Motochika could barely think. Could only just about do, really, as the cascade of emotion crashed through his body and threatened to drown him on the spot. He grasped onto the wrist of the shocked man before him and insistently pulled them away from the heaving thoroughfare before anyone noticed. Through the side-streets, away from the people, as quickly towards the nearest private place as he could manage. It was not usually in his nature to try and slip away from the notice of others and he’d indeed been enjoying the thought of putting on a spontaneous show, pouring his music into the crowds of this town, but then…
Then…
Then he’d seen the dead, walking once more.
For all his adult life he’d firmly believed that the best way to honour those who had passed on was to keep on living, to carry your burdens and grief with you and continue to move forward. This was something that had survived the apparent loss of the one he loved the most, the one he’d been prepared to risk all of his political power and personal safety for, on the muddy wet battlefields of Mount Tennōzan. Though he’d not born witness to it himself Motochika had been given no reason to doubt that Akechi Mitsuhide, his dearly beloved friend of the soul, had been killed. There was talk of a miserable end, the evidence of beautiful long hair shorn from its owner’s scalp as both proof and trophy, and a complete victory with it for what was now known as the Toyotomi clan. Though the news had absolutely devastated Motochika his philosophy meant that he’d known what he had to do, withdrawing with all of his allies that were left alive and returning to his home to prepare for the incoming storm… and deal with the crushing loss. It hadn’t mattered that he still felt his connection to Mitsuhide sing in his blood, because that would still be there no matter whether they lived or died.
Perhaps Motochika should have listened more closely to the specific song their bond had been playing, though. Maybe then he would have known. Maybe then he wouldn’t have spent all this time carrying his grief and making offerings to his lost loved one when Mitsuhide was not, in fact, truly lost to him.
His grip on Mitsuhide’s arm tightened as he pulled them deeper into the shade, finally escaping the last of the curious eyes after what felt like way too long a time. Manners and respect for property be damned right now, he stopped at the first clearly people-free storeroom he could find and forced the door open, dragging them both into the stale air and firmly closing it behind. Only then did he finally let out the shuddering, overwhelmed sound he’d been holding back and round on his friend. Mitsuhide did not move, did not speak, merely stared up at him with wide eyes as Motochika very firmly pulled down the covering that hid Mitsuhide’s mouth and tossed aside his hat.
It was him. It was really, truly him. Motochika had known the moment they’d locked eyes earlier and felt his soul surge but this was the extra confirmation he’d needed since that moment. A living, breathing Mitsuhide who was starting to tremble, who looked beyond tired, whose ponytail now only just brushed past his shoulders but who was healthy and whole and here. Motochika let his grip go loose, but only so he could draw Mitsuhide against him instead, wrapping both arms firmly around him and holding on as tight as he dared once he felt Mitsuhide hold onto him in return.
Now, for a while, he could finally let himself drown. And drown he did.
“Mitsuhide..!”
Motochika was not someone who cried much, but neither was he hesitant to if the tears came, and frankly no human heart was built to go through this. The most stoic of samurai would break down! He felt disappointment and anger, and a kind of emotional pain like nothing he’d ever known before. He felt fierce and overwhelming joy, so intense and powerful his chest throbbed with it. He felt confused, unbalanced… protective, and he’d always been protective, edging on possessive sometimes, but that side of himself was making itself known with such strength that had anyone interrupted them in that moment he would have done something violent to keep the secret safe. Pressing the side of his face against Mitsuhide’s silken hair, Motochika simply let it all come, stubbornly rebelling against the urge to voice all of the many questions until he could ask them with even a sliver of rationality.
For his part Mitsuhide remained quiet, but his heavy breathing betrayed him.
The light streaming through the wooden slats of the room’s sole window had grown a little dimmer by the time Motochika has somewhat resurfaced. He had dragged them both to the floor and against the worn walls, settled somewhat awkwardly due to his refusal to loosen his hold even a little, and Mitsuhide’s bound hair had been partially pulled loose in the process. Like this the lack of its normal length stood out even further; Motochika stared at the dark locks as his heart rate lowered, remembering the last time he had seen it so ‘short.’ They hadn’t even been adults then, not quite, but Motochika had already grown to love Mitsuhide’s radiant soul and the hidden rebellious streak he always sought to deny he had.
