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Jouno doesn’t brandish his sword as much as Tecchou does.
When Jouno demands him to, the swordsman unsheathes his sword. When rough hands come to the hilt, all mercy is thrown out of the window—the blade elongates and broadens in size on his will, cutting through everything in its path and eliminating any perpetrator that comes to oppose him.
Defeat tons of wild boar type is how Jouno had described how Tecchou fights, however not far from the truth; Tecchou wields his blade to eliminate. To fight for his penchant for justice, to rid of all evil, to carry the hope of balance to this mortal world—all of this is what drives him to do so. When he enters the battlefield, he swings his blade with aggression, unmasking the stoicism he wears and replacing it with the sole demand to eradicate. This method hardly ever fails him, thus getting hold of the title of the strongest Hunting Dog.
Though in the present time, he finds an opponent worthy enough to prove him otherwise.
It starts like this: an irked Jouno challenges Tecchou to a battle of wits in the heat of an argument which, usually, would’ve been an easy win for the unit’s interrogation expertise, but Tecchou’s sympathetic negotiation wins over Jouno’s mentally scarring sadism in extracting information yet again. The man asks for a duel, not ready to give in yet—though Tecchou ends up getting more than what he bargained for.
Sweat beads down his forehead, bangs sticking to his skin. His white hair is disarrayed from rapid movement, lips red from mindlessly biting them—as the image of it processes in Tecchou’s mind, Jouno grips the hilt of his sword and swings it mercilessly towards his head.
It barely misses his head, cleanly slicing a few strands of his hair.
As breathtaking as Jouno is, Tecchou’s pride as a swordsman takes over. No abilities allowed, Jouno had declared beforehand, so he doesn’t elongate his blade as he’d commonly practice—instead, he gets on his feet as fast as he wavers and rushes towards Jouno, his sword flickering to one hand in a heartbeat. Jouno parries the blow that follows after it flawlessly.
There is an elegance that lines his movements; his motion holds a similar fluidity as water, one could say, as his cloak sways in sync with the blade in his hand, flashing it out to counter the strike that shoves him a few steps back.
Jouno steadies his footing before lunging forward, propelling his sword like freshwater streaming down a river. The act is mirrored by his opponent, the steel of their blades meeting halfway.
Tecchou tightens his grip on the handle and pushes harder. “Not bad,” he unconsciously utters, blissfully unaware that the thought escaped his lips. He only realizes it when Jouno fails to stifle the smile that pulls on his lips—smirk is a better word, really, and his face lights up with delight.
Adrenaline rushes through his veins at that. The heat of battle isn’t a strange concept to him, but finding enjoyment in it is an unfamiliar feeling—Tecchou flaunts his blade for the sole purpose to eradicate evil, and rarely for a friendly duel (as friendly as Jouno can be) such as this.
The expression of a sword is the notion of the heart that wields it. There is a fire ignited in the swordsman’s heart, and it is fuelled by the passion that drives him; with every attack that Jouno parries, it grows fiercer, spreading like wildfire.
(The heat of battle is definitely all there is to this. Not the fact that Jouno looks infuriatingly pretty like this… though the flush on his cheeks and how red his lips have become could be a factor—
No, no. Not at all.)
“Ah,” the sound leaves Jouno’s mouth smoothly, as does anything else. “I can’t say the same for you, really… Perhaps our strongest Hunting Dog isn’t anything special without his ability after all?”
He’s such a bastard—even when he’s close to whispering the smooth sound in his voice is present, a little raspy, and his tone is lined with a condescending lilt. And he still has it in him to jeer even while struggling to keep hold of the hilt.
Pride wins over Jouno’s pretty mouth. He’s going to kill me one day, Tecchou thinks with his eyebrows furrowed and uses all of his strength to swing his blade, breaking out of the deadlock and separating them.
The smile on Jouno’s face cracks. A triumphant smile graces the face of a swordsman, though the fierce glare in his eyes does not soften.
“Don’t make fun of me,” he warns, the smile present in his voice. Irritatingly so.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Jouno asks like a snide, but his efforts are barely effective with how breathless he sounds. “How about this then—perhaps you could act more according to your title, oh strongest of the Hunting Dogs?”
A mistake. The sound of Tecchou swinging his blade once more was fleeting, so short that even Jouno barely dodges it. He loses his footing in the process, struggling to get back up, but the edge of the sword points right at his Adam’s apple almost as fast as lightning.
Oh dear.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” Jouno grits out, the usual bite present in his voice. It all but works on Tecchou, who’s washed with an unfamiliar feeling of victory. Strange. For a man who’s adapted to being unfeeling, to masking emotions to the point where it all becomes hard to come by, Tecchou finds himself unable to strain the pull on his lips growing more and more by the second.
