[There's nothing so good as what Shindou's just said. That's got to be true, right? As long as it's Akira. As long as you're the one. As long as Akira is the one... Down low, Akira's toes curl: left foot, right foot, then they all wriggle. He sighs. It's decadent, slow and full-bodied as it releases from deep within his chest, a little of his voice along for the ride. That's got to be bliss. He moves the pad of his thumb along one of Shindou's eyebrows, and it only adds to his delight.] We'll play, [he soothes,] we'll play. It's okay. [It is, isn't it? That's cool.] I would have liked an orange, a... peeled... [He thinks for a moment, or does his best to do that, and then makes a little sound in his throat, like a hum. You know, there's really no reason to be irritated, even when orange-less, because...] But it's okay. If I can stay right here with you, then...
[Then I'm happy. Then I have what I need. Then it's worth it. Then I'm going to be okay. Akira isn't sure whether he says any one of those out loud. Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. After a point, he just can't tell. But he opens up his eyes, enough to look at the travel size board Shindou has produced. It's so little. Such a special thing. Akira laughs softly, the sweetness and fluff of freshest snow and the way it falls at midnight.] This is good. We should be playing on this all the time. [Maybe—yes. Perhaps. Akira might have the strength to raise his other arm, to set it on the table, to use his fingers to unfold the board. Maybe. Perhaps. He might.] Hmmm, [he says, puzzling over his unwieldy grasp on the portable board, and it feels good to fumble without immediately getting angry. Doing something poorly might be less awful than he's been thinking all this time.] Hmmm. [Presumably he'd have better luck if he sat up and used both of his hands, but he doesn't feel like sitting up, and he doesn't want to remove his other hand from the boon of Shindou's hair. If Shindou is thinking Akira has been wanting to do this, he's right. What Akira has here is amazing: the freedom to touch Shindou, and the freedom to keep from worrying about touching Shindou. Earlier, when Shindou sent him those pictures from the hair dresser, Akira had wondered what it would feel like to touch it. Now he doesn't have any intention of being without that feeling.
Meanwhile, Shindou's started laughing. Akira can at least lift his head to watch these giggles, the flush, the silly raise of Shindou's hands. Akira draws Shindou's hair back from his forehead, observing as best his eyes will allow, thumbing at Shindou's hairline.]
Just tell me. I want to laugh with you. Tell me what I make you think about.
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[Then I'm happy. Then I have what I need. Then it's worth it. Then I'm going to be okay. Akira isn't sure whether he says any one of those out loud. Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. After a point, he just can't tell. But he opens up his eyes, enough to look at the travel size board Shindou has produced. It's so little. Such a special thing. Akira laughs softly, the sweetness and fluff of freshest snow and the way it falls at midnight.] This is good. We should be playing on this all the time. [Maybe—yes. Perhaps. Akira might have the strength to raise his other arm, to set it on the table, to use his fingers to unfold the board. Maybe. Perhaps. He might.] Hmmm, [he says, puzzling over his unwieldy grasp on the portable board, and it feels good to fumble without immediately getting angry. Doing something poorly might be less awful than he's been thinking all this time.] Hmmm. [Presumably he'd have better luck if he sat up and used both of his hands, but he doesn't feel like sitting up, and he doesn't want to remove his other hand from the boon of Shindou's hair. If Shindou is thinking Akira has been wanting to do this, he's right. What Akira has here is amazing: the freedom to touch Shindou, and the freedom to keep from worrying about touching Shindou. Earlier, when Shindou sent him those pictures from the hair dresser, Akira had wondered what it would feel like to touch it. Now he doesn't have any intention of being without that feeling.
Meanwhile, Shindou's started laughing. Akira can at least lift his head to watch these giggles, the flush, the silly raise of Shindou's hands. Akira draws Shindou's hair back from his forehead, observing as best his eyes will allow, thumbing at Shindou's hairline.]
Just tell me. I want to laugh with you. Tell me what I make you think about.