First off, Makoto's not that young?! He's legal — or will be legal eventually, give or take a year of lopsided pseudo-arguments with his friends over the meaning of swimming and the predestined future of their friendship, emotionally contrived hokeyness and all. Anyways, it's a little hard to keep track of his age with something so nebulous as the Nexus Code. Makoto's all about touchy-feely empathy and nauseating sentiment, not quantum physics and existential theories so edgy it induced mental papercuts. The mechanics of the universe, in this case, fly straight over his head.
He's not planning to stay in Tellus for the honeymoon period, never mind the long haul, but there's something to be said for the sympathy of others: the conscious awareness that he isn't the only one wallowing in the awkward limbo of domestic weirdness (it's strange enough that there's a sense of normality in a city that thrives solely on alien technology). Koujaku's response elicits a quiet, punched-out sort of laugh from Makoto, the sort typically made by people on-site at close collisions, after the dust has settled with both vehicles solidly intact, unbroken. It's not that he's shaken, nothing so unnerving or proximate, it's just —
"Oh. Okay, well, if you say so," he tentatively answers at last, smiling with confectionary-sweet warmth.
— disruption to newly-formed routine. And, well, maybe that's a good thing that Makoto hasn't fallen victim to habitual ennui just yet.
In a last-ditch attempt to save them both from constipated emoting, he bundles the rest of the supplies in both arms, head bowed in deferential sheepishness.
"Will you be alright on your own? I was just planning to gather my stuff and head out, but I can give you directions to the nearest CYbuddy Repair Shop if you need it."
no subject
He's not planning to stay in Tellus for the honeymoon period, never mind the long haul, but there's something to be said for the sympathy of others: the conscious awareness that he isn't the only one wallowing in the awkward limbo of domestic weirdness (it's strange enough that there's a sense of normality in a city that thrives solely on alien technology). Koujaku's response elicits a quiet, punched-out sort of laugh from Makoto, the sort typically made by people on-site at close collisions, after the dust has settled with both vehicles solidly intact, unbroken. It's not that he's shaken, nothing so unnerving or proximate, it's just —
"Oh. Okay, well, if you say so," he tentatively answers at last, smiling with confectionary-sweet warmth.
— disruption to newly-formed routine. And, well, maybe that's a good thing that Makoto hasn't fallen victim to habitual ennui just yet.
In a last-ditch attempt to save them both from constipated emoting, he bundles the rest of the supplies in both arms, head bowed in deferential sheepishness.
"Will you be alright on your own? I was just planning to gather my stuff and head out, but I can give you directions to the nearest CYbuddy Repair Shop if you need it."