Insects of all kinds hummed and fluttered through the late summer night, and a few hours into guard duty Ogata managed to catch a moth in his fist. This time of year the bugs were drowsy and frantic to mate before the cold started to roll in, so they got careless. Ogata only had to wait a few minutes with his left hand open, his right resting on the leather strap across his chest just in case a threat did pose itself, before a large brown moth landed on the surface of his palm. He crushed it beneath his fingers instinctively, and when he opened his hand back up the creature didn't look so delicate anymore. No longer a papery form built for flight, just a sticky mess on his skin, still weakly twitching.

Not much later, a shadow flickered near the treeline on the edge of his vision, Ogata swung his rifle down off his shoulder, but as soon as he did he made out the moving shape: a hare, which promptly darted back into the darkness. He sighed. Russian invasion would at least make evening watch shifts less dull.

Footsteps came towards him. At first he assumed it was Komiya, who had the post next to his, coming Ogata's way to stretch his legs, but when Ogata glanced over at the figure walking along the inside of the parapet he saw that the man was too tall and broad in the shoulders. His first instinct was to think it was Private First Class Sugimoto, maybe having gotten desperate enough for company to ask Ogata to play cards with him or do something else inane, before Ogata caught sight of the sabre at the man’s waist. As he came nearer, Ogata could make out the second lieutenant’s twists on his sleeves. He turned his gaze back to the woods.

When Yuusaku came within speaking distance, Ogata saluted with all requisite respect but said nothing, waiting for his brother to make the first move, which he did before long, of course. Yuusaku was, in all things, an open book.

“Excuse me.” Yuusaku bit his lip. Always nervous around him—before, it was to impress, and now… “I can see that you’re on watch, but—would you like to take a walk outside the grounds?”

Soldiers were limited to the barracks at night, in most circumstances, but with an officer regulations got so much more pliable. Ogata waited for a few, long seconds, his tongue poised against his back teeth, before he smiled and answered, “Of course, sir.”

Asahikawa was inland, so the patrols the garrison maintained were as much against enterprising bandits as foreign troops washing up on the shore. They still went through the motions, had men on guard throughout the night, but it wasn’t so dire that any lone footsoldier pulled away from his post by one of his superior officers would be much missed. No one blinked an eye as they made their way through the gates and into the night beyond. Yuusaku waited until they were out of earshot from the men at their posts, and then begun, “Elder brother—”

Maybe one day he’d get the message: they weren't family anywhere other than behind closed doors, if that. “I told you, there’s no need to call me that.”

“There’s no one around,” Yuusaku replied, something almost plaintive in his tone. Ogata squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them.

“I just don’t want you to develop the habit. For the sake of your reputation.”

Yuusaku murmured, “I know,” with some resignation, and then cleared his throat and moved on. “Well, what I wanted to speak with you about—what I mean to say is that I must apologize. About what happened, at the…” Would he be able to say it? No, even the word was too much for him. Ogata’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could make out that Yuusaku nervously licked his lips before he resumed speaking. “I’m sorry, again. I didn’t mean to insult you. I know you were only trying to be—welcoming. It’s just…”

“I understand, sir.” Ogata smiled, again, for Yuusaku’s sake. It was dark, so Yuusaku might not be able to see, but just in case he did. He batted around in his mind the thought of putting his hand on Yuusaku’s forearm for a moment, to show no offense was taken, that they could put the whole thing behind them, but he did not.

“Perhaps on the next day of leave we could—do something else. I didn’t want to make you think I was angry. I know it’s common, that a lot of the men do it, and you had no way of knowing... It’s just that, well, that I was so happy to spend time with you. I still would be. So if you’d still let me take you out someplace, I heard at the Officer’s Club that there’s a new Western-style restaurant in the business quarter that’s worth visiting.”

He had told Tsurumi he would manage to get them what they wanted from Yuusaku, but playing house, together, in public—somewhere in the distance came the mournful cry of an owl. “Don’t you think it’s in your best interest we don’t let ourselves be seen together too often?”

