Thanks. You too, okay? [akira turns, watching sunny's retreating back with a small frown before he's interrupted by satoru grabbing a fistful of his collar with a soundless snarl again. a little more brusquely than he normally might handle someone, he pushes satoru's hand off and jerks his head in a nod toward a more secluded area and takes the lead, not checking to see if satoru follows.
he doesn't find it in him to protest against any of the accusations satoru levels at him in the argument that ensues. part of him is just—tired. worn out. he's heard the same things for a while, heard twenty different variations of "you're not going to get anywhere in life" for the past year. right when things seem like they're picking up, it all hits zero again, like a fresh slate without any actual new start. it's a familiar feeling now: internalizing that level of futility, the uselessness in correcting people's misconceptions when they don't care to listen.
it's a long night.
later, he gets home to an empty house and navigates like a silent wraith, mindful of all the different reasons he isn't supposed to be there. he crashes onto his bed—a temporary set-up in the attic—after a quick shower, as if a cold rinse will wash out everything he's heard in the past hour, and unlocks his phone. sunny's neat scrawl peeks out from the planes of his palm, half-hidden by the phone. after a pause, he navigates to add a new contact, titling it simply as "sunny".
another moment of hesitation, and he starts on a text.]
I'm sorry about earlier. That's one way to ruin someone's New Year's Eve, huh?
[he doesn't sign his name, but she'll probably get the point. it belatedly occurs to him it's late, and she should be sleeping, but hopefully she keeps her phone on silent at night... it's probably the last thing she needs to think about when she probably has work the next day. no rest, not even on new year's day, for people in the service industry. akira isn't on shift at the coffee shop on new year's, but he has some hours to cover at the flower shop, because even after new year's eve, it's still a busy time.]
no subject
he doesn't find it in him to protest against any of the accusations satoru levels at him in the argument that ensues. part of him is just—tired. worn out. he's heard the same things for a while, heard twenty different variations of "you're not going to get anywhere in life" for the past year. right when things seem like they're picking up, it all hits zero again, like a fresh slate without any actual new start. it's a familiar feeling now: internalizing that level of futility, the uselessness in correcting people's misconceptions when they don't care to listen.
it's a long night.
later, he gets home to an empty house and navigates like a silent wraith, mindful of all the different reasons he isn't supposed to be there. he crashes onto his bed—a temporary set-up in the attic—after a quick shower, as if a cold rinse will wash out everything he's heard in the past hour, and unlocks his phone. sunny's neat scrawl peeks out from the planes of his palm, half-hidden by the phone. after a pause, he navigates to add a new contact, titling it simply as "sunny".
another moment of hesitation, and he starts on a text.]
I'm sorry about earlier. That's one way to ruin someone's New Year's Eve, huh?
[he doesn't sign his name, but she'll probably get the point. it belatedly occurs to him it's late, and she should be sleeping, but hopefully she keeps her phone on silent at night... it's probably the last thing she needs to think about when she probably has work the next day. no rest, not even on new year's day, for people in the service industry. akira isn't on shift at the coffee shop on new year's, but he has some hours to cover at the flower shop, because even after new year's eve, it's still a busy time.]