[fic] Dolomiti (G/Ugetsu)
Title: Dolomiti
Pairing: G/Ugetsu
Rating: PG-13-ish for language and sexual situations
Word Count: 3,000~
A/N: Written for hanashiki’s 2nd Anthology and the hc_bingo prompt homesickness. A big thanks to my beta, the lovely lindenmae! <3 Any mistakes are entirely my fault. Also, beware of my characterization of Ugetsu--in my defense, we don't really know much about him.
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
-Charles Dickens
The air smells sweeter in Japan.
It doesn’t become apparent to Ugetsu until the beginning of the second week when he throws open the curtains and takes in a deep breath. The morning sunlight is not as soft, the trees are not as lush, the birdsong is not as melodious, and the air is not as sweet. He shuts the curtains and crawls back into bed to sleep until someone comes looking for him.
+++
“What is this called?” Ugetsu asks politely, indicating the chunky dish before him.
“Gattò di patate con ragu,” Giotto replies. “It’s meat sauce in a potato casing. We can get you something else if you don’t like it.”
“That will not be necessary.” The food slips off his fork on the first try, but Ugetsu manages to guide most of it into his mouth on the second. After chewing thoughtfully, he swallows with a little difficulty.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” Giotto asks. Ugetsu merely shakes his head and eats another bite with a grimace.
G. clears his throat. “Don’t force yourself to eat it if you don’t like it,” he says, eyes following the way Ugetsu’s Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow.
Ugetsu shakes his head again and tries to wash the taste out of his mouth with his drink.
+++
“Mmm, he’s looking sharp today.”
“Shut up, Spade.” G. snaps as he adjusts the collar of Ugetsu’s shirt and smoothes down his trousers. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Giotto?”
“In a bit. You seem to be having fun playing dress up with your China doll, hmm?”
Click
“Don’t think I won’t shoot. Giotto might tolerate you, but I couldn’t care less if the rats feast on your kidneys.”
Spade does not flinch at the gun muzzle resting against his temple. “Temper, temper.”
“G.-san! Please calm down!” As if the awkward European style clothing and D. Spade’s presence weren’t enough, Ugetsu is not sure if he has the energy to deal with the added stress of G.’s outburst.
Without further pretense, Spade flashes a handful of bullets at G. “I doubt you’ll be able to do much with that weapon at the moment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected in the study.”
“Damn magician,” G. mutters before turning back to slip a cravat around Ugetsu’s neck. “Thinks he can get away with anything.” Knotting the tie, he slaps Ugetsu on the back. “There’s still work to be done, but now you look a little more acceptable.”
The only advantage Ugetsu finds in the uncomfortable clothing is the appreciation it gives him for the cool caress of the yukata he still wears at night.
+++
“Tell me a story,” Lampou commands from the plush armchair he currently occupies.
Ugetsu looks up with a small smile and begins in faltering Italian. “There once was a fisherman, Urashima Tarou, who saved a turtle.”
“Your accent’s funny.” Lampou interrupts.
“Ah, f-forgive me. Umm…”
“He saved the turtle.”
“Yes, yes. The turtle was a princess, so he was invited to meet the King of the Sea, who wanted to thank him. He stayed with the princess for three days, but he soon became...” Ugetsu pauses and furrows his brow.
“A turtle?” Lampou offers.
“No, it is a feeling. He became…forgive me, I do not know this word.”
“Sad?”
“Well, yes, but he was sad because he wanted to go home. He was-”
“Homesick?” A deep voice rumbles behind them. They both turn around to find G. striding into the room. “Get out of my chair, you little shit,” he says with a low growl.
“No! I don’t see your name on it.” Lampou protests, but to no avail. He’s sent sprawling on the floor when G. tips up the back of the chair.
Ugetsu ignores the ruckus. “Homesick,” he murmurs. “Yes, he was homesick.”
“Who’s homesick?” G. asks, settling into the empty chair and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of him.
“Some man in Ugetsu’s story-though I don’t understand why he would be homesick. I’m sure the Sea Kingdom was a thousand times better than his old village.”
“But it was not his home,” Ugetsu says.
