Standard disclaimer applies. I do not own Rurouni Kenshin

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The Sound of Jasmine

By: Luna

Part One: Forbidden Warrior

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He sits quietly at the table, staring sightlessly into a cup of sake. The dark corner he was seated in made him nearly invisible. Since he sat so motionless, no one would detect he was even there.

But I knew.

He comes here, every night, and sits at that same table, every night. The other girls were too afraid to approach him, being foolish enough to stare at him straight in the eyes, thus not having the strength to approach and look again. But it was bad business to keep a customer-any customer -waiting. So I, like the foolish girl I've been called, rose up to the challenge and approached him with a courage I didn't feel.

I say nothing. Have never, in fact. I just walk up to him, my eyes to the floor, and wait. Then he murmurs in that low, silken voice; a gentle sound, his order. Yet, every time, I can't help but feel fear well up inside of me like a pot of overflowing boiling water.

Sake. He orders nothing but a single bottle of sake every single night. And does nothing but stare unseeing into the cup. And then, once the hour strikes midnight, he walks with an unthinking silent grace towards the door after tossing a few coins on the table, leaving his bottle of untouched sake behind.

I have only looked at him once, because I felt that there was no need for a second glance. And I was right. Even now, that single memory of his face burns vividly in my mind, like a fire that refuses to be put out.

His hair is, instead of the dark, dank color of blood that I had expected, was instead the color of warm flames that linger in the embers of a dying fire. Beautiful was the first word that entered my mind. And when I caught a glimpse of his eyes, deadly.

But tonight was different.

He seemed even more distant than before, and, dare I say, lonely. And tonight, he actually drank.

If I hadn't glanced up in his direction when one of the customers fell backwards in a drunken state, and my eyes went instead to him, I would have never noticed. I had tried to ignore him, desperately looking forward to midnight so I wouldn't be stuck thinking about his empty, lonely eyes a moment longer. But it is now past the hour of one, and he still sits there, staring down at his hands this time, occasionally sipping his drink.

My immediate thought was to comfort him, like my instincts screamed to do every time I feel if some one is suffering. But every time I feel the urge, I stamp it out, remembering just who he is- or rather, who he wasn't. Who he wasn't, was a man I knew, and at the moment, felt no desire to.

An errant thought entered my head as I thought of how lonely his life must be, since he probably was aware of how many people's skin crawl when they look into his eyes. How many people, like myself, do not want to even be acquaintances with him.

Guiltily, I stamp that train of thought out of my head and focus on my task.

Finally, when my shift ended, I hurried out the door, glad that my gaze had only strayed to him that one time.

The night was brighter than usual. The moon full and bright, allowing me to find the path to my broken home in a small grove of trees about five minutes out of Kyoto.

When I laid down in my shabby futon, my head resting on a bundle of folded clothes as my makeshift pillow, I fell asleep and dreamt.

And when I did, I dreamt of the forbidden warrior, with the eyes of amber flame, staring deep into my own with a sadness so profound that when I awoke the next morning, I found myself crying.