[He shakes his head almost immediately at that, because it's so at odds with the sister that he remembers - or is remembering, rather. The memories return stilted, unfocused, and he can't harness enough concentration or energy to actually try discerning what's inside of them just yet. He just knows that this woman with a face so like his own (in more ways than one, he's starting to see, and that scares him) is someone that he was supposed to... protect?
...That isn't quite right. It isn't wrong, either - there's a fierce underlying sense of devotion and dedication when he thinks of Chizuru as his little sister. But the sentiment is not so pure, and his subconscious mind makes that known quickly. There is something wrong with his intentions, and his face screws up in an expression that mimics someone in pain. It's not physical pain he's in, though - not really. It's still hard for him to breathe, but even that's secondary in comparison to this unpleasant sweep of long-buried thoughts and sentiments.
Again, he shakes his head. He reaches up with his other hand, grasping desperately, latching on to her sleeve like he's afraid she'll pull away and leave him if he doesn't keep her anchored.]
You are, you are, you are, you are—! Why...? No— You did so much— [She has always been kind to him, hasn't she? Even when... For some reason - why, why hadn't he ever reciprocated? What had stopped him?] Because— you're my cute little sister...
[The words sit like lead on his tongue. It's meant as an endearment, but he knows at the same time that it's far, far from that.]
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...That isn't quite right. It isn't wrong, either - there's a fierce underlying sense of devotion and dedication when he thinks of Chizuru as his little sister. But the sentiment is not so pure, and his subconscious mind makes that known quickly. There is something wrong with his intentions, and his face screws up in an expression that mimics someone in pain. It's not physical pain he's in, though - not really. It's still hard for him to breathe, but even that's secondary in comparison to this unpleasant sweep of long-buried thoughts and sentiments.
Again, he shakes his head. He reaches up with his other hand, grasping desperately, latching on to her sleeve like he's afraid she'll pull away and leave him if he doesn't keep her anchored.]
You are, you are, you are, you are—! Why...? No— You did so much— [She has always been kind to him, hasn't she? Even when... For some reason - why, why hadn't he ever reciprocated? What had stopped him?] Because— you're my cute little sister...
[The words sit like lead on his tongue. It's meant as an endearment, but he knows at the same time that it's far, far from that.]