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“What do you like about me?”
Purple eyes flicked up from the book they were so glued to, eyelids lifting slightly to convey a slight surprise from the question. Ishikirimaru lowered his eyes, the corners of his lips a soft, gentle smile.
“Everything.”
Izuminokami was on his back, limbs sprawled out in a rather undignified manner, a leg sticking out of his red and black yukata. It wasn’t as if either he or his husband minded to see him in such an inelegant posture. In his hands was a Rubik's Cube that he had been trying to solve the entire time. Though he had gotten his answer already, the slight frown on the Kanesada’s face meant that he didn’t seem to fully accept that answer.
“I know,” he said softly. He finally closed his legs, sitting up, putting away the puzzle before propping his weight on both arms outstretched on the floor behind him. “But… what is it specifically? I want to know.”
A flash of worry came upon Ishikiri’s expression. Izumi knew immediately what that worry implied.
“I know you still love me!” the uchigatana said hurriedly, lurching forward with one hand reaching out, “And I love you dearly, too.”
The oodachi realized the expression he must have put on his face. He quickly put on a smile again, taking Izumi’s hand to kiss the back of it. “Then, what are you worried about, if I may ask?”
Izumi’s cheeks flushed as he watched and felt the kiss on his hand. “I’m just curious,” he said, “We both come from such different histories… I just… I just can’t help but wonder sometimes, how we are both compatible with each other.”
Ishikirimaru understood exactly what his beloved meant. He was right; they both did come from drastically different histories. Ishikirimaru had come from a vague background, known as the sword of healing, cutting away tumours and swelling, purifying the impure, worshipped by many, to bring peace and health among them. Never once had he been used in battle. There was no blood on his blade at all, until he happened to be summoned upon the citadel to fight against the Time Retrograde Army. Even then, he would prefer to pray than to fight.
Izuminokami Kanesada, on the other hand, was the well-known sword of the infamous Demon Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata Toshizo. Unlike Ishikirimaru, who was made for the purpose of healing, Izuminokami was created for the exact opposite purpose. He was made for killing, for bloodshed, for cutting down those who dared to defy or oppose his wielder. That was the intent in mind when he was made, a fine sword, enough to cut down those who stood in the path of the Shinsengumi. His blade has been soaked in the blood of countless victims. Killing was his entire purpose.
And yet, somehow, these two were sitting comfortably with each other, happily married, living out their lives in the citadel.
Sure, some say that opposites attract, but Izumi could still not fathom how he could end up in such a position, how Ishikiri could love someone as rambunctious, as violent as him. Someone with so much blood on his hands. But it wasn’t as if he had any complaints about their relationship, though. He still loved Ishikiri with all of his heart and soul. He loved the gentleness, the kindness, how the Sanjou has helped him through thick and thin, listening to his troubles.
But has he done the same?
Ishikiri could see the turbulent emotions in Izumi’s eyes, casted downward, looking so solemnly at the tatami mats. Gently, he put his right hand on the Kanesada’s cheek, his left hand still holding onto the clenched fist.
“Do we need to be compatible?” he asked, pressing his forehead sweetly against his beloved. He got an unsure pause. Tenderly, he kissed a pair of soft, lush lips, caressing the bottom lip with his thumb. He couldn’t help but grin slightly when he felt those cheeks warm up.
Izumi nudged against the hand cupping his palm, frowning in embarrassment with his eyes closed. He let out a small exclamation of surprise when an arm suddenly wrapped around his slim waist, pulling him closer, seated in the center of Ishikiri’s crossed legs. His face turned red when he felt another peck on his cheek, then slow, steady breaths at his right ear.
“I’ll tell you what I like about you, then.”
Izumi drew in a sharp breath. Ishikiri chuckled.
A hand trailed from flushed cheeks, slowly trailing all the way down to the clenched jaws. After a small massage, they loosened up.
“I love your smile.”
Kanesada’s heart fluttered.
“Everytime I see you smiling, I simply cannot help but think about how precious it is.” Ishikirimaru lightly grasped Izumi’s chin and turned him to his right, leaning in to look at each other face to face. There was that kind curve of his lips. “When you laugh, my dear, it’s simply music to my ears. Such heartfelt laughter, free and unknowing, endearing and boisterous.”
“And when I laugh on the battlefield?”
When Izuminokami said that, he meant the times he would laugh in what others considered to be in a maniacal manner. Drenched in the blood of his enemies, standing hunched over, laughing to himself once he finishes off the last one, grinning from ear to ear. The bloodshed was simply too much fun for him.
It was admittedly a shameful part of himself that he did not want Ishikirimaru to see, in fear that the man he came to love would shun him for his behaviour. It was an understandable thought, seeing how Ishikiri is a peacekeeper rather than a fighter.
