A/N: So it turns out I lied and I needed to write this too, lol. I've wanted to do a Choso/Mori fic for years tbh. Since like, 2011. I have one I started back then that existed in the actual universe but it seemed so...confining? I know everyone does the High School AU cop-out, but I think having them young makes sense. I was also influenced by a great doujin I read years ago called Revaival which used that sort of setting. I tried to pull characterizations across media, from both the anime and games. I remembered at the end of his Sengoku Basara 2 route, Mori confronts Chosokabe and they have a conversation similar to one I invoke here. Perhaps you may think my characterizations off, but since Mori is one of my favorite characters (along with Hanbei, incidentally, and Nobunaga), I've looked at him from a lot of angles. And in my mind at least, Mori is pretty vulnerable beneath his mask. Only Chosokabe ever unsettles it. Like I say later on: hatred isn't primary, it's a result. So I thought I'd try to weave some psychologies that would justify their pairing. Sorry to be so wordy here, but I have a lot to say regarding them, haha. Anyway, hopefully you enjoy! :) –Mal.

(P.S. Because I already forgot: I adopted the westernized spellings of their names because well, it's fewer letters, and abandoned honorifics because well, it always kind of throws me off to read them in fanfic. Unless you're writing or translating Japanese (both of which I know how to do btw), why lol? End of P.S.)

Even Then

"C'mon, come out and play!"

"You always just sit there, c'mon!"

"I want you to!"

Standing in the window, Mori Motonari surveyed the kingdom he construed to be his. From his position, he could glean the patio, the sports fields, all the way to the horizon where the low afternoon sun plotted its place of rest. He nearly smiled until he caught sight of the person he hated most, whom he hated all the more for winning from him that emotion––something never deigned to feel on anyone's behalf. Most of the students which surrounded him never occurred to him at all, beyond mere masses of rudimentarily self-aware cells that more often than not got in his way. Of his place in this small universe he was resolutely certain: he was the sun, about which all lesser beings inevitably orbited. No one else could approach his level of intelligence, his accomplishments, his family dynasty. Not only did he possess the highest marks in the entire student body, he also led the Science Club to recognition after recognition, held the seat of vice president in the student council (despite his successes one of which he never achieved was popularity, not ordinarily to his chagrin except it necessitated his tolerating of the insufferably affable Tokugawa Ieyasu as president), and stood as heir to the Aki Techno Corp fortune. Indeed, all the reigns of life with which one might subjugate it to his will seemed to rest in his grasp. And yet, why did that White Devil confound him so?

As long as he could remember Chosokabe Motochika proved to be a thorn in his side. Neighbors growing up, constant classmates, and familial rivals. As much as he wanted to ignore it, the fact that the Senior Chosokabe ran a very profitable shipping company whose interests often aligned with that of Aki Tech's failed to escape him. They would often have to run into each other at the same events, attend the same meetings, with Mori always maintaining his air of forbidding frigidity. Because that was something his brilliant mind couldn't fathom: how despite countless incidents of dismissing Chosokabe, of being cold, cruel, utterly removed, he never ceased in offering Mori a smile, a warm greeting, a gesture of acknowledgement. Returning to the scene at hand, he watched as his enemy darted through players, his hair at the mercy of the wind, his body even from this distance obviously coated in a sheen of sweat, raising his toned leg to score a goal, which resulted in exultant cries of his teammates. "Aniki, aniki!" He couldn't understand such devotion. Associates were nothing but gears in a more complex machine beyond their comprehension, commanded in their proper spheres. Yet Chosokabe regarded them as equals, as friends. Almost anyone he came across who could make him laugh or ignite his competitive spirit became his friend. Mori considered himself the sole exception, a source of pride.

"What could have possibly won your entire concentration, my dear Motonari?" A saccharinely sweet voice laced with duplicity pierced his focus.

He knew who it was without turning: the vice principal of the school––someone he considered an uneasy equal, Takenaka Hanbei. Reflected in the window he could see his slender figure, his white hair, the glint of bemused malice in his eyes. While no one could equate him in raw brain power, only Hanbei was capable of grander manipulation. The uneasiness Mori felt was due to a discrepancy of methods; he saw people as a means to an end, Hanbei saw them as not only that, but a source of sadistic glee. He took pleasure in disciplining students, enforcing obscure rules, beginning and ending the careers of instructors with alacrity, pitting those he found to be a nuisance against each other for his own enjoyment. This was all in the name of bettering the school, in the name of their principal, Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Hanbei made sure his efforts weren't too obvious, and most didn't question those who ran afoul of him––chalking it up to their errors, not his. He commanded the authority that approached a god, only outclassed by his boss. And if anyone did question, his dog Ishida Mitsunari quickly silenced their dissent.

