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(fic) Cocoon
Ooo boy. I've been fussing around with this fic for almost four months now. It's still not quite what I'd like it to be, but I thought it better to just get it up and call it finished. Please excuse the roughness.
I’ve always been interested in what happened in the period between the time Gojyo picked Hakkai up off the road and the time Sanzo turned up. This fic started as a result of me thinking about various things that might have occurred during that month.
I worry that the ending is a little unclear. Please let me know if I ought to rewrite it.
Gojyo crept into the dark bedroom, a tangle of blankets draped over his arm. He had given up his bed for nearly a month now for someone else and slept on the couch, but it was just too hot in the other room. It was much cooler in the bedroom, which was why he’d put the bed there in the first place. He had waited, sleeping fitfully for a couple hours, before finally coming to the conclusion that if his guest was uncomfortable with him sleeping on the floor of his own bedroom, that was just too damned bad.
He fumbled around on the floor for a few seconds before he found a good spot to spread the sheets out. When he finished, he peered around the room blindly. It was too dark to see anything more than the faint outlines of furniture. The dim light from the street trickled weakly past the thick curtains that were drawn tight over the window. It was very quiet. Gojyo realized he couldn’t hear his guest’s breathing, which was still a little unnerving.
After he first picked the guy up on the street, he had hovered over him for a while. He sat up for the first couple nights before the guy had woken up, even though there didn’t seem to be much point. The doctor said that if he was going to die, there wasn’t anything much Gojyo could do about it. If he stopped breathing, it would be because he’d had a few feet of his intestines forcibly removed from his body and nothing Gojyo did could fix that. Gojyo sat up anyway.
He had never been able to hear the guy breathing, though. It was a little unnerving. Nearly anyone else he had ever known had made at least some kind of sound as they slept. He found it comforting, lying next to someone and counting their breaths, feeling their chest rise and fall. The girls that he went home with loved that. They always complained about how most guys refused to cuddle afterwards, and were thrilled when he held them until they fell asleep. But it wasn’t the touching he enjoyed so much. It was just nice to feel their heartbeat against his chest, to know that there was someone else there. To know that he wasn’t alone.
The guy in his bed, though, barely made a sound whether he was awake or sleeping. It creeped Gojyo out sometimes. It had been long enough since Gojyo picked him up that he’d healed, more or less. He could move around a little more, and was certainly on the road to recovery. Gojyo even sensed he was becoming a little restless. He straightened up the house while Gojyo was gone and fixed the food Gojyo brought home without complaint. But sometimes Gojyo caught him looking out the window with a blank, distant expression, and Gojyo realized that he would be leaving soon.
The prospect of being left alone in his tiny little dingy apartment was strangely unpleasant. Gojyo felt foolish whenever he caught himself thinking wistfully that it was kind of nice to share the place with someone again. It wasn’t, he told himself, as if he could have expected the guy to stay forever. He wasn’t a little kid that found some wounded animal and dragged it home, begging his parents to let him keep it. The man, whoever he was, wasn’t some bird with a broken wing that could be patched up and stuck in a nice cage for the rest of his life. He was a person, and he had to be turned loose. He had things to do.
Of course, what those things were, Gojyo had no idea. It didn’t bother him much, though, not knowing much about the guy that was living under his roof. What he did know was plenty. For instance, Gojyo knew that he had nice hands and eyes, could make a great beef stew, and dusted things with the fervor of an obsessed housewife. That was enough for him.
But it apparently wasn’t enough for other people. When the doctor came around a week after the guy woke up to check his stitches, he asked Gojyo what the man’s name was. When Gojyo said he didn’t know, the doctor had looked at him like he was either crazy or lying. The guy had never offered any information about himself, though, and Gojyo knew better than to ask. It wasn’t just politeness that kept him from prying into someone else’s business. Sometimes, when he stared out the window or lay in Gojyo’s bed when it rained, the answers were written all over his face. Anguish. Loss. Shame. Anger. Gojyo understood that, and left him alone. He had his own scars and knew better than to prod at anyone else’s.
Gojyo didn’t ask how he’d ended up on the back road, miles from anywhere, with his gut hanging out of his body. He didn’t ask about the limiters on his left ear. He didn’t ask what had happened that had caused the guy so much pain that he sometimes looked like he would have welcomed death. And in his silence, they seemed to establish an unspoken understanding. The guy didn’t ask about the scars on his face, or the color of his hair and eyes. In fact, he didn’t ask anything more personal than whether or not Gojyo liked mushrooms in his soup.
Somehow, they’d achieved a sort of tentative policy of noninterference. It didn’t leave much room for expectations. Gojyo knew the guy had to go out and finish whatever business he’d started. He knew this was only a temporary stop for him, a place for him to rest up before continuing his journey. He was going to have to leave at some point, even if Gojyo was beginning to think that he wouldn’t mind if he stayed.
Gojyo leaned back against the cool sheets and sighed, eyes open as he stared into the dark room. The blankets bunched up slightly under his back. He’d spread them too hastily before sprawling down on top of them. It was too quiet. He had the urge to go over and make sure the guy was breathing. He remembered that he used to do that with Jien when he was little, hovering over him anxiously, listening for each indrawn breath. Sometimes Jien woke up and grumbled about Gojyo staring at him while he slept and how that was really creepy, thank you very fucking much. But then he always yanked Gojyo down to lie beside him. Gojyo liked to listen to Jien’s heartbeat pulsing against his back until he fell asleep. Jien always kept his arm over him, strong and safe.
Gojyo chewed a fingernail and shifted on the crumpled sheets. It was best not to think too much about those sorts of things. He knew that. It only led to wondering about what had happened to Jien, if he was still alive, if he blamed Gojyo, and there was nothing good about those thoughts. Some nights, though. Gojyo couldn’t help it.
