There is a soft distance which rest in Totsuka’s eyes when he thinks his King isn’t looking.
Mikoto would catch glimpses of it every so often; a flash of detachment escaping from the tamer’s soul.
Totsuka was usually a portrait of joy; Smiles and wrinkles from laughter always seemed to be ever present on his graceful face.
Occasionally though, when thought to be alone, the other would lower his guard.
Mikoto sees it coming back from the bathroom, his footsteps are light enough to not break the other from his private thoughts.. Totsuka is sat, bare, on the bed.
His golden eyes are narrow, his soft face hardened. His delicate knees are tucked up to his chest, every bone seems to jut out at every angle.
For a moment Totsuka looks his age and Mikoto remembers they grew up somewhere along the way. Mikoto knows every curve of Totsuka’s lanky body and he can see how tense the other is sitting.
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