Day 5
Theme: Fingertips
Sense of Touch
Part One
Missions lasted for days, sometimes weeks. Sometimes, they only saw each other in passing. A pretend scowl passed from one face to the other, hiding the deeper companionship beneath. Sometimes, they missed each other by hours or even mere minutes. It was simply the side effect of their duties.
But other times, they sat across from one another on the train. Reading over the current mission details, they let the tension build until someone snapped. Harsh words spilled out and occasionally fists got tangled in the mess until they were heaped on the floor—one possibly choking the other.
"Stupid beansprout," a growl slipped.
"BaKanda!" The reply crept between them.
Mouths clashed in a fight for dominance that never seemed to be resolved. There was never a winner and neither of them suspected there would be a winner with how they were. They didn't really care once fingers moved over each other. All four hands were coarse from hard work and abuse. Yet, it seemed to go unnoticed.
The train ride was always several hours long. It was more time than they had under usual circumstances. When their Finder was present just outside the door, they were quiet, like whispers. When they were surely alone, they exchanged heated words and growls—devouring each other like it was the last chance. It always could be the last chance.
When the train stopped and the door slid open, it appeared as if nothing happened. Both passengers looked as immaculate as they did going in. No one would be the wiser. No one could see the marks left in the younger man's shoulder, or the way the older man's white shirt was misplaced by one button under his jacket.
They continued their mission like there hadn't been a thing between them.
"You're being too reckless, BaKanda."
"You're being too slow, idiot. It's getting away."
They danced around each other, weapons drawn. They fight together like they are a single unit—extensions of one another. Neither will admit it out loud, but both of them secretly enjoy that they do not need to coordinate movements. They are already in sync.
And when they leave the battlefield—bloody and cleansed of the demons they seek—they share the briefest of smirks at their mission accomplished.
They return on the same route they arrived in, the same train compartment, and they share the same untamed span of hours before they're back to wondering when they will see each other again.
They tolerate the separation, because as they part ways…they can both still feel the lingering sensations of fingertips.