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(…) the gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it.
(Richard Siken)
“You can’t sleep.”
It’s not a question. And the way it slips from Chougi’s lips is more than vaguely annoying – a patronizing statement, with no warmth to it. Nansen doesn’t reply.
Chougi isn’t wearing his cape, so his entrance is a little less grand than he probably intended. He’s wearing the light yukata the inn provided them to sleep – washed-out dye patterns are still visible, a carriage wheel, waves. Nansen’s own yukata is still folded on top of his bedding in the room that he shares with Tsurumaru. He’d waited for the older sword’s breath to get a little heavier before leaving the room – not that it would have made any difference, if he were awake. Despite appearances, the crane seems to understand better than anyone that this is overwhelming. This is too much. This is not where he’d wanted to be sent on his first mission, for sure.
Chougi doesn’t ask if he minds him joining. He minds. He knows. When Chougi sits next to him, Nansen briefly considers scooting away. He doesn’t move – the pain in his chest from his (definitely cracked) bruise-ornate rib is a little too much to even allow deep, open mouth breaths. His knees hide the bruises like armor. If Chougi has noticed his tiny gasp of pain when Nansen hugged them tighter to his chest, he doesn’t bother letting him know.
“Rundown.” Chougi smiles, holding up seven fingers. The moon is full and bright, and there’s light coming from inside the inn, reaching where they’re sitting on the roof; he can see Chougi’s face, not really perfectly, but enough to notice that his smile lacks warmth as much as his voice does. “We get sent to the siege of Osaka. Where your master, Toyotomi Hideyori, was killed by your other master, Tokugawa Ieyasu, to whom you were given as a gift by Hideyori himself. A little tragedy.” Chougi curls one finger back into his fist. “It’s your first time being dispatched. You’ve been on expeditions, but never on the front lines.” One more finger goes down. His now free hand is placed, once open, on the roof tiles.
If he were more sleepy, Nansen would have hissed. He doesn’t – Chougi is enough of a pain as is with making fun of his curse. Maybe he’s right. Maybe killing a witch really has turned him into a demon.
Chougi continues, unaffected.
“The battle is straightforward. You’re obviously affected, though, like the newbie you are. Poor thing.” Nansen hears himself let out a shaky exhale as Chougi’s third finger goes down. “And when you lose sight of everyone but your captain, you let it get to your head. Doesn’t help that your captain is also a Tokugawa sword.” Chougi’s tone picks up slightly. There’s an unpleasant ring to it, but Nansen doesn’t know what it is, exactly. Something between annoyance and concern. Nansen decides it’s definitely annoyance. “You let it get to your head. Your blows don’t land anymore. You’re about to get hit, causing your captain to rush over to you and finish your job in your stead. So he’s distracted when a stray enemy creeps up on him from behind. And so you, totally forgetting you have a sword at your disposal, push him out of the way to take the hit in your ribs.” Annoyance turns to anger in the blink of an eye – and then, just like that, it’s gone. Chougi smiles again, albeit a little more mellowly this time. Maybe it’s to balance off the anger outburst. Nansen glances to his hand, fisted so tight his knuckles are ever-so-slightly shaking. “You insist your injuries aren’t life threatening, and we should keep going with our mission – per the sage’s order, to stay two more days in the past and make sure history follows its correct course.”
“What do you want from me?” Nansen gulps. His chest feels tight, like his ribcage caved in to trap all the air inside his lungs. “Isn’t that what I was supposed to do? Report the state of meow – of my injuries and keep going?” He sucks in a shaky breath. “Why are you here, nya? I thought you were going to sleep early. Early cat catches the mouse… nya?”
He clicks his tongue in an attempt to clear his speech – his curse is always more difficult to control under pressure. To his dismay, Chougi laughs, open-mouth and loud, throwing his head back. Like this whole situation is hilarious. The bruises on Nansen’s chest, and the crescent moons on his own palm. When he opens his hand Nansen thinks it must be bleeding.
“Overall,” Chougi regains his composure quickly. Too quickly, like the laughing fit he just had wasn’t real. Distantly, Nansen wonders if a fox spirit is fooling him, playing tricks on his eyes. But the nail marks in Chougi’s palm, though fading, are real. When he lifts a hand to his chin, moonlight washes over them. “A mediocre result. Could have been much, much better if the sword warriors of this citadel weren’t pampered like human children. Whether it be the lack of proper training, the assimilation of human concepts such as family and comrades, or simply a too doting sage has yet to be determined.” He’s grinning like a kid when he turns to face Nansen. “I thought I’d practice my report with you before going to sleep. How is it?”
