[Fanfiction] The Sum
Oh yeah! I didn't think I'd get this done at all, but I did! Wooohoooo!!!
SaiMono, it's been a while since I dabbled with you, and I have not dabbled on this particular pairing yet, and I have yet to see anyone who has. Shuurei x Santa is not a pairing that I'm comfortable writing with (it's not even a "mainstream" pairing, although it's canon), but I took the plunge anyway, just for the challenge of it.
The community post is in here.
[EDIT] I was already contented to have finished a fic so unusual. But for this to win first place at saiun_challenge is the delectable, low fat (is there such a thing?) icing on the cake. XD
Title: The Sum
Author: grimrehyper
# of words: 2,791
Summary: Santa is a wimp. But he tries to act otherwise, resulting into something that has yet to be quantified.
Notes: We know so little of Santa/Keichou in the series, but we know well enough that he liked Shuurei enough to join a gang in hopes of getting noticed. Hence, liberties on his character were taken based on the little details we know about him based on the two seasons (his father a businessman and one of Kouchou’s patrons, him being a childhood friend of Shuurei, him working really hard to redeem himself from his epic failure by association with the Seikin gang). The fic happens somewhere in between Season 1 (with Santa’s debut) and Season 2 (with Santa’s reappearance, in Episode 20 or 21 if I remember right), and also goes along the lines of Brooke Fraser’s song Arithmetic (a love song for nerds, really, which fits Santa well IMHO XD). And I own none of the characters that I wrote about.
He counted the money in his own meticulous system, starting with the copper riou, which had the most number. He next counted up the silver pieces, which had a fair amount as well. The gold riou coins were last. Each piece of money he handled with the same amount of care. There was a certain preciseness with the way he scribbled the date on his ledger in an impeccable straight line, his brush strokes, although not one of the most neat, were straightforward as he started to scribble the details of the business that day on parchment. He carefully weighed each kind of currency, and listed down the same. After this, he took out a medium-sized abacus from the table drawer.
“Let’s see, I sold a bottle worth a thousand five hundred silver riou to Lin-san, and that cost us nine hundred silver riou, if I remember right.” He mumbled as he fiddled with the abacus, shifting a couple of beads on the upper row to the right. “There was also this sale with old man Ito, that was seventy gold riou.” He reached for the ledger, trailed a finger through it until he found the detail he was looking for. “And the Yao family made a wholesale purchase today, but some they purchased on credit.” He read this from the record and a slight crease marked his face momentarily. ”I wonder why this was so, it’s kind of unusual for them to buy on credit, but maybe my old man will take care of that.” He made a small note about this on the book. “And there were other whole purchases from Fa-san, which was … hmmm … more than the usual. And then there’s Aki-san …”
“Santa?”
“This transaction was for five hundred gold riou.” He went on, the trail of thought of his trade for the day caught him in a trance. He gave an approving nod. “Business today ain’t bad at all.”
“San--ta?”
He flipped a few of the beads on the abacus to the right. “At this rate, we’ll be able to pay off the cost of operations for the month by the time the moon reaches three-quarters, more or less.” The tone of his voice was optimistic. “And profits will be up markedly. The old man will be pleased!”
Then, an unwelcoming slam hit the counter of Santa’s shop. “What the-!” He spun around. Before him, standing on the other side of the counter stood a familiar, yet unexpected face.
"S-shh-shhhu-Shuurei!" He babbled the name of the Kou princess carelessly. His awkwardness resulted in him almost knocking off the organized stack of silver and copper riou on his table. He quickly composed himself from his blunder. “Wait,” he paused, bewildered at the sight of her. “You’re here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Sa Province?”
She gave him a small smile, but knowing her from childhood, Santa knew that this didn’t necessarily equate to happiness. “It looks like I may be here for a while.”
He had spent most of his time the past year lying around.
