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Cherry blossom petals are carried around in the light spring breeze. They dance and twirl and sway in rhythm with the wind bell chimes, until eventually the wind peters out and their waltz comes to an end. Slowly the petals drift back to the ground, some finding themselves nestled on top of a pair of black wings and a head of snow-colored hair.
Arthur fidgets around, shaking the petals off of him. Settled right behind the young tengu is Oz, silently huffing as his attempt to groom him becomes undone once more. Though the dragon says nothing more and sets the wooden brush against silken black feathers and begins combing through again.
Before, Oz had thought that grooming was a skill beyond him and always left it to the care of another. The dragon’s actions always carried a certain amount of power behind its weight, fierce and swift in any of his motions. Yet now, Oz takes care to be gentle with the child sitting before him.
He meticulously preens through each section of feathers, making sure not a single one was out of place. Being cautious not to scratch Arthur’s wings with talons of his nails, Oz picks out any stray feathers sticking out as well as the stubborn cherry blossoms still clinging onto them.
“Lord Oz, can I please go and play now?” Arthur asks. The tengu’s tone is polite to mask the whine in his voice, but his childish words are unable to hide how young he still is.
“In a moment Arthur. I will be finished quickly if you can sit still for just a bit longer.” Oz answers back firmly yet still gently.
Arthur takes in a deep gulp of air, thinking that holding his breath will make himself even more still and cause the process to finish even faster. The ends of Oz’s mouth quirk up slightly at this, though it is visible to no one else in the courtyard.
Oz moves to quickly brush down the bits of unruly hair sticking up from Arthur’s small head. He’s just about done by the time the child was shaking from lack of air when the sound of the paper doors sliding could be heard. Oz turns his head to look up, but it seems that Arthur had already sprung from his seat to greet the visitor.
“Lord Figaro!”
Arthur jumps at Figaro, and the older dragon catches him just as easily in his arms, giving the excited little tengu a quick spin before setting him back down on the ground.
Even though Figaro had put him down, Arthur still wraps his arms around his legs from where he can reach him to hug the elder in greeting. Arthur looks up at him, his round face rosy red and a bit starry eyed.
“I’m so happy to see you again! Can I ask what you’re doing here though?”
A gentle hand runs through and ruffles the snow colored hair that Oz had just finished brushing.
“Lords Snow and White had called me for business this morning so I thought to come check up on Oz here while I’m back at the ‘ole Dragon’s Manor.”
Figaro finally looks in Oz’s direction to acknowledge the other. Oz only gives a curt nod in greeting from where he was standing, doing nothing more to welcome the guest. Figaro was already well accustomed to his brusque nature though and takes it that wasn’t uninvited here. He begins walking towards where Oz stood in the courtyard, Arthur wobbling right beside the dragon as he refuses to remove his arms wrapped around Figaro’s torso.
“You look well since I last saw you, Oz. Or maybe not? Your eyes seem to have aged a hundred years fold. Did childrearing finally take its toll on you and make you appear the same as your olden age?”
A hypocritical notion, considering Figaro was the older one between the two of them and had not looked a day past his prime for the past 2000 years.
“I think Lord Oz looks plenty youthful!” Arthur pipes right in.
“Is that so?” Figaro hums out. From where he stopped an arm’s length away from Oz, he reaches out towards Oz’s face. Figaro’s fingers curl under his jaw and the side of his face, while the pad of his thumb brushes Oz’s cheekbone, his long and sharpened nail grazing right below the eye.
Figaro tilts his head to look up at Oz, where jaded green makes direct contact with slitted red. The lids of his eyes squint ever so slightly, changing the pleasant expression on his face to something more familiar. Oz does not miss this subtle shift, Figaro’s eyes speaking to him in another conversation contrary to his jovial words. Did you miss me? he reads, and Oz only barely lowers the lids of his eyes in reply back. He wonders what Figaro had read in them, but the other seems pleased enough to finally drop his hand back down to his side.
