For once, not a fill from the Tiger and Bunny Anon Meme. Written because I got reminded recently about exactly how little Antonio/Muramasa there is in the world, and it's a dang shame.

'Sequel' to Patience is a Virtue, but it can be read alone.

Kaburagi Liquors had a rhythm. Count inventory, cross-check that against sales, send empties off to be recycled or refilled, process and deliver orders, open during the day, go home for dinner, open again at night, close again, go home to sleep. Muramasa relied on this rhythm, the rhythm he learned from watching his mother and then employed every day of his life since he turned eighteen. Learning that routine well gave him time to put up with the storms as they came and went. Most of those storms had to do with his little brother: Kotetsu's punk days, his first years as a hero, his wife's death, his power loss. He didn't see much of that tumultuous spirit in little Kaede, mostly because she didn't start having problems on the scale of Kotetsu's until recently, but that's all quiet now. Any more storms would be Kotetsu's problem, since she now lived with him in Sternbild, and neither of them could be any happier if they tried. As for Muramasa, some things change, most everything else stays the same. The bar stayed the same. The roads stayed the same. The house stayed the same.

Though, standing on the side of a mountain and staring at a smoking engine, Muramasa had to admit that some things could stand to be a better sort of same. He'd gone through all his usual patch-ups and lucky tricks, but nothing would get the engine started again. He had about two miles to go to the store, so rather than stand around and hope for some other miracle to make his van run, he started walking. The sooner he left, the sooner he'd get there, and the sooner he'd have help.

Summer in Oriental Town got hot—lots of wildflowers, cicada song, and sun. Muramasa didn't own much heavy clothing, but he didn't own much light clothing, either, so he started on the walk back dressed in his usual cotton collared shirt and old jeans. He had to leave his apron in the van window to mark a broken-down car. Then again, he wondered who in this town would bother to steal the liquor store van anyway, broken or not. In a town small as Oriental, by nightfall the thief would be on Muramasa's doorstep with an older next-of-kin shoving his head down in a bow.

By the time he made it back to Kaburagi Liquors, Muramasa worked up a healthy sweat from the uphill climb, and the fans in the bar nearly gave him a chill. Little dark spots from the bright day blotted his vision when the light changed, so he heard Antonio before he saw him: "What happened to the van?"

"Broke down on the mountain," Muramasa said. "I couldn't get it started."

"Need a tow?"

"Yeah."

The yellow-violet splotches on his eyes cleared, letting Muramasa see Antonio clearly. His style stayed very much the same as from Sternbild: that red-orange v-neck, his brown pants, that flashy belt buckle Antonio just couldn't help but brag about when anyone noticed it ("Antique—forged on an old Spanish ranch!"). He quit the jacket for the summer, but it'd be back when the weather turned, though the same couldn't be said for the cowboy boots. Those didn't last two weeks, and got replaced with sensible, mountain-friendly footwear.

Sternbild didn't change Kotetsu or Antonio's personalities, but it gave them a taste for flashy, impractical, city shoes.

Antonio stepped around the bar, unlacing his own apron and giving it to Muramasa as a sweat towel. He wiped his forehead and the back of his neck while Antonio turned the sign in the door from 'open' to 'closed.' This early in the day, very few people would be coming in to buy alcohol. If they wanted it that badly, they'd come back later. So it goes in a small town.

Muramasa told Antonio where exactly the van died, just to give him an idea of how far they'll be walking. They descended the mountain while making about as much conversation as Muramasa had when he ascended it alone, but he felt much better this second time around. Antonio kept a fast, even stride—that giant—which almost put Muramasa to shame, but if he wanted to, he could excuse himself with the fact he had already walked half an hour uphill, so he was tired. Regardless, one of them had a lifetime of training and exercise while the other had normal day-to-day living, and it made a difference.

At a bend, Antonio suggested a break, though mostly for Muramasa's sake. They stood at the gravel behind the rail guard and admired the view. The mountains looked beautiful in summer, vibrant and healthy and practically dancing when the breeze blew through the trees, all of it beneath a deep blue sky. Exactly the sort of day Muramasa would picture if anyone ever asked, 'What's summer like in your hometown?'

"What a view," Antonio mentioned.

"I thought you hated heights." Muramasa quietly worked out a crick in his back. "When they used to shoot you from that catapult."

"I'm fine with heights if I get to keep my feet on the ground."

