[Akira himself is wondering whether he might be asleep. He's probably at least halfway into a dream. It's the only thing that makes sense--the blurring of consciousness and an exhausted imagination. Akira knows where he is: a cold hospital room, his head resting upon starched sheets. He knows that the sounds around him are Shindou sounds, all monitoring his vitals, making sure he's still alive. He knows that his knees are sore from keeping him staunch on the hard linoleum floor. But at the same time, there has to be a dreaminess here, because it smells like a temple and it feels like reverence. Like duty. He has the sense that he's skipping something, as if he should be--what? Ringing bells? Sweeping clean important places? If there's incense, an altar must be nearby. And maybe it's dusty, but Akira can't leave where he is right now.
He must be halfway dreaming.
The first hint of Shindou's voice has Akira's head jerking upright. Akira gives half a gasp when he rises, and he's ruffled all over. His hair is springy in places, like stress has given it new shapes, and he has some strands stuck to his cheek, to his lip. His eyes are wide and sparkling like troubled pewter. There's an exhilarated flush to him, but his complexion in general is poor, with discoloration beneath the eyes. The awe in him, though, is more immediately notable than any of that. His amazement outweighs even the strangeness of Touya Akira appearing so disheveled.
That awe gives way to tension pretty quickly. Akira shuts his mouth, then shuts his further, pursing his lips tight. He rises from where he's been kneeling for hours--the length of time makes itself known in how his legs tremble when he stands. But he's backing away to sit in the nearby chair. He doesn't arrange himself gracefully. His wrists rest atop each knee, and his hands come together between them, all his fingertips tented and pressed together hard. That might be an angry tremor to his hands. And it's too serious to be embarrassment, or a teenage outburst of some sort. He's...]
They said you can have ice, [he says, too suddenly. It sounds like the strike of steel over flint: a fire starter.] Chipped ice. If you're thirsty.
[They've told him other things, too, if only because he's been a terror to them.]
no subject
He must be halfway dreaming.
The first hint of Shindou's voice has Akira's head jerking upright. Akira gives half a gasp when he rises, and he's ruffled all over. His hair is springy in places, like stress has given it new shapes, and he has some strands stuck to his cheek, to his lip. His eyes are wide and sparkling like troubled pewter. There's an exhilarated flush to him, but his complexion in general is poor, with discoloration beneath the eyes. The awe in him, though, is more immediately notable than any of that. His amazement outweighs even the strangeness of Touya Akira appearing so disheveled.
That awe gives way to tension pretty quickly. Akira shuts his mouth, then shuts his further, pursing his lips tight. He rises from where he's been kneeling for hours--the length of time makes itself known in how his legs tremble when he stands. But he's backing away to sit in the nearby chair. He doesn't arrange himself gracefully. His wrists rest atop each knee, and his hands come together between them, all his fingertips tented and pressed together hard. That might be an angry tremor to his hands. And it's too serious to be embarrassment, or a teenage outburst of some sort. He's...]
They said you can have ice, [he says, too suddenly. It sounds like the strike of steel over flint: a fire starter.] Chipped ice. If you're thirsty.
[They've told him other things, too, if only because he's been a terror to them.]