.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
She saw me. Good.
From the rooftop two blocks away, Seijiro lowered his hand, finger still tingling from the aftershock of releasing Red at full speed. The pulse of cursed energy screamed down the length of the street, devouring the air with a high-pitched crack that made the night flinch. Rooftiles were blown free. The entire wooden wall had collapsed inward. What was left of the alley disappeared behind a fog of light, fire, and violent silence.
He exhaled through his teeth, wincing. His head was pounding for too much input, too fast; his Six Eyes had been working overtime since that morning, and now, to make things worse, they were scanning for her signal, threading through Kyoto's residual cursed energy, and when he'd finally locked onto her—
Of course Keiji had found her first.
The blast hadn't been at maximum output, not like the one he unleashed in Iga. This was just strong enough to vaporize a few walls and punch a crater into the cobblestone, but not enough to turn a portion of the capital into ash. That abandoned district had been his only window, with no civilians. He'd checked with the Six Eyes, double-checked, and damn near burned out his retinas trying to thread a shot between empty buildings.
Just long enough to give her cover. She had better have used it.
His pupils adjusted, squinting against the light still radiating from the heart of the blast. "Come on, come on…" he muttered under his breath. Smoke. Dust. A lick of fire curled from a torn lantern. A cracked wooden beam.
No movement. No scream. No Kaoru.
Seijiro's throat tightened. She saw me, he reminded himself. He had made damn sure she'd seen him. The timing, the flare of cursed energy, it had all been a warning signal, and Kaoru wasn't the type to miss a cue; she was as clever as she was pretty.
She got out, he told himself. She must've—
A flicker, a twitch in the cursed energy field, faint, familiar. His shoulders slackened, breath leaking out in something perilously close to relief. "Thank fuck," he muttered beneath his breath, fingers briefly pressing to his temple.
But then—
Another presence, heavy, sun-drenched, cursed energy, too cheerful, too loud. Ah. Right. Keiji Maeda was still there and already brushing soot from his sleeves, rising from behind the oversized ōdachi that had shielded him from the worst of the blast. His kosode was singed at the edges, the feathers in his hair slightly blackened. He looked, in Seijiro's opinion, like a samurai who had lost a duel to a festival cart.
Keiji kicked a tile out of his way, walking toward the edge of the blast zone. "Oi, oi." For once, the flamboyant sorcerer wasn't smiling; a dark shadow flickered behind his eyes. "Seriously?" he said, voice lower than usual. "You incinerated her, Gojo-dono."
Seijiro didn't blink, just folded his arms neatly over his chest, adopting that slow, arrogant disinterest that always seemed to provoke everyone at least a little. Still impeccably dressed, still wearing his idiotic braids, he glanced at the crater, then shrugged. "You looked like you were struggling," he said. "You're welcome."
The other sorcerer stared at him, then down at the crater, then back at him, speechless. "…Welcome?"
Seijiro didn't flinch, but that's when he saw it. A shape, half-buried near the edge of the scorched cobblestones. He crouched and picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. A little scorched, a little cracked. But...
For a second, just a second, his eyes softened, and his lips twitched. A wooden comb with camellias. He turned the comb in his hand slowly, thumb gently grazing one of the painted red petals. Ah. There you are. I've been looking for you.
Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the moment when Keiji let out a bitter laugh, and his hand shot out, grabbing Seijiro by the front of his kosode and lifting him half off the ground. Seijiro rocked forward slightly onto his toes, unbothered. No Infinity, no resistance. What was the point? He was gonna judge him anyway, and he just wanted Keiji to get lost, so whatever.
Let him vent. Just don't look too relieved. Don't look backward.
"You're welcome?" Keiji growled, eyes narrowed with rage, a sentiment Seijiro had never seen on the older man's face. "You—You just incinerated a civilian! She was—"
"Not one of ours," Seijiro cut in, voice suddenly colder than steel. He tilted his head slightly, grabbing Keiji's wrist on his collar. "And if she wasn't with us, then she was with them. Better to clean the board early than wait to see which way a blade turns." He smirked, cold, hateful. "Thought you were smarter than this," he added lightly, daring Keiji to make it personal. "You've been in enough wars to know how this shit works."
Keiji's hand tightened on his collar; the ōdachi trembled in his other hand. For a moment, Seijiro thought he might actually draw it. "Even so, we should've taken her to Fushimi. Questioned her. She could've had nothing to do with the Zenin or the Eastern Army, we couldn't be sure—"
"And yet now she won't be a problem," Seijiro interrupted, bored. "We're at war. People die."
