yogen | (semi closed) and if you should call

So they are nothing, but they are everything.

[because there was a but that separates the sentences, that sets them as a contrast. someone who was nothing, but everything. someone he'd kill for, but discard. she thinks about what she knows about him, and this cipher - because it is one, at this point. and she decides they're comfortable enough, safe enough, that she can try one more thing.]

...Please give me your hand.

[her hand extends out from her nesting place, letting him make the choice of taking it or not. he can probably sense why, knowing how much she relies on her sense of touch, and the idea of someone having tells.]

Hm? If you like.

[He'll hold it out to her, palm up, fingers slightly curled like he's giving it to her for his pulse. His knuckles brush on the palm of her hand. It's a little cold, his circulation really bad even with the heater and blankets, and soft, clean, nails bit off short for typing and there's just the beginnings of calluses from gardening club work.

His body language even through the arm is deliberately steady, observant, and the pulse itself is deceptively slow, ticking towards something more conventional. He knows Helena by now, that this is the equivalent of her, well, taking a much closer look.]

Anything interesting? Ahaha. People often tell me they're the hands of somebody who never works...

Edited (thank ye for edit) 2021-11-28 08:12 (UTC)

[she lays her hand on his, more to hold than to observe the exact details - her hand is a little smaller, but warmer.]

"Shin"...do you hate them? Do you love them? Or is neither of those correct?

[what she's feeling for is not his calluses, or the softness, but tremors, tension - if her words are going to start anything unique in him, subtle body language she can't read otherwise.]

They are your poem, and your death. They are nothing, but you must keep them alive. Dark death, or dreamful ease - they are your choice.

...How close am I to "Shin"?

Edited 2021-11-28 08:16 (UTC)

[Several reactions come through. There's the slight curl and relax of his fingers as her other hand goes on top; as if a twitch was slowed down four times, the slightest lean in.

The first "Shin" gets a bigger one, a shift of his crossed-legged seating position and pull as he turns away to think, because that's one doozy of a question. Hate, or love... just thinking about it feel like it splinters cracks just a little further, honestly. Love what? Hate who?]

Hate... no kidding. They can't do anything, even help themselves. Kind of a pathetic weakling, really, following around anyone who'll give them the time of day. Stupid. No wonder they're doomed to die...

[They must be so easy to hate, right? The second gets something smaller, subtler but also really more than that, a twitch, hitched breath and the rustle of cloth as his other hand comes up to his face, because without that question to chew on... he hasn't actually heard that name, his name, for what feels like an impossible stretch of time after the heightened compression of the death game. No, before that even. And even to Komaeda he's 'Tsukimi-kun' and there he'd like to keep it. It's painful, to that part of him, in a way he didn't expect, like warmth after frostbite.]

...

Ahaha, you tell me.

[One half of that question he really can't answer, looking through one way glass and seeing only himself. The other half, is 'very'.]

Doomed, and even so, even with all their faults, you could be moved to kill.

[there is a wild, wild thought she has, a stray that drifts in and refuses to go, a sort of strange feeling that lingers. the movement in his hand, the way the word itself resonates with him...

one more question. one more will give her what she might need, to test the strangest of theories that linger with her.]

Is "Shin" alive or dead?

Edited 2021-11-28 09:54 (UTC)

[Even with all their faults...

A strangled laugh, the kind that comes through a hand gripping his face.]

Haha, he has to be, doesn't he? Dead... he's here, after all.

[His slip there, un-noticed. His voice lowers down into an unhappy mutter.]

Idiot got himself killed in the end.

[Almost got someone else killed too. It's a swirling morass of colour here, a shattered kaleidoscope, push and pull and press, constriction.]

[there is pressing, but not all of it is internal. someone is holding his hand, surely and as securely as she can, to warm it between her own.

his words, the missing pieces, and they snap into place with the click of a jigsaw. it becomes so clear, a puzzle completed enough to know the dimensions, the rough shape, and so much heartbreak wrapped up in it. pain that she will not pry into, to tear it open - he has revealed some of his own wounds, on his own accord, and she hopes that one day they might mend. this twisting, winding path, because to voice it so bluntly was unbearable.

she can't judge him for it, hate him for it, as much as she might ever wish to. all the kindness he's shown her still resonates in her mind. the way his soul reached out to hers, to hold on. that couldn't be feigned.

softly, so softly, to keep it as secret as one can, Helena finds her voice again.]

