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It had been years upon years since Barok last had a visitor in his bedchamber.
The room was quiet, faintly illuminated in the silver moonlight. Barok sat silent on the bed, his body covered in wounds large and small. Beside him, a masked man clad in a hooded cloak was rummaging through a box for rubbing alcohol and bandages to patch him up.
“You needn’t trouble yourself…” Barok looked away. “I can take care of this on my own.”
The masked man firmly took his hand, clearly not having any of it. Bright eyes peered out from beneath the shadow of the mask, staring deep into Barok’s eyes with unmistakable sincerity.
Barok sighed, and relented.
The disciple gently lifted Barok’s hand and, with utmost care, cleaned his injuries. He started from the wounds on Barok’s arm, proceeding to his shoulder, then his chest, his tenderness never wavering, his gestures most reverent as he wrapped every gash, every scrape. Though he remained wholly wordless while tending to Barok, it was quite obvious he was doing his utmost to ensure he didn’t cause Barok any more pain.
As soon as he was done bandaging, Barok tugged his shirt back on, his eyes downcast.
“Thank you, it was very kind of you to lend me a hand. The day has been long enough. You may leave, take your rest.”
Despite his perfectly neutral mask of a face, his heart was pounding against his rib cage. It had been far too long since the last time someone so adamantly insisted on taking care of him; Barok had simply forgotten how it felt to be touched so carefully. The gentleness ached.
If the young man remained, Barok was afraid…
The disciple didn’t move an inch, didn’t seem like he would leave anytime soon.
“disciple, you…”
Swiftly catching Barok’s hand in his own, the disciple used his fingertip to write into his palm.
I can’t leave you alone after what happened.
Barok stared at him.
Would you allow me just one night here?
The disciple stood his ground and stared back, awaiting his verdict.
Barok sighed. Slowly, he shifted aside, making space for his stubborn mute disciple. Without another word spoken between them, the young man understood his cue at once. He unclasped the sword from his belt, putting it aside before settling close beside Barok.
They lied back to back, facing opposite directions. Their backs touched warmly, and Barok’s heart thundered in the quiet of the night. How fortunate that his disciple couldn’t hear it.
Barok lied awake, listening to the even breathing beside him until he calmed himself down a little bit. He couldn’t possibly make heads or tails of the sentiments blooming warmly within his chest, nor did he want to. No, in fact, he was quite exhausted, and did not wish to dwell on this any longer.
His full weight rested against the mattress. For once, he lied down to sleep without dread and worries sitting coldly at the pit of his stomach. He felt light, and safe.
This peace of mind was utterly novel to him.
So this was how it felt… to have someone share his bed.
Barok drifted off amidst those stray thoughts.
____________________________________________________
“Sweet dreams, Lord van Zieks.”
Kazuma stood facing his former mentor behind bars, his voice dripping with venom.
“And likewise to you,” Barok coldly replies.
“Hmph. As long as you stay rotting in this cell, I shall sleep very well, thank you very much.”
Kazuma turned away, as if he couldn’t be bothered to spare Barok another glance.
“Your fate shall be decided in tomorrow’s trial. Cherish this good night’s sleep, master mine,” Kazuma sneered. “You might not wake up from the next one.”
He had truly believed his own words when he said he’d sleep very well. And yet, that night, Kazuma tossed and turned in his bed. Nothing he did could calm his mind enough for rest. It was long past midnight when he accepted that sleep was determined to elude him.
Annoyed, Kazuma climbed out of bed and made for the master bedroom.
He did not know what possessed him to do so. Perhaps it was just another needless habit he’d picked up after several months living in the lord’s care.
The dim, lonely manor seemed even more desolate than usual, with its master gone. The sky was moonless tonight, the rolled clouds as black as his heart.
Kazuma turned the doorknob and stepped in. There was nobody inside, unsurprisingly. The owner of this room, his mentor, must have sunken into his slumber on the flimsy bed in his holding cell by now. Kazuma strode to Barok’s bed, slowly sitting down.
