a/n: on oct 3rd, 2021, i added a new scene and edited this chapter a lot more thoroughly!
the frog in the well
"a frog in a well knows nothing of the great ocean"
the boy at the shrine
The orphanage was a small place. Barely held together by sticks and stones, it had a long, dreary history.
Having been around for several decades, the orphanage had seen to quite a few generations passing through, barely surviving the exchange of hands in the small village it called home. And based on one caretaker's account, it had seen it's fare share of countless battles, having at one point been a med-bay for urgent injuries and then a place to prepare dead bodies for burial.
Through the wars it had lasted through, it finally came to the current state of neglect and disrepair.
With children becoming orphans every day, however, operations somehow still continued, even with the meager support it received by its few donations and volunteers.
Still, people had died within the walls. And the children were well aware of this fact, longer stays tormenting the easy pickings of the freshly orphaned, taunting them with ghoulish stories of the dead.
But it wasn't long before the tables turned, when the new children arrived, and others left, whether by transfer or by gaining employment elsewhere. The children carried on this tradition of torment with nearly everyone.
Nearly everyone, because when it came time for Ayame and her brother to arrive, Jiraiya beat them up in the back where the adults weren't looking, and it became clear that the siblings needed to be steered clear of.
It was already their third orphanage—Ayame and Jiraiya learned to adapt quickly, and anywhere they went, no matter what, they stuck together. Because they only needed each other.
Even being a mere three years older, Jiraiya had raised Ayame himself, when their parents passed an untimely death. He was the only family she'd ever known. To her, with that confident, mischievous grin, he was the most important person in the world.
Completely detached from the other children, they watched as new ones arrived and left, and knew that they would probably be leaving soon too. Of course, neither of them knew what would come next for them, but they always tried their best to stay together. Both of them knew that there was always the chance of separation. Some things were out of their control when it came to the way adults treated them.
Most children stayed mere weeks before they were shuttled off to their next destination, aiming to escape the meager, almost molding rations that they'd been forced to eat. Anyone would escape the desperate circumstances for a chance to improve their lot, and there seemed to be endless options, even in the current atmosphere of war. Adults and children didn't seem too different, when the latter was forced to grow in a hurry or die for it.
After all, the kids were given choice over their own lives after a few lessons, where they were taught to somewhat read and write. A bit of arithmetic. Those that struggled with it, ironically left earlier than those that seemed to take to learning. Ayame couldn't help but find it sad as she watched the other children, but breezed through the lessons with her brother's help.
Then it came to the point that they could choose.
And the sibling's fates and futures fractured from each other's.
Children became shinobi by transferring to Konohagakure, the closest hidden village, if they passed a screening exam on the day a proctor came to recruit. Some children found homes that would take them in for manual labor, some children escaping to join bands of thieves, and a few chancing it on their own. There wasn't much security, kids ran away at the drop of a hat if they wanted and no one really tried to bring them back, overworked as they were managing the ones that stayed.
But there were also such cases where the children were, without a proper way to put it, bought from the orphanage. Their choice was stolen. These ones, if they ran, were caught and found. They called it 'adoption', but it was really just another way for the place to make money, the child becoming a sacrifice without even being asked, and as it didn't happen often, they were extra careful of the 'lucky ones'.
So when Ayame was told by the orphanage's director that she had been bought, not even bothering to phrase it in the kind circumstances of adoption, her only response was to blink and then nod, understanding in a moment of rare clarity that she had two choices. Chance running away, or give in.
Her choice was made before she thought too long about it, even as she had to grit her teeth.
Just yesterday her brother had told her he'd become the greatest shinobi to ever live and that he'd always protect her.
If only a part of that statement could come true, Ayame would try her very best for him.
"Where will I go?" she asked, finding solace in her thoughts.
"Don't be afraid, Ayame-chan," the director said, misreading her expression. "It's an opportunity that very few girls get. With this, you'll be able to make a lot of money in the future and be very happy. That sounds good, doesn't it?"
Even a six year old like her could hear the lie when he said.
"What is it?"
"Er, do you know of geikos?"
She shook her head.
