Title: Thursday

Author name: Ruaki

Category: Romance/Humor, Sengoku Basara

Keywords: Motochika, Motonari, AU

Spoilers: Sengoku Basara 3 characters enormously present

Summary: AU. Motochika/Motonari. He never thought he'd love Thursday.

Notes: This is a modern day AU: some ideas were taken from Gakuen Basara, but this story is not based off the anthology series.

For the sake of consistency, all romanizations, translations, and "character voice" have been taken from the English localization of Sengoku Basara 3. Therefore, there's no "Engrish" annotations in Date's speech (as I think Engrish in English text is pretty awkward looking anyway) and Mouri's surname is spelled "Mori"—not to be confused with Ranmaru, who isn't even in this story. Full names will also be given in the "first then last" format used by the game. And this means no Japanese honorifics or nicknames. Sorry, aniki!

Disclaimer: We'd have more episodes of Mini Sengoku Basara: Chousokabe-kun and Mouri-kun if I owned them... sadly, I don't. It's all Capcom, folks!

WARNINGS: None!

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Act I.

Motonari Mori sat demurely underneath a small tree, the sun's warmth reaching through the spare foliage to embrace him with the promise of summer. A worn, dog-eared copy of The Prince was spread open in one hand, but he couldn't get the words to register despite having memorized the text. Frustrated, the teenager started again from the first highlighted line in the thin book and once more his eyes strayed to the half-eaten box lunch on the grass beside him, chopsticks resting neatly across the top.

Irritation washed over him anew.

This was the third time that the lughead hadn't shown up. That equaled three weeks; one more and it would be a month. One month! And Motonari knew the moron didn't have a valid excuse this time for a month-long absence—indeed, he had caught sight of the idiot yukking it up with his fellow idiots just last week when the peasant was supposed to be here.

At the sound of the warning bell, Motonari snapped shut his book with a scowl. That fool. Some things never changed. As always, when he wanted something done right, he'd have to do it himself.

It was truly disgusting how deep he was drowning in that boy's waters, so Motonari never allowed himself to think about it too carefully. He knew he'd kill himself in shame if he really realized the full import of just how much his life had changed—and why—so it was better just to deny that there was a change at all.

But what made it all the more insulting was that this change has been so gradual and pervasive that, for all his genius, he had never noticed what had happened until it was too late. By then it was reflex to leave his lunch half-eaten on Thursdays, to not block out present company when he was reading, to dull the barbs of his insults and disdain, and to concede that a 'hmph' was a sufficient end to any escalating condescension.

There was nothing that wouldn't yield to the constant battering of the sea, and after seven years of acknowledgment, Motonari was no exception.

That fool. Motonari would make him regret his absence.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari Mori was a remarkably intelligent young boy. However, he had quickly learned that exceptional intelligence was not a trait appreciated by his peers. It made him different, and most children were not yet wired to cope with differences. So he isolated himself, using adult vocabulary to confuse his peers and flaunting an air of superiority that made him instantly hated. And that's how it was, year after year, spending his free time with military treatises as his sole company.

He was fine with that, because those other kids were nothing to him, as indistinct as drops of rain. And Motonari didn't care what they thought of him, which was just as well, since they thought nothing of him at all.

Motonari was ten when he was shuffled off onto some relatives as his parents took jobs overseas. He hated the move because it meant he had to start all over in training the monkeys around him: a new set of curious do-gooders to intimidate with an unblinking stare or a new gang of primitive bullies to dispatch if he couldn't browbeat them down.

On the first day at his new school, he introduced himself to his classmates in a monotone, eyes fixed on a point over the heads of new faces he'd never remember. During lunch and after class, he answered the questions of his peers in a way that was not deliberately insulting but was without a doubt utterly condescending. Within less than a week, the wall of isolation was up around him and the new student was promptly forgotten.

The familiar status quo returned and Motonari was content.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari typically took his lunches on the roof, away from the annoying chattering of his classmates, but eventually a mob of boys migrated to his haven every Thursday to play some kind of illicit card game. He tried to ignore them at first, retreating to a shadowed corner against his will, but they were rambunctious as they shouted in glee or defeat. It was just too much and he reluctantly gave up his territory to save his own sanity.

So now he spent his Thursdays outside on the school grounds, underneath a sparsely branched tree overlooking the PE field. There were other kids about, but they seemed so far away due to the spacious environment and he was able to eat and read in peace.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey, you wanna play? We're short one person."

Motonari was so engrossed in his copy of The Book of Five Rings that he didn't realize someone had approached him until he was spoken to. The stranger was blocking out the dappled sunlight which had discolored the pages of his book, and at the edge of his vision, he could see a pair of scuffed shoes with scribbles drawn on them in marker. Motonari just continued to read.

