@heirjinto

happy ethereal ball buddy of mine

his usual grin is stretched wide when he approaches her, a small pastry box in hand. maria’s something of a new friend — on friendly enough terms to have nicknames for one another, and friendly enough to greet each other in passing, though it’s occurred to him that there is still little he actually knows about the girl. like, what sort of things does she like? what’s her favorite color? what’s something she’s always wanted?

he doesn’t know. but not knowing isn’t a bad thing — it just means he’s aware enough now to change that.

“i wasn’t sure what to get you,” shiro admits, “so i got you a cake! i was thinking we should sit down and talk one of these days. i mean really talk. tell me all about yourself so i know what to get you next year!”

Today and all other days, most every face is a welcome face -- it's only the shape of her smile that changes. Each one is a little different, after all, and the one she wears for Shiro as he approaches is wide, rounded, and a bit lopsided, like she'd sort-of-but-not-really tried to catch a laugh before it slipped past her teeth.

"Hee hee... it's not so bad, though! I get to see so many of my friends because of it!"

Like Shiro himself. Rosy eyes peek upward in the brief moment before she accepts his proffered gift, then narrow into slivers in the next, fingertips brushing affectionately over the box. Not knowing what to get a new friend, but not wanting to miss their birthday either? She's well familiar with the conundrum! Oh, her giggles must sound like mischief, but the gentleness of her expression promises naught but sympathy.

"Cake is a good solution!" The little princess half folds her arms at that, constructing a scholarly facade around the gift she holds onto, and nodding her sage approval. Then, casting a glance to each side, she hooks the back of her hand on her mouth: "And I love..." Oops! Maria considers, for a moment, telling him her favorite flavor of cake... but thinking of a particularly private mockingbird, she giggles to herself again and follows the urge to keep that a secret for next time. Just a little longer!

"...I love to bake! I love to make things for my friends!" Nodding to herself again, this time quite satisfied, she grins and falls back a step, rocking back onto her heels. "Does that work as a little preview? Then if you tell me a flavor you like, I can bring that! And we can start there next time, when we really sit down to talk! Hee hee... what do you think?"

shiro is no medic, but even he knows the limits of the human body.

“OW!OWOWOWOWOW!” boy, he’s sure huffing and puffing. alas, the hubris of inflexibility. “shigure, moveyourrighthand!” it comes out as a low hiss at first, only to grow more urgent by the second. "that hand! yeah! move it up! no! NO! UP!!! SHIGUREI’MABOUTTOFALL!” 

and fall he does. right on top of the very man he’s called out to. 

…but is shiro faster than me? 

a question almost as old as they are. the former falcon knight ponders it thoroughly, waiting with narrowed eyes for the announcer’s call. if he remembers correctly (and he’s quite sure that he does), at the height of their powers, shiro might have gotten pretty close. a good tonic, a hearty meal, or the lighter heft of a katana should have been enough to win it in his favor.

but that was then, and this is now. tonight, when shiro’s full of sweet buns and shaved ice and endless good cheer? 

( the call rings out through the room, and shigure mercilessly slams his right hand on the closest yellow dot, )

——absolutely not!

“your reaction time is really bad,” shigure hears himself laugh, not budging an inch. “are you sure that’s the right up? or do you mean up right? I’m not sure I heard—”

[ TXT ] : MITAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA [ TXT ] : you can't ignore me forever

2 MISSED CALLS

3 MISSED CALLS

4 MISSED CALLS

[ TXT ] : PICK UPPPPPPPPPP

5 MISSED CALLS

[ TXT ] : [attachment]

“Oh, you know, she’s just perfect for you!” Sakura giggled as she whispered to Shiro’s ear, her hand gently placed on his arm, as to lean close to him, in order to not let anyone else listen to their conversation. “You should definitely ask her out!” she pressed her hand gently, a grip of encouragement, exactly what to expect from an apprehensive and thoughtful aunt like Sakura.

SMS TXT || accepting

[ TXT ] YOU CAD!

[ TXT ] YOU COME WITH A SHIRT OR NOT AT ALL!  NEVER AT ALL!

[ TXT ] I CANNOT DO ANOTHER ROUND OF GRAMMAS JOKES ABT IT

[ TXT ] AND THEN YOU GET INVITED TO EVERY EVENT AFTER WE BREAK UP FOR HALF A YEAR!  THIS WILL END MY SOCIAL LIFE!  O POOR OPHELIA CURSED TO SHARE THE FATE OF YOUR (1/2)

"you..."

it almost seems a miracle; or, perhaps the opposite. in the time that it takes the nomad to squeeze out a single word, the student before him has already shoved a half-dozen distended white puffs into his mouth. it is a snack rath has never seen, shoveled down by a boisterous personality he has rarely seen, and all his years of solitude, of wandering, and uncertainty have never prepared him for this. rath cannot handle 'all that'. regardless, once again, the wolf of sacae tries to grab the young man's attention.

"you—"

crunch, crunch; munch, munch.

".... .... ....." a few of the same white puffs fall to the floor like flakes of snow. rath regards their sight with a sense of otherworldly composure, calm not of this world, like there is not a drop of rage in his soul. a lesser man may very well fume. rath merely adapts. relinquishing all low preexisting attachment to words, at last he non-verbally holds out his hand. a flower sits within it; more specifically a flower not his.

tulip.

a thumbs-up follows.

"I LIKE YOUR STYLE!" he calls out over the commotion. "I DON'T GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT MINE!"

Ronan slowly touches his own forehead, then even more slowly, raises his other hand in a sort of half-wave, half-unfinished-high-five gesture. Because the man flailing his arms on the other side of the deck is too far away for anything else, and Ronan isn't even sure if he's actually talking to him or someone behind him.

"Thanks..?" No, that's way too quiet. He can't hear him from all the way over there. "THANKS."

Better, but his face flushes when a few people meandering the dock turn their heads with startled looks.

"I LIKE YOURS, TOO?"

Or something. The guy's just a floating head above the crowd, so Ronan ducks in with some of the crew passing by to avoid finding out that he wasn't even the one he was trying to wave down.

Then he realizes he still has his hand on his forehead.