For War is Kind ~ Chapter 7
There came, at last, a morning when Sagara awoke and knew that something had changed during the night. I felt better; by no means completely healed, but stronger and more clearheaded than he had in weeks. He savored each breath he took, for it was not until this particular moment that Sagara had really believed he was alive.
Slowly, testing each limb for dormant pain, Sagara pushed himself upright and passed a hand over his gray eyes. He hadn't realized until now how hot and uncomfortable the blankets were from being lain in for so long, not how lank and dirty the locks of hair that adhered to his neck and jaw were.
He didn't want to stay here anymore.
It was a great effort, but Sagara pushed to his feet, tugging a blanket with him to wrap around his naked hips. And it felt a little strange, stranger still when he realized the last time he had stood unassisted it had been to stare down the barrel of a gun.
The memory of that night threatened to take him, but Sagara did not allow it. Steeling himself, he dressed in the clothes Omasu had left for him a few days back: a dark blue yukata and white obi. Peasant clothes, he thought, taking comfort in that. His stiff fingers rebelled when he tried to make them tie the sash around his waist, but at last he managed a simple, slightly crooked knot at the small of his back.
A few aches still lingered, but they seemed the kind would depart if he could only move about for a while. It was early, and he was alone for now as he slipped out of the room on bare feet. Ever since he was a child, times like this had always filled him with shame, as if there was some sin in being awake while everyone else slept and he was breaking some unwritten contract.
Most of the panels in the hall were shut tight, but one stood partly open, spilling a wedge of golden light against the far wall. He could hear soft sounds from outside, and Sagara stepped out into the inn's central courtyard. The bright light of dawn made him restless, as though something were waiting for him, just waiting for the right catalyst.
Until he realized who had lured him outside; then, he felt only timidity.
Aoshi seemed not to notice him immediately, but to Sagara that seemed unlikely. As he watched, the boy drew his short sword, bracing the blade against his palm. Aoshi drew a deep breath, sliding forward languidly into the first steps of a form. The motions were obviously familiar ones, ingrained into him like the hollows water leave on a stone. He moved through them with his eyes half-hooded, every movement deliberate and graceful and almost ethereal
Sagara felt a pang of guilt. I was as though he had intruded on something very intimate. He should have withdrawn without a word, but if Aoshi already knew he was here…
Sagara only crossed his arms over his chest and fell back a step, content to watch the boy practice. Every move was perfect, and Sagara wondered at the strength in those long limbs.
Eventually, Aoshi's movements slowed to a halt, and he turned.
Sagara hesitated a moment, seemed to shy away at first, but then he came forward, his steps noiseless on the courtyard grass. "I feel foolish for having been worried before," he said, so softly that it did not seem like teasing. "I can see that I'm in very capable hands."
He lowered his eyes, but he did not manage to hide the tiny smile that curled his lips. "I watched you. I hope you aren't offended."
"No." It had been a while since Aoshi had been seen practicing without being subject to criticism or instruction. Sagara's gaze was soft and thoughtful, and different from what he was used to. A lot about this man was unfamiliar.
"It's good to see you on your feet," he offered.
"I feel better." Sagara's expression seemed to warm a little. "Much better. Thanks to you. I suppose this means you'll want me out of your way soon, doesn't it?"
"Not necessarily," Aoshi replied. "I don't mind, that is to say. This place is something like a safe house for people like us."
"I have a hard time imagining that you need anyone to keep you safe." But his words were met with only a sharp look. "I apologize. At any rate, I'm starved. Will you let me prepare breakfast for you?"
Aoshi passed a hand over the front of his gi, straightening it. He seemed to spend an uncommon length of time at the task, before at last turning his eyes back up to Sagara's. "Very well."
They paused only long enough for Aoshi to conceal his sword in his room. Sagara was relieved by the disappearance of the weapon, but he tried not to let it show.
Soon, they were seated alone in the inn's common room, a simple meal of rice and miso spread out on the low table before them. Some of the color had returned to Sagara's face, and Aoshi felt inexplicably proud to see it, as though his hand alone had nursed the man back to health. When their eyes met, Aoshi hesitated. He was captivated, simply because Sagara was alive. Every subtle movement and every breath he drew seemed at once prophetic and profound and tragic.
