maayacolabackup

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In this ancient house,
Paved with a hundred stones,
Ferns grow in the eaves;
But numerous as they are,
My old memories are more.

--Emperor Juntoku, 100

-

Kame is interested when he gets the script from his manager. Of course he's interested; Kame has been trying, for a while now, to do something serious with his acting, and a period piece would be the perfect thing to show people he's not just an idol, good for nothing but manga adaptations and fan service.

Then Kame reads the script. Once he starts reading, he can't put it down. His hands quiver as he turns each page, excitement churning in his gut. This part...it's perfect for him. It flirts with androgyny, requires a nuanced performance, and Kame knows he has to have it. He hasn't been interested in anything in a really long time. Kame's a Johnny, he's learned to ignore what he wants in favor of what he must do. It's exciting to feel something other than apathy. He clings to it.

He calls his manager the next morning, as soon as his eyes crack open, fumbling for his mobile. "I have to audition for this part."

"Kamenashi, it's 5:30 in the morning. Can this wait until at least 7?"

"No," Kame replies resolutely. "It absolutely cannot."

His manager sighs, and it whistles through the phone line. "Okay, Kamenashi, which part is this?"

"The Tokugawa Shogunate epic. I want it."

Kame hears the sound of shuffling papers, and then his manager sighs again. "Okay, I'll set up an audition."

Exhaling deeply, Kame finally eases his tight grip on the phone. "Thank you," he says.

-

The audition goes well. Kame already can feel the tendrils of the character wrapping around him and weaving through him, like spools dropping down on a loom, turning threads into sheets of silk.

He can feel the transformation happening, same as it always does.

And then.

Despite everyone's expectations, Kame gets the part in his first serious film.

And it's a high-budget period piece. Kame plays a man disguised as a woman, which sounds ridiculous but against the odds, the story pulls it off. Kame is wary of playing off his looks in that way, but the part is too interesting, too cool, to pass up.

Kame's always had a thing for kimono, anyway.

-

He shouldn't be surprised, but somehow he is. This is the way things always go, like a cliché or like the predictable plot of a Getsu9 serial drama. They are drawn to each other, after all, like magnets or like two moons orbiting around the same planet in alternate directions.

Kame looks across the table at Jin's shuttered expression, and wonders if this whole thing is going to work at all.

Then they do the read-through, and Jin's familiar voice washes over him, and Kame forgets the distance between them in favor of enjoying the lovely timbre of Jin's speech.

They play best friends. How totally, utterly, imperfect.

Somehow, though, the script casts a spell, and Kame and Jin, together, even just reading, still blend together so, so well. Jin's always been great with the harmony, Kame remembers, and it always sounds so good.

"Kamenashi, your portrayal of Honoko is as spot-on as it was at auditions!" the producer gushes, and the director nods enthusiastically.

"And Akanishi, wow, I knew you were our first choice for a reason," the director adds, clapping his hands together like a child. Jin smiles, just a little, in that way he started doing in professional situations after he decided he was too old to grin all big and wide at praise. It's a detached smile, and Kame doesn't like it.

-

"Look," Jin says, eyes obscured by opaque sunglasses. "Let's just do this, okay?"

Kame shrugs and tries to shrink in on himself, but somehow he still feels exposed in front of Jin, like he's naked, and he doesn't even know if Jin is even looking at him.

Jin is frowning, so he probably is. He only seems to frown around Kame and the press. Whenever Kame sees pictures of Jin with Yamashita and Shirota and whoever else Jin is partying with, he's always laughing or smirking or grinning some stupid cheesy grin that Kame hasn't seen directed at him since he was nineteen. "Okay," Kame says, quietly, and Jin's frown etches even deeper in his face.

"I don't know if they cast us together for a publicity stunt or what but--"

"They cast us together," Kame interrupts, because he doesn't like the idea that Jin might think he's been brought into this project solely for the rumors, "because we're both the right people for our parts."

And it's been a while since Kame has been close enough to Jin to know every nuance, but he still knows Jin, knows Jin’s heart. Kame can see Jin written all over Saigou Takamori, the character he's playing-- can see little bits of Jin in all of the dialogue too.

And Honoko is not too different from Kame himself, either.

Jin grunts. "Whatever. The point is, Kamenashi, don't get in my way, alright?"

"I wasn't planning on it," Kame answers, after a moment of silence. Jin walks off, toward his dressing room, and Kame remembers when Jin used to lace their fingers together and drag Kame along with him.

-

Truly, this is where
Travelers who go or come
Over parting ways--
Friends or strangers--all must meet:
The gate of "Meeting Hill."

--Semimaru,10

-

The hiss of silk is an idle whisper in the cool night air, the rustling of navy robes and crimson obi the only sound as Honoko prepares. Twilight is stealing across the okiya as the dresser lifts layer after layer onto Honoko's outstretched arms, fastening each undergarment carefully and deliberately, until only the intricate outer robe remains.

Tonight the moon is red. Honoko wonders if it's an omen.

Honoko applies the thick white paste to an already white face, taking care to smooth across moles and marks, leaving a white mask in the wake of adept hands. This disguise, of paints and silks and charcoals, allows Honoko to pretend, in the dim light of lanterns and oil, that all is well in the streets of Gion. Honoko can bury a heart in turmoil beneath false laughs and the gentle swirl of sake, and dance and dance until the dawn breaks through, covering the streets in light once more.

Sometimes Honoko remembers bruised knees and split lips and the soothing touch of a father's hand, pulling up by the wrist. "Once more, Hiko," the man says, and then Honoko remembers spitting out a mouthful of blood and settling in, lifting arms high above and bracing for impact.

But mostly, Honoko's memories have faded like the ink on the parchment of street signs, bleached by the harsh, unforgiving sun of the Hanamachi, and the only things that remain are brief snatches of smiling faces and aching shoulders. Honoko only indulges those memories in the light of day, for in the night, Honoko must be empty, waiting to be filled up with other people's stories. Honoko has no room inside, at night, for reminiscing.

Teahouses, for Honoko, are both prisons and stages, and Honoko is both captive and performer. While Honoko sings and dances for enthusiastic witnesses amongst the tatami and bamboo that surround them, Honoko is free in a way that can only happen when Honoko is wrapped up inside of music. When Honoko is there, in that place where the only sound is Maki playing the shamisen and the sound of silken kimono moving deliberately with every step Honoko takes, there's no thoughts of before, and no thoughts of what could have been. There is only now, the subtle shift of straw beneath socked feet, and the pull of muscles and quickening breath as Honoko moves towards the climax. There is only the burning in Honoko's throat as the notes burst out into the air.

When it's over, and the world comes back into focus, Honoko remembers that there are iron chains of debt that hold fast to covered ankles, and that there isn't really any such thing as freedom, after all.

-

"Cut!" the director calls, and Kame shakes and tries to come back to himself. "Kamenashi, perfect," the director says, and the assistant director, who'd been anxious about casting Kame based on idol status, at first, looks impressed. "It's like Honoko is here!"

This part, it's the first thing he's wanted in years. It has to work; otherwise Kame will never let himself want anything again.

Jin is watching with mild interest as he prepares to film his first scene, but when Kame looks over at him directly, meeting his eyes, he looks away.

-

The rumors arrive on the wind long before the man himself arrives in Kyoto.

The Brave Samurai. Honoko hears tell of him in the streets, and in small clusters of women shopping for vegetables on the way to and from the hairdresser. Honoko's clients talk of him in hushed tones, and envy and awe color their descriptions of him as impossibly capable, undefeatable, and courageous. From the other geisha, Honoko hears only of his classically handsome face, with his strong cheekbones and large eyes, and of his charming smile, which he seems to offer up at no cost to anyone who passes him on the road.

Maki smiles softly as she whispers to Honoko, while Mr. Tanaka combs hot wax through Honoko's long hair. "He's coming," Maki says, the apples of her cheeks flushing red with glee. "The Brave Samurai. Do you think he's as great as they say? He is from the Saigou family, you know."

Honoko can't help but feel excited. A man who can decimate his opponents with his eyes closed. A man who honors the true tradition of the samurai, if rumors hold any weight. Honoko spent many years studying the code of Bushido, and Honoko has spent just as many years searching for someone besides Honoko's father who meets those exacting standards. "It doesn't matter what family he's from," Honoko replies firmly. "It only matters what he can do."

"Of course it matters what family he's from," Maki says chidingly. "Fortunes rise and fall for entire families, not for individuals." Maki wriggles in the chair to make herself more comfortable. "And the Saigou family has always produced strong samurai. Poor, but strong."

"That's true," Honoko says, and closes weary eyes. Fortunes rise and fall for entire families. Honoko knows that all too well. That is, after all, why Honoko exists at all.

Still, no matter what family he comes from, Honoko wants to meet this 'Brave Samurai.' Wants to meets a man worthy of the title of samurai, instead of the countless common louts who shame the profession of Honoko's father while they drink themselves sick in teahouses, while Honoko is forced to pour them more sake and compliment them on their prowess in battle. They make it seem right that the age of samurai is ending-- nothing more than spoiled thieves and grunt power, in a world that exists primarily in stifling peace, save for territory disagreements and family vendettas.

Honoko hopes that somehow, Saigou is everything that a samurai should be. Something that makes it easier for Honoko to see the code that her father died for in action. Someone who makes it easier to live with what Honoko has become.

Hope, Honoko thinks, is like a tiny fragile butterfly breaking free from its silken cocoon at the start of spring, unfolding soft, wet wings to the warm air. Beautiful, and colorful and full of potential. But Honoko also knows that a smart bird, a clever hummingbird, or a hungry canary, waits for that moment right before that new butterfly spreads it's wings, and snatches it from it's perch, and eats it alive.

Sometimes Honoko never gets to see what color the wings are after all.

-

If I see that bridge
That is spanned by flights of magpies
Across the arc of heaven
Made white with a deep-laid frost,
Then the night is almost past.

-- Otomo no Yakamochi, 6
-

Orihime, the Princess of Weaving, wove beautiful clothing by the banks of the Milky Way. Her father, the King of the Heavens, was enchanted by the cloth that she wove, and so she worked laboriously every day to weave it. But Orihime, who spent every day alone weaving, longed to fall in love. Her father noticed her unhappiness, and arranged for her to meet Hikoboshi, the Cowherd Star, who lived and worked on the other side of the Milky Way.

When the two met, they fell immediately into deep love. But once they got married, Orihime neglected, often, to weave cloth for her father, and Hikoboshi’s cows wandered untended around the heavens. And so the King became furious, and forbade the two lovers from being together, separating them to either side of the Milky Way. But moved by his daughter’s sadness, the King allowed the two to meet on the 7th day of the 7th month every year, as long as Orihime continued her weaving. However, there was the broad expanse of Milky Way between them and it could not be crossed. Orihime cried so much that a swarm of magpies came and promised to make a bridge with their wings so that she could cross.

It is said that if it rains on Tanabata, the magpies cannot come, and the two lovers must wait until the following year to meet.

-

The first scene they film together is scheduled for a Wednesday. Kame comes straight to the set from a four o'clock video shoot, where he and the other guys were filmed singing and posing flamboyantly in front of the sunrise. They only had a few takes to get it right, and luckily Koki was too tired to do that thing he sometimes does, where he drops his pants in the middle of a perfectly good cut and no one notices until they're all watching the playback.

But Kame is nothing if he isn't professional, and he doesn't let any sign of his fatigue show as he sits next to Jin at a fold-out table, dressed in full make-up and kimono. Jin is leaning as far away from him as possible while still sitting next to him. Kame wonders if he smells bad-- he had shared a dressing room with Tatsuya that morning, and Tatsuya's aftershave is usually pretty tragic. But then he remembers that this is Jin, and Kame could smell like pizza and unicorns and Jin would still be leaning away like Kame is contagious.

"You guys ready to film?" the director asks, and Kame, out of habit, smiles politely, like always.

"Of course," Kame says smoothly. Jin snorts, and mutters 'phony,' under his breath, and stands up. Kame looks over at him sharply, but Jin isn't looking back.

"Let's rock and roll," Jin says, cracking his knuckles.

-

"Today is the Brave Samurai's birthday!" One man cheers, and Saigou smiles tightly. He is handsome, Honoko thinks, with his high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes. His hair is pulled back tightly, and it accentuates his features. His eyelashes cut dark lines into his pale skin every time his eyes flicker closed. "Saigou Takamori is twenty-seven today! As his present, we've arranged for one of the most celebrated dancers in Kyoto to perform and stay with us for the evening!"

'Takamori' Honoko thinks. A strong name. It means ‘prosperity’.

Honoko rises slowly from a kneeling position on the floor, kimono flickering green in the candle light. "It's my pleasure," Honoko says, and Takamori's eyes slip over to Honoko when Honoko speaks. Something inside of Honoko pinches, like a fresh cut or like a too-hard tug at the ends of one's hair.

It doesn't matter though. Honoko wants to know Takamori. And to do that, first Honoko must dance. Dancing, for Honoko, is a placeholder. For a lot of things, really, but Honoko doesn't allow those sorts of thoughts.

-

Jin is a strong name, too. It means ‘humanity’.

-

There's something missing, from Honoko's character. It hovers at the edges of Kame's vision, but he can't quite grasp it. Kame needs a different way to approach the relationship between Honoko and Takamori, but he isn't sure what it is.

"This story is about friendship, my ass," Jin grumbles when the director yells cut, moving away from Kame as quickly as he can manage. "These two dudes are totally gay for each other."

"Don't exaggerate, they're just very close friends," Kame shrugs, hand reaching up to adjust the neck of his kimono.

"No way," Jin says.

"We used to do stuff like that all the time when we were younger, and we were just friends." Jin's face goes still, and Kame guesses he doesn't want to be reminded of being friends with Kame. "Why are you so concerned about homosexuality, anyway?" Kame says, curious. "That sort of thing is very fluid. They don't have to be gay to be good for each other, and it's not gay to show affection toward someone of the same sex."

Jin narrows his eyes at him. "You would say that, wouldn't you? You're the one always cozying up to other boys on stage."

"You let Koki put on a blond wig and pretend to give you a blow job on stage, Akanishi. Don't be a hypocrite."

"Whatever, that's all in the past. I've moved on, obviously." Jin is scowling at the floor, refusing, as usual, to meet Kame's eyes. There's something about Jin's tone that sounds off, maybe even defensive? Kame can't pinpoint it.

"Obviously," Kame echoes, and Jin suddenly looks up at him, and their gazes lock. Jin looks uncomfortable, a little scared and a little angry too.

"The point is, I don't like acting gay anymore, not for a music video, not for a movie, not for anything. Not to sell some fake image. It's weird, and it's wrong, and I don't like it."

Kame doesn't have anything to say in response, so he doesn't speak. He doesn't care one way or the other. It's his job; it doesn't matter if he likes it or not. Jin huffs, and lifts up his script, thumbing through it anxiously, while Kame studies his profile.

"I just think it shouldn't be a thing to sell records," Jin says finally. "Cause some people are actually gay, and it's... Not something funny. It's just life. And maybe it hurts them, to see it be all... pretend like that."

Kame wonders if Jin's got a friend that's gay, or something, or if this is some weird sensibility he picked up in America.

He thinks again about what Jin said, about their characters being gay for each other, and he thinks Jin might actually be kind of right, for once. That's it, he thinks. What's missing from his portrayal. He's found his angle.

-

Takamori keeps staring at Honoko, making Honoko uncomfortable. "Why do you stare?" Honoko demands, the words coated in formality, but containing a sharp edge that no one but Honoko can get away with.

"There's something different about you," Takamori says, and they are the first words Honoko has heard him say all night. His voice is like a gentle breeze, or like a trickle of water from a tilting reed in a meditation garden. It's almost soothing.

"What do you mean?" Honoko asks, heart hammering in a too-small chest. "I'm just one of the flowers here for you to observe." Honoko looks downward modestly. Honoko knows how this show works. Honoko knows the rules of this game.

Takamori apparently doesn't. He reaches up and snags the tip of Honoko's sleeve, and though it is not a rough tug, it bares the smooth skin of Honoko's shoulder, causing a scandalized gasp to emerge from the geisha to Honoko's right. Takamori's eyes fixate on the glimpse of pale skin, and he doesn't cease his innocent tugging.

Takamori smells of sake, and of sweat. Honoko gives in easily to his pull, because he seems surprisingly gentle in comparison to his companions. It's unexpected, given his ruthless reputation, but power is charismatic. As Honoko falls toward Takamori, and into his solid embrace, Honoko doesn't turn to the side, as is proper, fast enough, which results in Honoko's face discovering the crook of Takamori’s neck, their chests meeting front to front, hard lines crashing against each other. Takamori releases a surprised gasp into Honoko's ear, audible only to Honoko beneath the catcalls of Takamori's fellow samurai. "You're a man," he whispers, and Honoko grimaces.

"Don't say anything," he whispers back anxiously, into the soft skin of Takamori's collarbone, which makes Takamori shudder.

"I won't," Takamori breathes, and the sensation lingers on the sensitive skin of Honoko's ear. It tingles, and it burns at the same time.

"Saigou has picked the best of them already!" One man jeers, and the other samurai laugh raucously. Honoko expects Takamori to join in on the loud cheering, or to give Honoko's secret away, but he does neither. Instead, he smiles lightly and takes another small sip of sake, his skin already flush and warm from the rice wine. "Only top choice for the bravest samurai in Japan!" the loud man continues. Honoko can feel Takamori wince at the moniker, and curiosity bubbles up in his veins.

He has questions about Takamori that will never be answered, he knows, because Takamori will be gone in a few hours, leaving his life just as quickly as he entered it. A man of legends, come and gone like so many words in a ballad. "A private tea?" Honoko asks, before he can think better of it. Honoko has never offered one to a patron before.

Maki looks at Honoko, aghast. Honoko returns her stare evenly, and Maki furrows her brow an nods, before lifting her shamisen. "A short song, my lord samurai?" Maki says to the other men in the room, and Satsumi claps her hands together in delight. "Shall I sing?" The samurai cheer, and Satsumi pours another round of sake for them all, as Honoko leads a confused Takamori into a back room, wandering through a maze of tatami-lined hallways and walls of cured bamboo.

-

The director stops the scene, to change camera angles, and Kame shakes himself. Jin is believable in his role as Takamori, but for some reason, Kame can only see him as Jin. In the nuance of his face, the flicks of his wrist...it's Jin, just Jin, that Honoko is reacting to. In those moments, Kame is thinking of himself as Honoko, but Jin, for some reason, is some weird amalgam of Saigou Takamori and Jin, and the blur is making it hard to concentrate.

Kame decides not to fight it, because it is as if the role was written for Jin, and Jin's spirit shines through no matter what he does or what he says.

-

"Here," Honoko says, and Takamori, Jin, nods.

"I have so many questions," Jin says suddenly, when Honoko kneels to slide the door closed. "I'm afraid you're going to walk out of here and out of my life before I find out the answer to any of them."

Honoko turns back to look at him. He's earnest, like a newborn pup seeking approval, and it surprises Honoko, just a little, to see that look on a samurai's face. Honoko's father had always worn a stern expression, even to the last, when Honoko had shrouded his severed head and hidden it, in order to escape the shame of seeing it mounted on a wooden spear in the capitol. "Like what?" Honoko asks.

He's expecting any number of questions, but Jin continues to defy expectation. "What's your name?" he blurts, and then he bites his lip, as if he hadn't meant to ask. Maybe he hadn't.

"Honoko," he replies, confused. "That's no mystery."

"Not...that name," Jin says, still chewing on his bottom lip. "Your real name. Honoko is not a man's name."

Honoko looks down at the woven mat. His name, he thinks, hasn't been said since he was fifteen years old, shivering in the dark as his mother screamed apologies over and over again as the cart drove away. "Hiko, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Hiko! HIKO!" Honoko was old enough to fight back, then, but bereft of the will to, in the end.

Honoko takes a deep breath. "Hiko," he says, and the name sinks down into him, through the layers of silk and satin and cotton and into his skin. "My name is Hiko." It's a name Honoko hasn't let himself use in a long time, even in his own head. It's painful to be Hiko, and it's easier to be Honoko if he pretends that Hiko never existed.

Jin whispers the name to himself. Honoko watches him, as Jin says it over and over, as if he is trying to record it in his memory. He looks into Honoko's eyes, as he repeats. 'Hiko,' his lips read, and Honoko feels inexplicably hot, like he's sitting directly next to a coal fire. He kneels down next to Jin and the heat flares hotter.

Then Jin rests his hands on the table. His nails are even and short and square. He has strange calluses on his fingertips, ones not caused by a sword. "You get to ask one now," Jin says, looking down. Honoko wants to see his eyes.

"Okay then." Honoko tentatively reaches out and touches one callous with the barest hint of his own fingertip. "What're these from? They aren't from a sword."

Jin looks at Honoko curiously. "How do you know that?" He questions, and Honoko frowns.

"Isn't it my turn?" he asks testily, and it surprises a laugh out of Jin.

"He bites!" Jin teases. "Wait until I tell my comrades that you bite." Jin rubs his finger along the wood of the table, pads of his fingers slipping into little groves in the grain. "I'm not a very good samurai," Jin says finally, and Honoko looks at him incredulously.

"What are you talking about? You're the Brave Samurai." Honoko leans forward. "And what's that got to do with the calluses?"

"Everything," Jin says. "It has everything in the world to do with it."

Honoko narrows his eyes at Jin. "You haven't answered my question."

"I will. It's just kind of a long story." Jin looks at Honoko, his eyes wide and gleaming with a mixture of mischief and undisguised curiosity. "I'm sure yours is too."

Honoko's throat is suddenly dry, like he hasn't had any water in days. "I..."

Jin opens his mouth to speak. But then, he seems to think better of it, instead looking up at the ceiling, as if he is counting the slats of wood, or maybe trying to see through to the night sky.

A scream outside the sliding door grabs their attention. A long blade slices through the gathered bamboo of the door, and within moments, Honoko is on his feet, crouched, eyes alert. Jin is fumbling for his sword, his eyes already half-closed as if he is going to wish his enemy away.

Honoko looks at him blankly, for the only moment he can spare. "I'm not a very good samurai" echoes in Honoko's mind now, and he looks at Jin through new eyes, as he would assess an opponent.

Jin's palms are sweaty and only loosely gripping his sword. Honoko could knock it right out of his hands. Jin's pupils are dilated with something between fear and desperation, like he knows he's outmatched. He's drunk, too. "I'm not a very good samurai," he hears once more, in his mind, and Honoko nods to himself in decision.

The intruder shoves open the door, and Honoko is waiting. He trips him with his right foot, and steps forward with his left, slamming his elbow into the back of the man's neck. There's the sickening crunch of bone, but it's not one of Honoko's bones, and that's life when you're out to kill someone you don't know anything about. Honoko grabs the fallen man's katana, and leans over to tug at Jin. "Let's go," Honoko grunts. "Small rooms are a danger to us right now." Jin should know this, but Jin just nods quickly, like he's trusting Honoko to be in charge, and Honoko straightens his shoulders and guides them back to the main tavern. Many of Jin's friends are dead, blood pooling around them as they lie prone on the low wooden table, killed before they even drew their swords. Two of Jin's companions are missing, too, and Honoko is unsure if they tracked a fleeing enemy or fled themselves.

Either way, only he and Jin are left to deal with this problem, as Satsumi and Maki seem to have escaped as well. And as Honoko looks at Jin, who has fallen to the floor in shock, looking at his dead friends surrounding them, Honoko's mouth tightens even further. Perhaps only he is left to deal with this problem, in actuality. He shifts the katana in his grip.

The sword feels easy in Honoko's hands, like it hasn't been years since Honoko has properly held one without the tremor of fear that comes with it being forbidden. His arms still remember the movements, and the sound of moving air, as the blade slices in a downward arc towards the first assassin, is achingly familiar, singing bitterly in Honoko's ears. It's a lament of separation, and the misery of circumstance.

Jin is still sprawled on the floor, his katana held loosely in his hand as he watches with awe. His big eyes are even bigger in the glare of the lanterns, reflections of the fire dancing in his pupils as he stares at Honoko, jaw slack as he fumbles for his wits. "Get up," Honoko hisses, changing her grip to a more comfortable one. "Whether you're really an incredible warrior or not, you know how to use a sword, right?" Honoko narrows eyes at him, mouth pressed straight and even. "So use it to save your own life."

Jin pushes himself up, arms shaking, as Honoko fells another enemy, kimono slicing at the sleeve as a sword whooshes too close to the shoulder. The fabric gaps, and Honoko knows one pays in blood for damaged kimono, especially since a good geisha shouldn't be involved in a fight at all.

But for some reason, Honoko can't leave Jin to die. Honoko can't walk away from him and watch him be slaughtered, because that is not the way of the samurai, at least not the way his father taught it, and Honoko may be fallen, but he will not betray the memory of the brave man who remains vivid in his memory.

Jin finally pulls his sword loose, and brings down the enemy in front of him, a few drops of blood splattering across his face like in a macabre theater show. Jin squeaks a bit, before his jaw clenches and he moves forward. Honoko doesn't have time to watch him, not with the others realizing that it is Honoko who is the biggest threat, and he can only hope that Jin can protect himself.

When the last of the intruders falls, with a muffled grunt, to the ground, Honoko turns to look grimly at Jin, who has somehow stumbled back to a wall, and slid down it. Still, he looks aware, and unharmed.

"Assassins." Honoko folds his arms across his chest.

"Samurai heads are worth a lot, these days," Jin replies. "Japan is changing. The samurai are a dying breed. Some people in the new government are quite willing to do whatever it takes to get rid of us, even though some of us don’t like the old government much, either."

"Don't be stupid," Honoko grunts, pulling up the neck of his kimono, which has slid down to reveal his collarbones. "They were after you. You're a figurehead. If they kill the Brave Samurai, the morale will crumble."

"Oh yes, I'm so brave," Jin says bitterly. "Clearly the perfect material for a figurehead."

Honoko exhales. "You certainly aren't what I expected." What I'd hoped for, he means, but Honoko should have known better than to hope for anything.

"You're not quite what I expected either. How can you...?"

"My father was a great teacher," Honoko replies, taking his torn sleeve and wiping it across his face to stop the steady drip of blood from his cheek. It's not his blood, but it's annoying all the same.

"So if you can do...why are you here? Playing dress-up?"

"My mother...well," Honoko says. "There wasn't a lot of choice. And of all of my brothers are dead. There is only me."

Jin's eyes examine him closely, before he flushes and looks away. He hoists himself up, and Honoko thinks he might be trembling.

"So you're trapped. Just like me," Jin says, wiping his sword against his hakama. "Funny how life works, isn't it?"

"How are you trapped?" Honoko snaps, feeling bitterness gather on his tongue, mixing in with the adrenaline. "You have everything I've ever wanted."

Jin looks at him crossly, as if Honoko is being stupid. "I'm not you," Jin spits, before he turns away from Honoko to survey the dead bodies around them. He bends down and closes the eyes of one of his comrades, his face gentle and yet fierce. "I'm nothing like you. You were meant for this." Jin's hands are shaking. "The smell of blood makes me sick."

Honoko's hands, in contrast, are steady. "Then what are you doing?" Honoko snarls. Jin is spoiled, he thinks, and foolish if he doesn't take advantage of the world at his fingertips.

"You act like I have a choice any more that you do," Jin hisses, his eyes a little wet. He looks down at the face of the man before him, and drops to his knees. "He just got married. He has a newborn daughter he's never seen."

Honoko swallows the bile that rises in his throat as the smell of blood and death finally penetrates his battle haze. "Let's get out of here," Honoko says, and he pulls Jin up.

"And go where?" Jin asks.

"Anywhere," is the response, and Jin follows.

Before they reach the door, a flicker of movement catches Honoko's eye. "Be still," he whispers quietly to Jin, and Honoko moves quickly, grabbing the shirt of masked man near the neck, and slamming him into the wall. "Please don't kill me," a stuttering voice crystal from behind the mask, and Honoko narrows eyes on his captive. He sounds too young to be here, in this battle. Too young to be fighting at all. But Honoko knows better than to underestimate the young-- he had become deadly himself before he was ten years of age.

Jin leans over and tears off the mask, revealing a boy of only perhaps fourteen years, as Honoko lifts a sword to his throat. "I'm sorry," Honoko says coldly but fairly, "but if you fight as a man, you should be prepared to die as a man."

"Honoko," Jin whispers softly, and Honoko flicks his eyes over to Jin, who is looking at the boy with a soft, transparent expression of pity. "Hiko," he corrects himself with a shake. "Hiko, please."

With a groan, Honoko loosens his hand, letting the boy slide down the wall into a puddle at his feet. "You," he sharply commands. "What's your name?"

"Yuto, my lady geisha."

"Well then, Yuto, go back to whoever sent you, and tell him that the Brave Samurai, Saigou Takamori, has defeated all who were sent against him, and spared your life."

"Yes...yes, my lady," is his gasping answer, and before Honoko can blink, he is running off into the street.

"Thank you," a quiet Jin says, arms wrapped tight around himself. His face is tight, and Honoko curls his lip.

"You are not true samurai." Honoko levels an even stare at the man beside him. "It would have been best to kill him."

"I know," is the offered response, and Jin closes his eyes resignedly. "Don't you think enough people have died today?" His eyelashes are dark against the smooth skin of his cheek. "I know a place we can go." The faintest hint of sake lingers on his breath.

-

Kame is breathing hard when the scene cuts. Jin's face is closed, when only moments ago it was so open.

Jin is a good actor. It doesn't make sense that he is. He wasn't before, but somehow he is now.

And Kame thinks Jin, despite his protests about the nature of their characters' relationship, might have found his angle, too.

-

The last time Jin and Kame had gone to the Tanabata festival together, it rained all day. Kame remembers the feeling of his soaked t-shirt plastered to his back.

He and Jin ate waffles anyway, ones in the shapes of different Doraemon, rivulets of water running down their forearms as they tried to keep the ice-cream inside them from sliding out to the asphalt.

