AU Series: Equilibrium - Chapter Eight
The next morning, Aiba woke before Nino. As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he wondered if he had managed to fall asleep at all; his sleep had been broken and restless. He stayed there until it was light enough that the maids would be rising too. He bathed and dressed before Nino even began to stir and set about his chores. When Nino awoke, Aiba’s futon was cold. His clothes from the previous day were already taken to wash, as were Nino’s.
Aiba was in charge of overseeing laundry and the animals. Since Kimura and his entourage were absent and Miyake and Nakano were on patrol, there were no horses to tend, so he assigned one of the younger boys to sweep the stables and keep them ready for any sudden arrivals. The chickens were fed and their eggs collected - the only food produced by the castle for itself: the rest came from the surrounding farmers. He gathered the laundry and hung assorted futon covers and sheets on the lines behind the staff residence and folded them when they were dry. Everything was taken care of well before lunch was served and the day had barely begun to warm up.
Nino handled the kitchen and dining services and worked with the head chef to keep the castle properly fed, in addition to overseeing the landscaping. He had standing orders with the younger staff assigned to groundskeeping to only bother him with petty details when they proved too large to handle themselves, which was seldom, just the way he liked it. The biggest dilemma they had faced so far was what to do with Kimura’s favourite cherry tree which had become infested with termites one summer and was being eaten from the inside out.
At the beginning of the year, Jun had started learning how to organize the books and tackle the administrative end of running the castle from his father. His remaining chores were limited to cleaning the residences and keep - or rather making sure that Yamada and Chinen did a proper job of wiping the wood and tatami when no one was looking.
As the noon meal was being decided upon, Aiba wandered into the kitchen looking lost and sullen. Nino didn’t have the heart to chase him out so he sent him off to help clean up the breakfast dishes with an exasperated sigh. With Aiba’s cloudy countenance it looked like a trial to complete any task; every movement looked like it took the strength of ten men. Nino had never realized how much his companion’s sunny disposition helped the day progress and make the workload seem lighter until it was gone. He was not the only one to notice: maids and other staff members alike whispered and cast worried looks between themselves.
Nino had not seen Aiba so concentrated on his work since he first arrived at the castle, all those years ago. Only when he was severely uneasy did Aiba focus with such dedication; he had thrown himself so hard into learning his tasks and lessons back then for fear that he would be turned out if he did not prove his worth. The demon lurking this time was different but the terror created from it was the same: Aiba feared, more than anything else, being without a home, shelter and a warm bed. He feared being without family. Nino knew that feeling personally too but also knew there was nothing either of them could do but wait and watch the pieces fall. Aiba was doing what he had to do to cope.
The day passed at a glacial pace. After dinner, Ohno motioned to Nino with a small sweep of his hand as they passed each other in the hall. With his finger tips brushing the younger man’s elbow he guided them to an alcove near the pantry, speaking in a low voice.
“What’s the matter with Aiba-chan? I saw him carrying some laundry to Nagase’s room earlier; he looked like one of the castle hounds just died. And there’s been talk.”
Nino sighed heavily and hooked his little finger with Ohno’s. “He’s worried.”
“What about?” At this Nino gave the samurai a pitiful look, squeezing his finger pointedly. “Oh, of course. Is that why you didn’t come to me last night?”
“Yes,” Nino nodded. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave him alone like that.”
“It’s alright, I understand,” Ohno smiled kindly. “We should do… something.”
“Like what? There’s nothing we can do, not even you.”
“Well, the reports have been getting thinner. It seems that the rebellion has taken a rest, but until we learn something new, there’s nothing to be done. Nagase told us that we should go into town - there’s a festival tomorrow - and try and take our mind off of things. I want to take Sho - he’s been here over a month and not yet seen outside the castle walls. He’s also been grating on Nagase’s nerves with his questions, though he doesn’t know it. I want you to come and Aiba-chan too. And Jun. I think it would do us all some good.”
“That’s a great idea,” Nino replied. “But I don’t know if Jun would be very comfortable with that.”
“Why not? He’s the one who needs to get out the most. The castle will run itself without him; Matsumoto-san engineered it that way.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Nino said, darkly. He bit his lip and pondered whether it was his place to reveal Jun’s secret.
Ohno leaned close and lowered his voice. “Is it Aiba-chan, or Sho-kun? Or, maybe it’s both.” Nino blinked in shock, lips parted to speak yet no words would form. “Honestly, you don’t give me enough credit. You forget how observant I am.”
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” Nino snorted.
Ohno took a step forward, nudging the slight man in front of him into the shadows of the alcove and brushed his lips against the soft skin of the other's ear as he traced patterns on the back of the arm underneath his fingers. His breath stirred Nino’s hair as he spoke.
“Well, I have to watch someone when you’re not in the room.”
Nino had the good grace to blush and if Ohno felt the warmth flooding Nino’s smooth cheeks, he kept silent.
It didn’t take as much convincing as Nino had anticipated for Jun to agree to join them the following evening. Ohno was the one to approach him in his father’s office and pose the outing as a directive from Nagase - something which Jun could not ignore. Even if Ohno had not stretched the truth, Jun’s firm bushido upbringing would have made him bend anyway. His father’s order to provide Ohno with anything he desired rang in Jun’s ears with the request.
Nino lead the group, chatting animatedly with Aiba about what they should do first when they arrived at the village, but cast concerned glances backwards every so often. Perhaps he wanted to make sure Jun didn’t desert them. Ohno walked beside Sho in the middle, pointing out interesting features of the landscape as they went. Sho listened with half an ear, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve as they made their way down the hill. Jun trailed behind as they left the castle late afternoon. His expression was closed and to those unaware, he might merely be worried for the wellbeing of the castle in his absence.
Nino’s words echoed in Jun’s head as he caught the older man glancing over his shoulder once again. He deserves to be happy. Watching Aiba laugh at something Nino had said, looking back at the two samurai and then, with a troubled crease in his brow, at him, he felt guilty. He shouldn’t stand in the way of another’s happiness - it made him no better than the rebellious farmers who had plunged them all into this nightmare.