Since that incident in Kougarou where he was chastised and publicly humiliated - in front of the Emperor, no less! - as a member of the Seikin gang, he didn’t have the guts to show his face to anyone who was involved. Forcing himself to a pretend exile, he found a place near the outskirts of Kiyou where the undergrowth was packed enough to give his back some comfort. Here, he lied down for hours on end, only standing up when he felt any kind of hunger, in which case he felt little or none at all.
The sun shone brightly, almost mercilessly on some occasions that Santa’s complexion was bronzed - burnt on some of his extremities - by the time autumn came. Nevertheless, he found something therapeutic with this imposition. With his eyes fixed upward, he gazed at the clouds that slowly floated by as he relaxed on a soft spot of earth that had the rich green of summer.
He had been wondering what to do.
His father had a reasonable business, but the affairs of his family’s enterprise did not interest him, which was why he had been spending his time outside home to begin with. If he was around, his father would insist that he had a hand at the work he was doing, no matter how much he reasoned against it.
If his involvement with the Seikin gang did not happen, he would be hanging out at the Kougarou, flirting with the ladies of the brothel - except for Kouchou, of course, being a force of nature so vicious that no man could possibly tame her. If he wasn’t in the brothel he would be with friends in the streets, gambling his father’s hard-earned money and hanging out with the hard knocks in Kiyou, which was how he got into the Seikin gang in the first place.
Retreating from the world had its benefits. He achieved impeccable control over his time, though it was spent in dilly-dallying. He didn’t have to answer to anyone or put up a front. Caught in a seemingly inescapable spell of sloth, he spent his days lying down on the ground just to stare at the sky listlessly for hours on end. The days turned into weeks, and soon to months. Summer started to wane away as the leaves started to take on that familiar reddish-orange hue.
Still, he wondered.
“But, why?” His voice was high strung with disbelief. “Did something happen back there?”
Shuurei nodded, but hesitated with providing any details. He could see the thoughtfulness in her eyes. Something definitely happened, likely during winter. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, but behind everything that was unspoken, he knew. With the way she drummed her fingers on the table making only the slightest sound, with how she unconsciously fluttered her eyelids and the slight biting of her small lips, he knew.
“Things don’t always work out the way you want them to, I guess.” She finally answered, with a smile. “But look at you.” Her voice took on a rather joyful tone. “You’re working! And you’re actually serious about it!”
He was surprised. He didn’t think of it as a big deal. He spun his head towards the mass of coinage he had to take account for. “Yeah, you can say that.”
“You don’t have to be bashful about it. I was tapping my hand here all this time and you never noticed. You were so absorbed with counting all that money!”
“I … guess I was.”
Shuurei frowned slightly at this, and sighed. “You haven’t changed, really.” She said with a huff. “I never quite got why you insist on being so hopelessly indifferent. But when you start talking, you say things that …”
“That what?”
“Well, that frustrate me, among other things. You frustrate me to the point that I don’t want to deal with you anymore, Santa.”
“You’re calling me that again! How come you never call me Keichou?”
She paused as if to contemplate on it. Her expression was thoughtful.
“I’ve known you as Santa since we were kids. Quite frankly, that name suits you more, since you’re still so childish. And,” she pointed out. “Of everything we’ve ever talked about, the only things you took seriously were your name and your idea of marriage.” She shook her head. “The rest, I can hardly depend on you to make sense, to pose indifference, so much so.”
He looked away and managed a small pout.
There was one thing he was certain of, during the times that he was by himself.
He wanted Shuurei.
It was a realization that didn’t need any internal deliberation. Maybe it was one of those truths that the Sages impressed on the fiber of his being. Maybe it came upon him during the course of living - after all, he did grow up with her. He never bothered himself with giving it a second thought. He wanted her.
But how was he to express this?
It was neither summer nor autumn, but an unsure time in between the two seasons. From the comfort of the grass that cushioned his head, he sat up. A light gust of wind passed by, contrasting the heavy realization that dawned on him - he had never been direct about his feelings with Shuurei - ever. It was easy enough for him to poke fun on her when he taunted her into getting married, but even though there was a hint of seriousness to these “pursuits”, she always took all of them in jest, or even worse, annoyance.
