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[nineteentwelve]

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[oldwarsfinished]

( Shinigami. That was the correct word, then, for this man in front of him, it covered his powers, the extent of his work and it explained why Kiyoaki could see him, when no one else could. Because he brought death about and ushered the dead onwards. His reaction, on the other hand, betrayed his unfamiliarity with close contact interaction with humans. Perhaps it spoke as to his unfamiliarity with Kiyoaki in particular as well. Kiyoaki who, in turn, wasn't fazed by the surprise or the resultant attitude at all. He had struck the man right at the centre of his pride and as such a fight was surely to be expected. No one, shinigami or human, probably liked to find themselves embarrassed, he knew this. He knew Satoko, after all, so he knew intimately.

Pursing his lips slightly, he just looked the shinigami up and down, not an appraising look, merely observant, taking him in. He was striking beyond what any human Kiyoaki had ever met could match. It wasn't just the hair, it was the built, the way he held himself - most likely the standards he held himself up against. They showed. At his sides, Kiyoaki's hands hung loose, rain dripping from his fingers and at this point, he was certainly going to get sick. Would the man let him touch him, were he dying? The thought shouldn't amuse him, but for some reason it did and the corner of his mouth curved, twisting. His eyes were bright in the sea of greyness they were bathed in. The garden was a display of muteness all around. )

So? That only means you will eventually be touching me, isn't that true? ( A slight shrug and he bit his lower lip, looking off to the side. He was touched by death in dreams often enough, he thought the only justice he'd see in this world would be if he got to touch death back.

It might not have been that he ever thought he'd get the chance, but the shinigami followed him, not the other way around. If Kiyoaki didn't take the chance when it presented itself, what kind of death-seeing man would he be? No, he didn't carry a sword, but this might be the kind of heroism he could brandish.

Turning his eyes, blinking droplets out of his eyelashes, back on the man with his red hair and bandana and all the things that made him a foreign element here, where Kiyoki, looking like just about everyone, albeit more attractive, was already a stranger among his family, his peers... Kiyoaki took a long, deep breath and gestured with one hand, like a wave or a beckon. Or a way to bridge something that was only there between them by name anyway.

After all, Kiyoaki saw him. ) Doesn't it only seem fair that I get to pay back that kindness?