Savage Garden - I Knew I Loved You
Title: I Knew I Loved You
Pairing: Koyama/Yamapi (NEWS)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “I think I dreamed you into life.” AU.
Notes: Based on the Savage Garden song of the same title. I know this is a challenge instead of an exchange, but I can’t not dedicate this fic to sanjihan. I hope this doesn’t reveal who I am... but who doesn’t love Tara, really? ♥
Yamashita doesn’t even remember when he had begun noticing the stranger. The man is just an ordinary train passenger, another one of the millions and millions of commuters using Tokyo’s rail network everyday. But somehow he had become a familiar sight for Yamashita, and even something to look forward to in his daily journeys.
He’s a little taller than Yamashita, his skin a stunning golden tan that brings to mind lazy days spent at the beach. In the mornings he always sits on the side of the train where the rays of the sun falls through the window, making a play of light on the richly dark brown hair that reaches just below his collar. His face, Yamashita appraises, belongs to that peculiar category which always seems poised for a smile.
The man’s figure is lean but clearly well-built. Sometimes he wears a short-sleeved shirt that reveals his toned arms, and when it’s his stop he stands up and grabs the handrail, muscles flexing, and Yamashita notices more than a few people staring apart from himself.
The stranger often has a book with him, sometimes with the addition of a portable music player and earphones, or a cup of coffee to go. Yamashita can imagine him sitting at a corner of an understated but cozy café, waiting for his order while immersing himself in his reading. It kind of makes Yamashita want to bring a book himself while commuting, try to look a little smart.
On the train, the stranger sometimes smiles to himself; he must have come across a humorous part in his book. His small and kind eyes crinkle as the edges of his mouth lift slightly. Yamashita imagines coming up to the man, taking the vacant seat beside him, asking casually, “What’s so funny?”
In reality, he just sits there and watches. The seat beside the stranger remains empty.
***
“Keisuke-kun!”
The boy staggered into a clearing in the woods, whipping his head left and right in search of that one person who could save him. His brief hope turned into despair when he still couldn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity but recognized one of the trees in the clearing. He had ripped the edge of his hakama and tied the piece of cloth on one of the lower branches earlier - something Keisuke had taught him.
He was going around in circles.
The boy dropped to his feet, both from hopelessness and exhaustion, mouth choking out feeble sobs. Why hadn’t anyone come looking for him? Where was Keisuke, who had always been by his side and promised to protect him at all times?
Guilt throbbed in the boy’s chest when he remembered he was the one who had ventured out into the woods by himself, disregarding Keisuke’s repeated warnings, his mind giddy with the possibilities of adventure. Well, if this was adventure, he wanted none of it. It had been hours and he still couldn’t find his way home; he was dizzy, his feet were hurting and his stomach was grumbling.
“Keisuke-kun,” he managed a last weak cry. “Help me.”
The only reply that came was the sound of thunder above, followed by tiny droplets of water. Soon the rain was falling in earnest and the boy sought cover under a cluster of trees, which barely provided any protection from the downpour, but he had no better choice. As the rain soaked through his clothes and chilled his skin, the boy hugged himself and shivered, all the while mumbling the same name over and over.
He closed his eyes and must have drifted to a half-sleep, for the call first sounded like it came through a blanket of fog.
“...Young Master...”
The boy’s eyelids blinked open and the shadows in front of him slowly came into focus, becoming the face he had been desperately seeking. “Kei... suke-kun...?” his tiny lips mumbled.
“Young Master Tomohiro,” the slightly older boy in front of him furrowed his brows with concern, “are you all right?”
Tomohiro was so cold, tired and hungry that tears sprang into his eyes. Keisuke patted his shoulder, saying gently, “Don’t worry. I’m going to take you home.”
He coaxed Tomohiro to climb onto his back, and then he started to carry him out of the woods. Keisuke seemed to know exactly where they were going, for soon they came to a footpath that led to a shallow stream. They only needed to cross that stream to reach the outer buildings of Tomohiro’s family’s large estate. It wasn’t that far after all; Tomohiro wondered why it was so difficult for him to find his way earlier.
“Everyone is very worried about you,” Keisuke said.
Tomohiro ducked his head in shame, leaning against Keisuke’s shoulder. “Forgive me.”
He expected Keisuke to admonish him, but the older boy merely replied, after a pause, “I’m glad you are safe.”
The rain was still falling in a drizzle and Tomohiro’s clothes were thoroughly drenched, but as he tightened his hold around Keisuke’s neck, he felt inexplicably warm.
***
An automatic voice announcing the next stop jerks Yamashita out of his slumber. He blinks to adjust his eyes to the stark fluorescent lights of the train interior, a far cry from the thick forest in his dream earlier. Funny how dreams can feel so real sometimes.
The train doors open with a whisper and several passengers file in, including Yamashita’s stranger, a man who by now feels more familiar than a friend. Tonight he’s wearing earphones and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Despite the unassuming appearance, he never fails to trigger a faint stirring in Yamashita.
The train whizzes off again, slicing the cold night air. There aren’t that many passengers in this late hour, but Yamashita’s eyes remain fixed on the stranger. He feels he should be remembering something, but he can’t quite put a finger on it...
The man takes off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through his hair. The dark shadows under his eyes suggest he had gone through a long and tiring day. Just as he’s leaning back in his seat, seeking a more comfortable position, a young girl of no more than four or five scurries along, half-running from her cautionary mother, then stumbles over nothing and falls right in front of the man.
The girl burst into tears immediately, and Yamashita watches as the stranger’s expression changes, fatigue shoved to the side and instantly replaced by worry. Rising from his seat, he crouches over the child and helps her up to her feet.
The look on the man’s face makes Yamashita draw a sharp breath. Hadn’t he just seen that same expression not a few minutes ago?
“Don’t cry, honey. Look!” the stranger blows into his fist and playfully taps it against girl’s knees. “You’re as good as new!”
The girl wipes her eyes and even seems tempted to smile. Her mother belatedly catches up on her and thanks the stranger before taking the girl back to their seats, no doubt for an endless lecture on why it’s not safe to run around inside trains.
The stranger smiles and returns to his own seat, only to get up again moments later when the train arrives at his stop. Yamashita watches him disembark and follows his vanishing back, wondering if it’s a coincidence that the stranger resembles a boy in his dream.
***
Everything Tomohiro needed to know about life he learned from Keisuke. Everything important, that was. History and literature and poetry, they were all impractical matters that bore the young master and caused him to often fall asleep in class, much to the exasperation of the family’s private tutor.
But Keisuke, he knew so much more. He was a warrior’s son and lived the way of the warrior. When his father died during a land dispute that boiled over to violence, he and his mother were left with little more but the clothes on their backs. They moved to a neighboring region, where Tomohiro’s family kindly took them in and made Keisuke’s mother a servant. She also nursed Tomohiro and his little sister when they were younger.
The head of the family, Tomohiro’s father, often went away to tend to his vast property. Having no other strong male figure to look up to, Tomohiro soon became attached to Keisuke, several years older than him. The servant’s son took the boy under his wing, so to speak, and with the master’s permission taught him the basics of martial arts. One of Tomohiro’s most prized possessions was a wooden sword given to him by Keisuke.
Keisuke also taught him more intangible lessons. “Treat everyone with the greatest respect,” Keisuke said, “if you want everyone to respect you.” Being the only son of a highly influential and prosperous landowner, it was easy for Tomohiro to always get his way, but Keisuke’s words always reminded him that being feared over the powers you wield upon others did not always equal being respected.
