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Yes, I think I can see where you're getting at.
[ Kim laces his fingers together, humming a little under his breath as he considers the situation. It's a thorny one, and one he has no business sticking his nose into. He has no answers, barely has a good grasp on things as it is; underneath different circumstances, he would urge Aragaki to ask a teacher, a mentor, a parental figure, a mental health professional, someone with a better idea of where Aragaki is coming from. This feels too much like getting involved. It may well backfire on any one of them, and then who's to blame?
But it's gone a little beyond the sole purpose of duty now. If it was still duty alone, perhaps he wouldn't feel so uneasy. He cares, though, wants life to be easier for this poor kid - this dead kid - grappling with things beyond most adults' grasp. He wonders, momentarily, if he should be advocating for Aragaki's well-being or the new kid's.
Or perhaps their well-being is one and the same, in the end. ]
Guilt is something that... sometimes you feel that you must live with it, in order to atone. It's a natural way to feel. But even if it doesn't feel that way, guilt can be a very selfish emotion. We have to wonder who it's serving to feel that way, and why. How it can burden the very people we want to do right by.
[ He looks up at Aragaki. He will not share who he's thinking of in this moment. He cannot. In many ways, he is not as strong as Aragaki is; it has been years since Eyes' death, and yet it still pains him too much to speak on it. But he can't help but think of the horrible aftermath, how his guilt did nothing but burden the wife and child that Dom had left behind, how what they needed was support and not the murmured apologies and cringing deference of the partner who had survived. It had been a terrible thing to grapple with. He had half hoped to be reprimanded, hit, scorned.
That's not what they needed. They needed someone to share in the good memories. To bring groceries to their door. To crouch by his child and play with her, in Kim's own graceless way. His self-recrimination did nothing but hurt them, nothing but wounded misery in his wife's eyes until Kim managed to sit down and speak with her like a human being.
He removes his glasses, polishing them with his shirt. The way the world is cast in blurry shadows makes this easier. ]
If you want to do right by this kid, sometimes that means letting go of what you think you deserve, and accepting what he thinks you deserve. It's the only way for him to heal too. Don't get me wrong -- it's a difficult pill to swallow. It's more difficult to bear forgiveness than blame, sometimes. And it doesn't mean you have to sacrifice yourself to look after him either, if living with him is too painful for you both. But -- it is something for you both to consider.
[ He exhales, putting his glasses back on. There is something heavy in his bearing. These aren't platitudes; this is the life he's lived. ]
Does that make sense?
[ Kim laces his fingers together, humming a little under his breath as he considers the situation. It's a thorny one, and one he has no business sticking his nose into. He has no answers, barely has a good grasp on things as it is; underneath different circumstances, he would urge Aragaki to ask a teacher, a mentor, a parental figure, a mental health professional, someone with a better idea of where Aragaki is coming from. This feels too much like getting involved. It may well backfire on any one of them, and then who's to blame?
But it's gone a little beyond the sole purpose of duty now. If it was still duty alone, perhaps he wouldn't feel so uneasy. He cares, though, wants life to be easier for this poor kid - this dead kid - grappling with things beyond most adults' grasp. He wonders, momentarily, if he should be advocating for Aragaki's well-being or the new kid's.
Or perhaps their well-being is one and the same, in the end. ]
Guilt is something that... sometimes you feel that you must live with it, in order to atone. It's a natural way to feel. But even if it doesn't feel that way, guilt can be a very selfish emotion. We have to wonder who it's serving to feel that way, and why. How it can burden the very people we want to do right by.
[ He looks up at Aragaki. He will not share who he's thinking of in this moment. He cannot. In many ways, he is not as strong as Aragaki is; it has been years since Eyes' death, and yet it still pains him too much to speak on it. But he can't help but think of the horrible aftermath, how his guilt did nothing but burden the wife and child that Dom had left behind, how what they needed was support and not the murmured apologies and cringing deference of the partner who had survived. It had been a terrible thing to grapple with. He had half hoped to be reprimanded, hit, scorned.
That's not what they needed. They needed someone to share in the good memories. To bring groceries to their door. To crouch by his child and play with her, in Kim's own graceless way. His self-recrimination did nothing but hurt them, nothing but wounded misery in his wife's eyes until Kim managed to sit down and speak with her like a human being.
He removes his glasses, polishing them with his shirt. The way the world is cast in blurry shadows makes this easier. ]
If you want to do right by this kid, sometimes that means letting go of what you think you deserve, and accepting what he thinks you deserve. It's the only way for him to heal too. Don't get me wrong -- it's a difficult pill to swallow. It's more difficult to bear forgiveness than blame, sometimes. And it doesn't mean you have to sacrifice yourself to look after him either, if living with him is too painful for you both. But -- it is something for you both to consider.
[ He exhales, putting his glasses back on. There is something heavy in his bearing. These aren't platitudes; this is the life he's lived. ]
Does that make sense?
[ There's reality to Kim, and then there's reality to Robby.
One is more real than the other, but details like these don't matter, honestly, when you're in the middle of what seems real to you. Like one's name spoken in the voice of a mother loved dearly than that of a Revacholian man, sweet and familiar in his ears. It freezes Robby in place, has him squeezing his eyelids tight; and he wants to ignore it, but that voice digs deeper than the cut on his arm, the sting of torn skin and superficial bleeding inconsequential to what a mother's voice means to him.
(With a rasp. A rasp that shouldn't be in that voice.)
Anyone else, and he might keep running, but Robby knows the shadow that cast over the counter with that voice, and knows he isn't alone. He knows what running will do, even if running doesn't seem to be something he's done much of, within the store himself.
But it doesn't mean that Robby dares to look. Isn't that the problem? That he's a coward, and he takes that route, refusing to budge in his position, his eyes shut closed, and his head bowed and his answer to Kim's concerns-- ]
Fuck-- off... fuck off!
[ ...rather appropriate to his young and rebellious age, surely. But there's something pleading in his tone, a strangled note: from trying to hold back what isn't being held back well at all. An upset, a fear--because who wants to see the face of a woman you killed hovering above you, looking more dead than you would ever want to see a loved one?
He's so fucking sick of this city. ]
One is more real than the other, but details like these don't matter, honestly, when you're in the middle of what seems real to you. Like one's name spoken in the voice of a mother loved dearly than that of a Revacholian man, sweet and familiar in his ears. It freezes Robby in place, has him squeezing his eyelids tight; and he wants to ignore it, but that voice digs deeper than the cut on his arm, the sting of torn skin and superficial bleeding inconsequential to what a mother's voice means to him.
(With a rasp. A rasp that shouldn't be in that voice.)
Anyone else, and he might keep running, but Robby knows the shadow that cast over the counter with that voice, and knows he isn't alone. He knows what running will do, even if running doesn't seem to be something he's done much of, within the store himself.
