Work Text:
Tanigaki’s shovel hit the frozen ground with a dull thud, barely making a dent in the stubborn Manchurian soil. They’d been working for hours, digging out a trench line to reinforce the artillery position. Despite the cold winter air, the heat from the exertion had him down to just his shirt, his jacket tossed aside. Even in the biting cold, sweat clung to his skin, the fabric of his uniform stretching tight across his broad chest.
Tanigaki gritted his teeth, swinging his shovel again, trying to break through the frost-bitten earth with more force, when— rip —a button snapped right off his shirt, hitting an ammunition crate with a sharp metallic cling before disappearing into the dirt.
He barely had time to register what had happened before the teasing began.
“Take cover!” one of the soldiers called from the line “Tanigaki’s about to burst through his uniform again!”
Surrounded by a chorus of chuckles, Tanigaki flushed with embarrassment and awkwardly crossed his arms in front of the gaping fabric. His futile attempts at protecting his modesty only made the others laugh harder, and he shifted uncomfortably, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.
But then a shadow fell over him and an outstretched hand held out to him the button he’d lost. Tanigaki blinked, looking up.
It was private Ariko Rikimatsu.
They were in the same regiment, though they hadn’t interacted much. The other man seemed to keep to himself, rarely engaging with the others.
“Thanks,” Tanigaki muttered as he took the button, relieved that Ariko had chosen this moment to break his usual isolation.
“I had the same thing happen to me a lot” Ariko said, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder that quickly silenced the laughter. “The standard-issue uniforms weren’t made with men like us in mind.”
It was only then that Tanigaki noticed how similar they were in terms of body type. Both much taller than the average soldier, broad-shouldered, their builds straining against the one-size-fits-all uniforms.
“Do you want some help fixing this?”
Tanigaki wished for nothing more than to get out of this place and public scrutiny but he hesitated and glanced toward master sergeant Kikuta, who was sitting by the wooden planks with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, overseeing the work. Would he even allow them to abandon their post?
But before Tanigaki could decide what to do, Ariko called out, “Sir, permission to help Private Tanigaki with a gear malfunction?”
Kikuta barely shifted, glancing down at Tanigaki’s torn shirt. His eyes lingered for a beat too long before he let out a soft chuckle.
“Yeah, go on. Can’t have him freezing out here,” he said, taking a drag from his cigarette. He flicked the ash onto the ground, his voice easy, almost teasing. “Take him to our tent. Fix him up before he loses his pants too.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ariko said with a quick salute, and nodded to Tanigaki, “Let's go”.
It took Tanigaki a moment to react. Kikuta’s lenience wasn’t the only thing that surprised him.
Our tent?
He’d noticed Ariko coming and going from Kikuta’s tent over the past few days, but it hadn’t really clicked until now. A private sharing space with an NCO wasn’t exactly standard procedure. Tanigaki frowned slightly, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was just a matter of space—soldiers had been packed tighter than expected—or maybe Kikuta had taken an interest in Ariko. After all, Ariko wasn’t exactly fitting in with the others. And Kikuta, despite maintaining a firm grip on discipline, always seemed to keep an eye on the odd ones out.
“Right,” Tanigaki muttered, as he followed Ariko.
As they walked, Tanigaki glanced back toward Kikuta who had already resumed his slouched position, arms crossed against the cold, his eyes sweeping over the remaining men digging.
---
The canvas flap of the tent rustled as they stepped inside. Tanigaki’s eyes scanned the interior, taking in the large amount of firearms scattered all around. Some dismantled, their parts lying in small heaps, some neatly aligned on the makeshift table into a collection.
But something else caught his attention—a single low cot, with two folded blankets tucked at its foot.
One bed?
There have been rumors about Kikuta, Tanigaki knew. Whispers that floated around the camp when the men thought no one was listening. With his direct manner and close bonds with some of the younger soldiers, Kikuta had become a prime subject of speculation about his romantic inclinations. Tanigaki had dismissed them as idle gossip, but now, faced with the unusual sleeping arrangement, he couldn’t help but wonder.
