They sat against a tree, facing away from one another, silence broken by Chosen finally speaking. "You're so annoyin'..." The constant badgering, the arguing. It's not really a surprise. "But I can't hate you." There's a wistfulness in his voice and suddenly the air feels heavier. "I hate that... you're fine with who you are. You're not ashamed. Hell, you're even proud. And that's what I really hate." Because it's not something he could ever be. "I hate that you're so fucking comfy being you."
when it comes to places to sit rokurou is convinced beneath a tree is the best. it reminds him of childhood, a cherry blossomed youth where pink petals were stained with blood and maybe he shouldn’t think of things like that fondly, but he does. he’s learned how to. the leaves fall and it’s always nice watching them. nature is nothing if not consistent. sure of itself. just as colors fade to winter they’re return.
in a way rokurou’s never felt more connected to nature than he has since becoming a daemon. the inhuman twisting of the being overtaken by all the bad things inside of him somehow culminating into an inner strength. a security. just like a tree could no sooner turn itself into a fish he could no sooner stop being a daemon. there was comfort in that. it’s almost funny, the trail of thought the chosen draws onto when his words cut through the afternoon air. rokurou watches the lazy spin of a leaf as it curls through the air.
he listens. tastes the malevolence in the back of his throat ( always wondering, somewhere in the back of his mind, if he’s encouraging the bile ). zelos’ bears his anger in a way that sounds more like shame and it’s not something foreign. a laugh tugs from his chest and rokurou closes his eyes. wasn’t that him, once upon a time? so bitter, so angry. drowning in the long shadow cast over him. never enough — how the obsession of the self and shigure warped him into what he was, but in the agony of it all clarity was found.
rokurou was happier now than he’d ever been as a human. maybe that was just part of being a daemon. cut away all the things that made life complicated. singular goals were easy to fixate on. “i wasn’t always like this, you know.” his finger taps against the hilt of stormhowl. “pretty sure the only person i hated more than shigure was myself.” has he ever even mentioned him beore? he can’t recall. his brother was a past relic. a stepping stone. a conquered obstacle. rokurou might owe him a little more credit than he gives.
“but that’s how it goes, isn’t it? when you’re always stuck comparing yourself. building yourself out of all your failures because it’s the only thing that really feels like it’s yours. back when i was a human it was all questions. why, why, why. why aren’t i strong enough, why can’t i do this, blah blah. man, i dunno how i didn’t get sick of it sooner. but as a daemon? it’s all decisions. i will be strong enough, i will do this. don’t know why it’s so much easier, but it just is.” he knows he’s not really helping, just explaining, but it isn’t like he knows how to help something like this.
a grin sets across his mouth. rokurou’s never been much of a problem solver unless that problem can be solved with many knife wounds and even if that might be a solution zelos was favorable towards it’s not one he’ll indulge in. “maybe all you need to do is become a daemon, eh, but i bet you’d be a real ugly one.”
