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12th of Wolf Moon, 8 years old
At four years apart, Haruichi's hands were small inside of his. Palms up and fingers open, Ryousuke cupped them close to examine the angry red abrasions scraped along tender pink skin. There was some dirt and grit embedded in the scratches that would need cleaning out, but nothing worse than that. The banged knee was more of a concern, but even that wasn't too serious, just a bruise and some bleeding. Droplets the color of crushed berries shone in the dusting of snow on the ground where Haruichi had fallen and Ryousuke had found him.
No, Ryousuke amended, gaze taking in the collection of footprints surrounding them. Not fallen, pushed. "I told you not to follow me," he said, dropping Haruichi's hands and bending over the prints. Three people, it looked like. Children, naturally. The adults simply didn't bother with them if they could help it. "And if you're going to follow anyway, you should at least stay close."
"I'm sorry, Ryou-chan." Haruichi sniffled. His face was red from the cold and from crying, although he'd been quiet about it. He was always quiet about it, stifling his distress no matter how obviously it showed, hiding behind the overlong cover of his hair.
Ryousuke reached out and flicked at the obscuring fringe, revealing for a split second a teary, but startlingly sharp-cut eye. They both had Mother's eyes and hair. It was funny in a way; the Tsukino tribe's blood was so strong but they numbered so few, driven from their lands long ago and now just barely tolerated by the neighboring Hanano villages. The Kominato family lived alone on the outskirts of such a community—courtesy of their local-born father. Although sometimes Ryousuke wondered if total isolation would have been easier.
His breath misted as he exhaled slowly. "Well, what was it about this time?" He tugged Haruichi up and—with some initial effort—onto his back, arms hooked under Haruichi's knees to keep his weight off his injury. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't have walked on his own two feet, but this way Ryousuke could see him all the way back home, plop him down in Mother's worried lap, and then return to the village to find the culprits. He had some skill at tracking down animals, and the way he saw it this wasn't much different from that.
Haruichi wound his arms around Ryousuke and mumbled, "New Year's."
"New Year's was almost two weeks ago. That was when we made mochi."
"And there were bells ringing."
"Yes." The village had been all lit up and noisy, even from a distance.
Haruichi's arms tightened, chin hooked over Ryousuke's shoulder and breath puffing little white clouds by his ear. "Ryou-chan, is there a second New Year's?"
Ah, he thought, getting an idea of what had caused the scuffle. "There's only one now. Mother used to celebrate the other one, but not anymore. Do you remember the calendar?"
Haruichi recited in the sing-song tone children were taught: "Wolf Moon, Hungry Moon, Budding Moon for me, Fish Moon for Ryou-chan… why is yours a fish?"
"It's just the name of the month I was born in. The name has nothing to do with me. Father doesn't have anything to do with thunder either, does he?"
Haruichi shook his head.
"Yours is fitting, though. Mother and Father named you for the month."
Spring, delicate and lovely and new—and sometimes brief, as they'd feared at first, but Haruichi had made it this far and despite his apparent fragility he was also the most stubborn thing Ryousuke had ever encountered. Time and again his brother would follow him out of the house, escaping Mother's guard. Privately, Ryousuke didn't think she tried all that hard to keep Haruichi inside. There was always something smiling behind her closed eyes when he told her about the most recent occurrence.
"Look after your brother," is all she would say. As if he needed to be told that. Just look at what happened when Ryousuke wasn't around.
☽❇☾
6th of Fish Moon, 10 years old
Mother spoke to him softly while she worked, mixing the inks and sharpening a thin, sturdy length of bamboo, tying a row of needles to the end. She told him about how her mother had done this for her on her own 10th birthday, and her mother's mother before that, and down the line of their Tsukino ancestry until it all melded together. The day was unusually warm and the sun's glow was soft through the trees, casting the garden in a hazy light. Ryousuke pillowed his cheek on his folded arms where he laid stretched out on the veranda.
It was just the two of them in the house after Father had taken Haruichi out to catch supper—and that had been no small feat. Neither parent could convince their youngest to leave his brother's side on this special day until finally Ryousuke said, "Just go. The sooner you leave, the sooner you'll come back." And just like that, Haruichi went. Next year he would turn 7, carried through the dangerous period of childhood on his own stubbornness more than anything else.
"Are you ready to begin, Ryou-chan?"
"Yes, Mother." Her hands, always gentle, touched the bare skin of his back.
