agogelogs | This is where the flow has brought us

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This is where the flow has brought us

WHO? Yoshitsugu Ōtani (

hakanai) & Takatora Tōdō (

handtowels)
WHAT? A heavy conversation needs to be had at some point or other, so Yoshitsugu encourages Takatora to talk about the Battle of Sekigahara before his dear friend gets too distracted (and too protective).
WHEN? Late 1792, Paris
ANYTHING ELSE? Talk of violence, death and some heavy emotional stuff.

***

It hadn't taken too long to work out what was going on with Takatora. Learning about the true nature of the flow of time, combined with how his friend had been acting since they had discovered one another working for COST, had led Yoshitsugu to a conclusion fairly quickly; he just hadn't brought it up yet. It hadn't been necessary and besides, there had been plenty of strangeness and odd battles to adjust to.

Now, though?

Sat at the desk in the small room he was currently renting, Yoshitsugu leaned back in his chair and tapped the table while he waited. The temper in this grand city was at boiling point, promising violence, and the execution he'd witnessed probably just the first he'd get to 'enjoy.' It was hard to remain completely unaffected, witnessing a man lose his head and the majority of the crowd react in such an delighted manner... Yoshitsugu was a calm and practical man, he knew what war and sacrifice were, but even he felt unnerved at such a display. Oh, he didn't show it, but it happened nonetheless.

Takatora had clearly been affected too but in his case, it really did show. Strongly. He'd been protective of Yoshitsugu before but not to this degree; the message he'd sent suggesting Takatora would be locking him up soon was only half a joke. There was a link, there, and it was driving his companion to distraction. Distraction was dangerous. They couldn't afford to be distracted in a 'war' like this.

"Over there."

He waved towards the food he'd collected earlier when Takatora returned, not even bothering with a greeting beyond a slight smile. Time to draw back the veil.

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Takatora's hands trembled and his expression crumpled. A sob tore from his throat.

What was the point in confirming it if Yoshitsugu had already foreseen his end and their parting? Yoshitsugu got what he wanted. Of course Takatora could not bear to watch Yoshitsugu die a slow and agonising death from seppuku, nor fail to enact Yoshitsugu's final request; what choice did Takatora have but to act as Yoshitsugu's second and cut off his head?

My dream has been shattered. But your dream will continue. Live on, old friend, and keep your faith. Please assist me in my death. I will not surrender to Ieyasu.

But Takatora had to live with the weight of that, day in, day out.

One by one his tears dripped down onto the table top.

"Why...?! Why couldn't you have lived?!"

Yoshitsugu did not immediately reply, expression almost unreadable as he watched Takatora cry in silence for a few seconds. Eventually he reached out to grasp one of his friend's hands lightly; it was a familiar gesture for them, had been since their younger days when they were war orphans with nothing but each other.

Simpler days, those, despite the poverty. The years of war and conflict and loss had not had time to wear down their souls.

"You already know why." Even now Yoshitsugu wouldn't be anything less than direct and to the point, though his voice had taken on an almost gentle note. "But I can see that faithful, dutiful Takatora survived well in the new era of his dream, even with a hurting heart."

He squeezed Takatora's hand. That dream had never needed Yoshitsugu to be a part of it, after all. He might have been wanted, but not needed. Mitsunari, on the other hand, had needed sensible people at his side as they swept forward towards doom in the name of a unfulfillable but beautiful dream.

Nonetheless, he was well aware of how much pain that would leave Takatora with.

"I am very thankful, and very proud."

Takatora gripped Yoshitsugu's hand tightly, desperately, as though it might somehow keep them together.

He knew why. Because Yoshitsugu's dream was broken. Because Yoshitsugu chose to die for Mitsunari. He was not resentful, not really. He just wished that Yoshitsugu had chosen otherwise, that he'd found a way, the right plea, anything to make Yoshitsugu live for him.

It hurt to face it. It hurt to know that no matter what happened now or in the future it would not be enough to change Yoshitsugu's fate. His throat was tight; his broad shoulders shook as the tears came faster.

Like back then, he found no answer but for one.

"Yoshitsugu...!"

He clutched their joined hands to his chest as he wept in earnest.

