miburoinmeijiclothing

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

“Hn.” Perhaps, that was a simple reply to a heavy situation, but it was all the response Saito cared to give at the moment. Of course, protection of innocent lives and liberties was the top-most part of his greater agenda, and the human trafficking component to this nasty situation was an unthinkable atrocity; that went without saying. It wasn’t that Saito had become numb to such horror...far from it, in fact. But unlike Sano, he couldn’t afford himself the luxury of an emotional reaction.

Emotions were a hindrance to logic, and a hindrance to logic meant this horrific situation would only drag out for longer--which did nothing of use to anyone who was suffering. He kept his reaction guarded for that reason and focused on the bigger picture.

“Keep your perspective.” It sounded cold without voicing his reasoning behind it. “And proceed with information gathering as you have been.” There was more to this plan than Saito could disclose to Sano, so he elected to shift the direction of their meeting.

Immediately, he turned his head and signaled the woman’s attention to take their order. “Excuse me.”

Curiosity

Cont’d from…

Sano hardly cared for the settings himself, as long as the food was good, that was what mattered. And the smell of the place was promising enough!

“Your Fujita act’s kinda creepy, y’know that?” Was his under the breath comment as they were escorted to the table. Sano wasn’t a fan of the persona for various reasons, but then again, it wasn’t any of his business how Saito chose to act around others. He knew what lay beneath that smile from day one and wouldn’t be fooled by false pleasantries. 

“So.”

He was already looking over the menu mounted on the wall when Saito signaled his attention and their gazes met. 

Sanosuke had been hoping to get some food in himself before they got down to business, and his stomach noisily agreed, but he supposed that that would be his reward later on. So he dragged his teacup closer and idly turned the warm ceramic in his hand while he recollected his thoughts, “there’s a civil war happening within the local syndicate.” He murmured, side-eyeing the door on occasion while he spoke.

“The oyabun and his heir are having conflicting views on the group’s recent arrangement with the foreigners.” He said, “apparently, Yamaguchi’s heir believes that their trade should be extended internationally, selling shoddy swords n’ the like to the Americans for double what they make here. It’s been a lucrative business so far, but it was all done without Yamaguchi’s say-so n’ Shinoda’s too proud to apologize and compromise with the old goat.”

#curiosity #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Saito felt a pang of annoyance somewhere deep within him at this news. It wasn’t noticeable in his expression, but any time he heard of exploiting foreign entities for domestically-made goods, a bitterness that had emerged before the war made itself known once again. It could have been so easy...and legal...if the Tokugawa government had started this kind of trade business with the outside, while building up the country’s defenses on the in. The loyalist’s opposition of this had been what sparked the Bakumatsu and resulted in this idiotic situation today.

Of course, underground syndicates would still exist had things remained as they were, but removing local power and centralizing the entire government seemed to make it easier for them to pop up under the radar. More power at the top meant less power at a local level. But this was neither the time nor place to debate politics. And speaking of that...

“Idiots.” It was a biting remark, spoken in Saito’s signature tone of disapproval. “The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing, and once it finds out, it starts a fist fight with its own body.”

The noisy growling from the other side of the table hadn’t gone unnoticed, but before Saito called the woman back over, he wanted the sensitive information out in the open. “And, of course, Shinoda’s side has the advantage.”

Naturally, it would, as that was the side they were currently trying to bust. Breathing in deeply with a cock of his head, Saito rubbed at the back of his neck, staring at nothing on the table. “It appears this case will drag on for much longer than expected.” He raised his eyes back to Sano’s, an invitation to go on if there was more to divulge.

Curiosity

Cont’d from…

Sano hardly cared for the settings himself, as long as the food was good, that was what mattered. And the smell of the place was promising enough!

“Your Fujita act’s kinda creepy, y’know that?” Was his under the breath comment as they were escorted to the table. Sano wasn’t a fan of the persona for various reasons, but then again, it wasn’t any of his business how Saito chose to act around others. He knew what lay beneath that smile from day one and wouldn’t be fooled by false pleasantries. 

“So.”

He was already looking over the menu mounted on the wall when Saito signaled his attention and their gazes met. 

Sanosuke had been hoping to get some food in himself before they got down to business, and his stomach noisily agreed, but he supposed that that would be his reward later on. So he dragged his teacup closer and idly turned the warm ceramic in his hand while he recollected his thoughts, “there’s a civil war happening within the local syndicate.” He murmured, side-eyeing the door on occasion while he spoke.

“The oyabun and his heir are having conflicting views on the group’s recent arrangement with the foreigners.” He said, “apparently, Yamaguchi’s heir believes that their trade should be extended internationally, selling shoddy swords n’ the like to the Americans for double what they make here. It’s been a lucrative business so far, but it was all done without Yamaguchi’s say-so n’ Shinoda’s too proud to apologize and compromise with the old goat.”

#curiosity #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Saito’s brows drew quickly inward before relaxing. “Mm,” he agreed, without looking over at Sano. “Consider it an invitation to do your job.”

Immediately after that, his hand nonchalantly raised to brush aside the noren curtains hanging before the open door and Saito ducked to enter. The soba shop was of middle-end style, which, in his opinion, meant unnecessary embellishment had been added. While cleanliness was dire, atmosphere played little importance to Saito when it came to sustenance. Some of the best soba he’d ever consumed had been on a rural street side in the country. Fancy decor and the exquisite never appealed to his taste--proven by the bland noodle bowl he’d always ordered.

In any case, this location would suit their needs. No other patrons were present.

“Welcome!” called a woman standing near the kitchen entrance.

“Two, please,” he replied in Fujita mode, raising the rim of his hat and offering a slight bow. The classic smile pulled gently at his cheeks.

She nodded and then turned to fill a pair of cups with hot tea. “Please choose whichever seat you like.”

Still without looking to Sano, Saito selected a table furthest from the window. A row of wooden rectangular panels hung high and to the left to display the menu, but of course, reading it was a waste of time in his case.

The woman brought over the cups as soon as he sat down. “Kindly call out when you’re ready to order.”

When she left, Saito’s eyes finally found Sano. “So.” He sat tall with his back straight. The furniture was uncomfortable for people of their size, but that wouldn’t stop him from remaining immaculate. “Go on.”

Curiosity

Cont’d from…

So, that was that.

The topic was changed, much to Sano’s relief. Sometimes, he was grateful for Saito’s disinterest in him.