Time and time again, he had slept on this bed… alongside that man.
A yawning emptiness overcame him, and Kazuma wrinkled his nose in distaste. He settled on one side of the bed, an arm draped over his forehead. His mind wandered once again, towards those memories of Barok lying beside him.
The other side of the bed was still as cold and unoccupied as ever.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, unsure if he was cursing his sworn nemesis whom he had finally put behind bars… or if he was angered at his own, foolish self.
________________________________________________________________
The night after the trial ended was unusually peaceful. The moon hung like a silver crescent in the sky, brightly yet gently glowing.
Barok sat by the window, absentmindedly admiring the sight. He couldn’t hold down a thought for the life of him, his heart a maelstrom of unresolved emotions and loose ends yet to be tied.
He was grateful to be alive, at least. Grateful that he was still here, back in his own home, surprisingly unharmed.
Knock knock, came a sound from his door, rousing Barok from his trance-like state. He had yet to even react when the door swung open and his uninvited visitor barged in, not caring for his permission in the least. As willful as ever, always doing exactly what he wanted to do…
Of course it was none other than Kazuma Asogi.
“Is my lord not about to sleep?”
“Oh, um…” Barok nodded vaguely. “You… What, what did you come here for, Asogi?”
“To sleep.” Kazuma’s lips twitched into a dry, lopsided smile.
Barok blinked owlishly as silence strained between them.
“Right, then… Please make yourself at home. I shall find another room.”
Barok rises to his feet, and had only just made to turn towards the door when he was yanked back by the hand. His back hit the mattress before he registered any movement. Kazuma pushed him down and pinned him in place.
“What… is the meaning of this?” Barok struggled, tilting his head to avoid Kazuma’s burning gaze.
“It’s pointless to keep running away. Stop it.” Kazuma gripped his wrists even tighter, bearing his weight down, trapping Barok on his bed.
His voice dropped to just above a whisper, arrogance suddenly replaced with a certain… gentleness. He sounded sincere, almost solemn. “I would like to stay with you tonight.”
Barok closed his eyes.
No matter which Kazuma it was, Barok was helpless before him, unable to resist his persuasion, unable to deny a single request. Just as they had done so many times over, he allowed Kazuma to circle his arms around his waist. Habits die hard, or so they said; never mind habits as stubborn as those of Kazuma's. The only difference…
The only difference, was the way they lied face to face in bed tonight.
No one needed to hide his countenance behind a mask; just like no one needed to conceal his feelings behind a mask of a face. It was indeed the first time they faced each other – and perhaps, by some sliver of unwarranted luck, saw each other eye to eye.
“...wasn't your fault, Barok…”
Those whispered words might have been a figment of his imagination, for he heard them in his dream. Still, they were spoken in Kazuma's voice, and he could almost feel warm breaths against his ear.
Just like that, his restless mind settled.
The moon shone so bright tonight. And his disciple’s embrace… was so warm.
________________________________________________________________
Their last night together was yet again a moonless night.
They hadn't spoken a word to each other throughout the day. Kazuma's last day in London turned out to be so uneventful, so… ordinary. It didn't even feel like the quiet before a storm, rather the settling of the dust. The final few gentle notes, to mark the ending of a tumultuous, years-long symphony.
Kazuma came to Barok's room tonight, as any other night. But unlike other times, he didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't have anything to say. He only wished to spend his last night in England by Barok’s side, sinking deeply into that familiar peace.
He couldn't count how many nights he'd laid down like this, against that scarred, slender body. Having Barok in his arms, solid and warm, had felt so permanent every time. Such was the arrogance of humans, he supposes, to think that anything could be eternal at all.
But all good things came to an end. By sunrise, he left for Japan.
Tonight, the moon didn't shine, and London was as foggy as it could get. The outside chill slipped through the cracks of the windows, and even under the blankets, Kazuma instinctively held him tighter.
