Kensei Jon's Arc

Chapter 15 of 49

The marriage paper sat folded on the table. They were married on it already. But Kensei wanted more than the paper. He wanted a day. A ceremony they chose themselves, before they left for the fifth city. He said this to Jeon-min in the back room of the guesthouse, with the bags packed by the door. "We're already married," Jeon-min said. "The paper holds." "I know." Kensei touched the fold. "I still want a day. Something we pick." Jeon-min looked at him a long moment. Then he reached out and pulled the tie of Kensei's hanbok loose. "Fine. We plan it." The clothes came off between words. Kensei's outer coat slid to the floor. Jeon-min's belt followed. They kept talking anyway, close on the narrow bed, working it out in pieces. "No crowd," Jeon-min said against Kensei's shoulder. "No family. Mine won't come. Yours can't." "Just us, then." Kensei kissed his jaw. "Where?" "The market." Jeon-min pulled back to look at him. "You always wanted the market. We say the words there. Out in the open." Kensei stilled. It was the thing he'd wanted from the start. To stand with Jeon-min somewhere that wasn't a hidden room. "Yes," he said. "The market." A small brown gecko ran up the wall beside them. It had two soft points on its head, like little ears. It stopped and watched them with one bright eye. Jeon-min laughed, low. "Witness," he said, nodding at it. "That's our witness." "Then it stays for the whole thing." Kensei grinned. "What do we say?" Jeon-min thought. He was blunt even now, even bare on the sheets. "I won't hide you. That's what I say. Same as before." "And I say I gave up a name to stand next to you." Kensei traced the knot pattern stitched on Jeon-min's discarded coat. "And I'd do it again." "Say it shorter," Jeon-min said. "You talk too much." Kensei laughed and pulled him back down. They settled the rest in murmurs. No robes bought new. They'd wear what they had, mended by Jeon-min's own hand. One loaf of bread from a market stall to share, the first food eaten together in the open. The gecko clung to the wall through all of it, unbothered. When they were quiet, the clothes still on the floor, Kensei spoke into the dark. "We do it before we go. In the new city. First morning there." "First morning," Jeon-min agreed. "We find the market. We say the words. We eat the bread." Kensei felt it settle in him, plain and solid. Not a paper this time. A day they had chosen together. He reached down, found his coat, and folded it over the chair. The bags waited by the door. The gecko slipped into a crack in the wall and was gone. They had the plan now. All that remained was the road to the city where they'd carry it out.