Oni in the kitchen

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"Hai," she eventually nodded.

Her words were but a whisper, but I believed her. For all her meekness, Chizuru was a strong-willed woman. I slightly bowed then realised something was missing to finish the dish.

"Do you think you can get us more water to fill up the great cauldron? We'll need it to cook the gnocchi."

Chizuru left at once and I returned to my onions, my slices perhaps a little too forceful on the poor vegetable. Grief and anger mingled once more, and I found my eyes stinging with unshed tears as I worked.

Kazama. Fucking Kazama, had stolen my family from me, and myself from my family.

Another slice, dice, slice. Light footsteps echoed from outside, was Chizuru was back already? Strange, I usually didn't lose track of time so easily.

"Are we feasting on foreign food tonight, Kitsu?"

I straightened at once, nearly chopping my own finger off; I would recognise that voice anywhere, but certainly didn't expect our Fukuchō to pop up in the kitchen. Ashamed by my unshed tears, I sought to distract him by showing the little dough squares by the side.

"We are celebrating Shigeru's birth this evening," I said, my head still bowed upon my work. "I wanted to offer Harada ... san a piece of my family traditions."

I nearly choked on those last words, and waited for the usual insightful – and cutting – remarks. But today, the shadow that loomed by my side had shed the mantle; it was Toshizō who watched my knife work on those neat slices of onion.

"And what wine would you drink with it?" he asked, approaching me with silent feet. From the corner of my eye, I discerned the deep purple hakamashita that contrasted so well with his jet-black hair. Slowly, Hijikata-san leant over the counter to watch my work. His presence was overwhelming; he towered over me easily.

"Puligny Montrachet, for sure."

"What year?" he almost murmured, his low voice sending shivers down my spine.

I froze, wondering if I should reveal anything to him. We'd made a deal, after all; he would ask, and I would respond truthfully. At any rate, I wanted to tell him, if only to have someone remember who I was.

"2005."

His hand suddenly grabbed my arm, and he twisted me around swiftly. The counter dug in my lower back, and I let the knife go. Hijikata's dark eyes caught mine, and I marvelled at the violet hues that danced within when reality sunk in. Disbelief gleamed for a moment until realisation struck. Now he knew when I came from. After 2005, a hundred and forty years in the future.

I braced myself for anger; he offered none. Instead, his graceful fingers hovered over my cheekbone. For a moment, I held my breath, trapped in his aura. So close, yet so far. Would he dare touch me again? His eyes softened, and I felt his thumb wipe moist from the corner of my eye.

"Crying, Kitsu?" he whispered gently. I closed my eyes to avoid shedding more tears, but the heat of his lingering touch upon my skin was enough to distract me from my sombre mood.

"Onions," I responded.

Would he buy it? Probably not; Fukuchō had this uncanny ability to sniff a lie from a thousand miles away. When I found the courage to gaze upon him once more, I found his face much closer to mine, his eyes so intense that I gasped.

"Well, lady of the future..."

His breath fanned upon my skin, the sentence unfinished as he closed the distance between us to capture my lips. Soft, but unyielding, they demanded surrender; I granted it without a second thought, my arms lifting to encircle his neck. Without the sake, I could taste him. Masculine, and earthly, full of humming power.

More!

My tongue swiped at his lower lip gently; the gesture surprised him, and his hold upon my waist tightened. As our lips danced, my fingers caressed his shoulder, crawling along the double layered collar – juban and kimono – to find his nape.

Hijikata shuddered at the contact; would he chase me away? He deepened our embrace when his own fingers found their way in my hair, tugging at the strands imprisoned in a braid. His ponytail prevented me from doing the same, so I travelled to his cheekbone, and dug my fingers in his loose bangs. Slowly, I smoothed them down until I could cup his sculpted jaw.

His skin was smooth and inviting, so different from the Oni no Fukuchō's ruthlessness.

The sound of footsteps caused us both to break apart, breath short, eyes diving into each other's. As if to ask: it this folly? His gaze conveyed a world of emotions, hidden and stowed away out of necessity. I just didn't want to let go, for I knew he'd revert to the stern commander. Hijikata took a step back to an acceptable distance; I saluted his strong will, for I was unable to do so.

A realisation set in; raw, like my intuition who was screaming to back down. Eyes upon the ground, I allowed the message to be heard.

"If we go that way, it's going to hurt."

The footsteps approached. Hijikata said nothing, but his finger lifted my chin so that our gaze could meet. His deep dark eyes searched my soul as I bit my lip. I wouldn't be able to explain what I'd just said; the warning came from within.

Strangely, he nodded his understanding.

"I know," he rumbled, allowing his hand to drop.

Chizuru erupted in the room with a heavy bucket and froze in her tracks, sensing the charged atmosphere in the room. Her reluctance made sense; the little lady hated confrontations, and we tended to violently clash.

At once, Hijikata marched upon her like a wolf on a trail. The girl took a step back when he swooped the recipient out of her hands easily – the weight seemed nothing in his hands. He turned to me with a raised eyebrow; I understood his meaning easily.

"In the cauldron," I instructed.

The water sloshed on the way down, thrown in with so much energy that it nearly spilled out. Nearly, for nothing Fukuchō did was sloppy. Then, he walked away, supple, and confident. Nothing more was said.

Japanese style.

So ... second kiss, at last! Talk of slow burn, eh?


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