[Shut up. Rinne has his back turned towards Takasugi, so why is he still talking? He recognizes this all too well: when he wants someone to stay, Rinne can't stop rambling either. It's true, Rinne is moved that they got attention at all. He can't be any more grateful. But god, now is really not the time...
Rinne hastily wipes the drooling corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He swallows thickly.]
So? I call it like I see it. Don't get too excited. People tell you that all the time, don't they?
It's my job as an idol to sell my image. What I say, what I wear—every choice I make is deliberate. Maybe it ain't the whole truth, but at least it's what I wanna do. Yet all of that comes to you like it's second nature... 'Course I'm gonna say you're cool.
[Takasugi using his shamisen to protect him was really cool.]
( oops. now's really not the time to push on those red flags, huh.
and though rinne doesn't notice it, with his back turned, the corners of takasugi's mouth set in a firm line.
second nature? he'd still be your average nobody without that school and that mentor, trapped in his domain with nothing but the golden cage of a comfortable life and everyone trying to spoil him further. he wasn't like sakamoto-kun, who seemed to soar effortlessly through the skies even past his death. his wings had been clipped twice now, and he won’t get another chance unless he puts in the effort here. )
Sure. Being an idol is about lying to your audience, then. I can get that. Even the most renowned tayu put their heart into every stroke of their calligraphy, no matter how silly or dull the message may be.
( he tap, taps a claw against the strap holding up his instrument. pensive. )
But that doesn’t mean your sound can't be authentic. Why limit yourself with all those frustrating restrictions in another world?
( when you've only got one life to live, even.
well... whatever. he smooths an ear out as he turns to leave, giving rinne's back a little wave. he'd rather come down from the awkward changes to his body alone, and spend time taking note of certain things that didn't happen last time for later. )
[The thing no one taught Rinne about being sad is that you get so deep inside your head and wallow in that pool of self-pity that you forget the other parts of you.
You're not the flawless heir to your father's legacy. You're not the unruly rebel who ran away from home. You're not even the idol who fought tooth and nail to earn every last scrap of love in those overflowing boxes of fan mail.
You're just a boy. Lost. And you stay lost as long as you let the water close over your head.
But then... a hand grabs yours. Pulls you up. You break the surface and suddenly, you remember: the fire in your chest, the dream in your hands, the self you were building before the weight dragged you under.
Rinne had always wanted to become an idol he could love.
When Takasugi asks him the same question he asks the crowd—the one that always sends a ripple through the stage lights—a spring breeze cuts through the still waters, electric and alive.
Rinne doesn't look back. He doesn't want to make hunger this worse. Instead, his fingertips trace and linger where Takasugi's hand had been, recalling the brief comfort it gave him before restraint compelled him to pull away.]
It was fun...?
[He balls that same hand into a fist. He's gotta get out of here. Back in his hometown, calling someone delicious is a compliment. This time, he's afraid he might mean it in every way.]
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no subject
Rinne hastily wipes the drooling corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He swallows thickly.]
So? I call it like I see it. Don't get too excited. People tell you that all the time, don't they?
It's my job as an idol to sell my image. What I say, what I wear—every choice I make is deliberate. Maybe it ain't the whole truth, but at least it's what I wanna do. Yet all of that comes to you like it's second nature... 'Course I'm gonna say you're cool.
[Takasugi using his shamisen to protect him was really cool.]
( 1 / 2 )
and though rinne doesn't notice it, with his back turned, the corners of takasugi's mouth set in a firm line.
second nature? he'd still be your average nobody without that school and that mentor, trapped in his domain with nothing but the golden cage of a comfortable life and everyone trying to spoil him further. he wasn't like sakamoto-kun, who seemed to soar effortlessly through the skies even past his death. his wings had been clipped twice now, and he won’t get another chance unless he puts in the effort here. )
Sure. Being an idol is about lying to your audience, then. I can get that. Even the most renowned tayu put their heart into every stroke of their calligraphy, no matter how silly or dull the message may be.
( he tap, taps a claw against the strap holding up his instrument. pensive. )
( 2 / 2 )
( when you've only got one life to live, even.
well... whatever. he smooths an ear out as he turns to leave, giving rinne's back a little wave. he'd rather come down from the awkward changes to his body alone, and spend time taking note of certain things that didn't happen last time for later. )
It was fun, Amagi-kun. I'll be in touch.
no subject
You're not the flawless heir to your father's legacy. You're not the unruly rebel who ran away from home. You're not even the idol who fought tooth and nail to earn every last scrap of love in those overflowing boxes of fan mail.
You're just a boy. Lost. And you stay lost as long as you let the water close over your head.
But then... a hand grabs yours. Pulls you up. You break the surface and suddenly, you remember: the fire in your chest, the dream in your hands, the self you were building before the weight dragged you under.
Rinne had always wanted to become an idol he could love.
When Takasugi asks him the same question he asks the crowd—the one that always sends a ripple through the stage lights—a spring breeze cuts through the still waters, electric and alive.
Rinne doesn't look back. He doesn't want to make hunger this worse. Instead, his fingertips trace and linger where Takasugi's hand had been, recalling the brief comfort it gave him before restraint compelled him to pull away.]
It was fun...?
[He balls that same hand into a fist. He's gotta get out of here. Back in his hometown, calling someone delicious is a compliment. This time, he's afraid he might mean it in every way.]