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Summer’s heat hovers over the city, oppressive and inescapable. On every street at least one person can be seen out watering the road at all hours of the day. In the middle of all of this sits Teradaya inn and even further in its least reliable patron – Sakamoto Ryoma.
Ryoma lays in his room, listening to the cicadas sing while trying to keep himself from falling asleep. He’s feeling bored, restless, hand under his chin and elbow digging into the floor. Things have ground to a halt, no new leads, no major flare ups of tension, just real, honest (if you can call it that) Shinsengumi work.
He groans, head lolling back and hand slipping. If he stays here he’ll only sleep the day away. A nice idea, in theory, but one that will leave him plenty upset the next day when he’s back on duty as captain. Despite the knowledge, he can’t help but nod off a little...
“Saito-han~” calls the voice of his landlady from the hall.
Ryoma jolts awake at this, barely realising he’d fallen asleep.
“Saito-han,” She calls again, this time less sweetly. The door to his room slides open, revealing Otose in her lunchtime rush glory. She tuts, refusing to look around the room lest she have to chastise him more than usual, “You’ll waste the entire day away in here at this rate.”
Ryoma waves his hand dismissively, “There’s plenty of day left.”
“It’s after noon already,” Ryoma doesn’t need to look up to see the look of pity on Otose’s face, “Hardly becoming of an officer of the Shinsengumi to sleep all day.”
“And here I thought you didn’t like the Shinsengumi,” Ryoma stretches, groaning as his shoulders complain.
“That’s beside the point,” She’s not wrong anyway... Ryoma has seen his fair share of slackers in the Shinsengumi barracks, but for all the officers tend to posturing they do pull their weight. It isn’t as if he’s terribly recognizable in his role when not donning his signature haori, but it wouldn’t hurt for any productive member of society to leave his room every day.
The question of what to do with his day is less easily answered. Drinking is tempting, but he’s nursing a bit of a headache from overdoing it the night before. Women would be tempting but for the fact that Ryoma doesn’t think he could stomach the effort of smalltalk. Of all his hobbies, this leaves wandering aimlessly and fishing.
“Okami-san, how would you and Oryo like some fresh-caught fish for yourselves for once.”
*
The first order of business is to get out of the city proper. Nagakura had been telling Ryoma about a fishing spot not far from city limits that was apparently quite convenient and he’s been meaning to find an excuse to give it a try. All the fishing holes in the city are either crowded or polluted and tend not to produce good gains, but going out into the sea is annoying in its own way...
Based on Nagakura’s description – a peaceful, secluded spot where the waters were calm – Ryoma had been expecting solitude, but as he approaches the landmarks he’d been told to look for he spots a gaggle of young women hiding behind a few trees and one large rock. One of them turns her head as his footsteps become audible, blushing and trying to make herself small.
As he stops near them, the others turn too, faces ranging from annoyed to embarrassed by his presence, “Is something going on?” he asks, glancing around to see if there’s any trouble.
One of the annoyed-looking women rolls her eyes, “Nothing much you’d care for, samurai-san,” she hops up, pressing her hands against the edge of the large boulder she’s standing behind and propping herself up, smiling at something in the distance.
It’s clear Ryoma won’t get much more out of them, each so entranced in whatever they’re doing that they’ve quickly gone back to ignoring him. He sighs, fixing his swords and soldiering on out of the treeline and towards his promised shore.
“Don’t you bother him!” another of the women hisses, as Ryoma passes by, quiet but venomous.
The area is nice, Ryoma must admit, Nagakura hadn’t been wrong. The little beach is surrounded by trees, making it feel more secluded than it really is. Along the shore sits only pebbles, save for a small fishing boat and the ‘him’ in question – a man at the edge of the water already fishing.
With his sleeves tied back, Ryoma can already tell why the women poorly hidden behind the treeline are so eager to keep watch. He stands tall, broad shoulders and strong arms, dressed relatively plainly in black. Ryoma can’t see his face from this angle, but something in his stance seems familiar, though out of reach.
The next thing Ryoma notices is that his hair is cut short, and just before his thoughts catch up with his eyes the sound of Ryoma’s steps causes the other man to turn around, revealing his face and a far-off sigh from the treeline.
“Saito-kun.”
