They were almost at the turn for Renji’s house when he noticed that he and Genichirou were walking in step. It was a peripheral observation, and not really surprising since they tended to fall into step when they walked any distance together. They were of a height, it was quite natural. Today, though, it suddenly seemed significant.
Not that Renji entirely trusted his perceptions just at the moment. The release of tension from the matches this afternoon, plus Seiichi’s surgery, had left him rather lightheaded.
Still, it struck him as a good symbol of everything that had been right and wrong during this year.
“Renji.”
His name called him back from his musing, to notice that they had reached his turn, and that Genichirou was standing with his head down, turned a little away.
“I’m… sorry.”
“For what?” Renji asked, quietly, touching his friend’s shoulder. He shook his head at the look Genichirou turned on him. “I knew what I was doing, Genichirou. I’m not blaming you.”
Not least, he reflected, as Genichirou’s eyes darkened, because Genichirou could be counted upon to blame himself.
It had been a split-second decision, almost an impulse, really, except for the calculation behind it. Renji had never expected to lose. Nor, he suspected, had Genichirou ever expected him to lose. When he had, and when he had seen the tightness of Genichirou’s mouth, the question had presented itself: How would Genichirou react to this breaking of the unbreakable rule he had set for their team this year? Renji knew perfectly well that, if it had been anyone but him, Genichirou would not have hesitated to strike, to drive home the unacceptable nature of losing. But it was him. And everyone in the club was aware that he and Genichirou were close friends, as well as teammates. Which led, inescapably, to the conclusion that, in order to keep the respect of the club, Genichirou must not react differently just because it was Renji.
So he had said so.
He had known it was a risk, to deliberately provoke Genichirou when he was that tense and angry. Knew that putting Genichirou squarely between his responsibility to the club and his care for Renji might finally break him. But he hadn’t seen any other way. Nor, to judge by the glint of helpless fury he’d seen in Genichirou’s eyes, as his hand drew back, had Genichirou.
At least, he smiled to himself, they hadn’t seen another way until Akaya interfered, blithe and brash as ever. Genichirou had been right, earlier today; Akaya’s protectiveness of his own, every bit as fierce as his will to win, would serve him well next year, when he became captain.
“Not just today, Renji,” Genichirou shook his head. “This whole year. You warned me, and I didn’t listen.”
“You chose the path that you felt you could walk on,” Renji noted. “And I chose to follow you down it.”
“It was the wrong choice,” Genichirou said, looking away.
“Was there a right one?” Renji countered.
Genichirou’s hand flashed up to touch the side of Renji’s face, softly. “Yes,” he answered, low and sharp, “one that didn’t involve losing control.”
Renji stifled a sigh. He knew quite well what the chances were of convincing Genichirou to let go of some blame he had decided to take on. And he couldn’t argue that the path Genichirou had chosen hadn’t been a dangerous one, especially once their personal bond had fallen crosswise of it. Still, there were times he wished that Genichirou’s ruthlessness were accompanied more often by detachment, rather than passion.
Of course, he supposed that was his part. So he made one more try.
“Was there a right choice we could have reached, this year?” he asked, gently. He read the stubborn There should have been in Genichirou’s tight lips, and couldn’t help a laugh. He laid his hand over Genichirou’s and turned his head to place a kiss in the palm.
“Genichirou,” he said, firmly, “stop this. If there’s anything that needs to be forgiven, I forgive you. It’s over now. Seiichi is coming back to us. We’re going to be all right.”
Genichirou’s eyes were a little brighter, now. “Have I ever won an argument with you?” he asked, with a small, rueful laugh of his own.
“There have been three occasions, to date,” Renji told him, serenely. “I made note of them.”
Genichirou smiled. “Well, since this doesn’t seem like it will be the fourth, I’ll stop. I’ll see you tomorrow, Renji. Good night.”
“Good night, Genichirou.”
Renji walked the rest of the way home with a lighter mind and heart, reassured that things were returning to where they should be.
End
