Ritsuka tells himself he's being realistic. He doesn't desire to hear those three words, a symphony of certainty from his fighter's lips.
Do you mean that, Soubi? That voice in the back of his head is so damn demanding. Lately, it's been tearing words out of his mouth, accusing words that deserve to stay on his tongue and not hanging in the silence.
Was that an order from Seimei?
The feeling residing in his stomach is confusing, the careful result of anxiety and anticipation and whatever else it is. Butterflies, chained and bound to his insides, jabbing at its walls and reminiscing freedom.
Ritsuka doesn't know what this is called. He hopes it isn't due to another of his brother's commands. Lately, they seem to be reigning over his life.