[ Tragic, indeed. Faintly, Caelus tries not to let the small loneliness show, but he did his best. There's no regretting anything. He would rather try than not at all. Because inaction means… having no chances at all. If there's at least the smallest chance to make a good change, then he will always take it. If this is how it will be, then he will have to accept it.
So, he still smiles regardless. ]
You don't have to appreciate it.
[ It's enough that it was said, and… hopefully considered, even for the smallest second. Just like how Seishirou extended his hand to him, even for… just the smallest second. Once the man starts closing himself again, Caelus knows he can't force it further than he already has. So he slowly stands up from his seat and gives one last soft smile.
I just don't want you to regret anything, if you continue to turn away.
Words left unsaid. ]
But I also… really did wish to see you again. [ To see the man with his own eyes, and witness that he is all right. ] I'll visit again soon.
[ With a polite bow of his head, Caelus then dismisses himself as he allows Seishirou the time to breathe and reflect. ]
( ...tidal, isn't he? Like waves, like spumes. Ebb and flow and the strange, dull-bruise ache of Caelus' absence. Later, he will pretend he didn't watch the boy leave, didn't sneak a glance to ascertain whether his shadow will snag on hard tile.
An elegant answer to an inelegant dismissal. The closest to an outburst Seishirou would have permitted himself, at the peak of pseudo-maturity. In his mouth, the aftertaste of stale tobacco, held too long. He wasted a cigarette, the experience, the moment. Wasted sixteen long years on Sumeragi Subaru and this syrupy, careless play.
His head bleats its aches. His fingers drum the bench's rim. Caelus, some despicable form of airy plague's herald, here and gone — disperses.
He opens his mouth to bid him to stop. Doesn't. Waits and waits and waits until the young man's silhouette is a smear, a distant trickle, a dot gone — and blinks, once more wrenched from bone-gripping inertia, when pain screams through his hand's bones, burning.
Crinkling, crackling tears and shards and shatters, where he's punched through the clinic's bench-side window. Blood, red wet, dripping down.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So, he still smiles regardless. ]
You don't have to appreciate it.
[ It's enough that it was said, and… hopefully considered, even for the smallest second. Just like how Seishirou extended his hand to him, even for… just the smallest second. Once the man starts closing himself again, Caelus knows he can't force it further than he already has. So he slowly stands up from his seat and gives one last soft smile.
I just don't want you to regret anything, if you continue to turn away.
Words left unsaid. ]
But I also… really did wish to see you again. [ To see the man with his own eyes, and witness that he is all right. ] I'll visit again soon.
[ With a polite bow of his head, Caelus then dismisses himself as he allows Seishirou the time to breathe and reflect. ]
no subject
An elegant answer to an inelegant dismissal. The closest to an outburst Seishirou would have permitted himself, at the peak of pseudo-maturity. In his mouth, the aftertaste of stale tobacco, held too long. He wasted a cigarette, the experience, the moment. Wasted sixteen long years on Sumeragi Subaru and this syrupy, careless play.
His head bleats its aches. His fingers drum the bench's rim. Caelus, some despicable form of airy plague's herald, here and gone — disperses.
He opens his mouth to bid him to stop. Doesn't. Waits and waits and waits until the young man's silhouette is a smear, a distant trickle, a dot gone — and blinks, once more wrenched from bone-gripping inertia, when pain screams through his hand's bones, burning.
Crinkling, crackling tears and shards and shatters, where he's punched through the clinic's bench-side window. Blood, red wet, dripping down.
Strange.
This entire day, strange. )