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Description
30 days of Comfortember .
Day 13 - Homesick

...

After finishing their meal that night, Soji had quietly taken his blanket and one of his books and gone to sit in the open doorway facing the garden, where the relentless rain continued to bear down on trees and bushes, the old plum at the center looking sad and bedraggled amid the torrent. He’d soon been joined by the black kitten, which nestled contentedly purring in his lap at first before falling asleep, and as dusk began to descend on the gray afternoon, a sopping wet Fukumaru had also appeared on the porch, though after headbutting Soji’s knee in greeting, he had moved to a floor cushion inside the room where he began to groom himself dry.

Amid the background noise of Fukumaru’s grooming and the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof tiles, Saito had lit a candle at the back of the room to fight the encroaching darkness of the dreary evening, laid out the contents of his sword cleaning kit beside it, and carefully taken apart both his short and long swords for maintenance, even though neither blade had seen use since the night he’d gone to recover Kondo’s head. In fact, neither sword had even left the guesthouse since his arrival, except for the two times he’d gone to run errands.
He was engrossed in this task for some time, the minutes passing quickly while he enjoyed the calm and relaxation that came from performing movements which had become second nature over years of practice, as much a part of him as the way he slouched his shoulders when he sat down or the way he touched his chin when he was in thought. He watched the flicker of the candle glint against the silver of the blade and briefly caught his own reflection when he turned the sword this way and that for one last inspection, looking for any signs of damage to the cutting edge, before he began putting it back together.

When he happened to glance up while tapping the mekugi into place, he saw that Soji had put down his book and was watching him. He wore an expression Saito couldn’t quite place, yet he was sure he had seen the same look earlier that day, though very briefly.

At the time, Saito had been studying the shogi board in frustration because he was close to losing his ninth game in a row, and Soji had watched in amusement. Eventually, Saito had sighed, “I’d like to meet the person who taught you how to play. They must be a real master.” Soji had looked down, seemingly considering the game pieces on the board for his own next move, but Saito had noticed the fidget of his hands, the slight shifting of his seat, and the change in his expression when he answered, “Yamanami taught me.”

Okita closed the screens, leaving a gap large enough for the cats should they choose to leave, and came to sit near Saito, though he had his back turned. After a long, awkward silence during which Saito continued packing up his cleaning kit, he asked, “Do you think it’s possible to be homesick, not for a place but for people?”

The question caught Hajime off guard. Not only was it an odd thing for Soji to ask, he couldn’t have picked a worse person of whom to ask it. Saito had never given homesickness much thought because he had never felt at home anywhere. As the second son, his childhood home had only been his home until he was old enough to leave it. The city of Edo had only been home until he had to leave for Kyoto due to circumstances that had been out of his control. And the city of Kyoto had never felt like home because it was so different from Edo in every aspect, from the way people talked to the way they did business. Even the number of rows on an abacus was different between Edo and Kyoto. It hadn’t been, perhaps, until Kondo welcomed him into the Shinsengumi that he had formed some idea of belonging, but even that had continued to change as the currents of time flowed around them. The closest he had ever come to feeling homesick had been when Hijikata asked him to leave with Ito’s group - for good reason, of course, but he had resented being sent away all the same.

Realizing that he had been deep in thought and quiet for a long time, Saito cleared his throat and said, rather pointlessly, “I’m not sure.” Because he wasn’t. He supposed it was possible to be homesick for people rather than a place, but he wasn’t one for speculating out loud, at any rate. Especially not about things he didn’t really understand.

Soji sighed, rolling onto his back with the wet floor cushion covered in Fukumaru’s white and orange fur. “I miss everyone,” he said. “I miss the Shieikan but … not the place. The people. I miss giving Hijikata-kun a hard time in the dojo, and making Kondo move out of my way while I’m scrubbing the floors. I miss my annoying sister barging in, being a pain to everyone, and always making my onigiri smaller than everyone else’s!” A laugh punctuated his sentence at the memory of Omitsu spending entirely too much time at the Shieikan and not nearly enough time at home. “I miss Kyoto, even. Having everyone always in the way in our tight quarters in Mibu. Harada always being so noisy. Sparring against Heisuke when our regular training was done for the day … and …” He drifted off into a long silence of his own and when Saito turned around after a while, Soji covered his face with the pillow, not quite quick enough to hide the other expression that had returned to his face.

Saito thought he now understood what it was: mourning.