Sho had been feeling uneasy around Jun since that day in the library. It was one thing to be anxious - it would be difficult to find someone who wasn’t at a time like this - but as they made their way down the hill, Jun was more than that. He had felt discomforted in Jun’s presence, but wasn’t sure how to amend the situation.
Jun took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and caught up with the samurais and retold the history of the village to Sho, filling in the holes left by Ohno. As Jun described events and stories of why things were named the way they were, Sho relaxed. Whether it was Jun’s own keen interest in the history of the village or his father’s strict instruction, though, Sho wasn’t sure.
They entered the main street of the village, lined with lanterns of red and white, just as the sun was setting. All the shop fronts were thrown open and tables were set up on the street; vendors with food and drink hawked their fare while booths with games attracted crowds of spectators. Men and women, children and grandparents filled the night air with a jovial and carefree spirit.
The group weaved through the villagers from one end of the street to the other, taking in the sights and stopping when something caught their interest. Aiba and Nino tried to catch some goldfish in a pond made of oilskin, but neither had the skill or patience. When they sky finally darkened and the stars began to peek through the velvet night, they grabbed an empty table in front of a sake shop.
“Yamashita-kun!” Ohno called through the open door. “My bottle and five glasses!”
“I was wondering when you would show up,” the young shop owner replied, bearing a tray laden with glassware. “I’ll get another bottle ready for you. I know it won’t take long for you to finish this one.”
Ohno proposed a toast, “May the night be one to remember,” and five glasses clinked over the centre of the table. He and Sho reminisced across the table about their time near the capital and any drunken mishaps they could remember. Aiba and Nino supplied their own stories of mischief and mayhem from growing up in the castle, the stories flowing easily along with the sake. Jun observed, laughing when appropriate and offering comments when asked.
He nursed his glass in his hands - which Ohno always kept brimming - and soaked in the mirth around him. Nino sat beside Ohno on the bench, close enough that their knees could touch under the table and so that Nino could lean his head on Ohno’s shoulder when he recovered from a bout of explosive laughter. Sho sat across from Ohno with the stout brown bottle between them, taking turns refilling each other’s glasses. Beside Sho sat Aiba with his elbows on the table and his bright face cradled in his hands, a distinct flush on his cheeks from the drink. Jun sat on a stool at the end of the table, facing the door of the sake shop and his friends.
Friends… he watched the rapid fire exchange of jokes and stories, anecdotes and jibes; everyone was happy and smiling. He should be too, he thought bitterly as he took a long draught of his sake. They have all been good to me, but what have I done for them?
“So, what is this festival?” Sho asked, accepting another cup of sake from Ohno with a nod.
“This is the star festival,” answered Aiba. “The legend goes that the celestial emperor’s youngest daughter was a great weaver and her name was Ori Hime. One day, she met a young cowherd, Hikoboshi, and they fell in love.” He pointed to two clusters of stars in the sky above them.
“They were so deeply in love that she neglected her weaving, and he his herd. Her father became angry and banished her lover to other side of the Milky Way. She looked for him across the river of stars and cried everyday. Her father was so moved by her tears that he consented to let them meet once a year.”
“So we hold a festival every year in honour of their union,” Nino finished. “Even though it’s a tragic story, it’s a celebration of love.”
Jun felt his stomach lurch. Every little touch, each whispered word, each stolen look wrenched his insides. His head told him he was seeing more than was actually there but his heart still felt sick. Jun lost track of how much he’d drunk; his head was swimming and his eyelids felt heavy. He pushed his glass to the side and rested his chin on folded arms, the cacophony of voices washing over him.
“Jun-tan, come on. You can’t sleep on the table.”
Jun-tan… Aiba’s nickname for him.
“Come on, stand up. Let’s go for a walk.”
He was being shaken and lifted by the shoulders. Aiba helped him stand - it could only be Aiba-chan for he was the only one taller than Jun - and when he was properly upright, Aiba hooked one arm through his and held his hand with the other, ready to catch the younger man should his legs fail him.
Jun tried to keep his eyes open but the world kept spinning beneath his feet. He leaned more on Aiba, and let himself be lead through the crowd, music and voices enveloping him. The atmosphere of the festival soon quieted and he found they had already walked to the end of the street. When Jun forced his eyes open, he could see the castle looming over them on top of the hill.
“I’m sorry,” Aiba said. Jun could barely hear him.
“For what?” Jun was genuinely surprised.
“For whatever I did; for what happened in the library.”
Jun bowed his head and took a deep breath, trying to keep the slur out of his voice. “No, I should be apologizing to you, Masaki. I shouldn’t have…” Jun’s voice trailed off. “I was just frustrated.”
Jun untangled himself from Aiba and wobbled to a nearby maple. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, accelerated by the sake and his emotions. He leaned against the trunk and pressed his face to the rough bark, the texture against his skin grounding him.
“Sakurai-san is a good man.” Jun turned and focused on Aiba’s face, whose skin was tinted a soft rose from the glow of the lanterns. “He will take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Aiba protested weakly.
“He will make you happy.”
“What are you saying? I am happy! I’m happy with my life in the castle with you and Kazu and Ohno-san and everyone,” Aiba cried.
Jun caught his friend’s gaze and held it before continuing, determined to say everything that had been weighing him down for the last six, seven, seventeen years. After this, there was no going back. “He could make you happier than I would. And I think he would…” Jun stopped, his voice choked with the onset of tears. Aiba covered the distance between them in two long strides, wiping Jun’s wet cheeks with his thumbs. He could see Aiba’s concerned, patient stare even with his eyes closed.
Jun took a deep breath, a shudder vibrating in his chest as he looked his own demon and accepted its sobering reality. Aiba’s solid presence surrounding him, he found the strength to speak but not enough to open his eyes.
