I saw it in my notes, you know. She was leaving them for me all along, just in case. Didn't want me to screw things up for her — not until I had to, anyway. She had a really juicy conversation with your other self, before. Said that if she hurt you, he'd kill her~
Very cute of him! I just have to say, why is it that the same can't work the other way around, hmm? Why should we put up with weathering all your little whims, the big twists your other half gets his panties in...how about when other people go batting their lashes at you, beckoning you over with promises of sweet and tender love? It happens a lot, doesn't it?
[her fingers crook into the glass, gaze going sour.]
You can just wander off any time you like. From the sounds of it you have your pick of the whole crop! What a lucky guy, to be so wanted by all. Why should our little Miss Morose believe anything you say?
fingers grip the hem of his shirt in agitation so he isn't tempted to shut the blinds in syo's face and go back to bed, chalk all of this up to be just a nightmare and wake up tomorrow morning when the sun is up and the world is a brighter place.
he didn't know fukawa was leaving notes to syo like that— he was encouraged to do the same with is alter but nothing came of it. his alter had torn his papers up, refused to communicate, but maybe he just didn't try hard enough. no, there's no maybe about it. he barely tried. would it have changed anything if he did? ]
He can't do that... He can't hurt her. No matter what. He can't!
[ he can, though. and he will. and there is nothing mikoto can do to stop him. their relationship isn't anything at all like fukawa's and syo's, he can see that plain as day. he already hates his alter. he resents him so much, this personality of his that has done nothing but ruin his life, ruin his relationships, ruining it now with threats and promises that mikoto never agreed to. ]
You wouldn't let him, right, Syo? You would stop him before he hurts her. You have to!
[if only he knew how long it had taken to get there. The girls weren't on good terms on the best of days, especially for the years when Syo was killing. Worse now, after all that's happened. Their wills are splitting again, one desperate to bask in the glow of new love and the other holding a grudge like a precious stone to her chest.]
Huh? Are you stupid?
[Syo cocks her head.]
You know what'll happen to you if I stop him, right?
[ is he stupid? yes, and panicked too, wincing at the imagined scenario that had gotten fukawa so upset in the first place: syo attacking his alter, killing him with mikoto's blessing this time, mikoto waking up the next morning not remembering a thing— or maybe it'll be a week later like last time, or maybe it'll be never. he doesn't know. he's never died, doesn't know what that's like, it's always been his alter standing in his place, taking on the abuse and dying in his stead. ]
Maybe you don't have to kill him? You can just, like... rough him up a little. Though, I'll be the one feeling it the next day...
[ it'd be nothing compared to what his alter would feel, though, having to fight syo. he's being entirely unfair to this other self of his, but if he doesn't come out and just leaves them all alone, won't everything be okay? ]
Is that so? I was thinking I'd take your greedy little fingers off! That'd solve a few problems in one.
[You want non-lethal, there you have it. No baseball bats or wandering hands for you.
Syo hums at the question, folding her arms atop the outer windowsill and resting her chin on them.]
What do I feel, what do I feel? Such is the question.
I feel... that I wish you had stayed dead. [said plainly, as if recounting the menu from last night's dinner.] Then I wouldn't have to wait around for the next time you crush her heart into pulp.
I don't trust you with her. Plain and simple. And I'm not so easily bought by this lovey dovey haze she's living in now, even if it's soaking into my skin as well. It only makes me itch twice as hard to do something about it, before it gets worse.
Because it will, won't it? You can't keep your hands to yourself.
[ seriously contemplating letting syo chop one of his hands off. not both, because he needs at least one of them to function, but then again, he's not sure a hand or two would even be enough to convey his conviction which has been, let's face it, flimsy at best when he thinks back at how he behaves around other people. friendly was always his goal, to get along with everybody, but the line blurs from overly friendly to flirty and he pulls both hands to himself, clutching fists to his chest. ]
...if you kill me and I stay dead, Fuka-chan will hate you. I don't want either of you getting hurt because of me.
