compnetwork | > 01. [text]

[And better a rabbit than a dead little sister.

He'll attempt to stare her down, fighting to ensure that his expression remains completely impassive—though at the moment she's making that kind of difficult.]

Like I said, I ain't a nice guy.

[But if she's going to demand attention, he'll give her a few seconds to reconsider.

He can occasionally be polite.]

[Her time to reconsider is long past. Months, even.

She stares back at him, fingers now wandering from his neck into his hair. If he's wearing the beanie, she'll end up pulling it off.]

You have enough moments.

[More than he'd admit. But it's not only the soft part of him she likes.]

[He feels her fingers thread through his hair. It's distracting, but he still has the mind to shoot her a mildly accusing look when his beanie is spirited away. That's a bit of his soul she's stealing, you know. He'll be taking that back soon enough, when it isn't such of a damned bother to do so. He all ready has his hands full trying to handle the demanding girl that's in front of him.]

Since when [he says after a long moment, his grey eyes never quite leaving hers as the hand that's been around her waist drifts its way up her spine to the middle of her back] have those ever counted for anything?

[And then, as if it's just as automatic and simple as breathing, he does what he probably should have done a long time ago, and kisses her.]

[Minako freezes. She'd been planning to do this herself, of course - was about ten seconds away. But him taking the initiative away from her is enough to really make her breathless, for all ten of those preempted seconds.

And then her motor functions kick back in and she returns the kiss as though there'd never been a delay. Ten seconds, three months... it's all forgotten in the face of this present.

She may have dropped the beanie on the floor, though. She'll apologize later.]

[There's a dizzying split-second when he wonders if he should have waited. If he had misread or misjudged, if he should have thought more than felt. Except you can't turn back time to relive a point even two minutes gone, but in a stretch of seconds—perhaps the same ten they're both aware of but not exactly counting—those doubts don't even matter anymore. He feels the sudden equality in warmth and pressure, and it makes it easier for him to give in more fully and let go.

Eventually, however, he breaks contact, slowly pulling away, giving his lungs a chance to breathe.]

See? [he says, as if those last few moments spent were the unquestionable proof of everything he's been trying to say.

That he's not a good guy.

And that, in a way, she has plenty of her own little moments, and maybe (maybe) she's not much better than he is. She's confusing, after all. Annoying, and a pain—the type of pain he's unsure of how to deal with, because there's no way to control it or her (and in the end he probably wouldn't want to).

That she's the type of idiot who would let a meal of his start to go cold, drops his things on the floor, and wastes time looking for old pocketwatches when she could have been spending it more productively elsewhere. And, in spite of everything that's happened, in spite of everything that's gone on that he hasn't been awake for back home, he's not angry, and he'll try to accept everything that will be once he opens his eyes and discovers he's living his old life again.

And that he loves her, against his own better judgment, despite knowing that he's not the type of man she should be okay with. He loves her even though he might not say it out loud, because such words don't come easily or naturally to him, and probably always will.

See?]

[Her mind is a little too distracted to immediately connect that single word with the previous conversation. But when she does, she knows her answer.]

I don't see.

Show me again?

[Because despite her love of talking... actions speak louder than words. And his communicate clearer than most.]

[His eyebrows lift, face reddening slightly despite his best efforts. Had he been the type, maybe he would have said something clever in response. Maybe he would have settled with ruffling her hair and ending with some inane, random comment about how she should pay more attention. But he's not.

All he can do, really, is give her an almost imperceptible shake of his head (because he doesn't understand her sometimes), allowing his lips to once again find hers.

Sure, he can do that.]

[That reaction makes everything worth it. She almost ruins the moment by laughing at his red cheeks. But, she manages to get under control, and even use some tongue this time.

When they break apart again she's a little flushed herself, and decides to compensate by ducking her head away and leaning in to his chest. She can feel his heartbeat. Just below where the last bullet had glanced away.]

...That was a little clearer.

Good.

[Because he certainly hopes it was. Hard to persevere when the other half involved has half a mind to cut the demonstration short because she found the decay of his stoic dignity amusing. Don't think he couldn't tell. Idiot.

'Show me again,' huh? How else was he supposed to react to that?

