[Week 20 | Day 1] (Dream) The Strength To Let Go
At first, like so many of his dreams, his memories Raikou finds himself simply standing there, dark eyes somber, impassive, as he watches the blood drip from the tip of his gamon, further staining the dirty snow with crimson blooms.
And there is a moment, when his gaze shifts, pink strands sliding across a younger face, the expression there almost curious, as if debating the value of even questioning the why of it that had this kid from the surface world attempting something his hands hadn’t the ability to complete.
And one look into broken verdant eyes and Raikou knew that those were the hands of someone with too gentle a heart to so easily carry out murder.
Yet there he was, this boy kneeling in the snow, prepared to die to see his vengeance realized, now beaten bloody for the effort - yet calmly staring up at him with a quiet acceptance in eyes too old for his years.
A flick of the blade slung the remaining blood down across the lifeless form and still not a flinch.
To this day, Raikou’s not quite sure what prompted him to reach out his hand… but reach he does.
And it’s something like a click, an acceptance, in that first slide of skin against skin, when his hand is taken.
Not a word is spoken as he lifts the young man to his feet, not even when Raikou slides his gamon home and reaches out to straighten the jacket on too-thin shoulders before he takes the scarf from around his own neck, loops it wordlessly around the boys.
Not even when he pulls the fine leather gloves out of his pocket and offers them to a boy that tries to refuse at the sight of something so expensive. He simply arched a brow and lifted his chin before the boy takes them with a reluctant air.
They walk in companionable silence down the back alleys, stopped just long enough to pick up several orders of sushi and soup from a young blonde woman with glasses, who gives the younger samurai a curious look that is completely and utterly ignored, before continuing on to one of the more prominent building in the area.
He doesn’t offer a word of explanation as he leads the kid up to the penthouse suites - though he does chuckle softly at the painfully obvious look of discomfort on the boy’s face in such opulent surroundings.
There’s a moment, when jackets and scarves and gloves are removed, revealing two young men in similar uniforms - even if one is a middle school one and the other a high school one before they step into slippers and head into the apartment proper.
The gleaming white blade is set reverently on a stand in the living room before the boy is lead to the kitchen, pressed gently into a chair at the table as the food is left on the counter. A medical kit is pulled from beneath the sink - too large to be the usual home first aid kit, thanks to Kazuho, and set on the table beside the boy.
And then a hand offered once again as the older teen finally offers a small, crooked smile. “Shimizu Raikou, and you are?”
No hesitance, again so fearless in the face of a killer, as the smaller hand accepts his once more. “M-meguro Gau.”
“Well, Gau, off with the shirt, so we can get you patched up, hm?”
The flush at his words was really rather amusing as the samurai simply cants his head to the side and waits, but after only a moment’s fumbling, the younger quickly complies. Sure touches - light and professional - clean every scrape and every wound, stitch with a steady hand a particularly bad gash that’d been hidden beneath layers of clothes on the boy’s shoulder blade.
The gauze needed to cover the stitches, however, wasn’t in the case, so the pink-haired teen left the boy sitting there, small and alone, to get more from the bathroom…
Yet when Raikou returns and looks to the boy, the hair was still curly but longer, the shoulders wider, held back with a firmer sense of confidence, the frame taller, and the not-so-young anymore man not alone.
She is with him, smiling her gentle, enigmatic smile as she places a hand lightly on one of those beloved shoulders. And then those verdant eyes glance back over a shoulder, meet your own with that same enviable calm acceptance.
Yet his smile is blinding. Warms the heart and settles the soul in a way no one else can for the samurai.
And then a blink. Just a blink, and the kitchen is empty.
Leaving the realization that your turn to guard and guide is over…
[Russet eyes blink over slowly as Raikou takes a slow, deep breath. He doesn’t need to look to know - Gau’s presence is gone from his side. A beat before he’s looking anyways, his gaze thoughtful, blond hair splayed messily around his face, the clash of emotions - love, worry, loss, acceptance, patience - bare before the Hitomi as he reaches up a hand, rests the back on the teen’s pillow beside him, his partner’s name a barely there whisper on his lips before the feed cuts off.]
