Archive of Our Own ^beta

The moment he takes his first breath, he knows everything has gone to shit.

He’s sweating. It’s so hot that his skin is sizzling, his hair is sparking, his eyes are stinging, and he’s sweating; and then he’s sweating because it isn’t hot at all. It isn’t hot at all, but he feels like he’s being scrubbed with some godless mixture of acid and water through and through. It burns. Everything burns.

Something slimy seems to be crawling up his leg, and that’s when he realizes that he has a leg. Two. Two legs. And two arms. And a body. And everything else. And he’s still sweating.

“What the fuck,” he says. Then, on realizing that he just said that, he says, “What the fuck.”

It feels like steam would rise from his body if he takes another breath, so he does, because he’d rather combust than try to comprehend what has happened to him and why he feels so disgusting and foreign and so… human.

He breathes out, and steam does not rise from his body. The hair on his nape does, though, as a shiver runs down his spine, and something pricks his arm. He looks down at it, and there’s a— his dragon— it’s on his arm. His dragon. His Kurikara. On his arm.

“What in the motherfuck—”

He looks up sharply as someone screams, the sound taking him back to memories of long, long ago, of people from long, long ago, and flashes of dirt and flesh and blood. So much fucking blood.

When his vision adjusts to what’s before him, he doesn’t see flames or bodies or death; just a man. A man who looks so thoroughly horrified that the corner of his mouth won’t stop twitching even though his scream has long since died down.

“Did you just use the words ‘mother’ and ‘fuck’ in the same sentence?” the man says, his hands stretched out in front of him in preparation to choke something. “What sort of uncultured heathen are you?”

“...I'm Ookurikara. I don't have anything else to say,” he finds himself saying. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. “I don't plan on getting friendly with you.”

“I don’t plan on getting friendly with someone who says ‘mother’ and—”

The man stops, blinks, puts his hands down, then brings a finger up to point at Ookurikara. As the man gapes at him, Ookurikara wishes to be engulfed in nothing but death.

“Ookurikara? From the Date clan?” the man says weakly, “The Saniwa— no, Shokudaikiri is going to have a stroke.”

Mitsutada does not, in fact, have a stroke, but Ookurikara was precariously close to having one because his body did not take too kindly to the way Mitsutada looks, and his mind did not take kindly at all to the way he said Lord Masamune on seeing Mitsutada kneeling near a rose bed outside the Citadel.

Ookurikara hasn’t had this body for more than a few minutes, but he has already memorized the planes of Mitsutada’s face and the shape of his lips when he grins and the way his eye brightens up when he catches Ookurikara glancing at him. This is the worst.

“Kara-chan?” Mitsutada says now, sitting next to him on the engawa and smiling at him as if he wasn’t the reason Ookurikara almost went into cardiac arrest immediately after becoming so uselessly tangible. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything is wrong,” Ookurikara replies, watching a kid teaching his white tiger cubs to fetch a stick. “If you don't need anything from me, leave me alone.”

Mitsutada hums, but says nothing. Ookurikara can feel Mitsutada looking at him, but chooses to ignore it entirely. He really doesn’t need anyone to take care of him. They’re still swords, and the concept of family can’t apply to them, no matter what they experienced together centuries ago, in whatever form, under whichever master.

One of the tigers brings back something that is definitely not a stick, and Mitsutada chuckles as the kid gets flustered and tries to pry the object from the critter. Ookurikara doesn’t understand why some kind of warmth seems to be growing inside his chest, but it feels a little nice, so he continues observing and listening.

The horrified man who had screamed at Ookurikara’s choice of words during his introductory reaction to having gained sentience had soon introduced himself as Heshikiri Hasebe, our master’s faithful servant, and had offered his jersey to Ookurikara as they stepped out of the forge and had explained just what the everloving fuck was going on, and had done a pretty decent job at wrestling Ookurikara’s sword away from his grip before he could drive it through something, including but not limited to himself.

Talking to him had minutely calmed Ookurikara down, and even though he can’t entirely relax because of the ability to feel so many things — like his hair brushing against his shoulder, his toes pushing against the material of his shoes, his eyelashes against his fingers as he reaches up to push his hair out of his face, the tightness of his gloves — all at the same time, everywhere, he thinks, as Mitsutada moves slightly next to him, that he’s dealing with the day’s bullshit pretty well.

And that’s when he realizes that he was severely underestimating this day, because it seems to have a diarrheal ass that just won’t stop hitting Ookurikara with absolute bullshit.

“Mitsu-bou,” a voice that Ookurikara could recognize even if he was incarnated as a fucking penguin says. “They told me someone interesting had come along but— KARA-BOU?”

Mitsutada laughs from beside him, and Ookurikara hisses, “I don’t plan on getting along with you.”

Tsurumaru disregards his words, drops to his knees, pinches Ookurikara’s cheeks, moves them up and down, and squeaks, “You’re… so cute.”

“Die,” Ookurikara says, swatting Tsurumaru’s hands away and gritting his teeth so hard he thinks they might break. He hates this. He hates everything.

⚔

He loves everything. Right from the way Kasen is leaning up on his toes, hanging up a red streamer as he explains to Otegine what munificent means as he holds the ladder firmly, taking care that the former doesn’t fall off, to the way Kashuu’s sitting cross-legged in the grass, painting all the Toushirous’ faces since he woke up, and Yasusada helping them revise their lines for their recital this evening, to the way Jiroutachi’s drunkenly trying to braid Taroutachi’s hair in a corner and failing miserably.

Mitsutada really, really loves everything.

“Well, you seem happy,” Tsurumaru says, chucking a tube of paper glue at him. “I’m a little jealous of Kara-bou.”

“Of Kara-chan?” Mitsutada says, raising an eyebrow as he uncaps the glue he’d caught perfectly and passes it to Sayo, smiling down at the coloured dragon he had been drawing since last night.

Mitsutada can think of no plausible reason for Tsurumaru to be jealous of Ookurikara. After all, the guy had holed himself up in their room ever since he got here a week ago, and no extent of pleading and negotiating could coax him out of those four walls. The only times he responded, just slightly, was when Mitsutada would give up hoping for Ookurikara to come downstairs for a meal, and would bring him a plate of food (and a fan to make sure the smell reaches him before he does).

The other rare times when Ookurikara comes outside, in response to Hasebe’s incessant nagging, he ends up glaring at whoever tries to interact with him until he’s left alone long enough to fall asleep in some place with sufficient shade, until Iwatooshi or Aizen would find him covered in exquisite bugs and would carry him back inside while he continues dozing.

Mitsutada gets it. The first week after gaining these bodies is terrible, and that’s almost entirely why he’s been giving Ookurikara his space. Coming to terms with the fact that they now have bodies, that they need to eat and bathe and clothe themselves and do so many things is nothing short of overwhelming, and having someone hovering around during this time, wanting to talk about past adventures and masters would only make things worse.

That doesn’t mean Mitsutada likes maintaining this distance between them. Mitsutada has been itching to grab Ookurikara’s arms and look him in the eye and just talk. Which, he thinks, in retrospect, could be done even without any arm-grabbing involved, but he puts the thought aside as he recalls the way Tsurumaru had spent a good while poking at Ookurikara’s face the first time they saw each other. Mitsutada is the jealous one in that aspect, because he would have loved to do the same. Instead, he had just stood there, gawking, absolutely uncool, enraptured by Ookurikara’s appearance when Hasebe called Mitsutada over to meet him.

Mitsutada has learned, over the few months he had been here, to accept that when swords are brought to life, they are even more beautiful than when they were only steel. And yet, Ookurikara is on a different level altogether. There are many things about him that Mitsutada still languishes over, but his eyes are Mitsutada’s hamartia. Fiery, crackling, intense. A shiver runs up his spine at the sheer memory of them.

Tsurumaru whistles right then, and Mitsutada looks down at the tiny phallus he’d drawn on Mitsutada’s shoe with a silver pen.

“Not again,” Mitsutada groans, bends to swipe his thumb over the obscene artwork, but nothing happens to it. “Tsuru-san.”

“It’s surprising that you were thinking about him so much that it dried up,” Tsurumaru says, shaking his head. “The ink, that is. Not my d—”

“I have been painting whiskers on the faces of children who are probably thrice my age since seven a.m.,” Kashuu cuts in from behind them. When they turn to look at him, he makes a gesture almost as obscene as the composition on Mitsutada’s shoe, and continues, “If this welcome party flops, I want all of those boutique coupons Master keeps in their backpack.”

Mitsutada laughs, nods, and turns to Tsurumaru, but the one grinning up at him with a milk foam moustache isn’t Tsurumaru, and Mitsutada shakes his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles fondly.

“Welcome back,” Mitsutada says, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Sada-chan.”

They’ve done a great job with setting everything up, even if Mitsutada says so himself. The decorations look splendid, all dragon-themed and made out of recyclable items, the Toushirous look more confident than the last time they performed this particular skit of theirs, the food smells divine, although Mitsutada knows it’s going to taste a little less than divine, since Mutsunokami was on kitchen duty today, and there are definitely more than Mitsutada’s prediction of four attendees in the courtyard. All in all, Mitsutada is more than satisfied with how this evening has been put together.

The only real problem now is getting Ookurikara to leave their room and come down. It’d be quite anticlimactic if the chief guest didn’t show up to his own party, but Sadamune had taken it upon himself to bring Ookurikara downstairs even if he had to use the feathers in his hair to force Ookurikara into capitulation.

Mitsutada is a bit upset that Ookurikara still won’t listen to a word anyone — including Mitsutada — tells him, shooting everything down with a scowl or a hurtful phrase like I won’t get along with you. He’s worried, and it’s incomprehensible, but for a moment, Mitsutada isn’t sure if he’s worried if Ookurikara would treat Sadamune the same way and upset him, or if he’s worried that Sadamune would be given a different response entirely.

He closes his eyes. He knows that he has a reputation around the Citadel for being someone easy to talk to, and someone who could be relied upon, and he honestly finds that much better than being known for cutting down bronze candlestick holders, but there are times when these small but biting insecurities creep into his mind, and if he’s the one everyone leans on, who should he go to when he feels this way?

He sighs, shoves his hands into his pockets, and looks up at the window of their room.

⚔

He sighs, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks down from the window of his room.

“I’m not coming with you,” he says again, for what seems like the tenth time, with more patience than he thought he was capable of having. “And stop doing this.”

“Stop doing what?” Sadamune asks, glancing upwards with his bright, sparkly eyes that Ookurikara immediately regrets looking into.

The boy had waltzed into Ookurikara’s room as if he owned the room — which he probably did, Ookurikara realizes, in hindsight, since Sadamune was a sword belonging to the Date family too — and after pitching a paper shuriken at Ookurikara’s head, had latched himself to Ookurikara’s legs and chirped, “Let’s party!”

Ookurikara still hasn’t properly acquainted himself with all the apeshit crazy phenomena humans have subjected themselves to experience on a daily basis, like laundry, and attending a gathering of swords where the thing that makes the gruff disaster of a spear smell as gross as he does is present in abundance is not something Ookurikara wants to go through.

Moreover, Tsurumaru has been constantly trying to introduce Ookurikara to other swords and food and tasks as if he didn’t already have a hard time accepting that he has to compulsorily respond to nature’s call every few hours, and Ookurikara knows Tsurumaru will ruin everything if he succumbs to Sadamune’s begging and steps out.

“Please, Kara-chan,” Sadamune says, as if he knows what Ookurikara was thinking about. “I just got back from a super long expedition, and I want to talk to you.”

Trying to shake Sadamune off his leg, he says, “So talk.”

At that, Sadamune groans so extravagantly that Ookurikara flinches, and subsequently feels quite ashamed because of how irked Sadamune looks. He shouldn’t want to get along with people, but being the recipient of such an exasperated front by a person so… tiny has him reeling.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re like this, but you’re a sword wielded by Lord Masamune, just like me. So we’re family, yeah?”

He stiffens at the mention of Lord Masamune.

“Yeah…” Ookurikara repeats because it seems like what Sadamune wants him to do. What sort of demon is this little sword-human that he has Ookurikara paying attention to his nonverbal cues.

The grip around his leg gets tighter, and Sadamune grins up at him, his gleaming eyes reminding Ookurikara of the stray Shiba that loiters in their backyard sometimes. “And I may not look like much, but I’ve always got your back!”

