( he starts, but the words die in his throat as akito continues on. he's babbling, words falling out of his mouth in a steady stream and every line just makes ikki more and more uncomfortable. he doesn't want to discuss this, he doesn't want this out in the open, he doesn't want to hear akito actually say these things. voicing it makes it real, grounds it to reality and spreads it out into the wind where it becomes something that he must deal with. he's never known how to handle his affections, regularly refusing to take them serious. for a moment, he's left stricken dumb, hands clenching at his sides and opening his mouth once more to say something—anything—to stop this before it's too late. )
Ah.
( ah? ah? ahhh? that's all that comes it? that's it? nothing else comes out, throat seizing in a moment of clear panic. it's written all over his face, bleeds into his stance—the clenched fists, the stiff shoulders, and the sudden refusal to look at him. he stares straight ahead, looking into the window of some useless and unimportant shop across the street. anything but akito, anywhere but at the boy clinging to his shirt and pouring out his heart to him on the street. he had so much to say before, about getting out of here, about what matters, but there was this and this was so much important. the other things could wait, wait until time when it's relevant, but this had to be handled now. a million things come to mind for him to say, anything better than a simple "ah", but what comes out is— )
I'm sorry. ( it's so quiet that he's almost sure he hadn't said anything at all. )
no subject
( he starts, but the words die in his throat as akito continues on. he's babbling, words falling out of his mouth in a steady stream and every line just makes ikki more and more uncomfortable. he doesn't want to discuss this, he doesn't want this out in the open, he doesn't want to hear akito actually say these things. voicing it makes it real, grounds it to reality and spreads it out into the wind where it becomes something that he must deal with. he's never known how to handle his affections, regularly refusing to take them serious. for a moment, he's left stricken dumb, hands clenching at his sides and opening his mouth once more to say something—anything—to stop this before it's too late. )
Ah.
( ah? ah? ahhh? that's all that comes it? that's it? nothing else comes out, throat seizing in a moment of clear panic. it's written all over his face, bleeds into his stance—the clenched fists, the stiff shoulders, and the sudden refusal to look at him. he stares straight ahead, looking into the window of some useless and unimportant shop across the street. anything but akito, anywhere but at the boy clinging to his shirt and pouring out his heart to him on the street. he had so much to say before, about getting out of here, about what matters, but there was this and this was so much important. the other things could wait, wait until time when it's relevant, but this had to be handled now. a million things come to mind for him to say, anything better than a simple "ah", but what comes out is— )
I'm sorry. ( it's so quiet that he's almost sure he hadn't said anything at all. )