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nightfayre · 4 years

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a donation drabble request for the ever kind and supportive Ayobami @tps31! thank you SO MUCH for your donation and support!! you’ll never know how much it means to me <3

prompt: tianshan quarantine fluff, aka “why the hell am I stuck in a house with you all day every day?”

(a/n: this is just a random thought but I honestly don’t think I’ve written a fic about the boys still in middle school like, ever, so thank you so much for this prompt! it was so refreshing to write them as the flustered, airheaded, and teasing boys they are!) <3

tianshan, 3600 words, rated T

* * *

Guan Shan hates this.

The laundry basket next to his. The pair of shoes at the front door. The extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and the second phone charger plugged in next to his bed. There’s a gray duffel bag taking up the corner of his bedroom and a black jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. None of it takes up too much space, carefully put into their respective places and never crossing the boundary, but—

Guan Shan hates it.

And, what’s worse: he never asked for this. He was stupid enough to mention He Tian’s name at the dinner table one night; a passing comment he hadn’t really thought about. But then his mother had paused with a spoonful of miso soup at her lips, pensive.

“He Tian,” she’d echoed, as if the name felt foreign but sweet on her tongue. “Isn’t that the one who lives near the center of the city? The one who lives alone? The tall and polite and handsome one of your friends?”

“Uh,” Guan Shan had said, smirking with distaste. “Yeah. Sure. That one.”

“Poor thing. Alone throughout all of this mess.” She sighed. “Why does he not live with his family?”

And Guan Shan had thought about it for a moment, sifting through his mind like pressing rewind on a VHS. “I don’t know,” he’d admitted, reaching for the soy sauce. “Never asked.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, you should invite him over, then.”

Guan Shan choked.

Oblivious, his mother had continued: “Have him stay a few nights. No one should be left alone throughout this entire period. Who knows how long this will last, what with how many cases that have been reported. He’ll go stir crazy by himself, poor soul.”

“He’s already stir crazy,” Guan Shan said, eyes watering from a dislodged grain of rice. “I don’t want him here, ma. I’ll literally do anythin’ else. Seriously.”

She’d given him a disappointed look. “Ah-Shan, I thought I raised you to have a little more compassion than that.”

“Trust me, a person like him doesn’t need compassion.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” she reprimanded. She tapped her chopsticks against her bowl, succinct. “After we finish dinner, you should reach out to him and invite him to spend the week with us.”

“A week?”

“Well, now that school is postponed and I’m working from home, wouldn’t it be nice to have company for a bit?”

“Ma, please—“

“You will text him, Ah-Shan. No excuses. The world needs kindness right now, and we will do whatever we can to contribute to it.”

And that, unfortunately, was that.

That night, Guan Shan deleted the message immediately after he sent it, as if that would erase it out of his memory, too. But it was hard to forget the string of skeptical yet blaringly enthusiastic string of response texts that followed the invite, and even harder to forget the sight of He Tian at their front door half an hour later, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and smile bright as he greeted Guan Shan’s mother with practiced sweetness and feigned gratitude.

Guan Shan hated it.

But as his mother shot him a warning look, Guan Shan couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t just ignore him like he did, sometimes, at school.

And now, five days in, there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Little Mo, are you naked?”

Running a towel over his hair, Guan Shan scowls at his reflection in the mirror, still foggy from the steam. “Fuck off, chickenshit.”

“I’m kidding.” He can hear the smile in He Tian’s voice. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

“Then you can wait.”

“It’s been twenty minutes, sweetheart. Are your showers usually this long?”

“That’s an average fuckin’ time for showers!”

A hum, muffled by the closed door. “Really? Mine only take ten, and that’s generous considering the precious amount of time I spend washing my—”

The thunk of the lotion bottle against the door rattles its hinges. “Fuck off!”

He waits until he hears He Tian’s footsteps recede. Guan Shan hates that he knows He Tian is walking away with that smug-as-all-hell smile, satisfied.

