[Keisuke remained on the line, not knowing any better, too anxious and fearful of what hanging up (as the idea did occur to him, after a while) might incite in her even if he did manage to avoid her—class would bring them back together at some point, after all. It was inescapable. With that in mind, he occasionally weaves into his verbal distress appeals to Dal Dal, telling her that it's fine, no big deal, a bad time, and all that sort of et cetera until finally—
Keisuke!! His shoulders rise sharply in surprise and fear, turning around to face her as she hurls the phone (he tracks the movement, dumbfounded, electric alarm in his eyes) and stalking towards him. It's fast, though he soon realizes it shouldn't be. She's injured, moving in a sort of uneven gait that makes a bubble of concern rise up into his throat, burst the instant that her hands curl around the front of his uniform.
And she is strong, much more so than he might've expected of someone as small as she was (and injured...), and that combined with his total absence of resistance sends him into the lockers with a crash. The impact jars his phone out of his hand, clattering to the ground as he grits against the pain of where the back of his head had cracked against metal.
He isn't sure if it's that or just that he seems to be missing something, but he doesn't really follow what she's saying. Guys like him...? What—what was he doing?
He makes no effort to struggle or get away from her, yielding despite how solid he was.]
Dal Dal, [he starts, words a little strained; her fists were still, pressing uncomfortably against his ribcage.] Wh - What are you talking about?
[He can't help it then, the concern that's leaking into his tone of voice, his expression, the cut of his stance. In a way, it was avoidance for the issue he was dealing with himself, but in another he's beginning to quickly wonder if he wasn't the only one dealing with things like that, persisting even still in a place like this.]
will he though.........
Keisuke!! His shoulders rise sharply in surprise and fear, turning around to face her as she hurls the phone (he tracks the movement, dumbfounded, electric alarm in his eyes) and stalking towards him. It's fast, though he soon realizes it shouldn't be. She's injured, moving in a sort of uneven gait that makes a bubble of concern rise up into his throat, burst the instant that her hands curl around the front of his uniform.
And she is strong, much more so than he might've expected of someone as small as she was (and injured...), and that combined with his total absence of resistance sends him into the lockers with a crash. The impact jars his phone out of his hand, clattering to the ground as he grits against the pain of where the back of his head had cracked against metal.
He isn't sure if it's that or just that he seems to be missing something, but he doesn't really follow what she's saying. Guys like him...? What—what was he doing?
He makes no effort to struggle or get away from her, yielding despite how solid he was.]
Dal Dal, [he starts, words a little strained; her fists were still, pressing uncomfortably against his ribcage.] Wh - What are you talking about?
[He can't help it then, the concern that's leaking into his tone of voice, his expression, the cut of his stance. In a way, it was avoidance for the issue he was dealing with himself, but in another he's beginning to quickly wonder if he wasn't the only one dealing with things like that, persisting even still in a place like this.]