The vibes are startled for a second, though, and then there's something like guilt - that's the immediate response, because of course it is. He hates that he can't help Yasusada carry out his stupid, weird duty in any way that matters, that he can't even offer himself up as company or protection while his human body sleeps, and now, he's inadvertently caused Yasusada to lose his chance at getting himself back any time soon.
[Hnghghghh see!!! This is what he'd wanted to avoid... there's guilt on his part, too, but its paired with protectiveness and determination, with an undercurrent of longing to round it out. He, too, wishes he could just have Kashuu by his side, that they could fight together like they're used to--but since they can't, he doesn't regret this decision. He just knew what would happen when he made it.]
I'm not sure I should say exactly... [Not for any reason other than his own superstition, but Kashuu knows how he gets sometimes.] But it should keep you safe for a little while.
[Kashuu does know how he gets sometimes, so he doesn't press it, but. Even though there are distinct feelings of gratitude and warmth, they're still taking a bit of a back seat to the heaviness of that guilt. He knows he doesn't have to say anything; it's the same for pretty much all of them. Feeling useless is quite a weight for a sword.
But after a moment or two, he'll reach out anyway, locking his pinky around Yasusada's. He doesn't say "I wish you hadn't", even though the words are on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't say "thank you", either. He just leans forward, bonking their foreheads together.]
[It's a sticky thing--the uncomfortable part of love, making choices like these. He feels agitated, a little restless--wanting, always, to be able to do this sort of thing better, and all too aware that there wasn't any way he could have.
He grips Kashuu's pinky in return, and closes his eyes, simply leaning into him for a minute.]
I couldn't have used it on myself anyway. [It's a small reassurance, the barest bit of proof that he hadn't completely thrown away his own safety, though that's all he's really got. He could've traded in his tokens and gotten himself back like they'd planned, but... that hadn't helped Buzen, had it? It's an absence he still keenly feels, one he'll be aware of until his sword is back where it belongs, but it wouldn't have been an equal trade of his life for Kashuu's.
(Of course, even if it had been, he would've made the same decision. There was no question about it--not after they'd sat tangled up together, Kashuu's tears drying on his shoulder.)
He doesn't always speak openly; sometimes because it's embarrassing, but mostly because he doesn't have to. But on occasion, it feels better to say exactly what he wants to say, so that he knows Kashuu hears it exactly as he means it.]
I need you here.
[Boundless affection, and its ever-present undercurrent: don't leave me behind again.]
[It doesn't make him feel any better, knowing Yasusada couldn't have used it on himself, because all he's thinking of right now is how much weight and responsibility his mirroring sword carries when he's able to split so very little - practically none - of it with him. They can already do so little here, and it feels like he can do less and less, even if he knows that isn't the case.
But, again... it's not like he doesn't understand what this is. Where it comes from. If their positions were reversed, he would do everything the same, step-for-step. In fact, he'd probably be crueler than Yasusada in many ways, because even between the two of them, he hides more.
That single, simple statement just seals it, slicing through him like a blade, hurting and warming him in equal parts. He closes his eyes, taking a quiet breath in.]
I need you here too, Yasusada. [Soft, so very, very soft.] ...So don't forget our promise.
[Even though he knows they have so little control. Even though he knows that if their promise is broken, it would be of no fault of either of them. Even though he would still forgive Yasusada, though there'd be nothing to forgive, and he'd still hold that little piece of bitterness within him.
The feeling is one of sorrow and love, with the same reflected fear: I don't want to be alone.]
[He doesn't want to let go of Kashuu's hand, but he has to. He has to, because he can't not lift his arms to wrap them around Kashuu and pull him into a tight hug.
They are mirrors in all the worst ways, sometimes, but maybe this one is for the best--in the moments where they are so perfectly in sync that they don't need anything--not magic, not even words--to understand each other.]
