(it's because he is. he does think that some things are maybe not meant to be fixed - he wasn't worth the trouble everyone went through for him, but since they have, since he is fixed, he might as well believe in what other people installed in him. to not give up on anyone, anything, through blood and tears and whatever it takes.
TYPING... is horrifying, though, when he's waiting for that kind of answer. never has a cigarette been smoked so fast.)
... thank you.
i do, too.
it's... not easy, i can imagine that. i know the fact that i am cured doesn't heal you. i'll do whatever you need.
[Shaking hands pause there, and part of him revels in the understatement, mirthlessly. It's not easy. It's the furthest thing in the world from easy, and for just a sliver of a moment, a surprising temper flashes in his chest. The urge to recklessly say something he'll regret, not so unlike when he was affected by corruption. The anger is at a slow simmer, but now it spikes. Of course it's not easy.
The moment passes, leaving him hollowed out, empty.
A sharp vulnerability lances through him as he reads and rereads the last parts of that message. The crossroads is clear, an intersection of multiple choices. He can dismiss it all, or he can tell the truth.
(each message comes with pauses, and mikey is sure that, in one of these pauses, an answer might get lost, it may not come.
he misses him. he has been missing yu ever since he told him he'd see him at home, and perhaps, even before that. he's been missing him ever since he decided to leave, months prior, as he slowly started to close off. he hates this with every fiber of his being.)
[The hollowing-out that follows anger, the fear that pairs with vulnerability -- those are somewhat foreign, but manageable, really. Unique enough that dealing with them feels like a challenge to take on, rather than a burden or a fresh pain.
It's now, right now, this very moment, when everything becomes too crushing. The weight of devastating sadness he'd been keeping at bay crashes down around him, breaking under the weight of that question. He's so shaken he has to put his tablet down, puts his face in his hands. Remembering to breathe is hard, and while he bites back the more intense urges spurred on by his emotional response, he still feels them: the threat of tears stinging behind his eyelids, the dull panic squeezing his heart. How can he ask something like that? What gives him the right?
Answers work through his mind in a flurry, frantic and urgent, at odds with one another. Yes. No. I can't be around you. I can't look at you. I miss you. I wish you'd never left. I wish you had never come back. I wish it could be different.
He doesn't say any of it. He can't. He can't.
It takes a while, several minutes at least, for him to respond. Several minutes of pacing, of pressing his fingers to his brow, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries so hard just to rationalize yes and reinforce no. Finally:]
(yu is not the only one whose brain is scrambling to make any sense of anything. manjiro knows that this isn't exactly the best course of action, but they won't know what they need if they don't try anything. he's mortified, to say the least. last he saw yu, he recognized the same look takemichi had given him when he first saw mikey in aldrip. the anxiety, the fear, the yearning, and the fact that the person in front of him wasn't a good enough reason for any of it. how mind-bobbling it must have been.
back then, manjiro was ignorant, and he chose to remain so. perhaps if he had asked, most of these could be avoided - or it could never have happened. that's the funny thing about time. something, as small as it seems, changes absolutely everything. a toy. a moment. a feeling. a thought.
which is why, scared as he is, he's facing it. he won't know what to do until yu is right in front of him, but he's going to try everything he can.
... including cooking. when yu arrives in the dojo, the characteristic smell of burning food drags through the air, and he is able to find manjiro where he said he was. his long hair in a ponytail, sweatpants, a large black shirt and his hand pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief. he's like, what, 30 on the inside, and he can't make a freaking omelette, SEVERAL LIVES HE HAS LIVED AND HE CAN'T MAKE AN OMELETTE. it's burned to shit, but at least, this time, it's not actually on fire.)
Yu knows that. Something deep in his core, some little kernel of intuition, deeply understands that this is a dangerous situation he's walking himself into. Something he can't come back from. Rationally, logically, he knows that there's only a very slim chance Mikey would try to hurt him, at this point. But that's not something he's worried about, honestly. He's more worried about--
soft memories, nostalgia, natsukashii-- a soft bed and a warm embrace-- the fondness of returning to a home that's not empty;
never empty;
full of l--
The dojo comes into view just then, exactly the same as he remembers it, and the feeling within him breaks, just a bit. All of those memories tarnished by his own experience, left to decay because he can no longer bear to tend to them. He hesitates twice, during this journey, the first time at the dojo gate.
The second... here, at the door to the kitchen, as if the doorway can act as a barrier, a safety. It's neither of those things, and yet, here is where he stands, going no further.]
... hey.
[His heart is pounding; it's hard to breathe. If not for that, if not for the panic trying its hardest to grip his entire body, maybe he'd have something more lively to say.]
(he's still trying to save the omelette when yu arrives, trying to cut the pieces that are burned, but that's pretty much most of the omelette. he's gonna have to do it from scratch all over again, and that's what he was about to do when he hears yu's voice, his hand hovering on the trash bin before he inhales a little, as a way to ground.
he wishes his memories were less tangible. an irrational part of him expected yu to be by the table, near the counter, somewhere close, already putting on the apron as he tended to do. the way they were, this kitchen a spot of relaxation, to talk about their day - now, yu's voice sounds so meek to manjiro's ears. forget the omelette, he can pull something from the takeout leftovers he has in the kitchen. he doesn't even know if yu would want to eat in his company, to begin with.
and then he turns, to have those memories shattered by the way yu's body seems to refuse to come closer, like he's still petrified by grief, by sorrow. this is the worst.)
... Hey, Yuchin. Tried to make you something to eat, didn't work out, but I got... Cake.
