okitactless | IC inbox; recolle

[Of course.

Well, when it rains, it pours. Of course he'd forgotten his phone the night he actually needed it, and not in the superfluous "I'm spamming your Line because I found the cutest pair of shoes ever and I need your immediate opinion" kind of way that his quote-unquote emergencies usually consist of. Of course it would be tonight that he'd run afoul of a few shady someones, even though Recolle itself is - was? - a safe, normal city. No one ever wants to be out alone after dark, but it's not like he'd ever felt threatened to be caught in that situation before, either.

So naturally, he runs into trouble tonight.

As Yamato leaves to search the tow, he'll find a stretch of the city as it usually is. Near the apartments, it's quiet in that suburban district way, where school children are sleeping and college students are out partying in the louder areas toward the city center. But there's one place in particular, a little cluster of back alleys, where his well-honed senses might pick up on something more familiar. Tension, as one might find in a particularly difficult match. Not exactly fear, not quite anxiety, but definitely something unpleasant and prickly.

He might also pick up on the sound of heels click-clacking somewhat close by, the sound punctuated in a way that makes it seem like the wearer is running and staying light on their feet.]

[It doesn't make any sense.

Kashuu's only a few hours late. It's not like it's been a day or more, there's no reason to think Kashuu's in danger of any kind. But even as he walks, his steps hurried and his heart pounding, Yamato can't shake off that feeling of loneliness, of abandonment, of--

He can't hear much from where he is, through the rice paper doors shutting him a room he can't leave. He's had a bad feeling in his heart since the moment he watched Kashuu walk out the door, but here he sits, waiting patiently, so patiently for Kashuu (and who?) to return. "Coughed up blood" and "Collapsed" and "The sword's tip broke off" reach his ears along with the sound of bare feet on wooden floors, shadows of people hurrying back and forth outside of his room.

But no one enters. No one comes in to tell him that Kashuu's on his way back, or that he's being tended to, or to tell him anything at all. He sits, and waits, and waits, but nobody comes.

And neither does Kashuu.

The scene shifts seamlessly, but a lot of time has passed--he can't tell how much, but it feels like eons. He's no longer alone in his room, but all he can see is dark hair, a frail hand. Asleep, he'd like to think, but the figure is so still, so thin...

And he's alone. He can feel it. Nobody ever told him, but eventually, they didn't have to.

--It's the sound of heels that draws him out of the memory, and he stumbles, frightened and confused. This... it wasn't a dream. It was just like Soujirou, in the park, and Yamato's too scared by his own emotions to be able to think it through. He focuses instead on following the sound, guided by the heavy atmosphere and the way his own limbs gradually tense up.

He keeps the sword close to his body, lest any would-be thieves catch sight of the beautiful, shiny sheath. Any person with common sense knows not to wander dark alleys at night, but Yamato approaches without an ounce of hesitation.]

Kiyomitsu? Is that you?

[He should have known it was Yamato. Who else could it have been?

It's strange, this new sensation he's been plagued with. It's strange enough that he doesn't think he'll be able to adjust in the same way he'd adjusted to his eyes or the petals that no longer appear so often. He had felt, from blocks and blocks away, as hands had picked that sword up - felt it as clearly as if someone touched his own arm. He'd felt as the sword was cradled close to a body and he was too focused on the present to really worry about it (he'd thought, but perhaps he had just been comforted by a familiar presence).

He can't "feel" his sword just yet, in the way that he can feel through it, so he can't tell that it's coming closer. But he doesn't need to, because he can sense someone else approaching and he recognizes that voice immediately.

He should have known it was Yamato. They're always together, aren't they?

The sound of the heels clacking pauses just briefly, but when it starts up again, it's heading toward the alley entrance where Yamato is. Kashuu slips from the interior like he's made of something insubstantial, reaching for Yamato's elbow as he goes to pull him closer to the wall.]

Shh.

