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Week 1 | Thursday Night
[ The day had finally come to an end, after minutes which felt like hours, and hours which felt like years. Time dragged on, longer and longer... It had started to break him, slowly but surely. As much as he repeated to himself that it was only an illusion, it was still maddening. But he of all people should know better, he should know, because his body was a perfect, shattered clock. His body wouldn't last much longer, a few months at most, so this feeling had to be a lie. Yet the sense of time dragged on, at odds with what he knew must be true.
The night he had spent walking, barely stopping to rest, trying to reason with himself. Some moments he believed in the false sense of time and other times he didn't. Though he had done his best to avoid others, a few had approached him, and one encounter played in his head over and over and over.
He had almost done it, had almost used Kira. The man's words though harsh, were things he had all heard before, a long time ago. It was the arrogance that unhinged him, that the man had assumed because he didn't want to live, that he was willing to simply die. He didn't want life or death, he wanted erasure.
The only person who could give him such a thing wasn't here. For that reason alone, he had to preserve what ki he had left, so he could see him again. To almost waste it on such a meaningless man.... He was angry.
.....
He entered the hotel in a daze, still wrapped in the thoughts that kept repeating in his head. By chance he spots Takao, the boy who had persisted on talking to him over and over again. Autonomously he greets him, the phrase stilted, his mind not focused on the present.]
Good...evening.
The night he had spent walking, barely stopping to rest, trying to reason with himself. Some moments he believed in the false sense of time and other times he didn't. Though he had done his best to avoid others, a few had approached him, and one encounter played in his head over and over and over.
He had almost done it, had almost used Kira. The man's words though harsh, were things he had all heard before, a long time ago. It was the arrogance that unhinged him, that the man had assumed because he didn't want to live, that he was willing to simply die. He didn't want life or death, he wanted erasure.
The only person who could give him such a thing wasn't here. For that reason alone, he had to preserve what ki he had left, so he could see him again. To almost waste it on such a meaningless man.... He was angry.
.....
He entered the hotel in a daze, still wrapped in the thoughts that kept repeating in his head. By chance he spots Takao, the boy who had persisted on talking to him over and over again. Autonomously he greets him, the phrase stilted, his mind not focused on the present.]
Good...evening.
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Then someone comes inside - Takao certainly notices the silhouette promptly. Hearing the voice still startles him for a second. Somehow it seems like he hasn't heard Yoite speak in so long - there's barely any difference between the feeling and the distance from Midorima, in practice, the first week rounded down to almost nothing.]
Hey there.
[Takao starts to smile, except in the two seconds it should take to form that facial expression, his mouth only moves a millimeter, and his lips just kind of stay there, while the ears of his hat are flopped distinctively down. The snowball idea hadn't worked out. It feels like an hour until the pale imitation of a joke comes to him.]
How has your "day" been?
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[It's a grammatical distinction he's pretty sure he can hear just as well as the salutations directed at few guests besides Takao himself. He realizes within subjective minutes he might be overthinking whether Yoite wants company, and rises from the lobby chair. Even if there isn't some problem deeper than illness or time dilation (because certainly Takao wants to support him in that case), he's gone without doing "not so kind" things for far too long. It's time for some good old fashioned following.]
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A few minutes (though it seems much beyond that) later he stops at the top of the stairs.]
You're following me.
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I can stop if you want. Just, it's been a while, so I thought you would be cool with talking or whatever. [In his defense, "good evening" is a reasonable amount of words for a typical Yoite conversation starter.]
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The room is messy, but not unreasonably so, just enough to call it cluttered. The little things helped, and it reminded him of Yukimi's apartment, even if it was missing said occuputant complaining about missed deadlines. The beds, in contrast to the rest of the room, barely look touched.
With a small sigh he sits down on one of the beds, not taking any of his layers off (hat, jacket, scarf, gloves). After a moment he looks up to see if Takao bothered to still follow.]
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Once his legs are properly stretched out to dangle over the bed's edge, Takao is sufficiently balanced to waste his free hand on the task of tugging his collar. Yoite is always cold, though, isn't he. Or maybe just has to hide his body from view. Is it covering up emaciation, maybe? Well, that's unpleasant, which is the opposite of the goal Takao has.]
You know, it's so creepy how these rooms all look the same. If they have plastic plants in the lobby, you'd think they could afford paintings or wall scrolls or something to spice things up. We could just draw our own. Maybe that'll be the next game Roxy comes up with. [It's pretty stupid to wanna dress up their prison, and he knows it. (Maybe even getting a rise out of Yoite is the whole point - he could be frustrated and need to vent but not know how. Takao got help with that from other people this week, he should pay it forward.) Takao just has to run his mouth - but he's getting better at aiming it to Yoite's eyes.]
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As Takao talks he listens, his eyes reading the words as they were formed.]
Things like that don't matter to me. [ They never had, and he's silent for a bit (a long while in their "reality") and fiddles with his gloves. Finally he speaks but the words are low, almost said to just himself.]
...I almost made a mistake.
