like returning to his mama’s womb. he sinks, a whalefall of a boy as he drowns. he forces his eyes open one last time- but there’s nothing to be seen. the pressure of the water wraps around him and he lets it pull him under. he’s never been more at peace.
thinking about akechi drowning in the bowels of the ark. somehow, the bullets don’t get him- he survives by a hair, but he’s too injured to move or cry out for help. he floats in and out of consciousness, awoken after hours by a racket above.
but no one comes. the hull starts to crack and seawater comes crashing in, dark and inky. he’s helpless to it as he’s thrown about, toyed with and tossed about. the first lungful of seawater is like an embrace, wrapping its fingers around and through him,
the murdered and the murderer, a pair of lovers little more than rumours gracing the townsfolk’s’ lips. you think it doesn’t sound so bad, and that you quite like the beach.
(🧵)
goro akechi my darling city boy go visit akira in his hometown and let him take you to the beach for the first time. let him massage sunscreen into your skin with trembling hands and wide eyes, let him lead you into the water without looking back,
swim back to shore with him but spend the whole time thinking about what would happen if you’d stayed there forever, became fixtures of the ocean, ghosts haunting the harbour.