Well, not completely bare. The painted outline had already dried across the flat of his left shoulder blade. A cloth wiped over it, and Mother's hand came to rest steady just below. Then with a sharp, digging pluck, the fine points of the needles bit into his skin. Over and over. They made a soft, rhythmic sound with each shallow punch and pull, working along the lines of the design, and left a fiery burn in their wake. Every once in a while the process would pause and he'd be numbly aware of the excess ink being wiped away, the needles being coated anew, and then the swift, stabbing march would resume.
Gradually, the pain dulled to an ache. Ryousuke drifted between the cadence of the needles and the flowing tones of Mother's voice.
"Did you know, Ryou-chan, the day you were born I dreamed that the guardian fox from the shrine up the mountain came down to visit me. He was very handsome and courteous, and he said that my child would grow up with a lot of responsibility placed on his shoulders. And he was right. I couldn't have asked for a more dutiful son and kind older brother for Haruichi. It must be hard on you sometimes. You've already reached this age and you've endured a lot. I'm very proud of you."
An image of the big guardian statue rose up in Ryousuke's mind, clever-faced despite years of erosion wearing down the stone and ever-vigilant in its duty to watch over the shrine. He'd only been there a few times for the distance was great. The fox must have shaken the earth coming down the mountain to see Mother, leaving deep impressions in the soft, damp ground. Ryousuke had been born on a rainy day. For Haruichi, it had been sunny.
Stirring slightly, but not breaking out of his lethargic trance, Ryousuke asked, "What did you dream about when Haruichi was born?"
There was a longer break in the work as Mother switched to a different set of needles and dipped them in the colored ink. The tips came away russet orange. "You mean you don't know?" She sounded surprised.
Ryousuke was quiet, and a little baffled. Mother was the one with the dreams. She was the one with the lingering ties to the old ways. Sometimes the villagers came to her, surreptitiously, to have their fortunes told.
"Well," she said at last, settling in once more to resume her work. "I'm sure you'll realize yourself sooner or later."
Naturally, Ryousuke thought. When Haruichi turned 10 all he'd need to do was look at the ink traced into his skin.
☽❇☾
15th of Lantern Moon, 12 years old
Over the years the villagers had grown accustomed to them. Instead of pale-haired ghosts they were now greeted on sight—not always in a friendly manner, but acknowledged nonetheless. A nod, a word, or occasionally a frown, and the two brothers went on as they always did with Ryousuke in the lead and Haruichi cleaving close.
Except this time Ryousuke found his shadow wandering. Not that it came as a surprise when there were so many sights to see; the streets were alive with colored lights and festive music and a myriad of games. He'd look away one minute and then take another to locate Haruichi standing in front of a shadow puppet booth, or a goldfish scooping stand, or he'd reappear suddenly while thrusting a stick of something sweet or savory into Ryousuke's hands. Soon their fingers were sticky with sugar and sauce. Haruichi smiled so wide and delighted each time that it was difficult to reprimand him.
He was still a quiet child, and obedient for the most part—the rare times his willful streak reared its head were always memorable, if exasperating. Recently he'd begun to display their mother's talent for the strange and unusual, waking Ryousuke up one night because he'd dreamed of a baby bird falling out of a nest. The next morning the two of them had found such a bird peeping in distress among the gnarled roots of a camphor tree and returned it to its place. A few months after that he'd begged Father, in tears, to not make his trip to the neighboring villages as he'd planned, and that day a flash flood took out the bridge he would have used.
It wasn't uncommon now for Haruichi's head to be bent along with Mother's, the two of them whispering, her fingers tracing the lines on his palms and sharing their hidden secrets. Though, whenever Ryousuke went out Haruichi would still often scramble to follow. Ryousuke had long since given up on trying to stop him. Haruichi was 8 now, it was good for him to be learning more on his own, and sooner or later he'd be fine enough that Ryousuke wouldn't have to look after him quite so attentively. Sooner or later Ryousuke would have a bit more freedom.
Sooner or later he'd stop looking around out of habit for his brother's familiar, timid head, and freezing up when he didn't see it. Ryousuke's gaze darted left, then right, peering through the crowd in search of a telltale cloud of soft pink, but found nothing. He called Haruichi's name. He resorted to asking the other villagers.
Finally, someone directed him to the local shrine, and upon arriving he found Haruichi surrounded by a cluster of other children. They fanned out immediately at the sight of Ryousuke and his hard smile, his hands tucked behind his back, but they didn't scatter away. Their uncertain glances were nervous, not guilty, feet shuffling over the pavestones as a few greetings were reluctantly made.
