空火空 (Air, Fire, Air)
Title: 空火空 (Air, Fire, Air)
Pairing: Massu, Tegoshi, Yamapi, slight MassuPi
Rating: PG (for violent themes)
Words: 4,035
Summary: "Masuda and Tegoshi beat the odds. There were only so many elementals in the world and the two of them were born in the same city to two women as close as sisters (and probably not-too-distant cousins, the town was that small) just a year apart."
Notes: Same 'verse as 水土火 (Water, Earth, Fire). Thanks to imifumei for beta. <3 And to my cheerleading squad. XD <3
---
Masuda and Tegoshi beat the odds. There were only so many elementals in the world and the two of them were born in the same city to two women as close as sisters (and probably not-too-distant cousins, the town was that small) just a year apart. Fate continued to smile on them when the villagers discovered just what the two young boys were and, rather than fearing them, treated them like any other boys and worked to teach them responsibility for their fantastic skills. Their abilities were worked into their chores and other than that, they were treated just as all the other villagers were.
Masuda quietly crept up to watch the children, all warm smiles and laughter, while Tegoshi played with them and Masuda watched fondly as his childhood friend teased and laughed with them, looking more like one of them than the adult he was. Tegoshi didn’t notice him watching until the sun had nearly set and the last of the children were running home for dinner.
“Massu! You should have come and played!” The younger man bounded up to him, all smiles, breathing a little heavy.
“It’s hot.”
Tegoshi giggled airily. “I really don’t understand that.”
A slight breeze stirred Masuda’s hair and he shivered and grinned at Tegoshi. “Thanks.”
They turned and started walking down the path that led out of the village, dust devils swirling up in front of them and careening off the path and Masuda smiled. When the last of the light was just beginning to fade, they turned around to go back, but Tegoshi paused, the hint of a wrinkle appearing between his eyes as he peered down the road.
“What’s up?”
“Something…”
And then they saw something approaching, no, someone, crouched over, and they were both running toward the person, a man. He looked up, fright written boldly across his bruised face and Masuda gasped and grabbed the man’s arms just before he collapsed, and still the man flinched away from him.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, but there was no point because the man had passed out.
Tegoshi helped to lift him onto Masuda’s back and they trudged back toward the village.
“He’s like me,” Tegoshi said wonderingly.
“What?”
“Air. I can feel it.” He sounded excited.
“Hmmm.”
They took him to Masuda’s, his mother gasping and rushing to lay out a futon, and he carefully let the man slip onto it. His mother gently cleaned the blood and dirt off the man’s face to reveal delicate features - high cheekbones and pouty lips.
Tegoshi ran a finger softly over a cheekbone and whispered, “Are we all like this? He’s so pretty.”
Masuda couldn’t keep his lips from hitching up on one side, and he shook his head in amusement.
Tegoshi had dragged a finger down the man’s chest and was now winding his fingers through the man’s. “It feels so… strange,” he said in awe.
The man groaned and they all snapped their eyes up to his face. His eyes slid open, rolled wildly around and he tried to sit up, his breath speeding dangerously, but cried out in pain.
“It’s okay!” Masuda gently pushed down on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Tegoshi.”
Tegoshi leaned over in front of Yamashita, gripped his hand tighter and brought it up to his own cheek, cradling the back of the man’s hand against it. “Can you feel it?” he asked with a smile.
The man blinked, confused, but nodded a little and relaxed back against the futon with a groan.
Tegoshi played a perfect nurse and Masuda couldn’t help smiling because Tegoshi would do anything as long as he was interested in it, and he was definitely interested in this man. But when the stranger finally woke up, Tegoshi was asleep and it was only Masuda there next to him in the moonlight.
The man sat up fast, eyes wide and panicked and he was making nonsense noises, and Masuda, surprised at the outburst, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing gently but firmly against his chest with his free hand. “It’s all right. Shh. You’re fine.” Masuda fought against a rise in his own emotions, being whipped out of control, and he felt an echo of the fear the stranger must be experiencing building in his own chest. The man struggled only a few moments before relaxing into Masuda’s arms and taking deep, shuddering breaths and Masuda couldn't help echoing them, thankful for the calm. “Are you thirsty?” he asked shakily, drawing away and nudging a glass into the man’s hands, and he took it absently, fiddling with it.
“Where is that person?” he asked Masuda, whispering.
“From earlier? He’s sleeping,” he said, pointing to a lump against the wall. “He’s Tegoshi Yuya. I’m Masuda Takahisa.”
“Yamashita Tomohisa,” the man said, voice breathy, and gulped at the water. He stared at the empty cup between his trembling fingers and Masuda had no warning, Yamashita was just suddenly trembling all over, weird gasping chokes emerging from him and Masuda thought he was having a seizure of some sort until he saw the tears.
Uncomfortable, he put his arm back around Yamashita’s shoulders, steeling himself for the whirlwind sensation. But this was nothing like before and he relaxed and threaded their fingers together in Yamashita’s lap and waited for him to get it all out. “You don’t . . . have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’ll listen.”
