[The inner monologue, not quite meant for sharing, but felt and heard like the a conversation on the other side of a wall, catches Komaeda off guard. It only really solidifies the realization that the vulnerability he had been so nervous about went both ways.
Is Atem nervous too? He wonders, if he concentrates enough, would he be able to differentiate the fluttering anxiety in his chest between them?
As they climb into the elevator—too small and cramped for Komaeda's new height, so he hunkers down—he catches the sight of that glowing symbol on his forehead again, only partially obscured by his hair, in the metallic surface of the elevator doors.
It feels, vague as it is, like looking directly into Atem's eyes. A feeling of power and strength, along with the boyish uncertainty that comes with navigating a love not-quite-there-yet, too. When those infiltrating thoughts in his mind get cut off, he wonders again just how much his perception of Atem had been a persona meant to be a defense.
I have to tell him, too, he thinks to himself, though it's shared regardless. And then, with more intent of thinking directly to the soul sharing his body: I only wanted to ask you for this.
With their entire conversation held within a shared mind, the silence of the elevator around them only makes Komaeda that much more aware of how his heart has slowed to a heavy, comfortable thud. As if this moment were something separate from everything else.
It's not that he doesn't trust others with this fear of his, but...
When I thought of who I wanted to fly the most with, it was only you, Atem-kun.
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Is Atem nervous too? He wonders, if he concentrates enough, would he be able to differentiate the fluttering anxiety in his chest between them?
As they climb into the elevator—too small and cramped for Komaeda's new height, so he hunkers down—he catches the sight of that glowing symbol on his forehead again, only partially obscured by his hair, in the metallic surface of the elevator doors.
It feels, vague as it is, like looking directly into Atem's eyes. A feeling of power and strength, along with the boyish uncertainty that comes with navigating a love not-quite-there-yet, too. When those infiltrating thoughts in his mind get cut off, he wonders again just how much his perception of Atem had been a persona meant to be a defense.
I have to tell him, too, he thinks to himself, though it's shared regardless. And then, with more intent of thinking directly to the soul sharing his body: I only wanted to ask you for this.
With their entire conversation held within a shared mind, the silence of the elevator around them only makes Komaeda that much more aware of how his heart has slowed to a heavy, comfortable thud. As if this moment were something separate from everything else.
It's not that he doesn't trust others with this fear of his, but...
When I thought of who I wanted to fly the most with, it was only you, Atem-kun.