[ he's still trying to swallow his anger over the betrayal, the fact that Genji felt nothing for what he'd had — and the turn the conversation takes catches him off-guard. he doesn't know whether it's the words or the softness with which Genji says them, but Hanzo flinches. ]
That was... [ even though it's Genji, and he means no accusation by it, shame wells in Hanzo's chest. he feels the absurd need to defend his actions, as though he is nothing more than a child before his elders in the clan again. the only thing that comes to him is honest: ] I could not stay.
[ the aftermath is perhaps the most unclear memory Hanzo has of that time. he can recall the fight in bits and pieces; his horror at what he had done; even the moments before, the days of tension leading up to it and the awful meeting that was held when the elders gave him the order. but there are weeks missing after it, and looking back on it now, he cannot remember what it was that tipped the scale and pushed him to leave. ]
They wanted to erase what had happened. You ceased to exist, and I was expected to carry on as if everything were normal.
[ the words come to him slow, halting. these aren't things he's often thought of; he's always clung to the guilt of his actions, not the details surrounding it. he's certainly never had cause to say any of this aloud, and he finds that it's difficult to sift through, to verbalise.
he turns his head to look at Genji, his gaze meeting the strip of light on the visor — there's no eye contact there, and even so, Hanzo's eyes flick just a little lower as if he cannot bear to hold it. ] I remember... very little of that time. But I could not stay.
no subject
That was... [ even though it's Genji, and he means no accusation by it, shame wells in Hanzo's chest. he feels the absurd need to defend his actions, as though he is nothing more than a child before his elders in the clan again. the only thing that comes to him is honest: ] I could not stay.
[ the aftermath is perhaps the most unclear memory Hanzo has of that time. he can recall the fight in bits and pieces; his horror at what he had done; even the moments before, the days of tension leading up to it and the awful meeting that was held when the elders gave him the order. but there are weeks missing after it, and looking back on it now, he cannot remember what it was that tipped the scale and pushed him to leave. ]
They wanted to erase what had happened. You ceased to exist, and I was expected to carry on as if everything were normal.
[ the words come to him slow, halting. these aren't things he's often thought of; he's always clung to the guilt of his actions, not the details surrounding it. he's certainly never had cause to say any of this aloud, and he finds that it's difficult to sift through, to verbalise.
he turns his head to look at Genji, his gaze meeting the strip of light on the visor — there's no eye contact there, and even so, Hanzo's eyes flick just a little lower as if he cannot bear to hold it. ] I remember... very little of that time. But I could not stay.