route_1065 | There's so much I need to say to you

Entry tags:

There's so much I need to say to you

Who:

restardom
Where: The forest off Route 35, just outside of Goldenrod.
When: December 1, the afternoon.
Summary: There's a trickster-shaped void in two people's lives. Bonding ensues.
Rating: PG?
Log:
[There are some moments when Yagyuu just doesn't want to be Yagyuu.

They say that the first stage of grief is denial. It's also arguably the one he's best at, if it's even possible to claim expertise in that sort of thing at all. Denial is comfortable, familiar; it's a mask he can wear to conceal his true feelings, which has the added bonus of relieving him of the burden of figuring out what the hell those feelings truly are in the first place. Problems are much easier to deal with when they simply aren't there. Let them go ignored, and they have no power to trouble you.

Deep down, he's pretty sure that's why Niou Masaharu managed to get under his skin the way that he did. Because even despite Yagyuu's best efforts (and were they ever the best of efforts), there was simply no ignoring him. He couldn't get rid of him. He never went away.

He's gone now.

Niou is gone and Yagyuu doesn't know how to feel about that. He could probably manage to quantify it all if he tried—there's anger, there's sadness, there's betrayal. There's regret there, too. Loneliness. Uncertainty. There's definitely a twinge of that thing he very pointedly refuses to acknowledge, because as soon as he acknowledges it then he has to do something about it, or think about it, and his life is far, far less complicated when he just leaves that thing alone. It's a conflict he doesn't want to deal with, a Pandora's box he doesn't want to open, and so he doesn't.

He doesn't know how he feels about this, but he does know how Niou would feel. They couldn't do the Switch if they couldn't read each other that well, not to the degree of perfection that such a trick always demanded of them, that they demanded of themselves. And most of the time, the things that Niou would feel are the ones that Yagyuu wants to, free of the constraints of being the Gentleman and impeccable and responsible and everything that comes with it. Niou knew exactly how he felt in those six months he spent in Johto before Yagyuu caught up. And sometimes, Yagyuu is Niou, which means Yagyuu must know it, too.

Sometimes it's just easier to be Niou. He always used to find it amusing, entertaining the thought that they were better at being each other than they were at being themselves.

It's chilly out here in the woods, with snow dusting the trees and blanketing the ground, the open air thin and biting from the cold. It's colder still up off the ground, perched on one of the low, thick branches of a tree that long since shed its leaves, leaving behind a bare brown skeleton that looms ominous and silent against the muted colors of the landscape. There's a Persian curled in his lap, his hands buried in her fur, and she looks just as moody as he feels, even as he strokes her head and quietly absorbs her ambient warmth as an extra defense against the chill of the afternoon.

It's nice out here, silent, alone. He doesn't have to think too hard about who he's supposed to be, what rules and guidelines and expectations he should or shouldn't be following. He can just sit, and sulk, and if he wants he can be no one at all.

Which, all things considered, sounds pretty good right about now.]

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Well, isn't it better with two? Less of a headache, anyway.

That's an offer that comes with an implicit condition attached, you know. One we'd both have to agree to.

I'm listening.

He trusted you. [And more than just that, he knows, even if it couldn't compare to what they do, to the depths of their understanding for each other—but then, what could? And even so, to grow that close in a handful of months—] There's something to that. To what lengths, I can't say, but...

[He trails off, quiet a moment as he thinks, and kicks at the snow under the toes of his shoes.]

Trusting you on the sole basis of the strength of his affection...that's not something I'm averse to. I'd just like the assurance that it isn't unfounded. That if I'm to be something other than a gentleman for the duration, you intend to match it in being something other than an idol.

[And that any secrets that may come to light in the process will stay that way.]

[ she's not sure that she likes being trusted simply because someone had 'vouched' for her, in a way... that it's the sole basis definitely troubles her, and she looks down at nothing in particular as she shakes snow off a boot. ]

I'd like to prove that for myself.

[ she's quiet for just as long, before she speaks up again. ] Anyway, I don't do things one-sidedly. [ if she can help it. ] You already know there's more to me than just the idol, so if that's it... it's fine.

