IC Inbox | noctiumrp

[freshprints]

« ALTER EGO DSC910 »

TEXT ✧ AUDIO ✧ VIDEO ✧ ACTION

KYOKO KIRIGIRI ✦ DANGAN RONPA
RESIDENCE ✦ Residency
GEMBOND ✦ Amethyst

"You've got that wrong. This number, that is."

INFO ✧ PERMISSIONS ✧ KINKLIST ✧ EXTRA

Comments

[freshprints]

[As he starts to fiddle with the buckle of his wristband, she makes the conscious decision to close her eyes — and keeps them closed, listening as the leather rustles and the metal of the latch comes free. It seems a little like he's holding his breath — whether that's physically or just emotionally, it's hard to tell — but when it's all said and done, she tilts her head up and away from his arm, and reopens her eyes to first look toward his face.

He's not looking. It bothers him — well, of course it bothers him. But for a few sleepy moments, she tries to muster up all the soothing calm and reassurance she can, and tries to push it through their connection in his direction. She tries to remember how it felt when he was the one peeling her gloves away, and she was waiting with knowledge of the ugliness hidden beneath them. Tries to remember how much it meant to her that he didn't mind, didn't care. Tries to remember how good she feels when he looks at her starry-eyed, and tries to look at him the same way.

But he's waiting, and so gradually, she looks. There, set into his wrist, is his gemstone — a sapphire. And there, beneath and around it, is...

Ink? Black ink. A tattoo?]

No. It's not weird.

[She nudges up against him, tucking against his side as she gives his fingers a squeeze.]

Nothing's changed. You can feel how I feel, can't you...?

[snaphappy]

I can...

( but. it's unspoken uncertainty, like he doesn't want to give it a voice--like it might have more power, that way, even though he knows, wildly, how much he trusts her, and how dangerous it really isn't, to do so. she's never betrayed him, never done anything but support him and accept all of his silly inconsistencies, never got annoyed by his texting or his running or anything they've done together at all. she nudges up against him, squeezing his fingers, and he squeezes hers back in response. reassuring.

there's a nervous sort of laugh, like he's just--deflating with it, letting it out. she doesn't think it's weird, but then again, why would she? probably just looks like any other tattoo, like it's something that he got once that he maybe regretted. she doesn't know the implications because he doesn't know how to tell her them; he doesn't know how to say this means that i don't fit in, that i never fit in, that i'm a liar.

she's so warm and so sleepy and so good, next to him, and he twists his head back, lays their arms down in the snug space between them. )

I've tried getting rid of it. ( when he was younger, more foolish, more panicked. ) It never goes away. I didn't put it there, but it... I don't know what it means.

( he has guesses, but they're uncertain, too. a small smile, then, as he tries to meet her eyes, clumsily, like he doesn't know if he should. ) Your hands mean something, you're beautiful, and this is just... Ugly.

[freshprints]

My hands remind me of...something terrible that happened. Someone I'll never see again. For me, when I see them, I see mistakes I made, and the promise I made to myself that I would never let that sort of mistake happen again.

[It's not that she's more lucid now than she's been before, exactly; it's more that she's had a long time to work out those particular phrases in her mind, to the point that repeating them is almost a mantra of sorts. One word easily follows another, the thoughts sliding out like they've been tossed in oil, before eventually she yawns and snuggles against him.]

I think it's all right to have parts of yourself that you don't like. That doesn't mean you have to change it, or make excuses for it.

[She looks at him, her eyes half-lidded, her dark thick lashes framing the violet of her eyes.]

You don't have to accept it as part of yourself, either. You don't have to...assimilate it, just because someone else put it there.

[snaphappy]

Yeah... Maybe. Maybe.

( it's not the time to tell her about the rest of it--about what it means, about where he came from, about any of that. even those details are things that he only knows in scattered incompletes, and this is supposed to be a nice day, a relaxing date, and he's already started to ruin it. as much as he wants to put the wristband on again and cover things up, he thinks it means something to leave it exposed: even if their arms are between them, still hiding slightly against the grass.

she's still so sleepy, and when she snuggles up against him, he lets her hand go. it's only so that he can lift up an arm, above her head, to give her the warmth of the space against his side. with some maneuvering, it's easy to drape his arm, and that horrible barcode, around her shoulders, to hold her against him and squeeze her in to let her know that it's okay.

she looks up at him with lidded eyes, and he looks down at her with a faint smile, a little weak. )

Do you even have any idea how good you are? ( it's fond, and a little teasing, as he cranes his neck slightly to give her a kiss on the nose. ) Or how much I like you? You're sleepy enough that you'll forget this whole conversation, huh.

[freshprints]

Mmshush. I have a — [She yawns, already disproving her own point before it's even completed.] — steel trap, mm, memory.

[...Let's be real, he's probably right and she's going to forget most of it. Some parts will stand out, though. The important things. The memory of him taking his cuff off, the twinges of upset humming through their gembond connection. She'll remember that he trusted her, too, and that even at her worst he's never stopped thinking she's worth the world.]

But you can tell me again. If you want. Just to be sure...