Chapter 2 ~ After the Blossoms
Makimachi Misao had been utterly defeated. Megumi tasted the sweetness of victory on her lips and, for a moment, indulged in the memory of seeing all the hope drain out of her opponent's eyes. Then her gaze returned to Aoshi and softened with rare tenderness, as she gently wiped the two trails of wetness from his face. A slight frown creased her perfect brows at the sight of the tear tracks; she had not seen them appear ~ in fact, she never once remembered seeing Aoshi moved to any extremes of emotion. The man barely smiled.
What kind of unthinkable cruelty could have driven Shinomori Aoshi to tears? Her eyes narrowed. It could only be her. Again Megumi congratulated herself on ridding Aoshi's life of this menace; she knew with a woman's intuition and pride that Makimachi Misao would never willingly draw near him again. Not when she thought that he had ceased caring for her. The handkerchief had been a stroke of genius. And she did not feel herself to have been cruel when she was so sure that it would ultimately be good for Aoshi to forget about the girl.
How close she had come to giving him up altogether! Megumi drew in a sharp breath of relief. She had stomped out furiously from his apartment after his inconsiderate departure, swearing to herself that she would never be so humiliated again. She was done with the icy man, even if he was the most beautiful creature she had ever set eyes on. There were plenty of other fish in the sea, plenty of eager men who would have thrown themselves at her feet at the lift of a finger. She could do just as well elsewhere.
To let off steam, she had chosen to walk around by way of the lake, and it was there, on the bridge, that she saw them. At first she had scoffed in disgust and made to hurry past, but then she had seen the girl turn around and walk away, and had stopped, intrigued. She had expected a lovers' reunion ~ so why the scene of misery? When Aoshi suddenly reached out, lightning fast, to hold the girl back, she had only grown more confused. What was happening?
But then Misao had pushed his arms aside, had moved away. And Megumi could suddenly see the expression on Aoshi's face.
It was a look that froze her to the spot. Her umbrella slipped from numb fingers and she never felt the rain striking her skin. All she could see was the unbearable grief on his face ~ pain and despair beyond anything a person should ever have to endure. Then an utterly new sensation had flooded her limbs as she realized that Makimachi Misao had broken Shinomori Aoshi's heart.
Megumi had never seen a broken heart before; as a medical student, she knew that such things were only a figure of speech. Yet she had absolutely no doubt that she was seeing one now.
She had run forward as soon as the Makimachi girl was out of sight, filled with an irrepressible need to make sure that he survived. For she knew that it was a matter of survival at that instant, not merely comfort or consolation. But he had stood motionless before her, blind to her presence and deaf to her pleading, as still and silent as a statue. It was as if she wasn't there at all. And then, without a word, he had turned and walked away.
Terror she had never known before had seized her then, and made her follow him, trailing behind his tall form as he walked like a dead man in the rain. He wandered aimlessly along the city streets, not caring which direction he headed and oblivious to his surroundings. Nor did he care that she continued to follow him. Somehow they ended up back at his apartment building, both soaked to the skin ~ but he had made no move to enter. She tried begging with him then, yelling at him, throwing random threats about his health and sanity, anything to get him out of the rain, all to no avail. He simply failed to respond.
She knew, on some level, that he would only recognize one person at that moment, and that person was not her. So she stopped speaking and bodily dragged him into the building. He did not resist. It was as if the real Aoshi had already died, leaving behind an empty shell of a man who breathed but did not live.
Later, when the fever set in, she could only sit at his bedside and watch him toss and turn. She had done everything possible for him medically, but the real sickness lay in his heart, and that door was sealed before her.
She had never felt so helpless in her life. And just when she was raging at herself for being unable to help him she had seen the handkerchief clutched in his hand. Makimachi Misao's handkerchief ~ Megumi was sure of that ~ with the characters of his name boldly proclaiming her hold upon his soul. The sight of the simple silk square with its emblazoned claim set loose a wave of fury more intense than anything she had ever felt for anyone, so strong that it left her breathless. How dare she? How dare she hurt him like this? And so, with all the aggrieved outrage of the jealous woman, Takani Megumi had sworn that Misao would never be allowed near him again.
Well, she had succeeded.
A loud pounding shook her thoughts and recalled her senses. Frowning, she stalked to the door and flung it open.
"I thought I told you not to—" But it was not Misao who stood in the doorway. Megumi's voice died on her lips.
His breathing was ragged, his face lined with exhaustion, as if he had just run a great distance. But the fear and worry shone clear from his dark eyes, as did the suppressed desperation buried just beneath. His voice when he spoke was dangerously low.
"Where is she?" Sagara Sanosuke demanded evenly, hands shaking with barely restrained tension. His eyes flickered in recognition of the woman standing before him and filled with a menacing light. "What are you doing here? What have you done to Misao?" He suddenly grabbed her shoulders in a vise-like grip. "She was here, wasn't she? What did you do to her?"
His hands tightened painfully and she winced, but did not back down. "Only what she deserved."
Rage exploded in the man opposite her and Megumi shrank back, only to realize that it was not wholly directed at her. "Shinomori…you bastard," his words shook with fury. "I'm going to kill you." He flung her aside and made for the inner rooms, heedless of her cries.
"Please! He's sick!" She grasped at him, only to be dragged along in his wake. "He's been unconscious for almost three days!"