Nansen does hiss this time. He can feel the hairs standing at the back of his neck, his fingers clenching around his knees. He’s done so without noticing, but sometime during Chougi’s report he’d stopped trying to avoid Chougi’s gaze and started paying attention to his lips – the way the bottom one juts out in a tiny pout just now is enough of a slap back to reality, and he looks away. Stares at the yukata, the way the light fabric seems to cling to Chougi’s legs. He takes in the bruises on Chougi’s skin, the cuts on his hands now that he’s shed his gloves; the way he looks so innocent brushing his hair back behind his ear. How looking so innocent does nothing but make him feel more dangerous. There’s venom flowing under the fair skin. Nansen sees it bubble under the surface.
“What do you want?” He asks again. “What is it that you’re, nya, looking for? You won’t have it from meow.” It’s so much easier to talk to Chougi when you’re avoiding his gaze, that’s for sure. “If you want an apology for earlier, nya, you won’t have it.”
“Oh, no no no.” Nansen doubts Chougi has listened to a single thing he said. “You don’t get to ignore my report like that.”
If he were truly a cat, that’s when his ears would start to twitch.
“What do you meowen?”
“What do you mean, “what do you mean” ?” Chougi raises an eyebrow. He even has the audacity to sound annoyed. Nansen realizes he doesn’t want to hear anymore of this conversation. He doesn’t move. “I’m your captain, asking for an opinion on my report. Since most of it will serve to explain why you’re coming back with a broken rib, I’d like to confirm the information I’m giving to our precious master directly from you. Would it be illogical of me to ask? You sure have a poor opinion of me.”
And if he truly were a cat, this is where his ears would drop. Chougi doesn’t want an apology, he wants an explanation. The way he managed to avoid giving one earlier –
– as his mouth filled with iron, his ears filled with static, and Chougi let his sword fall so he could grab him as he fell; as they dropped to their knees in tandem, the Osafune swallowing his pride and screaming for the others, making Nansen’s ears ring –
– probably only served to make Chougi more keen on getting it out of him, which could very plausibly mean he’s not going to leave him room to breathe until he achieves that. Chougi is selfish, and would do anything to get what he wants. He’s also incredibly fragile, and could shatter like glass at any moment. Laughing, Nansen remembers one a many guests of his master say whenever they heard someone giggle, spoken through gritted teeth like ancient knowledge, is often like lying. The venom pools in bruises on Chougi’s knuckles and Nansen feels himself shiver.
“I don’t like the way you talk about the sage, nya.” Nansen releases his knees from the hold, letting his legs extend in front of him. He takes a deep breath, and it sounds like a sob in the back of his throat. “They want nyathing but our best. I don’t think that’s spoiling.”
Chougi hums. It blends with the far cries of cicadas, and the soft speaking coming from the inn.
“And?”
“… you report is okay.” Nansen stretches a little, trying not to put too much strain on his chest. “I’d cut the last part. But that’s my opinion, nya.” He coughs once – partly to clear his chest, party to cover his meowing; his curse truly becomes unmanageable after he hits the threshold of drowsiness. His eyelids feel heavy, but his body is awake. An unfortunate feeling, really. Human bodies do so many things that make no sense to him whatsoever. “Nyan, you’ve made a reputation for yourself of being insufferable. I’m sure Aruji wouldn’t be surprised… nya. ”
“What, do you mind?”
This whole ordeal is ridiculous. Nansen closes his eyes.
“I’d mind it less if you were meow honest.” He hears Chougi let out an amused huff. He puffs his cheeks and sighs. “Like telling me what you want from me already – nya, as someone trained by the Time Government, you’d know better than start filing a report two days before the end of a meowssion.” Chougi inhales sharply now. Nansen feels his lips curl up slightly with his small victory. “If you were more honest, we’d both be in our beds right now. Instead you’re keeping me on this roof. Nya, what an irresponsible captain.”
He’s once again met with a smile that exudes no warmth once he opens his eyes – he takes a curt breath, sigh-like, as he straightens his back. His chest feels like it’s about to split open.
