[ the two halves of the mask make a whole on the table. a broken whole, but a whole nonetheless. it's also the feeling he gets from his brother as he approaches him to bring their foreheads together. his brother, the stronger of the two, the capable one of the two, the one whom he follows despite all expectations to how they lead as equals-- that same brother's chock full of emotions that koutarou doesn't quite understand. and you know, it's hard, discerning shirasu's emotions from his mask. he once thought that it was only natural that he could read his brother, seeing as the two of them were one and all the same. but during those ten long years in that jail cell, he'd learned that his brother was capable of change. seeing him now, that change is more palpable than even before. for him, it may only seem like they were together just a few scant hours ago. for his brother, it almost felt like years. that's how koutarou has come to understand the gap between them -- the years his other half spent at the kumou house must've changed him fundamentally, until his brother is now what he sees before him.
it doesn't disturb him so much as it brings out all of those insecurities that he thought he put to rest when he died (a few hours ago, so they're still fresh in his mind, but the moment he died, he'd thought that he'd laid them to rest for the sheer reason that he won't be alive enough to let them haunt him they way they used to). for a moment, he lets his brother rest against him, lost in his own thoughts, stewing in his own insecurity.
it's why his brother's words now make no sense to him-- again, if he lived any other life, had any other kind of upbringing, perhaps he'd understand that his brother was apologizing for his feelings. which he wouldn't accept on principle, seeing as the failing is in him and him alone, and his brother has no reason to apologize for his own shortcomings-- but since he had been brought up in what was essentially a box, the sentiment is lost on him. he doesn't know why his brother is apologizing. he's never heard his brother apologize to him like this before. they're one and the same. apologies and thanks are but passing words for one another. for his brother to feel so strongly about something, to show him such a changed face--
what is going on?
almost awkwardly, gingerly, he raises a hand to caress his other half's cheek, unblemished, unlike his own, and then moves down to his brother's neck. he can feel his own heartbeat, and the heartbeat of his other half-- perhaps what his brother says, then, about them both being alive is true. but then was he saved? or perhaps he's come here from after his death, and was revived for whatever purpose. that's a scenario that he can accept, too, because if that's the case, then he's been reunited with his brother because of it. there is no downside. he lets his hand fall away.
the insecurity remains, however, as palpable as day. he blinks slowly. ]
There's no reason for you to apologize. [ a pause. awkwardly: ] You're tired.
[ "have we been apart for so long that you've changed so much?" words that he will never say. another thought: if he's not dead, then--
it's a good place to begin talking, at any rate. he doesn't know how to alleviate the suffering so clearly on his brother's face-- doesn't entirely understand it. so he changes the subject the way a freight train changes its course: bluntly, awkwardly and unapologetically. ] ... before I found you, I met Kumou Tenka, and the Yamainu.
no subject
it doesn't disturb him so much as it brings out all of those insecurities that he thought he put to rest when he died (a few hours ago, so they're still fresh in his mind, but the moment he died, he'd thought that he'd laid them to rest for the sheer reason that he won't be alive enough to let them haunt him they way they used to). for a moment, he lets his brother rest against him, lost in his own thoughts, stewing in his own insecurity.
it's why his brother's words now make no sense to him-- again, if he lived any other life, had any other kind of upbringing, perhaps he'd understand that his brother was apologizing for his feelings. which he wouldn't accept on principle, seeing as the failing is in him and him alone, and his brother has no reason to apologize for his own shortcomings-- but since he had been brought up in what was essentially a box, the sentiment is lost on him. he doesn't know why his brother is apologizing. he's never heard his brother apologize to him like this before. they're one and the same. apologies and thanks are but passing words for one another. for his brother to feel so strongly about something, to show him such a changed face--
what is going on?
almost awkwardly, gingerly, he raises a hand to caress his other half's cheek, unblemished, unlike his own, and then moves down to his brother's neck. he can feel his own heartbeat, and the heartbeat of his other half-- perhaps what his brother says, then, about them both being alive is true. but then was he saved? or perhaps he's come here from after his death, and was revived for whatever purpose. that's a scenario that he can accept, too, because if that's the case, then he's been reunited with his brother because of it. there is no downside. he lets his hand fall away.
the insecurity remains, however, as palpable as day. he blinks slowly. ]
There's no reason for you to apologize. [ a pause. awkwardly: ] You're tired.
[ "have we been apart for so long that you've changed so much?" words that he will never say. another thought: if he's not dead, then--
it's a good place to begin talking, at any rate. he doesn't know how to alleviate the suffering so clearly on his brother's face-- doesn't entirely understand it. so he changes the subject the way a freight train changes its course: bluntly, awkwardly and unapologetically. ] ... before I found you, I met Kumou Tenka, and the Yamainu.