Sengoku BASARA: Say Goodnight and Go [MasaYuki; for artsatalex]
Title: “Say Goodnight and Go”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Summary: Yukimura wishes he had two hearts, one for each. [Yukimura/Masamune; SPOILERS for Episode 2x04]
Disclaimer: Sengoku BASARA belongs to Capcom, Production I.G. and whatnot. Title from Goodnight and Go by Imogen Heap.
A/N: This is weird, disjointed, depressing and, well, go read it already. ;)
Dedication: for you, luv. <3
SAY GOODNIGHT AND GO
It stands to reason that his mouth runs dry when he remembers Matsunaga’s words.
Takeda of Kai will fall. (The One-Eyed Dragon of Oushuu is dead.)
His faith in Takeda is unwavering. (Date-dono cannot be dead.)
Oyamada-dono watches him leave. He does not move to stop him, though he knows Yukimura is going much farther this time. Perhaps Oyakata-sama has meant for this to happen.
Yukimura rides his horse to the point of exhaustion until he spots a blue speck shimmering amidst green grass. The chain of days is crammed into one tiny second. Sweat pours over Yukimura’s eyes. He blinks it away, peering at the blue smudge ahead of him. Breath catches in his throat.
(Date Masamune has fallen.) He couldn’t bear the thought of Date-dono becoming just another ghost in some burnt-down ruins.
Yukimura draws the reins. His voice comes out just barely trembling.
“Need any help?”
(If Date is defeated, that’s all for him. If he comes through, you will face him again.) Oyakata-sama’s words are always words of wisdom.
Masamune’s face as he turns around is marked with a cocky grin that does not reach his eye. Down there, lies Osaka.
“So how do we go about it this time?” Yukimura asks as he dismounts and comes to stand beside Masamune. Red and blue, they stand out starkly like wildflowers against the green backdrop of the swaying grass.
Masamune snorts. “Honestly? I got jack squat.”
It’s been millennia since Yukimura last heard his voice. It travels down to the pit of his stomach and nestles there like a sheaf of barbed wire. Half of the time Yukimura barely manages to understand what he’s saying. He swims against the tide, bumping into the flotsam of foreign words, struggling to grasp the meaning. Masamune’s voice reminds him of a song performed in an unfamiliar language.
Yukimura chuckles, humourlessly. “We own the party.” It sounds like something Date would say.
And Date grins. This time it hits his eye, making it twinkle. Yukimura feels a pool of warmth spreading through his system.
(Somehow, there was - there will be - nothing before - after - Date.) Oyakata-sama has always known it because he has felt the same.
“Masamune-dono,” Yukimura asks later, at the camp. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
The torches crackle peacefully, and it’s not like they are based in the enemy’s backyard. It feels like Yukimura is six years old and playing with a wooden sword in a make-believe battle. It’s not like Toyotomi can see them or anything.
“What kind of a question is that?” Date mutters.
“Just a question.”
“I don’t know. Never met one. You?”
Yukimura squirms under the sudden apprehensive look that is directed at him.
“No,” he whispers, shadowy hands cool and constraining around his ribcage all over again. “I don’t suppose I did.”
(The Dragon’s Right Eye, Katakura Kojuurou, has gone missing.) Yukimura has never lost anyone that important. That one time he nearly had done, it almost killed him.
“So when’s the army coming?” Date asks without looking at him.
A lump comes up to Yukimura’s mouth. He doesn’t know how to explain it so he tells it like it is.
“It’s just me.” He falters. “Is that acceptable?”
A heartbeat of a pause. If Masamune says no¬-.
“Sure thing,” the answer comes.
(The One-Eyed Dragon, Date Masamune, is engaged in battle. As of last night, Date was at a disadvantage.) The sentries have long since blown out the torches. The air is swarming with fireflies blazing brighter than the stars.
They wake up simultaneously, heavy breathing and sweat-soaked hair plastered across their foreheads. Yukimura glances at Masamune, and Masamune looks at the sky, teeth ground together, fists clenched.
“So,” says Masamune eternity after. “Did you think I kicked the bucket?”
Yukimura forcibly relaxes into the soft, cool touch of the grass. “I did not.”
Silence. Then, softly, “I did.”
“Really?”
“Didn’t feel like that much fun.”
