[If Komaeda's consternation is sharp and cold as ice, Hajime's... is no more than a whistle of wind, briefly disturbing the fog. He almost forgets to wrench himself away from the wall before he steps back. There should be more of a jolt here - he can feel the space where it should be, disgust and anger and betrayal and terror and anger bundled inseparably together. But it's a bundle wrapped up in some corner far away. He has nothing left to give it. At one point he thought he wanted to understand this guy, but that was back when he believed he might fully understand anything ever again.
When did Komaeda have time to dress up the way he is? Who's this "her"? Does it matter? Does he care even if it does? Where the frost across the pavement reaches Hajime's feet, it dulls, melting into the ground and the fog.]
... Go ahead and laugh if you want. It's fine.
[Not that he asked for Hajime's permission, before that or before anything else he's done.]
no subject
[If Komaeda's consternation is sharp and cold as ice, Hajime's... is no more than a whistle of wind, briefly disturbing the fog. He almost forgets to wrench himself away from the wall before he steps back. There should be more of a jolt here - he can feel the space where it should be, disgust and anger and betrayal and terror and anger bundled inseparably together. But it's a bundle wrapped up in some corner far away. He has nothing left to give it. At one point he thought he wanted to understand this guy, but that was back when he believed he might fully understand anything ever again.
When did Komaeda have time to dress up the way he is? Who's this "her"? Does it matter? Does he care even if it does? Where the frost across the pavement reaches Hajime's feet, it dulls, melting into the ground and the fog.]
... Go ahead and laugh if you want. It's fine.
[Not that he asked for Hajime's permission, before that or before anything else he's done.]