He was wrestling with that line of thought when a disembodied voice came out of the darkness. “Is everything all right?” Gojyo nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Yeah,” he said, once his heartbeat retreated from his throat. That was another nice thing about being able to hear people breathing, he thought. It made it easier to tell when they were awake or asleep. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He paused, and then added, “Thought you were asleep. Shit, did I wake you up? Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” the man said, though Gojyo noticed he didn’t say whether Gojyo had woken him up or not.
An awkward silence followed his words. It was a little uncomfortable to just lie there in silence with someone, particularly since it was too dark to see anything. Gojyo couldn’t see the guy’s face, or anything more than a vague outline of his body of the bed. Tugging the sheets more tightly around himself, Gojyo tried to at least attempt to sleep.
He hadn’t made much progress toward his goal when his companion suddenly asked, “Are you quite comfortable down there?” A pause, and before Gojyo could respond, he added, “I feel badly for taking your bed for so long.”
“S’okay,” Gojyo said, and shrugged into the darkness. “I’ve slept on worse, believe me. Anyway, you’re still healing.”
After that, he was quiet for so long that Gojyo thought the subject had been dropped, but eventually he said, “Well. That’s very considerate of you.”
“Sure,” Gojyo shrugged once more, though he knew the guy couldn’t see it. “It’s okay,” he added again. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say. They hadn’t exchanged this many words in several days.
“Well,” his guest said again, and was silent for a few seconds. Then, “You really do have a large bed. There’s no need for you to stay down there if you don’t want to. I don’t mind.”
Gojyo turned this option over in his mind before responding. He wasn’t really averse to sharing beds either, though it was usually with people he was a more…intimately acquainted with. Then again, he’d stuffed this guy’s intestines back into his body with his bare hands. That was about as intimate as it got. Plus, his back was starting to get a bit sore.
Wordlessly, he wrapped one of the sheets around his shoulders and stumbled toward the bed. It was a small room, and he’d lived there long enough to be pretty familiar with it, but it still cost him a couple seconds and a slightly bruised toe, courtesy of the dresser, before his hands found the mattress. He climbed in and felt the bed dip slightly under his weight.
He shifted his way under the covers, keeping a polite distance from the other man’s body. He said he didn’t mind, but Gojyo was willing to bet he wouldn’t be comfortable with getting close. He just didn’t seem the type.
“It’s been a month now, hasn’t it?” the guy said suddenly. Gojyo could almost feel his breath as he spoke, and turned sharply to try and look at him.
“What?” he asked.
“A month,” he repeated. Gojyo’s mind clicked along, struggling to figure out what the cryptic words meant, until he realized the guy meant it had been a month since Gojyo had plucked his half-dead body off the road.
“Oh,” Gojyo said stupidly. “Yeah. I guess it has.” There seemed to be more he could say, but he fell silent. He wasn’t entirely sure why the guy was bringing it up, but he had a couple ideas.
“I think perhaps it might be time for me to go soon,” he said after a moment. Gojyo had expected the words, but he didn’t really know how to respond.
“Yeah, okay,” he said carefully. He didn’t want to sound like he cared too much, because there was no reason for him to care. He tried to squash to urge to say something more, and failed. “I mean, whenever you want to. I don’t mind having you here, but if you want to go that’s fine too.” Shit. He sounded like a complete idiot. What’s worse, it sounded like he did mind. Gojyo wet his lips nervously and stared at the dark room. He thought wryly that he’d never been any good with break-ups, even when there’d never been any kind of relationship in the first place. He waited for the guy’s response. The man didn’t say anything right away.
“I very much appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he said at last, apparently not noticing or choosing to ignore Gojyo’s comments.
“It’s nothing,” Gojyo said. It was more or less true. It wasn’t like he had been a difficult guest.
“But I have certain things that I need to do.” The man continued speaking, almost as if he hadn’t heard Gojyo.
“I understand,” Gojyo assured him. He did.
“Yes,” the guy said, then paused for a moment. “Yes, I knew you would.”
Gojyo occupied himself with staring at the ceiling, completely at a loss for words. He supposed that was that. He’d see the guy off in the morning, and probably never see him again. There was no need to make a fuss about it, he knew. But he felt, strangely, almost bereft and couldn’t figure out why.
“I’m sorry,” the man continued after a moment, “I don’t know of any way to repay you.”
“That’s okay,” Gojyo repeated. The words came almost mechanically. “Don’t need any kind of reward. It was really nothing.”
There was another pause before the guy said, very quietly, “I disagree.”
Gojyo opened his mouth, and then shut it, unsure as to how to respond to that. “Well,” he finally said. “Good luck. With…whatever you need to do. Hang in there.” After the words had left his mouth, he didn’t really know why he’d said it. He somehow felt sure that when he left, the guy was going to disappear off the face of the earth. Never to be seen again. Gojyo tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding. It wasn’t his life. Whatever the guy wanted to do was none of Gojyo business. The problem was that after the last month, Gojyo had started to feel like maybe it should be. But he knew it wasn’t. He cleared his throat and tried again, thinking he should say something less melancholy.
“Try not to rip half your stomach out again, huh?” He tried to sound joking instead of dire. The guy laughed softly.
“Yes, I hope that will be a one-time occurrence.” His voice grew a little more sober and he added, “I was fortunate this time, but I suppose I can’t always count on the kindness of strangers.” There was a slightly sarcastic note in his voice, an ironic bite, but Gojyo couldn’t figure out why. He noticed that the guy had a habit of dropping loaded comments into the middle of the conversation, things Gojyo had no idea how to respond to. He lay there silently, thinking. It was rapidly becoming one of the most awkward conversations he’d ever had.
