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Tonight was like any night, dressed in one of her simple gowns while decorated with basic accessories, enough to show her worth but not to flaunt excessively. It would be all the same to her regardless. Her father would escort her, as he always did, weaving between throngs of people most likely more primp and proper than she would ever be. Then he would spend the entire night by her side, bringing her cakes and champagne at her request, never straying away too far for too long. And if she happened to be approached by a possible suitor, good luck to the gentlemen, her father’s opinion was the first hurdle to gaining her approval.
The second would be accepting she was blind.
More often than not, men would leave the moment they realized she was blind, only politely granting her a dance. It didn’t matter to her—she repeatedly told herself this. She simply enjoyed the night with her father, accepting the fact she may never find her match. It did bring the question why her father would be stubborn enough to keep dragging her to these events.
She, unfortunately, did know the answer to that question, but most of the time she chose to ignore the ever impending day where he would no longer be around. It left an ache in her heart at the mere thought.
“Makoto,” At the sound of her name, she lifted her head in the direction it came from, finding the dark shape that outlined her father. “Ya’ ready?”
Her lips curved upward into a small smile, rising out of the chair she was seated in, her hands wrapped tightly around her walking cane. His figure approached her, arm raised for her to take.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The room was filled with music and chatter and although they positioned themselves near the balcony door for some needed fresh air, it was still stuffy in here. And it seemed, even though most men avoided her, one did approach and offer her a dance. A pitiful one, at that. Tateyama, a renowned doctor who was stamped with approval from her father with each greeting always directed to him first with a ‘Lee-san this, Lee-san that. ’ Then he would have audacity to face her, as if he was courting her father and asking her for approval instead of the other way around.
He was nice, a good head on his shoulders, someone she could see herself in comfort for years to come, but her heart wasn’t in it. If the day ever came where he was her final choice in the matter, she would accept it, otherwise she would continue to pursue what options were presented to her. As long as her father was still around, she would be allowed such liberties.
“Makoto, why not dance with that Tateyama-sensei again? He sure has taken a liking to ya’.”
Or not.
“Maybe I tire from dancing,” she sighed heavily, shoulders slumping downward in disappointment.
“You’ve had one dance.” The tone of his voice told her this was not such a topic up for debate, but as stubborn as she was, she was determined to stay out of Tateyama’s arms for the remainder of the night.
“I’m thirsty.” Declaring so, she brought herself to a stand, leaning onto her cane for support.
“Whoa, hey, I’ll get you a beverage,” Her father, ever so worried, leapt to her side, a hand coming to rest at the dip of her elbow. “Sit back down, I'll only be a moment.” Brow pinching down, she jerked her arm out of his grip.
“Father, I believe I am more than capable of getting my own drink.” Keeping her gaze in his direction, she glared, hoping to get her point across. Her point being that she is clearly competent enough to fetch her own beverage without falling over herself nor someone else.
“But—”
“In fact,” Gathering her bearings, she directed her darkened gaze to their left, picturing in her head where the table was in relation to the balcony doors. “I know the refreshment table is over there.” Lifting her hand, she pointed in the direction she hoped was the right one.
There was a pause between them, the people who filled this room unbothered by their argument as they continued to dance and laugh amongst themselves. Her hand lowered with a tremble in her wrist as she hid it between the ruffles of her dress, wondering slightly if she overstepped her bounds. She only felt the cool rush of relief when his hand gently touched her shoulder, giving her a tiny push in the direction she chose.
“Go on, I’ll be right here.” His voice was low, but held no anger.
She swallowed thickly, not truely expecting him to set her free to wander about herself. Squaring her shoulders and putting on a brave face, she tapped her cane against the tiled floor, side stepping any giant blobs of darkness that blocked her path. It was surprisingly simple to maneuver to the refreshments, people easily moving out of her way as she weaved between them.
