[ How could he not? Know, or remember, what it was like when once upon a time, he didn't wake every morning in the stillness and silence the overwhelming him even now, breath held as he turns to Minako, hunched over and made small, with the smallest of nods that he isn't even sure she would catch in the darkness.
How could he not have recognized her immediately? She was always the brighter of the two of them, as he remembers, somebody with a self-assurance he could never hope to achieve, or even pretend well enough to fool anybody. Chatty and easy to talk to, who would fill his silences and take meaning from them instead of assuming reluctance, somebody who looked... happier. more confident. open. who would talk of her brother with such fondness while he sits here feeling as if he hadn't grown at all in comparison, still the little seven-year-old boy who'd sat with his face buried in his arms so that the last memory his sister would have of him wouldn't be of tears that wouldn't stop. He couldn't hide it very well back then, but he's perfected it now, emotions made to manifest in ways invisible to the eye, a hammering heart and held breath, his gaze steady as it meets hers, because at the very, very least, he owes her that much. ]
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How could he not have recognized her immediately? She was always the brighter of the two of them, as he remembers, somebody with a self-assurance he could never hope to achieve, or even pretend well enough to fool anybody. Chatty and easy to talk to, who would fill his silences and take meaning from them instead of assuming reluctance, somebody who looked... happier. more confident. open. who would talk of her brother with such fondness while he sits here feeling as if he hadn't grown at all in comparison, still the little seven-year-old boy who'd sat with his face buried in his arms so that the last memory his sister would have of him wouldn't be of tears that wouldn't stop. He couldn't hide it very well back then, but he's perfected it now, emotions made to manifest in ways invisible to the eye, a hammering heart and held breath, his gaze steady as it meets hers, because at the very, very least, he owes her that much. ]
Yeah. It's me.