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[Takao is immediately, intensely curious - his spine certainly tilts as he's all the more interested to hear what Yoite has to say. It's a hell of a lot more interesting than a painting project. (Takao has painted before, at his comprehensive public high school, and his paintings qualify as "interesting" much more often than "good".) A mistake might mean that Yoite actually took some decisive action. Did he try to escape? What's been going on?]
If you just "almost" made a mistake, you know, that must mean what you actually did in the end was the right thing. [Think positive.]
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Like, waste your time around them, or...?
[That technically means this isn't a waste of his life. Might not be intended, but Takao chooses to be a little flattered deep down.]
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A basketball player right? [ He had read the profile, committed it to memory. It was such a normal thing, and Yoite was far from normal.] The surface world and the hidden world shouldn't mix...
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Yeah, basketball. [It's frankly impressing Takao that he remembered. But it's not like Takao lets people forget that easily.] I just go to high school, we don't even call it the surface world since we don't have to talk about some hidden world in the same sentence. Lebensbaum, this village, it's the closest to any hidden world I know. So definitely the surface world.
[Meaning that Yoite is...]
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Nabari. That's what they call it. [A beat.] That's what they call the world I'm part of.
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[Nabari... He can vaguely remember hearing that poetic term for hidden in some mythical story time as an elementary school student; it puts him in mind of Spirited Away or something. This is real life, though, and again, Lebensbaum (and it's guests) justifies a number of strange things by existing. Therefore Takao manages to sound credulous.]
So is it just a secret group, or a totally separate place?
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The Grey Wolves are one of the groups. [ Talking isn't something that came natural to Yoite, which is readily apparent to anyone who interacts with him more in passing. He's speaking too much at this point (for both his physical and mental health), and he knows it, but he doesn't know of any other way to get his warning across and his mind is hazy.
Why tonight was a mistake. Why everyone should stay away from him. They couldn't be properly expressed without explaining the root of it all, Kira. But if he explained partially, maybe they would never have to get that far. Maybe Takao would find it too weird, too strange, too dangerous and he would leave him be.
That would be the best thing for everyone.]
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[Well, actually, this still explains very little about what the secret is. Technically Yoite has revealed no information contradicting the assumption (not his literal belief or anything, but still) that the Grey Wolves are a very dramatic secret baseball team. He wishes he could help fill in the blanks, feels bad about the other boy needing to strain himself explaining and explaining, but Takao knows nothing beyond the surface world. The best that Takao can do is lean in closer, more intent. Maybe that will allow Yoite to speak more softly.]
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It's better that way.
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Then what are you supposed to do when you're in the surface world? Leave as soon as possible? Is that what's wrong?
[Maybe if Yoite got it drilled into his head, "they have to stay away from you", it's equally important that "you stay away from him". Don't fraternize with the enemy. And now in Lebensbaum that choice has been taken away. (From Yoite, to avoid surface dwellers altogether. Takao keeps making the choice to see Yoite, over and over again.) How cruel, to let down your whole team without planning on it, for no benefit.]
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The real issue was with Yoite himself. Death followed him everywhere, and he had accepted it, embraced it, he was at peace with it. But it was his weight to carry, and his alone.]
You're...stubborn.
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[He really did hate to lose. It's a lot easier to be among other basuke baka types like himself, where he seems normal and friendly instead of obsessed and annoying. Oh, well, maybe he should give Yoite a break and demonstrate his stubbornness some more.]
It's probably different for you, but, like... I can't just give up, stay here forever, either. There are too many expectations to answer. There's a guy that I have to surpass... except he's on my own team now. You've got to swallow your pride and make lemons out of lemonade, you know? I never would have developed as much if we didn't work together. That's why I can't see a tsundere and leave him alone anymore, you feel me?
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Though Yoi-chan is actually more of a kuudere, maybe~
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Then there was the fact that Takao had called him something other than Yoite. For several long agonizing moments he just blinks, not even knowing where to start.]
... [ Well there was one thing in that long slew of words that he could comment on with certainty.]
Lemonade is good.
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[From Yoite that's a really emphatic endorsement, and Takao jumps on it with a great deal of animation.]
It's better than the orange juice we get here, that's for sure. You like that burn without being actually carbonated? For myself though it's gotta be Pocari Sweat. Really refreshing, I didn't really how much it's designed to lift you up after sweating until I stopped having it.
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But the heat brings out the scent of the lemons too.
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I'd never noticed that before. [His eyes scrunch inward with a gentle sheepishness; his privilege, that he never had to notice.] I guess that's why people go on about stuff like the aroma of coffee...
So are cold things like the opposite? [Takao knows even as he says it that Yoite might find the question stupidly obvious. He just doesn't have a frame of reference, is all - can't remember Shin-chan making any distinction between hot and cold shiruko. There's no food between them this time. The silent second between sentences, for once, is comfortable instead of stifling, even if it lasts an hour.] Maybe it's for the best we're here in winter. You must really hate ice cream. [Even more if it would send him coughing up another storm, thick milk flecked with blood.]
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After a moment he opens them again, and looks to the window and then to Takao.]
I prefer winter. But ice cream feels soft...Miharu likes it. [It's strange to say his name aloud in casual context but it's a sign of trust in a simple sense.]
