For War is Kind ~ Chapter 11

When he had been a child, Sagara would go to the oak tree that grew in the corner of their property for comfort. The branches swept low to the ground, and even near the top they were strong enough to hold him. When he was angry, confused, hurt, he used to climb it, as high as he could. The thought of such a strong, ancient life, such endurance and consistency always made him feel a little better. It humbled him, and if he had felt helpless, it reminded him that he was, but that it was all right.

He hadn't known all that then; he had only understood the implicit comfort the tree gave him, but as he fled the Aoi-Ya that night, Sagara at last thought he understood. And he wanted desperately for something so simple to be enough to reassure him once more. He looked up at the star-flecked sky, as if there might be answers there…

But the stars held no comfort for him, and when he stumbled a little on a raised paving stone, no one was there to steady him. He was alone, completely. As alone as he had been that night in the woods outside Shimosuwa…

He wanted guidance, but he understood too much already. About himself, and the way he had never been satisfied unless he was in the process of reshaping something. A boy in need of a father, a band of soldiers lacking a purpose, a man who wished only to live by his blade, a country that had never asked for his intervention… They had all been the same to him. Blank canvases upon which to work his art.

He had looked at Aoshi without really seeing him. All this time, he had only been the sum of what they could be together, and the implicit promise that Sagara might reclaim some small fraction of what he had lost. As he had gazed into Aoshi's blue eyes, he had only been able to see them overflowing with regret. As he had watched his stern unmoving lips, he had only been able to envision them parting around words of gratitude. As he traced long, delicate fingers, he had only been able to imagine how they would look clasped in repentance.

And when the moment had come, he had been unable to do anything but tremble before the stunning callousness of the truth: he had failed all of them. He thought that, wherever they were, surely they were all laughing at him now. Alone beneath the night sky, Sagara cringed as though he could hear them. He lifted his eyes, half expecting to be met with the faces of dead men crouched in the shadowy places between the buildings, grinning.

But he found only the high arch of the Kyoto city gates above him, and Sagara blinked, unsure of how he had gotten here. He had wanted to leave the city, abandon everything as though his shame could be forgotten so easily. Live in exile, somewhere so isolated that not even the past could find him.

He knew it wasn't possible, but he stood for a long time without looking back. And when at last he did turn towards the city's interior, it wasn't because he knew where he was going. But, in the end, there was only one place he could have ended up.

It was long past midnight by the time Sagara found his way back to the Aoi-Ya. He slipped inside quietly so as not to wake any of the inn's patrons and made his way down the hallway to his room. He had been hoping Aoshi would be asleep by now, but he wasn't surprised to find him awake, in an attitude of meditation, while he awaited Sagara's return.

Ducking his head to escape Aoshi's gaze, Sagara pulled the panel shut, knelt beside his futon and began, with trembling hands, to arrange the sheets over it.

Aoshi was quiet for a long time, but at last he rose, crossing the floor to kneel at Sagara's side. He waited for the man to look up at him, and when Sagara didn't, he touched his arm gently. He cleared his throat, as if afraid his voice had become weak from disuse in Sagara's absence. "You were gone a long time. I was a little worried."

He waited for a response - three breaths and a dozen heartbeats - and then swallowed hard, leaning closer. "Sagara?"

The sound of his name seemed to wake him, and Sagara lifted his head. "You know…" he sighed, reaching out to brush his hand against Aoshi's cheek. "My family still has a little land outside of Tokyo. I was thinking… I'd like to see it again. Maybe something will still grow there."

"What?" Aoshi drew back in surprised, but a moment later, he shook his head fiercely, pressing his eyes shut as he ducked back into Sagara's touch. "What are you talking about? You're leaving?"

"No," Sagara said quickly, lowering his eyes. And he bit his lip, because he had always known he was horrible at lying. "Not exactly. I just want to see it. You can come with me if you like, and besides, I won't be far from here." His hand trembled. He just wanted to push him away… or maybe draw him closer.

Aoshi's eyes narrowed, and he placed a hand over Sagara's, his fingers tightening. "We both know that's not true. You're leaving because of me, aren't you?"

"It's not because of you…" And this time, he did pull back. He had to, or he would never have found the words. "It's the life I want, Aoshi. The life I've always wanted."

When Sagara turned away from him, Aoshi fell back as well, his shoulders bowed. "So, it is about me," he said. "This life doesn't suit you. If that's the case, then just say so. Because you know I can't come with you."

Sagara closed his eyes. Until this moment everything had been clear. He had known that he couldn't stay, that trying to would only be painful for both of them. Nothing could change that, not even regret. "You're right. I owe you the truth. Aoshi, I want to go. I have to, and I know you understand that."

"No. No, I don't." Aoshi leaned after him, pressing his palms awkwardly against Sagara's back. "Is that the way it works? You can't accept what I am, so you're leaving. That's pretty cowardly, don't you think?"

