( CLOSED ) shoujo confessions or nothing

[cordated]

Who: Makoto Tachibana (cordated), Vietnam (hoasen), Rei Ryugazaki (theoreitical), Zack Fair (reenacted), Oona (mermaiding), Miles Edgeworth (prosecutory)
When: POST EVENT 20.
Where: Various locations around the colony.
What: Makoto's solicitations are met with varying degrees of success and failure. Life goes on.
Rating/Warning: None.

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(Individual starters in the comments below!)

Comments

i'm so sorry for the lateness! please don't feel compelled to tag back if it's been too long

[cordated]

You didn't get the chance, huh. I ... I shouldn't have promised anything. I thought I'd still have one more day. I didn't know they would leave like that.

[ Well, it's out, now. No taking it off, or playing it off as a joke of cynicism or the permanence of leaving while the leaving is still good.

His admission wrung on something less than invincibility, callousness he doesn't want to come in terms with, just like the impermeable silence left after ruination when it isn't apparent just yet that he might not recover. Not entirely. The lights are slung lower than an invocation, and her eyes keep conveying that softness, bright and eclipsing, and Makoto bites so hard on the inside of his cheek that it bleeds.

The quivering unsteadiness crushes somewhere in his windpipe, and he can't seem to speak, voice jumbled, his fingers a bundle of useless nerves. His head won't stop pounding, incessant and hurtful, and the invariability of the quiet when robbed of comprehension. He sucks in a shaky breath, unable to focus on Oona's words for what they instigate — nostalgia and other tricks of memory, how everything is too loud even when they're the only two people in the world.

Apologies split and treacherously open, Makoto blinks past the sudden blur of tears swimming in his vision, the sickening lurch of his chest, like he can't breathe properly even when he's speaking, blathering on and on with no weight to his words at all. ]

A-Anyways, I ... I didn't want to see you like this, w-when I wouldn't be able t-to ... to say ...

[ A fracture warps his voice, distorting it.

His smile cracking down the center, Makoto swipes at his eyes, the fissure-break of tears steadily dripping down his cheeks. Scrubbing furiously at his face with the underside of his hands, he angles his face away, continually astonished that his fingertips keep coming away damp. ]

Ah? That's weird. There's — there's something stuck in my eye, h-haha! ... Sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean ... to make it so awkward, so ... s-so don't mind me.

[ It might be karmic retribution, after all. Not in this world, or the next, or the next — ... just a question the second time around they disappear, anger and confusion throwing his inflection out of sorts.

So many small, tiny mistakes over the long run. ]

np! sorry my own delay laughs... christmas...!!

[mermaiding]

Ah... [She's not good at comforting people. Her instinct is to nip at their skin and nuzzle them close, or shove them and play. Distraction.

She puts her utensils down and reaches across the table for his hands.]

I, ah... Makoto... ['Come stay the night with me,' she wants to offer. The comfort of one body with another, one of the few ways she knows to offer comfort, but she's not sure if that would quite work here.]

Crying... it is fine. They are gone. Mourning and being sad is fine. Cry and let no one tell you not to. I can wait for however long it takes for you.

I am afraid I do not know how to comfort you in a way you would like, but I will do my best.