If this is what letting himself enjoy things for once feels like, then… perhaps he should do it more often.
With a content huff of air, Tecchou inquires with delight: “Do you yield?”
Jouno hates the way Tecchou eats.
“Insufferable,” is what he answers when Tecchou asks why. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything nice to say to someone who puts rice on sugar and sauce for noodles on youkan because they’re the same colour.”
“You’ve said that before…” the swordsman notes, starting to wonder if the defeat in that duel was what left such a salty taste on Jouno’s tongue.
Jouno scoffs, a humorous show of curiosity. “You were the one who asked. Did you really like the sound of my voice that much?”
Tecchou is silent. He actually ponders the question.
The sound of steel kitchenware clinking against each other rudely interrupts one of the few moments he considers thinking.
…Right. Jouno is in his kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. This, as does most of their antiques, starts with Tecchou’s natural talent of ticking Jouno off with everything he says and does: this time with an innocent suggestion. To the public eye, at least.
(“I don’t see what’s so wrong about it,” Tecchou started, already earning a sigh from Jouno, “I figured that I’d thank my teammates with a cake.”
“You can show your gratitude to me by getting out of my sight. Your soul has no artistry, as proven many times before, therefore I am determined that your baking will be just as horrible as your tastes. Actually, I hope it’s a written rule somewhere to keep you away from the kitchen.” Jouno retorts with no mercy, his tone full of the usual bite reserved for his partner.
Tecchou huffs. “You’re exaggerating. I’m capable of considering the comfort of my teammates’ taste buds—I’ve already figured out what to bake.”
“Really!” Jouno exclaims with a sickly sweet voice. “And pray tell me what it is?”
“Chilli and red bean flavoured.”
Jouno smiles. “You are going to hell.”
“I think they’d go well together.”
“I guarantee you they do not.”)
Tecchou didn’t seem like he’d back out from it, so Jouno personally came to his apartment to stop him. The swordsman is more impressed than he is displeased by the lengths Jouno goes through to make his life a living hell—though his life isn’t exactly hell, because he thinks of the flip side: Jouno willingly walks into his humble apartment to assist him in the kitchen.
He watches Jouno as the latter unloads the groceries he brought with him on the counter—fresh strawberries, sugar, flour—while mumbling more insults towards his peculiar tastes. Though his words are lined with spite, his movement is gentle, dainty fingers working around the plastic containers carefully.
Jouno gestures a hand towards the strawberries. “Help me wash these, would you?”
No, he isn’t thinking of the sheer domesticity of it. That would be crude.
Tecchou’s hand brushes against Jouno’s when he moves to take the container in his hand—he tries not to think about how soft Jouno’s skin feels, how delicate his touch is when he holds his hand, guiding them to wash the strawberries properly. He fails awfully.
“What are we baking with this?” Tecchou asks, making an effort to keep his voice from wavering.
“Something better than chili and red bean cake, for sure.”
“And that is,”
A ghost of a smile creeps on Jouno’s face. “Strawberry shortcake.”
No, Tecchou is not lovestruck by a mere almost-smile. Ridiculous.
Everything that goes after that engraves itself into Tecchou’s memory like a tattoo—for one who paints himself with a malicious image, Jouno is incredibly endearing. Each time where their skin nudged against each other makes his heart skip a beat, as does the close view that makes way for him to see Jouno’s white and long eyelashes. Tecchou learns that taking his mind off of this man is near impossible.
So yes, he didn’t focus on the cake at all. Much to Jouno’s dismay.
“Focus,” Jouno says after checking the cooled sponge cake. “Don’t you think I missed the fact that you spaced out while I was talking earlier. I need your eyes to decorate the cake.”
“I was listening.” Half-lie, because Tecchou only focused on the pretty sound of his voice, not the speech about why using fresh eggs makes your sponge cake fluffier.
Jouno ignores him for his own good and starts going on about the steps. As per demand, Tecchou starts cutting the strawberries in half while Jouno coats the cut sides of the cake with syrup, working in comfortable silence. A focused expression is fixed on his face. Then, he coats the bottom half of the cake with whipped cream, and Tecchou follows after to arrange the strawberries on them.
Another coating of whipped cream comes after that, then the other half of the cake, and then the bowl is emptied as the last portion is used to coat the entire cake. Tecchou takes a step back, eyes fixated on something other than Jouno for once as he arranges strawberries on top of the cake. He licks off the cream that got on his thumb—it’s sweeter than he remembered… Jouno must’ve added more sugar when he wasn’t looking. A fond smile graces his lips when the man speaks.
“My biggest enemy has been eliminated.” Jouno says with feigned enthusiasm. He takes a sip of cold water and mindlessly hands the glass to Tecchou. Something ridiculous about an indirect kiss crosses his mind when he gladly accepts, “Soo dramatic.”
