Unbound: Jin Hates Rainy Season (3/7)

[maayacolabackup]

Chapter Three: Jin Hates Rainy Season

Jin repeats the passage from the Book word for word to Kamenashi, who nods. “That’s about three days ride from here,” Kamenashi says. “Do you know anything else?”

“No,” Jin answers, and Kamenashi exchanges a glance with Kato.

“Still, it’s a start. I will go to consult with Ueda,” he says, and Yamapi starts to stop him, but Kamenashi is too fast. Yamapi stares after him rather forlornly, and Jin frowns.

“What was that about?” Jin says. “It’s not like you don’t spend enough time with him.”

Jin feels the tingle in his stomach, and he ruthlessly squashes it. Not now, he thinks.

“I wanted to ask him a question. Are you…jealous?” Yamapi asks, and Jin feels the tingle even stronger.

“Why would I be jealous?” Jin says, and a strong gust of wind blows through the room. Kato laughs.

“Why are you anxious?” Yamapi says. “You feel the weirdest things at the weirdest times, Jin.”

“Stop paying attention to it,” Jin hisses, and Yamapi puts both hands up defensively.

“Sorry, it’s kind of hard to miss,” Yamapi answers.

“Well,” Kato says. “Human emotions are complicated things. Jin might not even know why he exhibits the way he does.” Kato clears his throat. “So, what do you know about this sword?”

“Not much,” Jin admits, and Yamapi nods. He’s pressing against Jin now, his shoulder warm and asking for forgiveness for whatever he did to upset Jin. Jin leans back, just a little, to tell Yamapi it’s okay.

Jin can never stay upset with Yamapi, anyway.

“This sword, the Ne-iro…it’s really famous. Supposedly it was the weapon of the first Shogun, almost three-hundred years ago.”

“An old sword,” Yamapi says. “Why would it still work?”

“It was made by a Storyteller,” Kato says, hands settling on his hips as he talks. It’s a position Jin has seen before, during MCs on NEWS concert DVDs, and it’s disorienting for a moment, before Jin slides back to ‘reality,’ which is more surreal than real. “It’s a magic blade.”

“What magic does it do?”

“It protects the wielder from…well, being manipulated by other Storytellers,” Kato says. “Once the Lord of the East has that blade, you won’t be able to control him with your Book.”

“Like I know how to do that, anyway.” Jin sighs. “And why would I want to? He seems to be doing alright for himself.”

“Kamenashi has a good head on his shoulders for a leader,” Yamapi adds, and Jin has to push the tingle down again, steadfastly ignoring it.

Kato’s lips quirk, amused, and there’s that faint twinge of intellectual superiority that often glimmers in Kato’s eyes. “Hmmm,” Kato says. “Anyhow, because it’s imbued with the powers of a Storyteller, it takes a Storyteller to find it.”

“This may be the most insane thing I have ever participated in,” Yamapi says. “And I’m an idol. I feel like this is saying something.”

“The implications are mind-boggling,” Jin agrees, and Kato sighs.

“Well, I hope this is enough information to get you through.”

“If we have more questions, we can just ask you along the way, right?” Jin inquires, and Kato sighs again.

“I won’t be there for you to ask. Nakamaru might know, though. We often studied together when we were younger.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Jin asks Kato, and Kato shakes his head in the negative.

“The Book says Jin, Yamapi, and the Five Guardians. It doesn’t mention me.”

“So?” Jin replies, and Kato looks at Jin.

“It means I’m not there, Jin. If I was supposed to be there, the Book would have mentioned me.”

“Then why can’t you just decide to come? Won’t that change the Book?”

“Only you can change lines that are already written in your Book, Jin,” Kato says.

“Great,” Jin says. “All these things only I can do, and yet all I seem to be able to manage is making flowers bloom and setting small annoying fires that cause mild property damage.”

“I dunno,” Yamapi says. “I still think the fires are being caused by tiny dragons.”

Jin shoves Yamapi with his shoulder, and Yamapi stumbles back, laughing. “I didn’t know,” Jin mumbles, but he thinks it’s funny too.

Kato bows to both of them, low. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some personal matters to attend to.”

“Of course,” Yamapi says, and as soon as Kato leaves, he’s shoving Jin back.

#

It’s easier to adjust to living life one day at a time than Jin thought it would be, especially here. There’s something so effortlessly peaceful about the East Compound, with its lovely Zen gardens and decoratively painted roofs. No alarms, no ringing cell phones, and no people following Jin in the streets, trying to take photos of him in his rare moments of free time. No interviews. No photo shoots. No recording sessions that last until dawn.

Preparations for their trip are underway, but there’s not much Jin can do to help, so he whiles away much of his days with Tanaka, who Jin finds an easy rhythm with, because Tanaka is relaxed, and Jin doesn’t feel like his informal Japanese is constantly offending the man. Tanaka is a sword-smith as well as a Guardian—he’s got an intense obsession with metal that reminds Jin of all the piercings his Koki will have, 600 years from now, in another universe.

Izumi is there, too, peppering Jin with questions about his world. Sometimes she brings her rabbit, which she’s named Magic, and her tiny hands grasp and run through his fur as she talks animatedly. Jin wonders, sometimes, if the rabbit will disappear. The flowers do, fading away often minutes after they appear, but Magic seems persistent, not willing to go anywhere at all. Jin hopes he’ll stay.

Sometimes, Jin goes out to the center of the courtyard where his and Yamapi’s room is, and just lies on his back, taking in the clear, unpolluted expanse of blue sky, and the way the sun shines down so bright and clear, bleaching the color from the gray stones and lightening the grain patterns in the wood. Koi fish jump in the small pond, one white and one orange, nipping playfully at each other as the sun’s rays reflect brilliantly off the clear green water. Jin watches them, never far from each other in the large pond, always close by each other’s side. The orange koi is reckless, frequently crashing into rocks in the bed of the pool, and the white koi is always there, pushing with its mouth, as if making sure the orange koi is unharmed. Jin wonders if koi feel loneliness. He also wonders if they’re happy in that pond because they have each other.

Jin thinks he should be more scared, separated from everything he knows and dropped without warning into a world so different from his own where everything rests on him.

But he isn’t, because sometimes, as he lays on his back, gazing up at the majesty of a uncluttered sky, Yamapi comes out and lies next to him, just close enough for their fingers to brush, and Jin feels like it’ll be alright. Like everything will be okay, because it’s not Jin here alone, it’s Jin and Yamapi here together.

There’s something comforting in Yamapi’s striking profile, the way his face remains relaxed even as he stares straight up into the sky, where the sun is harsh and bright. Yamapi, Jin knows, is hard where Jin is soft, just as Jin is brave where Yamapi is cautious. Jin will pull them out into the sun without regard for consequences, but Yamapi is the one who’ll endure it, the one who won’t cover his face with both hands to hide from the light.

Maybe, Jin thinks, they are like the koi in the pond. Jin the orange koi in search of excitement and Yamapi the white koi, following closely behind and protecting him. Maybe they’re happy in this world, or in any world, because they’re together.

