#rebootin

THE SHOULDER TOUCH. ( A PROMPT LIST & NOT ACCEPTING! )

another relic malfunction and they're both reeling, the usual slog of pain and suffocating fire burning in their shared minds -- except johnny seems to be having more of a reaction this time than normal. he's slumped against the side of the hideout ledge, fingertips grasping at the crumbling concrete edges while he hisses out obscenities. he can hear v saying something, asking something ( stop fucking talking ! ) yet he can make out anything as if his head is trapped beneath an ocean.

perhaps it was the distress that caused v to close the gap between them and attempt ( what a gonk idea . ) to rest a hand on his shoulder in hopes to steady him. like he was alive, living . . . a cruel reminder the moment v's fingertips draw forth a shock as johnny flickers roughly from view for a second before popping back in. an awkward moment of silence ensue as the rocker boy looks at v's hand still hovering over his shoulder cautiously, his crippling migraine now turning into crippling irritation. the only thing that keeps him from snapping is the sincerity behind the action.

v has cut him off mid-sentence, and kerry stumbles over another word or two before it catches up to him. he stares at v then, caught somewhere between surprise and thin but short lived irritation. it doesn't matter that he frequently does the same, often without much thought at all. he hadn't expected v to.

it takes him a beat to regroup. he'd been repeating the broad strokes to himself, but for all the use it has now, he may as well hadn't bothered at all.

“ gee, with talk like that, ‘s a wonder my head doesn’t get bigger, ” jane’s busy hooking herself up, sticking wire into ports usually hidden by a dark spill of synthetic hair. dark today, anyway. maybe tomorrow’s version of her preferred blonde. she’d never know. her fingers, ringed and dexterous, move over the consoles by her chair. “ then again, maybe it’d come with more storage space. ” her smile is thin, smudged red from the plastic-tasting coffee she’d handed v when he’d come in. “ you got the shard? and your listening ears on? i may not be able to do it again. ”

hand out, palm up, and another smile for him when it’s deposited.

Like FUCK

ING