[ he's texted everyone he can think of to quell the ache, spent countless minutes with a shiv against the wall, as if to count the days "like in the movies" as Ritsuka had asked -- and, as if appropriately, they healed right back up. he's thought about carving the last seven days off on his skin, but it's not the same without an audience. ]
[ with fingers fumbling over the keys, he types different messages out, different displays of main that are more or less vulnerable in various degrees. ]
[the Undergrounder is lying on the floor of the darkroom when he hears the buzz, his legs extended halfway up the wall]
[his neck gives a taxed crack as he reflexively glances back up at the table where he'd left the Guide and his drying photos]
[thunk-TUNK, his legs crash down to the floor like felled trees, and he rolls up onto his knees to reach the vibrating mini-computer]
[it's another boneless collapse back down while he keys his Inbox open (a spasmodic re-positioning of his legs), and in another moment he's seeing just who's -- ]
[he's not sure what it means. it might be a test, or some retarded bullshit -- he wouldn't put it past the other man (he loved his trials and tribulations; all religious fanatics did)]
[ ... but it might not be, too]
[worst case scenarios run briefly through his head (prison riots, cellmate murder, death sentence) alongside more tempered guesses (the idiot dropped it when he was toilet texting)]
[ it's not the same without him. ]
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i miss you
[ DELETED ]
this is hard
[ DELETED ]
i wish you were |
[ DELETED ]
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stop being a fucking cunt ass motherfucking |
[ he jams the backspace button ]
[ and his fingers slip; ]
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|
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[the Undergrounder is lying on the floor of the darkroom when he hears the buzz, his legs extended halfway up the wall]
[his neck gives a taxed crack as he reflexively glances back up at the table where he'd left the Guide and his drying photos]
[thunk-TUNK, his legs crash down to the floor like felled trees, and he rolls up onto his knees to reach the vibrating mini-computer]
[it's another boneless collapse back down while he keys his Inbox open (a spasmodic re-positioning of his legs), and in another moment he's seeing just who's -- ]
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Reply
[ ... but it might not be, too]
[worst case scenarios run briefly through his head (prison riots, cellmate murder, death sentence) alongside more tempered guesses (the idiot dropped it when he was toilet texting)]
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didntcha
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[ fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-- ]
[ but leaving him hanging now would be worse, another unanswered question for a week. ]
[ super monks always gotta fill in the blanks, don't they. ]
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