[ Having happiness and not being unhappy are also two different things.
Something that he would tell Akira, and–
You don't have to force yourself, if it's hard to think about this.
Something he would tell Akira, and–
I'd like it if you could think about even one thing you'd like to do, on your own.
Something he would tell Akira, and–
Maruki is proud, in that moment. Caught, pinned, wounded– and proud.
He wants to put a stop to this. To take the out given to him, to not force it. To tell Akira: You're remarkable. To remind him: I told you that you'd make a better counselor than I do, didn't I? To ask him: When we return to our true reality, what are your plans for the future? When you finish school, will you return to Tokyo for university? What have you thought of studying? It's okay if you don't know yet, but if psychology ends up interesting you at all, I'd be happy to recommend you to my undergraduate program. To do anything to turn the focus away from him, back to Akira, because there is no world in which Maruki Takuto is the person in any room who deserves even the barest sliver of the spotlight.
But– ]
I'm afraid you're giving me an impossible task.
[ It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.
And he could end it there. Take the out. Turn the focus.
He could, but– ]
Not because of my work, or what will happen when we return.
[ No, he couldn't. He can't.
He won't.
He's asked Akira impossible question after impossible question tonight, forced him to recount what must pain him most. Asked so much of him. Comfort, assistance, a place to sleep. Honesty, vulnerability, a cup of coffee. Akira has agreed to fight by his side. Akira has promised to save him, again and again.
What can Maruki do for him in return? What has he ever been able to do?
Has he ever truly done anything for Akira?
Sought him out. Picked his brain. Taught him focus, mindfulness, mental conditioning. Gave him snacks, a kind word, a friendly listening ear that he never took advantage of, never laid his own burdens on Maruki's shoulders the way everyone else did. Tried to create an ideal reality for him anyway, tried to give him what he wanted. Betrayed him. Paid the price– or, will pay the price. It's coming.
None of that was what Akira wanted. He wants the world as it is, brutally painful and unfair as it is. He wants to find the beauty and love in it anyway. He wants those moments to matter.
He wants Maruki to open up. Take in what he's saying. Respond with integrity. To look at him with a fraction of that same bright honesty.
Maruki can force himself to give him that. Even if it kills him. ]
No, because–
[ Sorrow digs long fingers into his heart, gripping into the grooves of the fissure down the middle that Akira started weeks ago, and tears it cleanly in two. ]
There's only one thing that I want. [ And it isn't Actualization. ] You know this. [ He does. He should. ] It's the only thing I've wanted for so long. [ Years, and years, and years, marked by the passage of every bitterly cold February. ] I can't have it. [ There is a reason, after all, that the power to craft an ideal reality for all does not extend to the creator. ] By design, I can't ever have it again.
[ He stops. He has to stop, because– when did his throat get tight? He tries to clear it, fails. One of those torn off pieces of his heart, lodged roughly up into his windpipe. Stinging pressure behind his eyes. Tries to blink it away, fails. Heart racing, hands wrapped numbly around the mug, echoes of everything he just blathered repeating endlessly in his cavernous skull.
He looks to Akira. The slightest watery blur at the edges of his vision.
Such a wretched, quiet admission. It's a far cry from screaming his outrage and grief high above Odaiba, but it's all he can allow himself for now. It's more than he's allowed himself, ever. And in every reality, it's only for Akira's ears to hear. ]
h. heyyyyy what's up ha ha don't look at this don't read it
Something that he would tell Akira, and–
Something he would tell Akira, and–
I'd like it if you could think about even one thing you'd like to do, on your own.
Something he would tell Akira, and–
Maruki is proud, in that moment. Caught, pinned, wounded– and proud.
He wants to put a stop to this. To take the out given to him, to not force it. To tell Akira: You're remarkable. To remind him: I told you that you'd make a better counselor than I do, didn't I? To ask him: When we return to our true reality, what are your plans for the future? When you finish school, will you return to Tokyo for university? What have you thought of studying? It's okay if you don't know yet, but if psychology ends up interesting you at all, I'd be happy to recommend you to my undergraduate program. To do anything to turn the focus away from him, back to Akira, because there is no world in which Maruki Takuto is the person in any room who deserves even the barest sliver of the spotlight.
But– ]
I'm afraid you're giving me an impossible task.
[ It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.
And he could end it there. Take the out. Turn the focus.
He could, but– ]
Not because of my work, or what will happen when we return.
[ No, he couldn't. He can't.
He won't.
He's asked Akira impossible question after impossible question tonight, forced him to recount what must pain him most. Asked so much of him. Comfort, assistance, a place to sleep. Honesty, vulnerability, a cup of coffee. Akira has agreed to fight by his side. Akira has promised to save him, again and again.
What can Maruki do for him in return? What has he ever been able to do?
Has he ever truly done anything for Akira?
Sought him out. Picked his brain. Taught him focus, mindfulness, mental conditioning. Gave him snacks, a kind word, a friendly listening ear that he never took advantage of, never laid his own burdens on Maruki's shoulders the way everyone else did. Tried to create an ideal reality for him anyway, tried to give him what he wanted. Betrayed him. Paid the price– or, will pay the price. It's coming.
None of that was what Akira wanted. He wants the world as it is, brutally painful and unfair as it is. He wants to find the beauty and love in it anyway. He wants those moments to matter.
He wants Maruki to open up. Take in what he's saying. Respond with integrity. To look at him with a fraction of that same bright honesty.
Maruki can force himself to give him that. Even if it kills him. ]
No, because–
[ Sorrow digs long fingers into his heart, gripping into the grooves of the fissure down the middle that Akira started weeks ago, and tears it cleanly in two. ]
There's only one thing that I want. [ And it isn't Actualization. ] You know this. [ He does. He should. ] It's the only thing I've wanted for so long. [ Years, and years, and years, marked by the passage of every bitterly cold February. ] I can't have it. [ There is a reason, after all, that the power to craft an ideal reality for all does not extend to the creator. ] By design, I can't ever have it again.
[ He stops. He has to stop, because– when did his throat get tight? He tries to clear it, fails. One of those torn off pieces of his heart, lodged roughly up into his windpipe. Stinging pressure behind his eyes. Tries to blink it away, fails. Heart racing, hands wrapped numbly around the mug, echoes of everything he just blathered repeating endlessly in his cavernous skull.
He looks to Akira. The slightest watery blur at the edges of his vision.
Such a wretched, quiet admission. It's a far cry from screaming his outrage and grief high above Odaiba, but it's all he can allow himself for now. It's more than he's allowed himself, ever. And in every reality, it's only for Akira's ears to hear. ]