[ Whatever hand he might have been extending stops before it even reaches the older man, fingers pulling back as they curl tight into another white-knuckled fist.
Of course it wouldn't be that easy.
The silence takes over again, but only for them; the scene continues on, even as Shinjiro whips his gaze away.
Haven't you been taking those pills for a while now? You don't have much longer.
And even as the apparitions denial is barked with rage, the man himself seems to deflate partially. He feels he should be angrier, like he usually is. Shut the door and lock it, throw away the key, so nobody else has to feel it. But for some reason, he feels just as he had on that day; Tired. Knowing. Like someone who knows he's heading off to the execution grounds, and has already accepted his fate. A abnormal haze of exhaustion. ]
...Like you need me to tell you what that means.
[ In between the arguments in the background, Shinjiro's hand raises to his own face, peering down at it. ]
I ruined that kid's life, all because of something I couldn't control. I wanted it to go away. I knew it wasn't gonna end well, and I didn't care. [ The nightmares, the guilt, the ghosts. They never really left. ] Do you get it, now?
[ He can't hear the commentary right now anymore, himself. Nor see the panic in his own eyes as the figure turns to look at the child behind him, lips mouthing Amada? What?
No, the silence only continues because he seems like he's...bracing himself. Eyes squeezing shut, shoulders sinking lower, because it's coming, and he knows it. Just like his dreams. And just like his dreams-
Shut the fuck up!
-It's loud. The gunshot, that is.
Louder than the agonized gasp of pain, or the noise the vision of himself in front of them makes as he collapses to one knee, shaky hand pressed to his stomach.
cw: suicide mention/ideation
Of course it wouldn't be that easy.
The silence takes over again, but only for them; the scene continues on, even as Shinjiro whips his gaze away.
Haven't you been taking those pills for a while now? You don't have much longer.
And even as the apparitions denial is barked with rage, the man himself seems to deflate partially. He feels he should be angrier, like he usually is. Shut the door and lock it, throw away the key, so nobody else has to feel it. But for some reason, he feels just as he had on that day; Tired. Knowing. Like someone who knows he's heading off to the execution grounds, and has already accepted his fate. A abnormal haze of exhaustion. ]
...Like you need me to tell you what that means.
[ In between the arguments in the background, Shinjiro's hand raises to his own face, peering down at it. ]
I ruined that kid's life, all because of something I couldn't control. I wanted it to go away. I knew it wasn't gonna end well, and I didn't care. [ The nightmares, the guilt, the ghosts. They never really left. ] Do you get it, now?
[ He can't hear the commentary right now anymore, himself. Nor see the panic in his own eyes as the figure turns to look at the child behind him, lips mouthing Amada? What?
No, the silence only continues because he seems like he's...bracing himself. Eyes squeezing shut, shoulders sinking lower, because it's coming, and he knows it. Just like his dreams. And just like his dreams-
Shut the fuck up!
-It's loud. The gunshot, that is.
Louder than the agonized gasp of pain, or the noise the vision of himself in front of them makes as he collapses to one knee, shaky hand pressed to his stomach.
It smells like blood. It tastes like it, too. ]