For War is Kind ~ Chapter 7

 

 

It was strange, the moment just after waking when Sagara felt… all right. By no means completely back to normal, but well enough for now. Besides, he had a feeling that whatever normal was going to be from here on out, he wasn’t going to find it so easily.

He pushed himself upright, passing a hand over gray eyes. He hadn’t realized until now how uncomfortably hot and worn-feeling the blankets were from being lain in for so long, and his expression soured a little at the stiff feeling of dirty hair clinging to his jaw and neck.

He didn’t want to stay here anymore.

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Sagara climbed to his feet, blushing faintly as he tugged a blanket with him to wrap around his naked hips. And it felt a little strange, stranger still when he realized the last time he had stood unassisted it had been to stare down the barrel of a gun.

He shook his head slightly; he couldn’t do this right now. Steeling himself, Sagara bent to retrieve the clothes Omasu had left for him a few days back: a dark blue yukata and white obi. It took longer than usual to tie the cloth around his waist, but at last he managed a simple, slightly crooked knot at the small of his back.

A little pain still lingered, but the stiffness that had settled into his limbs felt as though it would depart if he could only work at it for a while. It was early, and he was alone for now as he slipped out of the room on bare feet. Ever since he was a child, mornings like this had always filled him with a slight flickering of shame, as though there was some sin in being awake while everyone else slept, as though he was breaking some unwritten contract.

Most of the panels in the hall were shut tightly, but one stood partly open, spilling a stark wedge of gold light against the far wall. Soft sounds from outside drew his attention, chasing away those thoughts of betrayal for the moment, and Sagara slipped into the inn’s central courtyard, curling bare toes against the dew-damp grass, arching his spine into the first rays of sun. That fresh light made him restless, as though something were waiting for him, just waiting for the right catalyst.

But when he realized whom it was that had coaxed him outside in the first place, his shoulders crept up a little. Aoshi seemed not to notice him immediately, but Sagara knew how unlikely that was. As he looked on, the boy drew his short sword, bracing the blade against his palm. He drew a deep breath, sliding forward languidly into the first steps of a form. His movements seemed familiar, deeply ingrained into him like the hollows water can leave on a stone. He moved through them with his eyes half-hooded, every movement deliberate and graceful and almost ethereal

Sagara felt a slight pang of guilt at watching him so closely, as though he had intruded on something terribly intimate. He should have left, withdrawn without a word, but if Aoshi already knew he was here… Sagara only crossed his arms over his chest and fell back a step, contenting himself with watching the boy practice. Every move was trained, perfect, and Sagara could almost feel the strength gliding through those long limbs.

Eventually, Aoshi’s movements slowed to a halt, and he turned to face the man. His eyes were cold, unreadable and somewhat distant as he sheathed his blade once more. He had known he was being watched, and had surprised himself by not caring. The gaze that had traced his movements was gentle and unassuming, and he hadn’t minded.

Sagara hesitated a moment, seemed to shy away from him like a cautious house cat, but then he started forward, his steps noiseless on the grass of the courtyard. “I feel foolish for having been worried before,” he said, almost too softly for it to be teasing. “I can see that I’m in very capable hands.” He lowered his eyes a little, not far enough to hide the tiny smile that curled his lips. “I hope you don’t find the though of being watched too unnerving.”

“Not at all.” It had been a while since Aoshi had been seen practicing without being subject to criticism or instruction. Sagara’s gaze was soft and thoughtful, and different from what he was used to. A lot about this man was unfamiliar. “It’s good to see you on your feet,” he offered.

“I feel better.” Sagara’s eyes seemed to warm a little. “Much better. Thanks to you.” He blushed lightly, glancing away as he reached back to run his hand through tangled hair. “I suppose this means you’ll want me out of your way soon, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Aoshi replied, though a bit more quickly than he had intended. He didn’t like admitting it, but it had been nice having a new face around. Someone gentler, quieter, closer to his own age, even if only by a few years. “I don’t mind, that is to say. This place is something like a safe house for people like us.”

“I have a hard time imagining that you need anyone to keep you safe.” But his words were met with only a sharp glance from Aoshi, and Sagara laughed softly. “I apologize.” He shook his head a little, and fell back a single step. “At any rate, I’m starved. Why don’t… you come in and help me find some breakfast.”

Aoshi hesitated a moment. There was a ribbon of humor lingering beneath Sagara’s voice, and though he was certain the man wasn’t laughing at him, he didn’t like that he couldn’t quite place it. He passed a hand over the front of his gi, straightening it, before at last turning his eyes back up to Sagara’s. “Very well.”

