[it’s true. Aerith is getting to know Midousuji—a little bit. barely at all, but especially given they’ve only known each other so many months, it’s actually incredible headway. something others have taken a year or more to achieve, with patience versus a far more hostile, distant version of Midousuji. which is why this is all so strange. Midousuji’s a little bit aware of how things feel a little different; of how there’s a hard to describe magnetism occurring, but with an indiscernible origin, not knowing who to hold responsible… and even less is there a hope of coming up with reasonable justification to stop it for the intrigue (and fear) it provides. or maybe he could, but he caves to the curiosity.
it’s always been: if it’s not conducive to winning, cut it away. sentimentality, bonding, friendship—all useless, perilous sentimentality that distracts from efficiency and utilitarian philosophy. thus, to be discarded.
but what is there to win, here? what has he to prove?
he feels a relief that makes him feel strangely weak when she takes the bottle, and with curious (and nervy) trepidation, he watches her take the bottle from him, his irises nervously bunched at the corners of his eyes, not quite facing her.
when she answers, though, he faces her fully—his mouth drops open just slightly in stupefied surprise, which he feels foolish for. like Aerith’s every response doesn’t go against what he expects! he should expect she should say something unexpected, and to some degree, he does—but that doesn't mean he can predict, thus nor can he prepare for, what she actually ever says. his heart twists in a clench, and releases in a flutter. his eyes cast sharply away, and he feels the tips of his ears burn hotly.
how can she just say things like that, so candidly? how gross. how unscripted. how honest, how sweet. and how too, really, misplaced. Midousuji suddenly feels a queasy wave of a certain reality coming to light: he knows he’s careful around this person, even if he hasn’t yet accepted it’s because this is a person he likes. usually, his instinct is to challenge that positive bias with his unlikable characteristics. but with someone like her, he can’t bring himself to exaggerate that ugliness to test her. not in its totality, at least. he’s never experienced this kind of desire to connect. and that’s why she’s having him play this game, isn’t it? to get to know. to connect. for some reason. is that normal? is she feeling what he’s feeling, which he isn’t sure how to diagnose, for its unfamiliarity?
he glances at her perilously as she sputters over two chugs (cheater! unless that question was just that embarrassing, but there still weren’t Rules!! outlined around that outlier!), then forcibly yanks the bottle from her. his heart is still racing, and now he’s staring at her again, the bottle corralled in his spidery grip, between his knees, which are tensely, nervously, pressed together.]
It does, [he says plainly, in a way that may have been similar to the way he’d admitted she doesn’t make him happy. but… boy, does she ever… incite all kinds of odd things, within him, like a storm never before perceived.] And, on top of it: you’re wrong.
[Midousuji’s eyes roll away, and he antsily strokes a finger across the shilling of her roof.]
Yes, I would grab you, probably, though I’m clumsy, and my reaction time can be slow. If you told me a secret, I’d only keep it because there’s no benefit to me using it against you—but I’d do that with other people. [okay, maybe this is some of that pushback, where he can’t believe, deep down, anyone could like him so much past his superficial charm. but he isn’t lying; he fights dirty. but there’s no fight here. that’s why it feels odd. so again, what is his goal?? what is he trying to accomplish, here?]
I wouldn’t help if you were in trouble, mostly because there’s no guarantee I could. And I may be blunt, but I’m not really all that honest. I tell it how I see it, but I don’t tell how I feel. I don’t…
[why is his face so hot. is it the alcohol?? he swallows.] I don’t…let people… see that, too much. Not really.
[anxious, as Midousuji tries to quell his ornery mind, he takes a generous swig himself. and another! cuz she’d done it. and a shiver shudder down his entire body, most prominently in his shoulders and in an involuntary shake of his head. he feels his mouth salivate gushingly from the sting of the alcohol, and he wipes his mouth preemptively.]
… So then, [he prompts once he recovers.] Are you aware? [Midousuji isn’t looking at her, again, but to the point where all she really has view of is his wrist still nervously bent near his mouth, fingers curled tense and erect, and the shell of his ear, with most of the back of his head.] …of how… you affect people?
[how intuitive, even if sometimes off mark? how charming? not that he’s bold enough to name any of it so specifically, but he can’t be the only person pulled in by this spell. there’s no way. there’s probably so many. he’s a drop in the ocean.]
