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but you know you'd have taken the bullet if you saw it
After the cold of the last couple of days, the warming weather feels practically like a heat wave to Rin, dressed in his layers with sweat dripping from the tip of his nose as he stares across the distance at his brother, face pulled into a grimace of a smile, all sharp teeth and tired, but bright, eyes. As much as he's been practicing with a sword with the teachers he's managed to pick up along the way, none of it compares quite to standing across from Yukio, to being put against his style, so different from Rin's own. His guns.
The idea of blocking bullets with a katana is cool as hell, but Rin's quickly learning that, though he may indeed have improved, he's still living in real life, and not Rurouni fucking Kenshin.
He pants for breath again. What Yukio's giving him isn't a brief reprieve to catch his breath. Rin knows that much. After Rin had gotten hit with the first couple rounds of rubber bullets, he'd realized that they stung like a bitch Somehow, the minor irritation pissed him off more than a major wound in an actual fight. Suffice to say, he'd quickly picked up his pace enough to avoid the last few volleys.
Which meant Yukio was just figuring out a new plan to deal with him, from behind the glare of his glasses.
Rin lifts his shoulders again, shuffling his feet on the dusty floor of the empty and abandoned gymnasium they'd gotten a tip to use for this assessment. His tennis shoes squeak on the wood flooring.
He wonders if Yukio's learned what he needed to through this yet. His endurance isn't worn thin, but his patience is getting there. Rin isn't the type that can just throw himself into training for hours at a time or anything. He's not only stupid, but lazy; he's keenly aware of both flaws.
"Oi," he challenges, wiping at his forehead with the back of a hand. He tries to remember how many bullets Yukio keeps in his clips. He knows, from working with Rukia, that figuring that out might be his only chance to get close enough in for a good strike. As far as that goes, he only needs one against Yukio. In matters of speed, Yukio's isn't overwhelmingly greater than Rin's, though reaction time is different entirely. Rin just needs to get in close enough to make a last burst faster than Yukio's reload speed.
The idea of blocking bullets with a katana is cool as hell, but Rin's quickly learning that, though he may indeed have improved, he's still living in real life, and not Rurouni fucking Kenshin.
He pants for breath again. What Yukio's giving him isn't a brief reprieve to catch his breath. Rin knows that much. After Rin had gotten hit with the first couple rounds of rubber bullets, he'd realized that they stung like a bitch Somehow, the minor irritation pissed him off more than a major wound in an actual fight. Suffice to say, he'd quickly picked up his pace enough to avoid the last few volleys.
Which meant Yukio was just figuring out a new plan to deal with him, from behind the glare of his glasses.
Rin lifts his shoulders again, shuffling his feet on the dusty floor of the empty and abandoned gymnasium they'd gotten a tip to use for this assessment. His tennis shoes squeak on the wood flooring.
He wonders if Yukio's learned what he needed to through this yet. His endurance isn't worn thin, but his patience is getting there. Rin isn't the type that can just throw himself into training for hours at a time or anything. He's not only stupid, but lazy; he's keenly aware of both flaws.
"Oi," he challenges, wiping at his forehead with the back of a hand. He tries to remember how many bullets Yukio keeps in his clips. He knows, from working with Rukia, that figuring that out might be his only chance to get close enough in for a good strike. As far as that goes, he only needs one against Yukio. In matters of speed, Yukio's isn't overwhelmingly greater than Rin's, though reaction time is different entirely. Rin just needs to get in close enough to make a last burst faster than Yukio's reload speed.
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"I wasn't afraid of anything," Rin admits. "Maybe it's because I'm an idiot that that's true, but I know it is. Because I know how I felt in that moment. Like it's burned into my brain. I didn't feel afraid. I just felt angry. Angry at you because it hurt. Hurt more than anything I'd ever felt, besides dad dying. Because I thought ... that's not Yukio. That's not my brother. He wasn't raised that way. I thought, how dare you hold that gun up and lie to me like that, just to make your point. I thought, how dare anyone put you in a position like that. I don't really care if I die, Yukio, but if it was your hand that did it ... you'd never forgive yourself."
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He won't point out that he was raised to be that and more. Raised to actually pull the trigger, to keep his brother on close watch, to be capable of stopping Rin should anything cause him to tip over. Frankly, Yukio hasn't gotten there yet, in spite of his training, in spite of his skill. Too much hesitation.
He has to hone it down, even if it means putting Rin in that position of being betrayed again.
"I told you. That won't be the last time you hear those words. From people. Possibly those you even know. And brushing that over with some arbitrary rule you've decided upon won't help anyone."
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Well, it's fucking hard, Rin thinks, to aim when nobody will even tell you where the target is. When it still feels like he's being fed everything too little, too late. He wonders if Yukio can even understand. Feeling quite so locked out.
Even out of your family's life.
"I'm not brushing anything over," Rin says, grinbding his teeth but moving out of Yukio's way He's made his point. And he's already released some of his frustration. "This isn't about me, being afraid of what other people will say and do This is me being afraid of me. And me, making choices. For myself. Even if you think they're shit choices, they're mine."
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For someone who cares so much about others, Yukio wonders how his brother manages to be so self-focused.
Then again, if it weren't for the secrets their father kept, maybe it wouldn't be like this.
"But, fine. They're your choices. Do what you want," says Yukio, pushing the heavy door of the gymnasium open and starting to stalk out, his steps clear and echoing in the hallway.