[ Isn't that a hard question to answer, especially when one is playing drunk? Yet, it's very much a question that may become their reality.
An answer doesn't come immediately. Ash isn't avoiding the question but giving it the legivity it deserves.
What if this is what he is now? There's love for the Max who stands before him. Despite all of the lows their relationship has hit, Ash still loves him. In theory, he can fall out of love. His love for Eiji remains, shifting and changing as it may be. His love for a girl long dead hasn't left either though now, he loves nothing but a memory and has the occasional thought of what she might have become had she been allowed to live.
Yet, Max stands before him, Max, and yet, not. Many times over now, Ash has been allowed a liar. What good did those outbursts do? On the surface, nothing, but they began to add up. Before he screwed things up, there was a moment that felt like breaking through water that had been nothing but murky since he could remember. It was an embarrassingly silly thought, but it was also something new.
Voicing his feelings hasn't worked. It's been difficult to put into words what hurts deep inside, especially for someone like Ash, and yet, it's done nothing. What would? He's asked the question so many times that it feels even more hollow now.
When he feels something wet slide down his cheek, Ash looks both surprised and angry. There's no reason to cry over an argument. He's had much worse. And yet, Ash knows the reality: it isn't the reality that makes his heart clutch to the point of pain but the idea that Max Lobo, the man who went into this with enough stupidity and idealism to fuel them both, really might be gone. ]
Damn it, I'm drunker than I thought.
[ It's the first lie he's told tonight aside from his actual state of sobriety.
He forces his voice to be steady. He isn't going to cry here. He won't. ]
But I don't know.
[ A cheap answer. Probably, it'll be considered a lie as well, but it's truly the only reply that he can give. ]
no subject
An answer doesn't come immediately. Ash isn't avoiding the question but giving it the legivity it deserves.
What if this is what he is now? There's love for the Max who stands before him. Despite all of the lows their relationship has hit, Ash still loves him. In theory, he can fall out of love. His love for Eiji remains, shifting and changing as it may be. His love for a girl long dead hasn't left either though now, he loves nothing but a memory and has the occasional thought of what she might have become had she been allowed to live.
Yet, Max stands before him, Max, and yet, not. Many times over now, Ash has been allowed a liar. What good did those outbursts do? On the surface, nothing, but they began to add up. Before he screwed things up, there was a moment that felt like breaking through water that had been nothing but murky since he could remember. It was an embarrassingly silly thought, but it was also something new.
Voicing his feelings hasn't worked. It's been difficult to put into words what hurts deep inside, especially for someone like Ash, and yet, it's done nothing. What would? He's asked the question so many times that it feels even more hollow now.
When he feels something wet slide down his cheek, Ash looks both surprised and angry. There's no reason to cry over an argument. He's had much worse. And yet, Ash knows the reality: it isn't the reality that makes his heart clutch to the point of pain but the idea that Max Lobo, the man who went into this with enough stupidity and idealism to fuel them both, really might be gone. ]
Damn it, I'm drunker than I thought.
[ It's the first lie he's told tonight aside from his actual state of sobriety.
He forces his voice to be steady. He isn't going to cry here. He won't. ]
But I don't know.
[ A cheap answer. Probably, it'll be considered a lie as well, but it's truly the only reply that he can give. ]