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Entry tags:
( CLOSED ) wishy-washiness
Who: Haruka Nanase (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
freed) & Makoto Tachibana (cordated)
When: IC 12/17
Where: Shopping District
What: Haru isn't a good enabler, Makoto's just a convenient pushover a majority of the time. Otherwise known as: that one time they went out to buy glasses.
Rating/Warning: Cavity-inducing domesticity ...
[ to be honest, rectifying his trifling vision problem wasn't a big-ticket item on makoto's priorities as of late, what with the supposed annihilation of their world (which tended to occupy a majority of his conscious thoughts with blatant indiscretion), but time supposedly healed all wounds. however, whether that saying applied to inter-dimensional absurdity was up for debate. waffling between emotional turmoil and nervous hysterics only came as a half-off bargain deal en route to becoming the self-fulfilling trainwreck.
in any case, his catalyst arrived a week or so later in the form of haru forcibly dragging him out of the apartment at first light with that sort of retaliatory fervor he typically only displayed around rin and immense bodies of water. putting up lukewarm protests or inquiries only seemed to further incite his best friend's wrath, so makoto resigned himself to just keeping pace from one district to the next, tension drum-taut and seizing at his gradually declining composure in intervals.
exiting the metro rail, they start off down one avenue, eventually landing in front of a shop with all the trappings of an optometrist center, right down to the gigantic, blinking robotic eyeball literally set into the glass storefront, because that's a completely normal fixture of every esteemed business establishment back home.
quailing at the implicit prospect of trusting strangers from another planet with any organ in his body (and growing a backbone as far as giving into a mild form of hedonism went), makoto stares and promptly blanches when haru wastes no time wrenching the door open, readily towing him along like he isn't skidding along asphalt trying to force a gridlocked standoff for fear of their lives. his sneaker squeal along concrete, persevering in the face of adversity, imminent destruction, and roughly 138 pounds of ill-elicited conviction.
out of concern for their immediate wellbeing, makoto wastes no time launching into damage control. he steadfastly clamps both of his hands on haru's shoulders in a last-ditch effort to coax any remnant dredges of sanity back into his fellow teammate. ]
Haru, are you sure it's okay to go in just like that? I don't really need glasses in the first place, plus I don't have my prescription on me, so ... !
freed) & Makoto Tachibana (cordated)When: IC 12/17
Where: Shopping District
What: Haru isn't a good enabler, Makoto's just a convenient pushover a majority of the time. Otherwise known as: that one time they went out to buy glasses.
Rating/Warning: Cavity-inducing domesticity ...
[ to be honest, rectifying his trifling vision problem wasn't a big-ticket item on makoto's priorities as of late, what with the supposed annihilation of their world (which tended to occupy a majority of his conscious thoughts with blatant indiscretion), but time supposedly healed all wounds. however, whether that saying applied to inter-dimensional absurdity was up for debate. waffling between emotional turmoil and nervous hysterics only came as a half-off bargain deal en route to becoming the self-fulfilling trainwreck.
in any case, his catalyst arrived a week or so later in the form of haru forcibly dragging him out of the apartment at first light with that sort of retaliatory fervor he typically only displayed around rin and immense bodies of water. putting up lukewarm protests or inquiries only seemed to further incite his best friend's wrath, so makoto resigned himself to just keeping pace from one district to the next, tension drum-taut and seizing at his gradually declining composure in intervals.
exiting the metro rail, they start off down one avenue, eventually landing in front of a shop with all the trappings of an optometrist center, right down to the gigantic, blinking robotic eyeball literally set into the glass storefront, because that's a completely normal fixture of every esteemed business establishment back home.
quailing at the implicit prospect of trusting strangers from another planet with any organ in his body (and growing a backbone as far as giving into a mild form of hedonism went), makoto stares and promptly blanches when haru wastes no time wrenching the door open, readily towing him along like he isn't skidding along asphalt trying to force a gridlocked standoff for fear of their lives. his sneaker squeal along concrete, persevering in the face of adversity, imminent destruction, and roughly 138 pounds of ill-elicited conviction.
