( @daitoku )
It was like spider string, intense, chilling. It pulled at his back and twisted around his fingers and arms, drawing him closer and closer until he couldn’t pull himself away, like a curse.
Or perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, for the cafe he’d been lead into so mysteriously was about to be the scene of a scuffle. Two burly men with bats, an elderly woman and a frightened-looking child, and then...
“You’re... “
... -- a tall woman with satin-silk hair attempting to oppose them. The thread finally released, and separated him, and bound him to one he should’ve known.
But no. They’d never met. He’d never caught that porcelain gaze, or ever felt the soft thrum of fingertips along his hilt just moments before the final blow.
... never, ever, he was so very sure, and yet -- rivulets of sweat hung static under his jacket. He couldn’t relax. It was a feeling so electrifying and terrifying, as if whatever she was like to say might shatter and ground him into dust. He suddenly wanted, and yearned, and if his brother had been here perhaps things would’ve been much different. Hizamaru was normally so collected, so in control of those emotions which complicated things, but for the moment --
The blade struggled to hold his silence, and then failed.
“Let me assist you. Please.”