He leans back against the chair a little, feeling the sudden solid pressure against his chest, and keeps his arm where it is. He's almost content to just sit here in the silence for awhile, but silence means having to think.

It's during times like this he wishes more like Iori. It's a sentiment that he has every intention of taking to his grave, but it’s still there nonetheless. The thought exists. He doesn't know Junpei well by any the sense of the word (and hasn't any intention to), but he wishes he could copy Iori's way of pulling legitimate conversation out from thin air. How he could turn around an otherwise unsalvageable conversation (doomed to decay into awkward silence) with a single random comment, usually with a dumb joke or something else equally asinine tacked on. Maybe a complaint no one took seriously. Shinjiro knows that type of person isn’t him, and never could be—Junpei can stand looking stupid and not being taken seriously; Shinjiro can barely tolerate people saying "thank you" (because what the hell do they know?)—but every now and then, in simple moments like this, Shinjiro wishes that he could, even though that kind of talent is something he never thought he’d need. To make people laugh without it having to be accidental.

But he supposes there is something he could do.]

Hey. Feel like going outside for a minute?

[The request isn't what she expected, but she shifts so she can look up at him again, and then sits up.

The story had taken a while - actually, she's lost all track of time by now, but glancing at her watch (the watch he gave her) shows that the Dark Hour is still a while away.]

All right. [She leaves off asking where they're going, because she knows he won't explain until they get there anyway. That's just how he operates.]

Edited 2012-09-24 04:13 (UTC)

[If she had asked, the answer she would have received would have been "up." He's not about to lead her deeper into the city, especially when he doesn't know the layout of even a quarter of it. And the parts he does know aren't as familiar to him as he'd like. So he's not exactly comfortable with taking her out to anyplace unfamiliar at this time of night until he does—though that isn't saying much, since the night hours blanket Japan considerably earlier than he sometimes feels it should—not with demons how they are. But with it being a New Moon tomorrow evening, perhaps they would have been relatively docile.]

Let me put away the food first.

[He couldn't leave his bowl of food lying there if he had even wanted to. But it's easily packaged away, ready to reheat whenever his appetite decides to resurface, or his conscience in regards to uneaten food does. Afterwards, he picks up his beanie from off the floor (he hopes she feels bad about that), as well as his watch from off the table. He goes into his room, returning his watch to its proper place (hell if he's losing it again), and nearly slips his beanie back on, but decides against it, leaving it next to his coat, because he's pretty damn sure she'd just take it off again and drop the damn thing. And, you know, might as fucking well, considering.

But this is done quickly, and he brushes past her, heading towards the door.]

Let's go then.

You're not taking your coat?

[Although he was probably right to expect more beanie-theft, she'd still expected him to re-dress himself. It's night and there is a bit of a breeze. ...But if Shinjiro thinks he can handle the cold, she's probably not going to convince him otherwise. Even if he did just get out of a hospital bed.

So she follows him to the door and slips her shoes back on.]

[He shakes his head.]

We ain't going far. Don't need it.

[Might not even be that long either. He doesn't have a damn track record for this sort of thing to judge time by. He slips on his shoes, opens the door, and steps out into the night air. He feels the breeze—damn, the wind feels weird when all you've got on is a long-sleeved shirt and no coat to break it—but he doubts the cold's going to get to him. At least not tonight. Well, not him anyway. Pretty sure the world would make him invincible tonight if they could read his mind. Because it has that kind of stupid sense of humor.

He then looks back.]

But if you think you're gonna be cold, I can grab it.

Edited 2012-09-24 06:03 (UTC)

I'll be fine! [Half because she believes it, and half not to delay things any longer. She has on her favorite sweater, anyway, and her red scarf. And if she really gets cold, she has a portable walking heater beside her to hold onto.

Boots on now, she follows him out the door onto the landing.]

Edited 2012-09-24 06:13 (UTC)

[He nods.]

This way then.

[He leads her down through the indoor hallway and past that goddamn random open window—its existence is a mystery to him—to the elevator. Once it arrives, he steps inside, hitting the topmost button. Within a few seconds, the elevator rumbles to life and begins to ascend.]

You go up to the school roof often back home?

