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A minor eye infection like his is usually not enough to send anyone out of commission, but when you are a sniper, certain norms are not applicable to you.
It is, nevertheless, incredibly dull to have to be confined with an entire room of groaning men, half of which will die by the end of the month. Dreary, really. Ogata has never had patience for the dying, and that isn't something that gets better with practice, even if practice is something that he has copious amounts of - in case you haven't been paying attention, there is a war.
Loud clamouring from a corner of the room. A nurse shrieks and another swears. Ogata doesn't know what's going on - his vision isn't clear, the world is made up of muddy silhouettes of colours. He can't fucking see. The slam of a metal tray and cheers from fellow soldiers. "Get the fuck back to bed," one of the nurses - Toshiko? Yoshiko? - snaps at the source of trouble, and there is another chorus of laughter in the room.
And then it is back to humdrum again.
"I am going to go insane," Ogata mutters, pushing himself to his feet. His body aches: his neck, his hips, and strangely, that spot at the middle of his spine.
"Where do you think you are going?" Another nurse - Aoi, this one is easy to remember - intercepts. "Oh, it's you. Never mind. But where are you going?"
Ogata gestures vaguely about him. "The garden," he answers blandly, "the mess hall. Somewhere."
"Oh, the mess hall," Aoi echoes, "some of the men will be putting on a performance today. Play some music, apparently."
He blinks. "Is that allowed?"
"Who knows." She shrugs. "But we can all use some cheer."
The sun is already setting; Ogata can feel the strange liminal hesitation in the air, the way that evenings always feel.
He doesn't like evenings.
Ogata finishes his stroll around the garden. Two rounds, and he's bored again. The light is fading, the deep blue covering half the sky like a big, ugly brush stroke.
To the mess hall it is.
The men have already cleared a stage and set up the chairs, the cacophony of tuning instruments adding to the typical chaos. From the sound and shape of it, one of them has a kokyū, and is quickly amassing a circle of his own by playing village folk songs upon request.
Ogata picks a seat, squints at the chair until he's sure it's clean, and then sits down.
Eventually, the music starts playing. They start with something easy, then raucous - the type of things you hear from the entertainment district. One soldier climbs onto the table and, emboldened by the whistles from his friends, shouts an invitation for a dance at one of the nurses sitting at another table.
It doesn't take long, as Aoi has said, for cheer to enliven the place.
It doesn't take long for a man to settle beside him either. "Not getting anything?"
"No." The food sucks anyway.
"Fair enough." The man shifts, elbows bumping into Ogata's as he searches his pockets. "But in case you get hungry, here."
It is the familiar tin of a candy box. "The whole box," Ogata teases, "for me?"
"I want it back - you'd better not finish the whole thing," the man retorts. He turns away for a moment, distracted, and it is only then that Ogata recognises the blurry white strip across the man's face is not a trick of the light but rather bandages. "You new here? Haven't seen you around before."
"No." Ogata avoids the mess hall because wandering around half-blind in a place where hot, piping, disgustingly bland soup is served is simply not a good idea. "Haven't seen you around either."
"You haven't? Did you sleep through -" The man visibly jolts and turns to him. Is he frowning? "Oh, your eyes. That must hurt."
Ogata has gotten used to it. "Sure."
"Warm compresses help," the man adds. "I can -" The light shutters out. Titters and dismayed grumbles spread through the hall, before they realise that the music is still playing. "The electricity has gone out."
That is happening a lot these days. The brass must have run out of money.
"I can tell," Ogata retorts acerbically. It may take awhile before the back-up power generator kicks in. Once, a man lying on the cot beside Ogata had a heart attack during the black-out, and no one noticed until the lights went back on. It’s an experience. Ogata opens the box and shakes a candy out onto his palm. Rolls the jutted edges of the star between his fingers. "What colour is it?"
"White." Ogata tosses the candy back and shakes out another one. "Red. Hey, that's my favourite, don't eat it."
Ogata prefers to snack on the blue one, but he's also the type of guy who will disobey orders the more he's expected to obey - he can't help it, spite and pettiness are ingrained in his blood. He pops the candy into his mouth. "Too late."
"Jerk," the man complains, snatching the box back. "Well, we are given three red ones in our rations, and I had one the other day, so -" He shakes the box. "Ah, the last one." Ogata reaches for where he thinks the man's palm is, just to fuck with him, only for the man to seize his wrist. "What are you doing?"
"What?"
"What," says the man, "why are you reaching for my crotch?"
"Isn't that your -" Oh, Ogata has reached out too far. The man's hand is resting on his knee. "I can't see." It's a blur of colours.
