swordhardy | NOCT OVERFLOW

[ 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.

NOCT OVERFLOW

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