(when he got here, he spared a moment to think about the people who've left him, and the likelihood to stumble across them when he's like this. he knows for a fact that his current behavior, appearance, story, none of these would go smoothly with any of them -- which, quite frankly, might be a blessing, or a curse in itself. what could push his people away might also serve as fuel for them to keep digging, and digging, and coming closer when that is the last thing they should do.
control is such a feeble thing. at times, he has it. he keeps himself well, hands clean, knuckles fair and not bruised from punching. the others, he remembers only a few days later what he's done, and he's apathetic, uncaring, as long as the people he separated himself from weren't a target for his darkness. so, it's the best it can be.
the drugs help, though. they numb, and they recenter and ground as much as they take his mind away - the one that is fogged, cloudy, forgetful, and unforgiving. so, he's closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the lightheadness of his ego death transform into a heaviness, until the shattering noise and familiar voice reach his ears. of course, of fucking course.
if takemichi is going to be hard to shake, there's nothing that really separates him from keisuke. he's never grown an inch, still tiny, but his presence is even more intense as he stands. he has to make baji hate him right away, or else, he'll join takemichi's club of relentless optimism. but how to make your first love hate you? how to make someone you've loved so dearly, so freely, turn their back against you? well, he has to try. the shittiest thing he can think of is what leaves his mouth as he walks towards the other, the difference in height still tangible as he stares at baji's face.
fuck. fuck. he hates this.)
You left me and now you want to tell me what to fucking do? You ain't got no right.
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control is such a feeble thing. at times, he has it. he keeps himself well, hands clean, knuckles fair and not bruised from punching. the others, he remembers only a few days later what he's done, and he's apathetic, uncaring, as long as the people he separated himself from weren't a target for his darkness. so, it's the best it can be.
the drugs help, though. they numb, and they recenter and ground as much as they take his mind away - the one that is fogged, cloudy, forgetful, and unforgiving. so, he's closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the lightheadness of his ego death transform into a heaviness, until the shattering noise and familiar voice reach his ears. of course, of fucking course.
if takemichi is going to be hard to shake, there's nothing that really separates him from keisuke. he's never grown an inch, still tiny, but his presence is even more intense as he stands. he has to make baji hate him right away, or else, he'll join takemichi's club of relentless optimism. but how to make your first love hate you? how to make someone you've loved so dearly, so freely, turn their back against you? well, he has to try. the shittiest thing he can think of is what leaves his mouth as he walks towards the other, the difference in height still tangible as he stares at baji's face.
fuck. fuck. he hates this.)
You left me and now you want to tell me what to fucking do? You ain't got no right.