But it doesn't mean that Robby dares to look. Isn't that the problem? That he's a coward, and he takes that route, refusing to budge in his position, his eyes shut closed, and his head bowed and his answer to Kim's concerns-- ]
Fuck-- off... fuck off!
[ ...rather appropriate to his young and rebellious age, surely. But there's something pleading in his tone, a strangled note: from trying to hold back what isn't being held back well at all. An upset, a fear--because who wants to see the face of a woman you killed hovering above you, looking more dead than you would ever want to see a loved one?
He's so fucking sick of this city. ]
[Kitsuragi's unease perhaps isn't exactly unmerited; at this point, he is the closest thing to a mentor figure that Shinjiro has ever had. Perhaps it began with duty, but over time, he has proven himself a reliable and trustworthy figure even as Shinjiro's been difficult and cagey in return. Even now, the message he'd sent had been a shot in the dark, a whim he wouldn't have thought twice about if Kitsuragi hadn't responded.
And in truth, he hadn't really anticipated the conversation to be more than a diversion, something to occupy himself with until he could pass out from sheer exhaustion. It's a natural way to feel hits him right in the gut, though. His hand freezes in midair, the act of reaching up for a sip of tea suddenly stalled out. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
It's a natural way to feel.
In two years, that might be the first time he's heard it. He's so used to the attitude that his feelings are unreasonable, unnecessary, that he ought to be able to get over it and move on with his life. Kitsuragi really does get it, doesn't he. At least the sense of obligation, the burden that feels wrong to even consider setting down. Kitsuragi doesn't elaborate on his own experience, but Shinjiro doesn't need him to. The only reason Shinjiro had bothered to say anything about himself was because he'd been the one to initiate this whole thing in the first place; he doesn't expect reciprocation.
His throat's suddenly gone dry, but he sets down his arm with the tea anyway. Seems too much effort, now. The older man's words are turned around and around his mind, each seemingly more pointed than the last. His kneejerk instinct is to reject it, of course, but at the back of his mind, he ultimately knows Kitsuragi isn't wrong. For all his discomfort, he couldn't bring himself to actually push Amada away, to reject the hand reached out to him if only because he's always known he could never deny the kid anything. His life has belonged to Amada ever since that day two years ago, and if he's obligated to live for now, if only to keep from leaving the kid all on his own again, so be it.
It's just ... it's just forgiveness that tears at his insides. More difficult to bear than blame, another thing Kitsuragi somehow understands, and he's gone and lived on all these years past it. Shinjiro can justify himself all he wants that it's different, that Kitsuragi comes from an ordinary world in which he might have made mistakes but he can't cause harm simply by existing, but it can't quite stem the flow of what-ifs and uncertainty. Could he have done anything differently? He's never thought so, but it's not like his life isn't a whole trash heap of mistakes and bullshit, like his track record in life isn't filled with failures in the few places in life he'd bothered to even make an effort.
He doesn't know what to think. His stomach hurts. There's a moment his eyes go sort of distant, like they were that night Kitsuragi had found him curled up on his doorstep, but he's gotten better at catching himself since then with the method Kitsuragi showed him. His breathing comes in too-measured and rhythmic for the next few moments, until he feels like there's air in his lungs again.
At length:]
...You know what the news headline was when she died? [he starts, non-sequitur at first glance] That a drunk driver crashed into her house and died along with her. Because she died in the Dark Hour, nobody could know what really happened.
[He stares down into the tea.]
For the two years it took the kid to find me...he was the only one that knew her killer wasn't dead. And I ain't stupid, not like the truth'd change anything when we're both in the ground now anyway, but it just seems like --
[He grits his teeth, struggling with the words. To even figure out what he's feeling, exactly. It's confusing. It hurts.]
I dunno. After everything, after the choices I made dealing with all that, I dunno how I can just ... pretend like we can start over like none of it happened. Like it doesn't matter, when...when he's gotta go move on with his life again, after all this.
And in truth, he hadn't really anticipated the conversation to be more than a diversion, something to occupy himself with until he could pass out from sheer exhaustion. It's a natural way to feel hits him right in the gut, though. His hand freezes in midair, the act of reaching up for a sip of tea suddenly stalled out. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
It's a natural way to feel.
In two years, that might be the first time he's heard it. He's so used to the attitude that his feelings are unreasonable, unnecessary, that he ought to be able to get over it and move on with his life. Kitsuragi really does get it, doesn't he. At least the sense of obligation, the burden that feels wrong to even consider setting down. Kitsuragi doesn't elaborate on his own experience, but Shinjiro doesn't need him to. The only reason Shinjiro had bothered to say anything about himself was because he'd been the one to initiate this whole thing in the first place; he doesn't expect reciprocation.
His throat's suddenly gone dry, but he sets down his arm with the tea anyway. Seems too much effort, now. The older man's words are turned around and around his mind, each seemingly more pointed than the last. His kneejerk instinct is to reject it, of course, but at the back of his mind, he ultimately knows Kitsuragi isn't wrong. For all his discomfort, he couldn't bring himself to actually push Amada away, to reject the hand reached out to him if only because he's always known he could never deny the kid anything. His life has belonged to Amada ever since that day two years ago, and if he's obligated to live for now, if only to keep from leaving the kid all on his own again, so be it.
It's just ... it's just forgiveness that tears at his insides. More difficult to bear than blame, another thing Kitsuragi somehow understands, and he's gone and lived on all these years past it. Shinjiro can justify himself all he wants that it's different, that Kitsuragi comes from an ordinary world in which he might have made mistakes but he can't cause harm simply by existing, but it can't quite stem the flow of what-ifs and uncertainty. Could he have done anything differently? He's never thought so, but it's not like his life isn't a whole trash heap of mistakes and bullshit, like his track record in life isn't filled with failures in the few places in life he'd bothered to even make an effort.
He doesn't know what to think. His stomach hurts. There's a moment his eyes go sort of distant, like they were that night Kitsuragi had found him curled up on his doorstep, but he's gotten better at catching himself since then with the method Kitsuragi showed him. His breathing comes in too-measured and rhythmic for the next few moments, until he feels like there's air in his lungs again.
At length:]
...You know what the news headline was when she died? [he starts, non-sequitur at first glance] That a drunk driver crashed into her house and died along with her. Because she died in the Dark Hour, nobody could know what really happened.
[He stares down into the tea.]
For the two years it took the kid to find me...he was the only one that knew her killer wasn't dead. And I ain't stupid, not like the truth'd change anything when we're both in the ground now anyway, but it just seems like --
[He grits his teeth, struggling with the words. To even figure out what he's feeling, exactly. It's confusing. It hurts.]
