Understand? Or understanding doesn’t have a thing to do with this. Or their understanding’s slipped awry, or Sen’s misunderstood them, or—
It’s a lie, what Sen is saying. A pleasant story of acceptance, of ‘we’ll forget this happened.’ Rin wants to speak, to protest. Rin wants to fucking leap after Sen, but.
But Rin can’t fucking move, or speak. That kiss seals - those kisses seal - them into place. Along with - oh - that devastating smirk, untrue, ill-fitting, manufactured. Along with Sen’s coolness, and the distance avalanched between them. Along with certainty that they themself have misspoken. Or erred in—
In.
They’ve done Sen wrong.
Which part spelled the worst sin? Their lie— Or, no, they didn’t lie. Their words were earnest, their words held truth of meaning, but they muddled it, or the words they chose weren’t right. The impulse was true, but the words settled ill, tripped a fault that marred intention.
And there have been all those years. Of… What? Of Sen watching. Reaching or not reaching. Never wanting, never… missing. ’I don’t miss you’ he wrote, again, again.
The liar.
The wretched man with his noble gestures. His mistaken would-be-good intent: he’s tried to sacrifice himself again.
(They won’t allow it.)
(They won’t allow it. Would reach for Sen, would take his wrist and pull, only—)
Sen’s gone. Sen’s vanished (not for good) (but it feels, it feels as if he’s banished himself; as if it could be final), and Rin scarcely registers the others at the bar. Doesn’t try to look at them. Doesn’t scan the room. Only registers the not-presence of Sen. Where a man was and now is not.
It’s empty. It’s hollowing and harrowing, and they feel as if they’re falling, have fallen, could fall for the rest of their days and find no landing.
(It won’t be that way. They won’t let it be that way.)
(If they didn’t know before. If they didn’t know Sen’s mind or their own tendings. They know now.)
They blink, or try to.
Their eyes ache; their nerves burn cold at every end. (They’re going to need a drink, a smoke. Several. Smokes. Fuck it, they can break their rule this once.
When they move. If they can ever fucking move.)
They blink, and flex their hand. One; the other. Slow and shaking.
Piece by piece they’ll pull themself together, well enough to move from the bar, out into the alley. Well enough to begin slowly, slowly recovering themself. And later. Tonight, tomorrow; when they’re able. There is much to consider.
no subject
Understand.
Understand? Or understanding doesn’t have a thing to do with this. Or their understanding’s slipped awry, or Sen’s misunderstood them, or—
It’s a lie, what Sen is saying. A pleasant story of acceptance, of ‘we’ll forget this happened.’ Rin wants to speak, to protest. Rin wants to fucking leap after Sen, but.
But Rin can’t fucking move, or speak. That kiss seals - those kisses seal - them into place. Along with - oh - that devastating smirk, untrue, ill-fitting, manufactured. Along with Sen’s coolness, and the distance avalanched between them. Along with certainty that they themself have misspoken. Or erred in—
In.
They’ve done Sen wrong.
Which part spelled the worst sin? Their lie— Or, no, they didn’t lie. Their words were earnest, their words held truth of meaning, but they muddled it, or the words they chose weren’t right. The impulse was true, but the words settled ill, tripped a fault that marred intention.
And there have been all those years. Of… What? Of Sen watching. Reaching or not reaching. Never wanting, never… missing. ’I don’t miss you’ he wrote, again, again.
The liar.
The wretched man with his noble gestures. His mistaken would-be-good intent: he’s tried to sacrifice himself again.
(They won’t allow it.)
(They won’t allow it. Would reach for Sen, would take his wrist and pull, only—)
Sen’s gone. Sen’s vanished (not for good) (but it feels, it feels as if he’s banished himself; as if it could be final), and Rin scarcely registers the others at the bar. Doesn’t try to look at them. Doesn’t scan the room. Only registers the not-presence of Sen. Where a man was and now is not.
It’s empty. It’s hollowing and harrowing, and they feel as if they’re falling, have fallen, could fall for the rest of their days and find no landing.
(It won’t be that way. They won’t let it be that way.)
(If they didn’t know before. If they didn’t know Sen’s mind or their own tendings. They know now.)
They blink, or try to.
Their eyes ache; their nerves burn cold at every end. (They’re going to need a drink, a smoke. Several. Smokes. Fuck it, they can break their rule this once.
When they move. If they can ever fucking move.)
They blink, and flex their hand. One; the other. Slow and shaking.
Piece by piece they’ll pull themself together, well enough to move from the bar, out into the alley. Well enough to begin slowly, slowly recovering themself. And later. Tonight, tomorrow; when they’re able. There is much to consider.
This isn’t over.
And they won’t forget. ]