Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Yonoi, aged nine months in the womb and thirty eight years on earth, carefully places a light blond lock of hair at the shrine of his childhood home under the waterfall.

The moment feels ripe for a poem, one that will rise from within himself once his mind has settled into absolute stillness.

But to be able to reach it, he must first journey inward, tracing the path of his past and that way unearth the reasons that have led him here, in this moment, with this prayer on his lips.

He has to remember Java.

The first time Yonoi (then aged nine months in the womb and twenty eight years and two months on earth) had a real conversation with Jack Celliers (aged thirty five) happened just before Kanemoto's seppuku.

Celliers, having barely recovered his energy, started having the need to stretch his legs and breathe the crisp tropical air, and so he wandered the outskirts of the barracks, his gaze drifting over the landscape as he meandered.

He observed all the verdant stretches of green, the delicate sway of wild grasses, and the soft burst of color from the hibiscus, their petals coloured in tones of bright pink and red, pausing now and then to take note of the array of edible plants, herbs and greens, something he thought might prove useful later.

As he continued, a subtle movement caught his eye: Far off, near the edge of the camp where a small stream wound its way through the earth, he saw Yonoi. He was alone, and the smoke from his cigarette rose in lazy spirals into the clear air.

Celliers had not yet exchanged words with him after the court, and even though he honestly felt like he had nothing to say, his feet began to move directly towards where the Captain was anyway.

The relatively short walk left him exhausted, and he was sweating by the time he reached Yonoi, who until then had not noticed his presence.

"Captain... Uh... Yonoi, right?" Celliers greeted him with a friendly wave of his hand.

As far as Celliers was concerned, Yonoi's reaction was totally unjustified: The man jumped, immediately putting his hand on the handle of the katana.

"You..." Yonoi said, looking at him as if Celliers were a spectre. Perhaps he had thought Celliers would die, and seeing him on his own two feet had shocked him beyond repair.

Celliers blushed, thinking it was funny.

"Yes, me, Captain," he said lightly, "Don't you remember me?"

"Of course I do." The Captain replied cautiously, though his hand relaxed on the sheath of his sword. "Jack Celliers, the Major. Strafer." He seemed to suddenly remember the nickname, and this startled Celliers.

"How... Oh, have you been talking about me with Lawrence?" He asked, still wearing that little smirk that showed off his incisors.

"I've heard things. It's part of my job." With that, Yonoi turned his body a little calmer back toward the stream. He looked nervous, and Celliers thought he saw him blush, though it may have been the sun's fault.

"I see you've recovered," Yonoi commented, stubbing out his cigarette under his boot.

Celliers grimaced. “Not really, I still get pain all over whenever I move, but I thought staying in bed any longer would be even worse.”

Yonoi nodded. “I understand. If I don’t practice Kendo for a day, I feel very weak the next day trying to do it.”

Celliers smiled, glad that the Captain didn’t order him to return to the hospital immediately.

The two of them stood there in silence, watching the water of the creek flow by, its fluidity accompanied by the soft sounds of the breeze and crickets.

Celliers knew that he should be upset with Yonoi about the fake execution squad, and he wanted to confront him about it, but the part of him that wanted to survive and go home to watch Ou Boetie's flowers bloom reminded him that Yonoi had been the one who saved him from death, despite everything. The reason Celliers was here and not in a common grave was the efforts of the young man at his side.

Celliers let his gaze slide over the Captain's profile, where the early morning sun still bathed it in gold, making his eyes shine with a reddish glow. Celliers wanted to know more about him, although he didn't know why or what he should ask him to achieve that goal.

"Why Hamlet?" He finally asked, choosing a topic almost at random from among the possibilities.

Yonoi didn't pretend he didn't understand him, simply raising his gaze thoughtfully towards the horizon. He was definitely blushing now, although he frowned bravely to pretend he didn't.

"Westerners are simple people. You all understand Shakespeare, soccer..."

"We call it football."

Yonoi turned to him, looking at him sternly. Yes, his cheeks were pink, and he was avoiding the subject. Probably not even he was sure why he had decided to quote Shakespeare.

There was another silence, but somehow it wasn't uncomfortable. Somehow, Celliers felt like he was standing next to a friend, someone equal to him. How could he feel such a thing about an enemy, someone who had so savagely stripped him of his freedom?