“I guess you’re right. Still the same stone faced Oz I’ve known since before.” Figaro smiles down at the boy, giving him a pat or two atop his head.
“Oh that does remind me. I have a gift for you Arthur. Just something I got from a traveling merchant back in town that I thought you would like.”
Arthur pulls back from Figaro and waits in anticipation. Figaro’s hand in his sleeves shuffles around for a bit before pulling something out and presenting it to the boy.
The gift was a small carved wooden rabbit with a handle of sorts sticking out from a hole in its back. Arthur gently takes the toy into the palm of both his hands and gingerly inspects every surface inch of the object.
“If you want to give it a try, just wind up the key on its back.”
Arthur twists the wooden mechanic as he’s instructed. Nothing happens for a moment, then suddenly the wooden rabbit springs to life and jumps right out of Arthur’s hands and onto the ground. It moves by itself for a couple more hops before stilling completely. The young tengu lets out a yelp of excitement, and twists the key once more to watch the little toy leap around in fascination.
“Thank you so much for Lord Figaro!” Arthur jumps to hug the elder once more in a quick but tight embrace, and Figaro laughs lightly returning the gesture. The child then turns to look up at Oz with wide eyes.
“Lord Oz, would it be alright for me to go outside the manor to play with this?”
Oz nods slowly, before adding an additional comment, “Be careful to not stray beyond the gates and into the mountain’s forest.”
“Of course Lord Oz!” Arthur cheers in excitement. He picks up the toy off the ground clutching it in his grasp. The tengu takes a moment to hug Oz’s legs as well, but soon enough he’s running off in excitement, almost practically flying as his wings give a couple flaps to let the wind help carry his steps.
Oz softly smiles as he watches the small back disappear around the corner. Once gone, he hears Figaro let out a light chuckle at the cute scene.
“Spring surely has come this time around.” Figaro comments beside him.
Oz thinks of all the life growing around him. Of the little things that managed to survive the harsh winter cold and now live boldly. The small sprigs of color popping up from the once barren ground and the whorl of pink and white petals continuously falling around him.
“The season is upon Sakuragumo so it seems…” Oz concludes, nodding in agreement.
The dragon beside him hums. “That’s not quite what I mean, you silly little boy.”
Figaro suddenly steps to close the gap of space between them. He’s a hair's breadth away from Oz, his soft springy ashen blue hair close enough to bristle against his face. Oz catches the familiar scent of bitter herbs and sake off from the other, though it’s a touch unfamiliar from Figaro living and traveling outside of the manor they had once resided together in.
Oz unconsciously leans closer to Figaro. He wants to be reacquainted with what has become foreign. To overwrite it with his own sense, to bite him, to take him in- Oz’s thoughts are jolted to a stop as he feels the sensation of something, or rather someone touching his horns. Oz is so surprised that his tail bats across the ground, and he immediately glares at the offender.
Figaro’s arms are reaching above his head to gently caress Oz’s horns. He’s smiling lightly, as if he’s purposefully ignoring how Oz is seconds away from jumping him.
“Rather, in all the 2000 years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen these flowers bloom so brilliantly.”
His touch lingers for a second longer, before sliding down Oz’s head to take a strand of midnight black hair and kiss the ends of it.
“Figaro.” Oz growls at him.
“I’ll be out of your hair now. I just wanted to give my regards to the Dragon Lord Oz before heading back.” Maybe he sees something of a smug smirk on Figaro’s face, but it’s gone before he can confirm it.
As a final gesture, Figaro takes Oz’s hand into his grasp. He bows, lowering his head to press his forehead to the back of the hand and holds the position for a moment. Figaro gives a quick kiss to the same spot as well, before dropping his hold and stepping back to turn to leave.
“Until the next time the winds bring us together.” Figaro shouts out. He waves off to Oz without a glance back.
Oz remains standing still under the flowering trees, watching the loose figure disappear out of sight. A breeze of petals chases after the other in his place.