IC INBOX: INUGAMI

[underlined]

“Uh, hello. You've reached Keisuke... I’m sorry, but I’m not able to pick up right now. Leave me a message and I'll try to call back. Um... thanks, bye.”

[VOICE CALL, TEXT MESSAGING, AND PHOTO SHARING IS ENABLED ON THIS CELL PHONE.]

Comments

[connote]

[ Every syllable was enveloped with care, soft and bold in its delivery, distinct even amongst the hum of conversation that remained quietly buoyant in the air. It hasn't been that long since Akira last heard it, his voice, and the common tones that saturated every word with emotion, vibrantly candid. But, it felt brand new now, ears deceptively starved, greedy for constant exposure like before rather than the rare occasion of being addressed - idle chats of nothing in particular that occurred periodically, then fell to none.

Like a thief pilfering from a home they no longer had a place in, he absconded with an auditory memory that could never promise to last. An attempt to recall every inflection, the unhurried cadence of conveyed thoughts, simple and compact, but hardly enough, glimpses of before had already waned: adamantly sincere, a heart on Keisuke's sleeve potentially debauched by words he didn't mean to disclose, his memories had become involuntarily selective, incited by regret and underlying remorse. Distance, and the sharp intersections that relocated his progressing thoughts to its unsurprising regressive dead end, he wasn't given the opportunity to meld the two into an individual entity. But, the devotion was there, consistent, unwavering, an incessant hope that refused to die.

His gaze retreated from the view of the courtyard, gradual in his search for the source as he assumed the role of a momentary bystander to casual exchange, uninvolved and mildly curious, unintentional eavesdropping. However, familiar coveralls obscured his visual pursuit, his grip around the juice box firm, immediate recognition: halcyon blue, mundane brown - prevalent monotony metamorphosing into something exceptional. Subtle surprise in slight stretches of widened eyes ascended to encounter distant camaraderie, and for a moment, he stared - like he was convinced that the outline of his friend will gradually blur, then evaporate, elusive and out of reach all over again. It wasn't something he had anticipated, a suffocated prospect submerged beneath the weight of routine distractions. Now that Keisuke was here, his mind drew a blank - as if pacified by startled confusion, rendering words meaningless.

Akira shook his head in response, partly to shy away from the self-induced mental collapse of Keisuke's unexpected approach. He redirected his focus then, as he placed the carton of juice on the table, detaching the straw from its base before discarding its plastic bind, watched as the end pierced through the circular foil, anchoring itself to the bottom. An excuse to keep a part of himself busy while remaining hyper aware of the quiescent presence that lingered nearby, he couldn't help but to feel that the question made them seem awfully like strangers - a contradiction, absolute hypocrisy, to the thoughts he proclaimed as his personal truth. He didn't like it, that sudden disconnect. But, he knew that he was the one responsible for it. ]

... You don't have to ask. [ He finally said, regarding Keisuke anew, attention shifted to where it ought to be. This wasn't the time to bother with anything else. Even if this were to last only for a second, he wanted to keep this image of his friend alive: unsullied by Line, hands free from blood - the Keisuke he had always known, and will come to know better, someday. ] I don't mind.

[underlined]

[Communication had always been something of a struggle between them, fraught with various unspoken inequities and other issues which made it a difficult beast to try to combat and subdue, so that they could later improve. Keisuke still worried, despite what Akira might've insinuated, that he didn't particularly care for him being around. That he was never very interested in what he had to say (because he never seemed interested in what anyone had to say), and that maybe he'd be happier on his own. Keisuke had continued to hang around him over the years out of the hope that these worries were not true, that Akira maybe did find some benefit to spending time with him, just how Keisuke received the initial benefit of Akira's guardian presence and, later, the casual presence of his friendship that became so important to him.

It had been excruciating, when he had first come here, after their fight, to think that he would never speak to Akira like that ever again. It was even more painful to think that all of his constant worries and fears were (apparently) well-founded. It was a lot to recover from, despite how desperately he wanted to. But time had passed, he had gradually accepted the truth that Akira had given him all at once, in a rush that seemed (still seemed) too good to be true. But the persistent mildness of Akira's presence in the school helped bolster him, enough that he did manage to gather what little backbone he had to approach him like this.

