| [Jul. 5th, 2008|05:16 pm] |
"I got experience with kids," Ryouma said confidently. "My teammates are babies--" He stopped, even before Hitomi hit him. "Were," he corrected himself, quietly.
Kenichi wasn't anything, anymore. And whatever Shouri was, wherever she was, she wasn't a child.
Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much if they'd been his age, instead of two years younger. If they hadn't been so much smaller and so much weaker. If he hadn't been supposed to protect them.
He'd failed with both of them, in different ways, but he wouldn't do it again. "You can count on me, Namikaze-san," he promised, taking the Yellow Flash's hand in a firm grip. If the man noticed the faint smell of rot that still clung to Ryouma's hands, he didn't mention it, firmly cementing his place as Ryouma's hero and god.
For that, he could even be forgiven flirting with Hitomi-sensei. |
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