Chapter Text
Matt comes up on top. He’s never been afraid of heights before.
It’s not the drop that scares him, he thinks if he could believe in the drop it’d be alright, but he doesn’t. He’s built his tower’s foundations too securely, and he can’t see a way down.
In a slightly different world, he might hear a girl. He might hear a heartbeat beating with purpose, stronger than it should be, a girl flying through the air, something new, something worth wondering, an adversary, a thrill, a challenge, a hope, however faint, that the fall from grace is possible after all (that maybe justice does exist). In another world this is enough for him to put the sword away, enough to give him a purpose, enough, that he wants to see what happens next.
In this world, though, he doesn’t hear it, doesn’t hear what it is. He’s a little preoccupied with killing himself in one of the more painful and dramatic ways possible.
He doesn’t hear her, not enough to see her, but he does hear the quick thwip-whoosh as she passes by his window. It’s a sound he doesn’t recognize, and he isn’t used to new sounds. It’s enough to distract him for just a second, enough to pull him out of himself a little, enough that he hears Otomo’s heartbeat downstairs as he approaches, his footsteps silent.
The old samurai, when they used to do this, they always had someone, loyal servants, to finish the job afterwards. People really aren’t meant to die from dissembowelment.
This isn’t, this isn’t that, what Matt is doing. This is just good old fashioned, don’t bury them in the churchyard afterward, suicide. The method is just a little dramatic flair, just for the aesthetic.
But still.
People aren’t meant to die from dissembowelment, it takes a long, long time on its own, to wait till blood loss or infection finally does the job. Otomo will be here long before it’s done.
Matt doesn’t know what Otomo will do when he finds him. He doesn’t know if Otomo would finish him off like is traditional, like a loyal servant, even though the Hand definitely doesn’t want Matt doing this, or if he would try to save him, or if he would just watch. Matt doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know which option he wants, and he desperately doesn’t want to find out. So he puts the sword away. He doesn’t kill himself. He listens to his own heart beating, a small, scared animal trapped in the cage of his chest