Opening your eyes to look up at him your smile grew when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Are we still on for dinner then this evening?”

“Of course we are. I have cleared my afternoon schedule and should be home by six.”

Sitting up gently on your elbow you looked down at him, taking in the relaxed expression upon his face. It was something you relished in, because this was something that he only shared with you.

Nobuyuki was always on that could hide his emotions behind that perfect smile of his. The smile that could charm a room. But this. This was something that you were only allowed to see. The way his blue eyes seemed to dance with mischief. Or how the corners of his lips turned upwards and his eyes gently crinkled just so with his real smile.

“I look forward to it then…” and you dipped your head, attempting to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He surprised you before you could kiss him by threading his fingers up into your hair at the back of your head to turn it gently the way he desired to kiss you properly. He moaned softly into it, sending a gentle shiver down your spine, before he pulled away.

“I could simply call out today…”

“You could, but we both know you won’t.”

“My father’s company, though it may be, would not miss me for a day.”

“Hmn, maybe, but would you feel right leaving your meetings this morning in the hands of Yukimura?”

“Saizo should be there…”

“And with those two, this idea doesn’t scare you?”

“No.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

“…I am no match for you it seems.”

“No, you’re not,” with a bit of laughter in your voice you kissed his nose then slowly slipped from his grasp to get up from bed. Pulling your nightgown back over your head you turned your head to look back at him. “So, I’ll go get breakfast started.” and you quickly left the bedroom before that smile could tempt you back into bed.

By the time he had gotten showered and dressed, you had breakfast waiting for him on the dining table. He came up behind you and gently brushed his lips against the back of your neck, smiling against your skin at your soft giggle. You turned about in his arms and kissed him gently.

“Mmn, you’ve had your coffee I see.”

“Yes, for now I have risen,” you kissed him again then slipped out of his arms, knowing full well it was a dangerous place to be if you wished to get ready for work. “Enjoy your breakfast, and I’ll see you tonight.”

“Of course, Dear one.” he stepped close and pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Please say hello to your Mother for me.”

Watching you leave the room he sighed softly. Part of him wishes that he could have spent the day in bed with you, but. He was supposed to be the responsible one. Glancing down at his breakfast he smiled. He found a small folded origami heart near his plate. Picking it up he tilted his head curious, when on the back of it he found a small note from you.

“Have a good day at work.”

With a chuckle he tucked it into his suit coat pocket, then glanced at the time. He was going to be late if he didn’t hurry. Eating quickly, he scooped up his briefcase from the seat nearby and rushed out the door.  

But that wasn’t the only paper heart he would find.

Throughout his day he found them pretty much everywhere he went.

There was one in his briefcase, tucked gently into one of the folders he needed for his morning meeting; “Good luck!”

Another, was gently tucked within his lunchbox; “I made your favorite!”

A third had somehow found its way into his desk’s top drawer; “Just because.”

Each one brought a genuine smile to his face. All in all, he found almost one hundred of them. Each having a different message written by you upon it, and all of them in places where he was sure to find them. Though he was positive he looked silly snooping about his office for them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Upon his arrival home he was quick to unlock the door, eager to see you and have you in his arms. Wanting to remark on the little game you had made for him, he paused just inside the door. You were waiting in the living room for him, hair and makeup done to perfection with the gown he had picked for you for dinner. And he found his breath stolen at the gentle smile you gave him.

“Welcome home.”

Dropping his briefcase at the door he made his way across the room, and gently reached out for you. And once he felt your fingers in his he drew you into his arms, burying his nose into your hair as he held you oh so tightly against him.

“I am home, Dear one.”

With a chuckle you gently pressed your hands to his chest, pushing him back just enough to look up at him and smile. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes,” he replied simply, flashing that smile he only shared with you. “I found the small hearts you left for me.”

“They weren’t just hearts,” and you chuckled at the slight bit of confusion on his face. “You read them, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you found almost all the ways I love you.”

His brows furrowed slightly a moment till he realized what you had done. You left love for him everywhere he went. Not so much in the ways of just saying the words that you loved him, but small things to make him smile and to remind him that you were there.

“I wanted to get you something for Valentines day, but I didn’t know what to get you,” you mumbled softly as you smiled up at him. “And I had heard about putting the hearts in a jar, but I figured, the small hunt for them might make things just a bit more interesting.”

“Interesting indeed,” he smiled. “I am positive that I must have looked half mad to Yukimura and Saizo when I was searching for them in my office.”

“They kinda helped me hide them, so…probably.”

“That explains how one magically appeared in my desk then.”

“Ah,” you chuckled softly the hummed. “Though, there is still one more to find.”

“Oh? And tell me, Dear one, where should I start looking?”

Without a word you moved and pulled one of the small hearts from inside your dress that you had tucked near your left shoulder, and offered it to him. He blinked at it a moment, before he chuckled again and gently took the small red heart from your fingers. Turning it slowly he glanced up at you, then back down to the heart, to turn it over; “I love you. Nobuyuki.”

