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Kunigami adjusts the deep navy waistcoat that sits snugly across his wide chest, feeling rather underdressed in the opulence of the ballroom even though his mother assured him that his clothing befitted the evening’s occasion just fine. He had not grown up in the upper crust of society– his family had been firmly middle class until this sister had married into the gentry, and now Kunigami found himself thrust into high society and the bewildering games that came with it.
Almack’s Assembly rooms are the most exclusive venue in the city– to hold a voucher for it is what separates one from society and Society, as his sister had put it. She had applied on his behalf to one of the patrons, and was delighted when he had been approved. It is a place where ladies and gentlemen of well-bred stock flock to in search of finding a suitable marriage partner, and that is why Kunigami now finds himself stuffed into breeches and a cravat that rubs uncomfortably against his shaved smooth chin.
Kunigami has chosen to stand near the entrance of the ballroom, broad frame stiff with nerves as he clutches a glass in one hand and watches partygoers trickle in from the supper that had been served. It is not his first party by this point, however, he still feels rather out of place, and worries that his attire or wide build makes him a stark contrast to the fine silks and graceful bodies swirling around him.
Taking a deep breath, he reminds himself of why he’s here, why he did not rebuff his sister and mother’s chiding to keep attending even though he is far from comfortable. Scanning the room, his eyes land on a streak of scarlet hair amongst the muted shades and gaudy golds of the ballroom– Chigiri Hyoma. He stands, as always, surrounded by admirers, his lithe form, shining hair and choice of dress making him the centre of attention. Whilst the men’s dress code required breeches and dark jackets, Chigiri tended to swan in wearing pastels, ribbons and jewellery that outshone even the most supposedly eligible bachelorettes, in Kunigami’s opinion. He has often seen him in the company of Mikage Reo, one of the patrons of the club, and wonders if that is how he gets away with it. In any case, there is something about the confidence that draws Kunigami in. And tonight he intended to act on it.
Summoning his courage, Kunigami approached his group, his heart pounding in his chest. As he nears, Chigiri’s gaze shifts, meeting his own. For a brief moment, the music and laughter of the ballroom fades, and it feels as if it’s just the two of them. Chigiri’s lips curl into a teasing smile, and he inclines his head slightly, as if inviting Kunigami closer.
“Ah, Mr. Kunigami, isn’t it?” Chigiri’s voice is smooth, with an edge of mischief, as the circle of admires glance his way with irked expressions. “I believe we have not had the pleasure of a proper introduction.”
Kunigami leans forward slightly in a respectful bow he hopes does not look as stiff and awkward as it feels, “Indeed, Mr. Chigiri. It is an honour to meet you properly.”
Chigiri’s eyes twinkle with amusement, but not snidely, as Kunigami had found others within the ton to be. “The honour is all mine. I have heard much about you from Mr. Isagi and Mr. Bachira.”
Kunigami’s mind races, wondering what he might have heard. Isagi and Bachira were his friends, and he found them to be far less pretentious than many of the other gentry, mainly due to the Isagi’s similar climbing of the societal ranks to his own, and the Bachira’s earning their place through artistic patronage.
“All good things, I trust?” He says, hoping the uncertainty doesn’t come across in his tone.
Chigiri laughs softly, “Mostly,” he replies, his tone teasing, “but I prefer to form my own opinions of people.”
“Then I shall endeavour to make a good impression,” Kunigami says, his tone earnest.
Chigiri’s gaze is steady, looking Kunigami over from head to toe. “I believe you already have, sir.”
The initial stiffness of his introduction eases as the redhead has apparently deemed Kunigami worthy to be amongst his entourage. As the evening progresses, Kunigami finds himself progressively more at ease in Chigiri’s company. Chigiri’s teasing remains a constant, but there is a warmth to it that Kunigami finds himself drawn to like a hearth in winter. They discuss a range of topics; from the latest news in society to personal anecdotes– Chigiri particularly enjoys telling an amusing story about his elder sister’s ill-fated attempt to ride a new horse, which has Kunigami laughing deeply enough to turn a few heads his way. More and more, the conversation becomes more direct between the two of them, and the people who had been hovering around Chigiri begin to take the hint and excuse themselves to dance or converse with others, until only their duo remains.
“I must say, I did not expect to find someone of such…” Chigiri pauses, “sincerity at this gathering,” he eventually says.
Kunigami’s cheeks flush slightly. “I assure you, Mr. Chigiri, the pleasure is mine. It is… not often that I find myself in such distinguished company.”
Chigiri tilts his head, “You speak as if you do not belong here.”
