KINTSUGI ⊳jin sakai x yuna

さんじゅうさん (thirty three)

"He looks shaken up," Yuna whispers to Jin. They're not out of Benjiro's earshot, but he's too focused on talking to his brother without expecting a response. He insisted upon staying up to do so, claiming that it had worked when Michio had passed out a few months ago in the slave camp. The turmeric they'd found has been cut up, turned into as much of a paste as possible, and applied to the wound. All that's left to do is wait, and, perhaps, pray. "What happened?"

Jin blinks, prying his gaze off of Benjiro's back to look at her. "Nothing bad. We got out fine."

"Did you meet the family of samurai that we butchered in Kamiagata?"

Her intuition is unmatched, but Jin supposes that's the mark of a true survivor. She's sharpened that certain sixth sense throughout her years. Yuna's glance on him is scrutinizing, but in a well-meaning way. She's digging for clues so that she can figure out if her assistance is needed.

"Almost," Jin clarifies. "We met their calligraphy teacher. He figured out who I was."

She draws in a sharp, distressed inhale. Yuna looks like she's about to make a run for the shack and start packing everything they own.

"Don't worry. He has no idea where to look for us. Benjiro hit his head with a rock before he could even try anything."

Yuna gives him a look that can be interpreted as both amused and shocked.

"Do you think Michio will make it?" He speaks up after a moment's silence, and tilts his head to meet her gaze.

"He was fine just the day before. He should be back on his feet soon enough." After her briefing, Yuna's expression goes from neutral to soft, tired. "I'll see if I can catch any more sleep before the sun is high in the sky."

Jin smiles, doesn't quite think his answer through. Doesn't quite want to. It's a pleasure to not always calculate everything, he lets himself enjoy a little banter. "Let me know if you need a shoulder to sleep on again."

Even though she's tired, her tone matches his, and her reply is quick. "As if. I've laid my face on stones softer than your bony shoulder."

"And yet, you didn't seem to dislike it."

At that, she stops in her tracks, grins, not at Jin as much as to herself, before disappearing inside the shack.

He has a chance to stare at the sunrise for a few more minutes and just let his thoughts wander until Benjiro gets up from beside his brother's collapsed body. Jin figures that the boy'll follow Yuna's example and try to catch some sleep, but to his surprise, Benjiro walks up to him.

"So...The ghost was a poet when he was my age, huh?"

Jin lifts a brow as he watches Benjiro plop down beside him, and figures out what he means quickly enough. The boy must be referring to the estate servant's remark about him writing poems when he was fifteen.

"I was different, back then," Jin replies. "What about it?"

"I wasn't making fun of you," Benjiro clarifies, he's holding something in one hand. Jin doesn't get the chance to get a clear glimpse of it. "If anything, I respect you for it. My father tried to teach us, too, but I was too impatient for it." In one fluent move, he brings up the object in front of him, then flips it in his hand, holding it out to Jin; he can recognize the familiar shape clearly now. It's a yatate. "Here. That estate servant said it was yours."

Indeed, it was. With careful hands, Jin takes the writing tool from him, not quite fathoming what he's holding. The sakai symbol is etched into the lid of the inkbox, the steel of the case is more matte than he remembers it to be. With his thumb, he clicks it open, sliding the brush out of its case. The handle is carved from antlers, still of an immaculate white, taken from a stag which he had found in the woods near the estate as a child. That had been his first kill; a merciful one. The animal had broken its leg and was crying out in pain.