His gaze shifted, discreetly checking the crowd without the obvious turn of his head. Despite appearances, Sanosuke still hadn’t warmed up to the task of being a police informant. He hadn’t confided in anyone about it either, not even Kenshin, who had voiced his curiosity over Sano’s new job on occasion. Katsu had his suspicions, but never pried, and Sano never shared. The pay was good, better than anything he’d ever made precendently, but all the secrecy and sneaking around made him sick. Blunt honesty was what came naturally to him and if it weren’t for the fact that he was doing this to make amends for completely WRECKING the Akabeko, he wouldn’t have taken up this work at all. 

However, Sano wasn’t, nor was he ever, in a position that offered him many choices. The basis for his existence to this point was simply survival, but once he’d invited others into his life, his responsibilities expanded. And surviving was no longer his sole objective.   

“Not here.” He murmured and proceeded onward, weaving through the bodies that made up the bustling streets. Saito could keep up, there was no doubt in his mind about it, so he assumed the man would follow him. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he finally turned down a narrow alleyway, a shortcut to the pricier district in Edo just a street or two across from the market. 

While Sano would certainly stand out, he doubted that anyone there would care enough to involve themselves in his affairs. And Saito could pass through without a second glance, undisturbed and maybe even welcomed while Sanosuke skulked about.

“You know any of these places?” Sano asked, unfamiliar with what they had to offer. 

#curiosity #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

There was no reason to not follow Sano, if he believed the information he had was important enough to divulge elsewhere, so Saito had. He trailed behind, taking a more leisurely pace than usual to avoid any possible onlookers from pairing Sano and him together.

(incidentally, thefightmerchant and akusokuzan were present, and paired them together anyway.)

This offered some quiet moments of reflection. The weeks had piled up since Sano had begun this undercover work, and while Saito wouldn’t say he was surprised at Sano’s competency, he would say he was pleased. Well, he wouldn’t actually say anything of the sort out loud, but the facts were the facts. Having him around continued to be extremely beneficial and Saito was inwardly smug for being right once again; he was a master at reading people and predicting their actions, and this extra sense hadn’t failed him yet.

He didn’t know how long the volatile partnership would last between them, but he did intend to reap the advantages it presented for as long as possible.

The smoke was done by the time he entered the alleyway, and Saito tossed it, continuing to stalk after the sway of a red bandana. At last, once he reemerged on the opposite side, he came to Sano’s shoulder, and that’s when the question was posed.

This street boasted higher-end restaurants in the area, each tucked into its own little building and offering its own little specialty. Did he know--?

“Ah,” Saito commented, understanding the inquiry as he glanced along the row of neatly-maintained storefronts. There were several people fluttering about but it was nowhere as busy as the market. “You want free lunch.”

Of course, he knew that wasn’t Sano’s purpose for leading him here, but the opportunity was too great to not take. In any case, Saito silently turned to the right and began heading for a particular location. Soba, naturally.

Curiosity

Cont’d from…

So, that was that.

The topic was changed, much to Sano’s relief. Sometimes, he was grateful for Saito’s disinterest in him.

His gaze shifted, discreetly checking the crowd without the obvious turn of his head. Despite appearances, Sanosuke still hadn’t warmed up to the task of being a police informant. He hadn’t confided in anyone about it either, not even Kenshin, who had voiced his curiosity over Sano’s new job on occasion. Katsu had his suspicions, but never pried, and Sano never shared. The pay was good, better than anything he’d ever made precendently, but all the secrecy and sneaking around made him sick. Blunt honesty was what came naturally to him and if it weren’t for the fact that he was doing this to make amends for completely WRECKING the Akabeko, he wouldn’t have taken up this work at all. 

However, Sano wasn’t, nor was he ever, in a position that offered him many choices. The basis for his existence to this point was simply survival, but once he’d invited others into his life, his responsibilities expanded. And surviving was no longer his sole objective.   

“Not here.” He murmured and proceeded onward, weaving through the bodies that made up the bustling streets. Saito could keep up, there was no doubt in his mind about it, so he assumed the man would follow him. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he finally turned down a narrow alleyway, a shortcut to the pricier district in Edo just a street or two across from the market. 

While Sano would certainly stand out, he doubted that anyone there would care enough to involve themselves in his affairs. And Saito could pass through without a second glance, undisturbed and maybe even welcomed while Sanosuke skulked about.

“You know any of these places?” Sano asked, unfamiliar with what they had to offer. 

#curiosity #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

The hint of an airy sigh was present with Saito’s first exhale and he tilted his chin, watching as smoke dissipated upward to a cloudless sky. “A discussion with the chief occupied me for longer than expected.” --or necessary, he hadn’t added. It was in poor nature to speak badly of one’s superior officer, though Saito harbored no doubt that Sano and Cho had exchanged some interesting opinions about him. He couldn’t say it bothered him much.

And as for the chief... Indeed, he was a good man who understood that written rule could never apply to all cases (nor had it ever been meant to) and that at times, bending regulations was unavoidable. If history had proven anything, it was that this world had never been black or white, but colored by an infinite number of gray shades that all bled together and blended to create a portrait of humanity.

Even when someone wore a mask which society recognized on a whole as vile, it went against human nature for one to act on their ideals while believing them purely evil. Shishio’s logic had been derived in what he truly considered was in the country’s best interests. A woman recently brought in for doing long-standing damage to her husband was found to have been a victim of extreme physical and mental abuse. A survivor from the biggest covered-up blackmail in modern history carried his dead captain’s legacy with him at all times by proudly displaying an alarming word on his back. A police officer openly carried a sword in this day and age with permission to kill with it, if that became necessary.

The concept of being good or bad had become so ingrained in society that somewhere along the line, all had lost sight that a person of either extreme very rarely existed. Shishio had been extinguished because he was a major public threat. The woman who’d attacked her husband in a fit of hysteria sat in a jail cell for the time being, but no death sentence would ever be handed down. Sano was working for the greater good now and Saito, imposing as he was in the Meiji with his katana, clung to a mantra born in Edo.

The chief recognized the significance of all this, and it was for that reason which Saito held him in high regard. Most of the other superiors kept layers and layers of law book text cut, wrapped, and pasted about their eyes in a thick shroud, their wrists shackled by inflexibility as a result. They let corrupt politicians slip through intricate loopholes unscathed while sentencing abused citizens to death for acting out of defense.

People were a spectrum, and there was no one shape or axiom that could define them all as a whole. So, laws were sometimes bent and mercy was shown--at least in this Tokyo branch--as long as justice as Saito interpreted it was delivered. And to do that, some situations required a degree of deviation from black and white print to fairly serve a society of gray.

