His eyes were like mist.
The teacup felt too hot, and Takaba Akihito's hands burnt. Light filtered through the bamboo doors. Koi played in the pond, like his mother's blood and hair. And the tatami felt a tad bit too smooth under his feet. He gulped a ball down his throat.
"You're leaving."
The man spoke sure, steady and like an arrow to his side. The man had hair resembling black water, tied in an intricate style (one that he would completely mess up of were him tying it) onyx black robes caked him in much formal an appearance.
And then, Takaba could not speak, even after the ball has been swallowed and disposed of. But he had to. He had to. No one but his grandfather had the ability to ignore a statement from the head of his family.
"..."
Abnormal golden eyes scanned him, and Takaba was a test subject of a mad doctor. Ready and ripe to be cut open bloody.
"For something as troublesome as Ronin hunters."
He spit like it was a word that shouldn't exist, and Takaba discreetly clutched at his clothes, desperate for his brain to dammit work. With something. Something at all, he had to speak now.
.
For what?
.
For what does he have to retaliate?
This is a perfectly normal situation. A one where the elder brother scolded his youngest. It was normal, yet it was not. Perhaps, Takaba wanted to clear the situation, but he couldn't clear the fog in his eyes.
"I.. I am to join Shinsengumi." It wasn't just a 'Ronin hunter' group.
Asami Ryuichi doesn't speak for a moment.
"You have no need.
...Just stay and complete your studies."
Stay for what? Takaba wanted to say. Stay to see you canoodling your wife? Stay so I can be ripped apart and see my blood on shaved snow? Stay so you can use me, again?
"I've already decided."
His fake brother (the mere ring of it tasted tart on his tongue) darted in on him, a snake stare between stone and ruby.
"You are yet a child. You don't understand-"
.
"What don't I understand? Your pride or my wellbeing?"
Cloth whispered. His respondent moved closer to him. And Takaba couldn't see the light. Asami's face was so close to his.
"Neither."
Takaba remembered. He still remembered their first meet. A time where plum blossoms and Ume stung at his nose. A time when they weren't blemished by air. A time where he had not to care for his scratched (from the big fat cat) face. (Or the poisonous ambrosia called "saving face.") But that didn't spare him of the sizzling glances the neighbours gave him. For his mother intruded on a married man's home. A de-facto concubine of sorts. (The reason? Takaba wasn't entirely certain. Some say: his mother was saved-the damsel in distress-by his would be father, from her abusive husband. But, again, that was in question. And Takaba wasn't curious.)
And the line was drawn by fact; his mother had never came around to marrying lord Asami.
Takaba recalled the way his mother smiled at him, urging him to converse with his elder. But he, was a stubborn one. He tightened his hold on his mother's kimono, hiding behind the secure, giant wall. His elder, Asami Ryuichi, by a decade-stared blackly at him, as if he couldn't decipher wether Takaba was human or not.
But during the evening meal, he held his elder's hand, and did not let go.
He was quite a fool, really. He never considered that the older one was the young master of the house, the favoured one. Nor he fathomed the consequences. He didn't even think about all the people he was hindering from getting an audience with his elder.
Thus, following Asami Ryuichi around wasn't exactly the greatest idea in the planet. For his followers (maybe a week later since he arrived) 'confronted' him to a daily voyage to the candy store.
Fair enough. It was his fault he even tried sticking around with dangerous people.
He, now still, dreamt of darkened alley corners, the strange dampness between his fingers and the burn of his scalp as his head wasn't pulled by hair. He didn't cry, recalled that much. He'd grit his teeth and clawed against burly and disgustingly hairy arms. But no avail, they were too big; too strong for his shrimpy arms. They smacked him and slapped him across the street.
Before he felt the cold of smooth fingers shielding him.
He cascaded down the rough wall behind him, creating a sure unsightly gash that mother would shriek and prod at. Takaba's heart pounded in his ears, his belly churned as he heard-but not seen-the shouts and cries of bullies.
It was a long, long time, filed with bile gliding up his throat and his head suspending in a buzz. Thud. He saw a pair of feet in front of him. Quite a feat, considering his squinted eyes.
"Hey." A gruff voice, the kind of voice that signalled that one doesn't speak very much. "You, look at me."
Takaba didn't comply.
"If you don't look at me; I'll rape you."
What- what was this guy on at? Takaba sniffled and complied, his face caked in bruises and salty-sweat.
"T-thank you..."
"...Let's just go home." Asami held out a hand.
He stood, veiled with cherry petals. Light carved the jade of Asami's skin, and if this wasn't their first meeting-Takaba would lie and say, that it was.