The director shrugged. "Don't worry about it for now, you'll have plenty of your questions answered when they come for you tomorrow. Now, you best get on and say your goodbyes. You won't be seeing anyone here for a very long time."
His words sinking in, she nodded with her head lowered, refusing for her tears to be seen.
It was truly one of the last times she ever remembered crying, looking back on this moment years later when all of this was just one long, painful memory.
the boy at the shrine
When she was still small, her brother liked to recite to her stories about everything from the sky, to the heavens, to the deepest pits. She didn't exactly know where he learned it all himself—she never even saw him open a book—but it was food for thought when she was young and insecure.
The stories differed each time, even if at moments it sounded as if he was telling the same story. From themes to characters, to relationships and ideas. She would memorize them, and repeat the words in her head so often that it became second nature to listen and recall. She loved them. It was the only thing she really could, in those days.
Her favorites were the ones with the animals. It didn't matter which one—all of them had a spark of something more peculiar than the ones with humans. From foxes to deer to even koi fish. Such ordinary creatures but ones she didn't immediately understand and ones that could never easily understand her. Something about that sense of distance called to her; a disconnect that meant their experiences were a world apart from her, an escape from reality.
Instead, in their fantastic stories, they were much more interesting.
Most of them didn't have much of a point, but they were fun to listen to and good to forget about other things, if for a moment. Something different from the day to day boredom and the desires she repressed that plagued her, withholding the realization that real life was much sadder. Much more... morose.
Even so, it was the only reason at all that she could still hear her brother's voice. That they could still remain connected despite their paths having forked years ago. She cherished them, held the stories deep in her skull and her sternum for that very reason.
It was her only tie to something beyond herself—the stories were the only representation of her time spent with her last living relative. They were memories to keep them in touch.
They did not see each other often. They wrote to each other infrequently, on the whim any of their letters reached each other.
He lived his life attempting towards greatness and a legacy to last forever. It was the sort of life that kept him busy. The sort of life that meant she may never get to see him again, his life always at stake in the line of work he'd chosen. All the more, she held her remembrances, the delicate wisps of knowing. She would always have a brother to lean on.
Unlike him, she was secure in the knowledge she would be safe. She may have been bought from the orphanage, but that debt would be paid off quickly, even if it included her lessons, room and board, she'd get there and then she'd be left to make her own choices. She'd get to leave, and go far away—and be the one to visit him for a change.
Or, at least, that's how she idealized her future.
It was much nicer to think about than the scowling, rough-handed Okaa-san and the always frazzled girls that crowded around her in their shared shikomi duties. Nicer than waking up hours before sunrise to practice dancing and her instruments, to practice speaking and singing, and then having to help the younger girls do the same. Nicer than the floors she had to scrub, the letters she had to deliver, and the somewhat edible meals she had to cook for more mouths than she cared to recall. Nicer than having to wait for her misedashi ceremony, waiting to be acknowledged.
Nicer than a lot of things.
Of course, she couldn't deny that her position in life was already 'nicer than a lot of things'. She was fed, clothed, and had structure in her life that kept her on a narrow path. She was given opportunities, and respected, had friends and role models. Ayame, by all rights, should be satisfied.
But something she was discovering about herself, as the days went by and things didn't happen fast enough, was her greed. Admittedly, most people didn't have their freedom taken from them as children, and while it would be a long time before she had it back, she longed for choice, longed for her brother, and wished desperately for something very selfish in a world filled with violence and death.
A happy life.
Perhaps it was the side effect of all the great folktales swimming inside her head. Perhaps she was delusional and perhaps she should just remain obedient like the other girls. Perhaps—but she wasn't her brother's sister if she didn't have a spirit like his to match.
He was her greatest inspiration after all.
His stories were, more accurately put.
Especially, their favorite, the story of the two frogs in the well. The tale of a frog from the outside slipping into a well, only to find another frog that had lived there it's entire life. The latter unable to understand the experience and desire to leave such a comfortable home, being the only thing it's ever known. Ayame at times felt like that frog, living in the well, not realizing what could be explored out there.
But unlike that frog that decided to stay in it's shell of ignorant comfort, she had always wanted to see the ocean.
