[ it’s relief he realizes he’s feeling when Robin moves on without pushing harder. maybe it’s for his own nerves, but Getou is still taking this shard of glass in him and turning it over in careful observation: watching what it cuts, how, how deeply. watching how he bleeds from it — how others do when they brush against it, indecision keeping him from putting it in a garbage bag that it would only slice open and unable to find the frame from whence it came to put it back. ]
[ best to keep others from looking through it for too long, or else his effigy might warp into something truly strange. and would that be so bad? he doesn’t know — can’t, until it happens. ]
[ it’s happened to the young man(?) before him, then. he gave up what he was to become something else in alignment with his priorities. what bravery. ]
…That’s its own kind of strength. [ something someone told him once: ] You did what you could.
[ a beat. ]
Do you miss it? [ not that Robin owes him an answer, after his own inability to be forthcoming. ]
no subject
[ best to keep others from looking through it for too long, or else his effigy might warp into something truly strange. and would that be so bad? he doesn’t know — can’t, until it happens. ]
[ it’s happened to the young man(?) before him, then. he gave up what he was to become something else in alignment with his priorities. what bravery. ]
…That’s its own kind of strength. [ something someone told him once: ] You did what you could.
[ a beat. ]
Do you miss it? [ not that Robin owes him an answer, after his own inability to be forthcoming. ]