a/n: I believe there is one more chapter coming after this. Thank you to whomever may still be reading.

Very few things in life surprised Zenzou, who from a young age was known to be a bit of a strategizer. You didn't grow up to be the leader of the Oniwaban without anticipating the move of the enemy at least two or three steps ahead. To charge in recklessly into a situation without a plan, a backup plan, and a backup of a backup plan just seemed absolutely ridiculous to him.

That said.

The girl who he'd known for the last fifteen years of Shonen Jump serialization to be the main character's number one fan - at least in the canon material, anyway - had actually leaned towards him. And kissed him.

To say that he was perplexed was an understatement. So much that for the first time in years, he simply...

Froze.

What were you supposed to do in this situation? Engage? Utterly confused, he stayed put in one spot, unable to process what was going on.

She withdrew, and for some reason, seemed to be disappointed in his reaction.

"Uh... Sarutobi? I think you hit your head too hard," he said. "Last time I checked, I didn't have any silver hair - "

"Yeah, I know!" she snapped back. "I know who I'm supposed to be kissing, you idiot."

He blinked. "Okay. This is new. Why would you do something like that?"

"Because - " She turned red, but gripped her fist tightly, as if to muster her courage. "Because - I think I like you? Probably?"

That statement wasn't particularly compelling, he thought dryly. Not that he'd ever expect a scene coming out of The Notebook, but still. Admittedly when the girl of your (sad and pathetic) dreams declared her feelings for you, you probaly wouldn't want her to add a "Probably?" tacked on the end of her confession, either.

"Well - " and here, he was trying to be diplomatic about the situation. "Well, that's... "

"I know what it looks like," she said, and her words were coming out more jumbled. Against his will, he couldn't help thinking she was still pretty when she was flustered. "I know. I've just been... thinking. And - and I think maybe, those people who put us in the escape room, they wanna - "

"They want to set us up for their misguided reasoning that we'd be a good couple," he said, rather cuttingly. "But it's bullshit, and you know it. Once we get out of here, you'll just end up disappointed in the reality."

Just like the rest of everyone else, he wanted to add, but didn't.

"Zenzou - "

"I'm not a fucking substitute for that samurai, Sarutobi." He hadn't meant for his voice to turn as sharp or as bitter as it did. "Whatever happened between you and him, it's none of my business. But I'm not a replacement for him - not now, and not ever."

"I see," she said.

There was a strange look as she regarded him warily. As if she was calculating, weighing her chances for something.

And then, she enveloped her arms around him, her scent closing in. It was impossible for him to push her off, because as much as he needed to, there was a deeper desire working at bay. A part of him had desperately wanted to succumb to this madness, to press her even closer to his body. Because deep down, he had always known that she was the only woman on this earth who could assuage that awful emptiness inside of him, to fully understand the very few parts of him that he had secretly wanted to be shared.

She kissed him again, and this time he could not break away, because he could feel the heat of her mouth, pressed against his. It was seeking warmth. Connection. And possibly, something that he couldn't give her.

It was a kiss that probed him, asking for permission: permission to love, and to be loved back in return.

He dearly wished that he could grant it. With a herculean effort, he finally pushed Sarutobi away.

"Stop it," he said, and something in his chest ached. "I can't - "

I can't lose you again.

She gently cupped his chin, and lifted his fringe with the other hand. "Zenzou, you're a fucking idiot."

And she kissed him again.

He lasted a second before pushing her off. "Stop it. You don't - you can't - " He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. This wasn't supposed to be the way that she was ever to find out. "You don't love me, all right? And that's fine. Because - "

"I'm the kind of woman who can fall in love in minutes," she said, her eyes peering deep into his. "Why can't you believe me?"

"Because I'm not him," he said, his voice shaky. Goddamn it, he was supposed to be more assertive than this when it came to turning her down. "When you realize that I'm not him, at all, you'll... "

Keep saying that you don't know who I am. Hurt me without knowing how much you ever did. Pretend that we never had this history between us, because to do otherwise would open up a can of worms neither of us were ready for.

