[ Someone's been busy while his business partner's been AWOL. For the first few days, Kaito didn't expect any response from Hibiki—she seemed far more rattled over the Oakwoods incident than he was, and the weight of carrying those murderous thoughts was one he'd familiarized himself with many years ago.
If only that same burden could stay buried.
Blood drips at irregular intervals from the cuts on his bare hands. He walks with a steady gait, but the drag of his feet against dead soil make it clear that he's not in peak condition.
...Well, the tears in his attire and lack of gloves probably make it more obvious, but y'know.
Water occasionally spawns around him, dabbing itself against the smaller cuts that haven't been dressed. Bandages wrought from dead Basilicus skin are wrapped tight around his upper arms and torso, stained a deep, dark crimson. Every now and again the liquid he conjures will burst, and each occurrence is punctuated by his Shadow's vibrant, warbled laughter.
He doesn't dare respond, instead continuing to trudge his way back to his Shroud. His Shadow's quite right, after all. What can he refute? The lack of responses from Hibiki have plagued him with worry, even from the beginning. How many texts has he sent her way, trying to check in? How many little care packages of food have piled up at her Door?
His worry and frustration only served as springboards for his Shadow to gloat and get under his skin. It's all come to a head, now. After encountering a group of Basilicuses (Basilici???) surrounding a wounded Restless, joyfully awaiting his slow death, he couldn't hold it in anymore.
Like a broken dam, Kaito's anger and wrath crashed through, and while he pulled back at the last moment to keep from separating those monsters' heads from their necks, not a single one will be returning to their lairs with all their limbs intact. His Shadow sang his praises the entire time. How shameful.
After patching up the other Restless, all Kaito wants is to sleep under the tree in his false Domain. To return to his underworld abode and let time slip away.
He passes Hibiki's Door, glancing down at the dust-riddled bags he's left nearby. Some have been stolen. Unsurprising. Just as he's about to press his hand to the surface, something stirs in the air around him. An aura he hasn't felt in nearly a week. Perhaps longer.
Hers.
As if his wounds had magically healed over and his fatigued had been whisked away, Kaito takes off in a brisk walk, then a jog, then a dash. Every ounce of his spiritual awareness focuses on that trace of the blonde's emotions. It's the Oakwoods all over again, complete with beating the shit out of a monster beforehand.
But this time, he's not just worried for her.
The closer he draws, the more apparent it becomes that something else accompanies her aura. It's weak yet tangible—a soothing sensation that isn't drawing from the wellspring of her emotions. Something separate. A song, he realizes as he catches sight of the back of her head.
He was ready to call out, to yell her name, to yell at her for being gone for so long. But as Kaito slows to a stop, those desires die in his throat. All he can do is stand there, half-relieved, half-entranced by the siren's song.
Oh, and his wounds have reopened, but this isn't about them. ]
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[ Someone's been busy while his business partner's been AWOL. For the first few days, Kaito didn't expect any response from Hibiki—she seemed far more rattled over the Oakwoods incident than he was, and the weight of carrying those murderous thoughts was one he'd familiarized himself with many years ago.
If only that same burden could stay buried.
Blood drips at irregular intervals from the cuts on his bare hands. He walks with a steady gait, but the drag of his feet against dead soil make it clear that he's not in peak condition.
...Well, the tears in his attire and lack of gloves probably make it more obvious, but y'know.
Water occasionally spawns around him, dabbing itself against the smaller cuts that haven't been dressed. Bandages wrought from dead Basilicus skin are wrapped tight around his upper arms and torso, stained a deep, dark crimson. Every now and again the liquid he conjures will burst, and each occurrence is punctuated by his Shadow's vibrant, warbled laughter.
W̷e̸ ̵r̵e̷a̸l̴l̴y̸ ̷l̴e̸t̷ ̴t̷h̷e̶m̴ ̴h̵a̸v̶e̶ ̶i̷t̷,̴ ̵p̷a̶r̴t̵n̶e̸r̶!̴ ̴I̷t̴'̷s̸ ̴a̷ ̵s̴h̷a̶m̸e̴ ̴y̷o̶u̵ ̵d̵i̷d̴n̵'̴t̸ ̷g̷o̷ ̴a̷l̵l̸ ̶t̷h̴e̵ ̵w̵a̸y̷,̵ ̷b̷u̴t̸ ̵t̵h̵a̷t̷'̷s̴ ̶o̴k̷a̵y̵.̸ ̸W̴e̶'̴v̴e̶ ̸g̵o̷t̴ ̷p̶l̷e̵n̴t̴y̷ ̵o̵f̶ ̴t̴i̶m̸e̵ ̵t̸o̵ ̴w̷o̷r̸k̸ ̸o̷n̶ ̸t̶h̶a̸t̸ ̵k̶i̸l̶l̵e̸r̵ ̸i̶n̷s̷t̷i̷n̸c̷t̸.̷
He doesn't dare respond, instead continuing to trudge his way back to his Shroud. His Shadow's quite right, after all. What can he refute? The lack of responses from Hibiki have plagued him with worry, even from the beginning. How many texts has he sent her way, trying to check in? How many little care packages of food have piled up at her Door?
His worry and frustration only served as springboards for his Shadow to gloat and get under his skin. It's all come to a head, now. After encountering a group of Basilicuses (Basilici???) surrounding a wounded Restless, joyfully awaiting his slow death, he couldn't hold it in anymore.
Like a broken dam, Kaito's anger and wrath crashed through, and while he pulled back at the last moment to keep from separating those monsters' heads from their necks, not a single one will be returning to their lairs with all their limbs intact. His Shadow sang his praises the entire time. How shameful.
After patching up the other Restless, all Kaito wants is to sleep under the tree in his false Domain. To return to his underworld abode and let time slip away.
He passes Hibiki's Door, glancing down at the dust-riddled bags he's left nearby. Some have been stolen. Unsurprising. Just as he's about to press his hand to the surface, something stirs in the air around him. An aura he hasn't felt in nearly a week. Perhaps longer.
Hers.
As if his wounds had magically healed over and his fatigued had been whisked away, Kaito takes off in a brisk walk, then a jog, then a dash. Every ounce of his spiritual awareness focuses on that trace of the blonde's emotions. It's the Oakwoods all over again, complete with beating the shit out of a monster beforehand.
But this time, he's not just worried for her.
The closer he draws, the more apparent it becomes that something else accompanies her aura. It's weak yet tangible—a soothing sensation that isn't drawing from the wellspring of her emotions. Something separate. A song, he realizes as he catches sight of the back of her head.
He was ready to call out, to yell her name, to yell at her for being gone for so long. But as Kaito slows to a stop, those desires die in his throat. All he can do is stand there, half-relieved, half-entranced by the siren's song.
Oh, and his wounds have reopened, but this isn't about them. ]