[ The only reason that Miyuki has his gear is because it was with him in the accident, his bag sitting on his feet in the vain hope that he could put it on at practice and not get an even stare from Kataoka or a disapproving frown from Rei. They'd been really on him to heal properly, after what had happened to Chris.
He doesn't remember any of that, as he walks out, having stretched before putting anything on. ]
You tell me. [ He fixes one of the straps of his chest plate, making sure it's snug as he taps the toe of one shoe into the dirt, then the other, to fix the fit of them as well. ] I'm assuming so, but what with the dead thing and all, I wouldn't know.
[ And it's... true, really, but he's being a little more blase about it than he actually feels. The instinct is there, and he really didn't have much trouble putting the gear on, could immediately swoop his hair back to put the helm on and get it right in just one try, no errant strand out of place. He has no contacts here, will probably have to get them replaced, so he's just wearing his typical glasses with the belief that Mei won't pelt him in the goddamn face with a fastball, but it doesn't feel out of place either.
What had really taken a while was schooling himself, keeping his emotions and thoughts in check, to make sure that sense of niggling dread didn't rear its head. A month in this place, and he's spent a lot of it trying not to follow the threads that his mind has tried to lure him in with, because thinking about the familiarity he has with Mei, the rapport, the comments that slip out of Mei when he's probably not thinking about it... the things that Kazuya, himself, does without even noticing that he's done them until afterwards. They all point to who he was, Before, and someone as analytical as him can't resist trying to figure it out.
But there are consequences to that. And despite his penchant for overthinking, he's trying so very, very hard to fight against who he is.
(And, you know, not talking about it. It's fine. If Mei feels a little sting at the back of his neck occasionally, it hasn't been enough to blight him yet, they don't have anything to worry about. Probably.) ]
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He doesn't remember any of that, as he walks out, having stretched before putting anything on. ]
You tell me. [ He fixes one of the straps of his chest plate, making sure it's snug as he taps the toe of one shoe into the dirt, then the other, to fix the fit of them as well. ] I'm assuming so, but what with the dead thing and all, I wouldn't know.
[ And it's... true, really, but he's being a little more blase about it than he actually feels. The instinct is there, and he really didn't have much trouble putting the gear on, could immediately swoop his hair back to put the helm on and get it right in just one try, no errant strand out of place. He has no contacts here, will probably have to get them replaced, so he's just wearing his typical glasses with the belief that Mei won't pelt him in the goddamn face with a fastball, but it doesn't feel out of place either.
What had really taken a while was schooling himself, keeping his emotions and thoughts in check, to make sure that sense of niggling dread didn't rear its head. A month in this place, and he's spent a lot of it trying not to follow the threads that his mind has tried to lure him in with, because thinking about the familiarity he has with Mei, the rapport, the comments that slip out of Mei when he's probably not thinking about it... the things that Kazuya, himself, does without even noticing that he's done them until afterwards. They all point to who he was, Before, and someone as analytical as him can't resist trying to figure it out.
But there are consequences to that. And despite his penchant for overthinking, he's trying so very, very hard to fight against who he is.
(And, you know, not talking about it. It's fine. If Mei feels a little sting at the back of his neck occasionally, it hasn't been enough to blight him yet, they don't have anything to worry about. Probably.) ]