Year Two: Summer
Heart springing to her throat, Hisana stares, eyes wide, mortified. "Is that it?"
Byakuya glances around the room. "That was the punchline." When his gaze finds her again, he holds an expression as if to ask, 'Was it good?'
No. No, it was not good. None of it.
But, she can't say that. At least not with those words.
He stares at her.
She stares back at him.
A small furrow forms between his brows. "Was it that bad?"
Hisana shifts uncomfortably on her sitting pillow. Her lips twitch, and she glances around the room. The restaurant's fusuma are of cranes and fish. While the watery colors are pretty, they don't spark any grand inspiration from which she can draw. "Do you have anything else?"
"No," he says, brows rising in disbelief. "How bad was it?" His voice lowers to a whisper.
Hisana struggles for a moment to put her thoughts to words and strangles. Nothing. There's no combination of sounds or letters that she can cobble together to describe how bad his material is while also being gentle about it.
And, boy, does she try.
Really, really, really tries.
Better rip the bandage off.
"It's terrible," she decides, wincing at the boldness of her announcement.
Byakuya's eyes widen. His lips part. She feels the swirl of his reiatsu, and, when it connects with hers, she swears she can sense his emotional residue, and it's that of panicked disbelief.
"Really?" he asks, his expression unchanging. "I told Seike and—"
"They work for you," she is quick to note. "They also want to keep their jobs."
"I also told Kamezō, and he said it was funny."
"Who's Kamezō?"
"My cousin."
"He's afraid of you." Hisana feels confident in this assessment despite never having met Kamezō.
Byakuya gapes.
"When you said they found it funny, did they laugh during your set?" she asks.
"No."
Hisana grimaces. "When is this talent show?"
"Tomorrow."
Her nose scrunches up as if this news tastes particularly bitter. "I take it you don't have the time to—"
"By tomorrow morning?" He sounds incredulous.
"Why did you—"
"I didn't. Someone else signed me up."
"Well, just back out."
"Back out?" he gasps, sounding equal parts bemused and indignant.
Of course, his arrogance would rise to full mast. "Or, correct the record. Just say, 'Hey, I didn't sign up for this. Thanks, but I'm good.'"
"If I back out now, they'll think I'm talentless."
He's not wrong, a fact that sends Hisana into a fit of laughter. She recovers swiftly enough, she thinks, to spare his feelings with a kindly, "You have talent; it's just not this."
"Do I have talent?" he parrots back.
Hisana chuckles. "Yes. Your calligraphy is beautiful," she counters with the truth.
"Is it?"
"Yes. It is. No one is giving you false comfort there."
He smirks. "Unfortunately, I can't perform calligraphy on stage."
"Can you dance?"
He blinks.
"Sing?"
More blinking.
"Swallow swords?"
His brows rise, and his lips pull into a compact line.
Hisana squints, as if maybe an idea will come if she tenses hard enough. No dice. "Well, maybe this is salvageable," she says.
"I'm listening."
Hisana rolls her shoulders back and flips her hair as if she is about to cast an intense spell. "I mean. It would be sort of avant-garde, telling jokes so weird and just pausing for the applause where there shouldn't be any. Like, people will laugh just to fill the awkwardness. It would be performance art."
It would be something, for sure.
Byakuya laughs. Actually, laughs. His laughter is full and rich. And, she doesn't know what to do with that information.
So, she sits, slightly stunned and slightly enamored.
"Would you come?" he asks, grinning.
"To watch you?"
"Yes."
She pauses. No. She really does not want to be part of a performance piece. Hearing the set was hard enough the first time.
But….
He looks so earnest, so hopeful, and she's still a little intoxicated from his laughter.
"Of course." Inwardly, her soul cringes, but she covers it up with a smile.
His grin widens, and he reaches to take her hand. Before his fingers can find hers, he stops, bracing as if he might burn himself on her. "My apologies—" he begins. Concern carves deep lines in his face.
She stares at him, not understanding. "For what?"
"Your conditions. You said no—"
"You still remember my conditions?" she splutters.
His face goes blank. "Of course."
"From almost three years ago?"
"Yes."
She cannot believe it.
Certainly, he hasn't always….
Although, now that she thinks about it, Hisana has always been the one to make the first move. About two years ago, she attributed this fact to indifference before concluding that propriety must demand his reserve since he was always willing to engage. Funny that she's been wrong this entire time. Apparently, it's not propriety but a promise that stays him. How intensely weird of him to think those conditions were evergreen. Also, how intensely inconvenient of him to make that assumption, which now leaves her to decide whether to unleash him.
Part of Hisana wants to do just that because it would be nice to have reciprocity in this way. As strange as it sounds in her head, there is a mental load of judging his consent to acts of intimacy, especially given his propensity for hiding all outward expressions of emotion.
'But,' the other part of her chimes, 'it is also nice to have control over something in Seireitei.'
On balance, though….
Hisana slides her hand against his and smiles. "You may take my hand whenever you wish, Byakuya Kuchiki. Consider those previous conditions null and void."
His cheeks flush with blood, but there is such tenderness in his expression to tease him would be cruel.
When Hisana arrives at her dorm late that night after three hours of stocking units at the Co-Op, Tsuna is still awake and is tearing through her old kimono. It looks like a silk factory just exploded in their room.
"So, all of these," Tsuna pauses to make a slashing gesture across her throat, "are out."
"All of them?" Hisana stares down at the garments. "You're going to sell them, right?"
"No way!" protests Tsuna. "They're so out of date, who would want these?"
Hisana's brows jump at this question. She knows a few reliable fences who could move pricey kimono. She could probably negotiate good rates, too, especially since they aren't hot. "Loads of people. Maybe not here—"
"Hisana," shrieks Tsuna, "don't you dare say it."
"Say what?"
"Say Rukongai. No. No. No. A million times no."
"What's wrong with Rukongai? People there need clothes, too."
"My father's life's work shall not be devalued by allowing peasants to wear these fine silks. Some of these took literal years of his life."
So, destroy the garments that took years to complete rather than allow a peasant to wear them….
Just when Hisana thinks she's heard it all. This.
It steals her breath.
"Sorry," says Tsuna, realizing her mistake with an apologetic glance. "You don't count."
"What?"
"You know. You're here. You're no longer a Rukon citizen. You belong to Seireitei, now."
Hisana doesn't like the sound of that….
"Plus," Tsuna continues, "it's pretty clear to me that you're seeing someone important, and that's great advertising for my father." To add credence to the last point, she waves a small embossed letter in front of her face.
