[I just don't want to. Shinjiro just stands there still and stunned for a minute, tears still flowing.
He doesn't understand. Akihiko, he'd grown up with. Mitsuru had been a friend, and a Kirijou besides. They made sense. Erik, though. Erik has suffered the way Amada had suffered. Erik has been the one left behind with a dead parent and nobody to believe his story. Shinjiro should be a symbol of all that misery.
He should be someone Erik resents for just breathing anywhere near him. What he says sounds nice enough, but Shinjiro's not sure he can believe it. Or accept it. Why shouldn't Erik want to hate him? What can he possibly see of worth in him? Shinjiro bows his head, fingernails digging into his hands. Sometimes he feels exactly like a rotted out person, honestly. An empty husk where a person once used to live and now where his corpse needs to be dragged along until it can finally be in the ground, ashes and dust.
The tears haven't stopped, because maybe if he doesn't reach out to wipe them away he doesn't have to acknowledge they're there, that they're his when he has no right to this pain. After all, it's like the other man says -- there's no worth to his guilt if he can't do anything with it. And that's an answer, isn't it? If he wants to make his guilt meaningful, he ought to stop whining about things like the goals and the killing because he's already crossed that line and he doesn't get to pretend like he's still a good person. He doesn't know why he can't get over himself. It's pathetic. He's a coward.
(He can't stop crying.)
Shinjiro makes a ragged noise from the back of his throat, trying to find his voice. All he can manage is--]
If nobody else is gonna do it, I might as well, right?
[Maybe if his heart is blackened enough someday, it'll finally stop.]
doin another cw for somewhat explicit suicidality
He doesn't understand. Akihiko, he'd grown up with. Mitsuru had been a friend, and a Kirijou besides. They made sense. Erik, though. Erik has suffered the way Amada had suffered. Erik has been the one left behind with a dead parent and nobody to believe his story. Shinjiro should be a symbol of all that misery.
He should be someone Erik resents for just breathing anywhere near him. What he says sounds nice enough, but Shinjiro's not sure he can believe it. Or accept it. Why shouldn't Erik want to hate him? What can he possibly see of worth in him? Shinjiro bows his head, fingernails digging into his hands. Sometimes he feels exactly like a rotted out person, honestly. An empty husk where a person once used to live and now where his corpse needs to be dragged along until it can finally be in the ground, ashes and dust.
The tears haven't stopped, because maybe if he doesn't reach out to wipe them away he doesn't have to acknowledge they're there, that they're his when he has no right to this pain. After all, it's like the other man says -- there's no worth to his guilt if he can't do anything with it. And that's an answer, isn't it? If he wants to make his guilt meaningful, he ought to stop whining about things like the goals and the killing because he's already crossed that line and he doesn't get to pretend like he's still a good person. He doesn't know why he can't get over himself. It's pathetic. He's a coward.
(He can't stop crying.)
Shinjiro makes a ragged noise from the back of his throat, trying to find his voice. All he can manage is--]
If nobody else is gonna do it, I might as well, right?
[Maybe if his heart is blackened enough someday, it'll finally stop.]