Ishigaki recognizes the voice immediately, but its suddenness causes a reflex to let out a bewildered yell, a few octaves too high. He backs up, and the uneven weight of his bag swings, almost causing him to lose his footing, but he finds himself caught into a wide, boney frame instead.

Blinking, he looks up, and his eyes are met with much rounder, lightless ones. His mouth forms a tight straight line as his eyebrows pull down together. An odd mix of relief and annoyance waves through him.

"Oh my god," Ishigaki breathes out, humiliated. His body relaxes into the other's, but his fist is still grasped tightly on his own jacket. "Don't do that."

As Ishigaki gives himself a second to recover, heart beating loud in his ears, he realizes their nearness, and his posture stiffens. He abruptly steps forward, giving themselves a good few feet apart, then turns to face the other. He knows Midousuji doesn't like to be touched. But there's no one to blame but himself when he's popping Ishigaki's personal bubble as much as he does, so the guilt doesn't linger long.

"So, uh," Ishigaki says quietly, then clears his throat. "I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?"