Ariko, rummaging through his pack, seemed oblivious to Tanigaki’s gaze at first, but then he glanced over his shoulder, catching Tanigaki staring at the cot.
“We gave up the second bed for the field hospital,” Ariko said simply, returning to his search for the sewing kit, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Kikuta doesn’t sleep well alone anyway. Not with the shelling.”
Tanigaki felt a pang of guilt at that. He had been quick to assume.
The distant thunder of artillery, the cold, the sleepless nights—the realities of this siege had broken down so many barriers that things like this were far from strange. War had created this new brand of intimacy between men as a simple means of survival.
He shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond. “I see,” he muttered.
Tanigaki remembered Kikuta back home, barking orders during the drills, preparing them for what was to come. He’d been through all of it before, and the calm, almost carefree way he carried himself both in the training grounds and even now on the battlefield, made the peril of it all feel smaller—more bearable.
But now, looking again at the single cot, Tanigaki briefly let himself imagine the same Kikuta at night, clinging to a warm body for comfort when the distant shelling shook the ground.
The thought shifted his perception of the man, making him realize that despite Kikuta’s laid-back attitude, even he needed someone to look after him in these dark times—and there was nothing weak or shameful about that. In fact, something almost sentimental tugged at Tanigaki’s heart as he thought about the quiet bond between Kikuta and his trusted subordinate, forged by necessity and the simple need for human closeness amidst all the chaos.
In the meantime, Ariko had found his sewing kit and brought Tanigaki out of his thoughts by motioning for him to strip. Without a word, Tanigaki pulled his torn shirt over his head and handed it over.
Ariko sat down and began working, threading a needle with practiced ease. Tanigaki expected him to pull out standard thread, but something about the material caught his eye.
“That’s not a regular thread, is it?” Tanigaki asked, as he watched Ariko work.
“No, it’s sinew,” Ariko replied without looking up. “Deer. It’s stronger than regular thread—doesn’t fray, and it holds better in these conditions.”
Tanigaki blinked in surprise. “Deer sinew? You brought that with you?”
Ariko nodded, his fingers moving quickly as he secured the button back onto the shirt. “Yeah. I used it a lot back home, for mending clothes and repairing gear. It’s what we always used.”
Tanigaki watched in silence for a moment, the rhythmic movement of the needle through the fabric bringing back memories of his own life before the war. “You hunted, then?”
“I used to,” Ariko said, pausing to glance up briefly. “In my kotan , we lived off hunting and fishing.”
“You’re Ainu?” Tanigaki asked, surprised. “I didn’t realize.”
“Not something I advertise.”
Tanigaki didn't know what to make of that statement, so he didn't press further. “We used sinew too, back in Ani,” he said instead.
“Then we’d use pine resin to finish the stitches. Helped to prevent the knots from loosening.”
“Pine resin, huh?” Ariko chuckled lightly reaching into his pack and pulling out a small lump of hardened resin. “Looks like we have that in common too.”
He melted the resin with the heat of a candle. The familiar, rich scent of pine filled the air around them. He then applied it to the thread knotted on the other side, sealing the button in place with steady hands.
Something softened in his face when he worked - a rare unguarded smile, tugging at his mouth. “It’s nice to talk to someone who’s not a farmer,” he said, his voice carrying an honest relief.
Tanigaki blinked, surprised. It has been so long since he thought about himself as anything but a farmer. He’d buried his Matagi past, giving up his bow and rifle for a hoe and a barren piece of land to cultivate. He embraced his life as a Tondenhei, as long as it brought him closer to revenge. For years, surrounded by men who talked of nothing but fields and harvests, he’d convinced himself he was one of them.
But now, talking to Ariko—someone who knew the woods, the hunt—felt different. Familiar.
He didn’t respond to the comment, only asking after a moment’s pause “Do you miss it? Hunting, I mean.”
“I used to think about it more. It’s more like... I miss who I was when I did it.”