The pursuit of his happiness demanded his active participation. He had to stop feigning indifference. It was time to make a change, and convey his feelings to her point-blank.
Yet, in spite of his decisiveness, the question remained.
Since he started having a hand with the family enterprise, he had been religiously counting up the revenue and profit for the day. After Shuurei left, Santa finalized his accounting, placed the money in bags and stashed them in a box with lock and key. He was to deliver the same to his father, who either deposited the money in banks, or paid off debts incurred in the regular course of business. The record of accounts he packed away in a mesh bag, which he had to put in its designated shelf in his father’s office when he arrived home.
The sun was making its exit on the horizon. Nightfall was upon Kiyou, and with the moonrise, the time for its famous red light district to shine was about to begin. Sundown was like the long-awaited crescendo of an elegant niko piece that started off unsurely, or the slow yet quickening beat of the taiko that reverberated in the vast halls of where it was played. It was like a song that was about to end its verse, transitioning to a chorus …
A song.
His eyes widened as he remembered.
Since making an indirect proposal never worked on Shuurei, and he had no guts to make it any close to a formal one, maybe a song would do, he mused on one autumn night. He twirled the brush in between his fingers. Before him was an endless array of numbers. He finally grew tired of lying around that he took it to himself to come to his father and ask for some work. And, as if it were some form of divine punishment, the old man tasked him to sum up their business for the month that recently passed.
A whole month’s worth of business to check and balance was no joke, especially when he wasn’t around to oversee it. He tried to reason out, but his father wouldn’t accept any excuse. Nevertheless, though he was embarrassed to admit it, he knew his father’s business pretty well. Just like his realization with Shuurei, it was something that was defined in his being, like how one would refer to common sense. However, this predicament placed before him was hard to overcome, and having become rusty with his arithmetic was aggravating the problem.
Therefore, the distraction was very much welcome. A song.
Most songs that he had heard of that were of any significance were love songs, so maybe, just maybe, it was the best way to express that which he deemed inexpressible. He had the instrument in his hands, the ink by his side, fresh parchment in the drawers. All he had to do was start it off.
He couldn’t.
An odd bird squawked from outside his father’s shop. He groaned in frustration at his lack of inspiration. He looked around, but all he saw were his father’s account books shelved in the way they had so been designated. This overwhelming sense of order was fast becoming discord for him. Nothing that surrounded him sparked his creative tendencies, if ever they existed in the first place.
He stopped.
A piece came to mind a few days later. He took a book out from his mother’s modest library, a collection of poems he always thought was a bore to read. Its yellowing pages beckoned to him - seek, and you shall find, it seemed to say. Thus, he read. “The visions of you never, never leaves me now, O mountain cherry, even though I left behind in your care all of my heart,”* he read a passage to himself. The words from a bygone age strummed his heartstrings, the ache of the absence of his beloved was a pain shared by the one who penned the verse. Beyond the grave, into another era, his words remain alive.
Maybe I could start here, he thought. He took out a blank sheet, dipped his brush in the inkwell and scribbled the characters onto the paper. The candle by his side burned brightly as he took on the endeavor.
Apart from that line, nothing else was written that night.
Yet, he persisted, for many nights after that first. But the song never really begun, and the process to which it would materialize did not have an end in sight.
It had been months since then, and the song was in no better shape than it was before. He sat down, and looked at the paper before him with that single line that was not even of his own making, now surrounded with careless ink blots all around. Even now as he sat in front of it, the words to write down escaped him.
With his frustration brimming, he slammed his brush down on the table and groaned. A storm of thoughts came to his mind - how he, for the longest time had tried to win Shuurei’s affection, only for him to end up blatantly rejected. And if that wasn’t enough, her ruthless pretty boy retainer would always be watching closely, trying to shoo him away from his young mistress with near murderous intent. He almost came close to succeeding when he threw him in the freezing river during winter. The events that transpired after that were something he will be embarrassed of for the rest of his life.
