AU Series: Equilibrium - Chapter Five
Sho sat on the front veranda of the guest house, staring out into the darkening night. It had been four days since he and Ohno had been called to the keep for the latest report of the churning tide of unrest in the province. It had been four days since he had been granted a view of Ohno that he had never seen before. He had learned so much about Ohno through those few words, more than he had in the whole two years of training together. He had watched Ohno retire to his room, to the boy waiting there for him and as he did everything about Ohno became soft and gentle. Even during their most intense jujutsu practices, Ohno was never aggressive; perhaps he was incapable of such an emotion. But in that moment, which stretched itself over several breaths even for Sho, Ohno embodied serenity.
Silence enveloped Sho as he had stood in the hallway. He was rooted to the floorboards, processing the weight of Ohno’s words. Ohno was not known for his diction but not once during his speech did he stumble: he was sure. Certainty permeated every nuance and cadence of his voice and Sho knew then, absolutely, ‘That’s what I want.’
Everything suddenly felt so insignificant. His ancestry, his name, his status; they had no more value than the paper they were written on. Nothing about his person set him apart from any other but for the blood pounding through his veins and roaring in his ears. What kind of protection could a family crest that belonged to a samurai name bring? The men who wore them, warriors tried and loyal, were no less warriors without such decoration.
Sho was no warrior. Barely out of training, his skills not yet tested on the field, he felt more confident that he was likely to lose a limb at his own hand than deal the slightest knick to an opponent. What could he provide for his mother and brother when he was at least a four days journey from home? He was not the man his father was, but even his reputation couldn’t have spanned half the province. And yet, Sho could not ignore the incessant feeling winding around him, brushing up against his legs like one of the stray cats from the village, that they didn’t need him. Being the wife of the regional magistrate and a respected woman in her own right, the lady of the Sakurai house had the support and protection of friends and neighbours, as did her youngest son.
But lovers… Ohno’s voice echoed in his head over the drone of the cicadas. They are special. They are constant. They are tangible. Sho could not doubt Ohno’s naked honesty and it made Sho wonder if the look of pure, undiluted bliss on Ohno’s face was a symptom of love. But what did that feel like?
Sho jumped at the dull clack of a lacquered tray on the wooden flooring. He had been so immersed, near drowning, in his thoughts over the last four days that he had not taken notice of his surroundings at all. The sounds of life within the house and on the grounds, the constant buzz of insects, were muffled by the intensity of his concentration. He had not left the house since entering with Ohno that day, and only relieved his station on the veranda for the essentials of the washroom and sleep when his body groaned from mental exhaustion. When the pangs of hunger gnawed, bringing him closer to the surface of reality, he would find a tray with food within arms reach, covered by a delicate net of lace.
The sudden clatter of wood on wood broke Sho out of his reverie and he found Aiba kneeling behind him carrying a tray laden with the simple fare of rice balls and tea.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I’m sorry?” Aiba asked, leaned forward every so slightly, as if getting closer to Sho’s voice would bring him closer to the meaning of his words.
“The food. It was you, leaving the trays for me.”
Aiba nodded and smiled. It was a small smile but warm in the fading twilight. “The day after Kimura-sama departed for the capital, Jun said you hadn’t been eating. He wanted to come and call you for the evening meal with the others that night but it looked like you didn't want to be disturbed so I offered to bring something to you. I didn’t know when you’d be hungry so I just left it.”
“You could have said something. I just get… wrapped up sometimes. I think too much.”
“I had wanted to say something - they cooked unagi, the chef’s specialty - but I couldn’t. Whatever it was you were thinking about… it was important. It was something you needed to finish.” Aiba lifted his gaze from the floor and Sho saw understanding in his eyes. He seemed to know the gravity of Sho’s internal struggle without being aware of the details; to Aiba, they hadn’t mattered.
“Thank you,” Sho replied. His gratitude came out in a slightly softer, lower, heavier tone, the thanksgiving encompassed more than just food, though he wasn’t exactly sure what.
Sho reached for one of the densely-packed triangles of rice, the grains cool and tacky. He looked back out towards the gardens, now completely dark. The candlelight from the guest house windows illuminated a mere foot from the veranda and not much else. White paper lanterns had been lit throughout the grounds and the hamlet below, flickering like fireflies stuck on black velvet. Aiba relaxed into his habitual seiza slightly behind Sho. He had not asked Aiba to keep him company, but he had not asked him to leave either. Broken tableware not withstanding, when he found himself in Aiba’s presence Sho felt a gentle calm curl around his heart. That nagging stray turned to lick his fingers and toes with something like affection, tickling just enough to be noticed.