It was so strange to see Takatora affected like this, his pain so honestly and vividly displayed; moments of vulnerability were a very rare thing for his lifelong friend to share. That said a lot about just how wounded he was. Fear had brought grief back to the surface ever since they had been reunited in that scorching desert several months ago and it brought Yoshitsugu no joy at all to expose it so fully.

But it was necessary. They would ride it out together and bring Takatora into a more stable place, even if the knowledge of another future parting could never be wiped away.

After a few moments Yoshitsugu tugged his hand away from Takatora's but instead reached out with his arms, palms faced upwards, in an obvious gesture. A comforting hand was not enough in a moment like this. Takatora needed more than that, and if he was honest, perhaps Yoshitsugu did too.

"Come here."

It wasn't a command, but there was a level of expectation there.

Takatora instinctively flinched as Yoshitsugu tugged his hand free, an action that echoed the moments before Yoshitsugu committed seppuku; thankfully what came next was worlds apart from that terrible day.

He did not need to be told twice.

His tears unabated, Takatora moved into Yoshitsugu's outstretched arms. He pressed his face against Yoshitsugu's shoulder and his hands curled into the fabric covering Yoshitsugu's back.

This is what he had lost; his lifelong companion, his only constant. Even when they were physically apart there had been letters, and Takatora had known they would see each other again. The aftermath of Sekigahara left him with nothing more than a grave in a grove of camellia trees. For all of Yoshitsugu's dark and playful promises, the only ghosts present had been his memories of happier days lived with an open heart.

It hurt, too, to have Yoshitsugu returned to him. Never more so than now, enclosed in Yoshitsugu's arms and surrounded by his scent, able to feel the rise and fall of his lean chest. But that was only the pain of numbness receding, as a deep and unnamed emotion thawed in Takatora's battered soul.

Pulling Takatora in close, Yoshitsugu remained silent while his friend cried his tears out; he simply held him tight, occasionally rubbing a hand along his spine to offer some mild comfort. There was no need for anything else until the flood ceased and it was a considerable outpouring indeed... time spent holding it back had clearly only made it more intense.

What had happened for Takatora, what would come for Yoshitsugu, was the result of war and the inability to be two people rather than one. It was impossible to remain with both Mitsunari and Takatora because of this which was why Yoshitsugu had chosen to divide himself in a different way, giving his life to Mitsunari and his soul to this sorrow-filled warrior he had known since childhood. No small gesture at all, layered with meaning and emotion. But right now perhaps too much for Takatora to hear.

When the tears ebbed and a quiet settled into the room, the gentle place on the other side of sadness, Yoshitsugu stopped moving his hands and tapped his companion's back.

"A little better?"

He didn't move to let go, though.

Takatora made no attempt to move away either.

"Being pitied by you... it's pathetic how comforted I feel. Don't, uh..."

Takatora trailed off and turned his head to rest his cheek on Yoshitsugu's shoulder and glance up with his blue eyes. He swallowed and started again.

"St-stay like this, for a little longer."

All he wanted was to hold Yoshitsugu close while he could.

Typical Takatora; self-deprecating no matter what he had accomplished. Yoshitsugu was certain that his companion would always find a way to compare himself to a handtowel, even if their journeys with COST brought them greater glory than anything in their homeland could.

Some things would never change, remaining consistent as the flow dragged them along. But that was fine. Yoshitsugu smiled down at his friend and moved a hand to pat spiky black hair instead.

"You didn't call yourself pathetic when you would lay your head in my lap."

If Takatora wanted some time like this, that was fine as well. Why not? This time with COST was going to be difficult, but it had brought this gift as well. Ignoring the flow's kinder moments would be foolish.

Takatora's mouth twitched. He didn't have it in him to smile right now, but that was as close as he came.

"Why would I? Your lap was— is comfortable, but that was never about comforting myself."

Only his stumbling over the tense to use detracted from the shamelessness of his words.

Now that he was done crying, they ought to have a proper conversation. He just... selfishly, he didn't want to start it.

Close was an achievement; Yoshitsugu's smile did not diminish but it did grow unusually soft, by his standards. He dropped his hand to squeeze Takatora's shoulder instead.

"Oh? I won't suggest you settle there now, then, if it's not about comforting yourself. I thought you might find it easier to talk with such a pillow for your head."