For I've never seen something so beautiful.
.
Takaba can remember following Asami twice as much. In the gardens, in studies, in his room (and even to the bathroom!) His mother said nothing, she would only look at him and slightly smile as she shook her head. As if she was pitying him. Why, why that was the case he hadn't yet come to note.
Three a year later, Takaba Akihito was a name that everyone knew in town. A name associated with "puppy dog." Puppy-dog-Aki, to be exact. Takaba wasn't too embarrassed. Considering he tagged behind the most intimidating beast of the town. Plus, Asami Ryuichi didn't seem to mind. It was nice. He felt privileged, having something that most pining girls didn't have.
Rarely, Asami would let him climb on his shoulders. Letting him touch his smooth hair and snow would whisper disconnected things like, "faraway." "Never," "together."
But it all came to a halt when his father arranged for a more strict routine for education. ("The boy is becoming an adult." He said.) After that, days when he didn't even have a glimpse of Asami came all too often. And when Takaba had a day off, he would sit in Asami's bed-chamber. Waiting and hazy with sleep, only to find out that said brother had journeyed for some work with father, in some remote place. (He didn't want to think about how he would whimper in a dark corner after that.)
First, a day. Three days. Four. Adding to a week. And before he knew it, he hadn't seen Asami's face for a whole month.
In Takaba's stupor, he didn't note how his mothers collarbones were a tad bit sharper, how his mother looked paler day by day or how she would hack like the thunder.
His mother died two days before Tenjin Matsuri.
Takaba found her in her bed. Blood riveting down her mouth, eyes wide and... and-
Her hand clutched a hairpin.
One that his fake father gave her.
.
He was in water. Deep inside water without a way to breath. And darkness is strangling his thin-thin neck.
.
His mouth burnt. He fought tears with a grimace, as the strange people carried his mother's body away. He picked at the skin around his nails. It hurt. But it hurt less than his head.
He thought he glimpsed Asami in the crowd.
But he didn't feel like getting up from the mire.
.
That evening, he beat up a (suspiciously sick looking) boy on the way home.
He was found out.
But he wasn't scolded by any of family.
.
The next morning, he chucked a scroll at his teacher. For no reason other than the sake of hitting him.
He must've hit too hard, for the old man's forehead let out a patch of scarlet paint.
As a result, he was slapped by Asami's mother.
.
Takaba retched. It only matters if I hit someone of high class, right!
.
July 25th, 1862.
Takaba awoke to the sound of the rhythmic hand clapping and ear-bursting taiko drums. The room was dark. He snorted. He'd slept the whole day, it no one woke him.
Perhaps he could tip that as his blessing. He didn't want to confront that bitch today.
Then—
A pebble landed on his nape, through a hole in the paper door.
.
There was crowd by the riverside. People swayed delicate fans to their ruddy faces. Women squealed at the various food stalls.
Some boats held giant lanterns, some were flat stages for noh and bunraku performances, and some thin rowboats that were propelled up and down the river by a group of young men. Some lit enormous oil fires along the deck. Beautiful, Takaba stared, like a dance and song of icy fire. They licked at air, climbing up. To, what seemed to be, an unreachable dream.
Takaba could remember himself, glancing around with childish amusement. The night sky was clear, the wind caressed an icy path down his filmy yukata. His fingers would brush against Asami's.
Asami... Takaba sneered. Asami looked like a prince. Cut from marbles and silk. His hair, which was rarely untied, flowed down his wide chest. (He remembered girls murmuring how they would like to lean on it.)
Sometimes, their hands would brush. Fleeting, warm, haunting. And Takaba's heart would jolt. It's been so long since he's been touched by him.
"Akihito," Asami looked at him with liquid eyes, "let's touch the stars."
And they did.
They ran around heated crowds, touched by wind, lungs threatening to break apart. Light of lanterns patted their backs. And they gazed, with awe, at the soaring sky-flowers humans call fireworks. They were children once more.
The night is hot, the candied apple he ate burnt at his tongue, and pond water lapped at his feet. Wind ruffled the leaves, and stars praised the world.
At that moment:
Asami tightened his hold on Takaba's hand.
Takaba's sight blurred. His eyes burnt.
instead, he laughed like stone.
.
It would've been nice if tears were coloured.
Takaba bit down on his lips. Bad idea. He could taste iron on his tongue.
"Are you alright?" Asami whispered.
Red tears, for anger. Blue tears, for sadness. Green tears, for frustration. And the classic clear ones, for happiness. Then, people could, very well, discern why one was crying.
Asami thrust in, again.
Takaba's head banged against the ground. His abdomen hurt with unreleased tension.