“Well,” Gojyo said finally. He felt like there must be something he should say. There was plenty he wanted to say, but none of it was even remotely appropriate. Most of what he wanted to say ran along the lines of please don’t go, I want you to stay, will you come back? They were things he wanted to say, but none of it should actually be said. “Take care,” he finished lamely.
“Yes,” the guy said, and paused. “You as well.” Gojyo nodded, knowing that the guy couldn’t really see him. He could feel the movement, maybe. They were close enough for that. Almost sharing a pillow.
An idea waltzed into his mind when he felt the guy shift slightly in the bed next to him. It was a terrible idea, and he knew it. If he’d had any impulse control at all, he wouldn’t have let himself even think about it. But he’d never been any good at reigning himself in, and if the guy was going to leave anyway, what was the harm in stealing a parting kiss? Even if he got angry, he would leave in the morning, and Gojyo knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he’d never see the man again. What was the worst that could happen? Gojyo refused to think about it.
Before he had a chance to think better of it, Gojyo leaned over and brushed his lips against the other man’s gently. The guy didn’t push Gojyo away, but he tensed. Gojyo briefly toyed with the idea of pulling back, apologizing, and moving back down to the floor and pretending nothing had happened. He suspected that the guy would go along with such a charade. But what was the point? It didn’t seem to matter much what he did now, or if he made things uncomfortable and awkward for both of them. He was leaving either way.
Gojyo held still, lips parted, breathing softly against the guy’s mouth. The guy didn’t shove him away, and after a few seconds, some of the tension seemed to leech out of his shoulders where Gojyo rested his hand. He was very warm and surprisingly solid. When he leaned slowly against him, Gojyo could feel tight, hard muscle under the guy’s shirt. It was a little disconcerting. It had been a while since he’d touched a guy like this. He was accustomed to the softness of a woman’s body and it felt strange to run his fingers down a flat, strong chest to a firm, muscled stomach. It felt nice though, and the guy didn’t protest.
Gojyo leaned into the guy’s space, trying not to move. He smelled good, he felt good, and Gojyo was more than a little amazed that he hadn’t been shoved off the bed on his ass. All he’d wanted was a kiss, and now he had his fingers skimming the hem of the guy’s shirt, lingering close to warm flesh. But then, while he wasn’t being shoved away, the guy hadn’t really responded either.
It would be best to roll over and leave things as they were. Quit while he was ahead. Let the guy leave in the morning and refrain from saying all the stupid crazy things he wanted to say. Unfortunately, Gojyo knew that if he did that the guy would walk out of his life forever, and he’d always be wondering what had happened to him. Maybe on the nights when he was alone and started thinking about Jien, he’d think about this guy instead, with his pretty face and hands, and wonder where he was, if he’d finally gotten the death he’d seemed to want so much. It wouldn’t be what he wanted, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Too bad he’d never been any good at doing the right thing. Gojyo slid his hand down to the front of the guy’s pants.
He didn’t feel the guy up, afraid he’d scare him off if he moved too quickly. He left his hand where it was and applied a little more pressure to the kiss. The whole situation seemed ridiculous, and Gojyo wasn’t entirely sure what to do and a little confused by the guy’s refusal to either participate or push him away. He leaned against the guy a little, pressing their bodies together. Their shirts blocked the feeling of skin, but Gojyo could still sense the warmth underneath.
He stilled when the guy finally moved and put a hand on Gojyo’s arm. He couldn’t tell if the hand was trying to pull him closer or keep him away. After puzzling at it for a few moments he finally gave up trying to figure it out. If the guy wanted him to stop, he could damn well make it obvious. Gojyo chose to make the most of this moment, since it seemed to be the only chance he’d have.
He pulled back, licked his lips, and tried again. This time their mouths melded together easily, fluidly. The guy drew in a breath and Gojyo seized the opportunity to suck on his lower lip. His fingers tightened on Gojyo’s arm, and this time Gojyo was sure he was pulling him closer. He opened his mouth and let Gojyo slide his tongue inside. Gojyo tangled his fingers in the guy’s shirt and slid his fingers underneath until they brushed very lightly against scar tissue.
The guy became very still. His grip Gojyo’s arm grew hard enough to bruise. Gojyo jerked away in pain and surprise. He couldn’t see the guy’s face in the darkness and he was suddenly very glad. He leaned back suddenly, away from Gojyo, though his fingers were still digging into Gojyo’s arm.
“Sorry,” Gojyo whispered, figuring that was the most appropriate response.
“No,” he said quietly. Gojyo didn’t know what the no was supposed to refer to and wasn’t sure he should ask. Probably he’d done enough for one night. “It’s all right,” he continued after a moment. Gojyo couldn’t tell which of them he was speaking to. By the sound of his voice, he didn’t sound terrible convinced that anything was all right.
Gojyo exhaled silently and lay back on the bed. The guy’s fingers slowly peeled themselves off his arm and withdrew. The room was quiet again. Gojyo swallowed, still tasting someone else, and told himself that it didn’t matter if he’d just fucked things up completely. Another month, another week, another day, and the guy would be gone completely. He’d be alone in his apartment again and he’d bring home women who wouldn’t stop him when he slid his hand under their shirt. It would be back to the way it used to be. It didn’t matter.
The guy sighed quietly and Gojyo was struck by the soft exhaustion in the sound. He began to feel a little ashamed of himself for expecting anything, either that the guy would want anything from him, or that he was even capable of offering anything. Somewhat humiliated, he groped around on the bed until he found a blanket and wrapped it around himself, sitting up. Better that he went ahead and spent the rest of the night back on the couch. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, but stopped when a hand fell on his hip.
