[ This feels...suffocating. Like there's a pressure in the room somewhere, low and heavy with a haze that sticks in his throat and settles in his stomach uncomfortably. An itch in his skin. He's never really been good at this kind of talk about himself, even before everything, and he's only gotten worse in recent years.
For someone who tell people to quit running from their problems, he sure does it enough himself.
Tatara continues, and Shinjiro's face keeps relatively neutral, although it does twitch at the admission. Gunshot. There's something grossly ironic in the fact they ended up the same way, but it's strange Tatara was like that when he arrived, and Shinji was...not.
A hand faintly rubs at his shoulder, fingers brushing his back. It feels unreal, but Tatara speaks of it like it's a minor inconvenience, and not the end of their lives as they know it. ]
...Guess we're really the same, in some kinda way. [ He doesn't want pity, or sympathy. He doesn't want someone to look at him and think 'oh, poor miserable thing'. Not when he got what was coming to him. He still isn't fond of the little bastard telling on him, but of all people, he supposes this is the better alternative. ] But I'll take your word for it, for now.
[ Even the assurance feels wrong. He doesn't like this at all, and frankly he wishes this conversation could end so he could go back to attempting to sleep for once. Akihiko had offered to be there for him, but how could he understand, when their circumstances were totally different? And now he's with someone who knows exactly how he feels, even about something else, and it still draws his hackles up out of reflex. ]
Dunno what I'd need. It's not like there's anything to do about it. [ He's dead. He's gone. That part won't change, even if he's breathing again, because the air isn't the same. The sky isn't the same. ] I was already running on borrowed time, anyway.
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For someone who tell people to quit running from their problems, he sure does it enough himself.
Tatara continues, and Shinjiro's face keeps relatively neutral, although it does twitch at the admission. Gunshot. There's something grossly ironic in the fact they ended up the same way, but it's strange Tatara was like that when he arrived, and Shinji was...not.
A hand faintly rubs at his shoulder, fingers brushing his back. It feels unreal, but Tatara speaks of it like it's a minor inconvenience, and not the end of their lives as they know it. ]
...Guess we're really the same, in some kinda way. [ He doesn't want pity, or sympathy. He doesn't want someone to look at him and think 'oh, poor miserable thing'. Not when he got what was coming to him. He still isn't fond of the little bastard telling on him, but of all people, he supposes this is the better alternative. ] But I'll take your word for it, for now.
[ Even the assurance feels wrong. He doesn't like this at all, and frankly he wishes this conversation could end so he could go back to attempting to sleep for once. Akihiko had offered to be there for him, but how could he understand, when their circumstances were totally different? And now he's with someone who knows exactly how he feels, even about something else, and it still draws his hackles up out of reflex. ]
Dunno what I'd need. It's not like there's anything to do about it. [ He's dead. He's gone. That part won't change, even if he's breathing again, because the air isn't the same. The sky isn't the same. ] I was already running on borrowed time, anyway.