[ being accosted by a patho-gen staff member is starting to feel pretty routine by now, though oushi isn't sure he likes how much he's more or less getting used to it.
(every now and then he feels like he should try a little harder to be — something. resistant? rebellious? there are enough people he's met who seem determined to make the best of things, yet more still who are barely suppressing their own rage and indignation, that oushi often finds himself caught in some vague in-between of nothing. apathy, he supposes. resignation. too often he finds himself thinking, well, what the hell can i do? and so he simply — doesn't.)
he doesn't put up much of a fight when someone drags him into a clinic by the side of the road. truthfully, he only really reacts (with a mild start) when his designated partner happens to be a familiar face. he thinks he ought to point that out, considering this is supposed to be randomized? maybe? but then they're being given a directive, and the very nature of it has him pausing long enough to actually consider his partner... and the unlikelihood of any of this being familiar to him. ]
...I'm guessing you never had a secret handshake as a kid.
( it's sort of depressing, when he thinks about it--so he's been trying not to think about it. the staff has been diligently checking in every few minutes, reassuring that they're looking for someone to pull in for the study; and he's been agreeing, with a lukewarm nod, when a few minutes becomes five, becomes ten, becomes fifteen. has everyone else in this place already partnered up, somehow, and he's the only one left alone? is he the only non-human in this place? certainly that can't be the case, but it feels like he's the dud at the bottom of a box of batteries, discarded and left here to rot. will he even get the money, if no one comes in? that's something he should ask, when the staff returns.
this time, however, it's not just the staff member that returns: it's someone that he knows, someone that he recognizes, and despite better judgement, he can feel the blood mark on his face start to twitch, bubbling just barely with embarrassment. it shouldn't matter: it shouldn't matter, and he tells himself it doesn't matter, but the last thing he wants is for oushi to think that he's just some loser that can't find a proper 'bond' or whatever it is.
why does that matter? who knows. maybe because they're 'friends', even if thinks that the reluctance he'd felt on the other end of the message had been a little too pointed.
he stands, from where he's seated on a very small loveseat: it feels like the right thing to do, gesturing with one open hand towards the cushions; there's no way they can both fit on it, which is likely by design, but he thinks it's better for oushi to sit instead of him. he forces his expression back into its gentle impassiveness. )
...I wasn't really ever a kid. ( this is said with some consternation, as though he has to think about it. ) But if it's something you would like to teach me, I would learn.
[ oushi had known that, in a theoretical sense. it wasn't as if his comment was meant to be taken literally anyway, but he's slowly coming to realize that's probably the only way choso knows how to take things. he rubs a hand along the back of his neck once, twice, as if to try and ingrain that tidbit a little bit better.
he does eventually take a seat, but all he does is perch on one of the armrests of the loveseat, anchoring himself so he is still more or less facing the other. choso is tall enough that oushi has to crane his head back a little even when he's standing, so he's hoping that by taking a seat the other will follow suit... and put them on slightly more even grounds. ]
It's not really something you teach... you just make one up. [ he shrugs, holding out his hands. ] You can shake hands, or bump fists, but usually what makes it "secret" is you add some extra move to it that only you and the other person would know.
[ it is... admittedly... one of the tamer things these patho-gen people can suggest when it comes to physical touch. oushi wonders if it means anything, but then he quickly tells himself he's better off not really questioning it. next thing he knows, he'll jinx himself. ]
( somewhat pointedly, it seems, oushi takes a seat on the armrest--and he considers that his own folly, for not directing him to sit somewhere more comfortable; his lips shift into a frown, but he doesn't say anything. the last thing he wants to do is nag him into submission. sparing a glance towards the door, as though trying to reassure himself that they won't be interrupted by the staff again, he lets out a breath.
carefully, he brings himself down to sit on the other armrest. his knees bend, shoes tucked in on the cushions; he knows, vaguely, that this is bad manners, but it seems that no one in this place adheres to japanese customs, and so in a bid to fit in, he's been trying, observing, moving along the way that other people do. )
A secret move... I understand.
( he stares down at oushi's hands for a moment, considering--and then rather than touch him, at first, he uses his own hands, bumping them together at the knuckles, fist to fist. )
So maybe we do this, and then... ( his pale fingers spread out again, and he snags his two index fingers together, hooked together like some kind of promise. ) ...maybe this? Is that secret enough?
[ the armrest had seemed to oushi the lesser of two evils. had he taken a seat on the loveseat itself, wouldn't it have left choso with no other option than to sit right beside him? that seemed an awkward thing to ask of the other man — then again, given the very nature of where they are and what's expected of him, sitting side-by-side in a tiny sofa is probably the least embarrassing thing they could be made to do...
ah well. hindsight is 20/20, etc. ]
Hey, yeah, that's a good one.
[ he's encouraging, at least. genuinely so, though maybe his surprise that choso would land on one so good so quickly is in itself something insulting... it's fine. ]
D'you wanna try it together now?
