as though she wasn't quite sure she could believe him before nodding.
"If you're sure…" she hesitantly began. "I really do have to go…"
He withdrew his arms from around her allowing her to stand and part from him. With visible hesitation, she did so, awkwardly moving onto her feet and languidly standing.
She yawned softly. "Warm weather makes me sleepy," she muttered. "All right… candles, candles, I have to go find candles. I'll be back."
She left, snapping the door closed behind her and he glanced back to her incomplete lantern. The one she had made for his parents. Picking up her discarded brush, now stiff from sitting in the open air. He dipped it into the tiny water cup in an attempt to loosen the ink and soften the brush and then dried it on a scrap cloth before reinserting the brush into the bottle.
He quickly scrawled three more replica panels and completed her lamp. Before standing to go wash the brushes he reached for his own lamp and added on one side, at the bottom, one more line of text.
The lanterns cheerily swayed back and forth. A simple sway that seemed to accent the flickering of the lit candle inside. Misao watched with her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes ticked up toward the roof of the Aoiya where her lanterns and Aoshi's hung.
Her yukata was hiked up over her ankles, but there was no chill in the air to cue her to pull her feet closer and tuck the material down. She stared up wondering…
Were they watching?
"Misao."
For a moment she ignored the sound, she ignored the tone that was, in itself, a summons of sorts.
"Yes, Aoshi-sama?" she asked, her response automatic.
Did she think at all before she spoke to him anymore or was she programmed to answer him because he was simply so predictable?
"Let us walk."
She blinked.
What?
"W-walk?"
He moved to stand before her only visible because of his off-white yukata. It seemed to almost glow in the dark.
He leaned down and took one hand from where it rested upon her knee and yanked her up.
Clumsily, she came to stand on feet that had been made uneasy by nervousness at the unexpected response. Was that all it took? One unpredictable remark and she was thrown for a loop?
He released her hand and began to walk away and Misao followed dutifully after walking slightly behind him. She, overwhelmed with curiosity, didn't ask where they were going, she just followed. She feared if she spoke her fantasy might be broken and she'd find herself alone in her bedroom staring down over the town as she had the previous year.
Alone.
The river… they were going toward the river! She felt oddly happy at being able to discern their destination as if it meant she had unlocked a little piece of Aoshi.
She smiled in the dark, her smile sweet and genuine and unlike the thinly stretched smiles she'd been giving as of late. The others hadn't noticed and her smiles weren't lies, the upcoming festival had infused her with some excitement. It made her flutter a little inside.
But then… she'd always liked festivals.
This festival she and Aoshi had celebrated when she was a child, something she'd tried to forget as much as she longed to cling to that special memory. She could still recall seeing her little lantern float away from her and then Shikijou lifting her up onto his massive shoulders so she could watch it drift. So special…
So long ago…
Forever lost.
He stopped walking at the riverside as she expected. He turned toward the direction that led deeper into the city and she peered forward. Down the river she could see the candles glowing like a host of mystical fairies over the water.
Were they all good wishes?
Were there melancholy wishes there?
Pleas for forgiveness?
Wishes for rest?
Wishes for prosperity?
She smiled softly and clasped her hands together and dipped her head. Her eyes fluttered closed.
Would they be proud of her? Was she a good daughter? Was she good enough?
Was Aoshi okay, too?
Would his parents love him as much as she? Would they accept his mistakes and realize that no one was perfect?
Would everything work out? Would it ever?
Did the questions ever end?
She feared they didn't and they never would.
Several long minutes passed. When she looked up again the candles had almost disappeared with the quick travel of the current.
"Best of love, see you next year," she murmured.
She hoped her voice reached them.
She hoped it was enough but hope was all she could do.
"Let's go."
She blinked.
Oh!
He was so quiet. How had she forgotten he was there? Silent like a mouse…
Their special trip or moment or whatever it had been was over. There was a strange heaviness in her chest and realizing that. He hadn't even said anything to her.
Was he merely celebrating the holiday with her as he had when he was younger? Or did he just want to come with her?
What was it?
Should she ask? What if she didn't like the answer? If nothing else she knew he'd be brutally honest with her and that would ruin whatever hope she had, wouldn't it?
Why…
Why did everything have to end with questions!
She shook her head and decided to forget about it. She'd ask him nothing and maybe, maybe like today he'd seek her out again.
