Archive of Our Own

1.

A few months after Fina agrees to move in with him she comes home from town with a cat on her heels. It's black and doesn't have any kind of collar to indicate that it's someone’s pet, though it likely is. It's too shiny and well-fed to be entirely stray.

“He must not like his owners very much.” Fina is kneeling in front of the door with a piece of uncooked fish in her hands. She’s been trying to coax the cat closer for nearly ten minutes with bright eyed eagerness.

“Are we stealing him then?” Tsurumi asks, smiling. “I’m sure his owners wouldn’t be pleased.”

“That’s too bad for them.”

The cat takes the piece of fish from her hand and then backs away to eat. When Fina reaches out to pet the cat it hisses and scratches her.

“Are you alright?” Tsurumi asks, touching her hand. The scratches are red but don’t bleed.

Fina sighs. “My pride is more wounded than my hand.”

Feisty behavior aside, the cat doesn't leave and frequently accepts food from the both of them in the following weeks. Tsurumi only really wants to keep the cat because of Fina but it becomes clear very quickly that it likes Tsurumi much more than her.

“I don’t see how that's fair,” she says, arms folded over her chest. The cat is brushing up against Tsurumi's legs and purring contentedly.

Tsurumi sits down and scratches the cat's head. “You've got to have more patience with cats, especially willful ones like this."

His mother had loved cats but he doesn’t say that aloud. It would invite other questions which Fina is usually kind enough not to ask.

Fina sits down beside him. “I’m surprised you’re so good with him. I thought you liked dogs.”

“I like dogs as well,” Tsurumi says, scratching the cat along its spine. “I like that you can train them and reward their obedience. But there’s something satisfying about winning a cat's love, isn’t there?”

The first time he sees Ogata shoot he shivers with excitement so noticeably that Tsukishima turns to him in concern. Ogata is lined up with several of the other new recruits as they take practice shots at distant targets. Most of the men fumble with their guns but a handful have enough experience that they can fire with only mild hesitation. No one hits their target as consistently as Ogata.

"Ogata Hyakunosuke," Tsukishima says beside him. He's got a stack of papers that he's holding for Tsurumi. "Hanazawa's eldest son."

"Ah, the bastard." Lieutenant Colonel Hanazawa has never mentioned his eldest son, though he brags about his legitimate heir when the boy himself isn't in the room. He knows about Ogata only through rumor. He peers over Tsukishima’s shoulder to read what he can.

Being an excellent shot is something to brag about for young men but it doesn’t always translate to being able to kill the enemy. Though he has no evidence for it when he watches Ogata reload with his flat dark eyes and his expressionless face he gets the distinct feeling that killing will be no particular hardship for him. He's far more than a talented trigger finger. Tsurumi’s skin itches.

Hanazawa is of the rare breed of man who for whatever reason can’t seem to stand Tsurumi. Good instincts perhaps. He wonders if Ogata will be the same.

“Excellent shooting, Private Ogata!” he calls out as Ogata exits the training field. Ogata looks startled that Tsurumi knows his name. He swings his gun over his shoulder in a well-practiced gesture as he approaches.

"Thank you, sir," Ogata says, tone neutral but respectful.

“Did you grow up around guns?”

“Yes sir. My grandfather taught me to hunt when I was a child."

“What do you make of him?” he asks Usami later that evening. When he brings new men aboard he likes to soothe Usami by taking him into his confidence. Besides, Usami has always had a nose for men like himself.

“He’s creepy,” Usami says, head in Tsurumi’s lap. His tone is a little annoyed but he promptly shuts his eyes and turns his head towards Tsurumi to sniff him. A satisfied smile touches his face. "Hollow, like a skull with the brains scooped out. Bet he jerks off whenever he makes a half-decent shot, the smug little shit.”

Tsurumi scratches him behind the ear placatingly. “Yes, he does seem promising.”

Information gathering still comes naturally to him so on a day when he wraps up a meeting in Ibaraki he takes a trip to Ogata Tome’s grave. Ogata’s grandmother visits her daughter and her husband’s graves at least once a week these days so it isn’t difficult to bump into her. She’s polite but distant at first until Tsurumi mentions the loss of his own mother. She warms up considerably after that.

The woman is a recent widow and clearly quite lonely. She allows Tsurumi to walk her home and seems pleased to hear that Tsurumi is in the military. She’s reasonably proud of Ogata though he doubts she likes the man on a personal level.

Nearly an hour later they’re having tea together when Tsurumi finally asks, “Why did Hyakunosuke decide to join the military?”

The old woman looks very conflicted. “His father was in the military and my daughter reminded him of this all the time. I'm sure he wants to make her proud."

"Is that what he said when he signed up?"

A frown. "No, I'm only guessing. I'm afraid I never did understand the boy."

"I'm sure you're right. Who wouldn't want to make their mother proud?" Her frown eases. "What happened to your daughter if you don't mind me asking?'

"It was all very sudden..." Tsurumi nods patiently. “She wasn't...her mind wasn't well after Lord Hanazawa abandoned her but she was always healthy. She took care of her body and she cooked every day. Just in case he came back."

"But one day she suddenly died?"

"Yes. While my husband and I were away."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

So he killed his own mother, he thinks with a thrill.

A month later as he’s passing Ogata in the hall, he squeezes behind him: wholly unnecessary and completely unbecoming of a man of his rank. But he’s feigning being in a rush and it allows him to experimentally grab Ogata by the waist as he passes by. Ogata glances at him over his shoulder. His face doesn’t move much but Tsurumi thinks he’s darkly pleased, happy to have a suspicion about his superior officer confirmed.

Tsurumi mistakenly assumes the positive encounter means that Ogata invites his touch—perhaps he’s simply grown sloppy dealing with men who buckle at a confident hand and a few sweet words. The next time he tries a similar move, Ogata dodges him.

It’s a little funny. Tsurumi silently mimes being shot in the heart as he walks backwards and watches Ogata’s mouth twitch. He isn’t upset with Tsurumi then, simply finicky. He can handle that. This won’t be the first cat whose heart he’s won.

Tsukishima, steadfast and serious, needs little more than a hand on his cock and the chance to bathe to remain functional. When the latter is in short supply Tsurumi is more generous with the former. Usami is content to masturbate in his presence once every few years and receive the occasional affectionate touch. The Nikaidou twins keep to themselves but Tsurumi realized early on that they dislike that he can tell them apart so now he either refers to them by each other’s names or asks whichever twin he's speaking to who they are, which pleases them both greatly.

Rumors swarm around Ogata as soon as he arrives: he’s a prude, he can take three cocks at once, no one would ever fuck him, half the 7th already has. The conversation with Ogata's grandmother was helpful but he doesn't know yet what makes the man tick. For now all he has is an educated guess.

“What’s this?” Ogata asks, turning over the textbook in his hands. He squints at the unfamiliar letters on the cover like it'll help him gleam its meaning.

Tsurumi takes the textbook and leans back against his desk. “Are you any good with languages? I thought it might be helpful for you to learn a little Russian.”

“I doubt I’ll need to talk to them, sir.”

