Around him the conversation was mostly in English. Seohyung couldn’t understand any of it and he didn’t care to. He’s used to being excluded in social situations, so he kept to himself and his mused about Skygge’s suit. The more he looked at his shoulders and chest the more familiar he became, like he’s seen his body somewhere before. Granted he’s known Skygge for over a year, but this was different. Like he’d seen him somewhere that wasn’t in a work capacity. Seohyung tilted his head. It was right there at the front of his mind, but he couldn’t thi...wait. Those shoulders broad as ever, chest wide and large, he tipped over sideways just enough to see his waist line and the tops of his thighs. Masked Phantom? No. He couldn’t be. Seohyung sat up right and looked across from him right passed the sword woman’s head. No, not sword woman. Li. That’s what Skygge called her. Not Japanese, but she doesn’t look it to begin with.

He was focused on the flowers a ways from the table, eyes slightly wide. Skygge had the exact same body type as Phantom. There’s a Phantom poster on his wall back home. He hasn’t seen it since he was last home a year ago, but he would recognize that body anywhere. He bought magazines just to look at him. It’s what got him into fashion to begin with. He’s always wondered what his face looked like. Now he knows. What was he supposed to do with that information? Should he ask Skygge about it? Would he even admit to it in the first place? Not likely. He kept his face covered for a reason, but it’s not like Seohyung would tell anyone else. He has five friends and he hasn’t seen any of them in a year. Not that he would, even if he saw them everyday. He’ll wait until High Tea was over to confront him. He doesn’t want to put him on the spot and oust him to everyone, especially after training this morning.

Seohyung looked away from the flowers at the call of his nickname. One that’s only used when “Suicidal” was attached to it. His eye twitched just the slightest bit. Her tone was motherly and he hated it. Not even his father called him that and his friends called him different variations of Kame. Either -chan or -kun or -san. He sat up straighter, though he hadn’t slouched in the first place.

He stared into her eyes, fists clenched his pants for a moment, then he relaxed his grip. There’s nothing to fear. “Ri-san, please refrain from calling me so familiarly. In the fourteen months I’ve been here we haven’t exchanged much conversation, and we see either other on occasion in the training hall. I admire your skills, but we’re not friends, lovers, or family. Address me as Kamenashi-san.” The more he spoke he realized he was asking to be hated by the entire table, which was fine. He never expected anything to change. “Also refrain from being concerned for me. I don’t need anyone to mother me. Training won’t kill me.” He’s too resilient for that. “If you want a fight we can set an appointment, preferably on a free day.” He’s watched Li train on several occasions. She’s really good. Enough to get his blood hot. He wants a challenge that’s not robotic. Li could be that for him if she takes him up on the offer.