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Yasusada

I'd rather be doing kendo

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[Anymore. It had hurt before, but he doesn't need to say that. It still aches, which he doesn't say either. He also doesn't say that Baren had told him pretty much the same thing, though it makes his lips quirk upward just a little into a fleeting smile. They're pretty similar in some ways, aren't they?

Instead, he breathes deeply enough so that his chest rises and falls beneath Yamato's hand, as if he suspects that the gesture is comfort for both of them. A reminder that he is still here, that he's still alive no matter what he'd seen.]

I know. You promised, yeah? And I did, too.

[Even if he'd been reluctant to for this exact reason. Nothing quite like remembering dying to really get a dose of reality - that he's not immortal, even if he's young and felt on the top of the world just a few hours earlier.

But those are dark and unpleasant thoughts, and he doesn't particularly want to drift back there yet. So he raises his hand and cradles the back of Yamato's, tracing over his knuckles and the lines of his fingers just to remind himself of how solid they are and how real the warmth from his body is and how he truly is existing here and not there.]

...But this hurts a little.

[The heart that's beating in his chest beneath both of their hands. It hurts more than a little, but admitting just that much, even in such a quiet voice, is ridiculously difficult.]

[Neither of them were quite prepared for the weight of Kashuu's honesty, it seems. It would be nice to focus on the quiet beat beneath his fingertips, on the steady rise and fall that disproves everything Kashuu had seen. But all Yamato can focus on is the tone with which Kashuu speaks, the words that seep through his skin to twist around his own heart, squeezing so tightly that it's hard to breathe. Kashuu's been honest with him before, of course--in his own way, so different from Yamato's utterly unsubtle confessions but perfectly clear all the same. But this... in this sort of tender state, without a shred of elusiveness, it's something Yamato isn't sure he's ever really seen before. Not from Kashuu.

It hurts. It always has, in truth--Kashuu's pain has always affected him more than even his own, and for someone who experiences emotion in such a raw way, he's never really hidden that. He does now, though, or he tries, at the very least. This isn't about him, and the last thing he wants is for Kashuu to think he's being selfish.

He's silent for a while, his gray eyes fixed on their hands, unusually hard to read. He doesn't dig his fingers into Kashuu's skin, or fold him into a crushing hug, but there's something still a little tense in his demeanor, something that says he would do all of that and more, if he thought it would help.

Eventually, though, he does move, though only enough to rest his head against Kashuu's. When he finally speaks, his voice is equally quiet, matching Kashuu's in tone as well as volume.]

...I waited for you. [It makes sense, now. That's what it was, it has to be--it fits together with what he'd seen months ago far too perfectly to be a coincidence.] I think... I think I knew you were gone, but I waited for you anyway.

[Just like he'd waited here, even if it he hadn't realized that's what he'd been doing at the time. Does that make it better, he wonders, or worse? They'd both promised, and as far as Yamato knows, he'd kept his end of it indefinitely. It's something he can say with certainty he'd do here, too. But he doesn't want to have to.]

[Ah.

Open honesty between them is important, he knows, even if he doesn't always do the best at it. Things like this are why, in part - honesty and openness is vulnerability, and being vulnerable means hurting, which he hates. His chest already feels tight, and hearing I waited for you makes his heart clench sharply. That's--

Well.

If he were to be entirely selfish, as ugly as he could be, he'd acknowledge that it's kind of nice to hear. To know that he mattered enough for Yamato to wait for him not once, but twice, in two different timelines or lifetimes or whatever these visions are implying.

But that's a dark sentiment and one he doesn't want to give any room to breathe, so he shoves it away and tries to focus on something that isn't that, or the constrictive feeling of leaving someone behind, or the impossible notion that he'd done that because he had died.]

...Thank you.

[For waiting.

It's the kindest thing he can think to say, really. Not "sorry", even though there are strong notes of a deep and sorrowful apology in those words. That would feel too much like he's undercutting the importance of what Yamato had done and how much it means to him.]

You're always waiting for me.

[He wishes he could do better.]

[Kashuu isn't crying. He doesn't even sound miserable, so much as... tired, tired of a burden too large for anyone to bear. Yamato believes in ghosts, in reincarnation, in heaven and hell and just about anything in and outside the realm of possibility, but even he can't accept something like this. Being forced to see your own death, not as a dream but as something undeniably real... It's too much.

Kashuu doesn't have to sound sad for Yamato to hear his guilt and anguish. His words are simple and straightforward, but there's so much more to them, and Yamato already knows he can't fully understand.

