[Maybe he just doesn't understand. To say that he is upset would be an overstatement. Here, in this moment, in a fixed point in time it might suit him but that reality is selfish in the grander scheme and Alit acknowledges it. It had only taken one month and some change but he had already discovered the beginnings of something promising and it hurts to face its impermanence. He doesn't like it and for today he will allow himself the catharsis of a raging storm of emotions but beyond that...
Maybe it's not that he doesn't understand but that he's afraid to. But it's hard to read too much in the sterile text that blazes back at him from an unfeeling screen. Alit finds it hard to make singular sense of what III is saying and how he could he not take it personally even with his overwhelming doubt that III -- all polite and proper in a way that humans held in esteem -- would really make it about that.]
I'm sorry, Alit-san, I meant to say that I am relieved for you. I mean it.
( it's so much easier to say this over text, and, as cowardly as it is of him. he prefers it this way. he has time to think through his responses and hasn't that always been a problem for him? he gets emotional, he gets pressured, he gets constrained. here he has all the space and room to form and formulate what it is that he needs to say.
at the same time however he also feels an urge to just send his responses as quickly as possible. or switch to video even because this was not meant to cause a misunderstanding. that's honestly the last thing he wants, and already he's failed if he's stirred in Alit any negative feelings towards him. { not that he doesn't deserve them. he's not proud of what he did so he can't even begin to blame Alit if there's something brewing. } he tries to keep it succinct to avoid the suspicion of double-entendres he employed before. )
Yuuma-kun. There's the next time he loses Astral. Unless he can avert that--and there's nothing I wouldn't give to keep Yuuma-kun from that pain. Or even to help him through it. I don't know if everything happens for a reason, but at least this way it's not hanging over Yuuma-kun's head as he waits here unsure of what the Landlord is going to do next.
With Vector here for example there's only more pain in addition to whatever we have waiting for us at home, where we should be.
[For the Barian, there's no such uncertainty. Emotions are running high today, it has invaded the house thick as quicksand that made it so hard to move that the only way to deal with it was to simply not fight back. That the others would be feelings the same comes as no surprise at all. As close as he feels to Yuuma, in spite of the uniqueness of their relationship, he's still the enemy and a few choice encounters can't compare to the depth of some people here. Not that he tries to quantify it. Loss is a universal condition and the best he can do is respect that.
But he still find himself staring sourly at the words he types out and erases again that fail to articulate precisely what he wants to convey without also diminishing those very emotions on which he thrives.]
I don't see how it makes any difference. It all comes from the same place. Vector is a threat whether here or there. Then or now. It seems more like our problems are following us here as much as everyone wants to say it doesn't matter. Don't get me wrong I'm not about to wish this place on anyone either, least of all Yuuma.
[It's so dissatisfying to leave it like that. III hasn't upset him, nor done anything to aggravate what is already an unfortunate situation, not really. But the heart of the matter remains mired beneath a cover of impassive discourse. There's a moment where he decides to just close it altogether and turn on the video but that still feels too cold and impersonal so he just jabs the send button before he can add anything he would regret.]
[About ten minutes later, after agonizing over the last one, he follows up with another text, constructed and delivered on a whim without a second thought.]
Look I can't stand these damn things right now. Can't we just meet up if you really want to talk about it?
[There it is. He isn't mad, at least not enough to want to avoid III altogether. He only hopes that doesn't end up lost in the text either.]
( Michael himself is agonigisng how to even begin to respond to the first text, still coming up with an acceptable first line, when the second comes along to offer him a solution. it doesn't absolve him of his failure to communicate well, but he'll take it. it isn't lost on him that Alit at least is willing to talk to him. considering everything so far he's grateful and relieved. )
Thank you, Alit-san. Would you mind if I extended you an invitation to come over? I was just about to put the kettle on. ( it was meant only for himself, but why not have Alit over? this will be his second tea party today. )
[Alit flips the device off and sits back, feeling an initial rush of tempered relief that he doesn't even begin to question. He hadn't been rejected and for now that's enough. He can question all the messy details later when he's more open to even acknowledging them, let alone processing them.
