| [Nov. 20th, 2011|11:43 pm] |
She was solid enough--and hit hard enough--to rock him on his feet; Ryouma flattened his hand to steady himself against the wall of the elevator, even as his other arm rose instinctively to her shoulders. And stopped.
He’d never lied to her, but he hadn’t been honest, either. He’d used her, and it was small consolation if she’d used him, too; at least she’d been open about what she needed from him. Kakashi said he didn’t care, and maybe Katsuko didn’t, either, but Ryouma had had a long time to brood over guilt.
Maybe this was what it felt like to be Kakashi.
He lifted his hand at last, curling lightly over the sharp line of her shoulder. This close he could feel the strength of her chakra, even without opening up his to sense it; it was like standing blindfolded near a bonfire. He half-expected his skin to sizzle in the heat.
She’d been warm in bed, enthusiastic, fierce at first and then unexpectedly sweet. He tried not to think of that. Tried not to think of her voice lonely in the dark, the way it cracked and steadied as she told her story, either.
“Sorry,” he said, quietly. It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was all he had. |
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