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NF 115. March 24th. Garden Mansion.
"Happy Birthday, Sumire."
These were Chief's first words to her this morning, after a tender, intimate night with his unusually needy wife. It started as a rejuvenating oil massage, but at her sweetly desperate pleas it quickly became a devout worshipping of her slickened and heated body. He had no complaints, as he thoroughly enjoyed gently bringing his beloved to the zenith, again and again, with slow and sensual caresses, licks, thrusts. Sumire had insisted on returning the favor, yet he carefully kept her from exerting herself. Even so, she slipped into a deep slumber under his soft whispers and kisses, shortly before the clock struck midnight.
She woke up late this morning fatigued and lethargic, and a slight nausea plagued her when she lazily extracted herself from his embrace. A temporary weakness, she had called it. Her eyes brave in spite of the nervousness she surely felt and the suspicion they both had of the cause.
And what it could mean for their future.
Chief casts a lingering glance in the direction of their bedchamber, where his wife remained behind, before turning his attention to the impressive display of items before him.
On the kitchen island, Garofano and Thistle left behind two meticulous stacks of lunch boxes loaded to the brim with handcrafted delicacies. Onigiri rice balls stuffed with pickled plums. Tamagoyaki egg rolls wrapped around salmon and greens. Wagashi sweets sculpted into artful flowery shapes. All made with special care for the beloved birthday lady.
Beside the twin towers is an equally tall thermos bottle. Warmth seeps up his arm when he examines it and finds “ginger tea” neatly labeled on the side in fancy handwriting. In one of the tall chairs nearby rests a pair of the softest, most luxurious looking cushions he has ever seen. These are most certainly prepared by Coquelic herself for today's festivities—
A flower viewing picnic under the blossoming cherry tree, here at the Garden mansion that has long become their relaxing retreat, away from the woes of the world. Just as he and Sumire had promised each other for this year and every year to come.
He can only hope that this world will allow him to keep that promise.
The recent meddling in the Eastside election, including the assassination of the incumbent candidate no less, revealed just how deeply compromised DisCity has become. Having personally been targeted by Outlands’ spies, Chief found himself increasingly embroiled in counterintelligence and political intrigue. A day off like this is becoming a luxury that his city can no longer afford him.
“On a day like this, I simply can’t help but hope you could spend a little more time with me. Is that okay?”
A loud metallic clatter pulls him out of his musing, just in time to watch the dropped thermos as it rolls away from him and off the kitchen island.
Into a waiting hand.
“Angell, I didn't hear you come in.”
The hitman’s eyes do not leave Chief's as she wordlessly puts the bottle back onto the counter, along with a neatly packaged paper box. The familiar black leather jacket on her shoulders, haphazardly thrown on top of a long dress, smells faintly of rubber and gasoline.
“Thank you for getting this.” He offers wholeheartedly as Angell shrugs off her outerwear and leaves it on a chair. The beautifully embroidered black qipao hugs the curves of her toned body and shows off her shapely legs and hips. It's a truly special occasion for the hardened warrior to put fashion over function. Still, she offered to pick up the matcha cake that Chief had ordered from one of Sumire's favorite shops in West Wind Plaza. He gives her another appreciative once-over. “You look ready to make Sumire swoon at tonight's dinner.”
Angell brushes her long braided hair to one side before padding across to the fridge in her red ombre stockings. “You smell like a jumbled mess.”
“Just thinking if I should’ve prepared my world-renowned red bean soup.” Chief chuckles a little to himself as he watches her fish out a fizzy pop, nodding affirmatively when she glances back with an unspoken question.
Angell cracks open the can and pushes the fridge door shut with her foot. She takes a small sip and ponders his words for a moment. “I think it was better that you spent those two hours tending to your wife instead of a pot of soup.”
Chief feels his face warm a little at the recollection of him tending to Sumire. Yet the embarrassment does not stay for long. Looking back over all the efforts that everyone has put in for this day and for Sumire, he can't help but wonder if he could've done more himself.
