[ he keeps stumbling over his feet, his balance fucked to hell by the loss of --
he looks down at the charred remnants of his right arm. it's the smell that's the worst. cooked meat. his stomach growls, empty after days of substandard food, meat a luxury that he'd been unable to afford while hiding and flitting from tree to tree to avoid the monsters that appeared at the worst of times.
he tears his gaze away. the pain hasn't yet settled in. he's read about this, ravenous for information after sousuke's shoulder injury had rendered their shared dream impossible: the brain has a limit for pain. when it overextends, it's euphoria instead.
rin stumbles and tries to right himself with hand braced against the smoking remains of a house. the hand isn't there.
heine, too, eyes like glinting metal. rin had thought them friends, comrades-in-arms, something more than strangers. but heine's fury had been incomprehensible, a language too intricate to unravel in the wake of what rin had just done. he'd stepped over zack's body. he'd -- killed zack.
it feels like nothing. he should be crying, inconsolable after killing and injuring who-knows-how-many, but his mind is a blank canvas, no shade nor shape to fill its expanse. he can think only of the grit in his mouth. how his face itches, covered now with a fine layer of ash. his hair had blown into a disarray; thick locks of it stick to his cheeks, his nape. a dip in the river would be nice. a shower, with that sakura-scented bath wash that gou always bought for him without teasing him. a swim, maybe. butterfly, to flex his aching back. afterwards, he could ask one of the underclassmen to give him a rubdown with that new menthol salve he'd found at the sporting goods shop, the last time they'd taken the train into the city.
what would haru think?
rin takes a deep, gasping breath. he can't look behind him. he can't do anything but trudge forward, unrecognizable in tattered clothes and tattered hair, covered from head to toe in ash. he tumbles through the brush, catching himself with his remaining arm.
when he looks up, the bloody red smear of his gaze startling against his ashen skin, he could easily be mistaken for one of the jungle's many hungry inhabitants. ]
The hell are you staring at?
[ is the snapped response to any eyes upon him. his voice is gravel.
he struggles to his feet, refusing help if it's offered. ]
( B )
[ somewhere, far into the distance, gou tucks her hair ties into a drawer in the bureau that they share.
sometimes rin opens that drawer and runs his fingers through the colorful array, impressive already despite the short time she's lived with him.
he's thinking of her, remaining fist clenching and unclenching. he's sitting by the crater, surrounding by the remnants of a dozen mushroom beasts, of a ring of splintered wood. his scavenged gloves lay in his lap.
he's thinking about his sister. he hasn't been a very good brother to her, has he?
little sins, big sins. sins too huge to comprehend.
he won't deny his involvement in the explosion if anyone were to see the gloves and suspect. ]
OPEN.
[ he keeps stumbling over his feet, his balance fucked to hell by the loss of --
he looks down at the charred remnants of his right arm. it's the smell that's the worst. cooked meat. his stomach growls, empty after days of substandard food, meat a luxury that he'd been unable to afford while hiding and flitting from tree to tree to avoid the monsters that appeared at the worst of times.
he tears his gaze away. the pain hasn't yet settled in. he's read about this, ravenous for information after sousuke's shoulder injury had rendered their shared dream impossible: the brain has a limit for pain. when it overextends, it's euphoria instead.
rin stumbles and tries to right himself with hand braced against the smoking remains of a house. the hand isn't there.
heine, too, eyes like glinting metal. rin had thought them friends, comrades-in-arms, something more than strangers. but heine's fury had been incomprehensible, a language too intricate to unravel in the wake of what rin had just done. he'd stepped over zack's body. he'd -- killed zack.
it feels like nothing. he should be crying, inconsolable after killing and injuring who-knows-how-many, but his mind is a blank canvas, no shade nor shape to fill its expanse. he can think only of the grit in his mouth. how his face itches, covered now with a fine layer of ash. his hair had blown into a disarray; thick locks of it stick to his cheeks, his nape. a dip in the river would be nice. a shower, with that sakura-scented bath wash that gou always bought for him without teasing him. a swim, maybe. butterfly, to flex his aching back. afterwards, he could ask one of the underclassmen to give him a rubdown with that new menthol salve he'd found at the sporting goods shop, the last time they'd taken the train into the city.
what would haru think?
rin takes a deep, gasping breath. he can't look behind him. he can't do anything but trudge forward, unrecognizable in tattered clothes and tattered hair, covered from head to toe in ash. he tumbles through the brush, catching himself with his remaining arm.
when he looks up, the bloody red smear of his gaze startling against his ashen skin, he could easily be mistaken for one of the jungle's many hungry inhabitants. ]
The hell are you staring at?
[ is the snapped response to any eyes upon him. his voice is gravel.
he struggles to his feet, refusing help if it's offered. ]
( B )
[ somewhere, far into the distance, gou tucks her hair ties into a drawer in the bureau that they share.
sometimes rin opens that drawer and runs his fingers through the colorful array, impressive already despite the short time she's lived with him.
he's thinking of her, remaining fist clenching and unclenching. he's sitting by the crater, surrounding by the remnants of a dozen mushroom beasts, of a ring of splintered wood. his scavenged gloves lay in his lap.
he's thinking about his sister. he hasn't been a very good brother to her, has he?
little sins, big sins. sins too huge to comprehend.
he won't deny his involvement in the explosion if anyone were to see the gloves and suspect. ]