He had forgotten. He watched her step over the threshold and it suddenly hit him that in her absence he had forgotten the overwhelming feeling; the power of that irrevocable pull drawing him to her. He remembered feeling it the first time when in his madness he had nearly taken the life of the man who had cared for them both as children, cared for her still. He had struck him down, ruthlessly and as Okina's body crumpled to the ground before him, he was left to face her for the first time in eight years. The feeling had so overwhelmed him then that she had very nearly pulled him from his madness, pulled him to her; very nearly had him giving up everything, his quest against Himura Battousai… everything, just to lie on the ground at her feet.
His heart had stopped beating and he could not breathe, he was trapped in the allure surrounding her. His darkness was a powerful master however, with an allure of its own, he could feel it blanket him in its mad embrace, pulling him back and giving him the strength to turn away, to strike at her, just as ruthlessly as he had Okina, with words.
In the time after his madness, when he'd returned to the Aoiya, he never forgot, could not forget, the way she drew him to her. Every day that he saw her he fought against it, stood resolute and immovable against it. All those years… so cold, so empty, as if the life-sustaining beat of his heart nor the essential drawing of his breath had returned.
Until now…
His breath quickened as he watched her, his heart beat frantically like a bird battering its wings against his breast, crying, 'set me free, set me free, you have imprisoned me long enough, set me free'. It was true, he had… his heart had been locked away as he fought a battle he never had any hope of winning, a battle he no longer wished to continue and at last he surrendered. Relaxing. Drifting. Like the tide drifting toward the shore, he let her pull him toward her. At last he realized… he was a part of her. At last he understood… he belonged to her. At last he could see… he had always… always, loved her.
His heart unbound, it soared to heaven, which for him was waiting across the room.
The distinctive sound of a knife unsheathing sang in his ears and alerted him, his eyes sharpened on the blade she held in her hand as she stepped closer, taking a fighting stance. He had apparently been staring too long and she'd felt the sensation even with him completely hidden in the shadows.
"Show yourself!" She demanded the foreign tongue at odds with her true native dialect. He remained still for several minutes, still watching, then noticed her knuckles tightening on the handle, her eyes widened momentarily, a slight tick on her left cheek was visible only by the most discernible eye. It was revealing enough to him, however and so he was not surprised when she repeated herself again, only this time in the language of her true home. "Show yourself!"
Separating himself from the shadows he moved forward, stepping into the pool of light, left by the moon that broke through the dissipating rain clouds and in through the window. He made not a sound as he moved and he could sense her apprehension and fear as she no doubt guessed whom it was before she could see him.
"Aoshi-sama!" Her knife clanged to the floor as she gasped his name and took a step back.
"Still so formal Hanya." He tried to keep the tremor from his voice as the captivating whisper of his name on her lips for the first time in four years threatened to overwhelm him. "After the passage of so much time I would have thought things would have grown less so."
Misao started to tremble. She tried, without much success to form the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through her head into words. A million questions that culminated into nothing more than her mouth opening, a small sound resembling a gasp escaping, followed by her mouth closing. Finally she resigned herself to merely shaking her head at him, her eyes widening when a semblance of what appeared to be a smile formed on his face.
"It has been a long time." She blinked as the sound of his voice pulled her from her shocked stupor although she was still unable to speak. "Hasn't it Hanya?"
Misao managed a stupefied nod and made something of a squeak as he stepped closer; she was certain the sound of her racing heart could be heard throughout the room as it pounded in her ears. She could not say why but she was certain she had never been more afraid of anything in her entire life as she was at his sudden appearance. Afraid of what though… of him? Or was she afraid of herself?
Still so beautiful. She marveled again, feeling the odd burning in the palms of her hands as she yearned to touch, his skin, his hair, any small part of him. Curling her fingers into the flesh of her palms she clenched her fists tightly and hid them in the sleeves of her coat; not wanting him to see how they trembled, how even now, after all this time what was forbidden still beckoned her. The fear was of herself then, not of him.
How foolish to have forgotten that. She looked away, a small self-deprecating smile curving one corner of her mouth at the silent reprimand. The whirling confusion of her thoughts was starting to slow, to slip into place and the shock at seeing him so suddenly began to dissipate. You're not that girl anymore, the innocent temptation of youth is not yours anymore.
"I see you are still fond of wearing masks Hanya." His words surprised her; she turned toward him sharply, a confused frown creasing her brow.
