In all the time they've known one another, this must be their very first heart to heart.
Yamagi's always existed on the periphery of Shino's fire. They've talked and he's been talked at by virtue of being Shino's companion and very own mechanic. To say Yamagi's divulged his own brand of stream consciousness in any capacity beyond the professional would be reaching.
He's never experienced Shino's more vulnerable words without intruding inadvertently on his privacy.
This time, he doesn't flinch when fingertips alight on his hand. Yamagi twists his so Shino's fingers rest on his palm.
There's no telling Shino of the night he's spent away from the others at the stone carved memorial that marks no grave. There are nights when drinks and weakness string the blackness out of Yamagi's dark thoughts, swarming around what he's seen as foolhardy selfishness. When had Shino asked him how he'd felt about being left behind, made to witness his suicide mission?
How could he?
The words wash over his parched grief, and yet, a warmth builds up in him, curling in Yamagi's chest, tendrils choking the air out of his throat. His head dips as he hears the confession, a truth veiled to him by death and sorrow and it strikes him as cruelly unfair of their circumstances.
His happiness doesn't account for the silent tears that drip off his chin to splash on the back of Shino's hand, cupped in his.
no subject
Yamagi's always existed on the periphery of Shino's fire. They've talked and he's been talked at by virtue of being Shino's companion and very own mechanic. To say Yamagi's divulged his own brand of stream consciousness in any capacity beyond the professional would be reaching.
He's never experienced Shino's more vulnerable words without intruding inadvertently on his privacy.
This time, he doesn't flinch when fingertips alight on his hand. Yamagi twists his so Shino's fingers rest on his palm.
There's no telling Shino of the night he's spent away from the others at the stone carved memorial that marks no grave. There are nights when drinks and weakness string the blackness out of Yamagi's dark thoughts, swarming around what he's seen as foolhardy selfishness. When had Shino asked him how he'd felt about being left behind, made to witness his suicide mission?
How could he?
The words wash over his parched grief, and yet, a warmth builds up in him, curling in Yamagi's chest, tendrils choking the air out of his throat. His head dips as he hears the confession, a truth veiled to him by death and sorrow and it strikes him as cruelly unfair of their circumstances.
His happiness doesn't account for the silent tears that drip off his chin to splash on the back of Shino's hand, cupped in his.