Thankfully, someone was attending to the bar and happily poured her a glass of bubbling champagne. She delicately held it between her fingers, taking a tiny sip while staying near the table. It was bittersweet as it slipped down her throat, a trail of warmth following it to the pit of her stomach.
She stood still, consuming one glass only to start on her second, mind reeling back toward her conversation with her father. Her thumb rubbed up and down on the handle of her cane, a crushing weight of guilt pressing down on her. Maybe she was too harsh, he did after all, only want the best for her—to be taken care of. She should go back and apologize.
While holding the glass in one hand, she used her other to guide her cane back and forth in front of her, mapping out the path from before. Her movements were more hurried in her rush to return to her guardian, anxious of having actually hurt his feelings in her search for freedom. She wanted to ease the tension that could be there so they could enjoy the rest of the evening together, as they always did.
But, she was careless.
Gasping out, her cane was thrown from her grasp as her body ran straight into a broad frame, her hand, now free, reaching up and clutching to the shoulder of said person. Unfortunately for her other hand, it stayed tightly wrapped around the glass, bringing it toward her chest to protect it while what surviving liquid was now projected forward onto the very person she now clung to. As the moment of adrenaline passed, she realized the only thing stopping her from crashing to the ground were the two warm arms of this—another sudden realization—man, who, in the midst of it all, dug his fingers into the back of her dress, pulling the fabric taut.
Both of them rushed out words at the same time, her only stopping out of courtesy at the sound of his rough voice.
“Oh, sir, I’m so—”
“Oi, watch where yer goin’?”
Civility, it seemed, was not needed as he rudely spoke, completely overlooking the one obvious impediment she had. She pushed off of him, slipping from his grasp with ease as he sighed—probably inspecting the spill she caused against his suit, which she hoped wasn’t too expensive to clean. Feeling bare without her walking stick, she kicked her foot out in the direction she assumed it fell and with luck, her foot bumped against it.
“As a matter of fact, sir,” As she bent down to retrieve her trusty cane, she answered, attempting to keep her cool through the annoyance boiling inside. “I cannot see.” She brought her stick down with a sudden thrust, a sharp snap echoing from it.
Silence followed.
People nearby hushed each other and she could feel their judging eyes upon them. This only brought her chin higher as she attempted to find this man’s face, most likely overshooting where it resided. There was a commotion of voices rising as if this little collision was the talk of the party. And then suddenly, it was quiet again, the blurred, dark image of the figure before her snapping his head around. She wasn't sure what happened, but the conversation between people started back up, now ignoring their disturbing presence.
“I didn’t kn—”
“As I’m sure you also didn’t know, my glass is now empty.” Estimating where his chest laid, she shoved the glass into it, her hand retreating as his hands came up to retrieve it. Blubbering, he tried to spit something out, completely taken back by her attitude.
“Please dispose of it for me.” Sweetly, she batted her eyes at him, mentally trying to orient herself back on the path to her father. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
With those few words, she departed, cane striking the ground with more force than needed, although it did persuade others to move out of her way a little more quicker than they usually would. The worried voice of her father reached her ears and she twisted her body accordingly, cursing that she was off by so much.
“Makoto, what was that commotion?” Immediately, he reached for her, hands clutching her shoulders and she was sure he was looking her over for any damages.
“Nothing to worry about, I avoided it.”
She kept her gaze low, hoping she could convince him that the one time he allowed her to go off on her own, she didn’t cause trouble. She must have been persuasive as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back to her seat from before.
“Where’d ya’ drink go?”
“Oh, I drank it at the table.”
She couldn’t stop fidgeting in her chair, fingers picking at her nails. It hadn’t been too long ago she ventured on her own and managed to screw it up. She felt useless, unable to complete one trek to and from the refreshments without incident. What worried her the most was her father, she wanted to reassure his nerves that she would be okay, that she could handle herself far better than he thought.
