Minako could barely hide within her cherry tree pink personality with the coming of Autumn: the bags under her eyes like wilted petals, the loss of color in cheerful cheeks, bends in the branches of her posture from a weight in her chest. The members of SEES each hold something that refuses to budge - guilt, revenge, trust issues, rejection - burdens plague them all. Fear sits itself deep within her, settling in as if she were its very own throne. More knots appear with the defeat of each great shadow. She can't avoid it much longer (emerald shining through the windows a sore reminder), but she tries - heavily glued to a chair and crouching over her studies which take greater priority tonight. She dares not show how she's falling behind, so before she gives in and splays books about the dining room table, she's waited until everyone else is in bed. Well, almost everyone.
Shinjiro will see it. Clearly. It's okay though, quite frequently anymore - the two talk. Too much, sometimes, she thinks. Things slip out to him; things she doesn't let anyone else see, things no one else cares to ask about. He's too scrutinous to fool with her usual glamour, anyway. Besides, the more she steps out of her typical boundaries, the more it seems to encourage him to do the same. Secrets remain safe.
Everything about her says tense and tired. She's hovering at just about a faceplant into printed pages. Perhaps the ink could smear her face for a better reflection of how she feels. His blurry figure approaches from the side to disappear behind her. In short order she feels a grip at the top of her arms, literally giving her a lift. He draws her up to proper posture against the back of the chair with a grumble, "Don't sit like that. You'll make it worse. And get this shit off of your head, it's just adding to the pressure," spindly fingers pinch at her hairband, but don't move it. He knows how sensitive she can be about her hair, and so it's not until she huffs and twists her head back and forth ( loosening the accessory's hold on each side ) that he pulls it free. Her next breath and her spirit releases in a new moment.
She expects nothing more, save for maybe another growling threat, so when palms rest themselves ( no matter how gently ) around her throat, she finds herself much more awake. However, a sinking feeling soon cancels it ( like drifting comfortably lower and lower into down feather pillows… ) when she realizes they're nothing but anchors for the thumbs which begin churning divots into the base of her skull. The sensation drags down the edges of a cervical spine curve and pushes back up again. Tightness fights back and then resolves, over and over.
She closes her eyes to focus on singular stimulus. No clocks tick, no gadgets buzz, no aroma overpowers the air, and dinner is too far gone for any taste to linger. Gentle waves below her ears even silence a dull discord ringing from Orpheus, who stops his work upon realizing his instrument re-tunes itself as the mistress realigns, too. The movement, the touch and most of all the effort of the gesture relaxes her mind and invigorates her soul more than the effect on any muscles.
Minako has let on too much all that she harbors on petite shoulders - her own and everyone else's insecurities, all the responsibility she feels, and Shinjiro is too excellent at sacrificing of himself to help take away such concerns ( she can only imagine how much must be mustered now, for controlled thoughts, controlled choice, and controlled breath in spite of Castor's endless trampling of its pen ). She shouldn't indulge, but as the massage moves to squeeze above her collarbone and break apart egg-shaped bundles ( her shoulders crunch cartilage with each roll as fibers find their places. All it takes is a little attention ) - she can hardly complain.
He thinks she carries the team, yet she still insists that they all carry each other. Then again, she might be looking too far into it. Maybe it's just a chance for him to dig at her like she grinds at him - the force exerted upon solid bits relieving them just as much in cathartic retribution. Stress still leaves her body and pride still returns as she leans happily in complementary directions, because she realizes she's satisfied either way. Regardless of the motivation, at least the action reveals that somewhere along the way Shinjiro had accepted that being close to people again might not be so bad, …and that his hands are capable of more than brutality.