He almost mentioned Mitsunari and the obvious anger such an act that would invoke in Yoshitsugu's other dear friend, but perhaps a joke along those lines was not what the flow demanded right now. That small tease was enough.

Time to push onwards.

"You don't have to tell me everything, Takatora." His voice returned to his previous calm, thoughtful tone as he knowingly allowed that selfishness. "Just enough to ease your distraction. You are too ridiculous to avoid some fussing but less is necessary."

It had been about the pleasure of doing so; perhaps Mitsunari was right to call him a pervert.

"I'll take it anyway," Takatora said quickly, shifting to lay his head on Yoshitsugu's lap.

Once settled there, he took a deep breath. In two years he had spoken nothing of what happened at Sekigahara and locked away everything that crushed his soul. Yoshitsugu's name had been cast into silence; they life they'd shared another. His voice cracked as he spoke, though he tried to speak stoically.

"The Western Army was crushed in battle, but you survived the fighting. You were waiting for me to find you. You knew I'd come to try and bring you into Lord Ieyasu's service."

Takatora squeezed his eyes shut.

"You didn't care about the offer. You just wanted— wa-wanted me to help you die well."

Thankfully he had no tears left to cry. His breath hitched and his shoulders shook, and for a moment he was silent.

"I said I'd dig you a grave if you needed one, didn't I. When Odani fell."

"You did."

That sounded... right. As he'd expected things to be. Either a direct death in battle against Takatora or a request made as it drew to an end; seppuku, with the loved one at his side. Because Takatora coming to beg him back to his side was inevitable, wasn't it? Even if he'd claimed before he had accepted their seperate paths.

Yoshitsugu placed a hand in Takatora's hair, idly stroking fingers through it. An actual gesture of comfort and gratitude this time.

"So Takatora acted as my second and gave me a grave as well. A serious and kindly gift indeed."

No humour for the rest of this conversation. Yoshitsugu was quietly sincere, watching and listening to this grief and pain, memorising and appreciating the meaning of these invisible scars.

Takatora opened his eyes at Yoshitsugu's touch, and stared into nothing.

"Yes," he whispered.

For moment he focused only on the stroke of Yoshitsugu's fingers, his heart aching.

"Yoshitsugu, I—"

But his throat seized, and unable to expel the rest of his words he swallowed them back. Half of a sob escaped him.

"I buried both pieces of you together in camellia grove. The way the blossoms fall around your grave... you would l-l-love—"

He gritted his teeth and exhaled harshly. It took a moment for him to recompose himself.

"You're capable of looking after yourself. I know I'm being overprotective. I know, I just... I cannot lose you again, Yoshitsugu."

Camellia flowers? Oh, they had to be red camellia because that really was a perfect setting for a warrior's grave... well. If you were a samurai like Yoshitsugu. Many loathed the flower because for any who wielded a blade they were symbolic of an end, a noble and graceful death, but to him that was a natural thing. Why pity the way their heads fell whole on the ground?

Their other meaning, of course, was related to love, which made it doubly meaningful for someone burying the body of someone they cared for.

"A grave amongst the flames of a heart is indeed something I would appreciate." He glanced down. "What spirit wouldn't enjoy partaking in the offerings left for them while surrounded by such a sight?"

Twisting a lock of hair between his fingers and tugging it, he this time met Takatora's gaze directly.

"You cannot? Dear Takatora, you know you might have to." It wasn't an unkind comment, not at all; just necessary realism. This was a dangerous war they had chosen to take part in. "But it's also ridiculous to miss the chance we wouldn't otherwise have because you distract yourself only with that fear. The flow dictated you should only meet me again in death, but here we are anyway, in a grand dream. I'd like to spend the time here with a Takatora that has remembered his rare but cute smile. Do you want to remember it as a time spent lost to agonising over our wounds?"

The pain of having his hair pulled did exactly what Yoshitsugu wanted; it made Takatora's gaze snap into focus and dart straight to Yoshitsugu himself.

"Ow."

The tug, the words; both warranted that response. But Yoshitsugu, was, as always, right.

"No," Takatora said after a moment, honest. Final.

Just that admission helped to ease some of the weight.

