perfectmatch | week four

[ Rom meets Edamura's gaze evenly, barely even blinking, but a slight nod indicates yes, he gets what's going unsaid here. How could he forget their conversation back at the arcade? He'd already been impressed by the thought of Edamura daring to pick a fight with the yakuza; to think he'd actually worked for them, to boot.

He can't help giving a soft exhale, not quite a wan laugh. ]

You're always full of surprises. I didn't take you to be the type to work for that sort of big organization.

[ It's gutsy. Stupid, too, and terribly risky, but mostly gutsy. ]

I take it friction at the workplace then led to conflict?

[. . . good. something eases in Edamura's shoulders when Rom confirms his understanding. truthfully, if he is talking about this at all, he'd much rather be direct. but. . . needs must, when the world (the. . . universe?) is watching]

That's one way to put it. [wry] The Shanghai and Tokyo branches didn't exactly get along. They played nice on the surface, but in reality absolutely hated each other.

[. . .]

. . . at one point, some associates of mine and I tried to relieve the Tokyo branch of some of their. . . merchandise. [the word is said a bit tightly, with a narrowed gaze and firmly set jaw. he feels a sense of nausea curl in his stomach at the mere use of that word, knowing that it is not right. even so. . . he does not elaborate on the nature of that "merchandise." that is a conversation for another day] My. . . father had offered to help us with this, but wound up betraying our intentions to the director of the Tokyo branch.

[fingers drum against the side of the French press as he waits for the coffee to finish steeping]

The director took us out into the middle of Sagami Bay, where my father. . . [. . .] . . . killed my associates right in front of me.

[. . .]

To prove my loyalty. . . and to seize upon the opportunity to take out an important Shanghai operative. . . the director gave me the opportunity to. . .

[he trails off, lapsing into silence, featured shuttered by a mask Rom has seen before. instead of finishing his explanation with words. . . he lifts a hand, index and thumb extended, and levels fingers directly at Rom's forehead]

Edited (for the life of me I cannot spell ) 2025-06-26 14:50 (UTC)

[ It's a lot to take in.

Rom listens quietly, gaze fixed on Edamura to take in the little signs of stress -- the hard line of his shoulders, the clenched teeth, the faint wrinkles under the eyes from narrowed eyes. For as unorthodox a life as he knows he's lived so far, he's never come into contact with anything like what Edamura's talking about now. It must have been ...

He gives a small cant of the head when that finger's pointed his way, blinking owlishly. Then the corner of his mouth quirks in a smile as he takes his hat off to put aside. At first glance, as if to better allow that pantomime of an execution

but in reality, so he can better step forward and wrap his arms around Edamura, pulling him into a close hug. ]

You're truly stronger than you look, Makoto-san. Death is never an easy thing to witness or take part in, no matter the circumstances. I think most would emerge from something like that as a much colder person. [ He squeezes just a little tighter. ] It's admirable that you didn't.

[oh]

[that]

[. . . completely throws him into disarray]

[Edamura's initial reaction is to stiffen underneath the hug, body going rigid as eyes widen, mouth parting in open shock. for as understanding and kind as Rom has been to him so far. . . he didn't expect the same in response to a story about patricide. whatever his reasons. . . however bitter he had felt in that moment. . . however cathartic (traumatic) it had been to pull the trigger of that gun and watch the man called Oz vanish into the water. . . it was still murder. something to be condemned, not. . . comforted]

[. . .]

Edited 2025-06-26 16:30 (UTC)

[or. . . at least it would have been]

[a breathless laugh tumbles from Edamura's lips as he slides one arm around Rom's back to return the hug, a tight, appreciative squeeze. fingers of his other hand bury into black locks, ruffling them slightly (affectionately) as he lets himself lean into the embrace. the lines of tension that frame his body ease into something more. . . comfortable]

You give me way too much credit, Rom.

