[Togami typically considers himself a man with a high tolerance for pain. Times like these force him to reevaluate.
Or maybe his tolerance is high, and he's simply flooded his system with the sensory equivalent of thousands of whiskey chasers. Comparisons to alcohol come easy in stressful situations, but his mind is too scrambled to come up with any coherent metaphor.
Moving seems like too much effort expended for a task that seems a thousand miles away. It's pathetic--that's the best way he can put it, because any man who wasn't pathetic would have long been standing, helping, escaping, doing a million other things that need doing. He must be truly useless, then. It would feel better if his tears abated, he thinks, but that doesn't stop them.
He holds on to Naegi's sleeve with something close to a dead man's grip, an ugly mix of blood and tears running down his cheeks. Even the simple thought of standing is enough to send phantom pains up his legs and through his body, and so he says the thing that makes the most sense to him:]
no subject
Or maybe his tolerance is high, and he's simply flooded his system with the sensory equivalent of thousands of whiskey chasers. Comparisons to alcohol come easy in stressful situations, but his mind is too scrambled to come up with any coherent metaphor.
Moving seems like too much effort expended for a task that seems a thousand miles away. It's pathetic--that's the best way he can put it, because any man who wasn't pathetic would have long been standing, helping, escaping, doing a million other things that need doing. He must be truly useless, then. It would feel better if his tears abated, he thinks, but that doesn't stop them.
He holds on to Naegi's sleeve with something close to a dead man's grip, an ugly mix of blood and tears running down his cheeks. Even the simple thought of standing is enough to send phantom pains up his legs and through his body, and so he says the thing that makes the most sense to him:]
I'm sorry.
[He repeats it dozens of times, barely audible.]