CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"To be honest," drawled Shenji, "I think the only reason I came back to the dojo at all was to see your little bitch. I'd assumed I'd be given a little more respect from the others, but of course I wasn't. Everyone was 'Jin this' and 'Jin that.' It was sickening, so I left again after that night. It wasn't a complete loss, I suppose. I managed to swipe some valuable wickets from Enshirou's personal collection, which allowed me to start my little town monopoly, as you called it."

Jin didn't move. He'd stop struggling and was completely frozen on the ground, breathing heavily.

"But Yuki was immensely more fun than you were, I have to say. He put up much more of a fight. Scratched me across the face; those cuts lasted weeks. Too bad you didn't teach him better. I eventually managed to force him down. He screamed bloody murder the whole time. Near the end he stopped, though. He was crying and calling your name…"

Jin finally snapped. The carefully built wall, the cool detachment he normally had, crumbled, and he screamed uncontrollably, a long, unbroken, animalistic scream that made the drunken samurai downstairs stir, and townspeople turn in their sleep.

Meiyo's head jerked up. "Do you hear that?"

Tamasine cocked his head. "That screaming? Yeah." The two sat at a low table, ignoring the steaming food in front of them, listening. It was a piercing howl a bit like a human's, frantic with rage and terror. It lasted for a long time; then it cracked, paused, and started again, like whoever (or whatever) was screaming had had to pause for breath.

"What is that?"

"It sounds a little like a big cat," said Tamasine. "But it's so…" He trailed off, unable to find a word for it. The screams were sometimes in long, continuous strands; other times, they came in short, frantic bursts, split and strangled. "I've never heard anything like it. Saiyu, listen."

"Hm?" asked Saiyu. He and Kohachiro had been entirely tuned out to their environment; they'd been playing a complicated game under the table that involved rubbing hands together and staring deeply into each other's eyes.

"Listen."

Saiyu obediently broke his gaze with Kohachiro and turned his head toward the entrance of the restaurant. The wind ruffled the sloth hanging over the doorway, and brought with it a series of sharp cries.

"Just ignore it," he said finally, turning back to Kohachiro.

"I think we should investigate—" began Meiyo, standing.

"Nonsense." Tamasine grabbed Meiyo's kimono sleeve, and with his balance upset, he tripped over his hakama and went toppling over.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" screamed Jin, twisting under Shenji.

"I bet you will," he replied patronizingly. Jin's voice was cracked and hoarse from screaming. He was completely out of control, but unable to vent the anger that had been released because of his position. He screamed with frustration, ending with a sob of rage. "Go ahead," prompted Shenji. "Let it all out, Jin-chan." Jin replied with a snarl that might have been an attempt at words. Shenji had to admire him. He hated himself for it, just as he had hated himself the first time he'd seen and admired Jin. But he couldn't help his awe. Without all the indifference that usually saturated Jin's action, he was an animal, hardly containable, ready to rip apart anything that came in his reach. It was very easy to believe Jin had killed Enshirou at that moment.

It took Jin over a half-hour of screaming before he was reduced to an angry, choking sob.

"Don't you feel better now?" asked Shenji kindly. Jin responded with another snarl. He had bitten his tongue at some point; his mouth was red with blood. There was something erotic about it. "I think Yuki knew you would kill him. I think that's why he went after you. He was, after all, too much of a coward to really kill himself. Having you kill him was the closest he could manage. And you did pull through magnificently, Jin-chan. Congratulations. At least you fulfilled one of Yuki's needs."

Jin made another small choking noise and closed his eyes. Shenji reached down and gently pulled away his glasses; Jin didn't notice. He was too lost in memories, memories that suddenly held so much significance than before because of what he knew now.

