[He hardly even feels the grip. It feels in so many ways like he isn't even on solid ground anymore, like he's floating over some nebulous world where everything's wrong and his grandparents no longer exist. It seems so absurd, so impossible. They were right there - he'd seen them not an hour ago. Kind and warm and full of life as they always had been.
How could they be dead? Who could have done such a thing, stolen that light, that warmth away from this world?
Tatsuma has never been inclined to hatred. Perhaps it's simply in his nature - it's hard, holding onto feelings of resentment and negativity. So he simply hadn't, making peace with the world and the way it was, understanding that sometimes things would be sad, sometimes things would be disappointing, but understanding also that these things couldn't always be helped.
This, though. This feels wrong on a level so fundamental he couldn't even begin to describe it, and it feels like something important is now missing from this world, something that shouldn't be. Not only that, but like it's been torn from his very chest, leaving a painful and gaping wound. It hurts, almost physically, and his own grip tightens around the phone still in his hand.
...What had she said? About that car...]
...A black Highlander...
[No license plate number. But he knew the type of car, and the direction it went. Maybe, maybe...]
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How could they be dead? Who could have done such a thing, stolen that light, that warmth away from this world?
Tatsuma has never been inclined to hatred. Perhaps it's simply in his nature - it's hard, holding onto feelings of resentment and negativity. So he simply hadn't, making peace with the world and the way it was, understanding that sometimes things would be sad, sometimes things would be disappointing, but understanding also that these things couldn't always be helped.
This, though. This feels wrong on a level so fundamental he couldn't even begin to describe it, and it feels like something important is now missing from this world, something that shouldn't be. Not only that, but like it's been torn from his very chest, leaving a painful and gaping wound. It hurts, almost physically, and his own grip tightens around the phone still in his hand.
...What had she said? About that car...]
...A black Highlander...
[No license plate number. But he knew the type of car, and the direction it went. Maybe, maybe...]