[Said simply, lacking anything, even the flatness of suppressed emotion. If he had lost he'd be dead, so even if his memories are a mess, that's one thing he's sure of.
The hint of understanding in Darc's voice makes Shiro glad he shared, because he wants Darc to be comfortable around him but it also makes him terrified and, weirdly, a little frustrated. He tries to think about that, since Darc's been nothing but cordial. It just feels like too much at once: He already decided to deal with his arm, he doesn't want to get into this, too. There's no point in filling in all that black space. Zarkon is dead and he needs to focus on the future, now.
The more reasons he thinks of, the more they start to feel like justifications, and the more he realizes he just doesn't want to know anything about it. Those memories feel like a disease, something on the verge of corrupting him, and the more he knows about the cause and the symptoms, the more he'll see them, feel them acting on him. And standing next to Darc with his scars and his sympathy, it feels like Shiro could catch it from him. It's such an awful, unworthy thought; the distress is plain on Shiro's face.
But then the rest of Darc's statement catches up with him, you were once their pet. The world drops out from under him. The gut-twisting vertigo of being suddenly adrift is so familiar by now that resigned irritation mostly outweighs the terror as memories sluice through him, purple and red, one shifting into the other. Is the fact that he has the space to be exasperated about the bad lighting and overabundance of purple a good or a bad thing?
When he drops out of it maybe thirty seconds later drenched in sweat, his eyes dart for Darc to see if he noticed. Or more likely what he noticed.]
no subject
[Said simply, lacking anything, even the flatness of suppressed emotion. If he had lost he'd be dead, so even if his memories are a mess, that's one thing he's sure of.
The hint of understanding in Darc's voice makes Shiro glad he shared, because he wants Darc to be comfortable around him but it also makes him terrified and, weirdly, a little frustrated. He tries to think about that, since Darc's been nothing but cordial. It just feels like too much at once: He already decided to deal with his arm, he doesn't want to get into this, too. There's no point in filling in all that black space. Zarkon is dead and he needs to focus on the future, now.
The more reasons he thinks of, the more they start to feel like justifications, and the more he realizes he just doesn't want to know anything about it. Those memories feel like a disease, something on the verge of corrupting him, and the more he knows about the cause and the symptoms, the more he'll see them, feel them acting on him. And standing next to Darc with his scars and his sympathy, it feels like Shiro could catch it from him. It's such an awful, unworthy thought; the distress is plain on Shiro's face.
But then the rest of Darc's statement catches up with him, you were once their pet. The world drops out from under him. The gut-twisting vertigo of being suddenly adrift is so familiar by now that resigned irritation mostly outweighs the terror as memories sluice through him, purple and red, one shifting into the other. Is the fact that he has the space to be exasperated about the bad lighting and overabundance of purple a good or a bad thing?
When he drops out of it maybe thirty seconds later drenched in sweat, his eyes dart for Darc to see if he noticed. Or more likely what he noticed.]