swordhardy | NOCT OVERFLOW

[The odd choice of words do little to alleviate his concern, he comprehends they're not meant to be taken literally, he was never in danger of being consumed, but rather he knows of men who can only find meaning through battle. He is not willing to entertain such whims, nor would he fight anyone for amusement's sake. He would only draw his blade when necessary.

His intention and reasonings had not been made clear, he blundered through their previous interaction as he found this man to be oddly persistent. Even he knows the feeling of unease. His words had fallen on deaf ears.

Currently, Giyu keeps an unblinking gaze glued to the man at the other end of the thread, not even the red string fluttering down upon the sand distracts him, an attempt to navigate this interchange with caution. However, he is now without a sword, so likely another challenge would not come.]

I won't fight. I told you before.

[Perhaps, in his own way Giyu is just about as stubborn as the man seeking a fight.]

You can't now, can you?

[ An easy lob back, acknowledging the fact that Giyu clearly doesn't have a sword. Daemon he may be, he has little interest in fighting another swordsman who doesn't have his weapon; Rokurou deflates a little, lips set in a childish pout. ]

But ... you're a swordsman, aren't you? You don't even want to spar? It doesn't have to be to the death.

[ Even if that's the ideal, Rokurou's long since learned that most men don't relish the idea of being romantically offed during a brutal, sweaty clash of glinting blades. ]

I don't get it.

[ Truly, he does not—if the perplexed expression etched across his face is any indication. ]

[Impassive in the face of fluctuating expressions, Rokurou's childish pout does little to garner sympathy from Giyu. As he stated, he simply does not wish to fight, with a blade or not.]

And that would satisfy you?

[While he may not see the error made in his particular choice of words, anyone else could comprehend that they can be misconstrued into an offer made to cross blades in the future. Rather, in this case, even Giyu comprehends some people cannot be easily sated. If he gives in to this man's desire there will only be a push for more. It's also why he makes no mention he does train, practices, and has sparring sessions with another.]

Maybe.

[ It's almost too easy, how the pout curving his mouth into a frown flips back into its comfortable smile. He can't make any promises on if he'll be satisfied with just one battle ... but they'll never know if they don't, right?

But without a sword, there's no remedy for it now. He'll tuck what sounds like defeat into the back of his mind for now, satisfied that he's managed to wriggle in a little bit more, before offering his hand out to the other man. It's the same hand with the red string affixed to his finger. ]

Here. It won't go away without Synchrony. Aaah, unless you'd like to stay tied to me~?

[ The suggestive tilde lingering on the end of his words is palpable. ]

[That's the most non-committal answer he could have received to his question, there is no inclination one way or another, yet he still holds on fervently to his own suspicions. There won't be an end. As long as he remains in this world, perhaps, he will always come face to face with this man.

The hand offered, a reminder that he is presently trapped, is not immediately grasped. He understands his predicament, either way, he won't enjoy what happens. However, the sooner he gets this done the faster he can be free of this man.

Yet he doesn't make the necessary move as he gazes at the open palm, eyebrows slowly knitting together in apprehension.]

I am aware, I don't have to hear it from you.

This is only so that we are free of each other.

[For once he speaks unnecessarily, all his actions have made it obvious he would rather not have much to do with the man keeping him company but he gives. He gingerly reaches out and places his hand in Rokurou's]

[ H'ohhh, prickly. A verifiable cactus. The daemon grins, gleam of tooth and gum behind stretched lips that never falter, a resin mold for his mouth's lack of twitch or falter. ]

What else would it be for? [ eyebrow cocked, ] You don't like me very much.

[ A little something he's managed to pick up from their whole two encounters. While he might have a knack for noticing details, that much has been plain.

Yet it doesn't stop him from circling his fingers over Giyu's hand in a firm clasp. Synchrony is a sluggish trudge, like kickstarting a sputtering engine that doesn't quite want to start. Rokurou doesn't have much to give anyway, inner waves as tepid as Giyu's outer demeanor. ]

Why did you wear a sword if you dislike fighting?

[It's unsurprising his distaste is obvious when he is aware that he clearly broadcast his sentiments when it came to this particular individual. There is a lack of doubt or lingering confusion involving this man. He knows by their virtue alone it is unlikely they could ever get along. There is a distinct line that separates them, possibly beyond their ideologies when it comes to wielding a sword.

As fingers caress over his skin until a tight hold anchors him firmly more than any thread ever could Giyu's shoulders stiffen, there's a prickling feeling across his flesh as unease floods in. He isn't frightened by the man before him which leaves makes it difficult to comprehend the source of anxiety.

It's tempting to jerk his hand free. He doesn't, he can't.]

I am resolute in the decision I made years ago. That blade is my own, tied to it are the duties I bound myself to. I have my own battles. And while I live I will fight for those that cannot. I won't see others suffer.

[Being more honest than he expected himself to ever be in front of this man is astonishing, while he never had any intention to deceive him he was resolute to avoid speaking to him more than necessary. Yet, he broke that vow he made to himself.]

This won't work. Release my hand.

[ Tension continues—almost perplexingly so. The moment their fingers touch the other man bristles like a cat, all sharp edges and dangerous still. It's interesting, if only for the fact that Rokurou has done nothing other than hold his hand, with permission. Intriguing, even. Maybe it's some sort of instinctual warning in the man, that a daemon is no one he should be holding hands with. ]

So strict. [ is he talking about the way he lives by his blade, or the fact that he already wants to let go? who knows. ] If that's what you want.

[ And Rokurou does let go. His fingers hover close, however, because the red string between them has yet to dissipate. Considering it's been less than a minute, that doesn't surprise him. ]

But I don't think that was enough. Would you like to stay tied to me after all?

[He knew the thread would remain, that meager touch, those pitiful seconds of having his hand held. They had not produced manna, it seems impossible between them, they failed to sync but then he did not expect the result to be any different. Understanding how synchrony functioned he found that the best results came when there was a positive association with the person.

Or if he was eager to bond with them.

He holds no such sentiments towards this man. It's the opposite.

His gaze levels itself on Rokurou before his eyes flicker to the lingering hand over his own. There the thread remains uniting them. No, it is not enough, it could never be but the question makes it clear he has to give or remain attached to this man for who knows how long.]

That question is unnecessary.

[The answer remains the same, given the chance he would have left already.]

But I don't believe this will work, we cannot synchronize.

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