Notes:  Beware of sap, beware of shounen ai.  ...and huuuuge thanks to Mouse-chan, who gave me so much help with the last part!! ^____^.

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The Man Beneath the Braid - 11

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~*~

He'd intended, upon slipping free of the covers and starting for the door, to actually leave the room, reclaim his sense and his responsibilities, and face his advisers' rage.  As he reached for the knob, however, he remembered the journal--Nuriko's journal--that still sat open on the bedside table, and stopped.

I can't just leave it there.  He'll know that I...that I looked at it.

Letting a soft breath seep from his lips, the young emperor crossed to the table, warm sleeping robes tickling against his ankles, long chestnut hair flooding down over his shoulders.  He paused, as he moved, to return Nuriko's bed to some semblance of order--he smoothed the blankets and tucked them beneath the mattress, then did his best to return the pillows to something resembling their original shape--and then, after lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, he drew the journal up into his hands and held it. 

It was on the bureau.  I should return it, and then get back to my duties as quickly as possible.  I doubt anyone is terribly pleased with my behavior this morning...

And yet, something held him there, made it nearly impossible for him to simply rise to his feet, walk to the bureau, and set the journal down on top of it.  It should've been easy, a moment's endeavor, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to find the strength to stand, or the will to let the small, leather-bound journal drop from his fingers.  His flesh had warmed the soft, malleable cover in the few moments he'd been holding it, giving him the impression that it was a living thing he held between his fingers, something warm and alive...

Something that could be hurt.  Something that could stare up at him with eyes completely devoid of any malice or accusation, and smile through the pain just for his benefit.  Something that could endure so much without complaint, and still laugh and smile like nothing had ever gone wrong at all.  Something that could love so amazingly, beautifully deeply...

Something that could love him.

His fingers trembled as he pulled open the front cover; the thin paper rippled beneath his touch as he smoothed out the first page, and as he settled in to read, it was with the knowledge that his heart was thudding rapidly in his chest, his breath coming so softly that it seemed almost not to be coming at all.

---

Entry One.

Morning.

I've known for a long time, I guess, that I'm not like other people.  I mean, let's face it; a normal person wouldn't dress up like his dead sister, join the imperial harem, and then end up falling in love with the emperor, ne?  Thinking that I could bring Kourin back like this was my first mistake.  Letting myself believe that maybe, because I look like a woman, I can be loved as a woman, was my second.

It's been three years, and he hasn't even noticed me.  I realize how whiny that sounds, but I just don't understand how he can't feel it.  From the first moment I saw him, all those years ago when he saved Kourin and I outside the gates, I've known that there was something special about him, but I've lived here around him for long enough now to know that there's something special about him.  He's so...so good.  And kind.  Being near him...  I can't explain it.  I know it's wrong of me, to even try to win his affections when I know nothing can ever come of it, but I can't help it!  I just want to be near him.  I don't care what I am to him, I think, just as long as I'm nearby... 

He seems so lonely.  And sad.  I've heard rumors that the reason he doesn't spend time in the Harem is because he's waiting for Suzaku no Miko, but what if...well, what if the reason he avoids the Harem, is because...well, because he's like me?  What if the reason he hasn't taken an empress yet is because he...doesn't like women? 

Great Suzaku, listen to me.  Calling the emperor of Konan an okama!  They'd execute me on the spot if anyone ever read this.  And talk about wishful thinking...

But...still.  I can't help but hope that maybe--maybe maybe maybe!--when Suzaku no Miko does come, it will give me more chance to be near him, and as something more than just another Harem girl.  Maybe as a friend...  Gah, look at me.  I'm smiling just thinking about it. 

I'm such an idiot sometimes.

---

He read it all, one neatly-scribed, tentatively-hopeful entry after another, and it wasn't until he felt the coolness of moisture on his cheeks that he realized he was crying.  Startled, he let the journal drop into his lap and brought a hand to his cheek, touched the tears as if doubting their reality.  They were real, however, just as the painful, clenching sensation in his heart was real, and just as the deep and desperate urge to go to Nuriko, draw him into his arms and hold him tightly until all the heartless, evil people who wanted to hurt him left forever...was real.