"I know you're not him," she said, and she seemed as lost as he was. "I don't know how to fucking explain it either, all right? One room, I thought I was still in love with him. And then, the next room... " She sighed. "I want you. And I think you want me, too."

He kept silent at that.

"You were melting under my arms, Zenzou."

"Was not."

She leaned forwards, pressing her entire body against his and running a finger against his collarbone, causing him to yelp. God. Why did she have to be one of the most shameless women in this goddamned city?

Her point made, she withdrew her hand away from him.

"I can't explain it. It's like explaining why the sun shines or why the morning dew smells so fresh. Maybe this fucking escape room is a giant conspiracy, and we'll all wake up that it's a dream, or whatever. But that's not going to stop me from thinking that we should be together."

"And when you've had enough of me, you'll go back to him?" Zenzou crossed his arms. "I might be a masochist for you. But there's a difference between being an occasional bystander and actually signing up for it."

Now she looked upset. "Please don't think I'll ever go back to him. He's married to my best friend and I'll be damned if I take her happiness away. It's true that I don't understand any of this, or us. But as for you... Despite being an arrogant son of a bitch, you're also incredibly smart, funny, and sexy. You sometimes let me get away with things I shouldn't get away with, but somehow, that makes me like you even more. Even if you pretend you weren't listening to me - which I know you sometimes aren't when you're tuning me out - I find out that you remember most of the things that I say anyway, and - " She chewed her lip. "I don't know if we'll work out. But what if we do?"

And because Zenzou was a natural-born cynic, he replied, "But what if we don't?"

She would counter him obstinately, as usual. "But what if we do?"

"Sarutobi, listen. Our job - " He sighed. "One of us is going to come home to an empty house someday. And - it won't be because I forgot to get you your godawful natto from the convenience store - "

"It's peace time. Things weren't like the way they were back then."

"Then what if I tell you I'm not the person that you're looking for?" He let his arms fall to his side. "You've got expectations. You have this need for something that I can't give you. I don't know what you saw in that samurai to make someone like you so attached to him, but whatever it was, I never had it. It was enough for you to say that you'd forgotten about me."

"You were the same," she retorted. "Remember that time where I broke my glasses? You said, straight to my face - and I quote, 'I don't really care what happens to you.' I've never forgotten it. Maybe you staying in the shinobi world for so long has warped your head so much that you're starting to believe that you can push away everyone for the rest of your life, but you're wrong. You need me. I need you. The organization needs you. Isn't that enough?"

"You did two years without me just fine," he refuted.

"But I wasn't fine," Sarutobi said, and now there were tears in her eyes. "Goddammit, you stubborn son of a bitch. I know I've been a stupid girl all my life, but now I know why it's taken me this long to realize why the fuck I can't stand you. Why I've ignored you for all this time. Why I hate you so much while developing this extremely fucked up, illogical attraction to you."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're emotionally unavailable," she ground out. "Because you're too busy trying to pretend that you don't give a damn, when it's obvious to everyone around you that you do care, very much. To the point where you're willing to sabotage what we could have, because you're a coward."

"Sarutobi, don't." The lowered tone was a warning.

"Why? Because I'm telling the TRUTH?" She leaned towards him, and despite her bravado, he could see that her shoulders were shaking. "Explain it to me like I'm five years old, Zenzou. Tell me why we're not supposed to be together, if you want me and I want you."

"You weren't the one who had to sit down with our classmate, and tell him in no uncertain terms that his life had to be sacrificed in order to protect the person we were trained to protect all our lives." Zenzou took off his coat, and pushed down his sleeve so that the tattoo of the Oniwaban was visible to the two of them. "I had one job to do, Sarutobi. And I failed. I saw you nearly die that day. What makes you think that I'm supposed to be with you when I can barely protect you?"

