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Kirumi Tojo has always been fascinated by hands. They’re a sign of prowess, marks of craftsmanship, and a form of connection to the world, showcasing one’s lifestyle, emotions, and skills so blatantly yet discreetly.
Perhaps that’s why she had taken to covering hers up. As a person with a selective interest in others who keeps her guard up at all times, it is only sensible that she chooses not to bare herself for the world to see. Calloused hands with skin made tough from work always inspire a sense of admiration in her, being her favorite to observe from the many types she sees, perhaps a bit fitting given that her own once reflected those values as well.
However, her favorite pair are the bandaged ones that are currently gently wrapped around her waist. Kiyo keeps her form close as the two stand waiting in the crowded subway. In her hands is a plastic, shiny gift bag decorated with pops of green mistletoe sprigs that crinkles when her hands tighten their grip in response to train brakes locking.
Their class had arranged a small gift exchange, and while the two had both brought their individual recipients gifts, they’d remained unattended to for the duration of the exchange. It wasn’t until the party had neared its end and all the mess had been taken care of by her that the two were approached by the infamous ultimate supreme leader and significantly more beloved pianist, receiving a single gift along with cheeky grins and looks from the rest of the class.
There’s a slight lurch as the train comes to a halt and the grip on her waist tightens when she has to readjust her stance in order to remain balanced. After the hiss of the doors opening the two exit, taking the fastest route back to their shared apartment, eager to finally be away from the demands of the outside world. As always he takes her bag without prompting, perhaps in spite of her as Kirumi has always insisted that she is not to be helped but instead provide aid.
If hands are the window to one’s soul then she supposes mouths are the veil surrounding it, distorting intentions and feelings with charming words and ornate arrangements; such statements from her are a prime example. He, however, is completely capable of discerning her true meaning, looking past the veil and piercing her with his gaze. Kirumi has never truly felt seen in such a way and can’t fathom how the anthropologist can read her trained and inexpressive fingers, but with him the desire to be seen licks at her insides, lighting a pyre within her that prompts twitches from her fingers.
And she is left asking if just this once she may be selfish, wanting to revel in this feeling of being known yet unbarren.
However, she needn’t voice her desires, for he is already tending to her with delicate touches and long fingers that caress her hand cheekily. She lifts her own to fluidly twist the door handle, but is intercepted by the hand on her the small of her back, nudging her forward. Her lips quirk up where he can’t see as he opens the door.
Immediately she’s hit with the sound of eager meows by two cats. Sesame weaves around her legs, purring eagerly as the two remove their shoes, golden eyes blinking up at her. Matcha has jumped up onto the small table they keep near the door and is patiently grooming her blonde fur as she waits, only meowing when the two finish. Kiyo’s fingers hastily undo the buttons of his coat, swiftly discarding his keys and shoes.
However, instead of attending to the felines, Kiyo sweeps her away from the entrance with a hand on her shoulder, interrupting her from running her fingers through Sesame’s fur. Amused and unsurprised she chuckles and turns to seat herself on the couch, as curious about the gift as he is. Fingertips on her waist pull her back and she bounces against his lap before she has time to intercede.
“I believe my lap will provide a far better viewing experience, my dear.” In his other hand the gift hangs from his fingertips and she can hear the cheeky smirk in his voice. Ah, her face flushes, she missed that he had grabbed it.
She tugs his mask down with a finger, pressing a short lived kiss against his lips, ignoring the way his grip tightens almost imperceptibly around her waist. “Patience dear...” In a hushed tone she smirks, of course enjoying her position but the way he holds up the bag informs her of his intentions enough to know he’ll listen.
Kirumi takes it from his fingers, ignoring the crackle it makes as she pulls the mouth open and carefully folds each square of tissue paper, handing Kiyo each one in confidence. The meows of the cats, drawn to the crinkling noise, approach the two. She finishes, listening as his grip on the paper tightens by a fraction in response to her unhurried movements. Inside two small boxes rattle about, ones she recognizes as on brand for a popular jeweler store chain. Next to them is a card.
