Entanglement - Chapter Four
: Homecoming (Saito POV)
You haven't been here for more than ten years. It's a long time to be away from home, but then you don't really call this place your home, do you?
Why did you come back? After so many years, why did you come back?
The place hasn't changed. Tokio hasn't changed. Still shy, still beautiful, still graceful. You wonder if her touch is still hot, wonder whether it will burn your skin as it did before, wonder whether her lashes will veil her inky black eyes translucent.
Her glossy hair is twisted up neatly at the back of her neck, her kimono and obi folded neatly as she sits down and pours tea for you.
The two of you were betrothed, according to your parents' request. You didn't care. You received the news with cool dispassion and went to the dojo to practice your sword techniques. You were both young then, and Tokio was beautiful, more so than now. She seemed to love you. You didn't care. You fulfilled you duty as a husband. She bore you two sons, and then you turned her away unfeelingly, told her to raise the sons to fight for their country.
It was easy to turn her away, because you didn't love her. But it was also hard, because although you didn't love her, you loved pleasure. Her touch is so deeply ingrained in your memory that you can remember the exact sensation right now, right here.
Your son enters the room, greets you, and places a jar of wine on the floor. He serves you, and after hovering for a few awkward moments, leaves the room.
You down the wine swiftly and glance at Tokio. She is gazing into the dregs of her tea, eyebrows knotted in a slight frown.
"Have you forgotten your son's name?" she asks quietly, with a shivering laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had," she continues, and tinge of bitterness and something else.
Resignation, you realize. She's resigned to the fact that you don't love her, and never will, no matter what she does.
She reaches for your cup the same moment you put it down. Her fingers brush you, tingling with heat.
"Will I always be picking up things you cast away and mending them for you? Who then will pick me up and mend me?" she murmurs.
She takes your hand and turns it in hers. A faint smile curls her mouth.
"Your hands could fix and mend, build and create, if you would only let them."
Her fingers are drawing, fanning out in designs. It is oddly reminiscent of what you did to Sagara, that night under the tree. You wrench your hand away. Tokio cannot spoil that memory. She must not.
She smiles wryly, eyes still tilted in bitterness. She makes to rise, but you lean across the table and kiss her, pulling on her obi and kimono, feeling her tugging on your clothes.
Is this why you came back? After so many year,, is this why you came back?
A choking sound vaguely reaches your ears. After everything is over, you find a creased white glove outside the window, and Sagara's red headband glaring at you from the floor.
: Homecoming (Saito POV)
You haven't been here for more than ten years. It's a long time to be away from home, but then you don't really call this place your home, do you?
Why did you come back? After so many years, why did you come back?
The place hasn't changed. Tokio hasn't changed. Still shy, still beautiful, still graceful. You wonder if her touch is still hot, wonder whether it will burn your skin as it did before, wonder whether her lashes will veil her inky black eyes translucent.
Her glossy hair is twisted up neatly at the back of her neck, her kimono and obi folded neatly as she sits down and pours tea for you.
The two of you were betrothed, according to your parents' request. You didn't care. You received the news with cool dispassion and went to the dojo to practice your sword techniques. You were both young then, and Tokio was beautiful, more so than now. She seemed to love you. You didn't care. You fulfilled you duty as a husband. She bore you two sons, and then you turned her away unfeelingly, told her to raise the sons to fight for their country.
It was easy to turn her away, because you didn't love her. But it was also hard, because although you didn't love her, you loved pleasure. Her touch is so deeply ingrained in your memory that you can remember the exact sensation right now, right here.
Your son enters the room, greets you, and places a jar of wine on the floor. He serves you, and after hovering for a few awkward moments, leaves the room.
You down the wine swiftly and glance at Tokio. She is gazing into the dregs of her tea, eyebrows knotted in a slight frown.
"Have you forgotten your son's name?" she asks quietly, with a shivering laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had," she continues, and tinge of bitterness and something else.
Resignation, you realize. She's resigned to the fact that you don't love her, and never will, no matter what she does.
She reaches for your cup the same moment you put it down. Her fingers brush you, tingling with heat.
"Will I always be picking up things you cast away and mending them for you? Who then will pick me up and mend me?" she murmurs.
She takes your hand and turns it in hers. A faint smile curls her mouth.
"Your hands could fix and mend, build and create, if you would only let them."
Her fingers are drawing, fanning out in designs. It is oddly reminiscent of what you did to Sagara, that night under the tree. You wrench your hand away. Tokio cannot spoil that memory. She must not.
She smiles wryly, eyes still tilted in bitterness. She makes to rise, but you lean across the table and kiss her, pulling on her obi and kimono, feeling her tugging on your clothes.
Is this why you came back? After so many year,, is this why you came back?
A choking sound vaguely reaches your ears. After everything is over, you find a creased white glove outside the window, and Sagara's red headband glaring at you from the floor.