Lampou sighs. “What stupid story.” He ignores the piercing glare G. sends him.
Ugetsu nods. “Yes, a stupid story.”
+++
The creamy dish in front of Ugetsu neither looks nor tastes like the rice Giotto insists it is.
“Risotto,” he repeats, and he feels like he should try to appreciate his friend’s attempts to make him feel at home more than he does.
The Italian rice forms a lump in his throat.
+++
Candlelight flickers in the corner of the room, throwing shadows across Ugetsu’s face as he cleans the katana in his lap. Raising the blade, he tests the sharpness on the edge of his thumb. It leaves a thin indent but no blood. Satisfied, he lays it in his lap and absentmindedly smoothes his fingers over the leather pommel.
“Put that sword away. We’re going out drinking.”
Ugetsu looks up to see G. glaring at him from the doorway.
“Ah, thank you for the offer, but I think I will stay in tonight,” he replies.
“What, so you can stare at the floor and wallow in self pity?” G. says, rolling his eyes. “You need to get your mind off of whatever it is you’ve been brooding about.”
“I-“
“Don’t even bother denying it. Giotto’s worried about you.” G. interrupts, knowing he’s hit a weak spot. “Let’s go.”
They end up at a dirty tavern in one of the seedier parts of town. The tables have dust caked into the wood grain, and the smell of piss and mold is overwhelming. When he takes the first sip, Ugetsu nearly chokes on his drink, sharp and heady in the back of his throat. From a damp corner of the room, he watches G. gamble with a policeman and a gnarled old bum.
It isn’t long before the alcohol settles in his system, warming his face and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice that someone has joined his table until he feels a soft hand on his forearm.
“I haven’t seen you ‘round here before, boy.” The woman slurs lightly, curling her painted red lips into a smile. Her cheeks are smudged with rouge, and her dress is low-cut and tight. She looks at least ten, maybe fifteen years older than Ugetsu.
“It is my first time,” he answers with surprising fluidity, probably thanks to the alcohol.
“A foreigner! How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” he replies.
“I bet you must be mighty lonely here, hmm?” She scoots closer to him and traces swirls on the back of his hand.
“Ah…”
Ugetsu doesn’t know when she moved, but suddenly her lips are tickling his ear. “Maybe there’s some way I can help with that…”
Before Ugetsu can answer, the woman is swiftly detached from him with a yank to the back of her dress. G. pushes her away from the table with a scowl.
“Fuck off, Cosima. Find some other bastardo to play around with.”
“Screw you! We were just talking.”
As G. stumbles out the door with Ugetsu in tow, they can hear Cosima scream after them, “I didn’t hear you complaining when Lucrezia offered to show you a good time!”
Later that night, after Ugetsu has collapsed on his bed and promptly passed out, he dreams about G. and a young Sicilian beauty, naked and wrapped around each other, bodies slick with sweat. The woman traces the flames on G.’s neck with her tongue and nips at his clavicle. G. rasps out her name.
“Lucrezia.”
Ugetsu wakes up and vomits on the floor.
+++
En route to a nearby town, G. and Ugetsu pause at a stream to rest for a few minutes. After receiving a request for help from a farmer concerning livestock theft and threats to his family, Giotto sent them off through the hills in order to avoid any law enforcement officers they might encounter on the road. Though Ugetsu has no idea where they are, G. trudges on through the fields purposefully, stopping every now and then to drink from their flasks.
They refill their water and break a loaf of bread between them. Beyond the fields, a range of bare mountains rises up from the land. G. chews thoughtfully as he follows Ugetsu’s gaze on the landscape.
“The mountains are more beautiful up north on the mainland,” he comments.
“Oh, really?” Ugetsu doesn’t say anything more, but he highly doubts that G.’s beautiful mountains are anything special in comparison to the magnificence of the mountains in Japan.
“The Dolomiti. They’re sometimes called Monti Pallidi-the pale mountains-because of their silver color.”
“Hmm. You were up north?”
“Yeah, that was a few years ago. I was…ah, well, anyway...” G. pauses to skip a stone down the creek. “The locals have this legend that there was a prince up there who-you like fairytales, right? You were telling one to that yellow-bellied bastard.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lampou.”
