[ He thinks part of him hoped Jing Yuan would say nothing. That'd he'd just do what Shinjiro does; swallow it down. This is something he's come to terms with himself, but it's not something he thinks people should want to see. Should need to.
Worst of all, there's something so sickingly familiar in that statement that has him thinking if he turns around, he's not going to see a grown man standing there.
He's gonna see another boy, with white hair cropped so much shorter and frustration plastered all over that face of his to go with that silly, stupid bandage. Why, Shinji? Why? ]
...That's none of your business. Whatever happened, happened.
[ So stop asking. Please.
Not that his attempts to close it out do much, because no matter how he tightens his lips and lets his knuckles go white, it keeps going. On, and on, to the point the additional sound of steps sound louder than the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Ken is saying something again, about his lack of regret, how he'll regret nothing-
He's correct.
Cool and confident. If Ken hadn't been speaking, it almost would have sounded like he was agreeing with Shinjiro himself. The tone doesn't suit the man it comes from, who solidifies a few steps away from them. The gauntness of his bare skin is more corpselike than living person, paper-white and practically glowing under the sickening light.
That is the nature of revenge. Is it not permissible to kill those who are themselves killers?
The silence is stormy. Both the apparitions of Shinjiro and Ken are standing still, breath quiet, eyeballing the newcomer with features that shift between wariness and suspicion. The real one looks away, the moment your meddling cannot be ignored anymore slips out.
The object lodged in his belt slides free, barrel silver under the light of the moon. It clicks, hammer cocks.
Do not fear. This life is, after all, but a stepping stone. Salvation is close at hand.
If Jing Yuan blinks, a flash of panic will grip taut at his chest, as the rippling image of the taller boy promptly darts in front of the smaller one, arm thrown out protectively. For all he feels right now, he'll be able to realize it's not his own. ]
Hey-
[ Shinjiro is abruptly leaning over, realization dawning uncomfortably as if he's forgotten something, and he's hissing even over the din of static and fear. Wait, hold on. He had forgotten, for a brief moment, but this part is rushing back in too much clarity.
...My. Protecting your would-be murderer? Oh, but that's right. Whether or not to this boy's revenge- ]
no subject
Worst of all, there's something so sickingly familiar in that statement that has him thinking if he turns around, he's not going to see a grown man standing there.
He's gonna see another boy, with white hair cropped so much shorter and frustration plastered all over that face of his to go with that silly, stupid bandage. Why, Shinji? Why? ]
...That's none of your business. Whatever happened, happened.
[ So stop asking. Please.
Not that his attempts to close it out do much, because no matter how he tightens his lips and lets his knuckles go white, it keeps going. On, and on, to the point the additional sound of steps sound louder than the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Ken is saying something again, about his lack of regret, how he'll regret nothing-
He's correct.
Cool and confident. If Ken hadn't been speaking, it almost would have sounded like he was agreeing with Shinjiro himself. The tone doesn't suit the man it comes from, who solidifies a few steps away from them. The gauntness of his bare skin is more corpselike than living person, paper-white and practically glowing under the sickening light.
That is the nature of revenge. Is it not permissible to kill those who are themselves killers?
The silence is stormy. Both the apparitions of Shinjiro and Ken are standing still, breath quiet, eyeballing the newcomer with features that shift between wariness and suspicion. The real one looks away, the moment your meddling cannot be ignored anymore slips out.
The object lodged in his belt slides free, barrel silver under the light of the moon. It clicks, hammer cocks.
Do not fear. This life is, after all, but a stepping stone. Salvation is close at hand.
If Jing Yuan blinks, a flash of panic will grip taut at his chest, as the rippling image of the taller boy promptly darts in front of the smaller one, arm thrown out protectively. For all he feels right now, he'll be able to realize it's not his own. ]
Hey-
[ Shinjiro is abruptly leaning over, realization dawning uncomfortably as if he's forgotten something, and he's hissing even over the din of static and fear. Wait, hold on. He had forgotten, for a brief moment, but this part is rushing back in too much clarity.
...My. Protecting your would-be murderer? Oh, but that's right. Whether or not to this boy's revenge- ]
Old man, quit listening-
[ You're fated to die, regardless. ]