A beat after Terui's offer, Shotaro lifts his cup. "Thanks," he says, softly, watching the cup fill. "Guess you'd know better than me."
He tightens his grip on the handle of his mug. "I never had a chance to stop having the old ones before the new ones started up," he admits uneasily, which is hard, because he'd thought he'd laid the Chief to rest back when they finished dealing with the Dummy Dopant. He'd hoped he'd put the Chief to rest, anyway, since it was only becoming more and more obvious to him that he couldn't leave that behind any more than he could his partner fading to nothing. Seeing red spots on white suits in his dreams had only made the empty hole in him named Philip ache more; Philip had been all he'd had left of his time with the man who'd set him where he was, besides the hat still hanging on the door to Philip's workroom. Philip was gone, and the Chief was gone, and he was stuck right here, rooted to the floor, remembering it over and over again.
Terui's next words do sound exactly like they were pulled from a book, but Shotaro's done that more than once himself. Easier to use someone else's words to say something embarrassing. "If I did that, I'd just be sad all the time," he says, curling his cup in toward his body. His mouth is dry, but he can't take a sip yet. "I promised him I wouldn't let this city cry. That means me, too. Can't go around looking like a dead man, Terui."
He glances up. "A man hides his sadness behind the brim of his hat," he says, echoing the Chief, "or in his office, I guess."
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He tightens his grip on the handle of his mug. "I never had a chance to stop having the old ones before the new ones started up," he admits uneasily, which is hard, because he'd thought he'd laid the Chief to rest back when they finished dealing with the Dummy Dopant. He'd hoped he'd put the Chief to rest, anyway, since it was only becoming more and more obvious to him that he couldn't leave that behind any more than he could his partner fading to nothing. Seeing red spots on white suits in his dreams had only made the empty hole in him named Philip ache more; Philip had been all he'd had left of his time with the man who'd set him where he was, besides the hat still hanging on the door to Philip's workroom. Philip was gone, and the Chief was gone, and he was stuck right here, rooted to the floor, remembering it over and over again.
Terui's next words do sound exactly like they were pulled from a book, but Shotaro's done that more than once himself. Easier to use someone else's words to say something embarrassing. "If I did that, I'd just be sad all the time," he says, curling his cup in toward his body. His mouth is dry, but he can't take a sip yet. "I promised him I wouldn't let this city cry. That means me, too. Can't go around looking like a dead man, Terui."
He glances up. "A man hides his sadness behind the brim of his hat," he says, echoing the Chief, "or in his office, I guess."