Chōetsu

by snowxhanyouxqueen

Summary:

Ryoma and Okita went their separate ways a year ago, traveling around Japan and learning who they were outside of the Shinsengumi. Returning to Kyo by Winter, they find themselves drawn together again by what seems like pure luck, opening up more to one another as they grow as individuals. Through luck, hardship, battle and love, these wolves find pack within one another.

Notes:

Um, so I decided to write something that wasn't as heavy and just because I want to. It's stress free for me, fun for you guys, and hopefully I can live up to the pressure I put on myself to make sure this comes out good lol Please enjoy a concept I've been sitting on since Ishin Kiwami came out!

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Straw Hat Ronin

In the dead of winter, the trees withered and sleeping, Ryoma sat in the doorway of Haruka’s home, a cup of hot tea in his hands. The smell of simmering soup wafted from inside, where Haruka was cutting vegetables. She had gotten bigger, growing into her childish features in his brief absence. Time had flown by him without a care, and he took a deep breath as he stared up at the grey sky.  

A year ago, he had been a Shinsengumi, fighting off foreigners and ronin alike, trying to change the world around him for the better. A year ago, he had left Kyo with Oryo as well, traveling around most of Japan, just to see how life was away from cities they were both used to. It had been a beautiful time, one of love and warmth, and he had fully believed his future would be just that. To wake up to her every day, to feel her soft skin and enjoy her presence, it had sounded so delightful. But like all things, that idea never really lasts, and it turned out he just wasn’t ready for the same things she was. Blissful moments became a chore, and working together began to feel more like nagging and prodding, much like it had been when he first stumbled into the inn. Things that should have been easy to fall into started to fill him with dread and anxiety, and he wondered, was this what his life would be? 

He wasn’t good at much else besides swordplay and farming. He could cook but only because no one else would cook for him, except for Oryo, and finding work that didn’t completely bore him was difficult. He could spend his time working long hours in the fields with no chance for a bath for months, work a food stall for someone else and make barely a mon, or he could return to a simpler life and figure his shit out.  

The village was growing, and with growth came people and he figured that with the government changing, someone would need to care for the people. Saying goodbye to what was seen as the expected, simple life, and dedicating himself to the safety of those he knew and cared for was far more enticing. It felt horrible to end a life between himself and Oryo before it could even start, but he felt happier on his own, with Haruka, peddling their food and vegetables. Even now, with the cold fully set in and the snow covering what crops they had had over the summer, he felt content. He felt free. And most importantly, he felt like himself.  

Now whether that was Ryoma or Hajime was another story. 

Sakamoto Ryoma had died many times, and by all means, he was Saito Hajime, but it was nice to be able to live as both in a way. People may call him Hajime, but he could sit there and happily remember who he truly was without worry.  

“Uncle Hajime, food is almost ready,” Haruka shuffled over, leaning over to tap him on the shoulder with a warm smile. “It’s getting kind of cold,” 

“Ah, sorry. I’ll shut the door and come in,” He returned the smile, getting to his feet with a huff and entered the heat of the house. 

Sure, life wasn’t going as he expected, but he could always expect a kind face to spend his days with. 

---

“Ah, did you see the ronin pass by the hills the other morning?” 

“Hmm…seems they still haven’t learned that the times have changed…” 

Ryoma pulled his haori tighter around him, holding the basket of groceries close as he shuffled through the snow. The days were cold, but that didn’t seem to stop bandits and ronin from roaming around. Even with all the work he’d done to cull them, it seemed it wasn’t enough. As foreigners moved in and things began to change, those down on their luck would continue to choose violence and theft over an honest living.  

“Do you think Kyo will send people to protect us since we’re getting proper roads now?”  

“Who knows. When have they ever cared about what happens in the small villages?” 

Well, the people had a point there.  

Ahead of him, a group of ronin walked down the snow-covered road, hands resting on their swords. Ryoma cast his gaze down, Haruka’s home not far now. The last thing anyone needed in the winter was a confrontation. Especially when one was caring precious noodles and rice. They passed by him with barely a glance, bearded and stoic, some even clean shaven and beautiful, the young ones, not hardened by war. They were the dangerous ones, but it seemed that they weren’t interested in causing problems just yet.  

Ryoma let out a soft sigh and turned into Haruka’s property, greeting the dogs as they ran up, begging for pets and treats. He smiled, reaching into his basket and pulling out pieces of dried fish, feeding one piece to each of them before heading inside.  

Haruka seemed to be occupying the bath, so he busied himself with putting what groceries he’d purchased away. Life truly was much simpler like this, but he sometimes wondered if Haruka was more comfortable without him around. She had gotten a little attached when he first stepped in to help her, not wanting her to fall into prostitution at her age just to afford to live. It had been a good arrangement back then, now though, he felt more and more like a guest, even if she assured him he wasn’t a bother. There were just times that he’d be sitting there, and he could almost feel how she wanted to say something or do something. She was growing. One day she wouldn’t have room for him. 

“Mail for Haruka!” 

A knock on the door frame knocked him out of his thoughts, and he turned, opening the door to find a fresh-faced young man standing outside. Bundled against the cold, the young man swallowed as he looked up at Ryoma and held up the letter. 

“Is Haruka here?” 

“She’s bathing, I can pass it on,” 

The boy blushed and he bowed his head quickly, nearly bent to his knees. “Th-thank you! Just remember! It’s for Haruka! Her eyes only!” 

Ryoma raised a brow, taking the letter. “Right…thanks. See you next time…uh…?” 

“Yuta-san, sir!” 

They stood there, staring at one another before Ryoma cleared his throat. “You can go now,” 

“R-right!” Yuta scratched the back of his head before bolting out of the property, nearly knocking over an old man walking over. “Sorry!” 

“Kids these days…always in a rush, huh, Saito-san?” He shuffled in, smiling with his hands behind his hunched back. “Another letter for Haruka-chan?” 

“She’s been getting them a lot since I’ve been back,” Ryoma smiled, setting it inside as he stepped back out.  

The dogs surrounded the old man, careful to just walk around him and not jump as he reached down to pet them one by one.  

“I’m glad to see she is making connections. She really has grown so much since her parents’ passing. But that’s not why I’m here,” He hobbled over, motioning towards the hills and woods. “The people are getting nervous with the ronin wandering in,” 

“I saw a group of them not long ago. I know we’re in a traveling path, but the way they emerge from the woods is unnerving,” Ryoma frowned. “You don’t think they’re conspiring with bandits, do you?” 

“Perhaps. But you are the only trained samurai besides myself here, and I’m in no condition to check on things myself,” He shook his head. “I would have dealt with them myself if I could, but these old hands are only built for Shogi nowadays,” 

Ryoma chuckled, leaning on the support beam of the house. “What? Don’t want to relive the glory days?” 

“Oh no, far too old for that now. You on the other hand…look like you’ve been itching for a brawl since you returned,” 

He flexed his hand, reaching for blades that weren’t there. He hung them up on the wall as soon as he moved back into Haruka’s home. He hadn’t touched them in a long time, not even when he traveled with Oryo. There had been no need. They stayed in a few civilized areas and inns when they weren’t hiking and sightseeing. There was really no denying it. His hand itched to hold a pistol and blade again. Nothing quite felt as thrilling as battle, the ring of steel against steel, the way each blow vibrated up his arm. Ryoma even missed the way his heart pounded in his chest when fighting against other great swordsman.  

“I can see it in your eye, Saito-san,” The old man smirked, giving him a wink. “But in all seriousness. The people have been noting that there’s a light coming from the woods, and they’ve seen a shadow. Not like the groups, but someone on their own. They wear a black straw hat, and whoever they are, it’s been putting people on edge,” 

“Sounds like a thief,” 

“Or a ghost,” 

Ryoma chuckled at that. The mere thought of a ghost haunting the woods nearby seemed unlikely, but the people could be superstitious at times, and he’d seen some weird things since coming to Kyo.  

“I’ll look into it…when I warm up. I walked into the city today and my toes are frozen,” Ryoma shook out his straw boots a little. 

“Ah, and here I thought an ex-wolf would have the money for a good set of wool shoes!” 

“I unfortunately owed a lot of money…and traveling makes a good dent in the pockets,” he sighed, crossing his arms as the chill began to set in. “Hopefully whoever is out there just needs a helping hand. I’d rather not cut a poor man down,” 

“You’re a good man, Saito-san. You should come up to the house for a game of Shogi sometime,” the man held up his hand as he began to turn to leave. “I’ll make you tea and soup!” 

“I feel like I should be making you a bento,” 

“Bah! You make enough food for all of us daily. You deserve a small treat now and then. I’ll speak with you later,” 

“Stay safe and warm,” he said and headed back inside in time to find Haruka finishing off the tie of her obi. 

Her wet hair was covered with a piece of cloth, just to keep her head warm, and she smiled as he pulled off his boots.  

“Who was that?” She asked. “I got the last of our rice cooking for tonight, by the way,” 

“Well, first order of business, you have another letter,” Ryoma held it out, and she immediately snatched it, grinning. “And the old man up the road said there was some odd ronin activity in the woods,” 

“Oh? Yamada-san?” Haruka tucked the letter, unread, into the cabinet, where a stack of other letters sat. The drawer they were in could barely close and she slammed her hip into it, shaking the whole thing. “I don’t think I noticed anything,” 

Probably not, since you seem to be paying attention to other things if those letters are anything to go by. When did she get so grown up? And why the hell am I feeling sentimental? Like…like an older brother…or her actual uncle? 

“A group walked through today, but they minded their business. This one is solo,” Ryoma said, grabbing up their kettle and getting a pot of tea ready. “Apparently. I haven’t seen anything, but I haven’t gone out at night. Far too cold for that,” 

“Are you going to go though? Now?” 

Ryoma hummed as he tapped his fingers on the cutting board. Would he? Probably. If not to drive the man off, then just to see if he could get a fight. His fingers were itching to hold his blade again, even if he’d never find anyone who could make him sweat like the Shinsengumi. He’d never forget those final spars with them. Especially Okita. Wild and rabid like a wolf, he really was the only one who could make him dance. He missed the feeling too, the way his single eye would never leave him, staring him down like a damn demon. He could almost have been his Pops’ killer, if he had any restraint like his mentor and father figure, Genzaburo. It was only against him that he felt like a true warrior. 

“Yeah, I think I will,” he pushed off the block, grabbing a tray for the cups and tea pot. “Someone should look into these things. We can’t rely on the Kyo Police. They’re already busy with reforming the city,” 

“Guess everything is changing,” Haruka said as she sat down at the small stove. “Last time I went, there were foreign men with tight pants and women with huge dresses. There were even some shops that have gone up that are completely made of stone. But there are still people who are against all of this change. It’s scary,” 

“Western influence is a strange thing, but I have a feeling Kyo will still hold onto its traditions,” Ryoma smiled, setting the tray down by the stove before sitting. “Don’t you worry. I’ll go out there at nightfall, check on things, and if it’s too much for one samurai, I’ll ride into the city and petition for help,” 

“I wasn’t worried,” Haruka pouted. “Well…I am, but you always come back. So, I know you’ll come back this time too,” 

Pouring them each a cup, Ryoma chuckled. “How could I not when I know I’ll have a hot bath waiting for me,” 

“If you wanted a bath, Uncle Hajime, you should have asked!” She giggled, taking her cup of tea. “I’ll make sure there’s a bath and food to warm you up. Hopefully whoever is out there is already moving on,” 

Wishful thinking. He knew well the minds of men like this.  

---

The moon sat high in the sky now, the dark of winter moving in quicker and quicker each day. The wind was cold, kicking up the soft snow that sat atop piles of compacted, ice encased snowbanks. It hit Ryoma’s face like tiny shards of glass, biting his skin painfully but he didn’t pay it any mind. On the edge of the forest was a fire. That was his main concern now. Yamada was right. Someone was out there. 

He adjusted the straw hat and cloak he wore, and then began to trudge through the snow. Clutching his blade tight, he panted softly as the cold began to freeze his muscles. It was bad this year, enough that he could feel it in his bones, but he said he’d drive whoever this was off, and he wasn’t one to go back on a promise. Whoever it was, whatever they were planning, it ended tonight. If they were so desperate for a place to stay, they could move off to the city like everyone else. The inns weren’t that expensive, and it wouldn’t put an entire village on edge. If they let this go unchecked, who knew what it would spawn. Would this man start thieving their food stores? Was he just a scout, watching them before tipping off their bandit friends? The village wasn’t rich enough for this. Most of the residents were poor families, farmers and the elderly. They didn’t even have a shop set yet. They only just got stone roads.  

The closer he got, the more his heart began to beat. It pounded hard in his chest, and he almost felt sick with anxiety, yet it was more like anticipation. Ryoma almost wanted whoever this was to attack him. He hadn’t felt the thrill in so long.  

Sitting on a straw mat, a cooking pot before him, was a dark figure. The straw hat on his head was black and his face was covered with cloth, most likely to block out the wind against his face. He wore all black, his kimono frayed at the sleeves and faded from wear. Behind him stood a white horse, a mare, who stomped her hood hard on the snow which got the man’s attention. He turned to look at Ryoma as he walked up to him, his hand shifting to his side where his katana sat.  

“You’re making the village nervous,” Ryoma said, gripping his own blade. “You need to leave,” 

The man scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed himself to his feet. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” 

“Can’t a man eat first? Fuckin’ cold. Already got the fire and rice goin’,” 

Okay, that was a weird accent. Ryoma frowned, thumb on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw at any moment. 

“Smells like it’s burning. Can’t even cook rice?” 

“Sounds like ya wanna die talkin’ shit ‘bout a man’s cookin’,” 

“Sounds like you need a woman. What? The other bandits and ronin kick you out because you suck this bad at cooking rice? A kid could cook a pot of rice,” 

“Alright, that’s it!” The man drew his blade, pointing it right at Ryoma. “I’m gonna gut ya,” 

Ryoma drew his blade and took his stance, blade held near his face. “Not before I gut you first,” 

This was it, that feeling! His chest clenched with anticipation, his breath quickening. He watched the ronin shift, chuckling as he loosely held his blade. It was so casual, like he didn’t even care if he won or lost this fight. Cocky almost. Ryoma sucked in a breath, letting it out slow as the man began to lower his stance, shifting his legs apart as they bent and brought the pommel of his blade to his palm.  

Tennen Rishin. 

Wait. 

Ryoma’s eyes widened just as the man seemed to lunge at him, using the icy snow to propel himself forward. He side-stepped, barely getting his blade up as the ronin sliced at him, sparks flying as their katana’s connected. Metal slid against metal, the sound shrill in the empty night, making Ryoma wince. The ronin struck again, every motion deliberate and yet wild, controlled but feral, like fighting a cat, always keeping him on the defensive.  

He backed up in the snow, his boots sliding as the ronin pulled back to take his stance again. There were not many left who knew that style and those that did, he hadn’t spoken to some time. Nagakura was in the Kyo Police, happily serving and doing what he did best. Hijikata had moved into politics and poetry. But Okita? He has gone ghost. And this seemed…so like him. From the way he baited him into moving first, to how he kept him on his toes, hell, this felt more like a teasing dance than a fight. He was being tested. This ronin wasn’t taking it seriously.  

He was toying with him. 

Ryoma snarled, going on the offensive, sending the other ronin backwards now. Every blow was met with ease, and he could almost hear him laughing as he failed to land any serious blow. But were they even trying to maim one another now, or was this a test? 

The ronin blocked the upswing of his blade, sparks cascading over them and illuminating their faces just enough that Ryoma caught the glint of a tarnished tsuba. He opened his mouth, ready to call him out for hiding his identity when the ronin flew forward, sword poised to strike. The dancing samurai spun to the side and watched him fly past him, kicking him hard in the ass to send him down the hill and into the snow. The white horse let out a whinny, almost as though laughing at her rider as he slid further down.  

Ryoma smirked, moving to head down the hill careful, only to slip on a small bit of hidden ice and falling onto his ass with a grunt.  

“Fuck!” He grumbled and climbed back up as the ronin below ripped his hat off and started climbing back up to him. 

“Fuck is right! My rice is definitely burnt now!” 

“It was burned before I even got here!” Ryoma huffed, standing and wiping the wet snow from his back and behind.  

The ronin ripped the cloth from his face, revealing a scraggly beard and mustache, so different from the man’s usual clean goatee and pointed his finger at Ryoma. 

“It was edible,” 

“Hardly,” Ryoma pulled his own straw hat off and smirked. “Who knew you sucked at making rice this whole time. How the hell have you survived out here…nii-san?” 

Okita smiled, scratching the back of his head, his hair long and unruly. “Ah well, y’know, pure luck,” 

They sheathed their swords and approached one another, pulling the other into a hug. Ryoma squeezed his friend tight, tucking his head down as he felt the other man’s fingers grip his haori. The edges of his lips twitched into a smile. It had been so long. One part of him had believed that maybe Okita had met his end, but the mere thought that he could be dead seemed so absurd. If canons and guns couldn’t kill him, then frankly, nothing could. After so long away though, seeing his scraggly mug was comforting. A familiar face in a village of people he still couldn’t remember.  

Ryoma sighed, pulling back and opening his mouth to speak when Okita coughed.  

“Nii-san?” 

“Shit…” 

Chapter 2: Sicker Than a Dog

“I can’t believe it’s really you,”  

“Start believin’, Hajime-chan,” Okita smirked, walking his horse alongside Ryoma as they entered the village.   

The rice had been absolutely burned, nothing but a sad pile of nasty, dark, gluttonous mass, and that had been enough for Ryoma to invite his friend back home. Well, back to Haruka’s home. He was sure she made enough food for the village anyway, and Okita did seem to have a nasty cough. The way he kept wiping his nose and groaning after each rough and angry sounding cough was enough to tell the samurai that the Mad Dog had a cold. Nothing some proper food and a cup of tea couldn’t fix. And maybe a bath.   

“Where have you been this whole time? What have you even been doing?” Ryoma asked as they tied the mare up outside, placing the straw mat Okita had been using over her as a blanket.   

“Ah, y’know, here and there, this and that,” He shrugged. “Figured I’d take a page from yer book. Travel a little, see some shit. Surprised yer back in this back water village though. Whatever happened t’ what’s her face?”  

“Oryo?” Ryoma led Okita to the front door, shaking off the snow on his shoes before stepping inside and peeling off his wet clothes. “We…uh…weren’t as compatible as I thought,”  

“Hajime-chaaaan, did ya get cold feet?” Okita teased, pulling his own wet clothes off and shaking out the snow from his hair. “Thought she was the one fer ya,”  

“I did too, until I realized it just felt the same as when I was living in the inn. I care about her, but…”  

“Ya just didn’t love her,”  

“Yeah…”  

“Hey, now! No need t’ be sad ‘bout it!” Okita slapped him on the back, sending him stumbling forward. “Sometimes the girl is perfect but not fer ya,”  

“I guess so. She wanted to take care of me but…well, I’m self-sufficient,”  

“Not enough to make your own bath, Uncle Hajime,” Haruka said, exiting the bathing room with a smile. “Oh, did you figure out who was in the forest?”  

“I did,” Ryoma smiled, motioning to Okita. “This is Okita Soji. He was first captain of the Shinsengumi,”  

“Oh wow! It’s nice to meet you, Uncle Soji,” She bowed low, and Okita seemed to blush as he bowed his own head slightly.  

“Damn, uncle? Ya both are so embarrassing’,”  

“You should be honored. You’re family right off the bat,”  

“Bah, I’m just a guy,”  

“A guy with a cold,” Ryoma pushed him towards the bathroom. “He’s been coughing and sneezing since I threw him down the hill,”  

“In the snow, Uncle Hajime? I’d be sneezing too,” Haruka shook her head. “I made some rice and miso, and I drew you a bath…but it’s probably better if he has that instead of you,”  

“Y’all are too damn nice, makin’ me food and a bath,” Okita smirked, throwing open the door to the bath. “Ain’t gonna say no to a night of pamperin’,”  

The door shut and Haruka turned to Ryoma again, smiling. “You seem happy to see him,”  

“I thought he was dead. I don’t expect he’d be the one making everyone nervous, but considering how he acts, I’m also not surprised,” he said, finding their jar of preserves and getting bowls ready for a meal. “Hopefully the bath helps him. He needs a shave too,”  

“Is he just staying the night?”  

“I’m not sure. But if he needs longer, I’m sure we can figure something out,” Ryoma smiled.   

“We don’t have another futon though…where is he going to sleep?” Haruka hummed, looking off to the corner where their sleeping items were stored.   

It was true they only had bedding for the two of them. It was all they had ever needed, despite the home once being occupied by three people. But if Okita ended up wanting to stay…they’d have to work something out.  

“I’ll share for now. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken up my space,” Ryoma shrugged and went to his single drawer amidst all of Haruka’s clothes in the dresser. He pulled out a yukata for him and knocked gently on the doorframe. “Nii-san, I got a yukata for you. I’m coming in,”  

Sliding open the door, Okita had already settled in the bath, arms resting along the outside of the small basin. His hair was loose and cascaded down his back; like this he almost appeared relaxed and regal. Like always, he commanded the space he was in, making sure he was the center piece, the main attraction. It was almost vain for someone who wasn’t even the real Okita, and yet somehow, that vain demeanor worked for him. He may not have been the most handsome samurai, but he did turn heads of men and women alike. Why he still bothered with the act was beyond him.   

Okita lulled his head to the side, watching Ryoma walk in and grab his tattered, dirty clothes and set the yukata down.   

“Thanks, Hajime-chan,”  

“Haruka will clean your clothes for you tomorrow. A little late to be starting the washing,” Ryoma smiled and touched his own face before pointing at Okita. “When did you grow out the facial hair?”  

“When I was on the road for a month,” He shrugged. “Didn’t really have a mirror t’ be puttin’ a blade t’ my face. Didn’t need t’ accidentally take out my other eye,”   

“Fair point,”  

“What? Don’t like it?” He smirked. “Not like ya can grow more than that stubbly patch on yer chin,”  

“I personally like my look. Makes me look young,”  

“Someone’s a little into their looks,”  

“For someone who was supposed to be the most beautiful of the Shinsengumi, you definitely do not care for your looks,”  

“Ah! Ya admit it! I am the pretty one!” Okita clapped his hands.  

“Compared to the dead,”  

“Ouch!”  

Ryoma laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll help you trim your hair down once you’re done. The bath should help warm you up and clear out your sinuses. Tea and soup will help that cough,”  

“Such a mother hen, Hajime-chan. What would I do without ya?”  

“Probably die,”  

“Yer not wrong!” Okita leaned back again, sighing as he looked up at the ceiling. “Didn’t think I’d end up back in Kyo, but hey, I’m just glad ya found me and not Shinpa-chan. He’ll be so mad I didn’t do anythin’ with myself,”  

“I doubt that,” Ryoma pulled a stool over, sitting down. “I see him occasionally in town,”  

“And?”  

“He…makes fun of me for not settling down already,”  

“See? Bet he’s all happy he’s doin’ good things. Just ain’t got any talents beyond killin’ and maimin’, Hajime-chan,”  

“Yeah…I know the feeling…”  

They sat in relative silence. The only sound came from Okita’s sniffling and occasional coughs. It seemed they were more similar than Ryoma had believed. Okita was just as lost as he was, and who knew what he had been up to this whole time. Was he looking for purpose in the forests of Japan like he had? In the mountains? Had he found a semblance of who he was and who he could be? Or did he wander around blindly, waiting for something to just happen to him like some sort of divine intervention?  

“Let me grab a blade and I’ll shave you here. Easier to clean up,” he said and quickly stood.   

“Whatever ya wanna do. I’m just a guest in yer house,”  

“It’s not my house…It’s…uh…Haruka’s…”  

“Oh…I’m sorry,”  

“What the hell do you mean sorry?!”  

“I dunno! I just thought maybe it was yer home and ya were being gracious! How was I supposed t’ know ya were just bummin’ off a child?!”  

“Ugh! J-just shut up! I’ll be back!”  

Grabbing up a tanto, Haruka raised her brows at Ryoma as he nearly stormed back into the bathroom, not even questioning the strange sight. It probably looked as though he was about to go murder the other samurai in the tub, but with such a close space like her home, maybe she had heard the entire conversation. Then again, most women didn’t even bother with men and their strange affairs. Probably because they didn’t really care if they lived or died anyway. It wasn’t like they did much but fight and breed.  

Okita seemed to be unfazed as well, washing himself and not even bothering to look up from the water. He seemed far too comfortable being in someone else’s home bathing, and Ryoma wasn’t sure if it was because he had been doing this often over the past year or if he was just comfortable here. He’d have to find out what the Mad Dog had been up to. How did a man who carried so much Ryo end up wandering the lands looking like a hermit?  

“Tilt your head back. I don’t want to cut you,” Ryoma said, standing behind him with the blade ready.  

Okita sighed and tilted his head back, locking his single eye with his. He had removed the tsuba for his bath, leaving his empty socket bare and exposed. Ryoma had never seen him without it, let alone with his hair down or as…naked.   

“I’m probably not going to be able to leave anything,”  

“That’s fine. It’ll grow back, Hajime-chan,” he smiled up at him and Ryoma gently held his face as he brought the blade to his skin.  

Carefully, he dragged the edge at an angle, shaving away the scraggly hairs on Okita’s face. Little by little, as he cut away the hair, his face became smoother and like the man he used to know. His eye was intense, trained on him the whole time, and it took everything in him to keep his hand steady. Ryoma had, admittedly, never done this for another before. Oryo had cleaned him up on their travels, but he never really touched another like this. It felt strangely intimate, like something he shouldn’t be doing, but they were friends. It felt…okay enough.   

“Lookin’ all constipated up there, Hajime-chan. Doin’ okay? It’s just a shave,” Okita chuckled, which only seemed to aggravate his cough.  

He let out the breath he’d been holding and wiped the blade off before bringing it back to Okita’s face. “Stop talking…I’m just…I’m concentrating,”  

A few more swipes of the blade and his face was clean and shaven. Okita sighed, touching his face with a smile. He seemed pleased enough, and before Ryoma could offer to cut his hair as well, he stood up from the bath. The dancing samurai quickly turned away, clearing his throat as Okita stepped out and grabbed a towel.  

“Don’t be such a woman, Hajima-chan. Like ya haven’t seen another man’s cock before!” The Mad Dog laughed and playfully shoved Ryoma.  

“Just didn’t expect you to get up. Get dressed, you dog,” Ryoma huffed and left the bathroom, placing the tanto on the dresser to be put away properly later.   

Food was smelling good now, with Haruka already getting bowls of miso and rice set around the stove for them. On each tray she had even put some pickles and other side dishes, cups filled with tea and the futons were set for sleep. She smiled at him, clasping her hands together.   

“Is he all cleaned up? I kept everything simple so it wouldn’t make his throat feel worse. And I added some ginseng to the tea to help too,” Haruka said, taking her place on her usual cushion.   

“He’s a completely different man now, but don’t be fooled. He’s still a bastard,” Ryoma smirked, sitting down just as Okita stepped out.   

He had put his patch back on and tied the yukata up tight to hide his usually exposed chest. It was strange to see him clean shaven with hair longer than usual, but perhaps he could get him a proper haircut by spring. For now, he’d probably appreciate the extra warmth around his neck. Ryoma found himself touching the back of his own neck, where once it had been so exposed but now his own hair had grown in length.   

Okita sat down across from Haruka, looking at the small spread of food over before clapping his hands together in silent prayer and picking up the soup. “Didn’t hafta go outta yer way t’ make me anythin’,”  

“I was already making food for Uncle Hajime. It was really no trouble!” Haruka said, digging in herself. “If you’re truly a friend of his, then you’re always welcome here,”  

“Damn, so polite. She definitely didn’t learn that from ya, Hajime-chan,” he snickered, and Ryoma rolled his eyes.  

“Whatever. Why don’t you tell us what you’ve been up to the last year?”  

“Curious, are ya?” Okita sniffled and sipped his tea. “I was kinda goin’ everywhere. Didn’t really have a destination. Just took one outta yer book and picked a direction and went. Not without buyin’ Haku first. She’s been a life saver,”  

“Did you do anything fun? See anything amazing?” Haruka inquired, leaning forward slightly with an air of curiosity around her.  

“Ah…well…I kinda found it all a little borin’,” Okita stared down at his food. “Probably would’ve been cooler if I wasn’t on my own, so I ended up spendin’ time at the gamblin’ dens,”  

“Of course you did,”  

“I figured, hey! I got way too much Ryo on me anyway! Why not see if I can lose it, or double it,”  

“And?”  

“I tripled,”  

Ryoma stared at him, blinking. “Tripled,”  

“Crazy, I know. Won some swords in a few bets, sent those off to Shinpa-chan by courier. Then some guys thought I was cheatin’, so I had t’ go on the run for a while. Then another guy thought I cheated so we had a duel,” Okita shoved a pickle into his mouth and shrugged. “I won that battle too. It wasn’t much of a fight though. Ain’t anythin’ like our fights, Hajime-chan. He was barely a challenge,”  

“So, how did you end up back here?” Ryoma asked as he picked at his rice.  

“Well, I ended up pissin’ the wrong guy off, I guess. It ain’t my fault he and his ronin scum couldn’t figure out the pattern to the dice…”  

“Nii-san…you’re a ronin too, now. And I’m pretty sure learning patterns is cheating,” Ryoma sighed.  

“Probably but listen. He bet a little too much and didn’t like gettin’ screwed over. I didn’t have much choice but t’ come back t’ Kyo after he chased me through three villages,” Okita shrugged and waved his hand about as he seemed to suppress a cough. “Not to mention, the gamblin’ thing got borin’ too. I was only at the edge of the village ‘cause I got cold and tired. Then ya came along and made me burn my damn rice. I would’ve been back in the city in no time otherwise,”  

“You were loitering and making everyone uncomfortable,”  

“Please, Hajime-chan. I saw all those other ronin passin’ through. I was mindin’ my damn business,”  

Ryoma simply shrugged and they all went back to their meals in comfortable silence. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into this. Back when they were wolves, it was rare for them to share meals together, but when they did, it was nice. Okita usually had some crazy story to tell, and when he didn’t, he just sat as close as possible and seemed to bask in his presence. It felt as simple as breathing now, to be close. He vaguely wondered if Okita had missed being with those who he’d seen as his friends and pack. Traveling alone sounded not just boring, but lonely. Perhaps at the end of the day, seeing everyone move on had made him feel like he had too as well.   

He didn’t blame him. Ryoma felt the same now. Things had changed, but both of them were still the same. Locked in a way of life that was slowly moving away from them. One day they’d have to make a choice. Hang up their blades for good or figure out how to start up a dojo. They didn’t have many options as once renown samurai.   

When their meals were polished off, and Okita started to look worn and tired, Haruka took their dishes away to place in the wash bin for the morning. Okita leaned back on his hands, motioning with his chin towards their sleeping arrangement.  

“Only got two beds,”  

“We’ll have to share,” Ryoma stood, untying his hair and letting it fall down his back. “Just don’t make it weird,”  

“Not me I’m worried about makin’ shit weird. Ya coulda just set me right here on a cushion. I woulda made do,”  

“Nonsense, Uncle Soji. You were out in the cold,” Haruka shook her head. “You deserve to stay under a blanket to warm up,”  

He shrugged, pushing himself up onto his feet and padding over. “If ya say so,”  

They pulled back the blanket, both men hunkered down on the futon, barely a foot apart to try and not sleep on the hard, wooden floors. Haruka climbed into her own bed, turning onto her side and bundling up quickly. As they laid there, it didn’t take long for her breathing to slow and for her to falling asleep, leaving the two men to stare at the ceiling.   

“Is that all you’ve been doing? This whole time? Gambling?” Ryoma whispered in the dark, the orange glow of the night bouncing off the snow illuminating the entire room through the small window above them. The silence from outside was deafening, and his ears rang just a little to remind him of how quiet it truly was.  

“No…I’ve been…tryna figure shit out,” Okita sniffled, glancing at Ryoma. “Everyone else seemed t’ figure it out…Like you and Oryo,”  

“Well, that didn’t work out,”  

“Neither did trying to find what you had with her,”  

“Nii-san…”  

“I wanted t’ see what more there was. Bein’ a samurai is all I’ve ever known. But the moment I became Soji…I wanted t’ be more. Thought I could find that away from Kyo, where everyone knows I’m a killer,” He drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Death seems t’ just follow me,”  

Ryoma hummed softly, then rolled over to face him. He propped himself up on his arm and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.  

“If you don’t have anywhere to go…you can stay here,”  

“Haw? I…really?”  

He nodded, smiling. “It would be a lot less lonely if you did,”  

Okita looked up at him, eye dancing over his face before he grinned. “Then I’ll stay,”  

“Good. Now rest. We don’t need that cough of yours getting worse. Goodnight, Nii-san,”  

“Goodnight…Hajime-chan,”  

Chapter 3: Mother Ryoma

The orange light of the night quickly turned grey by morning, rousing Ryoma from his slumber. He felt pretty damn rested for someone who had barely a foot of space to sleep on, and damn, did he ever feel warm and cozy.   

Yawning, he reached up to rub his face and felt a strange weight on him. Cracking an eye open, he found a nearly shivering, clean shaven Okita Soji curled against him. His arm was thrown over his torso as his head laid on his shoulder. At some point in the night, he’d lost his tsuba, and his face was adorably squished against him. A single leg was hooked through his own and Ryoma’s eyes widened as he quickly stared up at the ceiling. What. The. Fuck.  

His breath was ragged, a struggle since his nose seemed to be clogged, and occasionally he’d cough, letting out a whine after. The idiot was really sick now, and clearly had no idea he was wrapped around him like a clingy woman. Ryoma quickly glanced to the side to see if Haruka was asleep still, only to find her futon carefully packed away. She wasn’t inside, but that didn’t mean she didn’t see them like this. What would she think of them? Oh hey, Haruka, this is my friend, we definitely are not…you know, we just happened to be cuddling all night! This was embarrassing!  

Ryoma quickly started to untangle himself, pushing Okita into the center of the futon and sliding himself out of the blanket. Instantly, the Mad Dog curled up, shivering and coughing, his eye fluttering open.   

“Ugh…Hajime-Chan? Shit…did I take the whole damn bed?” He whispered, his voice hoarse and rough.   

Ryoma looked away, running a hand through his hair. “No…you didn’t. Don’t worry about it. You sound like shit now,”  

He stood adjusting his yukata to cover himself better as he made his way to the small kitchen to grab a kettle and tea pot.   

“I’m going to go to the well to grab some water. Don’t move,” he said and rushed out into the snow with not even his boots to protect his toes.  

Haruka stood at the edge of the property, excitedly rocking on her heels and toes as the dogs surrounded her and the courier from before. Yuta, he vaguely recalled his name being. Ryoma paused as he pulled the bucket up from the well, watching them a moment long as Yuta’s face seemed to darken by the second like a blooming rose. Whatever was going on there, he’d have to keep an eye on him. Not that it was his place to step into her life like that, but she was still young and…well, he felt protective. In an older brother kind of way. Quickly pouring water into the kettle, he hissed as he walked back through the snow and inside, cursing himself for not putting something on his feet.   

“Hajime-chan is gonna end up feelin’ like shit too if he doesn’t wear some damn socks,” Okita spoke up from bed.   

The idiot had taken over the whole futon, smirking at him from beneath the blankets. In fact, he had then bundled up right to his chin and as Ryoma narrowed his eyes at him, gripping the kettle tight in his hand, the Mad Dog ducked under it.   

“That’s what I thought. Here I am, getting you some tea, and you make fun of me,”  

“More just worried how Haruka-chan will feel with ya trackin’ water through her house,”  

“She’s busy thinking about boys. Doubt she’ll even notice,” Ryoma put the kettle on the stove, turning to see Haruka standing in the doorway.  

“Did you just track snow into the house, Uncle Hajime?” she sighed, kicking off her boots to grab her slippers. She had another letter in her hand. “And it’s cold in here! Did you even shut the door when you went to grab water for the kettle? Uncle Soji has been coughing all night while you held him, and then you just let all the cold air in?”  

“Awww, you held me?”  

Ryoma groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m going into town. Make sure he drinks his tea,”  

“Runnin’ away from his responsibilities,” Okita clicked his tongue.   

“He always is. Don’t worry, Uncle Soji. Uncle Hajime will bring back things for stew and then I’ll be able to make you some Nikujaga, how does that sound?”  

“Ahhh, Haruka-chan is so nice,”  

Ryoma sighed, shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll trade some of our extra root vegetables for a good cut of beef. Just be careful, and don’t get into trouble,”  

Dressing for the snow, Ryoma made his way back outside and into the cold. The road to Kyo was fairly long, and he’d need to take the boat to get to the shops if he wanted a good deal. He took a glance at Haku, the white mare as he exited the confines of Haruka’s home. Approaching her, she instantly whinnied, shaking her head and stomping her hoof. It seemed she wasn’t keen on giving her services to strangers.   

“I got a carrot for you if you let me take you into town,” Ryoma offered, crossing his arms, only for her to turn her head away completely. “Fine, be that way…As stubborn as Okita-no-niisan,”  

And so, he trudged on, past the house of Yamada that sat on a small hill, past the homes of new couples with the faintest cries of newborn babies, and into the dead forests that lead towards his destination. He shivered, holding his produce close as he looked up at the spindly branches of once beautiful trees. Their greying bark nearly melted in with the snow, the only colour around them being the occasional red berry bush.   

It took longer than he would have liked to get to the water crossing into Fushimi, but once he was in the small boat and across, he was met with the winter market off the docks. The city, which had burned thanks to the ex-shinsengumi, was still lively and bustling. The stalls had been rebuilt, and so had the inn and surrounding homes. The only difference now seemed to be the influence of the west, with brick and mortar replacing some buildings, speckled between tradition like a rash that wouldn’t quite go away. Ryoma didn’t care too much. It bolstered the market in his time back here, offering strange and foreign foods to try with Haruka.  

And now also Okita.  

If he stayed.   

Hitting up the fish and meat monger, he set down his basket and pulled back the cloth covering his ginseng, carrots and other winter root vegetables, smiling as the owner of the shop approached.  

“Ah, Saito-san, what have you brought me today?” The man smiled, rubbing his hands together.  

“Some root vegetables from my overstock. Haruka wants to make something hardy today,”  

“I got some beef that was just brought in a day ago. Local farmers had to cull the herd. And some fresh river catches, if you have the Mon,”   

Reaching for his coin pouch, he checked inside and hummed. They sold a good bulk of vegetables, and he hadn’t spent much of what they made, not to mention what he had left from his wolf days. Some fish would go a long way, and Okita needed the beef.   

“Sure. I’ll come back for everything. I need to buy a new futon and blanket for a friend,” he said with a smile and handed the coin over.   

“Won’t take me long. I’ll make sure everything is up to your standards as always, Saito-san,”  

He moved off towards Rakunai, finding that he never really had shopped for clothes or bedding really. When he first came to Kyo from Tosa, he had no choice but to find a new kimono and yukata, but after that he didn’t really have any money to spend on more outfits. He was lucky the shinsengumi even gave him a haori. But Okita didn’t really seem to have anything now, and though he’d probably protest, he did need something. He couldn’t just wear his clothes all the time.   

“He’s not even going to pay me back…” He sighed as he grabbed a few pre-made pieces for the Mad Dog.   

The shop luckily sold blankets and other linens as well, and once he was done and his coin purse was much lighter, he was left to carry it all back. With his basket of fresh meats and fish, the futon strapped to his back, and the linens bundled under his arm, Ryoma returned home by the time the sun hit the horizon line, blinding him against the snow. He wanted to curse Okita’s horse for being so unkind, but it wouldn’t take much for him to get the mare to like him the next time he needed to buy something for Okita or the house. That was, if the idiot even stayed.  

That was the real question now. He hasn’t mentioned where he wanted to go or be, what his plans were. He just came home, sick to death of wandering around Japan just as Ryoma had been. He had no ties here though, an orphan of Mibu, and no woman or purpose to hold him down. He could decide to one day just up and go, thank Ryoma for the hospitality, and be gone by spring. The thought almost made him sad. Almost. He was better off not getting attached to the idea that Okita would be there for long. It was winter. Things changed, people hunkered together and then separated all the time. Life and the people in it were fleeting and Ryoma was far too used to losing everyone around him. Surely, he’d lose Okita as well.  

He should keep his expectations low. Treat this like a summer breeze. Something rare and precious, because one day, it would be gone.   

“I’m back,” He announced, kicking off his boots at the front door and tossing the futon in Okita’s direction. It landed on his curled-up body, making him grunt beneath the blankets.   

Setting the meat down in the kitchen, Haruka peeked inside and grabbed the beef out to begin prepping it for dinner, allowing Ryoma time to put everything else away.  

“I don’t know how long you plan on staying, but since you’re here, I got you a futon and some clothes,” He placed the folded linen into the same drawer with his own clothes, then turned to set up the new futon. “Or you can just keep mine and I’ll use the new one. As long as you don’t mind it smelling like me,”  

Okita sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I ain’t complainin’ if that’s what yer askin’. Didn’t mean t’ put ya out,”  

“It’s really no trouble. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me,”   

The Mad Dog tilted his head, as though he was thinking about it. The mere fact that he could be wondering if he’d do the same almost pissed Ryoma off. Would he not do the same for him if he fell on his doorstep in the cold winter? He wouldn’t actually leave him to suffer, right?  

“I would,”   

“Wait, really?  

“Ya think I’d really let Hajime-chan suffer on his own? What kinda guy ya take me for?!”  

“I dunno! You’re the one who hesitated,”  

“Just thinkin’ why Hajime-chan would even be in a state of needin’ help like that. I mean, at least ya got a house, even if it ain’t all yers. I don’t even have that. I guess if I had a tent, I’d let ya share my tent. Since yer so delicate, I’d probably just give ya the whole thing and sleep outside on a mat,” Okita scratched at his cheek with a single finger, glancing away.   

“Delicate?! You’re the one who fell in the snow and got a cold immediately!”  

“Hajime-chan just gives off that proper samurai vibe. Like ya need a soft bed, a warm bath and a herbal tea or you’ll wither away,”  

“I literally work the fields in the summer and grew up poor. You’re the one who’s as pale as the snow outside and catching colds like an infant!” Ryoma fluffed out the new mattress and set it right beside Okita’s, giving him a pointed look. “Always lounging around too…”  

“Ouch, someone’s touchy…” Okita frowned and for whatever reason, that made Ryoma frown too.   

He turned away quickly, pulling off is clothes in favour of something loose and comfortable. This was just banter, wasn’t it? Or was Okita really thinking that he believed he was useless? He could only imagine the embarrassment of living off nothing and then being offered a place to stay with no real future ahead. It was almost like when Ryoma had come from Tosa. Living in the inn for that time had been difficult but at least the room was his. Okita had nothing. No home, no bride, no nothing. A true wanderer. And Ryoma basically called him a useless burden while he was sick.  

“Sorry,”  

“Eh? Apologizin’ already?”  

“I’ve just been where you have. I shouldn’t be making fun of how fragile you are,” He smiled, just so the Mad Dog would know he was kidding, and was happy to see him smile in return.  

“Ah, look at ya, all worried ‘bout me bein’ sick, buyin’ me essentials. When I ain’t coughin’ up a lung, drinks’ll be on me,”  

“I count on it. I’m broke now because of you,”  

---

Days of coughs and sniffles contained in a small home had made life more than difficult for Ryoma. As much as he wanted to keep himself healthy, it didn’t take long for Haruka and him to catch the same cold. Every morning, he and Okita would wake up tangled in one bed, with Haruka pressed into his back shivering. Every morning, he had to slip away from his cold and clammy hands as their body heat just made him sweat worse. Days were spent with all three of them huddled around the stove burner, keeping as warm as possible as they shared their blankets, and as much as he wanted to just lay in bed and groan, Okita was useless in taking care of them.  

It became quite apparent that Okita had gotten thinner over the year, if the baths and communal changing was anything to go by. The man couldn’t make a pot of rice to save his life, and when it came to trying to make soup, Haruka and Ryoma were left to pretend that it was edible at all. He tried though, and in the end, Ryoma had no choice but to take over the cooking and cleaning to give at least Haruka the time she needed to rest.   

So, there he was, sniffling, miserable, and cooking. From rice and noodles to stews and soups, the one reward was seeing Okita and Haruka gobble down everything he made. In fact, he found himself feeling a little bit of pride each time Okita took a bite of food and moaned like he hadn’t eaten in years. Each bite he took was like it was the best morsel of food he’d ever had, and Ryoma couldn’t help but smile and try harder with each meal, even if he was constantly wiping his nose in absolute misery.   

As they all sat around the stove, Ryoma reached over to the Mad Dog, brushing the hair from his forehead to place the back of his hand to his skin. His single eye widened, and he quickly looked to the samurai, frowning.   

“Oi—“  

“You seem to be getting better. Your skin isn’t as hot anymore,”  

“Guess yer good food just gave my body what it needed t’ fight it off,” Okita shrugged.  

“Just means you can help with chores now,”  

“Damn it,”  

Okita stood, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders as he dutifully picked up their food dishes. Ryoma hadn’t expected him to try and earn his keep already, and he was only half joking about him doing chores, but there he was, taking them to the wash bin.  

“May as well get ‘em done now, yeah?” Okita said, pointing to their pile of blankets and clothes too. “Gonna suck washin’ all of that in the cold though,”  

Ryoma blinked before scrambling to his feet. “I’ll help. Haruka, make sure you rest, okay?”  

She smiled, waving at them. “Have fun! At least I don’t have to do it now,”  

Both men at outside, the sun low in the blinding blue sky as they washed their clothes and dishes. Ryoma found his eyes glancing at the Mad Dog as he held each dish close to his eye for inspection before setting it aside in a pile. He was thankful they had a well on the property. He vaguely remembered a time with his own parents, long before they burned and died, leaving him an orphan, when he’d help carry dishes down to the water. It had been a hassle, and when he had asked his mother why she didn’t make his father carry everything, she simply smiled and laughed.  

“I like to take care of him. If he did everything, I’d have nothing to do, and I’m no empress of Princess. This is what I can do to show him I love him while he works hard. One day, someone will care for you while you work. Always show them that you appreciate all they do, and you will be rewarded,”  

He sighed, wringing out another kimono and hanging it on the bamboo rack.   

“Okita-no-niisan,”   

“Haw?”  

“When spring comes, what do you plan on doing?”  

“I have no fuckin’ idea. I don’t even know what I wanna eat fer breakfast. Why?”  

“Well…how about you stay? Permanently?”  

“Eh? Really? Ya got that kinda pull?” Okita sat back, pushing his hair from his face.   

“The house is as much mine as it is Haruka’s. I paid off the remaining loan for her to stay here. I think…it would be nice to have a familiar face,” Ryoma shrugged. “I cook quite a bit, and we have the garden, the chickens. I can show you how Haruka and I run the delivery business and if you want to help, you can. Or some of the other people around here have farms that need helping hands as well,”  

“Ain’t much of a farmer…but I can run deliveries. Been known t’ be fast,” Okita smiled slightly, scratching behind his ear. “Ya miss me that bad or somethin’?”  

“I mean…of course,” Ryoma picked up another kimono, laying it over rack with the other. “Ever since I came back, I’ve felt a little lonely and lost,”  

“Ya could’ve stayed with Oryo-chan. She woulda made a great wife,”  

“Sure, but I can do all of the things I would need a wife for. I think we’re better off friends…maybe…I dunno. I like caring for people and so does she. Maybe we just weren’t right for one another right now,”  

“So, what? Ya gonna put all those carin’ feelin’s on me?”  

“Only if you want me too,”  

“Why wouldn’t I want ya to?”  

They both paused, staring at one another for a long moment before their faces went completely red and they started aggressively scrubbing the dishes and clothes.   

“So, on your travels, you didn’t find anyone?” Ryoma asked passively, trying to will the heat in his cheeks away. Maybe he could pretend it was from how cold it was, or that he was still sick.  

“Like a woman?”  

“Yeah,”  

“Despite what’s said ‘bout me, my luck with women is about as shit as yer luck in tryna convince people yer something that ya ain’t,” Okita smirked. “Just ‘cause I was fawned over in Kyo, ain’t mean I managed t’ keep the pretty boy act up outside of the Shinsengumi,”  

“That bad then? Just getting rejected left and right?” He chuckled.  

“I didn’t really try, but no one really gave me much mind but the Geishas and courtesans…Even then, it ain’t really my thing,”  

“That right? Then what is your thing?”  

“Uh…well…” Okita laugh, almost nervously. “Ya could say I like other colours,”  

“Oh,”  

It wasn’t extremely uncommon, but many people didn’t speak too openly anymore with the foreigners about. Ryoma wondered if Okita once had a Nenja, or if he just kept it hidden this whole time. He didn’t really give off the aura of someone who was specifically into male colours, but perhaps Ryoma hadn’t been paying much attention to that. He was quite close to Inoue, but he doubted they had something beyond just a bond. Right?  

“I suppose Takeda’s sleaziness didn’t help with trying to find someone back in the barracks,” Ryoma smirked, and Okita snorted.  

“If that asshole didn’t creep half the men out, I’d probably have my pick of the crop, but it’s fine. Ain’t bother me much. What mattered was I could cut a man down ‘fore he could do it to me,” Okita smiled. “Best fights I’ve ever had has been against the Dancin’ Samurai himself and to me? Well, that’s better than sex,”  

“Really?” He raised his brow, amused.  

“Sometimes,” If Okita could wink properly, that’s exactly what he would say the bastard did. But he only had one eye, so Ryoma wasn’t sure how to take his smirk as he closed that single lid of his.  

“Well…I like fighting you too. You’re the only one to get my blood pumping,” Ryoma shook out Okita’s traveling kimono, thumbs running over the fraying threads.   

“Heh, got yer blood pumpin’ ya say?”  

“I mean by giving me a challenge. I feel like every time we fight I have to really think about what I’m doing, or you’ll gut me,”  

“I’d never gut ya. If I did, I wouldn’t have my Hajime-chan t’ bother anymore,”  

“At least I provide you some entertainment, nii-san,”  

Maybe the winter months wouldn’t be so bad with Okita around.   

Chapter 4: Reunification

Okita had never been one to care for the domestic life, but even he couldn’t deny the benefits of having a home to return to.  

He was not made for farming or building. As far as he could remember, he always had a sword in his hand. Or a blade of some kind. When he was a child, his mother had been poor and sickly, and while he’d never been proud of it, he had to steal many times in order for them to eat. Even on the days when she was bedridden and could not lift her head, he would try his best to make sure she had something, even if it was just his poorly made rice.   

Cold winters like this one made him think about her most. Finding her prone, lifeless body in this home, leaving him alone, the fear of having to navigate the world on his own when the trees were dead, and the people were less than generous, had been hard. He remembered how she used to do her hair and makeup on the days she felt great, and how she had one beautiful kimono she’d wear before she was out on the streets. He wouldn’t see her for nights at a time, but then she would return with meat and vegetables and things would be alright for a time.   

Living in the barracks had been nice because he didn’t have to sit there and worry each time someone left to do their patrols. It was just routine. They had blades and could fight, protect themselves, and he was never so far away that he couldn’t jump in and help. But now he found himself back to remembering a time long gone, and every time Haruka left to deliver meals and produce, he felt nothing but fear.   

Standing out in front of her home, he crossed his arms, shivering just slightly as he waited for her to come around the corner back home.  

“She’s fine, nii-san,” Ryoma called from the house. “She does the deliveries every day,”  

“Ain’t mean it’s not dangerous,”   

“If I was that dangerous, I’d be doing the deliveries,” Ryoma rolled his eyes and sighed. “She knows these people. She’s okay. Get back in here and make yourself useful. Standing around all day isn’t helping her any,”  

Okita huffed and put his hands up as he walked back to the house.   

“Nii-san is such a worrier,” Ryoma handed him a cup of tea with a smile. “But if you think it’s that dangerous for her, then you can do the deliveries from now on. Though you’re just going to get annoyed. You actually have to be nice to people,”  

“Hey! I’m nice!” Okita pouted, sipping his tea. “Dunno if I’m nice ‘nuff t’ start deliverin’ goods,”  

“Then quit worrying,” Ryoma snorted, handing him a broom. “And start cleaning,”  

Cleaning was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had to earn his keep somehow. This wasn’t his home, neither was it Ryoma’s. Okita was only so talented, and really didn’t have any skills like cooking or farming like the dancing samurai. He was just a samurai. A ronin now though. Lost and unsure, there wasn’t anything he could do besides clean. When he tried to help with rice, Ryoma pushed him out of the way. When he tried to help cut vegetables and meat, Ryoma bitched it wasn’t done properly for the dish. Why he was even allowed to stay with them was beyond him, but he did know that eventually he’d have to leave.   

The home was small, even for two people, and while it may be Haruka’s childhood home, it would eventually be an issue. Two full grown men and a growing teenage girl made the place feel so cramped sometimes. The only privacy he had was the bath, and even then, he could hear them out in the living area. Sometimes he didn’t even get to relax in the tub. Sometimes Ryoma would come in and remind him to clean the damn bathroom when he was done.   

“Nii-san, when you’re done, we can eat outside and wait for Haruka, if it would ease your mind,” he said as he began to grate a daikon to put on their rice.   

“It would, and fine. But it’s fuckin’ cold out there,”  

“Didn’t seem to bother you when you were just standing there,”  

“Shinsengumi habits are hard t’ shake off. Standin’ ‘round was my specialty,” Okita smiled.  

Sweeping, dusting, packing away extra food, Okita did as he was dutifully asked like some sort of house husband. It wasn’t a dynamic he ever really imagined himself having. And yet here they were, working together to keep the house clean and cooking good food as they waited for Haruka to return. When all was said and done, Ryoma carried a tray outside while Okita grabbed two of their cushions, setting up a little area next to the door to sit and wait. The dogs wandered about the yard, watching the chickens as they pecked at the frozen earth. Beside him, Ryoma poured two cups of sake and hand one to him before getting his food ready to eat. Grated daikon was gently placed onto a perfect bed of rice, then his extra dish was filled with pickles, tofu and pieces of crispy fish.  

Okita waited for him to grab his sake cup and then held up his own with a smile. In a silent cheer, they knocked it back, feeling the warmth grow in their chests, then he grabbed his rice to dig in.  

“Enjoying the domestic life yet?” Ryoma asked, biting into a pickle.   

“Eh, it’s different. At least compared t’ travelin’,”  

“It’s nice to have a place to rest your head,”  

“Tell me ‘bout it. Can’t believe we both were out there for like a year,”   

“Oryo liked staying in inns. She enjoyed the hikes and nature walks, but sleeping outside was definitely not on her list of wants,” Ryoma chuckled.   

“Can only imagine,” Okita laughed. “I was lucky if I could sleep somewhere with a roof. Kinda nice t’ camp though,”  

“Even though you couldn’t even cook yourself a meal?”  

“Just rice! I can grill fish, ya ass!”  

They laughed, the feeling between them beginning to feel normal and natural again. Okita almost felt like he belonged. Almost. Even with the new futon, the mother hen behavior from Ryoma and Haruka’s kindness, he still felt like he was intruding on a still life. They worked in perfect harmony. Ryoma cooked, Haruka cleaned, he protected, and she delivered goods. They were like a family, and that wasn’t something Okita had had in a long time.   

He felt, as he slowly ate a piece of fish, like eventually his time would run out there. One day Haruka would want to get married. One day Ryoma might actually feel ready to settle down with Oryo and Okita? Well, he liked different colours. His life was up in the air, fate unknown. Most men were moving away from the practices implemented before and it wasn’t really openly spoken about either. Two men holding hands or being together wasn’t a strange sight, even in Kyo, but he couldn’t just expect that one day, a male courtesan would take his hand and leave that life behind. Hell, he never really saw himself as much of a Nenja anyway.   

He didn’t really know what he saw himself as.  

He knew he enjoyed the pampering; he enjoyed having a meal made for him, but Okita also enjoyed helping Ryoma around the house, despite his complaints.   

Ryoma didn’t like the same colours as him though.   

He shook that thought away quickly and shoved a whole pickle in his mouth.  

“So, you really didn’t find anyone you liked on your travels?” Ryoma asked. “I mean, usually traveling would be the time when you’d bump into someone that makes your heartbeat,”  

“Ah…no. And I didn’t really think ‘bout it. Not a lot of the places I went offered…the uh…other services,”  

“I see…”  

“Maybe that will be different now that I’m back in Kyo. Though I ain’t really a catch,”  

“Where did all that confidence go from a year ago?” Ryoma narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re usually one to command a room, get what you want, and you did have women, and men, turning heads,”  

Okita cast his gaze down at his food. “Shit’s a little different when yer into other things. And well, I know half of the attention was ‘cause of the uniform. Guess guys and gals are into that,” He chuckled, trying to convince Ryoma that he was fine with it, but he just kept frowning at him.   

“I think people are missing out if they don’t look at you now,”  

“Oh, please, Hajime-chan. Ain’t like yer lookin’,”  

“How do you know? You’re just making assumptions,” Ryoma snorted. “There’s someone out there for you. Someone that will make your heartbeat,”  

He reached towards him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.   

“Maybe you’re just looking too hard,”  

Okita’s face went completely red, his eye widening as he slapped Ryoma’s hand playfully away. “Oi!”  

“Sorry, you were about to eat your hair,”  

“T-then let me!”  

“What?! You that into men you can’t let another one tuck your hair away?! Maybe if you tied it back instead of still looking like a bum—“  

“Uncle Hajime! Uncle Soji! I’m home!” Haruka called as she rounded the corner. “Oh! You guys are having lunch outside?”  

“Hajime-chan wants me to freeze to death,”  

“Uncle Hajime! He just got over a cold! You should know better!”  

“He was the one standing out here worrying about you,”  

“…You were worried about me?” Haruka tilted her head, her rosy cheeks only getting pinker.  

“W-well…it’s just…there’s ronin…and…a pretty gal shouldn’t be luggin’ ‘round heavy goods and cash alone! Who knows what could happen?!” Okita scratched his head.   

They all looked at one another, each of their faces a different shade of red. The silence that surrounded them was nearly deafening and it felt like an eternity had passed before Ryoma cleared his throat.  

“Why don’t you head inside, Haruka,”  

She nodded, rushing past them with a whispered “He’s worried about me,” and shut the door to the house.   

The two men sat there a moment longer before Ryoma snorted. “She’s going to have a crush on you now,”  

“Fuck,”  

---

And the week continued on like that.   

Much to Okita’s protests, Ryoma would send Haruka off to do her deliveries, they would have lunch on the front porch and the dancing samurai would ask him as many questions as he could about what he’d been doing and what his preferences in men were. It should have been annoying, but he could only guess that it was a natural curiosity.   

Did he like younger men? Older men? Had he ever been intimate with a man and what was it like?   

Some of these he didn’t know how to answer. He had been with a man, he had not been the one on top, and well, his preference he kept to himself. Ryoma just seemed to be so intrigued by the entire thing, and yet knowing what he was like he still would fix his hair for him and wipe his mouth whenever wayward sauce would drop down his chin during dinner. It didn’t help that Haruka was now giving him wandering little glances, and every time he caught her, she would immediately turn away from him. How he even ended up in this position was beyond him.  

“Ah, nii-san,” Ryoma called out to him as Okita played with one of the dogs in the snow, the dancing samurai busy with trying to dig out his garden. “How about we go into town for dinner and drinks tonight?”  

“Haw? Really?”  

“Well, you do owe me for the futon,”  

“Right. Silly me to think ya just wanted t’ spend time with me,” Okita teased as he got the dog to stand on its hind legs, tossing it a little treat for the trick.  

“I mean…that too,” Ryoma wiped off his hands, standing straight. “Is it a crime to want to go for a drink with a friend?”  

“No, I just think ya heard I got a lot of money, and ya want yer little hands in my coin pouch,”  

Ryoma opened his mouth, then shut it, smirking as he shook his head. “Never mind. I’m not saying it,”  

“Oh-ho! Was Hajime-chan gonna say somethin’ dirty?” Okita laughed.   

“Maybe! Guess you’ll have to see when we go out. I bought you some nicer clothes when you were sick, you should wear them,”  

“Ah, now yer dressin’ me up? What is this, a date?”  

“I just want you to see that you’re worth the effort,” He shrugged, smiling softly. “Maybe if we go out, have some fun, you’ll see that,”  

“Have I been lookin’ that miserable?” Okita snorted.   

“You’ve been looking like you’re itching to run away and like you’re lonely. Maybe we can fix that,”  

He quickly looked away, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Well, when did Ryoma get so soft and kind? He probably always was, but it had taken them time to get there. With their pasts open to one another back when their worlds were falling apart, there hadn’t been any need to hide behind masks of confidence and superiority. Ryoma calling him nii-san didn’t even bother him anymore. In fact, he was sure if he stopped, he’d be worried he’d done something. The interest he’d taken in him, the home he’d provided, the food he made for him and the way he spoke was proof enough that Ryoma genuinely wanted him to feel at home and at peace. A shame he still felt like he didn’t belong, and Ryoma just didn’t get it.  

“Yer such an idiot…” Okita whispered and headed back to the house. “I’m going to take a bath,”  

Sinking into the warm tub, Okita huffed as he rested his arms around the edge and tilted his head back. What was his game? Was Ryoma going to set him up with someone? Was he going to have him buy a male courtesan and tell him to fuck his frustration out? Or was this all some innocent night out?   

When had he gotten so suspicious?  

Probably around the time he had caught the eye of a male gambler, and the asshole tried to rob him. Or maybe before that, when he did lay with a courtesan and woke up to the moron trying to stab him. It also could have been when he thought Ryoma might have been into him, only for him to say goodbye at the docks with his arm tangled with Oryo’s.   

Maybe his travels had just made his heart harden.   

He sighed, sinking further into the water. Ryoma had moved away from Oryo, said he felt nagged, like they were just friends. Would he be open to trying something new? Did he feel the same way he did deep down, whatever that feeling was? Curiosity pulled on his skin, and he wondered if maybe he read Ryoma wrong. He was far too comfortable getting naked in front of him, and he’d been so…touchy. Hell, he didn’t even say anything each time they woke up tangled together while sick. Did he just think it was innocent, or did he catch on that Okita was desperate for warmth and touch on his pale skin?  

“Fuck…when did I get down this bad?” He whispered to himself, running a hand up his chest.   

Whenever it happened, he’d have to figure out his feelings soon. If Ryoma wasn’t interested, by spring he’d need to leave if he wanted to spare his heart. Or his dignity. Nothing was worse than falling for a man who loved women.   

He exited the tub after making sure he was squeaky clean and tied on his fundoshi before peeking out into the living area. Haruka wasn’t back yet, so he quickly ran across to the dresser to open his drawer to find some clothes. Nice kimonos were right, and as he pulled them out, Okita whistled. No wonder Ryoma went broke buying him stuff. What the hell was this all about? Buying another man nice clothes like that was stranger than letting him cuddle up in the middle of the night. Regardless, he threw on the clothes quickly, holding up his hakama just in time for Ryoma to come inside.  

“Struggling?” The dancing samurai smirked, and Okita stuck out his tongue.  

“Nah, just tryna not flash the kid,”  

“Relax, she isn’t even back yet,” Ryoma rolled his eyes at him and walked over, turning him around to face him. “Here, you’re all crooked,”  

Ryoma slipped his hands around to grab the back ties, yanking on them and effectively pulling Okita closer. He stabilized himself by placing his hands on the samurai’s shoulders, watching his deft hands tie everything neat and tight. Hands moved up and readjusted his kimono, fixing the collar and smoothing the fabric over his skin. They were far too close, and Okita swallowed as Ryoma gave his pecs a pat and smiled.  

“There. Don’t tell me you need help tying your hair back too,”  

“Maybe I do,” Okita smirked as Ryoma’s hands lingered on him.   

“I’m sure I could make you look handsome enough to attract a nice guy,”  

“Who says I’m lookin’ for someone nice?”  

“Uh…am I interrupting?”   

Okita shoved Ryoma back, watching a strange array of emotions flutter over his face. He seemed almost hurt, then annoyed, and then they were both looking to the door where Haruka was kicking off her boots.   

“Nah. Hajime-chan is just handsy,”  

“Excuse you. You couldn’t even tie your own hakama without being crooked. I was just helping,”  

“Riiiight…” Haruka nodded. “And I’m just a dumb kid who doesn’t know what happens when two adults share a house,”  

Ryoma opened his mouth, pointing his finger at her, but Okita cut in quickly.   

“Nothin’s happenin’. We’re goin’ fer drinks, so if ya wanna go lock lips with yer courier, be my guest,”  

“Okita!”  

“W-what are you talking about, Uncle Soji! I don’t—! I would never! I mean—I just—!”  

“Just kiddin’, yeah? Nothin’s happenin’ here, and nothin’s happenin’ with ya either. Because we’re all just mindin’ our business, right?”  

All three of them nodded and Okita sighed. “Now can ya just get yer ass dressed, Hajime-chan? Got the whole evenin’ ahead of us!”  

Okita had never seen a man strip so fast in his life, and he couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head as he helped Haruka pull the basket from her shoulders. She smiled in thanks, and then shook out her cloak and hat.   

“It looks like it’s going to snow again tonight. Do you think you two will be back before that happens?”  

“No idea. If we ain’t, make sure ya stay safe, okay?”  

“I’ll have the dogs inside, they’ll keep me safe,”  

“Good on ya,” Okita grinned and slipped on his shoes. “Ya ready yet, Hajime-chan?”  

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Ryoma said and held up a small umbrella to ward against any early snowfall.  

Heading out, the sky did look a little darker than earlier and there was a heaviness in the air. Okita could almost taste the chill, and he hummed softly. They could easily end up stuck in town overnight, something Ryoma must have known when he suggested a night out.   

What were his plans anyway? Ryoma had a way of being absolutely unreadable, a wild card among men. Okita could never understand how a man who was so obviously pretending could also be so secretive in his feelings. Was Okita wrong in thinking he didn’t like men in some way? There were those that enjoyed both sides, some even who had been mentored by a strong, older man only to marry a woman, and others who just continued the practice, whether because they felt it right or because he enjoyed the touch of another man.  

Whatever Ryoma was after, Okita would just have to find out.  

Their walk to the city was relatively quiet, though it didn’t take long for the snow to start. Okita held his hand out and shivered, not noticing Ryoma reaching to take his hand. Tanned, calloused fingers wrapped around his own and he looked over to catch Ryoma’s cheeky smile as he pulled him through the shambling woods. For being in the cold, his skin was warm, and he found himself squeezing his hand equally tight as they ran to the river dock. The river was already beginning to freeze at the edges and the ferryman mentioned briefly that it might freeze overnight. It seemed the gods themselves were trying to keep them in Kyo, like some kind of divine prank on them.   

Ryoma glanced at him and shrugged with that crooked smile of his and Okita couldn’t help but grin back.   

“Guess I gotta pay fer the inn stay too?”  

“I’m very broke,”  

“How Oryo saw anythin’ in a broke samurai like ya is beyond me,”  

“I’d like to say it’s my good looks, but even I’m confused,”  

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, and as they finally docked in Kyo, he stepped off first to offer his hand to Ryoma. He took it, letting the Mad Dog pull him from the boat and drag him through Fushimi. The warm lantern light of the shops and bars were inviting, and Okita hummed as he peeked at the menu of each one, curious as to what they sold.  

“What, never eaten on this side of town?” Ryoma teased, and Okita shook his head.   

“Most of my work as first captain kept me up in Rakugai. Fushimi wasn’t my problem. It’s cute though. This where ya buy all yer extra meat?”   

“Yeah, well, it was right by the inn,”   

“Never really paid attention when we came here that night. Was a little too occupied tryna deal with yer grand plan of warning literally everyone we were comin’,”  

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that she’d tell them?”  

“I ain’t gonna get into that. Ya were clearly love blind,”  

“I…I wasn’t,” Ryoma paused at the gates to Rakunai, hand still in his. “I just…cared for her. That was it. To be honest…I really thought I could convince myself that there was something there, but…losing everyone kind of blinds you to how you really feel about things,”  

“Yeah…yeah it does,” Okita murmured, looking down at their hands. “I know that better than ya know,”  

“Nii-san…”  

“C’mon. Ya wanted drinks and food. Not gonna spend the night dwellin’ on the past,” Okita pulled him closer, wrapping his arm around his as more snow began to fall. “Hajime-chan deserves a good night after puttin’ up with my sick ass,”  

“Well…y’know. I was just happy a cold didn’t take you out,”  

Okita let Ryoma pick their first stop, which he didn’t not expect to be the fusion restaurant sat before Gion. Seated in their own private room, Okita looked at the menu and clicked his tongue. It was more than he had expected, but Ryoma had made up his mind it seemed.   

“Tell me we’re at least orderin’ from the Chinese or Japanese menu,”  

“What, afraid of what the west has to offer?”  

“Never cared much fer their bland ass food,”  

“I bet one day you’ll change your mind,” Ryoma smiled, “But fine, we can have Japanese,”  

“I mean if I’m paying a couple Ryo fer a whole spread, it’s gonna be fer some damn good sushi!” Okita slapped down the menu just as one of the owners came by. “Oi! We’ll get some sake, tea and yer Japanese spread,”  

“Of course! Right away!”  

“Seriously, how did you not find someone?” Ryoma shook his head. “All that wealth, no one to spend it on, and you’re paying for the whole meal tonight,”  

“The eye and the murderous intent tend t’ be a turn off, Hajime-chan. Plus, I never focused on that stuff. The times I did didn’t go very far and I mean…When yer heart has been set on one person, it’s hard t’ shake that feelin’ away,” Okita flexed his fingers. “Bein’ into men feels like a curse sometimes. Ya got women fallin’ over ya ‘cause ya wear the blue haori and are strong, but the men ya like are busy chasin’ those same women. It was best I just dedicated my time t’ the sword,”  

“Okay, and now?”  

“I don’t think the guy I want likes the same colours I do,”  

Ryoma grew silent as their sake and tea were brought in and he grabbed the bottle, carefully pouring them each a cup.   

“Are you just going to pine for him forever then?”  

“Don’t most men pine fer their woman forever? Y’know how many times I’ve seen a man get rejected by a beautiful woman and then make it their mission t’ ruin her life? Or they never leave her alone? If they are allowed t’ be so damn depraved and chase someone who doesn’t want them, then why can’t I just…bask in the presence of the one I can’t have?” Okita took his cup, holding it out. “Well, Hajime-chan? What would you do?”  

Ryoka clinked their cups together and knocked the hot liquid back with him, slamming his cup on the table.  

“I would do the same probably. Wait and wait until I couldn’t take the pain…then tell them how I felt,”  

“And if they rejected ya?”  

“Well, like you said. Why shouldn’t I get to bask in their presence a while longer until they didn’t want me around?”  

Chapter 5: The Colours of Winter

The night truly began to pick up when Ryoma dragged Okita into Gion.   

Thankfully, he didn’t take him to one of the courtesans, happy enough to just enjoy the presence of dancing and singing girls over being forced to perform himself. Sitting there, sipping sake as Ryoma sat beside him, they enjoyed the song and dance of the Geisha and her Maiko, their makeup beautiful and white, stunning in every way. It reminded him of his mother, though he recalled her obi being tied in the front, her hair never staying up by the time she got home.   

“So, what’s it like when you see male Geisha,” Ryoma leaned over, whispering to him.  

“It not like this. There’s less clothes and singing,”  

“Really?”  

“Ya think I go to Gion often!?” Okita hissed. “I actually got no clue. I just…y’know…like men…”  

“So, you’ve never—“  

“I absolutely have,”  

Ryoma’s brows raised in something akin to surprise and also intrigue and he lowered his voice further. “What’s it like?”  

“Are ya drunk?”  

“Yes,”  

Okita sighed, “It feels the same, but up the ass,”  

He stared at him as the Mad Dog sipped his sake. “What? Ya want a demonstration?”  

“I just don’t know how it’s the same—“  

“Please shut up,”  

“Sorry,”  

The young Maiko continued to dance to the Geisha’s playing, her strumming almost relaxing if he didn’t have Ryoma’s fingers sliding up his kimono sleeve. His fingertips rubbed at his pulse, and he looked at his sake cup. Empty. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to ignore the voices in his head telling him that this was a dream.   

Ryoma liked to say he was ugly. He liked to tease. He treated him like he did absolutely nothing around the house. And then suddenly they were here, in Gion, and his fingers were playing a weird game of footsie with his hand. Okita wanted to slam him into the tatami mat and do exactly as he had told him earlier. Tell him how he felt, tell him that since he first walked through the barracks’ gates, he’d wanted a piece of him. Any piece. Whatever he could have. He wanted to rip him apart and put him back together, he wanted him to kiss him like he kissed Oryo.  

He wanted him to fuck him like he fucked Oryo.  

But there was just no way. There was no way, sitting here, watching these beautiful woman dance and sing, that Ryoma liked men or him. Right?  

He let him cuddle him for a week, and despite being sick and just snuggling up for the warmth, he felt Ryoma’s arms slide around him too many times for it to be a coincidence. Did he want Okita? Was this all just games?   

Maybe he was too drunk for this. He put his cup down, waving away the third Geisha who came to refill it. He glanced at Ryoma just in time to catch his eyes wandering over him and then the samurai licked his damn lips. Okita snapped his gaze forward just as the song ended and the Maiko bowed. The two samurai clapped and smiled for her as the third Geisha knelt before them.   

“Shall we play a couple drinking games?”   

“Ah, Hajime-chan, ya go first! Don’t ya play a lot with the other girls?” Okita slapped his back. “Practically an expert!”  

Ryoma grunted and shot Okita a glare before smiling at the Geisha. “I’m pretty good at rock, paper scissors,”  

“Oh! Let’s play then!”  

“Ya gotta keep yer clothes on here, Hajime-chan, just remember,”  

“I know that! Just shut up and watch,”  

Okita laughed and held up his hands. Touchy. But he was kind of cute when he got all intense and mad. Okay, he needed to keep those thoughts to himself.  

He watched far more intently than he should have as Ryoma went toe to toe with the Maiko. They each one a round, going back and forth as the Geishas and himself joined in on the song. Of course, he could see from Ryoma’s swaying that the sake was getting to him and a couple times he looked down at his clothes with a pout, almost as though he wanted to yank them off. It was at that point that Okita jumped in to play one game with them before their time was up and he was dragging the drunk samurai out of the establishment.   

The streets were full of courtesans and patrons, drunks and lovers. Some men had overdone it and were puking in the bushes, while a couple ladies of the night waved and beckoned them over. Okita ignored it all until a young, very feminine man gave him a wave and a wink from one of the businesses and he paused, swallowing. He was pretty, sure, enticing, definitely, and had an allure about him that made his drunken brain pause. Clinging to his arm, Ryoma grunted as he tried to stand up straight, looking in the direction Okita was staring.   

“He’s kinda pretty,”  

“Shuddap, yer drunk,”  

“He ain’t as pretty as you,”  

“I’m sorry, what did ya just say?” Okita nearly dropped him, watching the samurai stagger backwards, then stumble forwards.   

He held up a finger, a silent plea for him to wait and then burped. “Sorry…He ain’t…pretty like you,”  

“Oi, yer Tosa accent is comin’ out,”  

“Whatever. You like it,” Ryoma snorted. “He’s just…y’know…pretty on the outside. You? You’re the whole damn package. Deserve more than something so shallow,”  

Okita blinked a couple times, then opened his mouth, closing it and repeating the motion as though he were a fish. There was no way he meant it. He was drunk. He had way too much sake and needed to cool off.   

“Ya can’t just call a guy pretty, Hajime-chan…”  

“Well, I did. Deal with it. You’re pretty. Prettier than…” he waved at the male courtesan flippantly. “That,”  

“That’s a low bar…”  

“Pfft!” Ryoma stumbled back to him, grabbing his face gently, for someone very much no longer in control of his limbs. “It’s not. You really were the prettiest in the Shinsengumi. I was just…teasing,”  

Okita felt like his skin was about to burn off with how close Ryoma was. The intensity of his eyes made his heartbeat at an unnatural rhythm, and he honestly felt close to puking. This was a dream. A cruel dream but a dream, nonetheless.   

“What the hell is yer game here, Hajime-chan?” Okita narrowed his eye. “I ain’t able t’ tell if yer so drunk ya went stupid, if yer makin’ fun of me and wanna get stabbed, or if yer bein’ real,”  

“I don’t…I don’t lie, nii-san. I mean, well, I do. All I’ve done is lie, so it’s not like I don’t get why you don’t believe me, but…you are pretty…and you deserve a great guy!”  

“Hajime-Chan…”  

“A-and…”  

“Yes?”  

“I forgot what I was gonna say…”  

Okita sighed, gently prying Ryoma’s hands from his face. “Maybe ya need t’ sober up,”  

“N-no! Then I’m gonna feel so stupid,” Ryoma clapped his hands together. “We need to go to another bar!”  

“HAW?!”  

“Come!” Ryoma grabbed his hand and yanked him through the snow, the crystal formations falling hard now.  

As they crossed the bridge out of Gion, they both slipped on the icy wood, Ryoma quickly grabbing the rail. Okita, for all his luck, went down, shivering as he landed in the snow. They both twisted as their fuzzy bodies tried to regain control of themselves, slipping and sliding before they both managed to stand properly again. Ryoma pulled him close, holding him tightly as he brushed off the snow from his arms and head. His hand slid down his face, fingers twitching over his tsuba and Okita watched his neck bob as he swallowed.   

“You look good in the snow,” Ryoma murmured. “Your skin just looks…alive in winter,”  

Okita blinked. Where were all these confessions coming from. He thought he knew Ryoma well. He was a little embarrassing, weird, insanely good with a sword and gun, and according to everyone, the best dancer and singer around. But honest? Charismatic? Was it just the sake talking?  “I always enjoyed Autumn more,”  

“I think red is more your colour than orange,  

“That’s funny, ‘cause I kinda like lookin’ at orange. Always thought that was yer best season,”  

Ryoma smirked, leaning in. “Okita-no-niisan…are you flirting?”  

“Are ya?”  

“I’ll tell you if you buy me another drink,” The samurai chuckled.  

“I’m gonna throw ya over the railing,”  

“I’ll take you with me. Then we’ll have to get naked faster,”  

Okita put his hand on Ryoma’s face and gave him a playful shove. He untangled from his grasp, turning away to make his way back to the city, only to pause and look over his shoulder. “Oi, ya want that drink or nah?”  

Ryoma was by his side instantly, taking his arm and popping open their umbrella. “I knew nii-san would see my side,”  

“Just wait till ya sober up. You’ll be wishin’ I’d put ya t’ bed,”  

“I dunno. Maybe if I sober up, I’ll regret not flirting with you more,”  

Okita shuffled off the end of the bridge onto the snow-covered cobblestone path and shook his head. Was that all the teasing? Ryoma’s shit attempts at flirting? Had he felt this way the whole time? There really had been no reason to call him nii-san to start, except to show a level of respect, but the way he said it always felt…different. Okita was always natural in calling his lessers fun little names for the hell of it, especially because it bothered most people, and it was just fun to give a little nickname. But to hear Ryoma call him nii-san didn’t feel like the same jest. It felt too…genuine. Cute even. Almost like a pet name.  

“Hajime-chan doesn’t need to flirt with me t’ make me feel pretty and wanted,”  

“That’s only half the reason. I don’t exactly flirt with just anyone,” Ryoma said, his face flushed from the cold and the warmth of the sake. “Who even does that?”  

He didn’t have anything to say to that. Ryoma really wasn’t one to just flirt. Okita had seen it firsthand that he was generally quite terrible at it. He was an awkward guy, set in his ways and ideals. Maybe he did like the same colours, or maybe he was just testing the waters. Okita slipped a little on the snow and they gripped on another tighter. Maybe he did need another drink.   

Stopping at one bar that happened to still be open, they drank at least another full bottle of sake before the snow outside was falling heavier. It blanketed Kyo in a nearly white storm, silencing the entire area with its cold, crystal flakes. People were scarce, having already shuffled off back home, leaving the two of them alone to find some kind of accommodation. Stumbling near a Ryokan, Okita pulled Ryoma to a stop and yanked him inside, barely allowing him time to put his umbrella down.   

Inside, the heat and steam of the provided baths warmed their bodies better than the sake ever would. Patrons wandered about, heading to their rooms or the baths, chatting and laughing as outside seemed to grow worse and worse.   

“One room,” Okita said, reaching into his coin purse for a few Ryo.   

The owner weighed the coin he placed in her hand and then pointed upstairs. “You’re lucky we have a couple rooms left. The snow has made space scarce,”  

They followed her up the stairs and down a couple halls, Okita barely listening as she explained where the baths were, and when meals could be provided. Ryoma was definitely not listening, if the way his hand was trying to sneak into Okita’s kimono was anything to go by. Stopping at their door, she bowed her head as she opened it, revealing a fairly spacious room with a couple futons folded in the corner.   

“Enjoy your stay,”  

“Oh, we will!” Ryoma chimed in, yanking Okita inside.  

The moment the door was shut, the samurai was on him, his hands yanking at his obi as he tried to capture his lips, only to catch the corner of his mouth. Okita would have probably protested if he was sober, but the extra drinks had made all inhibitions fly right out the window. His hands found Ryoma’s face and he held him still to bring their lips together properly.   

He tasted of sweet sake, lips strangely soft for someone who toiled away in the fields and played with swords. Ryoma’s hands finally pulled his obi loose with a rumble, pulling Okita flush against him as they stumbled back. His own fingers slipped into the samurai’s hair, yanking on the cord he used to keep his hair tied back. Brown hair felt like silk in his hands, and Okita moaned softly into his mouth as their tongues finally met. Ryoma gently sucked on his tongue and Okita yanked his head back to bite his lip.   

“This better not be a dream…”  

“Why? Think you died in the snow?”  

“I dunno, did I?”  

“Think you’re too lucky for that,”  

Ryoma pushed him back with a smirk, shoving him down to the ground so he could fall to his knees over him. Staring up at him, Okita felt his heartbeat like a drum, and he swallowed thickly as Ryoma gently pulled his hair cord loose and then fingered the cord of his eye patch. He froze, watching as his friend flicked it gently before taking it off. For whatever reason, his drunken brain had hoped the mere act would grant him back his vision, but his single eye was still the only sight he had, blurred and strained. Ryoma ran his thumb under the socket, leaning in to kiss him again.  

He let him, opening his mouth willingly, letting him push him down onto his back. Hands found their way into his kimono, hot and calloused and then suddenly his lips were brushing over his cheek to his blinded side. Something wet dragged over his socket, making Okita grunt, only to feel it again. He opened his mouth, wanting to protest but all that escaped was a moan as Ryoma continued to assault him with kisses and licks, his hands running down his chest to his fundoshi. He made quick work in ridding him off it, revealing his hardening cock to the room. Without any hesitation, and without ceasing his attention to his empty socket, Ryoma grasped him firmly, stroking him to full hardness with ease.  

“Okita-no-niisan is soft…” Ryoma purred against his skin. “When did you last—“  

“I…it’s been a while…” He groaned, finally grabbing his face to bring him back into his scope of vision. “Ya ain’t gotta do nothin’ ya’ve never done,”  

“If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t have you on the floor beneath me now, would I?” Ryoma snorted. “Now will you shut up and let me taste you?”  

Okita let his head drop to the floor with a thud, groaning as his brain jostled in his skull. “Don’t blame me if I cum down yer throat,”  

“Then I’d get to try two new things tonight,”  

A laugh bubbled up in his chest as Ryoma’s warmth slipped away, but he didn’t laugh for long when he felt his mouth take him immediately. He moaned loudly, peeking down to see Ryoma staring right at him as he gently held the base of his cock and lowered his mouth and lips over the sensitive skin. Okita shivered, closing his eye as his hands tried to find somewhere to be only for one of them to be grasped by the menace between his legs. Every time he bobbed over the head of his cock, he felt his tongue drag behind. His slurps and moans filled the room, creating a strange, heavenly chorus around them as neither held back their needy voices.  

It felt good, hot, wet, something Okita hadn’t really felt in a long time. At least, not in as pleasurable of a way. His gut clenched, the tingle in his loins making him whine as Ryoma took him down further. He wasn’t going to last.   

“A-ahh…s-stop…”  

“Huh?” Ryoma popped off his cock, a line of spit still connecting them. “Did I do something?”  

“N-no! I just…” he couldn’t gather his thoughts. His damn hand was still wrapped around him, and he felt so exposed with the samurai still clothed. “It ain’t fair yer still dressed and suckin’ me off,”  

The look of concern on his face was quickly replaced with that goofy smirk of his and Ryoma started to undo the ties of his obi and Hakama. The Mad Dog pushed himself up, grabbing his clothes and nearly tearing them off before sliding his hands over his ass and up his back. Smiling, he fell back, taking the samurai with him as his hands barely caught his fall. It took some coordination and movement, but Okita somehow got Ryoma to settle over him enough that he could grasp both their poor, leaking cocks in one hand to give them a satisfying, shared stroke.  

“When’s the last time ya came?” He purred, sucking Ryoma’s bottom lip.  

“Ahh…ahnn…an…awhile…?” He growled, dropping to his elbows.   

“I can tell,”  

“I wanna cum with you,”  

“Me too…”  

“F-fuck…”  

“Hajime-chan…”  

They silenced one another with their kisses, moaning one another’s names into their other’s mouth as Okita twisted his wrist and worked his hand over their cocks. That fire and lightning in his groin sparked again, his toes curling against the tatami mat as Ryoma thrust into his hand. The samurai ducked his head down, biting his shoulder and neck to leave bruising marks of possession on his skin. He felt him twitch in his hand as he licked up his neck, mouthing at his jaw as he whined and humped his hand. Almost like a rutting bull, he seemed so eager for release and the Mad Dog vaguely wondered if this was all just to get off or if he really wanted this with him. Whatever this all meant, it was heading out the window as Okita found Ryoma’s mouth on his again, smothering him with lips and tongue and teeth.  

He arched into the dancing samurai, groaning as they both reached their premature release. He felt their cum splatter onto his stomach, pooling around his belly button, both of them breathing hard as they tried to keep their kiss from fully breaking. Okita’s body felt like it was fire, warmth spreading through him as his orgasm began to calm and he felt Ryoma settle over him.  

There was a long pause and silence between them until the samurai lifted himself and slipped down his body, laying his tongue flat against his stomach to lick up their combined taste. Okita shivered as he watched, their eye contact unbroken as Ryoma returned to him to give him a kiss and taste. It was bitter and unpleasant, but he couldn’t help but swallow down what was given as he stood and stumbled his way to the futons, leaving the Mad Dog sprawled on the floor like a wrecked maiden. He heard the rustling of sheets and closed his eye, humming as he felt fingertips drag up his arms then grasp him.  

“Shouldn’t sleep on the floor,”  

“We all sleep on the floor,”  

“Don’t be smart,”  

“Never said I was, Hajime-chan,” Okita laughed softly, letting Ryoma pull him towards the single mat he laid out.   