But neither of them seemed to want to end the interaction there, so they continued to stand in silence in front of the estuary until a few minutes passed and Celliers began to feel weak again, then Yonoi ordered him to go rest so that he would be fit to attend the execution later.

Celliers said nothing in response to that, just stared down sadly, then turned without saying goodbye to return to the lads. And as he walked, he thought he felt Yonoi's gaze on him, and it seemed to him that the man was in no hurry to return to his own business.

Celliers was absent from the ritual, a fact that filled Yonoi with a misplaced sense of betrayal.

That was the first night Yonoi coughed up a petal.

From the moment he saw Celliers at the Batavian court, he felt something germinating inside him, a seed of something unnameable. Not wanting to waste time deciphering the emotion in the slightest, he regarded it as admiration, a reasonable feeling to have in the presence of a heroic and daring man like Celliers, the kind of person who would willingly give his life to protect others. It reminded Yonoi of what he himself lacked, what he had failed at, and while being confronted with this uncomfortable reminder of his own lack was undoubtedly unpleasant and humiliating, it was also humbling, and Yonoi was smart enough to realize the value of knowing how to recognize in others things that one needs to learn or improve upon.

But each time that wild something inside him drove him to visit Celliers in his convalescence, always finding him unconscious and feverish, and feeling the agitation within himself grow ever greater because of it, it became increasingly difficult for him to continue lying to himself.

This was not the first time Yonoi had found a man beautiful. He had met handsome men, impressive men, throughout his life, many of whom left their mark on his memories. Some of them were enemies, as well. Yonoi was able to appreciate beauty and strength as much as anyone else with a modicum of sensitivity.

There was something about this person that was capable of causing an earthquake inside him, and Yonoi was driven mad trying to find it, an explanation, a way to stop the cataclysm, or the revelation of its inevitability, so that Yonoi could finally make peace with his own incoming death. He thought he had accepted it long ago, the day he pledged his life to the emperor in the temple of his village, but it seemed he was wrong, that his spirit was not really as dead as he thought. In fact, he had never felt more alive.

That was until, trying to take a puff of tobacco, Yonoi began to cough uncontrollably, to the point that his orderly ran to the door of his office from the outside to ask if he was okay. Yonoi was unable to answer, however, because just as he attempted to, between muffled coughs, a large, lustrous, blood-red hibiscus petal fell from his mouth.

He was finally able to breathe, although he did not do so immediately, too perplexed by the sight. The petal had fallen onto the paperwork he was reviewing on the desk, and it was, without a doubt, real, fresh and new as if it had come from a recently bloomed flower. He took it between his fingers as he panted, and wiped his mouth with the back of his ungloved hand, which ended up wet with droplets of fresh blood.

The orderly knocked on the door again, and Yonoi cleared his throat to let him know that everything was fine, even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Yonoi knew immediately that it was the same disease from a legend told in his village, about a weaver who had fallen in love with a blacksmith from a rival clan. The blacksmith had broken her heart with his rejection, and she had begun vomiting white rose petals in her pain. The townspeople began to ignore her as if she were suffering from leprosy or smallpox, calling her insulting names and forcing her to carry a bell with her wherever she went, for fear of being infected by contact. The poor girl ended up dying in the middle of the street, surrounded by a pool of white roses stained red by her own blood.

It was a cautionary tale for all the young people in the village, reminding them of the importance of choosing well the person with whom one decides to share one's heart, lest one love too deeply and it end up being a one-way love for someone who is not willing to reciprocate and share the responsibility of affection.

Yonoi had always been afraid of that story as a child, but his mother had assured him that everything would be okay, because Yonoi was a mature and intelligent boy who would never be carried away by such infatuations, especially towards an enemy.

If his mother could see him now, he thought as he turned the petal over in his fingers.

The morning before Celliers was sent to solitary confinement, a shipment of various miscellaneous items, including a selection of books, arrived at the camp.

The books were not intended for the prisoners, but rather for the Japanese officers, which meant there was no need for the captors to resort to their usual method of tearing out specific pages with a magnifying glass in search of forbidden words about love and kissing.

Rumors quickly spread throughout the camp about the possible importance of these books, though since only Yonoi and his men had access to them, such speculations remained just that: Speculations.

The only person outside of the Japanese ranks who had any insight into their contents was the camp doctor, as it appeared that Yonoi had consulted with him briefly, asking a few questions, but soon decided that the doctor knew too much already and left, seeking instead to arrange for a Japanese specialist to be brought in.