Sometimes, Jin ponders what it would be like, if Yamapi weren’t here with him. Just the thought of it makes the blades of grass and the ferns around the koi pond start to wilt with the power of Jin’s emotions. Sometimes, when Jin feels like that, he wants to reach out and grab Yamapi’s hand, just to make sure he’s still here.

“Stop brooding,” Yamapi says, and turns to look at Jin with a smile. “You aren’t alone, so stop killing all the plants.”

“Yeah,” Jin says, and something new happens. A purple lilac blooms, just one, in the space between their hands.

Yamapi stares at it, sitting up to look at it more closely. “What does this mean?” Yamapi asks Jin, and Jin licks suddenly dry lips.

“It means…” Jin’s not sure. The flowers and wind and fire and ice don’t actually help Jin figure out his own emotions, they just make him more confused, more conflicted. He doesn’t know what makes the difference between hundreds of tiny golden flowers and one purple blossom. All he knows is that his heart skipped a beat, just one, and it was because of Yamapi, who is his best friend. Who is here, so thankfully here, instead of Jin being lost and alone in this new place, surrounded by familiar faces with unfamiliar pasts. “It means I’m glad you’re here.”

“Oh,” Yamapi says, and then he grins, wide, showing all of his teeth to Jin in a way he rarely does in front of a camera. “Well, you’re hopeless without me.” Yamapi touches his chin, tapping it with his index finger in thought. “You’re hopeless with me, too.”

Jin laughs, tackling his friend, scaring the fish in the pond. Yamapi’s rushed exhales carry the scent of coffee. They wrestle playfully, until Jin squeaks as a stone digs into his back, and Yamapi immediately lifts him up to make sure nothing broke the skin.

Jin stares at Yamapi, as Yamapi clicks his tongue and tells Jin how Jin could get himself hurt doing anything, and Jin feels hot, like he’s burning. It’s not a bad feeling—it’s like the warmth of a fire when you go camping, and he wants to huddle closer to it.

Yamapi doesn’t say anything when they find themselves surrounded by a thick ring of yellow flowers. He just looks at Jin, tilting his face to the side, and then smiles again, and the sun is blinding.

#

“Storytellers,” Izumi says, “are the only magicians we have, in our kingdom. They’re people who… feel a lot. My father says they’re usually people with too many emotions for one person to hold inside. Those people become Storytellers.”

He fingers are tugging lightly as she pulls the tangles from Jin’s hair. He’s been lazy about it, but it’s still soft, and Izumi is determinedly working out the knots as she talks.

“And are there a lot of them?” Yamapi asks. “Kamenashi said that a Storyteller was needed. Why would the Book drag Jin all the way from another world?” Yamapi pulls at his sleeve where a stray thread hangs. “Why couldn’t that Book choose someone from your world already?”

“Books don’t make people into Storytellers,” Izumi says, as if Yamapi should already know that. Her face is probably scrunched up, Jin thinks, but his eyes are closed and he has no desire to open them. “The Book that found Jin is Jin’s Book. No one else can use it, just like Jin can’t use anyone else’s Book.”

“Are there any other Storytellers, anyway? Whose Book would I even use?” Jin sighs. “Not that I even know how to use the Book.”

Izumi pulls too hard on Jin’s hair, and when he squints up at her she smiles cherubically. “You’ll figure it out,” Izumi says sweetly, and Jin has the sneaking suspicion she did it on purpose. “And there used to be a Storyteller. Usually one of the Guardians is a Storyteller. But…”

“But?” Yamapi asks, his hand falling from his sleeve to rest on Jin’s ankle. The pads of his fingers are cool. Jin wonders how that’s possible, in the sticky heat, but it feels nice.

“But there isn’t one now,” Izumi says, her face twisting. Jin thinks Izumi might have more to say, like there are more words on the tip of her tongue, but she remains steadfastly silent.

“Oh,” Yamapi says, and now his fingers trail across Jin’s foot, up his lower shin and then back down to Jin’s ankle, as Izumi fashions his hair into what Jin thinks might be haphazard braids.

“The important thing is that Storytellers should use their powers for good.” She says it like a commandment. “In the histories, like the ones my father always tells me, Storytellers are heroes. They use their powers to save people. They tell Stories that make the world better. They tell Stories that people want to believe.” Izumi sounds so earnest and hopeful. It makes Jin feel like he’s going to disappoint her, because Jin almost always disappoints people, somehow, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “Storytellers can change someone’s fate, or the fate of the kingdom, with just how much they feel.”

Yamapi looks down at Jin, and smiles. “Jin always feels a lot, so I’m sure he’ll manage something,” Yamapi says, and Izumi makes a delighted squeal when a few tiny pink flowers pop up in Jin’s hair when a tiny little wave of magic flows through him at Yamapi’s amused look.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Jin says, and he grins up at Izumi, who giggles at him, hands buried in his hair. Jin kicks at Yamapi lightly. “Stop picking on me.”

“It’s so easy, though,” Yamapi replies. “Easier than Ryo after a couple beers. That easy.”

Jin thinks about his Book. And if Izumi’s right, it is his Book. Jin kind of likes that he’s the only person who can use it, even if Jin has no idea how that works, or how Jin’s supposed to make the Book do anything that Jin wants it to do. Even if it means Jin’s trapped himself and Yamapi inside of this crazy and exciting different world for the foreseeable future. Even despite all of that, it’s kind of awesome that there’s only one person in this world who can do what Jin does.

And when he looks at Yamapi, whose eyes have drifted to the horizon, he’s so grateful he isn’t alone.

#


The first rain of tsuyu, the rainy season, strikes when Jin is least expecting it.

He’s outside with Ueda, who is patiently adjusting Jin’s grip on an old sword—the blade is dull so Jin can’t hurt himself. Jin had asked if Ueda had any wooden swords, like the kids used in samurai movies, but Ueda had given him this look, like Jin was the dumbest person he’d ever met, and Jin hadn’t asked again. Ueda is grimacing at Jin, and Jin is smiling back, because this is fun.

Ueda leaves him alone, to practice, while Ueda takes care of… whatever it is that Ueda does when he’s not goofing off with Jin, and out of the blue, the sky opens up and pours.

Jin is soaked in seconds, and it feels amazing. The rain is a little cold, and it cools down Jin’s skin, and makes his yukata stick to him, in a way that’s uncomfortable, but Jin doesn’t mind, because it’s a relief after the unending heat and humidity.

It changes the scent in the air, too, and Jin can smell the richness of the soil, and the sweet smell of honeysuckle. The earth turns soft beneath his feet, and his sandals sink into it.

“Jin!” Yamapi yells, and Yamapi is running toward Jin, just as soaked through as Jin is. The hard lines of Yamapi’s chest are visible through the thin wet cotton, and Jin laughs as Yamapi comes to a stop in front of him.

“You look like a porn star!” Jin says, and Yamapi tugs on a piece of Jin’s hair, which curls up in the rain.