He tried not to notice the way Sagara’s eyes flashed eagerly as he followed the man inside, pausing only long enough to conceal his blade in his room. Sagara seemed to relax a bit at the disappearance of the weapon, but Aoshi was trying not to notice that, either.

A few minutes later, they were seated alone in the inn’s common room, a simple meal of rice spread out on the low table before them. A bit of color was slowly returning to Sagara’s face, and Aoshi felt inexplicably proud to see it, as though his hand alone had nursed the man back to health.

He lifted a bite to his lips, but hesitated as his gaze met Sagara’s. The man’s eyes were velvety and warm as he watched him, and he felt them in his throat, heavy like lead. For just an instant Aoshi was captivated, simply because… Sagara was alive. Every subtle curl of muscle, every breath that lifted the loose fabric over his chest seemed at once prophetic and profound and infinitely tragic.

This man affected him strangely. Since the first moment words had passed between them in a darkened hallway, all those months ago, it felt as though Sagara had been with him, watching him the whole time with those strange gray eyes, deep with patient, thoughtful calm.

With a breathless laugh, Sagara at last glanced away. “I’m sorry. I… don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I suppose I’ve been away from people so long I’ve forgotten how to be gracious company.”

“It’s fine.” Aoshi shook his head slowly, and though he felt like he should apologize for his own strange behavior, he didn’t. He had no excuses to offer in return. But he watched Sagara closely a moment longer, still fascinated by the delicate shift of bones in his hand as he lifted a bit of rice to his lips.

“It’s very good.” Sagara dipped his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“You must be in a good mood,” Aoshi remarked, shaking himself a little and returning to his own meal. “You have compliments for everything. I would have thought…” But when he realized what he had been about to say, he trailed off, burying the words in another bite. “Never mind.”

Sagara said nothing, but his smile flickered, faded from his eyes like light reflected in a pool. “I…” he said quietly, and the betrayal in his voice was subtle but undeniable. He took a few more bites of rice, at a more controlled pace.

Aoshi’s lips parted a little, as though to speak, but to apologize seemed foolish, and he didn’t know what else to offer. He couldn’t seem to find the words he should have said, of comfort or condemnation.

“I haven’t forgotten them.” Sagara spoke suddenly, without looking up, and for a moment the words hung in the air between them like syllables waiting to be assigned substance and meaning. “I really haven’t. But there’s nothing I can do, so I’m trying…”

“I wasn’t questioning you,” Aoshi assured. He understood what it was like to lose men, and he understood betrayal. He was in no position to call Sagara a fool. “You have my condolences, for your loss.”

Sagara glanced up, and something faint and sad passed over his features. “I’m glad,” he murmured softly.

Aoshi’s jaw tightened subtly. He didn’t want Sagara to look that way, and it startled him when he traced the conversation back and realized it was his fault, his tactlessness. But still he was speaking, saying all the things he knew he shouldn’t. “There won’t be any justice for them, you know. Or for you.”

Sagara’s breath caught, a soft, strangled, agonized choke, like something dying. “I know,” he breathed. “I wasn’t expecting any. It’s so strange…” A shaking hand lifted to slide back through his hair. “When I try to imagine holding a sword again, even… even if it’s to avenge them, I can’t do it. It’s not my face, my voice.” He pressed his eyes tightly shut, his voice dropping even lower. “You must think I’m so pathetic.”

“Perhaps.” Aoshi bit his lip; he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. “You’ve been deceived. Some men can see only in absolutes, and it’s not your fault that the ideals you fought for have been blurred now. You’re… just like everyone else.”

He could tell by the way Sagara shook his head a little that his words hadn’t been comforting. It didn’t bother him; Sagara had no right to expect comfort from him. But all the same, he was pushing slowly to his feet, settling lightly on his knees at Sagara’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked stiffly.

“Fine.” He said the words too quickly, too desperately, without looking at him. When he at last turned his eyes up to Aoshi, it seemed after a great effort. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Just… I’m afraid I’ve misjudged my strength,” he said dully. “I think I’ll lie down for a while, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sagara. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded…”

“I said I was all right, didn’t I? Just… excuse me. Please.” He choked down the last few bites of rice, and rose, brushing past Aoshi on his way to the door.

For a moment Aoshi only stared after him, trying to conquer the slight fluttering of emotion beneath his ribs. He felt urgent, like he was letting something infinitely important get away, slip around and away from him like an anonymous hand drawn over his skin in a crowd. With a slight shake of his head, he rose to follow. Perhaps this wasn’t his fault, but he was responsible, and so he was obligated to make certain Sagara at least made it to his room safely.

