Curate, connect, and discover
"You're losing my interest and that's very dangerous." Usami to Ogata
interest came in many forms.
for the privates of the 7th division, interest could only be defined by the free-fall act of rebellion coiling in the guts of their infantry, the belly of it all. a less prominent interest, but existing altogether within the rows and rows of hungry men looking for recognition was, undoubtedly, the merciful caress of their first lieutenant’s hand.
like a kid searching for their father’s approval, soldiers lined up for morning call expecting to hear or witness first lieutenant tsurumi’s fanfare, the speeches that could go on for hours on end, basking in the sound of his own voice. ogata could almost see it, had wanted it for a while before he’d found something else - amber eyes, the asymmetry of a war-scarred face - to keep his rapt attention and stomach well-fed.
usami doesn’t seem the type who’d rather look anywhere else. their gazes meet, locked in place by the silent feeling of recognition: he saw in usami’s expression a familiar sort of necessity, the kind he’d found himself stepping back into every time he brought a dead bird back home, in ibaraki. whether tsurumi glanced back and gave usami the attention he sought for, that’s entirely up for debate. he doubted it would be any more different than appraisal, the kind that officers perform routinely with every new stock of mosin-nagants.
it’s only then that be becomes aware of the thickening smell of antiseptic, gunpowder and death. an amused smirk tugs at his lips, voice falling a few octaves, words slurred by the remnants of anaesthesia lingering in his system. “dangerous, for who?”
“prey animals don’t turn their backs to their predators. it's in their best interest, don't you agree?”
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