[ semi-open ] your faith walks on broken glass

[petsthedog]

WHO: Shinjiro Aragaki & assorted others
WHAT: An anniversary of a bad time comes around again
WHERE: Around the city
WHEN: October 4th
WARNINGS: References to death, drug use, suicidal ideation and behavior all likely in threads






[Starters in comments! Feel free to pm or pp @ goodluckmodes to plot or ask for a custom one!]

Comments

[icanfixer]

Such a thing cannot happen when friendship... nay, when others' hearts are involved, for thy blossoms are right: it leaves naught but a gaping wound in its place. But thee know that.

[ ...

she knows, after all, that the flowers say things they don't want to hear or admit. don relieves shinjiro of her stern gaze as it lands onto the ground instead, finger coming out to draw shapes against the flooring. ]

Moreso when the person allows it not to heal, when they continue to pick at it wondering why it had been torn so soon when they'd had their own bandages to offer in return. [ how oft have thee refused it? they ask her, whispers loud as a stage, a more casual tone peeking in mockingly, you truly are one to talk of friendships, when you don't even--

don speaks louder over them. ] I do not know what ails thee so, Shinjiro, but I should like to understand -- it is something that thou hath not forgiven thyself for, that much is certain, and while I will not forgive thee for that which is not mine to forgive I should still... I should still like to understand, and to offer that salve which thee plainly deny thyself.

cw for reference to self-harm/suicide ideation

[petsthedog]

[He'd tried to make it easier. He'd tried to pull away, but Aki wouldn't let him go, and he could never bring himself to directly sever those last threads between them. He never wanted to leave anyone to bleed, had always meant his distance to become an anesthetic to dull the pain when he reached his inevitable end.

Neither she or the flowers are wrong, though, and it frustrates him, because he still thinks he did the right thing, or as close to the right thing as there was left for him to do, so why does it feel so awful to think about it? It's a strange and contradictory sensation, holding no regret for those particular decisions while licked by the fires of guilt all the same. She offers him salve, and it's his instinct to reject it out of hand; he has grown tired of having his blame absolved, mitigated, covered up -- the weight of his mistakes weighs down his back and threatens to crush his lungs against the floor of the greenhouse.

He's so, so, tired. For once, the strength to keep up his walls saps from him, and he just...relents.]

...I did tell you there was someone who shouldn't've died the way they did.

[He closes his eyes, breathes out a proper sigh, this time.]

It was my fault. And her kid watched it happen.

[. . . .]

Today's the anniversary.

[icanfixer]

[ ... today, huh. and he sought to be alone in the worst place whether he knew it or not.

don's eyes lift back to him in quiet understand before her hand reaches out to grasp whatever hem she can. a small weight of existence. it is, however, enough to settle the flowers and their odd desire for others to touch one another. ]

Do thee wish to be punished for thy presumed wickedness, my friend?

[ an honest question. this is a kind of salve too, for she's seen how guilt weighs on others. ]

If so, answer quick. As one ever in eternal servitude to her Lady Justice, I shall offer what thee seek. In what way is it thy fault? Did thee strike her with intent? If an accident, is thine attitude an attempt at reparation?

[petsthedog]

[The question feels a little like being dunked in cold water, air rushing from his lungs as breaks through the surface. Nobody's ever really asked him that, in those words, and he can't even deny to himself that he'd like the answer to be yes.

...Except it's not that simple, of course. Dedicated to justice or not, there's little meaning to a punishment from someone who has nothing to do with his world, with SEES, with Amada. Even if she killed him, he'd come back, she'd suffer the consequence of killing him, and he'd be leaving Amada alone again, if only for the night. So he doesn't know the answer to her question. He hasn't been able to figure out what he wants out of this epilogue of sorts on a life he'd stopped living years ago since he first woke up on that train, and as the months have stretched on, he's found it increasingly more difficult to hold himself entirely apart. He never asked for this second chance, never wanted anything more than to close the chapter on his own miserable existence with as little collateral damage as possible, and he was only partially successful at even that much, but at least it had been over.