He stopped, but didn’t turn. He could hear the guy breathing now, loud and almost harsh in the dark silence. Gojyo waited, still, heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He heard the guy take a long indrawn breath and then let it out softly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Gojyo said nothing. He couldn’t begin to guess how he should respond. He didn’t even know what the guy was apologizing for. For pushing him away, maybe, or for saying he’d leave, or for staying with Gojyo so long. He didn’t know and it didn’t seem to matter much, but there was still a dull ache in his chest. Gojyo reminded himself again that in another week, another month, all this would be forgotten. It would.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Gojyo whispered back. He meant it, though part of him felt like he should apologize again himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt like he should be embarrassed, like he should tell the guy he was sorry for trying to touch him. But he wasn’t, not really. He was sorry if he’d made the guy uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sorry for kissing him. Gojyo wanted him, and he wasn’t really sorry for that. He was never sorry for wanting things.
Gojyo stared at his toes, surprised to discover that he could see them. The darkness was thinning and pale blue light was peeking though the curtains. He could see the shape and form of the bed better, and knew if he turned he’d be able to see the man on his bed. His hand was still at Gojyo’s side. Gojyo thought he seemed like he wanted to say something.
“You don’t know me,” he said softly, suddenly. Gojyo looked at the crumpled bedding left on the floor, at his sleep pants falling over the tops of his feet. It was true, he thought. He didn’t know anything about the guy, not even his name.
“No,” he agreed. He didn’t move any further away.
“I cant…,” The man’s voice broke slightly. Gojyo hesitated for only a few seconds before he fumbled for the other man’s hand and squeezed it.
“It’s okay,” he said, hardly knowing what he was saying. The moment seemed surreal, sitting in the almost-dark, talking like this. It wasn’t the first time someone had pushed him away, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes he went home with a girl before she decided she didn’t really want to. He could recognize the same shame and fear and almost-embarrassment in the other man’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to react the way he usually did. This wasn’t a girl her could pet and reassure before getting his coat and leaving.
“There is…,” the man said, almost desperately, “There was…someone…”. He stopped.
“It’s okay,” Gojyo repeated. He didn’t want to hear this, he realized. He was almost afraid to know what the guy’s story was, to actually find out where he came from and what had happened to him. “It’s okay,” he said once more and squeezed the hand again. He tried to let his touch express what he couldn’t manage to put into words.
The man was silent, and Gojyo could almost feel him swallowing, composing himself. The rising sun was casting patterns of shadows on the wall, and the room looked particularly pathetic in the weak light. “Yes,” he said finally, and then, “Thank you.”
Gojyo nodded, and squeezed the hand in his grasp lightly. “No problem,” he said out loud, and told himself it wasn’t. But it was too hard to stay there any longer. He freed his hand from the other’s, picked up his blanket, and went out to the couch again.
He couldn’t fall asleep again, and there didn’t seem to be much point in trying. Still, he lay there with his eyes closed, pretending for both of their sakes. After a while the other man got up, made tea, and puttered around, filling the silence with the chink of teacups on the table.
When he couldn’t lie still any longer, Gojyo got up and took a shower. He sat alone at the table with his tea and stared at the rising steam. When he finished his cup, the guy came back to the kitchen, dressed for traveling. He was smiling again, politely, blankly, ready to tell his story. Gojyo listened silently. He told himself he should be more shocked, should be worried about keeping a mass-murderer under his roof. The man had apparently killed hundred of people. He told himself he should regret letting him stay, regret drinking tea with him. Certainly he should regret kissing him. But he still couldn’t make himself sorry.
Gojyo put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, not inhaling, just keeping it there as some sign of composure. This was it, he told himself. His last reward before the guy left, finally finding out what had happened to him. He thought he should have been grateful for it, grateful that the man trusted him enough to tell him. But he couldn’t manage to feel that, either. H realized it was probably because he couldn’t help but feel that the guy was telling him as a sort of last confession before he went off and died. Sha Gojyo, the priest. It was almost funny. Almost.
And it was almost funny that he finally met someone who thought of his hair and eyes the way he did, and it was this guy. This guy, who was probably more fucked up than he was, and certainly at least a little crazy. It was bitterly ironic, but fitting. Gojyo smiled around his cigarette, at his tea, as the guy gathered himself up, made his goodbyes and walked toward the door.
He drummed his fingers on the table and watched the guy walk to the door. It was the last chance he’d ever have. And in the end, maybe he did need to know.
“Hey,” Gojyo said suddenly. The man stopped, and turned. “Tell me something. What’s your name?”
He thought the man almost smiled at that, really smiled.
“My name is…”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
I’ve always been interested in what happened in the period between the time Gojyo picked Hakkai up off the road and the time Sanzo turned up. This fic started as a result of me thinking about various things that might have occurred during that month.
I worry that the ending is a little unclear. Please let me know if I ought to rewrite it.
Gojyo crept into the dark bedroom, a tangle of blankets draped over his arm. He had given up his bed for nearly a month now for someone else and slept on the couch, but it was just too hot in the other room. It was much cooler in the bedroom, which was why he’d put the bed there in the first place. He had waited, sleeping fitfully for a couple hours, before finally coming to the conclusion that if his guest was uncomfortable with him sleeping on the floor of his own bedroom, that was just too damned bad.
He fumbled around on the floor for a few seconds before he found a good spot to spread the sheets out. When he finished, he peered around the room blindly. It was too dark to see anything more than the faint outlines of furniture. The dim light from the street trickled weakly past the thick curtains that were drawn tight over the window. It was very quiet. Gojyo realized he couldn’t hear his guest’s breathing, which was still a little unnerving.