I dunno. After everything, after the choices I made dealing with all that, I dunno how I can just ... pretend like we can start over like none of it happened. Like it doesn't matter, when...when he's gotta go move on with his life again, after all this.
Edited (5 million nitpicks rip) 2023-11-21 04:49 (UTC)
[ The finality with which Aragaki keeps on reiterating his own death only barely fails to make Kim flinch. He doesn't, of course. He has a better poker face than that, one he's been working on since early childhood, able to look at anything in the eye unflinchingly, unchangingly. It does not mean that he is unaffected. It just means he's good at not showing it. But it's still a difficult thing to swallow, the unjustness of it all. A part of him wants to protest and say that it's very much possible to come back from a bullet wound - he's done it himself, after all - provided he was given immediate care, that if he is alive here, then he is alive in the only way that matters, but...
He knows that will only be a comforting lie. He tries not to tell those, as a general rule. They only come back to bite him in the ass later, even if the only person he is telling them to is himself. So he remains silent, quietly nursing the uncomfortable fact that Aragaki seems to take more comfort in his death than dread. All discomfort is his own, to be managed in his own time. He sets it deliberately aside. ]
We all lose people. And we all have to move on.
[ He takes a sip of his coffee, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue. ]
You might need to pretend for a little while. He may not be ready to confront it immediately -- just give him time. But in time, you two will have to talk about it and sort things out. There's no getting around that one. [ It is undeniably tragic that the kid had to live so long with vengeance burning at his heels, with a mystery at the heart of his mother's death, but that, too, is not so unfamiliar to Kim. He's from a generation of children who don't know precisely how their parents died, who is responsible, where even they're buried. Kim visited the mass grave where his parents were purportedly buried once. He didn't find that it gave him the closure others said it would. He doesn't think that killing their executioner would do it either. Dead is dead. ]
I don't know if the difficult part is the fact that he's got to move on. I think the true sticking point we're looking at here is that you have to as well.
He knows that will only be a comforting lie. He tries not to tell those, as a general rule. They only come back to bite him in the ass later, even if the only person he is telling them to is himself. So he remains silent, quietly nursing the uncomfortable fact that Aragaki seems to take more comfort in his death than dread. All discomfort is his own, to be managed in his own time. He sets it deliberately aside. ]
We all lose people. And we all have to move on.
[ He takes a sip of his coffee, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue. ]
You might need to pretend for a little while. He may not be ready to confront it immediately -- just give him time. But in time, you two will have to talk about it and sort things out. There's no getting around that one. [ It is undeniably tragic that the kid had to live so long with vengeance burning at his heels, with a mystery at the heart of his mother's death, but that, too, is not so unfamiliar to Kim. He's from a generation of children who don't know precisely how their parents died, who is responsible, where even they're buried. Kim visited the mass grave where his parents were purportedly buried once. He didn't find that it gave him the closure others said it would. He doesn't think that killing their executioner would do it either. Dead is dead. ]
I don't know if the difficult part is the fact that he's got to move on. I think the true sticking point we're looking at here is that you have to as well.
Sorry, no can do. I'm pretty sure your teacher would have my head for it.
[ He makes his way around the counter to crouch in front of Robby. He's vaguely aware that he might get socked for it but, well, it's a risk he's going to have to take. Robby clearly isn't in his right mind, and isn't to be held responsible for whatever he does next, though Kim personally hopes that his nose stays right where it is; it's already crooked enough from being broken a couple of times before. He knows what he had seen earlier, what he had felt, the eerie, constant feeling of something peering out at him from the shadows, the idea that he couldn't trust anyone around him, the scientists...
And all he'd done was go to the party and sit quietly at a table. He wonders if Robby got punished with something worse for daring to organize it in the first place. His deep voice is as calm as it ever is. It's his true superpower, at the end of the day. He can handle his own in a fight well enough, but what he truly deals in is trying to defuse situations before they get to it. You just have to remain calm and work with the situation. ]
It's okay. I'm not going to make you go anywhere, [ he says quietly. ] We're just going to sit right here for a little while. Nobody is coming to get you, and nobody is trying to make you do anything. Just take a deep breath.
[ It might work. It might not. It probably won't. But it's at least step one. ]
[ He makes his way around the counter to crouch in front of Robby. He's vaguely aware that he might get socked for it but, well, it's a risk he's going to have to take. Robby clearly isn't in his right mind, and isn't to be held responsible for whatever he does next, though Kim personally hopes that his nose stays right where it is; it's already crooked enough from being broken a couple of times before. He knows what he had seen earlier, what he had felt, the eerie, constant feeling of something peering out at him from the shadows, the idea that he couldn't trust anyone around him, the scientists...
And all he'd done was go to the party and sit quietly at a table. He wonders if Robby got punished with something worse for daring to organize it in the first place. His deep voice is as calm as it ever is. It's his true superpower, at the end of the day. He can handle his own in a fight well enough, but what he truly deals in is trying to defuse situations before they get to it. You just have to remain calm and work with the situation. ]
It's okay. I'm not going to make you go anywhere, [ he says quietly. ] We're just going to sit right here for a little while. Nobody is coming to get you, and nobody is trying to make you do anything. Just take a deep breath.
[ It might work. It might not. It probably won't. But it's at least step one. ]
[It's a little like a bucket of ice water to the face, to feel understood in one moment and utterly not in the next. On the one hand, it does hit differently to hear the same words from someone who has actually hurt people himself than it had from Aki, but it comes back around to the same thing, doesn't it? Forgive yourself and move on. Let go of the past, stop beating yourself up over it, it wasn't your fault. He feels like he's heard every possible variation releasing him from culpability and he's just so, so tired.
His death was meant to give the kid closure, back then. Just being alive now is ripping those wounds back open, but there's a difference between something like that which he has no choice in and building some kind of relationship with the kid, letting him get to know the person behind his mother's killer. The thought of it makes him feel sick, even as obligation has prevented him from refusal. It's not so simple as "losing" him the way Aki had lost Miki, after all; it would be building something new in full awareness that it is destined to be dashed on the rocks sooner than not--layering grief upon grief, something Shinjiro can only see as a cruelty. One he's supposed to inflict for the kid's own good? What a joke.
And yet for all his dismay at that notion, it really doesn't compare to how much that last part hurts, liquid fire all through his veins. Indeed, for half a moment he looks for all the world as though he's been decked, here, before his teeth grit, nails digging into his palms hard enough that he risks drawing blood.]
Tch...don't you get it? There is no moving on, for me. It's already done and finished with, I made my choices an' reached the end of the line, and there's no goin' back on any of that. I didn't even want anything to do with the shit around here, but I ain't scum enough to let him rot in this cage with me. But that's all I've got to give him, understand? There's nothin' else left here.