If only that man hadn’t bumped into her, then she would have been fine. And he was so rude too, right off the bat. She frowned, unable to conceal her thoughts creeping out, face flushing. She even tried to apologize—it was infuriating to remember how he cut her off so quickly, as if he didn’t see her smacking her stick onto the ground as she walked. Who couldn’t? Blowing out all the oxygen in her lungs, she slumped into her chair, hoping to sink away into the cushions until the night was over. Maybe she would take on that second dance from Tateyama, it was tempting just to ease some of her nerves.
“Lee Wen Hai.”
She perked up in her seat as a set of footsteps approached, the voice all too familiar, but way too proper in this instance. No way, he actually came to find her? This was all just a coincidence—had to be. She strained to hear, despite them literally standing next to her.
“Well, to what do I owe this pleasure, Lord of the Night?”
As her father answered, her heart rate picked up, the title scorching itself into her mind. Horror befell her as her thoughts caught up with her. Lord of the Night, a title becoming only one man—a very powerful man—a man she had the impertinence to command to clean up her spilled mess that she dumped on him. Her world deafened, their voices blurring together as they exchanged pleasantries.
“I was not aware you had a daughter.”
Eyes wide, she snapped her head in their direction, hands already reaching for her cane. By the time her father placed his hand on her shoulder, she was already standing, ducking her head low into a bow.
“Makoto Makimura, at your service, my lord.” The words tumbled out of her quickly, completely overshadowing whatever her father was going to say. Her fingers stayed curled tightly around the handle of her cane, keeping her head down out of respect.
“She does not share your name?”
He was ignoring her, cursing herself she screwed her eyes shut, keeping her position.
“It matters not, she’s mine all the same.”
The provoking tone from her father only made her cringe, fearing he would make what she started even worse. The Lord hummed low in his throat and she damned her eyesight—social cues were important and most were seen, not heard. She silently went through many apologies in her head on how she would redeem herself from her foolishness from before.
It was only when the warm touch of a hand—not her father’s— tentatively peeled one of her clenched ones from her cane that her eyes blinked open, lifting her head to find the dark silhouette of the Lord of the Night before her. He bent at the waist, head daring close to their hands and pressed his lips against her knuckles. Her breathing stopped, fear striking through her followed shortly by confusion of his intentions. Through all of it, she focused on something to the left of him, shifting over his shoulder and hanging limp there—his hair, tied back into a ponytail. It was strange to focus on something so mundane as hair, but she felt it calmed her enough to make it through this painful conversation.
“Makimura-san, may I have this next dance?”
It was stated like a question, voice even and smooth, so unlike their collision earlier. It was not up for debate it seemed, his hands tightening around hers the slightest. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be trapped in a dance with him, fearful of what reprimands he would surely scold her for, but then again it would be the quickest and easiest way to apologize formally to him without alerting her father to their little bump. Before she could even open her mouth to answer, her father pressed a comforting hand between her shoulder blades and pulled her toward him, her hand slipping from the Lord’s.
“We appreciate the offer, My Lord, but Makoto promised her next dance to Tateyama-sensei.”
There was a tilt to her father's voice, a hesitation that wouldn’t have bothered her if it was any other situation. She turned her head in his direction, brows pinching down in even more confusion of why her father would refuse such a powerful man’s offer. Isn’t this the perfect man to keep her in comfort for years to come—rich, powerful, she wouldn’t even have to lift a finger while in his care. Not that she was considering it from their earlier spat, but it was still odd that he would disagree so heartedly without giving him a chance.
“Then my apologies, I will awai—”
In her rush of wanting to correct her father in a rebellion against his wishes, she once again interrupted the Lord without much thought.
“Father, I believe I am more than capable of deciding who I dance with,” she sputtered the same words from before, hoping to instill his belief in her once more that she was competent.
“But, dear...” he sighed, obviously tossing the idea back and forth within himself.
“And besides, I don’t believe Tateyama-sensei is here to escort me to the dance floor, unlike …” she trailed off, hand hovering in the Lord’s direction, just now realizing she didn’t know his actual name.
