Work Text:
“I’ll be waiting.”
Hajime looked up from the records once the office door was shut. It was an invitation, plain and simple.
The Second Lieutenant's actions toward him had gotten stranger and more pressing as he let it go on, but he'd finally strayed into territory that Hajime couldn't ignore. It was his problem, now, for not having dealt with it sooner.
The Second Lieutenant wanted to fuck him.
Intended to, more like it. No polite refusal was possible at this stage. Hajime was well aware of how he threw himself after whatever goal he'd picked for the day.
No clear solution presented itself. He could get it over with. Standing on his knees and elbows and staring at a flat surface for ten minutes—at best—wouldn’t be the worst humiliation he'd had in his years of service.
Once Koito knew what he was asking for, he'd forget it and get on with building his defense of the 27th regiment. It wouldn't be the first time wanting just what Hajime knew he'd hate.
He had to go and choose Hajime as well, instead of a private. There were rumours about old samurai families and bad habits that hadn't been stamped out. He'd have liked it better if they kept it among themselves. What he wouldn’t give to have Second Lieutenant Yuusaku back.
Going along with it was the easiest way out. There was a chance that it would take more than one disappointing fuck to make Koito learn. The safest option to deal with this was a firm rejection. Not men, not me, not ever. Koito only felt this confident in pressing his suit because Hajime never gave him anything to scare him off.
Maybe he should. This kind of conduct wasn't tolerated. A gun hadn't helped in old arguments between them, but there was another way that Hajime could think of—Koito hated any praise he didn't think he'd earned. Condescend to him. Act reluctant, and Koito would drop it. It would be embarrassing for him to have a man he'd forced into it.
Hajime blew a breath out through his teeth. It might break his heart. Koito didn't even let go of Tsurumi until after he'd found him out. Would he end up teary-eyed after Hajime turned him away? It was revolting to look at him trying to hold himself together. Hajime couldn't do it.
Before Koito had left the makeshift library, he’d put his hand on Hajime’s shoulder. The fingers had slid up his neck until Koito's thumb pressed on his lips.
Tonight, he'd said he would be waiting. It had to stop now, before he started to do that kind of thing where anyone could see.
Hajime had meant to stay another few hours taking notes. He'd do it. Letting Koito go after whatever the hell he wanted when so many good men’s lives were at stake was worse than criminal.
…
Following more digging on the Satsuma rebellion and sentences served by the convicted rebels, some who he might've killed at Abashiri, Hajime packed it in past nightfall. It didn't look good for him. Koito, he might skate by on family connections, but if he followed his blasted new idea of 'taking responsibility', he might die in prison.
Hajime considered it. There was a chance that he'd adapt to that way of life. He should've captured and interrogated Shiraishi Yoshitake when he had the chance. Koito might be the only one of them he knew with the flexibility to get through the shithole.
He took the folder of copied court records with him.
Locking up the office with Koito's keys, Hajime put on the new hooded coat that been issued and kept the folder tucked inside. The uniform cap went on as well. He'd make a quick stop at the officers' quarters before heading to the room he'd found to rent. Call him cautious, but he'd decided he'd rather spend his savings on somewhere decent than spend the last months of his life with the enlisted men in barracks.
The guard on the door didn't give him any trouble; he and Koito had been in and out of the Asahikawa offices for weeks. The exact proceedings weren't sorted out yet; it had been half a year before Central even figured out that an infantry regiment had gone rogue. Kikuta and Ogata’s work looked so bad from here that Hajime felt guilty for having overseen their promotion; Ogata didn't bother with his work when it wasn't sniping, but Kikuta? His reports to army command weren't worth the damn cigarettes he was hiding them in. He should've kept a closer eye on him. Who knows what kind of shit reports he was handing Tsurumi.
Well, it didn't matter now. Hajime was at the mercy of those same shit reports. He hoped Kikuta hadn't mentioned him by name. He didn't regret shooting him.
Private Ariko, he'd had time to reconsider. The doctor swore he'd been buried in the back lot. Even after hours of digging, he never turned up a body that looked like him. Koito had been disappointed. How he figured they could find a set of fingers in the corpse pit after that many months, Hajime didn't have a clue, but he'd been dead set on it.
Hajime took the creaking stairs to the main level, out into the damp winter. Spring would be arriving in Japan. Hokkaido stayed out in the cold.
Pulling up his collar, he made for the long housing block at a fast march. Time to get this over with. Then, he could have his bath.
