He looks so angry…I mean I don’t speak Korean but if I were to guess what he’s saying it’d be something like “Bastards…you let him eat my soul. Now you’re gonna die.” Ugh, please can they both just die? Everyone seems to love these kids but I’m like “these rats need to go” I mean as long as Finny and Snake and Soma don’t die I will be fine.
The sentiment is charming enough to make him pause. Not with surprise, or with the gravity of emotion that Kain cannot quite feel–Arima’s love is never a surprise to him, and itself was never a secret. They are simply not much of a secret. The world knows all about them, and yet knows so little about them too beyond the trimmings of some sordid love-story they’ve glimpsed from the outside. There’s far more to the tale than what people want to believe, and perhaps that’s where their real secrecy comes from. They are elusive as a concept, foreign to their onlookers–and they would still not understand, even if it were any different, he supposes.
Kain’s lips turn up into a thoughtful little smile as his fingers glance down the other man’s chest. He’s kneeling on the outside of the bathtub, sleeves pinned back and small hands daintily swiping the dull, red aftermath of the man’s work away. Some small and tender, helpful gesture that the bartender doesn’t mind making when he’s feeling as quiet as this. When Arima talks, and Kain listens and occasionally answers. He blinks at him through the middle of this peculiar moment and its more peculiar intimacy with his stormy blue eyes, head poised at a wondering angle, even while he smiles with a lazy, prideful knowing.
“We are too proud to keep one another a secret. And I do not think that we are such a thing. At least not in essence.” Warmth glances down the other man’s torso as Kain wets away another streak of red with cloth in hand, with mindful touch. “I will not be the secret you take with you to into death, but I will be that death one day. You will die close to me, and you will still be mine–not as a secret but as something I boast with a deep appreciation. Undying as I am, there is no grave for me to take you to, except for inside myself.” His voice softens to something newer, fainter. His free hand glides outward to push back the moon-white fall of his lover’s hair from his young face and curving cheek, where gently, the devil’s cool palm settles itself into place.
“Loving me with the passion that you do. Live well for a while longer, knowing that you have shown it to me, and to the world, and that it will be kept near me even at the end.”
The city was quite crowded and Jean decided the best option would be to dismount his horse and walk through the crowded, cobbled streets. “Ah it feels nice to be back doens’t it Achillies?” He said aloud, casting a look to the white steed whose reins he held in his hands as they maneuvered through the mass of townsfolk.
Jean had just recently returned from a month long crusade searching for any trace of rebels, gypsies and other heretics that could pose a threat to the one True Lord. His polished golden armor shone brightly in the cloudless sky and it didnt’ take one more than a second to realize that his rank as Judge Dawk’s Captain of the Gaurds. A position that he had earned at the young age of eighteen, far surpassing his fellow soliders and even most superiors in his military training.
The position itself was a lot of responsibility but it gave him the chance to make changes in the world as he gave orders to his men, and was allowed a certain degree of authority to make decisions. It was a power that could easily be abused and Jean had his fair share of complaints in how he had nobly handled matters as opposed to supporting Paris’ corruption.
He was an idealist, and wanting to help those less fortunate, so when it came to the nobles wanting to be let off the hook, he never took their bribes and instead charged them to reap what they sowed. Of course, Judge Dawk would usually let them off with a slap on the wirst but the fee for such a minor punishment generally made them think twice about misbehaving for a while.
A jingle pulled the Captian from his thoughts, a small, noisy crowd having gathered in the corner of the busy market. He was due to meet with the Judge shortly to give his report but he still had some time before their arranged meeting time. Deciding to see what generating such an interest he steered his horse over, issuing it an order to stay before working his way to the front of the group quite effortlessly once eyes cast themselves upon his armor.
When Jean did reach the front, he stopped, eyes transfixed on the performance taking place in front of him.