"How is your finger?" Sho asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Ah, it's fine. It was only a shallow cut," Aiba replied, clutching the injury with his other hand, wincing slightly.
"Let me see it." Sho turned and slid closer, knocking his knee against Aiba’s, reaching for the bandaged hand.
"It's fine, really!" Aiba protested, but did not resist when Sho began to unwrap the loose linen bandage. He lifted the hand and turned the injured digit into the light. He could see an angry red line bisecting the crease of the first knuckle on the palm-side of Aiba’s index finger. The surrounding skin was pink and puffy; Sho thumbed the cut gingerly, causing his patient to hiss slightly.
“Sorry. Well, it looks like it’s healing nicely,” Sho said, rewrapping the finger effortlessly. He took the end of the linen bandage between his teeth and tore it in half down the middle, tying it around the finger to keep it securely in place.
“Where did you learn that? Have you studied medicine?”
Sho chuckled and shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Not properly, anyway. My younger brother is always getting scrapes and hurting himself but doesn’t want to be scolded by our mother so I am the one to bandage him up.” The thought caused Aiba to smile sadly: if things had been different, he might have been able to do the same for his younger siblings.
“Keep it clean and dry to avoid infections, especially with the summer humidity,” Sho finished, tugging the knot tight while trying not to jar the finger too much. “I would hate for you to have a scar.”
That low, heavy tone returned to Sho’s voice. He continued to fuss with the bandage despite it being perfect, partly to keep his hands busy, partly to maintain the tiniest thread of contact with the boy beside him.
Aiba caught his bottom lip between his teeth, as he was doted on by Sho, realizing that this was the first time in recent memory, or perhaps ever, that someone had taken such care of him. As Aiba watched, a smile - a happy one - spread across his face and warmth pooled just behind his belly button.
The very first assignment Jun received from his father when he was seventeen was a delivery. The daimyo had commissioned a set of plates from a potter who lived far to the south, near the coast. The artist was known throughout the provinces, his name famous even the courts of Kyoto. Each piece he made, even those in a set, was slightly different from its brother. One piece alone was costly, given the reputation of its maker, but a perfect set with all the shades of variation was priceless. Jun had been directed to accompany payment for the dishes and escort the purchase home.
“And you might as well take the other two stooges with you. It’s time to see if Yamada and Chinen have learned anything or if they still insist on being coddled. Aiba was too soft on them. They’ll have to survive while you’re away. Or else.”
Matsumoto-san sent them off in a cart with one horse and Nakai for safety. Only samurai of the upper classes and nobility had the authority to ride; everyone else rode carts or walked. With four men to carry, three nearly full-grown, it was just as fast to walk beside the mare. And with a week’s worth of travel each way, they needed to go easy on her.
For the first two days, Jun sat beside Nakai in the front of the cart, checking the map every few miles and squinting at the passing scenery for landmarks. Aiba and Nino alternated between relaxing in the cart and trailing behind it, wandering off the road when some blur of wildlife caught their eye. On the third day, Nakai pushed Jun off the cart after shouting into the brush for his friends for the third time in as many minutes. He landed on his shoulder, hard, on the dirt road.
“If you care what your friends are doing so much, go find them! I don’t need to go deaf before I’m thirty. Just because I lost at janken and didn’t have a choice but to go on this stupid errand with you brats, doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Nakai screeched down at him as he flicked the reigns. The mare resumed her ease plod, leaving Jun lying in the dust.
As he lay on the side of the road clutching his shoulder that was surely out of place from the fall, Aiba and Nino fell out of a bush just in front of him heaving, leaves and twigs clinging to their hair and clothes.
“What moron would go pet a skunk?” Nino gasped, smacking Aiba on the back of the head. ”You’re lucky the spray was deflected by that tree or I’d have thrown you in that lake we just passed and left you there.”
“Ow! What? It was cute! I’m sure it was just stretching, that’s all.”
Nino stood up straight, staring Aiba in the face, shocked at the newfound level of idiocy his friend had achieved, before walking off to follow the cart that was slowly leaving all three teenagers behind. After a few paces he stopped and turned back. “Where’s Jun?”
“Over here,” bit out the youngest, attempting to sit up without the use of his right arm.
