Aoshi replied stiffly, "I didn't look at that as sugar-coating."

Misao pulled herself closer and lay her cheek against his shirt, relaxing slightly. "That's why it's so comforting to hear it. Just because only you would say it like that."

Aoshi was silent for a while. After a long time he said quietly, "I'm worried."

"Mmm?" Misao replied, not nearly so concerned now that she had her Aoshi-sama. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his chest for a moment just to feel the warmth of his skin under his clothes.

"I know that if it came down to a fight he would win," Aoshi murmured.

"Oh?"

"I remember a red-haired man. Don't ask me why he has red hair, 'cause it's Japan and it's not even the 20^th century, but he's got red hair, violet eyes and a scar on his cheek. When I think of him I see red. The color of his hair, the color of his shirt, the color of blood... But this man is fighting a tall man with white hair, that's got to be Yukishiro, I mean, how many men with white hair are wandering around Japan back then? But he's fighting with the man with red hair. And I remember a beach. But he won then... I don't understand that, but I remember another time, at night, seeing a shrine for somebody and thinking 'How could he loose? He was the strongest!'

"Isn't that strange, Misao?" he finished, tipping his head to look down at Misao. Her eyes were shut loosely and her mouth was open a little. Though Aoshi didn't smile, his features definitely relaxed and he let out a small sigh as he rested his head on top of Misao's.

"I wish I had your confidence," he whispered as he drifted off to sleep, Misao's scent in his breath and her heartbeat under his ear.

It seemed he was wakened only a moment later by a shout of surprise, followed by Misao's sudden dissapearence from under his head. Still groggy from sleep he collapsed over on the couch limply and tried to pull his wits together.

Through a haze of dreams he saw Misao standing in her stockinged feet in front of a tall, skinny old man with a cane that he didn't really seem to need. He was standing straight and tall in the genkan, one shoe still on his foot, waving his cane over his head fiercely. Aoshi heard Misao shouting at him and heard the man's angery yells.

"Jiya, he's just a friend of mine!"

"Friend!?"

"Yes, Jiya! He came over to ask me a question and we were sitting on the couch and I fell asleep! That's all!"

"You can't pull the wool over my eyes that easily, Misao-chan!"

Aoshi mumbled something and shook his bangs out of his face. "Really, sir, that's what happened. I didn't have to heart to wake her, and I must have fallen alseep as well."

The old man immediately stopped waving his cane and held it raised above his head with a look of shock on his face. Aoshi immdeiately recognized this man that could only be Misao's grandfather. It was the white-haired man from the picture in his house, only a little more spry. His beard was a tiny bit shorter and didn't have a bow in it, but the keen eyes glinting under the thick eyebrows were the same.

"See, Jiya!" Misao said with a huff, crossing her arms.

The old man slowly put his cane down and regarded Aoshi slyly for a moment before shrugging and walking towards the kitchen.

"Oh well. There are worse boys to bring home as a boyfriend," he grumped. He didn't see Misao and Aoshi blush a startling shade of red, exchange looks and look away sharply again.

"Aaugh! Look!" Misao cried in horror. "Look!"

"What!?" her grandfather asked, bewildered.

"Your shoes! I swear, old man, you're going senile!" Aoshi nearly laughed to see the old, wise-looking man being berated by a short, skrawny 15-year-old girl with cropped hair and bitten fingernails.

"Eeek! Don't walk on the floor! Take it off take it off take it off!!"

"Stop shrieking, you little idiot!" The old man leaned against the doorway to the kitchen and pulled his other shoe off with a grunt. Misao held out her hand for the shoe but he ignored the unspoken command. Instead he held the shoe as though it were a basketball, cocked his wrist and tossed it deftly through the air. It landed with a thump next to the other shoe.

"Ooh, good shot," Misao said.

"Introduce me," he replied, jerking his chin at Aoshi who was just standing up.

Misao paused nervously for a second, gulped and said, "Jiya, this is my friend, upper-classmen Shinomori Aoshi. Shinomori-kun," she continued, turning to Aoshi, "this is my grandfather, Kashiwazaki Nenji."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Aoshi murmured politely as he bowed. The old man snorted.

"You don't need to do that with me. My own granddaughter gives me less respect." Misao glared at him in mock anger. "You can call me Okina. Everybody does."