Exploration of events that take place during Book II of Kodaka Kazuma's KIZUNA. A sweet little nothing about a defining time in the relationship between Ranmaru Samejima and Kei Enjoji.

"Yes," the boy said dutifully.

Because the right side of his body was paralyzed he still wasn't able to do much for himself; not even move from the bed to the wheelchair without help. It was very sad: the result of a car accident. Nurse Takano saw many sad things in the course of her duties.

This boy had been an athlete, a kendo champion; a fine scholar as well-and beautiful: his sorrel hair, milky skin and fawn-like eyes in striking contrast to the dark hair of his classmates. Yes, very sad!

"There we are," the nurse said, placing the slim right foot next to the patient's left on the metal rest. The boy mumbled thanks and stared at his white, motionless foot as though he could will it to move.

The doctors said he would never walk again, but he was being transferred to the rehab unit anyway to re-learn to do things like dress and bathe and feed himself. He was going to be trained to live a useful, productive life from his wheelchair.

He was only seventeen.

"Did you want to watch TV or look out the window?"

"The window, please," the boy said, as he said every day.

One-handed, he could not even propel this heavy, old- fashioned wheelchair by himself. The small, plump nurse guided the chair to the window which looked down over the hospital parking lot.

"Ah, I almost forgot," she chirped. "This was left for you at the front desk." She placed a gaily wrapped parcel in the boy's lap.

"Shall I help you open it?"

The boy shook his head.

"All right then, natsukashii. Ring if you need anything. I'll be back to take you to massage in-" she checked her wristwatch. "Forty-five minutes."

The mornings were the worst.

Outside his window the world bustled about its business, and Ranmaru Samejima was not part of it. Yuki-chan, Enjoji-the only people he wanted to see were in school now. Ojisan came every afternoon, his face seeming to have aged decades these last months, but in the morning there was nothing to do but think and watch the summer heat shimmer off the blacktop below.

Ranmaru glanced down at the package in his lap. What had Enjoji sent him now?

Obviously not more flowers, and the wrong shape for another CD. Ranmaru plucked at the sparkly ribbon. He had never seen so much cello-tape in his life. Was Enjoji trying to drive him mad? Minutes ticked by while he patiently picked left-handed at the tape.

At last he had the thing unwrapped, staring in disbelief at the delicate brush work, the subtle wash of color, the exquisite detail. In Ranmaru's hand he held a flawless example of emakimono, the legendary art of Japanese painted hand-scroll. It looked very old and very valuable; the kind of thing he had seen at Minakami-shihan's house. This particular scroll was a segment of gunkimono, a military tale in pictorial form.

A young samurai, his back against a pine tree faced off unseen enemies. There was an arrow in his breast, another in his shoulder and a third in his thigh, but the young samurai was smiling, his eyes serene as he brandished his sword for the final charge.

At the bottom of the scroll read the proverb: Defeat is never a bitter brew until one agrees to swallow it.

Ran turned his head as Nurse Takano re-entered the room, punctual as the little bird in a cuckoo clock.

"Who left this?" he asked as the nurse wheeled his chair from the window.

"Hmm? I'm not sure, natsukashii. Isn't there a name?" She took the scroll from her young patient, examined it briefly and laid it on the locker beside the narrow bed. The evidence of a long hospital stay cluttered the scratched surface: a stack of text books, a vase of flowers and scattered CDs. A pair of reading glasses lay atop a copy of The Art of War. "A boy, that's all I know."

"Not my friend? Not Enjoji-kun?"

"No, not Enjoji-kun," the nurse said. "We haven't seen Enjoji for almost a week have we?"

"No," the boy tonelessly. The scene from a week ago flashed into his mind.

"There's something I have to say to you.I want us to live together.I want to take care of you. I need you."

"Need me? Have you taken a look at me lately? Don't be ridiculous! Go home."

"You're still the same person I fell in love with. Nothing has changed for me."

"Just go!"

"I'll go, but I'll be back."

But Enjoji hadn't been back.

Studying the suddenly listless boy in the wheelchair, the nurse offered, "I'll ask at the front desk if they remember anything more about who dropped your picture off, shall I? Maybe you have a secret admirer."

