#leeff

“Bro. Bro.” Yukimura’s voice creaked, wobbled,and then cracked as he hucked in a breath, thick with emotive confession. Hishand, large and strong, clapped down on Saizo’s shoulder, and squeezed,grasping with enough pressure that, had Saizo not gently shifted his balance inanticipation of that strength, it might have cracked the bone underneath.

Saizo did not bothersighing.

It wouldn’t do any good.

He blandly resolved toshake down every last distiller in radius of the town. It would serve themright, for serving his lord so much.

“I just.” Yukimurasniffled, lip wobbling beneath the sake flush staining his cheeks. His otherhand found the other shoulder, grip fervent, arms locked as he shook just once.“I just love you. So much, man.”  

Saizo delicately—insomuch as he could, as it required a notinsignificant amount of force to dislodge—removed each hand from his shoulder,two fingers pinched on the skin as he returned them to their owner. Yukimura’sbright blue stare sparkled with the stars. And alcohol. Saizo reminded himself,again, not to sigh. “Yes, dear.”

Yukimura hiccupped, and responded to the return of his appendageby flinging himself at Saizo, who sidestepped gracefully, only for somewrestler instinct from the larger man to kick in, and take him down anyway with a lightning quick snap of arms and chest that even a pinwheeling hop could not correct for. Hesnarled faintly as his back hit the ground, wriggling ineffectively as Yukimurawrapped him in a bear hug and wailed. “You’re…you’re m’best friend in the world. The WHOLEworld!”

“Mmn.” Saizo squirmed in the iron grip.

“We’re BEST FRIENDS. We’re BROS. We’re FWB!”

Saizo did not choke, exactly, but he did take a single careful breath before aneyebrow arched He went very, incredulously still, drawl dangerously soft. “…we are what now.” 

“Family With my Bestie.” A trilled, happy croon, overlapped with Saizo’s exasperated snort, and then a smile as wide as the sea, before it felt into earnest concern, desperate for Saizo to understand, “You’re…you’re my…I just—it’s like. Youknow? You know?”

Saizo wanted very much to pinch the bridge of his nose, and tell Yukimura that what he was was soused and sentimental, buthis arms were pinned. “I am aware, yes.” Idiothung silently in the air after. Yukimura just beamed. Tried to sit up, swayed,and went back down. Saizo went with him, scowling at the night sky and the lingering stink of alcohol and overexuberance. Comforting himself with dreams of shattered jugs of sake, he patted Yukimura’s back idly. 

They say Nobunaga atehis last meal there.

Was it poisoned?

“Nope.” Yahiko manages a smile. He also manages, with herculean effort, to not slam the plates down butinstead place them gently in front of the gossiping customers, hoping theenchanting aroma will distract them from their chatter. It does, and he moveson, only to catch another whisper.

I heard they went to war over the chef from this place – the Toyotomi andTokugawa. That they both ate here. Hewants to glare, but he beams instead. “Yeah that’s us! The food that fueledunification. Can I get you another bowl? Great if you’ve got a battle for thefuture coming up.”  The men laugh, andone of them guffaws that he does indeed, his mother-in-law is coming to visit. “I’llget you two.” Yahiko croons, and takes their coins, smoothly letting themdisappear as the conversation steers to family, welcome and unwelcome alike.

It’s been like this for years. Since he was barely a teenager.Since Date Masamune and Sanada Yukimura had half of a brawl and ruffians broke hissister’s hairpin. Since she vanished in the night, to take his place.

He still dreams about that. Still wakes up and rememberswhat it was like when she was gone,and going after her would have gotten them both killed. He blows air across histeeth, reminding himself that it worked out just fine, didn’t it? It scareshim, that it might not have, that had she gone to another lord, the story mighthave been different. But if he thinks about it too much, the guilt turns hisstomach sour and his mood black, and he won’t get nearly as many tips. So heshoves it down, and thinks of his niece and nephews instead, and as another group of customers startsgossiping about the supposedly magic sway his sister’s cooking has held over Sengoku’ssamurai warlords, that it’s a good thing he loves her so darn much.

His cooking haswon award after award. He could have had any posting he wanted.

But he loves his dad’s restaurant. Especially with hismother older now, slower than she was when he was young. With his sister in hercastle, though he knows she still haunts the kitchens as often as she does the receivingrooms. This restaurant? It’s his. Andthey may come for the stories—or to investigate their truth, he’s still fairly convinced the group of stunningwomen who claimed to be traveling entertainers were in fact ninja, from thegleam of blades he’d seen when one of them had involuntarily shifted in delightat the taste of his cooking—but they stayfor his food.

Besides, he is half afraid, just a tiny bit, that there may be something to the whispers, and if itruns in the blood, well. He’s not exactly interesting in being the prettyhusband of some grand princess, should she somehow find herself captive to herstomach and his cooking.

For a wary moment, he eyes the bowls he’s just brought out.

Nah.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled when he said it, that horrible, heartaching twistof his lips that was more self-deprecating grimace than I was any indicator ofcheer and joy. So different than the expression you were used to on his lips,but you loved it all the same, because it was his. Teeth chattering, you reached out a hand, fingertips coldwhere they brushed a cheek, beloved and fragile like frosted, preciousparchment.

“Don’t be sorry,” You murmured, though your lips were bluearound the words, fumbling and frozen, clumsy to form and harder to speak. Howto get across that there was still nowhere else you’d rather be? No arms you’drather have around you? That the meager warmth of him was greater than any coldseeping its way in. “We’ll just…pretend.” You wriggled closer, sucking in thescent of him as he held you impossibly tighter.

