#hauntgraps

"My temper?" It comes out heaved, a groan from having worked hard to make sure Homare would have a horrible fucking time in the ring. Of course it was successful but not without consequence. A slap of his hair had been cut off! Now the back of it is uneven. It's not too noticeable at all but of course to Minoura that is a totally different story. He reaches out sweated hands and grabs whatever blouse Samara is wearing and tugs her close. "If I cut a piece of your hair off would you like it? Look!" He turns his head, wet and sweaty, but he smells like shampoo and hint of something powdery. Floral. "Does this look okay to you, huh?" He shakes her, grip tight as he turns back around and keeps her pinned in place. He looks wrecked, worked up he furrows his brows at her like she was the true culprit. Minoura's shirt was torn in half, it hanging there as a pathetic excuse of cloth because it just exposed his skin, still in ring gear as he sucks in a breathe.

It’s only natural for Sho to find Samara backstage after an event goes on. He usually spies her around the ring, camera in hand and he always makes an effort to glance over and wink with his tongue out. But she was nowhere to be seen today when he tried to search through the sea of old men with their frames in hand. Then came after he went to the locker room. By this time she would have shown her face, if not for him then for someone else and he would be more obnoxious just to make sure she glances his way. But after he takes his time with his gear, showering, drying, even shooting the shit with Evil and Ren—nothing. A small tinge, just small enough to jolt him inside his chest, of worry seemed to settle itself there. He knew she was here, somewhere and even if she left early someone would have mentioned it. Nothing.

So something he never does...he searches for her. He peaks into rooms, even asks people he usually does not even talk too and he is pointed into circles. Shit, that feeling in his chest is starting to grow worse by the passing minute. It’s only when he see’s a flash of black long hair is able to pause, maybe actually breathe and he approaches her only to see her tears. Hear her. His stoic face furrows, lips pressing into a tight and thin line.

“Your  fucking  with  me,  aren’t  you?”

It’s  cool  in  the  late  nights  streets  of  Japan,  dipping  low  to  the  forties.  It  has  Chris  biting  the  inside  of  his  cheek  to  gather  any  sort  of  warmth.  He  figures  though,  that  Samara  must  be  colder  then  he  is.  Chucking  off  his  jacket,  he  lays  it  on  top  of  his  shoulders  before  he  rubs  his  arms.  “Why  are  you  going  fully  poetic  on  me  here,  huh?  I  swore  you  did  not  drink  at  all  tonight.  Zack  slide  you  something  I  don’t  know  of?”  He  muses,  smiling  to  himself  as  he  walks.  He  was  on  Walk-Samara-To-The-Hotel  Duty.  Not  like  he  minded  of  course.  She  is  pleasant  company,  nice  on  the  eyes,  and  oddly  enough  someone  Chris  passes  his  mind  on  when  the  days  get  long.

Everything kept being taken from Shota, no matter how fucking hard he worked. No matter what, it would be gone so soon after that it felt like he did nothing at all. Losing the IWGP Global was bad enough after only one defense, to a man who simply did not care for NJPW the way Shota did. Something he could shrug off, just enough, with the G1 around the corner. He was ready to shoot to the top, a new aggression and anger and passion unlocked in him.

And then he got injured.

Slipping through his fingers again, was even the concept of success. His recovery was suspected to be sometime after the next G1 day, which was a week out from when he got hurt. Another 'just barely.' Another 'maybe next time.' Another 'try again next year.' His father and Taichi both seemed to note something was off about Shota, but neither seemed committed to pursuing it when Shota told them he just wanted to be alone and they should focus on work. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen into something of a depressive slump.

Then there was Samara. She was an angel in tough times. Otherworldly. The thought that he had to be resting at home, while she was out there, without him. She wasn't quite 'his' in any exclusive terms. He'd never worked up the nerve to ask her on a date, but spent plenty of time watching her. She cared about him so much, it made his stomach twist. How was he deserving of it? Anytime she looked at him with genuine concern, and not pity, he wanted to cling to her and never let go.

It’s such an odd question to be asked. He would have a plethora of different answers over the years if asked the same thing. There would be a time that he would say he could never understand what it would entail? Love could be gentle? Harsh? Those are things he was barely coming to know. He would maybe soon say that love could be gentle, could be tender and it’s so new. Exciting. Then came the tough parts, that harshness he finally had come to understood. Then love could be nothing at all. An empty word followed by things he doesn’t wish to understand now.

Samara has become an odd exception. She is here almost everyday, in his life, always a constant. Does that count as love? Sho sucks on his tongue, before swallowing hard and shrugging. “Is that what you do? Love me gently? Love can’t survive on that, being gentle. Right?” He turns to her, the streets deafening as he stares at her. He doesn’t have his contacts in, and he’s in a sleeveless shirt that lets the moisture in the air stick and pants that are too baggy. It’s hot out, even at night. “Do you want love that is gentle?” He snorts but he stays quiet, wanting to actually know this part of her.

🫶 What makes you feel most appreciated as an RP partner?

Trope: I hate “bigger man has to be a dom top.” Objectively incorrect. Die

for pac.

Clinking a spoon against his teacup or coffee mug.

Keeping a towel around his neck so he has something to death grip rather than pick at the skin near his nails.

Letting his personal mail pile up unread for a week or two at a time.

Never texting back. You're on read. He'll tell you something face to face if he feels the need to reply.

Never posting anything online and having no social media presence at all.