He had endured so much.  Once that guard--Arin--had found out about him, although he'd never tried again to take Nuriko's life, he'd spread the word to a few of his friends, and those friends had apparently been less than pleased to hear of a man hiding among the innocent maidens of the Harem.  Electing to take matters into their own hands, they had cornered Nuriko one night when he was out for a walk, and would've overpowered him if not for his seishi strength and a conveniently-placed rock.  As it was, they'd left a nasty bruise on his wrist, and one of their knives had sliced though his thigh, leaving a thick gash that Nuriko mentioned, later on in the journal, had provided his first--but, he thought darkly, not last--scar. 

Then, after his own careless words had exposed Nuriko to the rest of the Court, the small seishi had endured insults, rotten fruit being thrown at him, dirt being kicked at him, women spitting on him, men threatening him...  The entries spoke of several attempts to injure or kill him, many of which occurred even after the truth of his status as a Suzaku shichiseishi was uncovered, and one of the last entries, astonishingly, told of a man who had actually broken into the eighteen-year-old's chambers and, while he slept, attempted to slit his throat.  That particular entry chilled Hotohori to the bone, nearly as much as did the level of hatred these people seemed to have for a person who had, during the short time they'd known each other, shown him nothing but kindness, compassion, and love.

Why do they hate him so much?  What is it about Nuriko that scares them so desperately that they would be willing to commit murder to rid themselves of him?  I just don't understand.  Great Suzaku, these are my people, my subjects, my Court!  What have I done so deeply wrong, that they could behave so terribly and not be punished for it?  What have I done wrong that they could think that this was what I wanted?

The tears had been a surprise, trickling down over his cheeks before he realized them.  The sobs, however, rising raggedly from his throat, came with plenty of warning; in a desperate, habitual attempt to avoid his grief being overheard, Hotohori pressed both hands to his face and held them there, breathing deeply to try to push away the tears.  They came anyway, though, and despite the fact that the presence of his hands somewhat muffled the sobs, he couldn't help the thick, gaspy breaths that followed each choked and silent sob.

~*~

"Nuriko-san."

The small seishi paused, gripping the walkway railing to support himself, and managed to twist to look at the adviser.  "Hai, Jokuko-san?"

The older man was standing a few feet behind him, hands clasped respectfully in front of him, dark robes sweeping against his ankles in a warm afternoon breeze.  He looked, Nuriko thought, very tired and very old.  "Perhaps you should return to Heika-sama's quarters.  To--"  His eyes drifted to the wooden floor beneath them.  "To rest, so your injuries might heal more quickly."

Nuriko felt his eyes widen, but fought the reaction.  "Iie," he said instead, trying to make his voice sound as firm and strong as Hotohori's.  "We have to find him."

Jokuko stared at him for a moment, studying him with narrowed eyes, and then the older man took a few shuffling steps forward, placed his arm around Nuriko's shoulders, and pulled him carefully away from the banister.  "Nuriko-san," Jokuko said quietly, "I appreciate all that you've done, to help us find Saihitei.  But, it has been several hours, and although your insight has been helpful, we may have to admit that he is gone, and simply await his return."

The small seishi shook his head, sending strands of silken violet hair whispering against his cheeks.  "Hotohori-sama wouldn't run away," he whispered fervently.  "I know he wouldn't.  So, he must be around here s--"  Abruptly, he broke off, eyes going wide, lips falling limply apart.  "Do you...do you hear that...?"

Not waiting for an answer, Nuriko broke free of the older man's grip and, gripping his side and wincing, managed to hobble over to the nearby door and lean against it.  They had passed it at least three times over the past few hours, dismissing it as they did the majority of the other unlikely hiding places for the missing emperor, but now that Nuriko stood here, the soft, almost-inaudible sound of sobbing ringing in his ears, he couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of checking here before.