“You just look like a chick,” Yamapi says. “I feel like I should be opening doors for you or paying the tab for dinner tonight.”

“I mean, if you want to pay next time we go out for barbeque, I’m not going to complain,” Jin says, laughing, and Yamapi shakes his head emphatically, sending a shower of raindrops at Jin’s face, in addition to the heavy fat ones that are falling from the sky in an unending torrent.

“I’m not that rich,” Yamapi replies, and he closes his eyes and tilts his face up toward the rain. “Ahhhh, it feels so good.”

“It does,” Jin says, and he studies the way Yamapi’s face looks now, smiling into the downpour. Raindrops collect on his thick eyelashes, and drag down his face, clinging to the sharp angles of his face and catching the little bit of light not masked by heavy gray clouds. “A relief from the heat,” Jin whispers, but somehow, the rain doesn’t feel as cool as it did only moments ago, because Jin feels like he’s boiling with something… intangible, that he can’t quite name.

“Definitely,” Yamapi says. “It’s also, you know, the first rain of the rainy season.”

“Yes,” Jin says, and Yamapi looks at him now, eyes blinking rapidly to clear the water from them. Jin’s glad he left his glasses with his jeans, because he hates the way they fog up in the rain, obscuring his vision, and for some reason, he doesn’t want to miss a second of the way Yamapi looks right now.

“Are you okay?” Yamapi asks. “Your voice sounds strange.”

“I’m fine,” Jin says softly, and he reaches out, catching a fat raindrop that rolls down Yamapi’s cheek with his thumb. “How’d you find me?”

Yamapi frowns a bit. “I don’t know. I just knew you were out here, somehow. Like…I don’t know how.”

“Why’d you come running out to find me?”

“Because,” Yamapi says. “It’s the first rain of the season.”

“So?” Jin says, and he’s mesmerized by the play of muscles in Yamapi’s neck.

“You’re the worst savior ever,” Yamapi says, playfully pushing back Jin’s wet bangs and making water run down in a flood to Jin’s collarbones. “Obviously, it’s time to go on our magical quest.”

“Oh. Right,” Jin says, and Yamapi smiles at him.

“You’re such a slacker at the hero-business, Jin,” Yamapi continues, but his hand finds Jin’s wrist, thumb rubbing in slow circles at the bone. “You’re hopeless without me.”

“Maybe,” Jin admits.

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere, then, isn’t it?” Yamapi says, and in the rain, hundreds of those purple blossoms, with their faint hints of gold, spring to life around them. Yamapi looks down in surprise, and starts to speak, but changes his mind, which leaves his mouth open in a fish-like expression. Yamapi closes his mouth, and then tries again. “You’re happy I’m here?” Yamapi finally says, and Jin is still tingling. He wonders how many flowers there are now.

“Yeah,” Jin says, and it’s more a sigh than a word. “I really am.”

Ueda reappears, and takes in the flowers with a critical eye. “We’re leaving in the morning,” he says. “Prepare yourselves.”

Kato is watching them, Jin sees, arms crossed as he stands in a walkway, protected from the rain. Ryo is at his side, looking gruff and unamused. Jin offers a wave, and Kato waves back, but doesn’t smile.

Jin would let Kato go in his place, if he could. But that’s not the way the world works, Jin knows.

#

“It took Jin, Yamapi and the Guardians four days to get to Mount Nantai, thanks to the thick mud from the rain,” Jin reads aloud to an empty room. “Those three days brought them all closer together.”

Jin licks his lips. His eyes have finally adjusted to reading without corrective help, and if he holds the book a little closer to his face, he can make out the words easily. Jin’s vision isn’t terrible, just a little weak.

‘Closer together’, Jin muses. Whatever that means.

#

The rain continues late into the night. Jin can hear the drops playing a melodic beat as they clink along the ceramic shingles of their room, abstract and yet beautiful.

Sleep eludes him. He hugs the Book close to his chest instead, feeling its soft vibrations and satisfied sighs as Jin presses it close to his heart.

It’s weird, how the Book feels alive. It’s a companion in the night at least, Jin thinks, and his eyes wander to the softly slumbering silhouette of his best friend, who is buried under the weight of both his blankets and Jin’s.

Jin doesn’t know why, lately, it’s like Jin wants to just be closer to Yamapi. They’ve always been close, anyway, and there’s nothing unusual in the casual brush of limbs and the physical teasing that’s like second nature to them both. But Jin sort of wants to hide away in Yamapi’s arms, and smell that thick coffee scent. It’s odd, is all, and Jin figures it’s because Yamapi is the only bit of home here he can really cling to.

It’s probably that, Jin thinks, because it can’t be anything else. Jin’s sure of that, at least. Still, Jin feels a little cold, and the Book heats his chest but not his toes.

Jin crawls over to Yamapi’s futon without thinking anything of it, lifting the corner of the blankets. Yamapi whimpers at the rush of rain-cooled evening air, but scoots a little to make room for Jin without even seeming to rouse from his slumber. Jin lays himself gingerly down beside him, with the Book between them.

“I hope you don’t take priceless antique objects to bed with your girlfriends,” Yamapi mumbles into his own arm. “Although it might explain why you’re single.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep,” Jin whispers with a smile, and Yamapi groans, and throws his leg over both of Jin’s, pinning them to the floor.

“You’ve always got cold toes and I don’t want them to touch me,” he says to Jin in explanation, and Jin smiles. “At all.”

Jin laughs, and his eyes feel heavy. He yawns, loud and wide, and rolls so he’s facing Yamapi. “Sleep,” Jin says, but Yamapi is already snoring again, those soft tiny sniffles that make him seem more like a dog than a man. His hair blows up with each exhale, and Jin thinks he could be 18 or 28 right now, and this scene would be the same. It lightens his heart and eases his mind.

Jin drifts to sleep, listening to the combination of Yamapi’s small sounds and the mellifluous chiming of the rain on the rooftop, and doesn’t worry about tomorrow at all.

#

“I…” Yamapi hesitates, hanging back as Jin approaches the stallion, hand running along the horses neck steadily, soothing him and letting him get used to Jin’s scent. “I have no idea what to do with a horse.”

Jin looks back at him, surprised. “What?”

“I don’t know what to do with a horse. How to approach it, how to ride it…I’ve got nothing. I have no idea what to do with a horse.”

The horse shakes under Jin’s hand, it’s strong muscles quivering with the desire to move. Jin rode horses a lot like these when he was filming ‘47 Ronin’. He’d had to take thorough riding lessons, among other things, when he’d done that movie, so Jin won’t feel uncomfortable climbing up onto the horse’s back.

Yamapi, though, is a lot like Jin, in that they’ve been famous so long that their careers have sort of shaped their life experiences. They’ve been molded by what they’ve been given the opportunities to do, in many ways. Jin doubts many people who aren’t running funeral homes know as much about embalming as Yamapi, and Jin doubts many people who aren’t in the medical field can so correctly pretend to intubate a patient as well as Yamapi can, either. But Jin also knows that with that comes a long list of things they haven’t done. Jin’s never gone to a real high school festival. Yamapi, it seems, doesn’t have a lot of experiences being near horses.