“Hiii mommy! Oh right, Daddy is tooootally reading this over your shoulder so I guess I should greet him too.” Kiyo lets out an amused breath through his nose that tickles the hair on her neck while his fingers trace indiscernible patterns into the wrapping paper held loosely between them. “We wanted to get you two something extraaa special this christmas, but because it was more expensive we all had to pitch in thanks to Kaede’s help.” To the side, a small doodle of the musician smiles up at them. “Merry christmas! I better not find out about having a new sibling when we get back.”
At the last statement she can only chuckle and shake her head. “Is such an idea so unfathomable to you?” Despite his jovial tone the patterns on the paper have stopped. Kirumi places the envelope back into the bag, a dismissal, and looks back at him. “At our age? Yes.” Despite context providing more than enough of an adequate explanation to ease him, the statement is also tinged with her subtle humor. This in itself, coupled with general knowledge of their age demographic, sparks a small chuckle within him and his fingers lace together as he affectionately presses a kiss to the back of her neck. Such a surprising and delicate motion sends shivers down her spine involuntarily, which earns yet another chuckle from him.
Focusing her mind on the boxes, she slips off a cover to find a silver band, and in its center a small glittering crystal that earns a curious tilt of her head. She highly doubts it’s diamond, knowing that such an expensive gift must have already required a large sum of money from high-schoolers of all people. Kiyo echoes her thoughts, again reading her despite the stillness of her hands as they hold the boxes. “I suppose that would be white sapphire,” He pauses to take a breath and she waits patiently for the short lecture to begin, never minding his habit, if anything she adores it. “It is commonly used as a cheaper alternative to diamonds, given the gems considerable versatility and accessibility-- despite the rise in the number of found and cut diamonds in this day and age, most likely due to traditional values and advertisement keeping its market value at inflated levels. The gem is nearly indistinguishable from its more expensive counterpart to the untrained eye, similar to Moissanite-- another alternative-- in terms of cost, though it runs cheaper than both.”
Kirumi simply nods along, enjoying the soothing sound of his voice as he speaks and the fascinating tidbits of information he bestows upon her. Once he’s finished she opens the second one and is pleased to see a matching, larger ring, both containing a small inscription with the kanji for promise inscribed on the inner ring. Despite her usual calm demeanor, her heart leaps to her throat and she can’t help the smile that worms its way onto her face. Kiyo’s hands weave around her waist, pulling her closer as excitement colors his voice.
“Darling, these are no ordinary couples rings.” No they aren’t. Their entire class has seen how devoted the two are and such a thought makes her insides nearly melt at the thought that they all know that he is hers and she, his. She can’t stop herself, nor would she want to, from turning to face him and pressing her lips to his in a charged kiss.
To her dismay, he pulls back first, leaving her blinking back at him owlishly. He never ends their embraces.
“Might I have the pleasure of seeing it on you?” He asks, his hands already gently taking her own and slipping her trademark gloves off, betraying the very nature of his question. Unphased, she indulges him, for once allowing another to view her without them, but she supposes whether or not she wears them he reads her all the same.
In a moment of eternity he carefully glides the cool ring over her finger, locking it into place against her tougher skin before he lifts it to his lips, sealing it with a soft kiss. Oh, she thinks, how unfortunate it is that others may never experience such devotion to and from another in their short lives. Heart pounding, she repeats his actions, taking a moment to remove his bandages carefully, pausing when the time comes to kiss it, if only to ensure her lipstick has been properly removed so it doesn’t smudge against the shiny metal.
Their fingers entwine, rings tapping together with a muted clink, and for a single fleeting moment Kirumi Tojo swears their souls connect and mesh into one.
…
“Eyes are the window to the soul.” It is a phrase that Korekiyo Shinguji has heard uttered in many different languages from many different countries. Such a message is understood intrinsically, so much so that it travels beyond borders and societal limitations, similar to concepts such as justice, truth, and, most notably, love. As such he regards the phrase with a certain reverence.
However, he would not be an anthropologist if he merely accepted such a statement without consistent enough studies done on his part to confirm it. Yes, he has found that more often than not everything about a person can, to some degree, be discerned from the glimmering depths of their eyes and the fold of their brows. His favorite pair, of course, are none other than the ones that are currently occupied with studying the rings that glitter on their fingers.