Tsurumi runs his hands over the worn familiar pages. Ogata speaking Russian will make him significantly more useful to him, it’ll put him into a circle of confidence that only he and Tsukishima belong to at this point. But he suspects that won’t motivate Ogata to do well for him.

“Do you know of Admiral Koito Heiji?” he asks, tapping the textbook against Ogata’s chest.

Ogata frowns then. “Vaguely. He’s close friends with Colonel Hanazawa.”

“So he is! Admiral Koito has a son named Otonoshin. He's a little younger than Hanazawa’s legitimate heir. I met the boy earlier this week and think we should cement his relationship with the 7th now, rather than leave something this important up to chance.”

Ogata looks down at the book again. Understanding dawns over his face and, for the very first time, he smiles at Tsurumi. “Are you sure you should be telling me this, sir?”

“I don’t think I’ve told you anything, Private Ogata," he says innocently. "I can’t account for whatever assumptions you make."

Ogata grabs the book, stopping his incessant tapping. “How long do I have?”

“Oh, a couple years I’d say. He’s still young. Focus on conversation over reading.”

"Hm. Are we going to do something terrible to the boy?"

"And what if we were?"

Ogata considers him, looking nearly giddy. "Well, it's not my place to question you."

Ogata takes to learning Russian with the enthusiasm of a man on death row. Tsukishima informs him that Ogata has bothered him about the pronunciation of words on several occasions. He requests more books from Tsurumi when he’s done with the first and, true to his word, asks absolutely no questions about what Tsurumi has planned for Koito Heiji's son. Tsurumi likes him like this.

By the time he decides to set his plan in motion Ogata can handle conversations well enough. With his accent he’ll never be mistaken for a native Russian speaker but no Japanese teenager will notice that. He wonders if Ogata understands himself enough to know why he’s working so hard at this.

Their mission with Koito Otoshin goes perfectly but Ogata is curt when he reports on it to Tsurumi afterwards. His annoyance is subtle but Tsurumi knows him well enough at this point and expected him to react poorly. It’s no wonder that the sight of a wealthy, noble father displaying unconditional love for his son would turn his stomach.

Tsurumi gets as far as congratulating him on a job well done and putting a hand on his shoulder before Ogata actively bristles. Tsurumi surreptitiously moves his hand away and pretends not to have noticed the negative reaction.

The problem with Ogata is that he seems to greatly enjoy physical contact only when he’s in the mood for it and when he isn’t he despises it. This would be simple enough but Ogata rarely broadcasts when he’s in a bad mood and never underperforms, which is yet another reason Tsurumi likes him. He also suspects that Ogata occasionally pretends to not enjoy Tsurumi touching him, talking to him, or giving him attention and expects Tsurumi to know the difference and continue showering him in affection anyway.

He’s lucky Tsurumi enjoys a challenge.

Tsukishima has been running a mild fever for the past few days. This is probably why he doesn’t notice Tsurumi at first when he walks into his quarters and starts shedding his clothes. He’s easing his coat off his shoulders when he finally looks up, spots Tsurumi sitting at his table, and freezes.

“Sir, I was planning to report to you as soon as I’d dried off,” he says, voice stuffy from his horribly congested nose.

“I thought I’d save you some time!” He pushes a cup of steaming tea across the table. Tsukishima sighs but finishes taking off his coat and sits down. He makes a pleased noise at his first sip. Tsurumi waits for him to begin.

“He’s exactly as the rumors suggested,” Tsukishima says, after a couple more sips. His skin is flushed from the cold and he’s damp all over from the snow. “Comically straight laced. I saw him help a woman with her groceries this morning and yesterday he spent two hours helping a lost child find her way home. Hard to believe he and Ogata share blood.”

“Hm.” Tsurumi drums his fingers along the table in excitement. “Did you make contact with Yuusaku?”

“Yes, I did what you suggested.” Tsukishima is shivering slightly but he goes on talking. “I walked up to him and asked if he was related to Ogata—said I noticed a family resemblance. He was excited by that and ended up buying me lunch before I’d told him more than my name. He was so earnest that it was a little embarrassing. I hate to say it sir, but he seems like he might just lie down and die if he were faced with a morally questionable choice. I don’t know how you’ll be able to use him.”

“Catnip,” Tsurumi says, smiling serenely.

Tsukishima perks up at that but doesn’t voice his curiosity. They both know he’ll enjoy the anticipation of wondering what Tsurumi has planned more than a straightforward answer.

It’s weeks yet before he lets Ogata meet his brother or mentions him at all. At first he’s preoccupied with meeting Yuusaku himself. To his surprise he doesn’t even have to steer the conversation towards Ogata at all: Yuusaku is delighted to talk about his older brother. From there it’s easy to talk up Ogata’s talents until Yuusaku’s eyes shine with childish excitement. He does this over the course of several slightly clandestine meetings. He doesn’t want to catch Hanazawa's attention after all.

He lets Yuusaku be the one to suggest finally meeting Ogata. Tsurumi agrees and kindly arranges for the meeting to take place in his own office.

It goes better than Tsurumi would've expected. When Ogata walks into the office and finally lays eyes on the man whose existence has haunted his own for years he's genuinely shocked. He looks at Tsurumi with mistrust and then all the sublime pleasure of a cat laying in a sunbeam.

Tsurumi gestures at Yuusaku as though he’s offering him a gift instead of letting him meet his own flesh and blood and then politely excuses himself so they can have a private moment. On his way out he places a friendly hand on the small of Ogata's back and then drags it lower. Ogata positively shudders for him but doesn't look away from his brother.

Amidst his other duties he doesn't speak to Ogata privately for a while. Lately he's been content to allow Ogata and his brother their bonding time while he sees to far more important problems. Yuusaku is valuable in his own right and he hoped that having a cherished relative tie him to the military would be good for him.

“Ah, Private Ogata,” Tsurumi says, passing him in the hall one day. "A pleasure as always.” He has several other things on his mind so even though he sees what's wrong at once it takes him several seconds before it registers.

"Ogata."

Ogata stops and turns around. Wide eyed innocence is unconvincing on him. "Sir?"

At once Tsurumi's eyes dart down to the top buttons of his uniform. He missed one while getting dressed and now his collar is skewed. Ogata is not a sloppy man. As far as bids for attention a sloppy uniform is cute and doesn't worry him. Even if it's impossible to ignore.

Tsurumi doesn’t bother with the pretense of chastising him; he just undoes the top two buttons himself. It’s up near his collar and Tsurumi allows himself to touch the bare skin of his throat beneath it. The lingering touch feels like a threat. Ogata’s breath hitches.

“At first I thought he might not have been my brother,” Ogata says with no segue. “That maybe he was just some kid you hired.”

“And why would I do that?” Tsurumi tugs at the top of the collar, pulling it straight.

“The same reason you had me kidnap a spoiled teenage boy." He lifts his chin to give Tsurumi better access. The first button goes into its hole. "And the same reason you let Tsukishima get away with his ridiculously long baths. And the same reason you have pricey dinners with politicians twice a week.”