“Have you never been around one at all?” Jin asks, and Yamapi shakes his head.

“No I have, several times. Once, for a variety show, Ryo-chan and I had to go and ride horses. This was years and years ago though. And Ryo-chan was so small that they made him be the one to actually ride because he looked cuter on that big horse.”

“Ahaha, little Ryo-chan, huh?” Jin smiles. “Well, don’t worry,” Jin says. “It’s not that hard.”

Yamapi tentatively steps closer to the horse, moving slowly like he’s afraid he’ll startle it. Yamapi’s fingertips touch the horse lightly, and Yamapi looks so hesitant, so nervous, that Jin hooks his index finger in one of the ties that hold up Yamapi’s hakama pants and pulls him closer to the horse. He can feel the warmth of Yamapi’s skin, even through the layers of fabric. It’s still hot outside, and Jin doesn’t know how long it’s been, exactly, but it still feels like late summer, or maybe the beginning of fall. The leaves are still green, although they are beginning their transformation, the tips fading to a rich gold. “Don’t be afraid,” Jin whispers, and Yamapi shoots him a grateful smile. Jin releases his hold on the pants and lets Yamapi greet the horse.

“Why haven’t you mounted? What’s the problem?” Kamenashi asks, sauntering over. It still creeps Jin out, to see Kamenashi walking with that same distinctive stride and talking the same as Jin’s Kame, but to also know that he and this Kamenashi have no shared history.

“I don’t really feel comfortable riding a horse,” Yamapi says. “Especially at the pace we’ll be going.” Yamapi shifts, a little discomfited, in his gi, but the soft cream-colored shirt falling elegantly over his shoulders despite his unease.

Jin and Yamapi had been lost this morning when they’d awoken to the large billowing garments that somehow transformed themselves under Tanaka’s amused grin and skilled hands into pants. Now though, Jin appreciates the wardrobe change—riding a horse in a yukata would have been a bit more exhibitionism than Jin could really get behind, especially considering the real lack of underwear Jin’s encountered in this kingdom.

“That’s fine,” Kamenashi says, with a gentle pat on Yamapi’s upper arm. “You can ride behind me.”

Yamapi smiles. “Thank you,” he says, and Jin feels a bit queasy at the idea of Yamapi riding with Kamenashi, but he knows he can’t say anything. It’s sort of like how Jin feels when he’s forced to go into haunted houses by a girl he really likes, or when he sees a particularly huge cockroach in someone else’s home—like he wants to scream or be sick or hide, or do something, but he can’t, because he’s trying to hold on to the tiny vestiges of his manners. He also sort of wants to push Kamenashi’s hand off Yamapi’s arm and growl at him until he backs away, but that impulse is easy to ignore because Jin is a person and so he should probably have people-like reactions to things, if he can manage it.

Additionally, it doesn’t makes sense that he feels this way, because Kamenashi is an experienced rider, and Yamapi will be safer when they ease into a faster pace. But for some reason, imagining Yamapi riding with his arms wrapped around Kamenashi’s waist puts Jin on a low simmer, and makes his stomach roll with discomfort, and no matter how tight Jin clenches his jaw, or how hot the Book gets against his hip where Jin’s bag is pressing against him, Jin can’t make the feeling go away.

“Can’t he ride by himself?” Jin asks. “I’ll stay with him and make sure nothing bad happens.”

“It really would be more efficient if he rode with me, Jin,” Kamenashi says, and Yamapi nods in easy acceptance, and that makes Jin’s gut tie up even more.

“Fine,” Jin says, and it comes out petulant, like he’s just been denied candy, and Jin doesn’t care. Kamenashi is looking at him speculatively though, so Jin turns his face away from both of them, and instead mounts his horse, facing forward resolutely as he sits on the stallion’s back.

It’s not a big deal, Jin thinks. It’s not like Kamenashi is replacing Jin as Yamapi’s best friend. And it is easier, Jin guesses, if Yamapi rides with Kamenashi, who’s a more practiced rider than Jin will probably ever be. Jin knows all of that, and it doesn’t seem to matter to the tingling feeling that sweeps out across him so fast Jin doesn’t have a chance to bite it back again.

“Kamenashi!” Tanaka says with alarm. “Something’s happening!”

Jin’s eyes grow round as the sweltering humidity seems to boil, causing everyone to sweat, and a huge crack of thunder sounds in the sky, followed by a flicker of lightning in a rainless, cloudless sky. It spooks the horses, Jin can tell, but they’re too well trained to throw a rider, even one as mediocre as Jin is.

“Well,” Kamenashi says, and Taguchi laughs and Ueda looks heavenward in disgust. “I guess Jin’s made his feeling pretty clear on the matter.” Kamenashi doesn’t sound upset, Jin thinks, and when he peeks over at him through the corner of his eye, Kamenashi is looking at Jin like he’s only moments from bursting into laughter, clapping his hands and kicking at the ground in that overblown way Kame does on variety shows. It’s almost like Kamenashi’s waiting for the punch-line. “We can’t wait for Yamapi to learn how to ride a horse. Maybe if we’d known earlier… But it’s too late for that now. The book said ‘on horseback’. I should have thought of this.”

“Sorry, it didn’t even occur to me,” Yamapi says, and he sounds both troubled and confused. Jin doesn’t want to look at Yamapi at all, because he knows he’s being irrational, and tiny pink flowers of embarrassment are blooming between Jin’s fingers and winding up his wrists. Jin is wearing his shame like a gay prom corsage.

“Don’t worry,” Kamenashi says, voice thick with amusement as Jin’s horse takes an interest in Nakamaru’s, stepping closer to push their noses together. Nakamaru gives Jin an encouraging smile. “I have another plan,” Kamenashi continues, and then Kamenashi grabs Jin’s reins, holding the horse still. “Yamapi, up you go.”

“What?” Yamapi and Jin ask in unison, and without meaning to, Jin automatically looks at Yamapi. Yamapi is looking back, his gaze searching. Jin doesn’t know what he’s looking for, exactly, because, as usual, Jin can’t explain himself.

“You can’t ride by yourself, and clearly if you ride with me, nature is going to turn against us all,” Kamenashi says matter-of-factly, and Jin starts to stumble through an apology, but Kamenashi holds up a hand. “You can’t control it yet, not completely. So we have to be aware of that.” Yamapi clears his throat.

“So I’ll ride with Jin?”

“Impressive logic,” Ueda says, and Taguchi is watching everything like it’s a soap opera.

“Indeed,” Kamenashi says. “That does seem to be the only way we’ll proceed without incident.”

Yamapi sighs and pulls himself up behind Jin, settling heavily into the saddle. He feels big there, and strong. Jin grunts as Yamapi’s arms find their way around Jin’s waist, fingers linking and palms pressing against Jin’s lower abdomen. The pink flowers start blossoming between Yamapi’s fingers too, climbing along his fingers and blooming on his knuckles.

