(no subject)

[shoals]

This is a post for voice testing things. Everything will be terrible, don't look, senpai.

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[ballpoint]

[ each second is an hour, each beat of his heart feels as if it's pushing concrete through his body and out the wound in his chest and filling his mouth. his mind is fuzzy and there's nothing around them - it's almost as if they've been pulled from the alley and placed into a plane of existence that's only them. ...somewhere that mikado would have preferred living. somewhere that's close to what he was trying to create.

...there's part of him that's glad this happened. somewhere deep inside him, choked into silence and inaction by dark, inky tendrils is the idealistic young boy, the filling for the boring, normal, innocent shell that everyone else sees. someone who knew that in order for this to end right, he needed to be ended.

it's not hard to break the grip of a dying person, and as the warm metal of the gun is pressed against his face, the corners of mikado's mouth turn up as he slides his eyes closed. ]

[concretejungles]

[His own breaths are sharp and shallow, sliding into hyperventilating as the crying and the hole in his insides keep him from breathing deep or steady. He has to brace himself with his injured arm, palm scraping on the pavement next to Mikado's neck, but he's hardly feeling the pain now. He grits his teeth as he pulls the trigger--

-- for a moment, his ears ring, and it seems like the world has paused --

-- and then he drops the gun, hit with the familiar sense of failure and a wall of self-loathing and grief that leaves him feeling like he's been violently, forcibly gutted and hollowed out, in a way that nothing could possibly ever fill back up. He doubles over til his face is pressed into Mikado's neck, ignoring their mixed blood all over both of them, and it's only the fact that's he's completely breathless that keeps him from screaming until he whites out.

Just like he always does.]