Had Five known where this would lead, he would have followed his first instinct right out that door. Second guessing himself is exactly what gets him in trouble, and he's been doing too much of that for too many days. The equations get more complicated and his insomnia just makes him more prone to error. It's a never-ending cycle with no rest in sight. Having a drink is the first break he's allowed himself since... he can't remember. Even if it has made him unusually talkative about things that he usually would have brushed off.
At first he only peers at Gabriel when he removes his glove, looking at his wrist tattoo with mild interest, then focusing sharply when it seems to shift. He's so distracted, and partially sluggish from the alcohol, that he's able to take his hand before he can think to pull away.
His damage. Waking memories shift before him. That day. Young, once, he runs defiantly down the sidewalk past the Academy with his father's disapproving voice just an echo behind him. Gripping the air in front of him, he confidently pulls himself forward in time, passing through the warm colors of summer to the cool of winter, before his last jump greets him with a wall of ash and fire. Panic rises in him the same as back then when he realizes he's unable to return the way he came. He stumbles through the rubble to find his older siblings, gathered dead, recognizable to him only because of their umbrella tattoo.
Like watching a movie that skips too much to follow a coherent plot, memories mingle together at a rapid-fire pace. A ruined world shifts to a clean office, and a sharply dressed woman smiling daggers at him. Looking up at the moon split open and raining fire. Standing in the street as he listens to the distinct whistle of a nuclear bomb. That fucking boardroom littered in bodies that he tore in half just days ago.
His vision clears to a shadowy figure of the solitary man in front of him, still gripping his hand. He lashes out before his mind makes any sense of what happened, swinging a fist at the same time he rips himself free from his grasp. Words should follow, but he's only staring while his heart drums in his ears. Waiting for some kind of confirmation before he's forced to murder him where he stands.
no subject
At first he only peers at Gabriel when he removes his glove, looking at his wrist tattoo with mild interest, then focusing sharply when it seems to shift. He's so distracted, and partially sluggish from the alcohol, that he's able to take his hand before he can think to pull away.
His damage. Waking memories shift before him. That day. Young, once, he runs defiantly down the sidewalk past the Academy with his father's disapproving voice just an echo behind him. Gripping the air in front of him, he confidently pulls himself forward in time, passing through the warm colors of summer to the cool of winter, before his last jump greets him with a wall of ash and fire. Panic rises in him the same as back then when he realizes he's unable to return the way he came. He stumbles through the rubble to find his older siblings, gathered dead, recognizable to him only because of their umbrella tattoo.
Like watching a movie that skips too much to follow a coherent plot, memories mingle together at a rapid-fire pace. A ruined world shifts to a clean office, and a sharply dressed woman smiling daggers at him. Looking up at the moon split open and raining fire. Standing in the street as he listens to the distinct whistle of a nuclear bomb. That fucking boardroom littered in bodies that he tore in half just days ago.
His vision clears to a shadowy figure of the solitary man in front of him, still gripping his hand. He lashes out before his mind makes any sense of what happened, swinging a fist at the same time he rips himself free from his grasp. Words should follow, but he's only staring while his heart drums in his ears. Waiting for some kind of confirmation before he's forced to murder him where he stands.