“What happened?” Yamapi says quietly, leaning forward until there’s barely any space between him and Jin’s back. His eyes examine the flowers. Jin doesn’t answer. “I mean, with the lightening.”

“I don’t know,” Jin says, wriggling a little. He can’t move much, because Yamapi’s hands are firm around him. “Why are you holding so tight?”

“I’m nervous,” Yamapi says plaintively. “I mean, I trust you, but I don’t trust new things. If that makes any sense.”

Jin puts one hand atop of Yamapi’s linked ones. “I get it,” Jin says. “Who are you talking to? I know you, control freak.”

“Says the guy who always ‘goes-with-the-flow’,” Yamapi laughs into the back of Jin’s hair, and Jin can feel the way the strands pull out of the leather thong he’s tied them with. Jin’s hair has always been a little too wild to control, and now, without professional products, Jin can’t make it do anything at all.

“Anyway,” Jin says pointedly, relaxing into the habitual banter, back loosening and hands unclenching from the reins. “You’ll be fine. I’m actually…pretty competent at this.” Jin offers the assessment of his own ability with a shrug.

“Wow, what confidence!” Yamapi says, in a high-pitched voice, and Jin is sure that if Yamapi wasn’t clinging to him like saran wrap, he’d be fanning himself with one hand while batting his eyelashes.

“Who’s the princess now?” Jin responds, pressing his knees in to file his horse in behind Ueda’s. Yamapi’s hands press tighter on reflex, and Jin chuckles low in his throat.

“Still you,” Yamapi replies, arms so tense Jin can feel the strain.

“Relax,” Jin says calmly. “I’ve got you.”

“That’s actually…pretty comforting, Bakanishi,” Yamapi says, and Jin can hear the change in his voice, and it makes him feel like his insides are made of applesauce, or something equally mushy and amorphous. “Guess I’m glad I’m riding with you after all.”

“Good,” Jin says. “It’s better when you’re closer.” And Jin doesn’t know what that means either, but he knows it’s true.

They ride in relative silence, through short showers that sprinkle down on them in a light mist, and after awhile, they ride into a forest. It’s majestic, Jin thinks, to see something so untouched. Sometimes, overhead, skylarks fly from branch to branch, and Jin likes them immediately when Taguchi cheerfully explains that they only eat larger insects, and their eggs. Jin thinks he might like some for his garden in Los Angeles. Maybe he’ll look into it when he gets back. If he get back.

Yamapi’s quiet behind him, and Jin thinks he might be doing that thing he does on car rides, where he leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes, face curved into a small grin as he enjoys the motion of the car, and the silence in his head. Jin always turns the radio off when Yamapi’s like that. He doesn’t mind that kind of silence, because Yamapi is completely at ease, trusting Jin to get him where they’re going.

Jin likes that trust. Yamapi doesn’t give it easily. Jin can count on one hand the number of people Yamapi trusts, and he’s not sure he needs all his fingers. He doesn’t let his guard down without difficulty. But he always has for Jin. Even after they’d both been hurt, both been unwanted and lost, both been too wanted without anything to keep for themselves… Yamapi’s never tried to hide from Jin. Never recoiled from Jin. And maybe that’s what Jin likes best. That for Yamapi, Jin is special.

#

Jin realizes Yamapi has fallen asleep when Yamapi’s head falls onto his shoulder, arms becoming slack around Jin’s waist. Yamapi’s breathing is deep and even, and Jin’s glad that Yamapi, who’d spent the first four hours of the ride in rigid fear and terror, had finally gotten used to the horse well enough to rest. Yamapi’s hair tickles at Jin’s chin, the front parts falling from the ponytail he’d hastily tied this morning.

Jin feels a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and keeps his face straight ahead, because if he looks down at Yamapi he has no idea what his magic will do. Yamapi makes his magic go haywire, and Jin has no idea why. Maybe it’s because Jin is so comfortable around Yamapi that he doesn’t hesitate to feel—he just lets all his real emotions pour out of him. Maybe Yamapi is just better at pushing Jin’s buttons, even when he’s asleep.

Either way, a quiet ride through the middle of a forest, on a quest for some magical sword, is not at all the time for Jin to be making everything bloom with pretty flowers. It’s also not the time to be considering his feelings, because he needs to focus on completing this task, so that he and Yamapi are one step closer to going home.

Jin is admiring the way the sun filters down through the treetops, casting a soft speckled glow across the forest floor, when Nakamaru rides up beside him.

It’s strange, Jin thinks, to see Nakamaru with long hair, pulled back tightly from his face in a low ponytail. It makes him look…noble, in a way, but the lightness in his eyes means Jin can still imagine his Nakamaru’s chagrined face as he puts up with more teasing than the rest of them combined.

“He’s fallen asleep,” Nakamaru says. “It took him awhile to relax.”

“Pi likes to be in control of things… he doesn’t really like unpredictable situations very much,” Jin says.

“How is he friends with you then?” Nakamaru says, with a chuckle, and Jin grins.

“When Pi and I are hanging out, it’s like…well, it’s kind of like being a kid again, back before anyone had any expectations of us, and life was still so…open-ended. I don’t know. He’s never… expecting me to be anything but myself. And, you know, the other way around. He can tell me he doesn’t like something and I’m not going to hold it against him. He can tell me his favorite quality in a woman is her sandwich-making abilities and I’m just going to toss him a can of beer, not plaster his face in the newspaper with some attention grabbing headline.”

“A newspaper?” Nakamaru asks, and Jin grimaces. “Sandwiches? Beer?”

“I’m not going to shout if from the rooftops if he likes something no one else likes, or if he doesn’t like something everyone else does. He can just…be himself, is all. In a way he normally can’t because of our jobs.”

“So it’s more comfortable?” Nakamaru asks. “You’re best friends because you can be your honest selves. That’s a good measure of friendship. To know someone’s private face.”

“It’s not just that,” Jin says, and Yamapi stirs, so Jin lowers his voice. Yamapi presses his face into the curve of Jin’s neck, and Jin has to fight the emotions that well up in him once more. Still, two tiny yellow flowers bloom in the stallion’s mane, and Nakamaru giggles, before catching himself.

“What is it, then?” Nakamaru queries, turning away with an amused smile hovering about his mouth. His fingers grip his own reins loosely, but he’s toying with them, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“It’s like…Yamapi loves to be in control,” and Yamapi exhales now, blowing warm air across Jin’s neck. “But with me, he doesn’t need to be.” Another gold flower, the edges tinted purple. Jin plucks it from the stallion’s neck, and inspects it. It’s perfectly formed, Jin thinks, petals soft and dewy like this flower had been plucked in the earliest part of morning. “He doesn’t even always want to be.”