Silence. The wind carried smoke across their feet. Then, slowly—reluctantly—Keiji let go as Seijiro landed back on the ground, brushing his sleeve as if it mattered. Keiji's hand hovered near the hilt of the ōdachi, his posture a knot of fury and frustration.
There was something almost noble in his disgust, not that Seijiro had time for that.
"No one deserves to die like that," he muttered. "Not even a pretty spy." He stepped back, spitting on the scorched earth, and wiped the blood from both his cheeks. Then, he slung the ōdachi over his shoulder and cast Seijiro a long, measuring glance. "Guess the rumors about your father were true. Cold-blooded bastard, they said. I can see the family resemblance."
Seijiro stood very still; the comb was still in his hand, but now clenched a little too tightly. Tiny teeth bit skin. Then slowly, he slid it into his sleeve, safe. "Yeah," he said, voice empty. "My father and I are more alike than I'd care to admit."
The word father rotted on his tongue.
Keiji didn't reply; he was already walking away, waving half-heartedly. "Back to Fushimi. Someone's gotta calm them down when they hear half the southern ward went up in smoke. I'll let them know you've already taken care of the situation—"
He was interrupted by a sound.
Soft.
A twitch of movement between them on the ground. They both looked down. A rabbit. White. Fluffy. Delicately conjured. It blinked up at them innocently from the rubble.
Seijiro froze. Keiji blinked.
"Is that a...?" the older man asked, uncertain, his brow twitching.
The little creature sniffed once, then hopped straight toward Seijiro, then, with all the dignity of a fluffy diplomat, it rose on its hind legs and butted its head into his knee. Seijiro's brain flatlined for one full second. No. Oh no. Fucking shikigami, you traitor, he thought, glaring at it.
"Dinner!" Seijiro said too quickly, diving to scoop the creature up and hugged it tightly, pretending not to see the very smug way it burrowed into his sleeve, recognizing him. It wriggled in delight, smearing soot on his colorful haori as it sprawled across his forearms. "...Good for muscle reinforcement." He smiled awkwardly, blinking too fast, and patted it as innocently as he could.
Keiji stared at him for a long, slow second. Then, finally, gave a huff of laughter, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered something about lunatics. "I can't help you find your lovely daughter now, Gojo-dono. I'm heading back to Maeda-dono." He turned, walking away with a chuckle. "Tell him you heroically melted a spy to protect the peace of this country."
Seijiro watched him go, shoulders slumping with relief. Finally gone. "…Not my daughter. She's my little sister," he muttered, petting the shikigami, looking down at it. It blinked back up at him, smug. "Well," he said, softly, "time to take you back to her."
With that, Seijiro nodded once, tucked the comb deeper into his sleeve, and turned north, following a thread of cursed energy only he could see. It curved like a ribbon, leading him through half-lit alleyways and past the flicker of red festival lanterns strung low across the rooftops. The street began to thrum with life again, laughs, shamisen, the smell of grilled squid and kushiyaki, but that alley to the right...
There.
He paused at the corner, watching the cursed energy spike just ahead.
She was smart. She'd moved out of sight from the main roads, but deep enough into Kyoto's festival that no sorcerer—no loyalist—would dare risk a confrontation that would endanger civilians. It was the same instinct that had once driven her to choose a tree hollow during their time in Iga. Predictable. Infuriatingly predictable.
He rounded the corner, and there she was.
Kaoru.
She was fine. Kneeling at the far end of the narrow alley, her back slouched slightly, Round Deer melting back into the shadows behind her like mist. Its cursed energy still curled around her like smoke. He hadn't been seen yet; he could still turn back, walk away, pretend he hadn't found her, let her stay a ghost he never had to answer to. But no, he didn't turn. He never did, when it came to her.
Instead, Seijiro took a moment he wasn't sure he deserved. Fine, he told himself again. And then, more quietly, beautiful.
Even crouched and half-shrouded in shadow, she pulled his breath from his chest. A kimono, pale pink with cranes, torn at the hem, bare calf smeared with small cuts and dust. Her black hair, normally tied back in a warrior's tail, was pinned in a typical noblewoman knot, even if a few strands had escaped during the fight. She was barefoot, and... her lips were painted in vermilion.
His brain took a second to catch up. ...Lip paint? Seijiro averted his gaze in silent protest like the kami might grant him mercy if he asked nicely. They did not. Why—why the hell is she in that kimono with her lips painted? A battlefield, she was meant for. Not this. Not something so... soft. He hated how it made his chest twist. Hated more how it made his mind go blank for a moment too long. He'd prepared himself to face her blade again, maybe even her hatred. But not this. She wasn't supposed to make him feel stupid and in love again.