Except, she somehow didn't recognize it when she finally did.
the boy at the shrine
"Is it true? You've become a maiko?" Chizumi asked, grinning. Fresh out of the bath, her dark skin seemed to glow in the dim, flickering candlelight.
"I've just come from my misedashi," Ayame informed her best friend, unable to keep the smile off her face.
Chizumi yelled out into the room, making the other girls look up from their books in clear agitation. Whatever—it wasn't her problem that they didn't study when they were supposed to and needed to pull all-nighters.
"Finally!" Chizumi giggled to herself and elbowed Ayame in the side. "You've finally joined the rest of us. Can definitely say I'm excited to say goodbye to your home cooked meals!"
Ayame glowered briefly, used to the taunts, before shrugging it off and smiling good-naturedly.
"Okaa-san already has a few shikomi girls in order," Ayame informed her, waving her concerns aside. "For now, I actually get to go with the rest of you to ozashiki events. Kanan-onee-san even has a few things lined up for me this week and something big might be happening on my birthday."
"So soon! That's at the end of next month!" Chizumi blinked in surprise. "Though, you've always been the most talented of us. Even if you are the youngest, Okaa-san has always liked you the most and your onee-san is such a famous woman! Ahhh, I'm a little jealous." She pulled a face.
"Maa, don't be jealous. There's no way it's anything especially crazy," Ayame nibbled on the bottom of her lip in thought and shrugged. "Besides, you had your misedashi when you were sixteen. I'm not so far away from that."
"But Okaa-san has given you all the same lessons as the other girls for years now, and even had you perform at the Miyako Odori, and you've become a maiko at the age of fourteen! It's clear you're doing something different." Chizumi grunted and slipped onto her futon to press her face into her pillow, yelling into it, "Teach me your ways!"
She was clearly distressed.
"Technically, I'm close enough to be fifteen," Ayame pointed out, though she wasn't sure if it would help anything.
She was a little bit embarrassed—while it was true that she'd always excelled at her studies and had been allowed to join the maiko in their teachings, it didn't mean she was doing anything special to be noticed. It was just that she worked hard. In fact, it just showed that she was driven.
She had to be if she was going to at all leave this place and see her brother again. She had a cause to rally to.
"Your future is so bright, I've gone blind," Chizumi wailed into her pillow, causing Harumi to chuck a pencil at her back and Mana to very harshly shush her.
Ayame laughed, not knowing what to say.
If anything, she had the oddest, nervous feeling that what she had said was entirely and wholly false.
Call it woman's intuition.
the boy at the shrine
She was at the shrine on New Year's Day when it first happened.
It was evening, but the streets were illuminated by lanterns and kept warm by the mass of bodies milling around the shrine and stalls that had set up for the occasion. She was there to escape the house for a reprieve, one of the few times the most trusted girls were allowed to leave and celebrate. And Ayame had just gained their trust by becoming a meiko.
Internally, she had been praising herself in front of the saisenbako, getting ready to pray for further good fortune when her attention broke from her thoughts.
It was the sound of two hands smacking together loudly that caused her to look up but it was only what the boy said that made her stare. She'd heard a great deal of strange things in her life, birthed from time spent being told stories and stemmed from her great love of tall-tales and oddities. But never in her life had she heard something so ludicrous.
"I hope to marry the girl standing right next to me!"
He was looking right at her.
Striking white-silver hair and eyes as dark as the midnight sky, he wasn't bad looking. Cute, even, but he was incredibly short and incredibly stupid to think that he could say something so blatantly... disrespectful?
She didn't know what it was but it was certainly something.
Ayame swallowed thickly before turning to look back towards the saisenbako.
She had yet to give her coin and still feeling his gaze on her, Ayame tossed it in with a snap of her wrist. It clanked and clanged as it fell in but her mind was elsewhere as she rang the bell, not even recalling which deity it would call forward.
Certainly, her wish tonight wouldn't be granted—and neither would his.
Ayame bowed twice, clapped her hands twice and faced forward even as she saw nothing.
It was at this point that she should have been praying.
Instead, she muttered in a low tone, "I wish for my future husband to be taller than me."
Then, with her eyes closed, she bowed one last time.