Yamashita shook his head and leaned back, and Masuda pulled away and let him lie back down.
“I’m right next to you if you need something,” he said gently, and the man nodded distractedly, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes. Yamashita had little wrinkles above his eyebrows and his lips were tense and Masuda wondered how much pain he was in, physical and mental, that caused him to bite his lip sometimes when he moved. He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. He didn’t know who this man was or what had happened, but he’d been through hell and back, that was for sure. He lay down quietly on his side, watching the uneven rise and fall of the man’s chest until his eyes slipped closed.
When he woke, Tegoshi was feeding Yamashita breakfast, smiling with every bite Yamashita took and Masuda would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t just woken up. “Where’s mine?” he asked in a mock-petulant voice, hoarse with sleep, and grinned when Tegoshi frowned at him. “Good morning.” He rolled to his feet and went into the kitchen, patting his mother on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.
When he came back into the kitchen she had his breakfast set up. “You don’t need to watch the children this morning, Taka. Tegoshi either,” she said with a smile.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully and took his breakfast in to sit with Tegoshi and Yamashita on the floor.
“Does your face hurt?” Tegoshi was asking concernedly.
“Um, not really,” Yamashita said, but the way he winced when he opened his mouth for another bite showed the lie.
“Really?” he asked, brow wrinkling. “It hurts me just looking at it.”
Masuda spit out his rice and Yamashita looked questioningly at Tegoshi.
“He’s serious. Don’t mind him, he doesn’t think before he speaks,” Masuda assured him, wiping at his face.
“I can feed myself, you know,” Yamashita said quietly.
“It’s almost done anyway. Massu,” Tegoshi said haughtily, looking over at his friend, “you’ve got rice on your chin again.”
For a few days, Yamashita was reluctant to talk, instead sitting lightly on Masuda’s front porch and watching the road into the village with wary eyes. Tegoshi would constantly flit to him and touch him on the cheek or the hand and they’d lock eyes and smile, Tegoshi's wide and Yamashita's shy, and then Tegoshi would run off again. Masuda just went about his regular duties, watching calmly and banking his curiosity. He couldn't seem to shake this somewhat 'off' feeling he'd had ever since Yamashita had woken in the middle of his nightmare and whirled Massu's internal balance into a flurry of uncontrollable sensations. He could only attribute it to the fact that Yamashita was an air elemental to his fire. But so was Tegoshi and his slight friend had never caused anything like that in him. But then, Tegoshi was light like a summer breeze while Yamashita was like the eye of a hurricane, calm for now but with turbulence surrounding him, and maybe that was the difference. In any case, it was unsettling, though not entirely unpleasant.
If Tegoshi was the first to make Yamashita smile, Masuda was the first to make him really talk, late one evening in front of the hearth long after his mother had gone to bed. Masuda was leaning back on his hands, legs crossed and he was watching Yamashita stare at the low flames, shoulders hunched and a frown on his face.
“What’s worrying you?” Masuda asked quietly, and Yamashita jerked slightly before shaking his head. “You’re safe here.”
Yamashita laughed bitterly and Masuda couldn’t help but think that it sounded too heavy for his voice. “What do you know about danger?”
Masuda tilted his head and looked thoughtfully at the fire, at the small eddies of flame whirling from tiny currents of air stroking the fire. He supposed that was fair. He’d never known danger, really. His abilities kept him safe from any sort of threat he’d ever encountered and life in the small village was quiet. But he thought of Yamashita’s bruised face and broken body and supposed that Yamashita probably wasn’t thinking of natural dangers.
“I’m sorry,” Yamashita whispered. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay,” Masuda replied. “Tell me about it? If you want…”
“You wouldn’t understand. The people here. They’re so different. They don’t care about what you are, only who you are. You’re not a god or a demon, not a tool to be used by them. I can’t believe it’s real.” He dropped his chin to his chest, eyes slipping closed and face relaxing and he looked so much younger this way, Masuda thought, and he wanted to reach out and touch him.
“Which were you?” he asked.
“All of the above. They never could tell whether to worship me or exorcise me. My mother protected me for a while, but when she got sick two years ago and then died six months ago, the people decided that I couldn’t be a god if I couldn’t save my own mother. I…” he swallowed harshly and cleared his throat, “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but they wanted to hurt me, to make me do what they wanted. They wanted me to destroy the crops of the next village over so that they could raise the prices on their own crops, but I wouldn’t do it. It’s low. People shouldn’t suffer for someone else’s greed. They beat me until I couldn’t move.”
Masuda remembered the broken man coming up the road, the fear and desperation in Yamashita’s voice now only an echo of what it had been when he’d first woken in Masuda’s house, but no less painful.
“When I healed enough to be able to move,” he went on in his breathy voice, “They came to me again to make me do it. I just. I couldn’t do it. I…” a broken sob was wrenched from his throat and he turned pleading eyes to Masuda. “I killed them,” he whispered. “Sucked the breath from their lungs until their hearts stopped beating.”