Huffing out a soft laugh he looked up at you, and before you could say a word he gently cupped your cheek, that small paper heart still in the palm of his hand as he leaned in to kiss you. He let it linger, before breaking it to rest his forehead against yours.

Which is bizarre, because so far Masamune has been nothing if not accommodating while they’ve worked together. When she needs a specific cutting board that’s housed on his side of the kitchen, he will not move out of the way but rather bring the board over to her side. At one point, she stands on her tiptoes, reaching for a jar of shoyu on a high shelf. After a moment of struggle, she gives up, thinking that while not perfect, the dish she’s working on will be alright without it. The next thing she knows, Masamune wordlessly sets the jar down at the side of her cutting board before returning to his station.

Things like that. So small and simple but thoughtful all at once. They set her nerves on fire and then immediately soothe them, a phenomenon that she cannot possibly begin to explain.

Naturally this conflict makes her wonder if her next usual step in the cooking process is the wisest. Best case, nothing happens and she maintains politeness. Worst case, she ends up doing or saying something embarrassing.

She commences an internal debate for several minutes before her bolder side wins, and she ladles a bit of soup into a small dish, turning to her companion. “Masamune-sama,” she starts quietly, holding the dish out for him. “Please tell me what you think.”

He gives a single nod and moves toward her. Long fingers graze hers as he takes the dish from her grasp. It is a brief touch - a fraction of a second, really - but the contact is enough to make her freeze.

If he notices her momentary lapse in sense, he is gracious enough not to comment on it as he sips a mouthful of soup. His visible eye narrows in contemplation, and she holds her breath waiting for the verdict.

After a long second, his face relaxes, and a ghost of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Delicious,” he says. “Maybe just a touch more miso.”

“Of course,” Tomoe nods fervently and turns back to the soup. She tells herself that the heat in her face is just the steam from the pot.

In the end, she fools no one.

—

It’s in the way his hands linger on hers for a second too long when she gives him a fresh towel after training, a gentle appreciation lining his face.

The way his gloved fingertips, warm with unspoken promise, grasp hers at the rim of his helmet as she sees him off to the battlefield with prayers that he will return.

The way he reaches into her space to still her hand on the warmed sake bottle at feasts before pouring her a cup, quietly insisting that this is the very least he can do for her.

It’s in the way that nothing - and yet everything - has changed.

—

Her lord is a creature of habit. For so very long, his routine after dinner was to take tea in his chambers and peruse the minutes from war council, spending many late nights trying to come up with strategies that would make even Kojuro proud.

She is not quite sure how to respond when Masamune begins to break from this routine and take his tea out on the veranda. Logically, she can attribute this to the fact that the trees have begun to flower, welcoming spring. Surely even the strongest of daimyo appreciate fresh air breaks between work.

She can’t be imagining things when she brings Masamune his tea on those nights. She can feel his eyes on her as she carefully pours into his cup and arranges the tray to his liking. The look on his face is so gentle, so unlike the visage he shows his retainers that it makes her chest ache.

He takes the cup, gazes contemplatively at its liquid depths and then at the spot on the floor right in front of the tray. He looks almost like he’s pausing to find words, but ultimately all he says is a thank you, flashing her a small, troubled smile and watching her carefully as she stands up.

She bites her lip, turning to leave. She was sure that…

No. She came to Oshu so that she would live her life with no regrets. Summoning up bravery from the pit of her gut, she whirls back around to meet a look of utter surprise on Masamune’s face. “Masamune-sama, would you mind terribly if I joined you for a bit?” Please.

He blinks several times before shaking his head. The smile returns to his face, and now it reaches his eyes. “Have a seat.”

—

She thought she would have more time. More time on this earth, more time in Yonezawa Castle, more time with Masamune…

But that’s clearly not in the plans for her. Yoshihime’s poison creeps through her body, paralyzing her limbs, crawling its way into her chest and making its home there.

Her breaths come slow, so slow. Her mind goes hazy and thick.

In her last lucid moment, she wishes she could see Masamune once more.

And then she falls, lured into death’s embrace.

—

She thinks she hears a voice, softly reading to her. Then there’s what feels like the press of damp cloths to her skin.

Someone running their fingers through her hair, soothing and rhythmic.

Caught in that space between dreams and reality, she’s not sure how much time passes in this fashion, and she’s not sure if it really matters.

She feels safe and cherished like this, and for now, that’s enough.

When she opens her eyes, Masamune is sitting at her side. He leans in close, brow furrowed, searching her face for - she’s not sure. Recognition? Signs of something wrong?

He looks so worried, though. She doesn’t like it. Not when she’s seen how he looks when he smiles. She blinks slowly, willing her limbs to move, and weakly reaches up to grasp the hand gently cradling her face. The movement jostles his fingers, and the sensation of his touch on the sensitive skin of her neck sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“Masamune-sama,” she calls to him, her voice scratchy and hoarse, but the sound is enough to ease the tension from his frame. His shoulders sag, and his face relaxes. He looks so much younger like this.

