For Franzi. The prompt was winter.
Light.
"It's
too cold," Hiromasa says with a sigh. They have been quiet for some
time, sitting in companiable silence drinking sake. The sake is warm
but the night air is bitter against his skin, and Hiromasa shivers as
he speaks.
Seimei looks up with his usual graceful deliberation.
"If it's too cold to play the flute on a night like tonight," he says, not-quite smiling, "then how will you calm your demon?"
Hiromasa
looks back at him. He knows Seimei is teasing him, but he answers
seriously. It is that kind of a night; the moon is lowhanging and
veiled in clouds, filtering through the windowscreens and shadowing his
heart.
"Do you believe spirits can go into hibernation, Seimei?" he asks.
Seimeii's gaze narrows; his smile turns sharper at the edges. "Why, Hiromasa?" he asks. "Does your spirit seem buried away?"
Hiromasa
thinks suddenly that Seimei's face has much in common with the
flickering candlelight of the room around them. It has a language of
its own, darting and ephemeral and impossible to catch, but he feels
warmer, he realizes, just looking at it.
"No," he says at last. "Not here." He smiles at Seimei, and lifts his cup.
"Good,"
Seimei responds, and in the expression that flickers across his
countenance before he drinks, Hiromasa fancies he sees a wink.