[ti]private[/ti]Hanahaki

It’s a simple question, so Kazuki doesn’t understand why Verai’s face suddenly shifts. They have stopped walking. The kittens are now off to China for all they know, but before Kazuki can hazard a guess—maybe the guy had gotten booted out of the ring; bad retirement—he’s grabbed by the wrist and dragged into an alleyway. “What the fuck—"

Not exactly a move he’d expect from someone this reserved, but he digresses.

They stand there in the shade for a brief moment, Kazuki staring in pure confusion as Verai gathers his words. When the man finally speaks, it’s with a stream of thought that leaves Kazuki unmoored, each word only amplifying the shock and disbelief that forms his face.

The gears in his head creak as they struggle to crush this information into digestible pieces.

“You… An underground fighting ring? In Taeko?” He mutters, just parroting things now as he searches Verai’s expression, then the ground, then where Verai holds his wrist, seeing the calloused hand squeeze his pulse before letting go and leaving an awkward silence to sit in the vacancy between them.

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose because—fuck, well, this isn't exactly what he’d been expecting, signing up for a Pokemon game. But then again, Verai himself had been a surprise, and he’d signed up for him without a second thought.

His hand drops, arms folding as he regards Verai critically. The logical part of his brain tells him to call bullshit. The other, much bitchier and more stubborn part of his brain says Verai would sooner blow up a cat rescue than fabricate a fake backstory of such intricacy. That humor just didn’t align with the character he’d come to know these past few months.

“… If you went through all that, then why fight?” he asks. “Why do you keep up with it at all? Wouldn’t it bring up shitty memories for you?”

He tenses at the immediate answer Verai offers, its first impressions bringing up ideas of unchecked debts and bloodhound men. The corrections after undo the tension in his shoulders, but his face remains screwed tight, becoming more dissatisfied as Verai continues.

“My opponents are determined for me by my team. I’m not exactly jumping for joy for every fight I have,” he scoffs. “But I’ve never felt like I’ve been forced to fight.”

He stares him down. It feels like he’s seeing him with new eyes with how much he's learned as of late. “So quit talking about yourself like that.” This infuriating son of a bitch. Kazuki steps forwards until he’s directly in front of him, crowding him against the wall he’s resting on.

“Not an artist? Bitch, I was literally there when you ad-libbed a tanka. Your armor is your own design. I’ve danced with you. You’re an obnoxiously doting father with a killer right hook who crawled out of hell and made a life for yourself.” He turns up his nose, offended. “And you have the gall to say that isn’t much.”

Kazuki huffs, but doesn’t brush off the hand resting on his arm. “It’s not a kindness. It’s just facts, Ver.”

<Found ‘em!> A familiar voice squeaks. Kazuki turns his head to see his cat bulldoze into the alley, only for Sprigatito to hit the brakes, pink eyes wide at the sight of the trainers standing close together.

<Ah! AH!> He leaps to tackle Kitten. <Nevermind! SHH, KITTEN! SHHHH!> Even as small as he is, he can recognize a special moment when he sees it! He tries dragging Kitten out of the alley by chomping and yanking her ear. <Nryu! Wrr ruinging th’ mumun!!!>

“Aaand that’s our cue.” Kazuki turns, arm moving around Verai to pull him forwards, walking him out of the dingy alley. “Come on, stop leaning on that. You’re getting the kimono dirty.”

His arm fits comfortably around the small of Verai’s back, hand sitting lazily on his waist. His fingers drum over the silk as he chews on Verai’s words.

“Just because you’re good at something, doesn’t mean you have to dedicate your entire life to it.” He huffs a bit, leaning his head to him. “And you are still pretty fucking good at it, in my professional opinion.”

They’re walking down the streets of the settlement, and Kazuki has to admit—it’s nice. The place is loud with the calls of street vendors, there are plumes of smoke everywhere thanks to the carriages, and it smells like a goddamn barn, but Verai is relaxed by his side and there aren’t any paparazzi snapping his every move. His shoulders are lax and his strides long and languid.

“Whatever you think will happen if you go back into fighting—I don’t think it’ll happen. You’ll restrain yourself.” He chuckles. “Fuck knows I’ve been trying to make you let go since day one.”

His eyes follow where Verai’s hand waves to, spotting the cats dragging each other into a shop. “But if sticking to only fighting in the game is the best course of action, well…”

He grins, looking back at him. “Then you’d better give me a rematch soon.”

Sprigatito sticks his head out of the shop entrance, spitting out Kitten’s ear to call out to the trainers: <If you two are done being lovey-dovey, can we have hats now?!>

Kazuki purses his lips, before withdrawing his arm.

Sprigatito simply puffs out his cheeks, making them infinitely fluffier. He was promised hats! AND a collar! And, in his heart, treats also. <Let’s just get everything!> He declares, running inside the shop. <ALL the outfits!>

“Right,” Kazuki sighs, slipping his hands in his pockets. “Better make this quick before they trash the place.” He’s already been arrested for property damage once, he’d rather not remind the sheriff he exists. At least not today, when he's in the middle of spending time with Verai.

The shop in question is fashioned after a classic old western boutique. An NPC shopkeeper wearing a hat with a massive feather welcomes them in, gestures for them to view the inventory. Choice items are displayed and can be selected for purchase, with a dressing room at the back that displayed a UI overview of all available outfits to be worn and purchased with one click. No fittings, no hassle.

The only problem being that his cat turns out to be incredibly picky.

<No!> Sprigatito squeaks, wearing a glittery bow-tie about half the size of his head. He’s propped up on a table to model, because he likes to feel tall. <Um, it’s pink like my favorite collar, but it’s not as nice…>

“Cat, we’re already on page three of the catalogue. You have to choose something.” Kazuki reaches for one of the racks, randomly fitting outfits at lightspeed. The shopkeeper remains oblivious or uncaring to the PowerPoint presentation happening in the shop.

He picks at the ends of a kimono. Solid black and rather plain, but it reminds him of what his team makes him wear. He inspects himself in a mirror, frowning as he pulls up the sleeves to see his tattoos. “Why don’t you just match with me?”

<I don’t like black.>

“I mean, match my tattoos.”

Sprigatito turns to look at him with a pout. <Flowers? For a grass type pokemon?> Groundbreaking.

“I appreciate the attitude, but where did you learn to sass?” Kazuki clicks his tongue, his fiddling with his outfit having untied it- and as it turns out, the shoelace knot does not apply to everything. And now the kimono looks more like a rumpled bathrobe. "Fuck," he mutters. "Ver, do you know how to tie an obi?"

With the trainers having so little fashion sense, Sprigatito has no choice but to take matters into his own paws. He hops down from his little podium, trundling over to Kitten to make his deliberations (chew on a pancake-shaped collar charm). <This doesn't taste like pancakes at all...>

Kazuki rolls his eyes at the question. “Why the hell would I? I—” he pauses for just a moment as Verai’s hands brush his waist “—I’ve been overseas for years.” And he adds, scoffing, “And I was never taught.”

He keeps his arms raised as the obi is tied around him, eyes half-lidded with boredom but watching how the belt is formed. It’s knotted on the front, so he might be able to mimic it later on. Maybe.

“The big bow?” Kazuki says, amused. “I’m guessing she was picky about that?” He could imagine a little girl demanding it, and Verai, the most obliging father in the world, practicing the knot over and over until it was perfect.

He inspects himself in the mirror and whistles. “Not what I was expecting, but it’s better than a bath robe.”