"What's that?"
"An official letter." Tsuna grins. "To you. From the Gotei 13."
Hisana's brows furrow. "What?"
"Looks like an invitation."
Hisana extends her hand out, palm-side up. "Give it."
"Wait!" Tsuna gasps, eyes widening as she searches the envelope. "Is this? No. It can't be."
"Hand it to me."
"Can I open it? Please." More googly eyes.
"Is it addressed to you?" asks Hisana, voice drier than the desert.
"Hisana!"
Hisana wiggles her fingers. "Hand it over."
"Please?"
"Fine," Hisana sighs and drops her arm down to her side. "Open it."
She doesn't really care. It looks too fancy to be bad news. Bad news usually comes in large plain packets with sparse script, and she usually hears about it first during her runs at the Eighth.
"Oh my!" Tsuna trills. "I. Cannot. Believe. It. How in the world did you manage to score these, Hisana?" Excitedly, she waves a set of tickets and a pamphlet.
"What are they?"
"You are kidding?"
Hisana stares at Tsuna, unamused.
"Seriously. You must be kidding." Tsuna stands there, jaw on the floor, waiting for an explanation. "You're telling me that you got tickets to the 75th Annual Arts and Spirits Event without actually entering the lottery for them?"
"Is that what the lottery was for?" Hisana asks, thinking this might be her best excuse for avoiding a round of 1,500 questions with Tsuna.
"Hisana," hisses Tsuna. "The lottery results came in weeks ago. These tickets were recently acquired. And judging by how good the seats are, you must have a friend high up there in the pecking order. So, spill." She points the tickets at Hisana like they are the tip of a blade.
"Spill what?"
"Who is your contact? Is it Mr. Nightly Walks?"
"Maybe my lottery results got delayed since I'm a peasant?"
Tsuna shakes her head and shoots Hisana the gaze equivalent of, 'Don't you even dare.' "If that were the case, you'd get a singular ticket to one event, and it would be the worst event, and you'd be in the nosebleeds."
Hisana snatches the tickets from Tsuna with a well-timed yank and quickly cards through them. There are a lot of events. Some of them actually have food. Free food. Her stomach clenches into a tight fist. "Well, how fancy."
"Who is it, Hisana? Is it your nightly gentleman caller?"
"Goodness. You make it sound like I'm having some sort of torrid affair with a married man."
Tsuna bats her eyes. "Well, are you?"
"No. Emphatically, no."
"Well, then, who is it?"
"It's Mr. Nightly Walks."
Tsuna inhales a deep breath and twirls. "I knew it! I knew it was Mr. Nightly! Tell me, is he handsome?"
"Extremely."
"Is he well-connected?"
"Clearly." Hisana fans herself with the tickets for emphasis.
"Is he a shinigami?"
"Naturally."
"A seated officer?"
"The most seated officer to have ever sat in a seat."
Tsuna narrows her eyes at Hisana. "You're mocking me."
She laughs. "You're too easy."
"So, it isn't Mr. Nightly?"
Hisana's heart kicks a little against her ribs, and she hesitates. "Who knows? Doesn't look like the envelope bears any family's kamon."
"Oh," hums Tsuna, "a kamon." Her brows spring up almost to her hairline. "So, Mr. Nightly is a noble. I knew it."
"Tsuna, there is no Mr. Nightly."
"I don't believe you. I bet he's someone remarkable, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so tight-lipped."
"Maybe I'm just very private. What if Mr. Nightly is just a simple line cook at the Academy?"
"He wouldn't have been able to pull those tickets. No way. No how. That's string-pulling at a level that only highborn or senior officers could manage."
"Maybe he has a very well-connected sister?"
"Ummhmm. You wouldn't be dashing out of here like your life depended on it for years if he was a line cook."
"That's rough, Tsuna. Maybe he is a very dashing and skillful lover?"
"You never looked ravaged when you return. In better spirits? Sometimes. Uniform askew and bruised lips? Never."
"Well, maybe that's something I should redress," says Hisana, flipping through the pamphlet.
"Really?" Tsuna jumps at this idle observation like a hound sniffing for fresh meat. "Oh my, yes. Let me, let me, let me. Please. Please. Please. So many pleases, please?"
Hisana stares at Tsuna like the girl has gone rabid. "Were those words?"
"Let me make you up for the events tomorrow."
"Absolutely not."
"Yes, c'mon. You want to be ravaged, right?"
"At the festival?" Hisana gawks.
"The festival. The gardens. Mr. Nightly's estate." Tsuna wags her brows at the last one. "Trust me, the things I have seen as a handmaiden. The highborn and shinigami are shameless."
"Tsuna."
"You know you want to infatuate him. Let me make you pretty. You know I can. I made you pretty for the Kuchiki party a few months ago."
"Tsuna." Hisana's voice hardens.
"I'll make you more pretty this time. The most pretty." Tsuna gestures to the kimono strewn across every piece of furniture and every inch of the floor. "We can make one of these work for a day. And, I have so many pretty hairpins. And makeup. And accessories. Oh, we will need to accessorize."
"I am not a doll, Tsuna."
"Just tomorrow morning. C'mon, Hisana. It's my true calling, and you helped me with my kidou homework yesterday. I have a duty to make you a work of art."
"Fine," says Hisana with a sigh.
If it will make Tsuna leave her alone, she will do it. Also, the idea of feeling pretty is alluring, even if she thinks her Mr. Nightly won't notice. He'll be too busy tomorrow. She's putting herself through this more for the participation points.
"Yes!" Tsuna claps and laughs. "So, we are going to have to wake up at 4 a.m."
"What?"
"Beauty is a process, Hisana. We have skincare. Cleansing. Treatments. Serums. Moisturizing. Priming. Face. Eyes. Lips. Lashes. Hair. Oh, my. The hair alone. It's going to take hours. You're right. We need to wake up at 3 a.m. so you have enough time to bathe and clean your hair."
"Can we do an abridged version of this process like last time?"
"No way! I have a vision, and you're are going to have to trust me."
"I cannot wait," says Hisana, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
Tsuna tosses a pillow at her. "Go to sleep now. Bags under the eyes are definitely not part of my vision."
Already regretting this decision, Hisana slips into a clean shitage and turns into bed.
Who sets a talent show at eight in the morning? What absolute sadist would do such a thing? Isn't this something you should build up to? Like in the late afternoon? Preferably after lunch?