Taking responsibility was another thing Keisuke always emphasized. When Tomohiro wandered outside by himself and got lost in the woods, everyone was glad to see Keisuke bring him home safe. But his father was incensed and lashed out his anger at the servant’s son. “You shouldn’t have let him out of your watch!” he bellowed.
Keisuke bowed deeply and said in a somber tone, “It’s my fault, Master. I’m ready to receive punishment.”
Tomohiro, still faint from a fever, wobbled into the room and bowed next to Keisuke. “Please, father, I was the one who went into the forest by myself. Keisuke-kun did nothing wrong. Punish me instead, I beg you!”
Of course Keisuke was adamant that he should be held accountable for the young master’s safety, while Tomohiro insisted on the opposite. The debate would not have ended for hours if Tomohiro’s mother didn’t gently persuade her husband to let the matter be; the two boys had been out in the heavy rain for hours, wasn’t that punishment enough? The disgruntled master finally dismissed them albeit with reluctance.
Even as they grew into adolescents, Tomohiro and Keisuke remained inseparable. The former worshipped his mentor and aspired to become just like him, while the latter regarded his young master fondly and was protective of him. If Keisuke ever felt tired of Tomohiro following him around, he never showed it. He was nothing but compassion itself, always looking out for the young master’s best interests. Frankly, Tomohiro didn’t know what he would do without him.
“Will you always be with me, Keisuke-kun?” he asked one day.
They were walking side by side and he suddenly realized how tall Keisuke was growing. Keisuke was on the cusp of becoming a young man while Tomohiro was still falling behind, a harmless teenager in comparison. He would always fall behind no matter what.
Keisuke smiled to him, gentle as always, but did not answer.
They strolled past a busy market in town, and a group of teenage girls clustered near a food stall threw them not-so-discreet glances. One would think they were looking at Tomohiro, the sole heir of one of the most affluent gentlemen in the region, but the young master knew better. Next to him was a splendid youth with excellent features, his demeanor modest but self-assured.
Keisuke failed to notice the girls’ staring and walked on. Tomohiro was secretly glad he did.
Strangely, selfishly, he wanted to keep Keisuke for himself.
***
Yamashita’s dreams have now escalated to epic proportions. They’ve grown more and more frequent - sometimes he dreams about nothing but Tomohiro and Keisuke for days on end - but also more vivid and intense. When he wakes up he can still feel the wooden sword in his hand, the smell of flowers in Tomohiro’s family’s garden, the way Keisuke gazes and smiles at him. Because he is Tomohiro, of that he is certain. He sees everything through Tomohiro’s perspective and understands his thoughts and feelings.
The most curious part of it all, though, is that the faithful servant boy Keisuke has the face of Yamashita’s stranger on the train. The resemblance becomes more apparent as Yamashita’s little fantasy world goes through gradual time lapses, its characters morphing from boys to young men. It’s definitely him: there’s no mistaking that thoughtful gaze, the smile that lights up the whole face, the tall and sinewy physique.
For the life of him Yamashita can’t figure out why he’s having these dreams. Overactive imagination? An early symptom of obsession? And why the ancient setting and different identities? Sometimes the fantasies even feel more genuine than the waking world. In his sleep he can talk with Keisuke and touch him; in reality he merely admires the stranger from afar.
One day Yamashita finally decides he has spent too much time hesitating. He makes up his mind to go up and speak to the man the next time he sees him. Despite feeling like a feral animal is eating at his insides, Yamashita’s eyes dart around to look for his target as soon as he boards the train.
The stranger is nowhere to be seen, even after Yamashita takes a very casual stroll from one end of the train to the other. Maybe tomorrow, he consoles himself. It only means more time to brush up on his rusty pick up lines.
No sight of the man the next day, either.
And the next.
And the day after.
There can be any number of explanations behind it: the man is sick, or on vacation, or has a shift in schedule that causes him to commute at a different time. Yamashita keeps expecting it’s only temporary, that he’ll see the stranger again soon, but more days go by and he continues to be disappointed.
He’s almost given up hope when on a Thursday night he catches a glimpse of the stranger walking at a station - the station which Yamashita’s train is just starting to leave. He suppresses a wild urge to pry the door open and jump off the half-moving train and has to satisfy himself with watching the man’s back, again, until it disappears from view.
He feels a twinge of envy for his dream world counterpart. At least Tomohiro can see Keisuke each day.
***
In less than a few months Tomohiro was going to have his coming of age ceremony. The entire household was abuzz with preparation, but Tomohiro himself did not feel there was anything too extraordinary about it. He would only be one year older, what was there to be celebrated about?
“It means you will be regarded as a proper adult,” Keisuke said after swordfight practice in the garden. “You will have new privileges as well as responsibilities. Soon you will marry and inherit your father’s property.”
Tomohiro shrugged as he wiped his sword clean with a cloth. “I don’t see anything interesting in marriage. Girls only giggle and whisper among themselves when they see me; I can never carry a decent conversation with them.”
Keisuke laughed when he heard that, but he took on a serious tone again when he continued, “You will find a good companion eventually. But sooner than that, you must begin to learn your father’s tasks in order to carry on his work someday. It’s your obligation to your family.”
As they grew older Keisuke increasingly used heavy words such as ‘duty’ and ‘obligation’ when talking to Tomohiro. The latter knew that to Keisuke the words were more than empty adages, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. They were like ornate carvings on a door that would soon close, forever separating him from his peaceful childhood and thrusting him headlong into the terrifying world of adults.
“You’ll stay with me even then, will you?” he asked Keisuke. “Every landlord needs a samurai.”
No matter if he had to change into someone he was not, Tomohiro felt he could still find some semblance of normalcy if he had Keisuke beside him. It was one thing that had remained the same for years, and he didn’t expect it to change.
But Keisuke didn’t say a word, and Tomohiro was slowly beginning to realize that the man’s silences only meant that the actual, truthful answers would displease his young master. Tomohiro chided himself inwardly. Of course Keisuke wouldn’t always stay with him; it was incredibly naïve and self-centered of him to think so. Keisuke must have his own wishes and ambitions he wanted to achieve.
Forcing a smile onto his face, Tomohiro said, “Let’s forget about obligations for a day.” He walked over to one of the tallest trees in the garden, fingers brushing its ancient bark. “Remember how we used to climb this tree? I bet I can reach the top branch faster than you now!”
He took off his shoes and began to climb, Keisuke eyeing him worriedly. “Young Master, be careful!”
There was hardly any need for that, for Tomohiro knew every branch, every little nook where he can put his foot in. The tree was a familiar friend who welcomed him with delight, rustling its leaves in invitation. In a short moment he was already halfway up.
“Come on, Keisuke-kun, the view is wonderful up here!” he shouted merrily.
When he glanced below what he saw was not the boy who had always watched him protectively. Traces of that boy was still there, but he had begun to transform into someone else, a fully grown man with other concerns than to play with the landlord’s spoiled only son.
Keisuke’s gaze was solemn and his voice quiet when he said, “You are no longer a child, Young Master. Please come down.”
Tomohiro felt his spirits sink. He paused for a while before starting to descend the tree, but his foot slipped. His fingers frantically tried to grasp a branch, a twig, anything, but none were within reach. The tree, that old comrade, had betrayed him after all.
