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8 - EXULANSIS

"I didn't think you'd want me to come with you, (Y/n). I almost thought you wouldn't take me up on my offer."

Kamei's offer, though innocent enough, was to come shoot with you.

"Almost didn't."

"Why did you?"

You strapped your vest on, and kept your mouth shut.

"Don't wanna talk about it?" He handed you a heavy pair of shooting earmuffs, giving you a carefree look. 

"Nope. Not right now, at least." You were angry - wanted to cool down. To prove to yourself you could still shoot a gun.

He gave you a quick nod and adjusted his vest, clicking it safely onto his lightly coloured sweater.

"Wanna shoot some paper dudes in the face?"

"That's the plan," Your eyes narrowed, eyeing him and the precinct the two of you stood in, "But you go first."

Kamei chuckled. "Trying to learn a thing or two from me?" His hands reached over to his own pairs of earmuffs - placing it on his head. His sandy blond hair flopped down as the headset pushed the high-standing ends down, making him look a little silly. 

"Well, I'll learn what not to do."

His eyes shot you a look that you knew was more-so on the playful side of things. Like even though you'd shot down his chance to talk seriously, he wasn't bothered. Like you being angry was something he could sympathise with, and he knew when to back off. 

Somebody like Saeki, the pink-haired coworker sitting across from you during paperwork days, would want to talk seriously. It didn't matter if you were just acquaintances. She'd say something along the lines of 'do you wanna talk about it?' and even if the answer was no, she'd push on. Sure, it was polite to want to help a friend - if you'd even call yourself that - but there were times where words couldn't do the job of resolving a problem. There were times where people needed to lay off.

Surprisingly, Kamei knew how to do just that.

He had a laidback exterior, sure. But somewhere under all those cheap sweaters and neon ties was a decent, empathetic person. A person who didn't bother to wear his badge on him because half the time he'd be sent off doing paperwork about a missing gecko, or something. He knew he was on the low ends of his job, and he took what he could. Payment was the only reason he stayed at this point - payment, and a friend's smile.

Sure, it was a little funny to think highly of a friend you only saw at work, but Kamei only really stayed in that office 6 hours a day to try and brighten up the evening. He knew that you, and whoever else in that room, probably had it worse than him - physically or emotionally. He knew that in those times where you 'didn't wanna talk about it', he could be the person to lay off when you needed it. 

Down in the basement of the MCPTF'S best precinct, in the shooting range, you had a few layers between you and the problems above. Reinforced steel and cement filled with rubber to drown out all the bullshit.

Down here, word-of-mouth didn't mean a thing. It was a gauntlet of brain and brawn; a fight for control over recoil and bullet drop. Calculations of air resistance and targeted ballistics. The practice of fight or flight, and how to aim the metal discharge in your hands.

Your gut instincts were wrong. You didn't need to cower in fear of shooting a bullet because you couldn't hack being shot by one last time. You were the one who drew the line in the sand.

You now saw the room through yellow-tinted shooting glasses. The rubbersized grips of your gloves fit neatly around the gun you'd begun to pass to Kamei. You'd missed it almost as much as the weight of a bulletproof vest pulling on your shoulders.