That doesn't mean he can't try, though.]

You know I love you. [Straightforward honesty has always been his way, but strangely enough, he doesn't think he's ever said it out loud. Not to Kashuu, anyway. He'd simply assumed Kashuu already knew, given how willing he'd been to move into an apartment that's too small to get a degree he doesn't want. He wouldn't have done it for Yato. He wouldn't have even done it for his parents (though they'd fortunately never asked). It's only Kashuu, and if their memories are true, it always has been.

"Makes sense," he'd said, when Yato told him he'd once been a warrior god. Of course all of this would make perfect sense to him, too.]

I'll always wait. [He'd truly meant it those months ago, when he'd insisted he was through with Kashuu's denial and fickleness. He'd wanted to stick to his word so, so badly. But this is the ultimate confession, the one truth that defines them as well as words ever can. In the end, he'll wait. Every time.

It's a choice he's content with, honestly. And that's exactly what it is--a choice. He wants to be sure Kashuu understands that, but at the same time... He doesn't want to watch Kashuu walk away again. And he doesn't want to even think about how much it would hurt, if he knew Kashuu wasn't coming back.

...Well. He doesn't have to think about it, does he? He already experienced it once. That was more than enough.]

I don't like it when you go. [It's a difficult thing to admit, even if they both know it perfectly well. He'll wait, but that doesn't mean he'll like it.] So take me with you next time, okay?

[It's not that simple. Nothing ever is, even he knows that. But maybe just for a minute, they can pretend.]

[Yamato will always wait, and Kashuu can't really promise that he won't ever keep Yamato waiting again, but hearing that makes him wish that he could. It makes him wish he had a finer grasp of his own emotions, his explosive temper and his pettiness and the bitter feelings that sometimes well up in him and lead him to doing or saying things he regrets. It makes him wish that he could still pretend he was young and immortal - that nothing in the world could ever kill him, so Yamato wouldn't have to worry about experiencing another "the last day I saw Kashuu".

There's no way to make those promises. He can't even promise to take Yamato with him, especially not if it's an ugly departure and not something as simple (hah) as boarding a plane and flying across the sea.

He reaches up, pulling his hand away from Yamato's to thread his fingers through his hair instead. It's a soothing gesture to him, at least. One he recently remembered, even if he can't remember the name or face of the person who comforted him so often. He hopes he can offer a little comfort to Yamato this way, too.]

I know. [He does, even if that's just one of the many things that isn't said, but shown.

Still, if they're saying instead of showing right now... It's difficult for him. The only reason he's saying anything at all is perhaps because remembering that you've died is enough to light at least a small fire of honesty.

He still ducks his head a little, though, because soft and vulnerable words don't suit him, and neither does making promises he can't keep, but now's apparently the time for both.]

I love you too, so I don't wanna make you wait anymore. [More somber, heavy--] That's not what you deserve.

[There are a lot of things he could say to that, really. He could insist that it isn't up to Kashuu to decide what he does and doesn't deserve--but he won't, because even he knows that's childish. He could point out that it's all up to Kashuu, whether he stays or leaves--but he won't do that either, because it sounds like too much of an accusation.

Whatever he does plan to say, it gets lost in the suddenly distant look on his face.

The rain outside is quiet, but not gentle enough to be reassuring. He can hear it as he lies awake, staring at the ceiling--he doesn't need to look to know that Kashuu's next to him.

"Seeing all the Awataguchis, I can't help but think it'd be nice if he came home soon. They've been waiting so long for their brother. Dwelling on it must be painful."

"But..."

"Hm?"

"Isn't caring for someone a happy thing? It might be painful now, but caring for Ichigo Hitofuri is also a happy thing. Because that means one day, it will all be turned into good memories.

...It was the same for me."

It's a surprising thing to hear, but even as he glances over, all he see is Kashuu burrowing under his blankets.

One blink, two, and then he's back in reality, with Kashuu's fingers combing through his hair and Kashuu's heartbeat still steady beneath his hand. It's always a little disorienting, coming out of one of those memories, but he's aware enough to realize one thing--even if it isn't great circumstances, he prefers this closeness to that distance.]

...Then I'll follow you. [He says finally, once he finds his voice again. He's still halfway caught up in the memory, though, a faraway look in his eyes.] I don't want to make you wait either. Even if it turns into happy memories eventually.

[Like those "Awataguchis", whoever they might be. Not important right now.]

