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Mitsuri could feel a bead of sweat run uncomfortably down the back of her neck, and it wasn’t even midday yet. The sun bore so strongly down on the pebbled garden that the stones began to emit a heat of their own, radiating enough to be felt through her zori. The tree in Oyakata-sama’s garden promised some shade, but it was so far off to the right that Mitsuri could not have feasibly made it, as late as she was.
She hated being late. She was almost never late.
But it wasn’t exactly her fault! The heat had been so sticky and close the night before that she hadn’t been able to sleep; every door flung open, her mosquito net up, her sleep linens ripped to the side, water fetched from the well -- none of it able to provide relief. She had woken in a puddle of her own sweat with less than an hour to eat, bathe, dress, and make it to Oyakata-sama’s estate. In the end, she’d foregone her second helping of breakfast as well as braiding her hair, and she’d still had to run to make it on time.
Miserably, the sweat began to drip down her spine. She could feel the growing damp collect between and under her breasts.
Alright, so it was her fault. Lack of sleep was no excuse for being late when Oyakata-sama called; she was a hashira now. She had a higher level of discipline to uphold. A higher standard.
The same stickiness pooling around her chest began to stick where her rear met her thighs. No folds of skin were safe.
Shinobu-chan could normally be counted on to provide a handkerchief, but she had arrived on time, and was on the other side of the line-up. Rengoku-san, who was conscientious of his fellow hashira, and Himejima-san, generous and kind to a fault, were to the right as well; instead, she was near sweet-but-oblivious Tokito-kun and Shinazugawa-san of all people. Not helpful at all.
Mitsuri, though it made her feel worse, could barely focus on Oyakata-sama.
The heat was growing.
No longer damp with sweat, but dripping with it, Mitsuri’s heavy hair began to wisp and curl from perspiration, and she could feel her cheeks begin to splotch. What she would give for shade or a parasol or a breeze or a fan or some water to drink or a creek to walk in or a lake to drown in, something -- anything.
“Kanroji-san.”
The quietest of whispers was coupled with an achingly gentle touch at her middle back. She glanced over her shoulder, startled, and swayed into the hand that supported her. Iguro-san, crisp and perfect in his uniform and haori, Kaburamaru coiled loosely at his neck, held out a handkerchief. His face was neutral, the only tell of his feelings a slight cock of his head.
Normally, Mitsuri would have thanked him effusively, or been so embarrassed that she would rebuff his offering in the politest way possible; today, however, she silently accepted and dabbed at her face.
Mitsuri turned her face discreetly to him and whispered, “thank you,” dabbing at her neck, under her hair. She saw Iguro-san’s eyes follow the action. His hand at her back clenched.
She noticed his cheeks looked just a touch more pink than she’d thought -- he must be affected by the heat as well.
His gaze snapped back to hers. She couldn’t help it; her eyelids fluttered heavily, her lips parted.
“Please forgive my interruption and rudeness Oyakata-sama, but Kanroji-san is not faring well in the sun. Could I please request a small recess for her to rest in the shade with some water?” Iguro-san turned rigidly in the direction of their leader, his head down-turned in respect. All the other hashira turned her way and Mitsuri felt her flush double from embarrassment.
“Oh, no, please, I--!”
“My children, come. Let us relocate to the pond, where the trees are plentiful and the water is cool. Come, Mitsuri, please follow Nichika-chan; she will prepare some watermelon and a foot bath for you. I want all of my children to be well.”
With the break in ceremony, the other hashira began to chatter amongst themselves as they moved through the garden along the side of the engawa. Mitsuri watched them go before turning to Obanai.
“Thank you, Iguro-san,” she murmured privately. “You are always so generous and caring with others. Here,” she added shyly, offering his now damp handkerchief back to him, only belatedly realizing her poor manners in returning his belonging soiled.
However, he gazed at her steadily and took the handkerchief back, hiding it and his hand within his voluminous striped sleeve. “Of course,” he said softly back. He briefly paused before saying slowly, “...You did not sleep well last night? From the heat?”
He knew, of course. From their letters. She had said she ran hot, always slept more poorly in summer, between her birthday and his.
Ashamed, she shook her head in agreement.
“I hope you find more peace tonight. It is hard to see you uncomfortable.”
Their eyes snagged at each other again, and only then did she realize his hand was still at her back.
“Kanroji-san? This way, the foot bath is ready and the salted watermelon is being prepared.”
As Mitsuri launched forward to follow Oyakata-sama’s daughter, hunger and the promise of relief adding a spring to her step, she realized the skin on her back tingled, and it wasn’t from the heat.