The barian doesn't linger long at home. It's filled with little more than shadows to keep him company at the moment and if it weren't for III accepting his demands, he likely still would have wandered out to be rid of them. On his way out, he has the courtesy to shoot Kotori a quick message lest they loose track of each other today of all days. It wouldn't help anyone to compound the loss unnecessarily.
It doesn't even cross his mind to grab a coat; he just ventures out into the frozen wasteland that was once their neighborhood and though the deadly chill sinks into his bones within minutes of exposure Alit can't say he minds the numbing effect is has as he makes the quick jaunt to 1499. Instead of his thoughts, he focuses on his breath, crystallizing before his very eyes, and the sensation of the winter air enacting the timeless lethargy of desiccation on his living flesh.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass before he's facing the plain white door that blends right in to the wintry surroundings, the setting of their subjection and he sighs, like he's lost more than just body heat on the way.
( maybe it's just a pleasantry, but it is an honest one. as much as Michael had hoped that he would be able to resolve this over text--well, no, that isn't quite right. he had never intended for there to be anything to resolve. he just meant to be honest and heartfelt and figured things would work out from there. nevertheless he is glad that now Alit is coming over and is on his way because, even if things are not back on their original, intended track, it looks like there might be some kind of resolution after all.
he's maybe a little nervous as he's waiting. restless even, as he's not able to sit in one spot for long. his thoughts keep reminding him of motion--snow falling loosely through an eternal, dead sky, feet walking with no exact destination, effervescence, boiling water that cannot be cooled to calm. luckily no-one can see him so he does not have to pretend that he does not want to pace. he makes several rounds around the kitchen and the living room--curse the smallness of this forced domicile. as if its artificiality was not enough of a reminder imposed on him daily, more than ever its limited space has got him breathlessly facing up against the confining walls of his new reality.
but it's not that he wants to run from this imminent encounter. he welcomes it. it will just be easier to deal with when it actually happens and his mind cannot supply umbrage about what may or may not happen.
Alit didn't say no, he reminds himself not for the last time.
and then, the chime of the bell.
Michael finds that he's conveniently near the door already. rather than taking exception to this with himself, he goes ahead and opens the door to let his guest in. he's smiling, really he is, and then suddenly he's not. )
Alit---san? Get in here, now! Where's your jacket? ( in his momentary confusion and shock he doesn't think to be witty, he simply grabs Alit's sleeve, pulls him inside, and shuts the door behind them. he will brook no argument so he does what he needs to. )
[Waiting outside the sight of their last confrontation a little more than a week ago, even for those precious few seconds leaves Alit with the feeling that his stomach is starting to turn, languidly, adroitly, capsizing neatly into the preformed hollow that outlines his memories. Based on their tenuous first words they were threating to follow the same path to submergence and he has to cling to the fact that this time he was invited, wanted in some capacity.]
Huh?
[When the door opens, and Alit catches the look in Michael's eyes now mere inches below his own, the path forks bewilderingly, fractals as he's pulled into an unfamiliar warmth that was neither asked for nor expected. It percolates through the veil of his tepid anticipation and leaves him standing on uncertain but note entirely unstable ground]
I don't have one. [He answers almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling like the slate has been wiped clean in and instant if only for an instant, with only the phantom of its afterimage lingering ephemerally in place.]
( a more distinguished Alit is not what strikes Michael. he's seen more impressive changes: everyone in his house has aged up but for him, he who is now once again the shortest in a group. { Chris aged down, but by some random genetic--or circumstantial--variation, a margin of height distinction was preserved, the natural order of the brothers wasn't utterly disparaged. though an onlooker, not especially sensitive to Michael's fresh and youthful face, might have guessed either brother as the youngest. such a small difference can go unheeded. }
the change is not what catches him, but Michael's concern is still physical. candid, because of his shock that carries over into this new surprise, he flares indignantly, putting both hands on his hips. )
Didn't the Landlord give you any? Then you may have one of mine.
( not "you can" or maybe "would you like", it's a direct command not softened by the thoughtful pillowing of his usual wrought courtesy. in fact he doesn't catch himself until a moment later, when realises that maybe that might not work out so well after. perhaps he should offer one of Thomas' things...? but, no, Thomas' things are not his to distribute, and he realises, with a cooling head, that that would not be in accordance with what he meant by this gesture. he himself is concerned with Alit's well being. he can't say that that is surprising in itself. uncomfortable as it's been, he's been coming around in regards to the Barian. he's been ready to make amends.
more subdued, but firm: ) Please, go ahead and sit down and get warm--there's a blanket on the sofa. I'll get you something to restore you. You're a guest, after all, so at very least I have to provide something. That's how this kind of thing works.
