Perhaps that's what provokes Riku further, that M.K., for once, is so stone-faced and unaffected while Riku feels affronted, invaded, and judged for whatever he thinks he finds there. The truth is, it doesn't take much to fan the flames of Riku's temper. Once sparked, he has to work hard to rein himself in.

He's not, he says, his voice gentle in a way Riku's not used to, not from him, "Aren't you?"

Riku, who has sparred with him, who never - not once - intentionally put hands on M.K. in a way that wasn't harmless rough-housing, aims to push at him with both gloved palms, a shove he seeks to follow up immediately with another as his forward stride eats up any distance he creates.

"What did I do? Where did I go? I just said I didn't wanna talk about it!" This is galloping away on him like a chariot pulled by horses gone wild with fury or fear, and Riku, still working with the dregs when he spent up everything else just trying to survive the depths of his grief and despair, doesn't have enough to bother reining it in.

"A better reason. So who decides that for me, huh? Who decides what's best for me now! You? Oh, like that's fair!"