death implies life.

She never minded the city. In fact, she had always found the people interesting, and that enough was good to visit. But being stuck in that penthouse for about a week reaffirmed Mana’s preference to Paralia in terms of living there.

Her ears rang with the sound of blowing horns and people shouting from across their open windows. Perhaps she was too used to the crickets and the sound of the ocean’s waves to adjust to such a thing, but for a certain time Mana was sure that the city of Kairos never slept at all… until she remember that was a catchphrase for another foreign city. But still, she felt that those words applied to this city too. And it was high time that Mana wanted to go back home.

Word about the new plaza reached the complex that she was living in, and finally something peaked Mana’s interest enough to go. With the clothes provided in the house, she got dressed and followed the crowd. Since the station was still busted, people in groups went towards the paths in the forest. Mana didn’t like walking through the forest, as she found it boring to walk through and it was dangerous to just walk through the forest by herself. So she walked behind a few strangers until she finally got to the plaza.

Now this she could live with. “A touch of both worlds… pretty clever.” she said to herself as she went further in. It was also like festival the way this place was set up. There were street performers and vendors all around, but there was enough of that greenery fields and flowers that she was familiar with. Eventually Mana found a place with a small little pond, and a few rocks she could skip. With a smile, Mana gathered a few rocks in her hands and proceeded to skip them across the small pond. But eventually she ran out of rocks to skip. And when she bent down to gather some more, that’s when Mana felt something growing into her hands. A small pebble, bluer than the ocean, was in her hand.

"…huh?" Mana looked at her rock closely, and held it up for her to see. "This is a pretty rock. Where did it—?" she started, before seeing an identical rock grow in her hands. Literally. In a few seconds, a few more rocks formed and grew in her palms. Mana had no idea how or why this was happening, but eventually something else unexpected happened. The blue pebbles started to lift up in the air, hovering around Mana’s cupped hands. To her, it looked like one of those magic tricks that magicians on tv used to do on Saturday mornings. But she had no wires to do that, and she certainly didn’t throw them herself…

At a thirty-two degree angle tilt of his head, Clear paused in the petering light of the crowd, voices and stranger's forms innocuously losing their forms in sequences to something else. Transfixed by the tinge of compartmentalization, an indecisive period where he'd almost taken as deafness, then it occurred. A flash flood of noise. A curious sound slipping out in sharp, concise snatches — the methodical plunk, plunk, plunk — the death rattle of hail on a tin roof, maybe, or skipped stones streaking across a shallow pond. It's nothing extraordinarily beautiful, but it enraptured — and the compulsion was there in the bloodstream, the hair-trigger impulse to discern where it was, amidst the celebratory din of every participant with at least five dollars to their name in Baselia Plaza.

And he catches sight of her, bright hair and face turned heavenward, not at the epicenter of the sun striking ground but somewhere infinitely more illuminating, because she was fixated, same as him, at the sight of pebbles held buoyant in the air. No rhyme or reason, barely a noncommittal sign that she'd caught onto his presence — it was a solitary audience of two, and in he stood, shell-shocked, progressing from disbelief to wonder to elation in one pronounced, chirping laugh. "Wooooooow ~ ! How dazzling!" Clear lithely hops forward to precariously balance on the rocks surrounding the pool, taking great caution not to accidentally slosh ankle-deep into the water, and perches down next to her.

Rather than proceed to fidget in place, Aoba began to take paces around the immediate area. It’s fine, it’s fine — he mentally motivated himself up though in hindsight, he couldn’t help but feel ridiculous for being so worried and hesitant. He was horrendously over thinking it as he was prone to do really and without anyone to tell him not to do just that, well, suffice to say, he would continue with these same bad habits. One deep inhale and equally deep exhale later and Aoba patted his free cheek in a final effort to pump himself up and in that moment too, he thanked goodness no one was around to witness this embarrassing behavior.

"Well, I wanted to ask if you could do me a favor. You remember that I own a little dog, right? And he’s all alone at my house…sooo, I was wondering if you could babysit him until we can travel between the two cities again."

Glancing around, an idea popped into Aoba’s mind and he couldn’t help but exclaim when he realized it. He’d prefer if they could help each other out after all — so maybe Clear’s shop or his home was in Paralia! Clear struck him as the type to live in a more quiet, serene type of scenery despite his eccentrics. Jogging around the immediate area, Aoba began to look around without really knowing what he was even looking for though opted to ask, of course. 

"It's one and the same, Aoba-san! My home is attached to my Grandfather's shop in Paralia." Flummoxed, Clear unthinkingly enunciates the address, only to backpedal, trip over vowels and consonants with the lingering afterthought of jested comments and veritable favors. "A-aaaa, no, no — I couldn't ask you to look after it, especially after everything you've done for me. But if you need a place to stay, please consider using my home while you're detained there." He doesn't know what it is about the heart that makes it beat so feverishly, palpitations dogged like sheepishness bent-double into contrition. Earnestness tended to barricade itself against what he perceived as an altruistic heaping of generosity. For someone like him, it was surely undeserved.

How was he supposed to do his work and play video games properly with a connection that barely reached a single Mbps? Ridiculous.

