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The mist of the morning floated through the opened doors on the northern side of the home. Hues of blue colored the sky and the servants who walked the grounds, quietly beginning the day before their master arose. At least, they worked under that pretense. All knew of their master and his disposition—that he was a rather strange man. A doctor. A traveler who'd kept the oddest hours from said traveling. When he was at his familial home, he took care to stay out of the way. He walked softly along corridors, slippered feet barely making any sound. He took to dressing himself despite the ladies who sat outside of his bed quarters waiting to be called in for their duty. Day after day, they would sit on folded knees, heads bowed until he emerged. Sometimes it was before the dawn had taken color. Other times, it was well into the bright morning.
Regardless, the young master would come fully clothed. He'd often elected to wear Western styles of dress. 'Suits,' with 'trousers' and 'waistcoats,' were his preference. He looked best in that sort of dress. The servants whispered amongst themselves about this. The length of his legs matched his imperial stride. His back bespoke his heritage and station— straight and unbent like a cypress.
The young master of the home was kind. All of the Iida family were. While no one ached to work the large estate that sat at the precarious intermingling of mountain and forest, working under the lordship of the Iida clan was a job many a commoner would want. The days were long, yes, but nary a moment was spent with sweat from fear. Only the hard work upon one's brow. Yes, the lordship of the home was a gentle one. A family of intellectuals. Scientists.
The lady of the house sat dressed in her morning kimono, looking to the south as the dawn drew the sun into the sky. She sipped her tea with a sigh, peering out into the slowly lightening world. Her book sat beside her, open to the last notes she'd made to herself about the things that crossed her mind. Just outside the pool of early morning dark, she watched the small ponds and swirling fish meet the day. The bamboo funnel nodded softly, transferring clear waters from one pool to another. The chirps of sparrows bled from the thicket of trees surrounding the property. The staff let their eyes rest on her for only a moment at a time as they walked around her in silent rivers. She was the stone, letting the crisp air wash over her.
The young master took after her in this regard. The Lady of the House took solace in the early or late hours, reading and writing poetry. 'A warm cup of tea will do,' a sentence she often said to Miyu, her "young lady," as the mistress often referred to her. Miyu stood as a shadow, never too far. Even on this morning, she stood near the open doors by her lady. Out of sight with a weighty presence of servitude. Her eyes only ever lifted when she heard the young master coming. Her shoulders would bunch. She would curl her hands into her apron with the hope that her bangs would cover not only her eyes but the traitorous blush that colored her cheeks.
The young master came through the breezeway, bringing with him his own morning materials. The sun shone more securely now, a haze of warmth bleeding into the home. It moved slowly. The former quietness gained a chirp—the subtle sounds of greeting and the rest of the manor coming to life. Tenya, dressed as he liked in those Western clothes, bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. In return, she lifted her face, angled just so to feel the brush of her youngest's lips against her skin. Their tender greeting was a warning for the day. She would have to return to her quarters and finish dressing. Miyu would accompany her to assist in the true readying.
"What has the dawn whispered to you today, Mother?"
Young master Tenya's voice was low. Miyu noticed the slight gravel of his words. She stayed stock still in place, heart ratcheting in her chest. Of course, some meager part of her hoped the young master noticed her. She'd noticed him—that he wore no tie that morning despite always wearing one. His crisp white shirt was pressed. His waistcoat was unbuttoned. The top two buttons of said shirt sat casually open, showing off the young master's bobbing throat—an expanse of slightly tanned skin that fled beneath cotton.
"Nothing I don't already know," the young master's beloved mother responded coyly.
The pair grinned at one another with mutual knowing. The young master's mother was a spiritualist at heart. Her nature was a quiet one filled with observation. It suited his father handsomely. While Tenya's parents had not initially been a love match, they'd grown together into something stronger than the fickle winds of childish romance. They'd build a house upon two names. Ambition marked by confidence and compassion made them well-liked and envied by their contemporaries in equal measure.
The master of the house had been away. He'd traveled to the city to be a part of a prefectural meeting. Good Fortune held to him, unlike many others who'd crossed her path. He traveled safely, sending message back by courier that he would be away for at least a month's time. He's arrived and met with several friends, a rival or two, all in good spirits. It was his sincere hope that he could help shape the industrialization, making its way into the countryside. The Lady of the House unfolded the letter that had been delivered the day prior.
"Here," She offered the thin paper to her youngest, "Be sure to send word to Tensei that your father is in the city. He would be so happy to meet Father while they are both away. Thick as thieves, those two."
Tenya let the wilting parchment slide into his palm. He took it leisurely. Before deigning to read his father's excitement, he drew his mother to full height. He'd placed her hand into his, the letter into a pocket, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He treated her as a gentle flower, towering over her once they both stood at full height. Ichika slapped her son's chest with a gasp of indignation, only to follow it with her wind chime laughter.
"The time for lazing is done. I have news I would like to share with the parent that shares my sensibilities."
Tenya grinned down into her face, and Ichika could not help but recognize the face of her husband in their buried youth. She did agree that Tenya shared her spirit, but the arch of his brow and the gleam of his eyes bespoke the man she loved. How lovely it was to her to see them both in her youngest child's expressions.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," she lamented. The thought of having to press powder to her face made Ichika grimace. If she'd been standing in the gardens like she would later, she could have seen her freckles. Were they signs of youth or age, the Lady of the House was unsure. Only that they were a part of her and that her husband would kiss everyone upon his return. She turned her longing gaze away from the water. The sun had come to find them on the southern side of the estate by now. The flowers in their pocket gardens raised their faces toward the sky. Lilies, Camellias, Gillyflower, and others Ichika could hardly remember the names of the flowers that littered the grounds.
"I will meet you for a proper breakfast as soon as you're ready."
Tenya watched as his mother glided away. Her maid, Miyu, followed silently. Nary a word exchanged between the two. He would have thought it odd if Miyu hadn't been brought up in his parents' care. She was unwavering and loyal to what even Tenya could read as self-detriment. His mother's footfalls were quiet. Miyu was silent. The dark curtain of pin-straight hair fell in a solid curtain along her back. The satin strands shone even as they descended into the darkened hall that led to his mother's private dressing chambers.
