Chapter 37
by Need_More_SleepChapter 37: Goodnight, Fujiwara Yuki
“Do you know what hair-combing symbolizes in Chinese culture?” Shimizu Sakuya asked.
Fujiwara Yuki tapped her chin thoughtfully, long lashes fluttering before answering: “No. Enlighten me.”
“It’s a blessing for lifelong prosperity and carefree happiness.”
Yuki chuckled softly. “Isn’t that already my reality?”
No matter what hidden emotions stirred beneath the surface, they remained imperceptible unless voiced aloud.
So when Sakuya’s combing evoked inexplicable associations, Yuki’s lack of response was only natural.
Sakuya assumed she simply didn’t know the symbolic custom.
The open window admitted a night breeze, its gentle white noise softening the atmosphere.
Starlight, evening winds, and undisturbed tranquility—these were nocturnal luxuries unattainable under the vibrant daytime sun.
As the last strand fell perfectly into place, Sakuya set down the comb. “All done, Master.”
“Mm.” Yuki rose and glided to the bed.
“According to Miss Saito, a personal maid’s nighttime duties include warming the bed, reading aloud, and companionship until sleep. Which would you like tonight?”
Standing attentively, Sakuya awaited instructions.
“Who needs bed-warming in April? What archaic nonsense. We have electric blankets now.” Yuki clicked her tongue, slipping under the goose-white duvet. “Just read something.”
…?
By “night reading,” Sakuya had assumed Yuki would study at her desk while she fetched tea—not immediately nestle into bed.
Propped against pillows with the covers drawn demurely to her chest, Yuki looked at her expectantly.
“How exactly should I proceed?” Sakuya leaned slightly forward.
“Pick any book from the shelves and read until I fall asleep.” Yuki gestured at the surrounding literary fortress.
“Not the evening news?” Sakuya eyed the newspaper stack on the desk.
The future Iron Chancellor who manipulated political factions surely still craved such material. At home, she’d always demanded financial reports be read aloud from her lap—quickly and flawlessly, lest the arms encircling her waist grow… restless.
But Yuki’s reaction shattered these assumptions.
“Ugh, how tedious.” Her face soured instantly. “Find something actually sleep-inducing.”
Wouldn’t tediousness help sleep? Sakuya suppressed a sigh and browsed the eclectic book collection.
The titles grew progressively younger as she scanned—from “One Hundred Years of Solitude” to “Grimms’ Fairy Tales”.
Then, in an otherwise empty nook, an exquisite volume caught her eye.
Isolated like a treasured secret, “The Little Prince” lay with a pressed cherry blossom between its pages.
Sakuya knew this melancholic fable well—its bittersweet romance suited the moment perfectly.
“How about this one?” She held it up beneath Yuki’s scrutinizing gaze.
Yuki had to love this book. Beyond their shared history, the worn edges betrayed frequent rereading.
“Why that one?” Yuki’s frown deepened.
“You’ve revisited it often, haven’t you?”
A rapid blink. A bitten lip. Then, surrendering to some internal debate, Yuki flopped onto her pillows and pulled the covers up.
“Fine. Read it.”
Sakuya switched off the lights, banishing all intruders of the night.
Moonlight sculpted her silhouette as she began by the window.
“‘You see, I was too young then to love her properly. I should have recognized her tenderness behind those little thorns. Flowers are so contradictory…'”
Her voice—clear yet soothing—wove through the stillness like a lullaby.
The Little Prince wasn’t lengthy. Yuki succumbed long before the final chapter.
Sakuya crept closer to confirm.
Steady breathing.
Rhythmic chest movements.
Yet even in sleep, tension gripped Yuki—brow furrowed, fingers clutching the sheets as if clinging to someone’s sleeve.
Bookmarking the page with the pressed blossom, Sakuya gently pried open her clenched hand and tucked the blankets snugly.
“Goodnight, little prince. Goodnight, Fujiwara Yuki.”
The estate never truly slept.
Neither would she—not yet.