[It was a rare quality to possess the self-awareness to be able to fully understand one's faults and strengths. People tended to hyper-focus on what small parts they could see, ignoring the grayer areas where such boons and detriments could overlap. That was where bravery strayed into foolishness, where caution dissolved into cowardice. It was a cruel sort of irony that the larger picture was often more visible to others, but that they also lacked the personal context for the constellation of personality. Akira's unique skill offered him the smallest glimpse into that, but it only extended so far - he could only offer the benefit of his perspective to those who wished to listen, those who weren't immediately turned away by his sometimes off-putting keen insight.
It had only ever brought Ryo closer to him, since he alone seemed to understand the motivating force behind so much of what he did — that he was less motivated by selfishness and more by pain and by fear. Akira couldn't possibly understand any more than Ryo what was the progenitor of these motivations, but he was also the type of person to think that the cause was not always so important as doing what one could in the present moment, regardless of how wise that was.
He had never naturally been a delinquent, but when the only ways he could puzzle out to shed Ryo of his melancholy were ones in which they had to sneak out to somewhere where they shouldn't be, he had fallen easily into it. Akira was highly principled, but those principles were relative: his hazy understanding of adults' decrees for their "safety" paled in comparison to his own assurance that overlooking them would allow them to have some fun, to cheer Ryo up. That doing something similar might allow him to save the life of a creature everyone else had decided to neglect, relegating it to its own fate. He had always railed against the casual cruelty that people seemed to show, hypocritically believing the best in them, thinking surely that that must not be all that there is to people.
He understands what Ryo means. He had always been in a way complicit with what Akira had decided to do — even when he had claimed it to be foolish, the words had seemed a flimsy facade. They had always been two incredibly different individuals trying imperfectly to support one another.
Akira nods, slowly, in answer to the question; Ryo had scarcely put breath to it but he had heard it, regardless of what aural input the speakers had. Exhaustion drapes itself over him like a weighted blanket, resisting against his muscles, leadening his eyelids.] You always make everything else quieter. [The way the words mumble out, quiet and jumbling together in discombobulation of sleep deprivation, lends to how automatic the thought had passed from his brain to his lips. Even now he doesn't think twice about it; it's true, and that's usually enough for him. His attention so naturally gravitates to Ryo that sometimes it's hard to pay attention to other people as well as is conversationally appropriate. The same can be partially said for the music as it fades to a somewhat aggravating backdrop.
He doesn't speak for a moment longer, and then he gives Ryo a small squeeze before his arms start to drop away from him.]
no subject
It had only ever brought Ryo closer to him, since he alone seemed to understand the motivating force behind so much of what he did — that he was less motivated by selfishness and more by pain and by fear. Akira couldn't possibly understand any more than Ryo what was the progenitor of these motivations, but he was also the type of person to think that the cause was not always so important as doing what one could in the present moment, regardless of how wise that was.
He had never naturally been a delinquent, but when the only ways he could puzzle out to shed Ryo of his melancholy were ones in which they had to sneak out to somewhere where they shouldn't be, he had fallen easily into it. Akira was highly principled, but those principles were relative: his hazy understanding of adults' decrees for their "safety" paled in comparison to his own assurance that overlooking them would allow them to have some fun, to cheer Ryo up. That doing something similar might allow him to save the life of a creature everyone else had decided to neglect, relegating it to its own fate. He had always railed against the casual cruelty that people seemed to show, hypocritically believing the best in them, thinking surely that that must not be all that there is to people.
He understands what Ryo means. He had always been in a way complicit with what Akira had decided to do — even when he had claimed it to be foolish, the words had seemed a flimsy facade. They had always been two incredibly different individuals trying imperfectly to support one another.
Akira nods, slowly, in answer to the question; Ryo had scarcely put breath to it but he had heard it, regardless of what aural input the speakers had. Exhaustion drapes itself over him like a weighted blanket, resisting against his muscles, leadening his eyelids.] You always make everything else quieter. [The way the words mumble out, quiet and jumbling together in discombobulation of sleep deprivation, lends to how automatic the thought had passed from his brain to his lips. Even now he doesn't think twice about it; it's true, and that's usually enough for him. His attention so naturally gravitates to Ryo that sometimes it's hard to pay attention to other people as well as is conversationally appropriate. The same can be partially said for the music as it fades to a somewhat aggravating backdrop.
He doesn't speak for a moment longer, and then he gives Ryo a small squeeze before his arms start to drop away from him.]
Let's... get offa the floor.
[He feels like it's probably a good first step.]