“My, aren’t you observant! Why do I do all of that?"

Ogata hums. “Why indeed."

The top button goes into its hole.

“There, perfect.” He runs his hands down Ogata’s shoulders, though his uniform is otherwise perfect.

Ogata continues to watch him, dark eyes lidded in pleasure, comfortable under his hands today. Tsurumi finds himself smiling back. Over the years he’s found that Ogata has a smile like a venereal disease: unpleasant but incredibly contagious.

“How many of your men have you fucked?” Ogata asks quietly.

Lying doesn’t occur to him. He knows by now how much Ogata likes honesty when it’s ugly. He makes a brief show of putting a finger on his chin. “That’s a difficult question. Does it skew the numbers if I let some of them fuck me?”

Ogata’s smile widens. This seems like the moment, Tsurumi thinks, taking a step and raising his hand to Ogata’s face, where he’ll either get what he wants or be scratched.

Ogata tilts his head away. “You won’t be adding me to that list. Sir."

His hand freezes.

If Ogata is uninterested in being taken to bed then so be it. It makes no difference to Tsurumi if he and Ogata never have sex. It’s unimportant. But he doesn’t care for Ogata’s desire to look him in the eyes and deny Tsurumi something that he thinks he wants.

This might be the time to push back, to remind Ogata that Tsurumi’s will supersedes his own and that if he wants to fuck Ogata right here in this hallway, he can and will.

But it’s at this moment that a private comes up to them, announcing that he’s got an important message for Tsurumi.

“Of course,” Tsurumi says with a small smile. Instead of softly grazing Ogata’s face in a tease like he’d initially planned he grabs him roughly by the jaw, jolting his head violently. The angle forces him a step forward but his hands remain limp at his sides. He’s still grinning.

“Sir?” says the private nervously. Tsurumi is an incredibly busy man, and reminds himself that in the end Ogata is one cog in a much larger machine

“Mind your uniform, Private,” Tsurumi says. And he leaves Ogata there.

2.

A few months into the siege of Port Arthur, a dark haired Russian man in a Japanese uniform infiltrates their camp deeply enough to draw a gun on Tsurumi. Tsurumi hardly has time to register the sound of a rifle being raised before a young private is tackling him out of the way, the bullet catching the private in the throat.

Tsurumi allows himself a brief calm moment in the spray of hot blood across his face before he opens his eyes again and drags the private’s body over his own in time to receive a second bullet.

An instant later he hears Ogata’s Type 30 go off, quick but a significant distance away. Only one shot but the Russian goes down. There’s commotion right after that, his men securing the area in case another Russian is nearby. Tsurumi blinks a few times, trying to clear the blood from his eyes and embraces the private more innocently now.

Tsurumi places a hand on the trembling man’s face, thinking quickly. There wasn’t a man in the 7th whose background he hadn’t studied. “Shirogane. Your brother would be proud of you. I know I am.”

A calm look sweeps over the dying man’s face and he sags into Tsurumi’s chest. Shirogane's older brother was in the 1st and had died at the end of a bayonet a month earlier but the post had a tendency to misplace distracting news like that. The lie was a small sin for his pile.

Tsurumi stands, accepting a hand up from Tsukishima. The fall wasn’t gentle but he’s unharmed otherwise.

Ogata has come close enough to examine the Russian. Tsurumi watches him kick the man onto his back to examine his own shot. He caught the man in the left eye.

He smiles at Ogata. “How far away were you?”

“100 meters if I had to guess, sir.”

“Excellent reflexes as always.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ogata says, amusement in his voice. He points at a spot on his own cheek. “You’ve got a little...”

“Yes, thank you.” He’s still needed here: he has more men to talk to and no time to wash off. However Ogata steps up as Tsurumi had hoped he would and draws a handkerchief. He dabs through what is presumably the worst of the mess.

Tsurumi brings a look of surprised pleasure to his face.

“Someone will think you’re injured and have a heart attack,” Ogata explains.

Tsurumi nods. “Prudent." A stay piece of flesh flecks off of his face.

The Russian man's body is being disposed of and more of his men have dispersed, looking for further signs that they've been infiltrated. Ogata steps closer and his eyes lower in a gesture so demure and seductive that he might’ve learned it from his mother. When he speaks again his voice is low and dangerous. “Did that private dying make you hard, First Lieutenant?”

His coat is too long to be revealing in that way. He wonders if beneath the blood and the gore the flushing of his face is visible. For all he knows he's glowing like a new bride. “Man hath no greater love than to die for his friend."

Ogata’s mouth twitches. “How disgusting, sir.”

Tsurumi has never wanted to fuck him so badly. It's an urge rooted both in the mundane desires of his body and his need to see if Ogata will let him. Its been years and he’s yet to test Ogata’s loyalty like that. He wants to test it now, to see if he’s capable of submitting in that way.

He places a hand on Ogata’s shoulder, assessing, and almost laughs as Ogata steps neatly away, smile tight lipped. He’s tempted to hold on anyway.

Tsurumi puts his hands behind his back and smiles too. Despite his wishes to the contrary he is not a machine. His body makes demands of him but he doesn’t have time to follow its every whim—especially when it might involve making a scene.

“Keep up the good work.”

It’s no great test of loyalty to bully Usami.

The problem of course is that there’s nothing he could do to Usami that would be pushing his loyalty, he’s simply too desperate for any scraps he can get. It’s not perfect but he settles for making Usami sit at his feet and masturbate almost to completion and then stop so many times that his cock turns purple. When Tsurumi orders him to leave he looks somewhere between devastated and blissful, like a martyr in the rapture of death. But he’s used to Tsurumi’s unconventional requests and has never been anything less than Tsurumi’s devoted dog. Tsurumi makes a small, coded note in his personal notebook to be nicer the next time they're together.

On occasion he makes rounds through the field hospitals, cheering up his men as he goes. On one such day he spots the Nikaidou twins huddled together in one corner of a tent, the doctor on hand trying to usher the younger twin away. Kouhei was shot in the shoulder the previous day but his younger brother is uninjured.

“The elder Private Nikaidou has a concussion,” Tsurumi says, gesturing to the younger. “I see no reason he can't stay until we're sure it isn't a serious injury."

A luxury, but worth it for the adoring looks both twins shoot at him.

Near the entrance of the next tent over, blocking the flow of movement, is the other injured soldier that he came to see.

Ogata always smiles at him as though he’s the only one in on a joke that Tsurumi is telling. “You’re good with them.”

“The twins? Not at all." He tuts, looking down at Ogata's arm. His left hand is in a splint and there's a dark bruise on one of his pale cheeks. “It seems all my men are getting themselves injured."

Ogata hums, turning his wrist over. A nurse nearly walks right into him but Ogata elects to ignore this. “I'm fine. I don’t think the split is necessary, but I’m not a doctor.”

Tsurumi takes hold of his wrist, making a show of examining the split, like he disapproves of the work. For now Ogata seems placid, unbothered by the touch. A cat's mood can be difficult to predict. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Ogata admits, unusual for him.

Tsurumi follows his lead. “Can you still shoot for me?”

