This chapter is for Kaiser. Good things come to those who complain :)
A Romeo and Juliet Story
Chapter 2
Kaede stood naked before the full length mirror, staring through himself. The last smile of the sun caught a corner of the glass, sending knives of dust-laden light to fragment his reflected image. The light gave his bare skin a translucent yellow glow rather than its usual albino whiteness. His hair, still wet from the shower, dropped sparkling beads of silver from the tips.
It seemed ironic to him that the fifteen year-old body reflected in the mirror should be so at odds with the meagre fragments of identity that remained to him. It was young and real. Deceptively slender perhaps, deceptively innocent. Almost effeminate pale skin and dark feathery hair. He might have been an angel in another time and world. Certainly his did not look like the face of a monster but if the world had taught him anything it had all been lies and deception anyway.
Thus it was a hopeless business, for no matter how long he stared he couldn't reconcile himself to the face that looked back. He didn't know him. He didn't know himself. Perhaps it was better that way. There were too many questions to which he had no answers.
So he stared and took note of that unlucky defect of his; his eyes. Fox eyes.
Blue eyes had always been a renowned characteristic of the Rukawa family, and yet the liquid vividness of Kaede's sapphire gaze was unmatched. Hisashi's eyes, by comparison, were only a light, faded blue of little note, much the same as his father's. That, too, struck Kaede as being cruelly ironic.
Tonight would bring the party celebrating the sixteenth anniversary of his parent's marriage. Nothing more significant than custom decreed that Kaede had to attend. At least he would not be required to greet the guests as his father and brother would. In fact his father would probably have preferred him to stay away; would have preferred to avoid the complication of having to acknowledge his youngest and most notorious son at such an occasion.
An odd attitude to one's precious own perhaps, but it was all just the result of necessity. After all it was better to toss away one son than to risk losing both. That was just good economics. Good business. So for nearly six years Kaede had been nothing more substantial than a shadow. An odd, empty void. A pseudo son, you might say. Acknowledged by name, by reputation, by sight, but in the most important sense – not there. But there was no point feeling bitter about the whole thing.
No, in fact it wouldn't be inaccurate to say that he felt nothing at all.
His eyes flickered over to the table where his two guns lay in an untidy heap along with their holster. His eyebrows ticked in the smallest indication of negative emotion.
This wasn't the path he would have chosen for himself if he'd ever been given the chance to choose.
There came a quiet rap at the door behind him, interrupting his train of thought. Kaede didn't make any indication that he had heard.
"It's me" came a voice from beyond the woodwork.
The handle turned and another boy slipped into the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
Kaede made no move to cover his nakedness.
He watched the small figure of Kogure Kiminobu reflected in the clear glass. Kogure was dressed eccentrically in Romanesque armour. His torso was covered by a breastplate which was shining like real bronze, and a rich, red cloak trailed from his shoulders, attached with intricate clasps. Strips of tan leather had been formed into a skirt-like dressing that covered his thighs, while his feet were in sandals secured with leather tongs criss-crossing up his calves.
Kogure's brown eyes glanced over at the clock on the wall, probably noting Kaede's tardiness, however he made no comment about the lateness of the time. Instead his eyes met Kaede's blue ones in the mirror and he smiled pleasantly.
"Shall I help you dress?"
He did not wait for a reply, being too familiar with Kaede's ways to expect such a thing, and went towards the bed where Kaede's costume was laid out. A medieval prince's clothing; it consisted of two great squares of silk sewn together at the shoulders and sides to form a so-called base which went over a simple chainmail hauberk and was belted at the waist. There was a pair of thick, black breeches and black leather boots, and a modest, unornamented crown for his head. The white silk outer covering was slashed into quarters by a dramatic red cross motif in the style of St. George's flag, and in each of the four sections displayed a blossoming white rose.
The pinpoint detail and great expense that must have gone into such elaborate costumes for a single party was staggering.
Kogure picked up the plain cotton under-shirt and offered it in an outstretched hand.
"Here, this one first."
Kaede accepted the proffered garment and in doing so turned his eyes away from the lying mirror to look at the real Kogure properly for the first time. The pleasant, soft face of the only soul whom Kaede would consider a friend practically glowed with good-humour in the failing light. Someone at least was happily anticipating the party that evening.
"Who are you supposed to be?" he demanded critically. "Caesar?"
Despite the overt masculinity of the Roman outfit, it did not quite manage to disguise Kogure's natural gentleness. He still looked lovely. The response to Kaede's question was a chuckle.