Tenya wondered idly if Miyu thought of her life outside of their mountain home. She'd been here as long as he could remember. A little girl who ran through their halls with bedding and blankets turned into a woman who saw his mother more than he did. Did she dream of a life doing other things? Did she want to travel outside of their nation? What did she know of those things? His thoughts reflected in his brow and the slow trudge he took to the center room.
Staff bustled about with their own thoughts and ambitions. Most of them worked to get through the day with thoughts of the city or returning to villages where their families were. Dining wear was prepared while Tenya let his thoughts rake over the idea of using Miyu as a courier. Plates and food appeared from kitchens on the other side of the manor to be placed in front of Tenya himself and across from him for the Lady of the House to enjoy upon her arrival. Tenya sat cross-legged by the low table, arms behind him to stabilize his weight. He looked around himself with neutrality. He scanned the oak floors, the cedar table in front of him. Shoji screens acted as partitions. False walls in the open space. His eyes fell to his suit. The pants were a deep navy. A pair he'd gotten while abroad the year prior. His waistcoat sat nearly dangling off him, but the first breaths of late Spring heat popped on his skin. He made a concerted attempt not to think about it. He thought of being warm, then he would surely break into a damp sweat. Instead, he forced his mind to other things. Things like the passage of time and his mother's lengthy rituals. He knew it was unbecoming for her to be seen as anything but put together in front of the staff. He also could acknowledge the pretense of propriety with people who take part in cleaning one's linens and drawing their bathwater was, in part, absurd.
The Lady of the House came into the room with the same quiet presence that defined her person. Her makeup had been complete to perfection. Casually, and yet with such precision, no one could claim she was anything less than her title. Her shadow followed half a step behind, eyes lowered. Miyu's hands were once again bunched in her apron. Her face sat obscured as she preferred in Tenya's presence. She often thought it would have been easier to have affections for the other young master. He was a more observant man…at least when it came to people. He would have taken her aside, given her a flower from the garden. He might have even been as so kind as to align her affections with someone of her station. Instead, the cruelty of the heart had led Miyu to the spot behind her mistress, taking slight glances at the man across from them both.
"Dear Mother," Tenya began with a soft breath, "In your absence, I have been pondering about your maid…Would you be preferable to her being a courier for me?"
The air stilled. The food sat uneaten. Ichika's eyes raised to her son's with a curious expression. All parties in the room felt the shift. The wind chimes outside the main area dinged softly as if it were apologizing for both their presence and their distance.
" Just one trip," Tenya added quickly to assuage his mother's potential ire.
"This is, in part, what I wanted to speak to you about. I have an associate who will be visiting the estate. They are in need of assistance with a private medical matter. I intend to carry out their care here. I need to complete some additional research to ensure their well being can cannot retrieve them myself. Miyu, I think, would be a lovely proxy."
The thickness of the silence did not wane. In fact, it grew thicker with a heady tension comprised of Miyu's tender excitement and Ichika's apprehension. Tenya sat up, staring at his mother over bowls of chilling soup. A child, evermore, he mirrored his mother's actions from the previous moment, taking a sip of tea. Tenya savored the smooth sweetness. The herbal scent revitalized his senses. The tea's slow descent into his stomach left an oozing warmth. He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, his shoulders relaxing.
Miyu watched unabashedly in that moment. Her presence had not only been noticed but had become central to conversation. Her eyes darted back and forth over the young master's appearance. Yes, even he was not immune to the Lady of the House's penchant for heavy silences. She watched his lips. A slight dribble of tea sat at the opening of his mouth for half a second before disappearing into his mouth. Her hands did not clench, but shook. She felt a litany of words rise up in her chest. All of them some form of acceptance. Of course, she could be a courier for his acquaintance! Of course. Though she'd been no farther than two towns over with the supervision of older maids, she could—no, she would make the travel to gather this person for the young master.
"What say you, Miyu? Would you like to go on this…excursion for the young master?"
The Lady of the House sat with her back still to Miyu when she posed her inquiry. It was more a matter of formality. She was no fool and knew of her maid's tender affections toward her son. For as much as Miyu watched her in duty, Ichika watched her maid in curiosity. The Lady could recall the first time her maid had come skittering down the long hall in avoidance of her youngest. She never wavered in front of Tensei, nor her husband. Only Tenya.
"…I-if My Lady allows it."
Miyu's breath sat heavy in her chest. She'd raised her head a fraction of an inch to stare at the back of her mistress's head as if the answer would be plastered there. Maybe it would be in the perfected strands of her coiffed hair or the crisp gab at the neck of her kimono. Perhaps, Miyu thought, it would shine in the embroidery.
"Well then, I suppose it should be fine." Her Lady made no more of the matter. She asked no more questions, assured that the young master would continue with his explanation now that he'd garnered her approval.
Tenya did as such. He explained in detail exactly when Miyu was to depart, that he'd already begun considering how to send her by carriage to the railway and from there to collect his compatriot.
"It is settled then! I will ensure Miyu's safety on the railway and depart on my own additional research in the city near Father's accommodations. We should return about the same time."
Tenya's smile was seared into Miyu's brain in a way that nearly caused the maid to double over. A fragile grin made a brittle carving of her face as she nodded behind her Lady.
Hitoshi sat glaring from the window of his private room. The bright day outside tired him. It shone into his room without permission. It asked for no forgiveness, even as his body consumed itself. He'd so achingly, begrudgingly become the soft earth all people returned to at their time of reckoning. He clenched the cloth that held his death in a fragile fist. The harder he clenched, the more his fist shook. Most days, he could not bear to stare at his reflection. Disgust colored any redeeming quality he'd once had. His eyes sat sunken into his face. The grimace on his face had taken up permanent residence, casting out any joy he'd felt.
