[That it's contact at all—quiet, unassumingly comforting as it comes—strikes him surprising, regardless.
This is Rinku; and warm, kindly attached but whom he "doesn't know", he thinks. He nearly jumps, and he looks so startled that maybe it's easily mistaken for something worse. But who would hold him but Hijikata? He's never asked, even if others still exist and Shouto shyly avoids them, too. It's only sensei—sitting back-to-back, like boys—who's patting his shoulders from time to time. His warmth's a hand, tousling his hair until its strands mix and match. A bag of sweets.
His arms go up. Drape too softly around her shoulders; mirroring her too.]
Me? [Stupid question. Dumb, dumb...] Isn't this backwards, a little?
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This is Rinku; and warm, kindly attached but whom he "doesn't know", he thinks. He nearly jumps, and he looks so startled that maybe it's easily mistaken for something worse. But who would hold him but Hijikata? He's never asked, even if others still exist and Shouto shyly avoids them, too. It's only sensei—sitting back-to-back, like boys—who's patting his shoulders from time to time. His warmth's a hand, tousling his hair until its strands mix and match. A bag of sweets.
His arms go up. Drape too softly around her shoulders; mirroring her too.]
Me? [Stupid question. Dumb, dumb...] Isn't this backwards, a little?
[And who's helping who, again?]
I'm the one who's supposed to ask.
[Sorry, sorry...]