I was in his room...so, he went to mine.  But, why is he still here? And why is he--?

Jokuko's eyes were wide.  "I don't hear a--"  He broke off, studying the younger man with narrowed eyes.  "Is he in there, Nuriko-san?" he breathed.

Jaw clenching, Nuriko turned to face the adviser and, biting down on his lower lip to combat the pain in his side, which had been burning painfully for about twenty minutes now, gave him a pleading look.  "Hai," he said, "but let me...let me go in alone.  Please.  I...I know you don't like me much, but Hotohori-sama...  There's something wrong, Jokuko-san, and I think...I-I mean, I don't know if he...if he would want--"

The grey-haired man held up a stopping hand; his next words were soft enough to be barely audible, but Nuriko heard every word.  "I love him, Nuriko," Jokuko said quietly.  "I love him as a son as well as an emperor, and I want only what is best for him.  Do you know what it would do to this country, if it were to become known that he were in love with a man?"

It seemed, for a moment, as if all breath had slipped free of his lungs.  "H-He's not--" he began, but Jokuko cut him off again.

"They would lose respect for him, and perhaps think him too weak to run this country in such dire times as these.  There would be attempts on his life and on his throne such as there have never been before.  Some of them might even come from within the Court, from the very guards sworn to protect him!  No matter what your intentions, Nuriko, I want you to think of that when you go in there and speak with him.  I want you to think of that with each word he speaks and each breath he takes.  And I want you to remember what is more important, your own happiness, or that of Heika-sama and the entire nation.  Now," the man concluded, waving a weary hand at the door, "go.  Be with the one that you love.  But I swear to you, Nuriko, that if you bring harm to him in any way, regardless of how it comes to him or who is the direct cause of it, I will have you executed."

~*~

The click of the knob turning was so quiet that he almost didn't hear it, but there was no mistaking the swish of the door swinging open, or the rustle of footsteps on the carpet.  He knew, of course, that this meant that it was time to stop crying, gather the remaining shreds of his dignity, and hurry along to what remained of his morning audience session, but...for some reason, he just couldn't stop.  He tried.  He breathed thickly through his clogged nose, trying to still the quavering sobs trembling through his throat; he thought of things that usually made him happy--Miaka, his own sparkling reflection in the mirror--but none of it seemed to help.  The tears--despite how often he'd turned them away in the past--refused to be stilled, and so even though he knew now that he was no longer alone, he could do nothing but press his hands more closely to his face, and let the tears come.

It was no longer just for Nuriko that he cried.  It was for Nuriko, for all the heartache and undeserved hatred that he had--and would have--to suffer through, but it was also, he was beginning to understand, for himself that he cried.  And, he thought dimly, perhaps for the lonely little boy who had been forced to watch life passing by through the glass of a window, whose only joy had been found in dreaming of Suzaku no Miko, of the girl who would come to him one day, love him for who he was, free him of the gilded prison that kept him bound to this throne, this crown, this lonely world...

"H...Hotohori-sama?"  The voice was so small, so hesitant, that he almost didn't recognize it.  "Hotohori-sama, are you...are you all right?"

It was Nuriko.  He had known, somehow, that it would be, but even that realization did nothing to quell the grief within him. 

I can't...seem to stop crying.  Why can't I stop? 

After a moment, he felt the weight of Nuriko lowering himself onto the mattress beside him, and then--following a long pause, in which there was no sound but the far-off twitter of birds and the harsh, ragged sound of his own breathing--there was suddenly a warmth against his shoulders and arm.  Startled, Hotohori drew the hands back from his face, thinking that he must look terrible with his puffy, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and turned towards Nuriko.  He found the older man sitting there beside him, still clad in the satiny blue robe he'd given him, and the violet-haired seishi had stretched one arm around the emperor's broad shoulders, letting his cheek fall gently against the other man's arm.

He's...he's trying to comfort me, isn't he?  And... He shook his head in amazement.  And it's working, somehow, isn't it?

