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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, NAGITO KOMAEDA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 004.28.777.00 *** MrBrightside has joined 004.28.777.00 <MrBrightside> Hello there! This is Komaeda. <MrBrightside> I'm grateful that you want to talk to me. | ||||
Anonymous username(s): < Triple7 > < BlueRam >
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The reality is that any nocturnal monster can come up through the stairwell and see them, but Komaeda doesn't mind. He's not afraid of someone seeing them because even if they did, he probably wouldn't even notice. Between their tangled limbs, they've escaped to a world all their own. A neat little bubble, warm, and welcoming, and just big enough for only them.]
I think you're crazier than me, [his voice is light, a half-laugh against the top of her hair as his eyes fall closed. Anyone that's said as much about him has always been deemed as such, at least. Crazy to trust him, crazy to chase him, crazy to care. He already knows Lila is broken and crazy, but he also knows she won't leave his side, even if he asked her to.] I mean, those don't really sound like likeable things...
[He inhales her, pulls his chin from her temple and untangles just enough to catch a glimpse of a sliver of eye.]
But I suppose I get it. You're mean, and crude, and you make me do unreasonable things like putting on pants in less than sixty seconds. You don't have a tail, but I think a minute and a half is a much better time frame for that. [He huffs, his hands roaming over her back and registering just how petite she is beneath his touch.] But... I'm never bored when I'm with you. I learn a lot, and you don't let me become pathetic. I never feel lonely when I'm with you...
And I like seeing your smile.
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[That much is easy, although she doesn't agree for the reasons he's thinking. She's grimly aware of the more basic difference between them: that Komaeda regrets what he did to harm people, and she doesn't. She regrets not doing more. She doesn't blame him for what he's done not because she doesn't think he's responsible, but because she can't make it matter to her. All of those dead people she doesn't know might as well be paper dolls on fire. If she could sink her brand new claws into a few familiar eyes from back home, she'd do it, and she'd do it here so they could come back and feel her in their heads down to the knuckle all over again.]
[Maybe the two of them would do the same bad things, but she wouldn't regret them, and Komaeda probably would.]
[When he moves, she responds, unwinding herself so that she can look up at him, watch his face when he speaks to her. Watching for lies. She does so idly with him these days, because he's passed a lot of tests. Now as before, he's not lying to her. She likes that he knows she's not likeable. That he likes her anyway. Whatever he sees in her, it's in more than one dimension. Like she's a real person.]
If you hadn't been acting weird, I would have given you a minute and a half. [Absently spoken, as she arches up slightly one more time under the reach of his wide hands. What is it with tall guys? A power thing, probably. If she can take somebody that much bigger than her and make them eat out of her hand — that's all it is. That's all.]
[The thing is, Komaeda's . . . better. She can't explain it to him, not now, but sometime — and for now she can't leave him with nothing. Or maybe it's less than she doesn't want his hands empty so much as that hers are too full.]
[Fussing with the hem of his shirt, she lets her head lean back on the wall, gaze thoughtful on him. Not good, not bad, just taking all of him in.]
. . . Hey. Guess what? . . . Before you, nobody ever said that to me. That they like when I smile. When I'm happy.
[Not just like that. Not without the undercurrent of her weakness, her incapability. Not Cassel, not like this, with no baggage, no implication, no strings, no sad dark eyes hanging on her every wicked word. Not her family, because the way she smiles was never dignified enough for her mother, and her father saved praise for crueler things. She wouldn't have asked it of him. But that does mean she didn't know—]
It feels good. [She sounds surprised, because she is.]
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The reflective pools of his eyes are still honest though, as if he knows his weirdness isn't on purpose, but it's just something that happens. It's something he's come to terms with and doesn't try to fix about himself. He knows he's weird and unsettling and that people avoid him because they can't figure him out. They think he's always scheming, when in fact he's only scheming about fifty percent of the time. He doesn't with Lila though. Her eyes are too sharp like a hawk, and she always sees right through him. She's used to his weirdness and accepts it, oddly enough.
When she arches her back, leaning back against the wall like a too-languid cat, Komaeda laces his fingers at that odd curve of her spine—holding her hips to his. He likes that even when they're trying to look at each other, they both like to cling. No one has ever clung to him before, they always kept their distance because of his aforementioned weirdness. Not Lila though, he can be as cryptic as he is, or as uncareful as he wants to be, and she'll still be at his side.]
That's stupid, [He huffs and then he unlaces his fingers, bringing his real hand, his feeling hand up to cup the outline of her cheek. Even if it isn't all there, his thumb traces beneath the cut of her daggered smile, feeling the whisper of where lips used to be.] You have a pretty smile... but I guess I get it. No one has ever said they liked how I talk. I've always been told I'm too confusing, and that it must be on purpose. Like I can control it.
[Sometimes, he can. The way he dances around topics he doesn't want to get into is usually on purpose. The way he glosses over unsettling or awkward things with a smile, is on purpose. But the way he shoves his foot in his mouth sometimes, or when he overreacts and starts rambling... that isn't—and Lila says she likes it.]
You're right though... it feels good.
[It feels good when it's just the two of them and nothing else matters.]
no subject
[She considers telling him that the time she's taking to learn how he works is common decency — not that she knows much of anything about that, but at the very least she can spot it coming out of herself. Supposedly, most people have some of it. Not in her world, obviously, and maybe not in Komaeda's either, if he's never had anyone meet him where he's at, challenge him a little but ease up when he needs softness. She thinks about saying that there are probably a dozen people in this building alone who could do it better than her.]
[Instead, she leans into his touch and closes her eyes, warmed and content. Her fingers curl into-through-into his shirt.]
Hey. . . . Is there anything . . . [Hm. She opens her eyes again, tiny slits that widen as the sight of him fills her vision.] If I want to call you something. You know, like what I said before that freaked you out, except I don't want to freak you out. I want to say something nice about you. Anything that's not off-limits for that?