Existing in the afterlife was more jarring to his mental state than he’d have thought.
He’s aware there’s a whole slew of factors contributing to things that shouldn’t normally be there (things like the circumstances leading up to his death and the fact that he’s been restlessly trying to sort through an onslaught of memories), but it doesn’t make it easier. Wataru’s at least thankful there’s someone he cares about deeply alongside him, while at the same time such a feeling makes him sick. It’s not like he had ever wished for the both of them to die and end up here like this.
( he hadn’t even been the one who had ended up here first, but still. )
Coming to terms with things was like waging a war within his mind. And he’s aware that it’s as Goro had said, there’s an eternity ahead of them, but god does he hope he won’t be stuck in such turmoil for eternity. This is likely the limbo the dead will be stuck in for the rest of time; even so, Wataru doesn’t want to spend it all succumbing to feelings of guilt and regret.
He says that to himself, all the while well aware that there’s been something he’s been avoiding even thinking about at all. Doesn’t know how to process it, doesn’t know what he’d say when the time comes that he has to fully confront the person he inadvertently killed. Wataru can’t imagine that it looked like a mistake from his perspective, that he hadn’t intended to cause whatever hellish amount of suffering resulted, that he’d simply thought you were already dead and tried to make it look more complicated than it really was for the sake of keeping his remaining classmates out of further trouble. He needed time to figure it out, to at least get to some semblance of self-control.
Time wasn’t on his side anymore.
Even if he still didn’t have much room to roam, he’d managed to escape the confines of the stage where he’d died (with help, of course). Wataru didn’t know whether he was the same or not, had been wary of wandering around in fear, but he lets himself go forth this time in the hopes of seeing how his remaining classmates are doing, and as he rounds a corner on the eighth floor movement catches his eyes. He looks up, expecting to wordlessly pass by a living classmate who couldn’t see him, but instead his body freezes the second he sees the face looking back at him.
There’s no air flowing through his lungs anymore, yet it feels like all the breath has been sucked out of him anyways. There’s no blood truly running through his body, yet it feels like every ounce within him ran cold. His limbs lock up, he feels like a deer in headlights and knows he looks like a deer in headlights, any words that could come out locked behind his tongue out of sheer panic. He wasn’t--ready for this, for god’s sake he doesn’t know what to say, like hell there’s anything he even can say that would do a damn ounce of good because they’re both standing here, dead, all because of his own reckless stupidity.
Wataru wants to turn away, wishes he could flee, but that’d only make it worse. That’d give off the impression that he doesn’t care, that he doesn’t feel the weight of regret on his back constantly and feeling like he’s going to give way underneath its pressure at any moment. His limbs won’t let him move anyways, and he can only stand there helplessly, feeling a burning sensation behind his eyes as he stares back at Daiki, urging himself to do something, say something, but the only thing that comes out sounds as weak and useless as he feels.