Hanya? She wondered. He certainly knew she was not Hanya, he could see who she was, he knew Hanya was dead, he'd been there when it happened, blamed himself for it to the point that he could not live beyond his guilt. Guilt that she had tried and tried and tried to alleviate; guilt that he would not let go of… just like her.
"I am not Hanya." She whispered averting her eyes once more, her voice sounding weary, defeated, even to her own ears. Growing tired of this game of pretend she reached up and pulled off the beret she wore, removing the pin that held her long braid in place, it uncoiled and fell down the front of her shoulder. "Misao desu."
Silence loomed, almost deafening in its resonance, her eyes trained on the beret as she twisted it nervously in her hands, until she felt the lightness of his fingers stroking over her hair, toying with her braid. She slowly raised her eyes to look at him; he seemed almost… mesmerized by the braid held lightly in his fingertips, eyeing it curiously before his gaze shifted to meet hers.
"Indeed you are." He whispered, a gentleness to his voice that she could not recall ever hearing from him, not even as a child. It was oddly hypnotic, seductive in a sense that was hard to equate with the reserved man she knew or had once known; it was compounded by the equally gentle brush of his fingers across her cheek. Startled and unused to being touched by anyone Misao pulled back, turning her face just enough to end the contact only to have his hand drop to her shoulder and with little effort pull her against him.
"I am not Hanya." He had never heard that sound in her voice before, the sound of defeat or the sound of someone who had become like him maybe? Either way, it did not suit her and he had no wish to hear it from her again. His eyes followed her every movement, surprised when he found himself holding his breath as she removed the small cap she wore, waiting, able to breathe again only when her braid unraveled and fell over her shoulder. "Misao desu."
Misao desu… beautiful Misao. Seemingly of their own volition his fingers brushed the soft hair framing her face and then lifted the heavy braid that lay over her shoulder. It was noticeably shorter than in the past, although it was still quite long. He could recall the few times in the past when he'd stiffened against the arresting feel of her braid caressing his skin. She had gotten too close while serving tea and the long silken rope had drifted across the back of his hand, or she had leaned over him while he pretended to meditate and it brushed his ear and cheek. Even then his heart knew what it wanted, even then. She was watching him; he could feel her eyes on him and lifted his own to become lost in the cerulean depths of hers.
"Indeed, you are." He murmured without intending to, his fingers lifted again, this time to brush lightly across her cheek, he was surprised at the alarm in her eyes, at the way she pulled back as if she could not bear human contact.
Had she really grown like him? No, he would spare her that pain; the path of cold, empty ruin he had taken was not for the likes of her. With his hand firmly on her shoulder he pulled her to him, gathering her in his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He would never let her go, he would never give her up to that darkness. To anything. She was the balm to soothe the aching in his heart. The one to fill the void in his soul. His other half, without whom he was incomplete. He had found his salvation in her; would offer her, her own and he would pray and beg and plead that she would accept it. He would be what she wanted, what she needed; friend, lover, protector… as long as he could be near her.
"Aoshi-sama…?" She breathed against his chest.
"I… I…" He stopped, took a deep calming breath before he continued speaking, his arms tightening about her. "I have missed you, Misao."
One month later
Bliss. If she had to choose one word to describe what her life had been these few weeks it would be bliss. Her days were spent much as they always were, in the guise of Hanya she continued to paint and teach the students at the school. Aoshi had accompanied her on several occasions to the school, evoking an avid curiosity among the students, who could not recall their teacher ever speaking of any friends or family and they certainly could not miss the way he looked at her. Misao could not miss it either; his eyes followed her no matter where she moved and in them she could see all that he felt; forgiveness, both his and hers, surrender, acceptance and love. Love. For her.
It was more than just the way he looked at her, it was in everything he said, everything he did; even now. Lying together. Skin against skin. The length of his body spooned up behind her, his legs entwined with hers, his arms about her, holding her to him. Love. For her. For him. Yet… it was no longer that simple.
Shifting, Misao lifted her gaze to the painting that rest against the wall beneath the window. She felt Aoshi's arm tighten about her, his face burrowing further into the long tresses of her hair pooled at the back of her neck. She wished that she had never removed the brown wrapping that concealed the gift that she'd carried from the inn to her cottage, so many nights ago. She had realized almost immediately after Aoshi's appearance that it was he that had left it at the inn. A gift, not for Hanya, for Misao.
