DISCLAIMER:  Fushigi Yuugi does not belong to me, Toys R Us, or any of the Partridge Family.  Shimatta, I want that bus...

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Not really shounen-ai...but kind of.  If this offends you...you're a baby red mamoshi pit viper.  *firm nod*

 

 

A Moment of Warmth

by Ryuen

 

 

His cheeks were chapped and rosy from cold, his eyes wide, bright...smiling.  There was something inexplicably boyish about the way he tramped in through the door, stomped his boots a few times to shake off the soft tufts of snow...danced over to the log bin to toss a towering pile wood into it.  Once he'd finished the task, Nuriko straightened, flung his long violet braid over one shoulder and grinned.

 

"Ne, Hotohori-sama!" he exclaimed by way of greeting, beginning to tug at the thick cloth of his gloves.

 

The younger man, sprawled comfortably in the nearby reclining chair, glanced up from his book, blinked at the smaller seishi as if just noticing his presence.  "Ah...konnichiwa, Nuriko."  He studied the violet-haired boy for a moment...then, tilted his head slightly to the side, frowned a bit.  "Where are Miaka and the others?"

Nuriko grinned, flopped down onto the couch and started to tug at his boots.  "Snowball fight," he explained simply.  He stretched up a slim-fingered hand, pointed to a large deposit of rapidly-melting snow clinging to the top of his head.  The smile widened.  "Miaka's getting creamed."

The young emperor smiled, spent a moment trying to picture their young miko being slowly pelted to death by heavy balls of snow...he laughed, very lightly.  Nuriko glanced up at the sound, gazed at him in what seemed to be surprise...but, he said nothing, simply went back to the task of stripping off his wet clothes, a faint flush darkening his cheeks.  Letting out a soft breath of air and at last giving up on trying to analyze the other seishi, Hotohori settled more comfortably in the recliner and returned to his book. 

After a few moments, Nuriko had pulled off his boots, socks, jacket, and tunic, had flung the sopping wet clothing in the general direction of the fireplace.  Letting out a soft, relaxed breath, Nuriko plucked a bit at his dampened pants, obviously a bit uncomfortable with leaving them on, then leaned back into the cushions of the couch and closed his eyes.  His feet, small and white and bare, rested themselves lightly against the edge of the coffee table, pressing tiny warm circles into the glass.

 

They sat in a soft, comfortable silence for what felt like a long time, Nuriko resting quietly in the cozy brown leather of the couch, Hotohori leafing contentedly through his book.  The far-off screams and giggles of the snowball fight rose to their ears from time to time, sent secret, identical smiles flitting onto both faces.  Oblivious to the rare peaceful moment, the fire blazed noisily in the corner, washing eagerly over the new logs Nuriko had fed it, munching happily on the freshly-cut wood.  Finally, after what must've been at least twenty minutes of inaction and silence, Hotohori closed his book with a soft clap, rose with typical regality and grace to his feet. 

 

Nuriko's eyes flitted open at the sudden motion, traced the young emperor's movements almost warily.  "Hotohori-sama?" he questioned softly.

 

Having been moving rather swiftly towards the kitchen door, Hotohori paused, turned back and flashed the man a wan smile.  "It seems Miaka's eating habits are affecting me," he offered a bit dryly.  Suddenly remembering his manners, he blinked, studied Nuriko in the warm orange light of the fire, the cooler, softer light of late afternoon.  "Can I get you something?"

Nuriko stared at him for a moment...then, shook his head, looked away rather suddenly.  "Iie," he replied, blushing slightly.  "Daijobu, Hotohori-sama.  But...thank you.  For offering, I mean."

 

Hotohori nodded slightly, wondering why Nuriko was bothering to thank him...then, put the thought out of his mind, retreated into the kitchen and moved for the refrigerator with rare fervor.  It was strange, but ever since they'd arrived at the cabin a few days ago, intent on a solid week of rest and relaxation, he'd been acting more and more like what he imagined characterized a normal human being.  He spent some moments in restful silence, nothing to focus on but his own thoughts or a good book...spent long hours with his friends, his miko, sometimes merely himself...and, gods--he got outside, ran through the snow, chopped at trees with Tasuki and Tamahome, fixed his snowy, mussed hair with Nuriko's help...just enjoyed being here, being young, being alive. 

 

It was strange, how the very small things suddenly seemed so important to him--before, he'd always found himself trapped beneath the weight of his robes, a new crisis to deal with each day...and yet, now, these few days...he found himself paying close attention to the things he'd never bothered to notice before--the way the silence warmed when a friend entered the room; the way the fire crackled and ate its way straight through to midnight; the way the moonlight trickled in through the window around two hours before dawn, swept like a silver wave over the innocent, sleeping faces of his friends; the way laughter echoed and rang against the wood of the walls; the way the upstairs carpet felt against his toes...the way Nuriko's lips lifted into that familiar shy smile every time he entered the room.