These questions bang around Hisana's head as she stands there in an endless line seemingly composed of only morning people. She's been up since three in the morning. Her eyes sting from lack of sleep. Part of her wants to prop her head against the wall and nod off while she waits to inch forward. But, she can't do that. If she did, she would fuck up her hair, which was the entire reason for waking up before the break of dawn.
Tsuna, for all her demandingness, did deliver.
Hisana's hair has been pulled back into a complicated knot of twists, and it shines. Her skin has been scrubbed, stripped, moisturized, and buffed. She swears it almost looks glazed. A bit of rouge gives her cheeks and lips a lovely blush. It all pairs nicely with the plum-colored kimono that Tsuna lent her.
The kimono, too, is a work of art. Sweeping across her legs and the ends of her sleeves are a flurry of hand-painted plum blossoms and wisteria. The obi is also hand-painted; its colors are more muted and there are touches of greens and yellows.
If she weren't so exhausted she might even preen a little.
Preening, however, takes energy.
Hisana has no energy to spare.
By the time she reaches the vestibule of the Hall of Performing Arts, she is ready to slip into endless slumber. The amphitheater's cold darkness only intensifies this urge. She squeezes her hands into fists, hoping that the sensation of her muscles tightening will shake her away. It works… sort of….
The reminder going off in her head that she's only here as tribute, a figurative gesture at comradery, certainly doesn't help. Especially since she knows that it's virtually impossible for Byakuya to see her among the sea of people in attendance, which already assumes that he can see into the crowd at all through the blinding curtain of lights embedded into the stage.
Also, given that the Hall literally sings with reiatsu, there's also no way he will be able to sense her, either. The amount of souls with spiritual capacity is dizzying, and their presence mingling and sometimes clashing with others' essences makes the theater thrum with energy. At first, the thrumming is a low dreadful frequency that she feels rattling in her bones. As the theater fills full, the thrum swells into a veritable cacophony, forcing Hisana to coil her own reiatsu tightly against herself to harden her body and dampen the echoing around her.
Her head is already beginning to ache. Or maybe it was aching when she entered. Either way, its pounding is worsening, as is her mood.
Briefly, she considers what comes after this event. It is possible that she might be able to catch Byakuya afterward.
Possible, but doubtful, she decides.
He's likely to leave once his performance is done. If he lingers, chances are high that he'll be shackled by duty and expectation to appease or pay lip service to his family and his intended's inner circle.
Hisana is very much not part of that inner circle.
But, she has her little ticket. Its end is torn. Its face is stamped. She will have physical proof and memories to show for her efforts. She went to a Gotei 13-sponsored event. All for him. That's practically a declaration of love in her book.
Finding her seat, Hisana fights the urge to sink back in the chair for fear of tearing the pins out of her hair. Instead, she perches at the edge, telling herself that the discomfort will keep her awake. In actuality, all it does is make her miserable.
Somewhere between fidgeting, sighing, and trying to find a comfortable non-hair-destroying position, Hisana catches snatches of conversations between nobles. One nobleman is definitely having an affair with a shinigami judging by the confidences he shares with his companion to her right. A group of adolescents in front of her are excitedly chattering away about their favorite senior officers. Two boys on the aisle are arguing over power differentials between the various historical officers who have taken up the mantle of the Kenpachi. The snippets of conversation that Hisana hears from behind her, however, turn her blood to ice water.
Hisana doesn't peer over her shoulder to confirm the number or the faces. A deep sickening sense tells her. It tells her that she's been placed in the row ahead of Byakuya's betrothed.
Hisana's first urge is to crawl out of her skin.
She has seen Lady Shimazu in passing. At the art exhibition. In the market. In the society pages of The Seireitei Communication Monthly. This is as close as Hisana ever hoped to get to that walled-off part of Byakuya's life.
Well, fuck.
As much as Hisana tries to keep her attention on anything else, her mind refuses to obey. It latches onto the lively voices of the lady's… friends? Handmaidens? Family members?
As she listens on, the women don't sound like family or handmaidens. They don't sound like friends, either.
The topic that commands their attention is an intimate one, judging by the way their voices swoop into low, dark intonations.
It's sex.
They're talking about sex.
Hisana sinks down a little. She does not want to hear any of this. Like a caged fox, she pans the room for an escape, but she's stuck. In the middle. Of a packed row. She could make a break for it. It wouldn't be pretty, but she has proof enough of her attempt to support him.
He won't know the difference.
But….
Hisana's heart sinks like a stone to the bottom of a river when she catches the next question and the following response.
"Have you?"
Suggestive pause.
"You have? Finally?"
Sounds of relief.
"Last night."
The sheepish reply.
Hisana bristles uncomfortably then braces. The muscles in her face and neck feel like cables being asked to hoist a very heavy weight, pulling tense and taunt then straining. If only she could squeeze away the thoughts that pick at her brain or the anxiety that ensues. It's of no use. Her mind forces the possibility of the lady's words to the forefront of her mind's eye.
And, it's certainly possible, she thinks.
Her heart goes still as she considers this.
Hisana walked with Byakuya to the border of his family estate early that evening and wished him good luck. He looked uneasy. So uneasy, in fact, that she offered to escort him to his rooms, but he said it would be too risky.
She had attributed his uneasiness to nerves about the show and to the bottle of sake that he drank by himself. But, maybe she had drawn the wrong assumption. Maybe he was nervous because he was planning on consummating his relationship with Lady Shimazu. Maybe that's why he downed a whole bottle of liquor.
"Was he good?"
The air pressure seemingly lowers to fill the gasping lungs of several highborn ladies as they wait for the lady's response.
"Ummhmm."
"You look tense," one of the ladies comments to the guffawing of the others. "Was it… not… great?"
"You know the first time can be uncomfortable," provides another.
"It was great," the lady says with the enthusiasm of someone about to have their tooth pulled.
Another round of laughter fills the air.
"Come now. There's no way he is going to call off the contract now. Especially if you tell the elders about this development. Marriage is certain."
"Yes. It's just paperwork and planning now!" another lady chirps. "And you will be a future lady of one of the Great Noble Houses."
The excitement of this statement, however, does not appear to reach the lady, who responds with a tepid, "I don't know."
"How bad was it?"
"It's fine," says one of the other ladies. "He's probably inexperienced, too. It's not like he has been intimately connected with any other woman, and he apparently prioritizes training to the detriment of all else."
"I don't know," says the lady once more, this time more reflectively as if perhaps she wants to call the whole thing off. "He was a little…." her voice trails.
"He was a little, what?"
"Tipsy. I don't know if he would agree that last night counts."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't think…. I just want…. More confirmation of his interest in me."
