I don't think this is ooc of Gojyo at all. but, to each his own. *shrugs*

The Look

Gojyo had been around.

Gojyo, which probably would've surprised to most, was rather perceptive when it came to people. To no one's surprise, especially women.

Gojyo knew what it took to wrestle a woman into bed without any false stories, presents or declarations of love. Gojyo could be astonishingly charming, if need be. He could make a woman feel loved, needed and cared about, for a night at least, and leave them walking away in high spirits in the morning.

Gojyo knew what he was doing.

He could look at a crowd and easily pick out the women who'd never been hurt before. Clingy and wide-eyed and rather cruel in their ignorance. They mixed up love and lust and romance was still something they thought lived in the hearts of men.

Gojyo could see the women who'd been hurt too many times before. Bitter and almost always vengeful, and sometimes, Gojyo would be just what she needed. But others, he'd be lucky to walk away in the morning with all his male parts intact.

Gojyo could hunt down the women in the same period of life he was in. Carefree, easy-going. Sometimes all they wanted was a quick lay, sometimes they were after the conversation and companionship beforehand and afterward. Which Gojyo would happily give, if they requested it. Either way, they were almost always happy to give Gojyo anything he wanted.

Those were the women Gojyo usually looked for.

He was wrong, occasionally. Of course, he had to be, no one was perfect. Sometimes the "clingy" girls would wake up before even he did, and sneak out of the room. Sometimes the carefree girls wanted to drag him to meet their parents. It was a gamble, but he was willing to put up with it.

He was rather proud of his abilities.

There was something, though, that he could never pick up on. If there was anyone who could, he'd like to meet with them.

They acted as anyone until the very last second. They would smile and flirt and giggle. Or act coy and shy and bat their eyes. They would grab Gojyo's hand and insist on a dance. Perfectly normal-- until Gojyo got them alone, and then they started cracking, right down the center.

The women who'd gotten hurt long, long ago, when they were still too young to know what real hurt was.

Scars that just would not heal, no matter how hard they try to deny that it happened. Gojyo didn't usually ask questions, but the story would come out anyway. Gojyo listened to almost every one. More often then not it was a man, not a youkai. Friend of the family, a father, brother, uncle. They tell him with shaking hands, tearstained cheeks and a look in their eyes … it's times like that that Gojyo could believe all of Sanzo's half-cooked nonsense about the Gods and how they do nothing for mankind.

Gojyo almost never got lucky when he ran into a girl like that. But he wouldn't leave. Usually, he wouldn't have to. The young woman would storm away in a flurry of tears, some choked out apology, just as the sun is rising and the night is over.

He had no idea who, or what, they run to then.

Outside of the meet and greet area, Gojyo was a bit lost in the ways of women.

He wasn't sure if a woman even could drink herself into a stupor so deep her head felt like a horse's ass, or if they ran to each other for support, or maybe just ran to be alone and think.

But yeah, Gojyo knew that look. That old, pained look. It's a different sort of look then someone had if they lost a father in a fire, or a saw someone get run over or crushed. He knew it. A look of betrayal mixed with never-ending misery, more often then not, guilt and confused rage. He knew it.

And … he couldn't believe it was so deep in Sanzo's eyes.

There was no shaking hands or tear-tracks and certainly no story. But there's no mistaking the look.

How had someone who'd grown up in a temple, surrounded by monks …? But then again, perhaps that was it's own answer. Gojyo wondered, idly, who it as. Could it have been the master Sanzo is so guilt-ridden over? Or was it the man who died years ago, but kept living until Sanzo put a bullet in his head? Or was it just some random monk who would've meant nothing if he hadn't done … that?

Gojyo was, by no means, stupid. He knew about the offers -- and sometimes demands -- Sanzo got when sitting apart from the group in a bar. He could only imagine what he looked like as a child. A pretty face with criminally-soft skin. Not Gojyo's thing, but he knew some men and youkai whose highest ethic was not severing a human's head from his body and selling the meat as cow's.

Pretty faces were really the worst to have in a world of lewd fetishes and no morals to speak of.

Sanzo didn't look panicked, Thank the goddess for that. He probably thought Gojyo had no idea what that look meant-- that was, if Sanzo even knew that he was making a look.

Gojyo wondered what would happen if Sanzo knew he knew. Gojyo wondered if, strange as it would be, he was actually making a mistake and Sanzo was just anxious.

He wondered if he should climb off of that slim body, even if Sanzo hadn't said anything in protest yet. He wondered if he could ever screw someone when they had that look in their eyes.

He decided to keep going, on the off-chance that he was wrong and Sanzo was just nervous. But a few nips on the neck, tonguing of the ear later, Sanzo's entire body was unnaturally rigid. And not at all in a good way.

Gojyo lifted up and off slowly, avoiding Sanzo's stare the entire time. He didn't need to, Sanzo was gazing up at the ceiling, a strangely blank expression on his face.

It wasn't until Gojyo got his pants buckled and sat back down on the side of the bed that the silence was broken.

By Gojyo, of course. Curiosity and respect for Sanzo's privacy had battled it out, and inquisitiveness won the fight, by a long shot.

"Who was it?" Gojyo asked in a soft, quiet tone, slouched over and staring down at his own hands.

The question obviously took him off-guard. He'd probably been hoping that Gojyo would just take the hint and leave. He should've known when Gojyo had sat back down instead of walking out the door.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sanzo hissed bitterly, Gojyo saw his hands clench tightly at the sheets, still wearing those arm-warmers, robe wrapped tightly, defensively, around his naked body.

Gojyo told him about the look. And how he had it.

Gojyo expected angry denials, perhaps a gun to the forehead. He was shocked when he got a dangerously calm order to leave.

Ah, but Gojyo was so curious, and he had a feeling if he just pushed a little more… "So, was it another monk?"

Sanzo snarled back a response that reminded Gojyo of a wild, bleeding dog he'd found as a young child and cornered, trying to help. He didn't get anywhere close enough and got an infected hand for his trouble.

Gojyo shifted just slightly and watched the side of Sanzo's barely lit face. Unnaturally white against the dark of the room. Neither of them had really wanted the lights on for what they'd had planned. It was an uncomfortable stay at best, but still Gojyo did. Much to Sanzo's obvious anger, which grew more and more desperate each second Gojyo stayed perched on the side of the bed.

More than once Sanzo's fists would clench, in an obvious wish for his pistol. But Sanzo didn't kick him out-- he didn't even sit up.

Patience that Gojyo almost never gave was practiced. He ignored Sanzo's look of pure, burning hatred, coaxing what he wanted out of the monk, slowly. He didn't get the whole story, and everything he did get was laced heavily with curses and threats that Gojyo would've normally heeded.

Life for a young sanzo who had left his temple was hard. Idealistic, bossy and self important. He had no way to live on his own.

No one believed that Komyo Sanzo was actually dead, therefore, no one would offer him food or board. Not without a price.

Gojyo knew the situation all too well, he didn't need many details.

Because Gojyo's been around.

And he wondered if Sanzo could see the look in his eyes, too.