Chapter Text
3.
You can dance, go and carry on
'Till the night is gone and it's time to go
If he asks, if you're all alone
Can he take you home, you must tell him, no
(Save the Last Dance for Me, The Drifters)
----
It took a good half-hour of convincing, but Okita Souji managed to get the Commander to agree, albeit reluctantly, to let the Yankee stay. On the condition that Souji would take full responsibility for “Blue Eyes,” as Hijikata-san called him. Souji would have to split his meals, his room, his belongings with the foreigner. The Shinsengumi didn’t have enough resources to spare on a stranger from the west. He would need to teach the Yankee all their customs and language. And the Yankee was expected to participate in all training exercises as well as other duties around the headquarters.
And today Souji was in charge of going to the market and getting whatever food and supplies the Shinsengumi needed, which meant the Yankee would accompany him.
Souji always enjoyed the walk to the market, but it was even better having the tall, golden-haired foreigner alongside him. The Yankee carried the basket they would put all their purchases in, while Souji kept the money and shopping list in the pocket of his sleeve. Those blue eyes were full of wonder looking around at everything they passed, like the Yankee had never seen a marketplace before. Maybe they didn’t have stores in the west, Souji thought. Or maybe the Yankee had just never seen a place as big as Kyoto. Or Nihon, for that matter.
Neither the Yankee nor Souji talked on their walk, enjoying the sounds of nature. Once they reached the market, they heard the sound of vendors and customers alike talking and shouting at each other over prices, the laughter of children running about and the hushed, bemused voices of some staring at a member of the Shinsengumi walking alongside an obvious westerner. Souji figured the Yankee wouldn’t even understand anything he tried to say to him anyway.
A short way into the market, Souji hooked his arm around the Yankee’s elbow, so they wouldn’t get separated. A blush formed on the tips of Souji’s ears when the Yankee looked down at him and smiled, saying, “You sure are mighty fond of me, ain’tcha?” Souji returned the Yankee’s smile. He didn’t understand the words, and only hoped it wasn’t something bad. That deep drawl was intoxicating. He wished he could hear words he understood with that voice.
Souji and the Yankee were making good work getting all the things they needed. And, after shouting at a few vendors for fair prices, maybe Souji would have a little money left to get a treat he and the Yankee could share. They walked past a few shops set up by foreigners, Chinese and other eastern traders. This whole section of the market was made up of foreign shops. Suddenly, the Yankee halted in front of one of the stores, pulling his arm away from Souji’s. Souji was taken aback by the abrupt stop.
The shop was small with some interesting goods. All luxury curios from someplace foreign. Something to put in your home so visitors would ask about it. Nothing the Shinsengumi needed. There were no other customers at this shop, and no vendor in sight. Souji followed the Yankee’s eyes to the object of his interest.
“How much for the gee-tar?” the Yankee called into the shop, stepping inside. Souji followed. That instrument looked like a bigger, fatter version of the shamisen, with more strings. Was this gitā, or whatever the Yankee called it, an instrument he was familiar with?
Souji was about to translate what he assumed was the Yankee asking to purchase the gitā, when a man came out from behind a screen somewhere deeper in the cluttered little shop.
“Ah, a fellow traveler,” said the man in a language that sounded like the Yankee’s. The man had golden hair like the Yankee, though it was cut short and combed, and grey showed at the temples. He had grey eyes. This man was a westerner. Souji’s heart sank. This man looked like the Yankee, spoke like him. This shop sold things from the west. This man could probably help the Yankee return home to the west. He’d lose the Yankee forever. Souji suddenly felt ill.
“It’s not too often a fellow European stops by,” the man continued. He was taller than Souji—most men were, especially westerners—but not as tall as the Yankee. The man shook the Yankee’s hand. He ignored Souji.
“Not European,” the Yankee said, a hint of a smile. “American.”
“So, what brings a cowboy like yourself to traveling around with one of the natives?”
“It’s actually a bit of a long story…” Souji was clearly not part of their conversation, so he wandered off to somewhere else in the shop. He only grasped occasional words being exchanged. Ingurando, Amerika, Tekisasu. There was a dusty globe resting on a table. The names of the countries were written in Nihongo. Tuning out the foreigners, he spun the globe around. He had never seen a map of the whole world. He looked at all the giant land masses but couldn’t find Nihon among them. That couldn’t be right. But there was America, where the Yankee was from, one of the largest countries labeled. He looked closely, slowly spinning the globe, reading every country, until he spotted it. A tiny little curve near China, an island in the middle of the ocean. Nihon.
That was it? It was so tiny. Smaller than China, smaller than many of the countries of Europe, smaller than America. Why would the Yankee want to stay somewhere so insignificant? With someone as small and insignificant as Okita Souji?
Souji looked over to the Yankee who was deep in conversation with the other western man. Then, the Yankee placed their shopping basket on the floor and walked with the man to a back room, leaving Souji in the shop. Alone.
He felt like he was about to cry, but he held it in, his eyes burning. He grabbed the shopping basket and left the store.
