coins to a cat • hoozuki no reitetsu

♚ e n s n a r e d

     It was upon a meadow in the idyllic meadows of Shangri-La that Hozuki looked up upon a man who hung loosely from a tree, the smell of saké quick to overtake his senses, though a face of placidity plain to see upon his feminine features. That was the first time he saw the string, glowing furiously red and wound almost painfully around his little finger.

     The second time was when he stood beside a Chinese beast partaken with the features of a man, who's slanted eyes narrow and brazen couldn't be more bored with the goings of his surroundings than the demon beside him.

"Would you like to make a bet?"

...

"I suppose it could help pass the time."

Hakutaku could not see the string.

He, however, could see the glances Hozuki constantly made towards his left hand, tightening his lips as though displeased, or when the demon anxiously rubbed his little finger, staring at it with quivering eyes that were strange to see on his face, so often calm and collected and painfully brutal.

"Why do you always look at your hand?"

He had asked one day.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Had been the answer.

Hozuki hated the string. Hated how it constantly glowed so vibrantly, as though it were alive, and then dimmed to the tearing crimson thread. He hated that despite this, His gleamed a bright, vivid vermillion that never died down, never flickered, never wavered. Hozuki hated the feeling of hands wrapped around his throat and squeezing, suffocating him until he was all tears and completely lacking the coolheadedness he was revered for.

He hated that despite the fact that he would give Him everything, the most he'd be given was a moments attention and then He'd be gone.

"Do you love anyone, Hakubuta?"

"Mah, love is such a strong word, but if I have to say— all beautiful women!"

It was stupid.

"I see."