Yuki had never said it, but there was implied dominance between them. He would do anything Jin asked him, gladly. He practically tripped over himself to fetch anything Jin asked, to slide aside screens for him, to lend a listening ear whenever it was needed, which was very rarely. In turn, Jin played with him, let him gape over his kata, took him to meditations. It was a joke at the dojo: Mariya Enshirou, they all said, was a lion teaching to a cub. And Jin was the cub teaching to the kitten. Few people thought highly of Yuki, and all thought it was a waste of Jin's talent to spend so much time with him. But many others said it was a good partnership. They pointed out Jin was too detached from everything to ever mentor anyone properly; and if anyone should be neglected, it was Yuki, who wasn't showing much potential anyway. No other students had approached Jin about being shudo partners; they were too intimidated. And Jin was so completely cold, to most, it was a miracle he and Yuki had ever managed to be partnered successfully together at all.

"Jin-niisan?"

"Yes?"

Jin was sitting on the edge of his bed, lovingly polishing his sword. Yuki was standing, poking at a spider that was trying to descend from the ceiling. He watched it swaying in front of his face.

"Yes?" repeated Jin, in an irked voice, looking up.

"I have a question."

"Then ask it," said Jin harshly, going back to running down the length of his blade with a rag.

"Would you say we're very typical shudo partners?"

"I'd say it depends on what you mean by 'typical.'"

"Do you think we have a relationship like other shudo partners would have?"

Jin cocked an eyebrow without looking up. "I don't get your meaning, Yuki-chan."

"I can't make it any clearer than I already have."

Jin raised his sword up and examined it closely, turning it to catch the light from the hall. "I suppose we're similar to any other pair. Why?"

Yuki watched the spider run the length of his index finger. He brought up his other finger to block its path, but it just climbed over. He shook it from his hand and then dropped into a crouching position to watch it scuttle over the floor. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm a burden to you."

"Not at all. I'm glad to call you my little brother."

"Are you?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Sometimes you seem… bothered by me."

"No," said Jin. "Never. I just don't have as much energy as you. I know I'm boring, and sometimes short-tempered, but never bothered. You're one of the brighter aspects of my day."

"Then why—" Yuki stopped himself very quickly. He'd slipped his sandal from his foot and put it in front of the spider, forcing it to change direction.

"Why what?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me," demanded Jin, laying his sword back over his lap and beginning to polish the other side.

"I've noticed other shudo partners have relationships different from ours."

"Of course they do. Everyone has different friendships, because they're different people," said Jin calmly, working a spot on the blade with his thumb. "You can't envy them, Yuki-chan. You're comparing apples to oranges."

"Sometimes I think you think I'm worthless."

Jin looked up, clearly startled. "Yuki-chan! How could you think that? There is no one in this dojo I'm closer to than you."

Yuki propped up his head with one fist, continuing to force the spider to run in an inescapable circle of sandal walls. "I don't know," he said. He added, almost sarcastically, "Jin-san." He purposely left out the "nii," the title of "older brother."

Jin set aside his sword, rose, and lay on the floor beside Yuki. He propped a fist against his cheek and turned to Yuki. "Okay. What's happened? Why are you suddenly so worried? Who's put these ideas in your head?"

"No one," said Yuki. He sat up and put his sandal back on his foot. The relieved spider disappeared in a tiny crack in the wall. "I've just noticed it, myself."

Jin rolled over lazily, propping himself up half-heartedly. "Come on. Something must have prompted this change in you. You're always so happy."

"Last night I wanted to come see you."

"Why?"

"See! That's what I mean!"

"What?" asked Jin, looking both confused and alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"I said I wanted to come see you, and you asked why! You always ask why! Why can't you just let me come see you for no reason, other than we're friends and partners? Why do you need a reason? Why don't you ever come see me? It's because I'm a burden to you! You have me around if it's justifiable, but you don't want me." He glared at Jin.

Jin rose. "Yuki, of course I want you!"

Yuki turned away and crossed his arms. "No you don't," he said.

"Yes, I do," said Jin with gentle force.

Yuki turned to sneak a peek at Jin over his shoulder. "Jin-niisan… you know I'd do anything for you?"

"I know, Yuki-chan."

"Anything?"

"Yes."

