Midousuji's eyes widen as he lifts his head, his mouth lowering and thinning a bit in surprise. He tilts his head with genuine curiosity, and that funny little flutter ripples through him again. It makes him swallow. Pressing on that will make it too obvious that Midousuji gives a shit in any capacity, so he moves past it for now.
i can pick you up at the train station around 4
Midousuji's eyes widen, gazing without focus to nothing again, one of his hands coming to absently push at a lip, then tap its nail on his teeth, listening to the strange, inconsistent and hard cadence of his own heart. Is he excited? For the plans? Or because he's just texting Ishigaki? What is this?? Is this normal? Is this how people act when they're—
When...they're...
Midousuji's eyes fall to his phone, and his stomach seizes with a twist of icy dread, realizing he hasn't been timing the spaces between Ishigaki's texts and his responses. That's not too weird. If Midousuji were pretending to be distracted, it would be reasonable to tie the bow around that ruse as Midousuji's settled to...keep an eye on his phone? Fuck!! Why does even that feel desperate!?
Midousuji turns his head to tuck his face against his futon again with a hiss of dismay, eyes tightly closed, and he pulls his hair with an awkwardly positioned clawing of his hand.
"...attracted to someone," Midousuji grits out slowly, tersely.
How did this happen? How did it come to this? From where it started... Is he really attracted to Ishigaki? Does that mean he has some kind of interest? Sexual, obviously, but doesn't that bely intent? Midousuji wants to think he isn't trying to spend time with Ishigaki just because his dick suddenly has an opinion about it. This is already bad; he's already gross for this. But he'd be worse than gross, if it were like that.
"Gross," Midousuji groans, rocking his head side to side, teeth ensnaring the cloth again. "Gross, gross, groooossss!! Pyaaa! I hate this! I hate it... I'm so gross..."
And here he was. Inviting it. Inviting it!! If he was desiring nearness because of something like that—nevermind that pulling someone closer at all was horrifying—maybe it's better to cut away. To pull off. Leave it behind!
...But Midousuji feels like he owes Ishigaki, somehow. Ishigaki got him that win. Even if it that had somehow triggered some vile stirrings within him. But what favors is Midousuji doing for Ishigaki, this way? If he's being drawn to Ishigaki by his dick, of all things? Which of course, isn't the case... but it's the most obvious symptom, and the easiest to admonish.
More than owing Ishigaki... Pulling away because of some kind of connection... That was falling into comfortable, easy, efficient coping. Not ones that were going to make Midousuji stronger. It went against what Midousuji had learned from Ishigaki, so slowly he'd barely noticed its onset and inception.
Midousuji grits his teeth, then drags his phone closer.
Ishigaki-kun, he prompts, then immediately feels a terrible well of blood-curdling anxiety. He immediately thinks of how to dismiss that addressing, trying to undo his every step, like someone walking backwards in a small circle and trying to sweep away their footsteps at the same time, forever.
no subject
Midousuji's eyes widen as he lifts his head, his mouth lowering and thinning a bit in surprise. He tilts his head with genuine curiosity, and that funny little flutter ripples through him again. It makes him swallow. Pressing on that will make it too obvious that Midousuji gives a shit in any capacity, so he moves past it for now.
i can pick you up at the train station around 4
Midousuji's eyes widen, gazing without focus to nothing again, one of his hands coming to absently push at a lip, then tap its nail on his teeth, listening to the strange, inconsistent and hard cadence of his own heart. Is he excited? For the plans? Or because he's just texting Ishigaki? What is this?? Is this normal? Is this how people act when they're—
When...they're...
Midousuji's eyes fall to his phone, and his stomach seizes with a twist of icy dread, realizing he hasn't been timing the spaces between Ishigaki's texts and his responses. That's not too weird. If Midousuji were pretending to be distracted, it would be reasonable to tie the bow around that ruse as Midousuji's settled to...keep an eye on his phone? Fuck!! Why does even that feel desperate!?
Midousuji turns his head to tuck his face against his futon again with a hiss of dismay, eyes tightly closed, and he pulls his hair with an awkwardly positioned clawing of his hand.
"...attracted to someone," Midousuji grits out slowly, tersely.
How did this happen? How did it come to this? From where it started... Is he really attracted to Ishigaki? Does that mean he has some kind of interest? Sexual, obviously, but doesn't that bely intent? Midousuji wants to think he isn't trying to spend time with Ishigaki just because his dick suddenly has an opinion about it. This is already bad; he's already gross for this. But he'd be worse than gross, if it were like that.
"Gross," Midousuji groans, rocking his head side to side, teeth ensnaring the cloth again. "Gross, gross, groooossss!! Pyaaa! I hate this! I hate it... I'm so gross..."
And here he was. Inviting it. Inviting it!! If he was desiring nearness because of something like that—nevermind that pulling someone closer at all was horrifying—maybe it's better to cut away. To pull off. Leave it behind!
...But Midousuji feels like he owes Ishigaki, somehow. Ishigaki got him that win. Even if it that had somehow triggered some vile stirrings within him. But what favors is Midousuji doing for Ishigaki, this way? If he's being drawn to Ishigaki by his dick, of all things? Which of course, isn't the case... but it's the most obvious symptom, and the easiest to admonish.
More than owing Ishigaki... Pulling away because of some kind of connection... That was falling into comfortable, easy, efficient coping. Not ones that were going to make Midousuji stronger. It went against what Midousuji had learned from Ishigaki, so slowly he'd barely noticed its onset and inception.
Midousuji grits his teeth, then drags his phone closer.
Ishigaki-kun, he prompts, then immediately feels a terrible well of blood-curdling anxiety. He immediately thinks of how to dismiss that addressing, trying to undo his every step, like someone walking backwards in a small circle and trying to sweep away their footsteps at the same time, forever.