[from this proximity, Rom can't see the way Edamura's lips curve into a grin. it's still halfhearted-- laced with the exhaustion he feels from remembering this period of his life-- but. . .]

After all, the old bastard-- and my associates-- are all still very much alive.

Hmm ... ?

[ He does pull away a little bit at that, peering into Edamura's face as he processes that confession.

... somehow, he doubts it's as simple as that. This doesn't feel like some straightforward 'gotcha' said on a whim. Those stress responses from before had seemed very real, and while he knows they can be faked by a good actor, would Edamura really have put in all that effort just for a prank? ]

Is that right? [ Rom smiles as he brings his hands up to squish Edamura's face between his palms. Gently, not painfully, but just enough to seem like petty 'revenge' for getting a fast one pulled on him. ] That's mean~ I was genuinely worried for you, you know?

[ It's his turn for them to touch foreheads, a light bonk. Admonishing. ]

My poor heart ached at the thought of you having to go through something like that, even just as a farce.

[Rom's instincts are correct; there's a lot more to it than a simple bait and switch. there's the fact that Edamura didn't know those "deaths" had been a part of the confidence scheme in the first place. then there is the fact that he had picked up that gun and wielded it all on a whim, hoping he was hitting the right beats for the sake of the con. praying that he was adapting accordingly. . . and not making a huge mistake]

[he allows for the squished cheeks, knowing that he deserves it for the order in which he told the story (Odile sure had admonished him properly for being a terrible narrator), but it's the forehead bump that sees him lifting his hands to brush fingers against knuckles, as though keeping Rom’s touch gently in place]

Your heart can take it. . .!

[a tease. still not quite to 100%, but another effort as made. even as he sobers afterwards]

. . . but if I'm being honest. . . [. . .] Even if I never really intended to kill him. . .

. . . I think, in that moment, angry as I was— thinking about mom, and how he left us both to fend for ourselves to chase his stupid flights of fancy around the world— a small part of me. . .

[. . .]

. . . kind of wanted him to rot at the bottom of the Sagami Bay.

[and that's why he had said "yes" to Rom's earlier question]

[ As requested, he keeps his hands there for a little longer -- thumbs idly brushing against Edamura's cheeks as he listens, the small calluses and scars at his fingertips rough against the smoother surface of his skin.

... only a small part of him, huh.

Rom gives a soft exhale before leaning forward to nose against Edamura's hair for a moment. A little nuzzle in reassurance before he lets go so he can lean back against the counter once more. ]

That would be normal, I think. The desire to see him punished for wronging you and your mother. Anger and resentment aren't harmful on their own, you know? It's only when one is devoured by those emotions that it becomes a problem. And I still stand by what I said before -- that your mother was fortunate to have a son like you, who wouldn't cross that final line, but would still be righteously angry in her stead.

[ He glances aside, hands loosely laced in thought. ]

... it's a terrible thing your father did to your family, after all. I can imagine how painful it must have been.

[sorry give him like .5 seconds mid-emotional conversation to be extremely gay about the way those fingers feel- rough and rugged— against smooth skin]

[ANYWAY]

[there is a part of him that feels bereft when Rom pulls away. . . and yet another part of him that can hold itself a little lighter, now that those words have been spoken aloud. he has never told anyone how he felt in that moment, has he. . . ? how terrified and furious and hurt and raw it had been. gods]

[a small exhale, and finally he reached for the French press again to push the plunger down, freeing the freshly brewed liquid from the coffee grinds]

I don't know if that's true. But. . . thanks.

[for saying it]

. . . anyway! That incident had been part of the asshole's revenge plan from the very beginning. Giving me an opportunity to. . . [a pause] . . . turn myself into a— monster, in order to gain the trust of the one much bigger than me: the director herself.

[dryly, with a tiny hint of bitterness, though he tries to keep it light]

He sure as shit didn't find the time to tell me beforehand, though. Did you know? Adapting on the fly sucks!

