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If I asked you for a favor, would you call me gross?

[Midousuji responds about 10 minutes later, having been preoccupied with ignoring his watch in favor of staring at the wall, sat with his knees in front of his chin, bony arms wrapped around his bonier shins, for about 5 minutes. once he finally leaned over to check the message, Midousuji’s eyes had widened, and he swiftly went back into wall staring position for another 5 minutes.

finally, he’d glanced back at it, slowly, and then poised both of his fingertips to respond. unsurprisingly, Midousuji doesn’t even text normally. but he’s quick—not that Aerith would know, given his delay. but he couldn’t have responded as soon as he got it!!!! that’d be weird. desperate, or something. definitely gross.

speaking of that. Midousuji’s ~~suspicious~~curious about this favor...]

It depends if the nature of the favor makes you gross for asking for that favor from me

Doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t consider it even if it is though. Maybe

What do you want

( yeah, this is sort of the response that she expected--and yet it's something of a relief to know that he's still here, and that things haven't changed so drastically that he's a different person.

still: what do you want makes her cringe for a moment. she tries to steady back to her usual demeanor, tries to be normal. )

Could you come sit on the roof with me tonight? Until the sun comes up.

Or will you get too tired~? It must be hard to keep such a tall body going for so long~ I can make coffee.

[despite how he seems, and honestly, largely as he is, being a control freak, Midousuji would probably be minutely disquieted if he knew his words had that kind of effect on Aerith. especially since he really only delights in the psychological distress of people he dislikes (or, more problematically, doesn’t know), or is a target by way of being an opponent...

Midousuji boggles at the request, finding it quite strange—it's not often people ask him for favors in the first place (again, unsurprisingly), but never in his life was it anywhere near anything like this. he pauses, just to process—but the truth is, Midousuji had already planned to agree to the favor the second she'd asked. if it's not something Midousuji feels he's entitled to in the first place, and someone's done him a true favor, as Aerith truly had, helping him when he was sick (vulnerable! gross!!) and a bit out of his mind, Midousuji believes in reciprocity on principle. he's a transactional kind of person.]

?????

Well, I keep a day schedule... but I don't need a lot of sleep. Especially since I'm not performing athletically here

So that's fine

[now it's Midousuji who winces.]

What time do you need me

Edited (mobile tagging makes me forget my train of thought smdh) 2021-05-29 19:17 (UTC)

Whenever is fine! After dark, though.

And if something comes up or if you feel like you're too tired, that's okay, too.

( which is a strange thing, coming from her - maybe this is too much? she should try to frame it more playfully. )

I can always be gross by myself, after all! Easy for me~

( there. that's better... )

[thankfully, Midousuji doesn't know her well enough to say...]

Okay. I'll let you know when I'm heading over, then

What is this, though?? Something magic related? Some kind of condition needed to be satisfied?

[phases of the Sisters? something about numbers satisfied by Witch count for some kind of spell???

or, more troublingly... something emotional? had some friend of hers gone and done that thing people sometimes do here, where they just vanish into the ether as mysteriously as whence they came? or did someone she knew go through that other thing that happens, where they die temporarily?

if the latter, though, Midousuji has to wonder why on not-God's green not-Earth he'd be the chosen candidate to spend time with, in that kind of scenario... maybe someone less emotional (see: less emotional, not less, er, reactive) was better for that?]

( it's funny: part of the point of going to him had been that she'd figured he wouldn't really ask questions, or even much care about the circumstances; but then she hadn't even been sure that he would agree to it at all, and then another part of her just wants to be around someone who won't expect her to be the strong one at all. someone unrelated to the whole thing. someone she can trust? oh, he'd not enjoy hearing that one.

she doesn't know how to answer without being dishonest, so: )

I just want to make sure that my friend isn't coming back.

If it's been all night, then I'll know.

[wow. even MORE confusing. Midousuji's neck twists in a baffled tilt, narrowing his eyes in disbelief at the text. so she had...kind of? selected him for such a purpose. he can't believe his guess was so close.

but he's not going to fight her on it. he'd known he was going to agree before she'd even proposed the favor, and regardless of his opinion in her poor choice of candidate selection, part of him, shockingly, kind of understands.

he cared about someone a lot—once. and he'd lost her, too. it's not the same thing at all, but Aerith seems to get attached to people easily. too easily. that was the risk of that kind of thing, and part of the laundry list of reasons why Midousuji elected to avoid it.

it's a natural consequence, so his conclusion, at the end of all considered, is that it's reasonable. even if he doesn't get the selection.]

Okay

[is all Midousuji gives her, and when he puts his watch down, there's a peculiar, numbing feeling that rolls over him, and he rests his chin against his knees, unmoving for a long time.

eventually, Midousuji reanimates and goes through his day—and the sun goes down, and through that time lapse, Midousuji's been oscillating between preparing himself mentally for the task of...being there?????? for someone??? is that what that is?? gross?, or just surrendering control to it completely, because there's no preparing that can really be had.

either way, an hour or so after sun down, Midousuji adjusts the bag on his shoulder, preparing his shitty, heavy bike outside of his door. he might not like it, but it's still more efficient than walking, so...]