 

And, of course...the way the food tasted against his tongue--perhaps that most of all.  At the palace, he'd learned the value of a healthy, unobtrusive diet.  Food was something to be partaken because it was necessary, not because it was enjoyable.  And, yet, ever since he'd come here, begun to relax, savor soft, peaceful moments of simply breathing and living and being with his companions...he'd come to savor his food, as well. 

 

Of course, Miaka'd brought a great many of her world's delicacies along with her, including a few of Hotohori's new favorites--there was a very intriguing food that Miaka had called "pizza," and which he, Nuriko, and Tasuki had fallen for almost immediately.  It was a thin, flat pie of dough, and yet instead of fruit or some other dessert-item filling it, it was instead covered in a light layer of tomato, then littered with cheese, vegetables, meat, or whatever else the eater desired.  It was, to Hotohori's cultured opinion, the most perfect food ever created, and he was secretly jealous that Miaka didn't seem to be a decent enough cook to teach him how to make it once they returned to Konan.

 

He paused slightly, fishing through the numerous boxes within the freezer for the appropriate one, and wondered vaguely if perhaps Nuriko would be able to figure out how to make it once they returned...  Considering the seishi's culinary talents, he supposed it was possible, and resolved silently to bring it up the next chance he got. 

 

He'd just drawn the soft, frosty cardboard out from the freezer, was tugging at the tabs in a vain effort to slide the pizza from within it, when, gradually, he became aware of the soft echoes of music drifting to him from the living room.  Frowning slightly as the gentle, oceanic sway of the music drifted through the kitchen door, Hotohori took a few steps away from the refrigerator, leaving the unopened pizza box lying forgotten on the counter as he moved.  A moment later, he'd pushed the door very gently open, was gazing out into the living room with eyes of soft amber.  He felt a gentle smile tickling at his lips, a tentative warmth washing over his muscles, soothing all that remained of the tension from his limbs.

 

Nuriko stood in the center of the room, back to the kitchen door, swaying gently to the music flowing from the stereo speakers. Although he was far from an expert, Hotohori got the sense that the music wasn't as current as the...what had Miaka called it?  Bop?  Pop?  Something like that...that the young miko preferred to listen to.  No, this...this was nothing like Miaka's music.  It was slow, gentle, filled with the smooth glide of a saxophone, the light tinkling of a piano...the low, husky vocal of a woman who seemed to be mourning...it was strange.  The words themselves were in a language he didn't understand, but the woman's voice...the way she seemed to linger on certain syllables of the unfamiliar words, stretch her voice out onto the higher notes...  It conveyed the heartache, the loss...but, also the peace.  The healing.  This wasn't a woman in misery...this was a woman drawing herself up from the pain, brushing aside the anguish and beginning to live again.  It made him feel warm just to listen to it.

 

He glanced from the stereo back to Nuriko, watched as the young man--violet eyes lightly closed--continued in his graceful, practiced movements, slim arms held lightly out in front of him, head tilted very gently to the side.  As he moved, Hotohori caught a glimpse of the older seishi's face, was immediately struck by just how peaceful those delicate features were...how soft, how contented.  Nuriko seemed to draw the music up into himself, fan it out before him like a cloak to be worn...wrap it around his shoulders and tug it close.  The young emperor suddenly wanted very much to be a part of the gentle melodies himself, to have that same warm, pleased expression wash over his own features...to have that peace.

 

Instead, he merely stood there, watched Nuriko's silent dance continued.  A soft warmth settled over his heart as he watched each careful, practiced step...each graceful movement or soft, pleasant smile.  When the song came to a close four or five minutes later, Nuriko came to a slow, reluctant halt with his back to the door, let out a slow, contented sigh.  He strode forward, then, pressed a few buttons on the stereo and started the song up again.

 

As he stood there with his fingers against the buttons, however, Nuriko seemed to smile, turned his head slightly to the side.  "Beautiful, ne, Hotohori-sama?"

 

Hotohori nodded, wondering how long Nuriko'd known he was standing here.  "Hai," he agreed softly.  A new warmth clung to his voice, smoothed at his words.  "Very beautiful.  And, peaceful."  He frowned thoughtfully.  "Sad...but, somehow...not."

The violet-haired seishi still did not turn around, merely stood before the stereo, bare arms folded lightly over his chest, that long, slender braid dangling loosely down his back.  "Miaka said it's her brother's," he offered softly after a moment.  "She had it with hers by accident..."  He smiled.  "Demo, I just can't listen to it enough.  It makes me want to dance."