Okina's garden. Every brush stroke, every blending of color served only to remind her of inevitability. Some day soon, bliss would come to an end. She had loved him for so long, loved him still, however with the passing of time came change. She had changed. She was not the same person he knew in Kyoto. She had grown up and learned that love did not always mean happily-ever-after.
What did it mean then… for her? It was impossible to define. Whatever its meaning, the feeling itself gave her strength, strength she would need when she was faced with inevitability.
Aoshi. She closed her eyes against the painting and shivered at the empty days of her future. Maybe this was what love meant for her. Emptiness. It was because she loved him so much that she could not allow him to stay. As much as he would protest she knew, he did not belong here and she had long since outgrown Okina's garden and would not paint it again. She shivered again and felt the immediate tightening of his arms about her, pulling her back against his warmth.
"Cold?" He whispered sleepily against her neck.
"Iie." She choked out, trying to hide the sadness in her voice. But I will be. I will be. Cold and empty.
He was far too sensitive, she should have realized he would sense her emotions, feel the way her body grew tense while trying to hide them.
"Misao." His warm breath caressed her sensitive skin. "Dooshite?"
He stiffened when she failed to respond, lifting his head to look at her, noting her tightly closed eyes and the way she fisted her hands up under her chin. He slid his hand up to her shoulder and pushed her back into the mattress, she lay back willingly, opening her eyes to meet his searching gaze.
"Kotaero!" He whispered harshly giving her shoulder a small shake. "Tell me what's wrong."
Her eyes searched his for several moments in continued silence, not wanting to say anything that would put an end to what would surely end on its own soon enough. She reached up and brushed the tips of his hair with her fingers, then trailed them across his skin. He lifted his own hand and captured hers against his cheek, turning to press a kiss into her palm. How would she live without all the things he had given her; would continue to give her until…?
"You'll be leaving soon." She was barely able to whisper.
"Ah." He agreed, although the look in his eyes told her so without words.
He would not protest after all. She thought sadly. He knows as well as I that he does not belong here.
She turned her head to once again look at the painting, wishing she could go back, to once again be that child who tossed the sakura petals into the sky and tried to capture them all as they fell. She could not. That time was over, a great many of the petals had fallen since she had left and she could only stand aside and weep for their demise. She turned to look at the man she so loved, his face mere inches above her own, her hand still held within his own. That time was over.
"Okina's garden holds no charm for me, Aoshi." She whispered brokenly, the tears she held back spilled over and down her cheeks, disappearing after they burned wet tracks in her skin, embarrassed she looked away. "I have changed too much to return to it, do not ask me to."
He was silent and still for what seemed an eternity, his voice when he spoke was gentle and calm, his lips so close to her own that she could feel each syllable as it was spoken.
"Okina's garden was beautiful, a perfect haven for a little girl in Kyoto." He paused and she felt the light brush of his thumb, erasing the damp streak left by her tears. "You are not a little girl any longer Misao."
She turned sharply to meet his steadfast gaze. She knew she wasn't a little girl any longer. She had told herself that many times. Why then did it seem so much more poignant coming from him? As if she needed him to convince herself. Did he still possess her certainty? Was everything still incomplete, divided, unreal without him to validate it for her? Was it as she had suspected all along, that he truly was her other half, that without him, she would always be, incomplete?
I am not a little girl any longer. She knew it was true and so did he.
"You have captured Okina's garden beautifully in your painting." An equally soft brush of his mouth against hers followed his softly spoken words. "But there are many gardens left in this world for you to paint, Misao."
"Many gardens…?" She whispered in wonder. Was it really possible that there could be a place where they could live outside the monochromatic existence of her life and his life? A place where they could share, their lives. A garden, as Aoshi put it, which belonged to them. She could not help the feeling of hope that filled her at the possibilities of what he said, of what could be.
"One garden especially." His words were captivating, promising so many things. She yearned for him to continue, as the more he spoke the more she could feel the heavy darkness surrounding her heart lifting, dissipating as the light that lurked just outside her reach for so long, now grew close and embraced her. "The subject is not so appealing now, rather barren and without bloom; however, it can be beautiful Misao, it can be. It merely longs for the presence of love."
The presence of love? Love. Was it that simple after all?
"Where…?" He could hear her surrender in that one word and placed a finger over her mouth to prevent any further speech. She watched as his mouth curved up in a smile and continued on into his eyes.
"Shinomori's garden." He whispered.