[ the problem is him. what can he do? he looks down at his hands like this is the final seconds of a saw trap he fabricated in his own mind. he thinks about the talk he had with fjord just a day or two ago, about how people will die, and how he has to move on. he had cried, then. maybe fukawa will too, when he dies, but then she'll move on, no other choice.
he doesn't want to die.
he promised to stay with her, forever.
syo is at the window, so he peels back and runs to the door before he loses his nerve, pulling it open just wide enough to shove his right hand out up to the elbow, the sudden cold of night air sending a shiver of dread down his spine from head to toe. ]
Does. Has. For a long, long while, hate is all they had. Fukawa got to bear the brunt of the barbs the world slung at them, taking her lumps from just about every direction. Syo woke up and dished it back out. Except it never quite felt that way — sure yes, she weathered the sting of rejections she couldn't remember and felt them twining with desperate want. Then that wretched combination twisted and bubbled inside her until it hit a manic fever pitch, and she needed the release. To show love in her own way, giddy and fired up as the boys all screamed. They were hers then, not Gloomy's. Pretty prizes she kept all to herself, sating her burning desire for a time.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. She always felt it was piping hot, but that's because of the fever. Want and death, drawing them near to expel them forever. She had a lot of love to give.
This, though. This may have been the clearest time it was on the chilly side. What was the difference, here? That this time Fukawa got the love, the heat, and then had to watch it be squandered away? Syo felt like she'd been dunked in ice. Beyond hopeless. And then the next week rolls around and Fukawa's traipsed right back into the jaws of this beartrap, and she has to wait around for that final snap?
Syo's expecting some snivelling and crying. Pleading. Promises that he'll change, so sorry, he'll never do anything wrong again. Pretty words for pretty lies. Can't keep his word if he can't remember what it is half the time, and judging from bits and pieces she gets around the place he hasn't got the brains to keep his wits together when he can.
Hasn't got the brains to keep his hands inside.
Syo watches that arm jut out. Her brow rises, head turning slow from the window to regard it. Disbelieving. Do it quick.
There's a clock ticking somewhere, surely. Some potent measure of the time passing as she looks over that exposed wrist, the gentle hand that had mapped her figure when she wasn't around to punish him for it.
At long last, she snatches the wrist. There's no flash of scissors though. She pulls the boy out and onto the pavement with her, cold as the tundra as she speaks.]
[ his voice catches, a strangled whisper squeezed from empty lungs, a dry mouth. wet eyes. he doesn't dare blink as he stands there in the threshold of the trailer, his wrist caught and his head splitting. he's terrified. looking into syo's eyes, he doesn't think he's ever been this scared in his life— he was fortunate enough to never have the opportunity before, and then later when he become a contestant and then crew, he never had to face the horrors as himself.
let me do this, he begs himself, feeling the hot iron stabbing into his head trying to distract him from the icon brand around his wrist, i have to do this. don't take this away from him too. ]
I don't want to lose her... Whatever price you want... as long as I get to be with her, then. Then it's okay. I'm serious.
[It's a cold, long moment that passes between them. Syo, a verifiable chatterbox and showboat, finds herself at a curious loss for words.
He doesn't want to lose her.
He'll pay whatever price she asks — as if her other half were something she was keen to barter for. They're not like him. She doesn't coddle herself, prize Miss Morose above all else. If anything the girl's felt like a chain around her neck. Oh sure, someone like Syo would burn bright and die out quick if left to her own devices, but what a time she'd have before going! It's the tether that bothers her, that she has to fucking care at all. That she has to be the extension, the extrusion from the gut where all Fukawa's ugliest, foulest impulses fester and shove out, because precious Miss Morose can't handle it, so someone has to.
Someone has to take the pain of being unwanted, the heat of desire, the awkward-and-ugly-and-ill-fittingness, the rage at the injustice, the craving for love of any kind, of even the slightest sort, the why-do-they-hate-me, the it's-always-like-this, the it's not fair it's not fair when is it my turn of it all — someone's gotta take that burgeoning mass of filth and snip it off when it gets out of control. So she did, one boy at a time.
