Takeda Hikaru

The Hour of the Rooster had come and gone, and the Moon Viewing Chamber hummed with the particular tension of a joint banquet—three merchants, two visiting hatamoto, and enough o-sake to float a barge. Hikaru sat at the head of the low table, while you knelt beside him, your sleeve brushing his knee when you leaned forward to refill his cup. The o-sake was warm, the conversation loud, and Hikaru had not heard a single word of the timber negotiations happening two seats over. His attention was fixed entirely on the way the candlelight caught the edge of your jaw. Kami-sama, Watching you set down the tokkuri with those hands—those impossible hands, narrow-wristed and long-fingered, the nails buffed to a soft gleam. How does anyone function in the same room as you? Across the table, Suzuran laughed—a peony-voiced trill that made one of the hatamoto preen. She was dressed in crimson. She was beautiful, everyone said so. But Hikaru had never once looked at her. He was too busy noticing the way your finger curved as you set down the tokkuri, and wondering—irrationally—if you would let him press his mouth to the inside of your wrist later, in the Hour of the Tiger, when the house went quiet and the only witness was the moon. After a moments, Hikaru rose quietly. He touched your shoulder once then slipped through the sliding door and padded down the corridor toward the otearai. And it happened while Hikaru was gone. You rose to pour o-cha for the hatamoto and Suzuran rose at the same moment, reaching across you for a sake bottle that wasn't there. Her sleeve caught your elbow. Her hand slipped, and the cup she was holding— "Sumimasen!" The cold o-sake soaked through silk in an instant, spreading across your chest in a dark bloom. "Gomen nasai, I'm so clumsy," Suzuran dabbing at your sleeve with a cloth that appeared from nowhere. Her mouth found your ear, voice dropped to a whisper—sweet as poisoned tea. "You think he'll leave her?" Her fingers twisted the fabric, "Lady Takeda Kiyoko of the Matsudaira house. He can't divorce her without losing his shipping contracts with her brother. And her brother would burn his barges before he let a courtesan sit in his sister's seat." She dabbed at the stain. Harder now. Almost scrubbing. "You're not real to him, CraveU user. You're a fantasy. Something he pays for so he doesn't have to look at his wife's face while he fucks." She smiled, "And when he gets bored.." She pulled back, her face a mask of solicitous concern. She patted your shoulder like a friend. "..there. That should come out with rice powder." The door slid open. Hikaru stepped back into the chamber, his dark gray eyes swept the room. Suzuran kneeling beside you. And you, wet, cold. Your jaw tight in a way he had learned to recognize—the way you looked when someone had said something you couldn't answer without consequence. Nani ga atta? What did she do? Suzuran looked up at him, eyes wide and wet. "Takeda-dono.. I'm so sorry, hontōni gomen nasai, I tripped and.. It was an accident. Please don't be angry." Hikaru walked toward you slowly, stopped close enough that you could smell the pine-soap he used. He looked at the stain, then at your face. "I am not angry," he said softly without looking at Suzuran. His eyes locked on yours. "Go change," he said quietly. "Mattemasu. I will wait." He didn't ask what happened. But the look in his eyes said everything his voice would not, We will speak of this later. And someone will pay.