[Both of them hideously underrate the value of their own lives.
Fundamentally, he disagrees. He isn't sure why the knife found its way back to him when he had only been the one it'd been lent to, not the one it belonged to, but he does feel as though it was supposed to be with Rin. Even if he taught Keisuke how to use it, how effective would it be? He still froze up in the face of conflict, the instinct to avoid so deeply written into him it was impossible to avoid.
He'll agree, though, smiling shakily and nodding. It seemed like the right thing to do, even if he'd prefer Rin keep it so he could defend himself—and Keisuke, if need be.
He freezes up as Rin's hands pause completely over his own, resting there with the closed weapon between. His heart feels like it's climbed up in his throat, making it difficult to reply, nearly impossible to swallow around (nervous reaction).]
N - No. [He looks down, still looking guilty. It's grasping at his heart with sharp claws.] I... ran into Akira, and we kept away from... [cutting off, eyes narrowing with tension fraught in the corners of them, spider-webbing as he remembers the beast that cornered them and took Rin.
He can't hold it anymore. The guilt's eroded at him and he bursts like a faulty dam.] Rin, I - I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I - should've done something, anything, else to help you. I - It must've been scary, and awful, and I -
[It should've been me. The words are there, viable in his mind, bleeding with the veracity he feels in them, but he bites down on it. "...Don't say stuff like that."
His head dips, almost in a half-bow. It's an odd gesture—that sort of kowtowing had fallen out of Japanese culture, especially amongst their generation, but it's the only thing he could think to do.] And I - I owe you, so much, for doing what you did for me. I'm sorry.
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Fundamentally, he disagrees. He isn't sure why the knife found its way back to him when he had only been the one it'd been lent to, not the one it belonged to, but he does feel as though it was supposed to be with Rin. Even if he taught Keisuke how to use it, how effective would it be? He still froze up in the face of conflict, the instinct to avoid so deeply written into him it was impossible to avoid.
He'll agree, though, smiling shakily and nodding. It seemed like the right thing to do, even if he'd prefer Rin keep it so he could defend himself—and Keisuke, if need be.
He freezes up as Rin's hands pause completely over his own, resting there with the closed weapon between. His heart feels like it's climbed up in his throat, making it difficult to reply, nearly impossible to swallow around (nervous reaction).]
N - No. [He looks down, still looking guilty. It's grasping at his heart with sharp claws.] I... ran into Akira, and we kept away from... [cutting off, eyes narrowing with tension fraught in the corners of them, spider-webbing as he remembers the beast that cornered them and took Rin.
He can't hold it anymore. The guilt's eroded at him and he bursts like a faulty dam.] Rin, I - I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I - should've done something, anything, else to help you. I - It must've been scary, and awful, and I -
[It should've been me. The words are there, viable in his mind, bleeding with the veracity he feels in them, but he bites down on it. "...Don't say stuff like that."
His head dips, almost in a half-bow. It's an odd gesture—that sort of kowtowing had fallen out of Japanese culture, especially amongst their generation, but it's the only thing he could think to do.] And I - I owe you, so much, for doing what you did for me. I'm sorry.