[He doesn't think he's ever really lost his grip on himself this completely before. It feels something like being trapped inside of his skull while it fills with water, and something is tied around his left ankle so he can't make for the bit of bone that's been broken away that would allow him to keep breathing. If he thinks about it, Akira is the gap in the bone, and his own hand is around his ankle, every so often letting go so he can start to swim only to grab him and yank him back again.]
[It's disorienting, and he isn't counting while he breathes, so he's hyperventilating a little bit.] I don't-- I don't want this, I don't want to be this. [Is that this Akechi, or the real one? Does he not want to be this fake, does he not want to be a murderer? He folds up in the booth, knees drawn to his chest and not at all helping that he isn't breathing right, and buries his face into them, pressing against his eyes until his vision whites out. It doesn't stop him from crying, unfortunately.]
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[It's disorienting, and he isn't counting while he breathes, so he's hyperventilating a little bit.] I don't-- I don't want this, I don't want to be this. [Is that this Akechi, or the real one? Does he not want to be this fake, does he not want to be a murderer? He folds up in the booth, knees drawn to his chest and not at all helping that he isn't breathing right, and buries his face into them, pressing against his eyes until his vision whites out. It doesn't stop him from crying, unfortunately.]