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Fucking finally. The whole drawing session was a riot. Rion couldn't wait to get out of the mess that was Suzaku Kyousuke declaring himself as the one who would win the Vermillion Bird. That, people, would absolutely not be taken nicely, especially by the Sevens and the other participants, including Rion himself. Of course, being the sensible man he was, Rion wasn't about to break up a fight. He was different from that infuriating Kuze Ginrou—or Robo, his dear kouhai Hatohara Robato, who thankfully listened to him and walked away unscathed this time. And by unscathed, he meant ... not on the receiving end of more unnecessary troubles, like carefuly placed drawing position of the Sevens.
(That planned draw also opened up the possibility of Rion facing Karasuma Souta in the quarter final, but that was a problem for another day.)
Rion's eyes caught a mop of ash-colored hairs leaving the venue. His jaw tightened.
Karasuma.
Rion saw the look in Karasuma’s eyes up there, clear as a day. Repressed sorrows. Hollowed pain. Void. Seeing, but unseeing. Rion also noticed Souta was looking at Robo, but he knew Souta's mind wasn't really there. At this point, being the observant man Robo was, it wouldn't be too long until he figured out that something was wrong with his former senpai in Eiai.
Rion balled his fist. He needed to get out of here too.
—
A click from behind Rion alerted him of another presence in his flat. Rion didn't need to turn. He already knew who that presence would be.
"We'll meet at the semifinal," Rion offered instead. There was a thoughtful hum that followed his statement before silence filled his place again.
Rion moved to the kitchen. He took out his leftover and proceed to warm it up. Rion didn't feel like going out for food, let alone cooking. His energy had been drained by that disaster of a drawing session.
Tap. Soft footsteps came from behind Rion. The next thing he knew, there was an arm enveloping him from behind. A hand trapped one of his own to the kitchen counter.
Rion tried not to shake violently.
"You are so in control today, Rion." Warm breath kissed Rion’s neck, a whisper of lips on skin. "Had it been you from three years ago, the outcome wouldn't be like that."
Had it been me from three years ago, there would've been a man screaming at the number six of the Sevens, demanding things that—
"Yeah, well, I learn from the best," Rion opted to say. The thoughtful hum was back.
"Are you going anywhere after this?" the man—Souta—asked.
"Nope. Drained."
There was a noise from behind Rion. Hopefully, Souta wasn't making that face again. He really didn't have the strenght to do this again.
"Rion—"
No.
"Karasuma," Rion pressed. Souta went silent then.
Rion closed his eyes. In the back of his mind, he could see a Souta that was no longer Eiai's Karasuma Souta. A Souta so different yet still was his closest friend. (Friend? Was that really it? This weird thing between them that had been going for ... what? Two? Maybe almost three years now?)
The hand on top of Rion was still there, giving pressure but never (and would not ever, maybe, perhaps) capturing his fingers to entwine them like they should have done—
Embraced from behind by Souta like this gave Rion so, so much warmth. But at the same time, he felt as cold as the Arctic. Souta was there, looking at the back of Rion's brown hair, seeing, but unseeing.
Rion felt Souta's soft exhale grazing his shoulderblade, and then Souta dropped a quiet peck on his skin.
Rion tightened his jaw. He willed himself not to break; out of rage, or out of pain.
"Rion."
After all, Souta was there. Seeing, but unseeing. There, but not really here.
Never here.