[That secret element to the matter doesn't go unnoticed, and it's what stings the most: Laforet has all the freedom in the world to speak and to remain silent, while he struggles to keep his thoughts under control. He's used to two voices, his own purring out loud and the silent commentary in his head- but this? It's playing poker with the cards face out, it's speaking through a one-way mirror. It's painfully exposing.
Though it's unnecessary, Tonegawa refuses to drop his eyes from where she sits. She's toying with her glass now, but she's too sharp to miss it.
Really? I couldn't tell. Bitter sarcasm, which he makes no attempt to control: it's hard enough to line his thoughts up, censor them, deploy them in any convincing way. I don't care how 'easy' this is for you. I want you to get the fuck out of my head. He still doesn't know what it is she hears, if anything.]
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Though it's unnecessary, Tonegawa refuses to drop his eyes from where she sits. She's toying with her glass now, but she's too sharp to miss it.
Really? I couldn't tell. Bitter sarcasm, which he makes no attempt to control: it's hard enough to line his thoughts up, censor them, deploy them in any convincing way. I don't care how 'easy' this is for you. I want you to get the fuck out of my head. He still doesn't know what it is she hears, if anything.]