Comfort

There was a slightly… anxious atmosphere at KoKakuRou when Watari walked in: the staff were looking worried. He tried a smile.
      "'lo. 's Mibu-san home?"
      Cho eyed him warily, then bowed.
      "Watari-san… Please will you follow me?"
      The shinigami frowned, puzzled, then paced behind the woman as she hastened towards Oriya's private rooms.
      "Watari-san, we hope that you might be able to help the master."
      Cho was indicating the main door, her expression guardedly hopeful. Watari blinked.
      "Whut's wrong wi'him?"
      "We do not know."
      Cho was obviously worried, but also keen to get back to the restaurant: evening was approaching and she was needed. Watari nodded and gestured for her to leave, practical instincts kicking in.
      "Ay'll handle it." Whatever it was, he thought to himself. Cho looked relieved.
      "Thank you, Watari-san. If you need anything or anyone, please ask…"
      As she hurried back, Watari tried the door, not overly surprised to find it locked.
      "Oriya-kun? S'me. Let me in?"
      There was no answer. Sighing, Watari teleported into Oriya's quarters.

The outer room was empty: Watari moved swiftly to the door to the bedroom, sliding it open silently. Warm brown eyes gazed up at him, resignedly, from where the swordsman was slumped on the futon.
      "Yutaka-kun…"
      Frowning, Watari sat down on the edge of the bed and regarded his friend.
      "They'm worried about yew. Wha's problem, Oriya?"
      The swordsman averted his eyes.
      "No problem, Yutaka. I simply felt the need for a little solitude."
      The shinigami raised an eyebrow; the charade wasn't exactly convincing, but Oriya apparently didn't want to talk about it. Watari rose to his feet.
      "Ay'll make tea."
      Oriya raised a hand.
      "No… no, Yutaka-kun. You are a guest in my house…"
      Frowning, Watari reached down and gently grasped his hand before he could hide his arm inside his sleeve again, examining the somewhat crudely-fastened bandage around the swordsman's wrist.
      "Whut happened?"
      Oriya tried to pull his hand back, wincing when the shinigami wouldn't let go.
      "It's nothing. A small domestic accident."
      "Ay see…" Watari glanced at the swordsman, but Oriya refused to meet his eyes. "Whur's yer first-aid box? Ay'll re-dress it fer yew."
      "You don't need to trouble yourself, Watari-san. I'm fine."
      "Ay'm sure yew are. But s'no trouble. Whur's the box?"
      Scowling, Oriya jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom.
      "Ta. Won't be but a minnit…"