And if even Angell would trade in red bean soup, of all things, to save him some time…
Perhaps sensing that her words are having the opposite effect, the hitman gingerly steps closer and stands beside him. She tries again. “I mean… I'm sure your wife prefers just having you over having what you do for her.”
Chief smiles a little at how intimately his dear Angell has come to know and love Sumire. She nudges him with her shoulder, letting him lean against her firmness. She offers him her drink, and he tastes her lipstick on the can. She waits patiently, until he lets out a long exhale.
“I just wish I could give her more of myself.”
Taking a slow look at the clean, decorated interiors around them, Chief wonders just how much effort it takes to keep them so pristine. “But I’m being pulled away to fix up this city’s walls instead.”
Having been reinitiated by Fraser City after the last disaster nearly a decade ago, this year's Great Expo is set to bring in thousands of Outland delegates, all wanting a piece of DisCity’s new Hypercube mine. It is a thinly veiled economic incursion, and may very well be a prelude to something much darker. Something that can destroy everything that he and Sumire wished to protect.
War.
Yet despite all the risks, DisCity found itself unable to refuse its only remaining ally; and with Outland agents already penetrating its defenses, the City finally pulled its head out of the sands.
And showed him a glimpse of just how hostile the outside world truly is.
Chief leans forward onto the countertop, elbows bracing against the invisible weight. “I just want to protect this garden of ours. That’s the dream she and I share. But…”
“It's a dream we all share.”
Before he can turn to his companion, warm hands find their way to the top of his back; more than a soft caress, not quite a skilled massage. He straightens slightly under the simple, reliable strength.
“Yes.” He nods, breathing out the tension in his chest. “Yes it is.”
Chief knows how quietly and persistently Sumire has been fostering the bonds between him and his Sinners. While he always sought camaraderie and companionship, his wife seems to take great delight in deepening those bonds, bringing as many as she can closer to him, much closer than the Shackles ever could by themselves. All so that he does not need to bear the burden of this dream by himself. And whenever she found a seedling of genuine affection towards her husband, she would set aside her own reserved nature and cultivate the fledgling fondness into flourishing love and, in rare occasions, blossoming intimacy.
Though she never quite anticipated how those same people she coaxed into bloom around him would come to love her just as much, despite Chief assuring her again and again that it should be so. After all, he is possessive enough to have her right there with him at the center of whatever tight-knit garland she chooses to weave.
He chuckles a little at that, before flashing a cheeky smirk at Angell. “I just can't have you all outshine me in front of my own wife.”
“Psh. How do you think she feels every time she has to count on me to protect you?” The hitman pulls away rolling her eyes, leaving behind a light smack on his back. She takes one more sip from her can before pushing what's left of it to him.
“We all love Sumire, and we all love you too. More than anything, we love the two of you together.” Angell suddenly perks up and looks past him at the kitchen entrance, a small grin forms on her lips. “Especially with what you two are bringing into this world.”
Chief follows her gaze to the door just as it slides open, revealing a beaming Coquelic followed closely by his beloved Sumire.
There she stands in all of her natural beauty. Her face is bare without makeup and still slightly flushed. Long black hair spills casually over her shoulders, barely covering the marks he had left on her neck. She chose to wear one of his grey shirts this morning, something she borrowed long ago and never returned. The oversized linen reaches past the gap between her thighs and the sleeves hide her hands placed protectively on her belly.
Still the most beautiful woman in his heart.
Their eyes meet and a dazzling smile colors her face. He knows right then, and all his worries and doubts vanish into thin air, blown away by a renewed courage and purpose.
They reach each other in a single stride, enveloping each other in a tight embrace.
“We did it, my love…”
She whispers into his ear before squealing and breaking into a giggle as he picks her up by the hips. They twirl around and around between a jubilant Coquelic and an amused Angell, until finally he lets her down for her to make the announcement that they have long been waiting for.
“We are going to be parents.”