“Why are you lying on the ground, Jun?” Aiba asked innocently, cocking his head to the side.
“Because of you.”
“Us? What did we do? We weren’t even here,” Nino cried, crossing his arms with a pout.
“Exactly. Help me, would you?”
Aiba flounced over to offer Jun a hand, but soon realized the younger man couldn’t lift his arm to grasp it. “What did you do?”
“Nakai pushed me out of the cart. I think my shoulder’s dislocated.” Jun sat holding his arm close to his side with his left hand, trying to keep very still. Aiba pushed Jun back down onto the ground and untied the towel from his head. He nudged Jun’s hand out of the way and padded the armpit with the rolled up towel. Nino sauntered over but offered no help; he stood by, leisurely watching Jun’s face contort in pain as Aiba put his foot in the pit of Jun’s arm, grasped his wrist and leaned back. There was a sickening pop followed by a strangled sigh of relief as the bones slid back into place.
When they caught up with the cart - Nakai had stopped when the trio had fallen from sight and sulked while he waited for them - Aiba fished around his pack. He extracted a large rectangular cloth, his tenugui, white with an indigo circle brushed in the centre. He fashioned a sling by folding opposite corners together and tied it around Jun’s neck.
Until they set up camp for the night in a clearing off of the main road, Aiba stayed at Jun’s side. As they walked, he would gently massage the aggravated muscles in the shoulder and when the air chilled with sunset he kept his warm hand on the younger boy’s shoulder to retain some of its heat. Nino pounced on Jun’s empty seat and provided Nakai with silent company; the samurai muttered obscenities under his breath to himself every now and again, keeping Nino from saying anything.
Jun’s arm was sore, but not as much as his ego; it only stung more when Aiba insisted that he didn’t have the strength to use his own chopsticks when they served dinner around the camp fire. At least Nino had the foresight to pack a few spoons and handed one to Jun before Aiba could start to feed him from his own bowl. Nakai extracted a flask of sake and poured a cup for each of them, and a second for Jun to numb the pain.
“You don’t have to treat me like a child. I’m fine,” Jun muttered into his rice. Nino and Nakai had eaten themselves to sleep, leaving Aiba to wash up, while Jun continued to pick at his food. Not only had his body taken a blow, so had his appetite, leaving nothing to soak up the alcohol in his stomach.
“I’m not, but you need to leave it alone. Your father will probably blame us for what happened if you’re still hurt when we get back. The more rest you give it, the sooner you’ll heal,” Aiba replied.
Jun had never been allowed to depend on others; his father always said, ‘suffering builds character.’ He was trying to reconcile his father’s dogma with the small voice inside telling him that maybe depending on someone wasn’t so bad, if it made you feel so nice, so safe. Through the rice wine haze, Jun watched as Aiba packed up the remainder of their supplies and set off into the brush.
“Where are you going?” Jun whispered after him, as loud as he dared. Waking Nakai would earn him far worse than a dislocated shoulder. He stared into the fire and finished his meal, wondering when he began to feel so warm. Aiba was off in the brush hunting something small, undoubtedly, so that source of heat was gone and he was a good distance from the embers, so that couldn’t be it either. He almost felt too warm; surely it was the sake?
After rinsing his bowl with water, Aiba stumbled back through the tall grass with something in his hands.
“Do you remember when we were kids,” he asked, as he settled himself down on his bedroll beside Jun. “When we would go out and catch fireflies in the gardens?”
“Yeah, but you were never very successful. You’re too loud.” Aiba nudged Jun’s good arm with his elbow and made a face.
“Do you remember what colour they were?”
“Weren’t they yellow?”
Aiba huddled closer to Jun and held his cupped hands up to younger boy’s nose. He slowly lifted the hand on top, revealing pair of tiny, vivid green lights that crawled across his palm.
“Where we live,” Aiba explained, “fireflies glow white. But closer to the coast, where we are now, there is a species that glow green. I saw them for the first time last night.” He instructed Jun to hold out his hand - his left - and let one of the lights traverse his long fingers and cross to Jun’s.
“Why doesn’t it fly away?”
“These are females; they can’t fly. I think there must be a lack of females around the castle back home, so that’s why I could never catch any,” Aiba giggled. Jun turned his hand over as the firefly continued to explore it’s new environment. They sat in companionable silence, entertained by the tiny flickering beings in their grasp. Aiba was the first to speak.
