[Shinjiro lays Don Quixote's body to rest in the gardens, as she asked, and somehow he manages to stand up afterward. He doesn't move with any particular intention, honestly, half-dazed as the city's sky keeps turning split-pea green in his mind, Quixote's body mixing and blending with another woman's, inside a crushed house where a monster rampages, and all he can do is scream.
There are times where Shinjiro is forced to stop, whole body wracked by spasms he doesn't have the vocabulary to name as panic attacks, and his lungs feel as though they are on fire all over again, though any lingering trace of the wound on his back has healed over fully by now.
He stops, ultimately, in a place he recognizes -- though he could not verbalize even to himself why he came. He was just telling someone on the other day that there was no real cause for kinship between him and Kitsuragi; the older man was simply the sort of person who saw someone in need of assistance and offered it. They are not anything akin to friends. He has no cause to go inside, or ring Kitsuragi's doorbell, or any such thing.
He cannot bring himself to leave, either, though. So when Kim steps out for his nightly single cigarette, perhaps, he'll find a familiar teenager huddled there, breathing in uneven fits and gasps as he tries to hold his shoulders steady, face streaked with tear tracks he would have been humiliated for anyone to see, were he mentally present enough to be aware of them.]
action! post quixote murder
There are times where Shinjiro is forced to stop, whole body wracked by spasms he doesn't have the vocabulary to name as panic attacks, and his lungs feel as though they are on fire all over again, though any lingering trace of the wound on his back has healed over fully by now.
He stops, ultimately, in a place he recognizes -- though he could not verbalize even to himself why he came. He was just telling someone on the other day that there was no real cause for kinship between him and Kitsuragi; the older man was simply the sort of person who saw someone in need of assistance and offered it. They are not anything akin to friends. He has no cause to go inside, or ring Kitsuragi's doorbell, or any such thing.
He cannot bring himself to leave, either, though. So when Kim steps out for his nightly single cigarette, perhaps, he'll find a familiar teenager huddled there, breathing in uneven fits and gasps as he tries to hold his shoulders steady, face streaked with tear tracks he would have been humiliated for anyone to see, were he mentally present enough to be aware of them.]