"You really don't need to do this, Yutaka."
      Watari nodded, gaze still focussed on the bandage he was carefully unrolling.
      "Ay know. Goin' to all same…" He stared, then winced as the last loop of the dressing came away and he saw what was underneath. "Oriya-kun, whut kind o' accident caused this?"
      The skin of the swordsman's wrist was torn and abraded, the wounds weeping, the skin around them bruised. Watari gently turned the shaking hand over; the lacerations made a complete circuit. They looked, thought the shinigami, as though they'd been made by a rope. As though Oriya had been tied up. Tightly.
      Suspicions roused, Watari reached for the other hand, pulling it forwards before Oriya could object. Sure enough, a bandage wrapped that wrist too. Watari frowned.
      "Yew want to tell me whut happened?"
      "It's none of your business."
      "Aa, Ay know. But you'm hurt, Oriya. Who did this - an' why?"
      The swordsman was silent. Watari sighed.
      "Muraki, then."
      "No!" Oriya bit his lip. "No. It wasn't him."
      Watari rummaged in the medical box, finding a small bottle of disinfectant, some cotton wool, a tube of antiseptic cream and a handful of clean bandages.
      "Who then?"
      "It's none of your business."
      "Aa, so yew said." Watari looked up from cleaning the wounds, face sombre. "But Ay'm askin', as a friend. Ay dun' like to see yew hurt."
      Oriya was silent as Watari applied cream, then carefully bandaged both wrists again.
      "There yew go. Should heal quite quick, but one o' they cuts is deep. T'will scar, Ay think."
      "It doesn't matter." Oriya mumbled, then bit back a cry, jerking forwards as Watari laid a hand on his shoulder. The shinigami snatched his hand back, shocked to find it damp with blood.
      "Whut the… Oriya, whut's happened?"
      Gritting his teeth, the swordsman averted his head.
      "Thank you for your assistance, Watari-san, but now I must ask you to leave. I have a business to run."
      "An' yew can't run it like that! Let me see yer back."
      "There's no need…"
      "Oriya, whut wuz yew goin' to do if Ay hadn't come along? Seen a doctor?" Ignoring the swordsman's clumsy attempts to push his hands away, Watari moved behind Oriya and eased the loose kimono from broad shoulders, pushing the long fall of heavy hair to spill down his friend's chest.
      "Whut the hell…?"
      It looked like someone had taken a knife to the swordsman's back: the skin was scored with dozens of thin, long, deep cuts, slicing in towards his spine on either side. Watari carefully pulled the kimono down to Oriya's waist and reached for the disinfectant again, cleaning the injuries in silence.
      It took quite a few minutes, and at the end all Watari could do was spread cream over the damaged skin: there weren't enough bandages in the box for him to dress the wounds properly. He sat back on his heels with a resigned sigh.
      "Whur else are yew hurt?"
      Oriya shook his head, and Watari scowled, reaching for the obi.
      "'K, if yew int goin' to tell me…"
      The swordsman flinched and glanced over his shoulder.
      "Please, don't."
      "Tell me whut happened."
      Oriya was stubbornly silent, and Watari shrugged.
      "'K, yew want t'be awkward…" He untied the obi, stripping the kimono from the muscular body in front of him before Oriya could stop him, grimacing as he took in the damage.
      Shallower knife cuts down the lower back, and a large, bloody mess above one lean buttock; more blood on the inner thighs… rough bandages around both ankles too.
      "Kin yew lie down, Oriya? Be easier fer me t'get you cleaned up."
      Resigned, the swordsman carefully lay down on his front. The shinigami nodded as he stroked disinfectant over the gashes, talking as he did so.
      "Ay'm goin' t'take a stab in the dark, yere, and guess that yew had t'let 'em tie yew down so yew din't move too much. So must've had summin' t'do with the business, ne? Now whut could make yew let sumwun do this to yew?"
      "… it was in payment…"
      "High price, Oriya-kun! Payment fer whut?"
      "A favour."
      "Uhuh… want t'tell me more?" But nothing more was forthcoming, which didn't surprise him. He continued his self-appointed task, hissing as he cleaned the blood from the larger wound. Underneath someone had literally carved the kanji for 'whore' into Oriya's flesh. Slathering antiseptic liberally over the oozing cuts, Watari debated checking further down the swordsman's body - then decided that was too intimate a thing to force on Oriya right now. He moved down to the ankles, unwinding the bandages and shaking his head over the injuries underneath, cleaning and dressing them swiftly and efficiently then moving to sit beside the swordsman, one hand stroking his hair back from his face.
      "Feel better?"
      "Thank you…"
      "Ay'd say my pleasure, 'cept it's no pleasure cleanin' up summin like that. Oriya, please, tell me whut happened?"
      The swordsman rolled painfully onto his side; Watari winced at the sight of the bruises on the front of his body, but at least there were no obvious wounds. Desolate brown eyes gazed into gold.
      "I asked a favour for a… friend. This was demanded in payment."
      "Must've been a bloody big favour!"
      The swordsman managed a faint chuckle.
      "It was."
      Watari eyed him for a moment.
      "How many of 'em wuz there?"
      Oriya paled, lowering his eyes.
      "… too many…"
      "Yew hurtin'? Inside? Want me to…?"
      Oriya shook his head firmly.
      "No. Thank you. It's not too bad."
      "Yew sure?"
      "Yes. It's not the first time. Though it hasn't happened recently…"
      Watari lay down on the futon so they were eye to eye, one hand cupping the swordsman's face.
      "Why, Oriya? Is he worth it? Worth all this pain?"
      The swordsman was silent, eyes lowered. Watari stroked a high cheekbone with his thumb.
      "Wish yew'd trust me."
      "I do…" It was almost too quiet to hear. The shinigami sighed.
      "Not enough, seems."
      The swordsman shivered, and Watari moved to gently ease the bedcover over his injured body. Wincing, Oriya shifted carefully until he was settled as comfortably as possible, then gazed into Watari's shimmering eyes, his own desolate.
      "There's nothing you can do to help. I don't want you getting involved. You could be hurt too."
      Watari took a limp cold hand in his own.
      "Anybody tries it, all Ay needs to do is teleport away."
      Oriya blinked, nonplussed.
      "You can do that?"
      "S'how we gets from Meifu to Chijou an' back. Or did yew think we took a bus?"
      The swordsman managed a slight smile.
      "Never really thought about it…" His eyelids were beginning to droop; he squeezed Watari's hand lightly. "I'm sorry - I need to sleep."
      The shinigami nodded.
      "'cause yew din't get any last night. S'OK. Mind if Ay sits wi' yew?"
      "…I… I would like that… If you have the time…"
      Watari smiled sadly, stroking the swordsman's cheek as Oriya dropped into an exhausted sleep.

