Work Text:
180°F.
Nodding to herself, Lumine removed the thermometer from the teapot, shaking off the boiling water before setting it aside on the counter.
“Ten times that temp and you’d be cremating bodies!” Hu Tao said.
Lumine sighed. Stepping back from the counter, she poked her head outside the kitchen. A quick scan of the sitting area confirmed that none of her customers had overheard the comment.
Retaking her spot in front of the teapot, Lumine said, “You’re going to scare my guests away…” She dropped in green tea leaves and set a timer for two minutes.
“Oops!”
“Keep your morbid jokes out of my fine establishment.” She tried to keep a straight face, but her lips twitched into a smile all the same.
“Oh-ho! Big words there, but boooo.” Hu Tao stuck her tongue out. “It’s what happens. We’ll all be turned to ashes one day. Ashes that’ll float into someone’s nose and be sneezed back out into the air!”
A laugh slipped from Lumine. Words like that no longer bothered her, not after having her life steeped so thoroughly in death.
“Nothing to worry about. ‘Sides, all your guests should be familiar with the end. It’s only scary because no one ever wants to talk about it.”
“Yeah, but they’re here to forget about that for a moment. I don’t think either side needs a reminder on how mortality works.”
The smile slid off Hu Tao’s face. “The living need to remember where they’re headed, and the dead need to remember they’re, well, dead. Separation between the two is key. There needs to be a clear line between where life ends and the afterlife begins; otherwise, it gets all muddled and messy. And messes lead to regrets. And it’s regrets that leave people idle and keep them bound.”
Lumine met her seriousness in equal measure. “And it’s resolution that clears those regrets. Both the living and the dead can get stuck in the cycle. If meeting one more time can fix that, then why not let them help each other? That way they can both move on.”
The timer’s beeping interrupted their staring contest, sending both women jumping in surprise. They looked away from one another.
Silence descended over the room as Lumine killed the timer. Tension, the unwelcome third wheel, loitered in the kitchen space.
Attempting to work past the awkwardness, Lumine began removing the leaves from the pot. She worked slowly, buying herself time to sort through her thoughts. There was no rush to serve this pot hot, per a special request from her customer.
As she secured the lid in place, Lumine turned to Hu Tao, who was already staring at her. “I know we have different views on how to deal with this… And I may disagree with some of what you say, but I respect how you run your business. All I’m asking is for you to do the same when you’re in mine.”
Hu Tao pulled her into a hug, nuzzling her head against Lumine’s. “Of course, I do. Our talents and experiences are different. We’ll probably never fully understand…all of this. But we both want to provide the best service to our customers—closure.”
Lumine squeezed her tight before releasing her. She patted down the strands of hairs that Hu Tao had upset. “I know there’s an order to things, and it shouldn’t be ignored. But…”
“Y’know, I’m not against a little rule-bending here and there.” Hu Tao handed her a pair of cups and saucers. Tapping her finger against her chin, she said, “It must be fine. Otherwise, why can we do all this?”
Carrying the tray of tea, Lumine exited the kitchen. “Honestly, I try not to think too much about the why. But if I have this talent, then shouldn’t I use it?”
“Guess so!” Hu Tao skipped after her. She waved animatedly at a child sitting alone at one table. The little girl ducked down until only the crown of her head remained visible over the tabletop.
Lumine bumped Hu Tao with her hip, careful to keep the tray steady. “Don’t you have a funeral parlor to run?”
Hu Tao tutted at her. “Trying to get rid of me already? Don’t forget who wrote that ad for you!”
“You mean the one that I had to revise a bunch to remove all the death jokes?”
“Aw, you took them out? I worked hard on that! Some of my best work for sure. I really liked the line, ‘If you and the other party both desire a reunion enough, consider your reservation already made. For a permanent reunion, contact Wangsheng Funeral Parlor for an appointment.’”
“Second sentence’s too much. Got rid of that one first.”
“Waaah! Come on, I need to grow my business too.”
“At least yours is visible to everyone.”