Some of the sparkle returned, tinged with sorrow. “What doyou want to pretend, doll?”

“It’s a hot summer night.” You murmured, feeling sluggishand boneless against him, relaxing into the restless, fretting circles hishands traced over your back. “Sticky and humid. Birds singing.”

He laughed, and you felt it, and warmed for it. “Bugsbuzzing.”

“Mmhmm.” You agreed, and his touch, at once too tight andnot enough, drowned out the howling wind in favor of creaking insects and lazy,rustling leaves. “Streams flowing.” His lips brushed your hair, pressure morethan heat, and you sighed, cool, sleepy navy creeping into the edges of yourclosed eyes. There was more. More to summer, that you felt you ought to recall, but it was lost to that imperturbable touch of sleep.

HAVE A SUPERHEROVILLAIN AU

“I am…” Youlicked your lips, as a myriad of options flitted through your thoughts in rapidsuccession. Frightened. Irritated.Slightly aroused. Deeply concerned. Certain you have the wrong person. Seriouslynot happy about the handcuffs. Wondering why your shoes look so polished. “A bit confused.” You finally settled on, trying to shift into aslightly more comfortable position against your bindings. One of the henchman,a younger fellow with dark hair, eyed them sympathetically, but there was analmost imperceptible shake of his head. A warning, before his eyes went back tothe villain in gold, frown on his features as he scanned the horizon for thearrival of your would-be-hero. He didn’t bother to glance at you, but the sneerthat curled his otherwise pleasant-appearing lips was indication enough thathe’d heard.

“Consideringyour failure to grasp even such simpleand basic a command as ‘keep yourmouth shut’, I hardly find that surprising.”

“Asshole.“

He was there, suddenly,in front of you, only the rustle of golden fabric re-settling around hisshoulders and the whisper of your own hissed gasp to indicate the movement thathad been too fast to see, if it had happened at all.

He smiled.

A lovelysmile. A gentleman’s smile, beneath the laurel-wreathed mask, gleaming in thesunlight, and you were suddenly all too aware of the heat on the roof, thesun’s rays pounding the concrete to sweltering, of the rope at your wrists andtoo tight around the diner apron you had only just tied on when he came, of theyawning, gaping drop to the streets below, and the sudden, irrational hysteriathat no one was coming. No one at all.

It was justyou, and a smile.

“Did yousay something?”

Youshivered at the quietness of it. Scorching sun held little up against thatwhispered tone, low and molten and venomous, as though the sun couldn’t seepthrough the cracks to the cavern that hate came from, as though every moment ofevery day that had been unpleasant and miserable and wretched had beendistilled into dripping poison, concentrated into the barest tips of his teethto trickle insouciantly past a pretty, potent, miserable smile.

Youwondered if he felt the heat, on the roof, or if he sought it.

You’renot fooling anyone.

Toramatsu stiffens, stops, even as he knows that’s exactlywhat his lord wanted, expected. He sighs at himself for letting it show, evenas he knows hiding it would have been worse. He turns back to Ieyasu, whoseeyes are on a correspondence on his desk, sneer still on his lips. Those eyes,copper and venom, slide to his page, and Toramatsu meets them withoutflinching, expression calm and quiet. He should leave it. Let his lord becontent with having landed the blow.

But he thinks about her smile, and isn’t quite ready to lose.“I’m not trying to.”

“Liar.” Ieyasu hisses the word, even as his face is nowschooled to utter calm. Indolent boredom, those red-gold curls sweeping overthe hand his cheek is proper into.

You’re not fooling anyone.

She jumps at the sound, flinging her hand behind her back before his words sink in. She blinks at him, framed in the light of her kitchen (hers only in that she has made a home of it, technically, of course, it is Ieyasu’s, but for the moment he seems content to let her have the claim so long as she never actually voices it aloud) and eloquently blurts out, “Huh?”

Toramatsu sighs, and sits next to her, a small frown sitting serenely on his features, and she thinks again how delicate they are, for someone who deals out so much death. He holds out his hand.

She blinks at it.

He makes a ‘come here’ gesture, and when she is still uncomprehending, he reaches behind her, and pulls the injured hand gently into his own. His eyes are on it, not her, when he sighs. “What were you thinking?”

Shame flushes her cheeks, burning them hotter than the fire they sit next to. “I wasn’t.” She confesses. It earns her a smile, faint and less exasperated than the frown, and she anticipates a scolding, but he shrugs.

At the end of it all, exhaustion makes your vision gray andyour limbs like water. The thought that he is as tired as you, that he hasn’teaten, rings in your ears like ripples in a pond and the start of a protest forms,making it to a slurred, sleepy murmur. He hushes it with the brush of hisfingers, barely touching your lips but entirely clear. He lays you down on thebedding, though you half-toppling onto them helps. His breathless laugh isquiet and quick, you’d miss it if you didn’t know him, didn’t seek out hissound like a sunflower tracking across the sky in search of the sun. You hearthe rustle of bedding beside you. Your eyes are already closed, but your handreaches.

PLEASE DON’T GET UP OUT OF MY SPACE PLEASE STAY ILU

“Please,” The plate in her hand slipped, but instinct curled her fingers before it could fall, though she abandoned it quickly to the counter before a repeat could occur. “You said please.”

“I did no such thing.” The tone was peevish and haughty, tossed from the side of his scowl as his shoulders straightened to drop a golden glower in her direction.

She was too dazed to acknowledge it, “You never say please.” The murmur left her lips, and they wrapped themselves into a dizzy smile as delight settled into her stomach as sweetly as strawberries. “But you said please. To me.”