Why stand out by keeping me? [He makes a small sound, a laugh as described to a man who had never heard laughter, in the back of his throat, and slumps back against the wall. One arm tightens over his belly to catch his opposite elbow.
She's absolutely right about Ni, of course, but that hadn't been how it'd gone with Gojyo at all. No, he'd been exasperated that Hakkai was even trying to be practical about it, and only argued the idea that Hakkai would need a god at all....
The memory hurts as unexpectedly as a glass splinter shifting under his skin, and he tosses her a veiled, guilty glance, wondering if she'd felt that, too.]
I don't expect you to be afraid. [The anger has drained out of his voice, leaving it dull and tired. He doesn't, after all. She's never been afraid just because her own existence was in danger, not as long as he's known her, and he can understand that.
He doesn't fear his own death, either. And yet.]
... But I don't want to see you disappear, either.
[He's holding too still, slumped against the wall with his arm over his body and his knuckles pale with tension, as he forces his panic and anger to ebb. It leaves behind enough space in his mind to start piecing together logic. He can't stop her from disappearing, whether he's her shinki or not; he's been here long enough to know that there's no warning, there's no pattern he can identify, not even a person he can suspect. Not yet.
Selfishly, he doesn't want to let himself feel like the cause, but if he waits, who knows what god he'll find himself with next? Yuri's right. There's no way for him to know who assigned him to her. Losing this name won't protect her, because nothing can protect any of them.]
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She's absolutely right about Ni, of course, but that hadn't been how it'd gone with Gojyo at all. No, he'd been exasperated that Hakkai was even trying to be practical about it, and only argued the idea that Hakkai would need a god at all....
The memory hurts as unexpectedly as a glass splinter shifting under his skin, and he tosses her a veiled, guilty glance, wondering if she'd felt that, too.]
I don't expect you to be afraid. [The anger has drained out of his voice, leaving it dull and tired. He doesn't, after all. She's never been afraid just because her own existence was in danger, not as long as he's known her, and he can understand that.
He doesn't fear his own death, either. And yet.]
... But I don't want to see you disappear, either.
[He's holding too still, slumped against the wall with his arm over his body and his knuckles pale with tension, as he forces his panic and anger to ebb. It leaves behind enough space in his mind to start piecing together logic. He can't stop her from disappearing, whether he's her shinki or not; he's been here long enough to know that there's no warning, there's no pattern he can identify, not even a person he can suspect. Not yet.
Selfishly, he doesn't want to let himself feel like the cause, but if he waits, who knows what god he'll find himself with next? Yuri's right. There's no way for him to know who assigned him to her. Losing this name won't protect her, because nothing can protect any of them.]