“I know you’re upset about your shoulder. I thought these might cheer you up a bit,” Aiba said quietly. Jun let the words marinate between them for a few moments before replying.
“Thank you.”
“I know how your dad is. I grew up there too. Just… let me look after you while I can, okay?” Aiba kept his eyes on the insect navigating his fingers.
Jun continued to watch his own before responding softly, “Okay.”
He definitely felt too warm but he was sure it nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with Aiba.
Jun was reminded of that night with the fireflies in the south of the province all those years ago as he too looked out towards the grounds and the hamlet of Iwatsuki below. The rustle of cherry and maple trees harmonized with the shrill of the cicadas amid the onyx night, softly-glowing lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. His room, on the second floor of the staff residence, looked out to the grounds and keep. He looked across the third courtyard to the guest house; he could see one silhouette joined by another. He had watched for four days as the well-being of another, that wasn’t him, occupied Aiba’s thoughts, as he brought food and drink to the young samurai caught up in an internal reverie.
His felt a twinge in his shoulder, a sharp jolt of pain, a phantom injury from that incident with the cart. He watched as Sho unwrapped the bandage from Aiba’s finger and examined the cut; in the grand scheme of things, a minor thing, and they had all known much worse. Jun didn’t need to be close enough to see the blush spreading across Aiba’s smooth cheeks; he knew from the dip of the boy’s head and they way he looked at his knees that it was there.
Sho’s fingers lingered on Aiba’s hand, awkward. Aiba’s fingers curled in the folds of his yukata, unsure. From Jun’s latticed window, he could sense the unnamed tension between them. The knot had been tied with precision and care - even Jun could see that - and yet Sho continued to fix and straighten the linen, eyes never wavering from their redundant task. Aiba kept his demure gaze on the indigo pattern of his yukata and endured - or perhaps relished - the attention.
There was only so much contact Sho could maintain with a meaningless pretext; he pulled the ends of the bandage one last time before placing Aiba’s hand delicately back in its owner’s lap. Aiba smiled a tender, charmed smile at the samurai. Aiba had smiled at Jun countless times: his friend laughed and smiled more than anyone in the castle. But he had never smiled at Jun like that.
In all the years that they had known each other, Aiba’s face had been an open book for Jun to read. Jun knew every facet of his face, every colour of his moods and what truly made him happy. But he had never seen that look before. This was new. And it had nothing to do with Jun. Suddenly not being able to know for himself what Aiba was thinking felt like he had been tossed from the cart all over again, but this time it wasn’t just his shoulder that ached.
Chapter Six
Silence enveloped Sho as he had stood in the hallway. He was rooted to the floorboards, processing the weight of Ohno’s words. Ohno was not known for his diction but not once during his speech did he stumble: he was sure. Certainty permeated every nuance and cadence of his voice and Sho knew then, absolutely, ‘That’s what I want.’
Everything suddenly felt so insignificant. His ancestry, his name, his status; they had no more value than the paper they were written on. Nothing about his person set him apart from any other but for the blood pounding through his veins and roaring in his ears. What kind of protection could a family crest that belonged to a samurai name bring? The men who wore them, warriors tried and loyal, were no less warriors without such decoration.
Sho was no warrior. Barely out of training, his skills not yet tested on the field, he felt more confident that he was likely to lose a limb at his own hand than deal the slightest knick to an opponent. What could he provide for his mother and brother when he was at least a four days journey from home? He was not the man his father was, but even his reputation couldn’t have spanned half the province. And yet, Sho could not ignore the incessant feeling winding around him, brushing up against his legs like one of the stray cats from the village, that they didn’t need him. Being the wife of the regional magistrate and a respected woman in her own right, the lady of the Sakurai house had the support and protection of friends and neighbours, as did her youngest son.
But lovers… Ohno’s voice echoed in his head over the drone of the cicadas. They are special. They are constant. They are tangible. Sho could not doubt Ohno’s naked honesty and it made Sho wonder if the look of pure, undiluted bliss on Ohno’s face was a symptom of love. But what did that feel like?
Sho jumped at the dull clack of a lacquered tray on the wooden flooring. He had been so immersed, near drowning, in his thoughts over the last four days that he had not taken notice of his surroundings at all. The sounds of life within the house and on the grounds, the constant buzz of insects, were muffled by the intensity of his concentration. He had not left the house since entering with Ohno that day, and only relieved his station on the veranda for the essentials of the washroom and sleep when his body groaned from mental exhaustion. When the pangs of hunger gnawed, bringing him closer to the surface of reality, he would find a tray with food within arms reach, covered by a delicate net of lace.
