zenitsu.

[oathic]

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[oathic]

[... well, that didn't quite sound like someone knocking on his door, but.]

Um... you okay out there?

[swordflash]

[that sure wasn't.]

S-sorry! I didn't mean to knock.

[oathic]

[...

he opens the door.]

Need help, kid?

[swordflash]

[he lifts his head, seemingly about to say one thing when he eyes his door down the hall.]

Actually, could you get my key? It's in my bag.

[the small knit bag hanging at his waist contains a few things. included are a pair of gloves, a polaroid, and the room key.]

[oathic]

Sure, no problem.

[he fetches the key. he's nice and doesn't rummage through zenitsu's stuff.]

Want me to open the door?

[swordflash]

[that's for the best, honestly.

he nods.]

[oathic]

All right-y.

[he walks across the hall to unlock and open zenitsu's door! come on in, buddy.]

[swordflash]

[zenitsu takes an agonizingly long time to straighten his legs and step past the threshold into his assigned room. as expected, it's empty.]

Thanks again.

[his hand relaxes and tightens around his mended arm.]

Did I disturb you?

[oathic]

Nah, I wasn't doing much. How's your arm?

[swordflash]

[he makes a face, though it's faint compared to his usual expressions, before sniffling.]

Miss Luna fixed it. Mr. Wright helped.

[oathic]

That's good. Maybe you'll even get a cool scar you can boast about—ah, though you may have to make up a story.

[do not say a duck shot you.]

[swordflash]

[he'd rather die first. he blanches.]

I don't mind some scarring as long as it'll stop hurting. Even now, it's still sore.

[oathic]

You might have to live with the pain for now. Think you can fall asleep?

[swordflash]

Sleeping is the only way I'll be able to forget the pain. I have no other choice.

[as he whines, his gaze drifts to the empty bed. the sight makes his brow furrow.]

[oathic]

[... right. zenitsu is alone now, isn't he?]

Do you want Toi or someone...?

[swordflash]

[he blinks, a little surprised at the suggestion.]

That guy can go where he wants.

[they just stayed together for curfew. toi has other people with whom he can be spending his time.]

It's fine. No one's gonna die tonight, after all.

[hopefully.]

[oathic]

Hm... well, want some company? Until you can fall asleep.

[to be honest, agni's not in a social mood, but he's also not about to overlook someone else's pain.]

[swordflash]

[he's tempted to accept the offer; however, after a moment of consideration, zenitsu shakes his head.]

You don't have to. If not for me, you'd probably be resting by now.

[oathic]

You don't have to worry about that. I don't really sleep, anyway.

[swordflash]

Even if you don't, tomorrow's the execution. Don't you think you should . . .

[he doesn't get the chance to finish when a memory flashes into their minds:

The sun is setting. At the top of the mountain, next to the tree you've climbed countless times to delay training, are you and your master.

After many months of toiling away with nothing to show for it, you've mastered your first and only form in the Breath of Thunder Style. Did those nights of secret practice have anything to do with your success? Even so, you sit on your legs with hunched shoulders and your sword propped against your knee.

Maybe your foster brother is right. Maybe you're just wasting your foster grandfather's time.

"That's all right, Zenitsu. That's good enough for you. If you can master one, that's cause for celebration!" Tucking his peg leg under him, your grandfather drops to one knee and puts his hand on your head. "If you can only do a single thing, hone it to perfection. Hone it to the utmost limit!"

Dejected, you stare down at the ground. It took you so long to get to this point—to achieve the basic of the basics. How can you hone that? Besides, the fact of the matter is this: "Hey, but Gramps . . . Just a little while ago, you were hopping mad. Because Thunder Breathing has six forms, and all I can manage to do is one."

Your grandfather climbs onto his peg leg. He withdraws his hand, forms a fist, and brings it down on your head.

"Do you know how to forge a sword?" he asks as he thumps you on the head again. Then again. And again while you fight back tears with a frown.

You have no idea. Will he keep hitting you? You think you'll cry.

"The thing about swords," your grandfather begins as he thumps you in tandem with his words: "You strike and strike and strike to get rid of impurities and anything you don't need, and to increase the purity of the blade, so a durable sword can be forged."

So that's why he keeps clobbering you day in, day out? Your cheeks grow hot and your fists tremble on your knees. But you're not made of steel, are you? You're living flesh.

In the end, hot tears of shame pour down your face. Here's your grandfather, scaling back his expectations to encourage you to move forward, yet you find yourself teeming with doubt. You're a good-for-nothing who knows only how to cry and run.

That's when your grandfather gets back down on his knee to place a firm hand on your shoulder.

"Zenitsu, perfect it! It's all right to cry. It's all right to run away!" He squeezes your shoulder. "Just don't ever give up!" Your eyes widen. "Just believe. You endured all that hellish training! You'll be rewarded for that without fail!

"Hone it to the utmost limit! Become the most durable blade of all! Hone that one thing to perfection!"

zenitsu blinks as tears well in his eyes anew. that memory again.]

[oathic]

[...

he's quiet for a few moments after that memory, before he speaks.]

... Need a hug?

[swordflash]

[huh?

he brings his arm closer. the pause is a bit awkward, but also a little comforting.]

That's all right.

[oathic]

All right.

[...]

Was that your mentor?

[swordflash]

Gramps taught me how to use the sword.

[he glances at the sheathed sword propped against the desk and looks down at his arm.]

I haven't drawn it in a while, though.

[oathic]

... Ah. Sucks about your arm, then. You'll just have to make up for it once you're healed, right?

He seemed like a good guy, though.