Saburo trudged along the well-beaten path, his fingers toying with the strap of the bag that held his motley collection of herbs, poultices, and potions. The bag rattled with every step, glass jars bumping into each other within the confines of the bag.
He was tired. Feet dragging, bone-aching tired. Saburo wanted nothing more than to trudge right past the last house he had to visit and go straight home. Straight to bed, really.
He couldn’t though. The Ichigi’s daughter had some sort of fever. She was only three years old, so it needed to be monitored, to make sure it didn’t get any more serious.
He also wouldn’t go back on his promise that easily.
Look after them, Kohaku had said, with that damnable smile of this.
As though he’d only be gone a day or two. As though he wasn’t being dragged off in chains to be sold as a slave in some other country.
As though Saburo, with his almost nonexistent touch of healing magic, could easily fill Kohaku’s place.
He didn’t even come close, and he knew it. The villagers knew it, too, even if they were too kind to say so.
Slowing as he approached the Ichigi’s house, Saburo straightened his bag, fussed with his hair a moment, and tried to interject some energy into his face and movements.
He wasn’t sure it worked, but he wasn’t going to get any more energetic standing on the path leading to the door. Sighing quietly, Saburo started walking again, hoping little Megumi’s fever was just a normal sickness and nothing worse.
He was only a few steps away when the front door opened. Startled, he stopped—and his breath caught in his throat as he met Kohaku’s eyes.
Kohaku just flashed him the same bright smile that had haunted Saburo’s dreams the last six months and finished saying his goodbyes to Mrs. Ichigi, who held her sleepy daughter in her arms.
Saburo’s lower jaw had dropped, he realized, snapping his mouth shut with a faint click of teeth. He managed a wooden wave in reply to Mrs. Ichigi’s wave, but then she disappeared into her house, leaving Saburo and Kohaku outside.
“Don’t look so thrilled to see me,” Kohaku said teasingly. He walked casually towards Saburo, and Saburo wanted to do something completely untoward like pass out or throw himself at Kohaku.
A flicker of anxiety crossed Kohaku’s face, and he paused a few steps away. He looked older than he had before – he would’ve turned 26 while he was away, Saburo realized. There were stress lines around his eyes and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all in the six months he’d been gone.
He was also thinner, like he hadn’t been eating right – and who ate right when they were a slave, Saburo asked himself witheringly. Kohaku’s clothes were too loose – though at that, they were his clothes, a shirt and pair of pants that Saburo had seen many times in Kohaku’s closet at the apothecary.
“Saburo?” Kohaku asked, his tone hesitant and completely unlike him.
“Sorry,” Saburo blurted out, wondering where his manners had gone. He took a step forward, closer to Kohaku. Maybe this was a hallucination – but a hallucination that Mrs. Ichigi had seen as well? “Just – when did you – how?”
Kohaku smiled a bit, his lips twisting crookedly. “I got bought back. They let me come home. You did a good job, Saburo –”
“Not as good as you could’ve,” Saburo cut him off immediately. “I tried, but –”
“No buts,” Kohaku said firmly, moving again. He walked towards Saburo, gently pushing him into walking. “Come on, let’s go back.”
Saburo just nodded, his head awhirl, but his thoughts refused to settle as he and Kohaku walked towards the apothecary. Saburo had moved into the small building after a month of trying to continue to live with his mother while maintaining the stores and stock of herbs and potions needed to keep the village relatively healthy.
He’d have to go home now, Saburo thought numbly, sneaking a glance at Kohaku.
Kohaku gave him another smile, before chiding gently, “You’re skin and bones, Saburo. Haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”
“I eat,” Saburo protested, flushing a little. “I just –”
“You’ve been busy,” Kohaku filled in, quieter. “I am sorry I placed such a burden on you.”
“It wasn’t,” Saburo denied immediately, conveniently forgetting the late night emergencies, the worries he wasn’t good enough to fill Kohaku’s shoes, the fear he wouldn’t budget his resources accordingly and one of the villagers would suffer for it.
