redamancy | urayoru

iv

She awakens to the sound of crackling embers, her body comfortably ensconced in a cocoon of warmth. Cheeks glowing from the proximity to the slowly dying fire, Yoruichi rubs the sleep out of her eyes with the back of her hand, stretching.

Three things occur to her simultaneously; first, her tongue seems to have transformed overnight into a sheet of sandpaper; second, something is applying gentle, but constant pressure on her waist; and third, there appears to be a second source of heat aside from the fire, one currently attached all along her back from nape to ankles.

Her eyes blink open, slowly adjusting to the dim light and the sight of a room that's neither her bedroom in the estate nor the barracks, but one she is nonetheless well acquainted with. Somewhere in the back of her mind the connection begins to form, but she decides not to trust her lackluster mental capabilities at the early hours of the morning, and instead lets her gaze travel to her midsection.

Surely enough, an arm is loosely draped over her waist and once again, her breath catches in her throat at the familiar fight. And even as her slowly awakening mind begins to point out the inconsistencies between this picture and past precedent, Yoruichi pauses, waiting for the illusion to shatter. Seconds tick by, but the image doesn't shift: still the same pale forearm, the same slender, ink spattered fingers. Tentatively, Yoruichi reaches out to identify the spiritual energy nestled so comfortably next to hers, and the answer gives her body the kind of kickstart only a cold bath usually provides.

Slowly, carefully, she shifts until she's confronted with the warm body cradling hers, and is greeted by the view of Kisuke's sleeping face.

His shoulder rises and falls rhythmically as he breathes in and out, still blissfully unaware of her intense scrutiny. The sight of him triggers a trickle of memories from last night-their talk in the Training Grounds, the outing-then a downpour. She gathers the scattered pieces and begins to fit them together, reconstructing a timeline of the previous night, from the point they left the teahouse to being led back here.

And then...

Her abdomen tightens at the memory of him carrying her back to the futon, and her mind is flooded with an overload of sensory details, the sheer breadth of his embrace; running the pads of her fingers against the smattering of fine, dark blond hair on his chest; the graze of his fingers along the curve of her spine; falling asleep breathing in his scent.

It took close to a century and a half, but unless she's very much mistaken, their friendship has just been effectively ruined. And she's only one step away from dancing on the smoking remains.

Yoruichi catches her lip into her teeth as she gazes at his sleeping form, swallowing hard. Hand hovering before his face, she hesitates for a moment before she lets her fingertips trail down the shock of blonde hair that falls between his eyes. She's close enough to count his eyelashes-pale, almost silver-close enough to feel his warm, even breaths against her face, and her fingers come to a rest on his lips.

Before she can even begin to think about how best to wake him up, she starts to wonder whether she should wake him up to begin with. She could do with some extra time right now, at a loss of what she is even supposed to say when the inevitable happens. Is she supposed to make some sort of declaration? Does she really need to say things that Kisuke already knows? At least she hopes he does.

The decision, however, is made for her before she can make up her mind.

A sharp knock on the front door pierces through the silent house. Kisuke shifts gently, brow creasing, and in a rush, Yoruichi does the first thing she can think of: turning around with her back to Kisuke, she closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep.