Unbound: Jin Hates Magical Quests (4/7)

[maayacolabackup]

Chapter Four: Jin Hates Magical Quests


“I hate this rain,” Jin says, and Yamapi sighs.

“I know Jin,” Yamapi replies. “You’ve said so eighty times in the past hour. I get it.”

“I still mean it. Just as much as I did five minutes ago,” Jin retorts, and Yamapi sighs again, dropping his head to the back of Jin’s neck, which presses his slimy hair to the top of Jin’s spine, making Jin want to wriggle away. “You’re all wet,” Jin whines, and Jin doesn’t have to look to know Pi is rolling his eyes.

“So are you, Bakanishi.”

I hate this rain, Jin says to himself. I hate this rain.

The Book inexplicably gets warm underneath Jin’s shirt. It’s nice, Jin thinks, because the rain is rather cool, and the beginning of fall is right when rain showers start leaving you cold instead of refreshed. Yamapi shivers, and it just makes Jin more unhappy, because Yamapi gets cold easily, even if Jin is the one who always gets sick.

“I hate rain.”

Yamapi’s nose buries itself in the back of Jin’s hair, and his hands tighten reassuringly on Jin’s hips, where they rest. “Yeah,” Yamapi says, and he doesn’t sound irritated anymore, just resigned.

“Why can’t it be ‘plagued with something dry,’” Jin says. “Or ‘plagued with awesome weather.’ Or something.”

“The word is ‘plagued’, Jin. I think that means you’re not really going to get something positive.” Yamapi sounds amused now.

“Yeah, but anything would be better than ‘rain’ right now. Seriously.” Jin pouts, scrunching his face up at the way his skin feels like it’s shriveling, and getting even more concerned at the way Yamapi keeps quivering. “Are you okay?” Jin asks, in a different voice. “I’d offer you the bedding to wrap around yourself, but it’s wet too.”

“The sadness of living in a place without rain-slickers,” Yamapi says. “Or plastic in general.”

“First world problems,” Jin agrees, and presses the hand not lightly holding the reins to Yamapi’s, trying to will warmth from his own cold fingers into Yamapi’s colder ones. “Fall certainly hit with a vengeance.”

“It did,” Yamapi says. “But I love fall. I can’t wait to see the leaves change color here. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”

“I want to see autumn in the American mid-west,” Jin muses. “Amber waves of grain, and all.” Jin says the song lyric in English, and shakes his head to get some of the water out of his hair, ignoring Yamapi’s quip about Jin always acting like a dog. “Grain would be way nicer than rain.”

The Book thrums, and Jin ignores it. He can’t read it now, because the pages will get drenched. Jin can imagine the ink bleeding down the pages under the downpour, and it makes him shudder.

If only the rain would stop. Jin is pretty sure that with his luck, his misery at the situation is making the rain even stronger.

“Yamapi and Jin, and the Five Guardians, set out on their second day of traveling. Unfortunately, it was plagued with grain.” Jin says, in a booming voice, like he’s telling a prophecy or something, and the Book won’t be ignored. It flashes scalding hot, and Jin pulls it out without hesitation, because it hurts. “What in the world?”

The Book is glowing that same eerie yellow it glowed when Jin had first seen it, on the top shelf of aisle thirty-seven, tempting and out of reach. It flips open of its own accord, though, pages seemingly impervious to the rain.

The words morph in front of Jin’s eyes, and Jin can hardly trust his vision as the old sentence fades out and a new one fades in.

“Unfortunately,” Jin reads aloud, over the still pounding rain, “it’s plagued with grain.” The last word slips out like a question, and there’s a pull, inside Jin, and that tingle that means Jin is about to explode with magic, and when the magic pools under Jin’s skin, gasping out even as Jin in a panic tries to hold it back, the rain stops.

Just stops. The clouds lift, too, parting in the sky to reveal the mild fall sunshine. Jin looks up at the sky in disbelief, then back down at the Book, which feels smug, sort of, in his hands. Then Yamapi gasps, and Jin raises his eyes to watch the entire forest floor start to glow, the same strange yellow as the book, and then it deepens to gold. When the light fades away, the forest floor is, somehow, despite the implausibility of it all, covered with waves and waves of wheat, as far as the eye can see.

Kamenashi laughs. It starts off as a dry chuckle, but soon you can hear it coming from deep down in his chest. Taguchi is close behind him, his tiny peals of laughter joining in with Kamenashi’s as Ueda looks incredulous at the turn of events. Tanaka and Nakamaru are both looking at Jin with amusement.

Jin turns to look at Yamapi, but Yamapi is staring dumbfounded at the amber colored forest floor, mouth slack and eyes like hundred-yen coins. “Awesome,” Yamapi says finally, and Jin notices Yamapi’s shivers have ceased.

“So,” Tanaka says. “Finally figured out how to change the Book?”

Jin shakes his head. “No way! The Book totally made that decision on its own.”

“Well,” Nakamaru says. “Sometimes Stories get pulled out of us, right?”

Jin looks down at the Book again. It’s completely dry, and no longer glowing. It looks just like any other book, Jin thinks, if a bit oversized and a bit old. But it doesn’t look like the sort of object that would send him and Yamapi careening into an alternate world, or make Jin turn forests into fields of grain.

“I guess so,” Jin says, and when he looks out at the forest again, he thinks it’s really stunning, the way the wheat folds in the gentle breeze, and the way the light through the treetops reflects in a speckled patters across it. Jin loves the way the trees burst out so unexpectedly from something so normally seen on a field or on a plain.

It’s magical, Jin thinks, and that realization is a moment of luster for him, a snatch of joy.

Yamapi leans forward, his chin digging into Jin’s shoulder. “Bakanishi,” Yamapi says. “Next time you’re going to change it to something, wish for a plague of women.”

Jin shoves his elbow back sharply, and relishes the choked gasp of only half-pretend pain. “Don’t be a pervert like Ryo-chan, Pi,” Jin chides, and Yamapi laugh-wheezes. “Be grateful.”

“At least it’s not raining,” he says, leaning forward again and wrapping his arms back around Jin, forearms settling along Jin’s hips. “Thanks for that.”

“Are you still cold?” Jin responds, and notices with relief Yamapi has stopped trembling completely in the wake of even the diluted sunlight that hits them this deep in the woods.

“No,” Yamapi says. “Not anymore.” Yamapi’s breath is warmer than the sunlight, Jin thinks, and feeling cold is nothing but a faint memory.

“Well,” Ueda says dryly. “One thing is for sure. This definitely is a ‘plague’ of grain.”

“What?” Jin says, taking his attention off of Yamapi to turn to Ueda in confusion. Ueda points at Jin’s horse, who is eating happily from the wheat below him.

“With this amount of food around, we’ll never get the horses to move with any sort of rapidity,” Ueda goes on to say. “What does the Book say about that?”

Jin scratches his nose. “Um, probably nothing. But at least we’re not all getting sick in a downpour now?”

“I vote this is better,” Tanaka says. “Also, it’s good to know Jin’s magic is strong enough to change the Book now.”

“Indeed,” Kamenashi says. “There’s hope for him yet.”

Jin thinks he’s supposed to be offended, but the way Yamapi is laughing into his neck is distracting, because it tickles and makes Jin fight not to turn red for reasons he doesn’t understand. “Whatever,” Jin mumbles. “Let’s just go.”

When they make camp that night, Jin is exhausted. He wonders if the cooler his magic gets, the more terrible he’ll feel. He’s washed out, like the rain drowned all of his energy and the sun failed to give any of it back. He barely manages to eat half a bowl of noodles as he falls asleep, leaning onto Yamapi more and more as the minutes pass, until Yamapi laughs and gives up, letting Jin collapse into his lap.

When Jin was younger, he was always sick. Back then, Yamapi basically lived with Jin’s family because his own was crumbling, and Jin can remember laying his head in Yamapi’s lap, just like this. Yamapi would wind his fingers into Jin’s hair, and Jin’s headaches would fade away under the gentle ministration, and Jin would forget about his runny nose and hacking coughs, and melt under the simple caress.

Jin’s not sick now, but he is tired, and the comfort works the same. Yamapi’s fingers go without thinking to submerge themselves in Jin’s hair, tugging on the strands near the scalp. Jin’s eyes close, and he focuses on that feeling, and it’s only the gentle laughter around the fire that wakes him.

“What’s so funny?” he mumbles, and he drags his eyes open. The tiny clearing where they’ve made camp is a sea of golden lilies, and Jin’s too sleepy to feel more than a mild discomfort at his emotions laid bare once again. “It’s comfortable,” he mutters instead, letting his eyes flutter back closed. “Feels like home.”

Yamapi’s hands still, briefly, at Jin’s statement, before they resume their play, twisting the strands about nimble fingers. Jin makes a soft, contented sigh, and he can feel Yamapi’s gentle chuckle against the back of his head.

“You’re totally the Princess,” Yamapi says, and Jin doesn’t have the energy to swat him, and Yamapi knows it.

It’s easier, like this, to pretend he’s on the sofa in the living room at his parent’s house, watching something mindless on DVD as Yamapi sends him to sleep.

#

Mount Nantai looms like a finish line in the distance. They stop at the edge of the lake, Lake Chuuzenji, Jin remembers, and gaze up at the peak.

It’s a green mountain, Jin thinks, at least now. Jin tries to recall what it looked like when he and Reio hiked it.

They had taken the train to Nikko station, and then the bus, hopping off at the Futarasan Jinjamae stop. Jin had been put out because he had to pay 300 yen at the bottom of the shrine just to hike the mountain, and Reio had still been scowling and had made Jin pay for him too. Jin can remember the way the shrine had looked; a small red Shinto gate, and tiny purification springs and wells. A humble place. Jin wonders when it was built. If here, in this world, even that is parallel.

This trip to Mount Nantai has been far different for Jin. For one thing, he’s on horseback, not a train. For another, Yamapi is with him, like Jin had wanted the last time. And of course, they are in an alternate world, on a quest for a magical sword. Sometimes Jin has to pinch himself that this is real, and not some sort of prolonged hallucination caused by a mixture of alcohol and sleep deprivation.

As they pause by the lake, the wind blows cool. The Guardians huddle together, as they try to decide if they should make camp here tonight or press on along the edge of the lake. Jin thinks he’d better check his resources.

When Jin opens the Book, hoping for a clue, or something to help him discern the next step, there are no words.

Instead, what bubbles up on the page is a picture.

Yamapi looks at the page, leaning sideways to Jin’s left to peek around him, and snorts. “What in the world is that?” Yamapi asks, and Jin purses his lips.

“It’s a…picture. Or a painting,” Jin replies, and runs the tip of his index finger along the ink lines in thought.

“So I can’t see that either,” Yamapi muses, his hand tapping a mindless rhythm on Jin’s hips as he scrunches his face up. “It looks like it’s censored or something.”

“It’s the lake,” Jin says. “Lake Chuuzenji.”

In the ink painting, Jin can see the mountain behind the lake, and the lake’s water still and calm. But in the center of the lake, Jin sees a swirling section, like something is preparing to rise from it.

What happens next? The words appear underneath the image, and Jin stares at them blankly.

Usually the Book tells Jin what happens next. Every time he’s looked inside the Book, it’s told him what happens, or it’s already written the next part of the story. But now it’s almost like the Book wants Jin to figure it out, with only this painting as his clue.

But all Jin’s got is a picture of a lake. Jin wants to know where the sword is, not look at lovely paintings of nature—

“It’s in the lake,” Jin says aloud, as it comes to him. “The sword is in the lake.”

“That’s going to be one rusty blade,” Yamapi says, and the others turn toward them as Jin stares out at Lake Chuuzenji. “If it’s even still a blade, at this point.”

Jin swallows, and closes his eyes. A thin blue line stretches out, from the Book to the center of the lake in the darkness being his eyelids. When Jin’s eyes open again, the line is gone, but Jin can still imagine it there.

“What’s happening, Jin?” asks Kamenashi, who looks over at Yamapi’s loud comment.

“Ne-iro…it’s in the lake,” Jin says, and Ueda looks at Jin, mouth tight.

“Great,” Ueda says. “And how are we supposed to reach it?”

“I don’t know,” Jin says, distressed. He feels like throwing his hands in he air. “I don’t know. There’s just a picture and nothing else, and I know where it is but not how to get there, and if we don’t get this sword, Pi and I can’t go home!”

Jin slides down off the horse, dropping the Book into his bag, and walks to the edge of the lake. The water is clear when Jin squats down beside it, and he can see moss growing along the rocks that sit slightly above water-level. Jin dips his fingers into the water.

Jin pulls off his socks and his wooden sandals, leaving them on the bank, and steps into the water.

“Jin, what the heck are you doing?” Yamapi says, getting down from the horse himself, gingerly, as Jin looks back at him.

“Trying to figure this out,” Jin says, and Yamapi steps forward, like he’s going to stop Jin from doing something stupid, but Nakamaru guides his horse in front, blocking Jin’s view of Yamapi entirely.

“Do what you need to do, then,” Nakamaru says, and Jin turns back to the water.

At first, the lake is shallow, but then Jin takes a step forward and plunges into the water to mid-torso. As he moves forward, it gets deeper and deeper. There’s no way that Jin can walk to the center of the lake. It had been a long shot anyway, and Jin feels at a loss. The water is cold, and his nipples are freezing, and he has no idea what to do. He closes his eyes and the blue line is still there, leading back to shore where the Book is from the center of the lake, and Jin doesn’t know how to reach it.

Jin doesn’t want to be trapped. He doesn’t want to be stuck here forever, held up at this step. The need to complete this, to move on, is overpowering. It’s a mixture of desperation and necessity, and it burns in him hot and bright.

Jin’s only slightly worried when he feels it this time, the tingle that wells up inside of him. It’s like he’s drowning, but Jin knows his head is still above water, even if he’s soaked from the chest down. Jin doesn’t fight it, just lets the tingle sweep through him, running to the ends of his fingertips and toes. The water starts to move.

“Jin!” Yamapi’s voice echoes across the water as he screams from shore, and Jin wonders what it looks like, from the lake’s edge, as Jin stands in the middle of a trembling lake, water sloshing into his face, drenching him completely. He sputters as the water gets into his mouth. It tastes like plants and like soil, and Jin spits it out even as the magic pools stronger in his belly, aching as he extends his arms under the water to let it flow out of him.

And from the water rises a stone path. The whole lake-bed shakes underneath him, like an earthquake, a treacherous mass of shifting ground. The stone rises steadily, tire-sized rocks, smoothed from the water’s steady circulation. It’s almost like a bridge to the center, and Jin doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s exactly what they needed. He drags himself out of the water, then, and falls into Yamapi’s waiting embrace.

“You are so stupid,” Yamapi whispers. “You can’t just do stuff like that, Bakanishi.” Yamapi then takes a deep shuddering breath. “It scares me.”

“Sorry,” Jin mumbles into Yamapi’s shoulder, where his face is mashed. “But it worked.”

“Yeah, most of the stuff you do works, for who knows what reason. But that doesn’t make it smart. It makes you lucky.”

“I know,” Jin says, and then he pulls back, forcing Yamapi’s arms to drop down to his sides. Jin’s soaking clothes have left a giant wet spot all across the front of Yamapi’s shirt, and it makes Jin want to laugh, but he barely has the energy to breathe. “But look! Lucky me, I found the sword.”

“You did,” Yamapi says. “But you’re still an idiot. I remembered what I’d been forgetting about this mountain, by the way. It’s an active volcano. I wonder if people just think that because of all the rumbling.”

“They have tests for stuff like that, Pi.” Jin smiles, woozy, and turns to watch Ueda start cautiously across the stones, Kamenashi barely a half-step behind him. They carefully walk across the slippery stones, wet and moss-covered, until they reach the end of the path.

At the end, there is what looks like a shrine. It’s small, and Ueda steps inside alone.

Jin’s not sure what happens inside the shrine. But when Ueda steps out again, he barely walks a step or two before he collapses to his knees, cradling what must be the sword to his chest. Kamenashi drops down beside him, wrapping one of Ueda’s arms about his broad shoulders, and lifts.

Jin wants to keep watching, but as the shrine sinks back down into the water, Jin finds himself losing consciousness again, awareness slipping away from him as deep exhaustion sets in.

This has got to stop happening Jin thinks, and then, once more, it’s black.

#

Jin keeps thinking they’ll be attacked. That someone working for the Lord of the West is going to try and take the sword from them, try to prevent the Lord of the East from taking his prize to the Shogun.

But nothing like that happens. The worst enemy of the travelers as they ride is the rain, which seems endless, pouring from the sky hour after hour. Jin doesn’t even feel his limbs anymore, and really, it’s probably only Yamapi’s grip on him that keeps him on the horse at this point, because he’s so tired.

Pulling the stones from the water had taken even more energy from Jin than the vines, and Yamapi is starting to worry about him, fussing when Jin doesn’t eat enough because he can’t keep his eyes open, and pinching his mouth in a disapproving frown when Jin has trouble crawling out of his sleeproll in the morning when they rise again at dawn to continue the homeward trek.

“I’m just sleepy,” Jin mumbles, when Yamapi checks his temperature for the eighth time, pressing the back of his hand to Jin’s forehead. Yamapi’s hand does feel cool, but Yamapi’s hands are usually cold. “I’m not sick.”

“You look terrible,” Yamapi says. “And you’re always getting sick.”

“Should we pause?” Tanaka asks, and Taguchi nods.

“It won’t hurt us to slow down just a little,” Taguchi says.

“Just the magic.” Jin forces himself to sit up completely. He feels dizzy. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be attacked, do we?”

“Alright, let’s move then,” Kamenashi says.

After the second day, Jin starts to feel closer to normal, sitting up on his own and bantering back and forth with Yamapi as they ride, and he can feel Yamapi’s relief coloring his words as he banters back.

But now that Jin is awake, he notices that the woods look very different from the woods they had traveled through to Mount Nantai. Jin doesn’t think it’s just the changing color of the leaves, or the absence of wheat that makes him think this—the trees are different, too. The thick trunks with their knotted dark wood and winding branches are not anything like pines, at all. They look more like azusa trees, the kind often used for rituals at Shinto shrines. Jin’s never seen so many in one place, so he would have remembered if they had passed through them on their initial ride.

‘Where are we?” Jin asks, and Kamenashi, who is riding alongside them and chatting with Yamapi about something philosophical that Jin’s been tuning out, turns to Jin in surprise. “Or where are we going? I guess that’s the better question to ask.”

“To see the Shogun, of course,” Kamenashi says, and Yamapi stiffens behind him, and Jin’s a little surprised too.

“Now?” Jin squeaks, and Yamapi doesn’t speak, but the way his fingers dig into the skin at Jin’s waist suggests his agreement.

“Yes, now,” Kamenashi says. “With this sword, Ueda is certain to be named the Shogun’s successor. The sooner that is done, the sooner we can end support for the Lord of the West. He can gain supporters now because the line of succession is unsecured. There are two possibilities. But once Ueda is chosen, by the Shogun, there is only one possibility. The Shogun’s word is law. That’s the way it works in our kingdom.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Jin says. “What makes Ueda the better choice for Shogun?”

Nakamaru overhears Jin, and turns to him with a smile. “A lot of things,” Nakamaru says, and then he looks into the distance. “But the Lord of the West is more interested in being out from under the control of others than in being a leader. He wants to be Shogun because it means he doesn’t have anyone above him, not because he can take care of the people below him.”

“Oh,” Yamapi says. “Well, that’s a good reason.”

Jin thinks so too, but he can’t help but empathize with the Lord of the West, just a little. Jin’s been accused of ‘biting the hand that feeds him’ plenty of times for his reckless displays of independence. Jin’s not trying to hurt anyone though, he just wants to feel free to be himself. That’s all he’s wanted, since he came back from that first trip abroad and realized how nice it was to turn off. Johnny’s live in front of the cameras, their whole lives on display. It was worse as juniors, but still, Jin doesn’t want cameras to follow him to the bathroom anymore to watch him take a piss. A part of getting away from that was asserting his own independence. He doesn’t think that makes him a bad person.

But that doesn’t mean Jin went about it the right way. The Lord of the West didn’t either, probably, the way slow anger simmers in Nakamaru’s eyes now, even as he’s smiling at Jin.

#

This time, when they approach civilization, Jin’s jaw almost drops off of his face.

The Eastern Compound, Jin realizes, is nothing compared to what must be a city; what can only be a city, with so many people wandering around, so many horses, so much noise.

Taguchi takes the lead as they go through the city gates. Children run through the streets, and Jin wonders about Izumi, how she’s doing back in the Eastern Compound, waiting to see if everyone comes back okay.

“My family has a home here,” Taguchi says. “As do most of our families. We spend part of the year here every year, to pay attendance to the Shogun.”

“Pay attendance?” Jin asks. “What does that even mean?”

“We have to be here, in the Shogun’s presence, and attend council meetings and the like, for about a third of every year. Different lords come at different times over the course of the year,” Tanaka explains, and Jin bites his lip in thought.

“But what about your families?”

“Well, some of us, like Tanaka and Kamenashi, have large families,” Nakamaru says. “And none of us except Ueda are the heads of our family yet, so we don’t have to attend council meetings.”

“But,” Kamenashi says, “all of us are expected to be here.”

“Sounds dumb,” Jin says. “Why are you expected to be somewhere you’re not even needed at?”

“Someone here has forgotten how it was to be a Johnny’s Junior,” Yamapi says. “There were so many useless things we did back then.”

“Yeah, there really were,” Jin says, shooting a grin over his shoulder at Yamapi. “So I should think of it like being a backup dancer. Pre-debut and all that.”

“Exactly,” Yamapi says.

The city feels so alive to Jin, with people moving around, and the smell of a wide variety of foods filling the air. The ground is dirty, and there are so many more noises. Jin thinks it’s kind of delightful.

The Eastern Compound is like a retreat, to Jin. Like a paradise buried in the mountains, behind forests. Somewhere safe, where Jin’s mind is free to wander up above the clouds and soar across the sun.

But this city…this is exciting to Jin. Yamapi can tell, too. Jin doesn’t have to turn around at all to know Yamapi is smiling at him indulgently, because he can feel it in the way Yamapi leans deliberately forward, his arms sliding slightly under Jin’s until their forearms are pressed together holding onto the saddle.

“It’s cool, right?” Yamapi asks, and Jin nods, his eyes darting here and there to take it all in. “Much different.”

“It’s amazing,” Jin says. “How all of this stuff…there’s no electricity, Pi. And no one but me has magic.” Jin gestures at all the buildings around them. “This was all…” Birds rush into the sky from all the rooftops, and Tanaka looks back at Jin knowingly.

“Bakanishi,” Yamapi says, eyes following the birds. “Maybe now you get a little of why Kame likes history so much.”

“Maybe I do,” Jin says, bemused. Yamapi exhales a laugh into Jin’s ear, and Jin shivers at the feeling.

The stop in front of a large wooden gate.

“This is my home,” Kamenashi says. “We will stay here.”

“Kazuya!” says a voice from inside the complex, and Kamenashi grins.

“Come inside,” Kamenashi says, and Jin and Yamapi dismount their horse, Jin grabbing his bag with the Book, and a young man, Jin guesses he’s around fifteen, leads the horse away. “You will see the others tomorrow.”

“Bye?” Jin says, looking at the others, who remain astride their horses.

“We have our own families,” Nakamaru says gently. “Until tomorrow.”

“Wait here,” Kamenashi says, going inside the main house and leaving Yamapi and Jin standing awkwardly inside the gate.

“Well, I guess it’s just you, me, and the Kamenashi family, then,” Jin says to Yamapi, who grins back at Jin. “You and me is the important part, though.”

Something passes quickly through Yamapi’s eyes, then, and Jin barely catches the way his smile falters just a bit. “Yep, you and me,” Yamapi says, looking away from Jin. “You’re hopeless without me.”

“That’s what you think,” Jin says, and narrows his eyes in on Yamapi. “What’s up? You suddenly got all weird.”

Yamapi shifts away from Jin for a moment, his eyebrows gathering in the center of his forehead. “Jin,” Yamapi says, and then his hand makes a fist at his side, as if he’s trying to decide on something. “No. It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

“You can’t just do that,” Jin says. “Plus, we don’t keep secrets from each other, Pi. Best friend rules.”

“No really,” Yamapi says. “It’s nothing important.” He throws his arm around Jin, tugging him close. “We’ll always be best friends, right?’ Yamapi asks, and Jin flicks him in the ribs, which makes Yamapi grunt.

“What a dumb question,” Jin says. “Who’s the only person I bother to talk to when I’m overseas? Who is the only person I’ve willingly helped do their laundry?” Jin beams at Yamapi. “If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.”

“True love, huh?” Yamapi says, as he busies himself checking that his clothing is as neat and straight as he can make it. “You might not want to say that around future girlfriends, Jin, or you’ll never get that wife and army of children.”

Yamapi finishes with his clothes and starts on Jin’s, pulling at his gi until it sits even on his shoulders, and Jin studies the fall of Yamapi’s hair into his eyes. “Whatever,” Jin says, but his heart is doing this strange little half-beat as he thinks about it—Yamapi means more to him than some girl, Jin knows, and maybe that’s what makes him brush the hair out of Yamapi’s eyes as he always does. “You should cut your bangs.”

“But then you couldn’t push them out of my face,” Yamapi says lightly. “It would ruin your fun.” Jin laughs as Yamapi pulls back, hands falling to his own sides.

“If a girl can’t accept that you’re important to me,” Jin says. “Then she’s not the right girl.”

Yamapi’s eyes flicker to his own, and then they’re both distracted by the dropping of something ceramic. The pieces shatter at their feet, tiny bits of pottery a dark brown against the dusty ground.

They look up, and a woman is looking at them with an open mouth. She’s dressed elegantly, in silks instead of cotton, and her hair is in an elegant knot above her head. Jin would place her at around fifty, if he had to guess, but her skin is still smooth, if a little green tinged as she looks at them. “What are you doing in here?” She asks, and it’s like she’s seen a ghost, or something. Jin figures he’d be pretty scared too, if strangers appeared without warning in his home. Jin tingles, and it makes an anxious wind blow, ringing all the chimes hanging from the roofs for luck. He starts to bow in apology, even as Yamapi laughs at him and starts to pick up the pieces of ceramic, but then Kamenashi reappears to save the moment.

“Mother,” he says. “This is Jin, the Storyteller. And Yamapi, his…friend.”

“So sorry,” she says. “You surprised me, is all.” She turns to Kamenashi. “Take them to the extra rooms,” she says to him, and Kamenashi nods.

“Of course, mother.” Kamenashi bows, and waves a hand at Jin and Yamapi to follow him.

“You’ll stay here,” he says, and Jin doesn’t bother to survey the room, just slips from his shoes and falls, face first, onto one of the futons that’s still folded up on the floor.

“I guess you’d like to sleep this afternoon away,” Yamapi says with a chuckle, and Jin can hear Kamenashi sigh.

“We will go to the shrine at sundown, so Ueda can have the blade purified by a priest before he meets the Shogun,” Kamenashi says. “You must bathe before then. We have a spring in the rocks behind the house for soaking, and supplies for washing next to it. You may want to do that first.”

“That’s fine,” Yamapi says. The door slides shut. “Tired, Bakanishi?”

“So tired,” Jin mumbles. “Wanna sleep forever.”

“Okay,” Yamapi says. “But it’ll have to wait until tonight.”

Yamapi’s so strong, Jin thinks, when the other man uses one arm to lift Jin from the futon, fisting his hand in the back of Jin’s shirt and dropping him in a heap on the floor in an almost sitting position. “Pi,” Jin whines, and Yamapi shakes his head.

“Don’t whine at me,” Yamapi says. “Don’t you want to be clean?”

“Yes,” Jin says, and suddenly feels, on every inch of his skin, the grime of travel. It’s a terrible feeling actually, and Yamapi looks at Jin in confusion as the room gets cold.

“Jin,” Yamapi says, slowly pronouncing Jin’s name carefully. “Is your misery like air conditioning?” The way he’s saying it lets Jin know he thinks it’s hilarious, and still, after all this time, Jin’s embarrassed to be so transparent. Every time he thinks he’s gotten used to it, he’ll feel something out of nowhere, not be able to control the magic, and dredge up the humiliation all over again.

Jin shrugs, even as tiny pink flowers burst from the folded sets of bedding next to him on the floor. “I guess,” Jin says.

“Why are you embarrassed? It’s just me.”

“I don’t know,” Jin says. “I just am.”

Yamapi sighs and offers Jin a hand. “Let’s go get clean,” he says.

They find the bath, with no problem, and Yamapi lets Jin wash first, refilling the water pail for him as Jin scrubs the grime out of his hair. Jin pushes the wet mass out of his face to offer his thanks, but Yamapi is looking off to the side, face a little flush.

“Your turn,” Jin says, and Yamapi takes the bucket from him gingerly. “Do you want me to refill it for you?”

“Just get in the bath,” Yamapi says, not meeting Jin’s gaze. “I’ve got it. You’re tired.”

Jin shows his agreement by sinking into the hot spring water, eyelashes fluttering closed, and letting out a sigh of relief as his muscles relax. “Man, that was a long ride.”

“I know,” Yamapi says. “My thighs are killing me.” Jin opens his eyes to look at Yamapi, but Yamapi’s back is to Jin.

And maybe Jin’s more tired than he thought, because for some reason, he can’t take his eyes off the long, lean line of Yamapi’s back, his muscles flexing as he pours water over his hair, the drops running slowly down the line of his spine to…

Yamapi chooses that minute to turn to Jin, and Jin sinks lower down into the water. All around the rocky edge of the spring, brilliant red flowers bloom. “Red?” Yamapi asks, stepping over toward the spring. “I’ve never seen the red ones before.”

Jin hasn’t either, but now he’s tired and flustered and there’s some queasy feeling in his stomach that reminds him of the Book, but the Book is safe in his and Yamapi’s room, so Jin doesn’t know what the feeling means. “I don’t know,” Jin says, as Yamapi splashes into the water with him. “I don’t know anything.”

“You don’t know your own emotions?” Yamapi asks playfully, tapping Jin on the nose.

“Are you really surprised by this?” Jin asks, opening one eye to stare at Yamapi. Yamapi’s hair is sticking up in random directions, and the nauseous feeling recedes until it’s nothing but a memory as Jin teases Yamapi about his hair and Yamapi gives it right back.

Hours later, as the sun retreats into the horizon, day fading into night, Ueda kneels at the steps of the shrine, between clusters of red-painted columns, sword in front of him. The priest, carrying a haraegushi wooden stick, white streamers hanging thickly along the length of it, does a purification ritual that blesses both Ueda and his magical blade.

This is it, Jin thinks. The end of his and Yamapi’s journey. They’ve completed the quest. Jin, tonight, might finally be able to read the end of the Story.

As Ueda disappears inside large impressive gates to greet the Shogun, Kamenashi at his side, Yamapi presses the backs of their hands together. Yamapi’s skin is soft.

They wait over an hour, but when Ueda and Kamenashi emerge again, it is with broad smiles. “I’ve been chosen,” Ueda says, and Jin gives a loud whoop that alarms several passersby, and Yamapi catches him in a chokehold and ruffles his hair. “You’re an idiot,” Yamapi says, and Jin can’t defend himself because his mouth is blocked by the cotton of Yamapi’s top. It doesn’t matter, Jin can’t think of a comeback anyway.

Yamapi is warm. Jin can almost, for a moment, imagine they’re in Yamapi’s apartment, popcorn spilled on the floor and too much beer sloshing around in his stomach. It feels…kind of like that.

#

“Ueda is assured succession to the seat of the Shogunate after Jin, Yamapi and the Five Guardians retrieve Ne-iro from Lake Chuuzenji,” Jin reads.

“And?” Yamapi says, lying on his back across from Jin with his hands crossed behind his head.

“And nothing!” Jin says, closing the Book exasperatedly. “There’s nothing. No ‘the end’ or any kind of clue about what’s happening next!”

“Calm down, Jin,” Yamapi says. “We’re okay, you know?”

“What if we never get to go home?” Jin says, and his voice is pitched low. Yamapi turns onto his side. “What if my family is crying right now? I can see it now, Reio’s mournful face as he—“

“Your parents might be worried, but Reio probably moved into your apartment and is working his way through your porn collection, figuring you jetted off to Bermuda or something.”

Jin burst into laughter, because Reio totally would. “What if the police were called, and everyone is looking for us? What if they think we killed someone and we’re in hiding? Everyone we’ve ever slept with is probably giving interviews on TV, and Johnny is probably selling limited editions of everything we’ve ever released…”

“Bakanishi,” Yamapi says. “Your mind is such a disastrous place.”

“Aren’t you worried about it?” Jin asks. “I just wish we could do something; anything.”

“Yeah, I’m worried about it,” Yamapi replies. “Of course I am. My family, friends, career. I’m in the middle of a drama, you know?” Yamapi thumps the floor with a loosely curled fist. “But I keep thinking that it’s going to be alright, you know? That it has to be alright. And…” Yamapi looks at Jin. “And I’m with you.”

Jin’s breath catches strangely at Yamapi’s words. “Yeah?”

“It’s okay because we’re in it together, right?” Yamapi laughs. “Everything with you is always some kind of adventure, Jin. But it’s okay because we’re together.”

Jin thinks about that-- remembers countless scrapes and troubles Jin had led Yamapi into when they were juniors. Remembers Yamapi’s smile at the end of it all, after they’d been chastised or caught or gotten away scot-free. It never mattered, the outcome, because Yamapi’s smile was always the same. “Your right,” Jin says. “It’s okay because we’re together.”

#

Fall has swept across the kingdom in earnest when they finally return to the Eastern Compound, leaving the bustling city in their wake as they ride through woods bedecked in brilliant oranges, reds and golds.

Jin has always liked autumn. In some ways, it’s sad; everything falling from the trees, the forests dying as the weather turns colder. But for Jin, it’s like preparing for a long sleep—like a great big yawn before the winter, when the Earth can close its eyes for a long winter sleep, underneath a blanket of white. When the world wakes up again, Jin thinks, it’ll be spring, beautiful spring, and everything will bloom into life all over again.

The Compound is even more beautiful among the pines of fall than it had been in the summer, the changing leaves complementing the dark wooden buildings and delicate gardens.

As they ride through the gate, the large doors slamming shut behind them, Jin sees Izumi run up to greet them. Kato and Nishikido are there too, walking at a much slower pace than Tanaka’s little girl.

“What took you so long?” Izumi shouts as she gets closer, and Tanaka jumps down and swings her around in his arms. She presses her nose to his. “We were worried about you.”

“Sorry,” Tanaka whispers back.

Jin wants kids.

“And you,” Izumi says, pointing an accusing finger at Jin. “You should tell quicker Stories.”

“Sorry,” Jin says, laughing. As he laughs, the trees quiver, and golden flowers burst up from the ground. Izumi shrieks with delight, and Jin grins smugly that she’s forgotten her lecture.

“What would you do if you didn’t have fancy magic powers to impress the ladies?” Yamapi queries, and Jin shrugs.

“Clearly, I have no idea. I can’t even keep a girlfriend. Daughters are probably much more work to keep happy, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure,” Yamapi says, and that shadow passes through his eyes again. Jin’s seen it too often of late not to understand it. Yamapi is hiding something from him, and Jin hates it, because he and Yamapi have always known all of each other’s secrets. Yamapi even knows about the first time Jin ever jacked off, and Jin knows about the teddy bear Yamapi’s had since he was four that he still sleeps with but hides in his closet whenever anyone who isn’t Jin comes over to his apartment just in case. For Yamapi to have some secret now is hard for Jin to deal with, and hard for Jin to accept, because Jin can’t just accept things.

Jin wishes Yamapi’s emotions were laid as bare as his own, sometimes, because Yamapi is so much harder to read, even for Jin, who knows him better than anyone else. The thing about Yamapi is that if he wants to, he can conceal his emotions, even from Jin. He’s just never wanted to before, and Jin’s not sure what’s changed.

Jin tries to ignore it, but at night, in the darkness, when he closes his eyes, he sees that shadow there, flickering in Yamapi’s dark irises, and wonders what it means.

#

Jin checks the Book every morning, but nothing appears on the rough parchment pages. The only words in the Book are pages that have happened before, parts of the Story that have already been told.

Jin is scared that he and Yamapi are supposed to wait until Ueda actually becomes Shogun until they can leave. It’s a nerve-wracking thought, so Jin pushes it aside, spending most of his time with Izumi, learning a lot of fairytales and sharing a lot of laughs.

Yamapi spends a lot of his time with Kamenashi, too, but it’s not like he’s hiding from Jin, either. In fact, Yamapi seems to feel closer to Jin than he’s ever felt before. Jin is cognizant of every brief touch. Every brush of hands across the skin of his arm or press of knee against knee sends sharp tingles though Jin’s body, resulting in harmless flowers and random outburst of nature that Jin’s almost given up trying to find excuses for. Yamapi seems to know the effect of his touch on Jin, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles at Jin in that way that makes Jin feel like he’s not sure if he wants to burst or throw up. What usually happens is a spontaneous weather change, and Jin retreating to find someplace to be alone with his thoughts. One very embarrassing time, it had set Jin off into hiccups, and with every hiccup a giant gold and lavender flower had appeared, popping out of Jin’s ears and nose mouth. Yamapi had laughed himself sick, and Jin had wanted to hide in his room for days. But there had been no point, really, what with him and Yamapi sharing the room.

So when all the feelings that Jin doesn’t understand start to bubble and gurgle under his skin, that’s when Jin writes music.

Jin obtains a brush and paper from Kato, who seems amused by Jin’s seemingly scholarly urges, and Jin composes, scrawling lyrics and bits of melodies onto the blank scrolls, working out rhythm and flow underneath the maples that have turned burgundy with the cooling weather.

It’s like an interlude, Jin thinks. It feels like the beginning of something, not the end.

#

“Pi,” Jin says, as he shovels rice into his mouth. “I should teach you to ride.”

“What?” Yamapi asks, and both Kato and Kamenashi look up in surprise.

“That’s a good idea,” Kamenashi says, as Kato frowns.

“It’s possibly a waste of time,” Kato says. “After all, you could be going home at any moment. Your Story is over.” Kato looks jealously at the Book, which Jin carries with him most places now, in case the Book decides to start glowing, or to tell Jin how to get back home. So far, no luck, but it’s got to be only a matter of time, Jin reassures himself.

Jin thinks Kato still feels wounded by not being able to go on the sword quest. He’s been sharper than usual with Jin, and Jin’s sensitive to things like that, because he’s so used to people judging him without knowing him, but it hurts even more when someone does get to know him and still dislikes him. Jin’s often praised for his ability to make friends with all sorts of random people, but that’s just because Jin’s so scared of making more enemies.

Jin mentioned it to Yamapi once, and Yamapi had rolled his eyes, and told Jin he was being melodramatic. Yamapi’s usually right, but Jin feels uncomfortable when Kato turns that gaze on him, dark and hot, and it’s not the same sort of uncomfortable that Yamapi makes him feel lately, but it’s…it itches, and it makes Jin tingle like he wants to protect himself, which is weird, because Kato’s just a nerd with a hero complex, and Jin doesn’t really need to worry about him.

Still, he does wish there was a way to make Kato feel better about it all, but feels like telling him “I’d rather be at home than out doing awesome magical quests” would be like rubbing salt in the wound.

“It wouldn’t be a waste of time,” Kamenashi says, and it brings Jin back to the subject at hand.

“I agree,” says Jin. “I think it would be both fun and educational.”

“You’re just saying that because you never get to teach me things,” Yamapi replies. “You just want to watch me fall.”

“If I wanted to watch you fall,” Jin says. “I’d just push you.” Jin taps his fingers on his empty rice bowl. “But I have no interest in that. It’s just in case we have to go anywhere else. Riding double slows our horse down.”

“I agree,” Kamenashi says. “You’d be much safer riding one to a mount.”

“Well,” Yamapi says, looking uneasily between Jin and Kamenashi. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Well, I think I’ll head to my study and do something useful,” Kato says. “Like study traveling between the worlds, and try to figure out why the Story in Jin’s Book won’t end.”

“Thank you,” Jin says, and smiles at Kato, who flushes uncomfortably and retreats from the room, leaving only Jin, Kamenashi, and Yamapi sitting at the long wood table.

“He’s not always good with people,” Kamenashi says, and Yamapi’s lips twitch.

“I could have told you that two months ago,” Yamapi says.

“He seems like a good person,” Jin says in his defense. “It’s hard, feeling jealous.” Jin thinks about Shuuji to Akira, and how he’d felt watching Kamenashi debut without him. How he’d felt watching Kamenashi and Yamapi together, without Jin. It doesn’t feel nice at all, to know you’re being left behind. “It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Well, of course not,” Yamapi says, leaning over and ruffling Jin’s hair. “What’s with that serious face, Jin?”

“It’s nothing,” Jin says, the memory drifting away as easily as it came. “So are you in?”

“Sure,” Yamapi agrees, and Jin cheers. “Are you going to join us, Kamenashi?” Jin’s not sure if he wants Kamenashi there or not. On the one hand, this is something Kamenashi has been doing his whole life—Jin knows for a fact it was Kamenashi who taught Izumi to ride a horse, because Izumi had told him once. But on the other hand, Jin kind of wants…to just do this with Yamapi. Wants to be the one to teach Yamapi something. Yamapi is always taking care of Jin, and Jin feels like sometimes, he never gets the chance to give anything back.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Kamenashi says with smile that shows all of his teeth. “Business to take care of. It’ll just be you and Jin.”

“That’s too bad,” Yamapi says, and stretches, turning toward the door. Kamenashi winks at Jin, and Jin hastily stands up, almost knocking over the table. Little pink flowers wind up the table legs, but Jin steadfastly ignores them.

“Well, I’m going to go get things ready,” Jin blurts out, and he retreats from the room under Yamapi’s confused gaze and Kamenashi’s knowing smirk.

Jin escapes to the stables, the ones closer to the front of the compound, not the ones way in the southern end where he and Yamapi had been locked up.