"Oh no. I am Mark Anthony, can't you tell?"
"Next you will tell me that Hisashi is dressed as Cleopatra" the taller boy commented dryly.
Kogure smiled, "So you do have a sense of humour after all." He passed the next component of the medieval costume to Kaede.
Piece by piece they assembled the image of the prince who stood patiently in the mirror. Kogure fiddling with straps and buckles, and Kaede silent in his gratitude. He would not have tolerated such intimacy from anyone else.
Finally, once they were finished, Kaede once again examined his much changed reflection.
"Who am I?" he asked curiously, apparently unmindful of the irony in such a question.
"Prince Hal, of course!"
Kaede stared at the newly created image of himself. Shakespeare's renegade son – Prince Hal – who would come to defy his father's low opinion of him and rise up to become the greatest king of the era. He took a moment to curse the twisted sense of humour of whoever had picked out these costumes.
The small Mark Anthony beside him took his arm gently and smiled up at him. Not Caesar perhaps – but nonetheless a man who would meet death on the battlefield of love. The implications twisted in Kaede's gut.
Once again his blue eyes moved up and towards the pair of guns on the table, the one part of his costume that Kogure had unusually forgotten. It made him feel glad that his older friend must be in such a cheerful mood as to have neglected such a thing. Kogure followed his gaze and stilled.
"Oh." He said softly, reminded.
He left Kaede's side to approach the table. The careful reverence with which he picked up one of the firearms was twistedly reminiscent of a monk raising a blessed chalice. He brought it up to his face as if smelling it, as if breathing it in. Kaede knew some of Kogure's little fetishes and did not react when he flicked out his small pink tongue and pressed it cautiously against the cool black metal. Glimpses of Kogure's masochism always reminded Kaede that, despite any illusions of stability, they were both as broken as each other.
Their eyes met briefly, Kaede's face typically blank, and Kogure lowered the gun with a fresh hint of blush crossing his cheeks. He fiddled with the holster on the table, fixing the guns inside, and then presented the whole thing to Kaede. Kaede secured them out of sight under his silken base.
A glance at the clock on the wall told him that they were now forty-five minutes late. His father would probably be livid. Kogure smiled sweetly up at him and took his arm just as the final suggestion of sunset disappeared from the horizon, ushering them fully into the carnival of the night.
At my poor house look to behold this night;
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.
With a light-footed jog and a jump through the dusk Sendoh Akira slammed the ball into the unguarded net with all his strength, causing the whole structure to groan and bend with the impact. He hung onto the hoop for a moment, knowing that the whole thing would have given him that much more satisfaction if there was actually someone to play against.
Too often he found himself alone like this. He suppressed a sigh.
A quiet smattering of applause caused him to release his grip on the rim of the hoop and drop to the floor. He looked up at the girl he hadn't heard approach. He automatically fixed his face into a cheeky smile and waved cheerfully at her as if there was absolutely nothing wrong in his world.
The girl watching him was his cousin, Yayoi Aida.
"My, my, you look down, Akira-kun."
He relaxed his smile in the face of her keen perception.
"Not down, just…" he paused, wondering what name to give to his gloomy mood.
"…bored?" Her eyes were twinkling with amusement.
Akira cocked his head to one side and grinned sheepishly.
"You were at the meeting earlier right?" Yayoi asked, and fished something out of the rear pocket of her jeans.
"About the masquerade?" he thought back to the discussion which had finished a few hours ago. Hikoichi, Yayoi's resourceful younger brother, had managed to procure invitations to the exclusive Rukawa celebration and Akira's father Taoka, not one to miss an opportunity, had elected to send a small group on an information-gathering exercise.
"Have you ever seen the Rukawa mansion, Akira-kun?" Yayoi asked as she flipped the card she'd secreted away over with a grin to reveal elaborate gold lettering on the textured surface, glittering in the sun's fading light.
Akira took the invitation from her unresisting hands, hesitating slightly as though it might not be real.
"No, I haven't" he answered dazedly.
"Want to?"
His face broke out into a bright smile. "How did you get this?" he asked in excited curiosity.
"Well, Hikoichi got four, but he only told your father about three."
Akira's smile widened. The gold lettering of the invitation reflected in his eyes much like the golden flesh of the apple must have glittered with promise for Eve.
"I got your costume all ready" Yayoi said a wink.