[It's a look he's learning to recognize; that far-off stare, like the person he's talking to is seeing someone or something else. He's sure this is the same sort of look Baren had seen earlier, back when he'd dealt with one memory and then another, given no time to recover between the two.

The hand threading through Yamato's hair moves downward, and his fingertips brush over the highest point of his cheekbone and rest against the mark below his eye. He wants to ask, wants to say what did you see?, but since Yamato doesn't offer up anything on his own right away, he figures it can (or should, maybe) wait.

The last statement is what he focuses on instead, some mild confusion creasing his brow.]

Even if it turns into happy memories...? [That seems counterintuitive. How could waiting ever become something happy, unless the wait itself comes to an end? He doesn't really get it.

But he does, at least, understand some of the sentiment Yamato is trying to convey. Maybe it's that understanding that makes him say anything at all, or maybe it's still the lingering threads of fear that those memories have him tangled up in. Maybe he's too afraid to let a statement like that go unacknowledged. Maybe he's just afraid of being alone, hypocritical and awful as that is.]

...Then don't let go of my hand, okay?

[If Yamato is the anchor that he willingly holds, surely he can keep himself from drifting away again through the tempest of his own temper or the tides of an unkind fate.]

[It's a light touch, but it's enough to draw his attention back, eyes focusing in time to notice that little furrow of confusion. He's half-tempted to reach up, to smooth it out with his hands as if he could brush away all of Kashuu's troubles, but he doesn't want to move too much and disturb the fragile peace they've settled into. He hasn't forgotten that Kashuu's body must still be in pain, too, even if right now Yamato's more concerned about his heart.]

Mm. [It's just a sound, for now--and maybe it should feel weird, to watch Kashuu's face so intently like this, especially when they're so close together. But he can't bring himself to avert his gaze, and he definitely isn't about to pull away.] You said that to me once, apparently. [Since, despite everything, he's still not sure he believes that these are real memories... but he prefers that to future premonitions, especially now.] I'm not sure who we were talking about, but... you said that even if waiting for someone is painful, caring for them is still a happy thing.

[Which... isn't something he would've expected to hear, coming from Kashuu. But it's a valid point. Yamato still wouldn't call himself a gloomy guy, but there's no denying he can get caught up in sad, dark, or even morbid thoughts, far more than Kiyomitsu "ignore it until it goes away" Kashuu.

A request like that, though--he doesn't even have to think about it. He reaches up to take Kashuu's hand in both of his own, too firm to be wholly gentle. Lacing their fingers together, he rests his head against their clasped hands for a moment, then looks back up at Kashuu with a half-smile.]

You can't get rid of me that easily. [He's tempted to tease, to say "What if I took that literally, huh? You'd get sick of me in a day!", but in the end, he decides not to. It's too light in all the wrong ways.]

[His body is definitely still in pain, it's true... This is a brutal hangover made worse by the fact that he's an emotional wreck, and he's grateful for the softness of this conversation and the way he can hide his face at least a little, protecting his eyes from the rising early-morning sun and his ego from dealing with being seen like this.]

I said that? Hah... [It surprises him a little too, it seems. Well, he's never really been the one waiting... Not here, anyway. Not in his life. He can still recall the feeling of waiting from a memory that had visited him not too long ago, though; the one that prompted him to turn up on Yamato's doorstep and end their fight. Is the him they're remembering really the sort of person who can experience that and still call it a happy thing?

...He doesn't really know what to think about that.

So he doesn't. Not now, anyway. That's something to save for a time when his head is no longer screaming at him and his heart isn't so heavy. He focuses on the solidness of Yamato's fingers weaving between his own instead, and gives his hand a little squeeze. He doesn't smile in return, but there's a certain softness to his expression that indicates he's at least a little more at ease than he was minutes ago.]

I'm gonna rest in here instead of my room.

[Not a question - he's still a punk at heart.]

Mm.

[Just another sound, again, accompanied by a small nod. It's an affirmative to the question and the non-question both; Kashuu really did say that, yes, and he's welcome to stay as long as he likes.]

I'll be here.

[And he will. He'll stay exactly where he is until Kashuu drifts back off to sleep, and then a little longer, just in case. Eventually, he'll gently extract himself to answer Baren's texts, but once that conversation is over, he'll head right back. He'd promised not to let go, after all; and even if Kashuu isn't awake to notice, what's important is that he's still holding on.]

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i'm dying

WHY DID U DO THIS

I DON'T KNOOOOOOW

STOP THIS MADNESS

CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP

A DEMON

AHHHH I LEARNED FROM U