And now here is this boy. A simple guy, by every measure of the word, oh so simply asking her: hey, can I take that? I'd like it very much, and I'll give you what you want for it.
Syo clucks her tongue.]
Man.
[And throws his hand back at him. Turns on her heel and takes a few paces, hands on her hips and head lolling to one side as she mulls the matter over.]
What's the deal with you, huh? You're getting a raw bargain here. I'd almost think you just liked easy pickings, if you weren't putting your paws up for grabs just now. You might as well try trading a prize racehorse for a scuttling cockroach you scooped out of the cupboard! Anyone can see you're selling yourself short.
[ his hand is returned but it's not until syo walks away that he can breath again, heart pounding in his throat and head buzzing with renewed oxygen, but the fear is still there because his hand is still attached, syo had rejected his offer.
what now?
he almost follows her, but stays in the doorframe instead, watching her back. at this angle, with her face turned away, all he can see is the girl he loves and wants to hold onto. ]
What are you talking about? Toko is brilliant, you know that.
[ does syo not see through her eyes, experience everything fukawa experiences? she can't mean what she's saying. ]
You know the worlds she creates with just her mind, you know how passionate she is, how driven. She's wonderful.
[ in comparison, mikoto is... maybe a little cute? that's it. he's not strong or fearless or rich or any of that. he's just some guy. ]
[listen he'll literally never be as rich as byakuya-sama but he is cuter than him by a million miles.
There's a bark, half a laugh.]
Brilliant.
[fine, sure, on a literary scale, but if the response of the world at large is to rough her up so bad that someone like Syo is born, how dazzling can that girl really be?
What's rubbing her wrong is the way he says it. Whole-hearted conviction. She half turns again, looking at him from over her shoulder as he makes these plaintive commendations. It just itches. Infuriates. Echoes back to another time.
I never thought of you or Fukawa-san as abnormal. You're just a little strange, is all. Another memory, another sweet-natured soul, holding her arm back. Holding her hands even as she had the blade poised at her throat. But even so, you're important to me!
It's enough to set her teeth on edge. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, because it's never once been true in this way before, and she'll have to pick up the pieces again, and Gloomy will hate her for it and they'll go back to the merry misery they've always persisted in. Or — and here there's a burst of something like hope, and a lot like fear — he means what he says, and it's different this time.]
...There isn't much hope left for me, is there? [She sighs, lets her head roll to the other shoulder. Gesticulating with thespian grace as she muses aloud.] Oh, sure, we all need a dangerous dame when the going gets rough, but that's what we're hoping to fix right? She came here to solve impossible problems, and I'm only along for the ride. It's not my life, it's not my body. It's never been mine, as much as I enjoy my time in the driver's seat.
And beyond that too — if there's nothing left to wring her out and leave her hanging high and dry, where would I take these scissors of mine? I may seem like a tick-tick-ticking time bomb, I know. But I promise you, I never kill unless I mean it.
If she were to be...happy. That just drains the life out of me, you know? I might just slip away, like a loose hair down the drain. Out of sight and mind forever. Who knows! Maybe I'd stick around, just totally bereft of things to do! Retired, like a hunting dog sent to an idyllic farm in old age! It's never been my choice to be here. We're not like you and yours, in that way.
Is that something you can promise, Mikyutie? Should I bet it all on black for you?
[She turns to look at him in full, expression curiously placid.]
[ should he? is that something he should promise? he certainly does want to make fukawa happy however he can, however long he can. that was sort of ideal, he had thought, if he and fukawa could live happily ever after and neither of their alters would ever have to come out and they can just be normal. happy and normal. just the two of them, not four.
he thought his alter would leave him alone once there is no more danger. he had thought the same for syo.
is that not the case? good bye and good riddance. he should feel elated by the prospect, relieved. instead he feels sick. ]
If Toko is happy, and there's nothing left to protect her from, what will happen to you, Syo? You'll still be here...
