#¶ v: thief ;; ᴬᶰᵈ ᴵ'ᶫᶫ ᶫᵘʳᵏ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ // ᴬᶰᵈ ᴵ'ᶫᶫ ᵃᵈᵐᶦʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶫᶦᵍʰᵗ ¶

[kexbo-aa]

回 [for thief verse?]

    He winced rather audibly as Makoto dabbed down the gash in his side. Though mostly it was shame, so much shame. Hayato, for better or for worse, was a parental figure to the thief’s, Kaede insisted on calling him dad, Makoto called him Hayoto-nii (though in fairness, Hayato brought that on himself), thinking about it the only member of the main strike force that didn’t view him as a parental figure was Harukawa, if for no reason than the fact Hayato actively went out of his way to tease the poor girl.

    So Hayato of all people getting an injury was honestly a massive blow to his pride, never mind an injury that was potentially dangerous. He cast a glance over to Kiibo, who, had very kindly allowed Hayato to install Hare into the robot temporarily to fix Hayatos now broken prosthetic, as Makoto scowled at him with disapproval. It wasn’t like Hayato didn’t understand, he did dash into danger and take a bullet to the side in the boys stead, which obviously wasn’t sitting well with him. He almost felt guilty. Almost.

    “Look I said I was sorry, how- Ow- long are you gonna glare at me for?”

[kexbo-aa]

✘ (could be thief verse if you wanna but it's up to you :0)

    Hayato, for lack of a better term, was kind of a dick. That’s not to say he was a mean person (well, he was but that’s not the point). He just didn’t appreciate excessive amounts of affection. Not to say he he didn’t like affection, quite the contrary, he’d never admit it but he actually greatly appreciated it sometimes. Physical affection just caused him more hassle than it was worth. That was when he was relaxing. Right now he was working, so their resident bundle of love really should know better.

    “Akamatsu for the last time, don’t-” He paused, he wasn’t going to say he payed attention when she did this kind of thing, but he definitely noticed a distinct lack of…nuzzling. She always did that didn’t she? He cast a confused glance to her. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t doing anything, she just had her head in his shoulder. Silent.

    His sour tone dropped immedietly, putting the blow torch in his hand down and shifting in his chair to better communicate with her, doing his best (not that it helped) to wrap his arms around her in what he thought was a hug. The actual quality of said hug was up for the debate but credit where it was due, he was trying harder than he usually did.

    “….alright, whats wrong? Better yet, and not to sound like I don’t care, but why come to me as opposed to Harukawa? I’m hardly an expert but isn’t it usually the significant other people in relationships go to? that or a parental-”

    “…Oh….alright come on, I doubt a room full of probably toxic fumes is the best place to talk”