He picks two horses and leads them out to one of the larger fields, way in the rear of the compound. It’s late fall now, so not many people are out in the fields recreationally—the wind has a bite to it now, the kind that cuts through layers of clothing all the way down to your skin, and Jin’s surprised Yamapi even agreed to this crazy plan at all.

Jin remembers, then, that he can’t just call Yamapi on his cell phone, and that Yamapi hasn’t got any way to find him, way out here in the middle of a field. He resigns himself to walking all the way back in and fetching Yamapi, but then Jin looks up in the direction of the main buildings and sees Yamapi there, walking towards Jin purposefully.

“I’m here!” Jin calls out, his voice carrying with a fierce burst of wind, and Yamapi is laughing, Jin can see it even from here.

“Obviously, Bakanishi!” Yamapi yells back. “Why do you think I’m walking out here?”

Yamapi finally gets close enough for Jin to speak in a normal voice. “How’d you find me?” Jin asks, tucking a loose piece of hair behind his ear as the wind pushes it into his face. “I realized I had forgotten to tell you where to meet me, and thought I was going to have to walk all the way back.”

“I don’t know,” Yamapi says with a shrug. “I just knew you were out here. I think your idiocy is like a beacon. I can see it in the sky like it’s the Bat Signal.”

“Like calls to like,” Jin snaps back, and Yamapi laughs and pushes him.

“It’s cold, Bakanishi. Let’s get going, alright?”

Jin shivers a bit, and grins. “Up you go,” Jin says, pointing at the older of the two horses he picked out. Yamapi looks a bit intimidated, and Jin confidently puts his palm flat against Yamapi’s back in reassurance. “You’ve done this part before, Pi.”

“Yeah, but you were already up there, holding the horse still and telling it what to do,” Yamapi says, and Jin presses his hand a little harder.

“And this time, I’ll still be holding the reins. Relax. I’m still here. You’re not alone.”

“I’m never alone,” Yamapi says. “I’ve always got you underfoot making trouble.”

“Except when I’m in America,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s smile falters.

“Except then,” Yamapi agrees, voice quiet, and he puts his foot in the stirrup and pushes himself up. He falters a bit swinging into the seat, but he’s athletic, and manages to make it almost look smooth.

“Why are you cool even when you don’t know how to do things?” Jin says.

Yamapi flashes him a grin. “My natural charm,” Yamapi says. “Looking cool.”

“That’s totally unfair,” Jin says, and reaches up to adjust the way Yamapi is sitting, pulling his thigh forward so that his knees are pointed downward. Yamapi inexplicably flinches from the touch, and when he looks up, Yamapi has a slight reddish tinge to his face. Jin wonders if it’s from the wind, and it makes him feel guilty for dragging Yamapi, who has famously stated he would rather hibernate through the winter than experience it, out into the chill fall weather.

“Is it too cold?” Jin asks in concern. “We don’t have to do this today.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yamapi says. “Let’s keep going.” There’s a strange tension now, but Jin’s good at ignoring things like tension, even if he’s not good at breaking it.

Jin’s hand returns to Yamapi’s knee, pressing down so that Yamapi’s thighs are at the right angle, and Yamapi’s muscles feel powerful under his hands. “How are you so buff?” Jin asks under his breath, and it shatters the weird atmosphere as Yamapi snorts at him.

“Constant exercise and dedication,” Yamapi says, and Jin crosses his arms and looks up.

“I’m dedicated to my music,” Jin says, and Yamapi panics at Jin releasing the reins.

“Jin, don’t let go!”

“Sorry,” Jin says, quickly grabbing the reins again. “Relax, this is a well trained horse. I had the stable-hand help me out.”

“I’m dedicated to being an idol,” Yamapi says, once he’s assured himself that Jin has a hold on his horse again. “And that means my image.”

Jin thinks Yamapi is dedicated to everything. Yamapi isn’t a natural at anything, like Jin, who’s a natural singer and a natural composer. It’s not that Jin doesn’t work hard; he does, but the artistic parts of his job come a lot easier to him. Yamapi’s had to work hard at dancing, work hard to be a better singer, and work hard to be a good actor, too. Jin’s amazed at just how hard Yamapi’s willing to work sometimes. Yamapi, to Jin, is made of hard work. Is made of holding himself together and persevering through any obstacles that show up.

“Fine, fine,” Jin says, conceding defeat. “To make the horse move forward, you’re going to have to press lightly with your legs,” Jin says. “Just a little; she’s a smart horse, she’ll know what you want.”

Yamapi swallows, and Jin watches his Adam’s apple shift under the soft skin at his throat. Yamapi hair is tossing in the wind; not in a way that looks camera ready, either, sticking to his lips, and the black roots are even more obvious when the strands are scattered like this.

Yamapi gives a tiny grunt as the horse moves forward when he presses his knees in softly, hands grabbing the reins in a death grip. Jin’s got a hold of the reins still, too, and he walks with them, slowly moving across the cleared land, the dead grass crunching under his boots. When Yamapi realizes he’s not going to fall off, Jin drops the reins, letting Yamapi and the horse move forward on their own, Jin walking at their side, hands on his hips. “Not so hard, is it?” Jin says, and Yamapi looks down at him, panicked.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. ‘I-always-get-cast-in-period-films,’” Yamapi says, his voice barely wavering.

Jin gives him an encouraging smile. “I can’t help that I have a timeless beauty,” Jin retorts. “You’re doing a good job.”

“I’m freaking out,” Yamapi says. “It’s easier when you’re up here.”

“You’ve always been fine without me,” Jin says, and lets a hand graze Yamapi’s shin, like a pat. “I’m the one who’s hopeless without you, remember?”

“Yeah,” Yamapi says, and his tentative smile is enough, Jin thinks.

Yamapi will be good at this, Jin knows, because Yamapi is the kind of guy who becomes good at everything through sheer force of will. And maybe that’s a part of Yamapi’s natural charm, too.

Yamapi looks into the wind, and Jin…Jin can’t take his eyes off of him, and he doesn’t know why.

Even though it’s fall, all the grass turns green and lush beneath them, renewing the field.


Part 5