[ Genji ran here in an instant, without being asked for, just because he was worried about Hanzo, about his reaction to whatever Reaper said to him. and Hanzo has given him a dozen opportunities to have revenge, begged for it. if Genji was doing this out of cruelty, after deeper vengeance than a clean death, then the once-proud heir lowering himself to plead for death should have been all he needed.
it couldn't be a longer game than that. not just because that's insane, to draw it out for that long to no greater satisfaction. Genji isn't like that. he was sly, and certainly he could be cruel when he wanted it, just... not that. and if it isn't that, then it could only be that: ]
You mean it. [ it scrapes in his throat. he learnt young not to cry, but he could never change how obvious it is that he's trying to hold back. ] All of this.
[ Genji is telling the truth, and Hanzo believes him. he may not at another time, blind to his own skewed perceptions, to the fear that twists his thoughts — but right now, he believes it. and it would be easier, wouldn't it, not to have to struggle through every single step of the way in what's to come, and an end is still horrifically tempting — but right now, Hanzo wants desperately to believe Genji on this too. that he can make things right, even if it takes him forty, fifty years.
it's enough for right now. so this is over; Hanzo can compose himself, they can go back, carry on from here. except Hanzo releases his grip on Genji's arms and puts his own arms around Genji's middle instead, holding him a little tighter. he tries to adjust his breathing to the pace of the hand moving on his back. ]
You have changed, and I have not, I— [ he breathes in, out, shuddering; sorts through the panicked knot of words in his head. ] This is not... a path I know how to walk.
[ he's going to make a mistake somewhere, which is the worst certainty Hanzo could ever have to face. the most terrifying thought is that this is possible, and it can and will fail because Hanzo's just going to fuck it up. ]
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it couldn't be a longer game than that. not just because that's insane, to draw it out for that long to no greater satisfaction. Genji isn't like that. he was sly, and certainly he could be cruel when he wanted it, just... not that. and if it isn't that, then it could only be that: ]
You mean it. [ it scrapes in his throat. he learnt young not to cry, but he could never change how obvious it is that he's trying to hold back. ] All of this.
[ Genji is telling the truth, and Hanzo believes him. he may not at another time, blind to his own skewed perceptions, to the fear that twists his thoughts — but right now, he believes it. and it would be easier, wouldn't it, not to have to struggle through every single step of the way in what's to come, and an end is still horrifically tempting — but right now, Hanzo wants desperately to believe Genji on this too. that he can make things right, even if it takes him forty, fifty years.
it's enough for right now. so this is over; Hanzo can compose himself, they can go back, carry on from here. except Hanzo releases his grip on Genji's arms and puts his own arms around Genji's middle instead, holding him a little tighter. he tries to adjust his breathing to the pace of the hand moving on his back. ]
You have changed, and I have not, I— [ he breathes in, out, shuddering; sorts through the panicked knot of words in his head. ] This is not... a path I know how to walk.
[ he's going to make a mistake somewhere, which is the worst certainty Hanzo could ever have to face. the most terrifying thought is that this is possible, and it can and will fail because Hanzo's just going to fuck it up. ]