( was he afraid of what would come from it? it's quite the sight as he watches shin fiddle and fumble about with the hacking gun, but they say curiosity killed the cat. while he's messing the dial in hopes to escape, komaeda watches him with trained eyes. that murky darkness, the little light that refuses to show itself, perhaps it's better that way for shin. no matter how much hope a person has, komaeda's able to gauge it immediately, those who are normal have nothing, they're just an empty husk that have nothing to contribute to the world. it's odd, knowing that shin could if he wanted to.
with the quick switch to detect, he doesn't have to feel the pull coming from the machine, knowing that it even pulled at all is impressive, and komaeda walks over to him to act as if there must have been something wrong. he's aware that shin's aware that komaeda's aware what dial it was left on, so the quick reaction from releasing his finger. )
Ah, Tsukimi-kun... are you okay?
( he places a hand on the other's shoulder, bending down because i just remembered he's short as hell compared to komeda's 6'1" ass. though, he can't act like he didn't see it, the images laughing as if they enjoyed the company of both person, a hidden bond that can't be seen when one looks at the portraits as they are. the truth is always below the surface, and so he pulls his hand away once he realizes the action, and he looks down at his palm, before glancing to the paintings that shin had just aimed at.
with a step back, komaeda lifts one hand to cup his chin in thought, that's unusual for portraits in the dormitory, but rather than pointing that out. )
So you saw it too...
( they weren't in pain, they didn't have the appearance of like they were begging, pleading, screaming in anguish for help either. the despairing state that they're constantly in being something else happy, excited, personal it feels like when they ignore komaeda in favor of looking at him. why is that, he wonders. where was the blood? everything that makes a person feel uncomfortable, where it doesn't crawl under his skin, he might not be able to say the same for shin who turned off the gun's ability. )
no subject
with the quick switch to detect, he doesn't have to feel the pull coming from the machine, knowing that it even pulled at all is impressive, and komaeda walks over to him to act as if there must have been something wrong. he's aware that shin's aware that komaeda's aware what dial it was left on, so the quick reaction from releasing his finger. )
Ah, Tsukimi-kun... are you okay?
( he places a hand on the other's shoulder, bending down because i just remembered he's short as hell compared to komeda's 6'1" ass. though, he can't act like he didn't see it, the images laughing as if they enjoyed the company of both person, a hidden bond that can't be seen when one looks at the portraits as they are. the truth is always below the surface, and so he pulls his hand away once he realizes the action, and he looks down at his palm, before glancing to the paintings that shin had just aimed at.
with a step back, komaeda lifts one hand to cup his chin in thought, that's unusual for portraits in the dormitory, but rather than pointing that out. )
So you saw it too...
( they weren't in pain, they didn't have the appearance of like they were begging, pleading, screaming in anguish for help either. the despairing state that they're constantly in being something else happy, excited, personal it feels like when they ignore komaeda in favor of looking at him. why is that, he wonders. where was the blood? everything that makes a person feel uncomfortable, where it doesn't crawl under his skin, he might not be able to say the same for shin who turned off the gun's ability. )
Pull yourself together, what did you think...?