Witness Tree ~ Chapter 3

Sagara didn't glance up as Etsuya stepped out onto the porch beside him, pulling the door closed quietly behind himself.

"How's Aoshi?" Sagara asked. His voice was tired, little more than a rasp.

"How are you?" Etsuya shook his head slightly when Sagara didn't answer right away. "He's fine. Sleeping."

"I'm tired." Sagara reached up, offering his hand. "But I'm all right."

Etsuya glanced back toward the house as though he still expected Aoshi to be able to overhear them. "Who is he?" he asked quietly, taking Sagara's hand.

Sagara sighed, leaning against the porch railing. One leg was bent up, crooked close to his chest; the other trailed over the edge of the porch so the grass bowed beneath his bare foot. "No one," he murmured without looking up. "No one at all."

"Souzou…" Etsuya knelt, fingers closing around Sagara's shoulder to turn him back. Gray eyes flickered wider, and Sagara lifted a hand to rest over Etsuya's wrist.

"Someone I used to know," he said quietly. "A long time ago."

"I see." Etsuya sighed, and pulled his hand back. "I know you don't like me to ask about the past. So I won't." He began to climb to his feet. "Come back inside soon, okay?"

Sagara glanced after him, startled. "Etsuya?" He lifted a hand, not quite enough to touch him. Not enough to pull him back.

"It's all right."

"That's… all you ever say." Sagara climbed to his feet, circling around so he stood with his back to the door, as though to bar Etsuya from leaving. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"I know." Etsuya sighed quietly, and his fingertips skated over the side of Sagara's face, lifting the hair from his eyes. "And that's all you ever say. So we must belong together, right?"

"I'm sorry." Sagara glanced away, but couldn't bring himself to pull back from that gentle touch. "If you want…"

Already, Etsuya was shaking his head. "I don't want to know. It wouldn't accomplish anything." His hand drifted downward, ghosting over the scar on Sagara's shoulder. He kissed it sometimes as they lay in bed, kissed all his scars as though desperate to prove he could accept every part of him, even the pieces that were missing. But perhaps Sagara wasn't the only one he was trying to convince. "It would only hurt you, wouldn't it?"

"That's not…" His hand fell over Etsuya's, pinning it in place, and he pulled closer. He couldn't meet his gaze right now; it would be like looking into the eyes of a stranger. "Why do you pretend it doesn't matter?"

"Because it doesn't matter." His arms wrapped around Sagara's shoulders, drawing him in. "I'm in love with you, Souzou. Not the man you used to be."

"I love you, too," Sagara muttered into thick black hair. He shifted a little on his feet, though not to pull away. This conversation was old by now, and battered around the edges. He had never lied to Etsuya, hadn't even changed his name after returning to this Tokyo. But he couldn't bring himself to confess everything, either. That life he had once lived had been so foolish and futile, so shameful and bloody… It had no place here.

"Good," Etsuya said. "Then that's good enough." He leaned back on his heels, drawing one hand around from the small of Sagara's back, resting his palm in the center of his chest. "You know, it's been kind of hard, having to stay quiet these last few nights." He tugged at the hem of Sagara's shirt. "Don't you think?"

"I suppose…" A smile tugged at the corners of Sagara's lips, and his hand fell over Etsuya's guiding it beneath his shirt. "Maybe a little."

He was drawn forward, and he tilted his head back to meet Etsuya in a kiss. In that instant, he remembered the first time they had met. If had been the end of spring, and the last of the sakura were dying like moths on the trees. There had been a wilted pink petal caught in a lock of hair framing Etsuya's face, and idly Sagara had reached up to pluck it out.

Even then he had known, somehow, that they would end up here. He had always known that it would be someone like this he would find at his side…

"We should do something about that, don't you think?" Etsuya grinned slyly.

"Aoshi's right inside. I don't want him to hear."

Etsuya eased him back a step, so Sagara's back was pressed against the railing. "He won't."

"No?" Sagara's breath caught, his skin growing tight beneath Etsuya's hands. Years of hard work had worn his palms rough, and they felt best on the sensitive places at the side of Sagara's throat and just beneath his navel.

"Not as long as you bite your tongue," Etsuya said, and sank to his knees.

Aoshi didn't know how long he had been asleep, but it was the sound of life returning to the farmhouse that awakened him. He lifted himself on his arms, looking up in time to meet Sagara's eyes. He looked better than he had that morning; the tense lines had melted from around the corners of his mouth, and the shadows had faded from beneath his eyes.

But if he felt any relief, it was gone a moment later when Etsuya slipped inside a step behind Sagara, leaning down to feather lips over his temple.

Aoshi narrowed his eyes and turned away.

"Please…" he heard Sagara murmur, and then he listened to the sounds of footsteps withdrawing into the other room, a panel pulled shut, followed by a murmur of fabric as Sagara knelt beside him.

"It's not fair, you know," Aoshi said, just to have something to break the silence.

Sagara sighed. "That's not like you, Aoshi."

"All this time," he continued, as though having not heard. "I thought you were going to be one who would have to change. I thought that you would have to change, or you would die, and those were your only options."

"There's no need for this now," Sagara said softly.

Aoshi shook his head. "But you're the same as you always were, and I thought I had everything figured out. So why am I the one who has to make that choice…?"

"Because, Aoshi, it's not fair." Sagara reached down, smoothing some of the hair out of Aoshi's eyes. "Because nothing's ever fair."

"I wish it hadn't been you that found me. I would rather have died…"

Sagara frowned. "That's not very flattering."

Aoshi sighed; before he could think better of it, he was saying, "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I only meant… I can't thank you for what you've done. Because it's all been a waste."

