aerimido for peach aka midos perpetual doki hell

[discarding]

just gonna use this as a gen catchall, will hopefully gather up and link all prior TL in this entry

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WHAT THE FUCK I THOUGHT I RESPONDED TO THIS IM SO SORRY (1/2)

[discarding]

[Midousuji certainly still doesn’t have all his wits—or senses—about him quite yet. normally, even when he’s unconscious, he can sense someone’s presence (or…well, maybe, certain someones). he’s sensitive to the energies of other people, both as a vulnerable potential prey in this world, and as a predator for the same survival.

his eyes widen, just slightly, when he hears the clearing of her throat; even with the raspy, tired quality, and even without the distinct, unmistakable little chuckle of self-deprecation, he recognizes the voice. he feels like his blood freezes, then burns, fizzy; his fingertips tingle. it’s a type of dread he’s never experienced.

he rolls his eyes, slowly, towards Aerith—and for once, he’s completely at a loss for what to say. his head turns towards her in full, though his body still seems pretty immobile. his eyes are still wide, even for him, and he looks dumbfounded; his jaw opens, then closes. not with a snap, like usual; the subtle clicking of his teeth, the shifting of his dry tongue as he swallows, all suddenly feels unbearably loud.

he’s in a hospital. Aerith, haggard, is sitting here, beside him; she looks exhausted.

he’d known. he knew, when he left to die—he wouldn’t let himself think about it, and tried to hold onto that denial as hard as he could. the memories of his descent into madness are, of course, understandably spotty—and altered, likely, from the damage his mind must have been undergoing. it was too easy to forget her. jaw softly dropped again, though his head is still rolled towards Aerith, he looks away, eyes rolling down. he sees the state of his hand, and twitches a finger as he tries to grasp it.

Midousuji hadn’t been at his mother’s bedside, when she died. he didn’t really get that kind of closure—and back then, he naively was so confident there was no way things were going to get as bad as they did. had he known, it probably would have been all the more agonizing—but less confusing, when she never came to saw him race.

he’s gone to clinics, but he’s never been to a hospital since—dangerous, considering how reckless he’s been with his body.

his stomach churns painfully, causing him to clench his jaw, swallowing dryly again, slowly. he remembers his mother expressing so gently her concern for his physical wellbeing; how she feared how reckless athletes could be with their bodies.

his life was important to his mother. and then she died.

but the truth is, even before this place, he’s met people who have come to feel the same concern for his recklessness. and now, finally, Midousuji understands plainly where that recklessness comes from. his emptiness, that makes it so easy. and it had killed him.

it was despair.

connection—empathy, remorse… none of them are impossible. but they’re difficult, and new. Midousuji actually feels almost humiliated, caught in this position; he realizes what he’s done to Aerith. and it’s the very thing that hurt him so badly as a child, it almost killed him.]

You…don’t have to stay, then, [he says dryly, then winces, realizing that sounds so dismissive and cold. but he doesn’t know how to do it. he’s been slowly learning, but that’s the problem—outside of sport, he’s so slow. and that kind of vulnerability is terrifying. it’s selfish to protect himself from that fear, but even without that fear, he has no idea how to…

…do the right thing. that’s never been his burden. living with no attachment freed him of these things, but connections have found him, whether he likes it or not.

he glances to Aerith again. his heart pounds.

he does like it. he blinks slowly, finding it a little surprising she’s here, actually—but he knows that Aerith cares about him. even if she was mad, she’d still be here.]

…I…

[he what? what could he possibly say? articulating any of this out loud compounds in its horror: realizing with more clarity what he’s tried to do, how sick he really is (and actually seeing it for the first time, and facing it all so suddenly)—what excuse is there?

there is none.]