"Uh... hey—"

"No," Motonari said without looking up. He could tell this was going to be one of those types; it would be better to just head this one off quickly.

There was an injured silence before the other kid left.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey, we're short a person again." The dirty, doodled-on shoes returned the next week. "Wanna play?"

Motonari didn't answer or look up.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shoes were back again. "Hey, wanna join us?"

"..."

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey—"

"No."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari didn't even give time for his persistent stalker to say a word when he caught the shoes approaching from the corner of his eye. "When will you understand," he said in a low tone, aiming the most unfriendly stare he could at the obnoxious owner of those shoes standing beside him, "that I have no interest in playing in your stupid game?"

"Hey, you finally looked at me," the other boy said with a lopsided grin, as if he finally achieved some long-standing goal. He was gangly and his uniform rumpled and ill-fitting. The pin at his collar marked him in the same grade as Motonari. "My dad always said you should look at someone when talking to them."

Motonari's answering scowl would've withered the bravest of souls, but this pale-haired boy continued to grin impudently.

"I'm Motochika Chosokabe." The boy pointed a thumb at himself. "What's your name?"

Motonari disliked him immediately. He could tell this Motochika Chosokabe fell right into the category of inconsiderate, loud-mouthed attention seekers, the kind that had no respect for personal space or privacy. They were persistent, invasive busy-bodies who had to be the center of attention, the type of person that needed be liked by everyone but had no real consideration for others. These "hero" types liked seeking out the introverted sorts for "the introvert's own good" and viewed them as little more than novelties or sidekicks.

Motonari played the fool for no one. "Go. Away." He really didn't want to relocate again; he was still bitter over losing his spot on the roof, even if it was only one day out of the week. But he hated change and he hated losing.

"Okay," Motochika acquiesced easily and Motonari couldn't help but be surprised at how quickly he'd won. "Maybe you can join us next time?"

Motonari didn't bother to dignify that with a response, pointedly returning to his book.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the top of his book, Motonari spotted the shoes approaching again, but he didn't have time to react before Motochika plopped down beside him. Motochika stretched out his legs as if he naturally belonged by Motonari's side. "Hey. What's up?"

For a moment, Motonari had no idea how to react. This was simply too outrageous, and his mind, always so logical and calculating, just froze. But then indignation took over. His fingers clenched at his book, crinkling the pages, as he very slowly turned to drop an unblinking stare on his unwelcome guest.

Motochika was oblivious, staring at the box lunch on Motonari's lap with undisguised envy. "Wow, are you going to finish that?"

"Yes," Motonari replied in the flattest tone he could manage, even though he had forgotten about the food completely. "Go play or something. Leave me alone."

Motochika made a face, leaning back on his hands. "Date and his group got in trouble this morning. So I thought I'd hang out with you today since you never want to hang out with us."

"Did you miss the 'leave me alone' clause?"

The pale-haired boy glanced at him. Motochika had really large eyes; they made him look almost girlish. They were also very expressive, and curiosity burned in them. "Why do you always sit alone here?"

"What?" It was the second time Motonari was caught off-balance in less than a few minutes.

"Every time I see you, you're alone here."

"Have you ever considered that I might possibly enjoy being alone?"

Motochika scratched his cheek. "I guess you're right..."

"Of course I am," and with that, Motonari dismissed the other, smoothing out the pages of his abused copy of The Seven Military Classics.

Motochika didn't say anything more, but he didn't leave either.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"I still don't know your name."

Motochika coming to bother him was routine now. Motonari knew that Motochika's friends weren't always conveniently in trouble on Thursdays, but when he questioned the gangly boy about it, the other would just shrug. Requests to be left alone were usually met with a request to eat Motonari's lunch, and graphic threats of bodily harm were often met with a cheeky grin. And because Motonari refused to admit defeat, he continued to return to the same spot every Thursday to wage this impossible war. He eventually discovered the tactic of tuning out Motochika's ramblings; once the other boy realized he was being ignored, he would fall silent.

It wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn't companionable either. It was just there: annoying enough to remind Motonari about his unwanted companion but unobtrusive enough to accept as a small victory. The silence was never broken when it settled—except for today. Motonari had thought that Motochika was half-dozing when suddenly the pale-haired boy turned to him and carelessly spoke about Motonari's name.

"Good," Motonari replied.

"It's not good." Motochika's face was petulant. "If you don't want to tell me your name, then I'll just make one up for you. And you're not gonna like it."

"Do whatever you want; it doesn't matter to me."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika didn't show up the next week.

Motonari was glad. He was even more happy when Motochika failed to show the week after. Maybe he had finally gotten rid of the pest.

However, by the third week, that glee had faded. It had been replaced with the nagging sensation of having misplaced something. He spent his entire lunch reacting to every footstep that passed within hearing distance, gaze immediately snapping up to see if they were those familiar, despised shoes.

