"Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

"Certainly not Zura, if that's who you mean."

Yukimura smiled back at him, one brow quirked. "I mean all of them. They were good to you."

He hummed affirmatively. Toshizō wasn't really jealous, but his jealousy had become something of a running joke between them, a passive acknowledgement of their attraction and mutual respect for each other's responsibilities and boundaries. Tōshirō might've called it a copout, but it had been working for them.

From his seat at the desk Toshizō could see her gazing into the sky, unblinking against the cool, salted breeze off the ocean. Ezo had been cold but humid, fooling them into thinking it was warmer than it was. "You'll get sick like that," he said quietly.

Tōshirō was right.

She turned again to face him, elbows just lifting off the windowsill, blinking out of a daydream. "Did you say something?"

Not wishing to speak, he shook his head a little, mesmerized by the gentle swish of her hair as she turned back toward the water.

Damn it all.

Unaware of his own movements, Toshizō stood and plucked a haori from his wardrobe (he had refused to fully abandon the roomy comforts of Japanese attire); in his head he might've planned to set it about her shoulders and sit back down to work, but here he was standing behind her, closing the haori around her with his arms and a possessive squeeze.

"I said," he whispered behind her ear, "you're sure to catch your death like this, keeping watch at my open window."

She shivered, though the skin of her neck was burning against his closed lips. Her shoulders tensed under his arms, a breath caught in her chest. He parted his lips, barely, and his eyes followed her hands, rising to draw the curtains, close out the rest of the world. With a trembling exhale she whispered back, "If it's your window, maybe I wouldn't mind."

/ / / / /

Mitsu was right. She was probably right.

But Sougo couldn't imagine looking at Hijikata and feeling anything but a dull hate. A dull pain.

It wasn't like he had expected anything to have changed. Since their return Sougo had been avoiding Hijikata more than usual. They'd made it back before the damage to his leg was irreversible, but it was unlikely he'd get back to a hundred percent strength. It only brought Sougo that much closer to supplanting him as fukuchou.

Yet somehow, he couldn't find it in him to feel pleased about it.

"Oi Sougo."

He stopped dead—just before Hijikata's cracked door. "What do you want."

"I want to talk to you."

Obedient little captain, he stepped just inside the threshold.

"Come in here. Shut the door."

"This is fine."

Hijikata shrugged and took a long, long hit off his cigarette. Long enough that Sougo felt his time being wasted, became a hair more irritated as each smoke-filled fractional second ticked by.

Finally Hijikata said: "Why did you try to protect me?"

Sougo's hands squeezed into fists. The whole time they were in Hakuōki he had done nothing more than mess around, and in the end it was Hijikata who had borne the full brunt of an enemy's sword. For Sougo's sake.

"You must be confused," he finally said. "I would never."

Vicious. Dangerous. Jerk. Callous. Ingrate.

It was all true. That was what hurt—the truth in the teasing. Maybe he should've stayed behind after all; he wouldn't last as long in an unfamiliar world without allies, but there was no changing his nature. At least on his own, he'd be free to be himself without hurting those allies.

"No?" Another eternal drag. Asshole was doing it on purpose. "Then—why didn't you want me to find out about Souji and Mitsu?"

Sougo's skin went tingly, like he might start sweating. It was so long ago, among their first days there, but how could he have forgotten about that? "I'm still angry at you," he said, rerouting because they were not about to have that conversation.

"No shit."

"I mean really. Not for fun, or because of some stupid rivalry. I'm really angry at you." He loosened his hands. "Tell me why."

"Tell you why you're mad at me?"

"Angry. I need to know that you know why."

"Come on, Sougo." He squished the cigarette out in his ashtray. "Just revel in your anger. It makes you feel better than talking about it, so just feel it."

"She loved you. Though I'll never understand why."

"I am the first example under Tall, Dark, and Snarky."

"You were nothing but an asshole to her, and she loved you." I despise you for that. He wanted to say it, this would've been just the right time. But it was understood. That was enough. "And you still didn't have the guts—"

"We've been over this."

"She didn't ever marry. That's on you."

"She didn't talk to me about that, Sougo." He spoke softly, refusing to match Sougo's impassioned tenor. The use of his name also illuminated the rift between them: the scolding of an impertinent child, by a man who recognized the complexities of adult relationships. "She didn't do melodrama. She was a grown-up, she was capable of making her own decisions about what to do with her feelings. She and I—we had an understanding. The best thing . . . the only thing I could ever do for her was take care of you." Sougo averted his eyes. "And if she still loved me, knowing all that . . . then that was enough for her."

It was getting harder to suppress the tears. In every aspect of her life—even in her love life—Mitsuba had settled for what was best for her brother. He'd known that, even back then, but. . . . Sougo had always assumed it was this bastard that took everything important from him.

But maybe it was Sougo's selfishness that had prevented his happiness instead. Because couldn't he have thought of Mitsuba for once, and acknowledged her feelings, their validity, and listened to her? Couldn't he have kicked Hijikata in the ass for his sister's sake? (Oh, and wouldn't I have loved that?) Couldn't he have done something for her?

Then there was an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him close. Hijikata's words choked against Sougo's head: "So I'm going to keep doing that."

For a moment he was transfixed, face pressed into Hijikata's clothes, and he inhaled deeply to stifle sobs, breath hitching. It wasn't just that Sougo continued to choose being this man's subordinate. Even after exposing the worst parts of himself, even after all the awful things he'd done to him, the kinds of things that had shut out and turned away almost everyone else in Sougo's life—Hijikata continued to care.

Did she love him because he looked out for Sougo?

It was the overwhelming scent of stale smoke that snapped him back to his senses. "Get off me, you cow." Sougo pushed the man back and was halfway out the door before his name stopped him. He didn't turn around. "What."

Hijikata said nothing, just stood there accepting the silence. Given how the guy had communicated with his own brother (which was to say, didn't really), Sougo understood what he was trying to say.

Mitsu was right.

Now he was trying to shuffle past but Sougo was still blocking the door, and for another moment Sougo lost his head and grabbed him. Arms around his narrow waist, fuck he really hated him but you didn't have to like family, and if Hijikata hated Sougo back the man would still love him because he had loved Mitsuba, and christ if he didn't just reek of cigarettes. "Nope," Sougo mumbled decisively, sniffling as he shoved Hijikata off again and they slipped away in separate directions.

That dull pain—maybe it wasn't exactly hate.