"Aoshi, stop it." With a sigh, Sagara turned, catching Aoshi's shoulders as he tried to pull away. He wanted to reassure him, but he couldn't. It would have been a lie. "You're right. I'm a coward. And I'm a liar, and I've been cruel to you."

This time, when Aoshi pulled away again, Sagara didn't try to hold on to him. He lowered his eyes, expecting – maybe hoping – Aoshi would just be angry with him. That he would should at him, or maybe just leave him here so that this could be over.

"Sagara…" he said instead, softly. "That's not fair." He took Sagara's collar in both hands, pulling closer and pressing his forehead to his chest. "You can't just walk away like that. Is that really all right with you?"

"It must be."

"Is it?" Aoshi demanded. "Because, it's not all right with me." He shuddered, as though with a sudden, sharp pain. "I thought I meant more to you than that."

"Aoshi, listen. I don't regret what we had. But it couldn't have lasted forever." He took hold of Aoshi's when he tried to pull away. "That's all. There's nothing else."

"Fine," Aoshi said. "Whatever you want to do is fine. I never needed you."

Sagara lifted a hand to the side of his face as though he had been struck. Those words hurt more than he would have liked to admit, because he knew Aoshi meant them. One of them, at least, wasn't in the habit of lying to his lovers.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Sagara said.

"You have a funny way of showing it." But there was no anger left in his words. "It's not fair. But if this is what you want, then I won't keep you here."

"I'm glad," Sagara said. He brushed Aoshi's hair back from his face, and then got to his feet.

"Sagara…" Aoshi sighed, shaking his head as he stood as well. "Wait. You can't leave tonight. It's late." He touched the bend of his elbow. "At least stay until morning."

Sagara turned slowly, catching Aoshi's hand in his own. He wanted this over with – wanted to leave this place before he forgot that he knew how to - but he really couldn't go anywhere before dawn. "All right. Thank you."

Aoshi watched him for a moment. "Good." He turned away. "You're one of mine now. The least I can do is look after you like I would one of them."

Sagara didn't move to follow him. "Where should I sleep tonight?"

Aoshi did not seem to hesitate. "Here, of course. With me." As if there was nothing more to explain, he knelt and began to arrange the futon they shared.

Sagara sighed. Staying for once more night struck him as an ultimately futile gesture, but he didn't want their last memories of each other to be of bitterness and anger. He came forward, catching Aoshi's shoulders as he rose once more, playing his fingertips down powerful biceps. Aoshi turned in his arms, and their lips met in a slow kiss. He would miss this, Sagara realized. Would miss the slow, determined gravity of Aoshi's kisses, the taste of his lips, his serious mouth.

"Aoshi," he whispered. "I want you to know…"

Aoshi darted forward into a kiss, cutting his words short. "Stop it. Don't say anything. Haven't I always been all right? I'll get used to it."

Sagara sighed as he held him close, feathering a hand down Aoshi's back to trace the tense muscles from his shoulders. But anything he could have possibly said was quickly becoming insignificant as he pressed slightly against Aoshi's chest, urging him to sink back to the mattress.

They shouldn't have been doing this; Sagara knew better than to think this would do either of them any good. But even if it was only going to make it harder, in the end, for him to walk away, he was running out of strength to resist. He felt as though already time was racing ahead of them, could see already years, in a frantic blur, before him.

And he pushed them aside, seeking another deep kiss.

Aoshi arched slightly beneath him, his yukata slipping from one shoulder. Sagara was quick to help him the rest of the way out of it, and he bent over him to nibble the uncovered skin just above his navel. Aoshi drew a sharp breath, fingers curling reflexively in Sagara's hair, guiding him up his body so their lips met in a fierce kiss.

And a year ago, this would have been enough to crumple his resolve, but something had changed in Sagara since then, grown hard and unyielding.

"Don't…" Aoshi murmured, slipping his hands beneath the collar of Sagara's yukata and tugging it from his shoulders. "Don't watch me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… this is the end."

Sagara caught his face between both hands, holding Aoshi still as he leaned in for a kiss. The man shifted beneath him, his thighs parting to glide over the outsides of Sagara's hips. "It is the end," he whispered against damp lips, swollen and slightly parted, dark as though with bruises.

Aoshi's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more. Eventually, Sagara pulled away enough to slip a hand beneath the mattress, retrieving a small vial of oil. Before he could open it, Aoshi's hands fell over his and for an instant he could feel the sword-worn places between thumb and index finger, rough but familiar. For some reason they comforted him, and Sagara easily surrendered the vial.

"It's the end?" Aoshi echoed quietly as he spilled some of the clear fluid onto his fingers. "All right, then. Let's get it over with." He reached down between their bodies, curling one hand around Sagara's straining cock, slicking the oil over him.

