Hard Times
one: a song that will linger forever in our ears
i.
The gash in her leg stays angry and red for six days, so inflamed and painful that she can't even walk.
Kyoto is ten days away, but it takes her longer. For Misao, a ten day's walk is a two-week limp. She stays just barely in sight of the main roads, never near enough to become a target, but never far enough to get lost.
For once, she doesn't feel like having to teach trash how to eat road dust.
For once, she just wants to be home.
ii.
The cut looks a little better by the time Kyoto comes into view. She's pretty sure it'll leave a scar, but it's not like her shorts show that much of her thighs, anyway.
She circles around Kyoto and enters the city from the side opposite the Aoi-ya. It gives her time to get a bath amongst strangers only, gives her time to stow the ripped and bloodied remnants of her uniform at the bottom of her bag.
She'll decide what to do with the uniform later.
iii.
Okina pulls her into an armpit hug of doom and noogies her until she plants her foot and levers his elbow up, then squeezes her way out of his grip.
"You've been sweating a ton, Jiya! Did the heat spell reach this far north?"
"So my little Misao has been to the ocean," he says, with a fond glint in his eye.
iv.
She keeps her cool until later that night, when she recalls the smell of somebody else's sweat, the grip of somebody else's hands -
She throws up again.
And hates herself, a little, for letting that memory follow her here. For letting that memory color the way she sees Jiya for even a second.
It's not until she's rinsed the taste from her mouth, listening to the usual night sounds of Kyoto, that she feels dirty for the first time.
v.
The truth is: Misao knows it's not her fault. What that filth did is his own fault. And she'd shout it from the rooftops if that would stop the concerned glances Omasu and Okon send her way.
The truth is: Misao can't stop thinking, "If I..."
vi.
Omasu and Okon make a good show of ignoring the brand new cut on her thigh, even though it's angry and red and on the wrong side. Even though Omasu pulls the bandages off and cleans it again, then covers it in salve from a tiny, tiny jar and wraps it up neatly.
Okon says nothing at all, as if she wasn't holding Misao's hand the whole time, as if the cut wasn't even there, or maybe was on a side that didn't mean -
vii.
Her first night home, she lays out her futon herself. But when she crawls into it, she can't sleep.
She tells herself it's because she misses the sound of wind and grass, of cicadas, of night-flying birds.
viii.
The scar always looks hazy and strange underneath the bath water. She soaks for a while, lets the way Okon and Omasu chatter about other families drift over her.
Even when they're looking at her, they never look at the scar. Okon treats it like it doesn't exist at all. Omasu treats it like it's just another battle scar. Like it doesn't mean -
She jerks her gaze away from her scar, hears the words fall out of her mouth: "He was sweaty."
They fall silent
"The guy who cut me," she says.
Omasu's expression turns tender and sad. Her eyes water for a minute. She opens her mouth to speak, but in the end, she closes her mouth and says nothing.
She wishes Omasu hadn't stopped.
A little part of her thinks that maybe, just maybe, if they could find the right words, that would fix it.
As if healing were that easy.
ix.
Nights blur into mornings and mornings into nights, one after another, until it's been weeks. An autumn of frosts and cold snaps turns to winter.
Misao turns fifteen.
Shiro slings an arm around her shoulder, squeezes once as he chuckles. "Misao-chan is growing up now! Soon she'll be old enough to be married and leave us all behind."
Kuro looks up from the fish he's skewering. The grin that cuts through his stubble-shadow is wide, a little lopsided. "Misao-chan isn't going to leave us just yet though, is she?"
Shiro presses his hands to his chest in mock horror. "You mean you want Misao-chan to have to stay with us forever and become a lonely old woman in a ryokan full of cats and other people's children?"
"I'll find Aoshi-sama before that ever happens," Misao says, loudly enough to drown out memories of You're not leaving so soon, are you?
Kuro's smile turns gentle. His mouth goes soft and little lines crease around his eyes as he says, "That's right. You'll find Aoshi-san and bring him home, and Hannya-san and Okina will talk sense into him."
The sharp grin that glinted in the dark, just like the knife in his hand, finally returns to the foggy garden where it belongs.
x.
Winter turns to spring, and Misao sets out again. Omasu looks like she wants to say something, like she wants to object, but Okon puts a hand on her shoulder.
"You'll be fine," Okon says.
Misao takes in a breath, feels herself shiver a little, before she smiles.
The spring sunlight's warm on her back. Okina's smiling at her like he's proud of her. Her family loves her, and she still loves herself. Nobody can take that from her.
Okon's right.
She's going to be fine.