[When he was talking to Diluc, the young master of the Kaedehara clan had been confident with himself that he could cut Scaramouche from his life cleanly, if he needed. He still tries to think he could, but he's realized that he's been untruthful with himself. It could be done, but it would wound his already scarred heart. He's bled so much in his short like— how much more?
Kazuha gives up the pretense of dancing. Their feet still on the edge of the dancefloor, his arms curled around the other Inazuman's chest as he traps him against him, his hands held in his hands. Stumbled words that make his heart ache and shudder with relief at the same time. It doesn't change the turmoil he felt, that Scaramouche tried to reject him and yet he feels lighter.
It's not him. He's not bored of him.
Letting out a heavy sigh, the samurai turns his head and presses his cheek against the back of the doll's shoulder, the weight of his head heavy against him.]
If limited time is a tenet against action, then why would humans do anything at all? We live short lives... Every moment is precious. Even if we forget, we'd not so easily be pried apart. Fate made us meet. I'm sure of it.
[He has faith.
Scaramouche smells good, he notices. He's noticed he smells good before, but it's not often the other allows him to be this close to him. This is a stolen moment, one he's taken for himself.
He knows it's only temporary.]
Would you like to dance with me somewhere more private?
no subject
[When he was talking to Diluc, the young master of the Kaedehara clan had been confident with himself that he could cut Scaramouche from his life cleanly, if he needed. He still tries to think he could, but he's realized that he's been untruthful with himself. It could be done, but it would wound his already scarred heart. He's bled so much in his short like— how much more?
Kazuha gives up the pretense of dancing. Their feet still on the edge of the dancefloor, his arms curled around the other Inazuman's chest as he traps him against him, his hands held in his hands. Stumbled words that make his heart ache and shudder with relief at the same time. It doesn't change the turmoil he felt, that Scaramouche tried to reject him and yet he feels lighter.
It's not him. He's not bored of him.
Letting out a heavy sigh, the samurai turns his head and presses his cheek against the back of the doll's shoulder, the weight of his head heavy against him.]
If limited time is a tenet against action, then why would humans do anything at all? We live short lives... Every moment is precious. Even if we forget, we'd not so easily be pried apart. Fate made us meet. I'm sure of it.
[He has faith.
Scaramouche smells good, he notices. He's noticed he smells good before, but it's not often the other allows him to be this close to him. This is a stolen moment, one he's taken for himself.
He knows it's only temporary.]
Would you like to dance with me somewhere more private?