He dresses quickly after that, doing his best to ignore the citrus-scented face wash by the faucet and the contact lens case by the hand soap. The first time he’d seen all of He Tian’s things laid out like this on his bathroom counter was something like a revelation. It was like some things clicked into place, unbidden. Now it makes sense why Guan Shan sometimes thinks he catches a whiff of lemonade every time He Tian gets too close, and why He Tian looks like he’s scowling whenever he reads but, really, it’s just because he’s blind as a fucking bat and has to squint to see fine print.

If nothing else, Guan Shan suspects at least something valuable might come out of all this time he’s forced to spend together with He Tian — (read: blackmail) — but then again, He Tian hasn’t commented on the old, stained state of Guan Shan’s pillow like Guan Shan thought he would because he’s used it since he was four and can’t really sleep well if he’s not using that specific pillow. And he also hasn’t said anything about the way Guan Shan jumps, sometimes, when the toaster springs up his toast in the mornings because he never fucking sees it coming and it — sometimes — causes him to drop his jam knife.

A stalemate, Guan Shan supposes as he pulls his shirt over his head. Except, deep down, he knows that He Tian probably isn’t even aware that such a concept exists. After all, what would He Tian be if not someone to fight ‘til a broken victor is left standing?

By the time Guan Shan walks out into the living room, it’s ten o’clock. His mother, having finished washing the dishes because Guan Shan made dinner, is nowhere in sight, likely huddled up in her bedroom with a book like she always does before bed. That leaves He Tian alone on the couch, casually flipping through TV stations in a t-shirt and sweats, and he doesn’t see Guan Shan at first when the latter turns the corner.

“Bathroom’s open, dipshit,” Guan Shan mutters. He Tian looks up as Guan Shan approaches, settling on the opposite end of the couch.

“About time.” He Tian tosses Guan Shan the remote, and he barely catches it before it smacks against his chest. Standing, He Tian smiles and says, “Find something good to watch by the time I get back, okay?”

“I don’t work at your beck and call,” Guan Shan seethes. But despite his retorts, his fingers find the remote buttons as He Tian saunters back to the bathroom, hands in pockets and steps quiet against the creaky floors.

For a while, there really is nothing interesting on any of the channels. Guan Shan flies past a romcom, an old horror film, a few cartoons, the dreaded news. Nothing catches his attention — and he feels exhaustion coming on quick. He thinks, maybe, of just going to bed. But behind the apartment’s thin walls, he can hear the water running from the faucet. Despite himself, he frowns.

It’s odd, really. He never thought he could get used to the image of He Tian’s broad frame hunched over his sink in the mornings, or the way He Tian can reach the bowls at the top of the cupboards without going on his toes, or the sight of He Tian’s nape pressed against the twin-sized air mattress on the floor of Guan Shan’s bedroom. He never thought anyone could make his mother laugh as much as he can, or finish puzzles as fast as he can, and he certainly never thought that his mother would spill Guan Shan’s childhood stories to someone she’d only met... once? Twice? He doesn’t keep track. He never had to before.

Nevertheless, it’s not nearly enough time to warrant such trust. Such comfort.

Guan Shan hates it.

But in the midst of his lamenting, the faucet shuts off. A few moments later He Tian returns. And when he plops back onto the couch — too close — he smells of mint and vanilla-scented chapstick.

Too aware of his presence and the way his knee almost touches Guan Shan’s, Guan Shan takes a long second to snap back to reality when He Tian asks, “What’s this?”

Guan Shan blinks. On the TV, there’s some kind of documentary playing. A narrator drones over the images of a complex space aircraft, and the camera pans out to show footage of the stars it swims in. As the screen switches to an interview of someone very important-looking in a suit, Guan Shan scowls.

“I don’t know. Nothin’s on.”

He Tian stretches his arms above his head, long and lithe. “Well,” he says, drawn with a sigh, “if you’re trying to put me to sleep, it might actually work.”

