midomizu psl for niigo

[discarding]

[it’s another drolling, nothing day. the stasis as usual in the routine purgatory that is his life between races. the thrills of competition and pushing his body to his limit, the rush of crossing the finish line as number one, or the ego-crushing blows of defeat—all on hold. the only things he really feels, that brings him out of his numb autopilot that propels him emptily through exams, commuting, scripted, quiet chatter with his family…

there’s also maybe the recent, worrying stirring in his heart—the little hiccuping smolder of a tiny ember in its lands Midousuji had considered razed, and salted. perhaps by trauma, and certainly by design; he doesn’t want to think about it, that maybe a part of him knew that life could be inside that part of him again if he’d let it. and letting it wouldn’t lend to victory—or so he’d previously thought.

he’d thought that embracing any sentimentality would put him on the path to ruin—he sees it happen to countless others. but lately, he’s noticing it’s not such a universal rule that wasting time, dilly-dallying in the lives of nothing people. only because some of those people he’d turn his tiny, flat nose at for engaging in those activities have overcome Midousuji, who has worked so much harder. dedicated his life to make himself a machine. empty.

and a loser, again and again.

so he’s been experimenting, a little, with what he’s not yet brave enough to name it for what it is: friendship. a bleak epiphany from some hazy memory of his former team captain going on about stupid warm-hearted crap versus Midousuji’s cold logic, and cross-extrapolating Midousuji’s one weakness: his devotion to being alone, and utterly self sufficient.

it’s such distracting thoughts that make Midousuji accidentally completely shoulder-check a passerby, and given his impressive wingspan for his age, it’s with enough force he nearly loses the bag slung across his shoulder, containing his broken down DeLose.

when the other person staggers, she drops her bag—and from within those bag contents comes a noisy clattering of jewel plastic, cascading like sheets. he pauses, then carefully picks out his earplug, surely a contributor to his clumsy blunder.]

Sorry…

[he isn’t, really, but he’s back in polite society. curiously, he tilts his head, bending at his tiny waist to help gather the CDs back up—and as he straightens, his mouth, beneath his mask, gapes in slack-jawed, awed surprise. he recognizes the band name… and how silly is it? how strange, to have CDs when nearly all music is now digital? he tilts his head the other way, noting signatures. autographs.

why does this person have so many of these?]

Amai…

[not the name of the band, but one of the members—the one he follows, recently kind of on a kick with the group, often accompanying his chaotic thoughts as he trains. he boggles at the stranger, then, carefully cradling the CDs to his chest so they don’t fall, he extends a gloved hand to help her steady her stance.]

Do you…

[whyyyy. is he wasting time with idle chit-chat with a total stranger? like he cares if other people like the same music he likes. maybe per this experimental “being more open socially” thing, or… but there’s also a curiosity: why such antiquated merch? and why so many autographs? are they forgeries? is this person a scammer? or a supplier?]

…know this group?

Comments

so sorry for the delay! this week's been insane

[niigo]

[ it's a little tricky, being in an anonymous music group that's been steadily increasing in popularity for a while now. everyone wants to know the faces behind their work — what do they look like? what are they like in real life? how old are they? every time they release a new song, there's at least three articles published asking those same questions, theorizing.

the only thing their fans can agree on is that, based on the sound of their voices and some of their lyrics, is that they're a group of girls.

which is fine. that's the only way mizuki can really describe it: fine. none of their social media accounts show any indication of their gender identities because they're trying to keep up the whole 'mysterious' thing, but mizuki can see how most people would connect the dots in that way, and three of them are girls, besides. amia sounds like a girly name, too. it's fine.

it just feels like they're living some sort of double life sometimes. maybe even triple life. there's amia, mizuki with their friends, and mizuki at school. they're all different, and sometimes they aren't sure which one is really them, or if it even matters, and — ]

Ow —

[ and there goes all their CDs. they take the stranger's hand — geez, he's tall — just for a second before retracting their own once they're steady, brushing their skirt off. ]

No worries, no worries! It's my fault, too.

[ but that last question catches them off-guard a little. it shouldn't, really, because 25-ji's pretty popular, but they've never actually met anyone who listens to them. which makes sense, given their demographic. mizuki wonders how they should handle this — this guy might not even be that big of a fan, but the thought is a little exciting. can he recognize their voice? would he want one of the CDs? or is he just gonna be like, 'oh, okay, cool' and leave? should mizuki just nod and leave? ]

Yeah! They're my favorite.

[ absolutely not. they'll mess around a little. ]

You know them, too? They're kinda like, uh, what's the saying... a hidden gem, right? The animator's really good.

[ ena is going to kill them when they bring this up to the rest of the group later. ]

i feel that. never to worry!