[Not that he wants to bring to mind the event that will one day transpire there. But with any luck, she won't think of that. And it's something to fill the silence and chase away the invisible, awkward, if mild, nervousness that's beginning to surface. Not something he's used to feeling, but it's something, at least, he can keep well bottled down.]

[Their earlier conversation has taken a lot of the bite out of the past few days. She's still sad, somewhere deep down, that she won't be seeing Iwatodai again, except hopefully for a brief glimpse. But the grief has already settled into a neat compartment, along with the other difficult and painful things in her life. And because of that, it's far easier to focus on happy memories.]

Yeah. Every once in a while we'd eat lunch there, or just go up there to talk. It was usually a good quiet place after school.

....Akihiko-senpai said you liked to use it to take naps.

He told you that?

[Sentimental idiot.

But that is what Shinjiro had been thinking of. Easy for a person's thoughts to drift there when their route was in the same direction. It was a part of his better memories. Maybe that was why he was drawn to places like these in the first place.

He shakes his head, feeling a sudden brief second of half-weightlessness as the elevator reaches its destination. He exits, continuing to walk. Before them is a short hallway and a single flight of stairs that leads to the roof.]

I'd go up there to skip class. [Sleeping on the hard cement or on the uncomfortable benches up there was never an issue. It was a talent that served him well later on.] But if Aki said that much [he says as he begins to climb the stairs towards the door] you probably already know that.

I do. [She doesn't comment about it. She doesn't particularly approve of class skipping... when school is necessary anyway. She'd still like a break before starting to look for classes in Hinoto-ri.

...But regardless, she'd known he was a delinquent from the day they'd first met. Starting an argument about it would be completely pointless. It's probably the same reason Akihiko and Mitsuru had never mentioned it either.] It's funny that the teachers never went up there...

[He hadn't been so bad in those days, in his defense. He had never really started skipping large chunks of time until after the incident. And by then, there wasn't much Aki or Mitsuru could do about it. Send a few jabs his way, sure, out of well-placed worry, but he hadn't been under their roof anymore. So they could save their complaints and put them in a jar along with everything else.

He opens the door, suddenly missing his coat. Or rather, the deep pockets in them. He's sure Minato would sympathize.]

They didn't care that much, I guess. Had better things to do.

[He's pretty sure the high school had an otherwise excellent attendance rate. Something for the Kirijo group to be proud of. He doesn't think the school could stand to be a public embarrassment.

He steps out onto the rooftop. There are a few lights here, flooding the flat roof with much needed light, though it's of the dimmer sort. But at least they won't need to let their eyes adjust. The moon, he supposes, will do the rest. He's been up here a frequently during the last week or so. You could see a lot of things from here—sometimes even that city in Gemini that rose during the Dark Hour, if you were looking in the right direction. Another plus is that not many people bothered to come up here. That suited him just fine.

…Now where had he put it?

His takes a few more steps forward, eyes scanning the area until he finds what he's looking for: a small, old-looking radio tucked away in a far corner, under one of the few benches. He had been (almost) hoping it would grow legs and walk off, ever since he had found the damn thing and started leaving it up here. (Hard to listen to music and get things done when you have a neighbor just a few doors down that has a penchant for loud music at God knows what time of day; just whenever she damn well pleases.) Though he doesn't know who would want the radio in the first place. To say there were better, newer models would be an understatement. But old, battered things were fine with him. Didn't mean they didn't do their job, and didn't mean they didn't do it well.

Guess it's now or never then.

Now that he has it in his line of vision, he starts to walk over to it.]

One sec.

[They share that neighbor, you know. ....Minako just has the tendency to use all her energy during the day and then sleep like a rock at night. It's like her own expression of her brother's near-narcolepsy. The difference is, she wakes up feeling refreshed and not continuously sleepy.

She waits when he indicates for her to, but her eyes follow his path to its end. ...A radio?

Suddenly, things are clicking together.

But for once she'll wait for him to say it first. This is his big plan.]

[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.]

[If it helps, it's not as though he's the only one with a chance of looking foolish tonight. She hasn't exactly done much dancing herself before... well, dancing with a boy, in the slow-dance sense, anyway. She's done plenty of the normal bouncing and gyrating that counts as dancing at school functions and places like Club Escapade.

