Hotohori made his way slowly to Miaka's room, his heart heavy although he tried to make sure no one was able to see his inner pain. He didn't want anyone to interrupt him on the way, or to pull him away from the task at hand. He had something very important which he needed to speak about with Miaka, and he couldn't afford to put it off any longer than necessary.
Tamahome was back, healed, and just as much in love with Miaka as he had been before Nakago's poison had worked through his body. Miaka, despite her lack of rejection toward Hotohori's own proposal, was still very much in love with the other man.
Hotohori didn't want to come in between that. So, in order to do the right thing, he was going to go to Miaka and retract his proposal to her. He didn't want her to feel that he would come in the way of her relationship with Tamahome, no matter how much he loved the young woman. It pained him more than words could ever describe, but he was a man of honor if nothing else and would not allow Miaka's heart to be hurt any more.
Finally, he had arrived at Miaka's room. The door was slightly ajar, so he paused, in case she had company. He didn't want to interrupt if she and Tamahome were talking.
"Ah, Miaka, you are a lucky girl," a familiar alto said, sounding wistful.
Relieved that it was Nuriko speaking with Miaka and not Tamahome, Hotohori raised his hand to knock. However, it froze at Miaka's next words.
"Hotohori likes you, Nuriko. Maybe, when you become a woman, he will notice you more?" Miaka said, sounding hopeful.
Nuriko gave a laugh. It sounded forced, almost pained. "Hotohori-sama will never notice me, I'm afraid. Even if I were to become a woman, I am rather certain that he wouldn't look at me twice even then. He is very much in love with you, Miaka."
There were a few moments of silence, and a rustle of cloth. "Nuriko, you shouldn't say things like that. I know Hotohori has feelings for me, and I do care about him. But Tamahome is the one that I love. When I have to tell Hotohori, I am certain he would like your company then. You are always there for him, to comfort him when he needs you. Even if he does not love you in order for you to be his wife, he does love you as a friend," Miaka replied.
"I suppose I will have to accept that. There is not much else I can do. It does not matter if I love Hotohori with all my heart, and always will, because he will never view me that way. I have to accept what I cannot change," Nuriko replied softly.
"Oh, Nuriko," Miaka said sadly, and he could just imagine her wrapping her arms around Nuriko, pulling the other into a comforting embrace.
Feeling as though he was unable to breathe, Hotohori backed away from the door, his hand dropping to his side as if it was too heavy to hold up any longer. He had known of Nuriko's infatuation with him. It was hard not to, given the violet-haired seishi's flamboyant personality. However, he'd never really stopped to think that Nuriko would actually be deeply in love with him, as he was with Miaka and Miaka was with Tamahome. It was like someone had dropped his own palace upon his head, leaving him feeling stripped and vulnerable.
At the same time, he felt like the most horrible person in the world. His own love for Miaka was so powerful that he'd never noticed Nuriko's feelings for him. To think that someone had felt the same pain in their heart as he had in his own at the thought of his beloved belonging to someone else... To think that he had been the cause of such pain...
Hearing Nuriko's soft cries was the last straw. Hotohori turned on his heel and fled, as though he was a criminal fleeing from the scene of the crime. He couldn't imagine that he had reduced Nuriko, of all people, to tears. Nuriko was the powerful one, the one that could punch holes through walls as though they were nothing more than cardboard. He was the embodiment of all things strong and powerful, and he was back there sobbing on Miaka's shoulder.
Finally reaching his room, Hotohori slammed his door shut and gasped for breath. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the paleness of his skin. He walked over to the small desk and sat in his chair, releasing his hair so he would be able to brush it.
It took many strokes for his breathing to calm down to normal and for color to begin appearing in his cheeks once again. He'd been thinking, his thoughts whirling around in his head, like a dog chasing its own tail. Around and around without any apparent end.
Nuriko loved him. That way.
The question he found himself asking most often, though, surprised him. He couldn't believe he was even considering it. Yet the idea would not vanish from his thoughts.
Did he love Nuriko that way?
He had no answer for himself.
Not a yes...
But not a no, either...