It was getting late as Heike walked down one of the many corridors in the prime minister's big and fancy mansion. It was eerily quiet this time of night, and nothing but his own footsteps could be heard, muffled by the sound of the carpet.

As he passed the library, he noticed the door slightly ajar. He didn't think much about it at first, but a slight sound caught his attention. It sounded like a sneeze. The eternally 17-year old man opened the door, and without a sound (not even as he stepped onto the hard wooden floor) he made his way toward the approximate direction of the source of the sound.

Sitting in one of the big windows, curled up with a pile of books by his feet, and a heavy volume of English text in his lap, was the young son of prime minister Fujiwara. Toki was sound asleep, his cheek pressed against the cold glass. The softly falling snow outside was lit up by one of the lamps in the garden, and the room was lit up slightly by the glow of a dying flash light, that had fallen out of Toki's hand and onto the floor as he fell asleep. It seemed like he had been studying, and Heike briefly thought that the child much be so desperate to gain his father's approval. It was too bad that Heike knew such a thing would never happen, but the boy hadn't lived long enough to have learned that yet.

There was no doubt in Heike's mind that the sneeze had come from the blond boy. The slight shiver that tensed his body was enough proof of that. Had none of the servants made sure that he got into bed? Or had he snuck up yet again? Heike held back a chuckle as to not wake the boy, and with hands surprisingly gentle he took Toki in his arms, lifting the tiny body of the child.

He silently moved toward the door, careful not to thrash the boy around as he started down the same corridor he had previously exited. Toki's room wasn't far, and once he reached it, he tucked him in beneath his blankets. He rarely showed Toki kindness; he was his tutor, not his caretaker, but he couldn't very well leave him up to catch a cold. And despite how the child seemed to think Heike hated him, that wasn't true. He did care for him, but he acted on the prime minister's orders, and he had to be strict to make sure that the boy grew up properly. But the coldness he received in this household was occasionally too much to watch. It was too cruel a treatment for such a small child.

He combed his fingers through tangled blonde hair, that was so pale it almost seemed to match his own in the subdued light from the garden. The boy's face tensed, and Heike withdrew his hand. Silently he left the room, leaving no trace of his rare display of kindness behind.

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