"Only the sunset, Hanbei, sir." He reluctantly offered deference, more concerned for his own self-interest than observation of etiquette. It was Hanbei who allowed Mori his wide berth in terms of his influence.

"I'm sure. I heard you secured more funding for your club, at the Soccer Club's expense."

"They are having a poor season. Why should they hold a monopoly on the school's purse strings if they can't deliver their end of the bargain? I'm merely getting what my more worthy club deserves."

"Of course this has nothing to do with your mildly homoerotic vendetta against its captain, dear Chosokabe?"

"Excuse me?" Mori narrowed his eyes with his utmost disdain, meeting Hanbei's mocking look in the window.

"Don't you find it...I don't know, a bit telling how he's the only person in this whole institution who you treat with anything resembling concern? Hatred isn't a primary emotion, my dear Motonari. It's always born of something else."

"You speak out of your depth."

"Evading, as usual. Nonetheless, I congratulate you on another successful conquest. Considering Ieyasu is a close friend of his, I'm sure it was no small feat."

"I simply reminded him that beyond personal loyalty and the reverence bestowed irrationally upon Athletics, one must think of what is best for the school. I have led the Science Club to continued heights."

"That you have. In any case, you shall have my approval for this funding increase. Though I would remind you that any further favor isn't just won by carefully chosen words. Your family name pales in the glory of the Toyotomi."

Mori struggled internally with pride, his desire to defend his name, to wipe the grin off Hanbei's pale face. He calmed himself, setting his gaze toward the sun, and closed his eyes. His voice was mountain air, "Of course, Hanbei sir." He took his exit, not wanting to continue the tedious conversation, without giving his vice principal a farewell or a parting look.

Below and unbeknownst to them, Mori's presense had been felt; and once he left, Chosokabe grinned, laughing to himself. You sure have a funny way of hating someone.

Warm water cascaded over his muscled body, steam clouding his lungs and vision, as he roughly scrubbed away the sweat and dirt into dark rivulets that circled the drain. Pushing his wetted, long hair out of his face, Chosokabe thought of his rival. It was strange, they never were direct competitors; their areas of expertise were too differing. Academia and school politics were Mori's domain, sports and popularity were his. It was almost as if they were opposed not in reality itself, but in spirit. The sturdier man remembered watching the other when they were children: a solitary boy, slight, with an emotion that almost approached sadness in his eyes. Other kids in the area would coalesce to engage in the usual play, go on adventures, get into scrapes. Mori would always watch from his ivory tower, never stooping so low as to participate. Countless times he had extended invitations to join, even though Mori wasn't liked among the others. Chosokabe had a way of earning the respect of others, even then. If he said someone was okay, that was it. So if Mori just let down his wall once his life wouldn't be so, what he could only think as, empty. Some things don't change... He shut off the shower and toweled his skin, eventually wrapping the white cloth about his waist. It wasn't quite pity he felt for Mori Motonari. That wouldn't be enough to sustain his willingness to endure the cutting words and selfish actions. As foolish as it was, he wanted to save him, from himself. Every time he saw the brunette, he recalled that small child sitting alone, no parents or friends in sight. He changed, made small talk with the guys, clapped shoulders and backs and asses jovially. Then a teammate who was still in uniform ran into the locker room.

"Aniki, aniki! The student council voted to cut our funding!"

"...what?!"

"Coach Shimazu just ran into Ieyasu! I can't believe he'd do that to us!"

"...I have a feeling it wasn't his idea."

Night began to descend around Mori as diaphanous, dark curtains while his trek home came to a close. Errant leaves stirred in the light breeze, casting shadows in the lamp light. He shivered faintly. No, he was not one for evening. He never thought of himself capable of having fears, phobias, foolish irrationality. However, even as a child the advent of darkness disquieted him. He didn't so much dread monsters or any such thing, but the sensation itself of the unknown. Mori loved the sun not only for its majesty, but for its inherent implication of certainty. Its light gave life, banished falsehood, culled within him a strength that flowed through his bloodline. They were children of the sun. As such, the moon and all its trappings fostered antipathy. How much his hair reminds me of moonlight... another damnation. Shreds of day remained in the sky like absentminded brush strokes of burnt umber, crimson, beneath the anvil of gloom. His pace advanced ever so slightly. It wasn't fear, no, impossible. Just an aesthetic disagreement. As Mori rounded the last block, he had to pass a small forest around which the nicer homes of the neighborhood were arranged. It's nothing... Then he heard the quick footfalls of someone at a running pace. He turned to catch sight of that hair he mentioned billowing like sails in ocean wind.

"Hey Mori, wait up! I have a bone to pick with you!"

"Don't yell!"

