[ He'd always taken Toko for a timid girl. Stuttery and hyperbolic, full of jittery, nervous habits and self-doubt.
But the memory he experiences is so far from that—besides the jittery bit, anyway. There's his—her—friend Komaru, the first, real and true friend that she has to protect, even if it means throwing her thin body on top of a stupid game controller while a grown man threatens her, his voice loud with anger and panic.
(Dimitri—his own feelings, not Toko's—wishes he could break his other arm. That would shut him up.)
In a world that's dying... no, one that's practically dead, Toko decides that she cannot lose any more. That she won't make that choice. (In the end, she may lose one or the other anyway, but what does it make her if she gives up before she even tries?) She raises her voice and demands both her Master (?) and her friend, because it isn't acceptable to resign herself to either.
It is selfish, and brave, and the mark of someone much stronger than he is. It's the strength to save the people you love, with deep, irrational ferocity—her determination and trembling fear swells in him just before—
The window shatters, concrete spraying through the air and crashing against the floor, and he's suddenly gasping, back in the present, snapping his head to where Komaru should be. ]
—Wait!
[ But she's not there, of course. It's the set of Twin Creeks again, and Toko is holding onto him with startling closeness. Another vague swathe of memory returns to him now, his blank acceptance of the circumstances slowly filling back in with his own personality and soul. Toko's crying jerks him back to reality, blinking down at her as she clings close.
...His own memory. She must have seen it too, just as he'd viewed hers. His voice returns slowly. ]
No, it's— [ He's not certain anyone has ever cried for his sake; it leaves him scrambling for words. ] You don't need to apologize.
[ She's not the one who wiped his family out. And he's intimately aware that it's... an unpleasant thing to live through. His brow furrows, not well-versed in how to comfort another; he decides on resting a hand against her back, gentle, his tone dropping into something softer. ]
fun fact i didn't get this notif until after his birthday
But the memory he experiences is so far from that—besides the jittery bit, anyway. There's his—her—friend Komaru, the first, real and true friend that she has to protect, even if it means throwing her thin body on top of a stupid game controller while a grown man threatens her, his voice loud with anger and panic.
(Dimitri—his own feelings, not Toko's—wishes he could break his other arm. That would shut him up.)
In a world that's dying... no, one that's practically dead, Toko decides that she cannot lose any more. That she won't make that choice. (In the end, she may lose one or the other anyway, but what does it make her if she gives up before she even tries?) She raises her voice and demands both her Master (?) and her friend, because it isn't acceptable to resign herself to either.
It is selfish, and brave, and the mark of someone much stronger than he is. It's the strength to save the people you love, with deep, irrational ferocity—her determination and trembling fear swells in him just before—
The window shatters, concrete spraying through the air and crashing against the floor, and he's suddenly gasping, back in the present, snapping his head to where Komaru should be. ]
—Wait!
[ But she's not there, of course. It's the set of Twin Creeks again, and Toko is holding onto him with startling closeness. Another vague swathe of memory returns to him now, his blank acceptance of the circumstances slowly filling back in with his own personality and soul. Toko's crying jerks him back to reality, blinking down at her as she clings close.
...His own memory. She must have seen it too, just as he'd viewed hers. His voice returns slowly. ]
No, it's— [ He's not certain anyone has ever cried for his sake; it leaves him scrambling for words. ] You don't need to apologize.
[ She's not the one who wiped his family out. And he's intimately aware that it's... an unpleasant thing to live through. His brow furrows, not well-versed in how to comfort another; he decides on resting a hand against her back, gentle, his tone dropping into something softer. ]
...I'm sorry you had to see that.