[ silence befalls jayce to the point of torture. it grows and grows and grows until the only thing beaming out of him, word after word, is shame that could kill him if he weren't already dead. he gets caught in a loop of overanalyzing— was he really so loud? could he have been quieter? maybe here, and here, and maybe the walls weren't as thick as he thought they were and— the flash of viktor's worried expression as he fled from a bed dashed in his blood pains his very core. the last thing he saw before his body split open and now, on top of brutally put to stage, he's guilty for harming him in his own sleep.
after too long, it almost seems as if jayce would no longer speak. not after that! but he does, finally, a whisp of the word: sorry, radiating an awful amount of embarrassment and sprinkled sadness that could quite possibly get the geiger counter to go off in its own right. ]
no subject
after too long, it almost seems as if jayce would no longer speak. not after that! but he does, finally, a whisp of the word: sorry, radiating an awful amount of embarrassment and sprinkled sadness that could quite possibly get the geiger counter to go off in its own right. ]