He had called his network provider, and talked a whole deal on the line to an associate who gave annoying talk about customer service but jack shit on actually giving him the bandwidth. "I’ll service your ass." Noiz scoffed rudely before hanging up.

Naturally, the boy was left no choice but to take matters into his own hands. And this course of action involved nothing short of heading down to the server room and rerouting the connections himself, shortly followed by Noiz standing behind his building, unraveling and reworking the connections of the building’s power grid. His hands worked through the buttons and wires, diabolically focused.

Why, with his outrageous clothing and his multitude of piercings, one would suspect he was up to something.

"Nothing to see here." he mumbled to the person he heard approaching. His hands did something increasingly questionable with the wires. "I’m a trained professional just doing my job."

As the horizon skimmed through a discombobulated repertoire of leavened red and bursting tangerine orange, he took it as cue to return to the station for the day and inevitably repeat the process again the next day. It came as a staggering bolt from the blue that there was a peculiar sight drawing his attention from the periphery of his vision — anyone out at that hour, especially behind a building, no less, warranted at least a cursory investigation. While parkouring over the roof didn't necessarily help matters, it might have come off as a mild shock as he dropped down from one roof with nothing more than a muted thump to indicate his presence. Shortly followed by some methodical steps, he maneuvered around the deposit of dumpsters collected on one side of the wall and swung his head in a bobbing fashion, hands tucked into his swathing coat pockets.

It was almost embarrassing… …at first.

All the heartfelt words in that melodic tune could only resonate with a not so subtle warmth in the very epicenter of his heart. That same heart that was depicted as gentle and Aoba couldn’t necessarily disagree (even if there was a slight tinge of pinks that colored his cheeks, even then) nor would he have sought to. His only immediate response was a faint curvature over the corners of his lips up until shock caused an awe inspired expression prior to a silent ruminate from that one, single perception. Question after question filters through his mind almost instantly after and really, he’s trying to make sense of why Clear would perceive such a notion and it never seems to strike Aoba that Clear might have come to this conclusion due to Aoba’s own perceptions just a moment ago. It completely passes over his train of thought merely because he spoke from the bottom of his heart when he commented on how those closest often are reflected in someone’s own self. His brow furrows and all that Aoba can do is open and close his mouth several times as he tries to find the right response but before the right words can so much as find their way to the tip of his tongue — a decidedly warm touch presses against his palm and a proposition then reaches his ears.

His voice ever so gently carries into the room with his reply. "Yeah, I think both he and I would like it."

The song that then resounds from Clear and fills the hospital room feels light. It’s an original melody he realizes, a fantastical one of a kind symphony that Aoba wishes could be captured but finds that perhaps its best left as something of a singular, ethereal memory instead. For the remaining duration, his gaze lingers to his lap where Clear’s hand has found Aoba’s own prior to the tune, if it had been any other moment - he would have been too embarrassed but there’s something irrevocably sweet about this moment and it causes fingers to curl and his grip to tighten a fraction just before their eventual parting noted with the song’s finale.

It feels like too intimate a moment to witness and out of a compilation of awkwardness and yet respect — his eyes quickly avert back to his lap and his thumbs twiddle together until the moment passes. When Clear rises, Aoba follows suit and pauses in thought shortly proceeding the other man’s grateful bow and promise of a next visit. A long second passes and Aoba mirrors the bow as best he’s able but he’s not quite as practiced as Clear is in this respect so the ninety degrees aren’t quite hit but the sentiment is no less meaningful when he mentions a repeated visit from himself as well. "I’d like to see you again soon too." 

Standing straight after, (again) Aoba makes a startled "Woah!" when a hand curls around his own and he’s led from the room quiet as a mouse. Just outside the door, he moved a hand to his hip out of habit and waits a beat only to find Clear bowing towards him. Suffice to say, it leaves Aoba with burning cheeks and flustered hand waves as if to gesture that Clear hardly needs to do something like that to him and even begins to say so in a hushed, hurried whisper. "Clear…! Come on, you really don’t have to be so polite to — h-hey.. —" His back straightens out of startled shock from the envelop that warmed around him and every expression that Clear deploys through a near tearful sounding voice is received with a soft sigh. Aoba is careful when he returns the embrace and his own expression relaxes into a considerate one and he can’t help but think again that Clear is strange.

Strange in really the best of ways.

"You’re hardly indebted to me, Clear. But if we want to meet up again, let’s exchange info, okay?"

The thought of Clear potentially meeting Aoba’s own parental figure strikes him and he can’t help but smile at the very thought. Aoba lightly pats against Clear’s back before he pulls back a degree of an arm’s length, smile still ever present just prior to pulling out his cellphone and inputting the options to add a new contact though he takes the initiative to log in Clear’s name under the name as: Clear ☆. It’s seems he can’t help but associate Clear’s dramatic entrance into Aoba’s life as anything but a falling star. No way is he going to admit to that any time soon (or ever) and quickly avert his mind’s topic by urging Clear to fill in the rest and Aoba would gladly do the same.