 

The young emperor smiled, the truest, most genuine smile he could remember giving for a very long time.  "Me, too," he agreed softly. 

 

Nuriko grinned, turned around and held his arms out before him.  "Ne, in that case..."

Suddenly realizing what the other had in mind, Hotohori blinked, felt his eyes widen.  "D...Dance?  Right here?"  With you?

 

The violet-haired seishi merely nodded, that warm, true smile lingering on his lips.  "Hai, Hotohori-sama.  Ne, I won't bite you...I promise.  Come on, don't be afraid.  Even emperors dance, don't they?"

"Well...hai, but--"

Nuriko's soft whisper cut through his words, silenced him with a barely audible, "Shh."  The young seishi's eyes drifted lightly closed as the woman began to sing again, and he began to sway gently to the music, eyes drifting closed in that soft, peaceful expression again...and, Hotohori was suddenly overcome with a longing to be a part of that moment, to be warm and contented in the wash of music, too...and so, he stepped forward, held out his arms...and placed his hands gently on Nuriko's waist.  The smaller seishi started at the sudden touch, eyes flaring open...but, then, his gaze softened...and, he smiled.  Nuriko lifted his own arms, wrapped them carefully around Hotohori's neck...and, then the music took over.

 

Hotohori closed his eyes, let his senses flare open, his movements be swept up into the soft, lulling waves of the melody.  Nuriko was warm and solid in his arms, the soft, flowery fragrance of the smaller seishi's hair wafting up through his nostrils, the graceful sway of his movements both gentle and strong...leading him, but somehow following him in the same instant.  He felt himself vanish into the dance, felt nothing but the warmth of the body against his own and the quiet peace of the song...and, the smile was on his lips almost before he thought to place it there.

 

Peace.  Gods, it felt nice. 

 

The song slowed a bit, and the woman stretched down into a lower, almost pleading tenor...and, Nuriko was suddenly closer to him, cheek resting solidly against his chest, arms wrapped carefully around his neck.  He almost stiffened at the sudden closeness...but, the music was still warm and fluid in his veins, the peace smooth and soft over his features...and, so he let the worries and troubles of life trickle away.  He forgot his name, forgot his stature...forgot where he was and why and when and with who...and closed his eyes once more. 

Darkness...warmth in his arms...the gentle thud of a heartbeat not his own against his chest...the scent of flowers...the plaintive melodies rising up around him...the gentle sway of the dance.  He lost himself quite easily...and, even the memory of the pizza, thawing quietly on the counter, or the approaching giggles of the others trudging their way up the hill towards the cabin, couldn't draw him out of it. 

 

It wasn't until the music ended that he came back to himself, remembered where he was, and with who.  He didn't pull away, though, didn't tug back or brush the soft, flowery scent from his robes or even tense beneath Nuriko's touch...no.  He took a short, careful step back, gently drawing himself up out of the swaying embrace...and, Nuriko, also, took a short step back, flushed slightly and gazed down at the floor.  He seemed about to open his mouth to apologize, but Hotohori held up a stopping hand, took a small step forward.

 

"Iie," he said softly.  Nuriko's eyes rose questioningly from the floor, met his own.  The young emperor smiled.  "Arrigato for the dance.  I needed it."

Before the violet-haired seishi could respond, the door swung violently open, and a wet, snow-covered bandit stomped in, brushing vainly at the thick clumps of white sticking in his flame-red hair.  After a few moments of swearing and trying to force the snow from his hair, the seventeen-year-old gave up, trudged over to the fire and plopped down in front of it.  Next to step inside the cabin were Miaka and Tamahome, arm in arm and looking happier than they had in weeks.  Just behind them were an unmasked-but-smiling Chichiri, an exhausted-looking Mitsukake, and a wide-eyed, snow-dampened Chiriko. 

 

"Konnichiwa, Nuriko! Hotohori!" Miaka greeted with typical enthusiasm, looking flushed but pleased from her place on Tamahome's arm.  Her soft brown hair was drenched and cluttered with snow, her eyes wide and bright in the soft light of the cabin.  "You should've come out for the snow battle!  It was great!"

Tasuki let out a brief burst of manic laughter.  "Yeah, it was @(*$& great!  BAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!  Tama, you can't throw snowballs worth @#$(*&@$(*..."

The teal-haired seishi's eye began to twitch...but, a calming glance from Miaka seemed to soothe him, and he contented himself with merely granting the bandit a dark glare before continuing in the brief journey across the cabin floor. 

 

The group began to make their way towards the fire where Tasuki had already taken up residency, brushing past where Nuriko and Hotohori stood, still facing each other, unmoving and seemingly caught in some wordless spell that neither wished to break just yet.  It was broken a moment later, however, when Miaka managed to trip on a loose floorboard and go tumbling into Nuriko...but, the young seishi caught her rather deftly, helped her back to her feet.