This interaction only fueled further gossip among the prisoners: Some began to whisper that the Captain might be ill, despite the fact that when he was seen working under the sun, he appeared in good health, if perhaps just a little thinner than before.

Celliers tried not to get involved in the Captain's affairs, choosing to worry about his own well-being and that of his friends, and making a vow to himself that he would do his best to get them all out of the hell of the camp, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

But the hunger from Yonoi's imposed fast made him desperately want to find a distraction, so when, while walking outside the hospital selecting flowers to eat, he saw Lawrence having a conversation with the white doctor, he casually approached to join in the conversation. Lawrence welcomed him with a smile, although the doctor visibly tensed up a bit.

"Are you talking about the books?" Celliers asked, and Lawrence sighed softly, looking at the ground in defeat.

"The doctor has been telling me about a very interesting phenomenon that has occurred very rarely in the history of medicine, hasn't that been the case, Doctor?"

The doctor, who had his arms crossed, finally nodded. "It mainly occurs in Japanese patients, although I wouldn't say it's common in them either."

"What disease is it?" Celliers asked curiously.

"There is no official name for it, but the symptoms are usually almost exactly the same from person to person: You start by coughing up flower petals, although the flower varies from person to person as well, and over time this usually turns into the expulsion of whole flowers, sometimes even with stems and, in the worst cases, with thorns."

"Wow," Celliers commented sincerely, feeling an almost physical distaste take hold of his insides at the thought of having thorny stems pass through the digestive or respiratory tract.

The doctor nodded again. "And it gets worse: The flowers come from the patient's lungs, where they have taken root. If this disease is not treated in time, by removing the roots from the flesh, the airways can fill up to the point that the patient cannot breathe."

Celliers looked at Lawrence, who had remained silent. The man was pale, but there was also a pained look in his eyes, as if the matter was personal to him.

Jack dared to ask the question. "So the Captain is suffering from that?"

"I'm not at liberty to make any diagnosis," the doctor said quickly, "But from the consultation he came to see me the other day, coupled with the books and the way he's been behaving..."

Celliers remembered the times he heard the Captain cough as he watched him walk back and forth. Even from a distance, his cough didn't sound like a simple allergy.

"And what causes it?"

"What?"

"What causes the disease?"

The doctor and Lawrence looked at each other, and Celliers found himself strangely out of place, as if there was information he was not being allowed to know.

"Well," the doctor cleared his throat nervously, "it's not entirely clear, it's not an area of medicine that's been worked on enough. But it's thought to have something to do with a psychosomatic condition, where mental and emotional pain can wreak havoc on physical health."

"Like stress ulcers?" Celliers asked, and Lawrence stifled a laugh.

"Something like that," the doctor conceded, "But in the case of this condition, some experts believe it has more to do with unreciprocated romantic feelings, if you can believe that."

"Unrequited love?"

"If you want to call it that..."

Celliers looked up at the sky with intent. Even though it was so early, he thought he could glimpse the star that always followed him everywhere.

"And the surgery..."

"I informed the Captain about it, and now it's up to him to decide whether to undergo the treatment or not."

Celliers nodded gratefully at the information and began walking back to the spot where the hibiscus grew. He put the basket he had stolen on the ground and began to arrange the flowers inside, making room for the pieces of manju he had planned to steal from the kitchen.

He felt sympathy for Yonoi, but more than anything, he was worried that if the young Captain died, he might be replaced by someone far more ruthless and terrible, and then Jack's hopes of surviving the torment would dwindle even further. All in all, Yonoi was sensible and pious, and he followed the rules. Who would assure them that he wouldn't be replaced by a tyrant?

No matter how much he tried to convince himself that his unease was just a product of the stress of contemplating that possibility, the notion that Yonoi's condition could be tied to something as outlandish and absurd as unrequited love kept disturbing his thoughts.

As he plucked the hibiscus flowers from the bushes, his gaze lingered on their deep red petals, and his mind swirled with unease at how similar they were to the colour of fresh blood.

Celliers was drawing stick figures with a rock on the dirt, uncaring about getting grime on his knees (his poor uniform was long overdue for a wash) when Captain Yonoi first went to visit his cell.

He had yet to exchange full words with the Captain since that morning at the estuary, not counting the cryptic exchange hours before when Jack was brought to this cell. Yonoi believed him to be an evil spirit, it seemed, and Jack wasn't particularly tempted to disprove those beliefs.