Masuda gasped and recoiled, drawing closer to the comforting warmth of the fire. Killed them? This man? How could he? His thoughts were leaping higher and faster with every second. Life was precious. But wouldn’t they have killed him? And Yamashita was looking at him like he could read his every thought, a plea for understanding written deep in his eyes, a plea for forgiveness because he couldn’t forgive himself, even if it had been to save his own life and the lives of some in the neighboring village, and Masuda found himself on his knees and wrapping his arms around Yamashita, Yamashita’s arms coming up under Masuda’s to grip at Masuda’s shoulders as he clenched fingers against Masuda’s shirt, wracking sobs coming from the pit of his being and dragging themselves out into the night. Masuda felt his own emotions being whipped into a frenzy, heightened by those of the man in his arms and he fought against the whirlwind, trying to keep them at bay until Yamashita quieted enough for him to relax slightly against the pressure.
Even after Yamashita had cried himself out, he still kept a tight hold on Masuda’s shoulders, refusing to pull away enough to see his face. And it was only when Masuda shifted uncomfortably that Yamashita reluctantly let go, uncurling cramped fingers and pulling away with eyes downcast.
“If you want me to leave, I will. No one wants to share their home with a murderer.”
“I wouldn’t call what you did ‘murder,’ Yamashita-san," he said slowly, thinking. "And I’d rather you didn’t leave until you wanted to.”
Yamashita raised his face to look Masuda in the eyes.
“After all, I don’t think you’re quite done healing yet.”
---
Yamashita was a quiet, sturdy young man for all his flighty tendencies - leaving doors ajar or lids off pots or a myriad of small things he overlooked for the big picture - and what he enjoyed most was helping Tegoshi and Masuda with the children. Masuda couldn't help but laugh because Tegoshi and Yamashita were just like big kids all mixed in with the tiny ones but he couldn't be upset that he ended up with most of the actual work on his shoulders because the way Yamashita smiled, all beautiful and unguarded, when the children touched him and played with him made it more than worth it.
Yamashita continued to stay with Masuda and his mother and they rarely said anything as they sat side-by-side in the evenings, but Masuda thought they didn't really need to. Just like with Tegoshi, with time Masuda could feel the slightest stir in the man's emotions and, if he couldn't identify the subtleties, he could interpret the general mood. He'd known Tegoshi all his life, though, grown up accustomed to reading him unconsciously and adjusting accordingly. But Yamashita was a stranger and his emotions were different. He was outwardly calm and collected, but, inside, his emotions were tempestuous, quicksilver, uncertain, and Masuda couldn't help but be dragged along, his own feelings rising and falling in tandem. It was uncomfortable but addicting and he found himself unconsciously drawn to Yamashita whenever he let his guard down.
When Masuda shook Yamashita awake from a nightmare yet another time, he cradled the older man in his arms and asked him to please just tell him what was wrong. Yamashita was becoming more and more agitated as the days wore on, rather than relaxing into the safety of the community which had already accepted him as one of their own.
Yamashita rested his sweat-streaked cheek against Masuda's chest and took deep, gulping breaths. Masuda closed his eyes and shuddered, trying to keep a rein on himself until Yamashita had calmed a bit.
"You're safe here," he said after several minutes.
"Not safe," Yamashita murmured.
"What?" Masuda asked, surprised. "You traveled over three hundred miles from them. Don't you think they'd be too frightened to chase you?"
"You don't know. No one here is power hungry like they are," he mumbled, clearly exhausted and still half-asleep. "They'll find me, I know. And if they find you… I could never forgive myself."
This time it was Yamashita who shivered and Masuda frowned and tightened his arms around him, letting him fall back into fitful slumber.
The prophetic words proved true during late summer, a band of determined-looking men trooping into the village armed with scythes and knives and other deadly tools. Tegoshi saw them coming and came running to Masuda, wringing his hands and whispering the news and they took Yamashita and hid him, Masuda nearly burning up with Yamashita's fear fanning his own.
Masuda and Tegoshi took their places among the village men, the women having already herded the children into houses and barred their doors against the intruders. The burly fellow at the front of the group demanded to know if they'd seen a young man by the name of Yamashita, and they described him. The village head looked them up and down, easily discerning what they intended to do with Yamashita if they found him, quietly asked the men to take their weapons and leave the village. They would be willing to provide them with some food and water, but they would not allow them to stay here, nor would they let them violate their homes.
In reply, the head of the men nodded to the side and one of the others calmly stepped forward and shoved his knife into the stomach of the villager in front of him. There were startled gasps and angry shouts and Masuda was stepping back in fear, Tegoshi's hand clutched in his own and then suddenly Yamashita was in the midst, throwing himself to the ground in front of the men.
"Take me," he shouted. "Take me but leave them be."
The strangers shouted, anger evident in their voices and faces as they snatched him up, punching him in the stomach and kicking him, slapping him across the face and Masuda held his breath, waiting for Yamashita to act, for someone to act, but his village had never faced violence, had no weapons, had no idea how to fight, and Yamashita was clearly broken, unable to kill again even to save himself.