"Ha!" Yeah, right, the youth thought. Who would want me now? Even Enjoji didn't push it, once I let him off the hook.

The nurse wheeled him down the long, sterile hallway, past patients walking slowly, trailing IVs; doctors, white coats flapping importantly as they hurried to answer pages, visitors waiting outside rooms, politely not staring at the beautiful boy in the wheelchair.

Why did he ever suggest it? He was just trying to do the right thing because he feels guilty. He doesn't want to let me down. He has his own sense of honor. But it was easier when I had made my mind up that I was never going to see him again. I don't have the strength to keep fighting him. But I have to. For Kei's sake I have to be strong.

The hardest part was that Enjoji was his best friend as well as his lover. When Enjoji went he took everything.

"Relax, please" Naito-Sensei said, turning on the heat lamp.

Ran closed his eyes. He didn't mind the massage. In fact, it was sort of nice to be touched, nice to be held, to feel strong, warm hands on him-these days it seemed like this impersonal, professional touch was the only one he would ever know again.

The masseuse squirted some pungent-smelling lotion on his hands and began to massage Ran's legs. His knotty fingers pinched and prodded Ran's muscles. Ran opened his eyes.

Curiously he watched as Naito lifted his right leg, gently rotating the ankle. Ran sighed and reached automatically up to brush his hair out of his eyes, finding instead the white swathe of bandages.

"Head hurting?"

"No."

Slowly Naito bent and flexed Ran's knee. The sight of his paralyzed limb offended Ran and he closed his eyes.

As Naito worked over him, stroking and smoothing his flanks, Ran began to get hard, reminded of other times and other hands. It was embarrassing, but the therapist didn't seem to notice what was happening beneath the little white towel over Ran's loins.

"Turn over please, Ranmaru-kun."

He helped Ran onto his belly, rearranging his paralyzed limbs. Ran rested his chin on his folded left arm, while the masseuse worked the fingers of his right hand.

A paged voice, loud in the quiet room, requested Naito's immediate presence.

The therapist excused himself and hurried away.

Ran lay quietly, lulled by the artificial sunlight, his muscles stroked and soothed. The scent of the leather- covered massage table reminded him of the bogu he wore for kendo.

His mind drifted back to the picture of the samurai. So handsome, so brave. A man who had made his choice without regret. Of course it was easier to die than live a helpless cripple. You weren't supposed to say things like that though.

Ran was dozing off when the masseuse returned and began to work his shoulder muscles once more. But something was different. Naito-san's hands felt softer, cooler. Tentative and yet familiar, they slid down Ran's back, gently brailling the links of his spine, exploring the path to his waist, to the small of his back, to his buttocks.

Ran realized how much he wanted to be touched there.

As though reading his mind, the masseuse began to knead Ran's buttocks, knuckling his fist in the oiled flesh. Ran pretended it was Enjoji touching him, caressing him. A murmur of pleasure escaped him. He bit his lip so as not to further humiliate himself.

Then the hands parted his cheeks, a thumb stroked deep in the crevasse of his ass.

Ran started, his eyes going wide.

The hands resumed normal, chaste massage, working his thigh muscles, but Ran was no longer relaxed. Tensely he waited for what the hands would do next.

Sure enough, the finger began to trace delicate circles on the backs of his knees. Circles? Ran concentrated on the shape the fingernail drew.a heart? And then, incredibly Naito kissed him behind his left knee.

"Hey!" Ran gasped.

A familiar chuckle was followed by Enjoji's drawl. "I was beginning to wonder if you had a thing for the big guy."

"E-Enjoji!" Ran flushed with painful delight. "I didn't-what are you doing here?"

"I bribed Naito-sensei to let us have a few minutes."

"You what?"

Ran struggled to rise, and to his discomfort Enjoji slipped an arm around his shoulders, helping him into sitting position.

"I can sit by myself!"

His protest was cut short by the kiss Enjoji gave him. The melting sweetness of that kiss silenced all objections, all doubts. At last Enjoji tore his mouth free-pretending to break suction-and gasped out dramatically, "Thanks, I needed that!" Joking as usual.

