vatheon | (no subject)

Who: Akechi Mitsuhide [

wavesoakedlegs] and Chōsokabe Motochika [

behisstrength]
Where: Their home → Middle District.
When: Early evening.
Style: Prose.
Status: Closed.

For Motochika, today was a date of note. Today marked two years exactly since he washed up in Vatheon.

Contemplating time was an odd experience – one singular, defined passage felt both long and short, reflecting differently depending on the angle it was perceived from. The same two years he had been absent from his island were also two years he had lived in the wonder of Vatheon with Mitsuhide and Gracia at his side.

If his morning had carried the heaviness of separation from Shikoku and the responsibilities he once bore with a daimyo's pride – the fleeting ache of homesickness, fond remembrance and private reverence of something beloved but beyond reach – then now was the time to celebrate all that the past two years had afforded him: opportunities and experiences, growth and joys impossible in his previous life, just as precious to him.

Of all those, the most prominent had been what peace and a lack of responsibility greater than themselves allowed he and Mitsuhide to become, free and without reservation or burden – and so together, they decided to celebrate by going out on date.

Given the occasion it was only fitting to embrace a modern custom.

Motochika waited in the living room for Mitsuhide to join him so that they could depart. A warm ocean of affection sat placid in his chest, deep and vast, radiating contentment through him.

Motochika held no regrets; they had never suited him.

Threaded | Flat

In two days, it would be Mitsuhide's two-year anniversary as well.

Celebrating both anniversaries together had seemed like the right choice. This was very much a journey they had taken together, even though Mitsuhide himself had tripped and stumbled many times. Motochika never went on without him, so to speak; rather, he had been a source of strength during the darker periods, as he'd always promised he would be.

A living, breathing Chōsokabe Motochika at Mitsuhide's side, something that should have been impossible. Mitsuhide had seen him die, a long time ago now. Then Vatheon had swept him up, a confused, grieving man, and... well, here they were.

The young samurai examined his own face in the mirror carefully. There had been dark circles beneath his eyes ever since he could remember, and there they still remained, but they did not seem quite as prominent now. Humming softly, Mitsuhide picked up his comb and began to run it through his hair.

A lot could happen in two years. They had both adjusted well enough to modern concepts, ideas and technology that Mitsuhide was certain that returning home would be as much of a shock to their system as coming to Vatheon had originally been. The kitchen, for example, was something he had marvelled at when he had first seen what it held, but now it was something normal and expected. It was just one type of change, one type of growth. Mitsuhide was, perhaps, more aware than most that he was not quite the same man he had been upon arrival.

Though most of those changes remained unseen by him, he knew they were there, and for the most part, knew they were for the best.

When satisfied, Mitsuhide placed his comb down and spent a few moments wondering what to do with his hair before deciding to just leave it down. Motochika had a habit of undoing it anyway, so putting it back when on a 'date' was likely to be a pointless endeavour. After a couple more moments of thought Mitsuhide stood up and made his way downstairs. He was clad in his finest wear for the day, the most prominent hue in his clothing the blues of his lover's clan. A small gift for Motochika, and one he knew would be appreciated. It satisfied Motochika's possessive side, after all, a strong reminder of what they were.

A soft sound passed from his lips, appreciative and comtemplative both.

This would be the thing he would mourn the most, should it ever be torn from him. This precious relationship, and a love born in youth that had only grown in strength since then.

Mostly without him realising it.

(There was something to be said for the gift of self-awareness, something that Mitsuhide could only wish he had).

"Lord Motochika?" he called out, seeking the other man once he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was time to put the darker part of his thoughts to one side and focus on the positive.