"I'm going to make the fire," Shoukaku declared on one particularly cool night. Sitting on the porch, Lieutenant Ohtori Kensaku listened to the rustling wind chime neither of them had bothered to take down and nodded as a cold feeling prickled the top of his palms and face. Lighting a small fire to keep warm in this late autumn was only reasonable.
That sunken hearth was older than any of them, as old as the family home. None of them knew how long the sand filling the crevice had been there. But it was clear the hearth was never used before. Perhaps now, with winter knocking at their door, it would.
"You know, let me help you," Ohtori rose and walked up to the yard, littered with fallen branches and leaves. He glanced at Shoukaku, seeing her smiling at the offer—and that was exactly what he wanted.
Ohtori easily gathered everything they needed and piled them on the hearth, mingling with the charcoal Shoukaku had arranged. With a flick of the lighter, a cozy warmth began to grow and soon settled in throughout the room, filling it with a faint scent of earth.
"Thank you," Shoukaku murmured. She held a hand before the crackling flames, taking the heat into her skin. "Isn't this a good time to have tea?" she suggested.
"Well, I won't mind some," Ohtori replied and sat against the wall, a little further apart from the hearth. It was warm all the same.
"Well then, wait here," Shoukaku said and headed for the kitchen. She returned not long after with an iron kettle, cups, and tea leaves and hung the kettle over the hearth. Ohtori recalled throwing out the old one as it had rusted beyond all hope.
Shoukaku watched over the kettle, waiting. Ohtori watched over her, adoring. She didn't notice the furtive glances, and he could only see her back as she tended to the fire. But it was alright with him. In the warmth of this night, his head had become clear enough to realize he was happy. He stood up, taking care not to make a sound, and went to the shelf beside him. There was something he had long held onto there—something he could let go of now.
"Hm? What's that?" Shoukaku inquired when she noticed Ohtori taking a seat beside her. Nestled in his hand was a piece of wood.
"This?" Ohtori opened his fist to show a piece of broken ema. He regarded it from all sides, revealing to Shoukaku just enough of the remaining word written on it. She recognized it as Zuikaku's writing—and though the letters were faded, she could still make out what the scribble was.
"Happiness...?"
"It was her parting gift...her wish for me," Ohtori murmured.
"I see...but why are you taking that out...?"
"So I could do this," Ohtori threw the ema into the fire. "Because her wish has been granted."
"...So you're happy now."
Turning to Shoukaku, Ohtori found out she had looked away. But she looked back at him when he called her name—and Ohtori saw her face was red, and indeed not from the heat. It was the pleasant kind of rosiness that he would never forget.
"It was thanks to you...you know? Thank you for everything," Ohtori said.
"Ah...is...that so...?"
"You're here, and that's enough. I hope...I could do the same for you. I want you to always be happy, too."
Shoukaku didn't reply, merely sighing and resting her head on his shoulder. Her lips were pursed, but only for a moment—it then became a warm smile.
"You're here, and that's enough."
The air grew even warmer as the hearth fire consumed the ema.