The man let him follow without protest, though he didn’t turn to face him. He slipped into his room, tugging the screen halfway closed behind him. Abruptly he collapsed to his knees beside the mattress that hadn’t yet been put away. His heart was pounding frantically now, each breath catching frantically, like a sob, and he couldn’t even calm himself enough to fall fully to the pillow.

A tiny shiver ran through him when Aoshi knelt soundlessly at his side a moment later. “Sagara… I’m sorry.”

The word sounded strange in his voice. He struggled with it, like a work in an unfamiliar language. It must have tasted bitter and hollow on his lips.

Sagara shook his head. “It’s all gone now. Everything. I don’t even know where to begin looking to get it all back, because… it’s the same place a fist goes when you open your hand.” He pressed his eyes tightly shut against the futile ache behind them. “Don’t apologize.”

For a moment, Aoshi was silent, and Sagara waited for the shuffle of movement that would mean he was leaving. But it never came. Only a softer whisper of cloth, and the warm pressure of a hand on his shoulder.

Sagara smiled, because he couldn’t find the words to thank him as he choked softly, and lifted a hand to rest over his eyes.

“Come on.” Aoshi cleared his throat uneasily, and began to prod him back down toward the mattress. “Just rest awhile. You’re in no condition for this right now.”

Sagara shook his head slowly, lifting nearly dry eyes once more. “Please. I’m all right,” he murmured. “I will be.”

“I know.” Aoshi seemed satisfied by that, and slowly he withdrew his hand. “You’re strong, after all. I just… don’t know what to tell you. I’m no good at this. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Sagara said instantly. There was nothing Aoshi could give him now. But just the offer was enough. A strained but genuine smile etched itself once more to Sagara's lips. He would live through this; he knew already, he would make it through. Aoshi shouldn't have worried, not when he surely had more important things on his mind. "I'll be fine," he promised.

Aoshi watched him a moment longer, sliding his eyes over Sagara as though searching for something that would betray the way he really felt. “I… should probably go, then.”

"You don't have to…" Sagara realized he had said the words aloud, and faint blush abruptly colored his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the expression Aoshi's gaze held. "You must have matters to attend to."

"Not really. I'm supposed to be laying low, too, after all." He leaned back on his hands. “There isn’t much for me to do, so I don’t mind staying.” He glanced away. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

"Oh…" Sagara blushed again, more fiercely. Aoshi was… he actually was going to stay. And suddenly he was desperate to explain himself, to find some reason for needing the boy's company so badly. "I just think it's worse to be alone,” he murmured. "Maybe it's not the way I'm supposed to do this, but…"

"You don't have to explain. I know."

Sagara lowered is eyes. He was having a hard time believing Aoshi actually did understand something like that, but if he was staying, maybe he would begin to. Wasn't that enough? "It still doesn't seem real, you know," he said quietly, without looking up. "They were all I had for… for a long time. And now everything is so different. I don't know how to go back." Aoshi would only laugh at him for saying these things; he had every right to laugh.

"There is no way back," Aoshi replied. "Once things change...you can't say they never happened. You must adapt." He frowned subtly, as though again afraid of having spoken to harshly. "What I mean is, it's all right to grieve for what you can't get back, but you can't forget to look ahead. That's where the future is. Or so my master once said."

Sagara lifted an eyebrow. "It’s kind of ironic… fighting so hard for change, and now all I want is my life back the way it was. I know I can't go back, but I suppose what I meant was… I can't stay here, either." He wasn't made for a life like this. Maybe he was too weak, or maybe he was just like anyone else except he hadn't seen enough yet to become cold.

But if that was true, he wasn't sure how much more he would be able to take. "That's all right too, isn't it?" He laughed a little, nervously and without humor. "There need to be people who don't fight just as much as there need to be people who fight, don't you think that's true?"

Aoshi nodded vaguely. "Yes, I think so. Otherwise... I wouldn't have anyone to protect."

"You think I need protection?" It was a strange thought, but one, Sagara realized, he wasn't entirely opposed to. Maybe he was just tired, worn out after years of being a leader, the one everyone looked to for strength and council.

"Yes, I do. For now." Aoshi relaxed a little, seeming to find some innate truth in those words that soothed him. "Part of being a leader is knowing when to deliver yourself into the hands of another.” Abruptly he straightened, and shook his head slightly. "I'm not saying it has to be me," he added quickly.