After he first picked the guy up on the street, he had hovered over him for a while. He sat up for the first couple nights before the guy had woken up, even though there didn’t seem to be much point. The doctor said that if he was going to die, there wasn’t anything much Gojyo could do about it. If he stopped breathing, it would be because he’d had a few feet of his intestines forcibly removed from his body and nothing Gojyo did could fix that. Gojyo sat up anyway.
He had never been able to hear the guy breathing, though. It was a little unnerving. Nearly anyone else he had ever known had made at least some kind of sound as they slept. He found it comforting, lying next to someone and counting their breaths, feeling their chest rise and fall. The girls that he went home with loved that. They always complained about how most guys refused to cuddle afterwards, and were thrilled when he held them until they fell asleep. But it wasn’t the touching he enjoyed so much. It was just nice to feel their heartbeat against his chest, to know that there was someone else there. To know that he wasn’t alone.
The guy in his bed, though, barely made a sound whether he was awake or sleeping. It creeped Gojyo out sometimes. It had been long enough since Gojyo picked him up that he’d healed, more or less. He could move around a little more, and was certainly on the road to recovery. Gojyo even sensed he was becoming a little restless. He straightened up the house while Gojyo was gone and fixed the food Gojyo brought home without complaint. But sometimes Gojyo caught him looking out the window with a blank, distant expression, and Gojyo realized that he would be leaving soon.
The prospect of being left alone in his tiny little dingy apartment was strangely unpleasant. Gojyo felt foolish whenever he caught himself thinking wistfully that it was kind of nice to share the place with someone again. It wasn’t, he told himself, as if he could have expected the guy to stay forever. He wasn’t a little kid that found some wounded animal and dragged it home, begging his parents to let him keep it. The man, whoever he was, wasn’t some bird with a broken wing that could be patched up and stuck in a nice cage for the rest of his life. He was a person, and he had to be turned loose. He had things to do.
Of course, what those things were, Gojyo had no idea. It didn’t bother him much, though, not knowing much about the guy that was living under his roof. What he did know was plenty. For instance, Gojyo knew that he had nice hands and eyes, could make a great beef stew, and dusted things with the fervor of an obsessed housewife. That was enough for him.
But it apparently wasn’t enough for other people. When the doctor came around a week after the guy woke up to check his stitches, he asked Gojyo what the man’s name was. When Gojyo said he didn’t know, the doctor had looked at him like he was either crazy or lying. The guy had never offered any information about himself, though, and Gojyo knew better than to ask. It wasn’t just politeness that kept him from prying into someone else’s business. Sometimes, when he stared out the window or lay in Gojyo’s bed when it rained, the answers were written all over his face. Anguish. Loss. Shame. Anger. Gojyo understood that, and left him alone. He had his own scars and knew better than to prod at anyone else’s.
Gojyo didn’t ask how he’d ended up on the back road, miles from anywhere, with his gut hanging out of his body. He didn’t ask about the limiters on his left ear. He didn’t ask what had happened that had caused the guy so much pain that he sometimes looked like he would have welcomed death. And in his silence, they seemed to establish an unspoken understanding. The guy didn’t ask about the scars on his face, or the color of his hair and eyes. In fact, he didn’t ask anything more personal than whether or not Gojyo liked mushrooms in his soup.
Somehow, they’d achieved a sort of tentative policy of noninterference. It didn’t leave much room for expectations. Gojyo knew the guy had to go out and finish whatever business he’d started. He knew this was only a temporary stop for him, a place for him to rest up before continuing his journey. He was going to have to leave at some point, even if Gojyo was beginning to think that he wouldn’t mind if he stayed.
Gojyo leaned back against the cool sheets and sighed, eyes open as he stared into the dark room. The blankets bunched up slightly under his back. He’d spread them too hastily before sprawling down on top of them. It was too quiet. He had the urge to go over and make sure the guy was breathing. He remembered that he used to do that with Jien when he was little, hovering over him anxiously, listening for each indrawn breath. Sometimes Jien woke up and grumbled about Gojyo staring at him while he slept and how that was really creepy, thank you very fucking much. But then he always yanked Gojyo down to lie beside him. Gojyo liked to listen to Jien’s heartbeat pulsing against his back until he fell asleep. Jien always kept his arm over him, strong and safe.
Gojyo chewed a fingernail and shifted on the crumpled sheets. It was best not to think too much about those sorts of things. He knew that. It only led to wondering about what had happened to Jien, if he was still alive, if he blamed Gojyo, and there was nothing good about those thoughts. Some nights, though. Gojyo couldn’t help it.
He was wrestling with that line of thought when a disembodied voice came out of the darkness. “Is everything all right?” Gojyo nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Yeah,” he said, once his heartbeat retreated from his throat. That was another nice thing about being able to hear people breathing, he thought. It made it easier to tell when they were awake or asleep. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He paused, and then added, “Thought you were asleep. Shit, did I wake you up? Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” the man said, though Gojyo noticed he didn’t say whether Gojyo had woken him up or not.
An awkward silence followed his words. It was a little uncomfortable to just lie there in silence with someone, particularly since it was too dark to see anything. Gojyo couldn’t see the guy’s face, or anything more than a vague outline of his body of the bed. Tugging the sheets more tightly around himself, Gojyo tried to at least attempt to sleep.
He hadn’t made much progress toward his goal when his companion suddenly asked, “Are you quite comfortable down there?” A pause, and before Gojyo could respond, he added, “I feel badly for taking your bed for so long.”
“S’okay,” Gojyo said, and shrugged into the darkness. “I’ve slept on worse, believe me. Anyway, you’re still healing.”