“Thank the gods. I thought…” he trails off, swallowing. “I thought I’d lost you.”

The words make her heart skip a beat.

“You didn’t,” Tomoe answers, feeling a bit lightheaded. “I’m right here.”

The corner of his lip curls in a smile. “So you are. Can we keep it that way?”

Perhaps it’s her sleep-addled brain, or perhaps it’s the look in his eyes. Something makes her assertive, more decisive. Or maybe more foolish. Regardless, she finds a courage she didn’t know she had and nuzzles into his hand, briefly pressing her lips to the bottom of his palm before turning her gaze up to him again. “I will be by your side for as long as you wish it.”

Foolish or not, it’s the right thing to do, the right words to say, because his gaze softens with another shade of affection as he answers, “For always, then.”

And she knows, gods she knows - he means it.

—

Things are different after that. Kojuro often comments on how gentle and relaxed Masamune is these days, all the while giving Tomoe meaningful looks.

A few lower-ranking retainers have stopped her in the hall, making a point to tell her how glad they are that their lord has become much less scary and much more approachable.

Shigezane is the most direct, to the point of actually saying to her over dinner one night, “It’s all because of you, Tomoe - thank you for being the one to finally make my cousin happy.”

That in particular makes the heat rush to her cheeks, but she’s not alone. When she looks at the man in question, Masamune also has a rather embarrassed look on his face.

He certainly doesn’t deny it, in any case.

—

Her breath catches in her throat.

Although she’s almost afraid to touch, curiosity and wonder win as she reaches out to run her fingers over the fabric. What fine silk, with such a beautiful muted red color. Images dash along the sleeves and the hem, sparrows and bamboo reeds alike all interweaving for an intricately unique pattern.

The strength in her legs dwindles, and she falls back on her feet, holding the kimono out at arm’s length, unable to believe her eyes. When Masamune had pulled her aside after lunch earlier today and said that he had prepared something for her in her chambers, this was not what she was expecting.

Well… she honestly wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but this is too much.

After the initial shock wears off, she hurries to find him.

It’s an easy enough task. Her lord has taken to gazing up at the moon again on the veranda outside his chambers. When she sees him, her steps falter.

He is decidedly unguarded today, his eyepatch nowhere in sight. He turns to her, his eyes clear and bright and shining like gems.

He’s breathtaking like this. She begins to feel an unbidden stinging at the back of her own eyes.

“Good evening,” he greets her, tone calm and happy and almost shy. “Did… did you see your gift?”

“I did,” Tomoe swallows, approaching him slowly. “But I can’t possibly accept it.”

When his brow furrows, she rushes to add, “It must have been so expensive. The fabric is much too exquisite.”

“Ah,” Masamune’s gaze relaxes, and he gestures to the floor next to him. Tomoe tucks her feet under and obediently takes a seat.

He regards her for several long moments, and she’s won over the urge not to fidget. The goal to maintain a neutral facial expression is less successful however, and she can feel the scarlet steadily taking over her cheeks.

“I gave that to you because I wanted you to have it, that’s all. Unless…” He looks unsure of himself now. “Do you not like it?”

She hurries to shake her head. “No, that’s not it - I love it.”

“But…?” He prompts her.

Tomoe wrings her hands. There is no other way to explain this, so she opts for the truth. “I just… I’m not sure that someone like me should wear something so fine. I am a mere cook’s daughter, after all.”

Understanding dawns over Masamune’s face, and a soft look settles in his eyes. He reaches for her hands, which she willingly gives. His thumbs brush over her palms, sending small tingles up her wrists.

“Cook’s daughter and all,” he says earnestly, “You’re perfect.”

And when he looks like that, what else can she do but believe him?

—

Lingering glances when no one is looking. Eager touches to hands and wrists when passing in the hall.

Long moments standing close together in the kitchen under the guise of tasting food, and staying up late to watch the moon and resting her head on his shoulder.

Sweet, quick kisses in the privacy of his chambers when she brings him his morning tea and secretive, toe-curling kisses in dark corners when they meet at midnight.

All of it makes Tomoe weak-kneed, sends her heart racing and her head up in the clouds, delirious with happiness.

In her more rational moments, she thinks that a relationship in these circumstances isn’t the most stable or secure.

However, she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge those thoughts for very long, pushing them to the back of her mind instead.

That is her first mistake.

—

As she returns from the castle well with a pail of fresh water, Tomoe is greeted with the sight of Kojuro walking with an older man she has never seen before.

The man must be of very high station, judging by the fine quality of his robes. Kojuro nods in her direction, silently acknowledging her, and she bows as the two men pass.

“I look forward to speaking with you again, Katakura-dono,” the stranger says pleasantly. “Tamura Gozen will be very pleased with the arrangement.”

