It wasn't love at first sight exactly, but a week was still fast... and there was a spark of interest from the get-go not entirely related to that incredible hair. Though it was special. Describing anyone's hair as 'silk' seemed almost trite but Motochika was not subtle about his metaphors, and besides, in this case the word really had to be used. His customer's hair was perfect. It immediately drew the eye, the unusually long, ebony locks a better crown than the kind shaped in metal, and for a hairdresser a dream come true.
“You were recommended to me...” The intriguing man took a seat as he talked, sounding a little hesitant but otherwise extremely polite. “It's just a trim I need, to straighten the line of it?”
Motochika smiled, immediately picking up on the underlying anxiety, but was confident enough in his craft that he didn't feel the need to offer any kind of soothing. An excellent cut would do a far better job of calming the customer down. He shifted into position and took a quick glance at his list for the day, eyeing the name.
“I'll make it perfect, Mister... Akechi.”
“Thank you.”
All very formal, and most people would have assumed Mister Akechi, personal name Mitsuhide, was a very prim and proper sort. They would be right, of course, but Motochika was extremely good at reading others and the hair alone had clued him in to the fact that Mitsuhide was not entirely what he seemed. Something about this man resonated with him and being the forward, stubborn sort that he was, he decided he'd find out why this was during their appointment. So... they talked, and talked, and talked.
Talked so much that Motochika ended up inviting Mitsuhide out for tea after the appointment, which he agreed to do once he was reassured that he wouldn't be interfering with any work (not strictly true but that could be dealt with later).
What he learned was that his intuition was correct: Mitsuhide had a streak of rebellion beneath the surface that was not something just anyone would pick up. Yes, he was polite, and adhered to a certain amount of social expectation, but this was centred around a base of strong morals and gentleness that overrode everything else and had to put him at odds with others on a frequent basis. The more they shared with one another the more obvious this became; Motochika listened intently as his new friend told stories, watched those slender fingers tap lightly against the table, quirked a smile at the quiet laugh and decided there and then that this was someone he couldn't let go of. Rebelling with kindness and compassion in the face of a world that sought to grind such people under the heel of a heavy foot? How could he possibly resist?
One week and an avalanche of texts, phone-calls and moments of 'just dropping in to say hi' solidified the feeling that he couldn't let go. Tension flowed between them, heady and full of promise, and Motochika could call the captivating emotion in his chest nothing else but love.
Yes, it had happened fast. Very fast. But not too fast, considering he'd met someone who could become his soulmate.
“You're always so dramatic.” Koshōshō, his spirited (and equally, though differently, dramatic) friend, crossed her legs and huffed in a vaguely amused manner. “In love after one week, dishing out 'possible soulmate' in two? Don't you think that's a little quick?”
“No,” Motochika responded with considerable bluntness, clipping at her tight, pink curls as he did so. “The tides of fates brought him to me and I don't intend to resist their call, this time.”
“So you're not going to be a stubborn fool for once?” She laughed, fully amused now. “And here I thought that pointless rebellion was your entire thing. Maybe it really is love if it's going to affect you that much, hmm?”
“You've swallowed up others in your wake far more quickly.”
“Of course I have, but that's never been about love, it's been about lust. Are you done yet? I have places to go and people to see.”
“It's good enough.”
Rolling her eyes, but still smiling, Koshōshō stood up from the hairdressing chair and inspected herself carefully in the mirror. She never looked anything less than impeccable but Motochika knew well enough about his long-time friend's standards; every strand of hair had to be in the right place, her make-up even and distinctive, each piece of clothing selected with care to create an image of confidence that almost nobody could see past. Like with Mitsuhide, however, Motochika had worked her out fairly quickly. Initially their interactions had been awkward and tense in a bad way; she'd attempted to seduce him, he'd rebuffed her completely and offered some rather blunt opinions, in turn Koshōshō had given some seriously pissed off comments of her own that were probably fully justified... but he'd brushed them off, angering her further. Somehow, though, in the huge mess that followed? A kind of friendship had started that had endured ever since.
There was rebellion in her soul too, a past and burden within that she wrapped in silk and fought back against time and time again.
“Good enough isn't good enough,” Koshōshō trilled, turning around and placing her hands on her hips. “But I'll let it pass, this time. Can't keep my delicious date waiting any longer, now, can I?”
Which was why he liked her, despite her often demanding manner and impatience; Motochika cast his friend a stony look before gesturing at the door.
“Leave.”
“Was planning to.” She took a few steps away, but before leaving turned back and crossed her arms, expression becoming something more thoughtful. “Mmm... it's not what I'd want, but if this Mitsuhide is as ridiculous over you as you are over him? Then it might be a good thing, and you should go call him again right now. I've been waiting for years to plan a wedding for you, after all.”
“Leave.”
It was said with emphasis, but this time the corner of Motochika's mouth had lifted. What Koshōshō had just said was actually supportive and encouraging, and he knew there was honesty behind it. Her wink as she left proved as much (the exaggerated strut less so, but that was just Koshōshō being true to herself).