“Yes, yes. The servants used to tell them to the master when I was younger. I only remember a few.”
G. nods. “So they say that there was this prince up in the mountains who took a trip to the moon. He fell in love with a princess there and brought her back to his kingdom to marry her. After a while, she became sad and withdrawn because she missed her home so much.”
“She was homesick?” Ugetsu asks.
“Yeah, she was homesick.”
+++
When Giotto’s friend, Knuckle, the priest, tries to have a chat with Ugetsu, he ends up backing the Japanese boy up against a wall with his wildly flailing arms, insistent eye contact and constant need to stand practically toe to toe with him. The frustration of trying to interpret each alien hand gesture and the discomforting feeling of having his personal space invaded make the conversation one of the most draining of Ugetsu’s life. Add Alaude to the mix, and the throbbing at the base of Ugetsu’s skull increases tenfold.
+++
At two in the morning, candlelight still glows from under the door of G.’s bedroom. After pacing outside for five minutes, Ugetsu finally knocks on the hardwood and waits for an answer.
“What?” G. asks, leaning against the door frame. The flames on his skin seem to flicker in the low light, giving him an almost supernatural flair.
Ugetsu dips his head slightly. “I am sorry. I was unable to sleep and noticed a light coming from your room.”
“And you thought it’d be alright to bother me in the middle of the night?”
“Forgive m-“
“Oh, just come in already.” G. steps to the side to let Ugetsu through and closes the door after him. He motions for Ugetsu to sit on the bed before returning to the desk where the parts of a handgun are strewn. Picking up one of the pieces, he dips one end of a rag into a jar of oil and begins cleaning it.
Ugetsu leans against the wall and lets his feet dangle off the bed. “I thought you were no longer using guns,” he comments.
“That bow and arrow are pretty effective, but there’s something about a gun that just seems more real.” He picks up another piece. “Don’t bother me while I’m working.”
They sit in comfortable silence, G. cleaning each piece methodically, and Ugetsu mesmerized by the efficient movements. Eventually Ugetsu’s eyes droop, and though he doesn’t fall asleep, he lies on the threshold of consciousness. After an indeterminable amount of time, he’s torn from the haze by G.’s voice.
“Why’d you come here?”
“Wh-to your room?” Ugetsu asks in confusion.
G. is turned towards Ugetsu and rests his chin on his palm. Behind him, the gun lies reassembled on the desk. “No, to Sicily. I remember when we met you at your master’s estate you said you were perfectly happy to live there making music for the rest of your life. What made you leave?”
It is a perfectly reasonable question, one Ugetsu often asks himself as of late. There was once a time when he was absolutely steadfast in his decision to sell his beloved flute, buy some weapons, and journey half way around the world to begin a new life in a strange land. “Giotto-san asked me for help. I could not let down a friend.”
“You could have said no.”
It takes Ugetsu a few moments to think of a response. “No, my friends are more important than myself,” he eventually says.
“An interesting philosophy. I can see why Giotto likes you so much, even if you are a bit of an idiot.”
“Thank you?”
The sit in silence for a while, G.’s eyes flicking across Ugetsu’s face as if searching for a crack in the façade that will lead to the boy beneath.
“What do you miss most about Japan?” he asks.
Ugetsu closes his eyes and thinks back to the porch that overlooks the garden of his master’s estate. He spent countless hours there, playing lullabies to the moon. The dojo holds many memories as well, of the care and discipline he put into his swordsmanship. His entire life was spent walking down the streets of the village, exchanging pleasantries with the townspeople and going about his business without a second thought.
“I felt more…comfortable there. I knew what to say, how to act, and what to expect. Sicily is a mystery to me.”
G. nods in understanding. “Yeah, that’s how I felt when I visited Japan, and basically every other place I lived. Sicilians are just easier for me to figure out,” he says. “Anything else specific that you miss?”