That unusually warm feeling bubbles up inside his chest— the one he first felt as he was sitting beside Mitsutada when he’d only just materialized in this form, listening to him laugh as they watched one of the Awataguchis’ tigers doing tricks in the grass.

He sighs, reaches down to flick Sadamune’s forehead, and mutters, “Don’t get any strange ideas. I’m only tagging along for some time.”

Ookurikara should have known this was going to happen.

The bad-smelling spear is lying naked across the daifuku-fanatic spear’s chest as the comparatively-okay spear looks at them with a distasteful frown similar to Ookurikara’s own, the uchigatana with the painted nails is pouring more sake into Ookurikara’s cup as Mitsutada leans towards Ookurikara more and more each passing second, and Tsurumaru is in the corner— Tsurumaru is— what is he doing, is he eating the alpha Awataguchi’s face?

“Gross,” Ookurikara mumbles, looking away and more than grateful that almost all the tantou and wakizashi had already gone back to their rooms. He doesn’t care about being friendly with them, but he doesn’t want to see them cry at the sight present before them, and he also doesn’t want them to see him crying at the sight present before him. “This is so gross.”

“You’re just,” Mitsutada begins, his words more slurred than the ootachi asshole’s welcome speech for Ookurikara which sounded more like a eulogy than anything, pressing his hands against Ookurikara’s cheeks. “Not honest. Kara-chan. You’re not. Honest.”

“Don’t touch me with your flaccid appendages.” Ookurikara sniffs, then realizes that he stinks just as bad as the ugly-odoured spear, and the only thing worse than that and the fact that Mitsutada is now pinching his cheeks is that Mitsutada is giggling, and that his hair is flopping all over the place and his ears are completely pink.

“Flaccid appendages,” Mitsutada laughs, and the sound sends a tingly feeling up Ookurikara’s spine, but he continues moving Ookurikara’s cheeks around. “I’ve wanted to do this since last week.”

Ookurikara sniffs again. He reeks, and he’s not sure which uchigatana threw up near him a few minutes ago, but he’s going to end him when he finds him tomorrow. Ookurikara sniffs once more, and then it hits him. That scent.

He’s known, since his first day here, that out of all the swords that have spoken to him, he’s most calm around Mitsutada. He thought it was either because they served the same master once upon a time, or because he resembled Lord Masamune that much, or because he just looks so...stupid. Or something. But he— his scent.

Just as Ookurikara is about to say some awful bullshit like I like the way you smell, Mitsutada squishes Ookurikara’s face between his hands, and gasps, “Are you crying?”

“No, you squiggly…” Ookurikara commands his tears to return to whatever offensive human orifice they are generated in, and promptly forgets how to speak at the same time. “You squiggly….”

Mitsutada cocks his head to the side, and Ookurikara finds himself staring at Mitsutada’s collarbones, wondering if he could press his face there.

“...crab,” he finishes, and falls forward, laying his head on Mitsutada’s chest. “This is all your fault, isn’t it?”

“This?” Mitsutada says, the vibrations as he speaks tickling Ookurikara’s nose slightly. “The party?”

Ookurikara nods. For all his initial reluctance, after sitting through the horrid Awataguchi play, the Oda swords’ embarrassing attempt at a standup comedy performance, the ootachi fucker’s welcome eulogy, Sadamune’s solo dance that ended with two uprooted trees, he somehow did have a good time. And watching the ootachi bastard and the shit-stench spear drink until one lost all of his shame and the other lost all of his clothes— Ookurikara snorts, all right, he might be a little drunk right now, but watching all of that wasn’t half bad.

“It was….” Ookurikara pushes his head against Mitsutada’s chest, and inhales his scent. “It was nice.”

“I’m glad,” Mitsutada says, and Ookurikara doesn’t need to look up to know what goofy face he’s making right now, but he still does because being inebriated, as is evident now, makes him do dreadful things like that.

Looking at Mitsutada’s chin from this angle makes it seem as if Ookurikara has undergone some complicated process of consecration, because no unholy being should be allowed to look up at Mitsutada like this.

For a second, Ookurikara thinks that he’s about to fall asleep, the next, he’s alert as that damn Shiba gets when Ookurikara curls around it for a quick afternoon nap in the yard, and the very next, he relaxes just like that dog which slowly got used to Ookurikara’s presence around it.

Being drunk is the worst. Ookurikara won’t forget the way Mitsutada smells until the day he dies.

“Did you know,” he begins, wrapping his arms around Mitsutada’s waist. When he’s sober tomorrow, he will drive a sword through himself, but for now, he forces out the painted-nails one’s whistles and says, “you have a dick on your shoe.”

“I know,” Mitsutada says, smiling down at Ookurikara with so much fondness that the funny, warm feeling shoots up from his stomach to his heart, and Ookurikara breathes in.

He passes out with thoughts of Mitsutada floating around his senses.

⚔

He wakes up with the reality of Ookurikara’s hand pressing against his crotch.

Miraculously, his hand shoots up to his mouth before he squeaks. Kashuu is the only one who seems to stir a little, and Ookurikara lies just as motionless as before.

Mitsutada precariously moves Ookurikara’s hand from its spot on front of his pants, carefully untangling his leg from the Kashuu-Otegine-Nihongou-Tonbokiri leg pile, and maneuvers himself out of the position he was in. When he looks up at the wall clock and feels a sharp throb in the back of his head, he knows he messed up last night.

“Just one drink,” Tsurumaru had said, filling Mitsutada’s cup and going back to drawing shuriken patterns on the patterned paper left over after cutting out a giant W E L C O M E ! sign out of it. “You put all of this together, you can take a breather now.”

“But Tsuru-san,” Mitsutada had said, always the needlessly rational one, glancing over at Ookurikara, who was, unsurprisingly, glaring at the floor, but was, surprisingly, wearing Akashi’s glasses as he did so. “Someone needs to take care of—”

“Someone. Not you.”

“But—”

“He’s our comrade, not your firstborn.” There was a finality in Tsurumaru’s voice, not unlike the times when they’re out in battle and a strategic decision of retreating has to be made, even though they think they can go further. It immediately silenced Mitsutada. “Let him fall, and let him get up. Let him learn for himself.”

Mitsutada looked away, but when Tsurumaru spoke next, his voice was soft. “You need to let go sometimes.”

If only it were as easy as that, Mitsutada almost said. He knew, more than anyone, that he needs to let go sometimes. That he’s too protective, too doting, too worried, too attached. And he wants, more than anyone, to let go. And yet—

And yet, as he’s sitting up now, his posture perfect, a dull pain in his head because of all the alcohol — which was definitely more than Tsurumaru’s promise of just one drink — from last night, he can’t help but follow the rise and fall of Ookurikara’s chest as he breathes, still asleep, the gentle rays of the sun filtering in through the window but not reaching him yet.

There are others in the room and the place smells quite… dissatisfactory, but Mitsutada can’t bring himself to look away from Ookurikara, from the way he’s curled up on a side and has an arm tucked under his head, the other touching the floor just as Mitsutada had placed it there, from the way his dragon coils up his arm, up until where it disappears under his jacket’s sleeve, and Mitsutada feels fond.

Ookurikara still won’t look him in the eye or tell him anything other than his stock phrases, but Mitsutada can’t give up. He won’t give up. Mitsutada can’t remember much from last night except Nikkari challenging him to a duel and Midare swapping Kashuu’s mineral water for not mineral water, but he can vaguely recollect Ookurikara calling him a… crab… which probably didn’t happen.

“Uncool,” Mitsutada whispers under his breath. He brings a hand up to fix his eyepatch, and that’s when he sees Konnosuke looking at him from a corner of the room. It’s the second time this morning that Mitsutada presses his palm against his mouth before a small sound of surprise escapes him. So uncool.

But he knows what this means. If Konnosuke has been sent here, instead of Hasebe, then it’s finally time.

The Front Lines.

⚔

The Front Lines.

Slashing guts has never made Ookurikara feel this alive. Maybe it’s the way he can control how much strength he uses to thrust his blade into the enemy’s flesh, or maybe it’s the way its blood splatters across his hands, his chest, his face, a final reminder of the heat present in a living body, no matter how vile.

Or maybe it’s the way he remembers his catastrophic actions with regard to Mitsutada, from last night, whenever he isn’t actively fucking killing something, which just makes him want to slaughter every moving thing in a two mile radius.

“Kara-bou seems to be having fun, eh?” Tsurumaru shouts from the other side of the field they were lured to. Ookurikara doesn’t care about keeping count, but Tsurumaru has wiped out more than half of the Time Retrograde Army that had materialized in this era in just a few minutes, and he can’t help but look at him in a new light.

In fact, observing all the members of the fourth unit has been nothing short of a sobering experience for Ookurikara. No matter how eccentric they seem to be in the Citadel, out here, there’s not even an iota of doubt in their authenticity and efficiency.

“He isn’t supposed to have fun. This isn’t fun,” the nail paint uchigatana yells, interrupting Ookurikara’s train of thought, and he watches him step aside to dodge a tantou’s blow and drive his sword through its head as it lunges at him again. “And having my nails ruined is especially not fun!”

“Breh, I feel ya,” the Awataguchi singer brat adds. He’s scratched up a little, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from kicking a tachi in the face and spitting into the eyes of another simultaneously, then running his fingers through his hair at the end of it. “Good content, muchos relate.”

Sadamune groans, and that is what Ookurikara can relate to. “I didn’t understand a thing you just said, Midare-chan.” Sadamune grabs a tantou by its neck, or whatever it is that resembles a neck, and twirls it around before throwing it with so much force that it smashes into a rock and disintegrates. “Did you see that? Wasn’t that like, super cool? I learned it from Oodenta-san!”

“Focus!” Mitsutada’s voice resounds around the field. “We can’t do a shabby job when we’ve been entrusted with this mission.”

Ookurikara tightens his fingers around the grip of his sword. He’d been purposely avoiding Mitsutada since they were dispatched to this era, but he couldn’t help admire the way Mitsutada attacked so deliberately and precisely, as if he even had the movement of his terrible hair in control at all times.

He doesn’t charge blindly, but waits until the enemy is close enough to finish in one blow. Even though they served under the same master, Mitsutada’s meticulous style of fighting differs so much from Ookurikara’s chaotic manner of attack, that Ookurikara watches, rapt, until a shitass Time Retrograde Army bastard takes that as an opportunity to crowd in on him.

“Aight, Dudebro,” the singer kid says, parrying a persistent uchigatana’s attacks and giving Mitsutada a two-finger salute at the same time, then combing his hair with his fingers when he’s done. Ookurikara almost marvels at the way his hair sparkles in the sun before a few strands promptly fall down into the grass.

“I still don’t get you,” Sadamune says, following the other’s trail and slashing an arrow before it hits its target. Ookurikara turns to see the source of the weapon, and notes that the painted-nails one has already finished it off.

Looking at the two of them, so small, help each other out makes that tingle thing happen in his heart again. The tingle thing then reminds him of Mitsutada, and Ookurikara decapitates a tantou with so much vigour that some of the other enemies surrounding him take a few steps back.

“In fact, Midare-chan,” Sadamune is saying when Ookurikara zones back into their conversation. “I don’t think I’ve ever understood what you’ve said.”

”Get with the times, Sonny,” is Midare’s nonchalant reply, and Ookurikara snorts at that, despite himself.

They’ve almost wiped out the entire area and the fox hasn’t come with more intel yet, so Ookurikara guesses it’s good enough to call it a day. He rolls his shoulders, not letting his fatigue weigh him down. It’s quite obvious how lacking Ookurikara is when it comes to stamina and speed in comparison to the others, but he doesn’t waste time mulling it over, and drives his blade into an uchigatana’s back.

But what he doesn’t anticipate is another tantou assuming its position to strike him from behind, and the moment he senses its ominous presence, Mitsutada’s there, his sword already driven all the way to the hilt in the tantou.

“Kara-chan, are you all right?”

Ookurikara blinks, and sees that even Sadamune and Midare have come to his aid even though he’s absolutely unscathed, unlike them. The nice stuff happens somewhere in his heart again so he frowns, watches distastefully as another psychotic weasel comes charging at him, and changes his stance.