"That much is obvious." Gingerly, the man lets go of Ogata's wrist, clearing his throat awkwardly as he stores the box away. "Hey, I'm going to go dance," he says, "want to join?"
Ogata arches an eyebrow. "Save your friendliness for someone else."
"Not much of a dancer?" The man stands. "Suit yourself."
He leaves, and Ogata watches a friend swing an arm around the man's shoulders with a loud, "Hey, Saichi! There you are -" and boxes away the encounter, sweet and transient, to the back of his mind.
Their makeshift band hops between genres, and now they are playing something distinctively fast and Western. Tsurumi will know what this is, Ogata decides, and crunches on the candy in his mouth.
He figures it's time to leave when a spinning duo crashes against his table. "Sorry!" one of them shouts, his friend doubling over at his feet. "Noma get up - woah, you're really drunk."
And Ogata is pretty sure that drunkenness isn't allowed at a military hospital too. Perhaps he can get someone in trouble, just for kicks.
He is about to extricate himself when he finds almost bumping noses with a man approaching him. "Woah," the man says, and oh, that's Saichi, "careful."
"So I heard you are called Saichi." This is a surprise. "Miss me already?"
"We are not on first-name basis," Saichi says, glancing back over his shoulders. "Hey, have a dance with me? I'll lead."
"I don't dance."
"Take it as payment for the candy," Saichi tells him, and Ogata barely has time to react before Saichi grabs him by the elbow and leads him away. "The nurses will be looking out for me among my usual circle, so they are less likely to notice if I'm with someone else."
"Not if you yell in pain when I step on your foot."
"I'll grit my teeth," Saichi promises. "Try not to step too hard, anyway."
Ogata feels afoot when Saichi clasps a hand on his upper arm and clenches Ogata's palm with the other. "We are two guys, so we can just be silly," Saichi informs, and starts to nudge Ogata along. Beside them, two soldiers are parodying a romantic scene from a popular movie to the guffaws of those around them. Ogata will never understand such dramatics. "Let loose a little."
Ogata forces himself to relax his shoulders. "Why are you hiding from the nurses anyway?" He considers it. "Did you spurn one of them?"
Saichi flushes. "No, I won't -" His face twists through an array of emotions as he struggles. "I'm not supposed to be here," Saichi confesses, "but my best friend is going to be shipped back out to the front tomorrow, and I'll be sneaking aboard to join him, so."
Ogata clicks his tongue. "Very loyal of you."
Saichi laughs, and there is this gentle humour lacing his voice that makes Ogata wish his vision is just that little clearer so that he can glimpse the expression on his face. "I made a promise."
"Must be important."
"It is."
"Let me guess: a woman?" Saichi does not answer. Might as well; this is how these stories always go.
Ogata lets the matter drop "Which division?"
Saichi's grip tightens. "First."
"Huh." Ogata snorts. "So you're from Tokyo?"
"No judgement," Saichi chides, and without warning, spins Ogata around. "Although, I'd rather you make fun of my prefecture than what others usually say."
Ogata digs his nails in to steady himself, revelling in the hiss that garners. "And what do they say?"
A huff. "Do you really not know?"
There are bubbles of light at the corners of his eyes. Someone has lit candles, Ogata thinks. "And yet you are so eager to return to your platoon."
"What to do? I have a duty." Saichi turns them around a corner and away from the crowd. He drops his arms. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Stranger." He pats Ogata on the shoulder. "I'll now be off to prepare for my grand escape."
Ogata rolls his eyes. "Off with you, then."
"For your sake, hope I won't be seeing you around." He makes to leave, when the music changes. "Oh." Saichi hesitates. "My mother used to love this song."
Someone roars joyfully from the mess hall, followed by a distinctly feminine squeal and coos of aww in the background. Disgusting. "And so?"
"If you would," Saichi begins. "One more dance?"
(This is what should have happened:
Ogata makes a face. "No," he says, and Saichi shrugs and says, "Yeah, I don't know what I'm thinking," and that's the end of it.
But that doesn't happen. Mothers - mothers. Mother of his, mother of all, his lovely mother with her hair falling out of her bun, the gentle curl of her fingers as she slices the fish.
Mother, oh mother dearest.)
Ogata shifts his weight. "And what will I get in return?"
"Another candy?" Saichi tries. "I don't know - you can decide. But be reasonable," he adds.
Frankly, Ogata isn't sure what he wants from Saichi, but - "Of course it'll be reasonable. Don't you have any trust in your fellow soldier?"
"I don't even know your name," Saichi counters, "or your rank. Maybe I am talking to a superior."
"Does it matter?" That'll take the fun out of it. "Hurry up. Lead the dance before the song is over."
"It's a short song," Saichi agrees, stepping in close. "Mind if we do it properly this time?"
