2335/Also Post Dunking

Also Post Dunking
Date of Scene:	16 February 2025
Location:	Saori Saitou's Apartment
Synopsis:	Zoisite and Kazuo discuss the happenings in the cat cafe in private.
Cast of Characters:	Kazuo Saitou, Zoisite
Tinyplot:	The Demise of Bow-chan

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Kazuo Saitou has posed:
There's a little 'floor drying' standup sign by the table, and a 'Reserved for the Tsukino party (back shortly - K)' note on the table, with baked goods from the secretly-Makoto-provided specials on sale at the cat cafe set out for two of the seats.

Hopefully, if the girls come down, that'll hold them till they come back.

The girls are up in Mamoru's apartment, and could be anywhere up there. Kazuo, though, has keys to a different apartment, and thus lets them in for a few moments outside of public view. It's neat, and sparsely furnished, except for the decoration. Why Kazuo has keys to an apartment filled with shelf after shelf of cute anime figurines is another question, but it's not an immediately relevant one.

Kazuo closes the door behind them, relocks it, and turns to touch Zoisite's upper arm lightly. "How are you feeling?"

As if that were the most important part. Not the rest of the disaster.

Zoisite has posed:
Logic dictated that anyone would a good sense of hair care would take longer than twenty minutes to clean up and repair any damage done. Zoisite's fire only targeted Minako's bow, but he was unsure if it did chew through some of her locks as well. Part of him wanted to feel guilty about it, and again, perhaps chuckle over what he did, but instead a strange bit of apathy lingered.

As he cleaned along with Kazuo and carried the dishes over to the staff for cleaning before the two departed. Even as he followed up the stairs, not willing to think of where they were going until the door was opened and he stepped in.

Well, he wasn't expecting anime figures. Good taste, whoever they belonged to. Green eyes took in the place right as his attention was pulled away by the touch, back to Kazuo. And as requested, the question was asked once more.

Deep breath. Air filled his lungs to tight he could feel his ribcage and small cracks on whatever was holding back his emotions started to show. "No." He admitted, finally. "Not really." There was tension in his jaw, wild green gaze lowering to anything that felt blank and neutral to look at.

How he hated feeling this way, lacking control. How he hated having to admit it.

Teeth discreetly chattered.

"I did my best. But she got under my skin so easily, talking about you."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
No. Not really.

Kazuo's hand moves as Zoisite keeps talking, lifting to Zoi's shoulder: palm resting on the curve of it, fingers spread across the back. "She got under my skin, too," he admits. "Part by talking about me. Part by talking about you."

There's a moment's pause. As if he were not quite certain what to say next; as if he were considering alternatives. The one that he chooses is quiet, straightforward. "How can I help?"

Zoisite has posed:
Pursed lips formed a small smile, hand lifted to one of his side locks, feeling the strands slide between fingers while Kazuo's own hold on him was just as grounding--but not enough to keep his mind from sporadically going over each pang of venom he felt.

And 'why.'

"Teach me how to be as calm as you are?" It left him. A pause then, before he continued. "She got under your skin, but you... caused no harm to her. How--"

Something clicked then. His eyes looking back up to Kazuo then. "Talking about me? Why? I was under the impression that some of this was a recent development."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"I can't claim all the credit for that," Kazuo says, a little rueful, attention still on Zoisite - on the way his hand moves against his hair, on that familiar little detail. "When I'm Kunzite - when I'm transformed, in uniform - I can reach for my powers. When I'm Kazuo ... I can only touch a tiny bit. Enough not to trip over things in the dark. And I spend most of my time as Kazuo." A beat. "But you're right. I used to get angry enough to lash out even then, just with fists instead. I've been practicing meditating this last year; it doesn't help directly, but it helps me to be able to observe my emotions instead of letting them run away with me."

And then there's that click, and Zoisite looks up at him, and Zoisite can therefore see clearly the wry, rueful expression. "The only thing that was a recent development was Minako telling me what actually happened. But I did promise you the story, didn't I?"