“He will never know you as well as I do, but I think he will have the courage to tell you he loves you like I never could.”
Aiba wrapped his arms around Jun’s shivering shoulders, as if he were clinging to someone about to die. The more Jun cried the harder Aiba held him; Jun couldn’t bring himself to hug him back. He felt wetness penetrate the fabric at his shoulder and realized that Aiba was crying too.
“Even though you couldn’t, I think I always knew. You were always watching me and helping me and you never did for Kazu. If you had said something…”
Jun was silent, staring out over Aiba’s shoulder. “You knew?”
“I can’t even remember when it started…”
“You knew…” Jun pushed Aiba away from him and held the other at arms length. He wasn’t sure whether he should be upset, disappointed, or enraged. He was too drained to feel much of anything. There was just one last question he needed to ask before this could all be over.
“So, if I had said something sooner,” by which they both knew he meant before Sakurai Sho’s fate entwined them at Iwatsuki Castle, “would you have been able to love me in return?”
Aiba took one step back, leaving Jun’s touch, helping Jun break whatever Aiba held for him. “You’re my brother.”
“Would you have been able to love me back?!” Jun repeated harshly, getting angry. Even though he already knew the answer - had always known the answer for that’s why he’d never asked the question - he couldn’t help but drive the dagger a little bit deeper. He needed to cut out everything he felt for the man standing before him.
Once spoken, the solitary word hung in the air between them, so dark and despairing and out of place amongst the revelry.
“No.”
Jun shoved himself away from the tree and shouldered past the taller man, making his way back down the main street towards the others, away from Aiba. His head felt thick and his throat dry; his vision was still unstable. He clawed his way through the tides of villagers, half-heartedly searching for familiar faces. He never looked back to see if Aiba was following him.
He navigated his way back to the sake shop but their table had been taken over. Jun stood by the door and tried to scan the crowd but he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. He felt hot and feverish and as he closed his eyes he felt the world tilt on its axis at a sickening angle, throwing him to the ground to expel the contents of his stomach onto the packed dirt of the street. He heard footsteps rushing towards him, a cool hand on his back drawing soothing circles, as he retched into the gutter.
Aiba saw Jun collapse from across the street, and Yamashita tending to his crumpled form. He searched the ranks of anonymous faces before spotting the two samurai and Nino. He weaved his way through a clump of mothers with their toddlers and without a word grabbed Sho’s hand and tugged him towards the shop. Ohno and Nino hurried after.
Upon seeing his friend keeled over on the ground with his face in his hands, Nino sighed knowingly and dropped down to Jun’s side. He placed a hand on the back of Jun’s head and began to pet his hair with parental affection. He looked up at the other’s concerned faces, noting how Aiba hid slightly behind Sho, avoiding Nino’s eyes, and that their fingers were still laced.
“It seems that Jun-chan has had too much; I think it’s time for him to go home.”
Ohno came forward and helped Nino lift Jun to his feet. One arm over each of their shoulders, they supported his dead weight between them, his head lolling forward as they gathered him up.
“You two should stay,” Ohno said as they turned towards the castle. “We’ve only been here a few hours, and they haven’t even set off the fireworks yet.”
“But… are you sure?” Sho looked faintly guilty as if he had been the one who forced Jun to drink himself into oblivion.
“You should stay,” Nino repeated firmly. “Jun just needs some water and sleep. Take your time. We won’t wait up.”
They stood in the street, hand in hand, watching Nino and Ohno escort Jun back to the castle, laughing and smiling at each other over the top of their charge’s head. Nino had the talent to make light of any situation; Aiba liked that about him most.
“You’ve been crying.”
Aiba wiped his face awkwardly with the back of his left hand though the tears had already dried, and just nodded. Sho watched him trying to right his appearance, looking like a bathing kitten, his favoured hand still comfortably tangled in his. Now that it was there, Sho did not want to let go. Something had happened between Aiba and Jun but he wouldn’t ask; he could at least pay Aiba the same kindness he had shown him.
The gloom that was settled upon them had parted that evening as they sat around the table and it was good. Sho felt warm and relaxed - no doubt due in part to Ohno’s sake - but it felt right for the first time to be where he was. It felt right to be standing in the middle of a crowded street under the flickering lanterns, wading through the sounds and smells of the evening. Above all that, the palm against his felt perfect and like it belonged there, more so than any book or brush ever did.
They stood in the middle of the street, being jostled by passing couples and families and as Sho just looked at Aiba, a silly grin tugged at his lips for no reason at all.
“Come on,” he said, leading him past a gaggle of girls in colourful yukata begging their mothers to let them stay out longer.
They strolled down the narrow streets and alleys, taking in the interesting concoction of sights and scents. They watched an artist as he painted a portrait of a young woman, and they ate freshly grilled chicken. They laughed as children tried to catch baby goldfish with fans and had more success than Aiba or Nino had earlier that evening. There was a troupe of women in sombre yukata performing folk dances to the music of a drum and flute who motioned for them to join in.
And they talked.
Sho described his home village and their summer festivals, which were meagre in scale compared to this. He retold the story of how he lost his sister when he was eight and spent the whole festival crying while she was watching an acrobat three shops away and how his dad berated him for losing her. He talked about how he will read pretty much anything and taste anything once and how he likes to sleep until the sun comes up just high enough to peak over the windowsill into his room in the morning.
Aiba recounted several childhood exploits in which he and Nino - and sometimes they would kidnap Jun and take him along - would sneak out through a narrow hole in the fence beside the back gate of the castle grounds and steal into the village and visit the sweets shop, eat steamed meat buns sitting on the street corner just over there, or play games with other children on the banks of the Moto-Arakawa River.
They walked along the waterway that fed the fields and village, lit by floating lanterns, until they came to the large stone torii of the shrine.
“Every year, people come to the shrine around this time to write a wish and pray for their ancestors,” Aiba explained.