He wasn't worried though. It's not like he lost any sleep over it, and once lunch was over, he didn't even spare another moment's thought on it. He certainly didn't miss that nosy boy with the large, expressive eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Week four yielded no Motochika, despite Motonari lunching under the tree every day that week.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey."

Motonari jerked his head up at the familiar greeting the following Thursday, though it had sounded rather subdued. "Chosokabe! Where have you been?" he demanded, not caring how it sounded like he had missed his unwanted lunch partner.

Motochika stood shyly some distance away, which was strange. Motonari frowned. Motochika's uniform was crisp with newness and his hair had been shaved close to his head, a medical patch stark over his left eye.

Motochika smiled faintly, an adult smile that seemed out of place when Motonari was so used to his childish grins. "Sorry." He rubbed the back of his head before he finally approached. Motonari's frown deepened. The carefree roll to his walk was missing—as were those ugly shoes. The pair he now wore were new like his uniform.

Motochika sat down next to him and Motonari couldn't help but stare at the eyepatch and a line of nearly healed bruises and scrapes mottling the left side of his face, leading into his scalp. "Your eye..." The words slipped out before Motonari could stop them.

"Mm?" Motochika turned to him. "Oh." Motochika touched the patch gingerly.

Motonari's mouth tightened. Motochika, who volunteered all sorts of information without much prompting, was being abnormally reticent, and this made Motonari's lunch flop around in his gut.

He didn't know how to deal with it, so he just went back to his book. Motochika stared into the distance beside him and for once, the silence was awkward and stifling.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Through school gossip, Motonari learned of the accident that took Motochika's parents and his left eye. He wondered what Motochika had wanted when he came to him that day. Surely he didn't expect sympathy or pity when Motonari regularly treated him with contempt?

It bothered him. He didn't like things he couldn't understand; it made him feel stupid and helpless.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Must your stomach be so loud?"

Motochika rubbed his rumbling belly. "Sorry, it's got a mind of its own."

Things were relatively returning to normal—such as it was. The medical eyepatch had been replaced by a regular one which sported a different badly doodled design on the flap each day. Motochika's attitude was again his usual freewheeling disposition, though it seemed somewhat tempered by a new-found maturity. It didn't make his company any more pleasant, however.

Motonari shot him a disgusted look, before reaching over to pick up the remains of his box lunch and dumping it unceremoniously before Motochika.

"Huh? For me? Seriously?"

Motonari grunted in reply, returning to his book.

-.-.-.-.-.-

After a few weeks, Motonari started bringing bigger lunches.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Motonari Mori."

"Hm?"

"That's your name. It says it on your bento." Motochika pointed to the lacquer cover of Motonari's box lunch, where his name and his family crest were etched with gold.

Motonari blinked, looking at the other boy. Motochika's hair was wild and wavy again, held back from his face by a hairband. Several thin, pink scars marred the skin of his forehead; one slashed through the brow above his left eye. "Yes, it's my name." He wasn't sure what Motochika was driving at.

"Well, I finally know your name now, Mori!" Motochika grinned.

Oh, right. Motonari had forgotten he had never actually introduced himself to Motochika. "Good for you."

Motochika hummed, pleased. He took a marker from his pocket and wrote Mori's name on his once-more dirty, drawn-on shoes.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The days started getting cooler as summer faded into autumn and autumn began to whisper the first chill of winter. Motonari hated the cold and was forced to stay in his classroom for all his meal breaks. To combat the annoying presence of his classmates, he would drown out their noise with a music player he'd brought from home and sit as far away as possible from the clusters of children.

Somehow Motochika managed to find him, near the end of lunch on the first Thursday of his migration. The boy's grin was so sunny with pride that Motonari knew Motochika must've looked all over the school for him.

Through the winter, Motonari only kept one earbud of his headphones in on Thursdays.

-.-.-.-.-.-

In the spring was graduation. He didn't see Motochika and he didn't look for him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The second year at his new school started off with pretty much the same class he had previously, so he didn't have to bother with the isolation tactics; the students immediately left him alone. There were no greetings for him, no inquiries on what he did over the brief break. All around him, before the homeroom teacher came in, kids laughed and gossiped; he read a dissertation in German on Frederick the Great's Military Instruction.

Thursday came and with it, lunch period. As he left class, Motonari hesitated, looking up the stairs that led to the roof. A group of kids pushed passed him, laughing as they stomped up the stairs. With a silent sigh, he headed down the stairs that led outside.

