WHISPERS OF A BUTTERFLY • Kamisato Ayato

seventeen. 十七*

CONTENT WARNING: NSFW (Smut)

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Dark, glowering woodwork, burnt-brown leather chairs, and walls that were black and had never once succumbed under the spreading malady of mold that often came with Inazuma's frequent thunderstorms. Freshly-washed fabrics wrapped you in a yukata, almost as if you had never left the estate. Everything was so picture-perfect that it would occur to no one that the night before had been an act of political violence.

As Thoma drew back the fine-silk curtains to let daylight pour in, you held your head in your hand. Memories of yesterday shadowed—not one, but two murder attempts, and Ayato had protected you against both of them. He willingly threw himself in front of you. Despite yourself, his home made you feel safer than any other place in Inazuma. Some part of you wanted to weep, but you mostly felt numb from shock.

A dim sense of tragedy washed over you as forced yourself to get up, Your would-have-been bedroom was parallel to Ayato's because you had been expected to be the lady of the house. Wealthy couples didn't share living quarters, but for once you wanted to pay him a visit; not that you were a couple.

"You shouldn't strain yourself, my lady," said Thoma. He offered a tray to you. "Tea?"

The thought made you sick. "I have to see him."

Without further argument, Thoma sighed and nodded to let you go. He knew there was no convincing you when you were clearly adamant about this. It didn't take many steps to reach the door to Ayato's quarters, where a Shuumatsuban member was posted.

"Only authorized personnel are allowed to see the Yashiro Commissioner, Lady Hiragi," he said in a clipped tone. "Lord Kamisato is recovering from wounds."

"I've already spoken to Thoma. Let me in."

"If you are authorized personnel such as a personal retainer or a clan member, you may."

"I'm his—" You stopped yourself. Not this again. Delirious. "We're close political allies."

The guard looked uncomfortable; he knew who you were. It didn't seem right to forbid you to enter, but it was also their job to prioritize Kamisato over outsiders no matter what. Tension and distrust reigned in the political air in Inazuma right now. Out of guilt for your worn-down state maybe, he eventually let you in.

Ayato's bedroom was virtually the same as it was when you were little. The only difference was that on his desk laid stacks of unfinished paperwork, letters that required his approval as well as plans for the next cultural affair. But beyond it, it was still the same layout, the same painting scrolls of flowing water hanging on the walls, the same light pouring through the windows.

And a less daunting sight — Ayato sleeping on the bed.

Your skin crawled. It was unsettling to see him resting, but more unsettling to catch him in such a peaceful mood. It unsettled you that it was familiar.

You pulled up a chair and sat next to him. His breathing was soft, everything at the moment vulnerable. He was wearing a simple blue yukata and had a thin bandage wrapped around his chest. He was certainly alive. Knowing this, you could leave. You chose to stay; not out of obligation but because a small part of you cared.

Even sleeping, his posture was poised. He slept on his back, straight as a log. Ayato's brows were permanently furrowed from the stress of his career. You wondered what it would be like if you were actually married and had to share a bed. To feel his hair in the crook of your neck when you wake. His arm around your body. Or maybe he'd never want to touch you at all.

It was only your imagination, but the idea of him not wanting to touch you made you queasy. It was like having to live without eating chocolate; it wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it would be a life lacking sweet little pleasures. You wanted to vomit from such an analogy. The idea of actually admitting that he made you feel something was unbearable.