It was a waste of a shrine visit. Quite possibly, a spell for bad luck by the way it was turning her stomach.
As Ayame turned to go, disappointed in herself as she'd let herself get distracted, she wasn't expecting the hand that shot out to catch her wrist.
She twisted to look at him and glared, chancing upon his wide-eyed expression as if he himself hadn't realized what he was doing.
"What is your name?" he blurted and she stared back at him.
"You're not supposed to say your wishes out loud or they won't come true," she told him, not even sure why she was gracing him with a response. "Our wishes won't be coming true."
Not that Ayame ever saw marriage in her future, she belatedly realized she might have damned any future relationships with tall men and further found herself cursing him in her head.
"My name is Hatake Sakumo," he replied, as if he hadn't heard her. His palms were sweaty and his eyes were glistening. Ayame was very uncomfortable. "Your name?" he repeated and she squinted at him.
"Aya," she answered, deciding it would be best to remain at least somewhat anonymous. A good middle ground, considering she wasn't very good at lying to people.
"Will you be here again soon?" he asked, and though his hand was hot, his grip was firm.
He looked younger than her but there was something familiar about him. Something that reminded her of her brother. Was he a shinobi? Or perhaps it was his light hair and in part the ambitious gleam in his gaze. Were they a breed of some sort?
Ayame rolled back on her feet, inasmuch as she could in her geta.
"No," she told him, quite firmly and decided then that she would pull away.
She expected resistance but his hand fell limp at his side the second she tugged her arm from him.
"I'll be waiting," he told her, cheeks bright red and dark eyes still shining as they reflected the stars in the sky.
Too bad for him—she only came once a year.
the boy at the shrine
"Maiko get all dressed and ready and it's all for nothing. I know we're minarai but it's not like we haven't seen the dances a thousand times already. Why do we even have to go to such lengths when we're just going there to talk to old men?" Mana whined, collapsed against the doorway with her legs splayed out and her kimono hiked up to her thighs.
"I wonder the same," Chizumi added with a great exhale. "I had to spend four hours on my hair today! Four! I saw one of the older girls put on their wigs and be ready under half the time."
"It's because you have such curly hair, takes time to straighten out," Harumi chimed in from the corner, hands quietly strumming the strings of her shamisen.
"Curly hair, straight hair, won't make a difference when we're older and can wear the wigs," Chizumi shot back and fell to her futon with another sigh following as soon as she laid on her side and got comfortable. "The damage to my hair with all this extra heat straightening it will turn me bald, and then I'll really have to use the wigs," she muttered.
"Okaa-san will notice all of your efforts and you'll be performing soon enough, don't worry," Ayame said with a wave of her hand, before returning to clipping her toenails. She hoped they moved onto much more interesting things soon—there was only so much complaining that she could handle without blowing her lid. She needed to keep her spirits high if she were to keep focus.
"Of course, you don't have anything to worry about," Mana snapped, emerald green eyes seething. Somehow, the bags under her eyes only darkened the effect and made it all the more effective. Ayame was almost impressed.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, unsure if she was inviting trouble or not.
"Says the girl who caught the attention of a Daimyo's son in the first week of being a maiko! Don't even try and pretend you don't realize how popular you are at ozashiki," Mana muttered, narrowing her eyes even further at Ayame.
"Or that, if you weren't so young you would have already had your mizuage," Harumi tossed in, eyes and hands still focused on her shamisen. It added a gentle backdrop to their discussions normally—if she wasn't feeling as irritated as she was.
Ayame made a noise in the back of her throat.
"She might have even been at the erikae stage if it weren't for her age," Chizumi mumbled, looking as if she was about to doze off.
"I don't know what any of you are talking about," Ayame informed them curtly, not willing to rise to false flattery. They just used it to attack themselves.
Mana rolled her eyes. "Of course you don't! You never do. For that, you'd actually have to listen to the things we say instead of daydreaming all your free time away."
It was Ayame's turn to roll her eyes as she set aside the nail clippers and tossed her mess into the trash.
"Regardless, we'll all become geiko eventually. Stop worrying so much," she told them out of pure exasperation.
Then, sliding in under the covers of her futon, she turned on her side and signaled her dropping out of the conversation.
