#; dammit he could legit swallow every of nezumi's words because god HE KNOWS how it feels

[distopea]

"The little library was a nice touch," Nezumi noted, closing a thin book in black and white. "Do all safe houses have such a commendable selection of classics, or have you had this one arranged specifically for me?" he smirked, knowing such a thing couldn't have been done at such short notice, but if Gabriele wanted to take credit for it, they could believe the innocent lie together.

"Does it happen often?" Nezumi raised the book, The Tell-Tale Heart shone in white jagged letters on the dark cover. "Criminals confessing their deeds under the weight of guilt? Or do you think it's more the fear of being caught that gets to them?"

"Regret versus accountability—maybe they're more worried what others, those still alive, would think of them knowing what they'd done than feel any remorse about having hurt someone. I'm sure there are studies on such behaviour, but I . . ." Nezumi paused. "I can't help—I keep thinking. The men in the alley . . . and the things I saw. They didn't seem—," he stifled a tense laugh. "It was dark, so they didn't seem as much, but they didn't feel—their posture and their voice—all I heard was anger. Profound resentment towards another human being, towards someone they might not have seen as an equal. . . or human." He shook his head. "I don't get it."

Nezumi's eyes flickered to Gabriele. "—I know I shouldn't dwell on it, but it isn't something I can just get out of my head. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it—I don't think I should."

Gently, he thumped himself on the forehead with the soft cover, firmly closing his eyes as he did so. "Fuck, I don't want to end up talking to another shrink. But if I can't keep it together, we're all screwed. It'll be my testimony that brings justice to, well—." He swallowed, hard and painful. "—the victim."

Nezumi took a breath. No pressure.

"I keep telling myself that I need to remember everything perfectly. I'm trying so hard to recall every little detail that I might end up fooling myself . . . And on top of that, I can't help but think if there was more I could've done. If I could've—," his voice fell into a whisper. "If I didn't run."

@nezumivc103221

From his spot, Gabriele observed Nezumi closing the book he was reading. Even if the approach was casual, there was something in his voice betraying an urgent need to talk about something potentially darker. It was a matter of time, after all, that they would discuss what he had seen, this whole change of scenery only linked to what had happened that night. He observed the library absentmindedly, before he eventually grabbed his cup of instant coffee - almost unbearable to drink - and brought it to his lips. There was a little smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Maybe they heard you were a scholar or something.” He joked before he eventually gave a light shrug. “To be honest, we don’t really have a word in the place piqued. It’s often abandoned apartments, or those which have never been entirely finished. Big cities are mapped with those empty buildings. Any excuse for rat invasion and asbestos is good to snatch a safe spot for the police.” He drank casually, before his dark eyes went back on Nezumi. “Though I can assure you, there’s no asbestos here.” 

He listened to the rest of his sentence, casually coming up to cross the distance. He sat on the wobbly coffee table in front of him, his eyes still intense. Whether he wanted it or not, Gabriele was made to analyze everything. Nezumi’s body language wasn’t betraying the same amount of anxiety he had been through a few days before, when they had argued bitterly, but still… He could feel that he was dwelling on a rather strong guilt… But quite familiar to the police officer. He didn’t know if he would have the correct words to reassure him; his approach was more pragmatic. Yet, it was necessary for Nezumi not to slowly get swallowed in that spiral of dark thoughts and guilt. 

“You’d be surprised to see the statistics. When it comes to serial killers, 40% of them try to get involved with the police and lead them to solve the investigation. It’s a megalomaniac effect, actually. The visceral urge to be known and yet to be unseen. I think it's another kind of masturbation, if you want my opinion.” That was what he had read about, though. He believed that criminals suffered from a gigantic ego, and that one reason was pushing them to step closer and closer to the light. He had seen it after all; he had experienced it for years, and it had burnt him metaphorically quite deeply.

“Unfortunately, it’s hard to predict if someone might break, but… I trust that everyone has their breaking point, though.” He said, while he grabbed Nezumi’s book and inspected it. He hoped that, despite his accent and lack of vocabulary sometimes, his English was good enough to be understandable.

“People who kill are rarely psychopaths. Mostly they are animated by factors and conditions like anger, revenge or money, and they break through emotions.” He paused, as he wondered if he was actually clear in his delivery. His eyes wouldn’t break contact with Nezumi; he liked their intensity as well. Cold and composed despite everything here. But warm enough for Gabriele to suffer from glimpses from the past. 

“You perceived anger, and that’s actually the key word here. Flying away and getting somewhere safe was the right thing to do.” He tried to reassure him regarding his attitude, one strong hand landing on Nezumi’s knee so he would anchor himself in reality instead of difficult memories.

“I would have called you a fool if you had ever tried to stay put in this situation. One move closer, and today you would be six feet under or still waiting on the coroner’s table for your autopsy.” Damn, now he sounded awful and morbid. Gabriele paused again, before he stood back up and gently pressed his fingers onto Nezumi’s shoulder.

“I know how it feels to redo the scenario and hope for changes. It's human. I would advise though, don’t try too hard to watch that movie in that head of yours if you can, and well… I can always find some pen and paper if you want to put down your memories. It might help.” He released the pressure and offered a smile.

“No fioritura, though. Remember… Pragmatic.”