Chapter Text
Yushiro carefully added tea leaves to boiling water in the ceramic teapot, he mixed the water gently so the leaves could properly steep.
It took a few minutes for the flavor to be withdrawn, so he carefully gathered two teacups and added them to a low tray.
His breathing was shallow, as his thoughts consumed him, causing him to grip the counters aggressively instead of continuing with his work.
“Yushiro.” A voice spoke up behind him, causing him to flinch.
“Everything alright?” The older worker spoke; she was carrying a basket of linen and seemed to notice his huffing and puffing even from the short distance.
“Of course…” He nodded, feigning casualty as he took a breath. Relaxing his face into a neutral expression.
The woman nodded and walked off. Once her footsteps faded out, he slammed his fist onto the counter, scratching the wood tops with his nails afterward, letting out a low yell.
…
“Lady Fujiwara.” He called out from behind a sliding door. Once he heard a sign that he was allowed he he slid the door open, not speaking a word afterwards, only setting the tray between the two on a low table.
“Thank you, Yushiro…” Tamayo spoke softly from behind a paper fan; the other man in the room sat silently, only glancing at him.
Yushiro glanced at the man, who had long, deep red hair tied up; Tsugikuni Yoriichi, a friend of the princess. He couldn't hold himself back from giving him a sour look. Although the man was married, he was still unbelievably jealous of the soldier.
Yushiro made his way to the corner of the room, sitting on his knees and looking at the floor mats.
“Yushiro,” Tamayo spoke, moving her head to face him. Most of her face was obscured by the fan in her hand, but she closed it to look directly at him… her soft features made the bitterness in his face disappear, now intently listening.
“I'd like to have a private conversation,” Tamayo said gently, glancing towards the sliding door and back at him.
Yushiro stiffened, quickly bowing as low as he could before quickly standing up and making his way to the door of the room.
“Of course! My- Lady Fujiwara,” he bowed another time as he slipped out of the room, closing it gently so as not to make another noise.
Yushiro stood outside the door, looking at the shadow the two were casting through the paper screen.
“Get yourself in trouble, Yushiro?” A worker said with an amused chuckle, they were holding a frame in their hands, which looked like some sort of artwork.
He only scowled in response, knocking gently on the wall again to alert them as he slid the door open for the woman. Despite his sour attitude, he did try to help as best as he could.
He watched her enter and show off the portrait to the two. Lady Tamayo had commissioned it specially for her friend Tsugikuni.
…
Yushiros' soft footsteps filled his ears, the wood flooring creaking under his feet.
He knew he should be working, doing something important. There was plenty of work to go around since Lady Fujiwara only had few workers around her.
Instead, he took a step outside.
The sun was high in the sky, and the wind made sure it wasn't warm enough to make you sweat. The two balanced each other to make the perfect refreshing temperature.
He saw one or two clouds in the sky being blown about in the wind.
A small shed, nobody was allowed in here, except Lady Tamayo herself and Yushiro.
It was dark; the only light source was the sun peeking through the crack under the door.
He put a hand to his mouth to not cough from the mass amount of dust in there.
A few empty shelves with small miscellaneous items.
And in the middle, a sheathed sword, the first thing you saw upon opening the shed.
“Yushiro…” a memory of Tamayo's voice spoke in his mind; it could be seen as creepy due to the circumstances, but it only comforted him.
“I loved him dearly… but it couldn't be.”
“He was beheaded, because they believed he took away my purity.”
“The only time he laid a finger on me… was to put his favorite flower in my hair.”
The same red flower she always stared at on walks to the garden.
The same he had given her just the other day.
“Forgive me for being jealous…” Yushiro whispered to her, but the only one who heard was the dusty dark wood paneling in the shed.
He gently traced his fingers over the sheathed sword; despite everything else being coated in a thick layer of dust, the sword was dusted and cleaned often by Lady Tamayo herself.
“I, too, would die just to be with you.”