He’s not dressed up, which might make it easier to pick Ookurikara out from the rest of the figures. If he could feel self-conscious about the fact that multitudes of people seem to point it out as if he couldn’t hear them or feel their stares against his back, he would, but the key factor with that would have to include a lower level of apathy than he wears on his sleeve, so he doesn’t let it bother him. Well, that’s wrong, he doesn’t like the attention. But, he’s not here for them. While the person he went with scuttled off somewhere else, he takes the liberty of trying the punch.
He’s certain the look of dissatisfaction is clear on his face as he swishes it around in his mouth. He can’t place the taste exactly, but the sound of an all-too-familiar voice pulls his gaze up from the cup and he automatically searches it out. What they were laughing about, he doesn’t know, and before he can pinpoint it exactly he ends up following the sound in the general direction he heard it.
When he finally spots them his pace quickens as he swerves to and fro around the figures, all too focused on catching up to them instead of the light taps against the forms in his way.
❝ Tsurumaru, ❞ his voice raises a little louder than he’d have liked, and he notes how the other’s dressed up, stifled momentarily by how different it feels to look at him now, ❝ You’re here? ❞ he means it in a general way, though the ball is rather fitting for the way he phrases it, too.