“I don’t plan on getting along with any of you,” he says then, offhandedly, as if he isn’t forcing his sword through the neck of a tachi nearly twice his height. “You can do whatever you want.”

When the enemy fades into nothingness, Ookurikara glances over at Sadamune, who probably didn’t even hear him, seeing the way he’s— what, comparing hand sizes with Midare or something. Ookurikara then looks over at Mitsutada, surreptitiously, and stops.

He... seems… hurt. Then it’s gone, almost immediately, replaced by that dopey smile of his. It’s like only Ookurikara sees how forced it is, how the corner of his eye doesn’t crinkle the way it always does, how there’s a tension in his jaw that no one notices and—

Ookurikara freezes. He knows this emotion. He knows this fucking emotion. He felt this when he stepped on that dumbass Shiba’s tail one afternoon, then heard it let out the single most pitiful cry he’d ever heard an animal make in his few days of being human. He felt this then. And he’s feeling it now.

Guilt. He feels guilty. He feels fucking guilty.

“I—” he begins, but Mitsutada cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t say that, Kara-chan,” Mitsutada says, his voice thick. Ookurikara feels a sharp pang in his chest. “After all, we’re—”

“All clear on this side!” Tsurumaru calls, running up to them with the nail guy next to him, and Ookurikara misses what Mitsutada says as he whips his head towards Tsurumaru.

Mitsutada doesn’t look him in the eye after that. They tend to the small wounds, recap their mission, decide on their rendezvous location and time, and Mitsutada doesn’t even glance in Ookurikara’s direction. He knows that this is what he does on a regular basis, but being the recipient of such blatant avoidance is unsettling, especially since it’s coming from Mitsutada. Mitsutada.

Ookurikara is sure that he’s said more biting things before, with a lot more emphasis, at that, and if a few words he meant only halfheartedly — and said more for self-defence than with the intention to hurt — was what made Mitsutada finally give up on him… Ookurikara doesn’t like how that feels. How that makes his heart feel. How that makes his heart make his body feel. Human bodies are fucking weird.

When Ookurikara finally shifts his focus to what’s he’s been subconsciously doing with his hands, he has already rounded the edges of his thumbnails impeccably, and is doing the same to his index finger. Human bodies are so fucking weird.

He hears the crunch of leaves being stepped on from somewhere behind him, then a thud which probably means that whoever was creeping up on him hit their head against that discharge-brimming branch Ookurikara also hit his head against on his way to this spot he has claimed for himself, a good ways away from the others, and finally, a hurried mutter of so lame, which Ookurikara can recognize even if life brings him to a point where he has to transform into a godforsaken fingernail.

“What,” Ookurikara says.

“Nothing,” Mitsutada says.

Mitsutada plops himself next to Ookurikara, carefully avoiding his folded jacket on the ground, and wordlessly observes the stream flowing before them. Ookurikara’s heart starts doing something that feels like an ungodly combination of fast-paced dancing and pulse-based giggling, and he almost breaks his middle finger’s nail trying to get it to calm down.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Mitsutada says, then, as if Ookurikara isn’t three seconds away from forcing his sword down his own throat if that would mean it would reach his heart and make it shut up. “I didn’t mean to—”

Mitsutada stops, sighs, turns to Ookurikara, and says, “You know, actually, never mind.”

So in the span of exactly one week and a day, Ookurikara has felt such colossally horrifying things happening in his body when it comes to Mitsutada, like his heartbeat speeding up, his fingers going cold, his face getting warmer, that he almost doesn’t realize that he’s tilting his head to get a better look at Mitsutada. But he does, and he abruptly stops himself from sabotaging this further, but Mitsutada’s already looking at him, a little surprised, so Ookurikara continues staring.

There are probably more consequential things Ookurikara should think about other than how Mitsutada’s eye isn’t all that bad to look at, but that’s what he ends up thinking about anyway.

He sits there, still, peering into Mitsutada’s face as he reciprocates. And suddenly, Ookurikara sees something move in a corner of his vision.

Then, everything moves.

“You’re shitting me,” Ookurikara says quietly.

⚔

“I kinda wish I was,” Mitsutada replies, just as quietly.

Ookurikara clicks his tongue and draws his sword the moment Mitsutada does. He thought the Time Retrograde Army had been wiped out, that they could lay low until their next predicted appearance, that they had protected history and that it was all over, but looking at the scene before them just proves to Mitsutada that that notion was completely false.

The enemies are… everywhere.

“Where did this clusterfuck come from,” Ookurikara says. “Weren’t we done?”

“I thought so too,” Mitsutada says, shifting so he can approximate just how many were ambushing them. It’s in such situations that he feels disadvantaged because of his eye, but he tries to get a good look, and fails terribly. There are too many.

There’s no way for only the two of them to fend off all their attacks, especially since this is Ookurikara’s first time being dispatched. The enemies they faced before were many but not that skilled, but Mitsutada has been on the battlefield in this form enough times to gauge their level even before they engage in combat. Their safest bet is to get closer to the rest of their unit and—

“I’m going to fight.”

Mitsutada immediately spins to face Ookurikara. “We cannot fight these many, we need to get help—”

“I’m going to fight,” Ookurikara repeats, and it takes everything Mitsutada has in him to not strangle him. “You can go do that.”

“I have experience with this, and you don’t,” Mitsutada firmly says. He meets Ookurikara’s glare with one of his own. “Out here, I’m responsible for you and your actions. I’m your Captain. You need to listen to me.”

Ookurikara clenches his jaw, and there is a fire in his eyes that takes Mitsutada back to memories of long, long ago, of people from long, long ago, and flashes of dirt and flesh and blood. He forces them away and continues levelling eye contact with him, listening carefully for any sound that would indicate the enemy’s movement. Ookurikara slowly bares his teeth, like a ferocious beast, and Mitsutada feels, for a second, that he would spit in his face and go ahead with attacking the Time Retrograde Army brainlessly.

“Fine then,” Ookurikara grits out instead of clawing at Mitsutada’s face. “What’s your plan, Captain?”

Mitsutada instantly looks up at the tantou that hurls itself in their direction. A small laugh escapes him as he thinks about how kind they were to let Ookurikara and him talk without any interruption so far, and how the sharpness in Ookurikara’s voice as he said that last bit could cut down a whole mountain.

“Let’s try to lure them to the others.” Mitsutada slashes another tantou as it attacks him. “After that we— Behind you!”

Ookurikara swiftly turns and drives his sword all the way through the uchigatana aiming its weapon at him. Mitsutada watches it disappear into the air, then sees how exhausted Ookurikara looks, his shirt soaked through with sweat and his breathing laboured. Of course, this is their second battle in just the span of a few hours, on top of this being Ookurikara’s first mission, and it’s taking its toll on his body.

Mitsutada glances around the area again. They’re heavily outnumbered; there’s no way the two of them could even begin to try and beat them. The others have to get here soon.

He’s forced to step back as a tachi pounces on him and begins attacking with sheer strength and no obvious tactic. He notices Ookurikara going through the same ordeal, and calls, “Aim for its neck and finish it off quickly. We should hurry back to the others.”

“I know!” Ookurikara yells, doing as Mitsutada says.

They’ve been moving towards the direction of their camp with every attack, and they should soon be in the others’ range of sight and hearing.

By the time he cuts down another tantou, he finds his back pressed against Ookurikara’s, and he can sense the amount of strain in Ookurikara’s body by just that much. He scrutinizes the space around them again, and braces himself for what’s about to come. They’re entirely surrounded, but Mitsutada’s more worried about Ookurikara’s current health than whatever’s about to come.

He’s panting too hard, his posture strangely different, and when Mitsutada tilts his head so he can see if he’s in the position to continue, he sees his eyes downcast and out of focus, a deep cut on his shoulder and blood on his shirt that Mitsutada can’t determine the origin of, and a—

“GET DOWN,” Mitsutada yells, swerving towards the naginata lunging at Ookurikara and pushing him out of the way. He brings up his blade to block the attack but he’s overpowered, and he’s sent skidding on the ground. He gets up immediately, goes to attack before the other can, but in his hurry he doesn’t notice the tachi coming up behind him on time.

Before he knows what’s happening, there’s a cut on his cheek and a stabbing pain in his thigh. He finishes off the naginata before turning to the tachi at his rear, but it gets him first and he howls in pain.

He vaguely registers Ookurikara running towards him as he finds some strength in his body to cut the tachi as he goes down. It’s absolutely lame, but as he’s losing consciousness, instead of something useful, he thinks about how human bodies are so… fascinating.

“What the fuck,” Ookurikara says when Mitsutada closes his eyes, and his voice is… soft. A little frail, as if he’s on the verge of tears, and Mitsutada kind of wishes that were true. “Mitsutada. Why did you do that. Who the fuck told you to. Why did you—”

“I had to,” Mitsutada says. After all, we’re—

Something’s being pressed against his arm and the place under his ribcage that won’t stop hurting, and he hisses. He wants to see what’s happening, he wants to fight and protect his comrades, he wants to go back and tell the saniwa that they’ve returned having done the best they could, but more than anything else, he just wants to look at Ookurikara. So he tries, but it’s impossible for him to keep his eyes open for more than a few moments.

It hurts all over, then it doesn’t, and then it does again. He can hear the enemies’ snarls and Ookurikara’s heavy breathing and he hates how he can’t do anything about anything.

He finds himself wondering if this where it all ends. And if it is, then, he can't show off anymore, huh...?

Things seem to go silent then, but he picks up voices soon after. It’s distant, but Mitsutada hears the clash of steel against steel, and someone screaming. He wills himself to open his eyes with whatever little power he has left in his body.

“SHOKUDAIKIRI!” Kashuu is shouting, but Ookurikara’s face is the only thing Mitsutada can see when he regains focus for a few seconds. He knows it’s the worst time to think of this, but he ends up thinking about how Ookurikara is simply… beautiful, even if there’s blood and mud splattered across his body and he looks like he’s about to skin someone alive this very instant. “TAKE HIM AWAY. TAKE HIM SOMEWHERE—”

“I FUCKING KNOW,” Ookurikara barks.

Mitsutada loses consciousness then, but instead of the heaviness that overtakes him when he usually blacks out, he feels light, weightless. As if gravity doesn’t affect him anymore. As if he isn’t human now. As if he’s at the side of Lord Masamune, resting inside the scabbard that belonged to him alone, held firmly in place by the grip of his master’s hand and nothing else.

He smiles.

⚔

He growls.

It’s dark, stuffy, moist, and his nose won’t stop bleeding. He had thought that seeing that pissdrunk spear naked was the worst thing, but this cave is the most anathematic shelter he has ever set foot in.

The walls are lined with moss and insects of unidentifiable genesis, the floor is marshy and will probably kill someone if they aren’t careful, the smell of death and excrement looms in the air, and the roof is something Ookurikara does not want to acknowledge the presence of by looking up.

He takes another step cautiously so as to not step into the shit that looks like it might take him into some godforsaken abyss and to not cause Mitsutada any discomfort. He lifts Mitsutada higher on his back by pushing his thighs up, and nearly drops him when he whimpers gingerly.

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Ookurikara hisses at Mitsutada more because of his self-defense urges than his rebuttal instincts.

When he finds a sufficiently unshitty place in the cave, he unloads Mitsutada from his back and onto the rock that looks like the altar of some demonic ritual that might leave them eternally cursed but, at least, wouldn’t give either of them any unsanitary diseases.

Ookurikara never thought the day would come when he was going to be taking care of something that didn’t have four paws, pointed ears, and a tail, but being mortal has so far proved to be a gift that keeps on giving, or in his case, an asshole that keeps on sh—

Mitsutada stirs, and Ookurikara’s attention goes back to his wounds. He had used the cloth around his waist to tie up the parts of Mitsutada’s body that wouldn’t stop bleeding, trying to recollect all of Hasebe’s words from before they were sent into this era (“This is a safety instructions demonstration. Yes, like in aircrafts. No, I am not going to show all of you how to tie a seatbelt. Master did not tell me anything about seatbelts. In fact, I worry about Master’s lack of use of seatbelts in their daily life. I will have a word with them immediately.” He had then handed each of them a weird device with his face in it. “Meanwhile, you all should watch the audiovisual representation of the safety instructions that I recorded for times like this. Good luck.”) and making sure he didn’t further aggravate any gashes.