“If –” Kohaku hesitated, both speaking and walking. They were almost at the apothecary, Saburo realized, taking the lead from Kohaku. “If you would like me to go again, I can.”
Saburo stumbled to a stop, turning to face Kohaku.
“Go?” He repeated dumbly, his hands tightening on the strap of his bag. Kohaku nodded solemnly, and Saburo’s temper flared. “Go?” He repeated, stepping close and jabbing Kohaku’s chest hard enough to make him wince.
“Six months you’ve been gone. Six months and now you want to go again?” Saburo demanded, keeping his voice low so no one else would be subject to Kohaku’s stupidity.
“I just thought – you’re doing so well –” Kohaku said, side-stepping around Saburo to avoid being poked again. “That you probably don’t want give it up.”
“I am not doing well!” Saburo hissed vehemently. Kohaku blinked, looking startled, but Saburo didn’t care. “I did what you wanted – I took care of them. But I’m not you, Kohaku. I don’t have your power and I can only supplement so much with medicines and potions and I’m not you!”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Kohaku said quietly, crossing his arms and looking away, towards the tiny apothecary. “You’re good at healing, Saburo. You don’t need lots of magic to be good at it.”
“You’re still better,” Saburo said stubbornly, ignoring the way his cheeks were warm – he was flushed with anger, that was all. “It’s not been right, you being gone. You can’t go away again now.”
Kohaku shook his head a little, but he was smiling some. “You really want me to stay?” He asked, but there was a teasing note to it that made Saburo roll his eyes. Pushing past Kohaku with feigned annoyance – and Kohaku was laughing at him, so he knew it was fake – Saburo headed towards his apothecary.
Only to pause on the front stoop, because it wasn’t really his any longer.
“I’ll get my things out tomorrow,” Saburo promised, flushing a little at his impertinence. Even if it had seemed sensible and reasonable at the time.
“Or you could leave them here,” Kohaku said, shutting the front door behind him. Saburo turned, confused.
“There’s not room for two of us,” Saburo pointed out. Kohaku just gave him that bright smile again, wandering over to the nearest work table and fidgeting with some of the glass bottles waiting to be filled.
“You know, there were two things I promised myself I’d do if I ever got back here,” Kohaku said casually. His shoulders were tense, though, and Saburo stared at him, mystified. Was Kohaku going to suggest he leave again?
“Oh?” Saburo asked, curious despite his misgivings.
“Yeah,” Kohaku said, smiling that damn troublemaking smile again. “I did the first earlier – I told my mother that I love her.”
Saburo bit his lip, carefully removing his bag and setting it down on the floor by the door. Kohaku’s mother had been bedridden when they’d taken Kohaku away; she’d nearly give in to the disease when she learned what had happened to her son.
“And the second?” Saburo asked, even though he was half-sure he wasn’t going to like it. He’d tie Kohaku to one of the work tables if he tried to leave.
“Was this,” Kohaku said, his smile suddenly shy. Saburo’s brain shut down again as Kohaku set down the glass bottle he was fidgeting with, crossed the three steps between them, and dragged him close for a sweet and chaste and over altogether too soon kiss.
“Oh,” was all Saburo could manage when Kohaku pulled away.
“Oh?” Kohaku asked, failing to mask his disappointment. Saburo blinked at him, trying to make his tongue work – but his brain really had stopped working, apparently, and Kohaku’s face fell.
“Sorry,” Kohaku said, biting his lip once before looking away, at the crowded work tables. “I can go –”
Saburo glared at him, spurred into motion – if his tongue wouldn’t work for him, well, his mouth would. Dragging Kohaku close with a grip on his collar, Saburo kissed him hard, putting into it everything he couldn’t seem to say – his fears and worries for Kohaku, the loneliness of the last six months, and how very much he wanted Kohaku to stand and how much he wished he had the energy to drag Kohaku into the tiny bedroom and ravish him at that very moment.
“You’re staying here,” Saburo said, ignoring the breathless quality to his voice that took all the force out of the command.
“So are you,” Kohaku countered, giving him a happy grin before pulling him back for another kiss.
