[ she laughs a little, because she's not bothered by this one? so. ] Yeah, that's Simon. He's my second in command on the train. That's when we met. I graciously accepted to be his friend despite him wearing socks with sandals.
This man is your idol, and he is your friend. Earning his praise makes you beam, and you feel like there’s a little sun inside your chest that gets brighter when he smiles at you. The teases feel friendly and comforting, as if they’re verbal hugs rather than anything malicious. You want to make him proud, and want to share every success with him.
This carefree laugh is your favorite in the world.
Your heart breaks worse with every passing gunshot.
. . .
Weeks after.
You’re sitting in the small apartment living room and sitting opposite you, there is an elderly woman wearing black. White flowers sit on the side tables, and you know that even though the funeral was weeks ago, they’re still grieving.
Your friend’s face still smiles in pictures around the house, and you keep thinking that maybe he’ll barge into the room suddenly with a laugh and a story. He won’t. Dead men tell no tales and all.
“We’re happy you came to see us, Enomoto-kun. Yuuta was so fond of you, after all,” the woman says, patting your knee with affection.
Despite everything that’s been weighing you down - a sense of dread curled around your throat like it will snap at any moment - you put on a smile for her. You hope it fits your face correctly. It’s hard when you can’t remember the last time you felt happy.
She doesn’t comment - so it must look fine.
“Yeah... Fuji-senpai was an inspiration to me, too. He always took good care of me.”
“Really…” Her tone is quiet, thoughtful. “He was saying that he felt like his junior kept surpassing him – you got promoted to Field Operations a while ago, didn’t you? He would tell us about that too… He said that he wanted to catch up to you.”
Your throat feels a little tighter. You manage the words -
“Up to – me?”
She nods in confirmation and doesn’t notice the way you feel like you’re coming apart.
“He was working so hard, trying to get his promotion… What he said was that he needed more accomplishments. He may have made a few missteps along the way – but how could he be condemned as evil when he only wanted to help….”
Few missteps.
Words flash before your eyes: Mistaken Arrests.
To catch up to - you. Stupid, reckless, lucky, breathing you.
The rest of the conversation passes in a daze - but you must have said the right things, must not have started screaming like you ache to. At the door, Yuuta Fuji’s mother sees you out.
“Take care, Enomoto-kun. I know… Yuuta would have been happy to know that you’re thinking of him.”
As she closes the door, you hear her sob from the other side - a muffled noise. She must’ve been holding in her grief too.
In the absence of her kind voice and sad eyes, you feel the weight of understanding and guilt settle on your shoulders like a shroud.
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That's probably a good thing, right?
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Yeah... Sorry if I was still intruding though. Was that a friend of yours...? Or - uh, we don't have to talk about it.
[even though he's obviously curious? he's too honest for his own good]
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That is real generous of you!
He seems like - a nice kid? I guess he's probably older now...
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That's sweet though, to have a childhood friend... I'm sure he's definitely learned a lot from just being with you.
QUICKLY DROPS A MEMORY FOR THE OTHER THREAD
This man is your idol, and he is your friend. Earning his praise makes you beam, and you feel like there’s a little sun inside your chest that gets brighter when he smiles at you. The teases feel friendly and comforting, as if they’re verbal hugs rather than anything malicious. You want to make him proud, and want to share every success with him.
This carefree laugh is your favorite in the world.
Months later.
A video. (16:40 - 17:35)
Your heart breaks worse with every passing gunshot.
Weeks after.
You’re sitting in the small apartment living room and sitting opposite you, there is an elderly woman wearing black. White flowers sit on the side tables, and you know that even though the funeral was weeks ago, they’re still grieving.
Your friend’s face still smiles in pictures around the house, and you keep thinking that maybe he’ll barge into the room suddenly with a laugh and a story. He won’t. Dead men tell no tales and all.
“We’re happy you came to see us, Enomoto-kun. Yuuta was so fond of you, after all,” the woman says, patting your knee with affection.
Despite everything that’s been weighing you down - a sense of dread curled around your throat like it will snap at any moment - you put on a smile for her. You hope it fits your face correctly. It’s hard when you can’t remember the last time you felt happy.
She doesn’t comment - so it must look fine.
“Yeah... Fuji-senpai was an inspiration to me, too. He always took good care of me.”
“Really…” Her tone is quiet, thoughtful. “He was saying that he felt like his junior kept surpassing him – you got promoted to Field Operations a while ago, didn’t you? He would tell us about that too… He said that he wanted to catch up to you.”
Your throat feels a little tighter. You manage the words -
“Up to – me?”
She nods in confirmation and doesn’t notice the way you feel like you’re coming apart.
“He was working so hard, trying to get his promotion… What he said was that he needed more accomplishments. He may have made a few missteps along the way – but how could he be condemned as evil when he only wanted to help….”
Few missteps.
Words flash before your eyes: Mistaken Arrests.
To catch up to - you. Stupid, reckless, lucky, breathing you.
The rest of the conversation passes in a daze - but you must have said the right things, must not have started screaming like you ache to. At the door, Yuuta Fuji’s mother sees you out.
“Take care, Enomoto-kun. I know… Yuuta would have been happy to know that you’re thinking of him.”
As she closes the door, you hear her sob from the other side - a muffled noise. She must’ve been holding in her grief too.
In the absence of her kind voice and sad eyes, you feel the weight of understanding and guilt settle on your shoulders like a shroud.
It was you. You killed your idol. ]