Not far from him was the account book that his father was maintaining for the current month. Heaving a sigh, he stood up and took it. The longing to see numbers suddenly rose from within him. He flipped through the pages, the smell of dried ink mixed with parchment was mild, yet soothing to his senses. He came to a page and studied it. All of its details made sense, the flow of the business came to his mind like clear, spring water.
Somehow, the idea of creating a song came to him as a stroke of genius, but now he was hopelessly ensnared in it. The endeavor was devouring him from within - there was no way in hell that he could write a verse good enough to express his feelings. If he was already awkward with the way he spoke in casual situations, how much more in something that required a creative touch?
It was a stupid idea.
How he wished that writing a song, or proposing marriage to her was as easy as keeping order in his father’s business. But he was only good with counting up all his wrongs and keeping score of all her blatant rejections.
If only life was as easy as doing arithmetic …
Last night he came to accept that the song was never going to be written. Now, he found himself standing on the doorway of the vast yet decrepit Kou manor. In his hand was the best excuse he could find to warrant a visit - a painting his uncle purchased recently that he was tasked to determine its authenticity. Even Seiran wouldn’t attempt on driving him out should he be present, he thought with much satisfaction.
To this point, he had failed so many times - that unwritten song that lay on his desk was just another disappointment added to the list. His mind swam as he added up all the great moments they had together and subtracted those that he wished never came to pass. He longed to give more to her - time, worthy company, whatever it was that she desired; and he wanted to take back all the nasty things he had said that belittled her family’s financial standing, or even her womanhood.
In all of these things, Shuurei was the sum of it all. And he knew her much more than arithmetic. That in itself, made it worth the gamble.
He called for her. After a brief silence, she answered him back. He was asked to come in.
As long as she answered, he would always have a chance.
[A/N]
*From Genji Monogatari (Waka Murasaki)
SaiMono, it's been a while since I dabbled with you, and I have not dabbled on this particular pairing yet, and I have yet to see anyone who has. Shuurei x Santa is not a pairing that I'm comfortable writing with (it's not even a "mainstream" pairing, although it's canon), but I took the plunge anyway, just for the challenge of it.
The community post is in here.
[EDIT] I was already contented to have finished a fic so unusual. But for this to win first place at saiun_challenge is the delectable, low fat (is there such a thing?) icing on the cake. XD
Title: The Sum
Author: grimrehyper
# of words: 2,791
Summary: Santa is a wimp. But he tries to act otherwise, resulting into something that has yet to be quantified.
Notes: We know so little of Santa/Keichou in the series, but we know well enough that he liked Shuurei enough to join a gang in hopes of getting noticed. Hence, liberties on his character were taken based on the little details we know about him based on the two seasons (his father a businessman and one of Kouchou’s patrons, him being a childhood friend of Shuurei, him working really hard to redeem himself from his epic failure by association with the Seikin gang). The fic happens somewhere in between Season 1 (with Santa’s debut) and Season 2 (with Santa’s reappearance, in Episode 20 or 21 if I remember right), and also goes along the lines of Brooke Fraser’s song Arithmetic (a love song for nerds, really, which fits Santa well IMHO XD). And I own none of the characters that I wrote about.
He counted the money in his own meticulous system, starting with the copper riou, which had the most number. He next counted up the silver pieces, which had a fair amount as well. The gold riou coins were last. Each piece of money he handled with the same amount of care. There was a certain preciseness with the way he scribbled the date on his ledger in an impeccable straight line, his brush strokes, although not one of the most neat, were straightforward as he started to scribble the details of the business that day on parchment. He carefully weighed each kind of currency, and listed down the same. After this, he took out a medium-sized abacus from the table drawer.