[A quick sound. Yamato might pick up the faintest scent of blood, but what's probably more striking is the look on his face. It's harsh and full of focus as it catches the scant streetlight; he hasn't worn this kind of sharpness since before he had left for Japan.]

—They'll be heading this way soon.

[It's a good thing they're so in tune with each other, really. If Yamato hadn't sensed that it was Kashuu, there's no telling how he might've reacted, scared and armed. As it is, he jumps violently, whipping his head around--but he moves where Kashuu tells him to all the same.

It's a comfort to see Kashuu whole (and unharmed? God he hopes Kashuu's unharmed), but that expression catches him off-guard, and all his questions die on his tongue. It's been so, so long since he's seen Kashuu like this, so long that even he can't really remember it. In the dojo, maybe? But no, this... this is an intensity that comes from real danger. It's a subtle difference, perhaps, but Yamato sees it all the same, and it stirs a feeling inside him that's not quite buried by tension and fear. Later, when everything has settled down, he'll look back on this and realize it was heartache.

The sound of heavy footsteps draws his attention, and he realizes he's been staring at Kashuu's face for far too long.

They should really get out of here. Justice be damned, he can't bear to feel that loneliness again. He can't. It's all he can do not to drag Kashuu out of here by his ponytail and find some nice, safe tower to lock him up in, far from anything dangerous whatsoever. But even as he thinks it, he's grabbing Kashuu's hand, carefully passing the sword over.

It's been so, so long since he's seen Kashuu look like this. But he hasn't forgotten what it means.]

Here. [It's a whisper, no louder than the rustle of clothing--he makes sure to close Kashuu's fingers around the sword, holding onto both of them for a moment, just a moment.

Questions can come later. Right now, all he cares about is keeping Kashuu safe. And wrist injury or not, this sword belongs to Kashuu, not him. He has no right to use it without permission, even just to wave it around and scare off the pursuers.]

[It's terribly strange, how comfortable and natural it feels to have this strange blade returned to him. It's just Yamato passing over a weapon he'd woken up with, but he feels its sheath pressed into his palms and Yamato's fingers around his hands (and he thinks he can feel a strange trill of tension, too, but he just assumes it comes from the situation itself) and it seems like Yamato's done him a much bigger favor, somehow.

He's close, close enough that all he has to do is lean forward and his lips are right beside Yamato's ear. There is no verbal "thank you". There's just the feeling of gratitude that he conveys simply, gently bumping his cheek against Yamato's.

And then, softly:]

Four of 'em. Watch my back - I've got yours.

[It's not really like kendo practice at all, different in all those subtle ways that actual danger carries. It's not even like sparring, when some of them could take things just a little too far. But it still feels familiar, and his hand raises to the hilt of the blade like he's carried it all his life.

From the mouth of the alley, someone shouts down here! and Kashuu leaps forward like a man possessed, the edge of his blade catching the streetlight and splashing it back against the wall.

He's not aiming to do serious damage, at least. Probably. ...Maybe he should have kept the blade sheathed, but honestly, the sight of someone with an actual katana in the modern day is enough to get the two visible attackers to pause.]

[For a second, just a second, Yamato's heart thuds for a different reason entirely. But the feeling is gone before he knows what to make of it, and then Kashuu is gone, too, and it's begun.

Something comes over Yamato when he's fighting. It always has, even before his small hands had wrapped around his first shinai. He's always gone a little too hard, especially in his real fights--drawing blood when none needed to be shed, breaking bones when bruises would've sufficed. Kashuu draws the sword, jumping forward, and by the time the steel reflects that watery light, that something has taken hold.

(If Kashuu had been harmed, incapable of protecting himself... that might've made for a different scenario. For better or for worse.)

It's been years since they fought in the same space, let alone side-by-side, but Yamato falls back into it as if they'd never stopped, automatically registering Kashuu's position in his mind. A moment's pause is all he needs to get close, and then he's flying out of the shadows himself, landing a clean punch on one of their confused faces. He grabs the man's wrist before he can hit the ground, using his own momentum against him and swinging him right into his companion. Yamato's not quite as fast as he is strong, but between his sudden appearance and the absurdity of a sudden swordfight, the second attacker is too startled and confused to dodge in time--the two of them collide, and they hit the ground hard.