They crawled under cold sheets together, lying side by side in candlelight. Their hands brushed beneath the blanket and Ryoma glanced over to him.   

“A long time ago…you said Okita Soji wasn’t your name. That you left Goro behind with Gen-san and Nagakura,” He murmured, lifting his hand to gently brush his knuckle next to his socket. “And you learned that I was Ryoma that same time,”  

“Yeah…what of it?”  

“I want you to call me Ryoma,”   

Okita turned, frowning at him. “Why?”  

“Because you make me feel like myself again. Even if this means nothing, or it’s a shared dream, or whatever you want to believe it is…I want you to call me by my real name…and I…I want to call you Goro. No masks…just us,”  

He should say no, keep the mask on and not even entertain drunken thoughts running through Ryoma’s head, but there was something about the way he touched him, the way he spoke, that had Okita wondering if he was even drunk at all. If this was a dream where he could be Goro again, well…what harm was there in that?  

“Okay, Ryoma-chan, no more masks,”  

Chapter 6: Lucky Dog

Okita woke up warm.  

Warmer than he should considering the snow. He groaned, rubbing his head as the light hit his eye and he lifted himself slowly, only to find an arm yanking him back down. He grunted, blinking twice as he looked up to find himself resting Ryoma. He stirred below him, frowning adorably as he reached up to rub his eyes free of sleep. Caramel met chocolate with a sleepy blink, only for Ryoma’s eyes to widen as he realized where they were and who was resting on him.  

“Oh…hi,”  

“That’s all ya gotta say?!”  

“My mouth is dry…and tastes like—“  

“If ya don’t remember, don’t say it,”  

Ryoma groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I remember…some things. We had a lot to drink,”  

“We went to Gion,”  

“I called you pretty?”  

“I think you sucked my cock,”  

“That explains how my mouth tastes…”  

They grew silent, refusing to move from where they lay against one another. Okita wondered if this meant anything, whether Ryoma would even dare to indulge like this again. He had been in denial for a long time that Ryoma was one man he could see himself with, and now that it had happened, it felt like a cruel dream from the gods. He had never seemed the type, and for him to drunkenly decide he would just dive into a different life was so…strange to Okita. Sure, he ended things with Oryo, but that didn’t mean he automatically liked men. Or maybe he was one of those people that liked both? Until he told him, this was just a fling. A drunken fling.   

Reaching up, he touched his eye and frowned, his tsuba gone and his socket exposed. He felt Ryoma slide his hand up his back, almost soothing. Did he not find it unsightly? Probably not since he vaguely remembered that he licked it, and he had seen him without it before. Did he really find him pretty despite that?   

“We should bathe,” Ryoma sighed.  

“I feel pretty damn gross,” Okita huffed.  

“Shame it’s so warm in bed…”  

“What? Ya wanna just laze away here?”  

“We could. I’m sure Haruka is fine…maybe…?”  

“If that snowstorm is anythin’ t’ go by, I doubt she’s goin’ anywhere either,”  

“Want to just lay here a while longer?” The samurai looked down at him. “My head hurts…”  

“Yer the one who wanted t’ drink more,” Okita snorted, giving him a smirk. “Regrettin’ that decision yet?”  

“No, I just hate the hangover,”  

He wasn’t expecting that answer, and it made his cheeks darken just slightly as his heart thumped in his chest.   

“Not a single regret?”  

“Uh…no? Should I have any?” Ryoma scratched at his cheek, frowning.   

“I dunno! Yer the one who got all drunk and handsy!” Okita rolled onto his back, running his hand down his face. “And ya licked my eye,”  

“Well, more like your socket,”  

“Nasty,”  

“I don’t know. You seemed to like it,” Ryoma chuckled, reaching over to pull his hands from his face. “And you look fine without the patch,”  

“Just fine?” Okita snorted. “First, I’m uglier than a corpse, then I’m pretty and deserve love, now I’m just fine? Ya sure know how t’ give a guy whiplash,”  

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my opinion carried so much weight. It’s almost like you want me to find you pretty,” Ryoma rolled over him. “And I do. I just like to see you get mad, Goro,”  

To Okita’s shock, the dancing samurai pecked his lips and then slid right out of bed, completely naked. His eye wandered, trailing down his back to his ass, lingering there as Ryoma bent down to grab his kimono. He looked back at him, snorted, then covered himself.  

“You can have a better look in the bath. I need to wash the cum out of my mouth,”  

“I’m the one who got covered in yer spunk,” Okita rolled his eye, throwing the blanket off to grab his own kimono.   

It was only slightly awkward to emerge into the ryokan halls after a night like they had. It wasn’t like they had been quiet, even for a little bit of fooling around. Ryoma didn’t seem to care, he just walked by everyone like it was just another day, while Okita was left trailing behind trying to wrap his poor brain around everything.   

Ryoma really was a mystery. Unreadable, unpredictable, and downright beautiful in his own right. From the way his hair had grown, to how he had matured into his features, Okita had been smitten the moment he saw his smug little face walk into the shinsengumi. But rules had been rules, and while he was beyond suspicious to start, and knew something was going on, he couldn’t help himself but to be drawn to his aura and presence. Gen-san had been encouraging, but there was always a hesitation. The Mad Dog wasn’t used to being truthful, and in the span of a week, Ryoma had him opening up more than he had in years.   

Finding the baths, they quickly stripped and prewashed themselves with a small bucket of water, just to get the grime and gunk off their bodies from their previous activities. Tying up his hair to keep it out of the way, Okita hissed as he stepped into the hot, steaming water, feeling the minerals and warmth work wonders on his tired, cold bones.  

“Aaahh…” He sighed, sinking in with a smile as Ryoma nearly stumbled his way into the bath and sat beside him.   

With the water up to their shoulders, they sat and simmered, just two dumplings in a pot. Beneath the water, their fingers brushed against one another and Okita glanced at the samurai.  

“What?”  

“Do ya normally get drunk and start flirtin’ with men?”  

“Well…no. But I do often get drunk,” Ryoma chuckled, scratching the back of his head as he looked away. “I can’t say I haven’t been curious though,”  

“Really?”  

“It’s not like I’m an absolute idiot. I know that it’s common among samurai, and often bonds can be made between Master and Student, but I never really felt this way about a man before,”  

“Ehh…whaddaya mean by feeling this way ‘bout a man?” Okita lowered his voice as he turned to fully face him.  

“I thought being with Oryo was what I was supposed to do. She was nice, I liked her, but it didn’t feel like…when we were together. Like during sparring, or when we fought for real. Or even really just spending time together. I thought that we had a brotherly bond…but…I dunno. Maybe it’s more than that?”  

“Sounds like havin’ a cock in yer mouth didn’t solve those feelin’s,”  

“No, I guess it didn’t, but it did give me a place to start,” Ryoma chuckled. “I guess…right now, I don’t want to lose this feeling. I kind of want to chase it, you know?”  

Okita smiled, “Yeah, I know. Guess ya callin’ me nii-san actually fits now,”   

“Huh? Was that weird before? What does that mean to men who like men?”  

“Ryoma-chan is adorably stupid. Let’s keep ya that way,”   

“And here I thought all my compliments would mean you’d give me one back,” Ryoma pouted playfully as Okita scooted himself closer, placing his hands on either side of the samurai’s shoulders.   

“Awww, I’m sorry, did I forget t’ call the dancin’ samurai pretty too?”  

“Would be nice to hear it,” he smiled, his hands dragging up Okita’s hips to his waist.  

“Well, Ryoma-chan…since ya’ve been so kind…I think yer very pretty,”  

That made his cheeks go red and Okita laughed as he seemed to breathe a little harder. Leaning in, the Mad Dog nipped his lips gently, teasing. Beneath the water, his hands felt good on his skin, and he couldn’t help but rumble softly.   

“Pretty adorable…Might not be able t’ get rid of me now,”  

“Maybe I don’t want to anyway,”  

“Whatever are we gonna do when we get back to Haruka-chan’s home? Yer gonna hafta learn to keep it in yer pants,”  

“I’m sure we’ll have some time to figure this out. It’s not like she’s home all the time,” Ryoma smirked, squeezing Okita gently.  

It seemed luck was truly on his side still. To bag himself the Dancing Samurai after one week back in Kyo, it was like the Gods were granting his wishes one by one. Maybe all that money he won was just the start, and this was the true lucky prize he’d been waiting for. Screw the courtesans who tried to rob him and the ronin that wanted to break his skull, money wasn’t everything and he was starting to feel luckier by the second.  

Their bath ran quite long, and when they returned to their room, they were greeted with steaming bowls of miso, rice and salmon. A side dish of tamagoyaki and pickles were also provided, with a tea pot and two cups to share. Ryoma opened their door to see they’d also cleaned their room, the futons stacked up in the corner again and the rest of their clothes neatly folded and set aside. At least the price of their stay made sense with service like this.   

They sat down across from one another, quietly enjoying their meal as snow continued to fall outside. The chill had mostly been staved off with the bath and now breakfast, leaving Okita content and happy enough. The food was nothing compared to what Ryoma had made him so far this week, but nothing really beat a hot meal in general. He did find himself wondering what food would be made for him once they returned to Haruka’s home. Oden? Ramen? Sushi? What meals could Ryoma make? What could he not? As a samurai who spent most of his time eating simply or plainly, the prospect of any well-seasoned food made him feel elated.   

The dancing samurai himself also seemed to be impressed, picking apart the salmon as if he was trying to figure out the flavour. The Mad Dog watched intently as he pulled a piece of tofu from his miso next, inspecting its size before popping it into his mouth. Their eyes met, and Okita chuckled as Ryoma blushed once again.  

“What?”  

“It’s a piece of tofu,”  

“Yeah? But you seem to like the size, so I’m trying to figure out how big it is…then I can make it,”  

“Yer such a woman, Ryoma-chan,”   

“Pfft…” he rolled his eyes and smiled. “Not the first time I’ve heard that…”  

“Oh? Does the great Sakamoto Ryoma get mistaken for a woman often?” Okita snorted, shoveling a mound of rice into his mouth.   

“Well…I once made these bentos, and this guy wanted to try because he didn’t have anyone who made him anything with love…I didn’t have the heart at first to tell him I didn’t either,” He sighed. “He believed all my hard work was the work of a woman,”  

“Damn, that’s rough. Imagine bein’ so good at somethin’ everyone thinks yer a chick,”  

“Some kids made me play the wife for their game of house too. I’m really not sure how this keeps happening,” He shrugged and gave a small chuckle. “It’s fine. Haruka likes my food, and you seemed to like it too…that’s all that matters,”  

The fact that he wanted to make food for him, even felt fulfilled making him meals, made Okita’s heart swell. No one had ever really cared for him like this before. Even Nagakura and him had a more family bond than one like this. It had been a long time since he felt almost loved.   

But he wasn’t about to jump to conclusions.  

“It’s probably still snowin’. Anything ya wanna do?” he asked, setting his empty plates aside to focus on his tea.   

“Not much we can do with all the snow, unless you want to go gambling. I doubt even the singing bar is open this early,”   

“Now gamblin’ I can do. Maybe I can show ya how t’ make back that Ryo ya spent on me!” Okita grinned.  

“My pockets are little lighter because of you…”  

“Rude,”  

“It’s the truth!”  

“Then get yer ass dressed!” Okita shoved Ryoma over, standing to find the rest of his clothes. “The dice ain’t gonna throw themselves,”  

---

The gambling den was fairly full, with some playing poker, others huddled playing Cee-lo, and a handful going through their hands for Koi Koi. But what Okita wanted was in the room in the back, full of shouting voices and a scantily clad woman who looked like she had seen better days. No one said these dens were good places, but when it came to doubling his income, Okita had fallen into the same vices every man did.  

He turned to Ryoma, lowering his voice. “I’m gonna give ya half of what I usually bring t’ these things. Bet on what I bet, don’t let her drag ya into a one-on-one. I need the dealer t’ notice me so we can maybe triple this,”  

“Nii-san…when you talk like that, it makes me wonder if you have a decent bone in your body,” Ryoma frowned.  

“Does it make me less attractive t’ ya?”  

“Actually, it’s a little hot, but we’ll see if you’re still pretty once we play. Maybe you’re a big fat liar and I’ll find you ugly again,”  

Okita grinned devilishly and grabbed Ryoma by his chin, pulling him closer. “Yer gonna find me pretty fuckin’ gorgeous, I guarantee it,”  

He watched the samurai blush, then grabbed his hand, placing a few Ryo in his hand before dragging him off to the back room. The room was dedicated to Cho-Han, a guessing game to most, but if you were lucky, like Okita, a money maker. They took their seats, the last two open around the dealer. She was already mid throw, sending two dice into her cup and slapping it down.   

“Place your bets!”  

“Odd!”  

“Even!”  

“Maaaaan…it’s so hard to tell…odd?”  

She lifted the cup, revealing snake eyes and half the room groaned before leaning in intently. Okita glanced at Ryoma, throwing his first bet in. It was low, a few mon to get them started and he watched the samurai bet the same. The dealer looked around, waiting for everyone’s bets before she pulled everything in and held up the dice between her fingers. She tossed them in, slamming the cup down and the room erupted in guesses.   

“Even!”  

“Odd!”  

He narrowed his single eye, humming as he stared down the cup. “Even,”  

He felt Ryoma tense beside him before copying his bet, waiting with bated breath as the woman lifted the cup. The dice read two and four. Even.   

“Holy shit…”  

“Don’t get excited yet, Hajime-chan,” Okita smirked. “We’re just gettin’ started!”  

It took three rounds for Okita to find his rhythm. Nagakura always said he had to be blessed by one of the lucky gods, and today he was proving it. He lost one round on purpose just to make it look like he wasn’t some cheater, then proceeded to guess well enough that he and Ryoma had doubled their pot. It was then he noticed the look the dealer gave one of her keepers, and she was quickly turning to him with a smile.  

“Would you like to go one on one?” She asked, leaning over to show her cleavage, the perfect trap for any straight man.   

Okita gave her a glance and leaned in as well, smiling. “Against a pretty thing like ya? Sure,”  

Ryoma gagged behind him, and he slapped him hard on the arm, making him hiss. The group shuffled to allow Okita to sit in front of her, his chest thumping now. He hadn’t felt the thrill in so long. Every time he got to this point, this moment when he could take the den for all it was worth, it felt like he was drunk or high on the greatest of Chinese herbs. His fingers twitched with anticipation, and he smirked as she held up the dice between her fingers once more and tossed them into the cup. The moment she slammed it to the floor, he felt like the Gods were whispering to him and he hummed.  

“Odd,”  

She lifted the cup. Five and two.  

The room erupted with murmurs, some impressed, some believing it was pure dumb luck. But Okita wasn’t done yet. Odd, even, even, odd, odd, he won each consecutive round like it was nothing, betting more and more each time. The dealer seemed to grow frustrated, antsy, as she wiggled about on her cushion, constantly glancing at the bouncers of the den. He wouldn’t be allowed in her much longer. Better he cut loose now, but he could feel Ryoma looming over him and he couldn’t help but offer one more round. She inhaled sharply, tossed the dice again, and slammed the cup harder than it needed to be put down.  

“Well?”  

“Odd,”  

Lifting the cup, one and three were revealed and she threw up her hands. “Someone has Ebisu on their side it seems!”   

“Heh, what can I say? I’m just lucky!”  

A rough hand grabbed his shoulder, and he glanced up, making sure to put on his best puppy eyes. “Lemme guess, time to leave?”  

The bouncer grunted and Okita grabbed his winnings, only for another bouncer to throw his blade down near his hand.   

“Leave it,”  

“I won fair and square, boys,” Okita sighed, tapping the blade coyly. “Wouldn’t be fair t’ keep me from my winnin’s!”  

“Nii-san…maybe we should just go,” Ryoma hissed, scooting back towards the door as the men in the room all grabbed their katanas.  

“What? Afraid of a fight? Here I thought the famed Saito Hajime would be itchin’ fer a fight? Plus, a good brawl on a second date sounds great,”  

“This is a date to you? No wonder you’re still not married,” Ryoma sighed, standing up and rolling his neck.   

Okita followed suit, standing to his full height and turning to the bouncer. “At least let me see myself out,” And before the man could rebuke with another grunt, he elbowed him hard in the face and snatched his winnings. “Run, Hajime-chan!”  

“Okita Soji! What the actual fuck!?” Ryoma turned and ducked in time to miss a swing of someone’s fist.   

He checked him with a jab to the stomach, kicking him backwards and grabbing Okita to yank him out of the room as the entire gambling hall erupted. Running out into the snow, the two samurai slipped a little as their feet hit the ice. Behind them, the drunks and gamblers from the den came barreling out, katanas and tantos drawn. They surrounded them quickly, and Okita couldn’t help but slump as he looked around them.   

“Maaan…not even gonna accept that ya all suck at Cho-Han? I mean, c’mon! It’s not like it’s hard!” He eyed his winnings, dropping each piece of Ryo into his coin purse. “Or maybe ya all like rigged games?”  

“Just give us back our money, you cheating scum!” One of them snarled and Okita rolled his eye.   

“It’s not cheating if you know the pattern!”  

“Nii-san…that’s exactly what cheating is,”  

“Okay, ima need ya t’ shut the fuck up,” Okita turned to Ryoma, holding a hand up. “I got this!”  

“No way! You’re not talking your way out of this, Okita Soji!” The bouncer shouted. “This isn’t the first time you’ve come in here and cheated everyone out of the game!”  

“It’s not my fault ya let guys that can’t count in here!”  

“Hey!…I never learned to count…”   

“What does counting have to do with anything?”  

The confused murmurs around them made Okita smirk and he held out his arms. “It’s winter. Ya really gonna make me give up my meager winnin’s when I’m out of a job like everyone else?”  

The bouncer looked between him and Ryoma before nodding. “Yeah, I am,”  

“Well, I guess that leaves me no choice,” The Mad Dog pulled a tanto from his kimono sleeve, unsheathing it just in time to intercept a sword happy drunk. Their blades connected and he grinned. “This is self-defense, I want ya t’ know that ‘fore I gut ya!”  

The street erupted in shouting and the clank of swords. Ryoma, bereft of sword and gun, used his fists just as effectively. Every blade that came at his face was sidestepped before he used their momentum against them, sending them flying into the snow and taken out with a fist to the face or a stomping foot. Okita danced around each slice and slash of his opponents, luck truly on his side as he disarmed one man (literally), and gutted another. Back-to-back with the Dancing Samurai, his heart thumped hard in his chest, like a drum. He could almost feel Ryoma’s heart beating in time with his own as he dodged and fought together in sync. He hadn’t felt this alive in ages.  

The distant sound of crunching snow made a few of the drunks perk up, and as Ryoma rolled over Okita’s back to kick one of their assailants away, the Kyo Police came sprinting around the corner, some sliding and falling in the snow.   

“Kyo Police! Set down your blades at once!”  

Everyone turned and froze, Okita dropping a man’s arm to the snow as he held his hands up. He wanted to make some sort of retort, or even a smart comment, but he was stunned into silence upon seeing an old face donned in black approach him. Nagakura set his gaze on him, eyes narrowing as he grunted and grabbed him by the arm and wrenched his hands down.   

“Quit makin’ a fool of yerself,”  

“Shinpa-chan! Look at ya! All prim and proper! And ya got sleeves!” Okita grinned. “Good timin’, I mean, here I thought I’d hafta gut—“  

“Just shut up, Soji…” He sighed and looked in Ryoma’s direction. “And you…well…I expected better from ya after everythin’…”  

Ryoma sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Guess after everything I really can’t just blame Okita-no-niisan, can I?”  

“Nice try. Yer both comin’ with me,”  

“W-wait! Yer not takin’ me t’ jail or somethin’ right? I won’t do well there. I mean seein’ Hajime-chan almost naked would be pretty cool but—“  

“Soji!” Nagakura sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m tryna get ya outta this…just shut up and play along…”  

Okita perked up and smiled at Ryoma. It seemed his luck hadn’t run out just yet.  

Chapter 7: Winter Blooms

Dragged away as the other denizens of the gambling den were arrested and dealt with, Okita let Nagakura push him around just to make it look like he was in more trouble than he was. Ryoma looked about as enthused as one could be getting arrested, but he had a feeling it wasn’t the first or last time that would happen. He looked far too comfortable getting manhandled and he wondered vaguely if he’d like that in other aspects of his life too.   

A hard yank from Nagakura snapped him out of his dirty thoughts and the Mad Dog was tossed towards a ramen shop that happened to be open with all the snow still piling up.   

“Oh, are ya treatin’ us?”  

“Figured ya could buy since yer still bein’ a god damn gamblin’ gremlin,”  

“Oh, c’mon! I made so much! And it impressed and turned on Hajime-chan!” Okita motioned to the dancing samurai, who simply crossed his arms and looked away.  

“I admit nothing,”  

“Traitor…”  

“Just sit down, will ya?” Nagakura sighed and took his own seat, Okita sitting beside Ryoma once he chose his spot.  

The look his kyoudai gave him was questioning, almost wondering why he’d sit next to Ryoma and not him, but he quickly waved down the shop owner without even a word to him.   

“Three noodle bowls. Extra beef on two,” He glanced at Okita. “I know ya ain’t eatin’ extra, don’t even ask,”  

“At least get me firm noodles,”  

“I like mine chewy,” Ryoma piped up. “And a kettle of tea would be great,”  

“Oh, and Okita here is payin’, so don’t hand me the bill this time,” Nagakura smirked, which got a good laugh out of the owner as he walked to the back to begin their order.  

“I never said I was payin’. I always bought a whole fusion spread, sake and a night at one of the best ryokans!” Okita crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “Gonna make me broke,”  

“After that brawl at the end, I ain’t believe ya,” his kyoudai snorted. “What’re ya two doin’ in town anyway. Hell, when did ya get back in town?”  

“A week ago? Hajime-chan found me, been stayin’ with him and Haruka-chan,”  

“He’s been a good house guest, don’t worry,” Ryoma smiled. “We went out last night,”  

“Ah, so he wasn’t just whorin’ around?” Nagakura laughed, and then immediately stopped as he looked between the two of them. “Did he take ya t’ Gion?”  

“Hajime-chan wanted t’ go. He played games with a very pretty Maiko,” Okita looked down at the table and picked at the wood. “Then he wanted more drinks. Oh, and then the snow started, so we couldn’t get home,”  

“Okita-no-niisan was attracting some male attention while we were out too,”  

“Ah, so he was whorin’,”  

Ryoma shook his head. “I…wouldn’t say so,”  

They awkwardly sat there as Nagakura looked back and forth between them, then he leaned in, narrowing his eyes. “What did ya do t’ Saito-han?”  

“He didn’t do anything,” Ryoma looked away, a guilty blush on his face. “He didn’t seem comfortable with how that guy was looking at him anyway. He much preferred going to the ryokan for a good night’s sleep and a bath,”  

Nagakura grunted, “Riiight…”  

Their food thankfully came quickly, and the conversation switched to Okita and Ryoma’s time away. Nagakura was more than eager to explain how he’d made it into the police force, happy with his position. Okita knew he enjoyed leading the men he had in the Shinsengumi, and those that were still alive seemed to have followed him. He was doing well for himself, a small relief for the Mad Dog.   

By the time they were done with their food, the snow had let up a little, and Nagakura paid the tab despite his earlier words. With promises to not get into trouble again, and to try to visit, Okita watched his Kyoudai turn and leave, heading back to the Police Barracks. He sighed heavily, and then turned to Ryoma, scratching the back of his head.   

“Oi, while we’re here, do ya mind if we make a stop ‘fore we head back?”  

“Hm? Sure?”   

Trudging through the snow, careful not to slip on hidden patches of ice, Okita lead the samurai out of the city limits towards the temple. They crossed over the icy bridge and through the path that was once crowded with green and orange leaves, now dead and decaying, awaiting the rebirth of spring. The temple was well cared for by the priests and priestesses, all the walkways swept free of snow as soon as it fell so not a single bit of ice seemed to lay on the old wood. Okita motioned Ryoma towards a section off to the side, away from the prayer rooms and offering boxes, under a Tori gate and into a slightly wooded area filled with stone cairns and tombstones. Stopping at a lonely tomb with not even an incense burning before it, the Mad Dog brushed the snow off the face of it and started cleaning up the bits of dead branches that had fallen around it.   

Genzaburo Inoue’s name was carved simply in the stone, and he made sure to trace out the characters before kneeling in front of it. Putting his hands together, he bowed his head and closed his eye, feeling Ryoma kneel beside him. They sat in a muffling silence, the soft thumps of snow falling off tree branches the only sound around them until Okita finally lifted his head and dropped his hands into his lap.   

“Every day…I think of what he taught me…how he took care of me,” He murmured. “Without him…I might not be alive right now,”  

“Despite what happened…what he had to do to save you and Nagakura…what he took from me, he truly cared about you, Japan, even me it seemed,” Ryoma inhaled deeply and then let his breath out slow. “Do you still believe you’ve reached his level? Or surpassed him?”  

“I don’t know anymore. At the time? Maybe, but right now…with everything changing and so different?”  

“I suppose you’re still trying to figure out who you are beyond just the Shinsengumi,”  

“I wanna do somethin’ meaningful, y’know? I wanna continue his legacy, maybe teach someone…maybe teach a whole bunch of people, and never let this gift he gave me die,”  

“You could. If you really wanted to, I could see you starting a dojo,” Ryoma smiled. “Master Okita, or…Master Goro?”  

“Okita Soji. At least t’ the masses. Only ya get t’ call me Goro, just don’t wear it out,”  

“Can say the same for calling me Ryoma,”  

“Well, Sakamoto Ryoma is supposed to be dead,” Okita chuckled. “So is Goro…”  

“Do we ever really die though?”  

“Guess that depends on what ya believe in,”   

“Maybe it’s our little secret, between us. No one has to know Goro and Ryoma are still alive,” Ryoma smiled, reaching over to grasp Okita’s hand. “Almost makes it more special if only we know,”  

The Mad Dog twisted his hand to tangle their fingers together, giving his hand a squeeze. “I suppose it does. A little secret, just fer us,”  

---

Standing outside in the cold, his blades secure on his hip, Okita watched the residents of the village walk back and forth throughout the day. He’d only been there a couple weeks now, but he already could recognize each person’s face. Occasionally there would be people passing through to Kyo, even some foreigners coming out to the country to see how they lived. He didn’t like the look of some of them, guns strapped to their hips as they escorted young women in strange dresses on horseback, but he couldn’t tell them to leave. Times were changing, and he would have to just get used to it. The village was expanding, plans for new homes and even the road was getting an upgrade for the spring. Stone, brick and mortar seemed to be the new way of things, sturdier yet lacking in character compared to homes like Haruka’s.   

He sighed, leaning against the property wall as a group of ronin walked through, scruffy and gaunt. He rolled his head to watch them, fingers twitching as they continued on. Not even willing to pick a fight it seemed. Fine by him, but the lull of village life was truly boring. No one to fight, no one willing to try him. Even Ryoma didn’t really leave the house except to tend to the garden and sweep the snow from the yard.   

“You’re looking bored, son,”  

Okita hummed softly, looking down at the hunched old man before him. Yamada-san. “Ain’t used to the quiet life, I guess,”  

“It takes time. You’ll appreciate it one day. I know I did,” Yamada chuckled.   

“Ya used to be a samurai?”  

“A loooong time ago. When I first moved here, I was like you. Itching for a fight, hoping to wet my blade. Then I settled in with a lovely girl…I miss her every day,”  

“Now what do ya do t’ pass the time?”  

“I play shogi. You should come by and play. The other old men won’t play against me no more. I’m too good,” Yamada smirked.  

“Ah, yer pretty cocky fer an old man,”  

“Bet yer feeling the itch to beat me,”  

“Maybe,”  

Yamada pointed up the road to the house on the slight hill. “I live there. I set the board every day, and I’ll even make you tea and lunch if you come by,”  

“Damn, do all of ya know how t’ cook? I thought Ryoma was the only guy that enjoyed women’s work,” Okita snorted.  

“It’s women’s work until you don’t have a woman. If a man can’t make even rice to help the one he loves, is he even a man? If he cannot feed himself to give others a break from caring for him like a child, is he even grown?”  

“Yer really gettin’ under my skin, old man,”  

“Seems you’ll have to earn your pride with a game of Shogi,”   

“Guess I am,” Okita sighed, allowing a smile to stretch across his face. “Better than standin’ ‘round,”  

Yamada clapped his hands. “Excellent! I hope you like chicken! I killed my last one this morning, so it’s fresh. I’ll see you for lunch and a game, Soji-kun!”  

“S-Soji-kun?!” Okita shook his head as the old man shuffled away. “Ugh…old people…”  

He still went.  

Walking up to his house, ducking under the remnants of a vine that ran over the entrance of the property. Despite it being winter, and the snow covered most of the plot, Okita was stunned into stillness at the sight of the garden. It seemed to run around the entire home, large and looming ahead of him, with a frozen pond and shrine in one corner, and several spots that held the withered remains of bushes and flowers. In the spring he was sure it was vibrant and full of life, but even now, dull and grey and covered in powder white, he could see the beauty waiting to blossom.   

“Ah! Soji-kun! You made it!” Yamada shouted from his front door, motioning Okita over. “Come! Eat something first to warm yourself,”  

The house itself was quite large for a village dwelling, almost something right out of the city. The main room, with a kitchen and stove, was large, with multiple sliding doors that opened up to the view of the garden. The decor was stunning, with some older woodblock prints and beautiful inked scrolls. Hanging above were some old photos and paintings of Yamada and who Okita presumed was his late wife, each one lovingly free of dust and age.   

“You seem impressed, son,” Yamada chuckled from the kitchen, pouring two bowls of miso. “It’s just a simple house. To everyone else, anyway. My wife wanted to feel like a princess, and since I had the funds, who was I to deny her the chance to spend her days somewhere she loved?”  

“It’s pretty damn stunnin’,” Okita smiled down at a collection of bonsai trees by one of the open doors. “Do ya do bonsai, or was that yer wife?”  

“She always enjoyed the hobby. I just picked it up once she passed. To honor her,” The old man put together a few side dishes with their meal and then set down the trays by the stove. “Come, eat. You look colder than the top of a mountain,”  

He couldn’t deny his hands were red and raw from standing outside, and Okita was pretty damn hungry. He came over and sat himself down, praying before digging in.   

“Soji-kun, you were a wolf before, with Saito-san?” The old man asked, sipping his tea.  

“I was first captain,”  

“A large responsibility you had, protecting the Bakufu,”  

“And dismantlin’ the ideas. Hajime-chan changed a lot of hearts when we worked together,”  

“He’s a good man. It’s nice to see him smile now. He seemed so lost when he returned, like he was missing something,” Yamada shrugged. “I thought perhaps it was his warrior heart that was yearning for adventure and battle, but…I think he was looking for something else…”  

“Oh? What ya goin’ on ‘bout, old man?”  

“Soji-kun, finding something, or someone, in this short life of ours, to spend our time with and brighten our days, is a real gift. I learned to cook because I cared for the woman I married. She was the kindest person I’d ever met, loved life, always wanted to make me smile. Seeing her hard work made me want to work harder for her. I can see Saito-san working harder now. He sweeps the property and entrance every day before you return from your little walks, and always greets you with a smile. I think it’s great that you have one another,”  

Okita paused, rice balancing on the end of his chopsticks. Did this old man insinuate that they were an item?   

“Oi, we ain’t—“  

“I know the old ways aren’t as common anymore but listen to me. No one can stand in the way of two souls that are truly meant for one another,” Yamada pointed at him. “There’s a red string between you two. Tangled to be sure, but it’s there. Perhaps you should spend less time sulking and more time helping him unravel it,”  

The Mad Dog blinked and then snorted, finally shoving his rice into his mouth. Getting love advice from an old man wasn’t on his list of things he expected in this village, but here he was. He supposed Yamada was right. Ryoma did do a lot for him since he wandered to the edge of the village. He took him in, bought him clothes and a futon (which they still somehow ended up pushing together), and made him meals every day. Haruka was kindly washing his clothes and often made sure he had a bath going, though he was also sure that she was taking little peeks at him when he was changing. The girl was going through it. Between her and Ryoma, he was going to be fighting off affection if he didn’t do something about his feelings for the dancing samurai.  

Because that’s what they were. Feelings. Strong ones. And he just didn’t know if Ryoma really felt the same way or if this was all just an experience for him. Did he want to engage in what some called the old ways?  

Okita wouldn’t even engage in those practices.  

Not anymore.  

He’d been a young boy once, and he’d faced the choice of bending to a Nenja and learning all he could or falling behind with every other boy who was conscripted in Mibu. His mother would never have wanted him to stoop to what she had to survive, and her passing had been hard. Living as an orphan thief was not any way to continue life, and he made his choice. It was probably a bad one, and he’d been in some compromising and strange positions because of it, but he grew and became the greatest samurai Kyo had ever seen. Until Ryoma came into the picture as Saito Hajime. And Okita really couldn’t say he regretted what he’d done, because he did meet Gen-san, and he learned so much more from him.  

But he wouldn’t make Ryoma bend to him. He wasn’t like that. Despite their slight age difference, Okita had his preference, and he couldn’t deny that being just near Ryoma made his heart pound. But he didn’t have the experience like he did. Would he take on the part of Man in their relationship if the dancing samurai wanted him?   

“Guess I gotta get good at makin’ rice,”  

---

The Shogi game went much longer than he anticipated. Though if he was being honest, they had played several before the sun set over the trees and darkness crept over the snow. Okita shuffled through the snow back to Haruka’s home, where the entrance and path inside were swept clean of snow and the dogs were waiting patiently for him. He made sure to stop and give Haku some attention first, the young mare happily stomping her hoof as he offered her a couple fresh carrots from the garden, then he was running off to collect any eggs the hens may have left, just so Ryoma wouldn’t have to worry about the damn things hoarding them away.   

Shaking off his boots, he opened the door to the splendid smell of simmering meats and vegetables and let out a happy sigh.  

“Ah, nii-san, you’re back,” Ryoma smiled, wiping off his hands. “Haruka figured you’d want something hearty, so I made Nikujaga again,”  

Okita felt his heart flutter and his face, already red from the sting of the cold, went redder. “Hajime-chan is so thoughtful,”  

“Get inside, it’s cold,” Ryoma came over to shut the door behind him, then took the eggs from his hands. “They laid more?”  

“This is at least what I found in the dark. Didn’t want ya t’ worry ‘bout them maybe hiding them or eatin’ them,” He scratched his cheek, slipping his feet into his slippers.   

“It is a pain when they do hide them, because then they go bad…Thank you,” Ryoma smiled. “You look cold, warm up and I’ll make you a bowl,”  

Yamada’s words echoed back in his head, and he smiled. “How ‘bout ya let me serve up dinner. Ya look like ya’ve been slavin’ away all day. Sit down. I got it,”  

It seemed to have caught Ryoma off guard, and he looked around quickly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. In the end, he shuffled over to the small stove and sat down as Okita quickly changed his shoes and shed out of his wet straw coat and haori. He didn’t really know where anything was, and he had to keep waving Ryoma off every time he tried to help. If he didn’t learn now, he’d be useless by spring.  

Pouring them each a hearty bowl, he passed one to the samurai and then sat beside him to huddle close to the flame. The smell of beef, carrots and potato wafted into his nose, the sweet scent of the stew making his mouth water. He never would be able to cook for himself like this, but one day, he hoped he could cook like this for someone else. Perhaps a certain dancing samurai.   

“Where did Haruka-chan run off to?” he asked as he shoved a tender piece of meat in his mouth.   

“She said she wanted to see that kid, Yuta,”  

“The courier?”  

Ryoma shrugged. “I guess they’re friends. I can never tell what’s going on in her head. One moment she’s fawning over him and the next she’s jumping around asking when you’ll be home,”  

“Hormones are crazy,” Okita chuckled.  

“Listen, if she comes to you and like…you know…” Ryoma picked at his stew, frowning. He almost looked bothered by Haruka’s strange fascination with him.  

“Ryoma-chan,”  

The samurai quickly looked away and Okita used the butt end of his chopsticks to pull his gaze back by his chin. “Are ya jealous?”  

“W-what?! No! Listen! I just don’t want her heart broken and frankly you’re way too old for her!”  

“As if I’d do anythin’. I already told you she ain’t my colour,”  

“I know. She just deserves someone who will care for her. One day I might not be here and well…”  

“Maybe she should be callin’ ya nii-san. Ya act like her brother,” Okita laughed and let Ryoma go. “Eat up and quit worryin’. We can sit outside and wait like little old ladies fer her to come back,”  

Ryoma didn’t protest as he slurped up some of the sweet stew soup. They ate comfortably in warmth and silence, the patter of loose snow falling from the sleeping trees outside and the sound of the stove crackling all there was between them. Their time together had been short, but coming home to a hot meal and someone to take care of him was a nice change from being on the road and frankly, running for his life.   

He got into far too much trouble on his own. The gambling dens were not for upstanding citizens and Okita had to admit that when they all went their separate ways from the Shinsengumi he had been less than law abiding. He couldn’t blame anyone either. He had made the choice when he couldn’t find whatever he had been looking for and now he had to live with that. He may have been lucky now, but eventually that luck would run out. Having Ryoma was a blessing, but for how long would he put up with him? He was willing to try something new now, but would he want this forever? Questions like that were why he had kept his preferences to himself. Okita was full of secrets and until he knew that Ryoma truly wanted this for more than a season, he’d be keeping them to himself.  

They finished their meal and cleaned up, both of them working in tandem. Grabbing a haori and a couple cups of sake, Okita motioned for Ryoma to follow him outside, where he sat down by the door. The dogs ran up and laid around them, happy to have their human company. Holding up their cups, they smiled and then sipped it slowly, letting the warmth drop down their throats and warm their bellies.  

“Goro,”  

“Hm?”  

“It’s still fine to call you that? In private?” Ryoma swirled his cup, looking down at the warm liquid.  

“Sure. ‘Cause it’s ya. I don’t mind hearing that name from yer lips,”  

“Smooth,” the samurai chuckled. “Still surprised you didn’t find a man out there,”  

“I‘ve…become picky,” Okita chuckled. “When ya go through a couple Nenja…ya start t’ learn ya got a type. The man I got my eye on just needs t’…make up his mind,”  

“Nii-san is oddly sentimental,”  

“Ryoma-Chan is oddly curious,”  

“I am…guess I’m just learning more about myself,”  

“Yeah? And what are ya learnin’?”  

“That I might like different colours…”  

Okita sipped his sake again and hummed. “Surprised t’ hear that,”  

“There’s only been one man who caught my eye. He was autumn dressed in winter. Pale like the snow, lips red like the winter berries out here…it’s been very hard to forget about him,” Ryoma glanced at him and smiled. “But I don’t know if he’d believe me if I told him,  

“Ya never know. Maybe he’d be flattered,”   

They both grinned, laughing a little, and then Okita found Ryoma tucking a lock of his hair behind his left ear. “You look good with your hair grown out,”  

“Gonna start lookin’ like you soon,”  

“Would that be a problem?” His fingers dragged down his neck and Okita hummed softly, lowering his voice.  

“No…not if ya keep touchin’ me like that.”  

Ryoma cupped the back of his head, staring him down with a hunger he’d only ever seen when he’d fought him. His pupils were dilated from the low light, but he swore they homed in on him like needles as he leaned in. They both closed their eyes, a breath apart, lips begging to be touched as Okita’s chest tightened in anticipation. He felt his lips brush against his and he moved to capture him completely.  

“Uncle Hajime! Uncle Soji! I’m back!”  

Okita pulled back, pulling Ryoma’s hand away from him. He looked away, knowing well that if he looked at the samurai he’d ache, the way he clung to the sleeve of his haori was all he needed to know that he hadn’t wanted him to stop touching him.   

Haruka waved, running up to the two of them with a big smile. “Did you miss me, Uncle Soji? You’re waiting up again,”  

She was swinging her body back and forth and Okita dared to glance at Ryoma, seeing him glare between them. His face was red, whether from embarrassment or something else, he didn’t know, but Okita didn’t like it. So, he grinned, shrugging and laughing.  

“We both missed ya! Hajime-chan made Nikujaga. We left some fer ya,” he said and stood, feeling the samurai’s hand fall away. “Go inside and warm up,”  

“Okay, thank you…for waiting for me,”  

“Uh…no problem?”  

Before he could say anything more, Haruka and Ryoma both were going back inside. He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers and sighed.   

“Fuck…”  

Chapter 8: Feeling Green

Notes:

posting a day early. hope you enjoy<3

warning for teenage "crushing" and masturbation

Ryoma couldn’t remember the last time he angrily jerked off, probably when he and Oryo just weren’t working out, but this felt different. Back then, he just didn’t feel anything and her constant nagging of him drove him up the wall until they were both hanging each other out to dry. Now here he was, furiously tugging on his cock in the bath, trying to find some peace of mind. Okita seemed to like him, it was evident, but he was spending all his damn time playing shogi or entertaining Haruka, who was becoming a problem.  

Any time he tried to touch Okita she was there, staring at him. Was her obvious little crush on Yuta not enough? Did she need to chase someone his age too? It was so strange. It was weird. He didn’t know how to handle it. What if Okita decided he liked women suddenly and kicked him out to be with her?  

Okay, that was a ridiculous thought.  

Ryoma bit back a moan, head falling back against the edge of the tub. He needed to focus on something else. Okita. Okita naked. Okita splayed beneath him during that drunken night. The way he moaned and whined as he jerked them both off, the way his lips felt on his.   

He sucked in a breath, biting his lip as his balls drew up, his stomach clenching as his orgasm grew closer. The samurai wondered what it was like to be inside of him. Would he be as soft as a woman? Would he clench him just right? If he made such adorable noises while being touched and sucked off, what noises would he make being bent in half beneath him? The thought alone was enough to send him over and with a soft grunt Ryoma released into his hand and the water, sighing softly as he stroked himself through the rush.   

The shame slowly set in and he puffed his cheeks, lifting his hand from the water. Pathetic.   

---

“Where are you going?” Ryoma glanced at Okita as he pulled on his boots, pausing his vegetable cutting duties.   

He’d been leaving every day at the same time, returning later in the afternoon and sometimes the evening. It wasn’t like there was anything to do in the village, and Okita really didn’t know anyone there to warrant all that time away. Ryoma turned back to his cutting board, slamming his cleaver through the thickest part of his daikon victim. Did he meet someone? Another man? Was he not good enough?   

He slammed the cleaver down again.  

“I’m going to see Yamada-han. Did ya know he used to be a samurai?” Okita smiled, pulling his haori tight around himself.   

“I did,”  

“He had some shit he wanted t’ show me, and he’s been lonely, so I’ve been playin’ Shogi with ‘im. Y’know what? Why don’t ya come by with me? Give him someone else’s ass t’ beat?”  

“I’m fine. Got chores to do,”  

“Suit yerself!”  

“Hey…Goro?”  

That made him pause, and the Mad Dog turned, tilting his head. “Yes…Ryoma-chan?”  

Ryoma stared down at his cutting board before sighing. “Just be careful out there. Maybe come home a little earlier. I’ve seen more ronin about and…it would make me feel better if you were closer by,”  

“Ryoma-chan…ya that worried?” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “If it eases yer womanly worry, I’ll be home by noon,”  

“Thank you…nii-san,” Ryoma offered a crooked smile and watched him walk out the door.   

The pang in his chest was starting to feel like he was being carved open and as he looked down at his cut vegetables, he couldn’t help but slam the cleaver down harder. The board cracked and he cursed, ripping the blade from the wood and hanging it up. He’d have to go buy a new one now.   

Gathering what he cut up and placing it in a jar for later, Ryoma dressed himself for the cold walk into town.   

Kyo was still covered in a thick blanket of snow, but the paths were clear now, with only small patches of ice to worry about. Couriers were more careful as they ran through the streets, sometimes slowing to a walk in a particularly dangerous section. The merchants that usually walked every road were now set up by the alleyways, their gear too heavy to risk losing if they slipped and fell. Ryoma walked past them all to get into the Don Quixote on the corner, taking one glance in the direction of the old barracks before slipping inside.   

Mothers and their children were all that were inside, the men probably enjoying what time off they had before farming season came up again. Ryoma slipped past a couple ladies gossiping and found himself a decent cutting board, taking a moment to inspect the pickling jars and knives as well. More and more foreign items were appearing in the shop. American, British and Dutch made fabrics, toys and other surplus items that he really didn’t have much care for. The guns he used to use were good enough, but he found his caramel eyes drawn to something else among the random assortment of items.   

This particular store wasn’t really known for selling weaponry, but sometimes they’d have some cheaper items than the blacksmith if you dug deep enough. And just his luck, right there, tucked inside an open box with a thin layer of dust, was a blades fan and a matching tanto. Grabbing the box, Ryoma inspected both pieces closely, flicking the edge of the blades with his thumb. They felt sharp, and they were beautiful. In fact, flicking out the fan revealed that the fabric between each blade held the same cherry blossom pattern on the tanto. The black lacquer was still glossy too and turning it around in his hands he could just imagine a certain Mad Dog holding them. He was always so nimble, dancing between unpredictable and mechanical. Okita’s Tennen Rishin and bandit styles would both be complimented by such a beautiful piece.   

He felt his cheeks burning at the thought of Okita fanning himself with a bladed fan, and then the image changed to a Buyo dance, deadly and precise. Quickly clearing his throat, he placed everything back in the box and slammed it shut. Would he accept another gift from him? Ryoma had already bought him clothes and a futon, he cooked for him too. A blade like these would be seen as doing much more. Would it show him that he was serious? Would Okita understand that he wasn’t just trying different flavors to see what he liked best? Probably not. Okita probably thought it was all one big joke and that they were drunk, and it meant nothing. But that didn’t matter right now. Rushing to the front, he paid for his items and ran back off through the town.   

Okita said he would be home by noon, and he had lunch to make.  

Trying not to slip down the forested path back home, Ryoma tried to think of something special to make for him. It all felt so silly. He’d probably eat anything put in front of him but how could he tell him that this wasn’t some passing season between them? How could he get him to understand that he was jealous? Did Okita even see how he was affecting him or was it just a way to relieve some tension between them? Maybe being the way he was, being close to someone else was just terrifying in general. He wasn’t exactly open about who he’d slept with before, and if he had a Nenja, or what he’d even been through. Ryoma was flying blind, and he just wanted to know more about the man who masked himself as Okita Soji. He wanted to know more about Goro.  

As he came to the gate of the village, he caught sight of the Mad Dog himself leaving Yamada’s home, waving back at the old man. They seemed to be talking, and the closer he got, the more coherent the words became, infiltrating his ears in the silence of the snow and ice  

“Just try to be my open, Soji-kun. You’d be surprised what might happen!” Yamada shouted from his front door and Okita waved him off.   

“Yer a nosey old man, Yamada-han! But probably right,”  

“Trust me. Men and women are no different. We all like to be showered with attention…ah! Saito-san! Be careful running in the snow like that! You might slip and fall!”   

Okita whirled around, staring at him a moment before smiling. It was almost like Yamada was some kind of seer, because the moment the samurai looked at him, Ryoma hit a patch of ice and fell back. He yelped as he fell on his back, squeezing his eyes shut as he grit his teeth. He luckily was still holding everything, but the pain that zipped up from his ass to his back really had him wondering if holding on was even worth it. At least until he opened his eyes to find Okita crouching over him, a look of concern on his face as he tried to stifle a laugh.  

“Is Hajime-chan alright?” He swallowed down a half giggle and Ryoma groaned, lying down in the snow.   

“I think I bruised my tailbone…and my ego…”  

That got that chuckle to leave the Mad Dog and Okita grabbed the items from him to set aside before taking his hands. He helped hoist him back up to his feet, brushing off the snow on his back and then crouched to retrieve his purchases. “I think you’ll be fine. At least with me beside ya,”  

“With your balance in the snow? Doubtful,” Ryoma smirked.  

“Oooo! Touchy!” Okita laughed, handing back his things. “C’mon, I’m starvin’, and ya promised me lunch,”  

The fact that Okita was thinking about him making food for him at all made him beam and he let the Mad Dog hold his free hand as they made it back home. Haruka seemed to still be out, probably doing deliveries or hanging around Yuta again, which meant Ryoma could finally have him all to himself.  

He set down the new chopping board and grabbed what he had previously cut up, ready to start again, hopefully with a less stressed mind. Cutting up daikon and carrot, he glanced at their rice pot and then back at Okita. He could make himself useful, but did Ryoma really want to watch to make sure he didn’t make porridge or burn it? Fuck it. Maybe he could teach him, bond with him over a skill and make him see that he wasn’t just drunk and making shit up.   

“Nii-san,” he turned to him, grinning. “Why don’t you help with the rice,”  

Okita blinked at him and snorted. “What? So you can make fun of my cooking skills?”  

“Not willing to learn?”  

That made him pause, and the Mad Dog looked towards the door, almost as if in deep thought or perhaps waiting for some mystical being to appear and get him out of doing something. But then he was blushing and stepping forward, grabbing a tie to pull his sleeves back.   

“Well, gonna show me how?”  

Ryoma sucked in a breath, not expecting him to stand so close and then smiled. “Sure. First, grab the rice and a bowl. You need to wash it,”  

“You have to wash rice?”   

“Yes, nii-san, or it will be a starchy glob of shit, and no one will eat it,”  

“I thought that’s how sticky rice was made,”  

Ryoma set his cleaver down and side eyed the Mad Dog. “Just rince the damn rice,”  

“Okay, okay!”   

Returning with washed rice, Ryoma peaked into the bowl he was presented with and proceeded to grab it. Okita didn’t seem like the verbal learning type and sometimes you just had to show someone how it was done. Making sure he was watching, he put the rice in a steamer with a cloth and filled the pot to boil.   

“I’d normally soak the rice, but you look hungry,”  

“Ah…so you have to soak and wash the rice…” Okita hummed thoughtfully, putting the lid on the pot and steamer.   

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to cook? Rice is the most basic thing you could learn to make,” Ryoma snorted, returning to his cut vegetables and side dishes. “Could you grab the fish from the salt rack?”  

The Mad Dog grabbed a couple smaller catches and shook his head. “Despite my past, I didn’t learn cookin’ skills. I was lucky if I ate rice at all as a kid and when I was first trained in swordplay I was given my meals,”  

“Your mother or father didn’t teach you?”  

“I didn’t know my father. Didn’t have one,” Okita frowned, sitting down at the small stove to start grilling the fish. “And my mother died when I was pretty young. Besides that, she was a workin’ gal. She didn’t have time t’ teach me. I just stole meat buns when she didn’t come home,”  

Ryoma cursed to himself quietly. Okay, banter failed. How was he supposed to know Okita’s family dynamic was shit like his? Well, probably shittier if he thought about it. Despite being orphaned from a young age, his Pops had been better off in life than most, meaning he had received better opportunities. If Okita’s mother had been a courtesan, maybe not even an Oiran, then he didn’t get the same upbringing. He was lucky to be alive even now. But that also meant he had grown up vulnerable. Is that why he didn’t seem to believe him? Did he believe at all that Ryoma liked him? What else had he been through to make him who he was? Ryoma wanted to know everything.  

“I’m sorry,”  

“Don’t be. Ya didn’t know,” Okita laughed, shaking his head. “I suppose I got lucky when I stole from the Mibu military and got myself enlisted and apprenticed by the general,”  

Oh. Oh no.  

“Maybe not so lucky fer a lot of other things that happened, but I met Gen-san and Nagakura ‘cause of it and now I’m one of the few that still know Tennen Rishin! Learnin’ how t’ make rice was kinda secondary t’ everythin’ else,”  

“So, you didn’t learn to cook in the military?”  

“I…wasn’t assigned cookin’ duties. I was considered more useful and desirable in…other aspects,” Okita eyed him with a frown. “Does that turn ya off?”  

Ryoma paused. Did it? “No. I figured that that was the case,”  

The snow addled silence creeped back in between them and Ryoma couldn’t even bring himself to do anything but stand there a moment and gather himself. Okita deserved more than what he had been given in life. This brief window into his soul told Ryoma all he needed to know for now. He needed to be more upfront he supposed, or at least try to be. He already had it hard not knowing what he was doing, but he knew that he didn’t want Okita to spend time with anyone else and that alone was enough for him.  

“I ain’t a whore. I did what I had t’,”  

That snapped him out of his thoughts and Ryoma turned around frowning as he shook his head. “I don’t think of you like that,”  

“Then how do ya think of me?”  

“As someone who deserves the title of the Prettiest in the Shinsengumi,”  

Okita barked out a laugh. “That ain’t mean shit now!”  

“Well, it means something to me!”  

“I guess that’s all I can ask for, yeah?” The Mad Dog smiled and Ryom quickly looked away.   

“I got you something. When I went into town,”  

“More stuff that I’m gonna owe ya fer. Don’t gotta spend what little ya got on me,”  

“No, but I wanted to, so deal with it. And you don’t owe me anything,” Ryoma wiped his hands on his apron and grabbed up the box he bought. He handed it over, scratching the back of his head. “Here,”  

Looking down at it with a raised brow, the Mad Dog put the box in his lap and opened it. He stared down at what was inside, fingers brushing over the tanto before pulling out the fan. With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled it, eye widening as the blades flipped out and revealed the cherry blossom pattern within.   

“Ryoma-chan…This had t’ cost ya a pretty Mon. How much did ya spend on this?”  

“Not a lot. Really. I found it collecting dust at the Don Quixote,” Ryoma shrugged. “And I thought of you,”  

He sat there for some time, inspecting both the fan and tanto. Okita’s fingers slid over the hilt of the blade, holding it up as he pulled it from its sheath to test the blade’s sharpness with his thumb. He seemed to like it, but Ryoma hadn’t ever really seen him purchase a new blade or receive one to know if he inspected each tool this extensively. Okita only seemed to use two blades in his time knowing him, though he had caught the hint of more hidden on his horse, Haku.   

Satisfied, Okita set the tanto aside and tested the fan again with a smile. Flipping it effortlessly between his fingers, he pulled it up to his face and blinked at him before beckoning him closer with his finger. Ryoma narrowed his eyes, but knelt before him anyway, coming closer as Okita continued to lure him in, just for him to drop the fan and grab him by the front of his kimono. His lips pressed against his, and for a moment, Ryoma sat there in stunned silence. His lips were surprisingly soft for being outside in the cold, until his own that seemed to just be chapped the moment he stepped foot in the snow, and the fingers that held him close by his kimono flicked across his neck as Okita adjusted his grip, making sparks fly down his body to his groin. As his brain caught up to his body, his eyes fluttered shut and he moved to press the kiss deeper, only to get whacked on the head with the fan.  

“Ow!”  

“Just a kiss. Fer thanks. Now I don’t owe ya anythin’!”  

“Might owe me more now…” Ryoma rubbed his head, pouting. “Luring me in like that,”  

“Ah, maybe I should try harder next time and make that Tosan accent come out. Since it was so cute when Ryoma-chan was all drunk and bumblin’ around! Oh! Nii-san! Call me Ryoma! I wanna call ya Goro!” Okita laughed.  

“Sh-shut up!”  

“So embarrassed, Ryoma-chan. Yer cute when ya get all flustered,”   

Ryoma moved to grab Okita back so he could show him how embarrassed he was when they both paused upon hearing the crunch of snow in the yard. He dropped his hand, sitting back as Okita put the tanto back in the box and adjusted himself with a clearing of his throat. Haruka stomped her feet outside and then opened the front door, beaming as her big brown eyes set on Okita.   

“Uncle Soji!”   

“I’m here too,” Ryoma muttered with a roll of his eyes as he stood to work on the side dishes. “Nii-san, you have the fish alright?”  

“The one thing I can make besides pickles. Dontcha worry,” Okita smiled fondly up at him as Haruka came to sit by the fire and warm up. “Hajime-chan got me a gift,”  

“Oh? Did he now?” She quickly glanced back at him and Ryoma narrowed his eyes at her, making Okita shift uncomfortably.  

He flipped out the fan blade, twisting it in his hand to show her. “Got cherry blossoms and everythin’. Did ya know cherry blossoms signify change and rebirth?”  

“I didn’t…” Haruka flexed her fingers in her lap. “Uncle Soji, I have a question for you,”  

“Uhh…yes?”  

“Will you go on a picnic with me? Sometime this week? I’d liked to make you a good meal and enjoy the snow together,”  

Both men paused, eyes wide as they stared at Haruka. Her boldness threw them both off and Ryoma almost broke the cutting board again as the cleaver creaked in his hand from cutting more vegetables. Even Okita seemed to pale, his grip on the fan loosening. Both of them looked at one another and then Okita set the fan aside clearing his throat.   

“Haruka-chan—“  

“I heard the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’d like to gift you the best meal of your life,” Haruka said boldly and Okita stood up quickly.   

“Sure, fine! I need a bath. Playing Shogi all mornin’ got me sweaty and cold. Might need help washin’ my back though,” He gave Ryoma a pointed look, who quickly pulled off his apron.  

“I’ll help!” Haruka put her hand up and Ryoma pushed it down.  

“I don’t think so! Put your hand down,” Ryoma sighed. “Watch the fish. I’ll be back,”  

“But—!”  

“No buts!”  

The two men shut the door of the washroom, Okita sitting heavily on the small stool near the basin. The awkwardness between them could cut through bamboo and Ryoma cleared his throat.   

“Um…let me fill the tub for you,”   

It was a long process, one that normally Haruka did for him. He found himself dwelling on it. He’d always just go to the public baths to bathe before coming to Kyo from Tosa. He didn’t have anyone to draw him a bath or to wash his back or buy him things. It wasn’t until Oryo and Haruka that he did and now, looking back at Okita, sitting as prim and proper as a gremlin could, he wondered if anyone ever drew him a bath before Ryoma had.   

Waiting for it to heat up, he approached the Mad Dog and sighed. “Strip,”  

Okita snorted, snapping out of whatever thought he was trapped in and started pulling at the ties of his clothes. “If ya wanted me that bad, ya could’ve said so,”  

“Or I could have dunked you in the water fully clothed for fun,”  

“Touchy,”  

“Actually yeah, I am,”  

Okita paused, looking up at him. “Why? It ain’t like I’m seducing her. I told you, I’m not into women,”  

“Yeah, but—“  

“No buts. I’m honestly afraid she’s gonna loom over me in my sleep. She’s…a kid. There ain’t anythin’ ya need t’ worry ‘bout when it comes to me. She’s the one who’s a hormonal mess. I mean, I’m sure she’s gotten her cycle or somethin’, but I’ve never seen a teenager play two guys at once, let alone go for someone so much older. It’s weird!” Okita huffed and threw down his hakama and kimono.  

He turned away from him to grab a small handled cup and pour water over himself, scrubbing the best he could. Ryoma watched him shiver and his fingers twitched as he watched him. It wasn’t a phase. It wasn’t because he was drunk. Everything about Okita had been enticing from the moment he met him. From the way he joked with him, called him Hajime-chan, fought him with such fury that it made him hot and bothered from the start. And yet Okita didn’t believe him, or if he did, he just didn’t trust him with his heart yet.   

But maybe he’d trust him with his body.  

Ryoma pulled the hair tie from Okita’s hair before he could protest and grabbed the cup from him. He poured the water over his head and grabbed some soap to lather him up.   

“It’s been a while since you’ve washed your hair,”  

“Don’t change the damn subject. Between ya and Haruka, I feel like I can’t breathe…” the Mad Dog sighed.  

“Relax…just…Shut up and relax,” Ryoma chuckled, washed the soap and oil from his hair.  

Okita seemed tense but he was starting to relax, and once he was pre-washed, he made his way to the tub and climbed in. Ryoma watched the tension visibly leave him as his shoulders relaxed and he let out a slow breath. Pulling the stool up behind him, he tapped him to lean forward and started gently scrubbing his back. The Mad Dog gently pulled his hair aside so the samurai could wash his neck, glancing back at him as he slowly slid the cloth up his skin.   

His intense gaze made fire burn in his gut and Ryoma swallowed, lifting Okita’s arm to scrub at his hands and fingers.   

“Ryoma-chan has been actin’ weird lately. Like Haruka-chan,”  

“I’m sorry,”  

“I don’t get it. I’m tryna live yer little village life, meet the people, but ya get this look when I leave like ya wanna lock me up or maybe even slaughter half the people who look at me,” The Mad Dog smirked. “It’s almost endearin’, but I still have no idea how t’ read ya as Ryoma. I feel like the man I knew is different from the one ya really are,”  

“I’m learning something about myself that I never thought I’d learn,” Ryoma murmured, standing as he ran the cloth over Okita’s shoulders and down his chest.  

“Yeah? And what’s that?”  

He dragged the cloth up his chest to his neck, tilting his head back. Their eyes locked as Ryoma sensually washed his neck and chest, his free hand carefully holding his jaw. He could feel him swallow, see his chest rise and fall quicker and quicker and when he ran his hand down his skin he could almost feel his heart pounding. The samurai leaned down, feeling Okita’s fingers slide across his cheek and into his hair. He held the back of his neck as he kissed the shell of his ear and he swore he heard the Mad Dog moan.  

“I’ve learned that I might like the same colours…”  

Okita’s breath hitched as Ryoma’s lips dragged down his neck. He pressed a kiss to his pulse, sighing and letting his eyes close as the feel of his heart beating through his lips. It was intoxicating, almost like that drunken night all over again but this time he was there, present in the moment. It wasn’t a phase; it wasn’t the alcohol. He wanted Okita and he knew that Okita had to want him back. His fingers tightened in his hair and Ryoma kissed his neck again, then up his jaw, his cheek, before smiling down at him. His eye was hazy, barely focused, pupil dilated to the point where he couldn’t even see the cocoa hue of his iris. He slipped his fingers under the strap of his tsuba patch and pulled it off, thumb rubbing next to the empty socket of his eye.  

“Yer toyin’ with me…” Okita murmured, and Ryoma held back a purr.  

“Maybe, but I’m not lying,” he chuckled and pressed his lips to his in an upside-down kiss that at his cheeks heating up and his body zapping with electricity.   

Okita moaned softly, lips moving against his as their tongues tentatively touched. He slid his hand down into the bath, fingers brushing against course hair, searching for the prize hidden beneath warm water.   

“Uncle Hajime? Fish is done!”  

Both men groaned, their hands dropping away from one another’s bodies. Ryoma huffed, kissing the Mad Dog’s empty socket quickly before grabbing a towel to dry his hands.  

“Listen…she won’t let you not go on that picnic…but…could you try not to break her heart? I mean…I’m jealous, but I don’t need her crying about how heartbroken she is,” he sighed and headed for the door. “Take your time, I’ll make up your lunch for you,”  

He exited the washroom before he could hear a single line of protest or anything from Okita.

Chapter 9: Different Colours

Okita was still reeling. 

Ryoma’s words rang loud in his head, his confession replaying over and over again. The way his hands had felt sliding over his skin had reignited something truly carnal in him and it was a damn shame that they shared a home with Haruka, whom he was now bound in contract to have a picnic with. 

A picnic in the damn snow too. Girls were so strange in their desires. Did they not feel cold? Did they not get sick sitting outside in such weather? Whatever her motives were, it scared Okita. Too many times he had caught her staring at him with enamored eyes and he wanted nothing more than to just succumb to the wilds again. It didn’t make much sense either. That courier kid was always coming by giving her letters and when she wasn’t delivering Ryoma’s delicious food, she was often seen hanging out with him. Maybe it was the fact that he was a strong, older man, capable of fighting and holding his own. Many women in his time with the Shinsengumi had been infatuated with him, and for the sake of reputation, he had flirted when he could. Now though, there was no point. He could be himself. He could be Goro again. 

At least with Ryoma.  

The night before, after the bath, he was surprised they hadn’t said fuck it and got down and dirty. Of course with Haruka laying beside them it was impossible, but Ryoma hadn’t kept his hands off him the entire night. It didn’t matter which way he turned, whether he laid on his back or his side, his hands were somewhere on his body. Touching his side, his hip, slipping around him and pulling him closer to the edge of his futon which the menace had strategically set right next to his own so not a single gap was between them. He had grown bolder, whatever the reason for that was lost on Okita, but he wasn’t complaining. 

For the entirety of their Shinsengumi career together, he had battled with himself on whether he should have taken that leap. Really, it had been Oryo that kept him at bay, stopping him from ever voicing his desires. He had to fight with the conflicting feelings in him from the moment he had shown up in the courtyard for tryouts and now it was like his dream had come true. Finally, Ryoma liked him back. Finally, he wanted him as badly as he did.  

There was just the little problem of his guilt. 

A deep, heavy guilt that sat in his belly and weighed on him. Okita hadn’t lied about having other relationships with men, and he had some trauma with those. His first being a very unhealthy apprenticeship in Mibu, the second…well, he still wasn’t sure he was over that one. Ryoma had been a good distraction from it all, but he hoped that his heart and mind still didn’t view him like that. As a man who loved men, a woman hater in the eyes of society, he felt far deeper than he’d like to admit. For loving and being with a woman was a societal pressure, not a want or need. It was a demand, an expectation. Many men in his life who loved women would complain about the nagging, the children, the expectation to provide and love and be there. Some were made to be fathers and husbands, while some only did it for the legacy and expectation. When it came to his love, that’s all it was. Pure love, unashamed and sometimes debilitating. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t even breathe as he laid beneath another, and sometimes he had been brought to tears at the feelings that swelled within him. 

To be wanted, needed and desired. It went so far beyond the norm he was surrounded by. He wanted to be wanted, needed to be needed, and he hadn’t felt that in so long that it was a shock to see Ryoma feel so strongly and so jealous over a child whom he had no strong feelings for to begin with. In fact, Haruka was a nuisance in his life, a wall that he wanted to break through and run past. She was kind and beautiful, sure, but her presence meant he could not spend the time he wanted with Ryoma, and every second he spent away from home to get away from her was another moment that the man he desired so deeply believed that he wanted nothing to do with him. 

“Uncle Soji, I’m almost done, could you wait outside?” Haruka smiled back at him from the stove, and it took everything in him to not groan.  

“Yeah, sure,” He stood, adjusting the clothes she had picked out for him, putting on his boots and stepping outside.  

The moment he stepped out into the frozen yard, Ryoma brought down his axe upon a block of wood so hard it split the stump he was chopping on. Okita swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. For a lovely day, it felt pretty damn dreary. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun high in the sky for this time of day, and yet it felt like it could rain or snow at any moment around him. Maybe it was the looming dread of having to fight off teenage hormones or the threat of the axe if he broke her heart. A delicate line was before him and he was starting to wonder if leaving would be easier than facing the consequences of either side. 

The door slid open, and Haruka stepped out in her best kimono and haori. She’d redone her hair with little ornaments and even attempted some kind of make up and Okita swallowed. Ryoma ceased his wood chopping, forcing a smile as he turned to her.  

“Well, look who’s all dolled up,” he said, and Okita swore his teeth were grinding.  

“Just wanted to look pretty,” She shrugged, moving to step down from the house. 

Okita, ever the gentleman and not one to want to be murdered by his friend, stepped forward and held out his hand for her to help her down into the ice and snow. Haruka’s cheeks grew a tint of pink and she smiled up at him as Ryoma resumed chopping wood. 

“Don’t stay out too late,” 

“I ain’t got plans t’ keep her past lunch,” Okita nearly mumbled as Haruka hooked her arm with his.  

“I have a spot picked out already. Let’s go!” 

Her eagerness was uncomfortable but infectious, and he made sure to hold her close to make sure she didn’t slip and fall on the ice. Her small, delicate hand held on tight, though she almost looked like she was struggling as she held the basket. Okita sighed and reached over, plucking it from her hands. She looked up at him with surprise and he merely smiled, putting on the show of a gentleman. 

The day would be better having a picnic with Ryoma, but he’d take the warm food as long as it didn’t lead to her thinking something was between them. 

They came to the edge of the forest. Near where Ryoma had found him weeks before, and she let him go, taking the basket back. With a smile, she pulled out a blanket and set it down on the frost ground, the snow crunchy now that time and cold weather had frozen the once powdery landscape. She knelt down and pat the spot in front of her. 

“Come sit!” Haruka giggled and Okita took a deep breath before sitting as properly as he could. “I brought tea and a full spread!” 

Oh god. It was like a real date. Okita nodded and moved to peek into the basket, maybe even offer to help, but she slapped his hand hard and he reeled back in surprise. 

“A man shouldn’t serve himself! I’ll give you everything,” 

“Ha…haha…okay,” Okita laughed nervously as she pulled a small bamboo bottle out and poured them each a cup of tea. 

He took it gratefully and waited until she pulled out and opened each bento. Haruka had really gone all out, with grilled fish, rice, sushi, and all kinds of side dishes to partake in. From grated daikon, to beautiful cut carrots shaped like flowers, Okita was honestly taken aback by the effort. Ryoma would throw a fit if he saw all of this was for his sake, knowing that if he told him he’d probably try to one up her. A man jealous of a child. Or rather, a teenager. Haruka was getting older and clearly was reaching her womanhood. Okita was definitely not the one who should be dealing with all of this, but she didn’t have her parents anymore. Which left himself and Ryoma to deal with her antics. 

Antics that were not directed at him. 

“Please, eat. Tell me what you think,” Haruka opened her own bento and set his before him.  

Okita sipped the tea given then set it aside to pick up his bento. Digging in, he couldn’t help but groan. It was delicious, as expected from someone who shared a home with Ryoma and delivered food for a small living. The fish was flakey, the rice perfectly sticky and the daikon was refreshing despite the cold around him. It warmed him in his core and he smiled at her, shoving more food in his mouth. 

“It’s really good, Haruka-chan,” 

“Yeah? How so? Tell me everything,” 

“The fish is done perfectly. It’s flakey, seasoned damn well, compliments the rice well. The daikon with it makes it refreshin’ and light…it’s all amazing,” 

Haruka beamed, scrunching up as she blushed bashfully. “I’m so glad…I’ve been working so hard on it…” 

“Listen…uh…Haruka-chan. I appreciate this, really, but—“ 

“I didn’t do this because I like you. I just wanted to make sure Uncle Hajime didn’t bother me,”  

“Eh?!”  

“I just wanted to test to see if this was worth it to a man so I could ask Yuta to…well…spend time with me,” Haruka sighed and then leveled her large eyes on him. “As for you, Uncle Soji…I have a lot of questions,” 

He swallowed thickly, scratching the back of his head. “Uh…like what?” 

“First, why doesn’t Yuta care enough about me to stand outside and wait for me and worry?” 

“Isn’t he a courier?” 

“Well, yeah!” 

“Where do ya think he has time fer that? He’s shown he’s a workin’ man! That’s somethin’ ya should be lookin’ fer. A man who will provide and take care of ya,” 

“So then why do you like Uncle Hajime?” 

He froze, blinking at her.  

“Uncle Hajime doesn’t really do much except tend to the garden. I know you go to the old man’s place a lot, but it just makes him angry. Then he starts digging holes in the ice somehow and then chops wood…we have a lot of wood now…” Haruka hummed, frowning. “I guess…if Yuta is a working man, and he’s what I should be looking for, then why are you looking at someone like Hajime?” 

“Because…I like different colours…and he…he and I have a history,” Okita set his bento down to sip his tea awkwardly. “Though I ain’t really know if what he feels for me is real or if I’m just one big joke. If I let him in, will he leave me fer Oryo or another woman, or will I lose him like I lost…someone else?” 

She stared at him and then narrowed her eyes. “You’re both kind of dense, aren’t you?” 

“Dense?!” 

“I thought samurai were supposed to be educated…” 

“Hey now! I can read some! It’s Hajime-chan who can’t!” Okita shook his head. “Listen. How ‘bout this. I’ll teach ya how t’ defend yerself and give ya all the boy advice ya want. I’ll even keep Hajime-chan off yer back about it, but! Ya gotta let he and I have…adult time,” 

“Gross, but fine. Also, if Yuta and I…want adult time, you can’t tell Uncle Hajime,” 

“Deal,” Okita snorted. “Yer gonna hafta apologize t’ him fer all this shit though. He thinks her gonna steal me away,” 

“Well…” Haruka smiled, looking away. “It is a shame you like men,” 

“Okay, listen, don’t make it weird!” 

“Sorry! Let’s just eat and enjoy this before it gets too cold! I think my toes are starting to freeze,” 

---

“Try again,” 

Haruka thrust the tanto at the very makeshift dummy Okita had put together in their yard. It wasn’t much. some wood and bamboo with hay tied around it in a futile attempt to make something stab worthy. She was pretty proficient with a blade, though he assumed that was mostly because she did half the cooking in the house. It was something though, and while Okita wasn’t sure he was the best teacher or even worth the title yet, she absorbed what he showed her far better than half the adult men he had under his command once upon a time. 

Beside them, watching intently, was Ryoma, stoic and glaring as he watched her thrust the tanto forward again, lodging it into the dummy.  

“She’s getting it,” He finally said, offering a lopsided smile to Okita. “To think…that’s all she wanted to talk to you about,” 

“Sort of. Y’know girls better than me. They’re all vague. Always hungry, but they never know what they want,” Okita snorted. “Haruka-chan, try slashin’ now,” 

“Oh, o-okay!” She looked back at him. “Like this?” 

She slashed downward, limply, and he sighed. “No. Here, throw yer body into it. It’s where the strength of the hit comes from. Like stabbing,” 

He pulled the tanto that Ryoma had bought him from his obi and unsheathed it, gently tapping her out of the way. With one hand, he stepped forward swiftly and slashed at the dummy, spilling its poor hay innards onto the crunchy snow of the yard. Haruka clapped, looking up at him.  

“You killed it!” 

“I used to kill worse. Ah well…” He twirled the blade in his hand and sheathed it. “Get it now?” 

“Yeah. I think so,” Haruka said and stepped forward to practice again.  

With her continuing her practice, Okita sat beside Ryoma and sighed, rolling his head to stare at him. He’d been so moody lately, but whatever Haruka had said seemed to calm him enough for them all to be able to be around one another. He seemed mostly content with him around, but Okita still felt like a burden on their dynamic. All of this jealousy just because he’s there, taking up space and trying to find a foothold in their quiet life.  

“What?” Ryoma snorted, looking at him. 

“Still jealous of a little girl and an old man?” Okita smirked. 

“Ugh, shut up,” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.  

“Nah, gonna hold this over yer head forever. What next? Gonna be jealous of my horse?” 

“She won’t even let me near her. If anything, I’m mad she wouldn’t let me ride her to town to pick up that futon for you,” 

“Ah, well, she is a good guard horse as well as a great steed,” Okita shrugged. “Probably didn’t want ya makin’ off with my goods,” 

“And what goods could you possibly have as a homeless ronin and gambler?” Ryoma laughed. “Besides the excessive Ryo in your pocket,” 

“Well, maybe the swords I won playing Cho-Han,” 

“You won swords playing dice?” Ryoma sat up, staring him down. 

“This asshole, Hito, didn’t like that I was winnin’, thought he could take me on and bet these ancient samurai swords he had that he could guess better than me. Turns out he ain’t as lucky,” Okita shrugged. “They’re like old as shit too. Really beautiful. Kinda like…display worthy. If I had a house, I’d probably put ‘em on a stand or somethin’,” 

“And how exactly did he end up with ancient swords?” 

“I’m gonna assume theft,” Okita chuckled. “He was clearly a ronin too, so maybe they were his master’s. I mean, I still have Gen-san’s on me. Haku is also guarding them. They’re…too precious t’ carry round,” 

“Yet you leave them on the horse out in the cold?” Ryoma huffed, standing up. “C’mon. Let’s just put them all up inside. We can display them. I’m sure I have at least one stand to put something on,” 

“Really? I mean…I got his old gauntlets too. I know shit’s in the past, but I didn’t think ya’d…well…want them ‘round ya,” Okita frowned. 

“Why? He was a great person, and someone who meant a lot to you in life. Despite what he had done…he didn’t deserve the fate that came upon him. If you want to honor him, we should,” 

Okita grew quiet, looking away from the dancing samurai. Even taking him to his grave and alluding to the life he lived, he wasn’t sure Ryoma was ready to know why Genzaburo Inoue’s death weighed so heavily on him still. He probably wouldn’t want to display them if he knew even half the reason considering how jealous he was that he spent his time playing Shogi with an old man and entertaining Haruka’s fancies.  

Would he hate him if he knew the truth? Would he kick him to the curb to know that Okita’s life hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows and that his apprenticeships were traditional and not just a man learning the sword? Maybe he wasn’t ready to know. Maybe he should just accept what was being offered and move on finally. He had a good thing going here, and if Ryoma really did like him and wanted him, then he needed to put everything else behind him.  

“Well, if ya insist,” Okita stood, approaching the white mare easily and pulling both sets of blades from off the saddle, where they had been covered with a wool blanket.  

He brought them to Ryoma, who looked the pieces over with a whistle and then smiled. Entering the house, the dancing samurai dug around for a display stand, holding it up when he found it in the cupboard. The place wasn’t large, but there was a small spot on the floor and he set the stand there, motioning for Okita to set whichever he liked there. He weighed his options, looking down at what he had in his hands. On one hand, the blades won in a bet, beautifully adorned with gold dragons and black lacquer, and on the other, Gen-san’s simple set, well taken care of and worthy of no other’s hands.  

He handed Ryoma the set he won and approached the stand with his mentor’s blades. Setting them in the slots, he stepped back, feeling the dancing samurai’s hand slide up his back.  

“You know, I think this is how he’d want them displayed. Modestly, in a small house,” Ryoma said, tilting his head. “But you knew him better than I did,” 

“Yeah, I did. And I think yer right. I think this is what he’d want. Fer me and the blades,” 

“Oh?” 

Okita turned, leaning in to brush his lips against Ryoma’s in a soft kiss. “Thanks, Ryoma-chan,” 

The samurai blinked at him, then smiled as he pulled him closer. The Mad Dog felt his hand slide to the back of his neck as he leaned in to capture his lips again, lingering longer. Perhaps he really was the luckiest samurai in Kyo. 

Chapter 10: Snowfall's Heartbeat

“I think we should go to the that winter festival in Kyo,” Ryoma said, stirring a pot of miso. “I can’t remember what it’s called…Oryo and I saw it before we traveled,” 

The mention of that woman almost made Okita bristle, but he maintained his calm as he sat by the small stove to keep warm. “Ah, Hadaka Odori? The Naked Dance Festival? What? Wanna just see a bunch of naked guys run ‘round?” 

“I figured it would be fun,” He smiled, looking back at the Mad Dog. “Just us two, the chill, some warm sake, and a parade of nearly naked men,” 

“Almost sounds like paradise,” 

“Well, what do you say?” 

“Fine, but only ‘cause yer so pretty lookin’ at me like that in the apron,” 

“Ah, so you’re into house husbands,” 

“I’m actually more into guys that can kick my ass,” Okita smirked.  

“I didn’t take you for the receiving one, considering I’m cooking everything,” 

“Oh, Ryoma-chan, just ‘cause yer the wife, don’t mean ya can’t be the top,” He laughed, which got a bit of a chuckle out of Ryoma. 

“I’ll remember that, Goro-no-niisan,” 

“Gah, that’s still so weird to hear…”  

“What? Nii-san or Goro?” 

“Both? Been Soji fer so long that…it’s strange to feel like my old self again. My less respectable self,” Okita hummed and leaned on his fist, smiling slightly. “I’ll get used to it. As long as it comes from yer lips,” 

Ryoma tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and set it aside before kneeling next to Okita. His doe eyes were set on him, as though trying to beam into his mind and read his thoughts. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in and kissed his cheek.  

“Better get used to it. I’m not playing around,” 

“Oh ho! Ryoma-chan out here determined t’ woo me?” 

“I’m determined to learn more about you. If the festival goes late or it starts snowing again, I’ll pay for the inn room this time,” He grinned.  

“Ahhhh, yer just horny!” Okita pushed Ryoma’s face away playfully, laughing as he fell over. “Tryna get me all riled so ya can have yer way with me!” 

“Already catching on, nii-san,” Ryoma chuckled, dusting himself off as he stood up. “We can eat and then head out. Haruka said she’d be with Yuta for the day, so it will be fine,” 

The deal he had made with her was working pretty well. Since her picnic she’d taken up the tanto pretty well, and Okita couldn’t be prouder. Of course, the first thing she did was show Yuta her new skill and he swore the poor kid looked more intimidated than before. That didn’t stop him from dropping off his letters to her every day. Ryoma could pretend that they were just normal letters, but Okita knew this kid was gifting her love notes.  

He wondered vaguely if Ryoma would ever write him a love note. 

“He can’t even read…how would he do that?” He mumbled to himself with a shake of his head. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing!” 

With lunch served and devoured, the two samurai dressed in their best and warmest kimono, helping one another tie their hakama and fix their hair. It was almost like a childish romance, with Ryoma fixing Okita’s hair to give him a low ponytail while he gave the dancing samurai’s usual bun a make over, tucking away those stands he loved to stick up above his head. With a gentle hand, Ryoma adjusted his tsuba and then held his face in his hands, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Beautiful,” 

“Bah, don’t lie, it ain’t a good look fer ya,” Okita felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled his hands away, letting Ryoma twist their hands around to grab them.  

“I’m not lying. I told you that before. Now quit being all bashful and accept my compliments, nii-san,” 

“Nah, if I keep rebuking them, then ya’ll give me more!” He chuckled, letting Ryoma pull him close, holding him against him. 

The dancing samurai brushed a stray hair from his bangs away from his face and then kissed him quick and soft.  

“Greedy…Come on. Let’s go before everything starts. I want us to have a good view,” 

For once, Haku allowed them to take her into town, though she seemed to protest with a couple huffs as both men climbed onto her back. Ryoma sat behind him, arms wrapped around his middle, holding on tight. He rested his head on his shoulder, humming softly as Haku tossed her head and gave them both the side eye. 

“I don’t think she likes that we’re both on her,” Ryoma frowned. 

“She doesn’t like anythin’. Don’t let her bad attitude doubt her. She’s the best horse I’ve ever had. As in she’s the only horse. And I paid fer her myself!” Okita smiled and spurred her on. 

Compared to their first trek through the barren, winter forest, this time it wasn’t as chilly. Winter was coming to its end, though the cold still occasionally froze small icicles to the trees as the snow melted off the breaking branches. Spring would bring new life to the maple trees that littered the landscape around Kyo. One day, when the weather is warm, and the breeze is just cold enough to kiss their skin, new growth and flowers would grow. For now, everything was in deep slumber. Beautiful, but sad. 

Ryoma would probably say that it was just like Okita. 

Or was it someone else who called him beautiful and sad? 

Okita gripped the reigns tight. This was a new, fresh start. Ryoma seemed interested, even if he could hardly believe he changed his mind after one drunken night, and Okita was more than willing to just give him his heart if he asked, which was usually how he ended up heartbroken. Spring would show where they stood. Was this just a fleeting, winter romance, or something that could blossom into more? He could only hope they were more like the beautiful Hydrangeas he’d seen in passing versus the ever-fleeting cherry blossom. He didn’t want his love to feel like that anymore. He didn’t want to fall in love for two weeks and then watch it all wither away between his fingers. Not again. Never again. 

“You’re quiet,” Ryoma leaned over to look at him. “Something on your mind?” 

“Bah…it’s nothin’. Never really liked winter so much. Autumn is nice, but then it all dies. It reminds me of…a lot of things,” He smiled, looking back at him. “I’ll be fine. Festivals are always fun. Maybe they’ll have sweets!” 

“I’ll buy you as many sweets as it takes to put a smile on your face, Goro,” 

“There ya go bein’ all embarrassin’ again!” 

“It makes you laugh, I can’t help it,” Ryoma grinned and that was enough to wipe the sadness from him. 

What had he done to deserve this? What luck had he tapped into to snag the one man who he had been smitten with this whole time?  

Well, not the whole time. 

They made their way into town, leaving Haku stabled at the docks, the snow that had fallen on them their first time in had all but melted or turned to ice. The lanterns hung for the festivals already complimented the white that still blanketed the streets, and Okita couldn’t help but stare as they wandered past the stalls.  

Ryoma slipped his hand into his, giving it a squeeze before pulling him aside to look at the array of winter vegetables and daily catch. The Mad Dog would have said something about the samurai being no better than a housewife, but even he found himself intrigued by massive daikon and strange foreign imports. Okita picked up a green vegetable, plump and large, giving it a sniff before showing it to Ryoma. The dancing samurai pulled back dramatically, laughing nervously as he pushed his hand away.  

“I don’t like those,” 

“Wah? Really? What even is it?” Okita laughed.  

“Green Pepper,” 

“That reaction over a green pepper?” 

“I had it once at the fusion restaurant and I never want it near me again,” Ryoma made a face of disgust and Okita tossed the pepper in the air before setting it back down. 

“Just like Hajime-chan t’ get dramatic over a pepper,” 

“I’m going to make sure that if I get reincarnated, I never eat another one. I will make it my spiritual mission to never taste a green pepper again,” 

The two of them burst into laughter, loud enough that they were drawing stares, but for once Okita didn’t care. Ryoma’s vendetta against a pepper was the kind of information he never expected to learn about him, but it felt so like him that he made a mental note of it. If they were meant to be, he’d make sure he’d never be plagued by a pepper again. 

They hooked their arms together, pulling each other close as they continued to walk through the town. Leaving Fushimi, the slums of Rakunai were quiet and barren, the homeless and ruffians had clearly moved on to huddle somewhere else, leaving only the locals passing through to Rakugai for the festivities. 

People were already out, the crowd growing around pop up stalls that sold treats, tea and other festival items. From sutras, to charms, fireworks to sparklers, the vendors were taking advantage of the last moments of winter and the foreigners that were curious about their traditions. There were some women in large dresses and fur shawls arm in arm with trench coat wearing men, standing out like sore thumbs among the kimono wearing locals. Ryoma pulled Okita towards a stall selling mochi, looking over the selection. He hummed, tapping his chin before pointing to a couple plump treats at the back. 

“We’ll get those two,” he told the vendor, who happily took his mon and handed over the sweets.  

He handed one to Okita, who wasted no time taking a big bite out of the soft, silky treat. He moaned, smiling as he shoved the rest of it into his mouth. 

“Did you even taste it?” 

“Of course I did! I just got really fast taste buds,” 

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Ryoma chuckled, slowly biting into his own. 

Okita pulled him along this time, drawn to the fireworks stand. They had both subote botan and nagate botan in terms of senior hanabi this year, the latter an import from the Kanto region. Made with washi paper over Kyo traditional rice straw, the sparklers were a new addition to their usual supply. With foreigners came more imports, and while Kyo was far from the Kanto region, it was nice to see something new and different.  

“Ah, maybe we should buy one of each, yeah?” He looked at Ryoma as he stuffed his face with the last of his mochi. 

“Sure. I never had the chance to light these before. Never had the money,”  

“Neither have I,” Okita smiled. “Let’s grab some for Haruka-chan and Yuta-kun as well,” 

“If we’re spoiling the kids, we may as well buy enough for all the kids in the village,” Ryoma shrugged. “Then no one is left out,” 

It was sweet if Okita really thought about it. Ryoma had been an orphan from a young age, like himself. The idea of leaving no one out of the fun must have come from a deep place. How many times had he been left out? At least he had made some family, even if it wasn’t blood. Okita really only had Nagakura now. 

