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this is violence.

he tells himself the first time they break up that he’ll never get back with her again. it’s a lie he cycles several times when they repeat this sequence over and over again. they get bored with tastes and music and habits, but never this. never the insistent repetition of fighting and loving and the hopeless cargo of time in between.

this is violence.

his palms dig into his eyes, his nostrils flaring. he can still smell the sickness on his skin. how it felt to be dying. (rotting is the right word.) rin’s fingers wrap around the hinge of his wrist to turn it out. she slides her hand in, and he holds on. he thinks he’ll tell her later, but he never does. it’s not something you can explain. 

this is violence, the real kind. active and present, staring up at him with dead-dark eyes, hair shifting with the angle she raises her face at. she catches him with her legs around his waist, palms flat on the table behind her as she leans back to look at him. in this light she looks like his father: all that ego and all that pride. 

he thinks he saw hope in her once, but now that feels like delusion. it’s not her fault, however. there really isn’t much hope for anyone in their position.

keisuke sets down the device in his hand and looks at her. his fingers skim her face as he toys with her hair, grip slackening to tug on the ends slightly. there’s some tenderness there as his touch steadies against her cheek. (it’s barely there, but so is he.) his gaze briefly drops to her lips, but he knows rin’s methods well enough to understand that the original intentions aren’t always the right ones. inquisition burns bright in her stare. it almost looks like she wants to fight.

that’s how this usually starts though. 

(the flare of anger, the way their voices elevate and her fingers grip his shirt. how they’re imbued with passion and rage. there should be a limit to how far they can take this, but they exceed their own expectations each time.)

“i’ve got work to do,” he begins, head tilting to match her stare. the words come out rougher than intended, almost dismissive. keisuke clears his throat. “what is it?” 

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