He closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was no longer a samurai’s. It was a boy’s.
A candlelit, dilapidated inn at the edge of a bamboo forest. Rain against shutters. The scent of rice wine and iron. Milking Love -Final- -Samurai Drunk-
“Safe?” He opened his eyes. They were wet. “The last time I was safe was right now. Right here. Drunk. With your hand on my heart. Because a man about to die has nothing to lose. That is the only safety.” He closed his eyes