Yuusaku laughed, but it wasn’t his usual carefree one. This was self-deprecating, soft, and sorrowful. As if a man—a boy like him had known suffering. “I think people are more understanding than you might think. After all, if it’s not causing any problems for anyone, what does it matter to them? I think they’d be happy for us. Family is the most important thing, even if it comes along in ways we don’t expect.”

Ogata was vaguely aware that his heartbeat was racing under the pulse-point in his neck. “I don’t think our father would approve of his son wasting the career he’d been given because he couldn’t control his sentimentality. Sir.” He could make out a soft sound, anguished, almost, from deep in Yuusaku’s throat. Ogata was grateful, for a moment, that Yuusaku was tall and their eyes were not level. He didn’t know what he’d do, faced with that innocent face in pain. “Unless there was anything else you’d like to speak with me about, I’m supposed to be on watch. This is a time of war.”

Even as he said it, he felt the need to walk it back. He told Tsurumi he’d bring Yuusaku back around, and he would, it was just that he hadn’t yet figured out the approach, and when Yuusaku insisted on being so infuriating it was hard to think straight—but it was too late now. Yuusaku nodded. “Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. But yes—the First Lieutenant wants you to report in at shift-change.” His voice still sounded stricken, but he didn’t ask Ogata for anything more, and when they turned back to head for the gates Yuusaku walked several paces ahead, as an officer ought to.

The rest of his evening’s shift passed uneventfully, but Ogata’s heartbeat didn’t return to normal even after Yuusaku retreated to the officers’ wing. It only picked up further as, later, Ogata made his way there himself. There was something about the well-treaded path to Tsurumi’s lair that made one feel as though they were committing an infraction, especially when his summons came after dark.

Tsurumi ushered him inside with typical poised distraction and let the door click shut behind Ogata’s back. He had to suppress the smile that itched to play across his mouth. So it would be that sort of a conversation.

Tsurumi poured them both tea while Ogata sat at attention on the tatami. “Are you familiar with Port Arthur?” His voice was warm enough to fill a person up on that, and little else.

“It's the only port in the Russian Far East that doesn't freeze in winter, isn't it?”

“Correct. We fought there in the war with China, as well. It was chaos. I was just a second lieutenant then. My first commission! And we had to pick up the pieces of that mess. It’s never fun to clean up after someone else's party.” Tsurumi took another sip of tea. “Well, that’s where most of the fighting is going on now. It’s amusing to think I might come back to it, like an old friend.”

Ogata had been annoyed, at the time, to have missed that war by a few years. He'd put his name on the volunteer rolls as soon as he turned seventeen, and it wasn't long before he was called up to the docket. The 1st, the Tokyo division, pulled most of the Kanto recruits, but when his deployment notice came through during basic training it was listed as 7th: Asahikawa, Hokkaido. It was trading in one parochial town for another, colder one, but he'd gone, all the same. It was his father's division. He'd thought, for that reason, it was the one he'd never be assigned to in a hundred years.

When Ogata had met his commanding officer for the first time, he’d felt as though Tsurumi's eyes were boring right through him. There hadn't been anyone like that back where Ogata had come from, anyone so capable of holding his attention. Six years later, Tsurumi had begun to make a habit of calling Ogata into his office for conferences Ogata was sure weren’t held according to protocol and talking to him in that resonant baritone about anything under the sun. He had called him Hyakunosuke, in private, a few times. Once, in passing, he brushed Ogata's cheek with his knuckles, in the mockery of a strike or a caress.

How did the saying go—if the soldiers are brothers-in-arms, the junior officers are doting mothers and the senior officers kindly fathers? Ogata saw through him. He always had.

Across from him, Tsurumi went on. “If we were winning the way we'd like to be, none of us would leave Hokkaido ‘til the war was over. If we're coming in to reinforce them, which I suspect we will be soon, it means they can't finish it on their own.”

“Right.”

They’d been at it for years, running drills in the wilderness and talking a lot of bullshit around the mess hall about what it’d be like if the Russians washed up on shore tomorrow. Overseas deployment never seemed like much more than a fantasy—for most of them, at any rate. Ogata had always been intrigued by the possibilities offered by field promotions.