"But why aren't you in school?" Ran reached for the towel, wiping the excess lotion from his body. Enjoji watched, his specs glinting.

"School isn't the same without you, Ran-chan."

"Well, but you can't just-"

He broke off as Nurse Takano returned, ruthlessly prompt as usual. She greeted Enjoji with surprise. Uncomfortably Ran listened to Enjoji make up some elaborate explanation for his unauthorized presence. Ran could tell by Nurse Takano's expression she didn't really believe Enjoji, but was too polite to say so.

Efficiently Takano took charge of her young patient, helping Ran back into his pajamas.

Ran scowled as he was assisted back into the wheelchair. He hated Enjoji to see him like this. He stole a peek under his eyelashes; Enjoji watched him with clear, steady eyes.

"I'll take Ran-kun back," Enjoji offered.

The nurse shook her head. "That's against regulations." Meeting twin pleading gazes she sighed. "Just this once then."

They were sitting in the hospital garden; Enjoji had parked Ran's wheel chair by the fountain. Smiling at Ran, he sat on the stone bench, long legs crossed; in his diamond- patterned shirt he looked like a Japanese Harlequin.

Though his heart quailed at the sight of the jewel box, Ran smiled back. He loved looking at Enjoji. Those slanting, black brows gave the Asian boy's angular face a sly, puckish appearance that was-for a boy-almost soign‚.

Enjoji opened the box. A single topaz stud nestled in the white velvet bed. The stone flashed in the sunlight, a tiny golden star.

"What is it?"

"An earring. One for you, and one for me." Enjoji pushed back his hair showing Ran the amber stud that glittered in his ear. "I bought them because they were just the color of your eyes."

My eyes are brown, you dope, Ran thought. Aloud he said, "I can't wear that in my ear!"

Enjoji shrugged. "You could wear it in your nose, I guess. You do have a lovely nose."

"Don't be silly," Ran said feebly, trying not to laugh.

Watching him, Enjoji's mobile mouth curved. "So have you thought about my pro-what we talked about last week?"

Across the yard Ran could see another patient in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse. He turned to Enjoji and saw himself reflected, twin wheelchair-bound Ranmarus in the other's glasses.

"I told you last week it's ridiculous. Look at me."

Enjoji leered. He licked his lips lasciviously, and leaned forward to kiss Ran.

Ran pushed at him one-handed. "I'm serious!"

"So am I." Enjoji's smile reversed itself. "I already told you I don't care if you can do kendo or not. I want you."

"Kendo? Who's talking about kendo? You're not thinking it through. I can't." Ran shook his head. Where did he start? There were so many 'I can'ts.' now.

"That's not important."

"Who are you to say what's important?" Ran said with a flicker of irritation.

Kwanmu, realization of the essential, was one of those things kendo supposedly taught. Maybe Ran thought he was the expert here. Hell, maybe he was; the only thing essential to Enjoji was Ranmaru Samejima-not much of a philosophy, was it?

The music of the fountain filled the silence between them. Enjoji felt mist upon his face like the foreshadow of tears. The scent of chlorine mingled with that of the newly mown grass. It was a hot day; the sun's warmth brought healthy color to Ran's white face-or perhaps it was emotion that flushed his cheeks because he suddenly burst out, "I told you before: it's not your fault! I'm not your responsibility."

"And I told you before: I love you. I want to take care of you." Enjoji made an impatient sound and stared up at the cloudy blue sky as though seeking divine inspiration. But there was no word from the gods. No bolt of lightning, not even bird crap. Nothing. The rice paper clouds floated dreamily across the blue water in the fountain. Sometimes it all felt like a dream, Enjoji reflected. His mother's death, the attempt on his life, Ranmaru's injuries.

He wished he understood his wacko beloved's brain better, but Ranmaru, raised on his grandfather's tales of the samurai glory days when warriors tested their sword blades on the bodies of fourteen-year old virgins, was not always easy to understand. Sometimes he seemed like a visitor from another time, another world; a changeling. Sometimes-lately-Enjoji feared Ran would retreat into that dream world altogether.

"Ranmaru," he began softly. "I need-"

"Can we talk about something else?" Ran requested.

