Mitsuhide's not accustomed to meeting noblewoman or noble children; she's practically a princess! Especially compared to his old clothes that are patched up at the seams, and some of the colors became a little mismatched after wear and tear wore the original fabric out. And he looks like a beggar next to her in her pretty dress, that both looks fantastic on her, and doesn't seem like quite the right color.
Her hair's blonde and hangs flatly against her shoulders, and her smile isn't quite pure sunshine, but a bit more resilient, like the sun daring to peek out of a cloud or like moonlight perhaps. A little less bright, but just as beautiful when looked upon.
And Mitsuhide startles that she's even remotely close to him. He's not even a knight yet! He has years to go and an insane amount of work to do, but the ambition rests firm on his heart.
"I'm Kiki." She says with the ease and simplicity that most come easily for her.
"I'm Mitsuhide." He offers, a little embarrassedly. He has a last name, a surname, and yet it isn't a noble one, and he's half-afraid to say it. Because isn't his mother always warning him about the way they might be seen, especially as she patches up his clothes, and talks to him in a way that feels somehow stern and yet so affectionate?
She tells him that she hopes he succeeds, that one day maybe he will be a knight, a real one, and she'll be so proud of him then, but also proud of him even if he doesn't become one. She's tired and worn, and always taking care of all of them. And Mitsuhide wants to pay her back some and help her out a bit.
And yet, she goes quiet when nobleman are around, avoids brushing their shoulders lest she set them off somehow, and admits sheepishly that their clothes aren't the same type as the ones that the noblemen and noblewomen wear so often and so, so easily, without fear of little tears or an accidental splash from a puddle.
"It's nice to meet you." She tells him, and when she looks at him, beneath all of that little air of calm is a hint of sadness.
"What's the matter?" Mitsuhide asks, lowering his voice to avoid drawing attention to the two of them. Sadness doesn't need an audience after all.
"Nothing." Kiki sighs, and when Mitsuhide's gaze is both level and gentle, a kind of steady that says he won't mind even if she opens up, she eventually does, "It's just Papa and me." It's as easy as a sigh.
And Mitsuhide pictures that big house that she surely has, and pictures two plates at the dinner table, and only two people left to fill it up. It feels sadder than their way too small house, trying to hold all of them.
"I'm sorry." Mitsuhide tells her as if he could wrap up the sun and gift it to her, as if he could bring a little happiness or cheer into her life by those two simple words, even though he knows they are a little weak in comparison to what she must have lost.
"Mom died a while ago." Kiki tells him, nonchalantly as if she doesn't expect that to hit him like a ton of bricks, "And Papa has no other heirs but me."
And Mitsuhide doesn't know of heirs, but he does know of stepping up and helping out and being strong when the others can't.
The thought though of not having a mom to patch up clothes, to soothe you after a long and tiresome day, to lift up your dreams and make them possible and be a comfort even if they aren't is such a terrible thought for him. He's never imagined his life without her; she's wonderful in all of the ways that he fails so often to define.
"It's Mama and my sisters and me." Mitsuhide admits, "My dad died a while ago." It's like his memory is full of creases and folds like his clothes get when he's been outside all day, when his mama has to iron them all over again, like a light that goes dim and dimmer at the edges, until all you can see is semi-blackness.
"Your papa isn't there?" The look of shock on her face makes them mirrored twins of each other, "I'm sorry." She repeats his words with the same conviction as if she could snatch a star from the sky and somehow with a wish give him a papa back, just for him and his sisters too.
"We're a little like each other, huh?" Mitsuhide offers, though the words feel surprisingly small; they both are missing important parts of their families, and they both are given a kind of responsibility either by chance or God's Will or something, and so, it makes them a perfect pair or at least Mitsuhide thinks so.
"I guess so?" She gives him a confused look, and Mitsuhide no longer sees the image of class separation between the two of them. Her fancy dress becomes just a dress, and his patched up clothes become just patched up clothes.
The beginning of a friendship is forged, one that will defy odds stacked against it, and lead to a bond that isn't easily broken, one stronger than even superglue could leave it.