there's no flinching, no hesitance as Akechi pushes bare skin against him. there's no need. there's nothing but an intake a breath and the sudden surge of anger against anger: they're different kinds. he knows that they've failed, that their pursuits have been in vain, and the anger comes from a place of self-loathing. he churns over what he could have done differently, trying to reconcile it with what they can do now. while Ren doesn't tend to dwell, he needs the space to feel out his own negligence.
the pain in his shoulder is fresh, searing and burning, but overshadowed by the other parts of his emotional intensity. there are other things at hurt more than the physical pain. Akechi presses him back against the chair and Ren straightens his posture, his one hand comes to grip Akechi's forearm, the other the bottom of his shirt. his fingers curl into a fist and tighten, pulling at the fabric.
instead of focusing on the tweezers, he focuses on his voice. dark eyes narrow, and he steadies his breath. he ignores the physical need to wretch, to give in to the headiness, and instead keeps his eyes forward. he remembers Takemi. there's no way that he can avoid this, and while his grip loosens on occasion, tries to tug away, there's no way that the bond can break as Akechi searches for the culprit burrowed in Ren's shoulder. ]
We still have a chance.
[ a droplet of sweat drips from his chin and down. the tweezers clang to the floor and Ren shifts beneath Akechi's grip. ]
no subject
there's no flinching, no hesitance as Akechi pushes bare skin against him. there's no need. there's nothing but an intake a breath and the sudden surge of anger against anger: they're different kinds. he knows that they've failed, that their pursuits have been in vain, and the anger comes from a place of self-loathing. he churns over what he could have done differently, trying to reconcile it with what they can do now. while Ren doesn't tend to dwell, he needs the space to feel out his own negligence.
the pain in his shoulder is fresh, searing and burning, but overshadowed by the other parts of his emotional intensity. there are other things at hurt more than the physical pain. Akechi presses him back against the chair and Ren straightens his posture, his one hand comes to grip Akechi's forearm, the other the bottom of his shirt. his fingers curl into a fist and tighten, pulling at the fabric.
instead of focusing on the tweezers, he focuses on his voice. dark eyes narrow, and he steadies his breath. he ignores the physical need to wretch, to give in to the headiness, and instead keeps his eyes forward. he remembers Takemi. there's no way that he can avoid this, and while his grip loosens on occasion, tries to tug away, there's no way that the bond can break as Akechi searches for the culprit burrowed in Ren's shoulder. ]
We still have a chance.
[ a droplet of sweat drips from his chin and down. the tweezers clang to the floor and Ren shifts beneath Akechi's grip. ]
How's Hope? She made it out.
[ worried about someone else.
not worried about himself.
that's how it always is. ]