[ he just. he stops, there. whatever it is, he just lets beau yell at him, lets her finish her fury, and his shoulders slump. the tension in his muscles doesn't fade, where she's got her hand around his wrist, but -
beau can probably feel it, now, that he's shaking. ]
I know. [ he says. this time, it's softer. it's softer, and smaller, and he feels the wet, hot press of tears behind his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, as the angry, furious facade cracks off into something miserable. what he's been underneath all of that anger, all of this time, every day since they've been here.
i know. denji, who they tried so hard to keep safe. who they tried so hard, to keep from being scapegoated because he was a little weird, a little crass. winter has come to feel like family, and every loss hurts like a knife in the gut.
he takes a deep breath. shaky. ] I know, Beau. [ so much smaller, this time. desperate, though. ] I know.
[ everything really hits, then. the way she stumbled, earlier, the raw, desperate anger that's so similar to his own, and he just - ]
I'm sorry. [ - because he's so fucking sorry, and this time, the tears bubble over, and he's crying before even realizes it. ]
[ finally, he lets go of the front of beau's shirt, and lifts his hand to reach up and wipe his face, his mouth with the back of his hand, coming away with tears and blood. some of that tension starts to break, finally, and the exhaustion seeps through him, too. he knows what it looked like. he knows how suspicious he must have looked.
i fucking can't, anymore, you stupid fucking asshole, his thoughts repeat, in beau's voice. stay alive. you have to come home to me. you have to come home to me. in someone else's.
it's just a lot of pressure. ] ...When I found out who killed Sieghart, I made a promise to myself that I would try and catch anyone who was compelled. The person who did it told me they wanted to be caught, and I know - if it was me, I would've wanted to be, caught, too.
[ because ultimately, he is so, so empathetic - ultimately, he wants to try and do good. ultimately, he wants to help other people, and when someone looks at you with desperation in their eyes from the choices that were stolen from them, it sticks. ]
...if I ever did do something like that, you would know. [ quietly, a little hoarse. i'm a shit liar, and you know me. ] And... I'd never, ever try to frame someone, either.
...I just wanted to help. [ to help maya, to help keep that self made promise - that he'd find the people who were compelled, help so they wouldn't have to cope with that misery alone, like the first person who told him had to. he'd watched the way it broke them. ] 'm sorry.
I'm not - worried about the compulsion, Ichiro. It's not that. It's Otome's group. You couldn't tell me that anyway.
[she lets go of his wrist. that's what she'd said when she'd been asked - he's a shitty liar, I'd be able to tell. there's a pause, and she's so tired, not just from the day and from failure but from the drugs in her system, and she just - stumbles backwards, and sits. heavily. pushes her hand through her hair, trying not to cry. Don't. Don't do it. You don't need to.
a long pause.]
I don't want to think about it anymore. [There was fire. It was a Winter.]
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[ he just. he stops, there. whatever it is, he just lets beau yell at him, lets her finish her fury, and his shoulders slump. the tension in his muscles doesn't fade, where she's got her hand around his wrist, but -
beau can probably feel it, now, that he's shaking. ]
I know. [ he says. this time, it's softer. it's softer, and smaller, and he feels the wet, hot press of tears behind his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, as the angry, furious facade cracks off into something miserable. what he's been underneath all of that anger, all of this time, every day since they've been here.
i know. denji, who they tried so hard to keep safe. who they tried so hard, to keep from being scapegoated because he was a little weird, a little crass. winter has come to feel like family, and every loss hurts like a knife in the gut.
he takes a deep breath. shaky. ] I know, Beau. [ so much smaller, this time. desperate, though. ] I know.
[ everything really hits, then. the way she stumbled, earlier, the raw, desperate anger that's so similar to his own, and he just - ]
I'm sorry. [ - because he's so fucking sorry, and this time, the tears bubble over, and he's crying before even realizes it. ]
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ichiro starts to cry, and she sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it.]
Did you kill Sakyou? Tell me the truth. [If you can.]
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[ he says this with utter conviction - his jaw juts out, shoulders back, fierce, fierce, fierce, even with tears tracking down his cheeks.
I mean it.
I didn't. ]
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... I believe you, Ichiro. [she just sounds exhausted. worn down to the bone.]
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i fucking can't, anymore, you stupid fucking asshole, his thoughts repeat, in beau's voice. stay alive. you have to come home to me. you have to come home to me. in someone else's.
it's just a lot of pressure. ] ...When I found out who killed Sieghart, I made a promise to myself that I would try and catch anyone who was compelled. The person who did it told me they wanted to be caught, and I know - if it was me, I would've wanted to be, caught, too.
[ because ultimately, he is so, so empathetic - ultimately, he wants to try and do good. ultimately, he wants to help other people, and when someone looks at you with desperation in their eyes from the choices that were stolen from them, it sticks. ]
...if I ever did do something like that, you would know. [ quietly, a little hoarse. i'm a shit liar, and you know me. ] And... I'd never, ever try to frame someone, either.
...I just wanted to help. [ to help maya, to help keep that self made promise - that he'd find the people who were compelled, help so they wouldn't have to cope with that misery alone, like the first person who told him had to. he'd watched the way it broke them. ] 'm sorry.
no subject
[she lets go of his wrist. that's what she'd said when she'd been asked - he's a shitty liar, I'd be able to tell. there's a pause, and she's so tired, not just from the day and from failure but from the drugs in her system, and she just - stumbles backwards, and sits. heavily. pushes her hand through her hair, trying not to cry. Don't. Don't do it. You don't need to.
a long pause.]
I don't want to think about it anymore. [There was fire. It was a Winter.]