Ryousuke ignored them, tilting his head in Haruichi's direction. "You wandered off again," he said, faint admonishment that made Haruichi lower his chin apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Ryou-chan…"
Really, he's a lot of trouble. When Ryousuke stepped forward the other children parted around him. Some of them left, the rest remained to hover resentfully. No one said a word though, or lashed out, and Haruichi appeared unharmed and not even too upset. He lifted his face when Ryousuke's hand patted the crown of his head, broke into a smile, and happily let himself be led away with their fingers locked together, pausing only for the briefest of moments to turn and say, "Sorry, maybe some other time!"
They walked for some distance through the rows of festival booths. It was getting late. Haruichi had pulled up beside him and swung their joined hands gently, humming a tune that Ryousuke didn't recognize. He didn't intend to ask, but it came out anyway: "What did they want with you?"
Haruichi's free hand came up, finger crooked to scratch at his lightly blushing cheek. "They wanted their fortunes read. I didn't know what to say though, I'm not very good at it. I'm glad you came when you did."
The noise and bright colors of the festival began to recede as they reached the outskirts of the village. Paper lanterns lined the road with their soft, glowing light, eventually fading into the dark of the woods.
"I see," Ryousuke said. He kept hold of Haruichi's hand as the way home became uncertain.
☽❇☾
26th of Hunters Moon, 13 years old
The year's harvest had been poor due to flooding in the fields, and as a long, cold winter approached, the villagers grew uneasy. Their dark, unwelcoming looks returned. They asked Mother to divine the future and were unhappy when she had nothing to say that pleased them. Haruichi would wake from nightmares sometimes that he couldn't recall, and Ryousuke would sit up the rest of the night wondering if some catastrophe was coming or if they were nothing but mere fragments of a sensitive imagination.
Perhaps neither, because right as the leaves began to turn the collector came to their village. He was dressed like a foreigner, and he talked of the miraculous foreign sights to be seen in the lands across the Yomo Sea, and what a rare opportunity this was to experience them. Young or old, it didn't matter, he would take any volunteers and compensate their families.
Their village was a great distance from the so-called enlightened eastern coast, and they were a very independent, self-sufficient lot. Ryousuke had never hated that about this place. Few families, even after the bad harvest, were willing to send off one of their own to never be heard from again (because everyone knew such people vanished into that unknown world, whether they were seduced away by untold wonders or trapped against their will by unimaginable horrors). Most declined the collector's offer outright, and others bowed out as the days went by and soon the collector would move onto the next small village, hoping for better luck.
Ryousuke considered the offer. Privately at first, and then aloud one evening during dinner.
Father immediately said, "Absolutely not."
Mother said nothing. She frowned, chopsticks stilling over her bowl of rice, gaze lowered.
Haruichi was 9 now, and didn't burst into tears like he might have when he was younger, but his lip trembled and he stuck his chin out and said, "Then I'm going too."
"No," said everyone else at the table.
"Why?" Father asked, more bewildered than anything. He'd lived in this community his whole life. Even after meeting Mother, she'd stayed here with him and was now long separated from her family, maintaining her tribe's traditions alone until she had begun passing them down to Haruichi.
Ryousuke had never exhibited the same talent. He was not without his own skills; already he could track and hunt as well as Father, he could skin a pelt and tan a hide, and sell the fur and leather at a high price. He was quick and agile thanks to his size, strong in spite of it, and plenty clever. The other children thought him merciless, which made him no friends but it gained him their respect. Living out his life here like this was perfectly doable, and yet: "There's nothing for me here."
Mother gasped softly and shared a stricken look with Father. "N-nothing?"
Ryousuke's mouth tightened. He corrected, "That's not what I meant. Of course I have you two and Haruichi, that will never change. But… there's more out there. I could be more than I am now, more than I could ever be if I remained here. I realize I am being selfish. This is my one selfish request."
"But…" Father ran a hand through his hair, face creased in worry. "That man, you can't trust what he says. It's dangerous."
"I'm confident I can take care of myself."
"You're not an adult yet!"
"Being an adult wouldn't make a difference."
"Dear," Mother said, placing her hand on Father's arm. "Let's think about what's best for Ryou-chan."
"That's what I'm doing!"
The argument lasted long into the night with Mother unexpectedly becoming Ryousuke's champion. Perhaps she'd dreamed something again. Perhaps the stone fox had come down the mountain once more. He could hear the faint rise and fall of their voices continue in the other room after he and Haruichi went to bed.
"Ryou-chan," Haruichi said, turned on his side as if he couldn't bear to let Ryousuke out of his line of sight. He repeated his words from earlier: "If you go, I'll go with you."
"You're not even 10 yet."
"You said age doesn't matter."
"It's not about age." Ryousuke pillowed one hand underneath his head, staring up at the ceiling he'd always known, every warp in the wood memorized. "I'd have to look after you, and out there I'll be too busy looking after myself. Besides, you still have things to learn from Mother."