Hisana doesn't hear the rest. The blood pounding in her ears drowns out all else. Instead, she just stares ahead, frozen. Nothing reaches her. Nothing at all. Not for a very long while.
When the show ends, Hisana has actually seen none of it. She isn't even sure what happened. She guesses there was probably singing, dancing, and maybe sword-throwing. Is sword-throwing a talent? She imagines if it is, it's probably one that someone of the Gotei 13 would possess and like to show off.
She vaguely remembers the crowd "oohing" and "ahhing" over various acts. The content of those acts? Lost to the black abyss of her mind.
Maybe there was a fire at one point? An unintended fire? It doesn't matter. She was there in body only.
Hisana waits in her seat until the attendees in her row have filtered down the main aisle. Then, she leaves.
Mind full of static, Hisana just wanders. She isn't sure what to think, what to feel, or how to act. What even is she doing? What even is this feeling?
The feeling is as ineffable as it is consuming. She can name all of the things that it is not: anger, betrayal, disgust, apathy, indignation. As to what it is? The best she's got is that it feels like being on the verge of a great loss.
But, a loss of what? Her relationship with Byakuya Kuchiki is… well….
It just is. Undefined. Not a whole lot of boundaries.
They kiss sometimes, which, in her mind, makes their relationship feel more intimate than say just friends. But, there is a vagueness there because they really can't be more than just friends.
They're just friends who sometimes kiss, and even then…. They're not really friends, either. Hisana hasn't much experience with friends, but her understanding is that they can meander into the public sphere without fear of censure or reprisals.
Their relationship, however? It's relegated to stolen moments and forgotten places. To speak of it, to gesture toward it, to glance at it is forbidden.
It is, and it isn't.
What the hell even is that?
It's certainly not enough to confer any rights. At least, no rights vest to her, such as the right to foist expectations upon him. What expectations would she even have? What expectations could she have?
None.
So, what, then?
It hits her. Hard. Fast. Like an axe to gut.
What she feels is fear. Deep, horrible, shred-you-up kind of fear. It is fear over losing his companionship, his time, his thoughts, the distraction of him.
She's afraid of what it means for him to bed Lady Shimazu. She doesn't particularly care about the act in and of itself. She cares that this act may betray his heart and where it lies.
Hisana frowns. Only then does the world return to view, and she finds herself in an overwhelmingly lush garden. She hears the sounds of birds chirping. The fragrance of marigolds grabs hold of her. The silvery notes of birdsong, however, quickly give way to chords of sobbing.
At least it's not her sobbing.
No, the wails emanate from behind a hedge somewhere.
Somewhere close.
Hisana pauses, breath clenched in her chest. Swiftly, she surveys the garden, trying her best to determine which direction to veer from. That's when she takes a sharp right around a hedge and then… damn…. She guesses wrong.
It's Lady Shimazu.
Sobbing.
On a bench.
It isn't the pretty, dainty kind of sobbing that Hisana associates with the nobility, either. It's not the weaponization of tears that some among that class wield so deftly against the old hapless masters to gain sympathy or a better grade or a plum assignment. This is a soul-crushing, nose-running, puffy-eyed kind of sobbing, the kind where your whole face is dripping wet from a mixture of tears, mucus, and saliva.
Tentatively, Hisana does her best to reverse course, rolling up on the balls of her feet. Smoothly, she begins to creep away.
Too bad.
The lady catches her with a miserable look almost instantly. With that look, the lady chains Hisana in place, eyes wide, cheeks flushing, embarrassment cresting. Hisana flails emotionally for a moment before her instincts take hold.
Reflexively, her hand dives into her sleeve pocket, and she withdraws a red handkerchief. "Here," she says, offering it to the lady.
"Thank you."
"No worries." Hisana tries her best to inch back to the nearby hedge, but she is stopped by a question.
"Have you ever loved someone who didn't love you back?" asks the lady, shrinking further into herself.
Hisana glances behind her. No. No one else is there. It's just she and Lady Shimazu.
Dammit.
"I suppose so," says Hisana, trying her best to sound empathetic. She wouldn't necessarily declare herself in love with Byakuya Kuchiki, but she would consider herself in deep like, and, well, given the current state of things, she is questioning whether she likes him a little more than he likes her.
But, maybe….
"Maybe you're being too hard on yourself. It's easy to misinterpret other's feelings, especially when you are feeling vulnerable in your own," Hisana adds.
The lady blows her nose into the handkerchief and inhales a shaky breath that sounds like a half-sob. "I don't think there's room for misinterpretation here."
Hisana's brows furrow and she glances off to the side. There is no one. Not a single soul. Just them.
She really would like to be anywhere else. Literally anywhere. However, the lady keeps her shackled in place with a look.
Hisana's own guilt isn't helping, either. She really should break things off with Byakuya. He doesn't deserve this. Neither does this poor, sobbing woman.
She told him, though.
She told him this would end tragically.
Packing away her own emotional baggage, Hisana pieces together the few threads of empathy that she can muster to say, "It's hard. Loving someone. Especially since you will never truly know their own thoughts and intentions toward you. Love is a little like a dare in that way."
"He doesn't love me." Lady Shimazu's gaze flicks to the marigolds. "He loves someone else."
Hisana's heart beats with the quickness of hummingbird wings. She doesn't want to hear any of this. It's not intended for her. The lady has no idea who she even is.
This anonymity, however, is probably why the lady feels safe to divulge this information. Hisana looks, at best, like an off-duty shinigami, one with few or any noble connections. And, it's not like the lady can confide these feelings to who, Hisana can only assume, were her friends from this morning. Judging by their reactions, they think whatever has happened is a sign that the lady is on her way to marriage vows and that they, too, will benefit from her imminent connections.
None of this in anyway changes the fact that Hisana does not want to hear these confidences. But, she's trapped, like an animal in a snare. She thinks she masks the visceral urge to flee, smoothing the edges of her concern into something more sympathetic, less bladed. Her head is tilted. Her gaze goes a little soft, a little unfocused. She is careful to ease the tension in her forehead and her lips.
Lady Shimazu's eyes dart back to Hisana—landing on her shoulder—and she refolds the handkerchief. "You're with House Tsunayashiro?"
Hisana follows the lady's gaze.
Well, damn.
The sunlight reveals a kamon that went unnoticed in the dim, diffuse indoor lighting. It's not entirely surprising, though. Tsuna was a handmaiden to a House Tsunayashiro lady. Likely many of Tsuna's garments have hidden symbols that give away her connection to the family. She's certainly proud of it.
