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.