“You know, cat cutter.” It’s the first time he’s heard Chougi address him directly since he passed out. “Sometimes I think you’d be much cuter if you didn’t speak at all, even though your curse aids to the cuteness.”
“I was just answering you, nya. No need to be so rude.”
“And I was just sharing my thoughts.” Chougi’s hands go to smooth the breezy fabric of the yukata where it’s bunched up from him seating. Nansen’s eyes follow their movement for a second, before he adverts his gaze, something akin to shame burning along with the pain. Chougi doesn’t mention it, but the way his eyes glint can only mean he’s been caught staring – like the cat who got the canary. “Because unlike a certain someone, when something crosses my mind, I see no reason why I should keep it for myself.”
Huh. A blunt confession of hypocrisy. What a treat.
Nansen feels Chougi’s gaze burn holes into his skin. It clings to him like the humid summer air. Chougi isn’t used to not getting things his way, yet it’s been that way since he came to their citadel. He takes it out on Nansen because he doesn’t crumble under pressure, but he never tries to get back at him with kindness. Nansen knows him. Sometimes all it takes to avoid losing your mind completely is a single person that treats you the way they normally would even when everything’s changed.
It takes the right amount of not acknowledging and humoring to get Chougi to speak his mind. Nansen knows. Some part of him has always known, for better or for worse.
Tonight he humors him. His screams from earlier still ring in his ears; the way his face twisted in shock has etched itself on the back of his eyelids, and his shoulder has bruised were Chougi held onto it. Looking at Chougi now, one would never know – but to Nansen, the very fact that he came to look for him is odd. Let alone the way he’s acting, his smiles and the laughs and how he doesn’t address the cuts on his arms. To Nansen, it almost feels like Chougi was the one who nearly got hit to death, and he’s still trying to process the fact that he didn’t, in fact, break.
So Nansen indulges him. Just this one time, he tells himself. He owes him a little something for throwing him in so much distress, he’s openly making a fool of himself. (Having laughing fits, calling him cute? Saying he’s honest, even?)
“I just – ” It’s more difficult than expected. Nansen feels his voice break. He coughs to try and cover it up, but some dryness gets caught in his throat and gives his voice a rough pitch when he tries to speak. He coughs again. His ribs complain, but he doesn’t give that much thought. It’s not life threatening. That’s enough. “I didn’t want to see you hurt. That’s it, nya.” He can’t hear the crickets anymore, he realizes, over the fastidious thumping of his own heartbeat in his ears. “My master died here. You know that, nya – little tragedy and all.” He half shrugs, half shudders. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt here… nya . Especially if I can avoid it.” Especially because of me. He leaves that unsaid, but Chougi is as smart as he is pretty and self-absorbed; he’ll pick up on that. “So when I realized you were going to get hit, nya, I stopped thinking.”
What else?
He doesn’t know. Should he mention the numbing ache in his chest, long before he got hit? Should he add that when he pushed Chougi out of the way, he might not have been thinking – but more than he’d ever felt since gaining this form, he felt light. Beyond words. Like his body had returned to being a sword, sharp and weightless in his master’s grasp. How he hadn’t been afraid of breaking, and the battle, the history surrounding them, even the confusion he’d felt all melted away when he saw Chougi falling on his knees out of reach – explain the relief he’d felt when his vision turned red. No, he truly doesn’t know. How much of that is appropriate to say, and how much Chougi already knows. If there’s something he can pick up from the way his screams ringed into his ears, it’s that Chougi probably already knows. He just wants to hear it from him. When Nansen looks up, trying to get as close as he can while avoiding his gaze, he notices Chougi’s knuckles are shaking. When his eyes trail further up, careless and experimental, he notices his lips are too.
Humans, he can barely recall right now, have so many sets of made up rules that should make communication easier – space being the most prominent one. When you’re a sword, you live to be handled. Sitting on someone’s hip, feeling their hands around your hilt, being polished, adorned, adored; being stripped of the mounting to be exhibited, being surrounded by the wonder and fondness of strangers. Humans, on the other hand, have so many rules he doesn’t understand. Personal space comes to mind as Chougi’s fingers close around his wrist, tight enough to sting, but not to hurt.
Then, he realizes, Chougi’s probably been shaped by the Time Government to conform more to human standards that any of them, in a way. The way he talks about calculated sparring and timers and precise routines like it’s something he’s grown up on, despite having manifested not long before Nansen. The way his digits press into his skin is probably meant to be jarring.
