fight the good fight

when it comes to places to sit rokurou is convinced beneath a tree is the best. it reminds him of childhood, a cherry blossomed youth where pink petals were stained with blood and maybe he shouldn’t think of things like that fondly, but he does. he’s learned how to. the leaves fall and it’s always nice watching them. nature is nothing if not consistent. sure of itself. just as colors fade to winter they’re return. 

in a way rokurou’s never felt more connected to nature than he has since becoming a daemon. the inhuman twisting of the being overtaken by all the bad things inside of him somehow culminating into an inner strength. a security. just like a tree could no sooner turn itself into a fish he could no sooner stop being a daemon. there was comfort in that. it’s almost funny, the trail of thought the chosen draws onto when his words cut through the afternoon air. rokurou watches the lazy spin of a leaf as it curls through the air. 

he listens. tastes the malevolence in the back of his throat ( always wondering, somewhere in the back of his mind, if he’s encouraging the bile ). zelos’ bears his anger in a way that sounds more like shame and it’s not something foreign. a laugh tugs from his chest and rokurou closes his eyes. wasn’t that him, once upon a time? so bitter, so angry. drowning in the long shadow cast over him. never enough — how the obsession of the self and shigure warped him into what he was, but in the agony of it all clarity was found. 

rokurou was happier now than he’d ever been as a human. maybe that was just part of being a daemon. cut away all the things that made life complicated. singular goals were easy to fixate on. “i wasn’t always like this, you know.” his finger taps against the hilt of stormhowl. “pretty sure the only person i hated more than shigure was myself.” has he ever even mentioned him beore? he can’t recall. his brother was a past relic. a stepping stone. a conquered obstacle. rokurou might owe him a little more credit than he gives.

“but that’s how it goes, isn’t it? when you’re always stuck comparing yourself. building yourself out of all your failures because it’s the only thing that really feels like it’s yours. back when i was a human it was all questions. why, why, why. why aren’t i strong enough, why can’t i do this, blah blah. man, i dunno how i didn’t get sick of it sooner. but as a daemon? it’s all decisions. i will be strong enough, i will do this. don’t know why it’s so much easier, but it just is.” he knows he’s not really helping, just explaining, but it isn’t like he knows how to help something like this. 

a moment of pause, rokurou completely taken back by the sudden wet slap to his face, fish scales imprinted along the side not marred by daemonblight. and then, laughter, as sharp and loud as everything else about him. 

high fiiiiive

“But you say that about every single thing I ever say.”

“What part of no touchy don’t you get?”

loud screech

no touchy

It sure is, but he held his tongue. The last time they dared go near the subject did not end up terribly well. The two of them are from completely different worlds after all. At the mention of the guards he merely sighed. Nothing he could do about that now. He’d just say some… group or whatever tried to take him out. Useless those assassins may be but they make a good excuse.

“I do actually. Hence the guards.” He doesn’t walk around the city with a platoon. That would be stupid. Unless you count his adoring fans as a platoon and with the way some of them act, you could really make a good case about it. But hey, maybe this will work out just fine? “But now that you’re here, you can help your friend out, yeah?”

he opens his mouth, then closes it and simply nods because alright, that checks out. guards protected things for a reason and he’s caught zelos off on his own more than once. the daemon tilts his head, but it doesn’t look like he’s really considering much. 

Doesn’t know remorse sounds just about right in this case. Yes, he remembers very well that no apology has ever been given for anything the daemon does. Ever. But perhaps, that is not an entirely bad thing.

“Well it’s not like I wanted to hire them and be watched 24/7.” This could all be solved if all the assassins they sent weren’t shit at their jobs. Or, you know, if people could stop trying to kill him. That’s an option too. “Sheesh, if you wanted to hang out with me that bad you could’ve just said so.”

“sounds like a real drag if you ask me.” being watched around the clock? having people fight your fights FOR you? yeah, no thanks. 

Ah, so he noticed. The older of the two was watching him for a bit, not surprised that he was training. “Don’t let me stop you.” He was clearly avoiding the question as his arms were crossed as he seemed to look down at him, simply because he was standing and Rokuro wasn’t.

He wasn’t trying to mock him as he squats down to his eye level. “If you’re going to continue, don’t be an idiot.” He was motioning to his hands, which was odd for him to be giving advice but he could act like an older brother… at times.

it felt like a jab, whether or not it was intended to. rokurou almost protested, he didn’t stop because shigure was there, but that’d mean admitting to his own weakness. so instead he simmers, bitterly, and glares past the unruly fringe that covers his face. 

He better not be messing up the hair with a fist or he’ll punch him right in that stupid face of his. It takes way too long to make sure his hair is nice and good for some jerk to mess it up like that. …Although some find the messy bed hair attractive… Hm.

“Friends, huh.” Weirdo. If they’re friends they got one strange friendship going on. But that’s okay, he does actually like the idea of having a friend for once. “New guards- God, did you have to knock them out? They’re there for a reason! To keep riffraff like you out! They’re just doin’ their jobs man. I’m sure if you just ask next time they’ll be cool and let you through no problem.” But this is Rokurou he’s talking about. The guy that lives for fighting.

“yeah, absolutely.” when, exactly, the threshold of friendship had been crossed one was left to wonder. maybe less crossed and more ‘zelos was drug across it kicking and screaming’. he laughs, the kind of laugh that comes from someone who doesn’t know remorse. 

maybe he can still slip away before he’s noticed, maybe there’s still a chance- crap

“Not long enough…” There’s a brief grimace, as if being touched by something gross but nevertheless, he attempts to shrug it off. Or maybe he just wanted that arm off him. Hard to say. “I’m… surprised you came to visit me.”

too bad zelos, you’re not getting out of it that easily. futile is an attempted escape from the dreaded iron clad bro hug. long has the arte of headlocks and noogies been passed through his clan and clearly he’s putting it to good use.