This man affected him strangely. Since the first moment words had passed between them in a darkened hallway, all those months ago, it felt as though Sagara had been with him, watching him the whole time with those strange gray eyes.
Sagara at last glanced away. He laughed again, nervous this time, though. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I've been away from people so long, I guess I've forgotten how to be gracious company."
"It's fine." Aoshi shook his head slowly, and wondered if he shouldn't apologize for his own strange behavior. In the end, he didn't. He had no excuses, after all. But he watched Sagara closely a moment longer, still fascinated by the delicate shift of bones in his hand as he lifted a bite of rice to his lips.
"It's good," Sagara said. "Thank you."
"You cooked it," Aoshi reminded him. "You must be in a good mood, though. You have compliments for everything. I would have thought…" But when he realized what he had been about to say, he trailed off, burying the words in another bite. "Never mind."
Sagara said nothing, but his smile flickered, eclipsed from his eyes. "I…" He stopped abruptly, and took another bite, chewing slowly
When it seemed he would not continued Aoshi opened his mouth a little, as if to speak. But to apologize seemed foolish, and he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't seem to find the words he should have said, words of comfort or condemnation.
"I haven't forgotten them," Sagara said suddenly, without looking up, and for a moment the words hung in the air between them like sounds waiting to be assigned meaning. "I really haven't. But there's nothing I can do, so I'm trying-"
"I wasn't questioning you," Aoshi assured. He understood what it was like to lose men, and he understood treachery. He was in no position to call Sagara weak. "You have my condolences, for your loss."
Sagara glanced up, and something faint and sad passed over his features. "Thank you. That comforts me."
Aoshi's jaw tightened subtly. He didn't want Sagara looking at him that way, yet it startled him when he traced the conversation back and realized it was his fault. But still he was speaking, saying all the things he knew he shouldn't. "There won't be any justice for them, you know. Or for you."
Sagara's breath caught, and he choked like a dying man.
"I wasn't expecting any," Sagara said softly. "It's so strange. When I try to imagine holding a sword again, even if it's to avenge them, I can't do it. It's not my face, my voice. I think maybe something has come loose inside, like when you drop a music box and you can hear all the parts rattling around inside…"
He closed his eyes. "You must think there's something wrong with me."
"Perhaps." Aoshi bit his lip; he hadn't meant to sound so harsh. "You've been deceived. Some men can see only in absolutes, and it's hard for them when they realize that reality is very gray. You're not worse than anyone else."
He could tell that his words hadn't been comforting. That was fine; Sagara had no right to expect comfort from him. But all the same, he was pushing to his feet, circling around to kneel at Sagara's side.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
"Yes." He said it too quickly, as if desperate to have it out. When he at last turned his eyes up to look at Aoshi, it seemed after a great effort.
"I'm fine," he repeated. "Just… I'm afraid I've misjudged my strength. I think I'll lie down for a while, if it's all the same to you."
"Sagara. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
"I said I was all right. Just… excuse me. Please."
He rose, brushing past Aoshi on his way to the door.
For a moment Aoshi only stared after him, trying to conquer the small flutter of emotion beneath his ribs. He felt like he was letting something infinitely important escape him, slip around and away from him like a stranger's hand drawn over his skin in a crowd.
He rose to follow. Perhaps this wasn't his fault, but he was responsible, and so he was obligated to make certain Sagara at least made it to his room safely.
Sagara slipped into his room, tugging the screen halfway closed behind him. Abruptly he collapsed to his knees beside the futon that hadn't yet been put away. His heart was pounding, each breath catching frantically, like a sob.
Aoshi watched for a moment, but Sagara didn't seem about to calm himself. When he knelt beside him, Sagara began to shiver.
"I'm sorry," Aoshi said He struggled with the words, like a phrase in an unfamiliar language. They must have sounded hollow coming from his lips.
Sagara shook his head. "It's all gone now. Everything. I don't even know where to begin looking to get it all back, because it's like it's the same place a fist goes when you open your hand."
He pressed his eyes shut. "Don't say you're sorry."
For a moment, Aoshi was silent, and Sagara waited like a man waits for death. But Aoshi knew he was only waiting for the shuffle of cloth that meant Aoshi was rising to his feet and leaving.