"This is cheery," Enjoji remarked, picking up the painted scroll of the dying samurai when they returned to Ran's hospital room.

Nurse Takano, who was arranging Ran's lunch tray for left- handed convenience, glanced up.

"I asked about your picture," she told Ranmaru. "The girl at the front desk said a boy dropped it off. He didn't leave a name, but he asked if you were seeing visitors yet."

"I don't want to see anyone," Ran said quickly.

"That's what he was told," Nurse Takano reassured.

"What's this? Who's been leaving you presents?" Enjoji demanded.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Ran said.

"What did he look like?"

The nurse answered Enjoji, "Young. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Slim, not so tall as you," she studied Enjoji's willowy elegance. "Blonde hair cut-" she gestured to her chin. "He was wearing a tie and a suit, not a school uniform."

"Doesn't sound like anyone I know," Enjoji remarked. "Holding out on me?" He cocked an eyebrow at Ran. Ran blushed.

"It's a valuable gift," Ran said. "I-I shouldn't accept such a gift."

"You're getting difficult to please in your old age." Enjoji set the scroll aside watching the samurai vanish in a roll of parchment, swallowed by a lick of a paper tongue.

"But this must have cost a fortune. You can't buy things like this in shops."

Enjoji had enough of mysterious strangers bearing gifts. He sampled Ran's dashimaki. "Are you going to eat this?"

They played checkers, Ranmaru beating Enjoji three games out of four.

"Are you letting me win?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's hard to concentrate," Enjoji informed him, "when you keep doing that thing with your tongue."

"What thing?"

"You always touch the tip of your tongue to your upper lip right before you make what you think is a really tricky move."

"I do not," Ranmaru protested, turning pink.

"Yeah, you do. It's kind of cute."

They listened to CDs and shared the melty chocolate bars Enjoji had smuggled in. Ran frowned over his chocolate- smeared fingers, wiping them awkwardly on the moistened towelette.

"Let me help you," Enjoji offered, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I don't need-" The words died in Ran's throat as Enjoji began to suck his index finger. He felt the wet warmth of Enjoji's mouth all the way to his toes. He swallowed hard and glanced nervously towards the open door.

"You taste delicious, Ran-chan," Enjoji murmured.

"Shh! What if someone comes?"

Enjoji laughed wickedly and looked down at Ran's lap. The thin cotton pajamas couldn't disguise Ran's response to Enjoji's suckling. "Someone's going to, I think."

"If we're caught they'll never let you back in here." Ran tried to free his hand. Enjoji kissed his knuckles and let him go.

The steady way Enjoji continued to smile at Ran made Ranmaru feel hot all over. He felt cherished-and naked. To cover his confusion he complained, "Now my fingers are really sticky."

Enjoji just laughed that wicked laugh.

The afternoon slipped past all too quickly and Enjoji had at last to go to work.

"So soon?" murmured Ran and then wanted to bite his tongue, though Enjoji looked happy.

"I'm working a double-shift. I'm earning all I can as fast as I can-for us."

Ran opened his mouth but it was hard to say the words he knew he must, to do the noble thing. He looked at the propped picture of the samurai smiling in the face of death, and said, "Save your money for college."

Except that the words that actually came out were, "When will you come again?"

Enjoji, making sure they were alone, kissed him with such tenderness it verged on reverence. "As soon as I can, sui- toha-to. It's better to be apart now so we can be together later."

Ran nodded doubtfully.

"You're lucky," Miss Nakayama, the physiotherapist informed Ran one week later, "the years of kendo have given you excellent balance. In time you may be able to use a walker."

"That's good news," Ran replied politely.

A walker? Lucky? Galumphing along like an old man beside Enjoji's tall, straight form? Ran closed his eyes to this mental image but it continued to hang in the air like an evil smell.

Miss Nakayama said, "Bend forward, kiss your knees."

Ran leaned forward, stretched his left arm out. He stared at the scratches on the floor beneath him. The white marks seemed to form mysterious kanji. He studied them closely as though he could read his future in their tea leaf patterns.

The Way of the Wheelchair, he translated bitterly. He gritted his jaw and stretched his uncooperative muscles further. His shoulder muscles ached.