He lets go of Zoisite's shoulder, pulling his hand back to run it through his own hair, pushing the waterfall of silver-white back from his face. Glancing away for just a moment, then back to Zoi; his turn to be embarrassed, a little uncomfortable. "In middle school," he says, "I had one homeroom teacher who was both very pretty and very kind. I was thirteen; of course I wound up with a crush, and of course nothing came of it. A couple of years ago, I was in the middle of a fight, and that teacher turned up, pulled me out of it, reminded me she'd asked me to quit fighting, and wanted me to let her take care of my bruises. She was in her last year teaching, she was going to quit and get married. And I was an idiot with an old crush and an adrenaline high. So I kissed her."

He exhales, and finds it in him to look back at Zoisite. "And then I spent the next couple of years kicking myself over how stupid and unethical that was. Till a few weeks ago, when Minako admitted that the teacher who turned up wasn't my teacher. It was her, when she was still figuring things out solo, using one of the transformation pens to pretend to be my teacher. I'm not sure if that makes anything better or worse, but it certainly makes it harder to think about."

Not spelled out, but underlying: it was, after all, not like he'd wanted to be kissing Minako, either.

Zoisite has posed:
Meditation. Not something Zoisite ever tried, but the concept of it was similar to when his mind is focused on music. The notes that follow each press of his fingers against ivory keys, or sliding over slides of his cello. A state of calm, perhaps. Not observing his emotions, but letting them have a voice instead of tormenting him. But that wasn't 'analyzing' them, was it? And it wasn't lost on Zoisite how Kazuo seemed to tryly have a separation between oneself and Kunzite. Whereas, Zoisite was just... Zoi. Zoi-face. Zoisite. Not Izou, or the teenager that still lived in Europe, with a name he did not carry with him anymore. His identity, everything that made him, 'him,' was lost. It was just what he was to Mamoru. It never bothered him before, but now...

At least he had something to try.

His eyes then became fully focused on Kazuo, taking in every little detail given to him. From the soft, dry humor and regret that danced over the taller boy's face. How carefully the story was told, unfolding it and permitting hm gaze at all the creases offered. And he kept his mouth shut for all of it, hanging on every word spoken, and focusing on the scene it painted in his mind. An angry boy, his crush, and years later finding out it was someone else.

Minako, and those transformation pens.

Strange for him to feel jealous now, when it felt so far removed. Pangs of it persisting, poking through his ribcage, but it was not as powerful as when Venus spoke of it herself. Not as intimate and rose-colored. It was Kazuo's words, and the sincerity of them. It made him wonder how it made the other feel, in the end.

"Harder because it wasn't the person you thought it was?" He eyes remained on Kazuo, even when the other had looked away and back. "Were I to find out later that the person I wanted to be kiss was not really them, I'd be devastated..."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"Harder because it was more complicated. In some ways, harder because it wasn't the person I thought it was, and it was a surprise to find out someone else knew about it. But also a relief because it wasn't the person I thought it was; if I'd actually pressed a kiss on someone who didn't want it...." Kazuo finds himself not looking at Zoisite. Not quite able to look at Zoisite. Not a condition he's used to being in, in either identity. "I've been - more careful, since then. Not to do things like that."

Zoisite has posed:
Small crease between furrowed brows, feeling the weight of those last few words. Even if Kazuo didn't want to claim credit, Zoisite still felt the admiration over the discipline and maintenance of control. The steps taken to 'be' better. "...Kunzite."

It was his turn to step closer, reach out to settle his hand softly on the other's arm, thumb running over the fabric gently creased due to the kitten activity. Their eyes didn't met, he didn't want to force that either, but he wasn't Kazuo to know that he was there, and he understood.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
There's a shift under his hand, a gentle one. Not pulling away. Only turning back toward Zoisite, a little; only bringing his other arm up and around Zoisite in half an embrace. Solid and warm and utterly steady. No words: but it's clear that he knows. And it's clear that Kazuo, Kunzite, both at once, wants him there.

Zoisite has posed:
Only half. Precaution, perhaps. Prudent. Making sure to not overstep a line. Yet, part of him was hoping for the other half of the embrace, the full warmth of it, how tight those arms would feel around him. In the quiet of the empty apartment, it was becoming more apparently that he 'wanted' something more than those steady reassurances.

If only he could find the words.

Zoisite turned and leaned his forehead against Kazuo's shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment.