So strange, how Antonio grew up. Muramasa met him during Kotetsu's delinquent phase, but even if Antonio had the face and form of a troublemaker, he tried so hard to matter to the Kaburagi family: not just Kotetsu, he wanted Anju and Muramasa to have a good opinion of him, too. What were the odds of that rough-and-tumble teen, a tough-talker with an honest heart, growing into the bull of a man standing on the side of a mountain with Muramasa? Low. And admirable.

"Ready to keep going?" Muramasa asked. Antonio would never ask, never pressure him.

"Sure."

They made it down the mountain pass and found the van exactly as Muramasa had left it, snake apron in the window and all. He pulled the panel off the back and poked around inside the engine, showing Antonio all the parts he had tickled and prodded to try and make the thing run again, with no success. Antonio asked a few questions about certain parts and how often they had been repaired, but couldn't suggest another solution. He liked engines, and used to work on them for a brief stint after high school, but no one knew this engine quite like Muramasa. In the end, Antonio agreed with Muramasa's verdict. The van had broken down well beyond the repair of the little toolbox on board, so they had to get it back to the store where Muramasa could have a longer look with better tools.

He clasped a broad hand on Muramasa's shoulder. "Look. This van is in really bad shape. You have to fix something in the engine after every stop before it'll even run, and it breaks down more and more often. It's almost faster to do deliveries by bicycle."

Antonio wouldn't tell Muramasa to replace the van—it's the van—but he was absolutely right. They couldn't keep making deliveries with it much longer, and there will come a day when the van dies for good. Muramasa just put a hand under his chin and slightly over his mouth, trying to guess how many days the van might have left before he had to think about buying, but refusing to voice an estimate. That would look like defeat. Maybe they could just replace the engine…

After a minute, Antonio left Muramasa to his thoughts and retrieved a coil of towing chain from the van's back, left there from the last time the van spluttered to a halt a mile away from the house. "Can you get it in neutral?"

"I put it in neutral just before it broke down."

"Perfect."

He hitched one end of the chain to the front axle, then hooked the other end to another link to form a loop. And then he pulled off his shirt.

"Show-off," Muramasa scolded.

"I don't want my shirt to get dirty," Antonio argued, but even if he was telling the truth, at least half his motivation had to be showing off, Muramasa knew it. He thought he was being impressive, and to be fair, he was. He had a physique worth showing off.

He tossed his shirt on the passenger's seat, looped the chain over one shoulder and across his body, and glowed with that blue aura. His skin turned rigid and angled along his muscles, like the facets of a diamond.

"Let the parking brake go," he added.

Muramasa ducked in the driver's side and swiftly tugged the parking brake down, releasing the wheels, but he dropped out of the cabin just as Antonio started to pull forward. Antonio frowned a little bit as Muramasa joined him in front of the car.

"You can ride inside, y'know. I'll be fine."

"I thought I'd walk with you."

Antonio shrugged, making the chain clink. "Okay…"

As he pulled the car along, Antonio asked a few questions about what Muramasa planned to do to get this van running just one last time, since they needed it to drive home. Muramasa shared a few ideas, but he kept staring at the absolutely impossible arrangement: a man towing a two-ton van with just a chain over his shoulder. He'd heard the explanation for how the power of hard skin translated into super strength: when an 'immovable object' starts moving, anything attached to it has no choice but to move, too. It still didn't change how strange it looked, to see a man—a grown man, a powerful man, but one man—pulling an entire vehicle the way children pulled toy wagons. Antonio kept glancing at Muramasa, too, more than a little proud and relishing in this use of strength. Muramasa remembered how Antonio used to make a living using his powers: fighting bad guys, saving lives, moving the unmovable.

By the time they reached the bar, both of them were out of breath—Muramasa from a second uphill climb, and Antonio from the effort of dragging the van, since super strength didn't come with super stamina. Muramasa pulled one of the van doors open and sat down, panting, as Antonio disappeared inside the bar. Breathing hard and feeling his heartbeat pound against his neck, it occurred to Muramasa, as it had before, that he wasn't getting any younger. Everything that was hard now would only continue to get harder. At least he could face reality: he could make plans, and he had help. No one should think of aging as the end of the world. No matter how hard it got, Muramasa had a life he wanted to live until the end. He'd never give up on himself, on others, in the middle of it all.

But things do change. His loved ones change. And he… he might be changing, too.