Luminous, green pools deep enough to drown him. Well, he turns her in his lap so that the two may lay down, sure to keep their fingers interwoven, at the moment only one is exposed to him. Yet just this one is enough to engulf him in a sea of unspoken words and all-consuming emotions that he yearns to dive into.
Love, such a fickle yet lasting trait of humanity. To humanity love is a god. Yes, Aphrodite who incites wars in the name of the hand of the most lovely bride, Ishtar who ventures into the underworld in the name of love, Freyja who threatens all who come to harm her son-- love is god, but not his god. Such a fickle thing may start wars and journeys but love is rarely what ends them.
No, devotion is his god. Devotion drives warriors to end the bloodshed. Devotion sees the end of journey’s, tales, and lives. It is an everlasting process and it is the pinnacle of human capability. Kiyo looks into Kirumi’s eyes and he sees all that is possible of humanity. He takes a moment to gently push away the soft silk of her bangs out of her face as she looks up at him through her lashes, if only to better admire her.
Kirumi squeezes his hand tighter, her face slightly flushed as she caresses his cheek. “Dare I ask what has inspired you to wax poetic at such a time?” Her eyes twinkle up at him and he can’t help but press a kiss to her cheek, and then her forehead, and then her nose, and soon he’s pressing kisses against her whole face. She chuckles, drawing his attention to her lips, reminding him of his unfinished business and earning a kiss.
This time Kirumi is the one to end it, pulling away, though he follows her lips doggedly. Her eyes flicker towards the kitchen, a subtle indication of the hour. Kiyo hesitates, but ultimately sits up so she may go. His partner grows considerably disquieted when he doesn’t eat proper meals after all, and he cannot deprive her of such a simple request on her part.
His eyes follow her to the kitchen as his mind returns to his previous thoughts. She had been a follower of Devotion long before him, before he understood the concept’s power. Indeed, it was when she first preached to him of her “selfless devotion” that he had even heard of such an idea, and even then he dismissed it as an ideology solely to study.
Easily tying the knot of the red, frilled apron (that he had gifted to her in part as a joke) behind her back, Kirumi begins to gather the necessary ingredients to prepare their dinner. Given the exceptional cold, and rather large pot she’s retrieved, he’d hazard to guess that she intends to make a soup. The smile that graces his mouth, clearly visible with his mask resting against his neck, is accompanied by the rapturous beating of his heart as he watches her attentively begin her work while nonchalantly wrapping his bandages back around his fingers.
What had truly swayed him then-- and still captivates him to this day-- was the steel in her eyes as she spoke. Though her voice was even, her eyes brimmed with a passion, and beyond that, when the flames had cooled, they gleamed with the fortitude of a well forged sword. What was once molten and pulsing with heat had cooled and instead of losing it’s propensity for death it had merely been honed. Such a destructive yet short lived force cannot hold a candle to the permanence of a well maintained blade that strikes with calculated efficiency. And what bests the heat of passion more decisively than enduring devotion?
So lost in thought is he that he doesn’t even realize he’s migrated across the room in order to watch with a more intimate view until he catches that steadfast gaze of hers. Her fingers hold each carrot delicately while she shaves off their unwanted skin with practiced speed and capability, finishing each seconds after she picks them up. Kirumi Tojo is a blade, so versatile in nature that she may be forged from the remains of her previous form and revealed as an improved version of herself with accomplishment.
And he, her defense. No, not a shield; such heavy, slow, and brutish defensive armor hardly pairs well with one such as her, despite common notions. He is to provide her cover from afar, piercing anyone who dares approach her before they may touch a hair on her head with a steel tipped arrow. But, he sighs through his nose and leans his cheek into his hand as he watches, his beloved has never been one to shy away from her duty. The knife beats against the cutting board melodically, reminding him of clashing swords. Unfortunately, though he is inclined to also remind himself of how fortunate such a development is as well, she insists on engaging others, lest they reach past her defenses and get anywhere near him.