A society of gray, comprised of no one true quality, identity, orientation, or rule book--but the valid combination of them all.

He ignored Sano’s floundering.

“So?” Saito asked with a wave of his cigarette once Sano reached his side. “What is today’s report?”

Curiosity

In the weeks that followed since Saito had collected him from the rain and walked him home, Sanosuke had been his own usual self, albeit the subtle changes, which he’d tried to casually pass off as nothing special.

While their constant bantering back and forth never ceased to occur on a day, in his own time, Sano had curbed his drinking habit down to once or twice a week (if he could even afford that much). What Saito had said (or left unsaid) that night had triggered the decision, but Sano wouldn’t bring attention to it. If offered or confronted, he had a series of excuses prepared, ranging from being “not in the mood” to “flat out broke,” which seemed like acceptable reasons to most. 

Though some believed that Sanosuke was simply punishing himself for what had happened at the Akabeko nearly a month prior, which may have contributed somewhat. 

Otherwise, Sano spent a lot of his time on the job, asking questions and collecting information on the various trades and dealings that betided the Edo Port. He had a way with people, particularly of the lower class, that could put a man at ease and get them talking. Gathering what he needed to know through casual conversation and not much else. 

Sano could be surprisingly charming when he wished it. 

Saito, who could not blend in as easily amidst these types, had asked to meet with him mid-afternoon. The market was busy enough to camouflage them if they needed it, and so became one of their meeting places. 

Strolling past a row of stalls, Sanosuke’s pace slowed as he came upon an art print display. His sharp eyes sought out Katsu’s works, something he was proud of by association and would smirk when his gaze settled on a few. The art dealer watched the taller man for a time, then encouraged Sano to linger a little longer, offering him a collection of prints that had recently been published by the Utagawa School. 

With nothing else to do until Saito’s arrival, Sano perused the pages that slipped between his fingers. The erotic imagery was tame to start, but things got kinkier the further he delved and Sano could hardly stifle the grin that spread across his face. And then his eyes settled on what he’d thought was a woman being mounted by a priest, a beauty which, upon closer inspection, wasn’t a woman at all…

BAM. He’d slammed the book shut and stood there. Silent and blushing for a time, but then after a moment’s consideration, dared to open the book again. 

Yup. That was definitely a man. 

Sanosuke cautiously side-eyed any patrons that happened to wander by, then guardedly hunched forward as he continued to feed his new curiosity and went on to the other pages.    

#curiosity #thefightmerchant #idk why this got so fucking long and unwieldly #tl;dr: saito aint here for black and white judgement #and if sano wanna look at gay shunga...u do u bae #lol

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

A prolonged, and not to mention rather frivolous, conversation with the chief had caused a delay in Saito’s departure from the station. Similar to wasting precious time which belonged to others, arriving late was one of many rude habits which he absolutely loathed. Alas, this particular circumstance had been out of his control and knowing he was already past due, Saito had increased his naturally swift pace while dodging market dawdlers. These people had nothing better to do than float aimlessly through stalls and cavort about each other without a care in the damn world.

Though they were currently irritating to him, Saito couldn’t let his vexation mount too greatly, as the presence of so many here was what made this the perfect public meeting place. Instead of forcing Sano to waste time by dragging himself all the way back to the station, it was a near halfway meeting point from the docks and thus, a convenient location to receive a midday update. Cho often was the one to find Sano, but as he’d been occupied elsewhere and this case was already hot, Saito took the initiative.

It was interesting to think that others believed Sano blended in so well among the general populace, if only because he’d always stuck out immediately to Saito, even on a crowded market street. The white attire stamped with that one kanji character coupled with the red bandana weaved into wild hair and not to mention his height all made him impossible to miss. But even when there were others sporting equally colorful appearances, Saito’s eyes had still found Sano immediately.

Strangely enough, though, it was Saito who’d apparently been the inconspicuous one this time as he approached unnoticed while Sano stood before one stand reading--Saito peered over from behind--.........shunga.

Porn. The idiot was perusing erotic homosexual material in broad daylight, though he had been shielding the sides from wandering gazes. There were a few ways to deal with this, and Saito decided that critical humor would be most...amusing.

“Ho~?” he suddenly inquired after waiting several moments, his tone rising as the vowel dragged out and spilled over Sano’s shoulder from their proximity. “I wasn’t aware I was paying you to indulge in your lecherous hobbies.”

Saito pivoted then, closing his eyes and lighting up.

Curiosity

In the weeks that followed since Saito had collected him from the rain and walked him home, Sanosuke had been his own usual self, albeit the subtle changes, which he’d tried to casually pass off as nothing special.

While their constant bantering back and forth never ceased to occur on a day, in his own time, Sano had curbed his drinking habit down to once or twice a week (if he could even afford that much). What Saito had said (or left unsaid) that night had triggered the decision, but Sano wouldn’t bring attention to it. If offered or confronted, he had a series of excuses prepared, ranging from being “not in the mood” to “flat out broke,” which seemed like acceptable reasons to most. 

Though some believed that Sanosuke was simply punishing himself for what had happened at the Akabeko nearly a month prior, which may have contributed somewhat. 

Otherwise, Sano spent a lot of his time on the job, asking questions and collecting information on the various trades and dealings that betided the Edo Port. He had a way with people, particularly of the lower class, that could put a man at ease and get them talking. Gathering what he needed to know through casual conversation and not much else. 

Sano could be surprisingly charming when he wished it. 

Saito, who could not blend in as easily amidst these types, had asked to meet with him mid-afternoon. The market was busy enough to camouflage them if they needed it, and so became one of their meeting places. 

Strolling past a row of stalls, Sanosuke’s pace slowed as he came upon an art print display. His sharp eyes sought out Katsu’s works, something he was proud of by association and would smirk when his gaze settled on a few. The art dealer watched the taller man for a time, then encouraged Sano to linger a little longer, offering him a collection of prints that had recently been published by the Utagawa School. 

With nothing else to do until Saito’s arrival, Sano perused the pages that slipped between his fingers. The erotic imagery was tame to start, but things got kinkier the further he delved and Sano could hardly stifle the grin that spread across his face. And then his eyes settled on what he’d thought was a woman being mounted by a priest, a beauty which, upon closer inspection, wasn’t a woman at all…

BAM. He’d slammed the book shut and stood there. Silent and blushing for a time, but then after a moment’s consideration, dared to open the book again. 

Yup. That was definitely a man. 

Sanosuke cautiously side-eyed any patrons that happened to wander by, then guardedly hunched forward as he continued to feed his new curiosity and went on to the other pages.    