Be there soon

10m

Edited 2021-05-29 20:22 (UTC)

( the sun's been down for what feels like only a few minutes--or maybe it's just that she's been focused on nothing at all, her gaze somewhere off on the strange, foreign horizon that she can see, sitting on the roof of the cottage.

why does it have to be the roof? she isn't sure herself.

it's just that it feels wrong, somehow, to be inside: it feels wrong, to be surrounded by so many things that smell like tifa or remind her of all of their time spent together, only to have the woman herself drastically absent. but she doesn't want to leave, in case it's all a mistake, so--this is the compromise.

she's climbed up from the balcony, a somewhat dangerous thing to do by herself, but she's used to hopping around rooftops and traversing broken scaffolding. it doesn't really matter. she doesn't have much: a blanket, for when it surely gets a bit cold, and her watch, plus a bottle of liquor, but that's more for her than for her companion. something to soften the hours into something more manageable, maybe, or put her in some fabrication of good cheer.

should she have brought a deck of cards? do they even have those here? will midousuji akira-kun just get bored and leave?

she presses her knees to her chest, and sets her chin on them; the watch blips, and she glances at it, sending a reply. )

Okay~ Go around the back, there are stairs to the balcony, then it's a straight climb up to the roof!

Be careful, though. I don't want to have to fix a broken neck!

[of all points of contention to be had, the location for Tifa’s favor wasn’t one of them, to Midousuji. he’d definitely had some big thinks on the roof of his lonely little house. for being such an uptight, unemotional (or so he thinks, which decidedly, isn’t true) wad, Midousuji definitely believes in pursuing where your vibes want you. not that he’d put it that way, cuz gag.

he’s distracted back into his pocket, peeking at Aerith’s reply. he was planning on ignoring whatever she said and just to head over, but her reply makes him scoff (dramatically), rolling his eyes and whipping his head in a sideways flop before slowly responding with just his thumb.]

That implies you CAN fix a broken neck.

[basically he only responded to point out some petty semantic, rather than any sort of normal or more polite response. and he slips his watch back into his pocket, heading towards Aerith’s. Midousuji’s memory is good—he’s only been there once, but he knows many different routes to get there from various wandering in the city, building his mental map alongside a paper one. from his house, as he remembers from his arduous, fevered treck back home, it’s downhill to Aerith’s area, which cuts the time well (especially since the bike has a steel frame, because obsolete ancestral-infancy model). even if it’s bumpy as hell, on cobble stone... it’s a good thing that Midousuji never sits to ride, but he doesn’t like how it tickles and numbs his hands.

once he arrives, Midousuji quietly leans his bike against the side of Aerith’s house, sort of hidden behind some well kept shrubbery, in the darker shadows cast by the wall of the home. curiously, he peers around the back that’s close to where he parks his bike, and once he finds the stairs, he heads up. slowly, because it’s dark, and Midousuji does have some motor problems... so despite his clumsiness, his tall, hunched figure, wide by the set of his rib cage and shoulders, rises silently behind Aerith. the whites of his eyes catch in the moonlight a bit better than his skin does.

all the same, Midousuji doesn’t announce himself. quite simply, Midousuji lumbers up beside Aerith, and he doesn’t even look at her as he drops suddenly beside her, settling to get comfortable as he sits about a foot and a half away from her.

once settled, it’s then that Midousuji glances at Aerith, pulling down his mask as he tilts his head back to peer at her. and his mouth just kinda hangs open stupidly, because somehow, saying something basic and conversationally mechanical like “hello” feels stupid and unnecessary. alas, Midousuji is awkward as fuck. he blinks, then,]

I’m back.

[how is that any better? who knows. but in Midousuji’s mind, just self aware enough to know that was awkward, it’s sufficiently less stupid.]

( just like the hours seem to pass after sunset, the minutes seem inconsequential when it comes to his arrival. she trusts that he'll get there--especially after that playfully snappy message, and she would argue that she could at least try to fix a broken neck, but whatever, it's better not to distract him. instead, she just sits, and waits, focuses her gaze out somewhere in front of her, on the way the buildings in the distance seem to slowly wink out the later it gets. there are still plenty out there, but not nearly as many as back home--

it's then that she senses him, rather than hears him, and it's odd, really, to miss something that had been so brief: it's not like having their strange bond mishap could make her suddenly aware of anywhere he went, but still, she imagines she would have felt his insides twisting with a resounding gross should they still be connected. and oddly, it would have even been comforting.

as it is, she just feels his presence there, lumbering up to come onto the flat end of the roof where she's sitting. he keeps a considerable amount of space between them, because of course he does, and where normally she would just saddle herself right up to him, hip to hip, she keeps it for now. he pulls down his mask as she glances over at him, and she smiles, something soft, until the words make her laugh.

a reassuring sort of laugh. a little desperate. )

Welcome home! ( she says, playfully: the sort of words that she might have used with elmyra, back home; she tucks her cheek against her knees, wraps her arms up around them and just watches him. )

Do you think you'll be able to stay awake? Maybe I can go back down and make some coffee for you in a couple hours.