Well, maybe he’d have Ryoma and Haruka too. 

They bought up enough for them both and to bring home, carrying on as the crowd began to move towards the temple. The Hadaka Odori festival was always a fun one, though Okita had never had the chance to participate before. In Mibu it wasn’t really prominent and once he had come to Kyo he was a Shinsengumi. He was usually in charge of guarding it. A boring, thankless job. He didn’t even get to see what the fuss was all about. He supposed that’s what made going now so special. He got to do something new with Ryoma, just the two of them.  

Filing into the temple, everyone gathered around, waiting as they took in the sight of glowing lanterns and charms, along with decorations to bring in a good harvest. The people around them spoke about their sons, some old and some very young, who had to be freezing in anticipation of the event. Eventually they were all ushered inside by the monks, taken to the hall where the statue of their Medicine Buddha sat. The grand statue was decorated beautifully as well, a sight to behold despite Okita not really being much of a religious man. The mere idea that someone meditated so long that they ascended to the heavens seemed almost like a boring venture, but what did he know? He found more joy in the thrill of a kill or roll of a dice than in prayer and silence. 

The monks began their prayers, reciting the sutras to the crowd who grew silent, some bowing their heads, hands put together in their own silent prayer. From beyond the hall there was a loud chant of “Chōrai! Chōrai!” It was followed by the stomping of what sounded like hundreds of men. The floors seemed to shake as they shouted again, stomping as the sound grew louder.  

Ryoma looked to him with a big smile, squeezing his hand tight. He couldn’t help but return it, the infectious nature of the dancing samurai’s eagerness and enjoyment of the night piercing deep within him. No one else would take him to such a thing, no one else had offered. Neither one of his Nenja had ever bothered, though he felt like with one, things could have been different. It didn’t matter now though. Right now, he had Ryoma, and Ryoma had him. All jealousy and fear were out the window, and for once Okita felt like his luck was at its peak. Maybe this time love would stick around for him. 

From a nearby hallway, a group of boys and young man came out, wet and steaming from the water they had dumped onto their bodies to purify themselves. The steam really put into perspective how cold it still was outside despite the looming threat of Spring. The crowds of family and friends all cheered as their boys stood before them, wearing nothing but their fundoshi in the cold temple, trying their best not to shiver. Standing before them, they all looked to one another before they began their naked dance, a way to ward off the chill for the next harvest. The mere idea that such a thing could bring warm weather was amusing to the Mad Dog, but hey, whatever seemed to work. 

“I bet if the protestors had gotten naked ‘fore chantin’ Ee Ja Nai Ka, more people might’ve joined in,” Okita snickered to Ryoma, who gently slapped his arm. 

“Please, Nii-san. As if the entire prospect of not working wasn’t already appealing to you,” 

“I’m just sayin’! Naked guys dancin’ ‘round? It’s definitely more my scene,” Okita grinned. 

“You’re a menace,” The samurai shook his head, smirking at the Mad Dog. “But I suppose you’re my menace,” 

“Oh? Your menace?” He tilted his head, watching as Ryoma’s cheeks darkened and he looked away.  

“I mean…only if you want to be…” 

“I couldn’t imagine bein’ anyone else’s,” 

Ryoma coughed, looking down so his hair fell around his face to hide how red his face was now. Surrounded by all these people, with a group of young, attractive men dancing naked before them, he really was shocked that the samurai would be so bold. But maybe their time together, cooped up for the winter, had made him more open to saying what he wanted, what he felt. Would this feeling stay until spring? Okita hoped so. He hoped so hard that Ryoma wouldn’t get sick of him, even if he had no talent to speak of, not a single thing to bring to the table concerning a relationship. 

They watched the rest of the dance in silence, and once the boys and men finished up, the monks moved around the room, tapping each and every person with a blessed stick as they blessed them all for the next season. As the stick came down onto Okita’s shoulder, he sent a silent, rare prayer to the Buddha that they’d stay together, that no matter what, he’d be by Ryoma’s side. It almost felt like he was touched by magic, and with a deep breath, he clapped his hands together.  

“Let’s get outta here,” he said with a smile, grabbing Ryoma’s hands again. “We don’t gotta check on Gen-san again, so why don’t we just enjoy what the town has t’ offer?” 

Ryoma shrugged. “Sure, but…how about we go somewhere more private. To light the sparklers,” 

“Ah, so romantic, Hajime-chan!” 

“Ugh, shut up and follow me,” He pulled on his arm, almost dragging him out of the temple into the chill of the night.  

The moon was beginning to rise higher in the sky, and it complimented the lanterns and decorations set out by the temple. Below them were the once orange and red maple trees, a sight that Okita quite enjoyed when fall came about. Now they stood white and grey, waiting for spring to spout their leaves again. But there was no time to dwell on a season long past, and Ryoma made sure that they walked briskly through the bamboo pathway towards the bridge back to Kyo. Several people, couples and families, even the young and single, were gathered on the bridge together, watching the icy river below as they lit sparklers and laughed amongst one another. 

Ryoma pulled Okita down to the beach below, sand covered in crunchy snow. They stopped underneath, where no prying eyes could see them, and he pulled out one rice sparkler and one washi, holding them up. 

“Which one do you want?” 

“Never lit a washi one before,” Okita took it, smiling. “Do ya got somethin’ t’ light it with?” 

“Ah…shit…no,” 

“Yer lucky I do,” He chuckled, reaching into his sleeve to grab out a foreign, western style lighter. “Won this bad boy in a game back in the summer,” 

He flipped the lid open and struck the gear inside, fire igniting instantly. Okita held it out, letting Ryoma light his first before lighting his own, watching the end immediately spark up. It crackled and snapped, sending sparks out in every direction. Both of them stood there, mesmerized, holding them out and watching the sparks move down the sticks they held, the sizzling breaking through the icy stillness of the night.  

Looking up at Ryoma, he smiled as he caught him staring at him instead, and before he could make fun of him, the samurai was swooping in to kiss him. His hand came up to rest on Ryoma’s chest as the dancing samurai’s free hand rested on his cheek, his thumb rubbing under his eye. Soft lips parted for him, and their tongues wasted no time in finding one another, both of them moaning softly as their kiss deepened. They didn’t have much time for anything despite the deal he had struck with Haruka. This was a moment well needed, with Ryoma walking him backwards into the cold, wooden beam of the bridge.  

They both dropped their sparklers into the snow, hands swiftly moving to their Hakama. They untied one another, slipping hands into tight fundoshi’s to grab each other’s hardening cocks. It was too cold to get much more naked than this, but Okita didn’t mind the clothed encounter. In fact, it almost made it hotter as Ryoma bit and licked his lip, groaning as he kissed him like a man starved. His hand was warm on his cock and the Mad Dog couldn’t help but break the kiss to let his head fall back against the wood he was trapped against. The samurai took advantage of the exposed neck before him, pressing sucking kisses to his skin to leave behind dark bruises. They’d be impossible to hide like this, almost as if he was marking him for all to see. 

Their hands moved rhythmically together, stroking each other roughly as they exchanged bruising, biting kisses. They panted, trying to keep their voices down as the sound of thumping feet above them, just barely drowned out their desperate, soft moans. Ryoma aggressively pulled at Okita’s haori and Kimono, revealing his bare shoulder, then moved in, biting him hard. The Mad Dog’s breath hitched, and he hissed, his hand grabbing a fist full of the samurai’s hair. He tugged, yet Ryoma didn’t relent, only letting him go once he seemed sure that he had marked him. Their hands stilled, Okita left breathing hard as Ryoma licked his lips, his eyes dark with desire. 

“Sorry…” 

“No, yer not…” 

The samurai grinned. “Got me there,” 

Okita huffed, flipping them around and slamming Ryoma’s back into the beam. The samurai grunted, holding the back of his head as he hissed in pain, not realizing that the Mad Dog had dropped to his knees until Okita had him in his mouth. He didn’t deserve this at all, what with his jealousy and aggressive marking, but it would be worth the look on his face when he was through with him. 

He licked at the underside of Ryoma’s cock as he dragged his lips over the sensitive flesh. Stroking from the base, he bobbed his head, making sure to suckle on the head with each pass. All the while he stroked himself, looking up at the samurai as he watched him with the most dumbfounded expression, pupils blown wide as he seemed nearly mesmerized but the sight. A hand came up to gently hold the back of the Mad Dog’s head, guiding him as he bobbed his mouth over him. Saliva built up in his mouth, and he tried his best to not drool all over himself, pulling off for a moment to swallow it down before taking all of Ryoma to the base, his nose pressed into course hair and musky skin. He was heavy in his mouth, and he peeked back up at Ryoma as he slammed a hand over his mouth to stifle a moan. He looked like he would come undone any moment, and Okita vaguely wondered if Oryo had ever done this for him, sucking him off in public, making him a mess where anyone could find him. 

Probably not.  

Wait, was he jealous now? 

Okita pulled off him completely, panting as he stood, hearing Ryoma whine pitifully as he tried to get him to go back down. But he refused, pulling his hand away from his mouth and kissing him hard.  

This whole jealousy thing was getting out of hand. Ryoma had been jealous over a child and the fact that he had hung out with an old man. What if he found out who he had actually been with and made a fuss over that? Would he still want him? Would he look at him the same, knowing what he’d allowed to happen to him? If he hadn’t been taken in and served in the military, if he hadn’t met Inoue, would he be as jealous?  

He was starting to spiral. 

His mind was falling into a pit he had left covered for months, a pit that he hadn’t looked into since the events that had brought them closer over a year ago.  

Ryoma grabbed his wrist, stopping his frantic strokes. “Hey…you’re spacing out…Are you okay?” 

The Mad Dog blinked and then wiped at the spit that was dribbling down his chin. “I…sorry. Got lost in my own damn head,” He smiled, small and hardly convincing. 

The dancing samurai reached up to gently cup his face, running his fingers down his cheek to his lips. He traced over them with a sigh and then leaned in to kiss him softly and chastely.  

“Just checking…Had me going there with your mouth,” 

“Ya didn’t deserve it bein’ all jealous of nothin’…” 

“Ouch,” 

“But maybe since yer bein’ all concerned and shit…” Okita smirked, kissing him again. “I guess I’ll just finish ya off,” 

He kissed his chin and jaw, sucking at his neck before dropping down again. He stayed crouched, his knees wet enough from the snow and took him back into his mouth. Ryoma’s hand happily found its way back to his hair, playing with his ponytail as he picked up the rhythm he had left him off at. Stroking himself, neither of them lasted very long after, and with a grunt, Okita’s cock was spilling into the snow, barely distinguishable from the ice. Looking up at Ryoma, his breath quickening, his moans and whines growing too loud to stifle, he held Okita’s head still, grasping himself as he pulled him off. 

He opened his mouth, tongue out as Ryoma stroked himself to completion, cum shooting out over his tongue and into his mouth. A few stray shots hit his cheek and over his tsuba. The samurai sighed happily, letting his head fall back against the beam of the bridge. Okita swallowed down the gift he had been given, using the sleeve of his haori to wipe his face.  

“Shit…sorry about the tsuba…Bad aim,” 

“Don’t gotta lie t’ me. I think ya enjoyed watchin’ yer spunk hit my eye,” 

“Well, your missing eye,” Ryoma shrugged, and Okita snorted.  

“See, not sorry at all,” 

“I’ll make sure I polish it at home,” Ryoma smiled and tucked himself away, helping Okita tie up his clothes as he stood up. “Let’s go home and warm up,” 

---

Staring at the Shogi board before him, Okita frowned deeply. He just couldn’t get his mind into the game. Yamada was a great player and had beaten him more times than he’d like to admit. He’d come close a couple times and only won once, but that was when his mind was focused and ready. Today, he was making too many mistakes. 

“Soji-kun, perhaps we should pack the game up today. You look out of it,” Yamada smiled, gathering up the tiles. “It’s no fun to beat a man who seems lost in his own thoughts,” 

“Gah…sorry…Just have a lot on my mind,” 

“How about I make some tea, and you can tell me all about it,” 

Okita nodded, standing to help put the board away.  

It had been some time since he’d seen the old man. With Ryoma’s jealousy and training Haruka, it had been a couple weeks now. He seemed in good spirits, though the Mad Dog could see a tiredness in his step. Yamada was old, and he was starting to feel a nagging sense of worry pull at him. He hoped he was alright, but his mind just wouldn’t stop falling back into the past, and whether Ryoma truly wanted him, whether he’d leave for Oryo again, and what he’d think of him if he knew what he’d been through and who his first true love was. 

Sitting down inside to warm by the old man’s stove, he watched as Yamada put on a kettle of tea and sat across from him.  

“Now, tell this old samurai what’s on your mind. Is it Saito-san?” 

“Yer too intuitive, old man,” Okita sighed, playing with his haori sleeve. “It is,” 

“Ah, have you made progress with him then? I’d think you’d feel better about that,” 

“Okay, well, yeah, we have been…progressin’, and I haven’t burnt rice in a while, but I just…fuck, one, how did ya know I was crushin’ on him, and two, why would ya wanna know?” 

“I’m an old man. I have nothing else going on in my life,” Yamada laughed. “And I could tell because he looks at you the way I looked at my wife. So, tell me,” 

“He’s been jealous. First of Haruka-chan ‘cause she made it seem like she likes me,” 

“And she’s actually in love with young Yuta-kun,” 

“Yeah, and then he was jealous of the time I’ve been spendin’ here,” 

“He wants your attention. Saito-san has been a lonely man since he returned from his travels. He did mention he had thought he had found love, but it didn’t work out. His heart yearned for something else,” 

Okita signed. “Yeah…we’ve…been intimate in some regard but now I’m…” 

“Afraid?” 

“Yes,” 

“Why?” 

“Because he knows I’ve had a Nenja, but I don’t think he understands who they were,” 

“You’ve had two?” 

“The man who first trained me in the Mibu military. I was young…I was…” 

“Wakashu. I’m aware of the practice. You were taken advantage of then? Though you don’t see it that way,” Yamada hummed, making up two cups for them before pouring the boiling water in. 

“I…don’t know what I see it as. I was orphaned. I had nobody. He taught me a lot but at the same time I didn’t feel anything concerning the other attention. It stopped once he found someone else,” 

“So…this other man who took you in? Who became your Nenja?” 

“He…I…” 

“You loved him,” 

“And I lost him,” 

“How?” 

“By not being there when he needed me most…By being distracted by Hajime-chan. I feel…so guilty still…I feel like I failed him. He was my Nenja and my Master. He was everythin’ t’ me…” Okita lowered his gaze as Yamada handed him a cup of tea.  

“Hmm…in time of war, we lose many people. When I lost my wife, I never thought I’d feel anything again. But I learned to. It hurts she isn’t here, but I know she is proud that I made friends with the neighbours and people who came into this village to settle since she left,” Yamada sipped his tea. “Your master would feel the same. I am sure that this man was a great samurai, and probably saw potential in you finding someone closer to your age, someone who would care for you better than he could,” 

“Ya think?” 

“I do. I think…Saito-san will understand. I don’t think he’d be jealous of a past love when he too has a past love. We meet these people when we are meant to learn a lesson. You were both taught to love, and now, you have the chance to love each other,” 

“I guess yer right. But do I tell him?” Okita sipped his tea. “It ain’t a common practice anymore. I don’t see it much now the foreigners are here and I…” 

“You think too hard. Love who you love and be honest with him. you’ll know when the right moment is,” 

“Ah, Yamada-Han, I dunno what I’d do without her wisdom,” Okita smiled slightly. “Thanks…fer easin’ my worries,” 

“Of course! Now let’s warm up, have some tea and mochi, and then send you off. Spending all your time with me just takes away from the blossoming love between you too. Plus, I can almost smell the stew he’s cooking. I bet he’s trying to cook his way into your heart,” 

The Mad Dog laughed. “Yeah, yer probably right,” 

He’d tell him then. He’d tell him everything. Ryoma would understand, he had to. He was reasonable, levelheaded for the most part. And with Gen-san’s blades in their home, he needed to know why it was so important that they’d displayed them together. Everything would be just fine. 

Notes:

Art is by @nyghtmare on ao3 and bluesky! Thank you so much for the beautiful piece of art and for being an amazing friend! You captured them so well!

Chapter 11: Like Fear, Like Love

Notes:

I'm going to do a double upload this week :) just to spread some good vibes <3 I'll see you on friday, and then the next week is back to single uploads again!

As winter began to reach the end of its time in Kyo, it let out one last cold breath across the surrounding area and villages. Ice and mud were soon covered in blankets of snow again, the festival and dance doing little to ward off the chill. The village wasn’t deterred by this though, with many of the farmers doing what they could to prep for the next season, and the children taking the opportunity to play in the snow one last time before spring reared its head and took over for the next four months. Haruka had even decided that the snow wouldn’t deter her from venturing off to find Yuta, despite Ryoma’s pleas for her to stay safe. All he received for his worries was an eye roll and a helping of attitude, which he couldn’t even rebuke before she was running, slipping and even sliding away from the house.   

Ryoma huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her…”  

“Nothin’, considerin’ she sees ya like an annoyin’ older brother than a father?” Okita snorted from their chest of drawers as he tied his hakama tight. “She’s what? Sixteen summers old? Goin’ on seventeen? Yer lucky she even told ya where she was goin’,”  

“That’s true, but she could show some respect,” The samurai pouted, receiving only a chuckle and a kiss to his nose for his plight.  

“Get used to it,” Okita smirked, patting Ryoma’s chest. “I’m gonna check in on Yamada-han,”  

“Ah, so you’re leaving me too?”  

“Nothin’ t’ get jealous over! He’s alone and ain’t got any next of kin to make sure he’s alright. Probably gonna play a couple rounds of Shogi and then I’ll be back before ya even got lunch done,”  

“Promise?”  

Okita sighed. The look Ryoma gave him had him hesitating to move for the door. Whatever they had going on now was starting to grow into something more. Since his talk with the old man, he’d tried to be there for Ryoma more, opting to help him cook and clean, spending more time talking, even finding himself getting kissed stupid multiple times a day. Sleeping had become an activity for them to do together, their futons always pushed together, and they always found their way into one another’s arms. But they never labeled it, they never discussed the jealousy beyond poking fun, and Okita hadn’t felt comfortable enough yet to tell him everything about his life, his Nenja, what it was like to grow up as a Wakashu. He knew Ryoma suspected some things, but it was like they both didn’t want to pop the bubble around them. Things were fine right now. There was no reason to ruin them.  

Okita smiled, grabbing Ryoma’s hand to give it a squeeze. “Promise. I’ll even make it just one game. He’ll understand,”  

That got the dancing samurai to perk up and he squeezed his hand back, pulling him over to him for a quick kiss to his lips. “Go on then. I’ll be here,”   

Okita grinned and stepped out of the house with a wave, bounding off into the snow. He headed to Yamada’s home, passing by kids slipping and sliding and women carrying baskets of produce in from Kyo. He slipped through the gate of his home, slowing his pace as he walked up the silent steps to his front door. Normally he’d be outside, or the door would be cracked in invitation, but the home was closed up and strangely silent. The Mad Doh frowned, walking around the outside to see if he was perhaps in the garden, but all there was were the dead remains of flowers waiting for spring.  

With a worried frown, Okita returned to the front, knocking on the wood of the door. “Yamada-han? It’s Okita Soji! Ya home?” He called out, only hearing the shouts and playful screams of the nearby children.  

Testing the door, it slid open with ease, the inside of the home as silent as the decayed garden outside. Stepping in, he slipped his boots off and padded inside, taking in the home’s quiet, nearly empty state. The bonsai were still in the corner, the stove was cold and untouched, while the center garden was equally quiet and eerie. Okita wandered around through the halls, finding the large bathing room and another sitting room. A dusty kotatsu sat in the center, with a small shrine and old, faded photos sitting in the corner. A woman’s face stared forward, beside her, the younger visage of Yamada. The incense burner in the shrine sat empty and untouched, indicating that the old man hadn’t been in there all morning.   

With a sigh, Okita scratched the back of his head and continued on, sliding open the connecting door leading to another hallway that rounded around until he found a half-cracked door. He slid it open, the dark space hard to see inside. He stepped forward, finding the old man in bed and with a heavy sigh and a smile, he knelt beside him and touched his shoulder.  

---

Okita had been keeping his promises when he left the house, but Ryoma found himself standing outside, shivering, wondering why he hadn’t returned for lunch.  

The village had grown quiet, with most of the kids having been ushered inside, and he couldn’t see a single person passing by. The dancing samurai frowned, taking a deep breath. He had either gotten lost in conversation with the old man, or he’d completely forgotten he had lunch waiting for him.  

Thinking about it, Okita had been acting oddly. Well, he always acted odd, but it was almost like he was holding something back. He never had been one to really bite his tongue, and he was always quick to throw a quip or say something crude, funny, maybe even something profound, but whenever Ryoma had asked him, whenever he tried to look deeper, he’d shut him out. Prying about his Nenja, learning who Goro was beyond what he had shared about Genzaburo and who they were before the night his pops died, had yielded nothing. It was like Okita was locking it all away, keeping hidden something he didn’t think Ryoma was ready to see. As if he would judge him for it, maybe even hate him.  

As if he could hate a man for doing what he wanted or needed to.   

Wandering out into the street, he quickly spotted a crowd of people around Yamada’s home. Ryoma narrowed his eyes, watching as what appeared to be a few men and a physician exit the property, holding something covered in a white sheet, hidden from sight. He wandered over, seeing Haruka and Yuta nearby, the former gripping the boy’s arm tight.   

“What happened?” Ryoma bent down, asking quietly, which made Haruka jump slightly.   

“Ah! Uncle Hajime! You scared me…” she whined, shaking her head. “I don’t know…We came out when we saw people rushing over, and then someone went to town to find the doctor,”  

“Have you seen Okita?”  

“The others were saying he was in the house. We haven’t seen him come out though,” Yuta shook his head.   

The samurai nodded and put a hand on Yuta’s shoulder, making him jolt slightly. “Do you mind taking care of Haruka for me for the rest of the day? I have a feeling Okita is going to need some…attention,”  

“My parents will be fine with it. We have the space, and…she can stay the night. I’ll keep her safe, I promise,”  

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, the intention somewhere between reassuring and intimidating, Ryoma smiled. “Thank you,”  

Pushing past the people as the doctor and the volunteers seemed to strap what Ryoma could only assume was the body of the old man to a wagon, he walked up the cold and grey garden to the house. Letting himself inside, the home that he imagined was once full of life was at a standstill. Yamada’s possible final moments were frozen in time, from unwashed dishes and linens, to the last of his preserves and jars left out, it was like he had full intention to continue on with life as it was, but the Gods had other plans.   

At the center of the home was an open garden, a small pond surrounded by rocks and a frigid maple sat as center pieces. Across the way, seemingly having accessed the garden from another hallway, sat Okita, staring at the pond as he sat there, motionless and pale. Beside him was a bucket, and Ryoma could only imagine that he wasn’t feeling too hungry anymore.  

He slid open the door, walking across the garden to the Mad Dog and knelt in front of him. He blinked his singular eye and frowned down at him, as if he just realized he was there.  

“Oh…Ryoma-chan…”  

“Nii-san…Goro…” he placed a hand on his knee, and he watched the man before him flinch.   

“What…what are ya even doin’ here?”  

“I came looking for you,” Ryoma frowned. “What happened?”  

“He didn’t answer the door. Thought he was just…out or busy…sleepin’…” Okita‘s expression grew almost distressed, and he shook his head, looking away. “Think I’m gonna be sick again…So fuckin’ stupid…Spend my whole damn life killin’ but then…”  

“Seeing someone in a natural state of death can be…jarring. And I can only imagine how you feel, considering Gen-san—“  

“Don’t say his name,”  

“Huh?”  

Before Okita could even answer he was turning to the bucket to empty his stomach. Ryoma winced, realizing that at this point, it wasn’t a good idea to mention anyone they personally knew. Not Gen-san, not Todo, not Yamada. It was a strong reaction for mentioning a dead person, but he could only really imagine that the trauma surrounding it was what was getting to the Mad Dog. This was a man who could split a man from groin to neck no problem, who walked around covered in blood, who instilled fear into the hearts of men, but the moment it came to a cold, frigid, lifeless form, he was down and out.  

Would he ever tell him why? Was it just because of how they found Inoue, bloated, blue and floating in the river? Or did Okita have a more deeply rooted trauma from seeing the dead?  

Now that Ryoma thought about it, he never did stick around or take in his work. Okita had always just sliced and diced and wiped his hands of it.   

“Please…please don’t say his name again…” It was almost childish how he pleaded, like a boy tortured, and Ryoma simply stood and helped the man up to his feet.  

“Come on. Let’s go home,”   

The Mad Dog was more like a Kicked Dog as they walked home. The crowd had dispersed, the body taken away, leaving a hole in the village where old man Yamada had been. There would be no more small talk about the samurai days, no more handing out candy to the kids or his smiling face waving at everyone as they passed his home. It had gone from a cold winter to a depressing one in an instant, and all because it was his time to leave this planet. Ryoma didn’t like how it made Okita feel. He’d been alone for a year, traveling, looking for some purpose and the first friend he made in this village was now dead. The roots he planted were shriveled and seeking sustenance and warmth, and now it was the samurai’s chance to try to make him feel like it wasn’t all for not.  

He still had him. He just had to be shown that.  

“I made lunch, though I’m sure you’re not hungry,” Ryoma knelt down, helping Okita out of his boots. “Which is fine. It will stay warm. How about a bath?”  

“Bath sounds kinda nice…”  

He smiled up at him. “It does…I’ll draw one for you. You just go lay down and wait. I’ll let you know when it’s warm,”  

Dazed, Okita went to their small stove and laid down right there, no extra pillow or blanket. He stared up at the ceiling silently, leaving Ryoma to rush for a bucket. Filling the tub and heating it was always a long task, but it would at least give them time to process everything. Death was different when it was someone you cared for, or an innocent, versus bandits and ronin, soldiers, other samurai. They embodied death, embraced it, welcomed it even, knowing that when in battle it could be your time to go with just a simple miss step or improper footing. Maybe Okita didn’t enjoy the destruction of it as much as he said he did. When faced with so much of it, had he become soft or was he always soft?  

Ryoma wanted to know. He wanted to know everything.  

With the tub filled and the fire stoked, he rubbed his hands together to warm them as he returned to Okita’s side. Sitting down, they waited in silence, until finally the Mad Dog spoke.  

“Seein’ him like that…cold…lifeless…I…I was just reminded of my mother,” he whispered, closing his eye. “Kinda stupid…It’s okay t’ laugh. Goro misses his mama, what a baby…”  

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Ryoma shook his head and watched Okita roll onto his side to look at him. “I lost both my parents, and my pops. I’m…still young. I still wish they were here. It hasn’t even really been that long,”  

“No…s’pose it hasn’t. I was like…eight or nine when she died. Ain’t had a father, didn’t have anyone. She was it. When she passed…and I found her…that’s what this felt like. Like findin’ her all over again,”  

“I understand that,”  

“It’s just dumb t’ sit here and realize that maybe I saw the old man as a father. It ain’t like I knew what it was like t’ have one,”  

“What about—“  

“We weren’t like that. Gen-San…was…not my father. He was my master. It was different,”  

“How? A master could be a father,”  

“It just was, Ryoma-chan. I ain’t wanna talk ‘bout him. I still see his damn body floatin’ in the water and I just—“  

“It’s fine…I understand,”  

Okita snorted, a faint smile on his face. “No…ya don’t, but that’s okay…”  

Ryoma watched him shiver and then sniffle, wiping at his single eye before he sat up. There was a lot there, bubbling at the surface. He wanted to reach in, yank it all out and unravel what was hurting him, but all this was doing was making him feel worse. With a heavy sigh, he stood, scratching the back of his head.  

“I’m not sure how to help…except that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll do anything to see you smile,”  

Okita blinked up at him and a smile tugged at his lips. “Well aren’t ya a sweetheart…Listen…just havin’ ya here is enough. I’ll get over it. I always do,”  

“I’ll learn how to play Shogi with you. Then you won’t get bored,”  

“I can teach ya Mahjong too,”  

“Okay, but my clothes are staying on,”  

“Bah, yer no fun,”  

He chuckled and motioned to the bathing room. “Come on. Let’s see if the water is hot yet,”  

It was just starting to steam inside, the water nearing its perfect state. Okita opened the outside door and quickly washed his mouth out while Ryoma rummaged around for some sort of nice smelling salt or soap that Haruka may have hidden. She always made her own baths smell wonderful, and Ryoma was kind of jealous that she kept hiding the good stuff, making the two men have regular baths.   

With a smile, he found a jar hidden behind a pile of towels, opening it to find salt and lavender hidden inside. Tossing a handful of the stuff into the water, he tucked it away like he had never touched it and motioned to the scented bath when Okita returned.  

“I made it smell nice,”  

“Well, well, looks like I’m gettin’ pampered today,” Okita smiled, letting Ryoma approach and start untying his clothes.  

“Anything to help,” he said, pulling his haori off first, then working on his Hakama. “I’ll even scrub your hair,”  

“Ahh…even better than gettin’ a bath in Gion,”  

“Do the male courtesans do anything like this usually?”  

“Nah, they kinda just get it over with. I’d always see the ladies when I wanted someone t’ pet my head and call me a good boy,”  

Ryoma gave him a look and Okita laughed, shaking his hair out of its tie. “I’m kiddin’. I have no idea. I didn’t really visit until I left, and it was like…twice?”  

“Had me wondering…”  

“What? If I secretly liked women too?”  

“Maybe?!”  

“Nah, dressin’ as a woman is more fun…”  

“Huh?!”  

“Nothin’. Lather me up?” Okita sat down, naked, on the washing stool, leaving Ryoma perplexed for a moment before he gave him a pre-wash.  

He gently poured water over the Mad Dog, scrubbing at his scalp and watching the grime wash away. He seemed to be enjoying himself, as each time he scratched at his head or behind his ear, almost like a real dog, Okita would hum in approval and move into his hand. Did he crave this pampering, this love through physical intimate gestures?   

“There, hop in,” Ryoma murmured, helping him up and into the tub.   

Ryoma pulled the stool over and sat beside him as he settled into the steaming water, taking a deep breath and letting the scent of lavender hit his nose. The two of them sat there quietly, Okita finally letting his shoulders relax as they sat in that comfortable silence. With a sigh, he pulled his eye patch off, vulnerable, completely naked, and glanced at the samurai.  

“Mind washin’ my back?”  

“Not at all,”  

He waited for him to move, presenting his back to him as he pulled his hair over his shoulder. Ryoma dipped the cloth into the hot water and started at his neck, scrubbing behind his ears and then down his shoulders, meticulous and careful.   

“I’m sorry,”  

“For what?” Ryoma hummed, running the cloth down the center of his back.   

“Fer makin’ ya worry,”  

“It’s not your fault,” He shook his head. “And before you say it, I’m not mad either. I’m just glad you’re mostly okay,”  

“Heh…yeah…mostly…” Okita chuckled and leaned forward in the tub, exposing more of his back.  

It was almost like he was enticing him, showing off his well-toned body. Ryoma found his eyes grazing over every inch of flesh. From behind, like this, he was almost womanly, with the way his spine dipped, and how his waist cut in. Okita was incredibly fit, muscular and toned, his shoulders not too broad, while his chest and abs were far more defined than his own. When he dressed up, you’d never know, and his mind wandered as he dropped the cloth to drag his fingers down his back.   

What would he look like dressed in the finest silk? The most intricate patterns? The image in his mind made him swallow thickly and he ran his fingers back up his spine to watch him shiver.  

“Ryoma-chan?”  

“Hm?”  

“Thank you,”  

He stilled his hand, swallowing. “For what?”  

“Just…bein’ there,” He looked over his shoulder, and the samurai wasn’t sure if it was water dripping down his face or tears, but the sight of him like this made something burn within him.  

He leaned over, tilting his head up by his chin before kissing him. Okita responded quickly, meeting each movement of his lips with his own, sucking his top lip as Ryoma sucked his bottom lip. Their tongues touched, sliding over one another as their kiss deepened, his hand cupping Okita’s cheek and rubbing just under the scar of his socket. Moaning softly, the Mad Dog grabbed the front of his kimono as the samurai slid his other hand down his side to trace over his ribs.   

Pulling away, his eyes fell to Okita’s reddened, bruised lips. Plump and enticing, Ryoma felt a stir below his Obi and licked his own lips.  

“I’m going get the futon out…You should relax…” He murmured, fingers dragging down Okita’s arm. He took his hand, pulling it to his lips, and kissed the tips of his fingers. “When you’re ready…I’ll be waiting,”  

From the way the Mad Dog looked at him, his single eye wide and watching, his subtle need had been picked up. He nodded and Ryoma gave one more kiss to his knuckles before letting his hand go. Exiting the bathroom, he shut the door and then stood there, mind nearly going blank.  

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt like he might throw up. It felt like this the first time he slept with Oryo too. She had no issue getting naked that night, and he had no problem performing, but it wasn’t as exciting. He remembered how she rode him, how his hands sat on her hips, but the thumping in his chest just wasn’t the same. He didn’t feel nervous, or anxiety ridden. He didn’t feel like he might fuck up. No, with her it felt like going through the motions.  

With Okita it felt like he was taking the biggest step of his life.  

Nearly running to the corner of the room, Ryoma pulled out their futons and placed them together. The pillows were put towards the middle while both blankets were set to overlap. He wanted him comfortable and scanned the room for anything else he could put there, almost like he was building a nest, not a bed.   

“Don’t be stupid…” Ryoma slapped his cheeks then shook out his arms. “It’s not that different,”  

Then he stood there, eyes widening. He was making assumptions. What if Okita wanted to be on top? What if he wasn’t a bottom? Would he be offended that Ryoma was implying that he’d be taken by him? No, he wasn’t like that. He’d probably laugh if anything. Biting his lip, he looked around and then snapped his fingers, opening the cabinet and grabbing a box from within.   

Inside was a bottle of clove oil and some toys that he’d had for some time. It was common, totally not embarrassing, and absolutely normal, but now it just felt like he was being childish about it. He was twenty years old and about to entice sex out of a man a couple years his senior. By all means he should be the one receiving him, but all signs pointed to Okita enjoying being the one below, receiving all the attention. Ryoma wanted this to be perfect.  

Removing the bottle of oil from the box, he put everything else away and stood there like an idiot until he heard the door to the bath open. Turning around, he tossed the bottle on the futon and felt the goofiest smile pull at his lips. Okita stepped out, kimono back on but loose, barely held up by the Obi he had barely tied. His hair fell around his face, shaping him so differently from his usual updo. He looked slightly refreshed, and a little nervous, but as his eye drifted to the futon and the oil waiting behind the samurai, he snorted and offered a smirk.  

“Eager?”  

“A little,”  

“At least yer honest,” he said, tucking a lot of hair behind his ear.   

The Mad Dog carefully approached, his fingers twitching, and Ryoma stepped forward, sliding his hand around his waist to pull him in. It was like second nature then, with Okita wrapping his arms around his neck, his own hands sliding around his waist to keep him flush against his chest. Their lips met once more, both of them wasting little time devouring each other’s soft moans and sighs. He could feel Okita’s fingers in his hair, finding the leather cord of his hair tie and pulling on it, letting dark brown locks fall loose. The Mad Dog chuckled into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. They pulled away for a breath, and Ryoma swallowed.  

“Do you really want this?”  

“Gettin’ cold feet now?”  

“N-no! I just…you’ve been distant…Sort of…I guess? I just…I don’t want to mess this up…” The samurai huffed. “I don’t want anyone else to have you,”  

“Heh, and the truth comes out. If I didn’t want this, Ryoma-chan…I never would’ve let ya kiss me all those weeks back,” Okita tilted his head slightly. “I don’t belong t’ anyone…not anymore. This is all I got, and I’m givin’ it t’ ya,”  

A gift, from Okita to him. A piece of himself, given in a moment of vulnerability. Ryoma felt a swell of joy in that, seeing the Mad Dog, somber, wanting, giving, hanging off of him, his fingers twirling in his hair. It was ego boosting, enlightening, and he could feel their souls transcending beyond what they already were. Together. They’d be together. Entwined as one, finding comfort in one another. Ryoma wanting nothing more than to be needed, and Okita needing him desperately.  

With a smile, he held him close and dipped his head to kiss him again.   

“I promise to make it all alright…nii-san,”  

Chapter 12: Give and Take and Take and Take

Notes:

next week it's back to just friday uploads! thank you guys for reading<3

They tumbled to the futon, all limbs and grunting laughter. Ryoma pushed himself up onto his hands, the sight before him immediately burned into his mind as the single most enticing image he could ever imagine. Okita, arms above him, his hair every which way and the cheekiest smile on his face. The Mad Dog laughed and pushed at his face, shaking his head.   

“Always starin’,”  

“It’s because you’re beautiful,”  

“Bah…shut up and kiss me,”  

As if he could say no to that.  

He couldn’t say no to him at all.   

Not anymore.  

He leaned down, pressing his lips to his. Okita’s hands found their way back into his hair, holding him close as his legs wrapped around him. Ryoma cursed himself for not removing his own clothes sooner, but he didn’t waste any time in untying his kimono and Hakama now. He distracted the Mad Dog beneath him with kisses to his face, his empty socket and neck. Every kiss was met with a hum of encouragement, his hands petting his head lovingly as he pressed his lips to his collar then his chest.   

With a grunt, Ryoma pulled down his fundoshi, release his hardened cock to the warmth of the home, looking up at Okita. His single eye could almost burn a hole through him, his pupil focused on him. It was enough to make him grab the oil from the sheets, pulling the cork free with his teeth. He spat it to the side, sitting up to pour some of it onto his hand and stroke his cock.   

“I already prepped,”  

“Huh?”  

“In the bath? I…whatever. I’m ready. Don’t worry ‘bout all the extra steps,” Okita snorted, and Ryoma shook his head with a chuckle.  

“Whatever you say,”  

Grasping himself and shifting their bodies, Ryoma rubbed the tip of his cock against Okita’s ass before pushing inside. They both moaned loudly, Okita arching and letting his eye slip closed, as Ryoma nearly fell over him. He kept still, both of them panting already. The Mad Dog was warm, tight, like he’d barely prepped himself at all, but maybe he just hadn’t been with someone like this in a lot longer than he’d let on. The thought made a jolt of electricity zip to his groin. Okita, untouched, gifting this to him, all of him, just Ryoma’s.   

Sliding his hands down his sides, feeling the other samurai move his own across his back, legs secure around him, Ryoma placed a kiss to his chin and began to move.   

His thrusts were deep, slow, every movement deliberate. It drew out high pitched, nearly pained grunts from Okita, his fingers gripping his loose kimono. He seemed lost in the motion, letting the samurai have him for all he was, and Ryoma was grateful for it. The tight warmth of his insides enveloped him like a warm blanket, and he moaned softly against his neck, peppering him with little kisses as thanks. His hand pressed into his hip, holding him still as he found an angle that made them both groan in unison, his other hand sliding up to tangle their fingers together, gripping his hand tight.  

“F-fuck…” Okita whined, his breath growing haggard already.  

“Feel so good…nii-san…”  

“A-Anghh!”  

Ryoma paused, feeling Okita shake beneath him and he looked down to see the Mad Dog’s cock spurt out onto his stomach. With abs painted white, sticky and viscous, he threw his arm over his face in what the dancing samurai could only think was embarrassment. He blinked, and then snorted softly, before ducking his head down as his shoulders shook.  

“S-stop laughin’!” Okita whined. “Ain’t funny!”  

“I-it’s kinda funny,” Ryoma lifted his head with a smile, trying to pry Okita’s arm from his face.  

“Ryoma-chan is so cruel…”   

“Everyone has a moment of premature eja—“  

“Don’t say it!…It’s been a while! I’m…I’m emotional!”  

Finally freeing his arm from his face, the samurai smirked down at the Mad Dog and kissed his nose. “I know. Let me take care of you. I don’t care that you’ve cum already. I’ll just have to make you cum again,”  

Okita opened his mouth, brow furrowed in bewilderment and confusion until Ryoma pulled out and flipped him over. He pulled on his hips, forcing him to his knees with his ass in the air. The Mad Dog reached over his head to get the hair out of his face, staring at him with his single eye as he entered him again with a moan.   

There was no time wasted as he thrust into him again, pulling back and finding a more rapid pace. The slap of skin against skin filled the small room, Okita’s pleasured moans complimenting it perfectly, like music to Ryoma’s ears. He groaned each time his cock disappeared inside him, swallowed to the hilt as he stretched him open. He watched the Mad Dog grip the sheets; mouth left agape as he closed his eye again. It was clear that his body was still sensitive after cumming, as each thrust seemed to make him shiver and shout as though his body had more to give. How many dry orgasms could he draw from him? How many times could he get him to cum before he forgot all the sadness that dwelled within him? Ryoma wanted to find out, but even he found his thrusts faltering.  

He panted hard, nails biting into Okita’s hips as he started to pull him back into him with each sharp thrust. His vision blurred, and he draped himself over the Mad Dog, nuzzling the back of his head. He didn’t want to cum just yet, he wanted to enjoy this, draw it out and savor the taste, but it had been a long damn time for him too.   

It just felt so good, swallowed by the heat of his body, and he vaguely wondered if this was all just a fever dream blown in by the cold.   

Okita shook beneath him again, crying out his name, his real name, and that was all Ryoma could take. He pressed in deep, growling out into his neck “Goro!”   

His hips twitched with each pump of cum into the Mad Dog. Hands moved over his pale body, pulling at his kimono, trying to find more skin to touch and claw at. Eventually their bodies stilled, and they knelt there, breathing hard. The musky scent of their sex filled Ryoma’s nose, and he sighed, pressing kisses to whatever skin he could find. Their hearts felt in sync, thumping at the same rhythm as they slowly came down from their sex high.   

With a kiss to the back of Okita’s head, Ryoma slipped out of him, gently letting him lay down as he pulled away. He moved to stand, finding the Mad Dog’s hand grabbing for him, holding him there.  

“Stay,”  

“I was going to clean you up…”  

Okita shook his head. “S’fine…stay…please,”  

He laid back down, settling behind him and wrapping his arms around his body. Okita rolled towards him, sliding his hands into Ryoma’s kimono as he tucked himself in close. They laid in quiet stillness, the samurai slowly dragging his fingers up and down the Mad Dog’s back. The smell of forgotten food wafted around them, the small stove still burning to keep them mostly warm. He watched as Okita’s breathing slowed to sleep, and then finally closed his own eyes, his feelings sitting on the tip of his tongue. He desperately wanted to tell him how he felt, but he kept the confession to himself. He’d tell him in time, when he wasn’t so lost in his own mind. Maybe when all this death had passed, and spring finally blossomed, he’d tell him how much he cared.  

---

Haruka stayed away for longer than he expected, probably suspecting that they were in need of adult time, which the two of them took advantage of. Two days of waking up naked together, sore and exhausted from their sexual exploration finally ended when Okita seemed to finally feel a little better.   

Ryoma cooked him whatever meals he could, from soups to stews, whatever they had on hand. He learned that he enjoyed nikujaga greatly, that he liked his noodles more chewy, and that he really didn’t eat that much to begin with. His favourite fish was salmon, and if he had to choose, he’d drink oolong over green tea. It was the little things, but without them he wouldn’t have worked his way into his heart. They spent their days eating, sleeping, fucking and holding one another, their talks simple and domestic. It seemed like they both had something to say but continued to avoid it, opting to smother the other with kisses when the subject became too real.  

Okita clearly had some trauma, a deep one. Any pressing on the people he was close to was met with the saddest expression before he would just decide to kiss him and roll on top of him. It was an easy way to shut up Ryoma’s questioning. Hard to talk when the man who desired so deeply was riding you harder than a horse.  

It was the dawn of the third day the two had been alone when things began to change. Outside the snow was starting to melt and drip off the trees and rooftops, the crows finally cawing once more as the sun rose a little earlier than usual. The two samurai shivered as they dressed for the day, sitting beside the stove to warm up as rice was started for the day's meals. Outside the dogs barked, footsteps crunching and sloshing in the slush of their yard. A hard knock resounded through the house.  

“Mr. Saito? Mr. Okita?” Someone called in a strange accent, followed by hushed voices before a more native man spoke.  

“Saito-san? Okita-san? Anyone home?”  

Ryoma looked at Okita, who shrugged dramatically. He walked to the door, sliding it open to find two men, one Japanese, the other foreign, his suit wet from the slush.   

“Can we help you?”  

“Are you Saito-san? We’re here to speak with Okita-san about Yamada-sama,” The Japanese man smiled. “I am Fujita-san. This is Johnson-san. He is an American lawyer learning our laws. He will be helping me today.”  

He looked back at Okita and then the two men, stepping aside. “Come inside. I’ll make tea,”  

They both bowed in thanks, the American struggling to take his shoes off as he was told, and then they were both walking towards the stove and Okita. The Mad Dog motioned for them to sit as Ryoma tended to the kettle, choosing green tea to serve. The American set down a briefcase, opening it and shuffling through some papers as Fujita smiled.   

“I was told so much about you, Okita-san. To learn that the man Yamada-sama had been so happy to speak of was none other than the famed First Captain himself! It’s like being in the presence of a legend! And a handsome one at that!”  

Ryoma glanced behind him, watching Okita’s smile almost falter. The comment about his looks had his fingers twitching, and he could see a mask go up immediately. The soft man he’d come to enjoy was not there right now.   

“Bah! Just doin’ what I do! What’s this ‘bout anyway? Do I need t’ make a statement? I didn’t kill ‘im,” Okita snorted. “Don’t do much of that shit anymore,”  

“No no! My apologies! This is about Yamada-sama’s will,” Fujita bowed his head.   

“His what?”  

“His will, Mr. Okita,” Johnson pulled the papers out and handed them to Fujita. “In America, and many other places, when a man dies, he leaves his estate to a first-born son, or daughter as it’s happened rarely where I’m from. Mr. Yamada did not have children though, and thus his estate was about to be returned to the landlords to be resold or demolished. As it turns out, over winter, he changed his will,”  

“Yes. After meeting you, he came to my business and requested a change. He told me he had done a Samurai Adoption and had taken you as his heir,”  

“I’m sorry, what?” Okita blinked, looking between the two men. “A Samurai Adoption?”  

“Yes! It seems that he was quite taken with you. He said that in all his years he never thought he’d partake in the tradition but had taken on the great Okita Soji as his own son. We just have to go over what he’s left to you,” Fujita said, thanking Ryoma as he handed out cups of tea.   

He was trying not to speak, but this was a new level of luck, and he was finding himself silently raging. Ryoma had been adopted the same way, though not given any status or standing when it came to his Pops. His brother had received everything, as he was his true firstborn son. It had been more of a pity adoption. For all the status his Pops had, Ryoma had received nothing, and because he was now known legally as Saito Hajime, he had to build his own wealth. He had nothing. Hell, Okita also had mostly nothing. They were both orphaned men living in the house of a child, a woman even, with not a single bit of land to their name, and here was Okita, lucky dog Okita, now suddenly adopted by a high ranked Samurai.  

It just wasn’t fair.  

He frowned as he sat down. Was he really jealous already? What had gotten into him?  

“Since you are listed as his heir, Yamada-sama has left you…oh…oh wow…” Fujita leaned over to Johnson, pointing at a few things on the paper which had even the American whistling.  

“You’re a lucky man, Mr. Okita. He listed the land title in your name, as well as his banking…his…everything. Everything was left to you,”  

“Excuse me?” Okita laughed nervously. “Everything?”  

“Yes, sir. The house, the land, a chunk of farmland too. You’re one lucky man,”  

“Like he’s born right out of Ebisu’s ass…” Ryoma mumbled as he sipped his tea, and Okita gave him a narrowed, almost hurt look.  

He quickly looked down as Fujita grabbed a couple other papers and Johnson pulled out what Ryoma knew as a pen.   

“We just need you to sign,”  

“Uh…I ain’t exactly well read or…able t’ write,” Okita scratched the back of his head.   

“Just do your best, please,”  

Okita took the pen and paper, looking the former over and holding it like a brush before scribbling what Ryoma assumed was the kanji of his name. He handed it all back, and Fujita scanned it, looking it over as he sipped his tea.  

“Looks good enough! I’m surprised that a well-known samurai as yourself wasn’t taught poetry and writing!”  

“Uh…I grew up in Mibu. Super poor. If not for my luck, I wouldn’t be here right now,” Okita cast his gaze downward. “I’m…uh…very grateful. Thanks, y’know, fer comin’ by. And uh, just a question,”  

“Yes?”  

“When’s the old man’s funeral?”  

“Should be by the end of the week. At the temple in Kyo. He was very devoted. It will be a large ceremony,” Fujita finished his tea. “Well! Shall we, Johnson-san?”  

“We shall, Mr. Fujita. Thank you for your cooperation, and my condolences, Mr. Okita,” The American turned to Ryoma and tipped his hat. “And good day to you, Mr. Saito,”  

Okita turned to Ryoma, smiling slightly. “Can ya believe that? Had no idea he felt that way…”  

“He never mentioned a Samurai Adoption? That’s kind of a big thing. He just gave you…everything. Status, money, land,” Ryoma couldn’t look at him, his chest clenching.  

“All we talked ‘bout was samurai shit, Shogi, maybe some personal stuff, but he never said he wanted t’ gimme his house,” The Mad Dog leaned back on his hands. “A house…I…I’ve never owned a damn thing my whole life. This is insane…”  

“Well, congrats, or whatever,” Ryoma stood, grabbing up their teacups.  

“Who pissed in yer soup? This is fuckin’ cool and yer actin’ like I killed yer cat,”  

“Whatever. Guess this means you’re leaving right?”  

Okita frowned. “What?”  

“You have your own place now. You don’t need us, or me now, do you?”  

“Ryoma-chan—“  

“I mean, I wouldn’t stay with a guy who mooches off a child. You pointed that out earlier this winter, didn’t you?” The samurai glared back at Okita, who hadn’t moved from where he sat.  

“As a joke! What is goin’ on? I didn’t even say anythin’, and yet actin’ like this,”  

Ryoma shook his head. “Why don’t you just pack up and go move into your massive house, fuck whatever men you want and party it up like…like…”  

“Like what?” Okita stood; hands clenched. “Like what, Ryoma-chan? The whore I am? That’s what ya were gonna say? After everythin’, after stayin’ here, teachin’ the kid how t’ defend herself like she was my own family, givin’ myself t’ ya when I had no intention of bein’ with another man again, I’m the fuckin’ whore? The lucky one? The one who gets everythin’ thrown in my lap?”  

“That’s not…I wasn’t… I don’t know, okay?!”  

“Ya don’t know?” The Mad Dog frowned; his lip almost trembling. “So, this is what? Jealousy? Over what? Ya had family, everyone is always sayin’ how great ya are ‘round here, people give a damn ‘bout ya. Ya had the girl, ya got the boy, and yer pissed someone actually cared ‘nuff ‘bout me t’ put me in a will? I didn’t even get that when Gen-san died!”  

“You know what?”  

“What?”  

“Just…go…” Ryoma grabbed his haori, walking to the door to pull his boots on. “When I come back, if there’s anything left…I’ll drop it off,”  

He couldn’t look back; he couldn’t dare look back. His jealousy had boiled over and everything around him was burning. He had nothing, the opinions and love of others didn’t matter. This was it. After all he’d lost too, after stumbling around looking for purpose, to see everything fall into Okita’s lap without any hard work, it was too much. Everything was crashing down, and Ryoma needed to clear his head.   

As he stepped outside into the melting cold, his frozen heart pounding, he heard a sniffle and very quietly, as he began to shut the door, he heard Okita speak.  

“Fuck you, Ryoma,”  

And he deserved it.  

Chapter 13: Bloody Snow

Okita folded each kimono and yukata carefully, stacking them on a piece of cloth to help carry them away. The home wasn’t scrubbed clean, but that was something he could do himself. It wasn’t like this was the first time he had to be on his own. It was probably better this way. He’d lost too many people as it was. He made it a year by himself, he could make it alone for the rest of his life if he had to.   

It was all too good to be true anyway. Here he had been, stupid and hopeful that Ryoma wouldn’t judge him, and there he had been. Judgmental, cruel, stupid and jealous.   

His hands began to shake, and he stopped, shaking them out as he ripped another Kimono from the drawer, folding it horribly. His eye was blurring, and he rubbed at it, throwing the kimono down and tying them all up before tossing it into a pile of his things. Standing, he ran a hand through his bangs and let out a heavy sigh. Behind him, startling slightly, the door to Haruka’s home opened. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and for a moment he thought Ryoma came back, but as he turned around, he found Yuta and Haruka standing there instead.  

“Oh…just ya two,” He murmured and turned away, grabbing up the last of his clothes. “Hajime-chan ain’t here. And I’m gonna be gone soon,”  

“Wait, you’re leaving?!” Haruka ran forward, forgetting to even take off her shoes. “No! Uncle Hajime wouldn’t let you go! There’s enough space. I can make more!”  

“He told me to go. It’s fine. Got the old man’s place. Lucky me, I guess,” Okita shrugged, turning to face her. He forced a smile for her, motioning to his things. “Almost done packin’. I think anyway,”  

“N-no!” She bolted forward, wrapped her arms around him tight.   

He looked down at her, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her in turn. “Hey…Ain’t like I’m leavin’ the whole village. I’m just up the road. Plus, it ain’t like I did much, and ya got Yuta-chan there and Hajime-chan still too. I was just visitin’,”  

“This doesn’t make sense…” Haruka pulled back, looking at Yuta. “We were talking about how Uncle Hajime asked me to stay with him. Said that you needed time alone, that he was going to be with you, and everything would be fine. Why would he tell you to leave?”  

“I guess…a guy's luck just runs out sometimes,”   

“Okita-san, I can help you carry your things,” Yuta offered a smile. “That way if Saito-san returns, Haruka-chan can speak to him,”  

“Yeah! That’s a great idea! Here, let me help you pack. I’ll make sure we don’t miss anything!” She said and started grabbing things up, shoving them into Yuta’s arms.   

“It’s fine if I do. Some things just ain’t important,” Okita shrugged and started gathering up his futon and blanket. Like hell he was going to sleep in a dead man’s bed. He’d done that enough in his life.  

It took a couple trips, and one stubborn walk with Haku, who nearly refused to leave the yard, but he finally got most of everything out of Haruka’s home and into what was now his own. Yamada’s presence was still everywhere, from the bonsai trees to the shrine in the one room near the back of the house, but Okita had all the time in the world now to clean it up, make it his own and then drink and gamble his life away. Sighing, he turned to Yuta as he set down the last of his things, catching sight of Haruka running up the walkway, her arms holding a bundle of swords and a lacquered box.  

“Wait! We forgot these!”  

He sucked in a breath, holding his hands out for the swords he had won and Gen-san’s blades. Holding them all carefully, he set them down and scratched the back of his neck. “Ya can keep the box,”  

“Wait? Really? But Uncle Hajime…I remember he gave this to you,”  

“It’s his. Ain’t anythin’ of mine,”  

“Okay…if you say so…” she frowned, holding it close. “I’ll come by later with something for you to eat, okay? I know you haven’t learned to cook much, and it is kind of my business. I don’t want you to starve,”  

“Ya don’t gotta…”  

“No, she’s right! It is technically her job! Y’know…since she delivers food and stuff. I’ll come with her, keep her safe,” Yuta smiled.  

“And we’ll eat with you too! The first night in a new house should be spent with friends and family,” Haruka said. “I’ll make your favourite, Uncle Soji. We’ll be back,”  

“Thanks…Haruka-chan,” Okita tried to smile, but as the two of them turned away, it faltered, and he shut the door quietly behind them.   

---

The sake wasn’t making it go away.   

Nothing was making it go away.  

It had been a whole damn day, and he still felt like shit.  

He fucked up and there was no going back now. He didn’t want to go home; he didn’t want to face Okita or Haruka. Ryoma didn’t want to face anyone.  

Sitting in the bar, he poured himself another cup of sake and sighed, staring down at his rippling, distorted reflection. This was now two relationships he’d ruined, but he fast tracked the end of this one with Okita. The first time he felt like he really cared about who he was with and not like he was obligated to be someone he wanted, and he turned on him over nothing. He frowned, closing his eyes as he replayed the fight in his head. He was lucky he didn’t get stabbed. Maybe that just showed how much Okita had grown and how much Ryoma hadn’t.  

He always believed that between the two of them Okita was the unhinged one. The one who acted first and thought about it later, the one who didn’t care, the one who was immature and a hairs trigger away from firing. But he was wrong. He was so, so wrong.   

“Fuck…” Ryoma huffed and took the whole cup of sake in one go.   

“Someone’s lookin’ a little beat. How long have ya been drinkin’ alone, Saito?”   

He turned to find Nagakura smiling down at him before the larger man sat across from him. The server came by, and he ordered more sake, much to Ryoma’s disgust, and crossed his arms.   

“Well?”  

“Since this morning. Been a rough one,” The accent was coming out again and he didn’t even care.   

“That bad? Where’s Soji?”  

“I…I don’t know…It’s been…He’s been having a hard time…”  

“What happened?” Nagakura frowned, leaning forward.   

“Old man he’s been playing Shogi with died and he’s been…well, taking it hard. Then we were good, then he got willed the guys house somehow…”  

“Lucky bastard…but damn…Never thought that would happen…”  

“Right? And so I thought…I don’t know what I thought. We had a fight. He’s probably moved in already. I hope he’s happy…”  

“Besides whatever happened with ya two, I’m happy he got somethin’. Between everythin’ in his life, I never thought I’d see the day,” Nagakura shook his head. “It’s been nothin’ but bad luck since his mother died,”  

Ryoma fiddled with his cup, frowning at the large samurai. “What do you mean?”  

“Didn’t he tell ya? His mother was some lower-class courtesan. When she died of cholera, he was pretty much orphaned and a street rat. How he managed t’ survive until he was conscripted is beyond me, but he was lucky ‘nuff that a high ranked samurai…well…liked him enough,”  

“He…mentioned something about that. It didn’t bother me…”  

“It’s just a shame. He was a young boy, desirable, small…”  

Ryoma fiddled with his sake cup, feeling an uncomfortable nervousness rise within him.  

“He didn’t talk ‘bout ‘im much. All he was willin’ t’ say was the day he died was the best day of his life. Not sure how it was when that was also the day he apparently lost his eye,”   

The server returned with Nagakura’s sake and Ryoma grabbed it, pouring them each a cup. He almost called him a whore and after asking him if it had made him uncomfortable, if he saw him as one. How much pain had he gone through to become the swordsman he was now? How much did he have to fight? He was starting to feel sick, but the sake was kind of helping. He needed to know more. He needed to know how he could fix this.  

“Just kinda surprised that ya two are goin’ through somethin’ when last time we saw one another, ya seemed t’ be…well…y’know,” Nagakura sipped his drink, sighing. “I’m just surprised. Thinkin’ ‘bout it, probably the happiest he’d look since Gen-san died,”  

“Yeah…I know that hit him hard,”  

“Losing a master is one thing, but another Nenja? And one ya had plans t’ be with? I remember the old man told me that when all was done with the Bakufu and Shinsengumi, he was gonna buy a house. Said we could all live there as long as things went well. I mean, they didn’t, but the sentiment was nice, I guess,”  

The dancing samurai’s eyes widened. Of course. He’d been so stupid. So much about Okita was shrouded in mystery and it was all right there to uncover. Genzaburo Inoue. The reaction Okita had to his death was beyond just a student losing his master. He lost his Nenja, he lost a lover. A lover who wanted to give him a good life, a better life. What if Okita had every intention of having Ryoma live with him? What if he just didn’t give him the chance to ask?   

“So, getting this house…If say…he had someone he cared for, he’d probably see it as a way to fulfill a dream? To live with someone he loved?” Ryoma asked, his hands shaking.  

“Probably. If things were different, he’d probably already be livin’ his best life in the nicest clothes, not havin’ t’ do a damn thing,” Nagakura chuckled. “I mean, we all joked that he was the ugly one and had t’ take the pretty name, but…Gen-san thought he was beautiful. Told me when he fixed everythin’, Soji would never be hurt again. Thought it was gross at the time, but…shit just ain’t my thing,”  

“I…yeah…right. Listen,” Ryoma stood, fishing through his sleeves for his coin purse. “I’ve got the tab. Don’t worry about paying. Consider it a police bribe or something. I need to go. I need to fix this,”  

“Haw? Ya sure? I ain’t one t’ take bribes, Saito,”  

“Or a gift! Think of it as thanks!” he said as he bolted out the door of the bar.  

“Stay outta trouble!”  

---

Okita sat outside, watching the snow around him melt. The house was quiet and lonely, too big for one person. It was no wonder that Yamada wanted someone to come play Shogi. A second or even third person easily made the encroaching loneliness ease off, but by yourself? It felt like the walls were moving, inch by agonizing inch, trapping you inside with nothing but a broken heart and your own thoughts.   

He had been a fool to think Ryoma would come back and apologize, say he didn’t mean it, want to hear him out. Hell, he hadn’t even had the chance to ask him to come with him, leave behind being Haruka’s keeper and stay with him selfishly. Those few days alone together had been so special, giving him something he hadn’t felt in so long.  

Love.  

At least he was dumb enough to think that’s what it was. Clearly Ryoma was a jealous idiot who believed that Okita didn’t care about anyone but himself and his dumb luck. If this was luck to everyone else, the Mad Dog would hate to see what they found unlucky. A large house, all to himself, with no one to care for, no one to fall in love with. Just himself, forever mending a broken heart, forever fighting demons only he could see. It wasn’t fair. If he could go back, if it would have saved him the heart ache, he never would have signed the damn paper. In fact, he never would have come back to Kyo.  

“Such a fuckin’ idiot…Can’t believe I fell for that…” He mumbled to himself.  

In the distance, the sound of thundering horse hooves broke through the last silence of winter, a sound he hadn’t heard in years. Such noises were attributed to war and battle, and he felt his heart begin to thump hard in his chest as he caught sight of what appeared to be bandits speed through the village and branch off. He waited with bated breath, counting and hoping that he wouldn’t hear what he knew would come next.   

It started as a shout, then a scream, and suddenly the entire village erupted into chaos.   

Villagers spilled out onto the muddy, slush covered paths, screaming as women were grabbed and men were cut down. Some tried to fight back, only to end up beaten down or killed. Children cried and then were silenced, either through death or through being trampled down by horses and men without honor. These were no ronin, they were simply bandits; men looking for coin, sex and a thrill. Okita ran back inside, grabbing his blades and bolting back outside to do what clearly no one else was doing.  

Protecting the masses.  

He shut off, his mind sending him back to when he was Shinsengumi. Protect and kill.   

Running down the path of his new home, a bandit entered his field of view, walking through the gate of his property. The man had no time to react as Okita used the snow to his advantage and slid at him, slicing his blade through his middle. Losing his momentum and stopping, he turned to watch the man grab at his stomach before crumpling, his torso falling separately from his legs. Blood and organs spilled out onto the snow with a sickening, damp sound, staining the ground red. There was no time to dwell on the wetness on his hands, he simply moved on to the next victim.  

The streets were in rampaging chaos and as a woman ran by screaming, he set his single eye on a particularly nasty looking man chasing her. Sticking his foot out, the bandit tripped over him and slammed face first into the mud. As he struggled and flailed about to get up, Okita slammed his blade down into the man’s spine, severing it, ceasing his movements.   

He ripped his blade out, turning in time to block an attack on his blind, left side. Clicking his tongue, he circled his blade, forcing the bandit’s rusty sword down before he punched him hard in the throat. He watched the attacker grab his neck and then slammed his blade through his chest, slicing upwards and spraying himself and the ground with blood. There was no time to think, and he ran off towards Haruka’s home, cutting down whoever stood in his way or tried to attack the villagers running for their life.  

A scream had his blood running cold, and he watched Yuta get thrown out the gate of her home, hitting the ground hard. The air seemed to leave him, and the young man sucked in a harsh breath, clawing at his neck and chest. Following after was a group of men, one dragging Haruka out by her hair. Okita stopped short, his hand shaking. Did Ryoma not come home to her? Had she been all alone the entire time? He couldn’t believe in, and started moving as he watched the young girl reach into her kimono sleeve and brandish the tanto he had given her. In one, swift motion, she stabbed the man holding her in the thigh, forcing him to let her go. She ripped the blade free and then stabbed the bandit again in the arm, going for another stab before a larger man grabbed her wrist and bent it hard. Haruka cried out, dropping the blade as she was back handed. She fell to the ground hard, and Okita pushed his feet to move as the man stood over her with his blade in the air.   

Sliding in, he blocked the downward swing, snarling as the bandit pushed down on his blade, a wild look in his eyes.   

“Found ya!” He cackled and Okita stared up at him with confusion.  

Pushing hard with his blade, he forced the man back from Haruka and Yuta, putting himself between them.   

“Dunno who ya think ya found, but I ain’t know ya. Think I’d remember a fuckin’ ugly thing like ya,” The Mad Dog smirked.   

“How sad, do you perhaps remember me, Okita Soji?” Another man asked, pushing past the bandit.   

Okita’s eyes widened. Before him stood the man he knew as Hito. Tall, long haired and conventionally beautiful, his armor was simple, with a typical warrior's breastplate over an intricately designed kimono and Hakama. Brightly coloured, he stood out from his pack of goons, his hair tied neatly on his head in a ponytail. He chuckled as he approached, hand resting on the hilt of his katana, simple and black at his side.  

“Hito…”  

“Oh, so you do remember me! Excellent. Where the fuck are my swords?!” Hito roared, pulling his blade out swiftly and pointing it at him.   

The Mad Dog didn’t flinch, narrowing his eye. “All this…fer a pair of stolen swords? Swords ya don’t respect?”  

“They were mine fair and square. I killed the man who owned them, and then they were mine,”  

“Then ya shouldn’t have bet them against me in a fuckin’ dice game,” Okita snorted. “T’ think ya got all that beauty, but inside yer as dumb as a door nail and uglier than a rot bog,”  

“And you’re still an eyeless freak pretending to be a beautiful lotus,”  

“I like t’ think I’m more of a spider lily,”  

“So as pretty as a corpse?”  

“Ha! But still pretty nonetheless!” Okita cackled, making Hito growl and spit on the ground in frustration.  

Hito glanced at a couple of the men around and motioned to the houses. “Check every damn house. Find the swords, and if anyone tries to stop you…kill them,”  

Okita grit his teeth as the bandits began to spread out, still trying to keep himself between Haruka and Yuta. He could hear her shuffling slightly behind him, like she was inching closer to the boy she liked, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her to quit moving. Who knew what these men were capable of and if they were anything like what he’d seen in his travels, he didn’t want them touching her.  

“You know, I’m very surprised I found you here…I thought for sure you’d still be swindling and cheating your way through life,” Hiro smirked.   

“Well, guess ya don’t know me as well as ya think ya do. Which is not at all,” Okita rolled his eye.  

Behind him, Haruka seemed to have made it to Yuta, which had Hito’s instant attention. He snapped his fingers, one of the men that hadn’t gone too far storming over to her. He grabbed her by her kimono, kicking Yuta hard in the ribs, making him gasp. She screamed, sobbing as the man kicked the boy again. Okita turned, ready to strike, but found Hito’s blade at his throat.  

“Not so fast, hero,”  

“Ya think way too highly of me,”  

“We found them!” shouted a pair of bandits, ugly and mud covered.   

Okita glanced their way, his eye widening as he noted that they not only found the blades he’d won, but Gen-san’s swords and gauntlets as well. He breathed in sharply, knowing that if he moved, he was dead, but with his master and Nenja’s swords being taken, Haruka in danger, there wasn’t time to think about himself.   

He swung his blade up, knocking Hito’s katana away from his face. Pulling his tanto, he threw it hard at the man holding Haruka, the pointed end hitting him in the face and stabbing into his eye. The bandit screeched and dropped her, allowing her to scramble for Yuta as Okita turned his attention on the two men who had raided his new home. He bolted for them, sword at the ready, and slashed at the first one who got in his way, forcing him to drop Gen-san’s swords. As the bandit went for his own blade, he stabbed at him, piercing through his gut and slicing sideways. A near geiser of blood erupted from his midsection, painting the other man in red, and as he swung around, he gasped.  

Hito stood close to him; his arm stretched out towards his body. He smirked and the Mad Dog stared at him quizzically as the sound of pounding footsteps echoed somewhere behind.  

“Okita!”  

That voice sounded so familiar, but it sounded so far away. It all was starting to get drowned out with how hard his heart was thumping, the blood in his veins so hard to ignore as it pumped loudly in his ears. The Mad Dog felt a pang of pain as Hito twisted his wrist and he groaned, croaking slightly as he looked down to find the hilt of his sword pressed right to his stomach.   

As everything grew louder and more muffled in his ears, that same voice screaming his name, his abdomen started to feel warm. His kimono grew red with blood, and Hito ripped the blade from his body. Okita staggered, grasping at the wound as the bandits walked past him, Haruka’s desperate pleas for help drowned out by the sound of clanking blades. And then everything began to blur, his eye getting dark and hazy before he finally fell forward. Strong hands grabbed at him, but all he could focus on was the blood and snow racing towards him.  

Chapter 14: Am I Sleeping or Am I Dead?

Notes:

And we are now in Spring! just in time for Winter for us in the northern hemisphere lol Spring is about renewal and healing, growth and strength. Ryoma and Okita have a lot to learn and grow from in this season, and I can't wait to share the next section of chapters. Thank you for all the continued support, kudos, comments and bookmarks! And feel free to bug me on all socials @ deathmothking <3

Okita awoke to the sound of waves. 

He blinked his eyes open, staring up at a swirling, purple sky. Looming above, an eclipsed moon gazed down on him, and he sat up, taking in his surroundings. He was on a beach, the sand smooth and nearly white beneath him. In the water were towering spires of rocks, almost like a gate before him, with the moon nestled between them. Looking down at himself, he touched his abdomen and frowned, finding no blood from where Hiro had stabbed him.  

Either this was a dream, or he was really dead. 

Had his luck run out already?  

He looked around, his eyes catching sight of a large wolf dragging itself across the sand before collapsing just short of the water. It seemed to crawl a little, and then its fur slipped from its skin, leaving a dark, barely human shape behind. Strings fell from its chest, tangled and worn, and it pulled on them before a wave crashed onto the beach and it disappeared. Okita checked his own chest, finding no such strings attached to himself, and sighed.  

He stood with a grunt and looked behind him, finding some formless masses lying or sitting in the sand, and then set his gaze on the water. Did he try to run towards the beach, or did he try his luck swimming? He took one step towards the waves and then stopped, a strange feeling washing over him, like someone was holding him back. Okita hummed to himself and turned away from the moon, pushing his way up the beach. The sand stuck to his feet like molasses, almost trying to slow him down, but like hell he was taking his chances with the water. If this led nowhere then too bad, but something screamed in his head that that wasn’t the way he wanted to go. Those waves looked calm and relaxing, crashing behind him, but even he knew how easily the water could deceive. 

Look at this one…young and ripe… 

We can make a soldier out of you… 

Lay down…I’ll show you how it means to be a man… 

Your mother was a whore, but you could achieve more… 

Okita shook his head, the beach suddenly gaining a steep incline. He climbed up, the sand falling away under his hands and feet as the whispering voices grew around him. 

One day…we’ll live as free men…together… 

I care for you…it’s why I have to do this… 

Don’t treat him with disdain, Goro…I took everything from him…and one day he may figure that out and seek revenge… 

Don’t cry for me…We all have to repent for our sins… 

When I die…Goro…Soji…seek him out…live a better life… 

His eye burned as he grappled his way up and threw himself over the sand bank and into waiting darkness.  

Okita screamed as he fell into nothingness, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for impact, but it never came. Opening his eyes revealed nothing but black and he felt his heart pound hard in his chest. In the distance, above him, were two yellow lights, bobbing and weaving towards him from the dark. His heart was racing, and he felt sick to his stomach, but nothing would come up. It sat in his throat, making it hard to breathe, and suddenly the lights became eyes, eyes of a hannya.  

Her golden teeth were on display, lips pulled back in either a smile or a threat display, he couldn’t tell the difference. Her horns sat at the forefront of her head, protruding out like her golden tusks. Wild, long black hair whirled around her white, thin body, her snake tail winding around the dark, Okita’s only light source. 

“Hello, Soji. It’s been so, so long,” She hissed, and he opened his mouth to scream again. 

Her finger pressed against his lips, silencing him with a soft hush.  

“There’s no reason t’ fear me, Soji-chaaaan~” she cooed as something rumbled from within the dark.  

“Hannya, stop playing with your food,” 

“Bah! Shut up, ya lazy dragon!” She snarled at the dark and the dragon chuckled. 

“He’s not dead yet, and you’re already toying with him,” 

“Someone has t’!” 

“I must be dreamin’…This is fuckin’ insane…” Okita rubbed at his single eye and shook his head.  

“You broke him,” 

“Me?! Yer the one who caught him ‘fore he could go back!” 

“Fine, I’ll just drop him,” 

“W-wait!” 

And he was falling again. 

---

Light slowly illuminated the room around him, waking the Mad Dog from his slumber. It was a dream. Or a nightmare. He wasn’t too sure yet, but what he was sure of was the pain that ripped through his body as he laid prone in bed.  

Okita breathed hard, nearly panting as he gripped his stomach and sat up with a cry of pain. It ripped through him like a knife, and that alone made him realize that it hadn’t been a dream. Hito had stabbed him. Ran him right through. Was Haruka okay? What about Yuta? And who had called out to him? Too many questions and not enough answers. He couldn’t even figure out how he ended up back in what he supposed was now his house. 

Struggling to get to his feet, he stumbled to a nearby wall, sliding open the door to the main area, finding it clean, dust free and smelling of fresh flowers. Where the bonsai had sat in the corner were now now littered with jars of flowers, the bonsai trees still tucked within them. The kitchen looked used, with the fire and stove smoking like they’d been used recently. Tucked away near the back door leading to the outside garden was a futon and blanket. Someone was staying there to care for him, but he couldn’t imagine who that would be. Ryoma had made his stance on him clear, so maybe Haruka was alright, and she was the one staying with him.  

He shuffled into the open space, frowning as he noticed that the snow that had been outside had nearly melted away completely, and the trees were starting to look green. Bile rose from his stomach, and he made his way to the center garden, looking out to see a blue, clear sky, and the tree inside was looking more alive than it had before. 

Was it spring already? How long had he been lying there? 

The sound of crunching gravel filled his ears, and he turned to look at the front door, watching as it slid open. His heart started beating hard enough he was sure it would burst from his chest and the adrenaline that pumped through him spurred him forward to the kitchen. Grabbing a pan, he reared his arm back and threw it hard, watching it arch through the air and slam into the poor person walking through the door. It hit them square in the face, and they cursed, dropping a bag of groceries. 

“Ow! What the—nii-san…” Ryoma stood there, a drop of blood falling from his nose to the floor.  

They stared at one another for a long moment, and the moment Ryoma took a step inside, Okita grabbed the knife from the cutting block, pointing it at him. 

“What the fuck are ya doin’ here?”  

“Nii-san…I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve been staying here in the living area while you’ve been unconscious,” Ryoma put his hands up, leaving the groceries by the door as he stepped forward. “I didn’t get there in time…and I’m so sorry…but I’m so damn thankful that Haruka is okay and you’re still alive,” 

“Real rich comin’ from someone who thinks I’m just some whore. What? Ya think I’m gonna put out fer ya since ya stayed? That I just give it t’ any man who looks in my direction?!” Okita snarled, gripping his abdomen tighter as he started to hunch. 

“No! I just want you to be okay. If after you heal, you want nothing to do with me, then fine, but you need to put the knife down, Goro,” 

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that! Gah!” He dropped the knife as a sharp pain sliced through him, staggering and falling to his knee.  

Ryoma moved quickly, wrapping his arm around his shoulder to help him stand back up. Okita tried to push him away, his breath quickening as the pain began to rise. His vision started to blur slightly, and he stumbled again, feeling Ryoma grab him tighter. 

“Let me go…” 

“No,” 

“Why? What do ya even gain? Ya just think I’m some lucky whore, Ryoma-chan. I ain’t shit t’ ya…” Okita snarled. 

“That’s not true…and I’ll do what I can to prove that to you. So can you just stop? You need to lay down or you’ll—“ 

The Mad Dog coughed, and then coughed again, gagging hard. He brought his sleeve to his mouth, continuing to cough as Ryoma stared at him in near horror, his eyes flicking down. Okita pulled the sleeve away, blood splattered over the fabric. His hand shook and he looked down to find blood seeping through his clothes, spreading across his middle. The dancing samurai cursed and grabbed him up as he started to fall forward again and his whole world darkened again. 

---

It continued like this. Each day he’d wake up and Ryoma would be there. 

He’d fuss over him, Okita would yell, and then he’d shuffle away, silent and broken. It hurt. It all just hurt. He didn’t want to be mad, he didn’t want to hate him, but he just felt like he couldn’t trust him.  

Okita gave him something he’d only willingly gave one other man. A man now dead and rotting and so far away. The mere thought of him had him unable to sleep some nights and the nights he could sleep were plagued by the yellow eyes of the hannya. Was that what he was now? A man scorned? A snake in human skin? How could Ryoma stomach to be near him when all he did was spit vitriol at him when he tried to change his bandages or give him medicine for the pain? He wouldn’t even eat his food.  

It wasn’t like he was being completely stubborn, but all the Mad Dog could think of when he looked at Ryoma was the nights they shared together and then how he looked at him with such hatred. And for what? His petty jealousy? 

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, he listened to Ryoma clean up around him, sweeping the floors and tending to the garden. Sometimes he’d find his eye drawn to the sight of him and then he’d force himself to look away.  

“Nii-san?” 

“What?” Okita sighed, looking up to see Ryoma standing there.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat something?” 

“Yeah…m’fine,” 

The samurai sighed, stepping into his room and sitting down beside him. He fiddled with his hands and then took a deep breath, as if gearing himself up for whatever he was going to say. 

“You need to eat…You need to…try,” 

“Can’t even look at ya and ya want me to’ eat yer damn food?” 

Ryoma dropped his gaze to the floor and Okita glanced at him, frowning. He looked like a kicked dog sitting there, chewing the inside of his lip like it would sustain him.  

“I’m sorry,” 

“Haw?” 

“For what I said. And what I didn’t say. I was…jealous? You’re surrounded by this luck, and I just…I was afraid,” 

“Afraid? What for?” 

“That you were going to leave me,” 

Okita narrowed his eyes at him. “Leave ya?” 

“I didn’t know if you were going to pack up and leave. Despite everything, I just…I don’t know what I thought. I thought you’d choose Haruka over me,” 

“Weird,” 

“I also thought that…when you were gifted the house that that was that. That I was just there to make the pain go away and then…” 

“I’d just what? Up and leave?” Okita whispered. “Ya didn’t even give me a damn chance t’ speak when those guys left. What the hell were ya thinkin’?” 

“I don’t know…I was lost in my own stupid head…” 

“Yeah, no shit,” 

“But then…when I left…I…” Ryoma bit his lip and looked away. “I felt like shit. Just knowing I fucked things up so bad was killing me, and even worse, Nagakura showed up and told me about you—“ 

“What?” Okita pushed himself up with a pained gasp. “Told ya what ‘bout me?” 

“He told me about Gen-san,” 

It was like winter blew back into the room. It was cold and quiet, Ryoma’s eyes wet and glossy, but Okita could hardly pay attention. Nagakura told him about Gen-san? About what they were? 

“What the fuck did he tell ya?” He whispered, quiet, barely audible.  

“That you were together…that he was kind of like a Nenja to you or was…I…I don’t know. He said…that he made promises and then when I showed up it all went up in flames,” 

“Please stop,” 

“No, hear me out, please,” Ryoma reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing tight when he tried to pull his hand away. “I didn’t realize that when you went traveling, that you were mourning. I didn’t realize that when you took me to his grave that you were saying goodbye. And I didn’t even put together that your excitement for this place was because you would have asked me to live with you. I want to make up for all of that. Whatever it takes, I’ll do anything,” 

Okita blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the emotions that were welling up inside of him. He knew about everything then. No secrets lay between them and now Ryoma was begging for a chance when all he wanted to do was run away. Or stab him. Either would be great, but instead he felt something wet drip down his face, and he touched his cheek, finding tears on his fingers. 

“Goro…” 

“Don’t…just…don’t…Yer a real fuckin’ ass…” he sniffled and turned away, his shoulders beginning to shake.  

It didn’t matter how much he hurt, physically or mentally. Ryoma being there, making him face something he didn’t really feel ready to; after looking death in the eye, he just couldn’t take it. The pain in his abdomen felt like nothing as he let himself cry, really cry, for Inoue, for Ryoma, for himself. As he sat there, grief stricken, he felt arms slide around him and pull him in, the familiar scent of a dancing samurai assaulting his nose. He didn’t want to be held, it felt wrong, he didn’t really deserve it, but damn did it feel good. He turned, pressing his wet face into Ryoma’s shoulder. 

“Whatever you want….whatever you need…I’ll do it. That’s a promise,” he heard Ryoma whisper as he pressed his lips and nose to the top of his head. 

Chapter 15: House Husband

Notes:

I mentioned it on bluesky (my main social media btw, still deathmothking there!), but the next updates will be biweekly. It's mostly because I need to step back for my health, and also because I have to return to my obligations to Shed Skin. Don't worry! I'm not ceasing writing this, just giving myself a little more time to stock up on chapters lol

anyways! enjoy! and see you in a couple weeks!~

Even after everything, Okita was still shutting himself away, and Ryoma was left to clean and tend to his home alone. It wasn’t entirely terrible, but all the Mad Dog would allow was a bandage change, a salve on the sutured wound and pain meds. The doctor had wanted him to eat before taking anything, but he refused anything but water, he refused to let him bathe him, and he wouldn’t even come out for fresh air. It was tiring, but he said he’d do what he needed to. Okita only needed time.  

Ryoma spent more time outside pruning back the dead bits off the plants in the garden, focusing on one section at a time. It was hard work, but it felt rewarding, like pulling ginseng from the ground for the first time. It was almost starting to look cared for, maybe even loved again.  

His fingers paused on a particularly thorny bush, and he deflated. If he continued like this, could Okita start looking and feeling loved again? He’d really screwed up, and he knew that. His jealousy was unfounded, his possessive nature working against him. Then he saw him break down. He’d seen him cry once before, when Todo died, but there had been an agonizing rage when Gen-san had died. It was more than just losing a master, and he should have known that. The first man he saw as Nenja was nothing, a steppingstone in his life, but Inoue had been everything to him. Could Ryoma even compete with such a memory?  

He breathed in sharply and snipped off a few dead branches and carefully tossed them into a pile with the other clippings. One of the flowers on the bush was beginning to bud and flower already, and he touched it gently before turning around and nearly screaming.  

Standing there, staring at him from the door, was Okita.   

He’d somehow dragged himself out of bed without hurting himself again, but he looked haggard, tired and frankly, greasy and gross. The Mad Dog had seen better days, and judging from the look on his face, he was feeling as shitty as he looked.  

“You could make a noise next time…” Ryoma sighed. “Why are you up?”  

“I…” Okita swallowed and then motioned at himself. “Need a wash and a piss,”  

The samurai rose a brow and smiled slightly. “And?”  

“I’d like ya t’ help me,”  

He waited, his eyes boring into the man before him as he cast his gaze down.  

“Please…”  

“Sponge bath fine?”  

“Can’t move much, so yeah…Just…help me down so I can take a leak,”  

And he did, even looking away when he told him that he couldn’t make it happen if he watched. As if he wanted to watch. The doctor just said to make sure he wasn’t pissing blood.   

It seemed Okita didn’t realize how close to death he was. The bandits had raided the village and killed many, abused several, and stole a lot. Okita had done his best, but he was just one man against an entire band of men, and when he was stabbed through, it cut through nearly completely clean. Dumb luck, but luck, nonetheless. The doctor they dragged him to had done some minor surgery, thanks to Dutch medicine and knowledge, and determined he was mostly going to be okay. It was just unknown if anything had been nicked. To see how much blood there had been and how he hadn’t woken up for a month was beyond traumatizing. Ryoma just didn’t have the heart to tell him. Maybe when things were better.  

Bringing him back to the house, he sat him outside and pointed at him. “Stay here, breathe in the fresh air. I’ll be back with everything,”  

“Where the fuck am I gonna try t’ go?”  

“I don’t know, but you won’t make it far and I’ll leave you to bleed on the path if you dare,” Ryoma tapped Okita’s nose, making him flinch. “And I mean it,”   

He stepped around him and into the house, following the hallways to the bathroom. He’d had the pleasure of using the tub a couple times, so finding a bucket, cloth, soap and cup to wash the Mad Dog wasn’t difficult. Filling said bucket and warming it in the kitchen so it would at least be warm, he returned to find Okita kicking his legs gently where he sat as he looked around the garden.   

His content aura made Ryoma visibly relax, and he set everything down beside him before reaching for his yukata. “Are you going to cooperate?”  

Okita smirked. “Maybe,”  

“Don’t be a brat,”  

“That’s practically my second nature. Plus, it was easy fer ya t’ bathe me before. Not sure if ya deserve me compliant,”  

Ryoma frowned and rolled his eyes. “It’s the least you could do…”  

“The least I can do is nothin’,”  

“Just strip,”  

With some help, Ryoma got his arms out of his yukata and dipped the cloth into the hot bucket of water. He gently took his arm and wiped his skin, making sure to get in every crevice of his limbs. It was almost ritualistic, and Okita was helpful in making sure he lifted his arms and turned when asked, even though it was clear that he was hurting. When he could no longer ignore the wound and his hair, Ryoma helped him stand, pulling the very ripe yukata away from his skin. He dropped it on the floor and then helped with his fundoshi, watching him carefully as the Mad Dog refused to look at him from that point forward.   

Whether from shame, anger or something else, Ryoma made sure he kept his movements mechanical and precise. The bandage was pulled off, the wound, angry and red, was wiped clean with just warm water. He pulled a stool over and helped Okita sit, focusing on his hair next.   

“Try not to look down, you’ll get soap in your eye,”  

“It’s still fuckin’ cold and ya got me naked on the deck! Ya expect me t’ look at the sun?”   

“I expect you to cooperate,” Ryoma huffed, tilting his head back and dumping a cup of water over his hair. “And don’t act so shy. I’ve been doing your changes and sponge baths since you got hurt. And we’ve had sex,”  

“Yeah, but—!”  

“No buts!” Ryoma snapped and then sighed. “Sorry…I just…I’m trying to get this done quickly for you,”  

Okita grew quiet, letting him continue with washing his hair. As he finished, he helped him stand so he could be redressed, shaking out his blue yukata for him.  

“Oi, ain’t that yers?”  