“Trueee. Guess you’re right. I’ll never be out of business. People’re always dying. Not even that weird doctor can put me out; nothing beats death.”
Lumine hushed her; Hu Tao needed to work on her inside voice. Pausing mid-stride, she gazed across the room. The two guests that ordered the tea—a mother and son—sat cuddled together on the same side of the table.
It was the mother’s request to have the tea served at a temperature that wouldn’t burn her son’s mouth. Lumine was uncertain if spirits could feel the scalding pain of hot tea, but who was she to protest her customer’s concerns?
Regrets drew in visitors to the teahouse. On that, Lumine and Hu Tao could agree. Hu Tao believed that regrets were born from unfinished business. It wasn’t wrong to say that, but Lumine liked to think of the reason in more beautiful concepts. She believed that regrets were born from love. It wasn’t wrong to say that either.
Love for a person. Love for an idea. Love for what could have been. For better or worse, love tied the living and the dead together. Love could transcend the boundary.
Lumine was certain it could. It was love that called the two sides together to meet in this teahouse of hers. It was love that filled her with purpose in running her shop. It was love that gave Lumine hope that, maybe, one day, for just a moment, in this intersection of life and death, she too would be able to say what she wished she had said, to apologize for what she wished she hadn’t said, to—
“Hey! You want to run a promotion together? Something like…Buy a pound of tea, get a free urn? You can serve the tea in the urns?”
Huffing, Lumine shook away her thoughts. “Am I going to have to kick you out for your jokes?”
“Ack, I’m going. I’m going!” Hu Tao made for the entrance.
“Left door’s for—”
“Right! Right!” She grabbed the other handle. “Right door’s for the rightfully living, right? Right.” With a grin, she waved from the open door. “Bye-bye!”
“Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember... But where are those who share the memory?”
Lumine finished pouring the tea into his cup. “I hate to disappoint you, Zhongli. But I feel like now’s a good time to remind you that this is Osmanthus tea, not Osmanthus wine.”
Zhongli hummed and brought the cup to his lips. Shutting his eyes, he inhaled the steam that wafted up. “Tea or wine…If it evokes the same feeling, then is it not the same?”
She rocked on her feet, waiting for him to continue. This regular of hers rarely only had a sentence to say.
He took a sip. “No matter how much time has passed, I can recall everything in perfect clarity. Names, directions, dates…” Setting the cup down, he pulled out the puzzle box and stared down at it. He was here but also elsewhere, looking at that which sat before him and that which lay beyond him. “No matter how many seasons come to pass, I can never seem to unlock this. I wonder if I ever will learn what lies inside. The answer eludes me yet.”
For years now, even before Lumine had met him, the cubic puzzle had gone unsolved.
It was on Zhongli’s second visit that the woman that he had been waiting for entered through the left door. The spirit came, shared a pot of tea with him, then departed after telling him to forget about the puzzle.
Still, he persisted in trying to solve it, all due to an early cryptic promise about the reward inside—answers. But Zhongli appeared no closer to opening it than the day he was gifted it.
The spirit would never visit again, Lumine had told him when he turned up for tea a third time. Spirits entered the tearoom once and exited the tearoom once. Only the living could be repeat customers.
He had shaken his head and told her that was fine. He enjoyed her tea and company.
Today marked Zhongli’s 100th visit.
“I forgot to ask earlier,” Lumine said.
Zhongli turned his attention to her. “Yes?”
“Did you have any trouble finding your way here today?”
“Not at all. As I’ve said before, my memory is quite impressive. I could never forget my way here.” He chuckled. “You ask me that each time. Do you believe I am, as you call it, going senile? Or as the young ones call it, a boomer that needs to get to bed?”
“Of course not!” Lumine spluttered. She whisked the empty pot of tea from the table. “I’ll get you another. On the house.”
“That is not necessary. I remembered to carry mora—”
“Nonsense! You’re my oldest—not your age, stop—customer. A free pot’s part of my secret rewards program. Just for you. I’ll be right back.” She walked briskly into the kitchen. Zhongli’s soft laughter rang behind her.