The days were long, but the nights longer. Hitoshi lay in piles of bloodied petals as they spewed from his mouth. Pink camellia petals, as dainty as ever, were the wretched penance for having allowed himself to dream. The moon was no better than the sun. It was crueler, in fact. The glowing sun was faceless. Peering into the rays was an attempt at blinding the self. The moon, however, with her roundness, with her oceanic sway, was saccharine among stars. Gleaming beams of hope. Dead wishes cast to the heavens that lie in wait for the next unfortunate beast of the earth to look to it for guidance. Hitoshi had been one such beast in the beginning of his peculiarity. He'd prayed to the One God. He'd knelt before the feet of statues that more closely resembled his ancestors as well. He'd cast offerings at shrines with whimpers and pleading lips. It was all for naught. Night after cursed night, he fell before his bed and let the hellish ritual take place.
His stomach would knot and seize first. Then he would shake like a leaf in the wind, weakened by his lack of breath. His already pale skin would become ghostly, nearly translucent as the moon sneaked between curtains to watch with glee. The first wretch was the hardest. No blood to slide along the petals or leaves that he birthed from his mouth. He would cough and cough until it felt like his eyes would fall from his head. The pressure had nowhere to go within him. He lay with one arm circled his midsection, the other over his head as if to hold the whole of himself together.
As hellish as it all was, some nights were better than others. The days in which he was able to leave his sickbed led to better evenings. Though the glare of the sun was unwelcome, the warmth did Hitoshi much good. With his cane to support his unsteady weight, he'd managed to visit with associates. His mentor often commented on his walking recovering when ever they did meet. It was a blatant lie, but Hitoshi met it with a smile and careful thanks. The goodness of kind people was never lost on him, though when doled out, it felt like a salve on a wound he did not notice previously. Always a shock and never without its own bit of sting.
He'd wished for not days but weeks of this. Weeks of at least meagerly sustained health instead of the quiet collapse that invigorated him from time to time. He's squandered hope on unrequited love, and none remained for him now. He'd turned away from the sun, hunkering down in his bed with a hiss of pain. His joints ached and bemoaned every movement he made. The sheer act of breathing was torturous!
If not for a letter sent by Tenya, Hitoshi might have seriously contemplated euthanasia. He'd considered it at his lowest moments in the dark, when not even the stars glimmered. In that endless night, on a bed of petals, he'd thought of peace. What if darkness were not pain, but quiet? A splendid joy it would be to feel quite literally nothing. Hitoshi was never brave enough to breach the aether alone. Instead, he weathered. He sat beside himself metaphorically in summit. He questioned all he knew, used every resource he could scour from his bed through messages and promised favors—through the inheritance his parents allotted him when they went to the soil. In that effort, he'd managed to reconnect with an old boarding school associate, Tenya Iida. If Hitoshi had been more emotionally honest, he might have even referred to him as a friend. Tenya had been a strapping sort of fellow during their acquaintance. An upright boy, walking into manhood with clearer eyes than most at that time. Certainly with more gusto. He'd been jovial about joining his family's business—taking an apprenticeship with a local physician while still in school to learn all he could. Hitoshi had thought him mad then. Too eager for a world that had not yet decided if it wanted Tenya—if it wanted any of them. Yet, he drove forward with such resolve that there was no other option but for him to be exalted. Had Tenya been born lucky? Was his health and disposition an answered prayer? Perhaps. It was to be Hitoshi's in those coming days.
Telegrams and even phone calls were made between the pair. Tenya had promised him private lodging and discreet care after Hitoshi found himself desperate enough to send letters with samples of his arduous affliction. Late Spring left him even weaker. He expressed his doubt of a lengthy life in admittedly pathetic letters. Though Hitoshi never begged in words, the tone of his communications and the shaky lettering were enough to draw charity to Tenya's mind.
Days later, he sat on a bench that dug into his hip, awaiting an escort. Tenya had sent message of one. A woman. A girl of his mother's who would ensure Hitoshi's comfortable travel back to the main Iida estate. She did not know the finer details of Hitoshi's ailment, only that traveling alone would have been more dangerous than simply staying put. Hitoshi was no longer able to do the latter if he had any intention of getting his more serious works published. His resolve drew up in his chest a blazing flame that reminded Hitoshi why he'd sought out the man in the first place. Yes, he may have inhabited a weak body, but he was sharp of mind. His ideas needed to be shared with others. He had so many ways to make life better for those like himself. Those who needed machines and tinctures to assist with making their lives less miserable. Dependence was its own ailment to Hitoshi. One that could not always be cured. It could be treated. Maintained and worked upon, like every other issue plaguing the society.
Time ticked away as the sun settled even more directly over the souring young man. He'd been expressly told the girl would arrive in the morning, and the morning had come and gone. Noon crept into the sky with bright rays. Ire tickled along Hitoshi's already aching spine. He cast his eyes to the public gardens from his post. Freesias, a foreign plant, sprouted in little bursts, surrounded by stock of varying colors. How they all grew together, Hitoshi wondered before letting the thought subside. He was not a botanist. The inner workings of plants and soils made no difference to him. Rather, seeing any plant that was not a wooded one made him subtly uncomfortable. He adjusted his kimono, laying the layer around his neck down with a gruff sound.
"Good day, are you Lord Shinsou?"
A soft voice drifted on the breeze as a young woman came into Hitoshi's line of sight. Her hair was pinned away from a slender face. Her eyes, dark and round, sought recognition in his face. She took him in as he did her. She stood straight, her kimono falling in line with her. It grazed the top of her sandals, the hem embroidered with blue water irises. She was indeed the young woman he'd waited for. Those were the blooms of the Iida house. He recalled Tenya telling him of the grounds at their summer estate and how those particular flowers bloomed near the waterways. It was a minute detail from a conversation that sat in the recesses of Hitoshi's memory that did well to enter his mind.
"Yes," he began, "and you are of the Iida house, correct? Miyu?"
