[He hates Okita Souji just a little in that moment (even if he never really hates Okita Souji), because all of the little similarities - the curve of his cheekbones, the slope of his shoulders, his hands - had been something that he could willfully ignore up to this point, but he can't do that anymore. Souji's taken away that layer of protection and he's left feeling dizzy and wishing that he could keep tricking himself.
Cosmic jokes are always pretty damn rude, but this has to take the cake, he thinks.
His expression is surprisingly mild for the moment, but it's only mild in the same way the weather had been before it started pouring. His hands are immobile once more, but his fingers bunch into the fabric; a gesture of anxiety.]
...It's not like I'd need one, anyway. [Because Souji had never been the true subject of his ire, even if he had lashed out at him in subtle digs long after his passing. Souji was just doing what any samurai would do; discarding the useless and moving on.
He moves to hold the towel over the lower half of his face after that, clearly at a loss for what to say. Eventually, with a humorless laugh:] —I dunno if this is lucky or really, really unlucky.
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Cosmic jokes are always pretty damn rude, but this has to take the cake, he thinks.
His expression is surprisingly mild for the moment, but it's only mild in the same way the weather had been before it started pouring. His hands are immobile once more, but his fingers bunch into the fabric; a gesture of anxiety.]
...It's not like I'd need one, anyway. [Because Souji had never been the true subject of his ire, even if he had lashed out at him in subtle digs long after his passing. Souji was just doing what any samurai would do; discarding the useless and moving on.
He moves to hold the towel over the lower half of his face after that, clearly at a loss for what to say. Eventually, with a humorless laugh:] —I dunno if this is lucky or really, really unlucky.