Kashuu said four, though. And the element of surprise is a one-time deal; wherever the other two are, they'll know Kashuu isn't alone.

"Watch my back," he'd said. As if Yamato could possibly do anything else.]

[It's so damn easy to fall back into this rhythm that he might be angry about it in any other situation, honestly. He might be mad that all of the effort he'd put into distancing himself hadn't been enough to erase the past he tries desperately to ignore. He would definitely be infuriated by the lag in his own movements, particularly in his right arm. It's a bitter reminder of exactly why he quit - that he can never be his best again is a poison, and he lets it act as such.

But right now? Right now, it's almost like all of the years of inaction have left him with a little cache of energy that he's throwing whole-heartedly at the attackers. He watches as the first two fall. He hears the crunch of a third set of shoes and his body reacts before he does, and as he swings outward, he--

Remembers - can nearly hear - someone shouting.

The air is crackling with a putrid, negative energy that makes his nose wrinkle in disgust, but he's used to it. He doesn't feel worried at all. Not even as an enemy, a hulking enormous monster of an enemy, stands before him. The people around him - his comrades - continue fighting as well. The sun is setting, washing everything in pretty oranges and purples and a dusky, rosy red.

So you're my opponent? I'll go all out, then!

It's his own voice that he hears, and he can practically feel the air whip past him as he moves, jumping higher than he ever has, darting forward with lethal precision.

He can feel the blade in his hands tear through-- Flesh? Bone? The creature makes no sound as it's sliced in two, vanishing into curls of black smoke.]

[--And Kashuu, in the real world, in this alley in Recolle, only manages to stop himself from plunging his very real sword into the nearest body through luck and timing.

He's not superhumanly fast, but he's always been light on his feet, speed being his forte over strength. Being bumrushed by some wild-eyed (with red eyes, no less - he's sure not looking as human as he could be looking right now) dude with a sword has one of these thugs pulling out a knife, but the other is shocked into being a pretty easy target. Kashuu manages to shift his arm in time to just sort of... cuff him with the tsuba of his blade, instead of actually stabbing the guy. There's enough force behind it to send him crashing down, and he pivots on his heel just in time to catch the swinging knife of the fourth person with the edge of his blade.

Which hurts.

He's done with these surprises, honestly.]

Dammit—!

[Yamato would like to say he knows Kashuu better than he knows himself. He wants to believe that even after years of separation, Kashuu is still the same little boy that looked at him with wide eyes, holding onto his hand just because Yamato wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

The Kashuu that he remembers is still in there. He sees it in little ways all the time, and it hurts, the reminders that things have changed far more than he ever wanted. But never have the similarities been so strong as they are now--never has he looked at Kashuu of today and seen the Kashuu of the past. Not until now.

He knows Kashuu, and he knows how Kashuu fights. Not for a second does he believe Kashuu is really going to cut anybody with that sword, no matter how dangerous their attackers. But for an instant, there's a look in Kashuu's eyes, a fierce momentum in his swing, and Yamato finds himself tensing, holding his breath.

Kashuu has never, ever looked this serious before.

This... well... deadly.]

Kiyo--

[But Kashuu stops, because of course he does. And it's like that look in his eyes was never even there. The only evidence to prove it is the nervous patter of Yamato's heart.

It's fine, though. Everything is fine.]

--behind you.

[He barely gives a warning as he surges forward, taking the opportunity to kick the last man standing in the stomach. (He'd been aiming for the solar plexus, but he'd had to duck under Kashuu's sword, and his balance would have been off. It might've been worth the risk, if not for the two very sharp blades involved here.)

