Hakkai winced at the change of mood and regretted having said anything at all. He knew well enough that he wasn't the only one here with a past that could stand to be forgotten, and just because he wasn't having such a wonderful night didn't mean he could take it upon himself to bring the other two down with him, whether it was purposely done or not. Clearly attaining a new level of selfishness was among the milestones of tonight.
He had phrased the question carefully before asking it, leaving it as something that could be answered with a simple "yes" or "no." While Sanzo had answered as Hakkai had expected -- which he couldn't fault him for, as the monk had always been a private person, -- Gojyo's relatively "elaborate" reply had surprised him. He regarded him mutely for a long while as he thought of something to say in return, something aside from the usual platitudes reserved expressly for easing emotionally-tense moments such as these. He could only manage to quietly say, "Well. . . you're stronger now, aren't you?" before stopping short and frowning. He wasn't quite sure if it was clear what he meant by that, but it was the only way he could think of to phrase his jumbled thoughts. (His mind felt a little sluggish, and he wasn't sure if he could blame it entirely on the alcohol.)
"Personally, I try to keep myself from thinking about it. But, ah, that usually just makes me think about it more, strangely enough." He smiled, but this time there was no false lightness behind it, no attempt to pass off what he was saying as something more cheerful than it really was. "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if she's wondering why I'm being so selfish in not joining her, or. . . well. She must--"
He grimaced, and it looked very much as though he wanted nothing more than to break something -- a window, a door, possibly someone's ribs. "She should resent me," he muttered. "I thought she did, and somehow -- I handled that more easily." He stopped and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. "I've changed so much. She should hate me for that, and she should hate me for not being Gonou anymore."
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He had phrased the question carefully before asking it, leaving it as something that could be answered with a simple "yes" or "no." While Sanzo had answered as Hakkai had expected -- which he couldn't fault him for, as the monk had always been a private person, -- Gojyo's relatively "elaborate" reply had surprised him. He regarded him mutely for a long while as he thought of something to say in return, something aside from the usual platitudes reserved expressly for easing emotionally-tense moments such as these. He could only manage to quietly say, "Well. . . you're stronger now, aren't you?" before stopping short and frowning. He wasn't quite sure if it was clear what he meant by that, but it was the only way he could think of to phrase his jumbled thoughts. (His mind felt a little sluggish, and he wasn't sure if he could blame it entirely on the alcohol.)
"Personally, I try to keep myself from thinking about it. But, ah, that usually just makes me think about it more, strangely enough." He smiled, but this time there was no false lightness behind it, no attempt to pass off what he was saying as something more cheerful than it really was. "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if she's wondering why I'm being so selfish in not joining her, or. . . well. She must--"
He grimaced, and it looked very much as though he wanted nothing more than to break something -- a window, a door, possibly someone's ribs. "She should resent me," he muttered. "I thought she did, and somehow -- I handled that more easily." He stopped and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. "I've changed so much. She should hate me for that, and she should hate me for not being Gonou anymore."