“Didn’t I just say there wasn’t anyone else,” Sagara said quietly. He didn’t want to admit how charmed he was by the way Aoshi seemed so suddenly flustered. He wanted it this way; if he had to be cared for, he would rather have Aoshi. He always felt strangely safe in the boy’s presence.

"You sound as though you speak from experience," Sagara said, trying to make his voice light once more. "I suppose I have no choice but to believe you, then."

“These are changing times,” Aoshi said quietly. “We all have to adapt quickly.”

Sagara nodded. “Well,” he murmured, trying to catch Aoshi's eyes, gauge the expression he found there. “I suppose you already know what I need from you. All that’s left is to find out what you need from me.”

“What I…?” Aoshi’s lips twisted strangely. “I don’t need anything.”

"Oh. That's all right too, then." Sagara looked away again. Aoshi's tone wasn't quite enough to convince him, but he didn't know if he had the courage to push him further. "But if you think of anything… Anything I can do…" He trailed off, blushing again. He felt like such a fool. There was nothing Aoshi could possibly need from a broken man like him.

Aoshi's breath slipped softly from him when Sagara looked away. “I’m just not used to asking for favors." He straightened a little. "If you stay long enough, though, I'm sure to think of something."

“Stay?” Sagara repeated quietly.

“Yes. Stay here.” Aoshi’s eyes narrowed a little. “That is… You can stay as long as you need. You don’t have to, if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

“I already told you, I don’t have anything else.” Only, he wouldn't feel right if there wasn't anything he could offer in return. Nothing he could do… "When you think of what you want, you'll tell me, right?"

"Of course.” His hand slipped across the floorboards, falling briefly over Sagara’s.

Sagara smiled faintly, twisting his hand so his fingertips brushed Aoshi’s palm. And when the boy tensed slightly, he bit his lip to stifle a soft laugh. He leaned a little closer, tilting his head so he could see the boy’s eyes. “Aoshi. You’ve been so kind to me.”

Aoshi blinked, leaning back a little. But their hands were still joined, whether he realized it now or not. “I really haven’t done that much,” he said quietly.

At his back, Sagara felt suddenly the clawing of a thousand blood-soaked memories, skeletal fingers closing around his ankles and wrists to draw him back into despair. And before him, only this boy, with his proud voice and unsmiling lips, his frozen eyes now heated a little with uncertainty and cautiousness. “You’ve done more that you will ever know.”

As he leaned forward, Sagara felt the weight of the past, his sins and failures, slide abruptly away like a heavy robe from his shoulders. It was still there, and likely it always would be, inside him now like poison in his blood. But at this moment, in the space of this single heartbeat, it was somehow less. And he was grateful, grateful to the point of tears.

His lips parted slightly, and they were so close that he could taste the warmth of Aoshi’s breath. “Have you decided?” He asked with a tiny thread of fragile humor lingering beneath his voice. “What you need yet?”

“I…” Aoshi stumbled ungracefully, and unlike himself, over a reply. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

"Fine," Sagara whispered. "That's fine." He smiled, slow and measured and still a little sad around the edges. Only a little. His fingertips glided, reassuring, over Aoshi's cheek. “I understand. You get… lonely sometimes, and then you forget what you want.”

“Sagara. I…” His hands snapped forward suddenly, growing tight in the front of Sagara’s yukata. To push him away; it had to have been to push him away, but his hands felt clumsy over the coarse fabric, and, gasping, he clutched the man tighter, as though for balance. He knew what was happening, didn’t he? It was so obvious, but still he didn’t know why. Why he was allowing Sagara so close, trusting him so implicitly. Letting him touch him, so methodically.

His eyes drifted gradually shut, and his chin tilted back like an invitation. But he didn’t know what he was asking for. He was Aoshi Shinomori, leader of the Oniwaban Ninja, and he couldn’t have possibly known what a man like this was capable of. Until he felt a fluttering of lips across his own. Not mutual enough to be a kiss, but… he breathed him. Sagara’s hair smelled of earth and pine and the slow burn of damp branches, and he held the memory of it beneath his tongue, against the back of his throat like something small and infinitely precious.

When Sagara leaned back once more, a soft moan of protest rose in Aoshi’s throat, abruptly choked off as his eyes snapped open once more. “What are you…?”

“Kissing you.” Sagara tossed his head to shake the hair from his eyes. He was already leaning in again, and Aoshi shivered as the gap between them slipped away. “Didn’t you like it?”