For some reason, it had never occurred to Ryoma to imagine Hijikata Toshizo outside of work. It feels like being a child and seeing your favourite shopkeeper at the baths. Of course, Ryoma’s old enough now to understand that other people aren’t tied to their places of work, and that every person has their own rich inner life... but it still feels just a bit wrong. Nevertheless, Ryoma returns his greeting, moving to stand at his side so as not to completely interrupt his fishing, “Any luck?”
“Nothing’s really biting, if that’s your question,” Hijikata stares in the distance, squinting slightly in the sun. He doesn’t seem all that bothered by the lack of fish, for all that he still stands with his line cast. In direct sunlight, Ryoma can see blemishes he’d never noticed before, freckles and moles peppering Hijikata’s skin.
Ryoma can’t think of a good follow-up to that. He doesn’t love the idea of fishing with no gains, having promised he’d come back with something edible, and he doesn’t much fancy the audience either. Whether Hijikata is aware of said audience’s presence or not escapes him. Hijikata seems as impenetrable as ever, attention focused on the water.
Of all the former Shiekan men, Hijikata strikes Ryoma as the oddest. He doesn’t have Todo’s flair, Okita’s unpredictability, or Inoue’s quiet charisma, but he has his own quirks. Hijikata is at once zealous and detached, ruthless yet merciful. A man dedicated to the Shinsengumi and its head above all else yet here at the side of a riverbank wasting time with fish that won’t bite.
Ryoma wants to see what he’s made of, needs to know if he is, in fact, the man who brought him to Kyo in the first place. This certainly isn’t the place to draw swords and put that fully to the test, but it is the best excuse to try and pull back the curtain in other ways.
“It’s a bit shallow here,” Ryoma starts, nodding towards the mouth of the water in front of them, “If we head out further on the river, we should be able to catch something.”
“Hmm?” Hijikata turns his head, eyebrows drawn in concentration. He blinks, long eyelashes casting tiny shadows against his cheeks. Ryoma opens his mouth to repeat himself, but Hijikata answers again before he can, “Ah... you’re right, my line isn’t long enough.”
With that, Hijikata pulls back his line, bait long since having fallen off the hook, before packing up the rod. As they make their way towards the boat nestled on the shore, Ryoma hears yet another set of footsteps rushing towards them across the rocks and dirt.
“Excuse me,” one of the women from earlier calls out, holding something to her chest, “Sorry to bother you, but I was just passing through on my way to the shrine near here and...” her voice shakes nearly as much as her hands do as she holds out the bundle in her arms, “I made too much food this morning...”
Ryoma expects a curt dismissal, but instead Hijikata steps forward, taking the bundle from her with a soft smile. Their hands brush where the fabric is tied, and the woman blushes, red streaking over her cheeks and down her neck. She tightens her lips and bows, eyes trained on the space behind them, “I hope you enjoy, it’s nothing much... like I said, I just made too much...”
“I’m sure it will be delicious, thank you,” Hijikata replies before turning back to the boat.
Ryoma watches as the woman stands back up straight, biting her lip, eyes flickering between them before she leaves, trying desperately not to walk too quickly back towards the forest.
“Should you really have accepted that?” Ryoma asks, grabbing the gunwale of the boat, as Hijikata places the bundle of food and his supplies underneath the seat.
“It would be a waste not to,” Hijikata says, as he grabs the other side of the gunwale instinctively.
They push the boat out without need for another signal, hopping in as the water starts to take over. Ryoma takes the oars, as Hijikata settles against the bottom of the boat, tucking their swords against the seat before loosening his posture, elbow perched on what should be the second seat and face leaning into his hand.
He seems almost too comfortable, relaxing onto the floor of the boat like it’s cushioned with tatami. Hijikata seems totally at ease, staring in the distance as Ryoma rows out towards the middle of the river with his knees bent and legs spread, toned calves peeking out from under his hakama. All he’s missing is a pipe to smoke.
It’s a far cry from his proper comportment at the barracks. Ryoma feels a bit like the women at the treeline, mesmerized by the Vice Commander in repose. It isn’t as if Ryoma had never noticed that Hijikata was handsome – he isn’t blind, but that beauty always seemed cold and untouchable like jade. Here amongst the rustling leaves and the quiet bubble of the river, Hijikata seems more human and even more beautiful for it. Were Ryoma a woman, he’d be right there with the others throwing himself at Hijikata’s feet for even the chance of looking at his face. As it is, he can do at least one of those things without shame.