He paused, his hands momentarily still as if recalling the memories. “I was really good at it. Tracking, finding my path, knowing I could rely on nothing but myself. Out there in the woods, I felt like I was in my own backyard. There was nothing like it.”
The faintest trace of a smile appeared, but it faded just as quickly. “But that’s all gone now.”
Ariko glanced up, catching Tanigaki’s questioning look.
“The laws changed—restrictions, licenses. Over time it got harder. They made it almost impossible to live off the land like we used to.”
His voice was steady but laced with quiet resignation. “Seeing what was happening, my father applied for farmland.”
“I just couldn’t accept it back then. It felt like he was giving up, like he was abandoning everything we stood for. I couldn’t picture myself behind a plow, working the land day by day.”
With a sigh, he leaned back “So I left. Joined the army. Figured my skills would be more useful here.”
A faint, knowing silence fell between them, and Tanigaki gave a slight nod. Ariko didn’t need to say more about how things had played out.
“What about you?” Ariko asked, pulling the conversation back to Tanigaki. “You going back to hunting after this?”
Tanigaki’s jaw tightened, the words forming before he thought about them. “I can’t go back.”
Ariko simply nodded. “I understand.”
Tanigaki’s eyes flickered to the ground. In some ways, their stories weren’t so different—both had left behind the life of a hunter. But Ariko had been pushed from it, forced to give it up. Tanigaki, though... He’d thrown it away with his own hands.
It wasn’t the same.
He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on it, or to acknowledge the faint regret that stirred in his chest. It wasn’t time to think about that.
“There,” Ariko said, holding the shirt in front of him for inspection. His tone had lightened, as though brushing away the weight of their earlier conversation. “This should hold much better.”
He leaned forward, extending his arm to hand the shirt back and Tanigaki couldn’t help but notice how Ariko’s own shirt didn’t seem to restrict this movement at all. Despite their similar broad frames, Ariko’s clothes seemed to fit him more comfortably.
“Your uniform,” Tanigaki said, frowning slightly. “It doesn’t pull on you the way mine does. How’d you manage that?”
“Ah, you’ve noticed? I made some minor adjustments”
Tanigaki’s curiosity piqued as Ariko began unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled it off and turned it inside out, revealing the stitches beneath the surface. “I added gussets here,” Ariko said, pointing to the rectangular inserts sewn under the arms. “Gives you more room to move. Doesn’t pull so tight when you’re working.”
Tanigaki leaned in, studying the neat stitching and the added fabric. It was simple, but it made sense—a practical solution. “Smart,” he muttered. “I never thought of that.”
Ariko’s enthusiasm was clear as he spoke, explaining the benefits of the modifications with a kind of quiet pride. He wasn’t boasting, but there was a certain satisfaction in the way he handled the fabric, showing off his handiwork.
It was only then that Tanigaki realized how close they were sitting, Ariko’s bare arms almost brushing his. The warmth radiating between them made Tanigaki’s pulse quicken as his eyes drifted—not just to the stitches, but to the muscles flexing in Ariko’s back, and then his gaze traveled to his face.
From this up close he could catch the flutter of his long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. The detail stood out, unexpected against the ruggedness of his features. There was a softness to them, almost a feminine quality that felt at odds with the hard lines of his face and the rough stubble along his jaw.
The contrast struck him, and he unwittingly thought: Beautiful .
His eyes lingered longer than they should have. Is this what Kikuta sees in him? The thought stirred something inside him, and he felt his stomach tightening.
“Just makes things more comfortable,” Ariko continued, unaware of his effect, his attention still on the uniform, hands moving over the seams with a hint of pride. “After all, you’ve got to work with what you’re given.”
He suddenly paused after saying that.
“That’s... what my father used to say.” A faint shadow crossed his expression as something clicked in his mind. “Back then... he must have hated the situation as much as I did. But he found a way to make do with what was left. Worked with whatever he had to provide for us.”
Ariko glanced down at the gussets he’d sewn into his uniform, the lines of his face softening. “Funny how it’s only now that I understand that.”
“Sounds like he was a strong man,” Tanigaki said softly. “Takes a lot to adapt.”
