Lieutenant Ohtori Kensaku was about to doze off by the door as the breeze blew past, the fragrance of cherry blossoms still in bloom coloring the winds. For some, to lose themselves in it was often too easy, him included.
At least, that was his plan until he felt a nudge on his shoulder.
"Food," Shoukaku said as she placed the plate and cups of tea on the porch, her voice almost song-like. "Thought you might be hungry after all that work."
"Well, I'm more tired than hungry, but thanks," Ohtori said. On the plate were sakuramochi—small, well-arranged, and so alluringly pink. When he tore into one, it didn't take much effort to get into the generous amount of red bean paste, the nostalgic sweetness filling every corner of his mouth and making him tear a little. He ended up chewing on the sweets longer than needed before swallowing to keep the sensation longer—even after he did, it seemed to cling.
Shoukaku giggled at that and helped herself to her handiwork after disposing of the leaf wrapping. She found the red bean paste was a touch too sweet for her liking when she chewed on the confection slowly like a breeze. But in it, she found a sense of respite and another step toward closure.
"How appropriate this is," she remarked. "But we deserve this, didn't we?"
Ohtori laughed. The taste of the red bean paste he had still refused to go—and by the looks of it, it was the same for her.
"Yeah, we do."
"Come to think of it, I should make more later as an offering to Zuikaku."
"I'm sure she would love some. And I'm sure she would be glad to see how you're doing these days," Ohtori sipped on his tea.
"How we're doing, you mean," again, Shoukaku let out a soft laugh as she cradled another piece of the confectionery, eyeing it fondly. "Takes you back, doesn't it?"
Ohtori was puzzled, but only for a while. He was quick to understand—and remember.
"Food," she said, putting down a plate on the porch. Ohtori took a glimpse and noticed what was on it—though they looked more like rice haphazardly lumped together, they were indeed rice balls.
He didn't say anything about the shoddy work and even felt a bit guilty for allowing her to make food. Shoukaku had been insistent about it, despite her condition. So he took one and fought the grimace when he had a taste.
The pickled plum inside was, unusually, even more tart than usual—and less salty than how pickled plums should be—made all even more apparent by the bland, unsalted rice.
He decided he shouldn't complain about it. Food was scarce after the war, and anything they could have was welcome.
Shoukaku watched just as silently before having one herself, the rice sticking into the bandages wrapped around her hands.
"Hush. I'm changing them later anyway," she said and, with some difficulty, raised the food toward her mouth for a bite. She promptly paused after that—unlike him, she did grimace over the taste. But even then, it didn't last for long, to be replaced with a dry smile.
"...Where did you get those pickled plums?" she asked.
"At the market. Not many selections were there then, and most were of poor quality, so I had to get what was left. I couldn't even get some salt."
"Ah, I see. But...but I can't help but think how appropriate this is. How we deserve this," she paused again, seemingly about to take another bite but then deciding against it. He could see tears forming in her eyes.
"This is not a punishment for you and me," Ohtori devoured the rest of his rice ball. "It's just life. This will pass."
Shoukaku allowed the tears to fall as she nodded. She continued eating even through the overpowering sourness, knowing it won't overtake her. She wouldn't allow it to.
"...Well, I was right, wasn't I? That it will pass?" Ohtori remarked as he had another piece from the plate. He found it more enjoyable now that after that reminiscing.
"I would say it does," Shoukaku nodded and put one into her mouth as well. She was always cautious when it came to sentimentality, but for now, she could allow herself to see the sweetness as the taste of the days to come.