He's you, isn't he?

[There's pressing, and it's warm, and it's- it's not his wrist, or his arm. This never happened... his hand was never taken like an offering. And that part of him he wishes would shut up right now is thinking about fingernails and height difference.

There's a noise from him at that bullseye of a question, a hiccup, a choked laugh, a sob that's it's own answer. The hand shudders as he tries to try and wipe away freely streaming tears with the palm of the other, like a cracked dam was burst, as he tries to keep the sound of stuttered breathing down, hold in noise in general, until he can trust himself to speak, swallowing, shaky inhale and slow exhale. Why did this happen... he planned this...]

Y-yeah... I'm Shin Tsukimi. Nice to meet you.

[He gives a weak smile by habit, rubbing at his face with the back of a sleeve. Oh, that's gross... He feels strange, a little off-kilter, at sea, relieved and vulnerable.]

[he cries, and if she could have been certain he would have accepted a hug, she would give one. as it is, this much contact he's alright with, and so she keeps her hands where they are, holding on and steady. Helena isn't smiling, but she looks thoughtful, calm. she'll wait for as long as he needs, to gather himself again. Sou, or Shin, or whoever he wanted to be. it's alright, because she's still here. he's still here. they're still in this room that's been made into a little sanctuary, and he's cracked himself open - but there is no more pain coming his way. just the tears that he's been holding in for who knows how long.

breathe.]

Shin Tsukimi.

[she says it carefully, trying out the shape of it.

thank you, for trusting me with this.

finally, she can smile a little again.]

Your poem.

[He's managed to get a hold on himself, spare arm falling to pull up one of the blankets over him and not think about having to laundry two things later. It's like... something in him has settled, an even fuzzed tone.]

Yep. It's a little ironic, isn't it?

[His name, the truth.]

A lot shorter, though.

I don't know if it's ironic, but...

[there's something gentle in her tone, and perhaps this question will still be familiar.]

What do you want me to call you? Sou? Shin? Something different depending on the circumstances?

[whatever path he chooses, she'll abide by, she seems to say. again his choice, for she'll bury this secret if he wants her to.]

[Ah, yeah, it was going to come down to this, wasn't it. He's taken a chance here, a dizzying, terrifying chance, but...]

Well, I said it before didn't I? You can't take it out of this room.

[Physically, in the sense of the red paper and paint, and metaphorically, in that he's telling her and her only.]

You're the only one I've told. [Not the only one who knows, but she doesn't need to know that. He knows who knows but... not for sure. It's an icy thing to think about, so he usually puts it away so as to be able to think other thoughts.] So if this gets out... I'll know who did it.

[A warning, a handcarved threat. It's the tone that in another place and time said 'don't betray me', all but a fevered grip hard enough to hurt. There's the sense of something receding back, the rest closing back in to take it's place.]

[it might be meant as a threat, but it draws something else out of her - a laugh, simple and unpretentious. a laugh that says the idea of her letting his secret loose is unthinkable, so far fetched as to be unimaginable.]

You've been "Sou" to me for this long already. It won't be a stretch to keep the name in use for company.

[so, she understands. he is Shin only when they are truly safe and alone, when he can wear his own skin.]

I'll keep it quiet. Don't worry.

[The laugh hurts, in different ways. He can't help but be stung, just a little. But also...

Sometimes him and Helena feel like they're on different worlds, despite everything.]

See that you do...

[A bit of a futile scrambling to maintain the mood, that one, his hand goes to his scarf as he gives up on it. It's kind of strange really as well... he's been Sou for months now, like a broken-in pair of shoes worn to the shape of his feet.]

...Ah, that's bad manners. I-I appreciate it, Helena.

I get it. It's information you don't want running around out there. Something you want to safeguard as much as you can.

[she's unbothered by his words, the ominous air they might carry, because she feels that she knows him enough that this is more....self defense, and not directed at her. that he needs to keep that fact secret for reasons she doesn't know yet. if ever Shin feels comfortable enough to tell her, he will - but Helena will not have him bleed more at the moment.]

...Thank you, Shin.

(semi closed) and if you should call

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