Drops of Rain
By Mir

Part I: Harmony (調和)

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro, published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony Entertainment. All rights are theirs.

AN: I don't normally write short things, and I admit that I'm generally not a hug fan of the short "drabble" type pieces that have become popular. Nonetheless as it is currently exam-season, and procrastination is a beautiful thing, I've decided to make my own contribution to the genre. I've written a few, so I'll probably post one a day until I lose interest…

Beneath the shadow of the porch, I lean against the familiar post. The wood digs into my shoulder blades, as it always does. No, of course I don't mind. After all, habits are habits. I tilt my head backwards until it fits into the grove worn from the same motion repeated time and time again, then fold my arms across my chest and exhale softly. A bird's shadow crosses overhead, and noises filter through my mind.

The summer breeze, hardly more than a sigh amidst the midday head flitters across the yard doing little more than scattering the dust at my feet. From the kitchen, the rhythmic tap-tap of steel is indicative of dinner. Kenshin, of course. No one else in the dojo is to be trusted near anything edible. And from around the corner, the swish-swish of sword cuts continues. Yahiko, if anything, is dedicated. Stubborn, annoying, obnoxious, loud—did I mention obnoxious? But dedicated. From the opposite side of the compound, a trail of steam twists into the sky above the crackling of fire, even warmer than the summer heat. No one dares approach the bath-house with Jo-chan inside. There are some lessons in life that are difficult to forget. And finally, from beyond the walls, like the fourth cardinal point, the clomp-clomp of geta against the dirt. So what if the rhythm of her footsteps is engraved in my mind. I've never once been mistaken.

"Sano." Ah, two can play her games. "Sanosuke!" With prolonged slowness I crack an eyes open in feigned annoyance. As expected, she's standing half a pace away, mimicking my cross-armed pose with the sun caressing her shoulders. A dissatisfied woman is a scary creature indeed.

And, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, I grin. Because life's in perfect order in the place that is—more than anywhere else—my home.

. End Notes: This is actually a highly-edited repost of a piece I posted 5-min ago. I disliked the first one that much. The title is "harmony" and the characters to the right are read "chouwa," meaning the same in Japanese.

「あの香りとともに 花火がぱっと開く」