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars…
Kaede kept his back to the wall and watched the movement around him impassively. He was like a heron motionless and dull as the dancing waters, glittering and jewel-like passed worthless around his feet.
His eyes roamed about the grand ballroom, seeking out the obvious round figure of his father and his tall half-brother with full champaign flumes in their hands, conversing with some unfamiliar businessmen. Kogure was at Hisashi's side as usual, looking adorable in his Roman outfit.
Hisashi was wearing flowing silk robes in blue and white and carrying a tall wooden wizard's staff. Prospero, Kaede had identified immediately; Shakespeare's magician, the wielder of absolute power over those around him and the one who bends even nature and the elements to his whims. He nearly grimaced.
Kaede and Hisashi had never been friends. Despite similarities in their physical appearance, their personalities diverged beyond compromise. They didn't share the same mother, and they had been in an instinctive competition with each other since childhood, angling for their father's approval. But ultimately it was Hisashi who had always been the favourite. Hisashi was the one who would one day be the head of the Rukawa drug empire, after all.
Kaede was not particularly bothered by being left alone, an outcast at the side of the hall - it suited his reclusive personality well enough. But to see so close by the world in which he was so unwillingly trapped and from which he was simultaneously so determinedly excluded caused an uncomfortable sensation of futility. He did not like to be reminded of his lowly position. He felt stifled, as if Hisashi, Prospero, and the whole of the colourful party were suffocating him. It was all so heart-wrenchingly senseless.
He turned abruptly on his heel and headed for the glass door which led to the outside courtyard, seeking the silent forgetfulness of the moonlight.
Men's eyes were made to look
And let them gaze.
For several minutes upon entering through the main doors Akira had simply stood staring in wonder at the splendour of the Rukawa mansion. While the Sendoh family wealth certainly equalled the Rukawa's, Akira's father did not deem it necessary to spend money on the estate. The Sendoh mansion did not boast anything like the luxurious decoration and grandeur visible here.
There was a majestic, sweeping staircase running to the upper floor where Akira could see couples walking along, looking down at the strangers and newcomers in the entrance way. A magnificent doorway straight ahead led the guests into the main reception hall, where a swing band was performing on a high stage and a colourful multitude of guests were swirling around each other on the wooden dance floor. At the edges of the floor the wood stopped to be replaced with rich red carpets, thick and vibrant, with round tables and chairs for people to sit and watch the dancing. The walls were papered with expensive gold leaf. There were tall windows looking out over the dark gardens and grounds of the house where gentle lighting highlighted the sparkling fountains on white gravel pathways in the darkness. It was pure opulence.
Akira adjusted his costume as he entered, making sure that the mask covered his face securely. Yayoi had arranged a beautiful black tailcoat in the Regency era style complete with a golden waistcoat and an alluring white knotted ruff at the neck which gave the illusion that if one tugged at it the whole thing might come undone. His white dress pants and black riding boots completed the look. He looked, he felt, rather good.
The round form of Anzai was easily noticeable in the room where he stood, two handsome young men on his left who were both dressed elaborately. The man was talking animatedly to a couple of associates, extending his hand to indicate the two boys by his side by way of introduction, and all four bowed.
Akira found it interesting to notice how the shorter boy bowed much lower than the men, whereas the taller boy only inclined his head slightly in recognition.
Akira found himself standing on tip-toe and straining to see across the room with interest.
The two sons… he thought.
The first, the one who'd hardly bowed, had to be Hisashi. The heir to all this. He was handsome, devilishly so, a light smirk playing about his lips as he surveyed the two new acquaintances. He looked somewhat reckless, rough at the edges. But there was also a shred, calculating look in his eyes. Imposing, good-looking, easy confidence: Akira could immediately see why Hanamichi, with his confrontational and fiery personality, found a natural rival in him.
The second boy was smaller, slighter and had a ready smile on his lips. A pair of thin rimmed glasses decorated his face and his fringe kept falling into his eyes, causing him to brush it repeatedly out of the way with an adorable annoyance.
Akira was surprised that Hanamichi's description had been so inaccurate. There were no hostile eyes, and nothing about the sweet creature looked remotely fox-like or "weird". Akira felt strangely drawn to him, as though the boy were a rare light in the darkness. He seemed so pleasant Akira would have liked to speak to him. He stared, intrigued, for a long moment.