“I am sure. Thank you for taking the time to see us today,” Kojuro says, and while he is polite enough, Tomoe has been around him long enough to identify the tension hidden in his tone.

Curiosity bubbles up inside Tomoe as she returns to the kitchen with the pail. After setting aside some water to boil, she leans back against the wall, thinking about the conversation she just witnessed.

Who was that man? What arrangement was he speaking about? Who was Tamura Gozen?

Why did Kojuro sound that way? If this was some sort of political alliance, should he not have sounded happier than he did?

The questions stew around in her head as she uses the water to make some of Masamune’s favorite mochi. She’s in the middle of rolling it out when she hears someone clear their throat behind her.

Tomoe turns to see Kojuro leaning against the entrance to the kitchen. His brow is furrowed, his lips set in a thin line.

“Kojuro-sama,” she addresses him politely. When he says nothing, she adds hesitantly, “Is something the matter?”

Still he doesn’t say anything, and the look of concentration on his face tells her that he is carefully considering his words. Then, “You have been invaluable to us all. I thank you for everything you have done, especially for Masamune-sama.”

Unsure of where this conversation is headed, she puts her knife down warily.

“In all of my years of service to him, I have not seen Masamune-sama the way he is with you. He is kinder. He’s begun to open his heart more,” Kojuro explains. “It’s because of you.”

She warms at that. “Masamune-sama has changed on his own, surely. All I’ve done is care for him.”

“And that’s precisely why,” Kojuro answers, a hint of a smile on his face. Then he sobers and adds, “Things may change in the next few weeks - in ways that you may not like. As much as I wish I could ask you to stay for his sake, it would be selfish of me to do so. Therefore… should you decide to leave, I wouldn’t fault you for it.”

A heavy, sinking feeling settles in the bottom of her stomach. “Forgive me for being so frank, but… what exactly are you saying, Kojuro-sama?”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “He asked me not to tell you.” Kojuro frowns, taking only a moment to consider it before going on to say, “The man from earlier was a marriage liaison. Masamune-sama is to take a bride.”

His answer is simple, with so few words. But it makes Tomoe wish that she never asked at all.

Their romance is over, and it never even had a chance to really begin.

—

Deep down, she supposes she’s known all along that Masamune would have to take a wife at some point. Even raised from an outsider’s point of view, she knew that in addition to marrying those of a similar social class, samurai were pressured to marry in order to forge political alliances.

She had just… chosen to remain willfully ignorant of that for a while.

But no more.

A sort of vague, sad resignation wells up in her when she speaks to Masamune that night, saying that Kojuro had told her everything.

He shakes his head, insisting that nothing is set in stone. And she comes right back, saying that she understands this is for the good of the Date clan, so he must, he must.

And after many exchanges - tears and embraces and words that hurt but must be said - he agrees with her.

—

They had agreed to meet tonight, but she’s sure he was not expecting this.

The look on Masamune’s face when she enters his chambers is one she has never seen before. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and heated with desire. She wants to commit that face to her memory forever.

Tonight, she is wrapped in the silk of the beautiful red kimono he had given her. The hem kisses the ground, leaving a trail of pure white sparrows and bamboo in her wake.

She has rouge rubbed to her cheeks and lips, imported kohl smudged in the outer corners of her eyes, thanks to Umeko’s help.

Her wrists have been gently perfumed with sweet-smelling oils. Her hair is done up, held in place with the hairpin Masamune had given her so long ago.

She wants to make this a night he will never forget, because she certainly won’t forget either.

Masamune reaches for her then. She goes willingly, melting into his embrace as he presses kisses behind her ear, down her neck.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs into her skin, trailing a hand up her wrist, up her shoulder. Plucking the pin from her hair and setting it down on the floor.

Tomoe’s heart is full as he lowers her to the bedding. She reaches out, wanting him, wanting to be close to him, wanting all of him. He follows, sinking on top of her and taking her lips in hungry, eager kisses.

Vaguely she can feel his hands working to loosen her obi at the same time that she pushes his robes from his shoulders. The warm, balmy air of late summer hits her skin and she sighs blissfully into his mouth.

Masamune is quite the generous lover, apparently. For all the attention he bestows on her, never does he demand the same. He presses kisses into her mouth, her neck, her collarbone and breasts and ribs and hips, some gentle, some bruising.

When he lowers his head to her chest to take a nipple into his mouth, she arches into him. He suckles hard at her, coaxing a low moan out of her throat.

His fingers find purchase at her soft hips, at first squeezing gently, then drifting across the top of her thigh. They dip and ease into her folds, and she cries out. She parts her legs more, his fingers move inside her, stroking and teasing and pulling out and plunging back inside her until she sees stars.

She never did think that she would have this, and through all the sensations in her body, the tingling, and the ever-present heat between her hips, she brings him close, wraps her arms around him. Her fingers shove through his hair and she kisses him deeply, desperately, so he can feel for himself just how much she wants and needs and desires him, even if she cannot keep him.