Hidden away from curious eyes, Lumine smiled sadly at the teapot, tracing the pattern with her thumbs.
The living could visit multiple times. But for regular humans, ones that couldn’t cross the border at will like Hu Tao, the tearoom could only be found when the desire to meet the dearly departed held strong. For most, the teahouse provided closure. That was why she seldom had a customer return once they had met the person they longed for. Resolution. But for others…
Zhongli never had trouble finding his way to the teahouse. Not then, not now.
She never had trouble finding her way back to the teahouse each day to open shop either. Not since she first stumbled inside and was dubbed its owner.
Lumine set a kettle of water to boil on the stove, watching the flames lick up the sides of the metal. Where were those who shared the memory?
“As important as the balance is,” Hu Tao said, “if we were meant to strictly follow the rules, then why do contradictions exist?” She tapped her pen against her notebook, lines of poetry sprawled across the page, a strikethrough ran through a third of them. “There’re spirits that pass on just fine, but others get stuck at the border.”
Lumine scrubbed at a water spot on the teapot. “And then, there is us.” Where was the balance when people like them, gifted with the ability to interact with the dead, existed?
“And then, there’s us! ...And then, there’s us. In the in-between. The sole duo seeing spirits do spiritly things. Always there, always watching!” She burst into a fit of giggles.
The water spot refused to budge; Lumine scrubbed harder. “Did I tell you already? Zhongli showed up the other week.”
“Again?! Ah, the other anomaly out there! You never think the successful businessman will be the one to get hung up this bad. Isn’t moving forward part of the whole corporate motto? It’s been years.”
“Well, it was his business partner that passed away.”
“Eh, I guess.”
Needing a break, Lumine abandoned the teapot in the sink and sat down next to Hu Tao on the bench. She ran the back of her hand across her brow. “Do you think she’s still waiting for him at the boundary?”
“Nope! Never saw her again after she visited your teahouse.”
“She got closure…”
“Mmhmm. She got closure.”
Lumine clasped her hands together. Ghosts got closure. Meanwhile, the living continued suffering, stewing in their longing until they turned into living ghosts, stuck in a different kind of limbo. Living ghosts chasing after ghosts with love blindfolding them.
“Y’know, spirits work the same way as the living.” Hu Tao penned a line. “They meet up for tea, say what they wanted to say. Regrets lifted. Poof! Gone. Rare to see them hanging around the border after.”
Hu Tao scratched out a word. “My gramps wasn’t there back then. Must’ve had no regrets in this life. That’s how we should all live. Live in life, die in death.” She wrote in another word, ending the stanza with a period. Complete.
“Easier said than done.”
“If forward’s where you want to go, you have to take a step.” Hu Tao pocketed her notebook before heading for the entrance.
Lumine trailed her, wringing her hands together, debating on whether to be a nuisance or not.
“In case you’re wondering—" Hu Tao peered over her shoulder— “answer’s no. I haven’t seen him.”
“Do you think he’s gone? That I’m waiting for someone that’ll never come?”
“Hard to say. The border stretches pretty far, and they’re free to wander around there.” Standing in front of the two doors, she drummed her fingers against her thigh. “I have some time. I can check again.” She opened the left door, the one that connected directly to the border.
Lumine couldn’t venture beyond that door. It didn’t matter how badly she wanted to step through there and search the area herself; she couldn’t. Even though she could see spirits like Hu Tao, she was bound to life like a normal human. She wouldn’t be granted entrance until she revoked her citizenship to the world of the living. Lumine had no intention of giving up that card any sooner than she had to. Death would have to come and pry it from her.
“Remember, letting go isn’t bad. Doesn’t mean that you need to forget or that you love him any less.” Hu Tao patted her on the head. “You’re alive. You owe yourself the chance to live.” And with that, she was gone.
In her heart, Lumine knew that was what he would want for her too. And yet, she found her way to the teahouse without trouble the following morning.
As Lumine placed the cup of hot tea down in front of Kazuha, her eyes strayed to the open book in his hands. She couldn’t read the script, but the blocks of text seemed too short to be paragraphs or even full sentences. Poetry again?
