“Can you even make itthroughdinner?” I asked innocently.
“I managed a good year without you. I think I can manage an hour of sitting quietly beside you,” he said with dignity, then immediately undermined it by wincing again as we turned a corner. “Stop looking so smug.”
“Stop looking so thoroughly debauched.” He shoved my shoulder for that.
I reached up to fix my hair, which was probably standing in every direction. Kaneko’s fingers joined mine, smoothing itdown, and for a moment we just stood there, touching without urgency, relearning the simple pleasure of being able to do so.
“I missed this,” he said softly. “Just . . . being with you, being stupid together.”
“We were always good at stupid.”
“The best at stupid.”
“Champions of stupid.”
“Speaking of which,” he said, grinning again, “you’ve developed some new techniques.”
“Stupid techniques?”
He chuckled. “Definitelynotstupid.”
I shrugged. “Someone recently told me to awaken. I’m not sure that’s what they had in mind, but they’re not here to complain.”
He chuckled again, though I knew he didn’t fully grasp the jest.
“That thing with your hips—”
“You seemed to enjoy it,” Kaneko cut me off.
“I’m just observing. Where did you even learn something like that?” I asked.
A shadow passed over his eyes before he answered. “Some of us did more than meditate this past year.”
“Apparently,” I said, then quickly darted past him toward the dining hall entrance. “Dinner. We’re going to dinner. Where there are people. And food. And no discussing . . . things with hips and other . . . parts.”
His laughter followed me down the corridor.
I kept glancing at him as we walked—partly to confirm he was real, partly because I couldn’t stop myself. His hair was still damp from washing, his topknot about as messy as was possible without insulting every Samurai in sight, and he’d borrowed one of my training robes since his clothes were beyond salvaging. It was too small on him, tight across shoulders that had broadened since I’d last held him, and riding so high I worried his manhoodmight peek out from below. The sight made something warm and possessive curl in my stomach.
“Now you’re staring,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“I’m allowed,” I said. “I have months of staring to make up for.”
“Just staring?”
“Behave.”
“Never.”
The dining hall was half full when we entered. My usual table with Daichi, Kenta, Teshi, and Hiroshi had space. They all looked up as we approached. Daichi’s eyes narrowed, tracking Kaneko with the focus of a predator catching a whiff of prey. His hand actually twitched toward where his sword would hang if we were allowed weapons at dinner.
Teshi looked like he wanted to say approximately seventeen things at once, his nervous energy vibrating the air around him. His eyes darted between Kaneko and me, questions building behind them like water against a dam.
But dinner meant silence.
Sacred, enforced silence.
I’d never been more grateful for temple rules.