"Yes. I'm an attendant," Hisana lies. "My mistress was called away, but permitted her handmaidens to stay and enjoy the remainder of the event."
"What a kind lady."
Indeed, Tsuna's stories of her late mistress almost sound fictional.
Hisana bows her head in gratitude. "It takes courage to love someone, milady. And it takes courage to receive someone else's love. Perhaps-"
Lady Shimazu cuts Hisana off with a raised hand. "Have you ever had an intimacy with a man?"
Hisana stiffens, heart feeling like it is twisting in her chest.
The lady chuckles through a sob. "Of course not. Look at you." She gestures at Hisana, careful to keep her hand tucked into her long sleeves. Before Hisana can take umbrage, however, the lady adds, "You look so young, so fresh in your girlhood."
Hisana tries her best to keep the surprise from her face. This is definitely the first time anyone has ever characterized her as "fresh in her girlhood," a phrase that Hisana can only guess means "a blushing virgin."
"I take it the lover in question took you into his intimacies?" says Hisana, voice tentative, quiet. She flinches prematurely expecting to feel a prick of pain, when none comes, she eases.
"A kiss," the lady says between sniffles.
Hisana's brows rise. "A kiss?"
This woman is crying over a kiss? She thought…. How bad was this kiss?
Hisana digresses. "Would that not suggest the nature of his heart—"
The lady shakes her head. "No." Her brows knit together, her forehead creases, and her eyes fill with tears. "I—I—I don't think he—I think he may—he—he—he didn't—he didn't see me."
Hisana pauses, dumbstruck.
Going into this conversation, Hisana was feeling pretty confident that they were talking about sex. Now? She has no clue what they're talking about.
"I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying your lover was…."
Blind? Hypnotized? Spell-bound? Tricked? Asleep?
"I was perhaps too hopeful," says the lady between hard breaths, "I had convinced him to give me a kiss in exchange for my word on something he dearly wanted. I wanted more, though. I wanted everything. So, I plied him with spirits. He became easier with me. I thought it was what was needed to unchain him from propriety. But, now I realize that I may have unchained him from reality as well. In his inebriation, he didn't see me. He was envisioning another—another woman—" A chest-wracking sob overcomes her, and she crumples into herself. Head down. Shoulders pulled up to her jaw. Tears spilling like rainwater from her chin.
Trembling, the lady's head dips lower still. "The way he kissed me. It was with a passion I previously had thought the lord incapable of possessing. I was so happy. My heart swelled with joy, then—then—then-" The sobs steal her breath, and she braces, arms wrapping tightly around her stomach, as if she is about to heave. "Then, before we did anything too indelible, he said another's name. He said he loved her," she says, voice pitching high and tattering, then she dissolves into a heaving puddle of wails. "He never saw me at all."
Hisana's eyes widen, and she shifts uncomfortably in her silks.
Before they did anything too indelible?
She isn't sure what to think or say. She feels deeply uneasy about everything. But, the thought that the lady had tried—perhaps even succeeded—to take advantage of Byakuya in this way leaves her numb and shaken. Reflexively, Hisana sinks down beside Lady Shimazu, the world suddenly becoming desolate as she stares into a patch of daffodils that has taken hold between two hedges.
Lady Shimazu mistakes Hisana's shock for comfort and begins to sob into her shoulder. At the first glancing touch, the lady melts into Hisana's lap like a child. Buried in Tsuna's fine silk, the sobs are mostly muffled, but Hisana can feel the heat from the lady's tears and their wetness.
What a fine mess.
Staring into the shimmers of heat rising off the stone path, a heavy bleakness comes over her, like a frost blowing across the fields in the pitch of night. Even in the sweltering heat, she goes cold, frozen. If not for the vague sense of doom approaching, Hisana might have stayed locked this way for hours.
One look down the pathway, however, sends a jolt down her spine. It feels like she has been struck by lightning. The electrical current flashes and burns, bringing her back with the slamming force of a paddle to the chest.
Standing barely a stone's throw away is the Lord Lieutenant Sōjun Kuchiki.
Halting the moment their eyes meet, the Lord Lieutenant lifts his head as if to issue an inquiry.
That inquiry, Hisana imagines, can only be: What have you done?
Her answer? Abundant shaking of her head and wide, pleading eyes.
Yes, she would very much like to be extricated from this. No, she does not feel one ounce for the lady's plight given what she did and who she did it to. But, Hisana does not think—not for one millisecond—that the Lord Lieutenant's intrusion, especially if he says her name will make this situation better in any possible way.
Maybe he comes to a similar conclusion or maybe the sight of a wailing woman is enough to caution him. Either way, the Lord Lieutenant quietly turns heel and leaves.
Hisana watches his silent retreat, jaw clenched, but she waits, and waits, and waits for the lady to feel every single one of her feelings.
After what feels like an eternity, Lady Shimazu's cries turn to whimpers then her whimpers give way to silence. Silence proves to be a powerful antidote, prompting the lady to remember herself.
With trembling motions, Lady Shimazu peels herself from Hisana's lap. "Your patience and steadiness must bring great consolation to your lady."
Hisana quickly fixes her face so that she looks less agitated and more appeasing. "It is a pleasure to serve, milady," she replies, cringing inwardly at just how hollow her voice rings.
The lady, however, must have inured to the hollowness of servants' words long ago because she nods approvingly. "Tell me, then, what is your name so that I may give your house my deepest regards for your services?"
"Tsuna Sasaki." Hisana forces a polite smile that feels more like a rictus than anything genuine.
"I'll see to it that your kimono is replaced, Miss Sasaki."
Oh, yeah. Hisana glances down at the silk to see it is soaked in an amalgamation of tears, snot, and spit. At least it isn't blood….
"Perhaps I can also make my recommendation to my lord?"
Hisana shakes her head. "Your lover, you mean?"
"Yes. He is very particular about ensuring servants who perform admirably receive proper credit for their fidelity."
He is?
Hisana blinks. "No. No need, milady."
"Please?"
"If it is only a recommendation, then."
"Of course," she chuckles. "Oh dear, neither of us is in any condition to countenance his discerning scrutiny."
Translation: They look like shit. Dog shit.
"There is a small gate at the back of the hedge," says Hisana, "if milady would like to escape." How she has been staring intently at that little wooden gate, fantasizing about her own exit. She drew up an entire plan. Plotted a course through the garden's paths and hedges. Can probably draw out the entire area from memory now.