[He has been dragging along the shambling husk of his for years, now, just waiting for it to finally crumble. And now he doesn't even have that much. He's just a pathetic ghost trapped haunting its own corpse, and people keep acting as though he should pretend this is some kind of gift.
He is so god damn tired.]
His death was meant to give the kid closure, back then. Just being alive now is ripping those wounds back open, but there's a difference between something like that which he has no choice in and building some kind of relationship with the kid, letting him get to know the person behind his mother's killer. The thought of it makes him feel sick, even as obligation has prevented him from refusal. It's not so simple as "losing" him the way Aki had lost Miki, after all; it would be building something new in full awareness that it is destined to be dashed on the rocks sooner than not--layering grief upon grief, something Shinjiro can only see as a cruelty. One he's supposed to inflict for the kid's own good? What a joke.
And yet for all his dismay at that notion, it really doesn't compare to how much that last part hurts, liquid fire all through his veins. Indeed, for half a moment he looks for all the world as though he's been decked, here, before his teeth grit, nails digging into his palms hard enough that he risks drawing blood.]
Tch...don't you get it? There is no moving on, for me. It's already done and finished with, I made my choices an' reached the end of the line, and there's no goin' back on any of that. I didn't even want anything to do with the shit around here, but I ain't scum enough to let him rot in this cage with me. But that's all I've got to give him, understand? There's nothin' else left here.
[He has been dragging along the shambling husk of his for years, now, just waiting for it to finally crumble. And now he doesn't even have that much. He's just a pathetic ghost trapped haunting its own corpse, and people keep acting as though he should pretend this is some kind of gift.
He is so god damn tired.]
Edited 2023-11-23 12:17 (UTC)
[ Fortunate for Kim, he may be the one person to get away without injury in these circumstances. Head bowed and eyes screwed shut, Robby's gone for the childish way of ignoring everything by pretending--and hoping--it doesn't exist. But it doesn't make what he's trying to escape from disappear, or relinquish its control over him: there's still the voice of a mother, who of course won't leave him. No can do.
And still, with a rasp. And yet, there's a tone over there, some kind of distant mumble. It speaks on with hers, a strange echo, but not one that registers to Robby as peculiar. Everything is fucked here, truthfully, and even with his eyes as scrunched closed as they are, the world is darker for him than it should be with the fluorescent lighting above head that makes it more visible to other visitors.
The directions are sensible, even if nothing can be interpreted as safe or useful. Trust is a hard thing to come by when one's trust in themselves and what they can distinguish between hallucinations and reality has already been tested and failed. It's a trick, Robby's brain tells him, and surely something will happen despite the reassurances, and he'll have to fight (pretend that he can fight), run, or even find himself in his own bed...
But maybe closing one's eyes does keep the terrors at bay. Nothing's occurred, though it doesn't rid Robby of the possibility that tenses him at his shoulders. He's considering his ability to get up and run, his weight, and whatever sight he might see leading up to it or the consequence for trying to escape. He's breathing, of course: Robby knows the perks of controlling one's breathing before doing anything, though the thought of being comforted by his mother upsets him in a new way.
Breathe. He can't let ghosts get the better of him, saying for himself more than anyone: ]
You're not real, I didn't kill you.
[ It's said quietly, just as Robby clenches one of his hands into a fist. ]
And still, with a rasp. And yet, there's a tone over there, some kind of distant mumble. It speaks on with hers, a strange echo, but not one that registers to Robby as peculiar. Everything is fucked here, truthfully, and even with his eyes as scrunched closed as they are, the world is darker for him than it should be with the fluorescent lighting above head that makes it more visible to other visitors.
The directions are sensible, even if nothing can be interpreted as safe or useful. Trust is a hard thing to come by when one's trust in themselves and what they can distinguish between hallucinations and reality has already been tested and failed. It's a trick, Robby's brain tells him, and surely something will happen despite the reassurances, and he'll have to fight (pretend that he can fight), run, or even find himself in his own bed...
But maybe closing one's eyes does keep the terrors at bay. Nothing's occurred, though it doesn't rid Robby of the possibility that tenses him at his shoulders. He's considering his ability to get up and run, his weight, and whatever sight he might see leading up to it or the consequence for trying to escape. He's breathing, of course: Robby knows the perks of controlling one's breathing before doing anything, though the thought of being comforted by his mother upsets him in a new way.
Breathe. He can't let ghosts get the better of him, saying for himself more than anyone: ]
You're not real, I didn't kill you.
[ It's said quietly, just as Robby clenches one of his hands into a fist. ]
There is. Because we're here. Even if we wanted to die, that option is not in our hands.
[ He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth; Aragaki is as suicidal as Harry was, yes, but he is not at Harry's old age, and Kim has more responsibility here than he necessarily had for Harry. Harry was his superior. Aragaki is... something else. But his approach usually remains the same. If someone is drowning, he will offer them his hand. He will do everything in his power to help them, even if that means more labour on his part than he cares to think of. He will help them get on their feet, he will help with finances if he can, with clothing, with education, with care. He is not heartless. He wants to help, deep down. But if someone doesn't wish to be helped, he will not belabour the point, will not leap into the water to save them himself. It's not something he has inside him. He's known this since he was very young.
There is some deficit in him. He's always known that. It's part of why he hopes that Aragaki has someone else to go to; he is too terse, too cold, too unemotional, too rigid. He's known that since he was very young, and very little changed as he aged. Aragaki is not his first time dealing with someone suicidal, someone so on the brink that their whole being is like an exposed nerve, sparking with pain and misery and a desire for things to end. But if Kim said that his every interaction with someone in that state - even those he cared deeply for, more deeply than they likely knew - ended well, he would be a liar.
Aragaki is lashing out out of trauma and hurt, Kim realizes that much. On the surface, he looks utterly unmoved by the situation, his expression a still, placid lake, his hands unmoving from his coffee cup, his furrowed brow unchanged. Raising his voice, reacting in kind -- maybe that's what Aragaki needs. But it's not what Kim has to give him. The only thing he knows how to do is to deal with things calmly, reasonably, as though every conversation is another shoot-out that he's trying to negotiate his way out of. What would someone else do, someone better with this sort of thing, with juveniles? Harry would have some way to empathize with him, to relate with him. Maybe put a hand on his shoulder. Hell, maybe he'd even give the kid a hug.
Somehow, Kim doesn't think that would go very well from him. ]
As long as we draw breath here, it is not the end of the line. He is here, and so are you. That's just the truth of things. [ He looks out the window. The city outside is well-lit, but quiet, a ghost town; nothing like his beloved Revachol. He misses it terribly. The sound of the people rising for early shifts, or going home after a long night out, the sound of the machines roaring to life as construction workers pull night shifts, the buzz of a city at life. Here, there is nothing, as though he is forced to live in a permanent twilight. ] If you don't believe yourself capable of giving any more to him, if you wish to sever ties, that's your decision. I won't try to convince you otherwise. Do what you must.
