Kaneko’s breathing against my neck startled me back to the present.
“Come on,” I said, helping him stand. He swayed, and I pulled his arm over my shoulders. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
“Yoshi,” he said softly, my name a question and answer and prayer all at once.
“I know,” I said—because I did.
I had so many questions.
But for now, none of them mattered.
He was here. I was here. We were together.
And maybe, after years of emptiness, that was miracle enough.
Chapter 36
Kaneko
Yoshi led me through corridors I couldn’t track, my mind too overwhelmed to map the route. The building’s entry gave way to wooden halls, then paper passages, the scent of incense growing stronger as we moved deeper into the temple proper. His hand never left mine, as if he feared I might vanish if he let go.
Finally, he slid open a door, one of many to our left and right on the eternal hallway. The room was simple and austere, even more humble than my room at the House of Petals. A low table, a washbasin, and a sleeping mat were all the space could handle. It was a monk’s cell, barely large enough for one person, certainly not meant for two.
The moment the door closed behind us, Yoshi turned, his hands immediately going to my shoulders and arms, checking, searching.
“Where are you hurt?” His voice was tight with worry. “There’s so much blood—”
“I’m okay,” I said, catching his hands. “Most of it isn’t mine.”
“Most?” His eyes sharpened. “Show me.”
“Yosh, I’m fine—”
“Show me.” There was something in his voice I’d never heard before. Command? The boy who’d fumbled with hisbokkenhad apparently learned to give orders. He reached for the ties of my outer robe, his fingers gentle but insistent. “I need to see. I need toknowyou’re really okay.”
The expensive silk—now streaked with blood and dirt—fell away. Beneath, my traveling clothes were similarly destroyed. Yoshi’s breath caught as he saw the extent of the staining.
“It looks worse than it is,” I said softly.
But he was already working at the next layer, his movements careful, reverent, as if he was unwrapping something precious and fragile. When the fabric pulled away from my shoulder where an arrow had grazed me, I couldn’t suppress a wince.
“You said you weren’t hurt.”
“I said most of the blood wasn’t mine.” I tried to make light of the injury. He scowled and then resumed his tending. “It’s nothing. A scratch.”
Yoshi’s fingers ghosted near the wound—not quite touching it, but close enough that I felt the warmth of his skin. “This needs cleaning.”
He moved to the basin, poured water from the pitcher beside it, and found a cloth. They were such ordinary movements, but watching him perform them in this tiny space after so long made my chest tight. When he returned, the first touch of the cool, damp cloth against my skin made me shiver.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his touch becoming even gentler.
“Don’t be.” I pressed my forehead to his.
He worked in silence, cleaning the wound on my shoulder first, then moving to the other scrapes and cuts I hadn’t even noticed acquiring. Each touch was careful and tender.
The boy I remembered had been passionate but clumsy. This was different. He was deliberate and precise. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’ve changed,” I said quietly.
