[ he should have guessed that. not who keith saw but that he must’ve gone through the experience himself to be so certain. obviously, keith’s father is a sore subject. they rarely talk about him. funny then, that this is the second time in a couple of weeks. shiro’s still a bit scatterbrained and unfocused as the urge to look out and elsewhere continues to nag at him, but he does know he doesn’t like the way keith is holding himself, as if bracing for something. shiro’s trying to formulate a response, however, he misses his cue by a beat and keith brushes it off.
he probably doesn’t want to talk about it anyway, huh?
the apology has shiro’s frown pinching deeper. it only piles onto the awkwardness surrounding this whole situation. keith said his own experience was embarrassing, like he was ashamed to be caught chasing after his dead father. at least that hallucination made sense, albeit it being rather cruel. shiro on the other hand -- seeing an ex-fiancé who hasn’t been a part of his life for over two years? that’s not only embarrassing, it’s pathetic.
but shiro tries not to get tripped up on his own judgment. instead, he tips his weight and bumps his shoulder to keith’s. the smile he quirks is small. ]
You’re right. He was a planner. [ him and that bottomless pit of a bag. he lugged that thing around with him just about everywhere. suspicious really, that even with its standard size, adam really did seem to have everything in there that shiro asked for. hand sanitizer, one-two-three-endless pens, spare charger for his phone, ibuprofen, band-aids, water bottle, power bars, the list goes on. hell, the bag only fits three to five books, depending on the sizes, and yet, every time shiro asked for a certain text, adam had it. the thought has his smile growing for the briefest of moments, heart panging in a way he hasn’t allowed himself in the longest time but the upwelling of nostalgia eases off and then shiro sobers for: ]
I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through your experience with the Fun House. Like you’re helping me.
[ wanting to disrupt the tension line of those shoulders further, shiro is now the one placing his hand there for a squeeze. holds for one, two beats and then lets go, hand flopping down into his own lap as he looks away. it’s a mistake. he immediately picks out adam’s face in the crowd, feet pressing firmer to the ground, as though about to push himself up and give chase. however, he catches himself, reminding himself that he’s not real, not real, not real.
he swallows and looks to the ground. ] I don’t know why I’m seeing him. [ because he misses him? some days, shiro can’t even verbalize the kinds of things that are in his head. a lot of his memories don’t feel like they’re his. so underneath all that -- does he miss adam? he frowns. ] I’ve barely given him any thought since I left but every time I look out, I can picture him perfectly.
[ gives up then and simply closes his eyes, hoping that will subside the constant desire to look up. ]
new thing to be fearful of: the heavy book bag mention ( also ideky this is long, im sry )
he probably doesn’t want to talk about it anyway, huh?
the apology has shiro’s frown pinching deeper. it only piles onto the awkwardness surrounding this whole situation. keith said his own experience was embarrassing, like he was ashamed to be caught chasing after his dead father. at least that hallucination made sense, albeit it being rather cruel. shiro on the other hand -- seeing an ex-fiancé who hasn’t been a part of his life for over two years? that’s not only embarrassing, it’s pathetic.
but shiro tries not to get tripped up on his own judgment. instead, he tips his weight and bumps his shoulder to keith’s. the smile he quirks is small. ]
You’re right. He was a planner. [ him and that bottomless pit of a bag. he lugged that thing around with him just about everywhere. suspicious really, that even with its standard size, adam really did seem to have everything in there that shiro asked for. hand sanitizer, one-two-three-endless pens, spare charger for his phone, ibuprofen, band-aids, water bottle, power bars, the list goes on. hell, the bag only fits three to five books, depending on the sizes, and yet, every time shiro asked for a certain text, adam had it. the thought has his smile growing for the briefest of moments, heart panging in a way he hasn’t allowed himself in the longest time but the upwelling of nostalgia eases off and then shiro sobers for: ]
I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through your experience with the Fun House. Like you’re helping me.
[ wanting to disrupt the tension line of those shoulders further, shiro is now the one placing his hand there for a squeeze. holds for one, two beats and then lets go, hand flopping down into his own lap as he looks away. it’s a mistake. he immediately picks out adam’s face in the crowd, feet pressing firmer to the ground, as though about to push himself up and give chase. however, he catches himself, reminding himself that he’s not real, not real, not real.
he swallows and looks to the ground. ] I don’t know why I’m seeing him. [ because he misses him? some days, shiro can’t even verbalize the kinds of things that are in his head. a lot of his memories don’t feel like they’re his. so underneath all that -- does he miss adam? he frowns. ] I’ve barely given him any thought since I left but every time I look out, I can picture him perfectly.
[ gives up then and simply closes his eyes, hoping that will subside the constant desire to look up. ]
How long does it last?