Of Wishes in the Snow [Soukoku]

Why Are You Only

-- 12 years ago --

Mornings when Chuuya wakes up with the rising sun framed by the tall windows in his bedroom are the quietest parts of his day. It is only then that he allows himself to be languid, so much that he sits smothered by the blankets of his bed to watch the colored sky gradually smoothen into a calmer blue, trailing the presence of the radiant red of the sun. Warmth spreads through his body, caressing his porcelain skin and replacing the lingering cold that the night had left him with. At the ever changing display of nature's phenomena he is rendered speechless, content with the serenity of the moment. The graceful melody of a shamisen slowly sways its way into the background, a sign that Kouyou had woken up to listen to some music sometime after he.

Sleek walls with delicate wooden carvings of fine detail look like they should be in an imperial castle instead of being in a modern skyscraper, his caretaker making sure that her offices and quarters are to her taste. Elegant and grandiose, it intimidates all those who are lucky enough as to even set a step inside. Or unlucky, if they're part of an select minority that leaves the room in a body bag.

But Chuuya has no reason to feel scared here, no matter how many times Kouyou's icy stare sends a shiver down his spine. This is his home, and home means safe. Haha.

Wrong.

He isn't ignorant enough to believe that anymore. Oh, how he wishes he was. He still remembers the sting of the first set of bruises he received in his very own bedroom, dealt to him after committing an idiotic mistake. Now he knows to stay away from her personal effects.

He forgives her though, for every injury, for every harsh word spat in his direction. If it weren't for her saving him months ago from the dark alleyways downtown, he'd still be alone and dirty, wasting away in the streets. If it weren't for her, he wouldn't be able to have this peaceful moment to himself, hugging a pillow closely to his chest as the young rays of the sun hit the Yokohama skyline, casting a film of light and shadow on his features. At the right angle, the sunlight strikes his azure eyes - eyes that are far too determined to be a child's eyes, even if they are. He lets out a sigh, full of sorrows and woes, and sinks back into his thoughts.

She loves him as he loves her too, despite the many misunderstandings they have and questionable actions on her behalf. Being in the Mafia means having a cold heart, and while she can kill a man without batting an eye, Chuuya swells with unadulterated joy when she lets her altruistic side show. He holds a lot of respect for her because of that, and is also why he wishes her a polite goodbye on his way out of their apartment.

Before he makes it to the door, he notices that he's forgotten a must in his room.

"Do you need something?" Kouyou asks from the kitchen. The faint smell of jasmine tea wafts into their living room.

"I forgot my hat," he speaks loud enough for her to hear, albeit a little sleepily. Tiny footsteps resonate loudly in the calm earlier settled, following him past bookshelf after bookshelf where neat rows of poetry and classics are meticulously arranged.

She chuckles as he ducks back to where he came from. "Alright dear, but tell me if you need anything else."

His room is just how he left it moments ago, with the curtains drawn and the bedsheets done. Without even sparing a glance at the hatrack by the door where he never fails to hang his prized possession, Chuuya seizes it; cold and rigid. Bewilderedly, his eyes snap to what he has grasped in a sure hold which happens to be...the stand?

"Huh." He blinks in confusion, dumbstruck by an utterly impossible feat that leaves him playing back yesterday's events over and over. Yes, yes, he's nodding to himself, there's no doubt. His hat was on the stand before he went to bid Kouyou goodnight, in the sense that he always hung it there every evening.