With a huff, he set the rabbit shikigami down in exaggerated care. "Go," he murmured.
The creature gave him a smug side-eye before hopping softly down the alley toward her. Kaoru blinked, surprised by the familiar weight pressing against her leg. Her fingers brushed over the creature's ears with instinctive care before dissolving it into shadow. Then her black eyes lifted—
—and met his winter blue ones. Her expression shifted, and in that instant, just for a heartbeat, he thought he saw it. Something in her face: surprise, yes. Wariness too. But beneath it, a hint of relief she didn't quite suppress fast enough. How dare she look relieved? He hated her for it. Kami, he hated how much he wanted her anyway.
But of course it couldn't last: the wall slammed back up, and she ruined it with a smile. Not a kind one, but one of those slow, elegant, terrifying Zenin smiles that felt cold as a blade resting against your throat.
Seijiro smiled back. That smile, at least, he knew how to handle.
"Seijiro," she said, rising with perfect poise, like the fight hadn't bruised her, like the alley wasn't filled with tension. She stood like a perfect clan head with nothing to fear. "If you were trying to kill me, I should let you know, you almost succeeded."
Her arms folded across her chest before she looked to the side, slightly irritated.
Seijiro… couldn't help it, he grinned. It was automatic. It was good to hear her voice again, and even now, tired, dusty, dressed like a noble and armed with nothing but that tone of hers, she was herself. Unapologetically, unbearably Kaoru, not the monster born of grief that had faced him in Kyoto. He took a step forward, then another. He didn't care if it wasn't safe, appropriate, or logical; this could be the last chance he ever got to be close to her, so screw logic.
Kaoru didn't move, not away, not toward. Only those rimmed black eyes narrowed as he came to a stop two paces from her, close enough that it hurt. Her cursed energy flared just slightly, still defensive. Kaoru Zenin was always too still when she wanted to run. That, more than anything, made him want to reach out and catch her.
He tilted his head slightly, arms folded, gaze tracking her from beneath his silver lashes with that familiar lazy smugness. Like he couldn't decide whether to insult her or compliment her. "Kaoru," he said, hating how he sounded like he'd been starving for the word. "I really wasn't sure if I should save you or not. Still am, a little."
A long blink. Her chin dropped just enough to scowl, but her throat bobbed as she tried to remember all the reasons she shouldn't stay there. Her lips twitched, just a fraction, and then, deadpan: "You should've left me. Would've solved a lot of problems."
Seijiro snorted. "Oh, come on. Then who would scowl at me across the battlefield?"
She scoffed softly, but there was no real venom in it. A heartbeat passed. Then Seijiro asked, voice quiet but edged with sarcasm: "Still angry with me?"
Kaoru's eyes widened slightly, and her answer was immediate. Too fast. "Yes."
He grinned wider and swallowed against the relief that choked him. "Good. So not really."
That made her flinch just a flicker, but he caught it. Which meant: he could breathe again.
He let that silence hang between them, like the last time they'd spoken hadn't ended in blood and something that might've been heartbreak if either of them had the courage to call it that. Six months. Six months since she threw him that look over her shoulder, and then nothing but secondhand reports, whispered rumors. Six months of watching the path to war spiral wider and wider while pretending he didn't give a damn. She didn't reach out, didn't—
Well, he hadn't either, really, but that wasn't the point. And now?
His gaze dropped again, just for a flicker, before snapping back up. "It suits you," he said casually, as if he hadn't nearly gone insane. He nodded toward the kimono, the makeup, the entire thing. "The color. The way it—" hugs your waist, suits your eyes, makes me forget my own name "—uh, you look weird."
Kaoru tilted her head and glared up at him like the wrath of ten generations of Zenin women. "Weird?"
"It was a compliment," he muttered, immediately regretting it.
"And you look the same," she replied flatly. "Still dressed like a courtesan."
He glanced down at himself: colorful festive silks, hair still half-braided, jade earrings dangling. Okay. Fair.
Kaoru bit her lip, irritated. The night had gone from bad to worse to unthinkable in less than an hour, and all because of him. Why was it always him? Of all the men in this cursed city, it had to be the one who ruined everything, the one she shouldn't want to see. She wanted to scream at him. Or kiss him. Neither felt right; both felt like drowning.
We're enemies now, she'd told herself. Over and over, until even her bones stopped believing it.
