Not to imply he cares about a certain upcoming holiday, but seeing the displays out already has reminded him...

“...Are you fond of chocolate, Souza-san?”

The eerie stillness of the night is broken, and he hears the disturbance from far away. Normally he’s the last one to stir this district’s air, returning well past midnight; this corner of the city isn’t one people visit without reason, especially in the dark. He almost thinks he’s hearing a ghost.

...He isn’t, is he? He freezes, halfway through getting ready to sleep, straining to listen. If he didn’t know any better...

It could be minutes later or seconds that the knock on the door comes, jolting him to his feet. He answers before his thoughts can catch up to what is happening, and then for a moment that stretches into eternity he simply stands and stares.

Souza doesn’t look like a dream, nor like a lost love come crawling back to apologize. He seems to glow in the weak light, resplendent in all his fine clothes; more exquisite than Bansai had remembered.

He had accepted that they would never meet again. That was simply the way things were. And, yet...

Wordless, solemn, Bansai wraps his arms around the man, pulling him into a tight embrace.

It’s rare to find him truly at peace. 

He is a weapon of war, after all, forged in the fires of conflict and ambition, seized by the hands of greedy tyrants. History has painted those men as heroes, but a hero is no beautiful thing either. Even locked away as a prize, a sword so old would have witnessed the rise and fall of several eras, been intimate with the darkness that lurks in the hearts of people... in some more than others.

There are others in this city more fit to bear the title of conqueror, though it is not lost on him that Souza Samonji should be with the Tokugawa clan in his own time. Their role in the fall of the Shogunate could as easily have put it in the Kiheitai’s possession as anyone’s, had the Amanto left the country alone. Sometimes he feels a dark amusement at having taken a treasure coveted by rulers for himself, a simple man who lives only to serve the dreams of others. And sometimes he thinks, he didn’t take anything. Souza lives in this world not as the sword, but as a person who is free to do as he pleases with his life, and he chooses to come here. Time and again, even after his months out of the city. As if he has nowhere better to go. Or, no, something more than that.

As if he likes it here, at Bansai’s side.

He sleeps quietly, stretched out on the bed in a loose yukata in the picture of luxury, the steady rise and fall of his chest suggesting he is not being visited by nightmares. (That makes one of them, huh...?)

The room is cold, and Bansai gently pulls the blankets up to cover them both. He pauses as that black mark on Souza’s chest catches his eye, not for the first time. A brand right over the heart, bearing the title of the famed Demon King. Sometimes, he wants to deface it, to erase it entirely.

Sometimes it’s out of anger on Souza’s behalf, for the way he’s been treated in the past. Sometimes, he admits, it isn’t. Souza’s pale skin bears faded scars from Bansai’s own sword, but they are barely noticeable in contrast to that blemish of the past.

A hand moves to trace one such scar, but he pulls back. Surely that would wake him, and to disturb such a peaceful sleep would be a crime. There will be another chance, a better time, to touch him.

Tenkatori is one of the stalls in the food court inside the Japanese market, Tokyo Central. The Japanese-style fried chicken (aka, karaage) is made with chicken that’s is marinated in sauce for 24 hours. It’s gluten-free and MSG-free. They change the frying oil every day. The menu includes ramen, ramen combos, fried rice, a variety of fried chicken pieces, combination bento boxes, bowls, smoothies, and drinks. The chicken is fried to order (I think, judging from the wait).

Karaage bowl, regular ($8.50): There were three sauce options – regular, sweet & sour or sweet & spicy. I didn’t want sweet fried chicken so I went with regular. The bowl came with steamed white rice drizzled in a sauce that tasted like it was made mostly with soy sauce, 4 huge pieces of boneless fried chicken drizzled in the same salty sauce and shishito peppers. The chicken had a light coating of panko crumbs and it was very juicy and tender but the sauce was too salty. I had some a few hours later and it tasted a bit better because the sauce had penetrated the chicken.

3 out of 5 stars

@tenkatori

Bansai skids to a halt, breathing hard; his defensive stance indicates this is only a pause, not a forfeit. Lightly, he touches the fresh cut on his arm, his fingers coming away bloody. It’s shallow, nothing to worry about... but just like seeing the glow Souza’s sword gives off now, it gives him pause when the other manages to land a hit first. It isn’t just that Bansai is out of practice, is it?

“Aha... were you always so strong, Souza-san? You’ll make this one look bad, at this rate.”

With his motorcycle being the only vehicle in the household and not enough time having passed for anyone to fill the place with junk, the garage stands all but empty, a wide space that strikes him as a better ‘dojo’ than any of the unused rooms inside. Sheltered from the inclement weather, but still distant enough that none of the idols should come out here, it’s the perfect place to train.

Or, would the correct word be to play? He’s been too busy to spend as much time with Souza lately, and too tired to spend energy on anything like a spar. The clash of steel, the delicate yet fierce dance of two capable swordsmen holding nothing back... it is a song he has not heard, much less been a part of, in far too long.

( life comes at you fast.