Title: Brown-Eyed People
Series: Rurouni Kenshin Kyoto Arc
Genre: General
Rating: PG (for language)
Word count: 1381
Warnings: not really any, for once
Pairing: Chou and Kamatari
Summary: Chou opens his big mouth and trouble ensues.
Please read and critique this for me. It was just a lot of rambling, the last little bits inspired by a quote from a book. I don't know if it flows well, so help me out.
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It was an elaborate affair, getting dressed for the evening.
On first went the white under-kimono, pristine and perfectly ironed. It was always washed separately, by hand, and air dried, no matter the weather. The iron was heated just so; every wrinkle flattened, then it was hung ceremoniously, to prevent new wrinkles from occurring.
The night's silk komon was no different; the lilac silk had been handled with the utmost of care. It was casual, but not too much so, with a pattern of tiny butterflies sprayed across it, embroidered in in the finest thread, all shades of the rainbow. Perfect; beautiful. Just like its owner.
The obi was wide, made of the same silk, but dyed a sea-foam green. It was tied neatly in the back, leaving a flat expanse of larger butterflies dancing across its wearer's midsection.
White tabi, delicately embroidered zori and a neat set of hair combs -shaped like sakura blossoms- completed the outfit. Of course, the kanzashi weren't to be added until that fine, dark hair had been combed to satisfaction; until it shone like spun silk in the soft glow of the candles.
It was the same; always the same. Sure, the under-kimono, the komon and the obi varied. Sometimes it was geta instead of zori on those pretty little feet. The dark hair was bound up or brushed back with a variety of different styles and colors.
But the ritual itself never changed.
And Sawagejou Chou never got tired of watching his beautiful comrade dressing.
He had never asked Kamatari where he went every night after performing his beautification ritual. It was none of his business and he knew it. Even if he were to be nosey and ask, Kamatari would never tell him. Curious? Of course he was. Hell yeah, he wanted to know where the Juppon Gatana's resident transvestite went every night. He had a sneaking suspicion that the other man was whoring himself, but then…He was a regular customer of the prostitutes in the red-light district and he'd never spotted his friend there once.
"Yer hair's gettin' long again." Chou commented from the doorway. He was leaned against the doorframe, eyes glittering appreciatively at the sight of the half-dressed man sitting at the Western-style vanity, primping in front of the mirror.
Kamatari sighed. "I don't want to cut it, really. But it's not practical and Shishio-sama prefers it short."
Chou prowled across the room towards the transvestite, causing Kamatari to blush modestly. In all the time Chou had spent witnessing his toilette, the blond had never crossed the threshold into his room. They had unintentionally created boundaries for themselves and, when the line was crossed, Kamatari found himself suddenly uncomfortable.
It wasn't that Chou would see anything he hadn't seen before. Far from it. They were both men, after all. They shared common body parts. No, it was more that he had gotten so used to Chou being in the doorway; a ghostly presence of something Kamatari couldn't quite put his finger on. A mock of his parents, perhaps; something he had witnessed when he was very small. In one of those waking nightmares; Chou was crossing the room, a predatory look on his face. Just like Kamatari's father had done to his mother.
Kamatari bit his lip, willing back the blush. His head bowed, involuntarily, hair curtaining his face. He really didn't want to cut it; it fell in a silky cascade just bellow his shoulders. It had been much longer than that when Shishio-sama had found him, but it hadn't passed his chin in years.
He was very aware of the other man's close proximity. He tensed, every muscle in his body urging him to move into a defensive position. But this was Chou; his friend. Or as close to a friend as a member of the Juppon Gatana could be. He felt fingers caressing his hair. Started. Dropped his blush. It landed on the top of the vanity with a clatter.
"Don't cut it. Not yet, at least." Chou marveled at the feel of Kamatari's hair between his calloused fingers. "Looks good this way." Those fine strands ran through his fingers like water. His hair was so dark…Inky black with an almost purple sheen to it, if the light hit it just right.
Kamatari's breath caught and he looked up at Chou, eyes wide, cheeks pink. What was the damn bastard getting at, touching him like that? "It isn't practical." He finally managed.
He shook his head back, swiftly disengaging his hair from Chou's fingers. Picked up to comb and ran it through one more time, then twisted the semi-long tresses, pinning the sleek mass up with the set of matched kanzashi.
Chou scowled. He'd made advances on Kamatari prior to this occasion. Never in the other man's own bedroom before, but they were always brushed off in the same fashion. "Where're you going?" He demanded, harsher than he meant to.
"Out." Kamatari's slender fingers were fumbling to get the knot of his obi right. He was agitated, annoyed with Chou, and his patience was wearing thin.
"Out where?"
"None of your business!" He snapped, shoving his foot into the left tabi. Chou never asked. None of them did. Why was he questioning it now? He pulled on the other split-toe sock, then slid his feet into a pair of clunky wooden geta. It didn't matter to them where he went. It didn't matter if he lived or died. He was just the freak; it didn't matter. He didn't matter to them. He repeated this to himself over and over again; it was something of a mantra at this point.
"A lady doesn't go out at night alone." Chou stated bluntly, arms folded across his chest.
"I'm not a lady." The dark-haired man snatched a haori off a hook in his wardrobe, whirling to glare at Chou, "And it's none of your business where I go."
"You're not a whore either!"
"No." Brandy-brown eyes flashed angrily, "I'm not." Kamatari wrapped the haori tight around him, knotting the haori-himo neatly to keep it closed. He stared at his companion. "Is that where you think I go? Red-light district?" He asked incredulously, "I thought you knew me better than that."
Chou flinched under the intense gaze, ashamed at himself for automatically assuming the worst. Kamatari was gathering some things, folding a soft sleep-yukata, a sure indication that he wouldn't be back until early morning. Everything went into a silk bag; the transvestite was thumping irately around the room, growling to himself.
"I am not a whore, Chou." He stated heatedly, "And, were I one, I certainly would not look for clients in the slums." One fine brow arched, "I'm nowhere near as uncivilized as you, after all." This said, he turned up his nose and flounced towards the door, pausing, waiting for Chou to leave. "Oh, and stay out of my room while I'm gone or I'll have your head."
Kamatari wasn't joking and Chou knew it. The hard look in his ginger eyes was the first indication. The blond edged towards the door, not daring to present his back for possible attack. Kamatari's gaze followed him out the door and down the hall.
Chou was miffed. This was a different side of Kamatari; one he never saw off the battlefield. He'd spent a decent amount of time with his homosexual teammate and was certain the man was -he often scoffed at this- gentle at heart. He was so carefree; so light-hearted. Where had this tough-as-nails attitude come from?
Back down the hall, the transvestite pick up his bag and slide the rice paper door shut, sighing as he trotted off in the opposite direction, the only sounds in the corridor the light rustle of silk and the clunk of his geta.
He knew why Chou worried over him like that. It was a common belief that brown-eyed people were soft. And warm. Timid and shy. Willing to please. In other words, helpless. With all he attempted and gave up to prove his love to Shishio-sama, it was easy to see why Chou might believe this stereotype.
But he was a cold-blooded killer. Lethal. Deadly. Beautiful. He, Honjou Kamatari, was not a man to be trifled with.
Look again, Chou.