[she doesn't have to define what this means for him; Akira picks up on the subtext easily. his hands move from her cheeks to her fingers, his own clutching at hers tightly, both hands enveloped warmly in his own. they're soft. . . he thinks, and he wonders why he hadn't noticed before, despite this not being the first time he's held them]
No.
. . . it isn't.
[because the truth was. . . he didn't want it to go away, either]
There's a slow, pained exhale at that, her eyes drifting shut. She lets her hands be guided into his own, the palm of her left still completely limp, still bandaged up to the knuckles, the wrist, the forearm. It aches, how she can't feel the warmth of his touch, how she can't lift her own fingers to gestures as she wants due to her own foolish, foolish mistake.
Her mind fights, the process against the emotion, unable to define it and drowning her in an unfamiliar sea. What... what should she be feeling right now? The girl in the Chinese room, flinging books off of shelves, seeing those unfamiliar words on a page - his feelings in a voice, in a look, in the way he holds her hands, in the way her own chest feels so full that it hurts - it's just familiar enough that she believes she MUST know it, somewhere, but no part of her extensive database can put a definition to it.
Her good hand trembles in his hold, mouth opening, then closing, then opening again, struggling to even form the words she wants to say. In the end, she nearly says nothing, leaning in to rest her forehead against his chest with her shoulders hunched tight, feeling as though, if she were to look at him right now, her mind might crash entirely.]
I... [A shaking exhale. A swallow. The weight of his hands and the strength of his grip is so comforting...]
I'm... I-I-I'm so sorry. I... don't really know what's happening to me.
[There's an odd bashfulness to the words she stutters out, but it isn't unhappy.]
[there is no should in a situation like this, Akira thinks. emotions are often fickle and volatile and easily misunderstood, prone to swinging one way and then the next, impossible to grasp despite how thoroughly they move people. he thinks he can answer her question, but. . . he knows it wouldn't be fair. he knows that he shouldn't]
[he knows this is something that she has to grapple with on her own, just as he has to grapple with--]
[. . .]
[he lets out a small huff, giving both of her hands a squeeze, gentle pressure applied even to the one that is loose and lifeless in his grasp]
That's okay.
[even people who are purely human don't know what they're feeling half of the time. and as long as she isn't unhappy, then. . . it's fine]
You don't have to.
[she can approach this however she wants, and regardless of how she comes out at the end of it all. . . he'll be there. and the fact that he can't give her an answer is, perhaps, why he mildly changes the subject]
It's not bad that you don't know. Sometimes, emotions are just. . . like that.
[LIKE THAT, because he doesn't know how else to explain it]
Don't worry about explaining it, either. Just focus on recovering, okay?
[getting a good night's rest so she can be awake and. . . well, maybe not better, but a little more willing to move forward despite the pain of Phoenix's death]
[...Mmm. There's a comfort that comes with his words, a little bit of room to forgive herself for how much this confuses her. But... part of her wonders if maybe... maybe she's looking too far into this? With how he words it... she can't tell if he's just being gentle or just... doesn't understand.
Maybe whatever she was feeling... wasn't entirely shared...? Even though...
...
That, somberly, settles her into something far more familiar. Unrequited affection was an old friend, even if it ached a little, even if she had no proof one way or another. It... felt easier this way.
...]
I'm... I'm not the one who has to worry about that. Really, I... as long as I can make sure people like you and Nic and Toi are all still... still okay...
That's what matters more to me.
Um... [She'll gently nod towards the garden, adjusting her grip of her good hand to try and lace her fingers with his.] I... I'm okay with... with just this. Just some quiet. [With him.]
[ah-- he feels a little heat rise to his cheeks as their fingers intertwine, but the contact. . . it's not bad at all, and he gives her hand a little squeeze as though to say so. and her request. . . honestly, after the pain of the entire weekend, he could use some peace and quiet, too]
[something to soothe the anxieties he keeps shoved so far down. the worries and fears he pretends don't exist, so he isn't bogged down by them]
I think I'd like that.
Just. . . some quiet.
[and with that. . . he tugs against her hand and begins to walk again]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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No.
. . . it isn't.
[because the truth was. . . he didn't want it to go away, either]
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There's a slow, pained exhale at that, her eyes drifting shut. She lets her hands be guided into his own, the palm of her left still completely limp, still bandaged up to the knuckles, the wrist, the forearm. It aches, how she can't feel the warmth of his touch, how she can't lift her own fingers to gestures as she wants due to her own foolish, foolish mistake.
Her mind fights, the process against the emotion, unable to define it and drowning her in an unfamiliar sea. What... what should she be feeling right now? The girl in the Chinese room, flinging books off of shelves, seeing those unfamiliar words on a page - his feelings in a voice, in a look, in the way he holds her hands, in the way her own chest feels so full that it hurts - it's just familiar enough that she believes she MUST know it, somewhere, but no part of her extensive database can put a definition to it.
Her good hand trembles in his hold, mouth opening, then closing, then opening again, struggling to even form the words she wants to say. In the end, she nearly says nothing, leaning in to rest her forehead against his chest with her shoulders hunched tight, feeling as though, if she were to look at him right now, her mind might crash entirely.]
I... [A shaking exhale. A swallow. The weight of his hands and the strength of his grip is so comforting...]
I'm... I-I-I'm so sorry. I... don't really know what's happening to me.
[There's an odd bashfulness to the words she stutters out, but it isn't unhappy.]
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[he knows this is something that she has to grapple with on her own, just as he has to grapple with--]
[. . .]
[he lets out a small huff, giving both of her hands a squeeze, gentle pressure applied even to the one that is loose and lifeless in his grasp]
That's okay.
[even people who are purely human don't know what they're feeling half of the time. and as long as she isn't unhappy, then. . . it's fine]
You don't have to.
[she can approach this however she wants, and regardless of how she comes out at the end of it all. . . he'll be there. and the fact that he can't give her an answer is, perhaps, why he mildly changes the subject]
. . . are you feeling better now?
[for a definition of "better"]
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I... don't think it's bad that I don't know. It doesn't feel bad. But...
[She hums a bit under her breath, lifting her head a bit, her attention drifting to their hands with a soft, painfully fond look blanketing her eyes.]
Sorry. It's... hard to explain.
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[LIKE THAT, because he doesn't know how else to explain it]
Don't worry about explaining it, either. Just focus on recovering, okay?
[getting a good night's rest so she can be awake and. . . well, maybe not better, but a little more willing to move forward despite the pain of Phoenix's death]
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Maybe whatever she was feeling... wasn't entirely shared...? Even though...
...
That, somberly, settles her into something far more familiar. Unrequited affection was an old friend, even if it ached a little, even if she had no proof one way or another. It... felt easier this way.
...]
I'm... I'm not the one who has to worry about that. Really, I... as long as I can make sure people like you and Nic and Toi are all still... still okay...
That's what matters more to me.
Um... [She'll gently nod towards the garden, adjusting her grip of her good hand to try and lace her fingers with his.] I... I'm okay with... with just this. Just some quiet. [With him.]
no subject
[something to soothe the anxieties he keeps shoved so far down. the worries and fears he pretends don't exist, so he isn't bogged down by them]
I think I'd like that.
Just. . . some quiet.
[and with that. . . he tugs against her hand and begins to walk again]