It's not enough to take him down, but it's enough to distract him, and Yamato grabs his hand, twisting his wrist in a perfect imitation of what Soujirou did to him in the park just last week. Unlike Soujirou, though, he twists hard--he isn't going to stop until the knife falls, or he feels bones breaking underneath his hand.

Maybe that ferocity was frighteningly unusual on Kashuu's face, but. He's not Kashuu, is he?]

[Even though the lingering remnants of that corrupt aura and the feel of something as visceral as slicing a creature in two cling onto him, Kashuu still reacts quickly. He hears behind you and immediately moves in tune with Yamato, not even needing to look and check. Moving in step with him is the easiest thing in the world, as if their bodies sync up naturally and all they have to do is let them.

The person with the knife is shouting. The one on the ground is groaning, rolling over and clutching at their jaw.

Kashuu hears a clatter against the pavement and moves automatically to kick the knife far out of the way, where it slides back into the darkness of the alley and vanishes beneath a set of dumpsters.

Then, he steps even with Yamato, reels his arm back, and elbows him hard across the jaw.

Yeah, he's out.]

—Let's get going. Park, though - not back home yet.

[The reason he'd taken so long to return is because he hadn't wanted to lead these thugs anywhere near the residential area, after all. He won't go back until he's sure they're down and out, and no one else is waiting.]

[Blood lust, battle haze, call it what you will, but it's only the sound of Kashuu's voice that breaks him out of it. It's a good thing, too--Kashuu speaks up just as Yamato's decided to stomp on their attacker's foot, just to make sure he won't be borrowing anybody else's knives, either.

But Kashuu takes priority, as he always does. Yamato would rather stick by his side and take the risk than waste another second keeping him around these dangerous fools. So he nods, padding over to the wall to get his bag, then heading right back to grab Kashuu's hand.]

Come on.

[It's not quite a run, but it's a quick pace that he sets, as he leads the way back to the first well-lit street he can find. From there, it's easy to find his way to the park--he might have grown up in a different part of town, but he's lived in this city his entire life.

Even when they're out in the open, though, on streets that still have cars driving past, he doesn't let go of Kashuu's hand. If anything, he presses closer, like he's afraid that the minute they lose contact, Kashuu is going to vanish.]

What happened?

[Now that they're safe, he finally asks, but in truth it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that it's over.]

[Kashuu doesn't let go or try to shake him off at any point as they leave the bodies in the alley behind. In fact, as the grip of tension and anxiety and those lingering memories of battle begin to fade from him, he only holds on more tightly. The feeling of Yamato's palm against his is more of a comfort than the cool metal of the sheath in his other hand, and it keeps him a little more grounded, too.

Likewise, he sticks closer toward the edge of the sidewalk, pressed close and keeping his wary attention poised outward as if he expects an ambush at any second.

Which, y'know. Not an unrealistic concern, seeing as that's what happened the first time.]

—I was caught off-guard.

[KIND OF. He definitely sounds mildly ashamed, so there's certainly some truth to that. Normally, he's pretty good at keeping an eye and ear on his surroundings at all times. It's a habit he had well before joining kendo, and one that persists to this day.

But between everything that's been happening and the toll it's taking on him and the fact that he just wanted to pick something up and get back home had worked together in an awful way, and he ended up picking a way home that he probably would have known to avoid if he'd been paying more attention.]

I dunno who those guys are, but they were looking for people, I think... So I didn't wanna lead 'em back to anyone.

[It's terribly selfish of him, but Yamato's privately relieved. It wasn't a targeted attack, nothing to do with Kashuu personally. It could've been anybody who had the misfortune to wander down that road at the wrong time. The same goes for those thugs, really--they got terribly unlucky that this was whom they'd chosen to target.

He nods, understanding, and squeezes Kashuu's hand lightly.]

Well, we caught them off-guard right back, huh? [He shoots a quick smile in Kashuu's direction as he glances left and right, tugging him quickly across the street while it's clear. There's a little blood on his knuckles, a little sweat keeping his hair stuck to the back of his neck, but the night air is cool, and most of his earlier unease has dissipated, replaced by exhilaration.

