❛❛ We grow STRONGER, the world grows more DANGEROUS ━━━━━━━━━━ Life has a funny way of keeping things BALANCED. ❜❜ Though pointed, his tone still undeniably carries the sweet taste of SOLICITUDE at each word leisurely pronounced. Slender fingers mindlessly travel over the other's neck, with the sole purpose of fixing the collar of his garment, although those obsidian eyes may have wasted a bit of time examining the details along the way. This Dragon knows that having his Xiao Shi staying ALIVE and healthy up to that point was a feat in itself, something he was both GRATEFUL and thoroughly PROUD of. Yet there lay in him this strange protective instinct that could be both a blessing and a CURSE at this point. Nothing that came to the surface of those beautiful features, however, PALE and DELICATE like the thin frost sheets covering the forests that surrounded that place.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || He is a beautiful piece of broken pottery, put back together by many hands; most prominent ones being Lord Raiden and Huan Hei. A critical world may judge Satoshi Hasashi’s kintsugi lines of golden joinery, while missing the beauty of how he made himself whole again. Satoshi’s nightmarish visions plaguing his nights manifest themselves as a curse of vestigial truth, revealing his own entombment within Sub-Zero’s chilling deathly menace. His mother remained brutally impaled by the unforgiving chill of eternal winter’s stillness, while his barely beating heartbeats remained a white noise murmur as his inevitable death drew near. Cold pangs embedded upon his heart and lungs, despite a fevered quandary with kicks and bursts defiantly resisted as the defiant and resilient Hasashi trait exuded upon young Satoshi’s innocent, yet resolute eyes.
Ever since he was lost in the throes of viciousness of the world, Satoshi had never been afraid of being lost. For his subconscious was meant to wander off from time to time, for the long-instilled fear of never quite finding himself often kept him all night, even amidst his strenuous trainings to continue Hanzo Hasashi’s abruptly severed legacy. HeiHei had been a healer amidst countless destroyers around him; dealing with any and everything life had thrown the young Hasashi. He had been the warm touch that comforts, despite often reminding him of the very gelid touch that rendered him immobile, exacerbating the pain deep within him. There still may be vulnerability lingering at the tip of his lips, and within the unfathomable chestnut eyes that exude melancholia.
Satoshi feels an unsettling bout of despair and jarringly out of sync this evening, all while the resplendent sun shines and clouds pour rain outside his window simultaneously. Perhaps that was why your father had to meet his brutal, humiliating death. A whispered voice, taunting and nearly persuasive in its timbre, sneers in his heart and soul, as forced feelings build up inside him, threatening to spill through his lips. “I am done counting exit wounds; icicle holes that still serve as reminders of the Shirai Ryu massacre and extinction, and everyone leaves eventually. It is what I learned lesson after lesson (evolve or repeat), but as you know, I still haven’t quite made my peace with anguish.”
The thing is, after trauma, the kind where Satoshi goes through is more than flight and fight; there is freeze, because the first would have meant suicide, and the second might very well have left copious blood and his slaughtered corpse. He subconsciously chose the third, where those moments of his life would become a stretched eternity, as sanity tucks itself deep inside of him. Words about forever and staying and keeping parts of another and remember me’s, not forgetting will never hit him the same way again; he never wants to be remembered anymore. “The world would have been better if it gave me closure, saved me years of my trials and tribulations.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
