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trashcan
Dec. 4th, 2012 10:29 pmhandshake[ Souji works with his customary eye for detail — his room is cleared, his shelves dusted, his books are resorted and organized upon his desk. He replaces the ragged curtains. He vacuums. He spends half a day in the kitchen, baking his way through three cakes before deeming the last one suitable.
Souji isn't a nervous person by nature. Years of displacement have taught him confidence and self-reliance; he knows the sum total of his capabilities, and even his streak of perfectionism cannot find any great fault in his worth.
And yet Souji is nervous, in that sweaty-palmed sort of way that he'd believed himself above. For god's sake, he'd spent half a minute twitching before he'd been able to send the text inviting Yosuke over.
Because this isn't simply an opportunity to widen his eyes and let the charm of his smile win the hearts of the adoring masses — Yosuke had been warm and trembling and terrifyingly fragile in his arms, and Souji knows that no matter how many times he rebakes the goddamn cake, it's still not going to be enough. The imperfection isn't in the presentation, it's in the chaotic jumble of emotions that have even old-man Souji clenching his hands in his lap and biting his lip, nothing more than a teenaged boy ready for his first foray into the real world.
When the doorbell rings, Souji jerks to attention. He wears his composure off-center, his smile a reflex.
After he's made his way downstairs, he hesitates just a moment, his hand pressed flat upon the door — Yosuke stood on the other side of it, he knows, wearing that awful trendy coat of his, probably grinning with that characteristic edge of self-deprecation.
Souji unlatches the door, and tugs it open. ]
Souji isn't a nervous person by nature. Years of displacement have taught him confidence and self-reliance; he knows the sum total of his capabilities, and even his streak of perfectionism cannot find any great fault in his worth.
And yet Souji is nervous, in that sweaty-palmed sort of way that he'd believed himself above. For god's sake, he'd spent half a minute twitching before he'd been able to send the text inviting Yosuke over.
Because this isn't simply an opportunity to widen his eyes and let the charm of his smile win the hearts of the adoring masses — Yosuke had been warm and trembling and terrifyingly fragile in his arms, and Souji knows that no matter how many times he rebakes the goddamn cake, it's still not going to be enough. The imperfection isn't in the presentation, it's in the chaotic jumble of emotions that have even old-man Souji clenching his hands in his lap and biting his lip, nothing more than a teenaged boy ready for his first foray into the real world.
When the doorbell rings, Souji jerks to attention. He wears his composure off-center, his smile a reflex.
After he's made his way downstairs, he hesitates just a moment, his hand pressed flat upon the door — Yosuke stood on the other side of it, he knows, wearing that awful trendy coat of his, probably grinning with that characteristic edge of self-deprecation.
Souji unlatches the door, and tugs it open. ]