He quieted as they passed under the stone gate and approached the modest shrine. The doors were open, displaying an altar laden with candles and offerings in front of a gilded mirror. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a single coin. Tossing it into the cedar tithing box, he rang the hollow copper bell before standing silently with his hands pressed together. Sho did the same and they stood side by side in fervent prayer.
They explored the grounds of the temple, catching glimpses of red and white robed figures in the shadows - temple maidens scuttling past between vigils. A bamboo grove hedged the shrine, the floating lanterns on the river glinted through the leaves. Hundreds of strips of paper were tied to the shoots with wishes for health, happiness, safety and prosperity. Shoulders and fingers brushing, they followed the grove behind the shrine, reading the desires of Iwatsuki village.
Those closest to the ground were written wobbly and sometimes with a missing stroke or two by children wanting a new toy, a baby brother or sister, or a chance to see a real live fish in the ocean just once. At waist height, there were aspirations for an education, an occupation, a chance to give parents and grandparents a comfortable life in their golden years by young boys. Near the heart were women’s dreams of finding a kind man and a good husband, bearing healthy children and the strength to care for them. On the highest branches were the yearnings of men for safety and peace and the courage and skill to protect their families from danger in the coming months.
Aiba’s hand trailed along the strips fluttering on the branches until his eyes caught a flash of a familiar character; Elegance. His feet stopped, bringing Sho’s to a halt behind him and his fingers stilled the sheet to reveal another: Chronicle. He held the wish with both hands and read. He could already feel Sho smiling into his shoulder.
I wish for Masaki and Sho to find happiness in each other.
“But, this is Kazu’s writing. How, when?” Aiba stuttered, staring at the strip of paper.
“Just after you left with Jun, he ran off to do something and left me and Satoshi-kun at the table. He didn’t tell us where he was going but wasn’t gone very long.”
Aiba read the wish over and over, tracing the lines of his name with this finger. “Kazu comes to the shrine every year, without fail, and makes a wish. He never tells me what he wishes for, and would never let me look for it. I can’t believe he would use his wish on me.”
“Your friends really care about you,” Sho murmured into Aiba’s neck, tentatively placing his hands on the other’s narrow waist.
“They think of me so much - too much. You’d never know that I’m the eldest,” Aiba replied, wryly. Sho looked at Aiba’s face and watched the flicker of emotions play across his features, one after the other - shock, embarrassment, joy, panic. “How am I ever going to pay him back?”
The innate innocence of Aiba’s nature was so tangible and open that it made Sho want to reach out and touch him. He turned the younger man to face him and moved his hands from Aiba’s hips to his cheeks.
“He wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t want you to have it.”
“But I-”
And there was nothing else for Sho to do but kiss him quiet. It was a chaste kiss, coloured with the barest hesitation; a kiss for the sake of a kiss. There was no taking, only giving. Sho gave him, with that very first kiss, the beginning.
“The only thing worth doing is fulfilling Nino’s wish,” Sho whispered against Aiba’s lips.
Aiba breathed in and the words of the wish unleashed the magnetism he felt pulling him towards the samurai. He felt lightheaded and giddy as he pressed close to Sho and drank with his senses. Sho’s lips were slightly chapped from being chewed in concentration. Sho’s fingertips playing with his chocolate hair were smooth; the heels of his hands caressing his neck were calloused from sword practice. Aiba’s hands traced the outline of Sho’s obi, his waist firm and trim under his yukata. He could smell the scent of sandalwood that permeated Sho’s skin in the air and quiet sighs and short breaths that came from both of them filled his ears.
As Aiba’s tongue became adventurous and traveled the seam of Sho’s lips, they heard a cough nearby and the rustle of robes. They came apart slowly, breathing deep and slightly uneven, grinning like silly teenagers.
“I know a place,” Aiba said into Sho’s ear and took his hand. They ran through the short buildings of the shrine to an old teahouse on the bank of the river. “Jun, Nino and I found this when we got caught out as a typhoon hit once.”
“When you weren’t supposed to be out,” Sho inferred, his hands finding Aiba’s body in the dark.
“Naturally,” Aiba replied, a smile lighting his voice. “No one knew we’d been here and no one missed us when we got back the next morning.”
They sat across from each other, faces and features shadowed and blurry in the lightless room, learning each other. Their movements were matched and even: they alternately traced the contours and lines of backs, shoulders, chests, stomachs with fingers and tongues. They experimented with touch and taste across every plain and angle. If I lick the back of his knees, what sound will he make? If I brush the space between his third and forth rib this way, how fast will his pulse race? If we grind our hips against each other, how good will that feel?
There wasn’t any pressure to go fast and it wasn’t a race. Each wanted to give as much pleasure as he was being given. Aiba trailed his hand over the topography of Sho’s torso to his cock, already so hard and straining, as they lay in the middle of the tatami. His strokes were careful and wary - learning what Sho liked by the way his hips would jerk and the muscles in his legs would flex trying to restrain them from ending it all too soon. Sho grazed his short fingernails up the smooth expanse of Aiba’s thigh before encircling him, matching Aiba’s paced stroking, committing to memory what spots to grip just so to make him purr into Sho’s mouth as he continued to play with the other’s tongue.
They slid against each other, moans hushed as the tension grew and orgasm came upon them like the slow approach of a wave as the tide comes in, rolling over the sea and cresting before crashing into the smooth surface of the beach. Aiba came first, arching into Sho, a moan muffled against his chest as he placed wet kisses to the rise of Sho’s collarbones while orgasm coursed through him. Watching the spasms overtake Aiba’s body was almost more arousing than having Aiba’s fingers draw the character of his name across his stomach; it only took one stroke of Aiba’s thumb across the head of his cock to have him coming into his hand with a short grunt.
Their panting and contented hums filled the small room. Aiba wound his legs through Sho's, nestling against his chest; Sho threw a yukata across their nakedness to blanket them from the pre-dawn chill. In the distance, beyond the paper screens of the tea room, faint booming of fireworks could be heard. Neither moved to open the shutters, satisfied with merely listening to each other and imagining the vibrant colours splattered across the sky.