The barracks of Asahikawa base came into view before long. At an angle from the main offices, the officers' quarters stood apart from the ones that Hajime bunked down in. He checked in with the next guard on that door.
"Meeting with Lieutenant Koito of the 27th," he said.
"Lieutenant Koito is under orders not to—"
"Sergeant Tsukishima. I'm his aide."
The guard squinted, flipping into a notebook to check his face against whatever portrait he'd been given.
"I haven't seen you before."
"Then get your duty officer. I'm here to see Koito."
"All right, all right, be out before curfew or I'll come get you."
The pissant let him off with a glare. Lucky for him, Hajime didn't have time to argue. He took the stairs two at a time up to Koito's apartment.
Time to get it over with.
Knocking on the door, Hajime heard the shuffling from inside the rooms. This building was quiet; they'd lodged him among the older officers. Probably friends of his father. Admiral Koito's name still held weight, while Koito's full cooperation had kept him on probation for now instead of in the lock-up. Thank god. Hajime didn't even want to think of the complaints he'd hear if Koito had to share with rats. Tsukishima this, Tsukishima that—
"Tsukishima!"
Koito beamed at him from the doorway. He was also blocking it. The time it took for him to figure that out and shove over gave Hajime the chance to see what Koito thought would work on him.
The answer was disappointing. He was in shirt sleeves with a blanket over his shoulders, still with regulation trousers on and thick woollen socks. If Hajime had wanted to guess, he'd have thought Koito would undo some buttons and untuck his shirt. The way it stood now, the blanket hid his build and the socks covered up his calves.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Mm." Koito gave him a smug look. He was the cat that got the cream. "I do."
Then again, he was dumb enough to try and seduce Hajime. It didn't say much about his judgment when it came to sex.
Ogata had said something about him being a flag-bearer. That was teasing, he’d tried to mess with Koito the first time they’d ever met. Ogata didn't know the way Hajime did, didn’t understand without asking that Koito never had a girl back home. Since he was a kid, all he had eyes for was Tsurumi.
Bringing it up again nearly had Hajime bringing up his lunch. He tried to push forward with his plan before he had to think hard about it.
"Sir, if you could move."
"Oh! Right," Koito finally got out of the way and let him into the damn apartment. "I'll make tea."
The fire was going, as expected. Koito used all the allowance for wood that he got. Hajime found his usual post to kneel by while he waited for…whatever Koito was going to try and do to him. Right now, he was bustling around with the kettle.
"I swear, there's no getting anywhere with Central. Each time I try to speak with an official to be sure of the individual charges—oh where are the leaves—"
"Corner of the mantelpiece, sir."
"Ah! Thank you, Tsukishima."
The fact that Koito turned to give him a smile was worrying. Was he trying to…charm him?
"As I was saying, each man gives me a different story! I'll have to get the Emperor himself on the telephone just to find out what I'm supposed to defend myself against. How did yours go?"
"I thought you'd finished for the evening, sir."
Koito stopped again, smoothing down his hair. It was a habit Ogata also had, which Hajime decided not to mention. The kettle had made it to the fire. The light from it had dimmed. With Koito's arm raised like this, Hajime could barely see his face and could see the hard line of his torso underneath his shirt, curving up to his shoulder where it disappeared under the blanket. That pose could get him somewhere with a different man.
"I'd had enough of that stuffy room, that's all. Besides physical training, there isn't much for me other than working toward our case. You didn't say how you got on, Tsukishima!"
Koito knelt down in front of the fire, pushing aside the desk that he'd been working at and setting out the tea tray. Now that he'd done that, Hajime remembered the folder that he'd brought.
"I didn't find what I was looking for. I made some copies of records that seemed to match our case, sir."
He unbuttoned his coat to get out the documents, finding Koito's eyes snooping around his hands. Whatever he thought he was going to see, he'd seen it before. Hajime didn't understand how any man could fall for another one. His body was the same as yours. There wasn’t any fun in that.
Well, Koito's was taller, slimmer at the waist, longer in the legs, with tight hips and thighs that could send him six foot high in a jump, but it was basically the same as Hajime's. Apart from the long ditch from hip to knee where the muscles met. Or how deep the divots were at the base of his spine.
"Excellent work, Tsukishima! Take the lid off of that teapot."
Grabbing the kettle with the blanket around his hands, Koito filled the pot.
"Is there anything else, sir? I have to be out of here before curfew," said Hajime as stolidly as he could.
"Oh, but you still have enough time for…" Koito waved nervously at the teapot.
"Of course, sir."