Description
30 days of Comfortember .
Day 13 - Homesick

...

After finishing their meal that night, Soji had quietly taken his blanket and one of his books and gone to sit in the open doorway facing the garden, where the relentless rain continued to bear down on trees and bushes, the old plum at the center looking sad and bedraggled amid the torrent. He’d soon been joined by the black kitten, which nestled contentedly purring in his lap at first before falling asleep, and as dusk began to descend on the gray afternoon, a sopping wet Fukumaru had also appeared on the porch, though after headbutting Soji’s knee in greeting, he had moved to a floor cushion inside the room where he began to groom himself dry.

Amid the background noise of Fukumaru’s grooming and the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof tiles, Saito had lit a candle at the back of the room to fight the encroaching darkness of the dreary evening, laid out the contents of his sword cleaning kit beside it, and carefully taken apart both his short and long swords for maintenance, even though neither blade had seen use since the night he’d gone to recover Kondo’s head. In fact, neither sword had even left the guesthouse since his arrival, except for the two times he’d gone to run errands.
He was engrossed in this task for some time, the minutes passing quickly while he enjoyed the calm and relaxation that came from performing movements which had become second nature over years of practice, as much a part of him as the way he slouched his shoulders when he sat down or the way he touched his chin when he was in thought. He watched the flicker of the candle glint against the silver of the blade and briefly caught his own reflection when he turned the sword this way and that for one last inspection, looking for any signs of damage to the cutting edge, before he began putting it back together.

When he happened to glance up while tapping the mekugi into place, he saw that Soji had put down his book and was watching him. He wore an expression Saito couldn’t quite place, yet he was sure he had seen the same look earlier that day, though very briefly.

At the time, Saito had been studying the shogi board in frustration because he was close to losing his ninth game in a row, and Soji had watched in amusement. Eventually, Saito had sighed, “I’d like to meet the person who taught you how to play. They must be a real master.” Soji had looked down, seemingly considering the game pieces on the board for his own next move, but Saito had noticed the fidget of his hands, the slight shifting of his seat, and the change in his expression when he answered, “Yamanami taught me.”

Okita closed the screens, leaving a gap large enough for the cats should they choose to leave, and came to sit near Saito, though he had his back turned. After a long, awkward silence during which Saito continued packing up his cleaning kit, he asked, “Do you think it’s possible to be homesick, not for a place but for people?”

The question caught Hajime off guard. Not only was it an odd thing for Soji to ask, he couldn’t have picked a worse person of whom to ask it. Saito had never given homesickness much thought because he had never felt at home anywhere. As the second son, his childhood home had only been his home until he was old enough to leave it. The city of Edo had only been home until he had to leave for Kyoto due to circumstances that had been out of his control. And the city of Kyoto had never felt like home because it was so different from Edo in every aspect, from the way people talked to the way they did business. Even the number of rows on an abacus was different between Edo and Kyoto. It hadn’t been, perhaps, until Kondo welcomed him into the Shinsengumi that he had formed some idea of belonging, but even that had continued to change as the currents of time flowed around them. The closest he had ever come to feeling homesick had been when Hijikata asked him to leave with Ito’s group - for good reason, of course, but he had resented being sent away all the same.

Realizing that he had been deep in thought and quiet for a long time, Saito cleared his throat and said, rather pointlessly, “I’m not sure.” Because he wasn’t. He supposed it was possible to be homesick for people rather than a place, but he wasn’t one for speculating out loud, at any rate. Especially not about things he didn’t really understand.

Soji sighed, rolling onto his back with the wet floor cushion covered in Fukumaru’s white and orange fur. “I miss everyone,” he said. “I miss the Shieikan but … not the place. The people. I miss giving Hijikata-kun a hard time in the dojo, and making Kondo move out of my way while I’m scrubbing the floors. I miss my annoying sister barging in, being a pain to everyone, and always making my onigiri smaller than everyone else’s!” A laugh punctuated his sentence at the memory of Omitsu spending entirely too much time at the Shieikan and not nearly enough time at home. “I miss Kyoto, even. Having everyone always in the way in our tight quarters in Mibu. Harada always being so noisy. Sparring against Heisuke when our regular training was done for the day … and …” He drifted off into a long silence of his own and when Saito turned around after a while, Soji covered his face with the pillow, not quite quick enough to hide the other expression that had returned to his face.

Saito thought he now understood what it was: mourning.