"Yeah well how else do you want me to get your attention?!" Mori inwardly sighed as Chosokabe at last reached him. Between light pants he made out his case, "So, one of my boys told me our funding was cut. Know anything about that?"

"It was an issue that was brought up at student council."

"Don't act so innocent. I know it was you who must have put that forward!"

"And why would you think that?"

"Because! For whatever reason you wanna see me ground into dust!"

"Don't be absurd. I merely suggested funding should be proportionate to each Club's worthiness. Your team hasn't had the best record lately."

"Bullshit, we just had some new guys is all! It takes some getting used to. Doesn't mean you fuck us over so you can have more microscopes or whatever!"

"People will hear you!"

"Oh fine!" Chosokabe roughly grabbed Mori by the wrist and walked hastily to a nearby copse of trees, shading them into obscurity. "Happy?"

"I'd prefer you unhand me." His wish was obliged, caught off guard by his enemy's strength.

"Look, we work really hard and use whatever money we can get for important shit like uniforms and equipment and promotional stuff and transportation sometimes! It ain't easy running a team and trying to keep up with the standards big ol' Hideyoshi and Shimazu expect of us. There's no reason for you to let your personal feelings affect what we do!"

"I did no such thing."

"You can fool lotsa people Mori, not me. You might not realize it, but I know you pretty damn well and I know when you pull dirty tricks. This is one of them!"

"I only acted in my club's best interest."

"Ha, right. You acted in your own best interest. Like always, n fuck the rest of us."

"You're the one making it personal."

Chosokabe rarely got truly angry. He was the kind of guy able to laugh off nearly any insult. He had self esteem, but what's more, a sense of humor. However, he couldn't abide people who went after his friends, nor people who acted poorly just because they can. Mori was guilty of both in this instance. He looked upon his face which almost beamed self-satisfaction, thinly veiled with indifference. He knew Mori did this, and he knew he felt no regret. That set Chosokabe off. So, he punched him in the face.

Mori then felt, for the first time, true shock. He held his hand to his mouth, feeling a cold wetness envelop it, followed by shooting pain. He gazed into his palm as if divining the future, noticing how his blood appeared like liquid night in the absence of illumination.

"You deserved that."

Did I? In a rare moment of introspection, Mori quickly assessed the situation. He got punched because he couldn't see what he did was wrong; what he did being: ensuring the best got what they deserved. So, in turn, did he deserve to be punished for being Chosokabe's superior? Is that the burden one must carry? He chuckled, Surely not.

"There's nothing worse than a sore loser."

"...what was that, Mori?"

"You're merely a brute; incapable of battling me on intellectual means, you resort to your fists. You're bitter because that physical strength you rely on failed. You couldn't compete with a bunch of nerds with their microscopes. Well, I'll let you know what we do is far more important than the mindless diversion of attention you offer. We are pioneering technology, answering problems of our age. Clean fuel, renewable energy, robotics, you name it. So while you're kicking a ball around ten thousand years in the past, I am looking ahead. Sorry if I'm not sympathetic to your plight, to your wounded machismo." Mori spat blood, standing straight.

Maybe I underestimated him, he's got some nerve. Heh, doesn't make him right. "Spin it however you want, Mori. I know at the end of the day you did what would serve you best. It's just convenient that it benefits others too, as well as kicking me in the balls." Chosokabe took another look at him. Mori appeared a cornered animal, clinging to its life and its point of view in the face of something it can't overpower. "You don't care about anyone, really, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

"We're all just, what was that you told me once, years ago? Oh, 'pawns on a chess board,' right?"

Something was wrong. Chosokabe shouldn't be so observant. How did he remember that? Suddenly Mori realized he had to answer. Never before had he questioned himself, not for a moment. It was him against the world, his vision against a collective nightmare. But, phrased like this, as he stood face to face with Chosokabe Motochika, under the lens of his unforgiving stare, amongst the silent sentinels of the trees, beneath the cold glare of the moon, Mori Motonari hesitated. And thus, lost.

"...yes."

"You're so lonely. You've never had a friend. Why?"

"I...I'm not lonely."

"Is it because you're afraid? That people will leave, like your parents left you, more concerned about themselves? I wonder if you really think you're better than everyone. Or if, deep down, your greatest secret and terror is that: you're not."

Mori could no longer maintain eye contact. He shivered, once again, trying to keep himself together. "Stop..."

"You keep everyone at a distance so they can't see through your act. After all this time, you're still that kid on the stoop about to cry. And you know what? That's okay." Chosokabe held trembling shoulders under his powerful hands. "We're all human. No better or worse than anyone else, just trying to be happy."

"Don't...don't touch me." Mori tried to escape Chosokabe's hold; he couldn't. "You're wrong. What good are friends, happiness? They're all just illusions, tricks of the weak so they can get by. I...I am everything I need."