Now it isn't. And there's nothing left for him to do, no end to strive for when even death no longer sticks. All he has is to live, and maybe that's the cruelest punishment of all.

She grasps at the edge of his sleeve, and it's perhaps testament to how exhausted he is that he doesn't pull back, doesn't reclaim his space from her. He just stands there statue still, only the sound of his shaky breathing as evidence to life clinging to his veins.

Despite what she asks, he doesn't answer readily.]

I didn't mean to hurt her, no. But that doesn't change anything. And I already know I can't repay shit. I told you before I shouldn't even be here anymore.

[icanfixer]

And yet thou hath not a choice in the matter.

[ because she knows that even if she kills him, he'll come back -- missing something, perhaps even the very memory that sinks guilt into his heart. ever a potent venom if she knew one. her grip tightens and she steps more into his space. ]

Remorse bleeds from thee. Atonement is not beyond thy reach -- one may not feel they deserve a second chance, but that is not thine to decide. Nor is it mine.

[ of course not. would that she could, because he does not seem a bad man to her even now; he hadn't meant to, and he had wallowed in self-loathing since. his atonement being death? she'd seen all kinds of cowards 'til now, though they clung to life desperately before her lance had sundered their skulls. ]

Her child would be the one to decide such a fate, if any. Though I suppose it might be difficult to find them if they have gone far... if they should turn up here at all. But it is a decision that thee must respect nonetheless, and adhere to: that is what is "right", Shinjiro. Accept what thou hath been given until that moment, and live until otherwise told. Can thee not?

[petsthedog]

[A muscle jumps in his jaw at atonement is not beyond thy reach; it rubs too close to the sort of thing Aki always says, and the only thing that really stays his temper in the moment is her acknowledgment that the one who really holds the right to judge him, to hate him, is Amada. He exhales out the frustration, a harsh rush of air that does nothing to make him seem less worn out as the anger drains away.]

He's already here, actually. ...Look, it's--complicated. He did want me dead, back then.

[So much so that he was ready to give up on his own life the moment he realized that Shinjiro was already dying and so revenge would be meaningless.]

But to him, I've already been in the ground a couple years, and now things're different. Hell, he's acting like what happened to me was on him, when the way things went down was my fault, too.

[He draws his knees in to his chest, then, her grip on his sleeve the only lingering tether between them, and when he speaks next he sounds almost angry, but there's too deep an undercurrent of misery there for anger to be the full story.]

...Gettin' real tired of people tellin' me to move on with my life, though. Just wipe it all away like nothing ever happened, right? Like it's that fucking simple.

[icanfixer]

[ so then it's settled, is it not?

it seems simple, to her. but she knows from the various trips into the memories of her fellows that it is not so simple. still, she can't fully get rid of that line of thought from her mind, and after a moment don shakes her head. ]

One can live with their shortcomings while not being consumed by them. In the end, the one whom cannot forgive thee is thyself.

[ just like yi sang. that'd taken so much more time to undo, and it was ultimately something he had to do himself; the sinners were at his side, at his back, but they were nothing but a safety net for him. just in case he fell, there would be someone to catch him, set him back on his feet, for him to try again.

maybe it's a little gracious to give them that much. but surely, that is how yi sang felt in the moment. her hand drops away from him, though in return she scoots a little closer, turning so their backs are to each other. there's always a small comfort in letting people hide their grief, their anger.

still. she can't help the own shake of her voice, passion held in check by the minor irritation of her words, her intentions misunderstood -- to no fault of shinjiro's own, to no fault of her own, it's simply how humanity is. ]

I am not saying to wipe thy slate clean. That would be wrong, for both the deceased and the ones they have left behind. But I see little point in living so miserably when it would seem the world is giving thee chance after chance to not do so, and to find ways to ensure such incidents cannot happen again -- without forsaking those who would see thee better, many who do not know but perhaps would accept thee nonetheless as I have. To live is to make mistakes, some graver than most. But that does not mean we must be defined by them.

[ -- breathe, breathe. ]

Do thee understand? If I must make it plainer still, I shall.