[ he holds his right hand out again, fingers already curled into a light fist. ]
( for what it's worth, that sort of confirmation makes his shoulders relax, like he's a flower that turns up towards the sunshine of appreciation; if he's being encouraged, then it means he's not doing anything wrong, and his expression shifts, eases, tries for a smile until he can feel his lips curling, and then stops himself. that's not the point, here. enjoying being praised by oushi is not the point. or is it? could that be considered bonding? not like he can ask the staff.
so instead, he steadies himself on the task at hand. his larger hand closes into a fist, mirroring, and he lets his arm push forward, bumping them knuckle to knuckle; when his fingers spread out, he doesn't wait to take oushi index finger to index finger, tugging--and then, rather than give up, he gives a harder, pointed tug, as though ready to topple him right into the loveseat cushions.
that smile on his face is actually catching, pleased with himself--and if oushi protests, then he'll just keep pulling with their hooked fingers, trying to unseat him onto the cushions proper. )
The secret move has a secret move.
( matter-of-fact, his eyes bright with pleasure despite the tired rings around them. )
[ THAT WAS ALARMINGLY SMOOTH??? it takes oushi almost a full minute to even conceptualize what had just transpired. honestly, he hadn't even realized he'd been drawing closer to the seat proper until he finds himself having to tilt his head up even more just to keep meeting choso's eyes — and the look in them had been distracting enough it took him a half-second later to even notice the shit-eating grin right beneath it.
all at once, it catches up to oushi. all at once, every available surface of skin seems to heat up and prickle. ]
W-We're both supposed to know about the secret!
[ the protest is a weak one, and even oushi knows it. ]
( it sounds a little lofty--a little pleased, smug, like he doesn't care if he's done something wrong, or broken some kind of human rule. as far as he's concerned, he's just proceeding the way that the experiment wants them to; he's just taking advantage of the situation.
which for now, means that oushi's on the loveseat, and he's stretching one leg out, balancing his heel against the floor so that he can dig his knee down into the cushions next to him. )
Do you want to hear about the next one? ( their hands are still linked, fingers still taut around each other, and his weight continues to shift, like he'll squeeze himself down to sit next to oushi even if they're half on top of each other or not. )
The next secret move. Or do you want to make one up yourself?
[ technically, technically, there aren't any rules here to break. this whole thing is premised by a concept so insane and chaotic that it stands to reason anything is fair game.
but oushi will still protest, as oushi is wont to do. though strangely (or perhaps, quite expectedly) the closer choso inches towards him, the more the younger man feels his natural inclinations to fuss start to — well. not fade, per se. more like quiet down some, as if lulled.
his voice too, goes a touch quieter. the words themselves their secret shared. ]
...You should tell me. [ somehow, oushi doesn't trust himself to try and conceive of one without doing something extremely stupid or bold or both. ] Give me some warning this time.
( he repeats it mildly, like it's not something he would have ever considered--or offered. )
If it's a warning, then you'll be able to get away.
( his weight shifts, slides, moves until his hips hit the cushions on the loveseat; his legs bend a little, crowding in against oushi, and given there's little room, he can't shift to give him any space. instead, one arm grips at the back of the loveseat, allowing him to pivot further in towards him; the other lets his fingers loosen, drawn away from oushi's hand in order to reach further for his elbow.
maybe that's the warning--or the encouragement, as he pushes firmly at oushi's arm, encouraging it to close the space between them, too. )
...You're not supposed to get away. ( the words feel warm, a deep rumble in his throat, oddly pleased. ) We haven't done the thing yet.
( 'the thing', which he's not going to clarify, apparently. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
choso.
[ being accosted by a patho-gen staff member is starting to feel pretty routine by now, though oushi isn't sure he likes how much he's more or less getting used to it.
(every now and then he feels like he should try a little harder to be — something. resistant? rebellious? there are enough people he's met who seem determined to make the best of things, yet more still who are barely suppressing their own rage and indignation, that oushi often finds himself caught in some vague in-between of nothing. apathy, he supposes. resignation. too often he finds himself thinking, well, what the hell can i do? and so he simply — doesn't.)
he doesn't put up much of a fight when someone drags him into a clinic by the side of the road. truthfully, he only really reacts (with a mild start) when his designated partner happens to be a familiar face. he thinks he ought to point that out, considering this is supposed to be randomized? maybe? but then they're being given a directive, and the very nature of it has him pausing long enough to actually consider his partner... and the unlikelihood of any of this being familiar to him. ]
...I'm guessing you never had a secret handshake as a kid.
no subject
this time, however, it's not just the staff member that returns: it's someone that he knows, someone that he recognizes, and despite better judgement, he can feel the blood mark on his face start to twitch, bubbling just barely with embarrassment. it shouldn't matter: it shouldn't matter, and he tells himself it doesn't matter, but the last thing he wants is for oushi to think that he's just some loser that can't find a proper 'bond' or whatever it is.
why does that matter? who knows. maybe because they're 'friends', even if thinks that the reluctance he'd felt on the other end of the message had been a little too pointed.