[ watching the world through fukawa's eyes? having to see mikoto's face every day, resenting him, constantly resisting the urge to gut him? he'll never be safe, just like syo thinks fukawa will never be, around him. ]
You're part of the person that I love. I want to make sure you're okay too.
I dunno, will I? I have no idea at all! [She hums, spinning back around and draping her cheek atop the back of her hand. More theatrical gestures. She's wasted on behind-the-scenes work, she's ready for her close up, Mr. DeMille!] I don't really know how conditions like these work. It's not like I'm the Super High School Level Shrink. Whoever that was probably died, anyway~
[Not like Gloomy could waltz into a psychiatrist's office and expect not to end up behind bars for it. Whoopsie.
She looks at Mikoto from this tilted angle. Really, truly looks. It might be the first time she's borne a true resemblance to her other self, mouth no longer stretched wide, eyes not cutting glances as sharp as chef's knives.]
That's the thing, baby. [Said with a sort of airy resignation.] I'm a part, not a whole. And perhaps this part will have to concede to whatever she's reading off the bigger half.
If you keep all this tender talk up, I suppose someday I'll have to believe you, won't I? [the proof will be in the pudding. If he keeps giving Fukawa reason to believe in him, eventually her doubts will be surrounded and snuffed right out. If she still exists by then, she'll have to figure out what that means on her own.] It's not your job to look out for me.
[she reaches out for him then. Not to snatch, not to scratch, but to press the tip of one thin finger into the tissue over his heart.]
[ "be good and play nice" she says, "don't fuck this up" she means
he gets it
he wants to take that hand and hold it tight, but he also wants to keep his hands and so it's just a brief touch, his hand enveloping hers over his heart, and then he lets go to let his fingers curl at the hem of his shirt ]
His hand on hers makes her brows pop high a moment. Eyes still firm on his, not flicking down once. Dangerous stuff. Daring stuff, brave for a boy so soft. He's propelled by emotion and urgency, she can smell it on him.
But maybe, there's a thread of steel in him after all. He didn't run back inside, and he chanced more than his life to hear her out.
Syo huffs. Smiles, even. She takes her hand and laces it behind her back, popping on a broad grin.]
So we're all settled up! How marvellous. What a wonder you are, so much cheekier than even I could expect! I see why she wants so badly to bundle you up and take you home.
[Feels it, in spite of how much she never wanted to.
Syo spins around in a perfect pirouette and makes her way back out onto the lot, dismissing him with a lazy wave.]
Sweet dreams, Mikyutie. I hope I won't be seeing you soon...but that's all up to you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Just kidding!
[Such a bright smile she has!]
I saw it in my notes, you know. She was leaving them for me all along, just in case. Didn't want me to screw things up for her — not until I had to, anyway. She had a really juicy conversation with your other self, before. Said that if she hurt you, he'd kill her~
Very cute of him! I just have to say, why is it that the same can't work the other way around, hmm? Why should we put up with weathering all your little whims, the big twists your other half gets his panties in...how about when other people go batting their lashes at you, beckoning you over with promises of sweet and tender love? It happens a lot, doesn't it?
[her fingers crook into the glass, gaze going sour.]
You can just wander off any time you like. From the sounds of it you have your pick of the whole crop! What a lucky guy, to be so wanted by all. Why should our little Miss Morose believe anything you say?
no subject
fingers grip the hem of his shirt in agitation so he isn't tempted to shut the blinds in syo's face and go back to bed, chalk all of this up to be just a nightmare and wake up tomorrow morning when the sun is up and the world is a brighter place.
he didn't know fukawa was leaving notes to syo like that— he was encouraged to do the same with is alter but nothing came of it. his alter had torn his papers up, refused to communicate, but maybe he just didn't try hard enough. no, there's no maybe about it. he barely tried. would it have changed anything if he did? ]
He can't do that... He can't hurt her. No matter what. He can't!
