Extremely Sweet - Chatannakiri/Nankaitarou
2207.04.
Chatannakiri takes a breath, setting her shoulders, before opening the door to the master’s room, tray balanced against her hip. She knows the master isn’t in at the moment, but that’s not who she’s looking for.
She doesn’t bother to knock, because she knows it would be pointless. Instead she steps into the master’s room and calls “Shinshii?”
He responds the second time she calls him.
“My apologies, Chatannakiri-san,” Chouson says, looking up from his book and blinking in the afternoon light. Chatannakiri wonders how long he’s been sitting at his desk, tucked away in this partitioned section of the master’s room. “May I be of assistance?”
She almost ducks back, because even she isn’t immune to his smile, his eyes. The master might be the Citadel’s North Star, but Nankaitarou Chouson is her consort, and the swords of this Citadel orbit him almost as readily as they do the saniwa. Chatannakiri can feel her cheeks heating up.
“Ah, no - it’s me who should be apologising!” she says. “I didn’t want to interrupt your work - but, I thought you might want some sweets. I made it for the master, but I wanted you to try it first. Ah, I brought tea as well!”
Chouson’s expression softens.
“Thank you, Chatannakiri-san,” he says, moving to the side so she can put the tray down on the reading table. “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”
She glances at him, then quickly turns away, focusing on the table. It’s strewn with papers and books, notes and pens - his whole room is, really, bleeding into the master’s, but that’s what happens when Chouson gets focused. There’s also a teapot from earlier, and two empty teacups. These, she nudges out of the way, to be picked up for the trip back to the kitchen. Because she can feel Chouson’s eyes on her, and she needs something to protect her. She sets down her load, then holds the tray between them, like a parasol against the sun.
“It’s really no problem,” she says. “I’m just happy you enjoy my cooking! And, like I said, I wanted you to try it before I gave it to the master, to make sure it’s perfect - and I thought you’d want it too!”
He takes a moment to look over the offerings - the fragrant green tea, and then the sweets with their white cloaks. Some of the pieces are plain, while others carry a dusting of matcha, ginger, or cinnamon. There’s two of each, and she watches him intently as he looks them over.
“Uhm,” she says. “I wanted to try different toppings for it, instead of keeping it just the same old recipe. I’ve asked my brothers - and also Sasanuki - but I wanted to know Shinshii’s opinion, too! You know chippan?”
Chouson’s eyes go wide.
“Yes - it was a beloved sweet of the Shou family, wasn't it? It originates in Fuzhou province, but was modified to fit the environment in Ryukyu, although it continued to be served to envoys from China -“ He breaks off, and this time it’s his turn to blush. “My apologies, Chatannakiri-san - you would know all of this already.”
“It - it’s fine!” she squeaks, her heart thumping in her chest. “I’m happy you get so excited about things from my homeland!”
“Well, it’s always wonderful to have someone’s first hand account of another part of history - especially when one is able to share it in such an enjoyable manner. Thank you for that, Chatannakiri-san.”
“Guburii sabitan…” she mumbles, not meeting his eyes.
If she’d realised she would get this flustered from being in a room with him, she would have sent Chiganemaru instead. Let him deal with these too-pretty northerners.
Chatannakiri decides then that she can bother Chouson for feedback later. The kippan has already taken her several days. It can wait an hour or two before she brings it to the master.
She busies herself with collecting Chouson’s finished teapot and cups onto her tray, trying not to meet his gaze.
“I’ll be back later to collect your other dishes,” she says, getting to her feet. “You can tell me what you think then.”
“I’ll take my time to enjoy your hard work. Chatannakiri-san?”
“Yes?” she says to his questioning tone, half-looking back at him.
He catches her free hand, and brushes his lips to her fingers.
Chatannakiri feels a shiver run down her spine, the kind that has nothing to do with the weather. His sea-fog eyes shine up at her over the rim of his glasses as he holds her hand just a moment longer.
“Nifee debiruu,” he says, and lets go of her hand.