[And this, he knows, is why he can tell Kashuu about this. Because Kashuu will know without further explanation just how deeply this goes, will know all the complicated aspects from how narrow and focused the striving to be needed can get, centered around those who now determine your worth with their love, to how brittle such an existence is. Be strong, don't cry, always be of use, always be there - be beautiful, be perfect, be whole, never falter. They're the same thing, really. And under such stipulations, failure is always one labored, scraping breath, one single hairline crack away.

Souji captures Kashuu's hand in his and presses his lips against his wrist, right above the flutter of his pulse, not caring if this is too intimate a gesture between them now. He wants to express his gratitude to Kashuu for understanding, for being just like him in some ways, but he doesn't know how to turn it into words without them sounding awful, so this is all he manages.]

Yes, that's how it was. He'd watch me train at the Shiekan, and suddenly the bad things I could do were actually good. They were a talent, if I used them right. If I did it for him - for them - it had to be good.

[He looks up at his sword, who wears battle as effortlessly and gracefully as he does, the sword he helped shape.] That's why, as soon as I took you in my hands, I was so eager to use you to kill. As many as possible, really. I didn't enjoy it - the first times I did I wanted to cry and throw up, but I couldn't do that. I'd promised. And I would get praised and know I'd furthered the goals of those I served. That was wonderful enough that I learned not to feel anything while killing, and never regret it after.