[ He's being sincere. If Aragaki wants to give up, rot in his room and never see another soul, that is his decision. He can't make it for him. He would like for Aragaki to reach that conclusion, but he will not reach it because Kim tells him to. He doesn't have that power, though he wishes that he did. More of his friends would still be alive that way. ]
It doesn't have to be one or the other. The decision does not have to be made here and now. If the people I have hurt come here, then I will have to deal with it too. [ A small, humourless smile. ] Then I'll have some decisions of my own to make. But -- I prefer to take it day by day.
[ He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth; Aragaki is as suicidal as Harry was, yes, but he is not at Harry's old age, and Kim has more responsibility here than he necessarily had for Harry. Harry was his superior. Aragaki is... something else. But his approach usually remains the same. If someone is drowning, he will offer them his hand. He will do everything in his power to help them, even if that means more labour on his part than he cares to think of. He will help them get on their feet, he will help with finances if he can, with clothing, with education, with care. He is not heartless. He wants to help, deep down. But if someone doesn't wish to be helped, he will not belabour the point, will not leap into the water to save them himself. It's not something he has inside him. He's known this since he was very young.
There is some deficit in him. He's always known that. It's part of why he hopes that Aragaki has someone else to go to; he is too terse, too cold, too unemotional, too rigid. He's known that since he was very young, and very little changed as he aged. Aragaki is not his first time dealing with someone suicidal, someone so on the brink that their whole being is like an exposed nerve, sparking with pain and misery and a desire for things to end. But if Kim said that his every interaction with someone in that state - even those he cared deeply for, more deeply than they likely knew - ended well, he would be a liar.
Aragaki is lashing out out of trauma and hurt, Kim realizes that much. On the surface, he looks utterly unmoved by the situation, his expression a still, placid lake, his hands unmoving from his coffee cup, his furrowed brow unchanged. Raising his voice, reacting in kind -- maybe that's what Aragaki needs. But it's not what Kim has to give him. The only thing he knows how to do is to deal with things calmly, reasonably, as though every conversation is another shoot-out that he's trying to negotiate his way out of. What would someone else do, someone better with this sort of thing, with juveniles? Harry would have some way to empathize with him, to relate with him. Maybe put a hand on his shoulder. Hell, maybe he'd even give the kid a hug.
Somehow, Kim doesn't think that would go very well from him. ]
As long as we draw breath here, it is not the end of the line. He is here, and so are you. That's just the truth of things. [ He looks out the window. The city outside is well-lit, but quiet, a ghost town; nothing like his beloved Revachol. He misses it terribly. The sound of the people rising for early shifts, or going home after a long night out, the sound of the machines roaring to life as construction workers pull night shifts, the buzz of a city at life. Here, there is nothing, as though he is forced to live in a permanent twilight. ] If you don't believe yourself capable of giving any more to him, if you wish to sever ties, that's your decision. I won't try to convince you otherwise. Do what you must.
[ He's being sincere. If Aragaki wants to give up, rot in his room and never see another soul, that is his decision. He can't make it for him. He would like for Aragaki to reach that conclusion, but he will not reach it because Kim tells him to. He doesn't have that power, though he wishes that he did. More of his friends would still be alive that way. ]
It doesn't have to be one or the other. The decision does not have to be made here and now. If the people I have hurt come here, then I will have to deal with it too. [ A small, humourless smile. ] Then I'll have some decisions of my own to make. But -- I prefer to take it day by day.
Euh... no. You didn't.
[ Okay. He's hallucinating. Is he on drugs? It's hard to tell without being able to get a look at his eyes, to see if they're cloudy or yellow, but he rejects that idea as soon as it pops into his mind. He's pretty sure Robby isn't the type. Even if he were, he wouldn't be taking them tonight of all nights. No, there's a much more familiar, much more dangerous culprit: he's hallucinating. Aural hallucinations as well as visual hallucinations, which complicates matters.
All right. He's seeing someone else. Somebody already dead, maybe? With aural hallucinations that he killed them, which is a ludicrous notion; he's just some kid. Just a nice kid, Kim amends, knowing damn well that plenty of people Robby's age are capable of killing another. All he can do is talk to him, try to get through to him so that he can at least open his eyes and hopefully see the person who's truly in front of him. ]
No. You didn't. [ How did his training say to talk people down from a panic attack, again? Sensation. Grounding. What he can see is off-limits, and so is what he can hear. There's no way he's going to get any food in Robby's mouth, so that just leaves... ] You didn't kill anyone, Robby. Whoever you're seeing or hearing now isn't actually here. It's just Kim Kitsuragi, a friend of your teacher's -- of Daniel. You are in the City, sitting behind the counter of a convenience store, and everything is all right. Try to concentrate on what you feel, not what you hear or see. Start with...
[ He gets up, taking the couple steps it takes to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, ice-cold to the touch. He crouches in front of Robby again. ]
This is a cold water bottle. I'm going to press it against your wrist. Now you're going to grab it and hold onto it.
[ It's not a request. It's an order. ]
[ Okay. He's hallucinating. Is he on drugs? It's hard to tell without being able to get a look at his eyes, to see if they're cloudy or yellow, but he rejects that idea as soon as it pops into his mind. He's pretty sure Robby isn't the type. Even if he were, he wouldn't be taking them tonight of all nights. No, there's a much more familiar, much more dangerous culprit: he's hallucinating. Aural hallucinations as well as visual hallucinations, which complicates matters.
All right. He's seeing someone else. Somebody already dead, maybe? With aural hallucinations that he killed them, which is a ludicrous notion; he's just some kid. Just a nice kid, Kim amends, knowing damn well that plenty of people Robby's age are capable of killing another. All he can do is talk to him, try to get through to him so that he can at least open his eyes and hopefully see the person who's truly in front of him. ]
No. You didn't. [ How did his training say to talk people down from a panic attack, again? Sensation. Grounding. What he can see is off-limits, and so is what he can hear. There's no way he's going to get any food in Robby's mouth, so that just leaves... ] You didn't kill anyone, Robby. Whoever you're seeing or hearing now isn't actually here. It's just Kim Kitsuragi, a friend of your teacher's -- of Daniel. You are in the City, sitting behind the counter of a convenience store, and everything is all right. Try to concentrate on what you feel, not what you hear or see. Start with...
[ He gets up, taking the couple steps it takes to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, ice-cold to the touch. He crouches in front of Robby again. ]
This is a cold water bottle. I'm going to press it against your wrist. Now you're going to grab it and hold onto it.
[ It's not a request. It's an order. ]
[Whether or not it would be more beneficial to him, Shinjiro was certainly expecting the escalation to match his own. Aki would've punched him in the face by now, and Kitsuragi maintaining his calm feels a lot like swinging a punch and missing himself, stumbling forward with momentum that suddenly has nowhere to go.