“Can I still shoot for Japan you mean,” Ogata says, meeting his eyes. Tsurumi makes no attempt to correct himself but lets the tips of his fingers slide beneath the bandages, touching the bruised flesh. Ogata allows it and smiles slightly when Tsurumi squeezes down on his fractured wrist with greedy impatience.

“Yes,” he says eventually, “I can still shoot for you, sir.”

“Great!” He squeezes again, watching Ogata’s unflappable face. He won’t forget Ogata’s tolerance for pain. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

“And then Ogata said he thinks you’re wrong about Second Lieutenant Hanazawa being useful," Usami is saying, kneeling on the floor of his tent. Tsurumi is sitting at his desk, chin balanced on his hand as he listens. "Like that's any of his business. I think he's jealous actually because the Second Lieutenant is all happy and stupid."

Tsurumi nods. "I'm inclined to agree."

"We talked about our feelings too. He asked if I felt bad when I kill Russians and I said that I don’t and he agreed that that's normal but was acting all uptight about it. Isn’t he weird?”

“Only in need of validation.” He drops his gaze to Usami and his still, unsmiling face. “Not all of my men can have your confidence, Usami. You can’t blame him for his shortcomings.”

Usami clearly disagrees but his anger fades into harmless, silent jealousy. He doesn’t contradict him.

Tsurumi smiles slowly. “You’re singular, Usami. No one could ever be like you. Come.” He pats his thigh.

Usami scoots forward eagerly and drops his head down onto Tsurumi’s thigh with a happy sigh. Keeping his men in line really was a constant battle sometimes.

The bullet wound begins in the back of his head—not the wound he would expect from a man who charged head first into battle with only a flag in his hands. It’s a beautiful shot. Exiting right at the center of his forehead. In death Yuusaku’s expression is a mask of confusion and terror, like maybe he had a long moment where he struggled to contemplate his own murder. Tsurumi clicks his tongue.

“Oh dear,” he says aloud, “it seems I’ve been scratched.”

It’s late when he has word sent to Ogata to come by his tent, inappropriately late by certain standards. Ogata’s gaze is measured and calm when he walks in. Underneath his cap he can tell that Ogata needs his hair cut again: it’s becoming too free-spirited.

Tsurumi finishes the letter he’s writing, letting Ogata wait. Ogata doesn't fidget or show his impatience. He’s known the man to be motionless for hours with his rifle in his hands. If he could spare the time to he’d take his binoculars and watch Ogata like that: silent as a corpse and ready to kill.

He tidies up his desk a touch and then finally turns, chin on the back of his chair.

“So—“ he begins lightly.

“I killed Second Lieutenant Hanazawa. Shot him in the back of the head during battle. I’m not sorry.”

Tsurumi blinks at him slowly. “Is that so?” he asks, sliding his hands under his chin. “That certainly is a surprise! How would you like to kill your father as well?”

Ogata’s entire body freezes, eyes going wide. Deliberately, mechanically, he relaxes himself and offers Tsurumi a dark smile. “You have a terrible sense of humor, First Lieutenant.”

“It’s not a joke at all. You’ve never cared for the man, have you? Why not rid yourself of the burden of your family once and for all?”

He can see Ogata exhale slowly. “Sir, am I here so you can punish me?”

“Not at all. We’re discussing your father’s imminent death. Are you not listening to me, Superior Private?”

Ogata says absolutely nothing.

“So how about it?" Tsurumi gets to his feet. "You can finally reunite your parents in hell.”

On some days Ogata reminds him of a house cat, skittish and odd but unlikely to do him any real harm. For a moment however as he throws his weight into Tsurumi, wild and unpracticed, he reminds Tsurumi that he’s earned his nickname just as much as his mother had.

Ignoring years of Judo, Tsurumi let’s himself be knocked to the floor.

“You don’t mean that,” Ogata says, eyes darting between both of Tsurumi’s, seeking falsehood. Tsurumi reaches around to settle a hand up on his back and strokes it down his spine.

“Of course I do. It’s only right that a father like Hanazawa would see fit to end his own life after the death of his son. Someone should help him along.” He pulls Ogata in closer, feeling his frantic breath against his face. He lowers his voice as their noses brush. “Do you think someone else should take that responsibility?”

"No."

“Of course not." He rubs then at his cock through his pants, soothing as ever. "All three of you were trapped by him weren’t you? You, your mother, your brother.”

Ogata gasps but seems determined to continue speaking. “He’s a Lieutenant General now.”

“We can make new ones," he says, undoing Ogata's pants.

“He’s of noble blood.”

"He's just a man." He slips a hand inside to cup his cock, to feel the unmistakable proof of Ogata responding to his words and his touch. “A man I happen to value far less than I value you. And you said it yourself, there’s no such thing as noble blood.”

Ogata nods mechanically, looking dazed. But just as Tsurumi starts to stroke him he comes back to himself and shoves Tsurumi's hand off his cock, mouth twitching as he tries to contain an ugly smile. Denying him seemingly for no other reason than to prove he can.

Tsurumi looks at him, takes the measure of the man as he has more times than he can count over the years. He rolls the two of them over, shoving Ogata down hard beneath him. He’s straddling Ogata now and gripping his offending hand by the wrist.

“You know, Hyakunosuke, if you weren’t a sniper I might break your fingers.”

Ogata huffs out a quiet laugh, peering up at him through his lashes. “I don’t think I gave you permission to touch me.”

“Why, you’re completely right!” he exclaims, reaching for his cock again and squeezing down hard. Ogata’s hips jerk into his grasp in response and his cock fills further to his excitement. He's glad again they aren't in public, aren't beholden to the propriety of their stations. “You’ve got to learn to be more generous.”

“I didn't say you could use my given name either,” Ogata says, voice wavering as Tsurumi jerks him off.

“Hya-ku-no-su-ke,” he sing-songs. He jerks back as Ogata lunges to kiss him, grinning wildly. He slams Ogata back down with a hand on his throat and keeps jerking him off, quick and rough. “Hyakunosuke, will you kill your father for me?"

Ogata grabs at his uniform and tries to pull him in closer, trying to press their mouths together even as Tsurumi holds him down.

"Come now, no need to be shy. You killed your mother, didn’t you?”

A conflicted noise, and Ogata holds back the response he’s about to make. He’s never told anybody then, that’s nice. Tsurumi squeezes down briefly on his throat, notes the pleased look that crosses his face for another time.

“It’s okay, I already know. Some kind of poison, wasn’t it? Something easy for a child to get their hands on since no one would sell a child lethal chemicals. Rat poison maybe?"

Ogata makes a low pleasured grunt, biting down hard on his bottom lip, and his secrets. He'll take the sound for confirmation. Tsurumi thumbs the head of his cock and spreads the growing wetness down his length.

“Can you kill your father too? Nothing as kind as poison.” He releases Ogata's throat to press a finger to his abdomen, where the blade will go in. He drags it across an imaginary wound and Ogata looks down so they can both picture his guts spilling out of him. “Just like that. So easy.”

