Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sougo heard her before he saw her. The yokocho was filled with the sounds of cooking and talking and laughing, but he could point out the twinkling noise her earrings made.

“Sadist,” she greeted.

“Yo, China.”

Growing up had given her what one might call a fashion sense. She wore her cheongsam or duangua most days, but her wardrobe was a whole rainbow now, in addition to her favored red. He’d seen her in peach, teal, black, lilac, navy, chartreuse, and—Sougo had definitely not stored this one in his memory—burgundy. At the moment, she wore a long white cheongsam with short cap sleeves. Long pigtails. Gold chandeliers in her ears. Her umbrella, which she’d upgraded on her 18th birthday, was almost as long as she was tall, and strapped to her back.

She looked him over for a brief moment, then headed for him, pulling her umbrella off. Her face was serene and, he thought, hungry, but when was she not hungry?

Selfishly he felt that they spoke their own language, one that no one else understood. Each knew what the look in the other’s eyes meant and what they wanted: a simple spar, an explosive and violent fight, an amicable interaction, or something else entirely that screamed steer clear. When he woke up today, he thought he’d want to be alone, but strangely he wanted her company.

The waiter came by with a small dish of gyoza, which he placed on the square table. Sougo stopped him and said, “Could we get two more orders of this, and could you get started on four bowls of tonkotsu?”

The kid glanced dubiously at him, then at China who was settling into the stool adjacent, and shrugged. “Whatever you say, sir.”

“This looks good,” she said of the food, opening her chopstick wrappers and breaking them apart.

“Limit yourself to what I ordered, alright?” Sougo bit into a dumpling and its salty, tender insides filled his mouth. “My wallet isn’t bottomless, unlike your stomach.”

“My stomach happened to be fed an hour ago, so your wallet doesn’t need to worry.” She patted her middle and cooed. “Isn’t that right, Kagumaru-chan? You just had some gyudon, didn’t you? Yes you did!”

Sougo wrinkled his nose at her antics as the waiter came back with their respective bowls. “I wasn’t aware your stomach had a name all this time.”

“She’s very shy.”

“Does the word ‘shy’ have a different meaning where you come from?” Reaching into his sleeve, he located the bottle of Tabasco and pulled it out.

It was May 26. Mitsuba would have been thirty today, had she lived, seven years his senior. He wondered how she would have celebrated three decades of life. If there would’ve been little ones at the table with them, bothering him for toys (his bazooka) or sweets (laxatives which he would’ve told them to plant in mayonnaise bottles). The image prickled his cheeks and the space behind his eyes. 

China’s eyes widened. “Oi, you…” 

He flipped the tabasco bottle upside-down and shook it vigorously over his bowl, cursing its designers for giving it such a tiny opening, because it was splattering everywhere.

“You’re getting it all over me!” she yelled. Other customers stared at them in shock.

“Sir!” said the waiter, “If you wanted spicy, you could’ve ordered it! Or asked for chili paste on the side!”

China dabbed at her dress. For what, Sougo had no idea, because it was already stained with broth and other things.

“Don’t bother. His family dropped him on his head as a baby, so that’s why he’s like this now. And why his head is so round.”

Throwing his hands up, the waiter walked away. A few minutes of furious shaking later, Sougo deemed the amount of Tabasco adequate. He set the bottle to the side and swirled his chopsticks around in the bowl to incorporate it into the broth. This was going to taste like shit, he thought, staring into the red-brown abyss. Yet he braced himself, readied his spoon and chopsticks, and scarfed it down as best he could. He was vaguely aware of her finishing one bowl, then two, then three, and finally as he gagged down one last spoonful, she belched and pushed her final bowl a few inches away.

His stomach roiled. I hope you’re happy, Aneue, wherever you are. He slapped a couple thousand yen on the table, slipping it under one of their plates.

“So,” she said cheerfully, “Any room for dessert?”

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he would be able to keep down another bite, but he gave her 300 yen and she dashed into a convenience store for some packaged soft serve. The tail end of May always brought excellent weather, and the night air was pleasant and balmy. No cicadas yet to fill the streets with their incessant chirping. He walked with her leisurely back to Kabukichou. They found a medium-sized rock early on and took turns kicking it forward, her curbing her strength so it wouldn’t fly into a storefront. They played their Otsuu-chan game, too, volleying gibberish to each other.

