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[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…