Contemplative after this brief exchange of information however — it seems to only dawn on him now that they’re soon to actually separate for the day. It’s weird of Aoba to feel melancholy about the prospect given that they really only had recently acquainted but already it feels like they’ve shared more than just anyone would have on a first meeting. Growing increasingly pensive, Aoba almost wants to find an excuse to prolong their interactions but has something of an internal battle over actually voicing anything. Desperately he tries not to let it show but the quirks of his brow furrowing and his head tilting, his arms folding across his chest, his foot tapping, well — they’re all much too obvious.

Finally reaching a decision however, Aoba runs both hands through tender blue hair and quickly grabs Clear’s hand this time, pulling him along with a not so convincing explanation that it’d be bad to just "stand there awkwardly in the hallway". Biting his lower lip as the two come to exit the building, Aoba’s mind is no less frantic than before and it finally hits him like a ton of bricks as to why he feels this way. His grip tightens before he realizes he’s still holding onto Clear and just as quickly does he pull his hand back with an under the breath laugh.

He’s worried and with good reason — after everything that Clear exposed towards Aoba, he couldn’t help but be worried to detach so soon afterwards. Maybe Clear was right when he said Aoba was someone who rescued others, not that Aoba was realizing just what that meant yet. More than anything, he really wanted to make sure Clear was going to be alright and managed to collect his ever jumbling thoughts enough to voice his concern. 

"Oh, I see! So we can keep in touch." His confidence conflates at the notion, and he sheepishly retrieves his cellphone (a slim flip-phone he'd never gotten around to replacing, but its reliability remained unrivaled). Circumnavigating to the display module, Clear exchanges numbers with him and is left staring down the contact screen for a name. Anything would do, but capturing his companion's essence was another matter entirely! None of them seemed to adequately convey the conscious friendliness Aoba exuded, but emoticons were his best bet for anything approximate. Tentatively settling on 'Aoba-san! ~~~ ＼（´▽｀★）', he snaps it shut and squirrels it away into one of his swathing coat pockets.

There's only the preemptive wait for departure on his end: they'd take Aoba's method back, as promised, but — he doesn't leave. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd declare that his companion appeared positively exasperated, which he attaches to domestic comparisons (a dentist's appointment gone fifteen minutes late, a tied baseball match with all the bases loaded before the near inevitable pop-fly). Aimlessly, Clear glances over his shoulder and unsurprisingly finds nothing. Save for the janitor wheeling a maintenance cart at the end of the corridor, there's no one else in sight. Head canted slightly in confusion, Clear issues the halting reprise of "Aoba-san, are you alrigh — !", shortly followed by "Ehhh ~ ?!" and double takes as the two easily coast down the hall (and by extension the entire building), like it was his entire intention to catch Clear off guard. Keeping his view pinned to Aoba's receding back, neither their interlaced fingers or his airy words escape his notice, and he smiles as they come to a standstill on the sidewalk.

"Waaaah, you really are too noble! Your heart is too big for your own good! But if Aoba-san truly doesn’t mind, then — I would like to spend more time with you." Clear takes the initiative to take the lead once again (clasped hands and interlocked fingers must be a mantra at this point with how much he repeats the gesture). He guides his companion down the sloping road and past the bus stop down two lanes and venturing to a rising hill, blatantly ignoring the pulse ricocheting in his chest. "Before we go anywhere else, there’s one place I’d like to show you. It’s close by, so please relax! It won’t take too long, and afterwards we can go anywhere you’d like." Now that he's come this far, there's the insatiable need to address Aoba's concerns. His admission waxes like contrition: he's resolved himself to answer, and the words glide easily now, steady and certain as Clear places one hand over his chest. "… There’s no need to worry about me. I won’t be sad when I visit Grandfather from now on, because Aoba-san’s happiness and warm wishes are here in my heart."

They trek upwards, making strides as they ascend the slope. Language fails him. Signifiers are superfluous, hopscotching around honesty and wholly unnecessary to the point, but he continues on unremittingly. "It’s been very rough for Grandfather. Although he’s ailing and in constant pain, he always smiles whenever I visit him. Knowing I’m unable to cure his sickness, it hurt very much to look at him before. I thought I made him sad by being there, that he only appeared happy for my benefit. Even if I never left his side again, I couldn’t help him get well." A nauseous surge of guilt swells in his voice. Clear painfully trains his sight on the pocked grass dunes, the blithely cheerful sky, anywhere and everywhere, and yet nowhere in particular.

"It was so lonely thinking that one day he wouldn’t wake up anymore."

A breath of silence, prolonged and sonorous, quivers in the quiet. It carries discernible weight, even as Clear slowly exhales. Self-conscious. "But today — even though I was only a stranger to you, you believed me, Aoba-san. You only knew what I’ve told you about him, but you came to visit him with me all the same. You were unbearably considerate to us both. Hearing your kind words, it suddenly occurred to me that Grandfather didn’t smile at me out of obligation, but out of gladness at seeing me once more." Clear squeezes Aoba's hand. "The thought of making him even a little bit happier through my presence was such a peaceful, tender feeling." As long as he lives, and even in the hereafter, he's certain he won't forget.

