[Laserhawk hits the nail squarely on the head, as he often does. Sometimes Shinjiro can't decide if it's comforting or disquieting.]
I'm. Wakin' up tomorrow. And that doesn't piss me off as bad as it used to. ...But the fact it doesn't kinda pisses me off on its own.
[Being alive is not your crime, the other man had said, and yet it still feels like getting away with something. Just sitting here, talking about it with someone who cares about him feels like an excessive liberty.]
I dunno. There bein' an 'everything' to get in the way of in the first place is kinda the whole problem.
[Perhaps that's hard to explain to someone who was never the architect of his own suffering, though. For whom every joy is a miracle and not an indulgence, sins on top of sins, as it were.]
[I know hits him hard, almost surprising. Sometimes he thinks the older man couldn't, with how much of his experience here is marked with joys and opportunities he could've never had in Eden. But he's only really seen the ghost of this man's pain once. He has no idea what it was like for him before he became engaged, before he owned a beloved club that was a cornerstone to the community. The journey it took to get there.
He pulls his knees closer to his chest, as though he could bury himself in them and disappear.]
I don't know how to do this.
[How to forgive himself for living, for being able to forget even for a moment.]
[He doesn't jerk away from the touch like he might have, before the Labyrinth. Instead he lets it be, allowing the warmth to seep into his bones. He doesn't deserve it, is the thing. Everything he has is built on ashes and blood. Hers, his own...
The more he sits around, letting the world keep turning, allowing himself to live, the more he'll lose sight of that.
Idly, he starts to draw a pattern in the sand with a finger, not looking up at his friend.]
...You know. Someday, I might not even feel so much like shit for being okay now and then. I think I'd really fuckin' hate that guy.
[But the longer he lives, the closer he becomes to being that guy.]
[ anniversaries and all that. strange to dolph to mark days like that. every day here feels transient, like he's holding onto his guts one minute or he's just . . . being alive. crazy to just be alive after everything. ]
[Even if it's still hard to internalize, to let himself listen to.
Speaking of passes, though -- he's quiet, a long moment, staring out at the waves as the last vestiges of daylight continue to fade. The lines of tension have eased out from his frame, but there's still a storm lingering behind his eyes, somewhere. When he speaks next, there's a thread of vulnerability he doesn't usually allow.]
[ he doesn't need to go anywhere. and sometimes, all you need is a person close by. who understands, who won't excuse it. nothing but the waves and the sand. perhaps it wasn't the worst thing to keep the beach so close. the memories he may hold of it may belong to a ghost, but even ghosts need it too. ]
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[Laserhawk hits the nail squarely on the head, as he often does. Sometimes Shinjiro can't decide if it's comforting or disquieting.]
I'm. Wakin' up tomorrow. And that doesn't piss me off as bad as it used to. ...But the fact it doesn't kinda pisses me off on its own.
[Being alive is not your crime, the other man had said, and yet it still feels like getting away with something. Just sitting here, talking about it with someone who cares about him feels like an excessive liberty.]
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Nothing wrong with being pissed off. Just don't let it get in the way of everything else.
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[Perhaps that's hard to explain to someone who was never the architect of his own suffering, though. For whom every joy is a miracle and not an indulgence, sins on top of sins, as it were.]
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You can feel like shit. Just don't act like it's the only thing you're allowed to be.
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...It feels wrong to be okay.
[Like a betrayal of something fundamental, a throwing away of everything that matters. Or perhaps -- a waste of past sacrifices.]
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But. It's not.
It's not.
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He pulls his knees closer to his chest, as though he could bury himself in them and disappear.]
I don't know how to do this.
[How to forgive himself for living, for being able to forget even for a moment.]
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No one knows. No one fucking knows anything.
But we just keep doing. World keeps turning. What else is there?
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The more he sits around, letting the world keep turning, allowing himself to live, the more he'll lose sight of that.
Idly, he starts to draw a pattern in the sand with a finger, not looking up at his friend.]
...You know. Someday, I might not even feel so much like shit for being okay now and then. I think I'd really fuckin' hate that guy.
[But the longer he lives, the closer he becomes to being that guy.]
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Some real roundabout logic there.
He's still you. He's always been you.
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That works out, then. Hate him, too.
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[ anniversaries and all that. strange to dolph to mark days like that. every day here feels transient, like he's holding onto his guts one minute or he's just . . . being alive. crazy to just be alive after everything. ]
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Perhaps it's that which has him lean into the hand on his shoulder, just a little.]
Can't say I won't hate him tomorrow, either.
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You got the point. Don't make me repeat myself.
wrap?
[Even if it's still hard to internalize, to let himself listen to.
Speaking of passes, though -- he's quiet, a long moment, staring out at the waves as the last vestiges of daylight continue to fade. The lines of tension have eased out from his frame, but there's still a storm lingering behind his eyes, somewhere. When he speaks next, there's a thread of vulnerability he doesn't usually allow.]
Sit with me a while longer?
sounds good!
[ he doesn't need to go anywhere. and sometimes, all you need is a person close by. who understands, who won't excuse it. nothing but the waves and the sand. perhaps it wasn't the worst thing to keep the beach so close. the memories he may hold of it may belong to a ghost, but even ghosts need it too. ]