When he darted out of the house not half an hour ago, the last thing he'd expected was to find himself fighting side-by-side with his old partner. But now that it's over, he can revel in it--in how easily they fit together, even now. Kashuu wasn't gone that long, but it was long enough for Yamato's style to grow and change. For Kashuu to slide in so effortlessly... it speaks of kinship, but also of raw talent. No one will ever convince him that Kashuu wasn't born to do this.

And maybe that sword was meant to be a secret, but even so... doesn't that mean Kashuu's finally ready to accept that?

If it's not something he can dedicate his life to, that's okay. If this really means that Kashuu's willing to try, that's more than enough for him. Fighting well together was exciting, but not as exciting as the sight of Kashuu fighting at all.

(Not that he wants more midnight ambushes, of course.)

His mood buoyed, he nods to the sword, and this time his smile is a little more sheepish.]

Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop. I went in to see if I'd missed a note or something, and I just happened to see it. [But the way he's looking at Kashuu, the way he's fidgeting like he wants to bounce on his toes, speaks volumes all on its own.] It's really pretty, did you get it custom-made? I bet that kind of thing is easy to do these days, it should make it easier...

[Not that he knows how, exactly, you could customize a sword to suit a serious injury, but still. It's meant to be encouraging.]

[WELL, HE'S NOT WRONG. He's bleeding a little, too, having been nicked once before he took off, but he's definitely not in a bad state. Nowhere near as bad as the guys they left behind, anyway...]

Heh... I guess so, huh? Maybe that'll keep 'em from poking their noses into anyone else's business.

[It would probably be better for them in the end anyway, honestly... Especially with people like Yamato running around?! They were lucky to get away without anything punctured or broken (...badly broken, at least) this time.

He'd actually temporarily forgotten about the sword, though - or rather, what it meant to have it here, instead of back home in the closet. It's just the apology first, to which Kashuu mumbles a simple:]

Mm, it's fine.

[Because he'd be worse off without Yamato right now, and even if he doesn't like this blade and its inconveniences, he probably owes the quick wrap-up of that fight to it, too.

But the more Yamato talks, the more his heart sinks.]

[He knows Yamato very well, after all. He recognizes those tells. He sees the fidgeting, the sudden lift in his mood. He hears the way that he talks, and that gentle push of encouragement.

His smile falters and then fades.]

—No, I didn't. I didn't get anything made, it was-- one of those weird gifts, y'know? Like how people've been waking up with pictures or clothes or whatever inside of packages from Retrospec. I didn't ask for it or anything.

[At the very least, though, he doesn't let go of Yamato's hand. He nearly lets himself be guided, like his focus on the conversation alone is as much as he can do.

These are the sort of things where he needs to be very careful about what he says, and he knows it, but he's got a creeping feeling that the damage was already done as soon as Yamato saw the blade. Maybe that's another reason he wanted to keep it tucked away.]

Oh...

[It makes him falter, but it isn't enough to daunt him. Not when his hopes are this high, when he's just seen Kashuu at, in his opinion, his most beautiful.

He wants to believe. He wants it so badly that he's willing to ignore the signs that Kashuu himself is giving off, to ignore common sense and just how well he knows his dearest friend.]

Are you sure it was from Retrospec? Maybe it was a gift from somebody else. Like that omamori. [He never did figure out who that was from, but it still seems too small to be a mysterious delivery from ghost ninjas, or whoever managed to pop into their apartment.] I bet that was for you, after all.

[刀剣御守り、it said. Well, Yamato isn't the one with the 刀剣、is he? It's a sign. It's got to be.]

You handled it like you've had it forever, though. So whoever got it for you must know you really well.

Unless someone else broke into our apartment and just left a sword on my bed, it was definitely those guys. They just gave someone else an old sword too, so...

[So it's not just him, and he'd honestly almost rather it be Retrospec than consider he's got some weirdo scooting in through his window at night to drop weapons on him while he sleeps.]