Lady Shimazu pats Hisana's cheek. "Such a thoughtful handmaid. Perhaps I should endeavor to woo you away from your current mistress."
Unable to imagine a worse fate than that, Hisana somehow manages to keep a smile plastered on her face. "You're too kind, milady."
With another pat on the cheek, the lady takes her leave.
Hisana sits there a few moments longer, heart beating, but barely. She should have never come. This was a terrible idea from the start. She's not meant for these types of occasions. She's better suited to dark rooms thick with grit and smoke and terrible plots.
At this realization, Hisana forces herself off the bench. Her legs hurt from sitting so long. She's sweaty and tired, and she would love nothing more than for someone to say a cross word in her direction so that she might give deliver the greatest thrashing of either of their lives.
Mostly, she would love to punch the Lord Lieutenant in the face. It's an irrational rage. This she knows. Leaving her there to comfort Lady Shimazu, though…. Sure, she gestured for him to run away the moment their eyes met. But, should he have left her? Wasn't this his responsibility to sort out?
So deep in the thick of violent thoughts, Hisana doesn't notice the sound of her own name until she is shoved into a side room full of armor and leatherwork.
She wheels around to find the Lord Lieutenant. All her words chase down her throat, leaving her with nothing.
"You must have not heard me," he says by way of explanation and releases his grip on her.
"Clearly." Although, had she heard, Hisana isn't quite sure she would have obeyed his calls.
"What did you—"
"Do not," she says, voice bladed, "do not blame me for a thing. I did nothing."
"Then, why was the lady crying?"
"A good question. Perhaps one better asked of either the lady or your son."
"Byakuya?" His brows rise slightly. Before emotion can bend the lines of his face, he turns his cheek to her.
Hisana watches as the muscle in his jaw pulls tight, flickering under the skin. His displeasure, even partially hidden, is clear. "Not just Byakuya," she says.
"You as well?"
"I am blameless. Period." Iron hardens in her tone.
"Really?" He lifts a brow. "Blameless? You? The one who seduced my son, diverting his attention from his duty—"
"I have seduced no man. Your son included." There is a fire in her stare, one that she feels acutely because, right then, all she feels is fire. Fire dances in her blood. Fire burns her cheeks. Her whole heart is full of fire.
He tears his eyes from her. "Then, why was she crying? Tell me, Hisana." Before she can step away, he reels her back with an agitated, "I am your lord and command this of you."
Hisana stiffens. She hates it here. So very much. No man's lordship ever held weight over her in the Rukon. Here? Here, his title is enough to rout her.
And so….
She complies, with no love in her heart, arms folded against her chest, and a scowl on her face. "The lady was sobbing about something that happened last night."
He stares at her, his eyes demanding more.
Silence.
She stares back, jaw clenched.
Belligerent silence.
The Lord Lieutenant is the first to break. "What happened last night?" he asks.
Hisana turns her head. The door is right there, not even an arm's length away. She could just—
"Again, I implore you to answer."
She loosens a heavy sigh, and, shaking her head, she answers, "The lady plied the lord with a great deal of alcohol. He became spitting drunk. In his inebriation, the lady thought it fit to encourage certain intimacies between them. He apparently did not object since it sounds like he was obliterated, and during the course of those intimacies he declared his love for another."
The words hang in the air. The explosion of them—once realization dawns—feels electric. The air hums and crackles. Hisana tenses. Her fingers curl into fists, her nails digging into the meat of her palms. Prickles of pain center her, keep her rooted there, in that room that smells of old animal hide and rust. With all her might, she staves back the torrent of anger and frustration that hammers her.
From the corner of her eye, she sees the Lord Lieutenant stir. The line of his shoulders shortens as if the tension gripping them has pulled up any slack in his muscles. "Did she say the name?"
"I did not inquire."
He lets out a hard breath. "Did she know in whom she was confiding?"
"Obviously not."
"Obviously? I thought you weren't to blame." Censure braids his voice.
Hisana, however, will not have his censure. "You can direct your anger to the lady, not me."
"The lady?" he scoffs.
Before he can protest this conclusion, Hisana silences him with a withering glare. "No. I will not have your scorn. That belongs to her. She took advantage of your son."
"And have you not also taken advantage of Byakuya?"
"Never."
"Oh, come now. Our memories are not so frail or so short as to forget the exhibition."
"He did that. Not at my suggestion or request."
"He did that for you because you—"
"I never once demanded his feelings. I merely became a target of them. It wasn't wanton desire but a need for absolution that drove him. In case you forgot, he nearly killed me."
The Lord Lieutenant looks away, his expression impenetrable. "So, it is penance to blame for why the two of you carry on as you do?"
"No, that's companionship, and it's a choice that we both make for ourselves. There is no obligation or stolen consent between us."
His eyes squeeze shut. "You forget yourself."
"Forget myself?" she repeats, incredulous. "What about you, his family? I thought family was supposed to protect you from the wolves, not feed you to them."
Just as the last word leaves her mouth, the door rustles back. Hisana wheels around all too prepared to loosen a harsh word with the deftness of an archer loosening an arrow at the intruder. But, upon seeing who enters, all the breath in her lungs rushes out of her at once, and she is left, dumbfounded.
Byakuya.
"Father? Seike told me that you had requested my—" The moment the young lord realizes it is she standing before him, the color immediately drains from his cheeks, and his words strangle.
"You're dismissed, Hisana," says the Lord Lieutenant.
Hisana glares sidelong at the lord. "As you wish, my lord," she says through gritted teeth.
Stepping past Byakuya, she doesn't stop to acknowledge him. She just presses forward. The throes of anger have her in its grip so much so that she isn't sure of herself. All she knows is that he doesn't deserve her venom.
Especially, right now.
The moment her senses return, she finds herself in her dorm room tearing off the stiff, sticky kimono. The fresh summer air kisses the heated skin of her shoulders and back the moment the heavy silks slide away, and she inhales a deep breath. Holds it. Then, releases.
She does this a few times before slipping into her uniform. She folds the kimono neatly and places it on Tsuna's bed. Then, she rips out the decorative pins in her hair.
Hisana barely feels there during her classes. Her mind is somewhere else. She is somewhere else. Only her body remains. Floating from one place to another. From one position to another. She is present in class, but only as a technicality.
When she returns to her dorm room after the last class, she toys with the idea of going to sleep and sleeping forever. It's what she really wants to do. But, she knows that her absence at twilight—assuming he comes—would be mistaken for abnegation or worse.
She really doesn't want to leave, though. And the bed looks so inviting. She swears she can hear it calling to her.
