the shotput ball, the shot put ball. the shotput ball that’d missed. amami doesn’t have any ghosts of the past— only his own uncertainty seems to chase himself continuously. it’s a different shackle than guilt. and amami’d say it’s a far lighter one.
akamatsu’s frozen, and amami laughs a bit to try to alleviate the tension. he’s still a little wary. akamatsu feels like a scared animal that could jump at any moment.
“…Understand that. Not the best place to talk, is it?”
acknowledging their situation, understanding it’s absurdity. he’s trying to loosen akamatsu up, but even he doesn’t know how to navigate this. he ends up doing a half shrug that seems to say he’s not that good at playing games.
he doesn’t observe, when akamatsu goes to pick up the ball, but a flash of tension runs before it dissipates. but no dull thunk of the ball dropping anywhere comes, and he returns his gaze to the pianist.
… taking a cautious step closer.
“… want to talk about it? understand you have some bad memories associated with that shotput ball.”
his lips press together, before forging on.
“could offer you some perspective.”
Which is heavier? The shotput ball or her guilt? It’s not as if she can roll her guilt into a ball. Shove it into a vent and will it away, down the path she manufactured. Her guilt is her sin to bear. The thorn laden crown that marks her reign. She cannot simply put it down and pretend it’s not hers. She can’t misdirect and corner a culprit, when she is the blackened. What can she do, other than acknowledge the destruction filled wake that follows her actions?
Which is right? To face the truth or to run?
Amami’s attempts to reach her don’t go unnoticed. Why? She wants to demand an answer. She wants to scream it. She wants to cry. How can he even stand the sight of her? Logically, she knows that out of anyone, he especially, should not be able to pin his death upon her. But she knows, too, that her actions are far too obvious. Her being shouts out regret and shame.
Her hands fold together behind her back as he moves closer. Akamatsu stands still, making no moves for the shotput ball or toward him. She forces her transfixed gaze to break away as he speaks.
Life returns to her eyes in the form of confusion at his statements. She makes eye contact briefly, before her gaze settles upon some point past him.
“Perspective?” she repeats. No. They already discussed the facts of his case, of his murder. She knows them better than anyone.