"You know I won't let you get away with talking like that, Aoshi." Sagara smiled weakly. "So just try to relax, all right? Please. There's nothing you can do until you get better, and… it's only me. You know me, Aoshi. You know I'll take care of you until then."

It was humiliating how true those words were. "I know," Aoshi murmured. "I understand."

He reached out, hand slipping across the tatami to curl around Sagara's. Maybe things like shame didn't matter anymore, now that he'd lost everything except for this man. Or just the memories of this man. Aoshi's eyes narrowed as his gaze slipped to the place Etsuya had disappeared.

"Who is he?" Aoshi said. It shouldn't have mattered. He shouldn't have asked.

Sagara's gaze lowered, to hide, perhaps, the hint of a blush. "A friend. He's been living here," he said. "For nearly three years now."

"Three years…" Aoshi sighed, and shut his eyes. He wasn't really surprised that he couldn't imagine himself in a place like this, but he wasn't comforted, either. "I guess this is what you meant. The kind of life you wanted to live, right?"

"It's hard to really think about it that way," Sagara said. "Like you said, I could either change, or die. And so I made my decision." He smiled. "I wasn't quite ready for death."

So, Sagara really had changed. The man he had known ten years ago would never have said something like that. "What about your battle?" he asked. "Weren't you going to fix everything that was broken? Weren't you going to make things better?"

"I don't know if you're trying to make fun of me or if you're really asking," Sagara said. "But look around, Aoshi. I own this place, you know, this land. It's mine. I could live out the rest of my days here, and not have to worry about answering to a daimyo, about having to pay taxes in a bad year. Isn't that… better?"

"Better…" Aoshi echoed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"When I came back here, my brother almost didn't recognize me, you know. I don't really blame him, I was supposed to be dead." His hand moved thoughtfully along the edge of the blankets. "You never told me that they put my head on display in the street, Aoshi."

He glanced down, watching the careful movements of Sagara's fingers. "I thought it would be more prudent not to."

"I wonder who it was…?"

"What?"

"Who they mistook for me. Who… had to suffer because I couldn't even have the good sense to die after five bullets." He laughed, bitterly.

"Sagara…"

"I know," he said, too sharply, a ripple of buried emotion surfacing in the words. "It's all in the past. I know."

"Tell me about your family," Aoshi said, just for the sake of having something to say.

Sagara shrugged. "There's not much to tell. They were good people. I was their youngest, and my parents were already old by the time I was born. They were disappointed in me when I left, but I told them I'd make up for it by bringing them honor. I…" He shivered faintly, as a blade of grass touched by the breeze. "I was just a boy back then."

A handsome boy at that. One who could, on certain days in autumn, before the weather turned cold be coaxed by one of the working men who had been hired to help with the harvest back into the fields behind the house. He had learned a lot in those days, things that he hadn't had the good judgment to be ashamed of at the time.

But Sagara did not say that part out loud. Aoshi didn't need to know everything, after all. The same as Etsuya didn't.

"My parents died," Sagara continued, "while I was away in Kyoto. I never knew until I came home. The land had passed to my older brother, Ayako, but he didn't have the skill to manage it, not like our father did."

He glanced down at Aoshi. The younger man wasn't looking at him, but he still seemed to be listening, so Sagara went on. "He… wasn't pleased to see me. 'We already held your funeral, Souzou.' That was what he said. 'After we heard what had happened at Shimosuwa.' And…" Sagara shook his head. "And I knew he was right, but I didn't have any other home to go to."

He sighed. "When I think about it now, I realize it was the wrong thing to do. Ayako's always known there's something different about me. He was married by then. They had kids. He didn't want me around queering the place up."

Sagara laughed at that, a sudden nervous sound that caught Aoshi's attention. He turned, and their eyes met for a moment. "Sorry," Sagara muttered, lowering his gaze.

"It's all right, "Aoshi said. His voice was pitched low, and there was something in it that Sagara could have mistaken for gentleness. Could have, if he hadn't known better. "Go on."

"There's not much else to tell. Ayako didn't want the farm, so he sold off most of the acreage and bought a place in the city. He makes masks now. They're good; at least… that's what people say."

"You have not seen him since then," Aoshi surmised.

"No." Sagara's voice had dropped low, almost to a whisper. "He gave me the house and the garden… a little bit of land out back. He said I was dangerous, and, it was nothing personal, but he never wanted to see me again. He was a good brother. It was fair of him."

"Sagara," Aoshi said quietly. "You don't have to say that for his sake."

"What else was he supposed to do, Aoshi?" Sagara's eyes narrowed. "He was right; I am dangerous. If anyone were to find out I'm still alive… If they were to find out he had hidden me…"

Abruptly, he seemed to relax again. "Besides it was only hard for a little while."

"And then you met your friend."

"Etsuya," Sagara said. "Yes. Then I met him. And then… he told me he loved me. And then everything was all right."

Aoshi sighed, and once again he looked away, stared up at the ceiling. "You make it sound simple."

"It is, in a way." Sagara shook his head. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear that right now, I know. Would you like to sleep some more?"

"Yes," Aoshi sighed, glancing away. "I just want to sleep."

Sagara hesitated a moment, and then bent over him. It seemed to Aoshi that he was going to dust a kiss over his forehead – a chaste, innocent kiss – but then Sagara's lips met his own. It was an awkward kiss, a false start, but that wasn't what surprised him the most.

It was a comfort to Aoshi, to know that he could still be surprised.

"Sleep well," Sagara whispered, pushing to his feet.

And then he was gone, leaving Aoshi with only the lingering warmth of his lips, the feel of his kiss drying in a brand on his lips.