This is a Homecoming What If story. Imagine they went north—somewhere it snows—instead of to Ryukyu, where it doesn't. Thank you.

Melting
by Laura Bryannan

I came into the room to find Fuu standing at the window. She motioned me over and I peeked out to see Mugen in the yard with his head tilted back, trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. Arms outstretched, spinning slowly, he was wearing a face I'd never seen on him before—ecstacy! We'd gotten four or five inches overnight and it was still coming down, heavy, wet stuff that was sticking to everything.

“He acts like he's never seen it before,” she observed, giggling.

“Perhaps he hasn't,” I replied. “He was raised in the tropics.”

“But the tattoos,” she reminded me. “He was in Japan last winter, don'cha think?”

I couldn't explain it and said so, but there was no denying that Mugen seemed amazed and in awe of what was happening around him. When catching the snow in his mouth proved unenlightening, he sank to his haunches and scooped up a handful to examine and taste, watching the water drip down his arm as it melted.

“I can't believe he found his way back to us,” Fuu murmured, smiling wistfully. I moved behind and slipped my arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head, agreeing it seemed a miracle.

Mugen had stepped out of his getas and was stomping around the yard in his bare feet, looking behind him at his footprints before sliding them along the ground to make parallel lines in the snow.

She giggled again. “He seems so happy, it's almost like having the old Mugen back. He's a little scary these days, so serious and intense.” I agreed it was true, he'd returned to us much changed, although I found him more intriguing than frightening.

Mugen dashed back to his geta and crouched again, cupping his toes to warm them. Scooping up another handful, he created a decent snowball and aimed for a large oak across the street, hitting it with a satisfying splat. A little victory dance ensued, then he quickly created many more snowballs to pelt the tree with. Out of twenty-two pitches he only missed once. I counted, impressed.

The snow was coming down intensely, creating almost white-out conditions; so wet, Mugen's clothes were soaked. Sticking to his spiky hair, making him look like a dandelion gone to seed, it was so charming and hilarious we both had a hard time keeping a straight face when he finally burst through the door.

“It's snowing!” he announced, shivering, face full of excitement. We nodded solemnly.

“It's cold,” he informed us, and we nodded again, although Fuu's upper lip was twitching.

“It really is just frozen water. That's what I always heard but I couldn't figure it.”

“Weren't you in Japan last winter, Mugen?” she asked.

“I was in prison, so I never went outside,” he explained, apple cheeked, still shivering, looking all of ten years old. I was captivated and so was Fuu, which pleased but surprised me as she'd been indifferent towards him, for the most part, since he returned.

“You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death,” she declared sternly, although her blush made me wonder what she was thinking. Mugen noticed, of course.

“Right here an' now?” he asked innocently, smiling seductively. Not waiting for a reply, he untied his hakama and let them drop as she stood there apparently mesmerized. It was time to leave for work but he'd been away too long, had barely returned, and my hunger for him was far from satisfied. Without a second thought, I began untying myself as Fuu's eyes widened and Mugen cheered.

He shook his head like a dog and spattered us both with partly melted snow, causing Fuu to shriek in mock outrage. “You jerk! Now I'm all wet too!” She looked at us, sighing, but with mischievous eyes. “Kanna's going to kill me if I'm late, but....”

We didn't let her finish her sentence.

end