(because that's pretty much what he eats. that hasn't changed.
what did is how there's a pool of tears in the corner of his eyes, before he sits by the counter, atop his hands. it's as if he was keeping them to himself, an attempt to show yu he can't attack.
[Dots connect as he observes the scene, even before Mikey confirms what he suspected--
... And the most maddening part is how his heart wants to open at the very thought, understanding the full picture of this as a peace offering, as a continued offering, the other boy's way of reaching out, trying to bridge the gap that's formed between them. An attempt to heal the rift. That may be the part that hurts the most, because right now, Yu isn't sure -- can it be healed at all? Will there ever be a time when he sets foot inside the dojo again? He feels nauseous at the very thought, right now.
But the reality is that Mikey tried. Is trying. Is making every effort, and he can't ignore that.]
...Thank you. But I'm, [his voice wavers a bit. He clears his throat and continues.] I'm fine.
[And here is the source of that waver: the understanding that he's not actually fine, but that in the technicality of the phrasing and the context, there is truth. It's a polite way of saying he's not sure he could bear to eat anything, right now. Not sure he could even keep it down. All the same, Yu is far from fine, right now. As ever, he's put together with meticulous attention to detail: not a hair out of place, not a crease or a wrinkle thanks to the care he takes with his things. But there are shadows beneath his eyes and his expression is conflicted, a bit lost, as if he doesn't know what to do.
The silence that stretches between them feels unnatural. Tense. Uncomfortable. He struggles to break it, falling so easily into the quietness of his early days.]
You...changed your hair, [he puts forth, a peace offering in the guise of an observation. An attempt.]
(there's so much he wishes he could tell yu. his life is so different than what it had been - shinichiro is alive. emma is alive. izana is with them. his dream came true, after so much pain and loss. he didn't have a future when he was here, couldn't imagine doing anything other than what he was doing - but now, he has a space of his own. a career, a new dream, he's got to see the people he loves survive, live their own beautiful lives with manjiro and takemichi on the background, making sure events wouldn't repeat.
years. years of working so hard.
he can't even tell him that, it feels-- wrong. like he's undeserving of it, of having joy for once, when he left this mess behind.
the tears don't fall, he can't cry like that, he wouldn't, but there's a good reason why his eyes are not looking at yu at the moment, instead looking at his feet. he won't be able to keep it in if he does look up.
that's the last thing yu needs right now.)
... Yeah, I ended up dying as a bet, and then I decided I was only gonna cut it when I beat my racing record. That's why it's that long. I'm a professional bike racer now.
It's not a gamble I recommend, [he says easily, maybe a little too easily, with grimness in his tone.
Maybe it should make him feel better, that Mikey seems so cavalier about life and death. Maybe it really doesn't mean anything -- especially here. But somehow it just makes that surprising sliver of temper flare more acutely, like the sting of an infected wound. It makes it all feel worse, because it's never been so light for him. He's watched his friends take more blows for him than anyone ever should. He's held their lives in his hand and nothing has ever been as terrifying as knowing he could lose them. Death means something -- at least to him.
And yet.
Yu's eyes are on the other boy, studying him as if he's a stranger. In some ways, maybe he is, sort of. It's the shine of tears at the corner of Mikey's eyes that holds his attention, and the sharpness of anger gives way to a dull ache, a painful combination of sadness and longing and regret. His hand feels like it's not his own in its desire to reach out, to thread through that black hair, to wipe tears away from those eyes--
... He doesn't move. He can't, still frozen in place in the doorway, his stomach in knots. He exhales shakily, his hands tense at his sides as he leans against the doorframe.]
That sounds like a good path, for you. [Those words are said with every degree of sincerity, and even, for a moment, a sliver of fondness. That fondness passes, but only with reluctance.]
(dying is easy. a quick death is all one could ask for. for the deceased, it matters very little - the issue is what happens with those who can't let go. manjiro's life was grief for a long, long time, and even before that, his own death made everything crumble apart. the curse was his fault, in many ways, a result of how much love can be dangerous in many others. how it blinds in despair.
he meant 'dye', but he gets what he said later, only to be hit with even more regret. maybe he should not have dropped out of school, would have taught him better, but it's out. he takes a breath, his eyes making the mistake of looking up. those eyebags. the way his breath shakes. the fondness that he hears ever so briefly in yu's voice.
he didn't even think he'd ever hear it again.
he's going to hate himself for this, tremble awake in anger over the fact that the tears do escape his eyes as he processes what exactly is going on here. he should be strong, yu needs him to be, not meek and sobbing as he finds himself. manjiro hops out of the counter, turning immediately so yu can't see it.)
... I... I can't see you like this, Yuchin. Sorry I made you come.
--a mess, really. The kind of mess he never wanted anyone to see, a lonely child wrapped up in layers of expectations hoisted on him by his family, by his friends, by the entire town of Inaba. Fate. Izanami. And he's letting everyone down, he knows, by caving to it; letting them down by acknowledging that he can't always be alright and nothing to worry about, because sometimes he's just not okay -- like now. He realizes it in this exact moment, that he's absolutely not okay.
What a time to figure it out.
His heart cracks at the first fall of a tear. When he's suddenly talking to Mikey's back-- it's almost painful enough that he can't speak.]