He’s still so angry about Mitsutada, even if he’s pressing his hand to his forehead gently now, checking for a fever. How dare he push Ookurikara away like that. He didn’t ask him to. He didn’t want Mitsutada to protect him. He didn’t need protection. He didn’t want Mitsutada to take his place. He didn’t want Mitsutada to get hurt.

He grabs hold of the fabric of his shirt, right over his chest. There’s a pain somewhere in there that he can’t explain. It feels terrible, a hundred times worse than how guilt makes him feel, and he really doesn’t know what to do anymore.

His insides seem to give up on him then, because he suddenly doubles over and throws up, then feels so light-headed that he thinks he’s going to die. His nose still won’t stop bleeding and he thinks his ankle got twisted somewhere along the way, but— but what aches more than anything else is his heart. He hates this human body so much.

Heaving a sigh, he gently takes a seat next to Mitsutada so that he doesn’t disturb him, and somewhere between counting Mitsutada’s breaths and how many times blades clash against each other above them, he drifts off.

“It’s time to go home,” Tsurumaru says, shaking Ookurikara awake.

The first thing he sees is Sadamune draped over Tsurumaru’s shoulders and he shoots up, reaching forward, and immediately collapses to the ground. He clenches his jaw. He can’t even stand. Things could be— would be different if only he was stronger.

He tries to get up again, but can’t. He looks to his side to hold on to something to help him up and— “Where’s Mitsutada—”

“Home, Kara-bou,” Tsurumaru says, softer this time, nodding to a spot behind him where he sees Kashuu and Midare carrying Mitsutada. If only he was stronger. “Let’s go.”

Ookurikara then closes his eyes, doesn’t say anything about the way Tsurumaru’s clothes aren’t white anymore, takes his hand and gets on his feet once more.

Ookurikara doesn’t leave the spot next to Mitsutada’s futon for the next three days. He only ventures out every now and then to check up on Sadamune and Tsurumaru, who hadn’t suffered any fatal wounds like Mitsutada, but really just fatigued a bit, no big deal, Kara-bou, and to ask if Midare or Kashuu wanted anything from the gardens whenever that Awataguchi doctor guy forcefully sent him out of the repair room, just as he’s trying to right now.

“I will stay here,” Ookurikara says, narrowing his eyes to scare the small one away.

“No you won’t, you little shit,” the small one says, clearly not scared of Ookurikara’s narrowed eyes.

It has been three days since they returned and got this guy and the saniwa to check up on Mitsutada, and although they said he wasn’t in danger anymore, he wasn’t showing any signs of waking up.

Ookurikara closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. He has now, after over seventy two hours since they all returned to the Citadel, come to terms with the fact that he likes looking at Mitsutada’s face, but there’s a limit to how many times he can think of how good his sleeping face’s left profile is, and he needs to be here the moment Mitsutada wakes up to— to overwrite that thought with something else. Or something.

“I will stay here,” Ookurikara says again, squinting, this time, to add more intimidation to his narrowed eyes.

“No, you won’t,” the Awataguchi says, crossing his arms over his chest, then pressing the tip of his toe against Ookurikara’s bandaged ankle and smiling with an edge of sadism when Ookurikara flinches and takes a step back.

He doesn’t know what made him want to atone for being a jerk ever since he got back with his unit. It could have been anything: Mitsutada’s reprimanding, Mitsutada’s selflessness, Mitsutada’s bravery, Mitsutada’s—

Mitsutada.

His heart hurts again and he balls his hands into fists to stop them from coming up to press against his chest or his ears or his entire damn face. He’s so ashamed of himself. It wouldn’t have killed him to be a little nicer when it really mattered, and yet. And yet.

“Tell me,” Ookurikara sighs, finally, “when this shitstain wakes up.”

But it isn’t the Awataguchi who responds, and Ookurikara almost sprains his neck because of how fast he jerks his head to look at Mitsutada.

“I missed you too, Kara-chan,” Mitsutada says.

Ookurikara groans; he really hates everything in life.

⚔

Mitsutada laughs; he really loves everything in life.

He couldn’t believe that he had been unconscious for three days straight, but after looking at the pile of get well soon gifts beside his bed and the way Ookurikara lurches towards Mitsutada when he wakes up, it becomes a little easier to put faith in.

His body aches all over, and it especially hurts in those places that were damaged and have been tended to by Yagen, but he’s sure it would have been so much worse if no one had paid attention to it and if the saniwa hadn’t used their healing powers on him. Even Ookurikara’s shoulder seems to have been taken care of, because he’s in his jersey now, as if nothing’s wrong. Mitsutada has to thank them both personally later, but for now, he continues sitting up, his legs crossed under the blanket, fondly watching Ookurikara rummage through his presents.

Ookurikara waits till Mitsutada’s laughter dissolves into the occasional giggle, and says, “Should I go on.”

He doesn’t feel too bad about making Ookurikara read out the notes attached to the gifts on the tatami by his futon, because the monotonous, deadpan voice Ookurikara uses to read even the cutest Shokudaikiri-san, fighting! is the best kind of comedy he could ask for in such a dull place where he can’t keep himself occupied with other things. Plus, Ookurikara seemed strangely bent on wanting to remain in the repair room with Mitsutada, so why not? “Yes, please.”

“Boutique coupons from Kashuu and Midare,” Ookurikara reads off the note attached to what seems to be the actual coupons from Kashuu and Midare. “It says ‘There are three here, all stolen from Master, so you can… go… to the boutique. It’s not like we wanted to go or anything. No, really, just go. Go thrice. I don’t know,’ and there’s a badly drawn heart nearby which has a speech bubble next to it that says ‘Kyaaaaa!’”

Mitsutada snorts, then throws his head back as he laughs, and trying to make his voice as impassive as Ookurikara’s, he repeats, “‘Kyaaaaa!’”

Ookurikara stares quietly as Mitsutada wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye, and Mitsutada moves his hand to the other side and shifts his eyepatch out of habit. It’s only when Ookurikara’s gaze shifts that he realizes that his gloves aren’t on him, and he immediately drops his hand. It’s counterproductive, because he’s wearing neither his gloves nor his shirt, and feeling so conscious about the former only aids in making him feel conscious about the latter.

He hopes Ookurikara doesn’t notice that, and is about to bring something else up when Ookurikara says, “The next one’s from an unknown sender.”

“Unknown?” He’s grateful that their conversation didn’t go down the road he didn’t want it to, but an unknown sender intrigues him. “Everyone knows everyone here. How is it—”

“It’s unsigned,” Ookurikara quickly says. “Do you want to open it?”

Mitsutada blinks. “Sure? I mean, unless it’s one of Tsuru-san’s pranks again. Being punched in the face with something that will knock me out doesn’t sound too appealing. I’ve been sleeping quite soundly for a while now.”

Ookurikara snorts as he hands Mitsutada the small package, and the realization that this is the first time Ookurikara has shown something vaguely resembling a smile while they’re both sober messes with Mitsutada a bit.

As Mitsutada fiddles with the brown paper packaging of the present, Ookurikara opens the note attached to the back of it. “It says, ‘Not sure how repairs work here or if this helps, but at least it won’t kill you. I guess.’”

“Now I’m really worried,” Mitsutada says, opening the gift with precaution because that I guess part at the end of the message didn’t sound too friendly.

As he unwraps the paper, Mitsutada wonders if the reason Ookurikara won’t leave the room is because he wants to tell Mitsutada off for not only getting in his way, but for also going ahead and almost breaking himself in the process, and he’s now waiting for the right moment. That really seems like the most plausible reason for Ookurikara to be here.

He glances up at Ookurikara for a moment, and Ookurikara is glaring at him. That proves it. He’s here to completely finish off Mitsutada because he couldn’t even finish himself off correctly. He looks down, his feelings somewhere between fear and shame, and squeezes his get well soon present in his hand.

It’s an uchiko ball. Now that message makes sense. The saniwa usually uses uchiko balls to get rid of minor scratches on their swords, but that’s when they’re… swords. Once they’re in their human form, things get a little complicated, but almost everyone knows that already. Someone who doesn’t know of this should be someone who probably forgot about the ineffectiveness of uchiko balls on this form, or someone who didn’t care enough to know about it in the first place, or someone… new.

He looks up at Ookurikara, and stops. The tip of his nose is red, his brows are knit together in worry, and his lips are pursed together so adorably that Mitsutada just… stops. He stops, but the warm feeling inside him doesn’t. It won’t. It can’t.

“Do you,” Mitsutada begins, trying to suppress the giggle that’s bubbling up in him. “Want to use this. On me?”

Ookurikara doesn’t say anything, but simply stares at Mitsutada, so he takes this as his cue to hand the uchiko ball to Ookurikara, then extends his arm towards him. But while doing so, Mitsutada shifts his arm a little too much and immediately winces. The pain subsides almost immediately, but when he looks up, Ookurikara’s face has completely changed. It’s like he’s on the verge of crying, and Mitsutada, again, stops.

He doesn’t know why he’s able to read Ookurikara so well today. Or has Ookurikara always been easy to read, and was Mitsutada the one not paying attention? Or maybe— does the purpose of Ookurikara not leaving him alone here have something to do with... how he blames himself for whatever happened on the battlefield? Can Mitsutada even let himself think that Ookurikara cared that much for him?

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to, and Ookurikara seems to be in a similar position.

Gently, almost experimentally, Ookurikara holds Mitsutada’s arm with one hand, and brings the uchiko ball in the other up to tap it against his forearm, the powder in the cloth dispersing so mildly that Mitsutada doesn’t even notice it.

He brings his gaze back up to meet Ookurikara’s, and again, just stops.

It’s somewhere between the end of summer and the start of fall, and it has been sunny all morning. It’s a recurring theme at this point, but Mitsutada’s been in love with many things around him, including nature. No matter what the weather is like outside, he loves it. He spends hours admiring how beautiful the world looks, now that he can experience so much more of it in this form, but not today. He can’t today.

How can Mitsutada take his eyes off Ookurikara to marvel at the sky when he looks so radiant like this. From the sunlight filtering in through the shōji making him glow around his edges as if he is a being not from here, right up to the way his barely-visible freckles seem to shine like constellations by themselves, to the look in his eyes that, even now, reminds Mitsutada of olden times, masters, battles and so much more.

It’s a recurring theme at this point, he knows that, but Mitsutada’s been in love with many things around him, and he realizes that what he feels for Ookurikara might not be too far off from that.

Later, he’ll blame his actions on a mixture of things like his head feeling lightweight and his vision being blurry because of the sunshine hitting his face, but for now, he’s content to let himself believe that he’s bending forward just because he wants to.

Ookurikara continues tapping the uchiko ball near Mitsutada’s wrist, and Mitsutada takes his time to appreciate the parts of Ookurikara’s dragon that are visible on his arm, twisting and coiling and strikingly beautiful on his skin.

As he leans towards Ookurikara, he expects Ookurikara to drop his arm or pull back or punch him in the face or something, but he doesn’t. The movements of his hands have stopped but he doesn’t do anything, simply watches, and Mitsutada studies each of Ookurikara’s lineaments with utmost reverence.

Memories of Ookurikara calling him a crab, of all things in this world, and of him yelling at Mitsutada as he passed out seem so distant, now, when he’s looking into Ookurikara’s eyes and learning things anew. It’s paradoxical because it’s when he’s around Ookurikara that he recalls times and people and emotions long past, and yet, he feels like none of that ever happened.

They’re so close now that Mitsutada can see Ookurikara holding his breath and himself in his eyes. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, but he wants to do it all.

Ookurikara’s eyelashes flutter, and Mitsutada closes his eyes, engraving the sight into his memory because he won’t see something so ethereal ever again. He wants to kiss him. He wants— He wants—

After all, we’re—

“I am here!” Sadamune announces, sliding the door to the repair room open. As Sadamune laughs, Mitsutada squeaks because of how tight Ookurikara’s grip on his arm becomes. “Kara-chan has been summoned.”

“What,” Ookurikara says hoarsely as Sadamune grabs Ookurikara’s shoulders and begins dragging him out of the room.