She smiled brightly, nodding her head. She held a small paper that surely would have been the directions to his home. The wind kicked up another breeze and sent the paper fluttering into the street. Miyu's formerly bright expression turned into one of distress. Torn between her obligation of propriety and the means to discern her way, she chose the latter. The maid offered a quick bow before chasing down their salvation. Hitoshi watched with a bemused expression. The shimmer of her hair and the light passing over the flowers in her garb made for something picturesque. A young woman running where? Into her future, perhaps? After a lover? No. In this case, it had been after a piece of paper with directions on it.
She returned with a deep blow and quiet apologies. Her hand shook. Miyu swallowed her crashing heart. The lord in front of her said very little other than to affirm his person. She stood in her apologetic stance, eyes to the ground. Her arm bag with the rest of their travel information swung in the open air by her bent stomach. His quiet was not like her Lady's. It was aggressive in its observation. Miyu felt the pricks of his inquiry. The smell of his jaded nature flooded her senses, overpowering her ability to breathe evenly.
"…Well then, we should leave, yes?"
He stood from the polished wooden bench without another word. Without a glance at Miyu's distress. She clutched her purse tighter, lifting her face. A mask had been pressed into skin. She morphed her worry into carefully constructed care. The young lord would certainly hear of these moments when his compatriot arrived.
The Iida estate was a posh thing. A new thing that Hitoshi could marvel at with childlike wonder for days and weeks on end. The structure itself was austere in the grand sort of way that forced one to appreciate the artistry. Hitoshi breathed in the glowing history of the grounds. History was a living thing. The gnarled knots in the thicket of woods that surrounded the estate on three sides told a story of resilience. The mountain to the north stood—a sleep god of old, watching staunchly over the Iida family. Sloping roofs with fine points covered walkways and passages that lead into the depths of their home. Hitoshi meandered through the Eastern entrance, led by a more senior maid with a serious countenance. Her hair was also pinned away from her face in a sleek grey bun. Her kimono was more subdued in color, but richer in texture. The embroidered pattern was on a mid-grade satin. The kimono itself a fair tan color. He'd only noticed because the plainness of her dressings stood out against the aforementioned extravagance. The quietness of her felt out of place. Hitoshi was wrong in that. He'd been too concerned with the well of feelings within him that he misunderstood the ethos of the home. Severity met gentleness in a bevy of ways.
Still, he followed, cain clicking along burnished red maple floors in the halls. He was led through a series of winding passageways into what he could only presume was the center of the main house. Servants traveled in outer walkways, their presence only known by their hasty shadows and the odd whisper. The older man offered little in the way of conversation. They both preferred that. It gave Hitoshi the opportunity to attempt to remember his whereabouts while she went through a list of mental tasks. With their visitor staying for an undetermined amount of time, the schedules would have to be adjusted, more food prepared, and they would all have to gauge the strange young man's temperament.
The door to the guest quarters had been changed into the Western style. A shining knob met the elder maid's hand as she stepped in to guide the young master's guest. Head and chest angled down, she advised that his luggage would be arriving soon. Another servant would be assigned to him for his stay. In the interim, should he have need of anything, he was to ask for her, Hayori. Their interactions held no air of false concern or piety. Hitoshi was nothing more than her young master's guest. She was nothing more than a branch of the Iida tree doing her part in the lifting of their home. Hitoshi hummed some platitude, eyes once again scanning the surroundings. A western-style room with a raised bed and desk that sat directly in front of a window that faced the mountain outside. There were no snow caps or grand views, merely the nature itself in its raw, unflinching mundaneness. No flowers. only smatterings of saplings and patches of trees that grew in the hard earth. Hitoshi was comforted in this for some odd reason. The room itself was spacious enough, furnished well with European dressing chests and the like. Dark wood held a subdued luster that encouraged Hitoshi to draw his fingers along the curvatures and angles.
Upon the maid's departure, he took to writing in his ledger. He lamented the pains of travel and the way it often wore down his body. His temperament tended to follow suit. He wrote the following:
My time with the Iida house has come upon me. I am not sure what to expect. Secretly, I know it is a miracle. I anticipate Tenya's knowledge in the matter of medicine to cure my peculiar illness. Though I never told any of my compatriots, former classmates of both Tenya and myself, about this peculiar illness, I did hear their whispers in parlors. All of them were dearly concerned about me, but none could find it polite to approach. This, I understand. Still, I wonder if I'd been able to express the finer details, maybe one of them might have known what to do. It is not that I do not trust Tenya. I do. I am desperate enough to trust him at least. I have heard nary a word of ill faith concerning him, so I do not write any of my own. I trust that he will at least lead me to the right conclusions. A hope that sits on knife's teetering edge.
That hope has thus far manifested in me taking the railway halfway across the land to a marvelous estate. A prideful thing that childish envy wants to stand away from. The truth, however, must be told. The family home is a sprawling beast remodeled in the Western style. Not all rooms, I imagine, have been changed, as much of the staff still wear proper Japanese garb. I have been informed that Tenya will arrive in the morning. He'd organized his mother's personal maid to gather me so he could continue researching my symptoms before my arrival. I cannot deny the spastic feeling this gave me. Again, hope springs anew and eternal. Just maybe the ends of his research will free me from this monstrous and disgusting illness.
Hitoshi clenched his pen until it rattled. Of course, he'd come to this place to make himself well, but what if that did not work? What if he were told that this would be some never-ending, painful endeavor? A hollow entered his chest at the thought, and behind it came a resolve. His work could always be published posthumously.
The even sound of horse hooves and the rattle of the carriage nearly sent Tenya to sleep. His back ached slightly from traveling straight up for so long, but it was pertinent to travel back to the manor as soon as possible. The railways had become even more efficient than he'd anticipated. He'd gotten word that Miyu and Hitoshi had already returned. What he could recall being a week's travel from his days as a boy had become three days in the span of a decade. The hustle of the station excited him. The roaring steam engines invigorated his approach to research in all things to do with medicine. If steam and coal could power the world, what else could water do? Clean wounds? Of course. Grow medicinal plants? Certainly. But heat and energy… these things were not well thought of outside of industry. Tenya let his thoughts wander through medical journals, recounting his knowledge on the way back. As gruesome as it was, he'd have fresh samples of Hitoshi's flower illness. He might even see the process occur. He never described the wrenching as particularly grotesque in his letters. He was also not the best at declaring the severity of things.