Kunigami blushes, clearing his throat. He cannot admit that he feels that way, and that he might never feel that he fits in amongst the gentry, however before he can muster up an appropriate response a new piece of music begins. It seems to catch Chigiri’s attention, his long locks whipping around as he watches couples make their way to the dancefloor.
“Do you dance, Mr Kunigami?”
“I… I’m afraid I am not… well-versed in–”
Chigiri interrupts him with a scoff, offering his hand, “Then allow me to teach you!”
Kunigami would never decline, and he takes Chigiri’s delicate hand in his larger one, allowing himself to be guided to the dance floor. The glitz of imported chandeliers and the intentionally intimate lighting bear down upon them as they press as close as is polite, and Chigiri leads him into a waltz that is lumbering only on Kunigami’s part. He thinks how ridiculous he must look; how the eyes of the ton are collectively judging him–
“Mr Kunigami,” Chigiri says, and Kungami lowers his gaze to look into his crimson eyes, “you should always keep an eye on your partner. Especially when that partner is me.”
Kunigami blushes, and nods, obediently fixing his sight on Chigiri’s slight smile, and how his eyes sparkle beneath his long lashes. As the music continues and swells, Chigiri leans in slightly, his voice a soft murmur. “You are doing wonderfully, sir. Perhaps you are a natural after all.”
Kunigami chuckles, his nerves giving way to genuine enjoyment. “I think I just have a good teacher, Mr Chigiri.”
Their dance concludes with a flourish, and the partygoers clap in polite applause. Kunigami bows to Chigiri, who responds with a bow of his own. They make their way off the dance floor, with Chigiri’s hand lingering on Kunigami’s arm, a subtle that surely won’t go unnoticed to the prying eyes of the crowd.
“Thank you,” Kunigami says quietly. “I have never danced at a party such as this before.”
Chigiri’s smile softens. “It was my pleasure. I hope this will not be our last dance, Mr. Kunigami.”
Over the next fortnight, Kunigami often finds his thoughts consumed by Chigiri. They meet at the club several more times, talking and dancing with one another in the confines of the parties’ rules– the ones both written and not. Apparently he has left a positive impression on those in Chigiri’s social circle, as he is extended an invitation by Lord Yukimiya to attend a supper and garden party at his estate. His outfit, thankfully, is slightly less form fitting this time, however his sister spent a long amount of time stuffing his hair into a top hat, which Kunigami found pointless as he took it off upon entering.
The evening is well underway, with guests mingling and music drifting from the grand ballroom out into the night. Kunigami, feeling slightly out of place amidst the opulence, is quietly grateful when he spots Chigiri standing near the edge of the garden, seemingly lost in thought. Seizing the moment, he approaches, his heart beating faster with each step.
"Mr. Chigiri," Kunigami greets, his voice steady despite his nerves.
Chigiri turns, a smile spreading across his face. "Mr. Kunigami. What a pleasant surprise. I was just contemplating a walk. Would you care to join me?"
“It would be an honour,” he replies, offering Chigiri his arm to help him to his feet.
Chigiri slips his arm into Kunigami’s, keeping it there. The smaller man ends up leading the way they meander down a path lined with rose bushes. The chatter and lilting music fade away into the background as they walk quietly together. Chigiri does not say anything, and his resting face is rather serious, contemplative– a stark difference to the party-going dandy that Kunigami had observed at their previous meetings.
"It is a beautiful evening," Kunigami observes, searching for something to break the silence.
"Indeed it is," Chigiri agrees, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "I find that these gardens are the perfect place to escape the noise and pretence of such gatherings."
Kunigami glances at Chigiri, noting the subtle tension in his features. “Do you… My apologies for overstepping, but it seems as though there is something on your mind.”
Chigiri sighs softly, "The expectations placed upon me can be... stifling. And sometimes, like tonight, I simply get fed up with all this.” He waves a hand back towards the house, the bay windows lit up beautifully in the waning light of the summer’s evening.
"I can understand that. While our circumstances are different… I understand the weight of expectations."
Chigiri looks at him curiously. "How so?"
"Well, as someone of modest means until recently, I think I must constantly strive to prove myself. It can be exhausting, always feeling like I must do more– be more."
Kunigami had expected to be wed at some point, but not in such a convoluted manner. In fact, he recalls reaching his teenage years and his mother talking about other families of their standing who had expressed interest in introducing their sons and daughters to him. Now he finds himself thrust into a complex social game he still does not know the rules of. Chigiri nods thoughtfully, the path leading them to a secluded bench beneath a sprawling oak tree. Chigiri gestures for Kunigami to sit, then turns into him, placing his hands on the other man’s forearms, looking serious.
