[Fic] Leftovers
"It feels like it's been a while, hasn't it?" Goushi murmured, staring out the window at the scenery rolling by. they had been stuck on the train for roughly two hours due to a chemical mishap, but now it had been deemed safe --and here they were on the road again.
Or train tracks, but who was keeping track?
Kiredori nodded in silent agreement, "It has been. Nearly 6 months if I'm remembering correctly." They both knew he was, it wasn't an option, "I wonder how things have changed? Is it blooming season?"
"I'm sure if it isn't a student will /try/ to make it blooming season." Goushi chuckled, and Kiredori sighed.
"And then get sent into the infirmary, right?"
"Exactly."
"I wonder if we'll meet any of those first years who try it?"
"We might very well."
Kiredori turned to Goushi, and slid just a little across the small expanse for their legs, plopping down on the seat next to him and looking up at the compartment ceiling, "can you tell me then? who will it be? We don't know many of the first years." Even if they had chosen a few of them, "And what about--"
A thick finger pressed to his mouth. Kiredori frowned, "Hush." Goushi was smiling though, if not a bit strained, "We'll see when we get there, won't we?"
"I suppose. Just--don't let Madarao scold you again. It's quite unbecoming."
"Not particularly."
"And what about--" That finger again.
"I know you're worried." He frowned even more, "Link is there."
"You're allowed to say it yet I'm /not/ allowed to?" He mouthed the finger, biting it and--"That's not fair."
"Nor are /you/ being fair." They shot each other looks. Eyes weary and tired and--laughter.
/laughter/ because that was the best medicine.
"We'll be there before we know it." Kiredori looked past him at the scenery, "It all seems familiar somehow." Because it did, and it had and they both knew it on some level or another. The school held its memories--certain ones more powerful than others.
"Would you still be there?" Kiredori jolted, and looked up at Goushi who looked back, curiously but unmoving as always.
"Are you still worried about that?" He leaned down and rummaged through his pack, sighing a little, cracking his shoulders--the trip had been a particularly long one, "I've already told you I wouldn't have stayed. You ask me that every time, and I've given you my honest answer."
Goushi watched him, eyes narrowing as he pulled out a well wrapped package--he recognized it easily. Food--precious sweet bread from a bakery they had helped in the town before the train station.
(that's how it always was. They could barely remember all the places--even if they tried. "The place before x" "the place after y" --they hardly ever crossed paths more than once, really. It was all a thing of the past)
"You still have that?" Kiredori nodded, carefully unfolding the napkin that had kept it dry and warm. The soft scent wafted through the air and Goushi almost wished he'd had more for breakfast.
That is, until Kiredori tore off a piece, smiling a little and holding it out, "Here. Have some. You barely ate this morning. Were the spices to strong?"
Goushi took the piece of bread gratefully --popping it in his mouth in the next instant to savor the taste. In a second it was gone, down his throat to quell his churning stomach, "I suppose they were." He agreed, watching Kiredori tear off a piece of his own, "In any case it wouldn't make excellent leftovers."
At that Kiredori stopped, eyes widening a little and then--a soft snort, turned chuckle--and he could only get the bread pressed to his lips, "You always think about that, don't you?"
"Everything can make decent leftovers if you try hard enough." He smiled back, watching the chuckling--the moving shoulders, the silent laughter, "except for those eggs. Far too spicy. Far too much. I'm sure you agree, don't you?"
"Then I guess we'll have Jeryy fix you regular eggs when we get back, hm?" He smiled, and popped the piece of bread in that time, smiling despite it all.
And Goushi--had to agree, quite honestly, a smile stretching its way onto his own lips--his own mouth, "That does sound nice, doesn't it?"
That is /when/ they got back. to the School that actually had a name--one they couldn't quite remember, but one that was still there. The returning point, as always. that one place they could call home without it being home.
The place with endless leftovers.