#curiosity #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

When Sano broke his train of thought, Saito stopped abruptly and turned to him. The rain had lessened to a light mist by then, but the dampness made an already cool autumn night feel even more chilly; it was clearly worse for Sano, as his clothes were already wet and his chest exposed.

In another life, Saito might have insisted to see the task through to the end, but for now, he relented. While Sano had clearly drank plenty to become a bit looser with the tongue, he’d remained largely in control of his actions--so the main reason to walk him home had been due to the weather. And since that was no longer much of a factor...

“Very well.” Saito transferred the umbrella into Sano’s grasp and ducked out from beneath it. There were things he could have and should have said then. “Good night” was customary, for instance. But, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, Saito remained silent and walked off into the darkness.

His musings on this evening had reignited several neural pathways which hadn’t been in use for...a very long time. The quiet atmosphere as his shoes tapped soundlessly against the dirt produced a transient, barely-there sensation of loss--a ghost. Though nothing could compare to the silence he’d endured after losing...everything before the Shinsengumi disbanded, now strangely reminded him of that time, as if the past leered at him through the reflection of a street puddle.

At one point ten years ago, a very emotional thought had crossed Saito’s mind, when he’d woken up alone with a start, dead in the middle of night and immediately reached to touch emptiness beside him.

In that barren rented room, in a bed too cold and vacant, he’d considered that if a second chance presented itself to him...if the universe granted him the opportunity to redo everything, even with the same result, he would’ve taken it in a heartbeat. Anything to see that smile again, or hear his laugh. Anything to catch the scent he’d come to love more than any other or feel him in his arms.

Anything.

But such notions were useless. There were no second chances once death drew the lines of division. And thus, Saito had mentally trained himself to live without company, to the point where the emptiness he’d felt was a thing not of the present but the distant past of someone else’s life.

Maybe, however...just maybe, his walk home tonight had been a little too languid.

Intoxication, by legal definition, required the consumption of a foreign mood-altering substance. It was clear, though, that one’s own feelings activated a similar effect; chemical changes in the brain and proximity to those who inspired them could have stoic and ever-serious introverts offering to walk silly, drunken extroverted idiots home in the rain, for example.

And while Saito wouldn’t say his regard for Sano was affection as he’d known it, the fact that he’d been compelled to concern himself with affairs not of his own tonight spoke deep enough on its own...

“Ne, Hajime...” The door of the inn slid along the track and slammed with a loud crash. “I might be drunk, but I’m still the leader of squad one.”

After opening the umbrella, Saito raised it to cover the both of them before stepping out from beneath the small overhanging roof. “It’s raining, Okita-kun. I’ll walk you home.”

I’ll walk you home.

Saito’s residence came into view and he entered into a space that was both cold and dark.

“Tadaima,” he said beneath his breath to no one.

Okaeri.

Intoxication

Cont’d from…

“Chff!” He scoffed in response, “gods forbid you take a day off.”

As the district regressed into downtrodden rowhouses and narrow dirt roads, Sano noticed a change in the silence between them. And while he never cared enough to worry over it before, he wondered…

“Here’s fine.” He said, “my place isn’t much further.”

… Just as Saito had shown him generosity that night, he’d decided to return the courtesy and not drag the officer any further than this.

Saito, as well-dressed and pristine as he was, stood out against the unsavoury neighbourhood. Although there was no doubt in his mind that the former Shinsengumi Captain could take care of himself, Saito would probably attract undesired attention, and Sano wanted to spare him the trouble.

After all, he’d given the man enough grief, on his own, that night.

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Saito’s attention slid to the side as Sano recovered, and he wondered how anyone could manage to naturally sneeze with such force. Upon straightening himself, Sano’s eyes caught his once more and he recognized the expectation they held. Well, if Sagara wanted a comment...

“You’d better not get me sick.” Saito gave an unintentional shake to the umbrella. “I don’t have time to deal with it.”

He swallowed and turned the next corner, taking them further away from the bar and consort scene. It was a quieter residential area which appeared much different than his own; the houses weren’t tenements, per se, but they weren’t very nice either, nor had the road been paved. The sight indicated a clear shift in neighborhood however, which reminded Saito of yet another disparity between Sano and himself. When it came to their places of dwelling, only night and day could contradict so greatly.

It wasn’t that Saito had ever had a taste for luxury; quite the opposite, in fact. His neighborhood was a bit upscale, though. The abode he’d chosen a few years ago contained several rooms and had a yard that wasn’t exactly spacious but big enough to be comfortable. Compared to Sano’s one room in what was basically a slum though, it’d probably seem like a mansion.

The thought had Saito considering just how uncomfortable a life Sano led. He, himself, had been in a situation where he owned nothing but his sword, the clothes on his back, and a jug of sake at one point. He’d never lamented over that part of his life after the Bakumatsu; if anything, the struggle was what kept him going when much more painful things threatened to stop time forever. Still, numbness toward his own former situation didn’t stop him from acknowledging the hardships of others.

Many of the decisions Sano made perpetuated his current state of living, but frankly, Saito couldn’t see how things could have been much different. Born to a rural family living in poverty, joining the Sekihoutai, and then raising himself on the streets... Much of the system was rigged against individuals in destitution, making it exceedingly difficult for anyone to pull themselves out of that. Those more well-off in society liked to complain about others who weren’t so fortunate, as if their own privileges had nothing to do with the oppression that existed even in this so-called great era of the Meiji.

Saito felt a responsibility, however. It’d been why he’d taken Sawagejo under his wing and now this squawking rooster at his side. Someone had to give a shit to make a difference, and Saito’s commitment to public service had made him an excellent candidate.

...That, and it would be pleasant to see Sano comfortable, which was neither here nor there at the current time.

Another few turns brought a dramatic change in scenery and the indication that Sano’s place was near.

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Saito’s efforts were clear; the kindness he’d shown, albeit a thoughtless gesture for most, had stunned Sano into a kind of silence.

He watched Saito as he spoke, studying the man’s clear, amber gaze and the ever so subtle changes in his expression. The twitch in his brow when Sano withheld his questions, and the fleeting direction of his glances. 

Sanosuke could tell, despite the haze of his own intemperance, that Saito was attempting to modify his behavior. Not in a way that it came off dishonest, but there was an obvious difference with the way he treated him, and it was sweeter than Sano wanted to disclose. Sweeter than he thought possible with regards to the Saito Hajime he was most familiar with.

He almost wondered if the man was screwing with him, but then it just didn’t fit with his character.