"That's the spirit, Tsukishima."
Koito's teas were strong, sent up by his mother. On Hajime's stomach, a cup this late would keep him up for a few hours. He guessed it was better to stay awake than to fall asleep in the bath and drown. Maybe not by much.
He snuck a glance up at Koito. No, of course he wouldn't be thinking of that. Stupid. Hajime was the only one who remembered the sight of those empty stairs in the brewery when Koito had almost—
Hajime straightened up as Koito poured two cups.
"Sir—"
"Here you go."
"Thanks. Sir, in your position, you need to keep a good reputation. Any misdemeanour is going to be counted against you."
"I know, all right? Don't worry, I'll have you on your way before bedtime." Koito made a face.
"I'm not talking about curfew, sir."
"Fine, fine, what is it this time?”
Carefully, Hajime set down his teacup. He shifted the tray so that it spill everywhere if something upset it. Looking straight across, his full height got him at the level of Koito’s narrowed eyes.
"Don't make a habit of playing around in the red light district, sir."
"I don't—"
"The women there know what they're doing. It may be fun, but you shouldn't forget that you're paying them,” he said, making it a threat. “A lot of stupid men have fallen in love with a prostitute and forgotten that.”
Koito’s thick eyebrows had squeezed together in the small space between them, showing that he hadn’t caught on. For someone so damned sharp, he could be slow at the worst times.
“She'll go along with you as long as you want, because it's the job. That won't last. She can’t push you off as long as you’re paying her, but when your hour is done—you’d best leave.”
Koito was red in the face. Leaning closer, Hajime pitched his voice down.
"Whatever you're trying, sir, it's dangerous. I could tell Central whenever I wanted that you were with Tsurumi, and your father was in on his coup. I would have, if I wanted a better deal. You might bring us both down if it looks like you could have been too close to him. Or me.”
Koito had started to cry. Silently, of course. He had some dignity left. His hands were clenched white-knuckled around his teacup while Hajime's throat clenched up around what he has to say next.
"Do you understand me, sir?"
"I understand." Koito glared at him with the effort it was taking to keep calm. This was…even more embarrassing. Hajime felt his legs screaming to jump up and escape, but he kept his ass firmly on his heels.
"Good. You can stop with all this," Hajime said awkwardly. Leaving now would be desertion.
He watched Koito collect himself in pieces. A couple of times, he threatened to speak. It took a while for him to say:
"I haven't made a habit of going to the red light district, you know."
"Of course, sir. I'm trying to help you keep it that way."
"Neither have you, Tsukishima,” Koito reproached him. He hadn’t lifted either hand to his face, no matter the temptation to wipe his tears. That was good self-control. Hajime didn’t get why he didn’t use it all the time.
"That's—"
"I had some reason to think that you felt the same. It wasn't stupid to ask."
Hajime clenched his fists where they were. He felt a suspicious twitching in the corner of his forehead. Now was not the time.
"Yes, it was. You should have kept that kind of showing off to somewhere private."
"Then what if I asked here? That's private enough!" snapped Koito.
"Sir, keep your voice down."
Glaring furiously at him, Koito rearranged his blanket around his shoulders.
"What did you come here to tell me, Tsukishima? If it was to keep my hands to myself, c-consider it unwarranted."
Oh, it was very much warranted. The sensation was sticking to him like sweat in the Tokyo summer, Koito’s finger at the entrance to his mouth.
"No, sir."
"Then what?"
"It's—just remember, you can't trust anyone here, sir."
"Even you, clearly. I hadn't thought you would be this cruel about it."
Back on his feet, so to speak, Koito had rallied for a counterattack. That was promising. If Hajime could be his enemy for a short while. That should cure him.
"Did you reject your village girls this way?” asked Koito. He drew a breath. “No wonder you were never married."
That shot came from an angle that Hajime hadn’t covered. It was his turn to look for something to say.
"No, I didn't,” was all he managed. It sounded pathetic.
"Really? Then it's just me,” said Koito.
Hajime couldn't tell him that it was a lie, since that would mean he’d want the truth.
"You didn’t have to speak to me like that,” Koito went on while he was reeling. “I only thought—you were taking so long—if you had just told me that I had it wrong, I would have let you be."
That was a second hit on the heels of the first. Hajime struggled to say anything at all before Koito found his next opening. The pain was spreading from his chest.
“There was only one who liked me, sir. She got married,” he couldn’t make it sound right. His voice was shot. It came out like he’d spent the day drilling recruits instead of reading quietly. “I’ve heard she’s happy. In Tokyo.”
