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A gasp escapes her when Tsumugi pulls. Once she had thought the girl was doing it to tease her, or as retribution for all the antics she had to endure, or simply because she liked Natsume’s reactions. But she is kinder (and more obtuse) than anyone gives her credit for. Such actions are simply the result of her own unawareness of her strength.
Tsumugi draws away from her. Natsume sighs, unpleased. “Sorry. Too tight?”
“No, no… give me a minute.”
“I can adjust it, it’s fine.”
“No, let it be, Tsumugi…”
She still isn’t looking at her.
Natsume catches her wrist as it begins to loosen the ribbons, drawing Tsumugi’s gaze from her back to their reflection in the mirror. Gingerly holding her work-worn hand, she invites her closer, closer.
She sighs. “Being distant doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not being distant,” Tsumugi replies quietly.
“You’re a bad actor.”
The maid’s face falls, a near negligible difference if it had been anyone else looking at her. She is good at keeping her trembling discreet. She hides all of it well from others, save for the young noblewoman’s watchful eyes, well trained to focus on the shifts of her chest with each soft breath, the parting of her lips with every word left unsaid. “But I’m being serious—”
“Tsumugi, you feel so far.”
Natsume’s intentions had been sincere, as both of them try to be with one another in closed spaces, but she can only cringe with regret as the words leave her. The flush goes all the way down to her shoulders, stiffly squared as if bracing for some kind of impact. Though her arms hang limp, her hands are restless.
Laughing, Tsumugi turns her hand so her fingers slot into Natsume’s. With her chest pressing flush against Natsume’s back, she drapes her free arm across her waist. “I’m right behind you.”
Natsume huffs in an attempt to regain her poise. “Just now?”
“What?”
“You only did it because I asked.”
“Your wish is my command, milady.” Tsumugi answers earnestly, before chuckling once more. Chin resting atop Natsume’s head, she says, “‘Why do you feel so far?’ must come from something you’ve read. It’s way too romantic to think of on the fly.”
“Are you doubting my abilities?”
“No, no. I just think you’d be the type to keep those things to yourself, is all.”
Tsumugi is right. Partly.
Only because it is scripted, if you consider having a bank of possible smart comments and one-liners just stationary at the back of your head, as a result of overactive imagining of potential romantic situations. But Natsume doesn’t consciously pick out a quip like you would pick a note out of a hat; it’s instinct, it’s what feels right, and it subtly (but very effectively) convinces her she is living in her own fairytale.
Being forthright is rather unusual for her, who likes to play coy games. Had she gone so far with her own silly enjoyments that she circled back to what it is she tries to avoid?
“Just be grateful I’m sharing it with you at all.”
“Of course, of course.” Tsumugi draws her free hand upwards, its warmth ghosting across Natsume’s body, before making its way to the side of her face to tuck some loose strands behind her ear. Satisfied with her arrangements, the maid pulls their entwined hands to her lips, giving the back of her mistress’ hand a chaste peck. “Thank you very much, Natsume.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies breathlessly, more out of instinct than anything else. She feels herself grow warm again, a little dizzy, too; she wonders if Tsumugi can feel her pulse, wrist to wrist.
(Silently, Natsume thanks the heavens that Tsumugi’s eyes are closed. She doesn’t know how either of them would have taken it otherwise.)
The car still rattles a bit, despite the paved road—the pebbles and cracks still demand a presence through all the intervention. To consider this tenacity is the most entertainment a young girl can have in such a cage. At least this is what Tsumugi thinks, as she observes the noblewoman whose gaze is trained on the distance to infinity, somewhere beyond the window through which she peers.
The maid breaks the silence with a soft chide. “You’re really a stubborn girl, you know. To insist that I escort you…”
“Don’t think too much about it, it’s all a matter of comfort,” Natsume replies flatly.
“Then I’m glad you’re most comfortable with me, milady.” She adds, teasingly, “That is, if I assumed correctly.”
Natsume scoffs; it makes Tsumugi’s smile grow.
The silence returns to linger once more, though the knit in Natsume’s brow has eased itself to wash her features with faint serenity.
Her apprehension was understandable. Very rarely does any girl find joy in being sent to parties in order to market themselves as potential wives. Though her parents had not suggested she formally debut, the threat of the decision loomed above both their heads like the specter of a vengeful spirit, biding time to strike its claim.
It’s easy to shy away from the subject, but both of them know they can only run so far. In any case, however, their contingency plans for when that time comes have yet to be properly materialized, although many ideas have been considered; for now, their priority is to take care of each other in the ways that they can, as they continue preparing for a future that will hopefully fail to come.
“You’ll be fine once you get there, right?”
“Yes. I’ll be in the care of a family friend.”
“Who?”
“You’re worried?” Natsume shifts in her seat, drawing her eyes into the dimness of the interior, at the shadows dancing past her hands.“The Hakazes. They’ll phone if I need something.”
At the name, Tsumugi brightens, so much so that it pulls all of Natsume’s attention. “Oh! Them, yes, they’re lovely. Their daughter’s very nice, I’m sure she’ll be good company. I’m relieved, you’ll be in good hands.”
“You’re awfully concerned.”
“It’s a maid’s duty to look after her lady, even when I’m not there.”
“Is that all?” Natsume murmurs, before clearing her throat.
“You said something?”
“Oh, no. You’re hearing things, probably.”
This time, the silence is punctuated with the ghost of laughter, secret smiles and rolls of eyes, speaking soundlessly of an intimate kindness sheltered still from the world.
Natsume will brave this war called a ball, and she will come home to her lovely maid, who will dress her down and whose whispers will draw out all the tempered words she had saved from the ordeal. And she will sit all warm and cozy in her bed, threading her fingers through a mess of blue, a weight that melts with a sigh at her touch on her lap. Tsumugi will speak about her own day, she will laugh when Natsume offers a snide quip, and they will lay together in the secrecy of night.