[Something goes alight in Akira's eyes, and not in a beautiful way. This is the dread of the doe, the vulnerability of one unguarded. It's as if, in this moment, Akira has forgotten how to toss his head and humble people just with that. Like he can't recall his own antlers, brutal as they ever are during other times. Akira only hears the crunching of pine needles, only smells the leather from his skinned predecessors; he only anticipates the gunshot.
And all at once, he remembers that he's capable of knocking heads with anybody. His face peaks into bright outrage, and his mouth opens like the worst kind of herald.] It's not— [No, no, no. Already, this isn't how things are meant to go at all. Akira isn't supposed to shout. He just said he wouldn't shout. He isn't supposed to gore the fear of harm before harm comes... Realizing this, he goes a little white in the face, a little tight-lipped, and he grabs for Shindou's hand, darting back beneath the water. He holds it there, domineering in its refusal to let Shindou escape, but also... frantic, honestly worried, in its fright of Shindou escaping. He holds onto Shindou's fingers, and he turns his face away, which is unusual enough by itself, when generally he's staring like cannot bear to keep from staring. His eyes cast low and far, but his shoulders are taut with the effort of that.
Finally, he breathes, and on that breath, he says,] It's not complicated. [This is quiet, doubly quiet, deliberate in its raw hush. He sounds ashamed of himself, a thing more often reserved for self-criticism of his failings. Though, that's what this is, now. He has to consciously try not to squeeze Shindou's hand to the point of pain for either of them... Once more, he forces his fingers to loosen (only enough so that Shindou keeps his circulation; not enough that Shindou can easily leave). Still quiet, he tries,] Not that complicated. Not so much that you have to...
[Beneath the shifting of their hands, the stones can be heard clinking. It's a light noise, unsuitable for the moment, its sound given body by the barrier of washing water. Akira turns his face to look at Shindou again, and his eyes carry that same body, that same fullness: water, the threat of it, the soothe of it. He is less ashamed and more intent when he admits,] Yes, I did say that. I said that about you. [He's slotting their fingers together even if he has to do it stiffly and intrusively.] I never intended to be just a part. Shindou, I already made room. When we... I wouldn't have... [His face twitches, then pitches hard into heavy offense. He's frustrated.] I slept with you. Of course I want the rest of it, too. Of course, of course, [like a stammer, but more heated... Akira lifts his hand, with Shindou's, out of the washing water. He wants to dry them both with the terrycloth, pressing it, as delicately as his anxiety will allow, to the back of Shindou's hand. He so wishes to be tender.] I want to.
[He works on drying off each of Shindou's fingers, as best he can, given he still won't let go of them.]
I don't care what word you use for it. It could be any word as long as you know what I mean by it. If being your boyfriend means we'll be walking the same way, then I'm your boyfriend. [Mindful, now, his words come gentler and gentler on every next breath. He isn't shouting, and he's growing less strained. Winding down, as best he can, with each bit of skin he wipes dry for Shindou. Shindou, uncertain, trying hard... Akira knows he's trying. He can tell that much. It's a special thing, to see Shindou trying, to Akira's face.] I don't want for either of us to go in any other direction. I found my eternal rival; you are mine. I found you. Shindou, let's go out together.
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And all at once, he remembers that he's capable of knocking heads with anybody. His face peaks into bright outrage, and his mouth opens like the worst kind of herald.] It's not— [No, no, no. Already, this isn't how things are meant to go at all. Akira isn't supposed to shout. He just said he wouldn't shout. He isn't supposed to gore the fear of harm before harm comes... Realizing this, he goes a little white in the face, a little tight-lipped, and he grabs for Shindou's hand, darting back beneath the water. He holds it there, domineering in its refusal to let Shindou escape, but also... frantic, honestly worried, in its fright of Shindou escaping. He holds onto Shindou's fingers, and he turns his face away, which is unusual enough by itself, when generally he's staring like cannot bear to keep from staring. His eyes cast low and far, but his shoulders are taut with the effort of that.
Finally, he breathes, and on that breath, he says,] It's not complicated. [This is quiet, doubly quiet, deliberate in its raw hush. He sounds ashamed of himself, a thing more often reserved for self-criticism of his failings. Though, that's what this is, now. He has to consciously try not to squeeze Shindou's hand to the point of pain for either of them... Once more, he forces his fingers to loosen (only enough so that Shindou keeps his circulation; not enough that Shindou can easily leave). Still quiet, he tries,] Not that complicated. Not so much that you have to...
[Beneath the shifting of their hands, the stones can be heard clinking. It's a light noise, unsuitable for the moment, its sound given body by the barrier of washing water. Akira turns his face to look at Shindou again, and his eyes carry that same body, that same fullness: water, the threat of it, the soothe of it. He is less ashamed and more intent when he admits,] Yes, I did say that. I said that about you. [He's slotting their fingers together even if he has to do it stiffly and intrusively.] I never intended to be just a part. Shindou, I already made room. When we... I wouldn't have... [His face twitches, then pitches hard into heavy offense. He's frustrated.] I slept with you. Of course I want the rest of it, too. Of course, of course, [like a stammer, but more heated... Akira lifts his hand, with Shindou's, out of the washing water. He wants to dry them both with the terrycloth, pressing it, as delicately as his anxiety will allow, to the back of Shindou's hand. He so wishes to be tender.] I want to.
[He works on drying off each of Shindou's fingers, as best he can, given he still won't let go of them.]
I don't care what word you use for it. It could be any word as long as you know what I mean by it. If being your boyfriend means we'll be walking the same way, then I'm your boyfriend. [Mindful, now, his words come gentler and gentler on every next breath. He isn't shouting, and he's growing less strained. Winding down, as best he can, with each bit of skin he wipes dry for Shindou. Shindou, uncertain, trying hard... Akira knows he's trying. He can tell that much. It's a special thing, to see Shindou trying, to Akira's face.] I don't want for either of us to go in any other direction. I found my eternal rival; you are mine. I found you. Shindou, let's go out together.