It feels like forever, the amount of time he spends touching her, exploring all of the most sensitive and responsive spots of her body, that she’s not prepared when he parts from her only to divest himself of the rest of his clothing.

“I want you,” he says, voice low and hoarse with desire. The skin of his neck gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, his pupils blown so wide his eyes are almost black. His chest is flushed and heaves slightly with the effort of just barely holding himself back.

She’s never wished for anything more in her whole life. So she reaches up, cups his face with both her hands. “I’m yours,” she answers, because it’s true.

And when he finally pushes in and fills her up so much she almost can’t take it, then leans forward to take her lips in an achingly sweet kiss, she feels like she could cry.

It might be minutes or it might be hours she spends like that, wrapped up in his embrace as he loses himself in her body, taking her pleasure and giving it back to her tenfold. She wants to stay here like this always, here with him, here in this emotional haze where nothing and everything makes sense.

She can’t tell where she ends and he begins, if her heart is in her chest or in her throat, and just when she feels like her soul could go flying, he brings her back down with a bruising kiss and forearms on either side of her head, locking her in a cage she doesn’t want to escape.

No matter what happens, he is it for her.

She knows this.

She knows it now, and she knows it much, much later, when they are sated and exhausted and curled up together under the covers.

It’s a fragile sort of silence that falls over them, both all too aware that tonight is the first and last night they can be together like this.

Tomoe is content to stay here for a while, just resting her head on his chest. Her fingers drum out absent little patterns on his abdomen. He reaches for her hand, fingers boyishly playing with hers, so sweetly innocent compared to their earlier activity.

“Did you see the pattern on your kimono?” He speaks finally.

“Mm,” Tomoe closes her eyes. “Bamboo and sparrows.”

“Both are part of the Date clan’s emblem. I’m…” Masamune clears his throat, something like discomfort lacing his tone. “I’m sure you noticed.”

“I did, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading into things.”

“You weren’t. At the time, I had given it to you in order to signify you as mine. But now…” Masamune’s breath hitches. “I hope that you’ll take it as a token to remember me by.”

Tomoe’s eyelids slide open again, and she sits up, turning to gaze at Masamune. Her heart may ache with this decision, but she is determined. “…I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tomoe,” he sighs, his expression dark with guilt.

“I told you once before, Masamune-sama. I will be by your side for as long as you wish it.” Tomoe reaches over to place a hand on his heart. She can feel it beat, quick and steady, just for her. “So until you tell me otherwise, I will be with you - for always.”

—

When autumn comes, Date Masamune is married to a lady of the Tamura clan. She is beautiful and learned and she is his equal in every way.

In a move for which any person knowing the intricacies of their relationship would call her mad, Tomoe makes the food that is served at the wedding feast.

And not only does she cook for the wedding feast, she cooks for the feasts celebrating the birth of his daughter, and then of his son.

Frankly, the occasion doesn’t matter. Cooking and making people happy because of delicious food have always been her passions, and the preparation soothes her. So even when Umeko shakes her head sadly, or when Shigezane sends her troubled looks over the dinner tray, she doesn’t mind.

She’s made her peace with this fate, accepts it, embraces it even, in a bittersweet sort of way.

She loves him quietly from afar. And that is enough.

—

“Guess who?”

It’s so obvious. Who else would do this? “Be careful, Soujiro-sama. What if I had been holding a knife?”

The intruder’s hands disappear, and her view of the kitchen is unobstructed once more. A young boy comes round from behind her. Not quite an adolescent yet, though he would probably disagree. The messy black hair atop his head and the toothy grin remind her distinctly of her brother in his younger days. “Even if you were, you wouldn’t hurt me, Tomoe-nee. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“You give me far too much credit,” Tomoe sighs, smiling gently. Then she stops to consider something. It’s only shortly after midday, which means… “Forgive my rudeness, but should you not still be in lessons right now, Soujiro-sama?”

“Kojuro let me out early. He said I should get some fresh air,” the boy says cheerily. When Tomoe sends him a hard, skeptical look, his grin falters and he fidgets and then puts his hands together in a desperate plea. “…Alright, he may or may not think I’m out for a toilet break right now. Please don’t tell on me!”

“I won’t, but I must insist that you return. We both know how Kojuro-sama can be.”

“And I will. After a little while. I’m already this late, what’s a few more minutes?” Soujiro grins. Tomoe is struck dumb by just how much he resembles his father, from the deep forest green of his eyes to the curve of his mouth when he smiles, though Soujiro’s is given much more freely. She tears her gaze away and gives a brief shake of her head, picking up her pestle again and continuing her work.

“What are you making?” Soujiro leans in curiously.

“Zunda,” Tomoe replies, pausing again so he can see the crushed soybeans at the bottom of the mortar. After a moment’s debate, she throws in another pinch of sugar and continues mashing. “Your father has been off to the front more often than not in recent months. I thought he might enjoy something sweet to restore his energy.”

