#raintrail

Imagine your OTP stuck in an elevator after they’ve had a fight. 

"E-Eh." Yasaburou stuttered a forceful sigh, knitted brows beginning to throb at the intensity of his frown. He could only stare forward with a dull and vexed expression, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he pretended they were trapped there -- if he didn't falsify their placement as lack of freedom, he felt like he would hit something. At times like this, she was so damn irritating -- And she was the sole one in their relationship that could be right. God only knew how apparent she made that to him.

He would steal quick glances toward her every now and then before promptly and forcefully setting his vision forward once more. After a moment or so of his sight returned on a chromesque wall, Yasaburou would huff through his nostrils and arch a single brow in apparent irritation. And god only knew truly how apparent he made that to her.

"Will you please stop that incessant grumbling?" Ayame requested coldly, crossing her arms as she peered to her annoyance of a partner. She kept her tone strict and her stare just so, intentionally wishing to radiate her distaste with their situation enough to travel across the few feet between the two. "You're making this endless wait worse with all those silent and unnecessary complaints." There was limited room to keep away from each other. Had they been in a different situation, they would have parted ways to cool down from their fight. However, an elevator suspended eighty feet off the ground wasn't the ideal location for such matters. They found themselves stuck there for a good forty minutes so far with no end in sight. Well, that was true so long as they kept the mutual agreement not to end each other. However, given the rising tension in that small levitating room, that agreement seemed to be slipping.

"If that is what you wish, princess." He sneered, raising a brow dominantly before stealing a glance to his phone. Fifty minutes had gone by now, prompting an almost defeated silence from the elder of the two. Fate would allow them to fight an such an occasion as this, in such a location as well. On any normal circumstance, Yasaburou would have found this delay amusing. After all, they were heading up to the hotel room where all her games were located - -begging to be played. While he wasn't necessarily fond of being in a small, metal box for an elongated period of time, at least he wasn't suffering alone. Surely her thoughts were a collection of her annoyance with him and longing to continue where she left off in her most recent purchase.

Now it was her turn to grumble as Yasaburou began to hum the theme song to the newest edition to her game collection, the irritation illuminating like an all holy light. He could feel a glare burning holes through his very soul, the itching want and pure need to continue from her save point merely intensified as the theme song continued to rattle through whimsically toned humming. At this point, he cracked a genuine grin.

Aa. She was at her breaking point.

"Yasaburou-san," she spoke calmly, arms crossed in a prompt manner and sight straightforward. He devilish glance turned curious at her response, to which he responded with questioning humph. "No physical contact for a week."

"Y- What-- Fine." He uttered, brows furrowed from a horribly backfired plan. Taking off his jacket, the young male laid it as straight as possible between the two of them before taking a seat in the corner of the elevator, arms and legs both crossed. Snapping a quick glance to behind, Yasa slit his vision before starting two sets of games. "Don't cross that line. This is my side of the elevator." Ah, like an eleven year old. It truly was a sight to see. Ayame's response was a scrunching disapproval to her features, halfly from pure disbelief that he could truly act this young.

"Yasaburou-san, you're an educational worker. Please behave like one." - "Humph."

The silent game ensued, which was the first of two. The second was far more evil on his part, especially after previously trying to get on her rough side. From Ayame's side of the elevator, she heard a faint ding! and almost fully muted music. Where was it coming from -- his phone? While she hated to admit it -- and she never would have -- she was slightly interested in what he was doing on 'his half' of the minimally sized room. It was when she heard the same theme song yet again that she was taken aback, eyes wide and hand forward. "T-That's--"

Heh.

It was indeed. A sliver of a cunning grin appeared on his lower visage as he began playing an emulated version of her new game, placed on his phone as an 8-bit version that a buddy of his created. Same play value, different graphics, and same effect it had on the avid gamer on the opposite side of the elevator, who could only let out faint signs of disbelief in his actions through stuttering speech.

"E-Eh, will you two please stop fighting?" Naoki sent a hushed query to each side of the escalating argument, a hand placed on the back of his head sheepishly. He felt a bit awkward talking to either of them, feeling that the tension between the two weighted the maximum capacity on the elevator entirely causing this situation. Of course this was false, but no other valid reason came to mind other than user error. "Really, you're both making this worse."

"Shup up, Naoki!" Both parties snapped at their third person before shooting a glance at each other, returning to their own business at each end of the elevator immediately afterward. 

There was an odd feeling in a pit deep within the young male's chest; something he couldn't quite put into a straightforward thought. Everything felt so nostalgic, but here he stood in a town that he had never visited, passed buildings and people he had never seen, and been in a situation that he never dreamed he'd be in. It was the footsteps to her door, the second guessing thoughts and the bribery for her forgiveness in his hands that made it seem so vividly similar to an experience he lived through once before.

Yes, every time Yasaburou pissed her off and they stopped speaking for several days, he would usually find himself walking to her house with a gift carefully picked out from one of her favorite stores in hopes that she still didn't hate his very being -- but this particular experience was different. It wasn't just some fight, and they didn't stop talking for just a few days. It was so much longer than that, and there was no fight that took place.

He was gone for a year, without notice of where he was going or when he would return. Only a note in Ayame's mailbox that read "I'll see you again one day."

That day had come, and fuck all if he wasn't nervous as hell.

He stood at her door that had no nostalgic appearance, held his breath until the oxygen grew stale and quickly adverted his gaze to the direction he came from with second thoughts of turning around and going home. This didn't have to be today.

This didn't have to be today.

The repetitious thought echoed within the tunnels of his mind as he huffed in irritation, shaking his head as he grasped his bribe firmly, straightening his posture in a ready position. The knock on the door felt louder than usual. Was his knocking a little too forceful? Maybe he should have used the doorbell. What if she wasn't home? Yasaburou did a double take at the direction he came from once more. A year went by since they last saw each other, what if she no longer viewed him as someone necessary in her life?

Before he could react, he heard a movement within the apartment and panicked, smacking his thumb against the eye hole on the door. Great, genius. Now what? Thoughts rushing to and fro, Yasaburou cleared his throat as the clicking of a removed lock was heard, the gentle swing of the door beginning it's motion. Setting a hand against the door's frame as the young man supported his weight against his arm, a typical Cheshire grin appeared over familiar features as he decided to 'play it cool'.

A cocktail of flurried emotions rushed through Yasaburou’s front-forward thoughts as Ayame stood in his direct vision, hands cupped over her skirt as the wind blew her hair gently in waves reminiscent of the sea. Relaxed sight kept itself upon her slender figure, adorned in a school uniform, before returning to a visage with features of hidden discomfort. She was truly a beauty — and she was a perfect fit for his fantastical day dreaming of school girls. It was only when she opened her mouth to speak that he began having an issue with the image.

It was so.. forced. Of course, he expected it to be as such. Only her body language expressed true hollywood acting, whilst spoken word was filled with complete disdain and a horrendous discomfort.

He could help but laugh.