( in stark contrast to how heated he had been getting a moment earlier, guanshan goes silent as soon as shinsou Brainwashes the clerk. he has to blinder himself to what he's doing here and now; it would be too easy to get conflicted with concern, worrying over what he might be thinking. instead he lightly manipulates the system with the mind-controlled attendant as his intermediary, directing her with a skill and alacrity which clearly indicates that he has done this before, and enough that it scarcely takes him half a second to slip into it from his typical passivity.
they're just lucky the system is as simple as it is. he's not even sure why she was being so obstinate about it — maybe an issue of policy, maybe an issue of not wanting to be liable if promises were made and things didn't work out. regardless, they aren't even far enough away for guanshan to come to halt, and shinsou is already feeling a seed of guilt taking root in his stomach. the key to wielding his quirk in a way befitting of a hero — they key to him being a hero at all — is in using it selflessly.
and what he'd just done was as selfish as it came. in addition to the light-headedness, the faint ringing in his ears, he feels a twist of nausea.
he comes to a halt when he senses that guanshan has done the same, though he doesn't turn to face him; his shoulders are tensing up, as if bracing up in anticipation for some sort of impact. so stupid... why on earth did he go off doing that for? who would want to knowingly walk into a living situation with someone who could control them at pretty much any point — who had just gone and shown that he didn't seem to have any qualms in doing so to a stranger?
"sounds lonely."
the line of tension snaps. without thinking, shinsou turns over his shoulder to look guanshan in the eye — the stoic mask which had been mustered to cover his apprehension and his guilt has cracked right down the middle, revealing something new and raw, something he isn't even really sure he had words for. he searches his expression for anything to prove sarcasm, to prove misunderstanding, but he comes up empty. "sounds lonely." no one's ever said something like that to him before. he's withstood years and years of people putting themselves in his shoes, and the only thing they had to tell of their ill-thought sojourn in his skin was what they might be tempted to do with such a potentially insidious, invasive power. no one ever bothers to think past the obvious — to try to understand both what the weight of that potential might mean over years, how it tended to alienate you from the others around you. his mind is blank; he can't think of anything to say, can't think of anything at all except that his throat feels tight. but much like he had before, he forces himself past it. the momentary vulnerability in his expression shutters in sections, and when she speaks, there's (thankfully) no traitorous tremor to its cadence or timbre. )
If you think you'd rather live with someone else, there's probably still time to go speak with them about it. ( hands in his pockets, he anxiously fidgets with a corner of the packet of identification. )
no subject
they're just lucky the system is as simple as it is. he's not even sure why she was being so obstinate about it — maybe an issue of policy, maybe an issue of not wanting to be liable if promises were made and things didn't work out. regardless, they aren't even far enough away for guanshan to come to halt, and shinsou is already feeling a seed of guilt taking root in his stomach. the key to wielding his quirk in a way befitting of a hero — they key to him being a hero at all — is in using it selflessly.
and what he'd just done was as selfish as it came. in addition to the light-headedness, the faint ringing in his ears, he feels a twist of nausea.
he comes to a halt when he senses that guanshan has done the same, though he doesn't turn to face him; his shoulders are tensing up, as if bracing up in anticipation for some sort of impact. so stupid... why on earth did he go off doing that for? who would want to knowingly walk into a living situation with someone who could control them at pretty much any point — who had just gone and shown that he didn't seem to have any qualms in doing so to a stranger?
"sounds lonely."
the line of tension snaps. without thinking, shinsou turns over his shoulder to look guanshan in the eye — the stoic mask which had been mustered to cover his apprehension and his guilt has cracked right down the middle, revealing something new and raw, something he isn't even really sure he had words for. he searches his expression for anything to prove sarcasm, to prove misunderstanding, but he comes up empty. "sounds lonely." no one's ever said something like that to him before. he's withstood years and years of people putting themselves in his shoes, and the only thing they had to tell of their ill-thought sojourn in his skin was what they might be tempted to do with such a potentially insidious, invasive power. no one ever bothers to think past the obvious — to try to understand both what the weight of that potential might mean over years, how it tended to alienate you from the others around you. his mind is blank; he can't think of anything to say, can't think of anything at all except that his throat feels tight. but much like he had before, he forces himself past it. the momentary vulnerability in his expression shutters in sections, and when she speaks, there's (thankfully) no traitorous tremor to its cadence or timbre. )
If you think you'd rather live with someone else, there's probably still time to go speak with them about it. ( hands in his pockets, he anxiously fidgets with a corner of the packet of identification. )