“Haikus, specifically.”
She jumped, face flushing at being caught for her nosiness. “Sorry.”
Kazuha laughed. “Don’t worry. Curiosity is always good, a healthy exercise for the mind.” He brushed his hand across the cover, tracing the title’s font. “I’ve enjoyed this collection the most. Reading expands one’s views, traveling without moving. My hope is that if I journey through enough of others’ worlds, drawn out in these words, then I can better understand my own, within.”
“Is that why you’re reading them? To find… peace?” Her eyes swept over the ink again, hoping to gain a fraction of whatever Kazuha felt from it, but the characters remained a mystery. As did many other things in this world she wandered through.
“Hm?” He blinked, surprised, before pausing to consider her words. “Yes. Peace would be a good word to summarize it. Isn’t achieving peace the goal for all of us?”
Lumine’s gaze drifted to the doors. “…Probably.” Clearing regrets should lead to peace, but why did the thought make her uneasy instead of calm? “Have you found it yet?”
“Not just yet, but I believe I’m getting close. Closer, at least.”
Outside, a spirit cupped his hands around his eyes, peering into the teahouse through the window. Lumine quickly plastered on a smile and waved when he noticed her. He returned the gesture but did not enter. With one last look in, he retreated into the expanse of the boundary.
“Odd,” she mumbled.
“Is someone at the door?”
“Was,” she said, returning her attention to Kazuha.
He stared at the door in confusion. “There was?”
Lumine mentally chastised herself. She kept forgetting that Hu Tao was the only other person that could see both doors.
After months of theorizing years ago, the two of them had finally settled on a conclusion. The average person was only tied to one side at a time—a binary state of life. Thus, they could only perceive what they knew as reality. One world, one door. Alive or dead. No in-between.
Lumine and Hu Tao somehow fell into that space in-between, into the impossible.
While they could both see spirits, even outside the teahouse, Hu Tao could also cross the boundary. For her, it was as simple as stepping over a line or opening a door. What lay beyond the boundary –or the border, as Hu Tao called it—remained a mystery to them both. Death had secrets still.
Lumine doubted either of them would ever know why they could do what they could do. Some things just were. That was life. That was death.
“What did they look like?”
“Mm, tall, light hair. Wore a blue scarf with a white crisscross pattern.”
“Ah.”
“Someone you know?”
Kazuha hummed, too ambiguous to confirm as a yes or no. “Would you like to join me for tea? I can read to you.”
Straightening up, Lumine waved her hands. “No, no. It’s fine. Your guest might end up showing up today. I don’t want to take that away from you.” She glanced at the clean cup for the seat opposite of him.
“He won’t. The weather isn’t right for a reunion. It seems there are storms that we must both brave still.”
She had no idea what that meant. The sky outside looked fine in both realms. She waved away the thought. Kazuha was a strange customer, often speaking in a way that made zero sense to her. It was best not to waste time trying to figure him out.
“Everyone needs a break.” Kazuha picked up the teapot, pouring some into the empty cup. “The world is constantly in motion, forever changing. Sometimes, we need to pause for a moment. It’s only when we stop to look around ourselves that we can understand the value of what we have so that we may make use of the little time we have.” He slid the cup to her and motioned to the seat. “What say we take a rest?”
There was no one else in the teahouse. “I…guess I could sit a bit,” she said, sliding into the seat. “Just until someone else comes.”
“Of course.” A smile eased across his face. “I’ll read you some of my favorites. I have another copy at home. Translated. Some nuances are lost, but the meaning stays. I’ll remember to bring it one of these visits so you may read at your leisure.”
“You should keep your copy. You never know when your last visit here will be. I might not be able to return it to you.” As much as Lumine enjoyed Kazuha’s company, she dreaded the possibility of seeing him stuck here too. Peace within these four walls was momentary, as brief as the meeting as the two sides sharing tea.
“That’s true. We never know when the last meeting will come; but as long as we live under the same sun, we can always meet again.”