[ Demanding an immediate demonstration of the French press really had been about giving Edamura a familiar task to focus on to ground his thoughts once more, but maybe it wasn't a bad idea in general. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee fills the air as Edamura pushes the plunger down -- it's soothing.

Rom permits himself a moment to luxuriate in it before giving a low laugh. ]

Aahh -- maybe I can guess at what his reasoning for it was? Something like -- 'not telling you results in a more genuine act. It was worth it. And I knew you'd be able to pull it off.'

[ Scummy. But also -- the sort of thing he'd do himself, if necessary. He isn't beyond manipulating people a little bit for a good cause, after all. ]

Perhaps you can take it as a compliment, at least. Even if it was cruel.

[bluntly]

I think he just didn't trust me.

[. . . which kind of stings when it thinks about it. not as badly as it had stung in the moment-- especially not now, considering how the con had ended with him pulling the wool over his father's eyes for a change-- but still]

. . . but whatever. It's. . . over now.

[with the coffee made, Edamura pours two fresh mugs, sliding one towards Rom as he leans over the counter again]

[ oof.

Rom blinks as he picks up one of the cups, though he doesn't drink from it yet. Just holds it cupped in his hands for a moment, head canted in thought as he regards Edamura.

He's not even being intentionally glib when he asks, plainly: ]

Would it have really brought you comfort if he did trust you? ... he doesn't sound like the sort of person most would want to be trusted by.

[. . . that sure is an angle that Edamura has never considered]

[he pauses, gaze flickering down towards his own mug, eyes locked on the murky surface of the warm liquid. fingers curl into fists against the counter, before he exhales a sharp breath]

. . . I don't know.

[quiet. a bit painfully]

. . . maybe.

[ Silently, he wonders if that's just because the man is his father. The quiet hunger for approval from a father figure, no matter how grimy the circumstances might be. Unfortunately, if that's the case, he has zero reference points from which to speak.

Frustrating. He wishes he could help more.

Instead, he has to settle for giving Edamura a little nudge to the side -- gentle, to avoid spilling his coffee. ]

That's still just one man's evaluation of you. Even if you do still wish for it ... I hope you won't forget that there are plenty of other people who do trust you.

[the gentle nudge draws Edamura's gaze up again. for a moment, he is silent, allowing himself time to absorb those words. to let them permeate through his bitter thoughts, tunneling through to the other side where something. . . a little less hurt, a little less painful, exists]

[. . . and then he slings an arm around Rom's shoulders, rocking into him with nearly the full force of his body weight, open and affectionate. he is being mindful of the coffee!!]

You're a nice guy, Rom.

[listening. offering counsel. carrying that baggage just as promised, even if it's heavy]

If it helps. . . ! I got my revenge on the asshole a few months after that. Nothing violent, but—

[a small huff as he settles]

. . . despite everything, he and I are a bit more even now.

[he has yet to forgive. but at the very least. . . he is more capable of it now than he was before]

[ Wah ... the coffee ... As usual, Rom permits the manhandling without protest, other than gripping his coffee cup a little more firmly to prevent it from sloshing. It'd be a waste to spill any of it.

And while he can tell this matter has hardly been resolved ... that's fine. He knows these things take time. They can talk about it more later, if need be. So long as Edamura's able to feel more grounded in the moment, that's enough.

He settles for giving a low laugh before leaning in, his delivery a familiar, annoying sing-song: ]

Reaaaaally, Makoto-san? I don't know ... I can only imagine what kind of brutal revenge you took on the poor man, given how uncontrollable your violent tendencies are.

