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[it is odd—Midousuji truly isn’t the best person to summon for true comfort, but that’s not precisely what this is, is it? it’s some of the ways Midousuji specifically is incapable of comforting that Aerith has sought him out, but it feels like an ebb and flow between the two of them; an exchange of vulnerability and related crisis therein, and need of comfort.

Aerith had almost walked off the edge of the roof, in foolish drunkenness—that reminded Midousuji he had a job in this event. he’s here for Aerith, who of course, isn’t acting right, given her circumstance. he feels, though tipsy (heavily), Aerith has confirmed the hand he’d suspected; she truly believes her friend is gone. she thought that before she summoned Midousuji. and that solidifies one thing: despite that, though it’s the worst-case scenario at its core in actuality, he’s still the one she called on. for some reason. he kind of gets her reasoning, but still finds it confusing and half baked. but the strongest point is this: he was chosen regardless. he doesn’t get it, but he has a job.

and that’s not to get out of control, to get emotional, to get vulnerable; it’s to support this other person. this is what gives him some relief when he watches her drink, though thankfully, partially perhaps due to inebriation inhibiting his exhaustive overthinking, because he owes her (and surely not for anything else. like how he likes her, and can’t figure out how to seek out her company outside of utilitarian means).

and, finally, indeed, when she settles beside him like this, Midousuji’s eyes widen—he makes a funny, strangled gasp of a glottal stop in the back of his throat, turning to face her with wide, wild eyes. his eyes then fall to his canteen, wrung anxiously between their hands—he feels her proximity; the searing heat between their hips, and the highlighted distance between them because of his own posture.

Midousuji’s eyes roll away, and he dips his head, rubbing the back of his neck. his knee, between them, knocks towards its brother, giving her a bit more room to come closer. his face is hot. he’s drunk. he thinks. it’s the drink.]

…Don’t be stupid. That…was the agreement. Wasn’t it?

You can sleep if you want to. I won’t…

I’m not going anywhere… s-so, do whatever…

[bloomly]

( how many times has she heard something like that and believed it? i'm not going anywhere, like there's ever any control over such a thing, like there's some way to firmly cement them into the future just as they're rooted in the present. she believed that, once, believed that someone would come back safe and sound--and instead she waited for years and years for someone who would never actually return. it's not that she's jaded by it, or even that she expects the worst; it's just that it's easier to steel her expectations for something that could potentially go south instead of always believing blindly in the good of everything. mostly she gets by with it. sometimes, though, small things: they dig in and make her want to readjust her expectations.

oddly, she believes him in this moment: maybe it's because of the alcohol, or maybe it's because it's him; maybe it's because she knows it's not like he has anywhere else to go, that he might be rough with her or might not know the words to say but he's a good person, she thinks, or judges, deep down inside there. maybe it's because she thinks there's more to whatever this is between them that neither of them are willing to say.

either way, he essentially gives her permission. if he's upset about it, then he can get upset about it, but it's his own fault, right? with a soft breath, a sigh, almost, she leans in--his knee moves out of the way to give her more space, and it's not like she has to be propped up against him, but she wants to be, wants the comfort of being beside him, of knowing that her cheek has the tall shelf of his shoulder to rest on. gross? probably. she doesn't much care, eyes falling shut like she can will herself to some other place just by not seeing the lights of aefenglom out around them. )

I'm not going anywhere either. ( will he believe her? or does he have his own reasons for doubting something like that? )

I'll be right here... For you.

( the quiet that she falls into doesn't mean that she's asleep, yet--but her hands do go loose, relenting the canteen to him, tucking them instead into her lap more comfortably. if he's going to try to get out of having her doze up against his side, then he better do it quick: she's well on her way. )

[discarding]

[Midousuji jumps a little when he feels Aerith settle against him, entire body going (even more, somehow) rigid and tense.] I—! D-don’t be stupid; I meant right now! Gross! Gross. If you’re falling asleep, of course you aren’t going anywhere.

[it’s likely that he means indefinitely as well as “right now,” having had the gumption to say it at all, though. maybe Aerith knows better by now than to take Midousuji for his word. Midousuji, however…]

…Just… if you f-fell asleep, I wouldn’t just leave you up here.

[he’s a little too dense to anything other than take her too literally and at face value, though he should know better by now. those cues are a little harder to parse when he gets all shaken up by the things that she says, and the weird feelings those incur in him, more startling than anything Aerith can really do herself, honestly, even if she’s responsible for inspiring those feelings in the first place.

the alcohol probably doesn’t help his social fluency much, either.

it does, however, help him to relax; she can likely feel it. soft slopes return to the holding of his posture, instead of all rigid and hard like a bunch of metal frames. he lets go of a slow, shaky breath through his nose, and his heart races as he takes the canteen. after placing it by his side, his hands fidget uselessly, twisting as they curl into fists, flexing as they uncurl, repeating the motion over and over. like he’s antsy to let go of some kind of weird energy he’s being charged with (which he certainly is). he stares out into the darkness, at nothing in particular.

his mind swimming less coherently than usual, but more fluidly, Midousuji remembers nights spent with his family in Kyoto, as a child. the weather isn’t too different. a little less humid. distantly, finally less trapped in his own head and body, Midousuji becomes aware of the merry, distant chirring of crickets.

his eyes are wide, and encountering that familiar feeling from that memory—beneath his embarrassment and shock and fear—Midousuji realizes he’s experiencing it now. usually, he just remembers the feeling—but somehow, he realizes it’s actually happening again.

baffled, Midousuji’s head tilts.

how gross. why is he like this?? he’s even more gross than Sakamichi. Or Ishigaki. maybe not Aerith, though. his voice comes out in a slow, quiet drawl, partially because of the alcohol, but because he’s sort of spacing out, stuck on that realization. distracted.]

Yeah… Sleep as long as you need…