he scrunched his nose, had nothing good to say in reply to that, but words escaped him before he could think better of it. "fucking what," he said, tone drenched in dryness, something like disgust lingering on his tongue. because for as much as yujin tried to be self-aware, in touch with his emotions, yada yada, he'd rather be caught dead than crying over geese. "fine, no therapy," he decided. "i can't take prozac anyway, it fucks with my aim."
he only met nicky's gaze for a moment, like he would somehow falter under it if he maintained eye contact for longer. yujin didn't have a lighter to flick or a cigarette now, so when he shifted in his seat a little, it looked slightly more restless than it should have. "yeah, really," he responded, frowned. "i don't know, it's -- weird. sometimes i think it's a decade in this business that's made me like this, but sometimes i think maybe it's just me, maybe it's always been me. i told you, i don't sleep well. i don't really... talk to people easily. i keep checking my back like, all the fucking time. if i'm not at work, i'm just thinking about work, i barely do anything else." but then he supposed all those things could've been him all along, rather than his job affecting him. he'd always been quiet, awkward, single-minded. maybe the worst his profession did for him, other than paint his hands with blood, was allow him to remain static, to keep those traits he'd had at as a kid, and never see the need to move beyond them. he nudged nicky's foot once more, the movement harder, closer to a kick. "hey, if wilder of all people can be a capo, i don't reckon you need to worry about your job performance."