( she nudges her boot against the bottle of liquor, rolled onto its side. ) This is for me. Bet you aren't good at drinking, huh? Neither am I.

[the “welcome home,” especially in the cultural context of his home world, makes Midousuji’s eyes widen, his neck leaning back as his pupils contract. again, usually behavior from people you live with. roommates, family, significant others.]

Gross.

[to spare himself of his fluster, Midousuji glances hastily away, suddenly scowling in a harsh, low line, his teeth bared (but when aren’t they, honestly). he does, however, get over himself enough to look back at her when she speaks again.]

Maybe. I’ll let you know if I start getting sleepy. I’m pretty sensitive to caffeine, because I try not to drink it too often.

[gaze drawn by the movement of her foot, Midousuji tilts his head at a comically severe angle, blinking just as owlishly as his contorting anatomy. he makes a disgusted little frown, righting his posture, and thinks of his disdain for the idea of drinking... so bad for your body, the loss of control (is there anything more horrifying than that?), and not to mention how it impacted your body as an athlete.

Midousuji’s expression relaxes. or maybe, deadens. well, it’s not like that shit matters here.]

Probably better than you. I’m big, and I have dense muscle mass. [probably surprising given his willowy silhouette, but shockingly, a fact no less. he rolls his eyes away, scratching his cheek.]

But you should go easy anyway. You’ll probably end up being the one who gets sleepy, if you don’t.

[...and, god. come to think of it. Midousuji’s eyes widen, getting thoughtfully lost to the nothing-in-particular ahead of him, a terrifying thought occurring to him. his expression snaps back to Aerith, suddenly looking horrified. Aerith is already pretty uninhibited, in Midousuji’s opinion. he doesn’t want her to loosen up even more than she already is.]

Actually. I’m going to keep an eye on you so you don’t overdo it. Did you at least bring some food for yourself?

'I'm big, and I have dense muscle mass.'

( is she mocking him? a little, but it's done with the best of intentions, mostly just so that she can pitch her voice comically lower and laugh. she sounds nothing like him, but it's hard to, okay? her head tilts, watching him for a moment thoughtfully--it's not that she doesn't believe it, but it's hard to imagine that there's a wealth of muscle depth beneath his scrawny frame, though he hadn't felt quite so willowy when she'd hugged him, sort of, before. so maybe it's true? and if he rides his bicycle so much...

her gaze strays for a moment, wandering, but when it comes back to his face, he looks abruptly startled. for a second, she thinks that maybe there's a bug on her, or some kind of monster has landed on the roof beside her, and she just can't see it. slowly, she cranes her head around, glances over her shoulder, but there's nothing but the roofs of the other cottages in the vicinity to look at, and all the dark of night around them. so what's his problem? she only realizes it when she turns her head back to face him: he's going to keep an eye on her?

her lips press together, trying not to laugh. )

Food? Of course not. ( but he seems particularly perturbed by the bottle, so that's what she's reaching for, now, sliding her legs so that she can sit crisscross, her dress pillowing in her lap so that she can brace the end of the bottle into one thigh. she has no idea what it is--something left in the cupboards from whoever had been here before, and the writing on the label is strange. ) Sounds like you're worried about me, though. Are you worried about me?

( the laugh, this time, is softer. ) If you are, don't be. I'll be fine. Everything's fine.

( for a moment she doesn't look at him, instead examining the bottle like she's deciding something--and then she takes it with both hands, holds it out to him, in the space that's between them. )

Use your big muscles and open it, then.

[Midousuji gives her a little (maybe insulted?) scowl. IT'S A CLINICAL FACT!!]

What? I do. Men have denser muscle mass because of hormonal structure, anyway.

[what's so funny. Midousuji is self aware enough to get that people laugh at him, but he never really gets why. the irritating realities of being, very likely, neurodivergent. then she's thoughtfully looking him over, as if to verify, and to her curiosity, Midousuji only tilts his head. he knows it's not visually apparent, so he doesn't think she'll catch it—he's used it to his advantage competitively, before, even taping his muscles down with athletic tape to visually suppress their appearance under his more revealing athletic gear. even after coming to Aefenglom, it took weeks for the marks from that tape to fade fully from his skin.

you'd think Midousuji, given how reactive, sensitive and shy he is, that he might freak out about this unfolding—but he remains objective and impartial. somehow, his body is one of the last things he's ever shy about.

then, of course, she giggles—which raises Midousuji's anxiety a bit—and then she asks if he's worried, and of course, that throws him into a fit. his shoulders pinch upwards as his arms go rigid, clutching forcefully with both hands on the strap of his bag, leaning away from her. you know. like they aren't almost two feet apart, already.]

No!!

[before he can launch an argument about how he Doesn't Care Or Anything (which is good, because he hasn't been able to spin anything at the drop of a dime), she extends her arm across that space between them, presenting the bottle to him. his chin dips a bit to boggle at the bottle, blinking in confusion, and he blinks back up at Aerith.]

Hoaa??

[well, jeez. Midousuji lifts a hand away, his fingers splayed in offense, and he wants to tell her "no way, I'm not going to be responsible for that."