“For you!” Hu Tao handed Lumine a rectangular-shaped gift. Wrapped in burlap paper and tied off with twine, it weighed no more than a few pounds.
“For what? It’s not my birthday.” Remembering her manners, Lumine tacked on a thank you.
Laughing, Hu Tao said, “Not from me, silly. Read the tag.”
“Kazuha?”
“Yup. He left it at the funeral parlor the other day. Said he couldn’t catch your shop’s scent. …Whatever the heck that means.” She nudged Lumine in the side. “Did you start serving tea to dogs too? Expanding the business, eh?”
“He has a good sense of smell,” Lumine said absently.
She had known she would never see him in her shop again. It had taken another few visits over a couple months before Kazuha’s friend—the same spirit she had caught peeking in that time Kazuha had read her haikus—joined him for tea. To date, their reunion ranked as one of the happiest that Lumine had witnessed. Was that what came from coming to peace with loss? Being able to accept that things would never be the same. Being able to focus on the time and space shared. Being able to feel the love over the grief.
Lumine plucked at a stray thread of the twine. “Why do you think spirits can only enter once?”
Hu Tao rocked on her heels, jostling the tea in her cup. By some miracle, the overly sweetened liquid didn’t slosh over the side. “I don’t know. Maybe… Maybe it’s because they’ve lost the privilege of the living. When we’re alive, we can try again, as many times as we want until the end. When we die, it’s over. No more redos. Coming to the shop and saying their piece goes against being able to make changes. It goes against the natural order.
“So, maybe that’s why the spirits only get enough energy to pass through the door and make contact once. A final chance. If they could come and go freely, they’d be like the living. And there’d be no incentive to move on to whatever happens next in the cycle.” She shrugged. “Eh, who knows. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Lumine sighed. “I like your idea though. Makes sense.”
Humming softly, Hu Tao swirled her cup and said no more.
Lumine undid the knot, unveiling a copy of the haiku book that Kazuha had promised to bring her a while back. This time, she could understand the words. The worn edge of the spine and corners told her that this was Kazuha’s personal copy.
A note sat atop the book. The handwriting looped gracefully across the paper.
For you. Hope you too can find a moment of peace within these words.
- Kazuha
“He left me his phone number too,” Hu Tao said. “In case you want to chat. Congrats, you’re friends with a dog. Ah, it’s so much easier to track down the living than the dead. Big shout out to technology. Thanks, cellphones!”
Lumine chuckled. “I forget that you can just look people up.” She rarely kept in touch with her customers. Most didn’t care about her existence beyond the services she provided. A painful but understandable fact. After all, it wasn’t her they were here for.
Cradling her cup, Hu Tao came to stand beside her.
Lumine leafed through the book’s pages. Many haiku lines were underlined, some twice. Kazuha’s handwriting filled the margins with annotations, longer than the haiku itself. Some of his writing was easy to read; others took more effort to make out. Arrows linked comments together, replies that confirmed or denied the previous train of thought.
“Should I be reading this? Seems kind of…personal.” Like an invasive peep into his journey.
“Eh, if he didn’t want you to see it, then he shouldn’t have given it to you. ‘Sides, dogs don’t bring sticks for no reason.”
“I guess.” Lumine flipped to another page and stopped. A maple leaf lay pressed between two pages, perfectly preserved. A box had been drawn around the entire haiku on the page, encasing the poem as a whole, each word precious. From the boldness of the ink, she could tell Kazuha had pressed down hard with the pen. It held an urgent emphasis, the stroke of an epiphany, absent from the other pages he had marked.
Don't weep, insects—
Lovers, stars themselves,
Must part.
― Kobayashi Issa
“Would you like more, Ei?” Lumine gathered the teapot and one of the used cups from the table, laying them on the tray.
Turning her gaze away from the door, Ei patted at her damp eyes. “Perhaps another cup or two…”
“Coming right up.” Lumine spun on her heel, intent on heading for the kitchen, but a tug on her arm prevented her from leaving.