His eyes are needled ahead as the skirt the crest of the hill, ignoring the weirdly maudlin inclination to wrap Aoba in yet another embrace. Timidly swiping his free palm against his neck, he makes a concentrated effort to rub away at the flustered tinge reddening his skin in a tinny glow. Clear's face is practically inflamed, attenuated by the fact that he's unable to conceal the pitching tilt of his inflection. "It’s … embarrassing to admit, but this is the first time I’ve ever sung in front of anyone else besides Grandfather. I thought, um — ‘Aoba-san is really wonderful, so I want to try making him as happy as I feel!’ … Something like that, ehehe." Coming to a stop at the summit, he smoothly leads to the hedging ridge and releases him, outstretching one arm as a precursor to the striking sight. It's the distinct lack of dilution that overwhelms the outlying vista. Waning and overexposed, the outcropping recedes to the panorama of Kairos's outskirts several miles in, the border straddling industrial buildings gradually receding into nature.

"Here we are! It’s become sort of a ritual for me to come up here after every visit and gather my thoughts. I promised I’d take Grandfather here as soon as he got better, but I don’t think he’d mind if I showed you the view first. In my humble opinion, it’s a very dazzling sight to behold!" The morning's already parsed away, but the sky remains cloudless and encompassing, and he readily drinks in the sight before realizing — in relative meekness — that he's dominated the entire conversation. With all the gravitas of repentance, he suddenly freezes in place, then pivots on his heel and profusely bows his head several times over. "Uwaaaa, I'm sorry! I've spoken so much that Aoba-san is undoubtedly tired of it. But I feel like a weight I've been carrying for a long time has been lifted off my shoulders. Thank you for listening to me." Hesitantly lifting his bent head once he's deemed his apology moderately admissible, Clear beckons at the sight before them.

The very first thing that worried Aoba about was not the how, where, when, or why — it was the who- as in who was going to take care of his puppy back in his apartment?

Whether this was going to be an extended vacation in the quiet town of Paralia or not, there was very little of his say on the matter. He had been uprooted irrevocably and while initially yes, he had been confused and most likely irritated, there came the worry of his little dog back home fending for himself. Ending up pacing back and forth so frantically that he could have walked a hole into the ground, eventually an idea struck him. Aoba hurried to his cellphone and thumbed through the contacts three times before he settled on Clear’s name. 

The thought occurred that he could have called Koujaku, Mink, maybe even Virus or Trip — but those same suggestions came with the slightest doubt. Not that he didn’t trust any of them, he did as they were all considerably Aoba’s good friends (even if the latter two were kind of suspicious). Still…he felt like he’d only be burdening them in some way, shape, or form but Clear was a special case. Their first meeting had been something  but they exchanged info none the less and Aoba remembered how polite, how kind, how willing to help he had been.

A quick exhale left his lips and Aoba threw any indecision leftover to the wind with a pull of his phone to his ear. The ringing on the other end caused his heart to beat faster and faster — why was he so nervous about this? Aoba could only reason it being because despite the two having left on a good note that day, they didn’t exactly know each other all that well. Clear probably had other things on his mind, right? - He had other cares, other problems, other worries, but even so, he hoped that Clear wouldn’t think it weird of him to request something like this so soon.

"It should be fine…maybe I can do something for —"

His voice cut short when the resounding click of the other line being answered was heard and subsequently his heart leapt in his chest the moment Clear’s voice beat against his eardrum. It took him another calming breath before he could respond, he felt so ridiculous about being so worked up over this. Better sooner than later, he reasoned and greeted Clear with a friendly hello.

With this bizarre turn of events pitching into motion, Clear’s unfortunately forced to shelve his initial plan for the afternoon — which was namely maintaining shop — and sets about smoothing the neatly-folded list of his current clientele that somehow survived the forcible trip between municipal districts, then fishing around his coat pocket to retrieve his cell phone. Informing them of the delay in shipment takes a sizable amount of time, divided into leaving sincerely contrite voicemails when probable, and mostly first-hand apologies when greeted with the clientele in question. No less than ten minutes after finishing his courtesy calls, Clear’s cell chirps up again, and automatically assuming he must’ve missed one of his prospective patrons in his fluxing haste, he raises the phone to his ear and answers the call. “A-aaaa, um ~~~ ?”

A beat of silence. Perplexed, he presses his eardrum against the receiving end, straining to discern any indication of a voice when Aoba hastily replies like an afterthought in an inflection notably tinged with concern.

“… Oh! Hello again, Aoba-san! ~ It’s good to hear from you.” Considerably brightening at the statement, he tries — and horribly fails, at that — to suppress the insouciant shock reverberating in his tone. “Uwaaah! It has, hasn’t it! What a pleasant surprise. I’m glad that you kept my number. … And — er, if I’m not mistaken, I believe I’m in … Kairos? I’m afraid my current situation is very confusing. I should be in Paralia maintaining Grandfather’s studio, but I’ve inexplicably ended up here for some reason! The routes traveling between the cities are currently blocked, so there’s no way to return from one to another in the meantime.”

Silence with intent to listen fell over Aoba once more (with occasional shifts in his seat) and he quietly resonated witch each and every heartfelt tone the other teemed with the more and more he talked of his Grandfather. Naturally does a smile work its way to curve at his lips and an expression that can only be described as nostalgic as he finds it near impossible not to think of his own parental figure. His Grandmother was someone irreplaceable to him — even if he vaguely remembered having parents once, he was unable to remember what they were like, what they spoke like to him, what they looked like before they left but even when they had, Aoba would always distinctly remember his Grandmother being there for him. Through thick and thin, she had always been there for him so when Clear spoke such familial love for his own Grandfather, Aoba couldn’t help but relate to it.