[He doesn't have to but Michael is going to do it anyway, Alit realizes without a word because aren't they both like that, both proud and stubborn in their ways. Qualities they share with both each other and another. And isn't that why he's here. Michael doesn't have to do that but Alit follows him anyway, absently kicking off his shoes in the process.
Inside, he finds he doesn't need the blanket. The wintry panorama is framed in windows offering a limited purview of the setting outside. The dense light filtering in reflects the stark white snow that blankets the whole world or at least the whole which factors into his concern.
But here, inside Michael's house, it's no longer cold. He walks the same path, takes up the same place, and even the offer is the same only this time he doesn't reject it. The ice clinging to the roof like crystalline stalactite, cracks through the silence and it's offset by the bubbling, boiling, whistling resounding from the kitchen as he waits.
And for the first time today, in light of second chances wrought from the initial misgivings of misfortune, Alit smiles.]
( a watched kettle never boils, but Michael has plenty to distract himself with. there's the accompanying sweets to select. biscuits, cake, the remnants of marzipan made with a friend; does Alit even have a sweet tooth? surely the ability to indulge in saccharine treats is one of the best things about being human--or at least one of the most novel. he debates about this and avoids thoughts of how similar the two of them are, how much this meeting for them is like a pot meeting a kettle. though certainly the kettle would be burnished and rather stately.
he's still entertaining several possibilities when the steam punctures the silence in the kitchen with its urgent shriek. the sound pushes into his mental debate and he allows it to settle things for him by virtue of its random impartially: biscuits it is. on the argent tray he carries out with him is a full set of tea things: two cups of black, sugar, cream, biscuits, saucers, spoons. at the last minute he adds honey because he isn't sure how sick Alit may or may not become. perhaps green tea would have been better, but considering the time of day it's black tea which ought to be served.
he sets the tray on the coffee table and from there hands Alit his cup. Alit hasn't gone for the blanket--as if that is a surprise--and Michael considers pushing the point but opts to simply observe. he can see from his spot that the other isn't shaking anymore, nor are there any visible hints of dangerous discolouration on his countenance. { that rules out hypothermia. }
but then Michael has another thought. he smiles and does his best to not sound patronising. ) I don't know how you take your tea, but--sugar, cream, honey, it's all there. ( he discreetly indicates each thing as he names it. then he takes a neutral seat in a chair not too far away. he takes two spoons of sugar himself. and he says as he stirs: ) Thank you for coming over. I appreciate it.
[In stark contrast to that last time he was in this room, that shifts subtle between something closeted and warm and airy and bright, Alit takes his cup and only then does he accept that as an invitation to take a seat. He lifts the cup experimentally from the saucer, setting it down again to mull over the extensive affects. Tea isn't exactly a foreign object so much as a foreign experience, though he makes no comment, electing to take it one step at a time.
First, he samples the tea and fines there's awful little to tempt the palette and so he starts with the sugar, mirroring the two scoops of his host. A second sip blossoms with improvement but it isn't until he pours in a bit of the cream that the full bodied bouquet shines through. He decides he likes it though not so much as to inconvenience himself over it.
He gives the drink a final swirl to take care of the latent remnants of undissolved sugar, spoon clinking audibly against the cup, before replacing it back in the sauce after a quick glance at Michael.]
As if I wasn't the one that insisted. [He continues to insist because it gives them something to talk about, something innocuously trite. Alit allows himself to relax, responding to the warmth of the room and small gestures alike. He could comment on them. The tea is a new experience -- he had admitted that much already -- and perhaps Michael would want to hear his response to that. But they came here for a reason and as he watches the steam evanesce from his cup, all hope of distraction flees along with it.]
