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There's a softness about him. It's well hidden, usually. The raised eyebrows and sharp smirk make it impossible to see. The porcelain skin and golden hair make him look cold, like metal, like shards that cut. His sapphire eyes shimmer, so hard are they polished. And the rose—no, the thorns around it. They hurt you when you get too close.
But isn't it symbolic? Amongst all the smooth and hard and painful things, the gemstones, the gold, the porcelain, amongst the vines and thorns, there's something precious, something soft and vulnerable that you only see at second, third glance. Reach out for it and expect to be cut by the thorns and the sword in the crest. Be ready to meet the resistance of bone china and metal forged for years, hammer blow after hammer blow that turned a boy into a blade that can only cut. It's natural to be scared.
But Rin is used to the pain. To reaching out and only ever be hurt doing so. His brother taught him that. His brother also taught him that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And, oh!, has Rin become strong with his hopes and dreams and heart shattered by the person he loved the most.
He learned his lesson, and he reached out nevertheless. Because at some point he realized that what he feels for his brother isn't fundamentally different from what he feels for Kaiser. Because they are alike, those inhuman prodigies who went and became what they wanted to be, needed to be to become themselves. Those men who didn't scare away from the claws and teeth of those around them and both, in their own way, devoured Rin in the process with their own claws and teeth. Sae-nii-chan and Micha (not Kaiser , just Micha ) make his heart stutter when he looks at them. On the field.
And here.
And so Rin reaches out. Brushes aside the golden and royal blue strands. Runs his fingers through the silky hair. Follows the shape of the ear with his fingers, gently, down the jaw until they inevitably touch the petals of the rose.
It's soft. Of course. It's only pale skin turned blue. And the thorns are soft, too. Only pale skin turned black from ink and blood.
That's when Micha inhales. Shakily, through moist lips. His eyes glint, clear and sapphire blue. Rin sees his cheeks reddening but the hair has fallen back into Micha's face, so he pushes the blond and blue strands from his cheek again. Micha squeezes his left eye shut, and his dark golden lashes cast a soft shadow on his equally soft cheek.
“クッス・ミッヒ,” Rin says, slowly, because his German isn't so clear yet and he can't have Micha misunderstand him.
But when Micha leans down and does it, kisses him, he thinks that maybe the words aren't so important. Maybe the tone of his voice is. Even if his Japanese accent is thick and hard, the way his fingers are soft in Micha's hair, his eyes on Micha's cheeks, his voice in Micha's ear, that says more than words ever could.
And Micha understands. He leans down and kisses him, softly, like everything he does when it's only them.
Because there's a softness about Micha. A rose hidden behind thorns and gold and blades and shards. Rin is not a coward. He reached out and despite the pain and blood and harsh words, the rose is in his hands now. It's silky soft and beautiful and, only for Rin, it blooms .