[Shinjiro thinks, somewhat in passing, that 'panic attack' seems too neat of a name for it, as though someone just runs up and punches you in the face with panic, rather than just being unable to keep your shit together without freaking out in front of people. Kitsuragi offers him his hand, offers him water and somewhere nice to sit and he feels his ears go warm in embarrassment.
(On some level, he knows this is why he came. Kitsuragi wouldn't turn him away, whether or not he could express a desire for help)
He wants to say something like, "you don't gotta worry about me", or perhaps simply "It's fine, I don't need it", but the words don't make it out. He's too worn out at this point for the front, and the truth is, desperately doesn't want to be alone with the images behind his eyelids tonight, as wrong as it feels to admit that even to himself. His own hand is still trembling a little as it reaches to meet Kitsuragi's outstretched one; it's too much to hope that the older man won't notice, but Shinjiro can at least pretend that he hasn't as the man helps him to his feet.
Before they make it to the door of the apartment building, though, Shinjiro hesitates again, hands shoved into his pockets. He can still feel the faint warmth of Kitsuragi's hands on his shoulders, still remembers the steady thump of his heart under Shinjiro's hand and it twists something in his gut. When was the last time an adult even looked his way when he was having a hard time? He can't even recall the nuns at the orphanage doing that--too many kids to keep fed and healthy to worry after their individual well-being.
It scares him. He feels like he ought to chase the older man off somehow, before Kitsuragi gets hurt. Knowing him always hurts, he's found.]
...Why do you care, anyway? Ain't even like there's shit all to patch up this time.
[No blood, no mostly-sealed bullet hole. Just some stupid kid having a breakdown. It's foolish. A waste of his time, at best.]
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timeasmymeasure
cw bad attitudes toward mental health
Date: 2023-07-23 09:13 am (UTC)(On some level, he knows this is why he came. Kitsuragi wouldn't turn him away, whether or not he could express a desire for help)
He wants to say something like, "you don't gotta worry about me", or perhaps simply "It's fine, I don't need it", but the words don't make it out. He's too worn out at this point for the front, and the truth is, desperately doesn't want to be alone with the images behind his eyelids tonight, as wrong as it feels to admit that even to himself. His own hand is still trembling a little as it reaches to meet Kitsuragi's outstretched one; it's too much to hope that the older man won't notice, but Shinjiro can at least pretend that he hasn't as the man helps him to his feet.
Before they make it to the door of the apartment building, though, Shinjiro hesitates again, hands shoved into his pockets. He can still feel the faint warmth of Kitsuragi's hands on his shoulders, still remembers the steady thump of his heart under Shinjiro's hand and it twists something in his gut. When was the last time an adult even looked his way when he was having a hard time? He can't even recall the nuns at the orphanage doing that--too many kids to keep fed and healthy to worry after their individual well-being.
It scares him. He feels like he ought to chase the older man off somehow, before Kitsuragi gets hurt. Knowing him always hurts, he's found.]
...Why do you care, anyway? Ain't even like there's shit all to patch up this time.
[No blood, no mostly-sealed bullet hole. Just some stupid kid having a breakdown. It's foolish. A waste of his time, at best.]