“That doesn’t sound like just friendship, if you ask me,” Nakamaru says. “It sounds like—“

Jin thinks he imagined it at first; the low whistle in the air as an arrow flies right past the left side of his face and buries itself in the shoulder of Ueda’s armor.

“Attack!” Ueda yells urgently, and Jin swallows as Nakamaru swerves his mount to protect Jin and Yamapi. Jin can feel Yamapi awaken behind him, jerking to life with the ease of someone who’s experienced a lot of interrupted naps. “Nakamaru, take care of Jin and Yamapi!”

But none of the attackers, with this burning red sun crest on their armor, are paying attention to Jin and Yamapi, Jin notices. They draw in quickly, drawing their swords, and all start to head toward Ueda and Kame, who stand back to back, looking quite dangerous.

Jin steers his horse away, trying to get out of the way of the veteran warriors, and it’s chaos, really, because there are leaves flying everywhere, and Jin is almost sure it’s his anxiousness causing the strong gusts of wind that blow foliage into his eyes. Jin’s not sure how many attackers there are, either. At first it seems like there are only 3, but then he counts five, no, six, all of them circling in on Kamenashi and Ueda.

Kamenashi presses forward, leaving Ueda behind him with his sword drawn, to join Taguchi and Tanaka, and Nakamaru has got his eyes scanning the trees, perhaps keeping a watch for the archer that first took aim at their party from above.

“Protect Ueda!” Kamenashi yells above the clashing crack of steel, and Tanaka and Taguchi suddenly fall back, leaving Kamenashi to face three attackers alone. “You two!” Kamenashi points at Jin and Yamapi. “Get down from the horse and try and stay out of trouble!”

“Why?” Jin yells. “Isn’t it safer to run away?”

“If someone chases you, we can’t protect you, and two of you on one horse will be slower than a trained rider on another!” Ueda snaps. “Listen, so you don’t get killed!” He punctuates the last word with the arc of his sword, and Jin gulps as the man’s arm is sliced, right through his armor. He’s strangely silent, and just keeps attacking, and Jin pulls his gaze away.

“That’s our cue,” Yamapi shouts into Jin’s ear.

“Right,” Jin says. “Let’s find somewhere in this well planned ambush spot where no one will notice us.”

“What’s the other option then, Bakanishi?” Yamapi says frantically. “Hold the horse still so I can climb down!”

“Ye—yeah,” Jin says, and his affirmation is drowned in the inhuman scream of one of the attackers as Nakamaru’s sword cuts him down. Yamapi slides down from the horse, and impatiently gestures towards Jin to do the same. Jin’s about to, really, he is, but then the horse is bucking as Taguchi takes someone down right in front of the horse, and despite his best efforts, Jin can’t calm him. Jin wonders if the stallion has something in it’s eyes, or is injured, but it’s impossible for Jin to hold on.

As Jin falls from the horse, hitting the ground with a thud, he sees one of the men strike out at Yamapi, who can’t fight back; Yamapi isn’t a fighter, at all, no matter how many boxers he plays. Even if he was, his clenched fist isn’t a match for a blade. All of Jin’s fear closes in tight around his lungs, and all of his helplessness does too, and Jin can’t breathe at all because Yamapi is in danger and Jin is incompetent and useless and can’t do anything at all to save him as the blade swings down toward Yamapi, right before his eyes.

Jin’s vision fades to grey, and all he can do is dig his fingers into the dirt, soil getting stuck under his nails as he watches in horror. He can’t move, he can’t move, he can’t do anything. The thought of Yamapi dying, here, now, like this—of Yamapi never smiling at him again, never pulling on a piece of Jin’s hair and snapping out ‘Bakanishi’ because Jin’s doing something dumb, never reaching out with startling accuracy for Jin’s collarbone while his eyes sparkle with mischief…

None of that, ever again. It’s the kind of thing Jin’s never worried about. It’s the kind of thing Jin’s always taken for granted. The sun will rise in the morning, Jin will eat too much for lunch, and the sun will set in the evening. And Yamapi will be there through all of it, probably teasing Jin about his stomachache even as he makes him tea in the old kettle that Jin stole from his parents’ house without asking. Even when Jin is on the other side of the world, Yamapi is still there, despite Jin’s waking hours being all the hours that Yamapi is, or should be sleeping. The thought of that certainty, that rock in Jin’s life, being taken away-- it makes Jin feel more terrified than he’s ever felt in his life. It’s scarier than anything Jin’s ever experienced, because Jin’s hopeless without Yamapi. He’s always needed Yamapi, and he always will.

And at that thought, Jin’s whole body starts to tingle, in the way that Jin has begun to associate with pink blossoms of embarrassment or strong bursts of wind when he’s confused or anxious. But this isn’t a feeling as simple as that, and the tingle is bigger, wilder, than Jin has felt before.

Pure and honest desperation, Jin learns, is exhibited by thick, ropey vines, which spring out of the ground faster than Jin can even blink, wrapping around the enemy’s legs and arms and neck, pulling him from his horse and making the sword drop from his hand and clatter to the ground, the plant wrapping around his neck and face as he screams. Yamapi scrambles backward, towards Jin, until his back hits Jin’s shins, and Jin grabs the fabric of Yamapi’s shirt in his hands, pulling him close so that Yamapi’s back presses against Jin’s chest, with Jin’s hand caught awkwardly between them. Jin watches with horror as the vines completely swallow the man up, until all Jin can see is a single hand, fingers frozen in a strange rictus.

Yamapi shudders in Jin’s grip, his whole body shivering as the adrenaline rushes from his body and leaves him a shaking mess. The sounds of fighting have all stopped, and ally and enemy alike turn to look at Jin’s prisoner. The vines start pulling back into the ground, taking the man with them, until there is nothing left where the man stood but a tiny black scorch mark and a three-centimeter wide bit of disturbed earth.

Jin’s heart is beating so fast, and it’s not just Yamapi who’s shaking-- his own hands are shaking too, he realizes. Yamapi is looking with wide eyes at the spot where the enemy warrior had been standing with a raised blade only moments before, and Jin tries to take a deep breath, so at least one of them can be calm, but the fear is still coursing through his veins. He’s not safe yet. Yamapi is not safe yet. Kamenashi and Ueda and Nakamaru aren’t safe yet. Taguchi and Tanaka aren’t safe yet. No one is safe, and he can’t relax. The tingle is burning in his arms and legs, like his limbs are waking up after being long held in a strange position, and Jin feels sick with the terror, like it’s going to bubble out of his skin.

And then, vines shoot up like predators, consuming the attackers, pulling them down into the ground, until all that’s left of the ambushers is a memory, and the faint scent of ivy.

Jin’s chest is heaving, and suddenly he’s exhausted, like all his energy is used up. His vision is narrowing.

“How did they know to go for Ueda,” Kamenashi says, and Jin can hear the panic in his voice. “There’s no way they would know that unless someone told them!”

“We’ve got bigger problems than that, Kamenashi,” Jin can hear Ueda snap, but it’s getting fainter, like Jin is listening through a long tunnel. “Someone’s been following us!”

