Tenka Hitofuri was most proud of two things in his life. One, was his most beloved master Toyotomi Hideyoshi; the other, was his most beloved Mikazuki Munechika.

His Mikazuki Munechika, as gentle as a languid stream of the purest water, as dazzling as the most brilliant sunset, was nothing short of a treasure in Tenka Hitofuri's heart. Praise had it he was one of the most splendid blades of his time; yet, he found himself unable to match in beauty or strength against this Crescent Moon that had taken up the other half of his soul. From the moment they met, Tenka Hitofuri knew he would always find himself thoroughly enamoured by Mikazuki Munechika, and just as well, inscrutably mystified.

Because Tenka Hitofuri had learnt, Mikazuki Munechika was not a sword to understand, insofar as he was a sword to admire. Not in the way he demurely smiled when the sound of hammer echoed somewhere faraway. Nor in the way he flustered Tenka Hitofuri with carefully worded promises. And, this Tenka Hitofuri had always found most puzzling (and somewhere in his chest ached to witness), not least in the way he would spend hours on end watching the curtains of falling snow when winter came around.

As they were doing now.

Between them the distance of less than two shaku felt so much more than just that. Tenka Hitofuri had been stealing glances at the beautiful sword by his side, amber eyes flickering from endless blue to pale blossom pink. Mikazuki Munechika was never easy to read, from the depth of his gaze to the quirks of his lips. Tenka Hitofuri wished he were anything but.

"Tenka." Tenka Hitofuri did not quite jump in his skin, but it was as close as he could admit. "You have been staring." Mikazuki smiled gently at him, this Tenka Hitofuri knew from the crinkles of his eyes, not his covered lips. The query unasked slipped under Tenka Hitofuri's skin. He fumbled for an answer.

"I…," He hesitated. Mikazuki was as patient as ever. "You seemed lost in thoughts. Is something worrying you?" The golden rings of Mikazuki's eyes imprinted themselves into his own. Tenka Hitofuri had no idea what he would do, or even think, if Mikazuki decided to tell him it was not worth his trouble to mind such things. Courteous as it may be, rejection was scarcely a source of comfort. He had never dared venture to such proximity to Mikazuki before, it almost felt like an intrusion. The two-hundred-or-so years between their lifetimes were only a gentle reminder of how much of the Crescent Moon Tenka Hitofuri was not privy to. Throughout the number of springs they had spent together, the two shaku were perhaps the closest he had gotten to Mikazuki Munechika (not minding what they had done as spousal swords). For better or for worse, he felt this might be his only chance.

The breeze was cold and almost cutting, the snow getting thicker as time went by. Yet, Tenka Hitofuri could not help the heat behind his collar as Mikazuki unhurriedly sipped his tea and took his time in responding, if he was going to at all. Lowering his cup on top of folded legs, Mikazuki finally turned his body away from Tenka Hitofuri, blue-gold eyes gazing into the white-washed garden with an expression Tenka Hitofuri thought he had seen far too many times as winter rolled by. Tenka Hitofuri had no name to give this mien which made desolate winter even more so, made sadness look like a child, wistful the most selfish, while bittersweet just merely the surface of the deepest pond.

"Hm. I remember the past sometimes. Old memories." Mikazuki smiles, the emotion gone as though it was never there. Never supposed to be.

"You mean...when you were in Kyoto?" Tenka Hitofuri's voice was as loud as Mikazuki. Barely beyond a hushed murmur. Mikazuki's smile widened just a bit more. Tenka Hitofuri did not think he had ever seen his beloved look any closer to tears.

"Yes." He closed his eyes, and whispered, "When I was in Kyoto."

And that was the last time they had spoken of it.

Winter came and went.

Spring arrived quickly, but not quickly enough for Tenka Hitofuri. Because his heart ached all over whenever he happened to see Mikazuki by the porch watching snow fall without a sound. He had thought of Mikazuki's answer more often than not. To one and every sword, history was who they were, supposed to be. And did that not hurt more? Because Kyoto was so far away. Because some things were always out of reach.

