[Gojyo grabs his wrist, hard, fingers digging in to hold Hakkai's hand away from his throat. His fingertips barely graze skin, under the awful gash that he can't be sure is there, and he strains against Gojyo's grip.
His touch stays feather-light, as he tries to skim his fingertips up, trying to see if he can feel broken skin and air bubbling from a shattered windpipe. Gojyo's not holding his wrist like a dying man. He's not talking like one; his voice is clear.
You're dead, he wants to shout: I killed you and I've lost my mind, but unreasoning terror closes his throat before he can begin to get the words out.
no subject
His touch stays feather-light, as he tries to skim his fingertips up, trying to see if he can feel broken skin and air bubbling from a shattered windpipe. Gojyo's not holding his wrist like a dying man. He's not talking like one; his voice is clear.
You're dead, he wants to shout: I killed you and I've lost my mind, but unreasoning terror closes his throat before he can begin to get the words out.
At last, helplessly, he substitutes:]
You're -- hurt. I didn't want to.