What's left of the anger from that momentary outburst fizzles without further fuel, and Shinjiro's quiet as he struggles to find his balance in this conversation again. It's strange to be understood yet not, but there's something distinctly comforting about I won't try to convince you otherwise. Do what you must. Usually, when people don't understand, they're upset about it. Aki tried to change his mind for two entire years, had punched him in the face over the suppressants. Kitsuragi would not to try to stop him from fading away, and it's a relief, in a weird way. He's grown weary of hurting people around him because they simply cannot let him go.
But Kitsuragi is alive, and so is Amada, and that's where the gap lies between them, ultimately. Taking it a day at a time is what he's been doing, until now, but he hadn't had to worry about the end of that road because he wasn't about to let anyone else join it with him. Amada is different, an exception. He has no right to deny the kid anything. Yet, it feels unconscionable to simply carry on as though he won't inevitably be hurting the kid--just as how he could never simply "get over" what happened with Castor, could not take the chance it could ever happen again, no matter what. That's the part that nobody understands, not Kitsuragi, not Don, not Aki. He's as alone as he's ever been in bearing that weight.
He sighs. The lack of sleep is wearing on him, at this point. If he drags this out much further, he does risk just crashing out here, and the thought of waking Kitsuragi with his night terrors again is desperately mortifying. He should go, soon.
Shinjiro scrubs at his face, and after a long moment, he finally says:]
The guy whose place I've been stayin' at...he disappeared months ago. Still dunno what that means for us, exactly, but best case scenario'd be throwin' us back where we came from, and -- well. Time's already gone on for the kid. There's not gonna be any miracle second chances, here.
[For much of the conversation, he's avoided the older man's gaze, but here, at last, he looks up properly, right at him.]
...I ain't exactly lookin' for you to convince me life's worth livin' or some shit, Kitsuragi. I respect that you haven't tried, honestly. But I don't think you believe in false hope, either, in lyin' to yourself or anyone else. So just answer me this: if you knew the end was coming, probably sooner than later, would you put people through losin' you? More than once, even?
What's left of the anger from that momentary outburst fizzles without further fuel, and Shinjiro's quiet as he struggles to find his balance in this conversation again. It's strange to be understood yet not, but there's something distinctly comforting about I won't try to convince you otherwise. Do what you must. Usually, when people don't understand, they're upset about it. Aki tried to change his mind for two entire years, had punched him in the face over the suppressants. Kitsuragi would not to try to stop him from fading away, and it's a relief, in a weird way. He's grown weary of hurting people around him because they simply cannot let him go.
But Kitsuragi is alive, and so is Amada, and that's where the gap lies between them, ultimately. Taking it a day at a time is what he's been doing, until now, but he hadn't had to worry about the end of that road because he wasn't about to let anyone else join it with him. Amada is different, an exception. He has no right to deny the kid anything. Yet, it feels unconscionable to simply carry on as though he won't inevitably be hurting the kid--just as how he could never simply "get over" what happened with Castor, could not take the chance it could ever happen again, no matter what. That's the part that nobody understands, not Kitsuragi, not Don, not Aki. He's as alone as he's ever been in bearing that weight.
He sighs. The lack of sleep is wearing on him, at this point. If he drags this out much further, he does risk just crashing out here, and the thought of waking Kitsuragi with his night terrors again is desperately mortifying. He should go, soon.
Shinjiro scrubs at his face, and after a long moment, he finally says:]
The guy whose place I've been stayin' at...he disappeared months ago. Still dunno what that means for us, exactly, but best case scenario'd be throwin' us back where we came from, and -- well. Time's already gone on for the kid. There's not gonna be any miracle second chances, here.
[For much of the conversation, he's avoided the older man's gaze, but here, at last, he looks up properly, right at him.]
...I ain't exactly lookin' for you to convince me life's worth livin' or some shit, Kitsuragi. I respect that you haven't tried, honestly. But I don't think you believe in false hope, either, in lyin' to yourself or anyone else. So just answer me this: if you knew the end was coming, probably sooner than later, would you put people through losin' you? More than once, even?
Edited 2023-12-02 01:25 (UTC)
[ No miracle second chances? Some would argue that this is a miracle second chance, though Kim would personally disagree with them. As second lives go, this is not one worth living. This isn't life. No wonder many - including Aragaki - wondered if this was purgatory, at the beginning, because it certainly doesn't even remotely resemble anything he would consider a life worth living. What he does consider this, however, is as proof of concept. If this place is capable of bringing people back from the dead, then that means that other places likely are as well. And when it comes to where they go when they disappear from this place... Kim prefers to believe that they go home. It's the most palatable option to him. But it also seems like the least likely one as well. ]
Mmh, well. I don't know many people that would.
[ Be put through losing him, he means. He says it baldly, without any particular emotion; it's not something that makes him sad. It's simply statement of facts. He's grown distant from old friends, old flames, enough that if they heard of his death, they would be briefly saddened, but that's all. His occupation is as such that his death is likely, a when, not an if.
The Detective would be sad, he supposes. He tries to imagine it, this reality where Harry had lost him once, and in this place, would inevitably have to leave him again. He takes a long moment to answer, clearly putting serious thought into the question, as challenging as he finds it. ]
I suppose... I would not have the heart to part from them. Though, not necessarily because I would think it was the best course of action. [ He thinks, briefly, of people he's lost. If Dom came here... if Dom came here, Kim would stop at nothing to see him, even if he was faced with the other man's righteous, rightful fury. Thinking about it makes something in him ache. He's certain that this kid Aragaki is talking about feels the exact same way; there's likely something in him that's just desperate to do enough here to gain some sort of absolution, some sort of closure. ] But because if I myself had a chance to see people I've lost, even for just one day? It's something I would fight for. So I don't believe that I would deprive others of the same. But that's just me.
[ Whatever Kim thinks Aragaki should do, it truly has nothing to do with the kid's well-being. It's Aragaki's own well-being he has in mind. He's not convinced that mending ties with the kid is for the best, really. The only thing he really wants is for the man in front of him to find some sort of equilibrium, some space in which he can stop torturing himself. ]
Mmh, well. I don't know many people that would.
[ Be put through losing him, he means. He says it baldly, without any particular emotion; it's not something that makes him sad. It's simply statement of facts. He's grown distant from old friends, old flames, enough that if they heard of his death, they would be briefly saddened, but that's all. His occupation is as such that his death is likely, a when, not an if.