*
They fall into silence while fishing, each focused on his task. It should be the perfect opportunity to dig deeper into what makes Hijikata tick, but Ryoma can’t bring himself to break the peace. The hustle and bustle of the city often leaves him with little quiet time, someone always roping him into something or else just the sounds of the city echoing around him.
Out here, Hijikata has no problem catching fish, though he throws every one of them back after careful consideration. Ryoma’s not as picky, taking a few catches that are of decent enough size and keeping them for later. He’s hoping for a salmon, but at least he won’t go back to Teradaya empty-handed regardless.
“Saito-kun,” Hijikata’s voice shakes Ryoma from the meditative effect of the water, “Hungry?”
Ryoma turns his head to see Hijikata holding out a piece of warabimochi. It’s then Ryoma realizes they’ve been out here for hours. He accepts, expecting Hijikata to drop the mochi into his hand, but instead Hijikata leans forward, left palm hovering to catch any loose kinako and forcing Ryoma to take to mochi with his teeth.
Hijikata leans back again, jostling the boat slightly, before he returns to rummaging through the food they’d been given. He pulls out two small plums, palming each in one hand. He must decide they’re ripe enough, as he hands one out to Ryoma and takes a bite of the other, juice slipping down his chin like a child.
Ryoma dismisses this second offer. With his mind already moving on to dinner, he doesn’t really want fruit. It’s late in the afternoon, sun not low enough to change colour, but time enough passed that if Ryoma doesn’t head back soon he might miss his promised cut-off time.
“Hijikata,” he says, packing up his supplies, “Do you need more time?”
Hijikata swallows a mouthful of plum before responding, “No, I wouldn’t mind staying longer, but it’s been a good day.”
Ryoma watches as Hijikata tosses the plum’s stone into the water, licking the juice off his fingers all while looking out down the river. It’s a simple movement, a normal and expected one, but again Ryoma finds himself crossing an unknown frontier.
On the way back to shore, Hijikata dips his hand into the water, eyes trained on the path it cuts. After disembarking, they rearrange themselves as necessary.
“Have a good evening, Saito-kun,” Hijikata dips his head in farewell.
“You as well, Hijikata.” There’s nothing more to be said. Ryoma could insist on going the same way, traipsing back through the trees at Hijikata’s side and finally making the smalltalk he should have out on the river, but it seems too false a move, even for ‘Saito.’
Instead, they turn and walk their own ways. Ryoma resists the urge to look back for a moment, it’s not as if they won’t see each other the next day after all, but as he steps from sand to tamped grass, he can’t help but do so. The clearing is empty, of course.
*
Upon returning to Teradaya, Ryoma looks around for either of the women running it. He spies Oryo first, out in the courtyard with broom in-hand.
“Oryo!” Ryoma calls to get her attention. Enraptured as she is in sweeping the floor, she starts at the sound of his voice.
“H-Hajime-san, you startled me,” she pouts, fidgeting with the broom.
“Sorry,” he says, not really meaning it. Before he can explain why he’s sought her out, a handful of other patrons come streaming in from the street, each one of them calling out and asking how long it’ll be until their meals are ready.
Oryo excuses herself, and runs to greet them back. It’s clear there’s no point in trying to get her attention again, so Ryoma heads back towards the kitchens instead. He can see Otose hard at work, divvying up portions and checking various dishes to make sure nothing’s burning.
Ryoma catches her eye, sharpened steel, and lifts the two decent trout he’d caught earlier in the day by way of peace offering, “I told you I’d bring some back for you and Oryo.”
Otose rolls her eyes indulgently, “You say a lot of things, Hajime-san.” she wipes a line of sweat off her brow before continuing, “If you wanted it for dinner you should’ve come back earlier.”
“For you,” he replies, “I’m going out drinking, don’t save a portion for me.”
Fushimi is just waking up, the very first bold drunks stumbling out of restaurants far earlier than usually acceptable. Ryoma isn’t quite sure where he wants to go, whether he wants to drink alone, meet new people, or gamble until he’s run out the last of his pay. Each night out teaches him more about the city, the people – he’ll be one of them eventually...
Until then, he can hear his new name being called from every building down the street.