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She stirs just as he turns onto her street, her hair tickling his neck as she shifts position on his back.
"You have excellent timing," Shigezane says, chuckling softly.
"Mmngh," is her only reply, before she nuzzles into his neck; her nose is cold from the evening air, and the shock of it hitting his skin sends him stumbling on non-existent pebbles on the road.
He's going to pretend that didn't happen.
"You just didn't want to walk, did you?" he accuses instead, hoping, hoping that she doesn't hear how his voice cracks when her lips brush gently against the shell of his ear.
"Mmmaybe I just wanted to be carried," she says, tightening her arms around his shoulders.
"You shouldn't make a habit of that," he scolds. "What if I was some strange man and just carried you off, huh?"
"You are very strange."
"Hey!"
"But," she says, her breath hot against his ear, "I don't think you're that kind of man, Lord Narumi."
"Shigezane," he corrects her, slowing his pace further as he nears her home.
"And even if you did carry me away," she says, seeming not to have heard him, "I wouldn't really mind."
"You—!" Shigezane says, but it comes out rather strangled, so he tries again: "You shouldn't go around saying those kinds of things to just anyone, you know!"
"I don't," she says, and his heart gives one very loud, very worrying thump.
She's drunk, he thinks. She doesn't know what she's saying.
So why doesn't he know how to feel about it, anyway?
"We're here!" he says, instead, stopping at her storefront, and he bounces her a little on his back to gain her attention.
Which is—not very smart, in hindsight, because there are—don’t think it!—and they're also bouncing against his back and, and—
"Mmmngh," she groans, and lazily she loosens her grip on him just enough so she slowly—torturously slowly—slides down his back, every inch of her pressing against him and gods, Shigezane thinks, he is a good man and he hasn't done anything so terrible in his life so as to warrant this kind of cruelty—
So what if he likes it? It's still cruel. Mercilessly so, in fact.
And then, and then, even when she's got both feet on the ground, she just kind of—stands there, her hands fisted in the back of his kimono, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.
"Feeling dizzy?" he asks, tipping his head back. He can't see her until he turns his head, but like this he can see the night sky above them, an expanse of stars stretching from horizon to horizon, and like this he can pretend that morning will never come.
"I'm feeling something," she says, fingers tightening in the fabric as if to pull him closer, and he has to close his eyes because the stars are suddenly spinning and he's dizzy from the amount of blood rushing to his face.
He takes a moment to just breathe, before he reaches around to grip her wrist and gently turns them both until they're facing each other. She stumbles a bit despite his best efforts, but the way he catches her by the arms is effortless, as is the way her hands find themselves clutching the fabric of his kimono once more.
And Shigezane isn't cruel, but he is very much a tease.
"Hmm, I think I know what that is," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the quiet sounds of nighttime.
She swallows. "Attraction?"
"No,” he deadpans, "it's sleepiness. You're feeling sleepy. Off with you, now."
Gentle but insistent, he starts to push her towards the door despite her vocal protests and the way his own heart is protesting loudly in his ribcage.
"Wait—" she's saying, "Milord, wait!"
"Nope," he says. "You're drunk, and you're tired, and you need to sleep—"
"Wait! Lord Shigezane—"
"Oh, now you remember my name—"
She whirls around just before the doorframe and says, bold with the drink in her system: "I want to kiss you, Lord Shigezane!"
There's silence, except for the crickets, and what might have been a crow, somewhere, far off, and then—
"Whaaaa—!?"
She stands her ground in the face of his mortification, which is impressive, really, because she's swaying a little on her feet.
"I'd like to give you a kiss, milord," she says, each word deliberate.
"O-oh?" He hopes it comes across as mildly interested instead of wildly nervous—which is what he is, what with having her so close and tipsy and warm, right there next to him.
"Yes," she says, stepping closer still until he can make out the individual strands of hair in the errant lock that had fallen out of her bun and swayed gently against her neck with every movement. "As thanks. For saving me."
"You're drunk," he says, and somewhere in the jumble of his thoughts his mind tells him that he's not quite saying no.
"Mm," she says, "And you're very, very attractive."
"Well, that's true—" he says, defaulting to humor because he doesn't know how else he's supposed to cope.
It gets a laugh out of her anyway, a pretty little giggle that stretches her cheeks and scrunches up her eyes.
"Our customers—" she says, when her giggles die down, "our customers—when they're drinking, you see—they say—they say drunk thoughts are sober actions."
He sighs, exasperated. "You know you've got it all mixed up, doll?"
She huffs, and he swears the way her cheeks puff out in annoyance is cute enough to kill him. "I know what I meant to say."
"Yes, but clearly you don't know what you said."
"I know what I meant!" she says indignantly. And then, softer: "I know what I want."
Oh. Oh.
It's late, and she's drunk, and he's too tired and confused to deal with all the implications of this right now, but Shigezane has never done anything so very terrible in his life so maybe, maybe, whatever gods are watching will forgive him for being selfish, just this once—
"Well," he says, praying to any and all gods that might be listening that she doesn't hear how hoarse his voice sounds, "who am I to turn down a lady's generosity?"
