[He listens to Akira, stares at the smooth, uncomplicated white paint of his ceiling. In a moment, he's screaming, bleeding, coming at Akira with every inch of his power like he genuinely wants to kill him, and then reality slips into focus again and he's in his bed, his eyes open, looking at nothing, listening to Akira on the other end of the line.]
You don't have to apologize.
[Goro says it gently, because he doesn't really mind being woken up. It's not normal for them, true, but it's... something about it feels right, like Akira is feeding into this sensation that he's been thinking about for awhile, but hadn't been able to really isolate or give it a name. It's just a bad dream, he wants to say, but how does that explain how sometimes when he's tired, he sees the world like he's looking through shattered glass? Goro feels, all at once, like he's standing with one foot in the ocean and he doesn't understand why or how.
He wonders if Akira feels the same way. He wonders if this misery is somehow mutual. Part of him doesn't want it to be - why would he want to bring trouble to his friend like that? But part of him also, needs, desperately, to not be alone in this. He feels like he'll go insane if he is.
He doesn't know if he should say it. He tries to anyway, a hand lifting out in the darkness, curling his fingers around nothing.]
I wonder... [it's soft, and he closes his eyes, trying to find the remnants of his own dreams, to pluck out the fragments that seem the blurriest of all and try to draw them into focus. Something fights him every step of the way, but just for a moment he can recall a glimpse.]
I've been... dreaming about a door. [He finally admits, his fingers falling back to the bed.] It's dark.
[It feels almost like a weakness to finally bring this to light but he feels like he has to. If it's nothing, if they're just being stupid, they can laugh about it and forget it tomorrow, but here in the middle of the night, Goro feels as honest as he's ever been.]
all good!
You don't have to apologize.
[Goro says it gently, because he doesn't really mind being woken up. It's not normal for them, true, but it's... something about it feels right, like Akira is feeding into this sensation that he's been thinking about for awhile, but hadn't been able to really isolate or give it a name. It's just a bad dream, he wants to say, but how does that explain how sometimes when he's tired, he sees the world like he's looking through shattered glass? Goro feels, all at once, like he's standing with one foot in the ocean and he doesn't understand why or how.
He wonders if Akira feels the same way. He wonders if this misery is somehow mutual. Part of him doesn't want it to be - why would he want to bring trouble to his friend like that? But part of him also, needs, desperately, to not be alone in this. He feels like he'll go insane if he is.
He doesn't know if he should say it. He tries to anyway, a hand lifting out in the darkness, curling his fingers around nothing.]
I wonder... [it's soft, and he closes his eyes, trying to find the remnants of his own dreams, to pluck out the fragments that seem the blurriest of all and try to draw them into focus. Something fights him every step of the way, but just for a moment he can recall a glimpse.]
I've been... dreaming about a door. [He finally admits, his fingers falling back to the bed.] It's dark.
[It feels almost like a weakness to finally bring this to light but he feels like he has to. If it's nothing, if they're just being stupid, they can laugh about it and forget it tomorrow, but here in the middle of the night, Goro feels as honest as he's ever been.]
You're on the other side.