For a moment, Maruki's mask slips. He glances sidelong at Akira, horror scrawled openly across his features at the mere idea. For all he knows about the nature of reality, all he's experienced of so many versions of himself, and all the time he's put into thinking about the many varied realities out there, he has never once considered that there could be one where Rumi isn't who he knows her to be. If they exist in the same reality, then she is his most phenomenal love and his greatest regret; there are no other options.
Luckily, before he can respond to that terrible hypothetical, he hears enough to be sure of his answer.
It's her voice– but it's not, there's a twist to the ends of her words that was never there before. The light that used to spark brightly enough to burn when she got too heated is absent – now, when ugly, biting words spill forth, they sound black as tar. Rumi could get angry, could defiantly speak her mind, but she never sounded hateful.
Maybe Maruki deserves that. But it's not her.
He doesn't look as she approaches, that torrent of blame growing louder and louder. Ruined our life and only thinking of yourself and easy way out and impossible, stupid dream collide together between his ears as he keeps his eyes locked on Akira's. His words remain just as decisive and sharp. ]
Something similar happened to Adachi-kun the other day. I should have known better than to– [ Louder, closer still. Maruki grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a second. ] It doesn't matter. She's a cognition. You're familiar, right?
[ There's almost some desperation in that question, and when Maruki opens his eyes again, he finally turns to face her.
It hurts, more than anything, to see recognition in Rumi's eyes once more, and to see it turn to spite.
What happened at the machiya can't happen here. That drawn out argument, that slow turn to violence that escalated rapidly. He can't bear to try to drive her away with his words or to fight her for more than a minute. A quick cut might be a deep one, but at least it's not torture.
It doesn't matter that they're right out in the streets of Stellari. Maruki's long stopped caring what anyone thinks of him, native inhabitants and dreamers alike. Protecting himself and the people he cares for is what's important, and the only thing that would be worse than fighting Rumi himself would be seeing her attack Akira instead.
The aurora ripples through the sky, makes his stomach turn at its familiarity as Azathoth appears. ]
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For a moment, Maruki's mask slips. He glances sidelong at Akira, horror scrawled openly across his features at the mere idea. For all he knows about the nature of reality, all he's experienced of so many versions of himself, and all the time he's put into thinking about the many varied realities out there, he has never once considered that there could be one where Rumi isn't who he knows her to be. If they exist in the same reality, then she is his most phenomenal love and his greatest regret; there are no other options.
Luckily, before he can respond to that terrible hypothetical, he hears enough to be sure of his answer.
It's her voice– but it's not, there's a twist to the ends of her words that was never there before. The light that used to spark brightly enough to burn when she got too heated is absent – now, when ugly, biting words spill forth, they sound black as tar. Rumi could get angry, could defiantly speak her mind, but she never sounded hateful.
Maybe Maruki deserves that. But it's not her.
He doesn't look as she approaches, that torrent of blame growing louder and louder. Ruined our life and only thinking of yourself and easy way out and impossible, stupid dream collide together between his ears as he keeps his eyes locked on Akira's. His words remain just as decisive and sharp. ]
Something similar happened to Adachi-kun the other day. I should have known better than to– [ Louder, closer still. Maruki grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a second. ] It doesn't matter. She's a cognition. You're familiar, right?
[ There's almost some desperation in that question, and when Maruki opens his eyes again, he finally turns to face her.
It hurts, more than anything, to see recognition in Rumi's eyes once more, and to see it turn to spite.
What happened at the machiya can't happen here. That drawn out argument, that slow turn to violence that escalated rapidly. He can't bear to try to drive her away with his words or to fight her for more than a minute. A quick cut might be a deep one, but at least it's not torture.
It doesn't matter that they're right out in the streets of Stellari. Maruki's long stopped caring what anyone thinks of him, native inhabitants and dreamers alike. Protecting himself and the people he cares for is what's important, and the only thing that would be worse than fighting Rumi himself would be seeing her attack Akira instead.
The aurora ripples through the sky, makes his stomach turn at its familiarity as Azathoth appears. ]
I'm sorry you got dragged into this.