“Fuck off, I don’t control the damn stations,” Guan Shan bites. “And you shouldn’t be tired to begin with. You did jack shit today, just like every other day.”

He Tian looks at him, the corners of his eyes softened with drowsiness in a way that Guan Shan has become used to seeing.

“That’s not true,” He Tian says. “I went with you to pick up supplies so your mom can sew masks. And we went to get the mail downstairs. And I helped you go grocery shopping—“

“You fuckin’ stood there with the cart and didn’t help at all—“

“—and I chopped the onions and peppers for dinner. That’s a lot. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a normal person’s life,” Guan Shan says, exasperated. “Honestly, what the hell did you do all your life until quarantine?”

He Tian seems to take a moment to genuinely think about his answer. “Homework,” he offers, brows a bit pulled. “Basketball. School, obviously. I usually go to the convenience store for dinner, but sometimes I’ll get takeout. And I don’t get mail, but my groceries get delivered to me, so.”

And then he looks at Guan Shan, almost as if expecting some kind of praising reaction — but Guan Shan can only stare.

“That’s ridiculous,” Guan Shan says after a long moment. “That’s ridiculous and fuckin’ miserable. You live like a robot, and a broken one at that.”

Silence. Then He Tian sits up a little straighter, as if a puppetmaster had pulled on his strings.

“I mean, I used to take piano lessons,” he says, frowning as he rubs at his neck. “And Cheng took me to shooting ranges. And…” A pause. “Camping. Yeah, we went camping some weekends. Went to rivers and fished together all day. I caught a few sometimes.”

Guan Shan blinks. “What, are you tryin’ to prove somethin’ to me right now?”

And He Tian shrugs. “Maybe.”

The answer takes Guan Shan by surprise. But He Tian’s face is neutral — expression always so put together — and Guan Shan wonders if maybe He Tian is lying to him. Building up some kind of persona again just to tear it down later. Because, surely, with that much fucking money and privilege, the guy doesn’t just sit there in that empty apartment all day and twiddle his thumbs. Surely, with his reputation, he has a regular posse of socialites always seeking him out and inviting him to some kind of get-together or event. Surely, considering all that he is, He Tian doesn’t waste his time looking for, or teasing, or protecting, or calling up—

“Guan Shan?” He Tian says, mouth a little twisted. “You still awake?”

The low rambling of the space documentary suddenly seems louder. Guan Shan swallows, once, then forces himself to look away.

“You make no fuckin’ sense to me,” Guan Shan mutters. Then: “When are you leavin’?”

“Ouch,” He Tian remarks in an empty but unsurprised tone, shifting back on the couch. After a moment, he shrugs and responds, “Depends. Your text said a week but your mom says forever.”

A scowl. “She didn’t fuckin’ say that.”

He Tian smiles. “No, she didn’t. But she did say as long as I wanted — which, really, isn’t that much different from forever.”

Guan Shan swallows; feels inexplicable heat crawl up his neck like a spider, and he clenches his jaw against it.

“You should go live with your own family,” he says, staring ahead. “I’m sure they’ve got all the time in the world to shower you with attention.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees He Tian smirk.

“If I didn’t want to live with them at the best of times, what makes you think I would want to live with them at the worst of times?”

Guan Shan considers that. “This… isn’t the worst of times.”

“There’s a pandemic with no cure killing hundreds of people every day,” He Tian says, bland. “School is practically cancelled. People aren’t going to work. You invited me over to your home, unprompted. Even I know, with all things considered, that these are pretty bad times.”

Guan Shan can’t argue that. Instead he stares at the television, watching an astronomer point out weird symbols on some kind of map. It takes a lot of concentration to focus on nothing. After all, if he shifts his gaze any more to the right, he’ll see He Tian. If he lets his eyes slide down any further, he’ll see the way He Tian’s knee is still too close to his own. Both are dangerous territories for dangerous thoughts, and he doesn’t want anything to do with either.

