Something changed.
Like clouds passing over the sun—Jigano's face, going from open and (hurt?) to something else. It fit snugly, seamlessly, such a perfect, perfect thing. A closed door, a distance. Rory's face stilled similarly, once again a wary animal, closed-off as he watched; patient and aloof, frantic inside. His heart thrashed violently in his chest, frightened by the mask, and knowing it as such for two reasons alone.
The first was that until then, he had never seen Jigano wear it.
The second was Isuma, tense and unhappy upon his shoulder. Even if he hadn't felt the atmosphere change, a kick in the guts and a cold, cold dread, he would've picked it up from her. For something to hold on to he raised his hand, as if to soothe her, to bury his fingers among her feathers and fur. His eyes watched Jigano, dark and feral, the hand still upon the table twitching in some oddly acquired response to the honeyed one coming near—
But it passed over his, took his empty bowl, and the feeble reaction was barely more than his hand spasming across the wood anyway. Swallowing, his wild gaze skipped aside, then back to the man moving away from him.
He was colder now, fighting through a black current, replaying the past minutes in his mind and looking for the tipping point; he wanted to say that the location didn't matter, as long as Jigano was by him—
His hands twisted around themselves again, until he forced them to still, palms down on the table. His gaze pinning Jigano by the sink, heart fast and scared, but his voice as it almost always was: quiet, gentle. "What is wrong?" he asked softly.
Like clouds passing over the sun—Jigano's face, going from open and (hurt?) to something else. It fit snugly, seamlessly, such a perfect, perfect thing. A closed door, a distance. Rory's face stilled similarly, once again a wary animal, closed-off as he watched; patient and aloof, frantic inside. His heart thrashed violently in his chest, frightened by the mask, and knowing it as such for two reasons alone.
The first was that until then, he had never seen Jigano wear it.
The second was Isuma, tense and unhappy upon his shoulder. Even if he hadn't felt the atmosphere change, a kick in the guts and a cold, cold dread, he would've picked it up from her. For something to hold on to he raised his hand, as if to soothe her, to bury his fingers among her feathers and fur. His eyes watched Jigano, dark and feral, the hand still upon the table twitching in some oddly acquired response to the honeyed one coming near—
But it passed over his, took his empty bowl, and the feeble reaction was barely more than his hand spasming across the wood anyway. Swallowing, his wild gaze skipped aside, then back to the man moving away from him.
He was colder now, fighting through a black current, replaying the past minutes in his mind and looking for the tipping point; he wanted to say that the location didn't matter, as long as Jigano was by him—
His hands twisted around themselves again, until he forced them to still, palms down on the table. His gaze pinning Jigano by the sink, heart fast and scared, but his voice as it almost always was: quiet, gentle. "What is wrong?" he asked softly.
