( ...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.
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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. )