"Don't be like that." Sagara reached down, catching Aoshi's hands around the wrists and pulling them up for a kiss. Releasing him, he ran his hand back through Aoshi's hair, parting it around pale blue eyes. And despite everything he saw reflected in Aoshi's eyes at that moment – all those regrets and uncertainties and questions without answers – Sagara managed to relax as he arched his hips forward, thrusting into him smoothly and without hesitation. This, at least, was his, and it always would be

Aoshi moaned, turning his face so the sound would be lost in the curve of Sagara's shoulder. Fingernails tightened against his back, reminding him to keep moving. With one hand braced against the mattress, the other curled loosely in Aoshi's hair, Sagara slid into him again, slowly establishing a rhythm. He gasped quietly against Aoshi's parted lips, and reached between their bodies, splaying his fingers against Aoshi's chest. Moving his hand downward, until he could feel an erratic pulse beneath his palm, until a ragged gasp spilled against the hollow of his throat. He wrapped his hand around Aoshi's shaft, felt him arch up into his touch.

Sagara stroked him in time with each thrust of his hips. He should have known better than to think it wouldn't be good.

Ahead of him, there was a long walk back to a half-remembered home. Behind him, his selfishness and the failure he could do nothing but bear. But somewhere in between, there was Aoshi, and a slow burn climbing the column of his spine, a spreading intensity in the pit of his stomach. For a single moment – a span of lost time – he knew where he was and he knew where he was going.

Beneath him, Aoshi's hips jerked sharply, and he moaned through clenched teeth. Warmth splashed against the curve of his abdomen, and Sagara only had time for a gasp of pleasant surprise before the spasm of muscle and the tightening of fingernails against his shoulder blades tore his climax from him.

He was still a moment, catching his breath and waiting for Aoshi to regain his, then he rolled off the younger man, propping himself up on one elbow. He passed the other hand idly over his stomach. It came away damp, and Sagara wiped his fingers as discreetly as possible on the edge of the mattress before turning back.

"Aoshi… you…" But Sagara gave up before he had even begun to put all he was thinking into words. His fingertips felt cold, unwieldy and bloodless, as he trailed them over Aoshi's temple and back through his hair. His vision was hemmed in black, and he blinked, trying to chase away the shadows. It wasn't working as well as it should have, but that was all right. He was almost grateful, because by this time tomorrow, he would be gone. And even now, in the quiet lull between moments, he felt no stirring of regret.

Beside him, Aoshi moaned quietly, as though waking from sleep. Sagara leaned in, dragging his lips over the curve of a jaw. "Are you all right?" He made no move to pull back. He wanted this for as long as he could have it, even if he couldn't entirely shake the memories of Aoshi's face stained in blood, his cold eyes when he had spoken.

Sagara shivered faintly.

"I'm fine. I'm…" Aoshi sighed, taking Sagara by the shoulders and easing him back. He held his eyes, and a smile flickered over his lips. Quiet and sad, like his own unspoken farewell.

Sagara was still a moment. Something about that expression was strange and heartbreaking, but it wouldn't be until later that he would realize it was because it was the only time he had seen Aoshi smile. "I just want you to know…" he said. "If you ever need anything. Anything at all. You'll know where to find me."

Aoshi closed his eyes. "All right. I'll remember that."

For a moment, Sagara watched him, and then, with a quiet sigh, turned onto his back. "You'll be all right."

Aoshi kept his arm around Sagara's shoulders, following him as he pulled away. "So will you." He reached down, finding the sheets and dragging them over them. As if trying to bind Sagara to him, just for tonight; just for these last few hours they had. "It's strange," he murmured, feathering his hand down Sagara's chest. "I think I'm starting to understand what you've been talking about all along."

"What's that?" Sagara murmured.

For a long time, Aoshi was quiet. As if, now that he'd brought it up, he couldn't think of the words to explain. "I'm not sure," he admitted at last. "It's just a feeling I have, something simple. It's calm… I feel calm."

Sagara stared up at the ceiling. "Good. I'm glad." And he really was, because Aoshi was right. Calm was the only way to describe it. A peace so perfect it hurt. "You'll find someone, you know," he whispered. "Someone who thinks the way you do. Who can…" He shook his head a little. "Someday…" he whispered against Aoshi's ear. "Someday it'll all make sense."

"I hope so." He wasn't sure if Aoshi sounded entirely convinced, but there wasn't anything Sagara could do about that. There was nothing left to say, and he didn't want to ruin their time together by trying.

Aoshi seemed to understand, and he tilted his face against Sagara's shoulder. "Goodnight."

Sagara sighed quietly at the abrupt announcement, but he was grateful. "Goodnight," he whispered, but he didn't close his eyes. He waited what felt like a long time, until Aoshi's breathing had grown steady; until he was certain he was asleep, before rising, extracting himself carefully from Aoshi's arms. Outside, he knew, the sky to the east would just be beginning to lighten; in another hour, the sun would rise. It would rise on a different world for both of them. In the lonely stillness of a dawn not yet broken, Sagara dressed.

His hands weren't trembling, but when he reached to push his hair from his eyes, his fingertips came away damp with tears. With a weak humorless laugh, he wiped the dampness away with his sleeve.

Without a sound, Sagara swept to his feet, slipped out into the hall without looking back.

~End