"No, Soubi, I don't have the time! You know I have to go to therapy after school today!" Ritsuka issues in irritation, quickly finishing the last, crumbling bites of breakfast as the bright sunshine pouring in serves only to remind him of his schedule gaining the upper hand. "Don't you have work to finish for your review? You can do that! I'll be back by dinner—"

Soubi stands at the other side of the table, separated by an empty plate and the saltshaker. Though there is not yet a displeased look, the disappointment is taking hold, slightly slumping the handsome frame of his shoulders. "Don't you want to go out?" he asks. Ritsuka hates that it's with that beguiling, half-childish way.

There's simply no time to pin him with a sharp look that might have withered that tone. He's stuffing his homework into his backpack, the clean edges wrinkling annoyingly, and slinging it onto his back as he goes towards the door. "Soubi—it's not about that," he says in a huff.

"Wait."

Finally, he spins to look at him. He's got the door ajar, ready to dash down the stairs to the street, and from the street to the school gates, where no doubt Yuiko will be twirling her candy-colored hair, Yayoi dancing and preening at her side. It's so late, he hates being late. "I hate being late," he blurts out. "Just spit it out, Soubi."

He does. And there is no scraping of words, no snatching at veils to cover truths. Of course, this is a much more innocent, more easily bared thought. "I want to spend time with you, Ritsuka." He's said it so many times before, issuing it with a smile or turn of phrase, but that makes it only doubly true now—only made Ritsuka's heart keen honestly and deeply. But as cute and youthful as Soubi appears in the morning light, watching him scurry to leave behind the gleam of his glasses, Ritsuka can't break an appointment.

Although he wants to.

"Soubi," Ritsuka sighs, hesitating in the doorway, his toe wedging it open. He looks up from behind his violet sheet of bangs and can't help but grin regretfully. "Come here, then."

The fighter blinks in surprise. He had expected a sling of upset words and Ritsuka's quickly disappearing figure to follow, snapping at him not to follow. This order is much more pleasurable. He quickly obeys and stops in front of his sacrifice, noticing that Ritsuka's ears now reach the tip of his chin. "Yes?" he asks.

Ritsuka reaches up and tugs his collar until he bends into the touch, kissing him with a smile. Soubi shudders happily into it, letting his eyes fall close and his glasses nudge into the bridge of his nose. Upon parting, their lips separating with a talkative smack, he remains bent towards Ritsuka, watching him intently. Waiting for more. He can see it, in the flush of his skin and shape of his eyes. He untangles his fingers from Soubi's clothes, then reaches up and holds his face in a way he's grown to habitually do.

"Ritsuka—"

"I know, Soubi," he interrupts. He fights a smile as he turns away, fights the bubbling of emotion Soubi's unblemished smile incites. "You love me."

Soubi doesn't answer more than to yank him forward and push another kiss to his cheek, the eagerness to touch him and return the affection burning from his fingertips. Then he lets him go and issues a calm, "See you later." He turns and wanders back into the house, buttoning his shirt as he travels to the living room, where Cho's cute cries of exploration can now be heard.

Now it is Ritsuka who has a hard time tearing himself away from the house. But he does so anyway, skimming quickly down the stairs to the ground floor, rounding the corner, dust whirling up from his heel, and dashing towards school with a renewed vigor. Shinonome-sensei will not know how to translate the unexpected grin that Ritsuka will wear that day.

--

Katsuko-sensei also has noticed a distinct upswing in Ritsuka's demeanor since their last visit, but she remains smiling gently, absorbing his carefree narrative as it jumps and flits youthfully around the room and doing little more than scratching notes occasionally. For a year, Ritsuka has been frail and brittle for some obscure reason, shying away and lashing out at sensitive spots that had never been there before. It almost seemed as if she'd lost all progress made with him, as if someone had stumbled over him and accidentally crushed his spirit with their shoe. A grin and a loose, unworried tongue is a wonderful sign of progress.

"Oh, and we have a new kitten, too, Katsuko-sensei, did I tell you that?" Ritsuka purrs happily, legs crossed and shoulders straight with energy.

She jolts slightly from the thick of her thoughts. "Ah, no," she answers with a beaming smile. With a touch of her toes, she swivels to face him, closing the notebook. "You haven't. You and Soubi, you mean?"