“Ribeye.”

“Isaac Schneider.”

“Derivative.”

“Ev…entful.”

Sougo raised an eyebrow, and she blinked innocently at him. 

“Fullmetal Alchemist,” he said finally.

“Mister Sandman.”

“Mannequin.”

“Quintuplets.”

He paused, thinking for a moment, brows furrowing. Nothing.

“Got you,” China sang, and he didn’t need to look up to know there was a smirk on her face.

“Only because I let ‘eventful’ slide.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Okita-kun.”

His retort was interrupted by the ground shaking. Were they so close already?

“Sadaharu!” she cried with joy, not budging an inch as her giant dog bounded towards them and leaped on her, paws coming to rest on her shoulders.

Shinpachi was a few paces away, by the gates of the Shimura dojo, holding a heavy plastic bag that Sougo could only assume was full of giant dog shit. “Evening, Kagura-chan, Okita-san.”

“Hi, Pattsuan.” China was rubbing the dog under its chin. Sadaharu stared expectantly at Sougo, so he tipped his head respectfully. He didn’t want to meet the inside of the dog’s mouth again.

A year after the final battle against Utsuro and the end of the manga as they all knew it, Kagura had moved out of the Yorozuya office and into the Shimura household. Danna said he wouldn’t endure another night sleeping in the closet or on the couch anymore (since she had stolen the bedroom) and that she was getting too old to be his ward. But according to Sougo’s, and to some extent Kondou’s intel, it was because Danna and Hijikata had made it “official” and wanted to play house without a teenage girl around.

Shinpachi was talking. “He was barking and pawing at the gate. I thought he just needed to do his business, but he must’ve known you were nearby.” While China was busy roughhousing with Sadaharu, Shinpachi stared at Sougo. His glasses glinted, hiding his eyes. Sougo was familiar with that look: the look of a brother sizing up a suitor of whom he didn’t approve. He held eye contact without changing his expression, daring Shinpachi to say something. It wasn’t the first time and Sougo doubted it would be the last. He knew how it would go; Shinpachi would fall back on pleasantries like he always did.

“I know you’ll probably invite me in,” Sougo finally said, “but it’s getting late, and I have work tomorrow.” 

“Ah, good night then, Okita-san,” Shinpachi said, following an almost pregnant pause. Sougo began to walk the other way.

China and her dog were watching. “Tomorrow, the park,” she called out to him, half a question, half not.

He looked over his shoulder. “Maybe, China. I’ll see you when I see you.”

And he walked off. He thought he heard her say the word stupid then Shinpachi murmuring her name, but by then they were already out of earshot.

~

Snack Smile was raucous with laughter and music. The Shinsengumi had rented out half the space to celebrate—what were they celebrating? A closed case. Now he remembered. They’d saved a dozen children from being trafficked by the space trade. Hijikata and Yamazaki had been investigating for nearly ten months and finally caught the ringleaders in a flashy battle. And no monumental mission was complete without the Yorozuya, who had burst through the warehouse doors like the main characters in a Western. They hadn’t been able to save every kid who had been ripped from their homes, but they could at least give some of them new lives. Commissioner Imai had promised to help them find their families, or new homes if they had none.

Sougo was drunker than he allowed himself to be, whether public or private. Normally his limit was two drinks, but a certain someone had challenged him, and he’d gone shot for shot with her.

The owners had dimmed the lights and replaced them with strobes. Someone, probably Shinpachi, had brought out a karaoke machine. Sougo embraced a bottle of sake and sank deeper into the booth, watching everything through neon vision. Kondou had thrown an arm around Shinpachi’s shoulders and was belting into the mic. Hijikata and Danna were at the other end of the booth, their heads close together. Their supposed hostess, Otae, was no longer hosting, but talking with her coworkers and a few officers at another booth. There were several other side characters here who had probably invited themselves, maybe a terrorist or two, but Sougo no longer had the capacity to pay attention. His gaze was fixed on Kagura.