You didn't make me. [His voice is all softness. And yet, he can't shed the title of Leader any more than he can shed his own skin; he feels a compulsion to make it okay. To make it all make sense. And so--]
(none of these tears are for himself. he'll feel for his own side of things later, much, much later. right now, they fall because he can't make it better. both of them have always been leveled, both leaders and with each other, just people. it's not like that anymore, with both trying so hard to be better for the other, when nothing is alright.
the tears fall because he sees yu's stance. he sees how hesitant, how it lacks composure and it's so deeply contrary to who yu really is. did he... ruin him? his spirit has always been unbreakable, and it feels like anything but. he's not a pretty crier, which is also a very good reason why his back is turned. he's sobbing, his heart is breaking, and he can't, won't, let yu see that. he doesn't want yu to feel bad for feeling bad - on top of it being strictly mikey's fault that this is all happening.
he feels so weak, and he never liked that feeling.)
... Still. You look like-- utter shit, you know. I just... I want to hug you, listen to everything you might want to tell me. I want to make it right. And you're terrified of me now.
... When I came to, you were already gone, Yuchin.
[You look like utter shit. Yu exhales, a few steps short of a chuckle, breathy and mirthless.]
I can imagine.
[It's not a surprise in the least; he's slept better the last few nights, but certainly not well, and he's certainly slipped a bit on taking care of himself. A lot of people probably wouldn't notice, but...of course Mikey does.
His brows pinch as he listens to those words, every single one, hovering in the doorway as if there's a physical barrier there, something keeping him out. It's not; the barrier is only in his head, but even as he listens to Mikey's sobs, he can't bring himself to come closer. His feet are frozen in place.
Is it Mikey that he's terrified of? It's hard to say. It's his own mind that won't let him come closer.
He...shouldn't have come.]
... I woke up on the stairs, after... [everything. This time, he does manage a huff of a laugh, dry and humorless.] It didn't even count as a loss, in the end.
(he can't, not really. not through mikey's eyes. what he lacks in formal education, he definitely makes out with how he processes the world around him. in the story his brain makes, those eyebags signify more than sleepless nights - they tell him a story of someone who's too hurt to close them. yu's always been too much of an overthinker, manjiiro can't imagine the speed his mind must be going per second. those exhales sing him a tale of a laugh that died in yu's throat, right where mikey squeezed not too long ago.
like he still is.
there's no force on earth that will make him turn, much like yu's own mind that refuses to allow him to come closer.)
... Because this place fucking sucks.
(it was a loss. no one could have seen reason.)
... I just wished I was home, so I couldn't hurt you again... And then I was.
(and there's so much he wants to say. and none that he feels like he has the right to. it doesn't matter.)
... You sent that text, so I figure you do have things you wanna say to me. I'm all ears, Yuchin.
[After a long period of time, evidently, with memories intact. Yu has to wonder...if he didn't remember anything, if Mikey looked at him like a stranger, would that hurt more, or less? Because he feels the other boy's scrutiny even if his gaze is averted; the measure of what could possibly cause his tears to fall is perfectly, terribly clear. Mikey knows him, the other boy has always seen him more than he'd like, and Yu isn't doing spectacularly, right now; he knows it, Yosuke knows it, everyone seems to know it, leaving Yu feeling seen, exposed, vulnerable. Very clearly, evidently, factually, Mikey knows the part he played in all of it, too. Feels remorse, regret. What happened very clearly matters to him.
And yet, Yu cannot will himself to take another step closer.
Mikey is right to think the wheels in his mind will not stop turning, over and over, stalling out and stumbling over the question of what's wrong with me? Because this isn't the first time something terrible has happened in Aldrip, not even the first time something has happened to him. Shouldn't he be able to move on...?]
... I never meant to send it, [he admits, softly, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.] After I wrote it all, I wasn't sure I was ready to...so I tried to delete it.
[In spite of how his hands apparently felt, he's still not sure he was ready to send it. Another pang of regret twists in his chest. He shouldn't have come.]
(he never asked for any of it. he didn't ever ask to be so loved it destroys people - shinichiro, takemichi, yu. dead because of him. for him, in some cases. he adores just as much as he is adored, but isn't all of it a little too much?
he had many, many years to get over it. he had other things in mind, with all the work that came with knowing too much, and trying to make sure that knowledge doesn't come to fruition. many years of working into feeling worthy of it, even when he was so weak.
right now, he feels the weakest.)
... It's out either way.
(he lets a sniff, blocking his breathing not to let out a loud sob. he's trying to keep it together - crying has never suited him.
that's why his voice sounds so hoarse when he speaks. because he can't take another breath without it trembling.)
[None of them did. No one asks to be here. And yet-- here they are, the distance between them in the kitchen somehow spanning acres, miles-- as if each step required to bridge the gap would cross continents and worlds, entire galaxies. It's no distance at all. For Yu, stalled in the doorway, it's too far. Too much.
So, too, is there a part of him that is so, so glad to see Mikey again. To know that he's okay. To know that things got better.
A heart split in two: one half that wishes for less -- and one for more.
Yu finds that those words are the hardest to hear -- I'm listening. There is something so difficult about being the focus of that sort of listening; the idea that he must have some deeper truth to speak out feels almost more intimidating than the idea of crossing the threshold of the kitchen, at least for a moment. But the strain in Mikey's voice, the faint hitch, the recognition of that desperate attempt to keep it all together... His chest aches at the sound.
In his mind, that sliver of love, of care, reaches out, fingers threading through the other boy's hair, arms going around shoulders in a desperate embrace;
The doorway feels cold and constricting. His feet remain frozen. I came because I wanted to. It's so hard to say why.]
... How would you fix it? What would you do? [He doesn't look to Mikey for answers, here; the other boy doesn't have them, he knows. But he looks for advice, for suggestions, maybe. One thought, any thought, coming from outside of himself.]