out of concern for their immediate wellbeing, makoto wastes no time launching into damage control. he steadfastly clamps both of his hands on haru's shoulders in a last-ditch effort to coax any remnant dredges of sanity back into his fellow teammate. ]
Haru, are you sure it's okay to go in just like that? I don't really need glasses in the first place, plus I don't have my prescription on me, so ... !
no subject
during their short time in this strange consciousness so far, haru has turned over the information in his head in several different ways, none of them quite settling into the blurry grids of truth versus lies. it does seem accurate to say that by dream standards, makoto still seems too real whether in the anxiously good-natured shift of his smile or in the grip of his hands on haru's shoulders as they toe the line of entering the shop. this results in both of them just blocking the door, proximity to the perturbing eye not remotely lessened, but no one else appears to be looking for glasses at the moment, so obstructing the entryway is less an issue than it might have been.
he casts a mild look, just shy of over his shoulder since makoto is still holding on for dear life, the folds of his hands fervent clutches of let's not and please and this really isn't necessary.
haru thinks about what they've been told -- thinks about the people he has not seen here yet and the things that will always be different if he finally decides that all they were told is... true. it's the kind of shift in reality that can undo more than it is likely to rebuild and haru dislikes change on an ordinary level much less something vaster. in the face of these more alarming choices, getting makoto tachibana a pair of glasses is significantly more appealing. haru is supposed to report for the first time to the arcade tomorrow, which suggests money (credits? he really was not paying attention...) and the capacity to do what they have, this day, set out to achieve.
at home (gone, everything, gone whispers under the word) makoto would use glasses in class sometimes or even when they played video games -- something about the screen. on his wrist, haru wears the cerevice the way he saw nitori wear his because it seems to make the most sense. eying it now, he supposes makoto might be right. he doesn't 'need' them. but what if he ends up needing them later? at least this way he would have them already...
haru's head lowers with a sigh, still mild even as he pries makoto's hands off his shoulders and turns to face him properly. it's more than likely a little disorienting what with the huge eyeball behind him but haru doesn't think of this. ]
I know your prescription. And you might need them. Later.
[ his words are as good as a shrug with more of a point to them, as if to say: it makes sense. he supposes they could look for another optometrist with less ill-humored taste in decorations but to haru the eye isn't even all that distressing. what's worth being distressed over remains fuzzy to him because that's the way to stay in control -- all that information from the first day dulled to something manageable even if it isn't. the nervous wrinkle of makoto's brow and the sort of empty clawed quality of his hands like some unduly ruffled animal is normal enough. haru blinks.
and waits.
then something occurs to him,]
Hold on.
[he doesn't wait this time at all, disappearing inside only to emerge a moment later, this time standing in the open door, his back holding it ajar.]
You don't need to be tested.
[really it isn't as though that is likely makoto's only concern, but it was what occurred to haru -- that further invasion would be something he wouldn't like either, even on basis of an eye test. he finds it silly to think they might require it another time; who would know their own prescription better than themselves after all, but that's where the line of thought tapers.
if we're all that's left, they have to trust us.
that's the idea. probably faulty. and not wholly endorsed -- already in the bad habit of taking the parts of this reality that seem convenient and disregarding the others. as haru shifts a little, the chime at the top of the door rings and it's so normal by contrast with the window display and this whole set-up that haru looks up.
small, silver bell. a red ribbon.
apparently the santa robots from the first day were not as unseasonal as he'd thought.
haru was so occupied being offended for the first 48 hours about the rest of summer being 'stolen' that not much else was done or addressed.
he's still, truth be known, a little offended, and if nothing else, the ample use of the tub in the apartment unit has been regular enough. gaze drifting back down to the reason for being here in the first place, haru waits, though in the silence there might be some conversation too:
but we don't have to.
and
it's up to you.
not in the habit of being anything but an immovable force himself, haru is perhaps too easily willing to yield sometimes and too unwilling in others. a little more distance and time and the scene at competition might seem like a bad dream in and of itself...
