Pillow Talk

"No, Shibuya. You're reading it wrong. That's a half note, not a quarter note. It holds twice as long."

Yuuri sighed. They had a big test coming up soon in music, and Yuuri had asked for the help of his best friend whom, he knew, was very good with his mouth. Er, using his mouth to play the recorder, that is.

"I'm just not as good at it as you are, Murata."

Murata smiled encouragingly. "I've had 800 years worth of practice. You'll get better in time, if you stay on top of it."

"I just hope it doesn't take as long for me."

"Every good thing takes time," Murata said, sagely. "Besides, with a mouth as big as yours, you shouldn't have too much trouble with a recorder."

Yuuri groaned and threw a pillow at Murata. Murata caught it, and looked at it as if it were covered in ants.

"Shibuya," he said softly, plucking at the edge of the pillow, "Do you know what it means in Shin Makoku to throw a white pillow at someone?"

Yuuri turned white. "Er, no..."

Murata smiled then, but not before he could hide the pain that flashed through his eyes.

"I suggest that you don't do it without thinking," Ken replied, tossing the pillow back to Yuuri. "We'll continue later. Shouldn't you be having your lessons with Gunter now?"

"Yeah, I guess."

With a wave, Murata left the room, and Yuuri hugged the pillow against his chest. They had had pillow fights all the time back on Earth, and it had never made Murata act like that before. But things were very different in Shin Makoku, Yuuri reflected. And here, sometimes Murata acted wiser (although somewhat sadder) than he ever acted on Earth. Suddenly, a high pitched wail echoed down the hall.

"HEIKA!"

Yuuri sighed again. He hadn't gone to his lessons, so the Lessons had come to him.

****

Yuuri put down his pen. This was hopeless; he couldn't focus at all.

Gunter looked up. "What is wrong, Heika? We still have much to get through."

Mustering up his courage, Yuuri met Gunter's eyes.

"Gunter, what does it mean when you throw a pillow at someone?"

Gunter looked flustered for a moment. "Who did you throw a pillow at, Heika?"

"Murata," Yuuri answered, still nonplussed.

Gunter suddenly looked like a puppy sitting in the rain.

"What colour was it? Please tell me it was chartreuse."

"Er, no. It was just the plain white one I sleep on."

"HEIKA! Why? Why did you have to throw it at Daikenja-sama and not me? WHY?"

Now Yuuri was worried. This did not sound good at all. But Gunter was too upset to be rational at the moment, so Yuuri went to seek out Conrad.

He found the man out in the court yard, warming up for practice.

Yuuri chose to dispense with the formalities and to get straight to the point.

"Conrad, what does it mean when you throw a plain white pillow at someone? And also," Yuuri added as an afterthought, "what does chartreuse mean?"

Conrad smiled. "Has Gunter not told you? Throwing a white pillow means you're asking the person you threw it at to share your bed."

Yuuri gulped. "Just to sleep, right?"

Conrad's smile was warm. "No, Yuuri. Not just to sleep."

Yuuri buried his head in his hands. How embarrassing. But, a pesky, long ignored voice in his head reminded him, it wasn't far from the truth. He rubbed his face and looked back at Conrad, forcing himself to meet the older man's eyes.

"Thanks, Conrad. I knew I could count on you."

Conrad watched his godson run back indoors and smiled. Some Sages had all the luck.

***

"Shibuya, it's a B flat, not a B natural. Should we mark it so you can remember?"

Yuuri remembered. He just wasn't concentrating. And Murata, patient as he was, was beginning to become annoyed. After several more missed notes and obvious errors, Murata sat down on the bed next to Yuuri.

"You've got something on your mind, Shibuya," he said softly, "What is it?"

His face on fire, Yuuri picked up his white pillow and tossed it at Murata. Murata caught it, uncertaintly written on his face.

"Shibuya..."

Yuuri coughed. "I, um, I talked to Conrad."

This time, there was no pain in Murata's eyes as he smiled at his King and fingered the pillow.

Stuttering with nervousness, Yuuri met Murata's eyes.

"Um, what happens now?"

Murata waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, there's a long, drawn out, and frankly pointless ceremony in which you hand me your toothbrush and I use it to clean the bathtub, and..."

He was met with another pillow to the face, knocking his glasses off.

"Liar," said Yuuri softly as he retrieved Murata's glasses and placed them on the bedside table. When he turned back around, Murata was gone. For a moment, Yuuri was panic-stricken. But then he was back, a clear vial in his hand. He placed it on the bedside table and then turned to Yuuri.

Murata Ken smiled a lot. In fact, it was unusual for him not to smile. But Yuuri had never seen a smile quite like this one on his friend's face. It was wicked, and held a promise of things to come, a promise, not a suggestion or a plea.

Never breaking his and Yuuri's heated eye contact, Murata began to undress. Slowly, deliberately, he undid each button and then shrugged his tunic to the floor.