“What an awful kind of day.” Gure for Fuu

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This was the first time Furie had seen Shigure like this - listless, lethargic, the look on his face cold and tired but not so of its usual sort of expression. Distant. Had he not already come to know the dog of the zodiac as half as well as he did then, he'd have let it lie, ignored it in the hopes it was a problem that could solve itself - one he wouldn't need to lend his voice to. But he did know him, better now, more fully, enough to know something was wrong - so clear in the sigh of Shigure's voice.

He didn't know the root cause, couldn't know what troubled him in full, but it must've been something important turned sour. There was admittedly much he hadn't told the dragon, perhaps too much that was painful enough to warrant hiding - but his defenses were down this time, worn down and easy to climb over in his stupor. So Furie did the unthinkable and, with all the wisdom bestowed upon him, shrugged out of his haori and carefully approached the stewing, brooding, miserable Shigure, gently draping white silk over his shoulders and slotting himself in beside him. A little boundary cross, the tip of his head and the curl of an arm around Shigure's middle, chin nestling into the ball of his shoulder.

At times like these, he wished he could speak, wished that he could offer some comforting words, tell him that whatever his troubles things would be all right. Strange to him, however, that he wouldn't quite have been able to say it with certainty; The closer he'd come to Shigure, the quieter and quieter the voidsong became, and the less effective he was at divination - Would it have been better that way, if the benefit of his talents had served him then? Would it have been as genuine, as meaningful coming from him, had parlor tricks and over-reliance on magic bought even a shred of certainty? He wished he could've helped, done something more than flail.

Iridescent scales shine in the hazy afternoon light peeking in through the screen door, prismatic colors dancing all around the room, and at first he doesn't notice; But the moment he does, he emphatically points all the shifting shades out to Shigure, carefully, gently hooking a few fingers around his chin and guiding his head upward, to follow the streaks of pink, violet, white, green--

And he inches closer, pressing his cheek to Shigure's, giving so bright a smile as he can manage, and prods with tender fingers each time he tries to look away. Sparkling, as if he were stright out of a shojo manga in all his glory, lashes fluttering little butterfly kisses against Shigure's skin, soft glow beneath the surface of his own. And he tries, he tries, voicelessly mouthing, [ "Shigure, look at the colors--" ]

This is a small thing, for wisdom he cannot offer, a pittance, a meager attempt at easing the agonies of an addled mind - but it was something, something that could bring Shigure back to the here and now, if only just, if only for a little while. This was all he could do to turn so bad a day into one that may yet still be enjoyable...