After that, he was quiet for so long that Gojyo thought the subject had been dropped, but eventually he said, “Well. That’s very considerate of you.”
“Sure,” Gojyo shrugged once more, though he knew the guy couldn’t see it. “It’s okay,” he added again. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say. They hadn’t exchanged this many words in several days.
“Well,” his guest said again, and was silent for a few seconds. Then, “You really do have a large bed. There’s no need for you to stay down there if you don’t want to. I don’t mind.”
Gojyo turned this option over in his mind before responding. He wasn’t really averse to sharing beds either, though it was usually with people he was a more…intimately acquainted with. Then again, he’d stuffed this guy’s intestines back into his body with his bare hands. That was about as intimate as it got. Plus, his back was starting to get a bit sore.
Wordlessly, he wrapped one of the sheets around his shoulders and stumbled toward the bed. It was a small room, and he’d lived there long enough to be pretty familiar with it, but it still cost him a couple seconds and a slightly bruised toe, courtesy of the dresser, before his hands found the mattress. He climbed in and felt the bed dip slightly under his weight.
He shifted his way under the covers, keeping a polite distance from the other man’s body. He said he didn’t mind, but Gojyo was willing to bet he wouldn’t be comfortable with getting close. He just didn’t seem the type.
“It’s been a month now, hasn’t it?” the guy said suddenly. Gojyo could almost feel his breath as he spoke, and turned sharply to try and look at him.
“What?” he asked.
“A month,” he repeated. Gojyo’s mind clicked along, struggling to figure out what the cryptic words meant, until he realized the guy meant it had been a month since Gojyo had plucked his half-dead body off the road.
“Oh,” Gojyo said stupidly. “Yeah. I guess it has.” There seemed to be more he could say, but he fell silent. He wasn’t entirely sure why the guy was bringing it up, but he had a couple ideas.
“I think perhaps it might be time for me to go soon,” he said after a moment. Gojyo had expected the words, but he didn’t really know how to respond.
“Yeah, okay,” he said carefully. He didn’t want to sound like he cared too much, because there was no reason for him to care. He tried to squash to urge to say something more, and failed. “I mean, whenever you want to. I don’t mind having you here, but if you want to go that’s fine too.” Shit. He sounded like a complete idiot. What’s worse, it sounded like he did mind. Gojyo wet his lips nervously and stared at the dark room. He thought wryly that he’d never been any good with break-ups, even when there’d never been any kind of relationship in the first place. He waited for the guy’s response. The man didn’t say anything right away.
“I very much appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he said at last, apparently not noticing or choosing to ignore Gojyo’s comments.
“It’s nothing,” Gojyo said. It was more or less true. It wasn’t like he had been a difficult guest.
“But I have certain things that I need to do.” The man continued speaking, almost as if he hadn’t heard Gojyo.
“I understand,” Gojyo assured him. He did.
“Yes,” the guy said, then paused for a moment. “Yes, I knew you would.”
Gojyo occupied himself with staring at the ceiling, completely at a loss for words. He supposed that was that. He’d see the guy off in the morning, and probably never see him again. There was no need to make a fuss about it, he knew. But he felt, strangely, almost bereft and couldn’t figure out why.
“I’m sorry,” the man continued after a moment, “I don’t know of any way to repay you.”
“That’s okay,” Gojyo repeated. The words came almost mechanically. “Don’t need any kind of reward. It was really nothing.”
There was another pause before the guy said, very quietly, “I disagree.”
Gojyo opened his mouth, and then shut it, unsure as to how to respond to that. “Well,” he finally said. “Good luck. With…whatever you need to do. Hang in there.” After the words had left his mouth, he didn’t really know why he’d said it. He somehow felt sure that when he left, the guy was going to disappear off the face of the earth. Never to be seen again. Gojyo tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding. It wasn’t his life. Whatever the guy wanted to do was none of Gojyo business. The problem was that after the last month, Gojyo had started to feel like maybe it should be. But he knew it wasn’t. He cleared his throat and tried again, thinking he should say something less melancholy.
“Try not to rip half your stomach out again, huh?” He tried to sound joking instead of dire. The guy laughed softly.
“Yes, I hope that will be a one-time occurrence.” His voice grew a little more sober and he added, “I was fortunate this time, but I suppose I can’t always count on the kindness of strangers.” There was a slightly sarcastic note in his voice, an ironic bite, but Gojyo couldn’t figure out why. He noticed that the guy had a habit of dropping loaded comments into the middle of the conversation, things Gojyo had no idea how to respond to. He lay there silently, thinking. It was rapidly becoming one of the most awkward conversations he’d ever had.
“Well,” Gojyo said finally. He felt like there must be something he should say. There was plenty he wanted to say, but none of it was even remotely appropriate. Most of what he wanted to say ran along the lines of please don’t go, I want you to stay, will you come back? They were things he wanted to say, but none of it should actually be said. “Take care,” he finished lamely.
“Yes,” the guy said, and paused. “You as well.” Gojyo nodded, knowing that the guy couldn’t really see him. He could feel the movement, maybe. They were close enough for that. Almost sharing a pillow.
An idea waltzed into his mind when he felt the guy shift slightly in the bed next to him. It was a terrible idea, and he knew it. If he’d had any impulse control at all, he wouldn’t have let himself even think about it. But he’d never been any good at reigning himself in, and if the guy was going to leave anyway, what was the harm in stealing a parting kiss? Even if he got angry, he would leave in the morning, and Gojyo knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he’d never see the man again. What was the worst that could happen? Gojyo refused to think about it.