[discarding]

Is that so…

[Midousuji tilts his head, vacant, lightless stare boring down on this mysterious, pink-haired person. his mind turns slow, like lagging, untreated cogs.

animation… if they care about that kind of thing, Midousuji wonders what kind of person this is. seems maybe a bit too stylish and kept to be an otaku, but he supposes there’s all kinds.

he blinks, belatedly turning around on their comment about the music being a hidden gem, and he tilts his head, staring off to nothing in particular as he stretches out his craning neck.]

…Yeah. Or maybe more like an emerging gem… It’s not usually my kind of content, to be honest…

[wow. this feels so weird. a pointless conversation with a random person. this kind of thing tends to feel unnatural even with people he does know. but hey, pushing boundaries, right?

come to think of it, has he ever even spoken to a girl this long before (or, as he’s perceiving as a girl, anyway)? or this much?? it’s not that girls are especially unkind to him (though they are sometimes), but no matter their approach, he usually walks past them without acknowledgment. but he started it, so it’s different.

he tilts his head back down to Mizuki.]

…But some of the lyrical content… It’s unique, and evocative… Sometimes a little weird… and I respect their gimmick; creating, but unseen… It keeps the individuals from becoming the product. But at the same time, because of the gross, nosy nature of humans, the elusiveness breeds mystery and becomes a point of attraction. A fantasy.

People like the idea of one day obtaining access to the inaccessible…

[then, his eyes drop back down to the stack of jeweled cases. which, belatedly, he remembers to extend to them.]

…Even as a fan, though… isn’t it strange to have so many copies of the same album? And they’re signed.

[his gaze is back on Mizuki, unintentionally with a drilling intensity. he’s maybe leaning towards suspecting this person is up to something naughty, but for someone like Midousuji, that’s an alluring point to his curiosity, rather than a repulsive one. or maybe it’s less nefarious, and more pragmatic…]

Could it be this is “stocks,” to you? Stock up big with autographed novelty memorabilia, like something as old school as a CD… Even so, it seems strange that you have signatures from an anonymous group that doesn’t perform live, or seems to intend to.

[wow. has he ever spoken this much to a stranger before? but something’s fishy, so it’s easy to slip into a mode of (gentle) interrogation. his head tilts again, the degree so abrupt and dramatic, it almost seems like his ear could touch his broad, sharp shoulder, which is saying something, considering how long his neck is.]

More so when they haven’t even released signed albums for purchase. [yet, perhaps?? curiouser and curiouser.]

Strange.

[niigo]

[ mizuki's nodding along, looking proud, even. they don't have much of a hand in the lyrics side of things, but every song they've released so far has resonated with them just as much as the rest of the group, or their fans. from that despairing feeling, to even the more hopeful aspects.

so when midousuji goes on about the gross nature of humans, it doesn't really phase them. they've had the same thoughts before, and sometimes they still do. they can't get rid of them that easily, and the biggest reason 25-ji exists is so nobody has to feel alone with those thoughts. it's almost a form of venting, in a way.

still, they're not done messing around yet. they take the jeweled cases, grinning, stuffing all of them back into their bag — except one. ]

It is strange, isn't it? Like you said, they haven't released any signed albums. I wonder if these are all forged?

[ they hold the CD up closer towards midousuji, almost like they want him to take it. ]

Or maybe this is Amia's real, genuine signature? Doesn't it look like it could be? It's kinda Amia-like. [ ... whatever that means?? ] People have been asking for merch, you know. Don't you wanna be the first lucky fan to say you've got a signed copy? It's tempting, right?

[ truth be told: they only very recently started signing albums. it's not even public news yet. are they going to tell him this? yeah, sure, eventually. ]

[discarding]

That was my first assumption, [Midousuji admits bluntly, but not with any kind of tone—rather kind of an absence of one, watching as they pack up the CDs again.]

Amia-like…??

[Midousuji’s lower eyelids raise as he thinks. does it. how. like—does it look like how she—sounds? nope. even with his abstract fashion of thinking, he can’t quite put that one together.

Midousuji’s finger hangs thoughtfully hooked in the back of his mask, mostly because his teeth and lips aren’t available to weirdly fiddle with in contemplation. he blinks once, head un-tilting itself as he looks at the CD.]

Ahh?

[he squints his eyes, scoffing into the fabric of his mask.]

Grossssss. Are you trying to sell to me? Especially when you just flirted at the concept of it being a forgery.

[he points, eyes snapping wide open again, but the gesture isn’t aggressive. his arm remains bent at the elbow, hand still mostly in his own personal space.]

Heyyy, hey, so is this what you do? Petty forgery and con sales in subway stations??

[niigo]

Nooope! Actually, I’m a pretty decent animator.

