[ Those first few steps, Gojyo's moving without thought. It's like he's floating outside of his body, watching himself move without actually being the one doing the moving. He can't remember having ever been this mad, can't remember wanting to grab, and squeeze, and punch as badly as he does right now.
Why does he hate this man so much? Why is he so desperate to put his hands on him? This stupid, petty, sick...
Just out of arm's reach he stops. Cho is sick, so sick he can't even keep ahold of his glasses. The man Gojyo used to be might have been the type to beat up sick people (he wouldn't put anything past Past Him, he thinks, as the guilt-blight spreads down to the corner of his jaw). But he's not that man. ]
You're not fucking worth it.
[ He has no idea why Cho gets under his skin so readily, and it's looking like he's never know.
He used to be a god. Maybe that's the secret of heaven, he thinks. Maybe none of them ever really change, and they're all cursed to repeat the same mistakes over and over. Maybe he's a shinki now because as a god he couldn't stop sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.
But how do you change who you are, when that's the only thing you've got?
The blight on his palm oozes between his fingers, staining his knuckles like grape juice.
Without another word he turns on his heel and storms off. ]
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Why does he hate this man so much? Why is he so desperate to put his hands on him? This stupid, petty, sick...
Just out of arm's reach he stops. Cho is sick, so sick he can't even keep ahold of his glasses. The man Gojyo used to be might have been the type to beat up sick people (he wouldn't put anything past Past Him, he thinks, as the guilt-blight spreads down to the corner of his jaw). But he's not that man. ]
You're not fucking worth it.
[ He has no idea why Cho gets under his skin so readily, and it's looking like he's never know.
He used to be a god. Maybe that's the secret of heaven, he thinks. Maybe none of them ever really change, and they're all cursed to repeat the same mistakes over and over. Maybe he's a shinki now because as a god he couldn't stop sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.
But how do you change who you are, when that's the only thing you've got?
The blight on his palm oozes between his fingers, staining his knuckles like grape juice.
Without another word he turns on his heel and storms off. ]