Without intending to, Mitsutada says “Wait!” and bites his lower lip as he tries to come up with something to say. Both Sadamune and Ookurikara are looking at him, so he looks down at his lap, then sees some of his get well soon presents scattered there.

“You can take this, I guess,” he says, handing the boutique coupons Kashuu and Midare had given him to Ookurikara. He really didn’t know what else to say without somehow declaring something terribly lame with respect to Ookurikara.

⚔

“I’m not going with you, you undulating assholes,” he says, handing the boutique coupons Kashuu and Midare had given Mitsutada back to Kashuu and Midare. He doesn’t have anything else to say that wouldn’t somehow end up with him screaming Mitsutada’s name.

Although he had aimed his words at Kashuu and Midare, who are now looking at him as if he brought his Shiba in the backyard into the Citadel and said it was his long lost uncle, it’s Hasebe, who’s passing by them in the hallway, who whirls around to face Ookurikara and distastefully says, “Your words— do you truly have no god? Is your soul that callous?”

And that takes Ookurikara back to thinking about Mitsutada’s lips. Which looked— not callous. Just very soft. And nice. Like his cheeks. And stupid hair.

“My soul has been forged in hatred,” Ookurikara says instead, crossing his arms over his chest. “I live this punishment called life with the expectation that it will end—”

“Right,” Hasebe says, sighing, and going back from where he came. “Good day.”

When he’s out of earshot, Kashuu groans, then says, “Listen, fuck you and your gods, but we have three coupons and the terms and conditions clearly state that the offer can only be claimed if there are three people. So you come with us, or we’ll tell Master that you’ve been harbouring illicit feelings for—”

Ookurikara flinches. How did they find out about Mitsutada.

“—that dog you’re domesticating in the backyard,” Midare finishes, twirling his hair between his fingers. When a long strand comes off, he stops.

Ookurikara thinks back to the first time he saw the Shiba trotting around the backyard as if it belonged there and all these bizarre creatures with their weapons and hair and annoying habit of washing clothes were the ones who intruded on its land.

It had been distant at first, leaping away from Ookurikara’s reach and crouching so that his hand wouldn’t reach its head, not even looking at the crumbs of bread he would place near it. But slowly, with some patience and persistence, it had grown attached to Ookurikara. He hadn’t met the saniwa formally yet, so he didn’t know what would happen if the news of him bringing a stray animal into their Citadel reached them. He has strong feelings for the Shiba, and if the saniwa does something to it, he’d probably end up killing some unnecessary stuff which would, undoubtedly, make Mitsutada upset.

So, “Fine,” he forces himself to say. The matching grins that the other two wear are nothing short of satanic.

He has to admit that the chairs in this place are surprisingly comfortable. He also didn’t know that chairs had the power to spin, and looking at Midare spinning around in his seat beside him, laughing gleefully, makes him want to spin too. His feet are about to push himself off the floor so he can, but a glance at Kashuu’s smirking face makes him freeze. He isn’t supposed to enjoy this. He was blackmailed into coming here.

“Ah,” Midare suddenly says. “Is that Souza-san?”

Ookurikara turns to see what Midare’s pointing at. It is that guy. Ookurikara thinks he wouldn’t notice them, but Kashuu’s lousy whistle is a little hard to miss in a place playing a soothing instrumental tune over the speakers.

“Oh, hello,” Souza says, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way over to them. Ookurikara notes how it looks sort of bouncier than usual. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, we’re here because—” Kashuu stops abruptly. He peers into Souza’s face for a few seconds and frowns. “Souza, are you crying?”

“I am not,” Souza replies. Ookurikara sees his watering eyes and realizes that Souza is, in fact, crying. Or is about to. He hasn’t spoken to Souza much outside of their usual farming chores, but the fact that he seems to be on the verge of tears doesn’t sit right with Ookurikara.

“You look like you are.”

“I,” Souza says, his fingers carding through his hair again. “I am merely watering my skin.”

Ookurikara can’t help the snort that leaves him, but he schools his expression into his usual blank stare when Midare gives him a dirty look, then directs it at the plastic potted plant in front of him that won’t stop waving at him. How is it even waving at him.

“What’s wrong, Souza-san?” Midare asks, worry evident in his voice.

“Well…”

“What happened?”

Souza sighs, and once again, musses his hair. Then, he whispers, “I was called a degenerate subhuman who would not be given the haircut I want because I would look like a dunce.”

Ookurikara’s face contorts into something that makes him look horrible in the mirror across him, and he swears Kashuu’s hand shoots to his side where he’d have his sword on him during battle. There’s some heat radiating off Midare that almost sears his side, so Ookurikara turns to Souza and offers him his best nod of consolation.

Right then, a lady with a clipboard walks into the room and asks them if they’re ready. Kashuu and Midare say yes in unison before Ookurikara can shake his head and ask her to show him the way out. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to find the exit, and honestly, he’s still a little surprised that the two of them could navigate through the place so expertly.

Souza takes his leave, and Kashuu and Midare take their seats on either side of Ookurikara. He can see Midare tapping his feet against the floor and hear Kashuu humming a melody that sounds awfully similar to the one he hears the Okita fanatic whistle after they spar. Their excitement seems to have rubbed off on him to some extent, because what he feels when three people come up to them with warm smiles and warmer towels is not the right dimension of apprehension he expected himself to feel.

Human bodies… are really weird.

“And when you go out you don’t want to wear too much makeup,” Midare says, reading a magazine article that Ookurikara is quite sure the drunk ootachi fucker in their Citadel published. “Because otherwise boys get the wrong idea, and you know how they are; they’re only after one thing.”

He hates this. He hates this so much. He hates the fact that he’s actually not hating every bit of this. His skin feels fresh, as if it has caught a glimpse of the promised land and can’t ever feel dull again, and his feet feel so soft that he’s actually, genuinely alarmed, and his hands— his hands are now the fucking best.

He also seems to have grown fond of these two demons in the span of a single hour, during which Kashuu had taken great interest in laughing at the faces Ookurikara made when he was given a pedicure and Midare had taught Ookurikara how to play Cat’s Cradle, that he’s not only admiring the way they’re glowing now but is also paying attention to their words.

“Really?” Ookurikara says now. “What’s that?”

Midare smiles. “I don’t know. Ichi-nii won’t tell me.”

Kashuu takes the magazine from Midare’s hands when the boutique person finishes unleashing some insane power on his nails and moves towards Ookurikara to maybe do the same for his. Kashuu’s nails look sparkly and red and Ookurikara feels that nice, tingly thing happening in his chest again. He’s going to get his nails painted and he’s anticipating it. He hates this so much.

“Midare, we have to make him do the Quiz.” The look Kashuu shoots Midare after saying that is so evil that Ookurikara shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yeah!” Midare says, shooting out of his seat and positioning himself next to Ookurikara to perform, according to Ookurikara, a demonic ritual. “I kind of know the answer already though.”

Confirming Ookurikara’s suspicion, Midare picks up a lock of Ookurikara’s hair in his hands and begins… braiding it. He’s literally fucking braiding it. And Ookurikara isn’t having a problem with it. What in the motherfucking name of fuck did this boutique do to him.

“So, Ookurikara,” Kashuu says, nudging Ookurikara’s shoulder with his own. “You have to answer the five questions I ask you with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, okay?”

“No,” Ookurikara says, and Kashuu rolls his eyes the same time the lady painting his nails looks up to smile at them.

“Is there someone you can’t stop thinking about?” Kashuu asks, as if Ookurikara hadn’t said anything.

There is someone he can’t stop thinking about. It’s one of the most irritating things that has happened to him in his short period of cognizance.

He nods, and Kashuu continues, “Is there someone you care about deeply?”

Again, there is someone he cares about deeply. Enough to want to stay by his bedside while he stayed asleep for three whole days. Enough to want to wrap up an uchiko ball in fancy paper and give it to him to help him recover. Enough to want to close his eyes when he thought he was about to be kissed.

Ignoring the heat creeping up his neck and the way Midare’s grip tightens on his hair, he nods, slowly, and Kashuu further continues, “Is there someone you find very charming?”

Charming. Who wouldn’t, really, so he nods again.

There’s an honest to god glint in Kashuu’s eyes as he says, “If these three are the same person then.”

“Then?” Ookurikara asks.

“Then it’s Shokudaikiri-san,” Midare says, stepping back to survey his work on Ookurikara’s hair. “Isn’t it?”

Ookurikara stares at the way his nails are being— he doesn’t know exactly, but… filed? He also really wishes he could use that small steel thing to file his existence into a gaping void this very moment.

“It’s obvious,” Kashuu says, sounding more and more like the Prince of Hell with every word he speaks. “Y’all are like this juxtaposition.”

When Midare cocks his head at him, he shrugs. “I heard Kasen say that last week.”

“What does he have to do with any of this,” Ookurikara says through gritted teeth.

“Nothing,” Kashuu says, closes the magazine and places it on the table before them, then puts his elbow on it and rests his face in his hand. “Ookurikara, do you like him?”

“Who.” If Ookurikara is going to go down, he won’t go down without putting up a fight anyway.

Midare sighs, then twirls his ponytail in his hand until, predictably, a strand comes loose in his hand. “That was a Three Signs You’re In Love quiz. And you, Ookurikara-san—”

“—are in love,” Kashuu finishes, winking.

The way his heart beats against his chest as he hears that is the worst thing Ookurikara thinks he’s ever going to feel, because he suddenly wants to fall to the floor and laugh. Love. That’s what this is.

Human bodies are so fucking weird. So fucking weird.

When they finally leave the boutique with their faces and hands and feet and hair feeling fucking incredible, there is a particular scent that catches his attention and makes him stop in his tracks.

“Go on ahead,” Ookurikara says, turning to the direction of the smell. And as an afterthought, he adds, “I’ll be back.”

If this is what love feels like, then he’s going to show it who makes the goddamn rules here.

⚔

If this is what love feels like, then he’s going to play it right, according to the rules.

It’s been two weeks since the day he was brought back to the Citadel, faint and almost bleeding to death. The initial days after he regained consciousness were quite lively because of the other swords coming over to greet him and offer him their prayers or gifts or in one case, clothes. But after a while, everyone had gotten on with their lives, and it left him feeling melancholic because of how blaringly it reminded him that he’s just another sword from the Osafune school here. How he isn’t important enough for the others to think of him regularly. How he isn’t precious enough for someone to care about him all the time.

His only regular visitors now are the members of his unit, but more than half of them are in the same room as him at all times, considering they live there, so he doesn’t know how far he can call it visiting.

But that brings him to his next point of worry: Ookurikara. How is Mitsutada supposed to “play it right” if he hasn’t seen Ookurikara in days? Their futons are lined right next to each other. Their seats in the dining hall are adjacent to each other. They share the same slot on the bath schedule. And yet, he hasn’t seen him since that day in the repair room. Mitsutada… really doesn’t know what has happened for Ookurikara to want to avoid him like this.

That’s a lie. Mitsutada knows exactly what has happened for Ookurikara to want to avoid him like this.

He groans into his hands, and Tsurumaru lightly pokes his side, then kicks his foot with his own. There’s a cricket in the grass near their feet that seems to take offense at Tsurumaru’s actions and promptly hops away.

“What’s up, Mitsu-bou?” Tsurumaru leans towards Mitsutada on the engawa, and has this grin on his face which shows that he knows what’s up but won’t relent today. But then again, Mitsutada’s been around Tsurumaru long enough to learn that the game he’s playing can definitely be played by two.

“What’s up with you, Tsuru-san?” Mitsutada hums, then tilts his head to a side. “Is Ichigo-san not around lately?”

Tsurumaru’s face darkens immediately. Mitsutada might have gotten scared, before, of the way his eyes narrow and his lips press into a thin line, but now he just watches the transformation carefully.

“Listen here,” Tsurumaru says, settling back to his position and staring straight ahead at the Samonji family digging something up in the backyard. “That’s a sensitive topic.”

Mitsutada doesn’t say anything. He still doesn’t understand what the three brothers have been trying to unearth, but he lets that slide as turns to Tsurumaru.

Softly, Tsurumaru says, “Osaka.”

That one word is enough to shut Mitsutada up. Ichigo might put on a strong front for his brothers that they admire and the others commend, but like them all, there’s another side to him that reveals itself when he returns to the Citadel from Osaka Castle without their brother alongside him, when his brothers rush up to him with expectant eyes that scan the area for someone else, and it’s— it’s heartbreaking.