Only Aoshi didn't leave. He pressed a hand to Sagara's shoulder.
"Come on." Aoshi cleared his throat, and began to prod him back down toward the mattress. "Just rest a while. You're in no condition for this right now."
Sagara shook his head. By now, his eyes were nearly dry. "I'm all right. I will be."
"I know." Aoshi seemed satisfied by that, and he withdrew his hand. "You're strong, after all. I just don't know what to tell you. I'm no good at this. What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," Sagara said instantly. "Nothing you can give. I'll pull through."
Aoshi watched him a moment longer, holding Sagara's eyes, searching for something that would betray the mysterious meaning behind those words.
"Shall I leave you, then?" he said at last.
"You don't have to…" Sagara said. "But you must have matters to attend to."
"Not really. I'm supposed to be laying low too, after all." He leaned back on his hands. "There isn't much for me to do, so I don't mind staying. If that's all right with you, of course."
"Oh." Sagara was taken aback. "I just think it's worse to be alone. Maybe it's not the way I'm supposed to do this, but…"
"You don't have to explain. I know."
"It still doesn't seem real, you know," he said quietly, lowering his eyes. "They were all I had for so long. No family, no home, no one to love. The revolution came and swept all that away. No man should hesitate to give his life for the revolution, but that was the one thing she didn't want from me. I don't know how to go back."
"There is no way back," Aoshi replied. "Once things change, you can't pretend they never happened. You have to adapt." He frowned, as though afraid of having again spoken too harshly. "What I mean is, it's all right to grieve for what you can't get back, but you can't forget to look ahead. That's where the future is. Or so my master once said."
"It's kind of funny," Sagara said. "Just because it's so disgraceful. I don't want revenge at all. Maybe I lost sight of my ideals a long time ago. Maybe, in the end, I was just fighting blindly, like a man fights to protect his wife and children. I know I can't ever go back, but I can't stay here either. There need to be people who don't fight just as much as there need to be people who do, don't you think?"
Aoshi nodded. "Yes, I think so. Otherwise, I wouldn't have anyone to protect."
"So you think I need to be protected, Aoshi?"
"Yes, I do. For now. Part of being a leader is knowing when to deliver yourself into the hands of another."
"You sound as though you speak from experience," Sagara said. "I suppose I have no choice but to believe you, then. Besides, I feel safe here."
"These are changing times. We all have to adapt quickly."
Sagara nodded. "I suppose you already know what I need from you. All that's left is to find out what you need from me."
"I don't need anything," Aoshi said instantly, but he wasn't sure that would be enough to convince Sagara. He was a man who could root out every lie, save the one that had damned him in the end.
"Oh. That's all right too, then." Sagara looked away. "But if you think of anything. Anything I can do… Maybe I'm broken, but you can still use me for scrap, right?"
"I'm just not used to asking for favors," Aoshi said. "If you stay long enough, though, I'm sure to think of something."
"Stay?"
"Yes. Stay here." Aoshi hesitated. The next words seemed to come only after several false internal starts. "That is, you can stay as long as you need. You don't have to, if there's somewhere else you'd rather be."
"This place is as good as any," Sagara said. "And better than most. When you think of what you want, you'll tell me, right?"
"Of course." Aoshi's hand slipped across the floorboards. Their fingers touched.
Sagara breathed a sigh, and laid his hand over the boy's, strengthening their contact. "Aoshi. You've been so kind to me."
Aoshi leaning back a little, but their hands were still joined, whether he realized it now or not. "I really haven't done that much," he said.
At his back, Sagara felt the clawing of a thousand blood-soaked memories, skeletal fingers closing around his ankles and wrists to draw him back into despair. And before him, only this boy, with his proud voice and unsmiling lips, his frozen eyes now simmering with uncertainty and cautiousness. "You've done more than you will ever know."
As he leaned forward, Sagara felt the weight of the past, his sins and failures, slide abruptly away like a heavy robe from his shoulders. It was still there, and likely it always would be, inside him now like poison in his blood. But at this moment, in the space of this single heartbeat, it was somehow less. And he was grateful, grateful to the point of tears.
Aoshi's lips parted, and they were so close that Sagara could taste the warmth of his breath.
