It helps, a little, that though Midousuji's strides are long, they're a little clumsy and slow. Ishigaki doesn't have to hustle too hard, thankfully...
Midousuji listens to Ishigaki carefully, but doesn't look at him. That's too much to parse at once. When Ishigaki deduces Midousuji's relationship to happiness and winning, his jaw drops just slightly; his matte, dull velvet eyes roll slowly towards Ishigaki through their corners, but only briefly. Soon, he's fixed back on the path ahead of them, and he feels his palms sweat a little in his gloves; he adjusts the strap of his bag that contains his disassembled bike. The only thing he's really relied on, but even then, it had been an extension of himself.
He doesn't correct Ishigaki that he wasn't happy, even then—not quite. Invigorated by the thrill of victory—by overcoming the odds perceived as stacked against him, and as more numerous than what Midousuji perceives an average person to have. Happiness is a different feeling, to Midousuji—it's more calm; steadying, rather than destabilizing, like the exuberance that came from winning. Close, but not the same.
Still, it's strange—it makes Midousuji's gut twist and lift before it drops, and he has no idea how to respond to that, unfamiliar as it is. It's unsettling, confirming that Ishigaki had seen that—that he's known something like that, all this time. Midousuji leans his head back a little with a puzzled scowl, wondering, suddenly, if Ishigaki had pitied him. Is that what inspired all this? Disgusting.
"...No," he answers simply, tilting his head to one side, rubbing the other side of his face, as if to assuage an itch. "But..." Midousuji swallows, pausing, wondering if it's pertinent to be so frank. Being candid is meant to be handled strategically. He can't just lay all his cards bare. He's maybe done enough—but there's a strange, magnetic compulsion, Midousuji is finding. Like going downhill. Wanting to be seen?
Not quite, Midousuji reasons curiously. That really depends.
"...something's...changing. I can feel it. Or maybe more accurately, I'm letting it occur, little by little. Something small, and gross, getting bigger, like a parasite. I don't know what's happening to me, or what I'm becoming, but I'm taking the risk if it means I get what I want..."
Meaning, maybe, he can be happy, in whatever form that takes, someday—Midousuji only acknowledges this because this path is absolutely without pattern data for Midousuji to run the math on. Which is exactly why it's scary.
"Ishigaki-kuunn... If you thought—" again, saw, "—that I was unhappy... Grosssss... Your annoying, clingy devotion... was that before or after that assessment?"
He scowls at Ishigaki.
"You better not pity me. That's so disgusting I think I feel a little sick." That's why his belly is doing all that, right? "That's not a sustainable foundation, you know, if you're so hell-bent on being someone's support."
Which, yes, thusly revealing: Midousuji understands that Ishigaki's desire is to support him, and inadvertently, Midousuji is admitting he accepts that—pending Ishigaki's answer.
NONSENSE also i forgot midousuji said that. god
Midousuji listens to Ishigaki carefully, but doesn't look at him. That's too much to parse at once. When Ishigaki deduces Midousuji's relationship to happiness and winning, his jaw drops just slightly; his matte, dull velvet eyes roll slowly towards Ishigaki through their corners, but only briefly. Soon, he's fixed back on the path ahead of them, and he feels his palms sweat a little in his gloves; he adjusts the strap of his bag that contains his disassembled bike. The only thing he's really relied on, but even then, it had been an extension of himself.
He doesn't correct Ishigaki that he wasn't happy, even then—not quite. Invigorated by the thrill of victory—by overcoming the odds perceived as stacked against him, and as more numerous than what Midousuji perceives an average person to have. Happiness is a different feeling, to Midousuji—it's more calm; steadying, rather than destabilizing, like the exuberance that came from winning. Close, but not the same.
Still, it's strange—it makes Midousuji's gut twist and lift before it drops, and he has no idea how to respond to that, unfamiliar as it is. It's unsettling, confirming that Ishigaki had seen that—that he's known something like that, all this time. Midousuji leans his head back a little with a puzzled scowl, wondering, suddenly, if Ishigaki had pitied him. Is that what inspired all this? Disgusting.
"...No," he answers simply, tilting his head to one side, rubbing the other side of his face, as if to assuage an itch. "But..." Midousuji swallows, pausing, wondering if it's pertinent to be so frank. Being candid is meant to be handled strategically. He can't just lay all his cards bare. He's maybe done enough—but there's a strange, magnetic compulsion, Midousuji is finding. Like going downhill. Wanting to be seen?
Not quite, Midousuji reasons curiously. That really depends.
"...something's...changing. I can feel it. Or maybe more accurately, I'm letting it occur, little by little. Something small, and gross, getting bigger, like a parasite. I don't know what's happening to me, or what I'm becoming, but I'm taking the risk if it means I get what I want..."
Meaning, maybe, he can be happy, in whatever form that takes, someday—Midousuji only acknowledges this because this path is absolutely without pattern data for Midousuji to run the math on. Which is exactly why it's scary.
Midousuji's expression flattens, clearly unamused.
"Ishigaki-kuunn... If you thought—" again, saw, "—that I was unhappy... Grosssss... Your annoying, clingy devotion... was that before or after that assessment?"
He scowls at Ishigaki.
"You better not pity me. That's so disgusting I think I feel a little sick." That's why his belly is doing all that, right? "That's not a sustainable foundation, you know, if you're so hell-bent on being someone's support."
Which, yes, thusly revealing: Midousuji understands that Ishigaki's desire is to support him, and inadvertently, Midousuji is admitting he accepts that—pending Ishigaki's answer.