[ he doesn't respond to her question this time, simply looking at her with that same faint bewilderment. Her fingers close over his own, small and warm. Yes, surely, this is Aguri. Slowly, he starts to accept it. Even if it's unbelievable, or impossible, or seemingly unfair (to think that someone like her and someone like him could end up in the same place after it all!), he feels a strange sense of certainty about it all. He is dead - no, he was killed, and now he's here, with her.
Despite what she's thinking, he has no sense of loss. He hasn't lost anyone at all; he's merely seen them off from their graduation, as a teacher should. And there's no sense of loss about his own death, either. That was something he came to terms with almost one year ago. No, this isn't sad. If anything, it's almost too good to be true. Yet the emotions he's actually feeling are far more complex than happiness - a bittersweet ache as he realizes he'll never see them again, but knows that they've achieved more than he hoped they would; a strange sense of relief, to be freed from the burdens of living in a world that was not usually his friend; more than anything, something thick and cloying, sitting heavy in his throat, as he stands here in front of the most important person in his life one more time... All of the walls have been torn down. It's overwhelming. ]
That should be my line. [ it shows in his voice a little bit, that heaviness. He instinctively wants to reach out with a tentacle to comfort her, but he doesn't have them anymore, he finds. His hand slips from hers, instead, gently reaching for her cheek to guide her head back up before he can think better of it. This time, it's not a strange, miraculous construction of microfiber tentacles - just the calloused hand of an experienced career assassin. ] ... You were watching me? The whole time?
no subject
Despite what she's thinking, he has no sense of loss. He hasn't lost anyone at all; he's merely seen them off from their graduation, as a teacher should. And there's no sense of loss about his own death, either. That was something he came to terms with almost one year ago. No, this isn't sad. If anything, it's almost too good to be true. Yet the emotions he's actually feeling are far more complex than happiness - a bittersweet ache as he realizes he'll never see them again, but knows that they've achieved more than he hoped they would; a strange sense of relief, to be freed from the burdens of living in a world that was not usually his friend; more than anything, something thick and cloying, sitting heavy in his throat, as he stands here in front of the most important person in his life one more time... All of the walls have been torn down. It's overwhelming. ]
That should be my line. [ it shows in his voice a little bit, that heaviness. He instinctively wants to reach out with a tentacle to comfort her, but he doesn't have them anymore, he finds. His hand slips from hers, instead, gently reaching for her cheek to guide her head back up before he can think better of it. This time, it's not a strange, miraculous construction of microfiber tentacles - just the calloused hand of an experienced career assassin. ] ... You were watching me? The whole time?