...but, he's here on favor. sure, he only has to be present to satisfy those conditions, and he's aware of that, but.

god, whatever. Midousuji snatches the bottle.]

Cyclists don't have strong upper body strength per se...

[Midousuji's arms are quite toned, though notably less since arriving in Aefenglom. he does a lot less of that kind of cardio, because this place sucks for his insane levels of training he normally does.. and kind of does more stretching. yoga, basically. comedy of comedies. all the same, his gloved hand twists on the cap, and he peers at it with a scrutinizing squint.]

And even if someone's muscular, that doesn't automatically mean they wield their limbs well...

[did he just admit he's clumsy? maybe. Midousuji does struggle with it for a bit (it's corked. a nightmare for uncoordinated, indelicate people), and decides it must be stuck. so he makes an exasperated growling sound, and lodges the bottle between his bony knees, clutching the bottle by its neck as his head descends to grip the cork in his blunt, perfect teeth, eyes wide.

he twists his head, and the cork pops out easily—and Midousuji's eyes burn immediately from the bite of the alcohol's scent. he leans back hard, wincing them shut as he throws his head back.]

Nathty, augh!

[Midousuji pauses, then, without looking at Aerith, hands the bottle back to her by its neck, still holding his absurd posture. and the cork, between his teeth.]

( well, then what good are muscles if they can't be used for practical things like this? opening jars, popping bottles, catching girls when they fall off roofs, that sort of thing? her expression sours for a moment, playfully full of disdain, but to her benefit, he does at least take the bottle by the neck and pull it over to himself, which means that her hand plants down, palm to wood, in the space between them. she does intend to clear it, eventually, but she'll work slow this time. for now, she lets him examine the bottle without any kind of commentary; it's only once he's decided to use his teeth that she lets out a laugh. )

What are you doing?

( it almost sounds like she's scolding him. her other hand plants down, and then there's a scoot-scoot-scoot across the roof so that she can sit herself closer, both hands reaching to take the bottle away from him. it doesn't matter.

the cork comes out with a sharp pop, and even she recoils: the smell is quite potent, enough that she gets a whiff, being so close. is she really going to drink this? well, now that he's opened it, she kind of has to, right?

both of her hands reach to snatch the bottle back; she hugs it in under one arm, careful, while the other hand reaches out for his face--it's hard to maneuver, since his head is tossed back, but she plucks the cork right out from his teeth, moving instead to tuck it, absurdly, into the pocket of her dress. yes, of course this dress has pockets. practical. )

It's not that bad...

( scolding, again, playful--but as she brings the bottle to her lips, even her own face twists in displeasure. she straightens up her shoulders, takes in a breath, and then presses her mouth over the top, a quick swallow that doesn't taste nearly as bad as it smells, until it hits her stomach.

she swallows, drawing the bottle back, and then, with barely even a pause--she takes another mouthful. gotta prove her own strength, okay? this one doesn't feel nearly as awful, though it does mean that she's recoiling forward, the bottle pushed into her lap, licking her lips despite better judgment before she looks over at him.

and then, demurely: ) Do you want to try?

[the answer is WINNING AT BIKE RACES, obviously.

when Aerith's hand reaches forward towards his face, his eyes simply roll towards her, and when she delicately takes hold of the cork, Midousuji releases it accommodatingly. then he moves the positioning of his head, neck and shoulders into something more normal. for him, anyway. one arm dangles by his side, wrist against the roof, fingers lax behind him, and the other still hooks on his bag strap as he watches Aerith pocket the cork. which, perhaps absurd, doesn't even register with Midousuji. if anything, it makes him feel relieved—keeping the cork means she doesn't intend to finish the bottle, right? even if it's not as big as a wine bottle, still...

his eyes widen and he leans forward in surprise, watching as she suddenly then drinks it. his jaw does drop a little, almost in disbelief, his eyes dipping momentarily to catch the flexing bob of her throat as she swallows as if to confirm she isn't having one over on him. and Midousuji leans back again, eyebrows raised.

when prompted, Midousuji jolts with surprise.]

Me?! No way, gross! I'm not convinced it's delicious, or anything. I'm still recovering from drinking that medicine swill.

[he eyes the bottle distrustfully. Aerith had made it look so easy, but Midousuji had smelled it... it's not that he's underestimating her (gradually, he's learned to stop doing that more and more). she is definitely the type who'd unassumingly be really tough; he'd decided that pretty early on, even.

but Midousuji has nothing to prove! and drinking is awful for you. again, not like he has a purpose in preserving his body... his eyes wander and lid half way, looking annoyed at that thought. whatever that's about, his eyes are soon back on Aerith.]

Wasn't that a lot, straight-away? Maybe your constitution isn't as bad as you think, but you drink too fast.

[Midousuji's expression cracks with amusement, and he pushes the corner of his smile, eyes narrowing.]

Aerith-chan, hasty, hasty...