— And just as they pulled near their stop Aoba interjects with a soft tune to his voice, "Yeah, with the way you talked about him…I really want to meet him." then as he’s moving to stand, he quickly finds his hand being held and pulled instead. Aoba ends up being unable to reign in the surprise and makes an unfortunate if not utterly embarrassingyelp of "Uwoah!" before barely falling into pace besides Clear with the move from the bus to pavement. He thinks to reprimand Clear out of flustered irritation but his words are caught in the back of his throat the same as his breath from the moment they enter the building.

The further along that the two of them go, the more that Aoba feels his chest tighten irrevocably.

He tries hard not to over think the situation but it’s always been a bad habit of his to do just that. By the time Clear leads Aoba to the nurse’s station for his visiting pass only to be received with curious murmurs and glances sent his way with the afterward lingering stares on his back, he tries again to focus on a singularity in an effort to just not think. As they progress forward still, Aoba finds what he’s looking for when the grip tightens over his palm. While his hold was loose before and he allowed himself to be led — the instant after Clear speaks in that tone of voice and the visible shiver over his shoulder does Aoba hope to comfort with his own tightening grip and a soft exhale of his name. "Clear…"

There’s so much he wishes he could say but in tender moments, Aoba fears saying the wrong thing without thinking it through. He inwardly hopes that the tighter he holds onto Clear’s hand helps regardless — holding onto his palm up until the very last fraction of a second that he can before their fingertips slip passed each other and they separate. Afterwards, the series of events leave Aoba speechless still and he silently regards Clear’s recent comment as he takes the seat besides him. His fists tighten in his lap and he carefully chooses what he wants to say and do. Though as he does so, there are heartbeats of silence with only the routine and rhythmic beeping and breathing.

Aoba leans over and regards Clear’s Grandfather carefully, taking in the sight of him fully before he diverts his attention to the man besides him briefly. Speaking in a delicate tone, Aoba makes a thoughtful comment. "You said he took you in, right?" Recalling their exchange in the bus, his gaze draws over to the hospital bed as he waits for Clear’s affirmation. Once he receives it — Aoba continues his train of thought, "Your Grandfather…I think, you two probably have the same smile." no doubt Clear might respond with confusion but before he can, Aoba modestly explains just why he would think that. 

"You grew up with him and saw his smiles, laughs, and his expressions..things like that."

"When you were a kid, they must have stuck with you, don’t you think?"

It was tentative of him to say so but Aoba told Clear that when he was young, he only had his Grandmother. His parents were probably alive…somewhere, but he didn’t know where and he didn’t know why they weren’t with him but he tried not to think of it too much — instead, he thought on his Grandmother. She had always been by his side even when he had gone through hard times when he was younger. If she hadn’t been there for him, he might be a completely different person. Yet, he was sure it didn’t work as a one way street either. All of Aoba’s expressions must have resonated with his Grandmother too and once more, he turned towards Clear with a faint smile and a final comment. 

Stricken mute, Clear blinks down at his surrogate guardian's sallow, diminutive form, attempting to procure a rationale for bringing Aoba to the hospital in the first place. It was bizarre enough that he'd invited the other man to meet his Grandfather in his declining condition, and yet — haltingly, because everything as far as Aoba was concerned was inexplicable — flickering compulsion drove Clear's inherent degree of faith in him. His companion was innately stupefying and altogether comparable to the sun diffusing light (warmly reminiscent of stars). It sends Clear reeling off-center when Aoba leans over his Grandfather's form, eyes obstinately appraising the sight. His voice waxes on a thinly rueful susurration. An inquiry to a question already answered. Clear implicitly nods at the initial affirmation, but freezes stock-still at the following insinuation.

Smiling came naturally to him, of course, but he didn't have a frame-of-reference, having long since concealed his face out of fear, invasive and warped, to distort his self-perception. Someone like his Grandfather, regardless, was preternaturally exceptional in comparison to him. Withholding a perturbed wince, he nearly dismisses the notion (in all plaintive honesty, that couldn't possibly be the case) when Aoba continues on, thoughtful and subdued and just shy of fatalistic, as if he'd preemptively seen straight through Clear. There was something cathartic about Aoba's personal narrative, telllingly genuine and upended, nothing like the glittering exposition Clear imagined but infinitely better for it. By all accounts, it was slightly unforgettable. And he lowers his head in that lingering wash of warmth, throat entirely knotted up, fingers tremulous in every ligament, expression relenting to a thin smile beneath his mask.

His tone warbles affectedly, so very faint. "... Thank you, Aoba-san. I'm extremely touched. My Grandfather would be glad to know that you think so highly of him."