I'm pretty sure that omamori was for you, anyway. [He says and then promptly doesn't explain... He'd never brought up that other dream, but he doesn't really feel like bringing it up just yet either, considering there's a bigger fish to fry.

Primarily, that he can start feeling the conversation teetering in a dangerous direction and he, not really knowing how else to handle it, only knows to cut it off at the pass.

He doesn't think about how familiar the blade itself is, or how it felt at home in his hand as he fought, or how it was the exact same one he'd been wielding in that brief flash of battle.]

It's just some random thing. They probably just wanted to make my life a liiittle harder, 'cause y'know, things aren't weird enough or anything.

[Kashuu's good at this. Dodging questions he doesn't want to answer, ignoring topics he'd rather not discuss, he's a pro at maneuvering a conversation to the way he wants it to go, and more often than not, Yamato lets him. He lets Kashuu run, lets him keep his blinders on and pretend like refusing to talk about the past will eventually lead to its total eradication. He does it because he has far more to lose than Kashuu does--primarily, Kashuu. The fear of seeing Kashuu turn his back, watching him storm out the door with no idea when (or if) he's going to come back, it's still too much for him to bear. So he pushes buttons and he crosses lines, but usually, he's the one that relents first. The one that extends the olive branch whenever he senses the slightest risk of losing Kashuu again.

Maybe Kashuu realizes how lenient he's been, all things considered. Maybe he doesn't. Either way, the truth remains--when Yamato is really, truly intent on something, there's nothing in the world that can deter him. Kashuu might be good at dodging, but Yamato's better. He doesn't give chase, so much as he barrels through, destroying any hope of word games and subtlety.]

Well it's sharp, so they obviously meant for you to use it somehow. [He uses a bokuto over a shinai, but Yamato knows surprisingly little about how to handle a real sword. Still, he doubts anybody would go so far as to sharpen a blade that's only meant for decoration. And seeing how easily Kashuu was able to wield it has only confirmed that.] And it's lighter than the bokuto you used to have, isn't it? So it'll probably be easier on you. If they're gearing up for a war or something, you'll be way ahead of the game.

But there's no rush, you know? [He's quick to add that, just in case Kashuu thinks he's about to turn around and drag him to the dojo right now. He's deliberately ignoring Kashuu's discomfort, but he isn't cruel. Not intentionally, anyway.] We have plenty of space at home, we've just got to shift the furniture a little. I was thinking about doing that anyway, after the blackout.

[Here's the thing (that Yamato already knows, having dealt with Kashuu at his worst before). He's good at dodging questions and weaseling his way out of conversations he doesn't want to have, but when he's backed into a corner? As soon as he feels like he has no elegant escape? He's also absolutely the quickest of the two of them to bare his teeth.

All of the little tells are there. The way his shoulders tense. The way his body language starts to close off, the way he turns just a little to the side. His grip on Yamato's hand loosening, like he's already looking for the first chance to walk away. Yamato's paranoia about him turning and leaving again isn't baseless, after all; between fight and flight, Kashuu settles with some bizarre mixture of both.

When he speaks again, there's the hard edge to his tone that's usually present when he's toeing the line of self-restraint, but only just.]

I'm not planning on using it again.

[That's plain and simple enough to understand, isn't it? He glances down briefly at his hand where the sheathed blade rests, and he doesn't think about what he's looking at.]

It doesn't matter how heavy or light or sharp it is, or why they gave it to me. I don't care how much time or space we have, either. This thing was in the closet for a reason, you know?

[There's something about hearing things you don't like that just hurts. No matter how obvious it is that it's coming, it always, always hurts.

Kashuu has never been that difficult to read, for him. The indications are subtle if you don't know him well, but Yamato does, and he's sensed the way Kashuu is trying to steer this conversation just like Kashuu's done for him. The way he's trying to pull away is especially noticeable, and for a minute, he hesitates. It's so tempting to cling, to back down and let Kashuu out of this yet again. If he keeps going, Kashuu is definitely going to walk away, and after the vision he'd had earlier and the situation he'd stumbled across, that thought has him tensing with fear.

