[There's definitely a marked pause between messages. It catches him off guard--still--despite the fact that he'd once again brought it up without thinking. He's been so guarded about it with near everyone he's met so far, so distant: names, jobs, places, but never talking about people, but he slips up once, and it just keeps happening, like a slow-building avalanche.
It should bother him more. It still hurts. And with this, it's more of an inarguable memory, seared onto his heart he can't leave it behind--ever--than it is a speculation, or a dream, or a droning powerpoint presentation that still hasn't quite sunk in.]
sort of it's
[He types it out a few times, erases it, stares at the screen, rinse/repeat. Zack, he's be more exasperated with the fact that you can't admit what's right in front of you, what's already happened.
But it's not that saying it aloud makes it real, not quite like it seems with everything else. So what does it mean? He's slipped up with everything else, why does it suddenly get hard when it's already real?]
no subject
It should bother him more. It still hurts. And with this, it's more of an inarguable memory, seared onto his heart he can't leave it behind--ever--than it is a speculation, or a dream, or a droning powerpoint presentation that still hasn't quite sunk in.]
sort of
it's
[He types it out a few times, erases it, stares at the screen, rinse/repeat. Zack, he's be more exasperated with the fact that you can't admit what's right in front of you, what's already happened.
But it's not that saying it aloud makes it real, not quite like it seems with everything else. So what does it mean? He's slipped up with everything else, why does it suddenly get hard when it's already real?]
inherited
[Because it was something he couldn't stop.]