His grief for the things that he had lost in the last few years would weigh down on him, a burden that he could never shake off entirely. As much as he might have yearned for, desired, or even loved her, he was not willing to risk another metaphorical limb. It hurt too much.

"I can't have you and then lose you. It's as simple as that," he said softly.

Unfortunately for the both of them, Sarutobi wouldn't listen to him. She yanked him by the collar of his shirt, still miffed, but her eyes had softened. "Then it's a good thing that I'm not a double. I can take care of myself. If I remember correctly, I was the one who saved your dying ass on that ship - "

"Didn't ask for it," he muttered, still entranced by the shape of her mouth.

"Because you were - and still are - a fucking moron," she replied. "Stop letting that big brain of yours jump ten steps ahead of you, and let me in. For once your life, stop trying to be such a ninja about things, and enjoy the ride. We're not martyrs, Zenzou. We're human."

"I have a ninja license," he pointed out stubbornly. "I don't need a ride."

"Shut up," Sarutobi said. "I'm telling you here and now, that you don't need to pretend with me."

She leaned towards him, close enough that he could practically feel her breath on his skin. "I'm falling in love with you, you dumb, beautiful man. I don't know why - but just know that I am. And I know you love me too - but of course you would, because I'm an incredibly sensual specimen of a woman."

Before he could argue against any of that, or to even come up with a snappy insult on her behalf, she started to kiss him. In between each and every one of them, she would say his name over and over again. And eventually, it dawned on him that it was to remind him that she knew exactly who she was kissing.

-x-

It was a bit difficult for them to move on to the next room, but there was no bed nearby to progress things to their natural state. So with some modicum of restraint, they had reluctantly broken apart, choosing to walk through the next door.

Zenzou had picked up the paper and shoved it in his pocket, not even bothering to read it. There were far more interesting things for them to focus on at the moment.

The next room led them to one just like the fourth challenge. But instead of a forest, the scenery had shifted to something more subdued. There were green fields and something that smelled like home. In the far distance, she could have sworn there was a statue of Marishiten, the gold trim reflecting off the sunset.

"Someone really copied the village," she said. "I wonder why."

"To stir up feelings of nostalgia?" he guessed.

"Maybe," she conceded. "But whenever I find out who was behind all this, I'm kicking their ass. Not too hard, because, you know. But I'm still going to kick their ass."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't," he replied. She turned her head, and nearly had a heart attack when she saw that he was still smiling at her. She had been so used to his coldness for so long that she'd forgotten what it'd been like to be looked upon with warmth.

Maybe this was what she'd always wanted, in the first place. To fix what she needed to fix, to align things back to where they should have been all along. To fill a void that she hadn't realized was empty before now.

She wondered when it had started for him.

It wasn't like she had been completely unaware. She had known who had picked her up back when she was injured; knew that he'd taken her to the hospital. Behind the veneer of indifference, his capacity for forgiveness was infinite. He'd acknowledged her skills as a shinobi, and had trusted her to lead his group when he had decided to vanish, for whatever reason.

He spoke in actions, not words.

That she had failed to pick up the signs of it was a testament to her willful ignorance, rather than his cowardice.

The one time he'd allowed her to see a faint glimmer of his true feelings, she had brushed it off. Deep down, she had always known it to be true.

She just didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to acknowledge it. Didn't want to admit to herself that he probably had a thing for her from a long ago, even before they had been trapped in the same proximity, forced to work with each other in a setting that they couldn't leave once the task had been accomplished.

She had dismissed the potential of what could have been because it was terrifying.

Gintoki had been a safe choice.

She had always known that if she approached him, he would always turn her down. Gintoki refused to and wouldn't give her a dash of hope, not even a single crumb of affection. He would consistently, and resolutely tell her no, his choice being made a long time ago.

It allowed her to put him on a pedestal. Stagnant, but... reliable.

