The night deepened. The oil in the lamp was nearly spent; the flame shrank smaller and smaller, dimmer and dimmer.
The room grew colder. The early-autumn night wind threaded through the gaps around the door, carrying a faint chill with it.
Kikyō was still sitting on the tatami, her fingers absently tracing the bowstring.
She was thinking.
About what Kōbe Hikaru had said — the castle lord, Hiraikotsu, the idea of a demon challenging the powerful men who ruled over human lives.
Madness.
Complete madness.
But…
She thought of the villages she had passed through over the years.
The people ruined by demons.
And the people ruined by other people.
Demons devoured men whole, one by one.
But men — men could destroy a family down to its last ember, strip a household bare and leave nothing behind.
She was a shrine maiden. Her duty was to slay demons.
But these past years had taught her something she could no longer ignore.
How many of the demons in this world were born to it?
Corpses piled in the fields, resentment taking root and flowering.
Cruelty in the hearts of men — and so demons walked the earth.
The source of all demons was human.
The humans who did evil.
"Kikyō."
Kōbe Hikaru's voice cut through her thoughts.
She looked up.
The grey-robed Ghost Warrior had already risen to his feet and was walking toward the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Outside."
He didn't look back. "Get some rest. I'll keep watch out there."
"Stop."
Kikyō spoke.
Her voice was not loud. But it carried something that left no room for argument.
Kōbe Hikaru's footsteps halted.
He turned, looking at Kikyō with faint surprise.
"What is it?"
Kikyō stood.
White robes and red hakama swayed softly in the dim lamplight.
She walked toward him.
One step. Two steps.
Until she was standing directly in front of him.
Less than a foot between them.
"Just a moment ago, you said you only dared because I was here."
Her voice was barely above a murmur, almost swallowed by the wind outside the window. "And now you're running away?"
Kōbe Hikaru went still.
He looked at the cool, composed face before him. At those deep, fathomless dark eyes.
The lamp was too dim. He couldn't read her expression.
But he could feel it —
She didn't want him to leave.
He was just about to say something.
A hand had already closed around his wrist.
It was cold — yet it carried a warmth that was somehow settling.
"The tatami fits two people."
Kikyō said: "I already told you."
She pulled him back the way he'd come. A Ghost Warrior's strength was genuinely greater than any ordinary person's — and yet right now, he didn't resist at all.
"Sit down."
Kikyō released his wrist and settled onto the tatami first.
Kōbe Hikaru glanced at her. Said nothing. And sat down beside her.
The tatami really wasn't large.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they were nearly touching.
A certain subtle quality drifted through the air between them.
Silence.
Another long, stretched-out silence.
"Lie down."
Kikyō's voice came from just beside him.
Kōbe Hikaru turned to look at her.
She had already turned onto her side, her back to him.
The back of her white robes lay flat against her spine, tracing the line of it — slender, yet strong. The red hakama fabric pulled taut at the curve of her hips, the cloth defining the full, rounded shape beneath. Her sash cinched her narrow waist, drawing a clear boundary between the lines above and below.
Kōbe Hikaru's throat moved.
"I'm a Ghost Warrior," he said. "I don't need to sleep."
"Then close your eyes and rest." Kikyō's voice came out muffled, as though pressed into the pillow. "You spent an enormous amount of demon-qi tonight. You need time to recover."
Kōbe Hikaru opened his mouth. He had something to say.
But in the end, none of it came out.
He lay down slowly.
His back to Kikyō's.
Their backs almost touching.
Through the thin layer of cloth between them, he could feel the warmth of her body.
That warmth was real.
Real enough that even a Ghost Warrior who had no need to breathe found himself, somehow, at ease.
The lamp went out completely.
The room fell into darkness.
Only a thin wash of moonlight through the window outside traced the faint outlines of two figures lying side by side.
Kōbe Hikaru closed his eyes.
He hadn't expected to fall asleep.
A Ghost Warrior's body had no need for sleep, after all.
But whether it was the sheer scale of tonight's expenditure, or whether the warmth at his back had simply made him too relaxed to guard against it —
His consciousness, slowly, blurred away.
…
The sky was turning pale.
The first thin light of dawn seeped through the gaps of the worn window, scattering across the tatami in soft patches.
Kōbe Hikaru woke.
Or rather — his consciousness returned.
But he didn't open his eyes right away.
Because he felt that something was wrong.
In his arms.
There was something there.
Something warm, and soft, carrying a faint, delicate scent.
He opened his eyes.
All he could see was black.
Hair.
Long black hair, scattered across his chest, a few strands lying against his cheek.
He followed the hair downward —
A sleeping face.
Brows at rest. Lashes trembling faintly. Lips slightly parted, breath coming slow and even.
It was Kikyō.
Sometime in the night she had turned over, and now her entire body was curled against his chest.
The collar of her white robes had come loose in sleep, baring the pale line of her throat and, below it, the faint suggestion of her collarbones.
Her face was pressed against his chest, her breath falling warm and steady just over his heart.
The hands that normally existed only to hold a bow were now resting at his side, fingers curled as though clutching at something.
And lower —
The sash of the red hakama had come undone at some point; the fabric lay creased and rumpled around her waist, following the curve of the slender figure beneath. One of her legs lay across his, thigh pressed close against the side of his leg, the feel of it through the thin cloth soft yet taut. Her other leg was slightly bent, knee resting against his lower abdomen, and from there upward —
Kōbe Hikaru's throat moved.
He made a deliberate effort to shift his gaze higher.
Don't look down.
Absolutely do not look down.
But —
[Shikon Jewel — Naohi: Affection +2]
[Current Affection: 49 (Trust)]
[It conveys a message to you: 'She is sleeping very soundly.']
['More soundly than she ever has before.']
Kōbe Hikaru stared at the notification on his panel.
He let out a slow breath.
Fine.
At least the jewel hadn't read whatever was actually going through his head.
He didn't move.
He stayed exactly as he was.
Feeling the warmth of the weight in his arms.
Outside the window, the roosters were crowing louder.
The sunlight was growing brighter.
Kikyō's lashes fluttered.
She was waking up.
On instinct, Kōbe Hikaru moved to pull away — to release her.
But the next second, he felt the hand resting at his side suddenly tighten.
Her fingers hooked into the fabric of his clothes, like someone gripping something and refusing to let go.
And then, those eyes opened.
Dark irises still clouded with the last dregs of sleep — hazy, uncertain.
She lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
Their faces were inches apart.
Close enough to make out the curve of each other's lashes.
Close enough that their breath tangled together.
Silence.
Dead silence.
It lasted perhaps three breaths.
Then the tips of Kikyō's ears turned red.
At a visible pace — spreading from her earlobes, down the length of her neck.
"…"
"…"
"Morning."
Kōbe Hikaru spoke first, breaking the silence.
Kikyō said nothing.
She simply unhooked her fingers from his clothes, turned over, and sat up.
Quick. Clean.
Her back to him.
Kōbe Hikaru could see her ears — red as if they might bleed.
"Let's go."
Her voice had returned to its usual composure, cool and even, as though nothing had happened.
"We have real work to do."
Kōbe Hikaru sat up as well.
He looked at her straight, composed back, his own expression calm — naturally calm.
"Right."
He said.
"Let's go."
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