Jin catches Tanaka’s gaze, and Tanaka immediately starts running across the felled foliage toward Jin.

“Catch him!” Tanaka yells, and the last thing Jin sees as his vision starts to swim is Yamapi’s stricken eyes, barely visible beneath his sweat-plastered bangs. He tries to reach a hand up, to touch Yamapi’s face and reassure himself that Yamapi is fine, but then everything goes dark.

#

It’s night.

Jin’s head is fuzzy, like he’s fighting his way to consciousness through a thick fog, and his mouth feel like it’s filled with cotton. The night is sticky hot, and Jin feels like he’s sweating so much he’ll shrivel up into nothing. Someone presses water to his lips, and Jin drinks, and when his eyes focus, he realizes that it’s Tanaka.

“Thanks,” he croaks, and then his tongue wets his lips. “Thanks,” he tries again, and this time his voice is stronger. Tanaka isn’t sweating, Jin notices, not nearly as much as Jin is. Jin’s face crinkles in disgust. “I’m gross,” Jin says, and there’s a chuckle that Jin recognizes as Kamenashi.

“You used too much magic,” Nakamaru says. “Your body is working double-time to get it back. You must be hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Jin says, at the same time as “He’s always hungry” chimes in from the other side of the fire.

Jin catches sight of Yamapi, then, and it all comes bubbling to the surface of his mind. The sword, cutting down toward Yamapi as Jin is helpless to save him. The vines, springing up from the ground with all the speed and force of Jin’s consuming fear.

Jin clenches his eyes shut again, trying to block out the memories, even as Tanaka pulls him to a sitting position and hands him the carafe of water so Jin can drink on his own. Jin takes a long swig, and as he does, he keeps remembering the events of that afternoon, playing in graphic detail over and over again. Jin feels like crying, but there isn’t any water left in his body for crying, he figures, so he holds it in.

Jin’s eyes open when a fat drop of rain falls from the sky and hits him straight on the nose. It only sprinkles a little, though, before the rain dries up as quickly as it came.

“Thank goodness Jin doesn’t have any magic left,” Taguchi says cheerfully. “Otherwise his rain might have put out our fire!”

Ueda shrugs, and tosses his hair. “With the way his moods shifts,” Ueda says. “We might very well have drowned.”

Jin manages a weak chuckle, and everyone relaxes a little. Jin curls himself toward the fire, putting his hands out toward the flames so he can feel the lick of it on his palms.

It’s soothing.

Jin can’t stop himself from looking across the campfire at Yamapi, and every time he looks, Yamapi is looking straight back at him. Jin just wants to talk to Yamapi, he just needs a few minutes…But it’s impossible, and dangerous, for them to leave the campsite, to wander off just the two of them. If either of them were competent with a weapon, or if Jin’s magic wasn’t as unpredictable as Jin himself, maybe then. For now, though, Jin contents himself with watching the way the firelight flickers in Yamapi’s eyes, the way the dim glow emitted from the flames throws Yamapi’s face into shadow. Mostly he focuses on the way Yamapi’s chest rises and falls, because it means Yamapi is alive. Jin saved him, somehow.

The tension is thick, and Jin jumps a little when Kamenashi clears his throat. “If someone wanted to take a walk,” Kamenashi says. “Theoretically, I mean. Maybe experience the fresh evening air?” Kamenashi is looking at Jin, who sits cross-legged on the ground, hands pulling up fistfuls of grass and ignoring the way every so often the wind gusts and almost damps the fire with the force of Jin’s emotion, despite the weakness of his magic. “If one wanted to do that, they could, as long as they stayed within view of the fire.”

“Oh?” Jin says, and Ueda nods.

“Indeed,” Ueda says and Nakamaru coughs.

“I think Jin wants to go,” Nakamaru says. “But no one can go alone, that’s dangerous.” Nakamaru looks down at his shirt and tugs on the inner layer of the neck, straightening it. “Yamapi should go with him, since the rest of us need to discuss ambush avoiding strategies.”

“What?” Taguchi says. “We already have—“ Tanaka’s hand comes up and seals Taguchi’s mouth as he whispers furiously into Taguchi’s ear. Taguchi smiles for a minute, with his eyes at least, but then he nods. “I agree with Nakamaru,” Taguchi says, when Tanaka drops his hand.

It’s a meager attempt at subtlety, but Jin appreciates it nonetheless.

Jin shakily climbs to his feet, expressing his gratitude to them all with a bow, offering Kamenashi a hesitant smile. “Thank you,” Jin says, and Kamenashi smiles, and then Jin’s walking away from the fire to the edge of the clearing.

The night air is clear, and cooler than Jin had thought before. It fits the beginning of fall. Here, away from the direct heat of the fire, Jin can appreciate the beauty of the open sky, with its bright stars and gorgeous moon, beaming down on the edges of the clearing where Jin stands, hands clenched anxiously in the fabric of his pants. The wind picks up from the shifting in his gut, but Jin’s getting used to that now.

“Are you okay?” Yamapi asks, coming to a stop behind Jin. Jin doesn’t turn to look at him.

“No,” Jin says. “Not really.”

“Jin,” Yamapi whispers, and then he’s wrapping his arms around Jin from behind, pulling Jin flush against his chest. His arms trap Jin’s arms to his sides. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I…killed those people, Yamapi. I didn’t mean to but I did.” Jin shivers as even stronger bursts of cool wind hit them. The wind cuts through the layers of cotton they’re both wearing, and Yamapi squeezes tighter. “The worst thing is I didn’t care, as long as I could keep you safe.” Jin sighs, a shivering shaking breath that rattles in his chest. “It’s terrifying. It’s not just embarrassing, this power of mine. It’s not just flowers in awkward moments or me setting harmless fire to the grass anymore. It’s me killing people, Pi.”

“Jin, you were passed out, so you missed it,” Yamapi says. “Those weren’t people. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“What?” Jin says, and the wind is tugging his hair loose from the confines of the leather tie holding it back from his face. The strands swirl in front of his face as he stares blankly ahead, obscuring his vision. “What do you mean?”

“Kamenashi says they were magical constructs—that your vines couldn’t have pulled real people down into the earth like that, and that’s how he knew.”

Jin pulls out of Yamapi’s grasp, to face him. “But all the blood? The bodies?”

“They all disappeared shortly after you blacked out,” Yamapi says. “Look, no blood on our clothes, and the forest was mostly undisturbed.”

“But—“ Jin starts, and then the reality hits him, and he spins and dives into Yamapi’s arms, hands grabbing huge chunks of Yamapi’s shirt and face pressing to Yamapi’s cheek, shoulders hunched. Yamapi automatically puts his hands on Jin’s shoulder blades, and the wind calms as Yamapi’s warm palms rub small circles on his back.

“It’s okay,” Yamapi says again.

“I used to think I was strong enough to do anything,” Jin mumbles.

