The sleeping man (Hakuouki modern AU - Hijikata)

Sinfully beautiful

This story is inspired by the picture I found on the net, even if I didn't find the author. I thank this amazing illustator for feeding my muse.

He was beautiful as sin.

The kind of beauty you would only want to gaze upon for eternity. Just one more glimpse, and another, and another, until all that remained were the elegant lines of his face and the sharpness of his jaw. He was of those people you could not imagine without clothes, not for lack of sexiness, of course. But it would be a crime to think if him thus, stripping him of this otherworldly ethereal beauty. Especially when he looked so peaceful.

She carved a picture of him in her mind; she would never forget. How could she, really ?

Fine features smoothed by sleep, jet black hair to die for, and shaped eyebrows that could probably paint a hundred emotions. He smelt heavenly, a mixture of subtle masculinity and reassurance wrapped up over his fair skin. His lips were set in a gentle pout, relaxed and delicious looking, just like the sharp set of his jaw.

He probably was a very determined man. The kind that would have been a samurai in a past life. She could easily imagine a sword in his hands, and the traditional hachigane upon his brow as he lay waste on his enemies. That beautiful hair of his, long enough to brush his slim waist. The purple tie would have been a hitarare, the colour highlighting the contrast between his pale skin and the deep colour of his mane.

Hands laid prone upon long legs, tendons and calluses showing he probably practised some kind of sport. Given his lithe and athletic frame, it made little doubt. His jacket partially rested on the floor, she'd glared a few times at people who did not pay attention to the fine cloth.

Not that she had been awake for long; her own meditation had probably been the reason why the man had settled by her side in the first place. Or he just wanted to lean against the frame and had, unwillingly, slid off... and cushioned his head upon her shoulder. Not that she would ever complain; to be the recipient of such a man's touch would be the highlight of her year. Just for this, she thanked her own Gods.

There was no ring upon his finger, but again, this was Japan. It did not mean anything. Such a handsome man couldn't possibly be a bachelor, especially since he seemed to be in his thirties. It was always difficult to judge from a European point of view, especially since she could only see the bridge of his straight nose now that he had sunk lower.

She longed to touch his luxurious hair just to know if it was as silky as it looked. Who was he, today, the man who had chosen to doze off upon her shoulder ? A man who worked entirely too much, for he slept so soundly despite the noise of the train, and the numerous calls to stations. Or perhaps, a young father whose kids refused to sleep ? She didn't have the heart to wake him. His weight settled gently, his smell surrounding them, even breath causing his chest to rise and fall steadily.

She didn't know how far he lived from the city centre; had he missed his stop already ? Was the long commute the reason for his exhaustion ? It was lucky that, tonight, she was joining Tomoko for dinner in Yokohama, else she would have left the train seven stations earlier.

How angry would he be if she gave in to temptation and allowed her hand to...

Too late, her fingers were already brushing the top of his hair. She suppressed a moan of pure longing, for it flowed against her skin like a layer of silk. A grunt responded to her sharp intake of breath and, suddenly, the most amazing pair of violet eyes opened up to the world. Her breath caught, the air leaving her as she stared at him. He was, tops down, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

For a moment, he stared back, mind blurred with sleep. They remained suspended in a little bubble, his eyes so deep that she felt the world resided within. She wasn't breathing, but she just couldn't look away; he had trapped her. Eventually, the man blinked and realised his position. He jolted back in his seat, cheekbones dusting with red.

"Gomen nasai", he stuttered, gathering his jacket with agitation. His voice felt like distant thunder, its vibrations rattling her bones. Delicious. Too bad he looked positively mortified, but the expression took nothing away from him. If any, it only enhanced his natural beauty. Long fingers tugged upon the tie to loosen his collar, exposing a tempting expense of skin.

"It's alright", she responded with a smile.

But the man didn't see it, for his sinful eyes refused to meet hers again. Then he stood sharpy. He slightly swayed, probably from the rush of blood; he was really tall for a Japanese man. Shame oozed from him in waves, and he rumbled again in her direction.

"I am really, really sorry."

In a country where people kept a cautious distance and rejected public displays of affection, she could understand why falling asleep over a stranger could be traumatising.

When the next stop came by, her sleep buddy escaped the wagon with a fierce stride. The night engulfed him at once in the deserted station, and she remained, frozen.

The absence of his warm body next to hers left such a hole that she shivered. She would never see him smile. For a terrifying moment, it felt like the world had ended.