On Unions Civil and Otherwise

by Kita-Ysabell

Ten years have passed- ten years to the day- and when Utena and Anthy's engagement party goes somewhat awry, Saionji finds that some things are not so easily forgotten, and faces the bitter possibility that to make good his escape from Ohtori, he must rescue his oldest and closest friend- whether that friend wants to be rescued or not.

19. Blowing Smoke

As they grew accustomed to co-habitation, Saionji and Touga found themselves falling into a routine almost comic in its domesticity. When Saionji got home in the evenings, from his classes and his new, shorter time at work, he would call, "I'm home," as he entered, pausing by the door to take his shoes off.

"Welcome back," Touga would reply, usually seated in the same place, and usually smoking.

Smoking had been a violation of the rental agreement, as Saionji had pointed out indignantly the first time Touga had brought out his pack of cigarettes. That had worked, but only once. The landlady, who had spoken so sternly to Saionji on the matter when interviewing him as a prospective tenant, was only too happy to inform him that the rules had changed, and Saionji was certain this was due to Touga's intervention.

With no other means of direct protest at his disposal, Saionji had bought an entire sack full of black-lacquered ash trays, and placed them prominently throughout the apartment. That Touga deigned to use them would have been a greater comfort to Saionji had they not both been aware that his objection to Touga's habit had nothing to do with ash on the carpet.

One evening, when Saionji got home Touga informed him that someone had called, repeatedly, only to hang up the instant he answered.

"Have you gotten yourself wrapped up in an affair, old man? I never thought you had it in you."

Saionji scowled. "Whereas you never even thought twice."

It took until late that night for Saionji to realize exactly how vicious the retort had been, during which time Touga refused to speak to or even so much as look at him. When the understanding dawned upon him, he sought Touga out where he sat motionless in the darkened apartment living room, a cigarette burning down, unattended, in one hand. For a moment, Saionji was prepared to berate him- for the cigarette, for the silence, for the provocation. But then he stopped and sat down beside his friend.

Quietly, he said, "I'm sorry."

Saionji felt as if he should have made some sort of reparations, but did not know the language by which such things might be spoken. They sat like that for awhile, silent, islands to themselves. Then Touga replied.

"I know."

He ran his hand up Saionji's bare arm.