Tomorrow she would meet with a possible future danna—and she certainly needed rest for that headache.
the boy at the shrine
And a headache it indeed was.
Ayame ended up seeing Hatake Sakumo much earlier than she expected to because of it. Much earlier than she wanted to—which was another way of saying that she would have rather forgotten about him. Preferably, long before she got a chance to see his face again.
Unfortunately, he also hadn't forgotten about her.
"Kanan-onee-san," Ayame murmured behind a raised hand so as to discreetly call for her. She watched as the blonde turned to look back at her, annoyance clear in her gaze. Ayame didn't pull away—she was used to her mentor giving her the cold shoulder.
"What is it? Can't it wait until the ozashiki is finished?" Kanan-onee-san returned just as quietly and without making much movement with her lips.
"Tell me again, which one is to be my danna?" Ayame asked, casting her gaze around the room and still disgruntled each time she saw the same face of the boy who hadn't been able to quit looking at her.
"His name is Shimura Danzo," Kanan-onee-san answered, though with an exasperated roll of her eye, jutting her chin discreetly in his direction.
"But who is the kid at his side? His son?" Ayame asked, unable to help herself.
"His bodyguard," Kanan-onee-san answered, almost too soft to be understood.
At hearing it, she wasn't able to hide her frown of confusion. Inside, she couldn't envision him protecting anyone, let alone himself. He seemed too small, too slight, and all around too naive. He couldn't even wish for things properly—what skill did he have in being a guard?
"Why would that man need a bodyguard?" Ayame asked moments later, not sure why she wasn't letting it go.
No. She knew why—it was too ingrained in her to ask questions, even when uninterested.
She'd been trained to be a conversationalist, after all.
"It's because of the war, of course," Kanan-onee-san said, her answer still soft and barely noticeable amongst the conversations flitting about the room filled with interesting people of all kinds. "Shimura-dono is a strong shinobi, but it's a war and he can't easily trust people outside the hidden village, can he? It just can't be helped—it's the first war of its kind. No one knows what to expect when it's the entire world of shinobi fighting like they are."
Ayame paused as she chewed on Kanan-onee-san's words.
The Shinobi World War—first of its kind.
Had it already gone so far?
Ayame used to live just outside of Konohagakure when she was small, back when her old obaa-san, not even a family relative, was still taking care of them before her death. She hadn't thought much of the place, ever since she'd been bought by the Okiya. Although, while the village she resided in now was, for the most part, untouched by the stresses of the war, she still heard some news from time to time as people so loved to talk politics in ozashiki.
For some reason, it hadn't actually hit her until then that there was actually a war occurring while she had always been so focused with other things. She wondered why Jirai-nii had never talked about it.
She worried for her brother. She tried to remind herself that he was in good hands, thinking of the last letter she'd received from him, with such a famous shinobi as his teacher. But it was then that she worried most for him. She wondered, gazing at the face of Shimura Danzo, what notoriety would bring to him and his teammates? Lastly, she wondered if she might ever see him again, if things were truly so awful.
"Kanan-san, a pleasure," an unfamiliar voice interjected into the blue of Ayame's thoughts.
"Shimura-dono," Kanan-onee-san bowed as gracefully as she'd always done it and Ayame floundered for a moment at what to do until she followed a fraction too late with a bow of her own. Damn. She'd been more distracted than she cared to admit.
"And the name of this lovely sapling?" Shimura-dono asked, and though it was only for a moment, she met his gaze.
"Ayame," Kanan-onee-san answered, shifting to give room for her to step forward.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Shimura-dono," she spoke lowly and softly, bowing once again for good measure.
"And she is a maiko of your mother's Okiya?" he wondered, sounding as if he couldn't believe it. She heard this often—she still didn't understand it as she'd never bothered to ask why they were always so amazed.
"Not quite yet," Kanan-onee-san rushed to explain without sounding rushed in the slightest. "She has yet to have her mizuage and it'll be a while more before she has her erikae."
"She is the one you wanted me to meet, no?" Shimura-dono asked, looking amused.