Since he was a teenager, Muramasa lived like an immovable object. He had to, for the sake of his family: Kotetsu had so much energy and passion, always did, and it ran him into trouble more often than not. Anju would give her life and more for her family, but Muramasa knew she was a worrier by nature. Worry never kept her from moving forward and doing her best, but she couldn't turn on Hero TV without wondering if this would be the night that Kotetsu died. Muramasa tried to live his life in such a way that kept his mom from worrying about him, and he supposed he and Kotetsu were alike that way, except Kotetsu kept people from worrying by hiding his problems while Muramasa did it by never biting off more than he could chew. Kotetsu lived a life full of crisis and high stakes. Muramasa lived a life full of liquor and mountain air. Different lives, different worry-management styles.

And that would have been the end of the story, if not for Antonio's retirement. Muramasa could tell it had been on Antonio's mind for a long time, in the tone of his voice, in the pauses in conversation, in the questions about Muramasa's life in Oriental Town. He'd tell nostalgic stories about helping Muramasa shuffle boxes around or clean the floor and counters, or whenever Muramasa told him about some other reality of work behind-the-scenes, Antonio would comment, "I could probably help with that. Doesn't sound too hard," as if he envisioned himself working at the bar. When he managed to get time off from work long enough to visit, he started integrating deeper into the Kaburagi family's life, helping Anju or Muramasa with chores in exchange for staying in their guest room, and each time he had to leave, his torn, longing expression looked deeper. When Antonio finally worked up the guts to ask Muramasa if there would be work for him at Kaburagi Liquors in the event that he moved to Oriental Town, Muramasa reassured him that not only did he have work for Antonio at the store, but he also had the spare bedroom ready for a new, more permanent occupant.

Antonio seemed happy, but for how long? Muramasa felt happy—or content, satisfied, whatever you called it, he didn't care much for labels—living a life like this. He had work, running the store and helping around the house. He had friendship, tending the bar and listening to the patrons' stories, true or otherwise. He had love, from his mom, brother, and niece, though romantic love had been a little dry until recently. Muramasa liked his life just the way it was, but he couldn't expect everyone to be happy living like that. Kotetsu certainly wasn't.

How long could he expect the Bull Tank of the West Coast to stay this far East?

Antonio returned with two sweaty bottles of water and Muramasa's box of heavy-duty tools. He dropped the box at Muramasa's feet, passed him a water, then sat beside him on the ledge of the van's door. As Antonio cracked open the lid to his bottle and drank deeply, Muramasa pressed the bottle against his forehead and let the cold seep into his skin, all the while subtly watching Antonio out of the corner of his eye.

His face was dramatic, in that Latin way, steep downward slopes with strong lines, in the brow, cheekbones, jaw, and chin. Eyebrows, thick and dark; hair, thick and smoothed back; just enough sideburn to show maturity, vitality, virility. Strong neck, strong shoulders, strong everything, the kind of man who found the limits of his body and then pushed right through them. His skin shone beneath the sun, not with supernatural power but with honest sweat. A proud man, but a kind man.

Antonio lowered his bottle, now half-empty, and gasped for breath. It took him a minute to notice Muramasa looking at him, and when he did, Muramasa didn't look away. He wouldn't deny looking.

"Is there something on my face?" Antonio grinned, ever-so-slightly turning his chest toward Muramasa.

"When are you going to put your shirt back on?" Muramasa asked.

Antonio's smile deflated, before he reached back in the van, found his v-neck, and tugged it over his head.

"Happy?"

Not exactly. It had just been a straightforward, serious question—when was Antonio planning on putting the shirt on?—but Antonio had taken it as a hint. Muramasa actually rather liked the way Antonio could pull off not wearing a shirt. But rather than admit all that, he screwed the top off of his own water bottle and drank, before he stood up and dragged the toolbox over to the van's choked engine. That shirt would be off again soon enough. Antonio's physique was his favorite feature to brag about, and Muramasa couldn't blame him. He did have an impressive chest.

"If you need anything, let me know. I'm almost done with the new orders."

"Good," Muramasa said, staring at the engine block but not quite seeing it.

Muramasa liked his life simple. Anything that needed him to think too hard was beyond his interest. Not to say anyone called him stupid—Muramasa ran a stable, profitable business and kept his nose where it belonged—but being decent to people was just common sense. He took care of business and he loved his loved ones, and it didn't matter why or what it meant. Be decent, take care of business, love his loved ones. The formula protected his happy life, and no matter how the world changed, Muramasa never had to.