"I don't give a f—" He stopped short at the entrance to the bedroom, momentarily stunned by the sight of Aoshi's helpless form. She jumped at the chance and put herself between the two men.
"Please, don't hurt him! He never did anything, he's been so ill." Her face hardened. "If you want to blame anyone you should blame her! She was the one who did this to him!"
His gaze shifted to her with terrible concentration, making her instantly regret her words. Paralyzed by fear, heart beating wildly in her chest, she could only stare as he turned towards her. "You…do you know what you're saying?" He loomed over her menacingly, his voice a harsh rasp against her tattered nerves.
She forced herself to be calm, though her reply shuddered in her throat. "Yes. I won't let Makimachi Misao hurt him again. I won't ever let him suffer like this again. I love Aoshi." The last ~ defiantly, daring him to contradict her.
"You won't…let…?" His voice rang with irony, more effective than the loudest curse. He eyed her with a bitter, mocking glare. "Do they need your permission to love?"
"She doesn't love him! She doesn't know how to love! He gave himself to her so completely—" her voice hitched, but her fervor carried her on, "and all she did was break his heart! Do you call that love?! Well I don't!" Her voice grew quiet with conviction, and she stared boldly at Sanosuke. "From now on, I'm going to take care of Aoshi, love him the way he's supposed to be loved. I'm not going to let him suffer like this; I'm never going to break his heart. He's going to feel adored, cared for, absolutely cherished. Can you guarantee that Makimachi Misao would make him feel this way?"
"Shinomori Aoshi isn't a goddamned crystal statue." Sanosuke looked at her evenly. "He doesn't need you to lock him up in a velvet box. Love isn't about making other people's decisions, no matter how much you think it would help them. If you lock up the people you love you'll only destroy them in the end." His voice deepened, his eyes darkening with emotion. "You can't deprive the people you love of their freedom, not even when the choices they make are hurtful to themselves and to others. Not even when you hurt like hell to see them in pain. If you truly love them, you would respect their decisions and the way they choose to live their lives. And you'll be there to support them when they falter, to catch them when they fall, to give them strength to keep going. Even when the one they love is not you."
He turned around and started towards the door. "What you want is not love. It's possession."
It was a long time before she noticed the wetness on her cheeks.
The first time he met her was in Okina's garden. It was late afternoon, a glorious golden day when the sunlight gilded the wilderness of flowers around him, some as tall as he. But he took no notice of their beauty and only shifted nervously as the sound of laughter drew near. Only Okina's reassuring presence beside him gave him a solid sense of place, of knowing that he was here to stay and would never be homeless again. But even Okina could not make him feel that he belonged.
Not in the way that they belong. He thought as the sources of the laughter ~ one high-pitched and girly, the other lower but just as mirthful ~ emerged around the corner of a garden path, tightly holding hands and running together towards Okina. The boy with the spiky brown hair was grinning down at his companion, a wisp of a girl with a long braid. Both were wearing uniforms identical to his, but in far worse condition ~ as if they had spent the better part of the day climbing trees and digging in the garden. There were smudges of dirt on their cheeks, arms and legs; the boy's hair looked even more wild than he suspected it normally looked; a single daisy dangled lopsidedly from the girl's unkempt hair. Okina made a sound of disgust as they ran towards him ~ that was nevertheless laced with an undercurrent of fond amusement.
Aoshi had never envied anyone more than he envied the two of them at that moment.
They halted abruptly when they saw the new arrival, standing back in polite greeting but unable to suppress the curiosity in their faces. Aoshi suddenly felt awkward and made to draw away, but Okina's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Sano, Misao, I want to introduce your newest classmate to you." He gave Aoshi a slight push forward. "This is Shinomori Aoshi, and he'll be living here with us from now on."
The two were silent for a moment, absorbing this new bit of information. Aoshi could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He closed his eyes and hardened himself for their rejection.
But it never came. Instead he felt a small hand shyly taking his own and opened his eyes to see a friendly blue gaze in a delicate, heart-shaped face.
"Ne, Aoshi-niichan, do you want to play with us?"
Relief flooded him in a warm, strong wave. "Yes, I do." And then he smiled ~ the slow, secret smile that he had hidden away for so long. The girl's eyes widened, and then she was smiling back with all of her innocence shining in her face.
He swore he would protect her always.
Aoshi stirred in his restless sleep, while Megumi watched anxiously by his side. The fever was breaking, finally. With gentle hands and a soft cloth she wiped away the sweat on his forehead and smoothed his hair away from his face.
But the only name she heard him whisper was Misao's.
When Sano returned to the apartment he found Misao already asleep in bed, her face pale and skin hot to the touch. His brows creased in worry; he pulled the covers closer around her and soothingly stroked her cheek. She did not respond.
With a sigh he went back to the sofa ~ he was exhausted and needed to sleep if he was to take good care of her. The thought of what Megumi could have said to her still weighed heavily on his mind, and it was with such troubles that he drifted off into a fitful slumber.
In the other room, Misao opened heavy eyelids and slowly turned onto her side. One hand brought itself up to reveal a square of white silk grasped tightly in her fingers.
I will wait for you, Makimachi Misao.
But she had arrived too late.
That night the fever broke.
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I hope I've made Megumi a little less hateful! What she did was wrong, I know, but hopefully now we have a better glimpse into her motivations.
Thank you again for reading! I am so grateful for your support. More will come soon, I promise!