"A new dream..."

It was... nice, to think of it that way. More than nice, really: it would be the first dream that they shared since the Azai perished. The corners of his mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile.

Then he spluttered as he went over that speech again in his mind.

"What? What did you say? C-cute?"

If one had to be nostalgic, wasn't it better to be so over the pleasant times? Especially when those were granted against all sense, defying everything they had thought they knew about the world.

...not that their time in COST would be a 'fun' adventure. This was war, and the two locations they had known alone were brutal and full of hardship. There would be suffering. Hard times. Takatora would have reasons to worry, even Yoshitsugu himself would. Forgetting that was foolish. But it was equally foolish to avoid seizing the moments of happiness they found in the chaos.

"You heard what I said." Dropping Takatora's lock of hair, Yoshitsugu instead poked him (gently) on the chin. "Stop acting like it's an unusual thing for me to call you."

For now, they could pursue a shared dream again.

Takatora could not resist smiling at that poke to his chin; so absurd, so perfectly Yoshitsugu.

"I thought you did that just to tease Mitsunari. He was always afraid that I'd steal you away. Not that any of my attempts ever worked."

In fairness, Takatora had made no secret of offering Yoshitsugu a place in the Tokugawa faction every time Hideyoshi called upon Lord Ieyasu to serve the Toyotomi in their heyday. Both on and off the battlefield.

Funny how Mitsunari never had anything to actually be jealous of.

While he did not like Mitsunari personally, thought little of him as a leader and he certainly hated the choice that Yoshitsugu made at Sekigahara, even Takatora knew that Mitsunari was nothing like the ilk of Nobunaga and Hideyoshi.

Takatora sighed.

"...Can you at least spend less time around guillotines? How many executions have we seen this week?"

Some of it was, indeed, to tease Mitsunari, but not all. Some was to tease just Takatora, and other times to tease the both of them. His two dearest friends, so very alike and yet so very, very different... some of Yoshitsugu's fondest memories consisted of baiting them at one and the same time.

What would Mitsunari make of COST? Yoshitsugu pondered the thought for a moment. He'd be good for keeping numbers but the idea of him trying to blend into all these different time periods and act as anything other than himself? He'd be worse at it than their comrades with the unusually coloured hair.

At least Mitsunari's passion for the cause would be real. That fire burned many, but also drew others in and inspired them to work against insurmountable odds.

Even if they could not be overcome.

"Enough to solidify my claims as a man of 'China' impressed and enamoured by this brave revolution."

Yoshitsugu settled both of his hands either side of Takatora's head, brushing against it with his thumb occasionally. He'd suspected seppuku was involved when Takatora had become ill at the sight of a guillotine and was not so unkind as to force more upon his companion now he knew for sure.

"It's okay. My devoted follower can go off to do other important tasks, if he likes."

Soothed by every minute spent on Yoshitsugu's lap, Takatora began to relax.

As much as he never wished to face another beheading in his life, if he avoided all executions someone might notice. There was too much suspicion in their air and too many accusations flying around this impressive and imposing city. Their mission had to come first.

"My master can't spare me every time."

Really, he should have stopped at 'me', but right now he felt weak and the offer was an irresistible kindness. Yoshitsugu would be fine without him. Even if the thought of separation still made his heart clench.

Yoshitsugu snorted, a half-laugh, before leaning forward enough that several long locks of black hair fell over his shoulders and brushed against Takatora's face.

"I can spare you whenever I wish." His eyes went half-lidded, catlike. "You should trust your kind and benevolent leader."

This was just lighthearted teasing, of course; Takatora knew well just how much complete nonsense Yoshitsugu talked. It was just... normal. This was normal.

For them, anyway. And that was the point.

Takatora gave Yoshitsugu a crooked, small smile. "Or else you'll read my mind?"

Kind and benevolent indeed.

Yoshitsugu's hair tickled his face; Takatora endured it for a number of seconds before he lifted a hand to attempt to tuck those stray locks behind Yoshitsugu's ears. Without thinking, his hand, rather than falling, came to rest on the back of Yoshitsugu's neck.

If there was intent there, it faded after a moment, and a touch of colour graced Takatora's cheeks at he dropped his hand back to his side.