"Excellent. You are quite limber, Samejima-kun," praised the physiotherapist. Your progress is remarkable."

Who are you kidding? thought Ran.

A week of rehab had proven to him the futility of struggling against fate. His situation was as hopeless as that of the samurai hanging on his bedroom wall. When he saw Enjoji again-if Enjoji ever bothered to come back and visit him-he would tell him. What? He loved him too much?

One of them had to be realistic.

And yet a lifetime of kendo had taught him that physical prowess was less important that doing everything with full spirit-even when there was no hope of winning.

I won't be in this chair forever, he vowed. But what if he was? If there was only some way of knowing for sure.

"Can we work with the weights today?" he asked muffledly.

Miss Nakayama chuckled. "You are a tiger, Samejima-kun."

Even sound asleep he felt the light pressure of that kiss.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," whispered Enjoji.

He kept his eyes closed. For a moment he could not speak over the rush of joy that closed his throat like a fist. If only he could always wake to Enjoji's kiss.

"Nurse?"

"Hey, very funny," growled Enjoji. "It's me, baka, Prince Charming."

"What are you doing sneaking in here after hours?" Ran stared up. Enjoji's face in the green lights of the medical equipment had an unearthly glow.

"I needed my fix." Enjoji kissed Ran again, slowly, more intimately. "Mmm. What is that aftershave? It's driving me wild."

"Antiseptic."

"Always wear it."

"At this rate, I probably will." Ran took a deep breath. "Listen, Enjoji."

Enjoji delicately touched the baby-soft hair curling at the nape of Ran's neck. "Your hair's growing back."

"Listen to me."

"I'm listening." Enjoji smiled down at him, his glasses shining blindly.

"I've been thinking. It won't work. You and me. It-" He swallowed on the word and shook his head. He had been practicing this speech daily, so why did the words dry in his throat?

"Wait a minute!" Enjoji protested after a disbelieving pause. "I thought we had settled this."

"You asked, I never answered."

"It was a rhetorical question!"

Lying like this in the darkness, Enjoji's breath fanning his face, Enjoji's arm pressed warmly against his body, it was almost like being in bed together. They had never had the luxury of a bedroom, stealing their moments where they could: in the dojo, in the student council room, even the locker-room once. Tears burned behind Ran's eyes for the nights they would never share.

Enjoji took Ran's paralyzed hand in his own, chafing the cool, slim fingers.

"I keep telling you how much I love you and how much I want you, and you keep telling me how ridiculous I am."

Ran said nothing. He couldn't, over the rock in his throat.

So softly that Ran had to strain to hear, Enjoji said, "If you don't love me, just say it."

At last Ran replied, "The important thing is, it wouldn't be fair. To you."

"You're not answering me. I'm saying I want to spend my life with you, and you're talking about taking turns carrying the trash out."

"Be serious."

"You're serious enough for both of us." Enjoji swore under his breath. Said very patiently, "The important thing is, do you love me or not?"

"That's not the point." Ran wiped his running nose with his free hand.

"It's the only point."

Ran sniffed loudly.

"Don't cry. If you really want me to go, I'll-"

"I'm not crying!" Ran tried to pull his hand free.

"Okay, okay. Listen, I've been chasing you from the first day I saw you, but you've never really said it, not in those exact words. If you don't feel-" He broke off at the sound of a cart or a gurney being wheeled past the open door.

They waited, holding hands in the darkness, and Ran wondered how he could bear to let go forever.

When the last sounds of the cart had faded, Enjoji said as strongly as a whisper would permit, "Hey, one good thing: at least you can't run away from me any more."

This attempt at humor fell on stony ground. Ran turned his face to the wall.

Enjoji chewed his lip. It took a lot to shake his confidence, but Ranmaru Samejima had the knack. He said finally, a little roughly, "If you really don't want me, just say it. You don't owe me anything."

"I don't want to wreck your life."

"Don't be an ass!"

Silence.

"I can't even.with this body I can't even make love properly."

"Want to bet?"

A gulp and then silence.