But no matter what Kashuu says, he knows what he saw. Kashuu is no weaker than he was years ago, still moving with the same fluidity and strength that he's always had. And when he looks at that blade in Kashuu's hand, the way it so clearly belongs right where it is, he can't do it. He can't just stop and let it go. Not again.

Perhaps surprisingly, he's the one who lets go of Kashuu's hand first. His steps slow to a stop, and he's silent for so long that it's probably eery. But when he does finally speak up, his tone carries the same hurt reflected in his eyes.]

So that's it? After all of that, you're just going to run away again?

[Yamato may slow to a stop, but Kashuu stops moving as soon as his hand is dropped, pulling it back to himself in a reflexive gesture that's almost defensive. His tells aren't always subtle; it'd be obvious to anyone in that second that he's hunkering down behind his walls, even if his posture shifts and drops into something more natural in the next moment.

It'll still likely be obvious to Yamato, though, that it's a forced sort of nonchalance.

There's something like hurt that reflects back in his own expression too, but that comes and goes quickly, as it often does. When escape isn't an option, anger is his fallback, even if he always regrets that when his temper cools.]

How many times do I have to say it? I don't care about kendo anymore. Yeah, they gave me a sword. So what? D'you want me to look at it and say, "oh, good, it's a sign! Time to ditch everything and go right back to how things were years ago"? Get real. There are tons of more important things that need my time and attention. [A little huff of air follows, like a half-formed laugh or an arrogant snort that falls a little flat. His expression is sharp, though; his eyes are piercing, bright red and angry as his jaw sets at a stubborn, haughty angle.]

I don't need to hang on to old, useless stuff. If that's your definition of running away, it's not my problem.

No.

[It's rare, for Yamato to get truly angry. Even if his feelings begin to turn that way, his hurt ultimately turns to sorrow, not fury. Maybe it's surprising, to the people who've only seen him at his most wild, but it's the way he's always been. Anger simply doesn't serve him--it doesn't solve his problems, just wastes his energy.

But now, his hands are curling into fists. His eyes are dark, an ocean storm brewing under the cover of midnight, in contrast to Kashuu's. Before, he'd thought they'd looked pretty, like rubies or that polish that he keeps at the forefront of his collection. Now, all he can see in them is blades and blood.]

No. No more. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you lie, Kiyomitsu. I'm tired of it. Just because I get why you do it, it doesn't mean I'm okay with it, alright? Haven't I always supported you with all this new stuff you're into? And you just keep pretending like all those years didn't mean anything because you're too scared to admit that you're sad!

[It's typical Yamato--putting everything in the simplest of terms, because it's all he knows. He never did learn how to speak fluidly, especially when the dam breaks and words pour out of him without stopping to pass through his head. Screw respecting boundaries, screw vague implications. Kashuu might turn and leave mid-sentence, but Yamato has no problem shouting after him if he does. He might be shouting anyway. He's too angry to notice.]

You keep forgetting that you're the one that came back, Kiyomitsu. You found me, remember? But then you came back and you asked me to go to school with you again, and I said yes because I care about you, but-- Kiyomitsu, you've always known that this is important to me, too. You know that never changed, but you think I can just see you fight and see that you're still just as incredible as you used to be, and then act like it never happened? Like it doesn't matter? [Viciously, he shakes his head.] I can't. Do you even understand what you're asking me to do? I just can't.

[At first, he almost doesn't know how to react. He's seen Yamato angry before, even if it's rare in general and even rarer for it to be directed at him. He knows that it isn't quite as simple as all that, too. Part of him understands where this is coming from, that it's Yamato's big heart that makes him hang on to these things, and that he doesn't mean - usually, anyway - the damage that his unfettered words can cause.

