maybe mitsunari only trusts him with a secret because they both have one. Maybe Akkorō’s secret is the way that his fingers furl ‘round the hilt of his sword ( that’s never really been his sword ) at the prospect of a life without Ishida. Maybe his secret is that he likes everyone that he’s ever met, and Ishida is no exception / maybe his secret is that he likes Ishida more than any of the rest ——— because they both wear their hearts on their sleeves and are still so surprised when people see them.
Yoshitsugu will insist on staying behind. I’d like you to accompany him.
Maybe it’s only the mask that he wears across his face that keeps his tongue in check / in cheek, keeps him from spitting a refusal across the space between them ( — which, upon consideration, is actually far too little for the fallen heir of Chōsokabe to be comfortable with. The muscles and tendons in his hands twitch with the desire to reach out and touch Ishida / to see if the man is really as cold as he seems. ) He turns on his heel to face Ishida, and is struck by the solemnity of the man’s profile, the slope of his nose and the way that his sharp eyes and fiery hair glint against the setting sun.
Maybe there’s no coming back from it once you notice something like that.
The risk of the gods learning of my plan is far greater than that of those two fools being uncooperative.
❝ — and what of the risk to you if your plan fails? ❞ he asks, far more harshly than he’d intended, far more desperately. ( For a brief moment, he’s a boy again, frightened of his father going off to war. Akkorōkamui, your spirit of rebellion sings to me across the battlefield! I will always find my way back to you. )
Maybe he’s learned how to live without Motochika, but not without Mitsunari.
Ishida turns toward him, and he swallows a scoff, the urge to look away, all of the defensiveness that comes with all of the walls that he’s built around himself ( — because how is he ever going to protect Mitsunari if he doesn’t let him in? Maybe he’d still say that this isn’t loyalty / this is just a debt being repaid / but, the thing of it is that he owes Mitsunari his life. Maybe that just means that it’s Mitsunari’s to take. )
He unsheathes his sword, tries not to think about the warmth of Kojirō’s hand in his own, slowly lowers himself to one knee, then both, balances the sword across his open palms ——— no longer a rōnin / a samurai’s fealty.
❝ Forgive me. ❞
His voice is soft, the sticky, summer breeze that billows Mitsunari’s robes, and maybe he fears that he will not be heard above the din of battle ( or, maybe there’s a more intimate reason ) as he gently pulls his mask free of his nose and mouth — bares a face to Mitsunari that few have seen. ( Kojirō once called it “disarmingly handsome”, and it is — boyish and youthful, unmarred save for a dusting of freckles beneath his eyes and around his full lips. He hopes, for just an instant, that Mitsunari thinks the same. )
He lowers his gaze, subordinate, eager for this gesture to be taken seriously.
❝ My lord. ❞ The honorific hangs in the air between them, resonates with emotion. ❝ If your plan is for Yoshitsugu to remain with the Coalition, then that is all the more reason for me to remain here. ❞ —with you is unspoken, but sits atop his tongue all the same. ❝ Sakon is already with them ——— and, as you have just said, Kiyomasa and Masanori are fools. ❞ There’s a bit of a smile at that, that he can’t help. ❝ I do not doubt that they are loyal. I do not doubt that you trust them as brothers, but they are not sworn to you in the way that I am, in the way that I am swearing myself to you again — not because I owe you my life ... but, because I am willing to give it for you. Please, allow me to remain here. No harm will befall you so long as I am by your side. ❞ @jiboshohoho / from here!