It starts like it always does. Yulian rarely leaves the Reaper's headquarters beyond being called to see to a possible outbreak and as such has had the night to mull over every little thing that could possibly upset him that day. Ergo he ends up in the training area.
Yuli refuses to spar with most of the shroud. Not because they are less apt, some are at least as if not more so proficient than he in hand to hand, but of the things Yuli trusts himself is not one of them. If he injured one of the smaller reapers in his bearish ways, even purely by accident, guilt would eat him for days.
Casimir, however, was of a taller and fuller build. He was fair game.
Yulian does not bother to question why Cas keeps agreeing to spar with him, especially when he is in one of his moods. Like now. He doesn't ask and Cas doesn't feel the need to explain and Yuli is grateful. As grateful as a man can seem while knocking the shit out of another.
On normal days the back and forth is tempered, one learns from both pressing an attack and fending one off even if that opportunity would not have naturally presented itself.
On these days Yuli is relentless.
This is likely the cause for the alarm when Yulian's feet are swept from him and he forgets to catch himself on the way down.
He's not hurt, not in the slightest, but he stares up at the ceiling like a man suffering shock from a gut wound. He's panting from the exertion previously and inevitably Casimir's face appears scant seconds later, yellow eyes wide in alarm and similarly winded. Naturally he frets and naturally Yuli dismisses him, rolling to his side to pick himself up. He moves to keep Cas at bay, he always does, but he doesn't expect the other man to be so close this time. When his shoulder lifts and his hand raises to deflect the offer of aid it instead collides with Cas' face and sends him back.
Yuli twists immediately, in time to see Cas wince and bury the side of his face under a palm as he drops to his ass. One of them swears, possibly both.
But it's Yuli in his hoodie who reaches out.
Yuli who, from afar, is predictably distant and indifferent. Yuli who this close, however, is open and startlingly readable. At a distance, which most kept from the volatile mordesh, Yuli is able to school away anything that might invite unwanted conversation. When face to face all the subtle nuances in the dark mug lie bare, free to observe. The gentle crease between his heavy brows speaking in anger but an outrage softened by the openness of lurid red eyes leavening the look with concern. Be more careful.
Cas must be startled by the availability of the expression for he too raises a hand and sweeps at messy locks of shock white- the other side already pushed back by the man's constant manifestations of frustration.
Betrayed by proximity Yuli is visibly taken aback. His eyes widen and his brows loft, ears tipped in a red that likewise creeps over his face.
Cas asks him if he is alright and Yuli can't respond. Forgets how to in that moment.
He stares for what could be hours before his gaze falls away, eyes lidded, brows dropped, ears pinned petulantly. He's fine, he's always fine.
He tells Cas what he already somehow knows, that he should be more careful, and gets his feet beneath him with a huff. His fury has long bled out and the surly man quietly retreats across the mats to change.