[ no, not really, she's still scared, she doesn't completely feel at ease-- but it was still a promise with her leader, and it's one she ought to keep. ]

Then I'll show you.

[He presses his lips into a thin line, indulging just a hint of frustration—it was so much easier when it was Niou, when they always just knew each other, and it relieved the necessity of trying to make sure the words and implications came out right. And that frustration quickly melts into a deep pang of ache, as it sinks in once again that no, he doesn't have that anymore, does he.]

I meant— [He stops short, biting that thought off as he tries once again to find the right words.] —he would want me to. He saw something in you. I think I'm starting to understand what it is.

[He thinks again, tries again.] You never could've been me for him. We can't—be him, for each other. But that rapport...

[And then, finally, he seems to get it out.] Something about you gave him hope when I was the one gone. You were...enough. If I accept your offer now...is that something you're willing to repeat?

[ it's rare to see Yagyuu struggling for words, though Rise's not in the proper mood to tease him about it. Rather, as he continues on, the more her head lowers until she's staring at the ground-- either in thought or because she doesn't feel up to staring him in the eye.

It's true-- she's always known, that they might have been similar, but they weren't interchangeable. And neither was Niou. And she'd heard it from Niou himself, that she'd been something she hadn't tried to be, that she'd done more than she thought, and whatever it is-- does Yagyuu really understand that? ]

It's not like I'm amazing enough to have done that on purpose. I mean, I'd like to, but I'm not sure how I gave him hope. If I mess up, can you accept that?

It never happens on purpose. I never would've let him—

[But then he cuts that thought off so fast, staring from Sudoku to the ground to some fixed point off in the distance, not so much fidgeting as just sort of lost without a mental tether to keep him grounded, his gaze drifting as he tries to ignore the locks of white hair framing the edges of his vision. How do they do it? They get past him without knowing it, they creep up on him, and then suddenly they're under his skin like a sliver that he never manages to get out again...

That hollow, aching feeling wells up again, and this time he thinks he's a little bit closer to properly defining it.]

You're more like him than you might think, too.

But I'm not him. [ like he'd said, and her lips twitch ruefully. What was it her Shadow said? I'm no one but myself. ]

And I wouldn't want to be. This is me you'll have to deal with.

[He doesn't quite realized he's stopped walking until he's already standing still, old conversations from these same woods still turning over in his mind—what if we go farther? what if it gets worse? what if maybe I can't even breathe without you anymore?—and there's a moment of heavy silence before finally, suddenly, he laughs—an abrupt bark of noise that trembles at the end, wavering in pitch as though it's teetering on the brink between mirth and tears.

His eyes are hot and his throat feels uncomfortably tight, and when he speaks, it's Niou's voice that comes out.]

You don't have to be me, sweetheart. We've got that covered on our own.

[And then, laser-fast, his arm is over his eyes and he's biting down on the inside of his cheek, hard, fighting desperately to hold his ground against the sudden tidal wave of wrenching, unbearable emotion that crashes over him.]

[ it was the last thing she expected, that nickname in that voice coming from someone else - and he is someone else, his partner, he's not really - and it's as good as a backhand to the face. She moves involuntarily, biting back a whine of pain as her arm protests, but then she's grabbing a fistful of shirt and glaring up at him.

She understands loss. Really, she does. She understands falling back behind a mask, either out of necessity or no other option, and the sense of relief that sometimes brought.

But also how sometimes, it just made things worse.

This... would Niou have wanted this? Was this what he meant by those months of bleakness before Yagyuu arrived? And the one witnessing it, this frightening, fury-inducing, heartbreaking thing... isn't his team, but Rise?

Niou, Yosuke, Kanji-- now... and again, it comes back to that helpless feeling, the worry and the anger. Before she can stop herself, the words escape sharply, through a tight throat, strained. It's not what she'd meant to say. It's not even remotely comforting. It's not what support would do, she's sure of it.