“Let’s see, I sold a bottle worth a thousand five hundred silver riou to Lin-san, and that cost us nine hundred silver riou, if I remember right.” He mumbled as he fiddled with the abacus, shifting a couple of beads on the upper row to the right. “There was also this sale with old man Ito, that was seventy gold riou.” He reached for the ledger, trailed a finger through it until he found the detail he was looking for. “And the Yao family made a wholesale purchase today, but some they purchased on credit.” He read this from the record and a slight crease marked his face momentarily. ”I wonder why this was so, it’s kind of unusual for them to buy on credit, but maybe my old man will take care of that.” He made a small note about this on the book. “And there were other whole purchases from Fa-san, which was … hmmm … more than the usual. And then there’s Aki-san …”
“Santa?”
“This transaction was for five hundred gold riou.” He went on, the trail of thought of his trade for the day caught him in a trance. He gave an approving nod. “Business today ain’t bad at all.”
“San--ta?”
He flipped a few of the beads on the abacus to the right. “At this rate, we’ll be able to pay off the cost of operations for the month by the time the moon reaches three-quarters, more or less.” The tone of his voice was optimistic. “And profits will be up markedly. The old man will be pleased!”
Then, an unwelcoming slam hit the counter of Santa’s shop. “What the-!” He spun around. Before him, standing on the other side of the counter stood a familiar, yet unexpected face.
"S-shh-shhhu-Shuurei!" He babbled the name of the Kou princess carelessly. His awkwardness resulted in him almost knocking off the organized stack of silver and copper riou on his table. He quickly composed himself from his blunder. “Wait,” he paused, bewildered at the sight of her. “You’re here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Sa Province?”
She gave him a small smile, but knowing her from childhood, Santa knew that this didn’t necessarily equate to happiness. “It looks like I may be here for a while.”
He had spent most of his time the past year lying around.
Since that incident in Kougarou where he was chastised and publicly humiliated - in front of the Emperor, no less! - as a member of the Seikin gang, he didn’t have the guts to show his face to anyone who was involved. Forcing himself to a pretend exile, he found a place near the outskirts of Kiyou where the undergrowth was packed enough to give his back some comfort. Here, he lied down for hours on end, only standing up when he felt any kind of hunger, in which case he felt little or none at all.
The sun shone brightly, almost mercilessly on some occasions that Santa’s complexion was bronzed - burnt on some of his extremities - by the time autumn came. Nevertheless, he found something therapeutic with this imposition. With his eyes fixed upward, he gazed at the clouds that slowly floated by as he relaxed on a soft spot of earth that had the rich green of summer.
He had been wondering what to do.
His father had a reasonable business, but the affairs of his family’s enterprise did not interest him, which was why he had been spending his time outside home to begin with. If he was around, his father would insist that he had a hand at the work he was doing, no matter how much he reasoned against it.
If his involvement with the Seikin gang did not happen, he would be hanging out at the Kougarou, flirting with the ladies of the brothel - except for Kouchou, of course, being a force of nature so vicious that no man could possibly tame her. If he wasn’t in the brothel he would be with friends in the streets, gambling his father’s hard-earned money and hanging out with the hard knocks in Kiyou, which was how he got into the Seikin gang in the first place.
Retreating from the world had its benefits. He achieved impeccable control over his time, though it was spent in dilly-dallying. He didn’t have to answer to anyone or put up a front. Caught in a seemingly inescapable spell of sloth, he spent his days lying down on the ground just to stare at the sky listlessly for hours on end. The days turned into weeks, and soon to months. Summer started to wane away as the leaves started to take on that familiar reddish-orange hue.
Still, he wondered.
“But, why?” His voice was high strung with disbelief. “Did something happen back there?”
Shuurei nodded, but hesitated with providing any details. He could see the thoughtfulness in her eyes. Something definitely happened, likely during winter. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, but behind everything that was unspoken, he knew. With the way she drummed her fingers on the table making only the slightest sound, with how she unconsciously fluttered her eyelids and the slight biting of her small lips, he knew.