Haruichi sat up a little, as close to bristling as he ever got. "I don't care about any of that!"
"Don't say that, Mother would be sad if she heard. And you do like learning her tribe's ways, don't you? You look happy, and you're growing up well. I can go because I don't have to worry about you."
"But… Ryou-chan…" A sniffle could be heard in the darkness. The sound was stifled, like always. "…Fine. But when I'm older, then I'll go."
The twist of Ryousuke's mouth might have been visible by the faint moonlight through the window, but maybe not. "…Well, you can do what you want when the time comes. But don't follow me, Haruichi. I've always told you, and you won't have the excuse of being a child much longer. So for once, don't follow me."
☽❇☾
29th of Frost Moon, 13 years old
Ryousuke thought he'd grown accustomed to the occasional foreigner and their odd ways during his travels, but Asagao was a different experience entirely. At first it appeared to be a whole city of foreigners when really it was just their influence seeped into every nook and cranny—in the clothes people wore and the signs lining the street, or the snatches of incomprehensible language bandied about in shops selling imported wares.
"Ah, what rotten luck." The collector, whose name was Hashimoto, sat down heavily on the bench in front of the food stall. "We missed the boat to Hajar by a week. Another won't come by until end of next month, and that's if the weather permits. Damn, if only the national rail project was further along, we could have gotten here in a jiffy." He stuck a rolled white cigarette in his mouth and lit it, a plume of smoke joining the steam of simmering oden in the cart. Two bowls were ordered, and Hashimoto rambled on about finding Ryousuke a place to stay for the interim while he traveled off again in search of more prospects to bring along.
The oden was lighter in flavor than he was used to, but it warmed him which was the most important thing. He didn't mind the thought of staying in Asagao for a while, there was plenty to see and learn here. It might even be better than going all the way to someplace across the sea like Hajar, but there was no getting out of that now. Anyway, he wasn't exactly opposed to the trip.
"Oh my, is that Hashimoto-san? It's been a while."
A woman's voice made Ryousuke pause in his eating and glance over his shoulder. She was dressed in a plum-colored kimono with a brocade-patterned obi, and a fine quality fur stole was cinched over her shoulders. Her gaze unerringly met his from behind a pair of glass spectacles.
Hashimoto turned halfway in his seat. There was a smile on his face, but reluctance in his body language. "Rei-chan—ah, no, it's Takashima-san now. I keep forgetting."
Her polite smile was so sharply exact he visibly winced under its cut. Ryousuke took a liking to her already. "That's all right, I assure you I'm quite used to it. Anyway, Hashimoto-san, may I ask who your companion is?"
Eyes narrowing, Hashimoto made a vague gesture to his side. "This is Ryousuke-kun," he introduced, and left it at that.
Ryousuke lowered his head. "Kominato Ryousuke. It's nice to meet you."
Takashima's lips curved a fraction more. "You as well." Her gaze drifted upwards, and she wondered aloud, "If I remember correctly, Hashimoto-san does business through the Hajaran consulate… what a pity, the ship left last week! What are your plans now?"
"We'll wait for the next one."
"It may be a long wait."
"So be it." Hashimoto hunched over his bowl of oden and bit into a fishcake while Takashima hummed thoughtfully, waiting him out. She didn't have to hold for long. Wiping dashi broth from his chin, he turned her again and half-growled, half-pleaded, "Takashima-san, you really can't keep doing this. I have a business to run and clients to keep happy!"
"Oh, but I would never cut into your business. That's not my intention at all. It just seems to me that you've had a bit of poor timing with this one, and rather than waste your expenses you could turn a profit right now. Besides…" Takashima's attention shifted and Ryousuke felt himself being assessed from the top of his unusually colored head down to his chilled toes. "I believe Kominato-kun would be well-suited for Seidou."
Hashimoto sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Anyone handpicked by you is bound to be a hit, eh, Takashima-san?"
"Well, one simply does one's best with what they're given."
He snorted. "Right, right. So how much of a profit do you think I could make here?"
They haggled. In the end, Hashimoto turned Ryousuke over into Takashima's care for nearly double the amount his family had been compensated. He was almost offended on their behalf, but mostly he was disappointed. She could have bargained more. His opinion of her lowered as Hashimoto left, barely acknowledging his hasty word of farewell after a month of traveling together.
"Well now, Kominato-kun, would you like to come with me to Seidou?"
It was Ryousuke's turn to examine her closely, but she wasn't easy to read. Her pleasant smile seemed innocuous enough. She'd put the glint in her eye away. "You're the one who just bought me," he pointed out.