That at least shut him up for a moment. Koito squinted at him suspiciously, which caused one of the tears that had stayed bottled up so far to run down. Hajime caught his breath in the silence.
Not for long. The blinking ended in a sneeze that Koito only managed to catch with the blanket. Disgusted with both of them, Hajime tried to offer him his handkerchief. Koito ignored it. He went as far as to shove him away—hard—when Hajime tried to wipe his face, pulling his own out of his trouser pocket instead.
Once he’d mopped himself up, Koito kept on talking. “If that poor woman managed to recover, you must mean that I should follow in her footsteps. You can go, Tsukishima.”
That was that. He’d done his job. Looking down, Hajime realized he hadn’t drunk his tea.
He tried to gulp it down before he left.
“I said to leave, Tsukishima.”
Stumbling to his feet, Hajime put a foot wrong and nearly stepped on the teacup before Koito whipped it out of the way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
“Likewise.”
The door to Lieutenant Koito’s apartment opened and shut, locking from the inside with a clicking noise right aftet. Somehow, Hajime didn’t feel like he’d wiped that slate clean when he left the man there with an empty cup and crying.
…
It was a painful and embarrassing walk to his room and to the baths, where he had enough time to soak in what he’d said to his fellow soldier. After that, Hajime slept like shit. He woke up once, barely fell asleep again before sunrise, and woke up sweating after that. At least he was clean.
Hajime folded up the futon that morning and ate the breakfast that the landlady set out for him, though it didn’t help.
Koito and he both liked to get their exercise in before starting work. He had a few hours before they’d be expected to meet with the officer of the day to piece together more of what Tsurumi told them, another few hours of that before he was released to supervise the new recruits, and however long that took before he was released to try and find a reason why they shouldn’t all be sentenced to hard labour. He had a suspicion that he should be, just for yesterday’s crimes.
Time passed slowly while he made his way through the basic training rounds of the day. Taking extra weight on his back was one way to clear his mind. The exertion was almost enough to make him light-headed and better than drinking at this hour and his age.
It worked for what he needed. When he saw Koito at the hearing, he was dazed enough that he couldn’t read him at first glance. It was toward the end of proceedings that he could see Koito wasn’t acting cold. He was self-assured, head held high and shoulders down, relaxed in front of the interrogation. Once or twice he was able to joke with the officers. It was never inappropriate, it was a gesture to the academy training they all shared. It served to build trust.
Hajime tried to keep his mouth shut through it all.
A week passed watching Koito handle every question that came at him without a slip, taking the inventory busywork that Koito had been given to the quartermaster’s office, running errands for the warrant officers, and crossing his arms in bed to hold his shoulders and hope the feeling got him off to sleep. It didn’t.
He’d got Koito off his back. There weren’t touches on his shoulder anymore, no smiles flashed when he was trying to be coy. He conducted himself as an officer should, warm, but not personal, not the way Tsurumi had crept into the lives of his subordinates. The rejection had got Koito back on task.
Hajime wished it’d worked as well for him.
There was no chance that he could have touched Koito before, and there wasn’t now.
Running his fingers through Koito’s hair where he was bent over a file was the worst thing he could do to him. It wouldn’t be a comfort. With Koito in this kind of pain, he could only look away.
There were reasons Koito had to believe what he did.
Koito looked up from his work, frowning at Hajime when he caught him watching.
“Wipe that look off your face, Sergeant Tsukishima.”
There wasn’t anything to say, either. Koito had got the message. What Hajime assumed would take a few days of whining turned out to run deeper than an impulse. Koito had jumped to marriage.
Obeying, Hajime watched the characters sliding up and down the page illegibly.
“Tsukishima! Did you hear me?”
“What look, sir?”
Screwing up his face like he’d tasted something sour, Koito groaned. “Get up, Tsukishima.”
“Sir?”
“I forgot my ink stick in my quarters.”
Koito buttoned up his coat in a huff and smoothed back his hair as he had wanted, beckoning impatiently for Hajime to follow him. He did as ordered.
They swept the same path downstairs, across the base, and up to Koito’s room that Hajime was used to taking the hour before curfew. Koito was fidgeting the whole way. He’d lost some of that composure he’d had, cheeks red, eyes narrowed as he swore at the lock for sticking.
Koito didn’t make any move for the desk once they were inside. He’d drawn himself up to full height like a crane in a swamp, staring down Hajime. Feeling the familiar dread, Hajime slipped around him and made for the kettle.