“This war isn't going to last forever. It will be quick, whether we win or lose. We've about an even chance at winning, at best. There are reservists, but they're reservists, and there's little else to fall back on. We made our strike, and surprised them, but since then, things have been…” A smile toyed around his mouth. “Let's just say it's a gift that the Russians are not known for their organization. Or their adroitness at catching spies.” Tsurumi swished his cup of tea just so much that the liquid came up to the rim but didn’t spill over. Ogata’s palms were sweating against the top of his thighs, and he felt the weight of Tsurumi’s gaze on him like a physical thing.

He was taken aback by what Tsurumi said next. “What is your impression of Private First Class Sugimoto?”

Ogata blinked. “He seems like a dangerous enough character.”

“That goes without saying, no? Considering the circumstances.” Tsurumi’s fingertip circled around the outer rim of his cup. “The question would be, is it dangerous in a way that works for us?”

“Works for us how?”

“There’s always a need for men of resolve, if it can be channeled properly. Do you get the sense the men like him?”

“He's not particularly friendly, and I don't think he cares to try.”

“I've seen him talking to you.”

“I'm one of the ones he feels like he can be rude to, and he likes that.”

Tsurumi smiled, at that. “That's almost charming.”

Ogata hesitated for a moment before asking, bluntly, “Why did you bring him up here, sir? He seems like a liability.”

“The First Lieutenant he attacked is a first-class idiot, and I'd hate to see a man left to the tender mercies of the General Staff for doing what anyone who’s ever met him has dreamt of.”

“But to send for him, all the way from Tokyo…”

“I don't know if there is anything more to it. You'll forgive an old man his whims, won't you?” One of Tsurumi's eyebrows was crooked, as if inviting Ogata to call him on his bluff, but he knew well enough by now that, with Tsurumi, direct inquiry got one nowhere.

“He's brutal with a bayonet,” Ogata said, without being entirely sure why.

“Is he, now?” Tsurumi drained the last of his tea, and the cords of his throat rippled against the collar of his jacket. “You know, the things are a vice. I don't know how many times I've said we shouldn't produce so many of them. They breed bad habits. Every farm boy who ever daydreamed about being a samurai wants to live by the blade, but that’s not the world we live in, anymore. The army of the future won’t see the whites of its opponent's eyes unless it wishes to.” Tsurumi looked over Ogata, then, his glance heavy, appraising. “If you ever figure out how to teach what you do, be sure to tell me, won't you?”

Oh, but he thought he was slick. “Of course, sir.”

“That will be all, Ogata. But, as much as you can, will you keep an eye on Sugimoto for me? I’m anxious to know how he adjusts.”

“And the Second Lieutenant?”

“What about him?” A smile twisted at the corner of Tsurumi's mouth, below his whiskers. “I hate to ask too much of you, but he is your brother, is he not?”

Ogata was about to make for the door when Tsurumi reached out a hand and laid it on Ogata’s shoulder. He rubbed across Ogata’s collarbone with his thumb twice, and then the touch was gone as soon as it had come. Ogata immediately missed the weight of it. He wished, not for the first time, that Tsurumi were as free with his more dubious affections as rumour made him out to be. He gave out just enough for his men to develop a taste for it, and no more.

-

The summer came short and hard in the midst of an unseasonably cold year. The months slid by full of pollen and training and bad news from the front which trickled down from the officers to the soldiers slowly but inexorably. Tsurumi didn’t call for him again after the time they shared tea, but Ogata knew him well enough to read into the set of his brows and how closely Tsukishima hovered in his wake, so when deployment was announced at morning muster and a collective intake of breath went through the rows and columns, Ogata just blinked.

After that, things really started to move. They were leaving the base behind with a skeleton crew of reservists to man things until their return. He had lived at the Asahikawa barracks for the extent of his adult life. It wasn’t much to miss, just utilitarian structures to shelter them from the elements, but there was going to be more of that, where they were headed, and less comfortable quarters besides.

Much like the place he’d left behind, a farmhouse in a corner of Ibaraki no one could place on a map, he would not miss the barracks after leaving it. There was only the road ahead and the iron hull that would carry them to the other side, where the real business of war would begin. None of this play-acting, soon enough. No more firing cannons at locusts.

