Yamazaki drew his borrowed haori tighter. It was snowing lightly, but the weather had recently been worse—the ground was muddied with slush that had re-frozen several times. Despite the conditions, the streets were busy. This wasn't his Edo, yet the storefronts they passed felt homely and familiar; it was less like visiting a distant world than a neighboring town.

A pretty hickish town, without electric kotatsu or Internet, but still.

Life before the Amanto had been all but forgotten, but what was Japanese and what was alien had always been pretty easy to distinguish. And everything in this world was Japanese. There wasn't even a suit to be seen in town. Yamazaki had gleaned little from the snippets of dialogue their captors had let slip while they took turns being interrogated. But he did understand that in place of Amanto, there were foreign nations prying open Japan's shell. The concerns were different colors, but were more or less shaped the same. If the tama faction hadn't arrived here in their casual clothes—if they had been dressed as the enemy—trouble could have run much deeper.

As they strolled, Yamazaki noticed they had passed by a second dango shop. "Where are we going, Harada-san?"

"There's a little place near here with a really cute serving girl. I wanna say hello. See if she's keeping warm." Instinctively Yamazaki's face formed into clear disapproval, and Harada smirked. "Ya—Susumu would say the same thing. Just a quick detour, I promise."

A violent grumble erupted in Yamazaki's belly, and his shoulders shrank in a futile attempt to corral the noise. "Eh?" said Harada, head tilting. "Maybe real food's a better idea anyway."

"I can't right now. This whole thing has me so nervous, I couldn't eat a proper meal."

"Nervous, huh." He followed Harada's eyes to a group of men as they slipped into a kimono shop to escape the cold, maybe even to try on the wares, though they clearly weren't buying. "I suppose that's acceptable. Whether or not you all are telling untruths. Ah—here," he said cheerfully, lifting aside the curtain at their apparent destination. Guy doesn't let much get to him.

The second they stepped inside, the chatter in the place quieted to a dull hum; those who weren't glaring their way were looking around for the source of the sudden lull. The host greeted them stiffly, giving a shallow bow, but made no move to seat them.

"I don't think they want us here," Yamazaki whispered.

"I'm not in uniform, how'd they even recognize me. . . ."

"Ah!" Yamazaki turned to see a young woman scuttling toward the host; she was indeed cute, even in a plain, food-stained kimono. "Please allow me the honor of serving these guests, Nishida-tenchou," she said brightly, bowing deeply to her boss.

"This man is Shinsengumi." Cripes, they aren't shy about it!

"Oh, but this is Harada-dono! He's the nicest of the bunch, you know."

"Maybe to you," Yamazaki muttered. Harada elbowed him.

The manager couldn't resist his rogue server leading an openly armed man—"Oh right, the sword," Harada mused—what a maroon!—to a table near the edge of the room, farthest from the entrance and any inclement weather.

"The yukadanbō is best here," she said, winking as she pointed to the heated floor beneath her feet.

"How thoughtful of you, Yukari-chan."

Yamazaki tauntingly mouthed it again behind her back, and Harada all but flicked him off. "Well, since we imposed such trouble on you," said Yamazaki matter-of-factly, "it's only fair that you stay warm by serving us here." Harada glared.

"Oh, indeed! Your friend is quite sweet, Harada-dono, who is he?"

"Ketsuno," he bit. "Ketsuno Sagaru."

Her nose wrinkled in curiosity. "That's an odd name," she said diplomatically.

"Isn't it," Harada said through his teeth.

"Well, let me bring you two some tea, alright? Since Ketsuno-dono hasn't been here before—"

"Oh, Sagaru, please," Yamazaki insisted in his most gratuitous innocent tone.

"Well, Sagaru-kun. Have Harada-dono choose something tasty for you, he knows our menu quite well."

"I'm sure he does, with such a kind lady here to smile at him."

"Ah! W-well—" she waved a shy hand in front of her face to distract from the deep flush penetrating her cheeks—"l-let me give you some time to decide."

"S'alright," said Harada. He was starting to look pretty peeved. "The usual for me. And dango for the kid."

"Certainly, Harada-dono. I'll be right back. Oh," she leaned in and whispered to them both, "and I don't think Nishida-tenchou is very happy with me, so try not to have too good a time, alright, men?"

"Yes ma'am," said Yamazaki, smiling warmly. Harada looked gutted as the girl patted them both on a shoulder and Yamazaki settled into his cushion like a pleased puppy.

"You little snake," Harada said once Yukari had vacated.

Yamazaki sat up and stole cautious glances at the other diners, who appeared to be finishing their food with record-breaking haste. "Are they always like that?"

"Pretty much. Not a lot of fans here. The whole town's on edge though, and it's got nothing to do with us, per se." He leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice. "What about you guys? If we accept the, uh, premise. That you're Shinsengumi. Don't you get the cold shoulder too?"

"Well . . . I'm a lot lower-profile than the rest of the guys. . . ."

"Uh-huh."