"True, but if you don't want to come, I won't force you."
He crossed his arms. "You paid a lot. Should I feel guilty?"
"That's up to you. You don't look like the type to feel guilt-ridden over a stranger, though."
Ryousuke smiled a little. A cold, wintry breeze blew away the smells of cooking and leftover traces of smoke, and once cleared he could scent something different in the air. Boldly, he said, "You don't look like the type to spend money and get nothing in return."
Takashima's expression deepened, glasses catching the light as her head tipped down in acknowledgment. "Consider it an investment then."
An investment. Like he was worth the amount she'd paid. Like she had high expectations of him, a boy she'd only just met and knew nothing about. Was it his Tsukino heritage? But Asagao was full of even more outlandish types.
Well, whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Opportunities were meant to be seized.
"Tell me about Seidou," he said.
☽❇☾
5th of Hare Moon, 17 years old
Ryousuke did not often recall his own dreams, and when he did he soon forgot them, mundane and unimportant as they were. There were no stone guardians coming to see him as he slept.
But one morning he woke with the image of flat, golden plains burned behind his eyelids. A landscape of tall, waving grass and shrub-like tress against an endless blue sky. He remembered a blur of movement, a ripple in the grass, and a streak of tan and black that ate up the distance before coming to an abrupt stop, manifesting in the form of a sleek, spotted feline. Smaller than a tiger, it was all long, streamlined curves instead of heavy bulk, languid tail flexing back and forth. The big cat had stared at him out of dark-lined amber eyes. Then in a blink it had dashed off again, disappearing into the shivering grass.
The strangeness of the dream made it memorable. It remained in his thoughts throughout breakfast and afterward, during the private time of the day. Night was for work, so day was for practicing, studying, and relaxing, or attending to personal matters. Ryousuke meant to meet with Oota about adjusting the amount of his earnings he regularly sent to his family since he'd risen in the ranks and now merited his own single room, a privilege reserved for only Seidou's best. He wasn't in any hurry to retire, so there was no reason he couldn't send more money back home.
Before that, though, he tracked down the only person he could think of that might be able to shed some light on the dream.
"It's not like I'm an expert," Kazuya said, leaning on the doorframe with his hands tucked inside his sleeves. "But from what you're describing I'd guess it was a cheetah. They're known for being the fastest creatures on land. I've never seen a real one, mind, just pictures or paintings. Sometimes they're kept as pets for royalty."
The animal in his dream had been far from a pet, but it had certainly been fast. "I see," Ryousuke said. "Thank you for your insight."
"Anytime." Kazuya grinned—that same cheeky grin he'd had upon entering Seidou the past winter, and after just two months of training was already a debuted courtesan. He'd probably earn his own room in no time if he could avoid being strangled in his sleep by one of the other boys. Not so much because of his instant rise to fame, his ability on the job going uncontested, but more due to that behind-closed-doors troublemaking personality of his. And immediately tailing after that thought, Kazuya's features sharpened, showing his teeth like a blade as he said, "I wonder why you'd dream about something you've never seen before, though."
"You can wonder that for the rest of your life," Ryousuke said pleasantly, and Kazuya laughed. He didn't ask about the mysticism surrounding the Tsukino tribe and Ryousuke didn't ask about his familiarity with all manner of exotic things.
After his meeting with Oota he spent the afternoon reading in the peach garden where the centerpiece tree was being weighed down with green fruit. In another month or so they would ripen and fill the summer air with a sweet aroma, but for now, with its blossoms scattered, the tree offered little in the way of aesthetic. It was a quiet place though in the back of the compound, and from here Ryousuke could see the distant, colorful shapes of kites being flown in celebration of the holiday. They expected a slow night on account of that. Most other holidays would call for a busier evening, but not on Children's Day in Yugao.
He was about halfway through the latest issue of his favorite literary magazine (and already formulating his opinion on Sonoda-sensei's controversial satire piece) when the noise of voices raised in shouts rudely dragged him away from his thoughts. Such a ruckus in the middle of the day was unusual, but that was no cause for alarm. Seidou was well-guarded. If the fight or whatever it was didn't leave the vicinity soon, Azuma was sure to go out there and break a few skulls to settle the matter.
Ryousuke bent over his magazine again, only for his ears to perk at the sound of tile being scuffed. Lifting his head, he proceeded to watch as a gangly figure climbed over the back wall and thumped softly in the grass below, then edged under the cover of the peach tree, all without noticing his audience. Meanwhile, the voices in the street beyond approached in a storm of footsteps.
"He went this way!"