“In a moment.” Ei’s grip held firm in a testament to the woman’s usual strength, even as the rest of her failed to exude the same energy. Her shoulders hunched in. Her eyes shone with fresh tears, glossed over with pain. It was the most fragile Lumine had ever seen her.
Lumine eased into the opposite chair. Patience—the second most important soft skill for her job—kept her silent, waiting.
“Can you recall how many times I have visited?” Ei said after a few minutes.
“Nine times now.” Lumine remembered each of her visitors and their visits well. She had a good memory—a gift and a curse.
“It’s taken three years for her to come.”
“It happens. Sometimes, these things take time. We don’t always answer a call right away.” Lumine didn’t know how it worked exactly, but a spirit had once described it to her as a call. Once the living visitor entered the teahouse, some sort of magic—Lumine knew no other way to describe it—reached out past the boundary to let the intended spirit know someone wanted to see them.
“Is ignoring a call common?”
“It can be. In a way, you should consider yourself lucky she did answer in the end. Like I said on your first visit, a reunion’s never guaranteed.”
It wasn’t uncommon for one of the parties—living and dead alike—to not show up. There were plenty of reasons for why not, as many excuses as there were for deciding to go home instead of picking up groceries. Some never wanted to meet. Some hesitated to meet. And some had already moved on.
It happened to both sides. She had served tea to many living people who returned for years but were stuck drinking alone. But Lumine had also seen spirits waiting outside the door for years, looking in for a living person that simply never came. She wondered which side had it harder.
Waiting was difficult; the uncertainty made it unbearable. Was the teahouse calling out to a disconnected line, ringing for someone that would never answer? Or was the other party sitting there watching the phone light up but never moving to pick up? Which one was Aether? Away from home or sending her to voicemail. Either way felt tragic, like unrequited love.
“I can’t deny that I feel fortunate to have met my sister again, but still…”
Lumine laid her hand on top of Ei’s. “But still, you wish there was more time.”
Ei nodded. “But nothing lasts for an eternity. Not in this world. I am lucky enough to have had this moment. It will last me a lifetime. It will have to.”
The ticking of the wall clock filled the space in the absence of words.
Ei rubbed Lumine’s arm absently with her thumb. “Makoto said I wasn’t ready; that’s why she waited so long to come.”
“Ready?”
“To accept the truth.” Her eyes dried. Her voice grew stronger.
The clock chimed for a new hour.
“Do you—” Lumine cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the sudden discomfort lodged in her throat. “Do you think you might’ve moved on, even if she hadn’t shown up?”
“I believe so.” Ei met Lumine’s gaze without hesitation. “I had planned for today to be my last visit, regardless of whether she came or not. Escapism does neither Makoto nor I justice. Her body may have perished, but her wish lives on with me. I’ll cherish every memory we shared together.”
Ei gripped Lumine’s hand with the fervor of a promise, a declaration. “If I remember her, she’ll live forever.”
Taking advantage of the empty teahouse, Lumine went about her cleaning routine, sweeping stray tea leaves and dust into a neat pile. Hu Tao lazed about in a booth, humming along to a melody only she knew. The swish of the broom’s bristles against the wooden planks played accompaniment.
“How come tea, anyway?” Hu Tao asked after a while, breaking the spell of instrumental noise with vocals.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why tea? What made you want to serve only tea? Why not coffee? Coffee’s popular too. Imagine all the amazing combos we could have!” She licked her lips. “But here we are. Coffeeless. So, what’s the reason? Anything silly?”
“Oh.” Lumine leaned her weight on the broom, resting her chin on the butt of the handle. “It’s a bit of two things, really.”
Hu Tao sat up with newfound energy. Thrumming with excitement, her eyes were wide and bright. “Two?”
“You do know I didn’t build this teahouse, right?”
“I know. I know.” She rolled her eyes, earning a laugh from Lumine.
“Whoever worked here before me must’ve been a tea enthusiast. Big time. The whole stock was nothing but tea leaves. Didn’t find a single coffee bean anywhere in here. Just tea on tea on tea. Luckily, I like tea too. So, I just sort of stuck with it when I—”
“When you became the owner. No-Name-Super-Hidden-Teahouse Owner Lumine!”
