Mr.ThrowSomeHands
New member
Maero had gotten so caught up in reminiscing the wealth and glory of his old life that he forgot he wasn’t alone. It was only a moment, but enough to have made himself obvious. His heart raced a million miles a minute as his eyes flickered down to Trinity. In his whole two years of being in Japan, he had only slipped up in becoming his old self once, for a friend. Now, in the same place with another woman, he almost did it again.
He took in a deep breath through his nostrils before exhaling. Trinity looked up to him not with curiosity, but rather, content. Content to be in that moment with him, but she was right, Maero didn’t like mirrors. Not because he was terrified of his reflection, but rather, it held answers. The question to those answers is what scared him. Not as much as hearing the familiar sound of a texan draw ringing out from behind like velvet wrapped steel.
The timing could not have been worse. Before him stood not a man, but the living embodiment of metal itself, Coach Knight. He hadn’t seen him before without his helmet or gauntlets, but a few of the photos throughout the Academy showed his face, letting everyone know what he looked like without it. Even without his trademark equipment, standing here with bared flesh, it was certainly a unique sight.
Symbols reminiscent of the intricate circuitry that made up a motherboard danced across the burnt umber of his skin. Maero’s mind broke free, temporarily, from the paranoia gazing upon it. Part of him wondered if it functioned much the same, sending an infinite series of ones and zeros to his brain, giving him data no one else held access to. Or, better yet, is this how God himself had intended to make him? Deus Ex Machina, God from the Machine, given life.
His curiosity did not last. Instead, it had been replaced with compliancy, standing straight as Knight’s gaze flickered to him. He waited patiently for the next words spoken, a soldier waiting to be given orders by a superior, or a killer waiting to be given a contract. Hearing Knight’s next words, however, did nothing for his anxieties. Though they had been said in a way he did not expect. Soft, genuine, seeming less like a guestimate of what he was thinking, and rather, an understanding. One held only by those who understood what that world was like.
Maero went to speak, his mouth agape, but no words came to his lips. They had been taken away by the sight of a woman with raven locks and a crimson dress that flowed like borealis. She came in with a presence that did not ask for recognition, but demanded it. Even the air itself fell to her every whim as the scent of her perfume cascaded across it like a toxin. She was perfect, but something about her wasn’t right, far from it, in fact.
Whereas Trinity’s beauty belied a youthful innocence that craved a chance to feel alive, Yotohime, she was something else altogether. He had seen her before, in passing, but never this prepared. She placed a kiss on each of Knight’s cheeks, but Maero didn’t see that, no. He saw her weaving a thread around him, a puppeteer preparing its doll, just waiting for a chance to use it. Maero did not show he was uncomfortable, however, nor that he was panicking. His face remained relaxed, following the Art of War, appearing strong when he was weak.
He just needed an escape. His eyes flickered across Onogoro. He saw Jennie in the crowd, he saw the way the bartenders were making drinks left and right as they were being bombarded, even the way bouncers were moving people out. Then, in the corner of his peripherals, Maero saw a woman heading towards the bathrooms. As Yotohime and Knight spoke to each other, Maero moved his hand around Trinity, resting it on her lower back. As the two teachers conversed, he’d lean into her ear, whispering softly enough for only her to hear.
His hand then attempted to snake its way down, not to her waist as before, but to her hand. If she allowed, his fingers were going to entwine with her, before giving it a soft squeeze. He knew he had the habit of doing that, but this time, it was out of desperation. Something that grounded himself, it was one of the techniques he heard about, to recognize things going on around you. That way everything going on in your head, no matter how faced it raced, slowed down to a grinding halt.
That’s why he looked back between the two teachers. In their own way, they seemed to be grateful for each other. Maero still got that strange feeling from Yotohime, but Coach Knight, something about him seemed more human despite the cybernetics dancing across his skin. Not that it mattered, what did is that he got out of there without seeming like an idiot, or someone trying to cover something up.
Maero went to leave, but stopped for a moment, his attention fixed on Knight.
To the both of them it likely seemed normal. Maero was always the quiet and respectful student when attending the Academy. He never spoke out of turn, never acted out or did anything stupid, just stayed to himself. If anything, seeing him actually interact with someone, let alone at a place like this? That had been the strangest thing of all to them.
He gave a slow bow of his head as he said his goodbyes before moving. His footsteps carried him toward the bathrooms as he guided Trinity with him. The two were going to weave throughout the gathering masses of souls who wished for just an instance of Jennie’s attention. He didn’t necessarily blame them, but his focus wasn’t on her at all, just getting away for a moment. If he got away, able to stay in a quiet place for just a second, he’d be okay.
When they arrived at the restrooms there was a small hallway that separated the men and women. Maero stepped in between them, pulling Trinity in with him, before letting go of her hand. He turned to look at her, his suave facade fading for a moment, allowing her to see the man who had certainly seen an old ghost. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, his chest rose and fell faster than it should for someone who was just walking a few dozen steps, and his pupils had dilated.
Several ideas came across his mind as to what to actually say. None of them landed, at least, to him. Did he tell her that he was sorry he seemed like a weirdo? Or that he tried to hold her hand as if he were her man? Explain why he was staring at people dealing from across the room like he had been caught up in some romcom romance where love at the scene where love at first sight struck? He shook his head, before his voice before speaking quietly, his voice barely able to be heard against the music whose BPM was nothing compared to his heart in his chest.
With that Maero stepped inside the bathroom. He immediately threw off his jacket, letting it land on the black marble countertop, before turning on the water. The faucet sprang to life like as it began to fill up the sink like a hot spring. Except this time, the water had been cold, a fact discovered as Maero cupped his hands together and splashed his face. He did it a few times, each handful colder than the last, sending shivers down his spine.
His breath shuddered, one hand falling down to grip the edge of the countertop, the other running through the hair that cascaded down the front of his face. Maero then took a deep breath, his heart still pounding, as he looked up. Immediately, his eyes caught the mirror, staring at the reflection that he saw. Despite everything, the fear coursing through him, the paranoia eating at his mind, the anxieties that consumed his soul.
Despite it all, it was still him.