***
“What a frightful ordeal you’ve been through,” said the shopkeeper, an Englishman. He filled a glass with brandy and handed it to the Yankee. “I’ve no idea how you managed all this time not understanding the local language or customs. I do know of a ship leaving for Spain in two days. From there, I’m sure you can catch a vessel back to the States.” He walked over to a small safe against the wall, bending down to open it.
The Yankee took the glass and swirled the contents around, staring intensely at the reddish liquid. The Englishman returned from the safe, placing a small stack of gold coins on the table in front of the Yankee. “I can spare a few francs to help out a fellow traveler. This should be enough to get you home.”
The Yankee swallowed the contents of his glass in one swig. He placed the glass down on and pushed the coins away in a single motion. “Thankya very much fer the offer,” said the Yankee, “but I must decline.”
“Decline? But don’t you want to go back to America? Don’t you want to go home?”
“With all due respect,” the Yankee started, “I think I am home.” He stood, piercing blue eyes staring straight through the Englishman, and started towards the door. “Thankya fer the drink, but I must get back to my friend. We’ve gotta finish our shopping.” The Yankee left the room.
The Yankee looked around the shop, but his friend was nowhere to be found. The shopping basket was gone, too. Shoot. Where’d the little fella run off to?
***
Souji had gotten the last of the things on the list. His throat felt sore from holding back tears as he made his way through the crowds. The small amount of money he had left rattled in his pocket. He walked with his head down.
Somewhere nearby he heard the strum of an instrument. Could it be the Yankee? He looked up. It was a shop selling string-based instruments, a mix of eastern and western. A biwa was displayed above an upright piano. Something that looked like a tiny version of the gitā hung on a wall, though it had less strings. Perhaps it was for children. A few Chinese customers were looking over the instruments, strumming a few of them.
The shopkeeper, another westerner with brown hair, noticed Souji standing, staring into the shop. The man frowned. “If you’re not going to buy anything, move along,” the man said in a language that sounded like the Yankee’s. Souji didn’t understand.
“Are you selling any gitās?” Souji asked softly. His throat hurt, his eyes hurt and there was a sharp pain in his chest. He just wanted the Yankee back. The shopkeeper frowned further.
“Get out of here with that Nihongo!” the man snapped. “When we take over this pathetic island, you’d better start speaking English.” The other customers looked up at the man’s outburst. Souji knew the man was mad at him, but didn’t know why. He blinked hard, tears finally streaming down his face. He couldn’t hold them in anymore. Then the coughing began.
Souji quickly grabbed the handkerchief he kept in his sleeve to cover his mouth as the coughing spasms overcame him. He felt like he was drowning, gasping for air. He began to sweat, but felt freezing cold. He felt light-headed. Were people staring at him? Was he even still in the shop? Someone was yelling at him, he thought. He wanted to go home, back to headquarters. He wanted to go into his bed roll and pull the covers over his head and stay there forever. He wanted the Yankee there with him. He wanted the pain to end.
***
The Yankee was thankful he towered over everyone. Trying to look for his friend, he weaved through the crowds, desperate to spot that blue top he wore, that big ponytail, anything. He searched the marketplace until he came to a spot where a group of people had formed around the entrance to a shop. It was a dense crowd and they seemed to be panicked. Some people were shouting something the Yankee couldn’t understand.
The Yankee pushed through them to see what the matter was.
“I said get’cher ass outta here! Quit fakin,’ native scum!” A man in a blue top, with a big ponytail was doubled over, coughing uncontrollably, while a man was yelling at him in English.
Yankee’s eyes went wide, a mixture of concern and rage. He rushed through the crowd, nearly leaping over people to get to his friend. He held onto his friend, trying to give him some relief until he could stop coughing. He rubbed his back gently. “It’s okay, kid. I’m here now. Just you try to breathe,” the Yankee said, hoping his friend understood.
“Are you with this native? I told him to get outta my shop unless he could speak English, then he started with this coughing nonsense,” the shopkeeper said.
The Yankee just saw red. He pulled out his revolver while still holding onto his friend and pointed it at the shopkeeper. “Would you give us a damned minute?” he said coolly. The shopkeeper and the crowd immediately backed off. He holstered his revolver and held onto his friend until the coughing subsided.
***
When Souji’s coughing fit was over, he was too weak to stand. His handkerchief was covered in blood. He was exhausted. He gripped onto the Yankee as hard as he was able, hoping he was real and not a dream.
He suddenly felt himself being lifted up. The Yankee had picked Souji up, carrying him bridal style, holding the shopping basket in one of his hands as well, effortlessly.
“Let’s get’cha home now,” Yankee said, smiling at Souji. Souji weakly returned the smile. “You just get some rest.” Souji hoped he wasn’t being too much of a burden for the Yankee, but it felt so good to be carried in his strong arms. The rhythm of the Yankee's steps was calming. Souji felt himself starting to drift off into slumber. He rested his head against the Yankee’s chest, against that curly golden hair.
It was so warm and so soft. Souji fell asleep.