But she says it anyway. ]

My name is Rise, Yagyuu!

[It's strange that the first thing that really sinks in is the height difference between them. He's got nine inches on her, the advantage in weight, in muscle, in strength—and here she is, wrinkling his shirt, practically shaking him in her anger...

...and it makes so much more sense than the Rise from before, the one filled with concern and sympathy and worry. It's the same Rise he once dragged out on a tennis court all those months ago, the same one he'd once tried to provoke on a day when their positions were reversed, and he'd told her it was fine to be angry with him if that was what she truly wanted.

This, he can understand this, and it's so much easier than the sorrow and the loneliness. He knows how to handle anger. He wants to be angry, too. He wants to scream and to hit things and to grab someone and shake them, without having to slot those courses of action into the proper persona before he can.

And the rule always was, if you can do it, then maybe I can, too.

Maybe that was why he'd provoked her, subconsciously aiming to make her hurt like he does. Maybe it was to see what she'd do. Maybe it was so it'd sink in that he could do it, too.

No, it's never something that happens on purpose. Maybe that's why it works.]

I know it is.

[It's his own voice, then, quiet and sounding perhaps a bit more vulnerable than he usually likes to let on—but he'd said, if I'm to be something other than a gentleman, and here it is, in this heartbeat of a moment. No walls. Just Yagyuu.]

I know it is, Rise.

[ for one dizzying second, it feels as though her knees are going to buckle, and her grip tightens on his shirt. Later, she'll smile about it, without it needing to war with every other emotion she's experiencing right now. But later isn't now, and when she speaks again, her voice is even tighter than before, like she'll get even more pissed off if she starts crying.

Her name, in his voice.

Brought about by this. ]

You're a jerk, you know that? And if that's what you are, then fine, be one! Be whatever! I'm not going anywhere, no matter how you act!

[ and her voice cracks anyway. ]

[The gentleman, he knows, would probably never tolerate something like this, having her so close, her fingers sinking wrinkles into what would be a previously impeccable shirt. He'd be threatened by this, the proximity, the invasion of his space. He'd look for an escape, push her away, pry her hands off if need be and hold her wrists in an iron grip until she withdrew herself.

But he's not a gentleman right now, and he's not Niou, either. To be perfectly honest, he's not even entirely sure if he's Yagyuu—or rather, that's simply not a topic he's giving any consideration.

Nor is he giving consideration to why he's letting his arms come to carefully encircle her shoulders, or what motivation is lurking as he guides her head to fit under his chin. That's not something he can think about. But it is something that happens, wordlessly, brokenly.

And he hangs on.]

[ that renders her silent immediately; really, all Rise can manage is a tiny, surprised noise when he shifts, when she feels light pressure on her back, when she can feel him breathe.

It isn't the first time she's been held, but it's perhaps the first time that being held has surprised her so much, and it's not Niou trying to comfort her, or Yosuke sobbing in her arms, it's Yagyuu and precisely because of that, the gesture has a raw impact that almost hurts.

Rise releases a sigh after a few seconds and slowly releases his shirt-- only to ease her hand onto his back and hold on there. It's the best she can do with only one arm, but the grip's a strong one.

And she holds. ]

[He doesn't cry, even if his eyes are still stinging and hot and a part of him still retains enough good sense to wish for his glasses so he could wipe them without fear of losing his contacts in the snow. Maybe it would be easier if he did. Maybe he'd feel better, ultimately, having some way of getting out how terrible he feels, all these things he can't put a name on that are eating away at him anyway. Maybe if he did, he could push them all outside and leave them behind and they'd stop being able to hurt him so much.

But there's always structure to Yagyuu, even when he's coming apart at the seams. He doesn't shatter, spun glass against a hardwood floor; he just comes down like a burning building, deceptively sturdy with few warnings of the true danger before the pieces start falling in. Maybe he should cry and raze it all to the ground and start with a completely new foundation in the ashes—but he can't, and he doesn't, and he ends up trying desperately to hold together what little he still has as long as he can instead.