( Michael accidentally clinks his spoon against the saucer. the sound is obtrusively loud to him in the pleasantly warm silence, and he could cringe at himself if he so wanted to, but in the current moment he has more control over himself than that. his nerves are manageable, his will is rallied. so when Alit cuts right to the chase and doesn't comment on the tea like another guest might--even just to tell him how it tastes, or how he likes it, or to make some kind of sundry comment because this is a first experience after all--he doesn't need to gather himself in any capacity to make the transition. in some ways he appreciates this more than the alternatives. he does not take offense to Alit's directness, does not mistake it for brutishness, because he knows that this is the way the Barian is.
once his spoon is resting behind the cup on its saucer, he sets the whole collection aside for a moment, folds his hands in his lap, and looks at Alit directly. he nods. ) It is better, I agree. ( then the next comment is something he thinks a little longer before addressing. it could have come across as a berating, adversarial, heated--something that somebody might become reactionary against because of the charge in it. but no, there was no loaded message. it conveyed what it was supposed to: Alit's fair point. and Michael has to concede to it. gracefully, in a way that isn't self-saving. ) Thank you for coming over at your insistence. I--it's what I needed, but didn't ask for.
( pauses for a moment, smiling not widely, but maybe smiling more earnestly than he has before in the presence of the other. he's not quite self-deprecating but he's in the presence of a friend of the friend who was his best. that has an effect on you, because that's someone who for sure gets it too. ) And I know you have your own feelings about the matter. There's so much to sort through, but I just wish that I could have done more for Yuuma-kun. It's not fair to him that he did so much for me, and then I had so little to offer in return.
[Alit takes another slow, solemn sip so he has more time to swallow what Michael is saying. It's no small thing that Michael is admitting to and it all but puts to words the change that has affected them. There's a mutual desire to be present in each other's company in spite of the strange circumstances of their relation and Alit relaxes and though he leaves it without comment -- the Barian had long since accepted the human as there was little concern in his doing so -- he doesn't take it for granted.
He only sets the tea down when the topic of Yuuma is broached. Yuuma, the remarkable catalyst that propels them toward each other. Alit still smiles but it's equal parts fond and wistful in light of his lack.]
Aren't you giving him a little too much credit? I don't mean what he did isn't important. Especially not to you.
[He touches the issue carefully, brushes it in a manner that isn't forthright so as not to disturb the unstable parity over they can relate. Because there are still things that are unfair, and unbalanced, things he has no right to address because it's neither the time nor the place. Today, they were cheated of something mutual and that's all that needs to be expressed]
But that's just what he does, right? It's natural for him. [And isn't that exactly why he's so remarkable, the Barian leaves considered but unsaid.]
( Michael may be rash, emotive, and young, but he isn't dense. he has a burgeoning sense of social grace that alerts him to the state of things between him and Alit. they are stepping lightly--though it's a mutual dance more than anything, or two people stepping with care in a show of respect to the other, rather than two fighters circling with adversarial intent. the thought of that is why he curls his fingers lightly into one of his palms; he wants to give this the proper amount of care.
what does Alit understand of his family? but it doesn't matter how profound or not profound his understanding is, at the very least he's not disrespecting the subject and, by merely glancing at it, there isn't any compulsion for Michael to defend himself and his own. rather the focus is kept on something much more mutual, and it's something over which he knows they can relate. { that is the goal, he won't make a secret about that. )
Perhaps. But is that a bad thing, when he gave himself hardly enough?
( that's an earnest question, delivered while looking the Barian straight in the eyes. the exact shape of Alit's relationship with Yuuma is still nebulous, but there are some contours he himself has been able to see and feel out. there are the similarities, but also the attractive, honourable qualities in Alit that Michael has found himself so strongly drawn to. where those what also drew Yuuma? { though, also, vaguely, he has a sense that Alit's case is a little bit like his own: Yuuma had an affinity for him, to be sure, but it wasn't quite the same affinity that Michael had in turn. of course it never could be, given the dynamics of their relationship. but Michael shakes his head to knock away these thoughts. speculating about the past is pointless in the presence of the present. } ) It's natural, yes, and in a way that is almost what makes it harder for him, I think. He tries so hard and he pushes himself so hard.
Edited (bother bother sorry I'm nitpicking I will never touch this again ) 2014-01-25 09:15 (UTC)
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text;
[Maybe he just doesn't understand. To say that he is upset would be an overstatement. Here, in this moment, in a fixed point in time it might suit him but that reality is selfish in the grander scheme and Alit acknowledges it. It had only taken one month and some change but he had already discovered the beginnings of something promising and it hurts to face its impermanence. He doesn't like it and for today he will allow himself the catharsis of a raging storm of emotions but beyond that...