(unfortunately, holding his breath can't be done forever, so eventually, he exhales, only to be unable to breathe properly - a sniffle, one that he still tries to hide because... does he even have the right to be crying? even if he didn't have all his setbacks about it, is it even okay for him to be the one to shed tears over this? he's managing, at least, to calm down in the pause between those two phrases, a breath, another breath, and he opens the tap to splash some of the water on his face. dissolve some of the salt that is stuck against the fair skin of his cheeks, calm his eyes for a second. it still doesn't make him turn, to feel that some of that is out -
but the question does. it's not a flowy movement, it's met with much hesitance as he slowly does, breathing, controlling what he can control, composure - leadership is a concept he doesn't find himself in anymore, but the experience will never not be a part of who he is.
with red skin and poofy eyes, manjiro finds himself pulling a chair on the table, legs crossed as if it were a cushion, and he takes a moment to consider what has been posed to him.)
... Honestly? From experience? I can't fix it. We can't fix what broke without traces of what was.
(a harsh reality, but a reality nonetheless.)
And aside from that, I'm not exactly the same person you loved once.
(past tense. he refuses to believe otherwise.)
What I can do, then, is rebuild. Redo. Spend the time I have in Aldrip, however long this fucking place decides to keep me, showing the person I love and hurt the most that I'm better.
(and here's where his gaze drops.)
... That said, you don't have to take me up on it. I've forgiven similar without a blink of an eye, and I've waged war and held grudges for much, much less. I don't have the right to tell you what to do, and my word doesn't do anything anyway.
[Quiet, patient, unmoving; Yu watches Mikey go through the motions to pull himself together with a feeling in his chest that he cannot completely place. There are traces of yearning, of guilt, sadness; he's not the type of person who likes to watch people suffer, and for a moment, he wonders if he should leave. Maybe this was too soon -- maybe he should have thought more about why he might be coming here. Mikey spurs him into impulsiveness, sometimes. Maybe he should have used more restraint.
Ever a creature of composure and intentionality, Yu only realized he spoke the words that way, phrased them that desperately, when the other boy rearranges them and serves them back to him. It makes sense; you don't fix something like this, you move past it. You go on. And that's so much harder to do, because you can't just bandage a wound like this and let it heal.]
I know, [he says softly, but somehow -- that doesn't feel as sad. That this Mikey is different, in some ways...he could tell the moment their eyes met, a few weeks ago. And Yu isn't the same, either. He doesn't love this version of himself, a wreck carefully wrapped up with scraps of manufactured equanimity, but he has to at least tolerate himself until he can pull his way through it.
Rebuild.]
I can see it. How much better you are. [A flicker of something works into his expression, something soft and approving, like he can see the ways Mikey's grown.] So...you don't have anything to prove to me.
[It's all him, at the end of the day. His mind being reactionary, instead of logical. Something deep within him that won't let go. And to be honest, for a moment, he almost wishes he did have a Shadow, right now. Maybe that experience would give him some insight, some hint at how to sort himself out.
Maybe...maybe he just needs to be honest about it.]
I can't tell me what to do, either. It's like my body isn't listening to my mind.
(better in some ways, perhaps worse in others. he's never going to be perfect, no matter how many times he goes back in time, no matter what he does, because he's just a person - regardless of whatever status, whatever titles, whatever adoration that may be put upon his shoulders. that has never been the issue - all are flawed, after all.
what has always been mikey's downfall is the weight on his shoulders never being fully shared, manjiro never really asking anyone to help carry it. he still bottles the storms that he stumbles upon in his mind, and leaves himself behind in the downpour for others to thrive, but he won't drown. he learned to ask for someone to be shelter, even if most of his core remains the same.
this is why they're talking, to begin with. it's gut-wrenching, and if he's not a leader, but speaking as a person, this is the best he can do. it's not perfect, but it is better - isn't that the point? yu can see it, he says, but seeing and really experiencing are different things. they won't know until the next time this place shoves them into discord, or next time mikey has to use his fists.
... but he recognizes that. mind-body dichotomy. this is why, foolishly, he once believed that the impulses he felt weren't all that problematic - because they allowed him to do whatever his mind was too hesitant to do. turns out, that isn't always a good thing. this doesn't... seem like that.
so, he's standing, almost too slow, as to not startle the other, steps equally calculated until he's closer enough that he has to look up to face yu. his hand, small, callous from fighting, but yet ever so gracious raises with its palm up.
[He's not ready. He's here. Yu watches with breath held in his lungs as the other boy unfolds from the chair, bridging the distance between them as if it's nothing -- as if it's everything --
How can everything feel so similar and yet so different all the same? They can both feel it, he imagines, the heartbreak waiting at the end of that slow march; Mikey holds out his hand, but what's really there is his heart, vulnerable in a way he never really allowed himself to be before. Waiting.
Yu doesn't move, his hands frozen at his sides, clutched into fists. He doesn't release his breath until he's almost forced, his body begging for air-- again-- and his heart lurches in his chest as his mind does its damndest to go back there, to remind him of danger, death;
The exhale is shaky, his throat thick with words left unsaid, the memory of hands around it.
But Mikey holds out this olive branch with a patience that feels like both a balm and a devastating blow, and he looks up at Yu with gentleness, understanding, affection-- The crack forming is little more than a hairline fracture, splitting through anxiety that feels programmed into his mind, and it's not gone; he's not sure if it'll ever go away, really. But it lessens its grip and for a second, just one, he feels like he's no longer bound by it.
He takes Mikey's hand, gives it a small, gentle squeeze.]
