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Ripia can’t control the shake in his hands as they reach out to trace along the large, jagged scar that begins at the back of Shinji’s head and trails down his spine. All the while his mind sneered at him - a viper thought that reminded Ripia he caused this.
He had seen this scar plenty of times when he controlled Shinji’s body. But to feel the uneven scar tissue with different hands from an outside perspective.
Ripia isn’t sure there is a word to express how he feels.
So he leans forward, nose pressed into Shinji’s shoulder blade. And his breath shutters out.
“I’m sorry.” He wants to say. But the lump that grows in his throat stops him. The urge to apologize for causing this, again and again, overwhelms him, but he keeps them back. Instead, he rests there, holding onto Shinji like an anchor.
Golden eyes blur from the tears as they cascade down his cheeks, wetting the back of the other’s shirt. Shinji says nothing. Reaching behind, to place a hand on the top of his head. A sign of comfort, despite the awkward angle.
Ripia had read about this feeling once.
What was the word for it?
Grief?
But how could he experience grief? Shinji was right here, alive, breathing, and warm.
Wasn’t grief used for those who had died? Is it possible to grieve for the living? Or maybe this is his way of articulating his emotions for Shinji’s death the first time?
He’s unsure how long they stayed like that. Ripia’s tears long since dried up, leaving his chest ached and lungs begged for a moment’s reprieve.
It took some time before Ripia found the strength to pull away, not fully detached himself - still having a tight grip on his shirt.
His breath shutters again and what he can only believe to be shame rolls down his spine. Leaving him feeling cold. That is what makes him let go.
Ripia opens his mouth to try and apologize once more for this. But as if Shinji knew of the Ultra’s internal turmoil, he finally turns to fully face him. Stern dark eyes meeting the piercing golden and Ripia thought he might drown again.
The Silence is suffocating, the air thick and stale with the unbreeched subject hovering between them. Shinji is holding onto Ripia’s hands and although the other’s body is identical to his. He notices how rougher Ripia’s palms are.
And there’s something familiar about Shinji’s expression.
Shinji wants to tell him it’s okay, that he forgives him.
But like Ripia, he somehow can’t get those words to leave his mouth. So instead he simply nods, a gesture meant to convey all the things that were left unsaid.