When their eyes met once more, his cheeks flushed and he pursed his lips into a hard line. Then after a moment’s consideration, he tried to play it cool and shrugged, “yeah, sure, if ya want?”

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

There’d been no need to ask for directions since Saito had already known where Sano lived, so he remained silent while leading them. His intention, naturally, was to take the most efficient path.

The rainfall persisted, hitting a good portion of his sword’s sheath since there was no room to shield all of his person. Being a very neat individual who took good care of what he owned, it was admittedly bothersome but that cover was infinitely more important for a human than an inanimate object...no matter how meaningful said inanimate object might’ve been...

Saito had been content to finish this short trip in quietude, when Sano broke it with that question...and it was a mildly provoking inquiry. Why would he believe Saito was looking for him? ...Unless it was just an attempt at futile small talk.

“I wasn’t.” Saito spoke matter-of-factly, his attention staying ahead. “I was on my way home.” A pause... “Hence the bag.” ...followed by reference to the thin accessory slung from one shoulder and across his chest, docked at the hip nearest Sano.

It was an awkward moment which painted how starkly they contrasted as people; Saito spent the hours before his day off working long into the night while Sano used them for drinking and winding down. Yet, despite such differences, they’d both somehow found their way under this umbrella now, proving a middle point between extremes must exist somewhere. Fascinating.

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Saito’s efforts were clear; the kindness he’d shown, albeit a thoughtless gesture for most, had stunned Sano into a kind of silence.

He watched Saito as he spoke, studying the man’s clear, amber gaze and the ever so subtle changes in his expression. The twitch in his brow when Sano withheld his questions, and the fleeting direction of his glances. 

Sanosuke could tell, despite the haze of his own intemperance, that Saito was attempting to modify his behavior. Not in a way that it came off dishonest, but there was an obvious difference with the way he treated him, and it was sweeter than Sano wanted to disclose. Sweeter than he thought possible with regards to the Saito Hajime he was most familiar with.

He almost wondered if the man was screwing with him, but then it just didn’t fit with his character.

When their eyes met once more, his cheeks flushed and he pursed his lips into a hard line. Then after a moment’s consideration, he tried to play it cool and shrugged, “yeah, sure, if ya want?”

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

If that positive answer had any effect on Saito it was unclear, as his face remained entirely stoic. He kept their gazes locked, however, rising at the same pace Sano used to get to his feet, which left them both standing a little too close for comfort. Alas, that was the consequence of offering to share a small umbrella. Saito supposed things could have been much worse, though...it could’ve been Kawaji huddled up so close to him instead.

...

...Hn.

Indeed.

When things were put into perspective like that, Saito decided this situation wasn’t really so awful at all--especially when Sano’s tawny eyes were still intently upon him. They were much prettier than the commissioner’s in any case.

It was time to move. Saito took an extra moment to further study Sano in an attempt to gauge if he could even walk a straight line. The result was inconclusive, so he decided to find out by slowly heading back toward the street--just in time to see a couple passing by ahead, cuddled up together and sharing their own umbrella.

The universe was unfair.

It was then that Saito felt the presence leave his side suddenly, and he peered back to find Sano lagging and losing cover. He was already wet from sitting out in the storm, but regardless, Saito still hadn’t missed a beat. He reached for Sano’s elbow and pulled him close.

Immediately looking forward after that, he quietly declared, “If you prefer to stay out of the rain, then I suggest you stay near,” and started again for the alley exit.

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Saito’s efforts were clear; the kindness he’d shown, albeit a thoughtless gesture for most, had stunned Sano into a kind of silence.

He watched Saito as he spoke, studying the man’s clear, amber gaze and the ever so subtle changes in his expression. The twitch in his brow when Sano withheld his questions, and the fleeting direction of his glances. 

Sanosuke could tell, despite the haze of his own intemperance, that Saito was attempting to modify his behavior. Not in a way that it came off dishonest, but there was an obvious difference with the way he treated him, and it was sweeter than Sano wanted to disclose. Sweeter than he thought possible with regards to the Saito Hajime he was most familiar with.

He almost wondered if the man was screwing with him, but then it just didn’t fit with his character.

When their eyes met once more, his cheeks flushed and he pursed his lips into a hard line. Then after a moment’s consideration, he tried to play it cool and shrugged, “yeah, sure, if ya want?”

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Their eyes met and remained locked for several seconds, which had felt much longer than they actually were as Sano made no further movement after lifting his face. It occurred to Saito within that span of time that Sano might have been waiting for him to make the next move, just as he’d been waiting for the reverse, and so his neutral expression temporarily broke with a simple twitch of his brow.

“Unless you plan to stay out,” there was no criticism or bite in his tone this time, “That is, of course, your affair. However...” His chain raised and he looked up quickly to indicate the pattering of rain hitting the umbrella.

When Saito’s gaze dropped afterward, it hadn’t immediately returned to Sano, but diverted just off to the side of where he sat. The lack of eye-contact wasn’t attributable to timidity or discomfiture, but a conscious effort to not be any more overbearing than he’d already been tonight. Saito, when not in Fujita mode, was nowhere near the most considerate individual around, but he did have his moments when the times called for them.

Even when they were warranted, this still remained true: during the Akabeko incident, he’d proven once again that he was never one to sugarcoat or hand-hold. And now, just as it had been then, the facts were always the facts; it was always counterproductive to soften them.

He wasn’t sugarcoating or hand-holding here, wasn’t adding to or denying any reality. Tonight’s irrefutable fact was that, buried deep beneath the many calcified layers shielding his innermost feelings, part of Saito cared enough to not leave Sano stranded in a cold rain. Especially when it appeared it was his own doing that influenced such behavior. Further abrasiveness was counterproductive to assuming responsibility for that, and so he’d taken a slightly gentler approach...if one could even consider speaking normally to another gentle.

To anyone who wasn’t of his acquaintance, there was really nothing special about his offer or current behavior. But knowing himself well enough, Saito knew there was more at play.

After all, he recognized that it was unlikely he’d show the same regard for others in an identical situation. Sawagejo was a prime example; Saito would have no qualms leaving him to brood like an idiot in a dark back street while the weather was inclement.

It’d once again been that magnetic pull at work which drew Saito toward Sano. That was the same force keeping him in position now, his expression remaining blank as he waited for the answer that would either be acceptance or rejection. Either way, it was what it was and his conscience would rest undisturbed tonight.

Finally, his eyes slid back to Sano’s.