Mitsutada knows how much Tsurumaru feels for Ichigo, and he mumbles a quick sorry before Tsurumaru scoots closer to him and presses their sides together. Mitsutada’s body has recovered almost fully by now, so he leans into Tsurumaru as well.

“Let’s believe in him, Mitsu-bou,” he says, grinning. “We might just meet someone surprising soon.”

Mitsutada nods as Tsurumaru reaches out to ruffle his hair. In a way, he’s glad Ichigo has someone like Tsurumaru who cares this much for him, and in another way, he’s glad Tsurumaru has someone like Ichigo who cares just as much for him.

The thought of whether anyone would feel for him, even only an iota of what these two feel for each other, crosses his mind momentarily before he shakes it away. He won’t die if he isn’t first place in someone’s heart. In Ookurikara’s heart, particularly. If it happens, it happens; if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

Or that’s what he thought he’d believe before he hears Ookurikara’s voice going, “Shut up, Sada. I’m not going to give it to—”

He stops when he comes around the corner and sees Mitsutada. Mitsutada notices his gaze flicking from between Mitsutada to Tsurumaru to the place where they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, side to side. Then, he puts his hand behind his back when Sadamune catches up with him, snapping him out of whatever he was lost in. Mitsutada knows he’s holding something, but he’s too far to make out just what.

“Sada-bou and Kara-bou!” Tsurumaru calls, waving them over. “Is that food?”

“Tsuru-san, it isn’t food, but it’s—” Sadamune starts until Ookurikara slaps a hand over his mouth. “GANFANHANGH.”

“Ganfanhangh,” Tsurumaru repeats with eerie precision. “Is that—”

“No,” Ookurikara says.

“—a surprise?”

“GHFNH,” Sadamune says.

“No,” Ookurikara says again, and takes a step back, still facing them, and puts enough pressure on his other hand that even Sadamune takes a step back, still facing Mitsutada and Tsurumaru as well. Then they take another step, and another, and a few more, until they go back right from where they came and aren’t in their line of sight anymore.

Mitsutada frowns as Tsurumaru laughs, “That was something.”

There are many ways Mitsutada thought Ookurikara would react to their proximity the other day. He had almost expected to end up with a broken neck on top of all his wounds, but he was relatively unscathed that day, save for the dark bruise on his arm that formed because of Ookurikara’s grip when Sadamune suddenly entered the room. He had even thought Ookurikara would try to break things off with Mitsutada with his cutting words or actions, and yet, he hadn’t seen the guy for in weeks, and when he finally does, all he hears him say is no. Twice.

He groans, rests his head on Tsurumaru’s shoulder and sighs, “Tsuru-san, why is love like this.”

Tsurumaru whistles at that. Mitsutada expects him to say something superficial or to brush it off, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a thing.

So they sit there on the engawa outside their room, their arms brushing against each other, quietly staring at the Samonji brothers who now seem to have given up their initial plan of digging the ground and are staring up at the sky, and some odd sort of peace seems to take over Mitsutada’s mind.

Mitsutada sighs. Forget the rules, he doesn’t even know what the real meaning of love is.

⚔

Ookurikara clicks his tongue. Forget love, he doesn’t even need to make any damn rules for it.

“Kara-chan, you don’t need to be so scared,” Sadamune says, bringing Ookurikara’s hair — the longer, red part of it — up to put it between his nose and upper lip. “See, you even have a mustache now.”

Ookurikara swats his hand away and glares at him, then lets him repeat the action again. “I’m not scared.”

Sadamune snorts. “Of course you are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

As he opens his mouth to refute Sadamune again, Sadamune points to the stable door behind him and says, “Oh, it’s Micchan!”

Even Ookurikara is disturbed by how fast he ducks and finds his way to the clearing behind a haystack that he’d made for this very purpose. He stays silent as he hides there, and only comes out of it when he hears no one else except Sadamune laughing gloriously.

“Runt,” Ookurikara hisses as Sadamune doubles over in laughter, almost hitting a horse’s hoof while doing so.

When Sadamune finally stops laughing, almost a whole minute later, he wipes his tears and says, “You’re a comedic genius, Kara-chan.”

“I hate you.” It is true. In this moment, Ookurikara wouldn’t mind whipping out the thing, which he has been keeping out of everyone’s sight since two weeks ago, and has been guarding with extra attention since those two fools almost saw it in his hand yesterday, to use it on Sadamune’s face.

“No you don’t.” It is also true.

Sadamune seems to consider his lack of retort as cue for him to take off one of the feathers stuck in his hair to serve no apparent purpose. “You should just give it to him,” he says, then settles into a fighting stance, again, for no apparent reason.

Sadamune’s simple-minded stupidity is astounding. All his solutions for Ookurikara’s problems until now are to carry out the exact events Ookurikara does his best to avoid. In fact, they aren’t solutions at all; they’re just the idiot’s split-second thoughts in response to an unresolved situation placed before him.

“You just thought bad stuff about me, didn’t you?” Sadamune says, extracting another feather from his hair.

“I didn’t,” Ookurikara says, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he takes an attacking stance too, just in case. Sadamune’s only a shrimp, but he can be a huge pain when he wants to be.

And exactly as Ookurikara expects him to, he shouts, “TASTE MY WRATH,” and charges at Ookurikara with the two feathers clutched in his hands pointing towards him.

The moment Sadamune’s feathers touch his neck, he knows he’s fighting a battle he has already lost. Why are human bodies so fucking sensitive. He loses his strength as he laughs, his body unable to overcome the sensation of being tickled with just the power of his mind, and falls to the ground on his knees.

Sadamune is ruthless, not even letting Ookurikara breathe between each tickle. He’s also really good at dodging, because no matter what Ookurikara does, he can’t grab hold of Sadamune at all.

“See, Kara-chan?” Sadamune says, slowly sounding more and more like the devil, “I wanted to make you smile, and I just… did it!”

Between laughing fits, Ookurikara wheezes, “Your… point…?”

“If you want to do something, just do it.”

Sadamune stops tickling him then, but the smile on Ookurikara’s face doesn’t leave him. He thinks this might be that disgusting thing the Awataguchi doctor guy talks about whenever he sees him in the hallway. Dolphins or endorphins or something like that.

“Ah,” Sadamune says, finally getting off Ookurikara’s chest, “it’s Micchan!”

Ookurikara doesn’t get up, even though Sadamune isn’t physically trapping him on the ground now, and rolls his eyes. “And I’m a moron like you who falls for the same things twice.”

Sadamune nudges Ookurikara’s side with his toe, and says, “It is him.”

He’s about to flip him the bird when a voice that absolutely belongs to Mitsutada says, “It’s me?”

The speed with which Ookurikara sits up is probably beyond human standards. The intensity of the glare that Ookurikara shoots at Sadamune is, also, probably beyond human standards.

“Oh,” he says, as Mitsutada stands there with a hand on his hip and another scratching his cheek and all that hair.

“Kara-chan,” he says, scratching his other cheek this time. “I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay?”

Ookurikara pushes himself off the ground and crosses his arms over his chest, more to make sure it doesn’t accidentally spill his heart out because of how bloody hard it seems to want to get out from there. He also narrows his eyes, because he does not know what to do about anything anymore. “There’s nothing I want to say to you.”

“You just need to listen,” Mitsutada says, adjusting his eyepatch.

Ookurikara looks away from him, because Mitsutada never fidgets, and these small gestures he’s making are, in turn, making Ookurikara uncomfortable. He clicks his tongue and moves to look at Sadamune.

Sadamune mumbles his name and pouts at him, and as Ookurikara’s gaze flicks to the feathers that Sadamune as already placed back in his hair, he thinks that maybe Sadamune’s stupidly simple manner of dealing with things might not be all that stupid or all that simple.

But as he gets up, he finds himself looking at Mitsutada, and he knows Mitsutada has been looking at him all along. What he feels then is like… a valve… breaking in his heart, and it’s painful.

He clenches his fists and makes his way out of the stables. He can’t do this.

⚔

He unclenches his fists and walks into the saniwa’s room. He has to do this.

“Master,” Mitsutada says, his head bowed. He’s already being insolent enough by entering the saniwa’s room without giving them any prior notice. The least he can do is to not be even more disrespectful, since his words could very well be interpreted in the wrong way. “Please dispatch my unit to—”

“Rejected.”

Mitsutada looks up. That wasn’t the saniwa speaking, that was— “Hasebe-kun? Why are you here?”

The amount of offense that Hasebe takes — and visibly shows by shooting up from the sofa he was sitting on — could be enough to start a war against a clan. “I am our Master’s faithful servant and their attendant. As they have been kept busy, I am in charge.”

“Oh,” Mitsutada says, perking up. “So you can help me—”

“Rejected,” Hasebe says with an air of finality that would dissuade others, but Mitsutada has known him for far too long to be discouraged by just this.

His request doesn’t have any logical basis, nor strategic, but Mitsutada’s gut feeling says that if he wants to clear things up with Ookurikara, it has to be done on the battlefield. It makes no sense, and even he understands that it’s presumptuous of him to ask the saniwa to send them out to the front lines so he can make up with someone he’s not on good terms with, but he’s at the end of his rope here.

“I can do it,” Mitsutada tries. “I heard something’s wrong where the second unit was sent last week.”

“No, “ Hasebe says, picking up a file of papers from the saniwa’s desk. “Even if that’s true, I won’t let you go.”

Mitsutada throws his hands up in exasperation, but Hasebe just shakes his head and continues, “You were injured only a few weeks ago. You will remain in the Citadel, no questions asked.”

It is next to impossible for Hasebe to be moved when he’s like this, but Mitsutada doesn’t give up, says, “I’ve healed completely. We can go spar right now if you want—”

“Rejected,” Hasebe says, for the third time. “We have many others who could be sent there to rectify things.”

Mitsutada sighs, “Hasebe-kun, I know about Osaka Castle and Mouri-kun’s situation.” Hasebe flinches at the mention of Mouri, but doesn’t look up from the papers he was going over, or trying to go over at least.

One of their comrades had sent them a letter about how they haven’t found Mouri yet, because unlike the other Toushirous, the intel and predictions they had received and were going by did not match their findings one bit, and that it’s been tough.

Hasebe seems to be wavering now, and Mitsutada grabs on to whatever he can.

“Rejec—”

“Hasebe-kun.” Mitsutada clasps his hands in front of him. “The Samonji brothers were performing a rather… peculiar event in the backyard the other day.”

Mitsutada sees how he has Hasebe’s full attention now, even if he’s still trying to flip through the papers in his hand like he doesn’t care. So he continues, “If you want to know more, you should dispatch my unit.”

In a way, Mitsutada’s grateful that he met Hasebe in the saniwa’s room instead of the saniwa themself, because he knows he can persuade Hasebe one way or another. Convincing the saniwa, on the other hand, would definitely be much harder. After all, their compassion exceeds the humanity of all the members of this Citadel combined, which makes them very careful while choosing who to send where, and if Mitsutada brought a request to them like this, only some weeks after receiving those injuries, he’d only be sent back with a request to bring some food for them the next time he visited.

“I also won’t tell you,” Mitsutada says, lies, more confidently, “what Nihongou-san informed me regarding you the other day, Hasebe-kun.”

There is a war waging inside of Hasebe and Mitsutada can see it as plain as day. No wonder everyone likes pestering Hasebe; it’s something Mitsutada definitely wouldn’t tire of soon.

“Fine,” Hasebe says, finally, putting the papers he’d picked up back in its place. “But you will return the very moment something is amiss. Do you understand?”

Pulling a glove up, he grins. “Definitely.”

“I don’t know how you convinced them to send us here,” Kashuu says, his hands joined before Mitsutada as if in prayer. “You are truly the One-Eyed God of Refreshment.”

This is the third time he has heard someone call him that, but he still doesn’t know where the name came from. He also doesn’t know who called him that first, because he was extremely inebriated at the time, and the second time is one he would like to forget entirely. But then again, knowing the origin of a name can wait for later.