Since the moment they entered the room, Clear hadn't glanced once at him, but he directed his attention past the silhouette of his shadow over the duvet covers, to Aoba himself then, brilliant and mellowed-out under filtering blinds. "While it isn't my intention to assume as much, your Grandmother must be immensely proud to have you as a grandson. You're there for her just as she is there for you. In that way, even in the absence of your parents, you take care of each other. ... It's a very sweet notion. It would undoubtedly make anyone happy, knowing that someone as thoughtful as you was always there by their side to support them every step of the way." The entire encounter embodied chiaroscuro, to some degree: a splintered contrast between the sanitary emptiness of a whitewashed hospital room and Aoba's unflinching gaze (at once dissonant and thoughtful), bearing down on him with the weight of things that couldn't be changed.

"And — your heart is very gentle, Aoba-san. Your words are so bright and hopeful, although you've certainly experienced many sad and troubling things as well." A tentative, summarily absorbing pause ensues. Aoba's litany continues to resonate in his ears, the lapse between one thought and the next, and Clear raises his head. "I believe you're the kind of person that rescues others." Stirred by his altruism, he remains motionless, then slowly unwinds one hand from his Grandfather's frail grasp and quietly, quietly reaches over to rest it in Aoba's, leaving them interconnected by the heart of their palms. "Is it alright if I sing? It would make him happy whenever I did, and although he doesn't appear to be awake at this moment, perhaps he'll hear it all the same." Strangely at peace, Clear waits for confirmation before raising his voice from its muted pitch, to a soft-spoken hum, then: a song.

Relinquishing his trepidation, he sings by virtue of honesty, relinquishing his trepidation, all curving vowels and immutable luminous in a tune that has never served as more of an emotional catharsis in that moment. It lasts for several minutes, the melody rising to a pinnacle, buoyantly aglow in its solace. Eventually ending the tune on a light note, he releases his grip on both of them to retrieve the enameled box and soundlessly place it on the bedside table in one concise movement. Measuredly rising up from his seat, he acquiesces some time until Aoba stands to his feet as well, then deposits the chairs to the side. Reaching back to rest his palm on his Grandfather's arm one final time, he steps back to bow at a 90-degree angle, blinking hard. "Thank you for taking care of me as you always have, Grandfather. I'll visit again soon."

While he was immensely unsure about moving too much while he was being carried, Aoba tentatively sat up and allowed a quick intake of the scenery that flew all around the corners they turned. It’s nothing he isn’t used to seeing in some areas of Kairos, things like old mom and pop kind of stores or pawn shops, buildings being reconstructed for this or that, it’s all a part of city life. He enjoys it for the most part though before he can dive too deeply into why he prefers the hustle and bustle kind of lifestyle — he can’t help but laugh faintly at the bundle of barking dogs as they pass them. Aoba makes an offhand comment that dogs, no matter the size or color, always seem to remind him of his own pet back home. 

"I’ve always had this little dog for as long as I could remember and I — did you call me ‘Master’ a second ago?" 

Any comments afterwards were cut short as he feels his heart leap in his chest and that same red shade color his cheeks when he’s addressed with a title rather than his name. Maybe he had been too caught up to have heard it at first but when the cogs in his mind turned did he realize that (most likely) Clear had joked given his tone but… …even so, Aoba finds it — well odd as hell, but rationalizes that everything about this day thus far has been just like that too but there’s just something about being called Master by Clear that unsettles him. Not in a bad way exactly but he finds it stirring emotions that he can’t pinpoint in his chest.

A quick intake of breath passes and Aoba eases his emotions down and pats Clear’s shoulders once more just before being let down. He thanks him for the ride and idly glances over the exiting passengers prior to that same idle gaze lingering over to the other man at his offer. Aoba does, he really does, appreciate all of Clear’s seemingly unending well of kindness but he can’t help but feel a bit guilty in the same note. Aoba takes only a moment to do so but while it may be old fashioned, he bows his head much like Clear had earlier in gratitude before taking the passes with a light curl of his lips. A thoughtful hum resounds as he straightens himself out then lightly bumps Clear’s shoulder with the palm of his hand - thinking to commentate just one more time.

"Clear, you’re really…something. I appreciate it — I normally don’t meet people as nice as you. Then again…I normally don’t meet people who offer me piggyback rides either."

Mumbles left the rest of his quiet thought to the air — really, he only proceeded to comment that he often would encounter less than reputable folk though it’s not as if he didn’t realize he could be just as bad. Sometimes.That’s what he stressed in a murmur whilst fiddling with the bus passes. After a small and quick audible breath - Aoba, feeling indescribably embarrassed, hurries onto the bus. When boarded, Aoba had expected it to be jam packed given the mass that exited prior but finds it surprisingly (and perhaps thankfully) scarce in patrons.

Not one to linger, Aoba found the back most seat of the bus vacant — for only a moment before he commandeered that same seat. Buses were hardly comfortable yet he found it to be a blessing in disguise regardless when he could take the bus or taxi — Aoba always had walked everywhere through out Kairos which did wear him out from time to time but hardly meant he enjoyed it any less. There was something to be said about walking everywhere (even if it sometimes took an obscene amount of time) and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

A content sigh and stretch followed and Aoba slumped forward a fraction, glancing out the window whilst waiting for Clear to sit in the space besides him. Contemplative on the coming journey, a small part of him feels nervous to meet this fabled Grandfather but with the way Clear talked about him - even if only a little — he’s excited too. Curious all the same, he eventually decides to ask just a bit to satiate that same curiosity. 