Maybe it's not that he doesn't understand but that he's afraid to. But it's hard to read too much in the sterile text that blazes back at him from an unfeeling screen. Alit finds it hard to make singular sense of what III is saying and how he could he not take it personally even with his overwhelming doubt that III -- all polite and proper in a way that humans held in esteem -- would really make it about that.]
Exactly who are we talking about right now?
text;
( it's so much easier to say this over text, and, as cowardly as it is of him. he prefers it this way. he has time to think through his responses and hasn't that always been a problem for him? he gets emotional, he gets pressured, he gets constrained. here he has all the space and room to form and formulate what it is that he needs to say.
at the same time however he also feels an urge to just send his responses as quickly as possible. or switch to video even because this was not meant to cause a misunderstanding. that's honestly the last thing he wants, and already he's failed if he's stirred in Alit any negative feelings towards him. { not that he doesn't deserve them. he's not proud of what he did so he can't even begin to blame Alit if there's something brewing. } he tries to keep it succinct to avoid the suspicion of double-entendres he employed before. )
Yuuma-kun. There's the next time he loses Astral. Unless he can avert that--and there's nothing I wouldn't give to keep Yuuma-kun from that pain. Or even to help him through it. I don't know if everything happens for a reason, but at least this way it's not hanging over Yuuma-kun's head as he waits here unsure of what the Landlord is going to do next.
With Vector here for example there's only more pain in addition to whatever we have waiting for us at home, where we should be.
Re: text;
But he still find himself staring sourly at the words he types out and erases again that fail to articulate precisely what he wants to convey without also diminishing those very emotions on which he thrives.]
I don't see how it makes any difference. It all comes from the same place. Vector is a threat whether here or there. Then or now. It seems more like our problems are following us here as much as everyone wants to say it doesn't matter. Don't get me wrong I'm not about to wish this place on anyone either, least of all Yuuma.
[It's so dissatisfying to leave it like that. III hasn't upset him, nor done anything to aggravate what is already an unfortunate situation, not really. But the heart of the matter remains mired beneath a cover of impassive discourse. There's a moment where he decides to just close it altogether and turn on the video but that still feels too cold and impersonal so he just jabs the send button before he can add anything he would regret.]
text;
Look I can't stand these damn things right now. Can't we just meet up if you really want to talk about it?
[There it is. He isn't mad, at least not enough to want to avoid III altogether. He only hopes that doesn't end up lost in the text either.]
text;
Thank you, Alit-san. Would you mind if I extended you an invitation to come over? I was just about to put the kettle on. ( it was meant only for himself, but why not have Alit over? this will be his second tea party today. )
text > action;
[Alit flips the device off and sits back, feeling an initial rush of tempered relief that he doesn't even begin to question. He hadn't been rejected and for now that's enough. He can question all the messy details later when he's more open to even acknowledging them, let alone processing them.
The barian doesn't linger long at home. It's filled with little more than shadows to keep him company at the moment and if it weren't for III accepting his demands, he likely still would have wandered out to be rid of them. On his way out, he has the courtesy to shoot Kotori a quick message lest they loose track of each other today of all days. It wouldn't help anyone to compound the loss unnecessarily.
It doesn't even cross his mind to grab a coat; he just ventures out into the frozen wasteland that was once their neighborhood and though the deadly chill sinks into his bones within minutes of exposure Alit can't say he minds the numbing effect is has as he makes the quick jaunt to 1499. Instead of his thoughts, he focuses on his breath, crystallizing before his very eyes, and the sensation of the winter air enacting the timeless lethargy of desiccation on his living flesh.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass before he's facing the plain white door that blends right in to the wintry surroundings, the setting of their subjection and he sighs, like he's lost more than just body heat on the way.
