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The streets have gone quiet.
Too quiet.
The evening sun had dipped below the tiled roofs of Fushimi, leaving the alleyways dusky and dim. Strangely, even most shops along the streets have closed early for the day. The lanterns flickered lazily behind closed doors, whispers and hush words could barely be heard, as if the town was holding its breath.
Ryoma was making his way back to Teradaya in sluggish steps; he didn't feel like staying at the barracks, not tonight. The tension was already unbearable with the Shinsegumi, arguments simmering just below the surface, everyone was one whisper away from getting at each other's throats, a fight ready to erupt at any moment. Okita, of course, had to pick a fight with him again, something about proving his worth, as if Ryoma, or Saito, whom they know him as, had not done enough for them already.
With a quiet sigh, Ryoma rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms above his head as he strolled, attempting to get rid of the stress from the day. In his mind, he was already visualizing the cozy stillness of his room at the inn; the neat, plush futon calling to him, ready for slumber, and perhaps a warm bottle of sake before winding down-
Something moved.
His eyes flickered at the sudden motion in the shadows, his train of thought scattered like leaves caught in a gust of wind.
Ryoma froze in his tracks. The atmosphere around him suddenly felt heavier, and colder. Slowly, he diverted his gaze towards the narrow slit between two shophouses, where shadows lay unmoved. Something, or perhaps, someone, was watching him.
His fingers subtly brushed against the hilt of his sword, his movements instinctual. He squared his stance, his eyes never leaving the shadowy corner. Whatever it was, it was not a rat.
In a flash, the shadow lunged; almost silently, deadly, and mercilessly. A glimmer of silver slashed towards Ryoma, who had drawn his blade just in time in defence, the strike narrowly missing the bridge of his nose by a breath. He did not have the luxury of time to figure out the attacker; all he focused on was his survival, getting whatever this, whoever this shadowy figure was, off him. With a grunt, Ryoma shoved forward, forcing the enemy's blade back with all his might, his sandals scuffing against the rough, rocky pathway. The figure staggered a little in his steps, scrambling to get himself back into proper stance, and that's when Ryoma saw his face.
Okada Izo.
-Thought it was just a rat,-
Ryoma muttered, his blade still raised, his body still tense, readying to defend himself.
Izo only smirked in reply.
His golden eyes glimmered in the dark, sharp, unblinking, amused, never leaving Ryoma. He circled him with a feline's grace, each step calculated but silent. His stance was relaxed now, his sword angled loosely on his hand, but Ryoma knew better than to lower his guard.
-Better a rat than a dog.-
Izo purred, his voice low, teasing.
Ryoma's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his eyebrows furrowed.
-Still hiding in the shadows, Izo? Are you itching for a fight?-
Izo stopped directly behind him, his grin audible in the silence.
-Let's see how well you fight since the last time we met,-
In the blink of an eye, Izo struck.
His blade that had lazily swung around on his side just moments ago now whipped through the air in a deadly arc, aiming for a blow on Ryoma's neck; but Ryoma was faster, his instincts heightened after years of sword fights, and his arm reacted just in time to raise his blade to parry, the sound of clashing steel rang through the empty streets.
Blow after blow, the two clashed like old rivals.
Izo was as ruthless as always, his strikes were wild and unpredictable, yet controlled, he was a force that couldn't be stopped, stubbornly pressing forward with his attacks without any signs of falling back; Like a predator playing with his prey, a cat with a mouse, hunting not for survival, but for sport. Ryoma met Izo's energy with defence, side-stepping, deflecting his strikes, and attempting to push him off his balance without fatally wounding him.
Tch, Izo thought, as he observed his opponent while finding another opening to strike, all this time, he still refused to fight like a killer.
His fleeting thought was abruptly cut short by a loud shfft in the wind, Followed by a loud clang!