“Yeah…but I figured since I need to do your laundry, and you literally have nothing…I’d let you wear it. Plus, it’s soft,” Ryoma smiled, putting it on the Mad Dog. “Ah, look at you. Blue still suits you,”  

Okita, with his hair all in his face, wet yet clean, looked down at himself. Without the tsuba over his eye and the rosy tint to his cheeks, Ryoma found his heart thumping a little harder. He looked good for someone who seemed about ready to keel over again.   

“Feel better?” he asked, tilting his head.  

“Yeah…thanks, Ryoma-chan.” Okita shook his arms a little and then winced. He gripped his abdomen and took a deep breath.   

“Are you alright?”  

“I’ll be fine…” he murmured and then bit his lip, almost as if he had more to say.   

“I’m going to make something to eat then. If you’re hungry?”   

“Sure,”  

“Any requests?”  

Okita seemed to force himself to look at him, humming softly. “Nikujaga,”  

“I can do that,” Ryoma nodded, his smile only growing.  

Progress.  

---

The afternoon was spent cutting meat and vegetables. Ryoma wanted to make sure that it was perfect, that it was the best meal Okita put into his body after not being conscious and then refusing basic care.   

He looked over his shoulder as he placed everything into a pot with water, smiling as he watched Okita sleeping silently in the main area. He’d set up his futon near the stove, the doors open to the garden to get some fresh air into the house. The stagnant stench of death and infection was mostly gone now, and it seemed to help Okita sleep easier now that he was clean and changed. Maybe the smell of the samurai also helped him fall back into slumber easier, but that was mostly Ryoma’s wishful thinking. Okita was still very much on edge after learning that he knew about Gen-san, and he didn’t want to push his luck. One wrong word and he was scared he’d lose a finger, or worse, his head.  

Placing the pot on the stove, he fanned the flames to get it hot again so it would boil. He sighed as he sat there and watched in silence, the only sound around him was the wind from outside, Okita’s soft breaths and the flames of the stove. It had been silent around him for a long time now, agonizing in every way. He had been so used to Haruka and Okita coming and going, and now, taking care of the Mad Dog, he only had his thoughts to keep him company. A lot of those thoughts were questions, concerns, things only Okita could give him. Like who was it that attacked the village? What did they want?   

Why didn’t you take the fan box?  

He rubbed his eyes and huffed. Okita would probably say it was because he was mad, but with how exhausted Ryoma felt playing caretaker, he could only imagine the worst.   

What if his best wasn’t good enough for him anymore? What if he’d completely broken what they had finally built and now he was doomed to be alone, or worse, forced to crawl his way back to Oryo? She was nice enough, but Winter felt…different with her when they went traveling. He didn’t feel that spark and excitement. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all. Not like with Okita.  

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stood up and headed for the door. The stew would take time to simmer, and dwelling in silence wasn’t helping. Okita wouldn’t be waking up any time soon, so he may as well do what chores needed to be done and pick up things from town. Thanks to the fact that Okita had convinced his horse once to let him ride, Haku had been generous to allow him to take her to town a couple times since his injury. It would make everything quicker, and it would help when he inevitably purchased too many things.  

Pulling the white mare from her small stable, he saddled her up and climbed up. She shook her head and then side eyed him, giving him a huff.  

“Goro-no-niisan said it was fine,” Ryoma lied, and she stomped her foot. “Okay, fine. I lied, but we’re getting him medicine and food, so can you cooperate?”  

Haku huffed again and started off, leaving the property at a very leisurely pace. He spurred her on gently, until finally she felt like running, happy to stretch her legs on semi-dry land.  

The path to Kyo had become lush with green foliage and small flowers that sprouted between breaching roots and vibrant bamboo. The once barren and desolate path now appeared to be full of life. Birds and other small animals had returned, chirping and chittering as they passed, swooping to grab field mice and worms to consume. If Ryoma looked up, he’d see nests among the trees, and inside, small eggs, new life to bring in the new year. It felt alive and hopeful, like a new beginning. Where winter had been cold, with blue and grey skies, white snow and barren bark, spring was feeling warmer and warmer by the day.  

Behind him though, on the horizon over hills, mountains and trees, a storm brewed. Massive shelf and anvil clouds loomed and slowly moved with the wind, dark and angry. If one looked closely, they’d see the rain, smearing the clouds like a finger over ink, the strange, otherworldly shapes letting off what they could in order to move quicker, soar higher.  

Ryoma didn’t mind the rain, and spring rain was always warm. It nourished the land and helped the flowers grow. It summoned bugs to the surface of mud and dirt, feeding the local animals while the water itself pooled in special little spots to grant foxes and tanuki fresh drinking water.   

They passed over a small bridge, the wood creaking as the creek below carried the sound of running water below. He looked down to see small fish pass through and vaguely thought about taking Okita fishing when he was better. The doctor had told him that eventually he’d have to move about and start getting fresh air. In time, the pain would cease. Maybe fishing would be a good first activity to do to get him back on his feet. It was relaxing, low stress and gave him purpose, something he had been lacking since the Shinsengumi had fallen apart. Feeding himself, the village and trading might be a better task than gambling and killing.  

Though Ryoma didn’t mind that so much either.  

In fact, he found Okita’s passion for his swordsmanship incredibly attractive. The way he moved, almost like water or a snake, bobbing and weaving, expertly striking his prey with such ease that it appeared to be ingrained in him, it was alluring. Captivating.  

He shifted on the saddle, his face red as Haku flipped her head to glare at him.  

“Be thankful you’re not a stallion,”  

She let out a neigh that nearly sounded like a laugh and trotted on, taking him to Kyo’s dock. He took Haku to the stable, petting her mane and snout before giving her neck a pat.   

“I’ll be back. Be good…As good as you can be,” he chuckled, and hopped on the boat into town.  

Picking up food would be his first order of business, with the fish monger and produce right there. Though with it being spring, he really wanted to catch his own. It tasted better, at least, that’s what he convinced himself. Something about growing your own food just made it seem like it was healthier, but he didn’t have the time to plant and tend to Haruka’s garden at her home. Purchased produce and food would just have to be fine for now. Okita’s property did have a large farming plot, unused and unmanaged. Yamada had clearly not been in any condition to tend to it himself. Maybe that was something they could do together.  

Make the house feel like a home, because all it felt like right now was like a medical ward.  

Okita hadn’t done anything with the place when he moved in besides throwing his own stuff in there, and since Ryoma had moved in to care for him all he’d done was put flowers in the front room. He sighed as he stared down at the vegetables before him. Maybe he should look at furniture, or clothes, but it seemed like something Okita needed to do himself. He was still just a visitor, the opposite of what the Mad Dog was before. The rolls had reversed, but where Ryoma tried to make Haruka’s home feel like a place for all of them, Okita was just in no condition to do the same for him.   

There was also the issue of their communication.  

In time things would change. For now, he grabbed carrots, daikon and other fresh vegetables, tying them up and heading further into Kyo to buy some basic Yukata and Kimono for Okita to wear.   

As he walked, he wondered if the Mad Dog would even accept any of this. It was a shock that he even asked for help to bathe, let alone asked to eat. The week that he’d been awake had been draining on Ryoma, if not just for the fact that he wouldn’t even speak to him without it being filled with venom and spite. He deserved it, he knew that. This wasn’t the first relationship he ruined, and it wouldn’t be the last at this rate. Not that he wanted another one.   

He had a long time stewing with his own thoughts while Okita was unconscious. Since he had met him in the Shinsengumi, his thoughts had been plagued by him. At first he seemed to be the best option for his pop’s killer, but he’d turned out to be the killer’s lover. Ryoma wasn’t sure if knowing that back then would have changed anything, but right now it definitely did. He had such large shoes to fill. Genzaburo was planning a life for Okita, a life that Ryoma just didn’t have the means to achieve right now, but he could do other things. He could make that house of his a home, he could show him that he was cared for, and maybe in time he’d see him not as a nuisance or replacement, but someone who could make him happy.  

Ryoma hoped he could make him happy.  

He didn’t even take the gift he’d gotten him with him to his new home. It was clear how he felt about him right now.  

With a heavy sigh he stopped in front of a fabric shop, the hangers inside displaying several beautiful kimonos, mostly for women, though some were clearly in the style for younger men. Okita was still young, and deserved something nice, something of his own. Ryoma stepped inside, his eyes drawn to a beautiful black Yukata with golden leaves and patterns paired with vibrant red spider lilies. Beside it was another one in dark blue, red and white clouds swirling over the entirety of it as maple leaves moved like wind over the threads.   

He pulled out his coin purse, weighing it in his hand with a frown. Did he have enough for both? Both would complement the winter white skin of the Mad Dog, and both looked like they’d cost a pretty Ryo.   

“I see that something has caught your eye,” the owner of the shop smiled as she leaned over the counter. “Both were sewn with someone beautiful in mind. I always like to imagine the person who would wear it. I can see someone strong and gorgeous in these,”  

“Yeah…me too. Just uh…curious. How much for both?” Ryoma scratched his cheek.  

“Both? Well, normally I’d say more than you probably have, but…you’re kinda cute,” She smiled, fluttering her lashes at him. “I can part with them for…thirty Ryo,”  

“How about twenty?”  

“Oooo! Handsome and a haggler! Who could you possibly have in mind for these?”  

“Okita Soji, former First Captain of the Shinsengumi,”  

The owner’s jaw dropped. “You mean the prettiest of the Shinsengumi? The blood covered god who walked among us mere peasants?! He’s still here?!”  

Ryoma felt his fingers twitch, feeling a tad possessive. “The one and only. And yes, he is. He’s…in need of something nice…thought it would be a nice gift,”  

“Wait wait wait!” She shook her hands in front of her. “If you’re looking to buy for Okita Soji, then that makes you Saito Hajime, am I right?”  

“Uh, yeah,”  

“The Dancing and Singing Samurai…in my store…buying for the Okita Soji…” She grinned. “Are you two—“  

“Is twenty Ryo fine?”  

“I’ll give them to you for ten, just because I can’t believe you’re both—“  

“Ten it is!” Ryoma slammed the Ryo down on the counter. “Could you pack them up for me? Please?”  

He leaned in, putting on his best alluring smile, which was saying a lot. He didn’t think he was that alluring at all.   

“Of course! Give me a moment!” She nearly squealed, walking over to grab the garments off their display. “The two most beautiful of the Shinsengumi…I can’t believe they’re onna-girai…”   

Ryoma sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter as he waited for her to fold the Yukata and package them.   

“Oh, Saito-san?”  

“Hmm?”  

“If Okita-san enjoys these, please let him know that I am willing to sew whatever design he may like. You as well. I’ve sewn for some Wakashu who take roles as Onnagata as well. And I know a lovely woman who makes wigs in town for Kabuki,”  

He rose his brow at that, recalling Okita mentioning that dressing as a woman was often more fun. He quickly took the folded bundle, tucking it close to his body as he bowed his head.  

“Um, thank you. I guess I’ll let him know. I don’t know if he’ll be interested but…you never know?”  

“Great! Oh man, the girls at the bar aren’t going to believe this!”  

He walked out quickly after that, walking briskly back to Fushimi so he could return home in time to serve Okita his Nikujaga. The woman’s words rang in his head. Onna-girai. Woman hater. He didn’t feel like he was a woman hater, merely a man who enjoyed a spectrum of colours on people. Mostly Okita. Sure, his relationship with Oryo had been fleeting and not the greatest, but he did like her. To a degree anyway.   

Maybe he was an onna-girai. He’s never really cared about having a relationship with anyone before, and even his occasional runs to Gion to see Anna were mostly to play games and find entertainment. It was also good practice. Clearly, he was able to employ what he’d learned being with her to both Oryo and Okita, though he had to admit that Okita had been very responsive to his touch compared to her. He wanted to feel that again, to feel that connection, to feel his body quake beneath him. Hell, just feeling his lips on his skin, to hear him breathe his name, his real name, made him walk with a wider stance through the streets and back to the docks.  

The entire boat ride back he shifted uncomfortably, thinking further on the store owner’s words. She mentioned Onnagata, the beautiful men in Kabuki who played women. He had seen one show with Oryo in their travels and always found his eyes drawn to the young men who played the roles of stunning women. As beautiful as Oryo had been in those times, his heart and mind still wandered. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t really help it. Some nights it was all he needed to get aroused, and now he couldn’t help but imagine Okita like that. Would he be willing to dress up? Had he done so before?   

These weren’t the questions nor the thoughts he should be having when the man couldn’t even stand him.   

With a heavy sigh, he thanked the boat man and collected Haku from the stable. She huffed as he tied on his purchases and then climbed onto her back, shifting in the saddle. He tried to keep his thoughts on anything but how much he missed Okita’s touch, but it always seemed to flutter between the gifts he wanted to shower him with and how the Mad Dog would rather run him through with a blade than look at him. If he could just get him to speak to him more, maybe he could restart and come back to where they’d left off, because as of now, he just couldn’t stomach the silence.  

Chapter 16: Deep Rivers

Notes:

I got impatient lol have an upload a day early. Still going to be keeping to 2 week intervals for uploads for a while though! So I'll see you all in the next one!

The sweet smell of broth and simmered meat wafted through the house, making Okita stir on the futon. The Yukata given by Ryoma was soft and comfortable, making it easy to bundle up tightly beneath the covers. Everything smelled like him, musky and crisp, like pine needles and sticky sap, and despite how angry he was, the mere act of giving him his clothes to wear felt intimate. It was a better apology than the one he’d spoken, and despite him bringing up a painful part of their past, Okita had been grateful for the comfort as he’d cried.   

But how grateful could he really be? Every time he tried to believe he was over it and replay Ryoma’s apology, it was just tainted by two things. His unspoken insult and what he believed he knew about him.  

Sitting up with a hiss, he clutched his healing wound and sighed. There was no noise but the sound of a boiling pot, the little clanking slightly as the pressure built up inside. He scooted himself over to the small stove, lifting the pot to see the simmering stew within. It wasn’t done yet, still needing the yam noodles that would give it a crunchy texture, but it seemed that Ryoma had left.   

Why did that worry him?  

Okita replaced the lid and sat there, his hand beginning to shake. He’d never had issues like this, even after finding his mother dead. His life hadn’t been the best, but he just never thought about how messed up it all was. Now, after having been left alone and then nearly killed, waking up on his own again was starting to become a problem. It felt wrong. It felt like every death he’d ever witnessed and committed was coming back to slam into him like Hito’s sword and he immediately grabbed at his abdomen.   

He could feel it, the blade as it slid into him, breaking through skin with a slight pop. He could remember how cold the steel was, how it almost burned despite how hot his insides were, and he felt the bile bubble up from his stomach. And then his eye burned. He reached up, touching his bare, missing eye and felt a horrible, piercing cold run over his skin like a creeping darkness. His breath quickened, flashes of a man he’d long left behind standing over him, a bloody tanto in his hand. A punishment, a lesson learned for disobeying and looking elsewhere, for trying to break out of a tradition that he’d never asked to be a part of.  

The sliding door to the house opened and he audibly gasped, head whipping around to see Ryoma enter the house. He smiled at him, but it soon fell as he noticed Okita’s less than put together appearance.  

“Hey…are you alright?” Ryoma set everything down, walking over to him, only to stop short as Okita shook his head.  

“I’m fuckin’ fine. Ain’t nothin’,”   

“Doesn’t look like nothing…” the samurai murmured. “Is it your wound?”  

Okita drew in a deep breath and gripped his stomach. “Yeah,”  

Ryoma didn’t say a word. He walked away, making Okita’s heart race before the samurai returned with a piece of paper. He knelt down, unfolding it and presenting him with a cup of water and a small, powdered pile of medicine. “Here. It should help with the pain,”  

“Thanks,” He sighed and took it, letting the samurai mix the powder with his water before he downed the cup.   

“You should eat. Rest, food and keeping clean will help that heal,” Ryoma said, shifting to check on the stew. “Just need noodles. I’ll get that going and make you a bowl,”  

How Ryoma could be so kind to him now was beyond him. Had he absolved himself in the time he’d been injured? To be unconscious since the end of winter, how much had he missed?   

Sitting there, waiting as patiently as he could, he glanced up at Ryoma as he added the yam noodles and stirred the pot.  

“How much did I miss…since I was stabbed?” Okita asked.  

“Well…Yuta had a broken rib, but he’s starting to deliver mail again. Haruka has been visiting him a lot,” Ryoma shrugged. “They’ve been taking care of each other since I’ve been here,”  

“That’s good. Was worried ‘bout them,”  

“Haruka mentioned that you seemed to know who attacked everyone,” Ryoma tilted his head. “Is that true?”  

“Remember that asshole I won those swords from?”  

“Vaguely,”  

“He came back fer them,”  

Ryoma nodded, allowing the silence to grow between them once more. They were dancing around the meat of it, acting like they didn’t know each other again. Okita couldn’t fathom forgiving him just yet, but he needed him. The time Ryoma had to work through his issues was something Okita didn’t have. While he had been alive, the Mad Dog had been dead, and now they were sitting on opposite ends of time, staring one another down, waiting for the other to make a move.  

“Did he get them?”  

“Yeah…yeah he did,”  

“Did they take anything else?”   

Okita bit his lip. Did he get the swords? The last piece of Gen-san he had? He had no idea. He knew he killed the man who had been carrying them, but after that he’d been taken down and time just didn’t make sense anymore. He could only assume that they had taken them, judging from the fact that he hadn’t seen them in the house, but he hadn’t really been around the house to check. Only Ryoma would know, being the one who had been tidying up the place.  

“I dunno,” Okita shook his head, and Ryoma handed him a bowl of stew.   

Digging in with his spoon, Okita ate for the first time in far too long. The moment the sweet broth hit his tongue, his hand began to shake, and he could feel Ryoma’s eyes on him, watching him eat. It was good, as always, but his body was fighting him on all fronts. He swallowed it down, setting the bowl into his lap and sighed.  

“Didn’t think it would be hard t’ eat…”  

“It will get easier. I promise,” Ryoma smile. “Healing takes time,”  

“I know,”  

“Your training really paid off though. I think Gen-san would be proud of you,”   

Okita dropped his spoon into his bowl with a loud clank and he narrowed his eye. “Don’t,”  

“I…right…sorry…” Ryoma whispered, shoving his spoon in his mouth.“Ya just don’t know. Ya can’t know. Ya don’t know a damn thing ‘bout he and I, and I don’t need t’ be reminded that the one man I loved is dead!” Okita snapped and he watched Ryoma visibly deflate.  

It made the whole house feel cold, and he started to shake, his body stiff. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything, and he could replace him, not after what happened. But it wasn’t about replacing, it had never been about that. Okita felt so conflicted, with one side of him holding on to a ghost and the other wanting nothing more than to feel Ryoma all over him again.  

He swallowed, closing his eye as a tear threatened to slip down his cheek. “I’m sorry…”  

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Ryoma shook his head. “But…you can’t just shut me out forever. I know I fucked up, but I’m just trying to help,”  

“I know,”  

“So…can you tell me about him?”  

Okita picked up his stew again, frowning. “Ya already know ‘bout him,”  

“I mean, concerning you both,”  

“Wanna know the nasty stuff? Who topped who? What he was like in bed?” He snorted, shoving a piece of meat in his mouth.  

“I was actually thinking more on the lines of how you two were together,” Ryoma rolled his eyes.   

“Why would ya wanna know that?”  

“Because it’s a part of who you are?”  

His heart was pounding in his chest. Only a couple people knew about their relationship, and reliving the past wasn’t exactly his top priority, but it didn’t seem like Ryoma was going to let him wiggle out of this.  

“He was soft,”  

“Soft?”  

“Yeah…” Okita murmured. “He was never rough, always soft. He liked spendin’ time just…readin’ and trainin’. Sometimes we’d just go to a tea house, other times we would go fer walks and stuff. Soft stuff,”  

Ryoma nodded and they continued to eat in total silence, the wind outside rustling the trees and plants. It was almost more comfortable between them now, another wall had broken down. Okita ate as much as he could and then set his bowl aside, which the samurai took and placed in their wash bin. Running his hand through hair, he watched as Ryoma walked through the house to grab the bags he had dropped, bringing them back over to him. He unpacked the vegetables he had bought, putting them in a box by the kitchen supplies, and then grabbed up another sack, taking it over to Okita.  

“Here,”  

“What’s this?”  

“Just open it,” Ryoma sighed. “And just…accept it?”  

He opened the cloth, tilting his head as dark fabric decorated with bright, shining details came into view. Shaking them out, Okita revealed the Yukatas to the light of the house, his expression softening. They were soft and well made, the patterns stunning and eye catching. They almost looked too expensive and nice to wear to bed, almost like they were bought to show him off. And maybe they were. Ryoma, who was mostly broke and plain as could be, was doing all he could to make Okita look like the greatest treasure in the village. Which now that he thought about it, he did this once before, buying him nice patterns that he should be able to afford for the sake of him looking put together.“Ryoma-chan…”  

“I know that you think I’m broke, and I am, but…you deserve nice things…I guess…I mean you’re still being mean to me, but I can’t stand seeing you so miserable,” The samurai mumbled the last of his sentence, looking away with a cough. “I hope you like them,”  

Okita’s hands ran over the patterns, gold thread and silken flowers catching the light of the sun rays that filtered into the home.   

“Well, how could I not like ‘em? Look! They’ve got gold in ‘em! How much did this cost ya?”  

“Not as much as it could of because I said it was for you,” Ryoma rubbed the back of his head.  

“How the hell did my name get ya a discount?”  

“Because the shop owner thinks we’re onna-girai and said she would make you whatever and said there was a wig maker who specifically works with Onnagata,”  

Okita stared at him, and Ryoma stared right back. He swallowed, refusing to look away as the samurai seemed to wait for him to say something.   

“And ya think that…I’m…Onnagata?”  

“Heard a rumor once of a woman who scaled the barracks wall to see you and was never seen again,”  

“Oh yeah? Who’d ya hear that one from?” Okita snorted, shaking his head. “And so what if I was? Ya said yerself that ya like different colours too. If I was like the Onnagata, which I’ve never done Kabuki in my damn life, would that change anythin’?”  

Ryoma snorted and then seemed to hold back a laugh. He narrowed his eye at him, watching the samurai shake and smile at him, shaking his head.   

“No, because I still think about every night we spent together. If you were a woman, or dressed as a woman, as long as it was you still, craziness, stupid luck and all, I’d happily stand here and do what I need to to make you like me again,”  

Okita blinked. Then he blinked again. The heat rose in his face, pale skin now pink and hot.  

“When’d ya get so eloquent?”  

“I’ve been bored out of my mind with you being in bed for over a month,” Ryoma smirked. “I’ve even learned to read a little,”  

“I feel like yer tryna impress me or court me,”  

“And if I was?”  

“Then ya better step yer game up. Might want one of those wigs since Ryoma-chan likes boys who look like girls,”  

“Hey! At least I’m honest!”  

Okita barked out a laugh. “Hardly! Don’t think yer off the hook just ‘cause yer bein’ nice,”  

“I never expect to be off the hook. In fact, I’d happily stay hooked to you,”  

“Eugh…gross,” Okita smirked and set the Yukata aside. “Listen…I…I need to know somethin’…If ya don’t mind helpin’ me up?”  

He needed to know. He had to find out what he’d missed. There were too many gaps, too much time had passed, and Okita was behind on healing mentally and physically.   

Ryoma helped him up, making sure to offer his arm as the Mad Dog shuffled along to the first hallway around the center garden. Everything seemed in place to start, paintings and trinkets still on the wall from where Yamada and his wife had decorated in their time in the home. The walls were mostly untouched, and the first room was empty and barren as he had left it before. He hummed as he peeked inside and once satisfied he continued on. The bathing room was mostly left alone besides what Ryoma had used, and he knew the bedroom was fine. it was the room with the Kotatsu that had him worried. It held the shrine to Yamada’s wife, and he had placed Gen-san’s swords and gauntlets in there before everything had gone to shit.  

He just didn’t know if anyone grabbed them and brought them back, or if Hito and his men took the last fragment he had left of a man he once loved.  

Opening the door, he stepped into the musty, quiet room and looked around. The shrine was still there, the table still dusty, and on the shelf was still some of the trinkets left behind. But where there was once a set of swords on a stand was now just a lacquered box, open to display the blades fan inside. Beside it, the tanto it matched was displayed on a smaller stand and Okita felt the bile rise in his throat.   

He let Ryoma go, stumbling forward, he approached the display, shaking hands touching the gift he had left behind with Haruka. He picked it up, sniffling softly, his fingers brushed over the fan inside, his shoulders shaking gently as he tried to hold back the tears threatening to fall.  

“They fuckin’ took them…”  

“Took what?” Ryoma murmured, cautiously approaching and placing a hand on Okita’s back, nearly making him crumble.  

“Gen-san’s things…the bastard fuckin’…he fuckin’ took them…He took them and the fuckin’ swords I won from him,” Okita turned to look at Ryoma, the tear he didn’t want to fall now slipping down his cheek. “I ain’t got anythin’ left…He took the…he took the last thing I had…”  

“Goro-no-niisan…” The samurai sighed, pulling him into him as he grit his teeth, quietly crying and seething with rage.   

“I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna gut him like he gut me! Rip the heart right out of his fuckin’ chest!” He growled, wiping aggressively at his cheek and nose. “I’m gonna take him fer everythin’ he fuckin’ has!”  

Ryoma didn’t say a word, he merely pulled him in tight, his arms wrapping around him as he held the box close to his chest. It would never replace what was taken from him, but he couldn’t deny the comfort that something precious had survived the assault on the village. Now he just had to prove to himself and Ryoma that he wasn’t just some kicked dog. He was a damn wolf, and he’d make sure that by the time he was healed, Hito would pay for all he’d done.  

Chapter 17: Start Over

Winter may have long passed but spring could be just as cold and ruthless.   

The storms that loomed around them finally surrounded the village, bombarding the people with torrential rain and gloomy skies. Soft pitter patter of raindrops soon became like a hail of bullets, crashing onto the roof of the house, now lulled into a calm quiet and frigid cold.   

Ryoma sat by the stove; the bedroom quiet with Okita nestled inside. His injury looked alright all things considered, but mentally he was dealing with a lot. And who could really blame him? He’d nearly died, stabbed through by a man who only wanted a pair of swords, and then to find out that time had long passed for them, and his master’s swords were gone. By all means, he was under reacting, because Ryoma knew all too well that shouting you wanted to kill someone wasn’t the same as seeking revenge. He had sought revenge, and all it resulted in was hurting Okita. Knowing that now, he wasn’t sure where they stood as men, as…well, he didn’t know what they were.  

And that was the hardest part of this. Both of them in limbo, in stasis, wondering and waiting to see what the other will do. All Ryoma wanted to do was show Okita he cared. He didn’t know if it was love, but he knew that he felt something stronger than whatever he felt for Oryo. It wasn’t an obligation to him. If Okita wanted him gone, he’d be destroyed.   

With a heavy sigh, he looked around the home. Everything was cleaned. The gardens outside had been pruned back, the bonsai had been tended to and all that he had left was to figure out what Okita wanted to eat whenever he awoke from his slumber. If he’d even eat. It was a fight and a half to make him take care of himself at this rate, though things were starting to look better.  

It would take time. He just had to be patient.  

As if on cue, he heard the bedroom door slide open and Okita, still wearing Ryoma’s Yukata, shuffled out, rubbing his eye. He looked exhausted still, like sleep was hardly restful anymore, or like he’d been crying in secret. He didn’t blame him if he was. He didn’t cry in front of anyone when he first lost his pops, and then when he had the chance, when the emotions had become too much, he got black out drunk instead. So he didn’t say a word about it, simply offered a smile, which was tiredly given back, and watched as Okita sat beside him by the stove with a pained grunt.   

“How are you feeling?”  

“Like ass. Hurts a little less each day though,” Okita ran a hand through his hair. “Mind helpin’ me tie this back?”  

“Sure. I could cut it first, if you want?” Ryoma stood, reaching down to run his hands through the unruly, long mess that was Okita’s hair. It was thick and soft, and he found himself lingering.   

“Y’know…yeah, if ya don’t mind? Kinda feelin’ heavy now that it’s spring,”  

“Let me find my blade and scissors. I’ll trim up your face too,”  

“Ahh, always so attentive, Ryoma-chan,” Okita smiled, seemingly genuinely happy, and it made the dancing samurai’s chest swell.   

He returned momentarily with a set of crude, long shears and a tanto, sitting behind Okita. Combing out his hair, he found his usual part and flipped the hair up, waiting for the Mad Dog to grab it and keep it out of his way. With the shears, he took a piece of his long hair and started snipping it shorter, to make it easier to shave off after. Bits of hair fluttered to the floor, landing partially in his lap. Ryoma was by no means a barber, but he didn’t think it would be too terrible to cut, until he snipped close to one of the long strands held up by Okita and paused.  

“Oi…what didja do?”  

“I cut off a bit I wasn’t supposed to…” Ryoma winced, and Okita slowly turned to glare at him.   

“How bad?”  

“I don’t think that bad but…you’re uneven now…and I didn’t even get to shaving the back yet…” Ryoma glanced away, passing him a small mirror to take a look.  

Snatching it, his eye widened as he saw the odd step he made in his hair and sucked in. It wasn’t his fault that the hair got in the way, but the damn shears were far too long for a job like this. Shame he didn’t have anything smaller, though he wasn’t a barber, and his hair cutting skills weren’t exactly the best, even for a home job.   

The Mad Dog huffed as he set the mirror down, looking away before he waved his other hand. “Whatever…just…finish what ya can. I’ll just go into town when I can walk more than five steps,”  

He let out a sigh of relief, gathering the hair he shouldn’t be cutting better to let him keep out of the way. The rest of the cut went okay, with his undercut mostly shaved down, and despite the fact that there was a distinct line in his ponytail from where he accidentally cut it, it looked decent enough. His hair had grown longer, but he didn’t seem to care about that. The undercut must have felt good regardless of how thick his hair was and by how he was rubbing the shaved portions, Ryoma counted it as a win.  

“Can I trim up your face?”  

“Just don’t make me more uneven,” Okita snorted.  

“I’ll do my best for nii-san,” he said, tilting his head back as he scooted closer.   

He held his jaw gently, resting the back of his head on his chest as he carefully ran the edge of the blade over his skin. It was akin to the first time they’d done this, but this time, the way Okita looked at him, he found himself fighting back the urge to shake. It was the most he’d allowed himself to stare, and the fact that he would look at him at all made his heartbeat hard in his chest. Ryoma knew he could feel the thumping too, with the way he fought back a smirk, his fingers twitching in his lap.   

Wiping off his blade, he worked on his other cheek, cleaning him up, giving him the edge to his facial hair he seemed to enjoy. Then, placing the blade down, he couldn’t help but dip his head, brushing his lips over his without a single thought. He heard Okita suck in a breath, and since he didn’t pull away, he pressed his luck and slotted their lips together. He heard him moan softly, their lips moving together despite the awkward angle. Feeling the Mad Dog’s hands slide up his arm to hold his wrist made him deepen their kiss, his tongue pressing along the line of his lips, begging for entrance as Okita’s other hand reached up to slide along his cheek.  

His mouth opened, inviting him in, their tongues tentatively touching, and then Okita smacked him.   

Ryoma blinked, pulling away and staring down at him with shock.   

“Pressin’ yer damn luck, Ryoma-chan,” he smirked, giving his cheek a pat as he sat up with a hiss.   

“Nii-san is such a damn tease,” the samurai huffed and grabbed up the shears and blade. “Now I have to clean up all your prickly hair,”  

“A small price t’ pay fer givin’ me an uneven cut. Ya still gonna tie my hair up?”  

“You can wait now since you want to play games with my poor heart,” Ryoma laughed, ruffling Okita’s hair before gently shoving his head.  

“Oi! Careful! I’m injured!”  

“Not injured enough to complain!”  

“I’m a complainer. Get used to it,”  

“Oh, believe me, your complaining is half the reason I like you so much,” Ryoma smiled, “I’m going to grab the broom and one of your ties,”  

Okita did not move even after he returned with a broom and waited as patiently as he was physically able for Ryoma to clean up his hair before he finally tied it back for him. It was pretty noticeable that there was a chunk missing, so he moved a few strands around to try and hide it. When he was done, the Mad Dog sighed and shook his head a little as he rubbed at his bare neck.   

“Ah, finally. Was gettin’ fuckin’ heavy,” he said and looked back at him. “Thanks,”  

“Of course. Anything you want to eat?”  

“Just somethin’ light,”  

It was nice to cook for someone who didn’t think they knew better. And for someone to actually appreciate the effort. As mad as Okita might be at him to some degree, he was opening up more and letting him feed him made Ryoma feel like they were starting to get back to where they were. The fact he let him kiss him at all was surprising, so maybe he could keep pushing, wedge himself into the door of the Mad Dog’s heart and prove to him that he wasn’t a total ass.  

But it would take some time, maybe. Okita was known to change his mind on a dime with a fight, but they couldn’t even do that with his injury. Ryoma would have to make sure they had the chance to spar once the doctor gave him the go ahead. For now, food and entertainment would have to suffice.  

Grating some daikon as rice steamed and miso simmered, Ryoma looked back at Okita as he sat there and stared at the bonsai trees in the corner. Yamada’s death had hit him hard, but it seemed that all he was surrounded by was death. Eventually it would catch up to you, weigh you down and destroy you. He’d seen so much carnage in his life, and he wasn’t even old yet. Twenty-three summers wasn’t much time to see the world and live, especially when all Okita seemed to do is survive. Clawing his way up from one trauma to the next, never looking back, restarting his life all over again just to fall into another pit of absolute despair. Right now, he seemed to be in stasis, coming to terms with the loss of Gen-san once again, a reopened wound that never really had closed, or even been tended to. It had only been a year after all, and as much as you try to pull away from the grief, it was always there, looming and waiting. Would it finally bite and give the killing blow, or would it sit and stare, mock and drive insane until Okita decided to just end it himself?  

Setting the daikon aside, Ryoma frowned. He didn’t want to see Okita succumb to a festering wound. What could he possibly do to help clean out the infection?   

“Ya good over there?” Okita asked, voice soft and seemingly genuine in his concern.   

“Hm? Yeah, just trying to figure out what kind of fish you’d like or if there’s something else you want,” Ryoma looked back at him with a smile. “I’ll get whatever you want,”  

That seemed to catch him off guard, tilting his head as he thought. “We got any salmon?”  

“I might have one preserved. I have to check,”  

“Didn’t ya just go into town the other day? What did ya even buy besides gifts?” The Mad Dog snorted.  

“Vegetables. I wanted to take you fishing, get something fresh and do something together,”  

“I’m not much of a fisherman,”  

“No one is when they start,” Ryoma wiped off his hands and went to the back door, finding a pair of sandals. “But you’ll find it incredibly relaxing. I think you’ll enjoy yourself,”  

“If ya say so. Don’t get too wet out there,”  

“No promises,” Ryoma chuckled and stepped out into the storm.   

The storage shed in the back had enough space to preserve a few things, perhaps for the times when Yamada was younger and more inclined to hunt and fish on his own. It was empty when he had gotten to the home to care for Okita and was only now full of some preserves thanks to his diligent attention. Grabbing a salted salmon from the wall, already deboned and prepped for grilling, he ran back out into the rain and stepped back into the home, shaking his hair out like a dog as Okita laughed.  

“Worth it?” he asked, smiling at him.  

“Of course. I luckily had some salmon, which means you get exactly what you want,” Ryoma slapped it down on the cutting board and smiled right back at him.  

Food was cooked and served up quickly after that, with the salmon grilled to perfection, the skin crispy and browned. Okita seemed to enjoy it, not wasting a single flakey, orange piece. Even the miso was devoured fully, his rice bowl and daikon cleaned out. He had to be feeling better with such an appetite, and that alone made Ryoma feel better about where he was at. He wasn’t making too many painful noises, though it could have been the medication, and he wasn’t bleeding through his bandages, which meant the stitching was finally setting.   

Tossing their dishes in the wash basin for later, Ryoma held out his hands for Okita. “It’s a dreary day, let’s go make use of that kotatsu,”  

The Mad Dog hesitated a moment, probably weary of spending time in a room that held a shrine and now was the former home to his missing memories, but Ryoma couldn’t sit there and mope on a rainy day forever. At the very least they could play Shogi or koi-koi, or just talk.   

He watched the cogs turn in Okita’s head until he finally took his hands and let him pull him up from the floor. They made their way to that back tatami room, and Ryoma made quick work in making sure it was all set up before he lifted the blanket attached to the table and motioned for the other man to sit. He rolled his single eye with a smile and sat down, tucking himself underneath while the dancing samurai pulled out Yamada’s Shogi board and set it down.   

“Now, I don’t know how to play, so go easy on me,” Ryoma said, smirking as he tucked his legs under the blanket.  

“No promises,” Okita chuckled, eyeing him as he placed the pieces.  

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, matching his movements and where he set everything before they finally started their game.   

Ryoma had only really played some gambling games, dice mainly. Things like Mahjong and Shogi seemed like fun, but playing against Okita just meant he could easily lose. The Mad Dog wasn’t one to just let someone win, and from how he was already contemplating the board, Ryoma was in for a ride.  

They began moving tiles in a comfortable silence, the warmth of the kotatsu helping fight back the spring rain’s chill. Okita was easily kicking his ass, but he didn’t mind because his feet were tangling with his legs, and he finally looked…content. He wondered what was going on in that head of his half of the time, but he knew it had to be working through all he’d been through. Which had the strangest question coming from his lips before he could stop himself.  

“What was it like?”   

“Hmm? What was what like?” Okita perked up from the board.  

Ryoma placed his tile, watching Okita take it out. “Dying,”  

“Ryoma-chan…” Okita frowned. “Ya don’t remember? A year ago, ya got fuckin’ shot by that weirdo. We almost lost ya after ya had her fill playin’ the tough guy,”  

Now it was his turn to frown, shaking his head. “I…sorry. I don’t remember it all that well,”  

“We literally had t’ drag ya away. Everyone was near death t’ some degree. I sat there with ya the whole time ya were healin’ too. Ya were barely lucid but…I can’t believe ya don’t remember,”  

“Can you blame me for not?”  

“No, guess I can’t,”  

“I just…am curious what you went through. I mean…I don’t think I was comatose for over a month like you’ve been,” Ryoma snagged one of Okita’s tiles with a triumphant smile and the mad dog huffed.  

“Fine, whaddaya wanna know,”  

“What did you see?”  

“An ocean. Dark water and billions of stars in the sky,” Okita looked back down at the board. “There was an eclipsed moon, and the sun behind it was like…white fire, but it was cold. Real cold. Sometimes…shapes of people would run down to shore…yankin’ off…strings from their chest. And I saw a wolf shed its fur before slinkin’ into the water. When I tried to go…somethin’ stopped me,”  

“Something stopped you?”  

“Yeah…somethin’…I dunno, familiar. It stopped me and told me not to go. So I ran the other way, up the sand, and then…I heard him,” Okita set his hands down, blinking rapidly. “Gen-san. I heard him. Then I fell down a hole,”  

“Is that when you woke up?”  

“Nah…somethin’ caught me, and then a hannya woman came fer me. Whatever was holdin’ me in the nothin’ness let me go and then I woke up,” Okita shook his head. “I dunno why…but I felt so real, and it felt like I was barely asleep. Like I got stabbed and then woke up immediately, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t like that,”  

Ryoma leaned on the table; the game forgotten now. He really didn’t dwell too much on what happened before they all split. He just focused on other things, like pretending that he was fine and normal, that he totally loved Oryo and all of that which lead to him ultimately being here now. But he did find himself recalling a place he’d shouldn’t have been, an in between where death and life crashed into one another. Maybe it was the same place, or maybe his place was different. He really didn’t know.  

“And you haven’t dreamt of it since?” He asked.  

“Nah. That was the only time,” Okita shook his head.   

He grew quiet, tapping his fingers on the kotatsu table, his foot rubbing against Ryoma’s underneath. It was like he was looking for comfort, and the samurai couldn’t help but reach across and grab his hand.   

“Nii-san is alive. You’re still Goro, and Okita. That doesn’t change anything. You survived, and I’m sure that that Hito guy hates that, him and all of his spineless men,” Ryoma grinned. “You’re too resilient to be taken out like that. You won’t see that place again. Not for a long time. I’ll make sure of it,”  

Okita’s eye widened, and his lip almost appeared to tremble. Then, the words seemed to sink in, and he smiled, full and genuine for the first time since he awoke, and he nodded his head.  

“Yeah…I’m still here. I’m alive. And I ain’t goin’ back,”  

Chapter 18: The Night Ryoma Pushed His Luck and Got Lucky (Finally)

There was no sound, no nothing. Total darkness and bone chilling cold enveloped him like a suffocating blanket.  

Okita opened his eye, standing before a pitch-black river that reflected the ocean of stars that swirled in clouds of purple, red and blue. Looking around, he found himself in the city of Kyo, but it was encased in blue spirit flame, dilapidated and destroyed like the night that everything had changed for them a year ago. The streets were littered with the lifeless bodies of local men and women, blood staining the dirt and stone beneath them.  

He was used to this sight, or so he told himself. Blood was blood, a nectar carved from the body. Trees bled sap, meat bled blood, humans were merely meat, a morsel to rip and tear and consume. They were no better than fodder, on their way to the slaughter, and Okita stood above them all, a master at the game, a butcher. The teeth he’d collected from each savory body was merely a trophy, proof that he was a killer. Cold blooded, ruthless, awful, ugly, stupid— 

“Stop!” 

He grabbed at his head, the words that had grown louder now muffled, waning like the moon above. It was the same moon, dark and eclipsed, though instead of brilliant white covering black, the light it blocked was crimson, burning angry and hot. He dropped his hands, taking in a deep breath as he closed his eye to center himself. He wasn’t a murderer. A killer for a cause, yes, but he never held onto a trophy or collected a piece of each person who had fallen to his blade. In fact, he was only ever afraid to look, cutting them down and moving to the next, praying that the face wouldn’t be friendly or even a friend at all. It was easier to imagine them all faceless or the same, a mass of flesh that didn’t deserve his time or memory, though memories had different plans. 

He opened his eye with a sigh, watching as formless bodies rode down the inky waters of the river. Some were missing limbs; some were barely even people anymore. An arm, maybe a head, rolling and bobbing in the water as they passed him by. All memories, each death stilled stare remembered as a human being once, but they didn’t feel like that anymore. They felt like a burden as they washed down the river Lethe, forgetting who he was and what he’d done to them, while he stood on the shore, denied the relief of a fresh mind and a fresh body. 

Maybe that was his curse, to always remember, to look each one in the eye and know that he was the one who rained judgement down onto them. He was judge, jury and executioner, the man who would hunt them down and gut them where they stood, ruin their lives and the lives of those around them with the blood that shot out like geysers from their bodies. Or maybe he was just a man. A man who made mistakes and tried to learn. A man who was just trying to survive like everyone else. Was his show of remorse proof enough of his heart, or did everyone still just see him as an ice cold, frozen bastard? 

Probably the latter. 

So, he watched. Okita watched every single body that floated down, feeling the bile rise in his throat, burning his esophagus like molten lava, threatening to explode. But he held it back, watching and staring as every lifeless face passed until finally someone a little more recognizable began to float before him.  

His body was bloating, dead for some time, the water having seeped into every pore and crevice. The greying hair was still recognizable, along with the scar across his face, over his nose and down his cheek. Genzaburo’s eyes were dull and milky white, but they still stared right at him, mocking him, judging him. He had been fooling around, believing in a secondary love he might be able to have. He’d betrayed him. He should have been there, been there to protect him or die with him, two lovers trapped in tragedy.  

Okita shook his head as the body stilled in the water, the river no longer moving it along. It was too eerie, too grotesque, seeing the blue colour of his face turn to him and just stare.  

“It’s all your fault,” 

“H-haw?” He swallowed down the bile in his mouth as the bloated body of Gen-san spoke. 

“My death, everything. It’s all your fault. I told you to be careful, to not meddle, and it’s all you did. What reason do you have to be so upset when it’s my blood on your dirty hands?” 

“That’s…that ain’t true…” 

“All you do is kill and gamble and waste away. What worth do you have? You’ve always been a warm body for a cold bed, nothing more. If given the chance, you probably would have gambled away the last of what you had of me if you were desperate enough,” The body snorted, offering him a smirk. “Maybe that’s why you won’t run after that man. Hito, was it? You just let him take everything, and now here you are…sitting in a home you didn’t earn with someone else…living our dream,” 

“Ain’t true…shuddap…just shut up!” 

“Pathetic…I always knew you were, but you felt good enough. After all I did for you…I thought that at least you’d be able to keep what little piece of me you had alive. But you failed that too,” 

“That ain’t true! That ain’t true at all! That ain’t—!” 

He stepped back, only to feel hands on his body, shoving him right into the pitch-black dark of the water. 

Okita bolted upright, crying out in pain. He grabbed at his wound, letting out a pathetic sob as his left eye throbbed. His other hand came up, pressing his palm into the empty socket as his whole body shuddered from the pulsing pain coursing through him. His nails bit through the yukata he wore, still Ryoma’s, still surrounded by his musky scent, but it didn’t comfort him. All he could smell was rotting water and corpses. 

“It’s not…it’s not true…” He whispered into the dark, loud stomping foot falls making his heart pump harder, the sloshing of his blood unbearable in his ears.  

The door slid open, a silhouette staring at him in the dark and he whined. His toes curled in his sheets from the pain, and he coughed, a sickly, infected-like taste rising from deep within him. It swirled in his mouth, and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to push away the nightmare that still laid heavily over him. If the figure spoke, he didn’t hear it, the thumping in his heard and head, the pounding hum within him, all drowning it out as he sat there trying to hold back the vomit that threatened to come out. The figure turned, feet loud on polished hardwood as it ran away from him, only to then return with something in its hands.  

As moonlight cast over the shadowy silhouette, Okita was able to make out Ryoma, hair wild from sleep, his spare Yukata barely held closed as he knelt in front of him.  

“Put your hands down…” He murmured, and gently pried his hands from his body, placing a cup in his hands. “Drink it slow…” 

Okita brought the cup to his lips, closing his eye as he drank the contents as slowly as he could. It was only water, but Ryoma must have mixed his medication in, the bitter taste making him want nothing more than to spit it out. With the whole cup down, he pushed it back into the samurai’s hands roughly as he kept his gaze low.  

“Are you okay?” 

“I…” 

“Don’t lie,” 

“Shuddap…”  

Ryoma sighed and gently took his hands, placing them on his chest. “This isn’t a dream, I’m real, I’m right here. You’re okay…alright, nii-san?” 

Okita shook his head. “Everythin’ hurts…”  

“Give it a moment to work. I promise, it will pass,” Ryoma said, bringing Okita’s hands to his lips.  

He kissed his knuckles, thumbs rubbing over his skin, and the Mad Dog sucked in a breath. The samurai turned his hands, pressing his lips to his palms, and that was enough for Okita to break. He didn’t want to be alone, and he was tired of teetering on death. What happened at the end of winter didn’t change how he felt. In the end, he still felt something for Ryoma, despite everything, despite the words he had been thinking but hadn’t said, he still felt for him. He still could feel him all over his body, the attentive kisses and deliberate hands that ran over every inch of him before it all crumbled over a green beast.  

And how could he not fall apart again, in the gentle hands and lips of a man who knew what it was like to lose everything? Both of them had grown as orphans, both had been taken in by ambitious, powerful men to be trained as killers or politicians. Both of them had been burned by the ones they loved, both of them were tangled in a web created by these men, and both of them had lost them thanks to the other.  

Okita was sick of crying in front of Ryoma, but there was no judgement as the tears fell down half his face, the other half dry and full of pain. Instead, the samurai leaned in and brushed his lips over the empty socket on the left side of his face, his hands wiping the right side clean. He kissed his cheek, then his brow, moving to his damp side to lick at the tears sliding down his pale skin. That was enough for him, broken and pushed too far, he snatched his face and brought his lips to his, kissing him hard as he squeezed his single eye shut. To hell with the pain, to hell with healing, he needed to feel something else. He wanted Ryoma to take everything that was left and fuck him hard, bend him and break him before filling him with whatever he felt for him. Whether that be love or just familiarity, he wanted all of it, and he made sure he knew that as he bit his bottom lip and took advantage of his pained gasp to shove his tongue into his mouth. 

They both moaned, their breaths rapid as their desperate hands groped and pulled on hair and yukata. Using what muscles weren’t screaming in agony, Okita pulled himself towards Ryoma and into his lap, his hands sliding into his hair as he continued to kiss him deep and hard. He ground his hips against him, hearing him groan as he grabbed his hips to pull him harder against him. It was desperate, the lack of touch over several weeks finally catching up to Ryoma, who seemed happy enough to be as rough as Okita seemed to want. His hand slid in his hair and yanked his head back, latching onto his neck to leave bites and kisses in his wake. He bit him hard, pulling down his yukata to expose more of his pale flesh, making sure to mark every inch of skin with a bruising bite and a lick. 

He could only moan and cry out in return, holding Ryoma as close as he could as their bodies moved against one another. The dry humping was becoming painful, the friction of nothing but their clothes making Okita frustrated and impatient.  

“Fuck me,” He breathed, yanking Ryoma’s head away from his neck. “Now,” 

His lips were swollen and pink from their previous making out, and he licked them slowly as he seemed to try to register what he had said.  

“Eager?” 

“Just…shuddap and do it,”  

Ryoma smirked, giving him a kiss and a stinging bite to his lower lip before laying him down far more gently than he’d like. Okita huffed in annoyance as the samurai stood and left him there, rummaging through the wardrobe in the room. He pulled out a vial of clove oil, returning to him as he uncorked it.  

He tried to sit up again, only for Ryoma to push him right back down. He poured the oil over his fingers, slipping his hand down between his opened legs to find his hole. Sliding his slick fingers between his cheeks, he pressed against the ring of muscle there and let a finger enter him down to the knuckle. Okita groaned, his head falling back as he arched. It hurt a little, but he hardly cared when his gut had been stabbed through. It was nothing compared to that. Ryoma thrust his single finger a couple times before testing the waters and pushing a second finger into him. As the Mad Dog moaned and whined, he leaned over him, bracing himself on his other arm as he fucked his fingers into him recklessly. Fingering him and spreading the slick digits, Okita cried out, blabbering nonsense as Ryoma dipped down to assault his chest with more bites and kisses. 

His cock leaned against his stomach and wound, hard and begging to be touched, but the samurai refused, instead he pushed a third finger inside his ass, scissoring his fingers as Okita squirmed with pleasure and pain. Even like this he couldn’t help the noises that fell from his lips, and this time the house was large enough and they were all alone that he didn’t care how loud he was. He felt Ryoma’s fingers curl inside of him and he nearly screamed as he hit that bundle deep inside of him. He arched hard, bringing one hand to his lips to bite into as his other hand grabbed the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming too fast again. It seemed to fascinate the man above him and he thrust his curled fingers into that spot again, making his toes curl and his legs shake.  

Okita whined, which drew a chuckle from Ryoma as he pulled his fingers free and grabbed the oil again. Shifting their bodies, he pulled his Yukata right off, tossing it somewhere in the moonlit room before pulling his Yukata off as well.  

“Seeing you wear my clothes…it drives me insane…” Ryoma purred, jerking himself off to wet his cock as he slipped his clean hand to the back of Okita’s neck. “It’s been so long…” 

It really had been, and Okita lifted his leg for him, letting him enter him from the side. They both sighed, the full feeling in his gut making him feel whole once again. Ryoma let his cock go, pressing to the hilt and moving that hand to his thigh to keep his leg up in the air. The Mad Dog stroked himself slow as they adjusted, tangling his other hand in Ryoma’s loose bedhead. They laid there, breathing hard, hands and fingers stroking over skin and through hair. It was both maddening and calming, feeling Ryoma pressed their foreheads together, nuzzling him gently before he gave him a slow thrust. 

Their breaths fell into sync as Ryoma began to move, holding him tenderly and close as his cock slid in and out of him. The medication was doing its job for the moment, letting every movement feel so good without the added pain of his stitches pulling. Which they absolutely were, but he hardly cared right now. 

The samurai squeezed his thigh, thrusting harder as he finally found his rhythm. Okita’s head fell back, losing himself in the electric sensation that shot through his entire body each time Ryoma’s hard cock punched through him.  

It felt different than the last time. The desperation between them back in winter had been more like ice breaking away from the edge of the river. Inevitable, predictable. They had been teasing one another for weeks, experimenting, exploring, and playing with the fire between them. But not it was like they’d falling into the icy waters, the need for touch and sex like a static hum within him. What it all meant, he didn’t know, but it was something he could work out later. 

“You feel so good, nii-san…” Ryoma murmured in his ear, his balls slapping against him with each thrust.  

“Fuck…”  

“So warm inside…” 

His voice was rough and gravely, and Okita moaned loudly in response, cock in hand and stroking himself in time with each gut punching thrust. He could feel him so deep inside, the angle they were at making it so he could nestle his cock within him. Ryoma slid his hand down from his thigh to touch where they were connected, finger rubbing against the stretched rim of his ass as his cock continued to slide in and out with ease.  

“Do I feel good?” 

Okita whined, biting his lip as his back arched slightly. “Y-yes…” 

“Tell me…Please…”  

“Stretchin’ me…feel so damn good…” He breathed, letting out a cry as he pushed against the deepest parts of him, his body arching further, the pleasure electric.  

He was a wound-up spring, creaking and ready to explode, and Ryoma just continued to pound him, the tip of his cock hitting his nerves with such precision, he wasn’t sure he’d made it. The samurai dipped his head down, biting his shoulder hard. Okita cried out again, calling out his name as he licked the bite mark he left on his jaw. His teeth nibbled at his skin, his hands moving again. Fingers squeezed at his thigh, pulling his leg up so his knee was nearly at his chest, his other hand leaving his hair and neck to find his chest. The tips of Ryoma’s fingers found his pec, circling his nipple before pinching and pulling it. He whined, licking his lips as his strokes became wild and rough, he wouldn’t last, and Ryoma knew that. 

His hand dropped from his own cock, leaking and heavy against his wound. Ryoma growled in his ear, seemingly close as well.  

“Inside…cum inside…” He moaned, and he heard Ryoma groan as his thrusts began to lose their rhythm. 

“Want me to breed you?” He chuckled, breathless in his ear. 

“Oh gods…yes, fuck!” 

The mere thought was all that did it for him, and Okita let out a shout of pleasure as his cock released over his stomach. It twitched and jerked with each spurt, sending white ribbons over his abs and wound. 

Ryoma wasn’t much further behind, moaning and muttering about his velvet insides, his smooth body, all while their skin slapping filled the room with lewd sounds. The samurai bit him again, sobbing against his skin as he slammed his hips, pressing his cock in to the hilt and released. He could feel the warmth fill him, his cock pulsing inside of him. The swell and twitch inside his ass had Okita moaning again, blissed out and exhausted. He was already feeling better. 

Lying there, naked and exposed, his body aching, Okita stared at the ceiling as he felt Ryoma pull free from him. He felt something slip out of him, running down his leg to the futon and the samurai clicked his tongue, quickly grabbing his fundoshi to wipe it up. He dipped down as he tossed the cloth away, kissing Okita slowly, his lips soft and gentle, a stark comparison to the near tearing bites he’d given him before.  

His hands ran over him, smoothing over his sweaty skin, which Okita wasn’t sure if it was because they’d worked up such a sweat or if it was the fact that his abdomen felt like it was trying to tear away from his body. Despite the pain medication, he still felt a throb through his whole body, pulsing and clawing at him and he groaned, reaching down to touch the stitched wound. Okita looked up at Ryoma and watched his eyes trace down his body before falling on his wound and that’s when his expression seemed to change. His eyes widened and he sat up, cursing as he stumbled to get onto his sex wobbled feet. 

“Shit!” He hissed into the dark, looking around for a candle and getting it lit so he could check him over. “We shouldn’t have done that…” 

“Yer kinda…the uh…master of fuckin’ doin’ things ya shouldn’t,”  

“That’s a given…” Ryoma huffed and pulled on his spare Yukata, tying it loosely. “Are you okay?” 

“M’fine…I think…” 

“You’re bleeding…” 

“Huh…whaddaya know…” Okita touched the stitches, his fingers coming up with a faint smear of blood. 

Ryoma rolled his eyes and stomped off to the bathroom, leaving Okita to lay there between bliss, agony and strangely enough, anger. And it came from weakness, fear, or everything revolving around himself, Genzaburo and Ryoma. The idiot had hurt him, and now he was having nightmares about a man who loved him so deeply and whom he loved in return. It wasn’t fair. He had taken so long to get over his words to him, his jealousy, and now Okita was lying here, vulnerable, and he just didn’t know how to process it all. 

The samurai returned with some medical supplies and a wet cloth, kneeling beside him to wipe away any blood and other secretions from the wound and their sex. As he worked carefully and kindly, Okita glared up at him for a moment, then quickly looked away. 

“What did I do now?” Ryoma sighed, spreading a salve over the wound. 

“I just…hate ya,” Okita murmured, wincing. “And I hate that I think I love ya,” 

Ryoma’s hand paused. There was a long, pregnant silence between them, and then the samurai swallowed. “Sit up for me. Let me wrap you up and get you redressed,” 

He helped him up gently, giving him a moment to catch his breath before wrapping him up tightly. Okita gripped Ryoma’s arms, leaning into him as his arms slipped around him for one last pass of gauze. The samurai ceased moving, keeping their bodies close together a moment, holding him carefully like he might break. Okita’s nails bit into the samurai’s skin through his Yukata as he nuzzled into his shoulder. 

“Ryoma-chan is the worst…” 

“Yeah…I really am…” 

“Stay…I ain’t wanna sleep alone,” 

He felt a puff of hair on his head, and he could tell if it was Ryoma laughing or huffing, but the samurai simply pulled his Yukata back over. He pulled Okita off him as gently as possible and redressed him, holding his face after as he offered a goofy grin.  

“If that’s what you want. I won’t be going anywhere,” 

Notes:

I did this art for this chapter after of years of not doing nsfw art lol ryokita/kazumaji really be out there inspiring artists lol

Chapter 19: Dragons, Tigers and Snakes, Oh My!

Ryoma hadn’t slept much with how Okita’s health seemed to fluctuate. It was amazing that the idiot let him take care of him at all, though some days he absolutely refused. Whatever turmoil he was going through, it didn’t make sense to the samurai, but then again, he had all the time in the world when the Mad Dog was comatose to figure out his feelings.  

Well. Sort of figure them out.  

He was still unsure where his emotions lay between them. It was no fling, he knew that much, but whether it was love like Okita had let slip out or not was starting to dig at his brain. He didn’t want anyone else, and he didn’t want to be away from him, but was that just because the idea of being alone was so terrifying, or because he truly wanted him to himself? Did Okita have the same conflict or was it deeper than that?  

Considering how he reacted to Gen-san’s arsenal being stolen, Ryoma was pretty sure his conflict was less to do with them and more to do with a dead man.  

How was he even supposed to compete with that? Living here, in this house given by another dead man, he was practically living someone else’s life. Okita said he wanted what he had with Oryo, but Ryoma fully believed his search for love was just to find a piece of the feelings he had for Inoue, and there was no way he’d ever live up to that. How could he? Nagakura told him that Gen-san had these plans to buy a home, for them to be together forever, that he’d take care of him. What was the first thing he’d done when he secured something romantic with Okita? Stomped on his heart and feelings like a jerk.  

Maybe he hadn’t gotten over that.  

“Ah, Ryoma-chan,” Okita broke through his thoughts as he stared down at his cutting board.  

He hadn’t cut a single vegetable,  

“Hm?”  

“Thinkin’…I kinda wanna go t’ Kyo,”   

Ryoma turned around to find the Mad Dog dressed, his hair tied back and hiding the piece he’d chopped off. When had he gotten well enough to stand up and dress himself?  

“What for?” Ryoma set his cleaver down and wiped off his hands.  

“Well…Everythin’ in here is Yamada-Han’s. Thought it might be a good idea t’ buy some shit that fills the space. And I’ve been inside this whole time. Makin’ me a little stir crazy,” Okita chuckled softly. “Not t’ mention my hair needs a fix up after what ya cut off,”  

“Got me there. I warned you. I’m not a barber,”   

“Yer hair is gettin’ kinda long too,”  

“Is it?”  

“It’s practically down yer back!” The Mad Dog laughed, then winced. “Ugh…shouldn’t do that…Anyway, might be nice, y’know? Like…like back in winter,”  

They’d gone out a lot together in winter. Even when Okita was usually out with Yamada, he’d come back raving about needing to get something from town. There was also the fact that every time they went there it allowed them to…be a little freer. And Ryoma couldn’t deny how suffocated he felt being inside and alone with his thoughts. Okita was talking to him, wanted to go out with him, that was a win in his book. He just had to make sure he kept Gen-san off his mind. He had no reason to jealous of a dead man, no matter how amazing he was.   

He just had to make sure he didn’t focus on him being his Pop’s killer.  

That wouldn’t do him any good.  

Ryoma turned back around, untying his apron and sleeve ties. “You want to go back to how things were in winter?”  

“Yes,”  

The samurai wanted to smile, but what if things just fell back to how they were? How were they going to move past all of this? What if it all meant nothing in the end, like with Oryo?   

Maybe he was no better than Okita in not moving on.  

“If that’s what you want, then you’ll have to deal with me being all over you,”  

“Oh no! Ryoma-chan is going to smother me? As if ya haven’t been this whole time,” Okita sighed, scratching his head. “Just…even if it all is nothin’, and as fleetin’ as the cherry blossoms outside…don’t ya just wanna enjoy it until it’s gone? And if I’m bein’ honest…I’m just too tired t’ fight ya right now. As soon as I can move without rippin’ open, ya hafta spar with me,”  

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I’ll hold you to it,”  

“Maybe I’ll even let ya learn a little Tennen Rishin,” Okita grinned as Ryoma turned around. “But ya gotta be nice to me a little first,”  

“Speak for yourself. If you’re nice to me, I’ll show you how to shoot. Now what kind of furniture are you looking for?”  

“Whatever ya like,”  

---

When Okita said whatever he liked, he wasn’t expecting to have to put in more of an opinion. He didn’t know really anything about furniture, let alone home decor. Oryo had tried to get him to care before, when they hadn’t even settled anywhere, and he didn’t have an answer for her then either. Did the cushions look nice? Sure. Did the table finish match? Probably. Maybe he had completely checked out by that point, but standing there in the carpenter’s shop, staring at western and Japanese style tables and chairs, he found himself feeling overwhelmed.  

Haku had been kind enough to let them ride to the docks, and Okita so far seemed okay standing beside him despite his tired expression, but Ryoma almost felt bad for staring at two different dressers and taking so much time. They just…didn’t look different to him. Maybe one was a little darker than the other, but maybe Okita liked the darker one over the lighter. Or maybe he didn’t care at all and just wanted to get moving. He was only really now walking around. What if he was too tired for this?  

“Well?”  

“Hm?”  

“Which one?” Okita crossed his arms, raising his brow.   

“I…I don’t know,”  

“Really? It’s yer dresser…Ya gotta have a spot t’ put yer clothes,”  

“I just…don’t know,” Ryoma shook his head. “I need some air,”  

Okita looked to the clerk and artisan, sighing. “We’ll be back. Shit’s clearly too nice t’ pick!”  

Exiting the shop, Okita pulled Ryoma to the side and pouted.   

“What did I do now?” Ryoma sighed.  

“It’s more like what ya ain’t doin’,”  

“I can’t pick,”  

“Ya just have to pick a style. They can make it in whatever wood ya want,”  

“How do you know that?”   

Okita looked down at their feet. “‘Cause Gen-san took me, alright? But this ain’t ‘bout that. I’m just tryna figure out what we both want so I can replace Yamada-Han’s older stuff,”  

“What’s wrong with just keeping what he has?”  

“It’s filled with all his shit and his dead wife’s! The house is mine now, I think I can change the stupid dresser if I want. But I asked ya, what one ya want? It’s not fer my clothes, it’s fer yers,”  

“And what happens when you’re feeling better, and I have to leave?”  

Okita snapped his gaze up and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, Hajime-chan. Yer smarter than that. Let’s just…find somethin’ else fer now. Maybe some new clothes fer ya. Ya’ve been wearin’ grey fer like two years. I think blue looks better on ya,”  

“You don’t have to buy me clothes,”  

“And ya don’t hafta do the same, but ya do, so deal with it!” Okita pinched the bridge of his nose as his hand came up to his abdomen.  

It was obvious that he was in pain, and that was really the last thing he wanted. Okita deserved a stress-free time and here he was, bitching about the furniture.  

“Maybe it would be better if we sat down somewhere for a bit. You’re just going to feel worse standing around,” Ryoma sighed.  

“Yeah…yeah sure…”  

They found a bench, and Ryoma helped him sit down. Okita’s breathing was ragged and quick and he couldn’t help but frown. This was his fault. If he had just stayed, not let his own insecurities get in the way, he could have saved him the pain. Or would this Hito have still gotten the upper hand? From the sounds of him, he was quite the swordsman, though to take out Okita? The Mad Dog must have gotten sloppy. Well, not totally sloppy. He was trained well, always in control of his movements, so why had this happened at all? Perhaps it was the urge to save Haruka, or maybe it was the emotions of losing Gen-san all over again that made him not think.   

But what would Ryoma know? He wasn’t there until the end.   

Holding his bleeding body, covered in his blood as he spat and coughed it up. He had seen the light leave his eye as he had nearly died in his arms, and now he was bitching about a dresser.  

It wasn’t just a dresser.  

Whatever they had between them was still fresh and new. He wasn’t ready to pick the damn furniture. He wasn’t ready to move away from his own demons and Okita sure as shit wasn’t over his own. He’d never compete with Gen-san. For all he knew, Okita was thinking of him every time they were together.   

Gods, he must be possessed by a green oni.  

“Maybe going out today was a mistake,”  

“Nah, just…gotta keep workin’ on it. Can’t just sit on my ass,” Okita swallowed and then sat back, letting his head thump softly into the building behind him. “Wouldn’t feel like I’m bein’ ripped apart if ya’d just help pick the damn furniture…but maybe we ain’t there yet,”  

“No…maybe we aren’t,” Ryoma murmured, and he scratched at his neck. “I…don’t think either of us is ready for that,”  

“Right. Sure. Whatever,”  

“I can treat you to lunch?”   

“With what money?” The Mad Dog snorted, and the samurai huffed.  

“I have some money,”  

“Ya keep spendin’ it on me and then get mad when I try t’ buy ya shit. Ya got a backwards way of thinkin’, Hajime-chan, but fine. I could go fer some ramen,”  

“I expected you to say sushi,”  

“Why would I make ya spend a ryo ya don’t got? Plus, ramen just sounds comfortin’…almost as comfortin’ as a plain bowl of rice,”   

“Well, that would be cheaper,”  

“Listen, don’t get me wrong, Hajime-chan. I just like makin’ fun of ya fer bein’ broke. I got expensive taste now that I ain’t poor. Better keep up,”   

“I doubt I ever will, but for you? I’ll try,”  

Okita snorted, rolling his head to look at him. “Gonna try makin’ up yer mind too?”  

“No, I like keeping you on your toes,”  

He felt Okita’s hand slide into his and he gave it a squeeze as he looked away. What kind of man was he to treat someone so good like he had been? How Okita could sit here and hold his hand at all was a miracle, but his words just rang in his head like a bell for the hour. I hate that I might love you. It was like a curse. There’s no way he did. He was so mad at him, stuck in winter while Ryoma was in spring, and now it all felt wrong. He deserved…better. Okita didn’t need some broke idiot holding him back in life. Even if he did enjoy seeing him in his Yukata, or buying him things, or making him food. He at least seemed to actually appreciate it, but maybe he was just pitying him.  

Damn it. He needed to clear his head.  

“C’mon. Let’s get you ramen,” Ryoma stood and helped the Mad Dog up, letting him still hold his hand as he walked him back out into the street.  

There were a couple stands with outdoor seating, but one indoor restaurant caught his eye. Built new with brick and wood, a fusion of western and Japanese influence, the sign stated it was classic. He had no idea whose shop it was, but the smell of oily pork began to waft over, and he smiled. If there was one way he could feel better, it was through a nice bowl of noodles.   

As they walked towards the restaurant, his eyes began to stray, catching sight of vibrant pink and yellow. Perfect hair and smooth skin set in a constant worried expression had him stopping in the middle of the road as horses and palanquins passed them by. Caramel eyes widened and he squeezed Okita’s hand hard as the pale visage of Oryo turned towards them and he felt the bile rise in his throat. His chest tightened, his arm hairs standing on end as a cold chill passed over his skin, digging deep into his muscles. He froze, his face going as pale as hers, and he watched as recognition hit her face. For a moment there was nothing but shock in her expression, and then her brow furrowed, and she began to walk towards him. It was then that he finally felt the flight response hit and he yanked hard on Okita’s arm to get him moving.   

Weaving through the passing crowds, he refused to look behind him as he pushed through to the restaurant, nearly dragging Okita inside. The Mad Dog huffed in annoyance, and he grit his teeth, knowing well he had probably made him feel worse, but he didn’t want to deal with her. Hell, he didn’t want to even see her. The mere thought of Oryo had him sick sometimes, and he felt nothing but guilt and fear in him concerning her. He’d never admit it out loud, but she made him anxious.   

Though not as anxious as the bald, hulking tiger in black that was sat at the back of the restaurant made him.  

He definitely was being punished by the Gods today, and Ryoma didn’t like it.  

“Aye! Saito-san! Soji!” Nagakura waved from his table, setting his chopsticks down. “Come o’er here!”  

Looking at Okita, he watched his face light up, and Ryoma knew he was stuck. He supposed if he had to choose between a tiger and a garden of hemlock…he’d pick the tiger.   

He let the Mad Dog take the lead, sitting down across from Nagakura, leaving the seat between the two open for him. He nervously sat down, shakily taking the menu from the owner as their old friend looked between them.  

“I haven’t seen you together in a while. Thought somethin’ went wrong and ya took off without a word,” Nagakura said, slurping up a bunch of noodles.   

“Can’t exactly run off with a gut wound, but I appreciate ya thinkin’ I can,” Okita chuckled and Ryoma went pale as Nagakura set his chopsticks down.  

“What?”  

“I got stabbed? Ryoma’s been t’ town tons. Thought he told ya,”  

“He ain’t tell me shit. What do ya mean stabbed?”  

Both of them looked to Ryoma as the server placed a cup of green tea in front of them. He picked his up and immediately chugged the hot liquid, hissing as it burned his tongue and mouth. So, maybe he forgot to mention it, and maybe it was less of forgetting to and more like he was actively avoiding the wrath of the tiger before him. But after the conversation they had about Soji and what he’d been through, he just couldn’t tell him he fucked up and got him hurt. He’d kill him. Nagakura had always been holding back and Ryoma was sure that this would make him end his life.  

“Uh, Hajime-chan? Ya didn’t tell him?” Okita frowned.  

“How about we order something and just not stress you out. You’re already in pain,”  

“I ain’t gonna be the only one in like five seconds if ya don’t start speakin’ up,”   

Ryoma swallowed, saved only by the owner who came by to take their order. He ordered himself a small bowl, a rare thing considering his appetite, but he didn’t feel that hungry right now. He felt stuck between a rock, a boulder and a hard place.   

“Someone wanna tell me what’s happenin’? The Tiger sighed and went back to his meal.  

“Ah, I met some bastard on my travels at a gamblin’ hall—“  

“Of course ya did,”  

“And I won these swords he obviously stole, and he didn’t like that very much,”  

“Most thieves don’t like being stolen from, but if he bet them, sounds fair ‘nuff fer me,”  

“That’s what I thought! And then he just showed up and caused a whole ruckus at the village,”  

“Oi, Saito-san. When did this happen exactly?”  

“You remember that day we met up for drinks? And I was really down?”  

“…Yes…”  

“Yeah, that day. I…I didn’t…” Ryoma looked down at his hands, shaking harder than he’d ever had before. He grabbed his teacup and swallowed. “I didn’t make it back in time. I had no idea they were even around. Most of the ronin only passed through, we hadn’t had issues with bandits in ages….”  

“Yer tellin’ me…that that whole fuss with the stupid house, and the fight between ya…’caused Soji t’ get hurt?” Nagakura practically growled and Okita waved his hands around.  

“No, no, it was definitely all because of Hito,” Okita said. “I dunno how he found me, but there he was! And he took…Gen-san’s things too…”  

“He what?!”  

The owner brought their small bowls of ramen, making Nagakura quiet down for the moment. Ryoma started to pick at his food, his appetite slowly leaving him as he avoided looking at either of the ex-captains.   

“Okita-no-niisan noticed that Gen-san’s things were taken. I didn’t find them when I cleaned up the house or when I helped get Okita to a doctor,” He murmured, glancing up at the tiger who was now staring him down.  

“Fuck…fuck! I didn’t even know ya had them, Soji. Why weren’t ya more careful? Why did ya hafta go on some gamblin’ grief trip and cause such a damn ruckus?” Nagakura shook his head. “We could have donated them or had them put at a shrine for safe keeping. Hell, ya didn’t even have a home until recently. I would have held them at the barracks—“  

“‘Cause they weren’t yers t’ have!” Okita slammed his fist on the table. “By right…they were mine. Sure, I was careless, but they meant far more to me by my side than sittin’ in a damn shrine,”  

“Yeah, sure, but now look what happened!”  

“Y’know…maybe we should be glad that I’m just alive and I didn’t bleed out on the road like I could have. Ryoma wouldn’t have even come back if ya didn’t spill my entire life fuckin’ story t’ him!”  

“I thought you told him everythin’!”  

“I wasn’t ready! And fer good reason too! Did he even tell ya why we were fightin’?” Okita snorted and shook his head as he grabbed up a couple noodles to slurp. “The idiot called me a damn whore after he got me into bed with him while I was grievin’ the old man who got me the damn house! OH! And it was all ‘cause he thought I wouldn’t have asked ‘im t’ live with me!”  

The restaurant grew quiet. It was like every set of eyes in the place was on him and Ryoma set down his chopsticks, barely registering that the Tiger was standing up beside him. He grunted as he was grabbed by the front of his kimono, the massive, hulking man before him holding him off the floor with little effort before he was slammed into the nearby wall. Ryoma hissed, grabbing Nagakura’s hand to keep himself steady. His head pounded as pain swelled from where he hit the wall, and he looked down to find a tango at his throat, the Tiger’s claws extended and ready to cut into him like butter.   

“Ya called my kyoudai a whore?”  

“T-technically…I didn’t…it was…insinuated,”  

“That’s a big word comin’ from a punk ass who can’t read,”  

“I can read a little—“  

“I didn’t fuckin’ ask! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t gut ya here and now?”  

Ryoma swallowed. He didn’t have one. He had caused all of this. Maybe if he had been there when Hito attacked, he could have done something, but he had failed. He ran away because of his own commitment issues and now he was here again because he couldn’t decide on a damn dresser. What had he allowed his life to become? Stricken with fear when he had faced the barrel of a gun, the sharp edge of a blade. He shouldn’t fear anything, not even Nagakura, whom he beat in try outs easily. Had he just given up? Maybe. The sweet scent of a garden had lured him in, told that everyone should partake of a sweet flower, and in the end, he was left paralyzed and near death. Her white blooms had sucked the life from him, the will to carry on, the want to let himself get too close. It all had become too real with Okita. On one hand he had wanted him to stay, but the longer they stayed close to one another, he found himself reaching for a viper, brilliant and quick, begging it not to sink its fangs into him.  

And he instead had wrapped his maw around its writhing body and bit down. Left with a mangled snake between his teeth, he stared down at the tiger and shook his head, ready to give in. He didn’t remember the dead place that Okita had spoken about, but maybe he’d find some peace on the shore.  

“Shinpachi, put him down,”  

Ryoma snapped his gaze to the side, finding Okita grabbing the man’s arm tight.   

“He ain’t deserve this. He’s repented enough. A month carin’ fer a dead man is penance enough, right? Ain’t our job to judge anyone. That’s on Buddha or the Gods. Whoever wants him when the time comes,”  

“Soji, he called ya—“  

“Hey, ain’t sayin’ it’s right, or I ain’t grateful fer yer defense…but I just came out here t’ buy him a damn dresser. If I didn’t wanna let him live with me, I probably would’ve killed ‘im myself,” Okita looked up at him, offering a crooked smile. “I kinda like my men broken anyway,”  

Nagakura clicked his tongue and dropped Ryoma, letting him stumble and nearly fall to the floor.   

“If he hurts ya again…I don’t care what we went through together. I’ll kill ‘em myself,”  

“Doubt he’ll cause a problem. He’s been makin’ himself broke just fer me,” Soji smiled, swaying slightly.  

It was almost the happiest smile he’d seen on his face. Which said a lot considering how they couldn’t agree on how to continue their relationship lately. Something about him standing up for him had his heart thumping in his chest and it all seemed so overwhelming. His appetite was completely gone, and even with Okita pulling him back to his seat, his mind was just racing. He didn’t know how to proceed with anything anymore, and now he had to worry about Nagakura ending his life if he ever upset Okita again. He’d never live this down, just like his relationship with Oryo. Her shadow was ever looming, and he fully believed he had shaken the petals from his broken body, but her poison was still deep in his veins.  

How unfair.  

Sitting there, he poked at his bowl and frowned before pushing it away.   

“I’ll wait outside for you. Just let me know when you’re ready to go home. I think we still need to take you to the barber to fix the hair I fucked up,” Ryoma stood up. “Take your time,”  

“Hajime—“  

“Let him leave. He’s sulkin’,” Nagakura shook his head. “Good food and no stress will help that wound of yers,”  

“But I—“  

“Like I said, nii-san. Take your time,” Ryoma forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  

He needed some fresh air. He only hoped Oryo wasn’t waiting for him out there. He didn’t need another beating.  

Chapter 20: Not Black or White, But Blue

Notes:

it's a little shorter but only because it had to be that way lol. we're moving into the next section of spring, so we'll see if i feel generous in giving another update since I'm kinda behind lol

Okita gripped the futon beneath him, trying hard to keep his voice down as the man above him thrust deep into him.   

These moments were rare, and he cherished each one. He held a collection of intimate memories in his heart, and this one was now another for him to tuck away to dream of later. Gen-san had been kind enough to get them a Ryokan for the night, a place away from Takeda’s prying and predatory eyes, a place to not think about the impending danger around them. His wandering hands in the bath had been more than welcoming on his bruised muscles, and his kisses had been hot and searing on his skin. His body had yearned for this since Saito Hajime first walked into the barracks.  

He cried out, hearing Inoue chuckle breathily above him as he gave him another powerful thrust, his hips slapping against his ass. He could hardly think, the pleasure too good, intoxicating his mind and making everything delightfully fuzzy. Static ran through him, and Okita whined, moaning pathetically as his Nenja quickened his pace.  

They didn’t need words. Inoue knew his body better than anyone, knew how much he could take. The older man dragged the tips of his fingers down his spine and Okita sobbed out his name, his release pooling beneath him on the futon. Inoue thrust into him harder, his breath ragged before he finally came deep within him with a grunt. He could feel his warmth and love fill him, and as they both collapsed, he moaned softly into the sheets.  

The silence was welcoming as Inoue pulled free from him, leaving him gaping and open. The older man laid beside him, fingers gently running up and down his back to calm his breathing. Okita felt relaxed for the first time in a while, his mind free from the looming threat of their unknown companion. Moving enough to look at Inoue, he smiled crookedly and reached out to gently touch the scar across his face.   

“Feel better?” The older man smiled, and Okita hummed.  

“Much. Ya always know how t’ treat a guy,”   

Inoue laughed. “You’re just easy to please. Like a cat lazing in the sun, a morsel of raw meat and a belly rub is all you need,”  

“And your meat and rubs are the best,”  

“You’re still as lewd as ever, Soji,”  

“Hmm, ya like it,”   

“You’re not wrong,”  

Inoue sat up, groaning as he stood and wandered off to find a cloth. Okita rolled onto his side, watching him clean off his cock and then wander back over to wipe him up. The Mad Dog reached up, pulling Inoue down to him to capture his lips. Soft and plump, the old man sighed, sucking his bottom lip before deepening the kiss with ease. He pressed him back into the futon, sliding his fingers into his hair and smiled against his lips. Sliding his own hands around Gen-san’s neck, he held him lazily against him.  

“Round two?”  

“You forget that you have things to do,”  

“Ugh…I just wanna forget all of that right now. It’s rare t’ have ya t’ myself,”  

“You’ve already forgotten then?”  

“Haw?”  

Okita opened his eye as Inoue propped himself up, his hands gently holding and stubbing his face.   

“You need to wake up, Soji…”  

“I…no…no,”  

“You’re worried about losing me again, but I’ve been gone a long time. There’s someone else who needs you now,” Inoue kissed his nose. “ Wake up ,”  

Okita’s eye snapped open, the spring light filtering through the window beside him. His chest felt tight, and he was breathing hard, almost painfully as the birds sang outside, seeking mates for the summer. He lifted his blanket, thankful that he was neither hard nor messy, and relaxed into his pillow. He took a deep breath and carefully sat up, wincing as the pain pulled at his wound. It was getting better with time, but he wasn’t in any shape to be fighting still. Hopefully that would change. He was starting to miss practicing and wandering about the village. Being cooped up inside was no way to live.  

Retying his Yukata as he wandered out of his room, he found Ryoma sitting outside, hunched over with a dark and gloomy aura circling him. The Mad Dog sighed, quickly tying back his hair and pulling his tsuba over his missing eye as he made his way to the door.   

“Oi…how long have ya been awake?”   

“Awhile,”  

Ryoma had been lost in his head since Nagakura threatened his life. Whatever was wrong, it was affecting him hard, making the once lively and bratty man a shell of himself. It seemed his perspective of the samurai having had all this time to absolve himself was incorrect, because the dark demeanor around him was proof enough that what happened to Okita weighed heavy on his mind.   

That was the last thing he wanted.  

Sitting beside him, Okita hissed and crossed his legs, resting his wrists on his knees. He peeked at his face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the way his hair looked unkempt and wild. His bottom lip was bloodied, scarred, like he’d been chewing on it all night and morning. He looked like a beaten dog, starving and weakened, and Okita didn’t like the look of him. There was always something more hiding there, from the confession of liking the same colours as him, to the sudden lashing out when things got serious. It all could stem from him being an orphan or maybe even from the ideals he learned from his adoptive father and his Edo teachers. But it also could be from whatever happened in that year with Oryo. The big mystery that Okita never got a real answer to.  

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” he asked, tapping his knees with his fingers. “Ya’ve been a decent ear fer me…I probably haven’t been the most honest or upfront, but ya’ve been hiding from me this whole time,”  

“Can you blame me? You aren’t exactly someone who’s known for being the most truthful, and you hid a pretty big thing from me,”  

“I was just tryna move on, Ryoma-chan. Losing a father, losing a mother, losing a lover…they’re all hard in their own way,”  

“Okay, then before I talk about things, can I ask you something?” Ryoma sighed.  

“If Gen-san never died, would you be with him right now?”  

That was a big question. A question he wasn’t sure he had the answer to. Okita frowned and scratched his head, huffing. “Makin’ this hard, Ryoma-chan. I don’t think we’d be here at all if Gen-san never killed yer pops. We’d all be livin’ different lives,”  

“I guess that’s true…A little unfair of me to put this all on him. I could have figured my shit out without it tangling my life up like this…”  

Okita snorted. “A little. Might be best t’ stop talkin’ yerself into knots though,”  

Ryoma laughed at that and offered a small smile. Success. “You’re right about that,”  

“So…what’s up, Ryoma-chan?”  

There was a long pause as the samurai looked away. It seemed like he was digging through his mind, organizing his thoughts before he took a deep breath.  

“That year…with Oryo…I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought it was what I was meant to do, everyone told me to go to her, hell…even you,” he shook his head. “She was hardly the one for me. What use did I have for someone to care for me the way a wife should? I can cook, clean, and take care of myself. I always have. I thought she’d be a good companion, but then it was pushing for sex, pushing for more, wanting to look at homes, asking about children, and if I shared any reservations…She’d just put that stupid pout on and lay on the blame,”  

“She always was a bit whiny, wasn’t she?” Okita snorted, but the way Ryoma turned to him told him it was more than that.  

“It was more than that. She would get mad at me over seemingly nothing, ignore me, bring up the whole Shinsengumi shit and then the moment I try to speak to her, it’s suddenly me attacking her and I…it was exhausting,” Ryoma fiddled with his hakama, shaking his head. “One moment she tells me she loves me, the next she wanted me out of her life. And when I finally got fed up with it and left…she just freaked out on me. There was no security,”  

“So, ya thought I was the same,”  

“For a moment…yes. This house…you just having it…it shouldn’t have made me think of her, but it did, and I was sure you’d toss me aside. I know I was no good for her. I didn’t…I never did…like…y’know…”  

“Women?”  

“Yeah. But admitting it is a little hard when your peers push you to get with the one girl obsessed with you,”  

“I suppose that’s true,” Okita hummed. “I didn’t know it was that bad,”  

“The funny thing is the denial. I really wanted to make it work, but all I could think about was how a man wouldn’t give me such a headache,” Ryoma laughed bitterly. “I also…missed being around someone like you. Someone who challenged me, someone who seemed to want me around,”  

“I still want ya around,”  

“Do you?”  

“Wouldn’t have asked if ya wanted a dresser if I didn’t,”  

“You’ve been pretty angry with me, and a while ago, you told me you hated me and hated that you lo—“  

“I ain’t say anythin’ like that!” Okita snorted, face going hot and red.   

“You did! You said you hated you loved—“  

“Aahh! Ryoma-chan!”  

“What?!”  

“It’s embarrassin’…Listen…Ya‘ve been honest with me ‘bout Oryo and I appreciate that…but…I don’t want both of us just sayin’ words right now. I want shit t’ go back t’ how it was in winter, but I want us t’ do this right, okay?”  

“R-right…”  

“So…t’ start…I want ya t’ stay in our room,”  

“Our room?” Ryoma smirked.   

“Yes. Ours. And I want ya t’ pick a dresser,”  

“Okay, and what if you hate the colour I pick?”  

“Why would I hate what you pick?” Okita smiled, leaning against Ryoma’s shoulder. “I’d just pick everythin’ else t’ match,”  

That seemed to break through a little, and Okita’s smile grew as he felt Ryoma slide his arm around him. He pulled him closer to his side, leaning his head on his. It felt good. It felt right. Oryo may have made Ryoma’s jealousy and personal issues reach a dark point, but the very least he could do was brighten that darkness. Day by day, he’d at least put in the effort. It would be what Gen-san wanted for him. Why should he fall back into that grief when Ryoma was right here beside him.  

“Well…if I have to pick the furniture…” Ryoma reached down, tangling his fingers with his own. “Then you have to pick everything we eat. Whatever you want, I’ll make it,”  

“Ah, Ryoma-Chan runs a hard bargain!”  

