rinezha bot
@rinezhabotall quotes by @kuangrf // not spoiler free // tweets every hour
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“What is it?” Nezha asked. He touched his cheek. “Ugly, isn't it? I can put the mask back on, if it's bothering you.”
“Come on,” Nezha said again. “A few drinks won’t hurt.” She managed a smile and took his hand. “You read my mind.”
“Duty,” he said. “You couldn’t understand.” She had nothing to say to that.
It doesn't matter that he loves her. It doesn't matter. It's never mattered.
Rin dug her nails into her palm, madly clenching her teeth in an attempt to keep quiet. She knew only one person who could speak with that precise mixture of confidence, condescension, and feigned camaraderie.
When they reached the junction that split the Cike headquarters and the Seventh Division's base, Nezha stopped and turned to face her. Her heart skipped a beat.
He met her eyes through the fog. He might have lifted one hand toward her.
“Good.” Nezha stood up and offered her his hand. “Come with me.” “But I like it here,” she whined.
His hand grazed the small of her back. She shivered at his touch. “What are you doing?” “Where’s your injury?” he asked. He pressed his fingers into the scar in her side. “Here?” “That hurts.”
“I really am sorry,” Nezha said. “Please, Rin. I don’t want us to end like this.”
If they met again on the battlefield, he could easily kill her in a thousand different ways, because in the end, the sea and its dark, swallowing depths would always conquer fire.
“What the fuck?” she screamed. “Hello to you, too,” said Nezha. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“Help me up,” Rin whispered. “I almost did it, I can try again—” “You can’t. You’re too weak.” Nezha spoke without inflection or spite. It wasn’t an insult, it was simple fact.
“Stop,” Rin said. “Nezha’s right. Now you’re just being stubborn.” He rolled his eyes at her. “Of course you’re in on this madness. What did I expect?”
“I really am sorry,” Nezha said. “Please, Rin. I don't want us to end like this.”
He stood close enough that she could see his grotesque smile, the tortured ripple that pulled at the scar lines drawn into the left half of his face. His cheeks and jaw, once angular perfection, were shattered porcelain. Cracked tiles. A map of the country falling apart.
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