For now, he quietly chuckles at the title because he knows that this is the worst time for their location to be discovered, and even worse than that would be to have been found out because he was heard whispering carelessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mitsutada sees Ookurikara flinch. It is a little dark to see here. It wouldn’t be unusual for Ookurikara to have mistaken a rock in front of him as something else, just as Mitsutada seems to mistake everything for rats and can’t seem to still the jittery feeling in his heart.

And now, having seen Ookurikara, even slightly, makes him feel out of sorts. It’s true that he asked to be sent on this mission because he wanted to clear things up with Ookurikara, but it’s becoming harder and harder to do so with all the second thoughts he’s been having. If only he could be as straightforward as Sadamune and as direct as Tsurumaru.

Instead, as they wait for the enemy to appear, he surreptitiously eavesdrops in the conversation Midare has with Ookurikara. He wishes someone would stop him from doing so, but Tsurumaru seems to be teaching Sadamune how to make an advanced form of paper shuriken, and Kashuu hasn’t stopped looking at the way his nails shine in the moonlight, which Mitsutada finds both terrific and terrifying at the same time.

“Let’s buy those facial masks next time, okay?” Midare is telling Ookurikara when Mitsutada scoots close enough to be able to hear them. He has never felt this ashamed of himself. “Also, did you give the thing to—”

“No,” Ookurikara says. “Shut up.”

Midare begins to retort, but that’s when Konnosuke comes trotting up to the lot of them. He nods at Mitsutada, then pushes his glasses up with a paw, and howls.

The enemy doesn’t attack them right away.

They scatter themselves around the city and hide. Mitsutada immediately goes on the defensive just as everyone else in his unit, and asks Konnosuke to report this back to the Citadel right away.

The Time Retrograde Army… just what are they planning…?

After some discussion, they split themselves up to uncover the enemy’s hiding spots. They can’t overlook even a single one, seeing how dangerous they’ve been becoming, day by day, and how even a single tantou could change the course of history in the blink of an eye.

But splitting themselves up, despite it being done randomly, without much of a strategy behind the combinations, somehow had to bring them together. Mitsutada isn’t complaining, really, but he only wishes that whatever force keeps pairing them like this would at least see it through to the end, because it has been over quarter of an hour since they began from their rendezvous location to the southern end of the city, and Ookurikara hasn’t said a single word to him.

As they walk, Mitsutada slips into a state of contemplation again. Whenever he looks at Ookurikara, when he sees those eyes, Mitsutada feels so lost and yet so found. So… out of place and so at home. He doesn’t belong there, with Ookurikara, and yet he does. It’s a feeling that leaves him empty yet full and sad yet happy. It’s odd, so odd, but Ookurikara is like a piece of Mitsutada that he didn’t know he was missing until he turned up in their Citadel with a permanent scowl and the words, I don't plan on getting friendly with you.

Mitsutada wants to iron this matter out. If Ookurikara has been uncomfortable because of what transpired that day, Mitsutada will apologize and vow to never do it again. All he wants is to know what the problem is. Mitsutada might be a little more open about things than Ookurikara, but Ookurikara is— He is—

Looking at Mitsutada. Right now.

“Mitsutada,” Ookurikara says suddenly. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh,” Mitsutada says, adjusting his hair so it falls over his ears. It’s dark, but Ookurikara does not need to see just how crimson they turn in situations like this. “This is. Nice. To hear, that is.”

“It’s just—” he begins, probably by way of explanation, “your hair.”

Mitsutada blinks. His hair.

“Um, I’m sorry?” Mitsutada scratches the back of his head. His hair hasn’t been accused like this before. “I try to gel it down but it doesn’t stay that way for long.”

The Shiba that Ookurikara has been not that secretly treating as his housepet in the Citadel’s backyard has a particular face it makes when it’s eating and a fly or a moth flies past it. It looks rabidly angry, but it also seems to know that it’s frustration is totally pointless, since the insect isn’t going to be around for more than a few seconds anyway, and its expression settles into a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction, and it continues consuming its food as if nothing happened in the first place.

Mitsutada notes, in that moment, that Ookurikara’s face goes through each and every one of the Shiba’s emotions, one by one, in that exact order, and with the same intensity.

“I noticed,” Ookurikara says, when his usual blankness returns to his features, “you sleep next to me.”

“I do.”

“You also smell,” Ookurikara says, and Mitsutada starts panicking before Ookurikara continues, “...nice.”

Mitsutada was not expecting this. Mitsutada was not expecting any of this. He wants to pinch himself to check whether this is all an elaborate dream that he’s seeing.

“I wanted to give you something.” His face is scrunched up with the strain it put on him to mutter those words out loud, and Mitsutada wants to ask if that something is actually safe.

As Ookurikara fishes around his jacket for whatever it was that he wanted to give Mitsutada, they hear a sound near the trees leading to the outskirts of the city. And immediately, they can sense the enemy.

According to their data, for a city and time like this, the types of swords they will encounter would be the ones they fought against in their last mission, and nothing out of the blue.

But when they turn, they see the ootachi.

Mitsutada’s hands go cold and he’s immediately hyperaware of everything— the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face, the ant that crawls up onto his shoe, the sounds of swords clashing in the distance, and Ookurikara.

No matter what happens, Mitsutada is going to protect him tonight, even if he has to push him away and take the fall.

⚔

No matter what happens, if Mitsutada pushes him out of his way tonight to protect him or whatever, Ookurikara will stab him.

Ookurikara had only heard about the ootachi from the others, but the fox had told them that this fucker wasn’t supposed to materialize tonight. Was history changed somewhere along the way, or was this the Time Retrograde Army’s plan when they appeared here?

But honestly, it didn’t matter one bit. Ookurikara only has to attack with all he’s got and finish the trash before it gains leverage over them.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Mitsutada says, then, as if he knows the exact plan of action Ookurikara has in mind.

Ookurikara snarls. “I’ll fight by myself. I don't need your orders.”

The pain that flashes across Mitsutada’s face makes Ookurikara’s voice catch. He wants to say something to cover it up right away, to reduce the sting of his words, but Mitsutada speaks up before him. “Don’t do this again, Kara-chan.”

Ookurikara thought he was working towards Sadamune’s advice of “just doing it” when he was talking to Mitsutada some time ago, but the way his words prick more severely than the loud noise the ootachi fuck makes as it swings its blade around tells Ookurikara that he’s still lacking in many, many ways.

The ootachi leaps towards Ookurikara, and Ookurikara brings his sword up as it forces its blade down on his. He throws the thing off before it can overpower him, and he hears Mitsutada take in a breath.

“You’re stronger…” Mitsutada says in apprehension, charging at the ootachi before it can make its next move.

Ookurikara snorts in laughter. If Mitsutada thought that Ookurikara would only sit around and mope about Mitsutada having fought off the enemies Ookurikara couldn’t, then he was wrong. Ookurikara didn’t like others and didn’t want to get along with them, or see them, on most days, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn from them.

As the ootachi’s blade clangs against Mitsutada’s, Ookurikara sees an opening in its side and rushes in to strike there, but is thrown back by the sudden spin the ootachi makes. He gets up immediately and takes his stance again, watching Mitsutada do the same.

Only now, after coming in direct contact with the ootachi, does Ookurikara realize what Mitsutada’s words really meant. He didn’t tell Ookurikara not to act rash because of his usual actions or because of his tendency to act headfirst, but because this dumbshit ootachi can actually think for itself, just as it looks as if it’s calculating something now. He didn’t know these enemies were capable of it, honestly, and that puts a few things in perspective for him. Attacking this one blindly will lead them nowhere.

“Mitsutada,” Ookurikara says with deliberation. “How do— we— attack?”

For a few seconds, Mitsutada says nothing, and Ookurikara zeroes in on the ootachi’s flank. That was the spot Ookurikara had tried to attack just now, and the ootachi had tried to stop him from getting close to it. He gets an idea, and when Ookurikara thinks that he doesn’t need Mitsutada’s plan anyway, that he should just go ahead and attack again, Mitsutada… laughs.

He fucking presses his hand against his mouth and laughs.

The ootachi lunges at Mitsutada and Ookurikara watches as he parries perfectly, then hits its nape with the hilt of his sword. When it swerves and jabs its sword back towards Mitsutada, he catches its huge arm with one, single, individual hand, and swings it away as if it didn’t weigh anything at all.

“I really love you,” Mitsutada says, once he isn’t laughing anymore, looking straight at Ookurikara. “And did you see that? Sada-chan taught me how to do it!”

Ookurikara blinks, and watches as the ootachi gets up and shakes his head, roars, and comes running towards Ookurikara. He thinks he should be worried, but Mitsutada— Mitsutada really doesn’t care about Ookurikara’s mortal existence, does he.

“Fucking die,” Ookurikara spits, deflecting each of the ootachi’s attacks with his own, until Mitsutada aims at its side that’s left unguarded as it focuses on Ookurikara.

That seems to work because it loses its control and ricochets between the constant assault Ookurikara and Mitsutada unleash on it. Ookurikara feels like they might overpower it, but it growls nauseatingly and pushes them both back until they’re both down on the ground.

Ookurikara doesn’t know if the ootachi is really this hard to get rid of or if this one’s just a particularly annoying one, but he gets up the moment he grips his sword, and promptly falls down again.

A stabbing pain shoots up from his ankle so he looks down. He sees— an arrow. There is an arrow stuck in his foot. An arrow.

He looks around to find out who did it, and sees Kashuu cutting down some scum near the clearing of trees through which Mitsutada and he had come to this part of the forest. Ookurikara heaves a pained sigh as Kashuu makes his way to him and calls, “Are you hit?”

He clicks his tongue and nods, then grabs the arrow. It could have poison in it, for all they know. He pulls it out of his ankle, biting his lip so as to not make a noise, and flings it away. He then unwraps his waistcloth and ties it just below his knee.

At the sound of something hitting the armour Mitsutada wears, Ookurikara raises his head, but he sees Mitsutada looking at him, and he immediately shouts, “Look at the motherfucking ootachi!”

Mitsutada does, but it’s obvious that his movements have slowed down comparatively. Ookurikara isn’t sure what he missed in the few seconds when he took his eyes off from Mitsutada and the ootachi, but he has a bad feeling about the current scenario.

Ookurikara tries to stand up, and Kashuu lends him a hand that Ookurikara, inexplicably, doesn’t hesitate to take, until a tantou comes flying at him and he has to let go of Ookurikara to fight it off. Ookurikara looks over at Mitsutada again, and the ootachi seems to be towering over him now. He has to get closer.

As Ookurikara limps towards Mitsutada, he realizes that brute force won’t work anymore. Both Mitsutada and he aren’t in the condition they were in before. He has to think.

Over the course of the past few weeks, Ookurikara had taken on sparring activities with almost every sword in the Citadel. He didn’t get along with all of them, but he didn’t go easy on any of them either. Seeing his passion, some of them had shared their experiences on the battlefield with him, and although he didn’t care for unwanted chatter too much, it comes rushing to him now.

Meticulous strategies, unwavering attacks, guerilla warfare, trust in the almighty, and as Kashuu crashes to his side, then quickly apologizes as he surges away, something jabs Ookurikara’s hip from inside his jacket and Tsurumaru’s words come to him: surprises.

It’s right then, when Ookurikara comes up with the worst idea he thought this fuckall human brain was capable of coming up with since the day he stepped outside the boutique with Kashuu and Midare, that Mitsutada wails with so much agony that Ookurikara loses his breath for a moment and zones out, and he isn’t in this time anymore, but somewhere— somewhere else.

Somewhere else, long, long ago, with people from long, long ago. There’s dirt and flesh and blood. So much fucking blood. After all, we’re—

Then he zones back, and all he sees is Mitsutada scowling at the ootachi, his sword lying on the ground between them. And then he sees Mitsutada’s eyepatch falling to the ground, and Ookurikara just stops. Or everything stops. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

The ootachi shoves him, and Mitsutada slumps to the ground, his hand clutching his own arm. Out of desperation, not knowing what to do but knowing that he has to do something, Ookurikara takes the small canister from his pocket and throws it at the ootachi, who immediately brings his blade up to cut it.

He grits his teeth. He thought it would distract the ootachi, that it would make it divert its attention to him or something. Instead, it—

fucking—

explodes.

It literally bursts, and the ootachi’s head splatters across the ground, evaporating into nihility.