The way you are… with me. For example.
[which doesn’t really clarify much. but it’s the best he can do. sweating, Midousuji raises his knees, lowering his head, still stubbornly turned away, his eyes wide. a clarity he doesn’t like is slowly coming to him.]
no subject
it’s always been: if it’s not conducive to winning, cut it away. sentimentality, bonding, friendship—all useless, perilous sentimentality that distracts from efficiency and utilitarian philosophy. thus, to be discarded.
but what is there to win, here? what has he to prove?
he feels a relief that makes him feel strangely weak when she takes the bottle, and with curious (and nervy) trepidation, he watches her take the bottle from him, his irises nervously bunched at the corners of his eyes, not quite facing her.
when she answers, though, he faces her fully—his mouth drops open just slightly in stupefied surprise, which he feels foolish for. like Aerith’s every response doesn’t go against what he expects! he should expect she should say something unexpected, and to some degree, he does—but that doesn't mean he can predict, thus nor can he prepare for, what she actually ever says. his heart twists in a clench, and releases in a flutter. his eyes cast sharply away, and he feels the tips of his ears burn hotly.
how can she just say things like that, so candidly? how gross. how unscripted. how honest, how sweet. and how too, really, misplaced. Midousuji suddenly feels a queasy wave of a certain reality coming to light: he knows he’s careful around this person, even if he hasn’t yet accepted it’s because this is a person he likes. usually, his instinct is to challenge that positive bias with his unlikable characteristics. but with someone like her, he can’t bring himself to exaggerate that ugliness to test her. not in its totality, at least. he’s never experienced this kind of desire to connect. and that’s why she’s having him play this game, isn’t it? to get to know. to connect. for some reason. is that normal? is she feeling what he’s feeling, which he isn’t sure how to diagnose, for its unfamiliarity?
he glances at her perilously as she sputters over two chugs (cheater! unless that question was just that embarrassing, but there still weren’t Rules!! outlined around that outlier!), then forcibly yanks the bottle from her. his heart is still racing, and now he’s staring at her again, the bottle corralled in his spidery grip, between his knees, which are tensely, nervously, pressed together.]
It does, [he says plainly, in a way that may have been similar to the way he’d admitted she doesn’t make him happy. but… boy, does she ever… incite all kinds of odd things, within him, like a storm never before perceived.] And, on top of it: you’re wrong.
[Midousuji’s eyes roll away, and he antsily strokes a finger across the shilling of her roof.]
Yes, I would grab you, probably, though I’m clumsy, and my reaction time can be slow. If you told me a secret, I’d only keep it because there’s no benefit to me using it against you—but I’d do that with other people. [okay, maybe this is some of that pushback, where he can’t believe, deep down, anyone could like him so much past his superficial charm. but he isn’t lying; he fights dirty. but there’s no fight here. that’s why it feels odd. so again, what is his goal?? what is he trying to accomplish, here?]
I wouldn’t help if you were in trouble, mostly because there’s no guarantee I could. And I may be blunt, but I’m not really all that honest. I tell it how I see it, but I don’t tell how I feel. I don’t…
[why is his face so hot. is it the alcohol?? he swallows.] I don’t…let people… see that, too much. Not really.
[anxious, as Midousuji tries to quell his ornery mind, he takes a generous swig himself. and another! cuz she’d done it. and a shiver shudder down his entire body, most prominently in his shoulders and in an involuntary shake of his head. he feels his mouth salivate gushingly from the sting of the alcohol, and he wipes his mouth preemptively.]
… So then, [he prompts once he recovers.] Are you aware? [Midousuji isn’t looking at her, again, but to the point where all she really has view of is his wrist still nervously bent near his mouth, fingers curled tense and erect, and the shell of his ear, with most of the back of his head.] …of how… you affect people?
[how intuitive, even if sometimes off mark? how charming? not that he’s bold enough to name any of it so specifically, but he can’t be the only person pulled in by this spell. there’s no way. there’s probably so many. he’s a drop in the ocean.]
The way you are… with me. For example.
[which doesn’t really clarify much. but it’s the best he can do. sweating, Midousuji raises his knees, lowering his head, still stubbornly turned away, his eyes wide. a clarity he doesn’t like is slowly coming to him.]