“Yeah... guess you’re right.” Ariko looked pensive for a moment. “You know, if you ever want to try it yourself, I can help you modify your shirt.”
“You’d do that?”
Ariko nodded. “Sure. You can drop by later if you want.”
Tanigaki was glad about the offer, but the earlier thought about Kikuta still flickered at the back of his mind. He hesitated, glancing at the single cot in the corner of the tent. “Won’t Kikuta mind?”
Ariko gave a small shrug. “Not at all. He actually encouraged me to bring friends over. I just... didn’t have any before.”
Something warm stirred in Tanigaki’s chest at being considered a friend by Ariko. And he found easily that the feeling was mutual.
“Well,” he said. “You have one now.”
Ariko’s lips curved into a dazzling smile, “I’m happy to hear that, Tanigaki...-kun.”
Tanigaki nodded, “Me too, Ariko-kun.”
“Everyone here… apart from Kikuta, they’re suspicious of me.”
“Why?”
Ariko hesitated, shifting his weight slightly before continuing. “Kikuta said I should try to mingle, play with them, get to know them. But I don’t even know their games. I didn't play any of them when I was a kid. Every time I try, it just… amplifies me being an outsider.”
Tanigaki considered this. It wasn’t easy for anyone who was different, especially here, in the middle of the army where camaraderie often meant fitting into a mold. And Ariko, with his Ainu background and quiet demeanor, didn’t fit in easily. Tanigaki knew that feeling well.
He straightened, an idea forming. “Maybe I could teach you some Japanese games?”
Ariko’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the offer. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”
“Nonsense,” Tanigaki replied. “It’s the least I can do for saving my shirt.”
He crossed his arms, thinking back to the games he used to play in his childhood. “Let’s see… my favorite games used to be things I played with my brother - like throwing sticks at a target or shooting our toy bows.”
Ariko’s eyes lit up “I played those kinds of games too!”
“Yeah, I figured you would. But those were probably Matagi games. Whenever we came down from the mountains, the kids in town didn’t seem to know them. They’d give us these funny looks like we were strange.”
“So, what did you play with the regular kids?”
Tanigaki frowned slightly, searching through the fog of his memories of when they stayed in town for the market. “Kagome-Kagome, I guess? That was always fun.”
“What’s that one?”
“It’s a game where one person sits in the middle with their eyes covered, and everyone else circles them, singing a song. When the song stops, the person in the middle has to guess who’s standing behind them. But we’d need more people for that.”
“Yeah, it sounds like it’d be tricky with just the two of us.”
“Same goes for Onigokko. Or Daruma-san ga Koronda. We’d chase each other or freeze in place, but you needed a crowd for those too.”
Ariko nodded, tempered by the reality of their limited options. “A lot of group games, huh?”
“Yeah, most of them need a lot of people.” Tanigaki frowned slightly, trying to remember what could be played without a host of children. “Hm, maybe Koma could work. That’s a game where you spin a top and try to knock your opponent’s top out of a circle. It’s a bit competitive, but you don’t need more than two.”
Ariko nodded, intrigued. “Sounds fun, but… wouldn’t we need a device for that?”
Tanigaki frowned, realizing the obvious problem. “Yeah, we would need a koma. We don’t have one, though…”
“How does it look like?”
“Imagine a small, round piece of wood, carved smooth, with a pointed bottom. You wrap a string around it’s thinnest part and pull. Then it spins on the point, balancing, dancing on the ground.“
Ariko tilted his head trying to imagine the shape, then a light seemed to flicker in his eyes. “Wait, I think I might’ve seen something like that in Kikuta’s stuff. He carries all kinds of odd things around with him. Want me to check?”
Ariko searched through Kikuta’s belongings and then handed Tanigaki a small wooden object. Tanigaki turned it over in his hand, his brow furrowing in confusion. It was smooth and rounded, with a tapering end, but something was off.
“Doesn’t spin,” he muttered, flicking it between his fingers. The base was too wide, the point too blunt. “A koma has a sharp tip. This one wouldn’t last a second spinning.”
