Mossy stone lanterns marked the end of the pathway before it opened out into a clearing paved with flat rocks and screened with tall maple, tumbled boulders, and clumps of bamboo. More colored lanterns hung overhead, light-dappling the steam that rose from an oblong rock pool.

At the near edge of the pool, back turned to the path, Genma sat with his wet hair knotted up and his scarred shoulders stretched out. Kurenai’s mass of dark hair rested on his right arm. Raidou sat, brown skin gleaming wet, on his left.

Ryouma briefly forgot how to breathe.

At the edge of his vision, Kakashi looked back at him, narrow-eyed, then dropped his entire armload of gear on the rocks.

The three shinobi in the pool started, separating into mobile fighting stances. Raidou came up over the edge of the pool, skin-sleek and slippery; Genma pulled a senbon from his hair. Kurenai grabbed a porcelain sake bottle from a floating wooden tray, like a bruiser in a bar-brawl. A dripping morsel of brown fur wormed its way between Raidou’s feet, shook vigorously, and resolved into Pakkun.

“Shitting balls, kid, have you ever met a moment you didn't ruin?”

Kakashi’s eyebrow lifted. “You were having a moment?”

“I was trying to,” Pakkun announced. He shook himself again, ears flapping.

“We could come back later,” Kakashi said, with a lilting edge of mockery in his voice.

Genma scooped a floating cup back into Kurenai’s tray and stepped out of the pool, with a calming hand for Raidou’s shoulder. He twisted his hair back up with the senbon. “Why don’t you come join the moment. I think we were discussing, uh... dimension theory.”

Was that supposed to get Kakashi to go away? Was Ryouma supposed to not be looking at them? This wasn’t like the bathhouse at Hiraizumi, when they’d mostly focused on getting clean. The officers were already shining clean, steam rising from their skin in the cool night air, trickles of water chasing the defined lines of muscles down chest and thighs. Kurenai sank back in the water, finding a ledge on the opposite side of the pool in only a token gesture at concealment. Genma and Raidou didn’t even try.

Raidou said, resigned, “Buckets are over there if you want to wash up.” He took a another, sharper look. “Why’re you both in yukata?”

“Uh,” Ryouma said. “We met Himself. I think there were supposed to be yukata for you, too.” He wrenched his eyes away, cast a swift glance around, and spotted the neat folded pile on the end of a bench near the stone lanterns. “There! Fumi-chan must’ve brought them while you were, uh, bathing.”

“And thus we remember the shinobi rule to never leave one’s back unguarded,” Kurenai murmured. “Did she bring more sake?”

Ryouma set down his gear and went to investigate. That seemed to be something useful he could do.

He hadn’t remembered bottles in the pile Fumi had picked through for them, but there were two of them now, white porcelain with wax-sealed mouths and two small matching cups. That was… more than Ryouma wanted to think about, right now. Most things were.

When he came back Genma and Raidou were both in the pool again. Yori had eased himself in to join Pakkun, while Saishou lay panting on the puddled pavement. Kakashi was stolidly washing up, with his mask still on and his body turned away. His skin glowed under lamplight, pearly and perfect. Ryouma stopped, dry-mouthed, to watch him.

Kakashi looked up and saw him. His eye curved with a promissory, predatory gleam, just for a moment. Then he ducked his head down again, and scrubbed at his feet.