The first yell has Djoser honest-to-goodness flinching back in surprise—he doesn’t get what he’s done wrong—but it’s the second one that flips a switch, one that he’s tried so very hard to keep a very large lid on ever since comin’ back to life.
(A part of him is immensely relived Dai’s bowing; he’s talking about being scared, and Djoser’s pretty sure his own sudden shift would only make things worse.)
What the hell was the point of handing it to me, then? Is his first harsh thought, nearly coming out of his mouth that he has to snap his jaw shut just to keep it in. It takes every fiber of his being to not tighten his grip around the mirror (it didn’t do anything, an unwilling witness; Should just break it, anyway, if he was gonna waste time, whispers a voice not really his own), but he does, in an instant, call back his Magic. He isn’t feeling charitable anymore—he doesn’t wanna help anymore.
I have to calm the hell down.)
“I get it.” His second thought goes spoken aloud, voice void of everything it’d been holding before—not that he offers up what he’s gotten, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t really matter. It honestly isn’t what hurts him; really and truly, Dai shouldn’t just trust whatever he says, because they really don’t know each other. Trusting a stranger was never gonna lead to a good time, and the average person didn’t need thousands of years to figure that out.
If he could, though, he’d elaborate: It’s not all me. But it isn’t fair to separate any of the anger he feels into multiple categories because it’s all part of him, anyway, so there isn’t much point. Dredges of another soul in him or not, he and that guy had been merged—and then were torn apart from one another, just to be merged again, in another way, not all that much longer after—long enough that their feelings were about one-and-the-same more than they weren’t. A common ground based on shared feelings was the basis for their merge to begin with, too, so trying to insist that they weren’t wouldn’t ever really be right in itself.
He can’t say any of that, though, so he’s stuck—stuck between the anger, stuck between his own reactionary self; trapped, even, by emotions he’s never really had control over, that he’s just barely being taught how to but is in no way any good at.
I don’t wanna be mad at you. I just...
He sure as shit is, and it’s dangerous that he is. Dangerous for the mirror, for Dai himself, for Djoser himself—
(You’re scared—but what about me?)
—and it’s all he can do to shoveshoveshove the mirror back into Dai’s hands, which he in turn shoves right back into the redhead’s own chest before he turns on his heel to take a quick one-two steps back and away from him. Angry as he is, he’s not stupid—and he still wants to hide this part of him, not let Dai or anyone else see it, outta fear and worry simple want to keep it under wraps.
Haaah... “Man, that was kinda dumb’a me, wasn’t it?” There’s no helping the strain in his voice—Chill out; just chill out—but Djoser tries to drudge up all the bright inflection he wasn’t using a second ago and force it on out and into the world anyway. “I mean, sheesh!, there I was about to do somethin’ without permission~!”
That in itself, at least, is a separate but related problem; but, hey, he didn’t have to think about permissions for three thousand years! That kinda thing doesn’t really count for guys like him...!
“Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t’a gotten ahead of myself—I can’t always stop when I get my mind on somethin’, ‘s all.
“...I wish you would’a lead with the fact that you’re fine with it not glowin’, though.”
(He hates this, too—people not bein’ up front with what they mean. Don’t put a mirror in front of me; don’t make me look at myself through you.)
“I’m not stupid, either—I know it’s not a toy.” Or, gods forbid, an experiment; what a gross word. “And I hate being yelled at like that. ‘s my fault for actin’ without thinkin’, though, and for tryin’ to do somethin’ without asking, so like I said; sorry. I didn’t mean to make ya scared, either, honestly.”
And he genuinely means that; rage aside, emotions aside, he genuinely likes Daisuke. He wants to do things for him, wants to get to know him, to help him out where he can. It’s why this is so upsetting—If you can’t do it, if your whole family can’t do it, then why won’t you let me try? Why’d you say you wished for it if you won’t even let me grant it?
Like he was thinking before, though, the moment’s for helpin’s gone, and he isn’t feeling up to trying again. Not right now, not for awhile.
(It’s safer that way, anyway—tryin’ to do Magic like this...)
It’d do Dai more harm than it would the mirror or anything else, and nobody is angry enough for that (or, well, Djoser isn’t), so it’s better to just let things go right on.
“Speakin’ about stuff to do, though, how’s about we go get some air?” He can’t be inside anymore; it’s suffocating, painful, reminding him of a spiritual cage he couldn’t escape. Dai didn’t mean it like that, but any talk about what he had planned was never gonna be said in real truth, anyway, so not offering the answer he was actually lookin’ for comes easy. “Or, if ya want some space for awhile, I’ll give ya that, too; I don’t have anywhere else to be, so I can stick around until ya feel better.”
(Liar. You hardly mean him. What the hell’s the point of anything if you’re not gonna say what you mean, either...?)
“C’mon, c’moooon, make a choice already, or I’ll be out there before you are~!”