"You asked to meet my most promising geiko and out of all my girls, she is the one I know will go the furthest. In your care, she'll be able to entertain the Daimyo of the world. A lucky piece to have in the war—I'm sure you know the benefits of that."
"How long until she becomes a geiko?" he asked, eyeing Ayame now with more curiosity than before.
"As she's fourteen, I estimate that when she is eighteen she'll be ready to formally entertain guests unchaperoned."
"Four years," Shimura-dono chuckled to himself before nodding, "it'll be long enough for me to properly assess her skill for myself."
"I hope to meet all your expectations," Ayame interjected, hiding her annoyance at not having been allowed to speak for herself.
"That is only the bare minimum of what I expect," he informed her and she blinked, miffed at the clear doubt in his eyes.
He bowed dismissively towards Kanan-onee-san and slid himself in the direction of another geiko, who warmly greeted him with a coy red smile. Behind him, following at a set distance away, the Hatake boy turned to look at her and gave her the barest of signals towards the door.
Ayame stared at him.
What did he expect from her? To suddenly leave the ozashiki as though that wouldn't mean losing the chance as forming better contacts than that snob of a man, Shimura Danzo?
Though, if Kanan-onee-san's words were anything to go by, there most likely wouldn't be a better contact.
Ayame broke eye contact and stared at the ground with a firm resolution not to leave. Or to peek at him. Or think of him.
For a time, it was all she could do.
the boy at the shrine
Festivities and alcohol were to blame for the mess she was in.
While most ozashiki guests were polite and left just as they were—if a bit tipsy from the sake—there was always those few that took it too far. The ones that were too rowdy, too uncontrolled, rich, hungry, and loud.
It was because of them, and abided by the fact that Kanan-onee-san was caught among them, that Ayame just so happened to find herself outside.
And ensnared in Hatake Sakumo's arms.
He gazed at her now and while she knew she had him to thank for holding her upright after having just nearly face planted into the mud, she held no gratitude. She would have rather taken the hit to the face.
As she stared back at him, not bothering to hide her distaste, he realized what she was saying without words. Swallowing, he adjusted his hold on her, hand on her waist and pulled her back onto her feet. She stood next to him, close enough to smell his oaken scent and see what looked like glimpses of fireflies in his hair—all details that she noticed before she could stop herself.
His hand was warm on her back.
"I'm sorry about... the dirt," he mumbled, looking down at her hands that were still white with paint. She eyed the specks that ruined what was once immaculate and unmarred.
"It's just dirt," she told him frankly, "it'll wash off."
"Right," he agreed, and then met her gaze with full focus. Intent and certain. "I didn't expect to meet you here, of all places."
"Of course you hadn't," Ayame regarded him with a thin veneer of exasperation. "For you to expect that, you'd have to actually know me."
Hatake-san would have never made that wish if he had known her, after all. Even she acknowledged she was too troublesome to marry.
Not her problem though.
Sooner or later, he would realize she wasn't who he thought she should be. Then he'd grow bored and it would become a fond memory for him, praying for a girl to marry him at the shrine on the first day of the new year. Perhaps he'd think of it and call himself silly in the future. More likely, he'd forget it ever happened at all.
Beside, he was a shinobi and Ayame had only enough room in her heart for one of those.
"I want to," he blurted out, arm tightening on her waist and pressing her closer to him. She could hear his heartbeat thundering inside his chest. The calm beat in her own didn't seem so natural the longer she stayed pressed against his.
Ayame lifted a brow at him.
"That is," he continued, looking sheepish as he pulled away, "I want to get to know you."
"Why?" she asked, deciding that she had a right to know why she was being pursued so desperately. "Just because I'm a little pretty?" She scoffed at him and pushed him away from her. He let himself be moved.
"No? I mean, maybe? I don't know," he mumbled and looked confused by his own response. How did he expect that to make any sense to her either?
"So, it is because of my face," she summarized, piqued by his own lack of sensibilities and self understanding.
"Maybe at first?" He made a weird face but after swallowing, he brightened and reached for her hands. She didn't know why, but she let him take them. "It's different now. I don't know what it is but I feel something. It's weird, I can't describe it very well... I've never been very good at emotion but..."
He trailed off, looking like he was a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing but with no words escaping him.