[ he can, though. and he will. and there is nothing mikoto can do to stop him. their relationship isn't anything at all like fukawa's and syo's, he can see that plain as day. he already hates his alter. he resents him so much, this personality of his that has done nothing but ruin his life, ruin his relationships, ruining it now with threats and promises that mikoto never agreed to. ]
You wouldn't let him, right, Syo? You would stop him before he hurts her. You have to!
no subject
Huh? Are you stupid?
[Syo cocks her head.]
You know what'll happen to you if I stop him, right?
no subject
Maybe you don't have to kill him? You can just, like... rough him up a little. Though, I'll be the one feeling it the next day...
[ it'd be nothing compared to what his alter would feel, though, having to fight syo. he's being entirely unfair to this other self of his, but if he doesn't come out and just leaves them all alone, won't everything be okay? ]
no subject
[ask about the pepper spray incident.]
I'm not about to let him do jack shit. Maybe Gloomy's on thin ice with him, since she's so hung up on having you around. But I don't have to be.
Maybe I feel the same things she does, sharing emotions and all, but feeling the same way about them is a different matter.
no subject
[ something nonlethal, that would keep him from hurting fukawa or anybody else. god. all of this is way over his head. ]
Syo... what do you feel about all of this, then? What do you think is the best thing to do?
no subject
[You want non-lethal, there you have it. No baseball bats or wandering hands for you.
Syo hums at the question, folding her arms atop the outer windowsill and resting her chin on them.]
What do I feel, what do I feel? Such is the question.
I feel... that I wish you had stayed dead. [said plainly, as if recounting the menu from last night's dinner.] Then I wouldn't have to wait around for the next time you crush her heart into pulp.
I don't trust you with her. Plain and simple. And I'm not so easily bought by this lovey dovey haze she's living in now, even if it's soaking into my skin as well. It only makes me itch twice as hard to do something about it, before it gets worse.
Because it will, won't it? You can't keep your hands to yourself.
no subject
...if you kill me and I stay dead, Fuka-chan will hate you. I don't want either of you getting hurt because of me.
[ the problem is him. what can he do? he looks down at his hands like this is the final seconds of a saw trap he fabricated in his own mind. he thinks about the talk he had with fjord just a day or two ago, about how people will die, and how he has to move on. he had cried, then. maybe fukawa will too, when he dies, but then she'll move on, no other choice.
he doesn't want to die.
he promised to stay with her, forever.
syo is at the window, so he peels back and runs to the door before he loses his nerve, pulling it open just wide enough to shove his right hand out up to the elbow, the sudden cold of night air sending a shiver of dread down his spine from head to toe. ]
Do it quick.
no subject
Does. Has. For a long, long while, hate is all they had. Fukawa got to bear the brunt of the barbs the world slung at them, taking her lumps from just about every direction. Syo woke up and dished it back out. Except it never quite felt that way — sure yes, she weathered the sting of rejections she couldn't remember and felt them twining with desperate want. Then that wretched combination twisted and bubbled inside her until it hit a manic fever pitch, and she needed the release. To show love in her own way, giddy and fired up as the boys all screamed. They were hers then, not Gloomy's. Pretty prizes she kept all to herself, sating her burning desire for a time.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. She always felt it was piping hot, but that's because of the fever. Want and death, drawing them near to expel them forever. She had a lot of love to give.
This, though. This may have been the clearest time it was on the chilly side. What was the difference, here? That this time Fukawa got the love, the heat, and then had to watch it be squandered away? Syo felt like she'd been dunked in ice. Beyond hopeless. And then the next week rolls around and Fukawa's traipsed right back into the jaws of this beartrap, and she has to wait around for that final snap?
Syo's expecting some snivelling and crying. Pleading. Promises that he'll change, so sorry, he'll never do anything wrong again. Pretty words for pretty lies. Can't keep his word if he can't remember what it is half the time, and judging from bits and pieces she gets around the place he hasn't got the brains to keep his wits together when he can.
