Don't Look At Him Like That He's Just A Little Guy Would You Judge A Little Guy On His Birthday ( It

don't look at him like that he's just a little guy would you judge a little guy on his birthday ( it is not his birthday )

zomg..

@tenebriism // yusuke & akechi!

the contact was something unfamiliar with him.

perhaps that is why he was so insistent on saying something, even when a sluggishness unable to be hidden in precise carnelian eyes, dexterity faltering in what is often used by such precise hands, a darkness discoloring the undersides of skin like cheap, shiny decoration — paint applied with a sensitivity often lost on Akechi, but one that was not so easily when it applied to the flesh; attention unending, monitoring, almost clinical.

perhaps it was that then, the unexpected from someone he has learned what to expect from, that championed him onwards like a curse he was bound to — eternally, Akechi was cursed, or at least that's often how he thought he was. how strange it was, for that moment of pinpoint notice, the contact an unfamiliar heavy pressure 'pon his shoulder, then; clumsy compared to the specific phrasing Akechi was talented in puppeting to prompt it, more natural than he ever was; its removal & its explanation. — if Yusuke had explained it sooner, Akechi hadn't been listening.

Initially, Akechi does not understand ; a thing he hates. he bites back the part of him that, impulsive, hears the reason & motive and calls Yusuke foolish. Uncomprehending, a white-hot moment of unwillingness to try met with the unkillable part of Akechi that denies the mocking, as if he is better than Yusuke, his eternal knowing he is not ; before he sets himself upon the task of seeing it through the lens of something he better understands. critical eyes scanning the lines, the progression, nipping at the edges of strokes of graphite or ink in his effort to understand why this mattered, why this was worth it.

Akechi is leaned forward, the worn booth of Cafe LeBlanc shifting as if moving to follow Akechi's lead hovering above his shoulder in one of the fewest times Yusuke is harbored within it's walls, as he shifts closer to examine. the same one might examine wounds, understanding the hands that made them, understanding what they were at all. ( Akechi struggled with the concept that Yusuke, or anyone at all, and himself were at all alike, however to say they were not similar in such a manner as this would be untrue. Goro's attention artistic in of itself, in the intensity his eyes always have. perhaps that is why Yusuke liked him. maybe Yusuke didn't like him at all. )

a perfectly trimmed finger-nail nips at the barest edge of a line at the bottom of the page, not tearing at the medium used to apply it, but rather only a pressure to it; as if by sinking his claws in, he could know it. — know it better.

"that is…" intrigue begins to strike him, rattling up into his nerves. his nail indents deeper into the fiber of the paper, never breaking through, only pushing it down. he understands it in the way detectives understand evidence, the way Akechi understands everything, the way he has to. "interesting."

he reels himself in, realizing that for all his intrigues, he is still expected to be the reasonable one. Yusuke was eccentric, blindingly intelligent in the ways Akechi took time to fully know just beneath the surface, but depravation and exhaustion were just the same regardless. human things, unhealthy in their intentional pursuit. what kind of friend would he be if he allowed this to persist? ( not friends. never friends. the way he always hesitates. ) — how hypocritical of him.

"By all means." a hand waved, eyes glancing to Yusuke's in his familiarity with the request before finding themselves back at the page "How long have you been conscious, Yusuke-san? However in-depth, and fascinating this study is, your health is a vital priority."

TEXTING STARTERS

Let’s text! feel free to make edits to better suit your muse’s voice/typing style/contact names, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post. 💛

[ text ] are you awake?

[ text ] it’s been three days! why haven’t you been answering your phone?

[ text ] are you ignoring me?

[ text ] can you let me in? I’m out front.

[ text ] are you okay?

[ text ] I miss you.

[ text ] are you at home?

[ text ] did you get home safe?

[ text ] where are you?

[ text ] what did you do?

[ text ] how did you get this number?

[ text ] can we talk?

[ text ] hey, is this [ name/wrong name ]?

[ text ] are you drunk?

[ text ] do you also hear thunder outside?

[ text ] text me when you get home safe.

[ text ] are you in my kitchen??

[ text ] stop lying to me!

[ text ] what the hell happened?

[ text ] why do you only text me at 3am?

[ text ] okay, that’s it. I’m coming over.

[ text ] do you want to come over?

[ text ] stop shutting me out.

[ text ] come over.

[ text ] are you lost?

[ text ] do you want to talk?

[ text ] rough day, huh?

[ text ] can you bring snacks on your way here?

@tenebriism // ryuji & yusuke!

Maybe he was right. ━ Right. in the way there was no maybe about it. He knew better. Ryuji wasn't stupid like that. He knew where his limits laid, claws in the sand, unregretful of their own existence like he at times wished they would be, and thus was on their behalf. He knew what was not enough and what was too much, pushing became shoving became something else ( something he doesn't like to talk about. Something that keeps finding him. )

but Ryuji's always been stubborn ━ it's just that this time, maybe it wasn't just being stubborn ( that something else conjuring a byproduct; hands heavy enough to be cruel, only to himself. only to himself. )

Claws in the sand, wishing he was more than he was, pushing then shoving then falling; being caught. being told something he knew, but wouldn't listen to. Slowing down.

Slowing down. Slow down.

Ryuji takes the time as Yusuke talks to catch his breath, chest heaving with a greater weight than it should, two times his size. convulses in relapsing effort to get enough air to the rest of him ( almost lightheaded ). a body rebelling against itself when pushed too far; one leg shaking that ripples throughout him as if a reminder of the consequence, a scar like a lightening strike across his knee back and along to his calf ━ visible at the hem of gym shorts as if reaching up to meet the fabric in familiarity of a time where it was born, and then revoked from.

” No, Yusuke, I just━ I needed━ “ the sentence dies, half focused on in its utterance in the first place, the attention cut then tapered. he finds himself white knuckling a support as his breathing begins to even out.

his entire body quakes with the intensity of that consequence, a vital support refusing the pushing to be pushed too far, refusing the criteria of its creation to be met twice. the scar; an ugly reminder. he finds himself staring at it as Yusuke speaks, hunched, kneecap shuddering as if given its own mind and the tendons down his calf like guitar strings in conviction of the same cause, before his attention gathers itself back to Yusuke when he begins to pull something from his bag ( confusion, then surprise. how often he forgets, how people love him. how they remember. )

his expression is not one of instant gratitude, or even of anger that spills from his shoulders into his collarbone and floods him, its indescribable, almost unnatural on his features ; Ryuji, always feeling in extremes, unable to solidify what he was feeling in the first place. ( This, too, was an extreme. you just didn't know the name of it. )

… the expression caves in on itself — 'softens', too romantic of a word — after a long moment to dissolve resolution and Ryuji limps, pain jolting up the back of his leg into the pelvis then echoing up his spine of which he understood better than anyone ever could, and he allows himself to — lacking grace — haphazardly drop into the spot assigned to him by Yusuke. His leg refuses to stop shaking despite the lack of pressure ( the pressure both was and was not the problem; always the strain. always the strain ; until it becomes too much. )

he feels pathetic like this, acid through steel, rust still creeping and eating at him. he tries to shake it off.

” Yeah. Thanks, Yusuke, I just… “ he trails off, and an unwillingness to admit what had driven him to extremes clumps in his throat like congealed blood from an old wound that wont close.

” I really want to be strong for the team. Guess I kinda got too in my head. I didn't mean to worry you or nothin'... Sorry... “

I don't want this feeling to be love anymore, I want it to be a secret between you and me