"When I get my hands on that little—"
And off they went, bypassing Seidou's grounds entirely. Then again, it took more than an average store of guts to trespass on any of the houses here, especially one guarded by the likes of Azuma. Rowdy customers and unwanted folk weren't just tossed out, they were carried away in a hurry to the nearest doctor.
Maybe the boy under the peach tree was new around here. He started to grin as his pursuers lost him, snickering to himself, and only then did he turn and catch sight of Ryousuke sitting on the veranda, magazine open in his lap.
Half a beat passed, and Ryousuke had barely begun to draw in a breath—to call for one of the household guards or merely comment, he hadn't decided yet—but in that bare second the trespasser leapt to his feet, dashed across the grass like the wind, and planted a hand over Ryousuke's mouth with a finger raised to his own lips, going, "Shh! I won't hurt anyone or steal anything, I swear, just don't call for help, I'll leave right away, please don't yell…"
Oh, Ryousuke thought, staring into the whites of panicked eyes with pinpricks of amber at the center, the shadows around his face like dark lines.
So instead of stone foxes he dreamed of tawny spotted cats, and he was his mother's son after all.
☽❇☾
17th of Fish Moon, 18 years old
"Ryou-san?"
"Hm?"
"It's your turn."
Ryousuke looked down at the board and its array of black and white stones. He reviewed his memory; nothing out of place aside from the new black stone in the densely packed bottom left corner. Kuramochi hadn't cheated during his lapse then—but Kuramochi never cheated against him anyway. Most other opponents would have been fair game. Contests between him and Kazuya in particular tended to be less about the goal and more about who could get away with the most outrageous tricks.
The sun was just beginning its gradual descent down the western sky, casting a pale gold light over the board. "I should be getting ready," Ryousuke said, though it was a bit early yet. Sundown was when the house opened for guests, and he had to be washed and dressed by then to receive them.
"Ah… yeah, guess so," agreed Kuramochi, rolling to his feet and extending in a stretch, lean grace on display for Ryousuke's benefit only. A year ago he'd been offered courtesan training but he'd turned it down. By pure luck there'd been an opening with the household guards instead, and as a whole Ryousuke thought the arrangement had worked out for the best. Kuramochi was wild at heart and loyal to the bone. Courtesan work was slightly different for everybody, but it would have forced a collar on him, and he was no one's fancy pet. "I'll join you," Kuramochi said, scuffing a hand through his hair. "I'm going with Nori tonight so I'd better look halfway presentable."
"At the Kokaku Theater?" Ryousuke's even demeanor slanted quick and sharp. "Halfway won't do. It's a huge honor that he was invited to perform there."
"I know, I know, I'm just kidding. I'll be on my best behavior." He grinned, and despite his words and his time at Seidou there was no erasing the up-to-no-good delinquent out of his rakish expression.
Ryousuke shook his head, smiling as they walked down the corridor to the bath. "If you weren't Nori's escort, they wouldn't even allow a hoodlum like you through the door."
"Probably not, hyaha!"
Yuuki or Masuko would have been better picks for the occasion—if appearance was all that mattered, that is. But it was Nori's first outside performance, on the greatest stage of Asagao no less, and Kuramochi's easy-going manner made him the ideal choice for calming rattled nerves. In fact… Ryousuke glanced at him. A suspicion took root in the back of his mind. "Shouldn't you see to Nori instead? He must be incredibly nervous."
Kuramochi slid the door to the changing room open. "Eh, Keisuke-san has been helping him prep all day, and that's not something I wanna intrude on, y'know?"
A plausible enough explanation. Ryousuke let it pass, untying his obi. "Well, tell him good luck for me when you leave. I'm sure he'll be fine."
"Of course he will! And I'll look out for him, but it's not like anyone's gonna cause a scene at a big, fancy theater. Kazuya, though, he's the one I'm worried about."
"I take it he turned down his escort again?" Kuramochi grumbled in response, then winced as Ryousuke's hand chopped down on the back of his head. "You worry too much. Kazuya only accepts public invitations, so it's his choice whether he wants a chaperone tagging along or not. Don't be a mother hen."
Kuramochi trailed after him into the bath, which was still empty for now. The daily rush would hit soon. "Yeah, yeah. But it's always drinking invitations with him. That's a little different from going to the theater."
"Even so, what can you do about it? Just let it be."
A sigh let out from where Kuramochi had sat down behind him. "Okay, fine. Since Ryou-san says so." He brushed his fingertips across Ryousuke's back, tracing the ink sealed in his skin.