Yonoi was standing outside the wire fence, staring at him while in one hand he held tightly his cane, the one that had been his favorite tool for maiming even his own men when they got out of line. His gaze was difficult to read from that distance, and with the darkness in the cell, so Jack settled himself on the floor, turning to him and asking directly.

"What brings you here, Captain Yonoi?"

Yonoi seemed surprised to remember that Jack could speak. His eyes widened for a second, but he quickly composed himself, straightening his posture, and tightening his grip on the cane handle.

“Celliers,” he announced earnestly, after a brief but loud clearing of his throat. “I brought you food.”

Jack decided, for once, not to ask why Yonoi had bothered to bring him food in person, when any Korean guard could easily have done the same. He remembered the way Yonoi stared at him in court, much longer and more intently than the others. He also remembered once again that, if it weren’t for Yonoi, Jack would never have made it to this camp alive, he would have been executed for his rebelliousness, under some absurd pretext of violence. At first, of course, he attributed Yonoi’s interest to the Japanese fixation on beauty, but that only served to prevent the lads from asking him more awkward questions.

But since he had had some time to think while in isolation, he came to the conclusion that Yonoi was different than the others.

While convalescing, Jack had overheard the doctor tell someone that Yonoi spent night after night watching the feverish Jack from a distance, demanding special treatment to heal him faster, something the doctor called a 'strange and unhealthy fixation'. Yet Yonoi had never spoken to him directly until now, and Jack couldn't help but wonder why the young Captain had chosen this moment. Was it because the two were now practically alone? Was it because the Captain was -gasp!- shy?

Jack accepted the food, which Yonoi passed through the cell trap door to him. His stomach had been protesting since before he was taken to solitary confinement, as he really didn't want to eat manju, preferring to share it with the others and save only the meagre hibiscus flowers for himself. Not exactly a nutritious diet, though he'd had worse.

So, as soon as the food package reached him, he shamelessly begun to gobble it down in front of Yonoi, who was still standing in front of him, watching him like a bug under a microscope. Jack put his manners aside, and ate standing up, so as not to feel Yonoi looking down on him. He ate looking him in the eye, defiant, and it got to the point where it seemed like they were having a silent staring contest, the Japanese and him. The Captain looked as regal and stately in front of him as a statue, the hand not holding the cane was stretched out to one side; both hands were gloved in white, despite the heat, and his uniform was pristine, the only indication of affection being the moisture pooling on his eternally puckered upper lip, while the rest of him was dry and clean and dignified. The Captain was shorter than Jack, narrower and younger, but he was, without a doubt, a formidable and striking person, with smooth, tanned skin and eyes that were large and dark and that would remain inscrutable until Jack could manage to get more words out of him.

"This is better than manju. Thanks." Jack said sarcastically, seeing if the Captain is finally willing to dignify him with actual conversation.

"You're welcome." Yonoi replied, not giving away whether he'd understood the sarcasm or not.

As Jack's tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, instead of staying silent, he continued talking. "Hopefully there's enough for poor Lawrence."

This finally elicited a response from Yonoi, who narrowed his eyes. "Lawrence has had his share, so don't fear for him. Focus on yourself."

Jack casually shrugged his shoulders and finished eating with a grin.

"Why are you smiling?" Yonoi asked, sounding irritated.

"Oh, is smiling forbidden now?"

"You think this is funny?" The Captain looked almost agitated, at least by his standards. Good. "You caused a big problem for everyone, including your friends."

Instead of stopping smiling, Jack's expression took over his entire face, exposing his pointed teeth with his mouth still full of food in pure mockery. "With all due respect, Captain, what do you care? My friends and I are of no importance to you."

"How dare you question me?" Yonoi clutched the cane menacingly, making to approach Jack, but his feet didn't budge from their position.

"And if you don't like me smiling," Jack continued, relentless, "why do you come, just to watch me eat?"

Yonoi pursed his lips, the refined muscles of his masseter visibly tensing in a peculiar way. "You should learn to control that mouth of yours, Celliers." He warned, before turning in place and marching, prim and determined, towards the exit.

Celliers heard the Captain's footsteps fade as he walked away, and distinctly caught the sound of him coughing when he was near the exit, as if he had rushed off to avoid seeming vulnerable in front of him.