[Bootleg Gundam classics, right, add those to the list. Junpei nods but doesn't say anything, waiting for, well—the other thing. He keeps flipping the page corners, to stop himself from interrupting - until he isn't anymore sometime around "in the lake," and then he sits there and stares at nothing, somewhere between the notebook in his lap and their legs pressed together.
The worst part is, he thinks, besides the obvious—the worst part is he can't find it in him to be surprised that something like that would happen to someone like Charles. To anyone, really, but it hits harder when he's hearing the firsthand account; Charles is a good person who did the right thing, and he died for it, and that keeps happening. Junpei takes a drink, stilted, to quiet the tightness in his chest and the profound urge to—curse or something, yell at no one, whatever.
The worst part is still how unsurprised he feels about this dreadful truth. Junpei can recall with uncomfortable clarity the bottom of the barrel, the real worst of humanity doing the most abhorrent things possible to each other, plenty of pointless deaths—and it makes him angry in a different way that what happened to Charles fits right in with his lowest expectations. Being a PI is only charming on paper; in practice it's nothing but coworkers being thrown off buildings and children being tortured and guys being thrown into lakes and stoned, like it's the Dark Ages.
He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shake in it. He says,] Fuck those guys.
[A beat of silence followed by the clink of putting the beer down again.]
Fuck them, for real, you did everything right. That's... I mean— [Well, there aren't adequate words, not really. Some people are worthless and Charles deserved better, and in the absence of anything he can think of that sounds remotely good enough, Junpei simply turns to face him and holds out his arms. A little too abruptly, again, but fuck!!]
no subject
The worst part is, he thinks, besides the obvious—the worst part is he can't find it in him to be surprised that something like that would happen to someone like Charles. To anyone, really, but it hits harder when he's hearing the firsthand account; Charles is a good person who did the right thing, and he died for it, and that keeps happening. Junpei takes a drink, stilted, to quiet the tightness in his chest and the profound urge to—curse or something, yell at no one, whatever.
The worst part is still how unsurprised he feels about this dreadful truth. Junpei can recall with uncomfortable clarity the bottom of the barrel, the real worst of humanity doing the most abhorrent things possible to each other, plenty of pointless deaths—and it makes him angry in a different way that what happened to Charles fits right in with his lowest expectations. Being a PI is only charming on paper; in practice it's nothing but coworkers being thrown off buildings and children being tortured and guys being thrown into lakes and stoned, like it's the Dark Ages.
He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shake in it. He says,] Fuck those guys.
[A beat of silence followed by the clink of putting the beer down again.]
Fuck them, for real, you did everything right. That's... I mean— [Well, there aren't adequate words, not really. Some people are worthless and Charles deserved better, and in the absence of anything he can think of that sounds remotely good enough, Junpei simply turns to face him and holds out his arms. A little too abruptly, again, but fuck!!]
Don't say you're fine, just bring it in.