Work Text:
The full moon was out the night Belinda decided to go for a long walk to clear her head. She'd just gone through hell with Suguru, a muted sort of hell after his insecurity, jealousy, and yes, fear took over and he slapped her live on television. Although her cheek still stung with phantom pain whenever her mind floated its attention over to it, she couldn't blame the one who inflicted the pain and shame, because she had been fraternising with the enemy, a man, a creature, who meant to murder her boyfriend in cold blood at the behest of that horrid Mr Barracuda. No matter that she had been fraternising out of compassion, it was a misguided empathy, which only birthed more violence and humiliation.
That creature, that thing, neither man nor machine, but some bastard mixture of the two, with no voice and no morals…but with a will and a soul, of that she was sure. She seen it in the way he moved, the stillness which spoke even if he didn't. And that ragged breathing, that also spoke, of rage barely controlled. Of anger over injustice. Warsman's breathing changed subtly depending on what was going on around him, on what has happening to him. It changed timbre and speed and tone depending on what was being said to him, immediately flipping to an exceedingly fast and dangerous pace if he was insulted. That meant there was a highly sensitive and quick mind behind the unknowable mask and vicious eyes. She had to find a way to release it from its chains, literal and figurative.
Buildings sailed by to either side of her as she walked down the almost black streets interspersed with puddles and pools of silver. Buildings like ships, high and with little squares of warm yellow light for windows, little pieces of captured sun. Vending machines attempted to compete with the cold moon, projecting blue light that only looked sad and thin next to the celestial satellite. The young woman made her way past these fast food sentinels to a playground, not Suguru's playground, but one frequented by innocent children and dodgy adults, not that she was aware of the latter clientele.
Choosing a swing only lightly wet with evening moisture, she wiped it off with a couple tissues and sat down, the moon emerging from behind a ghostly cloud to shower her in silver, like a cheaper version of Danaë.
It's then that she noticed him, noticed the slash of pale blue bisecting his blank black mask and burnishing his helmet. Standing just outside of the shelter of a tree, he was not breathing heavily, or audibly breathing at all. Neither did he move. Only his crimson eyes flickered as he followed her swinging. Frightened at the same time as she was mightily intrigued by the hyper masculine chojin, Belinda pretended that she hadn't noticed him, while knowing that such clumsy tricks couldn't fool him. Step by silent, smooth step, he prowled closer.