The thought made Tenka Hitofuri's already fierce, too-vast-to-contain love for the Crescent Moon even fiercer, greater. While Mikazuki loved leniently, serenely, Tenka Hitofuri liked to love him passionately, as fervently as Mikazuki would allow. Ever since, on nights where Tenka Hitofuri was the one who guided the making of their love, he would make it so Mikazuki would spend more time in bed, and less staring at blank whiteness, the next day. Mikazuki only chuckled, amused and knowing, shimmering eyes the colours of summer nights gazing at him with what Tenka Hitofuri deemed to call 'love'. (Sometimes, Mikazuki would pay back the favour, and Tenka Hitofuri would think, he would always prefer this Mikazuki to the sorrowful sword on their porch.)

It had become somewhat of a habit. As winter transit to spring, Tenka Hitofuri had made it his mission to ensure Mikazuki would not get up too early. Even as spring rolled around, Tenka Hitofuri would still keep Mikazuki in their chambers as late as he could. A flimsy excuse of lingering cold and winter remnants thinly veiled his desire to be with his Crescent Moon until the very last moment allowed. He had a feeling Mikazuki knew, if the amused, playful smiles and teasing words were any indication. Tenka Hitofuri would feel embarrassed, really, but if embarrassment was all it was worth to hold Mikazuki for just a second longer, Tenka Hitofuri would take it.

Last night was one of those nights where neither of them could indulge, for one reason or another. This time, because Lady Nene would like Mikazuki's attendance for her kimono fitting for the spring banquet. As Mikazuki poured more tea for the both of them, sakura petals dancing before and between them, it was the first time Tenka Hitofuri met Mikazuki Munechika all over again. He wondered if Mikazuki would look as ethereal in sky blue as he did in the colours of summer nights.

"It seems you do have the habit of staring," Mikazuki said mildly, amusement lighting up his face. Tenka Hitofuri's own immediately heated up, at both his own impropriety, and the glint of suggestion in Mikazuki's eyes.

"Ah. Please excuse me." He turned his gaze down his lap instead, just to widen as soon as he saw what was inside. "Mikazuki!"

"Hm?"

"Stem!" Tenka Hitofuri almost exclaimed, "A standing stem! Today will be a good day, I'm quite sure."

Mikazuki peered into his cup and laughed. Tenka Hitofuri also liked his laugh very much. "I'm certain it will be." Mikazuki retreated back to his cushion, pleased smile on his face. "I would loathe to say this, but it seems quite time we made our departure." He said, still charmingly amused and warm. Tenka Hitofuri did not want to yet leave, even if he knew how important Mikazuki's attendance was to Lady Nene. He swallowed his tea, almost too quick in his haste, along with the disappointment threatening to bloom in his heart.

"Yes, let's then, shall we." He made to stand up, then offered his hand to Mikazuki. The Crescent Moon took it gracefully and straightened himself. Together, they made their way toward the main house, steps falling nearly in perfect sync.

Servants were bustling in and out of rooms and halls as they walked to their destination, Lady Nene's private chambers. When they arrived, the tailors were already seated inside. Lady Nene was seated at the front of the large room, ever regal and elegant.

"I'll see you later?" Tenka Hitofuri should already know the answer, yet he asked anyway.

"Yes. I'll be seeing you later." Mikazuki smiled, then slipped in to finally join the people inside.

Tenka Hitofuri turned and headed to the Lord's chambers, his own duties await. Afterward, Tenka Hitofuri mused, perhaps he could make some of Mikazuki's favourite mochi.

Time flew when one was engrossed in whatever one would be doing. That was also the case for Tenka Hitofuri as he went through his day with his master. The last of his duty was completed as the sun disappeared behind the bamboo hedges. He was tired, and rather hungry, but not enough to deter him from going to the kitchens to fulfil his plans. By the time he reached their living quarters, it was quite late. Refreshing himself did not take long, his bath having been drawn by the servants before his return. Shrugging on the silk robes laid out for him, Tenka Hitofuri walked toward their porch, where Mikazuki was already sitting in wait with tea and sweets, two full plates of freshly made mochi balanced in hands.

"My apologies. I did not mean to take so long," Tenka Hitofuri said apologetically, putting down the plates as he settled on top of his own cushion.

"Ah. We are in no hurry," Mikazuki said, peering at the treat, "Hm? Would it be presumptuous of me to think you made these yourself?" The way he asked the question ensured Tenka Hitofuri that he already knew the answer. What happened next then had almost made Tenka Hitofuri question all he knew of the sword, his spouse, Mikazuki Munechika. He could not help but be surprised as Mikazuki started laughing almost...boisterously into his sleeves, for...apparently no comprehensible reasons?

