I forgot the disclaimer. Gomen. If you have problems with substance abuse, you probably shouldn't read this, even if it is non-graphic.
Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai does not belong to me. I merely use the characters as vessels for my thoughts.
Thank you for all of the very nice reviews that I received. This little series is probably one of the few things that I've written that I actually like.
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Touma couldn't sleep. This was normal, and it wouldn't have raised any eyebrows among his friends.
He got up and wandered downstairs. He noticed, in a detached sort of way, that Seiji's door was open. It was never open when he was there. He passed the bathroom, half-expecting to see light in the crack between door and floor; it wasn't the first time that this had happened, after all. But the door was open and the light was off, and he wondered where the other boy was.
He shrugged. It wasn't any of his business.
He went downstairs without turning on any lights, feet automatically taking him to Nasuti's study, seeking her mini-fridge and the bottle of Jack Daniels that she hid there.
Bottle in hand, he wandered back into the kitchen, looking out at the backyard. He took a deep swig, and nearly choked as his brain finally processed what he was seeing.
Two boys sat on the ground by the lake, the smaller one leaning against the other. They passed a bottle of vodka and a joint of pot back and forth, not speaking. They didn't seem to care that they were being watched, though they had to know. The taller one turned and gave the slightest jerk of his head. An invitation. He took it.
As he crossed the grass, he tried not to think about this, about what it could possibly mean. He had known that they were more than they seemed, but he wasn't quite ready to abandon his illusions.
They would be completely shattered by the end of the night, and he knew it.
Ryo looked up at him and, smiling ever-so-faintly, made room for him. He sat, and Seiji passed him the joint over Ryo's head. He took a hit and handed it back.
They spent the rest of the night that way, passing bliss back and forth. They didn't speak. There was no need to. They were who they were, and he was seeing them properly for the first time.
He couldn't take it.
They knew.
And so they did not speak, and Touma pretended not to see the scars limning Ryo's arms, stark in the moonlight. Strange ancient runes perfectly visible under the too-big tank top that he wore for sleeping, scars that were always covered by long-sleeved shirts during the day. He had seen too much already, he couldn't take what he already knew.
Couldn't take the knowledge that they were actually this fragile, Ryo especially. He had the feeling, somewhere vague—buried—that this night, and all the others like it, and there must have been others like it, were Seiji's. The bathroom lights were Ryo's nights.
This had been going on under their noses, probably since the beginning. And he was the only outsider who knew, because he didn't deliberately blind himself.
But he was about to.
And they were going to let him. After all, they didn't care.
So they gave him something to misunderstand.
A long, deep, passionate kiss, initiated by Seiji but reciprocated by Ryo. Touma was all too willing to run with it; it was far too close to dawn, and this could actually be a reasonable explanation.
Touma would sleep well from now on, and if he did wake up to noises during the night, he wouldn't investigate, because he knew full well what those noises would be; or so he thought.
He left, vanishing back into the house. He didn't see the silent wry look that Ryo sent Seiji or Seiji's shrug in response.
It had all been a show.
But Touma had known that all along, anyway.