well. ]
no subject
he isn't like his best friend, who internalizes what he can and leaves the rest to unequivocally burn — makoto remains hyperaware of their current state of affairs, from his characteristic misgivings to the stab of conscience that alights in him when haru goes out of his way to help him, even if it'll likely lead to a cardiac arrest at some point, what with his heart threatening to leap out of his mouth and promptly expire on the spot. his chest cavity is already reeking with qualms, prepping for the inevitable second of emotional dismantlement when everything comes to a head.
but if haru's a publicist when it comes to asserting what he wants whenever it suits him, then makoto's a holy roller of abysmal proportions as far as relenting to his whims is concerned. his ancillary position as the voice of reason is coincidentally trumped by guilt when haru circumvents a dodgy stare to the building with an unswerving calm. he isn't comfortable with this, either, not by a long shot, but he'd been willing enough to disparage his own proclivity for escapism, then it was a little selfish to back out at the last possible second. haru always had a way of getting what he wanted, but with makoto's inability to say 'no' properly, they'd entrenched themselves at an utter impasse. he really was forcing his hand like this, predisposed with the knowledge that makoto would relent in the end, and anyways, he never did like refusing him.
besides. it's not like he's completely against the idea in the first place. ]
... No, it's okay. I can handle it, don't worry.
[ an equably penitent smile when he disentangles his clasp and ventures in after him in with passive reluctance, keeping his gaze conspicuously cast aside from the tacky decorative prop watching them from the periphery with a pronounced focus.
as long as haru's there, it should be fine — if things go south, he can hightail it out of there at olympic track speeds while haru takes up the rear, so there shouldn't be issue as they walk in to the sound of outlandish chiming (apparently the holiday décor doesn't end at the homicidal amusement park). makoto keeps that belief intact for all of five seconds until they're confronted by the blank-faced robot receptionist like they've walked into a terminator movie set instead of an optometrist center.
at a whopping six feet, he still scrunches into himself at the barrage of questions, answering in polite — if completely frazzled — rejoinders, because it's the first time he's been readily accosted in machinegun fashion by a genuine automaton. on average consensus, most people respect physicians but makoto can't exactly trust anyone that lacks a real face, especially when it glows an ominous red when he doesn't pull out his credit card fast enough.
once that horrifying encounter transpires, they're left to their own devices in front of a rack of glasses, which swivel on and off as according to a switch levered off on the side. jolting back into his usual equanimity draw up appreciation tantamount to half-melted slugs of coins, worn of distinction and sincere interest. despite his lack of interest in the prospect of acclimatizing to the world of tellus in light of everything else.
the insinuation of necessity, in and of itself, since it was unlikely since he'd find his real pair of glasses ever again.
forcibly wrenching himself out of his reveries, makoto fishes out a garishly orange frame at random and tests it out in the mirror, swiveling around to direct a perfunctory inquiry haru's way. ]
How does it look? Good? No good? Should I go for something less colorful?
no subject
forget video games and distant chalkboards in the classroom; haru thinks glasses needed in any such instance are probable to be needed in others, perhaps more serious. and won't it be nice to have them already?
the world of tellus annoys haru in all its paradox: a hundred improbabilities thrown together with a handful of truths he would know just about anywhere, namely makoto and rin. he has less conviction where nitori ai is concerned and less investment on the whole when regarding shigino kisumi. so far in their time here, he and makoto have settled as much as they can more as a means to a daily end -- having fiscal capacity to feed themselves for example, getting glasses for another, etc.
neither has spoken about home though years of silent dialogue may have something to do with that.
at the same time that makoto turns to face him, haru tunes back into the present. his eyes narrow minimally: not those. orange suits the backstroke specialist actually, but this particular shade jars for whatever reason. he claims that pair and puts it back, offering a steel gray instead only to veto that as well. they cycle through a few more, though only once do they venture into circular frames (no.... paired with an especially grabby pinch of haru's fingers as he reclaims the regrettable glasses and swaps them out for something closer to what makoto already had.)
when they were children, makoto formed the fast and hard habit of giving haru what he wanted even if he wanted it too -- the dolphin keychain not being the smallest nor the first instance of such things. his presence in the store now is another example of such things, but haru insisting on it may be as good as tit for tat. haru joining the swim club, all those years ago would fall under the same heading, and the truth ends up being this: they're more balanced than a passing eye might think.
as for the things that were promising trouble when the ball of haru's foot touched the floor of the competition's pool, well, apparently they may not matter at all anymore.
half idly spinning a rack closest to the entrance, haru stills it with his finger, hooking a plain rectangular frame in the bend of it and extends his arm, thrusting the pair right in front of makoto's nose without actually looking at him.]