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You really came prepared with the gloves. It was winter back home for me too, but we didn't have snow on the ground so I hadn't bothered. [As if he'd only wear gloves to touch the snow? It is consistent with the way he's worn gloves here, sure.]
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Even now, he still hadn't taken any of his articles of clothing off.]
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[Takao looks down. His eyes inch over the course of the subjective day from Yoite's gloves themselves to his wrists, immediately covered by sleeves with no gap showing skin. It's like a long exam period for a question with a simple answer in the back of the textbook. "Scar on neck. Black blotches on arms."]
Oh.
[He feels his heart beat a little faster even though they've been just sitting here for God knows how long. He is really impressed that Yoite has not drawn on that mysterious source of energy or surprising agility - like the last time his barriers were so compromised - to actively push him away. Well, Takao figures that if staring isn't okay, then explicitly asking "why besides the cold" would be digging his hole even deeper. He offers a small, wry smile and a pithy comment instead.]
Well, you make the look work. [He glances up, first into Yoite's eyes, then the top of his head.] The coordinated hat and all. Have you been doing it for long?
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The space was comfortable, and he was grateful for it, though it's difficult for him to express such a thing in words. Eventually he settles on an action, and hesitates for a moment before removing his hat and laying it beside him.]
About a year.
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Not sure what to do, Takao tugs on the hem of his own hat. Should he take it off? It's not an especially meaningful gesture from him. Sure, he was wearing this when he got here, but has it off more often than not, and never wears any of the other hats here. He stubbornly refuses the scratchiness of the crocheted caps, or the annoying flop of the hats with flaps hanging over the ears. What he likes about this one is the snug, smooth material, not particularly warm (he's nowhere near as cold as Yoite or even Midorima); holds his hair in place almost as well as the headbands he's been lacking. Takao lets go, the light blue fabric snaps back into place, and his hand rests in his lap.]
Gotcha.
[So probably just once he got sick. "A year" is a relatively detailed description, and makes a lot of sense. For Yoite to be declining this fast for much longer, it'd be a surprise he hadn't already died, and he's alluded to something vaguely resembling a normal life before all that happened.]
I gotta say I would be even more impressed if you could pitch at all well with those things on. I'm not an expert on baseball but-- [He grins again, sheepishly, a little conflicted. It's been such a long time since he's seen a baseball game, even on TV; this is almost something extrapolated more from Midorima's habit of bandaging his fingers. He also went so far as to keep those on while eating, but the whole point was to remove them when he was aiming the ball out of his hands.
(Is. No matter what weird stuff is going on here, Midorima will still be alive and described in the present tense. That was a weird thought process. This is where the "conflicted" part of the smile creeps in.) Takao gestures with his hands: non-dominant left fingers all clumped together in a vague "wall" in front of his chest, while he "winds up" with his right hand curled.] You have your bad hand in your mitt and then keep your good hand bare, right?
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It's been years. I don't know why they put that in my profile. [ The other things were more pertinent, even if he wasn't happy that they were out in the open. Moreover, it wasn't really him who played baseball with his brother, it was Sora.
And Sora was gone.]
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[Takao wishes so much that he could see the pitching figure of Yoite. But he can't. There's no ball, bat, mitt, or diamond in this whole place, so even nagging that could work on the mind would be fruitless in practice. So he decides to make fun of himself instead of drag out the unhappy memory.]
I feel stupid for studying English grammar as my best subject in school now. The first time in my life that I'm around a bunch of people from other countries, and we all understand each other! [He twirls the pendant around, in the same direction as the arrow. It's really frustrating, he's trained so hard to be strong and now there are all these people who could wipe the floor with him - they've trained too, he's sure, but there's such a huge natural advantage. Nothing like the generation of miracles, who might be tall and heavy with testosterone but most of all were full of passion for the sport
Yoite is the eye of the storm, somewhat stable, over all this dilated time they've spent together. The only other guy he ever knew with such blue eyes, he usually had a narrowed gaze. It's striking. Takao has his face wide open with no forcing. He doesn't mind this hatless Yoite.]
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Talking like this, talking about casual things, is odd. He hadn't lived a normal life, even before Kira. But the comfortable space they've established is important, so he answers in the best way he can think of.]
I'm good at math, I think. [ Think, because it came naturally to him, but he had no true standard which to measure it against. It's not like they allowed him to go to school, or anything like that.
He sighs and picks up his hat, fiddling it between his hands. All this talking was tiring, even if was the first good conversation he's had in a while.]
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[He just assumes that even members of the hidden world have to attend high school if they're under eighteen. If they didn't, that would make this conversation several layers more complicated. There's not time for that, though: Takao can see Yoite getting tired. It's strange - they're actually just past curfew, now. The time didn't fly, exactly, that was impossible, but it dragged a lot less, this way. He feels almost a little bad for wearing down Yoite's defenses enough to not immediately be told "get out of my face" as soon as he's tired. Takao stands up with his hands on his hips.]
Well, see you in the morning, Yoi-chan. I'll be going out running.