Masuda was nowhere near him but he could feel the man's desperation and fear like a tornado ripping at him, so forceful that Tegoshi's fear was simply a ripple across his subconscious even though he was so close and he found himself moving forward, Tegoshi tugging him back, but he couldn't stop. As he pushed through the villagers, anger and horror written across his face, they surged forward with him, ripping at the weapons in the strangers' hands and surprising them. But he could see some of his own falling, blood running and then he was at Yamashita's side, a hand on his shoulder, pulling him toward his chest, his emotions raging and sparking inside him with intensity he had never imagined and he let them engulf him, consuming the men still tearing at Yamashita until their skin blackened and peeled and then were nothing but bones and dust and the strangers were running, there was screaming and Masuda fell to his knees, and the screaming was coming from him, too.
When he came to, Yamashita was holding him, arms wrapped tight around him and Tegoshi was at their side, hands clutching at both them, and the women were out, tending to the wounded and Masuda had never heard such wretched crying before.
"How many?" he muttered thickly, trying not to look to his left where the piles of what used to be men were. "How many are hurt?" He couldn't bring himself to ask if any had died.
"Ten. Ten hurt and Mayama Shun and Sasaki Ryu are dead," Tegoshi whispered.
Tears welled up, burning tracks down Masuda's cheeks and he sobbed. He was a murderer too, now, and he could understand why Yamashita couldn't save himself a second time.
---
Masuda, Yamashita and Tegoshi sat out at the edge of a field where Tegoshi had pulled them both after the villagers had calmed and were busy tending to the wounded.
"You're wounded, too," Tegoshi had insisted over their protests. "I'm taking care of you," he said forcefully, and pushed them down to sit on the soft ground.
They sat in silence, Tegoshi pressing fingers gently against Yamashita's injuries to see if he had broken anything, cleaning the blood off his myriad of small cuts with a damp cloth, but leaving his knee touching Masuda's so that his friend could draw comfort from his calm. Tegoshi could feel the tumultuous air of Yamashita's emotions, too, and struggled to keep his own emotions even, for their sakes.
Hours later they returned to the village, the two of them supporting Yamashita between them, to find the rest of the village waiting for them.
Masuda sat, head bowed in shame, before the head of the village, the rest of the villagers fanned out behind their leader. Yamashita was on his right and Tegoshi on his left. He bowed all the way to the ground and saw Yamashita do the same. He couldn't say he was sorry, he couldn't speak. He couldn't look into their eyes because he was certain of the horror he would find.
Their leader, Mayama Tarou, the father of Shun, spoke quietly, voice thick with grief and sorrow. "Power always has two sides. All we have ever seen of yours has been the gentle warmth. Whoever thought that there was no other side was shortsighted. Today we have seen the burning wrath and cowered in fear."
Masuda heaved a shuddering sigh, trying to contain his sobs. And then he felt a gentle hand on his head.
"We have lost lives today, but it is not your fault. Nor is it young Yamashita's. When there are men with anger and hatred and greed in their hearts, there will be war. You acted to save your friend when we were paralyzed with fear. It is not anyone's fault but theirs for coming here with the intention of inflicting pain. I am sorry you had to kill, Masuda-kun. But I am not sorry that you defended your friend, or us."
The hand left his head and Masuda felt Tegoshi draw near and slip his hand into Masuda's tugging him up to lean against him, using his free hand to wipe at Masuda's tears, and they both turned to watch Mayama tug Yamashita's shoulders off the ground.
"You are feeling guilty and filled with grief for our losses. But they are your losses too, even though you barely knew them. You are one of our own and we are not frightened of you, nor do we wish you to leave. You are one of ours and we will support you and fight for you, if we must, just as we will for Masuda-kun or Tegoshi-kun." Mayama held Yamashita's hands in his own. "This is your home."
---
Masuda and Yamashita stood at the entrance to the village long after everyone was asleep, staring down the road, hands clasped tightly between them.
"I'm sorry," Yamashita said quietly. "I never meant for you to do that for me."
"I don't regret it," Masuda replied, tugging Yamashita closer beside him. "Will you stay?" he asked, looking out into the night.
"I want to…"
Masuda didn't need to hear the "but" because he could feel it. He squeezed Yamashita's hand. He didn't know either. The future was troubling but they would face it together, and make their decisions as they must.
He turned to face Yamashita, pressing his fingers against the man's cheek until he turned to look at him, distress written in his gaze. "We'll both stay," he said firmly. "This is where I belong, and it's where you belong too."
"What if they come again?"
"They won't," he said. "But if they do, I will do what I have to."
"Masuda…"
He gripped Yamashita's hand hard. "Stay with me," he said fiercely.
Yamashita turned his face away and Masuda dropped his hand back to his side, waiting. Finally Yamashita nodded once, uncertain but hopeful, Masuda thought, if the timid butterflies in his stomach were a result of Yamashita's emotions and not his own, but he wasn't sure this time.
They walked slowly back to Masuda's house in silence and he looked over the quiet village and felt a swelling of affection he knew wasn't just his own and he smiled. Somehow, he thought with conviction, they'd make it work.