After a moment of silence, Guan Shan says, “You know, you should get friends. Real friends, and not your fuckin’ fangirl group.”

He Tian raises a brow. “I have you and Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi.”

“That’s not—” And then Guan Shan stops, frowning, because he’s not actually sure what their ragtag mess of a group isn’t. Instead, he swallows and pathetically hides behind: “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe, it’s exactly what He Tian thought what he’d say. Guan Shan isn’t sure; he’s never fuckin’ sure when it comes to him. But it doesn’t stop him from tensing up when He Tian turns to face him, fully. Wholly. It leaves no escape, and Guan Shan realizes with a sour kind of reluctance that he has no choice but to look back.

“No?” He Tian asks, meeting his gaze. “Then, what are you to me?”

The way the television’s screen lights up He Tian’s face — it’s like looking at a painting, alone in the museum, at the dusk of day. Blue hues shine through his hair, dim, and his eyes are only bright enough to reflect the silhouette of Guan Shan sitting in front of him. It’s eerie, how the both of them are so undefined in this moment. Maybe, in a way, that’s easier.

Guan Shan’s voice feels thick when he says, “I’m not answerin’ that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t— need to.”

“Why?” And then: “Overthinking it?”

Guan Shan flares. “What? What the fuck does that— No, I just— I don’t need to answer fuckin’ anything, asshole. I… I owe you jack shit.”

Silence responds to him. He Tian watches him; studies him. Guan Shan feels like a specimen under his gaze, split apart layer by layer under the microscope. He feels like, somewhere, something in him is splintering. And He Tian is watching it happen.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ answer,” Guan Shan admits, sudden, like a sinner in a confession booth, heavy and quiet and raspy. “Okay? I told you, you don’t make any goddamn sense to me. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my ma.”

He Tian soaks that in, almost as thoroughly as he takes in the sight of Guan Shan’s flushed scowl.

“You didn’t want me here?” he says, teasing.

“No, dipshit. Every time you’ve been here hasn’t been because I asked you to be.”

He Tian smirks. “Ouch,” he says again, except this time it’s said in a way that pricks Guan Shan like a rose thorn.

Guan Shan pushes down the heavy feeling in his throat. “I don’t know what you were expectin’,” he says, truthfully.

And then He Tian looks away, rolling his head. There’s a kind of empty look in his eyes that Guan Shan thinks he recognizes, and after a moment he realizes it’s the same look he’s seen in He Cheng’s eyes in the few rare times they’d crossed paths.

“I wasn’t expecting a pandemic,” He Tian says. His voice sounds loud in the small room. “I wasn’t expecting school break to get extended. I wasn’t expecting all the restaurants to close, and for all the store’s shelves to be wiped clean.” He runs his tongue along his teeth. “But I guess, for some reason, I was expecting a text from you after weeks of nothing.”

It hits Guan Shan, hard and heavy, like a ring-laden fist against his cheek. The last time he’d seen He Tian before all of this mess was a month ago — more — and at the time, none of them had known that this is how it would turn out. How could they? It’d only taken a week for things to turn south, and Guan Shan was too busy worrying of how he and his mom were going to file for unemployment to think of the way his phone had been silent for longer than he’s been used to.

He wants to pull it out right now; check his recent messages. It would be with a sort of disbelief when he would find the timestamp on He Tian’s contact, he already knows. But the shock wouldn’t come from his own lack of outreach. No, his perplexity would stem from He Tian, the same person who couldn’t go a single weekend without a conversation about nothing over Facetime back when things were normal. The same person who, apparently, hadn’t messaged him once until Guan Shan texted him that dreadful night five days ago.

Had he been— testing Guan Shan?

“I didn’t reach out to anybody else,” Guan Shan hears himself saying. The words taste bitter as they leave his mouth. What is he doing? What does he have to justify? “I... It was weird, those first few days of the lockdown order, and my ma and I— we had a lot goin’ on. It wasn’t— I mean, I haven’t talked to Zheng Xi or Jian Yi this whole time either. I just... don’t have time. Or, I did, but it wasn’t urgent. I— yeah, I barely use my phone anymore, anyway. I’m always at home now so I just... don’t need it.”