Rebuffing his pressurized statement by comically startling, Clear waves two gloved hands to dispell the anxiety inundating the encounter. "Ah! ~ Now that I think of it, you're the first person I've ever given a piggyback ride to as well, so I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable." The riotous smile Clear briefly receives in turn is nothing short of scandalizing, a nebulous invocation of gratitude. It's only after he's registered Aoba's already hurried inside that Clear falls in step into the transit bus and takes up the seat beside him, and only a few minutes before the other man interjects with no minced words or beating around the bush. "Yes, I did! It took me quite a while because I wanted to make a clock that would glitter come rain or shine. I'm more familiar with the mechanical aspects of clockmaking, but it's not beyond my capabilities to make you one as well, if you're interested!" Laughter threads underneath the assertion, cajoling but not overtly so.

"It's the first time I've ever considered giving something I've made in the workshop to him. It was a test of sorts, but it works modestly enough! I still feel as though there's much room for remodeling, but if it makes him even a little happier, then I've accomplished my goal. My Grandfather's expertise surpasses mine in every aspect, but he has always, always been patient with teaching me." Honesty seems inherent to Aoba, light and inquiring, clarity transparent as sheets of rain on a warm summer day, or a pane of pane of glass in a church filled with stained windows, or even — a jellyfish, with how he restlessly fiddles about in his seat, straightening and slouching and exhaling content, long-suppressed sighs. For a large duration of the trip, Clear ruminates on the extent of his fondness for the man he considered to be his own flesh and blood, eventually making a clumsy attempt to convey as such to his companion.

Leaning down for a warmly conspiratorial whisper resonating with tenderness, deep and swallowing and inexorable. "He's a very good person, Aoba-san. I've only come so far because of he was there to support and guide me. He took me in and raised me after my parents passed away. I was too young to remember them, but I'm certain they would be pleased with what I've accomplished so far. I don't believe it matters that Grandfather and I aren't blood relatives. He's truly dear family to me." Stiltedly thrown out of rhythm, he owlishly glances about as the bus pulls to the anticipated drop-off point, turning to Aoba and schooling his buoyancy. "Shall we go meet him, then?" Waiting for only a second to elapse as inquiry, Clear tangles the fingers of one of Aoba's hands with his own and temperately uproots his companion from the seat. After offering his cordialities to the slightly-bewildered driver (presumably goggling at his gas mask, no less), Clear makes off with Aoba in tow onto the pavement, heading in bounds toward the building, through the sliding doors and inside.

It was most likely evident before they even entered the lobby, but the point is driven home by the cloying reek of antiseptic breathes in the walls as an afterthought, lingering on their heels and taking residence in their lungs. They're in a hospital. It doesn't take as long as he assumed it would to pass from the reception desk to the elevator to the nurses' station for a day pass, but it's quite possible it was prepared in advance — he drops by often enough for his presence, gas mask adamantly intact, to be a regular occurrence. It's only Aoba that they definitively glance over before handing him a visitor's stickered patch as well, leaving the two be in one of the less-bustling hallways. They're in a hospital, and Clear modulates his tone as not to unduly disturb the quiet maintained in each of the subsequent rooms they pass by.

The semantics of the hand still clutching onto Aoba's fractionally tighten as he subdues his speaking, but not unbearably so. "It's been difficult for him to maintain the studio for a long time now, so I act in his stead while continuing on as I always have. I visit him whenever I can, but it's very ... worrying. He's sleeping more and more nowadays." His voice contains only the pretense of cheer at the beginning before visibly shivering, not with desperation nor pain, only muted sadness. They halt right before the specific door in the intensive care unit he's long since well-acquainted with, the only when he ever visits in his resignation. Discarding his palpable hesitation, he methodically turns the knob and opens the door with a near-inaudible click. The soundless shift of sunlight from an open window streaming through the blinds snatches onto their forms, oblong rectangles of light filtering across the floor in wobbling rays.

Such an unbecoming hat Nadeko dons.

Whether one could reason that she wears it to shade her eyes from the sun, or from strangers, or perhaps even shading strangers from herself, in the end it serves similar purpose: as a kind of protection, a security from a threat.

It’s not implausible, then, that such protection can also serve as a hazard. As she courses absentmindedly and in a harried manner through the city, a small but full bag in her right hand, she doesn’t take notice to the person in her path; as a result, her hat cascades to the ground from the force of the ensuing collision. Tilting her head slowly upward, she accidentally catches a glimpse of the person toward whom she commits this offense and simply freezes for an eternal moment. Her eyes widen, her mouth hangs slightly ajar, and all she can do is stand silently and stare.

Nevermind that the most significant barrier she has between her and the surrounding world has fallen to the ground some several feet from her; that unbecoming hat no longer rests on her head, no longer protects her from the threat looming in front of her.

Her heart now pounds furiously in her chest, her real thoughts of ‘oh my god Nadeko’s done it again, Nadeko’s done for’ concealed behind a face that becomes redder by the second. Surely if she doesn’t say something, the person with whom she so forcefully encountered might get angry with her.

That’s the last thing the girl wanted, anyway.

