Sakuma Jirou (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ichigou) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
halloforigin2016-12-10 08:45 pm
ichigou) wrote in halloforigin2016-12-10 08:45 pmI'm really falling for you, I hate what you're putting me through
A collection of Kidou/Sakuma threads because I am shipper trash.
ichigou) wrote in halloforigin2016-12-10 08:45 pm
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Having let Sakuma pull him easily to his feet, Kidou takes little time retrieving his flashlight. He can easily explain it as a means of precaution. There's some steps that are treacherous without a light to see them by, as he's learned by painful experience, and it's only prudent to carry it in case a light burns out somewhere or something. Sakuma would never know where they are. Kidou would take a long time to get back.
It's careful planning. It's not a childish guard against ghosts.
Not remotely. Of course not. He's mature. Mature people don't fear such things.
The kitchen is so far away from here...
When Kidou turns back to his friend, his mask is firmly reestablished. He won't allow any hesitation to show. There's only the faintest shreds of worry remaining where he can't quite stamp them out. Despite the myriad reasons this plan is gently gnawing at his stomach, he's determined to look unconcerned.
It mostly shows in the vaguely stiff way he stands, still walking as if there's eyes on him.]
Follow me.
[Flashlight in hand - not that he needs it, not really - he heads back to the door and down the way they came. He doesn't have to check to see if Sakuma will. It's Sakuma. Of course he would be right behind him.]
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A flashlight was security, and although he never saw Kidou as anything other than strong...
He knows. Deep down, he knows.
He follows without question, letting Kidou lead him through the hallways. But there's a plan he's keeping secret from his friend, putting it into action the moment they pass the light switch. It's daring, and were Kidou's father here he wouldn't dare do it. But someone had to step up and show his friend what a holiday was.
It wasn't dark and dreary.
Lights would go on in this house for one night, if only to give the illusion that Kidou wasn't alone. Or mostly so. His hand outstretches, flickering on the hallway light.]
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... he carefully doesn't turn around. It's better if he doesn't. Sakuma doesn't need to see the alarmed expression that Kidou's fairly sure flashed across his face, not until he can force it back down. It's bad enough that he's potentially broken some rules that just hadn't been stated yet by doing this, but the idea of testing one he's been warned about before ...
...If he was honest with himself, it scared him, deep down. There was always too much at stake.
He didn't dare risk the consequences of finding out what the limits were. He knew the rules of this house, and he was always so careful to follow every last one that he'd ever remembered being told.]
We shouldn't turn on lights needlessly.
[His voice is flat. Calm. Maybe a little too flat to those paying close attention. He's heard this lecture before, and he can hear it now. Wealth doesn't exist to be squandered. The Kidou Financial Group doesn't stay at the top because of frivolous spending habits.
Like wasting electricity.]
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It was just a house.
Sympathy overtakes surprise quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets and adamantly challenging Kidou's words. He didn't often speak out against his captain, but this was one of the rare times where he knew these words weren't his. They were Kidou Sr's. And he had a slight problem with this boy being left alone on a holiday.]
Kidou, there is no one but us in the house.
Let's at least make it look lived in for one night.
[Lord knows he's done it when his father's been away on leave and his mother's working late. And if his family, who was much less wealthy than Kidou Sr. could afford a light or two on to keep him company on those lonely nights, a man who could afford a dinner party without his son could spare the expense as well.
He doesn't budge from his decision, starting to walk past Kidou to turn and face him.]
No one, especially you should be alone on Christmas, Kidou.
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Least of all Sakuma! Sakuma sometimes questioned him, but he didn't outright challenge him like that. In a way, it's the best possible move Sakuma could make, wiping away Kidou's protest before he can voice it with the power of pure shock value.
The urge to look away almost overwhelms him, but Kidou can't back down. He can't! His hands twitch, fists subconsciously clenching with the excess emotion that he knows he can't afford to show. It's difficult, forcing himself to relax again, but through sheer effort of willpower alone he manages it. How can he make Sakuma understand? This is important!
He doesn't really know. This was a bad idea. He should have known better than to-
But Sakuma doesn't give him further opening to speak up or continue his internal debate. Kidou stays rooted to the spot as Sakuma moves around him, and doesn't - can't - interrupt when Sakuma speaks up again. He has no idea what to expect.
When Kidou's off-guard is when he listens the hardest, well-honed instincts kicking in to make him pay attention to everything he can see. Safely behind his goggles, his eyes flick across the narrow field of vision afforded him, taking in Sakuma's gentle expression, the angle of his shoulders. The boy looks just as sincere as he sounds.
Maybe that's why that last sentence hits him harder than it should have. He was used to being alone. There was a darker part of his mind that quietly insisted that he deserved the isolation.]
Sakuma-
[But nothing follows that. Any attempt to assure Sakuma that he's fine being alone dies away, unsaid.
It's too big a lie.]
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But that was in Teikoku.
And--he might add, a little saltily--Kidou had left Teikoku to join Raimon.
Sakuma had a feeling, though, that the moment he flipped on that switch he'd get some resistance. There were things he'd immediately learned about Kidou the moment he stepped into his house to spend the evening with him--that this wasn't in fact, his house. It was a house he resided in...naturally, but there was no indication that anything from the furniture to the carpet that this house was meant to be a home.
And that's why he's challenging.
A hand reaches out to Kidou's shoulder, finally warm from that long walk in the snow to get here, thumb pressing into the fabric on his shoulder. He knows this is hard. He's had to battle his own internal demons--ones that told him that Kidou had abandoned him, and that he and Genda had somehow deserved Kidou never speaking to them after.
Kidou had let them in.
And now Sakuma was going to shed some light for him, for once.]
Just until we're back into your room, yeah?
Is that acceptable?
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But the longer he stares into that gentle face, Kidou can't keep convincing himself of that. Sakuma did know. He knew a lot of the same atmosphere Kidou had grown up with; wherever Kageyama was, the same oppressive feeling went. It's true that Sakuma didn't know Kidou's particular circumstances, but he knew enough of them that Kidou couldn't wave away his words.
That hand is steadying, an anchor against paralyzing uncertainty and worry.
Although the worry doesn't vanish, Kidou's expression shifts away from flat refusal to a concerned acceptance that this was going to happen, and the best move he could possibly make is to take ownership of the idea. The tension leaves his shoulders. The soft click of the flashlight being switched off is answer enough even before Kidou says anything.]
Until then.
[And to prove it, Kidou sidesteps around Sakuma and continues walking away from the lightswitch, leaving the hallway bright behind him.
They have a kitchen to get to, after all.]