It’s good, then, that Nansen isn’t human, after all. Just his heart is. The same that’s beating furiously in his chest. If it were any faster, it would hurt.
“What do you want from me, Nansen?”
Low, sharp. Like a stab in the back. Yet so insufferably high, and fraying around the edges – like fabric with a stitch come loose.
“What do you mean?”
Chougi grits his teeth. He looks at a loss for words, but as Nansen’s had the pleasure (if one could call it that) of discovering, Chougi would rather be caught dead than unable to reply. Some sort of pride, he guesses. Their masters were proud men, after all. Nansen likes to think he took more after Hideyori than the Tokugawa – otherwise him and Chougi would probably get along.
“What do you mean, what do you mean… is that all you can say?” Chougi bites his lower lip. Nansen hears himself gulp. “What do you want from me? Why are you telling me all that – do you want me to praise you, to report your words to your master? No luck.” Chougi’s nails bite into his arm – Nansen hisses, but Chougi doesn’t let go. “You compromised our mission. You got hurt. You made the unit worry.” He doesn’t mention making him worry. The detachment is expected, but still staggering, in a way. “And for what? Making me feel indebted to you?”
Part of him is sorry for Chougi. The other is incredibly irritated. There’s the part of him that wants to help him shed his issues like a cape, help him see his worth underneath the bite and the insufferable façade; there’s the other that’s just tired, that’d had enough of this, of the fluttering in his stomach when they’re close. It makes no sense. He doesn’t know what to make of all of this honesty. Nansen breathes in. This makes no sense, at all.
It stops having to make sense when his fingers meet Chougi’s cheek. Gentle, but stiff, tentative. He jolts at the touch, but he doesn’t move back. The hold on his wrist tightens, holding him in place – not that he intended to go anywhere, but – and Nansen swallows, trying to stop the sound that’s all but a purr from escaping his throat when his lips part.
“I don’t want you to die, Yamanbagiri Chougi.” He enjoys the way his breath hitches a little too much. So much for indulging him. “That’s all. And if I can avoid it then, nya, I’ll – ”
He doesn’t have time to finish. Not when Chougi’s letting go of his wrist, grabbing his shirt, and pulling him close, so close, it takes Nansen a way too long, shunned moment of shame to realize they’re kissing. And it’s like all the air has been hit out of his lungs – it’s not like he hadn’t seen it coming, or felt it coming, or dreamed about it, thought about it at least; what it’d be like to chase the frown off his lips, or kiss the bluntness away, soften the sharp edges of his words. Not quite like this, though. His immediate reaction is a full body shiver, and then his back arching; their teeth being just shy of clashing before Nansen makes the effort of tilting his face. Their noses smush against one another’s and there’s something akin to a laugh rising from Chougi’s lips, resonating into Nansen’s mouth. Or a sob. It has something of both.
All and all, he’d call it a mediocre kiss. (Not that he’d know. He hasn’t kissed anyone before, nor has he been kissed. Something in him just knows.) But he doesn’t break it and he doesn’t pull back.
Chougi’s still holding onto his shirt when they break the kiss, gripping so tightly that his knuckles started to turn white. Nansen puts his hands over his, slowly pulls them down on his lap. He goes to entwine their fingers, but Chougi’s hands are so stiff they won’t move an inch, so he opts for simply resting them on top of his. When he looks back up at Chougi, he’s also staring at their hands, with a something to his gaze he doesn’t know what to name. Something between fondness and disbelief. It almost looks out of place on him, but in an endearing way.
Nansen is the one to lean in this time. Slowly, like he doesn’t want to take Chougi by surprise. Gently, because despite the great emotional charge, having his shirt tugged and being all but elbowed in the chest doesn’t help with the pain. Chougi’s breath hitches again when their lips meet, but it’s different – there’s something sweeter to it. The urge has burned away, leaving only the longing behind. (For the most part, because he can feel Chougi’s fingers clench underneath his. He knows better than commenting on it, and he closes his eyes.)
This kiss is much better. He commits every part of it to memory – the roughness of Chougi’s lips where they’re chapped from battle and from biting on them, the warmth of his skin. The feeling of the yukata and the thumping of his heart. Chougi’s still parted lips after they break the kiss and breathe, since they (both, apparently) were too stunned to remember that with these bodies they’re are able to breathe through their noses, too. For a moment, Nansen is so caught up with all the feelings this entails that he forgets himself. There’s just this. He’s okay with not speaking and just looking at the man before him, blushing and stunned as he catches his breath.