“You are,” Yamapi says, his voice frank. “You traveled to a foreign country and taught yourself the language. You gave up, basically, a certainty for an unknown, putting your career at stake… And okay, yeah Jin, this is scarier, definitely. Don’t get me wrong, this is harder than that. And it’s totally out of your range of expertise, too.”

“This is possibly the world’s worst pep talk,” Jin says, but he can already feel the coils in his belly unclenching.

“But… you’ve risen to every other challenge, in the past. Now it’s time to do it again. Okay? Everyone’s always been waiting for you to fail. You’ve never done it before. You’ve never even admitted you might, before. You just sort of…stubbornly charged ahead, like a bull in a china shop. So don’t start worrying now.”

“Like you said,” Jin replies. “This is harder than that.”

“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “But you’re not all by yourself this time.” Yamapi’s hands come up, and pinch at Jin’s cheeks, until Jin sputters and pushes at him, laughing.

Yamapi’s got this way of making Jin’s heart feel so heavy and so light at the same time.

Yamapi’s face, when Jin looks up at him, is lit up despite the darkness, because somehow, all the fireflies are hovering about their heads. It might be Jin’s magic, but Jin would rather think that it’s because the fireflies know just how much Jin wants to see Yamapi smile.

#

Morning comes sooner than Jin would like. Jin waits until everyone is taking down camp before he opens the Book, which had been demanding Jin to read it all night while he slept. Jin had pressed his hand to the leather binding, fingers exploring the gold emboss-work in a comforting caress until the Book had quieted, but now, in the early dawn light, Jin can feel it tugging on him anew, and Jin thinks he’d better listen.

Jin doesn’t have the opportunity to open the Book, or flip through the pages, because at his touch, the Book flies open, rushing through the pages and stopping on a blank one. The kanji scrawl rapidly before his eyes, and Jin licks his lips.

“What’s it say?” asks a hoarse, sleepy voice, and Jin looks over at Yamapi, who’s folding up bedding as tightly as he can to strap onto the horses. “The Book, I mean. We’re still two days from Mount Nantai, so there can’t be much in the way of directions, yet.”

“Jin and Yamapi finally learned the truth about two of their traveling companions,” Jin reads, and Yamapi tilts his head to the side. The ends of his hair curl distractingly along his collarbones, and Jin wants to toy with them, like he does sometimes when they sit on the sofa in Yamapi’s apartment and vegetate in front of the television, watching reruns of Himitsu no Arashi and laughing at Matsumoto’s terrible haircuts. Now isn’t the time, Jin thinks. He’s had to tell himself that a lot, lately. “Some things that appeared one way were not as they seemed.”

“Ah,” Kamenashi says. “That would be us.”

Jin looks up to see Kamenashi and Ueda standing in front of him. Ueda looks much more interested in the horizon than in Jin, but Jin knows better, because Ueda’s jaw is tight. Kamenashi seems relaxed, though, his arms crossed loosely, palms resting in opposite elbow crooks.

Jin feels Yamapi plop himself down next to Jin, misgauging the distance and half-sitting on Jin, making them both laugh. Yamapi scoots a bit away, and they both look up at Kamenashi.

“You made an assumption, earlier, and at the time, it seemed wise not to correct it, in case you talked about it elsewhere in the compound when we were unaware. We’ve had suspicion of spies, for quite a while.” Kamenashi sighs. “It seems that we can confirm that there’s some sort of information leak, anyway. How else would our attacker have known where we were headed, and what route we would take, to the extent that they felt comfortable not sending anything but constructs?” Kamenashi shakes his head. “Anyhow, when you assumed that I was the Lord of the East, it seemed prudent to let you think so.”

“Because of the Lord of the West?” Jin asks, and Kamenashi looks at Jin in surprise.

“Oh, no,” Kamenashi says. “He knows the Lord of the East’s true identity. It would be impossible for him not to, really—“ Kamenashi stops himself. “But no. We were more worried about smaller assassination attempts. The ones caused by displeased lesser lords hoping to create change in the ranks.” Kamenashi tosses his hair behind his shoulder. “But it’s safer if you know the truth, now.”

Ueda looks down at him now, his wide mouth pressed thin. “The thing about the kingdom,” Ueda says, “is that it’s big. A lot of times, people only know titles, not faces or family names, especially when not all the family names are the same for a line of succession.” Ueda frowns. “The Lord of the East could easily be a Kamenashi.”

“But it’s not Kamenashi,” Yamapi says, and Jin looks back at Yamapi, who has a look of realization on his face. “When we were in the forest, you yelled ‘Protect Ueda’.”

Jin jumps. “You did!” Jin says. “I remember now!” The implications strike Jin then, and he scratches at his ear. “You’re the Lord of the East, then.” Jin points an accusing index finger at Ueda, who shrugs noncommittally. Jin blinks twice, before he laughs. “Just like my world,” Jin says. “A leader who’d rather not be.”

“I’m your leader, in your world?” Ueda queries. “I’m your superior no matter where you go,” Ueda says airily. “There’s something poetic about that.”

“Ueda was. Was my leader,” Jin says. “For a while. Then he sort of…quit.”

“Quit? How does one…quit being a leader?” Ueda looks intrigued.

“I’m not sure. It just changed, all of the sudden. One day, he was leader, and the next day, we had no leader.”

“As fun as this is,” Kamenashi says. “We should get a move on. The day is young, and we’ve much distance to cover. “ Ueda tips his head in acknowledgement and walks away, Kamenashi trailing after him.

“KAT-TUN is still KAT-TUN, no matter where we go,” Jin says, and Yamapi smiles at him. “It seems like in some ways, everything is parallel.”

“I was just thinking that,” Yamapi says. “Ueda is the leader but Kame is acting like one.” Yamapi sighs. “Just like our real world.”

“I want to go home,” Jin says, in a fit of homesickness, and Yamapi brushes a hand over Jin’s cheek, so soft Jin can barely feel it.

“Me too,” Yamapi says. “But we’ve got a job to do first, right?”

“Yeah,” Jin says, and Yamapi stands and sighs. Jin looks up at him, and Yamapi’s eyes are warm. There’s something unreadable in them, though, that Jin doesn’t recognize, and maybe it’s just the way the dawn light is behind Yamapi that makes Jin imagine things that aren’t really there, mistaking reflection and glare for a foreign emotion in Yamapi’s almost black irises. Yamapi blinks, and whatever it was, it’s gone now.

“I’ll finish packing,” Yamapi says, and moves away, returning to his previous task at Jin clutches at the tome in his hands.

Jin looks down at the Book, and new words appear. “Yamapi and Jin, and the Five Guardians, set out on their second day of traveling. Unfortunately, it was plagued with rain.”

The words stop, and Jin, with a sinking feeling, looks up at a sky that had seemed so clear before. With dismay, he notes the slow creep of the dark gray rain clouds. “Well fuck,” he says, and tucks the book inside his shirt, where it’s sure to stay drier than if Jin puts it in his think cloth satchel.

Jin doesn’t think riding on horseback will be any fun in the rain.

Part 4