Tsuzuki Asato (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sweetdeath) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thenearshore2016-06-23 01:13 am
sweetdeath) wrote in thenearshore2016-06-23 01:13 am
[semi-open]
Who: Tsuzuki, Hisoka, Battler (and you!)
What: Hisoka's dead (or is he?) and Tsuzuki's not coping well.
When: March 27 & 28, 2016
Where: Tajimamori's temple
Warnings: Discussion of character death, depression, self-harm.
Closed to Battler/Late Night March 27
[Tsuzuki isn't sure how he got back to the temple. There are blank spaces in his memory, spreading darknesses after that searing moment when he felt Hisoka dying and his name shattering into an equally blank and empty space where their connection had been.
The sunflowers are blooming all around the porch, and the cloying-sweet scent of orange blossoms rises from the trees along the far wall. He isn't looking at them: he knows by the scent and the flower shadows swaying over the front door.
He reaches out and fumbles, blindly, for the door handle. Smooth, worn wood under his fingertips. Door frame. His thoughts come more slowly with each moment, leaving most of the information of his senses to flow past without interpretation or comment.
A splinter stabs his index finger, and Tsuzuki notes the pain as if from a very great distance. He doesn't flinch. His hand falls on the door handle, he turns it, and the door falls open.
Tsuzuki stumbles over the sill and falls heavily against the wall just inside it, sliding down slowly until he is curled at the base of it.
He closes his eyes.
There's blood everywhere behind his eyelids.]
March 28/Open to Visitors, Hisoka in the evening
[The window is open in Tsuzuki's room. He's not sure if he opened it. It's ... familiar.
It doesn't smell like cherry blossoms outside.
This isn't Meifu.
Hisoka was a shinki, not a shinigami, and Tsuzuki couldn't protect him.
All that blood, and he couldn't heal him.
His thoughts wander by slowly, and the blanks grow between them, until he's staring out the window without thinking anything at all.]
What: Hisoka's dead (or is he?) and Tsuzuki's not coping well.
When: March 27 & 28, 2016
Where: Tajimamori's temple
Warnings: Discussion of character death, depression, self-harm.
Closed to Battler/Late Night March 27
[Tsuzuki isn't sure how he got back to the temple. There are blank spaces in his memory, spreading darknesses after that searing moment when he felt Hisoka dying and his name shattering into an equally blank and empty space where their connection had been.
The sunflowers are blooming all around the porch, and the cloying-sweet scent of orange blossoms rises from the trees along the far wall. He isn't looking at them: he knows by the scent and the flower shadows swaying over the front door.
He reaches out and fumbles, blindly, for the door handle. Smooth, worn wood under his fingertips. Door frame. His thoughts come more slowly with each moment, leaving most of the information of his senses to flow past without interpretation or comment.
A splinter stabs his index finger, and Tsuzuki notes the pain as if from a very great distance. He doesn't flinch. His hand falls on the door handle, he turns it, and the door falls open.
Tsuzuki stumbles over the sill and falls heavily against the wall just inside it, sliding down slowly until he is curled at the base of it.
He closes his eyes.
There's blood everywhere behind his eyelids.]
March 28/Open to Visitors, Hisoka in the evening
[The window is open in Tsuzuki's room. He's not sure if he opened it. It's ... familiar.
It doesn't smell like cherry blossoms outside.
This isn't Meifu.
Hisoka was a shinki, not a shinigami, and Tsuzuki couldn't protect him.
All that blood, and he couldn't heal him.
His thoughts wander by slowly, and the blanks grow between them, until he's staring out the window without thinking anything at all.]
no subject
Elsa?
[He lifts his hand in reflex, looks at it, and stops. Oh: the cut he'd made across his palm to help treat their wounds was healed already. Does she need his help?
She's not bleeding. He's the one that still has blood staining his clothes. They're... he's at home. That's right. Just because he keeps seeing it doesn't mean it's still happening, he thinks, and pulls his knees up against his chest to rest his forehead on them.]
no subject
When Tsuzuki all but curls into himself, Elsa crosses the room and goes to him, stye fabric of her looser garments billowing behind her.]
That's all the answer I need to the question of how you're doing. I'm so sorry, Tsuzuki.
[How many times has she said that since yesterday? She can't remember anymore, can't remember if she's told him already. It doesn't matter, though. It's still merited.]
I'm sorry all of this was pointless, in the end.
no subject
No. I brought him. It's my--
[He chokes on the sentence and buries his face in his hands.
He can't let Elsa blame herself. It's his fault. Hisoka's gone and he can't -- there's no bringing him back. Tsuzuki couldn't protect him, can't go after him, and can't bear it. Not this. Anything else, but not this.]
no subject
[And yet, she knows she has little if any power to help him through this. At best, she can tell him Hisoka might come back, but that seems cruel.]
I don't think he would want you to blame yourself. You did what you could, and so did he.
[The words feel as good as dead leaves in the fall, but they're all she has for him right now. They aren't close enough that she'd hug him, and... well, she doesn't have any tissues.]
no subject
And now Hisoka--
He wipes his face on his sleeve, which doesn't really help when he's still crying.]
He only -- [He only came because I wouldn't stay home. Tsuzuki can't say it out loud. She's so worried, but he can't stop crying, either, can't even scrape up the strength to try. Not yet. Half-choked, he manages:]
Sorry.
no subject
Please don't be sorry. Not for this. If this is what you need to do and feel, then go ahead. [She's only sorry she can't do more.] I'm sorry for what you're going through. If there's anything I can do...
[She lets the sentence hang there, open-ended like her offer, for whatever good it can do.]
no subject
No, he's failed Hisoka already. He can't fail someone else who's depending on him, who doesn't remember anything. He'll have to be able to do it, he thinks, and shakes his head in answer to her question, pressing his sleeve over his eyes again. He hadn't changed shirts, and his cuffs are still stained with blood. The smell makes him feel suddenly sick.]
tsuzuki ;;
(This, by the way, is part of why she didn't become an elementary school teacher. Too many bodily fluids to deal with. Elsa's not queasy, but still.)]
Just breathe, Tsuzuki. Breathe slowly. You're going to be okay. [She hasn't said anything about the blood on his clothes, but... maybe she should?] When you're feeling steady again, you should go change, maybe take a bath. It might help you relax a little.
no subject
He takes a breath -- through his mouth, trying to block out the scent as he steadies his stomach -- and manages without looking up:] Th-thanks.
[He'll have to do this. He'll have to be okay. He's...
It seems so overwhelming, he thinks, and squeezes his eyes closed, hard. But he has to. Just a little later.]
no subject
I've got to go now, but please call me if you need anything. And take it easy. [With one more nod, she turns to head out, hoping he'll feel better sooner rather than later.]