“Goro Majima, my lady.”
It took only a moment as his hand found hers once more, slender fingers trapping her smaller ones entirely. She wasn’t sure why her heart decided to speed up in that moment, feeling the warmth radiating off this stranger’s hand. She wanted to chalk it up to her deliberate disobedience from her father’s wishes tonight, skirting on the edge of independence as she defied him, regardless of what it was about, but feeling the tenderness in Majima’s thumb as he swiped it over her knuckles told her otherwise. Gulping down whatever feeling was attempting to rise from the contact, she curled her fingers around his in response, taking a step in his direction.
“Majima-sama, I would be honored to dance with you.”
Not wanting to argue with her father, she hastily shoved her cane against his chest, not awaiting a response from him as her other hand blindly reached for Majima. Her hand found purchase against his shoulder, sliding down his muscular arm until finally resting at the dip of his elbow, securing herself against him.
“Shall we?”
There would be hell to pay by defying her father so bluntly in the face of others, but that would be later when they were alone in their home away from the life of the party. For now, she would at least attempt to enjoy her dance and promptly apologize as soon as the two of them were lost in the crowd of other dancers on the floor. It was frightening, trusting this man to lead her to where he said he would as she was completely lost without her cane.
It didn’t take long before he guided them through a small line of people and turned to face her completely, one of his hands lifting one of hers while his other one found the curve of her spine, positioning just below the border of cloth and skin that exposed her upper back. When he pulled her close, as was customary with this dance, she sucked in a quick breath, getting a big whiff of the spicy smell of his cologne. They started to move, slow and steady, and she felt her nerves getting the best of her. Her eyes scanned over what she could see, which was a giant blob of darkness of what she assumed was his wide shoulder, and collected what courage she had before when ordering him away with her empty glass.
“Ya’kno—”
“My Lo—”
Her cheeks flushed with warmth, her mouth snapping shut with a sharp noise as her teeth clacked together. How many times had she interrupted him? Three? Regardless of the number, it was one too many for a woman of her stature. Bewilderment replaced her embarrassment when a low rumble erupted from his throat, chest vibrating against hers. She raised her gaze, staring quizzingly up at him in hopes he would explain what he found so funny.
“I think ya’ have a bad habit of cuttin’ people off.” He was once again speaking casually, voice drifting into the local accent. It was jarring after hearing him speak so proper to her father, only to turn around and give her this backwater speech pattern.
“I’m sorry, my Lord.” She swallowed, readjusting her hand in his, hoping she didn’t screw this up further.
“Ain’t nothin’ to get yer panties in a twist.”
“No,” Ignoring his way of wording, she proceeded with her original plea. “I meant about earlier, when we—I bumped into you.”
“Haw? Ya’ think I’m over here sweatin’ ‘bout that?” He sounded confused, but for an entirely different reason than she was at this moment. It was frustrating being blind, especially at moments such as this. If only she could glance up and get a feel of what he was meaning with a simple turn of the lips or —
“Uh, no… I mean…” she fumbled over her words, face screwing up as she trailed off.
“I should be the one apologizin’ to ya’.”
She snapped her head upwards at that, mouth parting in complete shock now. Sure it might have been his fault, but that was before she knew he was such an influential man. By default, it was her mistake now.
“Ya’know, ya’ look like a fish with yer mouth gapin’ like that.”
Her mouth shut with a sharp clack, lips going into a thin line. “And you haven’t learned any manners.”
“Never had any to begin with.” His chuckling only made her face flare up red even more.
She tried to hide it by dropping her chin toward her chest, the top of her forehead brushing against his shoulder as they moved. It was strange being in the arms of the man she rudely spoke to before, but not as strange as being asked by said man to dance with. She lifted her head then, brows pinching back together in thought.
“Why did you ask me to dance?”
“Eh,” His pause made her stomach churn. “I was curious.”
