there really isn't any other way of describing it. the processes that kept him guarded and wary throughout this entire conversation slugs to a halt when the words sink in, like something cold and undesirable, ice prickling at the back of his neck. for a glorious three seconds, his mind is blank, just blank, as he kneels there and thinks of something that's really very much like nothing.
it takes him a second more to realize that even his breath has come to a standstill. it's that realization that breaks the solid whiteness, urges his mind gears to click onwards, onwards. he exhales slowly, controlled, and dearly wishes that he could lean back.
well played, and how unfair.
because as the gears in his mind pick up speed frantically, the first thing he thinks of is Yuuta-- but that isn't quite right. he's never owned Yuuta, has never tamed him, will never tame him because he will never understand him, and while he dearly wishes to cocoon him in the safety of domestication, knows that Yuuta wouldn't be Yuuta if he weren't free. Yuuta left, but the hurt couldn't have been from letting him go. he's never had him. there's nothing to let go. no, the hurt must have come from something else entirely-- and he thinks of Tezuka, the one who traversed an ocean. but Tezuka is like Yuuta. and he thinks, woefully, that the only people in his life that he cherishes more than anything else are those that he cannot, will not control. and Yagyuu-- he may not have seen this, but he must've realized something, and Fuji knows better than anyone that the subtle power struggle only needs but a drop in the bucket to tip the scales.
if he is at all honest with himself, maybe he'd admit that it hurts, just a little.
it's not the first time his mood wavers in Yagyuu's presence, but he hides his conflict well. the hint he willingly imparts, like a warning shot, is in his smile, all teeth, and the lifting of his head from his knee as he contemplates Yagyuu's gaze.
well played, indeed. a murmur, quiet enough to be unobtrusive, yet pitched to carry.]
Did you speculate because you'd thought you could draw something out from my personal experiences? [though the question is rhetorical in nature. while he's still fairly unsure as to what that 'something' may be, he's fairly certain that Yagyuu wouldn't have said such a thing if he didn't expect some sort of reaction, stirring.
a hum, contemplative. he brings a hand up to his cheek, and taps, twice.]
Or is it a confession, because you're drawing from your own?
no subject
there really isn't any other way of describing it. the processes that kept him guarded and wary throughout this entire conversation slugs to a halt when the words sink in, like something cold and undesirable, ice prickling at the back of his neck. for a glorious three seconds, his mind is blank, just blank, as he kneels there and thinks of something that's really very much like nothing.
it takes him a second more to realize that even his breath has come to a standstill. it's that realization that breaks the solid whiteness, urges his mind gears to click onwards, onwards. he exhales slowly, controlled, and dearly wishes that he could lean back.
well played, and how unfair.
because as the gears in his mind pick up speed frantically, the first thing he thinks of is Yuuta-- but that isn't quite right. he's never owned Yuuta, has never tamed him, will never tame him because he will never understand him, and while he dearly wishes to cocoon him in the safety of domestication, knows that Yuuta wouldn't be Yuuta if he weren't free. Yuuta left, but the hurt couldn't have been from letting him go. he's never had him. there's nothing to let go. no, the hurt must have come from something else entirely-- and he thinks of Tezuka, the one who traversed an ocean. but Tezuka is like Yuuta. and he thinks, woefully, that the only people in his life that he cherishes more than anything else are those that he cannot, will not control. and Yagyuu-- he may not have seen this, but he must've realized something, and Fuji knows better than anyone that the subtle power struggle only needs but a drop in the bucket to tip the scales.
if he is at all honest with himself, maybe he'd admit that it hurts, just a little.
it's not the first time his mood wavers in Yagyuu's presence, but he hides his conflict well. the hint he willingly imparts, like a warning shot, is in his smile, all teeth, and the lifting of his head from his knee as he contemplates Yagyuu's gaze.
well played, indeed. a murmur, quiet enough to be unobtrusive, yet pitched to carry.]
Did you speculate because you'd thought you could draw something out from my personal experiences? [though the question is rhetorical in nature. while he's still fairly unsure as to what that 'something' may be, he's fairly certain that Yagyuu wouldn't have said such a thing if he didn't expect some sort of reaction, stirring.
a hum, contemplative. he brings a hand up to his cheek, and taps, twice.]
Or is it a confession, because you're drawing from your own?