The plan was to move on, not to get pulled into this again. Never again. But her heart didn't care that Seijiro wore the mon of the man who killed half of her clan, even as her head screamed to leave, to find Hajime and Yoshinobu and get out of Kyoto. They should have left the capital the moment they exited the Kamo estate. She should've never touched this cursed festival, should've never crossed paths with him again—
Distance. She had to put distance between herself and him before she could do something stupid like listening to him. Kami, if he asked her, she'd stay, and that was the most dangerous thing of the night. She wasn't here for him; she had people to protect.
With that in mind and great effort, she broke the silence, stepping forward decisively. "I'm indebted to you for pulling me out of that mess, Seijiro. But if you don't mind, I have someone to find before I leave the capital—"
He should let her go. Maybe he could have, if she hadn't said his name like that. If she hadn't looked at him like maybe, just maybe, she still cared.
Instead, Seijiro flinched. It wasn't loud, hell, it wasn't even dramatic. Just a quiet, exhausted crack of something inside him.
Because Kaoru was doing it again.
That was it? That was all of it?
After months of silence, she appeared like a storm with her face, her voice, her stupid, perfect posture, threw his world into chaos. Made him think, made him hope. And then, just like always, she tried to walk away and disappear, like nothing ever happened, like she hadn't just wrecked the balance he had barely rebuilt in six months of her absence with a glance, shattering him simply by existing.
His hand twitched at his side. And then it caught her by the wrist, too tightly.
Kaoru froze, her head turning just slightly, her gaze sliding upward. A glare. Seijiro stared down at her, his grip firm. "Ah-ah," he said, voice low. "I don't recall saying you could leave already."
"If you don't let go in two seconds," she said with that terrifying, too-calm Zenin tone. "You'll be doing everything with your left hand for the rest of your life."
He didn't budge. "Not until you tell me what you're doing here, in the capital, under cover. Did you forget you're at war with these people? With me?"
Kaoru stilled. Like hell she was going to tell him about the Kamo deal. Her hand twitched in his grasp, lightly, testing, and when his grip didn't budge, she exhaled sharply through her nose. Think. Say a lie. "We were following Tokugawa-dono's delegation," she said carefully. "A precaution. In case the council this morning turned violent and Date-dono wasn't enough to—"
It was the wrong name to say. The moment it left her mouth, Seijiro snapped.
She barely registered the shift before Seijiro yanked her wrist back and slammed her against the wooden wall of the alley. The air left her lungs with a grunt, her body momentarily stunned. His hand pinned her wrist to the side of her head, the other came up, fingers curled lightly between her jaw and neck. Not enough to really choke, just enough to hold, just enough to force her to tilt her chin and look into his eyes.
As Seijiro loomed over her, Kaoru, dazed, blinked up at him, stunned not by the force but by the look in his eyes. This wasn't Seijiro-the-foolish. This was Seijiro-the-prodigy. Focused. Terrifying, even. Her first instinct: knee to the groin, elbow to the ribs, curse him, and see you never.
But she didn't, because he wasn't... dangerous to her.
Sure, he had a slightly violent, uncontrolled temper when he was annoyed—and he clearly was now—but despite everything, despite him being the son of Akiteru Gojo, despite him being a liar, she trusted those hands completely.
She still trusted him completely.
Yet, what the hell was he doing?
"So it's true," he breathed, face hovering close. "That's why you're here in Kyoto. Dressed like—" his eyes flicked over her again, bitter, frustrated: the kimono, the hair, the paint on her lips, "—like this? Did you tell him who you are? The truth? Are the rumors true?"
...Rumors? Her eyes widened. What? What the hell was he talking about?
Kaoru struggled again, trying to free her wrist. "Seijiro, what the hell are you—"
"You and Masamune Date—"
She stared at him, absolutely baffled. "Masamune Date and I what?"
"You're really going to marry him?" he burst out in disbelief and anger.
His fingers curled at her throat, then released slightly when he saw the flicker of discomfort in her face. He wasn't trying to hurt her. He just... He wasn't sure anymore; he just couldn't let go and ruin everything. So he pressed on.
"You're so much better than him. That bastard doesn't deserve you," he said leaning closer, words spilling fast now and the tips of his hair brushing her cheek, "not if he doesn't know how you smile when you fight, not if he doesn't hear how your voice falters when you lie, not if he doesn't know how you grip your blade when you're scared."
Kaoru felt her pulse stutter under his hand. For a single beat, her mind blanked, and she was forced to arch her back from the pressure, her field of vision filled with silver lashes and blue eyes searching hers. She blinked, still processing. He couldn't possibly think...
