Puss
He lifted himself from the bed, grabbing the bottle, then slid the garden door open. The air, smelling of flowers, felt invigorating on his face. The sky was glimmering with gold and rose of the sunrise, although it would be a while yet until the sunbeam rose over the wall surrounding the mansion.
The July nights were always short. The morning didn't feel chilly... Or perhaps it was the warmth of the sleep, still clinging to him. He sat down and rested his head against the frame, breathing in the fresh air. Birds had started their day long ago, their lively song making its way into the cell of unreality that place had suddenly become.
He turned his head. Sanada Yukimura was sound asleep, the cover pulled up to his nose, his hair scattered all over the pillow. He looked so peaceful one would hardly believe him to be a famed Crimson Demon of War, a volcano of energy and never resting tempest. Apparently, even demon, volcano and tempest sometimes fell asleep.
He curved his lips in an ironic smile.
Since the war against Oda, they had duelled with Yukimura countless times, not even once settling their rivalry. Usually, they ended dead on their feet, having no strength left to rise an arm any more and strike another blow. Kojūrō used to take them back home, and the rest of the evening was a party the whole division participated in, more than happy. Up till the next duel.
His smile softened.
If he could ever call himself happy, it would be on these days, filled with nothing but fighting to the full, when the matters of war could be forgotten for a moment.
He knew he would never win against Yukimura. Though he himself probably didn't even notice, young tiger was constantly improving and getting stronger, although it wouldn't be anywhere soon that he scored a victory. Unlike him, "One-Eyed Dragon" didn't have reserves. Where Yukimura's growth started, Masamune's came to an end.
Kojūrō would say, irritated, that he was exaggerating; that these few years between them were of no significance. They weren't. Or perhaps the really were, for Yukimura held an unfailing potential.
He was happy, truly happy, that in his short life he was blessed with such a rival. With him, he was able to go all the way and prove himself to the last breath.
Yukimura was like a puss, he thought now, looking at the ruffled hair on the bed; hot-headed, always prone to play, which he engaged in as if it was the most important matter of the world, always ready to show his claws. One day, he would become like the Tiger of Kai. For now he was just a puss.
He swigged from the bottle. Sake made him warm after the warmth of the night had already vanished in the chill of the morning.
The previous evening had ended in the booze-up as well. Or, rather, it had started with - for it had ended here, in his bedroom. He couldn't remember the details. It seemed they had fiercely discussed something, perhaps the mobilization in Edo, perhaps some worth mentioning duel in Kyōto. He could pretty well imagine Yukimura in such situation - shining eyes, flushed cheeks, sparkling with passion. The young one took everything so seriously...
He curved his lips again, amused.
And then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Yukimura's face was so close to his, and his lips searched for his. And they found.
What could sake make people do, he thought, shaking his head. In case of Yukimura it hadn't particularly changed anything - there was nothing to add to, in the first place; at the most, it had encouraged him to do something he would never do clear-headed.
When he had managed to pull his thoughts together, after the first moment of bewilderment; when he had come to realize Yukimura's lips had been soft and kind; when his mind had been filled with a - supposedly sake-induced - thought that he hadn't wanted to stop that moment, and he had embraced the shoulders of the young one... then Yukimura had simply zonked out. Apparently, his reserves had run down for a moment - and, when he thought of it in the fresh air of the morning, he decided the last act could possibly accelerate the consumption of his energy.
He only wondered... if some continuation had happened... would Yukimura have been as... irrepressible... as ever.
He felt dizzy.
It was highly possible he himself would have had no chance.
He shook his head to drive away the absurd visions. His gaze went to the bed, again, where Yukimura was sleeping like a child. Surely, he won't remember anything. That thought was as reassuring as... unpleasant.
Well, it was better that way.
He took yet another sip and brushed his hand through the hair. He needed a cold bath. And he would try to forget... as well.
The first sunbeam climbed over the wall and fell pale gold on his face. It was still so early... He didn't need to rush...
He let his eye-lids fall. The bottle slipped from his hand.
His head snapped up when something tickled his neck, making him think of someone's soft hair. His heart pounded faster.
It was only a butterfly, flying past his face and brushing his cheek with its wings.
Yukimura still lay with no motion. The sunbeam was moving over the bed towards his forehead.
He smiled with affection. And regret.
It was better that way.