"All you'd have to do is ask, and I'd do it, no matter what it was."

"Yuki-chan," said Jin, with the same gentle force, "I know. I've known that a long time."

"Then… then why don't you ever ask?"

Jin looked confused. "Ask for what?"

Yuki sighed with disgust. "Excuse me, Jin-san," he said sarcastically. "I have to go practice my kata." He gave Jin the smallest bow he could before leaving the room, slamming the screen so hard it bounced back open. Jin ran a hand over his face before he went back to polishing his sword.

"Yuki," sobbed Jin.

"Did you love him, Jin?" asked Yuki maliciously. He already knew the answer. Of course he knew it; that was why he'd returned to the dojo, after all. Yuki was the only friend Jin had had. And it wasn't enough to just control Jin. Shenji wanted every little piece of his life, as if by controlling Jin, he could control himself. That was what life was all about, after all: power, control. Shenji had always been miserably aware of his own deficiency when it came to control. He'd known it since he was eight, when he'd first come to the dojo and seen him, the same age, that little black-haired boy practicing in the courtyard. So perfectly disciplined, his concentration intense, his movements as fluid as water. And then, those awful words: "He's a Takeda." A passing comment from another student, simple and poignant. But not. Jin wasn't just a Takeda. He was a traitor. A betrayer of the Shogunate, to whom the Miyazakis had always been faithful. A symbol of every evil, everything Shenji was joining the dojo to fight against. And the sickening irony was that Jin had been blessed with everything Shenji didn't have: discipline, form, and Master's respect. And still, even knowing he was a backstabbing Takeda, even knowing that he had been wrongly bestowed with greatness, still Shenji admired him. Shenji didn't have the control to stop marveling at Jin. He agonized over it, and spent long nights awake, imagining Jin in the courtyard, practicing his kata. Slowly, as he grew, a plan evolved in his mind. He would never be as great as Jin. But why should Jin be great? He didn't deserve it. In all fairness, Jin had to be cut down, dishonored into his proper level. So what if Shenji wasn't great? At least Jin would be below him, as he rightfully should be. And maybe Jin's greatness would wear off on him, as it should be. And once he was reduced to the worm he rightfully should be, then there would be no awe, no feelings of confusing devotion or keenness. The world would right itself, and once more they would be a Miyazaki and a Takeda, one controlled and loyal and good, the other animalistic and ugly and bad.

"Did you love him, Jin?" asked Shenji, savoring the control.

"Yes," cried Jin.

"It's too bad he'll never know. It would have meant everything to him." Jin didn't respond, except to cry softly into the floor. He was past being angry at Shenji; how could he be angry when it was entirely his fault for leaving Yuki, for not loving Yuki, for letting Yuki think he was worthless? He flinched instinctively when Shenji reached out to stroke his hair.

"That's it, huh, Jin?" asked Shenji softly. He'd done it; he'd broken Jin. But he didn't feel what he'd thought he would. There was no glorious release, not even a relatively powerful satisfaction. There was only a slightly bored, fleeting gratification, like the passing pleasure one has when they hear a snail's shell crunch under their foot. Nothing more.

Jin took a few deep, steadying breaths while Shenji stroked him. For a while there was silence, each listening to the other's breath. Shenji's hand paused; he gently put it on Jin's chest, working his kimono open. Jin didn't protest or struggle; he was still, borderline compliant, like a lamb at slaughter. It was somewhat disappointing.

Shenji's fingers paused on Jin's abdomen. A scar ran across his stomach. "Jin," he said in surprise. "You tried committing seppuku?"

"Hmm," said Jin flatly.

Shenji stroked the long, jagged scar and tried to imagine Jin tearing his sword across his stomach. What had stopped him? Why hadn't he finished?

"Jin? Why didn't you?"

There was a long, long pause. Shenji's fingers were still on Jin's scar.

"It wouldn't have worked," mumbled Jin finally.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Shenji. Jin didn't answer, but Shenji already had an idea of what he meant; you can't kill something that's already dead.