( the answer is yes, that was a bit too much straight away, a bit more than she would have liked, and no, her constitution isn't that great. she'll make it look like it is, though: the type of girl that goes hard like she can handle it and then, in the end, can't really drink much more than would be expected of her. still, it's nice to see that he doesn't question it, which means that she gets to smile, wriggle her shoulders a little, and woefully bring the bottle back to her own lips. fine. hasty? she'll show him hasty.

her eyes go up to the night sky, like she's trying to remember why she's here at all. maybe that will help her gauge how much liquor she's drinking: at some point, she hopes she might just forget it all anyway, might forget a little that she's in some strange place and now, that she's in this strange place alone, in a cottage that's perfect for two but just a little too big for one. not that she plans on sharing any of that - it'd be pretty gross to, right?

the liquor goes down and this time, it is a bit too much. she splutters for a moment. swallows and wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand like she's totally capable, like that's how it's supposed to be, but she's definitely wrenching the bottle down to sit upright, between her thighs, rather than drinking any more just yet. )

The quicker you drink, the faster it works. Right? That's how it always seemed to me.

( --which is revealing that she doesn't do this very often. a frown starts, just at the corner of her lips, as she looks down at her own lap. )

Anyway, there's nothing wrong with being hasty. Sometimes it's nice to do things without thinking too hard about them.

( her chin swings up, looking at him again, and this time, she does manage a smile. )

Haven't you ever done that? Just... Gone for it, whatever you wanted, instead of worrying about what might happen? Midou~suji~ Akira~kun~.

[Midousuji is alarmed when she sputters, and he whips his head over to lift his eyebrows at her—and he has a cognitive latency, as he always does, in matters delicate and emotional. by the time he considers plucking the bottle from her, it’s...between her thighs. Midousuji hastily looks away, his gloved fingertip anxiously yanking down his lip. master strategist. dangerous!

but after a brief pause, he glances back at her, his lower gums still exposed as he stares at her. a picture is coming together, more solidly. the kind of person she is. Midousuji’s jaw falls open a little bit, his outgrown hair shifting across his brow as he tilts his head. the type of person who is maybe too concerned about being pleasant? about not having bad feelings.]

Well. Yes, [Midousuji answers to her rhetoric (but, again, social cues) question about pacing, and he scowls in subtle exasperation, his wondrous, examinate expression dissipating.] But if you’re a “lightweight,” you don’t have to drink so much so quickly...

[her next question makes Midousuji catch a little breath in the back of his throat, jolting away again, leaning back, and a feeling that reminds him of what he felt during their bond unpleasantly spikes through him. burning, uncomfortable, scary.]

Of ...of course I have...

[Midousuji doesn’t look away with the whole of his face, but his eyes dodge her; by now, she’s probably realized he doesn’t often, or easily, make and maintain eye contact.]

But within certain parameters, not just whatever. With winning... I’d do whatever I wanted to get that. Whatever I felt I needed... With people, I...

[Midousuji narrows his eyes, tilting his head. maybe he shouldn’t go down that road. it would surely make Aerith reconsider her investment. but. wait. no. does that imply that idea as a risk? if so, how many things does that admit? Midousuji opts to be candid, though uncomfortably so, due to his inability to acknowledge his own feelings for people. classic self sabotage.]

...if they aren’t useful to me, or I don’t know them, I’ll say or do whatever I want. I’ll manipulate them to get whatever I need. The stakes just don’t make as much sense, here. With that.

[he makes eye contact with her again, resting his cheek against his knees.]

A lot more calculated, and traditionally speaking, worse than overdrinking.

[having honestly exposed some of his major flaws, which he isn’t really ashamed of, per se, emboldens Midousuji to reach forward, across them—not too close, given where she’s (strategically???) settled the bottle—but his thin arm, like a bar, hovering above her thighs, has a clear implication: slow down.]

Slow down a bit.

Getting ahead of yourself with something like defeat... it’s gross. You don’t even know they’re gone, yet. You’re admitting your resignation prematurely. The night isn’t over yet.

Edited (oh my god SORRY tense kills me once again.. but this time in dialogue..) 2021-05-31 01:48 (UTC)

( that does, oddly, sober her in a way, root her down into the moment rather than into the slight, tingly twist of her stomach, with the liquor warming her from the inside out. if they aren't useful to me--she thinks about it for a moment, perhaps a moment too long, and surprisingly, it's her gaze that darts away, moves down to look into her lap again and then, with a soft sigh, out on the horizon instead.

it's not like she didn't know that he could be strange. he is strange. but he's strange in a way that's always been somehow pleasant to her, enjoyable, the sort of different that makes her feel less different, too, like they're odd charges that come together in some kind of magnetic pull, anyway. and he's talked about winning, and talked about being--like this, but it's never been quite worded this way. she admires his honesty, but--

something useful. manipulate, to get what he wants?

her gaze falls, to where his arm is held out above her thighs; it's clearly meant to stop her from drinking more, and though she does look at him, sidelong, she doesn't laugh at the 'gross' like she might usually, doesn't tease him or even get puffed up in make-believe annoyance. )

It's not because I feel defeated. I'm not admitting anything.