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Sanosuke glared after the retreating silhouette for a time, waiting until the man seemed far enough away before he sagged against the wall and sighed. He dragged a hand through his unruly hair and gazed ahead at nothing in particular, reconsidering the short-lived confrontation and privately hating them both for it. Himself for having too much of a good time prior to the occurrence and Saito for being a friggin’, judgmental jerk about it.

Sano had meant some of what he’d said, but embarrassment and upset (and booze) influenced the poor way in which he’d expressed it. He couldn’t take it back, not now, and even if he tried, Saito would probably make some snarky remark about it. Rub salt in the wound and grind his heel into Sano’s attempt at an apology. He didn’t want to make himself any more vulnerable to the Wolf of Mibu’s reproof. 

His lips pursed and he sank to the floor and into a crouch. Safe within the darkened shadows of the alleyway while he hugged his head between his knees and closed his eyes.

A handful of minutes later, and the soft pitter-pattering of rain began to fall.  

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Shoes made shiny from the rain stopped abruptly and slowly turned, until Saito found himself standing in the middle of the buildings forming that alleyway. His spine was straight and his lashes parted a little wider in curiosity.

Why was Sagara...?

His chin abruptly lowered along with his shoulders, and his eyes flicked to the side. The main street had mostly cleared by now, except for a few stragglers who were too plastered to move quickly or even care. Saito wondered which of those applied to Sano.

Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Compared to the offensive banter they normally hurled at each other, Saito hadn’t considered what he’d said earlier all that degrading. But Sano was sloshed and he was still here now, back into that same curled up position that he’d assumed two weeks ago in the office. As usual, he wore his feelings openly, whether he’d intended to or not...

Saito’s lips barely parted and his footsteps, though not hurried, rang out as they struck against the wet pavement. He finally came to a stop and gently tapped the toe of his shoe against the sole of Sano’s.

“Oi,” he said quietly. “Sagara.” Saito lowered himself into a crouch so the umbrella would cover them both. “I’ll walk you home.”

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Sanosuke glared after the retreating silhouette for a time, waiting until the man seemed far enough away before he sagged against the wall and sighed. He dragged a hand through his unruly hair and gazed ahead at nothing in particular, reconsidering the short-lived confrontation and privately hating them both for it. Himself for having too much of a good time prior to the occurrence and Saito for being a friggin’, judgmental jerk about it.

Sano had meant some of what he’d said, but embarrassment and upset (and booze) influenced the poor way in which he’d expressed it. He couldn’t take it back, not now, and even if he tried, Saito would probably make some snarky remark about it. Rub salt in the wound and grind his heel into Sano’s attempt at an apology. He didn’t want to make himself any more vulnerable to the Wolf of Mibu’s reproof. 

His lips pursed and he sank to the floor and into a crouch. Safe within the darkened shadows of the alleyway while he hugged his head between his knees and closed his eyes.

A handful of minutes later, and the soft pitter-pattering of rain began to fall.  

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant #we literally wrote a scene from kinogi's art omg

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Once he’d emerged from the shadows of the alley and back onto the main road, it seemed good a time as any to smoke--not that Saito ever particularly needed a reason. Instead of turning right again, he hung a left, went down half a block, and found a space between two bars that was empty. There, he leaned back and lit up, while the cacophony of nightlife faded into the background despite his being surrounded by it.

Method was present in his decision to turn this way instead of the other, even if it sent him in the opposite direction; he’d done so to avoid Sano running into him again as he smoked, whenever that idiot had decided to reappear, that was. The move seemed beneficial for them both, with Sano’s drunken state and Saito’s moments of inward...fluster.

Fluster. Curious.

The end of his cigarette glowed red for longer than usual, a bright line burning toward his lips and leaving a trail of cinder.

Or maybe, it wasn’t so curious after all.

There was no reason for such agitation when he was honest with himself. Objectively, it was true that Saito found Sano attractive. He always had, right from the moment he’d sent the Kamiya Dojo entrance sailing open along the track and their eyes met for the first time. And though Sano was largely irritating and inexperienced, and sometimes a bit too crass and a little naive, there was a certain magnetic pull that had kept Saito’s attention on him for so long. That was exceptional, to say the least, as the last person to captivate him was...

His fingers snapped, flicking the ash off the cigarette.

All of these thoughts were moot. Sagara despised him. The age difference was too great and their lifestyles conflicted. And even if any of that were different, Saito had lived romantically detached since the dawn of the Meiji era. Arranged marriage for political purpose had occurred, and a divorce followed within three years. He’d never been ready to give up his personal liberties for another, and to simply keep someone around for nothing...to have them waiting for him to come home late each night and not even be able or willing to return their affections...that was an abysmal, immoral situation to force a person into.

That was why his current arrangement had worked out so well: remarrying a lesbian for the political furthering of her father, keeping some mutual investments and yet living totally separate lives in totally separate areas of Tokyo... It was the most epic fuck you to inane societal standards Saito had ever given.

He’d learned to live with sleeping alone after the war, just as he’d also learned to cook for himself and look after himself and simply exist by himself, with no unnecessary strings attached.

No, Saito had intrinsic need for company or the aggravation of romantic ties.

But the wind blew colder now as the clouds had rolled in unexpectedly. And when droplets began falling from the sky, he tossed his cigarette and stepped on it to kill the flame. Amid the pedestrians sober enough to hurry along for shelter, Saito looked about to find a bar owner hauling a container of umbrellas outside for sale.

A couple rin coins dropped in the guy’s palm quickly granted Saito cover of his own. And as he finally started back in the direction of home, he couldn’t help but feel the desire to peer down the alleyway--not that he’d expected Sano would still be there. It was more of a fleeting moment of...not regret, but a hypothetical glance at what might have been if he were a different person capable of sharing his life with another.

Thus, he allowed himself to do as his heart implored upon approaching that corner again.

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Sanosuke glared after the retreating silhouette for a time, waiting until the man seemed far enough away before he sagged against the wall and sighed. He dragged a hand through his unruly hair and gazed ahead at nothing in particular, reconsidering the short-lived confrontation and privately hating them both for it. Himself for having too much of a good time prior to the occurrence and Saito for being a friggin’, judgmental jerk about it.

Sano had meant some of what he’d said, but embarrassment and upset (and booze) influenced the poor way in which he’d expressed it. He couldn’t take it back, not now, and even if he tried, Saito would probably make some snarky remark about it. Rub salt in the wound and grind his heel into Sano’s attempt at an apology. He didn’t want to make himself any more vulnerable to the Wolf of Mibu’s reproof. 