On the other hand, Zenzou was terrifyingly human. Flawed at best, meticulous to an extreme, an uncompromising bastard. His hand, wrapped around hers, grounded her. He was very much warm and alive, next to her. Not an illusion, or a delusion.

He was real.

And for that reason, even as imperfect as he was, he was better than a dream. She smiled back at him, the way she used to when things were far less complicated, before their duties had gotten in the way of everything.

Ahead of them was a small, dilapidated house, tucked away behind a hill. At the sight of it, she stopped walking.

"... Do you remember this place?" she asked.

He nodded.

It was the last time they'd seen each other when she had officially left the village for good.

In their own mercurial way, they had a knack of understanding each other without words. At the time, he hadn't needed to hear from her the news that the Bakufu had recruited her.

In the beginning, it had started off as a place to hide during games of Kick-the-Can. Or somewhere to go if they stole candies from their master.

Then, the old house grew into something more. It morphed into a safe place for them to retreat to when things became too overwhelming. There were a fair amount of expectations on his end from the clan he was the head of, but here, it was a place to read his comics in peace. As for her, she came to this house to scrub her clothes clean of blood first before going home, or a place to nap before reporting mission results to his father. It was a morbid reason to visit the old house, but he had understood the first time he stumbled across her, elbows deep in suds and a washing basin.

This house had become more essential the older they grew. Had they gotten along then? Probably not, but there was a mutual understanding that had existed between them. Over time, they'd forgotten how much they had in common.

There was nobody in there. As if everything had been preserved the day that she had left, there were fragments of their past. Her pink scarf, which she had replaced with a purple one once she had moved to Edo, rested on top of an old dresser. She picked it up, marveling at its softness.

A bottle of spirits, filled halfway sat on the engawa. The two of them were too young at the time to finish the whole thing by themselves, but nearly a decade later, Ayame simply uncorked it, and took a generous swig. Handing it over to Zenzou, he did the same.

"When did it start for you?" she asked, dropping half-lotus onto the engawa. He mirrored her, their thighs touching as they looked at the sunset from the veranda. The village was much more beautiful than Edo, and for a moment, she thought that this was happiness.

There was a moment, and then he took another swig from the bottle. "Sixteen."

"That long?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

After a long time of wondering why someone did not care for her, it was a novelty to discover why someone had chosen to love her for years without admitting so.

He passed the spirits back to her. "Do you remember your grandmother's funeral?"

Even now, when everything was all said and done, he still wouldn't give her a straight answer. She rolled her eyes, and nodded.

It had been a rainy day. A few guests had shown up, but ultimately, she'd been the last one standing next to the casket.

She had remembered feeling listless, and alone. It had been expected - she'd been ill for a long time. But...

The moment the coffin had gone into the incinerator had been the very few times where she had felt the profound ache of understanding that the only person that she could count on, was herself.

"I was standing far away - you couldn't see me. But I wanted to go to you."

Standing outside the edge of the house where they cremated the dead, Ayame had waited patiently, to later carry the ashes of the deceased to a grave.

"You made sure no one was looking before you let yourself cry."

She smiled sadly at that.

"I hate it when you cry," he admitted. "Still do. It took me a bit longer to put the pieces together why I felt that way, but you always had that inner strength I never had. To be able to connect with others in a way I couldn't. Or wouldn't. So to see you so broken that day, I wanted to hold you, even though I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to do such a thing. What happened after that was... inconsequential."

"It's not up to you to decide what's inconsequential or not," she said quietly, but smiled all the same. "Tell me more."

Tell me why you love me.

He returned her smile. "Despite your horrific eyesight and abysmal taste in men, you're - and I hate to admit this - still one of best shinobi in the business."

Ayame huffed. Clearly he was not going to stop reminding her of Gintoki anytime soon. "You realize you're also including yourself in the category of the men I like now?"

"I do." There was a tug to the corner of his mouth.

"I can't believe a girl has to be ugly and a great ninja in order for you to like her," she complained. "By that measure, Waki should qualify."

