Mistake

Imagine Kyojuro innocently showing you his scars whilst you converse over tea under the stars. The trophies of his many altercations with demons, sometimes wayward humans.

You’re seated on your engawa, laughter intermingling with the smoke lazily unfurling from your quellazaire. Crickets chirp to fill the silence. The balmy air comforts you, an occasional breeze stirring the sleeves of your yukata.

You remark how impressive each one is, entranced by the tan stretch of skin adorning his sinewy frame. Kyojuro grins unabashedly, explaining each blemish patterning his torso as if he’s directing you across a map. You’ve never seen him so animated. Brimming with boyish charm and you’re smiling alongside him. Can’t help it, really.

You’ve always had a thing for this loveable ball of sunshine, but you’ve often tucked your feelings far away, fearful that he would never return your sentiment. You’re nothing special. Not made to battle that which goes bump in the night. Why would he want to be romantically involved with someone so plain?

“How about this one?” you query to distract yourself from the inner mechanisms of your mind. You trace the span of one particular, dark indentation with a deft finger, the scar branching toward Kyojuro’s belly button. He tenses under your touch, honey abs contracting. Warmth blooms into your cheeks, your hand reeling back as if you’ve touched hot coal. “S-sorry,” you stammer, the blond slowly lowering his shirt.

Kyojuro reaches out to pat your hand in your lap, the smallest of smiles taking hold of his features, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It is quite alright,” he says, your gazes interlocking. Stars glide across the stratosphere of his eyes whilst he ingests your nervous visage. A silent request for permission to just…

Like clockwork, your bodies inch closer, magnetically inclined. Golden eyes descend into a beautiful shade of ruby, half-slit as they pan in. Your breath hitches, heart aflutter. It’s rude to stare. But you can’t stop yourself, for the moment is too unreal. Never in a million years would you have imagined actually kissing the center of your musings.

Your mouths connect in a blissful union that draws a hoarse sound from each of your throats. His lips are petal soft, just like you imagined they would be. Warm and comforting like the rest of him, tenderly grazing against your own.

When you feel yourself sinking into the moment, Kyojuro snatches away. As if you’re the most sinful thing, and he was never meant to indulge.

Kyojuro blinks rapidly, tearing himself from a trance. A peachy color dusts his cheeks whilst he averts his gaze. Combs an anxious hand through his tresses, sputtering uncharacteristically. “My apologies,” he chuckles to your stilled, shocked form. “That was completely out of line. I had no right to do that.”

You touch your lips with shaky fingers, the sensitive skin still ablaze with remnants of your kiss. Did Kyojuro not want this? Did he not feel the same? The heat of tears warms up your eyes, threatening to overtake your vision. The floorboards creak whilst Kyojuro peels himself from the engawa.

“I must be going,” Kyojuro mumbles, gathering up his katana, discarded gakuren jacket, and haori. Doesn’t meet your eyes as he gives you a rigid, swift bow, bidding you a murmured goodnight as he excuses himself from your presence. You watch his retreating back be swallowed by the inky night, a plea for him to come back embedded in your tongue.

Regret sinks into your belly, cold and restricting. Stupid woman. Taking advantage of him like that. Stupid, stupid. Of course he doesn’t feel the same. You’re a good friend. Someone of convenience. Someone he probably takes pity on, what with the life of solitude you lead.

You look wistfully up at the stars, a forlorn sigh fleeting from your lips as you finish your cigarette.

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