"Ah…uhm…is everything all right? Do they look funny or something?" Tenka Hitofuri gestured uncertainly at the spread of tea and sweets before them, then picked one of the mochi plates up for inspection. Admittedly, they were not the prettiest shapes, but he was also certain they did not look any more…peculiar…than the ones the chefs made. All the while, his mind was running through several instances where Mikazuki might have laughed like this. There was not any.

"Hm. Hm." Mikazuki hummed. He was in a very good mood, that much Tenka Hitofuri could tell. "No, please do not worry. I do quite like this very much." Mikazuki, seeming happier than ever, reached over to take one of the mochi, then settled back into his seat and started munching on the treat in small, careful bites. Tenka Hitofuri dared not call him giddy, Mikazuki always too graceful and composed for such a word. He looked almost nostalgic as he took bites after bites. Blinking almost owlishly at his love, Tenka Hitofuri's did not realise his lips had also twitched into a smile, as he took a treat for himself. The stem had indeed brought good fortune, Tenka Hitofuri liked to think.

"I presume today's fitting went well?"

"Yes, indeed." Mikazuki was already on his second sweet as he replied. Tenka Hitofuri had guessed as much: swords liked their masters happy. Tenka Hitofuri let his eyes wander over the elegant form of his love for the umpteenth time of day, taking in every single detail of the sword before him and committing every single serene lines into his mind. Mikazuki's posture expressed a joy Tenka Hitofuri was not entirely used to. As amber eyes roved further down Mikazuki's sleeves, he saw it then. A corner of some sort of blue cloth peeking out at an odd angle from the folds of fabric. He squinted at it, but could not make out any shape or pattern on the cloth, nor can he assume the material.

"Ah." Mikazuki turned to look at him, still chewing on the mochi, head tilted curiously. "Ah my apologies, I was just wondering, if that was one of the cloth samples the tailors brought to Lady Nene today?" Tenka Hitofuri gestured at the sleeve with the piece of fabric, eyes meeting Mikazuki's own.

"Ah, yes, yes," The Crescent Moon smiled as he peered down at his sleeves, but none of his movements suggested he was going to fetch the cloth for Tenka Hitofuri's perusal. Of course, it would be conceited of him to think Mikazuki Munechika was obliged to bring anything specifically to his attention. But there was something in that smile that made Tenka Hitofuri's skin crawl with sudden anxiousness. He had felt it before, too, when his master had treasures (of blood and bones, flesh and tears, of secrets untold) he did not want to share. Before he could stop himself, the words forced themselves out into the open air.

"May I admire it?" He asked, almost tentatively. The tremor in his voice was unfounded, Tenka Hitofuri thought. What was wrong with asking to admire a piece of cloth? And yet, he could see the way Mikazuki stilled, even though it was not even for a fraction of a second, before he turned to face Tenka Hitofuri. With one sleeve over his lips, Tenka Hitofuri could not make out what sort of expression Mikazuki was making. His eyes were endless depths of possibilities. Tenka Hitofuri was not sure if he would like any of those. Seconds were probably all it took for Mikazuki to respond, yet it felt like an eternity. The sudden fear at the pit of his stomach almost too hard to bear, Tenka Hitofuri was ready to retract his request. Then, Mikazuki's sleeve lowered to reveal a genial smile.

"Of course." He said, then retrieved the cloth from the folds of his clothes and handed it to Tenka Hitofuri.

The piece of fabric was cool and smooth to the touch, gliding between fingers like spring water. It was just a little more than Tenka Hitofuri's palms put together, each side around seven sun. To say it was only a piece of cloth would be an offence Tenka Hitofuri was not ready to make. Art, that it was, should be. The fine, bold gold embroideries of their nation's majestic tsuru, with wings curved much like that of crescent moons, taking flight across deep blue fabric the colours of winter nights, were a story he had not borne witness to. He could see it clearly though, when he closed his eyes and let himself feel. The very moment these graceful, dignified cranes take flight, soaring proudly, unreservedly over vast vast skies, wings white as the snow of Hokkaido's winter framing the luminescent moon over the red of their crowns.

