@digitalmadness // from here.
Kaito has told him plenty of times since retrieving him from that dirty Ijincho warehouse that he ought to get some rest. A few hours here and there and enough caffeine to kill a whale isn’t good for anyone, and considering the bandages hidden beneath his tank top and his concerning use of painkillers, it’s a wonder Takayuki’s still standing, somehow.
The past few days have been hell on his body, but at least for the most part his mind had been intact. Nothing keeps Takayuki more focused than having a goal at hand, and his attempts to unravel the threads of lies spun by Kuwana and the fucking government (it’s always the fucking government, isn’t it?) have kept him going better than any energy drink could.
But he remembers, in the back of his mind, the fear in Daimu Akutsu’s eyes as he realised he was as much a pawn on Souma’s chessboard as anyone else in RK. He remembers, when he blinks his eyes, what the man’s corpse had looked like riddled with bullet holes; when he’d gone to check on him, turning his bloodied body over, the fear had been etched on his face much like it’d been on Sawa’s, and he can’t quite put to words why the hell it is he feels so angry.
Rage and guilt swallows him whole for something he knows isn’t his fault, but no matter how many times he’s been face to face with death– the bloodied bodies of his parents, the charred remains of Emi Terasawa, the victims of the Mole, everyone– he finds the utter violence of Akutsu’s end has left him staggering. Most days, he’s able to keep himself together until he gets home, but between his fatigue and his healing wounds and the fact he’d just had to fight a horde of RK goons, the emotional toll swings at him harder than it ought to.
Some old voice rears up in his head, telling him to suck it up because this is the kind of world Kamurocho is. For an angry little punk, you’re a fucking pussy about corpses, eh, Taabou?
Kyouhei Hamura might have said it to him decades ago. At this point, however, Takayuki doesn’t care enough to remember the finer details of it all.
In fact, the only reason he’s snapped out of his own head is because he nearly bowls Saori over while she stands in front of him.
There’re only a handful of people who could be firm with him without him fighting back on instinct. Saori, who’s as familiar to him as the back of his hand, is one of those few. Then again, it’s hard not to feel attached to someone who’d known him even before he passed the bar– she’s seen him at his most foolish, so at this point it seems about right she’d see him at most tired, too.
But her invitation takes him aback all the same. “Saori-san…”
The thought of staying at her place is as comforting as it is bewildering. Considering his foster father’s tendency to worry and Takayuki’s own inability to pretend he’s all right in a state like this, though, he understands where she’s coming from. Chances are she understands what it’s like not to want to inconvenience him firsthand– Saori’s own personal care towards Genda is another thing they share, after all.
“…don’t tell me you plan on debriefing Genda-san and Hoshino-kun on your own.”
It’s not quite an answer to her question, at least not yet, but this much is clear: if she doesn’t want him to go home alone, he doesn’t want her to be alone recounting her experience, either.
However strong Saori might be, she’d needed that shock blanket for a reason. Takayuki remembers what she’d felt like trembling under his hands as bullet after bullet fired in that room, but then again, it’s hard to forget your first murder.
prguitarman
kianamaiart
izzy806
germansingergirl
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
jacobvanloon
