[This isn't the first time someone's tried to strangle him. It certainly isn't the first time that his life has been threatened, and even in the short few days they've been on the island, it isn't the first time that he's felt the metallic jolt of panic that comes along with a close call. It was always survival game to the him of the past, after he had met Lacie but before being reunited. None of this is new.
This is the first time that he's faced a situation without feeling certain that he'd come out a little less functional, but no less alive. It's not like a person needs to have arms of steel or a lot of weight to effectively choke the life out of another, and the pressure is crushing. He struggles wildly to free his arms or shake Kyouya off: still, his adrenaline doesn't have as much power behind it as it should. His muscles are aching. He's fatigued. Despite eating more than some, he's still malnourished. The combination of blood loss and repetitive head injuries have left him much less of a threat. He fights fruitlessly all the same, all the way until his vision starts blacking in colorless blots and he can't hear anything but ringing and the rhythmic thudding of his own heartbeat.
Somewhere between that and the burn of airhunger, he thinks so this is what it's like to really die. It seems like some stages of grief are paged through rapidly: this isn't happening and how dare he - skipping sadness and bargaining, because his emotions don't function that way. Acceptance isn't exactly where he ends up, either, but his anger has largely shifted away from wild self-preservation to a stinging sort of "ha ha, isn't this funny." He's smiling an ugly smile by the time he can't struggle anymore. ...Well, can't bodily struggle, anyway. He opens his mouth again, and it isn't to fruitlessly try gasping for air.]
Good work—
[It's hard to make out the words in that croak of a noise, and even harder to hear the ones that follow between gross choking and a lack of air to fuel it: a "this time", maybe. He'd say more if he could, but that's about all he can manage.]
no subject
This is the first time that he's faced a situation without feeling certain that he'd come out a little less functional, but no less alive. It's not like a person needs to have arms of steel or a lot of weight to effectively choke the life out of another, and the pressure is crushing. He struggles wildly to free his arms or shake Kyouya off: still, his adrenaline doesn't have as much power behind it as it should. His muscles are aching. He's fatigued. Despite eating more than some, he's still malnourished. The combination of blood loss and repetitive head injuries have left him much less of a threat. He fights fruitlessly all the same, all the way until his vision starts blacking in colorless blots and he can't hear anything but ringing and the rhythmic thudding of his own heartbeat.
Somewhere between that and the burn of airhunger, he thinks so this is what it's like to really die. It seems like some stages of grief are paged through rapidly: this isn't happening and how dare he - skipping sadness and bargaining, because his emotions don't function that way. Acceptance isn't exactly where he ends up, either, but his anger has largely shifted away from wild self-preservation to a stinging sort of "ha ha, isn't this funny." He's smiling an ugly smile by the time he can't struggle anymore. ...Well, can't bodily struggle, anyway. He opens his mouth again, and it isn't to fruitlessly try gasping for air.]
Good work—
[It's hard to make out the words in that croak of a noise, and even harder to hear the ones that follow between gross choking and a lack of air to fuel it: a "this time", maybe. He'd say more if he could, but that's about all he can manage.]