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OK overture
Who: Rantarou Amami & anyone who hits me up
What: June catch-all
When: 06/01 onwards
Where: Various locations
Warnings: TBA
What: June catch-all
When: 06/01 onwards
Where: Various locations
Warnings: TBA
mise picked for me
This post serves as a place for me to gather all of Amami's closed threads, starters, and miscellany through the month. If you want to set something up, I can be reached by PM or at ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
kagehira
no subject
he isn't surprised if he dropped dead, if someone dies the next day because of him, or even right now. he's already imagining what will happen to amami right now, perhaps blood will pour from between his lips, and he'll just fall to the side — he'll lay on top of the books bleeding out, and komaeda will just sit there with his body wasting away. he should, this is how he should be with everyone, but at least he'll stay... accepting that it's him. the thought weighs on him extra hard, his nails digging into the palm of his hand, and even his knuckles turn white.
he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and his head falls back against the bookshelf, and he glances up at the ceiling above him. there's nothing happening there, he guesses, his luck wouldn't do much here in the first place — only small, insignificant things that won't matter. like him, he shouldn't matter, and so why is... amami still here. he can't remove him from his mind because he's an ultimate despite being unaware of his talent —
what is he, what can he do? to gauge the strength of his hope is just by seeing what he can do. komaeda's head hurts worse, so he finally drops it back down to look at the book — it says nothing that'll help him. what it does is remind him he hasn't ate, but he doesn't have an appetite anymore, rather... he has a dead expression as he stares at the book, completely tired. )
no subject
so he exhales. thinks it over. his eyes return to the book in his hands, passing over the words: cyanide poisoning, pressuric acid, a motive. it's all rather tame for a mystery novel, standard fare. he turns the words over in his mind, considering the book, the genre, komaeda's apparent tastes. setting it down beside him, amami lifts himself back to his feet — with hardly a glance to komaeda, he wanders off between the stacks again.
...
he does, however, return.
it takes him a good few minutes to find what he's looking for, but it isn't impossible. when he comes back, there are a few books in his hands: an atlas, for one, and a couple of geography and wildlife biology books — you know, the kinds with pictures in them. he had a gist of where they were, taking note earlier, but it still took him a bit to find any that were half decent, and he's still not entirely satisfied. either way, they're not bad, per se; certainly, better alternatives to what komaeda'd had. a small offering, heartfelt if not a particularly impressive, and he'll crouch down and set them over top of the book that he doubts komaeda has bothered to turn the page of yet. )
no subject
rather, he's too tired to actually push it away. )
...
( it takes him a few moments, but once he's able to unball his hand, there's a few crescent indentions in his palm, and he lifts it to place a hand over the book. his fingers drum along the surface before he moves his hand under to pull at the book he was "reading" moments ago — amami can see how visible komaeda's hand shakes as he sets the mystery book to the side. he doesn't want too much on his legs because it feels like a reaction that he wants to jump up just in case of any changes — who knows what will happen.
his hand lays flat on the biology book now, he's taking awhile to do anything, but at least there's movement? )
no subject
rather than stare him down while he's going through it like this, though, as soon as komaeda's dropped his eyes down to look at the books in his lap, amami will continue on. he brings his notebook back out, scribbling down once more on the first blank slip of paper he finds, and tears the sheet out. with that, he'll slide it over top of the books he's just handed over, pull himself to his feet, and offer a wave before he heads back.
he doesn't know if it helps and, admittedly, it probably won't do much either way — struck him as better than nothing at all though.
he'll be back tomorrow, too, in any case. )
no subject
this time, he tries to read a little more as he raises a hand to run through his hair tired while he exhales, and it doesn't get caught on any of the knots as it passes through. as he continues the note, they have been trapped in here for quite awhile, and it stands out to komaeda, it's been the same scenery for months... and he feels anxious, his hand tightens in the mass of his hair —
if he took a break — he yanks. if he just didn't exist — he yanks again. if he was just dead — he pulls harder, flinching until he feels some hair in his hand through blurry vision.
would hell... be a nice place to be? )