Hasn't got the brains to keep his hands inside.
Syo watches that arm jut out. Her brow rises, head turning slow from the window to regard it. Disbelieving. Do it quick.
There's a clock ticking somewhere, surely. Some potent measure of the time passing as she looks over that exposed wrist, the gentle hand that had mapped her figure when she wasn't around to punish him for it.
At long last, she snatches the wrist. There's no flash of scissors though. She pulls the boy out and onto the pavement with her, cold as the tundra as she speaks.]
Are you fucking with me right now?
no subject
[ his voice catches, a strangled whisper squeezed from empty lungs, a dry mouth. wet eyes. he doesn't dare blink as he stands there in the threshold of the trailer, his wrist caught and his head splitting. he's terrified. looking into syo's eyes, he doesn't think he's ever been this scared in his life— he was fortunate enough to never have the opportunity before, and then later when he become a contestant and then crew, he never had to face the horrors as himself.
let me do this, he begs himself, feeling the hot iron stabbing into his head trying to distract him from the icon brand around his wrist, i have to do this. don't take this away from him too. ]
I don't want to lose her... Whatever price you want... as long as I get to be with her, then. Then it's okay. I'm serious.
no subject
He doesn't want to lose her.
He'll pay whatever price she asks — as if her other half were something she was keen to barter for. They're not like him. She doesn't coddle herself, prize Miss Morose above all else. If anything the girl's felt like a chain around her neck. Oh sure, someone like Syo would burn bright and die out quick if left to her own devices, but what a time she'd have before going! It's the tether that bothers her, that she has to fucking care at all. That she has to be the extension, the extrusion from the gut where all Fukawa's ugliest, foulest impulses fester and shove out, because precious Miss Morose can't handle it, so someone has to.
Someone has to take the pain of being unwanted, the heat of desire, the awkward-and-ugly-and-ill-fittingness, the rage at the injustice, the craving for love of any kind, of even the slightest sort, the why-do-they-hate-me, the it's-always-like-this, the it's not fair it's not fair when is it my turn of it all — someone's gotta take that burgeoning mass of filth and snip it off when it gets out of control. So she did, one boy at a time.
And now here is this boy. A simple guy, by every measure of the word, oh so simply asking her: hey, can I take that? I'd like it very much, and I'll give you what you want for it.
Syo clucks her tongue.]
Man.
[And throws his hand back at him. Turns on her heel and takes a few paces, hands on her hips and head lolling to one side as she mulls the matter over.]
What's the deal with you, huh? You're getting a raw bargain here. I'd almost think you just liked easy pickings, if you weren't putting your paws up for grabs just now. You might as well try trading a prize racehorse for a scuttling cockroach you scooped out of the cupboard! Anyone can see you're selling yourself short.
no subject
what now?
he almost follows her, but stays in the doorframe instead, watching her back. at this angle, with her face turned away, all he can see is the girl he loves and wants to hold onto. ]
What are you talking about? Toko is brilliant, you know that.
[ does syo not see through her eyes, experience everything fukawa experiences? she can't mean what she's saying. ]
You know the worlds she creates with just her mind, you know how passionate she is, how driven. She's wonderful.
[ in comparison, mikoto is... maybe a little cute? that's it. he's not strong or fearless or rich or any of that. he's just some guy. ]
no subject
There's a bark, half a laugh.]
Brilliant.
[fine, sure, on a literary scale, but if the response of the world at large is to rough her up so bad that someone like Syo is born, how dazzling can that girl really be?
What's rubbing her wrong is the way he says it. Whole-hearted conviction. She half turns again, looking at him from over her shoulder as he makes these plaintive commendations. It just itches. Infuriates. Echoes back to another time.
I never thought of you or Fukawa-san as abnormal. You're just a little strange, is all. Another memory, another sweet-natured soul, holding her arm back. Holding her hands even as she had the blade poised at her throat. But even so, you're important to me!
