[ Set turns to face him, and Gen looks at him while barely seeing him. Or rather -- Gen sees Set, but only so much as he ferociously searches Set for some sign of where he's hidden Reiji's shard. The crimson track of blood on Set's cheek and the lingering marks of a fierce bite give no indication of where Reiji has been hidden, so they barely register in his mind, slipping through his thoughts like sand through a sieve. Even once Set begins weaving fingers through the long spill of his hair, Gen shifts impatiently at first, weight rolling to the balls of his feet like he's ready to lunge -- and it's not until he spots the familiar, pale glimmer of Reiji's shard in Set's fingers that finally, finally, some of that wretched tension filling his every cell to bursting starts to abate.
Reiji. Reiji is intact. He's okay.
The shard is a small, cold weight pressed into his palm, and Gen finally lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A soft, shuddering, wounded noise. And while his eyes are firmly fixed on that translucent gem in his palm, there's an oddly distant quality to his gaze; he wobbles on his feet, knee coming close enough to buckling that he stumbles back one, two paces, but it's not just out of relief. His voice is barely above a whisper, coming close to cracking as he whispers, ]
... Reiji.
[ Even lacking the intimacy of a shared Aspect's bond, Set must be able to feel the emotions roiling off of Gen with how intense they are. There's relief, certainly, and a sick sort of comfort in having that precious object returned to him, where it belongs. But at the same time, guilt spills from him, acrid as smoke and just as suffocating, evident even in the tight squeeze of his eyes and grit of teeth. Guilt, self-loathing, anxiety, dread, grief, heartache -- the sickly cocktail of emotions he drowns himself in each and every day he thinks of how much he loves the boy who lies asleep in this shard. (The boy who probably only thinks of him with disgust at best, and apathy at worst. The boy who will never love him back.)
His hand is shaking as he reflexively clutches the shard close to his chest, spine curling as he doubles over protectively, shoulders rising and falling with each halting breath he forces past the tight squeeze of his throat. And Gen doesn't even look at Set; he can barely even handle the deluge of too-many thoughts cascading through his head, and granting Set any of his attention is a task that he simply cannot manage in this moment. The best he can do is point his free hand off to the side --
where, nestled against a further cluster of mushrooms, the top of a jar pokes out of the dirt. Set's precious object. Set is free to retrieve it, in other words. He'll find that the jars have been kept safe, as promised, with nary a scratch on them. Kept wrapped in long blades of grass and cushioned by soft dirt, their seals intact and contents untouched. Although ...
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Reiji. Reiji is intact. He's okay.
The shard is a small, cold weight pressed into his palm, and Gen finally lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A soft, shuddering, wounded noise. And while his eyes are firmly fixed on that translucent gem in his palm, there's an oddly distant quality to his gaze; he wobbles on his feet, knee coming close enough to buckling that he stumbles back one, two paces, but it's not just out of relief. His voice is barely above a whisper, coming close to cracking as he whispers, ]
... Reiji.
[ Even lacking the intimacy of a shared Aspect's bond, Set must be able to feel the emotions roiling off of Gen with how intense they are. There's relief, certainly, and a sick sort of comfort in having that precious object returned to him, where it belongs. But at the same time, guilt spills from him, acrid as smoke and just as suffocating, evident even in the tight squeeze of his eyes and grit of teeth. Guilt, self-loathing, anxiety, dread, grief, heartache -- the sickly cocktail of emotions he drowns himself in each and every day he thinks of how much he loves the boy who lies asleep in this shard. (The boy who probably only thinks of him with disgust at best, and apathy at worst. The boy who will never love him back.)
His hand is shaking as he reflexively clutches the shard close to his chest, spine curling as he doubles over protectively, shoulders rising and falling with each halting breath he forces past the tight squeeze of his throat. And Gen doesn't even look at Set; he can barely even handle the deluge of too-many thoughts cascading through his head, and granting Set any of his attention is a task that he simply cannot manage in this moment. The best he can do is point his free hand off to the side --
where, nestled against a further cluster of mushrooms, the top of a jar pokes out of the dirt. Set's precious object. Set is free to retrieve it, in other words. He'll find that the jars have been kept safe, as promised, with nary a scratch on them. Kept wrapped in long blades of grass and cushioned by soft dirt, their seals intact and contents untouched. Although ...
there are only two there. ]