“Things don’t always work out the way you want them to, I guess.” She finally answered, with a smile. “But look at you.” Her voice took on a rather joyful tone. “You’re working! And you’re actually serious about it!”
He was surprised. He didn’t think of it as a big deal. He spun his head towards the mass of coinage he had to take account for. “Yeah, you can say that.”
“You don’t have to be bashful about it. I was tapping my hand here all this time and you never noticed. You were so absorbed with counting all that money!”
“I … guess I was.”
Shuurei frowned slightly at this, and sighed. “You haven’t changed, really.” She said with a huff. “I never quite got why you insist on being so hopelessly indifferent. But when you start talking, you say things that …”
“That what?”
“Well, that frustrate me, among other things. You frustrate me to the point that I don’t want to deal with you anymore, Santa.”
“You’re calling me that again! How come you never call me Keichou?”
She paused as if to contemplate on it. Her expression was thoughtful.
“I’ve known you as Santa since we were kids. Quite frankly, that name suits you more, since you’re still so childish. And,” she pointed out. “Of everything we’ve ever talked about, the only things you took seriously were your name and your idea of marriage.” She shook her head. “The rest, I can hardly depend on you to make sense, to pose indifference, so much so.”
He looked away and managed a small pout.
There was one thing he was certain of, during the times that he was by himself.
He wanted Shuurei.
It was a realization that didn’t need any internal deliberation. Maybe it was one of those truths that the Sages impressed on the fiber of his being. Maybe it came upon him during the course of living - after all, he did grow up with her. He never bothered himself with giving it a second thought. He wanted her.
But how was he to express this?
It was neither summer nor autumn, but an unsure time in between the two seasons. From the comfort of the grass that cushioned his head, he sat up. A light gust of wind passed by, contrasting the heavy realization that dawned on him - he had never been direct about his feelings with Shuurei - ever. It was easy enough for him to poke fun on her when he taunted her into getting married, but even though there was a hint of seriousness to these “pursuits”, she always took all of them in jest, or even worse, annoyance.
The pursuit of his happiness demanded his active participation. He had to stop feigning indifference. It was time to make a change, and convey his feelings to her point-blank.
Yet, in spite of his decisiveness, the question remained.
Since he started having a hand with the family enterprise, he had been religiously counting up the revenue and profit for the day. After Shuurei left, Santa finalized his accounting, placed the money in bags and stashed them in a box with lock and key. He was to deliver the same to his father, who either deposited the money in banks, or paid off debts incurred in the regular course of business. The record of accounts he packed away in a mesh bag, which he had to put in its designated shelf in his father’s office when he arrived home.
The sun was making its exit on the horizon. Nightfall was upon Kiyou, and with the moonrise, the time for its famous red light district to shine was about to begin. Sundown was like the long-awaited crescendo of an elegant niko piece that started off unsurely, or the slow yet quickening beat of the taiko that reverberated in the vast halls of where it was played. It was like a song that was about to end its verse, transitioning to a chorus …
A song.
His eyes widened as he remembered.
Since making an indirect proposal never worked on Shuurei, and he had no guts to make it any close to a formal one, maybe a song would do, he mused on one autumn night. He twirled the brush in between his fingers. Before him was an endless array of numbers. He finally grew tired of lying around that he took it to himself to come to his father and ask for some work. And, as if it were some form of divine punishment, the old man tasked him to sum up their business for the month that recently passed.
A whole month’s worth of business to check and balance was no joke, especially when he wasn’t around to oversee it. He tried to reason out, but his father wouldn’t accept any excuse. Nevertheless, though he was embarrassed to admit it, he knew his father’s business pretty well. Just like his realization with Shuurei, it was something that was defined in his being, like how one would refer to common sense. However, this predicament placed before him was hard to overcome, and having become rusty with his arithmetic was aggravating the problem.
Therefore, the distraction was very much welcome. A song.
