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The sound of explosions coming from the lab were nothing new. Takatora had always steered clear whenever he saw Ryouma sporting a grin (and carrying a coffee maker, not a good sign) and when the man came rushing past him earlier in the day with a coffee maker and microwave he knew he had no time or interest in whatever was about to go down. He might have shown more concern ten years back, maybe even two years back, but their time together and the nature of their relationship had worn him down to generally unfeeling.
He’s an adult. Takatora would tell himself, even as he watched smoke billow out in noxious looking clouds. He’s smart enough to clean up his own messes. He’d chant as Ryouma stumbled out, teeth white against a face blackened from whatever he’d done. He’ll always be okay. He’d laugh beneath his breath, relieved. The same pattern again again, talking and chanting and laughing. That was how Kureshima Takatora dealt with Sengoku Ryouma.
The feeling of his office rumbling beneath his feet was new; the sound of people screaming and running somewhat uncommon, not rare, though the sight of them covered - red against stark white. Faces blanked but none of them smiling and heading his way, none of them calling out his name in between coughing up an experiment gone very right or very wrong. The explosions - why hadn’t he heard them? Why had he only felt a rumble, so muted? He wanted an answer, Takatora was going to get his answer, and he shoved himself through the crowds of people streaming past.
The elevators were out, the stairs were packed, but he forced his way down as the crowds streamed past him - like salmon going up river or rats fleeing from danger. He looked at their faces as they passed, trying to search for the one in a sea he didn’t recognize. Some where crying, some speaking gibberish, all of them wasting his time. He needed to get down there, to check on things as one of the managers of Yggdrasil. As one of the people overlooking the projects. That was his reason.
That was what he had to keep telling himself in order not to run, in order to keep the same pace in front of people who looked to him as their boss. The figure on the rock that would not be swayed. That mindset and composure lasted as long as the flow of people did and once he was free of them he took to a run, his shoes echoing on the ground before muting against the crackle of damage.
The lab - could he call it that anymore? - was gone, a mess scattered about the area like the remains of someone throwing at random. Hands in his pockets, needing to act as though he were angry at this distruction rather than nervous, he poked around. His foot kicked against a piece of broken glass, the blasted coffee pot from that morning, and he opened his mouth to call out Ryouma’s name. He said it casually at first, his voice breaking on a syllable.
He’s an adult.
He said Ryouma’s name louder, stepping in more and pulling his hands from his pockets. Takatora pushed and pulled at several pieces of debris, shifting them aside to allow him further passage in, all the while his voice rising from simply speaking to almost yelling. He threw aside a large piece of what used to be a desk, eyes scanning the darkened floor for any sign of movement, any sign of white.
He’s smart enough to clean up his own messes.
"Ryouma." He practically screamed the name in a combination of frustration and worry. This wasn’t where he wanted to be today, this wasn’t what he wanted to do today. He didn’t want to be looking for someone in rubble while waiting for the response crews to show up. "Ryouma!"
"Takatora." A voice, to his left and at his ankle. Takatora quickly turned and dropped down, his face coming nearly level with Ryouma’s own. The man was smiling, grinning really, and he looked rather pale even for someone who wasn’t used to venturing into the sunlight. "Sorry about that. Guess I should have known not to mix those two things together." He reached a hand out, and Takatora took it without hesitation. The hand felt cold and clammy, though beneath the touch of his fingers he could feel the racing of Ryouma’s pulse.
Takatora cleared his throat, unsure of how to speak. He wasn’t much of a talker, at least not when it came to emotional things. ”This is coming out of your pay.” Ryouma snorted. ”I’m serious.” The tone of his voice was growing steady again, disinterested. Good.
"What is?"
"All of this damage, and the cost for cleaning my suit." He helped Ryouma to his feet before releasing his hand and moving down to dust his knees. "This is a nice suit."
"It is, but if I make this project work like I’m hoping it does," Ryouma reached down to where he’d been sitting and held something up, a belt of some kind, his smile wide and his eyes teasing. "I’ll give you an even better one."
He’ll always be okay
"I look forward to it."