Chapter Nine
Aiba was in charge of overseeing laundry and the animals. Since Kimura and his entourage were absent and Miyake and Nakano were on patrol, there were no horses to tend, so he assigned one of the younger boys to sweep the stables and keep them ready for any sudden arrivals. The chickens were fed and their eggs collected - the only food produced by the castle for itself: the rest came from the surrounding farmers. He gathered the laundry and hung assorted futon covers and sheets on the lines behind the staff residence and folded them when they were dry. Everything was taken care of well before lunch was served and the day had barely begun to warm up.
Nino handled the kitchen and dining services and worked with the head chef to keep the castle properly fed, in addition to overseeing the landscaping. He had standing orders with the younger staff assigned to groundskeeping to only bother him with petty details when they proved too large to handle themselves, which was seldom, just the way he liked it. The biggest dilemma they had faced so far was what to do with Kimura’s favourite cherry tree which had become infested with termites one summer and was being eaten from the inside out.
At the beginning of the year, Jun had started learning how to organize the books and tackle the administrative end of running the castle from his father. His remaining chores were limited to cleaning the residences and keep - or rather making sure that Yamada and Chinen did a proper job of wiping the wood and tatami when no one was looking.
As the noon meal was being decided upon, Aiba wandered into the kitchen looking lost and sullen. Nino didn’t have the heart to chase him out so he sent him off to help clean up the breakfast dishes with an exasperated sigh. With Aiba’s cloudy countenance it looked like a trial to complete any task; every movement looked like it took the strength of ten men. Nino had never realized how much his companion’s sunny disposition helped the day progress and make the workload seem lighter until it was gone. He was not the only one to notice: maids and other staff members alike whispered and cast worried looks between themselves.
Nino had not seen Aiba so concentrated on his work since he first arrived at the castle, all those years ago. Only when he was severely uneasy did Aiba focus with such dedication; he had thrown himself so hard into learning his tasks and lessons back then for fear that he would be turned out if he did not prove his worth. The demon lurking this time was different but the terror created from it was the same: Aiba feared, more than anything else, being without a home, shelter and a warm bed. He feared being without family. Nino knew that feeling personally too but also knew there was nothing either of them could do but wait and watch the pieces fall. Aiba was doing what he had to do to cope.
The day passed at a glacial pace. After dinner, Ohno motioned to Nino with a small sweep of his hand as they passed each other in the hall. With his finger tips brushing the younger man’s elbow he guided them to an alcove near the pantry, speaking in a low voice.
“What’s the matter with Aiba-chan? I saw him carrying some laundry to Nagase’s room earlier; he looked like one of the castle hounds just died. And there’s been talk.”
Nino sighed heavily and hooked his little finger with Ohno’s. “He’s worried.”
“What about?” At this Nino gave the samurai a pitiful look, squeezing his finger pointedly. “Oh, of course. Is that why you didn’t come to me last night?”
“Yes,” Nino nodded. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave him alone like that.”
“It’s alright, I understand,” Ohno smiled kindly. “We should do… something.”
“Like what? There’s nothing we can do, not even you.”
“Well, the reports have been getting thinner. It seems that the rebellion has taken a rest, but until we learn something new, there’s nothing to be done. Nagase told us that we should go into town - there’s a festival tomorrow - and try and take our mind off of things. I want to take Sho - he’s been here over a month and not yet seen outside the castle walls. He’s also been grating on Nagase’s nerves with his questions, though he doesn’t know it. I want you to come and Aiba-chan too. And Jun. I think it would do us all some good.”
“That’s a great idea,” Nino replied. “But I don’t know if Jun would be very comfortable with that.”
“Why not? He’s the one who needs to get out the most. The castle will run itself without him; Matsumoto-san engineered it that way.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Nino said, darkly. He bit his lip and pondered whether it was his place to reveal Jun’s secret.
Ohno leaned close and lowered his voice. “Is it Aiba-chan, or Sho-kun? Or, maybe it’s both.” Nino blinked in shock, lips parted to speak yet no words would form. “Honestly, you don’t give me enough credit. You forget how observant I am.”
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” Nino snorted.
Ohno took a step forward, nudging the slight man in front of him into the shadows of the alcove and brushed his lips against the soft skin of the other's ear as he traced patterns on the back of the arm underneath his fingers. His breath stirred Nino’s hair as he spoke.
“Well, I have to watch someone when you’re not in the room.”
Nino had the good grace to blush and if Ohno felt the warmth flooding Nino’s smooth cheeks, he kept silent.
It didn’t take as much convincing as Nino had anticipated for Jun to agree to join them the following evening. Ohno was the one to approach him in his father’s office and pose the outing as a directive from Nagase - something which Jun could not ignore. Even if Ohno had not stretched the truth, Jun’s firm bushido upbringing would have made him bend anyway. His father’s order to provide Ohno with anything he desired rang in Jun’s ears with the request.
Nino lead the group, chatting animatedly with Aiba about what they should do first when they arrived at the village, but cast concerned glances backwards every so often. Perhaps he wanted to make sure Jun didn’t desert them. Ohno walked beside Sho in the middle, pointing out interesting features of the landscape as they went. Sho listened with half an ear, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve as they made their way down the hill. Jun trailed behind as they left the castle late afternoon. His expression was closed and to those unaware, he might merely be worried for the wellbeing of the castle in his absence.
Nino’s words echoed in Jun’s head as he caught the older man glancing over his shoulder once again. He deserves to be happy. Watching Aiba laugh at something Nino had said, looking back at the two samurai and then, with a troubled crease in his brow, at him, he felt guilty. He shouldn’t stand in the way of another’s happiness - it made him no better than the rebellious farmers who had plunged them all into this nightmare.