(he missed this angle - one he can only see when he's close enough to. he'll tell yu how he missed him even before he left, if yu will ever want to hear what was going through his mind at the time. a time when he was behind a cloudy glass, going through motions, with a smile plastered on his face, as he withered inside the maze the curse made. a time he hasn't thought about in so long, and yet, it's been more and more all he can think about as of late.
a time he can't go back to - and it's something he's anxious about now that there's skin touching his own. this whole time-travel thing works simply based on despair, of yearning for how things could be different, when two people are anguished and urging. it's not manjiro's case. if he went back, he'd miss all these moments they built. they won't have the opportunity to allow something beautiful to bloom from misery. still, it's the reason why his breath hitches, body reacting on its own to what his mind knows won't happen.
two peas in a pod, huh.
but the tension escapes him in a quiet laugh, as his other hand settles on top of yu's, large doll-like eyes scanning him from toe all the way to his head--)
Fuck, since I've been looking at you from a distance since I got back, I kinda forgot how tall you are compared to me.
Part of him hates that he's feeling it again right now, that he's letting that warmth seep into his bones. Part of him can't stand the thought of going through this again, wants to push it all away, wondering how it could possibly be worth it to let anything in. It would hurt less, he knows, if he let go right now. It would hurt less to put a wall between them.
But he can't. Even if he wanted to -- that's not who he is anymore.
So he stands in the doorway with Mikey's hand in his, feeling warmth flood his veins and wondering, with trepidation and without reservation, what the future might hold. What pain, what joy--
He smiles at that remark, and he means it. He squeezes the other boy's hand, a silent admittance that he, too, has missed this view. Has missed this. Has missed him. Yu has never been one for saying these things aloud, and now is no different in that regard. But he acknowledges through the warmth of clasped hands that he's ready, or will be ready, to move on. To try again. To move forward.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
EXPIATION
no subject
TYPING... is horrifying, though, when he's waiting for that kind of answer. never has a cigarette been smoked so fast.)
... thank you.
i do, too.
it's... not easy, i can imagine that. i know the fact that i am cured doesn't heal you. i'll do whatever you need.
no subject
[Shaking hands pause there, and part of him revels in the understatement, mirthlessly. It's not easy. It's the furthest thing in the world from easy, and for just a sliver of a moment, a surprising temper flashes in his chest. The urge to recklessly say something he'll regret, not so unlike when he was affected by corruption. The anger is at a slow simmer, but now it spikes. Of course it's not easy.
The moment passes, leaving him hollowed out, empty.
A sharp vulnerability lances through him as he reads and rereads the last parts of that message. The crossroads is clear, an intersection of multiple choices. He can dismiss it all, or he can tell the truth.
In the end, as always, truth wins out.]
I don't know what I need.
no subject
he misses him. he has been missing yu ever since he told him he'd see him at home, and perhaps, even before that. he's been missing him ever since he decided to leave, months prior, as he slowly started to close off. he hates this with every fiber of his being.)
... i don't know what to do, either, yuchin.
... do you want to see me?
no subject
It's now, right now, this very moment, when everything becomes too crushing. The weight of devastating sadness he'd been keeping at bay crashes down around him, breaking under the weight of that question. He's so shaken he has to put his tablet down, puts his face in his hands. Remembering to breathe is hard, and while he bites back the more intense urges spurred on by his emotional response, he still feels them: the threat of tears stinging behind his eyelids, the dull panic squeezing his heart. How can he ask something like that? What gives him the right?
Answers work through his mind in a flurry, frantic and urgent, at odds with one another. Yes. No. I can't be around you. I can't look at you. I miss you. I wish you'd never left. I wish you had never come back. I wish it could be different.
He doesn't say any of it. He can't. He can't.
It takes a while, several minutes at least, for him to respond. Several minutes of pacing, of pressing his fingers to his brow, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries so hard just to rationalize yes and reinforce no. Finally:]
I think I do.
no subject
(yu is not the only one whose brain is scrambling to make any sense of anything. manjiro knows that this isn't exactly the best course of action, but they won't know what they need if they don't try anything. he's mortified, to say the least. last he saw yu, he recognized the same look takemichi had given him when he first saw mikey in aldrip. the anxiety, the fear, the yearning, and the fact that the person in front of him wasn't a good enough reason for any of it. how mind-bobbling it must have been.
back then, manjiro was ignorant, and he chose to remain so. perhaps if he had asked, most of these could be avoided - or it could never have happened. that's the funny thing about time. something, as small as it seems, changes absolutely everything. a toy. a moment. a feeling. a thought.
which is why, scared as he is, he's facing it. he won't know what to do until yu is right in front of him, but he's going to try everything he can.
... including cooking. when yu arrives in the dojo, the characteristic smell of burning food drags through the air, and he is able to find manjiro where he said he was. his long hair in a ponytail, sweatpants, a large black shirt and his hand pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief. he's like, what, 30 on the inside, and he can't make a freaking omelette, SEVERAL LIVES HE HAS LIVED AND HE CAN'T MAKE AN OMELETTE. it's burned to shit, but at least, this time, it's not actually on fire.)
no subject
Yu knows that. Something deep in his core, some little kernel of intuition, deeply understands that this is a dangerous situation he's walking himself into. Something he can't come back from. Rationally, logically, he knows that there's only a very slim chance Mikey would try to hurt him, at this point. But that's not something he's worried about, honestly. He's more worried about--
soft memories, nostalgia, natsukashii-- a soft bed and a warm embrace-- the fondness of returning to a home that's not empty;
never empty;
full of l--
The dojo comes into view just then, exactly the same as he remembers it, and the feeling within him breaks, just a bit. All of those memories tarnished by his own experience, left to decay because he can no longer bear to tend to them. He hesitates twice, during this journey, the first time at the dojo gate.