Soujiro rests his chin on one of his palms. “That’s really nice of you, Tomoe-nee. You treat my father well.”

The statement catches her off-guard. “Well… I’ve served your father for several years. He is a good man.” She allows herself a small, soft smile at the thought of her lord, and when she looks back up, Soujiro’s cheeks are curiously pink.

“Y-Yeah. He is,” the boy mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Who is?”

A familiar voice cuts into the kitchen, and both Tomoe and Soujiro startle, turning toward the intrusion. Masamune stares expectantly at them from the doorway. He must have only just returned, still dressed in his armor, making for a rather intimidating image as he waits for a reply.

The color drains from Soujiro’s face. “Chichiue!”

“I saw Kojuro in the halls just now looking for you,” Masamune raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his son. “Return to your lessons, Soujiro.”

“Y-yes, of course!” The boy almost trips on his own feet as he stumbles toward the kitchen entrance.

She can’t help but pity him. He’ll probably be getting punishments - or at the very least, stern lectures - from both Kojuro and Masamune now. “Work hard, Soujiro-sama. I’ll make some gotto cake for you tonight.”

At this, the boy’s face brightens. “Thanks, Tomoe-nee!” And just like that, he disappears into the corridor.

Masamune sighs, a wry smile crossing his face. “Don’t encourage him. Besides, I’m fairly certain that he wishes to take you as wife already.”

“That’ll change. Just give him a few years,” Tomoe laughs. “Welcome home.”

“Ah. I’m glad to be back,” replies Masamune, and he moves closer, peering into the mortar.

“It’s exactly what you think it is. I’ll bring it to you with your evening tea,” she promises.

“You are far too good to me,” he murmurs gratefully. “Thank you.”

In that moment, she is acutely aware of how alone they are in the kitchen. She looks down and reaches for a bowl. She’s not sure what she plans to do with it, but it’s something to occupy her hands and her eyes for a few seconds.

Then, she feels fingertips, light as a feather, land upon her brow and drift to her hairline, sliding to the soft skin behind her ear.

Sharply she looks up at him again, wide-eyed. What sees is a look she recognizes instantly - because it’s one she has seen many, many times before, and she’s sure it is reflected in her own eyes even now.

His gaze is gentle, laced with affection and fondness and above all - a quiet longing, so undeniable it makes her ache.

—

Seasons come and go. He has more children, takes more lands, and forms more alliances.

Sun lines start to wrinkle her skin. Her joints begin to stiffen.

His hair grows white. His endurance on the battlefield dwindles.

But never does he ask her to leave him, and never does she want to. True to her word, she stays by his side - for always.

—

It is past midnight when she reaches his chambers. His wife is pacing in front of the door, and when she sees Tomoe, her frame instantly slumps in relief.

“Thank god,” Megohime grasps her hands, pulling her to the door. “I fear he does not have much time left.”

Tomoe swallows a lump in her throat. She knew that Masamune’s health was failing, but she did not quite expect the decline to be this rapid. That was life though, was it not? Here one day, gone the next. “I am sorry to hear it, but with all due respect Hime… Why have you called me here?”

“Because Masamune asked for you,” Megohime answers, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. She looks down, worrying at her sleeves. “Honestly, I knew from the very beginning that Masamune’s heart was not mine. I thought perhaps I could change his mind, that perhaps one day he would grow to love me, especially after I gave him sons… But it was not so. I saw the way he looked at you whenever you would enter the room, and the look in his eyes whenever we would pass by the castle kitchen.”

Tomoe’s eyes begin to sting. “Hime… I’m - ”

Megohime shakes her head. “Please don’t apologize. Just go to him. I have been selfish enough. The least I can do is have him spend his last moments with the one he truly loves.”

A counter-argument on the tip of her tongue, Tomoe holds it and takes a deep breath. Every second she spends out here could be Masamune’s last. Better to follow her lady’s word. Decisively she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her.

Indeed, Masamune looks like he is at death’s doorstep. His skin is pallid, save for mottled patches on his sun-spotted hands. Hair lies dull and flat and limp against the bedding. Eyes closed, lips chapped and colorless.

Tomoe inches closer. He is so still, she fears he may be dead already - until she sees his chest rise and fall, quickly, deeply, then slowly, slowly… until he stops. And the cycle repeats again. Again. Again.

With each breath comes a disturbing rattling sound, and it chills her to the bone. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, even as she reaches for his hand.

His fingers are cool. This pale, weak man so close to the end… He looks so unlike the Masamune she knows. She is aware that people look and sound and feel vastly different when they are dying, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept, especially when the person in question is the one she has loved for most of her life.

A scratchy sound escapes his throat, almost a groan. “To…” His eyelids lift just barely, but she knows he cannot see anything. He’s past the point of lucidity, acting purely from delirium. “To…”

As soon as she realizes he must be calling for her unconsciously, she squeezes his hand, smiling weakly. “I’m here.”