Or perhaps that was just an excuse. Perhaps he simply wanted to hold Barok tightly one last time, to etch the memory of his body – the shape of it, the little movements, the rhythmic rise-and-fall of his chest – into his heart. He held onto Barok like an orphan holding onto its most prized possessions, scared at all times that they would be torn away from him.
Barok simply and readily sank into Kazuma’s embrace. He said nothing. Words were meaningless in a moment like this. He too was clinging onto whatever warmth he was given, locking them away in the depths of his heart, saving them for a rainy day.
Though the room was utterly silent, they both couldn't sleep, so heavy their hearts were with all the things unsaid.
“You know, Barok…” Kazuma spoke, his words muffled in Barok’s chest. His inky hair fell over his face, concealing the look on it. “I once wished…
“...Wished I could spend every night by your side for the rest of my life.”
He'd kept those words in his chest for so, so long; had never thought he'd have a chance to say them aloud. There was never a good time. Even now, it wasn't a good time. It was too little, too late.
“...So did I.”
Barok's admission came as a shock to even himself. He saw no reason in holding back any longer, if Kazuma had already spoken his mind. After all, he wouldn't have any chance to confess his true feelings. It wasn't so bad to be honest, just once.
“I also wished… to be by your side.”
Barok spoke in the soft, gentle voice that Kazuma loved the most, and gave him the answer he expected the least. Kazuma chuckled, equal parts exasperated and fond.
“I can't believe it has come to this.” He sighs, still smiling. “What am I to do with you now, my lord?”
Barok didn't have an answer to that. He silently stroked Kazuma's hair, his eyes falling shut and his breathing evening out.
“Sweet dreams, my dear master.”
That was the last thing Barok could hear.
Outside the window, the dark clouds had parted. A weak sliver of moonlight came through, shuddering its way through the fog and landing in their shared bedroom…
________________________________________________________________
Barok woke up in the dark, all alone.
Is he… already gone?
The bed was cold beside him, and even the mattress felt stiffer, the blankets felt rougher. The room smelt different, almost. He felt like a stranger in his own home. So this was what it was like to be alone again. How spoiled had he been, all these years.
He sat there, shattered and silent, his eyes half-closed and stinging with fresh tears.
Then he heard the sharp clack of a turned doorknob.
“Barok?” A familiar voice rang through the room. He would know that voice in death. “Are you crying?”
Barok lifted his head. “K-Kazuma…?”
The metal door swung shut, followed by the floor creaking oddly beneath Kazuma's impatient strides. He turned on the gas lamp and came to his bedside at once.
“You are crying,” Kazuma mutters under his breath. His eyes were gentle and filled with worries as he lifted Barok's chin. “Is something the matter?”
“Why… are you here? You should be on your way back to Japan by now…”
“I am.” Kazuma laughs lightly, the sound clear as bells. His hand rises, thumbing the tears away from the corner of Barok's eyes. “Ah, no. I should say that… we are.”
His laughter quieted down, but his voice was still utterly joyous as he repeated: “We’re on a ship back to Japan, yes.”
“That…” Barok began, wide-eyed. His eyes had finally adjusted to the dim lighting of the gas lamp, and it finally dawned on him that this was neither his bedroom, nor any other room in his manor. This was, in fact, a first-class cabin on a standard ship.
Astonishment seized his heart, and it was getting hard to breathe. Barok didn't know what else to feel just yet.
“You… Don't tell me that you…?!”
“Yes, I did. That was exactly what I did.” Kazuma smiled happily. “Didn't you agree to stay by my side, every night, for the rest of my life?”
Barok’s face had turned beet red, his ears practically glowing red-hot. He sat there dumbfounded, staring at his strong-willed, fearless disciple. Every word of Kazuma’s sweeping declaration lit a flame under Barok's skin. It all felt so surreal, that he had to wonder if he was having a particularly vivid dream.
It was no dream, still. Everything was genuine – both the man before him, and his professed sentiments.
Kazuma smiled, bright as the sun, and said, with all of his earnestness and not an ounce of hesitation, words that could amount to a vow at the altar.
“And so, I shall devote the rest of my life to you, Barok.”
End.