[It's brief, to the point, a command that nullifies any negotiation or argument, and Koby's -- relieved to get it, so relieved it makes his head spin, nudges him firmly into the "following orders" reaction that doesn't require any actual energy or thought. He's been told to do something, he'll do it, he doesn't need to actually be present in his mind or body, he can drop what he's doing and obey -- walk right out of the gym, without responding, without saying anything.
The halls pass by in a dreamlike, fuzzy haze, like something on a screen, and though Koby knows logically he's walking, inhaling, exhaling, blinking, alive, he doesn't feel it. He feels very, very far away, and it's -- good, it's so good, it's safe and quiet and nowhere near the building panic and horror and fury at how unfair this is. How stupid he'd been, how stupid he still was, he should cut off everything, everything that makes him bleed and hurt and grieve, he should stay here where nothing can touch him, where he can't feel anything, because the second he looks Shanks in the eyes, it's all going to come rushing back like a tidal wave.
But still -- he goes. He doesn't knock, when he gets to Shanks's door -- he doesn't do anything, just stands there, vaguely aware of a distant ringing in his ears, aware that he's still wearing the sweaty, sleeveless shirt and snug-fitting pants he works out in, that his hair is loopy and curling with sweat, that he's out of breath. Why is he out of breath?
Ah. Because he's been holding it. Because it keeps bursting out of him in shaky, hitchy gasps, and that's dangerously close to feeling, so Koby just: shuts that right down. Turns it numb. Stands there staring at the closed door and waits.]
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The halls pass by in a dreamlike, fuzzy haze, like something on a screen, and though Koby knows logically he's walking, inhaling, exhaling, blinking, alive, he doesn't feel it. He feels very, very far away, and it's -- good, it's so good, it's safe and quiet and nowhere near the building panic and horror and fury at how unfair this is. How stupid he'd been, how stupid he still was, he should cut off everything, everything that makes him bleed and hurt and grieve, he should stay here where nothing can touch him, where he can't feel anything, because the second he looks Shanks in the eyes, it's all going to come rushing back like a tidal wave.
But still -- he goes. He doesn't knock, when he gets to Shanks's door -- he doesn't do anything, just stands there, vaguely aware of a distant ringing in his ears, aware that he's still wearing the sweaty, sleeveless shirt and snug-fitting pants he works out in, that his hair is loopy and curling with sweat, that he's out of breath. Why is he out of breath?
Ah. Because he's been holding it. Because it keeps bursting out of him in shaky, hitchy gasps, and that's dangerously close to feeling, so Koby just: shuts that right down. Turns it numb. Stands there staring at the closed door and waits.]