"...Eh?" she croaked, feeling the tremble in his grip on her throat.
Oh no. She could see it now, the pathetic storm of panic in his eyes. He was serious, completely serious. Seijiro had misunderstood—no, no, he hadn't just misunderstood, he had constructed an entire alternate reality where she, Kaoru Zenin, had moved on, revealed her identity and decided to marry a man nearly twice her age with a missing eye and an official wife. Her brain short-circuited for a moment. Of all the idiotic... How could he be so smart but also genuinely this stupid?
Her head tipped back against the wood with a dull thunk. Oh, my foolish, stupid heart, she nearly laughed out loud, almost screamed, then, incredulity gave way to something wild, bitter. Of all the idiots in all the damn country, why him?
"Seijiro," she hissed, trying to yank her wrist free again, "you absolute moron, you've got it all wrong—"
"So that's it?" he snapped, not letting her finish again. "You'd let some old arrogant, self-obsessed, fire-bastard claim you like a prize just to win a political favor—"
"I'm not marrying Masamune Date, you radish-brained lunatic!" she shouted finally, loud enough to cut the alley in half.
Seijiro froze, wide-eyed, a breathless, pathetic inch from her face. One breath. Two. The hand on her throat faltered, the grip at her wrist eased, thumb brushing her pulse like he hadn't meant to hold her that tight but not quite ready to let go.
"...You're not?" he asked quietly, blinking down at her.
Kaoru rose slightly on her toes to hiss it straight into his stupidly attractive face, so close she could feel his breath against her lips. "It's my cousin Tatsuhiro who's marrying Date-dono's eldest daughter. That's the agreement. This—" she jerked her chin between them angrily, their bodies still pressed together, "—this is just your sick fantasy!"
Seijiro's eyes flickered. "Oh."
Kaoru watched it unfold on his face like a cheap kabuki tragedy. First disbelief. Then relief. Then the realization. Finally: that dog-like, thoroughly pathetic expression that meant he knew—knew—he had catastrophically messed up. "You're... not marrying him?" he said softly, as if he still needed to hear it a second time.
"No," Kaoru said flatly.
"Not even an 'arranged-but-you'll-escape-before-the-ceremony' type of thing?" he asked meekly.
"No! Are you deranged?" she yelled, exasperated.
They stared at each other. His face drained of color, hers flushed with a fury that was far too warm to be just anger. Another breath before his shoulders slumped, and a crooked, sheepish smile flickered onto his lips.
"Oh kami..." he began slowly. "Then, this morning..."
Still trying to yank her wrist free, Kaoru squinted at him. "What about this morning...?" She caught the expression. The exact look meant: I did something catastrophically stupid because I believed you were marrying someone else, and now I can't undo it. She groaned. "Seijiro. What did you do?"
Still unconsciously not letting her wrist go, Seijiro looked away, suddenly fascinated by the tiles on the roof above their heads. "I might have… insulted and challenged Date-dono in front of Tokugawa-dono."
Another beat of silence.
Kami. He really, really thought—
She felt her stomach twist in something both painfully fond and angry. "How?" she shouted over him. "How could you ever think I'd marry someone else at all?"
"I mean," he scrambled, still clinging to whatever scraps of his wounded pride he had left. "You were rightfully very mad at me, and I—I know it's the kind of political sacrifice you'd do for your clan! I was just... I just wanted—"
You, he thought, faltering as his throat worked around the words that wanted out. You. I wanted You, you, just you. Say it, you coward of a Gojo.
He couldn't say it. Because Kaoru, as always, was faster.
"You—" she began, hesitated just long enough to stop herself. But the words came anyway. "I love you, you idiot!"
Seijiro flinched visibly, a blink slower than it should've been. All the color drained from his face and went straight somewhere far less noble. He wasn't supposed to need to hear it so badly. And yet.
"Only you," Kaoru continued, quieter now. "It will only ever be you. Even now, after everything, even after this war—" She shook her head, frustrated with herself. "Even if I shouldn't. It's just... different now, but I can't unlove you."
The last part came out small. Embarrassingly small. Her heart was in her throat as her brain had finally caught up to her mouth, and the full weight of what she was saying hit like a falling temple roof.
Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid—
That was not how she'd planned to say it. She had something safer lined up, something bland and forgettable. Not this—definitely not this—while pinned to a damn wall by a hand still fisted around her wrist, with Hajime and Yoshinobu to find. With too much war behind them and too little future ahead. And with every nerve screaming that this was a terrible, terrible idea.