Ayame looked him straight in the eye.
"You're an idiot," she informed him, and it was out of a sense of duty—if he had no self awareness, somebody had to tell him. She didn't mind being that somebody. In fact, she enjoyed the responsibility.
"I've never been called that before," he whispered, a strange look of awe crossing his features and making him look less like a fish and much more like a dog.
Tch.
"You're weird," Ayame muttered, tempted to pull her hands away from his warm ones. But, well, she was a bit cold... and he was like a heater.
Maybe the weird one was her.
Hatake-san laughed and whatever it is she had said, she'd already forgotten it. Ayame looked at him, exasperated by the oddity of his persistence and his comical way of expressing himself.
She was the one that should be laughing—taking people like him seriously was asking for bad things to happen.
"You look so much like a painting," he said, cheeks red with what might have been a blush if it wasn't so damn cold outside. Gazing up at her, another reminder that he was just a kid, he continued with a warmth pooling in his dark midnight eyes, "it's unexpected hearing you be so blunt."
"If I'm not honest, how is anyone supposed to understand me?" she asked, rolling her eyes at his short-sightedness.
"I guess I'm just not used to understanding people then," he laughed, though it was a bit of a sad one.
Ayame looked away and muttered, low enough that she hoped he didn't hear her, "When you're a shinobi, actions speak louder than words. Isn't that how you people come to understand each other?"
Why am I trying to console this moron?
Maybe she was the real idiot.
"I guess that's also true," and like that, he looked so much happier. "You're very smart, aren't you? That woman said you were her most promising student. We have that in common."
He looked very pleased with himself.
Ayame squinted at him. "How do we have that in common?"
"I may not look it, but I'm a jounin," his lips quirked and he scratched at his cheek as if he was saying something embarrassing.
"You look ten years old," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, unconvinced of what he was saying. Though, logically speaking, it would make sense as to why he was allowed to be the bodyguard of someone so presumably important.
"What?" he looked shocked to know this, eyes widening and cheeks growing a shade darker. "No way! I'm fourteen already and I'll be fifteen this year!"
It was Ayame's turn to be surprised.
"You're my age?" she asked, blinking and gazing suspiciously at the clear height difference they had between each other. She was nearly an entire head taller than him and though she had always been on the tall side for girls, boys were supposed to be different.
It was sudden but she felt for a moment that she should pity him.
"We're the same age?" he smiled at that, a reaction that stood in stark contrast to hers.
Ayame scrutinized him from top to bottom and sighed when she reached the sight of his toes. "How can someone like you be a jounin? Even my brother hasn't gotten so far and his teacher is Sarutobi Hiruzen."
He looked even more surprised to hear that than anything else, and for a moment, she was also at a loss for words.
Moments passed with them gazing at each other, until he finally nodded.
"I think I've met your brother before," he informed her and she felt a jolt of joy at the mention of him. "He's the loud one with red markings on his face, isn't he?"
"That's him," Ayame confirmed it, unable to keep herself from smiling. She refocused on his face, and squeezed his hands. "How is he? Do you know if he's eating well? I haven't seen him in a while, and he hasn't responded to my letters so I've been worried."
"I saw him a little before new years," Hatake-san informed her and she grinned at the thought. That was at minimum a week ago. "He seemed busy but not any worse for wear."
Appeased by the good news, Ayame felt herself relax and sway with the release of tension in her body. His hands seemed almost like an anchor keeping her standing, and his warmth kept her from the chill of the winter night.
"If you see him when you get back to your village," she began, and looked out at the buildings surrounding the tea house they were at. She had to swallow before she continued, "please tell him to write me back. Even a few words will do. He has to know he isn't alone and that I worry for him."
"You really love your brother," he noted, blinking, but nodded after a moment. "Okay, I'll tell him."
"Good," she sighed out in contentment before pulling her hands out of his. Gazing at him from the corner of her eye and watching his face just barely show the effects of disappointment, Ayame decided that she had no other choice but to reward him.
She held out her arm and waited for him to take it.
When he didn't, Ayame rolled her eyes and gestured to the snowy road.
"Are you going to take a walk with me or not?" she asked, rather impatient.