Before he had a chance to think better of it, Gojyo leaned over and brushed his lips against the other man’s gently. The guy didn’t push Gojyo away, but he tensed. Gojyo briefly toyed with the idea of pulling back, apologizing, and moving back down to the floor and pretending nothing had happened. He suspected that the guy would go along with such a charade. But what was the point? It didn’t seem to matter much what he did now, or if he made things uncomfortable and awkward for both of them. He was leaving either way.
Gojyo held still, lips parted, breathing softly against the guy’s mouth. The guy didn’t shove him away, and after a few seconds, some of the tension seemed to leech out of his shoulders where Gojyo rested his hand. He was very warm and surprisingly solid. When he leaned slowly against him, Gojyo could feel tight, hard muscle under the guy’s shirt. It was a little disconcerting. It had been a while since he’d touched a guy like this. He was accustomed to the softness of a woman’s body and it felt strange to run his fingers down a flat, strong chest to a firm, muscled stomach. It felt nice though, and the guy didn’t protest.
Gojyo leaned into the guy’s space, trying not to move. He smelled good, he felt good, and Gojyo was more than a little amazed that he hadn’t been shoved off the bed on his ass. All he’d wanted was a kiss, and now he had his fingers skimming the hem of the guy’s shirt, lingering close to warm flesh. But then, while he wasn’t being shoved away, the guy hadn’t really responded either.
It would be best to roll over and leave things as they were. Quit while he was ahead. Let the guy leave in the morning and refrain from saying all the stupid crazy things he wanted to say. Unfortunately, Gojyo knew that if he did that the guy would walk out of his life forever, and he’d always be wondering what had happened to him. Maybe on the nights when he was alone and started thinking about Jien, he’d think about this guy instead, with his pretty face and hands, and wonder where he was, if he’d finally gotten the death he’d seemed to want so much. It wouldn’t be what he wanted, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Too bad he’d never been any good at doing the right thing. Gojyo slid his hand down to the front of the guy’s pants.
He didn’t feel the guy up, afraid he’d scare him off if he moved too quickly. He left his hand where it was and applied a little more pressure to the kiss. The whole situation seemed ridiculous, and Gojyo wasn’t entirely sure what to do and a little confused by the guy’s refusal to either participate or push him away. He leaned against the guy a little, pressing their bodies together. Their shirts blocked the feeling of skin, but Gojyo could still sense the warmth underneath.
He stilled when the guy finally moved and put a hand on Gojyo’s arm. He couldn’t tell if the hand was trying to pull him closer or keep him away. After puzzling at it for a few moments he finally gave up trying to figure it out. If the guy wanted him to stop, he could damn well make it obvious. Gojyo chose to make the most of this moment, since it seemed to be the only chance he’d have.
He pulled back, licked his lips, and tried again. This time their mouths melded together easily, fluidly. The guy drew in a breath and Gojyo seized the opportunity to suck on his lower lip. His fingers tightened on Gojyo’s arm, and this time Gojyo was sure he was pulling him closer. He opened his mouth and let Gojyo slide his tongue inside. Gojyo tangled his fingers in the guy’s shirt and slid his fingers underneath until they brushed very lightly against scar tissue.
The guy became very still. His grip Gojyo’s arm grew hard enough to bruise. Gojyo jerked away in pain and surprise. He couldn’t see the guy’s face in the darkness and he was suddenly very glad. He leaned back suddenly, away from Gojyo, though his fingers were still digging into Gojyo’s arm.
“Sorry,” Gojyo whispered, figuring that was the most appropriate response.
“No,” he said quietly. Gojyo didn’t know what the no was supposed to refer to and wasn’t sure he should ask. Probably he’d done enough for one night. “It’s all right,” he continued after a moment. Gojyo couldn’t tell which of them he was speaking to. By the sound of his voice, he didn’t sound terrible convinced that anything was all right.
Gojyo exhaled silently and lay back on the bed. The guy’s fingers slowly peeled themselves off his arm and withdrew. The room was quiet again. Gojyo swallowed, still tasting someone else, and told himself that it didn’t matter if he’d just fucked things up completely. Another month, another week, another day, and the guy would be gone completely. He’d be alone in his apartment again and he’d bring home women who wouldn’t stop him when he slid his hand under their shirt. It would be back to the way it used to be. It didn’t matter.
The guy sighed quietly and Gojyo was struck by the soft exhaustion in the sound. He began to feel a little ashamed of himself for expecting anything, either that the guy would want anything from him, or that he was even capable of offering anything. Somewhat humiliated, he groped around on the bed until he found a blanket and wrapped it around himself, sitting up. Better that he went ahead and spent the rest of the night back on the couch. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, but stopped when a hand fell on his hip.
He stopped, but didn’t turn. He could hear the guy breathing now, loud and almost harsh in the dark silence. Gojyo waited, still, heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He heard the guy take a long indrawn breath and then let it out softly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Gojyo said nothing. He couldn’t begin to guess how he should respond. He didn’t even know what the guy was apologizing for. For pushing him away, maybe, or for saying he’d leave, or for staying with Gojyo so long. He didn’t know and it didn’t seem to matter much, but there was still a dull ache in his chest. Gojyo reminded himself again that in another week, another month, all this would be forgotten. It would.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Gojyo whispered back. He meant it, though part of him felt like he should apologize again himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt like he should be embarrassed, like he should tell the guy he was sorry for trying to touch him. But he wasn’t, not really. He was sorry if he’d made the guy uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sorry for kissing him. Gojyo wanted him, and he wasn’t really sorry for that. He was never sorry for wanting things.