The officers turned a blind eye to whatever went on right before sailing out, of course. A certain measure of leniency was unavoidable. All that restless energy had to evacuate somewhere, and better the brothel than the barracks themselves; as long as no one got too drunk to ship out the next morning, it didn't matter much. They had a long sailing ahead of them.

Not everyone left. Tanigaki stayed behind, brooding in his bunk, all ludicrous expanses of him hunched over and scowling. Ogata didn’t know if he’d ever seen him do anything that could be described as enjoyment. More interestingly, Sugimoto, too, was nowhere to be seen when the throng filtered out towards town with the bare minimum of solemnity in their gaits. Ogata glanced around the courtyard, and then made his way to the back of the kitchens.

His step was light. Anticipation settled throughout him, replacing his marrow with something lighter than air.

Sure enough, his quarry was exactly where he expected him. Sugimoto was laying on his back on the grass behind the kitchens, looking up at the skies, once more, though they were covered tonight and the air was crisper than it had been yet that year. Nothing to see in the sky, and little light to speak of. Ogata could only make out his outline, but the man was hard to mistake for anyone else. There was a coiled promise in his limbs, even when he was at rest.

This time, Ogata didn’t have to wait for Sugimoto to acknowledge him. “You're not going with them?”

“The last time ended quite embarrassingly. I'm sure you can imagine.” Tsurumi's gentle look of disapproval, Yuusaku's awkward squirming, the acrid tang of failure on the tongue—he looked askance at Sugimoto through lowered eyelids. “I'd rather not repeat it.”

Sugimoto sat up on his elbows, glanced at him, clearly curious, but only nodded.

Ogata sat, legs askew, on the ground a stone’s throw away from Sugimoto. Not looking directly at him, but close enough to see his face. “I'd go along if you went, though. If you're anything close to as red-blooded as you seem, I'm sure you can get up to your own share of mischief.”

A faint pinkish blush crept up from beneath Sugimoto's collar, and he coughed. “I'm not really that kind of guy.”

“To tell you the truth, I'm not really the type, either. There are other things I'd rather do.”

Sugimoto glanced at him, then, nakedly, brows creased. “You…”

Ogata let his head tilt to the side. “What is it, Sugimoto? Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“No, I understand.”

“Do you?”

Sugimoto’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. Ogata made no effort to hide the way his eyes followed it, and Sugimoto turned away from him, just a little, his posture shifting inwards, shy. He didn’t speak for about a minute, and Ogata was toying with whether it was worth it to push his luck further when Sugimoto muttered, “I don’t want to get on that ship.”

“Are you deserting, then? This would be a good time. They wouldn’t start looking for you for a little while.”

Sugimoto looked at him sidelong, then, all playfulness gone. “Watch your mouth.”

“I don’t think you could make it very far on foot. We can do a practice run, if you like. I’ll get my rifle, and you can scale the fence and start running. I promise I won’t shoot you anywhere you’ll miss.”

“Do you want me to kick your ass? Is that why you came to find me? Because I’ll do it. I don’t think you’re much of a match for me.”

“I don’t know, Sugimoto. You couldn’t have hit that Lieutenant very hard if you’re still a free man.”

He was looking over at Sugimoto when it happened, but even so, Sugimoto was moving almost before Ogata’s eyes could register it was happening. Sugimoto rolled, hit him in the gut with the back of a fist, just hard enough to wind him, and then cast a leg over Ogata, seized his wrists in his hands.

The sudden feeling of a warm body in the cold night air was as surprising a sensation as the pain. The sky spun above his head. Sugimoto sat astride him, and his weight pressed Ogata into the dirt by the hips. Ogata had to crane his neck up to prevent the back of his head from being ground into the earth. He wriggled, just to test Sugimoto's hold, but it didn't get him much of anywhere. Sugimoto wasn't a large man, about middling height, but his frame was heavy with muscle and the way he moved within his skin left no confusion: this was a man who knew the limits of his form, had tested it, and wasn't afraid to gamble on his own strength. Sugimoto leaned down, close enough that Ogata could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness, and said, “I know what you’re doing.”

Ogata’s heartbeat sped up within his chest. Maybe he’d underestimated Sugimoto, after all; perhaps the evening was about to get interesting. “And what’s that?”

“I'm not stupid. You don't want to get shipped out and you're trying to get me to send you home on medical.”