The tattoo fascinated a lot of people with the simplicity of the design, nothing like the dense artwork that covered a yakuza's body, but the black lines imitating brush strokes were undeniably traditional. A crescent moon hung just below his shoulder, and balanced within its curve in shades of russet was a crouching fox. The image had stretched a bit with age; the subtle broadening of his shoulders lending a mature weight to the moon, a sinewy twist to the fox, almost as if planned. Knowing Mother, it could have been.
Ryousuke never did get to see Haruichi's tattoo for himself. His brother had mentioned receiving it in one of his many letters, but he hadn't said what it was, and Ryousuke hadn't asked. Instead the letters talked about Mother and Father, and the other villagers who had fully warmed to them at last, and the foretelling dreams Haruichi still had once in a while. He enthused over the railroad that would soon reach one of the nearby towns and make mail delivery that much quicker. He used to mention, hesitantly, the idea of visiting Asagao.
Then in last month's letter, after Haruichi's 14th birthday…
"Ryou-san?"
Water was dripping from the ends of Ryousuke's hair and cooling on his skin. He'd gotten distracted again. Had he finished washing already? He couldn't recall. Surely, though, Kuramochi had finished scrubbing his back. Little slips like the ones Ryousuke kept making wouldn't escape the other's sharp eyes and sharper mind.
"Oi, Ryou-san, there's time if you want to soak for a while. The relaxation might be good for you."
He could hear activity in the changing room and shook his head. "No, that's all right, I'll just go get dressed. You should, too."
That wasn't the end of it. Not much later, while Ryousuke was still in his juban matching obi to his evening kimono of choice, Kuramochi stopped by his room. For the outing he had donned an Esteren-style suit that made him look slightly less of a troublemaker—but only slightly. Ryousuke looked him over with a critical eye. He'd come around to liking Esteren clothing himself, but most of his clients preferred him made up in a traditional fashion—sometimes to exceedingly feminine degrees—so it was with an envious touch that he straightened the line of Kuramochi's jacket and redid his tie completely.
"You'll do," he proclaimed when he was done, palms lingering on the smooth fabric covering Kuramochi's chest.
"Ryou-san, is everything all right?"
Of course Kuramochi would just come out and ask. He really did worry too much. "I'm fine," Ryousuke said, the way he'd say it to anyone else asking, with the firmness of shutting a door. But because Kuramochi wasn't just anyone, he cracked it open again and added, "I've told you about my younger brother, haven't I?"
"A bit. He writes to you a lot."
Ryousuke turned back to his wardrobe, one of the most colorful and most expensive of all of Seidou's courtesans thanks to his clients' tastes. It did merit him one of the biggest rooms as well, so it wasn't all bad. "He turned 14 last month," he said, picking out a soft gold obi to pair with the lilac bird-themed kimono. A dash of bright red in the obijime and obiage would complete the look. "He says he plans to come here, to Seidou, by the end of summer. I told him not to, but he's never listened to me. He's always followed me around."
Kuramochi's only reaction was to made a long, low, considering sound. "…I kinda want to see what Ryou-niisan is like."
The downside to having a large room was that Kuramochi was too far away to chop, so Ryousuke threw a pillow at him instead with unerring accuracy. It bounced off Kuramochi's head and he caught it in his hands, laughing.
"Sorry! I'm just curious. Is it really so bad, though? Asagao is… well, it's Asagao. He might find something else here."
"Haruichi is stubborn. He won't change his mind."
"Sounds like someone I know." This time Ryousuke crossed the room, the blade of his hand at the ready, and Kuramochi ducked out of the way into the hall. He nearly knocked over the servant who had come to help Ryousuke dress.
"Just go," Ryousuke sighed as Kuramochi staggered around laughing. "Quit being a bother, you're Nori's problem for tonight, not mine." He made a shooing motion from the doorway.
"Ryou-san is as harsh as always." A hand clutched dramatically at the front of his suit, wrinkling it, as Kuramochi walked backward down the hall. "But I'm relieved anyway!" He flashed a grin before turning on his heel, waving a hand as he disappeared around the corner.
That guy… Ryousuke moved aside to let the servant in, holding out his arms for the kimono to be slipped on, folded over, and tied with the obi in a complex knot at the back. The garments were heavy, but his head felt lighter than it had been moments before.
☽❇☾
23rd of Thunder Moon, 18 years old
"Well," Ryousuke said after a sufficiently long pause had passed. The stretch had done its job and left Haruichi squirming by the end. "Now that you're here, you'd better be prepared to see this through."
Haruichi straightened and stilled, meeting Ryousuke's eyes hopefully for the first time since they'd been reunited. "Then… you're fine with it?"
