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Miime shifted on her chaise, long legs sliding over one another as she held her glass out towards Harlock. He refilled it and settled back in his own chair as she sipped at it, then looked up at the soft sound of a footstep.

“Would you like to join us?” Harlock invited, holding up the decanter.

Yama’s eyebrows rose, but he smiled slightly even as he shook his head. “No thank you, I . . . am not quite so foolish as to drink with the two of you.” he said lightly as Harlock refilled his own glass.

Harlock didn’t look around at her, but he could feel Miime’s curious, perhaps disapproving regard. “Sure?” he asked, putting the decanter down and holding out a hand to Yama.

He approached, letting Harlock take his hand and tug him even closer, but shook his head again even as he rubbed his thumb lightly over the side of Harlock’s hand. “No. I’ll leave you to it.” He glanced at Miime, giving a shallow bow, and Harlock laughed softly at him before he turned back, clasping Harlock’s hand more tightly. He leaned in to brush a quick kiss to Harlock’s cheek. “Good night, Captain.”

Then he straightened, fingers slipping from Harlock’s grip, and was gone before he could try to return the kiss, heading out into the corridor and leaving a faint smile playing around Harlock’s lips.

“Why do you risk this?” Miime asked a few moments later, calling his attention back to herself. Harlock shrugged, idly tipping his glass, watching the ruby liquid swirl. “You know who he is, what brought him here. He will betray you to his brother.”

“Perhaps.” Harlock said softly as Miime tapped a finger soundlessly on the rim of her glass.

“You know why he is here.” Miime said firmly, her luminous eyes fixed on his face.

“I do.” Harlock admitted, though his mind ticked back to Yama warm and lithe in his arms, by turns hesitant and shy or direct and passionate. “Perhaps he will and perhaps he won’t. It is his choice.”

“One you are allowing him to make.” Miime said evenly.

Harlock shrugged, swirling the red brandy in his glass once more, then draining half of it. “Choices belong to those who make them.” he said simply. “Yama must choose for himself.”

“You are surrendering yourself to his choice as well.” Miime took up the decanter to top up their glasses herself this time, the thick crystal looking strange in her delicate grasp. “And us all.” she added, meeting his gaze once more.

“It is his choice.” Harlock repeated, shaking his head, then looked at Miime again. “Are you. . .” he trailed off.

Miime shrugged fluidly and sipped at her brandy. “I am bound to the ship. We answer the Captain’s will. This is your choice, Harlock.” she said, philosophical and softly lyrical.

Harlock nodded his appreciation, and they spoke no more about the possible traitor in their midst - in his bed. Though tonight, without a direct invitation, Yama would have retired to his own bunk and would not be found in Harlock’s, he knew.

Harlock sighed, rubbing his thumb over the side of his glass, cradling it between his hands. He had his hopes, when it came to Yama - and he hadn’t exactly intended to bed the man, not initially - but he truly didn’t know how things would fall, could not even guess. In a way that was one of the exciting, pleasing things about Yama’s presence.

In another way. . .

Harlock sipped his brandy and quietly hoped, though he was not entirely sure what he wished would come to pass.