“Music. I miss making music.” Ugetsu knows that part of the reason he has not been able to lift his spirits is because his expressive outlet is gone. There is no way he could have afforded to pay for four swords without giving something else up. He still can hear snippets of songs flit through his mind, and sometimes his fingers twitch across an imaginary scale as he practices his sword techniques, but it just serves to remind him that he is far from home and lonely.
“Hn, your flute playing was pretty damn good, huh?” G. stretches and yawns. “Well, you can either go back to your room, sleep on the floor, or scoot over. I’m not spending the whole night at my desk.”
“I’m sorry to intrude-“
“Oh, shut up and budge over. You apologize too much.”
Ugetsu is lulled to sleep by the warmth radiating from G.’s back and the phantom of a new melody playing in his head.
+++
“Did the moon princess go back home?” Ugetsu asks.
G. shakes his head. “No, some dwarves came to the Dolomiti kingdom and offered to weave the moonbeams into a blanket for the mountains in exchange for a place to live. She and her husband lived happily ever after-well, as happy as anyone can be.”
“And she wasn’t homesick anymore?”
“I don’t know, that’s all there is to the story-wait, she also brought some edelweiss with her from the moon to plant on the mountains. It’s a type of flower. The end.”
“She was probably still homesick. I’m sure the moon was much more beautiful than the mountains.”
G. stares at the sag in Ugetsu’s shoulders. “Well, she probably thought of the moon from time to time, but the Dolomiti was her new home. She found happiness there.” He shrugs. “You know the old saying: ‘home is where the heart is’. Let’s keep moving.”
They leave the stream and continue on through the fields.
+++
“I cannot accept this, Giotto-san. It is enough that you allow me to stay here.”
“Please do. The idea was actually G.’s.”
The first notes drawn from the flute sound like spun moonbeams.
+++
Despite his rush, Ugetsu still finds time to knock on G.’s door, though he hardly waits a second before barging in. Inside, G. is fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“What the hell do you want?” G. growls.
“You told Giotto-san to give this to me?” Ugetsu asks, holding up the polished wooden flute.
G.’s hands pause in their movement. “Yeah, what about it?”
“May I play you a song? As thanks?”
It is an old piece, one of the first Ugetsu learned, and it reminds him so much of Japan and his old life that it physically hurts. But then he adds new notes, the fresh tune he has had stuck in his head for the past week. The modified song is crisper, brighter, not as melancholic and airy as the original. Just as the melody climaxes, Ugetsu feels a hand cover his own on the flute.
“One less thing to miss, right?”
The contact of their skin distracts Ugetsu enough that he forgets to respond. There is something in the atmosphere that he is just noticing for the first time, so preoccupied with his grief that the brewing storm has escaped his attention until now.
Now G. slides the flute from between Ugetsu’s fingers and leans over to lay it on his desk next to one of his guns. For a brief second they are no longer touching, but then G catches Ugetsu’s chin with one hand.
Ugetsu’s eyes widen. “G-G.-san.”
“Drop the ‘-san’. It sounds so formal.”
“G.” Their eyes meet, and Ugetsu suppresses his first instinct to look away, instead holding the gaze until G blinks. The bright irises look like embers. He has never noticed before.
When G. drags Ugetsu down for a kiss, the Japanese boy’s lips twitch against his.
“You don’t like it?” G. asks when they break apart.
“Are you trying to cheer me up?” Ugetsu blurts out, causing G. to raise an eyebrow.
“Are you really that much of an idiot? Don’t think I’m so selfless.”
The words are crass, but G.’s hands are gentle on Ugetsu’s skin despite the calluses and rough edges. As Ugetsu is pressed down to the floor, he wonders how he managed to keep himself blinded all this time. He wonders how he ever hated Sicily. He wonders from where G.’s patience stems. He wonders how his mind can be elsewhere when G.’s tongue is trailing down his abdomen. Then he stops wondering at all and just feels.
+++
The dust on the road glows in golden hues in the late afternoon sun. Shouldering his bag and katana, Ugetsu turns south.
“Shall we return home?” he asks.
After a few steps, he notices that G. is not following him. Turning around, he finds the other boy staring at him with unreadable eyes.
“G.?”
Finally G. stirs. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
When Ugetsu falls in step with him and takes a deep breath, he realizes how sweet the Sicilian air smells.
