[Its a stain in and of itself, after all. Maybe that's what Sakyou's tattoo meant. A lingering dark film, unable to be cleansed.]
I mean...look at me. I died, and I'm still dealing with it.
[He shifts slightly, getting a bit uncomfortable with the weight, but unwilling to let Sakyou go. His arms move to continue to hold the other im an embrace, one hand at the back of the other's neck where that tattoo was printed. His fingers rest there, gently.]
...That's why I don't...reach out to others, usually. They don't need to deal with my sins, my failures. I don't want to unload it on others. Its all my problem, in the end. I'm the problem. It's...how it is, and how it always will be.
[It is a miserable life, and yet, it's one that he'd picked himself, more or less understanding the consequences of doing so. He'd said it before - when living a life destined to be cut short, it's best not to know any vibrant colors.
Sometimes, it's better to tuck yourself far away from others and ensure you can't impact them, even if it means trading out a better, softer life.]
I wish that you didn't have to know it.
[...Maybe if he were a less damaged person, he'd know the right elegant words to say, here. He'd know how to say that Mandricardo isn't the problem without looking like a hypocrite, or encourage him to try reaching out to others, anyway. But he isn't, so the best he can do is this; the genuine wish that this sort of misery wasn't inflicted on him.
He shifts a little, then. The hand at his neck reminds him of the words printed there; it makes him want to draw away and ignore the ugly reminder.]
[It's almost like he physically shrinks away from the statement, like the idea of someone wishing for his happiness is that unsettling to him. He also averts his gaze after a second or two. He feels too seen; he's not sure that he hates it entirely, and that's something that sits strangely.
On a sigh out:] ...I can still walk. I'd rather not trouble you twice.
[Mandricardo getting in on the business of carrying distressed Sakyous around, damn.]
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no subject
[Its a stain in and of itself, after all. Maybe that's what Sakyou's tattoo meant. A lingering dark film, unable to be cleansed.]
I mean...look at me. I died, and I'm still dealing with it.
[He shifts slightly, getting a bit uncomfortable with the weight, but unwilling to let Sakyou go. His arms move to continue to hold the other im an embrace, one hand at the back of the other's neck where that tattoo was printed. His fingers rest there, gently.]
...That's why I don't...reach out to others, usually. They don't need to deal with my sins, my failures. I don't want to unload it on others. Its all my problem, in the end. I'm the problem. It's...how it is, and how it always will be.
It's a miserable life, isn't it...?
no subject
Sometimes, it's better to tuck yourself far away from others and ensure you can't impact them, even if it means trading out a better, softer life.]
I wish that you didn't have to know it.
[...Maybe if he were a less damaged person, he'd know the right elegant words to say, here. He'd know how to say that Mandricardo isn't the problem without looking like a hypocrite, or encourage him to try reaching out to others, anyway. But he isn't, so the best he can do is this; the genuine wish that this sort of misery wasn't inflicted on him.
He shifts a little, then. The hand at his neck reminds him of the words printed there; it makes him want to draw away and ignore the ugly reminder.]
—You can let go. I won't run.
[Perhaps...]
no subject
[Even if Sakyou thinks that's impossible.]
[The next statement gets Mandricardo to turn his head, give him a considering look, dark eyes to dark eyes. His grip loosens, slightly.]
...Will you allow me to carry you back?
no subject
On a sigh out:] ...I can still walk. I'd rather not trouble you twice.
[Mandricardo getting in on the business of carrying distressed Sakyous around, damn.]