"She cares too much about me to the point where if I make a mistake, she'll let it slide. I want an equal, not someone who's just a subordinate. You, on the other hand..." He grinned. "You won't let me slip, not even a little bit. Or let me go into a situation where I'll end up like my old man. Plus, you have a great rack."

She passed him what was left of the bottle; it was her way of saying that she had been satisfied with his answer. Without further ado, he took it from her, drained the rest, and set it on the ground.

"What does the paper say?"

He took it out of his pocket, and smiled in amusement.

"What?"

"Apparently, we're supposed to be sharing a bed."

For once, the challenge was actually interesting. "We'd better give them a show, then."

It was a testament to how well he knew her that he grinned, instead of pretending she hadn't said what she just suggested. "You're one hell of an exhibitionist, Sarutobi," he said, but leaned towards her anyway.

Her grey eyes met crystal blue. "If you want to keep going forward, you'll have to call me by my first name. I'm a very high class woman, you see. I only sleep with men who know me on a first-name basis."

"Point taken... Ayame," he said most solicitously, though his eyes were still glittering in anticipation. "Although I personally think your last name suits you better than you think."

Neither of them cared at that point who was looking.

The booze had done the job, to lower their inhibitions. It wasn't enough for them to lose control of their mental facilities, but it'd been just the right amount to let down their guard. Without further preamble, he pulled her into his lap, and cradled her cheek carefully, as if he was trying to memorize her every expression. His thumb traced the outline of her mouth, right before he leaned in to kiss her.

The taste of alcohol was on both of their lips.

There was no need this time for him to lie to her, or to pretend that he didn't want this.

She returned his kiss in full measure. The way that she had secretly wanted to, even before she suspected anything more coming from his end. His hands slipped down to her waist.

"Grab my shoulders," he whispered, and she did.

She wrapped his legs around him and let him carry her to the room where there was a more comfortable surface for them to lie on. Not that she was paying much attention to the futon - her focus still remained on him, even as he was careful to place her down with her head resting on a pillow, setting her glasses aside for later use. Every part of him felt unfamiliar to her, and yet his hands felt like home as he explored her body.

Like the first time, their kisses were slow and unhurried. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers.

She felt awash in a sea of emotions.

For all that she had fantasized in the past, the physical sensation of him lying on top of her was incomparable. Her mind felt as if it was descending into free fall, allowing him to take over her facilities.

Her hands lightly stroked his shoulders, first pulling off his blue coat, then scarf, and finally slipped them under his black garments. Her fingers dipped down to his back, loosening his clothes by a considerable amount before she traced his muscles, feeling them dip under her touch.

When he groaned against her neck, it sent electric shocks down to her very core. She didn't know that she could derive great pleasure from evoking such a reaction from him.

He deftly untied the sash that held her clothing together, palming her breasts as his hands slipped under her bra. Shuddering, she couldn't help but to arch her hips, meeting his halfway.

His hands were indeed as incredible as she had suspected. As they stroked her skin, gently, but insistently, she could feel herself aching for his touch. Her nipples pebbled as he twisted them between his index and thumb. He peppered her jawline with kisses, and then dragged his lips to her throat, sucking against her pulse point.

Her skin burned with every passing second.

When he withdrew from her neck, he placed his thumb on her lips, tracing them again before inserting it into her mouth.

She sucked on it, swirling on the tip with her tongue. It was a promise of what she could do to him, if he'd let her.

He was mesmerized by the display. The heat burned in his gaze as he continued to pump his finger in and out.

He finally withdrew and then asked in a low voice, "Tell me what you want. I don't know if there's any rope here, but - "

Ayame shook her head. She didn't need it.

Not yet, anyway.

Instead, she replied, "You. I just want you."

She meant every word.

His eyes darkened in triumph. It was the look of someone who had finally captured a victory after years of waiting patiently.

She hadn't taken into consideration his hidden possessiveness, a latent jealousy that he had concealed for years on end. Perhaps he had always considered her his to keep.