But then, Antonio changed his world. A strong, warm presence there by his side, someone who knew him, someone who cared, and that would have been fine if it was anyone but Antonio. Antonio had a chain around Muramasa's heart, and if he went anywhere, Muramasa would have no choice but to move, too. Knowing that truth, Muramasa would catch his mind spinning with questions: how far did that attachment stretch? Could Antonio drag Muramasa after him as easily as he had dragged the van up the mountain? Would Muramasa follow Antonio if he returned to Sternbild? Would he follow Antonio around the world? Did Antonio know Muramasa loved him that much, in a way he had never loved anyone else before, loved him enough that Muramasa would leave behind everything he knew and cared for just to stay with him?

Deep thoughts did not put Muramasa in a good mood.

Neither did dead engines.

Muramasa ground enough life back into the engine's gears for a trip from the bar to home, but that engine needed serious help, a problem that would have to be fixed another day. In the meantime, Anju had dinner cooking, and she needed Muramasa in the kitchen and Antonio to move a few more bags of mulch out to the garden, since they had banned Anju from handling them herself. And after that, he could set the table, please? Antonio had earned the right to be one of Anju's sons—to be fair, he earned it fifteen years ago—and he properly respected the honor, answering Anju's requests with a proper "Yes, ma'am."

The house was much quieter, full of (mature) adults for the first time in nearly seven years, but the quiet didn't bother Muramasa. It wasn't graveyard-quiet or strangers-quiet, but comfortable-quiet, his favorite kind, where no one felt obligated to chatter on forever for the sake of making noise.

There was some silence that no one addressed out of principle. Anju had trouble forming an opinion about Muramasa and Antonio's relationship, and to this day struggled with her feelings. She knew Muramasa, knew he was a good person and that she had raised him well, but she came from an age where these sorts of things just weren't done. She coped by not asking any questions, simply treating Muramasa and Antonio as treasured sons, the same as always, and disregarded anything that might be happening behind closed doors. Muramasa understood his mother's position, and honestly, even if he had a female companion, he wouldn't dream of displaying any affection in front of his mother. He and Antonio had all the privacy they needed at the shop, and Antonio thankfully shared Muramasa's views. They would have to tell Antonio's family eventually, but that would be a problem for another day.

They'd have to tell Kotetsu eventually, too. He still didn't really get what was going on, so he blithely and bemusedly supported the arrangement, trusting that Antonio and Muramasa would be happy, which is what he cared about most. He just didn't know why they had started working and living together. They'd give him another month or two to figure it out, since they also needed time to come up with ways to counter Kotetsu's most likely complaint: his brother and his best friend, together, would be "too weird."

With dinner ready, Anju sent the men to clean up while she served the food, loading down their plates with whatever she thought they should be eating. Muramasa noticed more meat dishes at dinner since Antonio moved in, but Anju carefully watched for him to finish the vegetables before she'd give him seconds of chicken, pork, or beef. It made Muramasa smile a little, thinking of a grown man like Antonio still getting nagged about vegetables like a little boy. Anju didn't need to nag hard, though, since she grew the vegetables herself and they were delicious.

Quiet, sensible talk about how their day went and what they planned to do tomorrow filled the dinner hour. Muramasa had to admit the van was having problems, and Anju wanted details, not about what the engine needed, but how he would complete deliveries if the van wouldn't run tomorrow morning. Antonio volunteered his car, which had been sitting idle at the far side of the house ever since he moved in—it might be a more reliable vehicle, but smaller, and everywhere he went usually had a delivery piggybacking on it so it made more sense to take the van that had the store's name printed on the side. Muramasa said he'd think about it. Maybe he could make the van run for one more day.

Antonio and Muramasa shared a disinterest in sweet things, so they passed on dessert but accompanied Anju as she got a pudding from the fridge and turned the old kitchen TV on to the OBC network. At this hour, it would be playing either the evening news, or Hero TV: that night featured a mix of the two, starting with news coverage of a robbery that switched to Hero TV footage, first league only.

The rescue reality show had been a long-standing tradition of the Kaburagi family, but Muramasa barely paid attention to the show with Antonio around. The ex-hero had a perfectly understandable interest in the program, since his friends were the stars. He'd smile at their arrests and rescues, groan and shake his head at corny catchphrases, and every so often he'd turn to Muramasa and share a behind-the-scenes story. Muramasa knew a lot of those, but some were new.

