[beau stumbled out of summer dorm with an exploded arm, slightly healed, several stab wounds, not healed, a shitton of glass stabwounds, unhealed, and a horrible cough. she's also probably been stupid to try and wrangle because she really just wants to try and figure out how to enroll in classes for next year.
but once she's rewritten, she's just disoriented, mostly. her head was so fucked with that she barely even was able to register what was going on half the time. she's quiet, weirdly so, but she takes the flask when he offers it, and drinks.
cough, cough. she doesn't say anything, just curls up between them.]
[ at least she is no longer brainwashed. having also had his head fucked with today by whatever the hell that mess was, ichiro once again is just thinking about how much he wants to go home - his free hand is gently holding onto the picture of his brothers from his wallet, absently running over the glossy material like he can commit it even further to his memory.
he glances over the top of beau's head to kon, for a second, and then settles to gently rest his cheek on top of beau's head, getting a little more comfortable, too. quiet's fine. he can deal with quiet. ]
Mm. [ it wasn't much, either. he's not so sure he'll be sleeping well, tonight, if it's like any other night. ] Kinda miss our stupid pillow fort. [ this is a very gentle, quiet joke. ]
[ hasn't he had his memories played with enough? haven't they all had their minds fucked with enough? kon is tired of this place and the shit it puts them through, of the choices that don't mean anything, of having everything upended just for some stupid story. there's nothing satisfying here.
save, maybe, this. just settling in on beau's other side, as if they can barricade her and use each other to shore up their defenses while they finally, finally, get to decompress for a bit. it feels like everything has been nonstop.
there's rest, now, and he catches ichiro's look out of the corner of his eye before his cheek settles to mirror ichiro - a small bonk to ichiro's head, and then it's just black on black on brown.
[she coughs a little again, and then shifts and settles so that she's got her back leaning against kon, her fingers coming up to tangle into ichiro's shirt. she's exhausted, and - sad, just. sad. even the joke doesn't do much - she can't get herself to finish it out, as much as she wants to.
she helped kill someone, for what feels like no reason at all, just - following a story that's being written for her. she's tried so hard her entire life to not have that be a thing.
[ oh, if that doesn't just hit in the gut. he would've laughed at the little comment, otherwise, but looking at beau, hearing the sadness in her voice and the way she holds onto his shirt, and seeing that picture in his hand...
ichiro quiets down.
he's thought it before, but especially in the past few weeks, stronger than ever. when he'd broken down on - on iris (he can't think about it, not right now) and thought it when their thoughts were being broadcast. he misses ikebukuro. he misses his division. he misses the grocer's shop and the creaky floorboards in the yorozuya, he misses his brothers' laughter - he misses their fighting, he misses it with every part of his being, so fiercely beyond every other emotion he's felt in the tumultuous, hellish eight weeks they've spent here.
his voice is soft, aching, and his arm tightens where it's around beau. ] ...I do, too.
kon settles with his arm loosely around beau, taking a deep breath and staring off into the void of the room around them. how many times have all of them thought it? would it have been kinder to let beau have a little more time, assigned like that? (no, it wouldn't have - let her feel and know her emotions as her own, rather than some stranger's.) he can only hope that they're here, at the end, for real now, instead of being just brought along on some stupid line with no light at the end of the tunnel.
he won't think about the uncertainty that he's heading back to. even with the wishes that have been written into the story, he doesn't know what's in store, especially not when tsuyukusa probably isn't rejoining him right away. but it must be okay. it has to. he can't let it be anything else.
he's quiet, a bit. then: ]
I want to see Exandria and the Empire sometime. [ softly ] And your Ikebukuro. After all this is over, and we've gotten a chance to be home for a while.
[she like - hiccups. she hiccups, and it's half a laugh and it's half decidedly not.
she wants to go home, but what is even waiting there for her? a fucking dragon, hellbent on killing her and her friends? lucien? the much more permanent and real deaths of her friends? she'd seen yasha, and veth, and her whole heart had crumbled to pieces with how much she misses them, how much she misses her family.
... she has this one. she has this one, at least, the two of them. she's less alone than she used to be, and she'll take - anything. anything to not feel like she's being torn to pieces.]
If I don't die, I'll show you. [she says, to the mattress mostly.] I'll visit. Somehow.
Mm. [ a little, agreeing noise. they've talked about this - he and kon, anyway. there's a nice little hope to the idea, of being able to visit each other, to move from place to place. to leave the trauma of this place behind without losing the people.