"Oh," he breathed, surprise flitting across his face before he smiled and rather than taking her elbow, he reached for her hand.
Ayame, for some reason or another, felt heat rise up to her checks the moment his fingers interlocked with hers. Even after he'd held her hands before, it somehow seemed far more intimate...
"You wanted to get to know me, right?" she checked, unsure if that had changed in the midst of their conversation.
"Yes, I do," he answered, quick to do so.
Looking away from him and tugging him down the steps that led to the muddy road, Ayame tried her best not to ruin the ends of her kimono. The shoes she could always wash, but fabric was always a pain in the ass to clean.
"I'm an apprentice under that woman you saw, training to be a geiko," she informed him, absentminded in the way she spoke. "My birthday is on the last day of January and I'll be turning fifteen then. On that day, I think I'll be having my mizuage. Kanan-onee-san has been hinting at it happening soon and tonight has only helped confirmed it."
"What does a mizuage entail?" he wondered, helping her cross over a mound of snow.
Nose running from the cold, Ayame looked away so as to hide her face and eventually came to the decision that she would just tell him the truth.
"It depends on what Kanan-onee-san decides," she informed him, and just to test his reaction, she added, "but it might mean I'll be losing my virginity on that day."
He stumbled, cursing as he attempted to regain his balance and with her attached to him as she was, it seemed doing that involved shoving her into the snow. Ayame got a mouthful of it as she hit the ground and felt her hands hit ice in her own attempt to save herself. She tipped sideways, and trembled in shock as she shifted to gaze up at him.
Pain shot up her arms when she tried to move and she worried she might have broken something—what did they feed shinobi to make them so damn strong?—and decided to stay still to beg off the possibility of more pain.
It sunk in anyway.
"You idiot!" she screeched, as she gazed down at her wrist which definitely did not look okay to her.
Hatake-san stared at her with wide eyes, horrified.
She glared at him for as long as she could but soon, as the shock left her body, her eyes filled with moisture and the sight of him in front of her blurred.
Ayame had to see past murky depths, attempting to blink away the onslaught of tears, in order to regain any sense of her former strength.
She didn't want to cry—didn't want to sob because of any physical pain. What would that make her, when her brother had gone through so much worse? Ayame bit her lip and took in a shuddering breath, steeling herself before looking back towards her wrists. It took a moment to blink away the tears but when she did, she realized she was a lot calmer than she expected to be.
One of them was fine. The other was...
Unfortunately the one that was not fine, was her prominent hand. Her left. It fell slackened and bent at an angle that she knew was not meant to be possible.
"You broke my wrist," she accused him, wincing at the way her voice warbled. She had never felt her age until that point, like a child whining.
Sakumo said nothing but he'd already closed the distance between them, picking her up and cradling her in his arms. Like she was an actual child. She couldn't see his face, unable to look up without hitting his chin with her forehead. But if she could, she would have been glaring at him like she had never done before.
With absolute hate and fury.
"You're such a moron! I'll never forgive you if this ruins things for me," she informed him, turning her voice as cold as she snow she'd fallen into.
Ayame could hear him swallow but he said nothing after that.
Probably too afraid to.
chapter one - end
Language Guide;
Shikomi - first stage in training to be a geisha(geiko), and it's basically being a servant to the Okiya.
Saisenbako - an offering box
Misedashi - a debut ceremony where a shikomi becomes a maiko
Miyako Odori - capital city dance, an annual public performance by maiko and geiko.
Minarai - a maiko who shadows geisha and watches performances to learn
Ozashiki - geiko gathering in tea houses
Mizuage - coming of age ceremony, once meaning the loss of virginity but now represented by the topknot being cut from the hair. A private affair.
Erikae - the ceremony in which the maiko becomes a geiko
Danna - geiko's patron/sponsor, typically a wealthy man
Okiya - lodging house for maiko and geiko for the duration of her nenki (contract/career as a geiko)
Age Guide;
Jiraiya - 17 (Nov 11)
Hiruzen - 35 (Feb 8)
Danzo - ^ (Jan 6)
Sakumo - 14 (Sep 3)
Ayame - 14-15 (Jan 31)