[His expression doesn't change much. There's still the softness, the hesitant smile. His gentle aura is no different than before. But he can feel the razor's edge of resentment underneath it all. Not towards Mako, precisely; more the concept that bad memories might sink below the surface, even for an instant.]
[That's not how it works, for him. He doesn't get to let go of his memories while he goes on with his day, tucking them into a safe place from which he can pull them out and examine them later, when he's feeling strong enough. Humans are everywhere. He cannot escape his fear of them, nor his instinctive hatred. He can only hold it at bay, remind himself that he does not have to live in his past, that he can be what Matsukaze dreamed for the future. He doesn't have to bow to his fear, or the things he sees when he watches humans hunched over bowls and shoveling dinner into their mouths.]
[Even then, he is lucky. He doesn't suffer as Gonta does. By slowly and deliberately exposing himself, by refusing to hide himself away, he's acclimated. Even Gonta, poor Gonta, he used the truth against Gonta not so long ago--for his own good, maybe, but it still wasn't fair. If Mako is his friend, which might be the case, then he has to struggle against the urge to press the knife of his life against Mako's throat, no matter how tempting it is.]
. . . She'd hate it if I told a human about her, [he says, and laughs, clear and bell-like. She'd hate him regardless, but this more than anything would get on her bad side.] Her name was Hayame. She gave her life to save me--and the others I told you about. So many children lived because of her.
It's not such a bad memory. [Which is, of course, a lie.] She'd tell you not to worry so much about me. She thought I was a demon.
no subject
[His expression doesn't change much. There's still the softness, the hesitant smile. His gentle aura is no different than before. But he can feel the razor's edge of resentment underneath it all. Not towards Mako, precisely; more the concept that bad memories might sink below the surface, even for an instant.]
[That's not how it works, for him. He doesn't get to let go of his memories while he goes on with his day, tucking them into a safe place from which he can pull them out and examine them later, when he's feeling strong enough. Humans are everywhere. He cannot escape his fear of them, nor his instinctive hatred. He can only hold it at bay, remind himself that he does not have to live in his past, that he can be what Matsukaze dreamed for the future. He doesn't have to bow to his fear, or the things he sees when he watches humans hunched over bowls and shoveling dinner into their mouths.]
[Even then, he is lucky. He doesn't suffer as Gonta does. By slowly and deliberately exposing himself, by refusing to hide himself away, he's acclimated. Even Gonta, poor Gonta, he used the truth against Gonta not so long ago--for his own good, maybe, but it still wasn't fair. If Mako is his friend, which might be the case, then he has to struggle against the urge to press the knife of his life against Mako's throat, no matter how tempting it is.]
. . . She'd hate it if I told a human about her, [he says, and laughs, clear and bell-like. She'd hate him regardless, but this more than anything would get on her bad side.] Her name was Hayame. She gave her life to save me--and the others I told you about. So many children lived because of her.
It's not such a bad memory. [Which is, of course, a lie.] She'd tell you not to worry so much about me. She thought I was a demon.