Author's Note: This is it, the last chapter of this fic. So there you go, your two minute warning, so to speak. A great big thank you to everyone who's reviewed this fic; it's been a lot of fun. The next Jadeite Arc fic is "Black Dove"; please give it a try as well.
Warnings: Angst, yet again with the OC appearances, and it's the end of the fic.
Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The plot is definitely mine, though.
VII. WSakura Tears
The first thing I noticed when I awoke the next morning was that I had overslept. The second thing I noticed was that the bed was not only empty, but cold - he had been gone for some time. I didn't know the train schedule - I had never needed to worry about it before. Could he have already left me, without even bothering to say goodbye?
Forcing myself away from the parallel with Muraki, I made myself think of other things. After all, just because he wasn't in my bed, that didn't mean he wasn't in the Ko Kaku Rou. There were numerous other possibilities. My estate was not vast by any means, but it was large enough. It could be as simple as him being in the bath house, though something in me doubted it.
I pushed bouya's absence out of my mind, focusing on my morning rituals. A long bath, then half an hour of deep meditation in my garden, an exercise in thinking of nothingness. My own sword practice, followed by the walking rounds, checking on both restaurant and employees. There was an avoidant silence hanging over Ko Kaku Rou, an efficiency in servants and geisha alike that bespoke an eagerness not to catch my attention. Even Shinji was unusually quiet and compliant through his lesson.
Shinji walked beside me in uncharacteristic silence as we both retired to the bath house at the back end of the estate. It was strange behavior - I had not invited him to join me and he was usually more than willing to use the bath at the front of the property. But his presence would, hopefully, help keep my mind from wandering.
"I could wash your back, sensei," he offered as we each stood under the massaging shower heads.
"In a minute, thank you."
I stood under the shower head, eyes squeezed tightly shut as I let the water cascade down on me. A waste of money, perhaps, but worked muscles appreciated the gentle rhythmic assault of the shower's water. It wouldn't take me long to wash off the clinging sweat from the lesson and I so rarely indulged myself. . . .
I started at the sudden unexpected feel of fingers running through the wet mass of my hair, gathering it into a loose twist before flipping it over my shoulder. Shinji. A whole head taller than me with the awkward lankiness of his eighteen years, he was normally quite animated, dark grey eyes often alight with amusement. As they were then, laughing at my surprise behind dripping black fringe.
"I could wash that too," he said quietly, gesturing to the rope of my hair. "I'm told I'm very good at it. Very relaxing. As tense as you seem to be. . . ."
"That's not necessary. . . ."
"It's no trouble," Shinji replied with a shy smile, gathering the length of my hair into his hands. It had been . . . awhile since I had allowed someone else to tend my hair; I was particular with its proper care. But it was soon apparent why Shinji had a reputation for being good as he worked the lather into my scalp. As relaxing as he had promised. Perhaps too relaxing, as I caught my thoughts wandering, analyzing Shinji's presence and why he would bother. I was not at all certain I liked where my thoughts were headed.
"That's enough."
"But, I haven't even --"
"I said that's enough!"
I hadn't meant to bark at him, but once the words were spoken, it was too late to take back the tone. Shinji flinched, silently withdrawing, no doubt to nurse his wounded pride elsewhere. I shouldn't have yelled at him - he had only been trying to help me. The possibility that it might have benefited him as well . . . if he had even thought about it, and I couldn't say if he had or not, it still hadn't been his primary purpose. Of that much I could be certain; he had genuinely wanted to help me, if only in some small way.
Finishing my showering swiftly, I then retreated to my garden to bask in the mid-morning sun and meditate once more, restless to restore my sense of internal equilibrium. It was always peaceful back there, a world apart, marked equally by it's isolation and it's natural beauty. No one would trouble me and I found myself grateful for that fact. My own mind was trouble enough, my thoughts unwelcome company as they circled around both Bon and Shinji. Of an age with each other, one forever trapped in a body too young for his wisdom, the other only beginning to move from awkward youth into adulthood. Nothing alike, even to their opposite reactions to my company. And my reactions to them.
"Bakayarou," I sighed to myself, settling beside the koi pond. "Wanting what runs away, while driving away what longs to sit at your feet. Mibu Oriya, you are truly a fool. . . ."
But knowing my folly did nothing to change it. Which was, perhaps, as Kazutaka had intended. How deeply had his meddling gone? Or was I now constructing a tower of shadows, imagining conspiracy all around me when the truth was far simplier because I did not want to see it? Occam's Razor. All things being equal, the simpliest answer was usually the right one. But what was the simpliest answer? That my love for Kazutaka had so failed as to allow my heart to run to another? Impossible! Monster though he had become, the man I loved still lingered within, buried in a madness too seductive in the depths of it's darkness.
And yet. . . .
