Heron Lake Plateau [M] the red and the black

The problem with acting out a memory was that, to some degree, it was fantasy. There would be no returning to that moment. He couldn't fix what happened between himself and Sorina, the same as he couldn't fix what was going on between himself and Raven — this event which would, most assuredly, ruin his life at some point. The fantasy came to an abrupt halt when he clued in to Raven's protest; she moved against him the way that Sorina had. Maybe not with the same venom to her voice — but this was unfolding in exactly the same fashion as his first time.

He heard her screech the command to stop through bared teeth, and he tried. Screech came back to the present — to reality — and understood intimately that this could not happen no matter how badly his body said otherwise. This was his sister. He didn't know why he was so caught up in the performance of it all. He gasped and pulled, and his ears flattened when his next breath became a small groan; he was trying.

But it was done. They would be locked in formation for an awkward length of time before he could back up, slip down, and be on his feet again. His head was downcast once he'd managed these things. Screech had wanted to prove that he wasn't a horrible person somehow, and that Sorina had been lying when she said -- Fuck, he peeped, realizing that he had done something bad, now. Something unforgivable. 

He didn't speak again, and though his legs felt like they were ready to fold beneath him like wet lake grass, he was gone by the time Raven could turn around — his silhouette shooting across the plateau.