Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin.
Author's Note—I think that I might have given Okita a bit of a Soujirou-like feel but Soujirou was based off of Okita in his character creation so there are bound to be similarities in my opinion. Again, Kenshin is a woman in this story so this isn't the typical Okita/Battousai story.
40. It's just a nightmare
The blood was warm as it sprayed onto his skin, like a summer rain almost. It didn't have that peculiar smell of rain, that sourly sweet scent, but instead had a deep rich scent that inspired a mental connotation similar to that of hot soup on a cold day. The feeling of it sticking and dripping down his skin was almost welcome.
He felt the pressure relieve his sword as the man was thoroughly cut in half. For several seconds he remained still, watching the thick crimson liquid run off the blade onto the ground. With a soft sigh he bent to wipe the sword clean on the dead man's shirt and then sheathed it.
"Are you going to the new brothel?" asked one of the men under Okita's command. He turned his head slightly to listen to their conversation. So casual, as if they hadn't just killed a dozen rebel soldiers whose blood was the same color as the almost fully set sun.
"No, I like the old one better. My favorite girl works there," replied another man.
"Are you going tonight, Captain?"
Okita smiled. "I have a previous engagement," he said cheerfully. His men laughed, nodded, and gave him winks on the side.
The first unit of the Shinsengumi returned to their headquarters, the men quickly changing and cleaning up before setting out for their late night escapades. Okita was among the last to leave the compound. He walked for quite some time under the moonlight, his face smiling as it always did. All too soon he could feel the pressure against his eyes, the familiar burn of unshed tears. He looked up at the moon, smile never wavering, and didn't dare blink as he kept walking.
How long he walked on like that he didn't know. Okita turned sharply, very small drops of tears sparkling as they were lost in the night. The red-haired woman stared back at him, silhouetted against the light of the restaurant she was standing in the doorway of. She stepped out into the street, letting the flap fall back into place. Okita could see a strange elongated bundle strapped to her back, her hair again loose around her shoulders and contrasting sharply with her kimono. They stared at each other for a long moment.
"Why are you crying?" she finally asked, her voice low and not the same as Okita remembered.
"I'm not," Okita said automatically, smiling even more as he shifted his head so that his bangs hid his eyes. He could tell that the woman was suspicious.
"You should be careful, it is dangerous at night," she said after a long while, repeating his words back to him. He let out a short laugh.
"I will keep that in mind, Miss," he said.
"Good night," she said, bowing shortly, before walking away, her sandals not making a sound. Okita listened to the rustle of her clothes instead.
"Souji," he said suddenly, "that is my name."
He watched her stop and then slowly look over her shoulder at him. "Himura," she said.
"No first name, Miss Himura?" he asked, grinning at her. One side of her mouth tipped upward in a half-smile before she turned away again and resumed walking. As she left, Okita felt his-- whatever emotion it had been-- leave him and he felt as happy as his smile looked. That girl, that strange red-haired girl, was like a spring of holy water one went to bathe in to be purified. It was like the whole night up until that point was just a bad dream, and she had woken him from it.
This strange Miss Himura.