By the midday meal, I was forced to accept the fact that Bon had left without saying a word. I was annoyed, true, but accepting. He had been wanting to leave from the very first, nearly six days ago. Besides, what did I care? Beautiful death, there was nothing for me in his jade eyes. This longing was a sickness, a madness of Kazutaka's design, and nothing more. And now that bouya was gone, I would be free to make things right again, both within myself and in the greater sphere of the Ko Kaku Rou. I had shirked my own responsibilities while caring for him and though Ko Kaku Rou was more than able to run itself, that did not mean I had not allowed for certain duties to lapse.
This was the right way. Kurosaki was nothing but a distraction, a white elephant to keep me from noticing Muraki's withdrawal. I was better off without him around.
Perhaps if I repeated it enough times, I would make myself believe.
"I thought I'd find you here. . . ."
He was still here. My brain froze as I turned to stare at him stupidly. Leaning against one of the passageway roof's support poles, he looked frightfully vulnerable in the baggy grey sweatshirt and worn jeans acquired who knew where. The dark rings under his eyes stood out even more against his too pale skin; he still had healing to do, as strange as it was to think such a thing of a shinigami. I wanted to ask him to stay longer, but the ice in those luminous green eyes killed the words before they could be spoken.
"I have to go," he said quietly. "I know what you want, but . . . I can't stay here. . . ."
"I know."
I felt like a traitor to my own heart. And incurably stupid for feeling that way.
"Cheisa-san already made arrangements for my train ticket. She even got me some clothes," he murmured, plucking at his sweatshirt momentarily. "But I . . . couldn't just leave without saying a word."
"If. . . ."
If what? What could I say? I pushed a hand through my still damp hair in frustration, turning away from him to stare out at the courtyard, pretending to watch the breeze dancing through the ornamental maple. Pale pinkish-white spots dappled the yard where sakura blossoms littered the stones, dropping in lazy swishes and buffeted about by the least breeze. Regardless of my wants, there was nothing I could say. His life was in Meifu, with his fellow shinigami. I knew this, had told myself that very same truth over and over and over again. And still that stubborn, inexplicable, selfish desire for him to remain.
"If?" the boy whispered, startling me both by his proximity and the brush of fingertips across my shoulders.
"If something happens . . . if he wins. . . . Bouya, your life need not end just because his does. . . ."
"I. . . ."
But I didn't let him finish his sentance, pulling him down into my lap roughly and kissing him, hungry for the taste of him. For more than just a taste, to be truthful, though I was willing to settle for the rare delicacy of his kiss if that was all he would give me.
At first there was nothing, like the handful of stolen kisses before. Like kissing unfeeling stone, or one who had never known a thing about intimacy of any sort. And then, a tentative response, a curious tongue seeking to know more, to learn more. All too quickly, however, he was pulling away from me, drawing a growl of frustration.
"Oriya. . . ."
"If, in the end, you can't be everything he needs . . . remember there is one to whom you can. . . ."
What was I saying?
"Oriya-san, I . . . I can't stay here. . . ."
Another hesitation and then bouya stood up, not quite meeting my gaze.
"What you want . . . these feelings . . . they aren't right. You'll see, when I'm gone. . . ."
His voice trailed off as he placed a wooden support pole between us, a symbolic distance that echoed the distances still uncrossable that lay between our two worlds. Though my heart cried to deny it, my intellect knew better. All of this would be far too easy for Kazutaka to arrange, though a part of me did not want to believe he could have done such a thing to me. When the boy was truly gone, the spell would be broken, the illusion revealed for the lie it was.
But didn't you think that before? He was gone all morning and your desires for him have not changed.
"Aa, gomen, demo . . . Kurosaki-san, Seishu-san is ready," Seiya murmured demurely, a light flush coloring her cheeks.
"Seishu can wait a moment longer, Seiya," I said quietly. "Fetch a card and pen from my office, please."
I could feel his questioning eyes on me as Seiya hurried to do my bidding, no doubt wondering what I was doing. But he remained silent, held either by curiosity or something else. It didn't matter; Seiya was already returning, perplexed but obedient. Taking the business card and pen from her, I paused a moment and smiled; while I doubted she was aware of it, Seiya had inadvertently grabbed one of my calligraphy pens. The card by itself would likely be enough - I rarely used the things. But for bouya . . . I wanted to be sure there would be no misunderstanding.
'The bearer of this card, Kurosaki Hisoka, is to be extended the same courtesy as would be shown to myself. So ordered, Mibu Oriya.'
It was doubtful any of my staff would need to be told such a thing, of course. Not after the young shinigami had spent nearly a week in my bed. Even bouya gave it a curious look when I gave it to him.
"For when you return," I explained quietly. "Should you find yourself needing a place to stay. Or anything else."
"I . . . thank you, Mibu-san."
Another momentary hesitation, then he bowed before turning away and following Seiya to the front. I turned my back to his retreating form, watching the thin curl of smoke rising from the end of my pipe instead. The sakura petals fell in pink silken waves, the weeping of the trees. And perhaps my dying heart as well.