 

Miaka grinned apologetically, offered a brief, "Gomen ne, Nuriko."  As she straightened, however, her eyes strayed to the still-blinking light of the stereo.  "Ne, Nuriko," she said slowly, reaching a slim hand forward and touching almost tentatively at the black disk tray.  "What were you listening to?"  Her eyes began to glow.  "One of my CDs??"

Nuriko smiled.  "Iie, Miaka...gomen.  I was listening to the other one...your brother's."

The young miko made a face.  "Ack.  Oniichan has weird taste in music..."

Again, the soft, gentle smile.  "Iie, I like it.  It's..."

"Peaceful," Hotohori supplied softly.

 

The smile lifted, just slightly.  "Hai," Nuriko agreed.  "Peaceful."

Still frowning and looking vaguely apologetic, Miaka stretched forward a hand, lifted the CD case from where it lay on the desk.  "It's not even Japanese," she pouted. 

 

"Oi, Nuriko!" came a jarring shout from the fireplace.  "You gonna @(#$&$ make somethin' to eat?  I'm @#(&@#$(*& starvin'!"

CD case forgotten in her hands, Miaka began to nod enthusiastically, eyes glowing with hunger and excitement.  "Hai-hai-hai!" she exclaimed.  "Let's eat!"

Nuriko began to move towards the kitchen...but, Hotohori held out a stopping hand, offered his own slight smile.  "Iie, Nuriko.  I'll do it tonight."

Those soft violet eyes widened, just slightly, and a look of inquisitive disbelief flickered over the delicate features.  "Hotohori-sama, are you sure?"  He smiled slightly.  "I didn't think you even knew how to cook..."

The young emperor matched the smile good-naturedly.  "Aa, I don't...but, I know how to put a pizza into the oven...and, I know how to take it out when the...the..."

"Timer?" Miaka offered.

"Hai.  When the timer buzzes."

The violet-haired seishi shrugged his slim shoulders, retired to the couch and sank into it.  "All right...if you really want to, Hotohori-sama.  But, if you need any help..."

Hotohori nodded.  "Hai.  I'll call you."

 

Once the chestnut-haired seishi had retreated into the kitchen, Miaka frowned slightly, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially into one violet-covered ear.  "Ne, Nuriko...what's with Hotohori?"

Nuriko blinked.  "Hm?  What do you mean?"

The girl seemed to ponder for a moment, her features scrunching up in thought...and then, she lifted a finger as if in discovery, smiled knowingly.  "He seems...different," she stated firmly.  Her lips twisted a bit, tinged her voice with uncertainty.  "What is it, though?  He seems...  He seems..."

The violet-haired seishi smiled slightly.  "Peaceful?"

"Un!  That's it.  Ne...why's he like that, Nuriko?  Did something happen?"

Nuriko only smiled, leaning carefully back on the couch and planting his hands behind his head.  "Iie, Miaka," he offered softly.  "Nothing happened.  I guess the mountain air is just finally getting to him...ne?"

The girl nodded, smiling widely.  "Un, that must be it."  A moment passed in silence, and then...  "Ne, Nuriko?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think he can really handle making dinner all by himself?"

"Hai, of course.  He is the ruler of a country, after all..."

"D...Demo...if he burns the pizza..."

"I'm sure you'll eat it, anyway, Miaka."

The girl smiled a bit sheepishly.  "Hai, you're probably right."

The fire crackled...the light hum of conversation drifted through the warm interior of the cabin...

 

"Ne, Nuriko?"

"Hm?"

"Do you really like that...that music of Oniichan's?"

A soft, peaceful smile touched at his lips.  "Hai.  I do."

"Why?"

"It's...warm."

"Warm?"

"Hai...warm."

 

The soft clatter of Hotohori moving around in the kitchen echoed softly behind them, joined by the ever-rising staccato of Tasuki's snickers, the growl of Tamahome's angered protests, and the buzz Mitsukake's low, rumbling bass.  Every now and then, a light "no da" would pierce through the hum of voices, perhaps joined by Chiriko's high, polite alto.  The room was warm and thick with life, the gentle rays of the setting sun flitting in through the far window, painting the polished wood a dusky reddish-orange. 

 

Nuriko smiled, taking in the soft murmurs of his friend's voices, the clatter of the young emperor's meal being created...then wrapped his arms lightly around himself, felt the smile soften...grow gentle.

 

Hai, he repeated silently.  Warm.

 

The pizza did, indeed, burn...and Miaka did, indeed, eat it anyway.

 

~*~*~*~

 

~end.