His lips pursed and he sank to the floor and into a crouch. Safe within the darkened shadows of the alleyway while he hugged his head between his knees and closed his eyes.

A handful of minutes later, and the soft pitter-pattering of rain began to fall.  

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

“No, you didn’t,” Saito agreed, his hands leaving Sano’s shoulders. “Just as I never asked to be associated with being your spouse, and yet a whole street of inebriates heard it. Twice.”

A huff fell from his lips as he stepped back. “In any case.” After dusting off his arms, Saito adjusted his messenger bag and ran his hands down his uniform. “Since we both have better places to be now, I’ll be taking my leave.”

The second he started away from Sano, he found himself once more facing annoyance at a particular instinct he could never break away from--the one that compelled him to take responsibility for the protection of others and had only strengthened over the years. Saito’s involvement with the Shinsengumi resulted in strong compulsion to safeguard his brethren, which ultimately morphed into concerning himself with the security of the public--something that went hand-in-hand with the sense of justice he vowed to live by.

The obligation nagged at him now, as his footsteps carried him away from Sano, who was clearly intoxicated enough to allow his eyes to be even more expressive than they usually were. Of course, they were coupled by the intensity in his actions, heightened already by alcohol consumption and further provoked by their bickering. And though Saito knew Sano was tough enough to take care of himself, there was that small piece of him urging to ensure that.

Cht. Ignoring the impulse to look back, Saito closed his eyes for a moment. That idiot had been drunk so many times in his life and handled himself competently in a number of physical altercations that was likely even higher. There was absolutely no justification to worry about him. If any truth to those words about them being romantically linked existed, then certainly, concern to see Sano back safely would’ve been an entirely different story.

Saito’s nostrils dilated and he inhaled sharply. His mind generating even a hypothetical inkling of them being together was very bizarre...and not to mention extremely intrusive.

...

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Sanosuke frowned at the comment, feeling the weight of disappointment in Saito’s tone and the way he looked at him. The guilt hit Sano in a sudden and unexpected wave and he couldn’t process the reason for it, “what are you, my wife or somethin’?” He jabbed a finger at Saito’s chest, clearly annoyed by the man’s insinuations on the matter and not nearly as eloquent about expressing it, “it’s none o’ yer business what I do with my money, you got that?”

“How typical.” 

Those two small words rang through his head. 

He’d felt judged and picked apart by them, and it made his chest tighten. His cheeks were flushed from drink and his words a little slurred, finding difficulty in focusing while maintaining his balance.

“You’re not my wife.” He repeated, “and I ain’t got no one to worry about, but me, ALRIGHT? It’s fine.” 

Some part of him knew he could have held back, he didn’t need to drink as much as he had, but he’d fallen into bad habits. For Sano, when he had money, it was best to blow it all off and enjoy it before anyone could take it away from him. “Use it while you can.” He’d heard himself say, though the statement didn’t make much sense in relation to what was being said prior.

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

As if that first incredulous question--which was loud enough to attract curiosity from random people on the street--hadn’t been enough, Saito found his space encroached upon once more with a digit stabbing him directly between the pectorals.

There was truth to Sano’s point; what he did with his savings (or lack thereof) was none of Saito’s business, and if he hadn’t been so perturbed from having Sano’s body flush up against his with no warning, Saito wouldn’t have even gone in that direction.

But he had. Because he’d been perturbed...something which he’d need to deal with later on his own time. And, as he’d always done when he felt his inner self begin toiling, he’d activated a defense mechanism to deflect any possibility of someone reading that he was knocked off balance even for a second. It just so happened that lashing out on Sano’s inclination for careless expenditure was the lowest hanging fruit and so he’d swatted at that.

Unfortunately, that had landed Saito in becoming the recipient of an emphatic, drunken ‘you’re not my wife’ tirade, taking place in front of a growing audience now. As usual, common people had such little respect for the privacy of others, but when a boisterous man was flailing and yelling about how another wasn’t his spouse, Saito supposed he could have expected nothing different.

After tightly latching onto Sano’s arm which persisted to remain in his territory, Saito hauled him around the corner and into the dark alleyway he’d emerged from before this all happened.

With a strong shove, Sagara’s back met the wall and Saito kept him pinned at the shoulders as a demand hissed through his teeth. “Can you possibly speak any louder?” Tossing his head to the side, he scanned the busy main street to ensure no one followed them for more entertainment and then turned back to Sano. “You are correct, however. I don’t care how you choose to waste your earnings. I simply made a comment that was true.”

Intoxicated

Cont’d from…

Sanosuke frowned at the comment, feeling the weight of disappointment in Saito’s tone and the way he looked at him. The guilt hit Sano in a sudden and unexpected wave and he couldn’t process the reason for it, “what are you, my wife or somethin’?” He jabbed a finger at Saito’s chest, clearly annoyed by the man’s insinuations on the matter and not nearly as eloquent about expressing it, “it’s none o’ yer business what I do with my money, you got that?”

“How typical.” 

Those two small words rang through his head. 

He’d felt judged and picked apart by them, and it made his chest tighten. His cheeks were flushed from drink and his words a little slurred, finding difficulty in focusing while maintaining his balance.

“You’re not my wife.” He repeated, “and I ain’t got no one to worry about, but me, ALRIGHT? It’s fine.” 

Some part of him knew he could have held back, he didn’t need to drink as much as he had, but he’d fallen into bad habits. For Sano, when he had money, it was best to blow it all off and enjoy it before anyone could take it away from him. “Use it while you can.” He’d heard himself say, though the statement didn’t make much sense in relation to what was being said prior.

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Discomfort set in quickly after the impact, as Saito had expected this individual to back off and apologize like any normal person would have, regardless of what amount had been imbibed. That wasn’t what happened, however, as they simply remained with their forehead pressing hard to the place it’d smacked against Saito’s chest.

Most annoying of all was that this new configuration had Saito’s nose close enough to their hair to catch its strong scent, which he subconsciously found, was not at all unpleasant.

With his frame gone entirely stiff, Saito waited several awkward moments for the situation to rectify itself in correct social protocol. However, once too much time had passed with no change, his hands flew up, landing on their shoulders with a forceful grasp. ...And that’s when this inebriated moron lifted his chin and Saito was admittedly unprepared to find it was, instead, his inebriated employee.

(...an employee who also very much fit the description of a moron, for the record.)

The essence of sake that wafted into Saito’s face was as potent as it was oppressive, and the question which followed just as obnoxious. His response was immediate: Saito’s brows knitted inward and his teeth clenched as a forceful shove sent Sano stumbling backward and out of his personal space. Unfortunately, just as he meant to let go, Sano swayed and his body threatened to topple.