he stands, from where he's seated on a very small loveseat: it feels like the right thing to do, gesturing with one open hand towards the cushions; there's no way they can both fit on it, which is likely by design, but he thinks it's better for oushi to sit instead of him. he forces his expression back into its gentle impassiveness. )
...I wasn't really ever a kid. ( this is said with some consternation, as though he has to think about it. ) But if it's something you would like to teach me, I would learn.
no subject
[ oushi had known that, in a theoretical sense. it wasn't as if his comment was meant to be taken literally anyway, but he's slowly coming to realize that's probably the only way choso knows how to take things. he rubs a hand along the back of his neck once, twice, as if to try and ingrain that tidbit a little bit better.
he does eventually take a seat, but all he does is perch on one of the armrests of the loveseat, anchoring himself so he is still more or less facing the other. choso is tall enough that oushi has to crane his head back a little even when he's standing, so he's hoping that by taking a seat the other will follow suit... and put them on slightly more even grounds. ]
It's not really something you teach... you just make one up. [ he shrugs, holding out his hands. ] You can shake hands, or bump fists, but usually what makes it "secret" is you add some extra move to it that only you and the other person would know.
[ it is... admittedly... one of the tamer things these patho-gen people can suggest when it comes to physical touch. oushi wonders if it means anything, but then he quickly tells himself he's better off not really questioning it. next thing he knows, he'll jinx himself. ]
no subject
carefully, he brings himself down to sit on the other armrest. his knees bend, shoes tucked in on the cushions; he knows, vaguely, that this is bad manners, but it seems that no one in this place adheres to japanese customs, and so in a bid to fit in, he's been trying, observing, moving along the way that other people do. )
A secret move... I understand.
( he stares down at oushi's hands for a moment, considering--and then rather than touch him, at first, he uses his own hands, bumping them together at the knuckles, fist to fist. )
So maybe we do this, and then... ( his pale fingers spread out again, and he snags his two index fingers together, hooked together like some kind of promise. ) ...maybe this? Is that secret enough?
no subject
ah well. hindsight is 20/20, etc. ]
Hey, yeah, that's a good one.
[ he's encouraging, at least. genuinely so, though maybe his surprise that choso would land on one so good so quickly is in itself something insulting... it's fine. ]
D'you wanna try it together now?
[ he holds his right hand out again, fingers already curled into a light fist. ]
no subject
so instead, he steadies himself on the task at hand. his larger hand closes into a fist, mirroring, and he lets his arm push forward, bumping them knuckle to knuckle; when his fingers spread out, he doesn't wait to take oushi index finger to index finger, tugging--and then, rather than give up, he gives a harder, pointed tug, as though ready to topple him right into the loveseat cushions.
that smile on his face is actually catching, pleased with himself--and if oushi protests, then he'll just keep pulling with their hooked fingers, trying to unseat him onto the cushions proper. )
The secret move has a secret move.
( matter-of-fact, his eyes bright with pleasure despite the tired rings around them. )
1/2
2/2
all at once, it catches up to oushi. all at once, every available surface of skin seems to heat up and prickle. ]
W-We're both supposed to know about the secret!
[ the protest is a weak one, and even oushi knows it. ]
no subject
( it sounds a little lofty--a little pleased, smug, like he doesn't care if he's done something wrong, or broken some kind of human rule. as far as he's concerned, he's just proceeding the way that the experiment wants them to; he's just taking advantage of the situation.
which for now, means that oushi's on the loveseat, and he's stretching one leg out, balancing his heel against the floor so that he can dig his knee down into the cushions next to him. )
Do you want to hear about the next one? ( their hands are still linked, fingers still taut around each other, and his weight continues to shift, like he'll squeeze himself down to sit next to oushi even if they're half on top of each other or not. )
The next secret move. Or do you want to make one up yourself?
no subject
but oushi will still protest, as oushi is wont to do. though strangely (or perhaps, quite expectedly) the closer choso inches towards him, the more the younger man feels his natural inclinations to fuss start to — well. not fade, per se. more like quiet down some, as if lulled.
his voice too, goes a touch quieter. the words themselves their secret shared. ]
...You should tell me. [ somehow, oushi doesn't trust himself to try and conceive of one without doing something extremely stupid or bold or both. ] Give me some warning this time.
no subject
( he repeats it mildly, like it's not something he would have ever considered--or offered. )
If it's a warning, then you'll be able to get away.
( his weight shifts, slides, moves until his hips hit the cushions on the loveseat; his legs bend a little, crowding in against oushi, and given there's little room, he can't shift to give him any space. instead, one arm grips at the back of the loveseat, allowing him to pivot further in towards him; the other lets his fingers loosen, drawn away from oushi's hand in order to reach further for his elbow.
maybe that's the warning--or the encouragement, as he pushes firmly at oushi's arm, encouraging it to close the space between them, too. )
...You're not supposed to get away. ( the words feel warm, a deep rumble in his throat, oddly pleased. ) We haven't done the thing yet.
( 'the thing', which he's not going to clarify, apparently. )