And there is a moment, when his gaze shifts, pink strands sliding across a younger face, the expression there almost curious, as if debating the value of even questioning the why of it that had this kid from the surface world attempting something his hands hadn’t the ability to complete.
And one look into broken verdant eyes and Raikou knew that those were the hands of someone with too gentle a heart to so easily carry out murder.
Yet there he was, this boy kneeling in the snow, prepared to die to see his vengeance realized, now beaten bloody for the effort - yet calmly staring up at him with a quiet acceptance in eyes too old for his years.
A flick of the blade slung the remaining blood down across the lifeless form and still not a flinch.
To this day, Raikou’s not quite sure what prompted him to reach out his hand… but reach he does.
And it’s something like a click, an acceptance, in that first slide of skin against skin, when his hand is taken.
Not a word is spoken as he lifts the young man to his feet, not even when Raikou slides his gamon home and reaches out to straighten the jacket on too-thin shoulders before he takes the scarf from around his own neck, loops it wordlessly around the boys.
Not even when he pulls the fine leather gloves out of his pocket and offers them to a boy that tries to refuse at the sight of something so expensive. He simply arched a brow and lifted his chin before the boy takes them with a reluctant air.
They walk in companionable silence down the back alleys, stopped just long enough to pick up several orders of sushi and soup from a young blonde woman with glasses, who gives the younger samurai a curious look that is completely and utterly ignored, before continuing on to one of the more prominent building in the area.
He doesn’t offer a word of explanation as he leads the kid up to the penthouse suites - though he does chuckle softly at the painfully obvious look of discomfort on the boy’s face in such opulent surroundings.
There’s a moment, when jackets and scarves and gloves are removed, revealing two young men in similar uniforms - even if one is a middle school one and the other a high school one before they step into slippers and head into the apartment proper.
The gleaming white blade is set reverently on a stand in the living room before the boy is lead to the kitchen, pressed gently into a chair at the table as the food is left on the counter. A medical kit is pulled from beneath the sink - too large to be the usual home first aid kit, thanks to Kazuho, and set on the table beside the boy.
And then a hand offered once again as the older teen finally offers a small, crooked smile. “Shimizu Raikou, and you are?”
No hesitance, again so fearless in the face of a killer, as the smaller hand accepts his once more. “M-meguro Gau.”
“Well, Gau, off with the shirt, so we can get you patched up, hm?”
The flush at his words was really rather amusing as the samurai simply cants his head to the side and waits, but after only a moment’s fumbling, the younger quickly complies. Sure touches - light and professional - clean every scrape and every wound, stitch with a steady hand a particularly bad gash that’d been hidden beneath layers of clothes on the boy’s shoulder blade.
The gauze needed to cover the stitches, however, wasn’t in the case, so the pink-haired teen left the boy sitting there, small and alone, to get more from the bathroom…
Yet when Raikou returns and looks to the boy, the hair was still curly but longer, the shoulders wider, held back with a firmer sense of confidence, the frame taller, and the not-so-young anymore man not alone.
She is with him, smiling her gentle, enigmatic smile as she places a hand lightly on one of those beloved shoulders. And then those verdant eyes glance back over a shoulder, meet your own with that same enviable calm acceptance.
Yet his smile is blinding. Warms the heart and settles the soul in a way no one else can for the samurai.
And then a blink. Just a blink, and the kitchen is empty.
Leaving the realization that your turn to guard and guide is over…
[Russet eyes blink over slowly as Raikou takes a slow, deep breath. He doesn’t need to look to know - Gau’s presence is gone from his side. A beat before he’s looking anyways, his gaze thoughtful, blond hair splayed messily around his face, the clash of emotions - love, worry, loss, acceptance, patience - bare before the Hitomi as he reaches up a hand, rests the back on the teen’s pillow beside him, his partner’s name a barely there whisper on his lips before the feed cuts off.]