[CLOSED LOG]
Who: Aoyagi Ritsuka overcomplex and Yukimi Kazuhiko onehandedly
What: A little after Ritsuka fell into the dolphin pool, Ritsuka is going to borrow a towel from Yukimi. Since his is MIA and there aren't any around the pool.
When: The night he fell into the pool it wasn't that long ago.
Where: 3-16, Yukimi's room. Then idk. It'll probably stay there.
Why: Because ( Read more... )
What: A little after Ritsuka fell into the dolphin pool, Ritsuka is going to borrow a towel from Yukimi. Since his is MIA and there aren't any around the pool.
When: The night he fell into the pool it wasn't that long ago.
Where: 3-16, Yukimi's room. Then idk. It'll probably stay there.
Why: Because ( Read more... )
"Are...you sure?" he says as he takes a teensy step into the room. This is Yukimi's domain. It's where he lives, and it smells like him. ...Not meant in a creepy way, of course. Ritsuka has always been sensitive to people's scents and not because of the cat thing oh no not at all. His attention quickly goes to Yukimi's comment, You're Already Looking Pale.
It's not like it's something he can hide, looking pale, but he doesn't want Yukimi to worry. It's not his problem. He shouldn't worry. It was Ritsuka's own fault he was in this mess, anyway.
"I'm fine! Just ... cold, is all. It'll be okay once I get dry," he says as he removes his coat. But rather than tossing it somewhere he holds it in his hands and watches Yukimi, his cat ears down and a look on his face that says What Now?
He doesn't know what to do. He's only 12, after all.
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Quickly, he emerges with a soft-looking blanket and a hand towel, probably the only other one that doesn't smell like cats in his entire towel rack. He had a feeling he should've done more laundry yesterday.
As he moves into the waiting area, he clears a path amid all the mess and throws the blanket onto a table that sits low to the ground. "It's not a kotatsu, but it'll have to do. I've already got water boiling for lemon tea, which'll help you keep warm." And, as if to signal for Ritsuka to follow suit, Yukimi takes a seat by the table (which, by the way, he cleaned up before Ritsuka arrived.)
Yoite follows Yukimi the whole time, until finally becoming bored and disappearing into the mess of the room.
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He rests his hands on the table, but decides he doesn't want them there, and then proceeds to move them onto his lap. But his lap is wet. So he moves his hands back onto the table. An image of his mother stabbing a fork into his hand flashes before his eyes for a second, but his face doesn't betray this image. It's just the set-up. Bare hands, a table, and someone sitting across from him.
... it's okay, though. He's fine. The physical pain has faded from his mind. It's all in the past.
He blinks and then gives a tiny smile. To anyone looking at him he'd just seem like a normal, soaking wet boy who is embarrassed to be in someone's apartment for the fist time.
"Um, thanks."
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"Ah-" Starting a conversation would be good, at least until the water boils, but what do twelve-year-olds do with their time? Eat? Play in... dolphin pools? Hell, Yukimi has no idea. He scratches his neck, wondering where to start, when he notices that Ritsuka is still mostly soaked, and sitting down hasn't really helped any. The most he's done is get him to take off that jacket.
"So, how long have you been walking around drenched like that, anyway?" He doesn't say it in a scolding tone, but it's only because he's holding himself back. Leave it to a kid to do something as idiotic as taking a fur-lined coat to a pool.
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"Not...that long," he says slowly, "about 20 minutes? It's okay. It's not so cold anymore since everything just feels numb." To someone else this would be a very bad sign, but Ritsuka is grateful for it. Like how when his mother was trying to drown him in sink he wasn't thinking about the pain itself, but how fortunate it was that she wasn't using scalding hot water to do it.
He shrugs his shoulders after saying that. His head throbs a little but he ignores it, keeping his gaze straight and unwavering. He doesn't want to show anything other than his normal self.
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He grumbles, because, dammit, it's starting to remind him of someone again. Yoite? It must be Yoite, even if he can't really remember. To know you've forgotten something; it's the worst feeling Yukimi's ever had. And hanging out with this kid was only making it worse.
"Sit yer ass down while I get you some tea!" He shoves the blanket across the table so that Ritsuka can actually bundle himself up. If he doesn't take it, then he'll probably have to throw it at him himself. And then there's that pale look he had to him earlier... To think that a brat could care so little about his health! It was infuriating.
"You're not leaving till that face of yours gains some color, you got that?" He starts to stand but his movements are awkward and pained. He's gotten used to hefting himself up on one arm, but the frustration's making it a little hard to concentrate.
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He had been making to stand and help Yukimi up, but Yukimi's demand that he sit back down so he could get tea made him thump back onto the floor. He wasn't scared or anything, just a little... bewildered. Soubi had never liked it when he did things like this but he had never been quite so... loud about it.
Usually he just tried to get into Ritsuka's pants.
"E-Eh?" he blinks as Yukimi says that last line. Not leaving until he's better? But he's fine! As far as Yukimi needs to know. "I'm fine-! It's okay, really. Don't --.." It doesn't seem like Yukimi is going to listen to him, though, since he's so frustrated.
It wasn't that he didn't care about his health. He didn't like being sick. It's was just... it didn't seem like a big deal.
He didn't want to worry anyone.
"Don't worry about it. It's not worth the trouble."
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Not worth the trouble? Is he serious? Like Yukimi could just leave him now that he knows he's sick. Honestly, brats like that always make him want to prove them wrong.
"Grab the blanket and I'll be back in a second." And with that, he disappears into the kitchen.
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While in that position his mind began to drift and he closed his eyes. He fell into a slight doze, mostly because the ache in his head eased when he did, and images flashed before his eyes.
He was walking in a hallway, a dark hallway, with hundreds of doors. Whenever he tried to go in one of the doors a voice would call to him, Not That One. He'd move on. The smell of gasoline was pungent in the air -- what was going on?
Outside of the dream he was gripping the table with his hand, his nails digging into it, almost clawing it.
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