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Following the hot air balloon from the ground probably wasn't the best idea, now that you gave it some more thought.
Asirpa was with you on horseback at first. She gave you only a little warning before hopping off onto a tree, and swiftly scaling it for one of the higher branches. She'd called down to you to try and get you to follow—but you weren't even half as nimble as a fourteen-year-old survival expert, and didn't manage to get high enough in time to catch onto Shiraishi when he went crashing through the treetops.
That left you to swear under your breath, and drop back down to the horse. You still had some distance on the 7th Division who were mustering a force to send in pursuit. Keeping your eyes skyward, you spurred your horse on.
That moment when you lost sight of the balloon past a rocky outcropping was your first real moment of panic. Being separated from Sugimoto and Asirpa temporarily was one thing, but this… you couldn't breathe through the growing distance, and all you could do was ride roughly in the direction you saw them headed. You had to catch up—you had to. There was no other option. Your heart pounded in time with the thunder of hoof beats, dashing every other thought from your head.
It took hours of white-knuckled, single-minded motion, but you did spot them again—this time on foot, at the base of the Daisetsuzan. You almost went limp from the sheer relief you felt, and only kept moving because you noticed the squad of soldiers in pursuit just as quickly. Again, you spurred your horse on, and rode as hard as you could to get there first—even when you lost sight of your friends a second time—and made it a good distance before the ground became too treacherous for hooves.
You had to set the horse free, which left you alone and on foot by the time the storm set in. Even then, it didn't occur to you to turn back, so now you were here.
Now you were here, finally realizing the full gravity of your mistake.
The taiga was wide and flat, leaving you fully exposed to the howling, frigid winds. You moved with your body tilted forward diagonally to try and cut through it, one careful foot in front of the other. The ache of your eardrums consumed your thoughts. Your hands were balled up in your sleeves working double time—alternating between covering your ears with your scarf, and holding your hanten closed as invisible fingers tried to rip it free.
Before, at least you'd been warmed from the exertion. Now, the adrenaline crash had fully set in, leaving you pale and trembling from more than just the cold. Your teeth were chattering violently. How far did they get? Did you have any hope of catching up at this point?
The brush you passed was too scraggly for shelter, and the snow too sparse to dig into. If Asirpa were with you, she'd know what to do. Together with her and Sugimoto, you could survive anything… but alone? Out here?…
Nothing could survive here.
You were chilled to the bone. Couldn't feel your feet—dead weight that they were—but still you trudged onward. That was the only thing you could do. You tried to keep your breathing under control—taking measured sips of the frigid air through your scarf to prevent your lungs from freezing—but it only served to sharpen the fear settling in:
They didn't go this way. They must have headed in a different direction, and were miles away by now. They didn't even know you were following. They didn't know to look for you. They would never find you.
Were you really going to die like this?... Somewhere your loved ones wouldn't even think to search for your body?
You'd held out hope, but more and more, you began to hate how foolish you'd been. It was so cold you couldn't remember what being warm felt like. The few tears that weren't ripped away by the wind froze to your eyelashes, blurring your vision.
The original plan involved a meeting spot with Hijikata's group, and realistically, you should've just gone straight there instead of trying to catch up with a balloon. They would've inevitably been able to reunite you with your friends. You didn't know that group well outside the time you spent traveling with Ushiyama, but there would've been a crackling brazier radiating heat, and hot tea to warm you from the inside out.
Hell—you should've diverted course the second you saw them heading into the Daisetsuzan. It's not like you didn't know what their ultimate destination was. If you'd just done that, you wouldn't be out here right now. You wouldn't be about to die alone in the cold.
You should've...
…
In one hysterical moment, you heard a distant, thunderous crack. It was almost lost in the howl of the wind, but it was unmistakable: a rifle.
You stopped in your tracks to listen... and heard it again. Your heart shot into your throat and you sprinted forward. Fighting against the wind every step of the way, almost getting wrenched off your feet once or twice.
You ran, and ran, and ran... the visibility growing rapidly worse as the rain clouds set in... and finally, a dark smattering of shapes materialized in the distance, with a pale figure crouched over one like a wraith. As you grew nearer, the figure seemed to notice you, and stood. The wind caught up in Ogata's cape, flying it like a pennant. His rifle was in his hands pointed at you.
Again, your heart shot into your throat as you stumbled to a stop. Your hands rose shakily into the air.
It was hard to see Ogata's face with his hood up, but he shook his head and lowered his rifle a moment later. “Come here,” he barked over the wind, his teeth bared in a grimace for just a moment.
You obeyed in sheer relief, crossing the remaining distance at a sprint to discover the other shapes were three yuk carcasses at his feet. Ogata's bayonet was already back in his hand as he returned to partially skinning one. It was slow-going. You knew from Sugimoto that those things were only sharpened for stabbing, not cutting.
You hugged yourself while you looked around. “Where are the others?” you had to raise your voice to keep the wind from stealing the words away. With a raw throat, it hurt.
Ogata silently pointed to one of the yuk. You squinted... and recognized Shiraishi's head sticking out from between its back legs, like it was giving birth to him. You let out a startled laugh through your chattering teeth at the sight.