( and that's all she's going to say on that, for a moment: rather than let him keep his arm there, she reaches up with both of her hands, closes his palm in between her smaller two and squeezes it, trying to force his arm to relax, to even bend a little to make holding his hand--or possessing it, given that she's just clutching it like some small insect that she doesn't want to let go--easier for the both of them.

she doesn't look at him, looks out in front again, but her lips purse for a moment, like she doesn't know how to say it. now there's something funny. )

...Am I useful? To you?

[back home, home home, as in with his family, Midousuji was always quiet. respectable, mild. manic and chaotic to all else who knew him—but Aerith draws out a different quality from within him, that way. echoes of something familiar—something he doesn’t want to disrespect. he hasn’t figured it out, just yet, despite his cunning—cultivating dossiers in depth on his opponents so he could learn how they ticked, to psychologically terrorize them... this is a much more organic, less practiced structure, which is why it scares him. it doesn’t make sense, outside of home. yet here he is. Aerith has likenesses to two people Midousuji holds very dear, though he wouldn’t ever even let himself think deeply enough about his feelings in any regard to arrive to that conclusion.

he jumps, a little bit, when she manipulates his arm that way—and against her hopeful intentions, he remains tense; unnatural. Midousuji always holds his body in such incredible tension, without being aware of it—and this probably reveals that quite plainly. Midousuji is not a relaxed person.

he stares at her, feeling some ripples of some deep, unknown thing that frightens and cements him at the same time, completely uncomprehending.

thankfully, because he’s so strange, he doesn’t think to analyze the way she doesn’t look at him; it doesn’t occur to him at all. and part of that is because frankly, she’s only absorbed peripherally; he doesn’t look at her either. the way his pulse, so near to her eager hands, races, is precisely why. he rests his hand across his face, thinking carefully. it’s probably for slightly too long.]

...Yes. I think so. You helped me. For no reason, many times... But—

[Midousuji’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks uncomfortable. he doesn’t like talking about his feelings. he considers them a point of weakness. distantly, he remembers some vague echoes of someone who forced his way into Midousuji’s thoughts similarly—having hauled Midousuji’s unconscious body into his van, he’d given Midousuji some stern words (while he was out cold) about what he was lacking—the ability to connect with other people. to rely on them. Midousuji barely even recalls it, even as his hand is tangled up in the warmth of both of Aerith’s. it feels caustic, but magnetizing—quite literally, he feels like a moth to a flame.

with this tension, this discomfort, he could get up, storm off, no explanation—he doesn’t feel remorse, doesn’t care how he effects other people, as he’s said. but those similarities to the women in his life he’s loved keeps him stuck where he is.

he feels trapped, but also like he’s drawn to something. something to help him grow? or something that will destroy him? he isn’t sure.]

But I don’t...rely on people. I don’t need them. I...

[Midousuji looks away fully, now, his expression cross and frustrated, teeth bared as he tries to figure out his feelings. even privately, they’re impossible to discern. he seems like a candid person, but outside of his practiced elements, he simply isn’t. at all.]

...don’t do things... I don’t want to do. Outside of things like Bonding, and stuff—survival.

I’m not here...because you’re useful. I think you are, in some ways, but I haven’t even figured out how, or if it matters.

I don’t know what you are. That feeling... is gross. I feel disgusting. You’re hard to understand. I can usually figure people out pretty quickly, but...

[wow. where was he going with that. he definitely wants to bolt, now. but he’s held in her gentle hold. the way you hold something, if that thing is important. it makes him feel paralyzed.]

( it's a respectful answer: an honest answer, given the way that he talks. it's slow, drawn out like the words come along with the thought, and for awhile, she just lets the silence rest between them, lets it stretch and pull and manipulate the feelings into words. he says he doesn't rely on people, that he doesn't need people, and doesn't everyone feel that way? in some way, in some sense, she can relate to that; the type that doesn't want to rely on someone to be a burden, the type that doesn't want to need anyone lest they become too affected by what she is and what could happen, but likely for him it's some sort of silly measure of strength, rather than the desire not to be too much for people around her. to not leave too strong of a mark, because it could leave something painful behind: she'd rather be something that can be scrubbed away, like the sticky residue left after a band-aid.

hard to understand? maybe that's true. maybe it's hard for him to parse someone so similar and yet so drastically different, in all the ways that matter. maybe she might say he's hard to understand, too, but he's not. not really, anyway. she's seen people like him before--some of them are even her closest friends, the people that she cares too deeply about to ever perfectly let go.

i don't know what you are--she smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. in fact, her gaze dips, falls safely behind the weight of her bangs to her temples that she doesn't have to pretend like she's happy to hear it, or that she can just bounce back from it. why is it that one, in particular? it smarts, stings a little, and he doesn't mean it that way but it just cements the feeling that she thought she could escape from, in a city full of witches and monsters.

isn't she just something normal, boring, mundane here? unremarkable? )

...Back home, ( she starts after a moment, after her hands have relented to the fact that his arm will just stay stiff, like this, and that she has to put her elbows to her thighs so that she can hold his hand still, comfortably for herself. ) ...I was really only worth as much as I was useful. No one knew what I was, either.