His eyes slide shut again. A distinct heaviness tugs at her chest, and she muffles a sob into her palm.

He must be in so much pain, even if his brain isn’t working well enough to recognize it as such. As much as it hurts her, she wishes his death could be hastened, if only so he would not suffer anymore.

Through a tear-filled, blurry haze, she reaches out and gently lays a hand on his brow, leaning in close to his ear.

“It’s time,” she whispers, voice breaking and crumbling. “It’s alright. I’m right here. You can let go now.”

With a heavy heart, she watches as his breathing slows and slows and stops for good.

—

You were mine in this lifetime. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor.

But I swear to you, in our next lifetime, I will be yours.

—

As she boards the train, she looks down at the picture message her brother had sent earlier.

Hikaru grins up at her through the screen, cheekily holding up his bandaged, slinged arm and making a peace sign with his fingers. The text accompanying the photo reads, “I’m alive!! Now stop worrying, that’s what Kaa-san is for.”

She giggles. It probably was rude of her to rush out of the lecture hall immediately after class, considering that her friends had wanted to try out a new lunch spot just outside their university, but she can’t help it.

He might be a snot sometimes, but he’s the only little brother she’s got. It’s natural that she worries. With that picture though, he’s clearly doing alright.

Sure enough, when she steps into her brother’s hospital room, he’s wearing a smile as bright as the sun.

“Hey!” He greets her cheerfully. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. I’m all fixed up now.”

“I can see that,” Tomoe grins, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reaches over to ruffle her brother’s hair. “So no more races right? Honestly, I’m not sure how you thought you’d be able to speed past a train when all you had was a bike…”

“I saw it on TV once,” Hikaru admits sheepishly.

“Uh-huh, because everything on TV can totally be done in real life,” Tomoe deadpans.

“Well when you put it like that, yeah it sounds stupid!” Hikaru says defensively, crossing his arms.

Tomoe flicks her brother in the middle of his forehead, and he yelps in protest.

“Stop pouting,” she orders. “It’s not flattering for someone who’s going to be in high school in just a few months.”

“Ugh, you should be nicer to the sick.”

“Please. You said so yourself - that’s what Okaa-san is for.” She smirks at him, leaning back on one of her palms. Her eyes drift around the room. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Somewhere.” Hikaru shrugs. “Probably stepped out to get food or coffee or something.”

A noncommittal hum escapes her throat. Then a knock comes to the door.

“Yes?” Hikaru answers.

Tomoe somehow forgets how to breathe when she sees who walks inside. Their guest is a handsome man, perhaps early to mid-thirties, wearing a pristine white lab coat over navy blue scrubs. He has dark hair that falls over his striking forest green eyes, and the sharp lines of his jaw are almost aristocratic. His forearms look strong, as if they could…

God, help her. Tomoe looks down at the bed sheet, valiantly trying to fight the blush on her cheeks. She’s an adult, dammit.

“Hey, Shin-sensei,” Hikaru acknowledges the man. “This is my sister, Tomoe.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Date Shinnosuke,” the doctor introduces himself, and when their eyes meet, Tomoe swears that everything slows down for a second.

There’s something familiar about those eyes. She’s seen them before, she knows it.

But when? Where?

Before she has the chance to take a closer look, Shinnosuke turns to Hikaru and begins examining his bandaged arm. “No tingling or numbness?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Wiggle your fingers for me?”

Hikaru obeys, and Shinnosuke nods in satisfaction. He takes a pen from his pocket and puts the end of it against each of Hikaru’s fingers. Once he determines that Hikaru’s sense of touch is intact, he puts the pen away again. “How is your pain doing?”

“The pills cover it. Not 100 percent, but pretty close.”

“Good.” Shinnosuke smiles, and the sight sends a twinge through Tomoe’s chest. “I’ll come by again tomorrow. Provided nothing happens overnight, we should be able to send you home in the next day or two.”

“Great!” Hikaru grins. “Thank you.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Shinnosuke replies, and as he turns to leave, his eyes catch Tomoe’s once again. She knows she’s not imagining it when they linger on her for a second longer than strictly necessary, and she watches as he walks out the door.

“Oi,” her brother’s socked foot nudges her in the side. “Can you not drool over my doctor? That’s kind of gross.”

“Shut up!” She says hotly. “I did no such thing.”

Her brother rolls his eyes, but before he can tease her further, their mother comes bustling into the room with her favorite vending machine coffee, and conversation about the young surgeon is all but forgotten.

—

Date Shinnosuke, as it turns out, is from Sendai. He went to university straight out of secondary school and graduated with his medical degree as quickly as… well as quickly as physically possible. His internship brought him here to Tokyo and he’s been practicing ever since.

Tomoe should probably note that this is all information she learned from her mother. It’s not like she went to creep on him on social media, even though the thought did briefly cross her mind. Briefly.