She had let some of her hair down since the raid, in a half-up-half-down style. She wore the burgundy cheongsam that tormented the backs of his eyelids. He pictured her as she had fought that night, slamming skulls together and deflecting bullets with her umbrella. The sweat glinting on her temple and sticking hairs to the nape of her neck. He liked her hair in a ponytail. She was clapping to the song, slightly off-tempo, swaying at certain moments, outright dancing at others. She was a good drunk. A happy, affectionate drunk, unlike some of the other women in the series, who liked cracking skulls and sending men flying through walls. He wanted to grab her arm and tug her into his lap. It would be fun to feel her wriggle and protest, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for her to melt into him instead. Maybe he wanted to feel her breath quicken, her temperature rise as she blushed. He could whisper a few words in her ear, smell her fragrant shampoo for more than a moment.

“Okita-kun,” a sugary voice cut through his red haze.

Tearing his gaze away, he struggled to meet Otae’s smiling eyes. “Anego,” he mumbled. It felt like he was about to be lectured. She held out a prim hand and he surrendered the bottle wordlessly. Over her shoulder, he locked eyes with Danna. He looked far too sharp. That bastard Hijikata was watching too. It was hard to read their expressions, though maybe Sougo was just that drunk. He could feel indignation, spite, and something that may have been jealousy rising in his chest. Sougo wasn’t equipped—wasn’t sober enough—for this.

“Anego!” Kagura broke the tension to which she was oblivious and threw her arms around Otae. “Have a shot with me! Or you, Sadist, can you handle more?”

Sougo’s tongue twisted. She had leaned into his face with lidded, drunken eyes.

“No, Kagura-chan,” Otae said, “we’ve already drunk all the alcohol in the house tonight.”

“Liar! You can’t use that trick on me anymore!”

“Well, yes, but I’ve decided you’re at your limit.”

He stood up, nearly butting Kagura’s head, and stumbled away from the booth, ignoring her protests. “Bathroom,” he muttered. Splashing his face in the quieter space didn’t help. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, only one thought ringing in his head. You are so fucked.

~

It was a point of petty pride for him that, in the Shinsengumi’s eyes at least, China was his. His to tease. His to fight. His to toe the border between banter and flirtation with. New recruits learned that quickly, after a handful of run-ins with the Yorozuya trio. Any scrub who so much as looked at China the wrong way would find his futon filled with poison ivy or his cafeteria food slathered in mayo when he wasn’t looking or an effigy of himself in the west wing bathroom, cut up and clogging a toilet.

And, Sougo knew, it was an ungenerous way of thinking. If she knew he had these kinds of thoughts about her, she’d probably clobber his head with a boulder again. Or kick him in the balls, or get Ketsuno Ana to steal them in a freakish demon ritual.

Luckily, China didn’t have to know. She’d never know, if he had any say in it.

In the meantime, he had to meet with Yamazaki, whom Sougo had—ahem—convinced to keep him updated if the men tried any funny business with China. They met in the linen closet near the west training room. It smelled musty, so he didn’t want them to spend any more time in here than they had to.

“Zaki,” Sougo said by way of greeting.

“Okita-taichou!” Yamazaki straightened.

“Anything new for me?”

“No, n-nothing to report.” A bead of sweat trickled down Yamazaki’s temple. Sougo narrowed his eyes at it.

“It sounds like you’re not telling the truth, Zaki. I’ll give you one more chance.”

Yamazaki hung his head. “Yesterday, Watsuki from the Ninth Squad asked China-san out.”

“Tch.” Sougo knew the guy. Plain-looking, black-haired, nothing special. He should know better. “What happened?” he said dangerously.

Yamazaki looked up and recounted the tale. “At around one in the afternoon, in west Shinjuku, China-san was on a job with Danna and Shinpachi-kun. They were powerwashing the pavement in front of a corporate building, a task that, frankly, was much needed, considering how splotchy the ground was from years of liquid stains. At 1:13, Watsuki, who was off-duty with a friend, passed by and spotted her. He called out her name to get her attention. She either didn’t hear him, or deliberately ignored him.” 

Sougo took glee in that last tidbit. She never gave other officers the time of day.