"How did it go?" enters Tsuna's chirpy voice. The girl appears moments later. Her eyes sparkle with intrigue.
Hisana is in no mood to deal with this.
But, she must.
She feels indebted to Tsuna for her charity. "It was," her voice trails. She shrugs.
"It was what? Did you see your man?" Tsuna's brows wag.
"I did."
"How was his performance?"
Hisana has no idea. She barely remembers any of the performances. "Good."
"Did you see him after?" Tsuna's brows wag more suggestively now.
"Briefly. He was detained by another soon after."
"Aw. That's how it always goes for me, too. I work up the courage and then, blah." Tsuna grimaces and flops into a chair. "Sorry about that. Maybe next time."
"I did run across a lady who may have mistaken me for you." Hisana tries her best not to wince as she says this, but the entire left half of her face scrunches up despite her efforts.
"Oh. How?" Tsuna glances askance at Hisana. "We look nothing alike."
True. Hisana and Tsuna do look nothing alike. Tsuna with her soft brown eyes and tall willowy frame would be hard to confuse with Hisana.
"The kimono."
"Oh, the kimono. They thought you were a handmaiden."
"Yes. The kamon."
"Oh, I see. What lady was it?"
"Lady Shimazu."
"Ooooh." Tsuna's eyes widen. "Was Lord Byakuya Kuchiki in attendance then?"
Hisana gives a small shrug. "I saw his father and the captain. I assume he must have been there, too," she says, keeping her voice breezy.
"Did she say anything about him? Did she reveal any juicy hints about whether they're getting hitched?"
A tense grin thins Hisana's lips. "Um, when I saw her, she was very sad. Distraught, actually."
"Oh, no. Did they break up?" Tsuna clutches her chest in the most mocking imitation of concern that Hisana has ever seen.
Well, at least she has an ally in Tsuna for disliking the lady, even if it is for different reasons.
"No. She sort of leaked all over me, though." Hisana nods her head in the direction of the folded kimono. "She said she would send a replacement," she adds with a great deal of skepticism.
"Maybe I can sell it?" teases Tsuna. "The break-up kimono, full of the lady's tears and sorrows. It would be a commemorative item for sure."
Hisana chuckles lightly at this.
"You can laugh!" Tsuna grins happily at this fact as she goes to her bed and unfurls the silk. "Yeesh, she did some damage. What happened?"
"I sort of got stuck."
"It looks like you got stuck alright. Stuck in a typhoon! Was the lady dying?"
"Emotionally dying, maybe."
"This is impressive."
"I can try to pay if she doesn't—"
Tsuna waves this offer away before Hisana can make it. "Never offer anything that you aren't prepared to lose. It's no problem. I was going to toss it anyway."
"I feel terrible—"
"Why? A highborn lady imposed. It's not like you were having fun while ruining it."
"Isn't that the truth," Hisana says under her breath. "But, still. I'll be your slave for a week."
Tsuna's eyes glimmer. "A whole week?"
"A week." Hisana's shoulders slope down, and she deflates a little.
"Yes! We are going to practice so much kidou, then. And, you're going to take me on one of those nightly walks of yours."
Hisana falls back onto her bed. "I cannot wait."
"Speaking of, aren't you usually out the door by now?"
Hisana springs up and glances out the sliver of window. "Shit!"
"There better be a handsome man involved in these walks, Hisana! This kimono is destroyed!"
Hisana can hear Tsuna's voice chasing her down the hall as she bursts through the doors and races to the bridge. When she arrives, she slows in her paces, so as not to appear too overly eager. Which, well, she isn't.
But, she doesn't want him to think she hates him.
Although… maybe he isn't in the least bit upset about what happened.
Again, it's not like there is any room for expectations between them. None has ever been communicated. For all he knows, she is seeing others on the side. All sorts of others. Men. Women. Men and women. Maybe at the same time. Some of the dorms apparently have floorgies. He doesn't know she's not in one of those dorms.
When she sees him, however, any fantasy of him standing there, completely unperturbed, flies straight out of her head. No. Byakuya Kuchiki looks like misery incarnate.
Maybe it's the hangover.
He cannot be feeling good if Lady Shimazu is to be believed.
The moment Byakuya sees her, he winces.
Her heart feels like a clenched fist in her chest, and, she flounders, hands gripping the wooden banister. Pausing to collect herself she stares into the stream that runs beneath them. Golden shafts of sunlight shimmer across the choppy waves, reminding her of gleaming jewels.
Hisana feels his gaze on her. She feels threads of him—of his essence reaching out—but they dissipate before connecting with her. He must lose heart somewhere in the distance between them. His hesitance feels like the shackling of want, but it's the wanting connectedness, of being understood, of finding love in any shape it may find fit to take.
"You came," says Byakuya, his voice soft, barely there. He is staring into the water, head bowed, eyes lifeless. There is a slope to his shoulders that speaks of defeat.
"I have an engagement tonight," he starts again.
"Oh." Her hands slip from the railing, and she takes a step back. "I won't—" Before Hisana has a chance to step away, he stops her with a light touch.
His fingertips brush the back of her hand.
"No. Please, walk with me until…." He glances away, back to the water.
"Of course."
Wordlessly, they set off. She follows him in her usual way. Not too close. Not too far. The tension of nearness is just right.
They take a different path than usual. She thinks it is to keep them away from any nobles who may party to whatever "engagement" he has going on tonight.
When they make it to the edge of the property, he slows in his strides until she is at his side.
Silence.
She waits, her gaze flitting between him and the stretch of clearing they cross.
His skin is deathly pale and waxen. Dark circles hang under his eyes. Even his hair refuses to shine.
"Is all well, my lord?" she asks, keeping her voice soft, gentle.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn't say a word.
He looks lost. Lost in thought. Lost in emotion. Lost in something. She isn't reaching him.
Fear keeps her reiatsu tightly bound to her.
Byakuya takes her some place where they have been before. He takes her to one of the storage units where his family keeps the art they are not displaying in the manor. It's another echo of their shared past.
In fact, over the course of this year, Byakuya has brought her to many of the places that served as settings to their beginning: the river, the dojo, the greenhouse, and now the storage unit.
These spaces and the memories bound up in them are starting to feel like knots that Byakuya has been picking at for a while now. When Byakuya suggested meeting at the greenhouse after the party a few months ago, Hisana felt confident in her assumption that he wanted to revisit the places haunted by past misdeeds as a way to confront and "undo" them, to "rewrite" over the bad memories with better ones.