Ogata finally releases his bottom lip from between his teeth. “For you?”

“For yourself. On my orders.”

Ogata squirms in his grasp. “I want to."

“You will,” he says, lowering his mouth to Ogata’s. Kissing him. Rewarding him. He speeds up his hand. “You’ve done worse at my behest, haven’t you? And you’ll do worse still.”

Ogata hums, and nips at his lower lip. Lust looks good in his dark eyes. “I bet you talk to all your dogs this way.”

“Not at all. You’re singular.”

He learns that night that Ogata is surprisingly weak to being kissed. He comes with Tsurumi's tongue in his mouth, his deep moan vibrating against Tsurumi’s teeth. Tsurumi means to stop after that but the image of the Russian would-be assassin pops into his mind unbridled, the bullet hole through his eye that could have instead been a much easier chest shot.

Ogata is smug as Tsurumi strokes his cock over him, he can feel a smirk against his mouth.

“Cats can tell when someone is going to die,” his mother had told him once, when she was near death herself. She’d been smiling as she’d said it, eyes glassy with fever and a thin hand buried in her favorite cat’s fur. “That’s why they’ve gathered around me like this. Horrible little creatures. Don’t you think they’re wonderful, Tokushirou?”

When Tsurumi wakes in his tent sometime after his head injury he’s oddly unsurprised to hear Ogata’s voice coming from somewhere nearby. For a brief delirious moment he thinks oh, mother was right before his rational mind asserts itself.

There’s little he hates more than not being in control of his faculties but the doctor had absolutely refused to leave him conscious while pulling shrapnel from his skull so there’s a fair amount of opium running through him. He remembers that. He also remembers Tsukishima saving his life while he still believed Tsurumi had covered up his fiancé’s murder. That had gone very well.

Speaking of: “Everyone wants to see him,” Tsukishima is saying firmly by the entrance of the tent. “For now he needs rest. Don’t bother him.”

"Fine." Ogata sounds annoyed. Tsurumi's sorry to miss it but it wouldn't do to be seen like this. He keeps his eyes closed. He hears the tent flap shut and then Tsukishima grunt as he steps closer and kneels at his side.

“Good dog,” Tsurumi mumbles.

“Excuse me?” Tsukishima says tightly.

“Hm? Oh. I’m sorry, I forgot you’re still angry with me.” He reaches out blindly and pats Tsukishima on the face in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “Ignore that, I’m very high. We’ll talk later.”

3.

Lieutenant General Hanazawa has never been a man of courtesy or hospitality when it comes to Tsurumi. He’s yet to find a temperament that suits Hanazawa and as such he’s found himself in the rare position of dreading their interactions. It shouldn’t surprise him that Hanazawa is hard to please: his mistress drove herself mad in pursuit of his approval, and he doubts Yuusaku held so tightly to his virtue because he had a healthy relationship with the man.

“So, you got my son killed,” he says, as soon as Tsurumi stops trying to move them through the normal pleasantries of conversation. At his side Usami stiffens and looks at him, face cold and expectant—no doubt prepared for Tsurumi to order him to violence.

“He died in battle leading his men. I doubt the 7th has ever had a better flag bearer.”

Hanazawa scoffs.

“Our flag had to be pried out of his hands. Even in death he refused to let it go.”

“I don’t think much of your pretty words, First Lieutenant. You can smile at me all you like, I know you and your men blame me for all the death on 203 hill. As though we didn’t end the war! If you wanted to offer condolences—if you really felt badly about my son’s death—you’d kill yourself to repent.”

Underneath the table he catches Usami’s hand gently before it can move toward his gun, and says nothing.

“I think you should get the hell out,” Hanazawa says, “all of you.”

“I’m sorry again for your loss.” Tsurumi stands. “I know it was incalculable.”

“He has some nerve talking to you like that when he got so many of us killed,” Tsukishima says once they’re outside.

Usami adds, “at least we know where Hyakunosuke got his bitchy attitude.”

“True,” Tsurumi says to both comments.

Tsurumi doesn’t have the time to attend every funeral for every man whose blood is on his hands—there’s simply too much blood—but he makes strategic exceptions. Higher ranking casualties, sons with noble blood, occasionally men with potential soldiers around them.

The private who took several Russian bullets for him is one of four sons, like Tsurumi, and both of his remaining brothers have been dissuaded from signing up when they’re of age. In between consoling the dead man's wife and his mother, Tsurumi finds time to gently change their minds.

Though middle class, his family is quite large, and Tsurumi finds time to talk to a decent number of young men. One or two are unhappy with his presence at first but most have difficulty staying that way.

Towards the end of the evening a flash catches his attention as he’s putting a hand on a young man's arm—light reflecting off the lenses of a pair of binoculars not far off—and his head snaps up.

He doesn’t think he has any enemies in Hokkaido stupid enough to make a martyr out of him when he’s comforting a grieving family. Most of the people who hate him want him fired, not killed. Besides, being stationed in Tsurumi’s line of sight, where the setting sun was guaranteed to give away their position? They’re either incredibly incompetent or want to be seen.

Tsurumi finishes speaking to the grieving family and then makes his exit in no particular rush. The glare had come from a good distance away, further uphill near the dead soldier's grave. He has several of his men circle back and around and makes his way up.

He walks swiftly, coat unbuttoned to easily reach his pistol. Something about this area is familiar to him but he’s having trouble placing it. He’s been to a good many graveyards and they tend to blend together.

Ogata is there, predictably, leaning rather arrogantly against a grave. Tsurumi takes a moment to dismiss his men before he gets his best sniper killed.

It’s becoming Ogata’s habit to simply wander into his line of sight when he’s feeling neglected and apparently Tsurumi soothing the bereaved is too much for him.

“You’re going to get yourself cursed, Superior Private Ogata,” he calls out.

Ogata evidently finds this very funny. He pats the grave as he gets to his feet, laughing. “She's dead, sir. I’m sure she doesn’t mind.”

Tsurumi examines the grave and understands why the graveyard is familiar. “Visiting your mother?”

“It’s warm out, I was taking a nap.”

“And threatening me?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Tsurumi grabs the binoculars, yanking Ogata forward by the rope.

Ogata keeps talking, unbothered. “I didn’t think he was your type.” He nods in the direction of the dead man’s home. “His family isn’t well connected, is it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you come to these things to get off? Or do you need to whore yourself out for each new recruit now? I’m disappointed to see I missed out.”

Tsurumi tilts his head at him. “Perhaps Hanazawa’s bastard wasn’t worth the effort.”

That one hits its mark. Ogata starts to pull himself out of Tsurumi’s grip but Tsurumi is not feeling lenient tonight. He gets hold of Ogata by the arm and throws him to the ground. He’s twisting Ogata’s arm severely enough that he could very well break it.

“I don’t think I want you touching me anymore,” Ogata says calmly. He doesn’t struggle as Tsurumi stands over him, still twisting his arm. “You aren’t nearly as handsome.”

“No?" Tsurumi brushes a hand over the plate in a feigned gesture of self-consciousness. "I think I’m very cute now.”