Enjoji thought how strange life was. He didn't want much, just Ranmaru. Sometimes it felt like he would have a better shot at getting the moon. And what did Ranmaru want? Stupid question. To be well and strong again. To do kendo again. To be the kendo champion of all Japan. And here was Enjoji pestering him about love and moving in together. Ran's needs were not Enjoji's; perhaps when he said `no,' he meant no.

Enjoji took his glasses off and wiped fiercely at his eyes. Trying to focus in the gloom, his gaze fell on the samurai scroll. To give himself time, he questioned, "Did you ever find out who gave you that scroll?"

Ran shook his head. Never good at small talk, Ranmaru.

Enjoji considered the painted samurai with his painted smile and his painted destiny. But what if your destiny wasn't a convenient death? What if it was to live trapped in a cage of bones and skin and paralyzed muscles?

When he thought of losing Ranmaru he felt something close to panic, but what could he say that he had not already said? Even before the accident Ranmaru had rarely been open about his feelings. The night of the accident he had said he loved Enjoji and would be with him always, but how much of that had been feeling sorry for Enjoji whose mother had just died? Ten minutes later he had been pushing Enjoji away, preferring to get drenched in the rain rather than share an umbrella.

Enjoji whispered, "Once I told you I needed you, and you laughed. I told myself I wouldn't say that again, but I do need you. I need you more than I need anything. I need you like I need oxygen to breathe or food and water. I know you don't feel that way, but you do need me too now, a little." And then with disarming uncertainty he added, "Don't you?"

Ran said simply, "I would die for you."

Some of the tension left Enjoji's frame. That was good, right? Love was good. He questioned gently, "But you don't love me enough to live for me?"

"I love you too much, don't you see?"

"That doesn't make sense, Ran."

Ran said shakily, "If I knew for sure I wouldn't always be like this."

"Can't you get over that? It doesn't matter to me!"

"It matters to me!" Ran wasn't bothering to whisper, and any minute Enjoji was going to be tossed out on his ear.

He covered Ran's mouth with his own, stifling the weak protest Ran made. Ran tasted like toothpaste and sleepy young male-peculiarly erotic. He lay passively beneath Enjoji's kiss. He did not reject; he did not respond.

Enjoji began to feel desperate. Ranmaru always told him he was good with words; why couldn't he find the right ones now? The words that would make it all right. Were there such words?

Ran said tiredly, "You'd better go."

Enjoji opened his mouth, and then closed it. If he left this time it would be forever, he knew. "Hey," he said with sudden inspiration, "you know, to serve as a samurai is not simply to be unafraid to die. It is also to be unafraid to live."

Ran went perfectly still. Then he lifted his head, saying quite sharply, "Where did you get that?"

"From a video game, but still-"

"No, it's from The Book of Five Rings, by Miyamoto Musashi, one of the greatest samurai of all time." Ran gazed up trying to read Enjoji's face in the darkness.

Neither spoke.

"Do you believe in destiny?"

Ran nodded his head against the pillow. Wiped his pajama sleeve across his eyes.

"I always believed we would be together," Enjoji said sadly.

"Don't." Another watery sniff from Ranmaru. "I can't ask you to wait. Not yet. Not till I know."

"You don't have to ask!"

There was so much pain in Enjoji's voice. Ran wondered suddenly at the lonely path he had set himself. Was this sacrifice necessary when it was bringing grief to the one he most loved and wanted to protect? What was the right thing to do? What was the honorable thing? What would Miyamoto Musashi do in his place?

Enjoji's hands clenched on the bed rail. He shook his head a little as though he could not believe it, and then he let go. It was the gesture of a shipwrecked sailor who wearies of fighting the sea and lets go of the spar. Enjoji turned away, walking towards the door. Not looking back.

As he reached the doorway though, he paused, and said quietly, so quietly Ran almost missed the words, "If I had been the one hurt-if I were the one choosing for us-what choice would you want me to make?"

Ranmaru gave a shuddering sort of sigh, and pushed up on elbow. "K-Kei-!" He reached his paralyzed hand towards Enjoji, not even noticing when his muscles actually obeyed.

In two steps Enjoji was back at his bedside, his strong arms cradling Ranmaru to his heart. His mouth found Ran's unsteady one, tasting salt.

The water-color eyes of a seven-hundred year old samurai watched serenely.