He moved along the wall at the side of the room, trying his best to avoid Anzai and his two young companions, his eyes drinking their fill of this alien world. Eventually he came to a door which led out into the cool night. A chill wind came through it. His companions had already been gone for twenty minutes, and Akira wondered whether it was getting close to the right time to meet up with them. He slipped outside.
He found himself in a gravel courtyard with beautiful ceramic pots and a delicate Grecian fountain lit with soft lighting. Mindful that the lighting also made him visible to those inside the ballroom he moved quickly through the cool night air, the gravel crunching under his feet until he reached the soft grass which marked the border of the informal gardens.
It was as if he had walked through an invisible barrier causing the sounds of merriment to fade behind him, leaving him in an altogether different world. The view before him across the unlit, well-tended parkland which surrounded the estate in acres was breathtaking. It was such a contrast to the theatrical colours and costumes which were trapped like so many butterflies inside the house behind him.
In the absence of light the entire space was coloured with hues of grey, the grass and trees which would be bright and brilliant with green in the sunshine took on a more mystical, subdued and less distinct form, highlighted only by white moonlight. He felt as if he had walked out of reality and into a dream. Illusion crackled along his skin, causing the hairs on his arms to rise in the silent, mystic air of this midnight garden.
Nearby, tumbling across the view of the parkland was a sparse line of young saplings and older trees which, he knew from the sounds of water he could hear, marked the edge of a lake. The largest and most beautiful of the trees was a mature weeping willow which seemed to be trailing her tress-like branches in the icy water. She was twisted to one side, as if turning her head to wash her hair, the branches of leaves falling to one side of her moon-kissed shoulders.
Akira stopped and stared.
There was a boy there; standing under the moon on the tree's naked right. He had his back to the house, and to Akira, silent and unmoving. The moonlight adored him, taking away all the colour of his costume and leaving him almost an unearthly being, just air shrouded in shadows and light creating an illusion of human form. The moon was most concentrated upon the silver-shine hilt of the long sword the boy was wearing as part of his costume. The bright curve of reflected moonshine seemed like an accidental blank upon the canvas tempered with blacks and greys. It was as if the artist had failed to apply paint at the point, giving the illusion of a void, a blank, where actually the vision was at its most concentrated.
Akira looked around for any sign of a companion for the boy. It seemed unlikely that he would be standing out here alone when the party was his to enjoy. He ought to be meeting someone, a midnight lover perhaps, but Akira could see no one else.
Alone in the moonlight, the image ought to have been one of loneliness, sadness. But something about the way the boy was standing - his proud back, resolute shoulders and secure tilt of the head - overturned any such impression. He looked small and alone and yet he looked as if he was challenging the world; unafraid and undefeated.
Akira felt inexplicably drawn, and actually took two enchanted steps forwards. Voices behind him made him stop.
He turned his head and saw that his companions had appeared in the courtyard behind him, obviously having just returned from their venture to the upper floors, snooping around the house. They caught sight of him and waved in greeting, calling him back to the solidity of the building, indicating that it was time to go.
Feeling the magic of the moment dispel, he turned back to the boy and was astonished. The noise had also attracted the boy's attention and he had turned to look back over his shoulder to assess the cause of the commotion.
In that despairing scene of black and grey one colour came alive: blue. The moon's magic, which drained so readily the fresh beauty of the trees and the grasses could not, for all her power, suppress the blue of the eyes which fixed upon Akira now. He stared, transfixed, at that flash of colour before the boy changed the angle of his head and his brilliant eyes receded into blackness behind the fall of his fringe. Akira was struck dumb. The boy seemed to him a nymph, neither male nor female, but beautiful in an altogether otherworldly sense.
It was then, with a jolt of horror, that he realised that he had lowered his mask. He had done it absent-mindedly upon stepping out into the darkness of the garden. The enchantment around him was utterly dispelled as adrenaline seized him and he snapped that protective facial wear up to his face defensively. Had he been recognised?
He felt as if his heart stopped in the tense moments that followed while the unknown boy continued to gaze at him for longer than Akira would have liked. Finally, with slow, smooth movements the boy turned back to the moonlight lake at his feet.
Akira released his breath in a rush, but couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. It felt as if the scales were unbalanced, skewed, as if something had gone wrong, a mistake had been made, an opportunity missed, somehow.
Akira turned away regretfully from that dreamlike garden to rejoin his companions, and the moonlight continued her sorrowful vigil over the quiet boy undisturbed.
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will.
-tbc
Versions updated: Dec 2009, Jan 2010, April 2010, Dec 2018