Teyna could recall several times during their youth when a melancholy Hitoshi had made a concerted effort to keep people away from him while he maintained some sort of injury. In their acquiescence, Tenya had become a sort of junior doctor for the blooming philosopher. Several nights, they would sit in dimly lit rooms discussing Hitoshi's ideas about the world while Tenya covered a sprained ankle from their conditioning exercises. The gentle night would surround them, passion aroused in their chests for their selected paths. He would have liked to think they taught each other much in those tender hours. Though maybe never directly.
The night swallowed Tenya whole as he rested his head against the back of the carriage. His stomach churned with a telltale sign. An owl hooted in the distance somewhere overhead. The sound was minute, but a clear sign to the young master. An omen of knowledge. A challenge approached. The rattling carriage slowed to a stop. The horse's clopping steps were silenced, leaving only the sound of the wind cutting through the trees.
Tenya made no note of his arrival at the manor. The footman was discreet. The staff just as quiet. He entered through the southern gate. He wore malaise and exhaustion like a winter coat in the middle of Spring. A weighted heavy presence that fits both too large and too small. He let the tips of his fingers touch sleeping blooms. Colored stock, chrysanthemums, and some other multitude of plants he could not identify in the dark. The velvety whispers along his fingers felt like the manifestation of the longing within him. He could not identify the feeling of longing as something familiar. It was anything but. He’d lived a charmed life thus far— not without challenge, but certainly without hardship. It was ignorant, he knew, to look for such ugly things in life. He’d seen the living, breathing results of war and malice on people. He knew the broken expressions of a man without a leg or the crying of confused children wondering why they would never again know their parents’ embrace. Still, an emptiness ate at him in the wee hours. It curled around his heart and lungs—a vine slowly cinching on his sanity. He wondered if this sentiment was kindred to Hitoshi’s "‘Blooming Sickness.’ Were the rounded, soft petals he coughed a manifestation of this feeling? Could one feel so deeply that their body grew literal plants in the soil of their mental and emotional grief? Hitoshi’s apparently did.
The next day came in like a storm for both men. Hitoshi was awoken by his assigned maid knocking softly at his door. The prior night sang in silence. Hitoshi lay in glorious, uninterrupted slumber. He neither tossed nor turned. There was no coughing. No sticky spittle covered flower petals in his bed. Pure unadulterated darkness. He reckoned it was a gift from the God of the Mountain that sat outside the window of his quarters. He noted the idea of giving offerings to the giant as it entered and flew from his mind. If he could get another night of restful sleep, perhaps he would. He'd been escorted into the parlor where Tenya already sat, a placid smile on his lips. There were signs of tiredness in him. Darkness hung under his eyes, and the smile he wore did not quite reach his ruby red eyes. Tenya's broad shoulders were always proud, but to Hitoshi there looked to be a grandness missing in his posture that morning. He looked more boyish than Hitoshi could remember him ever looking.
The pair exchanged pleasantries over tea. Each asked the other about their respective travels and what events may have occurred. As Miyu suspected, there was mention of the flying note. It was said with kindness—a sort of sweetness that caught Tenya's attention. He'd never deemed Hitoshi to be gentle. It was especially interesting as Hitoshi continued and exposed his sentiments about being cantankerous about travel in general. In turn, Teyna gave a brief overview of his own time away from the estate. While not as far away, he did travel to the capital. There, he met with a few of his contemporaries. They held tea and discussed many things, horticulture included. Tenya made it seem as though it all fit together in an easy way. Research was more than the science itself. Sometimes it required socializing to gain the right entrance to the right places.
And places Tenya had been! In that short time, an associate of theirs, Yuga Aoyama, was able to show him a bevy of exotic plants. While most had been or show and scent, several of them—the most exotic even- held medicinal properties.
"Wooded vines and all sorts of things for inflammation," Tenya exclaimed!
He bent over the table, fingers spread and nearly gripping the grain. It was as if all the fatigue left his body the moment his tale reached this point. His eyes shone in the soft, bright morning light. The tan of his skin gained vibrancy, and it seemed to Hitoshi, that his associate was blooming to life in front of him.
"I think…I propose that we start with your physical symptoms. Your throat suffers from the inflammation produced by the irritation of your coughing."
Teyna slid back into his seat a subtle blush on his cheeks. He'd forgotten himself for a moment. He certainly should not have been so exuberant about Hitoshi's condition and all the possible things he's been looking into to assist with the issue. A man's health was on the line—his life in truth. Tenya sobered at that thought. Yes, an old schoolmate reached out him after a near decade of silence for assistance.
Hitoshi could sense the rapid change in demeanor. He sat in the silence with Tenya for a moment. There was a sort of ambiguous appreciation of Tenya's somberness. A shared weight of the reality of Hitoshi's illness. He sipped his tea several times over before clearing his throat to contribute to their exchange again.
"Yes, well… I can appreciate your eagerness to begin developing a treatment plan. I do hope we can get this nasty mess over with as soon as possible. Not that I mind saying at one of the most enviable homes this side of the country."
Hitoshi tacked on a wry smile. It was true. The more he'd been exposed to the Iida estate, the more he'd come to appreciate it's serene location. It had only been two days, and he could imagine the joys of retiring to his own home like this. He idly wondered what other secret passages or quarters this massive estate held. Exactly where and how was Tenya supposed to treat him here? In his desperation, Hitoshi made no such inquiries. He turned his eyes to the closed doors leading out into the halls. He peered at the opaque screen doors as if he could puncture them with his sight and glean all the information that sat just beyond a polite series of questions. He loathed not knowing. A dreadful sense. It was childish to refuse to ask for information, but the stubbornness held his tongue.