And he only slips once—just one wounded noise he can't quite suppress, too weak to be a sob and too strong to be a whimper, muffled by the tight press of his lips and strangled by his closed throat. He's not crying, it's not something to cry over, it's stupid to come so close to it over something like this, but he doesn't know what else to do besides teetering on the brink like this, how to be angry and lonely and upset and helpless all at once in any other way.]

[ and this, she thinks with some rush of irrational irritation, is why boys can be so stupid. When Fuji made her angry enough to yell at him, because all she'd wanted was to be friends. When Yosuke and Souji had gotten so heated that they'd as good as outed the entire group and had still managed to make her worry about them first. And even now, when she knows Yagyuu's struggling and she hears that faint noise, she also knows the odds of him just giving in and crying are slim to none.

And maybe Rise's a little stupid, too. For getting involved, for losing her temper, for all of this because she can't even think of anything to say or attempt to make comforting noises. She's shivering without realizing it, but she doesn't budge. It's easier to focus on breathing, slowly and steadily and unyielding, whether Yagyuu crumbles or he doesn't.

Regardless of that, he's not alone, and if nothing else is support about Rise, there's that one constant. ]

[And ultimately, being on the brink of disaster is still something he knows how to reel himself back from, if he can only muster the patience and effort to do it. Rise isn't the only one focusing on her breathing; his own is erratic at first, then rigidly controlled, then gradually settling back to a semblance of normalcy as his fingers curl and recede in the fabric of her coat.

He can feel her shivering, and he suspects it isn't from the cold—though it is chillier standing still like this, at the mercy of the wind without the exertion of walking to combat it—and at some point it becomes the natural course of action to try to remedy it, checking to make sure he doesn't crush her wounded arm as he adjusts his grip, making the embrace a little more secure.

It takes him a while to regain control of his voice, and it isn't perfect when he does finally speak, but the words come out surprisingly steady for someone who was so close to tears just minutes before.]

I don't want you to save me. I don't want you to be him. I don't even want you to promise to stay. Don't be anything for me. It's not something you can do if you consciously try at it.

[ after years of expectations, from her parents, from her peers, from her audience and the agency, Rise still needs to take a moment to let that sink in.

Don't be anything for me.

She'd like to say you too, but he'd probably expect it. And she doesn't think he'd consciously try, for her, nor would she want him to. Instead, she relaxes ever so slightly, and the trembling slows. ]

I wouldn't have wanted to do that, anyway. I wouldn't even know how to.

[It's unfair, he knows, asking that, knowing all too well how difficult a prospect it is, and the unlikeliness that he'd ever manage to do the same. But maybe she knows that, too, because she's worn enough masks of her own to appreciate the terrifying magnitude of the thought of throwing them all away.]

Neither one of you gives yourself the credit you deserve.

[He draws a slow breath, then lets it out again.]

I should take you home.

[ that earns him a huff - albeit a halfhearted one - as she lifts her head to peer up at him. She won't respond to the first, simply because there's nothing to say about it. ]

Geez, this was never about me. Are you ready?

No.

[He doesn't smile, but his expression does soften somewhat, and he carefully lets his hold on her loosen. It's not letting go, not precisely, but it's an invitation for her to pull away if she so chooses.

He'll stand on his own now. What she does is her decision.]

But if we only had to do things we were ready for, we wouldn't be out here in the first place.

... Right. [ Rise's own grip loosens, but like his, doesn't completely release. She's never the first one to move away, though it's less because she's worried that he'll need her there and more because she just doesn't feel like it. ]

Well, I'm a quarter ready if you are.

[And in what is perhaps the figurative icebreaking moment, Sudoku decides she wants in on this apparent snugglefest and attempts to insert herself between them, bumping her head against each of their legs in turn.]

Mm. Apparently that makes three of us.

[ that makes her smile, releasing Yagyuu now to stoop somewhat awkwardly and rub behind Sudoku's ears. ]

And three quarters is the majority, so let's get going!

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usedlaserbeam.livejournal.com - 2011-12-09 04:32 (UTC) - Expand

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