It rains every year after that too. Not that Kame goes without Jin. He’s too busy, anyway.

-

Night fades into brilliant morning.

"What is this place?"

"An untouched measure of peace," Jin answers. "A safe haven from the storm of factories and shrill bayonets and all the change."

Jin lies on his back, one hand on his stomach and the other thrown recklessly above his head. If he is attacked right now, Honoko thinks, he will die before he even has the chance to reach for his sword. Still, he looks charming, more like a boy than like a man, lying there arms akimbo gazing at the sky. Honoko wishes he was able to dream like that, but when he looks at the clouds all he can see is the coming rain.

"How are you samurai?" Jin asks, without turning his eyes from the sky. "Why are you hiding in kimono and makeup?"

Honoko frowns. "None of your business." Honoko is sitting two meters from Jin, eyes alert and body stiff. He still feels the sting of disappointment, and the remnants of danger.

Jin rolls on to his side to face Honoko, and wisps of hair settle whimsically around his face, escaping from the ponytail behind his head. "Why are you so cold? Have I offended you, somehow?" Jin has a gentle voice. Too gentle for a warrior. It doesn't scratch, like Honoko's does, it sort of melts, like spun sugar on a warm summer day, dripping down Honoko's spine. Honoko doesn't know why he's so upset at finding yet another person undeserving of what they've been handed.

"You won't understand," Honoko growls. "You have everything, and you waste it. You have everything I want."

"Everything, huh?" muses Jin, as he rolls back to his previous position. "What do you know about me?"

"The Brave Samurai," Honoko drawls. "With his famous Round Attack, striking fear into his enemies. Strong and handsome and cowed by no opponent."

"Ah, my legend," replies Jin, gazing fixedly at the rapidly darkening sky. "But that's not what I asked you." Jin grabs a fistful of grass in his broad hand. "You've seen me fight. Is that me? Are you just a quiet, beautiful geisha? Good for nothing but teahouse entertainment and a nice sing along accompaniment for drunkards?"

With a wince, Honoko looks away. "What are you trying to say?"

"What I am trying to show you is that people are often not what they seem." Jin's voice is calm, and Honoko admires the lack of condescension in his tone. "You should know that better than most."

It's not often that Honoko experiences the feeling of being utterly wrong, and it stings more than he'd like to admit. "You're right," he admits. "I'm sorry."

Jin swallows, and in the strong sunlight, he glows ethereal, like a jewel. He really is handsome, Honoko realizes with a twinge in his stomach, like the fluttering of a hummingbird. "That's alright," Jin replies. "You can always start again."

The sun is bright, and it burns Honoko's eyes. He doesn't see it often, spending most light hours asleep or preparing to venture out into the dark, to pour tea for strangers and familiar faces alike. His white make-up feels brittle and cracked on his skin, and he wants to wash it off, all of a sudden, so he can look at Jin with his real face. "My family has been samurai for nine generations," Honoko says into the silence. Jin doesn't move; he just keeps looking up at the clouds. But it's obvious he's listening, because his hands still in their casual exploration of grass blades, and an anxious tongue darts out to lick at his lips. "My father was samurai, and his father, and so on. And so my brothers and I were trained, as well."

"So why this?"

Honoko sighs. "It's not easy, to maintain a legacy, when you back the wrong lord." Honoko examines his hands, smoother now that he rarely holds a sword. His calluses are soft, and the leather-wrapped hilt has left grooves in the soft skin. "My family fell into ruin ten years ago. Everything was taken from us. I am...the only male survivor. Not that anyone knows I am a survivor."

"Tamamoto family."

"Yes."

Jin exhales heavily. "The tragedy of your family is in at least thirteen bardic songs," Honoko is informed, and Jin's voice echoes through the empty clearing, despite the fact that his tone is soft and his volume is low. "Your father's bravery in the face of almost certain defeat is legendary."

Honoko wants to weep, but he is samurai, and he is geisha, and neither are allowed to cry.

"At least," Jin adds with a dreamy smile that reveals that his thoughts are far away from the here and now, "you will always know his legends are true." Jin pulls up a fistful of grass. "This is not the legend I dreamed of making."

"What do you dream about?"

"Singing," Jin replies. "And dancing. And playing the koto." Jin sits up, and crosses his legs, as if he is seated in a teahouse beneath a wooden table, awaiting a shamisen performance or a fan dance. One of his hands goes up to his hair, and pulls out the ponytail, spilling long dark hair over his shoulders. "Sometimes, I dream of a place where I don't wear the chains of the samurai. The responsibility. I feel honor bound to stop the Shogunate, but I don’t trust this new government either. And I’m a figurehead for a movement that’s important. I dream of a world…Where I'm not the oldest son of the Saigou family. Where I wasn’t raised to think about these sorts of issues."

Jin stares upward at the sky, at the clouds, like they offer some kind of answer to him. "Of a world where I'm never forced to steal someone else's life."

The sunlight illuminates the column of his throat, making the skin glow gold. It hurts Honoko's eyes to look at him. "You," Jin says, with a quiet chuckle, "have everything I want."