She had to scoff at that, wondering how free one must be to act on question alone.
“Curiosity persuaded you to approach and lead me to the dancefloor?”
“Yea’, curious as to who would dare speak so freely back toward me.”
At his retort, she assumed it was him putting her back in her place from even daring to question him, she quickly backtracked, hoping to smooth over any differences. “I assure you, my Lord, I would ne—”
“You misunderstand,” He quickly cut her off, his head tilting in her direction, voice lowering an octave as if he was whispering to share a secret. She could feel his breath brushing down her cheek. “I was quite impressed, intrigued really, that someone who couldn’t see the social norms between us would be an interestin’ friend who wouldn’t be afraid to speak their mind.”
Her hand tightened against him, fingers digging into his shoulder, swallowing thickly at his words. She kept quiet, part out of respect, part of not knowing how to respond to that. He wasn’t here on a proposal, he was simply here for good conversation—that did put her at ease. Now her father had nothing to worry about from him, no ill intentions to scour out.
“Alas, yer caretaker—”
“Father.”
“My apologies—Father, knew who I was, I was unable to keep the ruse up like I planned.”
“You planned to keep me in the dark of who you actually were? Play me as the fool?” Anger was quick to replace her previous emotions. Another disadvantage of being visually impaired, she had only people’s words to follow through with.
“...Well when ya’ put it that way, yea’, guess I was.”
“You wound me, my Lord.” Huffing, she snapped her head in another direction, hoping to block what view he had of her face.
“It ain’t my intention.”
She almost jumped, shoulders tensing as she felt his hot breath against her ear, wondering when he even moved closer to her. She couldn’t reply after that, lip slipping between her teeth as she bit the skin there, keeping her chin tilted downward in hopes to hide her flushing face from view. It wasn’t common for a male of higher status to keep her flustered in one of their first few conversations—she could count on a few others who could. She chalked it up to the fact she made a fool of herself earlier and couldn’t find her footing after that, his quick remarks keeping her on her toes.
“Have I offended ya’, Makimura-san?” His breath was still close to her ear, voice quiet as he spoke.
“N-no, my Lord.”
She could have cursed herself right then as she sputtered out her response, not used to such close proximity with another person she recently became acquainted with. From her perspective, it seemed it didn’t bother him. Thankfully, they were nearing the end of the song and they could depart from each other as an unlikely meeting. She would be left to sit in her chair, awaiting when Tateyama would deem her ready for his attention to where they would eventually be engaged and then married. She wouldn’t have to worry her father anymore.
He twirled them around one last time and just as she was about to step back to bow, he clutched her against him, producing a gasp out of her. It all happened too fast. One second she was up straight, pressed flush against his chest, the next she was partially horizontal to the ground, not sure how near her head was to the floor. She was suspended like that, his hand against her back, drifting upward, fingers burning a trail in their wake against the skin of her upper back as it moved into a more secure position between her shoulder blades. She swallowed, heartbeat picking up as she felt his breath coast down her neck and over her chest as he hovered over her. She clung desperately, eyes searching above her at the dark shape that was him.
Another moment passes before he lifts her back up into a standing position, his hand skimming away from her shoulders and back down to her waist where her skin was properly covered. Her hand was tightly wound against his shoulder, fingers dug into the fabric there, still feeling as if she was upside down.
That was not how that dance was supposed to end.
Without a word, he removed the hand around her waist and shifted in his position. It took her a moment more to regain her breathing before she reached for him, groping at air before she made contact with his elbow. She clung to him, afraid the next moment will be her toppling over. What really sent her over the edge was his lack of explanation as to why he decided that was the way to end their dance. Not that she could hear him if he did, with her heart pounding in her ears.
He safely guided her back to her father, who expressed his gratitude to Majima. She barely heard her father and him speak, glued to his arm as she collected herself. She wondered faintly how she appeared on the outside, not that it really mattered to her. Anyone would be flustered over such a display—right?
