[The breath here is short, tight, and doesn't feel like enough; the exhale is too far a reach, an overdraft of his lungs, lengthy but thin. He closes his eyes, and his head dips to the side, falling to settle near his raised shoulder and all its tension. Akira rests this way, somewhere between revelry (Shindou is cooperating at least this much) and anxious anticipation (how long a pause before it gets bad again?)—reprieve, maybe. In this moment, it's more or less fine. In this breath, exhale, and tired angle, things are more or less fine.]
There's a good bakery nearby.
There. Plans for Tuesday morning.
[See, he means, it wasn't so hard. Can't you keep doing that on through next week? And then on and on some more?]
no subject
There's a good bakery nearby.
There. Plans for Tuesday morning.
[See, he means, it wasn't so hard. Can't you keep doing that on through next week? And then on and on some more?]