She snaps herself back to reality, at least for the moment, and, while suddenly bowing, squeaks an apology in the most becoming manner she could muster.

Clear pauses mid-stride at the sudden and all too apparent thump, circumspectly appraising the girl wringing her hands and staring down at the newsy cap gone toppling down from her head to reveal a grade-schooler with serrated anxiety, cutting lacerations into the subsequent lull. She’s so quiet and unassuming in and of herself, more of a wraith with bird bones with how she flinches like he’ll strike her down with a diatribe if he so much as reacts in a manner that could be misconstrued as negative. With that precaution firmly rooted in his mind, Clear perfunctorily shakes his head, modulating his voice to subdued lightheartedness. "I assure you, it was no issue on my end! I'm not injured in the slightest."

My Skateboard Will Go On

Anamanaguchi

今更ですが、まとめは順不同です（うoと）ﾎﾟｰ

3000記念ノイ蒼：2000のときに紅雀と蒼葉で添い寝？腕枕？したので、3000はノイズで行こうと思いました。いま気づいたんですが4000のときって指が足りませんね・・・4000いったら考えます！

紅雀とコウと蓮：紅雀の顔の傷を描き忘れる

ミンクとクリア：いつぞやの公式壁紙のオマージュ…！この二人の大人と子供って感じがすごくすきです

手：蒼葉の手は華奢だけど男の子の手って感じだと思っています。

ミンク：ぱくたそからフリー素材写真。もともとの人が小柄だったので、だいぶ肉を足しています。そういう練習もしないとな、と。

プリクラ蒼葉：新潟のゲーセン写真。友達に送ってもらいました。直線が多くて機械を描くのは特に苦手感あります

If that was the case, he was about to suggest that they pay for a simple taxi ride, or Aoba would happily treat to it. Yet he never got the chance to and was dumbstruck when Clear dropped to his knees and suggested just what Aoba had teased at in the back of his mind. It would have been weird to do this, right? — That’s what he was thinking initially and all reason told him that it would be fine to just leave things as they were. That’s what anyone else would have done but Aoba wasn’t just anyone else and he didn’t dare to linger on the thought more than he had to or else he’d only end up with second guesses. With a sharp inhale and decisive steps forward, he set himself against Clear’s back and wraps arms around his shoulders.

"Clear, is this really fine? I mean, you offered but…doing this is kind of —"

Well, he’d give Clear points for being so unabashed as to offer this in the first place — he wished he could see if he was embarrassed in expression as much as Aoba became in the seconds after he had accepted the invitation. Naturally, he wasn’t going to pry  or even try to peek around to see around the gas mask but in the same vein, he hoped he could hide his face too  - at least for now. His cheeks were colored pinks and reds and it took most, if not all, of his willpower to hold his head high. Which came crumbling down in a heartbeat and Aoba pressed his forehead against the nape of Clear’s neck. His arms too, tightened around Clear’s shoulders and he realized just why it was so embarrassing to him — it made him feel like a child.

While he never really had gotten piggyback rides as a kid, the very notion made him feel like he was ten years old instead of twenty three. A quick puff of his cheeks and a mental pep talk later, Aoba sat back up again and gave a firm nod with a pat, pat to Clear’s shoulders to signify he was absolutely ready to go. More or less, he was still flustered about how this must look but realized in the same vein that it should hardly matter what anyone else thought anyway. Conflicted as heart and mind were, he wasn’t going to back out now - Aoba was set on seeing this through. Not just this piggyback ride but he really did want to meet Clear’s Grandfather. 

"I think after, we should…walk back instead."

And then there was Aoba, rambunctiously chirping into his ear like his words were a displaced confession between them, a kind of conspiratorial air to embarrassment, two-toned disbelief and timidity in equal stride. Stating out loud that he had a voice like a small bird was definitely out of the equation, but it was an endearing notion, his companion's voice trilling in a tongue-tied fluster of mellowed sheepishness. He lifts with his legs in a steady rise, straightening out his knees and accommodating for the weight that subsequently follows. It's nothing beyond his capacity, which is a relief — it'd be so anticlimactic to wear out halfway through the route he's already internally mapped out from start to finish. But the second Aoba presses his forehead to the neck, he nearly loses his train of thought, blithely laughing and laughing away without even the semblance of reservation, bemusement sunnily elicited out of the depths of his self-induced politeness.

"It t-tickles, it really, really tickles!" A tinge of fondness saturating his tone, he hotly exhales. "You're acting like a little kid, Aoba-san. You don't need to be so embarrassed! I won't drop you, no matter what. I promise. Please take care to hold on tight." He leniently straightens out his form with Aoba in tow, shifting on his heels in a determinate amount of his plodding footfalls when Aoba's pipes up with a half-parsed stipulation Clear's more than happy to oblige for as he begins in light steps and rapidly shifts to a runner's jog. "Yes, yes! We'll take any route you want back afterwards. ~ Your wish is my command, master." It's spoken lightheartedly, unthinkingly enough (wound straight out of impulse), which is why the connotations only hit him when he's busily plunking down one sloping alleyway shortcut. While it's indiscernible whether Aoba's heard him, his gas mask dutifully fulfills the role of poker-based neutrality in concealing the way his face's gone inflamed from chagrin.