[Kamui looks, and feels, like a mess as he struggles back up to his feet from the ratty arcade carpet. If it'd been poison in his food instead of some prank, he'd be dead now: he needs to do better here, to be far, far more careful.
And yet here still is Emily. Her voice is calm, an anchor in the endless electronic blare and whistle and chatter all around them. She hasn't even laughed, not that he'd have judged her for it. The situation's certainly ridiculous enough. But her words are sure, and her hand is outstretched. Emily looks him in the eyes.
For the space of a breath, Kamui sees Travis Touchdown mirrored in Emily's open expression, wavering like an echo, like a voice through water. (He'd be right at home here, wouldn't he? Shoving fistfuls of yen into his jean pockets, going on about this game or that.) He'd stood before him too, his hand empty and extended, his words sure and his gaze level with Kamui's own. The memory twists in his chest, and, fleetingly, it's visible on Kamui's face-- the sting of missing someone, the bittersweet pride of having something there to miss in the first place. He wishes he were here. He wishes he could see him like this: having the dumbest misadventure of his life, and daring still to reach for someone else at the very end of it.
I trust you, Kamui recalls, so I'll try, as he takes Emily's hand.]
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And yet here still is Emily. Her voice is calm, an anchor in the endless electronic blare and whistle and chatter all around them. She hasn't even laughed, not that he'd have judged her for it. The situation's certainly ridiculous enough. But her words are sure, and her hand is outstretched. Emily looks him in the eyes.
For the space of a breath, Kamui sees Travis Touchdown mirrored in Emily's open expression, wavering like an echo, like a voice through water. (He'd be right at home here, wouldn't he? Shoving fistfuls of yen into his jean pockets, going on about this game or that.) He'd stood before him too, his hand empty and extended, his words sure and his gaze level with Kamui's own. The memory twists in his chest, and, fleetingly, it's visible on Kamui's face-- the sting of missing someone, the bittersweet pride of having something there to miss in the first place. He wishes he were here. He wishes he could see him like this: having the dumbest misadventure of his life, and daring still to reach for someone else at the very end of it.
I trust you, Kamui recalls, so I'll try, as he takes Emily's hand.]
Please. I need some peace and quiet.