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Bishamon isn’t one to doubt her abilities.
She is the god of war, after all, and if something needed to be done, it was. No matter the difficulty.
So when her other shinki begin to ask questions about Kazuma in context that bewilders her, she thinks, perhaps, that maybe her skills in a particular area aren’t as honed as she’s led herself to believe.
“Kazuma-san’s new glasses look well on him,” Kuraha says one day while he accompanies her in the new garden visible from Kazuma’s sleeping quarters. He plucks a rose from one of the bushes, its red a deep crimson, and tilts it toward his nose to admire the scent. “Your choice in style suits him.”
“It was my fault his old ones were ruined,” she answers, distracted by the flowers she’s taken to replanting. The spade she holds cuts through the earth like slicing through melted butter and carefully, she places them into the pots she’s dug before replacing the soil and patting it down.
“All the same, an excellent replacement. One would imagine it took quite a bit of thought. Much like the sakura trees you’ve commissioned.”
Something in Kuraha’s tone gives her pause and she turns, one thin brow rising questioningly. “Is there something you’re implying, Kuraha?”
“Not at all, milady,” he says with a chuckle. His attention suddenly diverts, a genial smile stretched wide as he waves to Kazuma at the open window above. “Up and about, I see. Are you well enough to join us?” he asks, the subtle glance he chances Bishamon’s way not entirely unnoticed.
“If Viina would have me,” Kazuma replies, still paler than Bishamon is used to; ragged around the edges, tired-looking in a way that warrants concern, and lacking the usual polish he was known for before the incident with Kugaha. She worries he would overexert himself before he’s ready, if only to stay by her side.
“I always welcome your company, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out. Go on and rest. I’ll be there in a moment,” Bishamon says, handing Kuraha the bucket of gardening tools and the dirt-stained gloves she’s taken off.
“You know, there are others in the household who would gladly take on the task of tending to Kazuma-san’s new garden, Bishamon-sama.” There’s a twinkle in Kuraha’s eyes, a mischievous glint that perplexes her. He acts as though he knows something, a secret he doesn’t say out loud, but hints at all the same. “You don’t have to do all the work by yourself.”
“I know, but I want to. Kazuma would like them, especially when everything peaks to their fullest bloom. He deserves that from me, at least, after how I’ve treated him.”
“You seem happier now that he’s returned to the mansion,” Kuraha notes with a touch of amusement. “We all sensed that having him away for so long made you unhappy even when you tried to shoulder the burden on your own.”
“I care for all of you. As my blessed vessel, Kazuma is included as well. Having you all here makes me happy.”
“Kuraha is acting strange.”
Kazuma shifts his position on the bed to breathe in the scent of the solitary rose on his bedside table, a gift from Bishamon when she had come to read to him earlier in the day. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure, exactly.”
She sits cross-legged on the cushioned chair to his left, worrying her bottom lip the way she does when the cogs in her head are turning, but hasn’t found the answer. When she catches the hint of a smile on Kazuma’s face, she offers one of her own. Kazuma has always said he found the habit endearing and thinking about that now causes a tiny flutter in her belly. “He commented about your glasses--”
“They’re very nice glasses, thank you.” He maneuvers to the side and pats the seat next to him. Bishamon absentmindedly sidles up to his left, resting her head on his chest, her finger keeping place for where she left off in the book.
“--and about the new garden. He said I didn’t have to do everything by myself.”
“It’s true, though. You don’t have to work on the garden on your own. Perhaps he’s just trying to be helpful?”
Bishamon shakes her head. “No. It’s something else, something I can’t place. Maybe if I--” Then her eyes widen, voice dropping to an incredulous whisper. “He knows.”
“Knows what?”
Bishamon hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Internalization is much more difficult around Kazuma, who always seems to sense how she’s feeling or gauge her actions and reactions to certain situations. She’s used to the transparency between them, used to saying what she needs to say without much worry about not saying the right thing that she forgets there are certain things he’s better off not knowing.
For his sake.
And maybe for her own as well.
But subtlety has never been her strong suit.
“Nothing,” she says, tucking her head underneath his chin as she opens the book again. He rubs her arm soothingly, a gesture more intimate than anything the others have ever attempted, but something natural and automatic for Kazuma who has comforted her through centuries upon centuries. She resists the urge to lean in a bit further, to breach whatever space is left between them. Instead, she thumbs through the words on the page, trying to locate where she left off.
“You worry too much, Viina. It’s probably just that; nothing.” Kazuma chuckles, the tone rich and clear even with the slight rasp in sound. He nudges her to continue with the story. “Now, tell me more about the wolverine who pledged her forbidden love to the moon...”
“Bishamon-san? What are you doing here? Yato hasn’t done something again, has he?”
Hiyori stands at her doorway, eyes wide and slightly fearful. Not that Bishamon can blame the poor girl. Her experience hasn’t been entirely pleasant every time she’s been pulled into the grudge-filled squabbles between the two gods. And besides, as much as Bishamon hates to admit it, there aren’t many options to choose from with regard to advice. If this could be considered that at all.
“No, no,” she says, making an attempt to smile as she waves off the errant comment. “In fact, I came to see you instead.”
“Me?”
Again, Hiyori’s surprise is palpable and makes Bishamon question her decision to get an outsider’s opinion. Still, she supposes, she did come all this way and it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Yes, I only wondered how long it took for you to realize that Yato had feelings for you?”
“I...” Hiyori shakes her head. “Yato has feelings for me?”
But Bishamon is already gone, her outrage at having been beaten by Yato at something pushing her to rise to the challenge.
“There is absolutely no way that a no-name disgrace for a god can beat me at anything, least of all that. I’ll show him,” she mutters, even as she thinks of the sakura trees swaying lazily in Kazuma’s new garden or the way she fits in his arms ever so perfectly. Like she belonged. Like it was home.
Maybe, she thinks, subtlety is overrated anyway.