But like most girls, she watches TV, and imagines the romantic possibilities. And even if he thinks it's simple, right now standing on the roof with just themselves and a radio and the chilly night air is about as romantic a scene as she can picture.]

I don't change my mind that easily.

[She steps forward and holds out her hand, as though he's wearing a suit again and she has on an elegant ballroom gown (something she's never actually worn in her life) and repeats the line from the movies.]

May I have this dance?

Edited 2012-09-26 06:15 (UTC)

[No. Of course she wouldn't. Though if she had, he would have accepted her decision with more grace than any man currently in existence.

Shinjiro still doesn't know a damn thing about dancing, but he knows more than he had. He had observed enough between now and the first to come away with a general idea of what he was supposed to do, which is move in circles and try to look halfway elegant about it. He hopes he can at least do the first part, at least. But watching and doing are two different things.

Maybe he could've asked someone to teach him. But who the hell could he have asked?

The only person Shinjiro can see himself bothering about it is Mitsuru, though he can easily imagine how that text-based conversation would have gone.

Hey. You know how to do all that fancy high-class shit, right?

Of course.

You know what? Forget it.

And then, a half hour later:

You know how to dance?

Which would have inevitably led to a question of why, knowing his shitty luck.

Because I told a girl I'd think about it.

And then the conversation would have plunged straight to hell from there. He's mostly glad he avoided it.

The song on the radio fades, and a new one takes its place.

At her invitation, Shinjiro arches a single eyebrow, hesitating, before finally taking her hand in his. That was supposed to be the guy's line, wasn't it? Guess he can plagiarize just as easily as she can.]

Better show me then.

Edited 2012-09-26 07:15 (UTC)

[She knows enough to know that he should be leading, but she's also never been one to hang back when she has the chance to charge ahead. So, she steps up to him, placing her left hand on his shoulder and taking his right with her own. Then she starts to move. Slow steps, as she gauges whether he's following and won't step on her feet like they'd discussed before. Hesitant steps, because she's working from film memory now, and still finding the rhythm of the music.

She likes the music. It's still strange to fully understand the words of a song she's fairly sure is in English, but it enhances the mood. Much like the first time she'd listened to Burn My Dread again after arriving and finally realized how creepily premonitory the lyrics really were. ...Although the moods between that and this are completely different.

But the song continues, and the dance becomes more important than musings on anything else. Even listening to the music. It's just the background to the actual event.]

Edited 2012-09-26 07:39 (UTC)

[And he knows enough about dance to understand that he should be the one taking the helm, but he follows her anyway. It's what he's always done, follow her lead, trusting that she knew what she was doing and what needed to be accomplished. That's why she had been chosen to be the leader of the group, despite having very little experience to her name. She was—is—an individual people don't have trouble following.

He keeps his steps careful and deliberate—perhaps a bit hesitant, because he'll be damned if he still doesn't feel nervousness eating away at him like some sort of disease that shows no outward symptoms, but he wants to do things right. He starts to feel the rhythm of the music—all made up of words he can't understand, but perhaps it's better that way—and finds it easier to as the music inches towards its conclusion. He learns to move a split-second after she does, like there's no pause at all. He doubts he moves with anything that could be described as elegance, but he can keep in time, and he'll be damned if he's going to step on her feet. He can follow the pace she sets.

But wanting to do things right also means stepping up and taking the lead eventually. She led him all September. He had initiated very little. Kept his role passive and did what needed to be done when it was necessary. But this September's his, too. He waits for the song to change, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium she's set.

When the song ends, there's a few silent seconds in-between, and in the interim of them coming to a standstill, he tugs her gently back and to the left, almost playfully, though not entirely so. Unlike some people, he's not going to ask her to show him again, and she is right about one thing: he learns quickly. Learns even quicker from his mistakes.

And then a new song starts. Slower, quieter, and thankfully in a language they understand. He still doesn't know quite what he's doing—dancing still ain't his thing and never will be—but he can pretend for a few minutes.]

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greatseal - 2012-09-26 17:34 (UTC) - Expand