Sho had been feeling uneasy around Jun since that day in the library. It was one thing to be anxious - it would be difficult to find someone who wasn’t at a time like this - but as they made their way down the hill, Jun was more than that. He had felt discomforted in Jun’s presence, but wasn’t sure how to amend the situation.
Jun took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and caught up with the samurais and retold the history of the village to Sho, filling in the holes left by Ohno. As Jun described events and stories of why things were named the way they were, Sho relaxed. Whether it was Jun’s own keen interest in the history of the village or his father’s strict instruction, though, Sho wasn’t sure.
They entered the main street of the village, lined with lanterns of red and white, just as the sun was setting. All the shop fronts were thrown open and tables were set up on the street; vendors with food and drink hawked their fare while booths with games attracted crowds of spectators. Men and women, children and grandparents filled the night air with a jovial and carefree spirit.
The group weaved through the villagers from one end of the street to the other, taking in the sights and stopping when something caught their interest. Aiba and Nino tried to catch some goldfish in a pond made of oilskin, but neither had the skill or patience. When they sky finally darkened and the stars began to peek through the velvet night, they grabbed an empty table in front of a sake shop.
“Yamashita-kun!” Ohno called through the open door. “My bottle and five glasses!”
“I was wondering when you would show up,” the young shop owner replied, bearing a tray laden with glassware. “I’ll get another bottle ready for you. I know it won’t take long for you to finish this one.”
Ohno proposed a toast, “May the night be one to remember,” and five glasses clinked over the centre of the table. He and Sho reminisced across the table about their time near the capital and any drunken mishaps they could remember. Aiba and Nino supplied their own stories of mischief and mayhem from growing up in the castle, the stories flowing easily along with the sake. Jun observed, laughing when appropriate and offering comments when asked.
He nursed his glass in his hands - which Ohno always kept brimming - and soaked in the mirth around him. Nino sat beside Ohno on the bench, close enough that their knees could touch under the table and so that Nino could lean his head on Ohno’s shoulder when he recovered from a bout of explosive laughter. Sho sat across from Ohno with the stout brown bottle between them, taking turns refilling each other’s glasses. Beside Sho sat Aiba with his elbows on the table and his bright face cradled in his hands, a distinct flush on his cheeks from the drink. Jun sat on a stool at the end of the table, facing the door of the sake shop and his friends.
Friends… he watched the rapid fire exchange of jokes and stories, anecdotes and jibes; everyone was happy and smiling. He should be too, he thought bitterly as he took a long draught of his sake. They have all been good to me, but what have I done for them?
“So, what is this festival?” Sho asked, accepting another cup of sake from Ohno with a nod.
“This is the star festival,” answered Aiba. “The legend goes that the celestial emperor’s youngest daughter was a great weaver and her name was Ori Hime. One day, she met a young cowherd, Hikoboshi, and they fell in love.” He pointed to two clusters of stars in the sky above them.
“They were so deeply in love that she neglected her weaving, and he his herd. Her father became angry and banished her lover to other side of the Milky Way. She looked for him across the river of stars and cried everyday. Her father was so moved by her tears that he consented to let them meet once a year.”
“So we hold a festival every year in honour of their union,” Nino finished. “Even though it’s a tragic story, it’s a celebration of love.”
Jun felt his stomach lurch. Every little touch, each whispered word, each stolen look wrenched his insides. His head told him he was seeing more than was actually there but his heart still felt sick. Jun lost track of how much he’d drunk; his head was swimming and his eyelids felt heavy. He pushed his glass to the side and rested his chin on folded arms, the cacophony of voices washing over him.
“Jun-tan, come on. You can’t sleep on the table.”
Jun-tan… Aiba’s nickname for him.
“Come on, stand up. Let’s go for a walk.”
He was being shaken and lifted by the shoulders. Aiba helped him stand - it could only be Aiba-chan for he was the only one taller than Jun - and when he was properly upright, Aiba hooked one arm through his and held his hand with the other, ready to catch the younger man should his legs fail him.
Jun tried to keep his eyes open but the world kept spinning beneath his feet. He leaned more on Aiba, and let himself be lead through the crowd, music and voices enveloping him. The atmosphere of the festival soon quieted and he found they had already walked to the end of the street. When Jun forced his eyes open, he could see the castle looming over them on top of the hill.
“I’m sorry,” Aiba said. Jun could barely hear him.
“For what?” Jun was genuinely surprised.
“For whatever I did; for what happened in the library.”
Jun bowed his head and took a deep breath, trying to keep the slur out of his voice. “No, I should be apologizing to you, Masaki. I shouldn’t have…” Jun’s voice trailed off. “I was just frustrated.”
Jun untangled himself from Aiba and wobbled to a nearby maple. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, accelerated by the sake and his emotions. He leaned against the trunk and pressed his face to the rough bark, the texture against his skin grounding him.
“Sakurai-san is a good man.” Jun turned and focused on Aiba’s face, whose skin was tinted a soft rose from the glow of the lanterns. “He will take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Aiba protested weakly.
“He will make you happy.”
“What are you saying? I am happy! I’m happy with my life in the castle with you and Kazu and Ohno-san and everyone,” Aiba cried.
Jun caught his friend’s gaze and held it before continuing, determined to say everything that had been weighing him down for the last six, seven, seventeen years. After this, there was no going back. “He could make you happier than I would. And I think he would…” Jun stopped, his voice choked with the onset of tears. Aiba covered the distance between them in two long strides, wiping Jun’s wet cheeks with his thumbs. He could see Aiba’s concerned, patient stare even with his eyes closed.
Jun took a deep breath, a shudder vibrating in his chest as he looked his own demon and accepted its sobering reality. Aiba’s solid presence surrounding him, he found the strength to speak but not enough to open his eyes.
“He will never know you as well as I do, but I think he will have the courage to tell you he loves you like I never could.”
