| [Apr. 20th, 2009|11:17 pm] |
Black and crimson spun like a pinwheel in the wind, distracting, dizzying. Ryouma wrapped his hand in the loose mask bunched at Kakashi's throat and refused to let himself fall in.
"I wouldn't've died. You didn't. You fought like a geriatric one-handed cripple, but that was the double dose. He didn't want to kill us--just make us easy to play with. And I could've done that and still killed him." Or given it a damn good try. You didn't need to be completely steady on your feet to kill a man with the Nikutai Tokasu, anyway; he'd done it concussed before, done it fainting with fever and bloodloss. You just had to get close enough to touch...
Blood was beginning to bloom on Kakashi's lip, dark as the iris of his spinning eye. Ryouma reached up and wiped the spilling trickle away.
"You don't have to love me," he said. "You don't even have to give a damn. But you can stop treating me like I can't see it when you do." |
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