Big mistake. Tecchou earns a flick on his forehead for it.
Jouno huffs. He grabs the glass and downs it, “Since my work here is done, I’ll be leaving now.”
Tecchou wants him to stay. He thinks of the things they could do if he did for the rest of the day—maybe watch a movie, binge shows, or eat the cake because he may or may not have forgotten the initial reason he wanted to bake it through his Jouno-pining moment—but when he opens his mouth to voice them out, the words are stuck under his tongue, and Jouno’s hand is already reaching the doorknob. Tecchou fiddles with his fingers—he really should say something if he wants to, isn’t that how it’s always been—yet his throat feels dry even after drinking water and Jouno’s already put on his shoes and twisted the knob.
“What’s wrong?” Jouno supplies when Tecchou freezes in place. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”
Not funny. Tecchou takes a few steps towards the door.
“You don’t actually have t—mmph.”
Jouno’s lips carry the faint taste of strawberries and overly-sweetened whipped cream. They don’t move; neither do, and Tecchou pulls away swiftly before anything more could happen.
He was merely joking. Tecchou is only aware now after he’d done it though, and now they’ve both reddened and while god Jouno looks so good, Tecchou yanks his hand off of Jouno’s jaw and scrambles to find the words to say—an apology, maybe, or just say goodbye and pretend that never happened. Jouno's fingers move away from the knob and up to his own jaw where his hands were, and up to brush his lips where he'd been kissed. Tecchou deliberately tries to avoid staring at them. He fails.
“...Goodbye, then.” he finally says, barely above a whisper. Tecchou doesn’t try to stop him this time.
Tecchou is not a coward.
That’s what the man tells his vice-captain early in the morning the day after in the meeting room. He hasn’t seen Jouno ever since, not quite sure if he’s relieved or anxious regarding that. What he is sure of is that he regrets telling Teruko all about it.
“You finally went on and did it!” Teruko exclaims—to anyone else, it would’ve seemed like delight, but Tecchou knows her for long enough to sense the mischievous tone flickering in her excitement. She takes advantage of her small figure and swings her legs while sitting on Tecchou’s shoulder, popping candy in her mouth. Tecchou supplies one hand to support her, “You’re going to fall if you keep that up.”
Teruko ignores him and throws the wrapper towards the bin nearby and… misses.
“Tecchou,” she says. Her legs stop swinging. “You didn’t see that.”
“I did not.”
Her lips quirk up again. “If that’s settled—the glorious and magnificent Teruko will guide you through your current predicament!”
“I didn’t come to you for help,” Tecchou starts, already feeling exasperated so early in the morning. “I happened to come early today and you were already here, and then you asked what happened yesterday…” he pauses. “How’d you know something did?”
There’s a shit-eating smile on her lips, pride filling in her already domineering presence. “You don’t usually come this early—but Jouno does, and everyone knows that, so you must’ve wanted to talk to him alone in person. Unfortunately for you, I also came early to see him because the bastard promised me piggyback rides for the whole day if I did, but since he’s late for some reason, you can suffice!” she states, already switching her position for a ride.
Tecchou reddens, embarrassed for being so see-through. “Right. So pray tell me how you’ll help, Teruko?”
“Dunno.”
He deadpans. Someone in this room will end up dead.
“Don’t make that face. You look stupid, of course I know!” Teruko flails her hand around. “But all I can give is advice, you know. You have to fix this yourself—if anything was ever broken, that is. I really don’t see what the problem is.”
She takes another candy from her pocket and throws the wrapper in some corner of the room. She doesn’t really care where it ends up anymore. “So step one is to tell me what actually is so bad that you can’t settle on the phone!”
“I.”
“You?”
Tecchou grumbles. Teruko giggles—she’s enjoying this a little too much.
“It’s… too complicated. I’m not familiar with it.” He sucks in a breath. “I wouldn’t know if I don’t settle it directly.”
Teruko hums. “But don’t you think he already knows?” she says, and fluffs his hair with aggression when Tecchou makes a questioning look. “Don’t act dumb! I know that you know that I know that you know that he knows!”
“What?”
“It’s so hard being so smart,” Teruko sighs, and if she were anyone else, Tecchou would’ve considered dropping her to the ground. “Jouno’s a walking heart monitor, so if you do like him, he would’ve heard the—you know—the leap in your heartbeat when you’re around him!”
“Vice captain. Please stop talking.” Tecchou croaks, face planting into the table and making her fall on her face. Teruko isn’t stupid, yet she was clasping her hands together and grinning, where did those roses and sparkles around her come from—in other words, she’s putting up the childish act on purpose.