She swears she’s seen him before, but from where? She can’t put her finger on it. Or maybe she really doesn’t know him, but he reminds her of someone else.

Regardless, as dumb as it sounds, the familiarity (or fake familiarity, whatever) makes her want to reach out. Food is usually the best way, she’s heard.

It takes a few tries, considering she’s not the best cook. In the end, the mochi balls are uneven and a little lumpy, but they taste fine. She likes them, anyway.

And as she stacks them into a box and spoons little piles of zunda on top of each one, she hopes Shinnosuke likes them too.

—

After all the discharge paperwork is settled, there’s some disagreement over how he’ll be taken downstairs, because Hikaru is too stubborn for his own good.

Surprise, surprise.

The nurses look a bit frazzled when he refuses the chair they offer to wheel him down in, and they look downright panicked when he insists on carrying his belongings and all the bags of food their mother had brought. The poor ladies give each other troubled looks, and Tomoe can imagine them saying ‘Do something’ ‘No you do something.’

So she sighs, elbowing her brother. “Don’t be annoying. Just let them help you.”

Hikaru swats her arm away. “Last I checked I only have one mom, and it’s not you.” But despite his grumbling, he concedes to putting his things down on the chair so they can at least wheel that down.

One of the nurses - Sakurako, if she remembers correctly - gives Tomoe a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I should be saying that to you,” Tomoe answers. “Thanks for dealing with my brother.”

“Not at all.” Sakurako laughs. “He’s a funny kid.”

“I’ll catch up,” Tomoe calls to her brother. Hikaru raises an eyebrow at her, but he says nothing and turns away, heading for the elevator with their mother and Sakurako’s coworker in tow.

“Oh and thanks for the cakes,” Sakurako adds. “That was very sweet of you.”

“Of course. Again, it’s the least I can do for the care you gave Hikaru.” Tomoe smiles, then her eyes drift down to the small green confectioner’s box in her hands. “Actually, I wanted to give Date-sensei a little something too. Is he busy?”

“He usually finishes up his rounds at this time. He should be charting in the conference room around the corner,” Sakurako says. Then a call light goes off, and with a quick bow to Tomoe, she rushes away to answer it.

Sure enough, when she enters the conference room, Shinnosuke is staring intently at a computer screen, clicking through and making notes.

Tomoe sets the box down on the table next to him, and Shinnosuke starts visibly, looking wide-eyed up at her.

“Oh, it’s you,” he relaxes, sitting back in his chair. “Tell your brother I said good luck. He should recover in no time.”

“I will,” Tomoe nods. She nudges the box toward him. “This is for you. Just a little token of my appreciation.”

“Ah. That’s very kind.” His eyes soften. “Thank you.”

“You can try it now, if you’d like,” she offers before her verbal filter can suggest otherwise. “I’m sure you haven’t had a chance to eat yet.”

“That’s all right, I’ll…” he trails off at the look on her face and chuckles. “Well, maybe just to try.” He pops open the lid, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.

“I’ve never actually made zunda mochi before, but I heard you were from Sendai, so…” Tomoe clasps her hands together. “They’re not the prettiest mochi, but I think they taste alright. Let me know what you think?”

Shinnosuke indulges her with a gentle smile and bites into one of the mochi pieces. As the flavors roll through, however, he stops chewing suddenly, eyes flickering with something that Tomoe can’t name.

What on earth?

She’s almost too afraid to ask. But just as she works up the courage to call his name, his eyes focus again, and they stare up at her. What she sees in them looks almost like… disbelief.

And recognition.

Her mind goes back to yesterday, when she’d first seen him. His eyes looked so, so familiar, but she’d never met him before… right?

Shinnosuke slowly stands from his chair, moving closer to her. All she can do is stay there, frozen, watching the emotions pass over his face.

“To…moe?” he asks quietly.

He stands in her space, far too close for a person she’d only just met yesterday, but this doesn’t bother her.

What does bother her is the strange sort of melancholy that settles into her bones, like she’s forgotten something - or someone - very important.

And even though she’s staring him right in the face, searching those gorgeous eyes, and smelling his cologne, fresh and clean like cypress, she simply cannot remember.

“I…” She swallows, trying to fight the sudden urge to cry. “I don’t know you, do I?”

To her surprise, Shinnosuke gives her a relieved smile. “No, you don’t. Not yet, anyway.”

Before she can process the peculiarity of his words, he fishes something out of his pocket and presses whatever it is into her hands. His smile grows, slow, dazzling, and it makes her feel lightheaded. Again he speaks, “I always wondered why I kept this with me all the time. Now I know.”

His pager sounds, effectively bringing both of them out of the moment. After sending her another meaningful look, he gives her hand one last squeeze, and then he’s gone.

Tomoe shuts her eyes against the rapid thump of her heart. When she’s managed to calm down some, then, and only then, does she look down to see what he had given her.