He scratches his head in confusion, he knows he’s not an illusion of some kind and it didn’t seem the other way around. Without thinking he reaches his hand out and touches the alternate’s forehead.
I can assure you, I am no trick. I am as real as one could possibly be. I have no idea why you want to bother figuring out such small details though, I mean I’m already thinking of all the possible things that can happen with this.
His hand retracts as he appears to be in deep thought. Two of him, this could potentially be a very good or very bad thing, but judging from this one’s personality he could guess this was probably going to be bad.
✧ [ The touch makes him recoil only the slightest bit. His own hand, upon his forehead, trying to decipher the lines on identical skin? How strange. Makoto wonders if the other’s hand feels like his own–and in a moment of impulse he grabs it before it can recede entirely, investigating. The two appendages are the mirror images of one another. Same curvature of nails; same dimpled knuckles, same bones peeking through pale skin. The only difference was the puzzlebruising on his own digits. ]
"If both of us are real–going under the belief that we both have differing agendas, and such–then how could such a thing…occur? And how can you be so nonchalant? The world doesn’t need another me.“
[ The other’s hand is released. All in all, it would be easiest to lay down his own arms and surrender to the unknown; displace himself from the world, and let an identical do all the dirty work. Isn’t that the placebo dream? To have someone take care of your life for you? Besides, he’s so tired–deep circles cut into faceted skin and he looks disgusting, in the right light. How different could a reflection be? You skim the stone on the surface but it skips only twice. ] ✧