Pairing: G/Ugetsu
Rating: PG-13-ish for language and sexual situations
Word Count: 3,000~
A/N: Written for hanashiki’s 2nd Anthology and the hc_bingo prompt homesickness. A big thanks to my beta, the lovely lindenmae! <3 Any mistakes are entirely my fault. Also, beware of my characterization of Ugetsu--in my defense, we don't really know much about him.
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
-Charles Dickens
The air smells sweeter in Japan.
It doesn’t become apparent to Ugetsu until the beginning of the second week when he throws open the curtains and takes in a deep breath. The morning sunlight is not as soft, the trees are not as lush, the birdsong is not as melodious, and the air is not as sweet. He shuts the curtains and crawls back into bed to sleep until someone comes looking for him.
+++
“What is this called?” Ugetsu asks politely, indicating the chunky dish before him.
“Gattò di patate con ragu,” Giotto replies. “It’s meat sauce in a potato casing. We can get you something else if you don’t like it.”
“That will not be necessary.” The food slips off his fork on the first try, but Ugetsu manages to guide most of it into his mouth on the second. After chewing thoughtfully, he swallows with a little difficulty.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” Giotto asks. Ugetsu merely shakes his head and eats another bite with a grimace.
G. clears his throat. “Don’t force yourself to eat it if you don’t like it,” he says, eyes following the way Ugetsu’s Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow.
Ugetsu shakes his head again and tries to wash the taste out of his mouth with his drink.
+++
“Mmm, he’s looking sharp today.”
“Shut up, Spade.” G. snaps as he adjusts the collar of Ugetsu’s shirt and smoothes down his trousers. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Giotto?”
“In a bit. You seem to be having fun playing dress up with your China doll, hmm?”
Click
“Don’t think I won’t shoot. Giotto might tolerate you, but I couldn’t care less if the rats feast on your kidneys.”
Spade does not flinch at the gun muzzle resting against his temple. “Temper, temper.”
“G.-san! Please calm down!” As if the awkward European style clothing and D. Spade’s presence weren’t enough, Ugetsu is not sure if he has the energy to deal with the added stress of G.’s outburst.
Without further pretense, Spade flashes a handful of bullets at G. “I doubt you’ll be able to do much with that weapon at the moment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected in the study.”
“Damn magician,” G. mutters before turning back to slip a cravat around Ugetsu’s neck. “Thinks he can get away with anything.” Knotting the tie, he slaps Ugetsu on the back. “There’s still work to be done, but now you look a little more acceptable.”
The only advantage Ugetsu finds in the uncomfortable clothing is the appreciation it gives him for the cool caress of the yukata he still wears at night.
+++
“Tell me a story,” Lampou commands from the plush armchair he currently occupies.
Ugetsu looks up with a small smile and begins in faltering Italian. “There once was a fisherman, Urashima Tarou, who saved a turtle.”
“Your accent’s funny.” Lampou interrupts.
“Ah, f-forgive me. Umm…”
“He saved the turtle.”
“Yes, yes. The turtle was a princess, so he was invited to meet the King of the Sea, who wanted to thank him. He stayed with the princess for three days, but he soon became...” Ugetsu pauses and furrows his brow.
“A turtle?” Lampou offers.
“No, it is a feeling. He became…forgive me, I do not know this word.”
“Sad?”
“Well, yes, but he was sad because he wanted to go home. He was-”
“Homesick?” A deep voice rumbles behind them. They both turn around to find G. striding into the room. “Get out of my chair, you little shit,” he says with a low growl.
“No! I don’t see your name on it.” Lampou protests, but to no avail. He’s sent sprawling on the floor when G. tips up the back of the chair.
Ugetsu ignores the ruckus. “Homesick,” he murmurs. “Yes, he was homesick.”
“Who’s homesick?” G. asks, settling into the empty chair and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of him.
“Some man in Ugetsu’s story-though I don’t understand why he would be homesick. I’m sure the Sea Kingdom was a thousand times better than his old village.”
“But it was not his home,” Ugetsu says.