He nods enthusiastically. "Yeah," he continues. "His name is Cho."

"Oh? And what color is he?"

"Gray and white, in big patches. Soubi says he looks like a patchwork quilt." He can't help but laugh at the memory of the kitten strutting towards him the day before, working his awkward paws as fast as he could, lurching towards the stray strand of Soubi's hair as he sat painting on the floor. Unbidden, he launches into that story, unable to resist the swell of joy it gives him to do so.

Katsuko smiles knowingly through this. Soubi makes Ritsuka's eyes the brightest, most royal shade of violet at the slightest mention, be it unsettling or joyous. And when he finishes the story, mimicking the expression Soubi had wore as the kitten had trekked determinedly through the wet paint, she laughs and he smiles at the floor. She lets the pleasure of a good story well told settle low around them, and calls his name.

"Yes, Sensei?"

"How is Soubi? You tell me so many stories about him, but I don't know much about him. I'd like to know him a little bit better, if that's okay?"

Ritsuka blinks, the joy retreating into caution. "You really want to know, Sensei?"

She smiles gently. "Of course I do. If he's important to you, then he's important to me too. I'm here to take care of you."

The violet of his eyes turns slightly pink—something has hurt him in what she has said, but she cannot know that he is seeing now Soubi pulling him from his mother's limp arms as he kicks and screams furiously, bruises and hurts him, screams not to leave her behind, not to leave her all alone. She does not know the words with which Soubi had justified such an abduction that now sting with repetition.

'She cannot take care of you, Ritsuka. She is only hurting you.'

He hangs his head slightly, a weight of worry returning to his stance, but he obliges. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, I'd like to know a little about him, if that's okay?"

He shrugs. "Sure."

"How old is he?"

"He just recently turned 21." She can hear the withdrawal in his voice, strangely unaffected by the discussion of his indisputable favorite topic. Though she has not seen the inside corners of his life as this Soubi undoubtedly has, by the sheer amount he mentions him, either directly or with a shy flush, she can tell she needs to draw him back out. So, it is a moment before she registers the age and computes it with the romantic color of Ritsuka's face.

"Oh… really?" Trying not to upset him further, she covers her choke with a cough and takes a moment to recover. "And did you have a celebration together?"

Ritsuka toys nervously, distantly with the tip of his tail as he speaks, his head now taking on a familiar bend of discomfort. "Yes. His friend Kio came over and brought food and drinks for the both of them, and we had strawberry ice cream for dessert. Soubi covered it in so much chocolate it was hardly strawberry anymore, though." Here, Ritsuka seems to be gone back, hardly remembering Katsuko in the room.

"We played games after that. Kio was a little drunk by then, but he played, too. He taught me how to play poker and other card games. There was one I liked a lot, actually. Soubi called it 'Slap Jack.' He split the deck and gave one to each of us. Then we each put one card down at a time, and tried to be the first to slap our hands on the Jack." He smiles absently. "Kio was so slow by then. He always lost. And Soubi… he's much faster than I am, but I still beat him a few times. He got a little upset, even. He gets so competitive at games like that, but he never admits it, since he's usually so laid back."

"That's very nice," Katsuko-sensei says, breaking his reverie. "Everything else is going well, too?"

Ritsuka looks at her. "Well," he mutters, breaking the glance to turn slightly away, worrying at the matted tip of his tail. "Actually, Sensei, I've… I'm worried about him, at the same time."

"How's that?"

"Well, he's been hurt a lot, I think. And I don't think he's healed at all, even though he seems very happy at times."

"Ritsuka-kun," she asks. "Are you saying that you think he may have been abused, like you?"

He still doesn't meet her eye, but his heart swells in pain—the distant touch of Soubi sometimes lets him know that his brother has returned again, fully alive in the wounds in Soubi's heart and soul and ripping away again; but he also knows Seimei is not alone in creating them. There is so much to heal, and so many walls to crumble before he can reach them with any kind of remedy. He wants only to help him.

'…She is only hurting you.'

'You mean, hurting me as my brother hurt you, Soubi? You're nothing but a hypocrite! A liar! Leave me alone!'

"Yes."