"They do seem to get into fights more often than necessary. In my opinion. So maybe the treatment is similar. I honestly wouldn't know."

They sat in awkward silence for a time, Harada uncomfortable with the situation in general, Yamazaki unwilling to ruffle the man further. They both loosened up when presented with munchies.

Yamazaki stared at his dish, and observed as Harada immediately dug into his ochazuke. "Is Souji-san alright?"

"Hm?"

"He seemed pretty mad."

Harada sipped at his tea. He seemed quite relaxed now; maybe Yamazaki had been reading his earlier mood incorrectly, and he'd been more playful than seriously offended. That, or Harada had the emotional memory of a goldfish. "He's like that sometimes. It hurt him to see Kondō—uh, Isami—get bested like that."

"But he wasn't bested. They tied."

"That's enough for Souji to take it personally. Sougo's the same way, right? Or he wouldn't have fought Souji."

"He and Hijikata-san both. They'd do anything for Kondō-san. I think he's the only thing holding those two together."

"Now that, I don't believe."

"How come?"

"Just a feeling. They look like they hate each other—"

"Oh, they do."

"Maybe so. But they also seem like they're stuck, like they'll always follow through on their duty to each other."

"Yeah. . . ." Mitsuba-dono suddenly came to mind. "No, you're right, Harada-san."

"Sano's fine. Besides, they remind me of . . . mine. Hijikata-san cares about Souji, in his own way. But Souji's still a bitter kid when it comes to that man. It seems the same with your guys."

"But . . . is Souji-san alright?"

He was overtly hesitant to speak this time. "What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . you guys . . . seem really worried about him."

Harada sighed. "You noticed that, huh?"

"You're just bad at secrets, Harada-san."

"You noticed me doing it?"

"Only because Ninja-san did the same thing five minutes later."

"They don't give you enough credit, do they?"

Yamazaki shrugged. "I'm a great spy."

"Maybe they shouldn't leave you with me, after all."

"You know a lot of secrets?"

"My fair share. . . . Man, you're disarming."

"People get cozy because I'm not physically threatening. I'm pretty smart though."

"You should ditch those fools and start some shrewd business."

"I don't know. I don't have what it takes to use my skills for evil. Besides, I love those dumb guys too much. So." He popped in a dango. "What's wrong with Souji-san?"

Harada clicked his tongue and leaned back. "Only if you promise to answer a question for me." When the response was big eyes and exuberant nodding, Harada only seemed disappointed. "You're too gullible. What if I ask something you can't answer?"

"You're free to kill me if I don't answer."

"I mean, if you give me information you shouldn't give me."

"Then they'll kill me. As long as we're here, my fate's not exactly up to me."

"You're pretty brave too, aren't you?"

"No, we just have nothing to hide, so there's no wager to make."

"Shit." Harada laughed ironically. "Why does it feel like you've had the upper hand all along?"

Yamazaki just looked at him, puppy eyes begging for his answer.

"Fine. Just—stop making that face at me. Souji . . . fights harder than any of us, and he's never been one to sleep or eat enough. Lately—it's been more obvious he's not feeling well. He's had his orders to take it easy, but of course nothing changes. We're worried he's fighting his way to his grave."

Yamazaki eyed him. Harada was long-limbed, sinewy, and carried only one sword where the rest of his buddies carried two. If that longsword served as his backup, his primary weapon was probably too big to carry on his hip. He did have a long-hafted weapon the night previous, but it had been hard to see what exactly it was by the light of a single flame. Naginata? Spear? Bō staff? Not that it particularly mattered, Harada could surely kill the shit out of him with whatever weapon. "Is that really all there is to it?"

"Nnn. It's my turn, Sagaru-kun."

He munched contentedly. "What's your question, then?"

"Well . . . I need to think about it," he admitted. "I didn't have anything particular in mind. I'm not good with that stuff, Hijikata-san was the interrogator for a reason."

"Yeah, and yours is just as scary as ours. Well—scarier. Since I don't know him."

"He might be equally scary if you did."

"Are you afraid of him too?"

"Me? Nah. He's just a man. I could take him. Souji, though . . . I'll admit, I'm amazed that Sougo defeated him."

"That wasn't all fair either."

"You may think that, but normally even when he's emotional like that it wouldn't affect his swordsmanship."

"No?"

Harada's eyes slid suspiciously back to him. "You're a dangerous kid, Sagaru."

/ / / / /

Tōshirō made sure to sit directly across from the quiet guy, who was like a cat warming in a spot of sun, eyes closed but clearly awake. His ears may even have flicked anytime Tōshirō shifted.

"What's your story?"

Kondō-san patted his shoulder. "Don't provoke them." He glanced nervously at the hulking monster standing by the door.

"Come on, him? That guy's a teddy bear."

"Hijikata-san," said Sougo. The quiet man lifted his eyes.

"You know," Tōshirō said, "this would be way easier for everyone if I knew your name. I can't keep referring to you as 'that quiet one' forever."

Now the big guy glanced over too. It was hard to get a read on either of them. How closely were they listening? Were they curious? Was he making them nervous? Had they been resentful of the task before even entering this room?

