It's suffocating, it's hard to breathe with the imaginary weight that's building upon exposed shoulders. The hooked rim of the fabric that clings to his flesh, it feels like a cage crafted into fabric. That's what it had been meant for, stuffed into this shell that wove itself against his flesh and constricted everything he stood for. It felt like he could scream while in this outfit and it would never even register amongst even the dead's ears much less the livings. A true silent scream that would simply decay quicker than the notes could form in his throat. He still feels the darkness that burns within the depths of the fabric, or perhaps it is the remnants of the light that had once sunk so deep into their shared flesh, for a moment he'd been burned, drowned so violently in emotions that weren't his but then they were and he was sucked into the whirlwind and displaced so violently from the ground he'd been stood upon. How it felt like each breath was a dry heave that couldn't get the air into his lungs. One shared thought that consumed every fiber of his being in that moment.
Of sun kissed flesh, of autumn blessed eyes and auburn hair adorned by the rich browns that called to him like a home away from home. A feverish desire to be wrapped in his arms, to even feel the echoes of his touch once more, even if it was as simple as his arm thrown over his shoulder. How the invasive force fed off of this desire, twisting it so deeply into something that had poisoned his tongue, sharpened it with barbs like iron spikes. The smell of blood and smoke, the ash that choked him from the inside out as his senses were overwhelmed, nails digging against his flesh and leaving it marred, weeping just like his spirit was as his family was torn apart and fitted with armor that betrayed their very true natures. Left broken and melted into unfamiliar forms. Even now as he gazes upon his reflection, there is reminders in the way his hair is sharper along the edges, the softness is still there but visually he cannot see much of a difference from what would be reflected back to him. It's like he's embodied the ghost that stares back at him in the mirror.
He shuts the faucet off. He needs it off as the world slowly sinks back in before finally turning out of the bathroom. The lights are still dim but with Judai out and about he can just try to move in this damn thing. Fidgeting with the straps around his upper arm, then the braces around his forearms, this outfit was a statement, engraved with war into it's bones with just enough flesh showing to be intimidating, to bring in the fear from opponents, innocent that would be slain at his hands without mercy, all to ensure the grand design would play out as wanted. Yet while he fidgets with the outfit, as if he still couldn't breathe in it, trying to tackle the worst part of the story carved into his frame. He's so out of it that he doesn't even register the doorknob turning, as he finally crosses through the living room. It feels like he's tainting the space where he walks, he feels as though this outfit seeks to trap him once more but it's just the sensation. He tries to remind himself of that, that it's all in his head.
He spins on his heel, armored boot digging against the wooden floorboard as tourmaline hues widen, like a cornered animal as he takes in the duel spirit floating just barely away from the vibrant red figure. His vision blurs and it's too tight, it's too cramped and even in the darkness his mind latches to one thing. Fighting isn't an option, not an option here and he's a flightless bird unable to take to the skies and escape but he wants to and his hand slams against the window behind him, fidgeting with the lock, panicked and shaky before he reminds himself where he is. Nails digging into his own wrist before he opens the window, greedily sucking in the air before the panic can take him cascading down to his knees that faintly tremble. He can't even hear himself over the erratic beating of his own heart.
"I thought you were still out."