Pairing: Massu, Tegoshi, Yamapi, slight MassuPi
Rating: PG (for violent themes)
Words: 4,035
Summary: "Masuda and Tegoshi beat the odds. There were only so many elementals in the world and the two of them were born in the same city to two women as close as sisters (and probably not-too-distant cousins, the town was that small) just a year apart."
Notes: Same 'verse as 水土火 (Water, Earth, Fire). Thanks to imifumei for beta. <3 And to my cheerleading squad. XD <3
---
Masuda and Tegoshi beat the odds. There were only so many elementals in the world and the two of them were born in the same city to two women as close as sisters (and probably not-too-distant cousins, the town was that small) just a year apart. Fate continued to smile on them when the villagers discovered just what the two young boys were and, rather than fearing them, treated them like any other boys and worked to teach them responsibility for their fantastic skills. Their abilities were worked into their chores and other than that, they were treated just as all the other villagers were.
Masuda quietly crept up to watch the children, all warm smiles and laughter, while Tegoshi played with them and Masuda watched fondly as his childhood friend teased and laughed with them, looking more like one of them than the adult he was. Tegoshi didn’t notice him watching until the sun had nearly set and the last of the children were running home for dinner.
“Massu! You should have come and played!” The younger man bounded up to him, all smiles, breathing a little heavy.
“It’s hot.”
Tegoshi giggled airily. “I really don’t understand that.”
A slight breeze stirred Masuda’s hair and he shivered and grinned at Tegoshi. “Thanks.”
They turned and started walking down the path that led out of the village, dust devils swirling up in front of them and careening off the path and Masuda smiled. When the last of the light was just beginning to fade, they turned around to go back, but Tegoshi paused, the hint of a wrinkle appearing between his eyes as he peered down the road.
“What’s up?”
“Something…”
And then they saw something approaching, no, someone, crouched over, and they were both running toward the person, a man. He looked up, fright written boldly across his bruised face and Masuda gasped and grabbed the man’s arms just before he collapsed, and still the man flinched away from him.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, but there was no point because the man had passed out.
Tegoshi helped to lift him onto Masuda’s back and they trudged back toward the village.
“He’s like me,” Tegoshi said wonderingly.
“What?”
“Air. I can feel it.” He sounded excited.
“Hmmm.”
They took him to Masuda’s, his mother gasping and rushing to lay out a futon, and he carefully let the man slip onto it. His mother gently cleaned the blood and dirt off the man’s face to reveal delicate features - high cheekbones and pouty lips.
Tegoshi ran a finger softly over a cheekbone and whispered, “Are we all like this? He’s so pretty.”
Masuda couldn’t keep his lips from hitching up on one side, and he shook his head in amusement.
Tegoshi had dragged a finger down the man’s chest and was now winding his fingers through the man’s. “It feels so… strange,” he said in awe.
The man groaned and they all snapped their eyes up to his face. His eyes slid open, rolled wildly around and he tried to sit up, his breath speeding dangerously, but cried out in pain.
“It’s okay!” Masuda gently pushed down on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Tegoshi.”
Tegoshi leaned over in front of Yamashita, gripped his hand tighter and brought it up to his own cheek, cradling the back of the man’s hand against it. “Can you feel it?” he asked with a smile.
The man blinked, confused, but nodded a little and relaxed back against the futon with a groan.
Tegoshi played a perfect nurse and Masuda couldn’t help smiling because Tegoshi would do anything as long as he was interested in it, and he was definitely interested in this man. But when the stranger finally woke up, Tegoshi was asleep and it was only Masuda there next to him in the moonlight.
The man sat up fast, eyes wide and panicked and he was making nonsense noises, and Masuda, surprised at the outburst, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing gently but firmly against his chest with his free hand. “It’s all right. Shh. You’re fine.” Masuda fought against a rise in his own emotions, being whipped out of control, and he felt an echo of the fear the stranger must be experiencing building in his own chest. The man struggled only a few moments before relaxing into Masuda’s arms and taking deep, shuddering breaths and Masuda couldn't help echoing them, thankful for the calm. “Are you thirsty?” he asked shakily, drawing away and nudging a glass into the man’s hands, and he took it absently, fiddling with it.
“Where is that person?” he asked Masuda, whispering.
“From earlier? He’s sleeping,” he said, pointing to a lump against the wall. “He’s Tegoshi Yuya. I’m Masuda Takahisa.”
“Yamashita Tomohisa,” the man said, voice breathy, and gulped at the water. He stared at the empty cup between his trembling fingers and Masuda had no warning, Yamashita was just suddenly trembling all over, weird gasping chokes emerging from him and Masuda thought he was having a seizure of some sort until he saw the tears.
Uncomfortable, he put his arm back around Yamashita’s shoulders, steeling himself for the whirlwind sensation. But this was nothing like before and he relaxed and threaded their fingers together in Yamashita’s lap and waited for him to get it all out. “You don’t . . . have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’ll listen.”
Yamashita shook his head and leaned back, and Masuda pulled away and let him lie back down.