Oh yes, he is unsure of when but at some point that devotion, rather than fizzle out, was converted and redirected toward another subject. Perhaps it was due to the material remaining the same that he’d failed to recognize such a change in the Maid’s eyes. He was aware of her gaze more consistently resting on him, but at the time had attributed it to her growing suspicion of his socially reprehensible actions rather than… well what was revealed to him following that development.
She moves onto the potatoes, carefully chopping each into equally sized chunks as the water begins boiling. That day, Kiyo muses gleefully, the two of them exchanged precious words. Oh the way her eyes lit up when he confessed that he could no longer withhold his fascination and utter devotion to her. They brimmed with intense emotions, so intriguing they drew him in and- Oh well, he’s done it again.
Kirumi’s hands still as he presses his lips to her own, transferring warmth between the two as he leans over the counter. There is nothing between their lips, not crimson lipstick nor nude shades, but pure emotions and soft unspoken words. He pulls back and tucks a few stray strands of hair behind his ear as he appraises the glimmer of her eyes, that of which reflect cooly back at him with a slight twinkle.
“Though I am positive you are capable of, and willing to, stay and watch as I prepare dinner,” She turns around and grabs something. “I am aware you have business to attend to.”
Oh? He hadn’t said so. How she can read his eyes so well with one of her own hidden mystifies him. Of course, Kiyo never makes any attempt to hide his emotions, if anything he projects them outward, leaving all that must be hidden firmly concealed by the show he puts on. Misdirection, as magicians would say, is key to keeping your audience ignorant, and while he rarely lies, he also rarely allows others the chance to find out his truths.
Yet still, she reads him like a trusted battle partner, placing her life, mind, and body- her soul- in his hands, everytime she looks into his eyes. And he will do the same, again and again.
His lips pull back into a sharp grin, for a fraction of a second he sees her own twitch as well, at the sight of his matching apron, clean and crisply folded in her hands. With a flourish he dons his armor, the frills around the heart on his chest flutter like that of a banner announcing his allegiance. Kirumi pauses her work to cover her mouth with a hand, no doubt hiding a smirk and a chuckle, but alas her eyes glimmer with mirth and expose her.
Not wasting a second, he pulls her hand away, relishing the way her eyes widen in shock. “No need to hide such a lovely laugh, my dear.” Kiyo savors the slight flush of the maids cheeks as he backs her against the counter. “After all, you gave me such a thoughtful gift, it is only right that I wear it.” Her eyes flicker almost coyly away from his own and he tuts, tilting her chin up to capture her gaze.
Oh, his beloved knight. Their lips lock again, and her eyes slip shut, his own following soon after. The two part slowly and reluctantly, their foreheads pressed together as they gaze into each other's eyes and entwine their fingers, leaving their souls wound together in intricate knots.
Sadly, their sweet moment turns to ash when the sound of water boiling fills the room. Kirumi clears her throat.“It would behoove you to leave now, lest you remain unfinished when dinner is ready.” As she speaks she turns and opens a drawer.
“Such a cold tone… you wound me darling.” The anthropologist says with a lilt in his voice. Instead of responding the maid places his favored hammer in his hands, along with a fresh set of nails. Looking closer, the wood has been polished and cleaned of any previous stains. “Darling you shouldn’t have, it will only be dirtied again.”
She smooths out the ruffles on his apron with a quick motion of her hands. “And I shall clean it again.” Such a simple statement has his heart swelling and he leans in for another kiss, chaste and short given that the boiling water has grown louder.
“Au revoir for now, my love.” Kirumi only hums in response, but he doesn’t miss the fond twinkle in her eye, nor the way her lips quirk up as she finishes preparing the ingredients. So beautiful, he sighs to himself, his lovestruck gaze regrettably flitting away from her form.
The door to their work room creaks loudly as it swings open wide.
Still, business must be attended to. A dim yellow glow fills the cold staircase with a flick of his wrist. After all, he muses as he adjusts his grip on the newly polished hammer, his beloved will be expecting a new gift.
…
Just as Kirumi finishes spooning a large ladle of soup into a ceramic bowl, a pair of hands graze against her back before arms wind around her waist. A smile ghosts across her lips and she turns her head, already anticipating the soft kiss that is pressed against her hair. “Dinner smells lovely, my dear.”
