[Midousuji is peering at the bottle with owlish curiosity, his behavior suggesting he's completely forgotten about the raw feelings and imagery of his dream of a memory, the stinging hollowness of being unable to find his mother's grave. that's one nice thing, at least; Midousuji doesn't stay stuck on a feeling for long. most of the time.]
That's right, [Midousuji confirms to Aerith's question, not looking at her, and he leans his long neck forward, giving the lip of the bottle another curious sniff—and he frowns so hard that the chords of his neck protrude, and he leans his head back. his long tongue extends when his neck relaxes, like one does when they've tasted something awful. he peers a wide eye down the barrel, and despite how he seems, he is indeed listening.]
I thought you said you didn't believe in fate, [is all Midousuji says as an indication that he's listening. he tips the bottle back, giving it another try, despite his revulsion prior. he's considering her answer—he thinks he agrees, with some of it. it's a shame the planet is doomed—his planet, anyway, in slow motion, but he's as unfeeling as the rest of the people who live on it are. he has freedom, he thinks. and there was almost no greater comfort than his mother's smile, even when it had become so tired. weary.
knowing, Midousuji thinks, in retrospect.
just as Midousuji swallows once, Aerith prompts her question, and his eyes widen—he nearly drops the bottle, setting it down hard, and sputters, choking on the alcohol as he clutches his hand over his mouth.
the audacity!! to ask a question like that! to someone like Midousuji, especially! especially especially when they haven't even known each other for very long! they haven't even spent time together more than three times!!
gagging, Midousuji rubs his throat, then wipes his mouth, an unflattering chord of drool hanging from his chin from his episode, throat burning. his eyes are watering from the sting of the alcohol, some of which he's pretty sure he's accidentally got into his nasal passages.
with a thin, subtle ring of tears clung to the bottom of his eyelids, still holding his neck, Midousuji peers at Aerith in affronted wonder.]
No, [he answers in a way that would be registered as too easily, had he not choked half to death first. he wipes his mouth, shuddering, his eyes rolling away.] But it's not because it's you. Not some reflection of you or your worth [a keyword Midousuji picked up today and intends to mindfully keep tucked away in his mental Aerith dossier] or character.
[it doesn't mean he doesn't like being around her. he does. but he's not there yet—the point of being able to admit that even privately.]
No one does, nothing does. It's been that way for years.
But I'm not unhappy either, so relax, [Midousuji shoots at her, dreading some dramatic, pitying reaction. he's just...empty. most of the time. but lately, the emptiness isn't simply a hollow; lately, it has its own gravitational pull. it's worse, in Aefenglom, with no shrine or grave to honor in his mother's wake, no goal line to cross. it's like that abyss now hungers, and Midousuji worries that Aerith is a casuality in its orbit. or maybe Midousuji's more worried he's the casuality, actually. he doesn't know what's happening, but he's been sensing a change. a pull.]
I get a redo. Asking something like that so abruptly... Nasty...
[Midousuji takes another bottle shot—and besides, he's also bigger. Midousuji shudders, then the tension in his body collapses, shoulders dropping as his tongue extends again.]
Gross... [he wipes his mouth again. it really tastes and feels terrible. but he's starting to feel it. kind of tingly. a little floaty. also kinda burny and gaggy, though. so far, his unfavorable opinion remains.
Midousuji taps his fingers on the bottle, debating his question that will prompt his passing of the bottle to Aerith.]
no subject
That's right, [Midousuji confirms to Aerith's question, not looking at her, and he leans his long neck forward, giving the lip of the bottle another curious sniff—and he frowns so hard that the chords of his neck protrude, and he leans his head back. his long tongue extends when his neck relaxes, like one does when they've tasted something awful. he peers a wide eye down the barrel, and despite how he seems, he is indeed listening.]
I thought you said you didn't believe in fate, [is all Midousuji says as an indication that he's listening. he tips the bottle back, giving it another try, despite his revulsion prior. he's considering her answer—he thinks he agrees, with some of it. it's a shame the planet is doomed—his planet, anyway, in slow motion, but he's as unfeeling as the rest of the people who live on it are. he has freedom, he thinks. and there was almost no greater comfort than his mother's smile, even when it had become so tired. weary.
knowing, Midousuji thinks, in retrospect.
just as Midousuji swallows once, Aerith prompts her question, and his eyes widen—he nearly drops the bottle, setting it down hard, and sputters, choking on the alcohol as he clutches his hand over his mouth.
the audacity!! to ask a question like that! to someone like Midousuji, especially! especially especially when they haven't even known each other for very long! they haven't even spent time together more than three times!!
gagging, Midousuji rubs his throat, then wipes his mouth, an unflattering chord of drool hanging from his chin from his episode, throat burning. his eyes are watering from the sting of the alcohol, some of which he's pretty sure he's accidentally got into his nasal passages.
with a thin, subtle ring of tears clung to the bottom of his eyelids, still holding his neck, Midousuji peers at Aerith in affronted wonder.]
No, [he answers in a way that would be registered as too easily, had he not choked half to death first. he wipes his mouth, shuddering, his eyes rolling away.] But it's not because it's you. Not some reflection of you or your worth [a keyword Midousuji picked up today and intends to mindfully keep tucked away in his mental Aerith dossier] or character.
[it doesn't mean he doesn't like being around her. he does. but he's not there yet—the point of being able to admit that even privately.]
No one does, nothing does. It's been that way for years.
But I'm not unhappy either, so relax, [Midousuji shoots at her, dreading some dramatic, pitying reaction. he's just...empty. most of the time. but lately, the emptiness isn't simply a hollow; lately, it has its own gravitational pull. it's worse, in Aefenglom, with no shrine or grave to honor in his mother's wake, no goal line to cross. it's like that abyss now hungers, and Midousuji worries that Aerith is a casuality in its orbit. or maybe Midousuji's more worried he's the casuality, actually. he doesn't know what's happening, but he's been sensing a change. a pull.]
I get a redo. Asking something like that so abruptly... Nasty...
[Midousuji takes another bottle shot—and besides, he's also bigger. Midousuji shudders, then the tension in his body collapses, shoulders dropping as his tongue extends again.]
Gross... [he wipes his mouth again. it really tastes and feels terrible. but he's starting to feel it. kind of tingly. a little floaty. also kinda burny and gaggy, though. so far, his unfavorable opinion remains.
Midousuji taps his fingers on the bottle, debating his question that will prompt his passing of the bottle to Aerith.]
I'm starting to feel a little weird.