“I’m right next to you if you need something,” he said gently, and the man nodded distractedly, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes. Yamashita had little wrinkles above his eyebrows and his lips were tense and Masuda wondered how much pain he was in, physical and mental, that caused him to bite his lip sometimes when he moved. He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. He didn’t know who this man was or what had happened, but he’d been through hell and back, that was for sure. He lay down quietly on his side, watching the uneven rise and fall of the man’s chest until his eyes slipped closed.
When he woke, Tegoshi was feeding Yamashita breakfast, smiling with every bite Yamashita took and Masuda would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t just woken up. “Where’s mine?” he asked in a mock-petulant voice, hoarse with sleep, and grinned when Tegoshi frowned at him. “Good morning.” He rolled to his feet and went into the kitchen, patting his mother on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.
When he came back into the kitchen she had his breakfast set up. “You don’t need to watch the children this morning, Taka. Tegoshi either,” she said with a smile.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully and took his breakfast in to sit with Tegoshi and Yamashita on the floor.
“Does your face hurt?” Tegoshi was asking concernedly.
“Um, not really,” Yamashita said, but the way he winced when he opened his mouth for another bite showed the lie.
“Really?” he asked, brow wrinkling. “It hurts me just looking at it.”
Masuda spit out his rice and Yamashita looked questioningly at Tegoshi.
“He’s serious. Don’t mind him, he doesn’t think before he speaks,” Masuda assured him, wiping at his face.
“I can feed myself, you know,” Yamashita said quietly.
“It’s almost done anyway. Massu,” Tegoshi said haughtily, looking over at his friend, “you’ve got rice on your chin again.”
For a few days, Yamashita was reluctant to talk, instead sitting lightly on Masuda’s front porch and watching the road into the village with wary eyes. Tegoshi would constantly flit to him and touch him on the cheek or the hand and they’d lock eyes and smile, Tegoshi's wide and Yamashita's shy, and then Tegoshi would run off again. Masuda just went about his regular duties, watching calmly and banking his curiosity. He couldn't seem to shake this somewhat 'off' feeling he'd had ever since Yamashita had woken in the middle of his nightmare and whirled Massu's internal balance into a flurry of uncontrollable sensations. He could only attribute it to the fact that Yamashita was an air elemental to his fire. But so was Tegoshi and his slight friend had never caused anything like that in him. But then, Tegoshi was light like a summer breeze while Yamashita was like the eye of a hurricane, calm for now but with turbulence surrounding him, and maybe that was the difference. In any case, it was unsettling, though not entirely unpleasant.
If Tegoshi was the first to make Yamashita smile, Masuda was the first to make him really talk, late one evening in front of the hearth long after his mother had gone to bed. Masuda was leaning back on his hands, legs crossed and he was watching Yamashita stare at the low flames, shoulders hunched and a frown on his face.
“What’s worrying you?” Masuda asked quietly, and Yamashita jerked slightly before shaking his head. “You’re safe here.”
Yamashita laughed bitterly and Masuda couldn’t help but think that it sounded too heavy for his voice. “What do you know about danger?”
Masuda tilted his head and looked thoughtfully at the fire, at the small eddies of flame whirling from tiny currents of air stroking the fire. He supposed that was fair. He’d never known danger, really. His abilities kept him safe from any sort of threat he’d ever encountered and life in the small village was quiet. But he thought of Yamashita’s bruised face and broken body and supposed that Yamashita probably wasn’t thinking of natural dangers.
“I’m sorry,” Yamashita whispered. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay,” Masuda replied. “Tell me about it? If you want…”
“You wouldn’t understand. The people here. They’re so different. They don’t care about what you are, only who you are. You’re not a god or a demon, not a tool to be used by them. I can’t believe it’s real.” He dropped his chin to his chest, eyes slipping closed and face relaxing and he looked so much younger this way, Masuda thought, and he wanted to reach out and touch him.
“Which were you?” he asked.
“All of the above. They never could tell whether to worship me or exorcise me. My mother protected me for a while, but when she got sick two years ago and then died six months ago, the people decided that I couldn’t be a god if I couldn’t save my own mother. I…” he swallowed harshly and cleared his throat, “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but they wanted to hurt me, to make me do what they wanted. They wanted me to destroy the crops of the next village over so that they could raise the prices on their own crops, but I wouldn’t do it. It’s low. People shouldn’t suffer for someone else’s greed. They beat me until I couldn’t move.”
Masuda remembered the broken man coming up the road, the fear and desperation in Yamashita’s voice now only an echo of what it had been when he’d first woken in Masuda’s house, but no less painful.
“When I healed enough to be able to move,” he went on in his breathy voice, “They came to me again to make me do it. I just. I couldn’t do it. I…” a broken sob was wrenched from his throat and he turned pleading eyes to Masuda. “I killed them,” he whispered. “Sucked the breath from their lungs until their hearts stopped beating.”