Snorting, she resumed sweeping. “Pretty much.”
Many, many years ago, Lumine had stumbled into the shop. It had been one of those days where she wished the sky would cry alongside her. She wasn’t sure how she found this place, or what she had been hoping to achieve by wandering around the city streets alone. She probably hadn’t been thinking. She had turned that part of her off back then.
“Entering an empty teahouse was weird enough. Finding a whole deed and letter with my entire name on it was terrifying.”
“The world works in mysterious ways.” Hu Tao waved her fingers for spooky emphasis.
“Then, having someone pop in right as I’m having a panic attack about it all made that day even better.”
“All great friendships need a great origin story,” she chirped.
Smiling, Lumine agreed. “It was a memorable way to meet you.” She kneeled to sweep the pile of trash into the dustpan.
“And number two?”
“Hm?”
“For choosing tea?”
“Oh…” she bit at her lip. “My brother and I used to drink tea together all the time. Aether got me into it. I hated it at first, honestly. But he was so passionate about all the different kinds—loved it—and wanted me to enjoy it too. He went around making his own blends until he found something I’d like. All kinds of tea grew on me after a while.”
Dustpan in hand, Lumine rose to full height, rolling her shoulders. “Now, I love to pick out tea to suit my customers. Guess it stuck even after he was… gone. Silly, huh?”
Hu Tao removed her hat, tracing its brim in reverence. “No. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel a little closer. Memories alone only take us so far.”
The tinkling sound of the teahouse’s doorbell trickled into the storage room.
“I’ll be out in a second,” Lumine shouted, stretching on her tiptoes to shove the tea container on the shelf.
Her only answer was the slam of the door falling shut.
She glared at the container, daring it to fall and force her to get a ladder. It made no sudden movements. Satisfied with its compliance, Lumine left the back room, wiping her hands on her dress.
She kept her gaze trained on the floor, hoping to spot any stray tea leaves on the floor before her guest could see them. She always managed to spill some when doing inventory. “Sorry for the wait. What can I—" Lumine looked up into a pair of golden eyes, a reflection of hers.
Eyes roving around the walls, Aether scratched at the back of his neck. “I think…I should be saying that to you…actually.”
Lumine’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on land, gasping for air that couldn’t be found. She clutched her chest. Her heart pounded against its cage, beating as quickly as when she had become the teahouse’s owner but not out of fear this time.
She stepped closer and croaked, “You’ve kept me waiting a long time.”
“I know.” Their eyes met.
Tears glossed over hers, blurring him into a blob of yellow. A blink brought him back into focus. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Sorry for the wait.” A sad smile stretched across his face. “And I’m sorry for what I said that night.”
“I’m sorry too.” Lumine wiped a hand across her eyes, mirroring his expression. “But it’s okay. We’re here now.” She took his hands in her own. “Want to share a pot of tea?”
“I’d love to.”
“Hm?” Strolling into the kitchen, Hu Tao frowned. “Still have regrets?”
Lumine pulled out a silver-plated teacup from the cleaning solution, polishing it with a cloth. Her image beamed back at her with gentle eyes. “No. I think I got it.”
The pain lingered inside of her—probably always would until she passed over too—but it was enough. She had said what she needed to Aether. She had her closure. It was enough. The memories were enough.
“Found your way here though…” Half question, half statement.
“Just fine, actually.” Smiling, she held the shining teacup up to the light. “I do love serving tea to my guests. I think I’d regret leaving you or some stranger to take up the mantle. Who knows what blends you would subject my dear customers to?”
Hu Tao tilted her head. Brows furrowed, she circled Lumine like a cat, scanning her from head to toe. Grinning, she bounded to Lumine’s side, yanking her into a hug. “Well then, sounds like you’re the official owner still. Open to that joint promo deal I mentioned?”
Returning the embrace, Lumine hummed. “Maybe. The living do need to make a living, after all.”