Motochika was already there under the tree, sprawled on the grass. He sat up with a bright smile and waved when Motonari approached, greeting the slim boy and asking him how his break went.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Third verse, same as the first. But maybe with a little less of the ignoring and insulting.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The desire for power hit Motonari when he was fourteen. Enamored as he was by the military treatises he consumed regularly, it was only natural that he eventually sought out positions of leadership and influence within his life.

"I heard you were elected rep in your class," Motochika said on a Thursday after Motonari was assigned his new responsibility. He was busy devouring what remained of Motonari's lunch. "I never would've thought someone as reclusive and anti-social as you would wanna be class rep."

"I'm very social." Motonari scrawled a note on the text he was reading. "Just because I'm not cordial doesn't mean I'm not social."

"The hell? You have a funny way of showing it," Motochika replied in between bites.

"How little you know me," Motonari murmured.

Motochika paused, and Motonari had the faint impression that he had somehow hurt the other boy's feelings.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika didn't show up one Thursday in the summer of that fourth year of their acquaintanceship.

Lunch period was almost over. Motonari stared up through the rustling leaves of the tree, spots of sunlight kissing his face. What normally was a pleasant experience did little to alleviate the tight ball of emotion he was doing his utmost to control.

He was irritated.

He was irritated because he was irritated.

And he was irritated that he was irritated because he was irritated.

He ignored all the possible reasons for his original irritation. And that just made him angry.

.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Where were you?" Motonari flatly greeted Motochika the next Thursday as the boy approached.

"Sorry about that. Was absent from school." Motochika dropped next to him, immediately reaching for the lunch that lay between them and examining the remaining contents. "Were you worried about me?"

Motonari's stare was frosty. "Don't be ridiculous. You were supposed to be here and you weren't. I wanted to know why."

Motochika picked up the chopsticks and began the rather disturbing process of inhaling his food. "I couldn't get out of bed," the pale-haired boy said around mouthfuls of rice, "I was such a wreck."

"A 'wreck'?" Motonari repeated before pressing his lips together as he quickly made a few deductions. "Oh..."

"Yeah... It's happened every year but it wasn't as bad this time." Motochika chewed reflectively. "I never told you about the accident, huh?"

Motonari shifted. "I've... heard the rumors."

"Yeah, it sure was the talk of the school, huh?" Motochika smiled.

The other boy was quiet, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with both the subject matter and Motochika's casual attitude toward it. It was a sensation he was not used to and it was not one he liked.

"Oh, hey, I never did thank you."

Motonari blinked at him. Motochika's thoughts had a way of rapidly changing gears that it was sometimes difficult to keep up. "For the lunches?"

"Oh um, that too, but this is for being there for me that day."

'That day' must've meant the Thursday after Motochika's month-long absence three years ago. Motonari could still remember the stifling silence—it was the only time the silence between them had been so oppressive. "I... didn't do anything." In the hindsight of experience, he knew he was supposed to have comforted Motochika, even if it was a false compassion. Still, he didn't feel guilty that he didn't extend his sympathies that day or any day hereafter. He still had no idea why Motochika had even sought him out instead of the company of people that were actually his friends.

Motochika shook his head. "You did plenty. You were there."

"How is 'being there' worthy of thanks?"

"Sometimes being there is all that's needed." Motochika smiled again, gentle. "Don't you think so?"

Motonari could feel it—the slow heat climbing the back of his neck, spreading to his cheeks. He quickly turned back to his book, letting his chin-length hair hide his face. "You're an idiot."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika had a girlfriend. Motonari knew this because he had caught sight of the couple holding hands in the hallway. He rarely noticed Motochika outside of their Thursday meetings, though the teenager was growing like a weed, standing almost a head taller than most other students in their age group. He also was almost always surrounded by groups of people—his many friends or fellow gang members—but perhaps Motonari noticed him this time because it was just Motochika and the girl, cozy in their little world.

What Motochika did with his life outside of lunch on Thursdays didn't interest Motonari. He wasn't curious or jealous of Motochika's dating status, but he did have a slight concern. He had observed how other couples could become so wrapped up in their relationship that they ignored all other obligations. What Motochika did with his life beyond Thursday lunches wasn't Motonari's concern, but Motochika attending those Thursday lunches were.

"You will still come here on Thursdays," Motonari partly asked, but mostly ordered, the next time they met under the tree.

"Huh?" Motochika blinked at him, taken off-guard from what seemed like the most random of statements. "Er, yeah? I have been for the last four years." His brow furrowed. "Why would I stop?"

"I'm holding you to your word." Motonari stared hard at him.

Motochika grinned, the biggest grin Motonari had ever seen on the other boy's face. Something about it annoyed Motonari deep down, as if Motochika knew something Motonari didn't. "Don't worry. Thursday is Mori Day. I promise."

"Hmph." But Motonari was satisfied. This single hour, once a week, belonged to Motonari and he'd do anything to protect his possession of it.