[It hits him in the chest. Dolph will hear the sharp sudden inhale of breath, even if his face is turned away from him, expression obscured.]
I...
[Whatever that sentence might have thought of being, it dies in his throat before it even has a chance. There's a noise like choking on something, and before he knows it his vision has gone blurry, drops of moisture landing on the sill. His fingers slacken as shoulders begin to shake, and a hand comes up instead to try to stop it, fruitlessly.
He can't remember the last time he cried. Was it for Miki, all those years ago? Or had he held them in for Aki's sake, to keep all the pieces together safely as his friend shattered? Any sense that it's embarrassing to do this in front of someone else has gone somewhere far away, smothered in the tsunami of grief he's always held back, refused to grant himself the grace to feel.
It's not loud or dramatic. He just sits there, doubled over himself, tears flowing and flowing. He wonders if they'll ever stop. If he even wants them to.]
[ that was it. the breaking point. dolph doesn't need to say more but he will get up and rest a quiet hand on the small of shinji's back. and merely wait until the tremors subside. until it's time to dry your eyes and get up again. ]
[It's warm. Shinjiro's only distantly aware of it, that spot of warmth on his back, but all the same it keeps him grounded as he empties himself out, a lightning rod to direct all the intense destructive energy into so it disperses safely. Eventually, the shaking does stop. The last of his tears drip from his cheeks and the cool sting of air against them stirs him back into the present. He rubs at his face, to get himself back together.
Some of the embarrassment of before does filter in now, but it doesn't feel hot and sharp inside him. There's almost a sort of affection in it, like the way he feels when Aki goes on about dawn runs or protein powder on his boiled chicken. He wonders when this man became such a fixture in his life, someone he could trust enough to come for him when he's in trouble, to see him unraveled like this. He wonders when it was that he became able to accept that feeling without being terrified of it.
He lifts his head, finally, sort of half-looking at Dolph over his shoulder.]
...Sorry. Thanks. I'm okay. Let's -- get out of here, huh?
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no subject
I...
[Whatever that sentence might have thought of being, it dies in his throat before it even has a chance. There's a noise like choking on something, and before he knows it his vision has gone blurry, drops of moisture landing on the sill. His fingers slacken as shoulders begin to shake, and a hand comes up instead to try to stop it, fruitlessly.
He can't remember the last time he cried. Was it for Miki, all those years ago? Or had he held them in for Aki's sake, to keep all the pieces together safely as his friend shattered? Any sense that it's embarrassing to do this in front of someone else has gone somewhere far away, smothered in the tsunami of grief he's always held back, refused to grant himself the grace to feel.
It's not loud or dramatic. He just sits there, doubled over himself, tears flowing and flowing. He wonders if they'll ever stop. If he even wants them to.]
no subject
shall we wrap?
Some of the embarrassment of before does filter in now, but it doesn't feel hot and sharp inside him. There's almost a sort of affection in it, like the way he feels when Aki goes on about dawn runs or protein powder on his boiled chicken. He wonders when this man became such a fixture in his life, someone he could trust enough to come for him when he's in trouble, to see him unraveled like this. He wonders when it was that he became able to accept that feeling without being terrified of it.
He lifts his head, finally, sort of half-looking at Dolph over his shoulder.]
...Sorry. Thanks. I'm okay. Let's -- get out of here, huh?
no subject
Yeah. There's no need to stay here.