"Have you decided?" There was something like fragile humor in Sagara's voice. "What you need yet?"
"I…" Aoshi stumbled ungracefully, unlike himself, over a reply. "I don't know."
"That's fine," Sagara whispered. He smiled, though the expression was still a little sad around the edges. His fingertips glided, reassuring, over Aoshi's cheek. "I understand. You get lonely sometimes, and then you forget what you want."
"Sagara. I…" He grabbed the front of Sagara's clothes. To push him away, was Sagara's first thought. It had to have been to push him away. But Aoshi was clumsily pulling him closer, as if for balance.
"You know what's happening, don't you?" Sagara said.
"Yes," Aoshi breathed. His eyes drifted shut and his chin tilted back. An invitation, which Sagara did not hesitate to accept. Their lips met; Aoshi let it happen. He was passive, neither accepting nor resisting. But when Sagara pulled away, a moan of protest rose in his throat. He managed to silence it in time.
"What are you…?" Aoshi gasped.
"Kissing you." Sagara tossed his head to shake the hair from his eyes. He was already leaning in again, and Aoshi shivered as the gap between them slipped away. "Didn't you like it?"
Again, their lips met, slow and coaxing, and Aoshi felt himself drawn forward. He gasped softly, but it was lost somewhere between their lips, in the desperate, humid ebb of shared breath. But the sound of his own voice, even with all the life crushed out of it by their kiss, seemed to wake him a little, and Aoshi pulled away.
He stumbled to his feet, one hand clutching at his collar. At some point along the way, his vision had become narrow, fringed around the edges with black, and for an instant all he could see were gray eyes. All he could feel was the memory of warm lips, the dying tattoo of heat against his mouth.
Sagara leaned back, passing the back of one hand over his mouth. He stretched the other out towards him. "Aoshi, wait. Don't go."
Aoshi edged away a few steps, eyes darting to the offered hand as if it were a knife. "Don't come near me. What's wrong with you?"
Sagara winced. The pain couldn't have been more real if Aoshi had struck him across the face.
"It's not normal. How can you…?" Aoshi backed away another step, and his shoulder blades struck the panel. With a sharp gasp, he clawed it open, but in the doorway he hesitated a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered, pressing his palm to his mouth. "I shouldn't have."
And with a violent shake of his head, he turned quickly, to leave Sagara's warm, wounded eyes far behind him.
"Wait!" Sagara cursed softly, and started after him. The boy was well into the hallway by the time Sagara caught him by the shoulder. "Aoshi, please, I didn't mean to frighten you. But…" He sighed, slow and shuddering, and let his hand fall. "You don't have to run away."
Aoshi jerked away, then regretted it. "I'm not running," he snapped, and then regretted that, too. "Sagara, you...I..."
He closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. "Why?"
Sagara reached out again, but he pulled back before they could touch. "Because I thought it was the right thing to do. And maybe it wasn't, but it wasn't wrong either, was it? Can you tell me it was wrong for you?"
"That's not why I saved you," Aoshi snapped. But then he shook his head. "No, I didn't mean that. I just… I still don't understand why."
"I suppose, because I like you. Is that a good enough reason?" Sagara smiled, but it was a weak gesture that did nothing to ease the tension between them.
"I don't know," Aoshi admitted softly, against his better judgment. His chest ached.
"Oh. I see."
"I'm sorry," Sagara said. "If I misunderstood you."
That wasn't the word Aoshi would have chosen, if only because he wasn't yet sure what he thought of the moment they had shared. Something had made him pull away, but whether it had been the kiss, or the way his body reacted so strangely and frighteningly to it, he didn't yet know.
"I'm not angry." It was the most he could offer right now, but Sagara lifted his head at the words.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." He passed one hand over the front of his clothing, as if brushing away dust. "But I can't…"
"I know," Sagara assured. "It's all right." He stepped back, as though to declare the conversation over. Aoshi couldn't help but be grateful for that. When Sagara looked at him that way, it felt as though the man could see right through him. And he seemed to know just how unstable he felt right now. "If you change your mind…"
But Aoshi looked away, and Sagara let the words die in the air between them. He knew better than to try to force the situation. The rest, he thought as he turned to depart, would be for Aoshi to figure out on his own.