i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one
his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.
ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication
Jason Todd can kill a man with his bare hands, but with you, they're as delicate as possible, like you're a porcelain doll, able to crack at the slightest touch.
His fingers hover over your skin, a light as a feather you would think you were imagining things. He's cautious, carful, thoughtful.
Everything else in his life has broke. Even him. But not you, never you. You can't. You're untouched. Perfect, never to do wrong. He worshipped you like a goddess, like you created heaven and earth.
And you did.
You created his earth. His world. You were his heaven. When he died, he swore he saw you. You were his everything, his reason, his purpose, his love, his hope.
He was so in love it hurt. Every look shared between you, his mind swirled with possibilities. He couldn't live if something happened to you because of him. He couldn't live without his world.
It was an odd place to be stuck in. Scared of staying, scared of leaving. He kept his distance. Touches were never long. Lips ghost against yours. It's like he's never fully there. Every night, the cold side that was suppose to be his haunted you.
It's hard to love a ghost. It's like being in love with a figment of your imagination. You find yourself questioning if he's even real. Every time he comes home, he proves to you that he is.
That brought upon its own set of questions, heart crying out for more of what it was deprived. Were you not enough reason to stay? Were you not enough? Was he yours like you were his?
You felt like the moon, forever revolving around the Earth, compelled to, even. Always at a safe distance, longing for more. That is, until one night.
He comes home, smashing his helmet to the wall. The landlord won't like that, but a problem for another day. Without thinking he crashes into your arms, head buried into your chest.
The Earth crashed into the moon. Hell will follow, you both knew that. But it didn't matter. You had him. He had you. that was enough.