But it had been six months, and Seijiro Gojo, the prodigy, the fool, the head of one of the strongest clans in the land, was still the one person in the world she had no defenses against.
And now—he looked soft. And wild. And a little too pale, a little too terrified, and beneath it all... hopeful. He went very, very still, as his grip loosened, barely perceptible. Not enough to release her, just enough to tremble, like he was afraid he might break her by letting go.
Kaoru swallowed, her body trembled in fear or anticipation. "Seijiro, release my hand—"
That startled him. His eyes snapped to hers, bright and a little desperate, and kami help her, there was hope in his voice when he answered.
"You—" he tried, failed, swallowed. "I thought you—" His voice cracked. "I thought you hated me."
"I do," she snapped, because she did. Not really, but sort of. "But I love you more, it's the only thing I'm sure of."
That was it. That was the end of him.
His hand finally dropped, at least from her throat to his own mouth, pressing like he needed to physically hold the pieces of himself together.
"I nearly started a war over a marriage that doesn't even exist," he muttered behind his fingers, sounding a little hysterical, a little destroyed, like she'd reached in and ripped out his heart.
Which was fair; that was basically what had happened.
When his hand dropped again, it found her cheek instead, gentle, reverent, too gentle for a man whose other hand still had her pressed to the wall without realizing. Or maybe he knew that's why it was worse; maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb slowly brushed her lower lip as if to check whether the paint would smudge; it didn't, and he couldn't decide whether that was good or bad news. Then, hesitant as he still couldn't believe she hadn't shoved him away, his hand moved down to her shoulder. Then, reverently, to the obi at her waist.
He swallowed. If she said no, he'd fall apart with dignity..Maybe. Probably politely, possibly while bleeding out on the inside. But he'd do it.
Meanwhile, Kaoru realized that she should have slapped him. Told him to get off her. Reminded them both that this wasn't the place, wasn't the time, wasn't the life they got to have.
But she didn't, and that was the mistake. Because if she didn't push him away—
Then he was going to do something stupid like kissing her, and she wasn't going to stop him.
Again.
"...Say it again," he begged, barely above a whisper.
"No."
His forehead bumped gently against hers, then, shameless, he tried again. "Say it again, please?"
"No, that was temporary insanity."
"Kaoru—" Seijiro's mouth hovered just above hers, breath uneven. "I'm dying to have my lips on yours. I hate how much I hate the idea of anyone else even looking at you, which is ridiculous, you're not even mine, but—"
Holding a breath, her eyes flicked down to his lips and up again. "Aren't I?"
Kaoru inhaled sharply, bracing for impact.
Because Seijiro moved.
Hell.
I should've said no.
The wooden wall hit her spine before she could change her mind, as Seijiro pinned her with the full length of his body, still holding her wrist overhead, fingers tangled tight through hers. His other hand cradled her jaw, and suddenly his mouth was on hers.
No warning.
Seijiro kissed her without even deciding to; it was the only thing he could do, knowing it might be the last time.
Her lips parted with a gasp, and he stole the breath she'd meant to argue with, greedy and half out of his mind. His hand slid into her hair, tangling through black strands, angling her head up to where he wanted it.
"Seijiro—" Kaoru managed, but barely.
She tried to breathe, tried to stay rational, but then a small moan escaped right into his mouth, a soft, stupid sound she hated him for pulling out of her like she'd been waiting to give it. Which was stupid; this wasn't what she'd planned, but apparently her mind had run every scenario and still managed to choose the worst one.
That sound; he wanted to hear it again.
His body folded over hers with a groan, teeth catching her bottom lip. At last, he let go of her wrist only to wrap that arm tight around her waist and yank her flush against him.
"You're not mine," he muttered, kissing her jaw, her cheekbone, the corner of her eye, "You're not anyone's. You shouldn't be anyone's."
Kaoru arched into him without thinking, arms thrown around his neck, feet barely grounded. She dragged her lips along the line of his jaw, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, feeling his chest pressing into her. His kisses trailed lower, along her throat, down her collarbone—until there he bit, hard enough to leave proof, but she gasped.
Her fingers splayed over his jaw, guiding him back up to her lips, and their mouths crashed together again. Slower. Angrier. Lips cursing into lips between broken kisses.
Then she paused. Let her lips brush his once, then twice, softer.
"You should stop," she whispered, as her hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
"You should stop too," he said, cradling her face between his hands, grinning into the kiss like the world's most delighted idiot.
"Then stop smiling like that."
He didn't.
"I'm not smiling," he lied immediately, then added—still smiling—"I'm just happy. Let me be happy."