The sudden clatter of wood on wood broke Sho out of his reverie and he found Aiba kneeling behind him carrying a tray laden with the simple fare of rice balls and tea.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I’m sorry?” Aiba asked, leaned forward every so slightly, as if getting closer to Sho’s voice would bring him closer to the meaning of his words.
“The food. It was you, leaving the trays for me.”
Aiba nodded and smiled. It was a small smile but warm in the fading twilight. “The day after Kimura-sama departed for the capital, Jun said you hadn’t been eating. He wanted to come and call you for the evening meal with the others that night but it looked like you didn't want to be disturbed so I offered to bring something to you. I didn’t know when you’d be hungry so I just left it.”
“You could have said something. I just get… wrapped up sometimes. I think too much.”
“I had wanted to say something - they cooked unagi, the chef’s specialty - but I couldn’t. Whatever it was you were thinking about… it was important. It was something you needed to finish.” Aiba lifted his gaze from the floor and Sho saw understanding in his eyes. He seemed to know the gravity of Sho’s internal struggle without being aware of the details; to Aiba, they hadn’t mattered.
“Thank you,” Sho replied. His gratitude came out in a slightly softer, lower, heavier tone, the thanksgiving encompassed more than just food, though he wasn’t exactly sure what.
Sho reached for one of the densely-packed triangles of rice, the grains cool and tacky. He looked back out towards the gardens, now completely dark. The candlelight from the guest house windows illuminated a mere foot from the veranda and not much else. White paper lanterns had been lit throughout the grounds and the hamlet below, flickering like fireflies stuck on black velvet. Aiba relaxed into his habitual seiza slightly behind Sho. He had not asked Aiba to keep him company, but he had not asked him to leave either. Broken tableware not withstanding, when he found himself in Aiba’s presence Sho felt a gentle calm curl around his heart. That nagging stray turned to lick his fingers and toes with something like affection, tickling just enough to be noticed.
"How is your finger?" Sho asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Ah, it's fine. It was only a shallow cut," Aiba replied, clutching the injury with his other hand, wincing slightly.
"Let me see it." Sho turned and slid closer, knocking his knee against Aiba’s, reaching for the bandaged hand.
"It's fine, really!" Aiba protested, but did not resist when Sho began to unwrap the loose linen bandage. He lifted the hand and turned the injured digit into the light. He could see an angry red line bisecting the crease of the first knuckle on the palm-side of Aiba’s index finger. The surrounding skin was pink and puffy; Sho thumbed the cut gingerly, causing his patient to hiss slightly.
“Sorry. Well, it looks like it’s healing nicely,” Sho said, rewrapping the finger effortlessly. He took the end of the linen bandage between his teeth and tore it in half down the middle, tying it around the finger to keep it securely in place.
“Where did you learn that? Have you studied medicine?”
Sho chuckled and shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Not properly, anyway. My younger brother is always getting scrapes and hurting himself but doesn’t want to be scolded by our mother so I am the one to bandage him up.” The thought caused Aiba to smile sadly: if things had been different, he might have been able to do the same for his younger siblings.
“Keep it clean and dry to avoid infections, especially with the summer humidity,” Sho finished, tugging the knot tight while trying not to jar the finger too much. “I would hate for you to have a scar.”
That low, heavy tone returned to Sho’s voice. He continued to fuss with the bandage despite it being perfect, partly to keep his hands busy, partly to maintain the tiniest thread of contact with the boy beside him.
Aiba caught his bottom lip between his teeth, as he was doted on by Sho, realizing that this was the first time in recent memory, or perhaps ever, that someone had taken such care of him. As Aiba watched, a smile - a happy one - spread across his face and warmth pooled just behind his belly button.
The very first assignment Jun received from his father when he was seventeen was a delivery. The daimyo had commissioned a set of plates from a potter who lived far to the south, near the coast. The artist was known throughout the provinces, his name famous even the courts of Kyoto. Each piece he made, even those in a set, was slightly different from its brother. One piece alone was costly, given the reputation of its maker, but a perfect set with all the shades of variation was priceless. Jun had been directed to accompany payment for the dishes and escort the purchase home.