Lampou sighs. “What stupid story.” He ignores the piercing glare G. sends him.
Ugetsu nods. “Yes, a stupid story.”
+++
The creamy dish in front of Ugetsu neither looks nor tastes like the rice Giotto insists it is.
“Risotto,” he repeats, and he feels like he should try to appreciate his friend’s attempts to make him feel at home more than he does.
The Italian rice forms a lump in his throat.
+++
Candlelight flickers in the corner of the room, throwing shadows across Ugetsu’s face as he cleans the katana in his lap. Raising the blade, he tests the sharpness on the edge of his thumb. It leaves a thin indent but no blood. Satisfied, he lays it in his lap and absentmindedly smoothes his fingers over the leather pommel.
“Put that sword away. We’re going out drinking.”
Ugetsu looks up to see G. glaring at him from the doorway.
“Ah, thank you for the offer, but I think I will stay in tonight,” he replies.
“What, so you can stare at the floor and wallow in self pity?” G. says, rolling his eyes. “You need to get your mind off of whatever it is you’ve been brooding about.”
“I-“
“Don’t even bother denying it. Giotto’s worried about you.” G. interrupts, knowing he’s hit a weak spot. “Let’s go.”
They end up at a dirty tavern in one of the seedier parts of town. The tables have dust caked into the wood grain, and the smell of piss and mold is overwhelming. When he takes the first sip, Ugetsu nearly chokes on his drink, sharp and heady in the back of his throat. From a damp corner of the room, he watches G. gamble with a policeman and a gnarled old bum.
It isn’t long before the alcohol settles in his system, warming his face and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice that someone has joined his table until he feels a soft hand on his forearm.
“I haven’t seen you ‘round here before, boy.” The woman slurs lightly, curling her painted red lips into a smile. Her cheeks are smudged with rouge, and her dress is low-cut and tight. She looks at least ten, maybe fifteen years older than Ugetsu.
“It is my first time,” he answers with surprising fluidity, probably thanks to the alcohol.
“A foreigner! How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” he replies.
“I bet you must be mighty lonely here, hmm?” She scoots closer to him and traces swirls on the back of his hand.
“Ah…”
Ugetsu doesn’t know when she moved, but suddenly her lips are tickling his ear. “Maybe there’s some way I can help with that…”
Before Ugetsu can answer, the woman is swiftly detached from him with a yank to the back of her dress. G. pushes her away from the table with a scowl.
“Fuck off, Cosima. Find some other bastardo to play around with.”
“Screw you! We were just talking.”
As G. stumbles out the door with Ugetsu in tow, they can hear Cosima scream after them, “I didn’t hear you complaining when Lucrezia offered to show you a good time!”
Later that night, after Ugetsu has collapsed on his bed and promptly passed out, he dreams about G. and a young Sicilian beauty, naked and wrapped around each other, bodies slick with sweat. The woman traces the flames on G.’s neck with her tongue and nips at his clavicle. G. rasps out her name.
“Lucrezia.”
Ugetsu wakes up and vomits on the floor.
+++
En route to a nearby town, G. and Ugetsu pause at a stream to rest for a few minutes. After receiving a request for help from a farmer concerning livestock theft and threats to his family, Giotto sent them off through the hills in order to avoid any law enforcement officers they might encounter on the road. Though Ugetsu has no idea where they are, G. trudges on through the fields purposefully, stopping every now and then to drink from their flasks.
They refill their water and break a loaf of bread between them. Beyond the fields, a range of bare mountains rises up from the land. G. chews thoughtfully as he follows Ugetsu’s gaze on the landscape.
“The mountains are more beautiful up north on the mainland,” he comments.
“Oh, really?” Ugetsu doesn’t say anything more, but he highly doubts that G.’s beautiful mountains are anything special in comparison to the magnificence of the mountains in Japan.
“The Dolomiti. They’re sometimes called Monti Pallidi-the pale mountains-because of their silver color.”
“Hmm. You were up north?”
“Yeah, that was a few years ago. I was…ah, well, anyway...” G. pauses to skip a stone down the creek. “The locals have this legend that there was a prince up there who-you like fairytales, right? You were telling one to that yellow-bellied bastard.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lampou.”