It's a little like being lost, then, with a hand to hold for only so long. Yamato is honest. He speaks the truth, however blunt and unpalatable it is. Nothing he says is untrue, even if some are severely watered down and simplified. He's not sure what stings the most; that look on his face, or the way his pointed words dig under his skin and sit there, raw and bitter.

Maybe it's a little surprising that he doesn't turn to leave mid-sentence. He struggles to keep his expression contained, shades of upset and anxiety and anger weaving through just below the surface until he can hone in on the only feeling of the bunch that he can weaponize.

In the silence of the street, with only the occasional car passing by, his heels echo loudly as he makes his way one solid, pointed step at a time until he's close enough to Yamato to reach out and touch him. He doesn't.]

Do you wanna know why I came back to this stupid city, Yasusada? It wasn't for kendo. It wasn't for the memories, it wasn't for any of our classmates or instructors, and it deeefinitely wasn't for you. It was because I had to so that I could take the next step in my actual career. [His lip pulls back just a little into an unpleasant sneer.] You wanna quit school and go back to practice twenty-four seven? Fine! It's not like I need you around to do what I came here for. You can do what you want, just like I'm going to do what I want. And if that's not good enough for you, if you still wanna talk about how much better things used to be or whine about the stuff you can't let go of? Go cry about it to someone who cares.

[He can practically feel the regret as soon as he finishes spitting the last of that out, but he doesn't pause. He just moves to neatly step around Yamato, as if he intends to simply keep walking and leave, which he will if he's not stopped.]

[There's a strange sound in his ears. The electric hum of the streetlights, or maybe the blood rushing through his ears. Maybe it's just what happens when your body gets taken over--not by the urge to strike in a magnificently deadly way, but simply by overwhelming numbness.

It hurts. Of course it hurts.

This is the part where he's supposed to stop Kashuu, he realizes. Where he's supposed to reach out, to grab his hand, to apologize and beg for him to come back home. He's been worried sick for hours, and those worries proved completely correct, and now he has to watch Kashuu leave again? With no way of knowing where he's going, when he'll be back, if he'll run into trouble? Again?

It's almost too much.

His hand shoots out as Kashuu brushes by, but it's Kashuu's elbow that he grabs, not his wrist. His nail polish has chipped over the course of the week (only natural, since he'd never intended to keep it on this long), but it still gleams as he yanks Kashuu back and holds out his other hand.]

Hand it over.

[It's almost too much. But even though it makes him sick just to think about, this hurts more. And right now, with the memory of Kashuu's fluid movements still so fresh in his mind, it's hurt that wins out. So he holds Kashuus's arm with one hand, and keeps the other extended as he nods towards the sword.]

If you really think it's so stupid and meaningless, then you don't deserve it. So give it to me.

[There's a part of him that wants to just throw the stupid sword at Yamato's stupid face, honestly, because that hurts (which, he supposes, is only fair). He hadn't consciously set it up that way, but he really had been showing all the signs that he'd intended for - or maybe even expected - Yamato to take the cue and patch things up.

It's not really fair of him to expect something like that. He knows it, somewhere, but he's too angry right now to really care about that. He focuses instead on the fact that Yamato isn't refuting his quiet fears that the current him is just not good enough, but feeding it by asking not for his return, but for the return of the sword. He knows it isn't true - surely not, right? - but it pokes and prods at old bruises, little wounds that say you're not really much without that sword. If anything, that just makes him want to spitefully hold onto it.

...And perhaps more importantly, even though Yamato's hands against it had been a comfort earlier, he doesn't particularly feel like dealing with that right now on top of everything else.]

You don't get to tell me what to do. [Followed by a quick jerk of his arm, intending to break away from his grip.] Don't touch me.

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okitactless - 2017-04-07 17:25 (UTC) - Expand

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sharplydressed - 2017-04-07 21:35 (UTC) - Expand

IC inbox; recolle

NEITHER AM I (thats a lie)

a lying demon

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accurate keywords tbh

help them and help us

mostly help us tbh, us the innocent victims

honestly though

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