Kantarou sat dazedly at his desk trying desperately to think of good reasons why he shouldn’t be working.  So far, the writer had only come up with flimsy excuses based on the fineness of the weather and the untidy state of his sock draw.  Usually, he would go and talk to Haruka or Youko but they were both out.  

  Probably enjoying themselves, Kantarou thought idly, Leaving me here all alone to slave over an article which is going nowhere. He stood up, thinking that perhaps walking around a bit and getting the blood circulating might inspire his writing. Wandering aimlessly into the guest reception room, the first thing he noticed was Haruka’s worn old rice bowl sitting on the table. He reached down to pick it up, wondering why such a thing had been left lying around. It was very unusual of Youko to not tidy things away. Well, with the exception of his study which had been a lost cause even before he had met her.  Kantarou examined the bowl closely. It was covered in scratches and chips and he wondered how Haruka could ever use it without cutting himself. He ran his finger along the rim, feeling the indents and sharp edges, conjuring up stories for how each had been caused. This one, Kantarou imagined, happened when Haruka was drunk and dropped the bowl down an open drain. He imagined Haruka, unsteady and flushed with alcohol, running manically as the water swept his precious bowl away. Kantarou giggled at the image. His fingers moved on to a large scrape inside the bowl. Examining it more closely, it seemed even and deep, like it had been cut purposefully. Perhaps Haruka had once rejected a woman, and, knowing his deep devotion to his rice bowl, she had spitefully gouged a scratch into its surface. Kantarou wondered if Haruka would ever tell him anything of his life before he had been sealed. Not that it really mattered. He would just like to know that Haruka could talk to him.

  “I thought you were supposed to be writing?” The sound of Haruka’s voice snapped Kantarou out of his reverie. He spun around in surprise, dropping the rice bowl as he did so. There was a terrible cracking sound as the bowl hit the edge of the table, a quiet thud as it hit the tatami, and then silence as Haruka looked at his bowl and as Kantarou looked at Haruka, too afraid to turn back and see what had become of the fallen object. Haruka’s face was expressionless and Kantarou just knew this had to be bad. He felt his face turn cold in fear. All he had ever wanted was for Haruka to like him and now this…something as simple as this to ruin it all. Haruka’s face didn’t change. It didn’t even move. And Kantarou felt worse. He wondered if Haruka might kill him for it. Even though it was only a rice bowl, it was a Tengu’s rice bowl. If Kantarou hadn’t been so angry at himself for breaking something so precious to Haruka, he would have been amused at the thought of being killed for the sake of a rice bowl. He found himself trying to remember if Tengu could kill their masters.

  Haruka’s eyes finally lifted to Kantarou’s and looked at him curiously.

  “Ah…Haruka…You surprised me…” Kantarou stuttered, throwing Haruka his most innocent smile. Haruka sighed and pushed himself from the doorframe he had been leaning on. He walked directly to where the bowl had fallen and stooped to pick it up.

  “Anyone would think you were doing something suspicious the way you’re acting,” he said flatly. Kantarou watched him warily as he stood up straight beside him. This was certainly not the reaction he had expected.

  “You chipped my bowl,” Haruka stated. Kantarou blinked in surprise and turned to face Haruka, his eyes falling to the bowl in his Tengu’s hands. He brought his hand to his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, that’s good…”

  “That’s GOOD?!” Haruka cried angrily. Kantarou held up his hands and met Haruka’s furious eyes.

  “Ah…that’s not what I meant…I meant it’s good it’s not broken much…” he tried to explain.

  “Much…” Haruka choked on the word, gave Kantarou a look of utter disbelief then made to stalk off, precious rice bowl held firmly to his chest.

  “Ah…wait…” Kantarou called after him, desperate to make things right between them. He grabbed the Tengu’s sleeve firmly.

“Wait, Haruka…” he pleaded more gently. Haruka stopped short and spun around moodily. 

“It’s not like I have much of a choice when you use my name,” he growled irritably.

Kantarou hung his head but didn’t let go of Haruka’s sleeve.

  “I didn’t mean it like that…I just wanted to explain…” Kantarou began. “I thought I’d broken your bowl, you see…” Kantarou continued to look at the floor guiltily, not sure how to continue.

Haruka sighed.

  “Kantarou…” The writer looked up. Haruka was gently following the line of the new chip in his bowl with his thumb. He was smirking, “I don’t forget those who hurt my bowl…”

  “Heh? That’s how you’ll remember me?” Kantarou cried in disappointment. Then more quietly, “I was hoping you’d remember me better than that…” Haruka was looking at him curiously again, like he was trying to work out if he knew this stranger standing before him.

  “Kantarou…” he repeated, this time almost sorrowfully. Taking that as a sort of forgiveness, Kantarou threw his arms around the Tengu’s neck and buried his face in the other’s chest.

  “Sorry…” he murmured against the soft, white fabric of Haruka’s shirt. He felt Haruka sigh then put his arms gently around his supposed master. Kantarou, surprised at this sudden show of affection but not wanting to ruin it, tightened his embrace. A few moments passed in silence before Haruka pulled away. He held out the bowl to Kantarou.

  “Don’t drop it again,” he said softly. Kantarou smiled brightly and took the bowl carefully.

  “If I get a hug every time I do, I might just have to,” he teased. Haruka folded his arms and frowned.

  “Just try it,” he snorted. Kantarou set the bowl down in the centre of the table and turned back to Haruka.

  “No,” Kantarou said, moving closer to Haruka and taking his head in his hands to draw him down to his height, “I’d rather do this.” Surprised by his own boldness, Kantarou was glad that Haruka didn’t seem to mind kissing him. Indeed, Haruka’s hands quickly found Kantarou’s waist and pulled the man’s body closer to his own. As Kantarou felt Haruka’s warm, soft lips against his own and his body pressed tightly against his, he thought that perhaps dropping that rice bowl again might indeed not be a bad move.