There had been a time when Oriya woke to pain nearly every day, but that had been long ago. Now - he gasped as simply trying to stretch, unwarily, pulled open healing cuts and rubbed the dressings against his aching wrists. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened…
      Then the memories came flooding back, along with the sense of shame, of humiliation. He buried his face in his hands - then flinched, heart in his mouth, as a hand stroked gently at his hair.
      "S'OK, Oriya. 'tis only me."
      Yutaka? What was he doing here? He'd left… hadn't he? That hadn't been a dream, had it?
      A shadow passed over him as his friend moved to his other side, the side he was facing, so he didn't have to roll over. Tired chatoyant eyes smiled into his.
      "How're yew feelin'?"
      "… hurts…"
      "Aa, well, t'would fer a bit." Gentle hands took his, long fingers carefully touching the dressings, checking for dampness, that they weren't too loose or too tight. Watari sat back a little. "Kin Ay get yew anythin'?"
      Oriya closed his eyes. He was desperately thirsty, now he thought about it.
      "… tea? If you ask at the kitchen…"
      Watari pulled himself upright.
      "'K. Anythin' else 'fore Ay go?"
      The swordsman managed a tight chuckle.
      "Nothing you can help me with, Yutaka-kun."
      Glancing towards the bathroom and separate toilet, Watari nodded understandingly.
      "Then Ay'll be back soon…"

Various members of staff pounced as Watari appeared at the kitchen door, all wanting to know how their master was. The shinigami reassured them that Oriya was in no danger, choosing his words carefully as the water boiled for sencha, then escaping back to his host's rooms as soon as he could. Oriya was back on the futon, pale, his breathing uneven, and Watari frowned.
      "Ay should get a proper doctor fer yew."
      Oriya raised a hand.
      "No. I will be fine… I'd rather… just you, if you can stay, that is."
       "Couple o' days. Will that help?"
      Some of the tension left Oriya's body.
      "Very much. Thank you."
      Watari smiled, brightening the room.
      "S'a pleasure, Oriya-kun."
      The swordsman eased himself into a half-sitting position and awkwardly accepted the yunomi of pale green tea. Sipping it gratefully, he eyed Watari over the rim.
      "I… hadn't expected to see you again."
      Watari lowered his head, fair skin flushing with an endearing mixture of guilt and embarrassment.
      "Um… sorry… 'f yew dun want me to stay…"
      "I haven't changed my mind. I'm curious as to why you have, though."
      There was a small silence, then, quietly,
      "Missed yew."
      Oriya reached for a slim pale hand.
      "It's been dark since you left."
      Watari blinked, then inclined his head thoughtfully.
      "F'me too."
      Warm brown eyes smiled into gold.
      "I'm still tired, Yutaka-kun. And you were awake all night. Shall we rest?"
      Grinning, Watari stripped and slid under the cover, pulling Oriya gently to him, careful not to cause any pain. As the swordsman nestled against him, head on a slim shoulder and body half-covering his own to avoid putting pressure on the wounds, the shinigami sighed contentedly.
      It felt like coming home.

© 2004 April 12^st Joules Taylor

Oriyal Tales

Mini Epics Index

The Zone

---

© 2004 WordWrights