Ogata hacked out a laugh, then, though the pressure of Sugimoto on him left him starved for air. “You really are stupid, aren't you?”

“Oh, yeah?”

He strained against Sugimoto’s arm across his windpipe, just to get closer to his face, and narrowed his eyes. “You think I've been in the army for six years just so I can duck out the second things start to get exciting?”

Sugimoto’s lip curled. “Put a guy like you in real danger and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.”

“Is that so, Sugimoto?” Ogata pushed against him, then—he managed to jerk one of his thumbs down into a pressure point in Sugimoto's wrist and, in the mere seconds of loosened grip it bought him, managed to reach out for Sugimoto's upper arm and push him over by the shoulder. They tumbled over each other, and for a moment it seemed as though Sugimoto would get him back in the same position he'd been in before, but Ogata got Sugimoto in the stomach with an elbow and then got his hands around Sugimoto’s throat. He had to press all his weight against Sugimoto's abdomen to keep that coiled strength down. Sugimoto's eyes flashed golden and feral in the near-dark. They both gasped for breath. Sugimoto narrowed his eyes, arched his hips beneath him, and then laughed.

“Or maybe you just wanted to piss me off enough that'd we do this.” Sugimoto swallowed, deliberately. His panting exhales were visible in the air, and the flexing of his tendons under Ogata's hands was exquisite. Ogata tightened his grasp just a little, and Sugimoto tipped his chin back. It might have looked to an observer like a gesture of surrender, but in reality it was something Ogata wasn't quite sure how to interpret. Defiance, perhaps, but less hot-blooded than he'd have expected from everything Sugimoto had shown of himself up to now. His eyes were full of anger, yes, but cold as blue flame. Unwavering. Asking what Ogata was willing to risk to keep this going. “Is this what gets you off, then? No wonder you didn't tag along, I bet you have to pay through the nose to get the girls to do this. Not to mention the lack of—”

Ogata backhanded Sugimoto across the face, lazily, and Sugimoto snarled. Before he could keep talking, Ogata murmured, “I'm not the only one with open-minded tastes, here,” and rocked down against Sugimoto's hips.

Sugimoto stiffened. It was the first time Ogata thought he’d been able to catch the man off guard. And over this, of all the predictable things. Sugimoto’s brows furrowed. “This your idea of a restful night?” He would grant Sugimoto this; he managed to keep an impressively self-righteous look on his face even caught with his cock hard.

“That depends what comes next.”

He thought Sugimoto was finally letting go of the pretense and grinding up against him, and for a moment he could have been, but then, before Ogata had a chance to understand what was happening, he was whirling over and crashing down onto his back. His head smacked against the ground and something heavy pressed into his chest; after a moment he realized it was a knee. When he blinked and took stock, he was pretty sure Sugimoto had summoned enough core strength to toss Ogata him off himself and onto the ground in one fluid movement with just his hips. Before, things had been starting to get fun, but this—his body felt like it would vibrate to the touch. His breath came ragged. Regretfully, Sugimoto didn't get back down to the same level, just stood up and planted his boot-heel against Ogata's sternum.

Ogata blinked away the blurriness in his vision and drew the back of his hand across his mouth. Snot and saliva and a hint of blood came along with it; not too much, just enough to testify to an evening’s recreation. “I hope you have a good explanation for that bruise, tomorrow.”

Sugimoto did smile, then, and dug his heel in a little harder. His shoulders and chest blotted out the sky above him. Ogata could still make out the way his chest rose and fell with exertion. “Oh, I’ll just tell them I fought a wildcat in the alley.” Sugimoto did withdraw his boot, then, stepping quickly out of arm’s reach. The look on his face was grim, thrillingly so. Tsurumi’s instincts, as usual, had been good.

Ogata considered getting back to his feet and giving chase, once more, but the set of Sugimoto’s jaw made him suspect all he’d get was a broken nose, so he just sat up on his haunches and spat onto the ground next to him.

“We ship out at first light.”

“I know.”

“Don’t be late,” he rasped, but Sugimoto had already turned around. He left his back vulnerable, a broader target than Ogata could hope for, but nothing in his stance showed either fear or any indication of having heard him.