In the hope that I can inspire other people to write more of these two. (you there, reading this. GO WRITE SOME SEIMEI/NAKAHIRA. or face my wrath.)
"Where are you going?"
You stop and you turn. You notice as you do so that there is a very faint scent of flowers on the breeze, and that there is dew still lingering on the neatly trimmed grass and that the sun is just high enough to cast shadow over the rocks on the edge of the path. You notice because this is perfection, and he (standing on the gravel in a loose shirt and jeans, his hair and composure messy) is not.
"Nakahira-san," you murmur, and your tone is just a shade polite enough not to be condescending. "You're up early."
"I abhor laziness," he replies, defiantly, and you raise an eyebrow at this child, who is passionate and protective and emotional and everything you dismiss as unnecessary, because it weighs you down.
Somewhere above your head, a bird begins heralding the dawn. Two hours late, you think, and then your attention is drawn back to him as he speaks – you notice his voice is uglier than a bird's.
"I asked you where you were going."
Insolence.
"I have a small job to attend to," you reply, and you smile. You know it helps, though it's never seemed to work on this one: if anything it heightens his suspicion. "I'll take care of it and then be right back."
As you expected, the excuse you used on the old woman will not work here. His face is closed but oh-so-readable and he snaps, "What job? Where are you going?"
"That is no concern of yours, Nakahira-san," you reply, measuring your tone of voice precisely, smiling very slightly at the anger written in his stance and his clenched fists and his narrowed eyes; all sharp angles and hostile glares.
You continue as if you haven't noticed the way his mouth is half-open – ready to start a fight – "Besides, I have Chaco-san's approval. Isn't that enough?"
"It's not enough," comes the answer. "Because you haven't told her where or why you're going, have you?" His temper is rising. You can see it, and you decide that this is an animal with which to play.
"Chaco-san doesn't own me. She provides for me, for which I am grateful, but I am not tied to this house, Nakahira-san."
"You still haven't answered my question," he says, relentless. "Where are you going?"
This one fascinates you as he disgusts you. He is a test subject – and you answer in words he will understand:
"I'm going to strike first, Nakahira-san."
FIN/