He was looming. Tsume dug shaking heels into the ground, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

She could feel Kuromaru's regard, intent and steady, waiting for some sort of signal to either attack or back off. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension out, trying to cast off the tickle of fear. She'd spent years spinning half-truths and fog around her history, though Ryouma never seemed to believe them as easily as others did. "What was up with what? Crotchticks in a wet zone, pup, you like getting laid on when you think your mission partner's sleeping?" If her voice was a little too fast, a little too sharp, it covered the tremor.

Though it hadn't worked before, she leveled a glare at where she thought his face was, letting ire seep through into her chakra. Memory and nightmare shifted and swirled, and she grew more, rather than less, tense. He was too close. He asked too many questions. She needed him to back off.