“Keep your clothes on.” Ogata's voice ordered with an annoyed twinge. You didn't have time to ponder his confusing statement as he was suddenly beside you, grabbing your wrist in one hand like an iron vice. He dragged you nearly off your feet toward the yuk he'd just carved.
“What—what are you—”
“Shut up and get inside.”
You didn't have much of a choice, with his free hand on your head gracelessly shoving you down toward the opening he'd made in its belly. Any other protests died on your tongue when you felt the heat that was radiating out. It was so hot it felt like your hands were burning, but you paid that little mind as you climbed inside the rest of the way to settle into the dark, pungent heat. The sound of the storm immediately died down to a murmur.
When Ogata didn't follow... you poked your head back out, wincing at the renewed sting of cold. He was crouched over the remaining yuk, starting to saw open that one next. You noticed now that his hands were shaking.
“There's room in this one!” you shouted to him. “The storm's getting worse! Just forget it!”
Ogata remained stubbornly bent over that yuk, even as the wind finally tore the hood from his head. He gritted his teeth as he grabbed for it, his hand groping over the back of his neck.
“Ogata!” you yelled so loud your voice cracked.
Finally, he relented—rubbing his bayonet clean on his thigh, before re-sheathing it and rising to his feet. You immediately crawled back inside and shifted to make room. A moment later, Ogata was carelessly shoving his way in behind you. Silence descended immediately once he'd fully settled in, leaving the muffled scream of the wind outside, and the soft sounds of breathing within.
It was a strange thing, being so close to the man. You barely knew him, and the few exchanges you'd had so far had been less than pleasant. Yet... here you were: his chest pressed against your back, with his arm awkwardly wrapped around your body so he could hold his rifle in front of you in the one place relatively free of viscera. It was almost tender. Almost.
“Why are you here.”
Ogata's flat voice came suddenly. Hushed and intimate in its nearness, compared to how you'd had to yell to each other only moments before. Your brain scrambled for a second to remember what happened before the storm.
“... I followed the balloon.” It should be obvious. Ogata huffed softly.
“Like a dog trailing after its master.”
The words caught you by surprise, making you tense up under his arm. They shouldn't have, but maybe you'd assumed he had enough sense to be polite when stuck inside an animal carcass with another person for the next however many hours. You set your jaw.
“What's that supposed to mean...?”
“What do you think?” Ogata murmured by your ear, breath fanning out hot over your skin and making your hair stand on end. “You could've stayed with Hijikata's group where it was safe, and met up with us later at Abashiri. Instead, you go running off alone after Sugimoto, and nearly get yourself killed. Not the smartest plan, is it?”
You spoke through gritted teeth, tone clipped. “I was with Asirpa at first. We got separated.”
“Then you should've doubled back to regroup with Hijikata,” Ogata returned bluntly, not missing a beat.
“I needed to make sure—”
“What? That we were safe?”
You went quiet at that, and heard the soft rasp of laughter low in Ogata's throat as much as you felt the staccato of breath against your nape.
“I was watching you from the balloon. Do you know how many times you almost steered that horse off a cliff? How many times you almost crossed paths with the 7th's search party?”
“...”
“And then, you go running blindly into the mountains after us, and almost die of hypothermia. How can you help anyone when you can't even help yourself?”
Your eyes burned with angry tears, and you hated it. Your throat felt thick with them. You couldn't cry now—it would just give Ogata more ammunition to mock you with.
“... I didn't have to offer to share the yuk with you,” you finally said quietly, managing to keep most of the wobble out of your voice.
“You didn't,” he agreed, patronizing grin audible. “Thank you.”
The silence settled in again, this time more oppressive, and steadily giving way to the sound of rain lashing against the yuk's hide. You breathed slowly—in, and out—to try and calm yourself down, your efforts made more difficult by how keenly aware you were of Ogata's presence behind you. It was humiliating enough to be berated like that. You wouldn't break down where he would hear every stifled sob.
“Why do you care what I do, anyway,” you found yourself muttering bitterly. “You've said plenty of times already that I'm a liability. So what does it matter to you if I get myself killed?...”
“It doesn't.”
You were expecting that answer, but the abruptness got your stomach twisting all the same. “Then why...” a steadying breath. “... lecture me. Why... give me the yuk you were carving for yourself.”
Ogata let out a soft, annoyed exhale, that rustled the hair around your ear. He shifted closer. “What do you think Immortal Sugimoto would do, if he returned and found your frozen corpse on the ground?” he drawled, the low tone of his voice buzzing in your ear.
A shiver went down your spine. “... It would hardly be your fault if you were already bundled up and didn't notice my arrival.”
He snorted and drew back again. “I'll remember that one for next time.”
“... Why are you such an asshole.”
“I'm just being honest.”
“No, you're being an asshole,” you growled, “for no reason.”
Ogata took a breath like he was preparing to respond, but you didn't let him. You just kept going, steadily building up steam. “We're crammed inside a dead animal together for who knows how long, and you decide it would be a great idea to turn the atmosphere hostile within the very first minute. Why? What's the point of that?”