"Leave them alone, Hijikata-san."

"Oh please. You're itching to get me into trouble with them."

"I don't have the slightest idea what you might be referring to."

"Shut up, Sougo. Stop saying Hijikata-san."

"What would I call you, if not your name?"

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. These poor souls probably haven't been told anything beyond 'guard these guys', and here you are getting them involved."

"Sorry, Hijikata-san."

"You might as well fucking tell me what you wanted to talk about."

"Here?" he said, lips pursed.

"Yeah, we're not exactly going to get any privacy, are we?"

"I guess this would be more private than with danna listening in, huh."

"Just, try not to make it sound like you're speaking in code."

The quiet guy's left hand slunk to the hilt of his katana.

"Seriously, man, what can I call you?"

"Keep silent."

"Again, that's more or less what I've been calling you."

"He means you, Hijikata-san."

"Both of you."

The big one turned back toward the door, crossing his arms with determination. "Wait now," said Tōshirō nervously, "you look sorta like you don't want to witness something."

"That I don't."

The quiet one tilted his head, eyes closed, a hint of a smile in his lips, and Tōshirō winced. "He's kind of scaring me, this guy."

Sougo picked at his nails. "The teddy bear, you mean? Or that quiet one?"

"Whatever. You said Souji should've beaten you. Other than for my own eternal peace of mind, what makes you say that?"

"These guys are all objectively stronger than us." Kondō-san pouted. "Sorry, kyokuchou, but it's true." The quiet one's eyes opened.

"I don't see it," said Tōshirō. "They haven't even truly fought us, maybe with the exception of their Okita. And I've seen you do some pretty vicious things yourself, Sougo, it would surprise me if there were someone out there worse than you." He felt something cold against the small wound on his neck; he looked down to find himself yet again at swordpoint. "I could've sworn that shit was sheathed." A southpaw armed with iaidō, could any one person be more dangerous?

"Let him go," said Kondō, voice full of gruff authority. "If danna wanted to keep us from talking, he would've had us gagged."

Tōshirō felt his spine tingle. "Et tu, kyokuchou?"

He stood, head high. "Lower your blade and let them speak." Either by his force or the reason in his argument, the quiet man complied, replacing his blade with silence.

"Why me, anyway," complained Tōshirō. "Sougo's the dangerous one."

"Please, Toushi, don't make this more difficult—"

"I got it, I got it. Shit."

"Hijikata-san."

"What did I just say about using that name?"

". . . about Souji."

There was a halting silence; when Tōshirō glanced up, Sougo and the quiet man were locked in some kind of mental staring contest. Sougo seemed to be not only looking for a reaction (there was none to be found, Tōshirō had tried), but also contemplating some kind of . . . courtesy?

No. That couldn't be right.

Finally Sougo let out a short breath through his nose. "I'm sorry, Hijikata-san, but I'd rather have it all together than talk it out in front of these guys."

"Uh-huh. If you think you're going to investigate without their interference, you're dumber than I realized."

"No . . . I just have some thought experiments to perform first."

Well, my conclusion stands. "And here I thought you had something worthwhile to add."

"Shame on you. Did you want to talk to me so badly, Hijikata-san?"

"Forget it. This scene was filler anyway."

/ / / / /

It was too warm under the covers but he refused to move, preferring to sweat through his anger. Hell if he couldn't make a challenge out of being bedridden. Especially since it was by force rather than necessity.

The night was moonless, flameless. It was different from the darkness in his eyelids, or behind a blindfold, or of sleep. Having his eyes open to a pitch-dark room always made his breaths come shallower, like the darkness was a physical thing pushing in on his chest. It was harder to breathe, harder to hear, harder to feel the air move. . . .

"Jii-san."

He'd been expecting this.

"I need to talk to you."

He wasn't sure why, though.

Sock feet padded for a few steps before slowing, soles skimming across tatami until they pressed into the edge of the futon. There was a creak of knees, a gentle pop, as Sougo sat down. "I know what's wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me."

When Sougo failed to contradict him vocally, Souji sat up. He couldn't know. But something about the silence was smug. Sad.

"We both have our advantages. Yours is obvious."

"And that is."

Again, Sougo said nothing.

Souji's arm followed the familar path to the candle beside his bed, fingers picking one match. When he struck it, Sougo's serene face illuminated, dark hollows where his eyes lay closed. He shook his head, barely. "But you have one distinct disadvantage. Greater than any of ours."

His teeth squeezed together reflexively as he pressed flame to the wick, but he relaxed his jaw before speaking, because there was no way he could know. "Leave."

And so, slowly, Sougo rose to his feet, palm flat against his chest. As he made his way for the exit, Souji lay back, sheets cool with sweat in winter air, and extinguished the candle with a wave.

A hum swam along the breathless black between them.

"It's not the sword that's killing you."

The clack of shōji closing, reverent.

Souji rolled over, eyes drying out under the weight of darkness and words.

He would not sleep that night.