[If he had heard the adjective mentioned, he'd be reluctant to call anything he's doing 'big,' really—not in his terms. Big plans were more for individuals who had more means and time than he did. There's nothing fancy here. He's not taking her to a fancy club (though he'd like to think after their September 1st escapade, the desire to go somewhere similar but more decent would have been long gone and buried). There aren't any strobing lights, aren't any other people around to help create the desired ambience of a dance floor. No decorations. Not anything. All there is is a wide open space, a few dim lights, the night sky, the two of them, and an old radio. This isn't a grand gesture, but a quiet one. And it seems almost criminally so compared to some of the flashier things he's seen in his lifetime.
He picks up the radio, setting it on the bench and toying with one of the knobs.
If this said anything at all, it was that he had thought about it, like he said he had said he would—and that this "plan" straddles more along the lines between spontaneity and careful premeditation. He knew what he could do, and where he could do it, but had never planned a date or anything conclusive. It was just a seed of an idea he didn't know if he'd ever go through with. Maybe it would have languished, maybe he would have allowed it to be forgotten. She might have never mentioned it again. He also hadn't know where he had stood in her eyes then. A lot could have happened—and thinking you were dead changed a lot of things. And her being, well, minutes away from it herself meant a lot of things too.
One thing that it did mean, though, was that when he got back home, he wouldn't even have the chance to tell her no. This wasn't a wish of hers he could leave to someone else—to someone better qualified than he was. And maybe that's why he had brought her up here now, when perhaps he could've waited for when things weren't so mind-numbing and confusing, and he wasn't feeling like his mood had been pulled every which-way and toyed with. He didn't know when this would end. October is next month, and he'll be damned if he's not fond of the idea. He doesn't know when the next opportunity would present itself. He hadn't known before today where she had died either, but places similar to this had a lot of meaning to him. Being able to do nothing and lie in the sun for awhile, knowing in a few hours your best friend would soon come up and get you. He had looked forward to being woken up as much as he looked forward to skipping class back then. That was a long time ago, but places like this should mean something more to her than just a place to die.
There's a harsh noise, and the radio finally whines to life.
It's easy enough to find the station he wants. The song choices on this one are predictable, and don't seem to change much. They're pretty habitual in their predictability and who they cater to. His ears catch the notes of a song that he recognizes, one heading pretty quickly towards its conclusion. He turns up the volume. The music is surprisingly clear and free from static. The radio's a well-built thing, and it isn't like it has to worry much about interference. When you exist in one of—if perhaps the only—cities remaining in the world, the air space is more yours than it ever was to do what you liked with.
He stands up. He can't say it would surprise him at all if she's already figured it out. She probably has. She can put two and two together.]
So. You still interested in dancing or have you changed your mind?
[His goal is to not look like a goddamned idiot tonight. Though maybe, in a way, that's exactly what he needs to do. Take a leaf out of Iori's book and dare to do something a little stupid for the sake of someone else. But he's also not quite Junpei Iori: he'll do things his own way.]
no subject
He picks up the radio, setting it on the bench and toying with one of the knobs.
If this said anything at all, it was that he had thought about it, like he said he had said he would—and that this "plan" straddles more along the lines between spontaneity and careful premeditation. He knew what he could do, and where he could do it, but had never planned a date or anything conclusive. It was just a seed of an idea he didn't know if he'd ever go through with. Maybe it would have languished, maybe he would have allowed it to be forgotten. She might have never mentioned it again. He also hadn't know where he had stood in her eyes then. A lot could have happened—and thinking you were dead changed a lot of things. And her being, well, minutes away from it herself meant a lot of things too.
One thing that it did mean, though, was that when he got back home, he wouldn't even have the chance to tell her no. This wasn't a wish of hers he could leave to someone else—to someone better qualified than he was. And maybe that's why he had brought her up here now, when perhaps he could've waited for when things weren't so mind-numbing and confusing, and he wasn't feeling like his mood had been pulled every which-way and toyed with. He didn't know when this would end. October is next month, and he'll be damned if he's not fond of the idea. He doesn't know when the next opportunity would present itself. He hadn't known before today where she had died either, but places similar to this had a lot of meaning to him. Being able to do nothing and lie in the sun for awhile, knowing in a few hours your best friend would soon come up and get you. He had looked forward to being woken up as much as he looked forward to skipping class back then. That was a long time ago, but places like this should mean something more to her than just a place to die.
There's a harsh noise, and the radio finally whines to life.
It's easy enough to find the station he wants. The song choices on this one are predictable, and don't seem to change much. They're pretty habitual in their predictability and who they cater to. His ears catch the notes of a song that he recognizes, one heading pretty quickly towards its conclusion. He turns up the volume. The music is surprisingly clear and free from static. The radio's a well-built thing, and it isn't like it has to worry much about interference. When you exist in one of—if perhaps the only—cities remaining in the world, the air space is more yours than it ever was to do what you liked with.
He stands up. He can't say it would surprise him at all if she's already figured it out. She probably has. She can put two and two together.]
So. You still interested in dancing or have you changed your mind?
[His goal is to not look like a goddamned idiot tonight. Though maybe, in a way, that's exactly what he needs to do. Take a leaf out of Iori's book and dare to do something a little stupid for the sake of someone else. But he's also not quite Junpei Iori: he'll do things his own way.]