Chougi bats his hands away so fast he barely feels the sting.
That’s when he comes to, and starts processing everything else all at the same time: the humid summer air clinging to his skin like a cloak, the stabbing pain in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the ridiculousness of it all. The lightheadedness that feels an awful lot like being drunk, or upside down. Chougi is fixing his hair as though that will help hide the furious blush on his cheeks; Nansen is dimly aware of his own blush, the heat radiating from his face, but touching his cheeks to check sounds like an impossible endeavor.
At first, he’s lost. None of this makes sense. Chougi makes him so angry, yet his brain turns to mush when they’re this close. The mission was terrible. Their conversation led nowhere. He doesn’t know what to make of his feelings. Nobody explained what the correct way of dealing with them, if there is any, is.
He’s also tired. His entire body feels sore and his brain is going too fast for it to follow. He tries to move back, but his legs and arms don’t quite synch up for the movement to happen. Chougi makes a funny face, something between a scowl and a sneer, without moving an inch. He raises an eyebrow.
Then he’s just tilting his head back to laugh. That earns him a full sneer, but Nansen doesn’t care. He ignores whatever question Chougi is asking, red-faced and bossy – how he can take himself seriously right now is beyond Nansen’s understanding.
“Rundown.” Is all he says once the laughing fit has passed, his ribs have stopped feeling like they’re being crushed, and Chougi’s face has gone from red to scarlet. Nansen tries to actually think of points and hold up any amount of fingers, but he isn’t good with that. He just holds up the palm of his open hand and places it on Chougi’s chest. “You came to look for me, nya, because you were worried. But you’re not good at dealing with that so you won’t admit it, not even to nyanself. At the same time you wonder why I would have wanted to save your life. ‘Cause you don’t see how or why someone would do that for anyone – nya, and you of all people.” Nansen can feel Chougi’s pulse quicken under his palm, but all the Osafune does is bite his bottom lip. “And when you’re told that your existence has value, even in this form, you can’t see straight anymore.” Nansen grins. “If I had known that all it was going to take was telling you that I don’t want you to die, nyan, I would have done that earlier, you know, Yamanbagiri.”
Chougi’s mouth falls open. He closes it without saying anything. He lifts his hands as if he wants to swat Nansen’s away, but he just ends up hooking one of them around his wrist, unsure on what to do. Insecurity doesn’t looks good on him; Nansen tries to smile to sweeten the bitter load. Chougi is fragile, but not helpless. And being confronted with his feelings, apparently, is all it takes to short circuit him. Nansen mentally takes notes.
“Chougi – ”
“Chougi?” And just like that, that’s gone, too. He pushes Nansen away – albeit gently, by the shoulder. “Settle on one name, cat cutter. It unnerves me.”
“You too.” Nansen pouts. “You called me Nansen earlier. I didn’t miss that, nya.”
The heartache hasn’t left his chest, and the pain hasn’t either, but his mind is swimming through muddy streaks of thoughts and it’s enough for now. Enough to keep him preoccupied on things that weren’t what brought him on the roof. His pulse picking up, for example. Chougi tucking his hair behind his ear, looking down. Being torn between keeping his distance and wanting to lean in again – the only peace he’s felt since regaining consciousness was when they kissed. They kissed. He knows better than to ask. As he’s had the pleasure (… so to speak) to find out, some things need time, and others are better said without words.
He gets up.
“I’m going to bed, nya.” Chougi looks up from the roof tiles, his lips stretched in the lightest of the disappointed pouts. It’s kind of sweet, kind of frustrating. Perfect summary of how Nansen feels about him, really. “You should rest too.”
“That’s my line, cat cutter.” The patronizing tone is back, too. Nansen can’t say he’s surprised, but he finds himself sighing all the same. He extends a hand. Chougi looks like he’s weighing his options for an instant – or less than one, even – he bats Nansen’s hand away again. When he gets up, the yukata slips a little down one of his shoulders. Nansen looks away.