He was tired of the uncomfortable distance. It hurt—in a different sort of way that the confusion and doubt had, but at least this was an issue he could attempt to combat head-on. Keisuke of months back might not have. He might have remained inactive, non-confrontational, but this place had helped change him as well. He was more willing to stand up for things that he might want, albeit slightly, even if those things were as simple as spending time with his friend like he used to.

He's worried for a moment. Akira turns to look at him with a look of faint surprised, stuck in suspended animation that his nerves seem to roil off of him even more than normal. But then he shakes his head, chasing away those worries as much as Keisuke could've asked for. He smiles nearly immediately, a shaky and small sort of expression, but present nonetheless. He nods, setting his books and the gifted pudding cup down at the chair near his friend, sitting down a little hurriedly as Akira sets the straw into the juice box. It does feel a bit strange and awkward, especially with the silence stretching between them, but Keisuke was trying his best to ignore it. It wasn't something that would be improved if they kept focusing so much on that that distance that they failed to try to bridge it.

He's beginning to fiddle with the wrapper around the plastic spoon when Akira speaks up. Now it's Keisuke's turn to look up, surprised; the guy doesn't really speak up apropos of nothing very often. He looks down, breaking the spoon from the wrapping.] ...Okay. [He believes him; he doesn't have any reason not to anymore, to doubt what he once thought was fine.] You - um. If... you wanted to hang out, you could just do that, too. Just come find me. I don't mind either.

[He'd actually really appreciate it.

He tears the foil off of the top of the pudding cup.] And - thanks. I didn't really notice what time it was... I guess I studied through lunch, huh.

[connote]

[ Expectation was a subtracted component from his inherent structure. He remained disengaged, adhering to the formula of solitude with a make-believe verdict that his singular camaraderie was nothing more than the usual monotonous burden of daily life. His irresponsible fascination towards death, and a misplaced hankering for something more than the routine, child's play skirmishes that became unrelenting in its repetition had drawn to his current adverse circumstances. If only - words that hardly plunged into his conscience had built a foundation for his guilt, permeating with regret, and snippets of recollections that he couldn't bring himself to let go.

So, it was part of his self-induced curriculum in the academy: cultivating patience while scavenging for scraps of information that could lead them towards a prospective escape - as if submerging into what he had once abhorred was a means to repent and contemplate the odds that he was forced to encounter, and the gravity of Keisuke, what he had failed to understand and grasp with conviction because he had gotten too comfortable, nearly incorrigible in his selfishness. Present-day, and his emotional agitation eroded into a comfortable determination to continue on, steadfast, towards one more day - knowing that his friend was there and rarely out of sight.

The juice box had fallen victim to his disregard as his hand settled against the table top, fingers loosely stretched out before curving into a fist. Akira surveyed Keisuke's features as if unconvinced by his current reality; the nails pressing lightly against his palm rooted his mind into place, urging him to accept rather than to question and doubt the honest offer provided despite their previous words exchanged from months before. He hadn't imagined the possibility of his friend's eventual approach, growing oddly acquainted with distance, readjusting muscle memory, the urgency to pursue with good intentions, in order to settle for a glimpse before wandering elsewhere. To be close, even in just proximity, perhaps he had missed it all along - after all. ]

... They have vending machines for a reason, don't they?

[ Something of a suggestion than scathing criticism. On-the-go snacks were better than an empty stomach, basically. But, it was a minor distraction, one's temporary negligence towards meal times. His eyes fell to Keisuke's notebook after offering a reply, though the written word was indiscernible from where he sat. Still, he found it unsurprisingly typical how their paths had diverged even in a place like this, their differences evident in routine and implicit habits. Akira wasn't one to pay them any mind, the life that others had chose. An inability for immediate understanding that aligned with his usual insouciant acceptance, Keisuke laboring over his studies wasn't something he felt much towards. After all, it was what his friend had chosen for himself - much like how he had chosen to converse with him despite everything. ]

I see you during class. [ Akira finally said, after a careful delay. ] At the gymnasium. [ It wasn't a class he looked forward to. The ambiance was excessively light-hearted - at least, in Akira's terms. But, it was something to do, to keep himself from getting too soft. That particular location was a start, but it was too narrow. After all, he had already assumed Keisuke would have something like a perfect attendance anyway. ]

Where else can I find you?