“…Mitsuhide,” Motochika said, inhaling softly as he eased his grip just enough that he could look at his friend’s face again. “My dear Mitsuhide.”
“Lord Motochika.” Mitsuhide’s eyes looked red, and as had always been the case with him, his expression full of open emotion. “I… I never expected this would happen.”
“We are bound by the soul. It was inevitable you would drift in my wake again while we both lived.”
“Perhaps so, but I…”
“You were determined to avoid me?”
It came out sharp, as a statement rather than accusation. Mitsuhide reacted as thought it were one however, half flinching as his fingers curled against Motochika’s back. Motochika did not spare him, holding his gaze even as his embrace remained strong.
“That is the truth, yes,” murmured Mitsuhide after a short spell, voice soft but a little cracked. “But not just you. All who followed me into battle who managed to survive afterwards… my men, friends, family, all are better off if I am ‘dead.’ I take no pleasure in deceiving any of you, but… I’m… I’m truly sorry, I…”
“Is that what made you abandon the battlefield, Mitsuhide?” The anger more obviously slipped into Motochika’s tone this time despite himself, despite being sure Mitsuhide wouldn’t do that. “Did you make that choice for us while we still bled for you?”
“No! Lord Motochika, I swear… no,” replied Mitsuhide, eyes widening a little further. “I was saved on the verge of death, and it was some time before I was well enough to understand what I had to do… Lord Ieyasu, he… I still don’t know why, but he sent his shadows…”
Shadows? He could only mean the Iga ninja. There were too many possible implications and motivations in that action. For one brief moment Motochika felt his anger burn up hotter, though this time it was directed towards Lord of the Tokugawa for knowing, for holding and keeping this precious secret from Motochika, who had far greater right to know it. But the flare-up did not last longer than a few beats of his heart. How could he truly let himself get lost in such an overblown emotion when it was directed at the one who had likely saved Mitsuhide’s life? It was true that there were countless more questions to ask about this, but not now.
Motochika was no longer drowning, but, apparently, the flood had not receded. And, in truth, Mitsuhide was correct in his assertion that most were ‘better off,’ even if it wasn’t something Motochika would accept in regards to himself.
All that really mattered right now was Mitsuhide being alive.
“So… since then you’ve lived on your own, a shadow yourself,” said Motochika. “So be it. But you will hide from me no longer, unless you truly wish me for me disappear from your life. Do you?”
“…no, but… this is… I discarded my name, I walk this path as my punishment, it is my burden… for every life, every drop of blood, my betrayal of my Lord…”
Mitsuhide trailed off, conflict and trouble writ in full in every line of his being, and the remaining embers of Motochika’s anger burnt out. Not gone forever, not at all, in time it would need to be worked through, but he had no desire to add further to that heavy burden. If Mitsuhide, who had once said he would sacrifice everything for peace, who had gotten his hands bloody in order to do what he’d felt was right, wanted to punish himself so severely? Then Motochika would have to take a place at his side and act as he had once before in challenging that impulse. Help him to move forward and shoulder their shared history together. Even if it took years… it didn’t matter. Motochika had thought his beloved dead. Grieved for him. Now they had time, and no need to ever part again if they so wished it.
It was joy, if bittersweet joy, that surged now.
“As you are still shackled by your weakness, I will stand beside you and be your strength.” Motochika finally loosened his hold, drawing one hand back so he could bring it to their sides and hold it up, expectant. “Give me your hand, Mitsuhide, and I will never let it go.”
There was a long, silent moment of uncertainty; Mitsuhide looked away for a couple of seconds and inhaled sharply, but, despite it all, slowly looked up, raised one calloused hand and pressed his palm against Motochika’s as their eyes met again. No grip, but it was enough. Motochika hadn’t known he had at all doubted the response yet the relief he felt as his fingers threaded between Mitsuhide’s was potent enough to be felt strongly even amongst the great many other emotions playing with his heartstrings. Squeezing the offered hand tight, Motochika smiled, even as both of their bodies shook, even as their red-ringed eyes grew damp again.
It wouldn’t be easy, this new verse of their song, but they could decide its tone together.