“Watch out!” He heard the anxious cry below as the wind rushed in his ears and the earth pulled him down. He closed his eyes and prepared for the moment he would hit the ground, but then he felt hands grabbing him and something breaking his fall, something soft yet hard at the edges.
Opening his eyes, he saw Keisuke’s face merely inches underneath and only then was aware he was lying on top of him. His senses came alive as he felt the dips and curves of the man’s body, the unexpected softness, the spicy scent that he could only describe as Keisuke’s. His cheeks burned as he realized he had never seen Keisuke this close, had never felt his breath against his face.
“-Young Master,” Keisuke said, squirming under his weight. Tomohiro quickly scrambled off him.
“Are you hurt?” asked Keisuke as they both rose to a sitting position. “Do you feel pain anywhere?”
Tomohiro shook his head, though he still felt heat in his cheeks and other parts of his body he didn’t dare mention. “You?”
“No.” Keisuke sighed and got to his feet, taking a few steps with his back facing Tomohiro. “You know you shouldn’t do that.”
Tomohiro sat there watching Keisuke with his face turned away from him, and it was never clearer than that moment how things had changed. From now on they would no longer see each other eye to eye.
“I am always a burden to you, aren’t I?” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. “I won’t be anymore.”
He stood up and walked to the direction of the great house. He thought he heard Keisuke gently calling to him, “Young Master Tomohiro,” but if he looked back he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to go on, so he quickened his pace.
***
“So let me sum it up,” Ryo says. “You’re having dreams about a guy you stalk in the train, and these dreams are set within an NHK period drama.”
“I don’t stalk,” mutters Yamashita. The NHK drama part, though, is spot on.
Ryo smirks. “Sure, man. I think you just need more beer.” He signals to the bartender with two fingers raised in the air.
“These dreams are not regular dreams, Ryo. They feel so... real.” Yamashita wants to add something he has just begun to formulate: I think they actually happened, but decides to leave that part out.
It sounds ridiculous to say it out loud, but in his head it makes perfect sense. The more he dreams of Tomohiro, the more he feels he’s not living someone else’s life but rather remembering his own. He has heard a lot about reincarnation and had even gone so far as to research theories about it on the internet. It’s not that he’s so infatuated with the stranger in the train that he comes up with the dreams; on the contrary, it’s like he senses a familiarity with the stranger because he appears in his dreams - or memories, if you will.
He doesn’t expect anybody, let alone his cynical friend Ryo, to believe he’s recalling events in his previous life as the son of a landlord in ancient Japan. But it seems to be the only logical explanation, as logical as the concept of reincarnation can be.
The bartender puts two bottles of beer on the counter and Ryo takes one of them, pushing the other to Yamashita’s direction. “Forget the dreams for a second.” He throws Yamashita a teasing look. ”This guy must be really hot for you to be thinking up scenarios where you two get together.”
Yamashita scoffs. “Oh, shut up.”
“I mean, come on. Today it’s ‘The Young Master and His Samurai Boyfriend’, what’s it gonna be tomorrow? ‘My Escapades with the Male Geisha’?”
Ryo’s amused cackles convince Yamashita he has chosen the wrong person for a heart-to-heart.
As far as the so-called stalking is concerned, Yamashita has had no luck. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the stranger since that last glimpse from a moving train two weeks ago. He begins to think he might have to make do with Keisuke in his dreams, but even the servant’s son is growing more distant from Tomohiro.
His train rides these days are particularly boring without something (or to be exact, someone) to look forward to, and his journey home after parting ways with Ryo is no different. The after effects of beer in his system are beginning to wear out, leaving behind a slight buzz and an overwhelming sense of melancholy. He sits with his head leaned far back, blank eyes staring at the ever-changing view outside.
The carriage is practically empty save for several other late-night travelers, and Yamashita is barely aware of their presence. He also doesn’t pay any attention whenever the train admits a few new passengers along the way. He doesn’t notice at first, for instance, the tall man with a dark blue jacket and matching scarf who boards the train and sits not far from him. He might have continued to ignore his surroundings had the man’s cell phone not rung, a familiar tune from a famous band filling the silence, and Yamashita turns his head slightly to the side to find the very person he has been prowling Tokyo’s railway system for.
Yamashita’s heart does a double somersault which is not at all caused by the beer. There he is, the stranger with Keisuke’s face, only two seats apart from him. The man flips open his phone, his expression turning soft as he begins to speak. Whoever it is on the other end of the line must be someone special.
It’s a little hard to watch someone and try to be unnoticed when he’s sitting a mere few feet from you. Yamashita finds himself darting surreptitious glances every once in a while, careful to not be too conspicuous. A weird tingle shoots up his spine when he catches the man laughing quietly, the first time he hears the sound, but also the nth time, since he has heard it coming from Keisuke’s mouth before.
“Okay, okay. Good night, Shige,” the man says in a tender voice, and Yamashita promptly decides he doesn’t like this Shige person very much.
It takes a while for Yamashita to remember he had been planning to talk to the man. He had prepared a whole repertoire of conversation starters to choose from, but for the life of him he can’t remember any right now. If he can just think of something, a random topic for small talk...
He takes a quick look at the stranger to make sure he hasn’t disappeared, and sees that the man has fallen asleep.
Well, at least he’s not going anywhere. This also gives Yamashita more freedom to observe him undetected.
The man looks every bit as fine as he usually does. He’s dyed his hair a little darker and trimmed it around the edges. Another new thing that Yamashita notes is that he’s not the type of person whose corners of the lips pull down when he sleeps. His mouth is set in a straight line, rendering his expression neutral, peaceful.
A recorded announcement informs the passengers that the next stop is Ikebukuro Station. Yamashita cocks his head. Isn’t that the station where the stranger always goes off at night? His home must be nearby. The train is already slowing its pace, and Yamashita grows uneasy as the stranger shows no signs of waking up soon. A second announcement comes on and still no response.
Before he’s aware of what he’s doing, Yamashita gets up to approach the man and shakes his shoulder gently. “Hey,” he says awkwardly. “Wake up.”
The man stirs, blinks and frowns when he sees Yamashita at arm’s length in front of him. Yamashita says, “You might miss your stop,” before taking a step backward, aware of the proximity. They had never been this close before.
The stranger glances outside the window; the train is just entering Ikebukuro Station. He turns to stare at Yamashita rather suspiciously, and Yamashita realizes it must seem weird that he knows where the man is supposed to go off.
Maybe he recognizes me too, he thinks, a little too hopeful. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been watching all this time.
The train comes to a full stop, and the stranger stands up. His face changes and he offers Yamashita a small smile. “Thanks,” he says before going out.
Or maybe not.
Just before the train leaves Ikebukuro, though, Yamashita can swear he sees the man looking back in his direction.
***
Shortly after Tomohiro’s coming of age ceremony, whispers arose in the household about indications of unrest among the general populace. The word was that a rival landowner, an old enemy of Tomohiro’s father, was stirring up trouble.
“He’s inciting the workers in the fields to rebel against your father,” Keisuke said, relaying to Tomohiro what the servants had heard the master and his advisors discussing in the main hall. Tomohiro, despite being groomed to become his father’s successor, was still considered too young to take part in such meetings.
“It’s the same tactic he used last time,” added Keisuke.
Tomohiro turned to him, perplexed. “Last time?”
Keisuke smiled bitterly. “He’s the same man who caused the riot in my hometown.” The one that left him without a father and drove his mother and him to depend on the mercy of others to live.