“And you might as well take the other two stooges with you. It’s time to see if Yamada and Chinen have learned anything or if they still insist on being coddled. Aiba was too soft on them. They’ll have to survive while you’re away. Or else.”
Matsumoto-san sent them off in a cart with one horse and Nakai for safety. Only samurai of the upper classes and nobility had the authority to ride; everyone else rode carts or walked. With four men to carry, three nearly full-grown, it was just as fast to walk beside the mare. And with a week’s worth of travel each way, they needed to go easy on her.
For the first two days, Jun sat beside Nakai in the front of the cart, checking the map every few miles and squinting at the passing scenery for landmarks. Aiba and Nino alternated between relaxing in the cart and trailing behind it, wandering off the road when some blur of wildlife caught their eye. On the third day, Nakai pushed Jun off the cart after shouting into the brush for his friends for the third time in as many minutes. He landed on his shoulder, hard, on the dirt road.
“If you care what your friends are doing so much, go find them! I don’t need to go deaf before I’m thirty. Just because I lost at janken and didn’t have a choice but to go on this stupid errand with you brats, doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Nakai screeched down at him as he flicked the reigns. The mare resumed her ease plod, leaving Jun lying in the dust.
As he lay on the side of the road clutching his shoulder that was surely out of place from the fall, Aiba and Nino fell out of a bush just in front of him heaving, leaves and twigs clinging to their hair and clothes.
“What moron would go pet a skunk?” Nino gasped, smacking Aiba on the back of the head. ”You’re lucky the spray was deflected by that tree or I’d have thrown you in that lake we just passed and left you there.”
“Ow! What? It was cute! I’m sure it was just stretching, that’s all.”
Nino stood up straight, staring Aiba in the face, shocked at the newfound level of idiocy his friend had achieved, before walking off to follow the cart that was slowly leaving all three teenagers behind. After a few paces he stopped and turned back. “Where’s Jun?”
“Over here,” bit out the youngest, attempting to sit up without the use of his right arm.
“Why are you lying on the ground, Jun?” Aiba asked innocently, cocking his head to the side.
“Because of you.”
“Us? What did we do? We weren’t even here,” Nino cried, crossing his arms with a pout.
“Exactly. Help me, would you?”
Aiba flounced over to offer Jun a hand, but soon realized the younger man couldn’t lift his arm to grasp it. “What did you do?”
“Nakai pushed me out of the cart. I think my shoulder’s dislocated.” Jun sat holding his arm close to his side with his left hand, trying to keep very still. Aiba pushed Jun back down onto the ground and untied the towel from his head. He nudged Jun’s hand out of the way and padded the armpit with the rolled up towel. Nino sauntered over but offered no help; he stood by, leisurely watching Jun’s face contort in pain as Aiba put his foot in the pit of Jun’s arm, grasped his wrist and leaned back. There was a sickening pop followed by a strangled sigh of relief as the bones slid back into place.
When they caught up with the cart - Nakai had stopped when the trio had fallen from sight and sulked while he waited for them - Aiba fished around his pack. He extracted a large rectangular cloth, his tenugui, white with an indigo circle brushed in the centre. He fashioned a sling by folding opposite corners together and tied it around Jun’s neck.
Until they set up camp for the night in a clearing off of the main road, Aiba stayed at Jun’s side. As they walked, he would gently massage the aggravated muscles in the shoulder and when the air chilled with sunset he kept his warm hand on the younger boy’s shoulder to retain some of its heat. Nino pounced on Jun’s empty seat and provided Nakai with silent company; the samurai muttered obscenities under his breath to himself every now and again, keeping Nino from saying anything.
Jun’s arm was sore, but not as much as his ego; it only stung more when Aiba insisted that he didn’t have the strength to use his own chopsticks when they served dinner around the camp fire. At least Nino had the foresight to pack a few spoons and handed one to Jun before Aiba could start to feed him from his own bowl. Nakai extracted a flask of sake and poured a cup for each of them, and a second for Jun to numb the pain.
“You don’t have to treat me like a child. I’m fine,” Jun muttered into his rice. Nino and Nakai had eaten themselves to sleep, leaving Aiba to wash up, while Jun continued to pick at his food. Not only had his body taken a blow, so had his appetite, leaving nothing to soak up the alcohol in his stomach.
“I’m not, but you need to leave it alone. Your father will probably blame us for what happened if you’re still hurt when we get back. The more rest you give it, the sooner you’ll heal,” Aiba replied.
