Mugen walked up to Jin, hand on his hilt. “Your face looks like dog shit. That I stepped in.”
Jin calmly answered, “I’m surprised you’re alive. I thought your stupidity would’ve ended you.”
“Stop acting like jerks and sit down,” Fuu said, “I brought us food.”
They sat then and ate, talking only occasionally. Asking about the last year, a comment about Mugen’s table manners. It was peaceful, nobody rushed or overeager; they knew where the night would end, where it always ended.
The three of them falling into one another, hands sliding across skin, lips and tongues.
Then sleep, heavy and too-trusting, surrounded by warmth.
And another year.
Whatever else happened, they could count on one another for this.