Ryousuke turned away. Tucking his hands behind his back, he walked out onto the sun-warmed veranda that overlooked the pine garden. "You made your choice," he said. "And you signed the contract already. Did you think I was petty enough to interfere after that?" He slit a look over his shoulder to catch sight of Haruichi's fervent headshake.
"No, of course not!"
"So it's approval you're after."
Haruichi turned red. Some things never changed.
"You know my opinion already," Ryousuke said. "I told you back then not to follow me, so don't expect anything."
Truth be told, he hadn't intended for their reunion to be this cold. But he hadn't thought it would be warm, either. Haruichi wasn't a child anymore, free to follow Ryousuke around because he needed looking after, and it was high time he learned that.
Both of Haruichi's hands clenched in the loose fabric of his sleeves, like he was keeping everything in. But it was the opposite. He went stiff from head to toe as he declared, "I understand, and you're right. I decided myself to come here. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Even so, I plan to do my best!"
"…You have resolve, at least." Ryousuke shouldn't be surprised. If there was one thing Haruichi never lacked, it was the guts to follow through once he'd decided something. He'd managed to come all the way here after all. Honestly, having this kind of little brother… "All right," he said, shelving the matter. Time would tell the rest. "For better or worse we're the same type, so I'll most likely be the one mentoring you. I take it you have no objections?"
"I'm fine with it. I'll be in your care, Aniki."
Ryousuke's brows rose minutely. After four years some things were bound to change after all, and this wasn't a bad one. He couldn't very well let Haruichi call him by a name as childish as "Ryou-chan" anymore. "Good," he said, and motioned for Haruichi to join him. "I'll give you the tour then. And… perhaps the bath will be our first stop."
Haruichi colored again. "Ah—I apologize, I'm quite embarrassed about my state, I did intend to clean up before coming here but Eijun-kun was very impatient…"
"The loud one," Ryousuke identified. He would admit he didn't understand what Rei saw in him, nor did he think much of Haruichi's choice of friends, but that wasn't any of his business.
"He is a bit… excitable," Haruichi said, laughing under his breath. "But he's a good person. I was—well, I owe him a debt."
Ryousuke could piece together the story; he'd seen Haruichi take ill often enough during their childhood to recognize the lingering effects. All the more reason for him to get clean now.
In spite of that, though, Haruichi had grown well. He still hid behind his hair, but the halo of softness didn't dull the keen light peering through it. There was some plump roundness that remained clinging to his cheeks, which would shed eventually, though the way his face was framed would always give him a gentler appearance compared to Ryousuke's pointed angles. They were about even in height now, and that pinched a little in the place where Ryousuke took pride in being the elder, but he'd long since come to terms with being dwarfed by everyone else.
The changing room revealed more differences; Haruichi was slender where Ryousuke was built more compact, his skin just a shade darker from the sun that Ryousuke didn't see quite so much of anymore, and his tattoo was on the opposite shoulder, a mirrored crescent moon cradling the alert animal inside.
Ryousuke tucked his pleased smile out of sight, fingers inching over his own shoulder to brush the inked top of his moon. So that was it.
☽❇☾
"What did you dream about when Haruichi was born?"
"You mean you don't know?"
☽❇☾
1st of Budding Moon, 3 years old
Ryousuke dreamed, but he rarely remembered them.
In this one the air was crisp and shards of sunlight glinted through the weave of branches overhead that were slowly, tremblingly opening their buds. Pale flowers appeared one by one along dark, spindly arms, and a sweet scent fell over the garden that started to rustle with roots sinking down and greenery sprouting up. Grass spread in a carpet over the ground around the house. The sun climbed higher and warmed the atmosphere down below while a breath of wind whispered indistinct in Ryousuke's ear, tickling across his skin.
A shiver of the underbrush caught his attention before the fox sprang out, downy-soft with youth. It sat on its haunches and scratched at an ear, unmindful of Ryousuke's presence, jaws opening in a content yawn.
Then its ears pricked, and it jumped as another form shot into the open. Small, white, and tenacious as it loped after the startled fox kit, the baby rabbit of all things gave chase all across the yard, and around the house, and far off into the distance until the two were out of sight.
When Ryousuke woke up the dream evaporated along with the morning dew, and was nothing but the faintest echo in the back of his mind when he sat with Mother in the afternoon, letting a tiny, waving hand pat against his fingers. Haruichi grasped at him, weak but persistent.
"Look," Mother laughed, tired but glowing. "He already likes you best. You'll look out for him, won't you, Ryou-chan? He's your little brother after all."
"Yes," Ryousuke said. Haruichi had caught hold of his pinky and wouldn't let go. "I will."