ODE TO THE MURDERED, bonten

49

PART FOURTY-NINE !
a ribbon in the rift.

            THE EVENING IS STAGNANT LIKE COPPER, portraying itself like a slow melting butter, thick and golden canoeing through the window. the scar across your belly remained undiscerning, engraved with a type of malaise you wish to push further back your throat, forgotten to the bitter taste of it.

the heavy events of what happened for the past couple of days replays like a film, etched like tattoo on your skin, like poison, like burning char still hot, and yet you pace yourself still.

Hanma is found lounging on the open balcony, smoke stick in one hand, blond-black hair sleeked back messily, a piece of tendril falling from its place, flopping over his forehead when he tilts his head at the door, hearing a sound.

    when those golden eyes are on you, it softens, it always does.

    "hey." Hanma says.

    you close the door behind you. "hi."

   "how's the wound?" he scoots a little, making space for you to sit beside him.

    "i can still walk." you answer him simply.

    "that's not an excuse." he says. "you should rest more."

    "we cannot afford to dawdle anymore."

    "we still have time, there's no need to be so hasty."

    "it's already been a few days. the world won't wait for me to recover before things happen again, i need to keep up with Bonten, Quoia or the whole city if i have to."

    Hanma knows when to back off after your second relenting response. he doesn't fight your stubbornness, he rarely does so, and you're grateful. you're grateful because Hanma does not feel like a heavy shackle around your ankles, he doesn't deter your movements, in fact, he encourages them. he's been supportive since the day you met him. at least, that's how he has been.

    "hey, Hanma?"

    you can feel his eyes, the sound of a wisp of smoke tinkering between the two of you, the smell of cannabis invading your nose. "answer me honestly, okay?"

    Hanma straightens upon your question. "okay."

    you look at him. "that time in Minato Ward, before the building burned, Kakucho said something about Izana being dead because of Tetta. what does he mean by that, what did he do?"

    he stops smoking, his face illuminated by the glow of the ether. it serves as a warm halo around his face whilst you—you are against the light, a shadow casting on your face when you frown, like moon-caved craters, so deep and full of young and complicated feelings, awaiting his answer in patient anticipation.

    you see Hanma swallow. feather falling words stumble from his lips. "it's...it's—"

    "it happened during the Tenjiku and Toman fight back then, right?" you press softly.

    "yeah." Hanma agrees finally. "it's almost the end of the whole thing, i guess. and uhm—a gun was involved in the fight, Kisaki brought it. if i remember, it was aimed at Kakucho, the brawler was supposed to be the one lying on the ground, but Kurokawa Izana got in the way of the bullets, took the shots fired at him."