Aiba wrapped his arms around Jun’s shivering shoulders, as if he were clinging to someone about to die. The more Jun cried the harder Aiba held him; Jun couldn’t bring himself to hug him back. He felt wetness penetrate the fabric at his shoulder and realized that Aiba was crying too.
“Even though you couldn’t, I think I always knew. You were always watching me and helping me and you never did for Kazu. If you had said something…”
Jun was silent, staring out over Aiba’s shoulder. “You knew?”
“I can’t even remember when it started…”
“You knew…” Jun pushed Aiba away from him and held the other at arms length. He wasn’t sure whether he should be upset, disappointed, or enraged. He was too drained to feel much of anything. There was just one last question he needed to ask before this could all be over.
“So, if I had said something sooner,” by which they both knew he meant before Sakurai Sho’s fate entwined them at Iwatsuki Castle, “would you have been able to love me in return?”
Aiba took one step back, leaving Jun’s touch, helping Jun break whatever Aiba held for him. “You’re my brother.”
“Would you have been able to love me back?!” Jun repeated harshly, getting angry. Even though he already knew the answer - had always known the answer for that’s why he’d never asked the question - he couldn’t help but drive the dagger a little bit deeper. He needed to cut out everything he felt for the man standing before him.
Once spoken, the solitary word hung in the air between them, so dark and despairing and out of place amongst the revelry.
“No.”
Jun shoved himself away from the tree and shouldered past the taller man, making his way back down the main street towards the others, away from Aiba. His head felt thick and his throat dry; his vision was still unstable. He clawed his way through the tides of villagers, half-heartedly searching for familiar faces. He never looked back to see if Aiba was following him.
He navigated his way back to the sake shop but their table had been taken over. Jun stood by the door and tried to scan the crowd but he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. He felt hot and feverish and as he closed his eyes he felt the world tilt on its axis at a sickening angle, throwing him to the ground to expel the contents of his stomach onto the packed dirt of the street. He heard footsteps rushing towards him, a cool hand on his back drawing soothing circles, as he retched into the gutter.
Aiba saw Jun collapse from across the street, and Yamashita tending to his crumpled form. He searched the ranks of anonymous faces before spotting the two samurai and Nino. He weaved his way through a clump of mothers with their toddlers and without a word grabbed Sho’s hand and tugged him towards the shop. Ohno and Nino hurried after.
Upon seeing his friend keeled over on the ground with his face in his hands, Nino sighed knowingly and dropped down to Jun’s side. He placed a hand on the back of Jun’s head and began to pet his hair with parental affection. He looked up at the other’s concerned faces, noting how Aiba hid slightly behind Sho, avoiding Nino’s eyes, and that their fingers were still laced.
“It seems that Jun-chan has had too much; I think it’s time for him to go home.”
Ohno came forward and helped Nino lift Jun to his feet. One arm over each of their shoulders, they supported his dead weight between them, his head lolling forward as they gathered him up.
“You two should stay,” Ohno said as they turned towards the castle. “We’ve only been here a few hours, and they haven’t even set off the fireworks yet.”
“But… are you sure?” Sho looked faintly guilty as if he had been the one who forced Jun to drink himself into oblivion.
“You should stay,” Nino repeated firmly. “Jun just needs some water and sleep. Take your time. We won’t wait up.”
They stood in the street, hand in hand, watching Nino and Ohno escort Jun back to the castle, laughing and smiling at each other over the top of their charge’s head. Nino had the talent to make light of any situation; Aiba liked that about him most.
“You’ve been crying.”
Aiba wiped his face awkwardly with the back of his left hand though the tears had already dried, and just nodded. Sho watched him trying to right his appearance, looking like a bathing kitten, his favoured hand still comfortably tangled in his. Now that it was there, Sho did not want to let go. Something had happened between Aiba and Jun but he wouldn’t ask; he could at least pay Aiba the same kindness he had shown him.
The gloom that was settled upon them had parted that evening as they sat around the table and it was good. Sho felt warm and relaxed - no doubt due in part to Ohno’s sake - but it felt right for the first time to be where he was. It felt right to be standing in the middle of a crowded street under the flickering lanterns, wading through the sounds and smells of the evening. Above all that, the palm against his felt perfect and like it belonged there, more so than any book or brush ever did.
They stood in the middle of the street, being jostled by passing couples and families and as Sho just looked at Aiba, a silly grin tugged at his lips for no reason at all.
“Come on,” he said, leading him past a gaggle of girls in colourful yukata begging their mothers to let them stay out longer.
They strolled down the narrow streets and alleys, taking in the interesting concoction of sights and scents. They watched an artist as he painted a portrait of a young woman, and they ate freshly grilled chicken. They laughed as children tried to catch baby goldfish with fans and had more success than Aiba or Nino had earlier that evening. There was a troupe of women in sombre yukata performing folk dances to the music of a drum and flute who motioned for them to join in.
And they talked.
Sho described his home village and their summer festivals, which were meagre in scale compared to this. He retold the story of how he lost his sister when he was eight and spent the whole festival crying while she was watching an acrobat three shops away and how his dad berated him for losing her. He talked about how he will read pretty much anything and taste anything once and how he likes to sleep until the sun comes up just high enough to peak over the windowsill into his room in the morning.
Aiba recounted several childhood exploits in which he and Nino - and sometimes they would kidnap Jun and take him along - would sneak out through a narrow hole in the fence beside the back gate of the castle grounds and steal into the village and visit the sweets shop, eat steamed meat buns sitting on the street corner just over there, or play games with other children on the banks of the Moto-Arakawa River.
They walked along the waterway that fed the fields and village, lit by floating lanterns, until they came to the large stone torii of the shrine.
“Every year, people come to the shrine around this time to write a wish and pray for their ancestors,” Aiba explained.
He quieted as they passed under the stone gate and approached the modest shrine. The doors were open, displaying an altar laden with candles and offerings in front of a gilded mirror. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a single coin. Tossing it into the cedar tithing box, he rang the hollow copper bell before standing silently with his hands pressed together. Sho did the same and they stood side by side in fervent prayer.
