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

Comments

omg don't worry about it, it's ok! i know you're busy!!

[bloomly]

( you don't have to stay then, he says. in any other state, perhaps it would be a surprising relief to hear him sound like his old self, to hear him berate her a little, tease her a little, and put space between them like he always had. even now, there's at least some relief to it, in the same way that hearing his voice had been one small layer of salve on a wound that opened far too wide to be closed with something that simple; at least he's still himself, even in that bed, at least he's still himself when he's woken up like this. she has no idea what happens to someone when they die here, except what she's now learned: who knows what could have happened? who he could have become?

they might reassure that it would always happen just like this, but magic is volatile, this place is volatile, and it takes and gives and injures without thought. she wouldn't have been surprised if he woke up mute, woke up destroyed, woke up as an entirely different person.

you don't have to stay, then.

it isn't the cruelest thing he's ever said to her, maybe. but in this moment, it feels like it. the weight of exhaustion, of loneliness, of being by herself in this place and now, next to him, not being wanted either? even as she straightens up in the chair, trying to square her shoulders and brush it off, trying to return to the lighthearted, confident banter she always offered him, she can't find it.

the silence is there for a long moment. her tears pool, bubbling and breaking down both of her cheeks, hooking around her jaw; he likely won't remember the sight of her like this anyway, and so she lets herself cry, ugly and pink-faced and silent, sniffling just enough to keep from letting snot drop onto her dress.

she listens to him in that silence, lets him take the time, and space, to get out what he needs to--she doesn't push him, doesn't pressure him, doesn't interrupt or interject in anger or upset or even feeling. she gives him that space, lets him work it out himself; her hands fist in the skirt of her dress and then flatten it out against her thighs, and there's a soft, numbing shake of her head.

i caused damage. she doesn't want him to feel indebted to her, because of it--doesn't want him to carry this with him. )

You're alive. ( there's a severe weight in her throat, from the crying--gently, she clears it, before trying to speak again. ) You're alive, and I don't think you would ever purposefully...

( it's hard to find the reassurances; her vision is blurred, and one hand lifts, pats the back of it to one side of her face, then the next, trying to catch the tears before they fall into her lap. )

Don't be upset with yourself. It's alright. You're here. I'm very happy you're here.

( no one would believe those words looking at her--but they're true. she's so relieved he's alive. )

busy + irl trifles + brain full of holes by default = bad combo

[discarding]

[purposefully…

does that matter?

consequences are consequences; the path doesn’t matter. it’s like winning versus losing. results are all that matter.

Midousuji lifts his heavy head, just slightly, with his tired, weak neck, his attention caught further, because…

oh, god.

tears.

he’s never made someone cry—maybe when he and Yuki were little, but while the first time was mortifying, he soon came to understand she was just kind of a crybaby. she’d cry every so often, though it never really involved him—seeing her tears was uncomfortable, but had nothing to do with him, so he’d politely, awkwardly look away. an unbearable sight, when it isn’t those he’s bested in contexts were appropriate.

his brows pinch, subtly, and his breath trembles just as slightly, throat tightening with emotion—another unfamiliar, startling response to these unfamiliar feelings of remorse. sympathy. Midousuji can’t even identify them, but he doesn’t let the unfamiliarity disrupt him as it usually might.

his muscles flex, slow and feeling like they’re riddled with fiberglass; they strain visibly, and the corners of his mouth stretch in discomfort, twitching at one side as his skin becomes taught with this frown. shakily, slowly, he pushes himself up with his elbows—his breath shakes further from the strain, and he turns at his shoulders, just enough, exerting the rest of his strength from their battered coffers to extend a tired hand with limp fingers.

the knuckles of his dry skin brush the soft, silky tears, his eyes still locked on her face. they shift, occasionally, just slightly, taking care to take in all of her expression. not to punish himself, but all the same, to remember always—what he should avoid. the reasons why he can’t bear this. the reasons why he must.]

Don’t cry, [he rasps quietly, and slowly, from his dry lips. he leans forward, just a little bit.] Aerith-chan… Don’t…shed tears for me.

[he can feel how his arm strains, but he ignores the increasing ache. he’s emaciated from his leave, and weak from his death. but while it’s alarming to feel so uncharacteristically weak, it doesn’t matter.

this isn’t a circumstance where he can make an order without a bribe. as the one who’s responsible, the one who’s made this awful mistake, he must offer something in exchange—even that is audacious, on its own. so it has to be a good offer.

it’s okay. he’s a hard worker. his head is back on his shoulders; he’s finally found a different goal. the despair—losing Ishigaki, forcing him to accept he cares for someone, which then forced how terrifying love is to the front of Midousuji’s entire design…because of the risk of loss. that he has been forced to accept that loss is perhaps something he’s uniquely weak to, to where it can be fatal.

but he isn’t alone, now. in this context, selfishness cannot be excused.]

Going forward, I’ll…make sure…

[feeling the quick onset of his exhaustion, coupled with the emotional weight he’s unaccustomed to carrying, Midousuji’s head suddenly drops, eyes still wide—but his hand remains perched, the backs of his fingertips gently curled against the warm wetness of her soft flesh.]

I’ll do anything… to make sure I never see this again.

it's all good ♥

[bloomly]

( she knows as soon as she feels his touch that she doesn't deserve it--he should be resting, tucked beneath the worn blanket on the hospital bed, sterile and clean; she shouldn't be here anymore, shouldn't be taking up time and space and energy like this, when the most important thing is that he stays here and actually rests. in many ways, her presence is counterintuitive to what she wants him to do, and as much as she's almost afraid to leave this place, afraid that she'll come back and he won't be there anymore: it feels like it would be a greater kindness to get up and announce her departure.

so why can't she? his fingers feel cold, scratched and rough against her skin, but she doesn't care at all. the tears smear down over her lashes, wet against the skin of her cheek, and she almost apologies for how they must be touching them; if he can barely handle her presence on a good day, or handle the way she touches him all the time, how can he handle something like this? it's gross. probably gross. her head shakes, slightly, and a bit of her hair, wavy from the braids, touches his hand; her lips feel dry, licking over them to try to steady her voice. )

You're all I have. ( this is said very delicately--almost like she doesn't want to burden him with the truth of it. ) Of course I'm going to cry for you...Dummy.

( with a faint shake of her head, she reaches up: even though she can't stop crying, she knows precisely what she needs to do, and at least having that sort of clarity helps fuel her movements. both of her hands lift, damp, to touch at his hand, holding it carefully between her palms as she stands up, stiff, from the chair. slowly approaching the bed, she bends his arm in gently until she can lay it back down on the bed next to him; there, she gives it a faint squeeze before letting it go entirely. )

I know you're...exhausted. I'm...sorry. I didn't mean to...( a little hiccuping breath: determined, she swallows it down, steadies herself on her heels, her watery gaze focused on the bedspread and not, in fact, his face or any part of him. ) I'm sorry. Would it...

( licking her lips again, she brings her hands up swiftly wiping the tears off her cheeks--before she finally steels herself to look at him, gathering up the remains of her shattered confidence to bolster herself enough to ask. )

Can I stay here until you...wake up again? In...Over there. ( a faint tilt of her head to indicate she means the chair she'd been seated in: for now, she stands stiffly at the side of his bed. ) If I go...back, then I'll just...worry. About you.