[On instinct he'd stepped forward despite himself as Komaeda hunched over, just shy of reaching out despite himself. But he freezes in place instead, finds his voice again too late, and the paler-faced boy is gone - along with any faint hope Hajime had of this situation finally coming together.
Down at his side, he clenches his fists, but not for long before they drop. The fog gradually drifts away from him on the whistling wind. He's tired. Really tired.
A little over a full day later is the first time he properly opens his eyes again. He barely remembers if he's eaten; he barely remembers picking his way through the debris-strewn streets and finding his way to this apartment in the first place. When he sits up and catches his reflection in the window, even his tie looks worse for the wear. And yet the spiky little crystal dangling from a string underneath it is no less inexplicably pristine than when he first noticed it.
He eyes it, furrowing his brow. He wants to know. The only option he's been given so far is guaranteed to make the cacophony of his mental state a hundred times worse, but... he wants to know.
Remembering the pamphlet, he tries to concentrate, but his focus keeps slipping. Komaeda's appearance is distinctive enough; the problem is the blood that keeps seeping into his thoughts, the flames that flicker in the corner.]
Komaeda? Are you there?
[He'll only try this once, he decides. If it doesn't work, then all the better, really.]
no subject
[On instinct he'd stepped forward despite himself as Komaeda hunched over, just shy of reaching out despite himself. But he freezes in place instead, finds his voice again too late, and the paler-faced boy is gone - along with any faint hope Hajime had of this situation finally coming together.
Down at his side, he clenches his fists, but not for long before they drop. The fog gradually drifts away from him on the whistling wind. He's tired. Really tired.
A little over a full day later is the first time he properly opens his eyes again. He barely remembers if he's eaten; he barely remembers picking his way through the debris-strewn streets and finding his way to this apartment in the first place. When he sits up and catches his reflection in the window, even his tie looks worse for the wear. And yet the spiky little crystal dangling from a string underneath it is no less inexplicably pristine than when he first noticed it.
He eyes it, furrowing his brow. He wants to know. The only option he's been given so far is guaranteed to make the cacophony of his mental state a hundred times worse, but... he wants to know.
Remembering the pamphlet, he tries to concentrate, but his focus keeps slipping. Komaeda's appearance is distinctive enough; the problem is the blood that keeps seeping into his thoughts, the flames that flicker in the corner.]
Komaeda? Are you there?
[He'll only try this once, he decides. If it doesn't work, then all the better, really.]