Masuda gasped and recoiled, drawing closer to the comforting warmth of the fire. Killed them? This man? How could he? His thoughts were leaping higher and faster with every second. Life was precious. But wouldn’t they have killed him? And Yamashita was looking at him like he could read his every thought, a plea for understanding written deep in his eyes, a plea for forgiveness because he couldn’t forgive himself, even if it had been to save his own life and the lives of some in the neighboring village, and Masuda found himself on his knees and wrapping his arms around Yamashita, Yamashita’s arms coming up under Masuda’s to grip at Masuda’s shoulders as he clenched fingers against Masuda’s shirt, wracking sobs coming from the pit of his being and dragging themselves out into the night. Masuda felt his own emotions being whipped into a frenzy, heightened by those of the man in his arms and he fought against the whirlwind, trying to keep them at bay until Yamashita quieted enough for him to relax slightly against the pressure.
Even after Yamashita had cried himself out, he still kept a tight hold on Masuda’s shoulders, refusing to pull away enough to see his face. And it was only when Masuda shifted uncomfortably that Yamashita reluctantly let go, uncurling cramped fingers and pulling away with eyes downcast.
“If you want me to leave, I will. No one wants to share their home with a murderer.”
“I wouldn’t call what you did ‘murder,’ Yamashita-san," he said slowly, thinking. "And I’d rather you didn’t leave until you wanted to.”
Yamashita raised his face to look Masuda in the eyes.
“After all, I don’t think you’re quite done healing yet.”
---
Yamashita was a quiet, sturdy young man for all his flighty tendencies - leaving doors ajar or lids off pots or a myriad of small things he overlooked for the big picture - and what he enjoyed most was helping Tegoshi and Masuda with the children. Masuda couldn't help but laugh because Tegoshi and Yamashita were just like big kids all mixed in with the tiny ones but he couldn't be upset that he ended up with most of the actual work on his shoulders because the way Yamashita smiled, all beautiful and unguarded, when the children touched him and played with him made it more than worth it.
Yamashita continued to stay with Masuda and his mother and they rarely said anything as they sat side-by-side in the evenings, but Masuda thought they didn't really need to. Just like with Tegoshi, with time Masuda could feel the slightest stir in the man's emotions and, if he couldn't identify the subtleties, he could interpret the general mood. He'd known Tegoshi all his life, though, grown up accustomed to reading him unconsciously and adjusting accordingly. But Yamashita was a stranger and his emotions were different. He was outwardly calm and collected, but, inside, his emotions were tempestuous, quicksilver, uncertain, and Masuda couldn't help but be dragged along, his own feelings rising and falling in tandem. It was uncomfortable but addicting and he found himself unconsciously drawn to Yamashita whenever he let his guard down.
When Masuda shook Yamashita awake from a nightmare yet another time, he cradled the older man in his arms and asked him to please just tell him what was wrong. Yamashita was becoming more and more agitated as the days wore on, rather than relaxing into the safety of the community which had already accepted him as one of their own.
Yamashita rested his sweat-streaked cheek against Masuda's chest and took deep, gulping breaths. Masuda closed his eyes and shuddered, trying to keep a rein on himself until Yamashita had calmed a bit.
"You're safe here," he said after several minutes.
"Not safe," Yamashita murmured.
"What?" Masuda asked, surprised. "You traveled over three hundred miles from them. Don't you think they'd be too frightened to chase you?"
"You don't know. No one here is power hungry like they are," he mumbled, clearly exhausted and still half-asleep. "They'll find me, I know. And if they find you… I could never forgive myself."
This time it was Yamashita who shivered and Masuda frowned and tightened his arms around him, letting him fall back into fitful slumber.
The prophetic words proved true during late summer, a band of determined-looking men trooping into the village armed with scythes and knives and other deadly tools. Tegoshi saw them coming and came running to Masuda, wringing his hands and whispering the news and they took Yamashita and hid him, Masuda nearly burning up with Yamashita's fear fanning his own.
Masuda and Tegoshi took their places among the village men, the women having already herded the children into houses and barred their doors against the intruders. The burly fellow at the front of the group demanded to know if they'd seen a young man by the name of Yamashita, and they described him. The village head looked them up and down, easily discerning what they intended to do with Yamashita if they found him, quietly asked the men to take their weapons and leave the village. They would be willing to provide them with some food and water, but they would not allow them to stay here, nor would they let them violate their homes.
In reply, the head of the men nodded to the side and one of the others calmly stepped forward and shoved his knife into the stomach of the villager in front of him. There were startled gasps and angry shouts and Masuda was stepping back in fear, Tegoshi's hand clutched in his own and then suddenly Yamashita was in the midst, throwing himself to the ground in front of the men.
"Take me," he shouted. "Take me but leave them be."
The strangers shouted, anger evident in their voices and faces as they snatched him up, punching him in the stomach and kicking him, slapping him across the face and Masuda held his breath, waiting for Yamashita to act, for someone to act, but his village had never faced violence, had no weapons, had no idea how to fight, and Yamashita was clearly broken, unable to kill again even to save himself.