Yukimura remembers Kawanakajima. Didn’t feel like fun either. All he could do was lie there in the grass that was not so different from this one and pray (Masamune would not look away, would not write him off as some finished project) Oyakata-sama would grasp victory.
Yukimura rolls over. His chest feels tight like there’s too much air in his lungs.
“Would you… make a cup from a fallen enemy’s skull?” he asks quietly.
Masamune stares at him.
“No,” he says in an irritated tone that spells: I’m not sure there is a proper answer to that but let’s go with this.
“I think…” Yukimura murmurs. “I just think that when they’re dead, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Nothing matters. Death changes nothing, but we could at least show them some respect, right?”
“What’s gotten into you?”
Yukimura smiles weakly. Ghosts probably. He cannot say.
“Chill,” Masamune laughs hoarsely, and he is almost like the Masamune Yukimura remembers. “I won’t let anyone make a cup from your skull, Sanada Yukimura.”
His laughter seeps into Yukimura and tickles his throat from the inside, feather-light, carefree. He doesn’t even ask himself what he is doing in an enemy camp alone at night when his army is leagues away.
(The Dragon of Oushuu has fallen.) Yukimura glances at the swords that lie in the grass, three on each side of their master, and the sight fills him with inexplicable joy. He couldn’t bear the thought of them being discarded and covered in rust.
Masamune licks his lips. There is nothing simpler and yet more complicated in the world than this gesture. This second is picture perfect.
Yukimura knows loneliness when he sees it. Knows more than he will say. He wants to reach out and touch Masamune-dono, but he does not dare. (Make the night last forever so he won’t have to look Oyakata-sama in the eye and explain why he left his army behind. Perhaps it’s all part of the plan. Yukimura still naively believes Oyakata-sama plans for everything.)
He brings his hands up to his face. His fingers smell like dirt and firewood. He wonders what Masamune’s fingers smell like. There is a simple desire in his heart now: to let someone have him. He wonders what Masamune is thinking right now. He wishes he could read minds and he is glad Masamune cannot.
Yukimura falls asleep to the melody of the One-Eyed Dragon’s even breathing near him. Osaka sits just a few paces away. The night has curled between them like a cat, a sentinel for the neutral side.
Yukimura wishes he had two hearts, one for each.
(The One-Eyed Dragon of Oushuu is alive.) Takeda will never fall.
August 3, 2010
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Summary: Yukimura wishes he had two hearts, one for each. [Yukimura/Masamune; SPOILERS for Episode 2x04]
Disclaimer: Sengoku BASARA belongs to Capcom, Production I.G. and whatnot. Title from Goodnight and Go by Imogen Heap.
A/N: This is weird, disjointed, depressing and, well, go read it already. ;)
Dedication: for you, luv. <3
SAY GOODNIGHT AND GO
It stands to reason that his mouth runs dry when he remembers Matsunaga’s words.
Takeda of Kai will fall. (The One-Eyed Dragon of Oushuu is dead.)
His faith in Takeda is unwavering. (Date-dono cannot be dead.)
Oyamada-dono watches him leave. He does not move to stop him, though he knows Yukimura is going much farther this time. Perhaps Oyakata-sama has meant for this to happen.
Yukimura rides his horse to the point of exhaustion until he spots a blue speck shimmering amidst green grass. The chain of days is crammed into one tiny second. Sweat pours over Yukimura’s eyes. He blinks it away, peering at the blue smudge ahead of him. Breath catches in his throat.
(Date Masamune has fallen.) He couldn’t bear the thought of Date-dono becoming just another ghost in some burnt-down ruins.
Yukimura draws the reins. His voice comes out just barely trembling.
“Need any help?”
(If Date is defeated, that’s all for him. If he comes through, you will face him again.) Oyakata-sama’s words are always words of wisdom.
Masamune’s face as he turns around is marked with a cocky grin that does not reach his eye. Down there, lies Osaka.
“So how do we go about it this time?” Yukimura asks as he dismounts and comes to stand beside Masamune. Red and blue, they stand out starkly like wildflowers against the green backdrop of the swaying grass.
Masamune snorts. “Honestly? I got jack squat.”
It’s been millennia since Yukimura last heard his voice. It travels down to the pit of his stomach and nestles there like a sheaf of barbed wire. Half of the time Yukimura barely manages to understand what he’s saying. He swims against the tide, bumping into the flotsam of foreign words, struggling to grasp the meaning. Masamune’s voice reminds him of a song performed in an unfamiliar language.
