[He's not sure how Minato would feel being compared to a brick wall, but at the moment, Shinjiro wouldn't mind being a little bit more of one himself. His eyes catch her movement easily enough, but he looks away. If she wants to pretend she hasn't noticed anything, then he'll be glad to pretend he's also a little bit blind. He'd glad she's willing to let a few of the things he does seemingly slip by her, because this is not the type of person he's built himself up to be. It's weird and embarrassing to be thrown off kilter—by a few animals, no less. And unlike at the movie theatre, he doesn't exactly have a place to run to. You'd think eighteen years would be enough time to build up a more solid emotional resistance. After the fire, he had started to see the person he needed to become. And he's still pretty damn sure that the person he saw wasn't supposed to cry over a silly animal movie. He can only stubbornly blink and imagine that his veins are coated with iron.
It's almost too easy to keep quiet. Like the movie was still going. Let an hour in a half turn into two, maybe. Or three. But now that it's over, he can register the sound of rain coming from outside the balcony. Going to be that kind of day, huh?
Eventually, though, he'll sigh, try to collect all his nerves into a bundle and attempt to mentally sear their endings down like they were rope, until they're no longer as frayed as he feels. Then look over at the cause of a small but significant portion of his distress today.]
Cathartic, huh? Is that what you'd call it?
[He's not sure if he should allow her to choose their movies anymore. He can only hope it's dark enough that she can still pretend not to see even the faintest hint of red on him.]
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It's almost too easy to keep quiet. Like the movie was still going. Let an hour in a half turn into two, maybe. Or three. But now that it's over, he can register the sound of rain coming from outside the balcony. Going to be that kind of day, huh?
Eventually, though, he'll sigh, try to collect all his nerves into a bundle and attempt to mentally sear their endings down like they were rope, until they're no longer as frayed as he feels. Then look over at the cause of a small but significant portion of his distress today.]
Cathartic, huh? Is that what you'd call it?
[He's not sure if he should allow her to choose their movies anymore. He can only hope it's dark enough that she can still pretend not to see even the faintest hint of red on him.]