"Just playing with him," muttered 1412, poking Aoko's hands, then swatting them out of the way and unbuckling his belt himself. Head bowed, preoccupied with his trousers so he didn't have to look at them while he talked.

"Just playing with my dearest rival and he wants to join the party and gets nasty. Could have died, oh yes, I could, and he's not allowed. Only dearest rival can do that."

He twitched his feet up onto the sofa, wriggling out of his trousers with his face curiously blank against the pain. A few of the cuts were bleeding again, trousers taking the scabs with them, and it was with an almost absent gesture that he pressed his hand against the deepest cut on the outside of his thighs to stem the flow of blood.