[ Aoba's just tracing circles into the asphalt, really — it's not like he has anything better to do as of late, so he's just been (unsuccessfully) tinkering around with Ren, checking the wares down the streets for disposable CyBuddy parts, staying up way past any ordinary working curfew to contemplate the meaning of his existence — you know, just the usual.
It's still sifting through his head, everything Clear's been filling him in on as of late (because obviously Aoba doesn't have the wherewithal or know-how to retrieve answers in the same manner), so if an apology's what it takes to make amends, then he'll gladly take the heat.
OR SO HE THINKS — because caught up in all of that self-indulgent wallowing, he turns like a good three minutes after the door shutters open behind him, and from there he's staring blankly at the guy shoving his face into a dish towel, looking disheveled as all get out.
Obviously, this only means one thing. ]
Oh, Clear — sorry I came without announcing first, I don't really know what was going through my head, I just wanted to apologize for the other day —
[ Jolting to his feet, he steadies his apparently swimmy Clear, awkwardly grasping at both shoulders with guilt literally embedded into his features. ]
Hey, hey, there's nothing to forgive you for. You ... aren't crying because of me, are you?
[ Stilling when Aoba takes his shoulders, he nearly exudes a mighty big question mark while attempting to process that statement.
And he nearly pulls aside his makeshift mask to look, but rather abruptly has to stop himself because nO?! ]
Aa, I'm--?! No, I'm not crying at all, Aoba-san. Having you at my home is a very happy surprise, in fact!
[ So he attempts to reassure the other, voice muffled by the towel left draped over his head so that he may reach out to clumsily feel for the other's arms......... ]
[ Aaaand he nearly stumbles off the doorstep in the process, because seriously, Clear, Aoba knows you have an actual face (a mouth, too, but who's checking) beneath that towel ... it probably isn't that bad to stare at in close proximity, even ... ]
S-Shouldn't you be watching where you're going?! Clear — wait a sec', you'll trip —
[ Fingers caught in a momentary fumble, they scramble and peremptorily latch onto one of Clear's wrists in an effort to deter him, his mouth pulling into a line. ]
Geez. It's alright if you don't want to show me your face. All you need to do is ask. I won't look.
Wah-- [ Okay, they're teeting, and Clear has no idea what's going on anymore??? When Aoba grabs, he grabs back (although holding onto that forearm as delicately as he may in the process) - and boy, is all that is enough to convince him that the other is right. Thankfully, without any actual tripping involved. ]
Really? [ Using Aoba's assistance to draw upright, uncertainty waivers in his voice without much thought to it. ] I'm sorry, it isn't that I don't want to show you, it's... it's just--.
[ Carefully, pulling away, his hands curl into the fabric to pull it forward, though hesitating to lower it away from his face. ]
You promise you won't look?
[ Sounding awfully defeated my his own request, he's seemingly decided on it, as he isn't budging just yet. Explaining, he thinks, will only prompt reassurance - and yet, the only comfort he may ever be able to accept is knowing that Aoba feels a better sense of familiarity with him first.
There's still an overwhelming dread that without knowing his heart first, he'd be rejected for the way he looks. Hell, he's been too afraid to even try looking at his own face. Beginning to chance showing himself to strangers was a good first step, but he couldn't do that with Aoba. He couldn't risk losing him, it would be far too devastating. ]
Don't you think I'll keep my promise? It's not like I'd start hating you just because I saw your face.
[ Barring the loaded question, Aoba's grip visibly slackens as he steadily affixes his gaze on Clear's torso as he draws up the towel around him like a man possessed by paranoia. And he's not feeling much of anything, in all truth and actuality, just burgeoning confusion and supplications just that side of collapsible. And even if there's something deeply discouraging about being distrusted at face-value, he won't entrench himself in useless conversational circles just because he wasn't sure how to proceed from there. As far as he's concerned, honesty is the best policy.
Aoba visibly straightens, retracting his seizing grasp to deftly fold them back into his pockets. ]
... I might've arrived at a bad time. Should I go? Or — I can wait, too. Whatever's more comfortable for you.
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It's still sifting through his head, everything Clear's been filling him in on as of late (because obviously Aoba doesn't have the wherewithal or know-how to retrieve answers in the same manner), so if an apology's what it takes to make amends, then he'll gladly take the heat.
OR SO HE THINKS — because caught up in all of that self-indulgent wallowing, he turns like a good three minutes after the door shutters open behind him, and from there he's staring blankly at the guy shoving his face into a dish towel, looking disheveled as all get out.
Obviously, this only means one thing. ]
Oh, Clear — sorry I came without announcing first, I don't really know what was going through my head, I just wanted to apologize for the other day —
[ Jolting to his feet, he steadies his apparently swimmy Clear, awkwardly grasping at both shoulders with guilt literally embedded into his features. ]
Hey, hey, there's nothing to forgive you for. You ... aren't crying because of me, are you?
no subject
And he nearly pulls aside his makeshift mask to look, but rather abruptly has to stop himself because nO?! ]
Aa, I'm--?! No, I'm not crying at all, Aoba-san. Having you at my home is a very happy surprise, in fact!
[ So he attempts to reassure the other, voice muffled by the towel left draped over his head so that he may reach out to clumsily feel for the other's arms......... ]
no subject
S-Shouldn't you be watching where you're going?! Clear — wait a sec', you'll trip —
[ Fingers caught in a momentary fumble, they scramble and peremptorily latch onto one of Clear's wrists in an effort to deter him, his mouth pulling into a line. ]
Geez. It's alright if you don't want to show me your face. All you need to do is ask. I won't look.
no subject
Really? [ Using Aoba's assistance to draw upright, uncertainty waivers in his voice without much thought to it. ] I'm sorry, it isn't that I don't want to show you, it's... it's just--.
[ Carefully, pulling away, his hands curl into the fabric to pull it forward, though hesitating to lower it away from his face. ]
You promise you won't look?
[ Sounding awfully defeated my his own request, he's seemingly decided on it, as he isn't budging just yet. Explaining, he thinks, will only prompt reassurance - and yet, the only comfort he may ever be able to accept is knowing that Aoba feels a better sense of familiarity with him first.
There's still an overwhelming dread that without knowing his heart first, he'd be rejected for the way he looks. Hell, he's been too afraid to even try looking at his own face. Beginning to chance showing himself to strangers was a good first step, but he couldn't do that with Aoba. He couldn't risk losing him, it would be far too devastating. ]
no subject
[ Barring the loaded question, Aoba's grip visibly slackens as he steadily affixes his gaze on Clear's torso as he draws up the towel around him like a man possessed by paranoia. And he's not feeling much of anything, in all truth and actuality, just burgeoning confusion and supplications just that side of collapsible. And even if there's something deeply discouraging about being distrusted at face-value, he won't entrench himself in useless conversational circles just because he wasn't sure how to proceed from there. As far as he's concerned, honesty is the best policy.
Aoba visibly straightens, retracting his seizing grasp to deftly fold them back into his pockets. ]
... I might've arrived at a bad time. Should I go? Or — I can wait, too. Whatever's more comfortable for you.