Kaoru tried to slap him. He caught her hand mid-air and kissed her palm instead, holding her wrist gently even as he used it to pin her back against the wall again.
"I love you too," he exhaled like a death sentence against her lips. "I've loved you since before I knew what that word meant. I don't care anymore if it's stupid, you had me before I even got to decide."
That made her knees go weak. He felt it, caught her around the waist, grinning like a fool.
Her kimono slipped from one shoulder, and heat flushed up her neck to her ears. Her lashes fluttered, dropped. Idiot. Idiot, idiot—
It made her want to bite something. Preferably him. So she did, she bit his lip just a little.
Seijiro hissed, then laughed, full-bodied and giddy as his hands slipped down to her hips with a bruising grip and lifted her off the ground in one clean motion, and not enough caution
Kaoru yelped, her legs instinctively locked around him. He pressed forward into the space between her thighs so fast it probably made their ancestor cry, his hips pinned her higher on the wall. She swore, because she hadn't meant to end up with her legs around his waist—but here she was, still barefoot, with a kimono that was not made for climbing Gojo men; it wasn't indecent yet, but it was moving toward it too fast.
"This—" he muttered, hand brushing the underside of her breast, "—this is treason."
"This—" she gasped as her legs tightened "—is a terrible plan."
And still, she arched into him, tilted her head back, baring her throat. He kissed it, slowly.
What in the name of every cursed spirit was she doing, letting Seijiro Gojo press her against a wall, a few paces from a festival street full of people, like she wanted him to? They weren't supposed to do this again, the same idiotic thing; they both knew it wasn't that simple. And yet...
He looked up at her; kami, the way he looked up at her, with those kind eyes and his skin flushed. Kaoru's hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking the hollow beneath it. Her forehead rested against his.
"Seijiro," she whispered there, almost a plea. "Why did you lose weight?"
"Doesn't matter," he murmured helplessly, like he was already mourning her even as he held her. "I don't want this to be the last time. But if it is—let me have this. Just this."
She could've refused.
Instead, she nodded.
"This is the last time," she lied, as her hands dragged his face back to her mouth for more.
Kaoru's fingers ran through his hair, half of it already loose, braids unraveling between her fingers, taking control like she always did, as she did in battle, too. And he let her; she kissed him more softly for that. On his jaw, on the bridge of his nose, on the corner of his mouth.
Again. And again. Each one tasted like coming home and a goodbye.
Until his hand slipped too high and his palm traced the outside of her thighs—still careful, still hesitant, shaking slightly. She tensed and arched against his chest.
Right. Focus.
She broke the kiss with a soft gasp, caught his face between both hands, and pulled him just far enough to look down at him.
"Seijiro—" she warned, brushing her thumbs along his mouth.
Seijiro stilled, blinked up at her. Kicked-puppy mode: activated.
He buried his face against her neck with a sigh, nuzzling her a little. "Why not?" he murmured. "I just—" He didn't finish. Just held his arms tighter around her waist. "I mean, yes, my lord," he added, with mock solemnity.
She groaned and combed a hand absently through his hair.
Seijiro tilted his face up again, resting his chin against her breast, gazing up with wide, stupid eyes blown wide. The red paint from her lips had begun to smear onto his, a smudge of red staining the corner of his mouth, hair mussed from where she'd fisted it—when had she even started fisting his hair?
Why did he look like a man dying happy?
She bit the inside of her cheek, suspicious. "You're not letting go, are you?"
"Absolutely not," he said with faux solemnity.
Kaoru exhaled slowly, her voice returning to her usual dryness. "I have a child to find."
"Perfect," Seijiro said brightly. A little smug. A little too proud. "I also have a child to find. Mine's a girl."
There was a beat of stunned silence. It was awful.
Kaoru opened her eyes. "What?"
"We can look for our children together?" he offered, hopeful like a completely rational man not currently pinning her up a wall, still between her thighs, and a little too happy about it.
She blinked. He blinked back, totally unbothered.
"…Just for tonight," he whispered, suddenly serious. "Before we have to go back to pretending we don't miss each other."
She stared a moment longer, then burst into a messy laughter, forehead against his shoulder in full surrender. She couldn't help it. It wasn't ladylike or composed. It was relief, exhaustion, euphoria, and complete, devastating surrender.
Seijiro's brow furrowed, clearly not grasping the humor. "What? What's so funny?"
"You," she said, nearly breathless with disbelief. "This whole situation. Are you hearing yourself?"