"You are more than worthy, Mr Kunigami. Your sincerity and integrity are qualities that many in our society lack, regardless of their birthright."Kunigami feels a warmth spread through him at Chigiri's words. "Thank you, Chigiri– ah, pardon, Mr–."
Chigiri laughs as Kunigami splutters, ears tinging red. “Perhaps, Mr Kunigami, if you wish to get so familiar,” he leans in, batting his eyelashes with a mischievous smirk, “you might call me Hyoma when we are alone.”
Kunigami’s breath catches in his throat– the intimacy of such a gesture is not lost on him, and he starts to feel very warm beneath his tight shirt collar. “Mr– er, Hyoma– o– oh…”
Even trying out the words feels scandalous, but what is even more scandalous is Chigiri reaching up to press the back of his hand against Kunigami’s scorching cheek. “You have gone so very red…”
“You… you startled me,” Kunigami admits, turning away from the touch, “If you would… be inclined to, you could call me Rensuke.”
“Rensuke,” Chigiri repeats, trying the name out, “what a handsome name. Tell me then– if this life isn’t what you imagined for yourself, what would you strive for instead?”
Kunigami ponders the question, a thoughtful look on his face. "I suppose.. I would just like a life of simplicity and purpose. I would like to work in the family business, manage our estate so our parents might grow old comfortably, and… I think I would like to share that life with someone who understands and accepts me for those simple dreams.”
“I think that’s a very noble dream. Far more genuine than the oh so grand ambitions you often hear at these parties,” Chigiri huffs, flipping his hair over his shoulder.
"And you, Mr– ..Hyoma?" Kunigami asks gently.
“Well, for starters, I would much prefer to stay at home and read a book than partake in this societal charade. I do find it much easier to keep up a facade of being… unattainable, and particular about which partner I will eventually choose, rather than have my family concerned that I will be unwanted goods,” Chigiri says. “However I think I would simply like to find someone who sees me not as a prize to be won, or as a symbol of status, simply as a person.”
Kunigami mulls over Chigiri’s words. He understands the burden of the expectations placed upon them both, but hearing it from Chigiri, someone who seems so confident and unyielding, makes it all the more poignant. He turns his gaze to the stars above.
“I think,” he says after a moment of thought, “that you are capable of finding that, Hyoma. You… please permit me to tell you how ardently I admire your wit, your beauty, and your tenacity, above all else.”
Kunigami wrings his hands together tightly, keeping his gaze focused on the twinkling pinpricks of light hanging in the night sky. When there is no initial response, he finally forces himself to look into Chigiri’s eyes, but in the same motion the redhead is reaching out to him again, his hand brushing against Kunigami’s cheek, this time without any pretence of teasing. He leans into the touch, his own hand coming up to cover Chigiri’s, holding it against his skin.
"Hyoma...”
Their faces are inches apart now. Kunigami can see every detail of Chigiri’s face– his long lashes, the glint in his red eyes, and the subtle shine of balm he had applied to his lips. Kunigami’s free hand moves almost of its own accord, gently cupping Chigiri’s jaw, his thumb brushing against the soft skin just below his ear, stroking aside some strands of his hair. And then, slowly, hesitantly, Kunigami leans in. His eyes flutter closed as their lips meet, the kiss soft and chaste, yet filled with a depth of emotion that leaves them both breathless. It is a gentle meeting, simply a promise of more to come, a tender exploration of what the fleeting feelings of fondness might become. When they finally pull back, Kunigami notes that Chigiri’s face is also flushed, and cannot help but feel a sense of pride at that. Their foreheads rest together, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.
“Thank you, Rensuke,” Chigiri murmurs, his voice soft and full of warmth. “For seeing me.”
“You did tell me to keep my eyes on you, and they have never strayed since then.”
They linger in their shared silence for a moment. Finally, Chigiri pulls back slightly, his eyes sparkling. “Shall we return to the party?”
Kunigami nods, feeling a sense of purpose and pride he has never known before. “Yes, let’s.”
Hand in hand, they make their way back through the garden. Inside the ballroom, the music continues, and the chatter of the guests fills the air. However for Kunigami, everything feels different now. Chigiri’s hand remains in his, their fingers intertwined, and he gives him a genuine smile as he pulls him towards the dancefloor. As they danced, Kunigami felt, for the first time, that he is no longer just a man of modest means trying to find his place among the gentry; he is a man who belongs, and with Hyoma is exactly where he is meant to be.