[ Directions certainly would have expedited the process, but lack of guidance does little to stop him. It's a chance look upward that leads him to what he believes can only be Henry: a slumped, isolated heap of a person in morning, so distanced from those who carry about their day as though nothing had happened.
How familiar it all is. ]
Y—
[ He breathes not a sound beyond that syllable, his chest growing icy. His voice—the voice he shared with Henry's soulmate—can only bring harm.
Now only in writing can they be permitted to have any form. So he writes, his index finger drawing soft lines in the dirt: ]
[When Otonashi finds him, Henry glances up with an automatic smile, the kind that was always there, that didn't even register as an expression. Gesturing for him to come sit down next to him, Henry watches the words traced out in the dirt.]
What're you talking about, Yuzuru? I'm okay!
[It's- friendly, a laugh in the tone that sounds almost normal. But then, 'normalcy' had little depth behind it, a defensive measure that had nothing behind it.
Henry nearly asks if something had happened to Otonashi's voice, but the question remains in his own throat, unspoken. Not that it was Otonashi's fault for having a voice similar to his lover's, it was one of those strange quirks of fate- but he was a little... relieved, all the same to not have to listen to it. The similarity hadn't occurred to him when Henry had sent his message, only struck him now as a narrowly-missed pain.
No, even if something had taken Otonashi's voice, he was going to be a little selfish and be grateful for it.
Looking back out over the city- and not at all avoiding looking at him- Henry's voice is still light, if soft.]
I just wanted to ask your thoughts about something.
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trainwrecking) wrote2015-06-07 09:36 pm
no subject
How familiar it all is. ]
Y—
[ He breathes not a sound beyond that syllable, his chest growing icy. His voice—the voice he shared with Henry's soulmate—can only bring harm.
Now only in writing can they be permitted to have any form. So he writes, his index finger drawing soft lines in the dirt: ]
You don't have to say anything. I'm here. I know.
no subject
What're you talking about, Yuzuru? I'm okay!
[It's- friendly, a laugh in the tone that sounds almost normal. But then, 'normalcy' had little depth behind it, a defensive measure that had nothing behind it.
Henry nearly asks if something had happened to Otonashi's voice, but the question remains in his own throat, unspoken. Not that it was Otonashi's fault for having a voice similar to his lover's, it was one of those strange quirks of fate- but he was a little... relieved, all the same to not have to listen to it. The similarity hadn't occurred to him when Henry had sent his message, only struck him now as a narrowly-missed pain.
No, even if something had taken Otonashi's voice, he was going to be a little selfish and be grateful for it.
Looking back out over the city- and not at all avoiding looking at him- Henry's voice is still light, if soft.]
I just wanted to ask your thoughts about something.