This was all, at the very least, some progress; Takatora was acting a little lighter, relaxing more into Yoshitsugu's company. It wasn't healing. Healing from a wound as large as the one on Takatora's heart was not something that happened quickly, if ever.

"You ascribe me the power to read minds and then act like that?"

But if it helped him cope, that was good enough, for now.

Yoshitsugu shook his head so his hair fell down yet again and smiled more widely, offering something rare from himself; an open look of fondness, bare and uncomplicated.

"Takatora may not think much of the flow, but he rejects it at the most ridiculous times."

That look only made the colour on Takatora's cheeks deepen considerably.

"I'm not rejecting anything."

He thrust his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a handtowel, then raised both hands to gather up Yoshitsugu's hair, which he proceeded to tie back with said handtowel.

Yoshitsugu's expression did not change one bit, but he stared at Takatora in complete silence for a few seconds before glancing away and switching his gaze to the window instead.

"...perhaps I should go and kiss the Lady of this house."

Raising a hand, he picked at the handtowel now securing his hair back and asked, in a serious tone:

"She's made it clear she would quite like to lay in my lap herself. What do you think?"

Once done tying Yoshitsugu's hair back, Takatora's hands lingered at Yoshitsugu's shoulders. He wet his lips, anticipation drumming in his chest. His fingers curled just before Yoshitsugu spoke, as he half-shifted so that he could—

But then Yoshitsugu spoke, and Takatora froze.

He huffed as he let go and dropped back down, turning away as a stab of humiliation pierced him.

"...Idiot," he muttered, flustered, though it was unclear which of them it was directed at.

There was only response to that comment, wasn't there?

"You can be."

Eyes bright with humour and fondness both, Yoshitsugu leaned forward and shifted enough so he could kiss his sulking Takatora's cheek instead. He absolutely couldn't help himself with his teasing, he really couldn't, but look at that flustering, that reaction! Wasn't it cute?

"I'll make it up to you by sharing the secret handtowel dance of the cats, now you've put one on my head."

Takatora audibly inhaled at the kiss to his heated cheek, then turned back, helplessly drawn in.

"Y-you... Yoshitsugu," he said thickly, as his initial confusion gave way as he understood the reference.

It was suitably ghostly for his friend.

He smiled hopelessly, and spoke almost tentatively. Maybe because he feared to have it, but overwhelmingly, he wanted it.

Secret handtowel dances very much included.

"I'm idiotic enough to love a bakaneko."

This time Takatora took no chances and tilted his head up to capture Yoshitsugu's mouth with his own before Yoshitsugu could sit back.

Fortunately Yoshitsugu did not intend to tease Takatora this time; he remained still, waiting for the inevitable second attempt at a kiss and happily pressing back into it. Not with too much force, of course. Simple and gentle was what was right in this moment.

Which made the experience no less good.

"You do have terrible taste," Yoshitsugu agreed after, quiet and obviously satisfied as he pulled back just a fraction. "But it's too late to hide it."

He pressed a finger against his own lips, looking at Takatora thoughtfully. It was absolutely true that he didn't deserve either of his two dear friends; they were both better people than he was. Mitsunari's dream was the one Yoshitsugu had been able to throw himself at, inspired by his more irritable friend's passion for it despite where it would lead, and he'd hoped to repay at least some of the kindness he'd been shown by doing this.

Takatora, though... well. It was probably impossible to ever repay him for what he had done, would do, for Yoshitsugu. A good death and a love that had never faded despite their separate paths? That was far, far more than Yoshitsugu had earned.

So he'd better make good use of this bonus time together, hadn't he? A little extra payment to go with his soul.

"You're well enough now to eat." Yoshitsugu dropped his hand and buried it right back in Takatora's hair. "Then sleep. You're exhausted and look terrible for it."

Takatora, left breathless by the emotion he felt at their tender kiss, pressed their foreheads together for a long moment, smiling with long-lost joy.

"All right," he said, eventually.

This whole conversation had definitely left him feeling exhausted; his soul cleansed, his heart hopeful, but nonetheless wrung out.

So he would eat, then sleep, and face the coming days revitalised.

Beside Yoshitsugu.

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This is where the flow has brought us

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