The Detective would be sad, he supposes. He tries to imagine it, this reality where Harry had lost him once, and in this place, would inevitably have to leave him again. He takes a long moment to answer, clearly putting serious thought into the question, as challenging as he finds it. ]
I suppose... I would not have the heart to part from them. Though, not necessarily because I would think it was the best course of action. [ He thinks, briefly, of people he's lost. If Dom came here... if Dom came here, Kim would stop at nothing to see him, even if he was faced with the other man's righteous, rightful fury. Thinking about it makes something in him ache. He's certain that this kid Aragaki is talking about feels the exact same way; there's likely something in him that's just desperate to do enough here to gain some sort of absolution, some sort of closure. ] But because if I myself had a chance to see people I've lost, even for just one day? It's something I would fight for. So I don't believe that I would deprive others of the same. But that's just me.
[ Whatever Kim thinks Aragaki should do, it truly has nothing to do with the kid's well-being. It's Aragaki's own well-being he has in mind. He's not convinced that mending ties with the kid is for the best, really. The only thing he really wants is for the man in front of him to find some sort of equilibrium, some space in which he can stop torturing himself. ]
[ The other sound--a voice, a something; maybe a someone--rises in volume, a gnat to Robby's mom's voice, but it's hard to hear what's being said though the direction comes out the same. An explanation before a shock of cold against skin, and Robby's lips tremble with a breath despite the warning.
Would it be good to open his eyes? If there's something there, if it is a water bottle, then maybe it will be useful: anything's pretty good to throw or smack someone with in close contact, when staying in place so long--this isn't helpful. It's not useful.
Robby reaches, to take the offered item; let his fingers come around and clench it, a sense of security to realise it's not something else. Grasps it, and with a second deliberated, Robby opens his eyes with his gaze down between them, then coming up with a wince as a fluorescent light filters in that wasn't somehow present behind his lids.
Know what also wasn't? ]
...what the hell?
[ ...well, more like a who, with a somehow more confused expression denting further into Robby's already furrowed look. ]
Would it be good to open his eyes? If there's something there, if it is a water bottle, then maybe it will be useful: anything's pretty good to throw or smack someone with in close contact, when staying in place so long--this isn't helpful. It's not useful.
Robby reaches, to take the offered item; let his fingers come around and clench it, a sense of security to realise it's not something else. Grasps it, and with a second deliberated, Robby opens his eyes with his gaze down between them, then coming up with a wince as a fluorescent light filters in that wasn't somehow present behind his lids.
Know what also wasn't? ]
...what the hell?
[ ...well, more like a who, with a somehow more confused expression denting further into Robby's already furrowed look. ]
[ Kim can't be sure if anything he's saying is getting through to the kid, but the shock of sensation seems to; he watches as the kid stiffens, his fingers reaching out to finally snatch at the proffered drink and squeeze at it. And then his eyes open.
That's an improvement. From the looks of it, he's not hallucinating too badly, if he is at all. He doesn't squirrel further away in fear, or shout, or try to fight him, which is a great improvement on matters. He exhales. Good, he thinks. He's finally getting somewhere. ]
Hello, Robby. [ He keeps his voice as slow and calm as he's been the whole time, as though worried that speaking too loudly or too harshly would just scare him off again. ] Are you with me now?
That's an improvement. From the looks of it, he's not hallucinating too badly, if he is at all. He doesn't squirrel further away in fear, or shout, or try to fight him, which is a great improvement on matters. He exhales. Good, he thinks. He's finally getting somewhere. ]
Hello, Robby. [ He keeps his voice as slow and calm as he's been the whole time, as though worried that speaking too loudly or too harshly would just scare him off again. ] Are you with me now?
[ His mother's voice is gone. And it's disorienting--it's alarming, the anxiety built from hearing her haunt him not relinquished by the disappearance of her voice. Robby continues to stare at Mister Kitsuragi in confusion, looks over him, and tries to decide what to make of him. How to approach him, even in the face of his own calm and collected route.
Robby glances to the side away from Mister Kitsuragi, and unfortunately, absent of anything else than the curve of the counter wall. ]
... how long have you been here?
[ It's a quiet question, more uncertain than trying to be hushed or secretive. Another quick glance, this time at the bottle, that Robby gingerly lowers to sit on the ground without letting go of it. ]
Robby glances to the side away from Mister Kitsuragi, and unfortunately, absent of anything else than the curve of the counter wall. ]
... how long have you been here?
[ It's a quiet question, more uncertain than trying to be hushed or secretive. Another quick glance, this time at the bottle, that Robby gingerly lowers to sit on the ground without letting go of it. ]
Not long. Five, ten minutes max. You were already in a bad way when I arrived.
[ He's lucid. Lucid enough to ask questions, and to recognize him for who he is. Good. Very good. Kim doesn't know what he would have done if that much didn't work -- stay here until it did, he supposes, ride it out in the same way he would ride out someone's drug trip, but being crouched all night long in the corner of a convenience store isn't his idea of a good time.
Robby is still looking at him, spooked, like he's seen some sort of ghost. Maybe that's precisely what he was seeing. This place has an alarming tendency to dig out the skeletons in your closet and put them on display for everyone to see. ]
Do you know where you are?
[ He's lucid. Lucid enough to ask questions, and to recognize him for who he is. Good. Very good. Kim doesn't know what he would have done if that much didn't work -- stay here until it did, he supposes, ride it out in the same way he would ride out someone's drug trip, but being crouched all night long in the corner of a convenience store isn't his idea of a good time.
Robby is still looking at him, spooked, like he's seen some sort of ghost. Maybe that's precisely what he was seeing. This place has an alarming tendency to dig out the skeletons in your closet and put them on display for everyone to see. ]
Do you know where you are?
A store. [ That much he figured out, said before he seems to look up at where the top of the counter sits, an involuntarily need to confirm it. ] I don't know which one. I was in my apartment. District 1.
[ There's a small beat before each detail, the facts as he knows them--if they could be even called facts. ]
...You saw nothing?
[ There's a small beat before each detail, the facts as he knows them--if they could be even called facts. ]
...You saw nothing?
Merry Christmas and a happy Noel to you! I'm here to announce who you'll be a secret Santa to... Your giftee is: Chesed!
Congratulations! Here's a few notes to help you pick or make the perfect present for them.
LIKES: Fun mugs
DISLIKES: Bad coffee. Terrible.
HOBBIES: Brewing coffee, brightening Gebura's day. All that frowning will leave terrible wrinkles, you see.
Remember we'll be having a Christmas party on the 25th, so if you want to give it to them then or just drop it off by the tree for them to find, well, you can do just that! We'll have a lot of traditional Christmas foods, plus smores, and I'm sure it'll be a wonderful little time for us to gather, sing carols, and be merry this cold winter season!
If you've got any questions, comments, concerns, or desires for clarifications... You got one chance to ask them, because I've got a bunch of people to contact and I don't have a bunch of time to entertain conversation! :)
Congratulations! Here's a few notes to help you pick or make the perfect present for them.