But instead, the Shinto sword found it to be even more endearing.
“Do you not remember that day?” Ishikiri meant the day he first saw Izumi in such a state. “I remember how shameful you were, your head hanging low. You didn’t want to look at me, either.”
That was true. Izuminokami had been too ashamed to look at him in the eyes. How could he not? Though he had obviously shown the lust for battle, he had never gotten to the point of showing… that side of himself.
“I remember,” Izumi said, thinking about that day. “You… still hugged me, you wiped the blood off of my face, you… kissed me, even though I was…”
A slow nod.
The young Kanesada’s lips curved upwards, and he let out a small puff akin to a chuckle. The arms that embraced him tightened slightly. How could he have doubted that Ishikiri would love that laughter of it?
“Is that all?” He knew it was selfish of him to ask for more reasons, but Izumi wanted to hear more. He wanted to know more. He loved it when others praised him, especially if it was from Ishikirimaru himself.
And Ishikiri knew that. He kissed his dearest on the lips, the kiss lasting a little longer than usual. When they pulled apart, Ishikiri then said, “I was saving the best part for last, but I suppose I can say it now.”
Best for last? Now Izuminokami was extremely curious!
“I admire you for your strength.”
Wait a minute.
Izumi frowned and blink twice. “Aren’t you stronger than me?” he asked, turning to give Ishikiri a quizzical look.
The Sanjou smiled at that. He playfully pinched the cute nose, getting an annoyed whine out of it. “I meant a different kind of strength,” he continued, “I’m sure that you know, but even if I am truly the strongest sword in this citadel, I would very much prefer to pray than to fight.”
The uchigatana nodded.
“And yet, you are always ready for battle, ready to make decisions on the fly, carefully calculating a plan of attack in your mind. You make a great leader for your team, always prioritizing your teammates over yourself. You never turn down a fight, as long as you have strength left in you.”
It was true. Izuminokami had a knack for fighting, and even more so for strategizing and improvising. There have been many times on the battlefield where things just don’t go as planned. And yet, Izumi was always able to whip up a new plan of attack on the spot. He seldom panicked when something went wrong. When a teammate is severely injured, he would not accept any excuses from them and bring the entire team back for treatment. It was always him who would take the blow.
Ishikiri bore witness to this once. Back then, he was but a new recruit in their citadel, yet to have built up his strength. When they encountered the Kebiishi, he put the oodachi at the back with his trusted assistant, Horikawa, to defend him. Yet, the Kebiishi could sense the weak spot in the team and charged straight for the slow oodachi!. In the end, Ishikirimaru was heavily injured in the ensuing battle. Before an oodachi could deliver the final strike, Izuminokami had jumped in and took the blow. It was not even a minor wound inflicted upon him, but a severe one. One that would have had him confined him to the infirmary for a week.
Yet, with that large gash across his chest, even when he was bleeding out so severely that anyone else would have collapsed on the spot… He still managed to cut down the enemy in one swift downward slash.
And after that, he did not collapse. He staggered over to Ishikiri, who was injured badly but not as bad as Izumi was, and he carried the hurt oodachi on his back, the oodachi who was much bigger than he was, requested to return to the citadel (they had to anyway, since the severely injured Izuminokami was the captain), and brought the Sanjou all the way to the infirmary. It was not until Yagen gave him the all clear on Ishikiri’s condition did Izumi finally collapse from his injuries and exhaustion, bound to bed for a week.
When the Sanjou visited the severely injured uchigatana in the second room of infirmary, chiding him for putting himself in such a precarious situation, Izumi let out a weak laugh, but it still held that energetic spirit. He told Ishikiri, “When you’re the leader, you gotta look out for your teammates. It’s what you must do.”
Izumi thought back to his own question, if he did anything for Ishikiri. Yes, he did. He really did. He has done so much for him.
Ishikiri smiled brighter and squeezed tighter around his husband’s waist. “That’s the kind of strength I’m talking about.”
Ah, his cheeks were getting hotter by the second, Izumi thought to himself. This was an earnest compliment, he could tell. He remembered when he was in the infirmary, Ishikiri chided him, and yet he still smiled. But the Sanjou… cried. He was so terribly worried about Izumi, after seeing all that transpired on the battlefield. But if he had not saved Jizou, what would he have done? Just let him get killed on the spot? Izuminokami would never forgive himself for that.
“Thank you,” came the soft whisper, barely audible. He felt more loved than he ever did.
“There is no need to thank me.” A hand brushed through the raven hair, locks of silky hair flowing smoothly from slightly calloused fingers. He turned Izumi around, leaning in close. Their lips almost touched. “I am simply telling you why I like you, and what I like- no. What I love about you.”
Ending on that note, Ishikirimaru pulled his husband into a kiss, one which Izuminokami happily returned.