"You don't have to be careful with me." He whispered.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kazuo's arms are coming around him in full even before the whisper. Drawing him close against that shoulder; tight, but not so tight as to drive the breath from him. Holding him like something, someone, treasured beyond anything he has words for in turn.

It's Kazuo who stops breathing, just for an instant, at that whisper. Just for a moment. And then he turns his head and bends it to press a kiss against Zoisite's hair.

Zoisite has posed:
Hitching of breath, like his heart could have stopped. The pressure of the full embrace when he thought none would come. And the kiss against caramel locks...

Face remained buried against large shoulder, finally exhaling. His arms began to wrap around Kazuo's middle, fingers clenching at the shirt's fabric--not rough, but noticeable. Like he didn't want to let go of what was occurring.

Then, Zoisite lifted his head a little.

"...Look at me?"

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kazuo lifts his own head in turn, timing to keep their heads from collision. And he is already looking down, at Zoisite. Eyes so very steady, now. Not smiling. Not speaking, as he so often doesn't. But something about his eyes is simply warm.

Zoisite has posed:
Face, nose and tips of his ears were flushed in pink, making his green eyes stand out slightly more. One hand pulling away from the embrace only to lift and cup against Kazuo's cheek. Thumb caressing softly over skin, watching. Perhaps waiting.

Fingers comb over silky silver white, before gaze finally lowers along with his hand, now resting over Kazuo's chest.

Maybe it was time for them to go back downstairs. But he doesn't voice it yet. Just a little longer.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kazuo draws a slow breath, as Zoisite's hand settles against his cheek. And when Zoisite draws his hand away, he turns his head just a little - the briefest breath of a kiss against the side of Zoisite's thumb.

He doesn't loosen his embrace. Lingers in it ... just a little longer, yes.

"I don't want to change the subject," he murmurs. "But we need to. I need to ask something ... very basic, before we go back. All of us have two sides we change between, at the very least. Tamaki and Jadeite. Usagi and Moon. Mamoru and the formalwear." And more, for Usagi and Mamoru, but those are more complicated. "You have - or should have - Izou and Zoisite. Which side of the change are you on? Is it that you can reach the fire as Izou, or that you're spending your casual time as Zoisite?"

Zoisite has posed:
Change the subject. Needed. And the question was like cold water, waking him from the haze of embrace and returning to what was, arguably, much more important.

His gaze did not return to Kazuo's.

"I can't reach the fire as Izou." He admitted, index and middle fingers tapping softly on Kazuo's chest. "I can't do anything as Izou." An empty identity, no powers. Another sigh, one of a boy caught doing something he shouldn't have as he lifted his hand from the other's chest and a flurry of cherry blossoms were quick in whisking him a few meters away, only to prove a point.

"I haven't been Izou in a while."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kazuo exhales, very softly. "I'm sorry," he says. "That I didn't notice earlier." He crosses the distance between them, pacing through the shadows of the dissipating petals. "That tells us where to start in helping get your reactions under your control, though. We should talk with Mamoru. Ordinarily, I'd say 'and we should go back down with you as Izou.' But I'm not sure that you could do that without hurting yourself more. And you've been hurting for too long already."

Zoisite has posed:
"It wasn't for you or anyone to notice. Not even Mamoru..." It was quick, eyes finding Kazuo's as he spoke. "Kazuo..." And shook his head, despite not distancing himself from the other Shitennou. "I don't want to change back." He should. The sooner the better. His energy has been at it's limit for some time, and part of him was already regretting having told Kazuo.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"No," Kazuo says quietly. His hand finds Zoisite's, laces fingers gently. "We don't keep secrets from Mamoru. That's how things went bad. I know you don't want people to know. But he needs to. And if we didn't tell him, he'd find out anyhow, when you collapsed from exhaustion. Telling him with words is a lot better than telling him by his having to restart your heart."

Zoisite has posed:
"And risk his heart from being stolen again? Or Small Lady's?" There's grit to his words, the tension swiftly returning once more. His own fingers squeezed Kazuo's, stopping himself before it was more than a simple pressure.

Then, a slow deep inhale, and an equally slow exhale. Teeth chattered in his mouth. Nerves? Exhaustion? Either was a good explanation now.