“Goro-no-niisan asked for so much of me, I have to get even,”  

“Yer a menace!”  

“Yeah, but I’m your menace. Deal with it,”  

Chapter 21: New Growth

Notes:

Uploading early because the Majima game is coming out this week and I know I will be busy lol. I will be taking some time off of uploading to catch up and get things sorted because I am running out of backlog, and I have to finish up some Shed Skin things. So it might be about a month before I upload again! Thank you for understanding! And have fun pirating!

Things had calmed between them, finally allowing them to relax after the spring storm they’d kicked up. Ryoma’s worry and possessive nature made sense with what he told Okita about Oryo. It didn’t sound like a loving or fruitful relationship. How could he grow as a person with her when all she did was put him down and play games? Her manipulative nature wasn’t lost on Okita. He hadn’t liked her the moment he gave her that warning. She hated the Shinsengumi, hated everything to do with the Bakufu and how things were run, and she hadn’t been quiet about it either.   

If Okita had known Ryoma’s affinity for the same colours, would he have stepped in sooner? Could he have changed things? Probably not, and he shouldn’t dwell on it either. It was bad enough that he was still having dreams about a dead man, but those would fade with time.   

He hoped.  

For now, it was just nice to wake up in Ryoma’s arms, not a worry in his mind. Lying there as the spring sun peeked through the windows and bathed their home in warm light. Well, almost their home. They still needed to move Ryoma in properly and decide on the furniture, but it felt peaceful already. The pain in his abdomen was slowly waning, and according to the samurai, the wound was even looking better every day. Even now, held in Ryoma’s arms, his legs nearly wrapped around him, he didn’t feel pain or discomfort. Okita was happy, content, and unbothered.   

He felt a puff of air on the back of his head and the samurai fidgeted behind him, legs extending as he stretched like a lazy cat. He grunted, and Okita turned slightly to see him blink his eyes open.   

“Mornin’ sunshine,”  

“Ugh…”  

“Sleep well?” Okita moved to sit up, only for Ryoma to push him back down, rolling onto him.  

“Not really,” Ryoma sighed into his neck. “But I blame Nagakura and Oryo for that,”  

“That all still botherin’ ya?”  

“Does getting stabbed and me being an idiot still bother you?”  

“Got me there,”  

Ryoma whined, squeezing him tight. Being calmer didn’t always mean that things were perfect. The samurai’s worries still seemed to plague him, and he couldn’t really blame him. It wasn’t like the dreams of Gen-San had ceased. All Okita could do to comfort the idiot was wrap his arms around him and trace shapes over his back. Turning his head, he hesitated a moment and then gave his ear a kiss, the only part of him he could reach.  

“As much as I wanna lay in bed all day…I think I’d feel better gettin’ up t’ eat and maybe…I dunno…Walk ‘round. Do somethin’, y’know?” He murmured, feeling Ryoma lift off of him.  

He sighed, taking Okita’s hand from him and kissing his knuckles. “Alright. Let me get dressed,”  

“Ah, Ryoma-chan doesn’t wanna walk ‘round in the slutty Yukata and rile me up?”  

“I mean, I could, but if I walked around exposed all the time, you wouldn’t have something to imagine,”  

“Oh-ho! So ya want me thinkin’ ‘bout ya all naked?”  

“Maybe,” Ryoma smirked, standing up to find his clothes for the day.   

They dressed and bantered, everything nearly feeling back to normal again. It wasn’t though, since they continued to move around one another like they were walking through a den of venomous snakes. Ryoma was still hurt by Oryo, Okita was still hurt by Inoue’s passing, and together they had hurt one another just by stepping on the tails around them, causing deep cuts and bites that only seemed to continue to fester and eat away at their skin. Eventually they wouldn’t be able to hide behind veils and masks, and Okita knew that with what Ryoma went through he’d have to be cautious and kind. He already blamed himself for so much.  

Some of it wasn’t even his fault.  

Oryo seemed like the perfect choice for him back then. Cute, determined, someone almost like minded, but now the picture of her had been tainted. To manipulate and put down a man who was so strong and independent, it made Okita sick. How could she destroy the man he knew? How could she sit there and tear him down for simply being who he is?   

If he dwelled on it long enough, it made him angry.  

One part of him wanted to cut her down, the other knew that ignoring her would cut deeper than any blade. She thrived off the attention, thrived in the chaos she sewed. She was a woman who was built on the backs of everyone’s negativity and merely piled on her own. Always pouting, always secretly conniving, always waiting for the next person to pull in and use for her own gain. She was utterly forgettable, talentless, and yet had a way of working her way into your mind like a parasite. She wasn’t worth a single thought, but she’d make it her mission to make sure you thought of her as she indirectly sabotaged your life. She was poison to Ryoma, and to Okita, watching him dwell on her and twist into something paranoid and self-destructive, he hated her.  

Watching Ryoma cook up breakfast for him at least put a small smile on his face. He seemed comfortable in this role, whether that was because he was a natural caretaker or something else, the Mad Dog didn’t know. He was just happy if he was happy. Despite everything, he couldn’t deny that.  

They were trying to restart this after all. It wouldn’t do either of them well if they continued to dwell on words unsaid and wounds still healing. Sitting there, resting his chin on his fist, he frowned as he recalled Nagakura’s rage and words. It had been warranted, to a point, but his words once Ryoma had left had stung.  

You don’t deserve a broken man who takes his insecurity out on ya. Gen-san treated ya better. Have some respect.  

That insecurity, that pathetic man he let into his bed, was far better for him than anyone else. Most men were adopting Western views, anything to keep themselves in the good graces of their superiors. People like Okita would soon be seen as something less than. Ryoma was the only one who didn’t look at him like he was nothing more than a prostitute. Hell, even when he nearly called him a whore, it didn’t seem like he meant it. In fact, it seemed like he just wanted him to hurt and was struggling with even that thought. Ryoma was good for him. He just had to make the idiot see that.  

“What’s the scowl for?”  

“Haw?”  

“You look like someone just offended you,” Ryoma sat down across from him, handing him his simple breakfast of miso and rice, paired with a small number of fish.  

“Nah, just lost in thought,”  

“Hope it’s not about how much you hate me,”  

“Pfft! I’d just tell ya if that’s how I felt. Don’t worry yer pretty little head,” Okita sipped his soup with a happy sigh.  

“I’m not the pretty one. That’s all you,”   

“Ah, there’s the flirt I fell fer!”  

That got Ryoma’s cheeks darkening and he turned slightly as he ate, though the smile he was trying to resist was pulling hard at his lips. It was something though, better than the pouting, the tension, the standoff between them finally ceasing.  

“Maybe Ryoma-chan should move his stuff over. Like…all your stuff,” Okita shrugged. “I know it’s a lot fer ya, but I’d like ya t’ stay,”  

“If nii-san wants me too,” Ryoma scratched behind his ear. “But what about Haruka?”  

“She’s got Yuta-chan,”  

“Yeah, but—“  

“Ryoma-chan, eventually yer gonna hafta let her go,”  

“After what happened…I’m worried. She’s so young and even with the training she did get hurt. Yuta is…frankly useless,” Ryoma sighed. “He got hurt worse than her,”  

“I did my best,” Okita frowned.  

“I know…I don’t blame you; I blame myself,” The samurai shook his head. “If I was here and I wasn’t such an ass…Maybe no one would have gotten hurt,”  

“Or ya could’ve gotten hurt too. Then what? We’d both be stabbed or worse. I coulda died, sure, but I managed t’ survive thanks t’ dumb luck. What if neither of us survived that? Ya shouldn’t be beating’ yerself up over what ifs. That ain’t the Ryoma-chan I know,”  

“Heh…I suppose it’s not. I guess I’ve gotten soft,”  

“Nothin’ wrong with that. But I’m gonna push ya, get ya back t’ where ya were. Even if ya ain’t want me ‘round anymore, I’m gonna beef ya up,”  

“What? Teach me Tennen Rishin?”  

“If ya want me to! I’ll gladly show ya the basics. But what ya gonna teach me in return?”  

“Well, there’s my style. And I can shoot. I can teach you how to pull a trigger,”  

“Imagine me! Tennen Rishin, and a gun!” Okita made a gun with his fingers and grinned. “Make fer a frightenin’ sight,”  

“No one would mess with you again!” Ryoma laughed. “When you’re feeling better, we can do that. Today…we can get my things and maybe go fishing. I need to stock up on fish you like,”  

The fact he even remembered what he liked was just proof that he had to feel something for him more than a fling. Whatever helped Ryoma deal with his issues regarding commitment.   

They finished their meal, and with Ryoma’s help up, they headed out into the morning light. Spring had really taken over the village now, with cherry blossoms beginning to bloom, leaving pink petals all around them. Children were playing outside again, while farmers made their way into their fields to check on their crops. Okita had missed a lot in his comatose state. Things had begun to change, with once muddy and icy roads now being filled in and laid with stone, far more secure than dirt and gravel. New homes were being built at the far edges of the village, some reinforced with stone, while others kept more traditional. Things were different now, and while he wasn’t entirely understanding of it, there was no fighting it either. No matter what they had done or tried to do, new people would move into Japan, the views of people would change, and soon their laws and government would follow.   

For now, though, his worry was the silence around Haruka’s home. Or rather, the lack of life on the outside. The garden hadn’t really been dealt with, though the dogs and chickens seemed to be doing well. The eggs hadn’t been gathered yet and it seemed the pups hadn’t been fed either. Okita caught the frown spreading over Ryoma’s face and as it clicked in his own mind, he didn’t have time to stop him as he slid open the door.  

“Hajime-chan, wait—“  

Ryoma stepped in and paused, his grip on the door tight, nearly splintering the wood.  

“What the hell are you two doing?!”  

Okita covered his mouth and quickly turned away as Ryoma stormed inside, the sound of people scrambling and knocking things over was loud even from outside.   

“It’s fine! Uncle Hajime! Leave him alone!” Haruka pleaded and that was enough for Okita to step inside to intervene.  

Inside, Yuta was a pathetic mess, barely dressed and nearly cowering as Ryoma loomed over him, his hands balled into fists. Blocking his way stood Haruka, who was in a state of undress that felt nearly illegal for him to see, her hair undone and her Yukata barely on. For teenagers, they really seemed to be going at it, though if Okita had had a normal childhood, he probably would have looked the same. Both of them looked like a deer in lamplight, and Ryoma looked like he was about ready to start cracking a kid’s skull.   

Sighing, Okita put a hand on the samurai’s shoulder, watching him flinch and twist towards him. If he was about to explode, he stopped the moment he saw the Mad Dog and with an angry huff, he pulled away.  

“Has this been happening the entire month I was away?” He asked Haruka, who looked down at her feet.  

“I thought you and Uncle Soji made up…I know you left things here…You didn’t come for them,”  

Ryoma didn’t seem to have a response to that, and Okita wasn’t about to let him drown.  

“We just came t’ grab everythin’. He was so busy makin’ sure I wasn’t dead,” Okita smiled.  

“I’m so glad you’re awake and moving, Uncle Soji. Really. So, so glad,” Haruka sniffled a little and adjusted her Yukata to cover herself better. “Does this mean Uncle Hajime is going to live with you now?”  

“Would that bother ya?”  

“Honestly?” She glanced back at Yuta, who frankly looked about ready to piss himself. “I liked spending time with Yuta,”  

“Well, it’s just yer luck! Now there’s space fer Yuta, but y’know…as yer uncle and well…what even are ya, Hajime-chan?”  

“Her guardian,” He hissed.  

“As yer guardian and yer uncle, I think it’s time we talk ‘bout what happens when two people love each other very much—“  

“Just take your stuff! Thanks for stopping by! Maybe we can have dinner together at your place, uncle Soji! Now bye bye!” Haruka quickly opened the drawers of the dresser and tossed Ryoma’s clothes at him and a few other items before rushing them out the door. “And knock next time! Thanks! Love you both!”  

And the door slammed right in Ryoma’s face. He stood there, silent and still, for several seconds, looking like a kicked dog and Okita couldn’t hold it in any longer. It started as a little snort, and then his hands were at his mouth trying to stifle the giggles breaking through. The moment Ryoma turned his gaze upon him was too much and the Mad Dog threw his head back with a laugh, clutching his stomach and wound.  

“I can’t believe ya didn’t know they were fuckin’!”  

“This isn’t funny, nii-san. They’re practically children!”  

“They’re closer t’ our age than ya think! Don’t ya remember bein’ a teenager?”  

“Sure I do. I was shipped off to Edo to learn discipline, not…fornicating!”  

“Fornicatin’! Ha!”  

“Not all of us had a Nenja like you did,”  

“Ouch! Sore subject!”  

“You’re the one laughing at me!”  

“If ya were laughin’, I’d be laughin’ with ya!”  

“Somehow that’s less comforting, knowing that you’d probably still be laughing at me,”  

“I find yer naivety and anger very amusin’,”  

“Ugh…shut up…Let’s just drop this shit off and go fishin’,”  

“Touchy!” Okita snickered and Ryoma placed his hand on his face and shoved him playfully out of the way as he headed to the gate of the property. “Y’know, this works out! Maybe with some good trainin’ Yuta will be a good protector,”  

“Have you seen him try to fight off people’s dogs when he delivers mail?”  

“No?”  

“Then you have no idea how much of a lost cause that kid is,”  

“Ooo! Hajime-chan is so cruel!”  

“He’s lucky I didn’t decapitate him,”  

“What’re ya gonna do when he gets her pregnant?”  

“Oh gods, please just shut up!”  

Once they dropped off Ryoma’s things, which he unceremoniously dropped in the front room like some sort of storage space, he grabbed his fishing rod and led Okita back out.   

As tired and sore as he was, walking about and keeping active had been helping him heal more. It hurt less to twist and turn, and some days it didn’t even hurt to sit up. Everything still felt tight though, his muscles grasping for one another to stitch together and heal. He’d probably never be the same, but once he was out of the woods with all of this he’d just go back to training. He had been slack, and he wouldn’t let himself be caught off guard like that again.  

Some might say it wasn’t even his fault, but Okita still felt like Gen-san’s untimely end at the hands of Izo and the other shishi ishin. On one hand, he supposed he understood. Ryoma was apart of the movement himself, though for far more selfish reasons. Reasons that put them at odds. Even now, sometimes he’d remember than Gen-san died because he was the one who killed Ryoma’s father. If that hadn’t happened though, they would have met on the opposite ends of the battle field, and no connection would have been made. If he had stood with the shishi, assisting Satsuma, Tosa and Choshu, he probably would have killed him.  

Or rather, considering Ryoma’s skill, had been killed by him.  

Instead, the idiot had infiltrated them on his own. Not connected with his own loyalist group, he stood opposite of a fake Sakamoto Ryoma. It was almost odd to call him Ryoma for that fact alone, but a man deserved to be himself. Okita Soji wasn’t Okita. He was, at his core, Goro, and being able to reclaim himself even in the arms of his once enemy was something that couldn’t be taken away from him. He owed Ryoma that. The chance to reconnect his soul and be himself.   

And now here he was, sitting by a river with his once enemy, with his heart swelling just being near him. After everything, the transgressions of the previous season didn’t really feel like much of a problem. Ryoma brought out the best in him, and he wanted to bring out the best in Ryoma. Whether the dancing samurai let him was a whole other issue.  

Said samurai cast his line out into the river and then signed. The hook bobbed in the water and then stood still, the only movement from the river’s current. If he looked close enough, he could see the shapes of fish below the surface. Salmon and other river type fish following the movement of the water like a lifeline.   

“What’s the thing on the end of the rod called?” Okita asked, breaking the silence between them.  

“Honestly? No clue. I just put the bait on the end and pray,” Ryoma smiled a bit at him, feeling the rod tug. “Oh, got one!”  

He pulled hard on the rod, trying to reel the beast below the surface in. It seemed strong, fighting the samurai every second before he yanked and salmon flew through the air onto the grass. It flopped around wildly, the hook secure in its gulping mouth. Ryoma grabbed it, sticking his thumb into the mouth to hold it up while he pried the hook out. It was large, still flopping, and struggling, but Ryoma was ruthless, and crouching down to grab a rock, he bashed it to end its suffering.  

Okita wasn’t normally queasy over such things, but that alone had him turning away. Food came from somewhere, but he preferred just having it served to him. Somehow cutting down people made him feel less sick.  

“Poor thing,”  

“We all have to eat. We won’t take more than we can. Better than it suffering,”  

“True, just never really resorted t’ killin’ my own food,” Okita made a face of disgust.  

“Weren’t you poorer than me? How did you survive?”  

“Stealin’,”  

“Well…that makes sense,”  

“What’s that supposed t’ mean?!”  

“It means you come off as a little thief!” Ryoma laughed, sitting back down now that the salmon was dead. “Nothing wrong with that, though. I still think you’re attractive,”  

“What does thievin’ hafta t’ do with my looks?”  

“Means you stole my heart,” Ryoma cheekily grinned, making Okita groan in response.  

“Eugh! And here I thought I was the sap!” He turned to the samurai, leaning over and grabbing his chin after he cast his line out.   

Pulling him close, he kissed him, licking at the crease of his mouth. He watched Ryoma’s eyes flutter shut, already ignoring his rod to seemingly focus on another, and he hummed softly. Okita held him there, feeling his lips part, his tongue meeting his to deepen their kiss as the line tugged softly once. As he sucked on his bottom lip, the line tugged again, and then again, Ryoma dropping a hand to slide it to the back of Okita’s neck and then suddenly the rod was flying from his hand and into the water.   

With a gasp, Ryoma let him go, scrambling for his fishing rod and falling right into the current. It thankfully wasn’t deep, but he was soaked through, his hair falling in and around his face like a sheet of silk. He yanked on the line, somehow the fish still on the end, having nearly taken off with his bait, and managed to catch the damn salmon before it freed himself. He stood there, waist deep in water, his thumb shoved into the mouth of the fish as he stared up at Okita, who was cackling up on the grassy bank.   

“Oh my gods! Look at ya!” The Mad Dog inhaled, throwing his head back as he laughed harder. “Still so easily distracted! Didn’t think ya’d let go!”  

“Thanks for the help, nii-san,” Ryoma snorted and began his struggle shuffle out of the water and back up the embankment.  

The samurai swung the salmon towards him, the fish swinging its fin out and smacking Okita in the face. He laughed, watching him fall back in the grass as he put the poor thing out of its misery.   

Lying there, the sun and clouds above him, Okita sighed and closed his eye. Things were beginning to feel normal again, but who knew if Ryoma would flip around again, fighting off affection like a wounded wolf. He shouldn’t think like that though. They’d both been through so much and now they had the chance to grow and be better. And if the way he could laugh with him was anything to go by, they’d mostly be okay. Especially with him blocking his sun now, having set his hands on either side of him.   

Ryoma’s hair cascaded around him, making a slight curtain around both their faces. His smiling face looked down at him, focusing on his single eye and Okita smiled back up at him.   

“Nii-san looks good in Spring,”  

“So much flattery, it’s almost like yer feelin’ better,” He murmured, reaching up to play with a lock of his hair, trying his best to ignore the finger gliding down his chest to his wounded abdomen.   

Resting his hand over his stomach, his expression grew soft and he chuckled.  

“I am…and I can tell you are too. Let’s stick around here a while longer. Let my clothes dry a little. Maybe we can take a swim,”  

“Oh? Ya like swimmin’ in cold ass water?”  

“I’m already wet, so I don’t mind,”  

“Bah, okay, I’ll bite. Just don’t let me float away,”  

“Don’t worry, I’ll hold you tight,” Ryoma laughed and began to strip out of his wet kimono and Hakama. “Don’t keep me waiting, Goro,”  

And he was leaving his view, practically running back to the water to jump in. Okita touched his lips and then smiled. He sat up with little issue and pulled his clothes off, carefully jogging down the grass and jumping in after Ryoma. Grappling onto him, he wrapped his hands around his neck and pulled him into the water with him, kissing him as they submerged themselves and let the current run over them.  

Chapter 22: Colour Burst

Notes:

I hope everyone had fun with pirates or are still having fun with it! I couldn't wait anymore, so have chapter 22 lol

Okita quite enjoyed spring. He wasn’t sure when exactly he was born, being far too poor to celebrate his birth come every new year, let alone the month or season of, but he knew he liked the season. This year he would be around twenty-five years old, a rough estimate since his mother hadn’t ever mentioned much in terms of his birth, and would often mention his age offhandedly until her death. His first Nenja had given him the season of Fall to claim if he so desired, ultimately saying that his pale complexion and beauty matched the dying light of the land. But he still found his mind falling back into the blossoming warmth of Spring.  

He wasn’t so sure that was a compliment anymore. Ryoma seemed to believe he was a man of winter dressed in spring. Gen-san always just said he was as stunning as a Gingko tree, tall, proud but secretly deadly.   

He didn’t know what to believe.  

All he could go off of now was how Ryoma clung to him in the night and the soft breath on the back of his head as he slept. Okita wouldn’t trade it for anything, not now or ever. Time healed wounds to a point, and he probably would never stop grieving, but his feelings for the dancing samurai had always been there in some capacity. Even though he had his hang up, Okita couldn’t fault him forever. As hurt as he was by what was never said and what had happened, the facts showed that as soon as Ryoma was told about the skeletons in his closet, he had stuck around and continued to do so. Even if he was afraid that he would ditch him the moment he became inconvenient.  

Would this mean he could show more of himself? Would the samurai that seemed so in love but so incapable of saying it out loud be accepting of all side of Okita? He was like a multifaceted stone, a man with many names and skills and desires. Could he fulfill and be fulfilled by all of that, or was this truly something fleeting?  

He supposed they’d have to find out as the seasons went on.  

Outside and even inside, the flowers and garden were thriving, with the center piece of the home, the large maple, standing proud. The hydrangeas that Ryoma had potted were still vibrant and stunning, a melting pot of pink, blue and purple. The occasional white bloom would peek through, saying a hasty hello before being consumed by the other colours. The flowers outside were blooming beautifully, complimented well by the cherry blossoms around the property.   

Hanging over the awnings of the outside pathway, pink and white begonias hung over like a fragrant canopy, shading the home from the sun.  

Okita stood out on the sand and stones, looking over each garden bed as Ryoma watered and trimmed back any weeds or invasive plants. He seemed in his element, taking care of things as though they were his own children. He was a caring person, always trying to find the good in others and the world around him. Maybe that’s why Okita felt so drawn to him, or maybe it was how when the sun shone on his dark hair, he could see tinges of red that almost sparkled like a dew covered rose.   

The dancing samurai looked up and flashed a grin, tucking a lock of loose hair behind his ear.   

“Goro-no-niisan is staring,”  

He inhaled sharply, quickly looking away and tucking his hands into his kimono sleeves. “Just takin’ in the beauty of the garden,”  

“Just the garden?” Ryoma snorted, clipping a chrysanthemum and approaching Okita. “In that case, I guess I’m doing the same,”  

He reached up, tucking the flower into Okita’s hair. The Mad Dog found himself reaching up to touch it gently, smiling as Ryoma seemed to blush a deep red.   

“Deep down, Ryoma-chan is a sap. No wonder all the ladies like ya,”  

“Ah, well…I can see why you turn the heads of men and women alike,”  

“Haven’t been doin’ that lately,”  

“That’s because you haven’t gone out much. We should go back to town, enjoy ourselves,”  

“Oh? Ya gonna pick that dresser now?”  

“Maybe,” Ryoma smirked, “I was also thinking we could see a show,”  

“A show? We talkin’ Kabuki or Buyo?”  

“How about you pick,”  

“What the fuck, no, I suck at pickin’!”  

“You’re already making me pick a dresser. The least you can do is pick the entertainment,”  

“You already have me pickin’ what we eat!”  

“Huh…I guess you’re right…You still get to pick,” The dancing samurai laughed and pulled on his kimono sleeve, brushing his lips over his cheek. “I just think after all you’ve been through…you deserve to pick the entertainment this time,”  

“I dunno, ya pick pretty decent activities. Last time I picked, we had to fight our way out of a gambling den,” Okita shrugged.  

“How about this then…consider it a celebration for healing as well as you have. We kinda skipped celebrating New Years and well…I spent it mostly trying to keep you alive,”  

He had a point, he’d slept through the new year, or rather, was comatose through it. Fireworks and festivities were forgotten with him teetering within the world of the dead. He could have easily slipped away, but somehow Ryoma was able to keep him alive until spring. That was cause for some celebration.  

“Fine, how ‘bout we make a whole thing of it then, yeah? We can go t’ town again, rent a ryokan, see a show, get some good food and booze, and enjoy the spring festivities. And ya get t’ pay this time,” Okita smirked.  

Watching Ryoma’s eyes light up until he mentioned him paying was priceless, though him reaching into his kimono to check his coin purse truly had him laughing. He grumbled something about needing to make up a bit of cash first and then kissed his mouth to silence his snickering.  

“I’ll make it worthwhile,” he finally said and Okita smiled, hands gently grabbing his Obi to pull him closer.  

“I know ya will. I’ll make sure I live up t’ my namesake fer this. Gonna have the prettiest man on yer arm,”  

---

When Okita said he’d have the prettiest man on his arm, Ryoma honestly believed he was joking. Mainly because the samurai wasn’t joking when he said he needed to make money before they did this.   

He’d spent far too much time playing housewife that he’d completely failed to figure out how two samurai were supposed to have an income. Sure, he had some money stored away from his short stint with the Shinsengumi, and his brother had graciously give him funds, sometimes he still sent coin even now, but he didn’t have a job. Which meant he had to make up money fast.  

Thankfully, the people of their village loved his cooking, and Haruka’s new beau, Yuta, needed work too. It worked out that she had taken up some gardening and cooking herself, and with Ryoma’s added fishing, he managed to make up enough to cover a ryokan for a few days. He hoped it would be enough for Okita. He deserved a stress-free time, away from a house obtained through death, and without the looming threat of further injury or harm to his body and mind.  

So, seeing him now, standing before him in his nicest kimono, his hair only half tied up and his face strangely clean and done up with what appeared to be some makeup on his eye and lips, Ryoma was frankly stunned into silence. Gawking almost. His mouth fell open slightly and Okita put his hand on his hip, laughing as he reached over and lifted his chin to shut his mouth.   

“What’s the look fer, huh, Ryoma-chan?”   

“Just…didn’t expect you to get all dressed up,” He smiled, scratching his cheek. “Almost outdoing me here. If this is how you dressed before, the title of prettiest of the Shinsengumi would have made sense,”  

“Ow! Ya wound me!” Okita said, though his smile was insanely infectious and alluring with the red tint to his lips. “But I can see where the blood and shit might’ve caused ya some confusion,”  

“Blood and sh—“  

“Shut up,”  

“Sorry,” Ryoma chuckled. “Are you packed? Have everything you need?”  

“I folded up all our clothes, ya just gotta grab them,”  

“And here I thought you would’ve grabbed them…”  

“Ya said it was yer treat,”  

“Ugh…fine, I’ll carry everything,”  

“Haku will be doin’ most of the haulin’, so quit yer complainin’,”  

They set off, Haku behaving only because she was being led by Okita. It would have normally embarrassed him to ride behind someone so beautiful, but something about seeing the Mad Dog done up like that had him stunned into compliance. He couldn’t even really question it. Okita had made a couple offhand comments before, and even when presented with the Yukata from the shop, he was more intrigued than anything when Ryoma brought up the Onnagata and other men who were patrons of the more feminine variety of things. Mind you, he never had pinned Okita as someone who was like that. He was always the one covered in blood, cutting down their foes like it was nothing. But the when he did clean up, he always cleaned up well. There was clearly more to him than you could see with the naked eye, and he hoped that he would open up more about.  

“So, when did you have time to find makeup?” he asked, peering over his shoulder at him, his arms securely around him as they passed through the forests towards Kyo.  

“When ya were scramblin’ ‘bout tryna make money fer this trip,” Okita chuckled. “One of the ladies went t’ town fer me. Women’ll do anythin’ if ya offer ‘nuff coin and compliments,”  

“So, Nii-san seduced a poor woman,”  

“Oi! Don’t say it like that! I just…women love a good man on man romance! Especially when one o’ them is…y’know…like me,”  

“Like you?”  

“Y’know…Not…just a samurai,” Okita kept his gaze ahead and Ryoma titled his head.  

“Onnagata?”  

“Well, those are mostly Wakashu who like performin’…Kabuki needs beautiful women, and the younger and more beautiful ya are, the better. ‘Cause they ain’t gonna let a woman do it in some theaters,”  

“Right,”  

“I just…happen t’ like dressin’ up sometimes,”  

“Like a woman?”  

“Sometimes it was the only way t’ have time t’ myself. Of course, some ladies caught me climbin’ over the barracks wall after Gen-san and I…had…well…never mind,”   

“Is Goro-no-niisan embarrassed?” Ryoma smirked. “C’mon, tell me,”  

Okita groaned, looking over his shoulder at the dancing samurai. His red tinted eyelid made the chocolate tone of his iris stand out in the sun, while the pale flesh of his face seemed even more pale and stunning with the rose tint of his lips.   

“Fine! I…when I was younger, my mother was a prostitute. Sometimes…when she wasn’t workin’…she’d dress me up and we’d play…y’know…princess and other games. I was always the young maiden, and she was an empress. It sorta just…felt right and it stuck,” Okita shrugged. “When Takeda started bein’ a creep…and he was a fuckin’ creep t’ me from the very start, Kondo-han had banned inter-relationships. Of course, he knew ‘bout Gen-san and I, asked us t’ keep it quiet. So, we did. Sometimes I just had t’ sneak out without bein’ noticed. Dressin’ as a woman made that easier,”  

“Do you consider yourself a woman?”   

“Sometimes…”  

He grew silent, turning his gaze back to the road as Haku flicked her mane and snorted. Ryoma could feel the unease around Okita and slipped his arms tightly around him, pulling him flush against his chest. Resting his chin on his shoulder, he hummed softly.   

“I like you like this,”  

“Haw?”  

“As a woman and a man. I like both sides. All parts of you are…enticing. I find myself enamored,”  

“Usin’ big words there, Ryoma-chan. Gonna make me blush,”  

“Good. I always, even with Oryo, found my gaze wandering to men like you,”  

“Men like me?”  

“Well, there are no men really like you. But beautiful men. Men who broke the mold,” Ryoma murmured, his fingers wandering over the Mad Dog’s abdomen then to his thighs. “I saw one Kabuki play and I think I fell for the Onnagata when she performed. Oryo wasn’t exactly happy with my wandering eyes, but she was more beautiful than any woman I’d seen,”  

“I’m hardly done up now. I doubt I match that kinda beauty,”  

“No, you don’t,” Ryoma turned his head and planted a firm kiss to Okita’s neck. “You’re far more beautiful than she was,”  

He felt Okita tense against him from his touch and kiss, shifting slightly on the saddle. Ryoma couldn’t help but chuckle softly, giving him a squeeze.   

“Nii-san is the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I want to see how beautiful you’ll be when you’re more like a Nee-chan,”  

“I…well…uh…Sh-shut up, yer embarrassin’ me…” Okita scratched the back of his head. “Makin’ it hard t’ concentrate,”  

“Good. Just a taste of how our time will be. I want to show you that all sides of you are wanted. I want to show you that I’m committed to Nii-san and Nee-chan,”  

Okita’s shaking shoulders would have normally worried him, but from the way he was refusing to look at him and even the horse was neighing, Ryoma took it as making him laugh. A win in his scroll.  

It’s not like he fully understood any of that stuff. All Ryoma knew was that he felt a certain way about Okita. It didn’t matter if he dressed up as a woman, or was an Onnagata, hell, as long as he was himself, he’d still find him attractive as a Wakashu. What won him over was his strength and openness. Well, mostly openness. It was a hell of a time getting to this point, but it almost seemed normal again. Despite it all, it was finally back to how things were. Mostly.   

Okita seemed to be a little more invested than he expected, and while the idea of commitment right now scared him, he was willing to go along just because he liked him. That was more than what he could say about Oryo, though that’s sort of how he got in trouble with her in the first place.  

He shook the thought away as they approached the stable and docks. He didn’t need to worry anyone with that thought. This was about Okita and his healing, and about them finally feeling comfortable together again. Ryoma wasn’t going to let it get ruined now. He even made plans. He never used to make plans. Not even with Oryo. Usually, when he had tried to make plans with her, she would stick her nose up or pout or convince him that they should do something else. It was never good enough. He was never good enough. Now? Well, he felt like he could finally be himself, show Okita things he enjoyed and who Sakamoto Ryoma truly was behind the guide of the dancing samurai, Saito Hajime.  

Entering Kyo by boat once more, Ryoma stepped off onto the small dock and held his hands out for Okita, helping him out of the boat.   

“We have a little bit of a walk. Are you going to be alright?”  

“It’s been a while. I feel almost as good as I did before I got stabbed. Practically just a flesh wound now!” Okita waved his hand about. “Don’t worry so much. All I need is t’ stop by a couple stores fer some extra things,”  

“Oh? Which ones?” Ryoma tilted his head.  

“Aren’t ya just a curious cat, Hajime-chan!” Okita smirked, the way he easily fell back into using his alias making the samurai shiver. “Ya mentioned a couple stores a while back, when ya got me those Yukata. Need a couple things from them,”  

“The kimono and wig maker?”  

“There’s more t’ lookin’ the part of a lady than just the makeup. If I’m gonna show ya all my secrets, then I’m gonna need all the parts,”  

“Did you go through this much effort for Gen-san?” He found himself asking before he could tell his mouth to shut up, and the way Okita’s smiling face seemed to fall for half a second made him curse himself.  

“Yes. But it wasn’t as excitin’,”  

He rose his brows at that and Okita quickly looked away.   

“Listen, I ain’t wanna think too much on the past. What Gen-san and I had was different than what we have,”  

“And what do we have?”  

“Guess we’re gonna find out, aren’t we?” Okita shrugged. “Like I said, if it’s fleetin’, then so be it, but that’s kinda on ya now,”  

He supposed it was on him now. Okita knew Ryoma reservations, and he in turn knew of his. They weren’t exactly at the ideal image of the perfect male relationship, yet, but they could get there. Okita just needed to move past Gen-san without constantly deflecting his death and their relationship, and Ryoma, frankly, needed to stop thinking the Mad Dog was no better than Oryo.   

“It’s not fleeting, c’mon. While you buy your…whatever you’re buying, I’ll order that stupid dresser,”  

“It’s not stupid if it functions and ya like it,” Okita snorted.  

“I’d probably be fine leaving my clothes on the floor, if I’m being honest,”  

“And this is why yer a boy failure, Hajime-chan, and why I like ya so much,”  

“Okita-no-niisan is so cruel despite telling me after a passionate night that he lo—“  

“I said nothin’! Go buy yer stupid dresser!”  

“So you admit that it’s stupid!”  

“Ugh, yer insufferable…”  

Yeah, he kind of was, but the way Okita looked at him told him he didn’t really mind.  

---

Ryoma stood in the open, cobbled streets of Kyo, taking in the sights of western dress and foreign bodies mixed with the groups of colourful kimono and the occasional Oiran. They were becoming less and less now, with mostly Geisha walking the streets with their Maiko.   

He sighed, crossing his arms protectively over his chest as he leaned back against a store front’s brick and woodwork. He felt so uncomfortable being alone after what happened the last time they were in town. Nagakura’s threat loomed over his head like a dark, spring cloud of rain and even worse was Oryo’s angry face as she came at him in the crowd before that. He didn’t like to admit it, but Okita had become a security for him. If he was there, he felt safe. He didn’t feel alone and like a target. Even now, with the eyes of the public scanning over him, he didn’t feel the slight pride he felt when he wore the blue haori of the Shinsengumi. He almost missed those days now, but if he hadn’t dismantled things, would Japan be where it’s at now?  

He shook his head, casting his gaze to the ground. The trauma of nearly dying so many times, almost losing Okita, losing his father and almost his brother too, it was still as fresh as the days it happened. He hadn’t been strong enough to prevent everything. He couldn’t let them down again. Especially the Mad Dog.  

“Oi! Hajime-chan!”  

Ryoma perked up at the sound of Okita’s voice, smiling slightly as the Mad dog found him with four wrapped parcels in his hands. His painted lips and eye were even more vibrant in the heart of Kyo, the colours of the spring festival decorations and neutrality of the buildings around them made him stand out, almost like an Oiran or an Onnagata.  

“All done?”  

“Yeah, got some good shit. Ya pick a dresser?” Okita tilted his head in question.  

“I did…and all the furniture to go with it,”  

“Eh?”  

“I wanted to make it easier on you, so I ordered a matching set. The carpenter said he made some western inspired couches, chairs, tables, dressers, among many Japanese items. So, I ordered all that was part of the same set. I think you’ll like them,”  

“Hajime-chan…how much did that all cost?” Okita narrowed his eye.  

“Uh…I…said you’d cover it,”  

Okita blinked at him, pouting slightly. “Ya can’t just put a man’s coin up without tellin’ ‘im!”  

“But I needed mine to pay for the show and the ryokan,” Ryoma frowned.  

They both stared at one another for a long moment before reaching into their respective sleeves to check their coin. Ryoma found himself trying not to laugh out of nervousness, but soon Okita’s muffled cackling reached his ears and he looked up to see him nearly bent over with laughter. It was infectious, as always, the Mad Dog always managing to switch between brooding and absolutely jovial, and Ryoma couldn’t hold his own laughter back any longer.  

“Don’t we just make a pair of idiots!” Okita wiped carefully at his eye. “It’s fine. I’m sure everythin’ ya picked will look great. I’ll probably just hafta swindle a few bandits soon t’ refill the coffers,”  

“Pretty sure what it cost won’t even make a dent in what you have,”  

“If I’m bein’ honest, which I usually am, I’ve…doubled? Tripled?…Uh…I ain’t good at math. I definitely have maximized my earnin’s from the old days. Just tell me when yer low, yeah? I ain’t need ya thinkin’ bein’ broke as shit is the norm,” Okita smiled and handed Ryoma his bags. “Consider it a personal policy. When ya eat dirt as a child fer sustenance, ya make it yer mission t’ never do it again,”  

“Is dirt any good?” Ryoma asked, looping the parcels around his fingers so he could offer his arm to Okita. “I was one of the lucky few poor orphans who at least got porridge,”  

“Rich comin’ from a kid who got sponsored by someone in the high ranks, but, since yer curious, I’ll show ya the good dirt sometimes. Maybe we’ll be lucky and the stuff t’ make good mud pies will be ‘round here!”  

“I don’t know if you’re joking or not now,”  

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Guess ya’ll hafta wait ‘round and see!”  

---

The ryokan Ryoma had chosen was closer to the pleasure district and thankfully near one of the theaters. It was a more expensive one, even for Kyo’s standards, with multiple sprawling rooms and balconies that overlooked the city as it grew and blossomed (or twisted and changed). They were brought to a large room a couple floors up, the owner making sure that they had fresh towels and linens for their stay. From what Ryoma had garnered booking their long stay, meals would be provided if asked, the baths were free to use whenever, regardless of time, and with it being near Gion, customer activities were not commented on, nor were they discussed. Discretion was advised and they wouldn’t need to worry about a thing.  

Which judging from the look of relief on Okita’s face, that was a plus.   

The Mad Dog looked about the room, taking in every object, from the mirror in the corner to the table and cushions. Throwing open the doors to the outdoor balcony, it seemed they got a decent view over Gion and Kyo, with the red and purple lanterns casting a soft glow even during the waning daylight hours. From there they could see the changes to the city, from the once dirt roads to perfect cobbling, store fronts fixed up with stone and wood, traditional and western styles meshed into one. They were holding on, but barely. In time, things would settle again. A year wasn’t much to make change, but the steps were there.  

Okita stood near the railing, hair blowing in the breeze as he looked down at the Geisha and working men below.   

“Y’know…never really had views like this. Gen-san didn’t make it a common thing for us t’ rent out extravagant places when we wanted privacy,” He smiled softly, glancing at Ryoma as he came to stand beside him.  

“I’m sure those times were still special though,”  

“Of course! But he never took me to places where I could actually spit on the people who were above us in every way. Kind of an orphan’s dream,”   

“Can’t say I had fantasies of spitting on people from great heights, but it sounds more fun than pretendin’ t’ be some…loyal ronin and husband,” Ryoma chuckled. “Would have rather spent more time spittin’ over rails than keeping up appearances and acting like…like…”  

“Saito Hajime?”  

“Yeah,”  

“Feels good t’ be Ryoma sometimes, huh? Sometimes I missed bein’ Goro. A nobody. A bandit. But it also felt good t’ finally be someone. Okita Soji is a name worth rememberin’. Not so much Goro,”  

“I think I disagree. I think…if things were different, our names wouldn’t be inked in blood,” Ryoma smiled, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind Okita’s ear.   

He watched his cheeks grow a tinge of pink and Okita clicked his tongue, casting his gaze back down to the people below.   

“Yer real good at flattery, y’know that? Almost hard t’ tell when yer fakin’ it,”  

“I have no reason to fake it with you,”  

“I guess we’ll hafta see ‘bout that. But that’s what this is all about, ain’t it? Provin’ it? Gettin’ back in the saddle?” Okita smirked. “I asked fer it, so I guess I should be a little more open t’ the fact that ya actually might like me,”  

“Believe it or not, I find you beautiful too,”  

“Oh? Ya ain’t even drunk this time. Maybe save the compliments fer when the main attraction comes out,” Okita laughed and pushed off the rail. “Why don’t we make use of that bath, yeah? Could use a good scrub and cuddle,”  

Smirking, Ryoma leaned heavily on the railing, looking Okita up and down. “Sounds more like you’re looking for a rub and cuddle,”  

“Maybe I am. Guess ya’ll just hafta find out which I mean,” The Mad Dog winked at the samurai and slipped back inside their room.   

The sway of his hips, bulked only by his kimono and hakama, had Ryoma’s eyes wandering and he swallowed thickly. He had held back for far too long. If he wanted to prove to Okita he was invested, committed and wanting, he’d have to take the plunge for once. Oryo had always been angry when he was passive with her, afraid of her and her venomous touch, her forceful nature and manipulative pout, it was almost calming to be near someone who just opened the door and waited for him to walk in. This was his choice, no one else’s. He wasn’t being forced, or pushed to do anything. Okita was waiting for his first move and Ryoma was thankful for it.  

“Well? Ya gonna quit starin’ and get naked with me or what?” Okita called from the room and Ryoma laughed.  

Well, mostly waiting for his first move.  

With gathered towels and a fresh Yukata each, they stripped down to nothing once they found an unoccupied, private bath. Mostly private anyway. The walls weren’t exactly stone, so even before they got into the scalding, healing bath waters, they could hear the people on either side of them. Okita rose his brow as one lady let out a pleasured, cackling laugh, while on the other side, a group of men began to shout something about recent political affairs. It seemed the bath house attracted many different people, but they were hardly a problem for the two ex-shinsengumi.   

The two of them shut the doors to their bath and climbed in, the Mad Dog letting out a pleased sigh as the heat enveloped his skin. Ryoma followed after him, settling beside Okita. He watched as he undid his hair and flipped it over the side of the tub, sinking down to his shoulders. He pulled his tsuba off, revealing the scar over his missing eye, and tossed the patch to the floor with a soft clank.   

“Ahhh, sponge baths got nothin’ on a proper dip,” Okita smiled. “And good company,”  

“Glad I can provide a relaxing experience. You deserve it,” Ryoma offered a smile back and tilted his head. “How’s the gut wound?”  

“Sore, but I ain’t holdin’ back tears every time I sit up from bed anymore. Almost feel back t’ normal,”  

“You’re lucky that you weren’t injured worse,”  

“Not really sure how I didn’t die. By all means, that bastard did a number on me. Thought I was a goner,” Okita shook his head.   

“Must be a shit samurai if he missed every organ,”  

“Or he purposely did t’ toy with me,”  

“You think he’d risk that?”  

“Honestly? No idea. Only know ‘im from gamblin’, which he sucks at. Maybe he does have bad aim,” Okita laughed, lifting his foot from the water to stick into Ryoma’s face.  

The dancing samurai snorted and grabbed his foot, yanking on it and nearly submerging him in the hot, mineral rich water. “Maybe we should all pray to you instead of the lucky gods,”  

“Or, I’m a lucky god in human flesh!”  

“Let’s not forget how to be humble, nii-san,” Ryoma chuckled, taking the time to rub his thumbs into the sole of Okita’s foot.   

“Humble is fer losers,” He smirked, throwing his arms over the side of the tub, letting Ryoma massage his feet.   

Judging from the way his eye seemed to nearly close, it felt good to have his body rubbed. A fact that Ryoma noted and filed away in his head to remember. Okita was kind of like a dog, in need of a good brush, a bath and a belly rub. Something they had a little bit of practice with, but they could be closer, more…intimate. The dancing samurai figured he’d appreciate that, and if he was being honest with himself, he’d like to provide that for him.  

Maybe that’s where his issues were. He wanted to provide. He wanted to be strong, a protector, a man, but he wanted to provide comfort, home and love that he never really had as a child too. Okita wanted pampering, he ached for love, it was written all over him with the way he relaxed at the slightest touch given. But he also pulled away so easily when pushed too far emotionally. Almost like his want and need for touch had been used against him. It was something Ryoma wanted to know more about, but it seemed to stem from his first Nenja, the man he rarely spoke of. Gen-san seemed to work hard on reversing that anxiety behind intimacy and love, and now Ryoma had the unique chance to build off of that.  

Pressing his thumb into Okita’s foot again, he watched him sigh and relax further, his eye slipping shut and he reached under the water for the other. He massaged the other one, smiling as he did so, happy that Okita was letting him touch him at all.  

“Nii-san seems to enjoy being pampered like this,” Ryoma smiled, glancing up at the Mad Dog.  

“Mmm, Gen-san used t’ massage my shoulders and thighs after trainin’. Can’t say I don’t miss it. Learnin’ Tennen Rishin was hard work,” Okita sighed, tilting his head back.   

The samurai moved his hands and fingers up to his calves, pushing into the muscle and admiring how fit and strong they still were. Then again, it wasn’t like a samurai’s job is done even when he loses his job. Okita could have been training and fighting the entire year he was gone, and a couple months off it wouldn’t make him sag or lose his strength. It was just fascinating. Beneath all those layers, even when he was topless and exposing himself, it was hard to gauge how muscular he was. But like this, naked and in his hands, he could feel it. Every tendon, every shift of muscle, it made Okita more beautiful.  

Tugging on him gently, Ryoma encouraged him into his lap, slipping a hand around the Mad Dog while the other tucked over his thigh. They were equally muscular, and he found himself giving them a squeeze.  

“Ryoma-chan is bein’ so affectionate,” Okita murmured, reaching for his hair and untying the bun he wore, watching his hair fall around his shoulders. “Yer hair is gettin’ too long t’ flip up like that,”  

“Hmm…maybe I should cut it,”  

“I like it. Keep it long,”  

“I…really?”  

“Why not? We can match,” Okita smiled, running his fingers through the silky and soft tresses.   

“Well…if you like it, I guess I can’t say no,”  

“You could, but ya’d only break my heart a little,”  

“We don’t want that,” Ryoma chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to Okita’s chest. “If anything, I want you as far away from a broken heart as possible,”  

“We’re on track fer that, if ya ask me,” Okita smiled, shifting in his lap until he was straddling him.   

Ryoma placed his hands on his hips, eyes widening as he looked up at him. Their cocks were nearly touching like this, and just the thought of fucking in the bath had the blood rushing down. There was a look on the Mad Dog’s face that had his breath hitching in his throat, and as his hands cupped his face and Ryoma’s hands squeezed his hips, he finally allowed himself to just relent.   

Chapter 23: Dance of the Butterfly

Okita’s mouth was on his as soon as his hands slipped lower to his thighs. Lips, soft and plump and red, met his own with a desperation he hadn’t expected. Ryoma moaned softly as the Mad Dog rolled his hips, their cocks sliding against one another under the steaming water. On either side of them, locked away in semi-private rooms, the moans and laughter of working women and sleazy men had his heart beating hard in his chest. No Shunga could get him as riled as Okita could, with how his hair fell around them like a curtain, his lips parting to let the samurai’s tongue invade his mouth, his hands, calloused and yet so soft and warm. The two muscles touched, and the Mad Dog moaned louder, hands slipping down as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders instead. Ryoma squeezed his thighs again, digging his thumbs into the strong muscle to massage it while Okita swallowed his kisses and he in turn bit his lips.   

The first time they had laid together had been necessity and heartache, a different feeling from when Okita had allowed him to show comfort when he was in pain. Their sex both times had been calculated and soft, a way to show Okita that he was there for him, a way to bring pleasure to him in a time when he was so hurt and suffering. This felt different from all of that. This felt like a lesson from the ex-Wakashu himself, the Mad Dog’s encouraging moans and whines as they ground against each other made Ryoma’s head spin. And his other head was practically aching to be engulfed in the heat of his body.  

He couldn’t deny that he’d been waiting for this. Pure, untainted sex. Just the two of them, as desperate as they had been to touch one another mid-winter. The emotions of a death or near death had been fine, but after being with a woman who would force you down and take what she wanted from you as if that would change how you felt, he was happy to just have one sexual encounter that made him feel wanted for more than just to fulfill an act. In fact, Okita taking the reins with this, looking down at him as he broke away for a breath, made Ryoma really believe what he had told him a couple weeks prior.   

I hate that I think I love you.  

Did he actually love him? Were they there yet? Ryoma panted hard as he looked up at Okita with his plump, bruised lips and just let himself fall into the colours of their affections and possible love for one another. Lunging forward, he latched his mouth over the Mad Dog’s nipple and sucked, giving it a little nip just to hear him cry out, his voice far more pleasant to hear above the similar sounds of taken women.  

You hate that you love me but what if that’s exactly what we’re doing here? Falling in love ? Ryoma found himself thinking as he looked up at Okita and bit his nipple again. What do we do then? I should just say it…I want to hear you say it. With all that damned confidence you have…  

“Ryoma-chan!” He hissed above him and he smirked at him, licking his lips.  

His slid his hands up his thighs to his ass, pulling Okita closer as he dipped his fingers between the cheeks. Ryoma slid a finger over his hole, readying the puckered entrance as the Mad Dog above him played with his hair and captured his lips again. Pressing in, he felt his breath hitch, and he gently prodded, careful to not hurt him too much. Water was the worst lube, but hey, they weren’t in a position to really hop out and run for their room. This would be just fine. Probably. If the other noises around the inn were anything to go by.  

Oryo never wanted to be this adventurous, though he never really gave her the chance. Sex with her felt like work, while this felt like passion. This felt real. From the way Okita moaned into his mouth when he thrust his finger inside of him, adding a second to help stretch him open.   

The Mad Dog pressed closer, practically consuming him with his kiss. He wasn’t sure he was going to have the patience to really work him thoroughly, but they had their whole lives ahead of them to see what they liked in bed.   

If Okita wants me his whole life…  

Pulling his fingers free, Ryoma broke free of his kiss to adjust Okita in his lap, pressing the head of his cock against him. Without even a reassuring nod or words of confirmation, the Mad Dog, in typical mad fashion, seated himself with a sigh onto him and wiggled his hips to make sure he’d settled to his balls. He gasped, looking up at the man above him as he cupped his face and smiled down at him with a softness he hadn’t seen in months. Heart thumping hard in his chest, he watched him roll his hips and body, sending a shock of pleasure through his body. His skin felt like it was covered in lightning, statically charged and shocking, each roll and thrust Ryoma returned to him making his brain short circuit.  

Okita looked like he was already blissed out, tilting his head back with a pleasured sigh. His single eye closed and Ryoma took the opportunity to run his hands up his body, sliding over his waist and down his abs as they moved together. His skin was warm, soft, and his muscles were still so prominent despite so many months of stagnancy. His fingers drifted over the scarring wound from Hito’s blade, and he felt Okita flinch a moment, their movement stuttering to a near stop.  

Ryoma immediately ripped his hand away, just for the Mad Dog to snatch it and place it back over it. He pressed his palm to it, peeking down at him, panting.  

“D-don’t…I…I just didn’t expect it,” He chuckled, breathless. “Don’t stop touchin’ me,”  

His face was definitely a deep shade of red hearing that. As if the steam and heat of the bath didn’t have him flush enough. Taking the request seriously, Ryoma thrust up into Okita, watching him falter and moan, his hand leaving him to grab the rim of the tub. Every other noise in the baths became nothingness as Okita moaned, first quietly, then unable to hold back. He let a particularly loud one out as they began to find their rhythm, the samurai’s hands exploring, pressing, dragging over wet skin. He was warm inside, enveloping him tightly, and Ryoma couldn’t help when it came to letting out his own moan.   

“Hhh…haa…” Okita bit his lip, closing his eye again as he rode him hard, water splashing out of the tub.   

“Nii…nii-san…”  

He let out a groan, biting his lip to try and quiet himself down, though the idea of being quiet went right out the window soon enough. He pulled Okita closer as he thrust up hard, and he must of hit the perfect angle because the Mad Dog sure didn’t hold his voice back. Or his shaking. Slamming his other hand down on the rim of the tub, Okita ground into him harder, rotating his hips in a way that nearly had Ryoma letting out a gasp.   

That pleasurable, sick feeling rose in his gut, and he leaned forward to kiss and bite at the Mad Dog’s chest again. He left little bruises in his wake, a path of shameless love across winter white skin. So close and yet so far, he wanted so badly to have the man above him release first, just to feel him tighten around his cock and drain him dry. Ryoma slid a hand down into the water, grasping Okita hard and giving him a rough stroke.   

“Ahnn! H…Haj…Hajime-chan—“  

It had to be a slip of the tongue, or some unconscious caution to make sure no one knew the real Sakamoto Ryoma was railing the very not real Okita Soji, but to hear that name, while they were like this? That was it for him. If Nii-san made Okita prematurely ejaculate, then Ryoma was clearly no better now. He gripped his hip, letting out a stuttered moan as he thrust up into his ass and shook, holding there as he released. Okita’s eye opened, wide and wild, as he watched Ryoma cum from a name alone.  

They paused, the noises from the other baths filling their ears again as Ryoma was now done his full transformation into an embarrassed tomato.  

Okita opened his mouth, smiling, and before he could make a quip, Ryoma started stroking him again, refusing to look him in the eye. The Mad Dog dropped his head, pressing lips to the top of Ryoma’s, his breath quickening. It didn’t seem like he would have made it much longer anyway. he was already shaking with a twist of Ryoma’s wrist and after only half a minute he was releasing into his hand and the bath.   

Sitting there, the steam wrapping around them, their breathing nothing but a quiet pant, Ryoma let Okita to lift him off his lap. He felt himself slip free and the Mad Dog sighed, leaning into him as he settled into his lap again. Their hearts began to calm, no longer beating out of their flushed and bruised chests, and the eerie quiet around them finally made the two young men crack. Okita snorted first, stifling his laughter as Ryoma groaned in embarrassment.  

“Hajime-chan likes it when people say his name,” Okita laughed, and the samurai pushed his face playfully.   

“You’re the one who came when I called you nii-san!”   

“Not this time!” Okita grinned and then looked around. “Kinda quiet now, eh? Ya think the other groups had a happy endin’ too?”  

“Eugh…I want to believe that they didn’t hear us over how loud they were,”  

“First time in Gion?”  

“Asks the one who had a committed relationship,” Ryoma rolled his eyes. “While you were hiding your illicit activities—“  

“Illicit?!”  

“—with Gen-san, I was playing Geisha games with Anna,” He smiled, receiving a pinch to his nipple from the man on his lap. “Ow!”  

“Talk ‘bout illicit!” Okita huffed, though his feigned anger was just that, the smile in his eye was enough to have Ryoma chuckling.   

“Shall we go back to the room and see what food we get from here?”  

“Worked up an appetite, Hajime-chan?” Okita climbed off his lap and out of the tub, grabbing the closest towel.  

“If you were the one doing the work in bed, you’d know that it’s very tiring and makes you hungry,” Ryoma snorted.  

“Well, excuse ya, Hajime-chan! I was just ridin’ ya!” Okita scoffed.  

“Fine, next time you ride me, I’ll let you do all the work and then you can tell me how hungry you are,”  

“Ugh! Insufferable…Next time I’ll just fuck ya myself…”  

“Wait, what?”  

“Shuddap and get dressed!”  

They stumbled out of the bath, legs wobbly from the heat and the sex. Ryoma slipped his arm around Okita, holding him close as the doors beside them opened and few wet and indisposed women shuffled out. They waved their hands inside each room, giggling as the men inside called for them, and then they were shuffling away. Ryoma normally would have looked their way, just to catch a glimpse of the back of their necks from where their hair was tied up and the collar of their kimonos dipped, but he found himself more captivated by how Okita’s neck was exposed, showing the bites and bruises he’d left on his pale skin. He lifted his hand, gently running the tip of his finger down from the base of Okita’s shaved head to the top of his spine. The Mad Dog shivered, giving him a look before smiling and dragging him back up to their room.  

The bathing room beside them opened again as they made it halfway up the stairs, with the loud male patrons within all stumbling out, drunk. Flushed, wet and mostly bald or in need of a trim, they laughed loudly as they passed a couple women, reaching over to pinch their bottoms or grab at their chests. Ryoma turned his head in time to catch another man leave, his long hair and strangely alluring face just barely visible as he turned to watch his friends act like drunken fools. Any other day, or rather, another time, he would have stepped in, but Okita’s hand was firmly grasping his own, happily dragging him up the stairs. He was busy, occupied with fixing what he had broken, and he wasn’t willing to throw it away again.  

——  

Ryoma hadn’t spent the night and morning in bed the way they had since Yamada-san had passed in winter. Okita was practically all over him the moment they were inside, hot and calloused hands roaming all over each other as if they hadn’t just drained one another in the bath. Food had been left by the door for them to find after they were done round two, which had left Okita sprawled on their futon a panting, sweaty mess, and quickly consumed before round three began.   

Lying there, watching the sun rise over the Gingko trees through the large, circular window, he sighed happily, pulling the sleeping form of the Mad Dog closer. His cheek was pressed to his chest, his leg hooked over him to keep him close, as if he would just disappear again. And maybe he deserved that after what he’d done. How could anyone trust him after all his lies and subterfuge? How Okita fell for him at all was like a mystery he could quite figure out, yet here they were, finally feeling something other than fear and contempt, and Ryoma didn’t want to lose it.   

Squeezing him a little tighter, Ryoma heard him make a noise of protest before his eye fluttered open and looked up at him. There was a moment of tired confusion, and then a smile spread on his sleepy face as Okita reached up to gently poke his nose.  

“Mornin’,”  

“Guessing you slept well?” Ryoma smirked, wiping at the little bit of drool that had gotten on him.   

“Eugh…fuck…sorry…” The Mad Dog lifted himself up, wiping his mouth, only to be pulled back over him.   

“I’d rather you didn’t get up so quick,”   

“Oh? Got mornin’ plans?”   

“Maaaybe,”  

“Judgin’ from the tent yer pitchin’, I’d say yer ready fer another round,” Okita snorted, reaching down to grasp him under the covers.  

He moaned, letting out a breathy chuckle as he pulled the Mad Dog over him. “I do enjoy watching you take what you want from me,”  

“I enjoy takin’ what I want,”   

And there he went, swinging his leg over his body and lifting his hips as he reached behind to line himself up. Ryoma’s hands instantly moved to his thighs, squeezing them roughly as he waited to feel his body envelope him again, when someone rudely knocked on their door and the clank of trays being set down on the floor jolted them both out of their sex addled minds.  

“Excuse me! Breakfast is ready!” Someone called from outside, followed by the shuffling of socks.   

Ryoma sighed, moving his hands to Okita’s waist and tossing him off to the side with a grunt and a thud. The Mad Dog let out an undignified sound and pouted as he laid there, watching as he grabbed his Yukata off the floor and covered himself. The samurai smirked over his shoulder, then opened the door to find two perfectly arranged trays of Miso, rice and other breakfast delights. Pulling them inside, he brought them one at a time to a small table they were given, then tossed Okita a random kimono from the floor. He caught it and threw it on, not even bothering to tie it as he got to his feet, cock up at attention as he wandered over to eat.  

Laughing, Ryoma pushed his tray closer to him and dug into his food as Okita sat down uncomfortably, picking at what he had. “Looks like we’ll just have to make up for the interruption,”  

“Oh, believe me, you’ll be makin’ up fer it! Gettin’ me all riled first thing when we got meals comin’…”  

“In my defense…I didn’t know food was on the way,”  

“Bah! Doesn’t matter. I’m blamin’ ya anyway!”  

“Ahh, nii-san is so grumpy and cruel in the morning,”  

“Ya still love me,”  

They both paused, food stopping at open mouths and they both quickly shoved what they had on their chopsticks into their mouths. Ryoma swallowed, quickly downing his cup of tea as Okita glanced away. Besides his medicated, tired, pain addled mind throwing that word around, neither of them had ever admitted anything about their feelings or what they possibly felt. Ryoma knew that they were working on their relationship, that at present it was a fling, or fling adjacent. He didn’t expect that Okita would just take off once he had his fill. If anything, they could probably go years together without ever muttering a single I love you.   

The way Okita seemed to try and make himself seem smaller just from a non-direct admission was depressing at best. Ryoma knew that he had some complicated feelings as it was and he himself had only recently touched on his loveless relationship with a woman. Both of them were there, he knew what he felt but it almost felt wrong to say. He’d never replace Gen-san, and Okita? Well, Ryoma had a feeling he didn’t think very highly of himself after losing the one man he did love. He almost seemed guarded, like if he let him in even a little, he’d either take off again or die.   

“Hey, for the show today, what do you plan on wearing?” Ryoma asked, flicking his gaze back to him. “I’d like to…um…see this whole Onnagata look,”  

“Well, I was plannin’ on that bein’ a…uh…private thing,”  

“What if I wanted to show you off though?”  

“What am I? A doll?”  

“No, but I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed to be seen with the great, mysterious nee-chan,” Ryoma chuckled, and Okita let out a bark of laughter.  

“Fine, just give me the time t’ get ready. Gonna hafta shave my damn face fer this,”  

“Really? Not going to keep the whole goatee?”  

“Nah, I wanna make sure everyone is baffled when I open my mouth,” Okita stood, looking down at his half hard cock. “Okay, ya can go down now,”  

“Maybe we need to deal with it properly,”  

“Ya offerin’?” Okita smirked and Ryoma shrugged.  

“Won’t say no now that we’ve eaten. I planned on ravishing you before the food came,”  

“Ah! Then whaddaya doin’ sittin’ ‘round?! Take me, Ryoma-chan!” Okita snickered, only to find himself tackled to the floor in a fit of giggles and kisses.  

---

Nothing could be worse than being forced to sit outside of your own room while someone else gets dressed and ready, though Ryoma supposed he asked for this. Okita insisted that he get the hell out, his words, though not as eloquent as even that. Sitting there, dressed himself in layers of beautiful, light fabric kimono, adorned with maple leaves and stripes of gold wind, Ryoma sighed. His hair really had gotten longer, and touching the bun at the back of his head, now without his signature little wisps that poked out the top, he wondered if Okita even liked it this long. He had to admit, it was a bit of a pain, but before getting ready, the Mad Dog had his hands and fingers tangled in the dark tresses, holding him close as he cried out in his ear and the samurai couldn’t help but blush and drop his hand. Maybe he’d keep it this way a while longer. As long as Okita enjoyed it, like he himself enjoyed the length of his hair, that was all that mattered.  

“Women, am I right?” Someone spoke above him and Ryoma’s caramel gaze snapped up to find a strangely beautiful man before him.  

“Excuse me?”  

“Your girl? She taking a while to get ready? They always do,” The man pointed to the door. “Even kicked you out. Kind of prudish considering the activity we’ve heard from you two,”  

Ryoma’s face was brighter than a tomato now and he frowned. Had they been so loud that others could hear?  

“It’s fine. Whatever makes her comfortable,” Ryoma said and stood up, taking in the full glory of the man before him.  

His skin was pale, with long black hair tied back high on his head. His lips were red, plump, while his eyes were dark enough to absorb the light around them. Clearly a ronin, his choice of shiny blues and yellows for his dress seemed expensive, almost as though he came from money, though from the swords he carried on his hip, Ryoma doubted that he paid for these himself. Hell, he was sure that if he did, it wasn’t his Ryo to begin with. He was oddly beautiful though, captivating in a boyish way, with a jaw that mirrored more of a woman’s side point than a man’s hard, squared off jaw. His hands were calloused and scarred, a sign of great use of swords and training. He didn’t like the way he looked at him, almost like he was interested in the dancing samurai before him, with his dark eyes trailing up and down his body.  

If there was anyone who ever came off as an ex-wakashu, it was this guy.   

“Well, she’s a lucky gal, having a handsome, well put together guy like you. Well dressed and polite, what all girls look for in a man,”  

“Some men enjoy the same thing,”  

The ronin paused, eyebrow raising on one side in curiosity, before a grin spread across his face. That boyish, beautiful charm faded from him, replaced with a knowing, almost predatory look, and he crossed his arms.  

“Ah, perhaps I read the colours wrong,”  

“Perhaps you did,”  

“Or perhaps I saw the remnants of something else….No matter. Who cares who a man sleeps with? Men, women, both? It’s just sex,” He chuckled and slapped Ryoma’s arm hard. “No judgement from me! Where are you taking the lucky Wakashu?”  

“He’s not—Nevermind…We’re going to see Kanahedon Chūshingura,” Ryoma said and looked back at the door. “And he wanted to make sure he looked good,”  

“Probably wanted to appear just like the Onnagata…Adorable. Well, I have a date with the gambling den! This time I have a good feeling,”  

“Lose much?”  

“Only once. And I won’t make that same mistake again,” a darkness passed over his face and as he turned away, Ryoma shivered, missing the sound of the door beside him sliding open.  

“Who were ya talkin’ too?”  

“I don’t know, some guyhnngg…” Ryoma looked up and trailed off, nothing but garbled nonsense falling from his mouth.   

Where once a mad, loyal dog stood, now a blooming flower looked down at him. Sat in glossy black geta, Okita was draped in layers of gold, red and black. The spider lily pattern he had bought for him laid beautifully over a simple red, while underneath, against pale skin, sat stunning gold. The obi around his waist was the colour of blood, brilliant and bright, with a thick gold chord tied securely around it. As his eyes trailed up, he took in the sight of the bladed fan he had given him months ago, covering half of his face. Upon his missing eye was his tsuba, adorned now with a single decoration, a red spider lily that also sat in his tied back hair.   

His bangs curled out of his face, waxed to the side in a wave, while the rest of it was tied back and secured neatly into a bun. It was clear that he was wearing some kind of wig, with the knot being larger than it should have if he was just using his own hair. Tucked neatly into it was a dragon pin, dangling little pearls and golden beads. Adorned around the dragon were more spider lilies and dangling flower like jewelry, each piece complimenting his complexion and makeup. It was done simply, like most Geisha, with black and red on the eyelid, and Ryoma vaguely wondered if beneath the tsuba he had bothered to paint his other eye.   

Okita snapped the fan shut, revealing beautiful painted lips and a face so clean shaven that the dancing samurai nearly believed he had been waiting outside the wrong door the entire time. He blinked, then blinked again, opening and closing his mouth like a gasping carp before just letting it hang open in awe.  

“Ahhh…Hajime-chan is speechless!” The butterfly before him laughed, leaning down and using the end of the fan under his chin, shutting his mouth. “I’d say I still got it then. I remember when Gen-san saw me the first time like this. I think he nearly fainted. But this is a much cuter reaction. I swear, yer redder than yer haori, Hajime-chan!”  

“I…uh…well…I just…” Ryoma swallowed thickly and grabbed her free hand, nervously shaking already.  

It was like all his weird fantasies had come true. A beautiful man, dressed in the finest silks, presented to him as a woman far out of his league, teasing him and wanting to be with him. He was going to explode. If he was to die tonight, he’d die the luckiest and happiest man in the history of Japan.  

“Hm?”  

“What do I call you?”  

“Eh?!”  

“Well…I…I can’t just call you nii-san like this. And calling you Okita or Goro seems so wrong when you look like a woman,” Ryoma glanced away.   

They both stood there silently as other guests of the Ryokan passed by. Okita tapped his fan carefully against his chest before finally opening his mouth to speak.   

“Goromi,”  

“Goromi?”  

“It’s my old name, just with flare. Now are we gonna go catch a play or what?” She smiled, then quickly let him go. “Oh right! I bought a hat!”  

“You bought a hat?”  

“Yeah! Just so I don’t gotta hold the fan up the whole time to hide the stubble,” She chuckled and went back inside their room, only returning when she had a wide brimmed, black hat sat on her head. She flipped the small little veil down and smiled at him. “There, shall we?”  

Ryoma offered his arm, feeling exceptionally short next to her now. Not like he really cared, he was just happy to have Okita, or rather Goromi, beside him and smiling again.   

This was all worth it. Every hurdle, the emotional turmoil, the ptsd and injuries, the doubt and worry, it would be worth it in the end. Regardless of what their true feelings were, the way she held his arm and smiled down at him, the way Okita looked at him after each round of sex like he was the only one in the world who mattered to him, it was worth it. This was what he’d always wanted. To be wanted. To be needed. He could see it in him and Ryoma wanted to prove that he was the man who could make all his sadness go away. He’d do anything for him. He’d hunt down that bandit, Hito, he’d craft him new swords if he asked, hell, he’d let him laze in the sun on a summer day and do nothing while he made him the perfect meal.  

He couldn’t imagine doing it for anyone else.  

As they walked the streets of Gion, Goromi received enough stares to make a man jealous. Each regular man they passed had their jaw dropping at the sight, almost as if they hadn’t just had a wonderful time with a Geisha or Oiran of their own. Even the women peeking out from their establishments seemed to fan themselves as she passed, and Ryoma couldn’t help but smile wide as he led her off towards the Kabuki Theatre.  

Paying for their entry and finding decent seats, Goromi took her hat off and flicked open her fan. They both peered down at the offered program they were given, a short synopsis of the play they were about to see. Thankfully it was written simply, and Ryoma hummed as he read along.   

“The forty-seven ronin. It’s gonna be a long one,” Goromi smiled, looking over to him. “Never really took ya as one fer watchin’ the arts,”  

“I couldn’t afford it before coming here,”  

“Even with a rich daddy?”  

“He was too busy to take us. Plus, he had me in sword classes and basic reading and writing instead. Not a lot of time for fun when he’s setting us up for the future,” Ryoma smiled. “What about you?”  

“Me?”  

“Yeah. Did your…well…I know you were military for a while, so I guess your Nenja didn’t take you. But did Gen-san?”   

Goromi shut her fan and shrugged. “Not really. He liked seein’ the Buyo dancers sometimes, but he preferred quieter activities. Walks, hikes, shoppin’, bath houses, that kinda thing. I think the crowds made him nervous,”   

“Then I guess we get to make this our thing,” Ryoma said and slipped his hand into hers.   

She smiled wide at that, a rose tint coming to her cheeks as she squeezed his hand. “I like that. Our thing,”  

As the theatre began to fill, men and women and some more well-behaved children sat in their seats. A man approached the stage, stepping up and bowing low to everyone, quieting the crowd down. With a quick rundown of the show they were about to see, the actors began to take the stage and the story of the forty-seven ronin began.  

---

Several hours later, the two lovers stepped back out into the bustling streets of Gion, the crowd loud and talkative.   

“All that fer revenge,” Goromi clicked her tongue, hat back on her head. She flicked her fan out and grabbed Ryoma’s hand. “Can’t say we did any better though, yeah?”  

“I’d say the stories are similar enough,” Ryoma chuckled. “Though we acted for change, not revenge,”  

“Speak fer yerself,” She snorted and fanned herself gently. “What’s the plan now?”  

“Thought we’d go grab something to eat, and then well…you know,”  

“Yer stamina fer sex is terrifying, Hajime-chan,” Goromi’s eye widened, but the smile on her face only widened.  

The rest of the afternoon into late evening was spent at a Gion Sushi restaurant, with only the finest bluefin tuna and other fishy delicacies. Goromi seemed beyond satisfied with the meal, offering to feed Ryoma and thus, he fed her in turn. It was intimate, in a more innocent way, and the dancing samurai found himself desperate to make it less so. It wasn’t that he was so much a pervert, but seeing Okita in lipstick and a women’s kimono really did play into a fantasy he had wanted to fulfill for a long time. He never thought he’d meet anyone who’d want to dress up as the opposite sex, and to have Goromi be here, dropped into his lap like a new year's gift made him feel like he hit the jackpot at the gambling den.  

Their walk back to the inn was full of laughter and kisses, Goromi constantly leaning into him and he into her. Whatever issues they had had over Winter finally seemed to have melted away and in the place of the dying flower of their relationship now grew the sprout of a cherry blossom tree. It would not be fleeting. Ryoma refused to let it die away by summer. Even if Okita fully believed he would walk away from him, there was no chance now. He felt attached, and with that attachment like he could be open and honest with him. He’d been nothing but understanding since he told him about Oryo and his struggles. Now he just hoped he could get Okita to open up to him too.  

As they stumbled back into their inn room, Ryoma slid his arms around Goromi and pulled her in close, kissing her soft and slow. He felt her hands slide over his shoulders and around his neck, smiling into the kiss as she pulled him closer. Walking her backwards, they barely made it out to the small balcony of their room where he pressed her up against the railing, the sound of laughter from the people walking below just barely reaching their ears. Ryoma kissed her jaw, then her neck, his hands sliding down silk as her own fingers tangled in his hair. Skillful, deft hands found the tie for his bun and pulled it out, letting his hair fall around his shoulders as he carefully untied her Obi and tossed each bit of fabric behind him towards the room.  

“Ryoma-chan is pretty good at undressin’ me out of ladies clothes,” Goromi teased breathlessly, sighing softly as he pulled open her many layers to kiss and nip at her already bruised neck and chest.  

“I’ve had the practice,” he smirked against her skin. “And now I get to practice on you,”  

“Oh-ho! Look how suave ya are! Ya know just how t’ get a gal goin’,” She purred and reached up to her own hair, plucking the decorations from the bun to let her hair down. It may have been mostly a wig, or extra hair pinned in to Okita’s own, but the length on her, and the way the pitch-black locks contrasted against pale skin had Ryoma thinking back to winter, their nights together, the winter festival and even the first night when they’d gotten drunk out of their minds.  

She was beautiful. Stunning even with her patch on, which Ryoma reached up to slide off her face, revealing the sunken, empty socket. Goromi instantly shied away, letting her hair cover the left side of her face but he quickly tucked it away behind her ear and planted a kiss on the lid, sighing softly.  

“Beautiful…”  

“Ryoma-chan…”  

“I mean it. Really…Like this, like Okita, I wish you’d believe me,” He turned her face so he could kiss her again, sliding his hands down her body till he found her hips. “I’ll do whatever I can to make you see how gorgeous you are, nee-chan,”  

He tucked his hands under her ass, gripping her thighs, and then lifted her onto the railing. Goromi let out a shocked noise, something akin to a low squeak, and gripped both Ryoma and the rail to keep herself from teetering right off. He slid his hand around her waist, the other making its way up her leg and under the fabric of her kimono, fingering her fundoshi as he returned to assaulting her skin with kisses and bites. He marked whatever patch of skin he could on her chest, and her moans and sighs only spurred him on. He wanted to make this a night to remember, something both of them could look back on and say ‘remember that? Let’s do that again.’  

And it really felt like it was going that way, with Goromi’s hands in his hair again, ducking down to kiss the top of his head, murmuring sweet nothings until she froze. He frowned against her chest, looking up at her to see if he’d done something, maybe gone too far, triggered a memory maybe of a time long gone, but all he saw on her face was shock, confusion, and fear. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’d seen a ghost, but the only ghost who could make her start pushing him away had to be Gen-san, and there was no way he was just suddenly alive or even unalive, standing in their inn room.  

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, only to hear a tray crash on the ground, ceramic shattering over hardwood floors.  

He whipped his head around, feeling the blood drain from his body completely, his own eyes wide as dread filled him and made his chest clench with anxiety. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest, and his limbs seemed to freeze and go numb as Oryo stood in the middle of their room, her pouting expression staring him down as her eyes were slit with anger.  

Chapter 24: Post-Traumatic

Notes:

I'm sorry to Oryo fans but also not because I am not an Oryo fan jfewofjowejf but anyways, here's that drama I promised lol

Oryo.  

Okita stood there, eye wide and in shock as Ryoma seemed to drain of colour before him.   

It had been about a year. One whole year, since he’d last seen the inn girl, once dressed in delicate pink, now a little older, dressed in blue. Her style reflected her age now, but the lines of her frown had only grown more prominent, and it was clear her personality had been about as kind to her as the seasons. He once thought she was pretty, for a young woman, his taste in male colours far more refined than that of women, but now, after all that had happened, all that he’d heard, he couldn’t help but feel anger seeing her.  

And it seemed the feeling was mutual.  

She stormed over, a look of determination on her face. Ryoma reached out, trying to keep her at a distance but she slapped his hands out of her way.  

“I can’t believe you!”  

“What?!”  

“I can’t believe you moved on that fast! A whole year and it means nothing to you?!” She shouted, and Okita stepped forward, shaking his head.  

“Fast? From what I hear it was over ‘fore it even started,” He frowned, and he watched as her eyes widened, hearing a deeper voice come from the face of someone who appeared so feminine. “Also, ya ain’t supposed t’ just barge in. Food coulda been left at the door. Some host ya are,”  

There was no word from her, only a flash of anger and the sting of skin on skin as she slapped him hard across the face. It was hard enough that his head snapped to the side, and that was all he needed to move his hand to inside his kimono. The tanto was out and unsheathed before Ryoma could react, and when he did, he grabbed Okita’s wrist and shoved Oryo back.  

“What is wrong with you?” He asked, his voice small, soft, clearly in shock that she had even dared.  

It wasn’t the Ryoma he knew, but it was the Ryoma who had been beaten down by a woman who controlled him before. Maybe not intentionally, but Oryo seemed to not like being in control, whether that was from her past or losing her father during everything, Okita didn’t know. Nor did he care too. Not now anyway.  

“Who is this is a better question, Saito-san!” She sputtered, shaking her head. “A Wakashu? S-some…some older onna-girai?!”  

“Okita-no-niisan is not Wakashu!” Ryoma snapped.  

“Okita? The other Shinsengumi? So what? He’s your whore now? Sounds and looks like a Wakashu to me!”  

“Excuse me?” Okita stepped forward, the tanto still in his hand.  

Ryoma blocked him with his arm, narrowing his eyes. “He’s not a whore either. Watch what you say, Oryo,”  

“I can’t believe this…I can’t believe you! It would have been one thing to just run off with some other woman, but another man?! A murderer?!” Oryo scoffed, her pouting lip only becoming more prominent. “We were supposed to work this out! You told me—“  

“I told you we were done!”  

“I don’t have the energy to fight you on this, Saito. I didn’t say we were done!”  

“Yes, but I did!”  

Okita could feel the tension in the air rising and with Ryoma now seemingly squaring up to Oryo, his voice loud and stern, he couldn’t be there. It wasn’t like he’d be able to get a word in with the shrieking banshee and he didn’t need to be called a whore again.  

“I don’t know what to tell you, Saito!” She threw her hands up.   

“I thought you didn’t have the energy to fight. Why are you still going on about this?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You slapped Okita, you’ve made a mess of the floor, you’re just…yelling, and deflecting, and for what? We aren’t together. We were never going to stay together. Not after how you acted over every little thing I did,”  

“Everything is my fault! I just ruin everything then!”  

“That’s not what I said!”  

He didn’t need to sit in the middle of this. He couldn’t stand it. It was really as he said to him before, and Okita wouldn’t be much help.   

A bottle of sake would help him though. Maybe even a bath. It wasn’t his fight, and he wasn’t going to bother arguing with a woman who believed the whole world was against her when she had done nothing but cause problems. He’d seen it firsthand, her betrayal at the inn, how she’d alerted every traitor in the damn place to their arrival. And for what? What did she even gain from that or even this?   

Okita sheathed his tanto, walking right past the two of them as they squabbled. Tying his kimono tightly around his waist, he sighed and walked out of the room. Maybe repercussions were in order. She had ruined the evening, and any chance of sex or intimacy was off the table now for him. Surely the owners would want to know that one of their workers had a habit of barging in and making problems?  

Was he so petty now? A man scorned so bad that he would ruin a woman’s chance at work over this?  

Well, she did slap him. And call him a whore.  

Guess he was petty.   

With a heavy sigh, he tried not to stomp his way down the stairs to the main area of the inn. Wandering past the bathing rooms, he could hear the sounds of loud, conversing men and the laughter of drunk women. It should have been exciting as it was the night before. He should have felt something, anything, other than rage and disappointment. Because every time he thought he had love in his grasp…  

…Someone had to rip it away.  

Happiness? Torn. Love? Gouged. Freedom? Bound. Being with someone was worse than being alone because you had to grapple with life and baggage and all the little things in between. It couldn’t just be winter all over again. It couldn’t just be the drunken night or the festival. It had to be Yamada’s death, Hito’s blade, Ryoma’s venomous bite, and now Oryo’s stupid fucking whining.  

Her whining, her woe is me attitude, her stupid pouting lips.  

Okita wanted to cut her apart. In fact, for the mere trespass on a special, vulnerable day, he should have gouged out her damn eyes and broken each of her dainty little fingers. Not just for slapping him, no, for also calling him a whore. Something he’d now heard three times in his life, and he was starting to believe it.  

Grumbling to himself, he didn’t notice the door beside him open until a hand snatched his wrist and wrenched him inside. The Mad Dog stumbled, finding himself pressed against a wall as a man the same size as himself pressed in close, smelling of sake and foreign beer. There was a stench around him, metallic, and he realized it was the man’s clothes. Even with all the washing it clearly had gone through, it still smelled heavily of death and blood. Was this what he smelled like in the Shinsengumi? Like a blood-soaked beast in waiting? Gods, the man reeked worse than that, unless it had been so long he forgot what death tasted like. He grimaced, turning his face away as the man, leaning into his blind side so he couldn’t see, sniffed him and sighed. His hands were wandering, and Okita felt his mind slip somewhere else, just for a fraction and he felt his heart nearly stop.  

It was ten years ago. No. It was more than that. It was the first time. When he was barely twelve summers old. The night he had given himself to his Nenja and became a man. Well, a man in the eyes of those who practiced these ways in the Bushido. Not every Master fucked their student, but his did, and he realized in that moment he wanted none of this. None of that fondling and disgusting slurp against his skin. He wanted passion that didn’t feel like it was steeped in fetish. He wanted intimacy without the strings attached.   

And that was enough to snap him back to reality and the tanto was back in his hand, pressed against the belly of the moron who had grabbed him like he was one of the working girls.   

The drunk grabbed him by the neck, squeezing as he pressed the blade enough to make the man hiss and his face finally came into view. Okita’s eye widened, the wound in his own belly aching as Hito’s visage came into focus and he felt the breath leave his lungs.   

He felt like he had a snake coiled in his stomach, writhing and biting at his insides. The bile rose in his throat and then he realized that the man before him didn’t recognize the fresh face of Okita Soji. He didn’t recognize Goromi. Even with his hair falling into his sunken eye, this idiot believed he was a Wakashu prostitute or maybe even just an Oiran. The fool had drunk himself stupid, stupid enough to keep squeezing his throat despite the blade ready to sink into him. And he wanted to run him through, he could do it and not feel a damn thing, but then he’d lose his only chance to find Gen-san’s blades. The last connection to a love long gone. The last connection to who they really were.  

He moved the blade away from Hito’s drunken belly and slashed at the hand holding his throat. The man before him hissed, letting him go to look at his hand. The cut was deep and bleeding, dripping on the floor, and when he looked up at Okita with anger in his eyes, he didn’t expect him to rear back and punch him hard in the gut.   

Right into his healing wound.  

He gasped, clinging to his stomach as the pain shot through his entire body.  

“When did they start giving prostitutes blades? Fuck, that hurt…” Hito hissed and reached for Okita again, only to get the blade through his palm.   

His eyes widened and the Mad Dog shoved with all his might, sending him into the side of the tub. He yanked it from his hand, half tempted to drown him instead but chose to be the bigger person.  

By throwing him onto the floor.  

Okita was on him instantly, throwing enough punches to make sure that not another word came from Hito’s bloodied mouth. The rage building in him made him want to do worse. This man stole from him, gutted him, hurt the people around him, and he deserved death for it, but what would Ryoma think seeing him like this? Once there was a time when then Dancing Samurai had chosen violence and revenge, in the end he lost more than he had gained. They all had. Holding back, fist still in the air, Hito coughed and spat out a glob of blood to the floor, and it was only then that Okita stopped. He grimaced and stood, giving Hito a swift kick to the ribs and spat on him, just for good measure.  

“Pathetic…” He mumbled to himself and fixed his kimono. There was no honor in killing a drunk thief. He’d make sure that when he got his revenge and Gen-san’s swords back it was when they were both sober.  

So he could savour the hunt.  

Exiting the room, he passed a couple of rough looking men with women hanging off their arms heading for the same bath, probably to look for Hito and continue their little springtime fun. The sooner he got to the front the better in that case. The last thing he needed was for Hito to point him out, but from how piss drunk he was, he probably had no clue who or what he was. Maybe it would hit him in a few days, or maybe he’d never know at all, but now all Okita could focus on was the buzz in his hands and the rippling pain in his abdomen.  

His luck had to be running out. Like a curse, that blade that nearly gutted him had stolen what little favour he had with the seven lucky gods, and now here he was, presented with an unsatisfying revenge, a psycho woman hellbent on making a man he loved miserable, and—  

Love.   

He stopped just short of the owner of the inn, frowning.   

Did he love Ryoma? Fully? With his entire being?  

Was that what this burning anger inside of his chest was?   

Okita’s mouth felt dry and chalky, and he sucked in a breath that had his stomach muscles spasming. He couldn’t dwell on that right now. He needed to focus. First, remove the immediate problem and ruin her, then take a hot bath and drink enough to ignore the pain, then tell Ryoma-chan how he felt.  

He let out a slow breath and waved the owner over, adjusting his kimono once more. “Oi, question fer ya,”  

“Hmm?” She turned, bowing her head slightly. “Ah, it was Okita-sama, correct? How can I help you? Are you enjoying your stay?”  

“Oh, yeah, lovely place. Just wonderin’, that young girl, Oryo? She ain’t been here too long yeah?”  

“Uh…no. She hasn’t. She came recommended, though. We in the hospitality business all talk to one another. The woman she worked for before she left Kyo spoke highly of her. Is there a problem?” The woman tilted her head and Okita sighed.  

“Yeah…a big one,”  

---

Sinking into the bath, Okita tipped his head back as he finished off his second bottle of sake. He could hear the screaming even though he was downstairs from their room, but something told him that Oryo wasn’t taking things exceptionally well. It wasn’t that he wanted to completely ruin her, but there had to be some kind of consequence, right? What person could even sit there and justify the abuse of a single person just because their relationship didn’t work out? She was truly unhinged, believing that Ryoma would want to be a part of her manipulation and rage. Seeing it firsthand himself, he could only imagine how bad it really was. How much was Ryoma keeping bottled up?  