Before Izo could react, his blade was thrown off from his grip, flying into the air, glimmering under the radiant moonlight, before landing with a loud thud on the rough, grainy pathway behind them, painfully skittering against the stone before coming to a halt. In the corner of his eye, he caught something dark red, pulsing, and metallic, gushing out from his hand from the slash Ryoma had carved.
Izo hissed through gritted teeth as his wounded hand trembled at the bleeding, his eyes narrowed in anger at the burning sensation on his palm, and his steps staggered, shuffling backwards before he fell knee-first onto the cold, unforgiving ground.
As he looked up, Ryoma's blade was a breath away from his throat.
Both men stared at each other in heavy silence.
Izo's eyes burned in anger, wounded pride, and possibly something deeper; At the same time, Ryoma stood still, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was steady.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Until Ryoma broke the tension. As he slowly, hesitantly retracted his sword away from Izo.
-What are you waiting for? Just do it already,-
Izo spat, his voice hoarse.
-You've won, again. You enjoyed that, didn't you? Swinging your blade around without ever intending to kill, you're still the same coward as always, surprised how Takechi...-
But Ryoma wasn't even listening to Izo anymore.
Izo's words have long faded into white noise.
Ryoma's eyes were still on him, yes, but his mind had drifted elsewhere entirely from his outburst. Something had lodged in his head, a thought, a feeling, maybe, circling in his mind.
His eyes then slowly traced the way how Izo's wild, glistening eyes narrowed as he spoke, the way his lips moved as he ranted, his canines danced around as he scowled, his expression shifting from wounded pride to anger, then back again, as he rambled on.
It was as if... Izo had grown an extra pair of ears on top of his head.
-...Just like a black cat,-
Ryoma blinked and mumbled to himself.
Izo, who was oh so emotional and so passionate with his speech, lamenting that despite everything, Takechi will always choose him, immediately froze. Whatever he wanted to say next now died on his tongue.
-... What?-
Ryoma sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
-Always creeping up in the shadows, circling me, toying me around like I'm your prey. Ready to pounce, ready to scratch, loud, proud, but hisses and bites every time someone approaches too close,-
He glanced away, unable to meet Izo's gaze, but he could feel his cheeks begin to warm.
-... but you'd still show up the next day, curling up in the same damn spot, every single time, like a stray,-
Izo just stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth open, completely thrown off, blindsided by the comparison. His hand, limping on the side, crimson liquid still dripping on the ground, was long forgotten.
-Did you hit your head too fucking hard?-
Izo scoffed, his words still sharp, but the tiny glint of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.
Ryoma groaned under his breath and coughed into his fist, trying, but miraculously failing, to save his dignity.
-Forget whatever I said,-
…
Ryoma flickered his eyes onto Izo's bloodied palm and looked back at him.
-...You should get that wrapped before you bleed out into the ground,-
-Tsk, I had worse,-
Izo glared back at him, his eyes narrowed, his tone offended, and Ryoma could almost imagine his cat tail lashing in anger with his claws unsheathed.
-But you should still- -
-What? And let you patch me up?-
Izo scoffed again, this time tearing his eyes away from Ryoma and angrily looking at the ground as if it had personally insulted him.
-I prefer to die here, thanks,-
Ryoma sighed, knowing there was no other way around this.
…
The air in the night stilled again, there was no more fighting, no more metals clashing, just two men flusteredly looking at one another in the aftermath of what could've been a bloody battle, but only for it to turn into something else entirely.
With a soft exhale, Izo finally stood up, his injured hand now curled into a fist, as he awkwardly shuffled back to grab his blade with his good hand.
-...Such a pain in the ass,-
Ryoma wasn't sure if it meant him.
Without another glance, Izo turned away, his scarf now came loose with a flicker, and it danced in the wind as he walked. It wasn't long before he disappeared into the shadows again, and his footsteps were as silent as a cat's scamper.
Ryoma did not say anything else, because he knew better.
Izo will return tomorrow night.
Izo always does.
Like a black cat who owns the alleyway.
His black cat.