Or, he would have. Koito held him in place. His fingers curled around Hajime’s bicep, pinching through jacket, shirt, and overcoat.
“Is this private enough?”
Hajime nodded blankly.
“What’s gotten into you!” Koito threw up his hands, pacing to the back of the apartment. This was it.
“It’s nothing, sir. A winter cold.”
“Tsukishima!”
He’d managed to stack a few logs on the fire by the time Koito got close enough to touch again, but he was still messing around with the matchbox when Koito crouched next to him.
“I’ll be all right in a week.”
“That’s what I thought, but you only look worse the longer that I let you wallow! Out with it.”
Hajime got some of the spruce tinder to catch.
“I haven’t let it interfere with my work, sir.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s helped that we don’t act much like conspirators anymore. You barely look at me in that hearing room!” At least he was keeping his voice down, spitting instead of shouting.
“I’ll be sure to look more often, Lieutenant Koito.”
“Do. I haven’t relieved you of your post.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Even though you’ve made it clear you’re in my employ, not my service.”
Getting up from the fire, Hajime filled the kettle from the water barrel. He knelt down when he set it to boil, facing Koito straight-backed while the young man slouched.
“I was insubordinate when I spoke to you. I apologize, sir.”
“Oh, I know you’re sorry. I can’t see why. You’re supposed to have broken my heart, but you’ve slept badly and eaten worse since.”
“How do you—”
Koito waved him off, resting his chin on his other hand.
“Find a mirror, I don’t know. Just tell me what’s so wrong.”
“I—all right, but,” Hajime was at a loss. “Why?”
“So that I can help! I’m still responsible for you.”
Hajime considered the distances in the wood-framed room. He wouldn’t outmatch Koito’s reflexes. To make it to the door, he’d have to fight him off. To fight him off, he’d have to touch him.
“Let me explain,” he said.
Koito glared at him, lit up by daylight from the shutters. They weren’t usually back in this room before dark. “Reject me a second time, you mean.”
Hajime had to nod.
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“I.”
Hajime paused, thinking of it. The cure for his condition was to hold on to Koito so that his body was between Koito’s and anything that could touch him. Failing that, to have his word that he would never move to Tokyo and get married. Failing that, to have Koito scream at him and stop letting the pain he’d caused him go like he was some bodhisattva.
“Tsukishima,” Koito chided. “I’ve allowed you an explanation. I can make that an order.”
The most direct route was best. A soldier who had decided to kill should shoot there and then. Hesitation only ate away at the time you needed to push forward.
Hajime pulled Koito close to him. Chests together, one arm up between his shoulder blades, one at the back of his head to keep his neck supported. Hajime’s breath came out hot. It really was a cold. He’d felt fevered. The embrace pushed his thudding heart into his neck, into his head, so that his temples pounded. He tried not to squeeze too hard.
There wasn’t any push from Koito back on him, though, and not a squeak from him either. Hajime turned his head in some kind of dream to kiss his neck. Somewhere under there, Koito’s blood was pumping. He tried to find it.
His imagination never got as far as wanting Koito when he thought of him, but now there wasn’t any line that Hajime could find between that and what he did want. Koito’s voice, his life, close and under him. Hajime wanted to reach out and give him comfort, but his body had to do when he couldn’t think of anything to say.
Koito’s hand stretched over the back of his head, pulling him in. He understood.
There was nothing new about Koito's body to feel now. Hajime was well used to grabbing on to him to keep him from dashing off. It was stranger when Koito let him go and pushed him away than when he'd held him in return and hummed when Hajime found his throat.
"Y-you're well worth your pay, Tsukishima."
Hajime couldn't remember what it was he'd said to him that made him say that back. He tried to grab on to Koito again and found himself pushed down, unresisting to the floor of Koito’s rooms. That woke him up a little. The hard mats would be hell on his spine if he got folded over here.
The futon would be better, he thought as Koito worked his buttons open. How to get him there…
Hajime closed his eyes. Koito would have backed off, if he only let him know. Time to test whether that was true.
“Could we do this on the bed, sir?”
“Mmf.” That must be a ‘yes’, muffled by the skin under Koito’s mouth.
Hajime rolled him off and stood, holding Koito by the wrist so that he didn’t get the wrong idea. He checked the lock, made sure the shutters were bolted closed, and led them too the bedroom. Koito was oddly quiet, stare drilling down into the back of his neck.
“Could…”
“Yes?”
“Could you call me Hajime?”