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Sakuya was never one for conversation. Though many a moon passed by her window with her staring wistfully at the sky, she would always keep those thoughts to herself, even once she had come to the Scarlet Devil Mansion. Only rarely did she even consider the thought of talking to someone, but now she was starting to feel her face flush from just how much she was talking.
Oh, what a joyous feeling she had forgotten she longed for! The motion of her tongue moving and articulating her thoughts for that delightfully charming Baku! Through that very first night, she stayed up, and let the moon melt into the first embers of dawn.
“Sakuya,” the scarlet devil said, her lips curled coyly like a kid caught wind of a treat coming their way, “why is your groove so different, why do you step with such gusto, why, oh, why?” There are few reasons to praise Remilia, but her eye caught Sakuya’s excitement before even her.
“I don’t understand, mistress,” Sakuya replied, prim and proper, and probably blind herself.
“Oho, so you awoke with nothing but a good night’s sleep?”
“Yes, that is exactly it.”
“Well,” Remilia said, “carry on with your duties.”
The maid paused, curtsied, left, a curious look painted across her glowing face. Yet right before she turned the corner, the mistress called out, like so many other times when she would pretend to not know what she wanted and finally, after the conversation ended, explain her desires.
“Yes, mistress?” said Sakuya, with no small amount of weariness.
“You’re free to take any day off, you know.” The devil winked and sauntered off.
Nary a soul lives brave enough to admit that they would have seen Sakuya blushing.
The next night, when her talking-partner (she used those words because they were Comfortable and not confusing), came to visit her, Sakuya was ready. She had dug out an old book from the library, one of her favourites she would read if she felt the need. When her watch was active, she had all the time in the world to read.
So she read aloud to her guest. The two of them shared an evening under Sakuya’s old friend, the moon, she and Doremy sharing anecdotes and funny stories, laughing away through the endless night. Sakuya was feeling the mirth from her new friend, and brushed her hair behind her ear like she would before she was all put-up and pristine every waking moment.
Doremy looked at her, then slid across the windowsill closer to her. She pulled up her hand and pressed it to Sakuya’s blushing, expecting face. Then, she repeated for her other ear. “You look cuter,” Doremy said.
The quiet moment amongst the noisy night stood out most to the two of them, and they looked out at the lake together, and all was good.
The third night was different. Sakuya stood underneath the windowsill of her tiny room, perched on the end of her bed, clutching her pen and looking around, brow furrowed in concentration. She could have stayed still forever and used all the time in the world to write this poem, but whenever her hand reached for the metal pin on the familiar stopwatch in her breast pocket, she stayed her hand, and dove back into the pages of her personal notes.
One line crossed out for another to replace it, she had her hand placed on the spine of another book, turned to the pages of her favourite wordsmith, and would pull it closer whenever her head spun and demanded she slow down. She didn’t notice the minutes mush together into hours, but her heart sank when she heard the calling of Remilia down from below, telling her she would be off to bed. Once more, she looked at the windowsill, and no one had perched there the entire night.
“Not you too,” she whispered the wind carrying her sorrows out into the fields of Gensokyo.
On the fourth night, she stood by, and waited with bated breath throughout the hours, and choked down her tears when the morning rose once more. The fifth night, too, brought no sign of Doremy, but the sixth night, right when the clock turned and she was about to head to sleep, ready to curse her friend… the ragged breath and the slam onto the wood and the rush of air and that sweet sparkling dust that so often came with dreams all came down and to her senses.
Sakuya rushed up, half crying half smiling, demanding and forgiving at once, “where did you go, you didn’t visit me the last three nights and I really wanted that –“ and she silenced her tongue, knowing how utterly foolish and silly she would have looked to the mistress, to the librarian and to the gatekeeper. She wiped her tears and looked to Doremy, who was sheepishly grinning.
“I was looking for something to give to you,” Doremy said.
“Something that took you away from me for three nights?” said Sakuya, blushing, for she realised that no one talked about anyone like this.
“Yeah, but I swear it was really important.” She told Sakuya to close her eyes, and she hesitantly did, fearing Doremy to be whisked away by the time she reopened them.
“I had to steal this from the Lunar palace itself, but I wanted you to have this.” Before her was a cushioned fountain pen, still covered in sparkling lunar dust. Sakuya looked at Doremy with a face no one could read. “I stole it right from underneath Lord Tsukuyomi’s nose, the big man himself,” the baku said. She leaned in closer, and whispered, “Some legends say the ink never runs out, but i just think it compliments your eyes.”
Sakuya looked to her notebook, lying open on the bedside table, ready to accept her words and feelings. “It’s really pretty, I agree, but are you sure it was worth it? You were gone for a while…”
Doremy started with a broad grin, but once she began speaking her smile faltered and her speech tumbled over itself. “It was dangerous yes,” she stuttered, “but i saw you using a pencil for you notebook and I thought ‘dangit sakuya, your thoughts deserve something that's fit for a king’”
With renewed mirth, Sakuya clasped her hand across her mouth, and stifled a giggle. The two of them spurred each other on, laughing harder until they were crying tears of happiness, holding hands beneath the stars, and speaking empty words of love.