She rolls on the table to face Tecchou, her smile turning into a pout. “You’re no fun at all.”
Tecchou merely deadpans again. “It seems my mortification is hilarious to you, Teruko.”
“Of course it is! Anyone would get a kick out of you—our strongest soldier, steel in both body and spirit, yada yada yada—blushing like a schoolgirl. You’re lucky that I’m nice and I’d never reveal it to anyone!” she retorts, mumbling something along the lines of ‘it wouldn’t hurt if I told our favourite boy in his Port Mafia mission although…’ under her breath.
“Which is why I didn’t ask for your help—”
“Jouno’s here.”
Tecchou freezes. Five seconds pass, six, seven, yet the door stays untouched. He resists the hand coming down to pull his blade out of the scabbard.
It takes another ten minutes of Teruko giggling and snickering at him before actual footsteps approach the room, and the man in question appears.
“Isn’t it lively in here,” Jouno mutters. “Apologies for my delay, Teruko-san. Something came up.”
Teruko raises a brow and moves to her seat only after whispering: “Goodluck!”
Tecchou voluntarily refrains from looking at him for the rest of the meeting.
“Goodluck” my ass—he’s yet to even look at the damn guy, nor listen to anything the captain was spewing when his mind is somewhere far, far away than the meeting. It ends with Teruko dragging Fukuchi out to his office, something about a proposal to make the unit stronger, although Tecchou is sure she’s simply making an excuse to leave him alone with Jouno—a foolish plan, really, because it’s not like Jouno himself wouldn’t leave.
…He doesn’t. Tecchou waits a few minutes while almost slouched on his chair, fiddling with the handle of his sword, but Jouno makes no effort to leave.
“So,” Jouno breaks the silence, an impatient pitch rising in his voice. “Is there anything you’d like to say or should I get up and leave?”
“There is.” the reply is uttered earlier before his brain could catch up.
Jouno hums. “Well?”
“Well,” Tecchou parrots; his hands are still itching for something to do. “For one, I apologize for—”
“For one, you have nothing to apologize for,” Jouno cuts him off before he finishes whatever he was about to say—the impatience seeps into his tone once more. He crosses his arms to prove it further. “If this is about the kiss, I invited it, and if that’s what you were stuck on then you had absolutely no excuse to ignore the 148-word paragraph about your poor work ethic I sent to the groupchat last night!”
“I didn’t—” Tecchou opens his mouth to say something, but his tongue runs dry as he pauses abruptly to recap the things Jouno said.
“You,” he starts slowly this time. “You weren’t joking?”
Like a kettle, Jouno’s impatience rises, seethes and bubbles until it sings with high pressure—he stands up from his seat so hastily that the chair falls behind him, takes a few steps towards the man who’s plagued his mind more than he’d like, and before Tecchou could process it, he grabs his collar and breaches the space between their lips.
This time, Tecchou smells the scent of tea with a tad too much sugar that Jouno drank prior to the meeting when he inhales the air between them sharply. This time, Tecchou is given a chance—a moment to relish in the heat burning in his chest, to savour the taste of Jouno’s lips between his chapped ones. This time, his hands make their way up to Jouno’s jaw, then to the back of his head, and then his fingers tangle into white hair.
Jouno’s hands must’ve slipped somewhere along the way too, because they settle on Tecchou’s shoulder and cheek when he pulls away. Despite the reddening of his cheeks betraying him, Jouno smiles pleasantly when he speaks. “Does it look like I’m joking?”
His voice is so attractive that it’s unfair. Tecchou ponders the consequences if he steps on his foot for it. He huffs instead, “It does not.”
“Good,” Jouno says while pulling his chair closer. “Now, how do you say we perfect this?”
Tecchou snorts. He leans in anyway.
Tecchou is in love.
Love is a big word. Tecchou is utterly, wholly, entirely devoted to his partner. Once before, this devotion was purely for balance—once before, this swordsman spoke: “There is evil that goes unpunished, and good that goes unrewarded. Without my blade, how could anything in this mortal world ever hope for balance?”—more of a statement than a query, for he truly believes in the role he plays in the effort of achieving such balance.
His penchant for justice still burns. That will never change, no, but recently, he’d found another reason to flourish his blade.
“I wouldn’t go if I were you,” Teruko warns, an unreadable expression on her face—but Jouno’s been gone for longer than he’d like, and Tecchou feels an ugly tightness coiling in his chest.
To her dismay, he ignores her. It’ll be fine, Tecchou hopes. I’ll find him in a heartbeat and we’ll go on with the mission, he merely hopes, because the ache that fills his heart feels horrid and he’s never felt so helpless.
With that in mind, he presses the hilt of his blade against his lips, and prepares for blood.