It's enough to set her teeth on edge. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, because it's never once been true in this way before, and she'll have to pick up the pieces again, and Gloomy will hate her for it and they'll go back to the merry misery they've always persisted in. Or — and here there's a burst of something like hope, and a lot like fear — he means what he says, and it's different this time.]
...There isn't much hope left for me, is there? [She sighs, lets her head roll to the other shoulder. Gesticulating with thespian grace as she muses aloud.] Oh, sure, we all need a dangerous dame when the going gets rough, but that's what we're hoping to fix right? She came here to solve impossible problems, and I'm only along for the ride. It's not my life, it's not my body. It's never been mine, as much as I enjoy my time in the driver's seat.
And beyond that too — if there's nothing left to wring her out and leave her hanging high and dry, where would I take these scissors of mine? I may seem like a tick-tick-ticking time bomb, I know. But I promise you, I never kill unless I mean it.
If she were to be...happy. That just drains the life out of me, you know? I might just slip away, like a loose hair down the drain. Out of sight and mind forever. Who knows! Maybe I'd stick around, just totally bereft of things to do! Retired, like a hunting dog sent to an idyllic farm in old age! It's never been my choice to be here. We're not like you and yours, in that way.
Is that something you can promise, Mikyutie? Should I bet it all on black for you?
[She turns to look at him in full, expression curiously placid.]
Should she?
no subject
he thought his alter would leave him alone once there is no more danger. he had thought the same for syo.
is that not the case? good bye and good riddance. he should feel elated by the prospect, relieved. instead he feels sick. ]
If Toko is happy, and there's nothing left to protect her from, what will happen to you, Syo? You'll still be here...
[ watching the world through fukawa's eyes? having to see mikoto's face every day, resenting him, constantly resisting the urge to gut him? he'll never be safe, just like syo thinks fukawa will never be, around him. ]
You're part of the person that I love. I want to make sure you're okay too.
no subject
[Not like Gloomy could waltz into a psychiatrist's office and expect not to end up behind bars for it. Whoopsie.
She looks at Mikoto from this tilted angle. Really, truly looks. It might be the first time she's borne a true resemblance to her other self, mouth no longer stretched wide, eyes not cutting glances as sharp as chef's knives.]
That's the thing, baby. [Said with a sort of airy resignation.] I'm a part, not a whole. And perhaps this part will have to concede to whatever she's reading off the bigger half.
If you keep all this tender talk up, I suppose someday I'll have to believe you, won't I? [the proof will be in the pudding. If he keeps giving Fukawa reason to believe in him, eventually her doubts will be surrounded and snuffed right out. If she still exists by then, she'll have to figure out what that means on her own.] It's not your job to look out for me.
[she reaches out for him then. Not to snatch, not to scratch, but to press the tip of one thin finger into the tissue over his heart.]
Just be good, and play nice.
no subject
he gets it
he wants to take that hand and hold it tight, but he also wants to keep his hands and so it's just a brief touch, his hand enveloping hers over his heart, and then he lets go to let his fingers curl at the hem of his shirt ]
I will. I won't run away.
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His hand on hers makes her brows pop high a moment. Eyes still firm on his, not flicking down once. Dangerous stuff. Daring stuff, brave for a boy so soft. He's propelled by emotion and urgency, she can smell it on him.
But maybe, there's a thread of steel in him after all. He didn't run back inside, and he chanced more than his life to hear her out.
Syo huffs. Smiles, even. She takes her hand and laces it behind her back, popping on a broad grin.]
So we're all settled up! How marvellous. What a wonder you are, so much cheekier than even I could expect! I see why she wants so badly to bundle you up and take you home.
[Feels it, in spite of how much she never wanted to.
Syo spins around in a perfect pirouette and makes her way back out onto the lot, dismissing him with a lazy wave.]
Sweet dreams, Mikyutie. I hope I won't be seeing you soon...but that's all up to you.
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Goodnight, Syo!
[ he calls after her before she's out of earshot, also really hoping he never sees her again but is it really up to him... ]