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nanase_harumaki Something he can't classify sits in his throat like brine. It's salty enough to make him feel like gagging.
But that isn't something he can do while he runs. And while he's not exactly good at sprinting, there's a sort of all-encompassing drive to get back to his house, back home where no one can stare or ask questions, which pushes him forward violently.
It isn't the type of running you'd ever interrupt as a normal person.
There's something horrible about what's just happened. His throat's raw from the moments of shouting he's succumbed to, and the thought of that expression on Makoto's face makes Haru briefly consider stopping by the side of the road to either steady his breath or empty his stomach onto the pavement.
He doesn't do either.
Usually, his own expression is extremely difficult to read. Even he's aware of this to some extent. But now, the look on his face is plain as day.
Panic. Pure, unadulterated terror.
What happens now? Where do you go after a rift like this has pulled itself open?
Even Haru isn't aware of just how bad it is yet; it hasn't hit him all the way. But the normally half-closed state of his eyes is disrupted, and they're so wide open that the whites are showing all around his irises. His mouth hangs open to suck in breaths of air as he sprints down the night-time street toward his house like the pavement is on fire behind him.
He doesn't think of anyone or anything. Just the bath at home. He doesn't think of a hand extended to pull him out, which may not be there when he expects it to be. Haru does just about anything he can to keep himself getting lost in the feeling of the ground falling away from under him.
It's easy to take the floor for granted until it cracks underneath you. Haru's thoughts are not as sophisticated as this, but the sentiment is there.
But that isn't something he can do while he runs. And while he's not exactly good at sprinting, there's a sort of all-encompassing drive to get back to his house, back home where no one can stare or ask questions, which pushes him forward violently.
It isn't the type of running you'd ever interrupt as a normal person.
There's something horrible about what's just happened. His throat's raw from the moments of shouting he's succumbed to, and the thought of that expression on Makoto's face makes Haru briefly consider stopping by the side of the road to either steady his breath or empty his stomach onto the pavement.
He doesn't do either.
Usually, his own expression is extremely difficult to read. Even he's aware of this to some extent. But now, the look on his face is plain as day.
Panic. Pure, unadulterated terror.
What happens now? Where do you go after a rift like this has pulled itself open?
Even Haru isn't aware of just how bad it is yet; it hasn't hit him all the way. But the normally half-closed state of his eyes is disrupted, and they're so wide open that the whites are showing all around his irises. His mouth hangs open to suck in breaths of air as he sprints down the night-time street toward his house like the pavement is on fire behind him.
He doesn't think of anyone or anything. Just the bath at home. He doesn't think of a hand extended to pull him out, which may not be there when he expects it to be. Haru does just about anything he can to keep himself getting lost in the feeling of the ground falling away from under him.
It's easy to take the floor for granted until it cracks underneath you. Haru's thoughts are not as sophisticated as this, but the sentiment is there.