Her smile returns, faintly lining her features but this time remaining in place, earning the slightest twitch of his fingers. “I am happy to hear that, however I am sure you would enjoy its taste far more, dear.” Along with its nutritional value, her mind chimes in, recalling the numerous kinds of vegetables and high quality meat she’d used for it. There will definitely be excess, but all the better given the fact that her partner can grow extremely single minded when attending to his studies or… other duties, and if she is not present to ensure he eats then she must at the least ensure he eats well when he does. Even if she is far more guilty of failing to eat on time...
He lets out a slow exhale, seemingly content to stay where he is. “Oh? You just served it, no? Allowing the food a moment to cool will surely do us no harm.” Surrendering to his logic (though she rarely refuses to indulge him even without his persuasion) she sets the ladle against its ceramic rest with a muted clink and turns to inspect his appearance, eyes flitting to his own before settling at his feet.
His shoes have faint flecks of scarlet barely visible on the leather– why he always insists upon wearing such nice shoes for work as slovenly as his she will never understand, only accept– and the chances of his shoes not having the sticky substance on their undersides are slim to none. Hmm, she will have to clean them before next week arrives. No, tonight, lest the leather become ruined once it dries.
Next comes the bottoms of his pants, surprisingly clean all things considered, though the spots of red have grown to resemble larger splotches. Oftentimes he forgets to step away from his work and as such tends to stain whichever clothes he dons that day; once again being namely dress clothes, almost as though he wishes to impress her while he works. Of course while she would be considerably more impressed if he managed to keep his clothes free of stains, it cannot be denied that on the occasions she walks into his sessions her heart flutters aggressively against her ribcage. On those days she enjoys teasing him with a gentle kiss on his cheek or, when she is feeling considerably cheeky, on the lips, reveling in the dreamy gaze that follows her.
Starting above his knees is the matching red apron he wears nearly every chance he gets: when cleaning, cooking (on the days he attempts to surprise her or has managed to convince her to take a break), and doing more hands on labor. Kirumi reaches out to the ruffles and adjusts them as she appraises it. The red of the fabric allows for stains to be considerably less notable, a blessing and a curse when she washes it given the stains are harder to spot.
And then there are his arms and hands, the culprits. White bandages stained with large blotches of red, considerably larger than that of ones below them, reach to wrap around her waist. Her brow raises and she looks up at him. Sensing her question, he responds unfazed. “I do believe the stains on my hands have finished drying.”
Unsatisfied, she pulls his hands from her waist (albeit somewhat reluctantly, given how comforting his warmth is) and turns his palms up to face her. Tension makes his fingers twitch as she swipes her thumb over damp bandages on the fleshy palm of his hand. “Hmm… it would seem your beliefs were unfounded.” Despite the stern nature of her words her thumb continues to brush against his hand before she looks up to him.
“Would you mind helping me remove them, then?”
“Not at all.”
The start of their day is always the most peaceful. One of the two rise before the other, often times Kirumi as her body is naturally adjusted to awakening before the sun rises (unless the two are together and he has lulled her into a world of dreams she does not wish to escape) then, depending on who has awakened first, they go to awaken one another, oftentimes after preparing breakfast (or in the case of Kirumi attending to her morning tasks and then preparing breakfast for the entirety of her class) and the two begin one of her favorite rituals: applying his bandages. Wrapping them about his arms slowly and methodically, layering the white soft cloth over his skin snugly though not too tight, the two exchange soft touches and few murmured words as they work.
The time in which they are unraveled depends on the day and his activities. When dirtied he often takes them off immediately– if it can be helped and he feels he is in a comfortable environment such as their current one. Bandages to the anthropologist are what gloves are to the maid; not only a source of comfort but also secrecy. In this they are once again united, she hums.
Slightly yellowed fabric uncoils as she works, methodically rolling the removed sections up as she goes to reduce the amount of work it takes. His left hand is finished and he pockets the remainders while she moves onto his right until he is left barren to her and she can only marvel at his soul.