This time, he rings the bell.]
action;
( maybe it's just a pleasantry, but it is an honest one. as much as Michael had hoped that he would be able to resolve this over text--well, no, that isn't quite right. he had never intended for there to be anything to resolve. he just meant to be honest and heartfelt and figured things would work out from there. nevertheless he is glad that now Alit is coming over and is on his way because, even if things are not back on their original, intended track, it looks like there might be some kind of resolution after all.
he's maybe a little nervous as he's waiting. restless even, as he's not able to sit in one spot for long. his thoughts keep reminding him of motion--snow falling loosely through an eternal, dead sky, feet walking with no exact destination, effervescence, boiling water that cannot be cooled to calm. luckily no-one can see him so he does not have to pretend that he does not want to pace. he makes several rounds around the kitchen and the living room--curse the smallness of this forced domicile. as if its artificiality was not enough of a reminder imposed on him daily, more than ever its limited space has got him breathlessly facing up against the confining walls of his new reality.
but it's not that he wants to run from this imminent encounter. he welcomes it. it will just be easier to deal with when it actually happens and his mind cannot supply umbrage about what may or may not happen.
Alit didn't say no, he reminds himself not for the last time.
and then, the chime of the bell.
Michael finds that he's conveniently near the door already. rather than taking exception to this with himself, he goes ahead and opens the door to let his guest in. he's smiling, really he is, and then suddenly he's not. )
Alit---san? Get in here, now! Where's your jacket? ( in his momentary confusion and shock he doesn't think to be witty, he simply grabs Alit's sleeve, pulls him inside, and shuts the door behind them. he will brook no argument so he does what he needs to. )
Re: action;
Huh?
[When the door opens, and Alit catches the look in Michael's eyes now mere inches below his own, the path forks bewilderingly, fractals as he's pulled into an unfamiliar warmth that was neither asked for nor expected. It percolates through the veil of his tepid anticipation and leaves him standing on uncertain but note entirely unstable ground]
I don't have one. [He answers almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling like the slate has been wiped clean in and instant if only for an instant, with only the phantom of its afterimage lingering ephemerally in place.]
action;
the change is not what catches him, but Michael's concern is still physical. candid, because of his shock that carries over into this new surprise, he flares indignantly, putting both hands on his hips. )
Didn't the Landlord give you any? Then you may have one of mine.
( not "you can" or maybe "would you like", it's a direct command not softened by the thoughtful pillowing of his usual wrought courtesy. in fact he doesn't catch himself until a moment later, when realises that maybe that might not work out so well after. perhaps he should offer one of Thomas' things...? but, no, Thomas' things are not his to distribute, and he realises, with a cooling head, that that would not be in accordance with what he meant by this gesture. he himself is concerned with Alit's well being. he can't say that that is surprising in itself. uncomfortable as it's been, he's been coming around in regards to the Barian. he's been ready to make amends.
more subdued, but firm: ) Please, go ahead and sit down and get warm--there's a blanket on the sofa. I'll get you something to restore you. You're a guest, after all, so at very least I have to provide something. That's how this kind of thing works.
action;
[He doesn't have to but Michael is going to do it anyway, Alit realizes without a word because aren't they both like that, both proud and stubborn in their ways. Qualities they share with both each other and another. And isn't that why he's here. Michael doesn't have to do that but Alit follows him anyway, absently kicking off his shoes in the process.
Inside, he finds he doesn't need the blanket. The wintry panorama is framed in windows offering a limited purview of the setting outside. The dense light filtering in reflects the stark white snow that blankets the whole world or at least the whole which factors into his concern.
But here, inside Michael's house, it's no longer cold. He walks the same path, takes up the same place, and even the offer is the same only this time he doesn't reject it. The ice clinging to the roof like crystalline stalactite, cracks through the silence and it's offset by the bubbling, boiling, whistling resounding from the kitchen as he waits.
And for the first time today, in light of second chances wrought from the initial misgivings of misfortune, Alit smiles.]
action;
he's still entertaining several possibilities when the steam punctures the silence in the kitchen with its urgent shriek. the sound pushes into his mental debate and he allows it to settle things for him by virtue of its random impartially: biscuits it is. on the argent tray he carries out with him is a full set of tea things: two cups of black, sugar, cream, biscuits, saucers, spoons. at the last minute he adds honey because he isn't sure how sick Alit may or may not become. perhaps green tea would have been better, but considering the time of day it's black tea which ought to be served.