“What the fuck,” Ookurikara whispers, dumbfounded. His gaze flicks to Mitsutada who’s on the ground with what seems like a dislocated arm but is also looking up at Ookurikara with absolute wonder. “What the fuck.”

“Did you just,” Kashuu says, coming up behind Ookurikara. “Throw. A can of deodorant. At a bloody ootachi.”

“I don’t know.”

“What,” Mitsutada says, his voice hoarse. Ookurikara has never felt more synchronized with Mitsutada than he does in this moment.

Midare yells their names from the clearing then, and they turn to him, and finally exhale in relief when he gestures an OK to them, conveying that they’ve taken out the rest of the Time Retrograde Army for the night. Ookurikara sinks to the ground then, beside Mitsutada, and simply sits there, cross-legged, as the smell of mint and menthol takes over the air surrounding them. His body hurts like a bitch, but his heart even more so when he sees Mitsutada still looking at him.

“That Axe can is as destructive as its namesake.” Kashuu shakes his head, unaware that he just outed Ookurikara’s secret. The devil then says, “Weren’t you gonna give that to Shokudaikiri last week?”

Mitsutada leans forward. “What?”

“No,” Ookurikara says.

“The deodorant,” the devil continues.

“What,” Mitsutada says, again.

“No.”

Ookurikara knew it. Everything has gone to shit. Right from the moment he felt something beating rhythmically inside him, since he felt a pulse in him — not one that he was stealing from another, but one that belonged to him exclusively — ever since then, he knew it. Everything has gone to shit.

“He bought it for you, you fool.” The devil groans, then pinches the bridge of his nose, and goes on, “Apparently it smells like you or something. Shit, I’m not your relationship counselor. I’m leaving.”

Ookurikara refuses to meet Mitsutada’s eyes for an entire minute, intently listening to Kashuu’s footsteps as he walks away and makes the other three return back to the area from where they were bounding towards them, until Mitsutada finally says, “That was… for me?”

Then, for a moment— only one, Ookurikara looks at him, for once, completely unguarded, and he’s taken back to memories of long, long ago, of people from long, long ago, and flashes of dirt and flesh and blood. But more than that, he remembers him, and the times their master laughed, held them in his hands, pressed them against his chest and whispered words that come back to him now.

Ookurikara takes in a shaky breath and presses his hands against his face.

⚔

Mitsutada lets out a steady breath and reaches forward to touch Ookurikara.

He thinks Ookurikara might slap his hands away or bite his fingers off, but Ookurikara only flinches a little, then leans into Mitsutada’s hand. He’s a little conscious of how dirty his gloves are right now and how all that mud seems to be getting into Ookurikara’s hair, but he keeps it up anyway.

“You smell like this,” Ookurikara says with his face still buried in his hands.

“I do?” Mitsutada laughs.

Ookurikara nods. Mitsutada has a mighty urge to pry Ookurikara’s hands away from his face, but one of his arms is busted, so he settles for gently petting Ookurikara’s hair with the hand that doesn’t hurt all that much.

It takes a while, but Ookurikara looks up, gradually, and Mitsutada physically reels back. He hasn’t seen Ookurikara look this… tender before. The corners of his eyes are red, and so is his nose, and the moonlight reflecting in his eyes is nothing but angelic. Mitsutada really wants to kiss him.

Then, Ookurikara mumbles, “You piece of shit,” and Mitsutada must genuinely be whipped because he thinks that that only makes Ookurikara sound even more adorable. “Did you mean that?”

“Did I mean what—” he stops.

The most violent blush he has ever felt rising up to his cheeks in this short life of his, rises up to his cheeks. Mitsutada told Ookurikara he loves him, and he wants to say yes, that he meant it then and he means it now, but he can’t seem to find his voice anymore.

After all, we’re—

“God fucking damn it,” Ookurikara says. He looks outraged. “Shit.”

Mitsutada doesn’t know what to expect, honestly, after hearing such a thoughtful string of words. A kick in the face, maybe. Or a fistful of mud in his mouth.

Instead, Ookurikara leans forward and presses their lips together, and Mitsutada breathes in the menthol in the air, and an unmistakable scent of moss. Ookurikara’s lips are soft, and the brush of his hands on Mitsutada’s cheeks even softer. Mitsutada never felt as if he could fly until this moment.

It’s when he opens his eyes that he realizes that they were closed in the first place, and Ookurikara is so plainly beautiful, even with smudges of mud across his face and faint traces of blood on the edges of his jaw. Mitsutada never wants to blink again, but he does, and Ookurikara curves towards him again. This time, he lingers for longer, biting Mitsutada’s lower lip and gasping when Mitsutada nips him back.

“You damn vertebrae,” Ookurikara whispers, smiling slightly.

“I know you love me too,” Mitsutada mutters, shifting so his forehead rests on Ookurikara’s chest.

Ookurikara grunts, kicks Mitsutada off when they hear Tsurumaru approaching, and almost rips his head off when he and Sadamune make up a terrible rhyme containing both their names.

By the time they return to the Citadel, they’ve already taken precautionary first aid measures thanks to the audiovisual safety instructions demonstration Hasebe makes them all watch each time they’re dispatched to another time and place. The guy might be a little overbearing at times, but he always ends up being utterly resourceful at the strangest moments.

“Good job, everyone,” Mitsutada says, stepping out of the dispatch room. “Thank you for supporting me throughout all of this.”

“Don’t worry, Mitsu-bou,” Tsurumaru says. He has an evil glint in his eyes that Mitsutada does not like the look of. “You have our eternal support and—” he casts a glance at Ookurikara, then winks at Mitsutada. “—blessings.”

“I will skin you,” Ookurikara says, with no fire behind his words at all. Sadamune and Midare laugh as Kashuu shakes his head.

Looking at all of them makes a warm feeling bubble up in Mitsutada’s chest, and he feels that maybe, just maybe, he could call these people his family, even if they didn’t know about each other all that much some weeks ago. Then he turns to Ookurikara, who, honestly, Mitsutada has a problem with, for looking so ethereal even now, an arm around Kashuu’s shoulders, limping as he walks, with something that appears to be manure on his pants, and an expression on his face that really does say I will skin you aimed at Tsurumaru.

When they’re walking past the forge, Mitsutada raises a hand and begins to say something about Ookurikara which would be so embarrassing that he might have to take a strategic leave of absence for a few years, but he’s interrupted by Hasebe’s voice.

“The Saniwa— no,” he is saying, “Shokudaikiri is going to have a stroke.”

“Déjà vu,” Ookurikara mumbles.

Mitsutada gets a little worried, and making sure his appearance isn’t too out of place, he excuses himself from the rest of his unit — though they decide to stay where they are, equally intrigued by the words they overheard as Mitsutada is — and slides the door to the forge open.

“Hasebe-kun,” Mitsutada says, scratching the side of his face. “Is something— wrong—”

Mitsutada stops when he sees the dragon engraving on the guy’s neck. He quite literally just… stops. A bunch of thoughts rush through his mind, and then he realizes that he isn’t really alone anymore, and that somehow, things are starting to look just fine. The most difficult guy he fell in love with seems to like him back, or, at least, not hate him back, and if that’s possible, then getting along with a long lost family member can’t be too hard, right?

He turns to Ookurikara, grins, looks back at the newcomer and says, “I’m Shokudaikiri Mitsutada. I can cut through even bronze candlestick holders… Yeah, that's not cool at all.”

⚔

He turns to Mitsutada, scowls, looks back at the horde of swords in the room and says, “…I'm Ookurikara. I don't have anything else to say. I don't plan on getting friendly with you.”

Chaos erupts then, for the fucking twenty seventh time that evening, as Ookurikara immediately saunters to his unit and sits down in his spot between Mitsutada and Sadamune.

He knows welcome parties in this Citadel are rowdy as all hell, because the party arranged for him a month ago did end up with him calling Mitsutada many things and touching him in many places that Ookurikara has been reminded of recently, all thanks to Mitsutada’s rebirth as this shameless romantic monster out to ruin Ookurikara’s life. He has, therefore, vowed to never drink again, in case he ends up repeating the same mistakes again.

“Seconds,” he tells Sadamune, pushing his empty glass to him. Sadamune refills it with orange juice and goes back to talking to Midare about the language of flowers or something.

There are loud whistles around the room again, which means that another sword has finished introducing himself in the front. Ookurikara hates this. He hates how much he doesn’t hate this.

“You were cool up there,” Mitsutada says, angling himself towards Ookurikara. He also looks smug as shit, probably because Ookurikara looked at him when he was up there.

If there’s one thing Ookurikara has found out about Mitsutada since they began doing a little more than having meals and picking ripe tomatoes and sleeping next to each other, it’s that he feeds off attention. But what’s worse is that Ookurikara likes giving him more attention that is necessary.

“You too,” Ookurikara replies, staring at the orange juice in his glass. He can sense Mitsutada combusting beside him, but he doesn’t say anything, choosing to press his side against Mitsutada’s.

The others’ howling resumes, and Ookurikara looks up this time. Unfortunately, his gaze falls on Tsurumaru, in a corner of the room, who is quite literally consuming the Awataguchi alpha’s face. Ookurikara’s face scrunches up. He gets that Tsurumaru has been deprived for a few weeks and that the green haired runt’s presence (along with the appearance of Mitsutada’s… grandson or brother or whoever—who is currently missing, by the way, having disappeared with a basket of tomatoes a day ago) in the Citadel is a cause for celebration, but is it necessary for them to—

Mitsutada touches his cheek, his thumb stroking along his jaw, and he breathes Ookurikara’s name into his ear. Ookurikara shudders, his grip tightening around the glass so much that he thinks he might break it.

“Cut it out,” Ookurikara whispers, meeting Mitsutada’s warm gaze with whatever self-control he can muster, but melts against Mitsutada anyway.

“Don’t want to.”

Mitsutada bows his head further to kiss Ookurikara, and drums his fingers along the dragon on Ookurikara’s arm. In the distance, there are more hoots, and Ookurikara somehow doesn’t care anymore. He presses his hands against Mitsutada’s chest, then grabs hold of the fabric of his blazer and brings his lips up to meet Mitsutada’s. He starts out gentle, reveling in the way Mitsutada tastes and the knowledge that Ookurikara can do this, now, whenever he wants, until he takes Mitsutada’s lower lip between his teeth, then looks up at him through his eyelashes.

But Mitsutada, the fucker, doesn’t open his mouth, and simply leans back, smiling at Ookurikara with that horrid, horrid look in his eye.

“Mitsutada,” Ookurikara says, “I will end you.”

Mitsutada laughs at that, and the nice feeling in Ookurikara’s chest amplifies. He isn’t sure if he even stopped feeling that nice feeling in his chest since the day they fought the ootachi and realized that they were both a little stupid when it comes to the other.

“That’d be bad,” Mitsutada says, taking Ookurikara’s hands from his chest and holding them in his own, his fingers filling up the spaces between Ookurikara’s, and Ookurikara’s filling up the spaces between his. “After all, we’re—”

Ookurikara stops. He… he hasn’t heard Mitsutada complete that sentence until now.

We’re—

“After all,” Ookurikara repeats. “We’re—”

“SHIT,” Kashuu yells, then, loud enough for the entire damn crowd to shut up. “NAMAZUO TOUSHIROU HAS BROUGHT HORSE SHIT INTO THE CITADEL AGAIN.”

Chaos erupts this time, for real, with Midare peeling off the face masks he’d gotten on his and Sadamune’s faces in the two minutes Ookurikara wasn’t supervising them, Tsurumaru wrapping his arms around Ichigo’s waist and not letting him go, and Kashuu still shrieking about the HORSE SHIT, GODDAMN IT. Ookurikara looks around him, then back at Mitsutada, who has a grin on his face that, if he tries a little harder, might just reach up to his eyes. His voice almost tinkles when he says, “Okay?”

Ookurikara rolls his eyes, and smiles up at Mitsutada who immediately seems to have a crisis at that. At that moment, there’s nothing but warmth in his heart and so, so much fondness for the one right before him. So he reaches forward, kisses the tip of his nose, and tells him the words he has wanted to for a long, long time.

He knows everything went to shit the moment he took his first breath, but he… really doesn’t mind. Yeah.

⚔