“I expected far better from someone recommended by Otose,” said the innkeeper as she stomped past the baths. “You came highly recommended! You know better than to barge into rooms with closed doors! If they do not answer, the meal can be left outside! Or better yet, returned for later!”  

“B-but—!”  

“No buts! Leave! I will recommend you another inn out of Gion. Perhaps you are better suited to the needy than to the sexually charged,”   

Okita nearly spat his sake out, feeling it burn his nose as he tried to suck in a breath, only to send the warm liquid into the back of his throat. He coughed, wheezed and sputtered, shaking his head to try to fling away the static his body sent through him. He wouldn’t have nearly recovered after that, if the innkeeper hadn’t decided she was on a war path, her voice loud still through the closed rice paper door.  

“And you! Bandit!”  

“I’m no bandit—!”  

“I don’t care! You’ve done nothing but harass everyone here! You and your friends must leave!”  

“But one of those whores punched me!”  

“I could care less! Your drunken bumbling is making everyone uncomfortable, including high paying customers. Out!”  

Hito seemed to be in her sights now and the mere thought of his luck dwindling again has Okita coughing harder.   

“Whatever… it isn’t like this is the only high-class inn in Japan,”   

It all seemed to quiet down then, and Okita sighed, fanning himself as his body finally calmed down. Maybe drinking in a hot bath with a searing pain in his gut wasn’t the smartest idea, but it felt better than feeling Hito’s hands on him, or worse yet, his first Nenja’s.   

He hadn’t expected to remember that time in such detail, and his fingers drifted over his empty socket as the pain of the memory washed over him. Even his belly throbbed, making him groan. He really couldn’t catch a break.   

“What shit luck…” He huffed and pulled himself out of the bath, long, wet hair hanging in front of his face.  

His wound was bruised again, the once yellow tinge now red, purple and angry blue. His throat hurt too, and he was sure if he found a mirror he’d see fingerprints on his skin.   

There was a time when he never had marks on him, but maybe that’s because they were inside. Okita was still young and yet he felt haggard and broken beyond what Ryoma or Gen-san could have ever understood. From his mother’s passing, to losing his eye, to losing Gen-san, to nearly dying now, it all centered around one concept. Love. And yet he continued to fall into it, begging for a mother’s love, a father’s guiding hand, a man to love him as he was. And then there was Ryoma. What scars did he have? How deep did Oryo cut him, and could he even suture them when his hands were so shaky from the ire turned on him?  

All he could do was try.   

Enough time had passed. He’d removed the problem for a moment, and as much as he would have loved to gut her or slit her damn throat for the words she spewed at them both, it wasn’t right, and she received the consequences she deserved. Loneliness was a harsher death than pain.  

Redressing and climbing the stairs back to their room, the sake bottle held tightly in his hand, Okita drew in a deep breath and let it go as he stood at the door. Inside was quiet, and he worried for a moment that Ryoma maybe left, ran off to hide the shame and guilt and fear he probably felt.   

Could he be the man he needed now? After the support he had shown him in his time feeling like he had crawled out of his own grave, after every insult and jab he had thrown just because he was hurt and still hurting?  

He wouldn’t know until he tried.  

Straightening himself to the best of his ability considering the buzz of alcohol in his system, Okita opened their room door and stepped inside. Leaning heavily on the railing outside, Ryoma looked defeated and worn, watching the street below. He wondered if he was looking down at Oryo, or if it was just general people watching. The sun was setting behind the skyline of Gion, orange and red bathing the entire city of Kyo in warm light, the dark of night looming in the East. He looked handsome, stunning even, but even the sunset couldn’t make the tension and static in the room softer.   

As he slid the door shut behind him, Ryoma didn’t even move, either lost in his own thoughts or maybe he just didn’t care if someone was coming in to kill him. It wasn’t the Ryoma he knew. Maybe it was the Hajime, but even then, he’d always hid his emotions well, stoic and unwavering.   

He walked up beside him, taking one last sip of liquid courage, and leaned against the railing beside him. Below was Oryo, pacing back and forth before sitting heavily on a bench under a cherry blossom tree. People walked by, drunk and laughing, ignoring the obvious distress she was in. Okita didn’t have any sympathy for her. The act she was putting on seemed more like a tantrum, a child slapped on the hand for acting out of turn. She knew better, and was handed the consequence, but if her behaviour was anything to go by, she didn’t learn her lesson. She’d walk away, crying foul to anyone who would listen, and paint Okita and Ryoma as the villains in her story. Two men who didn’t want to put up with the antics, the manipulation, and gods knew what else.  

Maybe.   

It wasn’t his place to worry about just yet, and at the end of the day Ryoma shouldn’t have to worry about it either.  

“You left,” Ryoma finally spoke. “And I don’t blame you,”  

“I figured she wouldn’t stab ya, but I was ‘bout t’ stab her,”  

“I know. Thanks for not doing that,”  

“Hittin’ women ain’t really my thing. Unless they attack me with a blade. Then I think it’s warranted. Like…in the sense it’s a warrior versus warrior thing. Not like a—“  

“I get you,” Ryoma snorted and then frowned, his expression troubled, more so than Okita had ever seen. “I’m sorry,”  

“Ain’t gotta apologize,”  

“I should have stepped in to stop her from hitting you. Then you wouldn’t have this red mark on your face,” Ryoma lifted his hand, gently tucking his hair away from his face.   

His fingertips brushed over the mark on his cheek bone and then paused before running down to his neck.   

“Hey…when did…”  

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Okita grabbed his hand and lowered it, squeezing it tight.  

“I’m going to worry. Your neck is more bruised than your face, nii-san,”  

Okita sighed, taking a large drink of sake. Was it worth telling him it was Hito? That he was here still and had attacked him? Was it worth saying he couldn’t even kill him, that the satisfaction wouldn’t be there because the moron was drunk off his ass and he still has no idea where his swords were?   

Was it worth opening up at all when he was hurting? This wasn’t about him for once. Ryoma had been verbally assaulted in their own inn room by a jaded ex-lover. His trauma and attack were nothing right now.  

“Nii-san, please,”  

“Fine. It was Hito. The bastard was stayin’ here and got kicked out with Oryo ‘cause he was so damn drunk,”  

“What?!”  

“It’s nothin’. Left him a souvenir. Can’t deny I’m in a lot of pain right now. He hit my damn wound too, thinkin’ I was some Wakashu he could manhandle. I’ll be fine. Ain’t the first time. Probably won’t be the last. What matters t’ me now is that yer hurtin’. This is…this is nothin’,” Okita shook his head.  

“What do you mean Hito is here? And he hurt you?” Ryoma’s hand was shaking in his and Okita turned with a heavy sigh.   

“Oi, don’t go playin’ hero when yer all jumbled up. That’s how ya get hurt too. We can’t both be fucked up. Who will take care of us?” He tried to smile and joke, but all Ryoma responded with was a shake of his head.  

“How you can sit there and be alright with this is beyond me. He almost killed you before,”  

“Because he ain’t the first one to try and force himself on me, or the first one to do so and hurt me,”  

Ryoma’s frown deepened and he stepped close, pulling his hand away from Okita’s to gently touch the bruise again.   

“Your eye,”  

“Yeah,”  

“Your first Nenja then,”  

“There’s rules t’ this shit, if ya didn’t know, and I broke them. Now I’m with ya, and I ain’t breakin’ them. I almost broke them with Gen-san…ain’t gonna allow myself t’ be in that situation again. So, don’t worry ‘bout it,”  

“Goro-no-niisan, we can dance around this all night, but I’m tired, and I don’t want to argue anymore, so can you just tell me the truth?” The samurai sighed; exhaustion clear on his face. “Please,”  

Okita huffed and glanced away. “I slept with another guy after my Nenja made his claim. We were supposed t’ be bonded. Y’know, like…physically and all of that. It’s a lifelong thing, and I realized I didn’t want t’ spend my entire life with a guy I felt nothin’ fer,”  

“So…he took your eye,”  

“Yeah, as punishment. Listen, can we sit down while I tell ya all of this?”  

Okita grabbed Ryoma’s hand again, pulling him back inside and seating them at a small table to the side. Slamming the sake bottle down, he slid it to the samurai and motioned for him to have it.   

“Nenja and Wakashu…in the samurai sense, create a bond. Only a Nenja can lay hands on his wakashu. He teaches him everythin’ from swordplay t’ sex. Sometimes there’s a contract. The only time this stops is when the Wakashu grows out of it. But they’re supposed t’ stay friends…or somethin’ like that. Sometimes they just stay together,” The Mad Dog explained. “And I broke that,”  

“And you don’t talk about it,”  

“Nah. It was traumatizin’ enough. I didn’t wanna be a prostitute like my mother, and I wanted t’ be worth somethin’. Guess I was just a prize t’ him. It was fer the best, even if I did lose an eye. And I shed the whole Wakashu thing,”  

“Right…”  

“But…even though that’s the case, I’m still Wakashu,”  

“You don’t wear the style, so how can that be?”  

“Because the man who continues to be the receiver in sex is still Wakashu, regardless of age…which means the guy…givin’ is always the Nenja,”  

The silence was deafening, and Ryoma blinked at him before grabbing the sake bottle and chugging it. The samurai stared down at the bottle for a long time, leaving Okita to shift uncomfortably on the floor. Was that bad? Would he still want to be with him with such labels looming over them?  

“Ryoma-chan…Like…it’s fine if ya wanna like…stop, ‘cause…like ya call me nii-san and all, and being an older man’s Nenja is kinda—“  

“I’m gonna need a job…”  

“Eh?” Okita tilted his head.  

“How can I provide for my Wakashu if I have no job? Will I have to train you now? What happens if someone finds out? Will you have to call me nii-san?”  

“What the fuck are ya yammerin’ on about? We’re only a couple years apart! And ya don’t need a job t’ take care o’ me, but ya do need one if ya plan on havin’ any worth in Kyo! How can ya be such a bum?! Was yer plan t’ just be a house husband?!”  

“I don’t have many skills, but I can clean, farm and cook. I can’t have a richer, younger man steal you away,”  

“Are ya drunk?”  

“Huh? No!” Ryoma looked up from the bottle and glanced away. “I just…don’t want to lose you. I’ve let you down, I’ve been weak. I let a woman beat me down and slap you. I have been a horrible Nenja!”  

“Ryoma-chan is weird. And exhausted. I think we should just call it a day and deal with this existential crisis tomorrow,” Okita sighed, standing.   

“N-Nii-san!”  

The Mad Dog looked over his shoulder, frowning. “Am I wrong?”  

“I…I am tired…”  

“Then come t’ bed. Ya gonna make me sleep alone?”  

Ryoma stood quickly, tripping over the table as he rushed for Okita. Grabbing him up in his arms, he held him tight as he walked him towards the futon, the two of them stumbling along as the Mad Dog tried not to laugh. The way he clung to him, was so desperate to prove himself was touching, but it was clear that he was worried about his worth. Whatever Oryo had said to him once Okita had left had clearly cut deep, and with him walking away, Ryoma must have believed that he was disappointed in him. But that was far from the truth.   

In fact, he was quite happy to see him stand up to Oryo and defend him. It was better than seeing Ryoma be meek and downtrodden all over again.   

He felt the samurai press his lips to his shoulder, his arms tightening around him, and all Okita could think about was how he needed to protect him. Sure, he may be his Nenja in all technicalities, but he deserved to be cared for as much as anyone else. It would be non-traditional, but Okita was never one for tradition anyway. He much preferred living their little secret. Two dead men, living by another’s name, breaking the laws of the world they knew and transcending the molds they were born into.  

Chapter 25: Cut Sleeves and Fleeting Things

Ryoma awoke cold and heavy.  

His head was pounding in areas he’d never felt before, and his body and joints ached. He felt like he had been pulled apart and then put back together wrong. Exhaustion held him tight, but he knew he couldn’t just lay in bed all day. Okita was there, and he deserved his time and effort. After everything, he deserved Ryoma’s utmost attention, even if he felt like dying. 

Opening his eyes and blinking rapidly, he frowned as he noticed the lack of Okita before him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, crusted tears ripping at his eyelashes as he sat up and looked down at their shared futon. The blankets were strewn about and beneath him, the cut off sleeve of Okita’s kimono.  

His eyes widened, staring down at the beautiful silk he had bought him. The remnants of spider lilies and golden wind lay there, torn from the seam and left to become one with the linens. Ryoma’s heart clenched and then began to pound hard in his ears. Had Okita left him? Had he ripped himself free in the night and left him after all they spoke about, after all they’d done together? Had Oryo calling him a whore been too much regardless? Ryoma knew that it was a sore subject, and also knew better now why, even if he hadn’t shed light on everything he’d been through, he could put two and two together. He wasn’t completely dumb. 

Chest pain hit him hard then, the air punching out of his lungs as his mind began to go blank. Fear washed over him and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he grabbed the sleeve and stood on shaking legs. Left in the middle of the floor was the rear of the kimono and he snatched that up too, clutching it close to his cold chest before bursting out of the room and into the purple lantern halls of the ryokan. 

He knew he looked like an absolute mess, his hair in disarray, his kimono half open. The looks from the other patrons told him he looked like he had been left by an Oiran and couldn’t handle the reality, but it was worse than that. His Okita was gone, perhaps in some weird revenge against him, a final nail in his coffin for how horrible of a Nenja he’d been this whole time. Had this not been enough for him? Did he truly decide he deserved better than some sniveling young samurai with barely a Mon to his name?  

Ryoma rushed to the stairs, breathing hard, and came to a hard stop, nearly falling down the steps. His eyes widened, his pulse loud in his ears as all sound washed away to be replaced with the thump and slosh of his blood. It was like standing in a raging, white water river, and he was about to get washed away along with every piece of his anxious thoughts. Okita stood at the bottom, cleaned up and fresh faced, and beside him was the Okami. She tilted her head at him and then looked to the Mad Dog. 

“Your partner here looks like he’s about to fall over,” 

“Yeah…or throw up,” Okita frowned, quickly running up the steps. 

Just as he reached Ryoma, he reached out and the samurai couldn’t stop how his body moved. He didn’t feel in control, and he didn’t see Okita in that moment. As his hand lifted up, he saw a far more delicate one and he flinched, stepping backwards. 

If time could stop, he was sure it had in that moment. Okita paused, his eye widening as he just stared at him, an array of emotion passing over his face as he lowered his hand and dropped his gaze. It wasn’t like it was speculation. Oryo had no issue hitting Okita for even being near Ryoma, and after the previous night, with emotions high and what they’d both been through, Okita seemed to know immediately why he was jumpy.  

“Hajime-chan…” 

“You left,” 

“I didn’t go far,” 

“You cut the kimono I bought you,” Ryoma could hear his voice tremble and waver. It was pathetic, and he hated that after everything he was showing such weakness and fear and sadness, but he couldn’t help it.  

He didn’t even feel like he was in his body anymore.  

Okita sighed, scratching the back of his head and then glanced back at the Okami, offering an uncomfortable smile. “Sorry…uh…one second,” 

He reached for him again, slower this time, and carefully grabbed his arm to pull him aside and out of view. Tucked into a small nook, he slid his hand to his wrist, thumb rubbing circles on his veins to ease his beating heart. 

“Ya had me trapped,” He chuckled softly. “Couldn’t move at all. Tried gettin’ up, but even when I got my arm out from under ya, ya grabbed the kimono and…” 

“You cut it,” 

“Not like I wanted t’, but then I remembered a story Gen-san told me,” Okita smiled, staring down at their hands as he continued to trace shapes over his paling skin. “A Chinese emperor had a male courtesan that he loved a damn lot. He didn’t wanna wake him even though he had important things t’ do, and cut his sleeve off so he would disturb him,” 

Ryoma swallowed, then sniffled loudly, reaching up to wipe at his nose. He was starting to return to his body, and he didn’t like how badly he was shaking, or how blurry his vision was getting. It didn’t seem to bother Okita, who simply reached up to carefully swipe his knuckle under his eyes.  

“What then?” 

“A bunch of guys who loved men started callin’ themselves cut sleeves,” The Mad Dog shrugged. “Sometimes Gen-san would call me that…I just didn’t wanna wake ya up. I figured I’d let ya sleep and do the amazing nii-san thing and get us a new room. Didn’t really feel like we would enjoy what time we had left on our little time out in a room tainted by an argument,” 

He blinked rapidly and quickly looked down at the ground. He wasn’t leaving him. He wasn’t mad at him or disgusted with him. Hell, Okita wasn’t even disturbed by his reaction and was showing far more care than he had shown him when he was in need of comfort. Ryoma didn’t deserve such niceties.  

“Nii-san…” He whined and Okita quickly grabbed his face. 

“Oi! Hold off on the tears fer just a few more minutes, yeah? At least until we get into the new room?” 

“It’s so hard when yer acting more like my Nenja than I’m acting like yours!” Ryoma pouted, looking up now as if he could will the tears back into his eyes. “Okita-no-niisan is so cruel to me! I don’t even have money to fix your kimono! And now you’re acting all kind! What happened to you?! What have you done with my ugly idiot?!” 

“Hey now! I thought ya said I was beautiful!”  

“Only ugly because you ruined my gift!” 

“That ain’t fair! Ya were so damn clingy, I had no choice!” 

Ryoma sniffled again but offered a cheeky smile, watching as Okita’s single eye widen before he grinned. Shoving Ryoma’s face, he laughed, stepping away to find the Okami again.  

“Yer a menace! An absolute fool!” 

“You love me,” Ryoma chuckled, and Okita paused, his cheeks turning various shades of pink.  

“Yeah, I do. Now come on,” 

His cheeks were starting to hurt from how wide he was smiling now, and that smile didn’t leave his face at all as the Okami helped them gather their things and move up to the third floor to their new room. 

It wasn’t much different from what they had before, though the arrangement of furniture and style had changed from rich reds to deep purples. It was tucked away more, more private, less people wandering around and much quieter. Ryoma liked that, especially after being interrupted and having so many people pass by the room when he was getting his ass chewed out by Oryo. At least Okita wasn’t mad about it. In fact, his reassuring hand on his back made him feel less like a failure of a man.  

His words from the night before still tumbled around his head. He was his Nenja. Despite everything, even if this ended up meaning nothing, everyone would see Ryoma as his Master, someone who provided, protected and commanded. And maybe it had always been like that, even in the shinsengumi. Sure, he had only been third captain, and while Okita had been first, they were all equals until it came down to the wire. Suddenly the Mad Dog was doing everything he said, following his word, following him. It was strange at first, but not it all made sense.  

Okita may not have been looking for a replacement then, but he had found himself drawn to him regardless. Was that why being called Nii-san weirded him out?  

“Hey, nii-san?” 

“Yer still callin’ me that despite what I told ya last night?” Okita snorted, putting their things away. 

“Well, you didn’t exactly say why I shouldn’t,” Ryoma smirked, tying his hair up.  

“‘Cause that implies we were sleepin’ together long before we were, and that I’m the one fuckin’ ya,” The Mad Dog chuckled, shaking his head. “Which I’m not,” 

“You could. If you wanted,” 

Okita paused, looking away as he started fidgeting with his haori. “Uh…that’s…well, that breaks some rules…Though…I mean…I ain’t opposed…I just…” 

“Goro,” Ryoma laughed. “It’s fine. We’re close in age is all, and…well, I’m not about to take your other eye if you want to…switch things up,” 

“Ryoma-chan is just full of surprises and I ain’t know how t’ deal with them,” 

“Well, we can just start with pampering if you want,” He shrugged. “To be honest, I could use a massage this time. I think you’ve been pampered enough, 

“Ha! That’s what you think!” Okita pulled his haori off and tossed it at Ryoma as he wandered over to grab his hands. “But if it’s what ya need, ya better lay down. Can’t work them muscles if yer standin’,” 

He couldn’t argue with that, and with little encouragement, Ryoma laid down on their new futon. Tucking his arms under his chin, he closed his eyes as he felt Okita straddle his thighs. Oryo had rubbed his shoulders before, but he’d never really wanted her near like that. Not after he realized what he really wanted and needed in his life. This was different, the way Okita’s hands rubbed over his shoulder blades and down his back, it made him feel…wanted. Worshiped. 

“Hmm, why don’t ya take off everythin’ from the top. Be easier,” 

“Oh? Sure,” Ryoma pushed himself up on his forearms and let Okita pull his kimono off his arms and body.  

He peeled it back towards his ass, letting the fabric sit at his hips. Ryoma gave a shiver as Okita dragged his fingers down his spine and then he dug them in just enough to add some pressure to his aching muscles and pushed up. The samurai moaned, completely relaxing into the futon as Okita laughed above him, his tone low as he spread his fingers and hands over his back and down his sides.  

“When was the last time Ryoma-chan was treated like a God, I wonder…” Okita practically purred. “Puttin’ so much effort into everyone else…actin’ like a savior…Has anyone ever really appreciated ya or shown ya how amazin’ ya look?” 

Ryoma found himself shaking his head slightly as Okita seemed to lower himself over him, hot breath at his ear.  

“Shame. ‘Cause yer really built like a real-life Hachiman…” Okita murmured and dug his thumbs into his muscles, circling and working out the knots that Ryoma didn’t even realize were there. 

Had he been this worked up and stressed this whole time? He supposed he was. Since before winter, when he had left Oryo and returned to Haruka and the village, Ryoma had been stressed, cooking, farming, clearing snow and doing his best to help everyone else. Hell, even taking Okita in, caring for him while he was sick, fucking him, bathing him while injured and dealing with the stress of an ex-lover and a new one, he really hadn’t relaxed at all. And he felt it deep in his bones. He was barely within his twenty years now, and he felt at least a decade older, but with the Mad Dogs hands on his body, he was starting to feel young again.  

In more ways than one. 

The whole idea of him being Okita’s Nenja was jarring but also…invigorating. Here he was, living with and fucking the most beautiful and deadly samurai in Nippon, and he was a certified dead man walking. A god in Okita’s eyes and a fucking force of nature. This massage and the way he was whispering in his damn ear about how handsome and stunning he was, doing weird things to his mind and body. He liked how it made him feel. Powerful. Needed. Even though he had never wanted responsibility or power, he had been handed it with full trust, and by the Gods, he was going to make sure Okita was taken care of and returned the favour of such enticing compliments. 

Ryoma nearly lost himself in the warmth of his hands, barely aware of Okita slowly stopping the motions. The Mad Dog gently laid over him, head pressed between his shoulder blades and Ryoma was sure that he heard him sniffle. 

“Goro-no-niisan?” 

“I ain’t like seein’ ya beat down and upset,” The samurai pulled in a sharp breath and Ryoma frowned. 

“I’m…I’m fine now,” he whispered. “I promise,” 

“Just…don’t want ya t’ think I actually hated ya. I was pissed off, I was…mournin’. Not just Yamada-sama, but Kamo as well,” 

He hadn’t heard Okita call Gen-san that before. His real name. The man he really was before he took the name of Genzaburo Inoue. It was almost jarring, but it made him realize that with them reclaiming their dead selves, he wanted to reclaim his former Master and Nenja. And of course he would. The man had died for them. He fought for them. He did all he could just for Okita and Nagakura and he deserved to be remembered as the man he truly was. 

“I know,” 

“Losin’ those swords, havin’ Hito be so close and yet so far, I just…when it all went down, when I almost died, I didn’t know what t’ feel when I woke up and ya walked in t’ our home. I felt violated, I felt…angry. I didn’t know what ya had been through and t’ think that bitch hit—“ 

“Goro, stop,” 

He felt him freeze against him and he sighed, pushing himself up and twisting. Okita quickly sat up and Ryoma frowned as he saw his expression grow somber and worried. 

He couldn’t have him getting all upset now when he’d just spent so long talking him up and making him feel so damn good. 

Grabbing the Mad Dog, he flipped him over onto his back, swapping their positions as he slammed his hands on either side of his head. Okita blinked up at him, speechless, and Ryoma smirked. Maybe he was getting bold, but something about their fleeting thing blossoming into something far more permanent (to his own eyes at least, made him feel…like he could do anything.  

Including shutting Okita up when he was getting worked up. 

“You don’t need to explain to me loss and pain and betrayal. Just know…you will never be hurt by me again,” he murmured, cupping his cheek and running his thumb over his plump, perfect lips. “I’ve felt bad enough…No pain I feel now is caused by you. You have nothing to apologize for, alright, nii-san?” 

Okita nodded almost too enthusiastically, and Ryoma laughed. Ducking his head down, he kissed him soft and slow, moving his lips to his cheek, to his jaw, moving down to his neck. His hands carefully untied Okita’s kimono, pulling the fabric open to expose his pale, stunning— 

And bruised skin.  

The samurai paused, narrowing his eyes as he looked down over the Mad Dog’s body, and the dark, purple bruising around his neck and healing wound. The angry scar was red and swollen, the black and purple bruise around it spread out over his abs and waist like an ocean of pain. The bruising around his neck was clearly the shape of fingers and he remembered what he had mentioned the night before. Hito had been in the ryokan. Hito had attacked him again. Whether he knew it was Okita or not, as his face was clean shaven and so different from the scruffy ronin he had taken in months ago, it did not matter. His lover had been touched unkindly. The man he loved had been hurt.  

Ryoma growled, and Okita reached up, opening his mouth to say something to calm him, only to let out a cry of pain and pleasure as the samurai dipped back down to bite the junction of his neck and shoulder hard.  

Pulling his teeth back, he licked over the mark he left, feeling the Mad Dog tremble beneath him. Lying over him completely, chest to chest, Ryoma cradled Okita against him, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his own chest. He pressed a kiss to the bruise he left over the fingerprints of a man who had no business touching such a creature, and then shifted, moving down to press his lips to his beating heart, his muscles, his belly, finding the wound that caused all this mess to begin with. He gently touched it with the tips of his fingers, Okita flinching from the pain and Ryoma carefully placed a kiss over the scar. 

“R…Ryoma…” he heard the Mad Dog whisper his name and he looked up at him, seeing his chocolate eye reflect nearly purple in the light of their new room.  

Ryoma hummed and placed another kiss to the bruises, eyes not leaving his as he untied his kimono completely and pulled at his fundoshi. He wasted little time in removing the white fabric, tossing it aside as he licked and kissed down to his groin. Nuzzling into the crease of his groin and thigh, Ryoma carefully bit Okita there too, a mark only for him that had him gasping and arching into him. Licking over to his cock, he slid his hand to the base, fingers wrapping around him as he took him into his mouth.  

He watched Okita fall back against the futon, eye closing as he let out a low moan. It was kind of amusing, making a man so deadly wriggle and writhe beneath him from just a kiss and a bite. Naturally, he had wanted to comfort his Nenja, but what sort of Nenja would he be allowing him to just pamper him the whole time? One day he’d let the Mad Dog have his way with him, but right now, what would truly make him feel better would be to be inside of him. To take him how he wanted, to make love to him, to fuck him so hard he couldn’t think a single negative thought, to mark him as his, to show that they were strong together.  

To show everyone who Okita belonged to now. 

It wasn’t jealousy. No. He knew that Gen-san meant the world to him. This was just making new memories. This was leaving new marks on a man who had lost just as much as he had. So, he sucked his cock, slowly, tantalizing. Bobbing his head, Ryoma made sure to keep his tongue flat on the up pass, tasting his skin and feeling the thick vein in his mouth. Every time he reached the head, he closed his mouth around it, hollowing his cheeks to suckle the salty skin and flick the tip of his tongue over the slit to consume the precum waiting for him. 

Okita was hot and heavy in his mouth and hand, and an absolutely moaning mess beneath him. His hands didn’t know where to go, unsure if he should grip the blanket or find his head to fuck his mouth. Ryoma kind of wanted him to try. They hadn’t experimented much and well, he wouldn’t say no to Okita cumming down his throat. The only time he’d tasted him was months ago, and by then it was established that the Mad Dog was more of a receiver than a giver. Well, he could receive all he liked. This was all for Ryoma anyway. 

Reaching up as he bobbed down on his cock, the samurai grabbed Okita’s hand, tangling their fingers together as he took him down his throat completely. He wiggled his head down, taking all of him as his nose pressed into the course hair around his cock, and looked up to see the beautiful sight of his lover arched with pleasure. His hand came down, burying in Ryoma’s silken locks, and moaned pathetically as he thrust his hips up. Ryoma relaxed his throat, letting him groan and whine as he fucked up into his throat, squeezing the Mad Dog’s hand tight as his other hand slid into his pubes, rubbing at his abdomen in silent encouragement. 

The sounds falling from Okita’s lips were musical, pleasant to Ryoma’s ears. He closed his eyes in concentration, letting his cries muffle around him as the salty taste of precum filled his mouth, a sign of what was to come. Sex was all well and good, and he would indulge all the same, but this, this was what he’d always wanted. Someone who he could drive wild. Someone who would drive him wild. And who else could do that but Okita Soji, his Goro, his Mad Dog, his everything? He’d never felt love before, not the way he’d wanted it, but this seemed pretty spot on.  

Okita’s hips began to stutter, and his cries and moans became incoherent babbling as he pushed Ryoma’s head down and his whole body went rigid. His back arched off the futon, his toes curling as he shook and moaned low. A bitter, salty taste hit the back of his throat and Ryoma swallowed it down gratefully, moaning low. He was hard himself, nearly painfully now, as his own neglected cock hung heavy and wet in his fundoshi.  

As the Mad Dog slowly came down from his orgasm, a stunning and beautiful sight, Ryoma carefully pulled off his cock, watching it flop back on his stomach, weeping and spent. He smirked, licking his lips as he untangled their fingers and pushed himself up. Okita laid there, breathing hard and flushed, and he wanted nothing more than to overstimulate him and make his mind go blank. He wanted those bruises on his skin to become bruises that he’d given him, because no one should be allowed to touch such a magnificent creature like the Mad Dog of the Shinsengumi. No one should even think to dare to look upon the pale and stunning Okita Soji, his Goro, his Goromi.  

His caramel eyes drifted over his splayed body, his hair fanned out around him, his kimono in utter disarray. He wanted to fuck him. Hell, he needed to. Just to show who he belonged to, to show him that Oryo was nothing, that everything bad was water under the bridge. He needed him to know that his past was his past, and Ryoma didn’t give a damn if he and Gen-san were together once. They were together now, and fuck, he’d make sure he was pampered and taken care of. He could just take it as him fulfilling the old man’s wishes. Okita deserved the world, so he’d give it to him, no hesitation, as he was meant to do. Purpose, true purpose, finally granted to him. 

Pulling off his fundoshi and springing free, Ryoma quickly looked around for the box of clove oil he knew was around somewhere, quickly standing to stumble off to the provided dresser in the room. Opening and slamming drawers a little too eagerly, he found the vial, and turned around, grinning as he returned to a very amused looking Okita. And that’s when he finally noticed the mirror in the room. Long enough to take in a full body, it sat by the futon as if deliberately. They’d been pretty tame in their sex so far, as little as it had been, and what better way to show Okita his love than to make him watch Ryoma fuck him? What better way to prove his beauty than to make him witness all the faces he made during sex with him, how he could make him cry and moan and whine with his cock and kisses alone?  

“Ryoma-chan…is just starin’,” Okita finally managed to whisper, chuckling softly. “Makin’ me self-conscious,” 

“Don’t be…I…” Ryoma swallowed. “I just can’t get over how beautiful and perfect you are,” 

Okita’s eye widened and he moved to sit up, only for Ryoma to push him back down, kissing him hard as he dropped over him. 

“I wish you’d see it…” He murmured against the Mad Dog’s lips, hands roaming over his seemingly aching body. “I don’t know how else to make you see…” 

His breath hitched, lips parted against his own, and Ryoma gave him one more searing kiss before flipping Okita over onto his knees. Ryoma kissed the back of his neck, their bodies flush together as his hands roamed up his sides to his chest, fingers toying with his nipples. The noises that left the Mad Dog made his heart beat harder in his own chest, and he could swear he could feel his heart match his pace through his back, thumping in time with one another. 

Reaching down, he grasped himself and prodded at his hole, breathing hard already. sliding his other hand to his jaw, he lifted Okita’s gaze to the mirror across from them and nibbled at his ear.  

“I want you to see what I’ve gotten to see in you,” Ryoma murmured, finally penetrating him. 

He was slow, entering him inch by agonizing in, as they both watched one another try not to fall apart. Okita’s jaw went slack, and he moaned loud and low, his single eye trained on his reflection. 

“Nii-san is so warm inside…” 

“Yer…yer so embarrassin’…” Okita whined as Ryoma settled his hips against his, wiggling a little, just to make sure.  

“But you love that I’m embarrassing,” He retorted with a smile, mouthing and biting at his jaw and neck.  

Ryoma rubbed his hip, waiting for the Mad Dog to adjust. He was shaking, clearly still sensitive from his orgasm before, and if the samurai was anything, it was definitely not cruel. This was for both of them. A moment of reprieve and quiet and love, a moment to lose themselves in one another and really make sure that there were no doubts going forward. Okita had called him his Nenja, and while he was still figuring this whole thing out, it had been an honor to hear.  

Though not as much as hearing that he loved him. 

Maybe he could get him to really say it. 

He gave a small thrust of his hips, watching Okita gasp in the mirror then gave him another. It started slow, gentle, drawing little sounds out of him as Ryoma held him up and kissed at whatever exposed skin he could. His stomach felt like it was tied in knots, and with each slap of skin on skin, each time his cock was swallowed by the warmth of his ass, it was like it came undone. Little by little, Okita’s body took him in and unwound the samurai like a string. There was no helping it. He wanted more. He wanted to be less gentle. He wanted to make him shout. 

There was no helping it as he picked up the pace, drilling into Okita quicker, harder. He felt so needy, lost in the heat and tightness of his body. The way his ass clenched around him had him groaning, and Ryoma bit down on his shoulder, making him cry out and crumple forward. He caught him, pulling him against his chest as he fucked him, forcing him to watch as he unraveled in his hands. 

Watching him try to keep his eyes open, seeing his mouth fall open as he sucked in shallow, desperate breaths, it made the samurai’s heart beat harder. He felt riled, invigorated. Never had sex felt so good until he had it with Okita. Never had anyone made him feel so powerful and wanted. Seeing that this was what he could make another feel, feeling his nails bite into his arms as he held on so tight, Ryoma felt alive for the first time in weeks.  

Okita had been so cold, so distant, and to see him so defeated, it broke him. To be pushed away and rejected on top of that, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his place beside him, and now here they were, and he was the one making him scream like this, he was the one making him beg for more.  

And it was like music to his ears. 

“R-Ry…Ryoma—!” Okita cried out, falling forward, only for him to catch him.  

Wrapping his arms tightly around the Mad Dog and feeling him grasp at his kimono and skin, Ryoma growled and kissed his neck.  

“I’m so close…” he moaned. “This is what you do to me…” 

“F-fuck—!” 

Ryoma slid his hand down, grasping Okita poor, red and weeping cock, still spent and heavy between his legs. He jolted in his arms, crying out wordlessly again as the sound of their hips meeting filled the room. It was loud, skin slapping on skin as he buried himself deep inside his warmth over and over. 

Forcing him to look in the mirror as his thrusts became desperate and messy, Ryoma licked and gnawed on his shoulder and neck. He palmed and fondled his cock, feeling him squirm against him before Okita began to shake, cumming pathetically onto the futon with a low, guttural moan. His body clenched around him then, squeezing his cock tight and the samurai moaned in return, hand sliding to Okita’s throat to hold his head up. He locked their gaze, taking in the tears that threatened to fall from his singular eye as he watched Ryoma slow his thrusts, slamming his cock into his ass slow and hard until finally he buried himself in deep and came.  

The look on the Mad Dog’s face as he filled him burned itself into his mind, Ryoma’s fingers toying with his lips as he wiggled his hips against his to lock himself in deep, with mouth agape and eye finally allowed to slip shut, he swore he saw the twitch of a smile form, and he turned his head to his own, kissing him hard.  

“Ryoma-chan…” he murmured softly against his lips. 

“Mmm…” 

“I love you,” 

And that was all he ever wanted to hear.  

---

Laying all day in bed, feeding one another, enjoying each other, it was like a dream come true for them both. Even with all the commotion of Oryo and Hito, their time together at the Ryokan would be a memory that Ryoma would treasure for years to come.  

Of course, there were some hiccups, with the scarring wound on Okita’s abdomen being the main issue. 

The blow to his stomach had caused some more damage, and now at their last day there he was curled up, barely able to suck in a breath without pain. If it was an average wound, like a scrape or a cut, he knew Okita wouldn’t even bat an eye at it. He’d seen him walk off cannon fire and bullets, but a stab to the gut had nearly killed him the first time. Now he was reduced to this, a sweating, heaving mass on their futon, their sexual activities definitely not helping.  

“We should go to a doctor,” Ryoma frowned. “You’ve been like this all night, and you haven’t slept at all,” 

“I…I’m fine. Promise. Ain’t gotta worry yer pretty head,” Okita chuckled breathlessly, but the pain was there, obvious and grating.  

“You’re definitely not fine. I’ll start packing, just try to start moving,” Ryoma stood, grabbing up their clothes. “I need to make you presentable before we leave,” 

“It’s like bein’ sick all over again. Ryoma-chan bein’ such a mother…” the Mad Dog smiled up at him. “But now a Nenja. So carin’,” 

“Someone has to look out for you. I wouldn’t be fulfilling my side of things if I didn’t,” He said and tied up their things in a furoshiki. “Gen-san would have my head if he was still here. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t finally drag your lazy ass to a doctor,” 

“Right ‘bout that. Ugh…alright, Goro…time t’ move,” 

Even while grabbing up their things, Ryoma kept watching, taking in each pained movement as Okita finally tried to go relieve himself at the chamber pot. He had tried so hard to ignore the pain, but it was clear that he had not been ready to be out and active like this. The guilt would eat at him, but it was hindsight now.  As soon as he was done, Ryoma approached with a new set of clothes, carefully turning around and helping him dress.  

“Ryoma-chan…ya don’t need t’ help me dress,” Okita sighed, though he didn’t push him away as the samurai tied his kimono and helped him step into his hakama. 

“You’re right, I don’t, but I want to,” Tying him up tight, Ryoma carefully placed his hand over his wound, letting out a sigh. “I should’ve been there…” 

“Then we’d both be stabbed. Don’t be dumb. Over and done with. Let’s go, maybe the doctor will give me the good shit,”  

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, and grabbed their things, including Okita’s things for Goromi, and let him loop his arm with his. As they walked down the stairs, a group of men, all in black and grey, stood around their previous room, among them the looking form of Nagakura. Okita tensed on his arm, and Ryoma instinctively tried to pull him back, only for the Mad Dog to pull away from him and stumble his way to his Kyoudai.  

Nagakura turned to him, their voices not loud enough to reach his ears, forcing Ryoma to approach with caution as a few patrons were pushed back away from the room. No doubt they were nosy, but it was curious why their old room was being blocked off as though something horrible had happened. Had someone been found dead? Did they think they had something to do with it? The anxiety was building in his gut, his stomach bubbling as though it wanted him to throw up from the uncertainty. Heart pounding, he pushed past a couple of geisha and rich looking men, following right behind Okita as Nagakura lead him to the door of the room to peer inside. 

The entire room was trashed, with half the doors and walls cut up and destroyed. The pillows and other decor were thrown around, some smashed, some cut open like the belly of a deer. Ryoma’s eyes could barely register what he was seeing, knowing damn well that it wasn’t just a dirty room but a literal crime scene, much like what he and the Shinsengumi had caused just a year ago. Closing his eyes, he felt Okita grab his hand and squeeze it tight as he took a deep breath, finally opening his eyes again. The floor was drenched in blood, seeping forth from the body of a mutilated woman, no, an Onnagata, a Wakashu, on the floor. His lifeless eyes stared at them, his skin pale and cold, though raw and red around his fingers, where it was clear he had tried to fight back and lost his nails for the attempt. Ryoma swallowed, narrowing his eyes as they drifted towards the only intact wall, where, scrawled in dried blood, a haunting warning was written. 

Every moment, of every waking day, you'll awake and see that I, alone, have taken all you hold dear, and turned it to ash before your very eye  

Below the writing on the wall, one Genzaburo’s gauntlets was stabbed into it with a bloodied tanto, right through the palm. 

Okita grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. He was shaking, whether from anxiety, pent up rage or fear, Ryoma didn’t know. The Mad Dog let out some kind of whine or agonized sound and dropped to his knees. He almost took the Samurai with him, and all Ryoma could do was drop beside him, holding him close as he shook his head. His face was twisting through so many emotions it was almost hard to keep up, but all the samurai could do was hold him as Nagakura stepped around them to grab the gauntlet off the wall. It was handed to Okita, he nearly snatched it from the man’s hands and clutched it to his chest. Before he could even try to say a word, his world grew dark around the edges as Okita fell forward and let out a blood curdling scream.  

There was only one person who was capable of this. One person who would want Okita to hurt, and their lives would become a lot harder if Hito wasn’t dealt with soon. 

Permanently. 

Chapter 26: Going Through the Motions

Notes:

if you aren't following me on bluesky (bsky.app) i often post about scheduling there. you can find me @ deathmothking.bsky.social. basically, i'm running out of backlogged chapters LOL so once that happens (which may be soon, because i'm working on 28 right now, and "spring" might be around 30-31 chapters, not sure yet, when I run out, updates will be far more spread out. it's not ideal, but summer is a pretty busy for me work wise. also just focusing on my mental and physical health, the time off i do have isn't always spent sitting and writing. so when I run out, I'll be sure to let you know how the schedule will be, even though I'm trying to keep ahead LOL

i appreciate all of your comments, kudos and so on, readers! it's truly my one motivation to keep going <3

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Cut up. Slice down. Crouch. Jab. Slice again. Repeat.  

The sword felt like a weight in his hands, heavy, burdening, but he persisted, feeling the cold brass in his palm as he placed the pommel to his skin to start again. Okita’s legs burned, it had been so long since he practiced and now, with the looming threat of losing everything around him, he felt he had no choice but to brush up on his technique.  

He could hear Gen-san’s voice in his head, a flash of a memory as they stood in the forests and fields around Mito and then Kyo, he and Nagakura both in sync with each form. 

“Crouch lower, it’s all in the stance,” 

He bent his knees more, feeling his gut wound scream. 

“The pain is part of the training. It must become second nature for you, like how it’s second nature for a tiger to lay low in the tall grass as he awaits his prey,” 

Okita grimaced, jabbing his sword foreword several times, his feet bare and silent on the shining wood floors of their home. Ryoma was out in the fields, trying to grow vegetables from what he garnered. He wondered if that was part of his training, throwing a hoe around and planting ginseng like his life depended on it. Or did Edo do something else for his training? Maybe he had to run laps around the city, or do pushups, maybe some other hard exercise to achieve that perfect form. 

He shook his head, trying to regain his focus. Lowering his stance, he started again. 

“Goro, straighten your back,” 

Straightening himself, he let out a slow breath and started on another set of jabs and slices, his feet stepping lightly over the floor. 

“I said…straighten…your back…” 

He inhaled sharply, remembering how Gen-san hand had pressed just slightly against his spine, his breath on his ear and he stumbled, cursing. 

“Distracted?” 

“Obviously, ya old—“ Okita whirled around with a growl, only to lower his blade arm. “Ryoma-chan…” 

Standing in the doorway, his sleeves tied back and covered with just a little sprinkle of dirt, Ryoma grinned.  

“Ah, seems I interrupted you and a ghost,” he motioned to his sword. “Haven’t lost the touch?” 

“Nah, still got it, just hurtin’, if I’m bein’ honest,” Okita sighed and sheathed his blade.  

The bruising around his wound was yellowing now, but it had only been a couple days since they had returned home. The bites from Ryoma were still dark and angry, but at least the other bruises were starting to go away. Slowly. He never did heal quick. The doctor had been happy enough with his progress, though he was told to not exert himself just yet. He felt hindered. He was a warrior at heart, and being out of commission and taunted so relentlessly by some bastard who couldn’t take losing gracefully? It was the gods themselves were testing him.  

How many more tests did he need to pass to just be left alone? 

How many more times did he have to be thrown down before he could come out on top? 

“At least you’re still ripped. Thought you might lose all that muscle with how you’ve been laid up in bed,” The samurai said as he walked over to a small wash basin filled with water and washed off his hands and face.  

Okita looked down at himself and poked his abs with a smile. “Would ya still love me if I lost them?” 

“I’d kiss your fat belly every day,” 

“Ah, I could have yer food baby!” He laughed, sticking out his stomach a little, giving it a pat. “What will we name it?” 

“Poop-chan,” Ryoma chuckled as he came over to rub his belly gently, careful to avoid the scar and bruise.  

He barked out a laugh, grabbing Ryoma’s hand to pull him in close. “I expected some elevated humor outta ya, Ryoma-chan,” 

“Goro-no-niisan needs to remember I’m younger and therefore…I have shit humor,” Ryoma kissed his nose. “To keep on track, do you want a training partner? Could teach you how to shoot?” 

Okita’s hand shook slightly, and he grabbed his blade to hide it. “Only if ya want. I mean…probably ain’t the greatest sparring partner right now,” 

“You’re the only one who keeps up with me. And I with you,” Ryoma smiled, dorky and stupid, and absolutely stunning.  

Naive. 

Or maybe he was hiding his own worries to try and calm him. 

Glancing away, Okita hummed, and he felt Ryoma’s fingers ghost against his cheek. He didn’t need to look at him to know the expression he held on his face. Ryoma was a sensitive creature with a large heart. Okita didn’t deserve the kindness, but he knew that he couldn’t chase him away even when he was injured and maybe dying.  

“I want to help,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper and Okita huffed. 

“Bah! Fine! No need to twist my arm!” He said and pushed him back playfully. “Beat me and I’ll teach ya some Tennen Rishin,” 

That had the idiot lighting up, and Ryoma held up his finger, rushing off down the hall. The Mad Dog had to admit, he didn’t really pay attention to the fact that Ryoma had moved his things in or where he’d put them. One would think he’d keep his swords closer, but maybe he hadn’t been focused. They’d been through a lot so far, and they’d barely touched spring.  

Running back, letting out a relieved breath with a smile, Ryoma pulled his blade and took his stance.  

“We haven’t fought since winter. And I beat you then too. Are you ready, nii-san,” He taunted, and it made Okita’s blood pump, a grin creeping on his face.  

“Yer real cocky, ain’t ya, Ryoma-chan! Maybe I oughta put ya in yer place fer once,” he pointed his blade at him before settling into his stance. “I ain’t gonna go easy on ya just ‘cause the doctor said I should be restin’,” 

“Actually…maybe we shouldn’t be doing th—“ Ryoma flicked his blade up, blocking Okita’s quick strike. He could see his pupils narrow, pinpointed on him.  

They strained, the blades clanking as they held one another at bay before they shoved one another away. Okita barely stumbled, but he knew his footing was off right away, trying to hide his failure by throwing up his blade again.  

He watched Ryoma catch himself, rushing forward with his blade down, slicing upwards in a large curve. The Mad Dog swiped the blade out of the way, taking in the way the samurai’s blade flawlessly came back up to slice downwards. He stepped to the side quickly, feeling his abdomen pull, and he let out a quick huff as he moved to slice back at him, but Ryoma changed direction and sent his blade downward and to the side, protecting his flank.  

Perhaps sparring inside the home wasn’t the smartest, with sparks flying as their blades met once more. They danced over the ground, hitting the stove and making the coals smolder brighter. They both watched the fire flare and shuffled over together, blades still locked. 

“I thought you weren’t going to hold back,” Ryoma teased, and Okita pouted.  

“I never hold back!” 

“Huh…if you say so,” 

“Bastard!” He grits out, shoving Ryoma back as hard as he can.  

It was a deadly dance, one that they both knew could kill the other with one wrong step. Each samurai had been carefully trained by their masters and honed in the fires of battle, Ryoma just seemed to always have more of a reason to fight. Okita had always fought to kill, but the samurai from shit hole Tosa? He already had nothing, and when someone had nothing to lose, well, they seemed to fight a little harder than the average warrior. 

That didn’t stop Okita from trying though, because now he had nothing to lose. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had Ryoma to lose. The house. Shinpachi. Himself. All he’d lost was Gen-san and that alone was enough to light a fire within him. 

But pushing himself to his limit wasn’t helping him. Sparring was just that, and here he was fighting for his life, as though this was a true fight, and with one incorrect step, Ryoma threw him off balance and he stumbled back, tripping over the cushions around their stove. Okita’s eye widened and he fell down hard, grunting as his head hit the floor and he cursed. It was enough for the samurai to drop his own blade and rush over kneeling over him as he rubbed the back of his head and hissed. 

“Goro-no-niisan!” Ryoma’s eyes drifted over him, checking to see if he had hit anything else on the way down. “Are you okay?!” 

Looking up at him, the pain radiating through his body, brain equally jostled in his skull, Okita almost felt bad for the stray thought that passed through his mind, and he swung his leg up with a smirk. Kicking Ryoma to the ground, he rolled painfully over him and playfully set his blade at his neck.  

“Fell fer the oldest trick in the book!” He laughed, watching Ryoma’s expression change from concern to unamused in seconds. 

“Nii-san…I watched you trip. That was not a trick and if it was, that was very cruel of you,” 

“Eh?! It was a trick! I didn’t trip!” 

“You literally fell over a pillow. I can’t believe you’d use you getting hurt to win against me,” Ryoma pouted, glancing away. “To resort to dirty tricks…” 

“N-no!” 

“I was so worried…after everything too…” 

“Ryoma-Chan…?” 

Ryoma’s gaze flicked back to him and suddenly he was flipping them over, Okita’s sword tossed to the side as the samurai sat between his legs, pinning his arms above his head.  

“Dirty, dirty tricks,” He smirked. “But I see right through you,” 

“Yeah, right. Can’t read me fer shit,” Okita grinned, wiggling his fingers. “Ya just didn’t like that I used yer weakness against ya,” 

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

“Me bein’ hurt. Which by the way? My head is achin’!” 

“Nii-san needs to be more careful. Maybe we shouldn’t spar inside,” he shook his head and leaned down to kiss him quick, making Okita sigh.  

“Can’t go kissin’ a guy like that when ya got ‘im pinned. Gonna make me riled,” 

“I think you’ve had enough excitement. I know why you’re doing this. You aren’t subtle,” The samurai got off him, helping him up onto his feet. “As much as the doctor has said that you’re fine, you’re supposed to be taking things easy still. What if you rip open your wound?” 

“Such a worrier…I’ll be fine,” Okita shook his head. “I can’t just sit ‘round anymore. If I don’t get back into shape—“ 

“What if he’s just gone? He clearly wants to send you on a wild hunt for those swords. Nii-san…I…” Ryoma grabbed his hands, pulling him in a little.  

His thumbs rubbed over his hands and Okita knew he was picking his words carefully. If anyone knew the pull of revenge it was him. He had chased down Gen-san across Japan before coming to Kyo. He had chosen to show grace when he didn’t have any reason to. But this…was different. Sort of. Gen-san was murdered, and all Okita had left of a love he cherished were those swords. Carrying them on his own adventure had felt like having the man at his side the entire time. Even when he felt lost and lonely, it had helped. Now all he had was a single gauntlet and a wound in his gut to remember him by. Gen-san deserved better. He had failed him, and he had to make it up to him somehow. How could Okita forgive himself if he didn’t get the blades back? 

“Listen…for now…can you focus on getting better and us?” Ryoma murmured. “I can’t watch you almost die again,” 

Okita quickly looked away and sighed. “Yeah…yeah, I can do that,” 

“Good, because I got stuff to show you,” Ryoma said and let him go. “Get yourself dressed and meet me in the garden,” 

“Ryoma-chan is always so demandin’,” Okita whined, and the samurai laughed. 

“And nii-san is so whiny. Hurry up,”  

He walked away from him, glancing back at him before he opened the door outside into the back garden. The spring weather had been delightfully crisp and clear, with only a few showers here and there to water the garden and dampen the dry roots from winter. Okita knew that Ryoma was working hard to make something of their home together, to make something beautiful out of death, and Okita had been nothing but prickly and sad.  

Things were changing between them though. He meant what was said when they stayed at the ryokan in Gion. He did love him, and as scary as it was, he knew Ryoma loved him too. That didn’t change the fact that he still felt like he had one foot in the grave and the corpse of his dead Nenja was gripping his ankle, trying to keep him from walking onward. Hito had found a weakness in him and was doing more than exploiting it too. He was pathetic, a kicked dog looking for love but biting the hand that feeds all at the same time.  

Did he deserve such grace and niceties? Ryoma would argue that he did, but Okita was still just an orphan street rat deep down. The status he held now was stolen through blood and his good luck was starting to run out it seemed.  

What did the samurai see in someone like him? What did he bring to his life that wasn’t just burdening him with more responsibility? 

A voice in his head told him that Ryoma didn’t care about the weight of his love. If he truly didn’t want him and his baggage, he wouldn’t have gotten so mad about the house and their relationship to begin with. The fact that he was still there spoke volumes. Okita needed to hold him tight enough that he didn’t fly away from him, because if he lost him too now, that would be the end of him. 

Changing out of his hakama and finding a lighter kimono to throw on, he tied it quickly as he headed to the back garden. Stepping out into the sun, he slipped his sandals on and looked around to find flowers everywhere. Wisteria hung from the roof of the house while chrysanthemums, spider lilies and other plants he couldn’t even put names too bloomed around their property. Blues and pinks, purples and reds, even yellow and green, like a lush rainbow of life had passed through their home and infected every inch of dull brownness left from winter. The trees that Yamada had planted years ago with his wife were also beginning to grow green and dull again, buds of cherry blossoms sprouting from the branches in little clusters. And then the smells hit him, floral and bright, it felt clean around him, all scent of infection and death gone from the land and his body.  

Ryoma waved at him from the opposite corner, motioning Okita to come down to him. He carefully hopped down onto a newly swept pathway, heading down between bushes and creeping vines towards the samurai. In the corner where he stood was a small pond with running water manipulated from outside their walls and floating amongst lilies and duckweed were the muticoloured petals of hydrangeas, ranging from brilliant blue to deep purple and blushing pink.  

“I got the pond unclogged the other day and got it working. Took some time, but now we have more running water from the stream to help water everything than just the well,” he crossed his arms, smirking. “I think I did a damn good job,” 

“Someone’s proud of himself,” Okita laughed. “Did ya really do all this while I’ve been mopin’ round and dyin’?” 

“I…yes. I figured that when, not if, you got better, seeing something nice would help the healing,” He shrugged, his cheeks darkening.  

“Well…ya did damn good, Ryoma-chan. I dunno ‘bout ya, but just bein’ out here makes me feel better,” 

That had the samurai beaming and he turned to him, grabbing his hand. “Really?” 

“Of course! Never has anythin’ so damn beautiful in my life. I…well…never had anyone build up a whole garden fer me either,” 

“Then you’ll love what I’ve done with the farming plot Yamada-san had,” He squeezed his hand and pulled him along. “Come, I’ll show you,” 

“Come you say?” 

“Get those dirty thoughts out of your head, nii-san. At least for now,” 

“That a promise?” 

“More like a guarantee,” Ryoma smirked and dragged him along the side of the house to the front.  

Near the stable where Haku spent most of her days sat the plot of farming soil. It had been barren when he spent his days with the old man, and was worse off once he had moved in. Okita was never much of a farmer and had never grown his own food. He didn’t think he had a green thumb at all, his hands always soaked red with blood and death, but Ryoma seemed to have a gift.  

They now had rows of mounds and trellises, with some things starting to sprout already. Ryoma pulled him to a stop, keeping him close beside him as he pointed at each mound of dirt. 

“So, I planted tomatoes there, and besides that, cucumber. Then I got some root vegetable seeds, so we can have fresh daikon and carrots, but I also planted potatoes, for the nikujaga,” he said enthusiastically. “Then I also planted ginger and ginseng. If we get a decent harvest, we can sell the ginseng for pretty good Ryo,” 

“Ahhh, Ryoma-chan is makin’ farmin’ his business?” Okita chuckled as the samurai’s arm slid around his waist to hold him close. 

“I just want to be useful to you…to us,” Ryoma scratched the back of his head and glanced away. “This is an easy way to make money,” 

“Easy is gamblin’. This takes work,”  

“I’m not good at gambling,” 

“Have ya tried?” 

“Yes, and compared to you? I lose more than I win. I don’t think you’re a good bar to hold myself to,” he shook his head at him and laughed, pulling him in front of him so he could wrap his arms around Okita’s waist and rest his chin on his shoulder. “This…this is a simple life. One you deserve,” 

“Gettin’ sappy, Ryoma-chan,” The Mad Dog smiled back at him. “But this is nice. It’s…really nice,” 

“Good,” Ryoma said and kissed his cheek. “Let’s make something to eat. I’m starving,” 

They wandered inside, Ryoma finding another tie for Okita so he could wrap his sleeves out of the way. He looked down at the fabric and raised his brow in question, snorting. 

“You think I’ll be any help? Ya know I ain’t good at cookin’, and I burn my rice,” 

“That’s why we’ll cook together,” Ryoma smiled fondly and waited patiently for him to tie back his sleeves and then handed him a knife. “And you’ll do the tasks I know you can do,” 

“Ah, well, I can definitely carve shit up,” 

“That’s the spirit, nii-san,” 

Standing side by side, chopping vegetables, cleaning the fish he had caught days before, now salted and cured, it felt domestic. It felt like they were on track to being so much more than just two lovers. Hell, it almost felt a bit like a marriage, whatever that was supposed to feel like. Okita just knew it was different than being with Gen-san.  

The old man hadn’t wanted him to dirty his hands more than he was. Every time he said he could help with anything, Inoue would gently take his hands and tell him that he’d bloodied them enough. He’d sit there and wash under his nails, pamper him, shower him with love and affection, but he was one thing and one thing only. His Wakashu. A prize and a trophy. Someone beautiful to keep close and love, but not someone he wanted to taint with womanly tasks or anything like hard labour. And Okita liked it. After years of turmoil and hard work, to be taken care of like some princess was kind of nice. He would sit there and watch Gen-san write letters, fall asleep in his lap while he played with his hair, barely lift a finger in doing laundry. The only hard part was hiding all of this from the Shinsengumi. Thanks to Takeda, relationships like theirs were banned mostly for safely, but that hadn’t stopped Inoue from nearly gutting the man for looking at him wrong. 

Ryoma though? This was different. This felt like a partnership. He wanted him close and by his side. He wanted his help, and Okita, for all his dreams of a lazy retirement, wanted to be beside him in the garden, hands deep in mud and dirt, helping and standing by him. He couldn’t deny it any longer, not to himself. He’d already confessed his feelings and what this all meant to the samurai, and Ryoma was eager for it. 

But he hadn’t said he loved him back. 

And that gave him pause as he cut up the carrot before him. 

Ryoma had said that Okita loved him. And Okita said he had. Twice. And what did he receive in return? A kiss? A smile? A good couple rounds of sex?  

“Nii-san?” 

Okita perked up, seeing that he had been hovering over the carrot with the knife for who knew how long. His hand was trembling just slightly, and he shook it out, cutting up the vegetable before he lost his mind again.  

“Sorry, got lost in my head,” he smiled, glancing at Ryoma. “Thinkin’ ‘bout what a big sap ya are,” 

There was no sense ruining a good thing again. There were more pressing things to think about.  

Like how badly he wished it was Hito on the chopping block. 

He held back the want to slam the knife into the carrot and live out a few fantasies, deciding to keep that to himself. Ryoma was trying to keep their spirits up and Okita couldn’t fault him. The end of their stay at the ryokan had been less than ideal, and it had taken days to recover from both the bruising and the emotional turmoil. It didn’t need to be a priority right now. Until he knew where that asshole went, he would play homemaker with Ryoma.  

Not like he could deny that he enjoyed this. 

The excitement Ryoma had to show him the garden, the way he glanced at him as they prepped their lunch and dinner, they were little things he had always wanted. Once upon a time, the image in his head of who would be beside him was another man, but this? This was pretty great. Okita almost felt normal beside Ryoma, almost like he belonged there. 

Outside the sky began to darken as a large blanket of grey clouds moved in, the wind hitting the chimes on their own house and the surrounding properties. Haku made a sound of warning and Ryoma wiped his hands off as he stood from the stove and headed towards the front of the house. Opening the door, he hummed as he looked outside and turned back to Okita. 

“Looks like a spring storm. Maybe we should prep a pot for nikujaga. I’ll lock Haku away so she’s out of the rain, if you don’t mind chopping more vegetables?” He cocked his head and Okita waved him off. 

“Do yer thing! I can at least boil stock and chop veggies,” 

“Hey, you’re the one who burns rice,” 

“It’s the only thing I can’t do!” 

“You were literally so poor it’s all you ate. I don’t get how you can mess it up,” Ryoma laughed, stepping back outside as small droplets of rain began to hit the ground. 

The blue of the sky moved further away as the grey of the coming rain took over the village. Even with the sun peeking through, the rain began to fall harder just as Ryoma skittered back inside. He shut the door and then went to the back to shut their view off from the garden. 

“Hey, let’s keep it open, yeah?” 

“Oh?” He stopped, looking over to Okita. “It’s going to get cold,” 

“That’s fine. We got the kotatsu, and…I never had anythin’ nice t’ look at when it rained before. Kinda wanna see how happy the flowers’ll be once they soak it all up,” The Mad Dog smiled and motioned to their pile of chopped vegetables. “Come help me put this shit where it needs to go,” 

“Thought you said you could cook just fine?” Ryoma teased as he grabbed their pot to split half the vegetables into. “Seems like you just wanted to get me to do everything,” 

“Can’t deny yer cookin’ is damn good. I mean, so damn good I’ve thought about mar—“ 

He stopped, both of them staring at one another before Okita cleared his throat.  

“It’s just fuckin’ good. Now don’t ruin the moment bein’ a brat,” 

“Pretty sure as your Nenja, I can say you’re more of a brat than me,” 

“Don’t just throw that word ‘round and then call me a brat. Ain’t need ya lettin’ yer ego go about unchecked,” Okita smirked, his cheeks feeling far hotter than they should as he looked away.  

“Right, well, move over princess, I’ll make you lunch and your favourite for dinner,” Ryoma hip checked him gently and waved him off to the stove to warm up. 

After everything, it felt normal. To sit down near one another without it being a deadly dance, a fight for their individual feelings. And despite all the hardship, Ryoma was still there. He wanted to be there. Sure, Oryo had prevented a lot for him in his own mind, but even with her interference, it felt like Ryoma had finally grabbed what he truly wanted and was ready for whatever they had going on. Even if they were going through the motions, even if they were just feeling the whole thing out, there was no denying that something was there.  

Ryoma would tell him he loved him when he was ready. It was confirmation enough with how he built the garden and cooked him meals. He loved him in his own special way, and Okita just hoped that when the rain stopped and Hito was found, he’d accept that he needed to follow the trail of blood to Gen-san’s blades. Not because he still loved only him or because he wasn’t over him, but because his master deserved a better end and a proper memorial after everything.  

Maybe when he got them back, Okita could finally hang up his own blades and live the life that Gen-san always wanted for him. An easy life. A fulfilling life. A life where he was loved. 

Spring storms never lasted long anyway. 

“Hey, let’s eat in the other room,” Ryoma said, pulling him from his thoughts as he handed him his tray of food. 

Okita stood, grabbing his lunch from him and wandering off to the tatami room. They sat down and fired up the kotatsu, opening the door to the garden so they’d at least have a view. Their feet touched underneath the blanketed table, and they both dug in with a smile on their faces.  

“Ryoma-chan’s food is always a treasure t’ consume,” Okita sighed, watching the rain pour outside. It splattered hard against stone and wood, crashing loudly in his ears, but he didn’t mind. The view of Ryoma before him made up for all of that. 

“Not as much as it’s a treat to feast my eyes on the view before me, Goro-no-niisan,” Ryoma smiled, “The flowers compliment you,” 

“Bah! Please! Ain’t as pretty as those,” 

“You’re right. You’re prettier,” 

“C’mon man, ya ain’t gotta lie,” 

“And you don’t have to fight me every time we go over this,” Ryoma laughed. “You’re the most beautiful man I know,” 

“Well, that bar is low, considerin’ half the men out there still shave the top of their head,” Okita chuckled. 

“Got me there, but I said what I said,” Ryoma shook his head. “I’m sure you didn’t fight Gen-san so much when it came to compliments,” 

Okita paused, a pang of pain striking him hard in the chest and he fought back a frown. “I…I did. He’s the one who saw me with my eye freshly carved out, y’know,” 

“I…I’m sorry,” 

“Whatcha apologizing’ for? It ain’t like ya did it,” 

“No, but I know that mentioning Genzaburo causes you pain. I can see it every time on your face. You don’t hide it very well,” 

“Well, it ain’t like ya do much better if Oryo is mentioned,” 

“Got me there…” 

“We’ve both been through a lot, but that don’t change how I feel ‘bout ya,” 

“It’s the same for me. I still feel the same,” 

Okita nodded, looking down at his food. Well, he wasn’t saying it yet. It wasn’t like he could pry it from his mouth. Ryoma had his own baggage, and he’d tell him when he was ready. But it didn’t exactly sit great in his mind that he pulled such sacred words from his mouth weeks prior just to hold back himself.  

It wasn’t worth the fight, not after everything. 

“Since it’s rainin’, ya wanna play a round of shogi with me?” Okita smirked, shoving a mound of rice into his mouth. 

“What? So you can sweep the floor with me?” 

“Hey, we all gotta learn somehow! Yer smart, you’ll pick it up,” 

“If it keeps you out of trouble, fine,” 

“I’m always in trouble,” Okita laughed and finished off his lunch, helping clear their table so he could set up the board for both of them. 

As Ryoma settled and looked down at his pieces, he gave him a catlike smile. “If I win, you have to do the dishes,” 

“Heh, yer on,” he said, moving his first piece. 

No, this wasn’t worth ruining over words anymore. 

Chapter 27: The Cold Table

Notes:

I am letting you know right now...I know nothing about Mahjong LOL

“Ron,”  

The table collectively groaned as Okita smirked and pulled in his winnings.   

By all means, Ryoma did not want him back in the gambling hall, and hell, Nagakura probably didn’t want to find him there either. But he had plans, and plans cost money. Not like it would cost him a lot of money and it wasn’t like he was entirely fit to be doing anything just yet, but they’d spent enough on food, furniture and fun time that if Hito showed his face again, he wouldn’t have much to use if things turned national.   

And Okita knew what he was. A washed up ronin, no master, living in a time when things were beginning to change. Already men like him were cutting their hair and hanging up their swords. Men who used to be like him now had respectable jobs and money and lived in stone houses with their well-dressed wives and children. Japan was changing, but Okita wasn’t. There was no change or moving on until Genzaburo Inoue was laid properly to rest. He knew that Ryoma probably wanted him to forget it and move on, but those words written in blood on the wall had his mind racing. He practiced daily, he worked out, he suffered through pinching pain and pulling muscles. There was no rest until Hito was six feet under.  

Setting up the board again, he and the three other fools looked over their tiles to begin their next game.  

Okita knew his luck was limited. The gods weren’t looking down at him as kindly as everyone believed. Sure, he made money, he was gifted a home, he had someone who seemed to love him, but Ryoma wasn’t saying it, and he had nearly died, the things he cherished had been taken from him, and all he had to show for his struggles was the knowledge of a dying art. An art that he recalled that Gen-san had once wanted to pass on. But how was he supposed to do that anyway? He had no property to even begin a dojo, he had no pupils, no one really knew what Tennen Rishin was and the only three living users were all moved on now. Hijikata was writing shit poetry and Nagakura was enforcing the law of the new government body.  

There was no room in the new world for men like him.  

Men like Ryoma.  

“Hey, cyclops! Make your damn move!” One of the gamblers snarled and Okita flicked his gaze up briefly before looking at his hand.  

“Thirteen…orphans,”  

“Huh?!”  

“I win,” He slammed his tiles down, laughing nervously, “What fuckin’ luck,”  

“No fuckin’ way…you cheated!”  

“You dealt the tiles! How can I cheat when I didn’t touch them!?”  

“You must have swapped them!”  

“I was spacin’ out! I would have called this shit sooner if I was payin’ attention!”  

The angry gambler threw the table, sending the tiles flying as he grabbed for the sword at his hip. The other gamblers turned to stare as the ones at their own table scrambled back as tiles pelted them. With a flash of his own blade, Okita drew and slashed, the hall going silent as the man looked down at his hand, now missing at the wrist, falling to the floor. Blood pooled below him, his stump pouring the red liquid of life in thick globs and deafening plops. The man stared in disbelief at him as he stood from his cushion, flicking his blade to the side to get the blood mostly off the steel.   

“Yer a sore loser, and an asshole,”  

“Y-you…you cut…you cut off my hand!”  

“Now ya can’t go flippin’ tables when ya lose. Gonna make this place less classy than it already is. We don’t need the cops runnin’ in here every time someone wins fair and square, and some shit stain throws a fit,” Okita sighed.   

“I-I‘ll kill you!!”  

“Oh? With yer non-dominant hand? I’d love t’ see ya try,” Okita’s eye narrowed and he stepped over the overturned table and blood, lifting his blade. “I’ve been kinda havin’ a shit time and my blade’s been thirsty. Ya wanna have a go?”  

“Soji,” a voice boomed from behind him and Okita deflated.  

“Ah, fuck,”   

He turned to find Nagakura mere feet away from him, and before he could say another word, he was grabbed by the front of his kimono and thrown towards the door of the hall. Handing with a grunt, Okita scrambled to his feet and tried to hit the ground running as people began to rush out as well. More policing force rushed in, raiding the hall as Nagakura kicked his legs out from under him and grabbed his arm. It twisted, and he managed to sheath his blade so he could slap at the giant, bald idiots leg.  

“Oi! Ack! Yer hurtin’ me, ya fuckin’ boulder!”  

“I thought I told you to not start shit at the gambling hall? I also think I told you to get a respectable job,” Nagakura shook his head, dragging him away from the chaos that was erupting behind them. “These dens are illegal. I don’t want you caught up in them,”  

“Well, it ain’t like I got a job!” Okita huffed, his Kyoudai finally tossing him forward to skitter to his feet.  

He dusted himself off, grumbling, only to her snatched again and dragged between a couple rough looking buildings. Looking up at his oath brother, now inches from him, he frowned.  

“I ain’t into ya like this,”  

“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to keep ya out of trouble,” He hissed. “And I need to talk to ya about the ryokan,”  

“Again? We already spoke about it,”  

“Is that a bruise?” Nagakura pulled down the neckline of his kimono, brows furrowed. “Is Saito—“  

“If ya ask me how I got it, I’ll go into excessive detail,” Okita narrowed his eye.  

“I just don’t want him beatin’ on ya—“  

“He sucked on my neck this morning when we woke up. Then he rolled me over and—“  

“Yer right. I don’t want to know,” Nagakura let him go, glancing to the side as some of the gamblers scrambled past them, tripping over one another as the Kyo Police snatched them one by one. “Look…I got suspicions,”  

“Yeah? ‘Bout what?”  

“More like who. I need yer input,” Nagakura frowned, glancing out of the small alley they were in. “What are yer thoughts on Oryo?”  

“Oryo? The bit- Hajime-chan’s ex-lover?”   

“Ya don’t need to hold back,”  

“Oh, phew, I hate her,” Okita sighed, leaning back against the building behind him, head thumping against the wood. “Why? Ya got dirt? I ain’t much for gossip, but I’ve been bored,”  

“Let’s sit somewhere less tightly packed and we can talk ‘bout all of this. Should be able t’ move now,” His Kyoudai said and slipped out of the small space with a slight stumble.   

Following close beside him, Okita frowned as he looked around Kyo, now so different from how he remembered it. Old buildings that had been burned down in the fire were rebuilt with wood and stone, the streets now clean and cobbled. It was like every time he came into the town, he was surprised to see that time was marching on and yet there he was, a blade strapped to his hip, a samurai of old.  

“Shits changed,”  

“It has,”  

“It’s fuckin’ weird,”  

“I know, but times are changin’. New management ain’t want ronin or samurai runnin’ ‘round like we used to. Styles are changin’, men are cuttin’ off their hair and adoptin’ styles from the west,” Nagakura smirked, looking down at him. “Ya might look sharper if ya added some of the western flare t’ yer wardrobe,”  

“Over my dead body,” Okita snorted and followed Nagakura into a small bar, sitting down at an empty table. “So, what ya wanna talk ‘bout concernin’ Oryo?”  

“Well, t’ start, what happened the night she was fired?”  

“Didn’t we go over this?”  

“Yeah, but I got a hunch,” Nagakura raised his hand and ordered them a bottle of sake and some edamame, folding his hands on the table. “She had it out for Saito-san,”  

“I mean…he dumped her ‘cause he likes guys. I doubt any gal’ll take that well,”  

“But ya also said she slapped ya,”  

“I mean…yeah,” Okita scratched the back of his neck. “Ya don’t think…”  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’,”  

“She couldn’t be that dumb,” Okita frowned, grabbing the moment it was set down and pouring them each a cup. “I mean, Hito was there, and he beat the fuck outta me thinkin’ I was some Wakashu whore,”  

“And who there would know otherwise? She was in the room, knew ya both were stayin’ there. Women do crazy things fer love and revenge,”  

“Okay, sure,” Okita downed his cup and shrugged. “But potential murder?”  

“Didn’t ya wanna kill Saito for just thinkin’ ‘bout callin’ ya a whore?” Nagakura sipped his own drink, raising his brows.  

“Water under the bridge, but yes, so, what yer tellin’ me, off record, is ya think Oryo is in cahoots with Hito now? And that she told Hito where our old room was, got a prostitute fuckin’ killed and let a man threaten my entire life…’cause I’m fuckin’ a man who ain’t want nothin’ t’ do with her?”  

“Yes,”  

He sat back, tapping his fingers on the table. “Well, well, guess I’m pretty popular then,”  

“It’s also why I don’t want you in the gambling dens. Ya said he likes gamblin’, which is how this whole shit storm started. He could be watchin’ them,”   

“Fiiiine. But how’s a guy s’posed t’ make money nowadays then?!” Okita poured himself another cup, grabbing a couple edamame to munch on. “I mean, I’m a little outta options,”  

“Could start with gettin’ a real job,” Nagakura snorted.  

“Fuck you,”  

“Maybe open that dojo Gen-san wanted t’ open?”  

Okita pulled the edamame case out of mouth and chewed thoughtfully, staring down at the table. Opening the dojo had been a dream once upon a time, but a dream he had with Inoue. It required so much planning, from a plot of land to licensing, hell, just hiring builders seemed daunting. But Gen-san had it all planned out it seemed, a way to pass down his knowledge and take care of him. He wouldn’t have to do a damn thing but be there, train, be safe, and then that dream was ripped away from him. Now he had Ryoma, but what was even their shared dream for the future? They were only now getting back into the swing of things. It would be a big ask to turn to him now and bring up a dream he had with another man.   

And it didn’t matter how respectful Ryoma was about it. He surely had his own dreams that he wanted to live out, with or without him. He didn’t want to put the pressure of a legacy on him when he had his own pressures from his Pops on his shoulders.   

“I…I don’t think so,” Okita mumbled and set his cup down. “Is there anythin’ else ya need?”  

Nagakura sighed heavily. “Yeah, come with me t’ find Oryo,”  

“The fuck?!”  

---

“Uncle Hajime!” Haruka smiled as she scurried out of the house and nearly tripped over the dogs.   

With Okita out, Ryoma was left with not much to do besides tend the gardens, which didn’t leave him with anything to do after. So, why not see if the little girl he adopted into his life needed him? Sure, she had Yuta, but the kid was sort of useless from what he could tell of the state of the yard.  

Haruka threw her arms around him in a tight hug and looked up at him with a smile. “It’s been a while since you’ve come by,”  

“I figured you wanted alone time with Yuta,” Ryoma gave her a squeeze and then let her go. “I also didn’t want to interrupt anything…”  

“I appreciate the caution but it’s not like we’re that active—“  

“I don’t want to know details,”   

“Uncle Hajime is such a prude despite being with Uncle Soji now,” Haruka chuckled. “Do you want some tea? I have lunch cooking too. Yuta will be back after he finishes his deliveries, so I wanted to make sure he had a hearty meal,”  

“Ah, sure, I’ll join you,” he said, following her past the dogs and the garden, which was struggling to say the least. “I’ll help with your vegetables too. I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner to help plant anything,”  

“It’s okay, I’ve been having Yuta buy some things from Kyo when he’s there, which gives me time to do food deliveries here,” She kicked off her sandals and headed inside, grabbing a kettle and placing it on the stove.   

The smell of steamed rice and stewing fish wafted around Ryoma, and he took a deep breath and sighed. It smelled good, Haruka’s cooking really had taken off since he left. He’d always worried about her when he had left with Oryo, whether she was fed, safe, and happy. Oryo had always tried to reassure him that she was fine, but Haruka was still so young at the time, and she had done little to abate his worries.   

After all she’d been through, nearly losing her home, being treated like some virgin prize to be sold off, he held nothing but anxiety about her wellbeing the entire time. Now it seemed like she had grown into an independent young woman, and Ryoma couldn’t be happier.  

He sat down by the stove as she made up bowls and plates of side dishes and main courses for them both, his hands itching to help her like old times. But now this was just her home, and he was nothing more than a guest. Life was changing, in good ways, but he still found himself wanting nothing more than to help.   

“I can almost hear your brain, Uncle Hajime,” Haruka giggled. “You’re my guest today! I can’t have you helping with the food and tea,”  

“What about your garden?” Ryoma rubbed the back of his neck, his hair getting far longer than he thought as his fingers carded through it. “It’s looking ragged,”  

“Well…we tried to make it work…” Haruka frowned. “Guess Yuta and I don’t really have your green thumb,”  

“I can show you. It isn’t too hard,” he smiled as she handed him a tray of tea, rice and side dishes.   

“Uncle Hajime is always so helpful. The whole village has felt so alive since you came back and…and everyone is happy you have Uncle Soji,”  

That was nice to hear. His one fear was that people wouldn’t be open to the bloody samurai, but with his vigilant guard and fighting off Hito and his bandits in Winter must have really made an impression. Ryoma knew that Okita had tried his best to keep everyone alive and well, and while there had been those who were hurt, he had done all he could. He’d have to tell him when he came home. He could already see the smile on his face.  

“How is Uncle Soji? He’s been going out more lately,” Haruka sat across from him and dug into her meal. “We were all worried he wouldn’t pull through, and I know that when you both came back from Kyo, he wasn’t doing too well,”  

“He’s been trying to take things easy and slow. He’s started training again, but I can see the pain in his eyes,” Ryoma frowned, shoving rice into his mouth. “I worry he’s pushing himself too hard,”  

“Have you spoken to him about it? What even happened? I thought he was doing better,”  

“Things were fine until we ran into that guy, Hito again. And…and Oryo,”   

Haruka’s smile faded and she lowered her gaze. “Oh…I guess that was pretty stressful,”  

“Okita-no-niisan claims Hito attacked him and after that he just wasn’t really okay. Doctors gave him medication and sent him off, saying he was okay, but a sword to the gut…not many survive that,”  

“He was very lucky. The gods must have been watching him,”  

“If they were, I’m not sure they are anymore. He’s getting tired easily, he’s in a terrible mood most of the time, and the nightmares started up again…” Ryoma sipped his tea. “He keeps saying there’s a Hannya in the house watching him. I don’t know how to take that,”  

“The only thing you can do is be there for him. Maybe take him to see the cherry blossoms in town. Yuta took me to the temple not long ago and it was so beautiful. Maybe that will help,”  

“Do you think he’d accept divine light?” Ryoma smirked and Haruka just shrugged.   

“Sometimes it helps to know you aren’t alone.”  

Okita had been through so much. Losing his eye to his first Nenja because he didn’t want to be used anymore, falling for a dead man walking, losing him as soon as Ryoma came into the picture and then almost losing his life to protect a legacy. It was enough trauma just in his adult years to make a man consider ending it all. Ryoma knew the feeling, the bleakness of the dark, the loss of a good thing. Even if things were going well, there would always be that lurking and looming feeling. Maybe that’s all this Hannya was. A metaphor for the darkness in Okita’s heart, his want for revenge, his anger.   

But it wasn’t healthy. He couldn’t just sit there and plot revenge and run off to kill a man over a pair of swords. They weren’t just swords to Okita though. They were Genzaburo Inoue. It was all of him, his spirit entwined with the inanimate, and Ryoma wondered vaguely if his Shinto belief had anything to do with his unwillingness to move on. Not that he could blame him. He had had his own reasons for not moving on when it came to his pops back then. Maybe he could try to provide some peace of mind with the cherry blossom festival, really make it special and show Okita he didn’t have to worry or focus on anything but them.   

Shoving a scoop of pickled daikon into his mouth, Ryoma’s thoughts wandered to the bloody message left to them. Hito did know where they lived. He knew how to hurt them. Could they just ignore this?  

He was too conflicted to say.  

Finishing their meal, he helped Haruka tidy up and then took her outside to show her how to fix up her garden. Trying to keep his hands busy as thoughts of what he got himself into with Okita swirled in his mind. He knew from the start that there was something with the Mad Dog, that when they had met, he was holding back some demons. He didn’t care about those. He didn’t care like some others might that as a child he had been taken advantage of, that he had been used for his poverty and naivety. Hell, he didn’t care that he loved Inoue. It was part of his story, who he was, but he couldn’t deny that this Hito business was starting to get to him too. The way that man spoke of Wakashu, women, and how he had been so brazen in his attempt to kill him and beat him, it made his blood boil.  

Ryoma wanted to ignore it, wanted it to just go away like he wanted Oryo to go away. Her words and fists had done so much damage that he worried he couldn’t be what Okita needed because he’d never been what she needed. She was a cancer in his life, a beautiful grove that enticed him and then revealed herself to be toxic, nearly taking his life. He wanted simple. He wanted Okita. He didn’t want them looking over their shoulders over a bad gambling deal for the rest of his life.  

He snapped out of his thoughts as the sound of rushed, stumbling feet entered Haruka’s property. Yuta, sweaty and heaving, came to a stop with a smile, raising his hand in greeting.  

“Saito-san! It’s good to see you!”  

“Likewise. What’s the rush?” Ryoma smiled.   

“I’m starving! You didn’t eat my portion of lunch, did you?”  

“I left you more than enough, don’t worry,” Haruka laughed and pushed herself up onto her feet. “Did you have a good day?”  

“Lots of running, but it was good. All mail delivered. Things are really changing out there. There’s a new plot of land bing developed in the village,”  

“Oh? A new house?” Ryoma wipes the dirt from his hands onto his hakama as Yuta shook his head.   

“Looks like it’s a dojo. Asked the workers which style it was for, and they said none so far. Guess they’re just building it in hope someone will buy it,” Yuta shrugged, heading to the well to wash his hands. “I wonder who might buy it. Maybe I might take the chance to learn something to protect us. At this point, all I can do is give someone a paper cut,”  

Ryoma chuckled as he watched the two of them head inside. A dojo. In their village. Maybe, just maybe, he and Okita could swing it and do something better for Gen-san’s legacy than just find a pair of swords.  

He reached into his kimono sleeve and frowned. His coin purse was a little light though. Well, dreams sometimes were just that.   

Dreams.  

---

Standing in front of an unassuming house at the edge of Kyo, Okita looked around and whistled. Oryo had done decently for herself to be able to get herself a spot near the river, though it wasn’t exactly the greatest area. Even though most of the troublesome ronin had been removed, cholera outbreaks and poverty still riddled the outskirts of their city. People’s homes were slightly run down and there were some less than savory people stumbling about, wrapped and bloodied, but beyond that, the rest of the residents seemed nice enough.   

He vaguely cursed himself for even being concerned about her wellbeing when she had hit him and Ryoma that night. She was just a woman through. A strong one in her own right, but that didn’t change much for him. He felt hate inside of him, for a lot of things, and standing there beside his Kyoudai did little to quell it.  

“Tell me why the fuck ya need me here too?” He asked Nagakura, who shrugged.  

“Fer old times? That and because I want to see if she’ll be a little bit more intimidated,”  

“Wow, no wonder ya ain’t got a woman,”  

“Shut up and just stand there. I’ll do the talking,” Nagakura huffed and pushed past him to knock on the wooden frame of the door. “Oryo-chan? This is Nagakura Shinpachi of the Kyo policing force. I have some questions,”  

Okita snorted at the professionalism and crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the dirt road. There was some shuffling and banging, and then the door slid open cautiously, revealing Oryo, her hair down, blue kimono tied loosely.  

“Can I help you?” She asked and then narrowed her eyes at Okita. “What’s he doing here?”  

“I’m investigating an incident at the bath and courtesan house in Gion a couple weeks ago,” Nagakura moved to block her vision of him and Okita sucked in a breath.  

“I was fired, I don’t know what I can help you with,”  

“It’s about the entire night. From the altercation with Okita Soji and Saito Hajime,” His Kyoudai took a step forward towards the door, leaning in. “Can we come inside?”  

Oryo frowned and moved to look back at Okita. “Him too?”  

“If possible,”  

“Fine. But I’m not making him tea,”  

“Bitch…” Okita muttered under his breath, following Nagakura inside.  

Oryo’s home was humble inside, a two-room small space, with the sitting area and kitchen as one section and a curtained area behind that was clearly the bedroom. Nagakura towered inside, having to hunch over to not hit his head on the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling. Okita wasn’t fairing much better, walking into a couple hanging pieces of drying fish and clothes, and took his seat closest to the door. Just in case he needed to cut and run.   

It felt like walking into a tiger’s den, with Oryo looking so casual and undone compared to her well put together self. If he had any interest in women, he’d say she was beautiful like this. Her hair fell over her shoulder, her blue kimono just covering enough to leave it to the imagination. It was no wonder Ryoma had stayed with her as long as he had. She took care of him, she looked great, what more could a man want? But they weren’t normal men, and now, faced with his current lover’s past lover, he was feeling almost less than. He didn’t look as great, he still looked like a man with his facial hair growing back in. his hair might be long, but he didn’t feel like he held the feminine beauty that a Wakashu normally held.   

And maybe that was the point. He wasn’t Wakashu by beauty standards.  

Ryoma seemed to enjoy his looks despite calling him ugly for fun, and he did call him beautiful on their little retreat. Sometimes he still thought of that day, being held from behind, shown what he looked like while being fucked by a man he loved. Hell, he had made a point to fuck him by that mirror until Okita’s injuries began to act up. Even still, his insecurity was strong, the actions of his first Nenja always haunting him on his face. That old man took an eye for him daring to look at another and in turn, made him virtually undesirable. Gen-san loved him regardless, which was nice, but he couldn’t capture the attention of anyone else. When Inoue was cut across the face that fateful night, he recalled touching it often in their intimate, quiet moments. They were the same, marred by men. Ryoma was just…smooth and untouched. Stunning.   

