play pretend
.
.
He tells Yoru it's a game at first.
He tells him that it's a new way to pass the time — tells him it's a challenge. Today he insists that it's a form of exercise and so when Ikuto sits bolt upright in bed, suddenly tense and twitching like a spooked feline, Yoru only briefly notices, too engrossed in the thrill of the moment; too caught up in the excitement of the character change.
"Finally! Let's go, Ikuto, nya!"
And, miraculously sprouting blue ears and tail, Ikuto slips out through his bedroom window and up onto the roof.
"Man, that wasn't so hard, nya!"
Ikuto doesn't respond. He crouches on the lip of the roof, his expression blank, and stares out across the skyline with dim, unseeing eyes.
"Ikuto, nya..?"
And pretty soon Yoru starts to think that he's been deceived.
"Ikuto-san?"
Below them, in the empty bedroom, there's a knocking at the door.
"Ikuto-san, are you there?"
And Yoru feels his chest tighten, feels the change in his bearer's aura, and he begins to realise that it's not a game anymore.
No, in fact, Yoru knows it's not, for he can sense the way his bearer's heart darkens with every passing second — with every minute of silence that he forces himself bear; to bring upon not just himself, but moreover on this pitiful, weak whisper of a woman he once knew. He can just feel the weight in Ikuto's chest; he can tell by the jaded look in his eyes; by the sudden stiffness in his shoulders. Ikuto looks like a coiled spring too tightly wound, unable to break free—
"Ikuto-san are you in your room?"
A sorrow overcomes his owner as they sit there in the fading light, though however badly his heart is rent he does not show it. Ikuto stays there, unmoving, his façade stony and cold. Yoru looks down, crestfallen.
"Ikuto…"
Because Ikuto shouldn't have to hide from him. Ikuto shouldn't have to run from that 'other piece' of own sorry soul…
When the door shuts inside the bedroom, he still does not move.
No, he shouldn't have to hide, Yoru thinks.
If not from his guardian character, then most certainly not from his mother.
.
.
A/N: apparently I wrote this in June 17? I don't remember.
Considering trying to come up with more varied one-shots. Yay or nay? Thoughts appreciated! Thanks for the read!
