[They recognize the sign even before he finishes it, something odd constricting and then crumpling inside their chest. They do, though. Hands stilled, shaking with nervous, useless energy for just a moment before his falls onto their right, bringing it down to where their knees met the ground. And they have stopped. Just as quickly as they had found that energy, now it's gone—smothered, one might say, but perhaps Kino had finally realized how foolish they had been. They knew better. They did, they did. They knew it wouldn't be too long now. They knew there wasn't anything they could do to save him.
Kino's shoulders bow over as they lower their head, something in their chest reaching up to stick in their throat. Kino registers the minute squeeze of his hand on theirs a half-second late, shoulders shaking once in response. They can sense it's supposed to be reassurance—that's something he would do—but there's still a jagged piece of refusal sticking out in Kino's mind, not accepting it, furiously wanting to hold onto him as long as they could.
Their free hand relinquishes the useless bandages to move to the top of his own, gently but purposefully turning it over to free their right—they couldn't sign well with their left, not having the same type of dexterity. It's a simple question, though; doubtful he needed to see the sign to see it in Kino's expression.] Why?
[Why did you keep fighting? Why didn't you get help? Why did you do this?
They knew they didn't have much time but they had to ask, if he could answer. Needed to understand. It would keep blocking off everything else if they didn't ask.
Kino had left so many behind in their life. It was so easy—you simply put them behind you, faced the road, and drove. People faded into memories, and memories faded into wistful nostalgia. Both good and bad was easy to run from in retrospect. Even people who had cared for you. It was the power of agency, the structure of a journey.
But now Kino truly understands why Master would kill them should she ever see them again. Not because they had run away without telling her. Not because they had taken her persuader with them. But because they had left her alone.
YELLS
Kino's shoulders bow over as they lower their head, something in their chest reaching up to stick in their throat. Kino registers the minute squeeze of his hand on theirs a half-second late, shoulders shaking once in response. They can sense it's supposed to be reassurance—that's something he would do—but there's still a jagged piece of refusal sticking out in Kino's mind, not accepting it, furiously wanting to hold onto him as long as they could.
Their free hand relinquishes the useless bandages to move to the top of his own, gently but purposefully turning it over to free their right—they couldn't sign well with their left, not having the same type of dexterity. It's a simple question, though; doubtful he needed to see the sign to see it in Kino's expression.] Why?
[Why did you keep fighting? Why didn't you get help? Why did you do this?
They knew they didn't have much time but they had to ask, if he could answer. Needed to understand. It would keep blocking off everything else if they didn't ask.
Kino had left so many behind in their life. It was so easy—you simply put them behind you, faced the road, and drove. People faded into memories, and memories faded into wistful nostalgia. Both good and bad was easy to run from in retrospect. Even people who had cared for you. It was the power of agency, the structure of a journey.
But now Kino truly understands why Master would kill them should she ever see them again. Not because they had run away without telling her. Not because they had taken her persuader with them. But because they had left her alone.
It's a terrible, hollow, awful feeling.]