They both said no more. Tomohiro followed Keisuke’s gaze to the western pavilion where Keisuke’s mother was putting up decorative pins in Tomohiro’s sister’s hair. It seemed impossible that anything could disturb the peace in this house.
The peace was broken much earlier than anyone thought.
It was the dead of night when the servants woke Tomohiro, saying something about an attack and urging him to hurry, just hurry and follow them to the main hall. He was in such a rush he would not be surprised if he wore his kimono backwards, but he managed to arrive in the hall and found his mother and sister already there, along with Keisuke and his mother and several other servants and guards. Screams and sounds of fighting could be heard from outside.
“They’re trying to break in!” a male servant said in a squeaky voice.
“Who?” asked Tomohiro.
“The field workers,” the reply came from Takizawa, one of Tomohiro’s father’s trusted aides, who had just arrived. “Master was made to stay at the village hall for negotiations with their representatives, while some others went here separately to attack. Master suspected it and sent me here.”
“But what do they want?” Tomohiro’s mother asked, wringing her hands.
Takizawa’s expression was grave. “Possibly to take the family hostage as leverage to threaten Master.”
Everyone in the room drew a collective gasp, but Takizawa was quick to add, “We must flee as soon as possible. I’ve prepared a carriage at the back gate. There’s no time to waste!”
As though in confirmation, a loud crash could be heard from somewhere close by. The women screamed while Takizawa yelled above the din, “Let’s go!”
While everyone was running, Tomohiro noticed Takizawa and the other men had pulled out their swords. Even Keisuke, he was startled to see, was holding a sword in his hand - not his usual wooden sword but a sharp-bladed one, its edge glinting against the light from oil lamps in the corridors.
As they made their way to the back of the house, the group gradually became smaller. Every few moments some of the men would stay behind to ward off the attackers closing in on them. At last when they arrived at the rear gate there were only Tomohiro, his sister and mother, Keisuke and his mother, and Takizawa.
A horse-drawn carriage was ready for them there. The women had just climbed into it when an explosion of light from the roof caught Tomohiro’s attention. “They’re burning the house!” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“Young Master, you must all leave right this minute,” urged Takizawa. “I’ll stay here to try and stall them. Keisuke, you-”
“I’ll stay back here and help you,” Keisuke spoke, his words calm but determined.
“What? No!” cried Tomohiro. “Keisuke-kun, you’re coming with us!”
Keisuke looked at him with what seemed like a smile, but Tomohiro had never seen a saddest smile in his life. Putting a hand on Tomohiro’s arm, the older man said, “I have to face my demons sooner or later, Young Master. All I ask from you is to take care of my mother.”
Tomohiro kept shaking his head. “Nonsense! The man who caused your father’s death is not even here. He’s out there stringing his puppets to attack us. I order you to get in the carriage right now!”
He knew it was pointless as he gazed into Keisuke’s eyes, those eyes that knew his destiny, had always known it since the day he became fatherless. “Young Master,” Keisuke said, fingers digging into Tomohiro’s arm so hard it hurt, “please be safe.”
Keisuke’s mother was crying, as was Tomohiro’s sister clinging to her, and Tomohiro was starting to choke up as well. Keisuke moved swiftly before he could react, pushing him into the carriage and closing the door. The driver got the horses galloping without delay and Tomohiro could only watch Keisuke’s figure growing smaller and smaller until he could no longer make out his face.
Soon all he could see was the angry red flames engulfing his home, and then not much else because hot tears were stinging his eyes, blinding him.
***
Yamashita wakes up from the dream with moist eyes.
He doesn’t dream about Tomohiro and Keisuke anymore after that.
“Man, that’s just...” Ryo trails off, unable to say much after hearing how the dreams end. “Wow. Way to have a tragic ending, dude. You sure you don’t want to enter this in a literary competition?”
The next time Yamashita meets the stranger on the train, it’s almost painful.
He knows it’s because he’s not seeing this man in a trendy button-down jacket but Keisuke in an old-style kimono with a sword in his hand, asking him to leave him behind to face a rioting mob. That the dreams about the young master and his servant had come to an abrupt halt somehow signals what happened to Keisuke that night.
When Yamashita sees his stranger that evening, he wants to grab him by the shoulders and berate him on Tomohiro’s behalf for playing the martyr. He wants to tell Keisuke what Tomohiro hadn’t been able to say, the pent up feelings he hid all those years. But this man now sitting at the seat right opposite him is not Keisuke, and he knows Tomohiro never got to see him again.
When the man’s gaze meets Yamashita’s, he acknowledges him with a nod and a slight smile. It seems he had taken Yamashita’s actions the last time they met as a kind gesture. Despite his mixed emotions, Yamashita can’t help but smile back.
Since the stranger is right across from him, it’s difficult not to watch. The list of topics for small talk in his head now seems trite and meaningless compared to what Keisuke and Tomohiro went through. But he can’t possibly go up to him and say, Excuse me, I’m that guy from your past life, remember?
Just as he contemplates how crazy he will look if he actually says that, the underground train jerks and slowly comes to a stop. The power goes out, drawing exclamations of surprise from a number of passengers, but the emergency lights soon go on. Nervous murmurs spread through the carriage while a child or two weep.
A couple next to Yamashita sidles closer together. Under the dim lights he can also see other people consoling each other, trying to calm their loved one, holding hands.
He glances at the stranger and finds him staring. He recognizes those eyes well, knows what they say.
Are you all right, Young Master?
It feels like his hand is moving on its own accord when he reaches out to the man. The latter leans forwards and takes Yamashita’s hand in his.
Something explodes at the back of Yamashita’s mind and he closes his eyes, expecting to see something that will confirm his suspicions all this time. He thinks he will see Keisuke.
Instead, he glimpses the stranger in a modern kitchen, grinning and throwing an apron at him. A flash, and the same man is sleeping on a sofa, an open book propped against his chest. Then he’s wearing a tank top and shorts at the beach with his feet bare, running ahead of Yamashita.
Another vision and Yamashita catches his breath: it’s that man on one side of a double bed, lying on his stomach with the covers exposing his smooth back. Then the man is suddenly above him, skin shining with sweat, sweatpants hanging precariously low on his hips and revealing a trail of shadow that disappears under his waistband. His heavy-lidded eyes are looking right at Yamashita who’s sprawled underneath him, and when he fuses their lips in a searing kiss Yamashita thinks this is definitely not the past, not a previous life, but something else that lies ahead.
It feels like he’s falling and then his eyes fly open; the power had gone back on, illuminating the train with bright lights. He’s still holding hands with the stranger, until they exchange looks and realize how awkward it is for two men to do so in the middle of a full train. Letting go of each other, Yamashita thinks he can see his disappointment mirrored in the stranger’s eyes.
An announcement comes on about some sort of power malfunction, but the blood is still rushing in Yamashita’s ears and prevents him from making any sense of it. The next stop is Ikebukuro, but instead of disembarking the man stands up and takes the seat next to Yamashita.
“It’s your stop.” Yamashita is somehow still coherent enough to say that.
“I don’t mind,” the man replies. He offers a hand and a shy grin. “My name is Koyama.”
Yamashita repeats the name inwardly. Koyama. He can easily imagine himself getting used to saying it. Somehow he knows everything that had happened, real or imagined, is a preamble to this. He accepts the handshake and they share a look that carries the weight of the past, conveys the hope of the present and holds so much promise for the future.
