Flowers - Midare/Jiroutachi/Saniwa
2207.01.21
The master is in a good mood. Midare can feel it even without opening her eyes.
Maybe it’s that Yukino’s mood is reflected in the house - the saniwa is its master, after all, and houses want a master almost as much as sword does. Maybe it’s the way the magic feels on Midare’s skin, petal-soft against her cheeks, her lips, brushing against her eyelashes. Her head is the only part of her that’s exposed, the rest hidden under blankets, so that’s where she feels the magic. Or maybe it’s that the master was next to her, just moments ago, and Midare can still feel the lack she has left. Perhaps she’s misjudged the time, and she should be up already, although on Midare’s other side, Jiroutachi is still asleep.
Midare opens her eyes - just a little bit, because the bed is warm and sleep still sheathes her like silk - to see where her master has gone.
It’s earlier than she thought. The room is still dark, except for a single lantern, the paper lit up in a soft amber glow. The light dances on their master’s hair as she kneels at a small desk. She is reading something - or writing, or both - and lost in her work. Whatever it is, it must be beautiful, because every line of the saniwa’s form is saying so. Silk half-covers her shoulders, and pools on the floor. The shoji doors to the outside world are open, but the storm doors are up, charmed to keep the cold at bay. Through them, the world is still the blue-black of a winter’s night, held back by flowers of frost that have bloomed across the window panes. By the colour of the night, Midare knows it’s not yet matins.
And another bloom - curls of steam unfurling the scent of elderflower tea. Perhaps her master has been up for longer than Midare thought.
She should get up, she thinks. She isn’t the most decorous of tantou, but even she knows that her master shouldn’t have to fetch her own tea if there’s a tantou nearby.
Or perhaps she simply wants to be the sword at her master’s breast.
But before she can do anything - rising to wake, or fall back into the sea of sleep - there’s a shift in the bedding beside her, almost soft enough to be lost in the turn of a page, and a heavy arm comes to rest across Midare’s chest.
Midare, her mind lost in thoughts of the battlefield, of being her master’s war-knife, finds her heart leaping from her chest.
She turns over, and finds Jiroutachi awake. Her half-lidded eyes reflect the lamplight into the colours of the dawn.
Jiroutachi catches her eye, and purses her lips. Her meaning is clear - she’s telling Midare to stay quiet, to leave their master to her thoughts, especially when she is so happy to be lost in whatever she is doing. She would raise her hand to hold a finger to her lips, except that she does not want to move her arm from where it lies against Midare’s skin.
So Jiroutachi’s lips are pursed, and near. Midare leans into them with her own.
The kiss is warm and soft, and Jiroutachi smells of growing things, even in the depths of winter. This whole room does - of lamplight and elderflower and their master’s calm, beloved magic. Of her happiness.
And her happiness is Midare’s happiness, even if the saniwa doesn’t know it.
Jiroutachi nuzzles closer, her nose brushing against Midare’s nose, her lips never far. And her body is so, so warm. And somewhere in this Citadel, this splendid place they call home, their husbands are equally warm, equally loved, and curled up against the frost with petal-soft dreams.
Midare decides she doesn’t need to get up now. She can stay right here, loved and warm and safe, and her master will come to her soon. She always returns to her side, after all.
Midare closes her eyes, and lets sleep take her.