“Yes, yes. The servants used to tell them to the master when I was younger. I only remember a few.”
G. nods. “So they say that there was this prince up in the mountains who took a trip to the moon. He fell in love with a princess there and brought her back to his kingdom to marry her. After a while, she became sad and withdrawn because she missed her home so much.”
“She was homesick?” Ugetsu asks.
“Yeah, she was homesick.”
+++
When Giotto’s friend, Knuckle, the priest, tries to have a chat with Ugetsu, he ends up backing the Japanese boy up against a wall with his wildly flailing arms, insistent eye contact and constant need to stand practically toe to toe with him. The frustration of trying to interpret each alien hand gesture and the discomforting feeling of having his personal space invaded make the conversation one of the most draining of Ugetsu’s life. Add Alaude to the mix, and the throbbing at the base of Ugetsu’s skull increases tenfold.
+++
At two in the morning, candlelight still glows from under the door of G.’s bedroom. After pacing outside for five minutes, Ugetsu finally knocks on the hardwood and waits for an answer.
“What?” G. asks, leaning against the door frame. The flames on his skin seem to flicker in the low light, giving him an almost supernatural flair.
Ugetsu dips his head slightly. “I am sorry. I was unable to sleep and noticed a light coming from your room.”
“And you thought it’d be alright to bother me in the middle of the night?”
“Forgive m-“
“Oh, just come in already.” G. steps to the side to let Ugetsu through and closes the door after him. He motions for Ugetsu to sit on the bed before returning to the desk where the parts of a handgun are strewn. Picking up one of the pieces, he dips one end of a rag into a jar of oil and begins cleaning it.
Ugetsu leans against the wall and lets his feet dangle off the bed. “I thought you were no longer using guns,” he comments.
“That bow and arrow are pretty effective, but there’s something about a gun that just seems more real.” He picks up another piece. “Don’t bother me while I’m working.”
They sit in comfortable silence, G. cleaning each piece methodically, and Ugetsu mesmerized by the efficient movements. Eventually Ugetsu’s eyes droop, and though he doesn’t fall asleep, he lies on the threshold of consciousness. After an indeterminable amount of time, he’s torn from the haze by G.’s voice.
“Why’d you come here?”
“Wh-to your room?” Ugetsu asks in confusion.
G. is turned towards Ugetsu and rests his chin on his palm. Behind him, the gun lies reassembled on the desk. “No, to Sicily. I remember when we met you at your master’s estate you said you were perfectly happy to live there making music for the rest of your life. What made you leave?”
It is a perfectly reasonable question, one Ugetsu often asks himself as of late. There was once a time when he was absolutely steadfast in his decision to sell his beloved flute, buy some weapons, and journey half way around the world to begin a new life in a strange land. “Giotto-san asked me for help. I could not let down a friend.”
“You could have said no.”
It takes Ugetsu a few moments to think of a response. “No, my friends are more important than myself,” he eventually says.
“An interesting philosophy. I can see why Giotto likes you so much, even if you are a bit of an idiot.”
“Thank you?”
The sit in silence for a while, G.’s eyes flicking across Ugetsu’s face as if searching for a crack in the façade that will lead to the boy beneath.
“What do you miss most about Japan?” he asks.
Ugetsu closes his eyes and thinks back to the porch that overlooks the garden of his master’s estate. He spent countless hours there, playing lullabies to the moon. The dojo holds many memories as well, of the care and discipline he put into his swordsmanship. His entire life was spent walking down the streets of the village, exchanging pleasantries with the townspeople and going about his business without a second thought.
“I felt more…comfortable there. I knew what to say, how to act, and what to expect. Sicily is a mystery to me.”
G. nods in understanding. “Yeah, that’s how I felt when I visited Japan, and basically every other place I lived. Sicilians are just easier for me to figure out,” he says. “Anything else specific that you miss?”
“Music. I miss making music.” Ugetsu knows that part of the reason he has not been able to lift his spirits is because his expressive outlet is gone. There is no way he could have afforded to pay for four swords without giving something else up. He still can hear snippets of songs flit through his mind, and sometimes his fingers twitch across an imaginary scale as he practices his sword techniques, but it just serves to remind him that he is far from home and lonely.