He stops, his tongue feeling thick. He Tian isn’t looking at him, but he knows he’s listening. Somehow, the thought makes it even worse.

“What,” He Tian suddenly says, and there’s a curl to his mouth that he can’t seem to help, “are you trying to prove something to me right now?”

“I—“ Guan Shan flares, teeth clenched and ears hot. “Fuck you. No, I’m not, asshole. I’m actually rescuin’ your damn pride, but apparently you’ve got too fuckin’ much.”

“Hey, hey,” He Tian says, wrapping his fingers around Guan Shan’s wrist when he makes to get up. “Come on. Don’t make me finish this documentary by myself.”

Guan Shan scowls. “I’m tired. Let go.”

“Then we can sleep on the couch,” He Tian replies — and then almost as if it were an afterthought: “again.”

Guan Shan warms at the implication of it. “Why the fuck would I do that when my room is around the corner?” he hisses.

He Tian tugs his arm. “Because I’ll follow you anyway since I’ve only got two days left with you and I’m not letting today end like this.” He smiles. “We’re not sleeping yet. I’m selfish.”

“I could’ve fuckin’ told you that,” Guan Shan mutters, dry. But he relaxes, settling back on the couch, and eventually He Tian lets him go. The skin he had touched feels electric in his absence.

“Let’s make popcorn and ride this out,” He Tian says, settling against a throw pillow. His eyes, no longer empty, are content as they drift back to the screen.

Hand in chin, Guan Shan smirks. “We both brushed our teeth already. I’m not doin’ it again.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He Tian gestures to the TV. “Popcorn and something more interesting than this.”

“If you think this is so damn boring, then why are you still here?”

“When else will I find an opportunity to spend time with you like this after I leave?”

Guan Shan doesn’t respond. After a moment, He Tian huffs.

“That’s when you’re supposed to invite me back over in the future, little Mo,” he says, amused. Guan Shan shoots him a warning look as the documentary goes to a commercial break.

“Don’t push your luck,” he snaps. “And don’t try to convince my ma, either.”

He Tian hums, shifting, and Guan Shan suppresses a flinch when his knee presses up against his. Warm. “I hadn’t even thought about that. That might be the agenda for tomorrow, now.”

“I’m sick of you,” Guan Shan growls. And He Tian laughs, like it’s the funniest thing ever, how easily he can get under Guan Shan’s skin and force him to worry about nothing and get him to stay with him to watch shitty television all within the span of twenty minutes. How Guan Shan has managed to survive more than three days is an incredible feat. How he’s unable to chase away the thought of inviting He Tian over for dinner after he leaves, sometimes, is an inexplicable one.

And when the documentary comes back on with a cheap intro jingle and the streaming quality of a disposable camera, Guan Shan feels He Tian’s foot hook against his and tries to convince himself, over and over:

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

* * *

thank you for reading! likes/reblogs would be greatly appreciated, as this fic is dedicated to the Black Lives Matter movement. if you would like a fic/drabble written for you (and you want to support the BLM cause!), please see this post!

have an incredible week! <3

#19 days #tianshan #:)))#please reblog! it would mean the world!

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tentoriwrites · 6 years

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Set Free: Part Two

Part two in a series for @myotomespace.

Part One: Saizo

Tagging @frywen-babbles since she asked so nicely.