"This…," Tenka Hitofuri breathed, "This is...Such craftsmanship. It is no wonder Lady Nene would much be taken, Mikazuki-dono." He looked up to see Mikazuki watching him with his usual smile. There was nothing strange about it, and there was also nothing to explain Tenka Hitofuri's feeling of misbehaving, like he was a child having just crossed a line somewhere. A line he was not aware existed.

"Ha-ha. No, it seemed her ladyship preferred phoenixes over cranes." Mikazuki picked up his tea cup as he replied. "Though, I myself thought this was very fine work." He gestured at the cloth. "Wouldn't you think so?" Tenka Hitofuri could not help but agree. It was very fine work.

"So I decided to request a small sample myself." Mikazuki continued. Whatever it was that had stretched between them like too-taut koto strings, it was not as heavy nor as sharp. But very much there, still. Tenka Hitofuri breathed slowly through his nose, a tightly wounded breath he did not know he was holding in. He handed back the piece of cloth to Mikazuki, movement almost too careful. He watched, then, as Mikazuki held the silk in his hands, slender fingers tracing, almost caressing, one of the embroidered cranes as he admired the cloth.

"Do you...Do you perhaps…much fancy cranes, Mikazuki-dono?" Tenka Hitofuri was treading lightly. He was not sure if this, too, would be one of those things he should not ask. Tenka Hitofuri dared not breathe too loudly as Mikazuki lifted his head up to look at him. Never before had he felt his heart beating like so, thunderous in each rhythm, this moment when he saw how much warmth was in those gold-blue eyes, crescent moons glimmering radiantly upon the night sky.

"Yes, I do." Mikazuki breathed. Tenka Hitofuri's chest constricted at the breathlessness in his voice. "I do, don't I. I do quite fancy tsuru."

That night, Tenka Hitofuri held Mikazuki Munechika tight, remembered the tone of his voice as he whispered over embroidered cranes on moonlit-night fabric, and thought, he had not known there was such a love in Mikazuki Munechika.

A love deep enough to rob Tenka Hitofuri of his breath, and realise it was not for him.

It was as though that evening never happened. Seasons came and passed. Spring turned to summer, to fall. Then to winter all over again. They continued to live as they did, love as they did. Mikazuki was as he always had been; ever smiling, ever flustering Tenka Hitofuri when he could, always loving him with unchanged tenderness. Where Tenka Hitofuri would have once been more than happy to feel such gentle love from this normally so detached, so distant sword, now he wished he could have only a fraction of that breathlessness Mikazuki had chosen to bestow upon a piece of fabric.

Tenka Hitofuri did not tell Mikazuki Munechika of the frays in his heart whenever he watched Mikazuki stroke the silk cloth with a reverence that Tenka Hitofuri recognised: it was the same reverence he had decided upon himself to give it all to Mikazuki Munechika. Tenka Hitofuri knew, Mikazuki only brought out the fabric when he was not with him. For whatever reasons Tenka Hitofuri would rather not know. It was only through pure accidents that he found out. But that only pained him more than if Mikazuki had simply admired it in his presence. After all, what had one got to hide if not for something a man truly in love with his spouse would not do?

More than once, Tenka Hitofuri had laughed to himself as to how ridiculous his situation was. To feel like he was losing to a piece of fabric for his beloved's attention. But––

He would never tell Mikazuki, or anyone for that matter. But deep down. Deep down, Tenka Hitofuri had already realised. He could always ask. Were courage and comfort comrades. Tenka Hitofuri, it seemed, was not as brave as he would like to believe he was.

And so Tenka Hitofuri kept his words and never told anyone of his love, his fears, or his hurt. Even as winter came and Mikazuki spent less time watching snow, the silk fabric with him at every step. Even as spring arrived and they would drink tea, enjoy mochi, and share quiet kisses. Even as war broke out between one season and the next. Tenka Hitofuri said nothing, even as he watched the way Mikazuki would not reach for the cloth to clean off the blood spattered upon Tenka Hitofuri's face, instead tearing his own robes while hiding the treasured fabric between deep blue layers.

Even as his master was killed, even as his castle fell. Even as blazing fire slowly but unfalteringly turned him back to what he once was.

As flames engulfed the sword that was known as 'the only blade under all heaven', blessed and loved, Tenka Hitofuri drifted off to sleep with one and only thought: I wish you could have loved me the way you loved your crane

Because it was never just a piece of fabric.

Nor was it ever cranes.