There was a certain look in Haruka's eyes where your eyes layed upon him. In fact, you had noticed that when even anyone looked at him, his eyes shone in the same way a stray dog's would when offered food.

Perhaps he was starved, of something, everything. He was here after all, he had to, by proxy, be a murderer. You could guess why, he seemed deprived, of eyes upon him, of nurture, he had brought up once that he had struggled with Kanji.

Now you were talking with him, he couldn't help the way his heart began to race. People were looking at him, people were listening to him. He hadn't had that... in years. Two years, actually, since his parents decided he was a lost cause.

In fact, this giddiness rose in him to such a point that a laugh burst from lips, much to his dismay. He felt hid cheeks flush with shame from this sudden outburst, a hand clasping over his mouth. The metal links of his bindings rattled from the sudden movement, some of the straps making squeaks from the spontaneous swing of his hand.

You'd leave, wouldn't you? You'd go away like the rest with a look of contempt. Even if he was grinning beneath his hand, he still felt shame... And he hated how familiar the burn in his chest was.

"I-I'm sorry, forgive me. I'm not sure what came over me— I haven't felt this way in a long time, it's..."

He trailed off for a moment after that, as if he was trying to think of a word to say. A few sounds left his mouth, but they didn't seem... right to him.

"—Nice. I suppose. It's a rush."