They explored the grounds of the temple, catching glimpses of red and white robed figures in the shadows - temple maidens scuttling past between vigils. A bamboo grove hedged the shrine, the floating lanterns on the river glinted through the leaves. Hundreds of strips of paper were tied to the shoots with wishes for health, happiness, safety and prosperity. Shoulders and fingers brushing, they followed the grove behind the shrine, reading the desires of Iwatsuki village.
Those closest to the ground were written wobbly and sometimes with a missing stroke or two by children wanting a new toy, a baby brother or sister, or a chance to see a real live fish in the ocean just once. At waist height, there were aspirations for an education, an occupation, a chance to give parents and grandparents a comfortable life in their golden years by young boys. Near the heart were women’s dreams of finding a kind man and a good husband, bearing healthy children and the strength to care for them. On the highest branches were the yearnings of men for safety and peace and the courage and skill to protect their families from danger in the coming months.
Aiba’s hand trailed along the strips fluttering on the branches until his eyes caught a flash of a familiar character; Elegance. His feet stopped, bringing Sho’s to a halt behind him and his fingers stilled the sheet to reveal another: Chronicle. He held the wish with both hands and read. He could already feel Sho smiling into his shoulder.
I wish for Masaki and Sho to find happiness in each other.
“But, this is Kazu’s writing. How, when?” Aiba stuttered, staring at the strip of paper.
“Just after you left with Jun, he ran off to do something and left me and Satoshi-kun at the table. He didn’t tell us where he was going but wasn’t gone very long.”
Aiba read the wish over and over, tracing the lines of his name with this finger. “Kazu comes to the shrine every year, without fail, and makes a wish. He never tells me what he wishes for, and would never let me look for it. I can’t believe he would use his wish on me.”
“Your friends really care about you,” Sho murmured into Aiba’s neck, tentatively placing his hands on the other’s narrow waist.
“They think of me so much - too much. You’d never know that I’m the eldest,” Aiba replied, wryly. Sho looked at Aiba’s face and watched the flicker of emotions play across his features, one after the other - shock, embarrassment, joy, panic. “How am I ever going to pay him back?”
The innate innocence of Aiba’s nature was so tangible and open that it made Sho want to reach out and touch him. He turned the younger man to face him and moved his hands from Aiba’s hips to his cheeks.
“He wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t want you to have it.”
“But I-”
And there was nothing else for Sho to do but kiss him quiet. It was a chaste kiss, coloured with the barest hesitation; a kiss for the sake of a kiss. There was no taking, only giving. Sho gave him, with that very first kiss, the beginning.
“The only thing worth doing is fulfilling Nino’s wish,” Sho whispered against Aiba’s lips.
Aiba breathed in and the words of the wish unleashed the magnetism he felt pulling him towards the samurai. He felt lightheaded and giddy as he pressed close to Sho and drank with his senses. Sho’s lips were slightly chapped from being chewed in concentration. Sho’s fingertips playing with his chocolate hair were smooth; the heels of his hands caressing his neck were calloused from sword practice. Aiba’s hands traced the outline of Sho’s obi, his waist firm and trim under his yukata. He could smell the scent of sandalwood that permeated Sho’s skin in the air and quiet sighs and short breaths that came from both of them filled his ears.
As Aiba’s tongue became adventurous and traveled the seam of Sho’s lips, they heard a cough nearby and the rustle of robes. They came apart slowly, breathing deep and slightly uneven, grinning like silly teenagers.
“I know a place,” Aiba said into Sho’s ear and took his hand. They ran through the short buildings of the shrine to an old teahouse on the bank of the river. “Jun, Nino and I found this when we got caught out as a typhoon hit once.”
“When you weren’t supposed to be out,” Sho inferred, his hands finding Aiba’s body in the dark.
“Naturally,” Aiba replied, a smile lighting his voice. “No one knew we’d been here and no one missed us when we got back the next morning.”
They sat across from each other, faces and features shadowed and blurry in the lightless room, learning each other. Their movements were matched and even: they alternately traced the contours and lines of backs, shoulders, chests, stomachs with fingers and tongues. They experimented with touch and taste across every plain and angle. If I lick the back of his knees, what sound will he make? If I brush the space between his third and forth rib this way, how fast will his pulse race? If we grind our hips against each other, how good will that feel?
There wasn’t any pressure to go fast and it wasn’t a race. Each wanted to give as much pleasure as he was being given. Aiba trailed his hand over the topography of Sho’s torso to his cock, already so hard and straining, as they lay in the middle of the tatami. His strokes were careful and wary - learning what Sho liked by the way his hips would jerk and the muscles in his legs would flex trying to restrain them from ending it all too soon. Sho grazed his short fingernails up the smooth expanse of Aiba’s thigh before encircling him, matching Aiba’s paced stroking, committing to memory what spots to grip just so to make him purr into Sho’s mouth as he continued to play with the other’s tongue.
They slid against each other, moans hushed as the tension grew and orgasm came upon them like the slow approach of a wave as the tide comes in, rolling over the sea and cresting before crashing into the smooth surface of the beach. Aiba came first, arching into Sho, a moan muffled against his chest as he placed wet kisses to the rise of Sho’s collarbones while orgasm coursed through him. Watching the spasms overtake Aiba’s body was almost more arousing than having Aiba’s fingers draw the character of his name across his stomach; it only took one stroke of Aiba’s thumb across the head of his cock to have him coming into his hand with a short grunt.
Their panting and contented hums filled the small room. Aiba wound his legs through Sho's, nestling against his chest; Sho threw a yukata across their nakedness to blanket them from the pre-dawn chill. In the distance, beyond the paper screens of the tea room, faint booming of fireworks could be heard. Neither moved to open the shutters, satisfied with merely listening to each other and imagining the vibrant colours splattered across the sky.
Chapter Nine