Surprisingly enough, Ogata actually remained silent.
“The smart thing to do in this situation would be to keep your rotten fucking opinions to yourself, until after the storm clears. Can you just not help it, or something?”
“... I'm having trouble understanding why I should care about whether I upset you or not.”
“You'd probably care a whole lot if I threw my head back right now and broke your stupid pointy nose,” you growled.
“You think that frightens me...?” if anything, Ogata sounded amused, with another chuckle low in his throat. He shifted his arm around your waist—the stock of his rifle bumping into your thigh—as a silent reminder of just how close he was. “I could get my hands around your throat just as easily.”
“And what do you think Immortal Sugimoto would do, if he returned and found you with my corpse?”
“I could get rid of it before he—”
You bucked back against Ogata, jostling him and cutting off his words.
“Oh?” your voice steadily rose, and you jostled him again. Part of his rifle clinked as he tightened his grip. “Now you could hide my body? Not before, with the freezing to death?”
“I—” Ogata growled, before you bucked and interrupted him again.
“'Just being honest',” you repeated his words from earlier, in a mocking sing-song. “Fuck you. I'm so fucking sick of you, Ogata.”
“Stop.” his voice sounded a little hoarse. You ignored it, and jostled him again. Starting to settle into a rhythm—rocking roughly back and forth—while his hand gripped his rifle so hard his knuckles went white.
“You know, I was actually glad when we all joined up. I liked the fact that you were keeping an eye out for us. I felt safe. And it was fine that you were abrasive, it was fine that you thought I was lower than dirt—I was still glad you were around. I even—”
Ogata's arm suddenly squeezed down. Crushing you against his body, and cutting off all movement. “I said stop.” it was an attempt at a hiss, but his voice sounded a little too thick... a little too breathless.
Here, you realized how hard he was suddenly breathing. There was a labored quality to it, and you wondered at that for a moment—did your words really get to him? Was he genuinely upset?—until you felt something new pressing into your ass. You choked, feeling all the blood suddenly rush to your face.
When he'd made sure you were done moving, Ogata released you, and pressed back against the yuk's ribcage as far as he could go. Practically recoiling with his sudden need to create space. His arm shifted restlessly for a second, like he was considering trying to wedge his rifle between you as a barrier—but he discovered immediately there wasn't even room to get it around you without further bringing the stock and barrel into contact with the steaming viscera.
The third time the silence settled in, neither of you were particularly eager to break it again—but the drumbeat of your racing heart came close. You were too mortified to feel any sort of glee at his misfortune, and distracted besides by your attempts to rein in the frenzied tangle of your thoughts. It was hard not to fixate on this hyper-awareness of his body filling the space behind yours. You could almost still feel the phantom shape of it pressing into you.
Minutes passed, heartbeats slowed, and Ogata remained still and silent. He was normally quiet, but this felt different, somehow. You actually began to feel… bad. Not for interrupting and yelling at him—he deserved that much—but for what you were steadily realizing was an even further line crossed.
A lot of men in his position might've apologized, tried to crack a joke, or even made some sort of cheeky insinuation by now. Nothing like that from Ogata. Nothing except a silent panic to untangle, and distance himself from you. It was… sobering, the way you suddenly understood so much more about him, and yet couldn't find the words to explain what it meant.
“... Sorry,” you finally mumbled. “I didn't realize I was... rubbing against you like that...”
“Forget it.” Ogata said abruptly, as much a warning as a brush-off.
Maybe before, you would've allowed him to intimidate you back into silence, wary as you were of the unknown quantity the sniper posed. But now?… He'd somehow been demystified and declawed—just a little bit—in your eyes.
"... I am sorry, though.”
This time, he said nothing—maybe intent to ignore you until you got the hint that he didn't want to talk. That was fine. He wasn't required to accept your apology.
He wasn't required to accept… but you still weren't content to leave things at that. The atmosphere was too tense. After the storm died down, you'd still have to travel together in relatively close quarters, and who knows when you'd next have the opportunity to sit down one-on-one to clear the air. Never, probably.
“… I meant what I said earlier. I was glad to have you around... am, glad.”
You waited a moment for Ogata to respond, but like before, he remained silent.
“I know this is just a job for you, and you're not interested in making friends, but... that doesn't mean things have to be hostile, either. I... want to be able to tell you “thank you” without gritting my teeth.”
There were no more words after that. Ogata seemed content to maintain his silence, taking your words in—or simply ignoring them. Ultimately, you decided you'd said all you needed to say in that moment. What remained was the distant roar of the wind and rain outside, and the soft breathing of two bodies.
Ogata remained still as a statue, maintaining his distance even as his arm lay heavy across your waist; and for you, the day's events finally caught up. Your anger, embarrassment, regret—all of it drained away, and was replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion. You'd gone through so much today... the frantic hours you'd spent riding hard after the balloon, trying to catch up, felt so far away now. Your eyelids drooped, lulled by the rhythmic sounds of the storm, and the warmth surrounding you.
You didn't dream. And when you awoke, Ogata was gone.