ryokou by flori-dono DISCLAIMER: This is a Rurouni Kenshin inspired fanfic. RK owned by Nobuhiro Watsuki and assoc. *** PROLOGUE "Hana wa chiri Sono iro to naku Nagamureba Munashiki sora ni Harusame zo furu (The blossoms have fallen I stare blankly at a world Bereft of color: In the wide vacant sky The spring rains are falling)" "Such gloomy thoughts," he said as he sat down beside me. "It's from the Shinkokinshuu is it not?" I nodded. We were sitting on the floor of an abandoned shack in the forest, taking shelter from the storm. I was leaning against the wall, near the window watching as the rain clouded my sight. He sat about two feet away from me to my left. "Daijoubu, ashita wa tenki desu yo," he said, trying to comfort me. I smiled at this. He can be so clueless at times. "I'm not worried about the weather," I said, glancing at him. "I'm just thinking about tomorrow." "Doushite?" "Well tomorrow, we'll reach Niigata right?" "Hai." "I... I... I was thinking. I have an Aunt there and, perhaps I'll..." I took a deep breath. "I've decided that I'll stay there. I... I don't think I want to travel with you anymore." It was a while before he answered. "I see." Was that it? "I see?" Wouldn't he ask why? Wouldn't he try to stop me? I felt something heavy forming in my chest. It hurt that he didn't care, even after all that we've been through together. I held my head high and said, "Okay..." He was staring at his hands. "Stained," is the word he used to describe them. He was thinking about his past again, I suppose. I wanted to come to him and tell him once again that I don't see him as that - stained. But I tried not to give in to the temptation. After all, he didn't care about me, so why would he care about what I thought of him? He looked up and we caught gazes. There was something in his eyes that I couldn't fathom. One that I haven't seen before. Little by little my defences wore down, my heart was beating wildly. We sat there, staring at each other. Then suddenly, like a magnet, we were drawn closer together. In a few seconds, but which seemed like eternity, he was so close that I could feel the warmth of his body. "Soujiro?" I asked in a breathless whisper. He didn't answer. Instead he bent his head low, letting his lips meet mine. Our first kiss. The sound of the rain was nothing but a mere murmur now. In fact, everything was a blur as if everything around us was sealed off. I was too lost in the wonder of our kiss. His lips were gentle, not too demanding. He seemed shy. It seemed that he wanted to see what my reaction would be first. Such a gentleman, this Soujiro. It was I who took the initiative to deepen it. He was surprised but he realized what I wanted. I could feel my body heating up, and I could tell that he wasn't immune to what was going on either. His hands were creeping up slowly under my shirt, brushing over my bound breasts. I moaned. And that was the end of it all. He suddenly broke our kiss and backed away hurriedly. I could see the disgust in his eyes. "Gomen nasai, Hana-dono!" he said, trying hard not to meet my eyes. "Gomen nasai..." My eyes stung with unshed tears. I looked at him, a cynical smile hovering on my lips. "It's okay," I said, standing up. "Consider that a goodbye kiss." I bolted out of the shack and out to the storm. I ran, as fast as I could, far away from him. I was already crying. My tears and the rain blurring my vision. "Hana-chan!" I heard him calling, but perhaps it was only the wind. PART 1 JULY 15, 1879 Hajimemashite. Watashi wa Hattori Hana desu. Dozou yoroshiku onegaishimasu. Such a silted way of introducing myself, is it not? Well, if I were to do my own introduction, it would be, "Konnichiwa watashi wa Hana desu." But that is rather improper ne? Not to say that I am improper. My otousan was a samurai. A low ranking samurai may be, but still a samurai. That means, I 'have' to be proper-- always. The problem is, it's just that sometimes being proper is too stifling. Watashi wa Hana desu. Hana. Flower. It was my otousan who named me. He said I was born in spring when all the flowers were in bloom. He said that every bird was chirping, rejoicing that I was born. Otousan was a romantic, for a samurai. I had wondered why he just didn't become a scholar like my Goro-ojisan who was always with those Dutch, learning things about the west. But then, father was the oldest and he was the one who had to inherit all those stuff. Something, that I disapprove of. I believe that one has the freedom to do anything he wants, but I guess it can not be in feudal Japan. I don't know if I was unfortunate or fortunate that I was an only child. Otousan was a little disappointed that he never did have a son but I overheard him say to one of his samurai friends, "Why should I complain when I have my Hana-chan?" And he really loved me. He appreciated my love for freedom and he only reprimanded me when my antics were of the worst kind. Watashi wa Hana desu. Writer desu. Yes, I have always wanted to write, and my Otousan encouraged me to write. Ever since he saw me scribbling childish hiragana on our tatami when I was three, he would buy me several blank journals everytime we go out of town. It was sad because, he too loved writing. I used to watch him write haikus in his spare time. He would sat down with a brush in hand and he would go on until midnight. Sometimes, he would turn to me and ask for a suitable word. But this was always seldom. In the last years of the Tokugawa era, he spent less and less time at home. He had stopped writing altogether. I miss my otousan. I was sent to my Goro-ojisan when the Toba-Fushimi war broke out. I never heard from him since. I had only spent very little time of my life with him but his memories were plenty and vivid. I think they will last me a lifetime. *** I closed my journal as I heard my stomach growl in protest. It had been deprived of food since yesterday, and judging by the few paragraphs I had written, I needed to get food. I felt the purse inserted at the waistband of my hakama (I dressed like man, because it was easier to travel) and grimaced at its lack of bulge. I remembered that I had spent the last of my money on a meager bottle of ink. I was hungry and I had no money. I sighed. I hated it when I would have no choice but to steal. And lately, that is what I had been doing. Where was the writer? Somewhere I guess, beneath this filthy, vagabond with only a collection of battered journals in my satchel. Sometimes, I would sell words for a scanty price. People needed inspiration once in a while and words can sometimes be inspirational. I write them haikus, tankas, and wakas. I didn't mind the low pay, the work made me happy. But sometimes, happiness can be nothing when you have an empty stomach. So as I said, I steal. I've grown quite adept at filching other people's purses. It was quite easy. You just pretend you're drunk, and when you "accidentally" bump into people then you reach for their money bags. I surveyed the people around me, there wasn't anybody who seemed to have extra yen with them. This village was a poor one and I really felt guilty, robbing any of these people off. Wait... "Arigatou, obaasan!" I turned around at the sound of the voice and saw a young man, a little older that I was, accepting a pouch from an old woman. From the shape of it, I thought the bag held money. At last! I followed the man as he walked away. I surveyed him. He's a little short, well, a little taller that I was. He was also a bit skinny. His clothes seemed a little dirty and well-worn so I guess, he too was a traveller.