[Yoosung starts to slip into melancholy as the transfer only makes Mitarai sob harder, but the force of his hand shakes him out of it before he really has the chance to feel it. And these memories, so long and grieving, are stuffed into him like too many envelopes through his door's mail slot. He feels the time stretching out behind him, the devotion and care and overwhelming sadness of loss. A pain that's unique to that person's heart. Feelings about Yoosung... resulting in this sketch that has so much character despite basically being a rock. Yoosung isn't an artist by any means. He doesn't 'get' art. If he'd only looked at it with his eyes, he probably wouldn't have grasped its significance. It's only seeing it through Mitarai's eyes that lets him understand it so perfectly. This is what the world looks like to him, gloomy skies that have never been bright before he saw this dying thing crashing and burning through the atmosphere.]
Oh my god... [By now, Yoosung's eyes are forced shut too, and he's already starting to sniffle as his brain catches him back up with reality.] I-It's beautiful... I'm s... I don't know what to say...
[They're still Mitarai's feelings. Even if he shared them, Yoosung still can't share them. But they're a part of him now. He's just going to have to live with that, wipe away all these sympathetic tears. He doesn't want him to be sorry. It seems like he cries every time they meet...]
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Oh my god... [By now, Yoosung's eyes are forced shut too, and he's already starting to sniffle as his brain catches him back up with reality.] I-It's beautiful... I'm s... I don't know what to say...
[They're still Mitarai's feelings. Even if he shared them, Yoosung still can't share them. But they're a part of him now. He's just going to have to live with that, wipe away all these sympathetic tears. He doesn't want him to be sorry. It seems like he cries every time they meet...]