But, there aren't any ghosts in the storage unit beyond the spirits trapped in the art itself. This is the place where she first found purchase at the estate, the place where she kissed him, the place where he kissed her back.
The unit is as she remembered it being. First, there is unpleasant lighting, diffuse and a clinical shade of white. Then, comes the smell of preservatives, the smell of oil and turpentine, the scent of aging canvas and paper, the smell of history, of existence, of lives reflected in abstraction.
Byakuya walks ahead of her, but a painting of seven cranes catches her eye and she pauses to examine it. Three of the cranes are folded over one another like a family embracing. The painting is beautiful even if slightly water-damaged.
Glancing across the room, she finds Byakuya standing before the painting of oblivion, and she frowns. He's not gazing into it lovingly like she had the cranes, but that hideous oil painting is there, looming large over him.
The bad memory….
Not that Byakuya would know, right?
She's never revealed her hand in the plot to steal that painting—or rather the artifact that was hidden inside that painting—to him. His father, too, seemed keen on keeping this all a secret from him. So, she doubts the painting plays a part in the reason he brings her here tonight.
Hisana's head tips to the side as she watches him. "Is everything alright?" she asks.
Has someone died?
He shakes his head. "Everything is fine."
Hisana levers herself onto an empty workbench and continues to stare at the back of him. His hair falls like an inky cascade down his back, and the kosode he wears is mint green and unadorned. She prefers him unadorned. It's as close to unfettered as he gets.
Hisana wishes she could peer into his head and see what matter held his thoughts. She could try reaching out to him. But…. She's afraid.
She's afraid because she already knows.
It's the intimacies between Lady Shimazu and him.
Maybe he doesn't know how to feel, what to say, whether to say anything. Maybe he doesn't even remember?
Hisana hopes the latter is not the case.
If it is, Lady Shimazu may be the only one who knows the truth, and her story differs drastically depending on her audience. She led her friends to believe that she and Byakuya had consummated their trial marriage. But, this isn't the truth that she told Hisana in the garden, confiding of kisses and actions "indelible."
Not that any of this matters to Hisana.
But, Hisana knows it matters to him.
Byakuya, however, doesn't know that Hisana knows any of this. How could he? No, he's shadowboxing with hollows of his own making.
"So, what's going on?" she asks.
He gazes sidelong at her from over his shoulder. When their eyes, Hisana keeps his gaze tethered to her. He looks beaten. Mentally, beaten.
She really hates it.
He's supposed to be impossibly arrogant. Impossibly stalwart. Impossibly indefatigable.
Impossibly restrained.
He is still that, though.
Restrained.
Knotted up.
Forever trying to undo those knots.
Forever trying to smooth their fraying threads once they release.
"Tomoe is leaving," he says, his voice low and steady.
Hisana watches him a moment longer, trying her best to read the subtle shifting of shadow and light on his face. There is nothing to read. Only a blank page.
"Is the trial over?" she asks gently.
His head turns, and she wonders if he is now finally looking into the black abyss of the painting that confronts him on the wall. "The contract has been terminated," he responds, his tone and prosody as inscrutable as the lines of his face were.
"You don't sound pleased," she says, hoping that her observation doesn't sound accusatory. It isn't meant as an accusation. But, the implication is clear.
Clear and stifling.
Was the cost of obtaining her word too much?
Hisana stares at him, waiting. Although, she isn't quite sure what she's waiting for.
A confession?
She doesn't need a confession, but he might feel it necessary to ply her with one.
A lie?
She's told so many already that she wouldn't hold this one against him.
A knock at the door?
Maybe that's it. It certainly feels inevitable. Time is slipping away.
The silence that comes between them strips the room of its vibrancy. The colors of the canvases, the silks, the parchment—the emerald greens, the reds as deep as blood, and the yellows more buttery than the sun—bleed out until they seemingly disappear into nothing. And, she waits, weighted down by this hideous silence.
Until she doesn't.
Until she realizes that perhaps he needs help undoing this particular knot. She likes slipping knots, too. "I know."
Her voice reaches his, grabs him, and yanks his attention to her. The look he gives her shifts from one of hope then to one of skepticism before he remembers to steel himself. He does not protest her conclusion, though.
And, so, Hisana continues, "I overheard. Lady Shimazu and her friends were in attendance this morning at the show." She pauses the moment his head sinks down. Shadows rush over him, clinging to the hollows of his cheeks and veiling his eyes.
"I didn't…." His voice goes distant as if he loses heart halfway through the thought.
"I know. The lady confided as much to me this afternoon."
His gaze snaps to hers, and, for a fleeting second, the shades of misery creasing his face transforms into something approaching anger. "She sought you out?"
"No. She—" Frustrated by the disarray of her thoughts, Hisana lets out a little breath and tries again, "She was distraught and mistook me for a handmaiden. She told me what happened."
"She imposed on your charity. Unbelievable." Byakuya's head jerks to the side. His hands fist into balls, and he stares, eyes burning hot as coals. Whatever thought comes next, however, appears to level him. His rage fades, taking with it the little bit of color it brought to his cheeks.
Pain.
Hisana knows this feeling and its many incarnations well. Too well. But, he needn't feel pain here.
If only she could get this through his head.
"My lord," she murmurs, hoping that her voice might force him back. When it doesn't, she reaches out for him. He is too far. Nearly across the room.
He shakes his head. "Hisana, I…."
She shoots him an imploring look and stretches her arm out further. Her reiatsu unfurls and sweeps through his. Kindness is the emotional imprint that she wishes to impart, but it seems unlikely to reach him through the deep swirl of melancholia that she finds.
He flinches. "I don't deserve your—"
"You don't deserve my animosity, either."
His brows pull together, and his head dips down. "I've betrayed you."
"No," she says quietly. "Do you even remember what happened?"
He gives the barest shake of his head. "Nothing. I remember nothing."
"She said you wanted someone else. You told her this."
Stunned, he stares at her. Shock, however, quickly gives way to horror then grief.
Wordless, she watches as the lines of his face deepen. Pain. Raw and potent. She feels it call to her as if it is her own, and she pushes off the workbench and crosses the floor to him. She knows what it is like to grapple with a truth that will not come, cannot come, and so she takes his hands in both of hers and hopes that the only comfort that she can offer helps him in some small way.
"Forgive me," he whispers.
"There's nothing to forgive." She means it.
He kisses her. Hard. Wantonly. It's the sort of kiss that takes a piece of you with it, and she is eager to reciprocate, to help him undo whatever memory of the flesh that has brought him harm.