"W-ah.." He groaned.
He felt sweat slide down his neck and he scraped his nails down Asami's naked chest. Leaving trails of red-ribbons. Takaba wasn't exactly aware of the pain he might've caused Asami, his head was in chaos.
He was kissed. Sloppy and saliva ridden, but he was kissed.
Asami moaned into his mouth, as Takaba tightened around him.
They loved it. They lived it.
But they won't say they did it.
.
Goodness always comes to a dead end.
And along with it, gone was Takaba's smooth and warm storm.
.
Loving is willingly taking poison.
Takaba whimpered into the pillow.
Loving is a lone cherry blossom in koi pond.
"I had to agree to the proposal. Try to understand."
Loving is a mistake.
"You lied that it would last. You.. You used me-!"
He lied. He lied that it would go on forever.
A jewel of a second.
Asami started to speak, "No... I lo-" but he didn't finish, and Takaba couldn't hear him through his fogged mind.
"I'm sorry."
He left.
.
It's a day after his marriage to the eldest of Kamakura. Kamakura Ai.. Aiko... or maybe Airi—something along those lines. With that connection, the name, Asami Ryuichi is on the way to becoming the more powerful one, Asami frowned, scribbling on stark white rice paper.
He knew she waited. She waited for him to come to the bridal chamber. Consummate the marriage, or some shit like that. He didn't go to her. And he would have to clear off everything to that woman. At the thought, Asami wanted to barf.
That night... he was too busy pacing around Takaba's chamber. Waiting for him to open the door to him with an adorable sheepish smile like always. But he didn't.
The boy didn't even take breakfast.
Asami's impeccable calligraphy went out of line.
Akihito would be fine, he assured himself. He always was. He cannot be angry with him for long, he would eventually have to understand Asami's situation.
He would. He surely would.
He didn't. Years passed like falling blossoms, Asami was left waiting. He didn't want to give himself away. Takaba had to be the own making the first move, for he as the one at wrong. He needed to understand the situation. (And he would, not now, perhaps. But someday.)
What came now.. He doesn't want. But he can't stop it. It's too late.
I'm the world. Falling apart and chipping away.
And I'm the stars that's letting it happen.
"You're really leaving." Takaba didn't look up at him; he continued to pack his necessities.
"They say Shinsengumi is preparing to leave. Perhaps they have already left."
"Then I will go to Kyoto."
"..." Asami didn't say anything for a moment. "Fine then. Leave."
He left like wind.
Just like two years ago, Takaba grimaced.
.
Shinsengumi headquarters weren't bad. Not terribly so.
Unless you counted the number of times someone hit you with their elbows in sleep, the number of times someone (Namely; Okita Sōji, first division captain) put in too much salt and spice into food, the times when the locals glare at you for saving their homes, or the number of times you get almost killed by Ronin. (These were the times Takaba was glad he'd at least known basic Kenjutsu.)
At least—he had a companion, (of sorts.) Ryu Feilon. How could he be explained by simple humanistic terms, Takaba had not a clue. They ate together during dinner, trained together when Inoue-san came for waking, slept in the same room, and were in the same ranks. But they never spoke. And Takaba wasn't out to look for friendship either.
(Rumours say, Ryu Feilon ran away from a prestigious family of assassins, if his looks were anything to go by. Perhaps.. Takaba sighed, they were slightly on the same boat?)
.
The flashy uniform felt too thin against the cold. Even the heavy headgear was a prison. Takaba's teeth chattered. Others were already patrolling ahead of him. But Feilon... Takaba clutched at his uniform, he looked pale and sick this morning.
"Here." Ryu Feilon, the fey siren, stood silent behind him as Takaba offered him a coat. A coat with red flowers and golden birds.
"I have it in case of emergency."
Feilon's eyes glittered.
Oh... Takaba stared, his eyes are Asami's.
"Thanks."
.
Nights later, they would sit side by side talking of life. (For talking about life, is what life is.) Sake wasn't their companion for most of them. And Takaba was glad. He wouldn't be able to focus! He wagered he would've been dreaming of golden eyes and black claws, if he did.
"You're beautiful."
Takaba's sensed the ice of Feilon's hand.
Feilon only scoffed and swatted him away.
"Such an ass-licker."
Takaba dared to hold his hand again. Shooting (what he thought was) a bright smile.
"Perhaps even more so than Hijikata-Shi."
This time, Feilon didn't swat it away.
"You're such a.." He didn't speak more.
Takaba stared at stars. Splinters pervaded his heart and filled his eyes.
This was the same sky he'd once watched with Asami.