"Not so deep, Masamune-sama," the voice scolded gently, though it was met with an impatient sigh. "If you put the seed that deep in the soil, it will never grow properly. More like this…"
The broad hands that closed over Date Masamune's were dirty from working in the soil, calloused from holding a sword. It could just as easily have been from the hoes that seemed equally at home in Katakura Kojuurou's grip as any blade.
This was a side of him that Date rarely saw, or perhaps he just never really noticed it most of the time, too jealous of the village girls that stared as Kojuurou worked. He couldn't stand it when they stared and tittered like damned birds.
"Like this?" Date made a hole in the soil, making a shallow hole with his finger, and dropped the seeds in.
"That's right. It's like anything that grows… A gentle touch, never too harsh…" There was a distant look in the deep brown eyes, a smile that was warm and approving.
Date couldn't help but grin himself. "So what was all that shouting, all those bruises from sword practice when I was younger?"
"Gentle but firm, especially with such an unruly young dragon." A brow arched, though the smile never faded. To the contrary, it spread into a grin and he shook his head. Their eyes met for a moment. Date wasn't sure how much of the sudden heat in his face was from the sun coming out from the clouds and how much of it was from the look on his retainer's face. He glanced away, but one hand found its way to Kojuurou's. Dark lines of soil accentuated both of their hands, his hands slender compared to the broadness of the other's.
"You did well, both in the dojo and in life." The single eye fixed on Kojuurou's face, the Date leader's solemn expression matched with his words. "I would not be the man I am today were it not for your guidance. Thank you."
Date didn't pay any mind to the dirt as a thumb brushed over his cheek, his eye closing as he leaned into the touch, and then into the brief stolen kiss as the others working in the fields were turned away.
The sun sank quickly now, casting a warm light over the fields, signaling the end of another day of work.