Masuda was nowhere near him but he could feel the man's desperation and fear like a tornado ripping at him, so forceful that Tegoshi's fear was simply a ripple across his subconscious even though he was so close and he found himself moving forward, Tegoshi tugging him back, but he couldn't stop. As he pushed through the villagers, anger and horror written across his face, they surged forward with him, ripping at the weapons in the strangers' hands and surprising them. But he could see some of his own falling, blood running and then he was at Yamashita's side, a hand on his shoulder, pulling him toward his chest, his emotions raging and sparking inside him with intensity he had never imagined and he let them engulf him, consuming the men still tearing at Yamashita until their skin blackened and peeled and then were nothing but bones and dust and the strangers were running, there was screaming and Masuda fell to his knees, and the screaming was coming from him, too.
When he came to, Yamashita was holding him, arms wrapped tight around him and Tegoshi was at their side, hands clutching at both them, and the women were out, tending to the wounded and Masuda had never heard such wretched crying before.
"How many?" he muttered thickly, trying not to look to his left where the piles of what used to be men were. "How many are hurt?" He couldn't bring himself to ask if any had died.
"Ten. Ten hurt and Mayama Shun and Sasaki Ryu are dead," Tegoshi whispered.
Tears welled up, burning tracks down Masuda's cheeks and he sobbed. He was a murderer too, now, and he could understand why Yamashita couldn't save himself a second time.
---
Masuda, Yamashita and Tegoshi sat out at the edge of a field where Tegoshi had pulled them both after the villagers had calmed and were busy tending to the wounded.
"You're wounded, too," Tegoshi had insisted over their protests. "I'm taking care of you," he said forcefully, and pushed them down to sit on the soft ground.
They sat in silence, Tegoshi pressing fingers gently against Yamashita's injuries to see if he had broken anything, cleaning the blood off his myriad of small cuts with a damp cloth, but leaving his knee touching Masuda's so that his friend could draw comfort from his calm. Tegoshi could feel the tumultuous air of Yamashita's emotions, too, and struggled to keep his own emotions even, for their sakes.
Hours later they returned to the village, the two of them supporting Yamashita between them, to find the rest of the village waiting for them.
Masuda sat, head bowed in shame, before the head of the village, the rest of the villagers fanned out behind their leader. Yamashita was on his right and Tegoshi on his left. He bowed all the way to the ground and saw Yamashita do the same. He couldn't say he was sorry, he couldn't speak. He couldn't look into their eyes because he was certain of the horror he would find.
Their leader, Mayama Tarou, the father of Shun, spoke quietly, voice thick with grief and sorrow. "Power always has two sides. All we have ever seen of yours has been the gentle warmth. Whoever thought that there was no other side was shortsighted. Today we have seen the burning wrath and cowered in fear."
Masuda heaved a shuddering sigh, trying to contain his sobs. And then he felt a gentle hand on his head.
"We have lost lives today, but it is not your fault. Nor is it young Yamashita's. When there are men with anger and hatred and greed in their hearts, there will be war. You acted to save your friend when we were paralyzed with fear. It is not anyone's fault but theirs for coming here with the intention of inflicting pain. I am sorry you had to kill, Masuda-kun. But I am not sorry that you defended your friend, or us."
The hand left his head and Masuda felt Tegoshi draw near and slip his hand into Masuda's tugging him up to lean against him, using his free hand to wipe at Masuda's tears, and they both turned to watch Mayama tug Yamashita's shoulders off the ground.
"You are feeling guilty and filled with grief for our losses. But they are your losses too, even though you barely knew them. You are one of our own and we are not frightened of you, nor do we wish you to leave. You are one of ours and we will support you and fight for you, if we must, just as we will for Masuda-kun or Tegoshi-kun." Mayama held Yamashita's hands in his own. "This is your home."
---
Masuda and Yamashita stood at the entrance to the village long after everyone was asleep, staring down the road, hands clasped tightly between them.
"I'm sorry," Yamashita said quietly. "I never meant for you to do that for me."
"I don't regret it," Masuda replied, tugging Yamashita closer beside him. "Will you stay?" he asked, looking out into the night.
"I want to…"
Masuda didn't need to hear the "but" because he could feel it. He squeezed Yamashita's hand. He didn't know either. The future was troubling but they would face it together, and make their decisions as they must.
He turned to face Yamashita, pressing his fingers against the man's cheek until he turned to look at him, distress written in his gaze. "We'll both stay," he said firmly. "This is where I belong, and it's where you belong too."
"What if they come again?"
"They won't," he said. "But if they do, I will do what I have to."
"Masuda…"
He gripped Yamashita's hand hard. "Stay with me," he said fiercely.
Yamashita turned his face away and Masuda dropped his hand back to his side, waiting. Finally Yamashita nodded once, uncertain but hopeful, Masuda thought, if the timid butterflies in his stomach were a result of Yamashita's emotions and not his own, but he wasn't sure this time.
They walked slowly back to Masuda's house in silence and he looked over the quiet village and felt a swelling of affection he knew wasn't just his own and he smiled. Somehow, he thought with conviction, they'd make it work.