[fic] out there
Title: Out There
Characters/Pairings: Senga, background Miyamoon/Tamamori
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: A short epilogue to the Miyamoon au.
Grief confuses Senga. It’s not an emotion he’s used to - especially so when he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to be mourning. It confuses Senga how there can be a funeral without a body, how they’re all assuming Tamamori to be dead, how no one's even looking. The rocket landed flying on automated controls, it's astronaut nowhere to be found, Tamamori gone without a trace.
The dark grey suit his mother forced him into leaves Senga feeling confined by heavy stiff fabric as speech after speech is drilled into them on the topic of honor and sacrifice. The younger cadets whisper in the back row, morbidly theorizing how Tamamori died falling into the vacuum of space - blood and water turning instantly to vapour, asphyxiation destroying his mind and consciousness while hypoxia drains his body of life until eventually Tamamori disappears into the black nothing - Senga blocks out the gossip, doesn’t want to picture it, doesn’t want to think it possible.
It confuses Senga how Tamamori’s mother can be so happy. She laughs at memories of her lost son while, together, they pack up boxes of Tamamori’s old abandoned dorm room. She explains to Senga that the whole charade of a funeral seems silly and she doesn’t want to play along, she knows she will see Yuta again one day, he just has somewhere else he needs to be right now. In reply, Senga smiles wistfully at the thought of reincarnation and reunited lost loved ones but then Tamamori-san wonders to herself out loud what she should cook for the moon when he comes to the family barbecue next month and Senga is confused even further.
The dorm is quieter without Tamamori one bunk over, whispering softly to himself in the middle of the night. Classes and lectures are different too. Harder. When Senga asks what he’s told repeatedly are silly questions - how do they pee in zero gravity without it getting everywhere, if it’s possible to dance in space and how it would feel - the instructor sighs, losing patience, the other cadets muffle their laughter, but Tamamori instead would never sneer or tease. Tamamori took Senga’s questions surprisingly seriously and promised to try dancing for the other the next time he was sent up. And after the next mission, when Senga brings it up again, Tamamori’s features turn soft and his eyes glaze over as if remembering something sweet, fighting back a smile and a blush.
Across the darkness between their two beds Tamamori tells Senga dancing felt like magic - doesn’t even hurt when some idiot steps on your toes. Tamamori rolls over and away, falling asleep quickly before Senga can ask how he knows that. Tamamori’s missions were always solo.
Senga can’t sleep now in the quiet dorm and in daytime the deprivation play tricks on his mind. Makes him believe he can hear Tamamori calling his name or that he sees two shadows waving at him from the surface of the moon during astronomy lessons; even after Senga blinks and rubs his eyes, the small dots are still there. In frustration, he bats at the telescope sending it swinging freely through declinations and ascensions and as it comes naturally to a rest, a speck of pale aquamarine in a lonely sea of black flickers at him from the viewfinder.
“Hey,” Senga calls to a fellow cadet at a neighbouring observation post, “what planet is this?”
They boy notes the coordinates and then gives Senga that same patronising look that most do. “That’s not a planet, idiot, that’s Pluto.”
As Senga turns back to his telescope and the small jade dot, he decides that it sure does look like a planet to him.
Over the natter and chatter of the other students in the room, Senga hears a loud call of, “Pluto-chan da yo!”
Characters/Pairings: Senga, background Miyamoon/Tamamori
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: A short epilogue to the Miyamoon au.
Grief confuses Senga. It’s not an emotion he’s used to - especially so when he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to be mourning. It confuses Senga how there can be a funeral without a body, how they’re all assuming Tamamori to be dead, how no one's even looking. The rocket landed flying on automated controls, it's astronaut nowhere to be found, Tamamori gone without a trace.
The dark grey suit his mother forced him into leaves Senga feeling confined by heavy stiff fabric as speech after speech is drilled into them on the topic of honor and sacrifice. The younger cadets whisper in the back row, morbidly theorizing how Tamamori died falling into the vacuum of space - blood and water turning instantly to vapour, asphyxiation destroying his mind and consciousness while hypoxia drains his body of life until eventually Tamamori disappears into the black nothing - Senga blocks out the gossip, doesn’t want to picture it, doesn’t want to think it possible.
It confuses Senga how Tamamori’s mother can be so happy. She laughs at memories of her lost son while, together, they pack up boxes of Tamamori’s old abandoned dorm room. She explains to Senga that the whole charade of a funeral seems silly and she doesn’t want to play along, she knows she will see Yuta again one day, he just has somewhere else he needs to be right now. In reply, Senga smiles wistfully at the thought of reincarnation and reunited lost loved ones but then Tamamori-san wonders to herself out loud what she should cook for the moon when he comes to the family barbecue next month and Senga is confused even further.
The dorm is quieter without Tamamori one bunk over, whispering softly to himself in the middle of the night. Classes and lectures are different too. Harder. When Senga asks what he’s told repeatedly are silly questions - how do they pee in zero gravity without it getting everywhere, if it’s possible to dance in space and how it would feel - the instructor sighs, losing patience, the other cadets muffle their laughter, but Tamamori instead would never sneer or tease. Tamamori took Senga’s questions surprisingly seriously and promised to try dancing for the other the next time he was sent up. And after the next mission, when Senga brings it up again, Tamamori’s features turn soft and his eyes glaze over as if remembering something sweet, fighting back a smile and a blush.
Across the darkness between their two beds Tamamori tells Senga dancing felt like magic - doesn’t even hurt when some idiot steps on your toes. Tamamori rolls over and away, falling asleep quickly before Senga can ask how he knows that. Tamamori’s missions were always solo.
Senga can’t sleep now in the quiet dorm and in daytime the deprivation play tricks on his mind. Makes him believe he can hear Tamamori calling his name or that he sees two shadows waving at him from the surface of the moon during astronomy lessons; even after Senga blinks and rubs his eyes, the small dots are still there. In frustration, he bats at the telescope sending it swinging freely through declinations and ascensions and as it comes naturally to a rest, a speck of pale aquamarine in a lonely sea of black flickers at him from the viewfinder.
“Hey,” Senga calls to a fellow cadet at a neighbouring observation post, “what planet is this?”
They boy notes the coordinates and then gives Senga that same patronising look that most do. “That’s not a planet, idiot, that’s Pluto.”
As Senga turns back to his telescope and the small jade dot, he decides that it sure does look like a planet to him.
Over the natter and chatter of the other students in the room, Senga hears a loud call of, “Pluto-chan da yo!”