#swordsank

     He hasn’t had the proper chance to speak with his brother, and yet here they are, assigned to the same task together. There’s no doubt that he feels awkward, but maybe -- he should try breaking the silence? What should he say, though? Since they’re on kitchen duty...?

          “GOOD MORNING.”

     Most of the swords in her citadel being early risers, Tsubaki has adjusted her own sleep schedule over time to accommodate them; though she’s still adjusting to rising so early, she offers him a tentative smile nevertheless, even going so far as to hold up an empty cup in offering.

     Izuminokami sees it happen before he can react, and before he can begin      to push himself onto his feet, the tray goes spiraling towards the floor, and      its contents scatter.

     He’s tries his best to move on from recent events,  and Horikawa, too, has      put forth an effort astonishing even  for him in attempt to make amends for      his reckless actions. The wakizashi never seems to accept his assurances      of forgiveness,  and though the tachi resigned himself to a long process of      healing and re-establishing the trusting relationship they once shared... he      knows that words alone will never be enough.

     He doesn’t  speak  for a  short while,  though  that  isn’t  to say  he doesn’t      listen intently  to Horikawa’s rambling,  as scattered and  incoherent as the      thoughts  he  voices  tend  to  be.   Izumi  is  almost  meticulous,   carefully      scooping up spilled food in his hands,  depositing it back on the tray by the      handful  ( though he  wipes his hands  off upon  his clothing as  if without a      second thought)—and then moves closer to Horikawa, on his knees,  in an      attempt to stop him from fleeing  the room before Izuminokami himself can      voice his own mind.

          “Kunihiro.”  He’s  certain to  assert himself,  meeting  the other  sword’s      eyes,  tightening his grip on the elder’s shoulders.  “I thought I already told      you this, but if I have to repeat myself, then I will.”

     He holds  off for a moment,  gaze drifting,  and in  the span of  a moment,       his  voice calms,  gentle as the  hands that  carefully wipe  away the food      splattered across Horikawa’s jacket.

         “Stop apologizing. What happened has happened, and the future is our      concern now.  I meant  it when  I said that I  forgave you,  as did everyone      else.You made a mistake,  and we all expect you to learn from it...  but we      don’t judge  you for  it.”  Could he,  when  Izuminokami  himself  came  so      close, felt his own resolve waver in the span of a moment, at the bat of an      eye?  Is that even why  he feels guilty at all?  Though he  hides it well,  he       feels the surge of emotion in himself.