“Watsuki kept saying her name, so she finally looked at him and demanded to know what he wanted. Their conversation proceeded as follows.” Yamazaki’s Watsuki impression was decent and his China impression failed miserably, but Sougo got the gist. “‘I’m Watsuki Rio.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Of the Shinsengumi.’ ‘Oh, you’re one of the tax robbers. What do you want, tax robber?’ Danna added, ‘Yeah, what the hell do you want, tax robber?’ Watsuki did not acknowledge the jab from Danna, but spoke directly to China-san. ‘Kagura-san, will you go out with me?’ She—um, Okita-taichou, why are you reaching for your sword?”

Sougo dropped his hand. It had a mind of its own. “My mistake. Continue.”

“China-san blinked for a moment. Then, she made a sound of disgust, as if she had stepped barefooted on a suspicious, sticky puddle on the kitchen floor. China-san wrested the powerwashing hose from Danna’s grip, pointed it at Watsuki, and sprayed him until he ran off, his companion in tow. Shinpachi-kun took the hose back from her. Danna yelled after Watsuki, ‘Yeah! And don’t come back!’ Then the proprietor came out the front doors and asked what the commotion was about. Shinpa—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.’ A plan was already formulating in Sougo’s head. Years of tormenting Hijikata had prepared him for this. “Thanks, Yamazaki. Go back to counting the remaining follicles on your hairline or whatever else you do in your free time.”

“Okita-taichou!” Yamazaki protested, but his cries fell on deaf ears. Sougo left the musty storeroom knowing what he had to do.

~

Within a week, Sougo successfully spread the rumor throughout the barracks that Watsuki had worn diapers until age eleven. The lie would probably follow Watsuki for the next couple of years.

However, it had drawn up some unwanted concern from Sougo’s superiors. Kondou tried to ambush him. China had gone off-world, helping her brother with some urgent matter, so Sougo had run out of interesting things to do. He’d already hidden fake cockroaches in Hijikata’s closet that morning. The Commander invited him to his room for some video games.

“Er, Sougo,” Kondou had said awkwardly, as they customized their carts for Mario Kart. “What are your thoughts on stalking? Stalking women you like, that is.”

Sougo gasped and pointed towards the yard. “Look, aren’t those Otae-san’s panties on the clothesline there?” Then, he escaped into the hallway while Kondou was distracted.

Unfortunately, Hijikata was smarter about it, and started the discussion while they were driving. Sougo couldn’t orchestrate a car crash that was only fatal for the passenger.

“Sougo,” Hijikata began. “We need to talk.”

“Hm. Do we?”

“Yes. It’s about Kagura.”

Sougo clenched the steering wheel. “What about her?”

“You’ve cost the Shinsengumi millions of yen in therapy, you know. Physical, emotional, and psychological distress. Watsuki will be seeing Dr. Subaraki for months, not to mention Fukushi, Nakagawa, and Higashide.”

“And? They shouldn’t have made moves on China.”

“That’s what I’m getting at, Sougo. What are your intentions with her?”

It was the first time anyone had asked him outright, out loud, about this… thing he refused to name. Oh, he knew they were thinking it, but no one had yet dared say it to his face. You’re not worthy of her. What business do you have looking at her like that?

“Did Danna put you up to this?” Sougo muttered. “He can ask me himself if he cares so much.”

“I’m not doing this for him. I’m asking as your Vice Commander. She’s rejected every single one of them. If you’re not going to date her yourself, why terrorize the men for simply trying? You know the Code. Article 9.”

The Code. They were at fifty rules now, following a blind box craze that took Tokyo by storm. Article 50 banned the possession, sale, purchase, or exchange of Sunny Devil figures within the compound. Article 9 was one of the originals: Personnel must not enter personal relationships to the detriment of their duty.

“Am I behaving to the detriment of my duty, Hijikata-san?” he said with venom.

“Frankly, yes. You can attempt to murder me all you want, I know how to deal with your bullshit. But don’t bring the men into it. It’s not good for morale.”

Indignation nudged a memory inside Sougo, and he remembered that Hijikata was the worst hypocrite of them all. “Did you conveniently forget the Code when you fucked off for two years to look for him?”

Hijikata yelped as the car swerved sharply left. “Sougo!”

“I led the Shinsengumi. I held down the fort. I stayed behind and watched everything about Edo change, while you lazed around in some backwater village!”