( --which is incorrect, or misleading, a little, but it's the same sort of feeling. the same sense of otherness. )

I don't think I made them feel gross, though. Or disgusting.

( she can smile, tease a little, with that much; the alcohol is going to her head a little, making her braid swing slightly when she leans, tilts her head to stare at him thoughtfully. )

So what's the hard part? To figure out, I mean. About me, or my usefulness, or any of it.

[despite how Aerith is relating to Midousuji’s sentiment of not relying on other people, it’s for entirely different reasons. from a young, developmental age, the adults, though through very little fault of their own, had failed Midousuji; his peers had bullied him. Midousuji doesn’t rely on other people because he doesn’t trust them to understand or support him, nor does he desire it—Midousuji feels that way because other people are the burden. he moves, speaks, achieves—all much more freely, without them.

but that kind of rejection and hyper self-reliance is absolutely trauma born. it can’t carry someone for too long, and definitely not as far as Midousuji wants to go. but he’s too young, too unsupported, too out of touch with himself, to understand any of that.

all the same, also unlike Aerith, Midousuji wants to leave a mark on people. the very same things that had ostracized him are now weaponized, and he loves to force people into cowering beneath him for those very same qualities. how bullies become bullies. how people who are different obtain control. he’s one of the bad stories.

Midousuji watches her, carefully tumbling her every word in his head. curiosity does arise about her usefulness in childhood, what that means—but before he can figure out how to investigate that, she’s pulling the rug out from him again with another unexpected question. Midousuji’s expression drops, his mouth low and eyebrows high, pupils contracting in his lightless eyes. god. she’s still holding onto his hand, too. his arm twinges, his anxiety ramping, overheating him.]

I...

...don’t know.

[Midousuji swallows. he really doesn’t have an answer to that.]

You’re... Well.

[Midousuji glances away, feeling he won’t be able to say a thing if he keeps looking at her, especially with that expression. his fingertips perch on his chin, wide eyes whimsically distracted by the sparkling shattering lights of the stars.]

I feel like, anyway... though you seem like it, at first... you aren’t normal. Even people who aren’t normal, I can figure them out. But... the reasons why you confuse me...

[Midousuji scowls thoughtfully, and he hisses low through his teeth, frustrated. he doesn’t even know how to say it! and why should he say it anyway. what is he doing. why is this all so confusing and stupid. he knows he’s going against his own paradigms, but he feels helpless to it! how is this even possible]

Gross, [he mumbles, and he scrubs his free hand over his face, wincing his eyes closed.] Gross, gross, gross... I don’t even know how to describe it...

[which makes that subject a useless moot point, right. Midousuji’s expression, tiredly and exasperatedly, stares upward further; his eyes roll a little, the slight puffiness beneath his eyes pronouncing from it.]

Anyway... People are useless, and terrible. You shouldn’t worry about how you’re useful to them. You should worry about how they’re useful to you—how you’re useful to yourself. This is a relationship people neglect.

[Midousuji turns to face her, and pauses; there’s a distant chorus of crickets he notices then, chirring merrily in the still, pleasantly scented Summer night air.]

Loss is... less devastating, that way. [despite facing her, his eyes then dart away.] You’re the one who’s always going to be there.

Edited 2021-05-31 03:46 (UTC)

( it's almost, almost enough for her to want to answer back: but i won't be.

but that's going too far, too serious, too much for the way that his gaze darts around and the way she can practically feel him overheating, in her touch, yet she doesn't let go of him all the same. doesn't want to, really. it's not a warm night, not like it may get when summer starts to truly ramp up and make itself known, but it's nothing so frigid, nothing too overwhelming that he won't just naturally lose some of that heat, right? or maybe she's being a little bit greedy about it. if people are so useless, and so terrible, then why is he there with her at all? )

You're right, I'm not normal.

( that's easy enough to admit. and should she go a step further? it makes her want to laugh; the sound catches in her throat for a moment, and her gaze falls to the bottle, still nestled between her thighs, safe in her lap. she'll have to let go of him, if she wants to drink, which--is annoying, and she frowns for a moment. unfair. )

But neither are you, and it's not in all the ways you think you aren't. People aren't so terrible as you think they are, at least not all of them, and no one can do everything alone. Not even you.

( she nods her chin towards him, but politely, or perhaps forlornly, she doesn't meet his gaze either or study him like she would normally, with playfully owlish eyes. )

Remember? You could barely even drag yourself home. I helped you because I worried about you, because I cared about you, and that's gross, I know, but you would have been worse off without me.

( a shake of her head, once, but she doesn't like how it feels, slightly muddied with alcohol. ) I don't want people to be useful to me. They get hurt that way. I'm going to help everyone that I can, because I'm not normal, because that's what I'm supposed to do, that's why I'm here. There. Whatever, you know, back home. I guess here too...

( she wets her lips, once, and then, playfully, she gives his hand a squeeze. )

But if you're so eager to have me find other people useful, maybe you can help me have another drink? Hold the bottle for me? ( she rattles his hand a little, back and forth, in indication. ) I'm holding onto something that's going to get away if I let it go.

