New Home

"Please, Kurenai-san. You can call me Ryomaru. No need for honorifics." Ryomaru's words, spoken with a relaxed confidence, drew a small smile from the older woman.

Kurenai returned the smile, her brown eyes glinting with amusement, "Then you shall call me Kurenai-nee-chan."

Ryomaru nodded, "Alright, Kurenai-nee-chan."

Turning her attention to the accommodations, Kurenai's smile faded slightly. "I apologize for the inconvenience. We were informed there would be only one occupant. Hence, the house was prepared with a single bedroom." She gestured towards the house, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the tastefully crafted wooden facade. "We can arrange for another temporary house until another bedroom can be set up, if that would be more comfortable?"

Miori, who had been quietly observing the exchange, shook her head. "No need for that, Kurenai-san," she said, her voice soft yet assertive. She looked at Ryomaru, her ice-blue eyes filled with affection. "We can share the room. The bed seems plenty big for the both of us."

There was an unspoken understanding between them. Ryomaru was always a source of comfort for Miori, a beacon of light in her life fraught with challenges. Often, she found solace in his presence, his reassuring company banishing the shadows of her troubled past. And for Ryomaru, Miori was the embodiment of love and warmth, her nurturing presence a sanctuary amidst his tumultuous existence.

Ryomaru readily agreed. "Yes, Mum. That would be fine."

Kurenai nodded in acceptance, the hint of a smile once again gracing her face. "Very well. I hope you find the house to your liking. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask. Anko and I will be at your service."

The remainder of the evening was spent settling in. The house, despite its single bedroom, was spacious and comfortable. The living room, adorned with traditional Japanese artwork, exuded a calming ambiance. And the kitchen was well-equipped, an open invitation for Miori's culinary skills.

As they moved to the bedroom, Ryomaru was impressed by the minimalistic design. The centerpiece, a large, cozy twin bed, was positioned against the wall under a large window. Through it, the twinkling stars of the night sky and the soft glow of the village were visible. A wooden chest of drawers sat against the opposite wall, providing ample storage for their clothes and personal items.

The bed was big enough for both of them, just as Miori had noted earlier. Its soft pillows and fluffy blankets seemed to promise a good night's sleep. There was a comforting familiarity in sharing a bed with his mother. It reminded him of their nights in the Cloud Village, where the world outside didn't seem to matter, their shared warmth a cocoon against the harsh realities of life.

Miori pressed her head gently against Ryomaru's hair, her arms encircling him in a comforting hug from behind. Her body was warm against his back, a welcomed embrace after the long journey. "Let's get cleaned up, Ryo," she suggested softly, her voice carrying the hint of a tender laugh. "We've been on the road for far too long."

Ryomaru nodded in agreement, then hesitated, his azure eyes filled with a sense of uncertainty. Miori immediately picked up on his hesitation, her motherly instincts tuned to his every mood. "What is it, Ryo?" she asked gently, her hand brushing through his jet-black hair.

Ryomaru's eyes met hers, his gaze steady, "Can we bathe together, Mum?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Despite his ease in communicating, certain topics still left him feeling somewhat awkward, but he could always talk to his mother about anything. Miori was his pillar, his sanctuary.

The request brought a soft giggle from Miori, her pale blue eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head. She took his hand in hers and began to lead him towards the bathroom, their footsteps echoing lightly against the wooden floor.

As they stepped into the bathroom, Ryomaru was taken by its traditional charm. The room was large and spacious, with a sunken tub filled with clear water on one side and a wooden stool near the showerhead on the other. The scent of fresh cedar wood hung lightly in the air, mixing with the steam to create a serene atmosphere.

Miori took a moment to prepare everything, pouring some of their travel-sized bath oils into the water, which quickly began to give off a relaxing, floral scent. Ryomaru watched his mother with a sense of gratitude. Her strength, her calmness, and her love made everything so much easier.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up," Miori said, gesturing towards the stool. Her eyes were warm, reflecting the gentle care she had for her son.

As Ryomaru took his seat, Miori filled a small bucket with warm water. He watched her movements, his mind at ease as the warm water cascaded over him. The journey's dirt and sweat washed away, leaving him feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

They continued this way for some time, a comfortable silence between them as Miori focused on washing his hair. Ryomaru could feel the tension from the day's events slowly seeping away, replaced with a sense of tranquility that only his mother could provide.

Once he was cleaned up, he looked at his mother, his azure eyes reflecting the soft warmth of the room. "Let me wash you, Mum," he said. Miori, wearing a cloth wrap that covered her modestly, hesitated only for a moment before she nodded, giving him a grateful smile.

He reached for the shampoo, his hands steady as he lathered it between his fingers. The floral scent filled the air, soothing and familiar. Standing behind Miori, he began working the soap into her hair. Her hair was silky and long, the shade of silver that always reminded him of moonlight.

His touch was gentle, the way he'd seen her do it a hundred times before. He kneaded her scalp, washing away the dust and strain of their journey. His actions were measured, respectful - a quiet testament to the bond between them. Miori closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, a sigh of contentment slipping past her lips.

Once he finished with her hair, Ryomaru proceeded to wash her feet. He carefully lifted one foot at a time, washing it gently with a cloth soaked in warm water. There was something inherently humbling about the act, a silent symbol of respect and care that deepened the bond between them.

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