As she finishes her eyes flutter to look up at him through her lashes and his own golden irises latch onto hers, reminding her of when their fingers are intertwined. Fingertips gently brush against her cheek, pushing her bangs back from her eye, revealing the hidden gem. A barren hand cups her chin and he places a featherlight kiss against her cheek.
“Let’s not allow your hard work to grow cold.”
Now he listens.
Kiyo follows closely as his beloved elegantly balances their meals on a silver tray, gracefully setting each steaming bowl down in their place at the table. The tray is next before he pulls her chair back, gesturing for her to sit down. With a slight smile she does so and he pushes the chair in before seating himself.
After a brief moment he picks up his spoon and takes a small scoop, carefully blowing at it in response to the steam it emits. “My dear…” Garnering her attention, he holds out his spoon to her, and though she pauses, she leans forward and accepts his loving affection. Taking a moment, the maid allows the flavor profile to wander her palette before swallowing.
Ever subtle as always, her lips just slightly purse. “I would have preferred you to be the first to taste the meal…” Ah… He chuckles and stands from the chair, gliding his hand along the curve of the table as he smoothly steps around it.
“Will you not give me a taste then, my dear?” Effortlessly, he seats himself on her lap, leaning his head next to her own and cradling it with his hand. Her cheeks flush nearly imperceptibly in response, and he coos, twirling her bangs between his fingers as he waits.
“Do take your time, I am quite enjoying mine here.” He chuckles as she blows on the scoop, having been careful to get a nice mix of meat and vegetables in it, he notes. In response, the maid clicks her tongue.
“I suggest you remain silent, lest you receive a rather hot spoonful to eat.”
“Are you suggesting my mouth is better spent on… other activities?” His voice lowers as he whispers in her ear, eagerly awaiting her shiver in response.
“Yes, Korekiyo,” Instead the anthropologist is the one to shiver at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. “I want you to eat what I have prepared for you.” Despite her rather normal sentence and even tone, he knows she is teasing him. Her lips quirk up as she holds out his spoonful, awaiting his response innocently- knowingly he corrects himself.
“Anything for you, my darling.” With that he leans down and eagerly accepts the bite, allowing the broth to wash over his taste buds, appreciating the savory taste that precedes the chunks of beef she kindly included. Chewing thoughtfully, he knows she is watching, though Kirumi does attempt to hide it, her eyes continuously flicker to him inquisitively.
“Exquisite as always, my dear.” Smiling, he places a kiss against her cheek, savoring how she can’t quite hold back her satisfied smile.
Instead of getting up, the anthropologist enjoys his time in her lap, smirking until she clears her throat, looking pointedly at his untouched bowl. Reluctantly, he stands and complies, though not without trailing a finger down her cheek shamelessly. “Kiyo…” Kirumi raises a brow, her lips pursing into a subtle pout- not at his teasing, but more so his negligence of the food she so lovingly prepared.
“Yes, dear…” Reluctantly, he seats himself, and the two begin to eat together.
Some nights their conversations are lively: wistfully detailed tales from him of his day, his research and the likes, mixed with small streams of her own thoughts, fluidly trailing from her lips like honey, leaving him to grasp at every word with cupped hands. Others, like tonight, are quiet, nothing but the shared comfort of company to act as the words between the two after all other conversation has been exhausted from them. The quiet is not unnerving, as the two had basked in it many times ago when their only solace from their rowdy classmates was such comfort, and not unbroken either, sprinkled in are small words in passing, murmurs of compliments, and very loud expressions from both parties.
Although his partner is far more reserved than himself, he had painstakingly taken the time to map out each miniscule detail of her expressions, every minute crease of her brow, twitch of her lips, movement of her hands, and of course, the changes in her eyes. Such work began long before the two had begun their relationship, so of course it was far from perfected at the time he had assumed her microexpressions were ones of displeasure and suspicion. To some degree he was correct in certain aspects, but in others he was completely mistaken.
His bowl is nearly emptied in half the time her own is, and he is sure to refill it, albeit only halfway this time, as a reassurance of its quality. Though she says nothing, her eyes quickly flash to his bowl at the sound of ceramic settling against wood, hand pausing for a mere fraction of a second, allowing her lips to twitch up in appreciation before she takes her next spoonful.
