[Their world — and, by extension, this world that they had been shoved into — could move so fast, change so fast. The very fabric of how you understood everything could warp and tear in the same time it took for one to draw breath into their lungs. Human beings were only meant to process so much so quickly, and Akira had circumvented his own shortcomings by turning towards instinct for guidance. The correlation of his human and demonic impulses was a complex matrix; there were areas where it overlapped, such as the desire for force and violence bleeding over into protectiveness, though the rest was as disparate as oil and water. Now in the aftermath of some escalating impulsiveness (easily carried out due to the mutuality of it) he feels both sides cooling down: that which pursued pleasure jealously and that which sought out to reach out to another and incite the same in them. It's an odd dichotomy, and it sits a little uncomfortably. Akira attempts to mediate, to rest in-between.
But the delicate state of the atmosphere which existed between them eased the division, allowing him to slowly step away from it as it smoothed over and calmed into only a passing concern. He can feel the air settling against his skin now that stillness has finally claimed them; he can sense that it's chilly, though such things barely bother him anymore. He wonders blithely for a moment if it was something that would bother Ryo — but such things had never really seemed to concern him. These considerations were things that folded like a house of cards to a stern puff of air as he felt the soft points of Ryo's fingertips on his palm, tracing patterns which folded into and crossed over one another as time passed. Somehow, Ryo always managed to do this. Paradoxical to everything he claimed to be, everything which every other person saw, he presented such a close and intimate facet to Akira that it often felt dizzying at its advent, something he was sluggish to respond to. His fingers twitch and then curl inwards, making the faintest contact with Ryo's, even as they continue to trace.
As close as they have been in these last few minutes, he remarks inwardly that he believes he's closest to him here, in this brief and fragile moment.
This time it wasn't necessarily the world itself that had changed, but them, finally looking past what paper-thin inhibitions they had constructed and rapidly giving in to attentions and desires which they had for so long plastered over. There is much left behind in the implications and understandings that Akira would be slow to sort through, but as he lays here, thinking of himself and Ryo and the two of them, he feels nothing but contentedness with the situation; the kind of ease which ensues after a long-neglected tension has finally been addressed.
Time could have faded away like this, and perhaps at some point his consciousness would've finally given out and he would've gladly submitted to sleep and leave the rest of it for what stood for morning here. But — for a variety of reasons, that simply would not do. As much as it pained him, the moments one wished for most to last had to be drawn to a close; such was the relentless path of time's arrow.
So Akira finally speaks up in earnest, his tone of voice warm but also a bit hoarse, one again wearing itself for proper use.] So, uh. [and the idealized moment they had shared there was already fading, not able to stand up under the scrutiny of prolonged reality, but at least they would have its memory.
He gives a single laugh. It's a little sluggish, a little offbeat, but it feels right to him.] We should probably — clean up, a bit. Yeah?
[Idealism always suffers under the bright, garish light of reality.]
no subject
But the delicate state of the atmosphere which existed between them eased the division, allowing him to slowly step away from it as it smoothed over and calmed into only a passing concern. He can feel the air settling against his skin now that stillness has finally claimed them; he can sense that it's chilly, though such things barely bother him anymore. He wonders blithely for a moment if it was something that would bother Ryo — but such things had never really seemed to concern him. These considerations were things that folded like a house of cards to a stern puff of air as he felt the soft points of Ryo's fingertips on his palm, tracing patterns which folded into and crossed over one another as time passed. Somehow, Ryo always managed to do this. Paradoxical to everything he claimed to be, everything which every other person saw, he presented such a close and intimate facet to Akira that it often felt dizzying at its advent, something he was sluggish to respond to. His fingers twitch and then curl inwards, making the faintest contact with Ryo's, even as they continue to trace.
As close as they have been in these last few minutes, he remarks inwardly that he believes he's closest to him here, in this brief and fragile moment.
This time it wasn't necessarily the world itself that had changed, but them, finally looking past what paper-thin inhibitions they had constructed and rapidly giving in to attentions and desires which they had for so long plastered over. There is much left behind in the implications and understandings that Akira would be slow to sort through, but as he lays here, thinking of himself and Ryo and the two of them, he feels nothing but contentedness with the situation; the kind of ease which ensues after a long-neglected tension has finally been addressed.
Time could have faded away like this, and perhaps at some point his consciousness would've finally given out and he would've gladly submitted to sleep and leave the rest of it for what stood for morning here. But — for a variety of reasons, that simply would not do. As much as it pained him, the moments one wished for most to last had to be drawn to a close; such was the relentless path of time's arrow.
So Akira finally speaks up in earnest, his tone of voice warm but also a bit hoarse, one again wearing itself for proper use.] So, uh. [and the idealized moment they had shared there was already fading, not able to stand up under the scrutiny of prolonged reality, but at least they would have its memory.
He gives a single laugh. It's a little sluggish, a little offbeat, but it feels right to him.] We should probably — clean up, a bit. Yeah?
[Idealism always suffers under the bright, garish light of reality.]