[Midousuji gives her an affronted, surprised stare when she tells him he can’t do everything alone. his breath catches weirdly in his throat, and temporarily, he feels—insulted. he’s never had any other choice. and even if he did, of course he can do it himself!! if he can’t do it himself, then he’ll fail—that’s not an option!

lip lifted in a snarl inspired by confusion, fear and irritation, Midousuji’s eyes fall on where her hand holds his. she isn’t insulting his integrity deliberately, of course, but Midousuji is reactive, emotional and stunted. none of this is territory he’s properly allowed himself to explore. sharply, his eyes look away, the heat a boiling roll in his chest as his blood heats—his thoughts are cooking, so thankfully, he doesn’t impulsively lash out per the top of his thoughts—because Aerith is different, as he’s said.

to her prompting, Midousuji’s eyes, wild and agitated, whip onto her—and despite his previous shyness, Midousuji does as suggested, yanking the bottle from between her legs, but very careful (and successfully so) not to touch her as he pulls it by its neck.]

Wanting to help people is normal, [Midousuji spits, his thoughts catching up.] You’re worried about hurting other people, but you should be worried about how they could hurt you! People are savages. Of course, of course, [Midousuji emphasizes, his voice raising, deep and rumbling.] not all people are bad! I’ve known a good person.

But it’s different, [he says, expression evening, like he’s accidentally stumbling on some epiphany—but it’s also still certainly quite mad.] for someone like me. People don’t think the same thing when they interact with someone like me versus someone like you, [Midousuji emphasizes, eyes widening as he leans his face, honestly, quite close to Aerith’s. he’s shy about personal space, unless engaged in some hostile manner.] and we aren’t talking about me. If you worry about every little person who floats your way, when you’re so nice and so amicable, the math is against you!!

[he leans away, tongue lolling out as he rolls his eyes, neck flopping back.]

...But, about your ”something”... it’s only going to get away from you if you don’t handle it appropriately. If it’s important, you handle it carefully. If you do that, you’ll probably be okay. If you hold on too hard, too scared, too desperate, you’ll lose it. Or worse, destroy it from the force of that grip.

[ugh. he’s put it back into perspective for himself. and he’s seeing it unfold, right now—he needs to calm down. he hasn’t been coy about his less charming traits, because he’s shameless, but they haven’t come up, either. and despite being shameless, he...doesn’t feel as relaxed as he usually does, being so transparently expressive in any whimsical way he pleases!!

so Midousuji mirrors Aerith, and just takes a swig himself—his broad back lurches immediately, the spiny fins of his scapula protruding under his shirt, eyes wincing shut as he slaps his hand across his mouth—when he recovers, pretty quickly, his eyes roll up, drool mixed with saliva streaking down his chin beneath the cup of his hand.]

Ugh. Gross.

You did it with such a straight face... I knew it...

[this isn’t a relaxing time. Midousuji never is really capable of providing that kind of vibe. his throat burning, Midousuji wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shuddering—and he peers at Aerith. it does indeed beg the question.....]

Aerith-chan...

[he swallows hard. the liquor burns in his belly.]

Why was I the person you asked for this?

Edited 2021-05-31 04:43 (UTC)

( he's always been expressive, though maybe that word isn't strong enough for it: maybe it would be better suited to say exaggerated, that his movements and his voice and even his feelings, as much as he may not want them to be, bleed into the way that he talks, the words that he uses, and how he flinches and twists and stretches this way and that when he talks. she sees it here, now, in the way it's almost like he's upset. almost, because he keeps talking, steady, almost frantic, and the way he leans in closer is nearly as close as they've ever been.

she doesn't have the usual edge of amusement, or even joy, that she might in the revelation: instead she stares right back at him, almost startled, her eyes round and wide and her mouth pressed tightly shut.

the bottle, he takes from her, but not to offer up like she'd wanted. no, he's taken it for himself, and for a second she can only watch helplessly as he swallows down a mouthful. a part of her wants to warn him; there's even the faint sound, in the back of her throat, but it comes too late and with too little. he's swallowed down what he can and it's obvious that he hates it, that it's actually gross, actually disgusting, and her tongue clicks against her teeth in dismay. he shouldn't have done that.

one of her hands, the one on top of his, lifts away--she's keen to brush some of that saliva off his face, too, wipe it with the back of her own hand, but he's peering at her and instead of risking it, she lets her hand hang there, fingertips slowly bending in towards her palm instead.

why was i the person you asked for this?

she's not expecting the question; it catches her with wide eyes. )

Because I felt safe, staying all night with you.

( likely he doesn't feel the same way, about how she's still gripping his hand-- gently, carefully, but she lets it go entirely. can't crush it, can't be too scared or too desperate, right? is that what he thinks she might be? both of her hands come back to her own lap, pressing down into it. )

You wouldn't expect me to be one way or the other. I could trust you. And I...figured you wouldn't care, to ask, to want to talk about it, so I could keep my secrets to myself.

( her chin bows down towards her chest. it's easier not to look at him. )

Because you think I'm disgusting. You wouldn't want to know more about someone disgusting. So...

text; 5/29, afternoon.

text;

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