Ogata doesn’t answer but his eyes dart down, settling on the crotch of Tsurumi’s pants, which is an answer in and of itself. It’d be a dangerous thing to do. It was getting dark but someone could still walk by and see First Lieutenant Tsurumi fucking one of his subordinates.

Still, Tsurumi let’s go and Ogata scrambles up onto his knees, biting back a grin. Tsurumi puts a hand on the back of his head, trying to determine with subtle movements of his thumb if Ogata’s hair is still within regulation. It is, but only just.

“You aren’t so inscrutable at all, are you, sir?” Ogata says as he undoes Tsurumi’s pants. He’s breathing hard. “Does recruiting new men to die for you always turn you on? Can you even get hard when you aren’t thinking about war?”

“Egad, who would want to?”

Ogata’s eyes narrow at that but he doesn’t leave Tsurumi waiting for long.

Tsurumi sent a man once to proposition Ogata so he knows Ogata isn’t lacking in this area. There is an uncharacteristic amount of enthusiasm in Ogata’s mouth on his cock though, the kind usually reserved for his guns. He certainly isn’t expecting Ogata to take him all the way down his throat at once, dark eyes glancing up at him as he settles his hands encouragingly on the back of Tsurumi’s thighs.

“Are you trying to impress me, Hyakunosuke?” he asks conversationally. Ogata sucks hard, a little vengefully even, and Tsurumi arches into his mouth, not entirely able to help himself.

He thrusts experimentally and finds that he does little more than hum his approval, his throat makes a wet noise but he doesn’t choke.

There is an obvious hunger in Ogata, a desire to give in warring with his need for independence. If Tsurumi didn’t frequently divide his attention with other, more politically useful men, he thinks Ogata would be less shy about his intentions but that fear of being just another one of Tsurumi’s dogs eats at him. If he wouldn’t take it for an insult he’d tell Ogata that it's nothing to be ashamed of. Tsurumi keeps his dogs well.

Ogata sets up a hard pace for himself and Tsurumi aids him by thrusting into his mouth. He doesn't gag in the slightest.

Tsurumi takes Ogata’s face in both hands carefully. He can offer Ogata a hint of honesty in exchange for his hard work. “I don’t mind being knee deep in blood and viscera and I don’t mind if my men die well.”

Ogata looks up at him, mouth still at the base of his cock. His fingers curl in the fabric of Tsurumi's pants and there's saliva rolling down his chin.

His voice is rougher than he’d prefer when he continues. “Wouldn’t you be happy to know someone loved you enough to die for you?”

Ogata's throat flutters around his length and he gags once, though he doesn't try to pull off. Tsurumi was already at the edge and he comes now to the feeling of Ogata moaning around his cock.

“Ah-ah,” Tsurumi chides as Ogata starts to pull away. “Stay.”

Ogata settles through his eyes narrow with displeasure. His nose wrinkles as he swallows.

Ogata apparently has no plans to attend his father’s funeral: not out of respect for his father’s widow but because he “doesn’t feel the need to gloat”. It’s an absurd thing to say, Ogata loves preening and he loves misery and uncomfortable situations. Crashing his father’s funeral sounds like a veritable party to him.

“Did you want to make an outing of it?” Ogata asks, watching Tsurumi dress in his quarters, sitting in Tsurumi’s chair. He’s been in an interesting mode since he killed his father, restless and almost clingy, though he hasn’t allowed Tsurumi to touch him once. He wonders if this is what guilt looks like or if he’s missing something vital.

“Oh no. You’d look good on my arm but I’d hate to start a scene.”

“Suit yourself.”

Tsurumi shrugs on his coat and then returns to Ogata, bracing himself on the arms of the chair. “There’s a carriage downstairs with instructions to take you to my home.”

Ogata raises his head. “And why is that?”

“Because after I attend Hanazawa’s funeral, give my sympathies to his widow, and make nice with his remaining family I’m going to come home and fuck his killer.”

Ogata’s smile is nastier than usual. “Is that an order?”

He frowns, mock serious. “It’d be unethical to order you to my bed.”

“Then maybe I won’t—

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable in my home until I get back.” Tsurumi turns to leave. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

It’s dark by the time Tsurumi gets to his rarely used home. If Ogata is there, and he has no reason to believe he wouldn’t be, then he isn’t utilizing any of the lights. Tsurumi has the distinct feeling he’s walking into an ambush as soon as he walks in.

But Ogata is not perched somewhere in the dark, rifle aimed to catch him in the forehead the way he did his brother. As far as he can tell Ogata has behaved himself, though he’s taken the liberty of sprawling in front of the stove, rifle still in reach. He opens his eyes at the sound of Tsurumi’s entrance but doesn’t otherwise move.

“Did you have fun today?”

“I did!” Tsurumi elects to ignore the overly familiar tone tonight. “Your step-mother likes me a great deal. I might marry her and become your new father if you aren’t careful.”

Ogata tilts his head in consideration. “Not much of an improvement over her first husband.”

Tsurumi sits down neatly not far from him. Ogata startles when Tsurumi grabs him by the front of his uniform. He scrambles inelegantly backwards as Tsurumi tugs him over and presses him down with his head on his thighs. He looks uncomfortable for a time before settling in and letting Tsurumi stroke his head.

“What’s this about?” Ogata asks, turning his face towards Tsurumi’s crotch.

He scratches at Ogata’s hair, provoking a slightly relaxing of Ogata’s shoulders. “What’s what about?”

Ogata reaches back and boldly grabs his crotch. “This.”

“So unromantic. I’m excited to see you, Hyakunosuke, that’s all.”

“No? I always assumed that if men dying for you turned you on, men killing for you might do the same thing.” Ogata tugs one handed at the fastening of his pants, seemingly in no hurry. He makes a displeased noise when Tsurumi stops petting at him but Tsurumi doesn’t continue.

“It’s sweet of you to be so interested in me.”

Ogata makes an assenting noise, smiling thoughtfully. “You should put your cock in my mouth.”

Tsurumi had been thinking of doing exactly that. “Too bad I’m not going to. Come here.”

Ogata is incredibly unhelpful while being undressed, just short of being an active nuisance with a smile in his eyes. Another one of his little games to test the limits of Tsurumi’s patience.

“Are you finally going to fuck me?” he asks, barely lifting his hips to get his pants off. Tsurumi pauses, schooling his face to puzzlement.

“Have I not before? I could’ve sworn we had sex after 203 Hill. After I raised the flag?”

“It must’ve been one of your other dogs,” Ogata says, smug mood dried up. His frown dimples his chin. “Which you know.” The sentence sounds unfinished like he’s just held himself back from calling his superior officer something rude.

“Well, this is a novelty then!”

Ogata stares at him silently as Tsurumi undoes his shirt.

“I think I figured it out,” he says as Tsurumi finishes with the last button. “Why you’re so obsessed with me.”

Tsurumi chuckles. “Oh? Am I obsessed with you?”

“In your way.”

“Alright. Tell me.”

He’s stripped Ogata down to his fundoshi when Ogata says, “I’m the only one of your men who wouldn’t take a bullet for you.”

