Cook Smoke
by Michalyn
Fandom: Harutoki
Pairings: Tomomasa + Takamichi
Warnings: mild violence, angst
Beyond the scraggly
mulberry grove–
cook smoke
coming closer [1]
Takamichi awakens to the sound of Tomomasa dressing in the darkness. The morning is cold and a fine mist is seeping through the windows and curling through the cracks beneath the sliding doors. Takamichi shivers; he does not pretend to be asleep though he knows Tomomasa wishes it. Instead he listens to the slide of cloth and the whisper of metal being eased into its sheath. Tomomasa is barely discernable, a shadow moving against the stillness. Tied and rolled, tucked and bound, not a tendril of his bright hair is visible. Yet, only a few hours ago Takamichi had buried his fingers in those soft strands to caress the warmth of Tomomasa’s scalp beneath. How different the shiver that had raced through Tomomasa then from the one that Takamichi cannot cast off now.
Must you go? The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows it is useless to utter them.
“You know you have nothing to worry about,” Tomomasa says to him without turning around. There is exasperation in his voice.
“I know that I should be going with you.”
Takamichi sighs and Tomomasa echoes him. There is so much more to be said, but on this wet and dreary morning all their heated words are silenced, compressed into ghostly plumes of breath. Tomomasa seeks Takamichi out beneath the bedclothes where he lies naked. His kisses are soft, his lips warm against Takamichi’s skin, but the tips of Tomomasa’s fingers, so recent from the unheated water of his bath are cold; they steal the fire from his touch. Takamichi huddles closer beneath the blankets.
The leaves have barely fallen but already winter seems to be upon them.
————————–
There is water in his eyes and water creeping down Tomomasa’s neck, yet nothing bothers him so much as the soft tracks they are leaving behind in the mud with every step. He woke to a feeling of unease this morning and it has not left him since. Their archer is a nervous young man on his first mission. Every time the wild geese cry overhead he starts, bow trembling. Tomomasa curses as Takamichi’s steadfast gaze returns to him. He knows he has made a mistake.
He had been careful to keep his arguments weighty, but in the end, Tomomasa was moved only by selfishness. That Takamichi is a skilled archer with an equally treacherous dagger means little to the man in love with him. Fighting to protect the Miko is one thing, another thing entirely to include Takamichi on this cold-hearted mission against emperor’s assassins. Tomomasa remembers Takamichi’s gentle hands and luminous eyes and the thought of losing his young companion clenches his heart like a fist.
It is not so much Takamichi that he fears for, but himself.
Today that fear will cost him. Tomomasa feels it as surely as the wind chilling his bones, for fear is walking beside him, keeping time with the young archer’s footsteps. They near the traitors’ camp and the hair on the back of Tomomasa’s neck prickles as his men ready themselves. The smell of charred meat and a glimpse of lingering cook smoke is all they’re allowed before the enemy falls upon them. Ten to their five, the odds are not in their favor. They slice through the throng and the tang of blood fills the air.
The rain will not stop nor will the cold release them. Five to five now and Tomomasa is sure they will make it. Already he is dreaming of Takamichi’s unbound hair.
The young archer falters; he is out of arrows. Fumbling, he cannot draw his dagger quickly enough, nor can Tomomasa’s shout reach him before the ground is stained red. The chain is broken; confusion reigns. The soggy earth now seems unquenchable in its thirst for the blood of his men. The wild geese circle above the trees but they are too high up for Tomomasa to hear them.
One man left now and he is all alone.
They face each other: two leaders, both the worst of their men. There will be no taking of prisoners here. Tomomasa raises his sword.
His last thought as he surges forward is that he should have made love with Takamichi before he left.
————————
They have told him that he is being kept here.
Though the sun has barely risen, a curl of wood smoke is already wafting above the trees like an omen. Takamichi’s heart is pounding as he gallops ahead of the Miko’s lumbering train. Seven days of wondering, seven days of agony are too much to allow him to be patient. He hurries to the old inn and bangs on the doors. The shuffling of feet from within, a few exchanged words, the glimmer of coins and Takamichi is rushing up the stairs.
The room is dank and unlit, the figure on the futon still.
Is he breathing? Takamichi does not know until he touches his palm to Tomomasa’s chest. He grimaces at the seeping wound in Tomomasa’s side and the hastily tied bandages. Unchanged for seven days. Takamichi unpeels the soiled cloth with trembling fingers. He has brought medicine and clean bandages, his love and a desperate hope that he has not lost the person most important to him.
The cloth is unfurled and the wound’s red mouth stares back at him, miraculously uninfected. Takamichi’s eyes are burning and his hands cannot stop shaking. He is angry at Tomomasa’s suffering, angry for his own torment, which he knows could have been prevented if, instead of trying to foolishly protect him, Tomomasa had only seen fit to exercise a bit more common sense. Yet, in the pure heart of the wound Takamichi also sees Tomomasa’s implacable will, that same stubbornness that brought him so close to death. His anger leaves him. He kisses Tomomasa on his cheek and strokes his bright, unbound hair.
Takamichi goes downstairs to ask for water and the innkeeper questions him about the man sleeping in the room above. He tells Takamichi the story of the bleeding nobleman stumbling on a cold night into the inn. The innkeeper is poor. He can offer him no care, only a room for his coin and a promise to deliver the message that the nobleman writes with fingers still wet. Imagining it, Takamichi mutters a prayer.
Steam rises from the basin Takamichi rests next to the bed. Of course Tomomasa awakens just as he is washing him.
“Could not wait to get me out of my clothes, could you?” he jokes feebly though his lips are white and his face is wan.
Takamichi shushes him and continues to rub the cloth over Tomomasa’s skin. It is the best he can do anyway through the moisture clouding his vision and the constriction in his throat. He applies the ointment, securing the fresh bandages. Their fingers are twined tightly together and it is enough, for neither can say a word. The miko’s train has finally arrived and Takamichi can hear shouting and the clattering of men on the stairs.
The innkeeper reappears to tell them that dinner will be ready shortly, and Takamichi thanks him, though his hands never stray from Tomomasa’s and his eyes linger on his lover’s face. They will eat here before taking to the road once more. A chill has desecended and outside all the leaves are dead. Winter has returned in all its indifference.
The road will be long and difficult but no matter how arduous the journey Takamichi does not worry. Wherever there is cook smoke, the weary traveler knows that it is a sign of life within.
End
———————
1. From Passing by a Mountain Village at Dusk by buddhist poet, Chia Tao.
Tags: angst, drama, Harutoki, tomomasa x takamichi