Sorry, [ he says quietly before turning round — he can hear that not-quite-warning, the implied stop doing that, and, hm, yeah. yeah, he should just... get it over with.
and so he turns, and says nothing — and for a moment as junpei doesn't, either, he simply stares at the bed without really seeing anything. remember, beta, says his mother's voice in his head, and he feels like he is betraying her by showing junpei this; and more than that, there is the ever-present shame of knowing he was never good enough, no matter what he did, in all the years he was actually alive —
the warning is the only thing that keeps him from outright flinching as junpei wraps his arms around him, sets his chin on his shoulder; but he is tense, as if braced for — he doesn't even know what, really; judgment, perhaps, even though intellectually he knows junpei would never, ever do that.
the question makes him huff out something that isn't quite a laugh, sharp and desperate at once. ] No, [ he says, truthfully, ] But I should, shouldn't I?
[ but how, is the question — and where would he even start? eventually, though, he manages, with a quiet, monotone voice that's entirely at odds with his usual demeanour, ] Most of the time, it wasn't bad enough to put me in hospital, you know? But one time, after I tried helping Mum in the kitchen and broke a glass, he shoved me down the stairs. I broke my arm and my leg and had a concussion, and I don't remember it all too well, but Mum took me to the hospital. And I thought, maybe this'd be enough. Maybe we could just... leave. But she didn't even look at me, just said, remember, beta, you slipped and that was it.
[ a pause, there, for him to breathe. ] Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. But nothing he did was ever enough for Mum to say anything, either.
the cw applies still, like it really, really applies
and so he turns, and says nothing — and for a moment as junpei doesn't, either, he simply stares at the bed without really seeing anything. remember, beta, says his mother's voice in his head, and he feels like he is betraying her by showing junpei this; and more than that, there is the ever-present shame of knowing he was never good enough, no matter what he did, in all the years he was actually alive —
the warning is the only thing that keeps him from outright flinching as junpei wraps his arms around him, sets his chin on his shoulder; but he is tense, as if braced for — he doesn't even know what, really; judgment, perhaps, even though intellectually he knows junpei would never, ever do that.
the question makes him huff out something that isn't quite a laugh, sharp and desperate at once. ] No, [ he says, truthfully, ] But I should, shouldn't I?
[ but how, is the question — and where would he even start? eventually, though, he manages, with a quiet, monotone voice that's entirely at odds with his usual demeanour, ] Most of the time, it wasn't bad enough to put me in hospital, you know? But one time, after I tried helping Mum in the kitchen and broke a glass, he shoved me down the stairs. I broke my arm and my leg and had a concussion, and I don't remember it all too well, but Mum took me to the hospital. And I thought, maybe this'd be enough. Maybe we could just... leave. But she didn't even look at me, just said, remember, beta, you slipped and that was it.
[ a pause, there, for him to breathe. ] Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. But nothing he did was ever enough for Mum to say anything, either.