“Hn, your flute playing was pretty damn good, huh?” G. stretches and yawns. “Well, you can either go back to your room, sleep on the floor, or scoot over. I’m not spending the whole night at my desk.”
“I’m sorry to intrude-“
“Oh, shut up and budge over. You apologize too much.”
Ugetsu is lulled to sleep by the warmth radiating from G.’s back and the phantom of a new melody playing in his head.
+++
“Did the moon princess go back home?” Ugetsu asks.
G. shakes his head. “No, some dwarves came to the Dolomiti kingdom and offered to weave the moonbeams into a blanket for the mountains in exchange for a place to live. She and her husband lived happily ever after-well, as happy as anyone can be.”
“And she wasn’t homesick anymore?”
“I don’t know, that’s all there is to the story-wait, she also brought some edelweiss with her from the moon to plant on the mountains. It’s a type of flower. The end.”
“She was probably still homesick. I’m sure the moon was much more beautiful than the mountains.”
G. stares at the sag in Ugetsu’s shoulders. “Well, she probably thought of the moon from time to time, but the Dolomiti was her new home. She found happiness there.” He shrugs. “You know the old saying: ‘home is where the heart is’. Let’s keep moving.”
They leave the stream and continue on through the fields.
+++
“I cannot accept this, Giotto-san. It is enough that you allow me to stay here.”
“Please do. The idea was actually G.’s.”
The first notes drawn from the flute sound like spun moonbeams.
+++
Despite his rush, Ugetsu still finds time to knock on G.’s door, though he hardly waits a second before barging in. Inside, G. is fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“What the hell do you want?” G. growls.
“You told Giotto-san to give this to me?” Ugetsu asks, holding up the polished wooden flute.
G.’s hands pause in their movement. “Yeah, what about it?”
“May I play you a song? As thanks?”
It is an old piece, one of the first Ugetsu learned, and it reminds him so much of Japan and his old life that it physically hurts. But then he adds new notes, the fresh tune he has had stuck in his head for the past week. The modified song is crisper, brighter, not as melancholic and airy as the original. Just as the melody climaxes, Ugetsu feels a hand cover his own on the flute.
“One less thing to miss, right?”
The contact of their skin distracts Ugetsu enough that he forgets to respond. There is something in the atmosphere that he is just noticing for the first time, so preoccupied with his grief that the brewing storm has escaped his attention until now.
Now G. slides the flute from between Ugetsu’s fingers and leans over to lay it on his desk next to one of his guns. For a brief second they are no longer touching, but then G catches Ugetsu’s chin with one hand.
Ugetsu’s eyes widen. “G-G.-san.”
“Drop the ‘-san’. It sounds so formal.”
“G.” Their eyes meet, and Ugetsu suppresses his first instinct to look away, instead holding the gaze until G blinks. The bright irises look like embers. He has never noticed before.
When G. drags Ugetsu down for a kiss, the Japanese boy’s lips twitch against his.
“You don’t like it?” G. asks when they break apart.
“Are you trying to cheer me up?” Ugetsu blurts out, causing G. to raise an eyebrow.
“Are you really that much of an idiot? Don’t think I’m so selfless.”
The words are crass, but G.’s hands are gentle on Ugetsu’s skin despite the calluses and rough edges. As Ugetsu is pressed down to the floor, he wonders how he managed to keep himself blinded all this time. He wonders how he ever hated Sicily. He wonders from where G.’s patience stems. He wonders how his mind can be elsewhere when G.’s tongue is trailing down his abdomen. Then he stops wondering at all and just feels.
+++
The dust on the road glows in golden hues in the late afternoon sun. Shouldering his bag and katana, Ugetsu turns south.
“Shall we return home?” he asks.
After a few steps, he notices that G. is not following him. Turning around, he finds the other boy staring at him with unreadable eyes.
“G.?”
Finally G. stirs. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
When Ugetsu falls in step with him and takes a deep breath, he realizes how sweet the Sicilian air smells.