Closest to yours.
[this being the last display they haven't perused, he's a hundred percent certain, having plucked them off of makoto's face a number of times during study or at the end of a movie -- the taller boy's nerves shot from the more alarming scenes along the way. other times he's retrieved them from the floor, fallen collateral damage during a brutal faceoff with the video games, ran and ren draped around their necks per the usual.
when he thinks of the twins, when he thinks of nagisa, when he thinks of gou, thinks of rei....he can't believe everything they've been told.
maybe some of this is true. but some parts are too close to the nerve to just accept as gone.
haru focuses on what is definitively here, and supposing makoto accepted and tried on the last pair offered to him, haru will now reach to adjust them a little before turning the nearest standing mirror to angle properly at makoto who, despite his best efforts, still bears the general look of someone eager to be out of where he is anytime soon. ]
no subject
if anything, makoto's alleviated in the most halfhearted sense that haru takes initiative where he's prone to freeze up, stymied into discomfort whenever the mechanized receptionist swivels a good 360 degrees on its axis to stare unabashedly at and likely straight through their painfully corporeal forms. invisibility might've came in handy if makoto wasn't the one throwing himself under the bus, scrabbling behind his best friend and digging his fingers in gutted panic, a wreck of nervous laughter, a thinly-veiled subterfuge of escapism when he instinctively retreats for the farthest corner of the store, walking with about as much dignity as a kicked puppy, sans the drooping ears and woebegone tail.
outwardly, he's very much the same, even with his composure thrown to the wolves and left for the vultures. it's to no small relief that haru is just like he remembers, self-assured and solemn, switching in and out of frames in tactile ease, like he'd known he'd be allowed to and subsequently capitalized on it. resigning himself to a test run model for glasses, which was fairly innocuous when juxtaposed against the seedier districts in the colony, makoto eventually found himself snagging one hand at the hem of haru's shirt, a haphazard fistful of fabric some unconscious failsafe for apparent immunity to everyday terrors. he'd done that a lot, lately, kept closer when he knew he wouldn't be turned away, the drowning reassurance of someone he recognized in a world where everyone else was as good as gone.
it was significant, somehow, that he worried endlessly about trivialities, made himself into some pitiful caricature of anxious restlessness when he was supposed to be the one holding it together. unbearable, too — the thought of relying too deeply in someone else.
immediately releasing him, makoto derails himself from unconsciously snagging onto haru at every viable opportunity and occupies himself with observing the absolutely ridiculous glasses currently perched on the bridge of his nose, too-wide circular frames giving him the look and air of a particularly socially-inept owl, which wasn't too far from the truth when it came to conversing with most ceres officials. he's all too quick to accept the pair haru relinquishes to him — they're slightly larger than the ones he's accustomed to, thinner and more wiry upon inspection, but he has no objections to jumpstarting the process and immediately going through with the transaction. it beats the alternatives of having his eyes replaced with top-notch robotic orbs, which was apparently the norm for typical customers.
several times throughout the proceedings, makoto appeared to have developed a concrete fondness for flinching and compulsively dropping his gaze. on the upside, it's a speedy process, but it's only when they're halfway out the door with their objective accomplished that makoto remembers to resume autonomic activity again, promptly taking in huge lungfuls of air. immediately retract even the idea of disaffection, he trails after haru's retreating figure to stall their departure and bury his head in his companion's shoulder, fluid and utterly compromised. he remains like that for several minutes in lukewarm silence prior to sheepishly raising his head in humble apology. ]
Thank you, Haru.
[ withdrawing to his full height, he manages a sheepish grin, starting forward a few paces with the prospects of their next destination. ]
I made you concerned back there, didn't I? I'm okay. I'll get used to it eventually! I'd be really pitiful if I couldn't handle this much.