“Makimura-san?”
Her head lifted, ears unclogging enough to hear her name being spoken. She gave a pitiful hum in response, curious as to why he would address her.
“You can let go now.”
She tilted her head, unsure of what he was referring to, until he gently raised his arm up—the arm her hands greedily clasped to her body, as if she was afraid to let go. A strange gasp left her, hands uncurling and jerking away, raised upward as if she was caught stealing something. If she wasn’t red before, she definitely was now, heat engulfing her cheeks.
“My apologies!” She couldn’t spit the words out faster, head lowering in an lousy attempt to bow.
“No worries.”
Majima’s voice was closer than she expected—as in she expected him to step a good distance away to bid farewell to her father and her. Instead, she felt him drift closer, his hand finding hers once more as he drew it back toward him. There wasn’t enough time to prepare for his soft lips to skim back over her knuckles and there surely wasn't enough time as his lips moved against her skin as he spoke.
“Until our paths cross again, Makimura-san.”
The remainder of the room went silent, her heartbeat and his words the only things entering and exiting her ears. The world seemed to slow down for her or stopped completely as they stood together, connected by their hands. However much time had passed, he did remove his mouth from her hand, standing back up to his full height, hand still tenderly holding hers.
“Until then.” Her voice was foreign to her ears, barely registering she spoke at all.
His hand slipped from hers then, thumb caressing her knuckles before it was gone completely. Her hand stayed held outward, the dark image of Majima disappearing from her side to merge with the rest of the crowd.
Everything burned—her fingers tingling all the way up her arm, past her elbow and to her shoulder blade. She was unable to pick apart which action of his started this sensation, but she pinned it on when he dipped her, his fingers tenderly brushing the skin over her spine Slowly, she lowered her hand back to her side, softly cupping her other hand over the back of it—as if she intended to hide the kiss he left there—as if people could see it physically on her. It sure felt real and visible, the way her skin pricked and twitched at the feeling of his lips still ghosting over her skin—it was maddening.
Opposite of what she felt when Majima was near, time seemed to speed up, her hands securing around her cane as her father held it out to her. It was strange, her father hadn’t asked anything of her, or maybe he did and she hadn’t heard with all the thoughts swimming around inside. Either way, it was odd he wasn’t being his persistent self after the fuss he caused over Majima escorting her to the dancefloor.
“Wen Hai-san, Makimura-san.” Lost in thought, her head automatically lifted in response to hearing her name being spoken. It was not a voice she recognized and it was worrying why they even knew her name to begin with.
“Ota-san,” Her father, ever so diligent with knowing the people who attended these parties, greeted the man, stepping toward her protectively. “What do we owe this honor?”
“I was hoping to take Makimura-san’s next dance.”
Whatever answer her father gave him was lost to her, eyes going wide in the direction of this ‘ Ota-san’s’ voice. Her mind raced for a reason why she was suddenly approached by a man she hadn’t the pleasure of meeting before.
“What do you say, Makimura-san? May I have this next dance?” Her mouth parted as he stepped closer, the dark image of his hand being raised in front of him, body bent at a slight angle.
“O-of course.” She stumbled over her words, not really registering what was even to happen with her acceptance.
She lifted her hand up as her mind slowly pieced together what social incident caused this. It was obvious, Majima the Lord of the Night, someone who is wealthy and influential enough to hold such a title, treated her to a dance—one he boldly ended with her upside down in a noteworthy dip. That would draw anyone’s attention upon them if they weren’t already enthralled with the concept of a blind girl, barely worth her value, wrapped tightly in the arms of this distinguished Lord.
She felt her throat close. As Ota’s hand came up and took hold of hers, an icy chill enveloped her, dousing out any warmth she acquired while in the arms of the Lord. It felt completely off—different, wrong even, as he guided her safely toward the dance floor.
Majima, intentionally or not, upped her value as a marriage candidate.