LIKES: Fun mugs
DISLIKES: Bad coffee. Terrible.
HOBBIES: Brewing coffee, brightening Gebura's day. All that frowning will leave terrible wrinkles, you see.
Remember we'll be having a Christmas party on the 25th, so if you want to give it to them then or just drop it off by the tree for them to find, well, you can do just that! We'll have a lot of traditional Christmas foods, plus smores, and I'm sure it'll be a wonderful little time for us to gather, sing carols, and be merry this cold winter season!
If you've got any questions, comments, concerns, or desires for clarifications... You got one chance to ask them, because I've got a bunch of people to contact and I don't have a bunch of time to entertain conversation! :)
You came all this way from your apartment? [ Kim says, a look of keen dismay briefly crossing his face. Robby must have been caught in it for longer than he'd thought. But more than that, he'd stumbled all the way here in some form of puzzled agony; it's a small wonder he hadn't managed to trip down some stairs, or run into someone else on his way over. Thank god there's no such thing as traffic here. ]
That's... you must have been affected by this for a long time now. No, I didn't see anything. Just you, in here. Right now, you're in a convenience store. The one between the liquor store and the fruit stall. What is it that you saw? [ A beat. ] Are you hurt at all?
[ He won't trust Robby's word for it anyway, not with such adrenaline still pumping through his body. He'll look him over himself once he turns the lights back on, but he won't subject the kid to the harsh fluorescents until he's had some time to settle down. ]
That's... you must have been affected by this for a long time now. No, I didn't see anything. Just you, in here. Right now, you're in a convenience store. The one between the liquor store and the fruit stall. What is it that you saw? [ A beat. ] Are you hurt at all?
[ He won't trust Robby's word for it anyway, not with such adrenaline still pumping through his body. He'll look him over himself once he turns the lights back on, but he won't subject the kid to the harsh fluorescents until he's had some time to settle down. ]
[ Robby's mind stalls. There's questions asked, but it's only one that holds his tongue and makes it hard to answer any than an accumulation of both; a point bafflingly repeated that itself needs a response, but--
What is it that you saw? Robby's throat closes, and he looks down from Mister Kitsuragi for longer than it takes for his mouth to finally work, to answer him.
... ] I-- no, but-- I don't remember walking here. I didn't walk here, [ he fixes. Swallows. ] It got dark, then I saw-- I didn't wanna get close to her. My mom. I know it wasn't real, I didn't wanna get close.
[ His words are rushed, but his voice doesn't rise; backing out of explaining the process entirely, and wanting to get to the point. What he saw, what he was doing. Why he's crouched, hiding behind the counter of a convenience store, and feeling stir in him a ridiculousness doused by an anger that he's here at all. He bites on his bottom lip, and then mutters for nobody but himself: ]
Stupid fucking city.
What is it that you saw? Robby's throat closes, and he looks down from Mister Kitsuragi for longer than it takes for his mouth to finally work, to answer him.
... ] I-- no, but-- I don't remember walking here. I didn't walk here, [ he fixes. Swallows. ] It got dark, then I saw-- I didn't wanna get close to her. My mom. I know it wasn't real, I didn't wanna get close.
[ His words are rushed, but his voice doesn't rise; backing out of explaining the process entirely, and wanting to get to the point. What he saw, what he was doing. Why he's crouched, hiding behind the counter of a convenience store, and feeling stir in him a ridiculousness doused by an anger that he's here at all. He bites on his bottom lip, and then mutters for nobody but himself: ]
Stupid fucking city.
( a picnic basket, specifically. there's so much glitter involved that it could probably be considered a fire hazard, especially with the amount of ribbon that's also present..
anyway, once he gets past all of that, he'll see a handle of whiskey and a box of cigars. ......... and a stress ball. and a cashmere scarf, keeping it all bundled together. it's soft and warm and also a light orange. all of which are laid atop a bed of daisies! because why not. )
anyway, once he gets past all of that, he'll see a handle of whiskey and a box of cigars. ......... and a stress ball. and a cashmere scarf, keeping it all bundled together. it's soft and warm and also a light orange. all of which are laid atop a bed of daisies! because why not. )
you really should tell me what sort of things you like next time, or i'll keep guessing.
- fearne ♡
[Kim's secret santa gift will be waiting for him under the tree at Kromer's little holiday party and exchange. There's no message for him to find it there so uh, hopefully he knows to go look.]
[ if u saw me posting to the wrong inbox no u didn't ]
Good day, Mr. Kitsuragi, and a merry Christmas to you too~ Thank you kindly for your gift. I haven't owned a moka pot before, so I've been eagerly experimenting with it.
Good day, Mr. Kitsuragi, and a merry Christmas to you too~ Thank you kindly for your gift. I haven't owned a moka pot before, so I've been eagerly experimenting with it.
You're very welcome. I'll admit I didn't have much to go off of, but I didn't think I could go wrong there. That's how most households make it where I'm from, if they live alone.
Yeah, [ Kim echoes. ] Stupid fucking city.
[ There's not much more to be said about that, is there? Robby was a victim of the City, as they all are again, and again, and again. It is as profoundly unfair as anything else Kim can consider, though in fairness, so is life as he knows it. If he could protect Robby from it, he would. But he's never successfully protected anyone in his life.
There is an unspoken trauma here, that he saw his mother and his first reaction was fear. To flee, to hide, to cower. What the hell had she done to him? ]
So... you saw, or perhaps heard, something like your mother and you wound up here. [ He glances around them, the dimness of the empty convenience store stark and eerie, a liminal space caught within a liminal space. ]
Your instincts were good, to stay away. Being haunted by the past is this place's go-to, and not everyone escapes unscathed. [ Robby didn't either. But it's an injury of the heart, and those are injuries that are beyond Kim's capabilities. ]
...is there anyone you'd like to call? Who you'd like to stay with you, after this?
[ There's not much more to be said about that, is there? Robby was a victim of the City, as they all are again, and again, and again. It is as profoundly unfair as anything else Kim can consider, though in fairness, so is life as he knows it. If he could protect Robby from it, he would. But he's never successfully protected anyone in his life.
There is an unspoken trauma here, that he saw his mother and his first reaction was fear. To flee, to hide, to cower. What the hell had she done to him? ]
So... you saw, or perhaps heard, something like your mother and you wound up here. [ He glances around them, the dimness of the empty convenience store stark and eerie, a liminal space caught within a liminal space. ]
Your instincts were good, to stay away. Being haunted by the past is this place's go-to, and not everyone escapes unscathed. [ Robby didn't either. But it's an injury of the heart, and those are injuries that are beyond Kim's capabilities. ]
...is there anyone you'd like to call? Who you'd like to stay with you, after this?
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