Yukimura chuckles, humourlessly. “We own the party.” It sounds like something Date would say.
And Date grins. This time it hits his eye, making it twinkle. Yukimura feels a pool of warmth spreading through his system.
(Somehow, there was - there will be - nothing before - after - Date.) Oyakata-sama has always known it because he has felt the same.
“Masamune-dono,” Yukimura asks later, at the camp. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
The torches crackle peacefully, and it’s not like they are based in the enemy’s backyard. It feels like Yukimura is six years old and playing with a wooden sword in a make-believe battle. It’s not like Toyotomi can see them or anything.
“What kind of a question is that?” Date mutters.
“Just a question.”
“I don’t know. Never met one. You?”
Yukimura squirms under the sudden apprehensive look that is directed at him.
“No,” he whispers, shadowy hands cool and constraining around his ribcage all over again. “I don’t suppose I did.”
(The Dragon’s Right Eye, Katakura Kojuurou, has gone missing.) Yukimura has never lost anyone that important. That one time he nearly had done, it almost killed him.
“So when’s the army coming?” Date asks without looking at him.
A lump comes up to Yukimura’s mouth. He doesn’t know how to explain it so he tells it like it is.
“It’s just me.” He falters. “Is that acceptable?”
A heartbeat of a pause. If Masamune says no¬-.
“Sure thing,” the answer comes.
(The One-Eyed Dragon, Date Masamune, is engaged in battle. As of last night, Date was at a disadvantage.) The sentries have long since blown out the torches. The air is swarming with fireflies blazing brighter than the stars.
They wake up simultaneously, heavy breathing and sweat-soaked hair plastered across their foreheads. Yukimura glances at Masamune, and Masamune looks at the sky, teeth ground together, fists clenched.
“So,” says Masamune eternity after. “Did you think I kicked the bucket?”
Yukimura forcibly relaxes into the soft, cool touch of the grass. “I did not.”
Silence. Then, softly, “I did.”
“Really?”
“Didn’t feel like that much fun.”
Yukimura remembers Kawanakajima. Didn’t feel like fun either. All he could do was lie there in the grass that was not so different from this one and pray (Masamune would not look away, would not write him off as some finished project) Oyakata-sama would grasp victory.
Yukimura rolls over. His chest feels tight like there’s too much air in his lungs.
“Would you… make a cup from a fallen enemy’s skull?” he asks quietly.
Masamune stares at him.
“No,” he says in an irritated tone that spells: I’m not sure there is a proper answer to that but let’s go with this.
“I think…” Yukimura murmurs. “I just think that when they’re dead, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Nothing matters. Death changes nothing, but we could at least show them some respect, right?”
“What’s gotten into you?”
Yukimura smiles weakly. Ghosts probably. He cannot say.
“Chill,” Masamune laughs hoarsely, and he is almost like the Masamune Yukimura remembers. “I won’t let anyone make a cup from your skull, Sanada Yukimura.”
His laughter seeps into Yukimura and tickles his throat from the inside, feather-light, carefree. He doesn’t even ask himself what he is doing in an enemy camp alone at night when his army is leagues away.
(The Dragon of Oushuu has fallen.) Yukimura glances at the swords that lie in the grass, three on each side of their master, and the sight fills him with inexplicable joy. He couldn’t bear the thought of them being discarded and covered in rust.
Masamune licks his lips. There is nothing simpler and yet more complicated in the world than this gesture. This second is picture perfect.
Yukimura knows loneliness when he sees it. Knows more than he will say. He wants to reach out and touch Masamune-dono, but he does not dare. (Make the night last forever so he won’t have to look Oyakata-sama in the eye and explain why he left his army behind. Perhaps it’s all part of the plan. Yukimura still naively believes Oyakata-sama plans for everything.)
He brings his hands up to his face. His fingers smell like dirt and firewood. He wonders what Masamune’s fingers smell like. There is a simple desire in his heart now: to let someone have him. He wonders what Masamune is thinking right now. He wishes he could read minds and he is glad Masamune cannot.
Yukimura falls asleep to the melody of the One-Eyed Dragon’s even breathing near him. Osaka sits just a few paces away. The night has curled between them like a cat, a sentinel for the neutral side.
Yukimura wishes he had two hearts, one for each.
(The One-Eyed Dragon of Oushuu is alive.) Takeda will never fall.
August 3, 2010