He's starting to see how the kid can go around and stand in vacant corners, trying to stay out of everyone's way. He also has the hands-in-pockets thing down. Shinjiro can see that much.
Of course, despite what Minato says, Shinjiro doubts it's simply nothing, and his train of thought comes to the same conclusions Minako's does. He remembers the way the kid had looked at him before, and those eyes hadn't been the eyes of someone who didn't given a damn. Not that he can do much about being suddenly alive again, just as he can't just erase the memories that the kid has of him either, not anymore than he himself can remember what his alternate self had experienced.
The questions he wonders but doesn't ask are a bit more complex, some of which might not even have a definite answer were he even to bring them to voice, like the differences between worlds. They were the same, but minutely different. Perhaps one of these days they'll both find themselves sharing a wall, and during that blip in time they'll have an entirely silent conversation in which everything is said in-between the nothing at all. And at the end of this conversation, Shinjiro will just shrug his shoulders and turn to look across the room at something else, because peace, as a whole, is something difficult to attain and hold on to, and probably something Shinjiro will never completely find so long as he is still mortal.
But. But if he had the mind to be sincere and broadcast the truth in a few meaningful glances, perhaps he'd tell Minato he had been probably as happy in his world as he ever could be—probably happier, in a way, than his other self had been, even if that small happiness came at the expense of emotional equilibrium. It was something Minato could probably have understood, because it had involved something his own timeline had been distinctly robbed of.
And as for being okay here, well, all he has to do is use his head and use his eyes, because, with any luck, he'll stumble upon the answer eventually.
"Guessing you like music."
Unless, of course, those earphones are just his idea of fashion.
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Of course, despite what Minato says, Shinjiro doubts it's simply nothing, and his train of thought comes to the same conclusions Minako's does. He remembers the way the kid had looked at him before, and those eyes hadn't been the eyes of someone who didn't given a damn. Not that he can do much about being suddenly alive again, just as he can't just erase the memories that the kid has of him either, not anymore than he himself can remember what his alternate self had experienced.
The questions he wonders but doesn't ask are a bit more complex, some of which might not even have a definite answer were he even to bring them to voice, like the differences between worlds. They were the same, but minutely different. Perhaps one of these days they'll both find themselves sharing a wall, and during that blip in time they'll have an entirely silent conversation in which everything is said in-between the nothing at all. And at the end of this conversation, Shinjiro will just shrug his shoulders and turn to look across the room at something else, because peace, as a whole, is something difficult to attain and hold on to, and probably something Shinjiro will never completely find so long as he is still mortal.
But. But if he had the mind to be sincere and broadcast the truth in a few meaningful glances, perhaps he'd tell Minato he had been probably as happy in his world as he ever could be—probably happier, in a way, than his other self had been, even if that small happiness came at the expense of emotional equilibrium. It was something Minato could probably have understood, because it had involved something his own timeline had been distinctly robbed of.
And as for being okay here, well, all he has to do is use his head and use his eyes, because, with any luck, he'll stumble upon the answer eventually.
"Guessing you like music."
Unless, of course, those earphones are just his idea of fashion.