Ogata grimaces. "I'd kill you if you try to dip me," he threatens, raising his arms, and reminds himself not to stiffen when Saichi's fingers curl against his lower back.
In the dark, his vision is even worse. He likes to imagine the bright light from the hall slanting along the walls, cutting a sharp line through the shadows. But the hall is as dim as the first breath of dawn, and it must be a moonless night for the candles to glow so bright.
Ogata closes his eyes, and focuses on everything else.
"We are simply," Saichi mutters, "moving around a box." He toes at Ogata's feet, and Ogata lets him guide them along. "And then another box, and when you are more confident, we start to sweep -" The movements loosen, swinging wider as they turn. "Like this."
Ogata is barely following, but Saichi takes care to press their ankles together. A little too considerate, this man. "Where did you learn to dance like this?"
"My mother," Saichi explains, as he urges Ogata along, "once went to the big city, where she saw rich girls spin around in beautiful dresses. So she came home and wrapped an old shawl around her waist, and danced as she sang us our lullabies."
Ogata blinks. "Homesick, aren't you?"
"Homesick for awhile now." They slow to a still, even as the music continues to play. "Although that's not quite the word, is it? If there's no home to return to?"
He doesn't know why, but Ogata can feel the corner of his lips twitching. "So you're lonely?"
Saichi snorts. "That is not the word I would choose," he comments, "although I suppose it fits, for now."
The dark seems to whisper assurances of sealed lips and buried secrets; Saichi's palms are still warm against Ogata, still so soft and gentle, and he is so charming that Ogata wonders if Tsurumi will be jealous.
"I," Ogata says, and wishes he can see the expression on Saichi's face when he leans forward.
-
This is what could have happened:
He has barely brushed against Saichi's lips (and he's missed too, kissing right above the edge of it) when Saichi panics.
Ogata wipes away the blood from the corner of his mouth - bit his lips, fuck - as he grins. "Hitting a blind man? Not very courteous of you."
Saichi swears. "What do you think you're doing?" he hisses.
Ogata can't quite place the source of the hostility. Yet his instincts have never guided him astray - not once except for Yuusaku, but that is not on him. "Didn't you say I get to decide?"
"I said something reasonable."
"I thought this is plenty reasonable," Ogata leers, "all things considered."
Will that make Saichi flinch? He can't tell, but Ogata wishes he did. That punch hurts.
"You're a bastard, you know that."
Oh, this is funny. This is fucking precious, isn't it? "Not the first time I've heard that." Ogata should probably get away. Yet something in him itches to goad, to drive Saichi insane, because a man as thoughtless as this shouldn't -
(Shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. Shouldn't be so kind after all the carnage that he's witnessed in the First Division. Shouldn't have drawn Ogata so deeply in with just a dance and a laugh, what the fuck, what is this?)
"Come on, Saichi," Ogata provokes, "you are a little fucked in the head too, aren't you? I can tell: the way you talk about war, the way you are still standing here, listening." He taps on Saichi's chest, and oh, that's the collarbone. "The way you react to me."
"You -" Ogata has barely braced himself when he's lifted by the collar and swung around against the wall. He flails, kicking instinctively when Saichi grips his hair and kisses -
-
He lifts a hand and flicks Saichi on the forehead. It strikes a little higher than Ogata intends, but Saichi recoils either way.
"What are you doing?" he demands, breaking away to rub at the pain.
"Feeling undignified." Ogata folds his arms behind him as he steps back. "I've changed my mind. No more dancing."
Saichi sounds like he's sulking when he reminds, "We had a deal."
"And I'm nulling it."
"Asshat."
Ogata feels his grin widen. "Surely you can do better than that," he taunts. Stops himself from ruffling Saichi's head, and then thinks, oh what the hell, and does it anyway.
The buzzed hair is ticklish and spikey under his palms. Ogata snatches his hand back before Saichi can bat it away.
"Get lost now," Ogata instructs, just as the music in the background peters off into the next song. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"
He truly wishes he can see Saichi's face. The twist of emotions, the confusion and the annoyance. But the shadows hug their arms around Saichi's figure and drag him away, wrapping him up in the covers of the night as he leaves, and Ogata is left with an exasperated, "Take care, you little shit," before Saichi has left him alone in the corridor.
Ogata leans back against the wall, and stares up at the ceiling. Absently, he reaches into his pockets for a cigarette, only to remember that his was confiscated by the nurses earlier in the week.
Maybe he can -
Wait.
His nails strike something small and hard. When Ogata picks it up, it is the familiar shape of the starburst candy, poking into the pads of his fingers.
He pops it into his mouth. The red flavour. Huh.
Stupid man, Ogata thinks, and smiles into the dark.