He just didn’t measure the same.  

Oryo broke him from his thoughts by severing him tea despite her defiance before, and he had to give it a sniff to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.  

“I don’t like you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be a good host,” She pouted, and he instantly wanted to slap it off her face.   

It was that same damn pout she pulled when she was whining and complaining. It made the Mad Dog sick.  

“Never know with ya,”  

“Right…” She sat down and sipped her own tea. “So how can I help you?”  

“I want to go over that night with you, the night that got you fired,” Nagakura said, still hunched over even sitting.   

“Well, the cause is right here with us,” Oryo shook her head. “He’s the one who told the owner about Ryoma and I,”  

“You came in without knockin’ and got mad he was sucking my skin off. And then ya hit me. I don’t think ya get t’ cry foul,” Okita laughed bitterly.   

“I was just doing my job!”  

“Assaultin’ people in their own rooms ain’t yer job, sweet cheeks,”  

“Okay, enough!” Nagakura sighed. “It’s not about Okita. It’s about the other man who assaulted him afterwards. Both you and that man had an encounter with Saito and him. Both of you assaulted a previous Shinsengumi. And both of you were seen speaking afterwards,”   

“Some guy asked me what happened. I didn’t know him,” Oryo crossed her arms.   

“Well, ya didn’t know him well at first, but it seems that days after you were both seen again and now, I have a dead body of a Wakashu, one of my own mentor’s missin’ items stabbed to a wall, and a threatenin’ message in a man’s blood,”  

Oryo seemed to go pale, and Okita narrowed his eyes with a hum. She looked almost nervous, and he set down his tea, leaning his chin on his fist.   

“What? I don’t know anything about that…”  

“Not only is there a dead man and threats of violence and murder, but the Wakashu was found in Okita’s previous room. They moved the mornin’ after yer stunt. The man, Hito, who is a wanted ronin at this point, did not know the two of them were sharin’ a room, or that Okita was there,” Nagakura sipped his tea, calm and collected. Okita was shocked at how decent he was at his detective work. It was almost inspiring.   

“I didn’t tell anyone anything they didn’t need to know. And I’m not liking the insinuation!”  

“This man didn’t know Okita was there because he thought he was dead already. He attacked Saito’s village, injured his charge and her love interest, killed a couple people just minding their own business. This man is a murderer, and he was led to Okita’s room to finish off the job. If you know anything…we might be able to prevent more death,”  

The Mad Dog’s hand went to his abdomen, torn, sore, still a hinderance. If he and Ryoma had still been in that room, it would have been a bloodbath. And the Wakashu, dead, left to rot? Probably would have been him. He knew that he wasn’t in the same shape he had been before. It would take months to recover completely, and he was lucky to be able to walk around and train as it was. A full brawl? There was no way. He wouldn’t be sitting here now if Hito had found him.   

“I don’t know anything…I never spoke to him beyond him asking me how I was…I saw him once after…That’s all I know. I know nothing about the village attack or the murder,” Oryo dropped her gaze to her hands, pale and shaking. “Now please leave. I just want to move on from Saito-san in peace…”  

“Right. If ya think of anythin’ though…Please come find me at the barracks,” Nagakura and Okita stood, heading to the door while dodging all her hanging belongings.   

“No offense…But after everything the Shinsengumi did, after everything that happened a year ago…I won’t be seeking you out. Please don’t come back here,”   

The two men looked at one another and Okita frowned, stepping out into the sun again.   

“That coulda gone better…” Nagakura sighed.   

“I expected nothin’, but she knows more than what she’s sayin’,”  

“Caught on t’ that didya?”  

“Yeah, wanna give me a job?”  

“Only if you quit the gamblin’, and let’s be real. That ain’t happenin’. Also…with yer injury…”  

“Yeah, I know, thanks for the reminder that everyone wants me dead and I’m bein’ held back by my near death,” Okita sighed. “Look, ya don’t gotta believe me, but I think Oryo did want me dead and was hopin’ we’d just take one another out. Ain’t the first time she pulled the wool over a man’s eyes, but she has one weakness that’ll make her crack,”  

“Oh? What’s that?”  

“A guilty conscious,”  

Chapter 28: The Beauty of a Man

Ryoma watched Okita sit outside in the shade of the hanging wisteria and begonias, a pipe in one hand and a small, cloudy mirror in the other. His hair was undone, long and draped down his back, smooth as silk and reflecting the tiny rays of sun that hit it. The blue sheen to his dark hair complimented Ryoma’s sleep Yukata, which the Mad Dog had stolen the night before.  

He seemed transfixed on his reflection, but as Ryoma passed by behind him, he could see his single eye follow him.   

Since the inn Okita had become angry, closed off. Even if their intimacy had grown and the Mad Dog seemed more than thrilled to be around him, there was this spark within him that scared the samurai. It was that same burning ember that emerged when Gen-San was found dead in the river. The look on his face most days made him look hardened like stone, and Ryoma ached to see a genuine smile on his face. And now, there he was, undone and yet dolled up, like he was testing something, like he had seen someone, and he was spiraling to try and figure out how he could capture a breath of humanity within himself.  

The nightmares he’d been having since Hito almost killed him had equally taken their toll on what they had, and Ryoma really wondered if Okita was content in letting Nagakura take the lead on investigating what had happened.  

Because what he saw staring back at him in that mirror was no dog.  

It was a Hannya.  

He did a double take, whipping his head back around as Okita dropped the mirror and stared at him.  

“Oi, look like ya seen a ghost,”  

“I…no, just…thought I saw something else is all,” Ryoma shook his head. “What’s with all of this?”  

“All of what?”  

“You’re looking like a forlorn woman who’s lost her husband in battle,”  

“Haw?! Nah, can’t a man have a smoke and just be naturally pretty in his garden?” Okita snorted, holding his arms out.  

“Well, when you put it like that, I suppose you can. You just look lost,”  

“And if I am?”  

“You can talk to me,”  

Okita stared at him for a long moment, his face starting to go red before he shook his head wildly.   

“Ryoma-chan is so embarrassing!”  

“How am I embarrassing!? I’m trying to be supportive!!” Ryoma threw up his hands. “I swear, you’re as wishy-washy as a woman, nii-san,”  

“Oi! Ya like it when I’m womanly!” The Mad Dog pointed his pipe at him and Ryoma snatched it with a smirk.  

Putting it to his lips, he took a long drag, blowing out the smoke to the side.   

“Yeah, I do. It’s just fun to tease you,”  

“Such a menace,”  

“But I’m your menace,” He chuckled and sat behind him, gathering up his long hair. “Your hair got long again,”  

“Probably from all the good food ya keep feedin’ me. It’s pretty heavy too,” Okita glanced behind him. “Ya like it though?”  

“Just more for me to play with,” he smiled and tied it back for him, giving Okita a kiss to his shoulder. “We should go out,”  

“Again?”  

“It’s been weeks,”  

“Gettin’ stir crazy?” Okita chuckled and turned around, leaning in close with a cheeky smile.   

His Yukata fell open in the chest, just barely sliding off his shoulder and Ryoma found his eyes drifting down his pecs and the abs just barely peeking out. He was beautiful, from head to toe, and knew exactly how to entice him.   

“I mean…we could stay in a little bit…but I want to take you to see the cherry blossoms,” Ryoma swallowed and watched as Okita tilted his head.   

“Ya wanna see the blossoms?”  

“Yes,”  

“With me?”  

“No, by myself. Of course, with you! I think you’d look very pretty walking around them,”  

Okita blinked, face going red again and the samurai laughed.  

“Come on, nii-san, I can’t be making you blush all the time,” Reaching up, he held the Mad Dog’s face in his hands, his thumb rubbing just under his tsuba patch.   

He toyed with the strap, his other fingers playing with the strands of his hair that didn’t make it into his ponytail. He could see the conflict wash over him, from the way his single eye danced around his face and then finally closed as he pressed into his hands. His own came up to gently hold his wrists and Okita sighed.  

“It’s just been a damn long time since I felt anythin’ like this…” He whispered.  

Ryoma’s heart thumped in his chest and as he leaned in to kiss him, Okita was pulling away and standing.   

“Guess I better get dressed up, yeah? Can’t go to a cherry blossom viewin’ lookin’ like shit,” He smiled as he stepped around him, heading back inside as Ryoma was left to sit in the garden with all his things strewn about.   

---

Haruka ran from her home, all dressed in pale pink, her hair decorated with gold pins and flowers. Behind her came Yuta, eagerly trying to keep up in his simple blue clothes, allowing her to stand out between them.   

Ryoma smiled as he leaned against the gate of Okita’s property, the Mad Dog taking his time to bathe and redress. Even with the head-start, he was slow, and he vaguely hoped he hadn’t overexerted his healing gut trying to tie a kimono.   

“Uncle Hajime! You’re going to the festival?” Haruka put her hands together, hopeful. “Where is Uncle Soji?”  

“He’s coming. I think. He takes so long,” He sighed, though he couldn’t help the smile on his face. It reminded him of the night he came out as Goromi. He wondered vaguely if that’s what he was doing now.  

“Maybe he just wants to look perfect for you,” She teased and swayed slightly, leaning into Yuta who put his arm around her.   

“He always looks perfect,” Ryoma found himself saying and he quickly looked away as Haruka began to giggle.  

“Ya talkin’ ‘bout me? That’s not a good look, gossipin’ ‘bout a guy like that,”   

Ryoma turned, his face going red as Okita descended the path down towards them. He wore rich reds and golds, a perfect complement to his pale and cool skin. It warmed him up, bringing life to his face, but that may have also been the slight tinge of powder that Ryoma could spot on his cheeks and neck. His eyes were lined and drawn with stark red, making deep brown seem far richer than they usually were. His facial hair had grown back in and was nearly trimmed up by hand, while his unruly, long hair was tied back high on his head. So different from the Shinsengumi’s Mad Dog that he knew nearly two years prior, and yet still comfortably familiar.  

Looking down at himself, he almost felt underdressed, in grey and red, only spruced up by a decorative haori that he felt was mostly appropriate. Though that didn’t seem to bother Okita one bit as he slid up beside him and hooked his arm around his with a smile.  

“Actin’ so weird t’day, Hajime-chan. It’s just flowers. C’mon, at least ya got dressed,” He teased and pointed between the two young lovers. “We double datin’ this?”  

“It would be fun to go together,” Haruka swayed, “We never see you both anymore,”  

“It’s only been a few months, Haru-chan! Yer so dramatic!” Okita laughed, pulling Ryoma along.  

Haruka yanked on Yuta’s arm, and they took off ahead of the two older men. A horse would have been faster, but there was a nice simplicity to walking through the trees as they finally grew in lush, green leaves and flowers of nearly every known colour. At least like this, Ryoma could pull Okita close and thread their fingers together, their shoulders bumping gently as they walked. Straw sandals crunched over dirt and rocks, the cobble of the village now gone for the sake of nature and simplicity.  

“Hajime-chan has been so attentive lately,” Okita hummed. “Making meals, sparring with me, tending the garden. Not leavin’ me much t’ do,”  

“You don’t need to do anything,” Ryoma laughed. “I enjoy being the one doing things,”  

“Ah, that’s right. Think ya mentioned that before. That ya didn’t really need a woman ‘round when ya could cook and clean no problem,” Okita laughed. “Still, ya leave me not much t’ do fer ya in this relationship,”  

“Well, you are housing me,”  

“Ya are a bum,”  

“And you pay for everything,”  

“Yer cleanin’ out my pockets, believe me,”  

“Might need a real job at this rate,” Ryoma smirked, and Okita whacked at him playfully.  

“I had a real job ‘fore ya came into town!”   

“And how long was that going to last?”   

“Bah, woulda been snatched away from me eventually. Ain’t really yer fault,” Okita sighed and looked up at the trees as they casted their shade over the path before them. “Dunno what I could do anyway. Ain’t got skills besides swordplay,”  

“Have you considered joining the police like Nagakura-san?”  

“Eugh…they expect more than the Shinsengumi. And I wouldn’t be allowed t’ kill anyone,”  

“How awful, having to stay your hand,” Ryoma rolled his eyes. “How about…teaching?”  

“I ain’t that smart,”  

“No, like teaching Tennen Rishin. And I mean it. You’re good. The best the Shinsengumi has ever had,”  

“Don’t lie, Hajime-chan. It ain’t a good look on ya,”  

“I’m not lying,” Ryoma shook his head, watching as Yuta stopped to grab a bundle of flowers from the side of the road, handing them to Haruka. “They’re building a dojo in the village. Hasn’t been bought yet, but I guess if no one takes it they could sell it as a house. But imagine…passing on Gen-san’s legacy…showing people what real Tennen Rishin is,”  

Okita frowned slightly, his eye narrowing in thought. He knew that the Mad Dog had been in a slump since everything had happened. He almost died, he lost Gen-san things, they were even attacked at the ryokan, but it wasn’t all terrible. His master, his Nenja, could be honored in other ways. Living a sad, lonely, secluded life, was not what Gen-san would have wanted for Okita. Ryoma knew that well enough. If anything, the old man would have opened a dojo himself, employed Okita and just given him all he could ask for.  

And sure, Ryoma wasn’t rich, he didn’t own property and all he could do was shoot a gun and grow vegetables, but maybe if he proved his worth, they could buy it together.   

“I ain’t got that kinda money…and I mean…who’s gonna learn from me anyway?”  

“Kids?”  

“Eh?”  

“Children. They aren’t put off by samurai and murder the way adults are. If anything, they’ll see a cool looking ex-samurai who fought for the emperor and think about how lucky they are that they get to learn from someone like that,”  

“Ah, now I’m cool lookin’?” Okita chuckled, glancing at Ryoma. “Been really suckin’ up,”  

“Hardly. I just genuinely believe you’re beautiful and talented,”  

“Ah, shucks…Hajime-chan is gonna make me blush,”   

“I can do that any time. This is real. I think we can do it,”  

“We?”  

“I’ll help make the money. I’ll do whatever I have to to make it happen,”  

The way the Mad Dog looked at him had Ryoma sweating just slightly. It was like he was trying to determine what his motives were, as if he still didn’t trust him after he tried so hard to regain it. Not that he could blame him. He slept with him and then ran off like a coward, unable to face his own stupid reasonings and pain, leaving him to defend a place he had no reason to. He allowed him to get hurt. He should have been there. The fact that he let him stay in his home at all was a miracle of the Gods, and Ryoma was grateful that he was allowed to even be near him. But maybe it was something else?  

“Nii-san?”  

“Why?”  

“What do you mean why?! Because I want to!”  

“There’s gotta be a reason. Ya don’t just offer t’ slam down a bunch of money ya ain’t got on an dojo just because. What’s the catch?” Okita narrowed his eye at him and Ryoma felt the sweat bead on his forehead.  

“A man can’t just want to provide for someone he cares for?”  

“Ya just care fer me? Nothin’ else?”  

Ryoma tilted his head, his brain blank for a long moment before his eyes widened.   

He never said he loved him back.  

He was so focused on hearing it from Okita, even after he declared he was his Nenja by society standards, even though he paid for everything and took the time to find them a new room, make his fantasies come true and even house him. He quickly looked away, untangling their fingers as he scratched the back of his head.   

“I mean, I care for you a lot!”   

“And?!”  

“And your companionship means a lot to me!”  

“And?!”  

Okita stopped dead in his tracks, crossing his arms as he glared daggers into Ryoma’s entire body. The samurai swallowed and shrugged.   

“Do I need to say it? I made you a garden, tended to your wounds, took you on the best vacation if you ask me,”   

“I said it, and I got beat up by yer ex-lover and the guy that stole from me and tried t’ kill me,” Okita shook his head. “If this was how ya were with Oryo—“  

“In my defense with her, I didn’t love her!” Ryoma huffed.  

“Do you love me?”  

“Yes!”  

“Then say it!”  

Ahead of them, Haruka and Yuta had stopped, watching the two men squabble in the middle of the road. Their lingering gazes made Ryoma’s entire body heat up more and he fanned himself with his hand as he watched the two young love birds tilt their head at them. The pressure was sure on. It wouldn’t look good on him if he couldn’t show Haruka how a true man should be. Hell, he was sure Yuta had already expressed how much he loved her in those letters he kept bringing by months ago. The fact that he moved in with her to care for her and provide was a lot too.   

Ryoma had always believed his actions spoke louder than his words. Words could be twisted and misrepresented. Miscommunication was common, and even Oryo hadn’t believed him when he had ended things. Showing Okita his loyalty and love seemed like enough even if he had wanted to desperately to hear that he was loved in return. Though he supposed that even Mad, Loyal Dogs deserved to hear that they were loved too. Gen-san surely had told him that he was loved often.   

“I love you, Goro-no-niisan,”  

Okita stared at him for a long moment; their eyes locked in such a way that he could see his eye dilate and his face turn a beautiful tinge of pink.   

Then, with a snort, he tossed his head to the side, ponytail flipping defiantly as he briskly began to walk away from him.  

“N-nii-san?!”  

“Better catch up. I ain’t wanna miss all the festivities,”  

“Can you at least say it back?! That was a lot for me!” Ryoma jogged after him, nearly having to run with how quick he was.  

“No! Ya only said it ‘cause I bugged ya!”  

“Nii-san is so cruel…”  

“I’ll show ya cruel! Just ya wait!”  

---

The rest of the walk and boat ride into Kyo was mostly uneventful thanks to Haruka and Yuta’s constant chatter. Their dynamic had Okita smiling, watching how they seemed to blossom when around one another. Young love. The inability to keep their hands off one another when talking, always staring at one another, it reminded him of a time long before he lost his eye, but also the private times with Gen-san.  

When he had been taken in by his first Nenja, there had been another boy who’d caught his eye, and their private relationship had been the cause of his cyclops look. He didn’t regret it, even if it didn’t last very long at all. But it was the feeling in his chest when he held his hands and giggled in private that had been so wonderful. Seeing Haruka find that same bubbly feeling with someone was something to be cherished.   

As they floated along the canal into town, Ryoma slid his hand into his and gave it a squeeze.   

“They’re kind of cute, yeah?” The samurai said as he leaned in to whisper to him.   

“Cuter than ya,”  

“Nii-san is being so mean today,”  

“Just ribbin’ on ya. Ya take it so seriously,” Okita rolled his eye and bumped their shoulders.   

“Nii-san has been very moody lately…It worries me,” Ryoma fiddled with his fingers, tracing the tips of his own over each crease and callous. “Not to mention your nightmares, injury…the way you’ve been acting since we left the Ryokan,”  

“Ya gotta bring this up here? When the kids are havin’ fun?” Okita sighed, pulling his hand away as the boat came to a stop at the small docks of Fushimi.   

Yuta hopped out first to assist Haruka, following by Ryoma, who held his hand out for him. With a sigh, he grasped his hand firmly and let him help him up onto the dock, smoothing out his clothes after.   

“Can we talk ‘bout this later? I got enough anxiety bein’ in this damn town now as it is,”  

“If you tell me why, I can at least help you,” Ryoma sighed. “I’m kind of running out of ways to help silently,”  

He wasn’t wrong there, but it wasn’t like it was something Ryoma could fix. Okita had been dragged into his drama as much as he had dragged him into his own. They were a mess, navigating one another’s issues the best they could but both were out of their depth. How was he supposed to explain years of trauma topped with the trauma of nearly dying was why he was so quiet? How was he supposed to tell a man he loved that the person he was with previously was always on his mind and he could hardly move on without feeling guilty for leaving him behind? Gen-san had saved him, given him purpose and love. By all means, Ryoma had done the same. It was hard, and sure, the samurai was doing his best, hell, he didn’t even seem to care that it was something Okita carried, but how could he tell him that between the nightmares of the Hannya, Gen-san’s death and Hito stealing his things, that he just wanted to lay down and die?  

It wouldn’t be care, not after all he’d done to make that home he inherited their own.   

The garden had become his favourite place; the fresh vegetables he was growing were the tastiest thing he’d ever consumed. His food made him feel loved and the way he held him at night made him feel safe and protected.  

But the threat of Hito returning was real, and Oryo was being beyond suspicious. He wanted to lay the past to rest but it seemed like it wasn’t ready to bury itself just yet.   

“Just gotta lot on my mind, Hajime-chan…It ain’t you, it’s me,” Okita sighed. “Can we just enjoy the festival? Just fer a little bit? I need it,”  

The way Ryoma’s face scrunched up in thought, like he was trying to figure out what was happening in his brain, and then softened so easily, made Okita look down out of shame. He was far too good for him, and he didn’t even know it.   

The samurai gently knocked his knuckles against his chin and pushed him forward with a smile. “Yeah, sure. Let’s fine some sweets. I’ve been craving mochi,”  

Okita stumbled slightly and then shoved Ryoma’s shoulder. “Always thinkin’ ‘bout sweets! What are ya? A child?”  

“At heart? Yes!” Ryoma laughed and hooked his arm with his, pulling him close. “Let loose a little. You’re supposed to be the weird one between us. So, let’s have some fun, gorge on some sweets and make sure we all have a good time,”  

“Oi! I can be serious sometimes! One of us has t’ when yer bein’ such a boy failure all the time!”  

“Boy failure?! I literally cook for you! All you do is laze around like a dog!”  

“And ya laze around like a cat! Don’t pretend I didn’t catch ya nappin’ in the sun the other day when ya said ya were gonna go fishin’! Yer face is still burned!”  

“Nii-san needs to mind his business. That was the best nap I’ve had in a long time!”  

“Are you two bickering again?” Haruka called to them from a stall, resulting in the two of them shouting back in unison.  

“No!”  

“Sure sounds like it…” Yuta mumbled, scratching the back of his head as Okita pulled Ryoma along to them and reached into his sleeve.  

Pulling out his wallet bag, he grabbed a handful of Ryo and plopped it into Haruka’s hands, watching her eyes light up.   

“Go run off and enjoy yerselves. We can meet up in a little bit in Rakunai,”   

“Oh! Thank you, Uncle Soji!” Haruka waited for Yuta to pull out his own, sad little bag to pour the coins in and then lunged forward to wrap her arms around him.  

The Mad Dog swallowed, feeling her arms tighten around him and he offered an awkward hug back, even patting her back.   

“Yeah, no problem, kiddo. Just be careful. The city ain’t exactly the safest!” He said as Haruka pulled away and began to shuffle off to the stalls. “And don’t spend it all at one place! Make sure ya buy yerself some nice clothes too! And let Yuta have some as well!”  

Beside him, Ryoma was nearly grinning, the cat-like smile on his face had Okita glaring.  

“What?”  

“You almost treat them like they’re your own,”  

“Bah! Hardly! If I didn’t give ‘em money, who would?” Okita snorted, shaking his head. “Couldn’t be ya,”  

“Hey now. If I could, I would,”  

“Be real, Hajime-chan, yer broke as hell and Haru-chan would be here by herself with her own money,”  

“Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to say it,” Ryoma pouted. “Now let’s go look at the blossoms before your bad attitude makes them wilt,”  

As if any attitude could make the beauty of the cherry blossoms wilt. The flowers were brightly coloured, pink and pure white, and each time a small breeze rushed through the city it blew their petals across the half-cobbled roads.   

Foreigner women were enamored by the sight, rushing their husbands and children along to stand near the trees while a photographer rushed to set up for the perfect shots. The locals were equally transfixed, and Okita couldn’t really remember the last time he’d seen the trees look so full. It was almost as though the unrest and war being at an end meant the land could slowly heal. Though he was sure if he looked at the back streets and outskirts, he’d find the sick and downtrodden lying amongst blood and bile, the beauty lost on them. It was a sad thing, despite the efforts of the Dutch and their fancy, magical medicine.   

With people came sickness, and with sickness came death.   

It was a cycle, like the seasons. It would never end and would always be a part of the human experience. War, famine, disease, death. It was something he knew better than the beauty of the seasons. His life had been stained with blood, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Even now, playing Wakashu and Nenja with Ryoma, his hands were stained, and his soul was crying for revenge. All the cherry blossoms made him think of was Gen-san’s fleeting love in his life and how nothing truly lasted forever.   

Ryoma’s hand slid into his and gave him a squeeze, offering a smile as he pointed towards a sushi shop that was dragging in a bluefin tuna.   

“I know the owner. Want to see if we can grab a table? I promise, it’s the best tuna you’ll ever have,”  

“Ah, is Hajime-chan buyin’?” Okita raised his brows and Ryoma pouted.   

“I wouldn’t expect you to pay for such a prize fish with your blood money,”  

“Yer full of sass t’day, Hajime-chan. Better watch yer tone,” Okita snorted.  

He was suddenly pulled along, Ryoma laughing as he shook his head. “Stop being so broody and let yourself have fun. What happened to the crazy Mad Dog we all know and love? Let yourself run free for a moment,”  

“Bah! Fine! But yer buyin’ everythin’ I want,”  

“Fine, if it makes you happy,”  

“Of course it does! A Nenja should always be the one to take care of his Wakashu,”  

“I’m starting to think you keep that title so someone will bank roll your life,”  

“Finally catchin’ on?”  

“Menace,”  

“I’m yer menace. Just like yer mine,” Okita grinned, and Ryoma rolled his eyes, his smile plastered on his face.  

They easily secured a seat at the sushi restaurant, the owner beyond gleeful to see Ryoma after so long. It seemed he had once been a regular, willing to bring his own catches and contributing his shinsengumi pay to these spectacles. Bluefin was expensive and hard to catch, a feat for any angler, and despite Okita being in Kyo far longer than Ryoma had been, he had never had the pleasure of witnessing the carving of such a beast.   

The chef and owner sat everyone where they could watch him begin his craft, pulling out special tools for the occasion. Knives built like katanas were placed carefully before him and each one was used to carve and slice specific pieces. The fish was descaled, its fins cut off as well before the head was removed. The chef and his assistants moved the four-foot fish around to begin carving off filets and massive chunks, each section a different grade and colour that Okita had never known to be possible. Some pieces he sliced were pale pink to grey, while others were nearly a deep purple. Some sections even appeared like beef, marbled in such a way that he wondered if they had been duped.  

Behind them, a chef began to season and fan the rice, bringing it over as the filets and chunks were sliced into smaller, mouth sized pieces. The chef began to plate each person's portion, a sampling of each part of the tuna, a true spectacle. Probably the most amazing thing he’d witnessed in all his time in Kyo. He’d spent time in Gion and at temples, but Gen-san preferred to stay inside and read, often wanting to hold him and play with his hair rather than experience something so new and fresh.   

Perhaps it had been his age. As an older man, he’d already seen such marvels and often spoke of wanting to spend his twilight years in a quiet home with a garden. Okita had been content with that once, security and safety guaranteed. But now? Ryoma had shown him so many different things, it made Okita feel…like an equal. They were both still young, they had all the time in the world to spend quiet evenings together. This was the time to learn new things, experience something different.  

Even if he was hurting, it was what he truly wanted.  

With their food prepped by expert hands, it was placed before each diner with prideful smiles. Okita exhaled in awe, pursing his lips as he tried to figure out which would be best to start with. The pale flesh? Or perhaps the fatty beef looking morsel? So many options for his tiny, poor brain, he just sat there dumbfounded.  

“A lot to take in?” Ryoma teased, grabbing a piece of the dark coloured sushi and shoving it into his mouth without thought.  

He grew up poor too, but his pops was in politics. Maybe as he got older he got treated to finer things. Maybe he has spent so much time with the locals it was just common to him now. Okita tapped his chopsticks and sighed dramatically.  

“It all looks so good. I feel I gotta pick them in the right order,”  

“Have you really never indulged like this before?”  

“Gen-san preferred the simple pleasures…”  

The silence between them could almost be cut by the same blade that cut their tuna and Ryoma leaned in, pointing at the one he just ate.  

“That’s my favourite. But I have a feeling you’ll like the fattier one. It’s very rich. Don’t think so hard, just enjoy yourself. I think even Gen-san would say you’re thinking too hard,” Ryoma chuckled, and unprompted, among all the other guests, kissed his cheek.  

Okita’s face grew red immediately and in the spirit of chaos and not thinking, he picked up the fatty tuna and shoved it into his mouth. He moaned, unashamed and sat back as he closed his eye. He stomped his foot, unable to contain the emotions that came with eating the most expensive piece of fish he’d ever tasted in his life. It practically melted on his tongue, flaking away to nothing from his saliva alone. The perfectly seasoned rice was warm in his mouth, a contrast from the colder flesh of the fish. It was metallic but bold, so much softer than salmon and carp. Never had he had something so amazing. Even when he and Gen-san did treat themselves to cheaper sushi, the tuna never tasted so bold and rich. Here he had been, well off and with status after years of scrounging in the mud, and he couldn’t believe he’d never taken the plunge to taste something so divine.  

“I’m guessing it’s good?” Ryoma laughed, and the Mad Dog sighed, putting his head into his hand.  

He slammed his fist against the table a couple times and grinned.  

“It’s like it’s made fer the Gods themselves. This is better than salmon. How have I gone my whole life eatin’ nothin’ but rice and leftovers when somethin’ so damn tasty is right here!” Okita cooed and grabbed another piece, shoving it into his mouth with a groan. “I can never go back!”  

“I’ll have to remember that…maybe I can make this similar at home…” Ryoma said, brow furrowed in thought as he looked the fish over as closely as possible.  

Okita didn’t care if he made it at home or not. He was in heaven already. Shoving another piece in his mouth, he cursed silently to himself, ignoring the volley of stared pointed his way.   

As he started getting close to the end of his plate, he found it nearly never ending. He swore he ate all of it and yet there’d always be another waiting for him. It was like the gods were feeding him, or a very sneaky dragon. He flicked his gaze to the left, his blindside having blocked Ryoma for the most part, just in time to see him place another piece of fish on his plate.   

Okita picked it up and put it back, frowning. “Oi! Eat up! Yer fuckin’ scrawny too!”  

“But you like it so much. Just take it,”  

“It’s fine! I’m full anyway!”  

“Nii-san, just…” Ryoma picked it up again and shoved it into his mouth with a smile. “Eat it,”  

If either of them was paying attention, they’d see the looks they were getting from the other diners, but Okita was used to the stares by now. Ryoma just didn’t seem to care at all. This was their little moment, a sweet time to counteract the turmoil in their lives. And sure, being Wakashu, having Male Colours and just being yourself wasn’t exactly the fashionable thing right now between government changes and political uprising, but it was better than pretending that he was anything other than this.  

He’d chalk it up to jealousy. How many women got men who would actually spend even half a moment being sweet on them in public? Especially nowadays with all the foreigners and their religious shame?   

Consuming practically both their plates and then some, Okita let Ryoma pay the chef before grabbing him to run off after another craving. They landed at a confectionary, fresh treats and salty snacks all laid out to be packaged for each customer. Ryoma hummed as he looked over everything, his caramel eyes constantly landing on the mochi.   

“One ain’t enough?” Okita teased.  

“It would be nice to bring a bunch home. They aren’t easy to make from scratch otherwise I would,”  

“Ah, well just buy how many ya want,”  

“I just bought you bluefin…”  

“Okay, I’ll buy it,”  

“Nii-san—“  

“Don’t make excuses. Just pick your sweets, ya dumb idiot,” Okita smirked.  

He watched Ryoma sigh and roll his eyes before picking out his sweets, grabbing several flavors along with different confections that would last them maybe a couple weeks of Ryoma didn’t gorge on them.   

Their little back and forth over everything so far was a nice distraction from everything. It almost felt normal, considering, and Okita felt like he could pretend that he wasn’t hurting for a moment and be himself. Be Goro. Something that was still so foreign to him after taking the identity of Okita Soji. Goro wasn’t pretty or exceptional in any way, not until he needed to be, but Ryoma said he loved him, that he loved Goro, and he couldn’t exactly say what it was about Goro he loved.  

Paying for the sweets, Okita tucked his coin purse away and smiled. “There. Now ya can’t complain,”  

Ryoma smiled and leaned in, brushing his lips over his cheek. “Thank you, nii-san,”  

“Oi! People are gonna get the wrong impression with ya doin’ that…” Okita whined, letting Ryoma take his hand to pull him off to the side.  

“Let them talk. We’re having a good time,”  

Just don’t want them thinkin’ the great Saito Hajime is takin’ it up the ass is all.  

“Uncle Hajime! Uncle Soji!” Haruka ran up on them from a small side street, covered in cherry blossoms.  

Behind her, Yuta was carrying wrapped packages of goodies and clothes, struggling to not trip on the newly placed cobblestone. Okita snorted, taking off a couple packages so he could see, and placed them on the ground.   

“I see ya’ve been busy,”  

“Oh, we have! But there’s something I want us all to do!” Haruka took a deep breath, winded from her little run. “There’s a photo shop! They have western cameras that can capture moments. It’s all the craze apparently. I thought…well, Yuta and I both thought, that we could all get a photo together. Maybe even some of just us and of course, the both of you,”  

Ryoma tilted his head, glancing at Okita. “Sounds interesting, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a picture before,”  

“Neither have I,” Okita said with a shrug. “Seen the foreigners do it and some of the richer people in the area. I don’t get how it works, but some stalls show their work out front. Kinda crazy,”  

“I don’t have any pictures of mom and dad and I just…I couldn’t imagine going my whole life not having pictures of the people who have made my life better,” Haruka clasped her hands together, staring right at Ryoma. “Please, Uncle Hajime!”  

She was pulling on heartstrings, but she had a point. Photographs were a new thing, and even Okita didn’t exactly remember what his own mother looked like. If he could have had something, he’d cherish it forever.   

“Ah, Hajime-chan, can’t break her heart. Let’s go get some photographs done,”  

Haruka’s smile widened and she batted her eyelashes a few times, completely breaking Ryoma’s resolve.   

“Okay, let’s do it. It can’t be that expensive, right?”  

“Yay! Thank you, Uncle Hajime!” Haruka threw her arms around him and then grabbed his kimono sleeve. “Come on! This way!”  

And before Okita knew it, they were being dragged along through the backstreets, weaving through locals and foreigners alike as the wind blew the blossoms around them.  

Chapter 29: Tears In Rain

The studio for the photographer was shoved into an older building in Kyo, with dark wood making up its exterior. Inside was equally dark, with photos hung up on boards and walls, showcasing his portraits and landscapes. Even without the colour of real life, each one captured the moment perfectly, with some landscapes managing to catch birds in flight and some portraits showing smiling, laughing faces or goofy expressions. Those seemed more candid, captured by accident when the process took too long.   

Ryoma wondered vaguely if they’d have any moments like that for their photos but was pulled out of his thoughts by a foreign dressed Japanese man approaching them.  

“Ah! I see you’re all dressed to impress on this fine festival day!” He said, speaking nearly too formally, as though he was so used to speaking with the higher class or foreigners.   

“We were hoping to get a photo of us,” Ryoma smiled. “One of the young ones here, one of us two and then all together,”  

“Of course we can do that! Would that be done in studio or on location?”   

“You can take photos anywhere?” Haruka questioned, tapping her chin. “I’ve seen the equipment. It looks so heavy!”  

“It can be cumbersome, but we do what we can to make sure we take the best photographs. I’ve even photographed the emperor and the shogun!”  

The man pointed to two very regal pictures of both high ranked figures. Ryoma and Okita both leaned in and in a hushed voice, the Mad Dog tried not to snicker.  

“That lightin’ sure didn’t help that bald head of his,”  

“Nii-san…please…” Ryoma snorted and then quickly straightened himself. “You’re very good. Maybe we’ll just do pictures here. Unless anyone has a better spot?”  

“Here’s fine. We’ve been walkin’ all damn day. Would be nice t’ just sit,” Okita stretched his back and sighed.   

“Oh! Then can I pick the background?” Haruka clapped her hands together.  

“Sure, why not,” Ryoma shrugged, and the photographer led her over to his set up, showing her the sheets of hand painted and printed backgrounds.  

Some showed shots of Kyo in autumn, dressed in reds and oranges from the Gingko trees, while a few others were painted traditionally, with cherry blossoms and little streams. Haruka immediately chose the latter, nodding and listening enthusiastically as the photographer spoke to her about the process.   

Yuta slumped, crossing his arms. “He’s totally flirting…look how he’s blushing when she compliments his art,”  

Okita scratched at his neck, glancing at Ryoma. “It’s pretty fuckin’ obvious too…”  

“Did he forget we’re all here?” Ryoma sighed, watching the photographer sit her down to pose her for a photo. “Yuta. Go crash their moment,”  

“Huh?! Me?!”  

“She’s yer girl. Stand up fer yerself!” Okita hissed and shoved him forward. “And us!”  

Yuta stumbled forward, straightening out his Yukata. He rushed up beside Haruka, standing behind her with a huge smile on his face as he placed his hand on her shoulder.  

“Haruka-chan picked a great background,” he said, and she beamed up at him.  

“You think so? I thought it would fit in well with the festival and we’d never forget this moment,”  

The photographer tried not to deflate but it was clear to Ryoma that he was feeling put in his place. He’d have to make sure that he actually took pictures of all of them. Haruka was, by all means, coming to that age where she was glowing, attractive and alluring. She was a prime candidate for marriage, with cooking skills, cleaning skills and even her own home. But he knew that she only had eyes for one boy here and Yuta was trying his damndest to appear more a man than anything. From the way he held her, to how he made sure to stand firm, he was slowly growing a spine and staking a claim. Ryoma was oddly proud. Even if it was a little disturbing to think she could be getting married at any moment. The mere idea that she also would one day be a mother and he’d see little clones of them running around the village had him feeling a little lightheaded.   

The photographer set up his equipment and adjusted the camera lens, and with a flash that nearly blinded all of them, the camera clicked, and they all held their breath. It took a moment, but finally he smiled and pulled away from the camera.  

“Great! Who’s next?”  

“Oh, let’s take the one of all of us next, and then Yuta-chan and I will move so you two can have one!” Haruka smiled and Ryoma grabbed Okita’s hand, pulling him over.   

Arranging themselves around Haruka, they went through the long process of not smiling, not moving and nearly getting blinded as the flash went off once more. Haruka moved out of the way after with Yuta, allowing Ryoma and Okita to debate their own portrait.   

“Hajime-chan should sit. Yer far more famous than me,” Okita motioned to the seat and Ryoma shook his head.   

“Okita-no-niisan should sit because you’re still injured. You’ve been standing this whole time. Just sit and I’ll stand behind you,”  

“But that gives the impression that her supportin’ me. Not that we’re equal, or more importantly, that I’m supportin’ ya. Y’know, since I actually am the one puttin’ a roof over yer head,” Okita snorted.  

“Just sit down. We can always do this again,”  

“How much money ya think I have?”   

“Nii-san—!”  

“Sit!”  

“Okay!”  

Ryoma sat down, watching as Okita stood beside him and set his hand on his shoulder. He gave him a squeeze, looking straight ahead with such a serious expression it was hard to take him seriously. He turned to the camera himself, hands on his thighs, and resisted the urge to smile, finding himself glancing back at the Mad Dog. The samurai caught him smirking, and cracked, the edges of his lips turning up as the photographer counted down and they held themselves there as the flash went off and they waited.  

“Aaand…we’re good!” The photographer said, removing the plates from the camera and smiling. “These will look wonderful once they’re developed,”  

“How long’s that supposed t’ take anyway?” Okita asked, shaking himself out.  

“A little bit of time. I can have them delivered to you, or you can come pick them up when they’re ready. I’d be more than happy to mail you when they are,”  

“Oh, may as well do that. I deliver mail out here anyway, so I can stop by,” Yuta shrugged and grabbed up Haruka’s boxes.   

“Good idea! Then we can buy some frames,” Haruka smiled and bowed to the photographer. “Thank you so much for your time!”  

“It was my pleasure, Haruka-chan. If you’re ever in the area again—“  

Yuta grabbed her arm and grinned at the man, though to Ryoma, it almost seemed like baring his teeth. “She’s very busy. Anyways! Thank you!”  

Haruka was nearly dragged out by the young courier, followed by Ryoma, who waited outside for Okita to finish paying the man for his service. Once he stepped out into the fading daylight, the Mad Dog looked up at the sky and sniffed.  

“Smells like rain is comin’,”  

“We should head back home then. It’s also getting dark,” Haruka tapped her chin. “I still have to make something for dinner,”  

“We could grab some ingredients on the way back. Have a special meal,” Yuta shrugged. “Will you both join us?”  

“Ya go on ahead. I wanna go t’ one last spot ‘fore we head back,” Okita waved them off. “don’t wait up fer us,”  

“If you say so,” Yuta said with a shrug and waved. “Thank you, Saito-san, Okita-san,”  

The two samurai watched them walk down the alleyways towards Fushimi, and Okita drew in a deep breath.   

“I wanted t’ see Gen-san again,”  

Ryoma nodded, holding out his hand. “Alright, let’s go,”   

It was different from the last time, the walk to the temple felt far quieter and somber this time. Okita seemed to be holding something back, a pain he’d never shown before. As much as they’d talked about the grief, as much as the Mad Dog was trying to move on, this was something Ryoma didn’t connect to. His Pops was his Pops. An older man who had taken him in after his parents had been killed in a fire. Despite growing up in an orphanage, he had raised him above all the others. He had been told he was special. Not because his Pops was attracted to him, but because of his determination, inner strength and resolve. He had become a pawn in a way, but Ryoma didn’t really care. Pops had paid for his studies and training. He had wanted him to be great.  

Okita on the other hand, he had found love. Gen-san had done everything he could to give him a better life, a life where being Wakashu, enjoying Male Colours, being a cut sleeve, didn’t have to be used as a form of abuse or training or even a ploy by the rich to have their cake and eat it too. Gen-san wanted to buy him a home they could live in forever, to shower him in gifts and affection without wandering eyes, and now he was dead.   

Ryoma knew he could never compete with that, and sometimes it was hard to watch the man he loved sit there in pain, both physical and mental, thinking about a man long dead. Was he good enough for him? Could he be better? Would he ever be better? These were questions he had floating in his mind since winter, when he’d fucked it all up and reduced Okita to nothing but a warm body.   

As they crossed the bridge to the bamboo forest, the rain began to fall. Lightly at first, barely even a mist, until it became a steady sprinkle, enough for the flora and fauna around them to perk up towards the sky. Entering the bamboo, the sound resonated around them, crashing in Ryoma’s ears as their path revealed the rare priest or believer walking to and from the temple.   

He had never seen himself as particularly religious until he came to Kyo. Praying and helping the people for virtue kind of helped in that regard, considering the prizes the Shinto priest had been giving out. But as time went on, he found a comfort in believing in something. Like they were suffering and trudging on for a reason. Maybe that’s why Okita felt so drawn to the place despite Gen-san’s gravestone being there. He didn’t know if the old man was religious, but it seemed to be something Okita had done for him rather than something he wanted.  

He supposed that it had nothing to do with Gen-san’s wants then. Maybe at the end of the day it was a selfish need to believe that he was somewhere, that he’d been granted some eternity. Perhaps it was even a comfort. He couldn’t deny that sometimes he ached to see the grave of his own Pops, but with how things went down in Tosa, that wasn’t even a possibility anymore.  

They stopped for a moment in the wide-open space of the temple when Okita turned to him, conflict written all over his face. He was starting to look a little soaked, his hair falling flatter against his face as the rain began to pick up again.   

“I gotta do this alone. No offense. Just…give me a couple minutes,” he said, though to Ryoma it sounded more like a question.   

“Okay. After…we’ll talk?”  

“Y-yeah…yeah, we’ll talk. I’ll be quick,”  

“You don’t need to rush for me,”  

“I know, but I don’t have much to say. I just need…”  

“I get it. You don’t have to explain,”  

The relief on his face made Ryoma’s chest clench and he found himself a spot near an offering box to offer his own prayers. It was at least covered and allowed him some sight of where Okita was. Not because he needed to keep an eye on him, but because after all that had happened, he was worried. What if Hito appeared again? What if someone else had issues with him? He didn’t want him to get blindsided and hurt and it had the dual comfort that if he could see him, then Okita could also.  

Dropping a Ryo into the prayer box, he turned to see Okita kneel before the gravestone of his master. With deliberate movements, he brushed off the cherry blossoms stuck to the stone with rain and sap, cleaning the area. The last time they’d been there had been winter, and it shocked Ryoma that it could get so dirty in such little time. Though maybe it had been longer than he thought. He’d lost track of time since Okita nearly died, and maybe the Mad Dog felt the same.  

Ryoma leaned against a nearby pillar, watching Okita silently as the rain splattered around them. The Mad Dog’s near death really did haunt him, and the more he watched him, the more he saw the look in his eye since the time at the inn, he knew that something was brewing that he couldn’t stop. The image of him running as fast as he could through the snow, slipping and sliding as Okita slid in front of Haruka played over in his mind. He recalled screaming, watching Haruka turn with a look of horror on her face, Yuta already hurt and bloodied. Okita had killed two bandits and then turned, blood splattering over the snow as Hito stepped forward and stabbed him through and through. He remembered screaming his name, he remembered how Hito ripped his blade free, and then the Mad Dog was falling as the bandits all mounted their horses and Ryoma barely caught him before he went down. The light had begun to leave his eyes, and he could see so vividly that he was dying. By the time a doctor came, by the time he was saved, Ryoma was covered in his blood. It felt like it had taken days to wash his hands clean, and his clothes were not even salvageable.  

That moment haunted him on the nights that Okita woke up in cold sweats, mumbling about Hannya eyes and an old man’s touch. He didn’t seem to recall anything at all except his abuse and a Yokai, perhaps because of trauma, perhaps because remembering actual death would be too painful. Ryoma barely remembered anything after being shot and nearly dying when facing Hanpeita. Maybe it was the same thing. He never wanted to feel that again. The darkness, the cold, the anxiety whenever he sat beside Okita’s pale body as he coughed and blood would stain his lips. He knew that once he had an idea of where Hito was, it would just be a manhunt. While he was a goofy, funny, wonderful man, the Mad Dog was also that. Loyal, talented and mad. He wouldn’t be able to stop him from running off to kill him. He wouldn’t be able to keep him safe unless he followed him into that madness.  

He was broken free of his thoughts as Okita began to walk back towards him, glancing up at the dark, gloomy sky as the rain soaked his skin and kimono.   

“Gettin’ kinda ugly,”  

“I still want to talk,”  

“In this?”  

“Yes,”  

“I…alright…” Okita shifted uncomfortably on his feet as Ryoma stepped down from the offering box and took his hand, walking him back out from the temple.  

“Did you say what you wanted to say?” He asked, keeping his eyes ahead.  

“Yeah…”  

“Good…listen…and I really need you to listen,” Ryoma sucked in a deep breath. “I know revenge is all you have on your mind. I know that you’re hurting, and I can’t fix it, but…I really want you to leave Hito to Nagakura,”  

“No. Can’t do that. He has Gen-san’s blades, and I won’t rest until I get them back,”  

“You aren’t Shinsengumi. You don’t have the means to do whatever you want anymore, nii-san,”  

“It ain’t ‘bout doin’ what I want! It’s about killin’ him and bringin’ some damn honor back to a man I loved!” Okita stopped as they hit the center of the bridge.   

The rain began to really crash around them now, the river below angry and dark as it rushed under them. Ryoma felt Okita let him go as he turned around, his eye staring him down and he was sure that if the rain wasn’t there, he’d see tears staining his face.  

“Every damn night I see this stupid fuckin’ Hannya at the edges of my vision. Every night! Every day! I can’t sit in yer damn garden without seein’ her at the edges of the forest. I’ve been havin’ dreams of death and regret since I nearly died, and I’m fuckin’ scared alright?! She keeps talkin’ like she’s comin’ fer my soul, like I got one foot in the grave still, and the only fuckin’ comfort has been you. But even then, she’s still there, in my fuckin’ house, grinnin’ at me, callin’ us the same, sayin’ im gonna die, that it’s inevitable, that I ain’t got much time ‘fore I really understand what she means,” Okita’s hands were clenched into fists, shaking as he shook his head. “I’m damn scared, Hajime-chan, and I ain’t used t’ that feelin’. I just wanna bring his shit home so I can finally just love ya the way I want, and ya couldn’t even tell me ya loved me back until I pressed ya. What am I supposed t’ do with that?”  

“Nii-san—“  

“Don’t fuckin’ nii-san me, Hajime! I’m fuckin’ drownin’ between losin’ Gen-san all over again, dyin’, seein’ ghosts and tryna figure out if yer still hung up over a woman that thinks she can just push ya ‘round! Nagakura is breathin’ down my neck, yer actin’ like nothin’ is wrong and I can’t even walk outside without thinkin’ somethin’ really bad is gonna happen t’ me!“  

Ryoma frowned, stepping forward and watching Okita step back.  

“What do you want me to do?”  

“Haw?”  

“Goro…tell me what you want me to do?”  

“Make it stop,”  

His voice dropped, sounding so small in his ears and Ryoma clicked his tongue, his expression softening.   

“Make what stop?”  

“Everything,”  

It sounded so simple, but it was so complicated. He needed help. He needed Ryoma, his Nenja, to do something, to be a man in a way that would protect him and shield him from something he couldn’t see or touch. He needed him to become something he hadn’t been since he came to Kyo, and didn’t know how to even go about that.  

Stepping forward, watching Okita try to step back again, he grabbed the sleeve of his kimono and yanked him forward. He held him against his chest, his head ducking down into his neck as his whole body began to shake. Strange hands found his back, gripping his kimono tightly as he held him close and kissed his head. He couldn’t hear his sobs, but he could feel them, and with the rain around them, maybe that was why Okita felt so comfortable breaking apart like this. He squeezed him tighter, feeling how his knees were barely keeping him up and slid a hand to the back of his head, cradling him.  

Okita’s mumbling voice broke through the rain and the pounding of their hearts, soft and quiet and broken.  

“You said you loved me, so love me and make it stop,”  

---

They were soaked to the bone by the time they’d made it back to the edges of the village. Okita had attempted to swipe an umbrella on the way out, though Ryoma had stopped him stating they were already wet. It wouldn’t do them any good than to just hide the embarrassment of the tears streaming down his face from his reddened eyes.   

It was something he couldn’t really argue with. He’d already made a fool of himself with his outburst. Okita wanted to believe he was fine, but the nightmares of the Hannya and Gen-San and death had taken its toll, and after having Oryo’s ire set on him for no other reason than jealousy and anger, he just hadn’t felt right. He should have told Ryoma about it, but he almost felt like he’d scold him, and he wasn’t in the mood for a scolding. Not that he believed that he’d give him one, but he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Instinct told him to cut down Hito for the dishonor, and on the other hand, Oryo deserved a good whack on the wrist.   

What her part was in all of this, Okita didn’t know, but he hoped that she wouldn’t disappoint Ryoma further with her antics. He was better off without her, and right now, with his hand tightly holding his, he had other concerns.  

It was clear as day on his face. Okita was his number one priority, and somehow that made him feel awful. To put all the effort of a Nenja on someone younger than him like this. He was truly awful.   

“Hajime-chan—“  

“We’re almost home,”  

“Yeah, but—“  

“If you’re going to apologize for having emotions, I’ll beat you up,”  

“In that case, I’m very sorry—“  

“Nii-san, please!” Ryoma sighed.   

Turning to face him, the rain so heavy, their clothes were practically pulling them down. Okita took in the way Ryoma’s eyes narrowed at him, dragging over his appearance before reaching up to brush the hair sticking to his face away. The Mad Dog closed his eye, leaning into his touch, only to nearly whine as he pulled away.  

“Let’s get you inside,”  

Okita sighed heavily, slumping as Ryoma took his hand and began to run down the muddy road to their home. When they just reached the gate, Ryoma slipped backwards, taking Okita with him as they both fell to the ground. The samurai grunted and cursed under his breath, while the Mad Dog made sure to curse loudly so the idiot would feel bad.  

Well, as bad as he could. It wasn’t like he was overly injured.  

“Ah…fuck…is Nii-san okay?”  

“No. Not only did I cry like a woman, I’m soaked to the bone and now I’m covered in mud!”  

“You used to be covered in blood…”  

“Believe it or not, I did wash my haori! Often!” Okita sat up, rubbing his lower back. “Blood is just hard t’ get out…how women do it, I’ll never know…”  

“Ah…sometimes a woman’s touch is really what is needed…Haruka never had issues removing the blood from my clothes,” Ryoma smirked, carefully getting up so he could help Okita. “I’ll make sure everything is washed and get the bath going for us. Hopefully the mud doesn’t stain…”  

“Might need Haruka’s help with that too,” Okita said and let him lead him inside where they could finally be dry.   

The rain became muffled as they entered their home, despite its anger and aggressive nature as it crashed over the roof. Ryoma kicked off his sandals and rushed around to make sure all the doors leading out were shut. Despite the humidity and wetness of the outside world, Okita could see that the plants were more than happy to be in such a storm, making his own worries and sadness seem so pointless. If the flowers were thriving, then, shouldn’t he? What was a little rain anyway? The sun always came after, something Gen-san liked to say any time Okita complained about the simplest things.  

Scratching his forehead, he let out a huff and followed Ryoma as he grabbed a couple buckets for the bath.  

“Gimme one. It’ll take ya forever t’ fill the thing yerself,”   

“What? Feeling useless?”  

“Only around you,”  

Ryoma smiled softly and shook his head. “Goro-no-niisan is so somber nowadays. It’s hard to believe you’re the same man I met a year ago,”  

“Yeah, well, ya lose all yer friends and yer lover and then ya end up homeless, a ronin and jobless…well, ya get the picture,” Okita shrugged with a chuckle.  

“At least you can have a good attitude about it when you want to,”  

“I mean, yer equally pathetic. Ya we’re homeless too. So homeless ya mooched off an innkeeper and a child,” Okita smirked as Ryoma filled one bucket and handed it over him.  

“If you keep that up, I’m going to boil you into a soup,”  

“Mmm…think I’d taste good?”  

“You’re insufferable…” Ryoma shook his head. “But yes. Now go dump that in. We only have to do this like…fifty more times,”  

“Haw?! I shoulda just let ya do it on yer own…”  

After the tub was filled and the fire below began to warm it, Ryoma helped Okita peel the wet clothes from his body. It was almost methodical, peeling away his layers until he was nothing but skin and fundoshi. Handing that off to him, he made sure to toss it into the wash bucket for later and then motioned for the Mad Dog to sit on the stool.  

“Let your hair down. I’ll wash it for you,” Ryoma said, pulling his own kimono off.   

Reaching up, Okita untied his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders. It was getting longer, and the shaved parts were starting to not be so shaved anymore. It felt weird but hey, Ryoma had weird hair too. Rather he did. A year ago, Okita had spent far too long trying to figure out why he had cut his hair similarly and then let it grow the way he had. It looked funny when down, which he’d only seen once or twice when he happened to sleep at the barracks. Now Ryoma’s hair had grown out into a more even look.   

Okita would just have to make up his mind on how he wanted it cut now. Perhaps letting it grow out was for the best. He did enjoy having his hair longer for their little trip to the ryokan. As in, wearing the extra hair helped awaken a part of him he didn’t even fully realize before with Gen-san.  

Gen-san would have laughed. He’d accept it, as it had before, but he’d definitely laugh.  

“You’re thinking again,”  

The Mad Dog turned to look at Ryoma just as he poured water over his head to wet his hair, nearly drowning him.   

“O-oi!”  

Ryoma snorted, ducking his head as he began to laugh. “I..I’m…I’m sorry…!”  

“No, ya ain’t! Don’t lie!” Okita wiped his face and then began to laugh with him, feeling the tears bubble up in his eyes again. “Such an ass!”  

“At least I got you to laugh,” Ryoma tilted his head back and gently wiped the water off his face. “I am sorry. Are you okay?”  

“Just emotional. I’ll live,”  

“Good,” The samurai smiled and leaned down to kiss his nose and cheek. “And I can see that you’re about to fall apart again. So stop that,”  

“Was just…thinkin’ ‘bout him is all,” Okita drew in a breath. “I miss him,”  

“I know,”  

“I love ya though,”  

“I also know that,”  

“And none of that bothers ya at all?”  

“Nope,” Ryoma shook his head, lathering a bar of rice soap in his hand to gently comb through Okita’s hair. “In fact, I love that you do. Gives me hope that if I die, you’ll miss me just as much,”  

“If ya died, I’d die too. Probably ‘cause we’d be fightin’ together, and I’d be dumb enough to follow ya,”  

“At least I know I wouldn’t be alone in the afterlife,” Ryoma smiled and grabbed the washing cup to rinse the soap from his hair.  

“Can run amok in heaven t’gether! Just imagine that,”  

“The gods would hate us,”  

“Maybe they’d send us back!”  

“Isn’t that the whole point of reincarnation?”  

“Think we’d be big ‘nuff nuisances t’ be reincarnated?”  

“Definitely,” Ryoma set the cup aside and began to scrub Okita’s back, making the mad down lean into his hands. “Especially you,”  

“Yer the real menace. They’d kick ya out first,”  

“Nah, you’re older and worse than me. It would be you first, then me,”  

“Well, at least I’d be able t’ find ya. I’m pretty good at that,”  

“Even in a new life, Goro-no-niisan won’t let me be alone,”  

“Damn straight. I’d be pretty lonely without ya anyway. So, please, Ryoma-chan…promise me ya’ll find me too,”  

Okita looked back over his shoulder and watched as the samurai leaned in and kissed his forehead.  

“I promise…No matter what. I’ll find you,”  

He finished washing him down and then gave him a pat to make him move. Ryoma took his spot on the stool and immediately, Okita moved behind him to let down his hair. The samurai looked back at him, and he just smiled, grabbing the cup and soap to return the favour.   

It could be like a ritual, to bathe one another, though Okita had always been lucky if Gen-San ever did. And when he did wash him, he scrubbed his skin so hard he was sure it would scrape right off. The old man claimed he was grimy, and he wouldn’t be wrong. When he was younger and had been recently found by him, he was covered in dirt from head to toe with a haphazard patch over his eye. Even Shinpa-chan thought he was dirty, and he was almost three shades darker in the face from how far and long they’d been running. So, Gen-san always made sure to scrub him roughly, especially after battle, to make sure that he didn’t get sick from the blood that would splash over his face.   

This was different though. They only had their own sweat and filth to deal with, so it didn’t take long to clean Ryoma. His skin was delightfully dark compared to the milky tone of his own, but he refrained from saying anything as the samurai stood and offered his hands.  

“Up you go,”  

Okita swung his leg over the tub and into the hot water, sighing as he sunk in and glided to the other side. The water was delightfully hot and embraced his skin, seeping into his frigid muscles and aching wound. Ryoma followed right after him, hissing as he sunk into the water.  

“How nii-san can sink into such hot water without complaint is a feat in itself,”   

“Eh? How so?”  

“You’re so pale, you’d think the scalding hot bath water would burn you more,”  

“Ryoma-chan just isn’t disciplined! When my first Nenja first took me in, I had several hot baths to rid me of dirt. And it was several. I think he scrubbed me raw.” Okita shivered. “Maybe that was the worst part…”  

“What? Did he scrub you with a rock?” Ryoma chuckled.  

“He may as well have! It was like torture, Ryoma-chan! It made me never want to bathe again!”  

“One would assume with how your haori looked that you stayed true to that,”  

“Hey! I bathe pretty damn frequently!”  

“That’s what you say, but where’s the proof?” Ryoma smirked and Okita splashed the water gently at him.  

“Bah! Ya know I can’t prove shit,”  

“I mean, some days you smelled great. Others…”  

“It’s hard work cuttin’ down ronin!”  

Ryoma glided over to him and smiled, giving his nose a peck. “Nii-san gets so riled nowadays,”  

“It’s ’cause I’m old!”  

“You should relax more,”   

“Says you…yer the one always goin’ overboard and comin’ inside covered in dirt, all sore and complainin’,”  

“Digging in dirt is hard…”  

“Ah, Ryoma-chan, so whiny…I know,” Okita offered a smile and pulled him in close. “Maybe I should pamper ya fer once,”  

“But Goro-no-niisan was crying only a couple hours ago. Your eye is still puffy,” the samurai reached up and gently touched the edge of his single eye. “I’m sure your socket is sore too. You still have your patch on,”  

His fingers slipped under the strap and Ryoma pulled it gently over his head, revealing the sunken hole where his eye should be. The scar was soft and pale, but prominent in all other ways. As it had been carved out by a man scorned, the skin around it was tight, but not raised. In fact, the scar seemed sunken, much like his eye. The samurai wasted little time to smile and lean in, brushing his lips over Okita’s. His arms slid around him, pulling him flush against him in the tub, and Okita sighed as he raised his arms to wrap around his neck.  

“Ryoma-chan is so soft with me…”  

“Because nii-san is soft,”  

“Lies,”  

“Nii-san is caring and full of emotion, no matter how much he tries to act tough. Deep down, you like being pampered,”  

“Shuddap…”  

“Or what?”  

“I’ll cry again,”  

“And I’ll lick your tears,”  

“Ew, Ryoma-chan is gross,”  

Ryoma chuckled and kissed him again, a little deeper, slower. When he pulled back, Okita was breathless and he took that time to cup his cheek and gently rub at his pale, sunken cheeks.   

“You say a Hannya is after you…but sometimes you look like a Hannya…In understand your pain. I just wish there was something I could do to ease it,”   

“Ryoma-chan does enough, no? Stayin’ even when I wanted ya dead and makin’ this house a home. All the gardenin’, cookin’, cleanin’…ya really are the perfect wife,” Okita smirked.  

“And Goro-no-niisan is notoriously lazy and unhelpful. A real princess,” The samurai sighed. “Even now, a menace and a brat despite all the tears…”  

“And yet ya stayed,”  

“I did,”  

“And yer here,”  

“I am,”  

“Why?”  

“Because I love you,”  

Okita smiled, slipping a hand up Ryoma’s back and over his shoulder, gently brushing his calloused fingertips over his pulse.   

“Was it really so hard t’ say it?”  

“I was scared. Stop teasing,” Ryoma huffed.  

“Can I hold ya now?”  

“If it would make you happy,”  

“It would,”  

Ryoma turned in his arms, letting Okita sit back against the edge of the tub before moving backwards into him. The Mad Dog’s arms wrapped around him loosely and he dipped his head to kiss his shoulder.  

They sat like that for some time, listening to the sound of rain on the roof. It was almost soothing, but it also just reminded Okita about his first spring without Gen-san. He squeezed Ryoma softly, feeling him push back against him. There were so many memories that came back to haunt him since he found him bloated and dead in the river. Pulling him out himself had been the worst thing to happen to him until recently. This entire season felt like one giant wound, festering and bruised, taunting him for having feelings and not just brushing the whole thing off. Would he be able to move on without getting revenge? Could Gen-san truly rest like this, without his swords?  

Upon looking at his hands after tracing shapes and swirls over Ryoma’s skin, he determined that he had become a true raisin and kissed the samurai again.  

“Should we get out?”  

“Hmm?”  

“Eh? Was Ryoma-chan sleepin’?!”  

“Huh? No!” The samurai pulled from him with a pop; their skin having stuck together because of the heat. “It’s not safe to sleep in the tub,”  

“Uh-huh, and yet there ya were. Snoozin’,”  

“I’m sure Gen-san snoozed in the tub,”  

“He would actually. I often had t’ wake ‘im up,”  

“Seriously?”  

“No! Of course not! Ryoma-chan is so gullible!” Okita laughed and then set his gaze on him, his expression serious. “Ya could’ve drowned,”  

“But you were holding me!”  

“I’m not reliable!”  

“I think you’re reliable,” Ryoma smiled. “I’m going to get out, get the futon ready,”  

Okita froze. His eye widened and a memory of winter came to mind. The first night together. The first time they had sex. It was like this. Him, emotional, Ryoma, trying his best. Then two days later he was alone. His heart hammered in his chest and the samurai reached out, cupping his cheek and jerking him back to reality.  

“Hey…nothing has to happen unless you want it,”  

“I…I know that…”  

“I’m not going far,”  

“I know that too…”  

“You’re very precious to me, nii-san…I don’t like seeing you like this and seeing the pain in your eye…knowing I caused it…all of it…hurts. I’m going to prep the futon and pull out something for you to wear. When you’re ready, come lay with me. I want to listen to the rain with you,”  

---

The tub was emptied, the doors to the backside of the home shut and secure. Faintly, behind rice paper walls, one could hear the rain hit the garden flowers with heavy papping drops. The world was still, but only for a small time before the trees began to creak and sway, their leaves shaking like a rattle in a child’s hand. The rustling of their branches, coupled with the pitter pattering, was oddly calming as Okita dressed in Ryoma’s blue Yukata.   

There was a nervousness that had blanketed over the house. With the wind sweeping in the storm, it felt less comforting and more terrifying shuffling through the halls to the bedroom. Every corner made him feel watched, the shadows taking the shape of snakes and dragons, dark claws reaching across rice paper doors and solid wood walls. Okita stopped at the bedroom door, hand hovering as he looked back at the main room of the house to see yellow eyes staring at him in the dark.  

He threw open the door and quickly stepped inside, turning to shut it to find the eyes mere feet away. Okita shut the door with a sigh of relief, the candlelight slightly comforting as it flickered over the walls.  

“Spooked? It’s just a storm, nii-san,” Ryoma smirked from the futon.   

Since he had donated his own, he wore a simple red yukata, lounged out on the futon like a lazy cat. Okita could do little but pout and shake his head.   

“Ryoma-chan shouldn’t be so cruel. Storms were scary when yer house was built with straw and mud!”  

“I keep forgetting you were poorer than me…”  

“Okay, well, now yer just bein’ mean,”  

“Sorry, nii-san,” Ryoma laughed and beckoned him to bed, unprepared for Okita to crawl over him, hands slamming down on either side of his head.  

“Always teasin’,”  

“Just matching your chaotic energy,”  

“Ya don’t got a chaotic bone in yer body!”  

“You’re just saying things now,”  

“Maybe,”  

Ryoma reached up, gently brushing his hair behind his ear, fingertips ghosting against his cheek.  

“Nii-san should have some fun tonight,”  

“Haw?”  

“You’re pent up, upset, angry…You should take control of what you want,”  

Take…control?  

He’d never. Gen-san had never let him. Hell, he’d never even…  

“I…haw?”  

“What? Never fucked someone before? Never taken what you wanted from another man?” Ryoma frowned playfully. “The great Okita Soji? Never once in your life have you seized sexual pleasure when you’ve desired it?”  

“When’d ya start talkin’ all poetic?” Okita huffed. “And didn’t ya say we didn’t hafta?”  

“I did, but I also know that sometimes…you need it,”  

He wasn’t wrong in that. There was just this feeling in the deepest parts of his heart that felt like indulging would just bring more bad luck. His luck had truly run out by the end of winter, what with Hito finding him and nearly killing him. Ryoma would probably say it was pure luck that he lived at all, but to Okita it was anything but.   

“Ya suggestin’ I take the man who holds the title of Nenja in my life?”  

“I already call you nii-san. No one is going to know. No one knows even now, though it’s hard to deny who tops who when you pout and whine so much,”  

“I ain’t a whiner!”  

“So?”   

Okita huffed, shaking his head in a way that had his hair whacking Ryoma in the face. Be sputtered and chuckled, grabbing the Mad Dog’s face between his hands.   

“Consider this me giving permission,”  

“Sounds more like beggin’,”  

“Maybe I wanna know how you feel to better take care of you,”   

Those hands on his face began to wander, dropping down his neck to the hem of his Yukata. Tanned, calloused fingers slipped under the fabric and pulled it off his shoulders and he couldn’t help but fall into the feeling. Okita dipped down and captured the dancing samurai’s lips, kissing him softly as Ryoma moved beneath him, adjusting before he even had to ask. Legs moved around him, Yukata falling open to reveal he had never put a fundoshi back on. So much for saying nothing had to happen. It seemed Ryoma was planning this from the start.  

His head was already swimming, wandering through his first times, with his first Nenja, with Gen-san. What prep had they done, what had it felt like, what had they done to make it better, what didn’t feel good and what made his toes curl. All while Ryoma was sticking his tongue down his throat, distracting him from actually prepping him for what was to come.  

He was beyond eager, and the Mad Dog recalled a time, back in winter, when Ryoma seemed to want this too. Drunk and horny, he would have probably let Okita do whatever he wanted, but he had been clear on what he was from the start. A Wakashu his whole life, whether he liked it or not. So, he smiled, pulling away to watch the samurai chase him, leaning up as Okita pushed him back down. He flopped back on the futon, pouting as Okita chuckled and held him down.  

“My first wasn’t anythin’ special…lemme make yer first time a better memory,” he murmured, watching his Nenja’s face flush a beautiful pink.  

Lifting his head, Ryoma’s little box of toys and oil was already conveniently nearby, ready to be used. Or perhaps he had already attempted to prep? He was a little shit most of the time, knowing exactly what he wanted and taking it, but this was supposed to be Okita’s chance to do as he pleased, and frankly, he wanted Ryoma to squirm. Fumbling with the box, he pulled out his clove oil and kissed the samurai again, moving down his neck, his chest, leaving a line down his body until he reached his groin. Pulling his Yukata open, Okita snorted as he realized Ryoma was already half hard.   

“Yer not slick, y’know that?” He chuckled.   

“I’m merely a man, in love with another man, who is so beautiful I can’t help but be hard,” Ryoma smirked, laid out like a lazy cat, twirling his hair in his fingers. “And I…kinda prepped myself. A little,”  

“‘course ya did,” Okita smiled and ducked down, taking his cock into his mouth.   

He heard Ryoma’s head fall back as he let his single eye slip closed. The samurai’s hand was already reaching down, greedy and dominating, and Okita quickly snatching it, tangling their fingers as he bobbed his head slowly over his half-hard flesh. Every time he pulled up, he dragged his tongue over salty flesh, moaning softly over the head before taking him completely on the way down. The way it made him shake and quiver was more than delightful, and the Mad Dog realized that the last time he’d tasted him was in winter, on his knees in the snow.  

It had been cold then. The ice soaking into his knees as Ryoma got a little rough with him. At the time he had been conflicted about the whole thing, unsure what they were, unsure if he could move on. This time, it wasn’t that he was unsure, in fact, he was very sure of what they had, but it was the pressure of being better. Gen-san enjoyed his cock being sucked like any man, but he wasn’t a reactive partner in that sense. Besides a gentle hand and a stiff grunt, Okita never knew if he had done well or not. Ryoma on the other hand was young, vocal and very much enjoyed the attention. Even now he gripped his hand tight, moaning softly with each drag of his tongue. It was encouraging, and the exact distraction he needed.  

Okita uncorked the clove oil with a single hand, faltering just slightly as he just poured it straight down Ryoma’s ass crack. It was a little cold clearly, because he watched him shiver and twitch hard, but the Mad Dog make quick work in sliding his fingers up his cheeks, grazing his hole. He circled the puckered muscle, waiting for him to relax beneath him, slowing his mouth so that the samurai could breathe, and then he was pressing his middle finger inside, watching him shake.   

He knew it stung. There was no way to stop that, especially for his first time, and he peaked up to see Ryoma’s face twist in discomfort. He paused, waiting as he suckled on the head of his hardening cock, and as soon as he seemed to breathe normally again, he untangled their fingers and grabbed his cock at the base, stroking him as he popped his mouth off and began to gently thrust his finger inside.  

“Doin’ so well, Ryoma-chan…” he murmured, placing a kiss to his balls, keeping his movements loose and languid.  

“Hha…Nii-san…”  

Okita smiled, slipping another finger inside, gently thrusting them to the knuckle and scissoring him open. He knew where to press inside to make it all feel better, but he was barely stretched, barely able to handle this. He wanted him thoroughly loosened and ready. There was no need to rush, no need to hurt him. No need for him to feel as he had ages ago, young and scared, with a man he had trusted over him, not caring if he was hurt and only caring that his firsts were being taken like a prize. Okita didn’t like thinking about it, about how young he had been. Sure, there was a point where he truly believed he was loved, but he had never been touched kindly until Gen-san and by then he knew his role. This time was different. This time he was breaking rules with a man he truly loved.  

Watching Ryoma slowly fall apart beneath him was a gift, a treasure he’d cherish until the end of his days. The way he squirmed and whined, how he’d desperately grip the futon, and his face would scrunch up as Okita twisted his fingers. He was beautiful like this, just as he was beautiful above him, taking all he wanted.   

Slipping a third finger in, curling them to press against that bundle within, Okita watched him suck in a breath and arch, groaning delightfully. He almost wished he was fingering him. Selfish, he knew that, but sometimes, even if the intention was to share powerful, he felt powerful from below. Boosting Gen-san or Ryoma’s ego as they gave and also took their pleasure with his body, it was truly something else. But he wouldn’t take this moment for granted. He couldn’t, because Ryoma trusted him and at the end of the day, he needed that. He needed to know he believed in him as he prayed and hoped for a chance at revenge.   

“Ryoma-Chan is doin’ better than me the first time…” Okita purred, slipping his fingers free so he could grab the oil again. “I’m happy I get t’ make this special fer ya,”  

He poured the last of the oil onto his cock, stroking himself as he sat up on his knees and crawled closer. Ryoma willingly opened his legs wider for him, looking up at him as he panted softly. His cheeks were flushed a beautiful shade of pink, his caramel eyes watching him closely. Okita gently massaged his thigh and lined himself up, sliding the head of his cock against his hole.  

“Goro…nii-san…you don’t have to be gentle…”  

“Oh, I do…believe me, I do,”  

And with that he pushed in, placing a hand down beside Ryoma as he slowly pressed in until his hips met flesh. Ryoma was already shaking, throwing an arm over his face as he tensed. His body squeezed around him, and Okita leaned over him, moving his arm to kiss him softly.   

“Deep breaths…”  

“How…how the hell…do you do this?” Ryoma chuckled breathlessly but he knew it was deflection. That burn would be there no matter what. All he could do was make it feel better.   

“Practice makes perfect,” Okita smiled, kissing his cheek. “I’m gonna move. Gonna make it feel good, I promise,”  

He felt Ryoma’s hands grip his arms, keeping him close as he pulled his hips back and thrust forward again. He’s never fucked anyone before, so it was a first for them both. Okita was used to being used for pleasure, and Ryoma was used to giving. The way he squirmed and whined made him feel bad, having remembered his own terrifying first experience, how much pain he had been in after, so he slid his arms under him, holding him closer to his chest as he kept his thrusts slow and deep.   

Ryoma’s arms found their way around him, his whines slowly becoming moans, his body beginning to loosen. Their breathing began to sync, becoming one as the storm outside began to pick up again, the rain crashing over the roof. It was cold, but their bodies, now moving as one, began to warm, Okita’s full focus on Ryoma’s flushed body as he picked up the pace. Every thrust in had him clenching, sucking him in to the hilt, Ryoma’s fingers gripping him, and the Mad Dog couldn’t help but duck down to kiss him again, tongue meeting tongue immediately.   

Their kiss deepened as Okita’s thrusts became harder, more direct, and he used his arm to cradle Ryoma’s head as he nibbled and sucked at his lips.   

“So warm inside…”  

“N…nii-san…fuck…”  

“Ya’ve given…me a gift, Ryoma-chan,”   

I’ll always cherish this moment.  

Okita couldn’t help his own moans now, both of them loud, noisy, only drowned out by the falling ran outside. The world around them was unimportant, all he could think of was how open his Nenja was now, how he’d allowed him this feeling. Ryoma’s legs and arms were wrapped so tightly around him, guarding him and making him feel safe even now when he was beneath him.   

Between them still laid his cock, and Okita slipped his other hand down as the slap of their skin filled his ears, grasping him to stroke him in tune with his hard thrusts. Ryoma groaned, biting his lips in return and the Mad Dog growled, nudging his head aside to bite and nibble at his neck, a new side of himself awakening. His heart was pounding in his chest, or perhaps that was the dancing samurai’s. For all he knew they had melded into one, their heartbeats now one and the same. He heard him whine in his ear, whispering his name over and over again like a mantra, praying for release, begging for more, pleading for his love.  

He couldn’t really deny him now, could he? No, he wanted him to feel everything he hadn’t ages ago, everything he’d given him now.  

Okita twisted his wrist, feeling Ryoma arch into him, his limbs stiffening as he gasped. He shook and twitched, groaning loudly in his ear as he released into his hand and over his stomach. His body clenched around him, squeezing his cock just right to make him release with him, filling him with his seed. Okita’s thrusts became desperate, erratic as he pumped him full, his cum painting his insides and making it that much easier to continue fucking him. The sound of their skin meeting became wetter, and he ground his hips against him, wiggling to press deeper inside, wanting them to fully meld and become one.  

As their orgasm crested and began to fall, tapering away, his movements stilled and he laid over the samurai. He nuzzled his neck, panting hard against his skin as Ryoma’s fingers found their way into his hair. They ran through the tangles, black silk falling around them and he felt Ryoma chuckle and sigh more than he heard it.  

“Nii-san is such a good lover…” Ryoma murmured beneath him. “To think…this is how I feel inside of you…”  

Okita shivered as his finger tips ran down his spine, Ryoma’s lips pressing against his temple.   

“Thank you…”  

“Hawmm?” Okita didn’t dare lift his red face from his neck.  

“For letting me love you,”  

Notes:

Unfortunately this was my last "backlogged" chapter...as in i literally just finished it over the course of my vacation and I have no more backup left lol so the next update may or may not be on time, it really depends on how busy I am this summer with work. It's the "busy" season and that means a lot of overtime, a lot of not being around. So hopefully I can utilize the little bits of time I have between all of that to get things done in a semi timely manner! On top of making sure my wife gets her fic going so I can finish out the last chapters of that. Thank you so much for your continued support in the meantime!

chapter 30 will be the end of spring...please look forward to it!

Chapter 30: Feeding The Dark: Part One

Notes:

I split the end of spring because it was taking me too long to get the rest of it going and there was like A LOT to write for it lol so part 2 will come when it comes! lol

“I think I’m going to buy a horse,”   

Ryoma cut the daikon on his chopping board in half and then began to make the thinnest of slices. His cleaver cut through easily, freshly sharpened to the point of being rivaled only by his katana. Behind him sat Okita, loosely dressed and fanning himself. The fire for the cooking pots were going, heating the house to a near unbearable level despite all the doors being open. The spring wind did little to negate the coming summer’s heat. The world around them was slowly growing hotter, though if one looked harder, into the distance, there was a storm returning on the horizon.   

They were far inland here in Kyo, but that didn’t mean the mountains didn’t attract the fluffy clouds that carried the ocean’s wrath. In fact, according to some academics, the mountains seemed to draw them in, thirsty and desperate. Ryoma didn’t know much about that though. All he knew was that he wanted a horse, and Okita was being as useless as ever.  

“Why? We got Haku already,”  

“Because Haku doesn’t like me very much and tries to bite me when I go to take her to town,” Ryoma sighed, setting the remaining daikon aside as he began to cut the thin rounds into strips. “I want a beast loyal to me. Something that will let me buy more than a single bag of rice to take home because she’s so picky,”  

“Maybe yer just too heavy,”  

“Or maybe she’s as spoiled as her master,” Ryoma mumbled, glancing behind him.  

Okita snapped the fan shut and pulled at the collar of his kimono. “Oi, I ain’t spoiled! I offered t’ help!”  

“You’re right, you did…and then you almost cut your fingers off. How you can be the greatest of the Shinsengumi but also the weakest with a kitchen blade is beyond me,”  

“Don’t change the subject! Also, hurtful,” The Mad Dog sighed. “Listen, if ya want a horse, fine. But that just means more horse feed and time spent on the upkeep. Haku already shits enough,”  

“That’s true, but I’d feel better having something of my own,”  

“Then we can take a look at the stables,” Okita shrugged, flicking his fan back out. “Can we do it when it cools off?”  

“It’s almost summer, it’s not going to cool off,”  

“Fuck,”  

Ryoma chuckled and shook his head. “Let me finish pickling the daikon and then we can go to the nearby village. I hear they have good breeds,”  

“What ya lookin’ fer anyway?”  

“Something strong I guess…haven’t thought much on it. But something that can be ridden far but also be used for the property would be helpful,”  

“Ridden far? Ya plannin’ a trip?” Okita sat up, his kimono slipping off his shoulder in a way that had Ryoma quickly peering away from him.   

“Kyo is far,”  

“Sorta,”  

“Just in case then,”  

“Ryoma-chan,”  

“I’m not stupid, Goro,” the nickname was dropped, and he slammed his cleaver down into the chopping board, fracturing it. “You’re going to take off. I can feel it. You’re going to chase down Hito whether I like it or not, whether I tell you no or yes, you’ve already made up your mind. And like you, I’ve also made up my mind. I will follow you, whether you want me to or not,”  

There was a long silence between them, the only sound being the crackling fire for their cook pot and the chirp of birds outside. It was enough to make Ryoma’s ear thump and ring, his hearing not as good as it could be thanks to his firearm usage. But he still has eyes, and his eyes weren’t betraying him.  

Okita had been sneaking things out to Haku for the past few nights. Clothes, his swords, little preserves and such. Not enough to be noticed as missing, but when you live with someone, it isn’t hard to see a new pattern and Okita was just terrible at hiding his intentions. Sometimes. He sure had him fooled a year ago, but now it was like he wasn’t really trying. Maybe he knew he’d be found out anyway and thought the effort would be too much. Or maybe he believed that it didn’t matter if he hid his plans because his mind wouldn’t be changed.  

“I’m not doing anything,” Okita said, flat and low, his accent dropped as he stared Ryoma down. “But if you want a horse, I’ll buy you a horse,”  

“I can buy my own—“  

“No. I will buy you the horse. No stallions. Gelding is fine. A mare is preferred,” Okita stood and pulled his kimono back into place. “You need tack as well. There’s a good stable in Kyo,”  

“What are you doing?”   

“Gettin’ ready. When yer done picklin’ that, we can ride in. I’m just gonna prep Haku,” and with that he was out the front door.  

As the crunch of Okita’s sandals left his range of hearing, Ryoma sighed, staring down at his cut daikon and chopping board. Carefully, he moved it into a pickling pot and added the necessary spices and oils before sealing it with its bowl and water. Tucking it away, he lifted his chopping board just for it to fall into two pieces.   

Seemed he’d be buying a new one.  

“Oh, Goro…Nii-san…I just want to keep you safe…”  

The ride into town was the same as always, though there were far more people out than back in winter and early spring. The city had clearly woken up from its hibernation, the large grounds filling with all sorts of people and foreigners, the buildings changing with each passing day. Okita’s wandering eye was easy to catch, his weariness of the change around him causing Ryoma to grab his hand and give it a squeeze. They were traditional men caught in the changing of the world, but even still, no one batted much of an eye towards their outward affection. Besides the few whisperings from gossiping blonde women, and a raised brow from men with short hair and large, twirling mustaches, their own people simple bowed their heads in recognition.   

Saito Hajime and Okita Soji, bound in some way or another, still wandering their lands like guardians.  

At least that’s how Ryoma liked to imagine it.  

Okita pulled him off down a road he’d never really had the time to explore and suddenly they were in a whole section of Kyo beyond his comprehension. Winding cobbled streets stretched up hill and down, circling the river that flowed through the city. Shops turned into homes and then back to shops, the people around them wearing higher end threads than what he was used to seeing in Fushimi.   

They walked for some time, mostly in silence, until finally reaching the far eastern gate of the city, where a stable sat. Unassuming and quiet, the fields beyond gave way to the greenery of the countryside. In the distance was a horse track, which seemed lively from even this far away, but otherwise the land was left untouched.   

Ryoma found himself smiling as Okita tugged him towards the stables and inside its grounds. a man tending to a pitch-black horse turned as they entered, offering a wide grin.   

“Welcome! How can I help you?” He bowed his head, turning away from the beast before approaching.   

“He’s in the market fer a horse,” Okita pointed at him. “Needs somethin’ fer travel and farm work. Somethin’ strong by his standards,”  

“Well, I have the best stock in Kyo if you ask anyone around here. We have a couple ready for purchase if you’d like to see which you bond more with…uhh…”  

“Saito Hajime,” Ryoma said, the name practically engrained despite what Okita called him in private now.  

“Saito-san! Like…the Saito Hajime? The third Captain of the shinsengumi?”  

“Not Captain anymore, but yes,”  

“Ah! What an honor this is then! A shame you didn’t come by a year ago. Though I suppose you didn’t have a need to go far back then,” The stable master chuckled and Ryoma glanced at Okita.  

“No, we were pretty occupied here,”  

“Of course! Of course! Here we are!” He said as he approached the paddock. “These here are geldings. We got a one over there who would be perfect for your needs! Male, Kiso breed. The other there is a Noma. They’re mostly used for farm work and while small, they can pull a lot! Their strength is uncanny,”  

“And the black one?”  

“Hokkaido. Good for harsh climates. All three could do the job, but I believe the Chestnut Kiso would be your best bet. Samurai have ridden them for ages and farmers also rely on them. It’s a well-rounded beast, if you ask me,” The stable master chuckled.  

“How much fer the Kiso?” Okita crossed his arms, bending over dramatically to look under its legs. “And are ya sure it’s a geldin’? Looks…intact…”  

“Of course, I’m sure! I castrate them myself! All hands-on work here. I don’t trust others with these beasts. They’re all pure bred too. Only the finest,”  

“I just got a Mare at home. Ain’t wanna see little Haku’s runnin’ ‘round. He’s also not experienced on horseback. A stallion will probably kill ‘im,”  

“Hey!”  

“What? I’m bein’ honest! I ain’t wanna see ya trampled by yer own horse! That’s just embarrassin’!” Okita shrugged.  

“By my father’s name, I promise. The Kiso is a gelding and by far the best horse I have in stock,” the stable master crossed his finger over his chest. “I wouldn’t lie! I have no intention of finding out what a beheading is like!”  

“Hmm…how much then?”  

“Let’s say…5 Ryo,”  

“Deal,” Okita reached into his kimono sleeve, pulling out his coin purse. “That include tack?”  

“For the ex-shinsengumi? Sure!”  

Ryoma sighed in relief. He was almost worried the horse would be the cost of a home, but it seemed he was saved the embarrassment of a light coin purse.   

He was taken to the stable as the master called one of his farm hands to wrangle the horse from the paddock. Okita was already eyeing some of the saddles, the bright colours stood out among the couple selections of western varieties. As interesting as they appeared, a more traditional fit seemed better, and he pointed to a royal blue saddle and bridle.   

“These are nice,” Ryoma said, and the stable master nodded enthusiastically.   

“A good choice! Blue is definitely an excellent colour for you!”  

The rest of the transaction was less exciting as they got the horse saddled up and ready for departure. With Haku left at the other end of Kyo, they’d have to ride together again back to her, which Ryoma didn’t mind so much. It gave him the chance to take the literal and proverbial reigns for once.   

With the deed in hand, the two samurai climbed on, and Okita instantly wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder as they began to trot back the way they’d come.   

Weaving through the small pockets of people, Ryoma narrowed his eyes in full concentration, trying his best to move the gelding around. He was a little stubborn, huffing and puffing any time he pulled the reigns to guide him. Behind him, Okita gave him a squeeze and seemed to chuckle.  

“Strugglin’?”  

“Shut up,”  

“He wouldn’t be actin’ up this bad if he was a geldin’…”  

“The stable master said he was,” Ryoma frowned.  