[ not that it’s exactly a job — they aren’t paid for their work. even all the signed CDs are meant to be given away rather than sold. but calling it a hobby doesn’t sound right, either? ]

I can sing, too. My friends and I have our own group.

[ now they’re actually dropping hints, but they still won’t blame midousuji if he can’t figure it out. mizuki’s vibes don’t really align with 25-ji’s image — they’ve got a casual lolita aesthetic, pastel colors, etc. not that their music is all doom and gloom, but it’s not exactly cutesy. ]

We’ve only got enough songs for one album so far, but I’d say things are going pretty good for us.

1/2

[discarding]

…

[Midousuji, expression vacant, falls his eyes back onto her backpack. it doesn’t hit him immediately, but like a trickle—and when it does, he hooks his mask on his gloved, skinny finger, pulling it down underneath his chin.]

[discarding]

[Midousuji’s eyes flit back up to the stranger before him, and though sometimes Midousuji’s reaction time is a little slow, and in some places, he’s extraordinarily dense… he’s pretty sharp overall.

he blinks, once, and tilts his head.]

I see… So, it’s yooouuou, isn’t it?

You’re Amia. Right?

A high schooler…

[niigo]

It's me! I'm Amia. Are you shocked?

[ mizuki can't help but puff out their chest a little, like they just pulled off some sort of elaborate scheme. ]

Akiyama Mizuki. That's my real name, but you can't, like, tell anyone —

[ — and then they pause, eyes widening. ]

Wait, is this gonna ruin our music for you? Like, 'ugh, some group of high schoolers made this, and one of them looks like they belong in a fashion magazine?!'

[discarding]

[wait. what. he totally called it, yet, somehow, he is genuinely kind of shocked. such that his eyes widen, and he leans back a little, for no reason reflexively clutching his hand around the strap of his bag. he blinks stupidly.

he then looks almost vexed, brows slightly knit as he tilts his head, still silent. he guesses their alias, so they just share their entire real name off the bat, like that??? what are they, an idiot????? what if Midousuji was some bath-water drinking psycho? for god sake, he doesn’t even look his age. the only thing that might give him away appropriately is the high school uniform he wears, but even then, he could just be some freak cosplaying and knocking people down with his man shoulders to strike conversation.

wow. that sure was a train of thought. Midousuji shakes his head.]

No, no, no, [he assures, or maybe hushes, and squints, lifting a hand in stop.]

I’m a highschooler too, obviously. [obviously.] Like I’d care about that.

I don’t care about fashion or beauty or anything, either.

I was just surprised, given the output and the quality.

[a beat, as he considers, and Midousuji revises his thought.]

But that’s passion, isn’t it? It’s not that you find the time, you make it.

[niigo]

[ they are a bit of an idiot. they're being overly-friendly, which is generally the case with mizuki, who tends to approach people if they seem interesting on a whim — but anyway, if this guy's a fan, he can't be a horrible person. right? right. he's just super tall and looks a little intimidating. plus, he seems to get it. their music, their passion. ]

Yeah, yeah! Exactly! Hey, what school do you go to?

[ and they have to ask, of course, because they don't recognize his uniform, and he's got a noticeable accent. in return, they'll just casually reveal even more information about themselves — ]

I go to Kamiyama, in Shibuya.

[ that's a bit of an overstatement. they go when their teacher calls and nags them about their grades. ]

[discarding]

[ew… this person is so… bubbly. this personality type, especially from tiny people, makes Midousuji’s skin crawl. they aren’t as easy to smash, because weirdly, no desire arises—but the disposition enacts that reflex more than anything else. uneasy, tense and awkward, Midousuji glances away, subconsciously leaning back and just a touch sideways.]

…Kyoooto… Fushimi. Of the same.

[school name, same as city and ward. it's repudiated; a traditionally booky school, though nowhere near elite—a lot of the working class of Kyoto blow through there, but it’s a school that has the reputation if you’ve made it there at all, you have a good academic career ahead of you based on your middleschool performance.

so then, what’s Midousuji doing here? the truth is, he isn’t in Tokyo very often…but he has a reason, as of late, that he’s experimenting with indulging. someone near Tokyo, who’s still trying to drag him to Akihabara, but Midousuji isn’t yet having any of that. his gifted unit 002 by the same person dangles from his bag, up near his armpit, away from sight.

it makes sense this person goes to school in Shibuya, he thinks; it’s rare to find girls like this in Tokyo, stylish and with cool, kempt and altered hair. they seem trendy, and on the surface, kind of vapid…

but she’s an artist. Midousuji doesn’t think he’s ever really met one—not that he’s specifically cared to… but still, it puts him out of his element, in that way he doesn’t have a script, making him feel childish and small. the worst feeling.]

I’m a senior.

[just freshly. like he’s reminding himself.]