6 || [video]

[incriminating]

[The video feed clicks on. An unsteady hand fumbles for the communicator desperately, its owner currently offscreen, but only manages to knock it further away. Harsh, labored breathing penetrates what would be an otherwise quiet night, and eventually, with a pained grunt, a second attempt for the device is successfully made

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[unposted]

[toplay_thefool]

[But the nausea balling in the pit of his stomach is something he can't shrug off, not right now. For a moment he is still, letting his hand drop, closing his eyes and masking the expression with a hand. Dammit, dammit, dammit, it had never been this bad before - but here?

Here, everything that had been set, decided, was ripped back. Here, the wounds were exposed, or - however you wanted to put it. Things were too confused, too volatile - much like Adachi and that persona he carried. Magatsu Izanagi.

-- there it was, without fail, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, the goosbumps sweeping up his arms. He suppressed a shudder, but it made itself known as a tiny jerk of his too-taut shoulders.

And maybe, maybe - this may have been the most sickening thing - he was relieved. Even with his friends here. Even with Nanako. Even when he knew that, back home, things turned out okay. Because seeing Adachi, actually seeing him in the fall out of that - he wasn't just something to lock away, no. Couldn't be.

Like this, he could watch him. Keep an eye on him, himself. And for some reason - for some stupid, illogical reason - he was grateful for that.

But this isn't helping him do what he has to do, is it? Straightening, bringing the communicator up again, he looks at it. Plays it back again. Steels himself.]