“I’m Yamashita,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Koyama.”
Pairing: Koyama/Yamapi (NEWS)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “I think I dreamed you into life.” AU.
Notes: Based on the Savage Garden song of the same title. I know this is a challenge instead of an exchange, but I can’t not dedicate this fic to sanjihan. I hope this doesn’t reveal who I am... but who doesn’t love Tara, really? ♥
Click to viewYamashita doesn’t even remember when he had begun noticing the stranger. The man is just an ordinary train passenger, another one of the millions and millions of commuters using Tokyo’s rail network everyday. But somehow he had become a familiar sight for Yamashita, and even something to look forward to in his daily journeys.
He’s a little taller than Yamashita, his skin a stunning golden tan that brings to mind lazy days spent at the beach. In the mornings he always sits on the side of the train where the rays of the sun falls through the window, making a play of light on the richly dark brown hair that reaches just below his collar. His face, Yamashita appraises, belongs to that peculiar category which always seems poised for a smile.
The man’s figure is lean but clearly well-built. Sometimes he wears a short-sleeved shirt that reveals his toned arms, and when it’s his stop he stands up and grabs the handrail, muscles flexing, and Yamashita notices more than a few people staring apart from himself.
The stranger often has a book with him, sometimes with the addition of a portable music player and earphones, or a cup of coffee to go. Yamashita can imagine him sitting at a corner of an understated but cozy café, waiting for his order while immersing himself in his reading. It kind of makes Yamashita want to bring a book himself while commuting, try to look a little smart.
On the train, the stranger sometimes smiles to himself; he must have come across a humorous part in his book. His small and kind eyes crinkle as the edges of his mouth lift slightly. Yamashita imagines coming up to the man, taking the vacant seat beside him, asking casually, “What’s so funny?”
In reality, he just sits there and watches. The seat beside the stranger remains empty.
***
“Keisuke-kun!”
The boy staggered into a clearing in the woods, whipping his head left and right in search of that one person who could save him. His brief hope turned into despair when he still couldn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity but recognized one of the trees in the clearing. He had ripped the edge of his hakama and tied the piece of cloth on one of the lower branches earlier - something Keisuke had taught him.
He was going around in circles.
The boy dropped to his feet, both from hopelessness and exhaustion, mouth choking out feeble sobs. Why hadn’t anyone come looking for him? Where was Keisuke, who had always been by his side and promised to protect him at all times?
Guilt throbbed in the boy’s chest when he remembered he was the one who had ventured out into the woods by himself, disregarding Keisuke’s repeated warnings, his mind giddy with the possibilities of adventure. Well, if this was adventure, he wanted none of it. It had been hours and he still couldn’t find his way home; he was dizzy, his feet were hurting and his stomach was grumbling.
“Keisuke-kun,” he managed a last weak cry. “Help me.”
The only reply that came was the sound of thunder above, followed by tiny droplets of water. Soon the rain was falling in earnest and the boy sought cover under a cluster of trees, which barely provided any protection from the downpour, but he had no better choice. As the rain soaked through his clothes and chilled his skin, the boy hugged himself and shivered, all the while mumbling the same name over and over.
He closed his eyes and must have drifted to a half-sleep, for the call first sounded like it came through a blanket of fog.
“...Young Master...”
The boy’s eyelids blinked open and the shadows in front of him slowly came into focus, becoming the face he had been desperately seeking. “Kei... suke-kun...?” his tiny lips mumbled.
“Young Master Tomohiro,” the slightly older boy in front of him furrowed his brows with concern, “are you all right?”
Tomohiro was so cold, tired and hungry that tears sprang into his eyes. Keisuke patted his shoulder, saying gently, “Don’t worry. I’m going to take you home.”
He coaxed Tomohiro to climb onto his back, and then he started to carry him out of the woods. Keisuke seemed to know exactly where they were going, for soon they came to a footpath that led to a shallow stream. They only needed to cross that stream to reach the outer buildings of Tomohiro’s family’s large estate. It wasn’t that far after all; Tomohiro wondered why it was so difficult for him to find his way earlier.
“Everyone is very worried about you,” Keisuke said.
Tomohiro ducked his head in shame, leaning against Keisuke’s shoulder. “Forgive me.”
He expected Keisuke to admonish him, but the older boy merely replied, after a pause, “I’m glad you are safe.”
The rain was still falling in a drizzle and Tomohiro’s clothes were thoroughly drenched, but as he tightened his hold around Keisuke’s neck, he felt inexplicably warm.
***
An automatic voice announcing the next stop jerks Yamashita out of his slumber. He blinks to adjust his eyes to the stark fluorescent lights of the train interior, a far cry from the thick forest in his dream earlier. Funny how dreams can feel so real sometimes.
The train doors open with a whisper and several passengers file in, including Yamashita’s stranger, a man who by now feels more familiar than a friend. Tonight he’s wearing earphones and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Despite the unassuming appearance, he never fails to trigger a faint stirring in Yamashita.
The train whizzes off again, slicing the cold night air. There aren’t that many passengers in this late hour, but Yamashita’s eyes remain fixed on the stranger. He feels he should be remembering something, but he can’t quite put a finger on it...
The man takes off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through his hair. The dark shadows under his eyes suggest he had gone through a long and tiring day. Just as he’s leaning back in his seat, seeking a more comfortable position, a young girl of no more than four or five scurries along, half-running from her cautionary mother, then stumbles over nothing and falls right in front of the man.
The girl burst into tears immediately, and Yamashita watches as the stranger’s expression changes, fatigue shoved to the side and instantly replaced by worry. Rising from his seat, he crouches over the child and helps her up to her feet.
The look on the man’s face makes Yamashita draw a sharp breath. Hadn’t he just seen that same expression not a few minutes ago?
“Don’t cry, honey. Look!” the stranger blows into his fist and playfully taps it against girl’s knees. “You’re as good as new!”
The girl wipes her eyes and even seems tempted to smile. Her mother belatedly catches up on her and thanks the stranger before taking the girl back to their seats, no doubt for an endless lecture on why it’s not safe to run around inside trains.
The stranger smiles and returns to his own seat, only to get up again moments later when the train arrives at his stop. Yamashita watches him disembark and follows his vanishing back, wondering if it’s a coincidence that the stranger resembles a boy in his dream.
***
Everything Tomohiro needed to know about life he learned from Keisuke. Everything important, that was. History and literature and poetry, they were all impractical matters that bore the young master and caused him to often fall asleep in class, much to the exasperation of the family’s private tutor.
But Keisuke, he knew so much more. He was a warrior’s son and lived the way of the warrior. When his father died during a land dispute that boiled over to violence, he and his mother were left with little more but the clothes on their backs. They moved to a neighboring region, where Tomohiro’s family kindly took them in and made Keisuke’s mother a servant. She also nursed Tomohiro and his little sister when they were younger.
The head of the family, Tomohiro’s father, often went away to tend to his vast property. Having no other strong male figure to look up to, Tomohiro soon became attached to Keisuke, several years older than him. The servant’s son took the boy under his wing, so to speak, and with the master’s permission taught him the basics of martial arts. One of Tomohiro’s most prized possessions was a wooden sword given to him by Keisuke.
Keisuke also taught him more intangible lessons. “Treat everyone with the greatest respect,” Keisuke said, “if you want everyone to respect you.” Being the only son of a highly influential and prosperous landowner, it was easy for Tomohiro to always get his way, but Keisuke’s words always reminded him that being feared over the powers you wield upon others did not always equal being respected.