Most songs that he had heard of that were of any significance were love songs, so maybe, just maybe, it was the best way to express that which he deemed inexpressible. He had the instrument in his hands, the ink by his side, fresh parchment in the drawers. All he had to do was start it off.
He couldn’t.
An odd bird squawked from outside his father’s shop. He groaned in frustration at his lack of inspiration. He looked around, but all he saw were his father’s account books shelved in the way they had so been designated. This overwhelming sense of order was fast becoming discord for him. Nothing that surrounded him sparked his creative tendencies, if ever they existed in the first place.
He stopped.
A piece came to mind a few days later. He took a book out from his mother’s modest library, a collection of poems he always thought was a bore to read. Its yellowing pages beckoned to him - seek, and you shall find, it seemed to say. Thus, he read. “The visions of you never, never leaves me now, O mountain cherry, even though I left behind in your care all of my heart,”* he read a passage to himself. The words from a bygone age strummed his heartstrings, the ache of the absence of his beloved was a pain shared by the one who penned the verse. Beyond the grave, into another era, his words remain alive.
Maybe I could start here, he thought. He took out a blank sheet, dipped his brush in the inkwell and scribbled the characters onto the paper. The candle by his side burned brightly as he took on the endeavor.
Apart from that line, nothing else was written that night.
Yet, he persisted, for many nights after that first. But the song never really begun, and the process to which it would materialize did not have an end in sight.
It had been months since then, and the song was in no better shape than it was before. He sat down, and looked at the paper before him with that single line that was not even of his own making, now surrounded with careless ink blots all around. Even now as he sat in front of it, the words to write down escaped him.
With his frustration brimming, he slammed his brush down on the table and groaned. A storm of thoughts came to his mind - how he, for the longest time had tried to win Shuurei’s affection, only for him to end up blatantly rejected. And if that wasn’t enough, her ruthless pretty boy retainer would always be watching closely, trying to shoo him away from his young mistress with near murderous intent. He almost came close to succeeding when he threw him in the freezing river during winter. The events that transpired after that were something he will be embarrassed of for the rest of his life.
Not far from him was the account book that his father was maintaining for the current month. Heaving a sigh, he stood up and took it. The longing to see numbers suddenly rose from within him. He flipped through the pages, the smell of dried ink mixed with parchment was mild, yet soothing to his senses. He came to a page and studied it. All of its details made sense, the flow of the business came to his mind like clear, spring water.
Somehow, the idea of creating a song came to him as a stroke of genius, but now he was hopelessly ensnared in it. The endeavor was devouring him from within - there was no way in hell that he could write a verse good enough to express his feelings. If he was already awkward with the way he spoke in casual situations, how much more in something that required a creative touch?
It was a stupid idea.
How he wished that writing a song, or proposing marriage to her was as easy as keeping order in his father’s business. But he was only good with counting up all his wrongs and keeping score of all her blatant rejections.
If only life was as easy as doing arithmetic …
Last night he came to accept that the song was never going to be written. Now, he found himself standing on the doorway of the vast yet decrepit Kou manor. In his hand was the best excuse he could find to warrant a visit - a painting his uncle purchased recently that he was tasked to determine its authenticity. Even Seiran wouldn’t attempt on driving him out should he be present, he thought with much satisfaction.
To this point, he had failed so many times - that unwritten song that lay on his desk was just another disappointment added to the list. His mind swam as he added up all the great moments they had together and subtracted those that he wished never came to pass. He longed to give more to her - time, worthy company, whatever it was that she desired; and he wanted to take back all the nasty things he had said that belittled her family’s financial standing, or even her womanhood.
In all of these things, Shuurei was the sum of it all. And he knew her much more than arithmetic. That in itself, made it worth the gamble.
He called for her. After a brief silence, she answered him back. He was asked to come in.
As long as she answered, he would always have a chance.
[A/N]
*From Genji Monogatari (Waka Murasaki)