Again, their lips met, slow and coaxing, and Aoshi felt himself drawn forward as surely as by ropes. He gasped softly, but it was lost somewhere between their lips, in the desperate, humid ebb of shared breath. The sound of his own voice, even with all the life crushed out of it by their kiss, seemed to wake him a little, and Aoshi pushed abruptly back.

He stumbled to his feet, one hand clutching his gi closed weakly at his throat. At some point along the way, his vision had become narrow, fringed around the edges with black, and for an instant all he could see were gray eyes. They tore at him, making him feel the press of warm lips, the dying tattoo of heat against his mouth.

Sagara fell back a little, passing the back of one hand over his lips, and Aoshi wished he couldn’t notice how the man trembled. “Wait…” he murmured. “Aoshi, don’t.” And then Sagara was on his feet as well, one hand stretched out toward him. “Hold on. I’m… I’m sorry, all right?”

“Don’t,” Aoshi rasped, edging away a few steps. His eyes snapped to the offered hand as if it were a knife. “Don’t come near me. What’s… what’s wrong with you?”

“What…?” Sagara echoed softly. Again, cold betrayal flooded his eyes, and Aoshi had to glance away.

“You can’t possibly think something like that is normal, can you?” He backed away another step, and his shoulder blades struck dully against the panel. With a sharp gasp, he clawed it open, spilling out into the hallway. “You…” But the words he had wanted to say died on his lips, and he sought them there with hesitant fingertips as he turned fiercely away.

“I’m sorry,” Aoshi whispered, pressing his palm to his mouth. “I shouldn’t have…” And with a violent shake of his head, he turned quickly, to leave Sagara’s warm, wounded eyes far behind him.

"Wait!" Sagara cursed softly, and started after him. The boy was well into the hallway by the time Sagara's hand fell on his shoulder. "Aoshi, please…" he murmured, tightening his grip to hold him still. "I didn't mean to frighten you. But…" He sighed, slow and shuddering, and let his hand fall. "You don't have to run away."

Aoshi jerked away, then regretted it. "I'm not running," he snapped, and then... regretted that, too. "Sagara, you...I...." He pressed his eyes tightly shut. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm just...." But he couldn’t make himself finish, and Aoshi slumped backwards, shoulder blades coming to rest against the hall's paneling. He covered his mouth with a trembling hand.

"Don't apologize." Sagara smiled, but it was a strained, humorless expression. He reached out again, this time just to offer a bit of comfort, but he didn't want to alarm the boy again, and he pulled back before they could touch. "Aoshi…" he whispered the name again, for calm. "Don't worry. I don't… expect anything from you."

"That's not why I saved you." They both knew that--there was no need to say anything. "No, I didn't mean that. You just…” He sighed, pushed the hair from his eyes and shook himself. “Why?” He struggled to meet the man's eyes, but they tore at him, making him remember again, and making it harder to pull away.

“Well, I suppose… because I like you. Is that a good enough reason?” Sagara laughed, but it was a thin sound that did nothing to ease the tension between them.

Aoshi straightened a little, pressing his palms against the wall at his back. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly, against his better judgment. His chest ached distantly.

“Oh. I see.”

Aoshi glanced up and his blood ran a little colder for some reason when Sagara backed away from him. But he only retreated a few steps, enough to allow Aoshi room to get by. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “If I misunderstood you.”

Aoshi frowned subtly. That wasn’t the word he would have chosen, if only because he wasn’t yet sure what he thought of the moment they had shared. Something had made him pull away, but whether it had been the kiss, or the way his body reacted so strangely and frighteningly to the kiss, he didn’t yet know.

“I’m… not angry.” It was the most he could offer right now, but Sagara lifted his head at the words.

“Are you sure?”

At last, Aoshi eased himself away from the wall, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. “Yes.” He passed one hand over the front of his gi, brushing nonexistent dust from it. “But I can’t…”

“I know,” Sagara assured. “It’s all right.” He retreated another few steps, as though to declare the conversation over. Aoshi couldn’t help but be grateful for that. When Sagara looked at him that way, it felt as though the man could see right through him. And he seemed to know just how unstable he felt right now. “If you change your mind…”

But Aoshi looked away, and he let the words die like moths in the air between them, offering nothing more than a quick smile as he turned to leave. There had been something undeniable in the way Aoshi had responded to him, and something unexpected in the surge of heat he had felt in his own blood. Perhaps, if he was only patient…

But there was nothing more he could say to Aoshi now. He would just have to decide the rest on his own.

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