[ Haha. As if. ]

[it's true. the matter isn't even close to being resolved. there's so much more to the story than what Edamura has touched upon. how it felt, being so deeply undercover for so, so long, twisting himself into something dark and angry and inhuman and unrecognizable. . . all for the chance to gut the real monster from the inside out. lying to her, to himself, to his crew, to his father. . . just to make it through to the very end]

[but that is a story for another day. when he can tell Rom every piece of it, without the cameras watching them. form start to finish. no detail left unsaid]

[FOR NOW. . . Edamura's features grow slack as he gives Rom a flat, pinched look]

[and then promptly shoves a hand into his face]

I can show you violent if you really want me to. . . !

[ The thought occurs to him that they could just go to that room-which-must-not-be-named again?

-- but no. It would be better to take their time unraveling all that later, away from the threat of cameras, and the threat of getting the floor pulled out from under them to drop them in a cave. And ... it'd be nice to have something to look forward to like that.

So for the moment, Rom just laughs even as that hand shoves in his face. A nice, familiar return to form(?). ]

Oh no, help ... [ Said completely deadpan. ] What's a poor exorcist to do before the might of a vicious corporate slave? How scary~

[THEY COULD, EDAMURA WOULD NOT SAY NO!!]

[but at any rate. . . what little he has offloaded seems to have helped. his mood certainly is a lot lighter! and the roughhousing is a familiar song-and-dance that helps ground him even more than using the French press had. he even follows it up with another jab of his elbow into Rom's ribs-- gently, of course-- before returning to his coffee with a self-satisfied smirk]

Just die, I guess.

[WOW, CRUEL???]

. . . but I think this means it's your turn.

[ Even the elbow to the side is only met with a huffed exhale, almost a laugh. ]

How harsh ... what will you do if I come back to haunt you after death, Makoto-san? You'd be at the complete mercy of a ghost that knows you're helpless, you know?

[ ... he won't belabor the point, though. Rom takes a sip of his coffee with that said, letting the cup warm his palms. And after a moment of consideration, he speaks lightly: ]

I'm sure you could hazard a good guess at which one mine was.

[affixes Rom with another Look (TM) at that, but he lets the joke die there. mostly because he has to take a moment and recollect each secret that isn't his own. most of them have leaked out of his brain already, but. . .]

[. . .]

. . . if it's the one about your parents abandoning you as a kid, then I'm going to feel a little crappy for complaining about my dad.

[ That earns an owlish blink. ]

Mm? They're completely different matters, though. There's no reason for you to feel bad.

[ Soft confirmation that yes, that one was his. Another small sip of coffee, letting that delicate scent and taste permeate his senses; Edamura really does know how to brew a good cup. His delivery remains casual: ]

I was young enough that I don't have very many memories of my parents. So it's rather different from being in conflict with someone who raised you.

[nnnngh. . . it's true, they are two entirely separate matters. and yet, Edamura can't help the small pang of guilt he feels twisting in his stomach. sure, his dad was a capital-B Bastard, but. . . he at least had his mom]

[. . .]

Maybe. . . [. . .]

[no. he doesn't know what to say, here. what do you say to a man who never knew his parents because they never wanted him? so instead, he just. . . leans. rocks to the side until their shoulders are pressed together, lingering in that contact as he finally lifts his own mug for a sip of his freshly made brew]

. . . sorry that happened to you.

[ He glances over when he feels that gentle bump against his shoulder, the warmth pressed up against his side. And while he does lean into it, allowing that tactile sensation to soothe the strange, jittery sensation simmering in his gut ... his gaze is fixed down at the shimmering surface of the coffee cup in his hands. ]

There's nothing you need to apologize for.

[ Huh. Come to think of it, he's never talked about this with anyone. There's the quiet squeak of skin against ceramic as he rubs his fingers against the cup's side, thinking. ]

... my parents were normal people. Not spiritually sensitive in the least. I was the anomaly. [ When he speaks again, it's a little quieter, a little distant. ] I remember overhearing my mother talking to my father. Saying she felt like she was going to lose her mind because of me. ... they were never meant to take on the sort of burden I put on them.

Edited 2025-06-27 01:51 (UTC)

week four | mingle

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