"Then...why are you crying?"

It didn't make sense, any of it. The touch, the tears, the cool of the evening. The way eighteen years of progress could be halted and undone in a few minutes. They were standing in a forest alone, off the side of the street, baring souls. How could I be this weak... how could he see right through me?

"C'mon, I'll walk you home."

With an arm slung around Mori's shoulder, he led the defeated boy the short distance to his dwelling. They climbed the walk, surrounded by blooming flowers, their faint perfume ever-present. Chosokabe thought that despite all his shittiness, Mori didn't quite deserve this. He looked broken.

"I'm...sorry about punching ya. But, you were being a dick and kinda had it comin'."

No response. Mori went through the automatic motions of unlocking the door, opening it.

"You don't have to be alone, Mori."

The sound of a door softly shutting was his only reply.

The next day, Saturday, it rained. Mori watched detachedly as rain smattered against the pane, as it ruptured countless faces of flowers in the garden. Its rhythmic sound mirrored the dolorous dirge of his heart. He turned his gaze to the phone in his hand, still unable to believe he called him. As vice president, he had all the contacts for the heads of the school clubs. He never needed to speak with Chosokabe until now. He failed to muster a word. And yet, the other understood. "I'll be over in a few, okay?" Such middling words, and yet they were all Mori sought.

He was raised with one objective: the prosperity of The Aki Technology Corporation. Every step, every venture, every thought had been to that end. In a way, he only thought of himself, yes. But, as he slowly breathed in and out, what paralyzed him was the realization that he too, had not. What did he have to surround himself? The echo of rain throughout the hollow house? None of it mattered until now.

Damn him. As if on cue, there was a knock at the front door. He couldn't quite will himself to answer, as if in one final protest he might banish Chosokabe, and his own weakness. He heard the door open, muffled calls, and the sound of footsteps once more.

"Mori, you here?" The footsteps closed in. I didn't lock the door, then. Huh.

The guys looks dead, Chosokabe thought. Seated as he was by the windowsill, unmoving, bathed in cold blue light. "Hey, there you are." He tried to laugh it off, but the staccato sound of his effort, too, withered in the room.

"Sit down, Motochika."

"Funny, I never heard you call me by my first name before." He smiled, in vain. "The bed okay?" A nod, he sat.

Mori's voice was unfeeling, even––beyond emotion, beyond everything. It was a moment of terrible importance. "Right now, I hate you. Before I don't think I ever really did. I might have resented you, envied you. But never truly hated. And yet, are you to blame? You didn't make me doubt myself. No one can make anyone else do anything. You broke the chain of my certainty, perhaps. But that too I cannot blame you for. You didn't stop me last night to do this. I don't even remember how we reached it. You gave me freedom, for that moment. Which I used to doubt myself. You know, humanity's most damning curse is self-awareness. Realizing one is, indeed, alive. Feeling the distant pound of one's heart in his chest, stomach, wrist. Realizing one is nothing in the span of eternity. Less than a spec. I can't see the sun today." He stopped, wondering if that was to blame. Don't be silly. "I hate you for bringing me to this. I hate you because I cannot blame you. I hate you because you couldn't just leave it at a punch in the face."

"Mori...I––"

"I hate you because I cannot hate you. Even then, when I was the child on the stoop about to cry. Play, my father said, was for those not content with their minds. So I didn't. Friends, father said, were for those unwilling to face the road of life themselves. So I didn't have any. I can't blame him either, because I was the one who wanted to please him. You asked why I had no friends? You said I was afraid. You were right. Of those things you mentioned? Probably. But most of all, I feared disappointing him. I feared destroying our peace, our home, our legacy. It all rested on my shoulders and I couldn't afford to buckle. Yet, here I am." Mori turned to Chosokabe for the first time since he arrived in the room. "I really wanted to be your friend."

A moment passed, then another. And another. There was a current passing between them, a slow dawning of understanding. Chosokabe never thought Mori felt this much––that he endured this much––all for his exterior of cold calculation, for a damn company. It seemed so stupid. And human. Mori opened his heart to him. What would he do now?

The steps were timeless, aching, like from a dream. There was only the gentle boom of thunder, flashes of lightning, the drum of the rain, all underscoring this movement. He kneeled before Mori, eye to eye, and kissed him. On the cheek, then again closer to the mouth, which slid inevitably across his soft, untouched lips. He didn't know why he did it, but it seemed the response to the quiet plea. Mori's brown hair was so smooth against his palm, like silk; his fingers were long, elegant, entwining among his own.

"You're a fool, Motochika..."

"Even then, I thought you were beautiful.

Though you hated me."

"I remember when you skinned your knee falling off your bike.

I wanted to kiss it."