They sat like that for a few minutes, Nuriko hugging him tightly, Hotohori staring down at the other man as the grief melted steadily from his heart.  And then, just as his tense shoulders were relaxing, the warmth of Nuriko's touch driving all the tension and anguish from his body, the older man gave a soft sigh, opened his eyes, and drew back.  Only an instant later, Nuriko was on his feet, and was it his imagination, or was that the glisten of a tear in his eye...?  Nuriko turned away before he could tell for sure, however, folding both arms over his stomach and suddenly seeming to find the nearby wall extremely interesting.

"G...Gomen ne, Hotohori-sama," he managed, his voice trembling slightly.  "I didn't mean to barge in on you like that, but...well, your advisers and everyone were looking for you, and I..."  His voice faded away, seeming to lose strength in the middle of the sentence, and as Hotohori watched, those thin shoulders slumped.  "I'm sorry."  Nuriko turned, then, moving gingerly, and looked about to say something--but then, his eyes fixed on the journal, still lying there in the young emperor's lap, and his eyes went wide. 

"You...read my journal?" he asked in a very small voice.  "You...you read it, Hotohori-sama?"

He looked so mortified, so embarrassed and ashamed, that Hotohori got to his feet and moved to the smaller man's side, angry that he could be the cause of such painful feelings.  Nuriko turned away from him as he approached, cheeks flushed and lips pressed tightly together.

"Nuriko," he said, forcing as much reassurance and sincerity into his voice as he could manage.  "I apologize.  I shouldn't have read it without your permission.  But, I'm..."  His voice went suddenly soft.  "I'm glad that I did.  I had no idea how much you were going through until now.  Nuriko..."  Heart clenching, again, in memory of all that had been done to this man, all the suffering he'd had to put up with just because he was different, the young emperor hesitated, then placed both hands gently on Nuriko's shoulders.  The smaller man tensed at his touch, the shoulders beneath his palms going suddenly rigid, but he did not move away.  "Nuriko," Hotohori continued in a quiet voice, "I wish you'd told me about...what they did to you.  I could have stopped them, or at the very least, placed some sort of guard on you."

Nuriko's head drooped, whispers of violet hair brushing against his cheeks with the motion.  "It wouldn't've helped," he murmured.  He sounded so lost, so beaten, that for a moment, the young emperor had the urge to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, smooth back his hair and make sure that no one ever hurt him again.  Because, gods, he had been hurt so much, and so badly, and he'd never complained, had he?  He'd never complained, never spoken up, never done anything but love and try to live...

"Hotohori-sama, can I ask you a question?"

The words were soft, but seemed to possess a strength that hadn't been there before; as such, it was a long moment before Hotohori could find the breath to reply.  "Hai."

Nuriko's thin shoulders went tense again, jaw clenching as he swallowed; it seemed to take several attempts before he could force the words from his lips.  "Why...why were you...crying?"

He considered lying, or perhaps telling only half of the truth, but there was something about Nuriko's voice, the way he was standing, that was almost...pleading.  Begging.  And despite how deeply he knew that this was a mistake, that the repercussions would be with him for the rest of his life, however long it might last...he couldn't seem to find the will to care.  He was exhausted after crying so long and so hard, and here was Nuriko, the source of his grief, the source of his pain, standing here before him with hope in his voice and shame in his eyes, asking for something--begging for something...

Before he had the chance to reconsider, Hotohori tightened his grip on Nuriko's shoulders, spun the smaller man gently to face him, and let his hands cup those pale, tear-stained cheeks.  Nuriko's eyes--the rosy-violet depths of which did, he saw, glisten with tears--were wide and shocked, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead--but he didn't pull away.  He just stood there, arms hanging limp at his sides, and stared up at the young emperor, looking small and uncertain and confused.

And then Hotohori was leaning forwards, pressing his lips gently to Nuriko's own before he even knew what he was doing.  The shorter man made a small sound of surprise, and something inside Hotohori calmly informed him that he was, in fact, kissing a man...but his heart fought back, and assured him that it didn't matter. 

It didn't matter at all.

~*~