Taking responsibility was another thing Keisuke always emphasized. When Tomohiro wandered outside by himself and got lost in the woods, everyone was glad to see Keisuke bring him home safe. But his father was incensed and lashed out his anger at the servant’s son. “You shouldn’t have let him out of your watch!” he bellowed.
Keisuke bowed deeply and said in a somber tone, “It’s my fault, Master. I’m ready to receive punishment.”
Tomohiro, still faint from a fever, wobbled into the room and bowed next to Keisuke. “Please, father, I was the one who went into the forest by myself. Keisuke-kun did nothing wrong. Punish me instead, I beg you!”
Of course Keisuke was adamant that he should be held accountable for the young master’s safety, while Tomohiro insisted on the opposite. The debate would not have ended for hours if Tomohiro’s mother didn’t gently persuade her husband to let the matter be; the two boys had been out in the heavy rain for hours, wasn’t that punishment enough? The disgruntled master finally dismissed them albeit with reluctance.
Even as they grew into adolescents, Tomohiro and Keisuke remained inseparable. The former worshipped his mentor and aspired to become just like him, while the latter regarded his young master fondly and was protective of him. If Keisuke ever felt tired of Tomohiro following him around, he never showed it. He was nothing but compassion itself, always looking out for the young master’s best interests. Frankly, Tomohiro didn’t know what he would do without him.
“Will you always be with me, Keisuke-kun?” he asked one day.
They were walking side by side and he suddenly realized how tall Keisuke was growing. Keisuke was on the cusp of becoming a young man while Tomohiro was still falling behind, a harmless teenager in comparison. He would always fall behind no matter what.
Keisuke smiled to him, gentle as always, but did not answer.
They strolled past a busy market in town, and a group of teenage girls clustered near a food stall threw them not-so-discreet glances. One would think they were looking at Tomohiro, the sole heir of one of the most affluent gentlemen in the region, but the young master knew better. Next to him was a splendid youth with excellent features, his demeanor modest but self-assured.
Keisuke failed to notice the girls’ staring and walked on. Tomohiro was secretly glad he did.
Strangely, selfishly, he wanted to keep Keisuke for himself.
***
Yamashita’s dreams have now escalated to epic proportions. They’ve grown more and more frequent - sometimes he dreams about nothing but Tomohiro and Keisuke for days on end - but also more vivid and intense. When he wakes up he can still feel the wooden sword in his hand, the smell of flowers in Tomohiro’s family’s garden, the way Keisuke gazes and smiles at him. Because he is Tomohiro, of that he is certain. He sees everything through Tomohiro’s perspective and understands his thoughts and feelings.
The most curious part of it all, though, is that the faithful servant boy Keisuke has the face of Yamashita’s stranger on the train. The resemblance becomes more apparent as Yamashita’s little fantasy world goes through gradual time lapses, its characters morphing from boys to young men. It’s definitely him: there’s no mistaking that thoughtful gaze, the smile that lights up the whole face, the tall and sinewy physique.
For the life of him Yamashita can’t figure out why he’s having these dreams. Overactive imagination? An early symptom of obsession? And why the ancient setting and different identities? Sometimes the fantasies even feel more genuine than the waking world. In his sleep he can talk with Keisuke and touch him; in reality he merely admires the stranger from afar.
One day Yamashita finally decides he has spent too much time hesitating. He makes up his mind to go up and speak to the man the next time he sees him. Despite feeling like a feral animal is eating at his insides, Yamashita’s eyes dart around to look for his target as soon as he boards the train.
The stranger is nowhere to be seen, even after Yamashita takes a very casual stroll from one end of the train to the other. Maybe tomorrow, he consoles himself. It only means more time to brush up on his rusty pick up lines.
No sight of the man the next day, either.
And the next.
And the day after.
There can be any number of explanations behind it: the man is sick, or on vacation, or has a shift in schedule that causes him to commute at a different time. Yamashita keeps expecting it’s only temporary, that he’ll see the stranger again soon, but more days go by and he continues to be disappointed.
He’s almost given up hope when on a Thursday night he catches a glimpse of the stranger walking at a station - the station which Yamashita’s train is just starting to leave. He suppresses a wild urge to pry the door open and jump off the half-moving train and has to satisfy himself with watching the man’s back, again, until it disappears from view.
He feels a twinge of envy for his dream world counterpart. At least Tomohiro can see Keisuke each day.
***
In less than a few months Tomohiro was going to have his coming of age ceremony. The entire household was abuzz with preparation, but Tomohiro himself did not feel there was anything too extraordinary about it. He would only be one year older, what was there to be celebrated about?
“It means you will be regarded as a proper adult,” Keisuke said after swordfight practice in the garden. “You will have new privileges as well as responsibilities. Soon you will marry and inherit your father’s property.”
Tomohiro shrugged as he wiped his sword clean with a cloth. “I don’t see anything interesting in marriage. Girls only giggle and whisper among themselves when they see me; I can never carry a decent conversation with them.”
Keisuke laughed when he heard that, but he took on a serious tone again when he continued, “You will find a good companion eventually. But sooner than that, you must begin to learn your father’s tasks in order to carry on his work someday. It’s your obligation to your family.”
As they grew older Keisuke increasingly used heavy words such as ‘duty’ and ‘obligation’ when talking to Tomohiro. The latter knew that to Keisuke the words were more than empty adages, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. They were like ornate carvings on a door that would soon close, forever separating him from his peaceful childhood and thrusting him headlong into the terrifying world of adults.
“You’ll stay with me even then, will you?” he asked Keisuke. “Every landlord needs a samurai.”
No matter if he had to change into someone he was not, Tomohiro felt he could still find some semblance of normalcy if he had Keisuke beside him. It was one thing that had remained the same for years, and he didn’t expect it to change.
But Keisuke didn’t say a word, and Tomohiro was slowly beginning to realize that the man’s silences only meant that the actual, truthful answers would displease his young master. Tomohiro chided himself inwardly. Of course Keisuke wouldn’t always stay with him; it was incredibly naïve and self-centered of him to think so. Keisuke must have his own wishes and ambitions he wanted to achieve.
Forcing a smile onto his face, Tomohiro said, “Let’s forget about obligations for a day.” He walked over to one of the tallest trees in the garden, fingers brushing its ancient bark. “Remember how we used to climb this tree? I bet I can reach the top branch faster than you now!”
He took off his shoes and began to climb, Keisuke eyeing him worriedly. “Young Master, be careful!”
There was hardly any need for that, for Tomohiro knew every branch, every little nook where he can put his foot in. The tree was a familiar friend who welcomed him with delight, rustling its leaves in invitation. In a short moment he was already halfway up.
“Come on, Keisuke-kun, the view is wonderful up here!” he shouted merrily.
When he glanced below what he saw was not the boy who had always watched him protectively. Traces of that boy was still there, but he had begun to transform into someone else, a fully grown man with other concerns than to play with the landlord’s spoiled only son.
Keisuke’s gaze was solemn and his voice quiet when he said, “You are no longer a child, Young Master. Please come down.”
Tomohiro felt his spirits sink. He paused for a while before starting to descend the tree, but his foot slipped. His fingers frantically tried to grasp a branch, a twig, anything, but none were within reach. The tree, that old comrade, had betrayed him after all.