Masamune

It was a beautiful day. Warm and sunny. The perfect day for a boy his age to be playing. His gaze kept drifting towards the door, slightly ajar to let in the breeze. Kojuro didn’t miss the look and he sighed. Not that he could blame his young pupil. If he was honest with himself, he’d much rather be outside screwing around than in here teaching a kid math who wasn’t paying attention.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Bontenmaru looked over at him slowly, hand hovering idly, the writing implement long since dropped from his fingers. “Your uncle and cousin should be here any time as it is. I know he’ll just disrupt your lessons anyways.” Kojuro could see a ghost of a smile on the young boy’s features. It was clear that Bontenmaru didn’t quite believe him. For good reason too, usually Kojuro was stricter about the lessons. Fussing at him to pay attention. If Kojuro had to be there, damn it, so did he. Why was today different?

“Come on.” Kojuro got to his feet and walked out of the room. “I’m going on a walk so take an hour or so. Then we’ll get back to work.” He called over his shoulder and Bontenmaru finally got to his feet. The young boy idled about on the veranda before going out into the garden.

He saw her in the garden, a picture of beauty and grace, he supposed. All the picture books he read had pictures of beautiful princesses and maidens he often thought looked just like her. Yet, he rarely ever saw her. He knew who she was, naturally, she was his Mother. But, she never really acknowledged him. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t look at him like his Father did.

He wasn’t thinking about that today. He was thinking about how she looked perfect and happy as she passed through the expanse with his baby brother securely in her arms. This was the first time he’d seen his sibling since they’d been born and Bontenmaru could hardly contain his excitement as he raced over to her out of instinct.

“MOMMA!” He called happily as he waved her down. “Can I see?!” He asked innocently enough once he got within arm’s length of her. He brushed the hair out of his eyes, so he could see properly, an eager smile on his face. As soon as she caught one look at him she shrieked, a look of absolutely horror on her face.

“YOU STAY AWAY!” Her shrill voice rang through the space, echoing off the exterior walls. She pulled the child in her arms away from him, her whole body twisting violently with her rejection. “You keep your evil, demon spawn hands away from me and my child! I will not have you curse him too!” Bontenmaru looked up at her with eyes wide with hurt and confusion.

“Momma…” He muttered sadly as he reached a small hand out to her. She stepped away, grabbing her skirts and yanking them close to her. Her rejection of him complete.

“I am not your Mother. I did not give birth to a demon child…” She muttered with such coldness even the summer air could not resist the rime of it. She said nothing else, just stormed away quickly. She spoke sweetly to the child in her arms, soothing its cries, making the contrast of her treatment of Bontenmaru even more apparent. His whole body crumpled as tears started forming in his eyes. He was so far gone to his sorrow he didn’t even hear his cousin running up until he was face first in the dirt.

Suddenly, he was on his back staring up at a blurry blue sky. “Don’t you listen to her! You hear me?!” His cousin hissed as his hands dug into the fabric on Bontenmaru’s chest. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!” He went on fiercely, with determined eyes. Still, Bontenmaru said nothing, just fought the overwhelming urge to cry. “I mean I play with you all the time and nothing bad has ever happened to me! And nothing ever will!” He rolled off his cousin with a huff only to lay down beside him on the ground. They just laid there in silence, save for Bontenmaru’s nearly constant sniffling, for a long time.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying if you’re sad.” A slightly exasperated voice called and both boys turned their gaze towards the veranda. “It seems there is to be a banquet tonight since your Uncle and cousin are here. We will postpone lessons until tomorrow.” Kojuro added stepping down into the garden. No sooner had he said so, a maid walked up carrying a plate of manju.

“Excuse me, young lords. Dinner’s going to be a while yet. We thought you’d like a snack!” She handed Kojuro the plate.

“Thank you.” She bowed to Kojuro, a slightly troubled smile on her face before she hurried away. Kojuro offered the plate to his young lord first. “Maybe a snack will help.” Bontenmaru grasped one of the manju slowly, and took a big bite. His face almost immediately scrunched up, but he kept eating.

“If you don’t like the filling you don’t have to keep eating it.” A young Shigezane teased as he took one of the manju.

“It tastes funny…” Bontenmaru said in a quiet voice.

“Funny how?” Kojuro asked in a deathly serious tone as he grabbed the other boy’s wrist, keeping the manju from passing his lips.

