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The door swung open as the quiet murmurs of the night winds continued in the corridor behind him.
He took his first step in.
The smell of old books assailed his nose, wrinkling it for a moment. Books that lay half opened in the gloom rustled as he passed them. Night shadows crept around the piles of captured words, elongating them, stretching them into strange shapes. Was there a man there, lying face down with his guts strewn over the floor? He blinked, and the man resolved into a pile of unread letters with a scarily sharp letter opener perched right on top.
He continued with his foray, stepping softly with the natural grace and silence that his kind possessed. A flower on the cluttered desk dropped a petal, the sound of its fall suddenly magnified in the dark. He turned to it and picked up the petal up to examine it further.
Satisfied that it was indeed a flower, picked at random by a child, barely more than a weed at most, he continued.
The sounds of night followed him. The rustle of the papers left carelessly on the floor tailed him, sometimes joining company with creaking floorboards. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Even the moon herself seemed noisy. The moonlight was a note, humming without sound, a relentless tinning in his ears.
He stood still, having delayed enough. He felt naked without his cloak, even more so out of the white uniform he donned for most of the years.
The marshal's button shirt fit him well enough but it seemed so thin; he could tear it with one clawed finger if he chose, and had chosen to in the past. But still, it seemed to suit the occasion. It didn't seem out of place paired with his uniform pants though. He had let his hair out of its braid, tying it instead in a high ponytail mimicking the ease of hairstyles picked for battlefield deployments.
Again, he continued quietly moving to the other door, it creaking open at his touch. The papers were worse here. Rustling and fluttering in the tiny wind that came in with him, they tried to mask the new noises that were with them.
Shadow again, a harmonious note playing counter-melody with moonlight's silent hum. They teased each other in a silent call and reply that echoed throughout the room. And between the two was the solid sound of breathing, a deep bass weaving through the two unreal harmonics effortlessly.
Tenpou was sleeping on his side, his glasses taken off and placed neatly on the side table; it bent the music of light and shadow slightly, adding a discordant trill when he looked at it. Glass fractures light don't you know? Some of his dark hair had fallen over his face, hiding it from view. But from what he could see, the marshal was smiling. He gripped the general's arm, thrown possessively around his hip, tightly, as though afraid that he would wake alone in the morning.
Goujun stared, remembering past years, past centuries when he had lain almost in the same position, never thinking of what could happen in the future. But that was before he found out that kami, like humans, are fickle creatures.
He closed his eyes, remembering the taste of him, the taste and sound of his very presence. He tasted of cigarette smoke and paper, fire and wood. And his presence was like currents in the water. A light rush that seemed safe enough until you dared to venture in, and got sucked into the roar of water suddenly filling your ears. The sound of a raging river was loud in his mind's ear and Goujun put a hand to his temple, trying not to let himself be taken under.
Tenpou in his office, lying across his desk with just his lab coat on. Tenpou, coming into his quarters to pass him some paperwork that just consisted of dirty passages copied from the books he was reading. Tenpou underneath him, crying out his name, telling him that he had never been with a dragon and that his expectations were vastly exceeded. Tenpou, telling him that he works too hard, that he ought to relax more often. Tenpou, upset that he didn't speak up soon enough for his unit's new general. Tenpou, talking about his new general in what he now recognized as a bid to make him jealous. Tenpou, not showing up for dinner several nights in a row. Tenpou, telling him that he works too hard, for the last time before leaving his office. Tenpou... lingering at the door for just a fraction too long waiting for him to call out but he didn't.
Why.
Why didn't he?
It was pure arrogance wasn't it? That he knew what was best for himself and everyone around him. That he took for granted a kami's affections. That he now dearly pays the price for losing them.
With a hard swallow, he stopped, battling hard against the current to resurface as he laid a hand on the table to tread water. The harmony of shadow and light slowly returned to fill his ears again with their silence. Kenren, already seen with his arm around Tenpou, shifted. Skin moving over skin, another jealousy-filled new sound to add to the cacophony of silence.
Goujun felt a sudden urge to leave, suddenly seeing himself from another's perspective. Who was he, to come into Tenpou's rooms like this? In the middle of the night, when nobody was awake. He had no right to be there, no right to see what was never his now in the arms of someone else. It was stupid. He was stupid.
He clenched his fists tight, feeling his claws dig into his palm to draw blood and the harmony that was just reaching its climax collapsed, sending the hollow rush of air back into the room.
He looked around, all the shadows were back in their correct positions, none of them stretched too far, all in place with their proper silhouettes of books left untouched. The papers still rustled, but only at random intervals.
He took a step forward, bending down to push back some of Tenpou's hair away from his face. Nothing moved, and for a second, Goujun fancied that he heard the music that was prevalent a few minutes ago return with the roar of a river behind it.
He hesitated, lips just barely brushing Tenpou's forehead, thinking of past times. Enough is enough. The thought came like an echo. He turned to look at the room, seeing predictably no one.
Goujun left the key he used to enter on the table, right beside the glasses and left without a backward glance.
Then it was just a matter of time before he returned to his quarters, somehow satisfied, but yet not so.