Gojyo stared at his toes, surprised to discover that he could see them. The darkness was thinning and pale blue light was peeking though the curtains. He could see the shape and form of the bed better, and knew if he turned he’d be able to see the man on his bed. His hand was still at Gojyo’s side. Gojyo thought he seemed like he wanted to say something.
“You don’t know me,” he said softly, suddenly. Gojyo looked at the crumpled bedding left on the floor, at his sleep pants falling over the tops of his feet. It was true, he thought. He didn’t know anything about the guy, not even his name.
“No,” he agreed. He didn’t move any further away.
“I cant…,” The man’s voice broke slightly. Gojyo hesitated for only a few seconds before he fumbled for the other man’s hand and squeezed it.
“It’s okay,” he said, hardly knowing what he was saying. The moment seemed surreal, sitting in the almost-dark, talking like this. It wasn’t the first time someone had pushed him away, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes he went home with a girl before she decided she didn’t really want to. He could recognize the same shame and fear and almost-embarrassment in the other man’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to react the way he usually did. This wasn’t a girl her could pet and reassure before getting his coat and leaving.
“There is…,” the man said, almost desperately, “There was…someone…”. He stopped.
“It’s okay,” Gojyo repeated. He didn’t want to hear this, he realized. He was almost afraid to know what the guy’s story was, to actually find out where he came from and what had happened to him. “It’s okay,” he said once more and squeezed the hand again. He tried to let his touch express what he couldn’t manage to put into words.
The man was silent, and Gojyo could almost feel him swallowing, composing himself. The rising sun was casting patterns of shadows on the wall, and the room looked particularly pathetic in the weak light. “Yes,” he said finally, and then, “Thank you.”
Gojyo nodded, and squeezed the hand in his grasp lightly. “No problem,” he said out loud, and told himself it wasn’t. But it was too hard to stay there any longer. He freed his hand from the other’s, picked up his blanket, and went out to the couch again.
He couldn’t fall asleep again, and there didn’t seem to be much point in trying. Still, he lay there with his eyes closed, pretending for both of their sakes. After a while the other man got up, made tea, and puttered around, filling the silence with the chink of teacups on the table.
When he couldn’t lie still any longer, Gojyo got up and took a shower. He sat alone at the table with his tea and stared at the rising steam. When he finished his cup, the guy came back to the kitchen, dressed for traveling. He was smiling again, politely, blankly, ready to tell his story. Gojyo listened silently. He told himself he should be more shocked, should be worried about keeping a mass-murderer under his roof. The man had apparently killed hundred of people. He told himself he should regret letting him stay, regret drinking tea with him. Certainly he should regret kissing him. But he still couldn’t make himself sorry.
Gojyo put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, not inhaling, just keeping it there as some sign of composure. This was it, he told himself. His last reward before the guy left, finally finding out what had happened to him. He thought he should have been grateful for it, grateful that the man trusted him enough to tell him. But he couldn’t manage to feel that, either. H realized it was probably because he couldn’t help but feel that the guy was telling him as a sort of last confession before he went off and died. Sha Gojyo, the priest. It was almost funny. Almost.
And it was almost funny that he finally met someone who thought of his hair and eyes the way he did, and it was this guy. This guy, who was probably more fucked up than he was, and certainly at least a little crazy. It was bitterly ironic, but fitting. Gojyo smiled around his cigarette, at his tea, as the guy gathered himself up, made his goodbyes and walked toward the door.
He drummed his fingers on the table and watched the guy walk to the door. It was the last chance he’d ever have. And in the end, maybe he did need to know.
“Hey,” Gojyo said suddenly. The man stopped, and turned. “Tell me something. What’s your name?”
He thought the man almost smiled at that, really smiled.
“My name is…”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
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Oh? I don't remember the bandage thing in Burial. It's been a while since I reread it, though, so maybe I need to give in another look.
Thanks very much for your comments!
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My favorite part was the tension on the bed. All the things they wanted to say, but couldn't. You've captured the tension from the Be There/Burial period brilliantly!
I've always loved the Be There and Burial story arcs -- especially the sharp contrast between their tense friendship then and their easy friendship later in the series.
I know I am being very selfish/greedy for saying this -- but I wished the conversation over tea had lasted a bit longer. The interchanges between them in the "Be There" story arc and the "Burial" story arc in the manga were so rich -- and you've provided such wonderful characterizations for these two -- that I would have loved to see you pen Gojyo's thoughts and reactions as Hakkai told his story.
Would you ever consider breaking the tea conversation into a second chapter?
But that's just me being greedy -- Sorry. ^_^;;
That said, I really did enjoy this story -- even if you never added anything to it -- I'd still enjoy it! ^_^
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I adore Be There and Burial arc too. I think they're my favorite parts of Saiyuki. The interection between Hakkai and Gojyo is just so darn cute! I'm so happy you thought this fit in well.
No, you're not being greedy at all! I do think I might try to expand the last few paragraphs of this fic to flesh out the ending a little more. So you might get your wish!
Thanks again!
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I'm so happy to hear that your considering adding to this fic! That's awesome! I can't wait to read the updated version! ♥
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I think you did a great job with this. I love it so much when people 'fill in the blanks'... and there are so many blanks in Saiyuki. You've kept them in character and made them both seem so vulnerable. Thank you for posting. XD
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There are so many blanks in Saiyuki. It's really fun to imagine what might have happened 'behind the scenes'. My problems is that I get plotbunnies for virtually every 'blank' and suffer an overload of ideas. XD I guess it's better than nothing!
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>sigh<
That was nice. Sweet and a little sad ... a rainy day sort of story.
Thanks!
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Commenting while very tired-->not good, but was looking for a good saiyuki fic to read before going to bed, and now I can at least do that, thanks to you. ^_^
and it's a new one too, how unexpected.no subject