The second... here, at the door to the kitchen, as if the doorway can act as a barrier, a safety. It's neither of those things, and yet, here is where he stands, going no further.]
... hey.
[His heart is pounding; it's hard to breathe. If not for that, if not for the panic trying its hardest to grip his entire body, maybe he'd have something more lively to say.]
no subject
he wishes his memories were less tangible. an irrational part of him expected yu to be by the table, near the counter, somewhere close, already putting on the apron as he tended to do. the way they were, this kitchen a spot of relaxation, to talk about their day - now, yu's voice sounds so meek to manjiro's ears. forget the omelette, he can pull something from the takeout leftovers he has in the kitchen. he doesn't even know if yu would want to eat in his company, to begin with.
and then he turns, to have those memories shattered by the way yu's body seems to refuse to come closer, like he's still petrified by grief, by sorrow. this is the worst.)
... Hey, Yuchin. Tried to make you something to eat, didn't work out, but I got... Cake.
(because that's pretty much what he eats. that hasn't changed.
what did is how there's a pool of tears in the corner of his eyes, before he sits by the counter, atop his hands. it's as if he was keeping them to himself, an attempt to show yu he can't attack.
safety device.)
no subject
... And the most maddening part is how his heart wants to open at the very thought, understanding the full picture of this as a peace offering, as a continued offering, the other boy's way of reaching out, trying to bridge the gap that's formed between them. An attempt to heal the rift. That may be the part that hurts the most, because right now, Yu isn't sure -- can it be healed at all? Will there ever be a time when he sets foot inside the dojo again? He feels nauseous at the very thought, right now.
But the reality is that Mikey tried. Is trying. Is making every effort, and he can't ignore that.]
...Thank you. But I'm, [his voice wavers a bit. He clears his throat and continues.] I'm fine.
[And here is the source of that waver: the understanding that he's not actually fine, but that in the technicality of the phrasing and the context, there is truth. It's a polite way of saying he's not sure he could bear to eat anything, right now. Not sure he could even keep it down. All the same, Yu is far from fine, right now. As ever, he's put together with meticulous attention to detail: not a hair out of place, not a crease or a wrinkle thanks to the care he takes with his things. But there are shadows beneath his eyes and his expression is conflicted, a bit lost, as if he doesn't know what to do.
The silence that stretches between them feels unnatural. Tense. Uncomfortable. He struggles to break it, falling so easily into the quietness of his early days.]
You...changed your hair, [he puts forth, a peace offering in the guise of an observation. An attempt.]
no subject
years. years of working so hard.
he can't even tell him that, it feels-- wrong. like he's undeserving of it, of having joy for once, when he left this mess behind.
the tears don't fall, he can't cry like that, he wouldn't, but there's a good reason why his eyes are not looking at yu at the moment, instead looking at his feet. he won't be able to keep it in if he does look up.
that's the last thing yu needs right now.)
... Yeah, I ended up dying as a bet, and then I decided I was only gonna cut it when I beat my racing record. That's why it's that long. I'm a professional bike racer now.
no subject
Maybe it should make him feel better, that Mikey seems so cavalier about life and death. Maybe it really doesn't mean anything -- especially here. But somehow it just makes that surprising sliver of temper flare more acutely, like the sting of an infected wound. It makes it all feel worse, because it's never been so light for him. He's watched his friends take more blows for him than anyone ever should. He's held their lives in his hand and nothing has ever been as terrifying as knowing he could lose them. Death means something -- at least to him.
And yet.
Yu's eyes are on the other boy, studying him as if he's a stranger. In some ways, maybe he is, sort of. It's the shine of tears at the corner of Mikey's eyes that holds his attention, and the sharpness of anger gives way to a dull ache, a painful combination of sadness and longing and regret. His hand feels like it's not his own in its desire to reach out, to thread through that black hair, to wipe tears away from those eyes--
... He doesn't move. He can't, still frozen in place in the doorway, his stomach in knots. He exhales shakily, his hands tense at his sides as he leans against the doorframe.]
That sounds like a good path, for you. [Those words are said with every degree of sincerity, and even, for a moment, a sliver of fondness. That fondness passes, but only with reluctance.]
a typo that made it delicious HDKSHFK
he meant 'dye', but he gets what he said later, only to be hit with even more regret. maybe he should not have dropped out of school, would have taught him better, but it's out. he takes a breath, his eyes making the mistake of looking up. those eyebags. the way his breath shakes. the fondness that he hears ever so briefly in yu's voice.
he didn't even think he'd ever hear it again.
he's going to hate himself for this, tremble awake in anger over the fact that the tears do escape his eyes as he processes what exactly is going on here. he should be strong, yu needs him to be, not meek and sobbing as he finds himself. manjiro hops out of the counter, turning immediately so yu can't see it.)
... I... I can't see you like this, Yuchin. Sorry I made you come.
no subject
--a mess, really. The kind of mess he never wanted anyone to see, a lonely child wrapped up in layers of expectations hoisted on him by his family, by his friends, by the entire town of Inaba. Fate. Izanami. And he's letting everyone down, he knows, by caving to it; letting them down by acknowledging that he can't always be alright and nothing to worry about, because sometimes he's just not okay -- like now. He realizes it in this exact moment, that he's absolutely not okay.
What a time to figure it out.
His heart cracks at the first fall of a tear. When he's suddenly talking to Mikey's back-- it's almost painful enough that he can't speak.]
