Ruka's eyes flashed. He darted forward, trying to keep up with Juri, although he would never admit it. The sickness crippled him, but he couldn't let it show. Not to her. He thrusted, she blocked. The metallic sound of clanging epees that once sounded like music screeched down his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. He was sweating, his hair sticking to the nape of his neck. Juri won.
She took off her helmet, but said nothing. Though her face was impassive, he knew she was confused. Ruka tried to stand up a little straighter. He needed to bring her revolution. How could he do that if he was such a wretch? The concern in her eyes did not dissipate.
He didn't want her worry. He didn't want her pity.
Ruka wanted her to accept his love. Even more, he wanted her to be happy. Happiness. What was happiness? Ruka carefully took off his own helmet, their gazes tied by a taut wire. It seemed incredibly still in the room, as if they had found eternity, if only for a single terrible moment.
Shiori clapped delicately from the sidelines, and Juri whipped her head around, breaking the tension between them.
"See you later, Juri," Ruka said. And then the world blacked out.