(the way he talks about his home makes me want to see it. like if i could just step foot in it, it'd be like finding another place to belong.)
something in his chest aches. ]
... I'd like it - I want to come too. Maybe... bring Jiro and Saburo, too. They'd - they'd go nuts. I wanna introduce you to 'em so bad, both of you. Saburo'd think you're wild, Kon. And Jiro'd - hah, he might like Beau even more than me.
[ he shifts, a little, curling inwards, that soft tone aching with fondness, something small and bright that peeks through the misery. ] ...If you come to me, I'll cook for you. In my kitchen, with my bros. 's different than a cafeteria.
[ it's home. it's family. ] Don't have any crazy magic, or anything, but I've got that.
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but once she's rewritten, she's just disoriented, mostly. her head was so fucked with that she barely even was able to register what was going on half the time. she's quiet, weirdly so, but she takes the flask when he offers it, and drinks.
cough, cough. she doesn't say anything, just curls up between them.]
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he glances over the top of beau's head to kon, for a second, and then settles to gently rest his cheek on top of beau's head, getting a little more comfortable, too. quiet's fine. he can deal with quiet. ]
Mm. [ it wasn't much, either. he's not so sure he'll be sleeping well, tonight, if it's like any other night. ] Kinda miss our stupid pillow fort. [ this is a very gentle, quiet joke. ]
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save, maybe, this. just settling in on beau's other side, as if they can barricade her and use each other to shore up their defenses while they finally, finally, get to decompress for a bit. it feels like everything has been nonstop.
there's rest, now, and he catches ichiro's look out of the corner of his eye before his cheek settles to mirror ichiro - a small bonk to ichiro's head, and then it's just black on black on brown.
kon does laugh a little, though. ]
Yeah. I miss the Beaufa.
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she helped kill someone, for what feels like no reason at all, just - following a story that's being written for her. she's tried so hard her entire life to not have that be a thing.
she just swallows hard.]
I wanna go home.
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ichiro quiets down.
he's thought it before, but especially in the past few weeks, stronger than ever. when he'd broken down on - on iris (he can't think about it, not right now) and thought it when their thoughts were being broadcast. he misses ikebukuro. he misses his division. he misses the grocer's shop and the creaky floorboards in the yorozuya, he misses his brothers' laughter - he misses their fighting, he misses it with every part of his being, so fiercely beyond every other emotion he's felt in the tumultuous, hellish eight weeks they've spent here.
his voice is soft, aching, and his arm tightens where it's around beau. ] ...I do, too.
[ god, he wants to go home. ]
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kon settles with his arm loosely around beau, taking a deep breath and staring off into the void of the room around them. how many times have all of them thought it? would it have been kinder to let beau have a little more time, assigned like that? (no, it wouldn't have - let her feel and know her emotions as her own, rather than some stranger's.) he can only hope that they're here, at the end, for real now, instead of being just brought along on some stupid line with no light at the end of the tunnel.
he won't think about the uncertainty that he's heading back to. even with the wishes that have been written into the story, he doesn't know what's in store, especially not when tsuyukusa probably isn't rejoining him right away. but it must be okay. it has to. he can't let it be anything else.
he's quiet, a bit. then: ]
I want to see Exandria and the Empire sometime. [ softly ] And your Ikebukuro. After all this is over, and we've gotten a chance to be home for a while.
no subject
she wants to go home, but what is even waiting there for her? a fucking dragon, hellbent on killing her and her friends? lucien? the much more permanent and real deaths of her friends? she'd seen yasha, and veth, and her whole heart had crumbled to pieces with how much she misses them, how much she misses her family.
... she has this one. she has this one, at least, the two of them. she's less alone than she used to be, and she'll take - anything. anything to not feel like she's being torn to pieces.]
If I don't die, I'll show you. [she says, to the mattress mostly.] I'll visit. Somehow.
no subject
(the way he talks about his home makes me want to see it. like if i could just step foot in it, it'd be like finding another place to belong.)
something in his chest aches. ]
... I'd like it - I want to come too. Maybe... bring Jiro and Saburo, too. They'd - they'd go nuts. I wanna introduce you to 'em so bad, both of you. Saburo'd think you're wild, Kon. And Jiro'd - hah, he might like Beau even more than me.
[ he shifts, a little, curling inwards, that soft tone aching with fondness, something small and bright that peeks through the misery. ] ...If you come to me, I'll cook for you. In my kitchen, with my bros. 's different than a cafeteria.
[ it's home. it's family. ] Don't have any crazy magic, or anything, but I've got that.