Once the door pulled to a close Motochika walked up to lock it and took a seat in the corner of his shop, thinking in perfect quiet for a moment, before pulling out his phone.
One week later, three weeks into their journey, Motochika found himself sat with his eyes closed on a comfortable chair, listening to an amateur but decent musical effort with more delight than a master might have drawn out of him, because the hesitant player was Mitsuhide and it all showed promise. Promise for Mitsuhide's future with his instrument and promise for the future the two of them might have, too, because Motochika was a masterful musician who fully believed he could get a sense of someone's soul through the tunes they played and this song spoke to him even with its flaws and occasional bad notes.
“Very good,” he murmured, deep and happy.
“You know it wasn't.” Mitsuhide laughed quietly, pausing at his keyboard to glance over at his friend. “The mere idea that you might find it so is amusing, really...”
“It was.” Motochika opened his eyes and smirked, staring at the ceiling. “Because you've poured yourself into this music, and weaved the beats of your heart into it. It's excellent music, Mitsuhide, despite the mistakes you made. You won't convince me otherwise.”
“I don't think I'd dare try... you are a very stubborn man.”
“So little time together and you know me this well already?”
“It's hard not to,” Mitsuhide said softly, looking back down at his instrument before drawing his fingers back and resting his hands on his knees. “You share yourself so readily with the world... I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you're a very intense person to be around. I've never met anyone quite like you before.”
Rebellion again. Speaking so forwardly, when he was so clearly embarrassed and unsure of his words? What else could you call it? Mitsuhide proved himself to be a delight time and time again, through every phone-call, every text, every meeting they had. Motochika looked back down and stared at his companion in silence for a few seconds, taking in the gentle blush spreading across pale cheeks before meeting Mitsuhide's dark gaze.
Beautiful.
It really was love, this feeling, a tidal wave of emotion that had crashed over and consumed them both. Motochika was absolutely sure that Mitsuhide felt the same, even if he didn't know it yet. Even if he wouldn't know it for a while yet, possibly. Maybe Mitsuhide would surprise him? It was a nice thought, but Motochika had no expectations of this beautiful man beyond him staying true to himself.
“Good,” he drawled eventually, getting to his feet as he did so. “I want to be unique in your memory. Would you play for me again? I'll help with my own instrument.”
“Ah, shamisen?” Mitsuhide's lingering embarrassment faded in an instant, genuine delight lighting up his expression instead. “Yes, please. I'm not sure how we'd go about it, but...”
“Just play, Mitsuhide, and I'll take care of the rest.”
And that was exactly what he did. Motochika's precious shamisen (beautifully crafted, extremely valuable and his pride and joy) proved the perfect accompaniment, because it belonged to him, and he could create wonderful new music with the slightest bit of inspiration. With something like this, the tune of another played by someone sincere and beloved to him, it was simplicity itself. Letting his fingers do the work, Motochika spent most of the time watching Mitsuhide relax into their collaboration with obvious joy; he listened as the other musician played better and made fewer mistakes and felt genuine pride well up in his chest. That improvement was mostly because of Mitsuhide's own efforts but it was also a bit because of the 'hand' Motochika had offered him and it felt good to affect him so.
“That was wonderful,” Mitsuhide said afterwards, completely without shyness for the first time since they'd met, and Motochika felt far more than just 'good' to hear it. He told Koshōshō so via text afterwards. Her response was blunt: 'why do I have to tell you of all people to ask him out already???'
A good point. Very little time had passed, but he'd known the shape of his own feelings very quickly. It was possible that Mitsuhide might take another path if he didn't act; the tension was mutual but Mitsuhide was a little shy and just a bit oblivious in certain ways. Motochika was neither of those things. He wasn't afraid of rejection either. Yes, of course it would be disappointing to be rejected, but he didn't think he would be, and besides... the most important thing was Mitsuhide being true to his own desires.
So be it.
Exactly four weeks after they first met, and a few days after asking the question, Motochika knocked on the door of a small apartment and was met by a 'king' wearing his 'crown;' Mitsuhide, beautiful Mitsuhide, standing there with his hair worn down for the first time since the day they'd met (which hadn't counted, really, considering the reason for it). He looked shy, and a bit awkward, but absolutely magnificent, and the smile he offered the best thing Motochika had ever seen.
“Hello, Motochika.” Mitsuhide hesitated for a moment before holding out a hand, which Motochika took with relish and kissed lightly.
“Mitsuhide,” he murmured, quiet and deep. “I trust I'm not so intense that you want to run away right now?”
“Of course not... you can be ridiculous sometimes, dear.”
“Not ridiculous. Inspired.”
Motochika laughed, but more importantly, Mitsuhide laughed and the entire world around them seemed to brighten. Better music than the tune they'd played together, wasn't it? This was going to be a wonderful date, for sure, and while Koshōshō wouldn't get to plan the wedding she wanted to quite yet Motochika felt quietly confident that he was right about he and Mitsuhide becoming soulmates.
“Let's go.”
Time to find out for sure.