“That’s enough!” Hijikata yelled.

Tires screeched and bystanders scrambled out of the way as Sougo pulled to the side of the road to glare at the Demon Vice Commander. They were both breathing hard, emotions high. A hot stone of resentment, no, of righteous anger, glowed in Sougo’s chest, burning white. He thought of himself as a child, watching a strange teenager with stupid bangs and a stupid ponytail steal all the affection that was meant for Sougo. The way Aneue would blush around this newcomer, and even more when she came to call him Toushirou-san. The nights Sougo would be sent to bed while three not-yet-adults stayed up, settling comfortably on the engawa, talking late into the night.

Yet his voice came thin and reedy. “You left the Shinsengumi for him, but you left her for the Shinsengumi.”

“So did you,” Hijikata said plainly.

There it was, the honest truth, that Sougo had the burden of carrying. They had all left her behind, country samurai with no place in the world, to carve something for themselves, if only their names in the sand. He searched for the anger. Conjured the face of Sakata Gintoki, wondering why that man was worth it, but Okita Mitsuba was not. But the furious glow in his chest had died. His hands dropped from the steering wheel.

Hijikata studied him, how he’d deflated. “I… Look, Sougo, I didn’t want to fight with you about this, though I probably should have expected it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and ran a hand over his face. “I only wanted to say, enough with the intimidation, all right? The men can hit on her if they want. And she has a right to reject or accept them. It’s her choice. Stop punishing them for crossing a line you haven’t even drawn. Not in any tangible way.”

“So, what? You’re saying I should just—” Why did it feel so hollow, the space behind his sternum? “—let her go?”

“No, you idiot. Just ask the damn girl out!”

~

That was a novel idea. Were it a twirling knife, it would have danced across his fingers at all waking hours. Sougo had never thought about it before, honestly. He’d always figured the two of them would keep fighting each other until, one day at sunset, they’d end up in some sort of compromising position (in his head, he usually pinned her down with her legs around his waist) and decide to kiss each other at the same time.

But maybe China was too dense to have that sort of romantic inclination.

So he cooled down. Ceased his tantrums, as Hijikata would have called them. She came back to earth, so they sparred and got dessert a couple times, but he never found a fitting moment to say something. He wasn’t really sure what he’d say. Aneue used to say that the right words would come, if they came from the heart.

That August, the Shinsengumi were assigned to guard the Tanabata Festival on the west side of Tokyo. Sougo strolled the perimeter with Kondou, attempting to look disinterested. Kondou had offered him the night off, but Sougo didn’t want a lecture from Hijikata-san. He was going to shirk his duties anyway, whether he was working or not.

When they circled back around the entrance, Kondou lit up. “Otae-san!” He leapt towards her and promptly got smacked into the air. Thankfully, he landed into an empty patch of dirt.

Otae, wearing a violet kimono, growled for him to stay away. She was flanked by Danna and Shinpachi, who sported special outfits too. Sougo looked behind Shinpachi and saw her. Kagura. And… their large freakish duck. He wondered if he should arrest it.

Sougo stared at China again and decided he didn’t care. She was pretty in the lanterns’ light. Her dress was the color of azaleas, bringing out the salmon tones in her hair, and her wristlet was a creamy yellow. She locked eyes with him, and his heart beat fast.

“Okita-kun!” China called. His heart pounded a little faster. “Watch your gorilla, yeah?”

The corner of his lip quirked. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You watch yours,” he said, and turned on his heel to get his commander, ignoring Otae’s who are you callin’ gorilla?!

Sougo knelt at Kondou’s side and helped him up. He seemed unharmed. “Sougo, that was your chance!”

“I don’t think it was, Kondou-san.” Sougo glanced behind him at the Yorozuya and snickered. Otae, Shinpachi, and China took the lead. It seemed Danna had been delegated to make awkward conversation with Elizabeth behind them. “I’ll just talk to her later.”

Kondou clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Persistence is key. We aren’t given chances, we make them! I’m glad I can give you some advice with the ladies, Sougo.”

Uh, no, Sougo thought, but he walked through the rows of stalls, paying attention now to the different booths. The festival wasn’t over yet. He still had to beat China at all these games.