[People grew into the shapes that others' influences molded them into. It wasn't the only factor, of course. Another was the scape of their environment and their placement within it, and there were some intrinsic aspects that could be argued existed in some sense from birth. Akira doesn't have the ability to imagine what sort of person he would be now without the distinct individual factors which had helped to form him. Without Ryo and his friendship in the early dawn of their childhood, without his parents (or perhaps with his parents), without the Makimuras. Life was a finite period of time, so it wasn't efficient to spend too much of it thinking of what might have happened if things had gone differently.
But it all precipitates to that Akira thinks that he is very much the better for having known Ryo, and he likes to stand as a similar figure in the other's own life. When banded together, people tended to become something greater than the sum of their parts.
Though Akira had never quite agreed with Ryo's perception, of his staunch "us against the world" view that even when unvoiced went unspoken and electric in the intent beneath his words and actions, there was something trained in him that could reflexively twinge towards such a response. When it came to what was metaphorical, Akira's thoughts were slow, disorganized, without base. But when pushed up to the precipice of action, backed by the inevitability of disaster, he became a steel trap. Some were meant to think, and others were meant to act. Whether that was something bred into their bones and the wiring of their brains or it was something they developed, either defensive or responsive, he isn't sure. He'd never really be sure. He leaves the deepest of his thinking up to others.
It's a comfort to him. One similar to the one that enshrouds him like the circle of Ryo's arms as he feels the faint vestige of the kiss he presses into his hair. Just as Ryo doesn't dwell upon it, neither does Akira; so much of their relationship has been an unspoken cadence of affectionate gestures.
He reaches out to take Ryo's hand, though he's still standing up mostly through his own impetus, feeling the tiredness from the aching around his eyes all the way down to the leaden feeling of his bones. He blinks at the question, and even before he drafts a formal response there's a twinge to his expression, something immediately telegraphing the type of answer he might give.
He ends up shaking his head.] ...No. [He's already spent enough sleepless hours in the room. It's why he'd come out here, started wandering around the station in the first place. He kept thinking about how the music seemed to be getting louder, as if the speakers were re-situating themselves right behind his head. He'd started to think about trying to rip the walls apart so he could find them and destroy them once or for all.
It was best he didn't end up getting into that cycle again.]
Somewhere else? I... don't really care where. I just don't really want to be in the room right now.
no subject
But it all precipitates to that Akira thinks that he is very much the better for having known Ryo, and he likes to stand as a similar figure in the other's own life. When banded together, people tended to become something greater than the sum of their parts.
Though Akira had never quite agreed with Ryo's perception, of his staunch "us against the world" view that even when unvoiced went unspoken and electric in the intent beneath his words and actions, there was something trained in him that could reflexively twinge towards such a response. When it came to what was metaphorical, Akira's thoughts were slow, disorganized, without base. But when pushed up to the precipice of action, backed by the inevitability of disaster, he became a steel trap. Some were meant to think, and others were meant to act. Whether that was something bred into their bones and the wiring of their brains or it was something they developed, either defensive or responsive, he isn't sure. He'd never really be sure. He leaves the deepest of his thinking up to others.
It's a comfort to him. One similar to the one that enshrouds him like the circle of Ryo's arms as he feels the faint vestige of the kiss he presses into his hair. Just as Ryo doesn't dwell upon it, neither does Akira; so much of their relationship has been an unspoken cadence of affectionate gestures.
He reaches out to take Ryo's hand, though he's still standing up mostly through his own impetus, feeling the tiredness from the aching around his eyes all the way down to the leaden feeling of his bones. He blinks at the question, and even before he drafts a formal response there's a twinge to his expression, something immediately telegraphing the type of answer he might give.
He ends up shaking his head.] ...No. [He's already spent enough sleepless hours in the room. It's why he'd come out here, started wandering around the station in the first place. He kept thinking about how the music seemed to be getting louder, as if the speakers were re-situating themselves right behind his head. He'd started to think about trying to rip the walls apart so he could find them and destroy them once or for all.
It was best he didn't end up getting into that cycle again.]
Somewhere else? I... don't really care where. I just don't really want to be in the room right now.