such is the price of being an author...
Shiro moves forward and kneels down, placing a careful hand on the other’s left shoulder. The figure shudders, hard, looks up, and Shiro had thought he was prepared, but it’s still a shock to see his own wide-eyed tear-streaked face staring back at him.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I thought, I thought I was-”
‘-I thought I was you.’, Shiro hears, though it’s left unsaid.
“I couldn’t stop her, I tried, but, I couldn’t- I’d never-” the other Shiro’s voice is tinged with visceral horror, and Shiro understands, he completely understands, remembers back to the first time he killed in the Arena, and he gets it. He’s always had the benefit of knowing who he was, though. This poor clone, he’d been convinced he was Shiro, and had not only just learned his whole life was a lie, but that he’d tried to kill his friends. That was a lot for anyone to deal with, really.
“I know, I know you wouldn’t. I’m sure they’ll understand, too.”
There’s a wet snort of laughter, and the other him shakes his head, curling in tighter on himself.
“It’s- I don’t think it will be a problem. I wasn’t meant to last past the final phase of-” the words get stuck in his throat. He pauses, looks likes he’s struggling, and manages, more quietly, “I wasn’t meant to last.”