[ !! Mayday, mayday, he's been s t r u c k, sustaining colossal (debilitating, irreparable) damage to the humerus by way of (well-intentioned) shoulder-flick. Suddenly, the Director is beset by a flurry of questions: can such a brazen attack go unanswered? Could he, Sion Astal, ever abide by a world where he (his heart) is to be protected by others (by Kanda, by his dearest of friends)? And more than that, why is it only just now that the suspicion he'd held since the day their paths had crossed again—the notion that Kanda had been unwell during their voyage to Leith—is being confirmed?! Kanda, you callous (surprisingly compassionate), abrasive (honest), shoulder-flicking (warmly affectionate) j e r k (friend).
A hand lifting to his shoulder, Sion touches his fingertips to the spot where Kanda's touch had been with a fond almost-reverence for the man, a soft smile playing upon his lips before warmly gold eyes flick up, seeking out clear-cut blue: ]
Aren't you worrying just a little too much? [ My, my. ] Perhaps that brain-plague has stuck around with you.
[ It isn't so often that Sion is less formal and by far more childish, save for when he is most at ease (and when he so happens to be in the company of a good friend). Though Sion had known the doting love, companionship and care, of two elder siblings, he'd hardly the chance to be at play when serving as a chess piece—a pawn to be moved about at the hand of an overbearing father. And then, he'd been delivered into the hands of the military, a place where--...
He'd met Kanda and felt somehow kindred to him, deciding that (at the time) what Kanda (Sion himself) had been most of need of had been a constant (smiling, annoying, steadfast and true) friend.
That hand which had reached out to Kanda on the day when they'd first met had refused to waver, and even now, in the present where Sion pokes the other man just beneath the collarbone—there, where the flesh sinks in toward the heart—it does not. ]
1/2
A hand lifting to his shoulder, Sion touches his fingertips to the spot where Kanda's touch had been with a fond almost-reverence for the man, a soft smile playing upon his lips before warmly gold eyes flick up, seeking out clear-cut blue: ]
Aren't you worrying just a little too much? [ My, my. ] Perhaps that brain-plague has stuck around with you.
[ It isn't so often that Sion is less formal and by far more childish, save for when he is most at ease (and when he so happens to be in the company of a good friend). Though Sion had known the doting love, companionship and care, of two elder siblings, he'd hardly the chance to be at play when serving as a chess piece—a pawn to be moved about at the hand of an overbearing father. And then, he'd been delivered into the hands of the military, a place where--...
He'd met Kanda and felt somehow kindred to him, deciding that (at the time) what Kanda (Sion himself) had been most of need of had been a constant (smiling, annoying, steadfast and true) friend.
That hand which had reached out to Kanda on the day when they'd first met had refused to waver, and even now, in the present where Sion pokes the other man just beneath the collarbone—there, where the flesh sinks in toward the heart—it does not. ]