(I own nothing and I hope you enjoy. Good day and God bless.)
Pain.
Hishekiri Hasebe ignored it.
A hangnail on his right thumb was torn in the process of of folding the sheets he had just washed by hand not a day previously. The material had grown so warm and dry in the summer heat, he was surprised the rough material didn't claw off his entire hand.
Many times he had received wounds ten times to size of this one so he tried to ignore it, but strangely enough it was significantly more painful than even those gashes in the chest or breaking of the bones.
It was so very odd. Why did something so small and minor cause so much pain? A hangnail was not vital to him, so why?
He sighed, not giving it much thought.
Grumbling under his breath as he continued to fold the sheets and place them in neat stacks, Hasebe grumbled about that boy he shared a room with.
Fudou Yukimitsu. These were his sheets any ways and never once did he ever think to get off his drunk rear and fold his own sheets.
He used to be more responsible, but now he hardly did anything. Now, Hasebe hardly even saw the tontou.
He wondered why that was.
It wasn't as though he was all that missed, but Hasebe would be long if he said he he wasn't concerned.
Honestly, he was such a useless brat. Hasebe smirked.
But then the mans face fell.
Looking down at his kneetly done handiwork performed purely on muscle memory and habit, he saw a disturbing sight.
His hangnail had began to bleed profusely without him knowing.
On various spots on the once pure white sheets was only red. The sheets were stained with fresh blood.
Hasebe felt sick.
An image flashed in front of his eyes. He thought of Fudou. He thought of his big eyes and childish face so still, so icey cold, stained in blood just as fresh as this. Empty, limp, lifeless in the summer grass. For a mere heartbeat, Hasebe was blinded.
It sent a shiver up his spine and just as soon as it came, it was gone and Hasebe was left to catch his breath.
That was weird, he thought, maybe the heat of the day was getting to him.
He was always over exerting this human form, especially these days. Why was he doing this again? He didn't remember. It probably wasn't important.
Nonetheless, as much as the boy grated on his nerves, he was not about to leave him to sleep on soiled sheets tonight.
So, the swords next course of action was to take the sheets to the laundry room.
It wasn't that far away so he took it straight there.
It wasn't a problem.
But deep down, Hasebe knew.
He knew he would never see that boy again.
He knew the lost of a boy as small and meaningless to him as a hangnail on the tip of finger had left him bleeding so much, soiling all around him with blood.
But he would ignore it.
He would ignore his own pain just as he had ignored Fudou's for so many years.