Jun had never been allowed to depend on others; his father always said, ‘suffering builds character.’ He was trying to reconcile his father’s dogma with the small voice inside telling him that maybe depending on someone wasn’t so bad, if it made you feel so nice, so safe. Through the rice wine haze, Jun watched as Aiba packed up the remainder of their supplies and set off into the brush.
“Where are you going?” Jun whispered after him, as loud as he dared. Waking Nakai would earn him far worse than a dislocated shoulder. He stared into the fire and finished his meal, wondering when he began to feel so warm. Aiba was off in the brush hunting something small, undoubtedly, so that source of heat was gone and he was a good distance from the embers, so that couldn’t be it either. He almost felt too warm; surely it was the sake?
After rinsing his bowl with water, Aiba stumbled back through the tall grass with something in his hands.
“Do you remember when we were kids,” he asked, as he settled himself down on his bedroll beside Jun. “When we would go out and catch fireflies in the gardens?”
“Yeah, but you were never very successful. You’re too loud.” Aiba nudged Jun’s good arm with his elbow and made a face.
“Do you remember what colour they were?”
“Weren’t they yellow?”
Aiba huddled closer to Jun and held his cupped hands up to younger boy’s nose. He slowly lifted the hand on top, revealing pair of tiny, vivid green lights that crawled across his palm.
“Where we live,” Aiba explained, “fireflies glow white. But closer to the coast, where we are now, there is a species that glow green. I saw them for the first time last night.” He instructed Jun to hold out his hand - his left - and let one of the lights traverse his long fingers and cross to Jun’s.
“Why doesn’t it fly away?”
“These are females; they can’t fly. I think there must be a lack of females around the castle back home, so that’s why I could never catch any,” Aiba giggled. Jun turned his hand over as the firefly continued to explore it’s new environment. They sat in companionable silence, entertained by the tiny flickering beings in their grasp. Aiba was the first to speak.
“I know you’re upset about your shoulder. I thought these might cheer you up a bit,” Aiba said quietly. Jun let the words marinate between them for a few moments before replying.
“Thank you.”
“I know how your dad is. I grew up there too. Just… let me look after you while I can, okay?” Aiba kept his eyes on the insect navigating his fingers.
Jun continued to watch his own before responding softly, “Okay.”
He definitely felt too warm but he was sure it nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with Aiba.
Jun was reminded of that night with the fireflies in the south of the province all those years ago as he too looked out towards the grounds and the hamlet of Iwatsuki below. The rustle of cherry and maple trees harmonized with the shrill of the cicadas amid the onyx night, softly-glowing lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. His room, on the second floor of the staff residence, looked out to the grounds and keep. He looked across the third courtyard to the guest house; he could see one silhouette joined by another. He had watched for four days as the well-being of another, that wasn’t him, occupied Aiba’s thoughts, as he brought food and drink to the young samurai caught up in an internal reverie.
His felt a twinge in his shoulder, a sharp jolt of pain, a phantom injury from that incident with the cart. He watched as Sho unwrapped the bandage from Aiba’s finger and examined the cut; in the grand scheme of things, a minor thing, and they had all known much worse. Jun didn’t need to be close enough to see the blush spreading across Aiba’s smooth cheeks; he knew from the dip of the boy’s head and they way he looked at his knees that it was there.
Sho’s fingers lingered on Aiba’s hand, awkward. Aiba’s fingers curled in the folds of his yukata, unsure. From Jun’s latticed window, he could sense the unnamed tension between them. The knot had been tied with precision and care - even Jun could see that - and yet Sho continued to fix and straighten the linen, eyes never wavering from their redundant task. Aiba kept his demure gaze on the indigo pattern of his yukata and endured - or perhaps relished - the attention.
There was only so much contact Sho could maintain with a meaningless pretext; he pulled the ends of the bandage one last time before placing Aiba’s hand delicately back in its owner’s lap. Aiba smiled a tender, charmed smile at the samurai. Aiba had smiled at Jun countless times: his friend laughed and smiled more than anyone in the castle. But he had never smiled at Jun like that.
In all the years that they had known each other, Aiba’s face had been an open book for Jun to read. Jun knew every facet of his face, every colour of his moods and what truly made him happy. But he had never seen that look before. This was new. And it had nothing to do with Jun. Suddenly not being able to know for himself what Aiba was thinking felt like he had been tossed from the cart all over again, but this time it wasn’t just his shoulder that ached.
Chapter Six