“Like it’s gone bad…” He looked up at Kojuro with a distressed look on his face. “I don’t feel well, Kojuro.” Kojuro snapped his hand down causing the other boy to drop the manju completely. The plate clattered to the ground where Kojuro dropped it. He hefted Bontenmaru into his arms and grabbed the other boy’s hand. He rushed them into the castle yelling for a doctor the whole way.

Voices found their way to the boy’s ears as he drifted somewhere between sleeping and waking. “You heard what she said to him in the garden same as I did!” A hushed but angry voice hissed.

“We don’t have any proof!” Another hissed back. “What kind of monster would have her own child poisoned?”

“Besides would you want to admit that your wife is a murderer?” A third chimed in.

“This is all my fault…” A very weak, crestfallen voice muttered followed by the sound of crying. Bontenmaru’s hand felt warm and a little wet. “I’m so sorry. I failed you, Milord. You… you’re like a brother to me. I should have done more to protect you. If you… you’d just wake up, I swear to you I’ll be the best retainer to you ever.”

“Kojuro…” Bontenmaru whispered faintly. He felt his hand jerk as the warmth retreated. “Are you sure you want to be brothers with a demon?”

“You’re not a demon…” Kojuro answered immediately. “You are Bontenmaru. One day, everyone will see you for who you really are. I promise.”

It was odd that he was able to give both Shigezane and Kojuro the slip, but he needed some time alone. He was walking down the street idly when a young woman came running out of a restaurant ahead of him.

“INUCHIYO! You can’t just run off without taking something to eat with you!” She called waving one hand while she held a bento in the other. A samurai in bright clothes turned around with an exasperated look on his face.

“I can buy my own lunch you know.” He sighed with an uneasy look on his face.

“Yeah but it wouldn’t be made by me!” She chimed forcing the bento into his hands. The samurai sighed before his scowl melted into a smile.

“Thanks. Well, I’ll be seeing you.”

“May victory find you!” She cried as he started walking again. Masamune had made it to the front of the restaurant as she turned to head back.

“Oh! Hello there! We’re open if you’d like to come in for something to eat!” An older woman called from the doorway beside him. The younger woman bowed, rather informally, before motioning into the restaurant. It was clear they had no idea who he was.

“No thank you. I’m not hungry.” Just then his stomach growled, belying what he had just said. His cheeks colored instantly. He tried to turn to leave but the two women grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into the restaurant.

“If paying’s the problem, don’t worry about that!” The older woman mused as she plunked him down in an empty stool. “You can’t fight on an empty stomach! And if you can’t fight you can’t come back home, now can you?” She went on talking even as she walked towards the back.

“My father’s motto.” The younger woman said with a smile as she gestured to the menu. “We never turn away someone in need. If you can’t pay, you can wash dishes or help clean up. There’s always some odd job to be done.”

Bewildered, Masamune looked around quietly as the young woman smiled at him. Just then a young boy came running out from the back.

“Sis! Don’t just stand there! It’s rude! Besides, I need your help in the kitchen! You took the stool and now I can’t find it!” He pouted at her with crossed arms. She laughed openly before bowing to Masamune.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” She explained before following her brother. “You know, if you would hurry up and grow, you wouldn’t need the stool anymore!” He listened carefully to their banter for a few lingering moments of suspicion before looking down at the menu. He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he felt relaxed for the first time in years. He eyed a spot in the corner and moved to sit there, leaning comfortably against the wall. There was something very warm and welcoming about the atmosphere there.

“Oh, you prefer a corner seat. That one is usually open.” The young woman commented as she came back for his order. “So, what would you like?”

“What would you suggest?” He hid a smile when her face lit up. She started describing dishes with a passion he had never seen anyone reserve for food. He hadn’t actually intended to risk eating anything before, now he could tell no harm would come of it here.

#slbp #slbp masamune #fanfic #fanfiction #songfic

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