Keeping hold of Sano’s shoulders to balance him, Saito tossed his face partially to the side to keep himself out of the trajectory of his breath. Perhaps if he’d been expecting this encounter...or maybe if Sano hadn’t just remained pressed unto him, he would’ve made some cynical, biting comment.

However, the truth was that the sudden proximity was a bit more startling than Saito might have liked to confess--especially since his nose had wound up in Sano’s hair, of all places.

“What kind of ridiculous question is that, you idiot?!” he snapped. “It’s a public street.” Saito’s chin raised and he peered down with judgemental eyes. Venom was in his voice. “This is how you spend your pay. How typical.”

His hands immediately dropped from Sano’s shoulders.

Intoxicated

This afternoon had marked the passing of two weeks since that decisive conversation which had entwined the fates of Saito and Sano, at least for the foreseeable future.

It was intriguing to recognize it’d only been such a short time that Sano had been reporting for duty, for it felt simultaneously very long and very quick, depending on what Saito thought back on. The arrangement started out as rocky as expected, with the typical trading of insults and battle of wits which had always colored their encounters so vibrantly. However, Saito had been pleasantly surprised at how swiftly he and Sano fell into a groove of working together for a common cause.

The usual banter was still at the forefront of their interactions, but somehow, where it counted, they both formed an excellent team. Headway had been made into the current investigation, largely in thanks to Sano’s hanging around the docks to observe the chosen subject of the day. He’d been permitted to retain his unkempt appearance, which meant he was able to easier slip into places a uniform couldn’t.

As with Cho, that had been highly beneficial. The speculation surrounding the mafia’s role in contraband smuggling was approaching closer and closer to becoming hard fact. Sano’s reports confirmed the high rate of foreign supply ship turnover claiming to make deliveries of goods to companies which had no dealings in such businesses.

In just two weeks, Saito’s conclusion was that winning Sano over to his side had resulted in the advantage he’d anticipated; having both Sagara’s and Cho’s talents at his disposal doubled the manpower and underground activity he could reach.

And it was for this reason, Saito had offered slightly more than his first payment when Sano left for the evening today… A rare, unprecedented compliment piggybacked on the envelope he’d extended toward Sano. They were two simple words for two weeks marked by both progress and irritation, but the first point was what had meant the most.

“Good work.”

The hour approached midnight when Saito had finally felt compelled to pull himself away from his desk. Late nights were common for him; he had nothing waiting for him other than a dark and empty house, so using this time to remain productive had always been his choice.

With a roll of his shoulders, he cleared his desk of all paperwork and neatly filed it away, stuffing the relevant pieces into a messenger-style bag to take back with him. Tomorrow was his day off, and though he wouldn’t report to the office, Saito would be making use of his study as he often did.

After giving a final once-over to ensure all was in order, he left his office and made his exit from the station. The first breath of fresh air was cool, as autumn leaves drifted down from branches painting jagged lines across the clear night sky. The change in temperature came quicker this year with a cold breeze, and after buttoning his jacket up to the neck, Saito began the walk back to his place.

As usual, the streets were alive with the heartbeat of socialites–the groups of men conversing, the consorts looking for clientele, the inebriates stumbling in and out of bars; none of this was unusual.

And yet, Saito had found something he hadn’t expected when he turned one corner…or perhaps that something had found him instead, since it collided directly with his chest.

Another drunkard, of course, tripping around and not watching where he was going. That was no surprise. …But Saito had never thought this particular drunkard would be of his acquaintance–and none other than Sagara Sanosuke.

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant

[miburoinmeijiclothing]

Intoxicated

This afternoon had marked the passing of two weeks since that decisive conversation which had entwined the fates of Saito and Sano, at least for the foreseeable future.

It was intriguing to recognize it’d only been such a short time that Sano had been reporting for duty, for it felt simultaneously very long and very quick, depending on what Saito thought back on. The arrangement started out as rocky as expected, with the typical trading of insults and battle of wits which had always colored their encounters so vibrantly. However, Saito had been pleasantly surprised at how swiftly he and Sano fell into a groove of working together for a common cause.

The usual banter was still at the forefront of their interactions, but somehow, where it counted, they both formed an excellent team. Headway had been made into the current investigation, largely in thanks to Sano’s hanging around the docks to observe the chosen subject of the day. He’d been permitted to retain his unkempt appearance, which meant he was able to easier slip into places a uniform couldn’t.

As with Cho, that had been highly beneficial. The speculation surrounding the mafia’s role in contraband smuggling was approaching closer and closer to becoming hard fact. Sano’s reports confirmed the high rate of foreign supply ship turnover claiming to make deliveries of goods to companies which had no dealings in such businesses.

In just two weeks, Saito’s conclusion was that winning Sano over to his side had resulted in the advantage he’d anticipated; having both Sagara’s and Cho’s talents at his disposal doubled the manpower and underground activity he could reach.

And it was for this reason, Saito had offered slightly more than his first payment when Sano left for the evening today... A rare, unprecedented compliment piggybacked on the envelope he’d extended toward Sano. They were two simple words for two weeks marked by both progress and irritation, but the first point was what had meant the most.

“Good work.”

The hour approached midnight when Saito had finally felt compelled to pull himself away from his desk. Late nights were common for him; he had nothing waiting for him other than a dark and empty house, so using this time to remain productive had always been his choice.

With a roll of his shoulders, he cleared his desk of all paperwork and neatly filed it away, stuffing the relevant pieces into a messenger-style bag to take back with him. Tomorrow was his day off, and though he wouldn’t report to the office, Saito would be making use of his study as he often did.

After giving a final once-over to ensure all was in order, he left his office and made his exit from the station. The first breath of fresh air was cool, as autumn leaves drifted down from branches painting jagged lines across the clear night sky. The change in temperature came quicker this year with a cold breeze, and after buttoning his jacket up to the neck, Saito began the walk back to his place.

As usual, the streets were alive with the heartbeat of socialites--the groups of men conversing, the consorts looking for clientele, the inebriates stumbling in and out of bars; none of this was unusual.

And yet, Saito had found something he hadn’t expected when he turned one corner...or perhaps that something had found him instead, since it collided directly with his chest.

Another drunkard, of course, tripping around and not watching where he was going. That was no surprise. ...But Saito had never thought this particular drunkard would be of his acquaintance--and none other than Sagara Sanosuke.

#intoxicated #thefightmerchant #long post