If only he could capture such an expression forever on her beautiful face.
But that would ruin the utterly entrancing nature of humanity, fleeting, yet ever changing, and nothing could hold a candle to the subtle blossoming of his own partner. And for this he can only ever hope to capture these fleeting moments in whatever form he can.
Kirumi sets down her spoon, her bowl emptied of its contents, reflecting his own. Now is the moment to act.
Before he can stand the bowl is already whisked away from under his nose, the maid settling at her station in front of the sink, starting their little race. At once he strides to the work room door, down the steps, and quickly grabs her now dried gift, not wasting a second with unnecessary movements lest he lose the edge she has given him. His boots thump against the floor near silently, practiced motions reducing their noise despite his pace, until he halts breathlessly in front of the kitchen.
When he returns, she is nowhere to be found, and he smugly seats himself in her own chair, waiting to hear the soft, near silent padding of house shoes against the floor. “Did you perhaps have trouble procuring your gift, my dear?”
She appears, the swish of her skirts announcing each and every motion as they occur with the bright red of her apron making sure his eyes are drawn to her lithe frame. In response a coy smile makes its way to the maid’s lips and she speaks coquettishly, “Something to that effect.”
“My, how fortunately unfortunate… for you.” His smile widens, cheeks pushing up and making his narrow eyes nearly close, leaving his teeth on full display and bared at her eagerly. Undaunted, she crosses her legs, settling her hands in her lap.
“So you say.”
His lips are pressed against her own in a heartbeat, lasting just as long, and he turns to the hidden items he’s procured for her, eagerly pulling them out from their resting place. Smooth white sheets are pulled away to reveal a stark red image before her, interrupted only by two single spots of bright green.
Kirumi Tojo, is settled firmly against the canvas, her eyes set on the task of dutifully preparing the christmas party hotpot laid out before her.
“So this is what you were preoccupied with while I was cooking…” She murmurs, eyes appraising the painting, taking notes of subtle shades of scarlet and rouge, trailing to the darker browns and maroons, noting when his strokes shift in direction and when each shade blends into the next seamlessly.
Oh yes, the moment had struck him as he watched and he hurriedly snatched his field guide to capture her likeness in that fleeting moment, careful to focus on her eyes that now glint coolly in the sea of warm crimson.
“Exquisite as always, dear.” She echoes his compliment, and his grin stretches nearly inhumanly wide. Before he may speak, soft lips press against his cheek, reinforcing her previous statement, assuring him of how pleased she is with his work. Before she can pull back his hands snake around her waist, ensnaring her against him.
“Did you truly think I would let you go so easily, my dear?”
Red stained ruffles brush against pristine white ones as his arms tighten their grip, keeping them chest to chest despite her attempt to escape before. Unflinching green eyes look up at him, adoration brimming within them as she gives him a teasing smirk, a look that is likely reflected back at her, though his smile is undoubtedly sharper, more hungry.
“I expected nothing less, Korekiyo.”
Kirumi’s smirk only widens as his grip grows even tighter around her waist and he nearly melts at the sound of his name from her lips. He always enjoys such affection, as rare as it may be, for she reserves it for a few special moments.
“You know me all too well, my darling.” He all but coos, releasing one arm to reach behind him for the second frame, the one that took a bit more effort.
Her eyes light up at this particular gift. Oh, her favorite …
From the polished wooden frame juts out a sturdy glass casing, housing within it a set of stiff, calloused hands. Each digit rests in a natural relaxed state, though given the slight sheen of gloss making them appear as stiff as wax the maid doubts they’ll move even during a potential earthquake, mounted against black backboard.
Each patch of stiff skin marks the original owner as one of great skill, and indeed Kiyo had taken a painstakingly long amount of time attempting to find just the perfect specimen worthy of being his gift to his beloved. Judging by her delighted smile, a rare one that even the likes of him only gets to see in a blue moon, he has chosen well. His heart thuds against his chest, so loudly he is sure she can feel it against her own.