There are several seconds of complete silence before Tsurumi sits up, fingers moving over Ogata's bare throat. His pulse is racing beneath the soft skin. “No?” he asks sweetly, “I think if I put a bullet through your skull you’d take it as well as any man.”

“That’s not quite the same, First Lieutenant. You shower your men in affection until they’re crazy about you and then you starve them so they’re desperate for scraps. But I never—“

Tsurumi elects to cut him off by simply squeezing a hand around his throat. He stops speaking mostly from surprise, Tsurumi is going easy on him. “Yes, you’re much too smart and independent for all of my mean tricks to work on you. Of course you are. Clever kitty.”

He lets go long enough for Ogata to think he’s done and then brings both hands to squeeze. A hot rush of arousal runs through him as Ogata reaches up but ultimately keeps his hands to himself. His cock strains his fundoshi, completely untouched.

Tsurumi kisses his breathless mouth. “You’re so different from my other men, aren’t you? So special. Too smart to love me, hm?”

Ogata jerks under him, involuntarily at first from the inability to breathe but then he lifts his hips to grind himself into Tsurumi in a frantic roll of his hips. He holds on longer still, gently kissing Ogata’s face until he sees Ogata start to visibly restrain his panic. Then he lets go.

While Ogata gasps and coughs, he wonders if this instance of insubordination is a good enough reason to kill one of his most valuable men. He doesn’t have much need for a pet that won’t eat from his hand.

He strokes Ogata’s face with his thumb as he thinks it over and Ogata relaxes into the touch, nuzzling his palm. He's still breathing hard. Tsurumi hums, calm returning.

“You really shouldn’t provoke me like that.”

“Sorry, sir,” Ogata says weakly, eyes slipping shut. “You make it very fun.”

Ogata kisses him profusely on the way to bed but still finds a moment to pick up his gun, keeping it close by like he’s in enemy territory. It’s so endearing that Tsurumi can’t help knocking it out of his reach sometime later when he’s got three fingers inside Ogata. Ogata’s eyes immediately snap open but he only notes the new position and then wraps an arm around Tsurumi’s back. He slaps Ogata’s hand away when he touches Tsurumi’s own holster.

He still doesn’t know fact from fiction in regards to how much Ogata gets fucked but he seems comfortable enough on his back, holding his own legs up as Tsurumi fucks into him. He’s relaxed and hot, eyes lidded in pleasure.

“I do like it when you kill for me,” he murmurs against Ogata’s mouth, feeling him tighten around his cock with a pleased noise. Every previous sound of his has been restrained like even when being fucked he wants to pretend to be unaffected. “If it were practical you’d do nothing else. You’re beautiful at it.”

Ogata’s scoff is interrupted by a hard gasp as Tsurumi finds his prostate. “Flatterer.”

Obsessed with, he thinks, indignant.

He knows they haven’t fucked before. Even if he does have a tremendous amount of sex he would remember the feeling of Ogata’s nails on his skin, the exertion flushing his face, and the smirk he’s failing to suppress.

He bites down on Ogata’s bottom lip hard and then slows to do the same to the leg that’s over his shoulder. Ogata is clearly a fan of that from the groan he lets out. He wraps Ogata’s cock in a tight grip and bites him again as he strokes him off.

After he makes Ogata come he turns him onto his knees and simply enters him again, watching him shiver with over-sensitivity but not complain.

“Sir, I don’t think I can…” Ogata says when Tsurumi goes for his cock again.

“Hm? Hm? Hmmmm?” He strokes him hard and fast all at once, relishing the way he goes tense and tight around him. “What was that?”

“N-nothing, sir,” Ogata says tightly, head down and cock still soft in his hand.

“If you insist.”

Ogata’s youth catches up with him eventually. Tsurumi lets go long enough to scratch his chest, eager to see the thin red lines on his skin when he turns him over later. When he grabs Ogata’s cock again it’s starting to harden.

“There you are.” He turns his face to the back of Ogata’s damp neck and brushes his lips over the hair. “How annoying.”

It’s a testament to how out of it Ogata is that he doesn’t attempt a response.

“Your hair grows so quickly, Hyakunosuke.” He keeps stroking him as he eyes the too long strands. He’s hardly thrusting into him at all now. “You don’t keep up with cuts as often as you should.”

Ogata moans, face buried in his arms.

It’s hardly noticeable and if it were wartime—if it has ever stopped being war time—he might forgive it as a slip when there are more important concerns.

“I think you do it to irritate me,” he says. He bites down on Ogata’s ear then and Ogata shouts and comes weakly in his hand, knees shaking.

It takes a few minutes for him to come down and Tsurumi keeps fucking him, slow and languid.

“Sir," Ogata gasps when Tsurumi reassumes jerking his cock. “I’m going to die.”

“You’d better not,” Tsurumi says, laughing. “Not unless I order you too.”

Ogata’s knees give out from under him but he makes no other complaints as Tsurumi fucks him viciously into his own come.

Eventually Ogata does come for him a third time and Tsurumi allows himself to follow suit. Later, Ogata lays beside him in the dark, a smile in his face.

“That was fun."

Tsurumi leans over and bites him on the meat of his shoulder. It’s no love bite like the previous ones—it draws blood. Ogata goes tense but relaxes once Tsurumi lets go.

“Did you know you blush like a whore when you’re being fucked?” Tsurumi asks mildly. “Is it because your mother was one?”

“Maybe my mother became a whore because she blushed pretty when she was being fucked,” Ogata says without a hint of shame. He pokes at the bite mark on his shoulder with a small, private smile. “I think you’re the worst person I’ve ever met, First Lieutenant.”

At the time Tsurumi thinks, that’s better.

On a sunny day, Fina lays on their porch, gently poking at the cat's paws. It blinks indulgently at her, looking bored.

“Should we put a collar on him?” she asks, petting the cat. She’d suggested Tsurumi name it since it was “his” cat and feeling uninspired, he’d named it Tama. Hina had been delighted and thought it was very cute.

“I’m not sure if he needs one,” Tsurumi says. He’s needed to relieve himself for the past ten minutes but knows Tama is only tolerating the touch because Tsurumi is there and will leave the room with him.

“What if he runs off and finds a family who feeds him better?”

“Then that’s up to him, isn’t it? He isn’t really ours either. Not unless he wants to be.”

“And then the ungrateful slut hit me with a bedpan,” Usami says venomously, his face beautifully bruised. He’s worked himself up a good deal while recounting Ogata’s escape. “Do you want me to catch up to him and then skin him alive? Please let me catch him and skin him alive for you, sir. It’s my fault he got away but I’ll make him regret—“

Tsurumi gets an arm around Usami’s throat, squeezing down. Usami grabs encouragingly at his sleeve.

“—ever being born,” he chokes out. “The treacherous little bastard.”

He squeezes Usami harder but doesn’t correct him. The mistake is his own, for assuming he had Ogata under his thumb for all these years when he didn’t. But it’s not his place to admit to his mistakes.

“No need for all that, Usami. He isn’t worth your time.”