He pouted. Full-pout, lower-lip-jutted, heartbroken-Gojo pout. "I am completely, spiritually committed to this idiocy. Keiji has left. The festival's still going on, and we're already dressed up. And I'm incredibly responsible with children," he replied, cheek shamelessly pillowed against her breast, like it was his birthright. "…Also, your kimono's falling, and your breasts are not bandaged today. What a nice day," he sighed, kissing a spot on her breast with the audacity of being so proud of it. "You're too pretty like this, Zenin-dono—"
She smacked the back of his head. Weakly. "Do you have to narrate everything—"
"Yes," he said proudly. "I deserve to be smug about this."
Kaoru's head lolled against his shoulder in defeat. "Alright, fine!" she said, finally softening. "It's a festival. Might be our last. Might as well pretend I'm someone else, just for tonight."
"Just for tonight," he repeated, with that crooked smile and the remnants of her lip paint smeared across his mouth. "Deal."
Kaoru felt doomed as Seijiro's smile bloomed brighter than before.
"Then we can find the kids after—"
"Don't."
"We could go back to—"
"Seijiro."
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Rensuke inhaled through his teeth and exhaled through his only remaining patience.
Which wasn't much.
The paper lanterns above him burned too brightly. Somewhere behind him, a vendor shouted the price of grilled squid. Somewhere farther, a flute stuttered through the last bars of a festival song. And from the south—Kamo River, maybe?—he'd definitely heard something explode.
Of course he had.
There was cursed energy everywhere tonight. First, a fight by the water that lit up the night like a storm, then a blast so raw and that much like Sejiro's had rattled the road somewhere in the south of the capital.
And now this.
He closed his eyes briefly. Whispered something that might've been a prayer or just an exhausted death wish and muttered a final curse for whatever he'd done in a past life to deserve this. Then took a step forward into the narrow space between a mochi stand and a row of paper fan vendors.
What he found was not peace. What he found was a growl. A very small growl. It came from directly in front of him, along with a flash of white fur, a shimmer of cursed energy, and the sound of something like a katana being drawn.
Rensuke opened one eye. Then both.
A tiny white wolf, clearly a shikigami, had planted itself in front of the two children. Small. Fuzzy. Tail puffed, eyes glowing with misguided righteousness, and stance so fiercely protective it would've been impressive… if it hadn't been so stupidly adorable.
It barked at him. Barked. Rensuke's eye twitched. He sighed, leaned down, and scratched the little wolf behind the ear. It made a pleased chuff, then yelped indignantly as he kicked it out of the way.
"You'll thank me later," he muttered.
And then he saw them. Two children.
The first, kami help him, was a samurai in miniature. Maybe nine, maybe younger, dressed in black with a katana almost too big for him, but somehow gripped it with such discipline that Rensuke had the horrifying sense he could actually use it. His long black hair was tied in a warrior's tail, his stance steady, absurdly perfect for someone so young. His eyes narrowed at him like he was evaluating how best to kill him.
Rensuke blinked. That face, he knew that face. He reminded him of a stoic samurai he once knew.
The second—of course—was Shima. Yukata too bright, bobbed hair too perfect, expression unreadable and annoyingly smug for someone who never spoke. She clutched the boy's hand like he was her sworn protector and kami, Rensuke felt the weight of his sins crawling up his spine.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
Shima blinked at him from behind the child samurai like a princess hiding behind her personal champion. Not that she was a princess. No, she was a tyrant.
He lifted his hand, his only hand, and dragged it down his face. "Shima," he said slowly. "We've been over this. We're going home. Now."
No response, only that cursed blank stare and a tighter grip on the mini-samurai's hand. But she knew who he was. She knew exactly what she was doing. The boy, of course, stepped forward, katana raised.
Rensuke felt his eyebrow twitch.
"She is lost," the boy declared, tone rigid with samurai righteousness. "And clearly doesn't recognize you, and she clearly fears you."
The shinobi blinked once. "Lost?" he muttered, glancing at her. "Fear? No, she clearly thinks this is funny."
The boy didn't lower the sword. "I will not let you hurt her."
Shima, still expressionless, tucked herself even more securely behind him. The baby wolf shikigami yapped again, tail fluffed up. Rensuke dragged a hand through his hair. He considered the tanto strapped behind his back. Tempting. No. No. These were children. Stupid, cursed, demonic children.
He looked up to the lanterns above, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Wished for a second arm. Wished harder for backup. "Seijiro-sama," he muttered under his breath, as the small samurai advanced another step, blade lifted in a flawless middle guard. "Please, hurry up."