You didn't make me. [His voice is all softness. And yet, he can't shed the title of Leader any more than he can shed his own skin; he feels a compulsion to make it okay. To make it all make sense. And so--]
... I came because I wanted to, Mikey.
[--he has to be honest.]
no subject
the tears fall because he sees yu's stance. he sees how hesitant, how it lacks composure and it's so deeply contrary to who yu really is. did he... ruin him? his spirit has always been unbreakable, and it feels like anything but. he's not a pretty crier, which is also a very good reason why his back is turned. he's sobbing, his heart is breaking, and he can't, won't, let yu see that. he doesn't want yu to feel bad for feeling bad - on top of it being strictly mikey's fault that this is all happening.
he feels so weak, and he never liked that feeling.)
... Still. You look like-- utter shit, you know. I just... I want to hug you, listen to everything you might want to tell me. I want to make it right. And you're terrified of me now.
... When I came to, you were already gone, Yuchin.
no subject
I can imagine.
[It's not a surprise in the least; he's slept better the last few nights, but certainly not well, and he's certainly slipped a bit on taking care of himself. A lot of people probably wouldn't notice, but...of course Mikey does.
His brows pinch as he listens to those words, every single one, hovering in the doorway as if there's a physical barrier there, something keeping him out. It's not; the barrier is only in his head, but even as he listens to Mikey's sobs, he can't bring himself to come closer. His feet are frozen in place.
Is it Mikey that he's terrified of? It's hard to say. It's his own mind that won't let him come closer.
He...shouldn't have come.]
... I woke up on the stairs, after... [everything. This time, he does manage a huff of a laugh, dry and humorless.] It didn't even count as a loss, in the end.
no subject
like he still is.
there's no force on earth that will make him turn, much like yu's own mind that refuses to allow him to come closer.)
... Because this place fucking sucks.
(it was a loss. no one could have seen reason.)
... I just wished I was home, so I couldn't hurt you again... And then I was.
(and there's so much he wants to say. and none that he feels like he has the right to. it doesn't matter.)
... You sent that text, so I figure you do have things you wanna say to me. I'm all ears, Yuchin.
no subject
[After a long period of time, evidently, with memories intact. Yu has to wonder...if he didn't remember anything, if Mikey looked at him like a stranger, would that hurt more, or less? Because he feels the other boy's scrutiny even if his gaze is averted; the measure of what could possibly cause his tears to fall is perfectly, terribly clear. Mikey knows him, the other boy has always seen him more than he'd like, and Yu isn't doing spectacularly, right now; he knows it, Yosuke knows it, everyone seems to know it, leaving Yu feeling seen, exposed, vulnerable. Very clearly, evidently, factually, Mikey knows the part he played in all of it, too. Feels remorse, regret. What happened very clearly matters to him.
And yet, Yu cannot will himself to take another step closer.
Mikey is right to think the wheels in his mind will not stop turning, over and over, stalling out and stumbling over the question of what's wrong with me? Because this isn't the first time something terrible has happened in Aldrip, not even the first time something has happened to him. Shouldn't he be able to move on...?]
... I never meant to send it, [he admits, softly, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.] After I wrote it all, I wasn't sure I was ready to...so I tried to delete it.
[In spite of how his hands apparently felt, he's still not sure he was ready to send it. Another pang of regret twists in his chest. He shouldn't have come.]
no subject
(he never asked for any of it. he didn't ever ask to be so loved it destroys people - shinichiro, takemichi, yu. dead because of him. for him, in some cases. he adores just as much as he is adored, but isn't all of it a little too much?
he had many, many years to get over it. he had other things in mind, with all the work that came with knowing too much, and trying to make sure that knowledge doesn't come to fruition. many years of working into feeling worthy of it, even when he was so weak.
right now, he feels the weakest.)
... It's out either way.
(he lets a sniff, blocking his breathing not to let out a loud sob. he's trying to keep it together - crying has never suited him.
that's why his voice sounds so hoarse when he speaks. because he can't take another breath without it trembling.)
... I'm here. I'm listening.
no subject
[None of them did. No one asks to be here. And yet-- here they are, the distance between them in the kitchen somehow spanning acres, miles-- as if each step required to bridge the gap would cross continents and worlds, entire galaxies. It's no distance at all. For Yu, stalled in the doorway, it's too far. Too much.
So, too, is there a part of him that is so, so glad to see Mikey again. To know that he's okay. To know that things got better.
A heart split in two: one half that wishes for less -- and one for more.
Yu finds that those words are the hardest to hear -- I'm listening. There is something so difficult about being the focus of that sort of listening; the idea that he must have some deeper truth to speak out feels almost more intimidating than the idea of crossing the threshold of the kitchen, at least for a moment. But the strain in Mikey's voice, the faint hitch, the recognition of that desperate attempt to keep it all together... His chest aches at the sound.
In his mind, that sliver of love, of care, reaches out, fingers threading through the other boy's hair, arms going around shoulders in a desperate embrace;
The doorway feels cold and constricting. His feet remain frozen. I came because I wanted to. It's so hard to say why.]
... How would you fix it? What would you do? [He doesn't look to Mikey for answers, here; the other boy doesn't have them, he knows. But he looks for advice, for suggestions, maybe. One thought, any thought, coming from outside of himself.]
no subject
but the question does. it's not a flowy movement, it's met with much hesitance as he slowly does, breathing, controlling what he can control, composure - leadership is a concept he doesn't find himself in anymore, but the experience will never not be a part of who he is.
with red skin and poofy eyes, manjiro finds himself pulling a chair on the table, legs crossed as if it were a cushion, and he takes a moment to consider what has been posed to him.)
