[ He has to ignore it all, and that should be easy enough. He can barely hear above the thumping in his ears, and the physical resistance against him is no match for a body that trains for hours nearly every day.
It should be simple, but there's a tremor in his shoulders with the effort to keep pressing on, like trying to break a hole in the very wall with his bare hands. Trying it like before won't work, he wants to say. It'll be over soon. They'll be finished, and the boy can hate him then, but at least they'll both be free and alive. Miyuki has to remember that, focused and silent beyond his own labored breaths.
It should come as relief as well when the flesh in his hand surely swells, but he can't feel much over the churning in his stomach. It's over. It's over. Please, let it be over.
The light in the room changes after so long, briefly, as the monitor finally switches face. And Miyuki stops, lifts his hand away as he turns his head and catches sight of that thick font. Just a glance, before his gaze drops and he's moving away from the other boy. If he doesn't read, he can't say no, and for the moment that seems to be the case as Miyuki slips lifelessly back over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He sits with his back to it, arms on his bent-up knees for a place to rest his forehead upon. To breathe in and out for a moment and stop his gut from lurching.
There won't be any tears here, as there never are. Not even when he was little, and felt as alone as he does now. Really, he hardly has the right when the boy above and behind him is so much worse off, and Miyuki finds a bit of his voice again to answer the deafening echoes of all the protest he didn't hear. ]
It's not your fault.
[ I'm sorry — except, ten times the sorries thrown at him so desperately wouldn't be enough. He wasn't angry at the boy, and he wishes he could let him know it wasn't out of a sense of retaliation or punishment or whatever the other might interpret it as. Does he understand? Can he, when Miyuki himself is having trouble taking it all in? ]
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It should be simple, but there's a tremor in his shoulders with the effort to keep pressing on, like trying to break a hole in the very wall with his bare hands. Trying it like before won't work, he wants to say. It'll be over soon. They'll be finished, and the boy can hate him then, but at least they'll both be free and alive. Miyuki has to remember that, focused and silent beyond his own labored breaths.
It should come as relief as well when the flesh in his hand surely swells, but he can't feel much over the churning in his stomach. It's over. It's over. Please, let it be over.
The light in the room changes after so long, briefly, as the monitor finally switches face. And Miyuki stops, lifts his hand away as he turns his head and catches sight of that thick font. Just a glance, before his gaze drops and he's moving away from the other boy. If he doesn't read, he can't say no, and for the moment that seems to be the case as Miyuki slips lifelessly back over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He sits with his back to it, arms on his bent-up knees for a place to rest his forehead upon. To breathe in and out for a moment and stop his gut from lurching.
There won't be any tears here, as there never are. Not even when he was little, and felt as alone as he does now. Really, he hardly has the right when the boy above and behind him is so much worse off, and Miyuki finds a bit of his voice again to answer the deafening echoes of all the protest he didn't hear. ]
It's not your fault.
[ I'm sorry — except, ten times the sorries thrown at him so desperately wouldn't be enough. He wasn't angry at the boy, and he wishes he could let him know it wasn't out of a sense of retaliation or punishment or whatever the other might interpret it as. Does he understand? Can he, when Miyuki himself is having trouble taking it all in? ]