Tenya gave a smile of his own at the compliment leveled at his family home. It was quite a feat. His father had taken to remodeling as soon as the prospect of the foreign imports solidified. The Master of the House was industrious to say the least. A heartfelt father and husband who worked to give his family every comfort and experience.
"Thank you. I will pass on your kind regards to my father. He's more involved with this all than Mother."
Tenya stood, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt nearly came untucked at the gesture. He'd worn western clothes while Hitoshi maintained his Japanese wear. The other man's eyes flickered down to the area of strain. Tenya's belt shone with an expensive luster. The shade of his body was clear in the tailored trousers. He was made of clean, strong lines that gave birth to a nebulous feeling within Hitoshi. He considered what he would look like in a suit. If he could move beyond childish impulses, he would ask Tenya if there was a tailor relatively near that specialized in such garments.
"We will not be doing very much in the main house. My 'office,' if you even truly call it that, is closer to the western side of the estate. I made sure your accommodations were closer to that side to lessen your fatigue. Join me this afternoon, and we can begin looking into you."
The men agreed upon a time. One o'clock. A maid would guide Hitoshi to the elusive office of Dr. Tenya Iida after a light lunch. Hitoshi had been given free rein until his "appointment." A gesture he took with both hands and cane. He took to exploring the estate after his petite breakfast. The floors beneath his feet sparkled, refracting his barely contained wonder. Through his wandering, he'd managed to find himself by the southern gardens again. Hitoshi surely must have been a glutton for punishment to sit amongst the fresh bulbs of budding tulips where an ornate bench held him and his book. He took to reading a familiar text—relearning was to him just as important as the initial feat. Birds chirped in merriment while Hitoshi thumbed through his text. The pages, worn from his constant weathering, had become as fragile as a butterfly's wing. Still, with a measured patience for the material and himself, he flicked through the pages, absorbing more perspective than he'd held the last time he'd read.
In his thoughtful silence, Hitoshi neglected the world. So much so that he did not hear Miyu or the Lady of the House's approach. He should have been able to hear the gentle conversing of the Lady and her maid as they made their way across the small bridge Hitoshi himself crossed earlier. The beat of their sandals was certainly loud enough in nature's low hum of life. Only when they approached, and a shadow buried the mid-morning sun, did he notice.
"My Lady! I—Please forgive my indiscretion. I did not hear your approach. Thank you for hosting me in your home."
Hitoshi rushed to his feet, balancing precariously on his better leg. His text fell to the ground with a soft thud. The mess he probably looked was certainly not the way he wanted to show himself, but alas, he could not rectify that in the moment. Instead, he offered his hand with a bow and grimace. His brows pinched as he held back the pain of sustaining his weight without his cane.
Miyu peered from beyond her Lady's shoulder with barely concealed interest. Her eyes fell to the book on the ground. It was a tome—thicker than most things frivolous Lords read. She'd known he wasn't the lecherous sort when they traveled with one another. She'd learned how quiet another human being could be, even in close quarters. She'd never experienced such a silence before him. It was both utterly impenetrable and oddly comforting. There was no air of expectation from him. No quiet disdain for her station or having to be in her prolonged presence. He was the call of winter after a warm Autumn—the crisp air off the mountain that signaled the change of seasons that cut through one's chest, leaving a brief sense of excitement.
The Lady Ichika smiled at the young man her son brought home. His hair was wild and like lilacs in color, thick like summer grass and falling over those gaunt features she'd noticed from across the way. His bow was respectful, but his posture left much to be desired. He leaned heavily to one side. When Ichika's eyes caught the cane, she understood. Her former thoughts dissipated. A true gentleman and perhaps one worthy of her youngest's time.
"You needn't worry of such formalities, young man. My son was honest in telling me of your presence at my home. I've come to join you at my bench in the gardens. Is that agreeable to you?"
Hitoshi suppressed the smirk rising to his lips. His offered hand remained untouched as the Lady of the House sat beside where he'd formerly sat. Her maid joined on the left, a barrier between where their bodies would have potentially touched if Hitoshi sat. He had no intention of being so close to his friend's mother, nor the lady of his temporary home.
With a quiet cough into a handkerchief, he resettled on the far end without another word. The morning ran into the afternoon in comfortable quiet. He and the good Lady exchanged a few words. She'd asked about his education and time after schooling. He asked about her gardens. With a smirk, Ichika advised that the gardens in which they sat were not her design but her husband's. Hitoshi had momentarily forgotten Tenya's advice that the lord was the designer of the home.
"You've not inquired about my taste in literature despite holding such a large text. Do share the details."
Ichika's subtle barb was less inquisition and more demand. One that Hitoshi acquiesced. He offered the book in his lap to Miyu, who, in turn, gave the book to her mistress to examine.
"Philosophy, My Lady. A study of old Western ideas and whether they would fit in our society."
The sun rose to the center of the sky above them. Nature's quiet hum had become a song. A loud one. Hitoshi gathered his cane and sweater while Ichika still looked over his worn book.
"Please, enjoy it. When you have read your fill, Miyu here can return it to me. Good day, My Lady. I have to meet with Tenya very soon, and I do not want to keep him waiting."
Tenya sat in his chair, instruments out and waiting for Hitoshi like himself. They were aligned in neat rows, gleaming and disinfected. He looked over them again and again to keep from watching the clock above the door. It would not be long until 1:00 pm. They planned a time, and Tenya wanted to abide by their schedule. It would only be right. At least that was his train of thought. His heart thumped in anticipation. He held his hands tight to one another to keep them from shaking. Tenya eyed his utensils once again before turning to the desk across the room, where a few cut samples of his recently garnered plants sat.
Yuga had sent him home with saplings and potted plants to grow separately from the gardens. The plethora arrived early that morning. Tenya kept the cuttings on a wet cloth to ensure their vitality through those first rounds of testing. He went over his inventory again, this time standing before it. Turmeric root, Rhodiola, St. John's Wort, Sage, and Passion flower lie in powdered forms. Some, Tenya was able to turn into spreadable pastes. The scent of the mixing plants left gooseflesh on his skin.
