[It's reassuring, at least. He smiles in return and holds onto her hand.
Minato hadn't thought about what would happen once he gave it back. It was her memory and belonged to her. But he had seen it. It made him think that he would remember it too just from the vision itself, not that he had experienced the memory, though he had. Somehow. It was complicated. Still, he can't help but think it's really invasive and a long way about making them all hold hands or have some kind of physical contact. The gods have such elaborate schemes to make them touch.
Little does he realize though that he'd actually lost a memory of his own and it had wandered its way to her. It was of those that he kept as hidden away as much as humanly possible, like a closed up treasure box thrown overboard to sink to the bottom of the sea, though every so often the sea gifts it back to him and washes it up ashore. That night on the bridge was just as dark as the depths of the ocean despite any trace of moonlight, but then everything burst into flames and turned upside down. All that was left was mangled metal, broken glass, and the smell of fire and smoke. He made it out of what was left of the car, only to stare at the robotic white figure in white and that tattered and terrifying apparition backed by an ominous sky.
And then all that had ended, too, that shadowy specter disappearing, same with the white figure in what sounded like one last mechanical whirr, along with perhaps any other shred of childhood innocence, oblivion, and wonder. Reality is harsh and cruel, but is also completely unbiased and unprejudiced. It didn't matter if his existence spanned less than a decade; it was about time to wake up from the all too happy dream and actually live. Time and fate said so. It was also the only other way to shape who he was and who he would become. It wasn't as though his soul would mind, right?]
no subject
Minato hadn't thought about what would happen once he gave it back. It was her memory and belonged to her. But he had seen it. It made him think that he would remember it too just from the vision itself, not that he had experienced the memory, though he had. Somehow. It was complicated. Still, he can't help but think it's really invasive and a long way about making them all hold hands or have some kind of physical contact. The gods have such elaborate schemes to make them touch.
Little does he realize though that he'd actually lost a memory of his own and it had wandered its way to her. It was of those that he kept as hidden away as much as humanly possible, like a closed up treasure box thrown overboard to sink to the bottom of the sea, though every so often the sea gifts it back to him and washes it up ashore. That night on the bridge was just as dark as the depths of the ocean despite any trace of moonlight, but then everything burst into flames and turned upside down. All that was left was mangled metal, broken glass, and the smell of fire and smoke. He made it out of what was left of the car, only to stare at the robotic white figure in white and that tattered and terrifying apparition backed by an ominous sky.
And then all that had ended, too, that shadowy specter disappearing, same with the white figure in what sounded like one last mechanical whirr, along with perhaps any other shred of childhood innocence, oblivion, and wonder. Reality is harsh and cruel, but is also completely unbiased and unprejudiced. It didn't matter if his existence spanned less than a decade; it was about time to wake up from the all too happy dream and actually live. Time and fate said so. It was also the only other way to shape who he was and who he would become. It wasn't as though his soul would mind, right?]