He really does hold onto Yasusada sometimes in the same way someone might tightly hold onto themselves, in moments of loneliness or panic or terror. Yasusada is grounding and familiar - someone he knows like the back of his hand. Ever-present, always reliable. Holding him tightly, as if in spite toward the space that ever exists between them, is something that always feels natural.
He doesn't say anything in response. He knows he doesn't have to, in the same way that technically, none of what they've said needed to be said. That intrinsic understanding shines through.
It'll be a cold day in hell when this place tears Yasusada from his hands without him being close behind.]
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There's only one answer to this, though, and it's probably not surprising at all.]
On you. [And since he already knows what the next question will be--] For protection.
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The vibes are startled for a second, though, and then there's something like guilt - that's the immediate response, because of course it is. He hates that he can't help Yasusada carry out his stupid, weird duty in any way that matters, that he can't even offer himself up as company or protection while his human body sleeps, and now, he's inadvertently caused Yasusada to lose his chance at getting himself back any time soon.
He's quiet for a second, at a loss.]
...What'd it do? The gumball.
[He has a feeling he knows, but.]
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I'm not sure I should say exactly... [Not for any reason other than his own superstition, but Kashuu knows how he gets sometimes.] But it should keep you safe for a little while.
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But after a moment or two, he'll reach out anyway, locking his pinky around Yasusada's. He doesn't say "I wish you hadn't", even though the words are on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't say "thank you", either. He just leans forward, bonking their foreheads together.]
Stupid.
[(fond)]
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He grips Kashuu's pinky in return, and closes his eyes, simply leaning into him for a minute.]
I couldn't have used it on myself anyway. [It's a small reassurance, the barest bit of proof that he hadn't completely thrown away his own safety, though that's all he's really got. He could've traded in his tokens and gotten himself back like they'd planned, but... that hadn't helped Buzen, had it? It's an absence he still keenly feels, one he'll be aware of until his sword is back where it belongs, but it wouldn't have been an equal trade of his life for Kashuu's.
(Of course, even if it had been, he would've made the same decision. There was no question about it--not after they'd sat tangled up together, Kashuu's tears drying on his shoulder.)
He doesn't always speak openly; sometimes because it's embarrassing, but mostly because he doesn't have to. But on occasion, it feels better to say exactly what he wants to say, so that he knows Kashuu hears it exactly as he means it.]
I need you here.
[Boundless affection, and its ever-present undercurrent: don't leave me behind again.]
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But, again... it's not like he doesn't understand what this is. Where it comes from. If their positions were reversed, he would do everything the same, step-for-step. In fact, he'd probably be crueler than Yasusada in many ways, because even between the two of them, he hides more.
That single, simple statement just seals it, slicing through him like a blade, hurting and warming him in equal parts. He closes his eyes, taking a quiet breath in.]
I need you here too, Yasusada. [Soft, so very, very soft.] ...So don't forget our promise.
[Even though he knows they have so little control. Even though he knows that if their promise is broken, it would be of no fault of either of them. Even though he would still forgive Yasusada, though there'd be nothing to forgive, and he'd still hold that little piece of bitterness within him.
The feeling is one of sorrow and love, with the same reflected fear: I don't want to be alone.]
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They are mirrors in all the worst ways, sometimes, but maybe this one is for the best--in the moments where they are so perfectly in sync that they don't need anything--not magic, not even words--to understand each other.]
I know. I won't.
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He really does hold onto Yasusada sometimes in the same way someone might tightly hold onto themselves, in moments of loneliness or panic or terror. Yasusada is grounding and familiar - someone he knows like the back of his hand. Ever-present, always reliable. Holding him tightly, as if in spite toward the space that ever exists between them, is something that always feels natural.
He doesn't say anything in response. He knows he doesn't have to, in the same way that technically, none of what they've said needed to be said. That intrinsic understanding shines through.
It'll be a cold day in hell when this place tears Yasusada from his hands without him being close behind.]