“Hmm…if Haku starts gettin’ fat, I’m blamin’ ya,”  

“I won’t let him get her pregnant. Also,” Ryoma turned his head to look at him. “He’s a gelding. He can’t,”  

Okita shrugged and smiled. “That’s what all guys say,”  

Narrowing his eyes at him, he let go of the reigns long enough to shove at Okita’s face, turning his eyes back to the road as he laughed.  

“Your jokes don’t distract from your nefarious plans,”  

“Listen, Ryoma-chan, I ain’t got plans. I don’t know where Hito is, I don’t even know where to look. But if I find out, I’m gonna take back what’s mine. End of story. He threatened me, you, us. Ain’t that cause enough?”  

“Sure…but every time you come face to face with him you end up hurt. And not like…a hurt I can heal. You almost died; you’ve been on bed rest. I just…I just want you to be safe, and you actively fight against that. I don’t know how Gen-san dealt with you, but you’re a brat!”   

“Admitting it is the first step to recovery,”  

“I’m going to throw you off this horse,”  

As much as he wanted to prevent Okita from doing the inevitable, there was no way he could stop him. He’d find out where Hito was, one way or another. It was just a matter of when now.  

Returning to Haku, Okita slipped off his horse and saddled up onto his own. “Oi? Wanna race? See whose horse is faster?”   

“Already? I can barely get him to walk straight,”  

“It’s ’cause he’s got that massive co—“  

“Shut up and let’s race,”  

“Wait!”  

“What now?!”  

“Ya gotta name ‘im. Might help him listen,”  

The samurai sighed and rolled his eyes as he pet the horse’s mane. He wasn’t particularly good at naming his animals. Half the ones at Haruka’s home were half-baked ideas that just worked out. But he wanted a good beast. Something strong, reliable, fast…  

“Kaze,”  

“Kaze?” The Mad Dog snorted and pulled Haku up to him. “If ya say so. On yer mark,”  

“Go!”  

“Hya!”  

The two took off down the road, the pounding of hooves instantly filling his ears. Ryoma had never ridden a horse this hard before. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever ridden a horse until he reunited with Okita. He wasn’t skilled, which was apparent as the shaking and roughness of Kaze’s gallop had Ryoma wishing for some sort of cock padding. His ass was already hurting as Okita began to pull ahead with Haku and he narrowed his eyes at him, frowning.  

His form was perfect, leaning forward, lifting his lower half from the saddle so he didn’t get punched in the ass with every stride of Haku’s powerful run. In fact, she was already pulling ahead, the two of them as one as she bypassed Kaze and him and rounded the next corner of the path with ease. Ryoma growled and attempted the same position, wobbling a little before managing to find his balance and be whipped the reigns with a cry.   

And Kaze seemed to speed up.  

Like the wind he was, he rounded the corner wide, passing around Okita and Haku with ease as they galloped down the path and through the lush trees towards the village. Their home came into view, colourful and stunning from the top of the ridge. The roads were thankfully not too busy, the fields around them mostly holding their neighbours as they began to prepare for harvest. Some of them looked up as the sound of hooves echoed through the area and he felt Okita’s molten gaze on the back of his head as he steered Kaze towards home.   

The home stretch, he was so close, ready to win their little race when suddenly Haku was pulling up next to him. He glanced over as Okita whipped the reigns hard and she seemed to go faster, faster than the wind and right past him. Left in their dust, Kaze and Ryoma came to a stop in front of their home with a loud neigh and he pouted.   

“How the hell are you so fast?” He huffed as Okita made Haku walk circles around them with a laugh.  

“I’m just that good!”   

“Yeah? Well just wait…We’re going to practice, right, Kaze?”  

Kaze shook his head and huffed, shaking his whole body after as if he wanted Ryoma off. The Mad Dog cackled and slid off Haku, leading her inside to their small stable.   

“Gonna hafta earn that trust!”  

“Yeah, yeah…Enjoy your victory while you can. I’m the one who cooks your meals and does your laundry. So, don’t get too cocky,” Ryoma dismounted and gently pulled Kaze towards the house.  

If he was going to keep up with Okita, have his back, he and Kaze were going to have to become fast friends. The warm breeze on the horizon was a sign of things to come, and Ryoma refused to be left behind.  

---

The days began to grow hotter, and Ryoma spent most of his days at the river fishing while Okita mostly just sat beside him, taking up space and offering companionship. There was a strange lull to their life blanketing them now. The fast-paced whirl of emotion had finally calmed down from Winter and Spring was rounding off into a nice change of pace.   

Okita seemed comfortable, in less pain, and generally bored, which Ryoma usually combated with assigning tasks. Errands and tending to the horses seemed to be the least offensive things he could do, along with laundry. It was mostly cooking and cleaning that he refused, something about not wanting to ruin his hands and burning rice. Frankly, Ryoma was a little scared to try anything the Mad Dog might cook for them, so it was a decent trade off, as long as Okita agreed to pick straight from their garden and farm.   

Which the farm itself had begun to yield good results, with fresh daikon and carrot sprouting and even some ginger and ginseng coming into season. Spending his days making pickled side dishes and frying fish all paid off when he got to eagerly watch Okita shove each morsel into his mouth and moan like he’s never even eaten a meal in his life before.   

He couldn’t help the prideful feeling he got watching him shove his mouth full with the most erotic look on his face. The same face he had nearly any time his mouth was around Ryoma’s cock. It felt like a blessing. Both finally feeling like they belonged together, coming together as one, living the dream of a home and stability with the one they loved. But there was always this itch in the back of his mind, this twinge that something wasn’t right, like he was being just as watched as Okita felt he was and soon it would all come crumbling down around him.  

He tried to ignore it until one day he couldn’t.   

Lying over Okita, both hot and flushed, the samurai dipped his head down and playfully bit at the Mad Dog’s neck. He mewled beneath him, laughing as his legs wrapped around him, his hands in his hair as he assaulted his skin. Okita extended his neck for him, chuckling as he licked up his Adam’s apple and placed a kiss to the underside of his chin. It was hot outside but that didn’t stop either of them as Ryoma ground his hips against him, finally finding his mouth to capture his lips. He tasted like rice wine and spices, their lunch still wafting around the home in the near summer heat. He felt drunk off his taste, like having seconds, he dove into their kiss, tongue infiltrating his mouth with the intention of breathing for him.  

The Mad Dog moaned beneath him, fingers slipping into his kimono to drag it off his shoulders. Calloused hands squeezed at his muscular back and then his biceps, moaning again beneath him with a drunk smile. Ryoma pulled away enough to look down at him, returning that love drunk smile as he reached up to pull the cord that held his tsuba against his eye.   

And then there was a knock.   

Faint at first, as the pounding of his heart in his ear made everything muffled, then louder as the person seemed to become impatient.   

Ryoma huffed, both of them untangling with exasperated sighs.   

“Who could that even be?”  

“Hell should I know? I’m just lyin’ here,” Okita frowned, pushing himself up to lean back on his hands. “Couldn’t be mail. Yuta knows t’ just dump it at the door,”  

Adjusting his clothes, he stepped out of their sex hovel of a bedroom, bare feet slapping against polished wood as he made his way to the door and slid it open. There stood Nagakura, standing straight and proud in his black uniform. The look on his face gave away nothing, as per usual, with his stoic expression leaving Ryoma feeling an odd sense of anxiety.   

“Saito-san, can I come in?” He motioned for his entrance, and while he wanted to say no and slam the door in his face, he simply sighed and shrugged, stepping aside.   

“Who is it—oh,” Okita stopped in his tracks as he exited the bedroom, kimono still half open and falling off of him, hickeys on display over his pale skin. “Shinpa-chan…What’re ya doin’ here?”  

“We found Hito’s trail,”  

The room grew so silent that Ryoma was sure he could hear all their heartbeats now. His ear began to ring, and he felt frozen in place as he heard Okita suck in a breath. The illusion of their calm, lazy summer shattered in an instance. This was what he was afraid of knowing. This was going to become the beginning of the end. He didn’t want Okita to leave. He didn’t want to chase after him. He wanted him safe and at home, inside their house, always where he could see him. He wanted him happy and drunk, not a tear in that single, chocolate eye of his. He wanted them to spend their summer learning about the western civilization, laughing at the way foreigners dressed and trying on their ridiculous outfits that society was beginning to adopt now in the Meiji Era.  

He wanted things to be normal and calm.   

He wanted Okita in his arms, not five feet away, clenching his hands into fists.   

“Where? Where is he?” Okita hissed and Shinpachi shook his head.   

“I’m not gonna to tell ya. I just wanted t’ inform ya that we found his trail and we’re doin’ all we can t’ get ‘im,” Nagakura shook his head, crossing his large arms over his bulky chest. “The problem is jurisdiction. Higher ups are adoptin’ more western ideas of police work. If he moves out of Kyo and its surroundin’ districts, then I can’t get ‘im. I’ll hafta wait fer my letters to reach the surroundin’ districts t’ mobilize their policing forces,”  

“That’s bullshit!” Okita snapped, stepping forward. “We were samurai! We used t’ be able to hunt down anyone and everyone we needed to if it meant stoppin’ a threat!”  

“Things just aren’t that way anymore, Soji-kun. We hafta follow the laws. Tokugawa never cared ‘bout all that before, but this new leader we have—“  

“I couldn’t give a damn ‘bout what he’s done! I wasn’t the one who chose t’ unite two fuckin’ forces to take down the damn government! I was happy t’ be Shinsengumi and now the name feels like a damn myth!”  

Ryoma quickly looked away. He knew this was his doing. This upset and change in the world they knew, it was one he had a hand in. If he hadn’t taken Okita with to give the letter to Tokugawa, if he hadn’t gotten insanely drunk with Saigo and Katsura, they wouldn’t have joined together to take the whole regime down. War had never been on his mind. He’d never wanted war or death or disease to befall Japan, but it had, and it was here.  

Cholera and Tuberculosis had become rampant with the excessive number of foreigners coming in. People were restless, times were changing, and Japan as he knew it was growing into something more. Every time they went into town to shop it seemed like someone else had cut off their hair and adopted the style of the west. Flags that meant nothing to him hung in shop windows, women and men alike would walk around and preach of a god he knew nothing about, and his people were falling into it.   

This was Ryoma’s fault. If he had just been there…  

“Times change, Soji-kun. Ya can’t just run off t’ kill Ronin anymore. They hafta be arrested and tried,”  

“That’s no different from what we did before! The only damn difference is yer stupid system that stops us from just takin’ their heads immediately!”  

“Because it’s wrong!”  

“It’s not wrong if it’s justice! Hito tried t’ kill me!”  

“Tried and failed! It’s not you that died in the Ryokan that night, Okita. That was an innocent Wakashu prostitute that fell victim t’ a man,”  

“Yer right, I didn’t die! And I didn’t die that night either, but I sure as fuck died the mornin’ I pulled Inoue’s body from the fuckin’ river and I ain’t gonna let this man run ‘round with the last thing I have of his!”  

The room grew silent again, and Ryoma hung his head. He couldn’t look at him. Of all the times he could feel envy and sadness, it had to be now. It had to be when Okita needed him at his back, supporting his decision. But he couldn’t support it. He was too selfish too.   

“I know that, but we already tried t’ involve ya and look what happened? Oryo started bein’ difficult, she still won’t speak when yer around. Remember the last time?”  

“Last time?” Ryoma lifted his gaze. “You took him to Oryo?”  

Nagakura sighed, running his hand down his face. “I wanted t’ catch her in a lie. I thought Soji’s presence would spark some guilt—“  

“You brought Okita to Oryo?! After what she did?!”   

He hadn’t felt rage like this in so long. This jealous, seething, hot anger pooled up from nothing within him and he stepped forward, putting himself between Okita and Nagakura.   

“She slapped him! She let Hito into that room! She tried to get us both killed!”  

“That’s speculation. She never admitted—“  

“Who else then?! How would Hito know who I was?! I spoke to him once! He never knew my name or who was with me! He had no clue Okita was still alive until her!”  

“Again, Saito-san, we don’t know—“  

“We do know! It’s the only thing that makes sense!”  

“He could’ve asked anyone!”  

“Who else could he have asked if he was kicked out the same night Oryo lost her job?!”  

“I don’t know! Wait…where’s Soji?”   

The two looked at one another and then the spot Okita had just recently occupied. No one stood there. It was just them. Suddenly, the sound of Haku’s neigh filled the air and the pounding of hooves erupted from the property. Ryoma shoved past Nagakura in time to see the white of her mane disappear with Okita on her back, galloping faster than he’d ever seen out of the property. He scrambled for his shoes, cursing as he ran to the bedroom to find his swords as Nagakura let out a stream of obscenities as he ran out the door.   

By the time Ryoma came out to saddle Kaze, Okita was gone, and the village was quiet once again.  

---

It took ages for the sun to begin to set on Kyo, the summer sun slowly beginning to set later and later as daylight became nearly an infection on the land.   

Okita slipped silently up over the wall of the old barracks that now sat as the policing forces’ new grounds and landed softly on the other side. Gen-san, in all his wisdom, had taught him some Ninjutsu when he was alive. Unlike the stories he had heard as a child, ninjas were not magical beings who used Ninjutsu like magic. It was more like a tool, and so he crouched and carefully used the shadows to his advantage.   

It did help that this was his old home, and when the Shinsengumi had roamed these halls, he had snuck in and out several times. He and Gen-san had been like horny teenagers, sneaking out for midnight a rendezvous on more than one occasion. Since relationships had mostly been banned among their ilk, no thanks to a certain resident onna-girai, they had to be creative when they had wanted to spend time with one another. They were precious memories, ones he cherished and held close to his heart. He wouldn’t let anyone tarnish them, nor ever again.  

Reaching Gen-san’s old room, he waited in the darkness for a couple lantern wielding men to pass and then slipped inside silently. Luckily it had been left untouched, mostly just used as a small storage area and not someone’s new room. He was thankful, knowing well that Nagakura had made sure that it was left alone, and Okita quickly opened the closet door with a sigh of relief. Inside was his old armor, the set he had worn to infiltrate Tosa. Snatching it, he slipped back outside and made his way to Nagakura’s room, peeking inside to see that he wasn’t there. Carefully, quietly, he slid the door open and went in, quickly turning over scrolls and loose letters over at his small desk.   

He knew that he was hardly organized, so it was just a matter of where he had dumped the information about Hito and his gang. Every footstep made Okita’s heard pound harder in his chest, every muffled conversation making his ears ring as he concentrated.   

“C’mon…where’d ya hide it, big guy?” Okita mumbled to himself, glancing at the door a couple times before he finally skimmed over something that seemed relevant.   

Scanning the papers in the dark, he made out the characters for Hito and some locations, determined that it was a sighting, and quickly left the room, only to find Nagakura storming across the barracks towards him. He didn’t seem to see him yet, and Okita swallowed, frozen in the dark before he glanced at a couple braziers nearby and got an idea.   

Carefully using the dark to his advantage, he grabbed up a small bit of bamboo and long grass, tying it around the stalk. He drew closer to the fire of the brazier, reaching up to catch the makeshift torch on fire and then threw it towards one of the rooms. It smoldered, then slowly ignited the door as he slipped underneath the outdoor passageways and waited. Someone shouted from across the way, then more as the fire grew a little larger and then suddenly the entire place erupted as every man inside began to run over to find out what was happening.   

Okita watched Nagakura bolt for the flames and away from the front door, even the guards leaving their posts headed towards the commotion, and he took his chance. Running across the barracks, he slipped right out the door into the night. Finding Haku in the bamboo forest nearby, he climbed up and flicked her reigns, speeding off down their worn path towards the edge of Kyo and out into the open air again.

Chapter 31: Feeding The Dark: Part Two

Sitting several kilometers to the east of Kyo, Okita huffed as he watched his aged pot slowly boil over his fire.   

It had not been a nice thing to do, using the argument to run away and not be found. He was sure that Ryoma was more than angry with him, but he said himself that he knew he’d run off one day. How could he just sit there and wait around? Sure, he was still sore, but he could be feeling worse, and the Mad Dog was confident in what he could do alone anyway. It was better this way. This way, Ryoma wouldn’t get hurt.   

Not physically anyway.  

Despite his resolve, he did feel horrible. Ryoma had done nothing but pamper him, care for him, and treat him with kindness. But he couldn’t let him come along. Hito had made it clear that he would kill everyone he loved to hurt him, so if he went alone, he knew that, at the very least, the only one who would die would be himself.   

A voice in the back of his head told him this was still a bad idea. That Ryoma would end up just like him. Hellbent on revenge and mourning a love long gone. He’d normally try to listen, but the risk was too great now.   

Sighing, Okita looked down at the single gauntlet he wore, now matching the armor on his body. The whole set would look good once he retrieved the second gauntlet, his first task in this hunt. Placed over a black kimono and his hakama, he had wrapped the bottom of his pants to keep them clean and out of the way. Overall of this he had a red haori, hoping that the colours would hide any blood stains on his journey. He’d be camping mostly again, keeping off the main roads in order to avoid detection. He didn’t need the policing forces of the area to both him with questions and arrest him for carrying blades he owned.   

The world he knew was changing, and not in a way he liked, but until Hito was lying dead at his feet, he would continue to be a samurai. Physically masterless, but his true master had always been Japan. Hito needed to die and if no one would take it seriously, then he would become what he always hunted in order to make it happen.  

For the greater good.  

Sighing, he reached for the pot lid, ready to eat his sad, mushy rice, when he paused, narrowing his eye. It felt like someone was watching him or standing far too close. He moved a hand down to his blade and that’s when he felt the barrel of a gun press to the back of his head.   

“Found you,”  

The voice was low, but familiar. Smooth like silk, yet rough like the bark of an old tree, the voice belonged to none other than Sakamoto Ryoma. The Mad Dog cursed under his breath, and he dropped a hand to his lap, the other still on the hilt of his blade.   

“Ryoma-chan…”  

“Don’t. I can’t believe you ran off like that. I knew you’d do it, but to use Nagakura-san and I’s argument as a distraction? That was just low,” his voice dripped with disappointment and Okita sighed.  

“Arguin’ was gettin’ us nowhere. I was already prepared and there was ain’t no way in hell I was gonna sit ‘round and wait while others could be dyin’ or…or worse!”  

“Worse? What would be worse than dying to you?”  

The silence between them then spoke volumes and Okita shook his head.   

“There are far worse things than dyin’…So, go home. Let me do this,”  

“No,”  

“Fuckin’ stubborn ass— JUST GO!”  

“NO!”  

Okita flicked his wakizashi from its scabbard and turned, using the smaller blade to knock the gun from Ryoma’s hand and away from his head. The dancing samurai stepped back, drawing his blade and taking his stance as Okita stood and drew his katana, tossing the other blade aside. In a slow, deliberate movement, he took his Tennen Rishin stance, pommel to palm, and drew in a deep breath.  

“I ain’t wanna fight ya,”  

“You’ll have to if you want me gone,”  

“I ain’t got any intention of losin’ this time, Ryoma-chan. The first time we fought I was unprepared. The second time I wanted t’ test ya, the third I was mournin’, and the fourth I was ill. This time…I ain’t gonna let my guard down,”  

“Good. Then I’ll finally be able to see how the real Hirayama Goro fights,” Ryoma almost seemed to smirk, confident as always.  

Knees bent and swords at the ready, Okita couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his lips. It had been a long time since he and Ryoma had fought seriously. Even in winter, when he’d come across his camp, it wasn’t on equal footing. The frozen earth had made for traitorous ground, and they had ended their little spar prematurely. This time he would not lose. This time he’d show Ryoma why he had been first captain.   

Okita Soji may have been a name he had taken, but he had beaten the original easily. He was not to be underestimated.  

Ryoma’s foot shifted and that was all it took for Okita to bend slighting more and lunge at him at a speed he’d never shown. The dancing samurai’s eyes widened as he watched him fly at him and threw his sword in the way, basically batting his blade to the side in a failed block.   

In a flurry of swipes and slashes, Okita kept Ryoma close and peddling backwards, making sure he was constantly on the defense. It seemed to have caught him off guard, the usual calmness that surrounded the samurai was nearly gone as his brow was furrowed, watching his every move the best he could. Okita drew back then, resetting himself as he stepped to the side, left foot over right, circling him, giving him a chance.   

He took it, flying at him with precise, hard strikes. Sparks flew off their blades and Okita was only slightly knocked off balance. He shifted his footing, holding Ryoma back and shoving him away, only for him to come back with an overhead strike again. The Mad Dog twisted his wrists and caught the blade as it came down on him, gritting his teeth as the ring of steel rattled his bones and teeth. The two katanas clinked and clanked together, and Okita snarled, though he hardly displayed his struggle.   

Ryoma was strong. Stronger than he looked when dressed down to nothing. His caramel eyes were glaring him down; pupils nothing more than pinpricks and he opened his mouth to speak.  

“I’m not going to let you do this,”  

“Then yer just gonna hafta relent. I ain’t got any intentions of lettin’ ya drag me back like nothin’ ever happened!” Okita snarled and pushed him off.  

It continued like that for far too long. Both of them throwing their entire bodies into each strike. Flipping one another around, circling and clashing again and again and again. They couldn’t keep doing this, they both knew it, but neither was about to back down.   

Okita blocked another strike, grunting as he pushed back against Ryoma, watching him grit his teeth and bare them, his foot sliding back on the dry dirt beneath their feet. The Mad Dog sucked in a breath, pushing harder as Ryoma bent before him, growing tired by the second. The wound in his gut felt strained and pain shot through his body, but he shoved it aside, bringing his gauntlet covered arm up to push against his blade and add another layer of strength to his side of the stalemate. Watching Ryoma’s eyes widen, he felt his strength weaken and with a roar he shoved his blade away, knocking him off balance. A swift kick to his chest sent him flying, and the Mad Dog threw his wakizashi at him as a distraction as he ran at him at full speed, knocking him to the ground.  

He slammed his blade into the dirt next to his head, panting hard above him. The look on his lover’s face told him all he needed to know. He’d won this round, but at a great cost to what they had, at least for the moment.   

If only Ryoma could understand that this wasn’t personal against him. He just didn’t want to see him die. He wanted to come back to him victorious, blades in hand and ready to move on with their lives. Happy, unburdened and mended.   

“Go home, Ryoma,” he panted out, not moving from above him.  

“No,”  

“God fuckin’—! Go home! Yer safer there!”  

“The hell I am!” Ryoma scoffed. “What if he’s just sending you on a wild goose chase and comes back to get me?!”  

“That ain’t his plan! He’s not smart ‘nuff fer shit like that!”  

“And how do you know? You met him once at a gambling den! That isn’t enough to base your whole plan on! You know as well as I that ronin can be dangerous. Even worse, a group of lawless men will stoop to nothing if it meant getting their way…I just don’t want them to hurt or kill you somewhere so far from me that I can’t find you…If you die…I refuse to let your body rest isolated and alone,” Ryoma shook his head, his eyes blinking back what Okita believed could be tears.   

He couldn’t stare at him long enough to know. Looking away immediately, he yanked his blade from the ground and frowned.   

“I just don’t want ya hurt,”  

“I don’t want the same for you either. So, why can’t we at least do this together? Why can’t you trust me to make sure your revenge is followed through?”   

He didn’t have a rebuttal for that. Ryoma was determined and there was no arguing with someone so stubborn. Okita sighed and sheathed his blade, holding out his hand for him. The samurai took it, letting him help him up to his feet. Reaching up, Ryoma placed his hand on his cheek and smiled softly, then pinched him.  

“Ow!”  

“You burned your rice,”  

“It’s yer fault! I was goin’ fer porridge!”  

“I’ll fix it. How did you survive without me?” Ryoma chuckled, pulling him close, teasing him with a kiss to his nose.  

“That’s the funny thing…I really didn’t…” Okita frowned. “But…ya wanted t’ know my plan…so…I may as well fill ya in while ya play roadside housewife. No sense runnin’ from ya now,”  

---

Gripping the reigns tight, Okita steered Haku down a dirt path towards a village in the distance. His mind was swarmed with information, worry, unable to shut it up for the past two hours as Ryoma talked the plan through with him. He couldn’t tell if he didn’t get it or if he was worried that the silence meant something worse between them. It was nothing like that. The Mad Dog just didn’t know what to say anymore.  

Hito was a loose cannon, the worst Ronin and bandit he’d ever faced. It was one thing when the Shinsengumi were taking out loyalists, but this man, there was something about him that had Okita trembling.   

It wasn’t the assault at the ryokan; it wasn’t even the stabbing at the village. Even when he had won those swords at the gambling hall, he hadn’t felt this way. It was all because of the warning. It was because he killed a Wakashu. The way he infiltrated everything, got to Oryo, slithered into every crack within Okita and bloomed like the deepest, darkest pocket of the sky, that’s why scared him. He was capable of the worst and didn’t feel remorse. It was more than swords to him. It was humiliation, revenge and pure, unhinged behaviour. You couldn’t combat something like that by being a good person in return.   

How low would he have to stoop again to stop someone like him?  

Gen-san had worked hard to make sure he never had to lower himself to becoming a bandit again. He had it good for a long time. Even being with Ryoma, they were living well. And now?  

He recalled their conversation after their fight, the questions, the prying. Okita could still hear Ryoma’s understanding yet cautious tone.  

“The papers I found in Shinpa-chan’s room, they say his bandit group split. It’s almost like they’re trying to make everyone run around in circles. But I read somethin’ that caught my eye…”  

“Oh? What’s that?”  

“He was seen stopping east of Kyo. At Oryo’s home. He stayed for some time and then left. She looked shaken but unharmed, but she refused to speak again. He just kept going east,”  

“Maybe he hurt her some other way?…I don’t like thinking like that, though. She hurt me, sure, but no one deserves that…”  

“You have a good heart, Ryoma-chan. That’s why I’m…”  

“I’ll be fine. Goro-no-niisan…You don’t need to worry about me. We’re going to do this together. Now what else?”  

Okita stopped short of the village and dismounted, pulling Haku into the surrounding forest and tying her to a tree. Ryoma followed suit, Kaze already huffing and kicking up a storm. There was no way that damn horse was a gelding, but a stallion might be better in the long run. It would be fast, deadly, it would protect them. They’d need it.  

“Stoppin’ here ‘til nightfall,” Okita said as he pulled his sleeping roll off Haku’s saddle and laid it out. “I got a plan,”  

“Okay, lay it on me,” Ryoma said, gathering up sticks and picks of kindling to start a fire.   

“Hito ain’t gonna be here, but I think I get what he’s doin’. One of his guys is gonna be in that village. We gotta make sure everyone is safe and then we strike at who was left behind,”  

“Simple enough,”  

“Whoever is leadin’ this pocket will know what direction he’s goin’. We find that out and keep followin’ the trail,”   

“Again…simple…Almost too simple,”  

“I wanna say it’s ’cause Hito’s a moron, but we need t’ treat this like we would any Shinsengumi mission. We’re bein’ guided. The question I got…is what clue will be left for us here?” Okita frowned, fanning himself.  

Ryoma started their fire with a piece of flint and sat down across from him, tapping his chin. It bothered him too, the waiting, the silence, the obvious trap.  

“The fact that he made sure he was seen…”  

“He wants us t’ follow,”  

“He definitely left something then. The trail will get easier to follow as we go,”  

“That’s what I’m thinkin’. I think we’ll know when we see it,” Okita clenched his armored hand into a fist, his expression growing dark. “Tired of this shit…It’s makin’ my blood burn…It feels like how it did back when things were…”  

Good? No, they were never good.  

“Nii-san?”   

“It feels like when I was a true Mad Dog. Like he wants me to unleash myself or somethin’. He wants me to become somethin’ I used t’ be,”  

“You were a bandit once, right?”  

Okita nodded, “Briefly. After my Nenja took my eye and I met Shinpa-chan and Inoue,”  

“I’ve never asked before…but how…ruthless were you three?” The look on Ryoma’s face was confusing, to say the least.  

He seemed naturally curious, but almost accusatory. Okita didn’t like it. he didn’t like that he was questioning who and what he was.  

“We weren’t. We did what we did fer food and supplies. Never touched a woman or child. Hell, we never stooped t’ unnecessary murder or even rape. So, don’t go lookin’ at me like that,”  

The samurai glanced away and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry,”  

The sun above them slowly moved across the sky, the silence between them nearly horrifying as Ryoma prepared a small meal to carry them over through their first mission.   

With some reconnaissance, Okita determined there was at least ten men, with one larger idiot leading them. He’d seen him in their village when they had attacked in Winter. he used a hammer for a weapon, was built heavier than the other men. He’d be tough to take down, but not impossible.   

From the sounds and sights of the village, it was small, much like their own, but a little more rural. The roads were still dirt, and if they had any police or samurai patrol, they didn’t anymore. There were some bodies slumped about, probably some of the men trying to protect their crop and families, meaning that if there were any children or women around, they were probably being tortured and treated poorly right then and there.  

It was confirmed, when the sun had begun to hide among the hills, when a woman was thrown through a door to the ground, screaming as she tried to crawl away. Okita’s heart hammered hard in his chest, and he placed his hand on his katana, shifting into a crouch. Ryoma kneeled behind him, hand on his shoulder, as they watched a couple bandit men step through the rice paper door they’d thrown her through and approach her with laughter and blades drawn.   

They grabbed her by her hair, lifting her as she screamed in terror again, her kimono falling off her upper body, exposing her. Okita wasn’t going to wait any longer. As they toyed with her, placing their blades against her neck and skin, he was bolting from Ryoma down towards them.  

He heard the dancing samurai curse, his footsteps muffled behind him as he pulled out his blade and slide into the scene…  

And right by them.   

The woman’s eyes widened as Okita stopped just past them, his blade dripping with blood, and then she shrieked as the man holding her fell to the ground. His eyes were wide as he touched his midsection, blood seeping through his kimono. His grip on her loosened and she scrambled away as his body slid apart, organs spilling out onto the dirt and sand he knelt on. He moved slowly, trying to grab at his intestines and liver, but gravity took over, and with his eyes rolling back, his body split into two and flopped to the ground.  

The woman shrieked again, the bandit shouting as Ryoma came up behind him and piercing his blade through his back, severing his spine with a twist of his wrist.   

“Where are the others?” Ryoma asked as Okita turned to help her up off the ground.   

“The inn over there. They’ve been here a couple days. We thought…we all thought they were just…” she shook her head, face twisting in fear and sadness. “Some of the men tried to find help and they cut them down!”  

“Get to safety. We’ll deal with them,” Ryoma nodded, his face set with determination.  

“But aren’t you both…You don’t look like police,”  

“Nah. We’re better,” Okita smirked and rushed towards the building she had been thrown from.   

Throwing the door open, another two bandits drew their weapons and charged at him without a word. Okita quickly threw up his blade to defend himself, moving swiftly out of the way when one tried to bring a hammer down on him. He clicked his tongue, flicking his blade up to take off the bandit’s hands at the wrist and then turned to engage the other. In the building beside them, he could hear Ryoma engage the next batch, his gun firing off. Not the quietest entrance, but a sure-fire way to make sure they were dead.   

The bandit before him roared as he swung his cleaver at him. It was easily deflected and Okita kicked him away, settling into his stance as the man staggered back and then ran for him again. With an upwards swing and a slash down his abdomen, the bandit’s arm fell to the ground as blood sprayed Okita from his wounds. He fell to the wood floor with a thump and the Mad Dog moved on.  

The two of them cleared the surrounding buildings, killing whatever ronin dared to challenge them while evacuating the civilians. It almost felt like a good old Shinsengumi operation. Like old times. The people, while frightened, seemed grateful that help had come, even if in the most unconventional form. And they all had the same thing to say. They’d come at night, many staying at the inn, but the leader had moved on. There was one larger man who stayed and seemed to be the one calling the shots, and his room was upstairs in the largest room they had.   

Ryoma and Okita ran for the inn, entering and giving the bottom floor a quick sweep to get anyone innocent out. It was so strange to be truly on the side of the people this time. Any other time Okita had infiltrated an inn or larger establishment, civilians didn’t matter. They were all loyalists, they were all ronin. He’d killed just as many unarmed civilians as he had armed men in his time as a Shinsengumi, but this was different. This was now just revenge. Killing an entire band of ronin and bandits was just as satisfying but purely fueled by revenge. His problem wasn’t with these people. They had merely been caught in the fray and wanted nothing to do with these disgusting wastes of life. And naturally, they were too far away to receive daily patrols from the Kyo Police or any other larger town. They were abandoned out here, and Nagakura had wanted him to stay his hand?  

He hadn’t changed.  

But maybe Okita had.  

Rushing up the stairs, the two of them wrenched open every rice paper door before finally coming across the largest room. Sat in the center, groping a young girl’s barely developed chest as she tried to wriggle away, this unit’s so-called leader snarled as the two ex-Shinsengumi burst in. He snarled, looking between the two of them before letting out a laugh.  

“He was right! You did come, Soji-kun!” The man shoved the poor girl away and that was the only opening Okita needed.  

He charged forward, barely giving the man time to stand as he brought his blade down on him. The bandit managed to roll out of the way and Okita’s katana split his small table in two with a clatter. He turned towards him, the look in his eye murderous and dark as he rushed for him again. He kept him on his toes, forcing him to crawl and roll away before he finally got to his feet. He wasn’t watching his body language as he approached him, not even when he drew his own blade. The Mad Dog snarled, lunging at his arm, the one that wore the matching one to his own.  

The bandit, large and bulk, though oddly swift, dodged again and brought his blade down, only for Okita to deflect it with ease and put him on the defensive again. Their blades sparked and clanged, the metal ringing around the room as Ryoma rushed to the young girl to help her redress and get out of there. Her sobs and cries of fear with each clash barely reached Okita’s ears, his focus completely on the man before him as he backed him right into the corner of the room.   

“You’re gonna kill me! Stop! It’s just a stupid gauntlet! I thought you were after the blades! I don’t got them! They’re long gone!” The bandit laughed nervously, standing on shaking legs in the corner of the room.  

He held out his hand in an attempt to stop Okita’s approach, but with a flick of his katana, the hand was slicing clean off. The man looked down at his stump, shrieking as blood poured from the wound and splattered over the tatami mat.   

“What the fuck?! My hand! My hand!”  

“It was never just ‘bout the damn blades,” Okita said, his voice low. “It was the desecration of my Master’s legacy. The threats against the man I love. It’s the audacity of Hito t’ think I wouldn’t end his pathetic, wretched, shit hole of a life,”  

“S-Soji-kun…?”  

“Ya don’t know me well ‘nuff t’ be talkin’ so cute. Normally, men like ya? Yer below my blade. I’d never dirty my steel with yer blood. But yer lucky I’m makin’ an exception,” Okita raised his blade above his head. “Ya ain’t gonna hafta live with a stupid stump,”  

The bandit screamed as he brought his blade down on him, striking him right in the face and cutting down. His blood sprayed over the floor and wall, his lungs gurgling as Okita made sure the cut was deep, nearly slicing him in half. The Mad Dog watched as he gasped, letting out one last breath of his life before his eyes rolled back and he slid down the wall in a bloody heap.   

He waited a moment, watching the blood pool and collect beneath him, and as soon as there was not even a twitch of his body, he knelt down. Grabbing the man’s arm, he wrenched the gauntlet off his arm and checked it over, making sure there were no nicks or damage to the piece of armor. Behind him, he heard the soft thud of Ryoma approaching again, the sound stopping as soon as he entered the room.   

“Nii-san”  

Okita didn’t respond, he merely held onto the gauntlet tightly, bringing it to his chest.   

“Goro-no-niisan,”  

He finally looked back at his lover, his Nenja, taking in the look of concern. He was bloodied too, wiping away the streaks of sweat and red across his face. He was beautiful, handsome, dangerous even, looking like he’d stepped out of a war play. But those caramel eyes were full of concern, and Okita didn’t like the image before him being sullied with agony or worry.   

Okita stood, walking over to Ryoma, whose arms instantly wrapped around him as he grabbed his face and pulled him in for a bloody kiss. There was a sense of hesitancy from the samurai, but as the Mad Dog’s tongue invaded his mouth, Ryoma relented and held him tightly, returning the kiss with fervor and excitement. Okita moaned, pressing his armored body against him, pushing him backwards until he got close to the sliding door of the room. He heard him quickly shut it, allowing for his back to lean against the frame and for Okita’s fingers to find their way into his clothes.  

“Goro…” He broke away, still close, their lips a breath apart. “Are you—“  

“Shuddap,” Was all he got out before capturing his lips again.  

The adrenaline of the fight had his heart pounding in his chest. A piece of Gen-san was found, and he was already feeling whole again. He pulled opening Ryoma’s kimono, his hands sliding down his chest to his abdomen, finding the tie of his hakama. He pulled it free, pulling everything down as he slowly dropped to his knees, dragging his lips over his skin.   

If there was any protest, it was gone the moment Okita pulled Ryoma free from his fundoshi and took him into his mouth. Instead, the samurai’s hand ended up resting on his head, encouraging him as he began to suck his cock. It didn’t take much encouragement to get him hard, already halfway there after cutting down the bandits. He bobbed his head, dragging his tongue over the underside of his cock, not even minding his teeth, noting the twitch and moan every time they dragged dangerously over his skin.   

The Mad Dog fondled his balls as he moved to stroke him in time with each suck, twisting his hand over him until the samurai grabbed him roughly by his ponytail. Wrenching him back, Okita gasped, the spit connecting them breaking. He looked up, noting the fiery need in his pinpricked eyes and suddenly he was thrown to the ground, Ryoma climbing over him. His mouth was on him immediately, kissing him deep before nudging down to his neck to bite him hard. Okita cried out, clawing at his back. He could hear Ryoma growl against his skin, and then he was yanking at the bits of Gen-san’s armor on his body, tossing each piece aside before flipping him onto his knees.   

His hakama was wrenched down, ties still in place, and without even a lick of spit, Ryoma was pressing into his hole. They both groaned, the samurai nearly collapsing over him, one hand holding himself up as the other gripped his hip tight, nails biting into his skin.   

There was no waiting, no moment to catch their breath before Ryoma was roughly thrusting into him, and Okita moaned. Relenting, he let his body relax though his voice was far from quiet. Each thrust of his cock had him twitching and mewling, clawing at the mat beneath him. He could feel the slickness of blood from Ryoma’s hands as he moved his hand up his back, holding him down as he took what he wanted, gave what he needed. The iron smell in the room was lost on them as it mixed with the scent of sex and sweat, and Okita couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle as he looked towards the corner where the slumped body of the bandit laid, sliced in half. his bones and organs were on display, viscera and filth spilling out and staining the tatami, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten what he deserved, following a man like Hito, and if he was rewarded with sex like this every time they were victorious then he would be the happiest man on earth.  

Ryoma grunted as he angled his hips, slamming into Okita recklessly, and the Mad Dog just couldn’t hold on. It wasn’t about drawing out the pleasure this time. It was about releasing the anger, the fear, the anxiety, and he came all over the mat with a cry of pleasure. The samurai above him didn’t stop, his own release close yet so far, and as he fucked him harder, quicker, grunting and growling like a man unhinged, Okita’s cock drooled cum, his voice losing control as he moaned his name over and over like a mantra.   

“F-fuck…fuck…Goro…n-nii-san…” Ryoma panted over him, his thrusts becoming erratic.  

“Please…Ryoma…Ryoma…Ryoma!”  

Holding him down harder, Ryoma gave one final thrust into him and stuttered to a stop, releasing inside of him. He shuddered, moaning pathetically over him, the silence in the room finally blanketing them as the samurai slowly draped over him. His mouth found his ear, kissing it before moving to pepper his lips all over any part of Okita he could reach. His hands slid away from his body and found his hands, grasping them tightly as their fingers tangled, and Okita sighed, closing his eye.   

One piece down, two more to go.  

Notes:

And that is the end of Spring!!

Summer will begin when I flesh out some changes I have to make to the original concept and roleplay. Hopefully, once I have some chapters saved up, I'll be able to post regularly again. For now...we will consider this a short hiatus so I can enjoy some of my summer in between the busyness of work lol I encourage you to follow me on my bsky: deathmothking. It's the only social media I use now. I don't post often on tumblr if at all anymore, and I completely have gone private and moved off of twitter/x, so it's the best way to find me now!

Anyways! Enjoy your Summer, enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you when I'm ready and we can go on this samurai journey together! Ciao!

Chapter 32: In The Heat of Summer

Notes:

New schedule is that... there is no schedule LOL happy 7000 hits! I present to you one chapter because frankly, I haven't been able to keep up with my own schedule demands. So as they're done, i'll post them. this is a little treat tho, so i hope you enjoy! Welcome to Summer of Choetsu!

Casting his line into the river, Ryoma hummed as he focused on the sounds of rustling trees and singing birds. Summer had finally graced them with its presence, its blistering heat almost unbearable if not for them keeping close to the water.   

They’d moved off from the small village they had found Genzaburo’s gauntlet at after staying for a couple days to recoup. The people were kind enough to offer them a room, though Ryoma felt far too bad to allow them to not let them pay considering the damage they had caused. It took some time to move all the bodies out and cover them, and then he had to convince Okita to send a letter to Nagakura so someone could come collect what they had left of the bandits.  

Naturally, he didn’t want his Kyoudai to know where they were, so as soon as the letter was sent, Okita was packing up Haku and setting off east.  

Keeping up with him was the difficult part. Kaze was not exactly a well-trained horse and even on his best days was full of energy and often veered Ryoma off course just because. But it was also just hard to keep Okita in his sights. Clearly, he was still hiding something, or maybe Ryoma was just overthinking it. Okita and Haku had bonded for a year, and their speed on the trails made it clear that they both knew them well. He had never really asked what areas he’d been too, mainly because he didn’t know any beyond Edo, Tosa and Kyo, being mostly illiterate, he probably wouldn’t know any of the prefectures anyway. But his curiosity was only growing.  

“Nii-san,” He spoke, feeling the rod and line pull from a curious fish. “Have you been out this way before?”  

“Haw? Yeah, traveled out east as soon as I was fit fer it a year ago,” Okita shrugged. “Almost two years now. Man. Time sure does fly,”  

Ryoma yanked on his rod, pulling a carp from the river. Checking to make sure Okita wasn’t looking, he whacked it against the rock next to him and set it aside.   

The Mad Dog was busy oiling his blades, carefully wiping the blood off and then applying the oil with a cloth. He was meticulous, eye focused with each swipe. Checking its sharpness, he set it aside and then picked up his wakizashi to give it the same treatment.  

“Where did you even go? I know you said you met Hito at a gambling hall, that you had a couple flings, ran around, but you never really said where that was,” Ryoma cast his line again.  

“Someone’s nosy, eh?” He could hear the smile in his voice, and he laughed.  

“Colour me curious. I mean, I traveled with Oryo too. Went as far as seeing Mt. Fuji and all of that,”  

“Well, must’ve missed ya. I went about that far too, but I also traveled t’ Edo again, and the northern islands. Tsushima and all that as well. I didn’t make a habit of stayin’ in the larger cities often. Didn’t need the new order gettin’ at me fer havin’ my blades displayed. Saw the results of yer little war buddies that ya made. Didn’t wanna be lumped with them,”  

After what had happened in Kyo, the military run by Saigo and the ronin under Katsura had pushed against Tokugawa. He had done all he could to make sure that the towns he took Oryo were safe and away from the campaign, but it was the talk of every village even. They’d fought hard, forcing the Tokugawa family into retreat before they finally surrendered, afraid of what fighting further would bring.   

He didn’t blame Okita for keeping away from it. Carrying blades nowadays was a gamble. Either you were still respected, or you were still seen as a problem. The new order expected everyone to adopt the western idea of short hair and proper clothing, whatever the hell that meant. Ryoma didn’t care for it. He preferred his kimonos, and Okita did too. It would take a miracle to get either of them to chop their hair off and start sporting those tight pants.   

How did the western world survive with all those buttons?  

It was nothing Ryoma wanted to worry about. Unless the Kyo Police came and told him he couldn’t wear a hakama anymore, he’d gladly continue wearing what he did on the daily.   

Goro-no-niisan would look good in some of those leather straps…maybe even with a gun holster…  

He shook away the thought and smiled as Okita stared at him.  

“What?”  

“Get lost in that noggin of yers? Ya spaced out!”  

“Was just thinking how sexy you’d look in leather straps,” Ryoma chuckled, watching the Mad Dog’s cheeks go red.  

“Oi! I ain’t puttin’ that western shit on!”  

“Not even for me?”  

“Bah! Maybe fer ya…Only if ya fuck me like ya did in the inn,”  

“Ugh, maybe in a cleaner environment next time. I’m not over the cleanup of that room…” Ryoma shuddered, casting his line again. “I can’t believe we even did that with a body nearby…”  

“It was kinda hot though,” Okita chuckled, setting his blades aside to come drape himself over his back. “All covered in blood…growlin’ like a wolf ready t’ breed…just thinkin’ ‘bout it makes my blood start pumpin’,”  

“Only you could feel no shame after getting fucked in front of a corpse,”  

“Next time we should fuck on the corpse,”  

“Absolutely not. What we did was gross enough…we were covered in blood. Who knows what diseases you put in my mouth?”  

“I think Ryoma-chan bein’ covered in blood and takin’ me with such recklessness is the hottest sex we’ve ever had,” Okita leaned further on him, nipping his ear. “Could be the second hottest if we fuck right here where someone could come by…”  

“You’re a menace,”  

“What? Don’t wanna show off our assholes to the whole world while we fuck in the grass?”  

“I’m more worried about picking bugs off your dick after I flip you over and rut you into the dirt,” The samurai smirked and gave his cheek a pat. “Now do me a favour and get a pot going over the fire. I can at least trust that you won’t burn water,”  

“Hey! That’s the one thing I can do!”  

Okita huffed and gave him a kiss before standing, stomping off to find a pot and kettle for their lunch.   

It was almost like being at home, just with more cicadas and mosquitos, the squeaking song the backdrop to their summer revenge plot. Okita filled both the travel kettle and pot with water from the river, checking for any sediment and then set them over the fire to start heating up. The samurai then packed up his fishing rod and started cleaning the two fish he caught.  

Gutting them, he washed them in the river and then brought them to the fire to score and season. They’d have some leftovers, but it was best that they traveled on a full stomach. The sun was high in the sky, its rays beating down on them relentlessly, and he knew that once they got moving there would be no more stops til they found another spot to rest.  

They didn’t have any clues as to where to go next, but the village had mentioned which road the rest of the band of bandits had taken and that gave them at least a place to start. Okita seemed eager to go, his energy far more happy than usual now that he had the gauntlet, but Ryoma was worried. His wound had barely healed, and he was already lucky Hito hadn’t ruptured anything when he’d stabbed him back in winter. Watching him sleep endlessly, barely making a sound had made Ryoma jumpier than he’d like.  

It was like reliving his father’s death all over again. Helplessly running for him as Hito had ripped his blade free from his body. Ryoma was sure that Okita had died. In fact, he was positive that he had. He was so cold, his blood so hot on his hands, and his eyes had glazed over, staring at nothing until they shut.   

He’d never understood how he survived, but he knew Okita had struggled with the guilt of it. He knew that he had nightmares most nights, knew that he was seeing things from the corner of his eye and seemed so scared that night in Kyo that Ryoma was convinced he was breaking.  

And now?  

He seemed totally fine.  

It was so strange, like the revenge alone was keeping him going. Or maybe it was finding another piece of Gen-san that was keeping him from death’s door. It wasn’t lost on him what armor he was wearing. He’d only taken it off while they rested. Ryoma would watch him after eating, watch how he put on each piece like a ritual, like he was putting Gen-San himself on his body, and he would have to push down that angry, green, jealous feeling all over again.  

Sitting down at the cooking fire, babysitting the rice and fish while leaving the tea for Okita to hopefully not mess up, Ryoma swallowed. He’d never been so jealous in his life. Not with his brother, or pops, or even Oryo. He never craved more than he needed, never wanted more. He just wanted to be a samurai, make a difference, and live his life to the best of his ability. And then the Mad Dog crashed into his world like a cannon ball. He splintered his foundation, shook the ground he stood on, and all he wanted was for him to just look him in the eye and see only him, not the ghosts of everyone else.  

But that was the worst thing about trauma. Okita had miles of it, stacked on top of each other and barely even spoken about. A skeleton untouched, just waiting in the corner of the room until the right moment to strike out and crumble everything around him. Maybe that was the supposed hannya he was seeing, just the ghosts of his past catching up. His first Nenja had taken his eye for allowing his gaze to wander, and his second Nenja was taken from him all because of a power struggle.   

And because of Ryoma.  

The thought still stung, the guilt still clinging to him like the blood on Okita’s old blue haori.   

“Where did you find the armor?” He found himself asking before he could stop himself.  

“Haw? The armor?”  

“Genzaburo’s armor…What you’ve been wearing this whole trip so far,” Ryoma stuck the fish over the flames of their campfire, flicking his gaze up at him. “I’m not mad, just curious. You don’t need to be cagey with me,”  

“…I broke into the barracks,”  

Ryoma huffed. “That was dangerous…”  

“Wasn’t caught. Almost was, but…like hell am I facing a bunch of bandits without protection this time,”  

The implication that he could be injured again was there, and Ryoma sighed.  

“I won’t let them hurt you. Not again,”  

“I know ya won’t,” Okita smiled and grabbed them a couple cups, pouring the hot water into them and their tea leaves. “I forgot to bring somethin’ t’ strain the tea with,”  

“Mmm, I can’t wait to get choked by the leaves. Maybe I shouldn’t let you cook at all,”  

“Hey! It wasn’t on purpose!”  

“I just don’t know if I can’t trust you to make my tea anymore….”  

“Yer so god damn dramatic, Ryoma-chan! I can make yer tea! I gotta be able t’ do somethin’! Oi! Quit makin’ such a pouty face! Gah! I can’t with ya!”  

Their laughter drowned out the sounds of summer around them, and Ryoma took it as a minor win for them. No matter what, he’d keep him safe. He wouldn’t allow him to fall again.  

---

They rode from midday till nearly nightfall, the sun just starting to dip down from its highest point in the sky. Ryoma would have suggested moving at night, when the heat wouldn’t get them, but Okita already believed they were doing the same. Keeping off their perceived schedule seemed to make the most sense to him, but the samurai was sweating just sitting under the sun.   

“Maybe we should buy ya a straw hat!” Okita laughed from ahead of him, Haku happily trotting along the path as Kaze seemed to try and veer off the road every chance he had.  

“I would have packed some if you had let me come along to begin with,” He huffed.  

“Ya still gonna be grumpy ‘bout all o’ that?” Okita sighed, pulling Haku back so they could ride side by side. “Yer here now. What does it matter? Strong armed yer way into this, y’know,”  

“Of course I’m still mad! You didn’t need to sneak off like a child! I would have packed and helped…if I didn’t think Nagakura was going to do something,”  

“Don’t be fooled, Ryoma-chan. The policing force wasn’t going to do shit. Shinpa-chan woulda just waited fer Hito to come back to Kyo and then do somethin’. This is preventive. I’m not gonna let them run across Japan, hurtin’ people. Look what happened to that village!”  

“Hito wasn’t even there,”  

“No, he’s baitin’ us, but that’s fine, ‘cause when ya move ‘round like this and drop off men like check points, people are gonna talk. We just need t’ find the next group,” Okita pointed ahead to a figure walking towards them on the road. “Look! We can ask if he’s seen any slimy bastards!”  

“Hito hardly looks slimy…The guy is pretty and slick…It’s almost like he was bred to get away with this,” Ryoma mumbled.   

“More reason to cut him down,” Okita raised his hand to the man on the road in polite greeting, who seemed to perk up and instantly started running towards him. “Uh…why is he runnin’?”  

“I don’t know, why did you hail him?”  

“I was bein’ polite!”  

“What if he’s a bandit?!”  

“With that much shit on his back?!”  

Before they could even continue their argument, the man stopped before them, blocking their horses' path. He was carrying everything it seemed, with multiple bags and boxes hanging off every limp. He smiled, dropping nearly everything, then bowed so incredibly low that it was nearly laughable.  

“Greetings, honorable samurai! My name is Wesley Johnson! I am a humble merchant from the great land of America, a blooming, fresh country across the Pacific Ocean! I have come to your beautiful land of honor and war to sell my goods to the great people of the rising sun!” The man, Wesley, nearly shouted, mostly at the ground, and Okita blinked.  

“Is he speaking Japanese?” He whispered to Ryoma, who shook his head.  

“No, I think he’s speaking English,”  

“Why the fuck is he speakin’ English?”  

“Because he’s English?”  

“I get that! But why is he speaking English at me?!”  

“I don’t know! Ask him!” Ryoma huffed.  

“I don’t know English,”  

“I see that you’re very deep in conversation, clearly debating on whether you should give this Englishman a chance on his wares. Well! Let me show you what I have!” He dropped all his wares to the ground with a thud and clank and Okita groaned audibly, getting a punch to the arm from Ryoma. “I’m sure I have something here that will interest two esteemed samurai!”  

“If I lose Hito for this…” Okita mumbled, glancing at Ryoma.  

“Then it will be your fault for hailing him,”  

“Whatever,”  

“Here we are!” The merchant, Wesley, pulled a katana from his things, drawing it immediately. Okita put his hand on his own blade, ready to pull his out, only for Ryoma to put his hand on him.  

“Wait, I think he’s…showing it off?”  

“He’s gonna kill ‘imself holdin’ shit like that!”  

Wesley swung it around, making the two samurai back up. “Ah…maybe not this. You both seem to have blades already. That’s fine! I have guns!”  

He pulled out two guns and this time, Ryoma went for his own, getting a laugh from Okita.   

“Jumpy?”  

“I don’t know if they’re loaded,”  

“If they are, maybe he can just take us out now. I think this is killing me,”  

“You’re so dramatic, nii-san…”  

Twirling them around his finger, Wesley tried to show the guns off, offering a very strange display of lack of skill. “These are Winchesters! They come from America! They’re quite amazing, really. Well-crafted and smooth. Very react—“  

He twirled one again around his finger, hitting the trigger and discharging it. The weapon fired, making all three men jump back as the bullet hit the ground between them. Okita blinked, and then looked between the merchant, the bullet between them and Ryoma.  

“Okay, that’s it. I’m gonna kill him,” he said, sliding off his horse with his hand on his blade.  

“Fucking hell, Goro. Wait!” Ryoma sighed, quickly dismounting and grabbing the guns from the man. He opened the chamber, immediately unloading the weapon so it wouldn’t go off again and then pushed the man to the side.   

“Oh dear! You’re bandits! What have I done! Please have mercy on a poor Englishman! I just came here to peddle my various wares and to explore this beautiful country! I didn’t mean any harm from this! It was an accident! I am no warrior or great samurai! I am just a man wanting to make something of himself! Surely you understand me!” Wesley the idiot prattled on as Ryoma began to dig through his belongings to see if he had any other dangerous items.  

“He has rifles…cooking ware, clothes and…art supplies?”  

“What? Why would he have all of that?” Okita snorted, peering around the blabbering man.   

“I think he’s just a merchant,”  

“He almost killed us!”  

“Not everyone can handle a gun, nii-san,”  

“I could!”  

Ryoma turned slowly to look back at him. “You’ve never held a gun in your life. Don’t lie,”  

“I’m not lyin’!”  

“Uh-huh…sure…Fine, I’ll just have to test you then,”  

“Test me?!”  

Ryoma grabbed up the art supplies, a small kit of paper and charcoal, and turned to Wesley, who screeched, throwing his hands up in front of him. “Please! Take whatever you want! Just let me live! In the lord's name, I have been a sinner, sure, but God must forgive me for my crimes! I did not mean to nearly shoot you! I am a Catholic! I am not violent by nature! I mean…we did have the crusades, so violence is in all our nature. But I would never! The guilt would eat me alive! My favourite nun would be so disappointed in me!”  

He dropped to his knees; hands extended before him as Ryoma rummaged in his kimono sleeve.   

“Forgive me, father for I have sinned! I have nearly killed two men and two horses! Against my will! I didn’t mean to, lord please, hear my cries and forgive this fool of a man—“  

Ryoma dropped a couple ryo in his hands and walked around the kneeling man. He pushed Okita back to his horse and then climbed up onto Kaze, tucking the guns into his saddle bag. The art supplies were shoved into another bag at the horse's haunch, and he clicked his tongue, whipping the reigns. Both horses began to move around the praying man, who soon realized his audience was leaving. He looked down at his hands and beamed, immediately grabbing up his things.  

“Fortune smiles upon me! The lord has heard my pleas and has granted me a sale! You’re going to make it Wesley! Through the power of prayer, I have sold wares! Maybe I should also spread the good word of the lord? Oh, I am sure the good people of Japan will love our God! For he is a righteous God!”  

“Hailin’ that man in good faith was the least productive thing I’ve ever done with my damn life,” Okita grumbled, nodding towards Ryoma. “What did ya buy anyway?”  

“He had art supplies. Figured I could entertain myself whenever we stop,” Ryoma smiled.   

“So, what? Ya draw now too? Is there anythin’ ya can’t do?”  

“Maybe nii-san should quit being combative and do something productive for once,”  

“Thems fightin’ words, Ryoma-chan. I will fight you,”  

“At least we’d be having fun,” Ryoma smiled, which had Okita grinning wide.  

“Yer right…it would be fun,”  

---

Ryoma has forgotten how far the nothingness between towns was. With rolling hills and not a single soul in sight for miles around them, it was hard to believe they were traveling east at all. The trees were a little sparse, with not a lot of places to find cover, but they managed to find a small patch of forest to camp within to keep themselves out of sight.   

Okita laid out straw mats for them, side by side so they could sleep as they did at home, while Kaze and Hito were relieved of their tack and allowed to wander close by. They stuck close together, happy for their own company as Ryoma started up a fire and used what fish they had left to make one last meal of the night.   

With bellies full, the two men sat beneath the growing darkness as the stars twinkled above them. The shifting gases of their galaxy, a mix of purple and blue, streaked across the sky, clusters of planets and stars making unknown shapes over their heads. Okita sat close as Ryoma, using the light of the fire, pulled out the sketch bad and charcoal. He could feel his eye on him as he made a couple sketchy lines, slowly building up charcoal to great rough shapes of their horses.  

“Ya really can draw,” Okita hummed thoughtfully. “When did ya pick that skill up?”  

“Funnily enough…when I came to Kyo,” Ryoma smiled. “Some days were boring…some days I didn’t have any leads about my pop’s death, and when I joined you guys, well…I didn’t always have something to do,”  

“There was always something to do. Killin’ ronin ain’t exactly a one-time gig,”  

“No, but some days my division didn’t have leads, or didn’t need me hovering. So, I’d sit under that tree near the pond and sketch,”  

“Yeah? And what did ya sketch?”  

Ryoma’s face grew hot, and he was thankful that it was dark, and the orange light of the fire hid the heat on his cheeks. “Everything,”  

“Aw, c’mon! Be more specific!” Okita nudged him playfully.  

“Sometimes it was just the men, training, doing chores. Sometimes it was the barracks. And…more often than not…” The samurai swallowed thickly. “I’d draw you,”  

“…Wait seriously?”  

“Seriously,” He chuckled, glancing at his lover. “You were annoying but interesting, and then…I mean, I did have some feelings for you, as you know…You made a good subject,”  

“So…how did ya draw me?” The Mad Dog wagged his brows at him, and Ryoma laughed, pushing him playfully.   

“Just your form while training. It wasn’t anything lewd,”  

“But ya had lewd thoughts!”  

“Yeah! But…I…okay, so I drew some fantasies out…only once I got better,”  

“Ahhh! Ryoma-chan! Yer such a pervert! And ya still ended up with Oryo?”  

“It was…a safer option. I didn’t know you were with Gen-san, and you were mourning so much. I didn’t want to push anything on you,”  

Okita smiled softly and gently tucked a lock of loose hair behind Ryoma’s ear. The gesture was rare but kind, and he turned to the Mad Dog, returning the smile.   

“Guess we gotta a lot of time t’ make up fer…”  

“Don’t worry yourself over the past, Goro-no-niisan. We’re together now. We’re a team. And as your Nenja, I’m going to make sure you’re never hurt again,” Ryoma set the drawing pad to the side and wiped his fingers clean of charcoal on the grass. “Come here. You can lay your head in my lap,”  

“What funny business ya got goin’ on in that head of yers?” Okita smirked, shifting over to lay in front of him, resting his head in his lap.  

“Nothing…just wanted to spend time with you before we found the next guy you planned on cutting apart,” Ryoma laughed, fingers finding his lover’s hair tie and pulling it free.  

He carded his fingers through Okita’s hair, the length always surprising him. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he helped trim it back. The shaved sides were lengthening, and the main bulk of his hair was now down past his shoulders, a good look for him. Hell, even Ryoma’s hair was getting longer, his bangs nearly able to be tucked into his bun, but for now, they fell in his face as he looked down at the Mad Dog in his lap, who stared up at him lovingly.  

“Such a sap, Ryoma-chan,”  

“Mmm…only for you,”  

“Good, I don’t share,”  

“I know. Neither do I,”  

Turning his head to the sky, the watch the moon as it moved slowly across the sky. Okita pointed up at a small cluster of stars and traced out a shape with his finger.  

“Looks kinda like a pot or somethin’,”  

“Huh…it does,” Ryoma smiled. “And that looks like a bigger pot,”  

“Ya ever stargaze before?”  

“No. I was too busy training, or fighting off Oryo,”  

“Ah, fair enough. Gen-san sometimes said he’d love t’ take me out, show me the stars and tell me what they were, but we never had the time,” Okita sighed. “Half the time I just ended up fallin’ asleep on him while he worked. It was always a promise. It was always ‘Next time, Soji. I have to get these done since you won’t do your own work.’ I’d always laugh, but then I’d try to get my own shit done so we could do more t’gether,”  

“You thought you had more time,”  

“I did…Turns out we were tickin’ down t’ the end faster than I could keep up…”  

“Yeah…I feel that way with my pops…I still wonder what things would have been like if he were still here,”  

“Well…we would have been on opposite sides,”  

“True,”  

“I got this feelin’…that Inoue was always gonna die…I’d always end up alone and away from him. I didn’t wanna believe it. I wanted t’ believe we’d have that damn house and the life he’d always tell me ‘bout. Then one day…he looked at me and told me t’ not be so hard with ya. That I’d need ya,”  

“He knew,”  

“Yeah…he knew. It wasn’t like I didn’t have feelin’s growin’ fer ya. I just…”  

“You loved him,”  

“I did. But now I love you. And I’m sorry,”  

“For what?” Ryoma frowned, fingers faltering as he tangled them in his hair.  

“Fer not seein’ it sooner,”  

“You don’t need to apologize for that,”  

“I’m also sorry fer draggin’ ya into my shit,”  

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. So quit worrying your head about it. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’ll follow you even if you do piss me off,”  

“Wouldn’t be love without one of us pissin’ the other off,” Okita chuckled and then pointed up at the sky. “Oi, look at that! A shootin’ star,”  

Streaking across the sky, a bright light appeared and then vanished like it had never been there to begin with. And then another bolted by, followed by another, scattering across clusters of galaxies. A shower of stars took over their vision and Ryoma grabbed Okita’s pointing hand, turning it to kiss his knuckles.  

“Close yer eyes and make as many wishes as ya can, Ryoma-chan,” Okita smiled, squeezing his single eye shut. “I know what I’m wishin’ fer,”  

“You going to tell me?” Ryoma followed his lead, still gripping his hand as he closed his eyes.  

“Nah, yer just gonna hafta wait and see if it comes true,”  

Ryoma chuckled, shaking his head as he thought of as many wishes as he could.   

I hope we find the blades for him…I wish nii-san stays happy like this with me…I wish for him to stay with me forever…  

I never want this feeling to end…  

Chapter 33: A Moment of Calm

“Okay, now hold out your arms. No, straighten it. There, like that, and look right down the top of the barrel,”  

“Like this?”  

“Hold it firmly—“  

“Oh, I’ll hold it firm—“  

“Goro! Focus! Keep a firm grip on the handle and when you’re confident, pull the trigger,”  

Ryoma stood back, watching as Okita held the Winchester revolver in both hands and pulled the trigger. The hammer sprang forward, the chamber unloading with a loud crack. The sake bottle set up a several meters from them shattered, sending shards flying.   

The Mad Dog whistled, lowering his arms. “This thing packs a damn good punch!”  

“Firearms are the future. And they’re useful when you’re just sick of your enemies busting your balls,” Ryoma chuckled.  

“No shit. It’s no wonder ya used one in the shinsengumi. Here we were, preachin’ tradition and we were missin’ out this whole time,” Okita stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it, shaking his head a little. “Fuckin’ loud though. I’m already missin’ an eye, now I might lose my hearing,”  

“Maybe we can get you some cotton to shove in there,” Ryoma shrugged. “It only gets worse. My right ear rings all the time,”  

“A hazard fer a quick payoff,”  

“I’m sure one day it won’t be so bad, but for your sake, I just want you to have it just in case,” The samurai glanced away, his worry written on his face. “A sword goes a long way, but the gun can stop most issues before they even start. I don’t want to see you hurt again…These eases my mind,”  

Okita sighed softly, looking down at the revolver. Ryoma’s worry was well founded but he couldn’t stop his search just for a worry. This was the next best thing. The dancing samurai had armed him with a chance of safety, and he was grateful. Gen-san believed in his abilities and rarely interfered. If he came home injured, he was scolded for his carelessness. A Master was a Master first, and a Nenja second. Sometimes it almost felt like the love had to be put aside, like he was almost ashamed. Or maybe that was Okita looking far too deeply. At the end of the day, Gen-san was someone he loved, and now, Ryoma was showing a love for him he’d never felt before in his life. It was confusing, putting things into perspective he never thought he had to before.  

Was the love between him and Inoue genuine and whole, or was it obligation?  

“Why don’t we try again. This time with one hand,” Ryoma said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “If you’re in combat already, you won’t exactly have time to grab it and line up. I want to make sure that if shit gets bad, you can grab and shoot,”  

“I’m pretty quick, Ryoma-chan. I think I can do it,” Okita said, waving both hands about, including the gun.  

“Hey, stop that. You might shoot me,” Ryoma scolded him, grabbing the barrel and wrenching his hand down. “These aren’t toys,”  

“They could be!”  

“They shouldn’t be!”  

Okita pouted and pulled his hand away. “Okay! Fine! I won’t wave it around!”  

With that, he turned back to his targets, a couple sake jugs littered amongst the trees. Holding up the gun with one hand, Ryoma came up behind him to adjust his positioning. Using his foot, he staggered his stance more and then slid up behind him, chest pressed to his back as he straightened him out and set his arm right. Every breath on his skin was hot, and Okita felt his heart started to thump hard in his chest. He swallowed thickly, feeling Ryoma on his blind left, his hand resting on his hip.  

“Okay…now aim…” he murmured in his ear, voice low, concentrated. “And take a deep breath,”  

He breathed in, settling back against the samurai as he stared down the barrel of the gun towards his target.  

“Exhale and shoot,”  

Letting his breath go slowly, he clicked the trigger and fired, the bullet shattering another sake jug. Okita relaxed against him, his face red from the heat and from Ryoma’s closeness. The samurai smiled against his skin, wrapping his arms around him tight as he gave him a supportive hug.   

“You’re almost a natural,”  

“I got a great teacher,” Okita smirked, reaching up with his free hand to play with Ryoma’s hair. “Any advice, sensei?”  

“Well, normally I’d say closing an eye helps with the aiming, but if you did that, we’d have issues. So, I think we’re good,” Ryoma let out a small laugh, and Okita couldn’t help but reciprocate, body shaking at the thought of him just closing his only eye and praying he shot the right person.  

“Could ya imagine the carnage if I did?”  

“Actually, yes, and that’s what scares me,” Ryoma gave him a squeeze and then let him down, stepping back to fan himself. “Let’s call it a day here, maybe the village nearby has a food shop or something. I don’t feel like cooking in this heat,”  

“Maybe there’s a river nearby too. Might be kinda nice t’ take a dip ‘fore we move off,”  

“I wish we had a direction to go off of,” Ryoma sighed, scratching at his neck. “I can’t believe there was no evidence of where they were heading. Now it’s all guess work,”  

“The last guy we killed on the way here wasn’t much help,” Okita frowned. He tucked his weapons away on Haku’s saddle, helping Ryoma clean up their makeshift camp. “I tried though,”  

“You slaughtered him pretty quick. I feel we could have gotten more out of him,”   

“Hardly. The idiot was pretty tight lipped,” The Mad Dog shook his head. “I even gave him a chance ‘fore I took his head off,”  

“I think we need to work on your interrogating technique,” The samurai saddled up onto Kaze, pulling the reigns to guide him towards the dirt road.   

“I think I do just fine!”  

“We’re riding blind, Goro-no-niisan. I’d hardly say it’s fine,”  

“It would be fine, if they just coughed up where Hito was!” Okita growled, keeping his eye focused on the road ahead.  

Was he letting it get to him? Probably. He’d been tormented by this hunt for months. From the cold, chill of winter’s death to the hot burning sun of summer, all he could think about was killing Hito.  

Gripping the reigns tightly, he felt Ryoma ride up next to him, but he didn’t say a word. It had become their little agreement. He didn’t ask too many questions about what went on inside his head and Okita didn’t bother him with too many details. He’d been plagued by dreams of the Hannya, which scared him to no end. Her piercing, yellow gaze haunted him day in and day out, constantly there, constantly reminding him of his near death, and lately she’d been taunting him about his memory.   

He’d never been the smartest, nor was his memory that great to begin with. It had him sitting here wondering if all he was remembering were the roses because it wasn’t as great as he believed being with Gen-san. It also had him sitting there wondering if there was more to Hito’s anger and obsession with him than he thought. It wasn’t like he knew him from anywhere before, at least that’s what he thought. He didn’t seem overly familiar, but the Mad Dog had never been one to even remember where he lived. He wasn’t educated, he had trauma from losing his mother, then his eye. He’d been on the run for so long until he found Gen-san, and who knew what damage his missing eye had done. Something was missing, something was blocked out, and he was determined to not only exact his revenge but also discover the truth. Even if it hurt him in the end.  

“Hey…Goro-no-niisan?” Ryoma’s voice cut through the dark fog in his mind and he looked to his right to find him riding beside him. “I know we’ve been traveling and sleeping outside for a week now. How about the next town we find, we stay at an inn? Just for a day or two,”  

“We’re gonna lose them if we ain’t keep followin’—“  

“Goro, listen. I know, but we don’t have a trail as it is. We already lost them,”  

Okita frowned and snapped his gaze back to the road, gripping the reigns tightly. “If we just find another group…”  

“And we will, but this…is heading the same way it did when I lost Pops…I…I don’t want this to burn you out. Trust me, I care, and I know how this feels, but if you keep blindly running forward, you’re going to get yourself hurt,”  

He knew he was right, but listening was far harder than just acting. Ryoma had ended up injured in his own revenge, and the people around him suffered for his hubris. He spent nearly a year in Kyo with no leads before he decided to join the Shinsengumi. Okita remembered how Gen-san first pointed him out on patrol, said he knew his face, that he’d taken love from him for their sake. He remembered being enamored back then, but now? It had been stupid. It cost Okita a lover and Ryoma a father. Two mentors, two opposite sides of the same coin in terms of preserving traditions yet changing things for the better, all gone, dead.  

“Bah! Fine! Yer payin’ though,” Okita said and flicked the reigns, sending Haku off.  

The pounding of hooves filled his ears, drowning his thoughts as they pushed their horses across hills and dirt roads. It had been a bit since they stayed somewhere, and the idea of a proper bath sounded nice. Even washing bis clothes in a river hadn’t helped the blood stains and smell of death on them both.   

While it was uncommon for most hard-working men and women to bathe super frequently come summer, Okita had gotten used to having access to a bath whenever he pleased. He didn’t even bathe that often sleeping at the barracks. Unless he had to kill someone, a quick wash and some laundry was really all he did. The idea of soaking in hot water for once sounded lovely for his aching body, the rough riding and sleeping on the hard ground had done a number on him. He wasn’t even old. Barely into his mid-twenties, facing down being another year older in just six months, he was sure starting to feel his bones creaking more. Maybe a hot bath, a fresh meal and some sleep would give him the calm mind he needed to find Hito.  

But after riding for a couple hours, the horses became tired, their gallops returning to leisurely walks, and Okita was drenched in sweat, his pale skin burning under the sun.   

“Ahhhh…it’s so hoooot!” He complained, fanning himself with his hand. “Oi, Ryoma-chan. Is my face burned?”  

Ryoma looked at him and laughed, nodding his head. “Your cheeks and nose are red. Very red. You might even end up dark like me,”  

“Ah fuck. But bein’ pale was all I had beauty wise!”  

“You wouldn’t be getting darker if you just stayed home. Or grabbed a straw hat,”  

“Oi! I don’t need her lectures!”  

“As your Nenja, it’s my job to make sure you’re scolded and then taken care of properly,” Ryoma grinned, smug and playfully.  

“Yer enjoyin’ the title too much,”  

“Maybe. Look, a large town, down the hill and to the left. Might be able to find a medicine shop for a burn salve and an inn. We can get you all cleaned up, since you reek of blood….and fish,”  

“And whose fault is that?”  

“Yours. At least for the blood. I’ll take responsibility for making you smell like a fishing boat since I packed the fish onto your saddle,” Ryoma laughed and set Kaze to run again, despite his protesting neigh.   

“Gah! Ya bastard! I was wonderin’ why I had all the flies ‘round me! Get back here!”  

They arrived in fits of laughter and banter, trying to shove one another off their horses before entering the quiet town in middle of seemingly nowhere. It wasn’t a large place like Edo or Kyo. It was more like something in between that and Tosa, with enough people walking around to warrant some policing activity and also have some minor entertainment on the main road.  

Food vendors were packed with locals, the sweet smell of mochi and fruity alcohol wafting pas them. There was one singing bar, a small bathhouse and even a shop that had everything you could possible need nestled in the far corner of the strip. The stable at the entrance to the town was thankfully mostly empty and cheap, so the two samurai pulled their things off Kaze and Haku, paid the fee and wandered off towards the nearest inn.   

One room that overlooked the nearby river cost them a Ryo for two nights, and Okita dumped his supplies in the middle of the room the moment they entered. It was a decent size and just slightly larger than what Ryoma had stayed in in Kyo, with a dresser and closet, large window and two futons folded to the side. Okita stripped out of his armor and let down his hair, pulling open his kimono to fan himself. The one thing with being near the river still was the humidity. Even with the breeze off the water it felt like he was suffocating in an oven. The sweat pooling down his back made his clothes feel damp and sticky and he immediately pulled off the top layer to sit in his hakama and yukata.   

“Ahhhh, it’s so hot, Ryoma-chan!” He whined, grabbing his pack and pulling out, thankfully, a normal hand fan.   

Flicking it out, he fanned himself as he sat near the window, hoping the breeze would cool down his back.  

“This summer does feel more suffocating than the last,” Ryoma frowned, sitting down next to him. “Drinking sake or any alcohol might actually kill us,”  

“Such an alcoholic, Ryoma-chan. Not every moment needs t’ be ya drownin’ yerself in booze,”   

“I just enjoy a drink now and then, nii-san! You can’t say you don’t either!”  

“Sure! Emphasis on a drink. Not several. Remember when ya got shit faced and licked my eye socket after professin’ yer attraction t’ me?” Okita smirked, watching Ryoma’s face go red.  

“I didn’t have the courage to tell you before! Leave me alone!”  

“Ah! My Nenja is so shy!”  

“Shut up!”  

“Ya’ll hafta make me!”  

Ryoma huffed, turning to him to gently grab his chin and press his lips to his. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was enough to make Okita’s smile pull at his lips, infecting his facial muscles in a way that refused to allow him to frown. It even seemed the dancing samurai couldn’t resist the smile tugging on his face either.   

“I love ya,” Okita murmured, watching Ryoma’s goofy smile widen. “Even if yer annoyin’ and tried t’ stop me…I’m glad yer here,”  

“Same here,” Ryoma whispered back, tucking a lock of Okita’s hair behind his ear. “When you smile like that it makes me want to strip you down and show you how much I do love you…but it’s hot as hell and I think adding any more sweat between us will make us catch fire,”  

“Maybe ya should just keep kissin’ me,”   

“I can definitely do that…” Ryoma chuckled and leaned in again, stealing a quick peck then deepening their kiss.  

Hands barely wandered, fingers lost in tracing shapes on the backs of one another’s hands and on their arms. Okita sighed, letting the samurai before him gently prod his tongue into his mouth. He sucked on it, pleased to hear Ryoma moan softly as he tilted his head to press closer.   

“Goro…” He breathed his name into his mouth, fingers twirling a lock of Okita’s hair.   

His Nenja gently slid his fingers up, finding the strap of his patch and tugged, pulling the tsuba right off his eye. He broke the kiss, and Okita tried to chase it but stopped as Ryoma moved his lips to kiss the corner of his sunken eye.  

“Any more than this…and I won’t be able to stop myself…”   

“Maybe…I don’t want ya t’ stop…Yer the one who wanted t’ relax,” Okita smirked, reached for Ryoma’s tied up bun to yank the cord and let his hair fall down his back. “We can wash later,”  

Ryoma didn’t bother with a response. Pushing Okita onto his back, he pulled off his own Kimono, looming over him as he took in the sight of him sweat slicked and flushed. With a smug little smirk, he leaned in, taking over Okita’s entire view as they fell into one another again.  

---

A proper bath hadn’t been had in some time, and upon walking into the public bathhouse Okita almost felt uncomfortable.   

He’d been spoiled by Haruka first with her home having a bath readily available and even more spoiled when he inherited the home from the old man. Now, here he was, facing the idea that he had to share space and sights with other people, though he knew with it being summer, the bathhouse probably was only going to be filled with children.  

The adults of the village would mostly be busy with farm work, something that took far too much time out of the day. He recalled that even as a poor child, his mother couldn’t afford the bathhouse even weekly, so they’d usually have to wait for proper bathing come fall. The river was always free though, and maybe that was why it hadn’t bothered him much at all. Really, it seemed that Ryoma enjoyed grooming him. He couldn’t complain too much about that. Having his fingers in his hair was enjoyable even when he wasn’t naked.  

Walking in, Ryoma kindly paid for their time, and they headed over to the cubbies to strip and tuck their things away. The pre-wash area was mostly empty besides one mother fussing over her young child and an old man prepping for his own bath.   

Okita sat down on a small stool, watching Ryoma pull up his own right beside him. Their knees close enough to touch; he pushed him to turn around and started washing his back. The Mad Dog sighed as the rice soap washed off grime he didn’t even remember accumulating, his skin raw and fresh after travel. Tilting his head back with a soft hum, Ryoma chuckled as he wet his hair and began to meticulously clean his locks.   

“So dirty, nii-san,” He teased, “And you didn’t want to stop for a bath,”  

“Forgot how good a proper bath felt,”  

“We haven’t been out in the wild that long,” The samurai laughed, and Okita couldn’t help but chuckle.  

“Maybe not, but deep down, I’m just a little homeless kid. Turn ‘round so I can return the favour, yeah?” He said once his hair was rinsed.  

Ryoma gleefully turned around, clearly happy to be pampered in returned. Okita started with his hair, making sure to massage the soap into his scalp to get all the sweat and dust out of his hair. The samurai sighed dramatically, making a show of his pleasure as he leaned into his fingers.   

“Ah, Ryoma-chan likes t’ be pampered yet always was the first to do it before,” he teased. “Maybe deep down ya wanted me t’ be yer Nenja,”  

“I had my thoughts, but you looked so pathetic, I said to myself, this man needs help, or he will never live,”  

“Yer words are hurtful, I want ya t’ know that,” Okita pouted as Ryoma tilted his head back to smile playfully at him.   

“Does it help to know that our time in the Shinsengumi had me wondering if you were one to take control or not?”  

“A little. Means ya thought ‘bout me. That alone makes me kinda giddy,”  

“Good. I just…enjoy taking care of you. And Haruka. I…I like having a family, people around. So, it doesn’t bother me whether I’m your Nenja or not. I just want to care for you either way,”  

Okita’s cheeks were beyond red now and he quickly rinsed Ryoma’s hair, shoving him softly.   

“Yer too much!”  

“I mean what I said at the ryokan! I need to get a job or something. How will I keep you content if I can’t pay for all the food you consume!”  

“Are ya callin’ me fat?!”  

“I’m calling you healthy. Now let’s relax in the bath before you drag me across Japan for revenge again,”  

They stripped down and entered the steaming baths. Okita was more than grateful that the cover of the steam was enough to mostly cover their extremities, and he sank into the hot waters with a heavy sigh.   

His body ached from their time riding across the hills. His ass needed the break, even if they did take moments to dismount and eat and clean their clothes, his pushing to continue was taking its toll. Not knowing where their next group of bandits to slaughter made him anxious, but there wasn’t much he could do. The trail had gone cold, and until they found even a hint of Hito, they’d have to make do.  

Ryoma sat beside him, breathing a sigh of relief and then slipped his arm around him under the water. It was cautious, the way his fingers just barely touched his waist, hiding the fact that they were very much together, just in case someone walked in. He wanted nothing more than for the samurai to just go for it, make his claim on him, but he understood. Even with no one knowing who they were, the mere fact that they were two men living an older tradition in a changing word, it was better to not draw too much attention.  

“I forgot how little privacy there was in the public baths,” Ryoma sighed as the other bathers started to file in.  

“We were spoiled at home,” Okita murmured back. “Ya were right ‘bout needin’ the break, but now I just miss our quiet garden,”  

“Me too…we could always give up now. Go home, forget all of this,”  

“As if. I’ll go until that man is dead. And I got the swords back,” Okita shook his head.   

“And what are you going to do with them after? Display them?”  

That got him stumped, chewing on the inside of his cheek. What was his plan once he recovered the last pieces of his Mentor and Nenja? Okita hadn’t thought beyond getting revenge and recovering his things. It wasn’t just about the swords anymore. He had threatened Ryoma’s existence, even Haruka’s and Yuta’s. Maybe even Nagakura’s.   

Frowning, he turned his head away. “I dunno. I just know he needs t’ die,”  

He could feel Ryoma staring at him, and he could feel his judgement. It made his skin prickle and go cold, shivering a little as he looked anywhere but at his lover.   

Hito deserved death for all he’d done. This was justice on all fronts. If Ryoma wanted, he’d give the swords away after, but he needed to get them back first. It had been violating enough to have them taken from him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hold onto those memories anymore. He and Ryoma had a good thing now. Something he didn’t want to lose to a memory of a man who kept him for…what? What had Gen-san seen in him besides comfort and security? How much of it was love?  

How much of it was convenience?  

What of Ryoma felt the same way?  

“Did you get lost in your head?” He heard the samurai murmur and Okita whipped his head around, frowning.  

“No! Just tryna figure out how t’ display a massive set of armor and swords and stuff and make it look amazin’! Maybe it should be the center piece of the livin’ area!”   

“…I don’t know if I want to distract from the inner garden,”  

“Well, maybe that’s where I’ll put it!” Okita crossed his arms. “Right in the middle!”  

“Nii-san is suddenly so prickly. All I did was ask!”  

“Yeah! Well…that’s the problem! Don’t ask if ya ain’t gonna like the answer! Now shut up and marinate. It ain’t like we’ll get a chance for hot bath again once I find that asshole,”  

Ryoma sighed dramatically, squeezing his waist under the water. “Yeah, yeah. Even though I’m tired of cold rivers and the hard ground…”  

“Startin’ t’ think yer experience as an orphan wasn’t even that bad. The ground is good fer ya. Makes ya a man!”  

“Makes my back hurt, but whatever you say,”  

It almost felt like home, arguing in the bath. Almost. If not for the sick pit of dread in Okita’s stomach that was starting to form.  

He needed to find Hito quickly, or finding Gen-san’s blade would just become a fool’s errand.  

---

The rest of their short stop in the village was spent eating, sleeping and watching Ryoma attempt to draw. Or at least, Okita could only assume it was an attempt. He was oddly cagey as he hid the pad of paper from him any time he walked by. Even reaching for it had him slapping his hand away.   

But when it came time to leave, it was packed up with the rest of their things, shoved into a saddle bag on Kaze’s hip. They road through the town, walking carefully through the small crowd as the residents steered clear of them. Okita felt a thought cross his mind about how much Kyo had changed, becoming a place where foreign influence was taking over, compared to smaller towns like this where they still held traditions. It was nice to see more kimono fashion than leather and suits. Even seeing wooden buildings and dirt roads made things feel more like home.  

Times were changing though. Soon they’d have to cut their hair and take on tight pants and coats, leaving behind the life they held onto as samurai.  

They weren’t even samurai anymore. With no master, cut loose from the Shinsengumi, they were no better than the ronin they had cut down. Okita didn’t care though. Bandit, ronin, samurai, he’d been it all. He’d hold the title until the end, even if it killed him.  

Reaching the gate of the town, the two men broke into a gallop, sending their horses down the path of packed dirt that would lead to their next destination. Wherever that ended up being. The Mad Dog still had no clue where Hito and his posse went, but he hoped it was somewhere close. They’d already made it far, a week of travel bringing them nearly to the mid point of Japan if his map reading back in town was correct.  

The path wound through rolling green hills and tight knit families of trees, passing small villages and farms. Rice patty fields filled with men and women caught his single eye as they passed. Their simple life called to him now, the life he and Ryoma temporarily put on hold in their own village long behind them. He hoped they were safe. He hoped Haruka was safe, worried that she could get hurt again if they were wrong about this chase.  

It felt like Hito had always been two steps ahead, dangling the swords and revenge above him while he fell for his trap every time. If he could only gain some knowledge that would put them ahead, maybe he’d have the advantage again.   

And as luck would have it, he found his first clue on the horizon.  

On a backdrop of clear blue skies sat the remains of a once large town. There were no clouds in the sky above them, but the village created the illusion of such with the smoke from several old fires rising into the air. The stench of flames and smoldering wood made Okita’s nose twitch and he snarled, whipping the reigns of his horse to push Haku harder. Behind him, Ryoma did the same, sending Kaze blazing down the trail with them as they approached what they hoped was just an accident.  

As they got closer the smell of smoke and burning bodies grew stronger. Ryoma yanked Kaze’s reigns to stop him at the edge of the village as Okita came to a stop ahead at the broken, shattered gates. Dismounting, they both drew their blades and cautiously walked through what felt like the entrance to a grave.  

On the ground were several burning and bloody remains of the people who lived there. It was a small town, with barely even ten buildings, or rather, the remains of them. The roadside inn was still burning, the crackling of flames loud against the silence around them. The homes of once living residence were nothing but white, ember laden husks. Even the road was blackened with soot and blood, unrecognizable.  

Ryoma stepped up beside Okita, swallowing thickly as their eyes passed over the carnage before them.  

“Hito?” He asked, voice quiet as if to not wake the dead.  

“Yeah…”  

“Then let’s see what we can find,”  

It seemed he found his first clue.