Maybe he wouldn't. She'd invest her hope in that. When they reached the Aoiya, and they did all too quickly, she paused outside. The mosquitoes were bad and she was eager to be back indoors. She had already felt the enthusiastic prick of their mouths upon her ankle.
Aoshi disappeared inside.
She turned a final glance upon her lanterns, her eyes flicking over them with faint interest before settling on Aoshi's.
It seemed perfect.
Even his script was more elegant than hers and yet she didn't envy his ability, she only seemed to admire him more.
As she turned to step inside she building something caught her eye.
Her name.
She took a step back absently smacking at her arm as she felt something bite her. She rubbed her forearm as she stepped toward the lantern peering at the very bottom line.
"Please gift me Misao."
She blinked.
Had she read that correctly?
She looked away and then looked back but the text had not changed. It stared back at her, black and stark.
She shivered despite the warm air.
"Gift me," she whispered.
She stepped back and glanced up toward his window. The room was dark but as she turned to go inside, she thought she discerned a flicker of movement.
Was he waiting?
Waiting?
Waiting like she'd been waiting?
Should she make him wait?
Should she go to him?
What should she do?
Cursed with indecision, she quickly hastened into the Aoiya and closed the door behind her locking the blood-sucking insects out.
What to do?
What to do?
"Misao-chan?"
The voice was high pitched and female from the direction of the kitchen, but instead she saw Okina.
The girl looked up, startled. Okina stood before her, a stern expression upon his wizened face.
"Something troubles you, my dear?"
She sighed heavily, her shoulders felt weighted.
"I don't know," she answered.
The stern expression lifted, lightening.
"Why don't you try a bit of fresh air?"
She scowled. "Outside? Are you crazy? There are mosquitoes out there, I'll be itching enough tomorrow as it is, I'm going to bed!"
To the relative sanctuary of her bedchambers, she fled.
She couldn't, however, just disappear into her room and brood and worry and fret over it. The window at the front of the hall drew her and she moved to it and peered outside. Little dots of light were visible here and there from her limited perspective of the city. Others and their wishes…
But what of Aoshi-sama's wish?
Gift me Misao.
She trembled again and brought her arms across her chest tightly. How could anyone tremble in such heat?
She stepped away from the window but still faced the panes of glass.
Gift me Misao.
What did that mean, really? She wasn't sure and she was certain that merely questioning it would get her nowhere.
She knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Aoshi-sama was waiting for her.
Waiting.
This time when the hope sprang up inside her she allowed it to pour all out. It filled her wholly and poured over. It overflowed within her, seeping out, making her palms sweat and her temples moisten. Anxiety rose to quell the uprising of hope and together they knotted in her belly making her feel queasy. She was tempted to simply hide in her room, to escape there and pretend she hadn't seen it, but that would be the easy way out.
She turned, determined to face her fears and uncertainties and willing to face heartbreak again. One only gained from persistence…
She stopped before she could take a step or even draw a full breath.
There, at the opposite end of the darkened corridor a shadow lingered. A tall, lithe shaped shadow, distorted by the faint light but she knew it. She recognized to whom it belonged, disfigured image on the wall or not.
Aoshi-sama was…
She searched, training her gaze hard into the darkness. Was he there?
Back, leaning heavily against the wall, she spotted him. His arms were crossed tensely and the line of his shoulders seemed stiff.
He looked positively frightening in the dark, maybe just at that moment. She told herself, again, she would not flee to her room and feign ignorance.
Gift me Misao.
Words she'd never forget, they rung and almost echoed in her head.
Her eyes felt tense and she knew she ought to relax or she'd end up with a headache. It was the same kind of feeling she got when she was trying to read a book in her room and the light was too low.
He was there… waiting.
Lifting her head determinately, she walked toward him.
She slowed as she neared him and he uncrossed his arms. For a moment, he was still, just waiting and she came a pace closer. As she did he raised one arm toward her in welcome, hand outstretched slightly.
The waiting was over.
Downstairs, all 3 lanterns flickered out.
AN: It had such potential...
It is my goal to complete all listed SL challenges. I have 2 I have to make up, The Green Tea Challenge, & The Candy Cane Challenge and maybe the Misao birthday lemon challenge, I didn't do that one either I don't think.
See you around later.