“Watch out!” He heard the anxious cry below as the wind rushed in his ears and the earth pulled him down. He closed his eyes and prepared for the moment he would hit the ground, but then he felt hands grabbing him and something breaking his fall, something soft yet hard at the edges.
Opening his eyes, he saw Keisuke’s face merely inches underneath and only then was aware he was lying on top of him. His senses came alive as he felt the dips and curves of the man’s body, the unexpected softness, the spicy scent that he could only describe as Keisuke’s. His cheeks burned as he realized he had never seen Keisuke this close, had never felt his breath against his face.
“-Young Master,” Keisuke said, squirming under his weight. Tomohiro quickly scrambled off him.
“Are you hurt?” asked Keisuke as they both rose to a sitting position. “Do you feel pain anywhere?”
Tomohiro shook his head, though he still felt heat in his cheeks and other parts of his body he didn’t dare mention. “You?”
“No.” Keisuke sighed and got to his feet, taking a few steps with his back facing Tomohiro. “You know you shouldn’t do that.”
Tomohiro sat there watching Keisuke with his face turned away from him, and it was never clearer than that moment how things had changed. From now on they would no longer see each other eye to eye.
“I am always a burden to you, aren’t I?” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. “I won’t be anymore.”
He stood up and walked to the direction of the great house. He thought he heard Keisuke gently calling to him, “Young Master Tomohiro,” but if he looked back he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to go on, so he quickened his pace.
***
“So let me sum it up,” Ryo says. “You’re having dreams about a guy you stalk in the train, and these dreams are set within an NHK period drama.”
“I don’t stalk,” mutters Yamashita. The NHK drama part, though, is spot on.
Ryo smirks. “Sure, man. I think you just need more beer.” He signals to the bartender with two fingers raised in the air.
“These dreams are not regular dreams, Ryo. They feel so... real.” Yamashita wants to add something he has just begun to formulate: I think they actually happened, but decides to leave that part out.
It sounds ridiculous to say it out loud, but in his head it makes perfect sense. The more he dreams of Tomohiro, the more he feels he’s not living someone else’s life but rather remembering his own. He has heard a lot about reincarnation and had even gone so far as to research theories about it on the internet. It’s not that he’s so infatuated with the stranger in the train that he comes up with the dreams; on the contrary, it’s like he senses a familiarity with the stranger because he appears in his dreams - or memories, if you will.
He doesn’t expect anybody, let alone his cynical friend Ryo, to believe he’s recalling events in his previous life as the son of a landlord in ancient Japan. But it seems to be the only logical explanation, as logical as the concept of reincarnation can be.
The bartender puts two bottles of beer on the counter and Ryo takes one of them, pushing the other to Yamashita’s direction. “Forget the dreams for a second.” He throws Yamashita a teasing look. ”This guy must be really hot for you to be thinking up scenarios where you two get together.”
Yamashita scoffs. “Oh, shut up.”
“I mean, come on. Today it’s ‘The Young Master and His Samurai Boyfriend’, what’s it gonna be tomorrow? ‘My Escapades with the Male Geisha’?”
Ryo’s amused cackles convince Yamashita he has chosen the wrong person for a heart-to-heart.
As far as the so-called stalking is concerned, Yamashita has had no luck. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the stranger since that last glimpse from a moving train two weeks ago. He begins to think he might have to make do with Keisuke in his dreams, but even the servant’s son is growing more distant from Tomohiro.
His train rides these days are particularly boring without something (or to be exact, someone) to look forward to, and his journey home after parting ways with Ryo is no different. The after effects of beer in his system are beginning to wear out, leaving behind a slight buzz and an overwhelming sense of melancholy. He sits with his head leaned far back, blank eyes staring at the ever-changing view outside.
The carriage is practically empty save for several other late-night travelers, and Yamashita is barely aware of their presence. He also doesn’t pay any attention whenever the train admits a few new passengers along the way. He doesn’t notice at first, for instance, the tall man with a dark blue jacket and matching scarf who boards the train and sits not far from him. He might have continued to ignore his surroundings had the man’s cell phone not rung, a familiar tune from a famous band filling the silence, and Yamashita turns his head slightly to the side to find the very person he has been prowling Tokyo’s railway system for.
Yamashita’s heart does a double somersault which is not at all caused by the beer. There he is, the stranger with Keisuke’s face, only two seats apart from him. The man flips open his phone, his expression turning soft as he begins to speak. Whoever it is on the other end of the line must be someone special.
It’s a little hard to watch someone and try to be unnoticed when he’s sitting a mere few feet from you. Yamashita finds himself darting surreptitious glances every once in a while, careful to not be too conspicuous. A weird tingle shoots up his spine when he catches the man laughing quietly, the first time he hears the sound, but also the nth time, since he has heard it coming from Keisuke’s mouth before.
“Okay, okay. Good night, Shige,” the man says in a tender voice, and Yamashita promptly decides he doesn’t like this Shige person very much.
It takes a while for Yamashita to remember he had been planning to talk to the man. He had prepared a whole repertoire of conversation starters to choose from, but for the life of him he can’t remember any right now. If he can just think of something, a random topic for small talk...
He takes a quick look at the stranger to make sure he hasn’t disappeared, and sees that the man has fallen asleep.
Well, at least he’s not going anywhere. This also gives Yamashita more freedom to observe him undetected.
The man looks every bit as fine as he usually does. He’s dyed his hair a little darker and trimmed it around the edges. Another new thing that Yamashita notes is that he’s not the type of person whose corners of the lips pull down when he sleeps. His mouth is set in a straight line, rendering his expression neutral, peaceful.
A recorded announcement informs the passengers that the next stop is Ikebukuro Station. Yamashita cocks his head. Isn’t that the station where the stranger always goes off at night? His home must be nearby. The train is already slowing its pace, and Yamashita grows uneasy as the stranger shows no signs of waking up soon. A second announcement comes on and still no response.
Before he’s aware of what he’s doing, Yamashita gets up to approach the man and shakes his shoulder gently. “Hey,” he says awkwardly. “Wake up.”
The man stirs, blinks and frowns when he sees Yamashita at arm’s length in front of him. Yamashita says, “You might miss your stop,” before taking a step backward, aware of the proximity. They had never been this close before.
The stranger glances outside the window; the train is just entering Ikebukuro Station. He turns to stare at Yamashita rather suspiciously, and Yamashita realizes it must seem weird that he knows where the man is supposed to go off.
Maybe he recognizes me too, he thinks, a little too hopeful. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been watching all this time.
The train comes to a full stop, and the stranger stands up. His face changes and he offers Yamashita a small smile. “Thanks,” he says before going out.
Or maybe not.
Just before the train leaves Ikebukuro, though, Yamashita can swear he sees the man looking back in his direction.
***
Shortly after Tomohiro’s coming of age ceremony, whispers arose in the household about indications of unrest among the general populace. The word was that a rival landowner, an old enemy of Tomohiro’s father, was stirring up trouble.
“He’s inciting the workers in the fields to rebel against your father,” Keisuke said, relaying to Tomohiro what the servants had heard the master and his advisors discussing in the main hall. Tomohiro, despite being groomed to become his father’s successor, was still considered too young to take part in such meetings.
“It’s the same tactic he used last time,” added Keisuke.
Tomohiro turned to him, perplexed. “Last time?”
Keisuke smiled bitterly. “He’s the same man who caused the riot in my hometown.” The one that left him without a father and drove his mother and him to depend on the mercy of others to live.