He turned his eye to the clock once more. Just then, a knock at the door brought his eyes to the turning knob. Hitoshi walked in calm in his stance, but his eyes read differently. A storm of emotion swirled despite his lips pressed into a stern line. The weight of the morning found Tenya again. He found himself oscillating between scientific wonder and heartfelt dread. His explorations came at the price of a man's spirit. He could only hope he did not break it.
"I have several things to show you, Hitoshi. Let's begin."
The afternoon sun had come and gone by the time Tenya finished his opening explanations. He sat across the way from Hitoshi with one leg folded over the other. The plush chairs comforted Hitoshi's aching back, for which he was supremely grateful. They'd been conversing truthfully about all of Hitoshi's bizarre symptoms. He's been hesitant to describe certain things through telegram. His hand trembled when he attempted to write letters with a description. Something about the ink made it too real. Too permanent for Hitoshi's liking. They discussed the flowers themselves. The vibrant color of the petals would maintain for days with no assistance. He never expelled bulbs or roots or anything of the sort. If he's been burdened with a growth of some kind, that would have been easier to explain. Equally strange, but easier. Instead, he suffocated on camellias.
"Despite all the flowers I have been around in the past couple of days, I thank your father that I have not seen a camellia."
Hitoshi sighed, lolling his head to the side. During Tenya's rather intense information session, a pounding has begun behind his eyes. The strain was not due to the information or even Hitoshi being forced to lay out his insecurity in his ailment. No, it was the beginning of a fit. His breathing became labored with every word. The process of thinking slowed to a near stop. Burgeoning evening sun stung. His muscles strained despite having been seated for a while.
"It is happening now," he lamented.
"Now?"
Tenya nearly leapt from his chair. There was no sign of change in Hitoshi that he could see. The more Tenya looked, the more he noticed. Hitoshi's pallor was slightly off. He'd been rubbing his eyes at some point during the consultation.
"Oh…I should…I should be getting you something to expel in."
Tenya turned about, his hair whipping at his quick actions. He ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't been mentally fortified for this! He had not prepared himself to witness. There was a porcelain pot on the shelf of his bookcase. It had been placed for decoration. Something, ironically, to hold flowers. Tenya held it for Hitoshi, bending to sit before him and gather as much information as he could possibly hold.
"You do not have to stay for this. I apologize, it came on rather quickly, and I cannot move to a more appropriate place."
Hitoshi tried to take the ornamental pot with shaky hands. His lips twisted into a bitter grimace as his abdomen cramped violently. He made every effort to not make eye contact as the coughing began in earnest. The watering in his mouth tasted like grass. Earthy and too alive. He loathed the weakness in his body and the life readying itself to be expelled.
"No," Tenya breathed, "I must stay to watch. Visualizing the symptoms as they occur is best to understand the pathology."
They sat in the quiet for only a beat more before the first petals began to spill from Hitoshi's mouth. The petals came one by one at first. Papery floating bits descending into the pot. If not for the horror of the peculiarity, Tenya would have thought they were beautiful—poetic and romantic and tragic in a way he'd learned to appreciate from his mother. There was a pause where Tenya managed eye contact with Hitoshi, who sat, ever withering. No words passed, but much was communicated. The fit was not over with a few petals. Hitoshi only shook his head, a glassy tear rolling down his gaunt cheek.
The following flood nearly brought tears to Tenya's eyes. He watched helplessly as Hitoshi wretched a garden. Petals and even the odd leaf flew from his opened mouth. Hitoshi's skin pinkened from the strain. The noises he made reminded Tenya of a dying animal. A bitter requiem. His legs burned from sitting in a crouch for a time, but the young doctor did not dare move. Fascination worked alongside his discerning mind. Hitoshi clearly did not have enough fluids in his body. The addition to his diet might help with the expulsion. His weakness was also a clear result of the strain this process took. By the end, he looked as weak as a chick. Pitiful as a kitten drenched from a sudden rainstorm.
Hitoshi leaned back in the chair when his stomach loosened. His limbs shook in exhaustion. The flow of air in his raw throat stung, but the ability to even breathe was welcomed. He kept his eyes shut as a wave of utter despair overtook him. The hard line he'd kept his lips in failed as a sob broke through. It was too much. His heart fell to the bottom of his chest in shattered pieces. Stinging tears gathered in his lashes.
"That was so…fucking embarrassing," he rasped behind the arm thrown over his face.
Tenya had no words of comfort he could offer, for he had never experienced such an ailment. He was, however, a doctor. A man of science. A friend. He lay a warm hand on Hitoshi's knee from where he still crouched. Their eyes met at the touch. The warmth of Tenya's hand bled through Hitoshi's clothing. Those warm, beguiling eyes served to flay him open more. A small fluttering began in Hitoshi's chest. It grew from his knee and between their stares. Slowly, Tenta pulled his hand away. He stood before Hitoshi with an iron resolve.
"We are going to get you better, Dear Friend. I assure you of that."
Tenya rolled his shoulders back. He braced himself for the work to come. He could see the long road ahead—days filled with tinctures and experimentation. Nights of anguish and frustration. Nevertheless, he'd made an oath. He was nothing if not a man of his word.
Weeks passed. Spring became summer. The days grew longer and hotter. Tenya has given up western clothes for his more comfortable ones in an effort to remain cool as often as possible. Every day, he and Hitoshi would meet in his office. A routine emerged. Tea, Talk of worldly things, an exchange of ideas, and finally, treatment. The anti-inflammation prospects worked quite well. The turmeric did much of the heavy lifting. Weeks of balms and teas had helped to alleviate the pain in Hitoshi's joints. It was never gone, but there were days he could walk without his cane. The freedom to take a brusque jaunt did more for his mood than he'd imagined it could. The young man could flex his fingers and write for hours on end, penning his thoughts and sending letters to the few associates he'd chosen to contact.