It had been so easy to identify Antonio's desire to come to Oriental Town, but trying to gauge his interest in returning to hero work in Sternbild was like trying to read the bottom row of that eye doctor's chart through thick, gray fog. Did he miss it? Did he feel like he was wasting his potential, living in a little town like the best way to use his powers was to play tow truck? Did he really care that much about this small-town life to put down roots for good? A part of Muramasa worried that Antonio didn't.

Muramasa hated worrying. He never worried—he fixed, and if he couldn't fix, he coped. And right now, he was doing a terrible job of coping with this… yeah, this was fear. The focus of Muramasa's world had shifted, and with it came the kind of fear and doubt Muramasa never had to deal with before. He knew pain, he knew grief, he knew loss, but he never knew heartbreak because he had never loved another person this much, let alone a person who loved him back.

What would happen, if…

It was disgraceful. He had half a mind to leave the room. But since it was just half his mind, he stayed, pretending to watch TV.

Once the show finished, Anju started on washing the dishes while Antonio and Muramasa took two beers out onto the back porch, with the warm night and the fireflies. Little pinpricks of green light drifted through the air as Muramasa and Antonio sat on the edge of the porch, close enough for shoulders to touch. The malty flavor of the beer and the warm presence at his side felt good, for sure. He couldn't imagine anything better. But that was the problem.

"Is something wrong?" Antonio asked quietly.

Damn. Muramasa couldn't lie and tell Antonio he was fine, but he couldn't admit something was bothering him, either.

"You've been a little weird since the van broke down," Antonio continued. "I know that van means a lot to you, but it's not the end of the world. We'll figure something out."

Yes, the van being in trouble definitely didn't help, and it would be so easy to just pin this all on car trouble and let Antonio be none the wiser. As much as Muramasa hated worrying, he hated other people worrying. Why couldn't Muramasa just enjoy being here with Antonio and let that be enough?

"Do you miss being a hero?"

The words were out before Muramasa knew what happened. In the four months since Antonio retired and moved to Oriental Town, Muramasa had simply listened to whatever Antonio willingly shared and never asked about hero work, until now. But he couldn't take the words back—Muramasa just closed his eyes for a second, took a breath, and waited for whatever Antonio had to say.

Antonio didn't say anything for a second. Then he chuckled a little and wrapped his arm around Muramasa's shoulders. He surrounded Muramasa so easily, and that warm, solid half-embrace finally pushed back against the fear.

"All the stuff I miss isn't the important stuff," Antonio told him. "It was nice, having fans and wearing a suit of armor and catching the bad guys, but I don't feel like I have to be a hero to do good. And it was a pain, always being on call and having to do whatever the sponsors said. All in all, it was fun, but… I started to feel like I had fewer reasons to stick with it, and more reasons to come here."

He gave Muramasa's shoulder a squeeze.

"One very important reason, actually."

Muramasa smiled wryly. He hadn't asked for sappy, but sappy made him feel better, and he didn't want to question feeling better. "You looked a little too happy to use your powers back there. That's what made me think…"

"I was happy to use my powers because I like helping you."

He sensed an 'and' at the end of his sentence, so Muramasa waited.

"…And because I got to take my shirt off."

"Knew it."

"Does that bother you? The shirt thing?"

"If it bothered me, I'd tell you to stop."

Antonio laughed again, took a swig of his beer, and leaned just a little bit closer to Muramasa.

"Don't worry," he mumbled. "I'm not Kotetsu."

Seemed a little odd, to compare his little brother to his… his… his Antonio. But Muramasa knew he'd been comparing from the start. Kotetsu's troubles with retirement set a precedent for heroic behavior: a true hero—as Muramasa believed Antonio to be—could never be happy sitting around and not jumping at every cry for help. Muramasa couldn't expect everyone to be happy living his peaceful, bartender life, but that didn't mean that sort of happiness was made only for him. If you drop a wild tiger in the middle of a quiet, grassy mountainside, he'll get cranky, nervous, and depressed. But if you lead a bull out to pasture, a place with plenty of space to graze and sleep and run, then no matter how tough the hide, how thick the muscle, or how sharp the horns, he'll be content.

Enough with the stupid animal metaphors. Muramasa drank and let his head rest on Antonio's shoulder, staring out into the peaceful night as the stars sparkled and the fireflies flitted about. He had Antonio, and he was happy. He didn't need to think too hard about why.