he sets the tray on the coffee table and from there hands Alit his cup. Alit hasn't gone for the blanket--as if that is a surprise--and Michael considers pushing the point but opts to simply observe. he can see from his spot that the other isn't shaking anymore, nor are there any visible hints of dangerous discolouration on his countenance. { that rules out hypothermia. }
but then Michael has another thought. he smiles and does his best to not sound patronising. ) I don't know how you take your tea, but--sugar, cream, honey, it's all there. ( he discreetly indicates each thing as he names it. then he takes a neutral seat in a chair not too far away. he takes two spoons of sugar himself. and he says as he stirs: ) Thank you for coming over. I appreciate it.
action;
First, he samples the tea and fines there's awful little to tempt the palette and so he starts with the sugar, mirroring the two scoops of his host. A second sip blossoms with improvement but it isn't until he pours in a bit of the cream that the full bodied bouquet shines through. He decides he likes it though not so much as to inconvenience himself over it.
He gives the drink a final swirl to take care of the latent remnants of undissolved sugar, spoon clinking audibly against the cup, before replacing it back in the sauce after a quick glance at Michael.]
As if I wasn't the one that insisted. [He continues to insist because it gives them something to talk about, something innocuously trite. Alit allows himself to relax, responding to the warmth of the room and small gestures alike. He could comment on them. The tea is a new experience -- he had admitted that much already -- and perhaps Michael would want to hear his response to that. But they came here for a reason and as he watches the steam evanesce from his cup, all hope of distraction flees along with it.]
I think it's better too.
action;
once his spoon is resting behind the cup on its saucer, he sets the whole collection aside for a moment, folds his hands in his lap, and looks at Alit directly. he nods. ) It is better, I agree. ( then the next comment is something he thinks a little longer before addressing. it could have come across as a berating, adversarial, heated--something that somebody might become reactionary against because of the charge in it. but no, there was no loaded message. it conveyed what it was supposed to: Alit's fair point. and Michael has to concede to it. gracefully, in a way that isn't self-saving. ) Thank you for coming over at your insistence. I--it's what I needed, but didn't ask for.
( pauses for a moment, smiling not widely, but maybe smiling more earnestly than he has before in the presence of the other. he's not quite self-deprecating but he's in the presence of a friend of the friend who was his best. that has an effect on you, because that's someone who for sure gets it too. ) And I know you have your own feelings about the matter. There's so much to sort through, but I just wish that I could have done more for Yuuma-kun. It's not fair to him that he did so much for me, and then I had so little to offer in return.
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He only sets the tea down when the topic of Yuuma is broached. Yuuma, the remarkable catalyst that propels them toward each other. Alit still smiles but it's equal parts fond and wistful in light of his lack.]
Aren't you giving him a little too much credit? I don't mean what he did isn't important. Especially not to you.
[He touches the issue carefully, brushes it in a manner that isn't forthright so as not to disturb the unstable parity over they can relate. Because there are still things that are unfair, and unbalanced, things he has no right to address because it's neither the time nor the place. Today, they were cheated of something mutual and that's all that needs to be expressed]
But that's just what he does, right? It's natural for him. [And isn't that exactly why he's so remarkable, the Barian leaves considered but unsaid.]
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what does Alit understand of his family? but it doesn't matter how profound or not profound his understanding is, at the very least he's not disrespecting the subject and, by merely glancing at it, there isn't any compulsion for Michael to defend himself and his own. rather the focus is kept on something much more mutual, and it's something over which he knows they can relate. { that is the goal, he won't make a secret about that. )
Perhaps. But is that a bad thing, when he gave himself hardly enough?
( that's an earnest question, delivered while looking the Barian straight in the eyes. the exact shape of Alit's relationship with Yuuma is still nebulous, but there are some contours he himself has been able to see and feel out. there are the similarities, but also the attractive, honourable qualities in Alit that Michael has found himself so strongly drawn to. where those what also drew Yuuma? { though, also, vaguely, he has a sense that Alit's case is a little bit like his own: Yuuma had an affinity for him, to be sure, but it wasn't quite the same affinity that Michael had in turn. of course it never could be, given the dynamics of their relationship. but Michael shakes his head to knock away these thoughts. speculating about the past is pointless in the presence of the present. } ) It's natural, yes, and in a way that is almost what makes it harder for him, I think. He tries so hard and he pushes himself so hard.