[Even Wataru has the ability to pierce a soul every once in a while. He just... doesn't. He prefers being kind, being generous, being loved and loving. Even now, hearing all of this, he wonders why Eichi of all people wants to see him suffer, and takes such things from him with obvious ease.
His words strike Wataru more than the magician lets on, smiling broadly for a moment, then bowing theatrically as Eichi's servants come to take him away. But his heart is pounding, the blood rushing to his ears. Eichi doesn't hate him? It shakes him a bit, just as Eichi intended, and he knows this means worse for him than hatred. Hating someone, you might stop when they reach their lowest. You might not bother with them after a while. But being interested, or invested? It's practically a life sentence.
And Wataru, unbeknownst to all, is reaching the end of his tolerance. His deductions saving Eichi was almost a total coincidence. He had no motive, no reason beyond altruism that he would extend to anyone. This is a cruel twist of fate, and as Eichi perhaps intended, it's enough to make him question everything.
So he watches them leave, and knows he ought to leave, too, but instead takes his time combing through the building, slowly trying to find meaning and reason in he act of freeing his tormentor. He should be the bigger person, shouldn't he? Let Eichi have what he wants. Let him win. Roll over and... what? What does he expect?
The frustration lasts for days, slowly burning through Wataru, distracting him at rehearsal and driving him out of the classroom. He spends his time in seclusion, reading, watching the odd movie, everything to avoid Eichi. And then Eichi returns.
The day Eichi returns, Wataru finds himself on the rooftop of the school, having climbed past the fence and perched himself on the edge, legs dangling out dangerously. He's well aware of the length of the fall, but he can see the ocean from here, and his sense of balance is impeccable. Still, a small crowd gathers on the ground below him during lunch, a few of them occasionally taking photos as though encouraging him to give them a show.
He speaks aloud to no one in particular, thinking himself alone.]
Not today, I think... I'm sure I have something to live for. I wonder... the next season of that show I like? My lifelong dream of performing in Hamlet? Perhaps the dinner I was promised for tonight, cream stew and carrots...
no subject
His words strike Wataru more than the magician lets on, smiling broadly for a moment, then bowing theatrically as Eichi's servants come to take him away. But his heart is pounding, the blood rushing to his ears. Eichi doesn't hate him? It shakes him a bit, just as Eichi intended, and he knows this means worse for him than hatred. Hating someone, you might stop when they reach their lowest. You might not bother with them after a while. But being interested, or invested? It's practically a life sentence.
And Wataru, unbeknownst to all, is reaching the end of his tolerance. His deductions saving Eichi was almost a total coincidence. He had no motive, no reason beyond altruism that he would extend to anyone. This is a cruel twist of fate, and as Eichi perhaps intended, it's enough to make him question everything.
So he watches them leave, and knows he ought to leave, too, but instead takes his time combing through the building, slowly trying to find meaning and reason in he act of freeing his tormentor. He should be the bigger person, shouldn't he? Let Eichi have what he wants. Let him win. Roll over and... what? What does he expect?
The frustration lasts for days, slowly burning through Wataru, distracting him at rehearsal and driving him out of the classroom. He spends his time in seclusion, reading, watching the odd movie, everything to avoid Eichi. And then Eichi returns.
The day Eichi returns, Wataru finds himself on the rooftop of the school, having climbed past the fence and perched himself on the edge, legs dangling out dangerously. He's well aware of the length of the fall, but he can see the ocean from here, and his sense of balance is impeccable. Still, a small crowd gathers on the ground below him during lunch, a few of them occasionally taking photos as though encouraging him to give them a show.
He speaks aloud to no one in particular, thinking himself alone.]
Not today, I think... I'm sure I have something to live for. I wonder... the next season of that show I like? My lifelong dream of performing in Hamlet? Perhaps the dinner I was promised for tonight, cream stew and carrots...