... Honestly? From experience? I can't fix it. We can't fix what broke without traces of what was.
(a harsh reality, but a reality nonetheless.)
And aside from that, I'm not exactly the same person you loved once.
(past tense. he refuses to believe otherwise.)
What I can do, then, is rebuild. Redo. Spend the time I have in Aldrip, however long this fucking place decides to keep me, showing the person I love and hurt the most that I'm better.
(and here's where his gaze drops.)
... That said, you don't have to take me up on it. I've forgiven similar without a blink of an eye, and I've waged war and held grudges for much, much less. I don't have the right to tell you what to do, and my word doesn't do anything anyway.
no subject
Ever a creature of composure and intentionality, Yu only realized he spoke the words that way, phrased them that desperately, when the other boy rearranges them and serves them back to him. It makes sense; you don't fix something like this, you move past it. You go on. And that's so much harder to do, because you can't just bandage a wound like this and let it heal.]
I know, [he says softly, but somehow -- that doesn't feel as sad. That this Mikey is different, in some ways...he could tell the moment their eyes met, a few weeks ago. And Yu isn't the same, either. He doesn't love this version of himself, a wreck carefully wrapped up with scraps of manufactured equanimity, but he has to at least tolerate himself until he can pull his way through it.
Rebuild.]
I can see it. How much better you are. [A flicker of something works into his expression, something soft and approving, like he can see the ways Mikey's grown.] So...you don't have anything to prove to me.
[It's all him, at the end of the day. His mind being reactionary, instead of logical. Something deep within him that won't let go. And to be honest, for a moment, he almost wishes he did have a Shadow, right now. Maybe that experience would give him some insight, some hint at how to sort himself out.
Maybe...maybe he just needs to be honest about it.]
I can't tell me what to do, either. It's like my body isn't listening to my mind.
no subject
what has always been mikey's downfall is the weight on his shoulders never being fully shared, manjiro never really asking anyone to help carry it. he still bottles the storms that he stumbles upon in his mind, and leaves himself behind in the downpour for others to thrive, but he won't drown. he learned to ask for someone to be shelter, even if most of his core remains the same.
this is why they're talking, to begin with. it's gut-wrenching, and if he's not a leader, but speaking as a person, this is the best he can do. it's not perfect, but it is better - isn't that the point? yu can see it, he says, but seeing and really experiencing are different things. they won't know until the next time this place shoves them into discord, or next time mikey has to use his fists.
... but he recognizes that. mind-body dichotomy. this is why, foolishly, he once believed that the impulses he felt weren't all that problematic - because they allowed him to do whatever his mind was too hesitant to do. turns out, that isn't always a good thing. this doesn't... seem like that.
so, he's standing, almost too slow, as to not startle the other, steps equally calculated until he's closer enough that he has to look up to face yu. his hand, small, callous from fighting, but yet ever so gracious raises with its palm up.
he's giving a choice.)
Then I come to you, and we start small, Yuchin.
no subject
How can everything feel so similar and yet so different all the same? They can both feel it, he imagines, the heartbreak waiting at the end of that slow march; Mikey holds out his hand, but what's really there is his heart, vulnerable in a way he never really allowed himself to be before. Waiting.
Yu doesn't move, his hands frozen at his sides, clutched into fists. He doesn't release his breath until he's almost forced, his body begging for air-- again-- and his heart lurches in his chest as his mind does its damndest to go back there, to remind him of danger, death;
The exhale is shaky, his throat thick with words left unsaid, the memory of hands around it.
But Mikey holds out this olive branch with a patience that feels like both a balm and a devastating blow, and he looks up at Yu with gentleness, understanding, affection-- The crack forming is little more than a hairline fracture, splitting through anxiety that feels programmed into his mind, and it's not gone; he's not sure if it'll ever go away, really. But it lessens its grip and for a second, just one, he feels like he's no longer bound by it.
He takes Mikey's hand, gives it a small, gentle squeeze.]
Small. I can do that.
no subject
a time he can't go back to - and it's something he's anxious about now that there's skin touching his own. this whole time-travel thing works simply based on despair, of yearning for how things could be different, when two people are anguished and urging. it's not manjiro's case. if he went back, he'd miss all these moments they built. they won't have the opportunity to allow something beautiful to bloom from misery. still, it's the reason why his breath hitches, body reacting on its own to what his mind knows won't happen.
two peas in a pod, huh.
but the tension escapes him in a quiet laugh, as his other hand settles on top of yu's, large doll-like eyes scanning him from toe all the way to his head--)
Fuck, since I've been looking at you from a distance since I got back, I kinda forgot how tall you are compared to me.
no subject
Part of him hates that he's feeling it again right now, that he's letting that warmth seep into his bones. Part of him can't stand the thought of going through this again, wants to push it all away, wondering how it could possibly be worth it to let anything in. It would hurt less, he knows, if he let go right now. It would hurt less to put a wall between them.
But he can't. Even if he wanted to -- that's not who he is anymore.
So he stands in the doorway with Mikey's hand in his, feeling warmth flood his veins and wondering, with trepidation and without reservation, what the future might hold. What pain, what joy--
He smiles at that remark, and he means it. He squeezes the other boy's hand, a silent admittance that he, too, has missed this view. Has missed this. Has missed him. Yu has never been one for saying these things aloud, and now is no different in that regard. But he acknowledges through the warmth of clasped hands that he's ready, or will be ready, to move on. To try again. To move forward.]