Usami says, “I love you so much, First Lieutenant Tsurumi,” but Tsurumi is choking him hard enough that he can comfortably pretend not to have understood him.

Tsurumi lets out a loud exaggerated sigh. “Well, feel free to kill him if it comes down to it.”

“Yes sir,” Usami chokes.

“The bigger question is, why now? Did he receive orders from elsewhere? You didn’t by any chance say anything that might have made him feel dissatisfied with the 7th?”

“Hm?” Usami hum’s happily. He coughs when Tsurumi loosens his hold and then says, “oh. I might have mentioned that having Hanazawa killed furthered the Manchurian railway plan.”

Tsurumi blinks. He lets go of Usami entirely and turns away. “You’re dismissed.”

Usami makes an agonized noise, but doesn’t argue or try to defend himself. He just slinks sadly out of the room like a kicked dog.

He almost catches sight of Ogata several times in the months that follows—he definitely encounters his handiwork more than once in dead men and stolen skins. The proximity makes him itch. Though he has bigger concerns he wants Ogata in reach, even if it's just to execute him.

Near Akou Tsurumi catches the glint of light reflecting off binoculars coming from the northeast. Sloppy. He catches himself grinning as he steps behind the nearest carriage with his pistol drawn.

His men encircle the building where Tsurumi saw the flash and Tsurumi himself enters once they’ve found what they’re looking for.

Ogata is propped up by the window, arms raised at the guns surrounding him. Even out of sorts, and he’s clearly out of sorts, he sits remarkably still, like he’s trying not to give away his position. His one, unbandage eye is glassy and he doesn’t react to Tsurumi’s entrance.

“Ah, Superior Private Ogata!” Tsurumi says, like he’s found a misplaced book. “There you are.”

Ogata lifts his head slowly and lowers his hands. His rifle isn’t far enough for safety. “First Lieutenant,” he says vacantly.

“You forgot to pull the trigger.”

Ogata looks down at his rifle. “The binoculars flatter you.”

“How sweet.” Tsurumi takes his arm and starts helping him, unwillingly, to his feet. He’s no sooner vertical that he leans his head on Tsurumi’s shoulder. At once Tsurumi wraps his arms around him, bringing him closer. As he suspected Ogata is feverishly hot and shaking from exertion.

“Why, Superior Private! You’re unwell! We can’t have that now can we?”

In an uncharacteristically small voice Ogata responds, “no, sir.” The deference stirs something in him. He runs his fingers through Ogata’s hair and smiles at the pleased noise he makes.

“Perhaps a collar would suit you,” he mumbles.

Ogata nods, probably not listening. He grabs onto Tsurumi’s sleeve like a lost child.

He looks over at Tsukishima. “It seems we need to get our lost friend here to a hospital.”

Ogata turns out to be missing his entire eye, which is fascinating. He’s probably irate about it. It’s the eye he sights with.

He also refuses to let go of Tsurumi’s wrist.

He reads while Ogata recuperates, gives and receives orders from Ogata’s bedside. They stay like that the entire time: Ogata’s right hand wrinkling the fabric of his uniform with Tsurumi at his blind side.

When the bandages are undone Tsurumi stares down the wound at the void where his eye once was. It has to be taped open to be cleaned and the doctors talk to him about prosthetics. They’ll make it match the color of his remaining eye, of course. Tsurumi can’t help wondering what happened to him. If Sugimoto the Immortal has the eye tucked into his pocket like a trophy. He’s a little jealous.

At one point during the night Ogata stirs and mutters his half-brother’s name in his feverish state.

“No such luck.” He turns the page of his book. “You shot him in the back of the head. You’ll have to make do with me.”

The fever eventually breaks and in the morning Ogata wakes, dry eyed and disoriented. He stares at the ceiling as though it’s offended him and then over at his own grip on Tsurumi’s sleeve.

Tsurumi lowers his book. “Good morning.”

Ogata’s grip tightens before he finally lets go. He touches the bandage over his right eye and clears his throat. In an impressively calm voice he asks, “what are you reading?”

Tsurumi lifts his old dog-eared copy of Crime and Punishment in his direction with a smile. Ogata squints at the title and then makes a noise of acknowledgement, though they both know he never learned to read Russian. He exhales slowly, tension leaving his body and he sinks deeper into the bed.

Tsurumi gets up and sits beside him, jostling Ogata more than necessary. “Is Sugimoto the Immortal to blame again for putting you in this state?”

“Yup.” He doesn’t flinch at Tsurumi touching his face and tracing the stitch marks on his cheeks, something he’s been fantasizing about doing since he first saw them. “Son of a bitch saved my life.”

“Interesting. One of Asirpa’s poison arrows, then?”

“I didn’t get the location of the gold out of her if that’s what you’re asking.” He blinks up at Tsurumi, who is still tracing the lines of his face, back and forth. “Keep doing that and I might bite you.”

Tsurumi lets his thumb brush Ogata’s mouth before returning attention to the scars. “No need to warn me, I don’t mind. Do you remember coming to find me?”

“Not really,” he says, sounding resigned and unperturbed. “Did I throw up on you at some point?”

“Oh no, that was Tsukishima.”

“Ha, good.” Ogata goes to brush his hair out of his face and frowns when he finds it shaved down to military standard. “I liked my hair.”

“I thought as much.” He runs his fingers over the shorn hair. “That’s why it’s gone.”

Ogata hums. “Did you do it yourself?”

He did not, he asked one of his privates to do it. “Who else could I have trusted with such an important task?” he asks, touching the bandages around his eye.

“If you’re going to tell me I’m not nearly as handsome as I used to be, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Oh, I would never.” He pulls away only to slap the back of his hand down on Ogata’s bandages. Ogata jerks and curls in on himself instinctively but remains sweet and silent. He’s giving Tsurumi his full attention now so Tsurumi’s best smile isn’t wasted. “I love you for your heart, not your good looks.”

Normally Ogata is very good at controlling his emotional reactions but by design Tsurumi has caught him at his worst. For a moment Ogata looks stricken with a quiet terror worse than he’s ever seen from him in battle. Then he begins to laugh.

Tsurumi sits calmly at his side and watches as he starts to cough and then finally returns again to laughing.

“You’re terrible,” Ogata says eventually, still laughing a little. He’s trembling, from either exertion or emotion. “I always forget how terrible you are.”

Tsurumi smiles back. “I’ve hardly started. I’m going to make you regret every treacherous thought that’s ever gone through your head.”

He turns over Ogata’s hand and holds it gently: indulging him. Ogata looks pleased, that old sardonic expression present is not as calculating as usual. He’ll accept whatever comes to him. It’s nice to know that Ogata isn’t a sore loser.

Sometimes he wonders what happened to that little black cat of Fina’s. If it had gotten itself run over straying too far from home, or been caught in the jaws of a bigger animal on its way back to him. Either would be a fitting end for any creature that loves him.

“Now then! I have a very important question for you, Hyakunosuke.”

Ogata sighs melodramatically and squeezes his hand. “Yes, First Lieutenant. Give me a few weeks to practice. I can still shoot for you.”