He always slept facing out.
It was probably easier that way.
Sure, the double futon probably could've been split, the single blanket
as well, though it would have been a chilly fit.
But he didn't, so Sano didn't, and they slept together. But he always
slept facing out. So Sano had to as well. Sure, he had never said
anything, but Sano didn't want to sleep facing his back, watching the
cool moonlight fall on the deceptively thin shoulders as they rose and
fell, the long hair spilling onto the pillow so close it tickled his
nose. It was maddening.
So Sano slept facing out. Sano hated facing out. All that was there
was the wooden walls of the cabin, a single, lonely window, and
rejection. He -wouldn't- face Sano. Sano wasn't good enough to face
him.
Maybe he didn't trust Sano. Maybe he felt Sano couldn't be relied
upon.
Maybe Sano couldn't be relied upon.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. They did not lie as equals. They were
together, but still, they were apart. He kept Sano out.
Sano wondered what he was thinking, lying opposite him, facing the
opposite wall. Did he think of Sano as a friend? More likely a
burden, a tool to be used when convenient and abandoned once its use
was over. Maybe he pondered the same things as Sano, wondering why
Sano faced the wall. More likely he thought of home, of the ones he'd
pledged to return to. Maybe he just slept.
Maybe he thought of how not to return, of how to break away and wander
once more. The others, those at home, would be devastated. Sano too.
And that was the difference between them, the reason for their split.
Sano needed him. When Sano had met him, Sano's life changed for the
better. There were precious few, if any, for whom Sano could say the
same.
Sano needed him, and he did not need Sano. He led, and Sano followed.
He did, and Sano helped. And so long as it was all right with him,
Sano was okay.
Okay, but unequal.
For if Sano left, he would go on as before. But if he left, Sano would
follow him to the ends of the earth.
And maybe he would let Sano.
And maybe he would accept Sano.
But he would always be apart.
He would always sleep facing out.
Always.
+ + +
Rurouni Kenshin (c) Watsuki Nobuhiro / Shueisha / Fuji-TV / Sony
Pictures (Japan) / A.D.V. Films / Media Blasters
eme 22.december.99
It was probably easier that way.
Sure, the double futon probably could've been split, the single blanket
as well, though it would have been a chilly fit.
But he didn't, so Sano didn't, and they slept together. But he always
slept facing out. So Sano had to as well. Sure, he had never said
anything, but Sano didn't want to sleep facing his back, watching the
cool moonlight fall on the deceptively thin shoulders as they rose and
fell, the long hair spilling onto the pillow so close it tickled his
nose. It was maddening.
So Sano slept facing out. Sano hated facing out. All that was there
was the wooden walls of the cabin, a single, lonely window, and
rejection. He -wouldn't- face Sano. Sano wasn't good enough to face
him.
Maybe he didn't trust Sano. Maybe he felt Sano couldn't be relied
upon.
Maybe Sano couldn't be relied upon.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. They did not lie as equals. They were
together, but still, they were apart. He kept Sano out.
Sano wondered what he was thinking, lying opposite him, facing the
opposite wall. Did he think of Sano as a friend? More likely a
burden, a tool to be used when convenient and abandoned once its use
was over. Maybe he pondered the same things as Sano, wondering why
Sano faced the wall. More likely he thought of home, of the ones he'd
pledged to return to. Maybe he just slept.
Maybe he thought of how not to return, of how to break away and wander
once more. The others, those at home, would be devastated. Sano too.
And that was the difference between them, the reason for their split.
Sano needed him. When Sano had met him, Sano's life changed for the
better. There were precious few, if any, for whom Sano could say the
same.
Sano needed him, and he did not need Sano. He led, and Sano followed.
He did, and Sano helped. And so long as it was all right with him,
Sano was okay.
Okay, but unequal.
For if Sano left, he would go on as before. But if he left, Sano would
follow him to the ends of the earth.
And maybe he would let Sano.
And maybe he would accept Sano.
But he would always be apart.
He would always sleep facing out.
Always.
+ + +
Rurouni Kenshin (c) Watsuki Nobuhiro / Shueisha / Fuji-TV / Sony
Pictures (Japan) / A.D.V. Films / Media Blasters
eme 22.december.99