Honoko stares at Jin with hooded eyes. "So you're trapped, like me," is all he can say, because there is nothing more to be said, and nothing to be done, either. This clearing is an oasis, a break from the world that exists outside of it, where Honoko dons paint and silks and sings of heroic deeds, while Jin is shoved head-first into battles he despises to give Honoko something to sing about. It's unfair, and it is the reality of their lives. "But I don't have time for dreams, Saigou."

“Takamori,” Jin whispers. “My name is Takamori.”

But for now, Honoko wants to pretend with Jin. Wants to see what he sees in the clouds. He stands and walks over to Jin, sitting next to him. Their shoulders brush, and Honoko inexplicably thinks of the gentle brush of Jin's lips against his ear in the teahouse, the way his body shivered from the proximity. It's shivering now, too.

Jin turns to him, and his eyes rake across Honoko's face searchingly. He reaches into the sash at his waist, and pulls out a small rag, and then lifts the water canteen at his side, hanging from a thin rope. He wets the rag, and then takes Honoko's chin into his hand. "I want to see you," Jin says, and Honoko's breath stills in his chest.

Jin wipes the rag gently across Honoko's skin, removing the remains of the white paint and charcoal and blood from his face. Something about the action feels like more to Honoko. Like more than his face is bare. Jin is looking inside of him, more and more with each wetting of the rag, with each soft swipe of cloth across his cheek.

"You're more beautiful like this," Jin tells him.

Honoko feels more beautiful. Something fills him; some strange emotion alights upon his heart like a butterfly on a magnolia blossom in the prelude to spring.

"I think we all have the right to dream, and to make it come true," Jin whispers. "Even a failed, clumsy, not-so-brave samurai like me."

Honoko doesn't know what possesses him to reach out and touch Jin's loose hair, but it feels softer than any robe Honoko has ever worn, and it slides between his fingers like the most expensive of embroidery threads. "This moment is going to end. We can't stay here forever," Honoko tells him helplessly.

"Until then," Jin whispers. "Until then, let's just be."

-

Like the morning moon,
Cold, unpitying was my love.
And since we parted,
I dislike nothing so much
As the breaking light of day.

--Mibu no Tadamine, 30

-

"Perfect, guys, exactly what I wanted," the director squeals, clapping his hands excitedly together like some kind of overly enthusiastic fauna in a Disney movie. "The tension! Excellent!"

Kame feels hot, like he's burning. His skin still tingles where Jin touched him, and his heart is still accelerating. It beats like a taiko drum in his chest, and he feels constricted by his dirty robes.

He chances a look at Jin, who still sits wide-eyed on the ground, his face flushed and his lips slightly parted as he breathes heavily.

Kame turns away when Jin turns toward him, and he retreats like lightening to his dressing room. His hands grip the counter of his make-up table, and he's shaking.

Kame splashes water on his face. He looks at himself, in the mirror, with no make up, no glitter, nothing, all of it wiped away by Jin, no, by Takamori, and thinks maybe he does like himself better like this.

Jin walks in, suddenly, and he looks into the mirror too. Their eyes meet.

"Kamenashi, what the fuck was that?" Jin says, and Kame can see anger and fear in his eyes.

"I'm playing my part," Kame says. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"But you..."

"You ran with it, Jin. You took what I gave you, and we acted." Jin is still flushed, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. "You said it yourself. They have a tension that's greater than friendship. You were right. The thing with the make-up was a nice touch, by the way."

It wasn't in the script, but Kame thinks it's perfect.

"Yeah," Jin says, and then his shoulders sag. "It's just...I forgot, for a minute, that we were acting, and..."

"And?"

"You always did wear too much of that stuff," Jin says. "Make-up. I guess I just wanted...I mean, I thought Takamori would want to see the person underneath of it."

Kame nods. "It was a good call," he says. "Guess that's why you're the famous Hollywood actor, right?" Kame elegantly tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and flicks his wrist to push back the kimono sleeve just a little.

"Why do you do that?" Jin asks. "Why do you become so...sucked in to your character? Even now it's like I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Honoko."

"It's just a mask," Kame answers quickly. "Just one that's hard to take off." One he doesn't like to take off. It's easier to be Honoko, with Jin, because Jin doesn't... "You don't hate Honoko."

Jin's eyes get wide, again, and he looks even more confused. The light keeps bouncing off the mirror, making Jin disappear and reappear, flickering like a ghost. "There's no need to hide behind anything, Kame. I don't hate you. There's nothing wrong with you."

"There must be," Kame says in reply, and turns around to Jin, to actually look at him. "Otherwise I don't understand what I did wrong."

Jin's lips pull into a straight line across his face. "There's something wrong with me." his voice trembles. "And...You wore too much make-up, too many costumes. Even off stage," Jin says finally. "I couldn't see who you were anymore. And when I could see you, I still... I got confused. It's kind of like you think it's easier to be someone else. To not have to think about what you, what Kame, the real Kame, wants. And it drives me insane, because I..." Jin slams his mouth shut, and looks guilty and stricken, like he's said too much. Kame can see the panic again, too.

"And now?"

"I don't know." Jin breaks eye contact, and looks up at the ceiling. "You're more beautiful like this," he says. Kame closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Jin is gone.

Part Two