Where was he supposed to begin?

"…"

Rin wasn't the best at small talk. Especially when the person he's speaking to can't respond. Here he was, in the middle of a mind numbingly frigid winter, barely able to face whom he spoke to, and staring out at a curtain of snow falling to the ground. Every now and then, a freezing gust of wind would hit against his face, as if urging him to speak.

"If you saw my grades, you'd probably go on a rampage, y'know," he said absently, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Then go on to say that if there was a class that graded you on being a destructive idiot, I'd pass at least that class."

Hearing nothing in response, he scratched the back of his head and stared at the ground. "I guess some of the others already think that, though." He pushed back a small sting of irritation, and nodded rigidly. "Yeah… who can blame them, right? I can't even get a real job." He removed the Kurikara from the strap on his shoulders, staring at it in its sheathed form. "The only thing I'm good at is picking fights with demons and swinging this sword around like some monkey."

He lay the sword to his side, leaning against the stone. His gaze lingered on it before he sighed., a cloud of his own breath falling into the air. "But… it's not like I hate it." He gave a small smile. "Actually, it's a pretty good deal. I mean, my younger twin is my teacher, and I've met some great people along the way. I think you'd like Shiemi. Maybe a little too much… or just get distracted by Shura…"

His thoughts wandered into random ramblings. After a good few minutes, he finally noticed the cold coursing through his veins. Frowning, he gulped, chewing his inner cheek and shifting awkwardly where he stood.

"By now you would've told me to shut up and get to the point," he commented, "sorry, but, I don't know what the point's supposed to be. Hell, when do I?"

More silence filled the air.

"I take it back." He said it abruptly, shortly, and now waited for something as if he didn't know any better. He was no good with apologies. "I take it back," he repeated, silently, this time. He dusted snow off his head, ignoring the cold feel of it.

"If it weren't for me saying that, then I wouldn't have to be standing out in the cold. But I did, and look where we both are?" He paused, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head, roughly scratching the top of it with an annoyed grunt. "Man, how am I supposed to talk like that? I'm not some proper and respectable person. All this sappy junk is hard; I don't get how people do it… I sound like an idiot…"

He looked back at the sword and inhaled nervously, throwing his head up towards the snowy gray sky. Another gust of wind hit his face sharply.

"I'm not taking back the fact that I was trouble for you. I'm trouble for a lot of people, more than what I'm worth. But…" he paused, a small smile returning out of nostalgia. "You suck at pretending anyways…"

He rubbed his forehead. The words just weren't coming to him. It was frustrating. It was like having the few words able to save a person's life caught in his throat. In essence, they were. It was just that there was no one to save this time. The words came too late.

Slowly, he turned around, facing the cross-shaped grave, yet keeping his eyes from seeing the name engraved on it. The words clogged in his throat still unable to escape his mouth, but ringing clearly through his mind. He wanted to speak, but he couldn't. It was almost as if he shouldn't, but at the same time, they were the most important words to say.

You're still the only person I'll ever accept as my dad, old man. I'm sorry.

Hopefully by next year, his big mouth would be able to say something worthwhile.