This time she presses her lips to his own, a short lived but passionate kiss, before her sense of propriety takes over and she pulls back. “You always chose such thoughtful gifts.” She caresses his cheek gently, before moving to grab her own gift, but his grip doesn’t let up.
“Where are you going?”
She merely raises a brow at him despite the shadows over his face. “Do you not want to receive your own gift?”
“Oh? Are you telling me the Ultimate Maid is incapable of retrieving it without leaving my arms?” The smirk in his voice is as clear as the one on his lips as he teases her.
“I am, as you put it so frequently, only human, and cannot reach it from my current position. Stop acting so childishly, you cannot have your cake and eat it too.” Not one to give into his teasing so easily, she rebuffs him and waits patiently until he reluctantly releases her form.
Her gifts are arranged on the table carefully, the maid being sure to keep any potentially damp paint from smearing onto the wood of the table, before she reaches behind her own chair and pulls out a box with a small bit of ribbon around it.
At once his pouting stops and the anthropologist’s fingers itch to grab it, but he restrains himself and waits patiently until the gift is nestled within his hands. He opens the lid, thoughtfully placing it on the table next to the other items, and a small jar glints in the candlelight about them. “Astounding, utterly breathtaking.” In a pool of liquid, two green orbs float about, small white petals of laurestine circling about them rhythmically. They peer up at him inquisitively, forever frozen in a state of wondrous beauty.
“You are too thoughtful…” He murmurs, setting the jar against the table, eyes cutting from them to her own pair of green eyes that twinkle in satisfaction. “These are my very favorite…”
Before she can stop him his hands scoop her up and he rushes them to the couch once more, eager to begin where they left off. If she’s surprised, Kirumi doesn’t show it, merely slipping her hand into his own with a placid smile, encouraging him to pepper kisses against her smooth skin with hands that gently caress his hair. It is only when his hands are undoing her tie that her hand stops his own.
The look on his face breaks, going from hungry to crestfallen in a matter of seconds. “Do you truly find the thought of being-.” Before he can finish his sentence, she silences him, her hand up to stop him wordlessly.
“Korekiyo Shinguji, there is no one else in the entirety of this world that I would raise a family with.” Before he can pounce she continues on. “However, I want our children to be brought into this world with care and thought . They deserve the world and we shall let them experience it when the time is right. ”
Oh. He takes a moment to consider her words. Yes, two highschoolers, even if they are Ultimates, aren’t the most ideal family situation for young children. And while such circumstances are not inherently harmful to developing minds- he has seen for himself how such families can be just as happy and successful as planned ones- he completely understands why she desires to take the time in preparing everything for their future family to completion.
The Ultimate Maid is never one to take her goals lightly, he muses. And he as well, despite his eagerness, is not the type to rush so carelessly into situations. It must be the holiday spirit getting to his head, he chuckles.
“But of course,” His voice is smooth as he brings her hand to his lips and Kirumi lets out a relieved exhale. “I want to take my time in enjoying you all to myself, after all.” Smirk growing wide, he leans down to capture her lips with his own.
Before he can think his back bounces against the seats of the couch, and she is standing and nonchalantly undoing the knot on her cooking apron. “If you want to do so you will have to try harder than that , Korekiyo.” She brushes past him coyly. “Tea?”
Cheeky. “But of course.” And he gets up to follow, snagging the loose strings of her apron before she can remove it from around her neck and pulling her towards him, reveling in the slight hitch of her breath that she fails to keep in. “However, if you wish to see my efforts doubled, then you will have to try harder, my dear.”
Their fingers are laced together, cool silver brushing against each other’s skin, and she turns her head as he does, their eyes meeting in a beautiful burst of sparks, leaving their souls melded together as their passion cools. Green and gold blend together, each glinting with an endless devotion the likes of which the world could never understand.
“So be it.” A soft kiss is shared, both of their lips quirking up as they smile into it, before gently parting. Korekiyo Shinguji’s fingers find the strings of Kirumi Tojo’s apron once again and deftly tie them into a perfect bow once more. She shoots him a look over his shoulder, encouraging him to double knot the bow cheekily.
“Now, about that tea.”