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fine. 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦. if you won't 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 me— then 𝘳𝘶𝘯 . . . before i 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 you .ᐟ
( he pulls out the long awaited gun, raising it and aiming straight for nozori. )
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( his breath comes too fast now, uneven— like he's been running. his fingers twitch toward his temples before he catches himself, pressing them instead into his thighs hard enough to bruise. )
"be myself—.ᐣ" ( his voice cracks mid—laugh, raw at the edges. ) who 𝘪𝘴
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okay. you don't— 𝘨𝘰𝘥— you don't even know half of what i've—
( shouki cuts himself off with a choked noise, hands flying up to scrub at his face. when he lowers them, his smile is back— but it's all wrong. twisted. the act is back on as quickly as it left. )
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( his breath stutters— just once— and for the briefest second, the mask slips enough to reveal the frantic calculation beneath, the desperate scramble to recalibrate his performance. he forces another laugh, but it comes out too breathless, too close to choking. )
ah—aha,
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theatrical flourish and something far more fractured. )
though— 𝘩𝘢— you're right. "i know" 𝙞𝙨 boring .ᐟ ( a step closer, a hand clearly reaching for something in his pocket, but his other hand trembles where it hangs at his side. ) go on then, nozori. what's the
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@WILDCARDFOOLED ⠀
but here we are.
( he steps back slightly but doesn't break eye contact. a bitter chuckle slips out before he can stop it— the sound like broken glass wrapped in silk— )
i'd still like to hear it from 𝘺𝘰𝘶, though. speak, 𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘰.
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@WILDCARDFOOLED ⠀
shadows under his eyes, making them look hollow. )
...you don't have to say it. the way you looked at me during the briefing. like you'd seen behind the mask.
( a beat of silence cracks between them like static. his smile comes too fast, too sharp— too practiced .ᐣ )
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