The man remains still under her gaze, his shoulders tense as his back arches and his forearms rest atop his thighs. Strands the color of charcoal frames his tan complexion, falling past his eyes as they are downcast over the fuzz that gather up over the cotton material of his bottoms. His lips are pressed together, lines of dry skin along the creases, unable to find reason in being outspoken. Regardless, the man desires to comment on the water boiling for far too long on her stove, or perhaps on the evident tremble of her fingers as they near the wound on his right cheek. Instead there comes a gasp that escapes her as his hand wraps around her wrist to absolve her from her worries, fully aware she's attempts to help him stemmed from, well, Google.
It wasn't very often that someone of her career path stumbled upon a man with a penchant for violence and a thirst for a challenge. Tokita Ohma drifted along the streets of Japan, with no relationships or memories to be had other than ones from his distant past. His place of residence was well past the life of bustling crosswalks and neon streetlights, and was hardly inhabitable. Unlike akiyama kaede's wandering hands along the vines and moss invading the walls of his abandoned mansion, his hands were in the confinements of his pants pockets without a care in the world. Perhaps that was what became so bothersome to her as her paths began to align, that he so readily traded in comfort and warmth for solitude and hardship when a couch was right there in her living room. When her shoulder brushed against his those times, the bruises and cuts that so daringly contributed to the imperfections on his skin were the last straw.
His eyes travel to kaede's form beside him on her couch, swiftly past her chest, stopping only upon the receiving end of an eye roll. "You're shaking," he states.
"No ahh." No response, kaede's hand strains against his grip. "C'mon, I'm almost… done…!"
A fighter for the Kengan Association she soon learned he was, the information granted to her by his employer, a kind father by the name of Yamashita Kazuo. Thought to be a man of average status, the man's observant behavior was rendered nonexistent through his bouts of breakdowns and unfortunate happenings. Upon his visits, his company soon became a pleasure to have as he was quite the entertainment when inebriated; secrets believed to be lodged in his throat were now up in the air, and bets were made as Ohma supposedly was the only one of the three of them not to drink. Beneath the exterior of amusement over his behavior and misfortunes grew an appreciation for his acceptance of the taller man, whom only had his heart on his sleeve when in the presence of the most faithful of people. What a blessing it was to be one of them, as loving him hurt much more.
Akiyama kaede frown. "Please let me do this. I wanna help."
Now little do she know, the frown on her face was a sight Tokita Ohma had rather not see. Despite finding her skills questionable, kaede were one who refused to give in until all of his wounds were taken care of and, well… kaede supplied a warmth that he thoroughly enjoyed while at her apartment. That alone is reason enough for the man to loosen his grasp on her wrist with a soft but juvenile, "Fine," just for the smile to reach her lips to make it all the more worth it. With that arises an emotion that one has to venture towards the unknown for, one that entices him forward just enough steps for him to attempt to wave it off as yet a hindrance to his goal. It becomes an emotion, a flame, that whimpers under desperation to be rid of it until it burns so bright that he knows it will hurt when he has to leave. There lacks a word for it, and sometimes the idea exists within him to bring it up to her but…
Kaede press her lips against his cheek, a centimeter above the cut that plagues his skin. He misses the contact as soon as kaede's face strays from his, his eyes wide and his face hot as he longs for the emotion to reach its abrupt end yet appreciates the way it lingers and travels all over his body. He wants to run, far from kaede and her damned hospitality, but his feet remain cemented to the carpet that embrace his decision to stay. The tension weighs at his being, his shoulders rolling as his forearms once again find his thighs in thought, and an inch of her wants to run her palms over his back and prove her use to him in full. Kaede want to run, eventually reaching a distance where she no longer have to dwell on his tall stature, his strong yet silent manner, or his inclination to rely on her on the worst of his days. Kaede want to escape it all, but the question stands: does that count him?
… Shit, kaede really are in love.