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The world was full of people who knew Obanai better than he did.
"It's okay to cry," Tomioka said, ironically because he seemed unable to show emotions himself. "You can try and ignore the pain but it will never go away," was Kochou's advice, which really suited her. At the same time she was the prime example of what would become of him if he took her advice. "You'll live," was the only thing Shinazugawa said, crossing his arms. Obanai didn't feel like he'd live though.
Because after all, Kyoujurou had been everything to him. His first friend (since Kaburamaru had more or less become an extension of Obanai once his left eye got so bad), his first love, and his first boyfriend. He was now also the first person Obanai had lost after he had been rescued from the snake demon. It hurt a lot. And a lot more than all the people who thought they needed to make him feel better and cheer him up and comfort him were probably aware of.
He couldn't cry, no matter whether it was okay or not. He couldn't try and ignore the pain, because it didn't even hurt yet. And he didn't know yet how he was supposed to live; because his life had only begun the day he had met Kyoujurou - how could it go on without him? It was absurd. It was impossible. And yet he was still here and the chrysanthemums on this plain grave were fresh and white, and he just couldn't believe it . He just felt numb.
But over the days and weeks that followed, the numbness vanished, just like the warmth of summer. It was September after all, the sun still golden but somehow not quite as warm anymore.
It was Kanroji-san who came visiting him one golden afternoon.
"I brought tea," she said with a smile that was so soft he didn't even think it inappropriate given his state. It wasn't full of pity or sadness, even though she must have been heartbroken herself - after all she had been Kyoujurou's tsuguko . But unlike the others, Kanroji-san didn't try and change the way he felt about Kyoujurou's passing. She just went to the kitchen and started heating water.
Obanai sat down by the low table in his tiny sitting room, watching her prepare tea. She didn't use the chasen whisk that sat on the edge of the shelf, which Obanai found unusual, but he didn't comment on it. He had been talking too much in the days after the funeral, to convince people he was okay, which was, as turned out, easier than explaining why he just wouldn't cry. Then he had screamed. His throat had hurt so much. He still didn't feel like talking.
From a pastel pink furoshiki , Kanroji-san produced a little metal container with western characters on it, and a small bottle with a white liquid. Once the water boiled, she filled it into Obanai's tea pot that went with his only two cups (he was in the possession of only two, because he didn't usually receive guests, so only Kyoujurou would be around to drink tea with him sometimes. Everyone else would never see his scars and therefore not be extended an invitation for tea). As soon as Kanroji-san added a little fabric net full of dark bits to the water, a rich scent emerged from the kitchen, wafting over to Obanai who was now more than ever curious about what kind of tea his fellow hashira was preparing.
She brought the tea and cups to the table, then went back to fetch the white liquid and a little box with a label from a sweets shop in Nerima.
"Black tea," she explained, "is pretty bitter if you're not careful." She sat down next to him, and opened the box. "That's why it goes so well with sweets."
Inside the box sat little leaf shaped sweets with a reddish color.
"It's little cakes made of sweet potato and chestnut, with pieces of milk chocolate and almonds. They are very soft, but with a little crunch to them. I ate some last week already when I stopped by the shop. I thought Rengoku-san would have loved them."
It was strange, how the mere mention of his name in her soft, lovely voice broke Obanai into pieces.
Tears fell from his eyes so fast he first realized the wet drops on his yukata, and only a moment later where they had even come from.
Without a word, without advice or anything, Kanroji-san opened her arms and pulled Obanai into a soft embrace. It didn't matter that he was her senior or that he was a man, all that mattered was that he felt as if the ground had disappeared right under his feet and he were falling, weren't it for her gentle arms around his back and her shoulder to bury his face against.
"I loved him," he sobbed, his hands shaking so hard that Kaburamaru fled from his sleeve to curl around his neck. He had never told anyone.
"I know," Kanroji-san said nevertheless. "It was obvious from the first time I saw you look at him. Even when no one else noticed, even when you kept it a secret. I knew you two were in love."
It made it harder that she knew. They had kept it a secret, lest Kyoujurou's father found out he'd not have a heir (at least not from his firstborn), because had he known, the family had suffered from it - or what had been left of it. Obanai had understood that from the first shy kiss down by the brook, however it had become easier when they both became slayers. The missions they had left for together had been exciting, satisfying. After the demons were slayed, Kyoujurou would undress Obanai with fire in his eyes. But death had always been lingering around that corner or another. And when it finally forced their love to a stop, no one had been there to understand why Obanai suffered so much. He had been all alone. Well - until now.
To now have a chance to speak, to tell someone about all those feelings he had bottled up inside, to talk to not only Kaburamaru, but a human who would understand, it made Kyoujurou's absence real and painful. So Obanai sobbed, feeling unable to speak, but he had to; only the heavens knew if he’d ever have an opportunity again.
So he spoke. He told Kanroji-san about the first day he had come to the Rengoku house. He told her about catching frogs and climbing trees and about falling in love in between. He described the warmth of Kyoujurou's hands on his shoulder and not of the warmth of his hands on other parts of his body, but she understood. He told her about the songs Kyoujurou had sung, about his smile and his scent, and about how he had filled Obanai's heart with warmth, if not set ablaze. He told her and he cried harder than he had ever before. His tears made Kaburamaru around his neck feel moist.
"I loved him," he concluded, his voice rough. But on his back, Kanroji-san's hands felt soft and warm. "He made me feel warm. What am I without him? What is life without him?"
"Bitter," she said, slowly, softly.
It made him chuckle through the tears as he sat up, looking to the table. "Like the tea that has been steeping for half an hour now?"
He watched her eyes glint with confusion, then grow wide. "The tea!!"
Hastily she opened the lid of the tea pot and lifted the fabric net that was a nice ochre now. "Oh no, now it will not taste as good as usual."
"But you told me," Obanai calmed her down, his tears drying slowly, "that the bitterness of the tea makes the sweets taste better."
She looked at him with a pout, but nodded. "I didn't want it to be this bitter."
"Let's drink it nevertheless so it doesn't go to waste," Obanai suggested, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Kaburamaru slithered from his shoulders into his lap, watching how Kanroji-san put the net to the side and poured first tea and then the milk. It made the tea look soft and light, like oak wood. Like a summer tan framed by a golden mane.
The tea was lukewarm, rich and aromatic. The cakes on the other hand were soft and fluffy, sweet and tender. The contrast was delicious, and Obanai told her so, while she had discreetly turned away not to see what hid behind his bandages.
"It's good," she agreed, munching on another cake. "Maybe after all, something bitter now and then is not too bad."
They ate peacefully after that.
It wasn't until the evening, when she had left and Kaburamaru curled up on Obanai's futon while he stared at the dark ceiling, that he realized that indeed the bitterness of Kyoujurou's death had in the end just brought out the sweetness it came with. The sweetness of Kanroji Mitsuri.