They both said no more. Tomohiro followed Keisuke’s gaze to the western pavilion where Keisuke’s mother was putting up decorative pins in Tomohiro’s sister’s hair. It seemed impossible that anything could disturb the peace in this house.
The peace was broken much earlier than anyone thought.
It was the dead of night when the servants woke Tomohiro, saying something about an attack and urging him to hurry, just hurry and follow them to the main hall. He was in such a rush he would not be surprised if he wore his kimono backwards, but he managed to arrive in the hall and found his mother and sister already there, along with Keisuke and his mother and several other servants and guards. Screams and sounds of fighting could be heard from outside.
“They’re trying to break in!” a male servant said in a squeaky voice.
“Who?” asked Tomohiro.
“The field workers,” the reply came from Takizawa, one of Tomohiro’s father’s trusted aides, who had just arrived. “Master was made to stay at the village hall for negotiations with their representatives, while some others went here separately to attack. Master suspected it and sent me here.”
“But what do they want?” Tomohiro’s mother asked, wringing her hands.
Takizawa’s expression was grave. “Possibly to take the family hostage as leverage to threaten Master.”
Everyone in the room drew a collective gasp, but Takizawa was quick to add, “We must flee as soon as possible. I’ve prepared a carriage at the back gate. There’s no time to waste!”
As though in confirmation, a loud crash could be heard from somewhere close by. The women screamed while Takizawa yelled above the din, “Let’s go!”
While everyone was running, Tomohiro noticed Takizawa and the other men had pulled out their swords. Even Keisuke, he was startled to see, was holding a sword in his hand - not his usual wooden sword but a sharp-bladed one, its edge glinting against the light from oil lamps in the corridors.
As they made their way to the back of the house, the group gradually became smaller. Every few moments some of the men would stay behind to ward off the attackers closing in on them. At last when they arrived at the rear gate there were only Tomohiro, his sister and mother, Keisuke and his mother, and Takizawa.
A horse-drawn carriage was ready for them there. The women had just climbed into it when an explosion of light from the roof caught Tomohiro’s attention. “They’re burning the house!” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“Young Master, you must all leave right this minute,” urged Takizawa. “I’ll stay here to try and stall them. Keisuke, you-”
“I’ll stay back here and help you,” Keisuke spoke, his words calm but determined.
“What? No!” cried Tomohiro. “Keisuke-kun, you’re coming with us!”
Keisuke looked at him with what seemed like a smile, but Tomohiro had never seen a saddest smile in his life. Putting a hand on Tomohiro’s arm, the older man said, “I have to face my demons sooner or later, Young Master. All I ask from you is to take care of my mother.”
Tomohiro kept shaking his head. “Nonsense! The man who caused your father’s death is not even here. He’s out there stringing his puppets to attack us. I order you to get in the carriage right now!”
He knew it was pointless as he gazed into Keisuke’s eyes, those eyes that knew his destiny, had always known it since the day he became fatherless. “Young Master,” Keisuke said, fingers digging into Tomohiro’s arm so hard it hurt, “please be safe.”
Keisuke’s mother was crying, as was Tomohiro’s sister clinging to her, and Tomohiro was starting to choke up as well. Keisuke moved swiftly before he could react, pushing him into the carriage and closing the door. The driver got the horses galloping without delay and Tomohiro could only watch Keisuke’s figure growing smaller and smaller until he could no longer make out his face.
Soon all he could see was the angry red flames engulfing his home, and then not much else because hot tears were stinging his eyes, blinding him.
***
Yamashita wakes up from the dream with moist eyes.
He doesn’t dream about Tomohiro and Keisuke anymore after that.
“Man, that’s just...” Ryo trails off, unable to say much after hearing how the dreams end. “Wow. Way to have a tragic ending, dude. You sure you don’t want to enter this in a literary competition?”
The next time Yamashita meets the stranger on the train, it’s almost painful.
He knows it’s because he’s not seeing this man in a trendy button-down jacket but Keisuke in an old-style kimono with a sword in his hand, asking him to leave him behind to face a rioting mob. That the dreams about the young master and his servant had come to an abrupt halt somehow signals what happened to Keisuke that night.
When Yamashita sees his stranger that evening, he wants to grab him by the shoulders and berate him on Tomohiro’s behalf for playing the martyr. He wants to tell Keisuke what Tomohiro hadn’t been able to say, the pent up feelings he hid all those years. But this man now sitting at the seat right opposite him is not Keisuke, and he knows Tomohiro never got to see him again.
When the man’s gaze meets Yamashita’s, he acknowledges him with a nod and a slight smile. It seems he had taken Yamashita’s actions the last time they met as a kind gesture. Despite his mixed emotions, Yamashita can’t help but smile back.
Since the stranger is right across from him, it’s difficult not to watch. The list of topics for small talk in his head now seems trite and meaningless compared to what Keisuke and Tomohiro went through. But he can’t possibly go up to him and say, Excuse me, I’m that guy from your past life, remember?
Just as he contemplates how crazy he will look if he actually says that, the underground train jerks and slowly comes to a stop. The power goes out, drawing exclamations of surprise from a number of passengers, but the emergency lights soon go on. Nervous murmurs spread through the carriage while a child or two weep.
A couple next to Yamashita sidles closer together. Under the dim lights he can also see other people consoling each other, trying to calm their loved one, holding hands.
He glances at the stranger and finds him staring. He recognizes those eyes well, knows what they say.
Are you all right, Young Master?
It feels like his hand is moving on its own accord when he reaches out to the man. The latter leans forwards and takes Yamashita’s hand in his.
Something explodes at the back of Yamashita’s mind and he closes his eyes, expecting to see something that will confirm his suspicions all this time. He thinks he will see Keisuke.
Instead, he glimpses the stranger in a modern kitchen, grinning and throwing an apron at him. A flash, and the same man is sleeping on a sofa, an open book propped against his chest. Then he’s wearing a tank top and shorts at the beach with his feet bare, running ahead of Yamashita.
Another vision and Yamashita catches his breath: it’s that man on one side of a double bed, lying on his stomach with the covers exposing his smooth back. Then the man is suddenly above him, skin shining with sweat, sweatpants hanging precariously low on his hips and revealing a trail of shadow that disappears under his waistband. His heavy-lidded eyes are looking right at Yamashita who’s sprawled underneath him, and when he fuses their lips in a searing kiss Yamashita thinks this is definitely not the past, not a previous life, but something else that lies ahead.
It feels like he’s falling and then his eyes fly open; the power had gone back on, illuminating the train with bright lights. He’s still holding hands with the stranger, until they exchange looks and realize how awkward it is for two men to do so in the middle of a full train. Letting go of each other, Yamashita thinks he can see his disappointment mirrored in the stranger’s eyes.
An announcement comes on about some sort of power malfunction, but the blood is still rushing in Yamashita’s ears and prevents him from making any sense of it. The next stop is Ikebukuro, but instead of disembarking the man stands up and takes the seat next to Yamashita.
“It’s your stop.” Yamashita is somehow still coherent enough to say that.
“I don’t mind,” the man replies. He offers a hand and a shy grin. “My name is Koyama.”
Yamashita repeats the name inwardly. Koyama. He can easily imagine himself getting used to saying it. Somehow he knows everything that had happened, real or imagined, is a preamble to this. He accepts the handshake and they share a look that carries the weight of the past, conveys the hope of the present and holds so much promise for the future.
“I’m Yamashita,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Koyama.”