cities like tokyo carry within them a certain vibe, a particular energy after dark that certain areas just can't reach. out here in the country everything feels magnified, no matter how whisper-quiet it is, and the overall size of the kurusu house doesn't help matters any.
but it's good for hosting akira's group of friends whenever they have the free time blow in. given the season, it did indeed seem like the perfect night to fire up the grainiest of movies on his parents' old tape deck, insisting it added to the authenticity of the experience. he's ready plenty of books on films and the industry surrounding them, so of course he'd know. never mind morgana's arguments of how totally fake it all looked—he's a cat, what does he know—or yusuke's disdain at the lack of aesthetics. it's all been a good time nonetheless, and with a lionheart like akira's he doesn't think twice about it when everyone's bedded down for the night.
makoto's snoring might, be in fact, be the scariest thing in the room, since he doesn't have the heart to either rouse her or point it out to her after the fact. some things are best left alone, even now, when the former phantom thieves of hearts are crawling that much closer towards adulthood and independence.
so he doesn't expect a visitor to the couch, an unfortunate end result of losing the bet for where everyone was sleeping tonight. how was akira to know futaba had a three of spades up her sleeve? he's dozing away, neither fully awake nor lost to unconsciousness just yet, but it takes a moment to recognize what's going on. that this isn't morgana doing his usual little song and dance at bedtime, kneading adopt his chest, claws pricking through his old bedclothes he can't bring himself to let go of, despite starting to outgrow some of it.
"...?" yeah, this is no cat's doing. it's ann's, if he's making the shape out in the dark correctly, her half-hushed voice. lacking the right control over it is typical ann, though it's hardly his concern if she wakes anyone else up.
"'s it morning...?" of course not, but he knows no other reason of what would bring her over here like this. not unless ryuji's smacked someone in his sleep again. there are reasons why none of the girls choose the same side as he does anymore, and this is one of them.
finally gets to this eight years later,
cities like tokyo carry within them a certain vibe, a particular energy after dark that certain areas just can't reach. out here in the country everything feels magnified, no matter how whisper-quiet it is, and the overall size of the kurusu house doesn't help matters any.
but it's good for hosting akira's group of friends whenever they have the free time blow in. given the season, it did indeed seem like the perfect night to fire up the grainiest of movies on his parents' old tape deck, insisting it added to the authenticity of the experience. he's ready plenty of books on films and the industry surrounding them, so of course he'd know. never mind morgana's arguments of how totally fake it all looked—he's a cat, what does he know—or yusuke's disdain at the lack of aesthetics. it's all been a good time nonetheless, and with a lionheart like akira's he doesn't think twice about it when everyone's bedded down for the night.
makoto's snoring might, be in fact, be the scariest thing in the room, since he doesn't have the heart to either rouse her or point it out to her after the fact. some things are best left alone, even now, when the former phantom thieves of hearts are crawling that much closer towards adulthood and independence.
so he doesn't expect a visitor to the couch, an unfortunate end result of losing the bet for where everyone was sleeping tonight. how was akira to know futaba had a three of spades up her sleeve? he's dozing away, neither fully awake nor lost to unconsciousness just yet, but it takes a moment to recognize what's going on. that this isn't morgana doing his usual little song and dance at bedtime, kneading adopt his chest, claws pricking through his old bedclothes he can't bring himself to let go of, despite starting to outgrow some of it.
"...?" yeah, this is no cat's doing. it's ann's, if he's making the shape out in the dark correctly, her half-hushed voice. lacking the right control over it is typical ann, though it's hardly his concern if she wakes anyone else up.
"'s it morning...?" of course not, but he knows no other reason of what would bring her over here like this. not unless ryuji's smacked someone in his sleep again. there are reasons why none of the girls choose the same side as he does anymore, and this is one of them.