He examined it a little closer “Looks more like something you’d… shove into something.”
Tanigaki’s cheeks burned as realisation dawned on him and he set the thing down quickly. “No, Ariko-kun, that’s definitely not a koma !”
Ariko raised an eyebrow. “What do you think Kikuta needs it for then?”
“Please, just put it away.” Tanigaki rubbed the back of his neck, eager to move past his awkward topic. “You know… maybe we should try something else. How about Ayatori ?”
“ Ayatori ?”
“Yeah, it’s a game with string,” Tanigaki explained, relieved for the shift in focus. “You pass the string back and forth from around your fingers, making different shapes. It’s simple, but it’s fun.”
“That sounds awfully a lot like ukauku !”
“You know a game like this?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t it mostly for girls though?”
“Nonsense, I played it all the time. Here, let’s try if it’s really the same game. Have you got a piece of string?”
He glanced around the tent, rummaging through his pack until he pulled out a length of sturdy string. “This should work, right?”
“Perfect.” Tanigaki looped the string around his fingers constructing the simple cradle shape, before motioning for Ariko to join in. “Now, show me how you played it.”
Ariko hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against Tanigaki’s as he took hold of the string. At first, his movements were uncertain, but gradually, his hands moved with more confidence, the motions returning through muscle memory.
Tanigaki watched as the shape began to take form. “Hey, that’s a diamond!”
Ariko smiled faintly. “We called it ya—a fishing net.”
“A fishing net, huh?” Tanigaki’s eyes shifted to the pattern they’d created, studying it with new interest. “I think I like that better. What the hell is a diamond anyway?” He laughed.
Ariko also released a little chuckle and there was finally something relaxed in it.
“Alright, now let me show you something more challenging,” Tanigaki said, as he took the string back. “Have you ever seen Mount Fuji?”
Ariko shook his head.
“Me neither. Still, I’m sure you’ll really like this one. It looks a lot like Mount Shiribeshi.”
“The female mountain?”
“Yeah. The Ainu call it that, right? For us Matagi, all mountains are female. Maybe that’s why this figure is a bit trickier. So follow me closely”.
Ariko leaned in, his full attention on Tanigaki’s hands.
“Now, pull this loop here... twist it around your thumb like this,”
They passed the string back and forth, concentrating on the steps. Just as the cone-like shape started to form, something went wrong. The string twisted unexpectedly, and before they realized it, the loops had tangled tightly around their hands.
“Is that bad?”, Ariko asked?
Tanigaki frowned, tugging at the string. “Hang on, I think I can fix it.”
Tanigaki pulled gently at the string, but it only pulled their hands closer, the knot tightening between them. His fingers grazed Ariko’s, and for a moment, Tanigaki stilled, aware of the warmth that lingered in the space between their hands.
Ariko glanced up, holding back a laugh. “Looks like we’re stuck.”
“Uh… guess I messed that up,” Tanigaki muttered, feeling a flush creeping up the back of his neck.
Suddenly, the tent flap parted, and Kikuta stepped inside. His eyes landed on the two shirtless men kneeling in front of each other, their hands hopelessly tangled in string.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Kikuta raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an amused grin. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he drawled.
Tanigaki’s face flushed even more, his words stumbling out. “It’s not what it looks like—uh, we were just—”
“Playing a game,” Ariko interrupted calmly, looking up at Kikuta without a hint of shame. “Private Tanigaki was showing me the games Japanese boys grew up with so that I could understand them better. We were playing ayatori .”
Kikuta hummed thoughtfully. “ Ayatori , huh?” He let the word linger, his gaze shifting between their tangled hands and their exposed chests. “Tanigaki, you know… ayatori’s a girls’ game. If you wanted to teach him what real Japanese boys did, it’s all about sumo.”
Tanigaki stiffened. “S-sumo?”
“Sure! That’s where the real fun was.” Kikuta leaned against the tent post, his smile widening. “Come on you both, take off the rest of your uniforms, and I’ll act as your judge.”
Tanigaki gulped.