The walk back to their rooms is quiet. Most of the lights inside the rooms have gone out, and the talking has turned into whispering or snoring; Nansen will never get used to this. All the conversations that have already happened and are yet happening right now. All the breaths these long since dead people are taking. And them, out of place. Chougi clinging to the now looser side of his yukata to keep it closed, not wanting to bother with the obi. The slightly open door to the Awataguchi’s room, where Gotou is sound asleep and Shinano greets them with a smile and a nod as they walk past, still awake.
It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. If it weren’t for the bruises all over Chougi’s arms, the cuts on Shinano’s cheeks, and the ever present choking sensation at the back of Nansen’s throat every time he breathes in, he could almost forget they had been on a battlefield just that afternoon. Almost. The scene at the back of his mind hasn’t left. Nansen is sure it’s going to stay there for a while. But now, if he closes his eyes, he can picture the blush on Chougi’s cheeks and the warmth of his breath on his lips, too.
Human bodies, and human hearts, are still a mystery to him. When they stop in front of Chougi’s room, in silence, Nansen isn’t sure what to say. Or if he has to say anything at all. Chougi does the talking for him.
“You’re frowning.” He says, taking a step forward, hand still holding his yukata. Nansen doesn’t say he’s frowning, too.
The kiss they share is warm, sweet. Almost unaccountably so. For all the bite Chougi displayed earlier, the light curve of his lips as they press against Nansen’s is uncharacteristically serene. Something like thank you, something like I can’t believe you. When he pulls back, his smile has some kind of gentleness to it, too. Something precious that makes Nansen’s pulse flutter.
“We depart at dawn. I won’t wake you up.” The door slides open silently with a single motion of Chougi’s arm. “Goodnight, Nansen.”
Humans, he thinks, have names for feelings like these. Being lovestruck. Being blinded. Or simply stupid. All the rules and regulations that come with either of those options are quite troublesome, so he lets it be – he’ll have time to think about it once they come back, and his heart has stopped aching for his master. There’s time. They have time. He wants to believe they do.
“… wait.”
Yet he can’t help but be selfish. He wonders if it’s human to be selfish, or it’s just how he manifested. His fingers wrap around Chougi’s wrist – light enough not to hurt, firm enough to keep him in place, the door still open, his figure still in the frame. Nansen can’t help it, but his cheek go ablaze when their eyes meet, and he has to close them as he’s leaning in.
He holds his breath as their lips meet – bad choice. He lingers for nothing but a handful of seconds before stepping back, adverting his gaze, and he has to swallow to regain his composure.
The commotion takes him by surprise. It’s just a kiss. Their fourth, Nansen’s fourth. But his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears now.
“Goodnight, Chougi.” He spits out. Chougi is still standing in the frame, and Nansen can’t see his face, but he can imagine his blush, clear as the summer night sky. “I’ll – uh – nya – I’ll – ”
Chougi grabs his shirt, the back of his head. And it’s fine. Nansen’s hand falls at the small of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin through the yukata. And this kiss, though gentle like their previous, has some of the urge of their first; when Chougi parts his lips, Nansen follows his lead.
It feels… natural. Better, it feels right. The lightness, and feeling as though the room is spinning, and the tiny noises spilling from Chougi’s mouth as he deepens the kiss. It reminds Nansen of that afternoon – when he pushed him out of the way. It’s the same warm feeling of relief with none of the pain. Kissing, he decides, is definitely better than fighting. He figures the only reason they didn’t find out earlier is because humans are more prone to fighting, and Chougi is a lot more human than he is, despite appearances.
When Chougi pulls back, Nansen chases his lips. He kisses him again. And again. He’s not sure when he starts to laugh, but it’s not too long before he starts to giggle, pressing kisses on Chougi’s lips, his face, anywhere he can reach. Chougi is smiling, a genuine smile for once – that’s all it matters. He even lets out a laugh as Nansen presses his lips to the mole on his cheek, then the one under his eye.
There’s no way the other guests haven’t heard them. Nansen is glad no one has come out to check the noise – would this count as changing history? What use would having defended his lord’s last battle been if being found kissing in a hallway impacted the course of it – Chougi kisses him on the lips again and he decides he doesn’t really care. History, he recalls their secretary saying, is more like a river than a single thread. Watching Osaka burn. Kissing Chougi in an inn they shouldn’t have been in. The only history this will change is theirs.
There will be time to make sense of this. After. After Chougi is done being his captain and his chest will be less bruised. Chougi smiles again, closing the door behind them, and it’s enough, without being too much for once.
Nansen smiles back, and it’s enough.