Tenya had advised him to do so at one of their meetings. Though Hitoshi initially thought it foolish and burdensome to pull another soul into his issues, he did make the attempt. The returning letters were a kindness he did not expect. The concern touched his heart enough for him to show Tenya the correspondence between himself and one Denki Kaminari. He, too, had been a schoolmate of theirs. The joy it pulled from Hitoshi was a lovely thing. Tenya noted the way he smiled and cackled at something particularly raucous Denki had written. Hitoshi called him a, "wordsmith with a penchant for debauchery." Tawdry excitements kept Hitoshi's spirits up as they worked through many an evening, searching for a solution.
Tenya kept records of the expulsion events. He noted volume, petal color, leaf presence, and any other number of metrics in his notebook. Many evenings after Hitoshi had gone to sleep, Tenya would go over his notes, searching for a pattern. He'd hoped that over time, there would be a minute lessening of the petals. He'd hoped something would change. There had, in fact, been changes. The petals had lessened minutely. Their color gained a hue more akin to periwinkle. The shape of the petals had begun to morph. Little strange things. Tenya attributed this to the salves and medicines. He noted all things Hitoshi ate and consumed throughout the day. Had there been some chemical reaction he missed? Logic only took him so far when dealing with the illogical. He burned candles to nothing. He wrote and rewrote his notes to decode what truth eluded him. Thoughts of Hitoshi consumed him day and night. He'd learned the man's weight. The sound of his steps. Tenya could tell when an expulsion was readying to consume Hitoshi nearly as well as the man himself. In a few weeks, the men had begun to walk the same path. It was as if Tenya had gone into Hitoshi. He felt himself move when his friend breathed too hard—when Hitoshi's mouth drew into harsh lines, Tenya too would gain a severe expression.
It was a noticeable pattern, one that the Lady of the House and her maid discussed frequently in the quiet of the blue morning. Tenya rarely woke at that time anymore. Spending nights with his head buried in books fatigued her son in the worst way. Ichika braved the dewy mornings with Miyu beside her. She wondered about the medicine her son concocted for his companion. It was clear enough to her that the young man had become more than just a friend and patient over the course of his lodging. Her boy had become infatuated—obsessed even with the well-being of Hitoshi they rarely spent a moment apart. Evenings spent in Tenya's office. Days in town to retrieve more potential cures. The staff even whispered of the laughter coming from the bathhouse. It was all quite intriguing to her. No lie had passed her son's lips, nor Hitoshi's. The young man was certainly ill with some peculiarly. The smell of camellias lived on the grounds. If it were not in poor taste and hygiene, Ichika might have asked for some petals to be turned into soap or perfume. Alas, it was both ill mannered and quite disgusting the longer she imagined the process.
"What do you think of this, Miyu. Speak freely."
Ichika leveled a look at her maid. Her son did not hold affections for the poor girl. They all knew this to be a fact. Tenya was a kindhearted man, but rather dull in matters of the heart. Ichika blamed her husband for that particular trait.
Miyu stood where maids stand. In the shadow. Her apron was a mess of wrinkles from her wringing. Her Lady's inquiry sat in the air, weighted down by the summer's humidity. She thought many things, most of them self-pitying. It would have been unbecoming to complain about tender feelings that were not reciprocated. The affections she held for the young master were no secret, but they were private. To have exposed them would have been akin to lying in a road and letting a horse trample over her chest.
"…I think the young master is doing all he can to preserve the life of a cherished companion. Quite noble, I must say."
Late evening heat broke quietly, letting in a midnight breeze. Tenya and Hitoshi sat where his mother and Miyu had been in the morning. They looked out at the inky darkness that consumed the garden. There were flowers and grass there. Both men knew this, but the way night ate everything made it feel like staring into an abyss. The odd lightning bug floated by, revealing some shape in the darkness. The brief intervals reminded them of the life that extended just beyond their eyes. Tenya looked from the inky distance to the equally dark sky. He breathed in the smell of water irises. It reminded him of the summer house he might have spent time at this season if not for his work and Hitoshi's presence. His mind eased into the past. Teyna recalled the sun on his back and the grass between his toes. In his mind's eye, he could see Tensei running ahead, equally unclothed save for the trousers they both wore. Time was unreal there. Summer felt eternal in Tenya's memory.
"You are..quiet a bit more somber at night."
Hitoshi's observation slipped into the night between them. He kept his eyes low and away from the meager bits of Tenya he could make out. A candle burned just between them, the warmth licking up Hitoshi's arm. It was not unpleasant, given the chill in the air. Over the course of the summer, he'd realized how easy it was to mirror another person. To observe them into memory. He'd learned Tenya's posture. His quiet. It wrapped Hitoshi is a nostalgia that made no sense. He'd longed for something he never had the chance to experience. Still, Hitoshi wore it. He savored the feeling of wanting for the first time in his life. It did not inspire his natural impatience. Quite the opposite. He sat with that feeling every day with every trial and error to fix his 'Blooming Sickness.'
"Relaxed, is a word I prefer."
Tenya's quiet rebuttal came softly. It pushed against Hitoshi's throat—a sign of oncoming illness. He signed, shoulders dropping at the thought of interrupting the moment to expel his ever-changing flowers. Hitoshi swallowed back a mouth a saliva with a nod. There was no use hiding it, but he could at the very least hold off so long as the cramps did not start. He sat with his eyes closed for a breath. The silence stretched on like the darkness.
Tenya moved first. He'd been patiently awaiting logic to run out. Days. Weeks. A month. He waited for the moment when something irrational would occur as a means to point him down the right path. He'd pressed his longing into books. Tenya hung it to dry in the mornings before even his mother rose. The only thing he could fathom to be true was that he'd been right from the first night he returned to the manor. Bodies were mercurial things, fashioned by gods that meant no harm. They were the means to the ends of the mind and heart. Longing could, in fact, change the body. With a lick to his finger, Tenya pinched the burning wick. With the world truly dark, he gave in to irrationality and compulsion.
"What did you taste?" he whispered against Hitoshi's stunned lips.