Match Me - Viewpoints
8. Viewpoints
Nanao shuffled the questionnaires, putting the ones with the most frayed edges on top -- the ones that had been handled the most. Of these, Izuru Kira’s led, the attached forms verging on a file rather than a single page application, but his was currently missing.
She smiled, adjusting her glasses over her nose. Her new identification filing system was in order, complete with non-Division numbers in place, a purely scientific and logical classification that would omit bias from her over-meddling Captain.
She set them to one side and turned her attention to another mundane chore. She pulled the order form from the second stack and began filling it out.
“No bleach, no starch, extra fabric softener,” she said aloud as she placed the laundry order for one extra large haori. “Line dried outside, in the shade to prevent the sun from fading the soft colors and detailed embroidery.”
She frowned and erased the words ‘soft’ and ‘detailed.’ No need to include those, she thought.
It was the same order and instructions every week, and every time the haori was returned smelling of the fresh outdoors, faintly of Shunsui’s aftershave -- which Nanao was quite sure a permanent scent ingrained in the fabric by now -- an identifiable fixation she knew as well as his reiatsu.
She placed the laundry work order to one side and looked to the next piece of business. For a long moment she wasn’t sure what it was. She read for a half a page of dialogue before it became apparent what she was looking at.
Her eyes grew wide, and a blush settled deep within her cheeks as she quickly folded it and pushed it aside.
Fan fiction. A rather racy scene, too. Their names practically leaped off the page at her.
She looked to the open doorway, and tentatively reached for the folded paper again, pulling one side open just enough to see a few lines, just enough to flame the blush back into her cheeks. She blamed it on the heat of the afternoon. She creased the fold in the paper sharper and pushed it away.
She looked up as Shunsui appeared in her office doorway, a grin on his unshaven face, a couple of questionnaires in his hand.
“Nanao, my sweet, come see how well I’ve matched these two,” he called with a wave.
Nanao waited until he had disappeared out the doorway before she stood, taking a moment to breathe deeply and abate her rattling nerves and spiked pulse. She put the laundry order on top the fan fiction pages, and went to her captain’s office.
“I think you’re going to like this one,” he said from the side of the doorway as she stepped inside.
She yelped, startled, and sidestepped, flinching with such a jolt she had to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
He looked to her in surprise. “Why so jumpy today, Nanao?”
She brushed her robes of non-existent wrinkles, working the fluster out of her system, the words from the fan fiction scene still in her mind. “No reason, Captain. What, what ... what did you want to show me?” She prepared herself for the answer, reminding herself he hadn’t read the story, just her.
He studied her closer, smiling slowly. “What are you so worked up about, sweet Nanao?”
“Nothing,” she said hastily. She attempted a smile. “You’ve matched someone?”
“Aye, yes. A good match.” He gestured to the two chairs behind his desk. “Sit down and I’ll show you who our lucky applicants are.”
She sat nervously behind the desk, steeling herself as he took the chair next to her, willing to remain calm, and stop the loud thumping in her ears that seemed to be from her heartbeat. Approach it head on, she told herself.
“I found the oddest papers in the weekly work orders, Captain.” She raised an eyebrow, refusing the blush that threatened to tint her cheeks again.
“Oh?” He smiled, spreading the two applications before them on the desk. “Anything you like?”
“Captain, I do not read our fan fiction, and I do not intend to start.” She looked down at the questionnaires. “Vice Captain Kira?”
He nodded, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded pages. “How about something from my point-of-view?” He looked down at the papers and read. “’She gave me her usual look of disdain, but I knew that beneath that prim exterior there beat the heart of --’”
“Captain ...”
“’... a lusty woman who had filled my life with unending --‘”
“Captain!” Her hand rolled one of the questionnaires in absence on her book. “Please stop.”
He looked up from the paper. “That’s not how it goes, Nanao.” He appraised her mild distress, and found another folded paper from a second pocket. “How about something from your point-of-view?”
“No, I don’t want --”
“’It had been a long time, much too long, since he’d last visited my humble quarters, and I yearned for --‘”
“No!”
“No? Something from third person narrative? Omniscient point-of-view. It’s a little more passive voice, but still --”
“No!” She snapped to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over.
For a moment he simply returned her fierce look, and then carefully reached into his desk drawer and found a paper. “I have one story where you mourn my death. You’re a lovely widow in it trying to move on after my passing. Very eloquent. How about that?”
“I don’t want to read something about your death.” She looked at him more sharply. “Your widow?”
He nodded readily. “How about a collection of vignettes about our early years of marriage?”
“Captain, I do not need someone else’s imagination! I have my own, thank you very much.” A look of dread came over her face, pulse rocketing once again. “What I meant, was that, I ... I don’t ...” She wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, make him feel as awkward as she did at times like these, which were becoming more frequent.
He smiled and patted the chair beside his. “Come sit, Nanao. Don’t fluster yourself over someone else’s collection of words. I’ll show you who our vice captain is matched with, and you’ll see I know the shinigami heart.”
She took her chair and looked to the applications, wishing her rapid heartbeat to stop leaping in her veins. For a moment she tried to focus on the questionnaires, but found it difficult, as the images newly introduced from her captain’s venture into fan fiction had taken hold.
“As I see it,” Shunsui was saying, “our vice-captain needs someone bright and lively, someone cheery to pull him out his, well, himself, and breathe some life into him.” He tapped the second form. “I think she could do it.”
Nanao nodded, hoping to appear composed. “But I don’t think he’s been to the Living World alone before, Captain, and certainly not for leisure.”
“No worry. We’ll send someone with him who’s been quite often. Not a chaperone, mind you,” he said, hovering closer as her eyes reread the questionnaire, “but a little supportive.”
She ignored his proximity, collecting the forms busily. “I’ll have the reservations and notifications arranged.”
“Good.” He sat back as she rose and straightened the forms again, watching her fingers tremble slightly. He smiled as she rounded desk, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she went. “Be sure to send an escort.”
“I will, Captain.” She hurried out of the room without looking back.
Shunsui sighed as she left, smiling wider. Such a stubborn, exquisite, fragrant little flower, his Nanao.