She gives him a lopsided smile, before she rises onto her toes and just kind of—she tips over more than leans forward, and sort of just falls toward him, her mouth pressing against his in a sloppy kiss.
She's very warm, is the first thing he thinks; and then, she's very drunk, is the second.
But oh, oh, the warmth of her mouth is intoxicating, more than any sake, and the kiss is heady and overwhelming and he's maybe, perhaps, just sort of a little bit drunk too.
Just this once, he thinks, as her hands cup his face and his own find themselves gripping her waist, he's going to be selfish just this once and then never again—
But she sighs against his mouth, a moan low in her throat as she presses herself closer, impossibly close, and Shigezane thinks that if he's going to be selfish only once in his life then he wants to make it count.
So he tilts his head, slanting his mouth against hers and tentatively slides his tongue along her bottom lip. He's not so far gone that he'd take more than she's willing to give, but if she does—
She does.
With a gasp and a moan she opens her mouth and all at once her tongue is tangling with his, bringing the taste of sake and honey and the salt of her skin as she deepens the kiss. He doesn't know when his hands gripping her waist became one arm slung around her torso and the other hand tangled in her hair, but damn it all, he doesn't care because he's kissing her and for one wild, selfish moment the world stops—
—only to lurch back into motion when she pulls away—just a fraction, their lips brushing together with each gasping breath they take in tandem.
He can't bring himself to look away—partly because he's so, so tempted to look down, where he can feel her—don't think it!—pressing against his chest with every inhale—but mostly because she's looking at him with wide eyes that are a little bit dazed but above all clear and incredibly, blessedly sober.
"I think," she says, in between trying to catch her breath, "perhaps I might be a little bit dizzy after all."
"You should—" and it's hard to reply when he can't quite remember how to breathe, but he plows on: "You should—get some sleep. It'll help, probably."
"Alright."
"Mm."
Neither of them move.
"Lord Shigezane?"
"Yeah, doll?"
"I'd like to kiss you again."
The fight to keep a smile off his face is valiant, but ultimately futile.
"And what's this one for?" he asks, grinning.
"For—uh, for the road?" she says, which is the flimsiest excuse ever, but Shigezane is already bargaining with himself as he thinks, Twice. Just two selfish moments in his entire life and then he'll live the rest as a veritable saint— which is about as far as he gets before she kisses him again and he's lost.
He pulls away first, this time, but she rises on her toes to follow his mouth and overbalances, falling against him.
He laughs, breathless, as something warm and tender blooms in his chest. And it takes very little effort and no hesitation at all for him to pick her up, bridal style, and carry her through the doorway himself.
"Second room on the left," she says, directing him through the back of the restaurant, which is good because he'd never have been able to find his way around with how distracting she's being, leaning her head on his shoulder like that. He slides open the door she'd indicated with his foot, stepping into a sparse, clean room. He sets her down on her bedding, already laid out—presumably courtesy of her mother, which makes him feel a little bit guilty because they probably worried while she was gone?
Ah, but she's so cute, curling up on the mattress like that, and he's not so good a person as to regret any of the circumstances that led to him being witness to this moment.
Gently, he draws the blankets over her, but before he can move away so much as an inch her hand shoots out from beneath the covers and grasps his wrist.
"Can't you stay?" she asks, mumbling, her eyes already half-lidded with sleep.
And that's—that's too selfish. He can't. He can't.
"I'm leaving in the morning, remember?" he reminds her, drawing his hand away.
"Oh," she says, voice small and unspeakably lonely. "Okay."
He's not quite sure what to say, but she's quiet after that, and he assumes she's fallen asleep. He decides to leave her a note just in case she was more drunk than she seemed to be.
Just after he sets a paperweight atop the letter, she reaches out to catch his sleeve, startling him.
"Lord Shigezane . . . ?"
"Hm?"
"Can I kiss you again? Before you go?" she mumbles, bleary-eyed, but her grip on his sleeve is sure.
He chuckles softly, finding her endearing beyond measure.
"And what's our excuse this time?" he asks.
"No excuses," she murmurs. "Just because I want to."
Well, he thinks. It's not that selfish if she wants it too, right?
He leans down and gives her a chaste kiss, softer than he thought himself capable of and sweeter than he'd ever dreamed. It feels like the first kiss he should have given her—something new and tentative and unhurried, in a world where they would have had time enough to take it slow.
It's a little bittersweet, to think that instead it's probably their last.
If this is the last kiss he ever has in his life, Shigezane thinks it will have been enough.
She doesn't open her eyes when he pulls away, but she smiles all the same. "Good night, Lord Shigezane."
With a rueful smile, Shigezane notes that the light outside has shifted to pale blue, signaling the coming dawn.
"It's almost morning, actually," he says, wistful, but she doesn't hear him, already fast asleep.