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They meet by accident.
Ikebukuro station is full to madness. Bodies cram together and come apart, indistinguishable in the afternoon rush. It's worse for it being a Friday. The crowds buzz with a kind of exuberant desperation unique to metropolitans faced with the weekend.
The platform is dangerously congested. Salary men queue in double lines of black suits. Seishirou fits well into their ranks, when he so wishes. The play at normality amuses him. He idly wipes a trace of red from his wristwatch, uncovering the minutes hand. The train is due.
Someone slams into him. Seishirou has his hands on the man almost immediately. He remembers not to dig his fingers in too deeply, but it's a near miss. The man bows, flustered. Seishirou leans back to avoid a second collision.
"I am terribly sorry," the stranger stutters, "Please, excuse-"
The rest is swallowed by a soft gasp. The man straightens. Wide green eyes lift to Seishirou's, then drop again.
"Whose blood is it?" he asks softly.
Seishirou smiles. The man is looking at Seishirou's gloved hands. The leather is dyed red at present. Seishirou is wearing an illusion, but this man has seen beneath it. As he should. Anything less would be an insult Seishirou would not forgive of someone destined to be his rival in every way.
"Do you need help?" the stranger asks, more urgent now.
Seishirou savors a rare flash of surprise. "You are much too kind, Sumeragi-san," he says. It's not a compliment.
The man's brows furrow in confusion. His skin and skull may well be transparent, for the ease with which his eyes betray his thoughts. Understanding comes dragging horror.
"Sakurazuka-san," Sumeragi says. The name is an accusation.
Seishirou inclines his head. He wonders if Sumeragi will run. He doesn't know enough about the man to guess.
Sumeragi's hands come together briefly, then fall to his sides. He must carry ofuda in his sleeves, within easy reach. Seishirou half-hopes the man draws. Seconds drum by. Sumeragi seems satisfied with mute staring. Seishirou turns his eyes back to the tracks, but his attention never wavers from his companion.
The train arrives. People rush out, more rush in. Faceless and nameless, so much cattle.
Seishirou turns to his companion. "After you."
Sumeragi glances at Seishirou, then at the people trying to push their way into the car. "Thank you," he says.
Seishirou herds the man through a crush of bodies. Sumeragi falters several times, ceding way to ruder men whilst murmuring apologies. Only Seishirou's presence at his back keeps him walking. Had Sumeragi been alone, he would have never made it into the train.
The doors close. Sumeragi manages to carve a sliver of space between them by pressing against a wall. Seishirou angles his body to corner him. Nothing can happen, not in the heart of a crowd. Still, it would be in poor taste to leave the encounter without ruffling feathers.
Sumeragi stares at the ground. He flinches every so often, hyperaware of the shift and push of other passengers. The man's character gains form in Seishirou's mind. Sumeragi's softness would be displeasing, weren't it so novel.
"Are you headed to a job?" Seishirou asks.
Sumeragi's eyes skirt Seishirou's lips. "Yes," he says at last, too polite to ignore a direct question. His gaze strays to Seishirou's hands again.
"Should I take them off?"
"What?"
Seishirou raises a gloved hand demonstratively. Sumeragi stares.
The train rattles to a stop. Seishirou is forced closer to Sumeragi as people push through to the exit. Sumeragi tries his best to burrow into the metal wall. His eyes rise to Seishirou's briefly. Seishirou expects fear. What he finds instead has him moving closer, chasing, like a hound with the scent of blood under its nose.
"No," Sumeragi says.
"No?"
"Not for my sake," Sumeragi corrects. "Do as you wish."
Seishirou chuckles. He leans in, close enough to cover Sumeragi's body with his own. Sumeragi's head thumps against the wall, the man's eyes wide with indignation.
"I shouldn't have to teach you the importance of choosing your words carefully," Seishirou says.
A flush rises in Sumeragi's cheeks. Seishirou can't tell if its cause is anger or embarrassment. Both, perhaps. Red sits well on Sumeragi's skin.
"Is that a threat, Sakurazuka-san?"
"Do you feel threatened?"
Sumeragi tips his chin up. "I am not afraid of you."
The train stops. Sumeragi straightens, obviously with the intention to move. Seishirou considers blocking the man's way. In the end, he lets him pass.
"Take care, Sumeragi-san," he says in parting.
Sumeragi glances over his shoulder. The flash of green etches in Seishirou's mind, impossibly important in that brief second of contact.
The doors close. Sumeragi disappears in the crowd, then to a blur of faces as the train takes off again. Seishirou watches his own reflection in the doors, the glass turned to a mirror as the train delves underground and the world outside disappears to black.
Tokyo is greedy. The city will eat someone of Sumeragi's character, swallow him whole and never let him go. There is a reason the Sakura chose to set roots in this place over all others. A reason for Seishirou's presence in Tokyo, and Sumeragi's, and that of every other Dragon and Seal who will be pulled to the city in two years' time.
A plume of smoke rises over Seishirou's right hand. Seishirou chuckles, his amusement unfeigned - a rare occurrence. Sumeragi had found the tracking spell faster than Seishirou had expected. Pleasure and anticipation leave Seishirou almost giddy. Tokyo is not alone in its greed. Seishirou intends to steal Sumeragi Subaru from the city.
In two years, he will tear the man from the world.