[ His hand connects, a loud slap sound cutting through the room. It stings, hard, and McGillis feels more alive for it even as he winces. Does he deserve this? Maybe, maybe not. But it's not a knife, it's not a mobile suit hunting him down, it's one man's disappointment and he'll shoulder it regardless of whether or not he is sorry, of whether or not he feels like he is justified. (And he does, he does think he is, always, for his goal.)
It's only after the slap has landed that he catches Huaisang's wrist in his hand with iron grip. ]
Good. I won't die, Huaisang. But now it has nothing to do with you anymore. You're free of it.
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It's only after the slap has landed that he catches Huaisang's wrist in his hand with iron grip. ]
Good. I won't die, Huaisang. But now it has nothing to do with you anymore. You're free of it.