The very thought of it flooded her body with heat.

His hand winnowed to her back, unclasping her bra with ease. She in return tugged on his shirt and pants until he started to pull the both of them off, causing his eyes to flash in amusement.

"Impatient?" he teased her. "I quite like it when you scowl."

That just made her scowl even further. He slipped off his shirt, watching her carefully. At the sight of her, throat hitching with anticipation, he placed his clothes carefully next to their futon. Then, he turned his attention back to her.

He was just as delicious to look at back when she had snuck a peek at him in the baths. Even though they were in a situation that he had desired for what must have been years, there was no sign of worry in his expression. His ability to compartmentalize, to put emotions on the backburner...

It certainly explained the overwhelming desire that overcame her as he kissed her hungrily, fingers hooking under her panties, sliding them off. All of his feelings were spilling out now in an avalanche that he couldn't keep to himself. Now that she was his, he could pour all of himself into her, leaving no stone unturned as to how he would demonstrate his affections for her.

He wasn't so slow now.

The room filled with the scent of her arousal, and he quickly aligned himself to her sex. When he pushed inside of her, he didn't ask her if she needed for him to go slow. Her wetness had told him precisely what she needed from him, and he intended on giving it to her fully.

All she could do was to take him.

Surrendering to him, she cried out helplessly as he snapped his hips to meet hers in rapid succession. He found the perfect tempo to accomodate them both, frantic and unforgiving as she melted underneath him.

It was an inferno that engulfed them entirely; a kaleidoscope of repressed desire finally breaking free and filled with things once left unsaid. All of it was coming to the forefront, unleashed without anything left to hold them back. Together, they created a storm of passion where two unstoppable forces collided against one another, both seeking a release that only the other person could provide.

There was no time to think. No time to even breath.

The sheets beneath them twisted with the force of their movements.

He pressed his hand against her chest, pinning her down, and lifted one of her legs higher up so that he could thrust even deeper inside of her, hitting her spots with a greater intensity than before.

There was nowhere to go but up. She couldn't keep silent, even if she wanted to.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Please don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, and adjusted his pace to go even quicker than before, causing her to shudder and sob. Her eyes began to roll back.

It was too much. Too intense and too fast for her to keep holding on.

The weight of him, the intensity of his thrusts, and the ragged breaths coming from him, telling her how perfect she was for him...

Her body could take no more.

She gripped his wrists as she came, moaning as her body clenched around his.

As her muscles clamped down on him, her climax peaked into something immeasurable. He made sure to prolong it as long as possible.

The movements of his hips became more erratic as she panted beneath him. He continued to take her, claiming her without a moment of respite. Drowning in him, and allowing herself to surrender in shades of blue, she was entirely lost in him as he surged into her with one final thrust.

The world had ceased to exist as long as she wrapped her arms around him.

For a few minutes, they laid there, limbs still entertwined together.

He was the first to break the stalemate, shifting himself forward to kiss her forehead gently. When he retreated back, she could feel him tracing her body.

"What are you doing?" she murmured sleepily, her eyes already threatening to shut from post-coital bliss.

His hand finally rested on her stomach. She knew which scar he'd seen.

"Did it hurt?" he asked softly. "Back when... "

She placed her hand over his. "Not anymore."

He nodded and sank into the futon beside her, his arms still wrapped around her waist.

She curled up next to him, pressing her face against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat underneath his skin.

"Do you remember when you asked me why I didn't tie up my hair?" she whispered. The light from the room was starting to dim. She thought she could drift happily to sleep like this, and it would be enough, to be in his arms.

"Yes."

"I grew it out because of you," she confessed. "But you never noticed."

He gave her a faint smile. "I did. I just didn't think it was for me."

"Well now you know," she said, and he kissed her forehead again.

No more words between them were exchanged - there wasn't any need to. And before long, she fell asleep, drawing in the warmth from his body.

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- tbc

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